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From the moment Luca first stepped onto the RED base, they knew something was off about their new teammates.
They all looked perfectly normal, at least at a cursory glance. Standard class uniforms, sensibly groomed and dressed, seemingly relaxed and even friendly. One of them, the man with the yellow hardhat whom they identified as the team’s Engineer, offers a warm smile and a polite ‘howdy!’ as they step into the conference room. Another, with an impossibly broad frame and a stony expression, gives a slow nod as they take a seat. One looks barely old enough to have a job, but here he is among the other mercenaries, sat atop a table he probably shouldn’t be. Through the gas mask they wear, Luca can sense eyes on them. They don’t mind.
Yes, all of the others look normal. Except not if you paid attention. Closer inspection revealed peculiar oddities. Eyes that were a little too reflective, stray hairs that fluttered in phantom winds, light glinting off teeth that looked too sharp. There was something unusual about the other mercenaries, Luca decided.
Not Luca, they remind themselves. Here, they are Pyro.
At the head of the table stood a young woman, black hair slicked back into a bun, skewed glasses perched on her nose. They recognize Miss Pauling as the same one who had hired them, a thought which makes them chuckle softly. She’s nice, if a little strange too. Try as they might they can’t put their finger on what exactly the deal is with the others, but hey, it will be interesting to figure out.
“I think that’s all of you. Let’s begin then,” Miss Pauling announces from her spot at the table, clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention. It’s not lost on Pyro that Table Kid is immediately enraptured by the assistant’s mere presence, eyes sparkling with infatuation. Miss Pauling doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll start with the obvious. The nine of you are the latest in a line of mercenaries fighting in the Gravel Wars between your team, RED, and the enemy, BLU. All of you have been hired for your skills, and for your prior experience if you have any. Unfortunately for you, your enemies are just as good as you are,” she explains, fidgeting with the pen in her hand. Table Kid pipes up at the latest sentence.
“We’ll see about that!” he says confidently, earning a few soft chuckles from the other mercs. Miss Pauling doesn’t seem impressed and promptly ignores him.
“There’s a few main objectives you’ll be expected to complete depending on the base you’re on. There will be briefings on those as they pop up. Long story short, though, a lot of it sums up to ‘kill as many BLUs as you can see.’ Preferably without letting them kill you first.” Glances of concern are shared between several of the men, to which the assistant straightens her posture and continues. “That’s where Respawn comes in. Care to explain, Engie?” She looks over at the merc in question.
“Can do,” he says warmly, standing up to his full and not at all impressive height. Luca (You’re Pyro now!) thinks his face almost flickers for a moment into something slightly different, but they can’t make heads nor tails of it. Nobody else seems to notice, at the very least.
“Each of y’all had a chip implanted before you walked into base today. That ain’t there ‘cause I wanna stalk y’all. That little piece ‘o mechanical magic monitors all the data about your body and whatnot, and keeps in touch with our Respawn Unit on base. That way when ya inevitably die, it’s able to send your data back to the machine so it can reassemble you. It can take up to twenty seconds to work, so it ain’t the quickest process in the world, but once you’re back you’ll be good as new.” His words hold to them an air of pride; Pyro can tell he had a hand in the system’s creation.
“Sounds like bloody magic to me!” chimes a Scottish-sounding voice. Its owner has only one eye, though both of his brows are arched in awe. The Engineer laughs heartily, adjusting his goggles.
“Might as well be. The darned thing’s the most finicky hunk of junk I’ve ever worked on. It also has limits, it’s got a pretty small radius, so try not to die off the battlefield,” he states casually.
“How’d ya learn that?” Table Kid asks from his throne of cheap metal and plastic.
“The hard way,” was all the Engineer said, though he doesn’t seem too bothered. He nods his head in Miss Pauling’s direction, signaling for her to continue.
“Alright. The base we’re currently on, as you know, is Teufort. Your first mission is in three days not counting today. The objective is to capture the other team’s intelligence before they can capture yours. It’s split into multiple pieces, so you’ll have to do multiple runs, but it’ll be a good test of your teamwork. And I think that’s about it for the big ticket things. Everything else you need to know is basic stuff. Everyone has a locker in resupply, fraternizing with the enemy is a no-no, weekends are free, use your class names. All of you are expected to live on base,” Miss Pauling chatters. One of the mercenaries, the tall skinny one hunched in the corner, speaks up.
“Question, Miss. Do we have to live in the base, or can-” he starts before seemingly forgetting the rest of the words he was going to say, his voice seizing in his throat.
“If you’re asking if you can stay in your van, Sniper, then the answer is yes. Just stay within a reasonable distance,” she reassures. Tall Guy- the team’s Sniper, apparently- breathes a sigh of what appears to be relief, nodding and whispering a small ‘thanks mate’ from his corner.
“With all of that sorted out, I think that’s pretty much everything I wanted to tell you all. Like I said, you’ve got three days to break the ice, so I think it’d probably be a good idea to get to know each other a bit in that time. Should help you out on the battlefield at the very least,” Miss Pauling concludes. She gathers up the papers she’d brought with her, sorting them into a pile. “I’ve gotta go now. Glad to see all of you in one place. Good luck out there, guys.”
Various flavors of ‘thank you’ and ‘see you later’ are shot her direction as she exits the room. In her wake she left a lingering, awkward silence over the teammates, which Engineer is all too happy to break after a moment and for which Luca is grateful.
“Alrighty, fellas, you heard the gal. Probably a good idea to introduce ourselves!” he says with a smile, clapping his hands together in front of him and looking around the table. He shoots a brief venomous glare as the Sniper attempts to slip out of the room, causing the latter to return to his previous post without a word.
“I’ll go first!” Table Kid exclaims, standing up and puffing his chest out with pride. “Name’s Jer- uh, Scout. Fastest guy in Boston if ya ask me. And my Ma’s favorite, of course.” The wry but bright grin that found its way onto his face looks to melt some of the awkwardness clouding the room. Scout’s eyes are a bright blue, though Pyro swears they saw a fleck of red in them. The man sitting closest to him stands as well, his back ramrod straight as he nearly yells his own introduction.
“I AM YOUR SOLDIER, MAGGOTS. I STAND FOR MY BELOVED AMERICA, AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE FAILURE ON MY TEAM,” he declares. The words are aggressive, sure, but Pyro has the distinct sense that it was merely the man’s way of motivating his teammates. An odd form of camaraderie.
“I will be the Medic of this team!” comes the almost cheerful voice of the next team member. On his shoulders sit several fat white doves, preening their feathers or attempting to preen the man’s hair. Medic is smiling wide. His eyes nearly flash green when they move from one focus to another. Weird.
“Mm Demoman,” One-Eye Guy slurs, his remaining eye blinking sleepily. “Ye lads can call me Demo though. If ye ever want a drink let me know, can help ye.”
“Am heavy weapons guy.” The strong voice suits the huge man to which it belongs. Luca notices the two strange, tiny pale dots beneath his eyes. Scars of some kind, probably, though from what they can’t possibly figure out. Scout clears his throat, grimacing.
“Can we just call ya Heavy? That’s a lot of words to remember,” he blurts. The Russian raises an eyebrow.
“Is three words. Is that many words in English?” He pauses for a moment, thinking, then continues. “This nickname is fine.”
“Cool,” Scout says with a thumbs-up.
“I’m Pyro! Nice to meet you all!” Pyro chirps, though with their mask muffling their voice nearly beyond deciphering, it takes the others a moment to figure it out.
“I will be your Spy,” a voice floats from seemingly nowhere. Spy lingers a short distance from Scout, the cigarette clenched in his teeth crowning his head with a wreath of smoke.
“Sniper,” mutters the last member of the team. Half of his face is covered by the brim of his hat.
“Well, nice to meet y’all! I think all of our contracts last for at least five years, so we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other,” Engie says from the front of the table, looking at the others. “If y’all’s weapons ever get messed up or you need help with somethin’, feel free to come ask me about it! I’ll probably be in my workshop, it’s just past the shooting range.”
With that, many of the mercenaries leave the room to go do their own thing. Sniper and Spy are the first to go, with Sniper all but fleeing and Spy vanishing into smoke thanks to his new cloaking watch. Heavy leaves shortly after, on account of wanting lunch. Hey! Lunch might be a good way to get to know their teammates. Engineer picks up on this as well and speaks up.
“Hey! Maybe we should all get somethin’ to eat,” he says to the remaining mercs. “We got food in the kitchen, I bet we can all fix somethin’.”
“Great idea, ‘cuz I’m like, really frickin’ hungry,” Scout agrees. With that the REDs head towards the kitchen, though Medic breaks off from the group somewhere along the way.
Heavy is seated in the lounge eating a cold cut sandwich when the group makes it to the kitchen. He eyes them almost suspiciously as they pass his spot on the couch. Scout immediately begins rummaging through the pantry, bouncing from one foot to the other and brimming with pent-up energy. From the cabinets he produces a fresh loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter and another jar of grape jelly. A triumphant grin crosses his face as he sets his stash on the counter.
“Anyone else want a PB ‘n J?” he asks as Engie pours himself a cup of now-cold coffee from the coffee maker next to the sink.
“Sure thing lad,” Demo says between swigs of whatever drink is in that bottle he’s been carrying around. Pyro assumes it’s alcoholic based on the smell on the man’s breath.
“Mhm!” Pyro adds, smiling behind their mask. Scout nearly flinches, but covers it up with a nod. They sigh as Engie says he’d like one too. They can’t blame Scout, or anyone, for being a bit off-put by their appearance. However the mask, they reason, is as much for the others’ comfort as it is for their own. Their face is marred by the past, they’ve been told it can be unsettling to look at. They don’t know the right reactions for the right situations. The mask, and those like it that they’ve worn in the past, make those other factors not matter. The empty eyes, wheezy breaths and muffled voice likely don’t help matters, though.
Soldier does not take up Scout’s offer for a PB&J, which seems a bit odd to Pyro considering how intently he stares at the ingredients as the sandwiches are assembled. He’s even drooling a bit, they realize, but he is quick to wipe away the evidence with the back of his hand. Clearly he’s hungry, but for one reason or another, he’s not going to eat. Whatever. They barely know any of their teammates yet, it’s not their place to pry.
Scout works lightning fast, and soon Engie, Pyro and Demo are handed a sandwich on a plate. The young mercenary beams as Engie takes a bite, happy to contribute something. It is only then that Pyro realizes their predicament, and that eating will require removing the mask. They are not at all comfortable with that. Oops.
Still holding the plate, they gesture towards the hallway leading to the barracks, then to their face. Engie squints for a long, long moment before figuring it out.
“Ah, alright then. That’s fine,” he says kindly.
“What’s he sayin’?” Scout asks midway through stuffing a huge chunk of bread and peanut butter into his mouth.
“He’s gonna eat in his room so he don’t have to take the mask off around us,” Engie explains. It would appear he is remarkably quick at picking up on things.
“Why?”
“Now that ain’t your business, is it, boy?” The man’s mouth twitches into a frown. Scout rolls his eyes.
“Sure.” He opens a can of soda and takes a long sip. He must’ve drank half of it by the time he sets it back down. Pyro stares as he does so, awestruck.
The following morning, Pyro decides that today is as good a day as any to try to get to know their fellow offense classes. This is for multiple reasons. For one, the three of them all wake up at roughly the same time, on account of Soldier making so much racket that it would be impossible to sleep through, then insisting on waking them all up. Secondly, the other mercs are busy or MIA. Engie and Medic have spent all morning discussing Respawn. Heavy does not seem to trust the others enough to let his guard down. Demo is asleep on the couch. And Sniper and Spy are nowhere to be found.
They find Scout and Soldier outside as the sun is rising. Scout is doing stretches, while Soldier does push-ups. Scout’s eyes widen briefly as he notices them standing outside of the base, but he waves anyways.
“Hey Pyro,” he says simply, resuming his stretching. Soldier lets out a low, almost guttural groan before getting to his feet, tilting his head back just enough to see Pyro past the lip of the helmet he wears. How he sees anything at all with that thing on is a mystery to them. Why doesn’t he just get one that fits?
“Good morning, private!” he greets in not quite a yell. Evidently he does not have an inside voice. “We are working out! You should join us. Our unit needs to be in tip-top shape if we are to defend our nation’s honor from those commie bastards at BLU!” He’s rambling, but it’s in good faith, they determine.
“Mmkay,” they respond. They try to figure out what to do, before resorting to mirroring Scout’s stretches (a behavior the boy does not seem particularly pleased with). Soldier resumes his push-ups. He counts how many he has done, though Pyro quickly notes that the numbers are not in order. Some of them aren’t even real numbers. Their team, they’re learning, may not be the brightest.
Soldier stops counting at seventy-fourteen. What that could possibly mean, Pyro can only guess, but they’re certain it shouldn’t come after sixty-two. He takes a break to sip from a metal water bottle, pops his back, then begins jogging, presumably on a track around the base. Pyro decides to follow his lead, a short distance behind him, which he takes kindly to.
Scout, upon realizing the two are running, takes off like a rocket. He is living lightning as he shoots past the duo, and despite looking as though he’s putting zero effort into it, he’s vanished around the corner of the base before long, aiming to make a loop around the building.
“OORAH!” Soldier calls after Scout just before he disappears around the bend. Scout shouts something back, but his words are indecipherable.
Pyro and Soldier run together in mostly silence. Pyro starts to lag behind a bit; the suit is heavy and isn’t breathable. Normally this doesn’t bother them, they like the suit, but it’s also not meant for consistent, drawn-out runs like this.
They decide to stop for a moment, the rising sun shining in their eyes. Soldier does not seem to notice or acknowledge their absence.
The three mercs continue jogging for about thirty minutes. Pyro has to take frequent breaks to prevent themselves from overheating. Scout, miraculously, appears to never tire. It’s like he is a constant well of energy that never drains. He continues running after Soldier and Pyro decide to stop, determined to work out that energy.
When he’s done jogging, Soldier’s gait is shambling and uncoordinated. If Pyro didn’t know any better they would assume he’s drunk. He looks like he’s having trouble remembering how to walk and growls something under his breath to himself.
Everything about Soldier, much like the other mercs, is a bit strange to Pyro, they note as he downs more water. His bold and brash personality is unlike anything they’ve ever seen, but it’s more the physical oddities that stick out to them. One of his legs looks strangely skinny in only one spot under the fabric of his pants. His walk, as they’ve seen, can vary wildly from militaristic to barely upright.
His skin is the strangest part. At a glance it might look normal, but there is an undeniably strange quality to it. Sure, he’s not the only one. What little they could see of Spy’s skin yesterday was nearly ashen, and Sniper was abnormally pale as well, at least for someone Pyro had clocked as an outdoorsy type. Soldier’s complexion looks almost sickly despite him mostly behaving as though he is in perfect health. ‘Green around the gills’ is an expression they’ve heard before, and the way Soldier looks is about as close as they can imagine.
Lucky for Pyro, Soldier’s helmet prevents him from noticing their staring. The back of it, they notice, is dark with old stains. They aren’t sure if it’s blood. It could be.
“I am going to take a shower!” he announces as he turns the wrong way to talk to Pyro. He marches back towards the base, and with nothing better to do Pyro follows behind, though they break away when he reaches the locker room. They will wait until the room is empty to take their own shower.
That night, Pyro finds it difficult to sleep, on account of strange noises from all over the base. What they figure is a coyote outside keeps growling and making noise and it’s driving them crazy. Someone down the hall is snoring so loud that they’re surprised nobody else on base has complained. Even from a room away they can hear Scout mumbling in his sleep. This is going to take some getting used to.
They get up after several fruitless attempts to fall asleep, pulling the mask over their head as they make for the door. One of their stuffed animals, a pink unicorn, is tucked under their arm as they wander the halls.
Engie is also awake. They find him poking through the fridge, retrieving a slice of cheese and taking a bite before noticing them.
“Hey there, Pyro,” he greets once he’s swallowed the cheese. His face seems to do that weird shifting thing again. Huh. “Can’t sleep?” They shake their head.
“I get that,” Engie sighs. “Sounds like the whole base is still awake.” He chuckles softly, closing the fridge. Without his helmet his bald head is almost shiny. They want to reach out and touch it, but refrain.
“I’m goin’ back to the workshop. You take care,” he says, giving a pat on the shoulder as he passes them by. They wave as he goes. Engie’s nice, they decide. Yes. He acts like a friend.
They resume wandering around base, the unicorn clutched to their chest. Her name is Penelope, and she serves as a comfort to them. Or simply a companion for sleepless nights. While walking, they become aware of another set of footsteps approaching.
As they turn a corner, two things stop them in their tracks. One, Soldier is standing there and blocking the path. Two, the man is stark naked. They practically do a double take, unsure whether to laugh or ask him what the hell he’s doing. They do both. Soldier, apparently, was not expecting company either and also jolts back, letting out a “holy Mary mother of Joseph!” in response.
From what they see as he stands, the strange things about him start to make sense. There are spots where flesh has disappeared, leaving holes in their wake that give an x-ray look into his body. His skin is even more greenish around these ragged wounds, dried blood caked around them. With his helmet missing, they get a look at sunken, pearly white eyes devoid of pupils, and the entire top of his skull seems to be missing. It doesn’t seem to bother him.
Really, nothing about this encounter seems to bother him other than the initial startle of not being the only one out of his room in the barracks. He grits his teeth, folding his arms across his bare chest.
“You scared me, private!” the man (zombie!) states.
“I scared you?” Pyro asks in disbelief, gesturing towards the whole of him. They had a hunch that their teammates might be something else, but they weren’t expecting their theories to be confirmed so soon.
“I cannot understand you!” he says loudly. They signal for him to lower his voice. They don’t want to wake up the whole base.
Grabbing him by the shoulder, they drag him into the nearby gym, closing the door and lifting the bottom of their mask up just enough so that their words are understandable to him, but he can’t see their face.
“What are you doing?” is the only thing they can think to ask. Soldier straightens his back, empty eyes narrowing.
“I am exercising my God-given right to walk around my base! Is this an issue, maggot?” he growls. Pyro lets out an exasperated sigh.
“No, I’m not talking about that, I’m- where are your clothes?!” They’ll ask about the zombie thing in a second. Truthfully, the lack of clothes is the more concerning aspect of this encounter.
“It is more freeing to not have them when I am walking,” Soldier says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Oh, okay. So this is going to be a regular occurrence. Cool. At least it’ll be funny to see the reactions of the other mercs.
“Okay, uh, second question. What- exactly are you?” Pyro asks, pointing towards the top of his head.
“I am an American!” Soldier says proudly, not skipping a beat. A crooked smile finds its home on his face. How dense is this guy?
“I mean what… happened to you?” they decide to rephrase. Soldier stops to think for a moment, staring off to the side.
“I don’t know. It is not important!” he says with a snicker. He does pause again though. “The others don’t know.”
“I didn’t think so,” Pyro comments with a huff. Soldier taps his toe on the ground, hands on his hips as he stares at the clock on the wall. It’s a little past midnight. After a moment he speaks.
“Private, I do not want to scare the other men. So to preserve the integrity of this unit, you will not speak of what you saw here tonight, do you understand?” he all but demands, though his voice is lowered somewhat. Pyro raises their hands in mock-surrender.
“Yes sir,” they say confidently. They never planned to spill this to anyone else anyways. This was Soldier’s story to tell, it wouldn’t be right for them to do so. “You might want to have some clothes on next time you’re walking around though.”
Soldier sighs this time, his nose wrinkling as he squares his shoulders. “I guess you’re right.” So that confirms that Soldier does not, in fact, think before he acts. He lifts his chin up, heading towards the door. Before leaving, though, he turns to face them.
“Thank you, private. It’s good to have someone honorable,” he says with a nod. The pair exit the gym, both making for the barracks. Soldier slips into his room without another word, and Pyro flops onto their bed once the door is locked and their mask is removed.
They stare at the ceiling for a long, long moment before breaking out into a toothy smile. They made a friend! Soldier is weird, but the whole team is weird. Him being loud and crazy just adds flavor to life.
They think about the team as they hug Penelope. They get the sense that there are more friends yet to be made among these strange men. The thought makes them giggle quietly. It might take a while, but this team is already shaping up to be something special. Even if it’s a very odd team.
They chuckle. This is going to be fun.