fic: Roads Taken

[bonnefois]

Title: Roads Taken
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8,000
Summary: An issue with a teleporter transports Miss Pauling to another place where she finds another her. Stuck in a base seemingly forgotten by time, Miss Pauling attempts to unravel the secrets of the lost base, and get back to her own place and time.
Author's note: longfic_bingo: workplace. Vaguely inspired by "The Farnsworth Parabox" episode of Futrama, but not a fusion or an AU. For and Betaed by Multiversecafe. Hope you feel better! <3

There is mentioned medical experimentation which isn't graphic or onscreen.


The first thing Miss Pauling was aware of was the cold.

The floor was made up of a rough metal grate that dug into her knees, leaving little red welts. Miss Pauling reached for her glasses and attempted to remember the steps to here. Her hands felt across the floor to locate her glasses–thankfully not cracked. She pushed her hair back into place, trailing dark wisps behind her ears, and pushed herself up. She'd definitely been inspecting a teleporter as instructed. She'd been told to simply dispose of it, though something had gone wrong as she lifted it. Yes, that much was clear through the haze, at least.

Miss Pauling had never used a teleporter, never been discombobulated like the men were on a daily basis. It'd certainly take some getting used to.

Miss Pauling didn't recognize the base. She came up, feeling unsteady, her knees shaking as she rose. The last of the dizziness receded as she took a few steps towards the door. It opened without warning, the doorhandle crashing into the wall.

"Babe, there you are, I been lookin' all over for you! So, we on for tonight or what?" Scout said.

He didn't wait for her to respond, too wrapped up in his own conversation.

"Yeah, we talked about it three weeks ago, and today is the lucky day when you got an hour off. Huh, huh, ain't that somethin'?" Scout said. He talked like a showman, all flair and dramatics.

Sadness crossed over his face as he noticed her hand. He stopped mid-sentence, his face turning from happiness, to shock and then sadness. "—why ain't you wearin' your ring?"

"My ring?"

"What'd you mean you don't know? I gave it to you a month ago, you said yes—wait, did you take it off for the last mission? You didn't want it lost in the shower? You wearin' it on a chain or somethin'? Look, it don't matter, we'll find it if you lost it, I can buy another one–hell, I'll buy you the whole damn store if you want—"

The door opened before she could respond. "Scout," came a terse voice–strangely familiar, and yet different at once.

Scout looked from the new arrival to her in confusion. He moved back just enough that she could see the person at the door. Miss Pauling found herself looking into her own face reflected back.

"Soph?" Scout said. "Wait, you're a friggin' Spy—"

"I'm not a spy," Miss Pauling said.

Scout lifted up the other woman's hand, revealing a small shining ring, set with a pearl and surrounded with small diamonds.

"You didn't lose it," Scout said with palatable relief. "I wasn't cattin' around, I swear," Scout began, his words blending together as he spoke too fast.

"I suppose I can forgive you, considering you were hitting on what appears to be myself," she said dryly.

The woman wore a conservative dark purple suit, a choker strand of pearls, her hair pulled into a tight chignon much higher than Miss Pauling usually wore. And yet, the resemblance, even down to the voice, was too similar to be a coincidence.

It took Miss Pauling a moment to take in the situation. Scout had changed little in this time, though this relationship had. The other her didn't shy from his touch in the least, not even to look and ensure that no cameras would be filming a forbidden affair.

"Whoa, there's more than one of you! She looks just like you used to," Scout said. He leaned in to look closer at Miss Pauling. "So, you're like a time traveler? Give past me a high five for me, waitin' patiently was the ticket," Scout said.

Scout and the girl shared a look, the sort she saw in long-married couples. Affection and adoration, old habits passed on.

"She'll need hydration and sustenance after this," the woman said.

"What, it's that dangerous?" Scout said.

"She wouldn't be used to it," she said. "Nor would she have the medical augmentations provided to keep her body intact through many teleporter rides."

"Good ol doc," Scout said. "Wait, she's goin' to be all right, right? She's like past you, and if past you goes, then you go—" Scout became more desperate, he clutched her wrist.

"That's not the case," she said, though she didn't elaborate further. "Follow me," she said.

"You need me to carry you?" Scout asked back of her.

"That won't be necessary—"

They both said it at once, as if it'd been a single shared thought expressed between them. For as different as this her, or version of her was, it was obvious that some things remained the same.

*

The infirmary was empty. The equipment looked like it'd been through a storm of bullets, the light swinging and veering close to falling to shatter on the floor.

"I'm fine, really," Miss Pauling protested.

"Well, yeah, you probably won't explode, time-travelin' Miss Pauling—" he turned to the other Miss Pauling. "You think I should just call you Sophie, and her Miss Pauling?"

"And spread news of my real identity all around base? Hardly," the Administrative Pauling said. She straightened her bun again, a nervous gesture Miss Pauling knew all too well.

"Scout....I need you to go inform the orderlies that the second match today is going to be canceled due to an unforseen circumstance."

Scout saluted her, his face full of such happiness and pride. "You can count on me."

He rushed out, with one last wink towards the other her, before literally vaulting out the doors. He'd certainly changed little, if this was, in fact, the future.

The Administrative Pauling pulled out a large straw-brimmed sun hat from one of the many shelves, most of which contained things like animal skulls, or jars of some sort of pickled monstrosity shoved between medical textbooks with bloody fingerprints all over them.

She held it out to Miss Pauling.

"If anyone asks, your name is Susan Pearling, and you're an independently hired consultant which is briefly advising me."

She undid her bun, as the hat sat awkwardly without it, and pulled the brim down to obscure her face somewhat.

"Better." The other her pulled something out from the fridge, hidden amongst several body parts and a few half-eaten sandwiches and beers. She shook the container, the usual Medic-created health potions the men used for work, though this one looked different. She watched as the woman pulled out a bottle of water, and poured only a few drops inside, before shaking it, and handing it to Miss Pauling.

She sipped, her mouth filled with a metallic tingle.

"Are you hungry?"

"Extremely," Miss Pauling said.

The lunch menu at the local diner should be just starting," she said.

Miss Pauling downed the rest of the bottle, before tossing it aside. It hit the rim of the trash can, and slid down into something reddish-brown and sticky. Everything seemed the same, easily explained via Respawn, all except for the woman leading her. But Miss Pauling knew that if she was anything like her, this was something she’d have to get out herself.

As she walked out, she memorized the surroundings as subtly as possible. Already her head felt clearer; the nausea had passed into something like calm. But it was the calm of waiting, the coming of a storm. She caught sight of a hallway marked Administrative Personnel Only.
In front of her, the Administrative Pauling didn’t even break stride. Miss Pauling followed with the same squared shoulders, the same facade of serenity. All it would take was one retina scan to tell. Until then, she would have to just bide her time.

*

The outside of the town was a mix of desert, rusty fences, barbed wire, and broken down wooden buildings which would've been at home in a Western. She wouldn't have personally chosen a public place, but perhaps the Administrative Pauling was making an alibi. The small town was filled with a rugged, stubborn sort; all others would have been pushed out by the constant gunfire, and TF Industries aggressively buying out the local populace. As she passed, they gave quick, distrustful looks. Miss Pauling was well used to this treatment, having seen it in many of the other towns near the other bases.

The Administrative Pauling went on ahead into the sole diner on the street. Most of the other shops were closed down, the paint peeled and faded in the desert sun. The faded windows were nicked with bullet holes, and caving in from rot and the remnants of some sort of explosive. It seemed this Soldier and Demoman were just as hard to control in regard to bars as the others she'd met.

There was sand caught in her heels. She leaned against the wall and poured it out in the doorway of the diner, which looked like an old saloon. The inside was dark, a bit gritty, with a dancefloor and jukebox at the far edge, past the threadbare booths.

She picked a table near the front, and Miss Pauling followed. The menu covered what her sunhat didn't, though she needn't worry; all the other patrons were deeply involved in their own conversations. Teufort populace rarely paid the mercenaries or workers of TFI any heed unless they were blowing up something again.

The crowd was so small that ordering food was a simple affair. She’d had her chicken and Swiss cheese on rye sandwich back quickly enough that she hadn't even had a chance to question the other her more deeply. The Administrative Pauling stirred sugar into her coffee, took a sip, and grimaced some more. Miss Pauling finished her sandwich quickly, to push down the gnawing hunger which had sprung up shortly after being treated for the teleporter ride.

"Excuse me, I have to ask—" Miss Pauling said.

the doors burst open, and Scout came in. The Administrative Pauling pulled her coffee away, and it was good plan, as Scout always made a grand entrance, and this time he rushed to their table and draped himself on the table, his legs hanging off of the top. He nearly tipped over the drink, Miss Pauling only just barely caught it. The Administrative Pauling poked him in the forehead as Miss Pauling watched. He laughed, and leaned back until his head leaned against the other woman. He looked up at her with pure adoration, bursting forth with the kind of affection she once doubted a bloodthirsty mercenary like was capable of.

"Back just in time, not even a second late. Am I awesome or what?"

"I can't take you anywhere." Her voice was filled with an definite fondness through the exasperation.

"I can suggest a few places you can take me," Scout said. "Like the bedroom. And the bedroom, and the uh, closet, and the—" he suddenly looked to the side as he noticed the jukebox start up. He grabbed her hand, all eagerness as he pulled her up from the booth.

"C'mon, dance with me," he said.

"We have company," she said.

"She's a big girl, she can take care of herself for a while," Scout said.

"Go on; I don't need a chaperone," Miss Pauling said

"Okay. But only a short one, I have to return to guard duty soon," she said.

Scout led her to the dance floor, which was empty of couples, given the very few patrons were busy eating lunch. As the song ended, Scout put a quarter in the jukebox, and punched in the buttons.

Miss Pauling didn't even have to guess what he'd pick. Long before the opening chords, she knew. Something Tom Jones, though not his usual favorite Sex Bomb, this time, it was She's A Lady.

Scout's face lit up as he spun her around with surprising grace and agility. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised he could dance; he always was good with reflexes and physical things. Her skirt was too straight to swirl, but that didn't stop him from outright dipping her, as listless patrons kept to their own lives. Some looked, but none of them saw this as a noteworthy event, even though Scout was a damn fine dancer.

She guessed it happened often, that his grand declarations and shows of romance were such commonplace that Teufort took no notice. This Scout, this possible version of her were such obvious lovebirds that the whole world knew and most of all, didn’t care.

Miss Pauling caught the sound of a feminine laugh, one that mirrored her own voice. He caught her hands, and spun her one last time as the jukebox changed. The song turned to something quiet and smokey, and he slowed, but didn't let go of her hands. Apparently he'd put in more quarters than Miss Pauling realized. He leaned in for a slow dance, close enough to whisper, though knowing Scout, everyone could hear his flirting.

Miss Pauling felt something cold and dark settle in her chest, as if all the loneliness of six years had awoken all at once. A dark void of regrets and things left behind, everything she disregarded and buried deep in work as she lost touch with friends who gradually stopped sending pictures of their new children, as her own family gradually stopped calling, or expecting her to respond.

She hadn't smiled in years like the other her was smiling, but most of all, this woman hadn't sacrificed either her career or her affection. By all means, she'd gotten a raise of sorts, though a double-edged one, as this her, whether future or some different universe, had been put to this little out of the way base: a place so small and secret that no records mentioned it.

And this was what she couldn't understand. Why would the Administrator reward the other woman's behavior? Miss Pauling had sent back data on countless coworkers, and never once had a revealed relationship, platonic or otherwise, gone unpunished, unless it was with the upper tier.
Not even Miss Pauling could be expected to try and control Saxton Hale's love life.

Miss Pauling took several calming breaths to steady herself. When her feelings were in check, when the lovebirds were at the farthest point of the dance floor, then she made her move. She got up, and made her way towards the back hall, so anyone who saw her would assume she'd gone to the bathrooms in the back, and not towards the side doors and back towards the base. She let the sunhat float down towards the sandy ground of the little town. She'd have to be herself to get anywhere near the inner workings.

But she needn't have worried; they didn't notice anything but each other.

*

It took more time to find than she would've liked. The base was unfamiliar to her, and as she knew well, these bases were built to keep outsiders from the inner core of the computers and surveillance room. Even her attempts to memorize were hit by many similar metal corners and hallways which were nigh identical to each other. What was on her side was most of the base recognized her, at least in part. There were too many notes on her different dress and hair for her taste; this Miss Pauling was a bit closer to her personnel than she ever had been.

But in less than fifteen minutes of walking through the back halls, she found again the personnel hallway, and a locked door with a keypad. She had no tools of the trade, no dust to wipe for prints. Besides, Miss Pauling guessed that if the other her was real, she'd use gloves, just as she did.

Miss Pauling had changed her own passwords daily. She usually settled on things that she had never shared, like obscure characters from books she had read converted into numbers. No one, not even a Spy at his most mischievous, or the Administrator herself, had ever cracked them.

Jane Fairfax brought up nothing.

Would this other her, or version of her, rely on the same tactics? Just how alike were they?

On an errant thought, she started inputting versions of his name. Scout was too easy, but few knew his actual name. His birthday, first name, and mother's name all failed, but as she inputted his last name, she found the door began to accept it. Lights flashed, as the mechanical door pushed back. The retina and fingerprint scans went far more easily, and soon she was granted access to the small control room, much like the many other smokey, dark, stale rooms she'd done surveillance work in.

This answered one question: the woman was herself, but in what time, what frame, or what means, she didn’t know.

Miss Pauling walked into the control room slowly, with an eye out for traps or other barriers. No orderlies came, no one questioned her presence. She had hidden in plain sight, and yet, something didn't sit right with her.

The seat was too large, with the top making a sharp enough top to impale someone on its purple leather, but they invariably were. The Administrator’s taste tended towards Bond villain, and Miss Pauling could never tell if it was ironic, coincidental, or she just really enjoyed the works of Ian Fleming.

She heard the door open behind her, and turned, her hand lingering on her thigh where her gun was holstered.

"That took even less time than I thought it would," the Administrative Pauling said.

"Really, Dempsey?" Miss Pauling said. "Don’t tell me that falling in love made your brain rot."

"I knew you'd end up here eventually; I changed it to something you'd expect. After all, you always expect the least of people," she said.

That was one thing she could never deny. She’d had to reevaluate her opinion of the mercenaries many times through the years; even the most twisted of them were capable of some bizarre logic genius.

"I suppose you want an explanation," the other her said.

"I'd like more than one. Is this my future? How on earth did you twist the Administrator's arm into this with this—"

"Wrongdoing? A torrid little affair?" the other her smiled. "Really?"

"I never said as much," Miss Pauling said.

"It was implied," she replied.

Miss Pauling didn't reply to that. It was rather hard to lie to another her.

"No, I'm not your future, though some of it could be yours if you wish. This base was to preserve the Gravel Wars, possibly forever, as I've seen no talk of dates or a shutdown period. As for why, that is known only to the Administrator herself. My administrative abilities are solely limited to running this base itself."

She came closer, until she was by Miss Pauling's side at the large chair.

"I didn't realize the Respawn copies were kept for any period of time."

"Some bases keep them. That's all I know.

"Wouldn't keep them in line?" Miss Pauling said.

The other her shrugged slightly. "Some are better than others. We hired Spy to impersonate their loved ones after we'd found out that he'd already been stealing and editing his own Respawn data."

When in doubt, Spy was always the cause when it came to high administrative leaks. But he was too capable to ever be punished for long.

"And I suppose Scout gets into to even worse trouble," Miss Pauling.

"You've heard the stories?" The Administrative Pauling smiled. She couldn't keep the fondness out of her voice as she spoke. "He aggressively resists data editing on a level beyond consciousness. No matter what the technicians tried, he wouldn't forget you and his family more than a short time. But extensive data and memory editing isn't used so much anymore, now that we've successfully turned the Spies against the men. It's a far easier solution, and there's less likelihood of Respawn corruption."

Miss Pauling had never taken part in any of the memory implants, the data editing which had once been so revolutionary, but had some particularly horrifying results. However, she'd seen the reports. But that wasn't what stood out for her.

"Me? His family I could see, but..." She trailed off.

The other her smiled. "Really, Scout isn't hard to keep in line. I keep mine close, and he hasn't needed disciplinary action in years."

She said his name like a secret too good to keep. It was a good thing that their relationship didn't need to be kept hidden, as every reference to him there was a thousand little tellings of her happiness. It only stirred up the dark void in her chest, now tinged with a bitter rawness. Green-eyed jealousy stretched out through her, making her tense.

"I don't see what this has to do with my question," Miss Pauling said tersely.

"Earlier today wasn't the first time your heel caught on flooring and vaulted you into machinery. Three years ago, while inputting data into Respawn, you fell in."

Miss Pauling frowned at the memory. "But, nothing came of it."

"It did," the other her said. "Your data was inputted, and later perfected and used."

"She—stole my DNA?"

"Why would you doubt she would?" the other her said. "For all you know, she could've ordered the floor to be damaged at that exact angle, to facilitate an excuse."

The reports took on a new horrific tinge. None of the men had suspected that those 'routine visits' would be to erase memories of their life, attempt to change their more undesirable personality traits, even at the risk of warping them into something unrecognizable. And she could have very well been subjected to the same thing.

"How many of me are there?" Miss Pauling said.

The other her paused a moment before responding.

"...I don't know the exact number. I wouldn't be surprised if she's put a version of you at every base," she said.

Miss Pauling shook her head. The facts were clear, and yet, something within her refused this. Not illogical; she'd seen the Administrator do far worse. But, Miss Pauling had been different. She was the trusted one, the one that wouldn't be buried in a shallow grave. She was too useful, too knowledgeable to get rid of. She even at times liked to think that the Administrator liked her enough not to betray her.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

"Why did you never look into this? Even as you knew, you just ignored it—"

"I have things to lose," she said. She rested her hand over her stomach, a knew instinct, a secret told without words.

"Oh..." Miss Pauling said.

"I just found out for certain this week, but I haven't told him yet," she said.

She'd been looking at everything from the wrong angle. This version of her wasn't rewarded and free; whatever positions and allowances that were made, were made under the thick noose which grew ever tighter. The minute she stepped out of line, she'd be sent pictures of her loved ones, just as Miss Pauling had helped set up with the mercenaries, and countless other coworkers.

She continued on, her face obscured by the low light, the smokey haze of the control room. Miss Pauling wondered if she'd taken up smoking, or if she kept those cigarettes on the underpanels just in case the Administrator ever returned.

"What I do know, is that we don't contact anyone you may have known. We might as well be separate people. Unlike the mercenaries, we don't have our memories tampered with. At least, in that fashion. We know we aren't the original, we accept it and get on with our lives, knowing that we can never go back, and find comfort where it is needed."

"Have you ever talked to...any of the others?" Miss Pauling said.

"No," she replied. The other her turned towards the computer, her hands lingering on the keys, but not actually pushing them down. Only when her entire frame blocked Miss Pauling's view did she input the code.

"It's best not to push my luck. After all, she isn't beyond destroying us. I know at least one of us was. Base 32 was destroyed completely, without any relocation of staff or mercenaries, even the ones without Respawn copies."

"But, she's a Respawn copy—she could've simply been revived, and—"

She shook her head. "No, our memories aren't inputted, only important data. If any of us die, you'd come back, but not us."

"I...see," Miss Pauling said.

She'd never thought too closely, of what each mercenary's life meant. They came back, so each bloody, gory death across the screen was as real as a movie death. Memories lost, Respawn data destroyed–it didn't matter in the end, as long as they returned. The coworkers ones that didn't, well, they were simply too weak. Focusing on them would lead to her own downfall, her joining them in an unmarked grave somewhere. Kindness was not a trait that TF Industries tolerated, and she had expunged much of it from her veins.

The other her continued on past the silence.

"I've recalibrated the teleporter. I'm not sure what happened to drive you here; very few bases even acknowledge that this base is around. I disabled many of the recording systems earlier, but the record will still remain somewhere in the system."

Her brow furrowed as she typed. "It hardly bears mentioning that you need to be careful about repeating this data. The last thing I need is a repeat of Base 32 and the Administrator deciding that this is no longer needed."

"No," Miss Pauling said. "No."

The coming child, all this happiness that Miss Pauling might never have, but this version of her did, and all it would take was one explosion, one wrong move, one moment of the Administrator deciding they weren't needed any longer. The life of another her would remain to her decisions.

And if there were Respawn copies, the same could happen to her. For all she knew, it had happened before, and she'd been replaced in the night with new memories. It was a sharp, clawing thought—she looked down to her arms, her hands, even across her knees, but nothing told her that she was no longer herself, but a cleverly hidden copy.

Even the attempts to put back to reason this thought, it remained.

"...There's nothing to say. There was a teleporter malfunction, and the base sent me back some time later," Miss Pauling said.

"It isn't as if I haven't taken precautions. I always keep his Respawn data updated and on hand. I'll likely have to do the same for my child, when it's born. Still, that won't help us if she decides to pull another job like she did on Poopy Joe."

She looked to the side for a moment, and said so quietly, that Miss Pauling almost didn't hear the next words.

"...and I edit my own data."

Miss Pauling had never thought of backing her own experiences up in some place. Her life was never too much in danger. She was up high enough that no one threatened her life, rewrote her memories, or threatened her family. At least, as long as she stayed in line.

"Do you think any of the others do that? Was that what happened to Base 32?" Miss Pauling.

"No....as far as I can tell, Base 32 and the town nearby simply went up because it was linked to some secrets she wanted buried. I can't say about the others. Some may have, though it's highly discouraged, and getting found out could cause that data to be destroyed as punishment."

This was a dire ghost, a warning sign sent out in copies and shadows.

"I don't make promises lightly, but I won't let that happen," Miss Pauling said. Determination steeled her voice, the same voice she'd use to talk down men twice her size, with twice as much training.

She studied Miss Pauling, so alike and yet now a completely different person.

"You know the way. Burn the evidence; what the Administrator doesn't know won't hurt her. I presume at least one part, your relationship was based on just as much."

And there was nothing but a dry, mirthless chuckle from the other woman. In the end, they knew each other too well, even as they had grown into two different people who simply shared the same face and same name.

"I'll do my part, you do yours," Miss Pauling said.

"Good," the other her replied. She sat down and began to input system. Her fingers moved fast over the keys, and lights shone on the screen as the cameras all panned over every inch of the base. She could see snippets of other mercenaries living out their life in this base, their memories certainly edited so that they would never go beyond this one base. A prison of time kept, a keepsake with iron walls and an endless war archived in some desert corner.

And yet, that hadn't stopped any of them from finding happiness. Least of all the one who controlled the base, the one who knew most of all what they had lost. It struck her that the main reason why the town looked so much like a movie set was it was yet another facade; the miners might as well have been actors walking along a long fake life.

"...is it worth it? Risking it all every day, having someone you could lose?"

"Every moment," the other her replied. "Even if I lost the fear for a facade of safety, even if life would be easier, I wouldn't go back. Not for a second."

The woman didn't look back. Miss Pauling never was one for lingering goodbyes; her Respawn copy was no exception.


*

The second had been slightly better, as she knew what to expect. That hadn't changed the cold, the feeling of dizziness. She took small steps out, her hand against the wall to keep balance.

Engineer's papers fell from his hands. His goggles hung around his neck as he watched, with the kind of surprise that usually fell for the less composed mercenaries.

"Well, that was some detour," Miss Pauling said.

"We found her," Engineer said into the microphone. "Now somebody please go get that boy off the rooftops, he about tore the place up from its hinges tryin' to find her."

"I'll do it," Miss Pauling said. He handed her the radio, and switched the frequencies until heard the clanking of tin, the scuff of something—a bat?—and a desperate gasp, as he hit something hard straight on.

"Scout," she said. "Are you all right?"

"Miss—Miss Pauling! You're alive? You—you're here!"

"Yes...I was in the underground a bit. Some kind of error. Ahem...but I'm back now."

"But you were trapped there, with snakes and spiders and all alone, all because some asshole—"

"Well, I'd blame the system, not the people running it," she said. "It's really quite dangerous and faulty...I'll have to replace it later before anyone else gets hurt."

She waited, moments passed until a sudden noise, the crash she'd hoped, played into and wanted. She smiled to herself as the lights flickered off, the computers blacked out. Seconds passed and the backup generators didn't start, the cooling system which kept the computers functional sputtered ominously.

She heard Engineer swear outside the other room.

In the dark, she smiled. Scout's outbursts just might have saved them all. Disengaged from the system, she could erase all the data she needed. And the mercenaries were always going on and breaking this thing, leaving bases riddled with bulletholes. The fact that one of them had broken a key piece of equipment in a fit of rage was just another day, and certainly nothing suspicious.

"Oh crap. Did I just hit what I think I did? I—fuck—nah, fuckin' machine deserved it for—"

"Thank you, Scout," she said.

She shut the communication device before he could ask her what she meant.

*

Getting the system back online took hours, and by then, the teleporter had been scrapped. She'd personally seen that the data log would never be retrieved. Carried in a burlap sack, she had pieces of a motherboard. This shutdown would put them back weeks, maybe even months. With the robot war pushing ever on, the base might simply be abandoned, rather than rebuilt.

The crunch of gravel, then a leap. He caught up, not even remotely winded.

"Wait, Miss Pauling!"

He reached out for the scraps of the teleporter, stitched together in a bag, soon to be little more than so much other scrap metal to be junked for fuel.

"Hey, hey, I'll get that. You ain't gotta be doin' everythin'—You tired or somethin'? Hurt?"

"Do you wish to carry it?"

"Yeah, gimme," he said breathlessly. He swung the bag over his shoulder, wincing slightly as it hit his back. He was always hurting himself showing off, especially when she was around.

"It's been a while since I had a good buryin' the evidence diggin' session. Spy has been stealin' all the body-hidin' lately," Scout said.

He climbed into the truck with her, and they drove towards the twilight. The desert was spread out dust storms around them, obscuring the dark shapes of mountains, buildings lost to nature, and cacti.

"Hey, you ain't been right since you got back. Nobody hurt you, did they? I'll smash in their friggin'–"

"—No, I'm fine," she said.

"You're a lot of things, but you ain't fine. Well, you're fine fine, but not okay fine. You just don't look right, like you're holdin' back a headache or somethin'. Like a soul headache—"

Somehow, she understood that. It was a testament to how long she'd known him that his often incoherent metaphors and bad puns actually made sense.

"I'm just...." She shook her head. She couldn't think of a single person she could talk to. She'd kept everything in through assassinations and long days, and now she had no one to turn to, not even her Respawned self. Even as she knew she should never speak of this, the question am I even real anymore haunted her, making every step trying through the coldness when had overtaken her body on a warm night.

"What? Who do I gotta punch to make you good again? I'll—I'll even punch myself if it helps!"

"That isn't necessary," she said. "Really it isn't," she added as his lifted his fist to his face. "You can put your fist down now."

"Wait until I find the place," she said.

He complied, drumming his fingers on the side of the door as she kept driving. They drove for another fifteen minutes, until they'd reached a point past surveillance, then stopped. It was full dark now, and only the light of the headlights illuminated the desert landscape.

She was the first the grab the shovel, to try and crack the hard-packed sand, but he took it from her.

"Ain't no need for you to hurt your back. Now me, my back can't be hurt, it's too great."

He went on about his prowess for quite some time, though by then she had begun to mentally itemize a checklist of what she needed to do that night. He didn't even notice her inattention, so wrapped up in telling her the story of his mythical abs as he dug. She cut his story shut with a question in undertone. Even in the quiet, he heard her well enough to stop.

"I need to borrow your bat."

"Sure thing," he said. He turned, and she unzipped his bag, and pulled a metal one out.
After closing the bag, she poured out the contents of the sack and let the pieces of the computer land hard. She took a deep breath and struck down again and again.

He stepped back in shock, and let out a low whistle. "That's some damn good beatin'."

She gave one last whack, and tossed the bat his way. He reached and caught it, as she began to stomp on the remaining pieces. He pushed the remaining pieces into the hole with the shovel as she caught her breath. She sat down on the tailgate to ease her aching feet. Scout sat down beside her, his grass stained knees touching hers for a moment. Now that the last of that data was buried, she spoke aloud the questions that had been haunting her for hours.

"What was it like the first time you came out of Respawn? You faced your Respawn self?"

"Frickin' scariest thing, and I've seen my ma hungover and without smokes. Cold and like everythin's bein' pulled apart. Everythin' is all white and so, so cold, like these cold spikes or needles are all under your skin. Then it's this rush of bein' alive all over again, and everythin' goes too fast."

Her fingers twitched as she looked her arms over. There were no marks, not telling characteristics, but now that she was aware, she couldn't stop looking or feeling the phantom pain of a fate which might have happened to her and she hadn't even known. Possibly because her memories had been dealt with, or because some other part of her was cut away.

"I found out I was in Respawn today. I found out by meeting another version of me," she said barely above a whisper.

"Wait, you're in Respawn?" Scout said with new interest.

She nodded. She couldn't hold it back, now. Even as he was a coworker, as this should not be spoken aloud, the cold need of the fear clutched at her, forced her forward. Her strength and composure were little comfort to the kind of experiments she knew had happened to workers of TF Industries, especially the mercenaries.

"They didn't make you go head to head, did they?" Scout said. "I'll go take on the friggin' voice herself if they did that–"

"Oh, no. Actually, she's the de-facto Administrator for that base."

"Huh, that–that's great! What a promotion, huh? She gets to be the voice of the place, yellin' at everyone. Pretty sweet job, I bet. Just sittin' on your ass and givin' orders..."

"Shhh," she said.

"Sorry, force of habit," Scout said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She seemed pretty happy with it...and in general. See, she has her own life and loves. She's engaged, actually." To you, or someone like you, she didn't say.

"She used to be me, but now we're entirely different people who happen to share the same name and DNA. It was just very jarring, I suppose. I'm still getting used to it, though I should be, given where I work, but I never thought I'd have to deal with the sort of things you already deal with."

"Aw, it ain't so bad. It's a bit weird at first, but you're a strong girl. You'll take it like a champ. Like back then, fightin' the BLU Scout was so friggin' weird, but it wasn't that bad after all. Just him. Bad, that was. May the bastard rest in peace," Scout said.

"Actually, there's a BLU Scout at that base, so he's not gone. They've kept the Gravel wars alive, for some reason."

It was never her place to question the Administrator's motives about anything. And who knew? Maybe there were just as many versions of Administrator as there were of her. It'd explain her omnipresence.

"Good to hear, good to hear... I mean, he was an asshole, but I wouldn't want him really gone or nothin'," Scout said. "He was good to talk baseball with, despite bein' a loudmouth asshole and a half."

Scout was always terribly lacking in self-awareness, though this time it brought a smile to her face. He was full of so much life, even as he dealt with pain, even as he dealt with setbacks. Nothing set him back for long. He'd break through whatever problems life put in his way.

"Does it bother you?" she said.

"What, BLU? Nah, he ain't me and I ain't him. Don't matter if we got the same start....I know I'm the original one, but don't tell him that. Anyways, he's more like...a brother, if that makes sense," Scout said. "One I didn't get until later, but definitely not me."

Somehow, it did.

"...Scout. Do you think I'm real?"

"What are you talkin' about? Of course you're friggin' real—"

He'd gone through countless Respawns. The original Liam Dempsey no longer existed, but some ghost of him had been saved enough to bring him back over and over. And some deep unconscious part of him had refused to be changed. He never forgot his family, and he never forgot her, no matter what anyone ever tried through excruciating procedures.

"I'm tired and not thinking straight," she said.

"Wait, you're worried because Respawn—"

"I told you, I'm not thinking clearly," she said.

He reached out for her, then stopped, as if he remembered something. Then, he reached out again and did pull her against him. At first it was surprise as she awkwardly leaned against his shoulder, but in a few seconds, she relaxed somewhat.

"Just, lemme for a second. I can't stand seein' you sad. No, wait, lemme have my say. You're the original, I know it. There ain't nobody realer than you. I mean, you were a real original even before this, but even if it did happen—which I'm not sayin' it did—you wouldn't be any different. I mean, look at me. I died more times than I could count, and I am even awesomer than the guy I used to be. And I gotta say, the girl I met six years ago was pretty cute, but the one you grew into could kick her ass and look amazin' while doin' it."

He broke into a dreamy smile, and she was almost sure the positive that the mental image of her fighting herself had distracted him. She didn't break the silence as she looked out at the desert. The stars were clearer here than the city, full up in a landscape of dark sharpness. The chill of the night was lessened against him. A weariness came over her in waves. So much had happened this day, and there was so many consequences to clean up after this one rebellion.

But the other her was safe for now. And she'd fight, she'd kill and bury every secret to keep her that way.

She lifted her head drowsily. Unwilling to break the moment, and yet knowing that she had to, that the day was not over, and there were still tasks it was imperative she finish.

"And Scout..."

He looked down eagerly. "Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone about this," she said.

Scout mimed zipping his lips, locking a padlock and throwing the key away.

He smiled, and in that moment, she could see just a hint of why the other her had fallen in love with him, or at least, a version of him. Who knew, there could be hundreds of versions her and him in various stages of romance. On the dance floor, the other Scout and the other her had been so wrapped up in each other that the whole world had disappeared. She'd seen a moment of pure tenderness and intimacy that she'd never had, but another her had found.

"I think I understand now," she said.

"Understand what, Miss P?" he said.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "We should get going. I still have things to do."

They both got up from the tailgate, and threw the shovel in. She closed it, and he tipped his cap to her so hard that it obscured his vision for a moment. She smiled at the momentary stumble.

"All right, I'll keep you company until you get home. Ain't every day you get to have that much awesome in your life, eh?"

In that moment, he looked at her like she was the only girl in the world, or at least the only who would matter like this. She shook her head a moment, but the thought remained. As much as experience told her otherwise, tonight she'd seen it in motion.

"Thank you, Scout. And...good luck."

"Aw, thanks, but I don't need luck when I got skill like this. I'll win every point, every piece of intel and knock down every one of those robots. And I'll do it all for you," Scout said.

"I wasn't talking about the games," Miss Pauling said.

As she opened the door, she saw a glimpse of confusion, a flash of understanding. He talked the while way back, and she didn't mind the chatter or company.

*

The flashlight illuminated the dark room. The sensors were still down, but the floor was cold against her shoeless feet. Still, it was better than having someone hear. She bent in towards the towering computer console, the keyboard attached to this segment of Respawn.

A green light reflected over the room, giving it a sickly feel, like she'd stumbled into a movie and was now at the part where the mad scientist would appear. A truer tale than she ever thought before.

The extraction took less time than she thought. Miss Pauling took the disk, the back up data of herself. And to think, she was nigh invulnerable. Even immortality wasn't far off. She'd have to find a way to keep it on her–a piece of jewelry hollowed out, perhaps. A pendant or locket big enough to carry everything which would reassemble her; metallic autonomous soul.

Once she'd thought TF Industries would treat her differently than the lower, expendable coworkers, but that illusion was dashed. Now she had taken her life, her fate in her own hands. For now, she pushed it into the folds of her pocket, well aware of the spark of life there.

Now all that was left was to carve out her own happiness.

Miss Pauling slipped through the halls, shoes in hand, until she came to an area. Engineer had brought out his bug zapper, which ran on some generator of his own making, an experiment that hadn't been put into common use yet.

Scout sat on the ledge, looking up at the stars.

"Miss Pauling!" He said, with such fondness in his voice. He reeked happiness and adoration, and never could keep anything in– every secret was laid bare with a smile.

"You were waiting up for me?" Miss Pauling said.

"I just wanted to see if you needed anythin' before I turned in. It'll probably be a long day of clean up tomorrow, especially if we get another wave of robots with all this computer crap goin' on."

"No...but you could walk me home," Miss Pauling said.

He leapt up through the window, looking as if she'd given him a treasure beyond compare. Scout fell in step by her. No cameras caught this beginning between them. She'd break down more bases and lives to keep it that way.