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The Pyro waited.
They were sitting in the corner of the room they were left in.
Every now and then, a spy would come into their room. They would take someone away. They wouldn’t bring them back.
The Pyro shivered, even within the insulated warmth of their suit. The room felt heavy, with dread and with the absence of so many of the Pyro’s family. The walls were gray, so was the floor, and the ceiling with its flickering fluorescent light. Nowhere to be seen were the bright colors the Pyro was accustomed to, the twinkling lights and friendly companions, the sprawling fields of sugar-spun grass and cotton candy trees.
The only interruption from the gray was a candy-pink liquid that had dripped from their Heavy friend. Somehow it didn’t seem as cheery as when the team would go out to frolic in the fields and play tag with their BLU friends.
The Heavy’s face was drawn. His shirt had been all torn up, the Medic tying them over the leaking spots when they had first arrived. Now those spots seemed to have been sealed shut by the dried fluid in dark patches that made the Pyro oddly queasy to see on him.
He was sitting closest to the door. It reminded them a little of how he always got in between them and the BLU when they were tired and hurting and were about to be caught.
Pyro didn’t very much like to be caught by the BLUs. It made the world spinny and dark, and their tummy feel funny– before they found themselves in the same room they’d started in. Still, the Pyro knew that this was part of the game, and they liked to play it.
And they were grateful for the Heavy for always stepping in to shield them when they couldn’t get away in time.
The Medic was sitting right next to him, holding one of his hands. He traced the other down that arm, examining the dried patches through the smudged lenses of his glasses.
Pyro got that look from the Medic often. All squinty eyes and pinched lips and focus. But they didn’t mind the Medic’s silly faces, because he always made them feel all better after a hard day. He had a funny laugh, too. Usually when he was covered in the pink fluid– simply happy to be so colorful, Pyro guessed.
Sniper was in the corner opposite them, staring off into nothing. Sniper hardly talked with any of the team, but he tolerated Pyro well enough. If Pyro wanted company, but was tired of how much they needed to talk around the other mercs, they would go to Sniper and the two of them would sit in a comfortable silence together. On one of his birthdays they and Scout had worked together on a project. A purple kangaroo Pyro had drawn with the caption, yur kangaro wife, written by Scout. Sniper had groaned at it and looked displeased, but it was taped to the fridge in his camper next to a picture of Sniper’s parents.
The Spy sat near the Scout, a few feet away, with one of the pretty sticks in his mouth. He was very nearly out of them, the little box only contained one more. The Spy didn’t talk to Pyro often, but he did give them his old lighters, and called them luciole, which meant firebug in french. Pyro had written it out in bright blue crayon and taped the paper onto their door with drawings of fireflies around it. Luciole…
The Scout had been running and pacing around the room when they had arrived, and shouting. The shouting had sounded wrong in the quiet room. Later he had finally collapsed to the floor, sitting hunched over, to play with his dog tags. They made a bright jingling sound that Pyro had always liked. Sometimes he let Pyro touch and play with them. They would do lots of things together. But now he was still. The tape on his hands was peeling off, and his hat was pulled down over his eyes. It reminded them of the Soldier.
The Soldier had not come back. Neither had the Demo.
Pyro missed them.
Soldier was full of energy, just like Pyro. He was always willing to jump around, and go on adventures, and play-fight– although he called it training. He said Pyro was a True American, and patted him on the back, and let him wear his helmet around.
Demo had silly little capsules that came out of his gun, like the light and glitter that poured from Pyro’s. Pyro liked to come to his workshop and watch him make them. He measured everything out carefully and put them away until it was time to play outside. They would burst in bright colors, like fireworks. He always welcomed Pyro’s company, and told him stories, and one time let him try one of the funny-tasting drinks he had. Pyro hadn’t liked it, so ever since then, when they came in, Demo had juice boxes. Pyro loved juice boxes. They could pull their mask up just enough for the straw, drinking happily and swinging their legs while they watched Demo work.
Yes, Pyro missed them both dearly.
They waited quietly in their corner with their beloved balloonicorn in their lap, petting it softly so it wouldn’t feel so scared.
The scary Spy came in after a long time and took the Heavy. Pyro had fallen fast asleep and had not seen it. Had not gotten to say goodbye, or cling to him and hug him, to tell him they loved him and to please, please come back.
Heavy had gone quietly, the Medic said. Had just gotten up and left. There was crashing and shouting in the hall when the door closed, but then it had stopped and all had been quiet again.
Pyro hugged their balloonicorn tighter. The light above made a constant buzzing sound, and the bright light it cast down only served to make the Pyro feel queasy.
The door opened again, and Pyro squeaked.Their chest hurt and they jumped to their feet, ready to grab hold of whoever was called next and nuzzle their head into his chest, and make sure he knew he was loved and wanted and please don’t leave them–
“Pyro,” the Spy purred, and they squeezed their balloonicorn so hard it almost popped. They pet it frantically as an apology so it understood it wasn’t on purpose, and held it close for comfort.
They considered leaving it with their family to be taken care of, but something selfish in them wanted its comfort for themself. And– and maybe they were just going somewhere new. Maybe it would all be okay.
Their teammates looked at him. Spy, with tiredness and hopelessness in his eyes; Sniper and Medic with regret; Scout with a desperation he didn’t get to act on as the scary Spy grabbed Pyro firmly by the arm and led them out.
“I love you!” the Pyro cried out as the door shut, wanting them to know.
Those left behind in the room heard the desperate, “Mm mhhh muh! ” and they had been around the Pyro long enough to understand what it meant.
The scary spy only chucked. The Pyro heard a familiar clicking. They recognized it from their own Spy’s butterfly knife. It was a warning now, instead of a pretty toy. Pyro swallowed thickly, and cuddled their balloonicorn close.
They entered a new room, with more people in it. They looked like the Pyro’s family, but different. Not like the BLUs looked different, but a new, wrong kind of different.
This Spy, this Soldier, this Heavy were all so, so wrong.
The Heavy put his large hands on their shoulders, squeezing tight. “Hold still and quiet, little Pyro,” they said, in that familiar deep rumble, “Will all be done soon.”
Pyro tilted their head back to stare up at him, and found nothing comforting in his eyes.
“Oui, we will, but first!” The Spy made a sweeping gesture towards… a camera. “Your Engineer is watching you. He has been the one in charge of picking you off, one by one. Your Engineer chose you to die just like your teammates. He wants you to die, and now he is going to watch.”
Pyro shook their head rapidly.
Engie would never, never do that. Engie was nice, and played them songs on the guitar, and always thanked them for protecting his buildings. He made southern-style dinners and biscuits with butter, told corny jokes, and hugged them close when they were sad. Engie loved them, all of them.
“Oh, you stupid little thing. You are wrong. Your Engineer gave me your name without hesitation, first thing, when I visited him this morning. ‘Pyro!’ he said. He must dislike you especially.”
The Spy was lying.
Maybe Pyro came by a little too often, maybe that was annoying. But Engie would have asked them to stop, right? And sure he got frustrated when there were so many demands for dispensers he couldn’t build in time, but…
Engie would never. He wouldn’t. Never.
“Well, whether you believe me or not, it is true.” The Spy lifted one of the pretty sticks to his mouth and lit it. “Go ahead and take it.”
“YESSIR!” the Soldier shouted, startling the Pyro (who had almost forgotten him) and saluting. Then he marched over, proclaimed “MAGGOT!” at the Pyro, and snatched their dear little balloonicorn away.
The Pyro cried out for it, reaching to take it back, but the Heavy’s hands moved to pin their arms behind their back.
The Spy accepted Pyro’s friend and examined it, scoffing a little. “What an ugly children’s toy.”
Pyro felt their eyes stinging, fogging their mask’s lenses. Balloonicorn was not ugly, it was their friend, their family, their constant companion. Pyro loved it. Pyro wanted it. They begged for it.
The Spy plucked the pretty stick out of his mouth and pressed the glowing end into one of the balloonicorn’s eyes. The Pyro could hear its desperate cries.
Their dear balloonicorn burst with a pop! and deflated to a scrap of rubber in the Spy’s palm. The Pyro wailed.
The Spy approached them with the little carcass as one of the Heavy’s hands squeezed down around their mask. Something was pulled away from their face as they struggled.
The rubber remains of balloonicorn were stuffed into the ventilator or Pyro’s mask, sealed into it as the filter was screwed back on.
Every hold on them released, dropping them to the floor. The same gray, lifeless floor as before. The mercenaries filed out of the room as the Spy offered parting words. “Say bye-bye to Engineer, Pyromaniac!”
Pyro couldn’t breathe.
The panic set on immediately, but they could not escape it. Their mask was sealed tightly into the suit, the filter stuck as the Pyro sucked desperately for air.
Their chest ached. A hot, hot pain, like fire but bad. Too hot. It radiated out from their chest and they twitched and convulsed in pain. They struggled helplessly against the floor, unable to hold themself up, grabbing at their mask and pulling, clawing in it.
Pyro’s head hurt. Their face was soaked in tears that they could taste, the lenses of their goggles too foggy to see through.
After an eternity, the pain began to fade, and the Pyro would have sighed in relief if they’d had the air to do so. Their arm was heavy as they lifted it to their face again, loosely gripping the filter of their mask and thinking of poor balloonicorn…
They wanted it… balloonicorn would make… everything better…
Why did it have to be gone?
Why was everyone gone?
Why were they alone?
They didn’t want to be… alone… even if they couldn’t feel the bad fire in their chest…and their head felt… so light… and… floaty…
Pyro closed their eyes, barely registering the wetness of their lashes as they squeezed them shut.
They weren’t so scared anymore. Just sad. Regret hung in their chest, but it was far away, the heat like a distant campfire.
They couldn’t remember why they had been scared before. Or what they were regretting. Something missing.
So… floaty… the Pyro wanted to giggle.
They drifted up, up and away from themselves, floating just like balloonicorn had, and everything was calm.
The RED Pyro fell unconscious and quietly suffocated a minute or two more on the cold, gray floor, and died.