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i have no idea what i plan on posting here but i guess if i've got some random bits of prose or graphics that i wanna throw here i guess this is the place to do it, eh

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randomly got this idea to write this so i did. kind of a darker take on team fortress 2, and regenerating after dying. put a dark and realistic spin on it. cuz das how i roll.

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“I saw the bullet come at me! I felt the pain and I remember fallin’ and I could feel the blood pourin’ out of me and…everything went black. Why am I still here?!”

The harsh accent of the Scout rang out in the medical room of the base, the worry in his voice nearly tangible. His team’s Medic standing over him with a strange expression. Poor boy…it was his first time dying.

The Medic was surprised the Scout had lasted this long. Then again, reconnaissance wasn’t as dangerous as detonating hand grenades…the Demo was in the medical room more than anyone, he thought. Sniper the least. But it was the first time he’d seen the Scout in here. It was impressive, but the man knew how difficult it would be to deal with.

“Sit down,” the dark-haired doctor told the patient, turning and rubbing his forehead with his gloved hand. It was strictly against the rules to talk about this, but what was he supposed to do? Let the young man wonder what on Earth was happening to him?

But what did rules really mean anymore? What were they going to do, exterminate him? The Medic could have laughed at the idiocy of that statement. While the procedure they performed on all the mercenaries seemed like a good enough and efficient idea, it was hard to counteract if a merc went rogue, since murder was out of the question.

“When you were recruited to join the team,” the Medic began, speaking slowly. “They did a procedure on you. It happened to all of us, but no one remembers. I was told, obviously, because I would be operating on people. I don’t remember my own procedure, of course.”

This just left the young man sitting on the operating table looking more confused than before, all the fear still in his eyes. “What the hell? What’re you talkin’ bout, doc? Am I some kind of mutant now?”

A dark chuckle escaped the other man’s lips and he simply shook his head, trying to compose his thoughts. Even he didn’t know what had happen, precisely – and given his nature, that bothered him – but he knew well enough what the consequences were.

“Not a mutant, herr Scout. No, as you might have guessed, we mercenaries cannot die.”

His words hung in the room with a heavy pause, the light-haired man on the table trying to process the information. It certainly explained why he remembered dying and then waking up some time later, as fit as ever, except for a few bruises or scrapes here and there.

“I can’t die?” he simply repeated, his voice almost watered down with realization. A fleeting look of joy crossed his face – a normal reaction, for sure – until the confusion started again.

“Wait just a second. So if someone shoots me I ‘die’ but wake up. But do we die from gettin’ old or sick or anything?” he asked, looking up at the Medic, who kept shaking his head.

Another pause before the older man spoke again. “They do not know. It seems the corporation was a bit hasty in getting things started in this wasteland, so they did the procedure first and plan on asking questions later.”

The Scout still looked confused and unsure of what was happening, but no more words left him. The Medic was sure that he was pondering everything and trying to make sense of this new information. All the mercenaries had to learn about it sooner or later…it was obviously the first question when one wakes up after dying.

After wordlessly going to clean the young man up, the doctor was about to send him on his way, he stopped him with a curt guttural sound.

“Herr Scout,” he said when the man turned from his position, just about to open the door to the main room of the base. “Remember, don’t tell anyone I told you about this.”

“Why did you get to know and not everyone else?” the young man asked without pausing, as if it was spring loaded on his tongue.

There was yet another lapse of silence while the doctor collected his thoughts. His mind had grown increasingly dark over the years, but the prospect of not being able to die while living through hell did scary things to a man.

“Because I have to revive you. You can’t have an incompetent Medic, now can you?” he said, keeping it short, hoping the young man had no more questions.

He seemed to accept that response but he still paused at the door, his expression pensive. The Medic didn’t realize the Scout had such an expression in his arsenal, but then again, the man usually had a grin of wild abandon that all young people seem to possess.

“What do you think? About this…not dyin’ stuff.” The Scout’s final question rang out in the room, echoing on the empty, stark white walls.

A slight sigh escaped the doctor’s lips. He had half a mind to send the mercenary at the door on his way but…why not? He never got to speak his mind and at this point the dark-haired man did not care if his superiors were listening in. Hell, that damned woman probably heard everything that was going on, though he had no idea how, even if he had his own theories.

“Any other man would think it was a dream come true,” the Medic mused, his voice quiet, retreating back to the dark corners of his twisted mind. “But I…oh, herr Scout, I wish I could die, every day.”