The Games - Medic!
The drop had been the worst he had ever seen. Those re-entry pods that hadn’t scattered in the thick atmosphere of the planet had been subject to withering ground fire. Only sixty-percent of the battalion had reached the ground. It was a wonder, thought the Corporal Barnes, that he’d survived at all.
Now, crouched in a narrow alleyway, he wondered how long that would last. The city around him had grown up haphazardly, thrown together by successive waves of colonists using whatever materials they had available. Unplanned, unmapped, it was a rat’s warren of used cargo containers, recycled deep-space tug hulls, gutted drive housings, and every size and shape of metal and plastic scrap imaginable. It is also, he reflected, a friggin' deathtrap.
The flash of movement was all the warning the Barnes had. He flung himself sideways and down, hearing the high-pitched scream as a cloud of flechettes passed within inches of his head. It wasn’t quite enough. Searing pain flared in his arm and side as the hyper-sonic needles shredded his armor, tearing into flesh and bone beneath. His rifle spun uselessly away across the alley. His vision blurred, color fading into shades of gray, an old movie played on a failing projector. He dimly heard the jackhammer roar of Marine rifles, hundreds of caseless explosive rounds passing over his prone form as his squad-mates returned fire. The far end of the alley disintegrated in a sheet of flame and shrapnel. He could hear someone screaming for a medic. It might have been him. He wasn’t sure.
Rough pavement slid beneath him as he felt hands on his ankles pull him from the line of fire. Looking up, he made out the form of a medic kneeling over him, a flesh-spinner held in his left hand. The spinner emitted a high-pitched whine as the medic moved the device slowly across the soldier’s side. Thousands of hair-fine silver filiments emerged from the spinner's nozzle, burrowing into his wounded tissue like a living spiderweb. The Marine looked down at his arm, watching as the filiments dissolved into the torn flesh. He could see the wounds heal. Like a film played in reverse, bone set, tendons regrew, and muscles writhed as they knit back together. The flechettes, pushed from his arm and side, fell to the ground with a soft tinkling sound. He watched new flesh, pink as a new-born babe, grew over what had, moments ago, been mangled tissue.The Marine push unsteadily to his feet as the medic moved to tend other wounded. Being healed always left him feeling washed out an groggy for a bit. Retrieving his rifle, he took the replacement combat harness offered by a fellow Marine. As he peeled off his flechette-torn armor and shrugged into its replacement, he looked down at his patchwork of new scars. How the hell, he wondered, did soldiers ever survive a battle before we invented nanotech and cell regenerators?
His brief musing was interrupted by the crackle of the radio. His sergeant barked orders, and Marines pushed forward. Shouldering his rifle, he joined his squad as they cautiously moved further into the maze . . .The Game: Teams begin at opposite sides of the field. Each side had a designated Medic, who may return players who have been hit to the game a limited number of times. The goal is the elimination of the opposing team
Game-specific rules: The player who is designated “medic” wears a special armband or other visual marker. He may “heal” any players who have been “wounded” (see below) by touching them for three seconds. Each player may only be healed a set number of times (usually three) during the game. The medic himself has a designated number of hits (again, usually three).
Victory: The first team to eliminate the opposition wins the game.
Hits: Non-medic players who are hit call the shot and then sit down on the floor; they should assume a stance which makes it clear they are no longer combatants. These “wounded” players may still communicate with live teammates. Wounded players remain in place until either they are healed or their team’s medic is eliminated.
Medics who are hit call out the number of the hit (“Hit One!”, etc.). They must then break all visual contact with opposing forces. After breaking contact, the medic may then return to play.
Death: When a player has been healed the allotted number of times, the next hit removes the player from the game. Similarly, when the medic has received the number of hits allotted, he is removed him from the game. Upon the medic’s death, all wounded players also leave the field (as there is no chance of their being healed).Variations:
A variation on the medic rules involves a having a maximum number of “heals” per team, instead of per player. The medic must keep track of how many players he has healed, and may no longer return any players to the game after this number has been reached. All players hit after the medic has reached his maximum are removed from the game
Murderous Medic: In this version, the medic also has the power to kill wounded players on the opposing side. If a medic touches a wounded player from the other team for three seconds, that player is removed from the game.
Chaos Medic: In this version, the medic’s touch not only heals members of his own team, it turns wounded members of the opposing team into members of his own team. In this version, there is no limit to how many times a player may be healed or turned. The only players who may be killed and thus removed from play are the medics on each team.
The game is over when only one team remains, having completely turned the other.-Tuthmose
- END ADM
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Everything
is In Our Opinion Only - We lay no claim to any of these ideas,
suggestions, tunes, etc. We learned, in person and online, from
people who are a lot smarter than us and we merely use and try to
improve upon what we consider to be useful. ADM
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