TEAM FORTRESS SYSTEM OVERRIDE
Neon Shadows and Static Silence
The Mann Co. 100th Anniversary Gala was supposed to be a triumph of corporate excess. The grand ballroom of the Hilton was draped in heavy velvet the color of dried blood, illuminated by crystal chandeliers that cast a fractured, shimmering light over the assembled mercenaries, office staff, and a few brave civilians. The smell of expensive gin and cheap gunpowder hung in the air—a quintessential RED team perfume.
Jeremy Willis, known to the world as Scout, adjusted his tie for the fiftieth time. He felt like he was wearing a straightjacket. Beside him, Ethan—Renan to those who knew his heart—looked effortlessly elegant in a slim-fit charcoal suit that made his pastel-pink hair pop like a neon sign against the dark wood of the bar.
They had been dating for two months. Two months of stolen kisses in the resupply room, quiet nights at Ethan’s estate, and the constant, buzzing electricity of a secret that felt too big for Scout’s chest. The team knew, mostly. Even the Pyro had stopped trying to set Scout’s bed on fire as a "wedding gift." But the world outside the base was different. The world was loud, judgmental, and full of people who didn't understand the rules of the gravel pits.
"You look like you're about to have a stroke, Jeremy," Ethan whispered, leaning in just enough for the scent of his sandalwood cologne to hit Scout like a physical blow. "Relax. It’s a party. We’re supposed to be celebrating not being dead."
"I’m relaxed! I’m the king of relaxed!" Scout hissed back, his eyes darting toward the entrance. "I just... I invited Anthony. He’s here somewhere. Kay couldn't make it—flu or somethin'—so it’s just Anthony. And he’s... he’s a talker, Ethan."
"So? Let him talk," Ethan said, taking a sip of his drink. "You look handsome tonight, by the way. The blue brings out your eyes."
Scout felt a rush of warmth that he immediately tried to squash. "Yeah, well... you don't look half bad yourself. Quiet down, though. Soldier’s right over there, he’s got ears like a bat for anything he thinks is 'un-American.'"
They moved toward the large circular table where the rest of the mercenaries were gathered. Demoman was already three sheets to the wind, regaling a group of terrified secretaries with tales of sentient bread, while Heavy and Medic were engaged in a quiet, intense conversation over a plate of schnitzel.
Scout sat down, and Ethan slid into the chair next to him. Their thighs brushed under the table—a brief, electric contact that Scout quickly broke by shifting his seat.
"Hey, look who it is! The dynamic duo!" Anthony’s voice boomed across the table. He stumbled toward them, a half-empty martini glass sloshing in his hand. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy. "Jeremy! My man! I was lookin' for you!"
"Hey, Anthony. Take it easy on the gin, pal," Scout said, his voice tight.
Anthony slumped into a chair, nearly knocking over a vase of lilies. He pointed a finger at Scout, then at Ethan, a wide, drunken grin splitting his face. "I was tellin' those guys over there... you know, the guys in the suits? I was tellin' 'em how great it is. You know. That you and the pink-haired guy are finally a thing. About time, right? I mean, the way you were actin' at the mall? Total giveaway!"
The table went silent. Demoman stopped mid-sentence. Heavy lowered his fork. The Engineer adjusted his goggles, his expression unreadable.
Scout felt the blood drain from his face. He could feel Ethan’s gaze on the side of his head—a heavy, expectant weight.
"What? No! Anthony, you're hammered, man," Scout laughed, the sound coming out high and brittle. "He’s jokin'! We aren't... we're just teammates. You know how it is. We work together, we hang out. He's just talkin' trash."
Anthony blinked, his brow furrowed. "But you said—"
"I didn't say nothin'!" Scout snapped, his voice rising in panic. "I’m a ladies' man, remember? The Scout? Force of nature? I don't do... that."
He looked around the table. The mercenaries were exchanging glances—knowing, pitying, or simply indifferent. But to Scout, every look felt like a conviction. He felt the walls of the ballroom closing in.
Ethan’s hand, which had been resting near Scout’s on the table, slowly retracted. He didn't say a word. He just stared at his drink, his jaw tight.
"Actually," Scout said, standing up abruptly. "I’ll prove it. Watch this."
He turned toward the bar, where a blonde woman in a shimmering dress was waiting for a drink. He marched over, putting on his best "Boston Charm" mask, leaning against the mahogany with a cocky grin. He started talking, gesturing wildly, his back turned to the table, turned to Ethan. He didn't even hear what he was saying; he just needed to be seen with a woman. He needed the lie to be louder than the truth.
Ten minutes later, the performance had run its course. The woman looked bored, and Scout’s stomach was a knot of acid. He turned back to the table. Anthony had wandered off to harass the Sniper, and the mercenaries were back to their own conversations.
Ethan’s chair was empty.
"Where’d he go?" Scout asked, his voice small.
"He left about five minutes ago, lad," Demoman said, his voice surprisingly sober. "Didn't look too happy. If I were you, I'd check the exit."
Scout didn't walk; he ran. He checked the hallway, the coat check, the balcony. Finally, he pushed open the heavy doors to the restrooms. The music from the ballroom became a muffled, thumping heartbeat through the walls.
He heard it then—a soft, ragged sob coming from the far end of the room.
Ethan was huddled in the corner, sitting on the cold tile floor. His head was tucked between his knees, his shoulders shaking. The pastel-pink hair was disheveled, and when he looked up, Scout saw that his makeup—the careful, sharp eyeliner he’d spent an hour on—was smeared in dark streaks down his cheeks.
"Ethan," Scout whispered, stepping forward.
"Don't," Ethan said, his voice raw. "Just... don't, Jeremy."
Scout sat down on the floor a few feet away, his back against the marble wall. He looked at his polished shoes, unable to meet Ethan’s yellowish eyes. "I’m sorry. Anthony was just... he was blabbin', and I didn't know what to do."
"You denied me," Ethan said, finally looking at him. His voice wasn't angry; it was broken. "In front of everyone. You made me feel like I was a mistake you were trying to hide. Like I was something shameful."
"It’s not like that!" Scout protested, his hands flying up. "You don't get it. You don't have a mom back in Boston who thinks I’m the star athlete, the perfect son. You don't have friends outside this base who would... they wouldn't understand, Ethan! It would ruin my life. People talk. Word gets out."
"So what?" Ethan stood up, his height making the small room feel even more cramped. "I left my entire life behind in Brazil. I left a General for a father who wanted to kill me. I live in a world where I could be erased tomorrow. And I chose to be with you because I thought you were brave enough to hold my hand in the light."
"I am brave! I fight monsters every day!"
"But you're a coward when it comes to this," Ethan spat, gesturing between them. "I love you, Jeremy. I haven't felt this way about anyone in years. I was willing to deal with the secrets at work, the quiet nights... but tonight? You went and flirted with that girl just to prove a point? That hurt. That hurt more than the shrapnel, more than the scars."
Scout felt the tears pricking his own eyes, but he pushed them back with a surge of defensive anger. "You’re being selfish! You're not thinkin' about the consequences for me! If people find out, I’m not just 'The Scout' anymore. I’m... I’m something else. I’m a target. My life is at risk because of you and your 'honesty'!"
Ethan froze. The hurt in his eyes solidified into a cold, hard diamond of realization. "Are you blaming me? I didn't force you into my bed, Jeremy. I didn't force you to be affectionate, to tell me I was beautiful, to make me believe this was real. You started this. You chased me."
Ethan stepped closer, his shadow falling over Scout. "Do you even like me? Do you love me? Or was I just a 'tactical maneuver' for you, too?"
Scout’s stomach churned. He thought about his brothers, his mother’s face, the guys at the gym in Boston, the endless expectations of being the "tough guy." He felt the weight of a thousand voices telling him that this was wrong, that he was breaking the rules of the world he was born into.
"No," Scout said, the word feeling like a stone in his mouth. He didn't look up. "I don't. I was just... I was just testing my limits. Seein' what I could feel. It was an experiment, okay? That’s all."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the muffled music seemed to stop.
Ethan didn't scream. He didn't throw anything. He just let out a small, shaky breath that sounded like a balloon deflating. "I see."
He turned and walked toward the door. He didn't look back. The click of the door closing was the loudest sound Scout had ever heard.
Scout stayed on the floor. The tears finally came, hot and stinging, as he curled into a ball. He sobbed into his expensive blazer, the fabric smelling of Ethan’s cologne, a scent that now felt like a haunting. He stayed there until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen shut.
Eventually, he forced himself to stand. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to erase the evidence of his breakdown, and stumbled out into the hallway. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to crawl into his bed and pretend the last two months had been a fever dream.
He pushed through the exit of the ballroom, heading for the parking lot, when a blur of red caught his eye.
"Jeremy Willis!"
Aline, Ethan’s friend from the mall, was standing by the fountain. Her bob was perfectly in place, but her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. She lunged at him, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement.
"What did you do to him?" she screamed, grabbing the lapels of his blazer and shaking him. "He just ran past me crying! He wouldn't even stop!"
"Aline, get off—"
"No! You piece of shit!" she yelled, her voice drawing the attention of the departing guests. "He only talks about you! Every time I see him, it’s 'Jeremy said this' or 'Jeremy did that.' He thought you were different! He thought he finally found someone who wouldn't treat him like a secret!"
She shoved him back, her eyes flashing with tears of her own. "You’re a coward, Scout. You’re a pathetic, small-minded little boy. That’s what he feels about you now—you're just a piece of shit."
She turned and ran toward the street, presumably to find Ethan.
Scout stood in the parking lot, the desert wind chilling the sweat on his neck. He felt hollow. He felt like he’d just lost a game he didn't even realize he was playing.
The drive home was a blur of neon lights and static on the radio. He arrived at his small apartment, the air inside feeling stale and cold. He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't take off his suit. He just climbed onto the bed, lying face down on the covers, the darkness of the room matching the void in his chest.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen blindingly bright in the gloom. He opened his messages to Ethan.
*I’m sorry,* he typed, his fingers trembling. *I didn't mean that and you know that. I’m just scared. Please.*
He hit send.
He watched the screen. A moment later, the status changed. *Read.*
Scout held his breath, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear. Waiting for a reprieve.
Instead, the contact photo disappeared. The "Online" status vanished. He tried to send another message—a simple *Please*—but a red exclamation point appeared beside it.
*Message not delivered.*
He was blocked.
Scout let the phone drop to the floor. He closed his eyes, the image of Ethan’s smeared makeup burned into his eyelids. Tomorrow was a mission. Tomorrow he would have to be the Scout again. He would have to run fast, talk loud, and act like he was a force of nature.
But as he drifted into a fitful, dark sleep, he knew the truth. He wasn't a force of nature. He was just a boy in a dark room, realizing that he’d traded the only thing that mattered for a lie that no one believed anyway.