For good measure, I dump in some deceased bread cadavers so the coyotes will have more incentive to clean house. It's a bumpy ride, making my attempts at finalizing this job harder. Criticizing Heavy's driving would be fruitless as off-roading in a delivery van isn't the easiest thing to do, I'm sure.
I nick myself with the cigarette butt for the third time, zoning out of the pain as I sear away the prints on this hand. Demoman sits on the bench along for the ride, being my source of cigarettes as I don't smoke myself. I hand it back to him and have him take a few drags before giving it back to me to finish up the pinky of what I think is the scout's hand.
"Thank you," I hum, putting out the cigarette by rubbing it against some bloody flesh and dropping the hand back into the garbage bag. I place the butt into a separate bag filled with teeth that I'll incinerate with Pyro when it comes time to also dispose of my clothing. The van slows down, and Heavy opens the door that leads to the driver's seat.
"We are here."
"Lovely," I say, standing up and opening the back doors at the rear of the vehicle. It's pitch dark and the stars above make a dazzling showcase as there are no lights nearby to interrupt their display. Crickets silence themselves as I step out of the van. Demoman helps me drag out the three large trash bags that contain the scraps of our BLU guests. I grab the shovel I brought along and start digging in front of the van so the headlights can illuminate where my spade lands. I don't go too far down into the cracked sand, just about a foot or so, and make the length that of an average coffin. I drag the bags and open them up, dumping food particles and flesh into the holes to fill it up. It smells very unpleasant, like lard from meat that's been deep-fried in grease. Demoman idles by, observing my urgency and concise actions.
"Ye dae this often?" He asks while watching me spray cooking oil over the mound.
I light a match and throw it into the pit, watching the fire wave take over. I turn to look at him with the fire illuminating one side of my face. "If Miss Pauling mentioned that she was doing it, I'd come along for the ride."
"How?" He asks, and I twist my face.
"It's a necessary skill to learn," I start shoveling sand back over the hole as the meat and yeast have cooked enough to start smelling appealing to nearby scavengers. "Some people just have to disappear to make your life easier. In this case, I'm making life easier for you guys. You're not exactly a favorite with the locals."
"Lassie, we figured as much," he declares. "I just dinnae get how you're so comfortable with doing all of this."
I drive the spade into the ground and look over at him. "Aren't you comfortable blowing people up for a paycheck?" He remains silent and frowns with furrowed brows. "It's only a small portion of what my job entails, Demoman. You don't worry about what happens to them once they're dead, but I do. I have to. I'm the one who has to cover for you and make these guys untraceable."
We eye each other for a few moments until I start digging again, the sand putting out the fire. I'd really prefer it if he stopped talking. "Dinnae it bother you, lass? Erasing these men without a proper send off to their family?"
I pat the top of the sand. "No. I stopped caring." I wipe my forehead and feel blood smear onto it. "So has Miss Pauling. So should you."
He must've never thought about how Miss Pauling deals with it as he looks surprised that I even mentioned her. I sit up front next to Heavy, and Demoman sits in the back once again. I open the door behind me and ask him to close the bag of teeth in the event they spill over, his reluctancy showing as he tries to touch the bag as little as possible. It was a three-hour ride out, and I don't intend on being awake the entire time again because the disposal process has to be finished tonight.
No matter what, Miss Pauling's voice rings in my head from the first time I dumped a body with her, Always finish your job in one go. Don't save it for later, because you will 100% forget something and get yourself caught. That was only a few months ago. Only a few months ago did I stop being squeamish about handling dead bodies.
I strap on my seatbelt and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes to rest up for later. I'm awoken by Heavy slamming the fridge door in the garage. "Get out of van."
Unclicking my seatbelt, I stumble out the van as I forget how high up it was from the ground. I open the back and pick up my tools, along with the bag of teeth. Engineer shudders when he sees me, pointing to my forehead to reference my bloodstain.
"I have to incinerate this stuff, do you guys have a fire pit?"
"Ask Pyro, he might have his own little spot. You should wash up, though."
"I will," I say, picking up my shovel. "Right after I burn these teeth along with my clothes."
"Aw hell, your clothes, too? Sounds like a waste."
"Especially your clothes," I chime, patting the side of his face with a bloody hand. He flinches. "I'll light up like a Christmas tree if I get sprayed with Luminol, Engineer!"
"Didn't I already tell you to call me Engie?"
I shrug. "Yeah... It just doesn't feel right. We're not close like that yet."
He sighs dejectedly. "Well, the drone had a camera inside of it, but that's standard stuff. I tried snooping in its code, but it got wiped when Sniper shot the damn thing. Their van didn't have anything worthwhile inside, so I'll just recycle the parts."
"Good, good." He smiles at me, almost as though he's expecting something. I smile back at him and shake my magical bag of mouth bones. He groans.
"You should... get rid of that."
"I'll talk to you later, Engineer." I pat his shoulder, more shudders of disgust coming from him as I venture to collect Pyro. I pass by Sniper in the halls while he's on his way to his tower, a rather nasty glower catching me off guard as he shoots it my way. Spy also completely ignores me as I greet him when entering the locker room. As far as I'm concerned, no one does any changing in here, so it should be fine for me to enter. Confused, I approach Pyro and find a similar thing happening with him. He doesn't express any positive gestures upon seeing me but still agrees to help me with my evidence-tampering procedure since it greatly involves fire. I tell Pyro to set up near Sniper's tower on the far end of the compound. He searches his own locker and takes a box full of matches, a jerry can, and the shovel I handed him so he can dig the pit. We both exit and travel to the main plaza outside.
I make a detour and go into my room to get a change of clothes. My binder rests on my bed, meaning Heavy came by to drop it off for me. The vial I had in my front pocket comes out, and I examine the bottle. It's about the length of my palm and has a screw cap to conceal the paper inside. Upon opening, unrolling the paper reveals a chemistry formula, "CHCl₃". I don't know about chemistry, I only know chemical compounds by their common name. The first 2 elements are Carbon and Hydrogen, but that's the extent of my knowledge. Even if I knew what that last element was, I'd highly doubt I'd just so happen to know what it yields. Is it a corrosive agent? Or maybe an explosive? I'd have to ask either Demoman or Engineer about this, either one of them has to know. Maybe Medic if the opportunity arises, but I don't think he deals with chemical equations too often.
I'll worry about it later, I have to get rid of a few things first. I stash the paper in the bottle once more and then hide it at the very bottom of my underwear drawer, picking out a pair while I'm here. I have to be quick, so I grab some plain pajama pants and a tank top to throw on. Rushing to the bathroom, I try to take as quick of a shower as possible, knowing Pyro isn't the kind to wait around. Speeding through a full-body biohazard wash, I dry most of myself off and redress. The burn marks on my fingers tingle slightly. I decide against rewrapping my ankle wound. It'll have to air out eventually, and it looks at though it's started the healing process. My hair is wetter than I'd like, but that is on the bottom of my list of worries. Slipping on some sandals, I scoop up my old clothes and pick up the bag of teeth from my room, finally arriving at the fire that Pyro has started. He pokes it around with a stick, the tip of it eventually catching a flame and Pyro having to dig it into the dirt to put it out.
Dropping my items into the fire, Pyro haphazardly throws more gas on it, the inferno roaring and flaring up at the addition of fuel. He laughs some and watches the blaze in awe. It's like doing laundry, disposing of bodies; covering the suspicious means of people's disappearances is a never-ending cycle until you die or until you stop needing clothes. The fabric is turned to ash within 5 minutes, but the teeth still stand. I knew I should've blended them first. I sigh and tell Pyro to put it out, a loss of glee taking over him. He reluctantly pulls out a fire extinguisher and deploys the white foam, the flames getting weaker and weaker until they die. He begins to return the dirt to its place of origin, and I stand by so then I get the confirmation from him that it's done. Medic comes out and observes Pyro with me.
"Pleased with your harvest?" I start.
"Oh, ja, very much so!" He rubs his hands together with a smile. "I was able to salvage much more than I originally thought."
"What are you going to use the parts for?"
"Progress," he purrs, his rolling R's pleasing to the ears. It didn't answer my question, but I don't prod too much.
Pyro finishes up and hands me my shovel back, the three of us going back inside and closing the rollup door. Medic secures the chain and slaps on a padlock on the floor to keep it from opening. It makes me wonder about how Sniper gets back inside to get food and use the bathroom in the morning. The doctor hands me his copy of the key for the padlock, claiming he very rarely wakes up early enough to unlock it anyway despite him being up before me yesterday and today. I shrug and slide it into my pajama pocket, thinking about what to do next. I have to check in on Engineer to see how he's going to go about repurposing the truck, but I also haven't gone to see Scout all day. I'm assuming he'd be asleep now, but I go to check anyway, my footsteps echoing throughout the hallways and the open area of what I've picked up as being called a control point.
I knock a couple of times and call out for him, knocking again and almost singing his name the second time. Entering anyway, he still looks the same as when I left him. I glide across his room and gingerly place my fingers on his neck, expressing relief when I feel his warmth and heartbeat. He groans and opens his eyes, looking up at me and pushing my arm away.
"Sniper already came in here to make sure I was alive, you can go," he spits.
"Wow, okay. You're welcome for dragging you all the way back to your room and dumping bodies for you well past midnight, Scout," I murmur. He turns over toward the wall. I glance around his room, a college frat dorm vibe. Posters of various baseball players line his wall, a few smaller photos of pinup models tucked away on the back wall of his desk. A mitt sits on his nightstand, a baseball resting in the glove. A book on his desk is opened to an unfinished drawing that looks... Like Miss Pauling? I'll give him props, he's pretty good at art... Not so much at calligraphy, though. A looseleaf sheet of paper has various vocabulary words scribbled on it, many being repeated time and time again in an attempt to improve. I've done enough snooping. "Good night, Scout."
"Go fuck yourself."
Ouch.
Why is everyone being so mean all of a sudden? I furrow my brows and close the door behind me. It's super late anyway, and I don't want to bother anyone else for tonight. I still have to check on Engineer. I suppose I don't now, though, seeing him approach me. "You gettin' to bed?"
I nod. "Yeah, was just checking up on Scout before heading in."
We walk down the end of the hall to my room, me making the realization of Engineer being my neighbor. "Well, see ya when the sun ri--"
"Wait-" I place my hand on his gloved forearm as he reaches for his doorknob. It's lumpier than I thought it would be. He brushes my hand away. "Did you get rid of the license plates? From the van, I mean."
"Sure did," he laughs. "Gonna use it for some scrap to fix my sentries."
"As long as it no longer resembles a license plate."
"How're you holding up?" He asks, turning to me to hold a conversation.
I think for a second, failing to mention the abrasive attitude of some of the mercenaries. "Okay, I guess. I wasn't expecting bread monsters, and I certainly wasn't expecting to do a cover-up job by myself this soon. I'm getting a bit stir crazy since none of my supplies have been delivered yet; kinda need to check in with Miss Pauling eventually, y'know?"
He nods. "Supply delivery comes in either tomorrow or the day after, maybe your things will come in then." He speaks in a low tone as though the shipment schedule is a secret and that I don't need to know it anyway. "Well, I reckon you hang your hat. We'll only have 3 hours or so to sleep."
I groan and huff, patting his shoulder to send him off. "Good night, Engineer."
"Goodnight Irene," he chuckles, waiting for me to close my door before he enters his own room. Irene isn't even my name. I sigh and close my curtains, crawling into my bed face-down and quietly releasing a deadpan yell into my pillow. I'm devastatingly exhausted, and it's only been three days. And I still have to work out a compromise to start filling out my duties with the amenability of the mercenaries. I'm going to have to take charge tomorrow, I'm sure. Butting heads with them is inevitable, but I can't try to avoid it by allowing them to tread all over me. Getting under the covers, mental burnout shuts down my body and renders me zonked.
"Oh, you're here," Miss Pauling's voice echoes inside my head. "Took you long enough. Did you forget how to operate a phone?"
The apartment I shared with her manifests around me and builds her to sit on the couch, tapping the seat beside her. I plop down next to her and fold my arms. "No. I just can't yet."
"Bummer." She reaches next to herself and picks up a coffee mug. "Need any help with dealing with them?"
"No. You're just my inner conscious. You'll only construct a system of thoughts that will most definitely make no sense when I wake up."
She hesitates before shrugging with a complacent smile. "I guess I don't blame you. Was worth a shot."
I try to relax into the couch, but it oozes liquid that has a slightly thicker consistency than water. I grimace and reach to touch it. My backside and hands are covered in it, dripping off my fingers and leaving residue. It smells sort of awful.
"Miss Pauling, what is this?" I ask as I stand up. She folds her legs and takes another sip of coffee.
"It's cooking oil," she calmly informs. "You should probably wake up, cooking oil is always a bad thing to get poured on you while you're sleeping."
I'm pretty sure it's bad if you get it poured on you at any time. "Hold on, I ki--"
"No, I mean it. Go check it out. It'd be really embarrassing if you didn't listen to your basic survival instincts right now just so you could talk to a manifestation of your logical thinking. As flattered as I am, you need to get going. I'll see you around Miss Fredrickson. Hopefully."
"Hopefully?" My eyes crack open but close again immediately as more oil splashes onto my cheek. I can't move. My breathing hitches as I hear another bottle unscrewing, my eyes darting everywhere for anything I can recognize. I chirp out inaudible noises, trying to call out to whoever it is. Someone, I need help, please. Stop doing this.
My body won't do anything I'm telling it to. I can't feel anything but the oil running down my face and my soiled clothing against my skin. Why is this happening? Who is doing this to me? I try to open my mouth, even more oil rushing in and making me gurgle in an attempt to expel noise. I close my eyes in fear of getting anything in them, feeling tears form behind my eyelids. I'm tempted to start crying. Maybe then someone could hear me. I try to use all of my energy to kick my wall to create noise but I'm not able to manage that. I'm paralyzed, and I'm going to die.
The last of the oil drips onto my bed and gloved fingers drag across my eyelids. I slowly open my eyes and breathe as shallow as I can to keep from clogging my nose and filling my lungs. The only movement my body spares me is shivering as the cold settles into my skin and adrenaline pours into my bloodstream to try and get me to do something. My heart feels heavy and like I can't get enough air, I don't even remember where I am.
The gloved hand casts over my eyes again, making sure I'm able to see. I start to huff faster, sobs barely making themselves known as I finally get my jaw to unlock. A hazy figure stares at me, muffled breaths alerting of their presence. I try to call out to them. They close my mouth manually. I can't open it anymore. They pat my cheek softly with thick gloves and wipe matted hair away from my face. Oil droplets run down my forehead. The figure steps away from me and leaves my room. Vapors burn my nostrils. My chest feels emptier and emptier by the minute, making room for all of the sheer terror that I can't liberate by screaming. Footsteps wander back into my room, and my tear ducts begin to burn as tears flow out of my eyes.
I hear squeaking and metallic scratches. I smell gas. A blue flame appears in the darkness, hardly illuminating anything around it. I stare at it, unsure of what else to look at, seeing nothing but destruction and terror pouring in the air. Tears flow faster. Drool accumulates in my mouth. The scratching returns and the flame disappears. Shuffles happen around my room and the squeaking of rubber boots is accompanied by that. The figure lowers their head to look at me again. I shake even more. My body is weary. I'm spent.
Aggressive scritching until an orange flame bursts into existence.
Please, put it out.
The light moves farther away from me until it stops in the middle of the room. It rises up to the face of my tormenter. A reflection comes off the goggles of a gas mask. Pyro.