Lohyna

My total expirement

The Ghost’s Monologue

Almost every flesh-and-blood person has, at least once in the middle of the night, wondered: what’s it like not to exist?

Well, here’s the thing. It’s nothing.

Literally.

You are nothing. Not darkness, not emptiness, not some philosophical nonsense. You simply aren’t there. Your name, your age, your past—all erased, because you don’t exist. Why bother with such things, even sensations like heat or cold?

And the funniest thing is that it doesn’t fit into logic, biology, or that massive textbook that once nearly knocked me out.

Because biology is based on the very optimistic assumption that you exist. And then you get used to it.

People get used to everything. Even if they aren’t really people anymore. But there are upsides.

You can dance, steal, “borrow” things from teammates for a while, dodging traps.

You can pull off stunts so stupid that your self-preservation instinct is crying in a corner somewhere.

Although once I did crash into a transformer.

It was... unpleasant.

As unpleasant as it can be for a person who technically doesn’t exist.

In short, I don’t recommend it. Another plus I mentioned the other day is that there are fewer bureaucratic problems and minor human issues like food or sleep—well, I exaggerated about the latter; I do sleep after all.

Symphony of Flesh

An old gramophone, worn by time and stained with someone else's blood, creaked out a classical melody.

To the tune, the Medic moved his hands gracefully over Heavy’s slit-open abdomen, as if conducting an orchestra rather than rummaging through human entrails. Heavy slept peacefully under anesthesia, his tongue hanging out, periodically letting out a strange snore, like the grunting of a bear.

The Medic, without looking up from his work, smiled:

“Oh, mein lieber Freund, just in time! You are right at ze peak of ze melody!”

Archimedes tilted his head and cooed curiously. The Medic gently stroked his feathers with a bloodied finger.

“I knew you would like it. Unlike my ozzer big friend here… you are ze only living connoisseur of good music! And, of course—”

Before he could finish, Archimedes fell like a stone straight into Heavy’s gaping abdominal cavity.

SQUELCH.

The pigeon pecked at the intestine with predatory enthusiasm, mistaking it for a fat worm.

The Medic flinched in surprise. The scalpel slipped from his fingers. For a moment—absolute silence.

And then, the Medic made a completely insane, acrobatic movement with his hand, catching the scalpel in midair a millimeter from the floor, and instantly returned to his majestic pose as if it had been planned all along.

“…and science! Genau!”

He waved the scalpel theatrically. “Now, Archimedes, watch closely. Zhis is ze most important part of ze suture. See zis angle? Perfect technique! Absolutely perfect! If meat could cry viz joy—it would be crying right now!”

The Medic continued the operation, enthusiastically explaining his incision technique to the pigeon. But Archimedes wasn’t listening anymore. He was staring into a dark corner of the laboratory.

There, on an old hook, hung an object of unknown origin. Due to the dim light in the operating room, it was hard to make out exactly what it was—only its silhouette. The fabric was burnt…

The Medic snapped his fingers.

“Archimedes! Hey, mein Freund, look over here! I am creating art!”

The pigeon didn’t react. The Medic sighed and finally glanced in that direction. His smile became strange. Almost… nostalgic.

“O-o-o… so zhis piece of rag has caught your interest?” He set down his instrument and lazily adjusted his gloves. “Zhis rag… ah, what memories. I once had a colleague. She had a disgusting habit of correcting my formulas, which, of course, is bad form as far as I am concerned.”

The Medic set down another bloodied scalpel, lost in thought for a couple of seconds.

Sometimes she was right…

“Ze assistant was very talented. Not as talented as I am, of course. Zhat would be statistically impossible. But for…”

An unfamiliar scraping sound echoed through the ventilation shaft.

The Medic continued: “…for someone viz such experience, quite decent.” He chuckled briefly. “She adored chemistry. Biology. Autopsies. And frogs. Besonders frogs.”

The Medic snorted under his breath and rolled his eyes, as if he were recalling not a person, but a very stubborn lab rat.

“And, ach… she asked too many questions.” He thoughtfully pushed his hand deeper into Heavy’s abdomen. “Way, way too many. Always a bad sign. If a person starts taking too active an interest in chemistry—either somezhing will explode, or—”

CRUNCH!

“…Oops.” He looked down. “Hmm… Was zhat an important organ or just decorative?”

Heavy groaned painfully through his sleep.

“Ah. So, it is important.” He adjusted his glasses with the tip of a bloodied finger. “At first, I zhought she was just anoizzer eccentric student viz a genius complex. You know ze type? Zhey don’t sleep. Zhey don’t eat. Zhey look at a jar of acid as if zhey want to marry it.”

Archimedes cooed.

“Ja-ja, exactly! But then I saw her notes… Hm. Very neat. Very extraordinary. She looked at my research not like a normal person, who would scream and run away… but like a hungry dog at a piece of meat.” The Medic snorted with a mixture of irritation and pride. “It was almost brazen.”

With a single motion, he pulled a clamp out of Heavy and tossed it into a metal tray.

CLINK.

“And I zhought: ‘Well, vizzer she will die during ze experiment, or she will become somezhing very interesting.’” A brief pause. “To be honest, I was betting on ze former.”

The Medic shrugged as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“But one cannot let potential go to waste just because of trifles like ‘ethics,’ ‘the body’s stability,’ or ‘the risk of complete destruction of ze human body.’” He smiled even wider. “And anyway, Archimedes… if a person agrees to work viz me after seeing my lab—zhey no longer have a future as a normal person.”

He paused.

“And zhen zhere was one… mm… minor planned-unplanned incident viz my improved version of ze ÜberCharge. To put it simply, a minor incident occurred.”

Brushing against the surgical lamp with his shoulder in his usual clumsy manner, the Medic cast light upon the rag.

There, on the old hook, hung a scorched lab coat. At least two sizes too small for the Medic. The fabric had yellowed with age. Brown chemical stains covered the sleeves. Dark mold had grown on the collar. As if the lab coat had long been forgotten. Or they had tried to forget it.

The Medic smiled wider. Too wide.

“And now she still works viz me. Well… more or less. Partially physically. Partially not. Ha-ha! Ach, technical details…”

Archimedes flew over to the lab coat. Peck.

The pigeon snatched up a photograph, but it slipped from the bird’s tiny feet, disappearing among the instruments and fabric. The Medic automatically reached for his forceps, then stopped. His gaze froze.

Oh…

The man bent down and retrieved the bloodstained piece with the forceps, handling it as if it were a carrier of infection—something that could contaminate him even more than blood.

In the photo, a young girl with a crooked fang shyly looked at the camera, holding a huge frog in her hands. On the back, in uneven handwriting, was written:

“A.Y. Don’t touch the frogs. Especially the one in the jar.”

The Medic didn’t look at it for long—just long enough for his mind to process such trifles—and then carefully… too carefully, he slipped it back into the pocket of the lab coat.

Then he chuckled quietly to himself.

“Stay away from ze spleen, my friend. It is not presentable today.” The Medic returned to his conversation with the pigeon. “If it weren’t for me, she would not have achieved biological greatness, but would have remained in a limited world among ze mediocre.”

A voice from the darkness spoke dryly from the ventilation shaft:

“I can hear everything, you idiot.”

The Medic didn’t even turn around.

“Oh, wunderbar! Zhen bring me a new spleen. Zhis one is kind of sad.”

Heavy mumbled through the anesthesia:

“…Sandvich…”

🎉🎉🎉

I redraw reference.

I have been thinking about her weapon, and I alredy have a few concepts.

Another reference for me.

I was just bored

CHOICE

Atmosphere in the room was’t exactly cheerful.Red light glowed like someone tries to develop photographs without photographs.And here, against the backdrop of tiles stained with an unknown substance, the Ghost stood without her glasses.Under this light, you can’t see her smiling mouth, but you can see in her eyes.

Ghost holds a syringe in one hand and a hallucinogenic bullet from a revolver in the other.

Ghost(quiet,almost solemnly):

—Human instinct– funny thing.When it gets scarry, you always have a choice

—Run..

She raised syringe slightly

—Or freeze.

Her gaze slightly to the bullet.

Ghost:

—Adrenaline is a rapid escape from unpredictible death, with your heart pounding in your ears.

—And zis

Spining bullet between fingers

—I stay and watch what happens

Ghost takes revolver from the table.The bullet disappears inro revolver’s cylinder.

Ghost:

—Fight,fight

She shrugged.

Ghost:

—For some reason, freeze is always underestimated.

She continues to load revolver as she spoke, slowly and demonstrately.

Click.Click.

Ghost:

—Because in silence, a person finally shows who they really are.

And at the moment from behind the wall:

—SEXBOMB SEXBOMB, YOU’RE A SEXBOMB–

The absurdity was so extreme that even the Ghost froze.

Scout sings enthusiastically, but out of tune.

—YOU CAN GIVE IT TO ME, WHEN I NEED TO COME ALONG

Everything that happened before is suddenly gone. The red filter vanished, as if it had never existed.

Now the room appeared for what it really was: a cramped basement cell in total chaos. Flasks barely fit on the narrow table. Nearby, an old operating lamp cast weak light, and a scorch mark burned on the wall.

Ghost:

—SCOUT, TURN OFF ZIS SHIT! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!

The music faded.

Pause.

Ghost lowered the revolver and rubbed her nose.

Ghost (mumbles):

I already regret giving him the speaker from the basement.

From behind the wall.

Scout:

—But the track is really cool–

Ghost:

—NO.

@cherryangeldemon's template(Thanks)

Well

My dear Ghost doesn't exactly have warm relationships with team.

I replased "love" to "respect" because it's not romance.

So here's quick explanation of how it works.

Engineer gets pissed because she constantly breaks all the protocols and, like, just lives outside logic, which makes him even more tense. Meanwhile, Ghost gets pissed because he lives inside those rules.

Soldier can’t classify her, so he’s always looking for proof that she’s a “communist,” and to Ghost it’s just “meh, another idiot with a flag.”

Spy just sees her as a competitor, and Ghost gets annoyed because he’s a snob.

Sniper and Ghost just have this mutual understanding.

Demoman and Ghost? Pure chaos buddies.

Scout thinks she’s “too serious” and boring like Medic, and Ghost thinks “well… fine, but shut up.”

Pyro just loves everyone in their own weird way. Ghost isn’t afraid of him.

Heavy just respects her for her strength despite her being “small,” and also sees her as a “chaotic child.” Ghost just respects him as a person.