Balanced Away

Chapter 1: A Fateful Encounter

Forty-two. Forty-two years on this damn planet, and he never missed anyone more than he missed Medic. He had been gone for a year already, moved to the BLU team after he had been offered more money and opportunities to work for them. The base always felt so melancholy without him, and his clinic being empty only made it worse.

Heavy had just returned from a fight with the opposing team. Seeing certain things on the battlefield reminded him of his old friend, Medic.

Taking a deep breath, he took a step inside the dark room, finding it nostalgic how many memories he had in this room; both positive and negative. As he walked through the room, memorable sights caught his eye. From Medic's operating table to his battered, powered-off technology, it brought back vivid memories. It was silent, besides the quiet pitter-patter of the rain.

He placed a hand on the operating table, remembering when Medic had first proposed the idea of Übercharge to him. He would love to experience the feeling of being bulletproof once more, but since Medic was on the opposing team now, all they could do was fight. Plus, he doubted whoever would replace Medic in the future would be able to utilise his one of a kind technology.

Despite them being enemies, Heavy still felt wrong whenever the two's eyes met on the battlefield. If he didn't have to, he wouldn't lay a finger on his friend; he had always seen Medic as a business friend, but after he'd been moved to the BLU team, it dawned on him that they truly were friends.

He sighed. The man regretted never thanking Medic for all he'd done for him; it was too late now. The only recent moments they spent together were when they were on the battlefield, and none of them were fueled by their friendship. It was fueled by a thirst for violence. The bloodlust in Medic's eyes wasn't foreign to Heavy, but he never expected to see that fierce gaze fixated on him.

The rain clouded the windows, but Heavy could make out the distant figures of the other mercenaries running around, soaked in rain. He didn't feel like socialising right now; he was busy reminiscing about the past. Heavy frowned. His mother had always told him to let go of the past, but it was a bad habit of his. [She's right. It's unprofessional of me.]

Heavy took a deep breath, remembering his goal; he had only signed up to become a mercenary to help his family out, make a decent income. It was effective, yes, but there were many sacrifices made for this job. His moral compass was one thing he'd lost. Killing as a job took a toll on his mental health. Luckily for him, he had Medic to keep him company in the early days, even if he was quite hostile and standoffish at first. "[Ah no, I'm thinking about him again...]"

He couldn't help it. Despite it already being a year, the man still caught himself thinking of him. So much so that he found himself calling for Medic on the battlefield. He spent a few moments just thinking about the past, the present, and what could or couldn't happen in the future. An unusual sight that caught his attention interrupted his reminiscing, however.

He saw a cardboard box with the words 'personal things' written on the side in messy, barely legible handwriting. It was undoubtedly the Medic who wrote it. Taking a closer look, it was filled with VHS tapes and pictures. He froze, picking up a photograph of the RED team, back when Medic was still on their team. He hadn't seen Medic genuinely smiling in a while; despite it being a mere photograph, it was a reassuring sight.

Noticing a larger item in the back labelled memories, he picked the thing up and dusted it carefully. It was a large photo album. He would have to see what the contents were later on. The label only made him more intrigued. Placing the album in his knapsack, Heavy decided to leave the clinic. He was exhausted. Before this, he had fought BLU alongside his team, and he felt like he was going to collapse.