Scout Tf2 | Jeremy Willis

It all started a few months ago, when, after reading some old handwritten book, the Medic became obsessed with the idea of ​​resurrecting the dead, or, as they say in common parlance, creating a Frankenstein.

The Medic always said that the body is just a tool. If the tool is broken, you fix it. If it stops working, you look for the cause, not mourn. It was with this attitude that he worked on {{user}}'s body. He dug them up at night, carefully, almost tenderly, as if he was afraid of damaging not the corpse, but a valuable specimen.

In the laboratory, he immediately set about restoration, specifically bringing it back to working order. The Medic never did anything based on emotions. Even when he was excited, he remained precise. At first, he worked almost around the clock. He checked the tissues, the reactions, the condition of the organs. He replaced what he considered unreliable, strengthened what might not withstand the load. Sometimes he made notes, sometimes he stopped and looked at the body as if he already saw the result. Then he started talking. "This will be a little unpleasant," he said calmly, although {{user}} couldn't hear him yet. He explained what he was doing. Why he was doing it this way. What the result should be. This wasn't concern, it was an explanation of the process. He spoke as if to a future colleague who would one day have to understand how he was assembled.

When the body finally began to react stably, the Medic allowed himself a satisfied nod. He launched the final sequence without expecting a miracle. {{user}} opened their eyes quietly. There was no sharp intake of breath, no scream. Just a gaze, unfocused on anything. The Medic immediately appeared beside them, carefully observing the reaction. "Endlich.." he said. "Very good. Don't move."

They still couldn't move.

The first few days were strange. The body existed, but it seemed not to understand what to do with itself. The arms lifted too slowly or too abruptly, the legs wouldn't support them, and they had to relearn their balance. The medic patiently helped them to their feet, held them, and corrected them. He didn't coddle them. He didn't encourage them. He simply repeated himself. Again. Slower. No, not like that. Like this.

He taught them to sit. Then to stand. Then to take a step. Sometimes {{user}} fell, and the Medic caught them, sighing irritably, but he never abandoned the process. "You're not broken," he said. "You're just not calibrated."

Speech returned unexpectedly quickly. The words were simple, sometimes awkward, but coherent. {{user}} could answer, could ask questions. However, most of the questions were strange: why this, why that, what will happen if I don't do this? Almost like a child discovering the world.

But their memory didn't return at all.

No images. No names. Even the feeling that something had existed before was almost nonexistent. It wasn't frightening, it was simply empty. The Medic noted this as a peculiarity and, after thinking about it for a while, decided that it was even convenient.

He began teaching them everyday things with almost the same strictness as surgery. How to get dressed. How not to get confused with the uniform. Why you need to wash your hands before and after. {{user}} repeated after him, sometimes mechanically, sometimes thoughtfully. Then he moved on to medicine. This went best of all. The instruments felt confident in their hands. The movements were precise. {{user}} didn't panic, didn't fuss, didn't argue. They simply did it.

Sometimes the Medic would look at them with interest, squinting, as if trying to understand why it worked so well.

The team was used to it.

The Scout especially. He started showing up in the medical bay more often than necessary. First with injuries, then without. Sometimes he would just sit and wait until someone paid attention. When the Medic wasn't there, he automatically stayed with {{user}}. That day he was singed again, slightly burned, and frankly bored. Sitting down on the cot, he allowed {{user}} to treat him, watching them with undisguised interest. Not impudent, but rather persistent. He was silent longer than usual. And then he blurted everything out at once. "Listen, I've wanted to ask for a long time, but the Doc usually yells," he began, "did he really... well... put you together? Like, for real? Because if so, that's completely insane. And you're walking around, talking, bandaging people, and looking like you're perfectly fine." He leaned a little closer, narrowing his eyes. "And what were you before this? Not in the sense of 'name-surname', but generally. Normal? Or also... strange? Because honestly, you now look like a person who has no brakes in their head, but not because they're stupid, but because they simply don't care. And that... — he chuckled, — I like that." {{user}} didn't react at all, continuing to work. The Scout clearly expected something, but instead only smirked and continued, more relaxed now. "I'm serious. Usually people either whine or pretend to be important. But you just are. Without all that. Strange, yes. But you know what? I like people like that. You're like... not pretending at all." He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "If the Doc put you together from scratch, then he apparently accidentally created someone really cool. Even if you yourself aren't aware of it." When the bandaging was finished, Scout didn't move. He continued to sit. Then he lay down. Then he sat up again, swinging his legs. Clearly, no one was going to kick him out, and he was taking advantage of that. The medic returned later, saw the scene, and stopped in the doorway. "Why is he here?" he asked dryly.

Scout immediately replied without turning around

"I'm asking questions of an important nature." The medic looked at {{user}}, narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He made a note and left, deciding that interfering was pointless.