“Dummkopf!” the medic exploded once the demoman was seated in a solitary chair in the middle of the room, “You are a complete dummkopf!”

“Wha’ did ah do, doc?”

“What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!” He placed a hand over his forehead and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Regardless, he could feel his temperature rising.

“What’ is it? Wha’s wrong?” the demoman asked when he heard silence as a response.

“Zey didn’t listen to me... zey’re all dead... all ov zem, gone...” he moaned. All at once he felt his temper rise again and hissed, “Und you are ze one zat killed zem! All ov zem, done in by ze likes ov a blind drunken fool!”

The demoman wracked his brain for something to say, “Ah dun know wha’ yer talking about...”

“Like hell, schweinehund! Ze scout had alcohol in his system, und he doesn’t drink. Ze heavy died from a large dose ov arsenic on his sandvich. Ze others too, all your doing. I knew it all along but I couldn’t get zem to believe me... couldn’t bring myself to fully believe it, but... it vas you! IT VAS ALL YOUR DOING!”

In his rage he slammed his fist down on a nearby table. Seconds later he held in a sharp gasp. He hadn’t realized that his autopsy equipment had been on that table, and now found himself with a deep cut along the length of his right arm.

“Oy, you awright, doc?” the demoman asked when he heard the medic’s hushed groans of pain. When the doctor didn’t reply he jumped from his chair and rushed to where the doctor kept his medicines. It was times like this that he was glad he’d memorized a mental image of the fortress.

Out of the corner of his eye the doctor saw him move. Knowing that no good could come of the man’s mobility he momentarily forgot about his pain. He uttered in a slightly defensive way, “Vhat are you doing?”

“Dun worry, doc! Ah’ll help ya!”

“Nien, I don’t vant any ov your assistance!”

Whether he wanted it or not, the demoman was going to ‘help’ him. Before he knew it the demoman was up in his face and an empty needle was hanging limply from the skin of his arm. He looked at the label on the small containment chamber and instantly knew he was done for.

“Dummkopf,” he mumbled darkly, “Zatr vas ze drug I put in my syringe gun, a dose zree times ze amount I put in zem... I vas saving it in case ve got an intruder in ze base...”

The demoman went silent.

“You have killed us all... und before ze new recruits arrive und take pity on you like everyone here did, I vill make sure zat is not a possibility.”

From beneath the pillow of his nearby cot he drew his emergency bonesaw, soon charging at his killer. It was an easy kill and several times the weapon entered the demoman’s body. Soon he was lying dead on the floor, the medic laying beside him on his own deathbed. It was over. This demoman would do no more harm.

::end part 9::

There you have it, the conclusion to this wacky and random fanfiction.

Tf2 (c) Valve