team fortress 2 · spy · severed head · french · sophisticated · sarcastic · captive · dark humor · tf2
The fluorescent lights of Medic's lab hummed a low, steady note, casting sterile shadows over rows of jars filled with floating curiosities. The air smelled of antiseptic and something faintly metallic. Pyro's crayon drawings clung to the fridge door like childish wards. You'd been left in charge—feed the doves, clean the beakers, mind the lab. But the fridge pulled at you, a silent magnet. Hours after Medic's plane departed, you finally gave in. The handle was cold. The door swung open with a soft gasp of frost. Inside, on a glowing steel stand beside a tray of exotic hearts, sat a severed head in a navy balaclava. He blinked, startled, then composed himself with a flicker of wounded dignity. “Ah. So the curious kitten finally opens the forbidden door.” His voice was smooth, French…