Team Fortress: Soaked Through

Chapter Three: On The Road

   The ride was silent for the first few minutes. Scout was half asleep next to a scowling Spy, Pyro was playing with a piece of newspaper, Heavy was cleaning his gun, and Miss Pauling was going over every note she could find about Medic.

   "I am still in the dark." she said. "No history of disloyalty, no recent episodes, no deaths in his life, no trauma..."

   "No trauma?" Spy snickered. "He's seen look-a-likes of his partners get blown up for years. Don't you think that counts?"

   Scout yawned and stretched, purposely hitting his arm against Spy.

   "Man, those first few months are trippy. I thought I killed you guys hundreds of times. It took a while before I realized that you could always come back."

   Spy shoved Scout's arm away from him. He was still sore from that morning.

   "There are some times when I wish that certain people would never come back. They would just be stuck in limbo forever, not quite alive, but not quite dead."

   Heavy made a disapproving grunt. "We stick together, Spy. That is why we are here. To find Medic. But we can't scatter before we even start."

   "We can't fight without him," Scout said. "He's the only person who can use the gun."

"He wasn't quite the person I was referring to," Spy replied, emphasizing his glare on Scout.

"Sheesh, you sure hold a grudge!"

Miss Pauling rolled her eyes and sighed, more amused than annoyed.

"There's one thing that I have learned from this job. Whether it's a gunshot wound or a crime record, people usually squirm most when someone touches what's tender."

"There is not a tender bone in my body!" Spy protested. "I simply have a past. Everyone does. And no one likes having people shove their nose straight into it."

Heavy looked up from his gun again, setting the barrel on his thigh.

"You have ego to keep. That's fair. But egos can bite you in the zhopa, and there is no going back. Better to say like a man than squeezed out like orange."

Before Spy could say anything more, Engineer shouted from the front of the truck.

"I've got his chip! He's somewhere in Louisiana, about four hours from here. If we high tail it..."

"Hold on to your hats, men!" Soldier interrupted, banging on the wall that separated them. "This mission is our top priority! This'll get ya a few good words from me, if ya don't screw up!"

   Scout rubbed his head, which had been hit against along with the wall.

   "There are a couple of good words I've got for you..."

   "His vitals have been cut off," Engineer continued over Scout, "but his last readings had very high amounts of adrenaline. Medic was mighty scared of somethin' when he ran off."

"Scared?" Miss Pauling flipped through her notes again. "Curiouser and curiouser. Do you think someone was after him? One of the BLUs, maybe?"

Scout laughed. "I have seen him shoot a BLU without even looking over his shoulder. In fact, it would take God himself to ruffle Medic's feathers."

  He thought again, wrinkling his brow.

   "You don't think he...y'know...summoned something, do ya?"

   "I don't think that's the case," Miss Pauling replied. "For as many scientific fallacies his inventions hint at, he doesn't strike me as the summoning type. Medic's a scientist, not an alchemist."