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the-teufort-nine · 7 days ago

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CHEMICAL BONDS | RED!Chemist!Fem! Reader x RED Mercs | CHAPTER 1 |

What did the bartender say when oxygen, hydrogen, sulfur, sodium, and phosphorous walked into his bar? OH SNaP!

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Cw: mentions of graphic death/description of a corpse, attempted date rape (non-graphic and not successful), drugging, body horrorﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

When the Mann Brothers grow tired of their seemingly endless stalemate, both reach out to the Administrator and demand that she find them a new mercenary, one that will give them an advantage. Naturally, the Administrator sends Miss Pauling out to find some poor sucker willing to sell their soul and join the eternal fight for cold hard cash and a glimpse at immortality.

That sucker just so happens to be you.

Tossed into the fray headfirst, you become RED's first female mercenary. However, things are not all sunshine and giblets, and you can't shake the feeling that there's something eerily... familiar about the BLU Chemist.

Florence Pauling was having a very bad day.

She had, somehow, slept through all six of her alarms, and thus had to rush out the door of her very small, but very secure, apartment without even getting a sip of coffee or a bite of breakfast. Then, later on, as she’d been acquainting someone who’d been planning to stick their nose where it didn’t belong with her hacksaw, she’d clipped one of his arteries while his heart was still fighting to pump blood, which resulted in her favourite skirt getting splashed by the crimson liquid.

The trip to the laundromat had been an awkward and nerve-racking one, to say the least.

While she’d been waiting for the stain to come out, she’d been contacted by the Administrator and given a sudden, daunting task. Apparently, Redmond and Blutarch were beginning to grow bored of the relative stalemate their respective teams maintained, and they wanted to hire two new people to spice things up, each brother intending to gain an advantage over the other. Which, in reality, would never happen. The Administrator would never allow it.

So, she told her assistant that she needed to, as quickly as possible, find a suitable lunatic that was both willing to sign their soul away to Mann.CO and compatible with the awe-inspiring, somewhat terrifying machines that would end up bringing them back from the dead time and time again. That latter point was, arguably, even more important than the former, because it took a long time to clean any incompatible particles and liquefied body parts out of the system.

Please don’t ask her how she knew that.

By the end of it, she’d filled out so much paperwork and killed, dismembered, and buried so many men in shallow graves that her stiff wrists throbbed with pain every time her feet hit the ground. The only saving grace of the day was the fact that she now had enough time before she needed to go home and collapse in bed to go and visit one of the local bars. She didn’t usually indulge, but she was already developing a headache from the stress of having to track down a new applicant, so she decided that she deserved a little treat.

The bartender, a grizzled old woman with a deep scar across the length of her face and more tattoos than Florence could count, raised an uninterested brow at her.

Pushing open the doors to the closest establishment that didn’t look like a money laundering front, she plopped herself down on one of the barstools, its cheap, cracked red faux leather flaking off onto her legs.

“What can I do you for?” she asked, sounding like she’d smoked fifty packs a day.

“An Aunt Roberta.” Florence replied, folding her arms and resting her head on the bar, “And some fries. Please.”

The bartender grunted and left to go and fix her drink, yelling her fry order towards the small kitchen in the back. Loud Italian curses were hurled back, mostly crude remarks about the woman’s mother, but the purple-clad girl could hear sounds of movement and dishes being moved around, so she figured the chef was probably doing his job. After a minute or so, a glass was set down before Florence. She thanked the bartender and took a small sip.

It was like being kicked in the throat by one of the Horses of the Apocalypse. The alcohol burned like molten lava as it slid down her throat, leaving behind a trail of simmering pain before pooling in her gut. Licking her lips, Florence tasted the tart flavour of the blackberry liquor. God, that was good.

As she nursed her drink, a man sat down on the stool next to her, placing his own drink on the bar counter. Now, in a busy bar, this wouldn’t have been very strange; people will sit wherever there is an open seat, even if it is next to a stranger. However, there were many open spots at the bar tonight, so the man’s presence instantly put Florence on edge. She wasn’t afraid, but caution and gut instinct had never failed her before, and she was getting some very bad vibes off of her sudden company.

“Well hey there, gorgeous.” the man started, leaning on one of his hands as he grinned, “Nice legs. What time do they open?”

Florence suppressed a grimace and took a quick glance in her immediate area, taking stock of every item that she could use to kill this creep if it came down to it. Or, maybe if he just kept talking. She was in a bad mood today.

Suddenly, her fries arrived, the bartender setting the food down in front of Florence as she leveled the man with a look that said ‘I’m just waiting for you to give me a reason to kick you out.’

The man leaned back slightly, a lock of his black, over-gelled hair falling into his face. Still, he didn’t depart. In fact, he kept trying, and failing, to flirt with the exhausted woman. She responded mostly in uninterested hums and quiet noises, trying her best to still enjoy her food despite the unwanted dinner guest that could not take a hint.

When she turned her head to crack her neck for a moment, she noticed slight movement in the corner of her eyes. Sure enough, when she looked back at her drink, she could see something fizzing and dissolving amidst the bubbles.

She took another sip, resisting the urge to gut the man when he smirked at her, assuming that she’d be defenseless soon enough. Jokes on him though; she had developed an immunity to almost every common hypnotic drug or poison. When he tried to make a move on her, she’d find a way to kill him. Discreetly, of course.

“Hey, buddy!”

Both the man and Florence looked over when a new voice rang out. A woman was leaning against the bar, sipping on what looked like a bottle of soda. She had H/C hair, bright, intelligent E/C eyes, a white turtleneck, a red leather jacket, and black bell-bottom jeans, a pair of black rubber boots acting as the final, albeit strange, part of her outfit.

“Betch’a can’t chug that drink of yours faster than I can finish mine.” she said, indicating to the man’s drink, some kind of beer, its froth having long since disappeared, “In fact, I’ll bet you five bucks that you can’t.”

There was something about the way that this woman’s eyes stayed locked on the creep’s drink that made alarm bells go off in Florence’s head. Why on Earth would someone make that kind of wager? This woman wasn’t even drunk enough to explain this strange challenge.

The man, however, did not see any red flags. All he saw was a pretty young woman offering him some easy money. “Heh, you’re on, toots!”

He grabbed his beer, chugging the golden liquid with relative ease. Meanwhile, Florence watched as the stranger drank her soda at a much slower pace. They made eye contact, and the other woman winked, confirming Florence’s suspicions that she had done something. But what exactly had she done? And why?

The sound of a glass being slammed down drew the raven out of her musings, startling her slightly. The man laughed as the woman shrugged and retrieved the promised currency.

“Hey, y’know, if you wanna keep yer money, I can think of another way for you to pay me.” he offered, opening his legs slightly and raising a brow, grinning lecherously.

“I’ll pass.” the woman replied, “Besides, I’ve got a feeling I’ll be getting it back soon.”

The man’s brows furrowed in confusion. In the bar behind them, a few sleepy patrons finally seemed to notice the woman’s presence, and, one by one, they filed out of the bar, the last one even stopping to flip the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED.’ The bartender wiped the counter, occasionally glancing over.

Florence shifted uncomfortably, the feeling worsening when her attempted date-rapist suddenly clutched at his stomach, quickly sliding off the stool and rushing to the bathroom. The strange woman took a long sip of her drink before setting it down gently, her gaze sliding over to meet Florence’s.

“You should probably go.” she said, pointing towards the door, “Don’t worry about him; he won’t be bothering you anymore. Or, anyone, really.”

The woman snickered, like she’d just told Florence a pun or bad joke.

“What…” Florence started, looking at the woman, then the bathroom, then back at the woman, “what did you do to him?”

“You’re not from around here, are ‘ya kid?” the bartender asked, not even looking up from her cleaning, “Listen, just go home, and, if you know what’s good for you, keep yer trap shut. You don’t wanna stick around for what comes next.”

Florence sat up straighter.

“Actually, I think I do.” she replied, folding her hands in front of her.

The bartender and the woman exchanged surprised looks, before the woman tilted her head towards where the man had run off to.

“Alright, foxy mama! Just follow me, and try to keep your lunch. Gunnhild over there always sticks me on vomit cleaning duty, and I hate it.” the stranger said, before walking off towards the bathroom.

“You clean worse things than vomit, amlóði.” the bartender muttered, her last word sounding incredibly strange when pronounced with her raspy, New Mexican accent.

Florence was led over to the men’s bathroom. The stranger held her arm out at the door, motioning for the raven to stop. Opening the door with her foot, the woman slowly revealed the bathroom’s contents, and the sight made Florence gasp and take a few steps backwards.

She had been expecting to find the man unconscious, or perhaps simply dead. Instead, she saw him writhing on the ground, partially strewn across a large metal grate. His midsection was a bubbling, sizzling mess; melted organs, flesh, and partially dissolved bone dripping down the man’s sides, either pooling around him or falling into the grate. His mouth foamed with blood, his lips having since burned away, exposing red gums and corroding teeth. Parts of his throat looked like a burning film reel, spurts of blood bubbling up and out of the ever expanding holes.

“Not a pretty sight, is it?” the woman asked, leaning over, “I mean, I like it; he was a creep and he’s getting exactly what he deserves, and I’ve dealt with a lot of, like, pedophiles or rapists this way, but I know that isn’t exactly normal-”

“Do you want a job?”

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, the silence broken only by the sounds of the man dying at their feet.

“Uh,” the stranger blinked dumbly, “I’m sorry?”

“A job.” Florence repeated, reaching into her coat to retrieve the application forms she always carried with her, just in case. She hadn’t been planning on interviewing a woman, especially since all of the other mercenaries were, well, men, but the opportunity to get such a gruelling task over with tonight was too good to pass up, “One that will let you do stuff like… well, like that, for more money than you can imagine.”

She handed the woman an application form, watching patiently as she read it over. She leaned against the bathroom wall, taking in the many, many words, her eyes widening when she finally came across the part that talked about the income she’d be receiving.

“$5000 a month?” the stranger gaped, her jaw dropping.

“Well, that’s the starting wage.” Florence explained, “If we like you, and you’re kept on, then you’ll get a pay increase every year. Plus, you can take on contracts to earn extra income.”

The woman stared at her, dumbfounded, before looking at the papers again. She scanned every line, looking for where the catch must be. Of course, she wouldn’t find it; the real fine print was printed in invisible ink, but Florence could respect the fact that she actually read the offer. Most of the men she hired had barely even glanced at the papers before signing.

“Well shit,” the stranger laughed, lowering the papers, “5k a month to kill some guys in matching outfits? I’d have to be crazy to pass that up. Or… maybe I’d be crazy to accept… eh, fuck it, let’s do it!”

“Great!” Florence chirped, handing the woman a pen to sign her name on the dotted line. She watched as the words were scrawled onto the page.

F/N L/N, Mann.Co’s newest mercenary.

The raven took the signed papers back, folding them neatly and tucking them back into her inner pocket.

“Alrighty, that covers all the legal stuff.” Florence said, pushing the bathroom door back open, “Come on, we better get going.”

“Wh- now?” Y/N stuttered, following after her new employer.

“The Administrator is preetttyyy strict about new hires getting on site as quickly as possible.” she explained, “You’ll have a couple of days to pack up your things- don’t worry, we’ll handle any transportation- but if we’re going to get everything ready for you before the next supply order comes in, then you need to start preparations now.”

The two women stepped back out into the bar, letting the door close behind them with a quiet ‘click’. Gunnhild was finishing up her cleaning, arching a brow at the duo.

“Hey Gigi, guess who got offered a job?” Y/N grinned, looking over at the bartender. The other woman blinked and looked between the two, before shrugging half-heartedly.

“So you'll finally be outta my hair? It's about time.” Gunnhild grumbled, “Make sure ‘y leave us some of that mix ‘a yours on yer way out.”

“You could at least pretend that you'll miss me.” Y/N stuck her tongue out as Florence led her towards the exit, pausing briefly to pull a small, solid metal cylinder out of her pocket, before tossing it to the bartender, “If I end up in the papers as the victim of a murder, tell Tony he has to avenge me before he gets any of my crap, alright?”

Gunnhild grunted in acknowledgement, waving her old employee off. Florence held the door for the other woman, pleased by how well things had been going so far. There was only one more test, and she prayed to God that Y/N would pass it.

“So… you've clearly done that before.” Florence inclined her head back towards the bar, “How have you been getting away with it?”

She was both genuinely curious and hoping to distract Y/N long enough to do what needed to be done without a fight. She had an iron hold on the woman legally, so she wasn't worried about Y/N backing out of their contract, but she didn't want the other to hate her. It would make things so much harder if that were the case..

“Oh, it's easy, really.” Y/N waved her hand, as if she were talking about a high school quiz in her best subject, “Most of the cops around here are dumb as dirt, and the few that actually have functioning brains are all related to Tony, so they already know what's going on. It's, ah, kind of an open secret around here. Anyone who had any problems with it has already been ‘convinced’ to keep quiet.”

“And the bodies?”

Y/N patted one of her pockets with a small smirk. “I’ve spent years perfecting my chemical mixtures, making sure they’re as efficient as possible. That, mixed with our very useful grate, makes it easy to clean up the mess.”

“How do you even store something like that?” Florence asked, discreetly moving her hand towards the inside of her jacket. She didn’t often wear one, but it made concealing things much easier.

“Oh, that’s actually kind of interesting! See, you can use almost any container, provided it’s lined with Teflon, which is actually used to make cook-” the woman’s passionate explanation was suddenly cut off by something hard connecting with the back of her head, causing her to drop like a rock onto the concrete below.

Florence knelt down and pulled out a small needle filled with a clear fluid. She gently turned Y/N’s head and injected the sedative into her neck, ensuring that she wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Hooking her arms under Y/N’s armpits, Florence dragged her limp employee into an alley, quickly glancing around to ensure that there weren’t any witnesses. Once she was sure they were completely alone, something that wasn’t hard to achieve, given the fact that it was currently the middle of the night, she laid Y/N down on the cold, grimy stone and got to work.

The technology that made Respawn work was… finicky, to say the least. It required its users to have certain genetic markers, lest they end up coming back as a pile of liquified flesh, if they even came back at all. Truthfully, Florence didn’t like to think about that aspect of the machine, about what became of those lost to its unfeeling, unholy depths. It made her uncomfortable, and there was nothing she could do about it, so it was really in her best interest that she ignore it.

She raised a hand to the collar of her shirt, feeling around until she found a tiny slit. From it, she teased out a tiny, pill-shaped glass container. Golden liquid sloshed around inside, glowing like a freshly cracked glow stick at a rave. Picking up the now empty needle, she gently took one of Y/N’s hands into her own, pricking one of the woman’s fingers until a bead of fresh, crimson blood appeared. Florence gingerly lay the hand on her lap and cracked the container, letting the glowing substance drip onto the blood. She leaned forward anxiously, waiting to see what would happen.

The two liquids acted like water and oil at first, but slowly, as the seconds ticked by, the golden substance was absorbed into the blood, leaving it with a faint glow that faded steadily. Florence breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling at her unconscious employee.

Y/N had passed the test.

“Looks like I won’t be needing to bury anyone else tonight!” she said cheerfully, before hauling the other woman’s limp form up and onto her shoulder as she moved to grab her phone. After a few moments of struggling to punch in numbers while balancing an entire person on her shoulder, she held the phone up to her ear as it started to ring. After a few moments, she heard the line connect.

“Hey, it’s Pauling. Bring the van around, I’ve got a new candidate that needs to be processed.”

You were cold.

Every breath you drew into your lungs made them ache slightly, as if the air was bordering on freezing. Goosebumps undoubtedly coated your limbs, but you could neither see nor feel them, for your eyes registered nothing, and your arms did not respond when you willed them to move.

The world around you was cloaked in a level of darkness you had never seen before. Not even the barest scrap of light reached you here, leaving you completely blind.

You felt weightless, untethered to the world around you. No air brushed past you, but neither did you feel any ground. You were simply suspended in the nothingness, unable to move, save for the slow, methodical rise and fall of your chest. Fear and anxiety writhed beneath your ribcage and coiled in your guts, but your breathing remained even, your body disconnected from your mind.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there. A minute? An hour? A day? There was no way to tell, no indication of time passing.

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you had somehow found yourself in a place outside of time, where you would be trapped, unchanging, forever.

Your spiraling thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a tugging sensation coming from your chest. It felt as though something was pulling at your skin, trying to separate it from your muscles. That feeling began to spread, like mold growing over a damp surface, until it had infested every inch of your body. You wanted to squirm, to try and get away from the intense, uncomfortable sensation, but you remained locked in place.

Slowly, the tugging sensation got stronger, like an invisible vacuum was trying to suck up your skin. The feeling got stronger, and stronger, and stronger, until finally you felt a stinging pain erupt from the center of your chest. A line of liquid skin pulled itself away from your body, floating out into the void before you. You were unable to do anything but watch as your skin peeled away from the rest of your body, not even being granted the small mercy of being allowed to look away. Your exposed muscles burned in the frigid void, as though your nerves were all simultaneously being dragged across needle-sharp shards of ice.

You watched as your liquified skin bobbed and floated, the only splotch of colour in the vast sea of darkness. Eventually, it began to move in a more intentional way, forming the vague shape of a person. As it did, you felt the pain start to fade, as if your skin had been regrown in a matter of moments.

Then, from out of nowhere, more… things began to appear. You couldn’t tell what it was at first, the wretched mess of red and off-white that it was, but soon it, too, began to find new, recognizable forms. The red and white separated, and while the crimson remained a disgusting, pulsing lump, the yellow-ish white began to form into bones. A skeleton appeared in front of you, wavering for a time before finally settling into a solid, unmoving state.

Once the skeleton was complete, the red began to slither over. It melted against the bones, curling around them and settling in complex layers. Organs began to appear from the dark, sloshing and sliding into place, nestling themselves betwixt the bones and what you now recognized as muscles. Once everything was in its proper place, your skin began to envelop the flesh, crawling across it, sucking it in until the flesh-toned liquid had covered every inch of red. A set of eyes began to fill up the empty eye sockets, flaccid eyelids sliding up as white, jelly-like orbs settled in, their colour not quite ready.

Teeth grew from pink gums, pushing through the wet flesh as a tongue slithered up from the throat, prodding around curiously as the mucous membrane that kept it tethered to the bottom of the mouth formed. The being’s bald scalp began to sprout hairs, a fine coat of fuzz slowly popping up across the flesh. As it grew out, you realized that it was the same colour and texture as your own. The eyes, too, eventually blossomed with colour, exactly the same shade as yours.

The thing before you, the- the person, they looked exactly like…

You blinked. For the first time since you’d become conscious, you actually blinked.

Suddenly, the person before you was no longer someone you recognized. A perfect stranger, whom you had certainly never seen before. If you had, you’d have remembered them for sure, because they seemed so… interesting, for some reason. Why had you thought you recognized them?

You blinked again, and the stranger copied you. They tilted their head, and you felt yours move as well. Feeling returned to your limbs, and you slowly reached out, watching with rapt attention as they raised their hand to meet yours. Your finger brushed against theirs, and your eyes met, a feeling of deep, intimate connection flooding your body. You opened your mouth to speak, though you did not know what you would say.

Before you could get anything out, you dropped suddenly, as if whatever had been holding you had decided that it no longer wanted you. You plummeted downwards, and the void rapidly faded from pitch black into a searing, unyielding white, a loud, droning hum filling your ears. It got brighter, and louder, until finally you could take no more, and you pleaded for it to stop.

Your blanket slid off your chest as you sat up with a yell. You panted heavily, your eyes wide as you stared at the wall of your room. Sunlight filtered in through your window, pale and weak, as the sun had only just begun to creep over the horizon. Blinking, you ran a hand over your face, groaning softly. Already, your dream was fading from your mind, even as you frantically tried to remember what the fuck you had just experienced.

“God damn,” you groused, scrubbing hard at your eyes, “I really have to start watching how much I drink. What the hell did I do last night?”

You lowered your hands.

You… you hadn’t been drinking last night, had you? From what you could recall, you’d only had non-alcoholic drinks, as it was a weekday. You only drank on the weekends, or during the holidays.

So why was your memory so fuzzy?

It couldn’t have been the work of some sleazy bar patron; you’d trained your body to be resistant to the most common date rape drugs, and you knew that Gunnhild would have strangled anyone who somehow managed to get you down. Had you gotten hit on the head or something?

You felt the back of your head and winced. There was a sore spot that had not been there last night. Okay, so… you’d fallen and hit your head. Not only that, you must have hit it hard, because your memory past a certain point was just gone.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

You cringed at the sound, sharp pain lancing through your mind. Oouughhh that did not feel good.

“I’m coming!” you called, your voice hoarse and scratchy.

You smacked your lips, recoiling at the cottony feeling that permeated your mouth and throat. With an agitated grunt, you got out of bed and stumbled out of your room. You lived in a small, shitty little apartment, but one of the advantages of your close living quarters was the fact that your tiny bathroom was close to your bedroom.

As quick as your aching body would allow, you turned on the tap and began greedily sucking down water. It didn’t taste very good usually, but to your dehydrated body, it may as well have been ambrosia.

Once you were done drinking your weight in water, you dried your face with your hand towel and made your way to the front door. With a yawn and a stretch, you opened your front door.

“Mnh- hello?” you said sleepily, your adrenaline having left your system by now.

A woman with dark black hair and a very purple outfit stood on your stoep, her arms held behind her back and a kind smile on her face.

Memories, half-formed and jumbled, flooded your still headache-addled brain. The bar, this lady, a creep you’d taken care of, and a contract that seemed too good to be true.

“You!” you said stupidly, opening the door wider as you looked at your new employer and prayed you had something decent on.

“Me!” the woman confirmed, “Sorry to bother you so early, but I thought I should check up on you after what happened last night.”

“What happened last night…” you repeated, rubbing your injury site gently, “Could you, um, remind me what exactly happened? I remember, kinda, but everything past when we left is…”

You mimed a ‘poof’ motion with your hand, and the woman nodded.

“I’m not surprised you’re having trouble remembering. We were discussing your chemicals when some lunatic jumped out of an alley!” she explained, “He managed to hit you pretty hard in the head before I could take him out. You were out cold, and I didn’t know if you had insurance or not, so I called up some of the medical staff that works for Mann Co. and got you fixed up. They did their best, but you might still end up getting a scar.”

Holy shit, this was possibly the greatest employment offer you’d ever taken.

“Wow I- I don’t even know what to say.” you said softly, “Thank you, miss… ah…”

Dear God, did you seriously forget her name?!

“Oh, right!” she facepalmed, and you relaxed, relieved that you hadn’t just made a fool of yourself, “I got so caught up with everything that I forgot to introduce myself!”

The woman cleared her throat and extended a hand.

“I’m Pauling. I’ll be your… manager, kinda. If you need anything or have any questions, I’ll be who you’ll talk to. I have a very busy schedule, though, so it might be a while before I can get back to you.”

“Y/N L/N.” you replied, shaking her hand, “Though I’m guessing you already knew that.”

She smiled in a way that told you that you had guessed correctly.

“So, Miss Pauling,” you started, “what do you need from me? After saving my life like that, the least I can do is make your life easier.”

“I appreciate that, Ms. Y/N.” she said, “I don’t need much, just pack up your things within the next three days. Someone will come by the end of the week to collect your possessions, and I’ll come and pick you up after that.”

Three days. You had three days to pack up your life and get ready to head out to become a dangerous mercenary. How lucky for you, then, that there really wasn’t much to pack.

“I have some exotic animals.” you confessed, “Golden dart frogs, to be exact. Is it alright if I carry them with me, instead of packing them up? They’ll be secured very well, I promise.”

Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah that’s fine, but why not let the movers handle them? Our company specializes in moving delicate equipment, so I promise they’d be alright in transport.” she replied.

“Oh, I’m not worried about the frogs, per say.” you said, “I mean, I want them to be safe, obviously, but if they get out, and someone touches them without gloves…”

You dragged your finger across your throat.

“They are extremely poisonous, and there is no cure.”

The raven gulped slightly and nodded.

“Right, yeah, the frogs can ride with us.”

Satisfied that your beloved little murder amphibians would be allowed to come, you stepped aside, holding the door open.

“Would you like to come in? I’ll be making breakfast in a moment.”

Miss Pauling shook her head. “I’d love to, but I actually have to get going. Your team needs to be briefed that they’ll be receiving a new member.”

A team. You were going to be part of a team. No one ever wanted you to be on their team!

“Here,” Pauling pressed something into your hands, and you scrambled not to drop it. It was a pamphlet-shaped book, with the words ‘RELIABLE EXCAVATION DEMOLITION’ stamped on the front. “this will give you a brief rundown of your teammates and where you’ll be going. This is for your eyes only, and if you show it to anyone else, you’ll be terminated.”

Somehow, you got the feeling that she didn’t just mean you’d be fired.

“I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you in a few days. Welcome to RED, Chemist.”

Chemist?

Before you could question her, Miss Pauling was already on her little moped and driving away. How such a little woman could move so quickly, you didn’t know.

Shutting your door, you wandered over to your beat up old loveseat and sat down, leaning against one of the few throw pillows you owned. Glancing around to make sure someone hadn’t somehow magically wandered into your house in order to peep at your reading material, you opened up the little booklet.

There were nine ‘classes’ it seemed, which were divided into three separate categories; Support, Offense and Defense. Support was made up of the Medic, Sniper, and Spy, Offense had the Scout, Soldier, and Pyro, and Defense had the Heavy, Demoman, and Engineer. Each had a page dedicated to them, showing off their symbol and a brief description of what they did. When you were done reading the Engineer’s page, you turned it, expecting to see the promised base information.

Instead, what greeted you was a page about, well, you.

This page contained your class information, showing off your class symbol, a test tube pouring out liquid, and describing how you would mostly be focused on using your skills to slow, maim, and melt the enemy team. You'd be receiving a melee weapon as well; a small, curved blade called a karambit. There was nothing alluding to what your outfit would look like, leaving you to sit there and try to imagine it.

Thumbing through the rest of the booklet, you studied the map of the battlefield, and the more in-depth one of your base. Apparently, you'd be moved around every once in a while, and tasked with doing various things, alongside killing the enemy, of course. You weren't getting paid 5000 dollars a month to make friends after all.

Once you were done, you closed the booklet and folded it up. You'd put it somewhere safe in a bit.

For now, your stomach was starting to demand that you feed it, so you made your way over to your kitchen, grabbing a loaf of bread, filling up your kettle, and sitting it on your stovetop. As you waited for your breakfast to be ready, you leaned against your small counter, softly drumming your fingers against its solid surface.

The last 24 hours had been so crazy, you weren't even sure how to begin to unpack it. How on earth had you managed to stumble your way into a mercenary contract? You didn't even have any combat training!

“What have I gotten myself into?” you murmured softly to yourself.

You were going to die out there.

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