The war was over. In the battle for the Gravel Pits, the Reliable Excavation Demolitions team had finally dominated the Builders League United hold on the land. Whether it was down to the final massacre of the enemy mercenaries or the fact Blutarch Mann had slipped into a coma no one really knew, and frankly no one really cared. Without further ado Redmond Mann was declared the rightful owner of the long disputed pit. The land was his. They had won.

Seeing no further need to keep them, Redmond signed the order for the discharge of his own team of mercenaries. Contracts would be severed the moment they left the state of New Mexico. They were paid in full and released under the condition that they were not to contact Mann co. ever again. That couldn't be stressed enough.

The Medic hadn't originally planned to stay as long as he had, but the minute he arrived it became very clear he was never going to find a better situation for his work. The infirmary had been wonderfully stocked with every tool a surgeon could possibly need with a most obedient set of staff at hand, and he knew for a fact that war always made for the best test subjects.

That was seven years ago. Had it really gone already? The doctor brushed his hand over the bed of one of the gurneys with a fond smile. He was going to miss this theatre. His new post was going to look much different.

After receiving the news of their severance he had thought about returning to Germany, but that simply wasn't an option. There were... reasons he had defected from his homeland, going back would not be wise. No, instead he pulled a few strings with old colleagues and secured himself a prominent position as the new Chief Medical Officer at Moorcliffe Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He'd be in charge of the people no one cared for and no one wanted, two of the most important qualities that test subjects needed to have. He'd be free to exercise his practice as he saw fit with an abundance of fresh specimens. It was, for lack of better word, perfect.

The nurses bustle round, collecting their things and taking the last notes on inventory. He packs up what's left of his reports and folds up his uniform, taking one final look at the place that let him thrive for nearly a decade. Yes he was going to miss this theatre. He wants to relive every scream, every amputation, every experimental mishap that led to this day... but now's not the time to reminisce! He needs to catch the train that will take him to his much bigger and brighter stage.


Mikhail can't stop thinking about his family. All day long the thought of being re-united with his sisters and his mother has run through his head. He stands at the crowded train platform with his ticket firmly in hand. Waves of people push past him, engineers, demomen, soldiers all of them ready to leave and be done with this place. Mikhail was with them. He didn't actually think he'd be glad for the war to be over, his passion for the fight was almost second to none, trumped only by the love he had for his family. The money he had earned was going to keep them safe for a long time to come, and that sent a warm feeling through his chest. It wouldn't be long now.

The train pulled in and he jostled with the rest of the men for his place at the doors. Over the commotion he hears a voice call out,

"Chekhov!"

He turns to see a woman in purple frantically scanning the sea of people and shouting at the top of her lungs. She looks familiar. "Mikhail Chekhov!"

Confused he turns back and shoves through the crowd towards her.

"I am Chekhov." He replies, she looks up at him and almost jumps back with the shock of his size. He's not offended, merely used to it.

"Mikhail Chekhov, Heavy Weapons Expert?" She checks against the form she has clutched in her hand.

"Da. Am about to leave, have forgotten something?" He can see the train doors slide open and people begin filing into the carriages.

"You need to come with me. There's been an accident."

His heart sinks a little. Suddenly the smiling faces of his sisters and mother are stricken by pain and fear. It chills him to the core.

"Something has happened to my family?" The woman shakes her head and fixes the glasses that have been sitting lopsided on her face.

"Not exactly." She says, ushering him away from the platform

"Slava Bogu!" he breathes, relief swelling in his chest.

"It's your combat partner."

Mikhails brow furrows in confusion. He wasn't aware he had a combat partner. The woman raises and eyebrow at him and speaks slower "Your com-bat part-ner."

"Nyet, I know meaning. But is not term I am familiar with."

She scans the document and frowns as she looks for more information.

"Viktor Roth?" She says hopefully. He racks his brain, but it doesn't sound familiar.

"Am knowing no-one by that name."

She sighs and hands him the document in her charge. "He's been involved in an accident."

He looks through the lines of writing trying to find a word he can understand. Reading never was his strong point, reading in English he struggled with even more. He finally found one word he could read but he immediately wished he hadn't.

Medic.

"The Doctor?"

The woman nodded.

He practically flung the paper back at her and stormed away. "Is not my problem." He snarls viciously. The train was ready to leave, all the doors were closing and the conductors were beginning to give their final signals.

"You don't have a choice!" She called. "You're bound by the contract."

"Nyet! Contract is over. I go now." He shouts.

"The contract isn't severed until you leave the state. If you leave now without fulfilling the designated duties you will be in violation of your employment." He could barely understand her but it didn't matter. Nothing she could say would sway him.

"Do not care."

"You wont be paid!"

Almost nothing.

He stops in his tracks and swings around.

"You are not serious." She shrugs helplessly.

"Mann Co. doesn't make jokes."

He needs the money, it's the only reason he left his family in the first place. It was for them, every last penny. After the gulags he promised that he would never let any harm ever come to them again. He neededto keep them safe. He'd promised.

"Can no-one else do this?"

She shakes her head.

"I'm sorry Mikhail, but the contract is binding."

This wasn't happening.

The whistles screeching behind them are calling for all last passengers. He has to go. Now.

"This is last train to docks. I am leaving on boat in four hours. I cannot help you."

"If you don't, you will have spent four years here for nothing." She said flatly.

Mikhail had never begged in his life but right now he was seriously considering it.

But she was right. He couldn't return empty handed. Not after everything they'd been through already.

He had no choice.

With a defiant growl he crushed the ticket in his hand and headed back towards the tiny woman.

"Fine. We go."

She gave him an almost sad smile and lead him to the cab she had waiting by the entrance. "I'll explain everything on the way."

He hunched himself inside and closed the door just as the conductor's whistle blew and the train slowly pulled off.

He had survived through thick and thin; been beaten, shot, even tortured, all for the sake of the lump sum RED had promised him. And now he was going to be stuck here all on account of ... that man? Anger didn't even cover it.

"Where to now miss?" The driver called back. She slams the door and quickly checks the document.

"Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, Critical Care Unit."