Disclaimer: This is an adult fanfic and contains original characters. I'm also still in the process of writing this fiction, so if it is more fitting for it to be in the Workshop, feel free to move it (you have my apologies if this is the case). Feel free to give feedback! This is also my first time posting here, so bear with me if I suck at getting the spacing/input right. The main pairing is Soldier/Medic (both of which are OC) *** CHAPTER 1. Like a Pack of Wolves Nineteen Seventy Four. It was just a year; not my first, certainly not my last - though there have been plenty of close calls. But somehow, in all the time since and all the places I’ve been, 1974 has been something more for me. Inexplicably, it has become the only year that matters to me... *** The baking heat of the Arizona heat was suffocating. Its arid fingertips had weaseled its way into our base, overpowering the state of the art air conditioning that vainly tried to churn out cool air. It was the kind of heat that just sapped the energy right out of you, and with the mid-afternoon sun right overhead, there was no relief in sight. Thankfully for me, though, I had lucked out. My patrol started early in the morning, which meant it also ended just before desert sun reached its apex for the day. And not to waste such a priceless opportunity, I made sure to make the most of it: by taking a nice cool shower. The cold water always felt heavenly as it ran down my skin, washing away the blood, dirt, and sweat of another day patching up my partner, Henry Light. And it felt great, too. It was always a silent victory every time I turned the faucet. It meant that I had survived the morning and another battle. More personally, it was also a key checkpoint. I had earned myself a few moments to myself for peace and quiet. To say the least, with the life I led, I could ill-afford to lose that opportunity. But in all honesty, it would be difficult to lose that appreciation anyway. Builder’s League United – a nefarious mercenary organization under the guise of a construction company – had very little time for tranquility in those days. Earlier that spring, the leader of the mercenaries stationed in Teufort, Arizona was assassinated in the middle of the night by spy from BLU’s rivals, Reliable Excavation and Demotion – RED for short. There were plenty of rumors of how it happened or why, but in the grand scheme of things, most of it had been pretty irrelevant. His death caused a shockwave amongst the ranks of BLU. There never had been much of a structure beyond Dawson’s leadership, and that lack of discipline became terribly evident as a power vacuum erupted and consumed the mercenaries. Since then, the casualties of the BLU civil war rivaled that of RED-inflicted casualties. The higher ups of BLU made no effort to intervene, either. But why would they? Mercenaries were a dime-a-dozen at the time. Every mercenary that died was one less that needed to receive a paycheck that month; not to mention that new blood could be hired at a fraction of the cost without the need of providing benefits. Surprisingly enough, even with all the infighting, BLU still managed to hold together long enough to keep the RED mercenaries at bay. After all, that was what we were being paid to do. Still, there would be better times to think of such things. There was no point sullying my one peaceful place with unsavory thoughts. So without a second thought and without any regrets, I allowed myself to indulge in my shower. *** My shower only lasted about five minutes, but it refreshed me. And, as trivial as it may be, that rejuvenating effect had stayed with me for the following couple of hours. Not that I really needed it, though: work in the infirmary had been fairly mundane thus far. There had been a few routine injuries – mainly mild lacerations – and a pile of paperwork to fill out for those injuries, treatment regiments, requisitions, and other costs to be forwarded to whoever it was at BLU who handled such things. The only real highlight came maybe about two hours after my shift in the infirmary started, when my partner Henry stormed in. He didn’t even bother to say a thing. Instead, he just held his hand up so I knew that was the part of him that he had foolhardily hurt that week. There were plenty of mercenaries who regularly got into brawls over nonsensical crap, and the medical staff here knew them all by name. Henry was among those names. It was only once in a blue moon that a week went by where he didn’t show up in the infirmary with a black eye, or a chipped tooth, or bloody nose. And I never really did figure out what made Henry so violent other than that’s just how the man solved problems. Something didn’t work? Hit it. Something didn’t go your way? Punch it. Violence was the only language Henry ever understood. He’d only ever listen if you shouted, and that was only if he wanted to hear any of it in the first place. I did occasionally wonder what it was in his past that made him so violent and apathetic. But I also knew that Light would never allow anyone to peer inside him. If he was at war with his inner demons, it was a battle we wanted to fight -- win or lose -- alone. I guided Henry over to a cot so I could have some better light to examine his hand. He was still raving angry about whoever it was he had scuffled with, but he actually cooperated for a change. He didn’t rant and roar like normal, instead he just sat there while I prepped his hand with a smirk upon his face, most likely plotting his revenge. Smaller bones normally didn’t take long to regenerate, but it had to be positioned correctly or else the bone wouldn’t form in the right structure. Much to Henry’s displeasure, that meant he needed to unclench his fist and lay it flat on the cot. Although Henry had been through much worse, it wasn’t painless. He winced through clench teeth and cursed at me for the pain I was causing him until the medigun’s aura enveloped his hand. Only then did he settle down. It only took about five minutes for the medigun to regenerate the bone, but Henry was notorious for not taking orders from anyone. He got up and left after just two minutes and frankly, I wasn’t going to waste any energy arguing with a brick wall. So as he left, I returned to my desk and got back to work drawing up a few documents for our newest arrivals, which were scheduled to arrive later in the day. All three needed to be checked in and given a physical examination, but that’s not particularly difficult. In all honesty, it’s probably one of the least exciting jobs to be done, although it’s a good opportunity to get to know the new people. The complication, though, wasn’t medical, military, or even logistical in nature. Instead, it was a problem with the civility of our team, or the lack thereof. You see, BLU doesn’t function like a unit unless there is a common ass to kick, namely RED. For every other hour of the day, life in the BLU is a faction at war with itself. I guess this should be expected from an organization of cutthroats and mercenaries, but explaining this to newcomers was no easy task. They needed to drop those expectations of being part of a team at the door. While there is truth to the old adage, “there is no I in teamâ€, BLU was the definition of the inverse: there is no team in I. I could honestly spend days trying to put into words my frustrations of the mindlessness of the whole plight, but it just was not worth it. My opinion doesn’t carry much weight, though, so much of my complaints merely fell on deaf ears. So I, along with my medical colleagues, Dr. Miller and Dr. Pentir, and a few others among the ranks of BLU represented the few people on our team who have some sense of humanity. And, not surprisingly, it was often us who took the brunt of the bullshit in our service despite being so integral to the team’s infrastructure. That’s probably why I don’t have the same appreciation for days where we welcomed in the new arrivals into BLU. It always seemed to be a solemn experience for all of us, since we always felt at least partially responsible for deceiving the newcomers. I mean, what exactly is the right course of action when just about any one of your teammates could stab you in the back for shits and giggles? Are you supposed to sugarcoat that kind of situation? Or do you just explain it outright and let them make what they will of it? I know I prefer the latter, but it still doesn’t seem like it’s the right answer, either. So for the arrivals, the entry exam was more than just that. It was a transition, one from society to mob rule. The sooner they understood those ground rules, the sooner than could assimilate and function within BLU. It was sink or swim. And I had to finish filling the pool... *** The June 25th batch of arrivals was simply three men. BLU management hoped those three would be sufficient for getting us through summer and at least a month into autumn, and ideally into the first week of winter. Although I tend to be a bit cynical with such matters, there have been a relatively low number of fatalities the last few months, so that kind of goal was at least attainable at the time. The first man to arrive was a man by the name of Andrew Dutch. He was in his early 30s and hand the upper lip of a champion, but could not for the life of him maintain a normal conversation. He was a lone wolf; a dime a dozen sniper that I've seen come and go through the infirmary doors so many times before. The only highlight of the conversation was his motivations for becoming mercenary, which he explained as having job security and the fact that he was “just plain good at it.†I felt a little chill run down my spine when he became so talkative about killing people. The second man, Clyde Olsen, was a pyromaniac. Strangely enough, on paper, I suspected this man to be vicious and violent, but he was strangely shy and timid. Every word he spoke was soft and mumbled oh so slightly, which seemed so out of place for a man who spends the better part of the day searing human beings with a crude flamethrower. It crossed my mind at least once that Olsen would eventually be pushed to a breaking point, since despite his fearsome appearance, his withdrawn personality would likely cast him as a stepping stone until he stood up for himself. The last man was Lincoln Quinn, who was ironically nicknamed Rookie; a playful jab at the fact that his records indicated he has the most military experience out of any one on BLU. He was charismatic and strong-willed, something which strongly contrasted with the men before him. It is also the calling card of the dominant men on our team, the thugs who have turned the world of BLU upside down. Just from looking at him, I could tell it would only take a few months before I grow to despise him. Still, he was the only person I administered a test to who had any personality whatsoever, exemplified by how he clarified that one particularly large scar on his body "wasn't caused by picking daisies." Each left silently, grabbing their gear and heading out into the wild BLU yonder. After the first two I went to my desk and filed the papers, but now that the last exam has been finished, I've settled into the rest of my work for the night. As it all too often is, though, it ends up being a gloomy evening of accepting the heartless world around me. How violent my team is. How mind-numbing the whole scenario is, and how impersonal my comrades are. And most importantly, how much I couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s shower.
Chapter 2: Cold Shower Just a few weeks later, a week into July, the mercs at BLU awoke to the smell of smoke and the sound of bullets. Shortly before sunrise, a RED attack party assaulted our forward defenses. There was no warning, since our snipers had quite literally fallen asleep on the job. Our first warning was only after a few REDs began marauding their way toward the courtyard, dismantling sentries and other defenses with explosives and sly espionage. At the time, Henry and I were on our usual patrol in the sewers. Sound carried great distances within the concrete halls of BLU base, so it didn't take long for us to realize what was unfolding above us. Henry, not one to miss out on an opportunity to spill some blood, led the charge back up the stairwell onto the ground-floor of the base. But just before I stepping onto the first stair, something caught my eye above me. Up above, on the blind-side of the stairwell ceiling, were four or five sticky grenades. They emitted a short but intense bright light indicating they were armed. Henry, though, never saw them in his blind rush up the steps. I tried my best to warn him, but Henry wouldn't listen to me even if it killed him. And on that day, it quite literally did. Had he heeded the warning, the advanced tech of the medigun would have shielded him from the blast. He would have survived, albeit with a few bumps and bruises, but nothing that he hadn't dealt with before. Instead, Henry was obliterated by a might explosion: a deluge of blood puddled on the floor and splattered the walls crimson. The only solid remnants of my partner were nothing more than gruesome jigsaw pieces of chest, torso, head, and limbs. I didn't think there was enough of him left to bury. It was utterly nauseating to see, even for someone accustomed to the brutality of battlefield injuries such as myself. Initially, I wanted to stay there for just a moment. I wanted to gather Henry's dog tags, both to confirm his death to BLU but also to be sent back to his family. More practically, I also wanted to take his shotgun since I was otherwise armed with nothing more than my medigun and a surgical bonesaw; neither of which would save me in open combat. But Henry's shotgun had been jettisoned out of sight, and I had no time to search for it. Those sticky grenades that killed him were remote detonated, which meant the demoman that placed them was likely close enough to kill me, too. The distance I needed to cover to get back into friendly territory wasn't great, maybe just a few hundred meters. What was really making the trek complicated was the presence of the RED mercenaries. They had control over most of the ground-floor, including the corridor I needed to venture down. And as I got closer to the front door of the base, I quickly realized why it had been a smart move to leave Henry behind. Ahead of me, battling a BLU sentry gun, were five or six RED mercenaries. It appeared as though the automated gun had proven to be defensible enough to stall the RED advance outside of the courtyard. A big, towering man -- presumably their leader -- was directing traffic amongst the mercs. Just behind him, connected by a semi-transparent cherry beam, was his medic. He, in turn, was flanked by a scout, a soldier, and a demoman -- no doubt the same one who sprung the trap that killed Henry. At an impasse, the leader saw me peaking around the corner and barked orders to one of his comrades. I knew it that instant I needed to move. Their leader was equipped with a minigun; any unncessary time spent in line of sight would expose me to a maelstrom of military-grade bullets. I dashed toward an adjacent hallway, which ran parallel to the corridor the RED were occupying. At its other end it opened into the BLU courtyard. With any luck, it would also be on the friendly side of the makeshift sentry the REDs were preparing to charge. I had a head start in getting down the hallway, but the RED scout that was tasked with pursuing me was a speedy devil. For every handful of steps I took, he made two handfuls. In no time at all he had closed the gap between us from a comfortable cushion to just a few meters, and he made sure I knew it by firing off a clip of handgun in my direction. But I was on the final stretch, and at last, could see the navy uniform of a BLU soldier up ahead. It was Rookie, already positioning himself, shotgun raised, to deal with my pursuer. "Down!" he shouted at me, motioning with his hand to drop to the ground. I dolphin-dove onto my belly as soon as gravity could bring me down to the concrete floor. Once Rookie had the clearance over my head he pulled the trigger, firing a spray of hot buckshot into the scout just a few paces behind me. He tumbled to the ground with a terrible shrieking moan, dead. "Doc Hudson, if I remember right?" he shouted through the sentry's roaring gunfire. "Yeah, that's me, Quinn," I exhaled. Although I was relatively safe now behind the sentry gun, I wasn't taking any risks. As soon as I was back on my feet, I was taking cover along the wall outside of the RED mercs' field of view. "Good! You're just the man we've been looking for. There's a ton of wounded in the infirmary, some pretty badly. They're going to need your help. Don't worry about us out here, the boys and I have it under control. Just go on up and help them." Rookie didn't need to tell me twice. The RED mercs wanted blood, and I’d be damned if they’d got any more of mine. So the more solid objects I could put between myself and their attack party the better. "Thanks," I shouted back to Rookie as I headed up the stairs and into the base proper. "Any time," he barked back before supplying the BLU engineer with some suppressive fire while he loaded another long clip of ammunition into the sentry. ***** Rookie wasn’t kidding when he said there were a lot of wounded. I rushed to the infirmary as soon as I exited the courtyard only to be greeted by a parade of injuries. Nearly every mercenary employed for BLU had an injury of note, ranging from complex lacerations, severe burns, multiple gunshot wounds, and poly-trauma. To say the least, my colleagues and I had our hands full. It was around the clock work for nearly three straight hours. And just when you thought it was over, another round of mercenaries would arrive from elsewhere in base after successfully plugging all the RED leaks. Fortunately, though, the medigun resolved those problems almost entirely. Sure, some prep-work was still required like extracting shrapnel, but the major aspects of medical treatment were resolved in just mere minutes. The mercs were free to return to their quarters to recuperate in just an hour, although many of those who survived on the frontlines needed further attention that evening. One of those mercenaries was Ryan Doe, who was notorious for being Light’s right-hand man. He was a stubby man, not unlike Light. His left arm had been badly seared by a RED Pyro during the morning onslaught, but he didn’t let his condition stop him from harassing me while I was tending to another mercenary, Clay Rodgers, who was hanging onto life by a thread. He had ended up the wrong end of a sniper bullet to the head. “So, Hudson. I don’t see Light around here. Where’s he at?†I knew the discussion was bound to happen, but I had hoped it could wait. Light was dead, there was nothing more I could do for him. But Rodgers? The others? I could still help them. And I intended to do exactly that. “He’s not here,†I replied, firing up the medigun in the hopes of saving Rodgers. I didn’t want to speak with him, so I didn’t bother to make eye contact. I just shrugged it off and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you, Hudson,†he demanded, grabbing me by my shoulder. “Where is he?†In hell, I thought to myself, desperately trying to restrain myself from speaking that aloud. “He’s dead. Now let me help Rodgers or he’s going to die, too.†“Ah, you’re more worried about Rodgers here than Light,†he growled. “Here, let me help.†From his fatigues Doe drew his switchblade. He didn’t taunt or tease with it, instead, he simply brought it down through and across Rodger’s throat in one fell swoop. Rodgers, already unconscious, was defenseless. There was nothing that could be done to stop him from bleeding out – at least not with Doe standing in the way. “Looks like I got your undivided attention, now. Tell me what happened to Light.†Doe’s switch-knife was dripping with blood and I had no desire to donate my blood to the cause. “We heard the commotion upstairs from the tunnels. On the way back into the base, he ran into a sticky trap. He didn’t see it.†“And you didn’t think to warn him, Hudson? Or help him?†“I fuckin’ tried!†“Like you tried to save Rodgers over there? Getting sloppy with those hands of yours are ya? What are you going to do when the rest of BLU finds out you let two people die today and all you could say afterwards is ‘I fuckin’ tried’?†If a stare could kill someone, by all means Doe would have been dead in that instant. “Get the fuck out of the infirmary, Doe. You’ve done enough.†“I’ve done more than you have today.†“Out! I won’t say it again.†“Oh, really? Make me.†he mocked with a wolfish grin. Doe knew I was going to lunge at him. What he didn’t expect, though, was that I wasn’t after his knife. There was no way I could disarm him directly, so I had no other choice. I charged for the bandages protecting the burns on his arm. Once exposed, I clawed into the cooked skin as deeply as I could. Doe convulsed in agony, bucking me away from him and falling to the ground. In that brief moment I had created, I desperately searched the pockets of my overcoat. I was looking for a syringe, one which I could use on Doe. He was on a particularly potent painkiller for his burns, one which required very precise dosages. It wouldn’t take much to induce an overdose, which would be more than enough to knock him out cold so I could get away. An antidote could then be administered to revive him, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be by me. Within a few seconds of finding it and loading it with the drug, Doe stormed over to me an undying rage. The charge knocked the two of us headlong into a table of miscellaneous medical instruments. They tumbled to the ground around us as we fell to the floor, Doe managing to cut along my collarbone with his switchblade. But the fight was over as soon as Doe charged me. There was no doubt he felt the prick of the needle as it pierced his skin, injecting the drug into his bloodstream. It took a few moments to kick in, but he faded quickly. In just a few seconds he was weak enough that I could lay him flat on the floor without any resistance from the angry brute. “You okay in here…†said Dr. Pentir, investigating the ruckus that he had overheard, presumably from down the hall. His voice trailed off mid-sentence as he saw the scene: a blood-drenched Rodgers on the operating table; an unconscious Doe clutching his chest on the floor; and myself, leaning back on the wall putting pressure on the laceration Doe had given me. Pentir just stared in disbelief at the sight. “Close the door, Pentir. I’m going to need some help,†I mumbled in exhaustion. *** By evening, the dust had finally settled. The infirmary was mostly empty by then, save for one or two mercenaries on their way back to their quarters to rest, my colleague Dr. Miller, and myself. I had since relegated myself to my desk to finish a copious amount of paperwork for all the patients I had treated that afternoon. While most of them were not of mention, a few seemed impossible to finish. Like Light’s, for instance. The report for his death was among the first I had filled out. I had been hoping that would get the weight off my mind. That I could just neatly file it away and effectively close the book on Light. But even though it was tucked away in a filing cabinet, in a strange way, it still felt incomplete. More exactly, it felt as though Light was haunting me with his icy gaze. If he were there that afternoon, I’m sure he would have been quite impressed by his lieutenant, Doe. Doe had caused such collateral damage, it surely would have been to Light’s liking. And perhaps he may even be surprised by my own outburst; how surgically I took down a threat. I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of, though… Reports for myself, Doe, and Rodgers were all still among those yet to be finished. I had reasoned that I would do them before my self-declared “novelty†report, one casualty report that was amusing, even in a morbid way. On that day the novelty report belonged to one of our engineers. Before the onslaught had even begun, he found a way to break literally every bone in his foot with what I can only assume was a ballistic toolbox. To achieve the amount of force necessary to even cause such an injury would surely boggle the mind of even a physicist. Fortunately, though, even with the sensation of Light looking over my shoulder, I managed to work a few hours away filling out reports. But regrettably, that wasn’t enough to take the edge off. There would surely be consequences to face for what happened that day, consequences I ultimately ended up discussing with Dr. Miller as he scrubbed out for the evening. “So what are you going to do now?†Miller asked me eventually. I knew he had been waiting to ask the question for a while now, but had respectfully held it in. I could tell by how silent he was when he assisted me in hoisting poor Rodgers into a bodybag earlier in the afternoon – normally he was at least somewhat chatty, even if the work itself was sobering. “Not sure, really,†I replied. “Did Doe leave yet?†“Yeah,†Miller confirmed. “He left not too long after Pentir got him stabilized. I don’t think it would surprise you if I told you he was pretty outraged. Fuming mad, even. Gave Pentir a hard time, and he’s usually cooperative with Pentir.†I sighed. “Oh well. I reckon I can’t leave the infirmary, then. We both know Doe will want his revenge. Can’t have the medics showing him up.†“That and the fact that the mercenaries, at least Light’s buddies, won’t be happy to hear what happened to him.†“That the dumbass got exploded because he didn’t look where he was going?†“You know that’s not the story he’s going to tell them.†“Of course not. But it’s the truth, whether they like it or not. He’s probably going to tell them I killed Rodgers, too,†I already felt the aggravation building. Maybe the only person who wanted revenge more than Doe was me. “That bastard…†“Well, I’d guess he won’t kill you. You’re too valuable to the team.†“Oh, well that reassuring,†I said rolling my eyes. “There are things worse than death.†“If it’ll make you feel better,†Miller said after a few moments. “Take this. If you have my key, you’ll be the only one that can get in and out of the infirmary. If you’re going to stay here, it might as well be secure.†“Thanks.†Miller brought up a good point. The infirmary had once been the BLU armory, full of weapons, gadgets, ammunition, and top secret innovations that could probably kill you for just thinking about them. Probably. More importantly, there had been a heavy iron door to protect the stockpile from intruders, the snooping BLUs and the rival REDs. Considering it was still there even after the armory was relocated and expanded – you could never have enough gun, after all – the infirmary was the ideal place to hold out. For the short term, there was even enough rations for patients and myself – nothing glamorous – but it would suffice. “Are you on duty tomorrow morning?†I asked Miller. “Yeah,†he replied, turning for a moment to look over his shoulder as Rookie entered the infirmary. It wasn’t immediately clear it was him since most of the lights were dimmed for turn down, but there was no mistaking him as he took a seat against the wall and looked on intently. “I’m on call through noon, as usual. You’re up early, so I’ll knock.†“Okay, great. I’ll see you in the morning,†I replied. “Good night,†Miller said on his way out, glancing over at Rookie before he left. “Are you wounded?†I asked Rookie. He was one of the only mercenaries I hadn’t seen in the infirmary thus far, and I knew for a fact he had been in the thick of it in the courtyard. Rookie appeared to make a genuine attempt to search his person for any phantom injuries that may have evaded his attention. Having found none, he reported, “negative. But I may have skinned my elbow this morning while exercising. Does that count?†“Rookie,†I replied, more invested in my work than Rookie’s playfulness, “if you aren’t wounded, please leave. I’ve got paperwork to finish and a few patients to check on before I turn in.†“Oh? We’ll then let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’m most likely going to be picking up Light’s post and duties now that he’s dead. You were his medic. You are already familiar with the route, the surroundings, the dangers, everything. So I got to thinking you’d be a priceless partner to have out on patrol with me. So you’re being reassigned under my command, effective immediately,†he said matter-of-factly. “That’s great,†I said looking up from the desk. “I look forward to it, sir.†“Good. Do you think you’ll be ready to return to patrol tomorrow? I’d understand if you want a day off or two.†“I should be good to go,†I replied absent-mindedly. “Anything else I should know before tomorrow, sir?†“Nope, just be ready to heal and at my post by 0900 tomorrow. If you need anything it the meantime, don’t hesitate to find me. I’ll be in my quarters.†Rookie amended a friendly "g'night" to his announcement, before getting up and showing himself out the door.
OC I think you just lost the interest of most of your potential readers right there.
That's a lot of characters to introduce to us in such a "short" period of time, especially since they're all OCs. You're also presenting a somewhat different world than the games themselves, and the feeling of "it's different" is going to be a constant distraction. At this point, it doesn't really have the "feel" of a TF2 fanfic at all. As far as the names thing goes, I suggest that the narrator addresses or refers to people differently based on how well he knows them (or how fondly he thinks of them). Strangers and non-entities are referred to by class; acquaintances and semi-regular colleagues get class + last name; and only the closest people are on a first name basis (with occasional reference to their class). Setting wise, I'm personally not a fan of perma-death, so I wouldn't really want to read further. Still, I suggest you start with the familiar-ish before moving into new territory.
>>3 Seconded
Not to be rude but, this sucks badly. Not entertaining,doesn't seem anything related to the TF2 world,too many characters, heck I don't even know who's who most of the time.
I agree that this doesnt have the feel of a tf2 fic, also too many characters introduced right off the bat, but the difference had caught my attention, please proceed. I am interested in how this is going to go.