Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Holy shit. It’s been a minute hasn’t it?

For those who are new here, welcome! For some context, I started writing this story a long time ago under the name Good_Evening_Gromit, but I orphaned the account and the original story has been dormant ever since. I do hope you enjoy the story in its continuation, it’s been a long time coming.

For those who are not new here—if by chance this happens across one of my old readers—thanks for being here. I don’t know how to explain why I orphaned my account and this story other than that there was a lot going on in my life. I started this story in early high school I think, but I’m somehow already in college now. And yet the story that little angsty teen me wrote ended up having a lot of people liking it, which I never at all expected. It’s really cemented how much writing means to me, and I’m back here writing this story again because it’s left an impact on me, too, and the people in my life who I’ve shared it with.

Without further ado, here’s the story. I’m going back and editing a lot of my older chapters, so that’s why I’ll be posting a few at a time. Stuff will be a bit different since last time, so I recommend giving it another look. 

It’s good to be back, guys, and I thank you for having me, whether you’re an old follower or a new one. Love you all <3

-Gromit (AKA Good_Evening_Gromit) (AKA One_True_Historian) (AKA the president of TF2)

Chapter Text

The road was so bumpy that Frankie could feel her teeth rattling inside her head. The bus hit a pothole, sending the passengers in the back a little out of their seats. She grasped for something to hold on to, but only managed to hit her head on the seat in front of her.

BRING!

BRING!

BRING!

Frankie searched frantically through her over-stuffed bag for the cellular phone she was told to keep on her at all times. It’s not that she wasn’t grateful, but she had never seen such a bizarre-looking thing anywhere before. It made her feel weird to use one. Pulling the antenna upward, she flipped the phone open and put it up to her ear.

“Hello, this is Francis.”

“Has your bus arrived yet?”

“No ma’am. We just passed the third exit about four minutes ago, so we may be getting close.”

“Don’t miss your stop. A punctual employee is an employed employee.”

Francis wondered if the face she made could be heard through the phone.

“Uh. Yes ma’am.”

“Contact me immediately when you arrive.”

“Yes ma’am.”

…

“Francis?”

“Ma’am?”

“Any questions?”

She considered that for a moment.

“What are they like?”

The line was silent.

“Contact me immediately when you arrive,” the voice repeated.

“Yes ma’am.”

Ashamed, Francis hung up and put away the phone. Clutching her knees to her chest, she looked at the barren landscape around her through the scratched, dusty window. A large, busted sign approached on the horizon.

  W LCO E   TO   TE FO T

 Ah. So this was her home now.

The bus wheezed down its decided path, crossing buildings in all different states of decay. A passerby dragged on his cigarette as he eyed the shuttle. Looking out at him, Frankie couldn’t help but wonder to herself how this place had alluded her premonitions.

At a young age, she was found to be haunted and afflicted with an ability unexplainable and unacceptable to those who would tend to agree with the logic and order of natural law. She could be wandering around, healthy and strong, and in the same minute suddenly collapse to the floor and seize. Her body would shake and her eyes would dart around wildly as she desperately reached out for someone to help her. After these fits, a truth would be revealed to her. Whether it manifested in the form of a vision or a voice, she would be able to see or know something she simply couldn’t have. While other times, without nearly as much pomp or circumstance, her sixth sense would simply be more potent than your average person’s. 

Ms. Barnaby had told her the fits were a result of brain damage.

“There’s a heartbeat in the walls,” Frankie had told her once.

Ms. Barnaby was the director of “Ms. Barnaby’s Home for Children”. It was Frankie’s residence for a long time. Ms. Barnaby was a deeply superstitious old woman who had a dislike for Frankie and her “active imagination”.

“A heartbeat? In the walls?” Ms. Barnaby glowered, waddling up to the girl as she fidgeted with a cross necklace in her hand.

“It’s unladylike to say such strange things. Keep your voice down, now, I don’t want the other children to get ideas.”

Sure enough, a raccoon had found its way through the kitchen wall not even three hours later and ransacked the pantry. The only thing that scared Francis more than the beady eyed, chattering beast in the cupboards was the shriveled, loaded stare that Ms. Barnaby had given her across the room when it all went down, still twisting that cross necklace in her hands.

Now, as Francis sat all alone on that bus, she wanted nothing more than another vision to relieve her of this tremendous suspense. The bus’ engine sputtered and coughed before it shut off, its rusty brakes whining to a stop. The bus driver spoke over the intercom. 

“All passengers for Teufort please disembark the bus at this time.”

Frankie stood quickly from her seat, trying to ignore the weight of her building anxieties as she grabbed her duffle bag and walked down the aisle. She gave a nod and a thank you to the bus driver as she passed him, but he only kept his eyes straight ahead as she walked.

Under the desert sun, she wiped the sweat from her face. Her eyes flickered left and right as she took her phone once more out of the bag. The roar of the bus engine came to life again, leaving Frankie in a cloud of exhaust and her own dismay.

The woman she only knew as “The Administrator” picked up on the first ring.

“I’ve arrived, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ll be proceeding on foot from here. In the center of town, you’ll see a black car with tinted windows. My assistant will direct you from there.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do not disappoint me.”

“Yes ma’am, I won’t let-”

The Administrator hung up before she could finish her sentence. Francis huffed and put the phone back in her bag. She supposed she would have to brave the walk before the sun could set and the air could become brisk. But above all, she knew it would be prudent not to keep The Administrator’s assistant waiting.

Chapter Text

The pale blue sky slowly crawled into a sweet, early evening peach. My sneakers kicked up puffs of red sand as I meandered down the lanes. The air was humid but fresh. I could smell the distant cedar trees and hear the hum of cicadas. My first impression had of course been a bit hasty. The town was hot, yes, but it was hard to resist a sky that unadulterated by buildings and townspeople who both intimidated the hell out of me and fascinated me to no end. My home country was far away, over glittering oceans, but this place just made more sense somehow. This was a place I could see people referring to as their “home town”, a tiny gravel pit where their working class families had put down roots and raised them to be strong. After stopping to talk to a few of them, I realized that they were quite proud of Teufort, for all its flaws, and were flattered that I’d come such a long way to live there.

I passed a general store with enormous windows that were covered in all sorts of flyers: BOGO sales, phone numbers for piano lessons, an adoption agency for exotic mammals, and pictures of missing people. They’d never grow older, I thought—they’d remain how their loved ones remembered them, still young and smiling at us from the pages as if they hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth. Further along, I came across an abandoned salon with peeling mint paint. A broken window ushered fallen leaves inside, dancing across the dirty floor whenever a breeze flooded in. After poking around inside, I found a family of squirrels nesting in a drawer, sleeping.

I passed big homes, mostly little homes, a bar, a statue, another statue, and a deer. Maybe roadkill. With every step that I took, I found myself acclimating to the hidden pulse beneath the town a little more. And as I neared the well-tread path to its center, I happened across an old woman in a chair, knitting a shawl. With kind grey eyes narrowed over a pair of thick glasses, she waved me over. The warm light above her front door made her porch somewhat magnetic to anyone passing by, like a honey-coated spiderweb. The siding on her house and the stucco roof tiles were coming apart, strewn across the yard and left to lie there, sticking up like broken teeth. The old woman’s house had seen better days, but anyone could see that it would take more than just a bad storm to level it.

“I haven’t seen you before. You must be new,” she said. If there was even a fraction of distrust in her voice, she hid it well.

“Well, yes, I’ve just moved in.”

“How old are you? You look far too young to be walking around here by yourself.” Her needles clicked away as she rocked.

“Old enough,” I assured her, angling myself slightly towards the stairs. She stopped for a second, putting her hands on the arm rests as if to steady herself after being struck. I felt a coldness creep up from under my skin.

“We’re happy to have you here,” she recovered, “Do you have family? Where are your parents? Maybe I’ve met them.”

“Well, I’m actually supposed to be at dinner right now, so I should probably go,” I said, hoping that a thin smile would convince her.

“Well that’s wise, dear. I’m not sure that anyone I know has mentioned having family from out of the country, but I’ll bet that they wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She reached out to pinch me.
“So cute,” She cooed. The moment couldn’t have ended soon enough.

“If you’re going to be walking around here at night, doing God knows what,” the woman said, returning to her knitting. “Stay out of the woods.” With a steady gaze, she pointed one of her needles over my shoulder, in the direction of the deep forest.

“Over yonder,” she said, “Trouble.”

I was fascinated. Trouble?

“What sort of trouble do you mean?”

“That twinkle in your eye! You don’t believe me,” she said sweetly. Her face never fell though, and her eyes became dark again.

“They have a hard time finding what’s left of kids like you out there.”

Then, just before the elderly woman’s eyes seemed to fog back over with the steady bliss of rhythmic thoughtlessness, she added:

“It’ll be a shame.”

With that, she fell silent and continued to knit.

I felt that maybe the conversation was best to be left right there on the stoop.

When I neared the town square, I couldn’t bring myself to admire the darkening, sleepy sky. My eyes were trained on the expanse ahead but my brain was peering right out at the woods.

Bright headlights cut through the air, the quiet purring of an engine snapping me out of my trance. I glanced at the black car idling about thirty meters ahead and took one last look over my shoulder before breaking into a jog towards it.

Chapter Text

The smell of exhaust was starting to upset my stomach.

Tinted windows, just like the Administrator had said. I walked around to the driver’s side door and tried to see through the window, wondering if maybe the driver had gotten out of the car to look for me. I felt bad for taking my sweet time getting there. A mechanical pop of the door unlocking made me jump backwards as it swung open. A smartly dressed woman with black hair gave me a dubious look, resting her hand on something tucked out of sight between the seats. I raised my hands up, nice and slow, my eyes probably as big as saucers.

“So, uh, what’s with you, kid? You think these hub caps are for you? Worth a pretty penny.”

I opened my mouth to beg her pardon, but she cut me off.

“Kids these days.”

She unbuckled her seat belt and started getting out of the car. Her movements were erratic, which made sense after I clocked the mountain of coffee cups in the back seat when she had first opened the door. I wan’t crazy about the smell.

“Listen to me. You’re listening, right? Good,” she nodded, waving a finger at me as she approached.

“It’s the kids like you who—”

“Sorry,” I said, the words forcing themselves out, “I thought you were someone else. It was an honest mistake. My boss must’ve been talking about a different car.”

She halted in her tracks, suddenly very keen on what I had to say. Putting a hand up to stop me, her whole demeanor seemed to shift at once.

“Boss? You just said boss, didn’t you?”

Her change of tone caught me off guard.

“Well…yeah I did. She told me I was supposed to meet someone here.”

Her face remained blank for a moment, her gaze unfocused on the ground before it instantly became sharp again. A genuine smile bloomed across her face, and she snapped her fingers, remembering.

”You’re Francis!” She declared, knowing it now to be true.

”Yes!” I nodded, my shoulders drooping with relief.

”You’re Francis!” She laughed.

”…Yes?” I repeated.

I wondered to myself if this lady was batshit crazy. But I knew for a fact that she must’ve been the Administrator’s assistant if she knew my name, so I smiled and nodded along.

“Yes that’s me. Sorry to keep you waiting. I promise I won’t steal your hub caps.” I said the last part a little quieter but it didn’t slip past her. She rubbed the back of her neck and her eyes subconsciously shifted towards the back seat where the boneyard of coffee cups stood tall.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out on you like that. I get no time off. I’m a little on edge.”

“That’s alright.”

She clapped her hands together and my eyes shifted back towards her.

“Well,” she chirped, “The night’s not getting any younger, so we should get a move on. Is that your only bag?” She pointed at the duffel slung over my shoulder.

“Yeah, this is it.”

“Okay,” she turned around and walked back towards the car, “I’d sit in the front if I were you. The back seat’s a little messy.”

I already knew that but decided not to mention it. Walking around to the passenger side, I opened the door and ducked in. A wave of cold air and gratitude washed over me as I sank down into the seat.

“Francis, I’m Miss Pauling. It’s nice to meet you.” She reached her hand over and smoothly shook mine, a practiced gesture, as she buckled her seat belt. Her smile was kind and her eyes were full of ambition.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Pauling. You can call me Frankie if you want.”

“Frankie,” she repeated, as if testing the sound, “I like it!”

She turned to me again as she started the ignition.

“I look forward to working with you!”

“Likewise,” I gave her a little smile.

She put her arm over the seat and looked backward as she put the car in reverse. I was puzzled—were we not going forward, further into town? The gravel path crackled beneath the tires and the headlights glistened as we made our turn and started driving down a dirt road. Its twists and turns snaked their way back through town, over a hill, and into the shaded canopy of the rumored Teufort woods.

They don’t find much left of kids like me in there.

The words struck my brain like oil in a hot skillet and I glanced frantically around the car for an explanation.

“Where are we going?” I asked, panic betraying itself.

Miss Pauling eyed me curiously.

“We’re going to your new home, the fort.”

“But—that lady. She said I wasn’t supposed to go in there. People are missing—” I turned in my seat, facing the confused driver. Miss Pauling’s facial expression was a mix of shock and amusement. She paused. Her wide eyes blinked and then narrowed slightly.

“Huh,” she said. She stopped the car.

I stared at her silently, my heartbeat still drumming in my ears. She looked at me with a pleading smile. I could see that she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask.

“Did The Administrator tell you about them? The people you’re living with, I mean?”

I shook my head slowly, my heart still making itself comfortable in the pit of my stomach.

Miss Pauling frowned, her eyes wide again. She turned and examined the steering wheel.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

She held her face there for a long time, the sound of the horn never ending. I stared at her in awe, wondering when, if ever, I would wake up from this dream. Finally, she tilted her head and looked at me with a tired smile.

“Ah, The Administrator’s a silly one. Don’t tell her I said that.”

The sun was setting, washing the world with rubies and sapphires. We stared at the view in silence for a minute before she spoke again.

“Okay,” she said, calm. “I’ll explain while we drive, but in the mean time—“

She turned around and rummaged through the pile of coffee cups. Horrified, I expected her to pull out either a rat or a handful of roaches. Instead, from the blanket of cups, she produced a hat. It reminded me of the ones I’d seen in the American movies, the ones where outlaws with strange names rode around on horses and shot at each other. The light brown fabric was soft and had a braided leather hatband. It was beautiful in its simplicity.

“This is for you,” she said, holding it out to me, “Wearing this, you’ll fit right in. Or it’ll keep the sun out of your eyes at least.”

I thanked her as I hesitantly tried it on. Holding for applause, I struck a pose and looked at Miss Pauling for approval. She snickered.

“Just like your dad. It’s almost kind of uncanny.”

I was bewildered for a moment. I had completely forgotten about that. I knew that I was being sent to live with my father but had absolutely no idea what he was like. For the past few weeks, I had almost wished for a vision to see a glimpse of him.

“My dad?” I asked.

“Yeah. He wears a hat too, that’s why I got it. Thought it’d be fun for you two to bond over similarities or something. Your accents sound the same, which now that I’m saying it out loud is kind of obvious. Sorry.”

“No that’s alright. Can you tell me about him?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you everything. But I have to sort out all of this other business that our employer has apparently left me to tell you.” She cleared her throat and started the car.

Chapter Text

Frankie twiddled her thumbs, watching the few remaining embers of sunlight cascade through the overhang of American elms. A deep whisking of the wind made the tall grass sway while the car’s tires kicked up dirt on the path. Frankie had never seen a place so calm before.

“So, about there being killers in the woods,” Miss Pauling began.

Frankie pulled her eyes away from the window and stared hopefully her.

“Who said anything about killers? Is it not true, then?” The words were punctuated by a sigh of relief, “I didn’t think that a place like this could be so tragic.”

Frankie smiled with this and shook her head, wordlessly chiding herself for believing what the old woman had said for even a moment.

“Well, see, they’re technically professional killers, but not bad people,” Miss Pauling murmured, eyeing Frankie’s relieved expression with a hint of guilt.

“Huh?” The bubble of illusion popped. Frankie turned to Miss Pauling, sure that she hadn’t heard her correctly.

“A professional…killer? A mercenary?”

“Mercenaries. Plural,” Miss Pauling corrected her with too light-hearted of a chuckle.

Frankie’s jaw dropped and then promptly closed again. Something had drained from the girl’s voice entirely.

“…How many?”

 Miss Pauling hummed, no longer looking at her as she drove.

“Nine.”

“Nine,” Frankie echoed incredulously. Silence fell over the car as her head lulled into her hands. She was told—no, promised—that a good, loving family was waiting for her across the world. Her family. The boss must’ve been playing the cruelest kind of game Francis had ever heard of—sending her to live with cold, unfeeling crooks and murderers. She marveled at how spineless the Administrator must’ve been to leave that crucial detail out until the last minute; when she knew that there was no going back for her.

“I’m—I have no better way of saying this, honey. I’m sorry. I really am.” Miss Pauling put a gentle hand on her shoulder, her eyes still focused on the road ahead of her.

“I wish I could take you back if that’s what you really wanted, but The Administrator…” she trailed off.

Frankie was silent for a long time. She stared at the duffel bag wedged carefully underneath the glove box as the inside of her nose stung with warmth. Itchy, prickly tears slipped down her cheeks and into her lap. With shame, she wiped at her face and stifled the urge to make a sound. She refused to cry in front of Miss Pauling.

“Frankie…” Miss Pauling soothed, gently rubbing her back.

“I’m okay,” Frankie said. After a second, she managed to compose herself.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, surer.

The car pulled through the edge of the forest, a prairie of wildflowers leading them onwards.  Past the far edge of the clearing up ahead, Frankie lifted her eyes and saw only the shadows of two large, industrial buildings facing each other across a stream. Blossom trees dotted its bank. She could smell their gentle blooms when she rolled the car window down.

“It wouldn’t really matter anyway,” she spoke at last, “My dad’s all I’ve got.”

“They really are good people, I’m being honest about that much.” Miss Pauling said, her voice quiet.

“Every single one of them is passionate about what they do. People are afraid because they seem rough around the edges and maybe a little scary when you don’t really know them.”

Frankie didn’t find her words all that comforting, but didn’t interrupt. She could appreciate the gesture.

“But,” Miss Pauling continued, “They’re all some of the best people I’ve ever met. So funny. The way they look out for one another feels like some kind of family.”

Frankie pondered that for a moment. That’s all she had ever really wanted anyway—people that she didn’t have to be afraid of; A stable home where she didn’t feel like she had to walk on eggshells or worry about hiding things. With Miss Pauling’s words in mind, what Francis knew, felt, and believed were somehow completely different things.

“And when they heard that the Administrator was moving you out here—your father especially—I wish you could’ve seen how excited they got. They were going back and forth talking about how they should celebrate when you get there, what kinds of foods you would like, how they should spoil you rotten. Hell, I almost cried, too, when your dad learned he even had a daughter just a few weeks ago. He just wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

Frankie couldn’t help but smile at that. She had expected for it to be more of an adjustment for them, and had even anticipated that it would take a long time before they’d accept her as their own. Frankie wiped the sweat from her brow and basked in the cool breeze of the night as the engine’s incessant drone cut to a stop. Miss Pauling turned and smiled at her encouragingly.

“This all probably seems very sudden right now. I want you to know that it’s completely normal and understandable to be afraid, and you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

Frankie smiled back, unbuckling her seat belt.

“Thanks Miss Pauling. For everything.”

“Hey, don’t mention it! You’ll be seeing my face around here a lot, so get used to it while you have the chance.”

“I assume it’s on foot from here?” Frankie asked with a knowing look.

“You bet. I’d take you further, but the higher ups want me back at headquarters here in a little bit.” She checked her watch.

Frankie stepped out, the car’s headlights blinking through the flurry of moths and dandelion fuzz as she pulled her duffel bag over her shoulder and shut the door. She leaned down in front of the window.

“I’ll see you later then, Miss Pauling.”

Miss Pauling pushed her glasses up with a sweet smile.

“Good luck out there, Francis.”

She put the car in reverse and Frankie watched as it disappeared back into the trees, the night growing darker with its absence. She turned her head with silent wonder towards the expanse of stars strung far above her new world. Frogs sang to each other in their hidden corners of the field and the loud, sweeping chorus of the wind and the stream brought the grass to life again. She couldn’t see much in the dark, but could recognize the looming building that was now directly ahead of her. Her new home, allegedly.

Francis felt both a little awestruck and horrified. This was it. This is what she had been told about for all these years. What had other kids at the children’s home walking through the front door, suitcase in hand. Her fingers traced along a cold metal railing as she climbed the concrete steps, leading her to a humming porch light. In front of her were two large, metal doors with push bars that probably wouldn’t budge. The red light of a camera blinked softly in the corner of the porch’s overhang. She rang the buzzer situated next to the rightmost door.

Francis wished Miss Pauling could see how courageous she was being, throwing caution to the wind and just going for it. The uncertainty and thrill of it all made her head spin, and what traces of fear left gave way to giddiness. She could hear voices approaching from inside and tightened her grip on the bag.

‘Were you all waiting just for me?’ She decided she would exclaim, ‘I’m Francis! But of course, you can just call me…’

Her smile fell when she realized what was happening. Everything just wouldn’t stop turning.

The world flipped upside down and the stars spun above, below, and beneath her in the world-shattering way they always did. And as the sky fell on top of her and she collapsed to the ground, Francis’ consciousness was snuffed out as she convulsed on the cold cement, the symphony of the frogs, the bugs, the wind, and the water pulling her under right as the doors opened.

Chapter Text

The carpet pressed against my face, rough and unforgiving. I didn’t dare lift my head. The pantry floor was my refuge—where I spent each night curled up, trying to stay invisible. When the sun went down and my mother’s painkillers wore off, her anger came alive, sharp and unpredictable. If she saw me, the hurt would come first—questions much later. The pantry was the one place she rarely looked, so long as I stayed forgotten.

During the day, she was different. A little kinder, but dulled, like a shadow of herself. She’d sink into the sagging grey couch, a needle dangling from her arm, drifting in and out of a haze for hours. That couch—the only furniture we had in our main room—was more hers than her own bed. It left me trapped. The bedroom was for her and the priest. The bathroom was where they kept the drugs. The main room and the pantry were for me.

At night, when she became a monster, it was almost easier. Her violence felt honest, straightforward in a way her daytime self never was.

“You love me, don’t you, prec-ious?” She’d ask, one tired eye open on the couch as I walked by.

I couldn’t stand the way she called me “precious”.

“I do,” I’d whisper, moving past her quietly so I wouldn’t stir her further.

But in truth, it didn’t matter if I was in the pantry or not. If the priest was home, I wasn’t safe. Even my mother’s wrath was nothing compared to the priest. He moved like a shadow, his pale eyes and luminescent grin haunting every corner of the apartment. There was no hiding from him. Not in the pantry, not in silence, not even in prayer. Especially not in prayer.

He loathed my “episodes”, my seizures and dreams. He said they were lies, sins of the flesh, signs of demons clinging to my soul. His solution was always the same—things carved and beaten into my skin, each one a supposed banishment of evil. Some days, he called himself the lowest of sinners, humbled before God. Other days, he claimed to stand above the heavens themselves.

On that day in particular, the priest was home. Of course he was.

He had heavy boots. They always paced along the floor so intentionally slow.

Thump. Pause.

Thump. Pause.

Thump. Pause.

Thump. Pause.

I clenched my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable. He loved this game, teasing his arrival before throwing the pantry door open to drag me out. The beatings always followed. It’d make the floor a bloody mess, and I’d be nothing but boot prints and a half-dead thing gasping for breath.

Thump. Pause.

The boots stopped in front of the pantry door. And so the game was just beginning.

“Ba-by,” Mother slurred, the front door swinging open.

“Oh ba-by, have you seen my bless-ed prec-ious?” She asked.

Her drunken singsong floated through the apartment.

The boots retreated from the pantry.

Their voices grew loud and tense in a muffled argument, sharp and rising.

I strained my ears to listen.

“No, don’t,” Mother stammered.

I heard the priest’s heavy breathing, the sick sound of his lips pressing against her.

“No, I don’t want to—“

Her words faltered.

Then came the slap, sharp and brutal. A cry escaped her, followed by the sickening thud of her body hitting the floor.

I trembled, frozen, every nerve screaming at me to act, but I was rooted to the ground. She begged him to stop, her voice breaking.

But it continued, restless and savage. Each sound of her pain sliced through me, her cries fading into ragged gasps before falling silent.

What was he doing?

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

I opened the pantry door.

The dim light from the kitchenette revealed her crumpled body on the floor. The priest knelt over her, his hands clamped around her neck, shaking her limp form. Bloodied scratches lined his face, a desperate testament to her lost fight. Her eyes were lifeless.

Bless-ed prec-ious

Her ghostly voice echoed in my mind as I stared in utter shock.

He looked up.

The whites of the priest’s eyes burned me. I had never seen so much hatred in a human being. They turned my legs to stone and wrung the air from my lungs.

”She did this to herself,” He said aloud.

I couldn’t answer. His sneer broke the silence.

”Fucking look at you,” he spat, “You’ve pissed yourself all over my floor.”

Run.

My body would not obey.

“I can see the headline already,” he told me, “Some stupid druggie beats her kid to death and then goes off and dies, feeling sorry for herself. That shit happens every day, right? Won’t make the news for long.”

Please, legs. Just run.

The priest raved manically.

“It’s divine, Francis, why don’t you understand it? You and your mother—lost to Lucifer. If only you would’ve repented!”

He ran first.

He pivoted over the body and stumbled towards me, his limbs moving wildly as he tried to catch me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, tripping over my own legs after taking a half step. It felt like my lower body was full of TV static while I crawled away from him. His bloody hands grabbed my leg and pulled me towards him. His other hand grabbed my foot and he collapsed his knee into the back of my calf. I screamed as an indescribable pain tore my tendons apart.

He had me pinned to the floor. In a last ditch effort to free myself, my body twisted around and my fist made solid impact with his cheek. It wasn’t strong enough to stop him, but enough to loosen his grip on my legs. I heaved my body forward with every ounce of strength I had and faced him. But he recovered quickly from my swing and quickly fumbled to push me down again. I grabbed his shoulders and drove my other knee as hard as I could into his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs.

I acted on instinct when I saw my opening. The leg he had pinned was still absolutely useless and riddled with unbearable lighting, but that didn’t matter. My knee would need a brace for the foreseeable future because of the nerve damage he caused in just one night. I limped with ferocity and grabbed every surface I could as I propelled myself towards the bathroom. I could hear the priest getting up behind me.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump!

Thump!

THUMP!

Whether it was the sound of his boots or my heart trying to make its own escape, I wasn’t sure. I slammed the flimsy door in his face and heard his head splinter right through it as he tried to thwart my exit. I managed to turn the small lock on the door just as he began to crash his shoulder into it over and over.

“Let me in.”

He spewed atrocious words and threats as I rifled through the drawers of our bathroom sink. The mirror had been broken a long time ago, the dirty subway-tile floor that was often covered in baggies of pills pulled up in a lot of places. The ceramic sink counter and the toilet were shattered and mostly non-functional.

I knew their little secret. They probably thought I was too stupid to find it.

After slicing my fingers open desperately moving aside bits of razor blades, needles, and knives, I finally found them buried deep underneath: the priest’s gun and some loose bullets.

The door was about to come off the hinges.

I guessed that I’d only have a second or two before the holy man got inside. In actuality, I had three. A bullet had just been loaded into the chamber when he exploded inside and hurled himself right on top of me. He wrapped himself around me and beat at my back with all of his might, but I only braced myself and hugged the gun to my stomach.

His eyes were so wide. Sweat poured from his face, dripping on my shoulder and my neck.

“Give it to me!”

He screamed again, spit flying. His sweat mixed with my tears on the floor as what little strength I had left my body. It was a struggle I just couldn’t win. But losing could not and would not be an option, either. Every muscle in my body violently shook as I pulled sideways and managed to roll his weight off my shoulder.

I put the barrel between his eyes. The same pair of eyes that followed me everywhere. The very same.

The sound was deafening and the shock from the recoil was absorbed mostly by my shoulder. I either didn’t feel it at first or didn’t have the will to. I hoped his pearly white teeth were red with the stuff, too, but my body had no chance of moving. The priest’s was heavy on top of mine, and only getting heavier. I couldn’t see his face because what was left of it was lying on top of my stomach. With all of my adrenaline spent, I rested my head on the cold, dirty floor and lost consciousness to the sound of distant sirens. I didn’t know it at the time, but a concerned downstairs neighbor had heard when the fight had first begun and called the authorities. Every tenant in the apartment building knew of the couple living in 7B. The drugs, the fights, and the constant bullshit were brought to the landlord’s attention time and time again, but nothing was done about it until it was too late.

The wailing sirens got closer to the apartment as my eyes sagged shut. Strangely enough, in my hazy mess of a brain, they kind of started to sound like the hum of fluorescent lights.

***

My eyes opened and the episode ended, but the sound of fluorescent lights did not. As a matter of fact, their brightness was so deeply shocking that I shouted, scrambling to cover my face. I groaned from the thunderclap headache and turned on my side, still covering my eyes. Holding my face and sitting up on the comfortable leather examining table I was lying on, I gradually worked up the mental clarity to peek through my fingers. The room reeked of antiseptic ointment and hand sanitizer. Recent memories struck me very suddenly and I realized that I had passed out while I was on the porch, so why wasn’t I still outside?

I supposed I did ring the buzzer. Someone had probably discovered me the moment after I collapsed. Was I in a hospital? I rubbed my arms and tried to look around for any clue as to how I got there. Unmistakably, I was in a doctor’s office of some sort. It didn’t look like a hospital, though. There was no generic wall art or medical machinery. No nurses or doctors. No other patients.

Metal cabinets with red medical crosses on them lined the walls. There was a tidy desk with an empty rolling chair in front of it. I could see the doors leading to other rooms, but I didn’t feel like sneaking around. In all honesty, I felt just plain embarrassed. What was the point of trying to come up with a clever introduction when all they got was me having a seizure on their porch? I decided I’d have to sincerely apologize for any stress or trouble I may have caused and then promptly find an ocean to walk into.

The click of a door handle turning nearly scared me out of my shoes, and a tall man with round spectacles and a lab coat walked in, inspecting a clipboard. A small strand of his neat black hair hung over his face as he passed me without looking up or even saying a word. He seemed engrossed in whatever papers he was looking through. With his back turned to me, he tucked the clipboard back under his arm and hummed a tune to himself as he perused a pile of paperwork on his desk.

I cleared my throat.

Papers and files flew in every direction, layering the floor in a paper snow.

“Scheiße!” The doctor exclaimed. 

I smacked my hand over my mouth in shock and gaped as he whirled around, his glasses crooked on his nose and his hands still up in the air from when he threw the papers. The rolling chair glided across the room and everything became very, very still.

Chapter Text

“Hi,” I said softly, eyeing all of the papers scattered across the floor.

‘Great,’ I thought, ‘maybe he’ll be kind enough to point me towards the nearest shovel.’

The doctor flushed when he realized his arms were still held very cactus-like in the air. They fell hastily to his sides.

“I’m so sorry, my dear!” He laughed, “I should have been paying more attention; it would have saved me the heart attack!”

I was floored. A German! Television had made them seem so much more aggressive, but the doctor’s voice was gentle and reassuring. My curiosity got the better of me. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Wow! Are you really German?”

I wanted to slap myself. No way I had just said that to his face. He nodded, steadying his spectacles with a smile.

“You’re quite a long way from home now, too, aren’t you? Did you have a nice trip?”

I nodded, grateful for his dexterous change of subject. He hunched over and started picking up the mess, shuffling papers in his hands as he tried to put them in their correct order again. Feeling very at fault for making him drop all of his documents, I gingerly climbed off the table to help him.

My right leg—the one with nerve damage—often worked just fine no matter how much strain I could possibly put on it. I could run, walk, jump, or climb and it would usually hold up nicely as long as my brace was still on. I guess it just slipped my mind that stress would make the flare-ups come, but I didn’t realize I was all thumbs until I was off the table and my leg buckled right out from under me.

I gasped as a searing pain made me fall against the table. I grabbed the side of it with one arm and tried to pull myself up by my elbow, but the pain intensified and brought me back to the ground. I held my leg and gritted my teeth as wave after wave of fire took root from my hip to my ankle. My eyes were shut so tight that my face hurt. I was able to stop myself from swearing too profusely in front of the doctor, but I couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that escaped from between my teeth. I heard a gasp, with him having definitely noticed me on the ground, and the rustle of several more papers dropping. A firm hand fell on my shoulder. Another fell on top of my knee brace.

“Francis? Was ist los? Is it your leg?”

I couldn’t speak, my brain was too full of blaring alarms.

ALERT!

ALERT!

YOUR KAPUT ASS LEG IS HAVING A TANTRUM AGAIN!

ALERT!

“All good. All good,” I wheezed.

He didn’t seem convinced. One arm hooked gently under my legs and his other arm wrapped around my back. He picked me up with surprising ease.

“Damn! Damn! Damn it!”

I really was grateful for the assist, but I couldn’t stop the slew of words that followed because of course his arm had to be right under the hinge of my knee. He seemed unfazed by my cursing though, simply saying “sorry, sorry, sorry,” as he set me back down on the table.

His eyes were fixed on my leg, his brows furrowed as if he was solving a difficult riddle in his head.

“It’s nerve damage,” I told him matter-of-factly.

His eyes looked down at mine.

“Nerve damage? From what exactly?”

It had been a long time since I had been interrogated by an adult. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands.

“It was a while ago.”

I glanced at him again. His arms were folded and he tapped his finger in the crook of his elbow. His expression was stern but somehow understanding. I looked away and stared at the cabinets as if they had grown legs and started doing the do-si-do.

“That’s alright,” the doctor said with a smile. He turned away from me and sighed with his hands on his hips. I followed his gaze to the new mess of papers on the floor. Apparently he had dropped them when he ran to help.

I paused for a moment.

“Wait. You said my name earlier. Do you know me?”

The doctor kneeled and started scooping up files again.

“Ja, of course I know you. The Administrator sent me your medical file yesterday morning.”

“The Administrator?” I asked, “then—wouldn’t that mean you’re one of the…?”

“One of the?” He echoed absently, stacking the papers on his desk.

“One of the mercenaries?” I asked, the word still feeling strangely alien to me.

“Mhm.” He hummed.

He seemed content now that everything was in order. He walked over to the swivel chair that had made its way across the floor and pulled it behind him back to the desk. A heavy moment of silence blanketed the room. It took me a second to realize that my manners had completely escaped me.

“What’s your name?” I asked. He turned to me and I couldn’t help but wonder if he always had that look of mischief in his eyes.

“I’m Ludwig, the team’s Medic.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Ludwig.” I offered my hand and he shook it firmly.

“The pleasure is all mine, Francis.”

He released my hand and grabbed a clipboard hanging by the exam table. I tried peering over his shoulder to see it, but I wasn’t tall or sneaky enough to manage that. He clicked his tongue and turned around, studying the sheet with as much focus as he did when he first came in.

“Now, Miss Francis, since I have you here, I wanted to get your required medical examination completed right away. The sooner that’s done, the sooner we can get your information logged into the respawn system.”

“What’s a respawn system?”

He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.

“Ah, that’s a conversation for another day, yes? You’ve had a long trip.”

That was very true. I flew on a plane for the first time and landed in the United States just two days before that. From there it was a never-ending storm of train rides, bus fares, and phone calls from the Administrator.

I nodded.

“Will I get to meet the others soon? Will I get to see my dad?”

Revitalized by the thought, I was practically a hair away from just bolting. Medic could probably sense my impatience and grabbed a pen, dragging his swivel chair across from me and sitting down.

“Don’t worry. This will only take a few minutes,” he noted absently. His nose was buried deep into his papers again. He flipped through a couple pages and clicked his pen.

“Now,” he cleared his throat, “about the seizure you had. Is it a result of a condition? Is it something that happens frequently?”

“It’s kind of a condition…I guess.” I was hesitant to tell him about the dreams. I didn’t want him to think I was mentally unwell so soon after meeting.

“I’ve had it since I was pretty little. First they said it was epilepsy, then later said that was wrong.”

I wrung my hands together and paused until the sound of the pen scribbling stopped.

“I guess no one knows what I have. The seizures haven’t been linked to any cause.”

“How frequently do you have them?”

“I don’t really know. Once every week maybe? Sometimes less, sometimes more.”

He nodded, transcribing everything again.

“And the nerve damage? When did that occur?”

“About three years ago, I think.”

More scribbling.

I twiddled my thumbs and swung my legs back and forth. The pins and needles were still there, but who doesn’t do a little kick when you’re sitting on a table?

“Any allergies?”

“Bees.”

“Are you deathly allergic to bees?”

“I’m not sure, I was just told I’m allergic.”

“Any health conditions that affect breathing, heart rate, or the blood?”

“No.”

The pen clicked and Medic dropped the clipboard in his lap with a smile.

“Well, that’s about everything! I’ll just do a basic physical and you’ll be on your way.”

He walked over to his desk and filed away the form he was filling out, whistling merrily. I hugged my arms to my stomach, feeling very uneasy all of a sudden. If I had known before I collapsed that I would get a physical after waking up, I’d have put some concealer on my back or something.

‘He’ll ask questions.’

I looked around for a bathroom to excuse myself to. I didn’t have any makeup on me, but I figured I could work something out if I just had a few minutes to think. I waved my hand slightly, trying to get his attention.

“Uh—“

“Sorry to keep you waiting!”

Medic turned and walked towards me with a bag full of his supplies. I clammed up. The bathroom idea was already a bust. He set the bag on the table next to me and produced a stethoscope. To my confusion, he started rubbing the metal part on his lab coat.

“It can feel a bit cold,” he warned with a laugh.

He reached towards my shirt and I flinched away. Medic retracted his hand immediately, alarmed.

“Oh dear, I apologize for startling you. You don’t have to take your shirt off, you can just lift the bottom a little bit. I forgot to mention that, I’m very sorry.”

“Oh—alright.” I tried to stay still and train my eyes somewhere else as he reached for me again.

“Deep breaths in, bitte.”

I lifted the hem of my shirt slightly upward. There was a palpable hesitation in the air.

“Francis? Where did you get these?”

I paused, chewing my lip.

“I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to finish my physical,” I said.

”Please?” I added quietly.

“Yes. Sure, of course,” he murmured, “I’m sorry, it was rude of me to ask.”

He gently slipped the stethoscope up my back. I squeaked. The thing was freezing. He laughed.

“I told you.”

After a bit of deep breathing, he put the stethoscope away and did simpler things. He took my temperature and checked my reflexes. I was right to notice the slightly devious look in his eyes and the easy maniacal tinge of his laughter early on. The Medic regaled me with tales of the team’s many adventures outside of the battlefield: getting kicked out of bars, getting kicked out of libraries, getting kicked out of hospitals, and just getting kicked out of places in general. He even told me that he had his medical license revoked and therefore was a doctor in name only.

I asked him if I could still call him “doctor” because that just sounded much simpler, and he said of course I could. I then asked half-jokingly if he could get band-aids with Hello Kitty on them for me, and he said of course he would. I already felt very close to the man of unethical medicine and was a little bit sad when the examination was over. Other than Miss Pauling, he was the first kind soul who had successfully put my mind at ease.

“Dr. Ludwig, what about my dad? Will I get to see him tonight?”

“That’s a good question. Mick is always out and about somewhere. If I had a guess, he’s probably in the woods.”

“In the woods? Why would he be out there?”

“He has an RV parked somewhere. He’s always out and about, being an outdoorsman. It’s his thing.”

I hugged my knees to my chest and winced, trying to stretch out the dull ache in my leg, but it wouldn’t extend all the way. Medic regarded me with a troubled look again, his eyes trained on my brace.

“The flare-ups are caused by stress. I’ll get it under control eventually.”

He hummed with interest and stood up.

“Let me get you a cold compress for that.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to—“

“Don’t apologize, my dear. It’s no trouble.”

He rummaged through one of the big metal cabinets and re-emerged, victorious, with a plastic-wrapped compress. I wasn’t sure how to put it on but was too embarrassed to ask. I offered my hand to take the compress but he waved it away.

“It’s alright Francis, I’ve got it.”

I thanked him, relieved.

He unwrapped some gauze and I gingerly slid my brace off my knee. The pain was less intense but still enough to nearly make my eyes water. Medic watched my facial expressions carefully. After a while, we were able to wrap everything together with the gauze and the “operation” was complete. I grinned at him.

“Thank you, Medic!”

He pushed the strand of hair out of his face, seeming proud of himself.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

He glanced at his watch and did a double take.

“My God, it’s morning already!”

“What?”

He turned his wrist towards me and I saw that he was telling the truth. It was already almost dawn.

“I must’ve been out for a long time,” I muttered.

“Yes, it was a long night.”

“Sorry to keep you up, doctor.”

“Think nothing of it.”

He snickered to himself and ran a hand through his hair again.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Well…I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but,” he glanced at his watch again, “well, everyone was planning to meet you before it was time for bed, but I’m afraid it’s already well past that!”

I buried my head in my hands, unable to fathom my own embarrassment.

“No matter!” He said with a wink, “They’ll just have to wait in suspense until morning! Like waiting for Weihnachtsmann!”

I shifted a bit as I prepared to climb off the table again. The Medic saw this and draped my arm over his shoulder to help me stand.

“Yes, that’s the way! Sehr gut.”

He patted me on the back as I hopped a little on one leg. I figured it would be wise not to put much weight on the bad one, but I was standing now just fine for the time being.

“Medic, do you know where the stuff that I came with is?”

“Just a moment.”

He scurried into a little side room and came back with my hat in one hand and my bag in the other. I took them with a grateful nod and looked towards the two steel doors I assumed were the exit.

“Do you know where my room is, by chance?”

“Go all the way down this hallway when you leave, then make a right and go down that hallway. It’s a little further down, but your room is the third door on the left.”

“Thank you Medic.”

“Sleep well, Francis. Be careful now.”

After sharing our goodbyes, I hobbled clumsily down the dark hallways and across the marbled vinyl and linoleum flooring. I was delightfully surprised when I found my door and realized it had a name plate on it.

‘Francis,’ it obviously read. But still, it was pretty dang cool.

The wooden door opened with a quiet creak and I tentatively felt around the wall for a switch. It ended up being one of those fancy push buttons, so I was wholeheartedly amazed when the ceiling light came to life and revealed possibly the most underrated gift of all. At Ms. Barnaby’s, I had shared a room with four other kids. In my new room, not only did I have a full bed to myself, but I also had a literal bathroom. I had to pinch myself. So psyched, I just tossed myself onto the bed and stayed there for a good, long while. Finally, I tossed my bag on the floor and ripped out a pair of jammies and my toiletries. I promised myself that I was going to remember that night forever—the night that I slept like royalty.

Chapter Text

The unmistakable song of a dark-eyed junco ushered in the early-morning sunshine dust, tangoing, confined, within a sliver of light from my window. Surely the sun rising before me was a completely different star than the one I had been seeing my whole life—it had never looked this full. But my mind wasn’t prodding around dark corners, it was hard at work making sense of every chorus swimming across the grasslands. When I climbed out from under the covers, I felt a bit chillier. But there was no heaviness tugging at my eyelids or urge to climb back in and just sleep the day away. For once, things were just nice and docile, maybe even perfect. I sat on my unmade bed for a few minutes, staring slack-jawed at the clouds sluggishly passing by on a reddening canvas. More often than not, that meant storms were on the horizon. And maybe, ever the optimist, it meant that the fields would get a much needed respite from the sun’s parching touch.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the knee brace off my nightstand. I sent a silent thank you to Medic as I unwrapped our thoughtfully made compress and gently slid the brace over my knee. On that note, I figured there would be no better way to start the day than with some light stretching to get the blood flowing and the joints limber. Carefully, I worked the sleepiness out of my right leg before I started gingerly twisting myself to and fro. Whenever Ms. Barnaby was up to it, she would facilitate this process.

“The key is in the breathing,” she would say, “I would recommend exhaling now. Good. That’s the ticket.”

Heeding her old advice, I exhaled slowly as I got up from the floor. Then, letting my mind wander away, I pondered the whereabouts of the base’s other inhabitants as I stepped towards my bag for something to wear. I was disappointed when I remembered that the only clothes I had packed were my pajamas and clothes from the day before. Ms. Barnaby had told me to pack light. Sighing, I pressed the shirt to my face and was relieved that it didn’t smell.

‘It’ll do.’

I got dressed again and dragged my thumb down the melodic teeth of a comb that had seen better days. My head threatened to spring off my neck as I wrestled every tangle. It had always been the type to put up a fight, long and uneven from years of DIY hair cuts in a crowded kitchen. Preferring to stick out under a hat, those curls were about as tamable as a bucking bronco. Trying my best to multitask, I hopped on one foot trying to get my socks on while a toothbrush dangled out of my mouth. But after tempting a near-concussion on the clean porcelain of the sink, I decided to take it one step at a time, perching on the edge of the bathtub as I put on my socks and shoes.

Around my room I paced, trying to calculate how I was going to proceed. Slow and steady wins the race. Yes! That’s something I had heard ever since I was little. I’d just have to take it easy and see what happens.

‘No need to overthink it.’

My hand touched the silver lock on the doorknob and I promised that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. The door swinging open was muted by the long, reaching hallway. I peered left and right before stepping completely outside and found it was completely empty. Glancing downward, I was surprised to find a little box sitting on the floor between my feet. I picked it up and unfolded the cardboard flaps to find a few stacks of cold compresses tucked neatly under a handwritten note:

Frankie,

Please keep these in your room in case you should need them. If you run out or simply need someone to apply them for you, the doors to my office are always open.

Sincerely,

Medic

I smiled to myself as I tucked the note back into the box and set it on the inside of the door. I made another solemn vow that no matter how tired I would most definitely be later, I would unpack my bag and organize everything, lest I go insane. The door closed behind me with a quieter squeak as I ventured out into the hall. A part of me wished I had asked Medic for directions the night before, seeing as every turn and fork in the road led to lots of identical-looking rooms. Meanwhile, I looked for a sign or a map that could point me in the right direction. Even as I kept walking forward, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going in circles. This place was certainly big and confusing, but I didn’t understand why.

I became frustrated when I happened upon a very familiar set of crossroads again. One could tell by the same shorting fluorescent light that blinked on and off.

“I’m lost. Of course I’m lost.”

I rubbed my eyes and sighed, annoyance coiling up like hot copper wire and making itself comfortable between my shoulders. Sure, I wasn’t going to let a confusing choice of architecture spoil my good mood, but I still muttered to myself as I tried to remember which way I hadn’t gone yet.

 A whisper nesting between my ears told me that somebody else was there, too. I think it was supposed to sound like Medic’s voice, but something about it was rather off-key and monotone. I stilled like a deer in crosshairs and tried to listen for anything over the sound of metal rattling around in the vents. Maybe I couldn’t see or hear them, but I could sense them. Somebody was close by.

“Hello?” I called.

“Francis,” Came a reply.

I yelled out in surprise, swiveling to my left. An indescribable sound was followed by a tall, lanky man materializing no less than a few feet in front of me.

“Do not be afraid, Francis, everything is alright,” he said. The man dressed in that expensive suit and balaclava spoke carefully. Anyone could spot pure silk from a mile away and he was drowning in it. I’d have liked to imagine how much it set him back, but I was honestly too busy screaming and throwing the contents of my pockets at him in self-defense. And this poor gentleman watched, unmoved, as my wallet, keys, and some other random junk made an arc in the air and scattered uselessly across the ground around him. Within a beat, he just as swiftly crouched down and gathered all of my things off the floor, returning them to me in one graceful motion.

“Ah, I hope you can forgive me for startling you.”

I took my stuff from him, keeping a safe distance, “Yeah.”

He seemed to find that funny, and his laugh sounded genuine, but I wasn’t in a joyful mood after getting shocked so bad.

“Don’t concern yourself,” he mused, pulling a cigarette out of a silver case while I barely managed to hide my disdain. He struck at it with a golden lighter and I wondered exactly how much money this guy had to burn.

“How did you…?” I murmured.

“What?” He asked, the lighter’s flame coming to life.

“How did you appear like that? You weren’t there before.” I could feel myself getting stressed again, my leg tensing.

He studied me carefully, taking a long drag and turning his head away to let the smoke whistle from the corner of his mouth. He held the cigarette in his lips and partially rolled up his cuff to reveal a silver watch with a small screen. He extended his arm out to me.

“Press that button, the one right there.”

I didn’t want to get too close to this strange man and whatever tricks he literally had up his sleeve, but he didn’t seem like the patient type. So I hesitantly stepped forward and examined the device.

“This button here?” I asked, pressing a small one underneath the screen.

Suddenly, that odd noise sizzled through the air again and the man was gone. I leapt backwards in shock, aghast when I noticed the lit cigarette still hanging in the air where his mouth used to be. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I reached out and gasped when I felt the soft fabric of the man’s suit under my fingers. I quickly withdrew my hand.

“You’re invisible. How is that possible?”

The man appeared again, existence seeming to bend around him like water.

“I would have as much trouble explaining it as you would trying to understand it,” he said, maybe a little amused by my curiosity. He took another pull off his cigarette and I tried to fix my face. The natural thing to wonder was what I was supposed to say next.

‘Don’t overthink it.’

Right. The basics.

“What’s your name?” I asked. The question was followed by a fit of coughing. In my defense, I had tried to keep it in for the sake of politeness. He seemed to get the hint and ground up his cigarette stub on the case’s lid.

“Classified,” He deadpanned, finality punched into every syllable.

“Oh.”

“It’s nothing personal. It’s my job as a Spy to keep such details confidential for my sake and yours.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you know how to say?” He asked sharply.

I was quiet. This man was suddenly not very friendly.

“Do you know where I am? I wanted to find some other people but I got lost,” I explained.

“I was already planning on heading that way. Follow me.”

Spy turned at a precise angle and started walking down a narrow, nonexistent tightrope without another word. I raised no objections but unhappily accepted that he would take some getting used to.

Chapter Text

We retraced my steps, heading back toward my room. Turns out, I had been running in circles before Spy showed up. Passing the door to my quarters, I noticed how much more pleasant the hallways felt compared to the oppressive humidity outside. The air conditioning must have cost a small fortune to run in such a sprawling fortress, I figured. Then, as we walked on, I realized that I hadn’t seen the stretch of doors lining the halls the night before. Each one bore a nameplate—names that belonged to people I couldn’t put a face to. I studied them, committing each to memory, even as Spy, his impatience palpable, drifted further ahead. The nearest door, just diagonal to mine, was labeled Mick.

“Ah!” I said, a bit too loudly. “This is my dad’s room, isn’t it?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, petite fille. He spends most nights in that dreadful van.” Spy lit another cigarette with a practiced flourish, dragging out the word “van” as if it left an alkaline taste in his mouth. I grimaced. He was trying to get under my skin—I knew that much. I wasn’t fluent in French, but I could catch his meaning.

“I’m not little, I’m just a late bloomer.”

Spy raised an eyebrow, a wicked smile playing at his lips. “Ah, mon cher,” he said with exaggerated pity, “is that something you’re sensitive about?”

Being called a “shorty” wasn’t really anything new, and I’d usually just let it roll off my back—or, at least, fake indifference. But the sting never entirely disappeared.

“No,” I said, fixing him with a glare. “But using pet names with someone you’ve just met? That’s bad manners.” For a moment, his expression faltered. Spy stiffened, and I caught a flicker of something akin to surprise.

“Is that something you’re sensitive about?” I mocked, brushing past him without waiting for a reply. I stopped when I reached the next door and paused to commit the name to memory.

Jeremy

“Scout,” said Spy over his cigarette. I nodded and moved to the door across the hallway.

Misha

“Heavy.”

 “Is Medic’s room around here?” I asked.

“It’s inside the Medbay.”

“Oh, I see.” I supposed that was convenient in the event of an emergency. I continued to zigzag.

Tavish

“Demoman.” 

Dell

“Engineer.”

 Spy

“Stay. Out.”

”I wasn’t gonna,” I sighed, rolling my eyes.

  Pyro

Spy shrugged, then whistled, pointing at his head. I moved on.

 Jane

“The Soldier,” Spy said with an unpleasant look on his face, “All I can say is good luck.”

I eyed him a little. He was one to talk. And that was the last of the eight doors, excluding Medic’s, in the barrack section of the base. Walking side by side, we passed a large, open room with a floor of gleaming white subway tiles that reflected the overhead lights like a mirror. The entrance to the room curled around the wall in a bend that reminded me of public bathrooms, blocking any view of what lay inside.

“What’s in there?” I asked, glancing at the clinical, blinding expanse.

“The shower room,” Spy replied, his tone dry. “It’s also the locker room. And the bathroom.”

“I thought so,” I muttered, a wave of nervous laughter rolling over me as I stared at the entrance.

“We can consider ourselves fortunate, Francis,” he added, shaking his head with solemnity. “You, Pyro, and I have private bathrooms in our quarters. The same cannot be said for the other seven.”

That thought made the laughter fizzle again. Sharing a space like that with seven grown men? Hell no.

“Yeah,” I said, “I won’t take that for granted.”

Spy nodded faintly, but his steps didn’t falter. The conversation ended there, leaving only the echo of our footfalls on the floor. Moments stretched in shaky silence, long enough that I assumed he had nothing more to say. But then, his voice broke through, softer now, the sharp edges dulled by the steady pull of his cigarette.

“You collapsed yesterday,” he said, the faintest note of concern threading through his words. “I wasn’t there when it happened, but… I do hope everything is well.” Something in my chest tightened at his tone—unexpectedly warm, almost tender.

“Yes,” I carefully put, “But I’m alright. It’s… a medical condition I’ve had for a long time.”

His brow furrowed faintly. “And what does that entail?”

“I have seizures.”

To that his eyes flickered downward, pausing briefly at my knee brace before correcting themselves and looking away.

“Unrelated,” I explained.

“Ah, I see,” he said, and wisely dropped the matter with a “pardon my asking.” We continued, the silence now carrying an undercurrent of shared understanding. Finally, Spy gestured to a pair of double doors hanging wide open at the end of the hallway. Bright light spilled out, washing the floor in golden hues. Laughter drifted through the air, sharp and vibrant, sending a charge of anticipation that shook my very bones. Realizing that I had no real plan, the weight of my impending life-changing-moment left me grasping for something to say. Sensing my hesitation, Spy put his hand on my shoulder.

“I can introduce you.”

All wide eyed and sweaty-palmed, I nodded gratefully. So, with long strides, he guided me through the metal doors and into the light.

The room was enveloped in a musty yet oddly comforting scent that teetered on the edge of familiarity. Plush couches upholstered in deep red fabric sat in a semi-circle, their worn crevices speaking of countless gatherings. They all faced a colossal television screen that stretched across an entire wall, the screen dark now but commanding attention nonetheless. Above the couches, neon beer signs flickered and hummed. One in particular caught my eye—a pink flamingo sporting sunglasses, stooping beside a margarita glass. The bold lettering beneath read, “Beach Daze!” It looked like a window into a kitschy dream. To my right, a bar gleamed with rows of bottles lined neatly on its shelves, the stools in front of it rarely empty. On my left, a dormant fireplace was flanked by tall, built-in bookshelves overflowing with mismatched spines. Some nearby reading chairs rested on a vibrant red-and-yellow rug and above it all, stained glass lamps hung from the ceiling like suspended jewels, their intricate patterns scattering rainbows across the chilly, stone floor. At the center of it all, a grand poker table stood like the beating heart of the room, a few scattered decks of cards hinting at the games that had been played.

The smell of eggs and bacon poured from a connecting space, pulling my gaze toward an adjoining dining area and kitchen. The room teemed with life. Laughter clung to the air, thick and intoxicating, an unspoken promise of belonging. The sheer force of it was almost enough to knock me back a step. Spy cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen.”

The laughter and talking fell silent, and I could feel myself turning scarlet as each face went from Spy’s to mine. I could swear I shrunk a little bit.

“She needs no introduction, but this is Francis.”

Much to my dismay, he then stepped to the side, leaving me out in the open. My eyes peeled across the small crowd of people who probably wondered why I wasn’t saying anything. Spy cleared his throat again and raised an eyebrow at me with a half smile. I managed to lift my hand, heavy as lead, and wave a little. At least it broke the spell.

“Francis!” A familiar voice shouted happily.

“Medic?” I searched for his face among the group and found it. He wasn’t wearing his lab coat or his gloves now, but he was still wearing his nice shirt with the crème-colored vest and red tie. Spy took a step back as he came to greet me, and to my utter surprise, the doctor wrapped me in a hug before setting me down with a guilty look on his face.

“I never gave you directions! I was becoming sure that you had gotten lost.”

“Spy found me. He showed me the way,” I replied.

The doctor tipped his glasses on his nose and pointed a loaded look at the Spy.

“How nice of him.”

The Spy placed a hand on his heart, feigning insult. “Doctor, that hurts me. Are you implying that I’m a bad person?”

The Medic blinked back at him innocently.

“Hmm? I didn’t say anything like that.” Then he turned back to me with a warm smile.

“Come, come! You must say hello!”

And with that, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and whisked me away towards the couches. Spy took a seat at a chair by the fireplace, watching the scene unfold before him as he lit up another smoke for a job well done. As we approached, many of the mercenaries rose from their seats or craned their necks to get a better look from where they were sitting. I glanced left and right at each of them as a murmur befell the room.

“Everyone, Francis. Francis, everyone.”

I waved again, and it was a little easier this time. The doctor pointed to a man with an eyepatch, stirring now from a deep nap. The culprit was a bottle hanging from his limp hand.

“That’s Tavish, our demolitions expert.”

“G’day Fran-cis,” he managed with a yawn, “don’t mind me, lass, I’m just…” he trailed off and his head fell back on the couch cushion with a snore. A lot of the men laughed and whistled at him, but I could only clutch at my sleeve a little sadly. Then Medic nodded to a man that was reading a magazine on the floor before doing a double and triple-take.

“Scout!” Medic gasped, “Mein Gott—Put that away!” A hand was clasped over my eyes, but I had seen clear as day that the magazine Jeremy held was the kind you find on special racks at the gas station.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” I could hear the sounds of fumbling paper before Medic hesitantly took his hand off of my face. Scout seemed to be the youngest of the bunch. He looked at me carefully, probably trying to get a read. A few baseballs sat stagnant on the floor beside him.

“You… like to play baseball?” I guessed.

“I’m the best,” he replied. There was an unspoken spark of friendship in that moment. Somehow.

Medic mouthed a stern warning to him, then directed my attention to an absolute mountain of a man sitting at the end of the couch. Despite the fact he was clearly the leanest, meanest, fighting machine-est in the room, I was unafraid of him. Something about his presence was wordlessly reassuring. Medic smiled.

“This is Misha: weapons expert. I work with him closely on the field.”

“Hello, Francis. It is so good to finally meet you.” The man said it with sincerity, but his eyes harbored deep thought. His posture was slouched and he glumly looked away. Medic tilted his head.

“Heavy, is something the matter? You seem upset.”

“It is Sasha. She has disappeared. And without her, I am lost.”

I glanced around, concerned but unsure of what exactly I was looking for. Was Sasha a little girl? A woman? Maybe a pet of some sort?

“Who cares? Just get a new stupid freakin’ gun,” Scout interjected, reclining as he studied the worn seams of his baseball. Heavy turned to Scout, slowly, like he was going to rip him in half.

So “Sasha” is Heavy’s gun.

I closed my eyes, humming faintly with interest as I reached for something deep in the back of my mind. My mother’s voice rolled across my ear. The cold weight of its breath. Opening my eyes, I ignored the hairs standing up on my neck.

“The annex?” I tentatively echoed.

Now some eyes were scrutinizing me very closely. But Misha looked up at me with a surprised expression.

“My Sasha. She is in…annex?”

Clearly, I hadn’t thought that through. Honestly, I didn’t know we even had an annex. Much less where it was. Bells were ringing behind Spy’s unyielding eyes.

“The annex? And when did you find yourself there, Francis?”

Shit. Twist my arm why don’t you.

“I just figured that if we had an annex, maybe it was there. It’s easy to lose things in, uh, annexes.”

He crossed one leg over the other and stayed quiet, not entirely satisfied by my answer. Heavy surrendered his seat on the couch and nodded at me with palpable hope.

“I forgot to check annex. Will be back.”

He carefully maneuvered around us and left the room with quickening footsteps.

“Hooh!” Laughed the doctor, “Never a dull moment, ja?” His gaze lingered on the doorway.

I studied a man with overalls and goggles I couldn’t quite see through, who nursed a beer with a smile on his face. He looked very comfortable in his lounging chair and I almost didn’t want to disturb him, but he stood up to greet me in the blink of an eye. He stuck out a gloved hand and I shook it, hoping I was squeezing hard enough.

“Well now, look at you!” He said with a grin, “Ain’t she just a picture of her daddy, boys?” Many of the men nodded their agreement. I flushed, feeling proud for no particular reason. A bashful smile was spreading across my face before I could stop it.

“Are you from the Wild West?” I stared, owlish.

“Er, a bit further south, darlin’. Texas.”

“Wow,” I was starstruck, “What’s your name?”

“Dell. Or Engineer, at your service.”

He hit the doctor playfully on the arm and winked at me.

“Don’t let Medic here give you no trouble.”

He passed us and went to the fridge to grab another beer while he whistled away. Medic rubbed his stinging arm as he regarded a man with a helmet. I couldn’t see anything above his nose.

“Francis, this is Jane Doe, the Soldier.”

“Hi,” I said politely. Was I supposed to salute or something?

“Oh, hello, Francis!” He said with unexpected joviality. Soldier then looked down, scowling at Jeremy, who had been tying the laces of his combat boots together when he wasn’t looking.

“You want me to turn your head inside out, you sorry excuse for a—“

“Now hold on,” Dell interrupted, handing Soldier a beer, “You can send ‘im to respawn after Francis is all settled in.”

I didn’t know what respawn was, but laughed behind my hand nonetheless. The Soldier nodded, putting his beer on the floor while he retied the laces of his boots. Jeremy seemed to think he had won and made a rather unseemly gesture at him. In one swift motion, Soldier swung his arm into Scout’s stomach and knocked the wind out of his lungs. He rolled on the ground, moaning and groaning like a frog.

Medic nudged me and nodded to the only other member of the group who hadn’t been addressed. I felt a little uncertain when I saw them. The gas mask. The fireproof suit. There was something indescribably chilly about them.

“This is Pyro,” said the doctor.

I stared into the empty black voids of the gas mask’s goggles. My reflection in their centers rooted my feet to the floor. For some reason time seemed to grind to a slow, steely halt as I heard the wail of fire sirens somewhere in the back of my head.

“Hello Pyro,” I said, breaking from my trance.

They waggled their fingers at me happily. Oh. Okay. So not so bad.

I looked around the room, confused.
“Wait, what about my dad? Does anyone know where my dad is?”

“Bad timing, lass, ye just missed him,” said Tavish, waking up just to bring the bottle to his lips again, “Won’t be back for a few hours.”

I was going to question him further but the sound of footsteps storming down the hallway cut the conversation short. Suddenly, Heavy appeared in the doorway, out of breath. In his arms was the most gigantic gun I had ever seen. I almost wanted to cling to Medic for protection but I was too dumbfounded by the sheer size of the weapon to move. Heavy grinned at me with wide eyes.

So that’s Sasha .

I smiled back when he walked to the massive poker table and laid Sasha down on top of it. I’m pretty sure I saw him whisper something to it as he patted the barrels.

“So you found it,” I noted cheerfully.

Misha turned his attention to me again.

“You did very well, Francis! It was in annex, just like you thought.”

He ambled over, his massive frame casting a shadow over me. His hands fell heavily on my shoulders and he lowered himself down.

“Thank you.”

I nodded frantically. His face was so serious it was a little scary, but I could tell he was just being respectful. Thankfully, his grin returned and Heavy left me to reclaim his spot on the couch. The atmosphere in the room seemed to lift now that he was in good spirits.

“As I was sayin,” said the Demoman, suppressing a burp, “The Admin’strator called yer dad up on business a couple hours ago.”

He looked like he might vomit for a second, but kept it together.

“Yeah, it’s a shame, alright,” he slurred, “He was really lookin’ forward to seein’ ya. Shoulda seen’a look on his face yesterday. Anyways…he should be back in a little…” he nodded off.

In an instant, the mercenaries all seemed to angle themselves towards me, sitting up straight when they remembered all the fuss from last night.

“Yeah, what the hell was that all about?” Scout asked.

“I had a seizure,” I blanched, startled by how quickly it had turned into an interrogation. They silently prompted me to go on.

“It’s a condition I have. But it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Francis, that is a big deal,” Dell said, his voice inflicting an odd sort of pain on me, “You coulda been hurt.”

“Da. Is true,” Heavy nodded,“When you rang doorbell and Heavy answered, you were on ground shaking. I told Scout to grab Doctor, but he was screaming and crying like little baby.”

“I didn’t!” The lad interrupted, his face flushed.

“Yeah he did,” Soldier deadpanned.

“Anyways,” Spy mercifully interrupted, “While Scout shivered like an infant, I fetched the Medic and we brought you inside.” He tapped his cigarette on an ashtray.

“Your father was in the room when we first brought you in,” his face hardened at the memory, “It’s like Demoman said. We were all very worried when you didn’t wake up, even after you stopped seizing.”

Medic took that as his cue.

“When I took you to the Medbay, your father kept watch over you until I made him leave to get some sleep. You may have woken up not long after he left, actually.”

“He was a bit jittery this mornin’ now that I think about it,” Dell pondered, “He wanted to check on you in your room, but the Doc told him it was best to let you sleep. You had a long day yesterday, after all.”

I chewed my nails, thinking hard about what they had told me.

“Your dad’s probably not gonna be back for a couple hours,” Scout suggested, “It might not be a bad idea to go exploring.”

That did pique my interest. When Miss Pauling had driven me to the base, we passed through a wildflower field at the edge of the forest.

That might be a good place to kill some time.

“I’m gonna be upfront with you, Francis,” Dell leaned forward in his seat as if to tell me a secret.

“We’ve got a surprise planned for ya, so it would be appreciated if you kept yourself busy until about…oh, say four o’clock? Your daddy should be back by then.”

A surprise? My eyes betrayed my excitement.

“Sure, I can do that,” I said happily, bidding everyone goodbye before I scampered off to my room, assuring Spy that I wouldn’t get lost.

I fished through my stuff for a small case. Ms. Barnaby had told me to pack light, but there was no way in hell I was going to leave behind my most treasured possession in the world: my camera. Then I grabbed my hat and stepped towards the door.

Oh, but wait. Where even was the front door?

I turned, amazing myself with my resourcefulness, towards my bedroom window.

Chapter Text

I clapped my hands and rubbed them together, my palms burning with effort. I took a deep breath and hooked my fingers under the window frame—it didn’t give at first. The old wood underneath was too swollen from disuse and years of water leakage. The white paint, chipped off with age, slipped under my fingernails and dug into the creases of my hands. It creaked and groaned as I applied the last of my waning strength. Just as I was about to let go, exhausted and with raw hands, the window cracked open with a loud pop!

A breath of fresh air crawled through my bedroom. Repositioning my arms, I heaved the window up as far as I could. The gap wasn’t big, but it would be enough. I popped my head outside and felt the summer breeze tussle my hair. With an uncertain glance, I checked to make sure that my knee brace was secure before pushing my arms outside, my legs coming through soon after.

I hesitantly rested my sneakers on the shingled roof just outside of my window.

Away we go.

I looked to my right and saw a little security camera in the corner where the roof met the wall, pointed diligently towards the ground below. I poked my head around the edge and waved at it with a smile. Looking over the edge of the roof, I tried to plan out a way to execute my grand descent as safely as possible. When I clocked a couple of garbage cans underneath a rain gutter, I sidestepped my way along the overhang.

Sorry, Medic, but you might be in business.

I could already picture him with his mouth in a thin line, tapping an impatient finger against the crook of his elbow. But I sat down anyway and dangled my feet above the ledge before I pushed my arms behind me and hurdled myself over the lip.

My legs kicked uselessly in the wind, the only thing keeping me from crashing to the ground below being my own two hands. I had the metal shingles in a death grip, heat absorbed from the merciless sun making sweat collect between my fingers. One after the other, my hands shifted along the edge until I was almost directly underneath the camera. I looked up and made a face before slowly shifting downwards to the gutter. Unfortunately, I overestimated how hard I would have to swing before catching it. I collided with the pipe for a brief moment while I scrambled to gain control of my fall. The sound of what may have been a pots and pans orchestra erupted through the silent day as I plummeted tailbone-first into the metal garbage cans.

The blue sky swam around me as I tried once, twice, then three times to pick myself off the ground. But once a minute of quiet disbelief passed, I gritted my teeth and sat up, the clanging of metal beneath me serving as a reminder that I didn’t stretch enough for that kind of work.

Shit!

I hadn’t landed right on top of my camera bag, but a long drop could do it in. I unzipped the bag and pulled the camera out of its case, turning it over in my hands. Mercifully, it was ok. I hugged it to my chest as I slowly brought myself to stand. The dust I kicked up from my little stunt began to settle, and I glanced up at the security camera, my face warming. I stifled a grimace and gave a thumbs up.

“I’m okay!” I called. I wasn’t sure if the camera was able to pick up audio, but it just felt like something I had to say anyway. At least for my own sake.

Directly in front of me was a gravel trail that reached about a half mile past the two fortresses and over a hill. On the other side were two crossroads: the left trail being an overgrown dirt path that led to the wildflower prairie while the other was paved and led into a subsection of the forest. I didn’t know where that one ended up, but my destination was the prairie. It would be a long walk, but I apparently had a lot of time on my hands. Carefully, I eased more weight on my right leg. It would be a long walk indeed.

Twenty minutes went by, then thirty. Birds flitted between the treetops as I limped over roots and through dry underbrush. Just beyond the clearing, I could see it: Expanses of gold, pink, and blue flowers as far as the eye could see, polka-dotting the emerald tall grass. My leg ached as I nudged the brim of my hat and peered over my shoulder. The fort looked small from out there among the cloying smell of flowers in full bloom.

I pushed branches and brambles aside, minding the occasional critter that scampered across my path. As if to commemorate the end of my journey, a breeze shook the birch grove. The great expanse of mineral valleys surrounding the town of Teufort made a horseshoe crater around the forest. As the wind traveled, a deep whistle fell across the still air to answer its call.

I stepped forward, taking the sun’s rays in stride as I approached an oak tree in the middle of the field. Crouching down with a little sigh, I unzipped the bag slung across my shoulder. Fishing through it, I sat criss-cross applesauce and put the camera on my knee. The slotted 105mm lens was gently fastened into place. Getting up, I began to stalk around the prairie, eyes alert and ears trained for even the slightest of sounds. The grass was soft underfoot, my steps noiseless.

A honeybee flitted softly from a purple flower, pollen gently falling from her legs as she hovered back and forth between each stamen. I took a few shots and pulled the camera away for a moment to examine my work. This place was something, alright.

The hours went by with a similar flavor. I would creep around with careful precision and see the world through the eyes of bugs and birds. After using a good bit of storage, I decided to take a break. My legs had been dragged across a field for a little too long. The rough bark of the oak tree was deceptively comfortable against my back as I enjoyed a quick rest. Despite lacking a timepiece, I figured that there was still a bit of time left before I had to retreat to the base. I put my hat over my face and yawned. As the sun reached soaring heights, so too did the temperature of noon. I slouched until my head was the only thing still resting on the tree. My face was nice and cool while my arms and legs soaked in the warmth. All had returned to the way it was that morning: pleasantly quiet.

The duet of crickets and cicadas ruled over the grasslands. And I, hypnotized by their song, fell into a shallow sleep.

-oculos claude-

Looking over my own shoulder, I stared into the prairie, at myself. What had been a gentle breeze was now persistent, whipping, writhing, and toiling cruelly against the soft bark of the trees. Rain fell in slanted sheets and pelted my face with sharp diamonds of water. I watched as my reflection ran her hands across the mounds of dirt, searching. And oh, the rain was just so painful. The reflection stopped abruptly, patting the same spot on the ground once and then twice. She hunched over and began to pull up handfuls of dirt with unmistakable desperation. When I turned to see the lightning-crowned sky, I could see the figures of several people standing around us, swallowed up by the dark.

Something had startled me awake with a lurch, my chest frozen mid-breath. Why was it dark? I brought my hand to my face and remembered that my hat was still there. Oh, I felt really silly. Pushing it back on my head, I sat up and twisted my head left and right to pinpoint what exactly I heard. The lingering taste of the dream had slipped through the cracks and was gone.

I figured after a moment that what I heard were shoes treading over grass about forty meters behind the tree. Was someone out looking for me? I wracked my brain, trying to imagine how long I was asleep for. The sun hadn’t moved much, so it couldn’t have been long. I stood up, using the tree as support while I stretched my arms above my head and walked around the wide trunk of the oak.

My hand went to my heart. An utter shock rocked my system.

He wasn’t facing me, but rather the horizon off to my left, about forty meters in front of me—just as I had thought. His hand shaded his face from the bright summer sky. He cast a long shadow across the ground, as if the grass was no less reverent to him than the ruling sun. He looked like the mercenary type; a professional, I supposed. His hat looked like golden silk in the sun and his sunglasses seemed to hold the star in tandem. He had a solemn expression on his face, lines traced by time, but it seemed more natural than any smile I had ever seen. He certainly looked the part of an outdoorsman.

If he really was, then wouldn’t it be natural to assume he was a good hunter? As a professional mercenary, he may have been one of the best hunters. Had he been tracking me all the way out here? I tilted my head at the thought, still unsure of what appropriate action was to be taken.

As if he sensed a wide set of eyes following him, the man’s back straightened and his head turned towards me. And for just a second, he was as frozen as I was. His shoulders slackened and we faced one another. He was far away, but I could see his hands leave his pockets and fall gently to his sides. His mouth opened slightly as if to say something, but no words were exchanged. Instead, his hand reached slowly upwards and he grabbed the top of his hat, bringing it to his chest. His short, dark brown hair was a little messy; presumably from wearing it all day. That made me smile a little bit. When my senses returned, a rush of adrenaline pushed a deep, unstoppable wind into my lungs.

“Dad?” I shouted.

As a force of habit, I pulled my camera off my neck as I ran towards him, my sneakers still carefully dodging the flowers. He came to meet me with long strides, and a beat of potent uncertainty passed between us when I screeched to a halt just a few feet away, as if I had subconsciously lost my nerve.

His eyes looked down at mine with a kind of gladness so tender and smoldering at the same time. He rubbed the back of his neck and bowed his head, at a loss for something say.

“Well I’ll be damned. Come on now, don’t be shy!”

He opened his arms and I found myself jumping into them with such force that he nearly met the ground. Unperturbed, He rested his face on top of my head. I squeezed him real tight, but he didn’t seem to care. We rocked on our feet like the steps to some wonky dance as he carded his fingers through my hair. Then he took a step back, lowering himself to eye-level.

“Let’s get a proper look at you,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin. One hand brushed strands of hair out of my face and the other aimed my head this way and that.

“You have your mother’s hair. Her freckles,” he observed with a gentle laugh.

“I must have your eyes then, I suppose,” I said, unable to hold back the tears that started to slip down my face. I had to try my hardest to turn the waterworks off before my nose started running.

“What’s all this, now, bug?” He asked, taking a kerchief out of his pocket and warmly blotting them away.

“My, you must’ve sprung a leak,” he said, patting my head. I rested my face against his shoulder and he went back to combing my knotted hair with his hands. He smelled like spicy cologne and those tree-shaped air fresheners people put in their trucks. And I realized that despite me being on my tiptoes, he was hunched down quite a bit to accommodate me. He was definitely one of the tallest of the mercenaries.

“It’s not fair how short I am,” came a muffle complaint. I didn’t really mean it, though. He snickered.

“You’re just a late bloomer,” he said, echoing what I myself had been saying for years, “And I’d like to think you’re just travel-sized. Perfect for every on-the-go occasion.”

With that, he picked me up and I clung to him, squealing. He set me down, apologizing. My tears now forgotten, he crouched down and picked up my hat, dusting it off before returning it to its rightful place on my head. His eyes fell with curiosity to the large camera I now clutched in my hands.

“You take pictures?” He asked, impressed.

I nodded, distracted as I flipped through each picture saved in the memory card with him. He complimented my attention to detail, which meant a lot since he didn’t seem like the most talkative person.

“Is this what you’ve been doing for the past few hours? That’s a lot of work,” He commented.

“Mhm,” I disassembled the attachments on the camera and looked towards the tree where I left my bag. I took a few steps in its direction but each one sent more and more pain up my leg. Of course it was choosing to flare up now. I hopped another step and then had to stop, rubbing my knee with one hand while I gritted my teeth.

Don’t drop the camera. Don’t drop the camera. Don’t drop the camera. Don’t drop the—

“Francis?”

My father was at my side immediately. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and hesitantly stretched a hand towards my brace.

“Francis? What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Flaring up. Probably from the walk here.”

“You walked here? Hell, that must’ve taken forever.”

He was quiet again, his gaze trained on my leg.

“I promise it’s not a big deal, I just have to get my case,” I said, pointing towards the tree. He looked that way and hummed.

“S’alright. I’ll grab it.”

He eased me to the ground and I stretched my leg, watching as he walked to the tree and retrieved my bag. He took great care to put everything back in their respective slots in the case. I appreciated how gently he handled the camera, as he could probably glean that it was very important. When that was finished, he slung the bag over his shoulder and sat next to me with that solemn look on his face. He seemed to be contemplating something. Of course, I was tending to my knee as I always did when it hurt, but the pain wasn’t ebbing in the slightest. His eyes narrowed in thought under his sunglasses and he scratched his bristly neck again.

“It’s four, should be gettin’ back to the base around now,” he murmured to himself.

“I’ll make good coyote food I bet,” I thought aloud. He humored me with a cocked eyebrow, then his eyes fell back on my leg.

“My van’s parked nearby, would you be okay with me carrying you?”

I sighed and looked over my shoulder at nothing in particular.

“I guess it’ll be worse if I try to walk there; so it should just be whatever’s quickest.”

He nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be careful, love, I promise.”

With that, Dad stood again and fished a pair of keys out of his pocket. He clicked a button on the fob and I heard the nearby beep of a truck unlocking. He nodded softly and put my arm over his shoulder. I grabbed his vest and held on as he hooked his other arm under my legs.

We (well, he) swiftly walked to the van while I tried to build a dam between my teeth that would keep the bad words from spilling out. He opened the passenger’s side door with one arm and set me down in the seat before shutting the door for me. He made his way around and climbed into the driver’s seat with a whistle.

“Thanks,” I said. We had just met and he was already carrying me because my leg was defective. It was gnawing at me.

“No worries,” the engine flared to life as he turned his head over the seat to back up, “Heard they planned a surprise without me there to help. Better be good.”

I glanced around the interior of his van. It wasn’t his R.V., but it still looked like it was taken care of quite nicely. The leather seats were very posh. I turned my head and looked giddily at my dad. He was just so nice. He looked at me, too, and grinned as he pushed his sunglasses further up his nose.

“Better buckle up, bug, the trail’s bumpy.”

Chapter Text

The ride was in fact bumpy, but short. Frankie noticed that when the van rocked especially hard after hitting a rough patch, her dad would glance at her to make sure everything was okay before returning his eyes to the road in front of him. He was a very careful driver. Frankie’s head rested gently on the window, filled with daydreams of pleasant, sun-soaked walks in the woods. That is, until the van hit another pothole and her forehead went PONK on the window.

“OW.”

“Hey! You alright?”

“Mhm.”

The climbing heat of noon spun a wavy mirage across the horizon as the base came into view, gravel crackling under the van’s tires. Francis rubbed the newly-acquired sore spot by her eye while Mick parked in an adjacent metal garage. The driver’s side door opened and her dad grunted as he ducked out of the seat and around the truck. She opened her own door and realized after a quick attempt to turn herself that she was still in no condition to walk. Sensing Frankie’s uncertainty, Sniper appeared in front of her with a smile, waiting for the okay to pick her up.

“Don’t worry, I can do it,” she said.

With embellished confidence, she looked at the dusty ground to her right and slid off of the seat. Mick stepped back to give her some room. He said nothing, but his eyes held hers with slight skepticism. Her sneaker braced firmly on the turf and she focused all her attention on the other as it followed. She had to be careful about how much she bent or stretched the affected area—one wrong move and her face would be in the dirt.

With two feet on the ground, Frankie made an effort to balance most of her weight on her left leg while the other was bent slightly at the knee.

“Ready?” Her dad asked.

She gave him two thumbs up. He returned the gesture and fumbled to grab his ID out of his pocket. Sniper turned and took a step towards the porch and she followed, forgetting for a moment that she would have to hop to get there. The top of her foot dragged across the ground and the right shin turned sharply inward to correct itself. Surprised by the sudden jolt of fury, her good leg stopped mid-step and sent Frankie plunging forward. She gasped as she braced for the feeling of sharp rocks, but was met instead by a soft shirt and two arms pulling her in. It was a blur of sudden movement, but her body had come to a complete stop before it could collide with the pavement; her legs still twisted together with her arms hanging in the air, grasping for nothing as she tried to make sense of what happened.

She could hear her own heartbeat as well as Sniper’s, who had both arms wrapped around her back and legs planted firmly into the ground on either side of her. Frankie lifted her face from his shirt and looked down at the ground where she would have been with numb amazement.

“Francis? Bloody hell, are you okay?”

Her dad’s voice was pitched with fear as he looked her over. He was fast, but more concerned about catching her the wrong way—he could’ve done more harm than good. She was unprepared for the sudden change of his voice and winced, pushing herself away and folding her arms around her stomach.

And so, they were apparently at an impasse. Mick took a deep breath and his hands dropped slowly to his sides.

“If you’re alright, I’m alright. Should we go inside?”

Frankie peered over his shoulder, towards the main entrance, and was taken aback when her father shifted himself so that he was standing next to her. He draped her right arm over his shoulder and wrapped his left arm around her back.

“If you don’t want me to carry you, we can walk together. How ‘bout that?” He suggested.

Frankie soured a little at the lengths he was willing to go to accommodate her bruised ego. She shyly met his eyes and nodded.

“Sure.”

Frankie was more comfortable after a few steps, now able to lean on her father for support. She hopped a little on her left foot and her father easily kept the same rhythm in his stride so she wouldn’t stumble. To Mick’s absolute delight, Frankie had a tendency to snort when she laughed, even when she tried her best to hide it. He thought it was the darndest thing. To Frankie’s surprise, they had arrived at the door sooner than she thought. Her father pulled his ID from his pocket again and waved it at the security camera in the upper corner of the porch’s overhang.

“Open the door, you wanker!” He yelled impatiently, and most likely out of habit. Then, realizing what he had said, he flushed and turned quickly to his daughter, stammering something incomprehensible about how swearing was bad.

“Er—I mean—open the door, please!” He corrected.

The buzzer situated next to the door had a red light in the center that promptly flicked green. A beep was heard, then the sound of a mechanical whir as the metal door unlocked. Frankie was impressed by the technology and wondered if maybe Dell had made the door system. Her father opened it with his free arm and maneuvered himself sideways through the opening to make it easier for his daughter to follow. The crisp air conditioning made the two sigh with relief as they walked from the entrance to a lobby equipped with elevators and a few service-type rooms. A metal door to one such room swung open and two people emerged.

“You’ve returned,” Spy observed monotonously. He was fishing through his silver case for another cigarette before his eyes flicked upwards and met Frankie’s. She could’ve sworn that for just an instant, a hint of a smirk had ghosted his face.

“Ah, mon ami. Good to see you’re back in one piece.”

Frankie gave him a blank smile, somehow already catching on. Spy was accompanied by none other than Medic, who immediately made a beeline for the two new arrivals. His boots thumped loudly across the tile floors and Frankie couldn’t help but retreat a little into her father’s side when she clocked the very stern gaze directed straight at her. Her father subtly pushed her behind himself and intercepted the exasperated doctor before he could start talking to her.

“Oi, Medic! Good to see you.”

He pulled him into a playful embrace and slapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. Frankie wanted to send her silent gratitude to her father, but the relief proved to be short lived when Medic ducked out of his arms with an annoyed grunt. The doctor pushed up his spectacles, muttering to himself as he walked past the confused marksman. He stopped in front of Frankie, folding his arms and silently bearing down on the girl who had no other option than to avoid eye contact.

“You know what this is about, don’t you, Francis?”

His voice wasn’t contemptuous, but it was certainly filled with the thinly-veiled, patronizing voice you give to kids who are about to get the lecture of a lifetime. Francis hummed, averting her eyes to the floor. Medic sighed, crouching so that she had no choice but to look at him. She thought he looked so different without that easy smile.

“Your leg. I imagine it’s hurting, hm?”

Sniper cut in.

“She walked all the way out to the field by herself. Her leg’s gonna hurt. Don’t get snappy at her for that, I’ll just drive her next time.”

“Considering she has nerve damage, it was unwise to walk that far in the first place,” Ludwig stated matter-of-factly. His eyes didn’t move away from Francis’ for even a second.“However, the distance she walked is not really the reason why I’m worried about her leg at the moment.” He concluded the one-sided staring contest when he nodded briefly at Spy, who wordlessly observed in the doorway of a room aptly labeled “surveillance”.

Uh oh.

“Stop dancing around it, tell me what’s going on,” Sniper said. He took his place back at Frankie’s side and put a reassuring hand on her arm. With a smile, Spy turned towards Mick.

“It would seem that your little acrobat doesn’t manage every landing with grace,” he chortled.

Frankie rolled her eyes. Prick.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Her dad was getting impatient.

“Come see for yourself,” Spy shrugged. He disappeared into the surveillance room as he brought the cigarette to his lips again. Medic pointed one last look at Frankie before turning on his heels and following him. She glanced at her father, who was already looking at her. He gently elbowed her.

“S’alright, we’ll sort this is out.”

With that, he took her smaller hand in his and walked into the surveillance room. The walls of the dark room were covered in monitors both big and small. Large desks stood neatly in rows, covered in papers she couldn’t read and clean ash trays. Medic typed quickly on a keyboard, murmuring to Spy about timeframes. While they were busy doing that, Frankie’s attention wandered elsewhere. She tried to remember how many years it had been since her mother held her hand. She had stopped giving Frankie affection by the time she was around six, those blurry days far out of reach. Now, it was her father. His hand was warm, and it was calloused and rough, but she thought it was unquestionably the best. His thumb brushed over hers and he gave her hand a squeeze before narrowing his cold eyes at the other two.

“Can you wrap this up? The Administrator just ever so kindly removed her claws from my down under and we already have something planned for today.”

He turned their connected hands so he could make a point of looking at his watch.

“Don’t be impatient, this will only take a moment,” Spy deadpanned.

“There!” Medic interjected.

The room filled with dull blue light as the monitors came alive. Static waved and whipped across the screen in bolts as a cacophony of scratchy, painful noises spewed from hidden loudspeakers. A time stamp appeared in the corner of the main monitor and the two men stood aside to give them a good view.

A time stamp flickered across the corner of the main screen before the grainy image suddenly became clear.

The blue sky had very few clouds floating across it. The bottom half of the image was obscured by the rusty metal roof. Slowly, the camera panned left. There was Frankie! Crawling out of the window, naturally. The room was dead quiet as the tape continued. Frankie wondered if her hand was getting clammy. The camera panned to the right, showing the same blue sky as before. One could pick up the faint, grainy sounds of birdsong and wind through tree branches.

The camera panned to the left. Francis’ face appeared on screen and she grinned, waving her hand at the camera. She wondered with a pained grimace if the gap between her front teeth had always been so noticeable. Francis ran her tongue over her teeth and knew with dejected certainty that braces were in her future. The camera panned right again and you could see her legs dangling off the roof. As soon as her body came into full view again, she propelled herself over the edge. Sniper’s breath audibly caught in his throat and Frankie really started to sweat.

The audio picked up the loud, almost cartoonish crashing metal and then an uncomfortable silence. Frankie sure wished she had that nifty wristwatch of Spy’s. But the silence was broken when Frankie’s faint voice floated up from the loudspeakers:

“…I’m okay!”

Oh yeah, she had forgotten that part. A little smile crept on her face as she continued to stare at the space between her shoes. She thought that was kind of funny. Francis watched her father from the corner of her eyes. The light from all the screens reflecting off his sunglasses made it impossible to see what remained stagnant behind them. The rest of his face was neutral, but his jaw was maybe set tighter. Frankie looked away, aware of the fact that he could have been looking right at her and she wouldn’t have known. Medic cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said finally. He grabbed a remote and paused the footage. With that, he turned to them with an expectant look and folded his arms. His mouth was in a thin line and he tapped his finger in the crook of his arm. Frankie was slightly amused that he looked exactly as she had imagined he would, but kept that to herself.

“What if you had broken your neck when you fell? What would have happened then?” Medic asked.

Francis deflated. Something about his disappointment got to her.

“Sorry.”

She dropped her father’s hand, feeling like it would burn her if she didn’t.

“You’re right. Sometimes I don’t think the way I’m supposed to.”

She didn’t like speaking so plainly. And she felt uncomfortable. But she let it wash over her without any crashing or burning because that’s a mature thing called “comeuppance”. Medic turned to Spy, the wind taken out of his sails. He looked equally lost.

“What?” Frankie asked, her face warm. Medic managed to appease her with a pleasant laugh.

“I can’t remember the last time someone with accountability lived here, can you?”

“Non.”

Frankie’s brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” She asked. Spy smiled at her.

“Simply put, we’ve been living around the same people for a long time. We have a tendency to be…stubborn. We meant no offense.”

Medic wrung his hands together, smiling proudly.

“True, true. It takes courage. Certainly no easy task.”

”All I said was sorry,” Francis cringed. She was relieved that they were less upset with her, but while Spy and Medic continued to rave about the deep importance of honesty and building character, Francis was silently trying to read her father. He hadn’t said a word since the tape had played, and his outward appearance was giving nothing away. She had let go of his hand a few minutes before, and it was now resting at his side. She looked on with unease as his unchanging face still continued to watch the blank screen.

“Frankie? Um…were you listening to a thing I—“ Medic trailed off, interrupting himself when he followed her gaze to Sniper. Spy was watching, too. After what felt like a long stretch of waiting expectantly, it was Medic that suddenly came to Frankie’s defense.

“Now, Sniper, you know how children are—always, um—well, always getting into trouble. It’s in their nature,” he laughed uneasily, “So—well, so don’t hold it against her, bitte. She meant nothing by it.”

“These things happen, my friend, and she has already learned a valuable lesson.” Spy added gently.

The tension in the room thickened into a ghastly sludge when her father still said nothing. Medic inched closer to Frankie, ready to grab her by the arm and shield her behind him in case Sniper flew off the handle, no matter how impossible that may have seemed. And as if a switch was flicked, the outdoorsman’s head turned slightly to the side and his shoulders jumped for a second, as if someone had startled him.

“What? I think I spaced out for a second there.”

A collective exhale was shared among the other three in the room. Spy glowered at him.

“Despicable. Welcome back to the land of the living,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry. Haven’t been sleeping much lately,” Sniper said with a soft tilt of his head. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of his daughter seizing for a while now. It haunted him. But now he turned to Francis, who was still looking up at him with those troubled eyes, and took her hands between the both of his.

“That was a dangerous thing that you did, and if I had half a mind, I’d ground you for a million years. But I’d be a hypocrite if I told you I didn’t do some very, very stupid things at your age.”

Frankie looked intently at her hands between his. She was stumped. Utterly stumped.

“You alright?” His voice was barely above a whisper, and his eyes bore into hers with silent concern. She mustered a sad smile.

“You do look tired. I’m sorry you haven’t been sleeping.”

His expression brightened.

“Who, me? Nah, I’ve gone days without sleep before.”

It was true, he could go for a very long time without sleeping and still be as sharp as a tack, but the stress of wondering about his daughter’s condition had worn him down real quick. It genuinely scared him at first how much a person he didn’t really know could affect him. He almost wanted to resist it at first, but when he went to the medical wing all it took was a few minutes at her side before all he felt was unwavering devotion to the little girl he somehow knew he was made to protect.

“You know what’ll make us feel better, I bet?” He asked with a sly little grin, tapping her forehead.

“What?” She relented, finally laughing a little.

“I dunno. But whatever it is, I bet it’s in the dining hall,” he turned his head.

“Hmm. Yes, I wonder,” Medic shrugged.

“We were just going to go there ourselves,” Spy mused, stubbing the remainder of his cigarette out on an ashtray. Frankie’s nerves were electrified. She loved surprises. Her eyes darted quickly between them.

“When do we go? Do we get to go now?”

“You bet,” her father said with a wink. He glanced at his coworkers before walking out of the dimly lit room with Frankie in tow.

“Don’t get lost, cheri,” Spy crooned with a chuckle. He took the lead as the four of them walked down the long corridor to the elevators.

“We wouldn’t want you to take the roof instead.”

Medic and Spy doubled over with laughter as the elevator took them downstairs. The base consisted of the main floor (the actual base part) and the subfloor (the below-ground residential part). Frankie rolled her eyes at their teasing and found comfort in the fact that her father was holding onto her hand. His eyes flicked towards the pair, who had not let up with their taunting. Without so much as a word, he leaned to the side and stomped on Spy’s right shoe, catalyzing a slew of exotic-sounding profanities that rang sweeter than their laughter.

“Sorry, I thought I saw a bug or something.”

Francis smiled, sending him silent gratitude as she closed her eyes and let her head rest contently against his arm.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors slid open to the lowest floor of the fortress. Built into the hillside, the structure allowed my room a window to the outside world while the other quarters lay buried underground. Down here, the only light came from ceiling fixtures and LED strips, their glow pooling in sterile puddles along the floor. Shadows flickered as our small group moved forward, and I found myself caught up in their conversation.

The three men were so different, yet their camaraderie was effortless. Miss Pauling had told me once that they were like family. She was right.

“I was impressed by the condition of Jeremy’s room during last weekend’s inspection,” Spy remarked. “Aside from the occasional can on the floor, I’d say he’s made good progress.”

”I heard the rancid smell is almost out of the carpet,” Medic added.

“Maybe you should’ve gotten there sooner, Doc,” my dad teased. “Could’ve taken some samples before he scrubbed them all away.”

Medic cackled, a sharp, unsettling sound that sent a prickle down my spine. If I ever heard that laugh in an empty hallway, I’d assume someone was up to no good. Spy glanced at me.

“Francis, tell me, would you consider yourself to be an organized person?”

All three men turned, waiting for my answer. I blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, thinking aloud. “My room is always clean, but I forget stuff all the time. It’s frustrating.”

“Ah, the forgetful type,” Medic mused.

“I used to tie colorful bits of yarn around my fingers to remind me of things, but then I’d forget which color meant what. Eventually, I just gave up and figured if it was important, it’d come back to bite me. And it always did.”

Dad put a hand on my back. “That’s alright, Francis. I’m sure you’ll figure something out that can help.”

“You can call me Frankie if you want,” I offered. “I’m more used to being called Francis when I’m in trouble.”

”I assume that must be often, no?” Spy teased.

“Not as often as you’d think.”

Ludwig hummed in amusement as we came to a stop before two massive wooden doors. I turned to Dad, hopeful. He met my gaze with a grin, his hand warm on my back as he nodded toward the entryway.

“Go on in, love. We’re right behind you.”

I took a breath, steadied myself, and pushed the doors open.

A loud POP! nearly sent me jumping out of my shoes.

Confetti rained from the ceiling in a flurry of silver, pink, and gold stars, catching the light as they swirled through the air. It was dazzling, almost unreal, like something out of a dream.

I barely registered the chorus of voices yelling SURPRISE! before I jumped toward the nearest person in delight.

“Well, hey now!” Dell laughed, catching me in a tight embrace.

Dad, stepping in shortly after, whistled. “Dell, this looks incredible.”

“Thank you kindly. Had a lotta help, though,” Dell said, ruffling my hair before setting me down. I barely had a second to breathe before Pyro scooped me up next, clearly wanting in on some of that hug action. I clung to their shoulders as they whirled me around.

“Hadda-hm hmph!”

“Thanks! It’s perfect.”

When they finally set me down, I turned and stopped dead. A massive banner stretched across the far wall, its sunset-orange fabric catching the glow of the lights. Bold, elegant letters painted across it read:

WELCOME HOME.

I stared, re-reading the words until they blurred. It’s weird, but the moment had hit me all at once.

“What do you think?”

Dad’s voice was right beside me, quiet, his steady hand rubbing circles into my back. A sniffle escaped before I could keep it down. When he pulled me into his arms, I lost the fight entirely.

When he finally let me go, Jeremy stepped in, pulling me into a one-armed hug.

“Do you always cry at parties?”

“Only these ones, I guess,” I shrugged. He leaned in conspiratorially, glancing toward the corner of the room.

“I don’t blame ya. I’d probably cry if Spy was at my party, too.”

I burst out laughing just as Spy, standing in the shadows, flicked a glance our way, an unimpressed eyebrow arched. Jeremy, grinning like a devil, made a move to hassle him, but Spy cloaked in an instant, disappearing before he could get close.

“Little mongrel,” Dad muttered beside me.

I shook my head. “I can’t imagine the kinds of fights those two get into.”

To that, Dad let out a long-suffering sigh.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned with surprise to see Misha looking down at me with a look of concern. In his other hand was a box of tissues.

“Are you alright? You like Frankie better, yes? That is what Miss Pualing said when she made banner. Heavy saw you crying. Thought you might need these.”

I gratefully took the box and after setting it down for a moment tried to hug him. I more or less just face planted onto his stomach, but he got the idea and wrapped his arms around me with a patient laugh. He didn’t squeeze me too tight, and I could sense his relief that I was no longer leaking tears everywhere.

“I have not gotten much chance to properly introduce myself, but I am very happy to have you here.”

Then, with a determined nod, he pointed at me.

“There is much heart in you, I know it. You are very strong in your own way.”

Surprised, I thanked him, then partook in the tissues as quietly as possible. Boisterous laughter erupted nearby and I turned to see Ludwig chatting with Tavish, so I ran over to greet them. Demoman’s face lit up when he saw me and he hunched over to swoop me up. He put an arm around me and rubbed his knuckles through my hair. It was painful when the kids at Ms. Barnaby’s did that, but hurting me was clearly not anyone’s intention here. I started to elbow him in the stomach. He slapped Ludwig gently on the shoulder and motioned to me.

“See? Didn’t I tell ye she’s got a warrior’s spirit in ‘er eyes?”

Medic’s arms were folded primly behind his back, but as he readjusted his glasses and opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off by hugging him as tight as I could without actively trying to bruise him. Tavish laughed so hard he had to rest his side on the table the three of us were next to.

To say Medic was surprised was an understatement. People shuddered out of habit when they passed the Med-Bay because the horrid memories of his bone-saw hacking through flesh and tendon are ones that respawn does not simply take away. The team loved Medic, but even his closest friends had a healthy fear of the man.

“Thanks for everything,” came the muffled voice through his lab coat.

With a small laugh, his arms gently overlapped my own.

“You’re welcome.”

He patted my head with a soft smile and I let go, waving at the Medic and Demoman before bolting away. I weaved between conversations and laughter while music blasted excitedly through the radio. I had a feeling that I would be able to find Soldier if I just listened for the loudest voice in the room.

“AND THAT’S WHY YOU BETTER BELIEVE I COULD —Oh, hello, Frankie,” a relieved Engie took that as his cue to escape and gave me a thumbs up as he scampered away.

“This is a really nice party, I wanted to say thanks,” I smiled at him, but I couldn’t help but feel a little distracted by his helmet. Does he wear one all the time? Does he have several or does he only have the one? If it’s just the one, I hoped he washes it.

“Yes! But I don’t know why we’re having a party. Probably classified.” His eyes darted back and forth at the other men in the room, acting natural.

“Hey, hey!” Scout laughed, appearing at Soldier’s side. He grimaced.

“Don’t let him scare you, Frankie,” he winked, “He’s not even that tough when you get to—“

Soldier grabbed Scout by the face and pushed him away like it was nothing.

“As I was saying, maggot,”

“Can I be something else instead?” I interrupted.

He paused, confusion evident on the visible half of his face.

“Something else?”

“Something other than a maggot, I mean.”

“Why would I call you something else when I could just call you a maggot?”

“Well if you think about it,” I said, “Why would you call me a maggot when you could just call me something else?”

He was quiet for a long time, mulling it over. Solemnly, he nodded.

“Alright, cadet, you can be a worm.”

“Yes! I’ve graduated to bug class two!”

We celebrated my climbing through the bug ranks™ with a fist bump. But our ceremonious occasion was unfortunately interrupted when a yellow can hit the side of Soldier’s helmet and bounced harmlessly onto the floor, a fizzy liquid spilling out. Unbothered, he picked up the can and studied it.

“ The hell was that? ” I murmured.

“ Scout .” He crushed the can in his palm and stormed over to where Jeremy was having a laughing fit. May the Kool-Aid Man have mercy on his soul.

For a while, I soaked in my surroundings. I looked at the confetti on the ground with adoration and wondered if anyone would notice if I just started filling my pockets with it. Everyone was having such a good time (except for Scout at that moment) and I probably couldn’t dampen my happiness if I tried.

Dad and Engineer were making lively conversation while Demo and Medic talked about smart people things. Heavy was eyeing Soldier and Scout with a look of waning patience as Scout sank his teeth into Soldier’s arm. Pyro was trying to light a streamer on fire and that just left…

I turned my head expectantly to the right and smiled.

“Hey.”

For a moment there was only silence and I felt a bit silly, but then my intuition proved to be correct. The sound of Spy decloaking was a welcome one, as I was no longer standing all by myself anymore. He appeared, eyeing me warily.

“I’m not gonna hug you, Spy, I know you like your space.”

The tension seemed to leave his shoulders and he nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Well, this was really nice, so thank you.”

His eyes scanned the room and the many faces within it. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between us.

“You seem to have a gift,” he said. I frowned at him.

“A gift? Oh, Spy, you didn’t need to—“

“Not that kind of gift.”

Given my silence, he went on.

“Somehow, you’re well aware of my presence despite not being able to see me.”

“Well obviously I knew you were here. I watched you vanish.”

“That may be true. But what of this morning, before we were first introduced?”

Spy took a cigarette from his case and went to light it, but after studying me for a moment decided to save it for later. He stared with the same sort of intrigue he had when he asked if I was organized.

“If you don’t mind, how do you know where I am when I’m cloaked?”

I considered the question a bit. He seemed like the type who knew when you were lying. I hummed, thoughtful.

“Do you ever get that feeling that you’re being watched? Or being followed, even when you’re alone? To answer your question, I just knew somebody was there.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak. The sound of a fork clanging against a cup changed the direction of eyes in the room towards Tavish, who was holding a glass. His face was very serious, and for a moment my lungs felt feather-light as I wondered what happened.

“Listen up, there’s somethin’ I’ve got to say.”

His eye met each of ours individually and I couldn’t help but feel a chill go up my spine when his cold gaze fell in my direction.

“We’re gonna have a gay ol’ time eatin’ cake and makin’ merry, but first, I need to tell you somethin’.”

He pointed at me and I felt my limbs freeze as each pair of concerned eyes in the room met mine. Time seemed to freeze for a moment before he let his hand fall back to his side.

“That video of you fallin’ off the roof was the most hila’rious thing I’ve seen in my life.”

He immediately dissolved into laughter, as did every other man in the room with the exception of my father. My face went beet red and I realized I’d been had. Even Spy was covering his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking.

“I’m okay!” The Scout cried out, mimicking my accent.

“Alright, alright, quiet down.” My dad’s voice took on a very commanding tone as he bore down on those in the room. I unscrewed my face and watched with interest as Dell went through the side door of the rec room. With that, voices seemed to settle and everyone started moving as if on cue towards various tables and chairs arranged around the dining room, sitting in spots that I assumed they always sat in. I went to find a seat myself, but was unsure of which ones were empty but still “taken”. Out of habit, I searched for the most secluded corner and found a lovely high top table with two chairs on either side. I heaved myself up and tried to get an idea of who sat with who. After all, even small groups can have cliques.

“Mind if I sit here, love?”

My dad pointed at the seat across from mine and I nodded.

“This is the best party I’ve ever been to,” I told him, my eyes still alight.

“Now that I think about it? Same here,” he grinned.

Engineer re-emerged from the rec room with sweet, sweet treasure in his hands. We all eyed the cake hungrily and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was gonna be a free-for-all.

I leaned in towards my dad.

“If this gonna be a fight, I might need some help.”

A hint of impish pleasure peered at me from beneath my dad’s sunglasses and he smiled.

“Frankie, if it comes down to brass tacks, that whole cake is as good as ours.”

Chapter Text

By the time our (strawberry!) cake was just a platter of crumbs, the foil-like stars had long since crawled up the muddy sky. And as the thought of sleep tiptoed its way across my mind, the mercenaries were still wandering between tables, slapping each other on the back and engaging in sharp-tongued conversation as I observed from the little spot in the corner.

“Lookin’ a little tired there,” my dad observed. I had progressively slumped on the table over the course of the evening. Rubbing my eyes to wake myself up a little, I lifted my head towards the clock.

“Me? No way. It’s only—“ I gasped when I saw it was already quite late. He followed my gaze and then checked his own watch to confirm it. He pointed at its face and looked up at me with raised eyebrows.

“What? It’s only eleven o’clock.”

My face fell into my hands and I groaned.

“I was gonna unpack everythin’ by tonight, but I can hardly keep my eyes open,” I murmured. Dad clicked his tongue.

“My daughter’s already a delinquent, staying up so late partying,” he leaned back in his chair a little, taking a swig of beer, “What am I to do about that?”

“Don’t ask me,” I said with a yawn.

“Alright, well let’s get you to bed before you tip over.”

I nodded and climbed out of my chair, minding the gap as I steadied myself on the ground. My leg was feeling better than it had before, and I was confident that I would be able to make it back to my room with no trouble. Dad finished his drink before slipping out of his own seat.

“We’ll say g’night to the guys and be on our way then,” he said, twisting the stress out of his arms and back. Dad walked to the center of the room, about to gather everyone’s attention when a sudden knock at the door interrupted him. It swung open and Miss Pauling walked in.

“Hey, sorry I just let myself in, I was looking for—“

Everyone’s eyes went to her and she echoed the stares with some confusion. Then, after noticing the banner she had made and the confetti strewn around, she smiled.

“The party went well, then?” She chirped.

Scout stood loudly from his seat, waving at her with a goofy look on his face.

“Miss Pauling! So glad you could make it! C’mon, you should sit down and have a drink with us!”

The other mercenaries nodded along to what Scout had said with a chorus of inviting words, but she only smiled and shook her head a little sadly.

“Aw, guys, you know I wish I could. But I’m here on business, so I have to be in and out.”

The others tried protesting, but it was a lost cause. She made her way over to Dad and I, relieved.

“Francis, you’re just the person I needed to see. Did you like the party, by the way? Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.” Miss Pauling spoke rapidly as she pulled papers out of the Manila folder tucked under her arm.

“Anyways, so—“ she allowed herself to take a breath and slowed down a little, “I was going to give these to you earlier, but I didn’t want to overload you. I think you should take these—“ she continued to struggle between the folder and papers in her hands, “—so that you can be fully prepared for when the Administrator calls you tomorrow.”

“She’s calling me tomorrow?” I asked, too tired to fully comprehend the rest of what she had said.

“Yes, so take—these! It’s always a good idea to know things before she has to tell you. She kind of—I dunno—expects people to know. It’s a whole thing.”

Miss Pauling thrusted the papers into my loosely outstretched arms. The room was quiet, and I noticed that the others were watching as I tried to narrowly understand the mountain of information now resting in my hands.

“What is all this stuff?” I asked.

Miss Pauling brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and smiled with newfound excitement.

“It’s your work assignment! The Administrator has authorized me to gather all the information you need to know about your job description and deliver it to you personally. Study up.”

I stared, dumbfounded, at the papers in front of me. Miss Pauling still had more to say.

“And here’s this,” She placed a thick, four-ring binder on top of the stack.

“It’ll all make sense once you read your file. Become best friends with those papers, okay?”

With that, she looked at her watch and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good, good, I’m on schedule. If I’m lucky, I’ll get some sleep tonight.”

My temporary detachment subsided and I smiled with concern.

“Oh, that’s good! I hope you sleep well, then.”

Miss Pauling’s nodded with a look in her eyes I couldn’t quite place.

“You and me both.”

My dad cleared his throat beside me and kindly took away all the heavy documents and their sharp, digging corners. Miss Pauling grinned at me.

“It’s so nice having you here. I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you a little bit over these past two days.”

Had it really been just two days? Stars alive, I must’ve been tired.

“Yes, same here,” I nodded, “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

She glanced between my father and I with a growing smile.

“Gosh, look at you two. I can’t believe how much you look alike.”

My dad glanced at me, pride blossoming in his features. Miss Pauling turned swiftly on her heels and left the room, saying goodbye to everyone before chasing that much-needed rest. When the door shut, I was surprised to find everyone looking at me with poorly-contained eagerness.

“What?” I blurted.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? Tell us what class you got!” Scout urged.

Disjointed conversations ensued as they theorized about the lengthy contents of my folder.

“Nah, nah, it’s not like that—“

“—a Sniper so she’s gotta be one, too.”

“A Sniper? I don’t—she might not have a good aim.”

“She kinda looks like she’d be good at—“

“Well I dunno—“

“Maybe it’s—“

“—will training come in handy for her to be—“

“Quiet,” Dad interjected. His voice never needed raising because his tone always meant business. I turned to him and grabbed a few papers on the very top of the pile.

With heavy eyelids, I skimmed through the pages. Class, class, where does it say something about—?

There. My eyes lingered on the symbol. The background was yellow with the deep crimson silhouette of a rotary dial phone in the center.

I glanced up at the others, who were waiting with bated breath. Rubbing the blurriness out of my eyes, I triple checked the words below my thumb before reading them.

“‘The Operator’. It must be a brand new class, then.”

Exhilarated murmurs broke out amongst the nine, and I continued to read the rest of the page aloud.

“‘Both the RED and BLU fortresses are equipped with complex systems including computers, ventilation ducts, security, water, heat, respawn, and power structures. Mercenaries are the very lifeline of our Mann Co. industry, but their jobs would be rendered useless if not for the tremendous upkeep needed in order to keep the bases running smoothly and efficiently. The job of the RED and BLU ‘Operator’ is to make often and necessary repairs to the vital apparatuses that make your fellow mercenaries’ livelihoods possible. In addition to these requirements, the Operators are to receive, decode, encode, and send messages to Mann Co. headquarters on a near-daily basis. Because you and the other Operator will be working side by side, your uniforms will bear the color purple to represent neutrality. However, your patches will represent the color of your respective teams to ensure that in the rare instance in which you might face combat, you’re fighting for the right side. With that being said, be sure to consult your team’s Medic and Engineer about proper assimilation into the respawn system. Thank you. Mann Co. wishes you the best of luck.’”

The last word was left suspended in the air. I looked up from the page and found everyone lost in thought. Spy whistled softly.

“That seems like a lot.”

I nodded in agreement, then swayed a little as I yawned, feeling suddenly lightheaded. My father’s hands steadied me as he took the papers again.

“I think it’d be best if we talked more about this tomorrow, she’s had a long day,” he explained. The rest was a bit of a blur. I remember saying good night and thanking them again for the party, my dad gently guiding me by the hand to my room, and me mentioning in my tired state that I didn’t have any other clothes. Sleep had stolen me away at last, a soundless thief in the night.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

We stood in front of the Rec Room’s poker table with bated breath, bewildered by the lopsided tower of cardboard boxes balanced precariously on top of it.

“And these are all for me?” I asked, trying and failing to count them.

“That’s your name on the line,” Scout shrugged, tilting a clipboard with the order form towards my face.

I hummed, wondering how we were going to manage that kind of cargo without a cart or at least a little bit of witchcraft. My bedroom and the Rec Room were on complete opposite sides of the base.

I turned to Scout, stretching one arm across the other to prepare myself for the impending test of strength.

“This could take a while; don’t feel like you have to help. I understand if you’ve got better things to do.”

“What, you think you can carry all these by yourself?” He asked, tilting his head at the stack of boxes. “Nah, don’t even sweat it, kid. I’ve got a way better idea.”

***

“Who’s Tom Jones?” I asked, my brain snapping back like a rubber band while Scout rambled about something or another.

“'Who’s Tom Jones?’ You don’t know who Tom Jones is? The Tom Jones?” Scout pulled out a deep sigh, deflating with righteous impatience. I shook my head. I hardly even knew Australian celebrities, much less American ones.

“Well, not to brag ,” he claimed, raising his hands, “but he’s pretty damn famous. A big deal. Super star. Babe magnet . Which makes sense because he’s my dad.”

Noticing the humored look on my face, his eyes widened and he launched into a sort of tirade about circumstantial locations and dates, eye color, height, and face shape. All the while, I nodded along and sadly wondered if Scout had been lied to. He claimed to have never talked to Tom Jones in person because he was always on tour or whatever, and I held my tongue. But as he argued every possible fact he could, my eyes trailed to the floor under us. I had no idea where we were going, but I challenged myself to memorize each turn if I could. I tried to stay somewhat aware of what Scout was saying. After all, I did feel for the poor guy. I could see why his mother would maybe prefer to fill his head with dreams instead of letting his spirit be broken.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ I wondered to myself, ‘Leaving a guy like Scout just to fend for himself when he was too young to remember?’

Then I heard a horrible, horrible secret. Like a whisper through a grape vine, or a conversation heard while passing by a locked door. It broke my mind with smoking sparks, flooding my nose with the unbearably strong smell of cigarettes and Guerlain “Shalimar Eau De Cologne”. My head whipped back in a jerking motion, my body unable to believe that there was any air in my lungs until a moment passed and the sensation just completely disappeared. My eyes shot towards Scout, my face paling from shock. He had jumped back too, unsure if he should flee or stay.

“Holy shit, what was that for? Are you alright?”

“I thought I saw a bee,” I recovered. It sounded stupid when I said it, but Scout didn’t hesitate as he turned around and scanned the room for any sign of a hostile, stinging insect.

“Musta flew away,” he murmured around the nail of his thumb, doing an exaggerated shrug and rolling his eyes in my direction. With a smile, his worry proved to be short lived and he went right back to talking about how everyone was just jealous that raw, inherited talent flowed through his veins. Still rattled by the revelation, I counted the tiles on the ground and tried to detect any spicy smells lingering in my peripheries. Spy wore a mask–it was impossible to see any resemblance.

We were approaching a set of doors in an unfamiliar, secluded area of the base. It smelled of wax and sawdust there. Each door had a window, and I stood on my tip-toes to get a look inside. Much to my disappointment, the glass was tinted and I realized that Scout never really clarified where we were going.

“Why did we come here?” I asked him, “I thought we were looking for something.”

He winked at me with a smile.

“Looking for someone ,” he corrected. With that said, he flung the doors open with utmost grandiose. 

Power tools and drills screamed through the workshop like bloodcurdling clockwork. The floor was covered in a thin layer of shavings and dust, but was otherwise smooth. I stared at the workbenches, which reached like a zipper down the center of the room, covered surface-to-surface with blueprints, construction paper, and tools I could only guess the names of. Music drifted faintly from a hidden speaker as our eyes fell to a very large desk occupied by none other than our beloved Engineer.

His back was to us, hunched over what may have been some very important work material. I figured so at least, and didn’t think he wanted to be disturbed. I glanced at Scout, trying to wordlessly tell him so, but he didn’t seem to care. He jogged up behind Dell and clasped a hand on his shoulder, making the poor man jump half a mile high.

“God damn it, Scout,” he yelped, “I told you to stop scaring the daylights outta me like that.”

He turned in his seat, clutching his chest and probably glaring daggers. His goggles reflected the ceiling lights and masked the eyes glowering behind them.

“Sure thing,” Scout sniffed, absently wiping his nose with the back of his hand, “Lecture me later, hard hat. Right now we gotta help her out.”

He jutted a thumb towards me, still standing like a rigid tree out of second-hand embarrassment. Dell swiveled and his posture lost its tension.

“Well, hey there hon. I reckon you haven’t paid my workshop a visit yet. What can I help you with?”

I nodded, getting exactly one word out before being promptly interrupted by Scout.

“There’s—“

“So there’s a bunch of boxes in the Rec Room and Frankie needs help becau—“

Engie thwacked Scout on the arm with the butt of a screwdriver, cutting him off with a deep laugh that hardly disguised his annoyance.

“Now, Scout, have some manners.”

A hiss of pain whistled out from Scout, who gave me the silent go-ahead as he rubbed his arm. I blinked at him, cocking an eyebrow before continuing.

“The Administrator dropped some parcels off at the Rec Room, and I was going to take them back to my room but Scout didn’t want me to do it by myself. He thought it was best to come and get you. But I don’t want to interrupt.”

Engineer stood up from his chair and swept the eraser shavings off of his pants as he made his way over to a workbench off to the side.

“Now Francis, there’s no need for that. While I appreciate your concern, I’m more than happy to help however I can.”

He rooted around in some drawers; utensils and thingamabobs clanking through the room as Scout popped his gum out of boredom. Eventually, he emerged with a little brass key in his hand. The fluorescent light threw a dull gloss over it as he jogged to a large metal cabinet and took off its lock. Engie rummaged and checked through tool boxes and finally pulled one down from the shelf, tucking it under his arm as he walked back towards us. He set it down on the ground and lovingly patted the lid before turning again.

“Now, while you’re here, why don’t I give you your tools, too?”

He went back to the cabinet and produced a large, purple toolbox, handing it to me. It felt like a metric ton in my hands despite how easily he had carried it. He smiled, a glint refracting in his goggles as he dropped his hands into his pockets.

“As a bonafide fixing fanatic, let me assure you that you’ve got nothing but the finest pieces of equipment in that box anyone could ask for. If you need any help learning the ropes at all, feel free to come right over, pumpkin. No appointments necessary,” he joked. Then his head turned slightly towards Scout before facing me again.

“Just don’t go sneaking up on me, and we’ll be a-okay.”

I shifted on my feet with a quiet chuckle, glancing at the toolbox in my arms.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded and grabbed a wrench from his desk. With that and his toolbox in hand, he walked out into the hallway and Scout followed wordlessly behind him. I was left confused and…yeah, just confused, really. Was it really perfectly acceptable to just walk in and out of rooms without saying anything else? I blew a strand of hair out of my face and went through the doors, trailing behind the two with a pinch of dismay as we headed towards the Rec Room. When we got there, Dell dropped his toolbox on the ground and regarded the pile of boxes with a whistle, his hands on his hips.

“Don’t you worry, Franny,” he called over his shoulder, “This’ll be done in a jiff.”

With that, he knelt in front of his toolbox and struck the top of it with his wrench. I had my eyes closed without even thinking about it, my teeth grinding as the sound slid an ice pick through my ears. Engineer reached into the toolbox, its lid hanging open, and extracted a folded contraption from its coppery jaws. He stood again with a bit of effort and tossed it right on top of the toolbox in my arms.

“Now, Francis, what I need you to do is bring that to your room and set it on the floor somewhere spacious-like. Then, I want you to take a wrench like this one from your toolbox and hit it three times, just like I did, alright? Just three times will do the trick. Don’t be afraid to really give it all you’ve got–I know you’ve got a mean wind-up in you somewhere, am I right?”

I nodded, trying not to let confusion get the best of me as I did what I was told. With full arms, I lumbered back to my room and set the heavy, purple monstrosity down. And after shaking the cobwebs out of my brain, I unlatched the lid and plunged my arm into its depths, fishing out a wrench like Dell had. I tossed the folded contraption smack dab in the center of my room, eyeing it warily, unsure of what kind of trick Dell had up his sleeve. With hesitation, I struck it thrice in a row and watched as it began to unfurl into a dastardly tangle of machinery. A loud buzz filled the room and I covered my ears with my hands, nearly knocking myself out with the wrench in my left hand.

It was a bulky thing, with two little legs. A steel hinge in the middle divided two large, red wings. They spun around in a smooth, fast circle–a red hue rising off of them like smoke. They were spinning so fast that it was creating a slight breeze, and honestly I was not crazy about any of it.

I was not crazy about any of it at all .

I jumped back and away from it with a yell, contemplating a quick sprint to my bathroom as the machine rotated faster and faster. I wanted to run out of the room and call for help, but I was too certain that my legs would be torn off by the spinning part.

“ Hey!"  I shouted as loudly as I could, “ What is it doing?!"

As if to answer my question, the machine made an insidious noise as a large shape manifested in its center. I watched in numb horror as a cardboard box materialized and hovered in the air above it before the box was flung forward, landing right on my foot. A metaphorical record scratched to a halt as I looked down, unable to process the pain for a moment before all hell broke loose. I screamed and tried to crawl out from beneath the growing tidal wave of multiplying cardboard boxes, narrowly escaping through my door before it, too, began to overflow with them. My hands scrambled across the slippery floor—I had tripped in my hurry to escape—away from the accursed room until my back was against the wall. A cacophony of demonic, mechanical evil roiled through the still afternoon air as I grasped for a semblance of what was real and what must have surely been just a bloody vivid hallucination. My head didn’t even turn when a door was thrown open nearby.

“I heard a scream, what the bloody hell happ’ned?” Demoman shouted, alarmed. He rubbed his good eye, having been yanked out of his slumber by what he thought was a banshee getting steamrolled. He peered down the hallway and saw none other than a very dazed little girl, still trembling and murmuring incoherently as boxes spilled lazily out of the door.

He crouched down next to me—and I finally turned to him, my hand grabbing his arm perhaps a little too tight. With only just a glance between me and my room, he somehow understood exactly what had gone down.

“Lass, where’s Engie? I’m gonna tell him to turn that blasted machine off and sort this out.”

“Wouldn’t stop spinning. Wouldn’t stop spinning. Wouldn’t stop spinning. Wouldn’t stop spinning,” my haunted mantra looped.

He patted my shoulder reassuringly and stubbornly pulled me up by my armpits, steadying me as I dipped in and out of a trance-like state.

“I’d hate to see you after a bottle o’ good stuff,” he joked, kindly leading me down the hall like a kid helping an old woman cross the road. He chatted about the weather as he steered me through room after room.

By the time we reached the dining hall, I was mostly lucid again. I immediately started telling Tavish about everything that had taken place in a hurried, quiet voice. He gave me a patient look, unbothered as he tried to understand. We walked through the double doors and were struck by the enticing smell of breakfast and coffee–I went quiet.

“Right,” Tavish said, rubbing comforting circles on my back, “You stay here for a minute, lass. I’m going to find Engie, and everythin’ will be sorted.”

“Yes. Thank you. Sorry,” I said, not realizing that my volume was just a little loud. Combing my fingers through my hair, I wondered how long I had been acting strangely. Demo patted my shoulder once more and said a quick goodbye before departing, leaving me to my own devices as I finally turned and met the prying eyes of several mercenaries.

Chapter Text

My dad swept his narrowed eyes across the table and the nosier few had the decency to lower their heads back to their plates. He gave me a curious look and disappeared into the kitchen. I took an empty seat by Medic, who had been too busy poring over the morning’s crossword to notice I entered the room. He tapped the pen repeatedly against no. 2 down, stumped. Heavy leaned over from the other seat beside him, pressing a finger against the black spaces.

“Soothsayer,” he told him, taking the pen from Medic’s hand and filling the ten descending boxes with blocky, even letters.

Dad returned with a plate of eggs, bacon, and a wedge of tomato on the side.

“It’s a miracle I was able to save it,” he told me, setting the plate down, “If I were you, I’d try to get down here earlier. When breakfast is ready, it’s every man for himself.”

I thanked him and took my plate to the kitchen to eat at the counter. My father had wordlessly decided to follow me there, drinking his coffee as he leaned against the stove.

“You’ll probably need a hand unpacking, right?” he asked, forgetting the cup once it was empty. I winced openly since my back was turned, putting the plate down in the sink and setting the sponge aside. Would he believe such a crazy story as a rebellious machine hemorrhaging boxes? I briefly nodded, unable to think of an excuse quickly enough, and unscrewed my face before we pivoted to the exit and took the stairs. 

Dad seemed confused when he saw the boxes scattered aimlessly throughout the hallway, but thought better than to mention it. He just offered out his hand as he maneuvered around the clutter strewn with reckless abandon all about my room. I took it, and he carefully helped me climb through the small spaces between the walls and the packages.

I was left in awe again at the sheer number of them. How could I possibly need so many uniforms? Our eyes wandered to the center of the room, where the teleporter slept sluggishly underneath the weight of its delivery. Swaying listlessly, I drummed my fingers against my sides as I considered where to begin. I supposed that maybe we could organize them by size into piles and use the room we freed up to unpack. As I worked, I could hear my father doing the same. He was whistling a song I felt like I had maybe heard on the radio once. As the tune became more familiar, I found that I was absently humming along with him.

The work wasn’t necessarily difficult, but the boxes seemed to have little consistency in how much they weighed. I lifted some tinier ones that must’ve been about thirty pounds and some huge ones that felt nearly empty. I struggled especially with a box only about the size of a house cat. My fingers were pinched underneath its sharp corners as I tried with all my might to make it budge, but it held firm on the floor. Seeing my struggle out of the corner of his eye, Dad walked over with a soft laugh.

“Mind if I give it a go?” He asked. I stepped away from the box with my hands on my hips, gesturing to the tricky parcel with a challenging shrug.

“Go ahead,” I offered.

He nodded, smiling as he rubbed his hands together in preparation. 

“Watch and learn how the old man gets it done, eh?”

He stooped down and hooked his fingers underneath it before swiftly pulling upwards. The box did not move.

“--hell,” he gasped, suddenly out of breath. He let go to wipe his palms on his pants.

“What could possibly be in there?” he stammered under his breath.

My dad rubbed his chin in thought before reaching into his back pocket. In his hand was a small utility knife, well used by the looks of the worn, faded logo on the handle. He produced the small blade and crouched down in front of the package. I peeked over his shoulder as he cut a smooth line through the tape. Then he retired the knife back into his pocket and dug under the opening to pry it up.

For a moment, there was heavy pause between us when we saw what looked to be a very large burlap bag stuffed within. I felt like maybe I had seen something like it before, but I couldn’t remember from where until it dawned on me.

“A sandbag?” I thought aloud.

“That old witch,” my dad sneered to himself, “I knew she’d try pulling some trick.”

“But why a sandbag?” I asked.

“I’ll bet she’s filled most of these with sandbags. If I had a guess, I’d say she knew this teleporter nonsense was gonna happen. That, or she’d get her kicks knowing we carried all of these crates for nothing.”

I frowned, the implications of what she’d done not surprising me much. Then…

My head turned sharply to the side. What was that sound?

I wanted to tell myself I didn’t hear it but Dad seemed to have, too. An eerie feeling rolled over us as tainted silence blanketed the room.

thump

Like something getting dragged across the floor.

Thump.

Thump!

THUMP !

Our heads turned at the sudden sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. My dad pushed himself to his feet, alarmed. I stood, too, shying away from the door.

“Hey! Hey, Frankie!” Scout shouted, screeching to a halt in the threshold. Not a second later, Engineer appeared behind him. The poor guy looked exhausted.

“We heard what happened! Did you really almost get pancaked?” Scout blustered through labored breaths.

“Had I known it would…I shoulda had Scout go with you,” Engineer huffed and puffed, trying to see past us and find his machine beneath the Armageddon.

“I’m fine, you really don’t have to worry,” I offered, trying to placate him as best I could. Dad only grunted.

“And why the hell’d it do that? I thought the teleporter wasn’t supposed to send more than a certain amount of cargo at the same time,” He asked, arms folded.

“Well that’s just it,” Engineer muttered, “I don’t know what happened. I specifically designed it not to do that.”

I hummed, glancing at the teleporter with a hint of unease. Engineer walked into the room with Scout trailing behind him as they assessed the progress we’d made so far. He turned to me and pointed at the teleporter on the ground.

“Mind if I take this from ya? I’m gonna see if I can find whatever the hell has it on the fritz.”

“By all means, go ahead,” I said.

He nodded, grabbing a wrench from the pocket of his overalls and striking it against the metal lip. It folded neatly on top of itself with a small beep.

“Alrighty then,” He sighed. He packed it into his toolbox and hoisted it up.

“So, uh, we’re real sorry about all that. Obviously, it wasn’t s’pposed to happen,” Scout said, gesturing to the mess of boxes spread around.

“It’s not your guys’ fault. It was probably just a little bug in the system or something,” I replied, trying to graciously give them an out. But Scout started laughing.

“What?” I asked, my face warming.

“Yeah, it was a little bug alright,” He crooned, pressing down on my head with his hand.

Much to my bemusement, Engineer was laughing behind his hand.

“I’ve met dead folks funnier than you,” I sneered, but my pouting only seemed to make it funnier to them. I was only about six inches shorter than Engineer, so what was he going on about? My dad cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at Dell.

“Don’t you have something you should be fixing?” He asked, more a warning than a question.

“Right. Scout and I’ll get out of your hair. Isn’t that right, Scout?” He asked, elbowing the boy who was still reaching for my head even after I had batted his hand away.

“Yeah,” he grinned, slinking away at last.

“Do y’all need help cleaning?” Engineer asked, casting a sideways look at the mountain of cardboard.

“I think we’ll manage,” Dad said, draping an arm across my shoulder to keep me grounded–Scout wasn’t out of my reach just yet. He was mimicking the world’s smallest violin–I glared at him as the two finally left. Without another word, I turned my back to the door and approached the box we’d opened. A hand rubbed soothing circles on my back, and I turned to see my father with a careful, knowing look in his eyes. My attention was drawn to something littering the ground.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the carpet. We moved to get a better look. Small bits of torn cardboard were scattered into piles like raked leaves.

As Dad knelt and studied some of the shreds, I wandered through the room, examining each box carefully. I paused.

One box had a hole in it.

I looked around, startled.

As did another one. And another.

“Dad?” I called.

He must’ve sensed my stomach dropping by the way he immediately appeared by my side. Before Dell and Jeremy came in, I was almost certain we had heard a sound.

“What?” I whispered. Quiet laughter in my head.

“Francis?” My dad asked.

Why were my hands shaking? I felt so incredibly sick all of a sudden. My head was pounding.

“Something’s not right,” I murmured, rubbing my face. I glanced around.

“I’m gonna start…sorting again."

On unsteady legs, I ducked behind some boxes. The air heaved in my lungs and I stopped, dousing my side of the room in silence while my dad lifted boxes somewhere else. My heart was running laps in my ears, but I could hear something else beneath the drums.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss .

“Well ain’t this odd?” My dad called from across the room.

“Some of these boxes are full of sandbags, but all the ones torn to bits are empty.”

I don’t know how, my lower body felt so numb, but I managed to start shuffling towards him.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

I felt something touch the back of my neck, and in that instant, every nerve in my body set off a reflex so intense that it fried every last fiber of reason I had ever had. One could argue that a passerby strolling from the town hall to the library—miles away from the base, in the center of Teufort—could hear the scream that clawed its way out. Dislike the cliche all you want, but there exists no accurate term to describe the shriek quite like “ blood-curdling ”. It only lasted for about three seconds, but it was enough to make the world go still. It startled Sniper so much that he wasn’t sure if I was the one screaming or him. I could feel the rattle as it tasted the air near the flesh of my neck. 

My eyes were pointed ahead of me—not entirely seeing—at my poor father. He knew plenty about wildlife, especially the deadly kinds.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice quiet. His hands unbelievably still as he put them out in front of him, a silent order while he inched towards me.

Some snakes don’t like people. Shocker. While snakes are known to attack if prompted, they will often opt for “flight” rather than “fight”--the western diamondback being no exception. But it had never intended to fall onto a perceived threat, so fleeing seemed impossible. The reptile was cornered. One option left.

The rattle echoed through the air as shouting and footsteps boomed down the hallway towards my room. The vibrations traveled through me from the floor and the aroma of desperation pushed the rattlesnake past its limit. That's a wrap, folks. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am.

The snake lunged with impossible speed, and I nearly felt the shockingly cold sensation of its mouth cling to my neck. My world was upside down and positively wild with panic, and I hardly remember reacting as automatically as I did. Clasped tightly in my fist was the snake’s head, its body writhed and thrashed against my beaten arms as it desperately tried to force open its jaws. Realizing that I hadn’t been bitten, some semblance of sentient thought returned. I was still screaming, but the sound seemed detached from my body–like a song playing on the radio in a passing car. I threw myself over my feet towards the window, opened it, and boomeranged the poor son of a bitch to the high heavens.

Now I was all wound up. I grabbed my father’s arm—his legs rooted to the floor like cement—and pulled him behind me as we split out of the room. The sea of onlooking mercenaries parted and I slammed my bedroom door behind us.

Was I going to throw up? Probably. Probably not. A compromise. A rain check.

“Snakes,” I hoarsely admitted to no one in particular. Dad yanked me away from the door, his wide eyes accusing the wall. The adrenaline was rapidly dissolving, and I was revolted by the image of snakes loose in my precious bedroom.

“How are we gonna get them out?” I sniffled, my voice muffled by my father’s shirt.

“I’m gonna start by wringing Helen’s fucking neck,” he seethed. His grip loosened and he pulled away, his fists clenching and unclenching over and over as he paced the floor.

“I will find animal control number,” Heavy murmured, a kind step ahead. He seemed reasonable about the whole thing, which was oddly comforting. Spy shuddered.

Pyro had a bee in their bonnet about something or another, pulling me from the floor in what I could only interpret as fear. Their grip was tight, almost painful, as they mumbled something to the others. Moments later, I was being dragged down the hallway.

Chapter Text

A familiar pair of metal doors exploded open on their hinges and Pyro rushed us inside, dumping me on the examination table. The light fixture overhead swung madly, casting odd shadows across the ground thanks to a small flock of birds roused by our intrusion. But Pyro was loyally dedicated to our impromptu act of trespassing, pillaging a number of Medic’s filing cabinets and drawers with reckless abandon.

"Pyro."

Their head turned, momentarily distracted by the stern punch in my voice. Almost immediately after, they went back to tearing through Medic’s office before I could so much as ask them what the hell was the matter. I looked around frantically, half-expecting the man of medicine himself—or frankly any of the other mercenaries—to materialize and put an end to the destruction, but I guessed they were all still either trying to catch up or find where exactly we had gone.

Pyro cried out, seemingly excited about finding something. I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of what they were doing, but all I could see was a blur of items being tossed out of a cabinet. When they turned, I saw one of Medic’s first-aid kits secured firmly in their grip.

“Pyro? Is that supposed to be for me?” I asked, pointing to the small plastic box in their hands. They nodded, setting it down on the table next to me and flipping it open. Their fingers twitched as they stared at the contents, seemingly hesitant and unsure of what they would need. They glanced at my shoulder and I finally understood.

“Pyro,” I offered softly, “The snake didn’t bite me, I caught it before it could.”

I pulled down the collar of my shirt, exposing the skin where a bite mark should have been. They tilted their head, mumbling something as they dragged a finger over it. To my surprise, I did feel a slight bit of tenderness on the spot they touched. Confused, I trailed my own fingers over the spot and was unnerved by the stinging sensation. For a moment I was tempted to panic. Was I really in such a state of shock that I thought the rattlesnake hadn’t bitten me? It was fast, after all. Really, really fast. I tried to focus over the sound of my heartbeat as I prodded my neck and felt the dried blood crumble beneath my fingers. The tension left my shoulders and I sighed, glancing up at Pyro.

“I guess I just scratched myself when I caught it. I must've drawn blood without realizing. See?”

They leaned a little closer, their goggles catching the light as they inspected the abrasion.

“Oh,” They murmured, remnants of fear dissolving with a whistle. They hung  their head and drew their hands together, wringing them with perhaps a bit of guilt as they looked around at the mess.

“Don’t worry, Pyro. I think you just might’ve saved the day, actually,” I said, patting their arm. I glanced over at the first-aid kit and inwardly smiled a little at the memory of when I first woke up in the Medbay. I had asked Medic with a straight face sometime during the checkup if he would get me superhero band-aids—and he said yes—but I figured he was just saying that to get me out sooner.

“Who else but you could patch me up?” I shrugged.

Pyro nodded fervently, grabbing a band-aid from the package and tearing the paper off. Turning it over so I could see, I nodded with approval at their choice of Wonder Woman. With a taxing amount of care and precision, they lined it up and placed it.

“Expertly done,” I thanked them. But to my surprise, Pyro's work was not entirely finished. They grabbed a handful of the bandages and made quick work of tearing the paper off of each one. Two gloved hands started turning my head this way and that. A band-aid on my nose, my forehead, a few more on my neck, one on my cheek, and one on my knee brace seemed to satisfy them.

“Would you mind?” I asked, peeling the paper off of the very last one in the box.

They paused for a moment before erupting into murmurs of delight. I waited patiently before reaching out, concentrating hard as I brushed the colorful Human Torch bandage vertically between the two eye lenses. Contentedly , I swung my pained leg back and forth off the edge of the table as I watched them wander around. They made an effort to stuff all of the scattered things throughout the room in any available space. Medic would know for sure that something was up when he eventually looked, but for now we just needed to give the impression that we weren’t the ones that did it. That could be someone else’s problem, I thought.

Speak of the devil.

As Pyro hastily slammed the last cabinet door shut, so too did the double doors crash open. The birds--now twice disturbed--were in a frenzy, and eight fearful mercenaries charged inside.

“Hello,” I waved.

“Hudda,” Pyro echoed.

My dad made a bee-line towards the examination table, and I was tempted to shy away. A few words of apology were in order, but my dad's arms were around me before they could be spoken.

“We were worried,” he grunted, upset. I rested my forehead on his shoulder. A beat of heavy silence--then his hand immediately moved to the bandaged spot on my neck, lifting one of the wings and confirming the absence of two telltale puncture wounds. I could see some of the anxiety lift from his shoulders.

“It didn’t bite me,” I explained, “But Pyro was still able to lend me a hand at least.” 

My father studied them, almost hesitant. He shook his head to himself, then brightened a little with half a smile.

“Well, I suppose it's a relief that there's no shortage of band-aids around here, eh?” He playfully tugged at my ear.

Medic cleared his throat. It occurred to us that we had all just practically kicked down his doors and desecrated his work space without permission. The group parted and with his usual strides of flawless measure, Medic approached. He lowered himself to eye-level, pushing my father slightly out of the way. After a treacherous minute of silence and searing eye-contact, he finally spoke.

"Congratulations. Your greed sickens me.”

Without even meaning to, I began to lose my composure. I was quite literally shaking with laughter, unable to stop the dam from breaking wide open. And thankfully, Medic was laughing right along with me.

“Oh God, they’ve gone crazy,” Scout said, turning to Spy with the desperation of someone who had no idea how to help. Engineer was grinning, gently amused by the whole thing as Demoman and Soldier gave Pyro an overly-rough pat on the back for assisting a teammate in need. Dad and Heavy glanced uneasily at each other as Medic and I just laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Wait. Whatever happened with the Administrator? Did you call her?” I finally asked, turning to my father with narrowed attention. It was a romantic thought: the Administrator being caught flatfooted for once.

“Well, first we called the exterminators,” he recounted, “But yes. After that, I called her up. The original shipment got crossed with one coming from this bloke Saxxton Hale. I've met him before, can’t say I care for him. Apparently your name was put on some of his crates by mistake and that’s how it wound up getting mixed in with your stuff.”

He took the hat off his head, scratching the nape of his neck with a wistful look in his eyes.

“Wish I would’ve been ruder, quite honestly,” he sighed.

I folded my arms, absently watching the others. Everyone was just loitering around the Medbay, waiting for the whole ordeal to be over. Even if she hadn’t meant to cause as much trouble as she did, I felt cross with the Administrator because of our earlier discussion over the phone.

“Medic?” Engineer called, his soft voice drawing everyone’s attention back to the same place. Medic gave him a questioning look before a sudden realization seemed to dawn on him.

“Ah! Yes, that’s right!” He said, snapping his fingers as he turned back to me.

“We heard your first day is Wednesday, correct?”

I nodded. He wove his fingers together, slipping effortlessly back into his professional persona.

“Surely, you have much you need to prepare for. Because of this, Herr Engineer and I thought it would be best to assimilate you into the respawn system as quickly as possible. It's a rather urgent matter, and time is of the essence. I don’t mean to alarm you, but it will likely result in you being on bedrest for about a day. It’s a very taxing procedure, you see.”

My eyes fell to my shoes. Ah, yes. Respawn.

“I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea—given the morning you’ve had—to put that burden on you today. However, I may embolden you to go through with the procedure tomorrow so that you can spend the remainder of your waiting period familiarizing and making necessary preparations. We understand that you must be feeling…”

He trailed off, waving his hand as if to beckon the best-fitting word into his mind.

“Hesitant." He decided on.

Engineer interjected at that, appearing beside us with politely-repressed eagerness.

“And we understand if you do have hang-ups about the whole idea of respawn in itself. We’ll be here for you every step of the way, darlin’, so don’t feel like you're going through it alone,” he said.

I nodded, my gaze steadying as I made peace with the circumstances.

“Alright. Tomorrow, then,” I said, mostly to myself, "Might as well get it over with."

It won't be that big of a deal. Who doesn't like to spit in the face of death? 

Chapter Text

“Hey, Miss Pauling,” I called out, chasing after her down the hallway. The last time I saw her was when she dropped off my files the other night, but now she was back with company. A group of people donning coveralls with Mann Co. on the back were patiently awaiting orders in a single-file line. They held tools in their hands, gazes fixed straight ahead as Miss Pauling read something to them off of her clipboard. Hearing her name, she turned and smiled when I stopped beside her.

“Hang back for a minute, guys,” she said to the people in coveralls.

“So…what’s with the band-aids, huh?”

“Medic left them out where Pyro and I could find them,” I said.

“Ah, that makes perfect sense,” she said, nodding with stern approval.

She peered down the hallway behind me.

“Do you know where the others ran off to?” She asked.

“They’re making lunch I think, so probably in the rec,” I said, already feeling proud of myself for remembering where things were.

“Okay, well, can you do me a favor and let them know that Mann Co. just dispatched some people to get the snakes out? They’re gonna be wandering around the base, so I don’t want any of them getting shot at for trespassing.”

“Sure,” I said, looking at the crew behind her from the corners of my eyes. They were still standing arrow-straight, not moving a muscle as they waited for Pauling to hand down orders.

“They’re gonna get your room organized, too, as the Administrator’s little way of making it up to you for the oversight,” Miss Pauling added, glancing down at her clipboard for confirmation.

“Oh. That was…nice of her,” I trailed off.

“I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Miss Pauling said, her grin returning as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It had caught me off guard.

“Huh? What’d I do?” 

“I didn’t realize it before, but some of the parts of your new job actually used to be mine. With any luck, I won’t have as much side work to do." She said this dreamily, no doubt picturing a sandy place on the beach somewhere.

“I bet you’ll get some more sleep, too,” I guessed.

“Frankie, my hopes are up already,” she said with a gentle laugh.

I risked another glance at the workers, committing their empty faces to memory as I tried to estimate how many of them there were.

“I’ll go let everyone know,” I said.

“Thanks kid,” she patted my head, “I’ll talk to you later, okay? The base will be snake-free in no time.”

“Okay, Miss Pauling,” I waved, “Thank you."

She smiled warmly, readjusting her glasses before she promptly made her way back to the group. I turned away from them, speed-walking down the corridor as quickly as possible. I wasn’t sure why, but something in my stomach wasn't sitting right with this. It all just seemed too convenient. You're having unexpected snake problems? Our bad. Boom. We already have a team on-call to fix the issue. Sorry about that. But Miss Pauling would never do something to wrong me on purpose. But Helen? That I could believe.

I picked at the stitching of my shirt, not entirely paying attention until I walked into a door.

These thoughts could easily be written off as lingering bitterness towards her, and I shook my head. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to take it easy every once in a while. I stepped into the rec room. Medic was nodding off on the couch, Engineer was drawing on some blueprints, Pyro was playing with their balloonicorn, and I could hear Scout singing to himself in the kitchen. Heavy, Demoman, Spy, Soldier, and Dad were all sitting around the poker table smack dab in the center of the room. By the way they kept their chips and cards close, casting looks of distrust and deceit, I could easily conclude that poker was not a joking matter in this base.

I cleared my throat, getting their attention.

“Francis,” Spy greeted with a calm nod.

“Hey,” I said, “Miss Pauling told me—“

“Miss Pauling? ” Scout poked his head out of the kitchen, looking around.

“--Hey Scout,” I said, eyeing him.

“You were saying?” Dad prompted.

“Miss Pauling told me to tell you all that there’s a group of people here to get rid of the snakes. They’re wearing uniforms that say Mann Co. I counted like ten I think.”

“The Admin’strator must’ve sent them,” Tavish murmured, taking a swig from his scrumpy without looking up from his cards.

“I was told to tell you all so that none of them get shot for trespassing,” I added. That earned a laugh from pretty much all of them.

“Fair enough,” Scout concluded, disappearing back into the kitchen with a shrug.

With the message delivered, curiosity got the better of me and I grabbed a seat next to my father so I could spectate for a bit. He leaned over and tilted his cards towards me so I could see what kind of a hand he had. Not bad, but not great either. He had a two-pair, ten high, meaning that he had two cards that paired with one already laying down on the table. The ten was good—it was a higher value card—but his hand could easily be trumped by a two-pair Jack or higher, a three of a kind, straight, flush, full house, four of a kind, straight flush, or a royal flush. Dad was pretty much screwed if anyone had those cards.

‘Heavy will win if your father folds,’ Miss Pauling’s voice echoed through my head. I winced, rubbing my neck. Why did it have to be hers?

‘If he ups the ante,’ it continued, ‘your father will walk away victorious.’

Unlike his cards, my dad's poker face was pretty good. His sunglasses were in his vest pocket, so I could watch his eyes follow every movement around the table. He was waiting, hunched over in his seat with the silent eagerness of a fox who had stumbled upon a chicken farm. Heavy, the dealer, flipped a card from the deck face-up on the table. The mercenaries tilted their heads to see it, deep in thought as they considered their next move.

“Last round is five chips,” Heavy declared, tossing five of his chips onto the soft, green felt. Demo winced.

“I pass,” he muttered.

Spy mulled over his cards, his jaw twitching before he furrowed his eyebrows with a sigh.

“I pass,” he echoed, drinking from a crystalline glass of scotch.

Soldier gritted his teeth. He was quiet for a long time as he glanced back and forth between his cards and the ones on the table. He muttered something to himself before knocking a fist on the wood.

It was just my father now. His stare was blank as he regarded Heavy, who was looking back at him with all the coolness of someone with a fantastic hand. The Russian smirked, sure that he had won.

I tapped my father’s shoulder. Leaning closer to him, I put a hand up to his ear and whispered to him.

“Raise it.”

His head tilted slightly towards me, considering what I had said. He whispered back that he wasn’t certain that was a good idea.

Heavy narrowed his eyes at us suspiciously.

“No talking about the cards,” he said. 

“Sorry, she was just asking about lunch and didn’t want to interrupt,” my dad replied. He glanced at me, his face creased with uncertainty.

“What is Sniper’s move?” Heavy asked, growing impatient. My dad smiled, his teeth gleaming in the light as he tossed five chips in, then an additional five. I had to stop myself from celebrating.

“I up the ante,” he declared proudly.

Heavy seemed dejected after a moment. He glanced down at his cards and then at my father before begrudgingly tossing his cards on the table with an irritated sigh. He had a two-seven offsuit, a heart and a club. In other words: a shit hand.

My dad’s eyes widened and he revealed his own hand, dropping the cards in front of the other mercenaries with a look of disbelief.

“Well I’ll be!” He exclaimed.

“What the hell?” Spy huffed, “If I had known your cards were this bad, I’d have stayed in.” He showed his cards, revealing that he had definitely made the wrong move. Had he not passed, he would’ve won with a three of a kind. My dad raked in the chips with an arrogant smile, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed and a satisfied look on his face.

“Way to go,” I murmured, admiring the large pile of chips he now had in his possession. His arm hooked around my shoulder and he happily planted a kiss on my temple.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.

Spy pulled a considerable stack of dollar bills from his suit pocket and tossed it nonchalantly at my father.

“Go buy yourself some indoor plumbing,” he muttered.

“Thanks mate,” Dad said, happily ignoring Spy’s comment while he took the money.

Heavy, Demoman, and Soldier followed suit, dishing out the money they had lost with a few playful promises of revenge. I could only stare, awestruck. Why on earth were they betting so much money? You could buy a car from another continent with those kinds of stacks.

My dad eyed me with a knowing smile.

“The work’s tough, but the paycheck makes it better,” he said.

“Wow,” I murmured.

“What do you plan on doing with your first paycheck, mon cher?" Spy asked, his voice softening as he peered at me from over his chalice.

I had one lackluster answer to that question, but in my defense, the Administrator hadn’t even told me what my hourly rate was.

“Save it, probably,” I said.

“Very good,” Heavy responded. Clearly there was a right answer to the question.

“Nah, don’t listen to that commie,” Soldier said, “Go buy something dangerous. Think fireworks. Then, set off the fireworks somewhere you aren’t supposed to.”

Spy shook his head--it was time to take an ibuprofen and just let the idiocy begin. Demoman slammed his scrumpy on the table.

“Here’s what you do, lass, you buy yourself a sword—“

“No,” Dad grunted.

“Aw, but I like swords,” I murmured.

I thought about it for a second, challenging Demoman’s idea with one of my own.

“So hear me out, I’ll climb out of a window—“

“No,” Medic butted in, waking just in time to see the circus for himself.

“Aw, but Medic—“

“Don’t ‘but Medic’ me, Francis. I will put you on cleaning duty for the rest of the year and install the iron bars on your window myself.”

“You're no fun,” I huffed.

“You don’t think I will?” He asked, tapping his fingers against the crook of his elbow. He smiled, but it was much darker than his friendly one. His eyes seemed to have a sadistic gleam in them as they bore into mine.

“Sorry, Francis, I have to agree with the doc on this one,” Engineer said, not even looking up from his blueprints.

Scout announced that lunch was ready, his voice bringing the conversation to a close as everyone eagerly made their way to the dining room. The scraping of chairs and cheerful banter softened the intensity of everyone’s varying moods as we sat down to eat together.  Pyro waved at me and gestured to the empty seat next to them. I obliged, nodding as I sat down and turned to talk with them. The other mercenaries were pleased to see that I was joining them at the table, with a couple of them sending warm smiles in my direction as they watched me and Pyro go through the motions of normal conversation.  Scout walked into the dining room with two full trays of BLT’s and vegetables in his arms. He set them down on the table and I grabbed a sandwich. As we all sat and ate together, I thought back on the game of poker and how the voice had ended up being weirdly helpful. Sure, it was technically cheating, but I usually couldn’t find a purpose for the voice other than it just making me anxious and sick all the time. Plus, getting to bond with my dad made me feel really happy.

Though it wasn’t on the forefront of my mind, a feeling of uncertainty still lingered in the back of my subconscious. I glanced around the room, not sure of what exactly I was listening for over the sound of laughter and light-hearted talking. I caught my father’s attention when he noticed the way my eyes rolled across the ceiling. Our eyes met and he tilted his head, silently asking if there was something wrong. I shrugged at him before I went back to eating my lunch, making an effort to ignore whatever urged me to wander off into dark places.

Chapter Text

I felt glad when lunch was over. Something in the back of my head was going sour.

“Frankie!” Scout called, poking his head out of the kitchen door. He had been busy cleaning up, no thanks to the fact that Soldier had taken it upon himself to “help” by smashing a bunch of plates on the floor for seemingly no reason other than that he could. It made for less dishes to wash, but still.

“You like games? Me and Demo was thinkin’ about going to this new place in town. Could be fun!” He called.

“I’m gonna go check on my room, I think,” I shouted back, slightly distracted, “Maybe I’ll go with you guys afterwards, though.”

He gave me a thumbs up and finger guns before disappearing back into the kitchen. It was quiet for a second, then another dish met its sudden demise on the floor. Scout screamed in frustration, and Soldier’s laughter spurred whatever war was happening in there. I shook my head, turning on my heels and walking out of the dining hall. The mercenaries had gone their separate ways with the exception of Scout and Soldier—and Demoman, who was fast asleep in a chair.

I looked glumly at the seat where my father had been just a few minutes before. He had wanted to stay behind for a bit longer, but intensive gun maintenance is a tedious yet necessary requirement in the life of a sniper. Plus, it’s not like I wouldn’t see him again later. I drifted out into the hall at a leisurely pace, feigning relaxation.

‘They’re everywhere,’ the voice in my thoughts echoed, 'Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.’ It sounded like me.

Everywhere? What was everywhere?

‘Not the snakes.’ It put it simply, ‘Something else.’

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but boy was I looking. Not a single crack on the wall went unanalyzed as I followed a memorized path across the floor. Like a metal detector, I figured the closer I got to the source of that feeling, the more my sixth sense would cooperate. I was face-to-face with my bedroom door. It swung open with a gentle push, and I held my breath in anticipation for what was inside. The carpet was bare, not a single box to be found. The bed was made, and the smell of freshly washed linens was ever so pleasing to the senses. The window was closed but the air didn’t feel stagnant. I hesitantly pivoted into the bathroom.

Nothing.

My fingers pulled anxiously at the collar of my shirt. I couldn’t help but feel startled by how quiet the room was. No dispenser, snakes, or boxes—everything was as it should have been. Like it never even happened. But I knew better, that something was almost certainly out to get me.

I opened my wardrobe, suspicious. To my surprise, it wasn’t empty anymore. Most of the clothes were the colors purple or red, but there was a good variety of pinks, greens, yellows, and even the occasional blue. My uniforms were in the very back: several purple button-up shirts with the Operator’s logo on the left sleeve, simple black suspenders, and black work pants. The trousers had lots of pockets and hooks to attach tools from. A pair of thin, black gloves jutted limply out of one of the pants’ pockets. I took them and rubbed the smooth material between my fingers. They felt durable enough for my line of work, but I liked the sleek look of them. On the floor of the closet was a pair of black steel-toed boots. They had a very cowboy-esque silver trim on the bottom. Coiled around them was a black, leather tool belt. I tested the weight and flexibility of it, my thoughts drifting back to the binder full of maps, diagrams, and instructions. If I wanted to wear that tool belt and not look like a fool while doing it, I’d have to earn my stay good and proper.

With finality, I shut the door and lingered over to the dresser across the room. The top drawer was full of socks and undergarments, which were eerily my exact size. Nothing to see there. The second drawer was filled with new pajamas. Some of them had really cute designs. The bottom drawer held nothing but my camera bag. Satisfied, I melted to the floor and sprawled myself out. The plush carpet tickled my hands as I sighed with perplexity. Nothing was apparently wrong, and yet…

But that’s just it. There was an “and yet…”. Moats of dust drifted through the sunlight. Would you look at all those little rivers in the popcorn ceiling? I closed my eyes.

Gravity was changing. An invisible weight nailed me to the floor as I sank further and further into my own consciousness, I couldn’t have opened my eyes even if I wanted to. There was the distant pounding of a very big drum. No, scratch that, I could hear several drums—all making that banging sound at the same time. My head started to hurt. Really, really, hurt. My blood was burning me from the inside.

“EVERYWHERE EVERYWHERE EVERYWHERE,” someone shrieked in my ear.

I folded upright, my hands flying up to protect my face, but the icy breath on my neck was gone the second I felt it. And above everything, what horrified me the most, was that I was still alone in my room.

With shaking arms, I pulled myself up using my dresser. I leaned on it for support as I tried not to be sick.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Woah! You sure scare easily,” Scout chirped, feeling a tinge of misplaced pride in the small scream that his entrance elicited. He was leaning in my doorway with his usual careless grin.

I wouldn’t let my voice waiver.

“What is it?”

“So how about that arcade, huh?” He asked, eyes full of hope, “We're leaving soon. Heavy wants to join us too, if that’s cool.”

I turned towards the spot on the carpet where I was just trapped, painfully aware of how bad his timing was. Arcades were the furthest thing from the front of my mind, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Sure,” I replied, trying to muster up some credible excitement. It felt like a wooden effort.

“Just let me get changed really quick. It won’t even take five minutes,” I murmured hurriedly, looking around the room.

“Nah, take your time! We’ll meet you in the driveway, alright?”

And with that, Scout ducked out into the hallway with a victorious “Woohoo!”

I closed my bedroom door with trembling fingers and walked along the wall to my closet. A grey t-shirt and black shorts were pulled off of their hangers and I slipped them on, depositing my dirty clothes in the laundry hamper by my bathroom door.

That spot on the carpet taunted me from my peripheral vision. To hell with all that nonsense. I slipped my tennis shoes on and ran out of my room without giving it another thought. 

***

“Yeah, brother!” Scout shouted, turning the keys in the ignition before pulling out of the driveway. Demo cheered and laughed in the front seat, raising his bottle of scrumpy in the air. Time dulled the sharp edges of dread, and only a few minutes passed before I could stomach watching the landscape slide by from the window. 

Loosen your grip, Francis. Let it go.

If I keep my guard up, nothing can hurt me. The boys up front were singing along to some generic rock song on the radio. I was sitting in the back seat; a little bit squished in the corner since Heavy took up most of the other ones. Needless to say, I was curious as to why he had tagged along in the first place. It didn’t seem like his cup of tea to go to an arcade (a usually loud place) with three other people (two of which tended to be quite loud).

His expression was stern, with narrowed eyes focused straight ahead as if he was regretting his decision. Heavy must’ve noticed me watching him and turned his head. I wasn’t entirely sure what to say in order to break the ice, but he simply nodded in my direction.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that you like arcades, Misha,” I said. Despite trying to speak up, my voice was quiet under the current of music blasting from the van’s speakers. He attempted to laugh, but it dissolved into something kind of like a sigh. 

“I do not care for such things,” Heavy admitted, rubbing the back of his head with a giant hand.

I clasped my hands together, glancing uncertainly towards the two up front and then back at him.

“They didn’t force you to come with, did they? If you don’t want to come along, I can tell them I’m not feeling well so we can go back to the--"

“Heavy volunteered to come,” he interrupted, “Heavy came to make sure Scout and Demoman do not lose you. Teufort can be dangerous for a little girl.”

I hadn’t gone into the main village since I had first arrived. That had been just before nightfall, when it was quiet, with minimal disturbances other than the old woman on her porch. So maybe Heavy was right, for as blunt about it as he was. But I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, for as grateful as I was for his concern, and was more than ready to show him that it would take more than just a tire fire at the city’s center to run me out of town.

***

My eyes darted wildly around the dark gaming room of the casino. When the two of them said arcade, I was thinking more like Pac-Man and Donkey Kong and not so much like a literal gambling den. Their definition of arcade was apparently different than mine and everyone else’s in the goddamn world. Why was I allowed? Well, I asked myself the same thing. The officer at the front didn’t even do a double-take when my companions waltzed in with me in tow.

And after what felt like hours later, Demoman was passed out in a leather seat among the rows upon rows of slot machines. Their incessant noises and alarms coupled with the rattling of quarters and change were overstimulating, and Tavish wouldn’t wake up no matter how hard I shook him. My teeth were clenched tightly as I tried to find Jeremy in that sea of strange, menacing faces. Drunk, shouting, cursing, spitting, faces. Scout was sternly (almost threateningly) entrusted with watching me by Heavy, who had to use the bathroom. Scout did a great job—at first—until a lady with some electric-looking boots strutted by. No one had ever ditched me faster.

“Scout!” I cried, the noises and pulsing neon lights ripping the skin from my bones.

A very large pair of hands fell on top of my shoulders, gently spinning me around before I had time to run away. I was eye-level with who I realized to be Heavy, and he gingerly took my hands off of my ears to speak with me.

“You are alone. Scout left you?” He asked.

I was so glad to see him that I couldn’t get the words out. Heavy leaned down a little more, sliding his hands under my arms before lifting me up off of the ground. Startled, I wriggled in his grasp before I understood and held on to his shoulders. First Medic, Dad, Pyro, then Heavy, it seemed picking me up like a dumbbell was all the rage these days.

“We are leaving. You have appointment with Doctor tomorrow. You will need food and rest before this can happen,” Heavy’s voice rumbled. It was loud enough that I could hear him over the sound of people and things hemorrhaging money.

“But I don’t know where Scout and Demoman–” 

“They will walk back,” he said with finality. At least I wasn’t the one he was pissed off with. I had secretly hoped that one of them would notice Heavy and I leaving, but no such luck. Those two were shit out of luck, I guessed.

Heavy set me down in the front seat before walking around to the other side and taking his place behind the wheel. The poor guy had to hunch over to fit.

“Make sure to fasten seatbelt,” he said. I complied but had far more trust in his driving than Scout’s. The outside of the casino burned brightly against the pitch-black night sky, a man-made sun in the smoking, prowling night. I yawned.

***

Heavy freed Francis from her seat, mindful not to wake her as he passed through the base. Sniper led Heavy to her room and held the door open as he buried her in the covers. Heavy left the room without a word, but the giant had an unmistakable look on his face, nevertheless. For years, Heavy had no one to protect other than his aging mother and sisters. Now, perhaps to his own chagrin, he knew that was no longer the case.

Sniper disappeared into Frankie’s room, planting a small kiss on her head as he did the night before. Since she had missed dinner, he decided that a large breakfast was in order for the next morning. He watched her a while longer, dead sure that he had never seen someone sleep so obliviously. The kind of sleep that was unbothered about the danger that could be around her. He almost wished he could shake her awake to scold her to be more careful but knew that was way too paranoid of him.

Francis dreamed of a wildflower field in the rain.

Chapter Text

When I opened my eyes, I could see the faint shadow of a bird outside of my window. It hopped to and fro, then preened its feathers. I watched it in the reflection of the clock on my wall, my dream slipping away and out of reach. It was so vivid, practically tangible; then gone in an instant.

I rubbed my face, confused when my knuckles felt wet. Was it drool?

The robin’s song was quiet, but I could still hear it. The rising sun bled a dark, unrelenting red into the clouds. A storm must be coming.

The little orange and grey bird hopped curiously along the shingles of the roof, singing in hopes of attracting a mate.

“Be safe out there,” I whispered softly.

Turning away from the window, I rummaged around for something to wear and started getting ready in the bathroom. As soon as I looked in the mirror, I knew that brushing my hair would prove to be a challenge. Savage fire, Ms. Barnaby would say. It would have to be a problem for later, so I brushed my teeth and washed my face first. Then, after a frankly excessive amount of detangling spray, I started brushing the back of my head. All was well and good before a knot got caught in the bristles, and the damn thing wouldn’t come free no matter how hard I pulled. Annoyed, I readjusted my grip and really fought with it, but I just…couldn’t quite…

Damn.

I let go, glaring at my reflection with the hairbrush just kind of sticking there by itself. Bugger. A mean, accusing look was thrown at the bottle of detangling spray in my hand. Not really living up to our name now, are we?

Help would have to be enlisted. I distractedly make my way to the rec room while simultaneously trying to unstick the hairbrush from my head. The smell of fresh coffee and batter gave me some inertia--it felt like ages since I had eaten anything. The two wooden doors squeaked, announcing my arrival when I ambled into the dining room, eager to see who else was awake already, but all of the chairs and tables were empty. Was everyone still asleep? My eyes were drawn to the kitchen, which was slightly ajar. Light and the smell of breakfast poured out of the doorway.

I poked my head inside. His back was to me, but I could see that my dad was leaning over a large waffle iron. Pleased to see him, I knocked on the doorframe gently so as to not surprise him. His head turned at the small sound, and his smile grew when he noticed me in the doorway.

“Aren’t you up bright and early?”

I was absently looking around the kitchen as he turned back towards the task at hand.

“Do you need a hand?” I offered.

My dad grinned, waving me over as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Sure, just be careful not to burn yourself on the iron, it can be hot as a—" My dad pointed to the griddle and a small splash of the mixture popped up and landed on his hand. Startled, he concluded with “bitch”. His face reddened when he noticed my wide-eyed stare of concern.

“Er—I’m really sorry. I’m trying not to do that,” he murmured.

“Not the first time I’ve heard it,” I reassured him.

I had lived in Australia my whole life up until then, and though Ms. Barnaby didn’t curse often, what bunch of unsupervised kids didn't?

We watched the steam rise from the waffle iron together. His eyebrows furrowed with confusion for a moment, and he turned slowly when he caught a glimpse of the small lump of plastic on the back of my head.

“I also kind of came down here to get help. My hairbrush is stuck.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he nodded, clicking his tongue. He turned my head to assess the situation.

“Tell you what. Let's get these waffles served up and I’ll get this taken care of. How’s that sound?”

“Sure,” I affirmed. Noticing the bottle of detangler in my hand, he took it and set it down on the counter while I grabbed some plates from the cupboard.

“How many should I grab?” I asked, counting quietly to myself, “7…8…9…”

“Just a plate for yourself is fine, love. You didn’t eat last night. The others can worry about making their own breakfast when they wake up,” Dad replied.

I nodded, grabbing one off the stack and setting it next to the waffle iron with a fascinated look. I had never used one by myself before. Curiosity got the best of me, and I stupidly tried to touch the top part.

“Ouch!” I hissed quietly, somehow surprised by the result.

“It’s hot, darling,” he reminded me.

I huffed, eyeing the waffle iron with a hurt finger. Dad showed me how to pour the waffle batter in and how to set the timer. When we were finished, there was a tall stack of not-even-all-that-burnt waffles. Even though it was nothing fancy or difficult, cooking with him was pretty fun. He was patient and good at gently nudging me out of my occasional trances. We even joked about asking for the snakes back so we could put them in Spy’s room. He watched warmly as I dug into my breakfast with grateful anticipation. It made me laugh really hard when he spilled some coffee on his shirt and said “piss”, then banged his knee on the cabinet next to him, prompting a muffled “son of a whore”.

I washed the dishes while he recovered.

“Let’s get that thing out of your hair,” he said when I was done. We trailed into the rec room just as some of the others were coming into the dining room. 

“Do I smell waffles?” Soldier pondered aloud.

“Must be imagining things, mate,” I shrugged as we walked by.

“Yeah, must be imagining things,” Dad deadpanned beside me. We managed to keep it together as everyone else scratched their heads.

It was warm in the rec room, the fire putting me at ease as we walked towards the comfy chair by the hearth. My dad had grabbed the bottle of detangler off the counter before we left, which he turned and examined in his hand as he sat down. I took my place on the floor with my back to him, gingerly minding how my leg bent as I did so. I hugged my knees to my chest and sighed.

“Right, should be easy enough,” he said to himself.

His hands gently plucked and unwound my hair from the brush. After some time the brush was free, so he sprayed the detangling mist and carefully pulled the bristles through with a steady motion. To be honest, I had always loved getting my hair brushed. Before time had changed her, Mum would brush my hair just like this on the rare occasion I couldn’t do it myself. It almost made me want to fall asleep with how familiar it felt, though it would be strange for me to doze off while my dad was working hard.

“Such lovely curls,” he murmured sweetly, pulling me out of my daze. His words made me swell with pride, a distinct difference to my usual dislike for people’s comments on my hair. 

“Well, that about takes care of that,” Dad concluded, admiring my neatened locks with fondness. He slipped out of his seat, offering his hand to help me stand. I wobbled a little at first, but was quickly steady again. Then something dawned on me.

“Wait,” I said, recalling Heavy’s words from the night before, “I think I have to talk to Medic and Engie. I have to do that respawn system thing today.”

“It’s okay to worry,” Dad said, choosing his words carefully, “but you have nothing to be afraid of. It’ll be alright.”

I nodded, grateful for his words, but they did little to quell my fears as my fate approached.

“Would you like me to come with you?” He asked, his expression genuine.

I nodded again, suddenly relieved that he had offered. We went back to the dining room just as Medic and Engineer were finishing up. By the look on my face, I think they knew that I was ready to get it over with before I even had to tell them. Dad phrased it as a question, but more or less just told them that he would be staying with me. There were no objections from either of the two. In fact, Medic said it would probably be a good thing if it ensured I would stay calm throughout the procedure. With nothing more to be said, we walked as a group to the Medbay, where I was politely instructed by Ludwig to lay down on the operating bench and did so with as much poise as I could. Though I thought I was hiding it well, my father took notice of my declining composure. He leaned against the table, gently taking my hand and holding it in his. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but his presence was perhaps the only thing keeping me there. Medic began attaching sticky circles with wires on them called “electrodes” all over my arms, legs, and torso. The heart monitor situated next to us came to life and filled the sterile room with a dull beep.

“Your heart is beating quite fast,” Medic observed, glancing at me as if he were about to ask if I could just slow it down somehow.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” I asked.

Engineer entered the room, pushing a large machine towards the three of us. The squeaky wheels on the bottom coupled with his footsteps on the shiny floor distracted me for a good moment as I stared at the contraption. My father gently squeezed my hand and I realized Medic was trying to get my attention.

“Ah, there you are. I don’t think you heard me. Let’s start again,” he said with a sharp, eager smile.

He turned and gestured towards the strange apparatus, where Engineer was plugging in all sorts of extension cords from an outlet in the wall.

“Inside of this machine is a fluid. I’ll take a small blood sample by pricking your finger and it will be mixed thoroughly with the liquid inside. When that is finished, an I.V. will circulate that mixture repeatedly throughout your body. Simple enough,” Medic explained, accentuating his point with a dreamy laugh, readjusting his glasses.

“Then, once that’s done, it will simply come down to…” Medic trailed off. Everyone in the room suddenly seemed quite uncomfortable, maybe even a bit downcast. Ludwig cleared his throat, regaining his numbed professionalism.

“The respawn part,” he concluded.

The dying part.

My eyes flickered up to the ceiling. I had no doubt that they were highly experienced with this, considering they were all in the respawn system themselves.

I extended the hand my dad wasn’t holding towards Medic.

“You said you need a blood sample, right?” I asked, sounding slightly unsure.

He nodded, swiftly obliging by taking my hand and attaching a little clip to my finger. He gave me a three second countdown before the slight pinch came. I turned my head to the side and watched as Medic approached the machine. It was a large metal rectangle, more tall than it was wide, with two glass cylinders jutting out of the front. There were a lot of complicated-looking screens, buttons, and dials, but thankfully they were things only the professionals had to understand. Medic opened a small latch in the glass tube and tipped the plastic clip in his hand, releasing a singular drop of my blood into the otherwise empty container.

“Now, darlin’,” Engineer spoke, his voice sweet and reassuring, “It’s gonna be a little bit loud when I turn this here machine on, okay? It makes the floor shake, too, so you might feel like you’re moving around on the table. I assure you, that’s completely normal.”

“Okay,” I said, breathless. I was bracing myself for the process to begin, squeezing my dad’s hand a little tighter. Engineer crouched on the floor behind the machine with a grunt, disappearing for a moment as he worked with the controls.

Medic glanced at me, his expression shifting when he saw that I had gone pale.

“I will warn you now, because you deserve to know,” he began, his voice filled with something like sympathy, “you’ll probably feel a bit sick once you wake up, which is why we told you to clear the whole day for this.”

Maybe my father was staring at me. I could see my own reflection in his sunglasses.

“Here we go,” Engineer called, standing at attention once more. He clapped the dust off of his hands and gave Medic a firm nod. The doctor approached the table once more with a black case. Upon opening it, I averted my eyes when I realized it held the needles and tubing required for the I.V.

One could put two and two together to guess why I hated needles. Still, Medic unraveled the bundle of tubing with a kind of reverent precision, clicking each connector into its proper port on the machine. All the lines met at a single point—a long tube ending in an IV needle. I turned my head away when he slid it into my arm.

“You may flip the switch now, Herr Engineer,” Medic called.

The room erupted in a deep, mechanical roar—the drilling, hammering sound of something far too powerful to be safe. The table trembled under me. I fought the instinct to bolt, to wrench free and run, but I had come too far to back down now. Through half-lidded eyes, I watched the machine come alive. A glass tube beside the one holding my blood began filling rapidly with a dark, oceanic blue liquid. It churned and bubbled as Engineer toggled a few levers, his face caught somewhere between adoration and uncertainty. Then the blue began to drain, streaming into the vial that held my blood.

A violent reaction rippled through the mixture—the blue swirled, deepened, and shifted to a molten amber in seconds. Medic’s gloved fingers tapped his chin thoughtfully. When the transformation stabilized, he nodded once to Engineer.

Engineer pressed a large red button. The machine hummed low and steady now, like something alive and breathing.

The amber liquid crept up the tubes toward me. I stared, morbidly transfixed, as it climbed into the IV and entered my veins. Cold rushed through me first—a shocking, metallic chill. My teeth chattered. The lights above blurred. I heard Medic sigh quietly, his voice low as he leaned toward my father.

Dad’s expression faltered for the briefest moment before he schooled it back to that perfected neutrality. He nodded.

Medic looked down at me. There was something soft—almost sorrowful—in his eyes. He smiled faintly and patted my hand.

“This is the last part, Francis.” 

“Oh.” It was all I could say.

“Just breathe. You’ll feel like you’re falling asleep—or being given an anesthetic. Everything will be fine when you wake up.”

“How will I wake up?”

He hesitated, searching for words simple enough to hold the weight of what he meant.

“The fluid now in your blood—it stays there. Permanently. When you…” He paused. “When your body can’t go on, it reacts. It draws power from a receptor in the respawn room. That reaction rebuilds you. Even within a fairly large distance—you’ll always come back there. Perfectly restored. That’s how you’ll wake up.”

It was all too much to process. The words fell around me like fragments of a language I couldn’t understand.

Medic took a steadying breath, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Are you ready?”

I nodded.

He reached for a final syringe—this one clear, colorless, and horribly final. Even without knowing the science, I knew what it was: death. It made me think of death row prisoners on slabs, in rooms with one-sided glass.

He fitted it into the small port on my IV line. I leaned back, staring up at the sterile lights until they seemed to blur into stars. My father clasped my hand in both of his.

My pulse raced, the heart monitor beeping faster and faster. Then Medic depressed the plunger.

Everything began to unravel.

The chill in my limbs faded, replaced by a warm, enveloping calm that sank deep into my bones. My muscles slackened. My eyelids grew heavy. My brain was a matterless orange peel.

The beeping slowed.

I could no longer feel my father’s hand.

Even the table beneath me was gone; I was floating in weightless dark.

I exhaled softly. 

.

.

.

After a pause, I began to worry. What was taking so long?

I struggled to move. A weight shifted, like someone was kneeling my arms.

***

No one could have predicted how quickly everything would fall apart.

Medic exhaled, relieved, as Francis’ body stilled. Heart rate slowing. Neural activity declining. Textbook. Until the seizure began.

The heart monitor exploded into frantic beeping. The three men jolted in unison.

Francis’ eyes snapped open, pupils rolled white. Her hands curled, uncurled, her entire body jerking violently against the restraints of her own muscles. She tried to inhale and couldn’t.

“Francis!” Sniper lunged forward, panic breaking through his voice.

“Get back! Zurück!” Medic shouted, grabbing Sniper by the arm and dragging him away.

Engineer stumbled around the side of the table; his face twisted in disbelief. “Doc—?”

“Clear the table!” Ludwig barked.

They swept the instruments aside, metal clattering across the floor.

Blood trickled from Francis’ nose. Medic cursed under his breath, fumbling with the IV line, trying to stabilize what he could. Of all the moments for a seizure to strike—

He injected the rest of the serum, forcing the process to complete before she could tear herself apart.

The spasms slowed. Her breath faltered, then ceased.

The heart monitor went flat.

Sniper stared, trembling, one hand over his mouth. “Francis?” he whispered.

Silence.

***

Looking over my own shoulder, I stared into the prairie, at myself. What had been a gentle breeze was now persistent, whipping, writhing, and toiling cruelly against the soft bark of the trees. Rain fell in slanted sheets and pelted my face with sharp diamonds of water. I watched as my reflection ran her hands across the mounds of dirt, searching. And oh, the rain was just so painful. The reflection stopped abruptly, patting the same spot on the ground once and then twice. She hunched over and began to pull up handfuls of dirt with unmistakable desperation. I couldn’t help but wonder to myself what the hell I was doing out—

Huh.

Have I been here before?

The eyes were watching me, behind there somewhere. Watching in the dark. Patient. They barely gleamed in the black--a bunch of pale coins waiting for the ferryman.

Her hands bled into what I know to be a grave. The sky burned white with lightning, and I could see what remained of a shattered headstone.

Adeline

The Angel of Death keepeth watch,

Who holdeth His Lamp beyond the Door of Gold.

He hath drawn thee beneath the Dark Waters.

And below that, almost obliterated by years of freeze and thaw:

God, grant she lie still.