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Chapter 4:

( Author's Note ): *SPOILORS* So, recently in the official TF2 comic "Blood in the Water" it was revealed that Sniper isn't Australian at all…but rather, a New Zealander. Well…I can safely say I didn't expect that, but the comic is still amazing! I highly recommend every TF2 player/fan should read it! Anyway, seeing as how this commission fic is set in an alternate version of the Gravel Wars, at this point in time, Sniper still thinks he's Australian; so that's what he and Fem Sniper will be referred to as. Just thought I'd point that out.

Sorry for the late update, I spent a lot of time working on 'Gutes Tun' and Allie wanted to help me plan out the rest of this. Allie, since you're reading this: you didn't pay me enough to work with you. XD So, again, sorry everyone and I hope you enjoy the rest of this. I'm truly trying my best with this so…please bear with me.

[P.S] As far as I know, respawn is not an actual thing for the Mercenaries outside of gameplay, so that's why death is treated like it's permanent here.)


Femgie shielded her eyes from the sun and peered into the battlements. She didn't detect any movement in the small room whatsoever through the shimmering ripples of the super-heated air. She had chosen to keep her distance from the entrance to the battlefield, not wanting to risk being struck with any stray bullets when her teammates rushed in to resupply. It had been twenty minutes since she had radioed Femscout for a Medic, and she hadn't heard from her since.

Biting her lower lip, Femgie glanced over her shoulder at the campervan, still sitting shaded beneath the overhang. She didn't like the idea of Fem Sniper left in there all alone while she waited for their Teammate, especially since it had already taken the Bostonian so long to get there. It was no surprise to the Texan that Femscout seemed to be taking her own sweet time to show up; she wasn't exactly the most reliable member of BLU Team.

The ground-shaking vibrations of combat hadn't ceased in the slightest, the battle still raging inside the basin. Just as Femgie was beginning to wonder if her Teammate had forgotten her task amongst the chaos of war, the battlement doors slid open and in sprinted the blue-clad blur of the Femscout, ducking under the missile of a rocket launcher. Close behind her scampered the Team's Medic, tightly clutching his syringe gun as he followed Femscout into the safe haven of the resupply room. The grates sealed as the employees of Builders League United ran inside them, the missile exploding on contact with the barrier.

Femscout slumped into one of the chairs lining the wall. With a satisfied smirk she looked over her bat, covered in small spots of blood and bits of flesh, before tossing the weapon carelessly into the corner. Looking very satisfied with herself, she rested her bandaged hands behind her head as Femgie appeared in the open doorway.

"Here ya go." Femscout said, nodding towards Medic. "Got 'em for ya."

"Sure took 'ya long enough." Femgie retorted crossly to the younger woman as she approached the Medic. "C'mon, Doc, you're needed here."

"I zhink I am needed more out zhere zhan I am in here." Medic did not look happy about being forcibly taken from his duties on the field under the pretense of an 'emergency'. The word meant nothing to him; every injury he ever treated could be classified as an emergency.

"Not now 'ya ain't." Femgie grabbed the former doctor by his collar and began pulling him outside.

"I beg you're pardon!" The Medic resisted, pulling rather frantically away from Femgie.

Femscout chuckled out loud at the scene in front of her, but Femgie was staring intensely at her male Teammate. Medic took a few steps away from the broadly built woman, getting as close to the grates as he could without opening them.

"Is zhere any reason at all zhy I shouldn't return to my duties?" Medic asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah…" Like something out of a true Western film, Femgie drew her pistol from her tool belt and aimed it at Medic. "This."

With a single shot and a quick yellow flash of igniting gunpowder, the Medic fell lifeless to the ground, his blue overcoat dissolving into a red suit before he even hit the floor. Femgie holstered her weapon, first glaring down at the body of RED Team's Spy at her feet, then turning her enraged gaze to Femscout. The woman who was laughing a moment ago was now left staring, mouth agape, at what had just occurred. When her eyes made contact with those of her Teammate, she gulped.

"What in the hell?!" Femgie exclaimed.

"It wasn't my fault!" Femscout cried, frantically gesturing to herself.

"You're tellin' me 'ya weren't the idiot who forgot to spy-check before bringing him into our base?!" Femgie was furious.

"Well…" Femscout was refusing to admit the guilt of her potentially deadly mistake. "He didn't kill me at first sight so…ya know…"

Femgie ran her palm down her face and sighed heavily. "Lordy, child…"

Hundreds of thoughts ran through the female engineer's mind at once. Fem Sniper needed a Medic, they didn't have one at the moment. It was too much of a risk to go back out to retrieve one of the true medics; and come to think of it, removing one of the medics could put the entire Team at risk. Femgie's anger at Femscout waned a little; maybe it wasn't so bad that the Medic had turned out to be a spy. Still, her mistake was inexcusable, but Femgie had other issues on her mind at the moment.

"Ya want me to go out and find one of the real docs?" Femscout asked, retrieving her bat from the corner and starting a quick dash for the doors.

"Nope." Femgie seized Femscout by the collar as she passed by.

"Gah!" Femscout came to her second chocking halt that afternoon. "Geez, ya gonna keep doin' that?" She rubbed her neck. "And why not?"

"'Cause you're comin' with me." Femgie pulled Femscout outside so quick, she dropped her bat.

"What?" Femscout shook her head. "Are you nuts? I got a job to do, sister!"

"You're right about somethin', string bean." Femgie almost couldn't help but laugh. "I'll be keepin' 'ya around for a while. Might need a…second pair of hands, just in case."

Femscout gave her Teammate an odd look. "What the hell are ya talkin' about?"

"Oh, right." Femgie said flatly as she lead (or rather, dragged) Femscout to the door of the campervan. "Y'all weren't there when Snipes announced it. Now go on, git."

She swung Femscout around and made her open the door for herself. As soon as the two of them were inside, Femgie subtly closed and locked the door behind them.

"Whoa, hey," Femscout chuckled when she saw the occupant of the mobile home. "Since when did you get knocked up?" It was a remark that earned her a slap on the back of the head from Femgie.

Fem Sniper, seated on the bed with her head resting on the wall, opened one eye and glared at the loudmouth fleet foot. "Piss off." She snarled.

"Lil' Missy here forgot to spy-check the Medic." Femgie nudged Femscout's arm. "So, we don't have one right now."

"You're jokin', right mate?" Fem Sniper raised an eyebrow.

"Not in the slightest." Femgie sighed. "So, what we're gonna have to do is sit around and wait for the mission to end so we can find one."

Fem Sniper opened both eyes to glare at Femscout. "And she has to be here because…?"

"'Cause we're gonna need someone fast to run out and find 'em when we need to." Femgie sat down, crossed-legged on the floor. "No tellin' how long that's gonna take."

"Okay, I'm lost." Femscout adjusted her cap and put a hand on her hip. "What's goin' on here?"

As if on cue, an uncomfortable groan escaped Fem Sniper, and her body became noticeably tenser.

"That's what's goin' on." Femgie said simply.

Femgie saw the look of realization wash over Femscout.

"Aw hell no, I ain't doin' this crap!" Femscout said, turning to the door. Unfortunately for her, Femgie was sitting in front of it; no doubt a calculated move to thwart her escape plans.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say, but you ain't got a choice in the matter." Femgie grinned. "Now sit down and hush."

Defeated, Femscout crossed her arms and obeyed, outing a little as she joined Femgie on the floor. Fem Sniper didn't speak for about a solid minute, before relaxing again. She let out a long exhale of breath as she rested her head against the wall again.

"How long before that one?" Femgie asked.

Fem Sniper glanced at her watch again. "Eight minutes." She said.

"Then we still got plenty of time."

Femscout nervously bounced her leg. "Ya know, the Administrator ain't gonna like this. What, with me leavin' the fightin' and stuff."

"With how much she pays us, I doubt she'd let anyone go over somethin' like this." Femgie said.

"I somehow find that very doubtful." Femscout rolled her eyes at the female engineer. "'Sides, what if the Team loses 'cause I ain't there?"

Femgie and Fem Sniper both laughed.

"Trust me, sheela." Fem Sniper snickered. "You're not as important as 'ya think 'ya are."
Just Gettin' Started (A TF2 Fanfic) [Ch. 4]
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz: :iconccwelcomedplz1::iconccwelcomedplz2: :iconcommentplz:

Summary: Sniper and Fem Sniper are in the family way; but while called out on a payload mission, Sniper is forced to leave his wife behind. The Snipers are known for being loners, but Fem Sniper will soon have to call on her friends for a dire emergency. [Allie, I hope you like it!]

~~~~~~~~~~

The Fem Sniper and Femgie models referenced in this story can be found at RoxyPoxSFM: www.youtube.com/user/RoxyPoxSF… 

The model(s) belong to her, as well as all the other amazing people who pitched in to create them.

~~~~~~~~~~
Previous Chapter:

pagesofangels.deviantart.com/a…

Next Chapter:

Coming soon!
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Chapter 3

The teleporter's engine whirred, spouting out an odd blue light as the molecules of the Spy were reassembled on the hovering platform.

"Much appreciated, my friend." The masked man hastily thanked the female engineer as he cloaked himself and ran off, leaving only the faint sound of his footsteps to indicate his presence.

Femgie didn't have the time to answer him; her level-three sentry required her constant attention as it mowed down several REDs as they rounded the corner and into its sight. The hefty woman removed casing after casing of ammo from the dispenser she had set up nearby, continuously reloading the tripod machine gun to defend the bomb cart against the onslaught of enemies.

The sudden blast of a Soldier's rocket sent the Texan flying several feet back as it exploded on impact with her sentry. The machine began to smoke and sputter from the damage of the impact, alerting its creator to its distress with a low-pitched alarm. Femgie felt the sting of a gash in her arm caused by shrapnel, but she diligently retrieved her wrench from the dirt and immediately ducked behind her machines, feeling her dispenser mend her wounds as she quickly began repairing the sentry.

"C'mon, don't give out on me now!" Femgie clenched her teeth as her large hands worked nimbly with the machinery.

Finally, with one last twist of her wrench, the sentry sprang to life again and shot down the remaining last RED Team members in its path. Femgie wiped her sweaty brow with her sleeve as the cart began screeching backwards down the track. She didn't have much time to relax, and she knew it. The rest of the RED Team would be at the front lines soon enough, and her sentry was in desperate need of more ammunition. Femgie turned to her dispenser for what she needed, but frowned when she saw that the machine had gone dead, completely drained of everything it held.

"Damn it!" The woman swore loudly, pounding her first into her knee. She snatched the two-way radio from her tool belt and extended its antenna, adjusting the nobs to the right frequency. "Come in, Engie." She said into the speakers. "'Ya there, pardner?"

The distorted voice of the Engineer came through the radio. "Yes ma'am."

"Are y'all havin' trouble with your ammo over there?" Femgie asked, keeping an eye out for approaching enemies as she spoke. "My dispensers plumb outta bullets and I ain't seein' any more supply crates."

"'Fraid I can't help 'ya." The voice over the radio replied. "I'm in the same boat y'all are."

"Right…" Femgie sighed in exasperation. "I didn't wanna have to do this, but I'll have to get to mah truck for resupply. Y'all hold out, I'll be back."

Femgie returned the radio to her belt and removed her oil-stained orange gloves, stuffing them through her belt loops. She cautiously looked about, reluctant to leave her precious buildings out in the open for anyone to destroy. Suddenly, the teleporter began to whir. In a flash of light, the Femscout leaped from the platform, scattergun at the ready.

"Thanks, sister." The young woman said as her agile legs swiftly passed the female engineer by.

Just before the careless young Bostonian escaped out of arms reach, Femgie snatched her by the collar. Femscout came to a choking halt as her airways momentarily were pinched off.

"Yo, what the hell is your problem?!" Femscout snapped at her older Teammate, rubbing her sore neck. "What, are ya tryin' ta kill me or somthin'?!"

"You'll have ta do." Femgie said flatly, dropping Femscout behind her buildings. She pointed to each of them and then back to Femscout. "Watch 'em."

"What the hell, are you serious?!" Femscout was not pleased with her new assignment. "I ain't doin' this crap!"

"You'll watch 'em 'til I come back, or I'll beat the tar outta your scrawny ass." Femgie glared at her cocky Teammate, unafraid to set her straight if need be. "How's that grab 'ya, string bean?"

Femscout slapped her forehead and growled loudly. "Un-frickin'-believable!" She whined.

"Oh, hush." Femgie patted the radio at her side as she began backing away quickly. "If I need 'ya, I'll call 'ya on your headset. Same goes if you need me."

Femscout crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Whateva'."

Femgie pointed two of her fingers at her eyes, then turned them towards Femscout as she turned and began sprinting back towards the battlements.
____________________________________________________________________________


The sudden stillness of the basin made Femgie's ears ring after being exposed to so many deafening sounds. The mechanic spotted her truck in the wavering distance, gleaming in the afternoon sun. For a second, Femgie worried that the desert heat would ignite the ammunition in the bed of her truck, but of course that would be silly. Reaching into her vehicle and throwing off a canvas tarp she used to cover her sensitive cargo, Femgie was relieved to see two large crates of bullets and scrap metal at her disposal.

"Bingo." She grinned as she began lifting one of the boxes.

Suddenly, she was halted by a sound. It was soft, but it wasn't in the distance. Turning around slowly, she determined that it was coming from the Mundy's campervan beside her truck. It would've been easy enough to ignore and get back to business, if it didn't sound distinctly like someone quietly keening in pain.

Dropping the crate with a loud thud, Femgie apprehensively knocked on the camper door. She noticed the sound had stopped the second her bare knuckles made contact with the door.

"Sugar?" Femgie called for the friend she knew was inside. "You okay in there?"

No sounds of movement came from inside, but a solitary voice asked: "Who's this?"

"It's me, darlin'." Femgie answered. "I jus' wanna check on 'ya."

The van was quiet for a minute, then the door slowly began to creak open. Thinking she was being welcome inside, Femgie let out a yelp of surprise when a hand reached out and nicked her arm with an arrow.

"Lordy, girl!" Femgie grabbed her lightly bleeding cut. "What in the hell's gotten into you?"

Fem Sniper opened the door a little wider, observing that the person standing before her was still her friend. "Sorry mate," She said without much regret in her tone. She twiddled the huntsman arrow between her fingers. "Force 'a habit. Gotta spy-check any time there's a fight."

"Smart move, I suppose." Femgie chuckled, noticing that her cut had already stopped bleeding. "Trust me, I've been through much worse today." The two women shared a short laugh before Femgie continued her inquiry. "By the way, 'hun? Was that y'all I heard making a ruckus is here? It sounded like you was hurt."

"No worries." Fem Sniper shrugged, pressing her hands into the small of her back. "Just been havin' back pains all day long. Ah, you know how it is."

"Jus' back aches?" Femgie raised an eyebrow.

Fem Sniper nodded and waved her hand, as if trying to brush the subject away.

"M'kay," Femgie said, looking suspicious. "I guess I'll see 'ya later."

Fem Sniper smiled and nodded as she shut the camper door. Femgie shrugged off the incident and went back to her work. Carefully, she raised one crate and set it beside her back wheels, eventually dropping the second one on top of it. Stooping down to lift both crates of supplies at once to avoid making a second trip, Femgie was startled by a strangled grunt from behind her. Noticeably louder than the first time, Femgie didn't waste any time investigating what was wrong…she just knew something was wrong.

She tried the door handle without bothering to knock, and to her convenience it was unlocked. "'Sug?" She asked as she stepped inside the tiny camper.

Fem Sniper had her back to her friend, her hands gripping the edges of the countertop next to the stove. Femgie was by her side in an instant.

"What's wrong, 'hun?" She asked, looking into the face of the taller woman.

Fem Sniper didn't answer. Her body was tense and her eyes remained focused on the ground, small groans periodically escaping her clenched teeth.

"You gotta tell me what's wrong." Femgie patted her friend's shoulder, but it didn't get a response.

The female engineer's eyes widened in worry when Fem Sniper absentmindedly ran a hand across the lower curve of her stomach. Seconds later, Fem Sniper's body relaxed.

"I thought you said you was only havin' back pains." Femgie said, keeping her hand on her unmoving friend's shoulder.

"I was," Fem Sniper said, sounding oddly winded. "But not that time."

Femgie hesitated her next question, almost worried of the answer. "'Hun, how far along are you?"

"Far enough." Fem Sniper mumbled.

"How are 'ya feelin'?"

"I guess ya could say I'm feelin' worse than before." Fem Sniper said, glancing at her watch. "That one wasn't very long after the last."

"How long?"

"Ten minutes."

Femgie retrieved her radio and extended the antenna. "I'm callin' for a Medic."

"Don't." Fem Sniper said. "It's nothin' all that serious. The Team needs 'em more than m-." Fem Sniper tensed again when she suddenly felt a distinct trickle of fluid. "Ah, bloody hell!" She slammed her first down on the counter in anger.

Femgie switched on the radio, but not before giving Fem Sniper a look of 'I told you so'. "You there, Femscout?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm here." Femscout's voice came through the speakers. "Listen, sister…about your little doodads…"

"Listen, string bean," Femgie resisted the urge to find out what was going to be at the end of that sentence. "We have a bit of an emergency out here. Find a Medic and bring 'em to the battlements, I'll meet y'all there."

"Um…kay? What's the Medic for-?"

"Jus' do it."
Just Gettin' Started (A TF2 Fanfic) [Ch. 3]
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz: :iconccwelcomedplz1::iconccwelcomedplz2: :iconcommentplz:

Summary: Sniper and Fem Sniper are in the family way; but while called out on a payload mission, Sniper is forced to leave his wife behind. The Snipers are known for being loners, but Fem Sniper will soon have to call on her friends for a dire emergency. [Allie, I hope you like it!]

~~~~~~~~~~

The Fem Sniper and Femgie models referenced in this story can be found at RoxyPoxSFM: www.youtube.com/user/RoxyPoxSF… 

The model(s) belong to her, as well as all the other amazing people who pitched in to create them.

~~~~~~~~~~
Previous Chapter:

pagesofangels.deviantart.com/a…

Next Chapter:

pagesofangels.deviantart.com/a…
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Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: violence/gore and ideologically sensitive material)
( Author's Note: ) I'd always suspected the Medic was based on the many infamous mad doctors from Germany during WW2, and after learning of the game's time period, it only confirmed it for me. I guess you could call this somewhat of a "head cannon" to the Medic's backstory.

The Hippocratic Oath states: "First, do no harm." That's the solemn vow every medical practitioner must make. It's a promise to retain the health of the people, to preserve their life and not cause any additional harm of your own. It's an oath I have taken, and it's the oath I live by; just as my father did before me. I was no more than a young boy when I took that oath, and I will forever remember the day my father did the honor of initiating me into the world of medicine.

______________________________________________________________________________

My father was rarely at home when I was young. Practically from the moment of my birth, he was gone on long trips of business for months on end. I only saw him on the holidays, or the sparse few weeks he would return to our cottage outside of Stuttgart to be with us. My mother explained very early on that I should be proud of my father's absence, because the reason for it was his respected position as a surgeon; travelling to various cites all across Germany and Austria to heal people who needed him.

Due to this, I would eagerly await my father's return so I could ask him about all the places he had visited and the people he had saved. I don't know why I did in retrospect, because he never answered any of my questions. All he would do when I asked him about his travels was pat my head and hand me a gift he had bought me from where he had been. Despite this, I kept asking. When time after time yielded no results, I changed my inquiries from questions about his travels, to requests to join him on his travels. I wanted to see these places myself if he wouldn't tell me himself.

The first time I asked him, I was met with a harsh rejection. He told me I was too young to go anywhere but school, and then left the next morning. Still, I never stopped asking. For years I persisted, hoping that one day I would finally get my chance to travel alongside my father, the respected surgeon. After each attempt was met with denial, I began to wonder if the reason behind it was that my father saw me as unworthy to go with him. I began thinking that I needed to prove myself to him; to show him I shared his interest in medicine and deserved to follow him around the country.

Soon, I began my experimentation with bandages. I would sneak as much gauze as I could out of my home, and every time a fellow youth at school stumbled and fell, I would be there in an instant to practice tying the bandages around their wounds. When the schoolmasters caught me doing this, they forbade me from doing it again. Being an only child, I had nothing else to practice on from that point forward…except myself. When my mother was asleep at night, I would creep down to the kitchen and cut my arms and legs with as many different knifes as I could. Then, before the bleeding got too bad, I would bandage myself up and go to bed. I wear those scars like a badge of honor.

Well, after mastering the art of the tunicate, the next logical lesson was the administration of drugs. Afraid of being caught with pain killers at school, I used myself exclusively as my own test subject. I got into our medicine shelf and wrote down every drug combination I could concoct, as well as the various…effects they had on the human body. Although my mother never found out about my bandage practice until after it was completed, she found out about my medicine practice before I had mastered it. One night I made the mistake of swallowing a mixture of caffeine pills and a shot of the vodka my mother hid in her closet. I woke up in an infirmary with my distraught mother standing over me. That's how I learned never to mix a stimulant with a depressant.

My lessons in medicine completed (mostly because my mother said they were), I moved on to what I had been building up to all this time: surgery. I kept this process a complete secret; working only at night so no prying eyes could see me in the alleyways between the cottages, picking through the trash to find the decaying remains of rats. I studied their anatomy, picking them apart with tweezers to see how every piece of tissue connected to each other. I kept detailed notes on everything I saw, until I had a rounded knowledge on how their bodies worked when alive.

When I was ready, I set traps between the cottages to catch my first patients. I was sure to catch no more than one rat a night, lest my supply run dry. Once I had each rat in its cage, squeaking and squirming, I would feed it food laced with vodka to make them woozy. Then, the operations would begin. I practiced the amputation of limbs, as well as the re-attachment of said limbs. The incisions were crude, as all I had to operate with was a carving knife, but over time my skills with it did improve. My hand became steadier, and (after several initial failures) learned how to cauterize wounds.

This process took the longest, but after a while the simple act of re-attaching a limb to its designated place became incredibly dull. Curiosity taking over, I made it my final lesson to master the difficult task of re-assigning body parts to various parts of the body. This study saw the most casualties, but my patients were eventually gifted with backwards feet, mismatched legs, and transplanted organs. I had done it, my training in medicine was complete.

When my father returned home a few weeks later, I told him everything I had been up to and showed him my rearranged rats as proof of it all. My mother was absolutely mortified, but my father was grinning the widest I'd ever seen him grin. He looked at me, so swollen with pride, I thought he would burst. He praised me lavishly for learning to do so many things on my own, and bragged to my mother that I had inherited his skills as a doctor. It was then that it finally happened, the moment I had been waiting so many years for: I was asked if I wished to accompany him on his next trip.

The next couple of weeks were the most agonizing I've ever known, waiting with baited breath for the day my father would be called out for his next job. Knowing my father's work schedule, that day wasn't too far away. Before long, the phone call came that my father was to depart, and permission was granted for me to accompany him (much to my overwhelming delight). On the day of departure, I kissed my mother goodbye and followed my father to his car. It was a long and tedious trip, but I was too excited to care. It wasn't until about halfway through the first day of the journey that my excitement waned some, making me realize I had no idea where my father and I were headed. When I asked him, my father chuckled and simply responded that we were going to Poland, where I was to watch him work on some very important patients. I felt my excitement grow once more.

I slept throughout the majority of that three-day drive, so please don't ask me to recall any unnecessary details from it. Nothing of any particular interest happened until my father pulled up alongside an enormous brown structure and told me to get out of the car. My muscles were stiff and my joints creaked from being seated for so long; and as I tumbled rigidly out of the passenger seat, I was taken aback at just how unnerving the atmosphere surrounding me was. It was the middle of February, but even for the wintertime it was unearthly quiet. We walked silently alongside a chain-link fence that seemed to run on forever around the perimeter of the building. Had I not been so small, I would've seen the barbed wire snaking around the top of the fence in a menacing coil. Although I didn't notice it at first, the more I walked through the stillness of the icy air, the more I got the uncanny sensation that I was being watched by thousands of unseen eyes.

I asked my father if we were at the right place, walking a little bit closer to his swishing overcoat. He ruffled my hair and assured me that we were, but I was still a bit weary. My father was a surgeon, but this place didn't look like any medical center I'd ever seen. It looked more like…some kind of prison. Is this where my father's so-called "important patients" were? I began to fear the worst.

My father led me to a small wooden door on the westernmost side of the building, not far from where we parked the car. He pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket and began flipping through them, before inserting a small, silver key into the lock. Before he undid the latch, my father turned to me and gave me a long, silent look. I was unsure of the purpose behind such a serious glare, and when I asked him if I had done something wrong…he put his hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was sure I wanted to follow him inside.

I nodded my head as fast as I could, adamant that I indeed wanted to go inside; more than anything, in fact. I'm fairly certain that to this day I've never wanted anything quite as badly as I wanted to watch my father work at that moment. My father smiled and slapped me on the back, stating that he was proud of me for wanting to follow in his footsteps. The lock turned and the door swung open with the winter winds. As he ushered me inside, my father gave the foreboding reassurance that no matter what happened inside, that I would be safe.

As the door slammed shut behind me, I found myself in a fog of bodily odors. I gagged and covered my nose with my scarf to filter the ungodly stench, but my father unwrapped it from my neck and told me to take a deep breath; he said it would help me get used to the foul air faster. I obeyed him. I almost lost my last meal, but after a few good breaths the pungent room began to mellow.

While I was becoming accustomed to my father's workplace, he hung our scarfs and coats on the door. When I was ready, he nudged me down a long corridor; where a pair of large double doors waited for us on the other side. The bodily smells grew stronger and stronger the closer we approached, and it took all I had in me to keep from fainting. Above the cast iron doors, beautifully welded into their framework, were thick, black letters spelling out: "Forschung". Research.

My father took hold of the door handles and cheerfully asked me if I was ready, to which I answered yes; but, as the doors were flung open and everything was laid out before me…I was not ready for what I saw. Not in the slightest. The stench was eye watering. A large drain in the center of the floor was centerpiece to the carnage I suddenly found myself surrounded by. Inhuman moans came from behind pink-stained curtains servicing as rooms. My shoes stuck to the floor from the thin layer of blood that remained even after how much my father said they cleaned it. As I stood there and took it all in, I watched as a fresh, steaming flow of blood leaked from under a curtain. It slithered like a snake across the floor with such transfixing elegance that I found myself unable to look away until it found its way to the drain and began to disappear.

My father grabbed me from my stupor with a gentle pat on the back. I gawked up at him, him and his big grin. He shushed and told me not to make too much noise, as his colleagues were busy with their "studies". I complained that my shoes were sticky, and so my father picked me up as best he could and carried me to the largest makeshift room. The curtain that I presumed was his was the one most colored pink. My father sat me down and excitedly threw back the curtain, eager to show me his work…the work I had been waiting to witness for years.

A pale, skinny man was laying strapped to a gurney behind my father's curtain. I remember him clear as day; his hands restrained by a tie cable above his head, his ankles knotted together in the opposite direction. His eyes were glassy and clouded, and his beard was messy and untrimmed. I took a step back, instinctually expressing my surprise. I will forever remember what my father said to me after that. Every word…as if I had just heard them today:

"Have you heard of the Hippocratic Oath, my boy?"

I shook my head, and Father beckoned me to come closer. I obeyed, not taking my eyes of the skeletal figure on the gurney. My father turned to a glass cabinet against the wall, and from it removed a box filled with an entire arsenal of scalpels, needles, picks, and every other surgical tool you could possibly imagine. I thought to myself how much I could've used tools like that with my playtime with the rats. I watched my father as he picked up each individual instrument, inspecting it obsessively in his hands before putting it back. I patiently waited as he finally selected the perfect scalpel and turned back to me with it fitted flawlessly in his fingers.

"It's an oath every doctor must make." He continued, although it had been at least ten minutes since he asked me to begin with. "It states: First, do no harm. That's the most important rule there is in medicine, boy. The sooner you understand that, the better."

I watched intensely as my father turned to the man, scalpel in hand. The man opened his mouth, lips trembling as if to cry out, but no sound came from them. Holding down the man's head with his free hand, my father pressed the tip of the blade into the man's skin as delicate and steady as an artist's brush. The man grunted and tried to squirm, but his restraints and my father held him firmly in place. My father made a small incision on the man's stomach, slicing off a small sample of skin which he then proceeded to fold into a white piece of gauze.

"I've been under it for many years, since before you were born." My father wiped the blade on his shirt before holding his patient down for another sample, this time from the bottom of the foot. "But, my boy, only recently has its true meaning been revealed to me."

I nodded, still fascinated by my father's gracefully tracing blade.

"You see, son, you may be too young to understand…but dark times are upon our people."

With amazing precision, my father removed the entire sole of the man's right foot, completely intact. Into a piece of gauze it went. My father put down the scalpel and removed a large, empty syringe from the box.

"There are certain…individuals…" I jumped as my father stabbed the needle viciously into the man's stomach. The man screeched like a strangled owl as the syringe filled with a slightly greenish fluid. "…that are threatening to taint everything we stand for."

My father slowly pulled the needle from his patient with a wet, squishing sound. He examined the contents of the patient's stomach, before injecting it into a glass vial.

"Do no harm." He muttered, almost to himself. "That means a doctor must retain the health of his people. He must preserve their lives without causing any additional harm of his own." He turned to me. "For years, son. For years I thought that only applied to the practice of medicine…but now, I realize there's so much more to it all!"

My father grabbed a hacksaw off the wall and slowly approached his patient, a light in his eyes. The man trashed about, screaming the most inhuman sounds I've ever heard. My father placed the jagged teeth against the struggling man's bare chest, not even bothering himself to hold him down, and began sawing into him with every ounce of force he could muster. The grinding of the saw against his sternum resonated off the walls like a choir of angels…it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Until right then and there, all I had ever seen were the organs of rats. Small things, much too tiny to hold in the palm of one's hand; but when the man's ribcage opened up, I saw it. Pulsating, blue and red in color, with purple veins encircling it like a halo. The heart. I stepped forward and leaned over the man as my father continued to saw away his muscles. Suddenly the thought of my rats was no longer enough for me. I wanted what my father had; the real thing. I wanted to hold a live human organ in my own hands.

My father stopped sawing after a cordial spray of blood hit him in the eye. He set down the saw, wiped his face on his sleeve, and began searching for his next toy. "Our people," He continued. "Need us. We are the only ones who can save them from destruction. We're the ones who must take the deluded and make it pure again! That's what the oath swears us under: to preserve, to protect, gutes tun."

Gutes tun. In my home language, it means "to do good". My father rummaged through the box, but I wasn't paying attention to anything more than his voice. That…and the pumping organ sitting in the open cavity of ribs and shredded muscle not a foot away from me. I glanced at the man's pasty face; his eyes were beginning to water, and his mouth was wide open as if in a silent scream. What's more, his eyes were locked on me in an unblinking stare.

I grinned, filled with the rush of a sensation I hadn't felt before. Rats could never emote, they could only squeal and squirm when you cut into them. However, this man…the look of indescribable agony molded effortlessly into the lines of his sunken face…it was euphoric. It was acknowledgement of my father's deeds in the most rewarding way possible: letting the world know the procedure was working. My eyes traveled back down to his open chest, the severed veins, the heart. I grinned as wide as my father. I wanted to share in the reward too. I wanted to participate in the procedure.

I outspread my fingers and prodded the beating organ with my hand. The man shrieked and twisted at my touch. I felt the rush, the need to cause pain, so I poked the heart again. Another shrill cry from my first human patient. All the noise caused my father to turn back to us. When I looked up at him, I saw that he was holding a fresh scalpel. He smiled proudly.

"It's up to us, son." He said, bending down and offering me the scalpel. "You and I need to help our people become pure again. Gutes tun, my boy."

I gasped in happiness and snatched the knife from my father's hand. Standing tip-toe, I hovered over my father's patient. I turned to show off my grin to the man's face, just to watch as the pulsating heart began to pound faster and harder. Perfect.

I enclosed the heart in my hand, applying slight pressure to all sides as I effortlessly nicked the scalpel through one of the arteries. I finally understood as I saw the cavity rapidly begin to fill with crimson liquid. This man, whoever the hell he was, was one of the individuals my father was talking about. He was oppressing my people, my country, my family with his presence…and it was my father's duty to eradicate the threat. Now, he watched contently as I swiftly began ending this impure entity's life…as I, too, took the Hippocratic Oath.

Skimming the edges of the heart with my instrument, I severed all vital connections to the body with an impressive arterial spray. I savored the distinct taste of iron on my tongue. The limp, jellylike organ twitched erratically in my bare hands as I cupped it proudly to display it to my father. He applauded me softly, kneeling down to wrap his arms around me in a tight embrace, sponging the organ's remaining fluids onto both of our chests. It was one of the most memorable moments we ever shared together.

My father took both the dead, deflated organ and the scalpel from my hands. As he stood, I saw him stop and inspect the limp body of my patient. The man's chest was flooded with red, some of it spilling out over the sides. He was clearly dead. I watched as my father plopped the organ back in its place, splashing some of the blood onto me by accident. It bobbed at the surface like a dingy off the coast.

Before my father rang the bell to have the body taken away, I saw him lift the dead man's hand and perfectly carve out two interlocking triangles onto the back of it. I'd never seen this symbol before…but it almost looked like some kind of star.

__________________________________________________________________________

That was the day I took the Oath for myself, and I swear on my life that I have never strayed from it. I devoted my life to purifying my culture from that day on. I went on to medical school, learning many new forms of surgery in the process. So many new body parts became known to me, and I developed a keen interest in bones. No wonder the emaciated, skeletal body of the man had intrigued me so much. I wanted to obtain a skeleton for myself once I moved away from home…but a full human skeletal system is far more expensive that it should be. I tried to craft my own, but…it didn't turn out so well. Apparently, removing a living patient's entire skeleton is frowned upon at hospitals. That's how I lost my medical license.

I went into hiding after that. No one else can understand the oath I have taken. My father was a genius, he saw the truth that no one else was able to see. He was arrested at the end of the war, after the building he worked in was shut down by the ignorant American governments. I've never seen him since.

Three years ago, however, I too was sent to the U.S.A. Not for an arrest, however, but for a job offer. I was needed to participate in a war, just as my father had done…and as a medic, no less. Every day, I'm paid to carry out my Oath: eliminating those less worthy than the rest of us, while retaining the health of my comrades. Wherever my father is, I'm sure he would be proud of me to know I've taken his place. Preserving, protecting, gutes zu tun.

~End~
Gutes Tun (A TF2 Medic Fanfic)
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz: :iconccwelcomedplz1::iconccwelcomedplz2: :iconcommentplz:

Summary: Medic recalls his experiences with WW2, and recalls how his father was a surgeon at Auschwitz; and how the origin of his obsession with human bodies came from watching his father work. Rated M for obvious reasons. Not trying to be too gory, but still very touchy subject matter. *One-Shot*
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I was searching the depths of YouTube, looking for anything of interest to watch. Nothing really caught my eye, until I saw it: BadCreepypasta.exe in the video suggestions. I clicked on it, and that was the worst mistake of my life! Hyper-realistic blood gushed out of my screen, and there was screaming! Screaming and blood, blood and screaming........yeah, as you can tell, this recommendation has to do with bad creepypasta and all its annoying clichés. :dummy:

As a writer, I often research reviews to popular and not-so-popular things so that I can gain a well-rounded understanding of what issues can be found in certain genres. While doing this, I came across creepypasta (as well as its *cough* reputation *cough* ). Everyone knows them, and everyone likes to make fun of the overly-used tropes that can be found in most of them. Many people of the web have taken to analyzing the worst of these stories, but one of the last I came across, in my opinion, is one of the best.

A web show on YouTube known as "Bad Creepypasta" on the channel MichaelLeroi has got to be one of the funniest, rawest review shows I've ever seen. It has no budget, but the crew behind it is sincere. They're all just a group of buddies who are fans of good literature who, with a little help from Mr. Alcohol, dive into the worst of the worst as far as these creepy little stories go.

Here's the first video I ever saw of them. Its very short, but if you liked it and would like to see the many other episodes like this one that the channel has put up, then click on the link to the video and enjoy! This group deserves so much more attention than they are receiving, so please spread the word. ^_^ Now sit back, get some popcorn, and prepare to laugh realistically in a hyper way (phrase from the show).



EDIT:

Allow me to thank MichaelLeroi for including this journal in their one-year anniversary video. Congratulations on a successful first year, guys! Here's hoping there will be many more to come!

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I am a writer by nature, but I appreciate the beauty and creativity of the visual medium. I mainly made this account to admire the artwork of others so if you want me to check out your art, contact me and I'll be sure to comment on it!
I doodle on occasion, so if I draw something that I think is good, I'll post it here. I know I'm not that good of an artist, so harsh comments will not affect me.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
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Happy birthday! :iconhappybirthdayplz:
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Thanks so much for adding my TF2 Keychains to your favorites, I really appreciate it! : ) Also, I'm spreading the word that I am currently hosting a Deviant Art only giveaway right now, where you can win any keychain, necklace, or lanyard of your choosing from me! Details and entries are here: monostache.deviantart.com/jour…

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