Thank you Nadine for the plot idea. c:
Music: Less Than A Pearl - Enya
The creature stood there, watching the flailing, burning form of its enemy slowly scorch black and their face melting to an unidentifiable state. The Pyro stared through the eyeholes of its gasmask, then finally noting the death of its foe ran past the body back into the midst of battle with its flamethrower at the ready. Excluding the random flashes of red and blue from the soldiers on the battlefield, the terrain was pretty much barren with ruined buildings, the ground mottled with browns, grays, blacks. There seemed to be no grass present. No form of vegetation or any kind of life.
The Pyro liked to stick around previous areas even after its teammates moved on. It didn't know why. The sleek blue uniform the Pyro wore squeaked as it moved about, flamethrower lowered. It took in the sight around it, peering into broken windows and open doors, hands lingering along walls to touch something. To feel something. Anything that wasn't a deadly weapon. Only then did a sudden spot of green catch its eye.
There was a vine curling over a nearly crumbled wall. It's gnarled form poked in and out through the cracks of the stone, twisting together yet never breaking. And among it, the Pyro saw a flower. It was a cream flower - wide, with many purple and white string-like structures falling down it from the middle, the stamen looking rather unique and almost artistic, poking upwards with a little green ball that looked as if it was guard by three anther. The Pyro had never seen something so pretty on the battlefield.
Curiously the Pyro made its way over to the flower, crouching down, letting one large, gloved hand touch its soft petals, then reach under to pluck it from the vine. It would show its teammates its discovery after the match. It cupped the flower in one hand, being ever so gentle with it then stood up, raising its weapon once more and running back to the battle eagerly, its shouting muffled beneath its mask. All the while it kept the flower tucked close to its chest to protect it from the violence.
It should have let the flower stay where it was. It was such a mistake to take it from the vine, and Pyro found this out fast. It had forgotten to protect the flower as it ran, firing pillars of flame at its enemies. It stumbled suddenly, the flower falling from its gloved hand and right into the flames. The Pyro let out a startled noise, shutting the flames off immediately and watching the remainders of the burnt flower drift to the ground.
Everything else seemed nonexistant to the Pyro then. It knelt down, scooping up the few burnt petals into its hand, its whole body trembling. There were tears leaking from its eyes from behind the mask. Something so pretty, so delicate destroyed by it. That's when the Pyro realized nothing so innocent or beautiful could last long in a war-ridden wasteland. Especially with it around. Its other hand dropped its weapon, then reached up to its mask and pulled it upwards, exposing its lower face; the chin, jaw, lips. Something about the shape of the face seemed oddly feminine - the smoothness, the rounded features. But it set a gentle kiss to the wrecked flower. Its fingers curled, crushing the already destroyed remnants of the flower before dropping them to the dirt.
As it stood, the Pyro was surprised to see no one was trying to kill it. Looking down at the burnt flower, it finally raised its weapon, pulling its mask back down. It had hit the Pyro that it was meant to destroy, not protect. Even if it wanted to. The tears were still leaking from its eyes behind the gasmask. It ignored them then plunged back into the fighting, leaving the last of the flower far behind it...