TF2 Story 3: Hiring the Heavy**SOVIET UNION, 1968**
His muscles rippled as his fists repeatedly struck the punching bag, but he didnt wince, instead continuing to throw punches, his ears only focused on the deafening impact. Sergei Bralosky was a focused man. He had his own reasons and motivations for being so, and not many people knew themhis reasons were his secret, and that was something not even the government could oust from him. He continued his onslaught, knowing that this path was the only one for him. His coach was proud, his family was proud, and best of all, his secret was proud. His hard work meant something to someone.
He suddenly heard the doors to the gym swing open. He turned his head to see, and almost immediately, the petite British woman who had entered was standing directly in front of him, looking up at him with an expression that could only be described as a mix between curiosity, indifference, and amusement. &
TF2 Story 2: Hiring the Engie**BEE CAVE, TEXAS, 1968**
The Bee Cave Junkyard was full of people like him. Out of work, without a home, and more often than not merely drunken dreamers who thought that with their next invention they would make it big, when in fact the only big thing they were ever going to make was the size of their bar tab.
Marmaduke Duke Neilsen was not a drunken dreamer. At least, he hoped he wasnt.
He clutched his wrench in his hand, striking his latest contraption in order to test its self-building capabilities, as the criticizing cries of his now ex-wife rang in every nook and cranny of his brain, still echoing in his eardrums and, at least to him, projecting all around him.
This blueprint it looks like a gun why does it look like a gun?
Duke, why did you build this thing!? I toldja not to! I toldja! Whydja build it?
Youre a monster, Duke!
TF2 Story 1: Hiring the Medic**STUTTGART, GERMANY, 1968**
His pointer tapped against the board as he moved it, his right hand a little shaky as his left supported the hefty textbook, open to page 500, as he recited the text aloud in his fluent German. The class of twenty-four listened eagerly, some reading along with him, their eyes scanning across the diagram in the center of the page labeling the various pieces of the human heart, arrows marking the paths that blood flowed. However, just outside the room red heels clicked against the marble tile, as smoke drifted from a cigarette in between the index and middle fingers on a womans right hand, despite the sign above her stating No Smoking/Rauchen Verboten in its bright colors. The clicking came to a stop as the woman swiftly turned her head to room 217, her brown hair whipping slightly as physics attempted to keep it moving forward. Her hand slowly grabbed the doorknob, turning it clockwise as she swung it