Author's Note: I've started work recently, so I haven't been able to work on this as much as I'd like. As a result, updates might be a bit slow the next couple of months. To compensate for said slowness, here's a new chapter to keep you on your feet!
Stepping out of the sewers and into the barracks, Anonyme is feeling true dread for the first time in ages. If Mort is looking to see me, then he must have figured it out somehow. But who could have tipped him off? Probably Hohojirozame; there's no other explanation. Swallowing their nerves, they head upstairs to their room. It doesn't matter, anyway. Mortimer Mundy wants to talk to me. Not Alan—me! Subconsciously, a smile creeps up on their face, almost straining from joy.
But it isn't Mortimer that greets her in the bedroom. Rather, it is a pallid figure, her long hair floating like waves in an ocean. “Evening, Anonyme,” she says, her odd accent flourishing with her unburdened emotions. “Morty was looking all over for you! He left just a moment ago, so he can't have gone far.” She looks out the window. “He's out on the lot, if you still wish to catch him.” Right away, Anonyme rushes out the door. “That always seems to happen.”
They run out onto the lot just as Mort is about to step into his truck. As much as they want to call out his name, they are forced to restrain their emotions and keep an air of authority. “You wanted to see me, Mortimer?”
Mort turns around, face-to-face with the one called 'Anonyme'. “You're Ninny, right? I heard all about it. You don't have to hide yerself anymore.”
With hesitance, they reply, “I am known as The Nameless One. I am what Alan once was, memories and all. Though I am doubting my purpose now, as this shell of a person is beginning to overtake me.”
“You mean Al, right?”
“Yes,” they answer, more emotional than usual. “How dare he have the audacity to claim this body as his, when he doesn't even know the truth. If he succeeds...” Anonyme wipes away the tears welling up in their eyes. “I'll die.”
“Die?” Mort's at a loss for words. He scratches the back of his neck, trying to think of an answer. “Well, I can't say I know you as well as Al. But you're just as important as he is. You're like two peas in a pod!”
“Mort, we're not friends. We're just two people in one body. We can't possibly work like this!”
“But you can. When it comes down to it, you can't really live without him, and it's the same vice-versa. If one's missing, the other's incomplete. Like a puzzle missing some pieces. Al or Ninny or whatever you call that body of yours, you're still a person. All it takes is connecting the pieces together.”
“Connecting the pieces...” Their head starts throbbing, their teeth grinding in agony. “I'll... think about it...” They give a tiny smile before retreating deep into their subconscious. Mort runs over to catch their body before it hits the ground.
Blinking through blurred vision, Alan awakens. “W-what happened? I thought I was sleeping. And I had this weird dream... Luca was in it, and you—” He looks around, realizing he's lying out in the parking lot with his roommate's arm wrapped around him. “Mort? What happened? Why am I here?”
“Uh, you were sleepwalking. Yeah, that's it—sleepwalking!” Mort forces a smile. Al isn't buying it. “Well, um, not like it matters. What matters is yer alright.” He pulls him close into a hug. Alan tries to retaliate with some sort of remark, but cannot come up with the words. Instead, he lays his head against his shoulder and returns the gesture.
Sadly, the peace does not last for long, as an ear-piercing screech cuts it off. Swooshing past them is a golden blur, which crashes to the floor and fumbles about helplessly. Mort warily approaches it, seeing more details, like large, pointed ears, sharp fangs, and bat-like wings. He picks up the small, yellow creature and pets its honey-colored fur. “Hey, Al, look at this! It's a li'l batty!”
“A bat?” Alan trembles a bit at the thought as he walks up to Mort. “He won't bite, will he?” He reaches out a finger, but recoils as the bat hisses at him.
“Hmm. I guess he ain't fond of you fer now,” says Mort as it nibbles at his fingers. “Maybe he's just hungry. I'll see what I can find.”
“Hold on a minute. You mean to keep that thing?”
“Not keep it. Just gonna tend to him 'til his wing gets better. So how 'bout it, Batty? Yer gonna stay with us fer a while!”
“No way! I'm not staying with that filthy thing!”
“Hmm... Yer right. He pro'lly wouldn't be allowed inside, anyway. He can stay here with me fer the night.” He starts heading for the van. “I'll talk with you more in the morning. 'Night!”
Al stares in disbelief as Mort slams the car door shut, then, weary, heads back into the base. As he just said, there's nothing else to really talk about... or is there?
Farther out, in the residential area that divides Teufort from the surrounding desert wasteland, Luca makes way for Valdo's house. He never likes to do menial tasks for Dante, but no matter how much blackmail material he collects, nothing seems to phase the doctor. Now, with Dante out of town, he's stuck with babysitting Val for the weekend. Great. He walks into the kitchen first, assuming that the Scout would be enjoying a nighttime meal. No one. He heads into the guest room, where he would find whatever remains of his victim. Nada. Every last room he enters, nothing. He walks into Valdo's bedroom, empty save for a rickety old bed and a worn, wooden dresser. The window across from the bed is shattered, a hand-sized hole letting cold air in. But there is no glass on the floor. Immediately, he runs out of the room in search for the nearest phone, then dials the first number that comes to mind. “Miller, you there? Meet me at the park tonight. We need to talk.”
The next morning, Mort wakes up, lightheaded and drowsy. “Mornin', li'l guy,” he slurs while petting the blond tuff of fur, which has grown overnight. Feeling cramped and claustrophobic, he pulls back the covers, only to find a second, paler set of legs next to his. He looks at the blond tuff again, and instead of a sleeping bat, he finds a sleeping human. “Baldo?” Placing one hand on his neck, he's relieved to find it untouched. “Well, I guess I can leave you here fer now. Gonna get you some breakfast, alright?” As he walks out, he mentions to himself, The less the others know 'bout him, the better.
The Sniper barges into the cafeteria, then proceeds to take his usual fill of food, plus some fruit and raw meat by request. With a chuckle, Duncan asks, “Hoarding an animal in yer truck, or are ye going feral?”
“Yes,” says Mort as he carries away the food. When he returns to the van, Valdo is already awake, huddled up in the darkest corner. “Val? I brought you something. Just the way you like it.” He hands over the raw meat, which the RED Scout reluctantly chews on while Mort sits down next to him. “Doesn't it bother you, being all cramped in a teeny space like this?”
Valdo shrugs. “I'm used to it.”
“Y'know, when you first told me 'bout that whole 'vampire' thing, I wasn't sure what to believe. But seeing you as a bat really showed me. You look cute as a bat, by the way.”
He looks up, shocked by the Sniper's remark. “Thanks.”
“From the look on yer face, I take it you don't take compliments often, right?”
“None about my person. I receive plenty of praise for my art, though. A little too much.”
“But your art deserves it! The way you can look into someone's soul like that through paintings... it's amazing!”
“Yeah, I'm talented. I get it. So what?”
“Sure, there's lots of talented artists, but not many that can touch people's lives like that. Really, the fact that you can paint reflections of the human soul is nothing short of remarkable.” With a gentle smile, Mort continues. “There's no way an artist like that can be all bad.”
Valdo stops chewing, dropping his meat. “You're wrong. I'm a horrible person. I hurt things on purpose, I drink human blood, and I hate more people than I can count.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you,” he says, though his tone lacks serious intent. “No one wants to be friends with a madman. They look at me, they see nothing but a freak. A kid that never cried or smiled. A boy that would freeze up for no reason. Even my mother hated me, treated me like some broken doll no child would play with.”
“But you had Vincent, right?”
“I used to. But then... he committed an unforgivable act. And since then, I've hated him with every last fiber of my being. Now Dante cares for me, as he always had.”
His eyes widen. “You and Danny Boy go back a long time.” He is reminded of Vince's relationship with Hartmann, and wonders if Dante ever treats Valdo the same.
“He was my doctor back in the asylum. Gave me my prescription, even fed and bathed me. Then he swapped out my old meds with the Lifeblood, and since then, I've stayed with him. He's far from a perfect man—some might even call him the devil—but he's the dad I've never had.”
“That's some dad you got,” Mort says, deadpan. “Somebody give 'im a trophy.”
“If you were in the same spot, you'd be grateful to have anybody care about you.” He looks away. “I know I'm just being used, but if I can prove that I'm worth something to somebody, that's all I can ask for.”
Mort does not answer. Not right away. There's a lot of meaning behind what Valdo said, meaning that he himself can relate to. Unable to come up with the words, he expresses himself through embrace.
Valdo blinks, a puzzled look on his face. “Do you always do this?” The Sniper gives a brief shrug and continues what he's doing. “You're even worse than Jiro said you were.”
“'Jiro'?” It takes a second for him to connect two and two. “He was talkin' about me?”
“Of course. You are the only person in BLU that knows, after all. Well, other than Anonyme, but they don't count. He's a good friend of mine.” The edges of his mouth curl up subtly. “He even gave me a new toy to play with. Any more questions?”
“Yeah. How'd you turn into a bat, anyway? I mean, yer so big, an' then you turn tiny! How does that even work?”
“I don't know the exact science, but it's sort of like this.” Straightening his arm out, Valdo closes his eyes to concentrate, then winces as his bones crack and distort, his fingers elongating and growing thin flaps of skin in the spaces between as the rest of his arm bends into a new shape. “From there, it's a matter of becoming smaller, though it's harder to pull off. I've only learned how to do this recently, so I don't have full control of it yet.”
Mort blinks in astonishment. “That's amazing! Like, crazy awesome! What else can you do?”
“Well, I can regenerate and read memories by drinking their blood, but not much else.” He leans close to the BLU, their noses almost touching. “I'm more curious about you. How did you manage to fight off those thugs so well? No normal human is capable of such strength.”
Not wanting to dig into bad memories, he tries to keep things straight. “It's nothing to write home about. I just happen to have strong legs.”
“Unusually strong, and attractive. I'd like to see you use that strength more often.” His two-colored eyes stare at him, sultry and mesmerizing. The air feels tense and warm, as they wait for the other to reply. Then a loud knock causes Valdo to jump back. “Shit!” He transforms himself into his fun-sized bat form and roosts on the edge of the jar shelf.
The door opens, and Duncan comes sneaking in. “'Ey, Mort. Just coming in to check up on ye.” He spots the sleeping bat and chuckles. “So that's the new pet Al was talkin' about. Anywho, I came over to invite you.”
“Invite me? Where?”
“Camping, of course! We're being sent over to Thunder Mountain—big mission, they said. You can bring yer li'l friend, too, if ye like.”
Mort glances at Val, then shrugs. “Well, it doesn't seem like I got a choice. When're we leaving?”
Hours later, he and the rest of his team are packed in a bus heading straight to the mountains. Driving the van is Duncan, while he's stuck between Alan and Vincent in the backseat. Of course, Valdo is present, stashed away in a shoebox on Mort's lap. Alan is struggling to read his book without getting carsick, while Vince is going back and forth between watching Alan and pretending not to. Under his seat is their luggage, including a backpack filled with clothing, rations, and supplies. The bag is a gift from Joey, who wanted him to be a “cozy camper”, whatever he meant by that. Well, it's certainly convenient.
Duncan has stuck to the main road for the first half of the trip, then drives off-tangent, heading into terrain which only grows rougher as it transitions from desert to forest. Trees and shrubs zoom in and out of sight as the van drives up the dirt road leading up to the mountains. By early evening, the forest spans out, surrounding the series of buildings and structures up ahead. Duncan parks outside the barracks and opens the door; flooding out are eight relieved (and possibly carsick) mercenaries. After Mort and Al step out, he follows after, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “Welcome to Thunder Mountain, lads! Lemme show you around.”
“I'll handle it from here,” says a feminine voice from behind. Everybody turns around, and Alan and Mort smile at the sight of the familiar woman. “How are you two doing,” she asks while approaching them.
“Ellen? What're you doing here? You should be in Badlands with the others.”
Ellen chuckles. “Same reason you are. This mission's far too big for one team, as it turns out. So they brought my team all the way up here to help you guys out.” Her eyes skim the crowd. “Lemme help you out with those. Boys!” At her call, two large men—a Heavy and a Soldier, judging by the outfits—appear to bring in the BLU team's luggage. “With that out of the way, allow me to show you around.”
She gives them a quick tour of the building, which is surprisingly different from the other barracks Mort's been to; according to her, the barracks were once a summer camp center before being bought out by BLU and RED. Showing the sleeping area, with two even rows of bunk beds and almost nothing else, Al and Aiden wince at the openness. “If you need privacy, I suggest changing in the restrooms,” Ellen reassures them. “As for the rest of you, if you have any questions, I'll be in the infirmary in the next cabin over.” She walks off just as her men enter to drop off their baggage.
Stepping out of the barracks, Mort takes the lid off the shoebox and looks down at the small, yellow bundle of fur inside. “Sorry, mate. Looks like you'll have t' stay outside.” The bat stares back, then flies out of the box and up onto the roof of the barracks. The Sniper cannot help but smile, feeling as if he's made a new friend today.
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