A friend of mine who's made a delightful comic series featuring TF2 suggests that it's the class that chooses the player and not the other way around. Now this idea got me to thinking about my own origins in TF2. I tried to come up with a good story to illustrate why I started playing Medic, and it brought me to realize something: absolutely NOTHING interesting happened when I first started out. Seriously. I started playing him after trying out most of the classes, and it just worked with what I was good at (though it didn't hurt that I'd seen his "Meet the" video before I started playing. So much awesome…) My point is that unlike most origin stories, this one is going to start in the middle instead of the beginning, because it took me a while to realize that there was no escaping my Medic-y destiny.

It all started during a round of Attack/Defend in Dustbowl. We were on the last stage, attacking the final control point, and time was ticking down fast. It was kind of funny watching our Demomen and Soldiers keep running around the corner straight at their Level 3 sentries, if you liked watching people almost die over and over again while accomplishing nothing. Meanwhile I was doing my job as a Medic: healing them up as soon as they staggered back, bleeding and probably a little cross-eyed, before they charged again. I think we had thirty seconds left when I realized that I'd reached Über.

The rest was pretty simple. I jumped down behind our Heavy (who'd just kind of been sitting there going DURRR) and activated the charge. In no time we were charging for the point, mowing down Engineers and laughing at how the bullets just bounced off of us. We captured the point as soon as the charge wore off, the clock having just ticked down to zero.

It felt pretty good for a few seconds. Until, you know, the Heavy said something along the lines of "that was ALL me" over voice chat. And the other team members didn't dispute it.

It's not that I cared THAT much. It's a game, they wouldn't have won without me, and I knew it. But it did wake me up to an all important fact: that thing people say about Medics getting no respect despite having a difficult and rather integral job? Yeah. That's not whining, it's true. Well maybe it is still whining, I dunno.

The point is that the downsides of being Medic became a lot more prevalent after that. Stuff like Snipers yelling for Medic as they leave spawn, Heavies eating their sandviches WHILE you're healing them and you have less than half your life left, Soldiers you've been following rocket-jumping off so you have to fend for yourself, the constant screams of MEDIC MEDIC MEEEEDIIIIC… Oh, and did I mention the fact that everyone on the enemy team sets their sights on you first? That lab coat might as well be a billboard with an arrow pointing down at you labeled SHOOT HERE GUYS! I KEEP EVERYONE ELSE ALIVE!

It shouldn't surprise you that I decided to take a break.

So I started playing Sniper and Engineer on occasion, which was an adventure in and of itself. I mean, playing Engineer is one of the saddest things ever when your stuff gets destroyed constantly, though it's pretty great when you find a nice spot for a sentry. And Sniper… well I die a lot as Sniper, but give me the right map, a good team, and jarate and I'll do all right.

Which brings me to that fateful day on Gravelpit.

I'd been sniping from just beside spawn near that last control point for a while, and it was working pretty well for me. Of course, that's when I checked our team composition and found out that two other people had switched to Sniper too. For a split second I considered just letting the team deal with having three Snipers and not worrying about it, when that not-so-little voice in my head assaulted me.

Zhis is UNACCEPTABLE! Your team has no Medics, and you are going to continue being a mediocre Sniper? Vhat do you haff to say for yourself?

I rebutted as best as I could. "But— but they don't appreciate me, mate! They go out on suicide charges and just expect me ta prance after them to my death, and no one remembers to thank me for it!"

Zho? Iz zhat vhy you play TF2, to be recognized? You are here to help your team-mates regardless of zhe cost, Dummkopf! How are you ever going to help zhem vin if you stay up here by spawn?

Now that was just unfair. "Well maybe I don't want ta help people that aren't gonna look out for me. When I'm a Medic, just about anyone else who's runnin' around in the battlefield can take me out in a foight. At least this way I'm up outta the action, AND I can still kill people."

Ach, you HAFF weapons you know. If you are zho worried about not being able to defend yourself, zhen perhaps it's time to equip zhat Blutsauger you haven't used yet.

"But—"

GO, SCHNELL!

And so I found myself Medic-ing once again, shiny new Blutsauger in hand and a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I thought of all the wonderful ways I was probably going to die out there today.

It went, well, about how I'd imagined it was going to go. Lots of healing Scouts and Demomen and Soldiers who bailed on me as soon as they were buffed, Heavies neglecting their jobs as meat-shields, etc. But it wasn't like I wasn't expecting it. No matter how much I'd complained before, I knew that you just had to suck it up and take it as part of being Medic. And Mister Obnoxious Voice did have a point; I was doing a pretty good job helping the team out there.

So after a while I respawned after dying, again, to find that there was no one else around and no teleporter. And all of my teammates were at the other end of the map fighting over the furthest control point. That meant a long trek all by myself through enemy territory. Gulp.

I set off, heart thumping wildly, as I scanned my environment for potential threats. A Spy I could probably deal with, as I'd gotten pretty good at recognizing them at that point, but if it was a Soldier or heaven forbid a Pyro, well, my chances of survival were pretty slim. But as my goal got closer and closer and nothing popped up, I started to relax a little. Maybe I was going to make it. Maybe I'd get to my team soon and we'd actually OH CRAP THAT'S A HEAVY!

He came lumbering out from over a hill, and it was like I'd never before noticed just how HUGE those guys are. His minigun (mini, yeah right) hadn't been spun up yet, but there was no way he hadn't seen me. And at the moment, it didn't seem I had anywhere to hide.

I started shooting at him as he opened fire. I did the best I could to stay out of his spray of bullets, weaving back and forth and running backwards, but my life was still going down and I couldn't keep this up forever even with the Blutsauger healing me as I landed syringes, and… and…

And he fell over dead.

I couldn't believe it. I mean, I've killed things by myself before as Medic, usually Spies, Engineers looking for ammo, Spies, the occasional Sniper or unaware Scout, and Spies. But this was a HEAVY, and I'd gunned him down alone. How… that wasn't… I didn't…

I may or may not have started to laugh maniacally at this point. It was just so SATISFYING. People think Medics are easy prey, that they can't defend themselves. I'd started to think it myself. And now, lying at my feet, was proof otherwise. It was with a considerably lighter heart that I found myself running to my teammates. There were people to be healed after all.

Our team might have won that round; I really can't remember much of what happened after that point. What I do remember is that my Blutsauger and I managed to take down two more Heavies that day.

Thank you Mister Obnoxious Voice. I owe you one.