A/N: This is a Medic-centric story but when I say centric I mean I'll be following him through most of it but telling the story of each class. I'm trying to stay true as possible to the canon's history but I can't call this in-universe because of differences, especially in how the team comes together. Not everything is going to be in this format. In fact, I'll be doing both third and first-person later. I've written ahead but that doesn't mean changes can't be made, so I'm totally open for suggestions! Okay, I'll shush now. The Heavy-Weapons Specialist Pt1 The case of Ivan Tyazhelyi, Born 1928 (day unknown), Male 12 September 1942 - Today I was presented with this case and I find the subject unusual. Not only is he quite young but he is also both Russian and Jewish... at least that is what I am told. He has not spoken a word to me. He is a mute. I've examined his throat and there are lesions on his vocal chords. There are no signs of this from outside the throat, nor any sign of any injury there. I think he ate something sharp, or tried to, or maybe was forced to. Who knows. It's none of my business. What I was asked to do was examine him and see what is wrong with him... it's vague. He cannot speak so they simply know he is hurting from the way he acts. I do not know why they care, it's not as if they care about the aching and whining of other encamped. 16 September 1942 - I cannot determine his ailment. It is clear to me he indeed is in pain, but what I do not know. His blood and urine are clean, he passes all visual, auditory, olfactory, and textile tests... the only notable thing is he is in pain and he seems to feel constant soreness. But I had a good look at the injury to his throat. I have not told him, it is unnecessary, but I think I could fix it. My assistants told me it was impossible, of course. They tend to do that. They do not have enough imagination. 17 September 1942 - I discussed with the superiors about the throat injury. I think if I could communicate with the patient there would be a higher chance of being able to pinpoint the problem. I will carry out the operation later this evening and we will see how that goes. 18 September 1942 - The operation was successful, of course. The patient's throat was nursed overnight but he will not be able to speak competently for a while. He knows language, but not German. While we teach his voice-box to make noise, we will also learn him the German language. 4 October 1942 - The speech therapy has gone well. I can communicate with him on a basic level and with the help of a translation dictionary I have made great progress. He will probably always have somewhat stilted speech, as he coped with muteness for many years. The source of his problem is his skeleton. I have never seen anything like it. Even though he is a strong boy his bones seem to be degrading in some places and over-growing in others. It's fascinating. I have asked him to let me open him up but he does not like the idea... and neither do the superiors. They want him intact for something. It's rather irritating, actually. How am I supposed to cure him when I lack the ability to go look at it firsthand? 7 October 1942 - The boy told me something... disturbing today. I have to think about this. I should sleep on it. 8 October 1942 - These people are conniving and I would go so far as to call them inhumane. They may point at me and question my practices all they want, but I am onto their game here. They intend to use Ivan as a weapon, after all he has gone through. He is only sixteen and they wish to make him some kind of mercenary! A year ago he was being kept in a gulag with his family, in Siberia. He says he saw his mother beat to death. In a quiet rage he collected parts... mechanical pieces of guns and machines around the camp, whenever he could. And other ingredients. He did not go into specifics but I can surmise what happened based on Reich records... last December he burned down the gulag and freed all the prisoners. During the chaos he used weapons he had built by hand from scraps-- knives, of course, but also guns. Deadly ones. Only 15, he is a genius. A self-taught weapons expert. He used them to torture the guards one by one. A dangerous, mute lunatic. He reminds me of me. I was pulled into this war when I was younger than he... hoarded by the Reich for my gifts. It's silly of me but I almost care. I do not like seeing another boy dragged into this war this way. The least I can do is cure him. Living is better than not wherever you are. But... there is no way to fix a skeleton like this. I cannot think of a solution. He needs one brand new, this one... it's too far gone. 10 October 1942 - As always I came up with a solution, but even I am reluctant. The bosses... they will never agree to it. If I did what I think of doing, they might actually detain me. I've not rebelled against their wishes since I was 17. However, I feel like I have already made up my mind. I even picked a target-- a strapping young man, about 18 but he will do. I have always despised him. Ivan will just look very 'big boned' when I am done... if the pun can be pardoned. I suppose this will be my last need to write on the subject as I will, for better or worse, have lost my job and probably my official medical license. As if that would stop me progressing medicine! I will simply not do it for these fools anymore. 12 December 1963 - I did not think I would be reviewing these ever but complications have arisen and the most important thing I could do is record and review. I do not know when something I annotate could come up handy. Since the operation things have been hectic and medicine has not been easy to practice nor has it been a priority. To accommodate the new bone structure I have had Ivan exercising and he has become a strapping lad and works for our bread, but I cannot experiment on these funds. It doesn't pain me too much... not every day. But it is not important because right now I need to help Ivan. Money is immaterial. Over the past month his disease has returned. I never did stop it spreading, I just patched him up. My mistake. Though, it has worked for many years. I am not really certain that is true. He has lived healthily enough but his size... he is taller than normal people and very stacked on the chest. He is probably the greatest example of contemporary manliness next to Saxton Hale, biologically speaking. It is still unnatural to a degree, though. It doesn't really matter now. His bones aren't even growing now, simply deteriorating. 24 February 1964 - He punctured his femur straight through his dermis today. Too much weight on anything and it could happen again at any joint that is too weak. Beside needing to heal the injury he has to avoid new ones and, despite his protest, I refuse to let him do manual labor anymore. April 1964 - The bone still has not healed. July 1964 - The bone still has not healed. This is ridiculous. August 1964 - I am desperate. We are living on scraps and I've had to take up menial jobs one after another. I have ideas but no use for them. September 1965 - It's been a year since I started jotting down notes and making diagrams but its all theory and I am tired. September 1966 - It's been another year, hasn't it? I am so very sick of this life. I am starting to resent bringing Ivan to America and slowly life with the Nazis seems rich. Too bad they are finished. Maybe if I had begged forgiveness, even now, my talents would have gotten me somewhere... I completed my theory and the Heal aura is ready for a prototype but prototypes aren't build on wishful thinking. No company would believe my invention would work, though I am sure it would. Without a prototype I cannot prove it via practice. December 1967 - I was desperate enough to actually present my research to people. Foolish. I've been laughed out of interviews. Fools. Ivan is dying. He has held out admirably long. I cannot hate him anymore, he is too pathetic and so am I. I do not have the right after all I've put myself through these past many years on his account. January 1967 - I cannot believe these people are interested in my Heal Aura. But Mann Co. asked to turn my device into a "gun" of all things. I do not know if I can compact this kind of technology like that. Why even propose a contract with me if you are going to garner it with such a stupid request? Then again, it is Australian, Mann Co, isn't it? The concerning part is the contract itself. I have to work for them and only them? I can understand forcing me to sign away royalties, but they are asking me to sign my soul away to them. They want me to go back to my old life in a shinier, cleaner facility. At least I hope it's clean. February 1967 - I will stop writing my idiotic thoughts in this notebook now. I accepted the contract and we will be moving to where I will treat Ivan. I stipulated that would be the first thing-- they would pay for and support me in curing him. He will be better in no time, I am going to use their resources to build him a skeleton that will support his structure and give him incredible strength. Manual labor will not be needed anymore, with me supporting us now, but I think he will appreciate the feeling of not being the underdog anymore. Of course, it could also come in useful if we need to escape again!
The Soldier 1 Out from the shadows stepped a figure. It could not be properly described as a silhouette as it was not adequately dark. It's shape light did penetrate, reflected through the shade from gleaming, polished metals plated on stars and buttons and attached with neat woven stitching. The rest of the shape bore the slightest hues of red and grey and shiny black. The shiny black was most notable as it was the first thing to approach the Doctor. It was painted onto a shoe, clearly as well-kept as the medals and buttons and tied very snugly by the laces. Unexpectedly it was not followed by another of its kind. Rather, a thinner protrusion made of wood emerged. It was connected to two more curved cuts of wood and the Doctor knowingly recognized it as a crutch. One foot, one crutch, and one hunched military man. "I am your escort. You will accompany me at once, whether you have prepared or not." The Doctor did close his journal but he only smiled tartly at the man. A stranger to him, he could not imagine what he wanted. He did not expect any such escort, though he had packed under the supposition he would be taking himself somewhere. At that, it was laughable the way he seemed to be being ordered, as if disobedience meant he would be forced or apprehended. If it came to a physical confrontation clearly he would have the upper-hand against this semi-paraplegic. "Escort to vere?" he humored. "A Mann Co. facility where you will be carrying out your duties from now until further notice." Well, that did strike a chord. That was where he had planned to be going. He parted his lips to ask for proof enough to convince him the man was legitimate but a card was presented to him in advance. He took it in hand and inspected it. Yes, this man was a Mann Co. employee. His identification card resembled ones in the possession of the people he had communicated with regarding his service and conditions. The only odd thing was his job title... "Militia Specialist". It made sense looking at his uniform, but what sort of need would the same company sponsoring the development of his Healing Aura have for a Military man? "Very vell." He woke Ivan and gathered their things. Outside was a car, compact but able to bear the load. Ivan took the whole spread of back-seats to himself and his lame leg, as was necessary, and Fritz was pressed to seat in the passenger seat by the strange one-legged man. It was concerning he would even drive in such a condition. He did so competently, though, and his quarry was put at ease enough that when the trip proved to be an arduous number of hours long they politely excused themselves and took to napping. Just as he had planned. That was when the soldier took the correct route. He did not consider himself a paranoid man... but he was. He did not want them to know where the fortress was, and he did not plan on alarming them as he assured nobody else was interested in tailing them either. ... "Up and at 'em, Doc." The German breathed deeply and opened his eyes. His muscles were stiff, as they tend to be when one sleeps upright in a vehicle. He nudged himself into sitting up, twitch by twitch bringing himself into focus. He saw they had arrived in a garage. Garage was an understatement. There were cars here, a few of them, and also a couple tanks, catapults, some kind of rocket, and a giant metal structure in the shape of a headless man with a console at the top littered with buttons, switches, and a steering wheel. To say the least, it was an overwhelming sight. It was not as though these things were a mystery to him. He had seen his share of tanks and weapons and even rockets... as it was even the metal man was little more than curious on it's own. What baffled him was that this was clearly not a Hospital or medical research clinic. It was more akin to a surplus. "What is place?" Ivan asked with his slurred English speech pattern. "Indeed, vat IS it?" Fritz looked at the soldier warily. "You don't need to worry about you see here, this is not your division. "Zis is vere I shall be vorking, yes? I sink it is in my interest." His voice stayed even. He was concerned, wary, but this was his new job. He could not afford to lose it, after all. "You don't need to worry, cupcake," A sneer spread across the soldier's grizzled face. Oddly, it did not seem threatening, maybe even... inviting. But the doctor was too taken aback at the words themselves. "C-cupcake?" He spluttered, "Vy I never! I am not privvy to ze vays avound here but..." He was cut off by a bark of a laugh. "That's the spirit! You won't need formalities here. Being polite is a low priority when you're knee-deep in the mud of the trenches, drinking your team-mate's diluted piss for sustenance and sleeping on another's corpse for the normally insignificant amount of warmth it has left in it!" The doctor was horrified. Trenches? Corpses? Piss? This was all too much. What had he signed up for? There was no discussion of this kind. This man and all the evidence around them only suggested they were in some kind of... war-ground. This was not where he wanted to be. He had put war behind him over twenty years ago. What war could this possibly be? The one he had been in was long over. The memory was not distant by anyone's standard but it was still over. His country had lost but he had won and he had no intentions of returning to that era. "Don't make that face, Doc, Charlie's just a little... enthusiastic." His attentions turned to a man approaching their group, dressed in overalls and pushing goggles up onto a yellow hard-hat. He looked like a construction worker. Yet another odd kind of person for what was supposed to have been a place of medicine. The newcomer saw signals in the Doctor and figured out he was tense. "Name's Dell Conagher. Charlie's right about us bein' informal 'round here, so just call me Dell. I am assumin' you're Fritz Dietrich." The doctor nodded numbly. The man had a very pronounced accent but he was making him relax a little with a diffused air of intellectualism behind a goofy smile and kindly welcome. When offered a hand they shook. "We're awful grateful t'have you as our new medical staff. I'll show y'round the Fortress but first we can get y'a nice meal after that there ride." English was not his first language but something struck him as odd about what Dell had just said. "I vill enjoy joining ze medical staff. I vould like to meet zem as soon as possible so ve can prepare for Ivan's procedure in ze next few days..." "Join our staff? Heck no, you are our staff. Didn't the correspondence tell you what we do around here?"
Well I'm excited for this fic.
3 Thank you, that's reassuring.
How are people not clamoring over this? This is gorgeously written, and I'm very excites about it! Please continue!
>>5 Gasp, "gorgeous"? When I read that I got the goofiest smile, damn. <3 Thank you. The Heavy-Weapons Specialist Pt2 In the time they spend having tea and progressing through his introductory tour around the fortress, the doctor had the time to mull properly over their situation. He had been quick to resign himself to the idea that this was a newfound form of slavery for himself. Too quick. These men were kind, if one was a little screwy. And the facility was clean. His room was more than he had ever had in a living space-- the one he had shared with Ivan fit into the one he would have to himself now. And that was the tip of it. When he came to the medical bay, he actually gasped aloud. The space was large and he could guess was underground because of a very small window near the crook of the ceiling through which he saw a white bird peck the ground and fly off. He smoothed out the thin paper on the cushioned examination table. He fiddled with the drawers and found each had clean needles, cups, scalpels, elastic gloves, and every other basic supply. There was a large storage room full of gurneys and even a X-ray machine tucked in the back. Perhaps it was not originally a storage room, then. It was not important because he could move these things around as he will. After all, he WAS the medical staff. This was all his. He had free reign over his practice. It was like a dream. "Zis is vunderful, I wish to sank our superiors at vonce if I could. Ve have much to discuss about ze operation as vell, so I vould like to get ze formalities over vis." Dell shook his head. "We told ya we don't really do formalities 'round here." He raised a finger towards his star-spangled partner. "Technically he's our go-to guy. He's the one who done hired ya, too." "I chose you from the system. You were most fit for duty," the man waved off modestly. Some gears turned in the doctor's mind. His "boss" came to pick him up and escort him? That seemed like an odd assignment for someone he presumed was highly ranked. But it clicked in with something else he had vaguely noticed-- not a single soul had appeared besides the four among them. For all its largeness it was odd they had not passed a single soul on their tour of this facility. "How many people vork here?" "You're looking at 'em." His suspicions were confirmed, just like that. "But zis place... it es huge! I saw tanks but zere is no-one to drive zem, and zere are kitchens but no cooks nor mouthes to feed?" "This here place wasn't designed for us, it was built for a miniature army," the hard-hatted man shrugged. "Before the current plan, there was going to be an entire lil' war out here in Teufort. But RED an' BLU agreed it was cheaper to funnel funds into just a single-digit number of people. That's how Charlie here got you your funds... Mann Co. is hirin' you out as a mercenary and you're gettin' paid the pay of about 30 men." Even Ivan seemed intrigued by all this when he had simply been following them in his wheelchair all afternoon. He and the doctor had seen war and this... "solution" was whimsical. But it also smelled foul. The memories they held stank and made the prospect of battle stink too, since they had gone so far out of their way to get out of the first one to avoid the trenches, as well as their treasons. "So... ve are going to be fighting a war? Ze four of us?" "No, we still got more recruits need recruitin'. Meanwhile we do whatever, like curin' this strappin' fella here." Dell smiled at the quiet man and he looked away. It was not shy, it was anxious. Fritz noticed and skipped over to him just to pat him on the shoulder. "He is not used to other people," He explained as if he were talking about his dog. Ivan WAS somewhat like one. He never went outside and he did not really trust anyone but the doctor. It was understandable enough, he had done nothing but suffer at the hands of other people. When he was still holding a job he spoke sparsely what he needed to and it was always in stilted English. He was sensitive about strangers and about his speech impediments and language barriers. He swallowed and nodded and gave a curt smile of reassurance. He did not hate these new people, he just was not comfortable. "Anyhow..." Medic addressed the uniformed man, "If it is alright vis you I vill begin vork immediately on ze prosthetic skeleton." "A whole skeleton?" Dell inquired, "Completely fake? You sure you can do somethin' like that?" "Of course," the good Doctor replied with a confident smirk, "I transplanted a real vone vonce before. Sough... making it vill be hard." "Well then, you have my interest. I'll make you a fine one," the man offered, pulling his bulky goggles over his eyes like it was a rite of preparation. "For this kid here, right? I'm an Engineer. I know how mechanical stuff works, and a skeleton is mechanical, sure 'nuff." He was surprised but took the Engineer up on the offer. The next half-hour consisted of measuring Ivan and boring science talk the fourth-wheel of them nodded to and acted like he was following while internally he damned these science-loving hippies for their confusing lingo. When they were done the new Medic politely requested the one-legged man to provide one last escort of Ivan to his own quarters. The soldier did not mind but was not ignorant to the fact him pushing this cripple around was a very close analogy to the blind leading the blind-- the maimed carting the maimed. Still, he did it. When they greeted the appropriate door Ivan spoke. "Mister... Charlie. You say Mann Co. look for Mercenaries. Can you tell more?"
Bonus chapter 'cause it's short and I wanna. Capatcha is "Hat sirs"! It knows. The Heavy-Weapons Specialist Pt3 and The Medic Pt1 The skeleton the Engineer produced was flawless. Fritz examined each bone with great care, applying his anatomical expertise to check the flex and curvature of every rib and rotation of every swiveling joint. It was amazing how precise it was when the man had cobbled it together while referencing textbooks and his own anatomy. Clearly he must have had some type of education in the subject, as intuition was hardly suffice for this quality of work. Best of all the entire thing was made of lightweight metal, as per request. Not all the same metal, as some parts were tough and some required soft flexibility, but all of it tough and would easily reflect a blunt-force attack on its own. The flesh would still be weak, penetrable and bruiseable but the structure would be indestructible. And it would not rot away ever again. Ivan was to become a man of steel. The doctor did nearly forgo anesthetic in his enthusiasm-- it was not every day you got to implant a super-skeleton into a live human-- but Dell politely brought up the idea and Ivan was thankfully gassed into a slumber. As he passed out he did nothing but smile at the Doctor, ever grateful for all he owed him in life but not needing to say so. The good doctor snapped on a pair of gloves and his assistant did the same. As he eagerly made incisions two ways along his companion's chest for the second time in his life he talked it through as if he were teaching Dell like an intern and throwing witty banter. The man paid attention and followed instruction, trusting this was not going to end quickly and cleanly. "Now, ve vill have to insert each bone vone by vone... ze chest cavity ve can just pull ze organs out and zen put zem back in ze new structure, but in ze limbs ve vill have to sever and re-attach every tiny ligament... It is like ze ultimate jigsaw puzzle, ha ha!" ... When the gloves came off they were coated in grime. He discarded them in a yellow bin and pulled off his operating smock and threw that in the sink. It needed a bath and so did he. Blood caked his skin here and there but it was mostly sweat dried and cracking. The operation had been predictably lengthy, hours had gone by and he was both tired and hungry. He had conquered at least five short-notice complications that had nearly taken Ivan's breath during the course of the afternoon. It had been tough on everyone. Even Soldier, who had not been asked to participate in the fiddly operation, had dutifully checked in on the situation every hour and been asked to do various non-sciencey menial tasks when he did. But it had worked. Ivan was still passed out, his body exhausted and shutting off his brain for the time being to recover, but the two men had given him a twice-over and everything was moving as it should. Ivan would have the final say, but... they were all pretty certain it was a success. He ran his clean but aching fingers through his hair, hunched over and looking at Ivan from his seat on the examination table. So blissful now and yet would be even more-so later. He deserved this. Finally cured, finally free from financial strain... both of them were going to be at peace starting today. The prospect of a war among less than 20 men was quickly becoming miniscule in the shadow of health and camaraderie. He sighed. He had done well. The experiment was a success. He was back to toying with men instead of carrying burdens. That made him smile. He hated the Nazis but he loved playing life and death. He savored making scientific headway. He missed it. That he was back in practice made him smile. Then chuckle. Then laugh. His cackling laugh rang eerily through the operating room, baptizing it in the passions of its new occupant. The Medic was in.
This story is so cool. I love how Medic helps Heavy, but he also has that sheer mad joy of science.
This fic fills me with such joy.
I normally don't frequent the general fanfiction section, but I am eternally glad that I stumbled across this fic. I'm loving your characterizations thus far and can't wait to see more!
I'm just gonna call myself Anon#5, since I was the Anon from the fifth post. In, "The Heavy-Weapons Specialist Pt2" I felt as giddy as Medic did with the thought of an entire infirmary, all shiny and polished, all to myself. I'd be the happiest Medic. You really have this fantastic relatable 'feel' to your work that is simply lovely. It prompts me to comment each time you update. That end of that second (most recent) chapter made me wanna chuckle alongside Medic. I know how he feels! It's a good feeling, and you've portrayed him so very well, it's simply epic (for a lack of proper terms). Absolutely intensely amazingly stunningly beautifully mind-bogglingly wondrous. Please continue forever. Captcha: Spinal yarn
Oh my god how have I been missing this. This fic is PHENOMENAL. Holy crap. This is just beautiful and amazing, never stop. I- It's just wonderful. Please, please continue soon.
The Soldier Pt2 Rehabilitation was the one part Ivan had not been looking forward to. The first time he had molded himself to a new skeleton had been stressful with the pair on the lamb. But he was unexpectedly happy with this time. His muscles felt weak at first, his entire body much more weighted than was natural. He had real gym equipment, and the Medic had real medical equipment to check his blood pressure and other measurable vitals. He did not understand the figures but the Doctor's rarely-seen-before grin told him they were good. His leg was able to be walked on within just two days after much flexing and breaking in of the muscles, and after only a week of reps and jogging his skeleton did not even feel abnormal anymore. Their group was close-knit as well. They could chat and play cards and generally relax. They all went to the above-ground structures one day and the two newer recruits were allowed to glimpse the Builder's League base-- a building much like theirs but with a more industrial feel to it. It was cleaner looking. But that was rather natural, being a Builder's League as opposed to a Demolitions one. It was not all R&R, Medic was tirelessly cataloging all the information he could on the Soldier and Engineer. He sampled their blood, urine, and feces, took their blood pressure and every other statistic possible, and observed their diet by recording all intake of food. Soon he was so informed of their health it would be natural if they were unnerved. With his inexplicable talent it would not be surprising if he could calculate the l length of their entrails from the outside. There was one last thing he wanted to do by the end of their first week together. Every doctor worth their salt knew the mind could create all sorts of influence on the body, placebos to name a common one, and having observed the behavior of his comrades it seemed pertinent to carry out a simple psyche evaluation. It was not that the Soldier was crazy or anything... Well, a few unnerving instances came to mind. So he asked the two of them for permission and both were adamant they had nothing to hide and were happy to comply with the exam. "Jane Doe..." the Medic mumbled with a furrowed brow while looking at the thin employee file RED had permitted him to see. The official name was baffling. Not just because he knew the man as 'Charlie', but because as a man of medicine he knew that was generally a tag for an unknown corpse. A female one. But he saw Charlie looking away and decided it was most likely unimportant. The picture in the file was correct and the other information seemed accurate. He began his questioning with a smile. "Charlie, ven you are stressed vat do you do? As in, are you prone to certain behavior? Eating, or oversleeping?" The man was laying back on the examination table with his hands comfortable folded on his stomach. "Stressed?" he questioned, "I don't remember ever being stressed. Stress is for the weak." "Never?" The soldier shook his head. "Okay, what about... when you are sad or angry?" The soldier gave it a moment but shook his head again. Fritz decided simply to try another question. No biggie. "How do you like exploring new places? Have you sought about ever visiting Europe?" "I've been," the corner of his mouth twitched as if he recalled something pleasant. Latching onto that reaction, Medic encouraged him to talk about it. "I went over for the war. When I was a kid the war started and all I could think about was serving my country. So I went to Germany. Killed loads of Nazi bastards. Came back in '49 a war hero." He said it flippantly. Medic was not too unnerved by the dissing of Nazi's, he had long disassociated himself from them, but something sounded odd. He shook it off. "You were there for ze war, zen. Hm. How did you feel when you got back?" "I was a hero." Charlie said shortly, and the two of them were stuck in a silent look for many moments while the doctor waited expectantly for something more than that. Nothing came. "You... aren't very detailed. It would be helpful for ze exam if you had much more to say zen zat." "Tch! You don't understand being a war hero so you wouldn't know there's not much more to say than that!" "Alright, zen. Tell me a story about ze war! Zat is somezing us veterans talk about, hm?" Medic pressed, frustrated at how little he was getting from this. "A war story, huh?" The man's face lit up as if nobody had ever asked before but he dearly wanted to tell. "There was this time me 'n' Salty Pete... he had one eye... we stormed this hill two men versus two hundred commies!" Fritz listened in carefully and Soldier was convinced he was already hooked. "Pepper-Pot Pete was digging a trench at the time... to dump the bodies in, we were thinkin' ahead... so we took down the bastards and the hill was ours! We named it Sun Tzu Hill in the name of America. Iron-Eye Pete... he had two eyes... stuck the flag in and then we took a rocket to Hitler's face. Punched him a couple times." "... you and zese three men, all called Pete, did zis?" "And then we ate rations. The tea was like swill. But it was all worth it to fight in the war. That we were invited to. And won." "...Are you making fun of me?"
I agree with everyone here. I usually only visit fanfic every once in a while, but I don't really read much. This definitely caught my eye though- and for good reason! The story is enthralling, the characters believable, everything's just awesome. I can't wait to see where you go with this.
Eehee!! An update! Please continue! This fic has me uncharacteristically giddy! Beautiful writing topped with an interesting storyline- you're a fantastic writer.
Ehehe... sorry that last update took six days. You guys are awesome. My ego has been well stroked. The Soldier Pt3 That failed therapy session concluded in three things. One, Medic became certain it was useless to try and crack the enigma that was the Soldier just by talking to him. Two, he decided it wasn't worth prying into unless it became relevant to a medical emergency. And third, the soldier himself stopped being... himself. It felt unnatural when he attended breakfast and merely grunted at a few things he would usually wring out as unpatriotic or unamerican. His outbursts were replaced with looks of shame. It made everyone uncomfortable more than being yelled at about Sun Tzu. The connection was not missed by the others. The Engineer pulled everyone but Charlie aside just for that reason and asked Medic about the test. Both he and Ivan were clearly worried and it struck Medic just how fond they were of each-other despite the shortness of their time together. "I cannot really tell vat his problem is, he sort of broke down ven I told him how improbable his story is. He left me listless and has not recovered." Dell did not reply for a moment and shyly adjusted his hard-hat over his ungoggled face when he realized Fritz was staring at him because of it. "Sorry, I was just surprised at how easy it was ta getcha t'tell us about his test. Hippocratic oath and all that?" The doctor waved that off with a short flick of his hand. "Oh come now, the man needs help. I'm sure you would like me to tell people about your condition if it would help you." This illicited no reaction but apparently satisfied him enough not to question the doctor's ethics any more. Ivan had been mulling over the Doctor's story for a while, quiet and barely listenening, with the face of someone trying to remember something distant. It finally clicked and he shook his physician's arm for his attention. "Doctor, when did war end?" "You know when, many years ago." He puzzled over the question. Ivan shook his head. "The year. I don't think was '49. Much longer ago." The gentlemen warmed up to what he was getting at. "Now what in tarnation... I coulda sworn he's said that year to me too but I never even noticed. The war ended in '45. He's obsessed with the war, how could he get the date so wrong? ...I reckon you're on to somethin' there buddy." Ivan smiled proudly. "I think I'll have a talk with the boys upstairs." And have a talk he did. Not a day later he'd played his way through the bureaucracy of call centers and oral paperwork to ascertain more than the flimsy public record Medic had obtained for the exam. The next morning when they checked for mail from RED there was an envelope addressed to whomever it may concern. Engineer infiltrated it before Soldier did his usual check and kept it under his overalls until he could grab their circle of concerned and they could look it over together. There were about a dozen identical pieces of paper in there, Soldier's entire military history. All of them were draft applications and all of them were stamped with "4F" in huge block letters, rejected on the basis of mental health. All of them were under different names, none of which were "Charlie" or "Jane Doe". The military branch was the only thing that seemed random among them with over half for the Army and the rest varied. "Well I think the story is bogus alright."
Aw, poor Soldier and his phony history. Do continue! I know I speak for a lotta people when I say that I love this story!
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I paused writing this to write smut. My bad. The Heavy-Weapons Specialist Pt4 One tiny thing the Medic was infatuated with about his new workspace was the doors. They were the kind that swung themselves closed, but only after performing a horizontal pendulum motion a few times. The noise made by the swish of air displacement was incredibly, inexplicably satisfying. When he heard the suction sound he looked up and smiled immediately, welcoming any charge that walked in. And today it was his most amiable companion who came for his expertise, face and clothes carelessly smeared with motor oil and generally unfit for the stagnant air of a sterile clinic. He looked like he had just been working, though on what Medic did not know. He had not asked what exactly it was Dell did around here. But Dell was about ready to tell him. "Doc, I wan'ta talk about your gun. That is, the one you're supposed to make?" The doctor was uneasy about that. He had been slaving over it quite a bit but compacting the technology was... daunting, considering he had not even prototyped his designs in the first place. But Engineer was not interested in nitpicking Fritz's slowness, he asked to see the plans. If it was not any trouble to him, that is. It wasn't. not Dell looked over the scraps of paper and notebooks and seemed extremely pleased by what he saw. "Is there some reason...?" "Doc, this is perfect," the Engineer said with glee, "C'mere, I gotta show you somethin'." The doctor was led through the halls and up towards the surface. They did not quite leave the safety of the underground facility, but came to a room Dell explained was just under RED's emergency resupply. Inside it was hot and the air was stale, the result of electronics, a lot of them. Technology the likes of which Fritz had never seen before lined the walls and made everything stuffy even with the many, many fans trying to cool the place. "This is my main job, to complete this baby," Dell explained, running a gloved hand over the side of a container of mysterious fluid. "And... vhat is it?" "It ain't nothin' yet... just a flawed machine my grandpap designed. That's where you come in, to fix it." Medic laughed. "I am not an Engineer, Herr Conhager." "I know," Dell smiled back, "I reckon that's why you haven't been pulling for parts for that heal aura doohicky you gotta build." Medic flinched. "I wanna, in laymans terms, put your invention in my invention. If I can, I'll happily help you with your job too." "I don't see why not." Medic accepted easily. It was not as if his technology belonged to him anyway. Chances were the Engineer's did not belong to him either. Perhaps he knew that and was just being polite in asking in the first place. "But you still did not tell me vat zis is, exactly." Dell tapped a screen. The doctor took up curiosity and examined it. The more he scrolled through information, passing by programming code to diagrams he recognized and reading footnotes, the more he saw where his invention fit into the equation. "According to this you already have a way to re-metabolize dead cells..." "My Grandpap's work, yep. But they constantly needed to be revived after periods of time-- I don't want to just bring 'em back, that wears down the materials they're made of, I gotta prevent rotting and re-instate a sort of template, you see..." They blabbered on, instantly engrossed in their scientific talk. They weren't even conscious of it when they started to work, Engineer collecting various parts and Medic instructing him on various requirements. It was vaguely exciting. They were working for hours before Soldier checked in, heard their rambling, and left muttering that he was not going to interrupt their fruity science stuff to inform them he was going out. However, many hours later, he did feel it was pertinent to interrupt their undying flow of enthusiasm. "If you two can pack it in and stop your mutual orgasms, I'd like you to try to greet our fifth." The two perked up at that. Indeed there was a stranger entering the room just behind Charlie. He did not look too friendly, since he was the tallest, darkest, and most scowly person in the vicinity. And he happened to be wearing an eye-patch, which did not make him look any less threatening. Medic greeted him cheerily. Engineer... did. not "You mean fourth, Charlie," Medic corrected. Soldier ignored him. "He's Tavish DeGroot, demolitions specialist. He's our senior as far as working for RED goes, asked to come here," Soldier continued, trite and not bothered by the awkward looks Dell was giving him. "This is Fritz Dietrich, our Medic, and Dell Conhager, our Engineer." "Charmed," the newcomer said, with a noticeable drawl on the 'a'. It was actually pretty surprising, it sounded like some kind of yet-undeterminable denomination of British and did not suit his look. He stalked forward to the Medic who had greeted him warmly, and surprised him with a toothy smile. He extended a hand, and Fritz shared his, and soon he was getting patted on the back in a chummy half-hug. The man barked a laugh, surprising the two scientists. "No need ta look so tense, lads!" he announced cheerily, "I know ye've probably not seen a black Scottish cyclops recently but there's no need for shorty here ta be starin' like Nessie just reared her head in his bathtub." A hand extended to Engineer in turn, seeking acknowledgment. Dell only took it reluctantly. When Tavish tried to get a quick embrace from him as he had done Fritz, Dell broke their shake and raised his gloved hands between them as a barrier. "I, uh, I'm a bit unclean. Wouldn't want'cha t'get all dirty, this stuff never washes out." Tavish smiled and nodded, accepting this, and turned to the Soldier. "I'd love ta know what all these doohickeys are and all but I think I'd like ta get some rest first if you lads don't mind terribly?" Soldier waved him to the door and the newest member of their team exited. Soldier made to follow him to show the way, and Medic grabbed him quickly before he left. "You... meant fourth, ja?"
The Demolitions Man Pt1, the Heavy-Weapons Specialist Pt5, and the Medic Pt2 The entire facility was eerie-- the sterility, the machinations, the supplies, all of it. It was never meant to be hoarded by five men. It was like living somewhere abandoned, or sitting the house of a large family alone. There were too many chairs in the mess hall and too many pieces of equipment in the gym. And there were rooms for more than holding mercenaries. Besides the clinic there were places for other kinds of researchers, tacticians, coordinators. Large computers and colliders and gizmos none of them touched due to ignorance of their design were buried under dust and shut away in the dark. So, as one could imagine, venturing into any room they had left to its own devices was daunting. Yet, Medic was ever objective about these kinds of things and did not mind the grime he had to clean off vials and containers because what had to be done had to be done. He wiped down countertops without complaint. He did it for hours. But again, the place was never meant to be occupied by a handful of people and was not supposed to be maintained by so few either. He fell exhausted by the time he simply scrubbed down the room itself, let alone thought of approaching the wash basins full of glassware. Just as he was slouching against a countertop a polite knock came at the door. He called them in, not that he would have been doing anything they needed have been so polite as to try not to interrupt. The new member-- the one who had greeted them briefly the day before-- replied. "This is the chemistry wing, ain't it?" He asked, as if that wasn't obvious from the string-hung sign on the door that said "Chemical Hazard". He got confirmation and let himself in, then blanched at the state of the place. Equipment moved aside and piled into basins and cleaning fluid smells in the air? Not terribly pleasant. "Och, someone open a window in here! This ain't ideal for mixin' mixtures." Being underground meant Medic could not help with that, but he smiled and laughed invitingly. "Did you need something in here?" "Aye, I was lookin' te check things out and make sure I had everything I needed. I didn't expect it to smell like me mum's toes in here. Or for the equipment to be in use. Ye know what, hows about I get a washcloth?" They joined in their pursuit of cleanliness, the most desirable attribute of a chemical lab. Tavish was especially meticulous in placing every piece of brick-a-brack where he desired it to be. It struck Fritz that he was treating it the same way he himself would treat his medical equipment. Oh! "Ah, I suppose zis room will be yours in the coming months. Demolitions means you make bombs, ja?" There was a tweak of obvious interest in his voice, encouraging the Demoman to be candid with him. "Aye! Explosives, would be a better word if ye don't mind. I thought I was gon' stake the place out, I didn't think anyone else would have had any interest in it a lab o' this sort-- I assumed ye were fine in yer clinic. Not that I mind so much, don't get me wrong." "Oh, no," Medic shook his head, "I don't need much from it. It is yours. I just need to concoct a little something. It's quite an experiment, actually." "I can assist ye if yer not too savvy with chemistry?" "I am savvy wiz ze chemistry of ze body and zat is all I need, but I would be delighted to have a helping hand." They chattered on, Medic telling Demo about his short experience with this new life of theirs. When the basins finally emptied they both eagerly switched from not work to play, but from the work of their indifferences to the work of their pleasures. "So that accent, European? I'm Scotch, if it weren't blindin'ly obvious," Demo continued their candid conversation. He was clearly genuinely interested in forging a good relationship with Medic and the other man thought that was quite splendid. In fact, he was feeling more engaged than he had been with the others so far. "Ja, I am from Germany. I... hope zat does not make you uncomfortable," he paused on that thought. He knew he was not bothered one way or another about politics or the colour of a man's skin or the religion he practiced, but he had not lived his years in the United States without someone getting on their high-horse about his background. He knew foreigners were still tense about people from Axis countries. But he needn't fear, as the ever-more friendly Demoman laughed it off. "Perish the thought, Fritz. You ain't got a problem with me an' I ain't got a problem with you. Charlie wouldn'ta never hired an ex-Nazi, and I wouldn'ta pegged you as one anyhow what with how ye've been actin' so far. Methinks we're dandy. Now, pass me that pestle." Medic smiled happily, having a glance at Demo's workspace opposite his. It was full of dangerous-looking stuff but he was sure the Scot knew what he was doing. He, on the other hand, wasn't totally sure. This was his attempt at a prototype serum for his invention. It was unknown, untested territory. "Hmm," he murmured, making his companion glance over at his work in turn. "Hey laddie, I'm wonderin' if ye should be..." KABOOM. Demo coughed at the splatter of red, congealing gunk plastering Medic's bib. "Yeah, flerovium and livermorium. Mixin' them together's a no-no. Christ, if it didn't smell bad enough in here now we get a sniff of Nessie's backside after she ain't wiped in a fortnight." Medic laughed at the mistake while wiping the goo off his goggles. "Mein gott zis is rancid. Well, back to ze drawing board." -- At the end of a series of failed concoctions Medic decided he was ready to turn in and so he did. He donned striped pajamas, took up a good book he had pilfered from the Library, and sipped a glass of warm milk he had been preparing himself each night for a while now. These kinds of luxuries had only led him to become enamored with his new job. How he had missed being able to afford books. Especially ones like this, a large tome detailing anatomy. He knew some of the things in it to be wrong and all the right facts he already knew, but it was a soothing activity and helped him relearn scientific English, which he had not used ever that he remembered. A soft knock came at his door, almost so soft he could not hear it, as if someone was avoiding rapping their knuckles too hard. He beckoned them in. This time he was greeted with the most recognizable face around rather than the newest. "Evening Doktor," he said in broken German instead of broken English, "I mean not to disturb. I will be quiet, just wish to spend the night in here okay?" Fritz shook his head. "You needn't do so, please. Come talk with me until we fall asleep." He shuffled over in his generously-sized bed and Ivan shuffled in under the sheets. His heavy frame made the bed groan but it was solidly connected to the floor so it was not under threat of breaking. He laid on his side so he could see the book he would not remotely understand. Although he seemed to have had something to say, he was quiet. "So how are you liking things here? You seem to get along well with Soldier, I saw you both playing poker the other day." "Is good. Very comfortable. Though, place is large, quiet. Like is abandoned. Soldier is surprisingly kind. So is Engineer. We have never met so good people. They don't seem to care I am Russian, though Soldier keep calling me pinko. I not mind much, but don't think I should talk about home with him. Am glad for new man, he is Scottish. More diversity, we not only foreigners now." Medic let him talk that out while ignoring the elephant in the room, but he rather wanted to talk about it. "On my paycheck we will also have anything we want practically handed to us from now on. Zat is gut. We are completely financially stable. You don't need to feed us anymore." "I liked supporting us, Doktor. Only thing I not like was not being able to support your science too. I don't want to continue being guy with broken leg. I not like being sick or lazy. Need to do something with self." "And zat is why you signed up wiz Charlie." "Da." Medic closed the tome and tapped Ivan's clean dome with it. "You did not have to stay quiet about it, dummkoph!" "Da, I know. Was looking for right time to say." Ivan smiled and laughed. "What did you sign up for anyway?" "Heavy weapons and artillery."
Slight note: I believe the word is Scottish, not scotch. Scotch is the drink, Scottish is the person.
>>21 Scotch is a word for a Scottish person too, but Scots hate it and consider it derogatory. It's an adjective, so there are "Scotch" drinks and "Scotch" people. I figure Demo wouldn't have qualms about calling himself Scotch since he's self-loathing. Source: my living in the UK. Though I checked Urban Dictionary too and there are varied opinions on whether it's appropriate or not.
The Medic Pt3 It was a sudden burst of formality when Soldier gathered their fivesome in the briefing room and told them they had a day to prepare themselves for war. He did not say war, he called it a scrimmage. Maybe it was just that. Nobody seemed to be prepared for it, though. "Are you plum nuts, Charlie, I ain't got my machine up 'n' runnin' yet! We'll all be endangered!" "I am not ready to heal on the spot! I have never been in such a situation before, I know not how to heal people in a war-zone!" "Have no bullets for gun I made. Need design custom cartridges." "Aye, an' I haven't tested the explosives I made yet! I can't in good faith use them, I could end up killing us all! Those bombs won't be makin' it an inch above ground until they're tested, ya war-mongerin', wannabe Soldier loony!" Soldier let them complain and then silenced them with a fist on the table when he heard "loony". He shot a glare at Demo, who looked a little guilty for a moment and shut up. "Listen, I am not the one who decided it. Doc, stock the surface resupply with that serum you've been workin' on. Everyone, just grab a weapon. We'll have to melee the enemy to death if we have to, these are our orders and we're sticking to them, no more complaints! I will not tolerate babies on my point!" "On your vhat?" -- There had never been a more pathetic looking army. Ivan, Dell, and Charlie were toting a shotgun each. The Soldier pacing in front of their line-up was wearing a helmet that, in the most worrisome fashion, dipped below his line of sight and was not even tied on. He was not even wearing battle-worthy clothes, donning his ceremonial-looking jacket and a shiny pair of heeled, more-formal-than-practical boots. Ivan looked more apropos in a casual sort of way, with a protective vest hardening his already formidable physique. Dell just came in the overalls he wore every day along with his glove and a hard-hat which would probably serve better for him than Charlie's helmet would for him when it fell off. The Demo took a different route by lugging a satchel reportedly full of what he called "sticky bombs". Some kind of plastic explosive, only not plastic. He also brought a frying pan in want of some kind of defense. He also reeked of alcohol, bafflingly. And there was Medic, stuck taking after Demo's make-shifted style of melee defense with the most dangerous-looking thing he had in his clinic-- a bonesaw. At no point did he intend to use it. He grabbed a small pistol as well but he had never used a firearm. "Remember what I told you, boys. Five minutes, take the first point." "This is like a game more zen a war," Medic muttered under his breath, actually glad the aim was not simply to kill. It lessened the threat. A woman's voice suddenly spoke. It was startling because there was no woman among them, and he did not notice the speakers pitched up in the corner until just that moment when her shrill voice informed them they had 30 seconds until the supply room doors opened. He felt himself for bandages, ointment, and other inventory. Noticing his anxious fiddling, Ivan clipped his shoulder. "Stay with me, Doktor. We will survive, I make sure of it." They nodded at each-other and everyone seemed perked up by their exchange. The announcer woman gave them their last warning with a countdown from five. When the door flew open they flew out and met face-to-face with their adversary... one of them. Just one man. All on his lonesome. Standing on the control point with a pistol and a smile. When he saw the cluster of men he opened his arms as if to say, "come at me!" "Yo REDs! Have a nice train ride out here?" Soldier wasted no words on a reply and rushed to the control point with his shotgun, making the young man back away laughing. "Can't hit what you can't see!" Soldier skidded off the point and grabbed a shovel that had laid among other tools and leapt back to swing it at the boy. He was fast. They both danced around the point, gaining no capture time for RED because the boy carefully kept his feet on it. Demo struck out on his own, as planned, and the Engineer used Soldier's distraction as opportunity to set up a miniature sentry nearby. Leaving The Heavy and Medic to try to join Soldier. "Stay behind me!" Ivan called as he trounced forward with his weighty feet. He was slower than everyone else, even Soldier, but Medic stayed behind him and kept his bonesaw akimbo. He heard a crackling in the distance. Which was odd, it sounded like a fire. Then yelps came from the second point-- then explosions. Everyone was alarmed but Medic was the only one whose heart skipped a beat and made him unthinkingly trudge in that direction. "Doktor, no!" Ivan grabbed his collar. Then there was another odd noise, a sickening sound of something crashing through the air and colliding with flesh. "AHUGH!" Medic turned, horrified to find Ivan staggering back into the resupply for cover. He ducked out of view as well and dropped to his knees when Ivan slouched and fell to the floor. "Oh mein gott, Ivan, you're bleeding. Pressure the wound, I need to get ze bullet out, now." He tore the vest open and lifted the shirt and the blood flowed freely instead of staining the clothes. Fritz was getting back up, intending to grab surgical equipment from the closet, when he bumped into someone. Startled, he gripped his bonesaw and sung around, slashing it the moment he set his sights on an attacker. The head came off cleanly. Then the body limped and collapsed and more blood oozed all over the floor. It was a grisly sight but did not bother the Medic so much, especially when he was still in a panic to save Ivan from the sniping wound. That was when someone else startled him, running frantically into the resupply with his beard and ass on fire, desperate so much to put it out he smacked-bang into the supply closet, spilling out everything in it. Medic cringed away from the accident, but when he looked back to search for fallen tweezers and scalpels he was greeted with a heart-stopping sight that had nothing to do with Demo passed out by the sink. The incomplete serum he had placed in there seeped from broken vials and creeped into contact with the pooling blood. When they touched, a fizzing sound accompanied an eerie glow and bits of visible vapor wafted upwards. The vapor brushed over Ivan's blood-soaked hand and his fingers twitched and he groaned. His chest rose as if he was sitting on something uncomfortable, and the flesh around his wound convulsed and pushed the bullet out itself as it repaired the tissue from the inside out. Ivan groaned and opened his eyes, feeling fine. He looked as if he had not been shot. He also felt something by his hand and raised it up, shocked to find a human head had been lying beside him. There was some of the magical fluid drenched into the odd mask it was wearing. "I..." Medic began, breathless but suddenly quite excited, until he noticed the eyelids of the decapitated head twitch. "KILL ME," It screamed. Ivan yelped and dropped the head, and Fritz pulled the pistol he had tucked away in his shock. He unloaded a few bullets on the head but it did nothing. "KILL ME." "I'M TRYING. YOU. ARE. INVIN...cible. You're invincible." He shot the head again. "Ooh." "Sentry down!" came a cry from the business going on outside. Oh yes, the helmet-wearers were still fending off the BLUs. In fact, they had about 30 seconds left on the clock and it was a wonder they were holding out. But apparently they weren't anymore, as the Engineer dashed back into the resupply and smacked the panic button for the garage-like door. Soldier followed by ducking under the door, shooting behind them for cover. Before the match even ended they gave in. "Ladies, that was the most sorry display I've ever seen and am not eager to repeat it. I want all your equipment prepared before the official missions." "I sink zat can be done." Medic grinned, picking up the head whose eyes had lolled back but was still warm and probably still alive and tucking it into a messenger bag before they vamoosed to the train.
This is... yes. Spy head. Beautiful, wonderful, decapitated spy love. Medic with backstory, a brilliant explanation for the 'missing skeleton' comment... yes. I LOVE DIS DOKTOR!
Ahaha! I love your take on everything here! You're brilliant! Please continue!
[i]Of course, thank you thank you thank you. This is short but I decided I wanted to cut this scene precisely where I did. Also, don't be confused by the title of this chapter, I don't intend to turn this into a magical tenth class fic. PS I deleted that previous post because I carelessly wrote "Engie" at some point instead of "Engineer". Damn it, terms of endearment.[i] The Mechanic Pt1 Soldier railed on them, and hard. Medic didn't recall ever having been berated with such vigor, and seeing as he had originated from Germany that was saying something. Fortunately he was the least berated as he had done his job to the best of his ability. Meanwhile, it looked like everyone else had botched it. Ivan went down easily, and Dell had allegedly coursed away from his sentry to acquire some abandons of metal. Apparently he needed them to repair his device on the spot. That tripod-mounted contraption was left behind, of course, but was said to be easily replaceable. Tavish got set on fire at the second point without detonating his bombs, and he and Soldier had deteriorated to heated hollering and petty insults before everyone else was dismissed so the two could talk in private about it. Still, Medic was broken between glee and fatigue. He had been fairly careless when he lobbed the bag with that severed head into the communal fridge and did not plan to take a look at it until next morning. The entire debacle of getting to and from and performing in the scrimmage had taken merely a couple hours, so they got back in time to decline a proper lunch. As the three made coffee, Engineer observed the dip in Medic's energy. He had worked day in day out since he arrived whether on cleaning or operating or experimenting and the scrimmage had really bit it. "Fritz, you should take a trip in'ta town. Relax a little, grab us up some supplies." Medic's ears perked. "Was? What town?" Turned out all that secretiveness he had been put through by Soldier was just his paranoia and Engineer directed him on how to leave the confines of their base. Armed with a small shopping list and a clunky truck, he was now perusing the quaintest town he had ever tread in. The roofs were a spectacularly bright white, reflecting the severe sunlight and its heat back to the sky. It was not small, there was even a mall, but the quaint part was just how clean and doll-like all the buildings were and how lush the greenery was. Mostly plants you would not expect in a garden-- cacti, vibrant desert flowers, other things biologically built to withstand this environment. The entire place looked cared for, which made the haunted, dusty feeling of the Fortress a stark contrast. And Engineer had been quite right in his advice to get out and about. The air was fresh even if it was hot, and it admittedly felt good just knowing they weren't stranded in a god-forsaken desert with only a fallible train keeping them supplied. Supplies being a relative word-- the list he was given was all mechanical parts. Probably to replace the sentry, and perhaps to expound on the machine he was constructing. Apparently it would be quite the load as Dell had given him the keys to his flatbed truck to get out here. Thus he coaxed directions from locals and discovered a mechanic who could, apparently, help him. He parked inside and left the truck be to ring the bell at the counter. A wheeled chair rolled out from behind the wall of an office behind it. A woman peered around. And wow, was she gorgeous.
You know what, everyone's just going to have to suffer that italics fail.