|Played by Kraken|
Team Fortress 2
A Tuesday in December
Looks about 40, though he's older. Well preserved, you might say.
Though Medic's claim to be formally trained in medicine and medical science is questionable at best, the fact remains that he is remarkably good at his job. There are very few physical injuries that he cannot fix, even through traditional surgery. It would not be entirely unfair to say that Medic was something of a savant, actually, when it came to this sort of thing; despite lacking compassion or respect for the patient's privacy, he seems to be able to keep a person alive and stable despite the most horrendous injuries. Unfortunately, he is also a little... cracked, mentally. Although Medic has the ability to perform near-impossible feats of surgery, he's far more interested in what he can do to the human body rather than what he can cure it of. As a result, though he may, for example, fix a patient's broken leg, that same patient may also leave with a few other surgical 'tweaks' that they did not expect, such as an extra arm, car batteries as kidneys, or jet-engine rockets fused to their spinal cord. In other words, he might actually end up doing more harm to patients than he does good. You have been warned.
Physically, Medic is not a good fighter. He might surround himself with sharp pointy objects all day long and know how to use them in a surgical theatre, but in the crucible of battle he tends to be a little too overexcitable to use them properly, and has been known to injure himself more than the enemy when he attempts to seriously engage them rather than healing the people who know what they're doing.
The Miracle Machine
It is somewhat ironic that a man who does so much harm to his patients should invent a device that, all things considered, has more or less rendered invasive surgery completely obsolete, but there it is. Medic's pride and joy, the Medigun, is an insane, miraculous piece of advanced technology that heals in seconds what doctors would take months to fix. It is essentially a thermonuclear reactor strapped to a harness, which is used to power the nozzle of the gun. This fires an energy into it's target, which triggers what essentially amounts to a Wolverine-style healing reaction; their wounds seal up and they return to perfect health, ready to do whatever it was they were doing before being injured.
In circumstances of extreme danger (or when Medic really, really wants to), he can temporarily overcharge the gun, triggering the target to heal faster than they can be damaged and essentially rendering them immune to pain and invulnerable for a precise total of 20 seconds. Though this can be used to devastating effect in a battle, it is not without it's side effects. Once the Übercharge is over, the target will essentially become exhausted, as if they had just run a mile without stopping, and the gun itself will shut down to prevent catastrophic overloading, and will not be functional for a full 6 minutes as it powers back up.
The Medic is, well...
On the surface, he appears calm, collected and extremely learned, clearly displaying a deep knowledge of his subject and how best to proceed with a given task. Dig, say, an inch beneath that, and it's quite clear that he's utterly crazy. Medic's view of his job is more or less that it gives him free reign to do whatever he likes, and what he likes is experimentation and ridiculous theories. He is creative and more than a little impulsive, tending to make snap decisions when it comes to his medical tinkerings, and clearly either does not understand or does not care about the patient's dignity or safety when it comes down to it.
However, despite his self-confessed love of the morbid and desire to do strange things to people's anatomy simply to see what will happen, the Medic is not an unfriendly man. He's a little odd, and his moods tend to swing unexpectedly, but he's sociable even then. He's just as happy sitting in a pub with a few friends getting totally drunk and telling tall tales – or trying to tell tall tales whilst slurring and hiccuping – as he is doing horribly unnecessary things to those under the influence of anaesthetic. In particular, he seems to have a strange rapport with the RED Team member known as the Soldier, though why this is so has yet to be explained to the rest of the team by either of them, though the others have developed their own theories. In general, however, he won't go out of his way to offend anyone, and is polite and friendly to most people he meets, though he can be a little snappish should someone interrupt him at work or annoy him in some way.
There are only four creatures in the world the Medic would never harm in any way, and those are his pet doves. The largest and worst-behaved of the flock, Archimedes, is usually found watching the operations of his owner, and has managed to mess them up on several occasions; the feathery twit has a habit of mimicking it's owner and nesting in the ribcages of unconscious patients, as Scout can attest. The Medic is deeply attached to these birds, and will care for them to a ridiculous degree.
At the height of 5ft 11in and being rather thin in frame, Medic has perfected the art of looming over people in that doctorish fashion regardless of how tall his patient actually is. His face is thin and angular, with a small pair of wire-framed glasses to help him see; despite having a glare that could cut diamonds, Medic actually has rather poor eyesight. His hair is jet black, and is usually neatly combed, and he is invariably clean-shaven, disliking facial hair in general.
Medic usually wears a well-tailored brown suit, though without the jacket to accompany it, and is often seen wearing a rubberised doctor's long-coat stitched with RED Team emblems and medic insignia. He also is usually found wearing red rubber gloves, though not always, and his clothes tend to be a little stained with blood after he's been to work, though he at least takes the time to clean them on a regular basis. Generally, his overall appearance is rather neat, but after either surgery or battles, this goes out of the window somewhat, given the out-of-place hair and bloodstains that tend to occur from such stressful high-pressure situations.
Mindy Macready - Current team-mate in the mercenary RED Team, and a fairly amiable friend. Presumably he hasn't had time to operate on her yet, then.
Razputin Aquato - Visited the Medic once, and apparently was impressed with the man. The poor child must be deluded.
The Sniper - That Jarate is always a source of perennial worry to Medic - Gott only knows vat he's doing to his body to produce that, after all - but otherwise he rather likes the quiet Australian.
The Scout - Skout talks too much, eats too much and is far too loud and boistrous. That said, Medic still likes him, though he likes more or less all members of the original RED team.
The Pyro - The amount of, ahem, opportunities the Pyro creates to further Medic's knowledge of burns and burn treatment makes him one of the German's favourite people. No, really.
Surprisingly little is known about the Medic's past, as he doesn't talk about it a lot and tends to throw sharp things at people who persist in asking him. What is known is that he was born and raised in Stuttgart, Germany, to a fairly well-off but unremarkable couple, and that his father too was a doctor of some kind. Whenever the Medic talks about them, which isn't often, he does so in a fond yet regretful tone, always saying that his father wished his son that had gone on to better things. However, he generally won't elaborate on this, and it's generally accepted (though not true) that he is referring to his own unhinged practices as being a disappointment for his dear old dad.
At some point, however, his family was moved or relocated, as Germany had well and truly entered the Second World War by this stage. This is the part of Medic's life that he has almost never discussed with anyone, save one man; the Soldier. It is clear, certainly, that both met when the American decided to take matters into his own hands and somehow make it to the continent to fight the Nazis as a freelance mercenary, and it is likely that the aforementioned meeting took place somewhere in Eastern Europe, with the genuine US soldiers who were around at the time stating that it took place somewhere near Riga. What happened there that made them such good friends – despite their bickering and arguments – is a topic of some discussion in the RED Team's mess room to this day. Theories range from the Medic being an deserter from the German army to him simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time and taking a smack from Soldier's shovel because of it, but none are confirmed, nor that close to the truth. The only clues they have to go on, after all, are that the Soldier refuses to disclose the information on personal grounds, that when the Medic is questioned about it he immediately goes pale and refuses to speak, let alone discuss it, and that there is a tattoo on the upper left part of his chest that he never shows anyone, and which only the Soldier has seen.
However, after this auspicious meeting, the Medic more or less accompanied the Soldier on his travels, eventually ending up with a whole host of team-mates to call his own. Life, for the Medic, had taken a positive turn at last, and it was these years that he was the happiest; he had a bunch of powerfully equipped, amiable and utterly insane friends to keep him safe, he had money and a never-ending supply of beer to celebrate their victories and commiserate their defeats with, and best of all the opportunities for medical experimentation and improvement were endless. It was, in short, the perfect life for him, although he ended up in endless trouble with his military-minded friend for starting bar fights he had no chance of winning due to disagreements over medical issues, debates over whose round it was anyway, or someone making an unfortunate and insensitive joke involving his nationality, the “rage button,” as it came to be known in RED mythology. Even their competition with the BLU Team did not phase Medic in the slightest, even though they were supposed to be mortal enemies; after all, how can one hate the people who provide around 48% of one's test subjects?
Sadly, this peaceful (well, relatively; they were mercenaries, after all) and happy life was soon to be shattered or at least badly cracked yet again. As the Medic made his cheerful way across the battlefield one morning, taking his doves to see what their daddy did for his day job and picking up the more suitable bits of body parts for a Frankenstein's Monster he intended to try and make that day, black tendrils rather rudely interrupted his walk, seizing him and the doves, and pulling him into a rift in space-time that had seemingly appeared from nowhere before you could say “Oktoberfest!”
Landing in Pandora, for most people, would be a terrible day, a day they would remember for the rest of their lives.
For the Medic, it was a rather irritating setback, and also a Tuesday in December.
He'd never liked Tuesdays.