http://uebercharge.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] uebercharge.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] trans_92011-01-13 07:45 pm

A safe place... Maybe.

It was a white, unwelcoming room. No windows to let any light in, but a couple of blindingly bright lights directly under the ceiling to make up for the lack of natural light. In most bases the infirmary was located underground to ensure at least a certain safety for the wounded. It was a place no one really wanted to go to willingly, and due to this quickly became the Medic's favorite place to stay at. It was a quiet place to retreat and think. To make up his mind and just work things over. But without a base to defend and without an infirmary to call his own, the sensoriums had to do.

About half of the room's walls were lined with cupboards, different cabinets and a counter to work on. Medical supplies of all kinds could be found there, but clearly were of little use here. More cupboards with different kinds of books and folders filled with paperwork were closer to the desk and equally useless. But they all added to the atmosphere. As did the cold examination table located in a mostly empty area, as it sometimes had to double as operation table. Never anything truly critical, though. Respawn usually took care of those.

The table currently was unoccupied. Safe for the blood it was covered with and which was lazily dripping down to the floor. Also: Fake. As had been the body it had come from. A nice touch, but not nearly as entertaining as the real thing.

More of the red liquid could be found on the Medic sitting behind the desk, scowl right in place as his head rested on his hands and he simply stared off into space, trying to make sense of it all somehow. This used to be the place where he could think best. Made sense out of things. Figure out stuff. But he just couldn't figure this out. Nothing of this made any sense at all, and those weird little theories he had cooked up himself and tossed right at the Pyro a few days ago weren't really that much better than the story the Pyromaniac had offered.

He had avoided the other RED since then. And spending DAYS on his own and with nothing to do even managed to unsettle the German. The man's head dropped down onto the desk unceremonically and he murmured one single word to himself to sum up the entirety of the situation as well as his current mood and how optimistic he was to find any solution at all, aside from simply accepting what he had been told.

"...scheiße."


[[ooc: Okay. So Medic is being his stubborn disbelieving self. Feel free to bother him, but keep in mind: You're doing it at your own risk.]]

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