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Breaking Point

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A rusty door swung open, flooding the dim, windowless cellar with a warm, yet somehow malicious, red glow. A Spy sporting the same color of dress strolled in, flanked by two other RED associates – an Engineer and a Heavy. The shorter man was carrying around a box of supplies, and began laying them out neatly in a specific order on a stainless steel table in the midst of the room. While he was busy, Heavy paused and closed the dank cellar from the outside world by shutting and latching the heavy bolts. 

Spy flipped open a cigarette case, lit one up, and took a deep draw. He exhaled slowly, directing his cool, icy eyes at the shackled figure on the ground as his two associates bustled about. 

The shackled form glared back boldly. “Well. If it ain’t the fat bald bastard, the skinny bald bastard, and the short bald bastard.” 
“Bonjour.” 
“Fuck off, ya shape-shiftin’ rat.” 

“Pardon me, but I don’t t’ink you are quite in zee position to make demands, boy,” the man drawled in his light French accent, twirling his cigarette around between his fingers. “You’ve been, eh… ‘escorted’ to a secret facility of ours, over 500 kilometers away from zee nearest BLU base, and I’m zee only object standing between you, and a long, painful death.” the man casually pulled out a beautifully engraved revolver from the inside of his vest. “So I recommend you ‘ave an intelligent thought for once in your pathetic life, and cooperate.” 

The boy shackled on the ground just snorted. He was around 19, and had short cropped hair that was looking pretty messy, with parts of it matted together as if he hadn’t been to a shower in a while. His wiry body was garbed only in a loose undershirt and a pair of blue camo-boxers. The bronze tan he sported was starting to fade slowly but surely from the lack of sunlight. However, he was covered with a layer of grime so thick, one could barely tell. The Scout’s entire body was covered with harsh bruises, and his wrists and ankles were rubbed raw due to the tight shackles, but his blue eyes still burned with that cocky, resolute flare. Pity. It would have easier on the both of them if he’d just given up after the first beating. 

“Yeah right, dumbass. I heard about you fuckin’ around with my mom. You really think she’ll let you anywhere near her if you had anything to do with my death?” the boy snickered in his quick, fast-talking Bronx accent. 

“Heh…” The man took another long draw on his cigarette. “Just like a child. ‘iding behind your mozzer’s skirt until zee very end.” 
A deep flush. “Y-Yeah right. I’m not hidin’ behind nobody – I’m just tellin’ you like it is.” 
The man smirked nastily. “Do you really t’ink zis is zee first time I’ve disposed of a relative of someone I’m physically involved with? Please. I’ll get rid of you quickly and quietly, and when your body finally shows up, I’ll be there to comfort ‘er, telling ‘er zat I did everyt’ing I could to save you.” Spy knew from experience that it usually wasn’t difficult to convince people that he was the good person they thought he was. Especially if they already wanted to believe him. 

“Yeah, right. My mom would never believe ya, ya fuckin’ coward.” 
“We’ll see. Now…” The RED Spy flicked away his half-used cigarette and pulled a fresh one from his case, lighting it up. The orange glow highlighted his gaunt, predatory face from below, casting many odd shadows over his face. “Enough stalling, boy. Tell me everyzhing you know about zee whereabouts of zee RED intelligence.” 

Another infuriating smirk. “Uh, buddy? I don’t know if you noticed, but… I’m just a Scout. What makes you think I know where they took that suitcase fulla junk? I’m pretty low down on the pecking order, ya know what I’m saying?” 

His mischievous eyes sparkled, as if saying, “Yeah, I know something, but I ain’t telling you what it is.” It pissed Spy off to no end, but he couldn’t be seen losing his head. This was a job that called for cool, calculated ruthlessness. 

“Well.” Spy calmly placed the revolver down on the table. “I suppose there’s no ‘ope of reaching compromise civilly.” He snapped his fingers crisply to call his two assistants to attention. “Unchain him, restrain him, and bind ‘is face.” 

“Wh…What are you doing?!” the BLU Scout cried, growling as Heavy unlocked his chains and roughly seized him by his thin arms. He tried to fight back, but his arms were too weak from being weighed down from the heavy shackles, as well as the lack of movement for days on end. He found that he could barely move them. “Hey! Hey, let me go!” He tried to twist away and even tried to bite the two as a black cloth was tied around his face, making him unable to see, and barely able to breathe or talk. 

“Hold ‘im.” The Spy’s measured footsteps drew ever-closer as his two assistants forcibly pressed Scout to the cold stone floor, pinning him by his neck and limbs. 

Suddenly, a rush of ice cold water flooded his senses. Scout screamed and tried his best to wrench away, but Heavy forced him still by brutally twisting his arm in on itself. More water poured down, sending his body practically into convulsions. 

Scout had never been afraid of water before – hell, swimming was one his favorite hobbies after running and playing ball. But this… This was something straight out of a nightmare. It was starkly reminiscent of the swimming accident he’d suffered when he was eight or nine. It felt like he was drowning. 

There was nothing that he wanted to do more than to suffer the abuse silently and laugh in that masked freak’s face and boast how there was nothing that creep could do to make him spill the beans, but… Holy hell. He was already shaking like a leaf during a violent storm, and, God, he knew it was just starting. 

He wanted to cry. A beating, he could take. This was… something completely different. But still, he had to keep quiet. Whatever this fucker could do to him was nothing compared to what his own team would do to him if he gave away the location to that stupid suitcase full of crap. 

God, what had he gotten himself into?