Reliable Excavation & Demolition: A Rotten World, and Pure Chaos

The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere as Engineer fine-tuned his latest contraption. Beneath the dim glow of his work light, the Texan wiped his brow with an oil-streaked rag. He let out a satisfied huff before stepping back to admire his handiwork. The teleporter gleamed, a polished marvel of engineering with intricate wiring and arcane-looking coils humming with energy.

"All right, fellas," Engineer drawled, clapping his hands together. "This here's my brand-new, ultra-efficient long-range teleporter. No more hoofin' it through the badlands. Just step on in, and—zip!—you're at your destination."

The mercenaries gathered around, a mix of skepticism and curiosity on their faces. Sniper adjusted his hat, eyeing the machine warily. Years of experience had taught him to distrust anything that promised an easy shortcut—especially when it involved Engineer's experiments. Spy took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled, unimpressed. To him, technology was a crude tool compared to skill and deception; no machine could replace the art of espionage. Heavy cracked his knuckles, ready for anything. Where others hesitated, he relished the prospect of a fight waiting on the other side, his instincts honed for battle.

"DOES IT SEND US TO HELL?!" Soldier bellowed, his hands clenched into fists, his manic grin splitting his face in half.

Engie sighed. "Hopefully not."

Demoman took a swig from his bottle, his one good eye narrowing at the device. He'd seen enough experiments go south to know that things rarely worked 'just fine'—especially when explosions weren't part of the plan. "Aye, but ye never tested it, did ye?"

"I did the calculations. Theoretically, it should work just fine," Engineer assured them, tweaking a few dials. Sparks danced across the metal framework. "It's calibrated to drop us right where we need to be."

Pyro let out a muffled giggle, bouncing eagerly on their heels as they clapped their gloved hands together. Their mask tilted slightly, as if admiring the flickering sparks from the teleporter, a quiet hum of excitement escaping from behind the filter. Without warning, they pulled out a match and struck it against their sleeve, watching the tiny flame dance before flicking it away with a satisfied nod. Their mask tilted slightly, as if admiring the flickering sparks from the teleporter, a quiet hum of excitement escaping from behind the filter.

Scout crossed his arms, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He prided himself on speed and agility, not fancy teleporters that could turn his guts inside out. "Yeah, uh, call me when you test it on someone else first."

"Bah! Cowardice!" Soldier barked, stepping onto the platform without hesitation. "Glory awaits on the other side!"

"Wait—"

Engineer's protest was cut short as Soldier slammed a fist onto the activation switch. A burst of blue light engulfed him, the air crackling with raw energy as the teleporter whined like an overworked turbine. In a flash, he was gone.

The team stood frozen. Then, Engineer exhaled sharply. "Welp. Guess we're doin' this."

One by one, the RED Team stepped onto the teleporter, vanishing in flashes of light. Engineer was the last to go, double-checking his coordinates before stepping onto the pad.

The journey was unlike any teleportation they had experienced before. Normally, their teleporters blinked them from one point to another in an instant, a seamless transition with no sense of motion. This time, however, they felt stretched, pulled through the fabric of space itself. An unnatural force gripped them, dragging them toward an unknown destination. The pressure built, their bodies twisting as reality blurred—then, suddenly, everything went black. Instead of the familiar, instantaneous pop between locations, they felt stretched, pulled through the fabric of space itself. An unnatural force gripped them, dragging them toward an unknown destination.

The dirt road stretched endlessly beneath the twilight sky, the last hints of daylight casting long shadows over the weary traveler. Tatsumi trudged forward, his boots scuffing against the dry earth, exhaustion pressing heavy on his shoulders. His coin purse was empty, his stomach hollow with hunger, and the dream that had carried him this far—earning enough money to save his village—felt impossibly distant. Each step felt heavier than the last, the promise of fortune in the Capital seeming more and more like a cruel illusion.

With a tired sigh, he slumped down beside the road, leaning against a half-rotted wooden post. "Guess this is as good a place as any," he muttered, resigning himself to a night beneath the stars. He pulled his cloak tighter, shielding himself from the cool evening breeze, and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the gnawing ache of hunger in his gut. The sounds of the bustling Capital in the distance felt like a taunt, a city of wealth and excess just out of reach.

"Oh my! A traveler, all alone at this hour?"

The voice was soft, refined, and filled with amusement. Tatsumi's eyes snapped open to see a young woman standing before him. She was dressed in fine silks, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and her expression held a mixture of curiosity and warmth. Behind her, two armored bodyguards stood at attention, their presence a silent reminder of her status. The golden embroidery on her sleeves, the subtle gleam of expensive jewelry—this was someone of wealth, of privilege. Someone far removed from his struggles.

Tatsumi pushed himself up, wary. "Who are you?"

She smiled. "My name is Aria. And you are...?"

"Tatsumi," he answered, brushing dust from his coat. His voice held an edge of caution, but Aria seemed unfazed.

Aria tilted her head. "A strong name. But you look troubled, Tatsumi. You're not from the Capital, are you?"

He hesitated before shaking his head. "I came here to make a name for myself. To earn money for my village. But... let's just say things haven't gone according to plan."

Aria gave a sympathetic hum, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "That is unfortunate. The Capital is not kind to those without connections. You must be tired. Why don't you come with me? My family estate isn't far, and we always have room for guests."

Tatsumi frowned. Generosity in the Capital? It sounded too good to be true. He'd already been deceived once— tricked out of his money by smooth words and false promises. But looking at Aria, with her elegant demeanor and seemingly genuine smile, he found himself hesitating. Maybe this was the stroke of luck he desperately needed.

After a moment, he exhaled. "Alright. Lead the way."

The next morning, Tatsumi awoke to the unfamiliar comfort of a proper bed. The luxurious sheets, the polished wooden furniture—it was a far cry from the rough roads he had grown accustomed to. He ran a hand over the silk sheets, a momentary pang of guilt running through him. Back home, his family barely had enough to keep warm in winter. How could one place have so much excess while others had so little?

A knock at the door drew his attention.

One of Aria's bodyguards, a burly man with a stern expression, stood outside. "The young mistress wishes for you to dine with her," he said gruffly. "Before that, she thought you might want to know more about the Capital."

Tatsumi rubbed his neck. "Yeah... guess I should know what I'm up against."

The bodyguard crossed his arms. "The Emperor is but a child, a puppet. The true power lies with Prime Minister Honest. A man as corrupt as they come. He bleeds this city dry, filling his coffers while the people starve."

Tatsumi stiffened. He had seen glimpses of the Capital's cruelty—the beggars lining the streets, the wary eyes of the common folk—but hearing it laid out so plainly made his blood boil. "If it's that bad, why hasn't anyone done anything?"

The bodyguard's gaze darkened. "There are those who fight back. An assassin group known as Night Raid. They strike down the Empire's lapdogs in the dead of night."

Tatsumi frowned. Assassins? He had been taught to see such people as criminals, threats to order and stability. But if the order itself was corrupt... what then?

As they walked through the halls of the lavish estate, Tatsumi took in the intricate carvings on the wooden beams, the sparkling chandeliers, the smell of fresh bread and roasted meat wafting through the air. It was a different world, one so far from the dusty roads and hungry nights he had endured since arriving in the Capital.

He found Aria waiting in a sunlit dining hall, a spread of food before her. She gestured toward an empty seat. "Come, eat. You must be starving."

Tatsumi hesitated only for a moment before sitting. The first bite sent a wave of warmth through him. It had been too long since he'd had a proper meal.

Aria watched him with interest, her chin resting on her hand. "Tatsumi, have you given any thought to your future? You seem capable. With the right connections, you could do well for yourself here."

He swallowed, her words lingering in his mind. The Capital had already shown him its cruelty. But perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a way to carve out a place for himself here—if he was careful.

That night, Tatsumi awoke to an eerie stillness. A strange, heavy feeling pressed against his chest—something was wrong. Then, he felt it. A presence. Bloodlust.

He bolted upright, heart hammering, reaching for his sword as he rushed out of his room. The mansion, so peaceful by day, now felt like a tomb. Shadows flickered from the corridors ahead. Then, he heard it—a body hitting the floor. A pained gurgle. Footsteps, but not hurried ones. Slow. Deliberate.

Tatsumi rounded the corner just in time to see one of Aria's bodyguards crumple, a thick combat knife embedded in his throat. The attacker yanked it free with a wet squelch, stepping over the corpse. A man in a red balaclava and suit adjusted his tie casually, wiping the blade clean with a gloved hand.

More figures emerged from the darkness. A towering man in a bullet-riddled vest hefted a massive minigun, its barrels still smoking. Another, clad in a gas mask, skipped forward with a flamethrower in hand, humming an unsettling tune.

It was not Night Raid. It was something else entirely.

Gunfire erupted from deeper within the estate. The mansion's remaining guards fought desperately, but one by one, they fell. The red-clad mercenaries tore through them with practiced ease—efficient, merciless. Tatsumi could only watch, frozen in place.

Then, the suited man—Spy—turned his head slightly, as if sensing Tatsumi's presence. A smirk played at his lips.

"Ah. Looks like we 'ave a spectator."

Tatsumi barely had time to react before everything descended into chaos.