When the man only known as Spy was contacted by Reliable Excavation and Demolition, a letter with beautiful penmanship asking him to make their mercenary team of seven a mercenary team of eight, he was skeptical. When he opened the package it was attached to and found three million francs and a note promising to give him another for each head he collected, well. He had sent his correspondence by the end of the day. He had to admit, he had high hopes. A company with a thumb in half the world’s pies, offering enough money to live a life of luxury after one good day of killing... surely they weren’t asking just anyone; surely they wouldn’t have managed to track a man like him down. And indeed, the RED team did consist of men whose bodies were the apex of humanity, strength and durability bordering on superhuman enhanced even further by Australium-powered Respawn machines, so state-of-the-art that it apparently didn’t exist until a few days ago… but. The men attached to those bodies, they’re…
“Aye! Soldier! I forgot which of these bottles have scrumpy and which have nitroglycerin! Wanna drink them?”
“A most excellent idea, private! I will ask Pyro for some matches, we can test which it was when we burp.”
…well. It’s ungentlemanly to disparage one’s own team. And, it’s not as if the team has a lack of strong minds, their Medic and Heavy apparently both possess PhDs (well, possessed). It’s just that…
“Doktor, do you think Sasha and Medi Gun are friends?”
“Oh, well why don’t we find out? HELLO, MEDI GUN! I WOULD LIKE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO MY FRIEND SASHA!”
“Ah- ohhh, hello there mister Medi Gun, I am Sasha! I did not know Doktor has such handsome friends!”
“Hello yourself, Miss Sasha; may I say, you are quite the handsome woman. Could I persuade you to dance with me, Schatz?”
“Ohhh, mister Medi Gun~!”
…well. Their energy is perhaps a bit much for Spy’s taste.

After Spy makes his way through the mercenaries, he’s been told to meet with a Miss Pauling in the common room. The two chat, for a while, and though she isn’t the quickest wit, she’s at least a league ahead of the men in terms of normal human conversation. He begins flipping through the dossier she’s given him, and…
“Pardon, madame, I believe there is a mistake. This team consists of eight mercenaries, and yet I have been assigned Class Number Nine.”
Miss Pauling blinks. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that; see, you were actually part of a group hire. We got another guy along with you, came in about a week ago.”
“And I was not told my team was to gain an additional member? You know my Disguise Kits take a small age to set up, an additional member could-”
“Look, Spy, it’s- it was short notice! And besides, this is the guy in charge of building that study you asked for! Cut the guy some slack!”
“He is not the one who should have told me.”
“...uh, anyway, you should probably see how he’s coming along, and I’ve gotta go, so. Bye.” And like that, Pauling is out the door.

Spy sighs. Of course. One more person to introduce himself to. At this point, he knows he shouldn’t expect much. The men meant to be impressive on this team were idiotic, this man so unimportant he was a footnote to his own employers would surely be even less impressive. Still. He does need to see how things are coming along, if this imbecile is capable of following the design notes he’s sent. So, preparing for the worst, Spy heads to see.

The first thing Spy thinks when he sees the room is “my god”. The inside is buzzing with an impossible number of machines, doing everything from hammering nails to painting walls to sawing boards, and all to Spy’s exact, rigorous specifications. And in the epicenter of it all, Spy sees the man responsible, a simple man in overalls and a button-up, strolling around the room like he owned the place. The man turns to meet Spy’s gaze.
“Well howdy, partner.” His voice comes out smooth and slow as molasses, and he walks just as slowly towards Spy. “RED team’s Engineer. Haven’t seen you around here, you that new fella they’re flying in?”
For the first time since he’s gotten here, Spy takes a moment to respond. The whole scene is something incredible, out of science fiction. “Oui.” Is what he finally lands on. “I am the Spy.”
“Well, it’s damn fine to meet you, Spy. Sincerest apologies your room ain’t done yet, had a hell of a time carving the bedposts.”
“You made that?”
“Eh, not exactly. Programmed a little something for my lathe, got it to spit this out nice and consistent-like without much fuss. Delayed my estimate, though.” He scratches his head (shaved, a thoroughly American style that Spy’s never seen the appeal of). “Tell you what, we’re all planning on having dinner, soon- we eat as a team, ain’t that the darndest thing?- if you can keep yourself busy until we finish, my machines here should be wrapped up by then.”
Spy struggles to find the proper words. “You built those?” Spy says, gesturing with two fingers at the machines. “I have never seen anything like them.”

“Aw, shucks.” Engineer rubs the back of his neck and turns away, seemingly a bit embarrassed with all the attention. And then he mutters something. Now, to the untrained ear, something as quiet as that would be incomprehensible. Luckily for Spy, his ears were highly trained. “Mostly just expanding on my grandpappy’s work.” Fascinating. Even more fascinating is watching the man turn around, and, a bit too quickly, say “Here, let me show you around.” Before Spy has a chance to say anything, Engineer begins talking, technobabble that goes over even Spy’s head, and he realizes Engineer is trying to distract him, to cover up the information he had just shared, and perhaps were Spy as blockheaded as his peers, Engineer’s play would have worked. But he’s not. And it didn’t.

So. Engineer is panicked because he said something he wasn’t supposed to. But this Engineer, he’s clearly a smart man, he wouldn’t make such a mistake... not unless, of course, him not being allowed to reveal this is a new development. Related to his job. Think, think, what did the contract say… you’re not allowed to discuss sensitive information about your previous life, your previous identity, anything that could tie you back to it.

Few grandfathers could have constructed anything like this, back before the turn of the century, so the fact that this is partially his grandfather’s work must be a clue to who this man is. Who this man is, that’s valuable information, the type of thing Spy is explicitly meant to look out for (just because he’s a teammate, doesn’t mean it’s not smart to gather information). So, Spy has to figure it out.

He thinks of Engineer’s projects. A hand to saw wood, a little chopper to spray paint, what else- that Respawn machine. A device out of science fiction, one only a few days old… and Engineer’s only been here for a few days. That has to be his handiwork, too. A machine, powered by Australium, bringing men back to life-

Redmond Mann. Their employer. A man older than the patent of the wrench, kept alive by Australium-powered immortality machines. Machines invented by the late Radigan Conagher, a man known worldwide for his work, someone whose family tree is well known: late into his life, he sired his son, Fred Conagher, well-known for abandoning his father’s innovation to just build more of the same. His home was in Texas.

“…and, ah, yup, that’s pretty much all of them.” He looks away and scratches the back of his head, a bit flushed from the effort of talking for so damn long. “Thanks for letting me show you around.” He has a warm, strangely sheepish smile on his face.
“But of course.” Spy smiles back. “Thank you for the warm welcome. Our colleagues... they made much less of an effort.”
Engineer laughs, airier than Spy would expect of a man with his voice. “Yeah, they seem to do that. Well, don’t want to keep you, mister. Gonna need to find something to entertain yourself for a while while I finish up here.”
Spy nods as he strides toward the exit. “I am sure I will manage.” He fully moves himself outside before finishing: “You’ve given me plenty of entertainment already, Mr. Dell Conagher.”

Spy has but a moment to revel in the shock on the man’s face as he closes the door. Outsmarting a man like Dell… there may be a reward to this outside of just the money, yet.