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Chapter Text

MEET THE HORROR

Franziska “The (Bio)Horror” Ludwig

RED Team’s living weapon. Dear god.

Class: Support-Offense… thing.

“What the hell is that thing?!”

(Audio: The classic Meet the Mercenary jingle, yet it sounds off. It’s slower and slightly garbled.)

[A bloodied title card, reading MEET THE HORROR is displayed on screen.]

SCENE 1

The camera rushes down a RED medical hallway, the fluorescent lights flickering, suspiciously dark stains on the floor. Heavy stomps into frame, visibly shaken, minigun poised. He speaks in his familiar Russian accent.

Heavy: "Where is doctor?"

[The camera pans to the door at the end of the hall, opening with a wet squelch. Out steps Franziska Ludwig. Silhouette first; too tall, too crooked, coat swaying like it’s alive. The camera zooms into her face, revealing 8 glistening eyes and a grin that doesn’t stop.]

Horror: "Dead? Not yet."

[She tilts her head, bones crackling. Think Cyn from Murder Drones. ]

Horror: "But give me a minute."

(Music shifts to deranged violin screech followed by a sludgy, offbeat variant of MEDIC! jingle.)

SCENE 2

[Cut to Horror chases BLU Scout down a hallway on all fours, laughing between breaths.]

Horror : "Run, little liver! Run faster!"

[Cut to her jamming her bonesaw into BLU Soldier, but the blade grows teeth, gnawing into him.]

Horror: "My tools are… adaptive."

[Cut to her with an Ubercharge, her flesh quite literally hardens into armor, deflecting a rocket.]

Horror : "I am invincible AND disgusting!"

SCENE 3

[Black-and-white slideshow narrated dramatically by Horror herself.]

[Photo 1: Medic proudly presenting a giant jar labeled “EXPERIMENT 17: VERY ILLEGAL.”]

[Photo 2: Horror mid-mutation, waving with a tentacle.]

[Photo 3: RED Team staring at her, horrified.]

[Photo 4: Medic shrugging.]

Horror (voiceover) : I was born from science, curiosity, and very, VERY questionable ethics."

SCENE 4

[Horror activates Ubercharge. Her skin temporarily turns transparent, showing organs shifting and mutating in real time.]

Horror: "Power-up? Sure, if you want to call it that!”

[she picks up a dead Spy and squeezes him like a tube of toothpaste, launching his organs at an incoming Pyro to knock them off a ledge.

Horror: "Efficient AND entertaining!"

[She heals Heavy, but his muscles become grotesquely oversized, popping his shirt seams.]

Heavy: “Heavy does not like this!"

Horror: "Good! Neither do I!"

SCENE 5

[Horror stands over a pile of BLU corpses, wiping blood off her saw. She looks at the camera, smiling wide.]

Horror: “This will be fun."

ENDING

(Meet the mercenary jingle plays once again.)

[Cuts to the MEET THE HORROR screen once again.]

Chapter Text

MEET THE STRIKER
Fox “The Striker” Athanasoulas
Drone Striker of RED Team
Class: Defense
Newest member of Mann Co. No one’s favorite.

(Audio: A music box version of the Meet the Mercenary jingle.)

[A blank title card is seen, at the bottom left, a Balloonicorn plush, and a missile.]

(The audio is suddenly cut off by an explosion sound effect, and the trumpets of the familiar Meet the Mercenary jingle.)

[Soon after, an explosion at the center of the title card. A text reads Meet the Striker. The aforementioned missile is no longer in sight, and the Balloonicorn has been reduced to fabric and stuffing, torn apart on the backdrop.]

SCENE 1
[Striker sits in a cozy corner of the RED base, a silhouette of unkempt hair and an albeit short stature. Behind him: shelves of plushies, tools, and drone parts. He’s wearing his goggles, clearly not belonging to him, but rather Engineer’s, pushed up on his forehead, against black curly locks of hair, sewing a plush silently. He speaks, a Greek accent apparent.]

Striker: “My name is Fox. Most people here just call me Striker."

[He shrugs casually.]

"I make things. Mostly explode. Sometimes hug.”

[A red text flashes on the screen. NOT ENGINEER.]

[The camera pans to Spy, walking past the room. One of the plushies on the shelf turns toward him and hisses. Spy shouts “MON DIEU!” and sprints off.]

SCENE 2
[Intense battle music plays. The Striker jumps from a vent, combat boots belting straight into the back of the head of a BLU Pyro. He pulls out a tablet-like device, presses a seemingly random part of the screen, a crowd of BLUs quickly disperse as, as if on cue, a missile is shooting downwards. Striker flips backwards to dodge. He tosses a plush grenade that explodes in confetti and smoke. The smoke clears, and BLU Soldier is unconscious with a “Get Well Soon” tag stapled to his forehead.]

Striker: “Some ask me; Why did I join Mann co.? Easy. To compensate for my weaknesses. Small stature. Fragile bones. Crippling anxiety."

[Record scratch.]

Striker: "Now I’m just small, fast, and absolutely terrifying."

SCENE 3
[Cut to him gently brushing the hair of a plush Heavy while humming a Greek lullaby.]

Striker: "They say I’m weird. That I don’t fit in."

[Cut to RED team sitting at the lunch table]

Heavy: "He make doll of me."
Demo: "Aye, and the doll judged me."
Scout: "He’s just quiet and full of secrets! Like Pyro, but soft!"
Striker (off-screen, gentle voice): "I made you all one."

[He tosses a plush Spy onto the table. It blinks. Everyone screams.]

SCENE 4 (Meet the Girlfriend)
[Horror, snarling and mutating mid-fight, raises a bonesaw. Striker calmly walks past her, slides under a rocket, and blows up a turret. They exchange a look mid-battle. She grins wide. He blushes. They both leap into combat together, a glowing Übercharge surrounding them. The scene pauses.]

Striker: "Franziska understands me. She’s… an acquired taste. But so am I. She cuts, I stitch. We balance."

SCENE 5
[Striker is back in the workshop. The camera slowly zooms in as he hugs a plush Horror.]

Striker: "I’m not here to make friends. But if you hurt the ones I love... well..."

[A soft smile. His eye twitches.]

"...I know exactly where to place the charge."

ENDING
(Meet the mercenary jingle plays once again.)

[Cut to the MEET THE STRIKER screen again. Text is plastered on, writing;]

THE STRIKER JOINS THE FIGHT Now with 100% more emotional damage.

Chapter Text

The Striker/Fox's Perspective

---------------

"It's not a date. It's not a date."

Those were the words that ran on loop like a broken record in Fox's head. Surely if he denies it enough, it will come true, yes? Or so he hoped.

Fox wasn't exactly sure himself how he got into the situation, as last he recalled, he was sewing the last seams into the plush of the final mercenary, the only one he neglected to create; Franziska, colloquially known as The Biohorror. The name alone was enough to stir fear into the mercenaries, and, in a way, Fox as well. 

It was her... the one who first appeared so mysteriously, left the entire team with questions that even the supervisor, Miss Pauling, was sure she did not want to know the answers to. 

Her demeanor was chilling and brazen with animosity. Her presence was warm and cold, and the constant smell of death, formaldehyde and fresh blood was a constant within the areas she lurked.

Even Fox second-guessed himself when humoring the possibility of bringing her one of his handmades. And yet, he felt a calling from within. Urging him, a warm feeling inside at the possibility of presenting his finished product to her. A moment of apotheosis, like taming a rampant beast... though that was just a fantasy. 

On one hand, Fox was worried that if he presented her with a doll made in her own likeness, she could be freaked out and do something horrible to him. On the contrary, what if she got jealous everyone else had one, but not her? Granted, not everyone was a fan of his creations, and especially not the RED team, who near collectively hated them, which became apparent following the rumors of Spy's doll anomalously gaining the ability to blink.

Although he shuddered at his imagination of what could possibly happen had he gone through with delivering the creation, Fox ultimately desired continuity for his patterns. Gotta stay consistent, after all, everyone ELSE has one... even her self-proclaimed father.

"Curse it all," Fox hissed. "I'll do it."

And so, attaching the last crimson red felt tentacle-appendage, he stitched up the holes, and trudged into the clinic. Within the walk through the halls of the RED base, Fox began to fear the consequences of his impulse decision. Words of uncertainly flooded his mind, everything in the dictionary, English and Greek. "What if," "ηλίθιος," "Death," "χαζός." "χαζός." "χαζός."

Soon enough, Fox found himself muttering how much of a hubris-drunk fool he was in his native tongue. Crossing the threshold of the empty clinic, a frigid sensation wracked up throughout his entire body, something telling him he had to get out immediately, had he not possessed a death wish. He flicked on a light, which flickered eerily. He could've sworn Engi said he'd get those lights fixed...

Now where to put this...? He searched around for an empty spot. The counters and tabletops were filled with jars, not ones Fox wanted to risk knocking over. The examination table had a white cloth on it, visibly with something under it, but once again, this was a risk to check. And finally, he saw it. The bench. Perfect. He slipped the doll onto the wood, whispering... 

"Please don't come alive and scream..."

Not that he was aware of his creations ever coming alive, besides the rumors of the aforementioned Spy's blinking, and Scout's accounts to the one Fox made of himself allegedly crying when he walks past his room when Fox is battling, in which Demoman and Heavy backed him up on. Allegedly.

Much to Fox's surprise, however, after placing the plush down, not a peep was heard. He breathed out a sigh he did not even realize he was holding, and slipped back away into his barracks, not stopping to think how he neglected to turn off the lights, or close the door, for that matter.

----------------------

The Biohorror/Franziska's Perspective

----------------------

Franziska was awoken quite rudely by a bright, fluorescent and gloriously artificial light. The sheets she hid under did little to obscure the blinding sight. She muttered under her breath in a tongue not quite native to her in a cosmic sense.

"Dummkopf," She grumbles. "Not even mein father enters at this hour."


Not that she was in the mood to confront the clinic's intruder, though, despite having all the power necessary to chase them off... No, the clever snake opts to hide her fangs, first. 

With eight eyes open, all blinking in a separate rhythm, she observed with a curiosity, and her irritation at bay. 

"It's the small one, with the dark hair." She noted silently, and watched as the thin drone striker left his parcel at the bench, and scurried off, not so much bothering as to clean up after himself.

"A present?" She mused, not taking care to ensure he had fully left the scene. Not that it mattered much to her, anyways. 

Franziska stood up, picking up the little doll...

----------------------

The Striker/Fox's Perspective

----------------------

Fox awoke with a light yelp, from his own plush staring back at him with many eyes. Dear god... was this it? Was the rumors true? He glanced his creation up and down, it was the one for and depicting Franziska. But why? Why would she return it? Fox spots a piece of parchment paper, the same material used on examination beds in the doctor's offices, scrawled upon with a dark liquid that ever so slightly smelled. Quite difficult to make out, too. After a minute's worth of staring, he determined...

COME TO THE LEGACY CLINIC AT 7 P.M. 

BRING GLOVES

LEAVE REFRESHMENTS TO ME

The Legacy Clinic in this context seems to refer to the abandoned battlements in 2Fort. Why here? He questioned. With a blink and a rubbing of his (quite defined) eye bags, just once more to confirm his reality, he picked up the note, gazing to the clock. 7 A.M. on the dot; 12 hours until showtime.

The day seemed to pass slowly, possibly due to Fox checking the clock on a bi-minutely basis, constantly paranoid of the very passing of time. Even his assignments were no match for his constant monitoring of the clockwork's hands. The payload still failed to deliver despite his constant distraction, and the paperwork was simply delayed for a later time. Miss Pauling's going to be pissed, he thought, but paid no care. That was simply to be a future him problem.

Finally, the clock turned to 6:45 P.M. With no time to waste, Fox slipped on his cleanest red trench coat, scurrying to the abandoned former 2Fort location.

The location was run-down, giving off a lonely ambience. One where he could confirm his total privacy, not even fearing the potential of being caught. After all, what fool would willingly enter an abandoned mercenary battle site at a train track's crossroads? No one would be stupid enough to do that. Except Fox, the lovesick fool.

As he crossed through the pathways of the abandoned base, he stirred up clouds of dust, destroyed cobwebs that even spiders have long left behind, and catching glimpses of memories and victories from years before, possibly even before the days of the RED mercenaries he came to be familiar with.

Opening the door of the battlements, a dim candlelight's spark had drawn his attention, like the dot of a lone sniper's most treasured gun. A voice beckons him further. A voice resembling Medic's, only slightly higher and more monotone, a contrast to his usual emotion of pure madness. 

"Come on, take a seat."

He followed the request, and sat down. The table was spotless and clean, unlike the walls and flooring. Pushing the candle, Fox could see his date, realizing he never got a good look of her from the start, as she never showed up to meetings, as always skittering about the RED base during the night, and otherwise terrorizing people of more interest to her. And so, Fox gave her a thorough glance, noting the way her many eyes blinked separately, like some gecko-spider hybrid. But humanoid. Light, blood-colored horns shined in the light, though it couldn't be keratin, though God knows what those are made of. And her usually bloodstrained dress is now a clean white coat, not a wrinkle nor a discoloration in sight.

"You came." She grinned toothily.

Fox shuffled. "I always do when you ask, not that you ever have."

"Fascinating." Franziska looked down, as though she were writing something on a clipboard... though there was none in sight.

Dinner, as it turned out, was a selection of various body parts... and a jar of water, or so he wanted to believe. Fox pretended to cut the rotting cadaver's disembodied limbs. He fidgeted with a conspicuously syringe shaped tea stirrer. 

"So, what do you do... for fun?"

“I induce fear,” she replied casually, taking a sip from a jar labeled “Clot Me Later.”

Fox blinked. “In people?”

“In myself,” she added. “Fear is just curiosity in a straight jacket.”

He smiled. “That’s the most romantically poetic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

The evening ended with the two side-by-side, laying on an old gurney. He jolted slightly, realizing he forgot something this entire time. Out of his pocket, he slipped out a stitched plush heart.

"I saw this by my desk, I forgot to insert it. I wasn’t sure if this was a date,” he spoke quietly. “But I thought you’d like… a version of you that’s huggable.”

For several long seconds, she did not respond. While Fox was considering all the possibilities of how he possibly fucked up so badly with his words, she responded.

"The mental dissection is complete. My verdict dubs it flawless."

Then, Fox feels something on his lap. 

He gazed to see a plush of himself, wide-eyed and stitched with tiny stress lines, cradling a heart. anatomically correct. Beating. It was mechanical, he'd convinced himself.

“I do not understand romance,” she sighed, averting her gaze for the first time.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, already hugging the plush. With his stray hand, he grabbed Franziska's gloved hand.