10:30 P.M., on a Friday

Someplace else in the Badlands, early-seventies

If you have to be specific on one place, it's Hightower or, as the pumpkins and spooky decorations indicate something, Helltower. Your usual Payload Race location turned into a thorn of creepy crawlies and ghosts to spook your skeleton out and come running off somewhere.

Reliable Excavation Demolition mercenaries (consisting of: Scout, Sniper, Soldier, Pyro, and Engineer) made their way to the rails, pushing the grave of a rival employer of theirs (being Blutarch Mann) to Hell because of some afterlife dispute. Guessing that even in death, as long as there's two ghosts left on the planet, someone would still want someone dead. They even wonder when will this war for useless land ever end, thanks to Zephaniah Mann's oath to both of their sons (that they should split the useless land that they forced him to buy); Or the fact that how would it even end. The mercenaries could care less though, they had worried for tumors in their bodies due to prolonged exposure or usage of teleportation (until they found out that bread could only get said "tumors", not people) or the fact that they even let Doctor Ludwig, also known as Medic, get near their bodies to conduct an "experimental surgery" of something he barely even has knowledge of. Yet again, they could care less, if they were to sent off someplace that isn't entirely where they were born in. After all, whatever obstacle, as long as they have their cooperation with one another, they will break down anything to get through to their journey.

In short, they just want to get paid and some sleep. Meaning that mercenaries don't really have time for nonsense, they want to get their jobs done as they are told to.

Well, this group of mercenaries are a bunch and you could tell, in anyway anyhow.

Just a few many meters away from the next rail point are the mercenaries of Builders League United (being: Heavy, Medic, Demoman, and Spy) who have the same goal in mind whilst they pushed this railcart of a grave of their opposition employer (presumably Redmond Mann). They were doing quite a good job at pushing the card, considering Heavy is generously a muscle.

But on the RED side of the rails, Scout's doing most of the pushing, and he's pushing in an unpaired hustle.

"Push, fellas!" Jeremy cried out, as his hands clutched the railcart and pushed forward.

While the rest of RED Team, they didn't bother. Soldier launching rockets towards the team (and applying some splash damage, rather than direct damage), Sniper trying to pop heads but ultimately gets launched aside from an explosion he endured like a champ, Pyro trying to play tennis as they tried to deflect Demoman's pills away, and Engineer (donning the Gunslinger) wrangling the Mini-Sentry on the cart.

They just fired at the other team trying to fire back at the them. Besides, likesaid before, Scout's doing a hustle pushing that cart. They were on the lead, in fact.

"Keep pushing!" Misha, or Mikhail (or Heavy, whatever you want to call him as) cried the same as he dragged the cart and keep on the pace.

Demoman was busy lobbing pill bombs at the REDs and Medic busied himself covering behind the cart and healing the Black Scottish Cyclops as support. Spy however, is missing. Forgot to mention, Tavish Finnegan DeGroot here sponging most damage. Medic's Vaccinator doing a wondrous job.

"Have at thee, you ruffians!" the Cyclops taunted as he kept popping pills at the other team and his foot keeping pace with the cart.

"Keep up, schweinhund!" Ludwig cried out, holding in the Vaccinator, his fingers fumbling to shift from physical and explosive threats.

"Don't worry, doc!" Tavish assured with gusto and a grin. "Nuffin' ever holds me back!"

(Except alcohol.)

"Bloody pikers!" Mundy jeered from the other cart, stumbling himself from the floor and to the cart. "Hold still, your head will disappear in no time!"

"Like in me mudder's name, you'll do!"

10:45 P.M.

While Demoman's laughter was loud enough to be heard inside from the outside, Spy surreptitiously inched behind enemy lines, gripping both his Dead Ringer and a Balisong flipped open. The RED's cart was almost to the objective, he has to put a halt to it. Spy thought creeping behind him would be a good idea. He has the plan to buy his BLU comrades some time to push the cart.

That plan, though, needs it's opening execution. Spy… Well, have you watched those frag montages in the interwebs? (Yeah, those videos that were supposed to impress you or leave you mentally jealous of because you'll never be at the same level as them; ie: MrPaladin; yeah, those videos) This will be an attempt on writing of a said "montage".

Dequipping the knife and unveiling (the most tryhardiest of tryhardy primaries for Spy) the Ambassador (side note: nearly every Spy primary is generally overshadowed by this weapon; don't say otherwise or else, rant about it and people who aren't braindead like you are will call you a smartass) to his hand, he quickly appeared from the sniping balcony nearby the Battlement door and aimed. With precision and (absolutely zero) skill, he has ultimately put a hole in Scout's skull, brushing his smug grin on his face, his body flopping to the ground and the cart stopping.

The REDs' jaws were agape when the twenty-three year old's body bled from the head and looked where the shot came ringing from. Engineer was the first to see the Spy but he was ultimately shot in the eye too, instantly killing him.

This put the REDs into a disadvantage: they're being shot at from two sides and they're down on two team members. Sniper ought to just go up to Spy himself and go hand-to-hand, face-to-face with him with his kukri. That so, he did. Pyro and Soldier (and the Mini-Sentry, distracted at the presence of Spy and begun pinning him to cover with a constant barrage of rounds fired at him) were left with a still, unmoving cart against a slow but moving cart on the other side, racing to win and in time.

Soldier, being the ungiving to failure that he is, decided to throw away his rocket launcher on the ground and started to push the cart himself.

"Defeat doesn't exist in the American dictionary!" Jane Doe stated like a patriot as he pushed.

Sniper went up to the stairs, kukri in hand. Turning to the corner, Spy had already prompted himself to attack but Sniper evaded but in a boggled way, spinning and wobbling before he regained his composure. Spy thrusted forward his knife but Sniper parried it and begun to deliver his own medicine. Spy however, being Spy, dodged backwards step-by-step as Sniper kept swinging and swooshing his kukri forward, trying to get an inch of skin from the Frenchman.

Despite Sniper's efforts, Spy broke the swing streak by a kick to the shin and a knee to the jaw when Sniper was forced to bend after that kick. Sniper staggered back, clutching his aching jaw. Spy wasn't finished. He swiped forward at Sniper with his knife, leaving a mild scratch to the marksman's left cheek.

Sniper's glasses fumbled off from his face and hastily rubbed his cheek where he received damage from. Blood on his palm. His own palm. Shifting eyes at the Spy, he muscled towards the Frenchman with his kukri. Spy, likewise, evading backwards but he himself didn't expect the Bushman's next attack a punch leaving Spy to seesaw back in a daze. Then after, Sniper bolted forward at Spy and as soon as the Frenchman opened his eyes wide, he was stabbed through the chest with that much larger, longer knife of the Bushman, instantly killing him.

Sniper pushed the Spy's corpse off and thudding to the floorboards.

"See you in five minutes," Mundy muttered out of his breath whilst he gasped for air out of exhaustion from this fight before spitting on the Frenchman's now bloodied expensive suit.

However, a distorted sound of an invisi-watch uncloaking could be heard behind the marksman.

"I'm afraid not," the tuxedo terrorist replied in his daring French tone.

Before Mundy could say "Aw, piss" to himself, a blast of a shotgun would be heard behind him and a death scream that almost made him go deaf.

"Boom!" the Boston Basher named Jeremy, also known as Scout, gloated upon killing the Frenchman with his Backscatter (taste of your own medicine through mini-crits). "I'm back, dummy!"

Sniper sighed to alleviate that newfound stress that loomed behind his back. He turned to see Scout in charming fashion, in his usual pose (the pick-a-class menu pose). He gave the boy a thumbs-up and Scout nodded with a grin.

Then they heard an explosion when Sniper had put his glasses back on, following Pyro's squeal of pain and Soldier exclaiming, "Pyro down!" from the rails.

Both males immediately ran out now that Spy is out of the picture for a bit or two.

So much for the montage (or maybe the Author just gave up), Spy.

--

"Doctor!" Heavy called out to as he left his hand off from the cart and now onto his minigun.

"Ja?!" Medic replied, as he busied healing the Black Scottish Cyclops from behind the cart. But he already knows what his Russian comrade is trying to convey with his body gestures as those big burly hands grasped at minigun. Turning to Demoman, he yelled to him, "Demoman!"

"Yah?!" the Highlander asked loudly as he kept lobbing pills at the enemy team.

"Push ze kart!"

"Why?!"

His question was later answered when Heavy showed his back infront of him and started barraging the opposition with a hailstorm of bullets and Medic, instead of Demoman, switching to the Russian to heal and keep his health at a maximum and be protected with the resistances of both physical and explosives. Demoman would comply, then jogging to the cart and pushing it himself with all of his guts and glory… Or merely any guts and glory, but it's still moving. Just a few feet away, given the stand-by Spy gave the RED Team.

Paying attention to the opposition, Heavy never let his peddle to the mettle go on a grinding halt. His minigun kept on going and going like a chainsaw revving and sawing through weak materials such as wood, plaster, and sheet metal; also, to some degree, even thick paddings of kevlar, if you pump lead on them hard enough for them to leave a huge hole on their chest.

Twelve seconds of countless empty cartridges trinkling on the floor left Heavy's minigun go click before he tossed it on the cart and went, clutching it and pushing it towards the final point as they drew near it.

"Good job, kamerad!" Medic cheered.

Heavy replied with a straight but stern face pushing this cart forward like there's no tomorrow, assisted by Demoman (who merely muscles it).

"Cart must go!" Misha exclaimed as he pushed.

"Aye!" Tavish agreed.

There was sweat running down from their skin. They really want to win and get this over with. Mercenaries do need their rest. If only the Administrator could see that.

You can blame her for attempting to break Demoman and Soldier's friendship by forcing them to kill each other. Miss Pauling could care at nothing but to uplift the Administrator's wishes. After all, the Administrator's true wish is blood, and she wants gallons of the stuff.

Well, everyone, grab a glass because it's going to be a flood; or maybe, Miss Pauling was just delusional and thought the Administrator could even wish for something like that. Nonetheless, nobody knows. Nobody knows when this war will end nor how will it end. It's a repetitive question.

All of this mess for the past a century, all because that two siblings couldn't get along with each other.

Oh! Daddy daddy, why don't you go buy us some land?! Oh wait, this land's useless but whatever! Oh, no! Daddy died! Oh well, we guess we'll just have to stuck our hands at each others' throats constantly until one of us dies and takes over the useless land that we forced our daddy to buy but fought over!

Yet, here both of them are as skeletons prompted in hallowed dirt and a tombstone, racing against each other to whoever goes to Hell first. If it can't get anymore worst, why not do it in the most scariest time of the year? Halloween! Scout should be at home in his neighborhood, trick-or-treating (like the "grown man" he is) or maybe, Pyro--

Wait, what does Pyro actually do during Halloween? Eh, probably munching on candies he (unintentionally) scared folks for. Oh, you poor, poor frightening demon, you. When will someone understand you?

Probably no one, at the moment.

At least, Merasmus isn't here.

"Merasmus!" a bellowing voice announced the battlefield, as loud cracks coming from the dirt were heard below. "Is here!"

Wrote too soon.

10:50 P.M.

Both teams went to look and gawk. Demoman seemed mildly unsurprised, as well were Scout and Medic. Scout's used to Merasmus' antics-- No, all of them are. But those said "antics" can be really exasperating or otherwise, asinine. Nonetheless, always tedious considering how much effort Meramus always state that he'll kill them until he himself gets laid down a smackdown of his life.

Medic though, noticed the feeling that something… Is fresh out of the pot. He couldn't say anything about it since he can't point out what it is. The Eyelander seems to be somewhat hectic, as Medic noticed as it was slung behind Demoman's back.

From small to larger cracks came forming from the walls; concrete, wood, or dirt and alongside with a spice of a ghoulish glow of green. Then soon after like a charity gift from a mentally deranged man, spell books containing one hundred percent magic with no known side-effects! (Batteries not included.) To add more spice to the mixture of this season: skeletons! You know, those things that live under your skin and because of them, you can move your body and unlike a gelatinous fruit roll-up? Yeah, those things. But without the flesh and imbued by so much magical power, it becomes conscious to the point it's only goal is to lay you down haymakers like Muhammad Ali in his prime (rest in peace, by the way).

Like in any fashionable or cliche manner in terms of horror movies, the skeletons emerged from the dirt with sounds of bones clunking and cluttering at each other, as well were shrieks that vented out the promise of death by beating you up into a pulp.

Call this a stalemate, for a moment. Sorry, Redmond and Blutarch Mann and the Administrator, but they can't go anymore further with all these spookiness trying to bother their main objective. A temporary truce would be nicely implemented to combat the horrors.

Oh, speaking of which…

11:05 P.M

At the midst of the carnage of fireballs being thrown at the wizard and exchanging of magical wrath and rockets, both teams went on to discharge everything and everything they have. Demoman lobbing pills, Scout being irritating as possible with his Backscatter, Medic doing a fairly good job (or any if you even call the Vaccinator a good medigun but fair), and Heavy… Anything about Heavy with a stock minigun is pretty obvious and self-explanatory.

Merasmus sponged all of those damage onto him and likewise (and like always in every Halloween), the Wizard felt his bones crack and crunch as they constantly healed itself back and forth, back and forth and his flesh in a tanning bed but at a barbecue grill twisted to a ten times the crispy heat. This repetition streak ended when Merasmus casted a spell that ported them away from him to hide and recover.

Thinking about it (in-game and canon), there has been and never will be an immortal wizard in a vengeful bloodlust because his roommate was a patriotic psychopath to achieve victory against a group of nine (including his roommate) mercenaries with different general and unique playstyles and different unique personalities of their own and had fought over each other because of money and pride over some land dispute between two idiot brothers.

To sum it all up, Merasmus is just a defeatable nuisance every Halloween when the teams are going at each others' throats with silver daggers and brass knuckles. Using the same elements and tactics that are so expected and yet, never worked and ultimately fail each time again and again like Diavolo on a constant death loop. Everyone in the team just wants to get rid of him quick so they could proceed at doing their jobs properly and get paid.

Demoman, on the other hand, doesn't want any beef to do with Merasmus and he just wants his eye back after he lost it to a haunted talking obnoxious Spellbook with an New York Italian accent in his childhood. He could ask for Medic for a replacement eye but he forgets to ask as anything related to alcohol gets in the way in his mind and drinks to forgetfulness.

Truth about his eye socket is: it's haunted. Again, it's self-explanatory, if you're familiar to the lore of Team Fortress.

Oh, yeah, Soldier and Demoman found him, by the way and dragged him outside again.

Heavy has a new adversary to deal with: skeletons. He mowed them down easily but with the ghastly glowing green cracks on the dirt, they'll keep coming and coming without any stoppage. Luckily, he isn't alone to pick a bone with them.

"Fattie!" the Scout yelled behind him.

Heavy turned, only to see a skeleton get blasted into parts and pieces with Scout's one of a kind scattergun that deals mini-crits from behind. He was mildly surprised but enthused that a bloke like Scout would save him from getting a bony claw through his burly back.

"Thank you," Heavy sighed out.

"Yeah, yeah; No problem, Heavy," Scout replied as he stood beside him with his Backscatter aimed at hordes of skeletons dashing and thrashing around about at the two fleshy mercenaries.

"Heavy does not feel right about this," the Russian Fatman muttered with a hint of worry.

Jeremy let a pat on the Heavy's back before the hand returned to the trigger. "Hey, just like before: kill 'lotta boney scumbags and that stupid magician," he told the Heavy.

This gave Heavy a grin with his minigun revving up with malicious intent. "Da," he replied. "No baby dead man scares Heavy."

"That's the spirit, baldy!"

"Now, it's killing time!!"

Scout and Heavy's screams of and for glory could be heard in the distance, meanwhile, Demoman and Soldier were taking it up a notch to the max pummeling Merasmus with incoming explosive damage from left, right, back, front, to center. Merasmus could do so hard but so little to retaliate, he isn't given a millisecond to think about a good spell to flung them back-

"Huzzah!!"

Oh no.

When actual words are translated from gibberish that came from a wizard, something is bound to happen. That something happened recently: both Demoman and Soldier propelled backwards like a strong gust of wind just blew them away like they were outdoor decoration on a stormy and windy day. Surely, the weather forecast didn't mentioned a wizard causing this. So much for a aforementioned cloudy with the chance of strong wind (whatever that means).

Demoman hit the wall with his back and slid down before slumping against it. He heard and felt a bone fixing itself when he tried to move.

"Awh! That smarts…!"

Soldier hitting a cactus face first which snapped apart but broke the speed and was subdued to the floor. If the fighting didn't leave a scratch on him, sure that cactus left something.

"Son of a cussing cuss word!"

Demoman groaned as he got up to one knee before he stood up but with a slouched posture regaining his breath, his vision, and composure. Soldier doing the same albeit in a slower pace.

"Soldier! Get up," Tavish cried out.

Soldier did, at the cost of a spine crackling to fix itself. "Oof!" His face getting a few thorns he had to pull off one by one.

While Demoman eyed at Soldier, Merasmus eyed at Demoman. A light bulb popped on his head. A spell could work. Nothing wrong at poking a little fun at mortals; and what came out of his mouth (were magical jibberjabber) and an index finger pointed at the Soldier, a green ray shot out of it and pierced the dirt near the Idiotic Patriot of a roommate. Demoman watched the ground as cracks begun to form immediately after what hit it. What popping out of it was a Kinder Surprise with a toy but no snack.

"Holy Mary Mother of Joseph!" Soldier gasped in shock as groups of skeletons raise their bony claws directly at him as they preyed slowly towards him.

But his eyes were mainly fixed at the one whose two times the height and size as him.

Merasmus laughed like the evil wizard that he is watching his former roommate becoming a pugilist at the summoned skeletons. Demoman was having enough of it.

"Oi!"

Merasmus turned his head to the Black Scottish Cyclops.

"Pick someone yer own size!" Demoman called him out. "Ya big ugly ghoul!"

Merasmus gladly accepted his challenge and faced him, imbued with sparks of hauntingly greenish tints and glows of the same color. But one little detail the Wizard forgot to notice of the Demoman: he has a sword.

And it's not just any sword.

Sniper and Spy are quite having a spiteful affair against each other: exchanging jeers as they shot at the oncoming horde of skeletons. Sniper was using his sub machine gun as his sniper rifle won't do in close range. Spy with his Ambassador successfully landing headshots with skill and precision (like any Spy mains tell to themselves like it's chronic disease of Ambassador asskissing).

This entire cacophony of bones and bullets are colliding into quite a spectacle. Churned at the fireworks of Soldier's rockets exploding in the air, all while it is seen that a few unlucky skeletons were stuck in the projectiles; Demoman's scream for highland glory as he went toe-to-toe with Merasmus (in a seemingly fair fight between millennias-old magic and blade that is also imbued with magic), Scout and Heavy distributing pain in unequal amounts, and Engineer and Pyro being a duo they are in a usually regular manner or sense. Medic left to fend to himself because he couldn't handle a crowd of bones who had lost their flesh.

Spy could be with Medic (albeit the hatred from Medics) but what's that going to work for him? Medic has the Vaccinator, it's not going to distribute a decent übercharge. Besides, whose ever even übercharged a Spy? Either you've been tricked by a disguised Spy or you're a clueless free-to-play whose life decisions are being questioned by yourself, your reasonable alter-ego (if you have any, to begin with), your teammates, the enemy, and your family.

"Piss off!" The Sniper bumped against Spy as he was getting his own way on unloading a full magazine at a few skeletons.

"How about no," the Frenchman replied to the Bushman as he kept a firm composure holding his knife up, stabbing and swiping off cluttering bones trying to rip his limbs off while on the other hand, it's his Ambassador doing most of the work.

The reason why Spy said that is: he has no other one to be paired up with.

Spies are not good with crowds. A backstab can make an entire enemy team reenact the first five seconds of the sixteenth opening intro of Naruto Shippuden. Unless you're a sweaty tryhard.

So, Spy has to be paired with Sniper, since the Bushman is competent enough on how to use his SMG (which is a good stuck weapon on low health enemies), despite the spiteful threats.

Sniper is spiteful, only to Spy. These two always had an equal feud. Snipers are constantly on one spot, standing still while also bickering that the enemy team should stand still as well, so their heads will be a "fine red mist", as he states. What happened to being polite? What happened to professionalism? Also, what even happened to having a plan to kill everyone he meets? Everything he just quoted in his interview was nothing but pure arrogance and false exaggeration. The hypocrisy is consistently hinted.

As for Spy, he only aims to be a professional cold-blooded backstabber, excelling in sabotage and tactical espionage. Don't expect a box creeping up on you or a seventh teammate when you could've sworn you had six. But alas, whatever you're gonna feel behind your back in the next two seconds when you turn it around: is nevertheless what is that Australian from that "AAAAAAAA" meme is feeling, right about now. This goes to show that at least, Spy is very, very blunt to his profession.

Both of them are the exact opposite about everything, yet they aim for one thing: kill people who they think they deserve it.

"I'm not a crazed gunman, dad. I'm an assassin!"

If only Mundy could realize his own hypocrisy.

"Sniper, watch out!" Spy alarmed.

"What-"

Sniper couldn't finish as he was pushed aside by Spy to take a claw on his chest that singed like a boiling heat of a pot. It left a shred on Spy's hundred thousand dollar suit that was weaved with scrutinizing expertise. Blood spurted out of the lacerations. Spy staggered aback. He didn't fell on a knee though, he was at the shock of pain recently handed to him. Sniper's eyes widened as the whole scene went slow-mo.

"Spy!" He cried out with worry intermixed with distress.

With grit in his teeth, Spy later gave the initial attacker one right back at it with what specific type of bullet that an Ambassador uses.

Whilst on the ground, Sniper unloaded a couple shots at the oncoming skeletons trying to get another piece at them before he got back up on his feet and stood beside the Frenchman with his gun raised.

"You okay, mate?" He asked him as he eyed the group of cluttering bones infront of him.

Spy replied with blood spitting out of his mouth and wiping a tint of red of his own from his lips. "Mon Dieu, look at my suit!"

Sniper rolled his eyes. "Oi, after this, I'll take you to my favorite tailor around town." Sniper bumped the Frenchman's shoulder sulking for his damaged suit. His submachine gun's iron sights pointing at the group.

Spy finally shifted his eyes towards to.

"We got alot more of that-" mentioning the lacerations Spy endured "-where it came from."

All Spy could utter out of his own mouth was, "Aw, merde…!"

11:20 P.M.

Pyro and Engineer were frequently on the move, burning and cracking skeletons wherever they go like a really bad transitionary drive-by shootout. Engineer had found a trolley in the surroundings lying about and thought it was a good idea to put his Mini-Sentry on wheels. The most annoying piece of construct now mobile to be the more annoying and repetitive enough to never stop being irritating. Pyro is merrily apt to hippity-hoppity follow Engineer forcing bones to be scattered around the ground.

Not sure if anything or everything would be explainable within Pyroland due to the consideration that Pyro might be experiencing a unrefrainable dosage of LSD. If they are, oh, poor you, Pyro.

"Pyro!" Connagher cried out. "To the left!"

And thus, the Mumbling Abomination that is Pyro wacked the three-piece of skeletons with their Axtinguisher.

"Nice job!"

Pyro let out a squeal of glee.

Turning the trolley (and the Mini-Sentry doing most of the work, taking care of the reanimated) to the main battlefield, Engineer pointed at Merasmus who was at the middle of fighting the Demoman, or Demoknight but without any targes or medieval equipment but his usual demolitional formals.

"Fire!" Engineer shouted and the Mini-Sentry beeped as it swung it's sights at the Immortal Wizard and begun unloading on him.

Merasmus feeling mettle through his back yelped in pain whilst he pushed away Demoman from inching that sword of his away from the wizard's chest. Fury was evident in Merasmus' eyes that he casted a fireball at the Engineer alongside his toy.

A direct hit!

Engineer was blown back and on fire, his Mini-Sentry in the history books.

Pyro was air blasting Skeletons off of a cliff when they heard Engineer bellow that he is at the moment burning. Pyro went to assist him by extinguishing the fire off of the Texan.

"Mmphm?" Mumbled the Pyro.

"Yeah, I'm alright," answered the Engineer. Looking at Merasmus who was at it again with Demoman, then to Soldier who is at the moment in the middle of either getting skewered or ripped apart, who could tell? He thinks they're doing both at the same time.

"Pyro, help Soldier," he ordered the Pyro as he walked towards the Immortal Wizard with his Frontier Justice pumped and loaded, and with leftover crits too.

"Mmphmp?!"

"Don't worry, I can take 'im."

His grin said it all.

At this point of this rambunctious night and after the past couple of minutes, you're probably wondering where Medic has been.

"Nein," Medic grumbled as he was at the occurence of riffling and scrambling through his arsenal in the Battlements (or Spawn Room). "Nein, nein… Aha- No, nein…!" He was finding a suitable medigun, something to end this fiasco and send these unfortunate souls who've fortunately been resurrected and are currently at the loop of being resurrected by that bloke Merasmus back to where they came from: from their graves to Hell.

He hears that it's quite a festive holiday in Hell during Halloween.

"Mein Gott, vhere iz it?!" He grumbled. At this point, he was finding his own voice rather than the luxury that is his specified medigun.

Out of nowhere, a loud crash pummeled the Battlement door. Medic emitted a scream. He had to hurry in finding it. His Vaccinator did a good job but in this occasion, a significant other should do a better one.

"Zhere it is," uttered a breath of relief-

BOOM!!

-was cut short when something came bursting through the door and stood there in an enraged manner and stance. Medic looked on as he squinted at it and fixed his glasses. About a second later when the smoke and debris were out of way, his eyes went wide like globes.

"Mein Gott…!"

Infront of him was the most hideous thing that had come from the depths of Hell. No, it's not a Phlogistinator Pyro (though, that could've been much worst) but a skeleton thrice his size wielding a battle axe that could mettle the Eyelander.

At least it's not the Horseless Headless Horsemann. Triple-H doesn't leave that godforsaken manor without a reason. The rest of the mercenaries just hope it stays that way.

But through fire and medical determination, a Doctor never gives up on his patient. But, this time, he'll be sawing through bones like a backyard barbeque grill. That meant some sense but whatever.

"En garde!" Battle-Cried the Medic as he stances into a position and thrusted his Übersaw to the armed skeleton. "Hyah!"

The battle axe-wielding skeleton cried out a haunting roar as it too were about to attack the puny Doctor infront of it.

Medic isn't certain he'll win this. Sure, he can respawn but dying sure sucks. Miracles don't work in the minds of doctors and scientists. Medic here, says otherwise. He hopes for some miracle to get him out of this mess that found him, rather than he found it.

He knew something wasn't right this Halloween.

Scout found a spellbook lying about. Heavy was eating a sandwic- Oh that's right… sandvich to replenish some lost health. Other than health that was lost, so is ammunition. Heavy has his fists and could make an entire skeleton explode off its parts, same goes for Scout and his metal bat he can go crack some skulls with. Sure, they're viable weapons in what seemingly appears as a close quarter combat event of just skeletons running wild about, trying to claw at smoothskins or anything or anyone that has flesh in them. Can't really fake them out with a costume. Skeletons who work as pawns might be stupid but they're not that stupid. But where's the fun without Sasha's voice that sings a four hundred thousand dollar record-breaking song? Or maybe, the Backscatter with a crappy weapon spread but decent damage deals from the spine?

Questions aside, both males ought for one side-goal: find ammo and kill more Triple-S mongrels (spooky scary skeletons).

"Found one lyin', right 'ere!" Scout called out from a shack.

"Oh, is nice," Heavy replied. "Give me-"

"Sorry pal, I found it first," the Boston Basher smugly said, coming out of the shack to take a fancy sidearm reload for himself to gloat and Heavy bore the fact he's stuck with the runt of the team.

Heavy groaned from the irritation boiling in his bald head, sincerely RED Scout. Everyone in the team should know that you can't trust Scout to do anything. He'll surely do something outrageous or out of the question. Just one of the few common gimmicks of Jeremy whateverhislastnameis.

For some reason, the skeletons had stopped crawling out of the cracks from the ground. That's a relief but, it won't last long. They'll come back, sending off waves upon waves of bones that have the same mind but differ in shapes and sizes. Just like the Halloween before and before that Halloween. Heavy had finished his quick snack break and Scout here is hoarding all of the ammunition he could find, possibly thinking Heavy is better making music off of the xylophones. But Scout ultimately relents that knowing there be too many coming once the calm ends and the storm eventually hitting, the Minigun can sure dish out a lot of fleshless flesh-mongers back to Hell where they belong. Guess Scout isn't that braindead or selfish after all, if he could even think maturely for two seconds or six.

"Thank you," appreciated the Heavy or Misha, as he fed Sasha with a canister of custom-built cartridges for her.

"No problem," Jeremy replied, loading specialised flechette shells into his Backscatter.

Seeing that Demoman might be in trouble yonder by the center of the battlefield, Heavy suggested to p(r)o(vo)ke fun at the wizard. It may hurt but it sure as hell fun! Scout even agrees. No surprise there…

But on the way down the stairs and on the ground, the earth began to quake and new cracks begun to crack open, as well were on the metal and wooden walls. The skeletons had yet again emerged, looking to beat someone up with their own bones.

But never to fear! If it's milk they want, they'll get it with ninety-nine point eight calcium laced with lead and death! Sending the dead back to the afterlife has never been a dull hobby but it is frustrating that they just keep coming and coming until an abrupt pause, then forward, and loop. Defeating Merasmus will stop this loop, and once the wizard is out of the picture, both teams will be at it again and one will emerge victorious. Truth be told: they just want some sleep, right about now.

It's like late at night now. Scout's caffeine is running low and to think, Heavy can barely hold his weight now that the Sandman is sprinkling sand on his eyes!

But they can't be deterred by natural causes. There are skeletons infront of them and they'll going to be forced to regret ever coming back from the afterlife.

"Awh! Jeez," Scout jeered at himself as he pushed back and forward as they made their way to the center. "They're everywhere!"

"Heavy can see that, da!" Misha said as he kept on mowing down skeletons in any direction he kept Sasha pointed at. "Move, Scout! Real men do not stop!"

"Alright!" BANG! cock- BANG! "Alright!!"

The unholy shrieks of death followed them, trying to gnaw Scout and Heavy but only the combined unprecedented power in the form of flechettes and four hundred thousand dollars worth of custom dollar-built cartridges to mow down any opposition in twelve seconds. All it takes is some good teamwork and a better communication.

Soon, they were at the center. Scout was the first to see Demoman struggling and trying to keep up the pace against Merasmus. Soldier on the other hand was at the peak of a heap of skulls and bones and glorious bare chested patriotism (that he ripped off of because he is American).

The Boston Basher dashed forward at a lightning speed, equipping his metal bat on the other hand. "Hey, Houdini!"

11:55 P.M.

"Wha-"

Answering meant Merasmus getting a faceful of metal with the mixture of terminal velocity and physical trauma. He could feel his face crack into four different dimensions before it finally fixed itself. Merasmus turned but however, immediately forgot he had someone to quarrel with.

"Oi!"

Merasmus answered and yet again, the reply was another faceful but this time, in a form of a hand balled into a fist, socking the wizard so hard, he was forced to be knocked back staggering and ultimately, on his feet.

Courtesy of Demoman.

"That one was fer me eye!" Tavish declared. "Ya good fer nuthin' wizard!!"

To add more fuel to the fire, Engineer was popping shells that converted into crits at the wizard until every shot or shell in his pocket ran out.

Merasmus' inner boiling point has heated enough, it erupted a smoking fire and had finally, erupted into an unextinguishable blaze. He had enough.

If Merasmus floating from the ground and hovering into the air at the center of the map, it indicated something. The Skeletons had halted their attack on the mercenaries to look at Merasmus, the one who summoned them to terrorize the team. Including the team present in the center and on-lookers gawked.

"I have a bad feeling about this," muttered Mundy from an opening of a building. Spy watching the locale unwrap infront of them.

Meanwhile, Medic could only watch the hauntingly green glow from the outside doorway of the Battlements as the armored axe-wielding skeleton had halted its aggressive antics and be distracted as well. Medic couldn't do anything either because his right arm is at the moment, under the bony behemoth's leather (and rather stinky) boot.

"Vhat iz happening now?" He asked himself. Maybe the big guy is asking the same thing as well.

Heavy, back on the center, watched on with the looming apprehension that is becoming of Merasmus who was at the moment glowing ghastly green and emitting chants. It was then Heavy proclaimed with a disquieting fact stating, "Something is different…!"

That is fact.

But Scout on the other hand does something called a Professional Player Move and flips open his Spellbook that he acquired a couple of minutes ago. He's gonna throw the only fireball he has at that wizard. Why? Because he can. He's the Scout, make him do a dare as a joke and he'll do it anyway.

So, he did. He threw that fireball casted out of his empty palm and let Merasmus feel what Third Degree Burns would feel like to someone whose lived tens of millennias and is practically immortal. But a barrier that protected Merasmus let that fireball bounce off and boomeranged back to Jeremy. You could already tell the "Aw crap" expression plastered on Scout's face. He didn't even brace, he just let the fireball hit his face. But it didn't.

Instead, Heavy bodied the trickster down to avoid him getting the Third Degree Burns. But the fireball phased through a crack on the ground. Merasmus, the one causing the ominous feeling, now felt something… Was wrong when he stopped his voodoo chants. Demoman was the first to notice this.

"What dumb son of a bitch casted that?!" Connagher said, completely dumbfounded.

"What is happenin'?" Tavish asked for himself, a tilt of concern foreboding.

"FOOLS!!"

Merasmus let out a deafening screetch, followed by a burst of unprocessed magic that quaked every layer of reality. Skeletons shrieked (while a few of them had their skulls pop or shatter) and the mercenaries could cringe at the pain that is ringing in their ears.

Medic felt and heard it too, despite being indoors. But what came out of his breath is a sigh of relief that the deafening sound made the big ugly brute's skull spontaneously explode.

Oh, Doctor Ludwig, you are not prepared for what's to come. He has to find out for himself. On his feet, grabbing hold on his Kritzkrieg alongside it's pack and Übersaw, he dashed out of the Battlements (with a few mild aches searing on his skin) and onto a railing where he could see the center.

He could see it all now. The center forming a massive manhole emitting the same green glow but much more sinister and portending and Merasmus in the middle of it. Medic doesn't know if the bastard wizard is the one who caused that or the one who is sealing it up.

Either way, Medic knows that if this goes on for anymore than a minute, they'll be all in big trouble if this oncoming catastrophe isn't prevented. Mann Co. isn't on a shortage of money (since Mann Co. can literally buy anything and heck, even own the Internet) but Mann Co. won't pay mercenaries for unpreventable calamities. The mercenaries themselves have to fix that for Mann Co. Medic knows this because he's the only one sensible to be affiliated with the company that sell them products and get into fights. Engineer is also the sensible one too, considering he was the one who built Blutarch Mann's life-extending machine that runs on Australium.

Quick Fact: Australium is an empowering and enrichment material that makes anything look powerful, feel powerful, and so as well, will make anyone appear as a damn God (i.e Saxton Hale, CEO of Mann Co). Native to Australia, the land of prosperity and advancements.

"Medic!"

He heard Sniper's voice cry out alongside Spy running towards him with faces of anxiousness in their faces, and then standing besides him.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" Sniper asked, looking onto the catastrophe in-progress.

Medic had no idea what to say but this, "I had predicted zat wizard's motives the times he iz here."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Sniper demanded another answer.

"Because I have never seen anything like zis."

With that answer, horror were left in Spy and Sniper's faces.

They heard behind them something screetching off and turned, seeing a piece of a metal wall peeling off its pikes and finally, watching it fly off and get sucked into the massive gaping manhole on the center of the map, ahead with more debris, dirt, and air coming with it. It even took the gravecarts of Redmond and Blutarch Mann! That left a sour face on Spy.

"Nothing like zis…" Medic ended his hypothesis there.

Heavy and Scout had stood up, in shock and awe watching this unveil right before their eyes. Soldier stood there gawking. The closest to Merasmus was Demoman with his Eyelander, standing on the edge of this manhole. When he looked down at it, a thick ghastly mist that swirled in a loop descending and descending. He can't imagine what's down there but he doesn't want to find out soon enough.

What makes the matter worst is that at the midst of this, the remaining skeletons started to attack again. Scout and Heavy resorted to using both fists and baseball bat as their firearms too were sucked into the manhole. Scout's bat was later sucked off too. Time to make those muscles work, Jeremy.

Pyro is thinking something else, right now. Pyroland is a bizarre fantasy land.

Soldier on the other hand, was singing the National American Anthem for the impending doom at hand.

Engineer lost his Frontier Justice to the manhole, so were his materials and equipment. "Dagnabbit!" He cursed.

The map was getting more of a whirlwind of magic intermixed with absorbing catastrophe. Nobody won't be happy with the results in the end.

"We gotta stop that magician!" Scout called to the mercenaries.

"How?!" Engineer said, punching skeletons left and right.

"Demoman, throw your sword at him or somethin'!" Scout urgently suggested.

"Aye, I can!" Demoman replied. He only needs one eye to see and aim. Good thing, he's sober.

"Do it already, Cyclops!!"

The Eyelander, the only weapon out of all the mercenaries' arsenal that is similar to Merasmus' magic, except fuelled by slicing off heads to imbue its user with otherworldly power. In short, technically, the teams' only hope.

So, Demoman aimed… He steadied his sword and gripped it like a javelin, on a throwing stance, he gave himself a firmer composure.

He closed his eyes and then…

"HhhrrrRUUPH!!"

Scout looked on with a gaping maw, gawking at the moment. Followed by were Heavy, Soldier, Engineer, Spy-- Everyone! Except Demoman who still has his eye closed.

When Tavish finally opened his eye, he saw what he can't even believe to. Merasmus… With a sword pierced through his chest, gushing greenish blood and Merasmus himself glowing green in his flesh. Tavish gawked at the sight. He did it. But none could prepare for the unforeseen consequences.

Merasmus had finally been defeated in this Halloween. What has changed are the skeletons collapsing dead on the ground, the vacuum stopping, and the noise of looming dread silencing itself.

But Medic…

Medic says otherwise.

"It's not done."

"What-"

Mundy tried to interject what Doctor Ludwig meant but he grabbed hold onto the metal railing and screamed to his team, "Everyone! Hold on!!" as the clock striked…

12:00 P.M.

But the message was too late, Merasmus freaking EXPLODED in the air, taking the Eyelander with him as pieces of the wizard was sent down to the manhole. A flick of a switch a second later, the vacuum began to start again and once and for all. The first victim was Demoman, who was closer. Followed by Soldier who screamed bloody murder as he was vacuumed.

Medic saw Engineer and Pyro go in as well. Scout holding on to Heavy for dear life before they too were devoured by the menacing manhole.

Doctor Ludwig was holding on long enough. He knew the circumstances. He just didn't know how potent it was nor told anyone. All of them were pretty accustomed to Merasmus' antics but Medic had expected him to be brewing a new potion from the cauldron. He just didn't say anything about it and thought maybe this Halloween, Merasmus would be just easygoing as usual, like every Halloween. This Halloween though, is different. As the clock striked twelve, everything had gone to worst. Nearly the original team was devoured by that hole. Medic isn't optimistic that dying from some extreme source of otherworldly materials would throw you in the respawn timer but he isn't going to find out. Spy and Sniper however…

Spy had lost his footing and was sent to the air as the manhole vacuumed for any form of sentient life in the area. Sniper came to his rescue, pulling the masked man back, both crying out to never let go like lovebirds. But they too were ultimately sucked into the manhole, screaming as they were.

"Sniper! Spy!!" Medic cried out as he held on, almost losing himself too. He saw his favorite pigeon that had blood still splattered on its feathers, too it gets sucked into the vacuum like it was leftover dirt. That hurt Medic most than anything. "Archimedes!!!"

The suituation looked and felt hopeless. So, out of sheer hopelessness, he just let go. As simple as that. Letting his body be taken away into the manhole that vacuumed every organic or inorganic material it consumed. At least, Medic hopes he'll hit the respawn timer, though. That's for certain. But yet again, this is pure raw magic that was casted here. Otherworldly magic can sure be a problem. A real problem.

As the invisible hands pulled Doctor Ludwig into the manhole, the surface he looked at closed as giant shards filled the gaps before the manhole was swallowed by both darkness and the dreadful green glow of the faint mist and the potent smell that is death.

For now though, Medic wonders where his team is. Or everyone, regardless of team color.

Oh well; only one way to find out.