The dim glow of oil lamps flickered across the worn walls of Aria's former mansion, now repurposed as a temporary base for the REDs. The scent of old wood and gunpowder hung in the air, a constant reminder of the mercenaries' presence. Around a large wooden table, eight hardened men sat, their postures ranging from tense to indifferent, the conversation hovering on the edge of something weighty. They weren't soldiers in the traditional sense—more like a pack of wolves, each bringing their own brand of chaos to the battlefield. And now, they had a guest they didn't quite know what to do with.
"She ain't just some random broad," Scout was the first to speak, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table, arms crossed. "I saw her fight. She's some kinda assassin chick. She's probably plannin' to slit our throats the second we let our guard down."
Heavy, seated across from him, barely looked up from the massive slab of bread and meat he was chewing. "Little lady is no threat," he rumbled in his deep, unwavering tone, barely pausing between bites. "She is weak."
"Bah!" Soldier barked, slamming his fists onto the table with enough force to rattle the bottles of liquor nearby. "That's exactly what a double agent wants you to think! First, she looks harmless! Then—BAM! Brainwashing! Psychological warfare! Before you know it, we're all singing the Empire's anthem and pledging loyalty to their tyrannical rule!" His eyes darted wildly, as if imagining a thousand different betrayal scenarios all at once.
"She didn't seem all that dangerous to me," Engineer mused, adjusting his goggles as he leaned back in his chair. "Still, that weapon of hers is unlike anythin' I've ever seen. The craftsmanship alone looks leagues ahead of the junk most soldiers carry. Makes me wonder how it works."
"Ye've been readin' too many conspiracy books, mate," Demoman muttered, rubbing his one good eye. He took a deep swig from his flask before adding, "Lass probably don't even ken where she is right now. Wouldn't be surprised if she woke up, took one look at this place, and thought she was in some kinda nightmare."
Spy chuckled softly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Non, mon ami. A nightmare would imply she has a chance to wake up. She is caught in something far more complicated than she realizes." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke and tapped his fingers on the table. "The real question is—will she adapt, or will she break?"
Pyro let out a series of muffled sounds, waving his arms enthusiastically. The team paused, watching him gesture wildly. After a moment, he held up two fingers, then slammed his hands together, mimicking an explosion. Whatever point he was making, it seemed important—to him, at least.
"Whatever he just said, I bet it means trouble," Scout grumbled.
"She's still an unknown," Sniper cut in, voice calm but firm. He was sitting slightly away from the group, sharpening his kukri with slow, deliberate movements. His sharp eyes flicked toward the others as he spoke. "She stays under watch. Let Medic handle her."
Scout let out a scoff. "Oh yeah, let the mad doctor deal with 'er. That'll end well. What's he gonna do? Sew some freaky monster parts onto her and call it a day?"
Pyro, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, let out a series of muffled noises through his mask, waving his hands animatedly. The rest of the team exchanged glances, trying to decipher his meaning. After a few moments, Pyro simply giggled and clapped his hands together, seemingly content with whatever thought had just crossed his mind.
"Speakin' of which," Engineer finally piped up, resting his arms on the table. "Anyone know what Medic's been up to? He's been in that room for a while now."
The group fell silent for a moment. Medic had a reputation for being… eccentric, to put it mildly. The idea of him being left alone with an unconscious assassin and a strange, ancient weapon? That was enough to make even the most hardened of them uneasy.
"Damn lunatic might be doin' some Frankenstein shit in there," Scout muttered.
"Or vivisection," Sniper added dryly, earning a look from Demoman.
Soldier, however, looked almost proud. "Good! We need intelligence, and what better way to obtain it than through advanced interrogation tactics? He'll carve the secrets right out of her brain if necessary!"
"Ach, bloody hell," Demoman groaned, rubbing his temples. "That ain't what we need right now. We don't need more enemies, we need more allies."
A soft chuckle cut through the tension, drawing the mercs' attention. Spy, who had been leaning in the shadows by the doorway, finally stepped forward. "You are all so very… dramatic," he said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. "This girl is of no real concern to us—yet. What we should be discussing is what we stand to gain from keeping her alive."
"She's not a priority," Sniper agreed. "But we shouldn't underestimate her either."
Spy took another drag from his cigarette, smirking. "I would not be so sure. But by all means—let's go see what our good doctor is up to."
Engineer adjusted his tool belt and stood up. "Yeah, reckon we oughta check in on 'im. Last thing we need is him turnin' her into somethin' worse."
The others exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. Medic could be trusted—most of the time—but they had all learned that when it came to his "experiments," it was best to keep a close eye on him. Pyro hopped up excitedly, bouncing on his heels as he followed the group, humming a tune through his mask.
And with that, the discussion about Sheele was tabled… for now.
The dim glow of a single lantern illuminated the room, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls of what was once a noble's mansion. Now, it served as the temporary headquarters of an entirely different kind of occupant. At the center of the room, resting on a metal workbench, was Extase—a Teigu of legend, its scissor-like form exuding an eerie presence. Despite its stillness, there was an unmistakable energy about it, something Medic could feel in his bones. He stood over the weapon, his gloved fingers tracing its intricate engravings, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, as if he were peering into a long-lost secret waiting to be uncovered.
"Ahhh... A living weapon," Medic muttered under his breath, adjusting his spectacles. "Fascinating."
Engineer, leaning against a nearby worktable, smirked as he observed the doctor's enthusiasm. "Ya look like a kid in a candy store, Doc."
Medic barely acknowledged him, his focus locked on the weapon before him. He ran his fingers along the blade's edge, noting the unnatural sharpness. Even the slightest touch made his fingertips tingle. "Zis craftsmanship… unlike anyzhing I have seen before." He reached into his coat, retrieving a small instrument resembling a tuning fork. With a careful hand, he tapped it against the blade. A metallic hum reverberated through the air, faint but persistent, like the whisper of something slumbering deep within the steel. Medic's eyes narrowed.
"Interesting… Some kind of resonance. It is alive, but only just. It remains dormant—like a body vithout a soul."
Engineer chuckled, arms crossed, rocking back on his heels. "You think it's gonna wake up an' talk to ya?"
"Not quite, mein freund." Medic adjusted his grip and, with an almost reverent motion, wrapped his fingers around Extase's handle. He took a slow breath, anticipation clear in his expression. He knew Teigu were said to be selective, but there was always the chance, however slim, that a mind like his could unlock its secrets. With a sharp grin, he attempted to will the weapon into activation.
The reaction was immediate—and violent.
A surge of energy erupted from the weapon, coursing up Medic's arm in a brilliant arc of crimson lightning. His muscles spasmed involuntarily, but instead of recoiling, Medic let out a deep, guttural laugh, reveling in the sensation even as pain raked through his nerves. Sparks danced wildly across his glove, crackling as if the weapon itself was rejecting his very essence. Extase pulsed once—an undeniable refusal. Then, just as quickly, the energy dissipated. The blade remained cold and unyielding in his grasp, lifeless.
"Ah-ha!" Medic released the weapon with a jerk, shaking out his arm, his fingers flexing as if testing for residual sensation. He exhaled, breathless but invigorated. "As I suspected! It refuses me! Ze weapon rejects all but its chosen!"
Engineer let out a low whistle, eyeing the weapon warily. "Y'know, most folks wouldn't be laughin' after gettin' zapped by somethin' like that."
Medic grinned wildly. "Because zhey lack ze proper perspective! Zhis is proof! Zhis weapon is unlike anyzhing I have ever seen. It is bonded to its wielder on a fundamental level! A synchronization of some kind! Perhaps neurological… or even metaphysical!" His mind raced with the possibilities, theories stacking upon one another in rapid succession.
Engineer shook his head, his smirk widening. "Well, I coulda told ya that without gettin' zapped."
Medic merely chuckled, his eyes flicking back to the weapon. It was fascinating—a blade that could recognize and reject an unworthy wielder. There was something deeply personal about that kind of power, something beyond science. His lips curled into a grin as he considered what this meant for Sheele.
"She is one of zhe lucky few, ja? I vonder if she even realizes how special she is… how rare it is to be chosen."
Extase lay still upon the workbench, its refusal making one thing abundantly clear—this weapon, this power, belonged to Sheele alone. Whatever connection it shared with its rightful owner was absolute, unshakable. And perhaps, if fate willed it, that connection would one day decide the outcome of battles yet to come.
Sheele had a plan. A simple plan. A plan so simple that even someone as clumsy as her could pull it off—at least, that's what she told herself. The plan? Escape, find Night Raid, and warn them about these strange warriors who had taken her. Easy, right?
Unfortunately, there was a slight problem.
She was bound. And gagged.
Not that she was going to let that stop her.
Lying on the wooden floor of what was once Aria's mansion, Sheele wiggled and squirmed, trying to loosen the thick ropes around her wrists and ankles. Step one: free herself. Step two: escape. Step three: heroically reunite with her friends. Step four: …profit? She wasn't sure what came after that, but it wasn't important right now.
Her first attempt at rolling toward the nearest sharp object—a knocked-over chair—ended in failure when she miscalculated the angle and instead crashed headfirst into a table leg. The table wobbled, the vase on top teetered, and in a final act of defiance, gravity decided to betray her as the vase smashed onto the floor with an earsplitting CRASH!
Sheele froze.
Somewhere in the mansion, someone cleared their throat. She could hear footsteps approaching. Panic surged through her as she tried to hurry, but the more she struggled, the worse things got. The ropes around her ankles refused to budge, and instead of slipping free, she managed to make them tighter.
"Mmmph!" Sheele mumbled in distress and redoubled her efforts, frantically trying to pull herself up. Unfortunately, in her panicked state, she managed to twist too hard and—
Thump.
Face-first onto the floor. Again.
She groaned, her glasses slipping down her nose as she lay there in defeat. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. Sheele tried to roll over but only succeeded in flipping herself onto her back like a helpless turtle.
A slow, deliberate set of footsteps stopped right next to her. Then, a shadow loomed over her.
A pair of gloved hands lifted her up. She blinked, staring into the mask of a certain fire-loving mercenary. Pyro cocked his head to the side, letting out a delighted muffled giggle before giving her a few enthusiastic claps as if she had just performed a successful magic trick.
Sheele stared.
Pyro stared back, bouncing slightly on his feet.
Sheele slowly tilted her head toward the door. Pyro followed her gaze, then turned back to her. The assassin gave him an awkward, pleading look.
Pyro reached out… and patted her on the head.
"...Mmmph?" Sheele made a questioning noise, confused about whether she had just been caught or congratulated.
Pyro suddenly let out an excited noise, reaching into his belt and pulling out… a balloon animal? He happily offered it to her as if that was the natural response to discovering an attempted escape.
Before Sheele could process what was happening, a heavy sigh interrupted them. Sheele, still dangling awkwardly in Pyro's grip, turned her head to see a tall, rugged man in a hat standing in the doorway.
"You're about as subtle as a bloody grenade," Sniper muttered, rubbing his temples before shaking his head. "Aye, Pyro, put 'er down."
Pyro let out a disappointed whine but complied, setting Sheele back on her feet. Sheele, not quite steady yet, wobbled slightly before Sniper stepped forward and caught her shoulder to steady her.
"Nice try, mate," he said dryly. "Real stealthy. I almost didn't hear the crash, the thump, and the sound of you faceplantin'."
Sheele attempted to say something through the gag, but all that came out was an indignant "Mmmf!"
"Oh? You had more planned?" Sniper smirked. "Lemme guess, next step was tripping on the stairs?"
Before Sheele could even attempt to defend herself (not that she could, considering the gag), another voice purred from the shadows.
"Cherie," Spy drawled, smoothly stepping into view, his tone laced with amusement, "you are not exactly cut out for espionage, no?"
Sheele let out a muffled groan.
Her great escape had ended in complete and utter disaster.
A dim candle flickered in the corner of the repurposed mansion, casting long shadows along the cracked walls. The air smelled of aged wood and faint traces of gun oil—a mix of the old and the familiar. Seated around a worn-out table, Spy, Sniper, and Engineer carefully examined a series of documents, letters, and crude maps spread before them. Each paper held a piece of intelligence gathered from the growing web of informants they had managed to cultivate in this strange world. Information was their lifeline, and in a land as treacherous as this, ignorance was as good as a death sentence.
"Ze Jaegers," Spy muttered, lifting a sheet of parchment between his gloved fingers. The ink was hastily scrawled, but the details were clear. A new elite unit formed under one of the Empire's most dangerous generals—Esdeath. He turned his sharp gaze toward his two companions. "Looks like ve 'ave some competition."
Sniper adjusted his hat, squinting as he scanned another document. "Competition? Looks more like a bloody death squad," he said dryly. The list of names and descriptions painted a grim picture. Wave, Bols, Kurome, Run, Seryu Ubiquitous, and their terrifying leader, Esdeath herself. "Damn shame we ain't got any proper dossiers on 'em. Intel's spotty at best."
Engineer exhaled, setting down a report written in shaky handwriting. "From what we've gathered, they ain't just your run-of-the-mill enforcers. Every one of 'em is dangerous, and that Esdeath woman," he tapped the parchment with a calloused finger. "—she's somethin' else entirely. A real monster from the sound of it. Then there's the rest of her squad."
Spy leaned back, steepling his fingers. "A monster, you say?"
"Aye," Engineer nodded. "We got reports she single-handedly crushed a rebellion down south. Froze 'em solid. Hundreds dead before they even realized what hit 'em. Some say she enjoys it."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Sniper muttered. "Got a few sources sayin' she tortures captives for fun. If she's the Empire's top dog, then we're in for a rough ride."
He ran a hand over his chin, scanning the names on the document. "Wave—he's a tough one, some kinda idealistic soldier, carries some kind of special armor that supposedly makes him stronger than most soldiers. Not sure how it works, but it's got the locals talkin'. Then there's Bols, fella wears a mask and lugs around a flamethrower—damn thing'll turn a whole battlefield into cinders in seconds. Run's a tricky one, too—fast, hard to pin down, and rumors say he's got an eye for strategy. And finally, Kurome…" He sighed, shaking his head. "She's got a thing for necromancy. Uses some kinda blade that turns corpses into her own personal army. If she's anything like her sister, we're in for a hell of a fight."
The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of the information settling over them like a thick fog. Each man processed the implications differently—Spy with a calculating expression, Sniper with wary skepticism, and Engineer with a silent but growing concern.
Spy took another drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. "One of zese Jaegers... Seryu Ubiquitous. I et Medic 'ave encountered her before. Zhe same night we saved our captive" His voice carried an edge, a mixture of amusement and distaste.
Sniper raised an eyebrow. "That so? What's she like?"
"Ze girl is utterly mad," Spy said, shaking his head. "She believes herself to be ze embodiment of justice, yet she is as ruthless as ze worst of them. She fights with a creature—Koro, I believe—and will not hesitate to kill in ze name of her twisted ideals."
"Great," Engineer muttered, rubbing his temple. "Another fanatic. Just what we needed."
Spy leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "She is dangerous, but also... predictable. If she learns of our existence, she will not stop hunting us. We must be prepared."
He tapped another parchment. "And it seems zey are moving a warship—a heavily armed one, no less. It is rumored to be carrying high-value targets."
Sniper tapped the map. "If that ship's packed with Empire bigwigs, it's gonna be crawling with security. Not just Jaegers either—regular grunts, guards, maybe even some war machines."
Engineer stroked his beard. "That means a good opportunity, if we play it right. Could be a jackpot. Supplies, weapons—hell, maybe even a way to figure out their long-term plans."
Spy took a moment, exhaling a stream of smoke from his cigarette before flicking the ash aside. "Ve need more information before ve act. Ze Jaegers are new, unpredictable. If ve make a wrong move now, ve may not get a second chance."
"Aye, can't go runnin' in blind," Engineer agreed. "Best we do some more diggin'." He tapped a finger against the table. "I say we get our informants lookin' into this warship, maybe see if we can bribe someone on the inside."
Sniper gave a firm nod. "Reckon we'll need a scoutin' party first. Someone to tail 'em without gettin' caught. This ain't a job for barging in guns blazin'."
Spy exhaled and smirked, but his eyes were sharp with intent. "Zat," he said, "is exactly what I had in mind. Ve must move carefully. If ve play our cards right, ve may find an opening—perhaps even take something of value before ze Empire knows ve exist."
The three fell into a pensive silence as they continued poring over the intelligence reports, mapping out possible next steps. This wasn't just another skirmish. The Empire was shifting, and so too were its enforcers. If the REDs wanted to survive in this world, they would have to play their cards carefully. A reckless mistake now could bring the full wrath of the Empire upon them, and from what they'd learned so far, Esdeath wasn't the type to show mercy.
Their next steps were clear. Before they made their move, they would need to understand exactly what kind of enemy they were up against. And for that, they would have to play the long game.