"You failed!" accused the Announcer over the loud speakers, her voice dripping with disdain.

No, really? The BLU Medic grumbled to himself, ducking around an apparently abandoned dump truck and into the drain pipes that would lead him to the territory the BLUs were still technically in control of. It would be a few minutes before the ceasefire would officially be called, minutes that the winners would use to hunt down as many of the losers they possibly could, and horribly kill them. This didn't sound like a particularly appealing fate to the Medic, and so he was determined to avoid it. How very surprising. Perhaps next time you vill not hire so many Snipers und Spies for one team. And, speaking of Spies...

The pipe he'd taken led to a small underground room, with two other pipes branching off from it. From the corner to his left came the hoarse call of "Doctor!" The Medic turned to find one of his comrades, one of the two BLU Spies, collapsed in the corner. He looked as though he'd been shot and set on fire, and the Medic was amazed he was still alive. Still, his wounds were nothing that the Medigun couldn't fix, given a minute or two. On the other hand, the REDs had a Spy, too-a fact he'd been quite paranoid about since he learned of it, since his particular line of work made him an enemy Spy's favorite target. This could easily be a trick, and if it was he'd be out of luck, with no working weapons besides his Medigun (which hardly counted).

His sense of caution and self preservation suggested, quietly, that he shouldn't take the risk, but even as it did so, he stepped closer and, pointing the Medigun at the Spy, clicked it on. The Spy sighed in relief and, wincing, climbed to his feet. He dusted his suit off, tsking in annoyance at the burn marks and bullet holes. The Medic gave him a few seconds to preen before growling, impatiently, "Zhere is no time for zhat. Ve must get out of here."

"We?" The Spy repeated, dryly. "I am afraid not, Doctor." Then he reached up for his mask.

Damn! His little voice of self preservation would have been bursting with smug I told you so!s if it hadn't been screaming at him to run. The BLU didn't need to wait and see the flash of red to know his "comrade" was showing his true colors. Before the RED Spy had even removed his mask, the Medic was pelting down the pipe that would take him into BLU territory. He had reached the bottom of the stairs into the base before the Spy could catch up with him. Unfortunately, before he could start up the stairs, he noticed the RED Pyro coming down them.

The RED team's Spy calculated his chance of survival, and was not pleased with the result. He was, in fact, lucky to have lived this long. The BLUs that attacked him were too inept to catch him once his cover was blown, and he'd managed to cloak and limp away and douse the flames with a rather undignified roll in the water at the bottom of the drain pipe. Unfortunately, this left him bleeding to death in a ditch, with his teammates too busy celebrating their victory with wholesale slaughter to come looking for him with a handy medpack. He had almost resigned himself to dying alone and unloved in the dirt like some filthy peasant, when the BLU Medic came stumbling down the nearest tunnel. It appeared his luck was holding! It took only a moment to re-disguise himself. Now, if he could just make himself heard over the sounds of gunfire outside... "Doctor!"

The Medic skidded to a stop and spun around, looking startled. And then suspicious. Per'aps my luck is not holding after all... The Medic knew, or guessed, that he wasn't who he appeared to be. And the ironic thing was, the BLU wouldn't have to lift a finger to kill him, all he had to do was walk away-

A flood of healing, regenerate-y goodness suddenly coursed through his veins, the Medigun's medicine chasing away his pain, like ice water dousing flames. He heaved a genuine sigh of relief before he could stop himself, and climbed to his feet. Taking a moment to regain his composure, and bask in his good fortune, he gave his suit a quick inspection and hissed in displeasure at what he saw. Ruined...

"Zhere is no time for zhat," the Medic interrupted him, suspicion quickly replaced by impatience. He glanced back the way he'd come, with a touch of nervousness, continuing, "Ve must get out of here."

Vague plans to use the opportunity to infiltrate the BLUs flitted through his mind, but he quickly dismissed them. Time to end this little charade. "We?" He repeated, carefully keeping the sudden pang of regret out of his voice. What was there to regret? The Medic was an easily manipulated fool, just like the rest, who had only healed him because he'd been taken in by the Spy's disguise. But this was no time for introspection. He carefully made a note of the emotion, to be inspected thoroughly later, at his leisure. And then he reached up for his mask. "I am afraid not, Doctor."

He expected the Medic to stare stupidly at him, to be properly terrified at his impending, stylish doom. Perhaps even foolishly take a swing at him. He had not expected the Medic to spin and sprint away before he had even finished speaking, so quickly that he had to have been poised to do so. He..he was expecting zat! This revelation left the Spy so surprised that he allowed himself a few seconds to just stand there, gaping, as the Medic disappeared down the tunnel, leaving his dramatic reveal in the dust. And he healed me despite ze fact... It was an uncomfortable thought. His life had been saved by a complete stranger, who had stuck his neck out fully expecting to get it slit in the process?

Well. He would repay the debt by letting the BLU escape back to his base. That should be fair enough.

Muffled, maniacal laughter rang through the tunnel that the Medic had disappeared down, followed shortly by a curse in German.

Merde, the Spy groaned, and took off towards the commotion before he could talk himself out of it.

He met the Medic coming the other way. A look of chagrin flashed over the BLU's face, and the doctor quickly back pedaled, his eyes darting around for another means of escape. The Spy put an end to this, and immediately gained the Medic's full attention as well, by pulling his gun and pointing it at a spot between the German's eyes. Footsteps and the sound of a flamethrower heralded the approach of the RED Pyro. Shooting a glare at the masked maniac, the Spy made a dismissive gesture at him with his free hand. "Go find somezing else to play with. Zis one is mine."

The Pyro growled at him. Then, with a very rude gesture, he stalked off back into BLU territory, obviously hoping to wreak havoc before the cease fire began. The Spy wondered briefly how the Pyro had ended up in the BLU controlled territory to begin with, but then dismissed the thought as inconsequential. He had more important things to worry about, like keeping the BLU Medic from running away before the Spy could finish saving him.

Turning his full attention back to his disgruntled savior, the Spy found the man glaring at him. Back straight, jaw clenched, the Medic was trying very hard to ignore the miniature cannon that was poised to ventilate his skull. This was impressive-the Ambassador was meant to draw one's attention, especially when getting such a close view. Well, at least he wasn't trying to run away. The Spy returned the glare with a look of utter indifference.

Seconds ticked by.

Finally, the Medic snarled, "Vhat are you vaiting for?!"

Lazily, the Spy made as if to check his watch. Three... two...

A buzzer blared over the speakers, loud and piercing. The "round" was officially over, the cease fire was now in effect. "Zat," The Spy answered, simply. Lowering his weapon, he cloaked and sauntered away, a job well done.

The Medic opened his mouth to demand to know what the Spy was up to... and then shut it again. He was alive, that was the important thing. He should stop worrying about why and get back to whatever was left of his team mates. Taking a deep breath to calm his jangling nerves, he trotted down the pipe, again.

Only to narrowly miss sticking his face into the muzzle of the RED Pyro's flamethrower. Verdammt!

He started to back pedal, only to be stopped by a muffled growl from the Pyro. For the second time in the last five minutes, the Medic found himself in a stand-off with an inscrutable enemy. I am getting very tired of zhis. "Ve-"

"Mmpff," the Pyro interrupted, his flamethrower giving off a small burst of flame, making the Medic take another quick step back to avoid getting his face singed off.

Determined, he tried again. "Ve have ein cease fire," he reminded the RED, doubting very much that the crazy pyromancer would let a little thing like that stop him.

The Pyro glared at him. He made as if to prod the Medic with his flamethrower, and then jabbed a finger towards the drain pipe. The meaning was clear: You. Move.

Not one to argue with a man wielding a flamethrower, the Medic gritted his teeth and allowed the Pyro to herd him back down the tunnel. Verdammte Schei├če.