Engel looked down at the woman lying on the table in Fleischer's lab. Her bare skin was a sickly pale color, and riddled with bruises, smeared with sweat and blood. The only thing adorning the trembling flesh was a delicate chain around the neck with a fine golden six-pointed star resting between the woman's breasts, and a five-digit number tattooed across her right forearm.
The woman's brunette hair had been chopped short, and her eyes were shut tight in unconsciousness. There was a small pool of blood under each ankle, where the Achilles tendons had been cut, Fleischer's favorite way to hobble his 'patients'. She would likely never walk again. That didn't matter, though… it was her hands and head that Engel needed.
The doctor curled an arm under the woman, and slung her over his shoulder. Fleischer wouldn't like it when he found out that one of his would-be experiments had been taken. As the chief medical officer of the God-forsaken camp, Engel didn't much care how the lower-ranking doctor felt about what he did.
The twinge of death and terror hung about Fleischer's immaculate-looking lab like a miasma, and Engel was quick to leave it with his prize. None of the camp's guards questioned him as he walked through the halls. It was common enough for even the medical staff to take female prisoners to their quarters for 'entertainment'.
Dr. Engel flipped the light on in his quarters, and latched the door behind. He placed the woman on his bed and mopped the blood and sweat away before covering her with a sheet. The doctor pried open one of her startling green eyes, and noticed that the pupil was tightly constricted.
"Drugged, of course," he huffed, letting the eyelids slide shut once again. He would just have to wait.
Engel stepped out of the bathroom in his quarters with a towel wrapped around his waist, more out of courtesy for his 'guest' than anything else. He looked up to the bed, and his face paled as he realized that it was empty. Something grasped tightly around his left ankle, and the next thing he knew he was face-down on the hard-wood floor, his right arm twisted around and pressed painfully into his back. He had sorely underestimated how aware the woman would be when she came to.
"Please, mein frauline…" he grunted with a forced smile, "I vill be needing zat."
"Is zat so?" the woman hissed in her French accent. "Did you plan to use me as a lowly lab rat, like your colleague 'Herr Fleischer'?" She twisted Engel's arm a little harder, eliciting a muffled cry of pain from the man.
"Nein, I had other uses in mind for Frau Bouvier's talents." The doctor's smile was quickly swept away by a hard slap to the left side of his face that brought slight tears to his eyes.
"I am not some cheap street corner whore, Docteur…" she spat, clearly enraged.
"Ja, I know that," Engel said, a slight apologetic tone to his voice. "Perhaps I should have vorded zat differently… You have a brilliant mind, Frau Bouvier, exactly ze kind I need help from. Those are ze talents I speak of." He could practically feel the French woman's indignant glare burning into the back of his head.
After some explaining, the woman hesitantly slid off of Engel's back and grudgingly accepted his aid in getting back up on the bed. The two stayed up late into the night, and as Engel continued to share his plans, showing stacks of papers with diagrams and designs on them, the woman became less angry, and more intrigued.
Bouvier finally looked up from a paper of equations that she had corrected, into the doctor's icy blue eyes. "Ze other prisoners…" she started quietly, "zey call you 'Todesengel'. What does zat mean?"
Engel pursed his lips a bit at hearing the all-too-familiar name. "It means 'Angel of Death'."
Dr. Engel woke in a cold sweat. Panic swelled within him as the familiar scent of terror, death, and antiseptic hit his nostrils. The immaculate, white-tiled ceiling was one he never imagined he would be looking at... though it was oddly swimming in a rainbow of colors. The steel operating table felt frigid against the bare skin of his back, and he could feel the coarse threads of restraining straps pulled over his wrists, ankles, chest, and forehead. He tried to will himself to stand up, but his muscles defiantly remained limp.
"Stupid Snipah!" the hissed words echoed unnaturally in Engel's ears, but they travelled on the most terrifying voice in the world. "Ve are lucky zat you did not kill him vith zat shot! You are fortunate I vaz in a forgiving mood, othervise I vould not have felt too inclined to heal your arm…" Wait… 'Sniper'? Engel felt a jolt of realization… the mad Sniper, the Spy and his knife. This wasn't the camp… this was far worse.
Engel's fear mounted further as Fleischer leaned into view. The younger man's blonde hair was a bit disheveled from the battle before, and his icy blue eyes stared coldly down at his former superior as though he was preparing to pin and label an insect.
Fleischer leaned closer, until his face couldn't have been more than an inch from his captive's. "I vish you knew how much I have vanted zis, Herr Engel… to have you on my table after all ze trouble you caused for me at ze camp." The RED Medic wanted to shiver, but his body simply would not respond. He couldn't even blink, or close his slightly-open mouth.
"Vhat vas it ze prisoners called you? Ah… 'Todesengel' I believe it vas." Fleischer's lips once again twisted into a malicious grin. "You vill be 'Todesengel' again, Herr Engel… but zis time it vill be your teammates zat you escort to ze grave."
"Doc, are ye sure it's a good idea 'ta be tellin' him all that?" came a Texan drawl that could only belong to the BLU Engineer.
"Zat is vat the drug is for, dummkopf. His mind vill not file memories avay as it should, he vill not even remember zat stupid Snipah shooting him. I do not need you distracting me… keep quiet until you are needed!" The Texan went silent.
Fleischer reached up over the operating table. There was a loud click, and Engel wished he could have shut his half-lidded eyes against the blinding lights that shone down on him, and an accompanying flash of twinkling colors.
When Engel's vision cleared he could see the BLU Medic had taken up a scalpel… but the edges of the blade, and everything else, wavered and flickered with colored lights. It reminded him of the dreamlike euphoria that came with using his medigun for 'unintended purposes'… only this was a nightmare.
The medigun… that had to be why Engel was still aware of what was going on… Perhaps it had temporarily altered his brain chemistry… just enough so that the drug wouldn't quite work as intended.
"Ve are going to have so much fun, Herr Engel," Fleischer purred as he lowered the scalpel. The RED Medic could feel the cold blade bite into the skin of his abdomen, but the pain seemed somehow distant, as though it were happening to someone else.
Engel could feel hot blood trickle down his chilled skin as the cut was lengthened, from the bottom of his breastbone to his navel. The scalpel was raised, and brought back down out of sight. Engel could feel, rather than see, the line previously cut through his skin being redone in his muscles. There was a loud metallic clank as the scalpel was placed on the table.
"Give it to me, Herr Engineer," Fleischer commanded lowly, expectantly holding out a blue-gloved hand, now stained in the other Medic's blood. The Texan reached out and placed something in the BLU Medic's hand. It looked like a slightly smaller version of one of the Demoman's cylindrical grenades, with several modifications.
"Your team all depend on you, Engel," Fleischer sneered as he took the device. "Und it vill be their undoing… Zey all come gathering around your feet to be healed und looked after, right into ze blast radius."
Everything went white for an instant as Fleischer forced his gloved hand, still holding the device, into the incision. Sweat beaded on Engel's skin and his breathing quickened. His heart was pounding in his chest, causing the colored lights at the edges of his vision to flicker and dance. He tried to scream with all his might, but only a faint whimper managed to escape.
Fleischer's head instantly turned when he heard the sound, and he flashed Engel a predatory smile.
"You don't like it vhen I do that?" The blonde man chuckled, and released his grip on the bomb before removing his blood-soaked hand. He brought his thumb up to his lips, and licked the blood off with a smile, as though savoring the taste.
"Mein Gott," Fleischer murmured, "exquisite… you should try it…" The BLU Medic placed two bloody fingers against Engel's parted lips before thrusting them into his mouth. The older man wished more than anything that he could move, so he would be able to remove the arrogant bastard's fingers with his teeth.
"I have ze feeling zat such fine fare is vasted on you. Ve alvays did have different ideas of vhat vas savory…" Fleischer withdrew his fingers from the other's mouth.
Engel could feel the blood continuing to run from the wound in his stomach, and the dancing lights were turning into a gray haze. He could see the BLU Medic lean over and pick something up… his medigun. It had been modified, though. There were pieces changed, or replaced, and Engel noted what looked like several vent-slots on the barrel of the device, filled with a yellow-white glow.
"Do you like it, traitor?" Fleischer grinned. "I call it ze 'Kritzkrieg'. Quite an improvement on vhat BLU sent us. It may not have ze shielding powers of ze medigun, but it works nicely in other vays…" He pointed the barrel at Engel and pushed the trigger lever forward. A trail of glowing blue energy, flecked with yellow sparks, snaked to the RED Medic.
Engel could feel the incision pulling closed, feel his vitality returning. He could also feel his muscles trying to tense, and a spark of anger form in his mind. The colored lights filled his vision, though, and chased that consuming anger away, before everything faded once more into blackness.
"Frau Bouvier?" Engel asked quietly, looking over the top of one of the papers she had handed him. The French woman was sitting at his desk, looking over all of the wires and metal piping and tubes that he had managed to collect. She was wearing one of his button-down shirts, and a pair of his trousers, but she had a petit frame, causing the clothing to bunch about her oddly. He knew that there was clothing in the camp that would fit her… but he couldn't stomach going to those grisly piles, knowing that the ashes of the former owners were raining down upon him…
She turned to look at him with her blazing green eyes. She had begun looking healthier over the past weeks, especially since Engel had been sneaking extra rations for her.
"Zis device…" Bouvier started, "I zink I have found a way to store the energies in a sort of pack. It wouldn't be too terribly heavy; you could carry it on your back."
The doctor nodded, leaning back against the edge of the desk that he and Bouvier had been working at. He returned the paper to her after thoroughly inspecting the complex diagrams she had drawn on it. She truly was brilliant… and hiding under the nose of the Reich, her talents overlooked because of her gender and heritage.
"Ja… zat vill vork perfectly," Engel said. The man went silent, though, and suddenly stiffened. He could hear the loud clicking of boots walking down the tiled floor of the hallway, headed straight for his quarters. He looked at the desk, at all he and the French woman's hard work, at his dream of redemption… and terror welled up within him. He couldn't allow this project to be discovered, not now that it was so near to completion!
Engel pushed himself back so he was suddenly sitting on top of the desk, on top of the papers. "What are you…" the woman began to protest, and gave a startled yelp when the doctor took her by the wrists, and leaned forward so that their faces were mere inches apart.
"Play along, frauline, or ve vill both end up in ze furnace," he whispered darkly. The sound of clicking boots fell silent right outside his door, making the pounding of his own heart seem unbearably loud. Engel could feel Bouvier's pulse racing as well through his fingertips, still resting on her wrists.
There was no warning knock. As the handle was turned, Engel lunged forward those last couple inches, bringing his lips against hers. He could feel her body tense under his hands from… shock? Disgust?
The door was flung open, revealing a tall thin man wearing the immaculate uniform of the Totenkopfverbände. He stood stiffly, staring at Engel with an expression that was frighteningly unreadable. The doctor slowly leaned back, and looked at the older man in the doorway with a faint, almost friendly smile.
"Is zere some kind of problem, mein Herr?" Engel inquired. He swore he could see the guard smirk, a faint twinkle of amusement in his eye, and was sure he caught the scent of alcohol. The man stepped into the room, and came to a stop right next to the desk, the reek of liquor now unmistakable. Instead of looking at the papers, he looked to the French woman.
"My my, Doktor," the man slurred through a crooked smile, "vhat a lovely hure you found. I have enjoyed many of zem since ve took Paris, but I had no idea you were hiding such a prize from me."
Engel watched Bouvier, and saw the rage seething just behind her eyes. He swallowed his breath, fearing that the proud woman who had lost so much would lash out. She did… but not as Engel expected.
The woman seized Engel's tie in her hand, and jerked him forward so hard he nearly choked. Their lips were brought forcefully back together, and the doctor's eyes went wide in shock at the enthusiasm with which Bouvier's tongue was now assaulting his mouth.
The guard shook his head and softly clucked his tongue. "She is too aggressive for mein tastes, Doktor. I'm sure you vill be able to get her properly trained though, ja?"
"J-ja, Herr Kappel," Engel managed to stammer out after pulling away from those exploring lips. "But she is very spirited… und I am busy vith mein vork. You vill have to give us lots of time…" he narrowed his eyes faintly at the other man, "und /privacy/."
Kappel gave a raucous laugh, apparently satisfied with that answer in his obviously drunken state. He gave the doctor a hard pat on the back before slamming his still-open hand into the right side of Bouvier's face.
"Just to get things started for you, Herr Engel," the man smiled, turning his back and heading for the door. The doctor gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. He started to rise, but a sharp tug on his tie snapped his attention back to his companion, whose gaze seemed to say "don't do anything stupid."
He heard the door close, followed by the clicking of boots receding down the hallway. The threat had passed… for now.
"Did you really mean to fight him?" Bouvier hissed incredulously, releasing the doctor's tie. An angry red mark had already formed on her lovely face, and it would surely leave a livid bruise.
"I vould have very much liked to have broken some of ze teeth out of zat smug face. I /hate/ zat man… ze drunken letch," Engel said through gritted teeth, jaw clenched tight. He opened his mouth to say something, and suddenly found the French woman's lips against his once more. But… the danger was gone… there was no more need for such a charade… right?
The woman's lips were so soft, though, and her hands were slipping around behind his back and, oh God, the way she tasted… He forced himself to pull back, away from her.
"Frau Bouvier…" Engel started, merely a whisper, "your husband…"
"Is dead," her eyes shimmered with barely-concealed tears. "I loved him, Docteur, more than anything… but he is dead… and I will not simply stop living because of it." She flashed him a small smile.
"Docteur?" her voice sounded different, almost dreamlike. "Docteur, can you hear me?" She reached out and took hold of his shoulders before giving him a hard shake. He suddenly felt very tired, and sore. "Docteur, are you alive?" The world began to spin. "Docteur!" that voice was so familiar, and no longer female. "I zink the Docteur is waking up."
"Spy…?"