I Promise I Vill Heal You!

RED Base, *LOCATION CLASSIFIED*

"Pyro, stop that," a soft, Texan voice chided, a large hand faintly smacking another gloved one wrapped around a lighter. The Pyro huffed childishly, but still pulled his lighter away from the unaware Sniper's tiny book.

The Sniper shifted, grumbling something under his breath, and the Engineer went back to softly strumming his guitar, frowning in thought. The Pyro sighed dramatically, dropping its head into its hands, glancing around the room. The Scout sat on the edge of the couch, mumbling to himself constantly as a baseball flew from his hand and into the air, back into his hand and the air, the motion repeating without thought. The Heavy and Soldier were playing some card game at the table, each of them completely butchering it for different reasons, and the Spy stood, back stiff in the corner, cigarette dangling in his mouth.

The Medic had told them all to gather in the rec room for some sort of important thing he had planned, but at the moment neither he nor the Demoman were there.

"Man, fuck this," the Scout whined loudly, halting in his ball tossing actions. He gripped the ball in his hands, inspecting it absentmindedly, scowling. "When tha fuck is tha stupid doctah gonna get heah?"

"Patience is a virtue, son!" the Soldier snapped, not looking up from his cards.

"You tried ta steal my hat yestaday," the Scout yelled, "'cause I didn't grab tha enemy intel fast enough for ya!"

"Well then maybe you should-"

The door to the rec room burst open, and the Demoman stumbled in, face haggard and missing his usual grenade vest. A brown, nearly empty bottle of scrumpy was clutched in his hands. "Everyone!" he cried, a note of terror creeping into his voice.

Everyone ignored him, except for the Spy, who wrinkled his nose in disgust at the strong smell of alcohol clinging to the Scotsman.

"Not like ya did shit last battle, anyways," Scout grumbled, glaring at the Soldier. "Jeez, I'm leadin' the team so much, would it be so much ta ask-"

"Oi!" the Demoman growled angrily, smashing his bottle of scrumpy against the wall and ignoring the liquid that rolled down the wall. The Engineer frowned at this.

"What is it, son?" the Engineer asked, despite the fact that the man he was referring to was rather close to his age, if not slightly older.

"Yes, please," the Spy drawled, dropping his cigarette stub onto the floor and grinding it into the carpet (the Engineer's frown deepened.) "I'm curious to see what has caused zhe drunken wretch to turn into... well, a blubbering drunken wretch."

The Demoman lunged across the room, grabbing the Engineer's overalls and shaking him, eye wide. The Sniper grunted, looking up from his book with unrestrained disdain.

"It's the Medic! The bloody bastard-" Suddenly he gasped, feeling for a bottle of scrumpy that wasn't there and letting out a pitiful cry.

"He's our teammate, Demo," the Engineer commented.

"He wants to cut us open and stuff our insides with, hell, I dunno, teeth! Probably the teeth of some extinct shark species!"

The Engineer opened his mouth to respond, left it hanging open for a moment, and closed it again.

"Wot the bloody fuck are you talkin' about, mate?" the Sniper finally asked.

"He wants to cut us open and mess around with our insides!" the Demoman cried. "He told me himself! I barely escaped him to warn ye all!"

"...You mean like zhe Ubercharge?" the Spy prompted.

"No! Much more nefarious, I swear to ya!"

"I wouldn't doubt that Nazi bastard to try and turn us into his sick experiments!" the Soldier growled, slamming his cards onto the table and standing suddenly.

"Now, come on, fellas," the Engineer started.

"Quiet!" the Soldier growled, and the Engineer sighed, shaking his head. "Commie! You've spent the most time with the Kraut in battle! What do you think?"

"Well..." The Heavy frowned, shifting awkwardly under the gazes of his teammates. "Doktor is... Doktor likes battle very much."

"All of you wankers do, though," the Sniper pointed out.

"Da. But Doktor is different. Heavy likes to crush baby BLUs. Doktor likes to make them cry." His frown turned into a deep scowl. "Is not bad thing, though. Doktor is very useful on battlefield; keeps us all alive."

The Pyro let out a short, quiet sentence, shrugging and fiddling with its lighter a bit more.

The entire team stared at it.

It stared back at the entire team.

"He says the Doc does like dissecting people," the Engineer finally muttered. "And, admittedly, we have been gettin' dominated by the BLUs a lot recently, so he doesn't have much chance to do his usual science..."

"Wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think he'd start testin' his stuff on us if he can't get anyone from BLU," the Sniper murmured, hands curling stiffly around his now closed book.

"But he's still our teammate," the Engineer argued. The team collectively decided to ignore him.

"Respawn would fix anything he'd do, no?" the Spy prompted, a fresh, unlit cigarette dangling in his mouth. The Pyro offered the Frenchman his lighter; the Spy ignored him.

"Don't mean it'll be pleasant," the Demoman replied.

"Man, fuck this!" the Scout cried suddenly. The other mercenaries jumped; they'd forgotten he was there, since he usually dominated all of their conversations. "I don't wanna be some hamster test subject shit for that dick! We gotta do somethin' 'bout this!"

"Affirmative!" the Soldier yelled. "We can take him out and send him back to TF Industries! Request an American Medic this time, too," he added.

"Now, fellas," the Engineer growled. He stood upright, setting his guitar in his seat. "Now, if you'll just talk to the Doc before you try to kill 'im-"

"Hello?" a sharp, German voice pierced the air. The Scout yelped, glancing over his shoulder as if the Medic was there, and the Pyro shifted to position the Engineer between it and the door. "Mein kamerades? Has zhe informed you of zhe upcoming... operation?" A chilling tone entered his voice as the sound moved closer to the rec room.

"Here-" the Engineer began to say, before Soldier screamed and tackled the Texan to the ground, dragging him behind the dusty red chair in the corner. Out of his coat, he pulled out a grenade, grimacing.

"Solly!" the Engineer barked. The American went for the pin, ignoring the Engineer, and the Texan smashed his gloved hand against it. The Soldier cried out, and the grenade bounced and rolled away, finally settling under the couch. The Soldier gasped.

The rest of the room went into a panic. The Scout's ball hit the ground, and the boy latched onto the Spy's arm, begging the Frenchman to give him one of his watches while the man tried to push him away. The Pyro ducked under a conveniently placed cardboard box in one corner, and the Demo tried to crouch behind a potted plant in another corner, putting another magically appearing bottle of scrumpy on the rim of the Heavy hid behind a thin lamp that shield approximately none of his body whatsoever.

The Scout wrapped a hand around the golden wristwatch the Spy had, and the two mercenaries jerked away at the same time. The watch went flying, and the two mercenaries watched in horror as it landed on the Sniper's hat.

"Yo Snipes, send that over here!" the Scout said at the same time the Spy demanded, "Bushman, hand that over this instant!"

The Sniper stared at them for a moment, and then pressed one of the watch's buttons, disappearing suddenly.

"Fuckin' asshole," the Scout growled, turning to hurriedly look for a hiding place. "Fuck you, Spy, ya could've just-" The Spy was gone.

"Where the fuck-" Suddenly the Scout noticed a small bit of fancy leather shoe poking out from under the couch. "How the fuck-"

"Hellooo?" the Medic's voice appeared again, right outside the room. The Scout paled visibly, sweat rolling down the back of his neck, when suddenly he had a thought:

"Wait, why are we all hiding in here?"

After that thought, he sprinted out of the room's other exit.

The Medic stepped in after that, pushing his thin glasses up higher on his nose. A pristine white dove cooed from the German's shoulder, and the man spared the bird a small smile before glancing around the room.

"Huh," the Medic murmured, finding no one in the room and not noticing one American forcefully pinning another down in one corner. "I vonder vhere everyone is?"

His eyes stopped at the potted plant, noticing the scrumpy bottle balancing precariously atop it. He frowned in thought.

The scrumpy bottle shifted slightly, losing its balance, and it suddenly fell from its perch, spiraling towards the ground-

A strangled gasp filled the room, and a dark hand shot out from its poor hiding position behind the plant and caught the bottle, dangerously perching it back atop the plant pot.

"Ah, Herr Demoman," the Medic said, striding towards the plant. "Tell me-"

"Demo, noooooooooo!"

Suddenly the burly Soldier burst from his hiding spot in the corner, leaving the Engineer pushing himself off the ground in confusion. The American barreled into the Medic, bringing the German down to the ground with a scream.

"Take me instead!" the Soldier yelled, slamming a fist into the doctor's jaw. The Medic screamed in shock and instinctively his hand reached for his pocket. He pulled out a thin, small syringe as the Soldier raised another fist, and the Medic plunged it into the Soldier's neck. The Soldier screamed over-dramatically, clutching his neck and falling back onto the floor, unconscious.

"Mein Gott," the Medic breathed in shock, staggering to his feet. He glanced around the room, quirking an eyebrow as each of the mercs peered out from their hiding spots (the Sniper uncloaking and the Scout peering into the room.)

"Vell, erm," the Medic said, confused. "Try to, uh, come to the Medical Bay soon?" He grabbed one of Soldier's boots and started to drag him out of the room.

The mercs watched and waited a minute after the doctor had left in silence.

Suddenly the Demoman screamed, "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE HORRIBLE DEATHS TO THAT MAN!"

The room exploded into chatter - the Scout screaming insults to the Medic and the world in general, the Pyro mumbling incoherent strings of words, the Engineer trying to calm everyone down, the Sniper and Spy watching the rest of the mercenaries with contempt.

"Quiet!"

The room suddenly went silent as a massive, booming voice overpowered the rest of theirs. The Heavy stood, hands furled into fists on the table, narrow eyes rolling over the mercs. "Engineer - you are smart man, da?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Good. We make plan."

They raided the Soldier's room with heavy hearts (except for the Scout, who honestly didn't care much about him.) Just as expected, the Sniper found it - a map of the base, since Soldier was the only one who really cared about it. It was rather crude, drawn on a napkin with crayons, but it still served their purpose.

They then turned the dining room into a makeshift war room. The Engineer spread the napkin-map out over the long dining table, and the remaining team huddled around it. Engineer frowned, silently studying it.

"Wot's the map for, anyways?" the Sniper asked suddenly.

"I... I don't actually know, to be honest," the Engineer admitted.

"Laborer, zhis is a waste of time," the Spy said irritably, rapidly smoking.

"Oh?"

"We just shoot him." The Spy pulled his revolver from his belt, offering it to the Engineer.

"We're not just gonna kill 'im," the Engineer growled.

"'Sides, Respawn will just grab him," the Scout added.

"Respawn could have a slight malfunction," the Spy suggested. Engineer growled at him, and the Frenchman shrugged.

"Wot about the Announcer?"

The rest of the mercs visibly paled, violently recoiling from the Sniper and his insane suggestion.

"I-I don't think that's a good plan, Stretch," the Engineer mumbled.

"Oi don't want to talk to her any more than the rest of ya," the Sniper said, shaking his head. "But we're important? Roight?" Watching the slight nods from the other mercs, the Sniper continued, "So she wouldn't let the Medic do some horrible science on us, eh? She'd tell 'im to stop, or might replace him!"

"Holy shit, Snipes, you're brilliant!" the Scout whooped.

"G-good plan, Stretch," the Engineer let out a small smile. "Alright, so... Scout and Pyro, you two will talk to her-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, fuck no!" the Scout exclaimed, snatching his hat from his head and kneading it around in his hands nervously. "I ain't talkin' to that... that harpy!"

"Scared, boy?" the Spy sneered, flicking some ash from his cigarette onto the smooth wood floor (the Engineer would have to talk to him about that later.)

"What- of course not!" the Scout said quickly. "It's just that, uh..."

"Come now, you're clearly the most persuasive of our group," the Spy said with no ounce of truth. "You are the most manly, handsome, clever, intelligent..."

"Layin' it on a bit thick, mate?" the Sniper whispered to him. The Spy shrugged.

"Well... That is all true," the Scout said with a frown.

"You are clearly the only one of us with any chance of convincing the Announcer of our plight."

"Alright, fine," the Scout grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "But I swear ta God, Pyro, if you try to light the chair on fire again...!"

The Pyro shrugged.

"Spy and Stretch," the Engineer continued, "you two'll watch the Medic - Spy from up close, with yer cloak," the Sniper handed the Spy his watch absentmindedly, "and Stretch from afar.

"Demo, Heavy and I will guard the communications room, to make sure the Medic doesn't get Pyro or Scout by surprise," the Engineer finished. "Sound good?"

There was a chorus of "yes" and "yeah" and then a knock at the door.

The mercs froze as the Medic's voice pierced the room - it was as if he conveniently appeared whenever he chose!

"Hello?" The doorknob turned and stuck - luckily they'd thought to lock the door. "Vhat are you all doing in zhere?"

The Engineer shook his head and muttered, "Hold on, fellas. Hurry up with the plan." Then he stepped towards the door and unlocked it.

The mercs stood silently watching in horror - they wanted to say something, to thank the Engineer or tell him to stay, but none of them wanted to volunteer to go out there, either. So they watched in silence as the Engineer opened the door, muttering a few short words to the Medic, and stepped out.

"Ah fuck, Hardhat," the Scout said, at a loss for words.

"Bloody hell," the Demoman shook his head.

The Heavy cracked his knuckles, scowling, and said, "Baby men! Go! We must hurry before Doktor returns!"

"Oi'm still amazed at their stupidity."

"Do not be," a thickly accented, French voice replied. "Or elze you will be dizzapointed every time."

Two mercenaries peered out of a window at the group of REDs that had paused to bicker about something inane, each of the watchers wearing thick blue; a third one stood behind him, uncaring about the REDs, lightly drawing some ideas on a sheet of paper. The BLU Spy flicked a bit of ash onto the stone ground - the BLU Engineer ignored him, intent on a vague Level Four Sentry design - chuckling at the antics of their opponents.

"Still don't see why y'all are interested in 'em," the Engineer murmured, glancing up for a moment.

'"Zhey are idiots," the Spy shrugged. "It iz humorous. Like a fish out of water. Or nine."

"But we already knew they were idiots," the Engineer replied.

"True. But zhey are not dizcuzzing any important information for me to lizzen in on, so I must amuze myzelf whiz zhis."

"Oi kinda like seeing them squirm," the BLU Sniper added.

The BLUs watched the group for a moment - the RED Sniper and Spy were arguing about something, and the Heavy and Demo were forcefully pulling them apart. The Pyro watched, hand on its hips and foot tapping the ground impatiently.

Suddenly the Spy straightened, dropping his cigarette stub onto the floor carelessly. He turned without a word, striding towards the door.

"And where are you headin'?" the Sniper questioned.

"I am... offering zhe REDs a gift."

The sound of a plane stopped the group in their tracks.

The Demo, who - along with the Heavy - was positioned between the Spy and Sniper, glanced upwards, eye narrowing. "Am I jus' too drunk, or...?"

"Nah, we all see it," the Sniper murmured as the dark shape appeared in the sky. He narrowed his eyes, face scrunching up in confusion - planes never flew over the base, unless there was some sort of unimportant Mann Co. Delivery...

It seemed as if the shape suddenly began to expand, become larger in their vision.

Wait a minute...

"Heavy think we should move now," the Russian offered.

The Scout yelped and dived out of the way. The Demoman stumbled, falling to the ground, and in a panic that the situation did not warrant, the Pyro let out a horrified cry and grabbed the Demoman by his foot, dragging him away. The Heavy scooped the Sniper up, tossing him to the side and attempting (/failing) to do a combat roll away.

The Spy sighed at his teammates, calmly lighting a cigarette and taking a single step to the side.

A large crate slammed into the ground, completely undamaged, the words "MANN CO. HAT DELIVERY" printed in bright red on the side.

"Tha fuck?" the Scout said, dashing over to the crate and poking it. "Did on of yous assholes order hats without tellin' the rest a' us?"

At the chorus of "no's", the Heavy strode over to the crate and, with ease, pulled the top off of it. The mercenaries paused, staring at the nectar inside the crate.

Silence.

The Scout summed up their thoughts: "HO. LEE. SHIT. THAT'S A LOTTA FUCKIN' HATS!"

Chaos ensued.

The Spy fitted a nice fedora onto his head, smirking while he glanced in the pocket mirror he always carried. The bright red bow tie replacing his usual tie was a nice touch, too.

The Scout precariously balanced eight different hats on the top of his head, shifting with the tower to make sure they didn't fall.

The Heavy, in an impressive display of skill, juggled over half a dozen hats while a plump, furry ushanka sat on his head.

The Pyro stood, dismayed, face in its hands as it tried to remind its teammates of their current task.

"Holy shit, these heah are amazin'!" the Scout said, pointing to his new coat and tan bag full of money. "They make me look astoundin'! Well, more than usual, anyways."

"I can't tell if these are grenades or Smissmas ornaments!" the Demoman cheered, juggling three baubles. "Maybe even both!"

"And zhis beak will surely terrify our enemies!" the Medic exclaimed, securing the white mask on his face.

"And this here chameleon," the Sniper said, pointing to a living chameleon perched on his shoulder that was in no way a hat, "looks good enough, I almost want to eat 'im!"

Everyone froze.

"Oh, anyvays," the Medic coughed, "it is time for zhe next operation. So, come along now... Herr Demoman? I'd like to check zhe effects on your body of all zhe alcohol you consume, as well."

"Well, uh, yeah," the Demoman said quickly, gesturing wildly, "but you should definitely check out the Scout first! I mean, with all that junk soda or whatever he drinks every battle..."

The Medic's gaze turned towards the Scout.

"Nah, uh, see, I've gotta go," the Scout desperately thought for an excuse, "shine my bat!"

"Shine... your bat?" the Medic questioned.

"Yeah!" the Scout chirped. "It has ta be done at tha same time every day, and also tha Pyro volunteered to go anyways!"

The Pyro let out a long string of unintelligible dialogue, but wildly gestured towards the Sniper to make the meaning clear.

The Medic took a step towards the Sniper, and the Australian looked around in a panic for any of his teammates to throw under the bus.

"Ya know!" the Sniper said quickly. "You should probably check out that, uh, lung cancer thing the Spook probably has goin' on."

The Spy dropped his lit cigarette in surprise as the Medic exclaimed, "A grand idea, Herr Sniper!" and locked his hand around the Spy's wrist. He dragged him off; the Spy didn't dig his shoes into the dirt, because he had class and anyways his shoes were expensive, but he turned and yelled, "Bushman! I hate you!"

The five mercenaries watched the Spy being dragged away with varying degrees of pity.

"Come," the Heavy said finally. "We do plan now, da?"

"Incoming."

The quiet warning from the Australian filtered through each of their headsets. While the Scout and Pyro ignored it, the Demoman took a long swig from his bottle of scrumpy and gripped it tightly, grimacing.

"Hurry the 'ell up, lads," the Scotsman growled, referring to the two offense mercs. The pair ignored him, the Scout speaking too quietly for the headset to pick up, which was odd for him.

"Yep," the Sniper confirmed. "Headin' towards you, Demo. Good luck."

"Guys," the Scout said nervously, "we, uh, we got a problem."

"The hell is it now?" the Demoman asked irritably.

"We talked with tha Announcer lady, and explained everythin' ta her! She just called us idiots and left."

"So. We are fucked, da?" the Heavy questioned.

"Yeah," the Sniper confirmed.

"We need new plan," said the Heavy.

"I say we kill 'im," the Demoman said. "All in agreement?"
"Yeah, sure!"

"Mmph!"

"Yes. Is good plan of action."

"Well, Oi don't really have a problem with it, so, sure."

"Alrig-" The Demoman suddenly stopped. "I see 'im. I'm gonna kill 'im."

"You sure 'bout that, Demo?" the Scout asked worriedly.

"Positive." The Demoman took a long swig of his scrumpy, emptying the bottle; the other mercs could hear him shout "I'm gonna strangle ye with me bare hands!" and a German scream, followed by silence.

"Let's meet up, mates," the Sniper suggested. "If... If the Demoman failed, then the next time we run into 'im, we'll have numbers on our side."

He missed the enemy Spy whispering into his headset.

The Sniper led the group, rifle swaying lazily in front of him, though he was completely alert. The Pyro held its axe, the Scout his bat, and the Heavy scanned the area behind them with his fists at the ready.

"So," the Sniper began, "when we see 'im, I'll shoot 'im. Sound like a plan?"

"Fuckin' brilliant," the Scout said honestly.

"What about Respawn?" the Heavy questioned.

"Uh... We'll cross that bridge when we come to it?"

The Heavy raised an eyebrow.

"Oi mean," the Sniper continued, "there's not much else we can do 'sides this. Maybe we could tie 'im up and does anyone else smell smoke?"

The Pyro, who hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, snapped upright at the mention of smoke.

"It might have somethin' to do with that large fire up ahead a' us," the Scout said.

The mercenaries stopped to stare at the large fire that was engulfing their very wooden base.

"Well, fuck," the Sniper said.

"Mhm," the Pyro agreed.

There was a short pause before the Heavy barreled away, pulling the Pyro with him. The Scout panicked, because - while he was a paid mercenary that laughed while murdering the enemy team on a daily basis - fire was scary, yo.

"Jarate!" A jar, filled with a yellow substance, emerged from the Sniper's vest and was promptly tossed onto the fire. The flames receded at the putrid smelling liquid.

"Ha, nice one, man," the Scout congratulated, and the pair stared at the slightly smaller fire for a moment.

"Thanks."

"...You, uh, just carry that around with ya?"

"...Yeah?"

"That's really weird, Snipes, even for you."

"I still vonder how you produce all zhose jars," the Medic commented.

"Ah, it's a secrOI!"

The Sniper jumped in surprise, stumbling away from the Medic. The Scout jumped as well, but halted in place as the Medic's fingers wrapped around his hand.

The Sniper grunted, raising his rifle, when he paused, sniffing. "Did, uh, the room get a little hotter to any of ya?"

"It's on fire, dumbass!" the Scout replied.

"Well, true," the Sniper muttered, raising his rifle once more. He paused again, glancing around and finally at his vest that was currently on fire.

"Oi'm on fire," he said calmly. Then, louder, "Oi'm on fire! Argh!"

The Sniper dropped his rifle, forgetting the Medic and rolling around on the floor wildly.

"Come now," the Medic said, pulling the Scout. The Bostonian replied by swinging his bat at the Medic; the doctor, expecting this, stepped to the side and jabbed a familiar looking syringe into the boy's neck. The Scout halted and then collapsed, and the Medic dragged him off, muttering something about "working vith dummkopfs" and "I performed surgery on a train, damn it, and I'll do it in a burning base, too!"

The Sniper wasn't sure how long he rolled around the floor, on fire (in reality the fire had gone out minutes ago) but finally a thick wave of hot air slammed against him, shoving him into the wall. He grunted as the Pyro took its flamethrower and airblasted the fire a few times before it went out.

"Where is baby man?" the Heavy questioned as the Sniper staggered to his feet, allowing the Pyro to assist him.

"Oh, the Doc took 'im," the Sniper said, retrieving his rifle from the floor. "...Oi! The Doc took 'im!"

The Heavy sprang into action quickly for a man of his size, rushing through the base with his fists raised as if BLUs were around every corner (the BLU Spy shoved himself deeper into his corner.) The Pyro raised its flamethrower, mumbling something loudly as it followed, and the Sniper checked to make sure his rifle was loaded before following.

The Pyro and Sniper quickly caught up to the Heavy, making sure to still allow him to lead them. They hurried through the base, passing through the hallway where their rooms rested and finally arrived at the Medical Bay. The Scout was silent inside; that could only mean the worst.

The Heavy cracked his knuckles and, with all the stealth of a rhinoceros, slowly crept forward and kicked the door open.

The Medic, who happened to be on the other side, leaped backward and cried out in shock.

"Oh, Herr Heavy, perfect-" the Medic said, a moment before the Heavy punched him in the face.

The Pyro and Sniper watched as the Heavy wrapped his hands around the surprised Medic's throat and slammed the German into the wall.

"What have you done with baby team?!" the Heavy roared, and the Medic flinched.

"I... beg your pardon...?"

"You know what 'e means," the Sniper growled, stepping forward. "You've been doin' horrible experiments on us all day! Well, we're done with it!"

"...Horrible experiments?" the Medic echoed.

The Pyro mumbled something threateningly, jamming its flamethrower under the Medic's chin and shaking it dangerously.

"You, uh, you misunderstand, kamerades!" the Medic said hurriedly, sweat falling down his face as he tried to shove himself away from the weapon.

"Roight," the Sniper growled.

"It's a scheduled operation!" the Medic continued. "I vas implementing a new type of Uber - I call it zhe Kritz."

"And where is rest of team?" the Heavy asked.

"Zhe operation is rather, ah, painful," the Medic admitted, "so I put zhem all to sleep and sent zhem back to their rooms to sleep off most of zhe pain. Look, zhe Scout is right over there."

"Yo, 'sup guys," said the mercenary that was indeed the Scout, eyes half lidded and swaying to the side before he collapsed.

"Huh," the Sniper said, going over to poke him calmly. Then he noticed a tray of small devices. He walked over to them, picking one up gingerly and reading aloud, "'Kritz Device.' Huh."

"Well." The Heavy let the Medic go hurriedly stepping back, and the Pyro did likewise.

"Sorry for assumin' you're doin' horrible experiments on us," the Sniper said sheepishly, as the Medic pushed the Pyro and Sniper out.

"Oh, no, zhat's Friday's operation," the Medic said calmly, face completely stoic. "Now, come, Herr Heavy, it is your turn."

The Pyro and Sniper watched as the door was shut in their faces.

"...He was jokin' about Friday, roight?" the Sniper asked.

"Mfes...?"

Silence.

"Mfur mmoin mmirst!"

"Wot no I am not!"

Accents are hard. How'd I do with those? The Pyro was a pain.