Team Fortress: Soaked Through

Chapter Two: The Storm Begins

There's only three things that can happen when someone disappears: a quotable phone call, a ransom note written in magazine clippings, or a road trip. Team Fortress chose the last.

"How are we even gonna find him?" Scout asked as he put his duffel bag in the truck. "Medic could be in a hundred different places, and that's just around here."

Heavy fiddled with the keys, trying his best to sound as unconcerned as possible. They didn't have time to start a mass panic among the group.

"We'll track his chip and go where it takes us."

Spy lit a cigarette, his fourth one since they started packing.

"Suppose he removes it? He doesn't go anywhere without his knife, and I wouldn't put cutting it out himself past him."

Heavy shrugged. "If 'what ifs' were chickens, we would have farm."

Spy laughed, flicking his cigarette on the ground and grinding it with the heel of his shoe.

"If we had that many chickens, we wouldn't need Medic anymore, because the apocalypse would be upon us."

"A drumstick end of the world." Scout said, rubbing his stomach. "I could get behind that."

Heavy put the rest of the luggage in, which, by request, barely took up space in the truck. Miss Pauling gracefully hopped into the truck and sat on one of the benches. She had since cleaned up from last night's escapade.

"Why would Medic do this? I would understand a friendly stabbing, a killing spree, a virus. But going A.W.O.L? This doesn't seem right."

"Anyone who cuts people open for a living has a few screws loose," Spy said, lighting yet another cigarette. "And Ludwig is no exception."

Miss Pauling looked at Spy and then counted on her fingers.

"How many cigarettes have you had?"

Spy raised an eyebrow. "As many as I like."

"I know for a fact you haven't eaten breakfast, and all that smoke is going to give you one heck of a heartburn."

"I have. Just a very quick one."

"'Spy believes in having a light body for the former half of the day,'" Miss Pauling quoted, grinning, "'and, therefore, does not usually eat breakfast unless a special occasion has arisen. This only includes his birthday, Christmas, and funerals of lost loved ones. The last occasion may cause him to overeat, as his sadness usually-'"

"Okay, okay! Enough! This is my last cigarette of the morning! Zut alors!"

Spy hurriedly finished his cigarette, then disposed of it like the last one. Scout leaned against the truck, a smug smirk plastered on his face.

"Huh. Never knew you were a foodie, Spy."

Spy sputtered, reaching for his lighter automatically, then lowering his hands again.

"I don't eat, I smoke. That was...quite a few years ago."

"Welp, if you ever want to show me your stash..."

"Ta gueule!"

Spy grabbed Scout by the collar, shaking him violently.

"You say one more word about it," he spat, "and I'll force feed you gunpowder, douse you in gasoline, and shove twenty matches down your throat!"

Pyro started to clap excitedly. Immediately, Spy was brought back from his rage. He dropped Scout, then walked quickly into the truck. Once inside, he, to no one's surprise, lit another cigarette.

***

There is no one here to save you. You may have isolated yourself, Ludwig, but they will still flock to your pain. They will take it with open arms.

"Nein, danke. I am not homeless, just a little lost."

The two joggers looked at each other. They were obviously sisters, as they were almost carbon copies of each other. Both of them looked over Medic with the same confused expression.

"Are you sure?" one asked. "There isn't anyone you want us to call?"

The other one started to get her purse. "Maybe a map? I think I have one from orientation..."

Medic perked up. A map would be very helpful.

"Ja, zhat could be vonderful. I...lost mine."

"Where are you headed? We've lived here for a while, so we could probably help you out..."

"Ach...a...convention," Medic stammered. "Zhere is a scientific convention down in town somevhere. If I had a map, I could find it, but zhe map zhey gave me is no good. It just took me around in circles."

The one who was looking through her purse drew out a crumpled map.

"It's a little creased, but you can definitely read it. This should help you out."

The woman handed it to Medic, who immediately opened it.

"Danke shoen, Fräulein. Zhis should help me qvite vell."

The one that gave him the map nodded and smiled, but the other looked at his lab coat with wide eyes.

"Is...is that blood?"

Medic looked down and, sure enough, there were two splatters of blood coated heavily near his chest. He could have kicked himself then. Why couldn't he have left after changing clothes?

"Oh, nein. Zhat vould be ridiculous. Ve...chemists have a sense of humor. All of us dress as mad scientists, just to make it a little more interesting."

The two women laughed, causing a wave of relief to come over Medic.

"That's great! Kinda makes me wish I had chemistry as a minor."

"Yeah, it sounds like you guys really have fun. I hope you are the best costume there! It all looks so real!"

"You probably worked on that outfit for weeks!"

Despite himself, Medic blushed. "It vasn't very hard to make, believe me. Just things laying around ze house."

One of the sisters tapped the other's shoulder and motioned to her watch.

"I'm sorry," she said, "we have to keep our heart rate up. We're training for a marathon next month. But we'll see you soon, I bet!"

"I hope so. Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein."

They both started to run again, keeping an almost synchronized speed. Once they had gotten to a fair distance, Medic pulled out a small revolver. He kept it for emergencies, as he preferred to use more involved weapons. He lifted a slightly shaky hand, aiming.

Bang! Bang!

Two shots. That's all it took, really. Just behind the head. Very little pain and a very quick death. They both hit the ground in unison, a last dying action between them.

Medic bit his lip, then put the gun in his pocket along with the map. Who in the world took a jog so early in the morning?

As the first raindrops fell, the voice spoke again.

That is not the only thing you must feel. Human life is minuscule, even if they can't come back. There is so much more. Look again, Ludwig, look again.