We should also forewarn that this story makes references to animal cruelty and death, and substance abuse. Please read with caution if you're particularly sensitive about the subject.
I remember having a pet as a kid. A dog, to be exact. Well, more like a puppy—tiny and full of life, like I was. My brothers and I practically had to beg to our ma and do chores and everything, but we finally got our wish granted.
Goldie was a beautiful little cocker spaniel, and happened to be the runt of the litter. Valdo complained about how small she was, but the rest of us fell in love with her. Especially me; I named her and fed her and played with her the most. I can say with absolute confidence that she and I were the best of friends.
But apparently, I must not have loved her enough. After a year of treating her like the little sister I never had, she ran away from home. We set up a search party and looked everywhere, but to no avail. Goldie was gone for good.
I never had a pet ever since. Not to say the thought never came to mind every once in a while. But after what happened to Goldie, I never could trust myself to care for any sort of creature. So when Fate threw herself on my doorstep, I wasn't sure what to do.
Fate is the name Vincent gave to the stray Siamese cat that was found scratching on Hartmann's front door that morning. As an owner and lover of ivory-feathered avians, Hartmann is not all too fond of felines. Instead, he decides to hand the kitten over to somebody he can trust—and who can he trust more than his own godson?
“You've got to be kidding me,” Vince says bluntly.
“Aw, come on, Kaninchen! Just until ve find his owner.” Hartmann shoves the kitten—which looks even tinier in the Medic's giant hands—even closer to the Scout, to the point that its big, sparkling cat eyes stare right into his soul. “I'd give him to another merc, if I vanted, but unfortunately, zhey don't allow pets in the barracks. Besides, I know you're good vith animals.”
“Actually, I shouldn't be trusted with anything less sentient or intelligent than an adult human being.”
“Now you're just making excuses!” He cradles the kitten and starts tickling its tummy. “Can you do zhis for me? I'll pay you back for it—I promise.”
A sigh, and then: “Alright. But just until his owner arrives. Hand 'im over.” Hartmann gladly does so, and Vincent, uncomfortable with the whole situation, feels even more awkward holding the small cat.
While Fate is off exploring her new (temporary) home, Vincent is busy trying to make his apartment as cat-proof as possible. Hiding valuable possessions, putting away the glasses and china, clearing out the countertops and tabletops in case the cat climbs on top of them. He has no idea how to take care of such a creature, and he sure as hell isn't going to learn at this rate. Scooping up Fate before she starts scratching the furniture, he picks up the phone with one hand and dials the number to the Teufort BLU barracks.
“You got a cat?” Mortimer says, a childlike curiosity in his tone. “Of course I can help out. I love cats—they're so cute! I'm comin' right over!” He hangs up before Vince can even put in a word.
Mortimer arrives at Vince's apartment a few minutes later, but he's not alone. Spy—wearing a cute blouse and a knee-length pencil skirt today—steps out from behind the Sniper and brightens up upon seeing the cat. He rushes over, swipes the cat from Vince's arms, and proceeds to coddle and coo at it like a baby. Which goes well with the Scout's plans, as he and Mort can at least talk in peace then.
“I don't intend on keeping her for long,” Vincent informs Mort over a cup of joe. “Maybe a week, at most, depending on how soon we can get a hold of the owner. Either way, I'll be glad to have that furball out of my life.”
Mort chuckles at the Scout's expense. “You don't seem too happy 'bout that. You more of a dog owner?”
“I'm not any kind of owner.” He mutters under his breath, “Animals hate me.”
“Aw, I'm sure that ain't the case. Maybe this'll prove to be a great learning experience for you. I'm sure you two'll be the best of friends!” He flashes a smile so warm and bright, that even Vince's ice-cold skepticism starts to melt.
He stares down his mug and ponders over the thought. “Yeah... Maybe I should give 'er a chance.” His gaze returns to Mort. “We'd better drop by the pet shop and get some food and stuff for Fate... er, the kitty.” I can't believe I even gave her a name! Don't they have a rule or saying against this stuff? Oh, yeah: “Don't name them; you'll only get attached to them”. Well, I guess it's a little too late, anyhow.
From the bushman's devious expression, he seems to know exactly what's on his mind. “Sure thing! By the time we're done, she'll will feel right at home!” He chugs down the remainder of his drink and heads out the camper. Vince follows after him and shuts the door, but not before ordering Spy to watch over Fate while they're out.
The pet shop is a short drive from the residential outskirts where the apartment complexes and houses are located, and can be found easily, due to it being the only business of its kind in the area. After Mort parks his camper van in the lot, he and Vince make way for the store entrance—and stop in their tracks. Working the register near the front is an all-too-familiar face that's not a pleasant sight for either of them.
“Baldo, what're you doing, working here?” Vince says, his outrage punctuated through use of the other Scout's much-loathed nickname. “I thought you hated animals!”
“'Hated'. Past tense, Wimpcent,” retorts the Scout from RED. “I've changed a lot these past few years, brother. I love animals now. And I'm certainly better at handling them than you.” To prove this, he walks over and takes out a giant, golden-scaled snake, then shows it off to Vincent, who recoils at the serpent's slithering tongue. “See?” He turns his attention to an unimpressed Mort. “Of course, being from the Outback and all, this is probably kids' stuff to you.” He puts the snake back in its cage. “So why're you here, anyways?”
“That's none of yer business, Valdo,” Mort says, attempting to hold back his loathing for the cocky youth. He grabs the nervous Scout's hand and drags him towards the animal supplies aisle. “C'mon, Vince. We've got work to do.”
Right away, Mortimer puts Vince to work, carrying heavy bags of cat food and bundles of cat toys. Meanwhile, he has one arm wrapped around a scratching post, and the other a bag of kitty litter. When they've finished their shopping, he puts it all on his account, claiming responsibility for the cat when Valdo interrogates (read, “teases”) them about it. He then storms off towards the van, dumps the items into the back, and revs up the engine before Vince could even climb into his seat. Throughout the brief trip back to the apartment, the normally amiable Mort is eerily quiet, to the point where the BLU Scout is a bit scared of him. Even Spy notices this unusual behavior and holds Fate even closer to him when he enters.
“What happened,” Spy asks as he watches Mortimer set up the cat care equipment.
Vincent—who's also standing by, due to Mort's bitter mood keeping him at bay—answers, “Let's just say he had a less-than-pleasant encounter with a certain RED merc.”
Spy nods, understanding the context behind the Scout's comment. “Still, I cannot imagine Mort holding a grudge towards anybody, RED or BLU. Whatever set him off must have been somezhing important to him.”
“Well...” Vincent tickles Fate's tummy, causing the kitten to mew and playfully paw at his hand. “I think he wants to prove something to him. I don't know what, exactly, but I think Fate's gonna be in quite a predicament.” When Spy asks why, he shrugs. “I dunno. Just a feeling.” A bad one, at that.
As the sun goes down, the trio are faced with a predicament.
“What're we gonna do when you're out?” Mort's brows furrow in concern. “We can't just let the poor kit all alone. An' I got a night shift comin' up, so I can't stay here.”
“I can stay behind and—”
“NO,” the Scout says sternly. “She's my problem. Besides, I already did a morning shift, so I can skip out for the evening.” Vincent isn't one to miss work, save for the rare sick day, so the shock on the other two's faces is nothing but genuine.
“I, erm... Alright. Well, everything's set up, so it should be pretty straightforward from here.” Mort stands up from his cross-legged position on the floor and stretches. “If you got any problems, you know who to call.” He ruffles Vince's hair and heads for the door. “'Night.”
Spy waves and calls out, “Have fun, you two!” as he follows the Sniper out.
After hearing the door close, Vincent lifts the kitten up to his eye level and stares at her. “Listen and listen closely. You may be cute and all, but I'm not gonna be so merciful. The moment you start misbehaving, I'm kicking you out, got it? Don't try to argue with me. When I said you're only staying a week, I meant it. I can't afford to take care of you, or any critter that comes by. So tomorrow morning, I'm gonna go find your owner.”
The blue-eyed Siamese stares at Vince, as if pleading for mercy or attention. “Oh, alright. You can sleep on my bed tonight.” Realizing just what he's doing, he sets the cat on the floor and sighs. “Hardly a day with you, and I'm already becoming the crazy cat owner. I need to get rid of her quick.”
The next morning, Vincent wakes up to perform his usual morning routine of breakfast, shower, and dressup, and is about to walk out when he hears a tiny mew at his feet. With a sigh, he stops to pour food and water into the plastic bowls on the kitchen floor, by the litter-box, and walks out. During his stroll through town, he notices a bunch of fliers hanging on telephone poles and fences and store windows. They all appear identical, and they all read
LOST PET
SIAMESE KITTEN
CREAMY FUR & BLUE EYES
IF FOUND, CALL 555.415.5136
BIG REWARD!
“Morning, brother,” he says casually while tossing a flier into the trash bin. “Just cleaning out some unwanted filth. How 'bout you?”
Vince gulps and answers, his voice shaky, “Just going to work.” He grips the strap of his duffel bag tightly. “Shouldn't you keep those up, just in case?” He knows too well what his answer is going to be; Valdo never cares about the well-being of others.
He sneers. “Why should I? I ain't wastin' my time lookin' for some mangy cat. 'Sides, the less Mort knows about it, the longer he can keep that stupid creature.”
This answer takes Vince off-guard. So he thinks Mort found the cat. “But what about the reward? Do you really want to let this opportunity slip by?”
He shrugs and tosses another flier into the trash. “It ain't worth the trouble. I can earn more working in this stupid shop.” Vincent has to hold back a chuckle. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree; despite being the BLU Scout's polar opposite, they're both workaholics at heart.
“Well, I'm not one to turn down any chances to earn money. I might as well help out, do Mort a favor.” The RED Scout's ear perks up. “We can always split the reward fifty-fifty. Unless you want a share...?”
Valdo hesitates for a long moment, then walks over to the trash bin and digs out one of the crumpled-up fliers. “Well, if it'll get me out of this job, I suppose I can handle one stupid cat.” He glares at his twin. “But I'm gonna take your fifty!” He turns away and storms into the store. With him out of his hair, Vince can finally relax.
Vincent breezes through his morning shift, capturing control points and earning his team several victories in a row. He has even dominated an enemy Soldier and the Medic pocketing him, though he also finds a nemesis in a grenade-happy Demoman that continues to take him by surprise. By high noon, he's sent several of his foes back battered and beaten. Now he's in the camper with Spy, heading back to his dorm to check up on Fate. But Mort isn't happy to hear what he had to say about his encounter this morning.
“You WHAT? Vince, have you thought this over? Like, REALLY thought it over? Bloody little rabbit, you should've talked this over with me before you went and do that, you bloody idiot!” He bashes his fist against the wheel, blaring the horn by accident and frightening the Scout in the process.
Recovering from the shock, Vince replies, “P-please listen. I know what I'm doing. If we do this right, we won't even have to deal with Valdo. Heck, we can just call 'em right away and get it done and over with! Look, Val thinks you found the cat, so if you do as he expects, you can give the cat back and get the reward, and my life can go back to normal again.”
Mortimer raps his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about it. “Alright. But Valdo's your problem.”
They carry out their plan the moment they enter the apartment. The Scout holds out the flier, which Mort snatches and reads off as he dials the number. Meanwhile, Spy is in the kitchen, playing with Fate, and Vince watches anxiously while overhearing the conversation being held in the next room. (He's not sure exactly what's going on, but he hears Mort saying, “Yes, bring everything! That'd be perfect!” before exchanging fare-thee-wells with the stranger on the other end.) A moment later, Vince hears the phone slam, and Mort enters, a grin on his face. “Great news! The owner'll be here in thirty minutes.”
The doorbell rings—just as Mort said—thirty minutes later. Vincent eagerly opens the door, but his excitement turns to bafflement at the sight before him. Standing at the front, holding giant paper bags of Chinese (or is it Japanese? Well, it's Asian, as far as he's concerned) takeout, is a diminutive RED Soldier in an outfit that is stereotypically Chinese. “Nihao! Special delivery for Mortimer Mundy!” the Soldier says as he shoves the bags in Vince's direction. Reluctantly, he takes the food and tells him to wait a moment before heading into the kitchen.
“Mort, is this a joke?” Vince says as he slams the bags on the dining table. “I thought you were calling the owner, not ordering takeout!”
The Sniper appears unfazed by the Scout's frustration. “Relax, li'l bunny! I called the right number.” He heads over to the front and Vince can hear him tell the Soldier to “bring everything over this way.” In moments, the kitchen table and counters are filled with bags of Asian-style takeout. He leads the deliveryman to Vincent and starts explaining things. “Vince, I think you're familiar with Zhen Dou. He's here to reclaim 'is cat.”
That moment, the kitten jumps out of Spy's arms and runs up to Zhen Dou's feet. Zhen—in a manner most childish—squeals and picks up his pet. “Mingyun!” Embracing the small cat, he speaks to Mort and company, “Thank you for finding my kitty, Mundy-san. I hope she wasn't too much trouble.”
“Aw, thanks. But it was Vince who found 'im first.”
“Aw, it's no problem... Wait, 'him'? Isn't Fate a girl?”
Zhen and Vincent, confused looks on their faces, stare at the cat. “Wait, you mean you didn't know? Lemme show you.” Mort takes Fate—er, Mingyun—into his arms and lifts the tail. Then he proceeds to lecture them on the differences between male and female cats, and how to find out their sex when they're young. “And that's how you sex a kitten. It's good information to know.” The two youngsters are no longer ignorant, but they've both lost their appetite for the time being.
“Anyways,” Vincent says, veering away from the subject of feline genitalia, “your flier said there was going to be a reward. Not to sound greedy, but would it be all right if you gave that to us?”
Zhen giggles. “I already did! Mort asked if we could give him the reward in the form of food, and we couldn't agree more.”
Vince gives him an expression that reads “are you fucking serious”, then turns to Mort, who whistles innocently. He sighs, then says, “Well, at least it'll be easier to share. Still, it's an awful lot of food. What are we gonna do with all this?”
“PARTY TIME,” Spy shouts at the top of his lungs as he shoots up from his seat. But when he senses everyone's glare (especially Hartmann, who was summoned by Vincent at Mort's suggestion), he slumps his shoulders and sits back down, picking at his pitiful portion of shrimp and rice. He glances at Mortimer, who's shooting daggers at Valdo in-between bites. Looking around the table, the twin Scouts don't appear to be any happier by each other's presence. Hartmann, visibly discomforted by the tension in the room, quietly eats his meal. Really, when it comes down to it, the only ones enjoying this so-called “party” are himself and Zhen (who, with his parents' permission, is staying over for dinner).
In an attempt to cut through the silence, the Spy speaks up. “Speaking of pets, I've always wanted a cat of my own. Unfortunately, I could never have one. SPAI policy and all zhat. Zhen, how come you can get a cat, despite being in SOLDR?”
Zhen slurps his noodles and looks up at Spy. “Mingyun's a family pet, so he stays at Mama's and Baba's place. I don't know how things work at SPAI, but I really am sorry. You can always drop by and play with him, though. You, too, Vince!”
Vincent drops his fork and laughs nervously. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I'm not exactly the type that's well-liked with animals.”
“Really? I think Mingyun likes you.” Meanwhile, the Siamese kitten rubs his face against the Scout's leg.
Hartmann stops eating and turns his attention to Vince. “Kaninchen, if you veren't good with animals, vould I have asked you to take care of zhe kitty? I very vell could have given him to Valdo.” He leans in closer and whispers, “And ve all know he can't be trusted.”
Valdo is having none of this. “I can hear you, old man! What makes you think he can do a better job than me? He's the reason Goldie ran away, after all.”
Spy's ears perk up. “Goldie? Who's she?”
“She's just a stupid dog, is all.” Hartmann glares at Valdo, who shrugs it off.
Vincent, gripping the edge of the table, is on the verge of tears. “She's not just a stupid dog. She was my best friend. Losing her hurt me so much. Especially after Valter...” He pushes his plate away and stands up. “Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.” Right as he says that, he walks out of the kitchen, trying his hardest to hide his face from his guests. Especially Valdo, who simply continues to enjoy his meal, indifferent to his twin brother's grief.
I remember hating that stupid dog. Too small and too girly, I told them. They should've gotten one of the other dogs at the kennel, like that doberman near the entrance. But no, our ditzy-ass mom insisted we HAD to have a cocker. “They're sweet and friendly and simply adorable,” she said. She was probably expecting the little runt to become a show dog or something. Thank God that never happened.
What did happen was worse. Goldie, the brainless bundle of fur, took a liking to Vince. Not that I ever liked her that much, but it did hurt, seeing her shrug you off in favor of your other brothers, especially your special snowflake, goody-two-shoes twin. I thought dogs were supposed to be loyal; as it turns out, that's a bunch of bull. So when the little frilly pet ran away, I was relieved. With her gone, maybe I can receive a little bit of the attention she stole away from me.
Until I found her. My brothers and I had set out a search party to look for Goldie, and while I split apart from the rest of the group, I came across her in an alleyway. She yapped and growled at me, but being a sissy cocker, she hardly thought to fight back. So I took a sturdy blunt object and hit her with it. Repeatedly. Over and over, I beat her in the head, until she was lying in a pool of her own blood, unbreathing, unconscious, dead.
Killing her wasn't exactly my intention. I just wanted to make Vince suffer. But having her gone was certainly a benefit. I took great care to hide the evidence as well as possible. Ran straight home, changed my clothes, disposed of the old, bloodstained ones. By the time my brothers returned from their fruitless hunt, they were none the wiser.
“What're you smiling about?” Valdo snaps out of his trance and looks up at Mort, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “Got somethin' you wanna share?”
Valdo, realizing that he was, indeed, smiling, comes up with a passable answer. “Oh, just reminiscing the good times we've had with Goldie. Playing with her, talking to her, seeing her at the door at the end of every school day. Thinking about it, I'm starting to miss her, too.”
The Sniper is skeptical, but he seems to accept the lie, anyway. Hartmann, however, will not. “Bitte? I remember othervise.”
“I'm speaking in retrospect, gramps.” His tone is sharp and bitter, certainly not how one would speak to a relative, blood-related or otherwise. “Nostalgia makes even the worst memories seem mild, even enjoyable, in comparison.”
Seeing how the dinner is beginning to fall apart under all the negativity, Zhen stands up and bows. “Um, maybe I should go now. My parents are probably worried about me. Thank you for the meal, Mundy-san. Everybody.” He takes Mingyun and leaves the apartment as quickly as his little feet can take him.
Soon after, Mortimer and Spy also have to leave, and only Vincent, Valdo, and Hartmann are left. (Not to say that Valdo wanted to stay; as soon as he stood, the doctor ordered him to sit back down.) When Vincent returns from the bathroom, Hartmann tells the two Scouts to “talk things out, like brothers do” and leaves for the bathroom. For several minutes, they don't say anything, communicating purely through nervous glances and closed-off body language. Finally, someone speaks up.
“Why do you hate me, brother?”
Valdo whips his head in Vince's direction. “What the—? Where'd the hell did you get that idea?”
“It's pretty obvious. You know it, I know it. I'm pretty sure everyone else at dinner saw it.” His hands grip his knees, catching the fabric of his pants. “I just want to know... What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this? We're brothers, for God's sake! You could at least be honest with me. Please...” His eyes start to water.
Boy, what a wimp. “It's nothing in particular. I just hate how everybody fawns all over you. 'Oh, you're such a sweet boy, Vincent!' 'How smart you are, Vincent!' Vincent the nice guy, Vincent the genius, Vincent the good kid. What about me? I'm nothing but a stupid delinquent.”
“That's not true.” Valdo's taken aback. “I'm not as great as they say.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You sure as hell ain't.”
“But you're not as bad as they say, either. I mean, sure, you're rude and aggressive and kind of a sociopath, but I know you're more than that. Like, if you hated animals so much, why would you work at a pet shop? Surely, there was something you liked about it.”
A pause, then: “You know how you always said animals hate you? That's not true. If anything, they hate me. Goldie never liked me much, despite what they say 'bout cockers bein' friendly to everyone. Not that I ever liked her much. But I felt betrayed somehow, like I became the third wheel or something.”
Vincent shifts his glance away, then back to Valdo's face. Then he pats his shoulder and smiles, awkward but reassuring. “Val, you're my brother, and my oldest best friend. How can I forget about you?”
Valdo stares down, gloomy. “A lot's changed since that day. You changed, I changed. Nothing's ever been the same.” He shrugs off Vince's hand and turns away.
“Yeah...” He sighs, keeping his hands to himself again. “Say, you never answered my question. About the pet shop thing. Why do you work there?”
“Money.” His shoulders slump, lowering his guard. “And the animals over there seem to like me a lot better. 'Specially the reptiles.” He smiles sadly. “There's a snake I've had my eye on for quite some time. I thought, by working at the shop, I can get closer to him without havin' to worry about keeping him at my place.”
Vince isn't sure what he's more surprised about: that Valdo is opening up to him for the first time in years, or the fact that he's not smiling in a “I'm so much better than you” way, but in a genuine, even heartbreaking manner. “Wow, I... I think you should totally get him. If you really want something, you should go for it, right? Besides, we were still kids when we had Goldie; we've grown up a lot since then.” He gives a tiny, nervous smile. “I think you'll do fine.”
Nothing, then laughter. “That's why you're the older brother. You always know what to say.” He stands up from his seat. “Don't get me wrong, I still hate you. Just a bit less so now. Well, ta, mate, or whatever it is that Sniper friend of yours says.” He turns and starts heading for the front door, but as he passes by the restroom, he knocks on the door and says, “You can come out now, gramps” before leaving.
After hearing the front door close, Hartmann finally emerges from the bathroom and takes Valdo's spot. “So, how did it go,” he asks with a smile that implies that he knows more than he's letting on.
Vince shrugs. “It's strange. We had an entire conversation that didn't end in a fight, or me crying. That hasn't happened in, like, forever. You know, if it wasn't for Fate—er, Mingyun—I don't think we'd ever be able to talk like that. It's almost like...”
“Fate?” The Scout whips his head towards Hartmann, who's casually wiping his glasses with a corner of his blouse. “Vell, one thing's for certain: zhe both of you are getting along now. Maybe not in zhe same vay you have vhen you vere kids, but you're getting zhere.”
“Yeah. Just a bit.” He looks away and stares at the bags of Asian-style food still left over when an idea strikes him. “Hey, Hart, can you help me with something?”
Valdo doesn't live far from the apartment complexes where his twin brother resides. Just a further out, towards the end of the town border, where the houses are smaller and a little worn for wear. The place he calls “home” is not so much a house as an old shack, completely in shambles. If it were bigger, it would make the ideal spot for a haunted house, Val once thought, and still continues to think from time to time. He could afford to live better, what with the money he earns doing mercenary work, but he has better things to spend his money on.
He has one foot on the flimsy porch step when he hears someone calling his name. Thrown off by the voice, he turns around and spots Vincent, waving at him with one hand and carrying a large paper bag with the other. Vince approaches the RED Scout and hands him the bag. “Hey, you forgot this.” Reluctant, Valdo takes it and looks inside. “I'm not too sure what you like, but Hartmann said you liked sushi, so I packed plenty in there. I also put in some tuna and egg rolls, 'cause I thought they tasted pretty good.” He glances at the ramshack house. “This your place?”
Valdo averts his gaze and chews his bottom lip, too embarrassed to confess. “Yeah.” He closes the bag and mutters “thanks” before running inside and slamming the door shut. Setting the bag down on the wooden table, he removes the contents one by one. Three boxes of tightly-packed sushi rolls, two boxes of plain and flavored rice, a small bag of egg rolls (some vegetarian, some not), and a box of delicious-looking fatty tuna. Internally pleased by this offering, he shelves them in his tiny refrigerator with great care.
Still, he thinks to himself as he enters his bedroom, I can't let my guard down. He rifles through the top drawer and takes out a syringe and a vial filled with a mysterious red substance. He already knows too much. I can't allow him to come any closer. After filling the syringe, he digs the needle into his arm and slowly presses down, letting the substance flow into his veins. His fingers twitch, and he grins as the warm, tingly sensation overtakes him. If he does... If I allow him... He might not be able to take it.
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