"So I hear," the Medic murmurs. "Und not so many people about to serve as witnesses..."

He quickens his pace a little as he slides one of his hands back up his sleeve. People notice when you reach for your pockets, after all. You could be carrying anything there. Up your sleeve? They don't look as closely.

Regardless, as they turn the corner ahead of them, there's a muffled metallic sound like somebody fiddling with the hinge on a borrowed folding knife. "Figures you'd try to run off and hide in the dark, ya Kraut," growls an aggressively American voice from behind them. "The respawners don't work out here, Nazi."