Speculation, mostly.

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Let me preface this by saying that the previous BLU Medic was a sick, sick man. He was a Josef Mengele of sorts, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise; he was out for blood and maybe some sick gratification, and he’d stop at nothing to get it.

Though I consider myself observant and capable, I only noticed his perversions after the scout disappeared. Our demoman informed me he saw the poor boy running out of the lab with needles stuck into his corneas, but I chalked it up to all the drinking he did and thought nothing of it. Perhaps the boy was moved to a different base. It happened often enough.

But the next day, Demoman was gone as well.

Our Sniper was found dead in his nest a week later, his right hand missing. The stump was covered in bandaging, a chilling sign that someone had either tried to save him or had inflicted this themselves.

At that point, I think we all knew who was behind these things, but as the days went by we were all too scared to say anything about it. (Including myself, ashamed as I am.) If it really were the medic, he would most likely kill us where we stood. There’s really no confronting these sorts of things.

So instead of doing anything we waited. We waited for our turns in the infirmary, for our turns to be mutilated, for our turns to die. And I watched, most dreadfully, as the remaining members of my team were called behind those sterile white doors, knowing they wouldn’t ever make it out.

Medic never sent their death notices to the corporation; we never got replacements for the men we lost. This was his plan all along, I figured, since having just two scared men left in your midst was easier to handle than a group of new men.

And Engineer and I were just that, two scared men saved for last by some divine order from God. Engineer, the brave man he was, told me to cloak myself and get the hell out of there. He told me he fixed my cloaking device up a little so it would run for longer; I’d have plenty of time to escape.

But, no, it was a rare moment where I did something nice for another person. I let /him/ take it, I insisted, I pleaded with him to just go and save himself. Tell the nearest town, your mother, the RED team, /anyone/! Just do it before new men arrived.

He thanked me and said he would leave that night, once the medic was asleep. At that moment, I was called over the intercom. The voice of our medic echoed throughout the base, authoritative and cold.

“Spy.”

I said goodbye to the Engineer, perhaps my only friend, and went to accept my fate.

But the medic did not kill me. He sat me on the table and looked me over, prodding my calves and thighs and feet, wondering how I was able to walk around on such scrawny things.

“I do not appreciate that, docteur,” I told him. He shrugged at me, rubbing his chin pensively. All I could do was sit there, scared and cold.

“Let me help you,” he said, softly, and for a moment I almost believed the gentle tone he was using. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me closer to him, anesthetizing me. My vision blurred, and the last thing I saw was his grinning face, disgusting and warped.

Of course, it was foolish to believe he’d apply the proper amount of anesthesia. I awoke (half-awoke, more accurately), while he had me strapped to an examination table, my shirt unbuttoned, my pants gone, my legs gone…

My legs. Mon dieu, my legs. I saw my innards strewn out below me on the table, and further below that something slimier and longer; some of my entrails were in the thing, and as I started to believe I was dreaming the medic came back. I asked him how I was even alive, but was unable to form coherent words.

“Oh,” he said, though I’m not sure he was really speaking at all. “You’re awake? I must not have given you enough to keep you down.”

He began to thread a needle, a long and terrible thing. I started to sweat, I think, and murmur a few unintelligible curses at him. He just laughed and brought the slimy thing towards what was left of my lower body, sewing me up like some sort of doll. The needle pressed into my skin, in and out as he wove the piece of flesh onto me, putting my insides in the right order as he went, humming to himself. I could feel it, but at the same time I couldn’t feel anything at all. I was floating for a while, drifting in the ocean, and the next minute I was burning up, the room swirling around me and moving in ways not possible.

And then, as he turned me over to sew the rest of me up, I passed out.

I don’t know how long it was before I woke up, but by the time I did everyone was gone. The base was quiet.

I tried to get up, but found my legs painfully useless. Sitting up fully to see what the problem was, I saw something worse than I expected.

I had tentacles. My lower body had been replaced with a writing mass of tentacles, and to my surprise I could actually control them. There was a jagged line where he had sewn me up, which went higher and lower on my body intermittently; he hadn’t done a very good job. I reached out to touch the new part of myself, and reeled back in horror when I found out it was indeed slimy.

I leaned over the side of the table and retched.

After that, it was a long journey through the base, as I had to drag myself using only my arms; I had no idea how to control the tentacles or if they even could be controlled more precisely.

“At least no one can see me like this,” I thought ruefully, the trail of muck behind me drying quickly in the sun. When I got to the sewer area I plunged myself in, my tentacles so much easier to maneuver than before. I clung to the wooden beams beneath the bridge, however, frightened that perhaps something may go wrong. I didn’t expect myself to make it until the next morning.

I did, however, awoken to the sound of helicopters and shouting. I heard my engineer’s voice distinctly.

“There! His office is over yonder!”

I wanted to scream, to cry out that I was glad he was okay and even gladder that he had brought reinforcements, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I didn’t want him to see me at all.

Soon enough I heard them dragging the medic out of the same room I was created in, where he had undoubtedly returned after examining the base while he assumed I was still passed out. He was kicking and screaming, saying he was responsible for nothing, he was innocent, and he was a /medic/, for god’s sake, not a monster-

And I laughed, silently, half-crazy and hungrier than you could imagine, my new appendages swishing around in the water lazily; I didn’t look at them often, for fear I’d retch again.

They took the medic away in one of the helicopters. The engineer and a couple other men stayed, and they asked him if he’d like to return to this base with the new recruits that were coming in soon. I begged for him to say yes.

“Nah,” he told them. “I can’t stand to be here much longer, fellas. A lot of fine men died here and I just can’t live with it.”

And so soon after he left, as well, and again it was silent and I was alone.

Of course, that was a long time ago, when I was silly and weak. The new team has been here for a while now, and I am not quite sure they know about me yet. I’ve been alive much longer than I could have imagined, and I feel just fine; swimming is a blast down here, really, and the occasional passerby from the other team makes a delicious snack.

Each time I hear a medic, however, I cringe. I clench my teeth and feel sick to my stomach, sick at what he had turned me into and sick at what I have become.

Those are the days I wish he had just killed me.