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The loud laughter of two middle-aged men echoed throughout the white room filled with advanced medical equipment, all stained with blood. One of the men was dressed like a doctor, but his bare hands, devoid of gloves, were drenched in the blood of the other man a giant of a man lying on the operating table. Strangely enough, despite being operated on, the man on the table seemed completely conscious and even… happy. There was no trace of fear or discomfort in his expression.
The operation continued for another fifteen minutes before the man who appeared to be the doctor reached for a strange-looking device that had been emitting a steady beam of light throughout the procedure. He brought the device closer to his patient and pressed something above the barrel. In an instant, a bright light flashed, and the man's body returned to normal as if nothing had happened.
The doctor extended a hand to help the other man sit up. They embraced briefly, exchanging a few words that made the doctor laugh to himself. Soon after, they stood and walked away from the table, switching off the lights, plunging the room into complete darkness before leaving together.
The soft click of the door locking behind them was his signal to move.
A wisp of smoke drifted through the corner of the room a storage area filled with discarded equipment. From the shadows emerged a slim figure clad in a red suit with faint white pinstripes. He stepped carefully around the clutter, ensuring his movements were silent as he made his way toward an ordinary-looking refrigerator that seemed entirely out of place in an operating room.
A gloved hand rested on top of the refrigerator while the other grasped the handle, pulling it open slightly. The faint glow from within cast a light on the face of the man peering inside.
"Bonsoir."
"Took you long enough," came a voice from inside the fridge.
If you’ve never seen *Meet the Medic* in SFM, you’d probably be confused as to why the refrigerator was talking. But of course, it wasn’t the fridge itself responding it was something inside it.
To put it simply, inside the fridge was a human head one covered by a dark blue balaclava, just like the one worn by the man currently opening the door. The only difference was the color. Below the severed head, there was no body only a metal base with a large battery pack attached, presumably to keep it functional. Even in a world of absurdities, it was still an unsettling sight.
"You want me to leave?"
"No don’t go… Please."
"Understood. Cigarette?"
"Got my brand?"
"You're picky. No, I only have mine. You want it or not?"
"...Fine."
The man in the red suit chuckled softly before reaching into the fridge, carefully lifting the talking head by its base. He took great care not to knock anything over. After all, he didn’t want anyone knowing that he snuck into someone else’s fridge every night just to talk to a severed head.
"Damn, it’s freezing. Is that bastard trying to turn this fridge into a damn morgue?"
"You're the one who keeps begging him to kill you every day. Freezing to death wouldn’t be any worse than getting shot in the head or roasted by a flamethrower, would it?"
"Why don’t we switch places for a day and see how you like it?"
"Heh. I’ll pass."
"Why not? Just now, you said it wasn’t that bad."
Red Spy cradled the severed head in his arms, freeing up a hand to retrieve a cigarette from his steel case. He slipped it between the lips of the bodiless head before walking over to the window and opening it.
The cold night air and moonlight poured into the stuffy, blood-scented room, carrying away the lingering smell of cigarettes. Red Spy placed the head carefully on the windowsill, ensuring it wouldn’t fall. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it open, lighting both their cigarettes.
"I wouldn't want to trade places with you because… if I were the one stuck in a fridge, I doubt anyone would come visit me like I do now."
"And how do you know that?"
"Because nobody cares about me. Just like nobody cares about you. That’s why I’m here."
"That’s quite the sharp tongue. Typical Frenchman."
They both chuckled before falling into a comfortable silence, letting the cold air brush against their faces. Red Spy’s pale blue-gray eyes drifted upward, gazing at the luminous full moon shining in the darkness.
"So why do you visit me?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said nobody cares about me, so that’s why you’re here. But then why are you here?"
"...Good question. Maybe because I think we're the same."
"The same in what way? That nobody cares about us, or that we’re both French?"
"You’re surprisingly good at making jokes for someone who's been stuck in a fridge for months."
They laughed again. The wind carried the swirling smoke from their cigarettes, blending them together before dispersing into the night.
"But I’ll come."
"What?"
"If you ever end up like me just a severed head in a fridge then I’ll come visit you."
…Stop it…
"I’ll even bring your favorite brand of cigarettes."
…Enough. That’s enough…
"Or maybe I should bring you some magazines too? So you won’t get bored, being curled up in there all day."
…Don’t. Stop it right now…
"And what else? Wine, maybe? I wonder if you can still drink wine when you’re just a head? I’ve never tried it myself…"
"Enough nonsense. You’re out of cigarettes. Get back in the fridge I need to get some rest."
"Come on, only one cigarette tonight? Typical cheapskate. So stingy, just like you."
Red Spy didn’t respond. He simply picked up the severed head, shut the window, and carried it back to the fridge. He turned it to face the exact same angle as before, making it seem like it had never moved.
"Bonne nuit."
"Come back tomorrow."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because I know you’re lonely."
"Lonely? Me? The one who's lonely here is you. you’re the damn severed head in a fridge."
"I never said I wasn’t lonely. But does it really matter? I’m just a head I don’t count."
"..."
"You’re the one who matters. You still have arms, legs you can go anywhere. And yet, you’re so lonely that you come talk to a severed head every night. Who’s the one that’s really more pitiful here?"
…God, please stop…
"I care about you, you know..."
"..."
"Will you still listen?"
"..."
"Kill me already, I beg you I've said it countless times, but..."
"..."
"You... I love yo-"
THUD!
Red Spy slammed the fridge door shut, resting his forehead against it.
"Damn smooth-talking French bastard…"
He strode toward the exit without a care for anything in his path. When he slid the door open, he was met with the sight of that familiar man—his arms crossed, leaning against the wall, waiting.
Red Spy met Medic’s gaze with a hardened stare, and the other returned the same expression.
“Still can’t decide?”
“...No.”
“Why not? All you have to do is pull the battery cable, and he’ll be sent back to respawn.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Spy… You can’t keep him like this forever. Even if my device keeps him alive, one day, the Blues will come to take him back.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Red Spy brushed past Medic, who had clearly grown weary of this conversation, and stepped into the private shower he had secretly built inside the smoking room. Without hesitation, he shed his expensive suit, hung it neatly on the rack, and stepped under the warm cascade of water. He leaned his forehead against the tiled wall, letting the stream wash over him.
...Worried about me, are you? Because that bastard said it like that...that’s why..
...Said he’d come find me even if all that was left of me was my head...
...Spoke to me so damn gently... That’s why I can’t let him go...
...I know that pulling the battery cable would kill him, send him back to his team’s respawn. He’d never come back. No—he’d come back to tear me apart...
His slender fingers trailed over his own neck, as if confirming it was still firmly attached to his body.
...Would he really come if all I had left was my head?...
...Did he really mean it when he said he liked me, over and over?...
...Did he really mean it when he said he knew I was lonely?...
...If I send him back, will we ever meet like this again?...
...Out of everything that bastard said… how much of it was true?...
Spy shut off the water and reached for a towel, rubbing it over his skin and hair. He stared at himself in the mirror, combing and drying his hair—his usual routine. Then, he slipped into his robe, shaking off the lingering thoughts of truth and lies. Deep down, he already knew at least one thing that man said was true.
"(I) care about you, you know..."
"(Will) you still listen?"
"(Kill) me already, I beg you—I've said it countless times, but..."
"(You)... I love yo—"