Running in a thick, heavy suit through sewers, carrying several weapons and a briefcase at the same time is relatively hard. Doing so while being fired at is something entirely different- especially when you can barely see through the mask you're wearing. The pyro was attempting to move around as much as possible, yet the bullets were barely missing his head. He cried out every time one hit his arm, leg or back, but continued running. Perhaps, he thought, if I can make it back to the base in one piece I might be congratulated for my efforts. He didn't exactly want a medal; a hearty slap on the back as an informal 'thanks' would be enough of a reward for obtaining a victory for his team. He didn't get his hopes up. They were more likely to criticise him on his tactics. It would be just like any other time he'd done so much as secure a single briefcase, capture one point or help with the final push to get the payload into the pit. Still, he didn't see why they had to be so harsh on him. He did his best, didn't he?

It was immediately after that exact thought that a single bullet pierced his gas mask, slammed into the left side of his head and flew out the other. Clearly, someone didn't think he was doing his best. There was no possible way he could have survived it- he knew himself that the BLU sniper was better than the RED's own when it came to accuracy. The pain hit hard. His eyes screwed shut and he screamed out, dropping the briefcase and collapsing on the floor. He barely had time to glance back at the grinning, waving sniper before everything went black... for possibly the twelfth time that round. Death wasn't permanent in these battles, a mere inconvenience, something to be frustrated at before you were revived again. You were even encouraged to get revenge on those who had killed you several times, just to add to your satisfaction. It had always been a mystery to those who fought, but they simply dismissed it. They knew better than to ask questions. The pyro's lifeless body stayed in place for a while, his weapons scattered on the ground, before fading and leaving only the briefcase behind.

He woke up in the respawn room a very short time later to the deafening voice of his team's soldier. He winced. Even his mask didn't protect his ears against such volume.
"MAGGOT! GET UP AND FIGHT! WE HAVEN'T WON THIS YET!" the soldier shouted, being sure to bark insults right at the pyro's hidden face, if only so that he could actually hear him. The soldier, satisfied that he had adequately punished his fellow team member, picked up his rocket launcher and jogged off, throwing further abuse at everyone and anyone he saw. Head throbbing from his previous injury, the crazed pyromaniac got to his feet and reached for his flamethrower. It seemed lighter than last time- or was it even the same weapon? He would have readily accepted that they were merely replaced at respawn rather than regenerating. It seemed more logical to him, anyway. Amidst cries of "Is good time to run, cowards!", "MAGGOTS!" and "Kaboom!", the only ones who were usually quiet at any time were the engineer and the pyro. They were good friends, actually- he often hung around the engineer's machines, smashing his axe at suspicious teammates and flickers of cloaked spies to protect his pal's contraptions, while the engineer himself would take down some of the tougher classes with his sentry. More often than not the pyro had stared, a mixture of confusion and amazement swirling around in his not-completely-intact mind, as the combination of sentry, engineer and dispenser managed to withstand countless Übercharges. Sometimes he wondered why the engineer couldn't just upgrade his sentries to recognise spies- that wasn't something he particularly wanted to happen, however, as it would make him even more worthless to his team. Of all the people who he could disappoint, he did not want to disappoint the engineer. He was his only real ally.

Needless to say, he had no time to help out that round. He had to get back to the briefcase before someone else snatched it and he was once again dismissed as useless. Grabbing a shotgun instead of his usual flare gun, he noticed some of the others on his team staring at him as he left. Trying to ignore them, he ran as fast as he could (being weighed down by all of his usual equipment) back down to the sewers. It reeked of rusting pipes and blood, but it was the most concealed route, and where he'd dropped the briefcase. He could see it, just under the water, and he'd managed to at least carry it near to the RED's side. It was an easy move to just grab it and run- nobody above noticed. They wouldn't have even known it was missing if it were not for the Announcer's call of "We have captured the enemy intelligence!". He groaned, knowing that the other team would also be alerted, and slid back into the sewers with the briefcase.

Why did they stare at me? He wondered. It's not like I did anything different- well, I've got my shotgun for once, but it's better than my flare gun for defence... was that it? He was suddenly suspicious of his team. Why would they stare? They certainly had no valid reason to, unless they were hiding something from him. He was considering this when he heard footsteps in the water behind him. Normally, the pyro would have waved the matter aside and ran faster, but something told him that wasn't wise. He spun round in an instant, firing shots into the air behind him, but nothing happened. That move alone was a mistake. BLU team members started to drop into the water, disturbingly eager to chase him; there was no time to worry about their spy. He just ran, wishing he'd done so before and hoping he'd at least make it back to his team's intelligence. Despite all that was going on, though, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched.