Warning: Some blood, though if you're reading tf2 fanfiction, then you're probably used to it.

Mundy had never particularly enjoyed visits to the doctor's office when he was young, mostly because he didn't like to be prodded at, and partly because he disliked the enclosed, cramped room where the doctor had always performed his check-ups. Granted, in the end it was all worth it for the lollipop he would receive. Mundy hadn't even cared much for his health; his motivations were driven by his absurd sweet tooth when he was young. But even the thought of the sugary treat couldn't ever completely keep him from feeling mildly claustrophobic. After all, he was a creature of the outdoors.

He had always spent a majority of his free time in the woods, and when he became old enough that his father decided he was ready to tote a weapon other than a bow and arrows with him for hunting, he was rarely ever found indoors. He thrived in the open environment, where small critters dashed under the foliage when he approached, a woodsy, wet-wooded scent lingered even days after rain, and the whispering of the many trees' verdant leaves spoke to him in hushed tones.

Where Mundy found himself now was nothing like his old doctor's office or the woods beside his deceased parents' house. It was cold, cramped, and he was certain the blue-clad 'doctor' looming over him wasn't going to offer him any sweets. Strapping a patient to a medical examiner's table by his wrists, ankles, and chest with thick bands made of rubber wasn't proper bedside manner, either, or at least it wasn't in Mundy's book. Who knew where the BLU medic had gotten his license, or, for that matter, if he had ever received one at all.

After waking up, Mundy had tugged against the bands that kept him pressed firmly against the table almost experimentally, knowing from the moment he saw them that he wouldn't be able to fight his way out of them. Then, he'd given up with little resolve, mumbling grumpily about his missing hat and sunglasses. That's when the medic had appeared from a doorway behind him that he couldn't see. Although he was angled away from the entrance, Mundy still knew the man was close by the shuffling of the medic's blue boots.

"Excellent. you're awake."

Mundy snorted. "It's not looking so excellent from here, mate."

"Oh," the medic waved his hand in the air dismissively, "that's because the fun hasn't started yet."

When a hand rested against his neck, Mundy stiffened. He didn't care what the medic did, as long as whatever came next didn't have too much to do with physical contact. It was much too invasive, too intimate for his taste. He was used to being alone, and unless it was from someone he trusted, he didn't appreciate reminders that he had company. Especially not if those reminders came from a member of the opposite team.

A tutting noise of disapproval came from the other man. "Your heart is racing. If you don't calm down, you'll bleed out too fast for the serum to work."

Mundy frowned. "Serum?" His eyes widened in alarm. "The hell did you do to me?"

The medic shot him a smug grin after appearing beside him. He quickly dashed out of sight, though, followed by the tail of his white lab coat. There was a rattling, then he reappeared and leaned over the sniper, displaying his bonesaw in a way that made it reflect menacingly in the bright light from above. "There are more than 20 major arteries in the human body," the medic said, watching his saw glitter with an enchanted spark in his eyes, "and I have to cut just right to make sure you don't die too quickly."

"Get the fuck away from me, you mongrel," Mundy growled. He jolted against his restraints as the saw was lowered. It hovered above his stomach for a moment, leaving the room to a muffled silence that was disrupted only by the RED sniper's rapid breathing.

"This might hurt a bit," the medic warned him. "But just a pinch." He pulled up Mundy's red, button-up shirt with one hand and carefully placed the bonesaw against the sniper's flesh with the other. The medic appeared to have an expression of deep concentration on his face, but Mundy couldn't tell if it was genuine or if the man was doing it to put on a show. Although, the BLU medic didn't seem like the kind who would go through the trouble of pretending just for an extra laugh. He was much too impatient to put on such an act, even if it amused him.

Mundy bit into his lip hard when the bonesaw began to chew away at the softer skin of his stomach slowly, stifling a scream. He sincerely doubted the bonesaw was the most appropriate tool for this particular type of incision. But hey, who was he to doubt the doctor's opinion. Even though it was likely neither of the men in the cramped room had ever earned a medical degree, the man holding the saw was the one whose team called him 'doc', so Mundy guessed it would be unprofessional to complain. In all honesty, though, the RED sniper wasn't one who would generally be described as professional. Before he could open his mouth to make a remark about the saw, the medic pressed the thing down into him further and went to work. Mundy tensed, threw his head back against the table, and fought spastically against his restraints. Moving around did not help relieve any of the pain, but in fact, worsened it by shifting the saw around.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled, his voice ringing off the walls. When he heard a high-pitched tone resonate through the room, Mundy searched frantically for the source, thinking that perhaps the medic had replaced his bonesaw with an electrical tool. But the doctor still held his saw in his hands, wiping the blood and bits of flesh off and onto his apron. Mundy's attention was quickly drawn back to the wound in his stomach, and the immense pain that was numbed a remarkable amount by shock. The sniper felt disconnected from himself and unable to focus, but he was glad for his disorientation, because he figured it was the only thing keeping him from passing out. And he was too frightened to think of what the medic might do while he was unconscious.

"RED intelligence has been relocated," the medic said. It was common knowledge to members of both teams. What wasn't common knowledge, however, was the the intelligence's new location. "Do you know where to find it?" He watched Mundy curiously as the sniper screwed up his expression incredulously.

"Now why would I tell you that?" Mundy said. He shook his head, albeit with some difficulty. "You think a little bit of pain is gonna soften me up enough to spill the beans? Think again, you piece of piss."

The medic smiled. "I see," he said. "Some things take time."

Mundy frowned at the medic's response. What the hell? What kind of cryptic bullshit was the medic throwing at him? However much he tried to avoid being unnerved by the unexpected comment, he couldn't stop the churning sensation in his stomach. Part of him just wanted him to die already so he could respawn back inside the RED base. But Mundy could tell the medic was being very cautious to assure that didn't happen quite so soon.

"Mein gott," the medic said in a disapproving tone. "You are making a mess."

And he was. Mundy strained against his restraints, raising his head enough to peek at the wound. There was so much much blood spilling over his stomach, he couldn't see the incision. A searing heat prickled at the skin around the wound, and in disturbing contrast his face and hands began to feel impossibly cold. Also, the blood had begun to seep into his trousers, a spreading warmth that unsettled him and made a sinuous shiver run down his spine. He tried to rest back into his chair, but his stomach stubbornly remained tense. A shaky breath escaped Mundy's lips.

"Why dontcha be a darling," he said, grimacing, "and give up? Your spooks' already tried torturing me before. It won't work." The sniper balled up his fists, noticing the medic wasn't paying attention to him. "Did you hear me? It bloody won't work!"

"It seems I have cut too low," the medic said, shaking his head. "I must make another incision."

Mundy sighed and steeled himself. When the wave of pain crashed down on him again, though, he found he was no more prepared for it the second time. Once the medic had pulled away, a groan escaped his lips, which were feeling more parched than ever. "You jar-faced scoundrel," he spat, but his voice ended up coming out only half as angry as he had expected, slowed and mellowed by something that felt like exhaustion. He blinked, and the world began to spin around him in slow motion. But - no, he wasn't tired! What was happening? What had the doctor done to him? Was he drugged? Mundy recalled the medic mentioning a serum. That's as far as he got before a fresh swell of pain distracted his thoughts. The sniper grit his teeth. He was growing frustrated at how his thoughts seemed to lag in his head. "What did...you…" he struggled to get out, but the medic cut him off.

"What did I do to you?" the medic finished for him. He paused for a heartbeat. "Tell me, Sniper, what are your adoptive parents' names?"

"Jonathan and Ethel Mundy," the sniper responded. He immediately regretted it.

"Now tell me, Sniper, why you told me this information?"

Mundy was trying to figure out that information for himself. Something was definitely wrong. Why had he been so open and quick with his response? He was at the hands of the enemy, someone he'd been sniping for years, over and over again. Surely he shouldn't have been so quick to give out sensitive information to the man he'd killed hundreds of times? Sure, he couldn't do them any harm because they were dead, but it raised the question: What was he going to do next, tell the crazy bastard where his childhood home was?

The medic was having too much fun watching Mundy's perplexed expression, the way he frowned inwardly and opened and closed his mouth again and again, searching for words. He flicked the metal blade of his bonesaw, listening to it ting, then returned his full attention to the sniper on the table with a satisfied smirk. "What bothers you most?"

"The fact that I can't grow a bloody beard." Mundy winced at the medic's laughter, which cut almost as sharp as his bonesaw. No, Mundy took it back, that saw cut pretty fucking well. But the medic's laughter cut almost as sharp.

"Are you frightened?" the medic pressed on.

Mundy hesitated a beat. "Yes," he croaked.

"Are you going to answer all of my questions?"

"Well, I'm no bloody sightseer, but knowing how this evening has been going, I probably fucking will."

"Ah, see? It just took time." The medic leaned against the table, obnoxiously triumphant. At the glare he received from the sniper, he explained, "Truth serum."

Mundy sighed. Of course, what else had he been expecting? He'd seen some pretty weird shit in his time on the RED team, why not mind manipulation? Truth serum, god, why hadn't he considered that sooner?

The medic leaned in closer to him conspiratorially, glancing around him to add to the effect. "You know what I am going to ask next," he said in a low voice. And Mundy did. But he shook his head anyway, and bit his lip. Why did this have to happen? The fighting had finally turned in RED's favor after the intelligence had been relocated. Sniping had become so much more enjoyable when the enemy was occupied with finding the suitcase rather than sneaking up behind him and killing him. And after giving away the location, his teammates would be sure to never let him live past the fact that he gave away such confidential information. Scout especially, Mundy was certain, would bring it up everyday for the next year. He could picture it now: he'd be on his deathbed, and someone would whisper, "Hey, remember that time you told the enemy everything and let your whole team down? Yeah, thanks a fucking lot, you mustache-less loser."

"Sniper," the medic began, to Mundy's admonishment. The medic slipped on a pair of gloves and stood over the sniper, his hands hovering above the incisions."Where is the RED team's intel-"

Mundy waited a second in surprise, his eyes on the medic's suddenly wide-eyed expression. The bonesaw clattered against the floor.

"Oh dear," said a familiar voice dryly. "That must have hurt."

The BLU medic, still with the same shocked expression, swayed precariously before falling to the ground like a chopped tree. Thump!

Directly behind where the medic had stood was the RED spy, regarding his bloody knife with distaste.

Mundy fought to hide a smile. He'd never liked either of the spies, RED or BLU, because he disapproved of the way they slinked through the shadows and relied heavily on deception to clock in their kills. He had always thought their methods to be cowardly, especially on a battlefield where the same men were dying over and over again because they were out front fighting instead of hiding behind a disguise. Both spies had noticed this after so many years of fighting in the program, and had taken to teasing the sniper whenever they could (or in the BLU spy's case, targeting him), which had only made Mundy's disliking for them intensify. That said, Mundy had never been so happy to see a spy in his life. And although he fought to conceal his relief, the RED spy detected it as soon as he looked at the sniper.

"Truth serum, is that right?" A devious grin spread across the spy's face.

Mundy froze. Oh, bugger. He was just getting no end to it, was he?

"You're happy to see me, aren't you?" the spy said.

Mundy sighed. Why couldn't someone just kill him already?