It was perhaps his greatest invention yet. Once this wretched war ends, he could publish all of his findings and become a new founding father of medical technology. After all, his device had saved his life and the lives of his teammates on countless occasions, and tonight, he had probably made one of the most important breakthroughs in scientific history; something writers and scholars alike had dreamed about for ages: Invincibility. But of course, all new technologies had their bugs. After testing the device countless times on a select few of his pet doves, he finally moved up to humans, and the experiment was nothing short of success.
Not only did his so-called "Quick-Fix" healing gun save his teammates' lives earlier tonight, his newly-developed "Übercharge" had completely changed the tides of today's battle. Too bad the damn Übercharge shorted it out. Now all the Über function did was heal his teammates 300% faster than the normal setting. This wouldn't be so much of a problem, except for the fact that nobody on his team would be stupid enough to run so far into the battle that he would need to be healed that fast.
Then again... He let his mind drift to the more foolish of his teammates, specifically the youngest of the group, codenamed the Scout. The young boy was wiry and hyperactive, unable to sit still for longer than a second without bouncing a knee, or jumping to his feet and pacing without end. Then there was the insane, war-crazed, all-American "Soldier," as he was called. He was, if anything, a moron, although his idiocy was rival only to the Scout's.
The Medic, as he himself liked to be called, shook his head to clear his thoughts and refocused on the device in front of him. The circuitry inside the Quick-Fix was completely fried. He'd have to replace every wire in the machine. A very tedious task, to say the least. A soft clink behind the Medic startled him from his work, and as he turned around, the large, burly shape of the Sniper appeared behind him. The Medic was dropped to the floor instantaneously from a swift frying pan to the head.
When he came to, he was sitting in an old wooden chair with a very bright lamp shining on him, and his wrists bound behind his back. He squinted at the harsh light assaulting his eyes, which shone a bright blue under the fluorescent beam. It looked like he was in a concrete basement of some sort, with a wall to his right lined with strange machinery.
"A'aight, where is he?" A high-pitched Bostonian accent asked. The voice sounded so loud, though that could have been the severe concussion the Medic knew he had.
"Ich habe keine Ahnung was du redest." The Medic said. He didn't realize he was speaking in his natural German until the enemy team's Scout gave him a good kick in the shin.
"Speak English, Kraut."
The Medic grunted in pain, and fixed an angry glare at the Scout. "I have no idea what you are talking about," He finally managed.
"Scout, back off and let me do the talking." A soft-spoken, Texas accent said. "Now, look here, RED. I'm normally a pretty amiable guy, but when you take our guys hostage or prisoner? Now, I don't think I could take too kindly to that. Now, let's make this nice and simple, huh? What did you do with our Spy?"
The Medic looked at the Engineer, his eyebrow raised, "What makes you think that I'm the one who took your Spy?"
The Scout groaned and began tapping his foot, already impatient. "Look, Doc, everybody knows you got tons-a crazy, psychedelic experiments, and not enough people to use 'em on-"
A new voice cut across him; a burly, all-American voice that didn't quite understand the definition of quiet. "But that does not authorize you to use members of our battalion as test subjects!" The BLU soldier yelled.
"Listen, all we're askin' is that you turn over our Spy. Once you do... We'll make sure your death is quick and easy." The Engineer said, fussing with his gloved right hand.
"Wunderbar... My patience has been wearing quite thin as of late." The Medic replied dryly, shifting his arms to try and find a less uncomfortable position. "But I'm afraid I have no clue where your filthy Frenchman is lurking, so it seems as though your efforts to capture me have been for null."
The Engineer turned to his teammates. "Plan B?" He asked grimly. The others nodded. Somehow, the German suspected he was in for a long night.
The Engineer pulled him roughly to his feet and forced him against a nearby wall, the rickety chair toppling onto the floor with a hollow clatter. "Now I'm gonna ask you again, Doc. And bear in mind: this'll be your last chance before things start to get real complicated... Now... Where. Is. The. Spy?"
"Oh, my, how intimidating..." The Medic sneered. The Texan's face was severely blurred, being so close-up, and he suspected that the BLU team had taken his glasses, but he could still picture the ugly scowl on the Engineer's face all the same.
"I tried being nice." The Engineer shrugged, and with surprising force, he suddenly lifted the Medic into the air by his collar, and slammed him onto the ground. Once again dazed and confused, the Medic groaned in pain before something heavy collided with his right shoulder, turning the moan into a surprised shriek as his collar bone snapped under the blow.
"Yeah, how's that feel, wimp?" The Scout taunted. In shock from the pain, the Medic shouted blindly, "Ich zeige Ihnen genau, wie es sich anfühlt auf dem Schlachtfeld von morgen!" The Soldier responded to the Medic's shouts with, "This is America, maggot! SPEAK AMERICAN!"
The Medic grumbled something in his native German, spurring the enemy Soldier into an attempted shouting match, in which he called the Doctor quite a number of offensive names.
"Exactly why are you makin' this so difficult, Doc?" The Engineer asked; he sounded genuinely curious. Still on his back at the Engineer's feet, the Medic lifted his head as best as he could and answered:
"Because you and I both know that you are just using your missing frog as an opportunity to bully me over your pathetic loss this evening." Indeed, the BLU's had suffered a rather embarrassing defeat earlier that day. Evidently, they hadn't quite recovered from the humiliation.
The Engineer growled, and his gloved hand wrapped around the Medic's throat. Through the thick, rubber material he could feel that something... Wasn't right about his hand. "Why, you lowdown, good fer nuthin... I ought to beat some manners into ya..." All of a sudden the Scout kicked the Medic in the side, breaking at least three ribs. Shocked and winded, he was unable to make any noise, so he rolled onto his left side, curled up slightly from the pain. However, the Engineer rolled him onto his back again and rested his foot on the German's broken collar bone, eliciting from him another groan of pain.
"I knew the techie was gonna cut-chya some slack, but I sure as hell ain't takin' that kinda talk from a dumb brute RED like you." The Scout leaned into his victim's field of view and sneered.
The Medic scowled and asked, "Oh, I'm the dumb brute, ja? Not the BLU's who kidnap and torture the enemy just because their prim, prissy little sneak decided to hide from the shame of their failure?" This time it was the Engineer who kicked him, and two ribs on his left side broke. Still on his back, the Medic coughed reflexively, and the action sent waves of sharp pain throughout his torso.
"Now how 'bout I ask ya again, huh? All you gotta do is answer. Just give us a location. And then we'll shoot you on through Respawn... If it's still up an' running... If it's not? You're gonna be in for a long night." The Engineer grabbed the Medic's shirt collar again and dragged him into a sitting position against a wall.
He coughed again and replied, very hoarsely, "Sich verpissen!" The Soldier snarled, yes, quite literally snarled, "Even though I don't speak your filthy language I will assume that that was an insult and now I will proceed to insult you even more than you have insulted my team: ..." And so he did. After enduring about a solid minute of the insane American's racial slurs, the Engineer regained the Medic's attention by finally removing his glove.
Normally, this action wouldn't have bothered the Medic. Sadly, these circumstances were anything but normal. Even less normal than the current situation was what the Engineer was concealing beneath his glove. It looked like a hand, with five fingers, a wrist and forearm. However, it looked nothing like a hand. The fingers were jointed rods of some type of metal, and where the nails should have been, actual nails took their place; the kinds that are smashed with hammers. The wrist appeared to be made from some sort of ball-and-socket joint, allowing it to twist a full 360 degrees, as the Engineer demonstrated by spinning it like a propeller. The Medic simply couldn't help but watch, appalled, as it just twirled and twirled... Finally, the BLU stilled his robotic hand and moved his fingers around, positively leering at his prey. There was no longer any trace of the soft-spoken, amiable Texan that the Engineer claimed to be.
"Now..." He started, looming over the Medic and putting his robotic hand closer to his face... A rather ineffective move on his part, as that only blurred the image quite severely. The Medic squinted to try to put it into focus. "I honestly hoped this little interrogation wouldn't have to come to this..." He heaved a great, theatrical sigh. "But you leave me no choice, Doc. I know you don't want this anymore than I do, so come on. Just fess up. Where's the dang Spy?"
The Medic allowed himself a choice. Give up perhaps the greatest test subject he'd had in decades, or risk serious infection from those rusty nails? The choice was really quite obvious...
The Engineer jerked his head back and wiped his natural hand down his face, siphoning off some of the spit the Medic had launched into his eye. Of course, his aim wasn't precise, what with such a severe concussion, but it did get the Texan to back off... For the moment.
In the very next instant, the Engineer had slashed his robotic hand across the Medic's face, leaving three thin trails of blood in its wake across the German's left cheek. The cuts stung, but the pain was only a minor nuisance compared to his aching ribs and collar bone. He tried to move as little as possible, if only to prevent the pain from getting any worse, and out of the corners of the German's vision, he saw the three BLU's looming over him, but the only regret he had was that he failed to land the entire shot in the Engineer's eye.
After multiple rounds of questioning, threatening and beating, during which time they had broken the Medic's right leg (both the fibula and tibia) and opened a nasty cut over his right eye, it was the Scout who finally snapped.
"Alright, I'm through playin' games!" The Bostonian shouted, launching himself at the Medic. For someone as scrawny as the Scout, the kid certainly did pack a punch... quite literally. He only managed to get in around three hits before the Engineer pulled him off the Medic, but the blows that he landed broke the German's nose, blackened his already lacerated eye, and knocked out a tooth. The Medic lay prone against the wall, his entire body aching.
"Jeez, doc. You don't look too hot." The Engineer said mockingly as the Scout pulled a rather ugly face and went to stand near the Soldier, who had seemingly lost all sense of what was going on and was staring in the opposite direction. The Medic heard a rather familiar sound: the startup of his Quick-Fix. His unfocused eyes snapped open, panicked. Lo and behold, there his Medigun was, in the arms of the enemy Engineer. "Of course," The Texan said, "we don't want you passing out, do we? We'll just put it on the lowest setting and wake you up a bit. I'm sure you won't be needing her afterwards, will you? Our Medic could certainly use something this handy on the battlefield. This, and the little metal doohickey you called the Übercharge."
The Medic didn't reply. Not that he could, anyhow. It hurt too much to move his jaw... or open his eyes... or even stay awake... If he could just let himself drift...
A huge crash sounded just above the Medic's head, jerking him into a state of semi-alertness. Someone was running around on the floor above him, and making quite a lot of noise. He heard the Engineer say something, then the Scout's assent of "Yeah, gotcha," and then light, hurried footsteps that quickly faded away. The vague shape of the Engineer crouched in front of the Medic and grabbed him roughly by his left arm, then jerked him to his feet. The German grunted in protest, but he lacked the strength to fight back. He only managed a short scream as the Engineer twisted the Medic's arm roughly and the bone within broke.
Someone shouted, then a second person added to it. A third voice entered the mix, but it was quiet, polite, assertive. A single word flitted across the Medic's brain: Spy. As the Medic tried to focus on his breathing, a small conversation started up, where the Engineer shouted in surprise and dragged him backwards a couple of feet, and then the Medic heard his class title, just seconds before an electronic whirring met his ears. As soon as the sound was up to a certain pitch, something stabbed into the Medic's gut, hard, and a large warm something flooded over his abdomen. Even as he uttered another shout of agony, darkness filled his vision and his brain clouded over...
As the BLU Soldier fell to the floor, the RED Scout, Sniper and Spy froze. The Medic, their Medic was on the floor, severely injured and barely conscious, his hands seemingly bound behind his back.. The BLU Engineer yanked him to his feet, making him grunt weakly in protest. The Texan twisted his arm roughly, and a gruesome crack emanated from the limb, causing the Medic to scream in pain and surprise.
The RED Scout positively exploded. "The hell did you do to him? Doc! You bastards! I'm gonna beat on yer skull 'till I hit tonsils! You better hope Respawn's shut down, or else you'll wish you could die for good-"
"You bloody wanker! I'm gonna blow the inside-a yer head all over four counties!" The RED Sniper shouted, seemingly in a similar state.
"Gentlemen! Calm yourselves!" the RED Spy insisted. The shouts died down, and a tense silence filled the room; the only audible sounds were the Medic's labored breathing and the gentle whirring of machinery lining the wall. The Scout shifted nervously at the sound and swallowed, fingering his baseball bat.
The Sniper squinted from behind his aviators and curled his lip in disgust. "Jeez. Yer even uglier without the scope."
"Manners, Marksman. Scout, if you will." The Spy said, looking pointedly at the Scout. The RED Bostonian took off his backpack and opened it, removing from its depths the BLU Spy's severed head, perfectly conscious and seemingly unharmed, despite its missing body.
"Kill me." Was all the blue-clad head said in a disgruntled and relatively bored tone.
The BLU Engineer shouted his surprise and disgust, and took a step back, dragging the RED Medic with him. The Scout, equally appalled, held the head at arm's length.
"I think you know what our offer is." The Spy said in a businesslike tone. He seemed unfazed by the severed head of his counterpart.
"You want your Medic back? Fine. Take him. We have no more use for him, anyhow. We got what we wanted, and then some." The Engineer roughly spun the Medic to face him and held out his robotic hand, which once again began to spin like some sort of grotesque propeller. He shoved his robotic limb into the German's gut, and a pool of red instantly started spreading around the wound, sparking another round of shouts from the other three RED's. As the Engineer shoved the Medic away from him, the Scout threw the BLU Spy's head away and rushed forward. With the Sniper's help, they managed to keep the Medic off the ground, and they dragged him away from the doctor's torturer.
The Scout, panicked, shook the Medic roughly, trying to rouse him. "Doc! Can ya hear me? Come on, say somethin'! Doc!" The Sniper swatted at the boy's arm.
"Ya don't jus' shake a hurt person like he's some kinda ragdoll, boy!" With that, the marksman reached down and tapped at the Medic's face. "Come on, Doc, stay with us," he said gently. The German's face remained blank and expressionless. "Come on, lad, you know we can't have that," the Sniper said in that same gentle, concerned tone. His hand moved to the Medic's chest, and he pushed down gently on the man's sternum. The German's eyes eventually fluttered open, and stared past the Sniper's face, unfocused and detached.
"Der... Der Scout..." The Medic rolled his head to the side, muttering weakly. "Schnell..."
"The Scout? What about him? Which one?" The Sniper asked quickly.
"Blau... Er hat... mein... Über..."
The Spy suddenly pulled the Scout to his feet. "The BLU Scout," he instructed the boy. "Find him. He has something very important to our Medic. If this building is anything like our own, then you should be able to find the BLU Medic's laboratory with ease. That's more than likely where he is headed."
"On it," was all the Scout said before streaking off into the depths of the BLU base.
"Schnell... Bitte..." The Medic suddenly broke into a heavy fit of coughing. It was the kind of cough that comes with a cold, where the lungs try to push out any unwanted liquid; but instead of coughing up that moist, goopy substance that's normally associated with a cold, the Medic spit out a small amount of blood.
"Easy, Doc." The Sniper said, adjusting the Medic so he could undo the ropes that were around the German's wrists. "Just take it easy. Our Scout's on his way to get your stuff back, and then we'll get-chya back to RED base. No worries, yeh?"
The Medic coughed again in response. A strangled, pained sound escaped his throat as the incessant aching in his chest intensified, accompanied by the sickening agony of the gaping wound in his abdomen. What is it like to take a deep breath without pain? He honestly couldn't remember. His head spun and ached, and he shut his eyes against the bright light, still trying to control his breathing. His entire body hurt so much…
The wait for Scout's return was agonizing. Somehow, in the chaos of trying to rescue the Medic, the BLU Engineer had slipped away. Not that he mattered now, anyway. He could be dealt with later. The Sniper and Spy exchanged concerned looks. Here they were, in the depths of the enemy team's base, with an injured Medic, while their Scout tried to retrieve some sort of unknown device from the opposing Scout, who had run off to God-knows-where. Meanwhile, the Medic himself had slipped back into the depths of unconsciousness, his breathing a raspy whisper in the silence.
Light, quick footsteps approached, and the Spy cloaked, pulling out his revolver. The Sniper carefully lifted the Medic's shoulders and dragged him across the floor and into a corner, waiting silently. A red shirt flitted across the room, and the Spy immediately uncloaked to meet it. The Scout's arms were laden with the Medic's signature healing gun, the accompanying backpack slung haphazardly over one scrawny shoulder, and a small silver device in one hand.
"You know how to use this thing?" The Scout asked through his panting. The Spy shook his head and took the larger device from the Scout, who shrugged off the backpack and set it on the floor. "It's somethin' to do with pushin' the lever forward, right?" The Spy reached up and pushed forward on the handle, but it didn't budge. "Maybe it needs to be turned on?" The Scout asked, reaching out and flipping a small switch on the side of the barrel. The gun sparked and crackled menacingly, and the Spy quickly set it on the ground in surprise, then shot an annoyed look at the Scout.
"Obviously, it is not that one." He said. The Scout shrugged and held his hands up in innocence. The "I didn't know" in the gesture was almost audible. The Spy reached out and pushed the small switch back down. Immediately, the device stopped crackling.
"Try the one on the bottom," The Sniper called out, his hands now over the Medic's abdomen and pressing down onto the wound. The Spy hefted the heavy tool into his arms once more and felt around for another switch, which he found just in front of the handle on the belly of the device. A promising sound emanated from the Quick-Fix, and the clear-plastic barrel glowed faintly. He turned to face the injured Medic and pushed the handle forward.
A snakelike beam wove through the air and found its way into the unconscious man's chest, and after a few long seconds, the Medic coughed harshly and began gasping for air. Startled, the Spy pulled the lever back, and the beam disappeared.
"Nein!" The Medic gasped, his breathing was harsh and deep, and his eyes were wide. "Halte nicht an!" The Spy mentally translated: Do not stop. He pushed the lever forward, but it wouldn't budge. Once again, the machine began crackling and sparking, and then suddenly stopped working altogether. The only sound in the room was the Medic's frantic gasping for air, halted by half-healed ribs jabbing into partially sealed lungs. "Turn it back on... Bitte..."
"I am trying, Doctor, but the device has malfunctioned!" The Spy said quickly, pushing the lever back and forth frantically, but to no avail. The machine was, as the German would put it, kaputt.
The Medic swore in a mixture of English and German ("Fucking Scheiße!"), and tried to sit up, causing his head to spin wildly and spots to invade his vision. He felt a hand grab his arm, and he was pulled to his feet. The Sniper said something along the lines of, "...can't stay here," and the Medic felt himself being half-dragged, half-carried across the floor with his good arm slung across the Sniper's shoulders.
The Scout darted forward and grabbed the Medic's ankles, leaving the Spy to wrestle with the heavy medical equipment. After a pointed look from the Sniper, however, the Scout backed off and helped the Spy, hefting up the backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
"C'mon, let's get outta here," The Bostonian said, snatching up his own backpack and leading the way out of the BLU basement. The Sniper and Spy, with some difficulty, followed the runner up a tall flight of stairs and into a small courtyard, which they crossed in relative silence; a surprising feat for the Scout, who, in most situations, found it physically impossible to stay quiet. After traversing through the maze that was the BLU base, the rag-tag group of mercenaries found themselves in the battlements.
They were fair game, now.
Most outsiders would think that the fighting ceased after the round was completed, but that was far from the case. Any class from either team was fair game at any hour of any day, whether it was an official battle day or not. But there was some sort of unwritten agreement between the RED and BLU teams that discouraged fighting after 8pm. 3:30 in the morning, though? Well, that was practically battle time (plus or minus 4 hours, but who's counting?).
The biggest issue in the war, though, was the Respawn system, which, by policy, had to be shut down at exactly 7:30 at night, and rebooted at no later than 7:00 in the morning. So, unless someone or other wanted to stay dead for more than a few hours, the mercs were usually good about not fighting after the day was out... Usually. Tonight seemed to be an exception. This simple fact kept the REDs on high alert as they made their way through the battlements, keeping within buildings and along hills, lest someone from BLU decided to get the drop on them.
About halfway there, the Medic was struck by another coughing fit, halting the party altogether. Even after spitting out more than a couple mouthfuls of pure blood, the coughing didn't end. Carefully, the Sniper laid the German on the ground and cast a helpless look at his teammates. The Spy decided this was an appropriate time to resume wrestling with the Quick-Fix, but his effort gained him nothing more than the continued coughing of his ally.
"We need to keep moving," the Frenchman finally said, his eyes darting momentarily to the Medic, who was now curled up and gasping for air amid the relentless coughing. An expression of pity flashed briefly across the Spy's face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. The Sniper looked up at the Spy, startled by the suggestion.
"You can't be serious?" The Aussie argued, sitting back on his haunches. But the look on the Spy's face was nothing short of the word. The Medic coughed up another mouthful of blood and managed a weak moan; his lungs were absolutely burning, and his throat wasn't faring much better. If he didn't get healed soon, he would lose consciousness and surely choke on his own blood. The Sniper sighed. "Oi, Scout! Get over here and help me carry 'im, will ya? You ain't doin' much else, 'sides haul around the Doc's backpack." The Scout was at his side in an instant, crouched down and waiting for directions. "Get 'is legs. Watch out for 'is right leg, though. 's broken."
"Damn, what did they do to him?" The Scout shook his head grimly as he and the Sniper lifted the Medic off the ground and started forward. "Oh-ho-ho, man. You just wait 'til tomorrow. I am gonna mess. Those. BLU's. Up! They won't even know what hit 'em. They ain't gonna be nuthin' more'n a pile a blood an' bone by the time I get done wid 'em. Hey, keep the scope on me, huh, Snipes? I am gonna be dominating out there tomorrow!" The Scout laughed triumphantly and continued jabbering about all the ways he could break a bone with a bat, choke a guy to death with a bat, and a plethora of other things he could do with the sports equipment he called a weapon.
A single bullet suddenly whizzed between him and the Sniper, putting the Scout's triage to an end. The pair broke into a heavy run, taking shelter inside of a stray building, the Spy hot on their heels.
"Everyone alright?" The Sniper asked, looking down at the Medic, who had lost consciousness amid the chaos. There was a murmur of assent from the Scout and Spy, and the Aussie peeled himself from the wall of the building. "Keep a low profile, and follow me." Was all the marksman said before making his way out of the building and through the battlefield. The Scout and Spy kept up easily, and they made it into the courtyard of the RED base without incident.
The Sniper suddenly hefted the Medic out of the Scout's arms. "I got him from here. You go find the Engie and tell him to get his arse down to the lab."
"Yeah, no problem." The Scout said, disappearing into the RED base. The Sniper and Spy made their way down a flight of stairs and into a rather dank hallway, decorated only with a few chairs on either side of the corridor and a lone ticket dispenser. The pair burst through a set of double doors at the end of the hall, and as the Spy groped around for the light, faint footsteps were already approaching the infirmary.
The Scout and Engineer entered the lab just as the Sniper laid the Medic down on one of the operating tables. The marksman turned to the center of the room, where a rather menacing-looking device hung from the ceiling, and sighed with relief when he saw the only other Medigun in the base suspended within the mess of hydraulics and joints.
Wordlessly, the Engineer retrieved the failing Medigun and its backpack from the Spy and Scout, and placed the devices on a nearby table, resuming the work that the Medic had started nearly 7 hours ago. Meanwhile the Sniper, Scout and Spy were busying themselves with figuring out how to work the Medigun prototype. Obviously, this needed to move that way, and then that had to be moved like that before the damned machine could even be turned on. Through the relative silence (minus the Engineer messing about with wires and the three-on-one wrestling match against the Medigun), the Medic broke into another painful, burning coughing fit that shredded his lungs and crushed his entire chest.
"I got it, I think I got it, jus' gimme a sec here- yes!" The Scout pumped his fist into the air triumphantly as a bright red beam of light locked itself onto the Sniper. He pushed the lever of the device back, then forward once more, and again, the tendril of light snaked its way into the Aussie's chest. While the Spy retrieved the semi-conscious doctor, the Scout nudged the Sniper in the ribs with a smirk that obviously read "I am so totally awesome."
Once again the lever of the device was pushed forward, and the healing energy found its way into the Medic's chest. The German, once again, swallowed an enormous breath of air, instantly going limp as all of the pain in his body melted away. He felt all of his broken bones sliding back into place and mending, the cuts and bruises on his face disappeared, and the huge, gaping wound on his abdomen vanished. The Scout powered down the machine and a collective sigh of relief ran through the room as the Medic's world once again faded into darkness.
A bullet sped past the Medic's head, and the German dove for cover. He couldn't risk peeking around the corner. He nearly had a full charge, and if he lost it, it could take him more time than he had to rebuild it. A blue shirt flitted into the room, and the Medic instinctively lunged towards it. With a startled shout, the BLU Scout was tackled to the ground. The Medic grabbed the boy's shirt collar and lifted him into the air, and then pushed the smaller man up against a nearby wall.
"Hey, doc!" The BLU said cheerfully. "How ya doin'? Crazy night last night, huh?" The delight in the Scout's voice threw the Medic off guard momentarily, but the confusion was short-lived. The German's face reset itself into a stone-cold glare, his icy blue eyes boring into the Scout. "Ya know," The BLU said in that same, way-too-friendly, conversational tone. "There's somethin' I been meaning to tell ya, but after yer team came and took you away, I never got a chance to." The Medic arched an eyebrow in curiosity, but remained completely silent.
The Scout fell to the ground in breathless laughter as the Medic scrambled to wipe the spit and mucous off of his glasses. Saukerl! he thought savagely, replacing his glasses and turning to the Scout, who was still rolling around in moronic laughter.
"Ja, ja, sehr lustig." The Medic grumbled, glaring down at the Scout. If looks could kill... "However you are forgetting the part where I keep my promise from last night, and proceed to break every bone in your body."
The Scouts laughter was instantly silenced at these words, and was replaced by a snort of derision. "The hell are you talking about?"
The Medic pulled the Scout into a sitting position and pinned him against the wall. "After you broke my collarbone? Oh, but of course, I yelled it in Deutsch, didn't I? What I meant to say back there was this: 'I will show you exactly how it feels on the battlefield tomorrow'." The Medic drew his hand back and drove it into the Scout's shoulder, shattering the underlying collarbone and eliciting from the young man a shout of pain. As the Medic unhooked his Übersaw from his belt, he glared into the Scout's eyes. "If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I'm a man of my word." He let the Scout drop to the ground, turning away from the bleeding and twitching body at his feet to rejoin his allies on the field.