Chapter Thirty-Seven: What You Are in the Dark

Up on the rooftop, Mort looks up at the stars looming over the horizon, reflecting the forest's seemingly endless nature. Between Thunder Mountain and Badlands, the former definitely wins out. Part of him even wishes he can stay here. But there's a lot of unfinished business back at Teufort, he's aware of that.

A whooshing sound, followed by that of cracking bones, tickles his ears, but he does not turn around. "Oi, Vally," he greets casually. "Had a good run?"

"You could say that," Valdo's voice answers. "Without a steady supply of blood, I'm pretty weak in the daytime. But the trees provide much cover, so I can stay in my bat form long enough to rest. It's a slight advantage I have over purebloods."

"You said there's a monster in Teufort. Is he also a vampire?"

"Yes, but you shouldn't worry; they're not around these parts. And while I was on the bus, I smelled another presence. It smelled familiar somehow, but I couldn't pin it down. Until then, I would be wary of your pals."

"You can sniff out monsters? Cool!"

"Anyone with magic in their blood can sense the supernatural. The more aware you are, the more sensitive you are to its presence. But you're just a mundane, so you wouldn't know of it if it hit you in the face."

"Hmm. Well, that would explain why I didn't know 'bout you 'til you transformed. Still, I bet it would be cool if I could."

"Trust me, it isn't. It becomes harder to put your faith in people, knowing they could turn into some horrifying monster the next minute."

"Yeah, but then you can learn to deal with it, help them out with their problems—"

"Or you can put yourself right in the face of danger."

That shuts Mort up. No point in arguing against the truth. He doesn't know how vampires and zombies work, and it's unlikely the books and movies that made them famous would prove useful.

He doesn't have much time to ruminate on the subject, as a familiar voice calls out his name. "Mort, there you are!" Down below, Alan waves at Mort, who waves back. "Come on down, I wanna show you something!"

Al leads Mort to the garage, with its four walls decorated with signs and maps of local spots, and tables and desks stacked high with books and gun parts. The Sniper is vaguely reminded of the garage back in Teufort; both rooms are more fit for storing junk than cars. Hunched over one of the desks is Mara, tinkering away at something. "Hey, Mara! I'm just here to pick up the Sapper, if that's alright with you." No reaction. "Mara?"

After a moment, he mutters, "In the back, on the second shelf."

"Oh, I see it. Merci!" He retrieves a teddy bear-like object and a box with some switches and levers from one of the shelves and shows it off. "It's a project I've been working on the past few days. I'm gonna bring it to the Steam Workshop and maybe get rich and famous. I'm a revolutionary in the making!"

Mort blinks and scratches his chin. "Uh, that's nice. But, uh, what is it?"

"This? It's a remote-controlled Sapper. I can move it around and have it sap a Sentry from a distance. Watch." He sets down the teddy bear and toggles the switches on the box, bringing it to life.

Mort watches the bear in amazement. "That's so cute! Yer gonna be a shoo-in fer best invention." Kneeling down, he grabs hold of the bear's paws and pretends to lead it in a dance.

His freckled cheeks burn a bright pink. "Y-you think so? I mean, I know I will!"

"Not if I get there first." Al and Mort turn to Mara, holding a half-finished revolver-like gun. "I'm thinking about submitting to the Workshop myself. At Rami's suggestion, of course."

"Then I guess that makes you two rivals. Or would that be friends? Friendly rivals?"

Al giggles and picks up the bear. "Well, we are on the same team, so it probably doesn't matter. May the best inventor win." The bear holds out a paw, which Mara shakes with two fingers. To Mort, seeing the two of them get along is definitely worth smiling about.

What's not worth smiling about, however, is bumping into Vincent right after. The look on his face could murder someone. "Hello, Mort. Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah. How 'bout you?" He knows that's a stupid question to ask, but he says it, anyway.

He pauses before replying, "I suppose so. We did win, after all." Mort blinks, astonished. "You were pretty stupid out there, running in the middle of a fight... but good job." In an even more surprising turn of events, he smiles.

The Sniper, unsure how to react, mimics the expression. "Uh, thanks. You were great, too."

"Nah. If you didn't jump right in, nothing would've been done."

"Aw, it's nothin'. Hey, what started that fight, anyway? I know yer on opposite ends, but that seemed awfully random."

The Scout's expression falters instantly. "It's... Just me doing my job." He turns his gaze elsewhere, and doesn't speak further.

The rest of the night passes without event. With Valdo away and everyone else in bed, there's not much for a restless bloke to do. After spending a couple of hours tossing and turning, Mort gathers the motivation to leave the cabin to pursue whatever piques his curiosity. He wanders around the area, waving at the occasional merc on night shift, until he spots a light coming from the infirmary window. What's Ellen doing up this late? The thought crosses his mind as he approaches the door.

Inside, Ellen is sorting out the documents and photos, when a knock on the door startles her into dropping them. "Just a second," she calls out while hastily picking them up and shoving them in the desk drawer. She opens the door, and lets out a soft, "Oh. It's you. What are you up to this time?"

"Bored an' restless. How 'bout you?"

"Just getting some paperwork done, like usual. Come on in!" She offers him some coffee as he finds a chair to sit on. "Good thing you came here now. I wanted to have a talk with you."

"With me? About what?"

"Nothing much. Just getting to know you. Think of this place as a home to secrets. Anything you say in here will be safe with me."

He hesitates before replying. "Well, my name's Mortimer Mundy, I just turned thirty in April, an' I like animals and cute men."

Cute men? Ellen is not unfamiliar with men and women confessing their admiration for people of the same sex, but to hear it said so bluntly is nothing short of brow-raising. "Interesting. Tell me, is there anyone you're interested in? A 'special someone', perhaps?"

"W-well, there's this one guy... He's an old friend of mine, since we were really small. He's strong, smart, and great with kids. An' he's real handsome, too!" His cheeks turn bright red. "If only he wasn't on playin' the other team."

"You mean he's straight?" That certainly would be tragic, she sighs, reminiscing her past relationships.

"No, I mean literally on the other team. He works for RED."

Ellen almost spits out her drink. "RED? I mean, what an unusual predicament. Has this affected your relationship?"

"Yeah, but not really. I went over to his house recently. His bed's really soft!"

"I see. You two seem to be doing well. How's work faring for you, by the way?"

He shrugs. "Okay, I guess. Vince seems okay with me. Though things're getting more complicated with Al an' Shiro. Shiro likes Al, an' Al likes me, an' they both got split personalities, an'—"

"Hold on. What was that last bit?"

"Nothing, nothing! Just me running my mouth off."

"Hmm. Let me tell you something, Mortimer." She slams her hand on a stack of folders on her desk. "In these folders lie information on every single person working for BLU, and then some. Every last fact I've scrapped together is in here; if not, I look for it. It might seem a bit much to you, but as a doctor, I need to know as much as possible about my patients, for their well-being."

"So this chat..."

"Is my way of gathering information. No different than what we do every day at work. Call me nosy, even manipulative, but this is my full-time job."

A lump forms in Mort's throat, and he spills everything. "I'm scared for them. All of 'em. Is there anything I can do?"

"You came to the right person. Unfortunately, I cannot do it alone. You'll have to convince them to trust me—which might not be an easy task. But they clearly trust you enough to tell you their secrets, so maybe it will. Now, knowing my secret, I have to ask: do youtrust me?" Ellen stares long and hard, hoping to dig into Mortimer's mind for whatever she can find. But what should normally come easy to her is becoming a chore, creating a migraine and a searing sensation in her eyes. She breaks eye contact and rubs her temples.

"Elly, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she croaks. "I probably shouldn't have asked so many questions. How are you feeling?"

"Better than ever. Thanks, mate." He embraces her and runs off. As the door closes shut, she cannot help but smile, all her physical and emotional pain suddenly washed away.

Early the next morning, Alan sets out to shower when he finds himself in a predicament. "W-what's the meaning of this?" He points at the signs on the bathroom doors. Instead of the usual man and woman, the signs depict two similar-looking figures, one with a hat and one without.

"It's exactly as it looks," Ellen answers. "Status in this business is determined by hats; the bigger and flashier your collection, the better. Call it local tradition."

"Some 'tradition'," Al mutters under his breath. He enters the "no hat" bathroom to wash himself, then changes into a sky blue blouse and navy blue pants. After tying the blue ribbon in his hair, he steps out of the stall and bumps into something. "Hey, watch where you're going; this is a brand-new shirt!"

Right away, a timid voice stutters, "Sorry."

Al's eyes meet the blue eyes of another, familiar face—Vincent's. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the other room?"

"Well, I sort of lost my old cap during the last fight. But it made my head itch, so it's probably for the best." Scratching his head, he laughs nervously. "Uh, nice outfit. You look really cute today. Bow's a nice touch."

"Thanks. Um, I should go. Bye!" He steps out and makes way for the bunk room. On the bottom bunk is Mortimer, sleeping like a baby. Watching him makes Al's eyes droop. Such a shame he has to interrupt this lovely moment. "Wakey-wakey, artichokey," he sings as he rips the covers off the Sniper. There's a bit of movement, but no signs of waking up. "Mort?" He grabs one of Mort's hands and pulls him up, feeling a slight chill in his skin. "Mort, please, wake up!"

Slowly, his eyes blink open. Mort stretches and lets out a loud yawn. "Al? What're you doin' up? It's, like, three A.M.."

"Mort, it's a quarter 'til seven. How long were you sleeping?"

"Mm. I dunno. A while, I guess. Can you turn out the light?"

Al, not wanting to bother him further, adjusts the window shades to block out the sunlight. "You don't look so good. Maybe you should sleep a bit more."

Mort hesitates, then nods and flops back onto his pillow. Alan leaves the room, rubbing his hands for warmth. Did he always that cold? He seemed alright yesterday, but now... He huffs a breath of warm air into his hands and rubs them some more. A little bit of rest should do the trick. I hope.

Shortly after, Vincent enters the room, in search of the bandages he left in his sports bag. The wraps on his arms are already losing their adhesive, becoming itchier by the minute. But that will have to wait a bit. He tears the covers off Mort and drags him out of bed. The Sniper mumbles something about "five more minutes" and dozes off, turning into dead weight. Vince grumbles and carries on, only to be blocked by a significant obstacle.

"Hello, Wimpcent." Valdo approaches Vince, who recoils with every step. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"How did you get in here?"

"I have my ways," he answers with a crooked smile. "I've been hanging around this area for a short while, but I found some dirt that I think you'll like."

"I doubt that."

"You've changed since I last saw you. You always were a bit uptight, but lately, you're absolutely reckless. Either you're losing your touch, or something's triggered you."

Vince sets Mort on the floor and puts up his dukes. "There's nothing wrong with me!" He throws a punch.

Valdo, unfazed, avoids it. "So you are triggered. Not by something, but somebody. I wonder..." He dodges another hit, then grabs hold of the Vince's collar and lifts him. "What if I told you who Mundy really is?" The BLU Scout struggles in vain to free himself, and the RED tightens his grip. "I knew it: Mundy's the magic word. And I'm more than willing to bet on who gave you that order."

"If you think of hurting Ellen..."

"Don't you worry one bit about her. It's Mortimer I want. He's got connections to the Alterheim name, and he doesn't even know it." His gaze turns briefly to the unconscious man on the floor. "For that, I am willing to risk my life to protect him."

Valdo drops Vince, who scowls in return. "You're willing to throw your life away for the man who ruined it?"

"Oh, don't be melodramatic. Dante saved me when I needed it most—unlike some people." He turns away. "Take good care of Mort; he may be your only chance. Kaninchen." In front of Vince's very eyes, he transforms into a bat and flies through a small crack in the open window.

The second Valdo is gone, Mortimer wakes up with a yawn. "What a weird dream. Vally was in it, an' he was talkin' funny." Blink. "Vinci, yer arm!" He grabs hold of Vince's arm, its wrappings falling off, revealing numerous scars. Had he not pulled away right after, Mort would likely have noticed the scars are far from recent.

"Don't worry about it," Vince says while covering up his scars. "It's nothing important." He gives a confident, buck-toothed smile. "The mission's already underway, but we can still spectate. Wanna come?" He helps him up and they head out to find a good view. Vince's memories of the recent past is a bit fuzzy, but he finally remembers why he looks up to Mort. Jealousy aside, he can't imagine ever hating him. Mort is Mort, right?