Chapter Text
“…This isn’t like any other assignment you’ve been given,” Pauling continued to her rapt audience of assorted mercenaries and killers. “It’s much, much more serious. This isn’t just a fight for Mann Co., or Saxton Hale.” She paused, letting the weight of her words seep into their cores, her glasses flashing white. “It’s a fight for your jobs.”
There are grins, some sadistic, some gleeful, others hidden behind a layer of asbestos. All eager.
“The first wave arrives in eight hours. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
With that, Pauling turns off the little TV, leaving the mercenaries to prepare. There isn’t one among them who’s afraid. After all, killing is what they do best.
The ex-BLU Soldier stood at attention until the message ended, and then took a moment to assess his new team. Much like himself they were all weighed down by backpacks and duffel bags full of their worldly possessions, as they'd been transported to this new base only days after being let go by RED and BLU. The other members from his team that had taken the job were the Medic, Pyro, and Spy. They were outnumbered by those from RED, with the Heavy, Scout, Engineer, and Sniper filling out the rest of the team. And of course, the RED Demoman was there too.
To say the Soldier was tense would be an understatement. He had refused to look at the Demo through their entire journey and arrival to the base, but he could feel his presence around him like a vice. The War had been many years ago now, but the two had been more brutal and merciless towards each other ever since. How was he supposed to work with someone he hated with such a passion, and that hated him back in turn?
He let out a quiet grumble and turned away from his new team before anyone else, intent on finding his new room and avoiding awkward conversation. It wasn't hard to find, only just past the mess hall, so he stepped inside and dumped his pack on the small, metal-framed bed. Opening the closet to start unpacking, he froze. Jane knew it was coming, Pauling had told them as much, but seeing the many sets of red, not blue, uniforms in the closet threw him for a loop.
He supposed it made sense. They were all one team now, and the Engineer's sentries needed to know who to shoot, but something about changing the color of his uniform felt like a betrayal. The job was more important though, and he figured wearing a different coloured uniform wasn't as bad as not getting to fight hordes and hordes of bloodthirsty robots.
Not RED but red.
That was the most coherent thought that passed through the Demoman’s mind at the current moment. Eight hours was a long time, and, doing some math, he found he only needed two to become drunk enough to aim properly. So he figured he’d only have the one scrumpy now, and down the rest in another six. That plan had some rather large holes.
The empty bottles surrounded him, seeming to lean in threateningly, and aggravating his already pounding hangover. He had the feeling he was supposed to be doing something right now, but what he couldn’t say. He couldn’t say much of anything, actually, the mid-morning daylight illuminating his room despite the threadbare curtains. Two pillows directly over his face and it was still too bright.
Draining his entire booze stash over the course of three hours was stupid for two reasons. One: the aforementioned hangover. And two: he no longer had anything in reserve. The scrumpy was supposed to tide him over until their next supply drop, and, now that he started to think about it, he had no idea how long that was expected to be. This wouldn’t be like the neat and orderly war he had fought in for the past four years where he could pop out the drug store on the weekend and resupply: they would expect him to stay here, and they would expect him to fight.
How he was going to get anything done sober? Mann Co. made him pay for his own weapons for Christ’s sake; there was no way he could get them to supply him some alcohol, no matter how much he insisted it helped him fight.
At the time, it had seemed like a good idea.
Alright, maybe not a good idea, but the only one that would help him through a miserable fucking morning. What in God’s name had possessed Mann Co. to reach out to the former BLUs for help? Didn’t they know that RED had won the war? They’d pushed a dead body into hell, and that was about as victorious as they came.
That fact didn’t seem to matter, and the BLUs had shown up, much to Tavish’s surprise and disgust. He hated BLU team, just like everyone should. But of all the BLUs to show up…
He was here.
The BLU Soldier. The fucking traitor who wore those fucking shoes even dressed down to civilian clothes. The sight of him—standing within arms reach without a steel grate to keep them from killing each other—was enough to make Tavish need every bottle of scrumpy in the world.
Blue but not BLU.
The Demoman closed his eye. A nap was the only thing that would improve this situation.
-
It had already been late when they arrived at the base, so after unpacking the Soldier decided to sleep for a few hours to well rested for the fight the next morning. He woke up at 6 per usual, and dropped to the floor for a quick set of push-ups before getting ready for the day.
He put on his new uniform piece by piece. The fabric was stiff, not broken in like his old ones, and the bright red almost seemed to burn his eyes. The uniform wasn't uncomfortable though, even if he wanted it to be.
With a few hours left until the team's first mission, Jane decided to head into the kitchen for some breakfast. A few members of the team were already there, though he suspected none of them had actually slept.
“Morning men!” He hollered to them. “I hope you maggots are ready to kick some robot ass!”
His words were met with nothing but quiet agreement. Not the enthusiasm he was looking for, but he supposed it was a bit early for most people to be as energetic as himself. Since they had yet to figure out a cooking schedule, Jane was left to fend for himself, leading to a breakfast of canned pork and beans with a side of scrambled eggs.
He sat down at the table with the other mercs and started to eat, trading small talk for larger forkfuls of food.
Demoman woke with a start. The banging on his door rattled every bit of sparse furniture in his room, making him glad his hangover had subsided to a dull ache. He only tripped twice on his way to the door, sending the empty bottles skittering. When he finally wrenched open the bloody thing he was only greeted with, “Hey, hey, cool man, you’re up,” before Scout skidded down the hall to the next room. Any ornery call he might had have slung after the younger man dissipated, replaced by the want to crawl back into bed, and the even greater need to get his gear moving.
Pulling on a fresh uniform, he stumbled into the spawn room, the place having suffered a considerable makeover to any spawn room Demo had ever seen. It had what looked like a shoppe built right into the wall, ammo and sample weapons hanging on display. Pauling explained it was their upgrade station, where they would spend their robot killing money on new, experimental tech. Frankly, Demo thought it looked tacky as hell.
Even as Pauling spoke, Demo felt the need to nod off. The rest of the team seemed awake enough, but from what he heard, they had at least eaten breakfast. His tummy rumbled, and he chided himself once again for his stupid drunken decision.
Soldier entered the spawn room, and, on instinct, Demo gave him a half-hearted grin.
As Soldier’s eyes widened in shock, Demo realized his mistake. Despite the crimson uniform and dark grey helm, this wasn’t the RED Soldier. He was a bastard in sheep’s clothing, a slight hangover and a maroon illusion making Demo momentarily forget that. He immediately narrowed his eye, just to make sure that the BLU didn’t think he had forgotten the War.
Jane grimaced, squaring his shoulders and walking past the Demoman towards the weapons display. Jane could still feel the other man's eye on him, but opted to just ignore it. Examining the assortment of weapons he decided to stick with a trusty rocket launcher, using his start money to upgrade the clip size. More rockets = more explosions = more destroyed robots.
“Herr Soldier,” The Medic piped up next to him, drawing his attention. Jane felt strange seeing his old teammate also wearing red. “Are you sure you should be wearing those?”
He followed the man's gaze to his gunboats, ever present on his feet.
“What's the problem, nurse? I earned these boots fair and square, I ain't giving them back,” he growled.
“I'm not saying get rid of them, but they are very large and clunky, you can't carry your shotgun when you wear those.”
“I don't need my shotgun.”
“Soldier we are fighting hordes of robots, not one on one. You need weapons that do greater damage, not increase your rocket jumping abilities.”
Jane scowled. He hadn't worn any other boots to battle since receiving the gunboats. They were symbolic of that war, they represented all the times he had killed Tavish, they acted as a reminder of what a traitor he was.
“Negatory. I will kill these robots and I will do it with nothing but my entrenching tool if the need be,” he boasted, nodding confidently.
The Medic sighed, mumbling something in German.
“I'm going to see if the Demoman needs kritz for his sticky traps. Don't waste all your money on stupid upgrades.” With that said he ran off, leaving Jane alone. He was suddenly painfully aware of how uncomfortable the boots were.
Despite himself, Demo was eager to get a good look at his new adversaries. Hale had had said something about them being equal or greater to their human counterparts, but it was difficult for Demo to believe that any robot could lob a bomb half as good as himself.
He stood in front of the gate, supposedly to lay down some sticky traps, but in reality just taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of it all. What sort or monstrous creature needed a door that big? He shook his head to clear it, and considered the best spot to place the first stickies. Just as he was about to pop one onto the ground, he was interrupted by a nasal accent.
“Wait a moment if you please, Herr Demoman.”
The BLU Medic strutted from the direction of spawn, carrying his Kritzkrieg and looking indistinguishable from his RED counterpart. Looking at him, Demo couldn’t help but think back to his drunken moment of enlightenment, wondering just how deep RED and BLU were ingrained in his teammates. The notion didn’t seem as profound now that he was sober.
Before Demo could even ask what the doctor wanted, Medic strolled right up and placed the medibeam on him.
He jumped, expecting some sort of reaction, but the red glow from the medigun merely sent tickles along his spine. The familiar bubbles of overheal coursed through him, and he eyed the gun sceptically.
“So that thing works on anyone then?”
“Of course,” Medic said flippantly. “I would not be much use here if I could only heal three of my teammates.”
Teammates. Now there’s a word.
The Kritzkrieg gave a fast couple of clicks, letting the user know it was ready to charge. Medic motioned toward the gate, and Demo got the picture. Soon all eight stickies glittered with critical malice as they waited for their metal victims. Medic nodded triumphantly.
“Wunderbar. If you don’t mind, I will stick near you during battle. I feel that is from where I can rein the most destruction.”
“Actually, I do mind,” Demo started. “Why are you bein’ so casual about this? If you think a couple o’ pocketin’ hours are goin’ take make me volunteer tae go under the needle, you can take your kritz and shove ‘em up your-”
“Please,” Medic said, holding up a hand. “Do not be so dramatic. I am merely here to do my job same as you. I am perfectly willing to let bygones be bygones, as the case may be.”
Demo ran his tongue over his teeth, judging the sincerity of the doctor’s words.
“That’s it? A couple o’ promises o’ new weapons and you’re willin’ tae drop everythin’ and join RED?”
“Oh please,” Medic scoffed. “This is not RED team, this is merely a red team. RED is gone, as is any cosmetic differences that might have made us enemies. Besides,” he said with almost a leer, “Medics are supposed to operate without borders, ja?”
Somehow, the fact that Medic had very little team loyalty didn’t surprise the Demoman. RED’s Medic would probably be the same. But the sentiment of red over RED echoed Demo’s earlier thoughts, and he decided to relent.
“Fine, I’ll be your bloody pocket. But,” he said, shaking a lone finger at the doctor, “I expect you tae stay behind me at all times and don’t get yourself blown tae confetti.”
Medic smiled creepily. “Do not worry Herr Demoman. I have gotten very good at staying alive.”
That was as close as Demo would get. The two of them took their place above the street, and readied for the coming wave.
When Jane finished upgrading his equipment he left the spawnroom, stepping out into the sun. It was a hot day, dry too. Dust kicked up behind the Scout as he ran laps around the various abandoned buildings, swinging his bat at imaginary enemies.
In the area between the two spawn buildings the Engineer had already set up a teleporter. Jane wandered up to it cautiously, slightly worried the RED machine might scramble up his BLU DNA. He was going to have to use it sooner or later, and might as well start now.
He stepped on the glowing platform and immediately reappeared on the top of a building in the center of the map. He gave himself a quick once-over, and was relieved that all his limbs and important parts seemed to be intact. The Engineer was hammering away at his sentry, but turned to Jane when he heard the telltale noise of someone coming through the teleporter. He seemed to analyze Jane for a moment, even though he couldn't see the Texan's eyes giving him a once-over.
“Mornin’, Soldier,” he said with a nod, before turning back to his machines.
Soldier nodded back before aiming his rocket launcher to the ground, and flinging himself across to the next building. There were some large ammo packs there, and he had good high-ground over where the robots would be entering. He could see the massive blue transporter from here as well. Something that big must have a lot of robots, he thought. His trigger finger twitched in anticipation.
All of the sudden, his attention was pulled by movement across the way. The Medic and Demoman were there, they had laid down some glowing sticky bombs and seemed to be discussing strategy. Jane didn't like this, the Medic was his teammate, he shouldn't be hanging out with the RED Demoman of all people.
“Medic!” he cried out, having sustained some damage from his rocket jumping journey over. “Come 'ere cupcake!”
The Medic ran over at his call, stopping at the bottom of the building and aiming his medigun up at the Soldier. The warm feeling of the medigun was a welcome relief, and soon he began to tingle with overheal. As soon as he was maxed out however, the Medic broke the beam, turning around and running back to the Demo.
Jane's grip on his launcher tightened. Why was the Medic pocketing the Demoman? Not only was he not BLU, but he could not be trusted. He was a backstabbing coward and a traitor, Jane knew as much from experience.
There wasn't much he could do about it at the moment though, as a countdown had started to echo over the battlefield.
“10... 9... 8... 7... 6...”
Jane jumped up onto the ledge surrounding the roof, trying to get a better view of the robot carrier.
“5... 4... 3...”
With a gush of steam the door on the carrier opened, Jane aimed his rocket launcher.
“2... 1...”
And just like that, robots started pouring out. Cheers erupted from the rest of the team, and Jane laughed along with them. This was definitely going to be quite a ride.
He wasn’t the only one excited.
No matter what he did, Demo’s stickies always hit something, just because there were so many of the things. He’d lob them left and right and the bloody clankers just kept coming. All there was to do was blow them to bits, time after time, with little regard for strategy or subtlety. The only thing to fear was running out ammo.
Which, in due time, he did.
He and Medic had crammed themselves on the center building, now unoccupied that Engie had moved down the ground floor. The huge ammo crate would spawn any second, if only he could…
“We need to get moving, Demoman,” Medic yelled, trying to be heard over the sounds of battle.
The fourth wave was in full swing, bringing the giant demobots down on their heads. They were more unsettling than Demo thought they would be, the single glowing eye in the center of their heads crossing a line into uncanny valley. Not that Demo wasn’t used to fighting things that looked just like him, but something about the robots twisted his gut.
“Just a few more minutes,” he pleaded. “It can’t have been that long…”
“We need this,” Medic said, shaking the fully charged Kritzkrieg, “to take down those.” He jerked his thumb back toward the demobots. “And if we die on this roof, I will lose it.”
“I ken! But I-”
A live grenade landed on the roof.
“Run!” Medic shouted.
He didn’t wait for Demo to give a response, grabbing him by the arm like he thought the Scotsman couldn’t run on his own. They sprinted to edge of the roof, and saw the string of scoutbots still below them.
“Damn,” Demo muttered.
He looked back in time to see Heavy distract the giant robot, pulling it off the roof. And, to his wondering eye, the ammo pack blinked into existence.
“Medic,” he said, yanking the doctor’s arm.
He looked at Medic, about to tell him they could head back. But, as the doctor turned to him, he noticed something on his forehead.
A little blue dot.
Demo didn’t hesitate, shoving Medic forward, a direction that happened to be off the roof. The Demoman didn’t even have time to consider the consequences of his action before his world went black.
The black was quickly replaced by the white of the respawn room. He was just about to locate the teleporter and rush back out into the fray when the Administrator’s voice called out “Wave complete!” The lights in the upgrade station blinked on.
“Well then.”
Still a little disorientated, he made his way to the shoppe. He spent every single dollar on capacity upgrades.