Chapter Text
You fidgeted with the handle of the blue suitcase on your lap as you watched the purple moped approach from the horizon, kicking up red New Mexican sand as it crept towards you. The dorky vehicle sputtered to a stop as a trim bookish woman hopped off a good thirty yards from where you sat in front of the base. "You're Ms. Pauling, right?" you called to her. This had to be the most dangerous question you'd ever asked.
She whipped a pistol from the waist of her skirt as she hopped off her scooter.
"I just came to ask about a job," you said sincerely as you slid the blue suitcase of intelligence across the sand to her kitten heels, raising your empty hands. "And I didn't open the intel. The surveillance tapes will back me up on that."
Pauling narrowed her disarmingly cute eyes. "You have thirty seconds to convince me not to kill you."
That's plenty, if she's as smart as I've heard, you think as you let out a small sigh of relief. "As you'll see on the tapes, I arrived unarmed and killed the five mercs stationed here within four minutes, using nothing but the weapons dropped by my fallen adversaries."
"What a strange way of showing off," she mused.
"Indeed. But I wanted to show you what a reliable investment I am. I'm a jack of all trades. Hiring me reduces the excessive waste of material you see on the battlefield from downed combatants. I'm well versed in all manner of firearms, mechanics, and medicine... I can pick up wherever my teammates or opponents leave off and change gears at the drop of a hat. Of course, I'm a master of no skill, but that makes me the most versatile hire you'd have. And I'll take half the salary you're offering the others. What I'm really looking for is immunity."
"Alright. We'll talk," she said with a pretty little smile. The last thing you saw was the second gun-- a tranquilizer-- she pulled as she leveled it at your chest and fired.
---
You were roused from a deep slumber by a faint beeping. Instinctively, you rolled over to slap the snooze button on your alarm clock, but fell blindly and smacked against linoleum floor, sending a jolt of pain through your chest. "What the hell..." you murmured, rubbing sleep from your eyes.
"Lovely!" a German voice exclaimed behind you. "Awake a full hour before I expected. Quite resilient, this one!"
"Good morning, sunshine," a woman said from close to him, "I decided not to kill you. Welcome to the team."
Trying to get off the floor, you found that your limbs were completely lethargic, and your chest burned. Rolling back over was a nigh Herculean task. After your eyes adjusted to the glare of the fluorescent lights above you, you saw a woman in purple standing next to a sharply dressed doctor with bloodstained sleeves. Your heart fluttered at the sight of them. "What 'team'?"
"RED," the lady responded nonchalantly.
"Red what?"
"The RED team. The crew of mercenaries you asked to join a few hours ago. This will catch you up to speed," she explained, tossing you a manila folder.
"Mercenaries, what? I'm not a mercenary, I'm a..." there was something on the tip of your tongue, something you knew should be obvious to you. It was sickening to not immediately know what or who you were.
"Jack of all trades. Great with all sorts of weaponry." She turned to the man next to her. "How much did you take out?"
"I told you last Halloween that brain scooping is not an exact science. The removal you requested comes with a price, you know."
"Excuse me?" you piped up, "Brain scooping?"
"They're rather inquisitive," the man remarked with a hint of annoyance.
The woman started putting on a motor helmet. "In order to bring you on the team, we had to... erase some things you shouldn't have known. And before you complain, you willingly complied to the procedure." She quickly waggled a signed contract in front of your eyes. "I really gotta get going now, but I'm sure you'll figure it all out in no time."
Before you could say another word, she was out the door. Now you tried to regain your composure and sit up at least, which hurt less than before, but still hurt a lot. Your stomach dropped as you turned to the only other person left in the medbay. "What did you do to me?"
"Well, I obviously did a little brain scooping, then I replaced your heart with one that could handle future procedures and the work you will be doing. It hurts now, but you will soon be unstoppable - a god among men." The corners of his mouth curled up in a devilish smile dripping with arrogance and excitement as he extended his gloved hands to you.
You grabbed onto his forearms and tried to hoist yourself up, but were unable due to the surgery. Noticing this, the doctor wrapped an arm around your back and lifted you up. "You replaced my heart?" You looked down at your chest and saw dark spots of blood peeking through your sleek crimson top around your chest. There was also a strange red light emanating from the area.
"Rather impressive, is it not? Some of my finest work," he said as he lightly ran his thumb over the glow, admiring his own craftsmanship. His arm was still around your back, and you were gently pressed against him. You were certain he would have noticed your heart's racing if he wasn't so busy congratulating himself. It must have been a long time since you had any human contact - it felt like you were buzzing with an almost uncomfortable electricity from this half-embrace and simple touch. Yet there was something comforting and warm about him, although he was speckled with your blood. You stepped back and sat on the stretcher you woke up on.
"Was there something wrong with my original heart?"
"Aside from being human? No."
"Wh- Then what's this?"
"A trade secret, I'm afraid." The man became preoccupied with a machine that let off a glow similar to the one coming from the heart inside you.
You studied your chest, feeling the sutures protruding from your skin and wondering what lies underneath. A patch on the upper arm of your form fitting shirt caught your eye. A circle with a question mark in the middle. How fitting. You also noticed you were wearing baggy camo pants with enormous pockets. A pleasant coolness washed over you, like the flip-side of your pillow, which caused your muscles to relax. The doctor had trained the glowing machine on you. The pain washed away more and more with each deep breath. "Damn - whatever that is feels great."
He chuckled at that. "My freund, flattery will get you everywhere. But you should rest for a little while longer before touring the rest of the base." The man turned his back to you and began cleaning off his surgical instruments.
While you laid in the healing beam, you cracked open the briefing that purple lady had given you. It was a letter written on a typewriter, with some blanks filled in by hand.
WELCOME, Jack of all Trades.
You have been contracted by TF Industries to reclaim and defend the rightful property of Reliable Excavation Demolition and its subsidiaries through any means necessary. Mondays through Saturdays, you will be battling mercenaries hired by RED's violent and monstrous rival, Builders League United. These mercenaries will resemble your own teammates, but are not to be communicated with, fraternized with, nor trusted; you are obligated to kill them on sight, even when off the clock.
Death is no longer to be feared; you, your teammates, and, unfortunately, your rivals, have all been integrated into "Respawn Systems," which will revivify you in your base. Of course, you must stay alive as long as possible in order to defend or claim your objectives.
As compensation for your services, $100,000 per month will be deposited into a bank account set aside for you and controlled by TF Industries. You will not have access to these funds until you have been employed by TF Industries for a year. An additional $100,000 per month is being given to the person and address you have supplied us. As previously agreed upon, TF Industries will not disclose this person nor address to you until a year has passed. Your living expenses will be covered, and you will be living in your class's assigned room at RED's main base.
If you have any questions, please keep them to yourself.
--The Administrator.
The last part caught you especially off guard. First of all, that was a shitload of money. Second of all, why wouldn't you be allowed to know where the money was going, especially if you told them where to put it? You were dying of curiosity by this point, and even if you were still aching, you wanted to learn more about what was going on. Closing your eyes, you strained to remember anything about how you got yourself into this situation. No luck.
"Do you know anything about how I got here?" You asked the doctor from across the room.
"They don't trust me with such information anymore. All I know is, whatever you did, you truly impressed Ms. Pauling - the woman who brought you here - and she is not easily impressed."
"Oh God, what did I do?" You rubbed your temples, struggling to imagine what war crimes could have gotten you into these ranks with such flying colors.
His eyes locked onto yours, and they were full of awe and curiosity. "Everything." Your stomach and jaw dropped. That couldn't mean anything good. He smirked and turned back to his work. "I am really going to enjoy working with you."
You couldn’t honestly return the compliment.
“Are you ready yet for the grand tour?”
“I suppose I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you sighed.
“That’s what we like to hear.” He took off his bloodied lab coat and rubber gloves, revealing a vest, tie, and button-up that had still somehow managed to get red smudges on them. You took the hand he offered to help you stand up.
“Thank you, Dr…?”
“Medic.”
“Thanks, Dr. Medic.”
“Just Medic, please.”
It occurred to you that he probably wasn’t licensed, and your recently added heart dropped. He ignored the look on your face as he opened the door to the hallway and immediately bumped into... a bumper car? Its driver was even stranger than the vehicle itself. They were wearing a gas mask and were covered head to toe in a flame retardant suit, and they sat scrunched up in the tiny cart. They cocked their head in curiosity when they saw you, but quickly sprung up out of their seat and swooped you up in a hug. They smelled like campfires, and you were terribly confused, not to mention spooked.
"Careful, Pyro! I just put a new heart in them."
Pyro put you down gently. You heard laughter down the hallway. "Haha, eat my dust!" someone called in a Boston accent. He was also in a bumper car, and was wearing a baseball cap and t-shirt. He wasn't going terribly fast, though, considering his mode of transportation.
Pyro, panicked, scrambled back into the cart and pursued the glib racer. Something about them was kind of adorable, though, and something about their competitor was infuriatingly smug; Pyro had to win this. Despite Medic's protests, you got behind Pyro's cart and started pushing them faster down the hallway. It didn't take long to close the gap and get them into first place, the two of you laughing the whole way.
"What the heck?! Not fair!"
Pyro pointed urgently at the end of the hallway with their gloved hand and tried to say something. "Mmph mm mmph mmph!" That was probably the finish line, then. You redoubled your efforts, despite the small twinges of pain in your chest.
The other guy dashed past you two, bent with his hands on the seat of the cart and the rest of him outside it, running to push it. "Vroom vroom, motherfuckers!" His bumper car crossed the finish line and he stood proudly, laughing. As Pyro sullenly crossed the line, the winner finally acknowledged your presence. "Wait, who the hell are you?"
"I'm a new hire, I guess," you answered uncertainly.
"The tenth class," Medic answered, walking towards the three of you. "They're a 'Jack of all Trades,' a wild card of sorts."
"Nice! Well, you already learned the most important thing about this team. That I'm the best here." He put a foot up on his bumper car and flexed a thin arm. "Call me Scout."
You offered a hand for a shake, but he gave you a down-low high five instead. "Hey Doc," he asked Medic, "Have they met the resta the team yet?" He fake whispered to you pointing to himself, "Even though it all goes downhill from here."
"Nein. I was on the way to the common room to introduce them."
"How 'bout I race you there?" He asked, then took off without waiting for an answer.
"He's like that," Medic said with an apologetic shrug. The two of you walked down the hall, with Pyro silently putting along next to you in their bumper car.
The quiet gave you a moment to step back and recognize once again the madness of the situation. Who was this person covered head to toe in a rubbery flame-retardant suit, with their head crammed into a completely opaque, inhuman mask? The time for wondering was being cut short, however, as the three of you approached the doors to a bustling room. Medic furrowed his brow and, once again, assessed you as though you were a cadaver on an autopsy table - like you weren't there. He seemed to be gauging your reaction to all of it, determining whether or not you were fit to meet the rest of the team.
"Are you ready for your grand entrance, Jack?" he asked.
"That sounds so weird," you chuckled uncomfortably, "I'd prefer it if you used my name. I'm-- uh... uhhh..."
"Alright, 'Uhhh' it is."
"No-- no! I’m not joking, I can't remember my name!" Your eyes went wide, and you started quaking.
"Ohhh, ja, that is a common side effect for such an extensive operation..."
You desperately grabbed his arm clawing for grounding as the room began to spin. "W-when will I start remembering?"
Medic sucked his teeth and scratched his chin. "Well... you still have your semantic and procedural memories. Shooting a gun, playing an instrument, things like that. Your other memories... there's no saying when certain memories might be triggered, but certain details will slowly start coming back to you in the next few months or so. But our employers might choose to tell you some details earlier."
"Do you know what my name is? Did that lady tell you who I am?"
"As I told you, they don’t trust me with that information. But there is no reason to worry," he comforted you with a hand on your back, "They told Scout his name in only 6 months!"
There was so much that had been yanked away from you. Where you were from, who your family and friends were-- and it might take a half a year to get that back? You froze and started sweating bullets.
The door next to you swung open and another man stepped out. He wore a sharp red suit and a balaclava and was momentarily shocked to see you. He observed the scene wordlessly for a moment before offering you the unlit cigarette in his hand. "A new recruit, I take it?"
"As far as I can tell..." you croaked as you released Medic’s arm. It was almost impossible to speak. You reached out a trembling hand to take the cig, even though you didn't think you were a smoker. You put it between your lips and the man lit it with an engraved silver lighter, with Pyro staring at the flame intently. If he were anyone other than this reassuring French gentleman with his contagious confidence, you probably wouldn’t have trusted him with a flame so close to your face.
"So," he started, lighting up his own cigarette and stifling a smile when you coughed trying to inhale the smoke, "You’re shocked by the memory loss, I take it?"
"How couldn’t I be?"
"Just know that we have all struggled with this amnesia, and have mostly recovered. The details do come back to you. Slowly, at first. The first thing I remembered was a little café back in Nice. There will not be any major memories for a while, but they will come." Pyro had scooted their bumper car right up to his foot, and was looking up at him expectantly. "Alright, just be careful with it," he said as he tossed them the fancy lighter. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Medic looking rather disgruntled with your choice to smoke so soon after surgery.
You tried to remember any restaurants or anything like that. You vaguely drummed up some pizza places, but couldn't recall any specifics. "It's a really... empty feeling, isn't it?" you quietly mused, your panic attack slowly subsiding with his words.
"Loneliest in the world." A silence hung in the air as Pyro messed around with the lighter, Medic grumbled, and you and the gentleman took drags of your cigarettes. But you didn't want a smoke. You just wanted a hug from somebody. Anybody. Even another one from Pyro. But you couldn't possibly ask. "Ah, where are my manners?" He extended a gloved hand for you to shake. "If the mask did not give me away already, I am the Spy."
His handshake was firm yet gentle, with his other hand delicately on your elbow. You couldn't help but blush a little, comforted by the momentary contact. "I'm the 'Jack-of-all-Trades.'"
"You will be shortening that to Jack, I assume?”
"I assume so too." You took a series of deep breaths and tried to recenter yourself.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Jack.” He pronounced this more like “Jacques,” but you didn’t mind. The simple name gained an air of sophistication on his lips.
“A pleasure to meet you as well, although I wish it were under different circumstances.” He gave a small somber nod to that.
“What are the others like?” You asked, attempting to take your attention off of the cavernous void in your mind.
Spy and Medic shot each other a look that didn’t bode well for the rest of the team. Medic piped up first. “They are… something of an acquired taste.”
“If you do not have the palatte for them, my door is always open to you,” Spy added. “I have been trying for a while, but this is one thing I cannot seem to acquire. I would enjoy the company of someone who understands.” Although he glanced sidelong at Pyro as he said this, if they noticed, they didn’t seem to mind the insult.
“Well, I might as well meet them now. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
