<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF0000">Tamara „Tammy” Fisher</span></span></div><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #FF0000">The Medic</span></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/57863cd1-18be-4b35-a2e8-b10440863639_zps5f7c91c2.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Tammy looked at the professor when he asked her, if it had been necessary to place the explosive within the princess. Necessary? No. Helpful? Yes. But the Professor lived in a world without violence.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"Professor, you think I invented that? Two years ago half of Sarge's commando got taken by terrorists on some ill-advised operation, probably worked out by some desk-jockeys in some ideal world. I had been one of them. The terrorists placed C4 in my vagina and around the balls of the male ones. If Ghost wouldn't have taken out the one with the controls, we would not be here now. But as it had been very effective in stopping us all from fighting or escaping, we use it ourselves from time to time. As you may imagine it works quite good. Better than threatening prisoners everytime that you shoot them. Because they will try to escape anyway, hoping that you will miss them. But you can't escape a detonator....“</span> <br/><br/>She wanted to say something else, when a blond-haired guy walked up front with a kid on his arms. She nearly sat down in shock.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"Oh, shit. Sergeant, why didn't you tell us that you have a kid with you? The poor one, she must be frightened. Come on, put her on the pallet. She can sleep there next to our patient.“</span> <br/><br/>Tammy felt absolutely bad for the girl. If it was a horror trip for the latina, it was a never-ending nightmare for the girl.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"Are you the father? Or the brother?“</span></div>