Eventually, he finds Pasha, and they make their purchases before parting ways with Mort yet again. Alan's heart grows heavier, as his closest friend appears to be growing more distant by the day. Looking at Hartmann only reminds him of the conversation he heard earlier, forcing him to avert the Medic's gaze. When the three of them return to the barracks, their eyes widen, as the other mercs rush over to Hartmann, demanding an explanation. But of all the men present, Vincent is, by far, the scariest.
“Hartmann,” he cries out as he runs up to the doctor. Hartmann opens his mouth to speak, but he is kept silent, as the Scout grabs him by the collar and shoves him against the wall. “I found the letter. Why the hell'd you think you can keep this a secret?” BAM! Hart receives a left hook to the face. “You should have told us about the transfer first thing.”
“I was going to...”
Vince slams him again. “Bullshit! You were gonna leave us the same way you did RED, didn't you? Now you're coming back to them, you traitorous bastard!”
“Please... Let me explain—”
WHAM!
“Vincent, stop it!” Instinct takes over, as Alan pulls the Scout away from Hartmann and throws him on the ground. What he lacks in strength and weight, he makes up in dexterity and resourcefulness; using a tie he bought, he restrains Vince's hands and holds him down with the weight he does have.
“What is going on here?” Everybody stops what they are doing and turns around. Standing beside Miller is a tall and sturdy Asian man in a lab coat and surgical mask, his robin's egg-colored tie and gloves revealing his faction. Upon noticing the condition of the fat Medic and Scout, he frowns. “Hartmann-sensei, Vincent, are you okay?”
Alan steps off of Vince. “Quoi? You know zhem?”
He walks over to untie the restraints. “Of course I know them. I have been told about them and their... What would you call it? 'Antics'.” Standing up, he bows before the mercenaries. “My apologies for not notifying you of my arrival beforehand. The transfer request was rather sudden. Er, let's talk more over tea.”
Inside the conference room, the new Medic prepares tea and coffee and tends to Hartmann briefly before resuming. “As I was saying, I received a transfer request to replace Hartmann-sensei during his absence. Some of you might know more about this than I do, but he had received what has been known as an 'Auto-Balance Transfer'—a request from one faction to 'borrow' a member from the opposite faction to make up for a lack of troops.”
“So RED's members have been droppin' like flies,” Duncan intercedes. “I've been hearing rumors of REDs going missing an' turning up dead.”
“I would not go so far as to assume death, but yes, RED has been experiencing a drop in their numbers, and have been sending out requests to BLU. Usually, auto-balanced members are chosen at random, but for whatever reason, they seemed awfully insistent about Hartmann-sensei.”
So the cat's come crawling back. “Well, whatever their reason, it's out of our control now.” Miller takes a sip of coffee. “It's Doc's problem now.”
Pasha, who had stayed silent the entire time, finally speaks up. “You come barging in without warning, yet with knowledge of auto-balance transfers. Who are you, anyway?”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” the Asian man says humbly. “My name is Ooshiro Same—Western order. I was was stationed at Coldfront, and was supposed to be transferred to Thunder Mountain before receiving the order to come here instead. I am still on my first year, so I hope I don't become an inconvenience.”
Alan butts in. “Ah, it's no problem, mon ami! Mort and I have only been here a month or two, so don't feel bad.”
“Two months? I have been hired just a week ago. Everything is so confusing and strange. Kowai yo!”
“Of course it's confusing and strange and whatever else you just said, but zhat's what makes it so fun! Just be yourself and you'll do just fine here.”
“Yes. I'll do that.” Pause. “Speaking of which, where is Mundy-san? I've looked through sensei's files earlier, but I do not see him here.”
Miller scratches the growing stubble on his chin as he inspects the faces around the conference table. No dopey smiles or scruffy sideburns—none apart from Werewolf over there. This could be a problem. “Ah, he'll be here. He's pro'lly goofin' off somewhere. Nothin' unusual.”
“So Mort often skips important meetings?”
“N-non,” the Spy cries out. “He never missed a meeting until now. He just had other matters to attend to. Besides, none of us even knew about this, let alone prepared for it.”
Ooshiro nods. “My apologies. I shall meet with him as soon as he returns. Besides, he seems like an interesting person, based on what I have heard.” His eyes glimmer with pleasant joy. “Well, now that I have introduced myself, I must attend to sensei's care. Arigatou gozaimasu.” He bows and escorts the other Medic out.
With the meeting adjourned, the team exits one by one, with Miller staying behind until long after the rest have gone. He makes way for his room, which has seen signs of Aiden's tampering, judging by the mess of toys on the floor. Stepping over the Balloonicorns and Hale Mary dolls, the Engineer reaches the dresser and rifles through the bottommost drawer until he finds a sheet of paper with some notes scribbled on it. After skimming through it, he stuffs the paper into his front pocket and leaves the barracks.
The paper was a series of directions he swiped from RED's suitcase after the intelligence mission the other day. It says specifically to visit the written coordinates on Saturday at eight thirty in the evening, signed “Der Führer”. He knew from the moment he first saw it that it was meant for him; if the message was intended for Valdo, the writer would have never put it in the suitcase in the first place. Miller knows how Der Führer works. Any old hack can encrypt a message tailored towards a specific person; it takes a true mastermind to manipulate one's surroundings to make events happen exactly as he intends.
Eventually, Miller finds himself in—of all places—the Saxton Fair. Normally, the place would be packed on a Saturday evening, yet tonight, the park is strangely empty. He warily approaches the ticket stand, where, in the shadows, a figure resides. As he gets closer, he calls out Der Führer's name in question. Suddenly, the ticket stand lights up, revealing a suited man with a frightening, ogre-like face, startling the Engineer. Then the whole park lights up and plays a haunting, yet beautiful melody.
“Bienvenidos,” the ogre cheers. Miller can instantly recognize the voice as belonging to Luca. “Miller Macintosh, the Engineer for BLU? Right this way.” The ogre-Spy escorts the Southerner to—of all attractions—the Tunnel of Love. A swan boat floats up to them, and sitting in it is Dante. “Well, whatever happens, I won't question it. Have fun, you two!” He shoves the Engineer into the empty seat next to the Medic and starts up the ride.
As they traverse down the stream of pink hearts, cherubic cupids, and diabetes-inducing sweetness, the Medic starts up the conversation. “Glad you got mein note. I vas afraid it vould have been intercepted by zhat pesky Pyro, or vorse. Anyhow, I have summoned you here to thank you for you and your sister's contribution to zhe Lifeblood Project. Vithout it, ve vould have never gotten zhis far.” He guffaws before suddenly turning grim. “I also have a very important message to bring to you.”
“If it's about the Doc's transfer, I already know.”
“It's not just zhat. It is highly possible zhat somebody on your team has become avare of our operation.”
“My team? You mean that bunch of losers? Who could be smart enough to figure it out, even if they do know? Besides, I made sure Hartmann kept his mouth shut about our goings-on.”
“Do you not understand? Hartmann is zhe least of our problems. If zhis somebody else finds out vhat ve're up to, our whole cover is blown.”
Suddenly, a lightbulb sparks on in Miller's brain. “Mortimer Mundy,” he mutters at first. “Mortimer Mundy is the man you're lookin' for,” he elaborates, louder. “Joey and Zhen found out about you and Luca and blabbed to him. Then Mort blew my cover, the smartass.”
Instead of panicking like Miller would expect, Dante remains calm. “I see... Zhis might vork out better zhan I thought. Tell me, how is his relationship vith Anonyme?”
“They seem to be close, but not close enough to know of her existence. In fact, it seems they might be fallin' apart.”
“Gut nicht. Zhey must remain friends if zhis plan is going to vork. Miller, I'm ordering you to do vhatever it takes to keep zhem together.”
Miller groans and rolls his eyes. “Agreed. An' call off Luca—he's a pain in the ass even without all the stalking.”
“It is done. Now...” Dante unfurls the ribbon around his neck and opens up his collar, revealing a bite wound around his neck. “... for your payment.”
Gazing longingly at the doctor's pale neck, the Engineer is unable to hold back his hunger any longer. He opens his mouth wide, his canines growing long and finely pointed, and he sinks his fangs deep into the Medic's flesh. Dante shudders in pleasure as the blood flows from the bite marks, sucked and swallowed by the vampire's lips and tongue, and his hands unbuckle his single-strapped overalls and slowly reach under his shirt, his fingers fondling the soft flesh underneath. Tensions rise as Miller does the same, feeling up the mortal's clothes and stroking his voluptuous figure. But just as they are on the verge of climax, the boat has made its round trip back to the docks, where the man, still wearing that dreadful mask, stands and watches.
“Looks like you were enjoying yourselves,” says Luca, his voice barely hiding his unabashed glee, “Mind if I join?”
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