Three Mercenaries Walk Into a Storage Room

The 2Fort facilities was situated beside Teufort, a small city located in the Badlands region of southern New Mexico. The surrounding desert was filled with canyons and sand that stretched for miles. The rays of the merciless sun beat down on the backs of every mercenary on the battlefield. Oftentimes, many of the mercenaries left the battlegrounds with sunburns. There were many times when the Demoman was on the receiving end of the Scout’s many complaints about the heat. One would think the lad would learn how to apply sunscreen by now. It came as a relief when Miss Pauling came in one day to tell the BLU team that they were transferring to a new base. According to her, the Administrator requested this transfer. The reasoning did not matter, as long as they were relocated far away from the Badlands. When they all arrived at their new base a week later, the Demoman was ready to chug down two battles of whiskey. If he had any. He was beginning to regret his previous wish. The new base was situated in Viaduct, located on the summit of a mountain in northern Alaska. Blizzards occurred on a regular basis. The wind blew straight through the Demoman’s protective layers, forcing him to shudder. The climate conditions were just as horrible as their previous base. However, no one could protest against the Administrator’s complaints. This did not stop a few members of the BLU team from complaining. “This sucks on ice!” The Scout dragged his feet down the hallway. He was carrying two crates filled with Crit-a-cola. The Demoman was unsure if the Scout was complaining about the climate, or if he was complaining about having to help out with moving supplies to the storage room. Knowing the lad, it was likely he was complaining about both. Lagging behind the Scout was the Engineer. He shifted his position to adjust to the weight of his crate. Judging by the dimensions of the crate and the metallic clattering muffled from within, the Demoman guessed he was carrying the disassembled parts of a sentry bot. “Gutless.” The Engineer shook his head at Scout’s direction. Despite traveling at a slower pace than usual, the Scout was well ahead of the Demoman and the Engineer. The Engineer’s comment went unheard by the Scout, who was grumbling complaints. The Demoman suppressed a chuckle. He tried not to think about how vulnerable he felt without carrying his weapons and alcohol. Everyone’s weapons, along with his alcohol, were still in a delayed moving truck. If it were not for the ceasefire in place, the RED mercenaries would have been able to kill them. Then again, the respawn system was activated, so there would be no permanent deaths. There were no worries there. In addition, the RED mercenaries would be busy with moving in as well. They were situated in the base across the BLU team’s base. Damn his nerves. The three soon arrived at the storage room. The iron door was kept open in a right angle, showing a part of the room. There were metal shelves bolted against pale blue walls. A single fluorescent lightbulb flickered overhead, as if setting the scene for a B-list horror movie. Nothing else of note was in there. Although the Demoman did not have the best depth perception, he guessed the room was large. It looked as if it was able to fit all of the mercenaries from both BLU and RED. Not that there would ever be a situation where that would happen. Still, it was satisfying to learn there was adequate storage space for all of the BLU team’s supplies. That was one positive advantage about Viaduct so far. Although, the Demoman could not help but wonder about the lack of a handle on the iron door. It was a poor design choice on the part of the architect. Once the BLU team settled in, he may have to mention it to the Engineer. If he could design sentry bots, he could design a suitable door handle. Eager to finish the task, the Scout zoomed into the room. Not wanting anyone to steal his stash of Crit-a-cola, he made his way to the shelf in the furthest back. If the Heavy was stingy about his sandviches outside of battle, the same attitude applied to the Scout and his Crit-a-cola. It was a useless concern, as most of the BLU team could not handle the unnatural amount of sugar in his drinks. In addition, the company responsible for the cola traced their products with sulfur. At least, that was what Spy claimed. Regardless of the authenticity of that claim, no one would have dared touch the drinks. Except for the Pyro, but they knew better than to touch the Scout’s belongings. The Demoman and the Engineer followed after him. At that moment, high-pitched chittering and snarls echoed from down the hallways. Mixed in with those animalistic noises were heavy footfalls and grunting. Turning around, the Demoman saw the Soldier chasing a raccoon, which was a typical weekly scenario. By this point, most people would have shrugged and looked away. This time, it looked as if the Soldier was struggling to keep up with the racoon. “You cannot run from me, my gun is faster,” the Soldier told the raccoon. He would never shoot one of his precious raccoons. His hands were as empty as his threat was. The raccoon ran toward the storage room. Thick saliva dripped from its mouth with each hiss it made. It looked like it had rabies. Out of instinct, the Demoman rushed into the room, bumping into the Engineer. The Engineer stumbled forwards, dropping his crate. The crate splintered open. Bits of wood and spare parts arced across the air, raining across the room. Attempting to dodge the larger parts of debris, the Scout crouched and hid in a corner. When the debris stopped falling, the Engineer glared at the Demoman. Opening his mouth, he looked as if he was about to give a lecture. Then, he shut his mouth. He looked past the Demoman and gazed out the doorway. Following the Engineer’s gaze, the Demoman turned his head. The Soldier slid across the smooth surface of the hallway. “Charge!” With less friction against him, the Soldier gained speed. He was able to match the raccoon’s speed. With a cackle, he spread out his arms when the raccoon was within arm’s reach. The raccoon changed tactics. It made a sharp turn to the left instead of darting into the storage room. In response, the Soldier dug his heels against the ground to change direction. Struggling to stand up, he kicked hard against the storage room door. Before the Demoman could register the action, the door slammed shut with a click. The Soldier’s footsteps sounded far away. He remained unaware of what he had done. The Demoman could only stare at the closed iron door and its lack of a handle. Dread settled into the bottom of his stomach like lead. He blinked, shaking his head at the ceiling. He wished he brought his bottle of scrumpy. It would have been confiscated in the plane, but he could have tried. When the Scout left his hiding spot to observe the current situation, he noticed the lack of a door handle as well. He vocalized the thoughts of everyone in the room. “Oh this ain’t good.”