to anyone reading this who remembers this story after my three-year hiatus: thank you for coming back to this lol. to everyone else: enjoy!

Chapter One: Undercover Brother

Another early morning, another torrential rainstorm, another cart to push, another race against the clock.

Every day consisted of the same routine.

Jaded mercenaries from both the Reliable Excavation Demolition and the Builders League United battled it out in brutal, bloody warfare. Specialized soldiers from each company, each the best in their respective fields, raced against each other to push carts and conquer territory.

However, the pyrotechnics specialist loyal to the BLU team, known as the team's "Pyro", always wondered. Why were they paid so handsomely? Five million dollars a year could only keep one from wondering for so long. Why were they constantly racing against each other? So many questions without answers, yet there wasn't one that could top this: how had they and their "slain" rivals always managed to cheat death via high-tech genetic regeneration? From grenade blasts to decapitation, shrapnel to saws, bullets to flames—somehow, these meant nothing to the crazed fighters who, afterwards, reanimated and sprinted out of their headquarters unscathed and ready for battle.

The Pyro snapped back into reality as thoughts of suspicious wonder overshadowed the matter at hand. Payload race. Five in the morning. Losing. Back to trying to set people on fire...in the rain.

Oh, how the Pyro loathed water in these places. Water meant relief to victims, escape from their pyre. What fun was it to set victims on fire, only to see them jump into a nearby body of liquid and be relieved of such a fate—which was what had just happened.

Cobalt flame met propane as the roaring fire billowed out of the thrower, igniting an unfortunate nearby enemy Scout. The Pyro was unable to reach for the Axtinguisher quickly enough, and the screaming Scout scampered off, engulfed in flames. Wise enough not to chase down the fastest member of the opposite team, the Pyro retreated a bit and saw that the panicked Scout had leaped into a nearby pond, dousing himself of the blazes. About to try to finish the Scout off at range, the fire-expert realized that the flare gun was barely any good in such torrential weather.

Should've brought my shotgun.

The Pyro sighed in irritation and ran off (or tried to, for the ground was severely muddy), deciding to give the BLUs another round of spy-checking. Spotting the BLU team's Sniper wielding a Huntsman, the Pyro shot out a small, friendly flame in order to light it.

The Sniper, however, quickly shot up in flames and the unlucky enemy Spy sunk to the ground in an inferno. Pleased at the sight of the corpse on the ground, the Pyro turned and left, ready to—

TCHZZZG!

Dead fucking Ringer, thought the Pyro bitterly, whirling around and mercilessly setting the invisible spy ablaze. An airblast towards the wall, a sharp axe to the skull. A satisfying squelch of blood, sprayed all over the place.

The Pyro triumphantly wiped the blood droplets from the goggles of the mask. Dead at last.

The sound of rusted cart wheels squealing against slippery metal tracks reverberated throughout the bloodied battleground. The Pyro saw that the entire BLU team was pushing the cart and joined them.

"Help, Pyro! Come here!" roared the Heavy through the wind and rain, his back to the bomb as he trudged backwards. Lightning flashed and, shortly afterward, thunder rolled throughout the land.

"Yeah, getcha ass over here, Mumbles!" cried the drenched Scout from atop the cart as the Pyro scurried over, spraying flames about and pushing as hard as physically possible. The resolve and might of all nine BLUs led to a resounding DING, followed by the Announcer's loud, pleased purr of "Victory!".The REDs dropped their weapons and scuttled about the worn battlefield pathetically, ashamed hands in the air. All of them tried desperately to escape the wrath of the opposing team, but no solace was found as they were all slaughtered in a gory, victorious rage.

But it didn't matter, for they would just respawn in their base later.

The BLUs, after thoroughly exterminating the REDs, ran back to their headquarters, most of them slapping each other on the backs and screaming in jubilation. None of them could wait to shower and head to bed after the extreme overtime of a particularly important match—it was five-thirty in the morning, after all, and they had been fighting since midnight. As most of them rowdily filed into the locker room, some conversed whilst doffing their uniforms. The Soldier and Demoman loudly argued about the best brand of American whiskey as the young Scout, who'd had nary a drop of alcohol touch his tongue, tried to work his way into the argument by bragging about how much he could drink.

The Engineer made few quips as he seemed to have been in deep thought, humming absentmindedly as he doffed his clothes and neatly folded them before discarding them in the hamper. The nearby Sniper, similarly, kept to himself save for the occasional muttering under his breath. The Heavy carefully set his minigun down on the bench—he'd give Sasha a good cleaning later—as he laughed heartily to himself, replaying the triumphant slaughter in his head and musing over how cowardly the RED team was. A stern, loud "Archimedes, NO!" was heard as one of the Medic's trusty doves flew from his locker and perched itself on one of the ceiling's support beams.

After showering, shaving (a step unnecessary for the Scout), and dressing, the team left the locker room one by one and off to bed, as all of them were positively beat from the night's strife. The Pyro, however, who had waited patiently for the team to leave, stealthily strode into the locker room...well, as stealthily as anyone could be in a bulky, flame-retardant suit. Despite having had the same routine for five years, the wielder of flames always made it a point to check the room extensively before removing any article of clothing. After making sure of being completely and utterly alone, the Pyro quickly removed the sturdy rubber gas mask from her head.

Shaking her hopelessly frizzed, russet hair about, she carefully removed her asbestos-lined suit, letting it slide to the floor. Underneath, she wore what the other classes wore—a plain white tee-shirt, thick socks, and baggy shorts to allow for easy movement. As for these garments, she tore her dirty, sweat-soaked clothes off and threw them into the laundry hamper. She removed the compression binding from her chest and slouched, wrapping her muscular figure in an all-encompassing towel. She did not by any means consider her stout, flame-scarred figure attractive, but what did she care? Her body got the job done well and that's all that mattered to her. Who had the time to care about the opposite sex with a job like hers?

Upon reaching the shower stall, she twisted the metal handle and let the piping hot water cleanse the sweat and grime from her worn body. She squeezed a huge dollop of liquid from the soap bottle into the palm of her hand, and scrubbed her body thoroughly. Luckily, unlike her team members, none of her body was exposed to the elements, so she didn't have to deal with pesky dirt or dust. Nevertheless, showers were always welcome after battles.

Lost in thought, the Pyro snapped back to reality and realized that the luxury of daydreaming was not in her grasp. She mentally scolded herself for dawdling as she hurriedly turned off the water and quickly rubbed herself down with her towel, drying every drop of water she could. Pyro swiftly dressed, zipping up her suit and pulling on her signature gas mask. Finished with her business, she left the locker room and walked down the hallway towards her bedroom. Preferring to stay secretive, she never used the main hallways to traverse the base. She knew BLU's headquarters like the she knew the back of her hand (or glove, in this instance) and always used the least-traveled corridors.

Unbeknownst to her, her team's Spy used the very same corridors—he was just cloaked whilst doing so. He did not smoke in the base nearly as often as he did on the battlefield. On the field, nobody could detect the scent of expensive burning tobacco behind them, often before receiving a brutal balisong to the back. Indoors, however, one could easily smell a nearby Spy. And so, being the master of espionage that he was, the Spy took every measure to stay hidden when he wanted to stay so, even from his own teammates.

He showered the same way the Pyro did, by waiting for everyone to leave and then going about his business in privacy. He did have an advantage, though, as he used his Cloak & Dagger watch to remain invisible indefinitely. But due to his slightly increased visibility thanks to the water, he as well kept his time in the shower to a minimum.

In the locker room, the sly agent neatly undressed, despite the fact that his suit was caked with blood and sweat. If there was one thing that irritated him the most, it was his clothing being dirtied. He set his folded, unclean clothes aside and, after making sure he was cloaked, removed his balaclava and began showering. He kept his hair very short for convenience's sake, as shorter hair warranted a quicker and easier bathing time. The less time spent unmasked, the better, he quickly finished his shower and shave, dried off, and donned clean attire. There was nothing like a fresh, clean, finely-pressed suit, and he hoped that this one would not be so quick to receive yet another splatter of blood—or else the one who caused it would be found in a pool of their own. With that, the Spy sauntered into the hallway, wanting nothing more than to go to bed.

The Pyro, upon reaching her own room, locking the door, locking the window, closing the curtains, triple-checking the room, and locking the door again, had unzipped her suit and was ready to flop down on her cot when she heard a loud, assertive knock on the door.

In her five years' tenure at BLU, nobody had ever knocked on her door.

She flew into a state of panic. She fumbled with her zipper, clumsily zipping it up as she hobbled towards the door. The gas mask went from on her nightstand to on her head in less than a second.

"Huddahuddah huh!" Pyro yelled as she unlocked her door and flung it open.

The woman at the door was Ms. Pauling, the Administrator's eager and loyal assistant. The Pyro tiredly wondered what the purple-clad young woman wanted from her. As if able to read her mind, Ms. Pauling answered.

"I apologize for summoning you at such an inappropriate time, but the Administrator would like to see you now, sir." The young assistant was careful to address the pyrotechnician as 'sir', despite knowing her actual gender. In fact, the only people who DID know the Pyro's situation were Ms. Pauling, the Administrator, and the Medic, who opened her up some time back and gave her an Überheart.

"Huddah huh," Pyro muttered, following the subordinate to the Administrator's center of operations.

The Administrator tapped her fingertips together impatiently as she waited for her other guest to arrive. In front of her stood the vexed Spy, who still didn't know why he was summoned to this smoky, dimly-lit office in the first place. To his surprise, however, the one who burst through the doors was…the Pyro? What was he of all people doing here?

"Have a seat, mercenaries," the Administrator said smoothly, gesticulating towards the chairs in front of her vast, intimidating desk. The pale blue glare of countless television monitors surrounding her lit her gaunt face and revealed her malevolent grin. The two gingerly took their seats as their boss began to speak of their upcoming mission.

"I have a very special mission for the two of you," she rasped, gracefully blowing a smoke ring from her cigarette holder and twirling it around her bony fingers as she spoke. "It's mandatory. And if you were to...back out of it, so to speak, we would unfortunately lose the close and special relationship we've had for these past few years. Now, I'm assuming you're both familiar with the name of Saxton Hale, the owner of Mann Co.?"

The two BLU mercenaries nodded slowly in affirmation as the Administrator continued with the briefing.

"Well, I've just caught word that there is someone, something out there that intends on...taking care of Mr. Hale. Someone out there wants their hands on Mann Co. So, for business-related reasons, I have chosen two mercenaries of mine to go undercover to guard Mr. Hale, and kill the assassin before they get rid of the CEO of our weapon supplier. And those two would be, yes, you've guessed it—you!"

The Pyro said nothing, as she knew it would be futile to try to make an intelligible point with her mask on. The Spy on the other hand, usually cool, casual, and reserved, was oddly vocal on the matter.

"If I may be so bold, what does this 'undercover' mission entail…and why is the Pyro involved?" he asked, shooting a glance at the masked monstrosity next to him. As a master of disguise, reconnaissance, and the like, the Spy could see where the Administrator was coming from, asking for his help. Anyone would want him on their most important mission. But the Pyro? Why ask some mumbling pyromaniac for assistance, when this type of operation required stealth, experience, finesse, and—

"Because we need someone to go undercover as Mr. Hale's girlfriend," the Administrator deadpanned whilst blowing another ring of smoke.

Girlfriend? That meant that the Pyro...

"And if you were to relay any of this information to anyone, doing so would turn out to be highly detrimental to the strong, trusting friendship we've established…now wouldn't it?"

On any other day the Spy was the epitome of stoic. Strong, silent, calculating. His rational, level head was one of the most useful tools in his arsenal. He had emotions and reactions; it was just that he'd always kept them in check rather than indulging upon frivolous excitements. But hearing that one of the people he fought alongside for years in ruthless, gory combat was a female, one who hardly acted like a lady…that was a bit too shocking for even the Spy.

And so, the dark brown cigarette clenched between his teeth nearly fell from his mouth and into his lap. Luckily for him, he managed to regain his composure before looking like a complete and utter oaf. He cleared his throat.

"Excusez-moi?"

"You heard me correctly, mercenary. You will receive a full briefing of the mission on your flight to New York City, where Mr. Hale will arrive on a business trip exactly one week from today. Any further questions will also be answered. You are both dismissed," she said with the flick of her hand, watching her two employees rise and walk towards the exit.

"Oh. And one more thing." The two, on their way out the door already, turned around to face the Administrator.

"You cannot fail this mission. Remember, mercenaries…your lives truly are on the line. There's no such thing as respawning where you're going," she laughed dryly. "Do not…and I repeat, do NOT fail me. Now, you are dismissed."

With the chilling words of the Administrator hanging above their heads, the two mercenaries-turned-undercover agents headed out of the dark room to see Ms. Pauling standing in front of them, holding a packed luggage bag in both hands.

"Follow me; we have a jet out back waiting to transport you to your destination. I've already packed both of your things for you." She handed both of them their respective bags and two files filled with information on their undercover identities.

"What about our colleagues? Are they aware of our leave?" inquired the Spy, passively looking at his cloaking watch.

"They will be informed that both of you will not be returning for a period of time, and we have already hired temporary replacements," replied Ms. Pauling.

The Pyro winced at how expendable Ms. Pauling made her sound. There was no time to ponder her expendability, however, as she was soon swiftly ushered onto the private jet that waited for them outside in the empty, expansive New Mexican desert. She plopped down on the leather seat and placed her file on the table, absentmindedly realizing that reading fine print with a heavy-duty gas mask on was not the easiest of tasks. An internal debate ensued—should she doff her mask? She looked up across the table at her teammate, and saw through her tinted vision that he appeared engrossed enough with his dossier.

Her gloved hand reached up to remove her mask, but the Spy happened to look up just in time. Her hand flew down on the table as an awkward silence settled in the cabin, the two mercenaries staring at each other. Spy looked back down at his paperwork for awhile, and the Pyro felt ashamed at herself for being reluctant to take her mask off. An hour of internal strife later, Pyro nervously and reluctantly removed her trusty façade, despite having kept a clandestine face for half a decade. She shook her head, flipped open the manila folder stamped with a red-ink [CONFIDENTIAL] on the cover, and began to swiftly scan its contents.

The Spy scanned the contents of his folder in tandem, but when he noticed movement opposite to him, his eyes inconspicuously shifted to survey the woman across the table. The Pyro was indeed a woman; there wasn't a doubt about that. Dark, messy, tangled hair that carelessly fell in her face. Large brown eyes, caterpillar eyebrows, pasty-white skin, scarred cheeks. Though most definitely not the type of woman he would ever bed, he was somewhat surprised to find that she was not altogether ugly. Manly, quite, a bit hard on the eyes, perhaps, unkempt, most certainly. But not ugly.

After the mystery of the Pyro had evaded him for so long, the Spy couldn't help but stare at her. It was his job to know everything about everyone, and having that handle on everyone in the war but the BLU Pyro was simply maddening. Luckily, as he found while he leafing through his job description, he would have plenty of time to solve the enigma that was his colleague.

TO: A Spy of the Builder's League United

FROM: TF Industries

CC: A Pyro of the Builder's League United

DATE: Thursday August 3rd, 1972

SUBJECT: Job Description

Your job is to groom and instruct the female you are assigned on how to be a proper lady. She must be tailored to such requests in the exact time period of one week; no more. By the time Sir Saxton Hale arrives, she must act the part of his girlfriend and watch for anything suspicious all the while. The Annual Saxxy Awards are upcoming and she is to accompany him. You are also to watch her back for any suspicious citizens and/or employees, you are to protect her from threats, and you are to inform each other of sightings and/or suspicions. If a suspect is found, both are to contact the Administrator immediately. Any questions should be directed towards Hale or one of his associates; I may be reached if they are unable to answer. And, remember—you MUST NOT fail.

P.S. - We will discuss your reward after the mission in the event of completion.

Regards,

The Administrator

The Pyro's memo was not much different.

TO: A Pyro of the Builder's League United

FROM: TF Industries

CC: A Spy of the Builder's League United

DATE: Thursday August 3, 1972

SUBJECT: Job Description

Your job is to become the epitome of a proper lady. Demure, elegant, and packed with panache, you must have it all. No less will be accepted for such a man as Sir Saxton Hale. You must accommodate such requests in the exact time period of one week; no more. By the time Hale arrives, you must act the part of his girlfriend and watch for anything suspicious all the while. The Annual Saxxy Awards are upcoming and you are to accompany him. You are also to watch your and the Spy's back for any suspicious citizens, employees, and you are to inform each other of sightings and/or suspicions. If a suspect is found, both are to contact the Administrator immediately. Any questions should be directed towards Hale or one of his associates; I may be reached if they are unable to answer. And, remember—you MUST NOT fail.

P.S. - We will discuss your reward after the mission in the event of completion.

Regards,

The Administrator

Reward? The two met eyes for the first time after finishing their letters. Light blues met dark browns as he waited to hear her voice clearly for the first time. She cleared her throat.

"Well, it looks like I'm gonna need a shitton'a help if I'm gonna be a perfect little lady," she muttered as she cracked a lopsided grin.

Another surprise! The Pyro spoke with a thick, definite New York accent…specifically, one from Queens. Her voice was very low, deep for a woman. Unfortunately, this would make things harder. Spy gave her a look as he put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

"Première lecon," he sighed, "First lesson. Please watch your language. Proper ladies do not swear like sailors."

Pyro flinched. She swore all the time, and not doing so was going to be a difficult habit for her to break. Well, if she was tough enough to single-handedly take down an army of men, she was tough enough to withstand the world of high heels, debutantes and blue-blooded snoots…right?

Right.

She sighed. She was tired and did not feel like taking on the mission of altering her entire personality at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning. As they both continued sorting through the contents of their folders, they found themselves landing in JFK Airport. The two gathered their things and stepped out of the small jet to find a man in a tuxedo and sunglasses holding a makeshift sign that read "SPY & PYRO" in sloppy black marker. He quickly spotted the two and waved them over.

"I am Mr. Reddy, Mr. Hale's accountant and personal assistant. I'm sure the Administrator has already filled you in on the mission?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. She wouldn't shut up about it. Now can we please get to a hotel or somethin'? Enough with the chit-chat. Shit, I'm exhausted."

A little taken aback by her brash demeanor, Mr. Reddy slowly felt a growing sympathy for the Spy. He had LOT of work to do on this woman to make her even remotely ladylike. He led them to a limousine that waited for them in front of the airport; after a trip from Queens to Manhattan, they pulled up to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, much to the wonderment of the Pyro.

"Mr. Hale only assures the best for the Administrator's employees. Follow me, please."

The new undercover agents looked up at the ritzy hotel in wonderment. The ornate, world-famous establishment that even had its own salad named after it. It was not the first time either had seen or passed by it, but it would be the first time they had actually stayed in a room. Once inside the hotel, they were each given their own rooms directly across the hall from each other, and were told to meet at the lobby at 7:00 PM, sharp.

Finally inside her room, the Pyro did a quick exploration of it before finally flopping down on her king-sized bed and falling asleep.