#unxarmed

[medicallymangled-blog]

unxarmed

The top wasn’t up for debate, and he hadn’t been authorized to speak about the topic freely. Orders were orders. The Soldier did have a point though. He could feel the negativity towards the issued rules, but chose not to point it out. Professionalism was something he gave regards to.

 “The company wants nothing but the best. You are, after all, paid to fight out there. Even if you are physically able, you are still accountable for more,” he tried to explain. “The Administrative Medic has approved of this already, even he has to acquiesce.” He tapped on the signature below. “That, would be I.”

 “You are free to approach other Medic’s for your waivers, but should the need arise, my door is open at HQ. I’m here to aid you.” 

[stratusfall]

Some idiot had painted the buildings and left tarps hanging everywhere, loose with duct tape and already sagging with dust. The smell of paint followed Angela as she walked down the stairwell. 

The mercenaries at Decoy had carved out an approximation of RED and BLU, former enemies coming together to discuss everything from living space to uniform colour. Things they hadn’t had to worry about before Mann. Co. went down, taking the origin of the robots and Respawn with it.

Whatever was keeping them alive had to be the key to creating an AI. She had to know. Had to find out. Desperation gnawed at her just as much as the waiting grated. She was a creature of action, and the mystery shrouded over everything at this base had her on-edge, chewed at her every moment of the day. Which was why, despite her former policy of no-talking-to-BLUs, she was in the BLU common room, looking for someone specific.

A gum-toting, redheaded Scout redirected her to one Isaiah, and she found his room easily. Angela took a deep breath, knocked, and opened the door. 

Before she was two footsteps in, she asked him, without preamble, “Are you one-armed by choice?”, reasonably certain that the answer was no.