Four A.M., he wakes up. Four-o'-two, he washes his hands and starts preparing his breakfast. Four-fifteen, he finishes breakfast and takes his antidepressants. Four-twenty, he goes to the bathroom to wash up. Four-forty-five, he locks and unlocks the front door three times before leaving for work. Taking advantage of every shortcut possible, he manages to reach the barracks by five-o'-clock sharp—just in time to wash up again. This has been Vincent's daily morning routine for many years. Though most would consider it confining, stressful, and insane, Vincent finds liberation, comfort, and sanity in it. (Of course, the medications and therapy help a lot, too.) But after living under Hartmann's wing for so long, he started craving change—and change was what he got.
First was the decision to become Pasha's roommate. Admittedly, he did it as an act of rebellion, knowing perfectly well how much the Medic and Heavy hate each other. But once that got out of hand, he slept overnight in the rookies' dorm before finally making the move back to Hartmann's house in the town. Then he met an eccentric foreigner and—in a moment of brain-numbness—agreed to become his new roommate.
So it is now that he's living with a stranger, befriending even stranger strangers, and on top of that, having his lifelong guardian suddenly replaced by some strange, snooty stranger from Strangeland. With all these strange and sudden changes compiling all at once since the days following his birthday, Vince is not taking it too well.
Stay calm, Vincent, he repeats to himself as he prepares for the upcoming mission—an inevitable mess of pathos, dirt, and bloodshed, one which gives him purpose and clears his mind during moments of emotional duress. Usually. With the new Medic in tow, there's no telling what will happen. Hartmann knew this would happen, so he gave the Scout specific directions for such a situation.
“What's wrong, mon petit lapin?” Following Vince out of the locker rooms is Alan, adjusting his navy blue ribbon. “You do not seem so hot. Or is it you're feeling a little too hot? Well, you look under zhe weather, so I thought I should escort you, since Mort's still asleep.”
'Still' asleep? One of Hartmann's directions—as he recalls—is that Mortimer is to wake up the same time as everyone else. If he cannot be awakened by normal means, then use force as needed. “It's nothing. Just adjusting to the doc's absence.”
“I thought so. You always look out of sorts whenever things go awry.” The Spy giggles, his genderless voice sounding more girlish. “I'm not good at talking about feelings like Mort is, but zhe least I can do is assist you in other ways. It's not much of a talent, but I can find and gather information about just about anything. If you need me to look up something, I'm more zhan willing to help.” He cracks a cheeky smile and winks before strutting ahead of the Scout.
Vince takes the offer into consideration, and before he knows it: “Wait!” Alan turns around, his sapphire eyes shimmering with a foreseen awareness. “If you can... Can you check up on Mr. Same? Not that I don't believe his story, it's just—”
“You don't trust him, is that right?”
With a hesitant sigh, Vince answers, “Yes.”
His smile growing wider, Alan says, his voice higher and softer, “I understand. A complete stranger arriving at such an inconvenient time and in such an inconvenient manner... I would have a hard time trusting him, as well. Very well. As you wish it, so shall it be.” With a graceful turn, he walks away, his posture and form different from a moment ago. Though wary of this subtle change in character, Vincent is also mesmerized, his heart having stopped briefly for reasons he cannot muster. Assuming it to be a psychosomatic reaction of some sort, he makes a mental reminder to ask Hartmann about it when he returns. Or any Medic. Anyone but Ooshiro.
Five minutes into the mission, and already, so much has gone horribly awry. RED had a powerful defense unit planned out, and with Hartmann reprising his former role as a Heavy, they are practically unstoppable. Meanwhile, with a weak offense and several barely competent rookies to keep track of, BLU is falling apart faster than a cannonball dropped from the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Everywhere, his fellow teammates are crying out for the Medic, who is nowhere in sight. With gritted teeth, the Scout ceases his actions and turns around to search for him.
Scouring through the sewers connecting the RED base to BLU's, Vincent checks every nook and cranny, in case the newbie turns out to be lost and overwhelmed by the area's many twists and turns. He eventually ends up in his own base, and finds Ooshiro huddled in a corner, shivering and bleeding from the shoulder. Judging by the bloodied bonesaw and the corpse lying next to him, he had recently undergone a deadly scuffle with the enemy Spy, an event not uncommon amongst Medics. As much as Vince wants to vent his frustrations on him, seeing the new Medic looking as hurt and scared as he is reminds him of his first day on the field, and all his anger is replaced by pity.
Holding out a hand, he helps the rookie up. “Rough day, huh?” Ooshiro nods. “Well, I know from Doc that being a Medic's never easy, 'specially with Spies on your tail. But for someone who's completely new to the job, you held yourself up pretty well.”
A timid smile lifting from behind his mask, he replies, “I knew this place was—as your people might call it—completely bonkers, but I never realized just how crazy it is. Assassins, death, mass destruction... It's just like...” His smile disappears, replaced by their usual cold expression; his eyes, however, tell a different story, glowing with a level of passion rivaling that of the old doctor. “But enough standing around. You need my help, is that not true?”
With Vincent's guidance, Ooshiro picks up the momentum, healing the Scout's wounds along the way, and eventually catches up to the rest of his injured teammates. Making a quick job of fixing up his mates, his Medigun becomes fully charged in seconds. Under Vince's orders, he follows after Pasha, in a team-up strategy the other mercs refer to as “pocketing”. Finding a moment to trigger the charge is tricky, not to mention tempting, but once they approach a corner that has been confirmed to host a sentry nest and a troupe of REDs hoping to ambush them, he chooses to activate the “Übercharge”, a surge of energy that envelopes both the wielder and his partner, protecting them both from harm as they charge into the fray. The effect does not last long, but in those eight seconds, the Medic and the Heavy have proven that they are a credit to the team and a powerful team in the making. In just a few moments, Ooshiro's contribution has turned the game on its head completely, resulting in a surprise victory for BLU.
Every mission after that is also met with an equal or greater amount of success, and by the end of the day, everybody at the barracks knows of Ooshiro's accomplishments. But Ooshiro, bashful as he is, denies his greatness and takes to his room to avoid the overwhelming levels of praise. Unfortunately for him, that peace will not last, as some has come knocking at the door.
“'Ey, Oshi! Mind if I come in?” The door opens, and a tanned, hairy face pokes through. “They're havin' a party downstairs, an' look—they're havin' cake!” He proudly shows off the slice of cake he's procured from said party. “I saved you a slice, if ya want some.”
Ooshiro tries to resist the urge, but his sweet tooth quickly takes over. “Y-yes, please.” As the hairy man hands him the plate, he thanks him. “Mundy-san, right? I have heard much about you. Mostly from Astor-chan. You are just as they say, and then some.” His eyes shimmer with modest glee.
Mortimer rubs the back of his neck. “I didn't do much t' earn it, but, uh, thanks. An' please, call me Mort.”
“But Mundy-sa—Mort, you've been terribly nice to me, even though we're practically strangers. Back on the battlefield, you protected me from that Spy that had been lurking me. And you sniped that Pyro with such ease, it's unbelievable.”
“Aw, gosh, that's just luck. I usually miss the head, or the body. But I did hit Doc in the arse once—boy, he's gonna get me for that one!” He guffaws at his own incompetence. “But seriously, you were simply amazing out there. I love Doc an' all, but you're way better at the Medic-ing thing.”
“It's nothing, really. I was just following orders—”
“I mean, it's not every day a rook gets a party fer 'im. And honestly...” Gently, he grabs hold of one of Ooshiro's hands—larger than his own, but not overly so, like Hartmann's, and a bit more delicate compared to his own—and squeezes it tightly. “You've inspired me. Not only to do my job better, but to be a better person. You're modest and nice and smart. I hardly know you a day, and yet, I feel like I know all about you.” Mort's expression softens, his eyes sad, despite his smile, as his grip on the Medic's hand tightens.
Ooshiro, on the other hand, hardens in mood, as he swipes his hand away from the Sniper. “Don't act like you know me. You know nothing at all—you've admitted so yourself. Why are all of you acting so nice to me?”
Hardly fazed at all, Mort pats a hand on the taller man's shoulder. “'Cause you're one of us. No matter where you're from or how crazy your life might've been, once you enter these barracks, you're not just a member of BLU, you're a part of the family. Plus, you really kicked RED's arses out there!” He slips out of the bedside. “Now, how 'bout we blow this pop stand an' go get us some real food?”
“More already? I can't. I need to watch my weight...” A sudden growl rumbles from his stomach, and he mutters submissively, “I suppose I could have a meal after all the work I have done today.”
Setting the cake aside for later, Ooshiro follows the Sniper as he drives him around town, finally stopping in front of an elaborate Eastern-style building, which—to him—looks more fitting for an ancient palace than a modern restaurant. Kanpai's? He is astonished by the amount of work that must have been put into setting up the place, as well as how Chinese-inspired the aesthetics appear to be, despite the name and menu being touted as broadly Asian. But most surprising is their waiter: a short, boyish ruffian, in contrast to the tall, sexy waitresses sauntering about from table to table.
“Nihao, Mort,” the waiter greets with a grin. “Congratulations on the win today. But let it be known, we will beat you next time!”
Mort chuckles. “Sure thing, mate. I'll do my best, too.”
Catching a glance at Ooshiro, he drops his notepad and jabs a finger at him in shock. “It's you! You're the one that stole our victory from us!”
Ooshiro blinks and stares at the tiny boy. “Wait. You're not the Soldier from RED, are you? The one that keeps flying and jumping all over the place? I never noticed until now, but you're so cute up close!” His eyes sparkle, entranced by the waiter-slash-Soldier's adorable appearance, until he realizes his mistake. “Oh, my apologies. I am Ooshiro Same. I will be taking over Hartmann-sensei's duties until further notice.”
“Hohojirozame?”
“No, Ooshiro Same. Western order.”
“Oh...” The waiter puffs up his chest and smirks cockily. “Well, anyhow. The name's Zhen Dou, third generation RED Soldier and future heir of this restaurant. Welcome to the club, Hohojirozame!” With a hearty grin, he slaps Ooshiro in the back, which the Medic answers with a punch in the face. Once he recovers, Zhen cries out, “What the heck was that for?”
Ooshiro's eyes are no longer sparkling, as his brows have furrowed deeply, creating a dark shadow underneath them. “I-I'm sorry... But you asked for it!” His anger reaching a boiling point, he rips off his surgeon's mask and scowls, revealing a mouthful of teeth sharpened to a fine point (assuming they are even real at all). Matching his abrupt mood swing, his voice has also done a 180, sounding rougher and more heavily accented, a far cry from the more sophisticated tones of his calmer self. “Listen up, Dou Boy! I may be a rookie, but I'm no amateur when it comes t' fightin'. That's why they called me Great White Shark—'cuz I'm king of the sea!” Calming down, he slips the mask back on and sits down again, glaring at Zhen. “You got off lightly, kid, but don't fuck with me again if you know what's good for you.”
Zhen, trembling yet impressed, cracks a smile and says, “Sure thing, Hohojiro-senpai.”
Mort is about to move in to defuse another potential threat, but seeing Ooshiro's pleased reaction convinces him otherwise. The Soldier takes their orders and skips off happily, further confounding Mort.
Shortly after Zhen's leaving, a dark-haired woman approaches their table. Like the waitresses, she is an attractive Asian woman in red, but her outfit differs from the rest. While the other women wear sexily cut cheongsam and sport simple hairstyles, this lady is draped in an elaborate, multilayer kimono, and her hair is tied in an unusual manner and adorned with a multitude of decorative hair sticks. “Konnichiwa, members of BLU,” the lady says, her accent visible but not too heavily layered. Turning her attention to Ooshiro, she bows deeply, her movements minimal but graceful. “Same-san, is it? I do apologize for my son's behavior. He can be an insolent child at times.”
The shimmer returning to the Medic's eyes, he answers, “It's no problem. It is I who should apologize. I just hope he's not too scared of me now.”
“Oh, far from it, I believe. I think he found someone to look up to.” Her cheeks turn a bright pink, and she starts squeezing her hands together, her fingers wriggling and twitching. “Um, I hope it's not an inconvenience for you... But I was wondering if maybe... I can get Same Tora's autograph...?”
He looks at her, surprised, but lightens up anyway. “Of course. I shall write to my family and request for autographs from all of them.” From his coat pocket, he whips out a postcard and pen. “Who should I make it out to?”
“H-Haruka Dou. Er, Dou Haruka. Whichever works for you.”
Scribbling down the name in a message, he mutters, “Haruka... Such a lovely name.” He slips the postcard and pen back into his pocket. “All right. I shall send it out as soon as possible. It's been wonderful meeting you.”
“Nonono, thank you! I hope you enjoy your stay here.” Haruka bows and walks off, suppressing her urge to gush and squeal until she reaches the back door, where she lets it all out.
After Haruka exits, Zhen reenters the main floor, but remains just long enough to serve Mort and Ooshiro their food. Once they're alone again, Ooshiro cracks under the pressure and starts explaining. “I'm sorry you had to witness such unruly behavior from me. Personally, I'm ashamed of myself. As a child from an upper-class family, I should be behaving more respectfully. But the sad truth is, I am, as you Westerners might call it, the 'black sheep' of my family. My brothers, my father, and every man before and after them are renowned athletes. Every man except myself. I took to training with my father long ago, but once my passion for science and medicine took hold of me, I quit training and devoted myself to becoming a doctor. I was considered a prodigy, passed all my classes with flying colors. I even got my doctorate just a few years ago. But under that mask of academic and social perfection, I was a ruffian to the core. Though I no longer devoted myself to athletic sports, when it comes to street fighting, I was unstoppable. None of the other gangs messed with us as long as I was around.
“Over time, the efforts of keeping up my double life took a toll on me. I became more and more irritable, and my memory would get hazy during stressful moments. I began to wonder if I was losing my mind. Even though I knew the doctor and the delinquent were—are—the same person, they felt so different, I almost began to believe they were two complete individuals. Because people in my homeland would mispronounce my name, I tend to be wary with revealing it.”
“Y'mean Hoho-somethin', right?”
“Hohojirozame. It means 'great white shark' in my native tongue, and it was also the nickname I received back when I was still in the gang. Though it's pronounced differently from my real name, they're both read in a manner that can lead to a lot of blunders. The only way to really avoid the issue is to introduce myself in Eastern order, but it never sounded right to me.”
Mortimer cups his chin, tapping it with his thumb, as the cogs in his head start to turn. “If that's the problem, then why don't you just get a new nickname?”
“A new nickname? Well, I suppose I can try...”
“How 'bout Sammy? It sounds like yer last name, but different, too.”
“S-Sammy? It sounds awfully silly, but it'll do for now. Thank you, Mundy-san.”
He scratches the back of his head and grins sheepishly. “Aw, it's nothing. Jus' call me Mort. That's what everybody calls me, anyways.”
“All right... Mort.” Ooshiro pauses to look down at the steak he ordered, then at the mountain of food Mort ordered. “Erm, may I ask who will be the one paying?”
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