School tests. School tests everywhere. Anyway, have another filler...ish chapter. The character interactions took me quite a while, and I had those Spy and Sniper puns in mind for a long time, so I hope you enjoy them. Anyway, stay tuned in; more interesting backstory points will be here soon.
Thank you for helping me reach the 1000+ views milestone. I don't think I ever had so many :). Reviews are appreciated as always.
Out of the Frying Pan
The sky was so incredibly blue after a downpour of rain; it stretched on for miles, clotted here and there with silver clouds. The sun's warm fingers tenderly stroked the timid green fields that stretched for some hectares, entered through the windows of the house that stood in the midst. A young boy with dark, curly hair sat watching the nature with round eyes, ignoring his mother's relieved talk about the last shadows from World War Two being finally lifted.
The boy's mouth split into a wide grin when he spotted a lick of multicolour within an especially dark cloud, the opal in the rock. "¡Mirar, un iris!"
"Un arco iris, mi amor," a lady incredibly similar to the boy in stature replied, not looking up from her stitching.
"¿Cómo se foran un arco iris?"
There was a soft chuckle. "Ciencia. Ciencia y magia."
For a few minutes, everything was quiet save for the faint chirping of birds and the needle's faint puncturing.
Click!
An object was pressed into the boy's hands, followed by a gentle murmur. "Feliz cumpleaños, Ciro."
The boy, laughing and thanking, clicked open the pink, floral-patterned purse.
"… Sample of gas contains less zhan vierzig percent oxygen. Zhe other substances include modified LSD, benzaldehyde und very small traces of australium."
Pyro noticed a few differences upon waking. For one, he was facing the blinding white light of a surgical lamp. If this meant anything, he definitely was out of the battle zone now. There were other oddities too: his head was throbbing, something felt wrong in his mouth, and hasty panic was rising within him. He tried to tend to this unreasonable yet somewhat familiar sensation, all the while listening to the German-accented explanation about him.
"… Zherefore, I vould diagnose Pyro vith some variation of HPPD in zhe least, und zh-"
"Specify that would ya, Doc?"
"Hallucinogen perzisting perception disorder."
"Curable? In a week or less?"
"Mein gott! I am not into psychology like zhat verdammen BLU Medic! I'm a physician! Of course it's curable, just give me time!"
"Good to know… ah, Doc, the monitoring device is active."
There was an awkward pause before the lamp switched off.
Pyro blinked the spots out of his eyes, huffed, and slowly sat up from a real hospital bed. He was in a lightly coloured room, an orderly mess of complicated machinery, cooing white birds, and trays full of wicked steel utensils and bottles of chemicals. Around his bed, tensely staring, were the two people he had last seen before waking up to these new surroundings.
"Engie? Medic?" An alien voice wheezed, raw and choked, as if someone hadn't talked properly for years. He slapped a hand over the cover of his gas mask as realisation struck him hard over the head again. It couldn't be.
The coat wearing man, Medic (he should start taking a note of whom was whom) gave a stiff laugh. "See, Herr Engineer? Ve succeeded! Herr Pyro's alright! Nothing much to worry about!"
"You work miracles, Doc. Now let me deal with mah friend." Engie held out his yellow –no, gloved- hand. "Buddy, we disconnected your gear; turns out it was pumpin' drugs into ya. I replaced that tongue-tier connected to that mask openin' with a proper filter, so now all's well. Heard ya got partial long-term memory loss; c'mon, I'll help ya by reintroducing ya to the team. We have another long day ahead."
Pyro took a few minutes to absorb the overwhelming information before cautiously taking Engie's hand. There was almost too much to get used to; the situation, the landscape, the team, his own, coarse voice. "You took off my stuff? S-something's 'bit private…"
Engie gave a grim chuckle. "Doc made sure that I didn't actually take your mask off. Come on now."
Medic tightened his lips. "Herr Pyro, I'll vork on this case. Now hurry out!"
Pyro, leaning on Engie, made his way towards the exit. Somehow, he had the urge to swear that Medic had something else on mind.
Immediately upon leaving the infirmary, Pyro's thudded straight into a tall, dense, heaving wall.
Another second later, he was showered in frantic questions. "Hard Hat? Please tell me everythin' went alright and you're bringing Pyro out 'cause 'e's feelin' normal… What's Doc's label?" The voice came from a skinny boy in his late teens standing behind, light brown hair sticking up in tufts on the back of his head.
"I have responsibility to know status of whole team, so I am here too," the wall –no, a bulky, bald man- rumbled, rolling his R's slightly in a frustratingly familiar way.
Engie gave a hearty chuckle. "Don't worry too much, both of ya. Pyro's feelin' alright. Now, here's an easy question: Do ya know these guys, buddy?"
"Are you kiddin'?! Pyro's the freak here, 'e doesn't know much outside battle-"
"One more word, boy, and I'm not makin' dinner for ya."
Pyro was impervious to the offending sentence. Now that he thought about it, there was only one specific fast and obnoxious boy he vaguely knew anyway. And there was only one huge man who was good with a peashooting-pod yet still gave the best group hugs. Despite everything, they were still painstakingly easy to recognise. But who exactly were they? Who…?
"Scouty?" he whispered. "Um… Heavy bear?"
Heavy roared with laughter, giving Pyro a pat on the shoulder that almost dislocated his arm. Scout, on the other hand, leapt backwards in alarm, arms flailing. "WOAH! Dat's just not right, Hard Hat! Pyro did not just talk; ah still wanna call 'er Mumbles behind 'er back-"
The speedster yelped as he was knocked away by a large fist. "Is Pyro, leetle man. Is all that matters."
For once, Pyro silently, delightfully agreed. He got four correct- only a few more to go.
"Touching, touching. Now, I haff work to do, so why don't you all leef for zhe base? Schnell!"
The four glanced guiltily at the infirmary doorway before leaving the doctor's sight.
The 'Meet the Team' session had gone well at first, but steeply went downhill.
On the way to the 'living room', Scout gibbered over how the colossal yet hidden building was sponsored by some allying bread company, which meant no RED will ever starve.
The introduction soon turned into a conversation, with both Engie and Heavy casually joking over the status of BLU's base. By the time they reached 'the living room', as everyone apparently called, Pyro was almost in high spirits.
"Hey, y'all, Pyro's fixed!"
The room, like the rest of the building, was large with a red floor and a bit shabby, but nevertheless presentable. A few pieces of furniture- a pool table, cabinets,
The three men on a large couch in front of a chunk of a blaring television turned around to face them immediately, expressions varying from confused to distasteful.
"Pyro had problems?" The helmeted man without eyes blurted in a rough voice.
Scout snorted. "Well, yeah. Y'know how ya thought 'er to be a robot or something? Well-"
"I KNEW IT!" The eyeless man screamed, grappling for one of the yellow containers on his coat. "PYRO'S A ROBOT! IT'S HERE TO MURDER US-"
Pyro had flinched at the noise, a yell of 'UP, PRIVATE!' suddenly airing through his mind. "Wait, you're Soldier! That's your wake-up voice- you use it to wake me-"
The three couch potatoes glanced up in surprise at him, Soldier stopping his rant in mid-sentence.
"Pyro is comrade," Heavy explained. "He is human. No need to worry."
"Well I guess 'm real bloody drunk today… off to me room lads…" The dark-skinned man with the beanie and eyepatch slurred, swaying to his feet. The room fell into an uncomfortable moment of quietness save for the still-rambling television as everyone watched him stumble away.
"Ah bet Demo's gonna crash halfway down the stairs," Scout murmured after a few moments, cuing the conversation back into motion.
"Private! Are you American?"
Engie tsked. "Don't ask that yet, Soldier. We're testin' his shorter-term memory; Doc said that further strain could result in brain damage."
"I NEED TO KNOW-"
"Easier questions first. Who just left this room?"
Pyro easily recognised Demo the Cyclops.
"And Mister Quiet over here?"
He bewilderedly stared, words disintegrating into ums, at the sulking, stringy man that looked kind of like Medic yet did not have any related gear or eyewear.
"Here's two hints for you, mate," the stranger grumbled in yet another type of accent. "Oi'm a professional at my job. Spook stole my hat and shades."
The hints may have helped a little, but not too much. As Pyro struggled to list the team members who wore headwear on all occasions, a faint swooshing noise disrupted his concentration. The room suddenly seemed tenser, more hostile.
"Eediot." Pyro did not need to think too hard to know the voice was Spy's; only one specific snobby ally made everyone anxious like that.
The stranger whose hat was stolen growled at the sight of the new arrival. "Gimme back my stuff."
Spy ignored the warning, casually stepping into Pyro's visual range, hairless red head shining like velvet. "Now, Pyro, zis 'ere is Sniper. You might know 'im from 'is counterpart shooting your 'ead."
Pyro nodded, embarrassed. He had actually seen Sniper looking like this before somewhere, but the man looked incredibly dissimilar without his trademark wide orange eyes- no, sunglasses.
"One thing you should know, mon ami…" Spy's fingers twitched, revealing the said pair of orange-tinted aviators. "Sniper 'ere-" He ignored the subject's complaints, smoothly pushing the shades onto his own nose. "-Is not a 'appy camper."
Pyro, confused, watched Scout, Heavy, Soldier and even Engie burst into laughter. Sniper, on the other hand, frowned and snatched his shades back. "Well, oi guess ya haven't seen ya yellow streak when both us Snoipahs use jahs."
The response was another outburst of laughter, minus Spy's contribution. The two rivals glared daggers at each other. The room, it seemed, was going to host yet another ridiculous conflict.
"Let's settle zis with a pun duel."
"Why the bloody hell not?!"
"Calm down, y'all." Engie interrupted the duo, to the dismay of Soldier, reminding them of their real gathering purpose. "We still have a lot tah help our buddy here catch on."
Spy and Sniper shot apologetic looks before turning their stares of hatred back onto each other.
Scout snorted. "So far, we are just missin' a frickin' backstory. And dat's about it. Who cares about backstories? Ah bet he remembers all those times ah saved 'is ass from bein' kicked. By the way, anyone know what kinda battle we're havin' tomorrow?"
"Well said, Private. Read tomorrow's schedule yourself."
"I don't care 'bout backstories, Scout. I care about what he knows ever since he joined. Prove that Pyro remembers what you did."
Scout confidently puffed up his chest. "Just look a' what I can do, Engie. Hey Mumbles- Pyro- y'know Dustbowl Arenas? There was dis time last month where BLU Demo pounced on ya and everythin' with his sword; ah beat him up with m' Atomiser before he gotcha."
Right. Killing. The topic would have been brought up sooner or later. "REDs and BLUs actually kill each other?"
If there were people unfocused on the conversation before, now there were none.
"We die on a daily basis," Soldier confirmed proudly. "What's your problem, Private?"
"So we're all hired to murder? Including me?"
"Da. Whole team is hired to kill BLU." Heavy answered. "Don't worry. You are credit to team."
Being confirmed, assured even, that he was a killer was already enough to make Pyro sick with dread, but he just had to know one more thing. A thing that he reflected on later and partially regretted asking, but again, there would not have been any other progress in knowing the other mercenaries better. "A-and I fight with…?"
"Fire." Sniper grimaced. "Lots and lots of fire. What did you think your alias was, you Pyromaniac?"
There was a muffled, agonising crash as something, probably Demoman, predictably tripped over the stairs. But it did not matter now.
The word had broken the last straw.
For those of you who don't read/study Spanish, the translation goes as following:
Look, a 'bow!
A rainbow, my dear.
How are rainbows formed?
Science. Science and magic.
Happy birthday, Ciro.