Screaming.

The first thing that reached his ears was loud, horrible screaming.

He did not know where it was coming from, or who it was coming from. All that mattered was that it was the first time he had heard screaming in over seven years.

He opened his eyes, and intense pain shot through his bloodshot eyeballs. Reflexes took over and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would somehow shut out the agony running through his eyes. When it didn't, he slowly began to open his eyes, fighting through the pain.

When they fully opened, he saw the blue sky. Nothing but a blue sky, with a few scattered clouds here and there. No flying unicorns, no swirls, not even the clouds had much variety. They were just white, breaking apart and forming back together.

The screaming had stopped. Curious, Pyro- if that was truly his name- forced himself up on his still-covered hands, still forcing himself to ignore the pain and see what the hell was going on. Scattered refuge of the sentry lay nearby, all the cute drawings replaced by rust and dirt stains. The ground was devoid of flowers and scattered candy, with nought but a few clumps of dry, yellow grass in the same places. The sounds of playtime in the distance had disappeared, instead cries of both pain and cruel laughter could be heard.

He looked to his left and was shocked to see the Engineer, who he had been playing with not a few moments ago, lying flat on his face, wearing overalls, a hard hat and some sort of black mask in his gloved hand. And he was burning, covered from head to toe in all-consuming fire.

Pyro looked away and began to grasp around him, reaching for something, ANYTHING that could bring him back to his wonderful world. Suddenly, his hand grasped around a familiar handle, one that belonged to his Rainblower. Overjoyed that he could finally see something that he recognised, he pulled it in front of him to see. What he saw instead finally shattered any hope that he could go back to that wonderful world.

His rainblower, his prize possession, had been replaced by a beast of cold steel, with a gas canister attached to the bottom and a small flame lit at the base of the barrel. Just by looking at it, he could instantly tell that this was a tool for mass destruction. It had already killed many people and would kill many more. He knew because this was his weapon, HIS tool of mass destruction, which had killed countless people.

All killed by him.

He dropped it in shock, wishing he could undo all of this, simply to go back to his wonderful world of lies he had built for himself.

Lies. That was all it was made of. And he knew it.

Before he could control himself, he began to sob, the salty tears running down his face and into his mouth. He was horrible. He could not fit into this world. He was a monster.

"Monsieur Pyro?" He jerked his head up at the voice and saw the Spy, completely transformed from his former self. He still wore the face-covering mask, but now he wore a classy pin-striped suit, with a cigarette in his mouth and a large, silver-barrelled revolver in his gloved hand. He had a look of surprise on his face and a worried tone in his voice, but as soon as Pyro looked up, his face turned from a look of surprise to complete horror.

"Mon dieu…" he muttered, obviously shocked at Pyro without his mask.

"What? What is it?" was all that Pyro managed to get out in a raspy voice before he started to cough violently. He felt like his lungs were trying to break their way out of his ribcage. Hell, maybe they were. After the coughing ceased, Pyro attempted to stand up, arms and legs shaking, only to fall back down again a second later. "The hell…? I can't…"

"Shh, Pyro," the Spy said, his voice now devoid of its usually high-pitched tone. He knelt down beside him to take a better look at him, brushing some sandy dust off his insulation suit. Off in the distance, he could hear someone shouting in a loud, American voice that sounded like the Soldier, but that didn't matter. He had just remembered something.

"B…" he mumbled, his exposed lips now speaking something understandable for the first time in a long while. "What is it, Monsieur? Are you trying to speak?" Spy asked, looking down at his face. He licked his lips feebly and tried again.

"Ba… Balloon…"

"Ballonicorn?"

He nodded and smiled, glad that Spy could understand him. "Yes…"

"I am not sure why you would want zat silly toy in a situation like yours, my friend. You are badly injured and- LOOK OUT!" Spy yelled before diving away and behind a barricade, activating his cloaking device in the process. Pyro heard someone yell "MAGGOT!" and turned around quickly, seeing the rockets a second before they made impact.


Spy stood at the infirmary door, listening to the sounds of stitching and quiet German swears coming from inside. He pulled the cigarette he had been smoking out of his mouth and blew a trail of smoke leading upwards, watching it snake towards and through a nearby vent that led to Engineer's room. This earned a little smirk from Spy, who knew Engineer's slight disapproval when it came to smoking.

He heard a muffled cry of unconscious pain from the room, and he grimaced as he remembered the state of the Pyro when he had found him laying the dust, face as clear as day. He had to admit, it was not what he had excepted. He had thought that he would live out the rest of his days wondering what was behind that mask, seeing as every previous attempt at taking it off often earned a swat on the cheek and an angry Pyro. But now, he finally had the chance to see what was under that mask. It was not pretty.

He noticed the cigarette beginning to burn out, and crumpled it on the wall behind him, watching the small particles of crushed paper flutter to the ground. He sighed while the small fibres of smouldering, charred cigarette touched the ground. He hoped the Medic knew what he was doing. He had often said he was professionally trained and mentally stable, but his tendency to chuckle under his breath in the field had led Spy to question this. Still, they did not have time to find someone else and the Medic at least knew enough to handle the situation, so it would have to do.

The sound of echoing footsteps came his way, and he lifted his head to see Demoman coming his way, a bottle of famed Scottish alcohol in one hand and his beanie in the other. Demoman himself had not noticed Spy until the Frenchman cleared his throat, causing him to glance up.

"Oh, Spy, it's just you." He sat down on the metal bench, back hunched, and looked over at Spy. "How is he?"

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that, my friend. Ze doctor has been taking a while, and any attempt to talk to him has been left unanswered." He opened his disguise case and took out another cigarette, then offered it to the Scotsman.

"Eh, none for me, lad. I don't feel like it now." Demo rubbed the back of his neck and sat up straight, looking at Spy again. "Think he'll be alright?"

"No idea." Spy let that hang in the air for a bit, hoping his colleague would be satisfied, but still he sat, waiting for Spy to continue. "If I had to give you a definite answer, though, I'd say that our Medic should have him in good hands. All I'm worried about is what the rest of ze team thinks of zis mess…"

"I've told Heavy and Soldier already. Heavy isn't too happy about the whole thing, as you could guess."

"And Soldier?"

"He just started to rant about some bloody story of his about Nazis and the war and other stuff." Demo took a swig of his bottle and wiped his mouth, then continued. "Thankfully, I was already too drunk to hear his ramblings."

Clearing his throat, Spy opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a loud noise from inside the operating room. He expected a stream of German profanity to follow, but instead heard footsteps coming towards the door. Finally, after all this waiting, they would be allowed a proper look at what they knew every day as Pyro. Spy straightened his crooked tie while Demoman put his beanie back on his head, awaiting the news.

The door opened to reveal a sweaty and blood-covered but smiling Medic. "Mein friends," he began, "I have something to show you." He motioned for them to come inside, and they started to follow him in. Just as they were about to close the door, however, a deep voice resounded through the corridor.

"Doktor!"

Spy held the door just in time for Heavy to grab the edge of it and yank it open, wrenching it from Spy's hands, earning painful protest from the Frenchman. He was without his vest and bullet belt, instead only wearing a plain red shirt and black trousers. Stopping to catch his breath, Heavy began talking. "I heard loud noise and thought Doktor was in trouble. But everything is fine?"

"Yes, comrade," Medic said, clasping his hands together, "all is well. In fact, it is much better now zat you are here. You shall now be able to witness the true face of our friend, Herr Pyro. Come, I will show him to you all now."

Once Heavy closed the door, all four mercenaries made their way over to the brightly lit operating table. The light flickered slightly, giving off the impression of some sort of horror film. It wasn't hard for any of them to imagine, having been with the Frankenstein of a man for so long and yet knowing so little. Who knew, maybe he WAS a Frankenstein.

As they got nearer, their steps became more cautious and Demo set down his bottle on a nearby table. The table was covered fully by a blood covered but mostly white sheet that had the unmistakable shape and size of their teammate outlined beneath it. The Medic briskly walked over and moved to the other side of the table, while the others took their places on their own side. Looking to each of them, he grabbed hold of one end of the sheet.

"Are you ready for zis, mein friends?"

Each one of them nodded, the Spy somewhat hesitantly, and Medic smiled at their conformation. Without another word, he pulled the sheet off the top of the table.

The Demoman gasped.

The Spy swore under his breath.

The Heavy put a hand to his gaping mouth.

With hair restored, face reconstructed and his eyes looking in their direction, the Pyro was the spitting image of former President Abraham Lincoln.