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jackofmanytf2 · 2 years

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Granary Guerrillas

About five hours north of Teufort, my Red employers have a big grain operation. Big silos, shipping containers, storage for shipping containers... It's a big place with a lot of tile floor, a lot of equipment that needs upkeep (and a lot of it is below Mr. Conagher's pay-grade, I don't mind admitting), and a surprising number of glass windows. It's one of the places where, with the long commute and the work itself, I don't have time for my other jobs, so the Red people give me advance notice, a generous stipend for petrol, and hours double. I would break about even, but one of my jobs in Teufort let me go after I told them I'd be out of town for over a week. Apparently, I should have told them thirty days ago if I wanted my time unavailable to make the schedule. I wished them luck in filling the position-- I don't know anybody willing (or able) to work those hours, at those wages, who are also able to reliably plan their lives thirty days in advance.

I'll be alright. I'll pick up extra shifts at another job or just find another one. There's always work out there...

Right next door to our grain facility is the rival Blue grain facility; equally big. I try not to have any opinions on this situation between the two companies. At the very least, they pay well and the mercs don't have to walk very far to kill each other. Of course, that means that even despite the size of both facilities, I'm usually only one or two rooms away from some part of the fight-- that is, if I'm not trapped in the thick of things. I'd considered switching my schedule to work overnight instead, since 'last round' ends around sunset, but for "security reasons" neither my car nor Sniper's camper can be within five miles of the building, so both he and I are bunked in with everyone else. There's no sleeping with that kind of noise going on, wondering if at any moment the door is going to explode in on you in a hail of gunfire, rocket shells, actual fire, and grenade pipes. So I more or less sleep when the mercs sleep. Of course, the barracks were only fitted for nine, so I've made myself cozy in a small storeroom with my cleaning supplies and my blanket from my car. Nobody's said anything about it, so I guess it's not a problem, but then again, I don't think they really noticed.

All that to say that there's no real avoiding the fighting around here while I'm working, except in the hours after sunset, before I collapse on the floor in the storeroom, and the hours just before sunrise.

So what's going on now? I decided to take advantage of a lull in the action to mop the mess in the middle of the shipping container storage bay but the “lull” was lasting a bit long and the quiet was… beginning to be concerning. Even despite listening, the hum of the huge fans for the climate control in this area muffled the sound of footsteps until they were right on top of me. By the time I looked up, I was already surrounded.

“... Hi. You uh… might want to watch your step. Floor’s still wet…” I say lamely, trying to keep from smiling nervously. I’m surrounded by the Blue mercenaries, which means that all the Red mercenaries are probably dead and going through respawn. Which meant I was alone with the enemy and literally the only living thing left to oppose their total control of this facility they were storming.

I’d already died a lot these past couple days. A lot. Some of it wasn’t as quick and painless as I’d like, but I’m not about to offer any critiques. Killing was their profession, not mine, so I don’t exactly have an expert perspective on the topic… Besides, I doubt they’d care for my opinions.

“Oh, I've been waitin’ for this, ya piker…” Here comes the blue-shirted Sniper, closing the distance, big knife in hand, with long strides like he hasn’t learned his lesson from last time. Still, the mop in my hands has never felt less like something I could defend myself with. But it turns out I don’t have to, as the Blue Heavy spares a hand from his huge gun to grab his teammate’s shoulder.

“Sniper does not beat defenseless little girls in front of Heavy.”

“Yo, that’s a girl?!” The Scout exclaims, pointing with his bat and looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“‘S not a bloody woman,” There’s an odd note of distaste in the Sniper’s voice to accompany his sneer, “...Even if it was…” He shrugs out from under his ally’s hand, but does not move closer to me. Yet. I can’t see his eyes behind his glasses, but I can feel the glare…

The Blue Soldier bellows out with authority, “CORRECTION! This cupcake is a cupcake!”

“Conagher wouldn’t hire a woman for this sort of work. Not for the war…” The Blue Engineer says quietly.

“Exactly!” Snaps the Australian, shifting his weight to step forward again. He’s interrupted by the swing of his ‘mate’s’ bat.

“Hey, f’real are you a girl?!”

“Bonny ‘nough face…” The Demoman mumbles, “could be a wee lass…”

The Blue Medic and Pyro remain quiet, the former watching me with furrowed brows. I can’t speak for the latter, but the mask is turned my direction.

This sort of reaction only surprises me because it’s stalling any violence to my person. I’m used to the confusion and questions. I have what some might consider a ‘pretty face’ with ‘delicate’ or ‘girlish’ features. My small stature and slim build don’t do me any favors, either. Nature has not been kind. In a man’s world, I’ve learned it isn’t usually to my benefit to look like a girl. It’s harder to get paying work that isn’t sex work or paperwork. Nobody wants to pay a woman to work with her hands. Not for skilled work. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t care what people thought I looked like…

“I’m working,” I answer firmly, “So I’d appreciate it if we wrapped whatever this is up quickly…”

“No, I wanna know!” The Scout’s bat points at my face, his expression fierce to cover up his uncertainty. I don’t know whether that uncertainty is because my being a woman would be an insult because of how I got the briefcase away from him that one time (he’s killed me half a dozen times since, I would have thought he’d be over it by now) or if my being a woman would make me an acceptable target for other kinds of attention, “You a girl? Yes or no.”

“This is not the information we are here to obtain,” Says the suited figure appearing out of thin air at my side, and I shudder at the idea of how close the Blue Spy was to me without my even knowing. He eyes his teammates and then turns and looks down at me.

“Le petit nettoyeur, you say you are working. We are also working. You know the nature of our work. Tell us: what is the exact nature of yours?”

“... Bloody maid…” The Sniper growls.

“Cupcake!” The Soldier corrects sharply.

“Building maintenance,” Is my reply, shooting the Sniper a look, “general upkeep– plumbing, lights, heating and cooling… and yes, cleaning. But it’s not like I do their laundry and cooking or baking– I’m not a damn maid!”

“These were the duties you were hired for?” The Spy’s eyes are on mine, and I don’t like it. I feel like he can see right through me. See what I’m thinking.

“Yes.”

“And despite your presence on the battlefields and your… interference… with our collection of RED intelligence, you were not hired as a tenth combatant?”

I wince, “... Look, it’s not like he would have handed over the briefcase if I had asked him to–”

“--Damn right!”

The Spy frowns slightly, “Certainly not. Answer my question: were you hired as a tenth combatant?”

“If I were hired as a combatant, wouldn’t I have something besides cleaning supplies or a toolbox?” Something hard and cold enters the Spy’s gaze and the other mercenaries shift on their feet impatiently, so I give up being smart and say, “No. No, of course I’m not a tenth combatant. I’ve been saying it all along!”

Spy nods, and his frown fades into something that might have been the shadow of a smile before pursing his lips, “So… you clean and maintain RED facilities…”

“... Yes…?”

“... All of them? All the rooms?”

“... Most of them…”

“I see…” He closes his eyes and sighs out his nose, and when his arms unfold from behind his back, his gloved right hand is smoothly rolling open a balisong knife, “... They call you ‘Jacques’, do they not?” “...uh…” I almost step back, but the blue suited Pyro is there, and I can smell the gas and hear the clicking from his weapon, and I really don’t want to bump into it.

The Spy goes on, calm and reasonable-sounding, “... Jacques, I owe you a kindness from our last encounter, and as I am a man who honors his debts, I will not allow my teammates to exact their bizarre and pathetic vengeance for your insult to them at this time–”

“--Piss off! I don’t need you to allow me–” But the rest of whatever the Sniper meant to sputter was cut off by his teammate raising a single gloved finger. He growled and glared, baring his teeth at me instead, white-knuckling his fist around the hilt of his big knife.

“... But I have a responsibility, Jacques, and as a professional with responsibilities, I am sure you understand. So. Please,” Continued the Spy moving the balisong knife in his hand just so, so that it– and he– had my full attention again, “tell me the passcode to the door over my left shoulder just now.”

I glance at the door in question. I know the passcode. I wipe down the equipment in there and make sure it’s still running, but I don’t know anything about it. I don’t know what it does or how important it is. Whatever the reason, that door stays locked behind a passcode, so I probably shouldn’t tell this Spy that works for my employer’s rival!

“... Jacques,” He presses, meeting my eyes, his a cloudy blue, “I must insist that you tell me quickly. If you do not, I will have to extract the answer, and I do not want to do that.”

Part of me almost believes him. He owes me a kindness, like he said, but he’s not going to let that stop him from taking advantage of the fact that I have information that can make his job that much easier. He can make me tell him, I realize with a sinking feeling of dread. He probably knows just how to hurt me to learn every secret I know– even mine.

For a single moment, my stomach twists and drops to my toes with terror. In the same moment, I see the ridiculousness of it all– of this war, this rivalry. The idiocy. I know all the passcodes. I can get into any secret room I want to! Me. Jack. The nobody who doesn’t know anything about the importance of this fight. The nobody not even in the fight. But at the same time, I’ve got no way to protect this information. No weapons, no special training. No suicide pills.

This merc, a specialist, was going to hurt me and hurt me and hurt me until I gave him all the information he wanted that a person like me should never have been given in the first place.

But then that moment passes, and the Blue Spy’s head explodes into a fine red mist of blood, bone, and brains. A moment after that, red-marked pipe grenades and rockets were raining down on us.

Stumbling out of respawn, I ask myself a question: How long had the red-shirted mercs been waiting to launch their attack? How long had they watched me with the blues?

Had they known? Had they also known I would have broken?

Or was it all just a big coincidence?

#tf2 #tf2 oc #tf2 oc fic #tf2 OC & BLU Team #jackfic #my mic #22nd #May #2022 #May 22nd 2022

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