What a precious little trap had been set for him. He should have known better—should have asked more questions, searched for more clues, been less willing to jump into that camper and chase after the other team. His judgment had been clouded. He'd never had to question the Sniper before. The man was so genuine with him, blunt but honest. His work was steeped in levels of fleeting deception and crazy survivalist tactics, but it was something the Engineer had come to admire about him. Maybe that's why when he'd asked the Texan for help, he'd been so quick to jump. So eager. So stupid.

It was clear that somebody had been in their garage. The Engineer's blueprints were gone. The latest mark of his classic sentry gun was nowhere to be found. The bastards even had the gall to take his toolbox. And there was the Sniper, pounding on his door at two in the morning, flustered and beaten, shirt torn and hair mussed. He told a tale so desperate and frightening that it hit the Engineer straight in his heart. He should have gotten an award for that performance. So, they'd gone to the Sniper's camper. He drove them out into the desert, following a wild, careening set of tire tracks that took them straight into the barracks of the opposing team, into a garage that almost mirrored his own.

That was when the Sniper had pulled an ornate rosewood revolver out of his pocket and placed it against his temple.

"I do not zhink zhat I have to tell you not to struggle." The Australian accent was gone, replaced by a menacing French lilt.

The Engineer should have been inflamed with anger. All he felt was an empty, sheepish defeat. Here he was, miles and miles away from the safety of his teammates and his respawn generator. Trapped in a van. A gun to his head. He might as well have tied a ribbon around his neck. He still had his mouth, though. "Typically, a gentleman buys me dinner before taken' me out here to neck."

That earned him a crack to the head. Still worth it.

There was a brief sputter of applause outside of the van. The enemy's Heavy, Soldier, and Medic were waiting for him. Not their Engineer. Strange. The Heavy was the first to approach the camper. He wrenched the door open, taking the Engineer by the scruff of his collar. He thought about fighting the Russian for a brief moment, but his curiosity overtook him. Surveying the garage, he saw several similar vehicles to what his team had—a Jeep, a truck, another camper van. Not quite the same models, but the same manufacturer.

It seemed like a dumb question, but frankly, stupidity felt like his dominant trait tonight. "How'd ya get the keys to the Sniper's van?"

"Quiet, maggot!" The Soldier was the next to approach him. He patted the Texan down, throwing his weapons and PDA aside like they were scrap. He turned his attention next to the Engineer's robotic arm. With a quick twist, he yanked that free from its mount. He studied it with a bemused grin, then placed that gently to the side. "Our egghead's gonna want a look at that."

The Engineer sneered. "If he can't figure it out from those blueprints ya stole, he ain't going to figure anythin' out from just lookin' at it."

"Indeed not. Which is why we need you." The Spy tapped him on the face, irritating his stubble.

The Medic stepped forward. He gestured a hand towards the interior door. "Comrade, if you vould."

The Heavy hauled the Engineer into the base. He took his time in the forced march, trying his best to map the layout of the opposing team's barracks. It was almost an exact image of his base. There were even the same mismatched socks lining the hallway outside of the Scout's dormitory. It wasn't until the group stepped into a basement floor that things began to change. It was dark, clearly unfinished. Some of the pipes were leaking. There was a sign on one of the walls for a women's restroom, but that led into an unfinished mess of plumbing and half-broken sinks. It reeked of decay and mold down here, and a chemical he couldn't quite place.

The Soldier opened a door at the end of the winding hallway. The chemical smell wafted into his nose. The Engineer was overcome by nostalgia. A smell of summertime. Dozens of children laughing. Women trying in vain to get tans while their boyfriends harassed them. Splashing. The smell of a pool. Chlorine. As the Heavy forced him into the opened doorway, he found those memories draining away. There was a pool down here, twenty feet deep and surrounded by white plastic chairs. Its water was a shade of aquamarine, dimly lit and tiled with white and black squares.

There were two people waiting for him. One was the opposite team's Engineer, sitting at a plastic table, the stolen blueprints laid across its surface. The other was his Sniper. There was a dull thud in the Texan's heart. He was okay. Humiliated, yes. Tied to a chair by an electrical cord, yes. Still, he was all right. It looked like their enemies had snuck up on him while he was asleep. Apparently, the only thing he wore to bed was half a karate gi. Where had he even gotten something like that? It stuck the Engineer as just another amusing quirk.

Apologies spilled from the Sniper. "I'm sorry, mate. Musta been sleepin' too hard."

"It's okay." It had been a rough day, even before this. They had spent the entire day locked in a brutal slaughter with the opposing team, trying as best as possible to keep their intelligence safe. Their enemies hadn't taken one sheet of information. They'd trashed the Texan's machines on several occasions, and they'd pierced the Sniper's body more times than he could count with his digits, but they hadn't gotten anything for their efforts. It was probably why they'd resulted to this underhanded attack.

The opposing Engineer smirked at him. "Well, don't be a stranger. Have a seat." He pulled up a plastic chair for the Texan. The Heavy dropped him, shoving him towards his doppelganger. He growled at the force, but found that he had no choice but to accept the seat. He stole another glance at the Sniper. His hands were working fruitlessly at the knots binding him. The hair on his arms was standing on end. The Engineer found himself smiling. Of course he was cold. He was dressed for sleeping in the desert night, not lounging at an underground pool.

"Time for our little chat zhen, yes?" The Medic shooed the Heavy and the Soldier towards the door. "Zhis von't take long. Vait outside, if you vould."

The Texan glanced towards the Medic. "I think ye're underestimatin' how bull-headed I can be, Doc."

"Please, little man. Don't toy with us." His comments must have been a hilarious jest to the Spy. He passed by the table, pacing behind the Sniper. He dug the tip of his left foot into his right heel, sliding one of his shoes away. He did the same with the other foot. His pinstripe jacket was the next article to be shed. He placed that on the back of the Sniper's chair. The motions fascinated the Texan. What was he doing?

The Medic took a third seat at the table. He folded his hands, smiling with unnerving serenity. "Vell now. Let us share a little information. I vill tell you a story, and you vill tell us about zhis project you have here."

"Doc, I ain't in the mood for this." The Texan didn't feel the need to be too polite.

That cherubic grin remained, drilling past the Engineer's apprehensions. "Vonce upon a time, I created a monster. I did not mean to, you see. Sometimes, vhen you experiment, zhese zhings just sort of happen."

The Texan growled. "Doc, is this the best time to—"

The Medic raised a finger to his lips. He considered biting the tip off for a moment. The German prattled on. "You know our mutual Frenchmen and zheir skills, don't you? I'm sure you had to help him build his gadgets, much as our toymaker did. And one of zhese fun little gadgets is zhe Spytron 3000, is it not?"

There was a groan from behind him. The Texan felt hairs prick up on the back of his neck. He turned to see what was going on, but the enemy Engineer grabbed him by the chin and forced his view forward again. Even so, he caught the faintest glimpse out of the corner of his eye. The electric cord had gone slack around the Sniper, but he wasn't running. That Spy had been hovering inches above his neck, teeth protruding slightly like vampiric fangs. Sharp nails dug into his friend's shoulder, drawing little rivulets of blood.

No. That just had to be his imagination.

The Engineer finally answered the Medic's question. "Yes, I did. I had to get a rough statistical profile from our Medic to do it, though. Can't just put in height, weight, hair, and eye color and hope for things to turn out for the best."

"Yes. So diligent." The Medic leaned forward, broad chin resting on gloved hands. "Vell, I made a mistake."

Something scraped across the floor. The Engineer steeled himself, trying not to look backwards. He could hear the Sniper draw a quick breath. A wet thump splattered against the floor. The Spy groaned, then another thump followed. Then another. And another. And another. Ice shot up the Engineer's spine. Another one. God, what was that?

"I forgot to put in a few bones here and zhere. Put in one too many limbs. A little too much of zhis, a little too much of zhat." The Medic leaned over slightly, now addressing the Spy behind the trio. "It's not such an easy form to hold, is it, mein Freund?"

There was a slurping sound as something lowered itself into the pool. "I should say not." Plastic screeching followed the slurp, and then a solid splash echoed from behind the Engineer. There was a great amount of thrashing. The Sniper hissed and barked obscenities at the Spy. The Texan tried to look one more time, but the enemy Engineer stopped him again. Even so, he saw just the faintest of muddled reflections in the goggles of his doppelganger. His mind reeled. Was that—

"Zhe sing is, our Frenchman didn't vant it to go to vaste. It is a bit of a tenth disguise, you can say. Vizh all zhe trappings and powers zhat his other disguises hold." The Medic's smile widened, a dark fire billowing in his blue eyes. "If you do not tell us vhat zhis zhing is here, zhen he vill use zhose powers against your Comrade. If you do not tell us quickly, zhen—"

"Sonnova—!"

The Engineer threw himself from his seat before his foe could block him again. His heartbeat burst in his eardrums. The plastic chair that once held the Sniper was cast aside on the edge of the pool, the electrical cord floating halfway into the water. The Australian was fighting to keep his head above water, kicking with broad, powerful strokes. Snaked around his torso and wrists were—good God, the Engineer didn't know at first. They looked like fat, rubbery serpents. He could see the skin below them, dotted with an even number of suckers. They were trailing from below the surface, but not so deep that he couldn't see where they collected into one mass. Deeper below was almost dark as the indigo night save for the grinning, vicious smirk of the Spy.

The Engineer's brain whirled. "Jesus fish cakes! What in Sam Hill—Mundy!"

This was not a fight the Sniper could win. His head disappeared beneath the water, fingertips brushing the pool's surface but not breaking the tension. The Texan felt sweat pooling at his feet. His knees felt like gelatin. Every nerve in his body fired, trying to throw him forward. The opposing Engineer stopped him, grabbing him by his overalls. He growled, teeth clenched like white vices. It took the Medic's harsh laughter to break his rage.

"I zhink zhat is enough for zhe moment." The Medic threw a signal towards the pool. There was a rush of water, and then the Spy and the Sniper surfaced. The Australian coughed up a good bit of water. The sight of his disheveled, drenched friend trapped in the writhing grasp of that Frenchman—that monster—

The Engineer felt his vision blur and his core quake. "Ya've made yer point. Let's talk."

Author's Note

No. No. No. This is not what I sat down to write. I was going to start work on a story about the Medic. It was going to be hilarious and emotionally deep. We were going to have so much fun learning about human illnesses and medical insurance. And then what? What?

Hon. Hon. Hon. Son of a bitch.