A/n: First TF2 Fanfiction, it's the mercs in the world of Bioshock 1 and 2 (aka Rapture) if TF Industries was under Saxton Hale and not the Administrator and right after WWII, decided to build Rapture for reasons that will be slowly shown as the story progresses. That said, I will not be bringing in any characters from the world of Bioshock; it will have elements of it, but it is definitely not the same thing or plot line-hence my conflict if I should post this under the crossover section; if you guy think it should be under the crossover tag, let me know and I'll make the change. I will also not be typing in accents as I find it too troublesome and also irritating at times to read. This was inspired by fortresshock by louisdelacroix and TF2 Medic meets Bioshock by Redelice; both of which are artworks found on Deviantart.
Do leave a review if you think it is worth your while; I would like to improve on my writing and know what do people think of this attempt at a crossover.
Finally, I don't own Bioshock or Team Fortress 2.
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Prologue
Early 1959, Medical Pavilion: Surgical Wing
There was a strange calmness that came with planning to do something that would drastically change one's own life. Perhaps it was the resignation, perhaps it was the fact that since everything was already going past the point of no return, may as well join in and fall to the depths. After all, there was no safety net to catch anyone in Rapture; there was nothing left to tie them to the world above and the city they lived in had started to decay from the inside. It was an irony that the "live and let live" system of life had caused nothing but suffering for a few groups of people, namely those that lived in the Pauper's Drop and Apollo Square.
Dietrich; better known as Mr Ludwig knew that it would have been a matter of time before his past would catch up with him. Or should he say, past actions since no one, save for his former sponsor and currently also the one who was out for his blood quite literally, knew about his questionable history even people he considered close enough to strike up a conversation with were privy to a few secrets. It was funny how she was legally assumed dead when it was quite the open secret that she was in fact, very much alive and furious. Perhaps he should have taken into account that some people had poor self-control and were bound to use the fruits of his research as some recreational or performance enhancing drug. Granted, the city was built upon the foundations of pure capitalist ideals where any person could achieve their goals free from restrictions enforced above—morals, traditions, laws—human created nuisances that served to hinder and obstruct free progress.
'To think I once believed that I could make some actual milestones that did not involve too much dirty work.' The German derisively thought, allowing a small disgruntled sound to leave his body as he strode through the decrepit area that had fallen into disrepair. His eyes scanned over the debris and haphazardly strewn objects that had once made up a pristine surgical theatre and laboratory.
In spite of the obvious deterioration and decay that had started to set in, it was clear that this place was once a stark contrast to its current state; clean, bright and almost welcoming, or just about as welcoming as a place for medical practice could be—enough to reassure customers that nothing but the best professional practice was carried out here, but enough to remind them that this was not a playground or a place to come to for relaxation.
Part of the doctor wondered if he would have done anything different if given a choice to turn back time and alter his decisions. He would not have entered this underwater paradise that was rapidly turning into hell that rivalled the madness that he had a hand in, but he would still be on the run with his research on his other project—started in his university years and completed to a certain extent during the years of the Second World War, it was his most closely guarded secret after his own history—that surprisingly, was never caught on by anyone, even someone as powerful and controlling as her. Then again, given that he did discover ADAM and the surrounding events that happened soon after were an effective screen to keep his activities hidden under as long as he was careful in manipulating things in his favour.
He looked at his reflection in the glass and simply let out a sigh. While there were minimal changes to his appearance over the years, he knew the exact small differences that had taken place; as much as the formula that he created served to stabilise his condition and also counter the effects of having an ADAM slug being symbiotically fused to his body, the former physician could see the streaks of yellow in the irises of his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks, dark eye circles that gave him a haunted look, and how his skin had started to take on a more corpse-like tinge. The latter three traits he could accept more or less, but the first he hated—it reminded him of his failure and the consequences of his actions, but above all, it reminded him as to why he was still stuck in the middle of the North Atlantic, many leagues under the surface world.
It also did not help that when he was pushed to any heightened emotional state, his eyes would glow in the dark like those 'gatherers' he indirectly helped to create.
The middle aged man felt a frown creep up his face and he turned away from the reflection and made quick, silent strides towards the bulkhead door that he had used to enter into the area. There was a reason why he preferred to stay away from mirrors unless he was trying to keep his appearance presentable; mirrors only showed the reality that was in front of them, but perceptions from the one viewing the subject matter would distort the truth before them with their bias and interpretation of fact.
Now, if only he could find a protector as easily as he fell into the less than optimistic thoughts that brooded in his mind; someone who could watch his back as he made quick exploratory rounds of the city from his former workplace which he had converted into a laboratory since the other clinic that he used to work from had been overrun by whatever was left of the deranged population that called Rapture home. The man had surmised that those poor unfortunate souls had believed that he would have more of that accursed drug that had caused their addiction and more of those plasmids that served to drive that addiction into their ruin. Sadly, he had nothing to offer them besides a number of corpses, active turrets, and a few security bots for their trouble—the German had considered the risk of setting up business in such an area, but the need for more research and the more than guaranteed return of more test subjects had eventually been the tipping point that caused him to act on that train of thought.
It had been fruitful and reaped benefits beyond his own expectations—there was a large crowd of people who wanted and needed medical help, and he had an endless supply of test subjects for whatever experiment or fulfil any curiosity that struck his fancy at the moment. Nevertheless, with every positive outcome came the opposing force that had to balance it out: he lost the closest person he considered a friend and trusted wall that would shield him from any physical threat.
Someone who had travelled with him from the world they had once lived above and had their own respective stories before crossing paths in the madness that was the result of human folly, ambition, greed and predisposition to destroy each other.
He had never cared for human interaction, his childhood was unremarkable—he preferred to stay inside the house than run around and horse around with others his age—and the most he could recall of his schooling years was choosing to indulge in the silent world of books and the knowledge they provided, and surviving the Second World War as a medic had saw to his final nail in the coffin as far as building any sort of meaningful social interaction with people or making friends. People came and went in his life, and he was content to simply work with or if it ever came down to such a point; outlive them.
War was a vile thing, it always had been and would always be something that brought out the worst in people. The medical practitioner was not about to deny that it was horrific as he had taken part in and lived and breathed it years ago. His hands, while stained with blood not from holding a weapon that would take away the lives of others, were stained with blood from utilising tools meant to heal. It was with bitter irony that the doctor considered himself far more unforgivable than the ones who picked up arms and charged across the frontlines to kill fellow human beings. However, he would not ignore the fact that war; unpleasant as it was, also brought out the best in people. After all, was it not because of the war that he managed to prove that his thesis had been near perfect? Was it not because of the war that he had managed to gain so much more knowledge than he could have hoped for in times of peace?
Was it not because of the war that he found another human being that he could trust with his life and call, 'comrade'?
All the complicated questions and ramifications of war and his thoughts on it aside; Hippocrates did state that "war is the only proper school of the surgeon" and the doctor was content to accept that as his own simple answer to a question that had reasonable arguments on both sides.
Begrudgingly, Dietrich had to admit that since the loss of his companion, he had slipped into a more morose and taciturn state. Not that he despised his current and sole source of human interaction now—Dell Cognaher, or more affectionately as he liked to be addressed, 'Engineer'—was welcome company. Of course, there was the little 'fire devil' that tailed along with the brilliant inventor, but aside from the muffled mumbling that came from the suit that covered its entire being, there was nothing much to be said. Then again, taking into consideration that any other form of companionship would be between corpses, or citizens who had gone insane from prolonged ADAM abuse, or "gatherers" and their guardians who were more shadows of their past human selves than actual humans…He did not have much of a choice in that matter.
Their meeting was not a chance one, unlike how he had first met his first human friend; if the man could even be considered one as it was built on the foundations of a doctor who was fleeing for his life from the opposing side of the war and so happened save a wounded civilian—the civilian turning out to be the sibling of a former gulag prisoner that had orchestrated a mass breakout and was responsible for the deaths of all its prison guards. War was unkind, along with fate; the subsequent events caused the ragtag team of three to dwindle to two and from there, the said two left for Rapture with nothing left to tie them to the world above.
On the bright side, not every meeting he had with confidants were as depressing as the first, he had met Herr Cognaher when they were partnered to build the vita-chamber and develop the research camera; while they did not necessarily get along at first due to conflicting personalities and disciplines in their field of expertise, they did form a semblance of rapport based on their love for the sciences and discovery of something new that could potentially change the world as they knew it to be.
Now, the doctor—or as Dell Cognaher had taken to calling him, Medic—was working along with the man. Partly due to the ongoing chaos and the need to have someone who could keep them from dying as first aid kits were becoming few and far between them, and using the prime health units required money as illogical as it was considering the current state of affairs; but more importantly, the Texan had been the one who had designed Rapture's security systems. It would be idiotic to try and attempt to hack machinery by himself when the man who designed them could very easily bypass their commands in seconds. Furthermore, together as a team, they could combine both their brainpower to achieve much more than as individuals.
On that subject, the German had to get back to the two people he had allied with—as much as he had come out of their temporary base of sorts with the intention to search for a possible protector, he knew better than to stay out too long in the open. While he could defend himself reasonably with the large wrist mounted needle that was longer than his arm, the doctor was not a fighter. Hell, he did not arm himself in the Second Great War aside from a standard luger and his bone saw, the latter of which he would admit was used more for killing than actually saving someone's life by performing an emergency amputation. In his own defence, it was unfair and unjustified to kill a combat medic; surely, the white band with a red cross on it was more than enough to act as a scream that he was considered a non-combatant and not supposed to be shot at or attacked.
Except that humans, in addition to being incapable of adhering to rules and regulations, were equally incapable of comprehending simple symbols and what they stood for.
It was the slight scraping of metal on metal that snapped him out of his small internal rant, a sound that he had come to associate with a certain variant of splicers; the most deranged, dangerous and possibly, most evolved of Rapture's citizens from ADAM abuse and uncontrolled usage of plasmids in the ongoing civil war that had torn the city apart. He stood still and forced himself to train his ears on the source of the harsh metallic screech; as much as he could easily heal from any sort of injury, he preferred to return in one piece and without the fussing that his colleague tended to launch into on realising that he had gotten into some form of trouble one way or the other.
The hallway he had been travelling it was now eerily silent, even with the place being devoid of any semblance of life and normality, it was too quiet. A place should never be so silent that one's breath sounded like harsh rasps of air and their own heartbeats like pounding drums in their ears. However, here the doctor was experiencing all of those things that were so wrong in normal society and life. However, all form of normalcy had left had it not?
Maybe, just maybe, he would for once concede that he should have left behind everything in Rapture and returned to the surface world before things had reached the point of no return.
There was a loud crash, not enough to be considered deafening and leave him in a state of shock, but enough to have the German bolting to close the distance between him and the exit he had been heading towards. Since when was the gottverdamnt door ever that far away? A scowl twisting itself onto his lips, the doctor found himself letting slip a string of curses that included a family tree between a man and a baboon, as well as several instances of medical malpractice that would have left a hardened person cleaning out the mental images in their mind for a good while.
He let out a much needed breath once he made it past the bulkhead that had stood between him and the glass tunnel that led to the rest of the hospital building; making a mental note to mark the surgical wing of the medical pavilion as another place that now had a heavily spliced citizen roaming its mostly abandoned halls. The medical practicioner belatedly realised that he had been holding in his own breath since being made aware of the drug addled citizen skulking around the place he was searching through earlier; another thing to note about his physiological change since his own self surgery to implant the ADAM slug into his body, the German realised that the limits of his own body had reached the point of being near invulnerable. A feature, that he had managed to achieve albeit temporarily with his other formula prior the discovery of the accursed drug that now ran the wheels of a fallen society.
Just as how the world above was run along the wheels of a handful of people who would stop at nothing to get their grubby hands on Australium.
His mind told him to be on his guard, whether out of residual instinct as a field medic or the fact that said instinct played a large role in his survival throughout major happenings in his life, the doctor took much more caution as he navigated the once familiar place where he took up employment when he first entered the underwater city. Most of the facilities had since been switched to those aimed at cosmetic surgery rather than treating illness of any sort—an unintended side effect of ADAM being made readily available to the public—it was frustrating for him to say the least. Patients; test subjects did not come by as readily as they once did, and while wealth was not an issue for a person such as himself, it was the thrill of discovery and the process of learning that had drawn him to Rapture. Having the very reason as to why he even set foot into the city removed from him only added on to his many greivances and lack of motivation to conduct new experiments in furtherance of any hypothesis that struck his mind as he went about life in a simple, monotonous fashion.
Or as monotonous as he found it to be when living in the lap of luxury as a prominent figure who to most ordinary people, had attained success and was living the Rapture dream. After all, he was Dr Ludwig; in the eyes of the common public, "the doctor, scientist and researcher who had made a name for himself through the sweat of his brow and being unafraid to tread into uncharted territory alone to achieve his goals." When in truth, it did not matter if he was counted amongst the elite; he never took part in any of the social events hosted by any of his equally well to do neighbours who were masters of their respective fields, he was either at the Mendel Memorial Research Library or at his own laboratory in Artemis Suites. In his mind, as long as he could conduct his experiments, as long as he continued to have the freedom and power to work free from any restriction, Dietrich would not give a damn about his surroundings. He had pulled off more impressive feats before and that was when he was on the frontlines trying to be creative with the still warm corpses and body parts strewn about for the crows and worms to claim.
That did not mean that he closed himself off from his neighbours entirely; the physician could easily maintain small talk and exchange pleasantries, it was merely a question of what could he get out of a conversation. He could also school his face into any expression he wished to convey the message he wished to bring across to his fellow conversation partner—often leading to the misconception that he was a very animated and sociable person. Did they not know that the best way to hide secrets was to be as seemingly open as much as possible; the more people tried to bury their secrets under a mask, the more easily they would be discovered. Was he always such a cynic and manipulative man?
Arguably, the answer was no; if anything, the fact that he was part of the Central Council had twisted his ability to manoeuvre through social situations despite his lacklustre attitude to building interpersonal relationships. Besides, someone had to be the more devious person in the duo that was he and his friend in the later years of the Second World War to survive and eventually attract the right attention to be scouted for a project like Rapture.
Those years were the most stressful and yet also the years he missed most in his life at this moment. However, he did pick up a few useful skills that increased his chances for survival.
Like how he did not miss the shadow darting off into the darkness and how that shadow came with the sickeningly familiar sound of crackling plaster that he came to associate with trouble. Or the fact that there was loud, deranged laughter and screeching about being evicted from their home within a ten metre radius. The latter he hoped was two splicers fighting between themselves and that they would both kill themselves in the process or at least leave one standing in a condition to be easily picked off. The first he could recognise as the same type that he had ran away from in the surgical wing; if it was the same one, he would have to hand it to the drug addict for being persistent as well as retaining sufficient intelligence to tail behind him without raising any suspicion to this point.
If he was careful, and if anything that remotely resembled fortune still existed in the city was on his side, the physician was certain that he could avoid any unnecessary confrontation and be on his merry way. However, it appeared that today was just not his day as before he could ready himself for any sudden change in circumstance, there was a thud that jolted him and had him stepping onto a puddle which caused him to slip and fall to the cold, tiled floor.
"I'm gonna show ya what it's like to look different!" The horrifically disfigured and delusional splicer shrieked, holding up a red-hot hook in his hand, ready to strike. Had it not been the fact that the man was so far gone and was threatening him with violence, the doctor would have found it in himself to feel some pity and horror at the physical deformations that ADAM abuse could cause.
Either way; pity or not, the German decided that he did not want to stay around to allow the irrational and drug addled fool who looked ready to disfigure or gut him like a fish with the cruel-looking hook in the latter's grasp and promptly responded by stabbing the psychotic addict with the huge hypodermic syringe mounted to his right wrist, before flinging the body as far away as possible from him. As a doctor, he learnt in his mind that he was to care for anyone who required his assistance, be it friend or foe. As a human, he accepted in his heart that unless he saved himself by all means necessary, he would not be able to lend his assistance to those who needed it.
Getting up to his feet; the fact that he could hear the incoming approach of the two splicers he was aware of prior his skirmish with the shell of a human who had threatened him served as a grim reminder that he was not alone and would soon find unwelcome company. The syringe he equipped was a decent weapon, but for all its intents and purposes, remained as a tool for draining out the ADAM rich blood of the corpses that littered the city whilst the civil war raged on—if Dietrich was going to find a way to fully cure the negative effects of the drug, he was going to need large amounts of samples and specimens to work on; crazed test subjects that were more likely to kill him than stay still were out of the question. But, there was no one stopping him from draining out the blood of those bodies that were lying around or simply flowing in a wasted sack of flesh, tissue and organs that were the splicers roaming around like mindless slaves to the drug produced by a sea slug.
He should have asked his colleague for a security bot or two before leaving; it was not as if Dell was such a selfish person that he would deny the doctor any of his creations, if anything it was the reverse. Admittedly, it was more of Dietrich's own aversion to using the machines—while they did provide substantial cover and could help tilt any confrontation in his favour with their added gunfire, they were noisy and bound to give away his position with their whirring. Furthermore, it never escaped the physician's notice that the mechanic expert was often particularly upset when the doctor failed to return the machines in less than pristine condition. A reaction, that made the German wonder how did the Texan manage to rise up the ranks of Rapture—it was true that neither of them were saints or near humanistic as far as their fellow peers were concerned, but Cognaher had a genuine friendly streak that was few and far between most in the city.
Regrets and second thoughts aside, the doctor reminded himself that engaging in buyer's remorse was no better than indulging self-pity; ultimately useless and a waste of time and effort, there were so many things he could do with the energy that could be spent on emotions and nostalgia. Energy, that he would gladly sell his soul for now as he ran for all that his life was worth from three very livid splicers; the one he had stabbed and flung earlier much more furious than before and very much alive, the other two having stopped their brawl and choosing to come after the source of the commotion in hopes of possibly getting more ADAM—Dietrich had no idea as to how the logic of the citizens worked, but given their insanity he supposed it was something to be left untouched even if he was extremely curious about it.
In the end it was a slippery step and a well-aimed bullet to his leg that had him tumbling down the stairs he was attempting to climb; teeth gritted from the white hot pain which gave way to a dull ache, glowing yellow eyes squinted at the gradually closing wound that had been an ugly growing splotch of crimson. ADAM and his own healing formula had given him unnatural fast regeneration from all physical wounds, but it did not remove the foreign body that was lodged in his flesh or remove the sensation of pain. Those two were minor inconveniences that he had come to accept as part of his own physiological dependence on both drugs; ADAM to give him the unnatural properties of the drug and allow his tests to go on uninterrupted as he did not have to scavenge for the material like one of the splicers, his own formula to counter the cellular instability and ensure that most, if not all of his original genetic material was left untouched by ADAM.
What he hated most was that his body responded the same way any normal body would after a gunshot wound; the limb would remain useless as if it was still wounded until his brain comprehended the fact that it was healed and capable of function—all he could do now was attempt to inch away pathetically as the three maniacs advanced towards him menacingly. The doctor felt his heart thud against his ribcage, feeling blood thrum through his ears—if this was how he was going to meet his end, he was never going to rest in peace. No, there was too much at stake, too much that he had put in during his time in a godforsaken place like Rapture, and he would be damned before he had all his outstanding ties with the city settled.
A scream left his throat, the cry a piercing sound of fear than that of pain; a hook had torn a nasty gash into his arm, courtesy of the scarred and mutilated splicer he had stabbed just a while ago. Dietrich had scrabbled right into a wall, having not turned back to see where was he going as he was dragging his leg that still refused to respond to any command from his brain. The doctor did not have to look at his arm to see that the gaping wound was knitting itself shut, he could feel the flesh closing up with each passing second; leaving behind newly repaired skin and muscle over once exposed bone. He noted detachedly that the same could not be said for his other injuries that were starting to appear at an alarming rate.
Darkness closed in on the edges of his vision, it would not be long now that the rate of his injuries would catch up with the rate of his self-healing, and for once, he found himself truly filled with envy for the pitiful gatherers that had been the side product of some other scientist's research that stemmed from his discovery of ADAM. At least, they had their protectors to watch over them and even mourn their passing if they fell victim to an attack. The physician waited for the final blow to arrive, his mind had dully noted that in the midst of the battering he was under, the splicers had realised that he was similar to the gatherers that they enjoyed to target—just without one of those enslaved guardians that were bound to them. Exhaustion pulled at his eyelids, the skin felt as if there was a weight attached to them, threatening to close his eyes and lull him to sleep.
Instead, it appeared that he was at the mercy of fortune as a loud roar and thud stopped him from sliding down to the floor—the noise having disrupted him out of his stupor and forced his eyes to open and watch whatever was going on.
To say that he was surprised would be an understatement in itself, Dietrich could not help but stare with wide eyes at the sight before him.
With the speed of a snail, his mind sluggishly recalled that he had once wondered why did the gatherers call their less than gentle giant guardians "knights"; at least he could now see for himself first hand, the answer to his previous musings. The physician could not help but observe that this model of the Protector was unusual—granted there were many models of these abominable ghouls that had been once human and turned into something less than what they were for some crime over the other in the Penal Colony, but the only ones he saw either had a huge drill or rivet gun attached to their suits due to the simple fact that they were originally meant to repair and maintain the city from outside in the highly pressurised water before being trained to be what they were known for now. For starters, this Protector had a weapon that was reminiscent of a Gatling gun, however its design looked sickeningly familiar—one of Dell's designs? Surely, not, the Texan was not involved in gun design of that sort.
Nonetheless, the way how the firearm functioned stirred memories in his head, most of which leading to conclusions that he hastily shoved away in the furthest regions of his mental world. The lumbering figure of the Protector loomed over him, having disposed of the attackers in its own brutally efficient and effective way. It stared down at his slowly healing body, the viewing pane of the helmet having a yellow glow, not too unlike the German's eyes a short while ago when he had been in an elevated emotional state.
When he made no move to acknowledge the being in front of him, it held out a hand; a gentle gesture offering support amongst the ruins of a devastated city. In Dietrich's mind however, it was another thing altogether: as if he was transported to a wholly different time, the world around him melted into the cruel flashes of a distant war that was long over, and a single sentence that was all too familiar rang in his ears.
"We go together, Doctor."