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TEAM FORTRESS SYSTEM OVERRIDE

Neon Lights and Lead Rain

The RED base felt different. The air was usually thick with the smell of Soldier’s grease and Medic’s various chemical experiments, but today, there was an underlying scent of sandalwood and expensive soap. Scout leaned against the corrugated metal wall of the main hangar, his heart doing a frantic tap-dance against his ribs.

Across the room, Ethan—the Hacker—was leaning against a crate, deep in conversation with Miss Pauling. He was back in his tactical gear, but he still looked effortlessly cool, his pastel-pink hair a bright defiance against the drab gray of the base. He looked up, his yellowish irises catching the light, and spotted Scout.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Ethan’s face. He raised a hand, giving Scout a small, casual wave.

Scout felt the heat rush to his ears. He quickly looked away, staring intensely at a nearby pile of gravel as if it were the most fascinating thing in New Mexico. He adjusted his cap, cleared his throat, and tried to adopt his usual "cool guy" slouch, but he just felt like a vibrating wire.

When Ethan finally headed toward the tech lab, Scout practically lunged at Miss Pauling.

"Hey, Pauling! Miss Pauling! Hey!"

She looked up from her clipboard, looking slightly more disheveled than usual. "Oh, hey, Scout. You okay? You look a little... twitchy."

"Me? Twitchy? Nah, I’m great. I’m fantastic. I’m a well-oiled machine of speed and charisma," Scout blurted out. He leaned in, trying to sound casual. "So, uh, you and the new guy. You guys seem real close. Like, real close. What’s the deal there? Is there a... thing?"

Pauling blinked, then let out a soft, tired laugh. "A 'thing'? Scout, Ethan and I are just friends. Good friends. He’s been helping me reorganize the digital archives."

"Oh. Just friends. Right. Good. Great," Scout said, feeling a wave of relief that was immediately followed by a sharp, stinging realization. "Wait, so... you’re not... you don't..."

Pauling’s expression softened. She reached out and patted his shoulder. "Scout, I think you’re a great guy. Truly. But I’m a lesbian. I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while, but you usually start talking about your batting average before I can get a word in."

Scout’s jaw dropped. The crush he’d nurtured for years, the one that had driven him to run through fire and collect countless buckets of chicken, was officially over before it had even started. "Oh. Wow. Okay. I... I did not see that coming."

"And as for Ethan," Pauling added, turning back to her notes, "he’s definitely off the market too. He’s had a crush on someone for a while now. He won't tell me who, though. Says it’s a 'system secret.'"

Scout felt a new, much more uncomfortable sensation: jealousy. It was a hot, prickly feeling that sat right next to his bruised ego. Ethan liked someone? Who? Was it some tech genius back in Brazil? Some high-fashion model from the city?

"Right. Cool. Secrets. I love secrets," Scout muttered, wandering off toward the locker rooms.

He pushed the door open, still lost in a daze of rejection and curiosity. He didn't expect anyone to be inside.

Ethan was standing by his locker, his tactical vest and shirt discarded on the bench. Scout froze. He’d seen the scars on Ethan’s face and arms, but seeing him like this was different. Ethan’s back was a map of old trauma—thin white lines from blades, puckered indentations from shrapnel, and a long, jagged scar that traced the curve of his spine.

But it wasn't just the scars. Ethan wasn't built like the Heavy or the Soldier. He was lean and athletic, with a surprisingly narrow waist that flared out into wider, powerful hips. He looked like a dancer who had been forged in a war zone.

"Holy SHIT!" Scout barked, the words escaping his mouth before he could think.

Ethan jumped, spinning around and grabbing his shirt to cover his chest. His eyes were wide with startle. "Uh... dude, what the hell was that? You trying to give me a heart attack?"

Scout’s face was a violent shade of red. He scrambled to find an excuse. "N-no! Nothing! I just... I think I saw a bug! A huge one! Like, a radioactive desert spider! It was right there!" He pointed vaguely at a corner.

Ethan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled his shirt on. He watched Scout fumble with his locker, his expression turning thoughtful. "Dude, are you okay? Like, yesterday at the mall, you were totally fine. We were having a good time, you were all happy and shit. And today you’re acting like I’m a ghost or a bill collector. What gives?"

Scout stuffed his cleats into his bag, refusing to look up. "I just... I got stuff on my mind, okay? Mission stuff. Professional mercenary stuff. You wouldn't get it."

"I literally served in a special ops unit, Jeremy," Ethan said dryly. "I think I understand 'mission stuff.'"

"Never mind," Scout snapped, zipping his bag with enough force to nearly break the track. "Let’s just go."

The briefing was grim. Miss Pauling stood before a map of a mountainous region. "BLU has a satellite factory in the Cascades. They’ve been using it to disrupt our supply lines, and worse, they’re threatening to leak our front-company data to the feds. The Administrator wants it gone. Not captured, not hacked—leveled. Total scorched earth."

The ride in the van was tense. Scout sat as far away from Ethan as possible, which was difficult given the cramped quarters. He watched as Ethan sat next to Sniper. The tall Australian had a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, speaking to him in low, encouraging tones. Ethan was nodding, looking at Sniper with a kind of soft, respectful warmth Scout hadn't seen him show anyone else.

*Is it him?* Scout thought, a ball of anger forming in his gut. *Does he like the Sniper? Is that why they’re always whispering?*

"Hey, Pinky," Scout hissed, leaning across the aisle.

Ethan looked over. "Yeah?"

"Who is it?"

Ethan blinked. "Who is what?"

"The person you like. Pauling said you got a crush. Is it the bushman? You guys look real cozy over there."

Ethan stared at him for a long beat, then let out a snort of laughter. "Mick? Scout, he’s basically my adoptive dad. He looked out for me when I first joined the company. That’s gross, man."

"Then who?!"

"None of your business, Boston," Ethan said, turning back to his tablet. "Focus on the bombs."

The mission was a chaotic nightmare. The BLU facility was a fortress built into the side of a cliff. As soon as the RED team breached the perimeter, the sky turned into a web of tracer fire and explosions.

"Planting the charges!" Demoman roared over the comms, his eyepatch glowing in the firelight. "Five minutes, lads! Then this whole mountain is going to meet its maker!"

Scout was a blur, distracting the sentries and drawing fire away from the Engineer’s nests. But the BLU reinforcements were endless. They were being pushed back toward the extraction point.

"Everyone to the van! Now!" Soldier screamed.

Scout was pinned down behind a stack of fuel barrels. "Guys, just go! I’m too far! I’ll figure something out!"

He saw the van roar to life, the rest of the team piling in as the countdown hit ten seconds. He didn't see Ethan in the van.

"Ethan! Where’s the Hacker?" Scout yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the first of the demolition charges.

The ground buckled. The entire facility began to collapse in a spectacular cascade of fire and screaming metal. Scout turned and sprinted toward the edge of the cliff, the only way out. He leaped, the heat of the explosion searing his back.

"OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, I’M GONNA DIE!" Scout screamed, his limbs flailing as he plummeted toward the jagged rocks below.

Then, a roar louder than the explosion tore through the air.

A sleek, black motorcycle shot off a side ramp, defying gravity. Ethan was at the handlebars, his pink hair whipping in the wind like a banner. He leaned the bike over in mid-air, reaching out a hand.

"Grab on!"

Scout lunged, his fingers catching Ethan’s forearm. He was yanked upward, slamming into Ethan’s back as they hit the downward slope of the mountain with a bone-jarring thud.

"Hold on tight!" Ethan yelled.

Scout wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, burying his face in the leather of his jacket. Behind them, several BLU technicals—trucks mounted with machine guns—emerged from the smoke, giving chase.

"They're on us!" Scout yelled, pulling his pistol.

What followed was a high-speed symphony of lead. Ethan drove like a maniac, weaving the bike between trees and boulders at a hundred miles an hour, while Scout leaned out, firing back at the pursuing trucks.

"Take that, you bucket-heads!" Scout screamed as he tossed a stray grenade he’d swiped from Demoman. It landed perfectly in the bed of the lead truck, sending it flipping into a ravine.

"WE DID IT! WE ACTUALLY DID IT!!" Scout cheered, his adrenaline spiking to dangerous levels. He squeezed Ethan tighter. "You see that? I blew 'em sky-high!"

Then, he felt something wet.

He looked down. His hands, wrapped around Ethan’s stomach, were slick with deep, dark crimson. Ethan’s left hand on the handlebar was shaking, blood dripping from his sleeve.

"Dude, you’re bleeding! We need to stop! You’re hit bad!"

"Nah, relax," Ethan wheezed, his voice tight with pain. "I can handle it. Just gotta... reach the border..."

Ethan kicked the bike into its highest gear. They blurred across the desert floor, the wind howling in their ears. They reached the RED outpost at the border, sliding the bike to a halt in a cloud of dust. Ethan fumbled for his tablet, uploaded the mission completion report with a trembling finger, and then his head slumped forward.

"Ethan? Ethan!"

The Hacker collapsed sideways, Scout barely catching him before they both hit the dirt.

Two days later, the infirmary was quiet, save for the steady hum of a heart monitor. Medic sat in a chair, rubbing his eyes behind his spectacles.

"Alright, I’ve been here for forty-eight hours, and I am getting exhausted from staying up all night waiting for him to wake up," Medic sighed, looking at Scout, who had been sitting in the corner the entire time. "Anyone willing to volunteer to stay vith him so I can sleep for exactly three hours?"

Scout stood up immediately, his hand shooting into the air. "I—I don't mind doing it. I’m not tired anyway."

Medic nodded, too tired to argue, and retreated to his private quarters.

At three in the morning, the room was bathed in the soft blue glow of the monitors. Ethan stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. His chest was wrapped in heavy bandages, and his face was pale.

"Where am I...?" he whispered, his eyes fluttering open.

Scout jumped up, knocking over a tray of tongue depressors. "Whoa, hey! You're at the base. Medic fixed you up. You were out for a while, man."

Ethan looked down at his torso. Scout was holding a fresh roll of bandages. "What are you doing?"

"I was... uh, changing your dressings. Medic said I had to keep an eye on the drainage," Scout said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Ethan sighed, closing his eyes. "Oh. You can keep going. My stomach feels like it was put through a paper shredder."

Scout began to gently unwind the old gauze. He was trying to be careful, but every time the fabric tugged at the wound, Ethan made a small, sharp sound of pain—a hissed intake of breath or a soft whimper.

Scout’s hands started to shake. The sounds were doing things to his head, making his heart race in a way that wasn't about adrenaline. "Can you stop with that shit?" he snapped, his voice cracking.

Ethan opened one eye, looking offended. "Dude, I’m in pain! I have a hole in my gut! How the hell do you expect me not to make any noise?"

Scout felt the familiar prickle of frustration and something else—something that felt like a confession. He shoved the roll of bandages into Ethan’s hand. "Fine! You do this shit yourself, then! I’m clearly not doing it right!"

"Okay, okay, I’ll do it," Ethan grumbled, slowly sitting up and taking over the task.

The silence that followed was heavy. Scout sat back on his stool, picking at a loose thread on his glove.

"Hey," Scout said after a minute. "I’m... I’m sorry. For being a jerk today. And for the last few weeks."

Ethan paused, his hands still on the bandages. "Where is this coming from?"

"I was jealous," Scout admitted, the words feeling like lead in his mouth. "I thought... I’ve liked Pauling since I started here. And I saw you two, and I thought you were together. And then she told me she likes girls, and I felt like a total moron."

Ethan looked at him, his expression softening into something genuinely kind. "Damn... yeah. I was gonna tell you eventually, Jeremy, but I didn't want to make you feel bad. You’re sensitive about that stuff."

Scout looked up, his eyes meeting Ethan’s. "You could... y’know... make it up to me by telling me who *you* like. Since it ain't Pauling and it ain't the Sniper."

Ethan gave him a suspicious look. "Why are you so obsessed with this?"

"I just wanna know! Is it... is it the Soldier? You guys argue a lot. That’s like a thing, right?"

Ethan laughed, then immediately winced, clutching his side. "No. God, no. He’d try to marry me to a flagpole."

"Okay, okay... Heavy? He’s big, he’s protective..."

"No. He’s married to his gun, Scout."

"Spy? You guys both do the stealth thing."

"No! Dude, leave me alone, for the love of God!" Ethan groaned, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Go to sleep, Jeremy."

"I ain't sleeping until I get a name!" Scout leaned forward, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Is it the Medic? Do you have a thing for the mad scientist vibe?"

"Go. To. Sleep."

"Is it the Pyro? I mean, we don't even know what’s under the mask, maybe you’re into the mystery!"

Ethan groaned into his pillow, but he couldn't hide the small, tired smile that touched his lips as Scout continued to pester him into the early hours of the morning. For the first time, the tension between them didn't feel like a fight. It felt like the start of something else entirely.