Chapter One: No One Home

"Doktor?"

"Ja, Heavy? Vhat is it?"

"Did something happen? In the fight?"

Medic lifted his head to face Heavy, which had been engrossed in an unfortunate specimen. His face looked unnatural somehow. He looked as dead as the subject on his slab.

"We von, didn't ve? Isn't zhat vhat matters?"

"Da...we did. But you don't seem happy about it."

"Very perceptive, Heavy."

"Ludwig."

Medic stood, his hands face-down on the table.

"Don't call me zhat. Somevun could be listening."

"I think you're the only one who needs to listen. In one ear and out the other, Doktor."

"Alright, dummkopf. I'm all ears."

Heavy sighed. "You weren't happy about last fight either. Or the one before. You are usually schastlivyy after a fight. But you've had a..."

Heavy put a hand on his head, trying to remember the phrase Scout taught him.

"Lightning over your hair."

"I believe," Medic said, sneering, "you mean I've had a storm cloud over my head. And zhat is preposterous. I am as vell as I'll ever be."

"Then maybe you need a doktor, Doktor."

"I am not sick."

Heavy sat down in one of Medic's chairs, wincing at the loud creak it made as he made himself comfortable. Medic scowled and went back to his surgery. There was an awkward silence.

"After you wash all the blood off, you want to play checkers?"

An angry slam of a surgical knife echoed off the high walls of the laboratory.

"No, Heavy! Do I not have zhe privilege of having some peace for a night? Dummkopf..."

Heavy shrugged his shoulders and got up from the chair.

"Don't worry, Doktor. You know where the checkers are. And you know where I am. If you want to play, I'll get us some drinks, da?"

Medic didn't answer. He kept tearing away at flesh, robotically stitching organs back together. His flair was completely gone. Heavy closed the laboratory door behind him, using all of his willpower not to tear it off its hinges. Scout was waiting outside, peeling an orange.

"Well?" he said, popping a piece of the fruit into his mouth.

"He doesn't look good. He isn't Medic, Scout. He's just there with his hands, but everything else is gone."

Scout waved his hand. "He's a few bullets short of a forty-four if you ask me. Medic's probably just in one of his moods."

"He called me dummkopf."

"Heavy, I don't know if you've noticed, but he kinda calls everyone that. Like, we even have a point system. Not to brag, but I hold the record out of all of us."

"Like he meant it, Scout. Doktor looked like he wanted to suck my soul out of my body."

"Didja touch his stuff?"

"No."

"Say no to being a test subject?"

"Nyet."

"Used him a lot when we fought?"

"Only twice. And it was really bad."

"Don't know what to tell ya. Maybe one of the other guys got on his bad side. Him and Spy might have some beef or something."

The two of them walked towards the main room, hearing the sounds of an argument from within.

"You idiot! 'End Of Heartache' is by far the best wrestling move! Drama, class, and utter destruction!"

"The 'Piledriver' is what every fight should be: quick and easy! This ain't a high school play!"

"But where is the fun in that, my monosyllabic friend?"

"Now, y'all, we can all agree that both of 'em are really good moves. Either way, a man ends up on the ground. Does it really matter how he got there?"

"You have obviously never killed a man surrounded by roses, lilacs, and lavender in a sword duel to the death, feeling the spring wind on your face as you dragged his body into the deepest ditch you could find."

"That's all hogwash. If you wanna kill someone, just grab their throat and squeeze 'til they ain't breathin' no more. Or blow them all up. Or mow them all down with a machine gun. Or maybe, if I really wanna have fun, I..."

"You've already told us about the maple syrup, and I don't think the world is ready to hear it a second time."

Scout peeked his head in, followed closely by Heavy. Engineer, Spy, and Soldier were all seated around a table with the most serious looks on their faces.

"Uh, guys?" Scout said, nodding towards Heavy. "This guy says that Medic has a problem. This...whatever this is can wait. Never should have gotten you into WWE..."

Engineer frowned, thinking back. "You know what? That doesn't surprise me too much. Medic's been kinda on the wonky side lately."

Spy laughed. "We are all a bit crazy. But, yes, Medic isn't his usual kind of insane. He seems a lot more depressed, with very little mania in between."

"So," Scout said suspiciously, "you didn't get in a fight with him?"

"Hah, no! I have learned my lesson about Medic. A very skilled doctor with a very short temper."

Spy lifted up on of his sleeves to reveal a newly-stitched scar.

"Told him a joke about Germans during an injection. By the time I had gotten to the punchline, he had dragged the needle through my skin like a knife."

Soldier shuddered. "He's like a rattlesnake in a deep-fryer. Just when you think it's over, he comes back and bites ya!"

"But," Heavy interrupted, "he isn't Medic now. He's someone different."

"Dear God..."

Soldier stood up, putting his foot on the table and leaning over it.

"It looks like we have a clone situation on our hands. Code Body-Snatcher."

Spy rolled his eyes. He lit a cigarette to help him focus through all the chaos. After a few puffs, he spoke.

"I think he means figuratively, Soldier. He's the same person, but he is acting like someone else. Comprendre?"

"I should have known."

There was a pondering pause.

"He's in the Witness Protection Program!"

"Jesus Christ..."

Spy looked like he was about to explode as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

"Why do I try to explain anything to you..."

"Alright, alright, focus," Engineer said, "we need to figure out what's got Medic all in knots. If something happens, and he gets fed up, there'll be no getting him back."

Scout rubbed his chin. "Maybe it's his birthday and we forgot?"

"I don't think so." Heavy said, sighing. "He hasn't told us his birthday before, so why would he care now?"

"How's Archimedes?" Engineer suggested.

"He shat on my head this morning," Spy snarled, taking another puff, "so I'm guessing he's not critical. How many bodies has he operated on?"

The entire group raised a hand, some even putting up two or three fingers.

"Ay, caramba."

"Think he could be a spy?" Sniper said from the back, already taking out his gun.

Scout chuckled. "He'd be a pretty bad spy, then, if we were already onto 'im."

Engineer threw up his hands and slapped them down on his knees, causing everyone to stop talking.

"Why guess around? Medic is kind of an odd bird, but he's still logical. If he's got something on his mind, he'll tell us eventually. We just gotta wait and see. He's not exactly a squealer when it comes to pain, so it'll just take a while. The more we try to figure it out, the more he's gonna hide. We have to show him that there's no use in keeping to himself."

Spy smirked. "I've always admired Medic for that. Keeping secrets is the height of strength, especially ones about yourself."

"You would know-" Scout began, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Soldier got up and looked out through the peephole.

"Miss Pauling is requesting entry!"

Engineer nodded assent. "Just what we need. A pair of fresh ears. Maybe she knows something about Medic's funk."

The door opened and slammed smartly shut. Miss Pauling walked into the room, covered from head to toe in ashes and blood.

"The witnesses are disposed of. I thought I wouldn't be able to make it to game night, but most of them were over fifty. Very easy kills."

She looked around, then looked back at the group.

"I thought for sure you would be neck deep in a game of Battleship by now."

Scout gestured towards the hall. "Something's up with Doc. We're trying to figure it out before he takes out our livers."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me show you," Heavy grumbled, getting up and heading towards the laboratory. Miss Pauling followed him closely.

"He could be having a mental break. He is one of the more ecstatic members. His report showed quite a few psychological issues, not to mention his kill count."

"He isn't going crazy. That's the problem."

"Okay, Heavy, I have no idea what that means."

They came upon the laboratory door, one of which was slightly ajar. Heavy examined it closely.

"I closed the door when I left. Did he go to bed now?"

He opened the door with a ginger nudge. Once Heavy and Miss Pauline could see the entire room, they noticed something strange immediately. All of the lights were off, save for one above the operating table where Medic had been working.

"Hello?" Heavy called. "Anybody home? Doktor?"

No answer.

In the small sphere of light was a floor filled with broken glass. They both tip-toed in, crunching along to the slab. The subject, which happened to be a cat, was still open and visible. A small surgical knife was sticking straight up, embedded in the cat's intestines. Miss Pauling picked up the knife and looked it over. There was a small inscription on the blade.

"Heavy..."

"Da, Miss Pauling?"

"I don't think anybody's home. This knife says, 'Aufgeben.'"

"I am Russian, not German."

"It means, roughly translated, 'I give up.'"

A scratching sound made both of their heads turn at once. The emergency exit door was wide open, the bottom of it rubbing against the pavement outside. Miss Pauling was right.

No one was home.