An intense staring contest between me and the many men sitting on various chairs around me ensues. Physically, they are obviously all of different builds and backgrounds. The man closest to me on the left is absolutely huge, dwarfing the chair under him (which seems ready to buckle at any given moment). He has a hard face with a closely shaven head, and his arms are as thick around as tree trucks, giving him the impression to be some sort of bodybuilder. His appearance greatly differs from the man sitting on a stool across the table from me wearing an eyepatch.
The man's dark skin greatly contrasts with the baby blue shirt he's wearing and- wait a second, is that a skirt!? My eyes widen and his single brown eye does the exact opposite. He stands and puts a hand on his hip akin to a teenage girl as he takes in my surprise.
"Aye lass, ye jealous of me kilt?" He breaks into a grin and lets out a boisterous laugh, breaking the tense silence. The outburst is all it takes to create a more comfortable atmosphere as voices mingle together.
"Hey baldy, I saw you checkin' her out and I'm gonna say this once: she's mine," says a skinny man sitting in the corner behind the real life Incredible Hulk. The giant turns slightly toward the man who rudely addressed him.
"I do not know what tiny Scout means. She is too good for you anyway," the big guy says. The man, no, boy, called Scout bristles.
"You are so gonna regret sayin' that fatty!" Not anticipating anything else interesting to come from that conversation, I turn my attention to a loud, helmet wearing guy. Unofficial-looking medals adorn the left breast of his jacket.
"…first communism, now women! You cannot make me work under such deplorable conditions!" he shouts in a gravelly voice.
"Good for ye Sol, ye finally said a big word!" The one eyed man responds with a laugh. The helmet wearer puffs out his chest proudly at his friend's praise.
"And I'll say it again: women!" he repeats louder than before.
"He meant the other word, mate," comments a tall, skinny man, leaning casually against the wall with a small grin gracing his lips.
"Communism!" shouts Helmet, still wrong but happy with the praise.
A rather loud sigh draws my attention to the other corner of the room. "Why must I be on the same team as zhese bumbling idiots…" I hear. My amused gaze lands on a masked man, and I watch him pull out a cigarette seemingly from nowhere. He ignores me, choosing instead to light his tobacco and fuss over his sleeve cuff.
As I look over the strange group, it occurs to me that Miss Pauling has been calling out over the sudden ruckus to try and regain order for quite some time. I can barely hear her though I'm right next to her. A terrifying thought hits me – is it always this way? If so, how can anyone think in this cacophony of nonsense? Judging by the looks of things, not many men do a whole lot of deep thinking around here anyway. A waste of intelligence, but not all thinkers are good people to befriend. At least there's hope that these people are trustworthy.
Miss Pauling eventually gives up on her quest for peace and quiet and opts instead to single one of the people out.
"Pyro!" she calls, catching the attention of a person fully-suited for firefighting, wearing a gasmask. They walk over and stop in front of us, staring through the unsettling tinted eye holes. They cheerfully wave at me and I hesitantly smile back.
"Engineer, I'm sorry that the men couldn't behave long enough for your introduction, but Pyro will be your guide for now." Miss Pauling looks at the suited figure. "I trust you can show her around. If you need me, I'll find you two." The woman smiles at me and turns to walk away, but pauses for a second.
"Don't worry about a thing, Ms. Davies," she whispers softly, "you'll understand what's going on here pretty soon. Remember what I said before and you'll do just fine." The woman gives a quick, half-hearted smile before resuming her departure. Striding away as if nothing had happened, Miss Pauling disappears from my view and leaves me with the stranger called Pyro.
"Hello," I begin strongly, not wanting to show my nerves. Besides, why be rude to someone I've just met?
There is no response from the masked figure, only simple gestures to follow them. I comply and am led up a short set of stairs into a hallway with many doors on one side. We pass all of them and I notice that though they may look similar, the doors each have a name inscribed into the smooth cedar. The first one we pass is labeled Scout, followed by a hastily scribbled Soldier, and then an artfully penned Pyro. We pass two more, marked Demoman and Heavy respectively, before stopping in front of a blank one.
I look at my companion questioningly, and they open the door for me. Inside lies a treasure trove I could never possibly dream of.
The bedroom basics are all there, a standard bed, adorned in sky blue sheets and comforter with a decently sized window above it, letting in the warm early afternoon sun, and a desk-dresser combo against the wall at the foot of the bed. What catches my eye are the walls on both sides, lined with boxes and boxes of overflowing tools and parts meant to be fiddled with. All sorts of building materials – woods, metals, plastics, glass, you name it – were on the left side, along with implements to bond and form whatever the heart desires.
On the right, the boxes are more orderly and some even have labels. When I walk closer to get a better look, I notice that one box is specifically for blueprints of many objects; automated machines, different kinds of weapons, and even toys are drawn out on paper. I don't get to look much into other boxes, since Pyro taps me on the shoulder and points to the door. Despite my disappointment, at least I can explore my new collection later.
The Pyro takes me back the way we came and beyond the now empty room where I first met the rest of the gang. I'm curious where they've all disappeared to, but I don't bother asking. This tour guide hasn't spoken a word yet, however I'm actually more comfortable around them than I had initially anticipated.
Once we reach our destination, the Pyro turns to me and pats me on the arm in a friendly fashion before ushering me through another door. This time the door is cold metal, not wood. Inside is what looks to be a doctor's office, strongly smelling of antiseptic and looking too pristine to be considered a comfortable environment. A man I didn't see earlier in the day is sitting off to the side, behind a cluttered desk with papers and lab equipment scattered everywhere. He almost doesn't notice us, until the Pyro loudly shuts the door. He starts and looks around wildly before locating us across the room.
"Ah, I see you've brought ze Fräulein to see me at last," the man comments as he appraises me like a hunk of meat. I frown, but try to keep a cordial tone with the potential ally.
"Hello, Mr..?"
"Medic," he finishes for me and stands up. "Ve don't go by surnames here, only our jobs. I am zhe current medical professional in zhis base, und you are zhe Engineer, ja?"
"Uh, yes, I am I suppose," I say, "though I'm not really sure what that job title requires me to do around here." Medic approaches me with an air of mild interest, wheeling along an already prepared cart of syringes and medical tools. I cringe as I look over the assortment.
"Vell," he starts, "I am not an engineer myself, but I can tell you zhe basics." He looks at me and holds out an open palm. "Your hand."
I cautiously stretch my arm towards him and set the back of my hand in his palm. "What's this for?" I ask him, wary of the many needles that seemed ready to be used to suck out all of my blood. Okay, that's a little overdramatic, but still a scary possibility.
He quirks an eyebrow. "You need to have your respawn chip implanted in order for you to come back."
"A re-what chip?" I cock my head at his words before continuing. "Come back from where?" I question. The doctor grins as he picks up one of the larger needles.
"Zhe dead, of course," he states, and then guffaws, as if it's the most humorous thing he's ever said. "You may feel a pinch und a burning sensation," he continues after a second of regaining his composure. "Zhat is normal for zhis procedure. Anyvay…" he sticks the needle into the crook of my elbow and presses the plunger down as he begins explaining my job. As if I can even concentrate on him, my arm immediately erupts into a flame and my blood evaporates. Then the sensation is gone in a millisecond and everything becomes cold, like I've been dropped into arctic waters. I involuntarily shiver and stare at the Medic, wondering just what the hell was in that syringe. He doesn't look at me while he continues to talk, only stopping to ask a question.
"How do you feel, Fräulein? Any hypersensitivity at all?" He eagerly searches my pained expression for an obvious answer, and I can only bite out a single response.
"I thought you said you were a doctor." Gradually, everything fades to black and my body goes slack. At least I can't feel anything anymore.
When I wake up, I'm lying on a cot behind a curtain, still in the medical bay judging by the heart monitor that I'm attached to. I look around and am startled by the gasmask-d face at my bedside. A small wave hello from the Pyro relaxes my frayed nerves and sets my mind into motion. The curtain is pulled back and the Medic's head pops into view.
"Oh, Pyro," he starts to chastise, "you said you'd tell me vhen our Engineer came back." He laughs loudly again, and the Pyro shrugs, unfazed by the apparent one-sided humor.
He walks around the curtain to stand over me on the opposite side of the bed as Pyro. "I'm glad to see zhat it only took you six hours to get to zhe land of zhe living again. Last one took eleven in a half." He taps the heart monitor and sighs, waiting for me to say something.
"Oh, I was just repeating chemical names und solutions; I knew you couldn't understand me anyway, no one ever does after zhe injection." He gives me a wicked smile. "I don't know a thing about an Engineer's job. I just vanted to see how long you vould try to stay after killing you." I narrow my eyes as he laughs. Who does this nut think he is!? As I go to take off the heart monitor, Pyro stops me with a gentle hand and, as I look at them, they shake their head.
Medic wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. "It's getting to be a good thing zhat you've joined us, Ms. Davies." I freeze at his casual use of my name. "People like you never cease to humor me."
"Why does everybody seem to know me!?" I growl, exasperated. Nothing is making sense around here, least of all this 'medical professional' and his ability to do as he pleases. He claims that he just killed me and acts like it's a regular Tuesday afternoon occurrence! In a fit of anger, I ignore the Pyro and tear off the dainty heart monitor wires. Hastily, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and move to get up, but am stopped by a sudden lightheadedness.
"Ah, ah, ah," scolds the Medic, briskly moving to my side and extending his arm out in front of me. "You vill be staying vith me in ze medical bay so I can monitor you easily. Zhere is a possibility zhat you may suffer some, ah, unfavorable side effects of your new ability to respawn." He pauses dramatically and looks at the Pyro. They, in turn, nod and stand to leave. It's strange, the most suspicious character I've met all day is the one I trust the most out. It only takes them a moment to disappear behind the curtain and I can hear the soft clang of the metal door close.
Medic turns to me and sighs. "You know," he says calmly, "I'm not trying to be rude. You do need to rest for tomorrow, zhough. I vill vake you vhen it is time. Gute Nacht, Engineer."
He goes to pat my shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and freezes before touching me. Abruptly, he turns on his heels and begins the short walk out of my view. I glare daggers at him as he leaves. Mood swings, much? And of course he doesn't give me any time to ask questions.
I roll my eyes and try to make myself comfortable on the lumpy mattress, which I quickly realize is a lost cause. When sleep does finally take me, I can hear soft classical music and humming. My mind is filled with thoughts of dying plants and how much more I liked Miss Pauling than the pretender in a lab coat.
a/n: Again, I'm sorry for anyone who read the previous chapter before the fix. But, how's chapter two? I'm actually quite happy with this so far, and it gives me hope that I will continue to write. I see over 15 hits for my first chapter, which is even more than I can ask for. Thank you, whoever is reading this right now. You make writing this worth it!
Cheers!
Edit 11/8/18 – fixed some minor errors and rewrote for cohesiveness