Team Fortress 2: Macintosh's Misadventure

by McSlendy

Chapter III: Welcome To RED

The BLU Spy rose to his feet as the last of the REDs left the courtyard with their unconscious friends, and frowned when he felt his face.

But at least his mask would cover the nasty bruise the new RED gave him. Now, it was time to get his teammates up and about.

Around him were his said teammates, lying on the ground in varying degrees of pain or unconsciousness. The Frenchman approached the Medic and wisely woke up him first, with the German's blinking eyes immediately squinting when he realized his glasses were gone, and that his cheek hurt like hell. He opened his mouth to say something as he sluggishly rose and groaned, but just as quickly closed it when he turned and saw the rest of his team around him in need of serious medical attention, especially the Scout.

One disbelieving look to the seemingly unharmed Spy after, the Medic sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Let me guess, Herr Spy..." He began irritably. "We were all beaten by that new RED member?"

"I'm afraid so, Doctor. I'm afraid so." His ally replied curtly, extending a hand. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Nein... Nein, I don't think so. Danke, Kamerad." The Medic gingerly took it, wincing slightly.

The Spy helped the Medic up and made him sling his other arm over his shoulder, making the Medic lean against him for support.

"We should hurry and head to the infirmary to get yourself healed." The Spy said not a second later.

"Ja, then we'll take care of our teammates together." The Medic grunted, his eyes still adjusting.

The German winced again as he ran his free gloved hand over his cheek while they slowly made their way to the entrance of their base, taking great care not to step on any of their fallen teammates and further leave them in agony. But only two steps away from the entrance after so much effort spent on maneuvering around the rest of team BLU, there was a sudden sound of glass cracking underneath the Medic's boot. After a startled gasp, the man sighed again, only this time it was more of extreme annoyance than flat-out irritation.

The BLU Spy bemusedly looked at his friend's misfortune at stepping on his own glasses, but the Medic waved it off while shaking his head, deciding to get back on track. Motioning to the Spy to start moving again, eventually the two BLUs got inside their base's infirmary where the Spy carefully guided the Medic down to sit on an unoccupied bed. The Spy quickly left the Medic's side to rummage through the German's belongings in his office until he found what he needed - the Quick-Fix. Grabbing it, he walked back to its owner.

"May I?" The Spy asked the Medic politely, showing him his creation.

He nodded weakly. "Of course."

After successfully strapping it to himself, the Spy grabbed the hose, aimed it at the willing German and pulled its trigger.

Within seconds, the Medic was fully healed, the calming blue shifting ray of light coming from the hose's nozzle removing all of his wounds. Slowly grinning in gratitude, the Medic took some spare glasses from a nearby drawer and put them on. After slightly adjusting them, he took his stock medigun from his office and strapped it to himself. He nodded to the Spy as he checked every part of it to ensure that it worked properly. The Spy nodded back upon finishing his inspection, the look in his eyes turning serious.

"Now, time to attend to our teammates, my friend."

"But of course."

The two BLU men rushed back to the courtyard, intent on fully healing the rest of their beaten team before turning to the next issue that needed to be addressed:

RED's newest member, and how his presence would change everything.

+

The Heavy squeezed in through the RED base's infirmary door as he carefully carried the Scout's rescuer in his arms to a free bed. Behind the Russian several beds away, the Sniper and the Demoman were carefully placing the Scout on another free bed. The Medic impatiently pushed past the other REDs who weren't helping and walked into the part of the room where it wasn't so crowded to oversee the entire ordeal. As soon as he saw his patients lying safely on their backs, the Medic took off his stock medigun, grabbed his Quick-Fix medigun from his office, and then rushed back to the worried others, strapping it on and holding the hose.

Taking aim at the civilian, the Medic ordered: "Everyone! Move out of the way!"

Once the others complied, he automatically pulled the trigger.

The bruises on the man instantly began to disappear the moment the familiar red shifting ray of light connected to him. His blood started seeping back to their wounds as they closed, his damaged flesh and broken bone tissues rapidly knitting themselves back together. Meanwhile his ruffled clothes became straight, and the tears on them began to mend themselves. Stains of dirt and blood on them vanished too, and when the Medic completed his healing, the civilian ended up looking as if he hadn't been beaten up.

It was then that everyone had a good look at him.

The man lying on the bed before them had long blond hair which trailed past his neck. He had freckled cheeks and a facial structure that resembled a male model's. He lacked facial hair of any kind, and it seemed that, upon closer inspection, the civilian before them still hadn't gotten past his 30's yet - though his above average height sowed seeds of doubt about his age in the minds of the REDs. That, and he was strong, outstandingly so, making them think that the man was in the prime of his youth as well.

Besides his probable age, he looked handsome alright, but what was more eye-catching than his face was his body itself. They easily could trace the toned muscles underneath his clothes using only their eyes. Those toned muscles were no doubt one of the fruits of the man's labors, whatever it was that he did for a living. That is, if he worked hard to get those muscles in the first place, and if, that is, if he had a rigorous living.

The Sniper whistled low in surprise as he took his shades off to better look at the man's chest, the dark brown tint of his shades only impeding his view. The Soldier's eyes widened at the sight, gaping a little, obviously amazed and perhaps a bit envious of the civilian. Absentmindedly, he wondered if he could get some body-building tips from him later once he'd come to. Meanwhile the others, aside from the silent Pyro who continued to stare at the man, began to look impressed at their discoveries of the civilian's body.

"Man, he's buffed up." The Engineer exclaimed quietly, to which a few of the others murmured something back in agreement.

Then the Medic turned to heal the Scout. But upon remembering that his pet dove Archimedes nearly died because of the Scout's prank earlier this morning - with vivid memory of the scorpion readying itself to sting the poor bird! - he began to have second thoughts. But a sharp look from the Heavy later, he relented, concentrated, and then begrudgingly healed the Bostonian. In a few seconds the Scout looked perfectly fine again, though he remained unconscious like the civilian. Not that anyone cared, of course.

A tentative, contemplative silence fell on the room as soon as all the healing was done. Everyone traded unsure glances.

"So, what happens now?" The Heavy asked no-one in particular.

A knock on the infirmary door however, stopped anyone from answering.

It opened in a moment, revealing Miss Pauling carrying a pen and noteboard with a respectful smile on her lips.

"Gentlemen."

+

Meanwhile, at the BLU infirmary, seven men were lying on beds as the BLU Medic rushed to and fro in the room inspecting the extent of his friends' injuries in order to treat them. The BLU Heavy was soundly sleeping, as were the Engineer and the Soldier, while the Pyro had fallen asleep reading a book about forest fires, his snores muffled by his gasmask. However, the Sniper and the Demoman were still awake, partly because they were still wounded, and partly because they were on the verge of being treated by the Medic.

Elsewhere in the infirmary, the Spy sat close to an open window on a chair, staring outside thoughtfully as he let the hot desert air into the room, as per the Medic's orders. His eyes often wandered towards the direction of the RED base where he thought his enemies were celebrating the rescue of their Scout. With that in mind, he tutted as he remembered the fact that their own Scout had led them to their current situation indirectly. He shook his head in disappointment. Their Scout was really an inconsiderate idiot.

Speaking of their Scout, the young man was furiously glaring at the Medic for not hurrying up with his healing. Out of all the BLUs, the Scout suffered the most (having a battered face, a couple of broken bones, and such) from the new RED's assault, and therefore needed the medical expertise of the German doctor first, but because he was such a jerk even to his team, the Medic found it appealing to heal the others first than him to teach the little bastard a lesson - as it was the Scout's own fault that he ended up in his predicament.

Though his choice didn't save him from the Scout's talkativeness.

"So let me get this straight... again." Began the BLU Scout again as his anger boiled within him. "We lost to that RED?"

"Ja." Answered the BLU Medic crisply as he lifted up and inspected the Demoman's broken lower jaw.

"A single, freaking RED?"

"Ja." Repeated the Medic as he took up his Medigun and pointed it at the relieved-looking Demoman.

"A single, freaking RED who somehow managed to beat us all up, seven-to-one?!"

"Ja, and for the last time, Herr Scout," The turning Medic irritably snapped, while his Medigun beam hit the Sniper instead. "Would you kindly shut up? Or would I have to put you to sleep?"

"Alright, alright..." The Scout grumbled as he laid back on his bed, cringing a bit. "... I still can't believe we freaking lost, though."

"Scout!" The Medic snapped again, this time with a vein on his forehead bulging. "You are trying my patience!"

"Uh, Doc?" The BLU Sniper timidly called out to the German. "You're healing me instead of Cyclops here."

"Oh, dear. I'm truly sorry, Herr Demoman." The German apologized as he calmed down. "I'll tend to you at once."

The black Scotsman could only raise a grateful thumb up in reply.

"But seriously though..." The Scout muttered. He clearly had a lot on his mind to talk about. "How could we have lost to a single guy? A RED too, no less?"

The Medic refused to answer while he healed the Demoman, so it fell to the Sniper to reply: "I reckon that the bloke exposed himself to a bit of Australium. Might explain why he's so damn tough."

"Aye, I thought the same thing." The Demoman added eagerly as soon as he was fully healed.

He was stopped from saying more by the Medic who put a stern finger in front of his lips. "Go to sleep, Herr Demoman. You too, Herr Sniper."

The two men were only too happy to oblige and promptly both of them fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep. The Scout, in the meantime, was deep in thought.

"Sounds legit." Finally murmured the Scout, failing to notice his now asleep teammates. "But where would he have gotten some? I mean, all the Australium we know of is under the ownership of our bitch boss, and that guy who beat us up doesn't even look like an Australian! Heck, he doesn't even sound like one! He even said 'Eeyup.' to me! What kinda Australian says something like that?!"

"That'll be something we'll figure out later, lapin." The irked Spy said from his chair, while still facing the window.

"But why not now, Spy?" The irritated Scout whined. "You know what, we could plan something now to get back at the bastard!"

Unbeknownst to the whining Scout, the Medic was finally fed up with the Bostonian. He calmly approached the Scout with a syringe hidden behind his back, and once he was close enough he forcefully injected the liquid inside it into the man's wrist. A startled gasp later, the Scout dropped like a stone - asleep - into his bed, finally leaving the BLU base's infirmary mostly quiet save for the heavy breathing of the Medic and the snores of the sleeping BLUs. The German breathed a sigh of relief, happy to not hear his young teammate talk for a while.

The now-amused Spy had seen that move coming a mile away, but even he couldn't help but be amazed by the Medic. "Nice stab if I say so myself, doctor. But aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh right, I need to heal him." The Medic grunted, feeling calmer than he had been earlier. "Danke für die Erinnerung."

"Anytime, friend, anytime." The Spy motioned with a casual wave of his hand. "I'll keep watch if you don't mind, by the way."

With an affirmative grunt, the very tired Medic healed the Scout, then went to a free bed, lied on it, then fell asleep after taking off his coat, boots and medigun, and not in that order. The Spy, left awake and alone - entertained by only his thoughts - soon continued pondering the implications of RED's newest member's presence, and how his own team's superiors would deal with the unexpected threat. With a muffled yawn, being tired himself, the Spy shook his head and remained vigilant for the sake of his allies.

But the suited Frenchman fell asleep only after five minutes of watching over the others.

+

Miss Pauling, satisfied after hearing the Engineer's tale of how he had found the civilian and alerted his team about it, wrote down more notes in her note board as the Texan took a sip from his glass of water. Around them the whole of RED minus the Scout stood in the infirmary, all of them merely having nothing better to do as they watched the short man answering the Administrator's Assistant's questions. Eventually Miss Pauling concluded her questioning, nodding with a hum.

"So Miss Pauling, ma'am..." Began the Engineer uneasily. "Does this mean we're all in trouble for letting a civilian in on the battlefield?"

"No, not at all, Engineer." She replied casually, then turned to face the team. "As a matter of fact, telling all of you that you're in trouble was not what I came here for, everyone. I came here to gather information about the civilian you saved."

"Saved?" The Sniper snorted suddenly. "More like the bloke saved himself, pardon my point of view, Miss Pauling."

The ambiguously brown woman shrugged. "Nevertheless, Mr. Mundy, I still need to gather information about him by asking him some questions."

She cleared her throat and turned to face the Medic. "Medic? I'm in need of your assistance."

"How may I assist, Fraulein Pauling?" The Medic politely asked.

She looked at him straight in the eyes. "I need you to wake the civilian up and inject him with a truth serum I have on me."

The German nodded without skipping a beat or even questioning her motives. "As you wish, though I must say he will not stay conscious for long. I estimate he only will be awake for five minutes or so, judging by how tired the poor soul looks."

"It's fine. Five minutes is all I need to know what I need to know about him."

With that, Pauling held out the truth serum on her palm.

Everyone watched with baited breaths as the Medic took the syringe from the woman and carefully injected it into the man's shoulder. It took the German a few tries to penetrate the man's skin as it was unbelievably tough, but eventually he managed and the syringe began to release the light yellow formula into the man's bloodstream. Then the Spy took a chair and placed it on the man's bedside, and after whispering her thanks, Pauling sat on it as Medic gently roused the man to the world of consciousness by shaking his shoulder.

+

What the REDs and Miss Pauling didn't know, was that Big Macintosh was currently in a deep dream-like state.

The blond found himself standing in the middle of what seemed to be a stretch of sand that seemed to never end. It was like the desert he was in earlier, only that there was no heat despite the sun being high in the sky and that there were no Egyhooftian ruins nearby. Once, the man thought he heard a voice say something in the distance, but each time he turned to look at where it came from there was only nothing but thin air for him to face, which was beginning to unnerve him and weaken his sense of calm.

"Big Macintosh!? What happened to you?!"

Something like that. He soon learned to ignore the strangely familiar disembodied voices as soon as he heard them.

"Where in the hay am I?"

That was a question he asked himself every now and then as he aimlessly wandered onwards in the endless, heatless desert. He often paused to wonder what had happened to him after he had saved that human from those other humans, and his wondering often led him to think about Lyra, which in turn led him to think about his family he had been torn away from, albeit unintentionally in his case. It was at that point he thought it was a good idea to think about what just went wrong with Twilight Sparkle's spell.

"Wait, t-that's Big Macintosh! But why is he a... Nevermind! Big Macintosh! Over here! Look over here!"

What was supposed to be an advanced teleportation spell he volunteered to be used on himself had turned out to be a... - well, whatever the word associated with failure he was looking for - of a spell that turned him into something that he wasn't before and sent him into a place where humans were running amok fighting each other. He knew little of humans and from what Lyra regaled him of them, he didn't want to know more despite her tales. And with good reason. What he saw today was proof of humanity's innate cruelty.

"Big Macintosh?! Can you hear us?!"

"Oh no! I don't think he can!"

"But he looked right at me when I called out his name earlier! He must know we're here, somehow!"

And now, he was a human, a being that most ponies feared in Equestria despite their possible non-existence due to the rumors, myths, and legends surrounding them. Big Macintosh of course had heard of a few of them, recalling the lack of anything special about them but that they made up for it with their viciousness and tenacity. Or was it determination and stubbornness? Either way, would that mean he was now a vicious and tenacious or determined and stubborn stallion - er, man - now that he was turned into one of them?

Face scrunching up in extreme confusion, he promptly stopped in his tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

"Big Macintosh! Please, oh please, turn around to look at us!"

How he knew what that part of his face was called, he didn't know why, but this time he didn't want to blame Lyra.

He didn't know what to think anymore, and the loneliness of being in this silent desert was starting to get to him.

"Faust, what I wouldn't do to get back home." He murmured to himself, then sighed again. "I miss everyone."

"Big Macintosh! We're here! You're not alone! I'll even throw a party right now to show you!"

"No, no no! We can't hold the portal open any more! Everypony, get back into the portal, now!"

But when Big Macintosh looked up into the sky in his despair, he saw something that he deemed out of this world.

"What in the..."

"We'll come back for you, Mac! I promise! We'll come back!"

Far above him, a blur in the sky was getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared. Mac, predictably, just gaped.

Then he nonchalantly shrugged as the blur was quickly replaced by blue. "Oh, great. Now I'm seeing things. I'm going crazy."

Suddenly he felt something climb on his shoulder and prick him, and to his surprise he saw it was a metallic-looking scorpion.

"Buck!" He swore as he flicked the sneaky creature off him. It sank into the sand, leaving the blond feeling delirious.

"Horseapples..." He whispered to himself as he cradled his affected, yellowing arm and observed it. "I've been poisoned."

That scorpion had one hay of a venom, unfortunately. Big Macintosh felt his strength failing him as he fell into one knee. He began to feel hotter and weaker, and he was starting to find it hard to breathe. A hand shot up to his chest - he could feel his heart beginning to beat slower, and his lungs were slowing as well. He managed out a heavy cough, but what splattered into his closed fist was none other than blood, but of a different color - and it was a sickening light yellow.

He actually stared in horror at it, even feeling weaker than he previously was before.

"Eenope."

That was all he could say before he fell into a coughing fit, each cough sending thick, light yellow blood into the sand.

+

"Medic." Miss Pauling called worriedly as she watched the civilian suddenly convulse. "What's going on?"

The Medic stared at the civilian, unaware that a surprised grin was forming on his lips. "I think his body is resisting the serum!"

+

Big Macintosh heaved out one last cough, and the last of the contaminated blood splattered over the sand in front of him. Putting on a disgusted look, he limped away from the yellow sludge he left behind as far as his body would let him, before he tripped and fell on his knee again. His vision was darkening and he never felt so hot before. It wasn't long until he felt his heart stop beating and his lungs stop moving. With wide eyes he frantically look around for anything that could help from the inevitable.

But he saw only sand that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Then realized something as he felt himself give.

He was going to die a lonely death in this God-forsaken place.

"Applejack, Apple Bloom, Granny Smith... I'm so sorry."

Big Macintosh breathed his last. In his last moments he expected Death in whatever form he was in to take him away already.

But why did he feel like he was waking up, instead of dying?

+

With the sound of a deep diver taking precious air into his equally precious lungs, the civilian woke up with a start.

Team RED failed to suppress their scream of surprise as Miss Pauling too screamed and jumped, sending her chair flying to the Heavy's knee. It was only after the Heavy smashed the offending chair did everyone calm down and watched as the civilian returned to lying on his bed. The Medic calmly approached the blond man and noted that he was in a state of borderline consciousness - though it didn't seem that way.

He barely acted borderline conscious, as he was alternatively groaning and coughing in pain.

"Fraulein Pauling?" The German called out quietly as the woman shakily put on her glasses. "The truth serum has failed, I believe. I think it is time for you to ask the civilian your questions. You are running out of time."

"O-Of course." She said, before composing herself in front of the rest of the still startled mercenaries.

Clearing her throat, she went back to the man's side and leaned forward to the man's ear. "Sir?"

"Hnng?" The civilian murmured as his eyes slowly opened. "'s that you, Miss Sparkle?"

Everyone saw that he had emerald eyes, but nobody commented on it.

"No, I'm someone else." Pauling said, then took out her note board and her pen. "What's your name, sir?"

"Argh." The blond groaned, before he weakly shook his head. "Mah name... It's Macintosh Apple, ma'am."

"What a nice name." The Assistant replied, hastily scribbling down the civilian's name. "Where are you from?"

"I'm from... Ponyville." He said, garnering odd looks from the mercenaries except for the Pyro who took it in stride.

"I see." Pauling eagerly continued to scribble her findings. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-four." The man said with a cringe, not at how old he was, but at the pain he was feeling everywhere.

"When were you born?"

"I..."

Another hasty scribble, though it sounded longer than the previous scribbles.

"Blood type?"

"O."

Yet another hasty scribble.

A smile was apparent on the woman's face as she reviewed the information she had obtained, while the watching REDs nervously glanced at each other save for the Engineer, Pyro, and Spy. Whatever was going on right now, they weren't sure on what to feel about it, but they were astonished at the fact that the man freely gave away his personal information in front of strangers, though the truth serum, even though it failed, might have helped in the long run. But it begged the question; 'How was his body able to resist it in the first place?'

Miss Pauling lifted the page she was writing on to look at the next criteria the Administrator wanted her to fill in, but her eyes widened and her face paled when saw what was written on the following page. Concernedly, the Engineer was about to say something, but was stopped at the last second by the Spy who tapped on his shoulder and shook his head at him subtly, his eyes gesturing to Miss Pauling for him. The Assistant looked up from her board to look at the civilian, then back to the board, and back to the civilian again.

"Mr. Apple?" Pauling called out to him hesitantly, bottom lip quivering a bit. "Would you please sign here?"

"Huh?"

The blond man stared at her in confusion, but his hand reached for the pen she offered anyways as she turned the note board to face him. The civilian shrugged his confusion off and tried to concentrate, squinting his eyes. It took a few seconds, but eventually he managed to sign a unintelligible scrawl on it. The look on Miss Pauling's face hardened, and eventually she looked away from the civilian. She took back her pen, and, after staring at the scrawl the man made, sighed sadly.

"Welcome to RED, Mr. Apple." She said, and that was all Big Macintosh heard before he passed out.

Meanwhile, the RED team erupted into chaos.

Author's Note:

Hmm. Interesting.

*Updated as of 16th of July, 2014.
**Updated as of 5th of January, 2015. I really, really need to continue this.

Comments

[Noble Wings]

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[hamcon]

Now BLU will need a clone of him.