Chapter 1: Depression
"Bonk!"
The shiny bat hit home. The BLU pyro felt a wave of pain before rematerializing in his fort's spawn point. Growling quietly to himself, Pyro started for the glass doors to the supply room, dragging his rusting flamethrower behind him. Plopping down on a bench near the wall, he set his flamethrower down on the expanse of wooden bench beside him and sighed, a "Mmm…" to any onlooker. He pulled the black gas mask off his head and set about cleaning the eyepieces.
A quiet "woosh " was heard as another BLU mercenary materialized into what the Pyro liked to call "The Little Glass Box." The Sniper appeared out of thin air and started towards the glass doors, pausing to allow them to open. He gave a small nod to Pyro and stepped over to the supply cabinet, pulling out case of bullets, examining them.
The Pyro set aside his mask and pulled his dull red axe from around his waist and swung it around, catching it in a guitar-like position. He began to mindlessly strum his right fingers across the axe head, changing imaginary chords with his left while humming. The Sniper turned his head from his bullet box and turned away from the cabinet to stare at the pyro.
"You seem down, mate," the Sniper observed.
The Pyro sighed again and set aside his axe, saying to Sniper, "it's that RED scout. That's the fourth time today he's beat the hell out of me with that bat of his! It's really beginning to irk me."
"Nice choice o' words," Sniper said, "I always hated that little bugger. Moves too fast for my scope, that one. I've found that the best way to deal with him is to wait for him to get within slashin' range. Then ya give him the ol' chop chop!"
The Pyro smirked and set about playing his axe again, slower this time. For a few minutes, the Sniper stood, turning from his bullet box in the supply cabinet to the unmasked, apparently depressed pyromaniac. Two or three times the supply room door opened, admitting a health or ammo deprived fighter to the welcoming break room. The Sniper adjusted his sunglasses and said to the Pyro:
"You're not givin' up, are ya, mate?"
"I'm seeing whether or not it feels better to have a full skull instead of a fractured one," Pyro responded.
"So in short, yeh gave up," The Sniper noted.
The Pyro set the axe down and ran his heavily gloved fingers over the smooth finish of the bench while staring at the uniform lockers across from him. "No. I didn't give up, I just feel like taking a little break."
The Sniper set the bullet box in the cabinet and grabbed his sniper from its resting place near the cabinet. As he began walking out, he stopped in front of his friend and said to him, "Ya know I probably can't help ya on this one, mate, but I can offer you advice. Never give up, and I mean NEVER. It only shows the other side that you've lost and that they're victorious. So, my best advice for ya would be to find that little bugger again and show him he ain't beat you yet! "
And without another word, the Sniper left the supply room with nary another glance at his friend. The Pyro's face hardened and an evil smile grew across it. Standing up, he set his gas mask on his head and adjusted the straps holding it in place. Setting his axe around his waist belt again, he picked up his flamethrower and replaced the gas tank with a new shiny one from inside the supply cabinet.
Walking out the door, with a more purposeful stride than the one he sat on the bench with, the Pyro marched out onto the ramparts and stared out at the RED fort opposite BLU's, across the little bridge. Raising his flamethrower above his head, he shouted a war call to his new arch-nemesis, the Scout. Of course, such yelling to any bystander would have simply been, "MMM, MMM!"
And, of course, such yelling on a battlefield is sure to attract some attention. Usually the wrong type of attention. A loud crack was heard from the opposite fort as the Pyro set his flamethrower into its normal drawn position. He had just enough time to yelp in surprise as a RED Sniper's bullet flew through his skull.