In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Twenty-Seven: Three Cats and a Mouse

        Miss Pauling pulls me back into the supply closet, and we hide behind the door as the Peytons approach. They leave with four plain-clothed crew members to protect them, and we slip in after they're gone. Heavy sits on a bench, arms crossed as Soldier tries to reattach his hand to his arm. I stand back in awe as Miss Pauling takes the keys from my purse. Blood spills from Soldier's arm while he keeps pressing his wrist to his forearm, staining his clothes in the process.

"Soldier," I gasp.

"Don't worry, Accomplice, I have dealt with this issue countless times before," he dismisses my concern and holds the bloodied and dismembered hand. "I just stick it back on and it works again. Zhanna and I both have hand issues."

"I don't think--" I stop myself from doubting what this particular group is capable of. "Who's Zhanna?"

"My wife," Soldier answers.

"Not yet," Heavy corrects him.

"This woman is my wife in my heart, and I am her husband in her heart. You cannot stop love, Heavy."

"American government can because you do not have papers."

"I'll just write them myself with the power vested in me an my legal standing."

"Does Soldier know fraud is crime?" Heavy argues.

I walk up to the bars. "Cut it out, let's get you guys out of here. What did the Peytons do to you guys? Other than cut your hand off."

"Not much beside try to threaten Heavy," the Russian stands as he waits for Miss Pauling who's going through and trying all of our keys. "I told baby men that I would twist their spines like an animal made of balloons should they ever try to touch Heavy." I grimace as I watch Soldier struggle to reunite his body parts together again. Miss Pauling deters him as he'll only make it worse without the necessary tools, still going through the possible keys. I turn around and walk toward a cluttered desk, unsure of where I should start. Sifting through files and records of unlucky passengers that have spent a night or entire vacation here. I pick up the papers for Heavy and Soldier, Miss Pauling instructing me to take anything relating to them so we can destroy the documents later.

"Any luck with the lock?" I ask Miss Pauling, rummaging through the drawers next.

"No," she groans in frustration. "I mean, these are from a janitor anyway, it was a long shot to think he'd be able to unlock the brig."

Heavy shakes the bars of the gate. "I am not able to break through these."

"Hands up, lady!" A man calls to Miss Pauling who turns and drops the keys as she faces her palms outward. "Trying to break your friends out?" She doesn't answer, not threatened in the slightest. Her eyes remain cold on him, fingers curling as her arms tire. A man walks through, a gun in his own hand, and catches a glimpse of me.

His head is gone.

I take a deep breath, slowly lowering my aim, staring at the red splatter on the wall. There's no way, there's no way that I just merked a man while on autopilot. Miss Pauling kneels down to his body and pats his pockets, obtaining a new keyring and unlocking the gate in a matter of seconds, letting the guys out. Miss Pauling snaps me out of my daze when she throws me our previous pair of keys. "Nice aim, Fredrickson. I'll get rid of him, don't worry. Conference is the day after tomorrow, so make sure Engie and Medic are good to go with their whole speech-thing. You and the guys should also start to talk about what we're going to do about our targets. Go now while it's still early and there aren't many people."