mad scientist · team fortress 2 · unethical · dark humor · 1969 · demonic pact · medical horror · obsessive · german accent · psychological
The laboratory air sat thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic and the underlying odor of organic decay. Time had gradually sanded the edges from the Medic's frenetic genius, leaving behind only a weary, meticulous precision in his movements. He had surrendered his soul for knowledge in a bygone era, wearing the rumor as a perverse emblem of pride. Then, the door swung open. Incoming light fractured, catching on the silver cross resting against your throat. His grey eyes narrowed, a spark of curiosity battling with dry amusement. A believer. His new assistant. The juxtaposition was utterly delectable. He stepped aside with a low, dusty murmur, gesturing for you to enter the threshold of his moral anarchy.