From Hell and Back 2

The train screeched to a halt, jerking the eighteen occupants forward slightly in their seats.
After a few moments doors on the side of the train slid open slowly, metal shrieking against metal until it was open enough to let them out one at a time. All of the occupants stood, most stretching out their arms and twisting side to side to try and get rid of any stiffness that was  a result of being in a sitting position for so long.
The land beyond the train was gloomy. Various buildings strewn along stratigically, with dirt paths leading along to said buildings and in a large loop around the whole area. From where they stood they could see a large, blue colored building about a hundred feet from the area they were near.
Before they could get a better look a short, slender female in a  made her way to about the middle of the area where the two teams were. She cleared her throat and waited till she had the attention of everyone.
"Hello," She began, adjusting her glasses and smoothing out her purple dress with one hand, the other held a clipboard. "My name is Miss Pauling and for all intents and purposes I will basically be your manager. If you have any questions, please wait till I am done talking. I have a feeling I will address most--if not all--of your questions." She fell silent for a moment, glancing around to make sure she still had everyone's attention. "As you learned from the Announcer, this area is called Sawmill. It's called this because of the large sawblades that are always on in the same room as your objective."
She smiled slightly, "I promise you that feature wasn't coincidental." She adjusted her glasses again, then looked at her clipboard, the papers not able to be seen by anyone but her at their current angle and direction. "I am sorry to announce that the residences are not completely ready for use yet and as such there will be a match about ten minutes after this meeting. The after hours facilities will be done by the time that the battle is over, I can assure you." She looked at the two teams, "BLUs will find their base if they follow along this path." She pointed to one of the dirt paths and moved her index finger along the path a few feet before looking to the REDs, "And RED will find there's via this path." She pointed to another and did the same as she had done for BLU. "Respawn machines already have your DNA within their systems and have been run--and tested." She sighed softly, glancing back at her clipboard. "Your weapons are already in lockers assigned to each of you specifically by class symbol."
She paused, looking from face to face, "You might as well get a good look at the other team now. This will be the last time you'll see them without the threat of dying..."
There was a low noise as most everyone shifted their stance slightly to get a better look at the enemy team's members.
First they looked for their own class, then looked at the others, taking in various looks and details, trying to figure out fighting style and skill in battle based on looks alone.
Miss Pauling allowed it for a moment before clearing her throat to get their attention again, "You have ten minutes to get to your spawn room, get everything together, and be ready to fight. Your objective is to capture the point in the middle and hold it for a half hour. Each team has a timer that will be monitored by the Announcer herself. When RED captures, their timer will tick down, if BLU captures the point REDs timer stops and theirs starts. Good luck, everyone." She headed towards the front of the train, leaving the two teams to look over at one another one more time before they moved towards their own spawn room.
The scouts from both teams wasted no time on sticking around the others, using their almost unnatural amount of speed to their advantage. The other followed behind at a slower pace, most sticking together, but a few either strayed ahead or slightly behind, using their slower pace to get a better look at the field they would be fighting on in a matter of mere minutes.
It didn't look like a battlefield.
It looked more like a ghost town, or the set of a horror movie with its small wooden buildings, cold, dreary weather, and just how...how vacant and lifeless it seemed overall.

"Hay mucho rojo en esta habitación. Me duele mis ojos." The female with the large gas mask in her hands murmured to herself, turning the mask over and over in her hands absentmindedly.  
"Con tanto rojo es imposible no podíamos saber que base es nuestro." The only other female on the team smiled slightly, turning to where she faced the first woman.
The first woman smiled at her, "Ah, también habla a español. ¿Eres mexicano?"
The other woman shook her head slightly, "No. Cubano. ¿Mi nombre es Carmela, y tu?" She asked, watching the other woman rest her gas mask on her hip with one arm on it's side to keep it in place.
"Katerina, pero ir por Kit." She replied. "Es agradable conocer a alguien que hable a español. Pensé que iba a estar solo." She looked around and noticed the others were all waiting at the gate. She pulled her gas mask on and moved towards the locker that had an emblem of a flame on it. She pulled open the locker and grabbed her weapons, slinging the large flamethrower fuel tank onto her back, taking a few moments to adjust the straps to where they would keep the tank in place, but not hinder movement.
Once all her weapons were secured, she slammed the locker door shut, looking up to see the heavy attaching a pair of large gloves to his belt.
The heavy glanced inside the locker, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything inside. The door slammed loudly, and the heavy glanced down at her. "Hello." His voice was deep and louder than he probably intended to be. He sounded a bit angry and Kit blinked.
She hadn't thought she'd done anything to warrant the angry tone, "...hello." She murmured, her voice soft, a Spanish accent weaving its way into her words. She played with one of her gloves for a few moments before finally pulling it on. The glove fit snugly around her fingers and hand, making it to where it did not restrict much movement, but didn't cut off blood circulation to the extremity either.
"I'm Barren." He introduced himself to her, extending his hand towards her. Kit took his hand gently and shook, silently glad he didn't squeeze too hard to hurt her hand. His voice and actions conflicted one another, his voice sounded angry, irate even and yet he was shaking her hand and introducing himself to her first. Kit wasn't quite sure how to view him so far.
"Kit." She told him simply, one hand gripping her melee weapon, while the other gave Barren's hand a firm shake.
He let go of her gloved hand, a small smile on his face, "Short and easy to remember." He murmured in approval.
Though he knew no one could pick the name their parents gave them, shorter, simpler names were easier to remember. Shorter names were quicker to yell in the midst of battle to get the attention of said person and made communication run a lot quicker.
Barren turned, now facing the gate. A timer sat above the gate, slowly ticking down from ten minutes.
They had five minutes before the match began.
Red rays enveloped the heavy a few moments later as Evan began to heal him, trying to build his ubercharge ahead of time. Barren looked down at the medic, he didn't look as irate as he had on the train, now he looked calm and collected. Accepting even, of what was to come mere minutes from then.        
He looked up at Barren, "Sorry for my rash behavior earlier. I was tired of riding in such a confined space and that scout was getting on my nerves. I took it out on you and for that, I humbly apologize." His voice was low and sincere, only really showing any other emotions when he spat out the words 'that scout'.
Barren nodded slightly, smiling. "It's fine."
Evan smiled just a bit, the corners of his mouth barely twitching up. He stopped healing Barren and moved onto the demoman, deciding he might as well overheal another teammate.
The red rays caught the demoman's attention, an Indian male who had been busy fiddling with his Loch-N-Load.
He looked up and over at Evan, who simply gave a small nod, almost like he was saying hello, but didn't want to waste time or energy with words.
The demoman smiled slightly, "Thanks, Doctor." He turned his attention back down to his weapon, frowning softly at the weapon. He turned until his gaze fell on the engineer. He approached the taller male, "You're the engineer, correct?"
The male nodded slightly, and the demoman's smile grew. "If it's not too much trouble, after the match could you take a look at my Loch-N-Load? It feels like it's going to fall apart in my hands."
The engineer nodded again, remaining silent.
"Thanks." The demoman was a bit put off by how silent the other male was, but stayed happy because his weapon would be looked over. He didn't want it jamming or breaking at a crucial point--that would be too embarrassing for him to handle.
The demoman stepped back to let the sniper pass him by, a thermos of coffee gripped loosely in one hand while the Machina rested against his shoulder, his free hand wrapped around the butt of the rifle.
The male hadn't said one word the whole train ride, and now he was keeping that behavior up. It seemed like he was anti-social...or just thought himself better than his teammates, no one really knew and no one asked. Just as he was heading towards the door a lithe form passed him too quickly to really be seen until it skidded to a halt at the door.
"I want outta here! All this waiting is killing me, Man!" The voice was male, it didn't take a genius to realize the one complaining was the Israeli scout. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, heaving an overdramatic sigh all the while.
"Better to have a little extra time than not have enough." The male in the suit from earlier spoke softly. He adjusted his sleeves idly, glancing up at the clock that steadily ticked down to zero. To when the gates would open.
.
"Hey, name's 'Arvey, wha's yours?" The Irishman smiled at the team's sniper, extending his hand to shake hers.
She smiled slightly, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Angeline." She looked around for a moment before looking back at Harvey, "This is going to be a blood bath, you know? Going to be completely insane. You know, I think that we should all fight while drunk and wear, like, those goggles. You know what I'm saying?"
Harvey chuckled, "Tha' 'ould sure make things a'bit more interesting. But I thin' every'ne 'ould be too drunk to really know 'ow it all ended up."
She paused for a moment, mulling it over, then nodded. "Aw..yeah that is true, huh...Hmm...I'll have to rethink my plan then."
"Tell me when 'ou come up wit' t'solution."
Angeline nodded slightly. "For sure."
Harvey moved to stand next to Edek, placing his hands on the metal table within the gated area. "Sniper seems nice. 'er name's Angeline."
Edek looked at Harvey for a moment, mentally mulling over if he spoke English well enough for the demoman to understand what he wanted to say. "I appreciate your diligence in learning everyone's names and reporting them back to me, but I do not see the point in it."
Harvey shrugged slightly, "Your our leader, yeah? Learnin' 'ames makes 'em feel special. Makes others feel included. You want 'he team to 'ork out well 'ou might as well get them to thin' you care. Whether 'ou do or no is your own issue."
Edek nodded slowly, processing what the demoman had said. After a few moments he smiled slightly. "I understand. Your help is greatly appreciated, Harvey."
Harvey grinned, "Anything to help a teammate." He glanced at the gate and laughed, Edek turned, and a brow rose slightly in confusion. "I think the scout wants out..."
Sure enough the scout was standing right at the gate, pulling at the gate as if he was strong enough to lift it all by himself and get out before anyone else. It was an amusing sight to behold, watching the male pull and tug at the wrought iron gate with all the strength that lay in his spindly arms.
He jolted slightly when the announcer spoke, and everyone's attention was directed to the speakers attached to the walls at various point in the room.
"Battle begins in 10...9...8..."
The numbers ticked down all the way to one, then the gates slid up, allowing the mercenaries out of their respective rooms.
The first battle of Sawmill had begun.