Author's Note: Continuing from the prologue, here, we finally start getting introduced to the rest of the main cast. Enjoy!
Once upon a time, there was a tiny faerie named Anonyme. Anonyme was a very special sort of sprite: she could disguise herself as anybody and anything she wanted. One day, she was accepted by a school tailored towards magical beings like her. Anonyme was excited—finally, she would show the world what she was truly capable of.
Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as well for the little faerie girl. Her grades were average at best, and the disguises she was so proud of broke easily. As a result, she was ridiculed by the other shape-shifters, and after failing one too many classes, she was kicked out of the school and sent to the human world for further training.
Lost in a land unknown to her, the terrified sprite wandered the forest, left to fend for herself. Then one fateful day, Anonyme found a tent and unlit campfire in the middle of the forest. Tired and starving, she ate the few berries in the bag left behind and snuggled up inside the sleeping bag. Anonyme slept for a long time, until she was rudely awoken by a giant, prodding finger. The finger belonged to a human male named Archer.
Anonyme was afraid of the human at first, but over time, she grew to like him more and more. Contrary to his rugged exterior, he was soft-spoken and kind to all living things. He was also intelligent and skilled with a bow and arrow. As Anonyme traveled alongside the man, she learned how much they had in common. Like her, he was also an outcast, rejected by his own kind. The hunter and the sprite became the best of friends, and for the first time in their lives, they both felt like they belonged.
Alas, this feeling would not last forever. In time, the two would grow apart and pursue their own destinies, find love from other people. The sprite was well aware of this, but she was determined to never let that happen.
As the last tendril of usable sunlight disappears from view, the Spy—with a sigh—snaps shut his journal and tucks it away in his suit. He stands and walks over to the front of the van, where his friend, Mortimer, lies, asleep on the driver's seat. Trying not to disturb the poor fellow, the Spy plucks him from his spot and plops him on the flimsy bed; the man is an amazingly heavy sleeper. He stops to stare longingly at the hunter's rugged features, to brush his fingers against his messy brown hair and overgrown sideburns. A part of him wants to do more, but his conscience fights against it. Still, he resists stepping away from the sleeping man, as if doing so will make his heart stop beating. After much reluctance, he wills himself to break contact with him. As long as he's nearby, the Spy is satisfied.
In time, the dark, starry sky gives way to the sun, and the destination grows ever nearer. Far off in the horizon, the familiar, modern logo of Building Leaders United stands out amongst the drab desert. As the camper proceeds, the sleek, industrial building gradually reveals itself, towering over them in minutes. Spy, still full of energy despite driving all night, parks the van in a nearby lot and wakes up Mort. While exiting the van, they are greeted by a petite woman dressed in purple.
“Hello there,” the woman says with a smile on her face. “Welcome to Building Leaders United. You must be the new recruits. Thank goodness you're finally here! You can call me Miss Pauling.” She holds out a hand to Mortimer.
“You can call me Mr. Mundy,” Mort replies, still recovering from waking up. He weakly shakes her hand, causing her to raise a brow in concern.
“I take it you've had a long trip. Well, not to worry—we have showers, beds, and food over in the barracks, if you need it.” Mort perks up instantly upon the mention of food; she cracks a smile at this reaction. “Now that you're awake, let me give you a tour of the place.”
The BLU fortress is a lot bigger in the inside, certainly more so than it appears from the outside. (Spy makes a joke about a “TARDIS” thingamajig and expectations of “timey-wimey things” happening, which Miss Pauling takes in stride, but which flies over Mort’s head.) But with Miss Pauling’s assistance, getting around the area becomes far less intimidating. The barracks are for lounging and sleeping, the cafeteria’s for eating (and the occasional food fight), and the locker rooms are for dressing and showering before and after work. But as much as Mortimer admires the lady in purple's kindness, he's starting to become anxious about meeting his coworkers.
Whilst touring through the main fortress, the trio passes by a stout man in a construction hat, carrying a box of some sort. Curious, the Spy sneaks away to follow him, and Mortimer, noticing his sudden absence, follows suit. They follow the man to a garage door of some sort, which opens instantly as he steps in front of it. Swiftly, they sneak inside, where they are introduced to a room full of scrap metal, tools, and machinery in various stages of progress. The two express their amazement in hushed tones.
Spy's eyes widen at the sight of this discovery. “Zhis is amazing! BLU's technology is far superior to anyzhing I've ever seen.” He giggles and pokes the nose end of a turret-like device. “Touch!”
“Dammit, Spy! You can't go touchin' everything! What if something goes off, or—”
“Relax, Morty! Zhey're not even turned on. Look!” He lightly taps the top of the turret, which, upon impact, turns on and starts adjusting its nozzle. “Uh-oh.”
“Duck!” Mort pushes Spy out of the way, but the turret head swivels to face them, anyway. After a long moment of staring down at the two, it makes an affirming beep and switches back to its default position, sensing no harm. The two of them get up and sigh in relief. “Well, at least that's over.”
“I see you've met my sentry,” says a voice from behind. Mort and Spy turn around, and find themselves face-to-face with the man in the hardhat. “Y’all oughta be lucky he only targets RED members, or you wouldn’t even be standing here, talkin’ to me.” He stares them up and down, as if inspecting their outfits. “I take it you’re the new recruits?”
Mort hesitates a bit before replying. “Yeah, we are. We got lost and wound up here—”
“You have a really nice lab!”
“Er, yeah. Thanks. Anywho, we’d better get going. Wouldn’t wanna interrupt anything important you’re doing.” Mort starts pushing his partner away, who’s still babbling about how UH-MAZING the place is or whatever, when the hardhat man starts chuckling.
“Aw, I wasn’t up to anything important. While you’re still in the building, why don’t I show you guys around?”
Spy’s eyes grow wide and glisten with joy. “Would I ever!” While not nearly as enthusiastic as the agent, Mortimer doesn’t see any point in refusing; a casual smile and shrug is enough of a reaction of acceptance.
“Great! Just follow me; exit’s right this way.” The hardhat man starts walking towards the other end of the room, followed by the newbies. “By the way, the name’s Miller Macintosh. I’m the Engineer for BLU. But you can call me ‘Engie’.”
Miller’s soft-spoken Southern drawl is soothing to Mort’s ears, like silk on smooth skin. He can’t quite describe this feeling, but he feels more relaxed in his presence. “Mortimer Mundy. Professional sniper. Er, sorta.”
“You can call me Agent Double-O—”
“Jus’ call ‘im Spy.”
The Engineer belts out a hearty chuckle. “Well, aren’t you two quite the pair! I think you’re gonna fit in just fine here.”
Miller starts showing them around the building—“Teufort”, he calls it—pointing out the locations of the supply lockers and battlements. Mort is particularly amazed by the view of the river below, and his interest is piqued by the rustic building standing across from it. (“Pay no mind to it,” the Engineer says, his normally gentle voice inexplicably filled with bitterness.) Spy, however, seems more interested in splashing around in the water and exploring the sewers. (Luckily, Mort manages to drag him out before he could go in too deep.)
As they explore the interior, they encounter a number of odd fellows sporting the company colors. The first one is a man—at least, Mort thinks they might be a man—in an asbestos suit, his face covered by a gas mask. The expressionless mask, inches away from the Spy's nose, can be rather unsettling. But that fear is quickly washed away when Miller starts speaking to him.
“Aiden, don't stand too close to 'im; you'll frighten the poor fella.” Hearing his name snapped the masked man out of his trance. Turning to the agent, Miller says, “Sorry 'bout that. He gets excited when new mercs arrive. Mort, Spy, this is Aiden, our Pyro.”
The Pyro waves and starts talking and gesticulating. Only, his dialogue is completely muffled by the gas mask, making the gestures appear melodramatic in comparison to what he's likely saying. But despite the strange man's behavior, the Engineer laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Say, why don't you go check up on Miss Pauling? She's pro'lly worried sick about these two.” Aiden nods and runs off, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
“Sorry if he caught you off-guard,” Miller says as he leads the rookies towards the barracks, an area barely touched upon by Miss Pauling. Like the rest of BLU, it was surprisingly large for what purpose it serves, though not quite as much so. The building, Miller explains, provides mercenaries with most of the basic amenities, to keep them satisfied. The aroma of freshly cooked foods entice Mortimer as they pass by the cafeteria—located on the ground floor. Moving on to the showers, the lockers and stall walls are built of finely forged steel, matching the neutral, modern tone of the rest of the facility. Further down is the lounge room, where meetings and group gatherings are held.
Heading up to the second floor, they can hear all sorts of sounds, as sleepy mercenaries awaken from their slumber. But all the yawns and creaks pale in comparison to the racket resounding from the end of the hallway. The last door to the left breaks wide open, and a lanky young man storms out of the room.
“That is IT! I've had it up to my neck with you and your snoring and your everything! First chance I get, I'm moving out!” The man has a strong Boston accent that's further accentuated the angrier he gets.
The voice that follows is a frightening, deep snarl, more bear than man. “No. I am done with YOU, leetle man!” Suddenly, a giant hand is thrust out the door, its index finger pointing straight at the lad. “Go run back to Medic!” (Mortimer isn't able to identify the unusual accent, but Spy instantly recognizes it as Russian.)
The younger man exchanges snips with the bear-man before finally flipping the bird and walking away. He bumps into Mortimer along the way, and shoves him aside while muttering a surprisingly polite “excuse me”. The Sniper opens his mouth to reply, but Miller places a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. “Don't bother; that boy won't listen to reason.”
Miller turns his attention to the door nearest to him and opens it. Inside is a bedroom with simple furniture, including a desk and chair, a three-shelf drawer, and a bunk bed tucked off near a corner. “The arrangement might be different dependin' on the room, but for the most part, this is pretty much it. These parts of the barracks work like hotel rooms, but on the house.” Still standing in the doorway, he points a thumb at the door behind him. “That's where I sleep. You're welcome to take this room, since it hasn't been used in a while.”
This particular detail attracted Spy's attention. “Why not? It looks perfectly normal to me.”
Miller belts out a laugh and answers, “Aw, nothin', really. Jus' some silly rumors 'bout a ghost haunting the room.” A chill runs down Spy's spine at the mention of ghosts. “What, you're afraid of that stuff? You Spies really are a cowardly bunch.” The Engineer continues to guffaw at the Spy's expense while Mortimer remains completely oblivious, happily inspecting the furniture.
Later, back downstairs, they decide to drop by and take a good look at the fitness training room, located just past the locker room entrance. Muffled sounds of a rousing argument and some crashing metal can be heard in the distance, growing in volume as they venture near the door. “Sounds like quite a commotion,” Miller notes with a smile on his face. As he twists the lever, Mortimer and Spy take a step back from the door, fearing whatever—or whomever—lies behind it.
The room is quite spacious, possibly due to the lack of any actual equipment; a punching bag, some weights, and gym mats lining the floor. Unfortunately, not much time could be spent examining it, as a clattering sound interrupts them. On the opposite end of the room, a full-blown scuffle is progressing.
“Quit it, Jane! Can't you see he's already been through enough?”
A tall and brawny-looking black man is seen holding back a short man, struggling to break free. Meanwhile, the “leetle man” from earlier has crashed into a rack of dumbbells—the cause of the sound—most likely thrown in there by an even littler man. Getting a good look at the smaller man's face is almost impossible, as half of it is concealed by a beaten old soldier's helmet, but his square jaw and stout body reveals the level of strength he has over the scrawny youth. The taller of the two tries to recover, but is quickly kicked down by the shorter one's boot. Once the boy's been bruised and beaten into a state of unconsciousness, the victor of the fight—still under the captivity of the dark-skinned man—is dragged away, swearing and cursing on the way out.
Mortimer's heart sinks. I've just watched a boy get the shit beaten out of 'im, and I didn't do anything to stop it. He runs over to where the boy lies and checks his vitals. Feeling signs of a pulse, he sighs in relief. Good. He's still breathing. Turning his attention to Miller, who's following oh-too-casually after a trembling Spy, Mort shouts, “Is there a doctor around here? Out with it.”
Unfazed, Miller smirks and says, “Lemme show you the way.”
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