Sheele sat quietly in the lavish confines of Aria's former mansion, now repurposed as the REDs' base. The air was still, save for the faint crackling of a distant fireplace. She had grown somewhat accustomed to this place—its eerie, hollow luxury, the scent of old wealth clinging to every corner. The mansion was too large, too quiet, and despite the strange kindness of her hosts, she never felt at home. Something gnawed at her, a lingering tension that refused to settle. She hadn't heard from the others in hours.
Her fingers idly adjusted her glasses, a nervous habit she had developed. She kept telling herself that everything was fine, that the mission would succeed, that Bulat and Tatsumi would return victorious. But the silence dragged on, heavy and suffocating. She stood up, paced near the fireplace, then sat back down. A part of her wished Mine was here with her, just for some sense of normalcy, but Mine had been distant lately. Sheele didn't know why.
Then, the grand doors swung open with a force that made the chandeliers tremble.
Sheele turned instinctively, expecting another mundane arrival—perhaps Spy with one of his cryptic smirks or Scout boasting about some victory. Instead, what she saw sent a cold wave through her veins.
Heavy and Demoman stepped inside first, their usually boisterous demeanor subdued. Behind them, Medic followed, his white coat stained with something dark. It was fresh. Then, as the group parted, she saw it.
Bulat. Motionless. Carried in the arms of the hulking Russian.
Her glasses slipped from her fingers, landing on the polished floor with a faint clatter.
"No…" The word barely left her lips, too fragile to exist.
Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to move, to step closer. Her breath hitched as she saw his wounds—deep, fatal. His body was heavy with the stillness of death. This wasn't just an injury. He was gone. The realization hit her like a hammer, and her vision blurred.
Spy, leaning against the wall, observed her reaction with a calculated gaze. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, deliberate.
"Ze mission was a success. We infiltrated ze warship, gathered intelligence, and ensured its destruction. But… as you can see, there were casualties." Spy's tone remained unreadable as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. "Bulat fought valiantly, facing off against an old rival, Captain Liver. But Liver had a nasty trick up his sleeve—poison."
He flicked the ashes onto the floor, watching Sheele's reaction carefully. "Meanwhile, my team had its own encounters. Our Demoman turned ze battlefield into a fireworks display, and Heavy made short work of a particularly loud brute. Ve eliminated key officers, sabotaged critical supplies, and left ze Empire in shambles."
Spy adjusted his gloves, his sharp gaze locking onto Sheele. "But Liver's poison did its job. Ve could do nothing… not until now."
Sheele's hands clenched into fists. Her mind struggled to accept the sight before her. Bulat was strong. He was supposed to come back. He was supposed to be fine. He always smiled, always reassured them. He wasn't supposed to look like… this.
"But he—he was—"
"Dead?" Spy finished for her, tilting his head slightly. "Oh, most certainly."
Sheele flinched at the casual confirmation. She turned to Medic, whose eyes gleamed with something unreadable. There was something unnatural about the way he looked at Bulat's body, something eager.
"But," Spy continued, adjusting his cufflinks, "ve have ways of… how do you say… making miracles happen."
Medic grinned, stepping forward and cracking his gloved fingers. "Ah, yes, zis is going to be fun."
Sheele barely registered Scout stepping between her and the approaching doctor. The younger man shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. There was something unspoken in his expression, a silent warning. Sheele glanced past him and noticed Mine standing in the hallway, stiff, her arms folded tightly around herself. Sheele's stomach twisted when she realized Mine was refusing to meet her gaze.
"What… what do you mean?" Sheele whispered, her voice barely audible. Her heart pounded in her chest. "He's dead. You can't just—"
"Oh, I can," Medic cut in, stepping closer to Bulat's body, his fingers twitching with excitement. "And I vill. You see, fraulein, death is a stubborn thing—but not nearly as stubborn as I am! I have cheated ze devil himself more times zan I can count! And now, I vill do it again."
He let out a sharp laugh, his eyes gleaming with something both triumphant and unhinged. "Zis man, he has not gone anywhere! His body simply needs… a little encouragement, ja?" He patted his Ubercharge pack, which hummed ominously with energy.
Sheele took a shaky step back, her breath catching in her throat. She felt her stomach twist as she looked between Medic and Bulat's lifeless form. This wasn't natural. This wasn't right. And yet, no one else seemed to be stopping him. Even Spy, with all his calculated control, simply watched in silence.
"What… what are you going to do to him?" she managed to whisper, her voice barely holding steady.
Medic turned his grin on her, his hands already moving with practiced precision. "Oh, my dear, you are about to vitness a miracle."
The tension in the air thickened. Heavy gently set Bulat down on a nearby table, as if he were laying down a dear friend to rest. But there was no peace in this moment. There was only eerie anticipation. The red glow of Medic's Ubercharge pack flickered ominously as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for what was to come.
Sheele wanted to stop him. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, to pull Bulat away from whatever madness these people were planning. But she couldn't move. Her entire world had narrowed down to one thought—
What were they about to do?
The eerie silence in the dimly lit room was only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Medic's gloved fingers against the side of his Medigun. The once opulent mansion, now repurposed as the REDs' hideout, cast long shadows against the walls, the flickering lamplight barely illuminating the cold metal table where Bulat's lifeless body lay. His once-proud armor was torn and bloodstained, his face unnaturally pale, a stark contrast to the vibrant warrior he had been in life.
Sheele stood frozen at the doorway, her wide eyes locked onto the scene before her. Her breath hitched in her throat as she processed the sight of Bulat's unmoving form. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted her glasses, almost as if hoping the simple gesture would bring clarity to the impossible. Her mind raced, her heart hammering in her chest. This couldn't be happening. They had all seen Bulat die. They had buried that pain, accepted that loss. And yet…
"He's… supposed to be dead," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of Medic's device.
Medic turned to her, grinning ear to ear, his spectacles glinting ominously. "Do not vorry," he assured, his German accent thick and unsettlingly casual. "He vill be… good as new! Heh heh heh!"
Sheele felt a chill run down her spine. Something about the way Medic spoke, the unshakable confidence in his voice, sent a wave of unease through her. He wasn't just saying it—he believed it entirely. Spy and Scout stood off to the side, watching with unreadable expressions. Mine refused to meet Sheele's gaze, shifting uncomfortably in the corner.
Without another word, Medic slammed the lever down on his Medigun. The device whirred to life, its mechanical hiss filling the room as a brilliant red glow erupted from the nozzle. The beam of energy enveloped Bulat's still body, the red mist pulsating as if it had a life of its own. The metallic hum intensified, the power surging through the fallen warrior like an electric current.
The room was bathed in crimson light, casting unnatural shadows against the walls. The sheer force of the energy made the air feel charged, like the seconds before a thunderstorm. Sheele felt her breath catch in her throat. Could this really work? Could the impossible be happening before her eyes?
Then, with a sharp gasp, Bulat's body arched violently upward. His muscles tensed, his fingers curled into fists, and his eyes snapped open, glowing faintly in the dim light. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as his mind struggled to catch up with his suddenly revived body.
Sheele's heart pounded in her chest, her vision blurring with unshed tears. "Bulat…?" she choked out, taking a hesitant step forward.
Bulat blinked in confusion, his body still tingling with the residual energy of the Ubercharge. His gaze flickered to the grinning Medic standing beside him, then back to Sheele. His mind was clouded, memories disjointed. He remembered pain, the feeling of his body giving out, the cold embrace of death creeping in… and now, this.
"…What… happened?" he murmured, his voice hoarse yet undeniably alive.
Sheele staggered forward, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, torn between disbelief and overwhelming relief. The man she had mourned, the man they had lost, was now sitting up before her, his body whole, his heart beating once more. Yet something about him felt different. His movements were slightly stiffer, as though his body wasn't fully his own just yet.
Medic chuckled, removing his gloves with a satisfied snap. "Ahh, wunderbar! You are alive, ja? No damage, no side effects! Science prevails yet again!"
Bulat flexed his fingers, clenching and unclenching his fists. He felt strong—stronger than before, even—but there was something lingering beneath the surface, something unnatural. His gaze lingered on Medic, a silent wariness forming in his mind.
Sheele swallowed hard. The red glow faded, and silence reclaimed the room, but the tension remained thick in the air. An unspoken question loomed over them all.
Was he still the same Bulat they had known?