There were many disputes between the nine men on who was the de facto captain of their team. Obviously, the Administrator was the top dog, but the chain of command got fuzzier below her and Miss Pauling. The Soldier was the bossiest, so his plans always were announced first, regardless of how well they would work in play. He was also the most inspirational, always quick with a grandiose, somewhat rambling speech. Hardly anyone argued with the Medic's wishes. Going without his help was as good as digging one's own grave. The rest were usually complacent with offering their input when the situation required their knowledge and skills.
But, when the Heavy raised his voice to give a command, everybody obeyed. "Upstairs! Now!"
Whether it was a foregone conclusion or a miscalculation, the Heavy was convinced that he could not climb up the vine tangle to the balconies above without tearing the plant loose. His concern was only for his teammates. The mighty Russian grabbed Miss Pauling by the shield on her back. He tossed her onto the plant, his strength enough to propel her halfway up the tangle. The Medic was the next up the vine, boosted when the Heavy knelt down and offered his back as a step. Miss Pauling had cleared the top by the time the Engineer leapt onto the vine, the Medic shortly behind her. The Sniper pulled them up, his boots digging into the ground to offset the men's weights.
"DeGroot! Now!" The Heavy barked at the last member he could help.
"I'm comin'! Just—argh!" The Demoman's gawking and inebriated state had delayed him for one second too long. The ooze snatched the Scotsman by his ankles, spilling around his body like a wave of gelatin. He tried clawing his way out of the mess. Fingertips lost their flesh before they could break the creature's surface. His bones disappeared in the swell.
The Medic yelled at the Heavy, trying to get him to follow them up the plant. "Schweinhunde! Come on!" He readied his crossbow, bolts at his fingers.
At that point, it wouldn't have mattered if the Heavy would have tried to escape or not. The maneater struck the Heavy, rolling over him like a tsunami. He did not scream, but his dissolving body told a tale of horror. The Medic bellowed, indignant at the Russian's demise. The giant's jaw was the last he saw of his partner. His face burned hotter than the sun. He hissed in pain, hovering over the edge of the balcony. He fired into the beast, the crossbow's bolt striking the mutable flesh of the oozing creep.
What surprised everyone was when it reeled back from the shot.
The Engineer loaded his pistol, testing to see if it had any effect. He stood next to the reloading Medic, firing off an entire clip into the ooze. The bullets sped through the skin of the monster but sank into the gunk like any other piece of debris. He shook his head, dumbstruck. "How in the hell did ya do that?"
The Medic unloaded another shot, still ablaze with anger. "I have no idea!"
As he prepared another bolt, the Engineer took a round from the Medic's satchel. It was coated with a fine layer of slime. The Engineer's eyebrows furrowed. He'd never heard of a crossbow that needed lubricated bolts. The ammunition smelt odd, something like mint and juniper.
That smell was familiar to all of them.
Miss Pauling stated what they all thought. "That's medical gel, isn't it?"
"Oh my God." The Engineer tucked the bolt back into the Medic's satchel. "Doc, what does that stuff do, anyway?"
The Teutonic man gave him a gruff answer. "Vhat do you mean? It fixes everyzhing! Cuts, scrapes, burns, boils, swelling, infected tissue—"
The Sniper yanked the Medic and the Engineer away from the edge of the balcony. The oozing creature was working its way up the side of the conservatory, its mass pouring into nooks and crannies and wrapping around anything it could to make its way up. Skulls popped out to greet them, white smiles chilling in the stormy air. The Australian led the retreat. "Hope ya packed more of that stuff, Doc!"
It was a strange turn of events, having the Medic being their only line of offense. Not that the good doctor couldn't hold his own in combat. It was rarely required of him, and even then, it was usually him ramming a bone saw through any unfortunate soul that mistook his healing prowess for weakness. Never-the-less, he held up well. The ooze was slowing down, flesh solidifying and sticking together with more consistency. That came with a new disadvantage, however. This creature was heavy and fast, now striking less like a wave and more like thick custard.
"I did take a—oof!—few items vizh me!" The Medic ducked, quick to avoid a tendril of gunk to his face. "Mein raum is to the right!"
Normally, when breaking through a door, the Spy was the go-to man. He had the tools and the finesse to get into any room without leaving evidence of his picking. Being down a Frenchman left the delicate act to the Engineer. While he didn't have the tools for lock-picking, he did have a sturdy mechanical fist that could slam through wood like it was cardboard. Maybe he could have asked the Medic for the key to his room, but considering he was busy fighting a giant gelatinous ooze, that seemed a little rude. Besides, it wasn't every day that the Engineer got to punch a door in. One had to take opportunities presented to them.
The Engineer slammed his fist into the suite door, yanking the knob away as he drew back. The frame cracked, the metal lock torn free. The trio shoved into the room, trying desperately to find anything of use. Within a few seconds, the Sniper had located a couple of medical bottles. He didn't stay long, quick to return to the Medic's side.
It was lucky that the Sniper came back to the fight when he did. The Medic and the ooze had drawn their brawl into the end of the suite's hallway. The doctor was trapped between three solid walls and one mountain of pulpy gunk. Never-the-less, he was still unloading crossbow bolts into the monster, a twisted smile hanging for its life on his lips. At the range he was standing, he may have just as well pitched his entire satchel into the beast.
"Heads up!" The Sniper pitched the first of the bottles at the beast. It didn't shatter as well as a mason jar, but the plastic cracked against the floor under the sharp throw. The contents of the bottle splattered against the ooze, skin thickening in the impact. Half of the gunk reached back towards the Sniper, the rest still trying to smother the Medic.
The Sniper twisted off the lid of the next bottle with his teeth, spitting the cap off to the side. "Hurry it up, you two!"
"Just a second!" The Engineer panicked, rooting through as many of the closets and trunks as possible. The Medic was not a light packer. Normally, he would complain about this not being efficient, but it might save their necks in this case. He turned his head to Miss Pauling. "Find anythin'?"
Miss Pauling flopped open another suitcase. It was filled with toiletries, shampoos, and hairbrushes. At least this one wasn't filled with bandages and underwear. She grabbed one more, huffing as she flopped it onto a bed. "Unless you want to set up a barber shop, I think we're sunk." She unzipped the trunk, her eyebrows furrowing. "Wait a second."
The Engineer rushed to see what Miss Pauling had found. It was one of the Medic's medi-guns, disassembled and packaged with care. He frowned as he started snapping the pieces together. "God, this thing's a mess." The nozzle was cracked. Hoses connecting to the backpack were frayed. The trigger was sticky, and the Ubercharge gauge was broken and constantly pointing to the middle. It wasn't worth anything in typical battle. It would probably just leak all over the place. He twisted the last of the pieces together, shaking his head. "Don't think it'll do much good."
"If it does anything, it'll be worth it." Miss Pauling yanked the device out of the Engineer's hands, rushing out to the hallway with the pack slung over her shoulder.
There was no time to waste. The ooze was stretched out like a two-headed snail, its skin almost as solid as human flesh. It had squashed the Medic against the wall, trying to suffocate him within its folds. The Sniper was pulling against it, his fingers slipping through the slimy surface. He yelped and withdrew his hands, his skin burnt from lingering acid a few inches below the newly forming skin. The Medic tried kicking the ooze aside, but he was growing weaker.
Then his eyes caught the device in Miss Pauling's hands. "Use zhat! Now! Push—ack!—ahead!"
Not a problem. She'd seen the good doctor use this device through thousands of hours of recorded footage. Miss Pauling pressed the lever forward, kicking the machine to life. It had a weak stream and was leaking medical gel everywhere, but it was working. The Medic pointed to the monster, about to pass out from the pressure on his chest. She aimed the nozzle of the gun at the ooze. It throbbed like a giant heart under strain from the gun.
As she held the broken medi-gun at the maneater, the Sniper ducked under its stream. He rushed to get to the Medic. The German was still fighting, but his kicks were no stronger than a slight churn. The Sniper pushed against the monster, forcing a pocket between it and the wall. The Medic slid free, gasping for air. Grabbing his arm, the Sniper dragged the Medic aside.
Just as the both of them had escaped from the opposite side of the beast, a shudder rocked the medi-gun pack. Miss Pauling could feel the machine overheating. It had built up an Ubercharge. Well, so far it had a good job in solidifying the gelatinous ooze. Maybe a good shock would put it over the top. She flipped the switch on the backpack, discharging the pent-up energy. The glop shimmered with a polish as brilliant as any gemstone. She yelped as the pack shocked her as well. Miss Pauling hadn't expected an Ubercharge to hurt. That didn't seem right.
"Ditch the pack!" The Medic coughed at her.
Miss Pauling pitched the backpack. When it hit the floor, it short-circuited. There was a small flash of electricity and fire, and then the medi-gun died. It had done its work, however. The once oozing maneater was now still. It sat like a gigantic tumor in the hallway, ponderous in its girth.
The Engineer stepped out of the Medic's suite, a low whistle on his lips. "Well, now. Would ya look at that?"
"I've seen a lot of disgusting things tonight." Miss Pauling shook her head. "This might be the worst."
The Sniper sighed. "We're not done yet. Still gotta—holy dooley!" He rushed back towards the monster, prodding it with sensitive fingertips. Little bumps pushed back against his hand. It extended into one giant lump pressing out. The remaining teammates gathered around it, watching with surprise as more protrusions forced itself from the depths of this monster.
Then a blade pierced the coagulated creature from the inside out.
As the silvery metal sawed its way down, the Sniper held the monster's skin taught. It cut cleanly, once volatile liquids oozing out as harmless pus. The contents stank, sticking to the back of their throats like the scent of a skunk. Spilling from the cut wound was a nauseated Frenchman. He made an undignified sound like he was going to vomit.
The Medic snapped to work, re-energized by the sight of a weakened teammate. "Don't stand around, Frauleins! Towels! Water! Soap! Now!"
Miss Pauling, the Engineer, and the Sniper didn't second-guess the Medic's commands. As they went around and gathered materials, the Medic started draining the ooze like it was a giant cyst. He pushed against the solid flesh, yellow gunk popping forward in odd clumps. The next person to slide loose was the Soldier, who was more dazed and confused than disgusted. The Scout clawed his way out next, freaking out by his experience. The Pyro wasn't nearly as concerned, but he was covered in a full body suit. Being drenched in gunk was merely a minor inconvenience. The Demoman, however, was concerned about the state of his sideburns and hair. He took an entire shampoo bottle to make sure that nothing could possibly remain after he washed it out. It was with great relief that the Medic finally helped the Heavy step free of the mess. The Russian gave him a huge, sloppy hug. He didn't mind that he was soaked in God knows what visceral fluids. He was just happy to have his team back together.
"I know we probably have other things to worry about, but did anyone find a card in that…whatever that was?" Miss Pauling asked.
The Pyro gave Miss Pauling a thumbs up. He produced a slime-coated card. "Ai fowed id affda Ai died da durd dime."
She picked up a towel. "Maybe I'll just clean this off a little bit."
"Pass that over when you're done, would ya? Think the Spy missed a spot." The Sniper licked his thumb, wiping sludge off skin under the Spy's eye.
That earned the Australian a palm-full of ooze slathered through his hair.
The team took the time to scrub themselves free of the congealed gunk. It was about ten minutes to clean the ooze away. Getting rid of that maneater's corpse was beyond comprehension at the moment. The Administrator wanted them to fight that thing. She could hire somebody else to clean it up. And the conservatory. And the lobby. Really, the whole mansion needed a good tune-up and a fresh coat of paint.
When they found that last card, the manor would be lucky if the team didn't collectively decide to burn it down.
Author's Note
So, I could have written this on Halloween, but I decided to write a three-parter about snake people instead. You know how that goes, right?
Sorry if you were a little grossed out. I tried to add some cute at the end to fix it, but—well, being a Medic is not an easy job. Think about the nasty, filthy things your doctors see every day!
You've got to love how there's always that one boss in Final Fantasy games where you can wing a healing item at it, and it dies in one hit. What's up with that?