Mercy Goes on a Date

-Or-

How Mercy learned to stop worry about the nerfs and became a living meme.

Dr. Angela "Mercy" Ziegler sat in her car, hands firmly gripped around the steering wheel as she scoped out the restaurant before her. It seemed normal, a bar with brick walls outside and large glass windows looking in. She couldn't see much inside due to the evening sun, but it didn't seem out of the ordinary.

She had hoped that arriving early would help her possibly spot her party beforehand, but then again she supposed that would kind of defeat the purpose of a "blind date". She took a deep breath. The date was supposed to help keep her mind off the stress at work, but all it seemed to do was create more. Lena, bless her soul, had taken it upon herself to make the match and set it all up, but Angela didn't feel the gravity of it all until the morning of the day.

When it came to going on a date she thought she was supposed to be in euphoric bliss. Why hadn't she danced around her apartment with a smile on her face as she got dressed, spend her entire day getting herself prepared to meet a stranger who would hopefully be her prince charming and find love at first sight? That's how she thought she was supposed to feel, but in reality she was a combat surgeon, she had spent the day in bloody scrubs or observing ampules of Nanobiotic medicine on top of the drama that had infected the workplace. She had ignored the date for most of the day and treated it like another event on her calendar.

The drama… the mere thought of it made her stomach upset.

Lena was right, the community she had been around was so toxic that she needed to just find something else to distract her. Angela exited and locked the vehicle before approaching the bar. Her preparation for the secret meeting had devolved into just wearing a different pair of her work slacks and a blue blouse and adding a tiny bit more makeup. It had been so long that she had gone on a date that it wasn't till she walked through the door to the bar that she realized that she hadn't even gone on a date before.

The inside of the bar was much like the outside, red brick with a hard wood floor. Although a bar occupied the length of the main room, several tables and tall chairs dotted the rest of the floor space. A hostess greeted her and directed her to a table at the front window where she took a seat.

Her mind began to wonder if a bar was a good meeting place, the stress at work mixing with alcohol was probably somewhere on the fast track to getting an ulcer. Luckily though she didn't have to ponder too long on it before she heard someone say her name.

"Yes," she said, "My name is Angela. It's nice to-"

What stood before her was less of a man, and more a mass of muscle in human form. The man wore a pair of jeans, a white undershirt, and a black button down shirt with white stripes down the front, but to say he was wearing them was an overstatement. His Biceps completely filled out the arms of his shirt, any sudden movements and the already stressed seams may break and fray. The buttons down the front, although not stress to the point that they were keeping the two halves of the shirt together by a thread, were still very tightly stretched between his pectorals and abdomen. The table shook as he sat down on the bar stool, allowing Angela to take a closer look at the slight wrinkles to his face and silvery white hair. He looked to be around fifty years of age, but just by looking at him Angela somehow knew that he wasn't old, but experienced. Within her first seconds of laying eyes on him, Angela came to the conclusion that he would not only be able to bench-press her, but her entire extended family as well.

It took a moment for Angela to realize that, in her shock, she was staring, and snapped out of the trance she was in. Returning to normal decorum, she regrouped and said, "Hello, my name is Angela. It's nice to meet you, and you are?"

"Alexsandr," he answered, although his English was quite good, his voice still carried a heavy Russian accent. "Alexsandr Senaviev."

A young man was sitting at the bar on the other side of the restaurant. Hearing something that piqued his interest, he shot his head up and looked around. He saw the two sitting at the window seat and immediately stood up. Quickly, he dug into his pockets and pulled out a phone and a fifty dollar bill. He threw the bill down at his spot made his way to the exit, speaking into the phone as he exited the bar, "Dude, you won't believe who I just ran into…"

Shrugging of the strange patron, Angela continued. She asked him what his occupation was, and he admitted that he was a member of a UN taskforce, and Angela replied in kind. They both understood the clandestine nature of each other's occupation, so the specifics were kept to a minimum. Before the topic could change, Angela's phone began to ring. Cursing herself for neglecting to silence it, she apologized to her date and immediately tended to it, shutting it down and stowing away once more.

"Sorry," she smiled to back up her apology, "I'm a doctor. The job follows me home."

"Hm? A doctor? What's your field?"

"Medical Science," she answered, but held on to the topic, feeling her mind hook onto the statement unless it added its own 2 cents. "But, nowadays I feel like I should have gone into psychiatry with all the drama that I've been in recently."

"Really? Please, go on."

Permission granted, she opened the floodgates and let her mind run free. "Oh, its just a bunch of nonsense. A long time ago my peers spoke out about the means of which I get things done, and for some asinine reason the administrators in the organization listened to them."

"Really, and what happened after that?" Alexsandr asked.

"Bah" Angela spat, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her stool, "They listened to the crybabies. I had to bend to the new rules and keep going. Irksome? Yes, But I have a job to do and I want to see it done. So afterwards I went back to doing what I do best, helping people, but this time I worked even harder, I was going to show them that I am here to do my job the best that I can, with or without the approval of my peers.

"So what happened next?"

"Well, it was like that one idiom about giving rats a cookie and they will ask for a glass of milk. Just like before, they ran behind to our administrators and hid behind their apron strings like little children." The doctor began to feign rubbing her eyes like she was sobbing and spoke in a child's pouty voice. "Wah, Angela is making us all look bad! Wah, wah!" She returned to her normal voice. "That no good old cyclops and that roller rat wannabe DJ kept nagging about not getting deployed enough because the team sees my work ethic and respects me." She gave a heavy sigh, noticing that her hands were rolled up into tight fists and unraveling them. "It was the Administrator's mistake in changing my equipment. I would be fine if they simply admitted that they acted too hastily and things went back to normal, but what's so infuriating is that they insist that its all just, 'steps in the right direction.' Like it would kill them to simply admit that they were wrong." She went to rub her eyes in frustration, but stopped when she realized she would just smear her makeup. "Now, it feels like I wake up every day and wonder what else I've been restricted from doing. I used to be a valued member of the team… now I'm the one being left behind and they're all avoiding me like I have some kind of plague. It's like-"

Alexsandr stood up from his stool, stopping the doctor dead in her tracks. The sudden shock made her aware of how long she had been talking. Finally having someone to listen felt good. Not having to bare her teeth and agree to the restrictions forced upon her was liberating, but at the same time it made her feel sour. Like a vegan tasting meat and becoming addicted to its sensation, Angela enjoyed the vitriol that she spoke, but at the same time it felt wrong. She had always been so selfless, and dropping her morals for a moment of weakness made her feel a side of herself that she didn't like.

In a moment of self-reflection she realized how terrible she must have appeared to her date. A drama queen, complaining to strangers about her own petty grievances at work. She felt a cold sweat break across her skin. Her stomach burned like hot whiskey. She felt dirty, exposed, and embarrassed. Her uncontrolled emotions had dug her own grave in regards to this date, and all she could think of was running away and crying.

"I am sorry, Alexsandr, I… I should leave." She said, collecting her belongings and pushing her stool away from the table. Her date, who had stood up and was holding the curtains on the bar window, turned around and stopped her. He insisted she stay as he simply closed the curtains to the outside. Angela obliged, but as she watched the Russian block the view to the outside she noticed something rather peculiar.

Although it seemed to be a normal afternoon when she entered the bar, it almost looked as if a parade was happening in the street. A small crowd of people seemed to congregate on the sidewalk right next to their window as a celebration was taking place. Stranger yet, It seemed like they were all wearing woodland camouflage uniforms and wearing homemade helmets made out of soup cans with a single slit in the front for their eyes.

Angela studied the strange phenomena until her date had completely closed the curtains and blocked them off. He was then back on his stool, cupping her hand in his massive mitts. His hand, although rough and coarse, calmed her as he held onto her slender fingers. Although he looked to be a lumberjack with the strength to rip a tree from the ground on his lonesome, Alexsandr held her with the care of a skilled arborist, returning a fallen bird's nest to the safety of the trees.

"Your emotions are mounting." He said, rubbing his thumb across hers, "Please, let them come."

Calmly and steadily, Angela bowed her head and let it all out, she told the tale of the fate she suffered, went over the downward spiral, and explained the death of a thousand cuts that she had suffered. Like an angel having the feathers plucked from its wings, Angela explained what she had gone through until she was stripped bare, discarded and alone. Alexsandr, for what it was worth, listened intently, nodding and giving her all she needed to shed all that was weighing down her mind. Although she doubted that he understood the more intricate details of what everything meant, she could tell that he knew how much it meant to her, or at least he tried to.

When it was all said and done, Angela sat on her stool quietly, exhausted from the entire ordeal. All of the ice in her water had melted and the server had not taken their order for fear of interrupting. When he was sure that she had nothing else to add, Alexsandr spoke again, "I see your problem. Out of negligence from your superiors, you fear that your use is up, that you've become obsolete. Fear not Angela, for your time is not up. I can tell you that although you feel as if you have been betrayed, you still have your allies and followers that are still willing to fight for you. You must not give up hope, if you keep your chin up and stay strong, in time good fortune will return to you."

"But how do you know that, Alexsandr?" She asked.

"I can't be certain, but I do believe you, Angela. If what you speak is true, you will return to favor someday. But one thing that you do need to understand is that even if the worst is to come, you must remember the better times and be thankful that you had them. That is something that I had to learn the hard way, and what I think our mutual friend Lena wants you to understand."

Angela thought on that for a moment, and even if she did not want to accept that outcome she did understand it, and for what it was worth, it put her mind at ease. "I… suppose I understand. Thank you, Alexsandr."

"There's no need to thank me." He replied. He was about to continue when the door opened, allowing two more patrons to enter the bar, but followed by a barrage of loud and distorted music that made less of a melody and more of a vicious assault on the ear drum.

"What the hell is going on out there?" Angela asked, finally become more than curious as to what was going on past the curtain.

She stood and pulled it aside, and was greeted by the shocking sight of an entire cult worshiping at an altar right outside of window. Banners of the USSR and flags of the Russian Federation lined the streets. Heading the proceedings was a man dressed in full military armor, preaching to the congregation off of a tablet. The Battle Priest raised his arms and called out, "And on the Final Round, The Lord decided it was time to pack it up; for his work here was done."

Completely baffled, Angela turned to her date once more and was about to ask what was going on once more, but the rather annoyed look on his face spoke volumes. He stood, grabbing her by the hand once more and saying, "What I want you to understand is that you shouldn't dwell over what you can or can't do for your team, but instead think of what you represent to your team, for even if they move on, to the ones who it meant the most will always appreciate you."

Alexsandr then reached behind his back, and seemingly from nowhere he pulled out a man portable machine gun with a top mounted circular magazine. Not sure what exactly was going on, Angela stood in shock as he posed with his weapon. "Now," he said, "The Lord must address his flock…"

Alexsandr then exited the bar with his machine gun in hand. Angela watched as he closed the door behind him and the crowd outside erupted in amazement with a combined call of, "Lord Tachanka!"

From her port in the window, Angela watched in amazement as the awestruck crowd bowed before her date as he stood at the head of the crowd and set down a bipod mount for his weapon and shouted, "LMG; MOUNTED AND LOADED!"