Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They stumbled through the thick undergrowth, boots slick with mud on the soles and covered in rusty well-dried blood on the tops. A slight rustle of crimson-red flame retardant fabric indicated every sluggish movement they made as their limbs kept getting caught on vines, thick twisting roots, and dense undergrowth which cloaked all manners of rocks in which they could trip on. From inside the dark rubber gas mask, labored breathing could be heard as small, panicked eyes surveyed the landscape.

Ahead of them, they held a hefty fire axe, its handle rough and splintered from the days fight. At random they would swing it around them in a wide arc, hoping, maybe even praying, that the edge would connect with the hem of a very expensive suit. As each swing returned with the same, empty results, their breathing grew more and more panicked until they had to stop in the middle of a clearing to catch their breath. The low rainforest sounds dulled the explosions in the background with their idle chatter, and prevented the masked figure from hearing the signature voice of the Administrator as she made a very important call: that of a ceasefire call. All surviving men on the battlefield were to return to base, but under the low din of the birds, water, and trees, they did not hear.

The sun had begun to reach its closing point as they had stumbled out into the forest, and now, in the clearing, the harsh beams cast their wrath onto the masked being with little mercy. Sweat clung to their face and neck under the mask, sticking to the rubber and causing any little movement to stick to the inside of the mask. They wished that they could peel off the sticky mask and sweat drenched suit and discard the gloves, but that would leave them exposed. To exposed. He could be around here anywhere. He was probably right in front of them, taunting them with some invisible gesture, waiting for the right moment to wedge a knife between their vertebrae and snap it in a twisting motion just so that it breaks apart their nerves and effectively sends them back to respawn.

Except this time there was no respawn. There was no second chance. If you made a mistake, you were torn off the face of the Earth, never to reach the light of day again. They faintly remembered, through the din of birds, insects, and the haze of heat, the events that transpired that day. It was to conserve energy, they said. Limited money meant limited resources. Trains would come every other week instead of every week. Fuel for vehicles would not be supplied. Only stock weapons would be supplied with ammo. Hats would be forcibly taken and sold- the list went on. When finally, she had reached the end statement.

“It is due to the lack of resources and the current limit to technology that respawn systems are unable to be kept up for every team across the globe. Therefore, the bases stationed in Coldfront, Doublecross, Suijin, Yukon, Egypt, Mann Manor, Mountain Lab, Mossrock, Banana Bay, Snowplow, DeGroot Keep, Borneo, Barnblitz, Brimstone, Enclosure, Snowycoast, Brazil, Kong King, Lazarus, Viaduct, and Mercenary Park will have respawn cut off.” 

The normal low chatter from the scout and perhaps another merc that normally permeated the speaker's voice halted and stopped in pure shock. They felt a chill run through their body, the lighter in their hand that they were flicking no longer a distraction from reality. 

“Vat… how vill ve survive?” The Medic broke the shocked silence, each word painfully drawn out as they processed the statement.

“Your team’s survival is purely in your hands, Medic. Your medi-gun has been doubled in power and uber now takes a quarter less of the time it normally does. Along with that, med-kits of all sizes are now found throughout the map, not in select locations. Your natural self-healing ability is also boosted significantly. And, anyone who is… terminated in battle will be replaced within the next week. The team left with the most kills after three months will be moved to the next available base with a respawn. I hope that this answers your question.”

The speaker smiled nervously. It wasn’t the normal smile they were used to; the warm smile like a low fire that made them feel safe and calm, it was the smile that something was very very wrong.

Now, in the middle of the rainforest, the image of the nervous smile burned itself into the curved glass lenses of their mask. Their breath fluttered like a caged bird, panicked and frightened, wishing to escape the forest and return to their home full of beeping sentries and whirring teleporters where they would be safe. Slowly, they felt their legs give in under them from exhaustion and panic, and they fell to the forest floor, dust settling around them.

In the background, they heard faint footsteps approach them, and the air shimmered with a blue mirage. A pair of fancy, custom shoes appeared in front of them and stopped about four feet away.

“I was wondering when you’d cease, mademoiselle . It would’ve been a shame to kill you, after all, you’re the only one left from the original team.”

A low muffled growl uttered from the depths of their throat and they watched as the world fell to black from the intense heat and their exhaustion.

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They awoke to a deafening clatter as two hefty logs were dropped onto a roaring fire. A figure stood above it, and after a moment, they recognized the class and team.

“Hmph! Hmp hmm hmpph HMPH!” They yelped, anger surging through their veins.

“How observant. Yes, I am a BLU Spy, and yes, I am standing in front of you, no knife, no weapons. An odd occurrence, am I right monsieur ?” The BLU Spy commented with a cold attitude, an edge of disgust lining his voice.

He… understood me. He understood my mumbling. Only one other person could, which was our old Engineer… they cut the thought short, not wishing to dwell on the events prior.

It was odd though. To odd. They reached back for their trusty axe, preparing to slam it into him, when their hand closed around empty air. Whipping around in shock, they grappled for their other weapons and found nothing. Their weapons were gone.

“Now, I couldn’t have you shoot me before I state my business. And, to be fair, mademoiselle, I have removed my weapons as well,” allowing a brief second for them to calm down, he continued with a voice as if he were speaking to a child, “first statement of business- we are alone. The ceasefire was called hours ago, and, as you know, today was our last day at the base. It is to my knowledge that we have been presumed dead, and our teams have left for 2Fort without us.”

They took a moment to turn over this information as the Spy flicked the cigarette between his fingers into the fire. They were alone. Presumed dead. Left for 2Fort. And, the most pressing matter: they were left with a BLU Spy. 

“The second statement of business- as we are alone, it is our goal to get back to our respective teams. I have already fired one of your flares, but it seems it met no eyes. So, we must work together to get back. And I assure you, Pyro-”

“Do nhot use that nhame,” Pyro hissed, lifting forward their mask in order to be heard clearly. 

“My apologies,” he stepped back, hands up, the disgust in his voice replaced by a hint of fear at the knowledge that the pyro could easily grab a piece of burning wood and attack him if they wished, “I assure you, monsieur, that after this is over, you may send me back through 2Fort’s respawn as much as you wish. But, if we die out here, there is no respawn to greet us. Do you agree?”

Slowly, Pyro turned over the decision. They could kill him right then and there, a piece of fire-licked wood well within grasp, but the smallest bit of sanity that remained inside of them told them not to. That they would need him later, if they wished to escape. That they needed to work together.

With a slow nod, they stared down the Spy with glass covered eyes.

“Good, monsieur. Now, our first move will be to make it back to base,” he commented, sitting down by the fire.

“Hmph? Hmp hmph mhpp hmp mmph?” Pyro inquired, confusion lining their muffled voice.

“I trust you know of the control panel above the two spawns. That has an emergency contact phone with a direct line to the Administrator. Along with that, provisions are in the lockers. Let us hope, mademoiselle , that those lockers were not raided,” he replied in a mocking tone beneath his accent, inhaling deeply on the cigarette that had materialized between his fingers. 

The end burnt a bright orange, and almost immediately, Pyro was entranced by the slight flickering at the tip. Sitting criss-cross, they bent forward and watched the end blaze in the low light of the setting sun, captured by the mesmerizing glow. They sat like this for a moment until they remembered who the cigarette belonged to and jolted back behind the fire, sitting on their haunches and watching the masked man behind thick glass lenses with pure distrust.

Underneath their breath, and with a face contorted in revulsion, Spy muttered “démon horrible de l'enfer.”

----------------------------

The sun had set, and according to the Spy, this was the best time to go. The moon, high in the night sky, illuminated the dense rainforest as they trudged through. Pyro had their weapons once more, as the jungle surrounding Mercenary Park was “hazardous” as the Spy had put it, and so, both held a weapon of some sort. However, the Pyro, with their long, snaking flamethrower, stayed behind the Spy. Every part of them screamed out that they couldn’t trust this man, who so simply walked into their life and, like those before him, stripped them of their friends, family, and life. Yet, there was one voice who told Pyro to hold the fire. That to keep the flames down until they reached the end of this crazed adventure. And so, even with the others screaming, they allowed the advice of the calm one to reach their ears.

Ahead of them, Spy held up a hand. Crouching beneath the undergrowth, they rolled through and went invisible, disappearing in the dense forest. A moment passed, the stars twinkling down at them from the heavens, before a sharp snap of a wire being cut sounded and a pile of boulders fell from the forest above, hitting the forest floor with a cloud of dust. They let out a yelp and fired their flamethrower, only to realize that the boulders hadn’t been aimed at them, but rather had fallen to block off the path. With a dissatisfied hiss the fire ceased.

“It seems that Saxton Hale did not wish the park guests to travel off road, or...” he materialized behind the Pyro with a burst of smoke, startling them for a moment before they flicked a cigarette into the pile, “...the Administrator wished to keep us from exiting.”

Reaching into the pile, he snatched a dented yet bright piece of metal and flashed it at Pyro, who almost immediately recognized the symbol emblazoned on it. A rounded circle, with the center cut out along with four strips, colored purple. It was similar to the RED and BLU team symbol, but the deep violet marked its difference. It was the Administrator’s symbol.

“If the Administrator rigged this trap...” he muttered, his face contorting slightly as he became deep in thought.

“Bhut… why? Why woulhd she rhig a trahp?” Pyro asked, once again lifting forward the rubber mask to be heard.

“I do not believe that... ” the Spy’s face flickered to shock as he realized the muffled freak had heard him, “stay behind, démon de l'enfer . We have more important things to dwell on.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Py,” a familiar voice drawled in a less than familiar somber tone, “there’s no need to be worried. I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

Pyro sat in that corner, the same corner in which one week ago they had heard the dreaded news. The lighter was no longer clutched to their chest, instead, a heavy blanket of dread sat in its place. They didn’t bother to answer Engineer, a regret that they carried with them to this day; instead, they just sat there. Devoid of thought, devoid of emotion. 

“Py?” he asked, concern replacing the somberness in his voice, “Pyro? Are you okay there little buddy?”

A moment of silence passed again, the glass lenses unresponsive and waxen. 

“Pyro,” he sat down next to them, making sure to avoid accidentally bumping into them, “no matter what happens, we will get through this. We will get through this war. And when the three months are over, we can quit, and I can show you around Bee Cave. I’ll show you around my farm, and you can meet my mother… I’m sure she’ll take a liking to you, always wanted someone else to care for besides my brother and I... and you can show me how you build those weapons of yours. Okay?”

“Yhou…” they looked at him beneath glassed over eyes, before releasing the band around the filter cartridge so that they could be heard more clearly then if they just pulled forward the mask, “you promise? You promise we’ll get out of here?”

“Yes,” he responded without a flicker of hesitation, “I promise.”

They sat there for a moment, the subtle far-off beeping of his machines comforting them. Both of them should be... no... would be fine. They had to be. Yet, even while they told themselves this, the familiar feeling of dread settled over their shoulders, wrapping itself around them and holding them in place.

With a calm, wistful stare out the window at the far end of the room, before he stood up to get ready, he muttered out a statement that would stay with Pyro forever.

"All things that begin, must end.”

Even now, they remembered that moment so vividly that the mere thought of it conjured up the replay like that of a screen in their lenses. He had told them that three months and two days ago after they had received the harsh, death-ridden news that would slip into their peaceful life like a Spy, it's knife poised to bring them down into a shuddering corpse. Except this time, the Spy couldn't be burnt, for fire wouldn't drive away this invisible foe. Nothing could drive away death, as it would now claim them with open arms, and there was no respawn to hold it back.

Now, as their insulated rubber boots trudged through decayed leaves and viscid mud, they could feel the grip of death's hand on their back as they followed the BLU Spy through the undergrowth. Every part of them itched to light the Spy on fire, watch them try to run as the flames crawled up them and burnt them for the sins that those of his kind had committed- but the looming shadow of reality remained. The reality that they would be alone, and likely dead, if it was not for the Spy in front of them.

The resounding snap of a wire echoed through their mind, and the Spy appeared ahead, holding a thin emblem in his hand before tossing it to the ground. They disappeared again, and as the Pyro walked past the area where the wire was snapped, they noted that the emblem was the same as before: the Administrators emblem. A soft whistling noise picked up in the eaves of the rainforest as a coastal wind ran through the trees.

The small, flickering end of their flamethrower shuddered in the low wind, and for a mere second they saw the familiar light of a multicolored flame before it to fluttered and blew out in the gust. Feeling the side of the flamethrower with their finger, they felt for the small switch located on the handle. Once their fingertips connected with it, they twisted it towards them before snapping it back, causing the small ignitor flame to spark before bursting to life. The red-hot sparks of flint flew off of the end, bursting into smaller pieces before fading into the pitch-black rainforest night.

Up ahead, a spark faltered against an invisible force, and in a flicker of cerulean blue, the Spy appeared. Pulling yet another cigarette from his mouth in a quick swoop, he flicked the ashes on the ground before eyeing the Pyro.

“I do believe I am not on fire, so let us keep it that way,” he commented before muttering under his breath, “you mush-mouthed freak.”

The Pyro glared him down underneath the mask as well before hefting the flamethrower upwards and aiming it towards the sky, letting a small spurt of fire douse the stars above in its own defiant gesture. Jerking their head towards them in a motion akin to “go on,” they allowed the Spy to go invisible before following close behind.

To most people, following a man who could render themselves unseen by the eye would be a convoluted task. Yet, to the Pyro, who had for many years stalked the shrouded scent of smoke that would penetrate the gas mask filter and seep into their mask, clouding their senses with the stench of nicotine, this was a familiar concept. Watching the rust tinted mud ahead of them sink slightly with each dress shoe-shaped imprint, they sneered beneath their mask and readjusted their gear on their back as they trudged along, not showing much care as the mud-coated their boots and jumpsuit.

----------------------------

Slowly, as they pulled themselves forward on the steep incline, they saw the faint luminescent glow of a pair of floodlights in the corners of their glass lenses. Digging their gloved hand into the mud on the side of the slope, they heaved themselves upwards, scraping large clods of earth and sending them scattering down on the forest floor below. Above them, the Spy let out an exasperated sigh as yet another clump of mud fell from his hands and smeared itself on his delicate suit. Hauling himself up onto the concrete platform that sat at the top of the slope, he peeled off his gloves and brushed off any visible dust, sending a rusty cloud hovering in the air around him. With nothing more than a glance at the being below, he allowed a belittling comment to escape from his lips before opening up his disguise kit and taking out yet another cigarette.

The Pyro muttered something as well, but whether it was due to the fact that the mask muffled their voice, or if the Spy simply did not care, their insult did not appear to reach his ears. Narrowing their eyes, they gripped onto one of the various rocks that poked out of the side of the cliff and threw themselves upwards, grabbing onto the concrete edge and hauling themselves into a standing position as well. For a brief second, their glass lenses fogged up from the combination of the crisp night air and their warm breath, before the humidity left and filtered out through the mouthpiece. Inhaling deeply into their filter, they allowed the refreshing night wind to enter their lungs and clear them out of all manners of smoke and flame. For the briefest moment, the pure, unbridled seething hatred and resentment left their body, and they stood in complete tranquility, staring at the celestial flickering of the stars.

A low hacking cough snapped them back into reality, and they whipped around to scowl at the Spy, who was wheezing into his suits right sleeve. Returning the glare, he regained his stiff composure and motioned forward at the source of the two floodlights.

“This is the back entrance to Mercenary Park, and compared to how we exited it, the easiest way back in,” Spy took a moment to readjust his suit, tugging his sleeve over his gloves, “this is also the reason why you are alive, monsieur, for you see, it requires two people to unlock the back entrance gate.”

Taking the moment to look over at the gate, Pyro was surprised by the complexity of the structure. Two wide yellow gates, covered in a criss-cross arrangement of bars which formed an arrangement of diamond shapes across the surface, sat at the front of the entrance. Behind it was a standard steel garage-style door, with two pulleys running alongside it and securing it to the building. The outside of the building that it was bolted to was constructed of concrete, with thin strips of steel peeking through the edges. Above it sat rows upon rows of electrified wire, which threatened to shock them should they not heed its skull-and-crossbones warning.

It seemed the only way in was through the gate. Glancing at the unlocking mechanism that Spy had gestured to, they noticed only a simple steel podium, with a few streaks of red leaking off the top from the side they were on and blue coming from the side the Spy was on. Above each podium sat a camera, it’s mechanical lense whirring every moment or so to provide better footage.

“After you, vous marmonnant abomination, ” the Spy commented in a cold tone, the sheer hatred in his voice seeping into the senses of the Pyro and stirring up a long-buried memory in the depths of their mind.

Stalking towards the podium, they shifted their body so that they could still see the Spy even with their back turned. In the corner of their lenses, his cerulean suit distorted and twisted itself in such a way that they were barely able to make him out, but with a squint of their eyes, they were able to tell whether he was still behind them or not.

Reaching towards the top of the metal structure, they realized that the top was not metal like the rest of the podium, but was in fact a screen-like surface with an overlayed green grid and a handprint symbol. Sticking their hand flat on the handprint, they paused, waiting for Spy to place his on the podium.

“SCANNING,” a monotonous voice blared out before three small beeps punctuated the pause between the two statements, “SCAN COMPLETE. BLU TEAM SPY NUMBER 104, ACCESS GRANTED. RED TEAM, PLEASE RESCAN.”

“Rhescan? What does it mhean, rhescan?” Pyro muttered, bewilderment lining the edges of their voice.

From behind them, the low yet cutting voice of the Spy snapped through to the Pyro, causing them to jerk around to face the Spy.

“Perhaps, mademoiselle, you need to try and scan without those pesky insulated gloves of yours,” he remarked, flashing his hand at them to show that they had removed their gloves in order to scan.

“Then dhon’t loohk,” they countered in a sharp, defensive tone.

Slowly, they began to peel off their glove, the thick insulated rubber covering both hands making the process difficult. Their hands began to tremble. They didn’t want to do this. It would leave them exposed, visible, vulnerable. Gritting their teeth, they fought the shaking, knowing that the only way to get out of this was to get this over with. Snatching the edge of the right glove, they pulled it off with painful delicacy, revealing an arm covered fingertip to fingertip with burns, scars, and scrapes. A singular long, torn, and scarred-over wound, with marks akin to that of a blade, ran across the length of their forearm, its pale scar tissue marking the gut-wrenching path. As for the burns, they covered the thumb and pointer, the tissue of their hand pockmarked and lacerated from the years of handling sharp-edged metal and fire.

Tentatively, they moved their arm towards the podium, making certain to keep it out of sight of the Spy. Now that there was no black and yellow-tipped glove to disguise their hand, they could clearly notice the trembling of it as they tried to steady it on the handprint reader. Every part of them defied this, wanted to run from this… every voice inside of their miserable head screamed to put the glove back on and stay hidden. To stay away, to run back into the forest, and to leave this world behind.

But they didn’t.

Reaching forth, they steadied it on the handprint reader, and the monotonous voice buzzed to life.

“SCANNING,” the monotonous voice blurted out again before the same three small beeps punctuated the pause between the two statements, “SCAN COMPLETE. BLU TEAM SPY NUMBER 104, ACCESS GRANTED. RED TEAM PYRO NUMBER 102, ACCESS GRANTED. GATES OPEN.”

Relief flooded through their body, and they let out a small chuckle as they reached for their glove. Then, in the corner of their lenses, they saw a cerulean shape move and stare at them. No, not at them. At their hand .

Whipping around, they shoved their hand into their glove and met eyes with the Spy. Rage filled their body, coursing through their veins and driving off any feelings of contentedness as they locked eyes, their glass lenses harsh and glaring in the floodlights. Letting out a low growl, they hurtled towards him, snapping the band off the filter so that they could be heard and grabbing their shotgun from its holster. With a quick jab forward, they pressed the steel muzzle against the Spy's head. Their finger snapped around the trigger and they narrowed their eyes, watching the Spy's face flicker from shock to fear.

" Non, monsieur, ne- " Spy blurted out before the cold metallic end of the shotgun shoved him against the wall.

" J'ai vu assez de serpents dans ma vie pour comprendre leur langue,"  Pyro replied in an icy tone, the threat of death well placed as they enunciated each word in the clearest way possible.

Spy's face flickered to shock again. The abomination could understand him, and worse, he could understand them . The insults that he had so carelessly uttered now flickered through his mind like a flame as the shotgun’s barrel grew colder.

“I said,” Pyro spoke slowly, fighting the natural muffle of the mask, “don’t look. And the snake didn’t listen.”

They stared him down, one hand trembling behind their back and the other holding the shotgun with steady conviction. One of the lights around them began to waver, and they dismissed it, thinking it was their pyrovision until a stab of pain jolted them forward and they dropped the shotgun, clutching their stomach with one hand. Radiating waves of pain throbbed throughout their body, and they let out a sudden gasp of anguish. It felt like a gunshot had cracked through their chest and ribcage, breaking through the bone and wreaking havoc on their body.

In front of them, the Spy let out some indeterminable noise, and whether it was a chuckle, gasp, or sigh of relief, they could not tell. 

Slowly, they fell to the ground, the pain taking over their body and bringing them to their knees. The last thing they saw before their world faded to black was the white and teal bottle of a small healthkit.

Chapter Text

“Dear lord, Feu , you seem to have an affinity towards fainting at this point, with it happening so often.” 

    Who… who was that? The accent was familiar, but the voice was too friendly to be identified. Pyro couldn’t see, the lenses of their mask a blurry mud-smeared mess. Reaching out ahead of them, they grasped at the air with their fingertips, trying to get a good feel of their surroundings.

    “Here…” the voice tentatively muttered out again before passing a soft, lightweight object into their hand.

    Feeling the object in their hands, they traced the sides beneath their glove before realizing it was some sort of cloth. Snatching it, they scraped off the mud clinging to their glass lenses and wiped them clear, the blurriness slowly dissipating. A jab of resentment spiked through their body at the sight of the person in front of them. Slowly, they felt a scowl grow on their masked face. Yet, at the same time that they felt such unrelenting hostility, a twinge of guilt edged the displeasure. Then the slight hue of multi-colored light filled their vision.

    For a moment, the figure in front of them flickered into a strange little child, its body warping and reconfiguring until it was tiny and baby-like. A pair of wings sprouted from its back and it giggled, smiling at them. The Pyro glanced at in shock and disbelief, and it waved at them. 

    A… child? they thought before realizing what it was, quickly hitting themselves in the head and blinking rapidly to clear the vision. As fast as they came, the hallucinations dissipated, and the baby warped and twisted back into a man dressed in a blue suit and tie.

    “Sphy,” they mumbled, eyeing the sharp-suited man. 

    “ Bonjour , Feu ,” he responded, pausing a moment before uttering the next statement, “I hope you do not mind me calling you Fue .”

    “I… dhon’t,” they responded cautiously. Something didn’t feel right. The Spy was acting nice… too nice.

    “ Bien, bien. I… I feel like we might have started on the wrong tone, Fue ,” the Spy remarked slowly, eyeing the Pyro for any sudden movements, “and, I apologize for those comments I made.”

    This… was odd. In their many years of service, Pyro had never had a Spy apologize. They had always been so wrapped up in their own ego that they rarely ever talked to the “abomination” aptly named Pyro. So, why was he apologizing?

    “Whaht’s the cahtch, Shpy,” they grumbled suspiciously.

    “The catch,” Spy began, his tone shifting from friendly to his normal somewhat-derogatory neutral tone, “is that we need each other to get out of this.” 

    This earned a glare of sorts from the masked figure and a humph .

    “Trust me, I am not a fan either ,” the Spy continued, “but the defenses ahead of us require either someone of both teams or a keycard to pass. Before I came to Mercenary Park, I studied it’s vast defense system. It used to be a yeti park, refitted to a mercenary base, and required quite a few security measures. A spies work involves research, as you know.”

    “What ahbout the kheycahrd?”

    “The slots are the only clues of its existence. The whereabouts are a mystery to me, Fue .”

    “Ahre the bahrriers lihke the lhast one?”

    “ Non. The quickest route has only three gates. One is just a simple switch. The other two are facial recognition. This is why I wanted to… make amends, Fue . If we don’t work together, we will be left here forever.”

    Pyro considered their options, not that there wasn’t much of one. On one hand, they could kill the man in front of them and allow themselves to die here… not exactly a favorable outcome. On the other, they could listen to this Spy, who was in all honesty shaping up to be rather uncharacteristic for a Spy, and hopefully get out of here. 

    “Fhine,” they responded cooly, a slight hiss of annoyance edging their voice.

    “Glad we could agree, now, about your episode earlier today…”

    Slowly they explained what had happened. After Pyro had put the shotgun against his head, they had begun to tremble and had fallen, dropping the gun on the way down. Spy had rushed to grab a medkit and returned with a bottle, uncapping the kit in order to allow the healing device inside to heal Pyro. Except…

    “The device didn’t heal you, it was as if you were not injured at all,” the Spy muttered, glancing at the Pyro, “it even checked for broken bones. There was no injury. So why did you feel pain?”

    Pyro took a moment to contemplate their choices. They could tell them the truth, the vulnerability they carried, and the memories that followed them like spirits. Hell, knowing the Spy, he had probably figured it out already. Or they could continue hiding it from him, assuming he didn’t already know, hiss at the Spy to leave it alone, and get this blasted journey over. A faint yet steady artificial pulse and a moment to remember the pain that had emanated from their lower left hip was all they needed to make a decision.

    They chose the latter option.

    “Nohn of yhour bhusinehs,” they grumbled, crawling to their knees, “nhow, lhet’s ghet on wihth thi-”

    They stumbled forward unexpectedly, their knees buckling and jolting out from underneath them, sending them scrabbling to the floor with a curse. Flickering rainbows encroached on their vision, sending scattering flecks of stars across the insides of their eyelids. Damn Pyrovision. They were going to need their medication soon if they wanted to keep it, and the accompanying behaviour, away. An involuntary chuckle formed as they watched a small beetle in front of them transform into a small piece of taffy, multi-colored and sweet, before it skittered away and reality returned.

    “Hold on Fue, it would do good to eat before we continue,” the Spy passed over a biscuit shaped cracker and a canteen of water before the Pyro could object.

    Grabbing the biscuit, the Pyro twisted around before muttering “turn away.” From the corners of their lense-framed vision, they watched the cerulean figure turn away. Slowly, they lifted up the edge of their mask, and ate the biscuit.

    To their surprise, the Spy didn’t turn around, and allowed them to eat in peace. Finishing the biscuit, they felt their body grow a bit more energized as the hunger gnawing at their stomach subsided. Now the only thing that remained was the hard, grainy and metallic feeling of dehydration that settled on their tongue. It was a grim reminder of both the lengthy trek through the forest they had just endured and the ever-constant aftermath of their medicine. Lifting the rubber mask so it settled on top of the canteen’s rim, they tipped it upwards and drank as quick as possible, not caring if the water dripped out and onto their baggy flame-retardant suit. Wiping off their face with a clean section of the cloth they had been handed, they slipped back on the mask and took a deep breath through the filter, capping the canteen.

    “Can I turn around now, Fue ?” the Spy muttered, an edge of impatience flickering in and out of their voice.

“Yhes,” they responded, hooking the canteen to the belt that wrapped around their torso. It felt sturdy and comforting against their hip, a lifeline in a world of quietus. Pyro would have to fill it with water as soon as they got to the base.

The Spy turned around, slipping his own canteen into his pocket, and stood up with a motion for Pyro to follow. They stood up as well, a slight trickle of relief warming them when they didn’t fall. As they followed Spy to the next checkpoint, they began a mental list of items they needed to gather from their base: their pills, an extra gas mask, water, bread, jerky, two small medkits, and last but not least, their most prized possession; a cosmic calamity degreaser, with two silver streaks scratched off the side from battles past, and a beautiful golden sheen that would shine like an eternal star as Pyro scorched the battle ground. 

When the ammo had ceased being shipped for any weapons that were not stock, Pyro had hidden their beloved degreaser in fear that it would be taken away and melted down. Their suspicions were confirmed when a week later all non-stock weapons were confiscated and melted. After that, they guarded their room fiercely, determined not to allow anyone take their flamethrower. 

Except for him. When he figured out where the degreaser went, he had demanded to see the car, stove, and gas pump amalgamation of a flamethrower. As it turns out, if the degreaser sat for too long, the duct tape secured parts would begin to fail. With a bit of convincing, he had whisked away the weapon and repaired it, welding strong metallic bands along its stove-top burner, exhaust pipe, and car muffler to hold it together. He had promised it would last quite a bit longer with the new support.

As they prowled behind the Spy, eyes flicking around cautiously from beneath bulky glass lenses, Pyro could only hope that the degreaser was still hidden and intact.

----------------------------

    The journey to the first gate was rather long in comparison to the trek to the electric fence threshold. Pyro knew they had run quite a ways when they had been chasing down the Spy, but they hadn’t quite realized how far they had gone. Now, upon a slight hill, they were able to mark out the fence and the area where they had first fallen. Three miles from the base to the forest clearing.

    It wasn’t that much of a surprise to Pyro that they had run that far. Under the influence of their medicine they would tend to randomly focus on one thing, and one thing only, as their awareness of time was below par. It seems that focusing on strictly the Spy, chasing them three miles through the warzone, out the gates, and into the forest had been quite a lengthy trek. Pyro made a quick mental note to take a lesser dose when they got to their base to avoid the hyperfixation tendencies. 

    Pyro’s mind began to wander as they hiked further up the mountain. Spy had taken to lessening his cigarette intake, likely more out of his lowered stock then out of health reasons. Watching him flick the smoldering ashes into the wind caused a slight interest from Pyro, the bright flickering particles fluttering slightly before they appeared to scintillate, gleaming rainbows taking their place. Pyro watched with fascination and awe, every part of them wanting to reach out and grasp the multicolored embers in their gloved hands, to hold them, and to watch them flicker and grow in the safety of their arms. Glancing down at the steel flamethrower in their hand, they watched the lighter end whirl and wave in the wind, bright yellow stars and prismatic hues dancing off of its shimmering tip. They felt their hand tense slightly against the handle. Every part of them yearned to hold the flamethrower to their body and close their hand around the trigger; to watch the rainbows dance and sparkle, to laugh as candy sprung from the ashes of viridescent grass, and to dance with the fairy tale creatures that populated their world. Pyro’s world.

    “Pyroland.”

    Pyro glanced up at the less-then-familiar figure who uttered their name, or at least, the person who had uttered a word containing their name. Tilting their head to the side, they flipped through the notebook in their hand labeled “speech” and stopped on the page with big, blocky letters that read “What” before pointing to the letter “R” and “U” before lastly signalling to a speech bubble labeled “talk”.

    “Sawbones has come up with a name for your… fantasy world. He’s been calling it Pyroland,” a more familiar voice explained, “is that okay, Pyro?”

    They nodded. Pyroland was a fitting name for their land, and they rather liked that implication that they had their own world. It was better than the awful term that had stuck to their tongue like gritty sand, heavy and awkward and unwieldy. They hated that word, hated it with every ounce of their being. It was all the white-cloaked, face-masked, and antiseptic-ridden monochromatic figures ever used when they talked about Pyro. Never their name, never their title. Just that horrid word. 

    That was why they liked Pyroland. It felt familiar, it felt safe, it felt like them.

    Even three years later, when they had begun to realize the reality behind their well-intentioned actions, they still felt safe with that word around. Yet, part of them knew the word contained terror as well, for the deeds they had committed in the sake of good had really been actions in the name of evil. They now knew, thanks to the bitter monochromatic pills, that the prismatic rainbows were blistering flames, and that the laughter of those it touched were in fact screams. 

Even with the medicine, however, they still couldn’t keep themselves from becoming infatuated by the beautiful dancing flames, regardless of appearance, that weaved just so around their fingers and warmed their very soul.

    At least they had begun to speak again. Three years ago, they would do anything to keep from speaking, using everything from a notebook to crude gestures in order to communicate with the team. Now, they were comfortable with a low mumble around the other mercenaries, even if it meant they still weren’t fully understood.

    A hand against their shoulder jerked them out of their thoughts and into the real world. The sudden transition caused them to snap out of the Pyroland hallucination as they pulled back on the reigns of their mind. The figure that had tapped them materialized next to them in their field of view, cigarette in hand. Pyro took a quick moment to overlook his expressions in the brief instant of shock. Spy’s nose was slightly upturned, eyebrows low and visible even beneath the cyanic mask with a slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes as he glared into the path ahead; a rough estimate would put him at forty years of age. While his face carried few visible scars, his normally gloved hands were pockmarked with the lessons of the past, from failed backstabs to scuffles with other team members. A streak of silver accompanied his dominant hand as it moved towards his pocket.

    A slight shiver of panic ran through their body and Pyro instinctively reached back for their shotgun, hand closing around the familiar wooden stock. The slight dip in the wood’s grain matched their gloved fingers as they curled around the handle.

    The Spy must have caught this movement as he almost immediately held the hand up to reveal not a blade but another purple emblem emblazoned on a thin piece of metal, four holes marking the edges where it was once held in place via screws. A slight coating of rust covered its every dip and divot, giving an appearance of age to the scrap.

    “Just another scrap, Fue ,” he muttered, before lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper, “between you and me, I’ve been noticing a suspicious correlation. If my theory is correct, keep your voice down and your head low.”

    They nodded and returned their hand to their side, abandoning the shotgun with a hint of resentment. Oh, how they really would have loved to shoot the spy, to revel over how they were right, and to feel safe once more; if it wasn’t that they would be alone.

----------------------------

    Pyro gazed up at the twinkling stars with longing sights. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and as the rainforest began to cool, a low tropical wind whispered it’s secrets as it drifted past. 

Of course, the rainforest cooling was an overstatement. At most, it would dip a little beneath seventy degrees fahrenheit, or as Spy had put it, “around twenty-one and a half celsius,” when he had flicked out his disguise kit and brought out a round thermometer. Now, he sat on the far side of the level hilltop, leaning against an ancient, vine-ridden tree and flicking through what Pyro could only assume to be photographs that he kept in his kit. He had long since discarded his nightly cigarette, and now the only light left to illuminate his face was the moon's solemn reflection against the metal of the disguise kit. A slight frown tugged at his face, and he pulled out a slip of paper, flipping it over before his eyes flickered into an expression akin to surprise and he quickly slipped it back in. Snapping the disguise kit shut, he let out a low grumble and adjusted himself so that he faced away from the Pyro.

Good. They didn’t want to see the filthy snake anyways. Turning as well, they shifted to their side and was met with a small creature that had crept out of the ground and was now crawling over their hand. Surprised, the creature made an attempt to run off, but the Pyro snatched the creature between their finger and thumb and held it. It squirmed a bit before staring at them. A thin layer of fur covered it and it was rodent-like in appearance. Small ears marked its head and a tiny nose twitched in fear.

Fire. Fire. Too much fire. They’d used too much. The bones were charred. Charred. Broken. Charred.

The once pearly white bones were pitch black, ash and soot coating their structure in a horrid, revolting mist. They had gone too far. The little creature, that was once alive; eating, breathing, and drinking; was now charred and blistered.

Slowly they reached forward and lightly touched the bones, only for them to collapse to dust. They had only been trying to help. They had only been trying to bring them the rainbows and light that they saw, but it couldn’t handle it. It couldn’t handle the beauty, and it collapsed, it’s laughter turning to high-pitched screams.

A knock at the door alerted them to reality, and they realized that the entire time they had been emitting sounds of distress.

“Py? Pyro? Are you okay there buddy?” a voice asked tentatively, before the door creaked open and a face peaked through, “can I come in?”

They nodded, flicking the lighter absentmindedly in their hands. A rogue flame escaped the device and caught the charred pile again and Pyro let out a sob-ridden shriek, the lighter clattering to the floor as the remains began to burn once more.

“Whoa, easy there Py, tell me what happened here boy,” he blurted, bringing a hand down on Pyro’s shoulder to comfort them before a previously-received warning flickered through their mind and they decided against it. He reached over to hand them their journal when suddenly a voice cut through the panic and caused him to stop in his tracks.

“I-I just wante-” they choked out through intermittent sobs before realizing what they were doing. Clasping their hands against their filter they let out a muffled wail.

“Pyro it’s… it’s okay. You can talk to me, I promise I won’t do anything,” he reassured, sitting down carefully next to the crying figure.

The figure looked over him, trying to decide if they could trust him. Slowly they extended their pinky. A promise.

“I promise, Pyro,” he confirmed, connecting his pinky with theirs.

“I-I just wanted to…” they began slowly, sniffling beneath their mask, “I just w-wanted to show it the light, but I forgot. I forgot t-that rainbows could… that they could...”

“They could hurt?” he provided.

“Y-yes,” they responded, before tears gripped them once more and they covered their glass-covered eyes with gloved hands, “I’m s-sorry, Engie.”

    With a long, trembling breath, they dropped the rodent, and it scrambled into the undergrowth with no more than a glance behind it.

Chapter Text

The first gentle touches of dappled sunlight came to rest gently on their mask, warming the dark material and reflecting off of the lense. It was neither harsh nor clouded, it’s pleasant gaze remaining fixed on the small section where Pyro laid. Small sparks dashed around in their vision as the sunlight moved upwards, filtering into the glass and reflecting off of the microscope scratches before shining onto their eye. Slowly, they opened their eyes and stared at the forest above.

 Beautiful glittering emerald leaves the size of their torso rippled and fluttered in a low breeze, small droplets of moisture sliding off of them and hitting the ground around Pyro with a bell-like tinkle. Scattering rays of flaxen light transfixed them and they allowed their eyes to wander, taking in the world around them. Delicate fruits hung from the branches like jewels, radiant and glimmering in the morning light. Winding vines clung to the sides of massive trees and snaked out, branching onto different trunks and twisting this way and that. Ancient roots curved and spiraled through the ground, intertwining and looping around each other as if they were performing some long-forgotten dance. 

 It was beautiful. For all the danger and death that they had endured, it was forgotten momentarily as they woke up to the bliss of the forest. Yet, they knew that they would have to get up and get ready so that they could get out of here, even if it was so entrancing.

 Heaving themselves up, they brushed themselves off, strips of dew-covered grass and clumps of mud sticking to their asbestos suit. It was a bit damp from sleeping on the ground all night, but due to their own sewing and handiwork, the figure inside wouldn’t get soaked from the dew. Of course, it was originally sewn to provide a barrier between jarate and the body inside, but it still functioned perfectly well to hinder other liquids from seeping in.

Eyes flitting around the clearing, they looked for Spy, taking a long, drawn-out breath from inside the mask. There was no sign of the cerulean marked figure. Unhooking their axe from its holster, they hefted it between their hands, testing its weight. Holding it in front of them, they advanced onto the clearing, looking for the sharp-suited man. Hunger gnawed at their stomach like a restless beast, demanding that they eat something, but they ignored it, looking for the Spy. It wasn’t like they had anything to eat, anyways.

Trotting over to a low bush, they brushed the ground with their foot, looking for footprints. He probably ran, hoping to escape without them. Damn right that they could hope, but they couldn’t run. It wouldn’t take long for Pyro to catch up to them if they had run.

A low rustle interrupted their paranoia and the Spy stepped out from a bush behind him, carrying a creature over his shoulder and holding his bloodied knife in front of him. He looked like he had been through hell and back, with various thorns and branches sticking off of his figure and mud staining the once well-pressed suit he wore. His mask was slightly askew, and a long scratch cut through the fabric.

“Normally,” he grunted as he hefted the creature higher onto his shoulder, groaning under the weight, “this would be Sniper’s job. But seeing as we are here, alone, I took up the duty. I do require some assistance though, so please, help me out here.”

Hooking the axe back onto its holster by the fuel tank, Pyro trotted over and grabbed the end of the creature, hooking the rear legs around their shoulders and hoisting it up on their back. Walking to the center of the clearing, Pyro set it down slowly on the ground, surveying the beast.

It looked to be some sort of small deer, possibly a juvenile, with a robust body and a tiny head. Its eyes were long since glazed over, and three stab wounds along its spinal column bled loosely, the edges of the cuts long since dried.

For a moment the blood appeared to flicker and turn into icing, the deer turning into a cookie. Then, as soon as the vision came, it disappeared, and the dried blood flickered back into view.

Turning their gaze to the Spy, they surveyed him. Part of his suit had bled into a loose shade of purple from the beast’s blood, and it was scuffed and scratched, revealing an offwhite shirt underneath. He looked exhausted, the bags underneath his eyes providing insight on the sleep he received last night, and judging by their size, he had received little to none.

Unhooking the fire axe, they walked into the forest, thin branches and brittle leaves crackling underneath their fire-proof soles. Surveying the thick, overgrown forest, they spotted a log covered in rampant vines and moss, it’s roots long since upended. Slowly, they brought their axe above their head…

...and brought it down on the laughing figure. It giggled, the lollipop that Pyro carried throwing it to the ground. Pyro laughed as well, a wide grin forming on their face as the figure giggled harder. Pulling back the lollipop, they gazed at the gleaming surface that glistened so brilliantly. In the warm light of the rainbows, it looked almost like blood-splattered metal. Bringing it back up above their head, they allowed gravity to bring the lollipop down on…

...the wood and it splintered, shards scattering across the rainforest floor. Bending down, Pyro grabbed the chips that had scattered and pocketed them. They would serve as a nice tinder for the fire. Splitting the log into four more decently sized sections, they dragged back the firewood, their gloved hands preventing splinters. With a snap, they pulled it through the bush and into the clearing. 

Spy glanced up from behind the creature where he sat and held up his knife before pulling back the creature’s hide to reveal that he had skinned the beast. Pyro dragged the wood over and sat it down, glancing at the Spy from beneath the mask before flicking their flamethrower on as the fire roared to life.

----------------------------

 With each step through the forest, mud clutched and grasped at their boots, clinging to the soles and making squelching noises as Pyro walked. Ahead of them, the Spy, who had discarded his suit back in the clearing with the comment “I have another,” trudged along. 

“We have arrived,” a voice broke the silence, the low chatter of birds ceasing as he announced their whereabouts, “the other two gates are directly past this one. After you, Fue .”

They allowed their gaze to travel up and stare at the scene set in front of them. Two tall, parallel concrete towers guarded the entrance to the first gate like sentry’s, one marked with a strip of red paint and the other with blue. The panels they would interact with were no longer podiums, but instead, shelf-like structures covered in buttons and levers that jutted out from the walls. One was covered in blinking crimson lights, and the other in cerulean.

“The code, if I recall correctly is 9999999, then, pull the lever that comes up,” Spy commented, coming behind the Pyro and walking over to his respective panel.

Nodding, they walked to their panel and stared down at the complicated interface. Buttons of all shapes and sizes decorated the front, and three levers lined the side of a blank screen. For a moment, a button beneath their finger flickered, and turned into a small mint.

Staring at the button, they became transfixed by the sudden appearance as the panel began to ripple and buttons turned to candy, levers turned to candy canes, and screens turned into melting pools of rainbow-tinted caramel. Glittering flowers appeared around their feet and they let out a giggle, delighted by the sudden appearance of colors. Even though they did somewhat realize that it was a hallucination, their brain saw it as real, and they couldn’t tear their eyes away.

Someone laughed from behind and they turned around, connecting eyes with a floating child with wings. He laughed and Pyro laughed with him, running up to the angel and hugging them tightly. What an adorable little child! Clapping their hands, they released the child, turned around, and bent down, grabbing one of the flowers off of the ground. Oh, how they would be surprised, how they would love this gift! Twisting back around, they passed the prismatic flower to the child, grinning ear to ear beneath their mask. 

The child took one look at the flower, dropped it, and put his hands on Pyro’s shoulders. In an instant, they began violently shaking the Pyro, laughing while they shook the being. Confused, Pyro pushed the child away, but he shook them even harder in response. Why was it doing this? Why wouldn’t it stop? Slowly, the child’s giggles turned into words, and they were able to barely decipher what he was saying.

“ Fu- haha! Reme… hehe… snap out of… Hehehe! Come on, I don’t have all day! WAKE UP, PYRO !”

Something in them cracked and they fell back, alarmed. What… what had it said? Why did what they say sound so familiar… yet made them so scared? They stared at him and watched as he twisted and turned, his joints popping and bending, bones cracking and reforming. Rib cages split and spines snapped as he morphed and melted into some ungodly creature that now towered over Pyro. 

Then a face appeared.

It was familiar. To familiar. They recognized it in an instant and let out a muffled scream, terrified at the reality that had now settled in above them. Covering their head with their hands, they bent down and cowered, horrified by the creature their mind had created. As the noises of the creature continued, they became more hysterical.

It was too much. They hated it, they hated the face, the name… they wanted it to all go away. They wanted all the memories to leave so that they never had to visit them again. They wanted to run, to escape, to leave this dreaded nightmare disguised as a friend.

Scrambling to their feet, they ran, insulated boots pounding against concrete, then mud, and then grass as they stumbled through the forest. Their hands grasped at the air, arms swinging this way and that as they escaped from it all, ran from the past that haunted them at night, clinging to their shoulders in a cold sweat and whispering its tormenting secrets in their ears. Branches whipped their limbs and abraded their masked face, thorns clinging to the suit and fraying the outer layer. Leaves wet with dew clasped on to their lenses and obscured their vision, sending them flying forward and onto the forest floor with a pained humph .

Almost immediately they tried to pull themselves up, but they were met with a sharp pain in their abdomen and they collapsed, too weak to counter it. It didn’t matter anyway. All that matters was that they had escaped, and the creature was back there. Looking down at their gloved hands, they noticed a stream of liquid pooling from their palm. It took them a moment to realize it wasn’t cherry syrup.

Slowly, the vibrant colors faded, and the candy that scattered itself around the field turned into logs and mushrooms. The slight rainbow that had constructed itself in the sky faded to a dull overcast, sending the world around them into a downpour. Looking down at their palm, they winced as they realized what it was. Blood. Lots of blood.

They’d been hallucinating again. Cursing, they reached into their pocket and drew out the cloth from earlier. Hell, it was dirty, and probably not the most sanitary thing to wrap a wound with, but it would make do. Clenching their teeth they wrapped the wound with the cloth and tied it shut. Slowly, they attempted to draw a deep breath but stopped midway through when the cold grip of pain seized their ribcage and sent them into a fit of sharp, shooting pangs that jabbed at their insides like needles. 

Collapsing back on the ground, they took a moment to register what had happened. They’d been about to enter the first gate. Then the hallucinations hit. There was a child and flowers… wait, not flowers, something else that the vision had disguised… then the candy… or was the candy first? They couldn’t quite remember. Then… the creature. The beast. The abomination. The abomination. The child. That must have been… Spy. 

This time they let out a loose string of curses and glared down at the ground beneath them. Spy was the only way they were getting out of this, and as much as they hated him, they would be dead if he wasn’t still there. Now, after they’d had a trip to Pyroland, the chances of the Spy ever wanting to help the mumbling arsonist was low.

As if to mock them, a figure wearing black dress shoes stepped out in front of them.

“Do you require any assistance?” Spy asked tentatively, staring at the collapsed figure.

“What dhoes it lhook lihke, snhake?” they grunted in response, the previous concerns momentarily forgotten as they provided a sarcastic answer.

“You’re out of Pyrovision, at least,” he responded, extending a hand to help them up. 

They took it gladly and winced as their ribcage threatened to burst into another fit of pain. Spy noticed this motion and reached into his pocket, passing a small medkit over. Pyro uncapped it and almost immediately the beam found its way to their chest, healing it in less than a second.

“Now, let us return to the gates,” Spy muttered, gazing at the path.

----------------------------

    The rest of the day passed by swiftly. The downpour had stopped as soon as it had started, and they reached the first gate as it ended. After the first gate, they went through the facial recognition gates with little incident, both of them clinging onto the little trust they had formed between each other. Yet, the episode that had occurred earlier that day still remained in the back of their minds.

    It was, however, momentarily forgotten as they entered the sprawling compound of Mercenary Park. Never before had the metal control points, twisting electrified wire, and cold concrete walls ever looked so comforting. Involuntarily, Pyro ran their hand along the concrete that marked the walls. Their yellow-tipped finger followed every dip and imperfection, tracing the holes and crevices with pure wonder.

    In the low light of the setting sun, Mercenary Park appeared to glow. The deep scarlet sun, outlined with a halo of gold, sat behind the BLU base and outlined the building in red. Streaks of orange and amethyst marked veiled clouds in the sky, and puffs of cotton candy haze covered the darker end of the sky. In the far distance, above the glittering sea, stood the far away twinkling of silver stars.

    Ahead of them, on the far side of the control point, Spy lifted the heavy garage door that led to the BLU base. Nodding to the Pyro, they disappeared underneath it with a flash of smoke, leaving them with a sharp clang as it closed.