I hope you guys don't mind some pre-TF2 time Medic and Engie. This story is about the creation of the Respawn device. Sorry if it's shit. Also, I apologize for giving them names. I hate that, but it'd be impossible to write the story without them. ---- Confidence and stability. These elements were obvious in the air of the young gentleman who strode almost dauntingly down the halls of the Berlin hospital. Well, if you really considered the place a hospital. One could more accurately describe it, upon seeing its entirety, as a laboratory topped with an unimpressive sickbay. He stopped at a door to quickly smooth his jacket and run a hand through his brunette hair. Slapping on a professional grin, he turned the knob and entered the room. He made brief eye contact with the two suit-clad figures, nodding to each one. The larger man cleared his throat and spoke up. “Wilkommen! You must be Mr. Schmidt. Our ‘Amputation Specialist’, ja?†‘Schmidt’ scoffed at the title. “If zat is vhat you told zem, zen I assume I am. But please, call me Doctor. How would you prefer I address you?†“Don’t worry about that, just refer to me as ‘Boss’ for the time being.†The black haired man said firmly, rubbing his bristled chin. He brought his other hand up and snapped his fingers. The other man jumped to his feet, looking expectantly at the other. “Alfons, fetch Mr. Finch.†The man nodded and scampered off, leaving the two alone. Schmidt cocked a brow as he watched the man go, before turning his attention back to the other. “Your knowledge of medicine and the human body, no matter how outstanding, will not bring my musings to life, Doctor. This project will require knowledge of technology and science, and I assure you, Mr. Finch has that and more. He is more than qualified to work with you.†Schmidt bristled noticeably at those words. He knew it wasn’t meant as an affront, but he was nonetheless bothered. He sighed, deciding to simply accept the fact that this man was his employer, and that it would be in his best interest not to argue. “Zis ‘Mr. Finch’ character. He is not German, I assume?†“American.†The brunette looked horrified. “I beg your pardon, but I doubt zat we should be making contact vith citizens of ze Allied Powers. Ve are ze middle of a war.†“I also doubt that we should be stealing patients from the major hospitals to use as lab rats in our experiments, but that will not stop us, nein? Look here, Schmidt, we are men of Science. The war is simply a cover for us to make progress,†He stopped, taking a seat next to Schmidt, whose confidence was now replaced with worry and insecurity. “You are no more a Nazi than I am. Allied, Axis, no matter. We are this close,†He held his index and middle finger up before the doctor. “To the greatest technological and medical breakthrough in history, and here you are, picking sides.†The brunette male shook his head, regaining his composure. At that exact moment, Boss’ liaison returned, a young, sandy brown haired man following close behind. A white tank top and baggy jeans donned his frame, upon which the doctor scrutinized disapprovingly. The man gave him a goofy smile as he pushed the goggles up on his head. “Howdy, Doc’. Charlie Finch at your service. I look forward to working with you on the Respawn project.†He stuck out his rubber gloved hand, which Schmidt took cautiously. “Schmidt. Nice to be vorking vith you as vell, Mr. Finch.†He released the other’s hand, letting his own drop back down to his side. “Boss, you mentioned zhat out first patient had already arrived, ja? I’d like to evaluate him.†Boss nodded, rising from his seat and opening the door. He motioned for Schmidt to follow him, leaving Finch and Alfons in the previous room. ------- Schmidt rubbed his brow as he looked down at the man on the sickbed. His legs were gnarled, poorly treated and still loaded with shrapnel and dirt. He almost pitied the man, wishing he could at least do him the justice of relieving him of the grotesque limbs. But, a clean cut would be needed to properly run tests. He shook his head sadly, as he plucked a few bits of metal and dead skin from the wounds. “Zhank goodness you are still asleep, ja? Zhis vould be quite painful.†He swabbed his scalpel thoroughly with alcohol, before he set to work on the marred legs. A few times he looked briefly up to make sure the IV was securely in place or that the mask remained firmly over the man’s mouth and nose, ensuring the effect of the anesthesia. As he worked, he allowed his mind to briefly wander. This ‘Respawn’ project was supposedly going to use radiation from decaying isotopes to rebuild cellular structure. By magnifying the waves, one could stimulate the human healing process to the point that humans could literally and effectively regenerate lost body parts, organs, etcetera. In theory, of course. Experimentation had been inspired by scientists such as Marie Curie, whom had discovered the type radiation that occurred independently from the decaying atoms, instead of occurring whilst relying on a natural outside source. Boss’ ‘team’, as far as Schmidt knew, had already successfully completed the experiment, by speeding up the reproduction of a starfish. But, you see, this is where the problem occurred. Unlike humans, starfish were previously able to regenerate lost body parts. If something similar were to be used on a human, a similar effect would not be assured. That’s where Schmidt came in. It was his brilliant idea mention that with enough prompting and stimulation, the human healing process could reach a sort of pseudo-regeneration process. A quick jerk brought the brunette back to reality. He looked up, making eye contact with a pair of icy blue orbs, and a face twisted in agony. The eyes flicked from him, to the scalpel slicing chunks of skin and metal from his leg. His mind was too in shock and his body was too numb to actually come to terms with the situation. The doctor pushed the man’s shoulder down firmly, before grabbing a syringe from the table, and sticking the point into the IV, injecting the man with an extra dose of anesthesia. The man’s eyelids fluttered closed, before his head thumped back down against the slab.
Ooo I love medical/technologic stuff like this!
Charlie set his compass down and chalk down, looking at the sketch before him. He let out a huff of disappointment at the design he was originally supposed to follow. The original blueprints Boss had given him were a bit flawed, as to be expected. Somewhere parts would be left out, or something would be attached in an impossible way, or the structure simply didn’t flow. Though, if the Boss could’ve come up with a functioning design, he wouldn’t be here, would he? The engineer sighed once more, scratching at his sandy blonde hair. His craned his head to catch a glimpse out the window. It was just reaching dusk, by the looks of it. He pushed himself up, pulling off his goggles. He’d been at this for weeks, and the Respawn design was nearly perfected. “I reckon Boss wouldn’t mind me getting’ myself a beer.†He grinned, tossing the goggles and the blueprints on his cot, flicking the lights off and exiting his room. Idly he counted the tiles as he walked through the hall. One-hundred and twenty-eight six-by-six inch tiles composed the floor from his quarters to the sickbay. He opened the door, thinking he may as well invite the doctor to grab a drink with him. “I’m sorry, zat probably hurt. But, ve vill get you good and fixed up in no time! I promise. “ He heard Schmidt utter. Finch was a bit taken aback at the sight of the male talking to an unconscious body. The brunette whirled around, pulling his mask down around his neck. “Vhat is it? Zis is the sickbay, not your little toybox.†He exclaimed, the feeling of his skills being threatened still lingering over him. “Whoa there, Doc. Was just comin’ to ask if ya wanted to grab a beer with me downtown.†He looked down at the patient. His leg looked much better than before, no more sickly yellow skin or metal chunks studding the bruised skin. The swelling had gone down, but the sight was still somewhat sickening. “I can see you’ve been busy, as have I. If we’re going to be working together, I reckon we should at least get a lil’ friendly as well.†The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, and stared at him with a matching look. “Vhat are you implying, Finch?†Charlie slapped his palm to his forehead. Damned language barriers. “Not like that. I mean we should at least try and be friends, y’know? I mean, it couldn’t hurt to get along, maybe.†Schmidt smiled. No matter how callous he seemed, he was touched by the offer. “I suppose you’re right. Just let me wrap zis up, ja?†By ‘zis’ he meant ‘the horribly mangled leg in front of him’. The engineer nodded, preferring to wait outside. Call him weak, but blood always made him a bit uncomfortable. ---- Outside the door to the sickbay, Charlie scuffed his boots against the tiled floor as he waited for the German doctor to finish up. His fast-paced mind was far away from reality by now, as he whistled a tune that was quite familiar to him. Within a few seconds, he hadn’t realized that he was singing aloud. “You Are My Sunshine, My only sunshine, You make me happy, When skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, How much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.†The engineer’s surprisingly on-key singing was interrupted by the sound of muffled laughter. He went bright red as he turned to Schmidt, who was smirking at him with folded arms. “Sorry. D’int know I’d be singin’ aloud. Sometimes a song just gets stuck in your head, y’know?†“Nein, nein. It’s just such a silly song. Did you zhink of zat yourself?†“Me? Golly no. That’s Jimmie Davis. He’s pretty famous down in Texas where I’m from.†The medic nodded, shedding his lab coat and putting it up on a hook. He took down his own trench coat, and tossed it to Charlie. “If you go out zer with no sleeves, you vill freeze, dummkopf.†With that, he turned on his heel and strode off down the hall. Charlie shrugged and pulled on the jacket, muttering about how it wasn’t THAT cold. Then he realized he hadn’t gotten out for weeks, and that the seasons had probably changed by now.