Here goes an attempt to make something decent, enjoy~ Critiques welcomed.
The steady crunch of snow underfoot, swirls of white raining down. The firebug was trudging along in the knee deep drifts, walking ever slower as the white flakes melted on its eye lenses, making what little visibility available virtually useless. Once in a while it would blast its flamethrower; just a short spurt of flame; to melt a small bubble of warmth and allow it to see its ever narrowing path. It kept looking side to side, its stride shortening progressively were it could see the cliffs edge. Looking up at the swirling sky, the stars were hidden in the storm. It shook its head; shoulders slumped in weary exhaustion and disgust. The suit kept out flames, but not the cold.
It checked its ammunition for its precious flame maker and there was not much left. It paused for a moment, hearing a faint announcement on the wind, almost drowned out in the howling of the ever growing snow storm. It was getting late, but the Pyro decided to press on a bit, the battle wasn't over yet.
A few paces forward, the ground gave out clean under, as it gave out a muffled cry, smothered in the night. Flailing wildly, it grabbed its ax, and swung, hearing the thud as it connected to something solid buried under snow. Suspended in midair; dangling on the cliff side by its ax handle, its wheezy breathing rattling in its mask. Whimpering softly it hauled its bulk back onto the narrow path, pressing its back against the frigged rocks, shuddering from relief of its narrow escape.
Maybe I should head back …
"Cant believe 'I'm out in this damn snow storm."
The runner kept blinking furiously as the flakes stung his eyes. His lengthy stride significantly shorter much to his annoyance. "Forget this." He shouted into the white. He held his breath before letting it go in a milky colored huff. He looked back in the general direction of his base and swore he could make out the Solider, practically wading in the snowdrifts. The old war hardened nutcase seemed rather sluggish too. The Scout snorted and proceeded forward into neutral territory. If he's over today's shit, them I'm WAY over it.
His stomach grumbled and he glared ruefully at it as it continued to complain. "Man I could eat a whole firkin horse" he moaned, debating reaching into his bag for his last can of Crit-a-Cola, wondering if it was even still liquid in this intense cold, when a static-y announcement made its way into his headpiece.
"5 minutes left in the mission. 5 minutes."
Looks like that can will have to wait .Scout sighed, the cold sucking the air clean from his lungs. "Might as well make one last push" he muttered, shifting the weight on his back slightly and taking off jogging again.
The wind howled and bit at his face, and he decided to take cover at a rock formation. Adjusting his scarf to offer a little more protection he rounded the corner full speed, knowing a path behind it that leads almost right up to the Reds front door.
That's when he ran headfirst into the enemy Pyro.