*＊✿❀○❀✿＊[RED SPY'S POV]＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Mannhattan was nothing compared to Coldfront. Skyscrapers, Man's attempt to conquer the skies, gleamed against the dusk sun with its golden windows. Red-blue boats come and go at the seaports. It has been a place for foreigners, so there were many hotels to take them in. It was a cityscape of reds, browns and yellows, buildings huddled for warmth. Flashy billboards put on top of the buildings, one with a missing gorilla for the mere price of 50 dollars. I would argue that the cost of handling the ape would be a lot more.

However, what was most disturbing to me was the accumulating number of missing posters that accumulated every time I returned. Black and white pictures of smiling children slapped onto boards, lampposts, buildings, forming some sick collage.

The bar was putrid with alcohol, cigarettes, and cheap cologne. Wrinkled pin-up posters were both clumsily tacked and taped where it was torn. A jukebox droned in hushed volumes in the corner. Bottles of wines and spirits clustered together behind the bar. The thing about these places was also about the types of people you meet, a hotspot for gossip.

I had popped in, from the backdoor. The initial bartender did not see me coming.

Don't worry, I didn't kill him.

He's... subdued in the meantime.

I watched as the faceless people pass, they are not important to me.

Then, A man mired in mystery stepped in, he slipped by the other customers with a fedora covering most of his face. But his graying sideburns poked out of the shadows and the billowing smoke. It mingled with my nostrils as the man approached with a flourish in each step. I could see his face properly now, an austere jaw, robin-egg blue eyes, carved cheekbones.

The code went along like this:

"Do you know where I can buy the best crabs around here?"

"You're in a bar and I'm allergic to seafood. I would not know."

"I need it for my sister's wedding."

"Actually, I believe I know a person."

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

"So, when I shot your Engineer, my Medic came to help him*?"* The BLU Spy bemused. A crooked brow raised high into his forehead. A broken smile raised his cheekbones. 

I wiped the cloth on the inside of the glass. "As crazy as it sounds, oui."

Mannhattan was lively with business and people. So many people, in fact, it made an ideal getaway from the battlefields to exchange notes with my dear friend.

Our long history of friendship began the time when the rogue had approached me with salacious pictures of Shirley Callahan, the BLU Scout's Mother, and me. Sacre bleu, it was not like any other day your arch nemesis approached you with blackmail material as obscene as this. What a perverted man. Laughter dared to erupt from the back of my throat. Unlike John Roe and Tavish DeGroot, our rapport slipped under the Administrator's radar, given our gift for disguising and not being a braggart. Russel Callahan, no matter how inane and flippant he may be, was still my son. It was undesirable to reveal his father's identity in such a way but then I thought, "he would not believe it anyway, it would break him."

And so, on that bridge in 2Fort under the night sky, it became an unsaid coalition marked by deception between two men made of smoke.

I was not the type of person to reveal a lot of personal information about myself. However, Jean Baudelaire became the first person to know about my past with Shirley Callahan. It may be a crass decision on my part, but even I had my breaking point. I told him about my absence on every anniversary, and how even more wound up she became. I cannot blame her. 

 Although I accounted for much of the financial support, for eight sons to grow without a father is something money cannot justify.

In turn, Jean recently divorced his own wife for she had an affair with countless other men while he was away. He was afraid to let her go. 

It was a talk between a father to a widow, not enemy to enemy.

Who knew we had tired hearts? 

When we found out that another mercenary was trying to cross the bridge into the enemy territory, we were not alarmed or repulsed. We were relieved. Maybe one day, everyone will get sick of this mindless violence and be able to go home to their families. It was wishful thinking.

"I never thought they were that kind of person," BLU Spy curled forward. 

The encounter was coming to a close, the man at the back could be waking now. 

"By the way, when does BLU team need to restock on supplies and who's running errands?"

"It's perfect timing, actually. A few changes should go by unnoticed."

"It is settled then, Mercredi?"

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊[READER'S POV]＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

We were told the ceasefire would last a day. Then, it became two. And then, a week. In the end, we had enough time to kill for a whole month. Thank the stars for their small mercies. At least I would be undisturbed washing everyone's toilets. You would be amazed by the variety served in each bowl. But enough shit-talking.

The mercenaries castigated the news, eager enough to snatch back that stalemate and win a battle against the REDs. They simply could not get a day without satiating their thirst for blood.

The paperwork monster had been slain, neatly arranged in their designated folders. I exited the infirmary to get some fresh air. I passed by the Noticeboard when Jean Baudelaire, our BLU Spy, cleared his throat. I looked towards him and my eyes landed on the typewritten note stuck to the corkboard.

***ERRANDS DUTY***

WEDNESDAY, 20TH JANUARY, 1971

[Y/N] [L/N]

TO BUY...

I grimaced at the length of the restocking list. Adding this to my burden?! The words fumbled on my tongue. "If my memory serves correctly, the next one is John Roe..."

"You truly think the Soldier would overlook this opportunity?"

"You're right." I pivoted sharply, heading back to my infirmary, running my hand through disarray locks. 

Running errands, if you compare it to latrine duty, may seem more preferred. The problem was I did not enjoy talking to a lot of people. Especially, a lead-poisoned community like Teufort. When you were around them, you were walking on eggshells. They were one of the most unpredictable folks out there, how am I to create a normal conversation with the likes of them?

Damn that, soldier! 

It was on days like these where I crave a fist into another's face.