Open TF2: Faith & Misery

ooc thread



It was quiet.

The RED Scout frowned as he tiptoed carefully through the dim, sloshy, and gross sewers under the two bases. He figured that he was probably closer to the BLU side by now; he'd been walking for a while, knee-deep in the dark water. It was pretty gross, but he was used to it, even the dim feeling of annoyance that he could feel trickling up from his legs. The demon really didn't like being submerged in water, especially the gross sewer-water.

Scout pressed his back to the curving wall of the huge pipe, peeking around a corner. This place was a prime spot for sentry guns built by both sides, and dying would be most unpleasant, especially after spending so much time getting over here. He crept around the corner and hefted his bat, ready to run out swinging if he had to. Luckily, though, there didn't seem to be anything else out there.

He could feel something that could only be described as a sigh of relief trickle up from the demon. He was quite good at reading the nonverbal messages that the demon would send him by now, having been with the creature for nearly a year. It was pretty nice to have it, really. Sometimes it caught sight of things that he didn't, warning him with a pulse of sudden heat, or a stab of pain.

He stepped carefully up the ramp leading to the upper level, scanning the area before him. He still didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean that he was alone. Someone could hop out at him at any second, so he was always uneasy and a bit jumpy in the enemy base. People liked to try and drive him off with more force than was probably necessary.

"Fuck, man, why's it so quiet? 's making me all twitchy. Fuck." He muttered, mostly to himself, since the demon didn't speak verbally, or need to be spoken too; it could feel his thoughts.

"God I hate this fuckin' place. I should just get that damned briefcase and get the hell out." He added, stepping around a corner.

"Bloodly quiet...too quiet if you ask me."

The RED Sniper sighed, looking at the field before him. He would catch slight movement from the water, from the sides of buildings and dark shadows before him but nothing would come from the movements that he could do anything for. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, softly muttering under his breath how idiotic this whole thing was with slight annoyance. He then watched the waters for a few moments, trying to figure how much time had passed since he saw the red speck duck fully under the bridge to make its way to the other base.

"Cocky gremlin...well, no point in worrying too much, got work to do meself."

The man then shook his head a bit, a soft chuckle leaving his throat.

"I must have gone around the bend a few times. Here I am, sitting alone in my nest, talking to meself as if the demon could talk back...if I could hear its voice like before in the hospital."

The man then zeroed back onto the battle field before him, his rifle in hand and changed to it's demon-powered form. He could just feel the gun quiver in his hands, as if it were a living thing of flesh and bone. He cooed softly to the gun, to quiet it's movement as one would to a frightened animal.

The gun stopped quivering and quieted in his hands, behaving itself once more for the aged man. The Sniper smiled, petting the gun with a free finger.

"That's a pretty sheila...I know how to calm you now, my sweet."

The man found enjoyment out of his weapons responding to him, as if they were real living beings and not just demon-powered tools for killing. After spending as much time as he had with his demon, almost a complete six years since that day in the hospital to be exact, he had learned how to read the demon's signs through his weapons and eyes. The demon was more of a part of him than a simple being living off his body in order to fight this war.

He lifted his gun and looked to the other base, scanning the points of entry and exit with his eyes.

"Come on you bloody wankers...where are you, you annoyingly pompous gits."

Quiet... the BLU demo thought to himself. He grinned as he hovered his thumb over a button on his gun, looking fondly on the small, spiked bombs that clung just inside the wall, invisible from the outside.

Anything coming through that door's in for a surprise...

The angel orbiting his waist purred lightly. Demo's breath hitched, just barely keeping himself from detonating the sticky bombs early, then he sighed. It'll take a while to get used to this...thing, though.

Then...footsteps. Rapid footsteps coming from his right. He turned to look, but saw nothing. Still wary, he put away his stickygun and pulled out his grenade launcher, ready to open fire at whatever he had just heard.

((Yes, we're all gonna comment on how quiet it is!))

It was no longer quiet now that a voice spoke in Pyro's ears.

He wasn't insane; it was just that Scout still had his mic on and Pyro could hear him. It might have been so Scout could report BLU's defences, but Pyro thought he just forgot.

"Yes. It would be more interesting if you were getting shot at," Pyro said. His tone was not sarcastic.

The mic was inside his mask, so Scout would hear more than muffled mutterings. This was another thing his demon had given him many a painful twinge about; apparently being anything but a faceless psycho was totally missing the point of being a pyro, even if that made these battles harder. Pyro didn't believe in it, even though a jolt of moderate pain shot up his arm whenever he said something.

Pyro paused and looked up from covering the floor with coal, now glancing at the bright red briefcase. He still wanted to steal it himself and put it in a locked metal box, like he did with his dog that one time, to keep it safe, or fill it with papers no one cared about defending, but his demon always protested whenever he thought of--ow! He banged his draconic arm against the side of his helmet. He hoped it hurt the demon as much as it hurt Pyro.

He dropped the last piece of coal and stood up. "Ready?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer.

He made a quick sweep with a flamethrower-stream to light up the floor and scurried off to the spot he actually was supposed to be in, giggling into his mic. This trick was one he'd mostly practised on Scout's bed, but this time around, there'd be a whole lot more burning going on when someone tried to get through it.

It totally lacked subtlety, but Pyro didn't really need it since people were going to try and run through the flames anyway. Now, that place he was hiding in - he still forgot its name but he knew where all the corners were - would need him to hide a bit more, but then at least he could see the burning himself. Another burst of laughter escaped from his lips and he quickened his pace. He hoped lots of people came through his hiding spot, once he got set up. People burned from demonic fire so prettily, much better than normal flames, and even if they shot back he'd like to see them.

He skidded to a stop, realising something, and ran back to the intel room for his axe.

Oops.

Scout nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice in his headset, and stopped walking abruptly. He slapped a hand to the single large ear-covering headphone on the left side of his head, hissing into the microphone.

"What the fuck man, Pyro, issat you? Fuck, you scared me, don't do that!" He hissed, trying his best to keep it a whisper, but he never was one to be good at keeping quiet. "Bite me, I hate getting shot at, I always die faster than any of youse. Fuckin' sucks."

He frowned and listened to the freak laugh like a nutjob for a little while, backing himself against a wall and taking a moment to recover his composure. Pyro was a freaking creep, always trying to screw around with Scout and his stuff. It pissed him off. He rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall again.

"What the fuck're you doing anyway? You're supposeta be defending our intel, not burning stuff, unless someone goes in there. Fuckin' creeper." He growled into the mic, before starting to jog off again.

He continued down the hallway, his shoes tapping slightly on the floor, but he payed that little mind as he made a few practice swings with his bat. He couldn't wait to smack some skulls in.

((FMC's 'Number of uses of the word Fuck' count: 7))

It would be a stretch to suggest that Pyro understood the point of 2fort. Every time he looked at it he felt like he was looking at a street where there was a starbucks on both sides -- the only thing separating the bases was that rickety little bridge which was basically a deathtrap anyway because stepping onto it was just asking to be blown to bits by stickies or stabbed in the back or ripped through with a thousand minigun bullets or stabbed in the back. He wondered sometimes which company came up with the brilliant idea to put their base a ten-second run away from the other base. He had this weird feeling that it was BLU, because RED had that barn that looked like it was about to fall down at at any time and BLU's base was so shiny and new and fireproof... Not that he'd ever succeeded in turning the RED barn into a giant bonfire, either, but he had tried. Thinking so much about the purpose of 2fort made him a little spaced out, though, and he'd actually spent a whole fight shuffling about in resupply because of it, so he tried to avoid it. (Especially after the lecture the soldier that one time had given him. Agh.)

Crap, he was already pacing. Pyro shifted his flamethrower in his hands with a bit of a frown (not that it would translate, but it was worth the effort) and shuffled quickly away from the upper resupply room to the right where the stairs would take him down to the entrance and did a quick spin to check that the coast was clear of spies (thank god thank god thank god). He moved quickly -- it was less strategic than it was nervous.

Usually by now the walls were pounding with the arrhythmic blasts of rockets and shotguns and the thick metal-on-bone sound of aluminum bats, but somehow all the echo was absent and Pyro shivered a little in his suit because he knew somehow that this was bad and it probably had something to do with spies. He scurried through the base like a nervous spider. It was always so much easier to be reckless and confident in obvious bloodshed because he knew exactly what he was up against: demo over there, soldier over there, no problem, respawn wasn't that bad. But in a quiet like this he hugged the walls and felt like a deer in the headlights, except the headlights weren't a car they were a butterfly knife. His fingers twitched nervously on the flamethrower.

Everything seemed a little eerier from Pyro's point of view. The mask he wore had a tint to its lenses that made everything darker and foggier, even bright and sunny 2fort -- that's why he jumped immediately when he saw the demoman leering at the stickies he'd plastered the walls with. Blue and red and BLU and RED all looked a little more like gray when you wore a gasmask. The demo's looming silhouette and the feathery whatever around his waist focused after Pyro's initial start and he calmed a little. This was Demo, it was his demo, and of the team he could actually sort of understand Demo because he was all ignition and explosion and reaction. Pyro slowed his breathing, the breathing he'd only just realized was heavy because his suit was making little crinkling noises from the movement of his chest.

"Dmmuh," he said absently. "Uh. Whuhss hhp."

Oh. Right. The mask. He cringed inwardly. Couldn't some stupid RED scout show up so he could do something productive instead of flounder all over communication? His fingers kept twitching on his flamethrower.




((yeah whoo i have no idea what to do here but!!))

"Shouldn't take this long...What is that Scout up too?"

Sniper shifted in his spot, cursing silently under his breath. No one was up on the topside of the field, which only meant they were in the underground tunnels. He taps the small ear piece in his left ear and turns it on.

"Scout. I don't see anyone topside...be on guard down there you spastic gremlin."

((Keyboard is spazzing something fierce))

Despite the mask muffling the Pyro's words, Demo understood the gist of it. Without turning, he answered.

"I heard some footsteps from near the sewers. Judging by how quick they were, it's probably a Scout, so be ready to attack fast." He smiled, "Nothing's getting through those front doors, though."

He held up his grenade launcher and edged closer to the stairs, hoping to get a better listen.

"If you died faster, it wouldn't hurt," Pyro informed Scout just before stepping into the roaring flames. He made sure not to step on the coals too much in case he put out some flames (they'd spring back to life just like everyone always did but he didn't want to kill them, they were like team mates) and he retrieved his axe. He'd put it with the intel briefcase, which was good, since his weapons weren't demonised and could burn when exposed to his flames. The only thing stopping that was some weird fire-retardant chemical or another, and he doubted anything could stop the fire for long. Even Jarate eventually turned to gas.

He heard Sniper say something to Scout, something about no one being in his sight. Well, that made him pretty useless, didn't it? There might be a spy, of course, or maybe Spy, but none of the main fighters were going around and getting killed by Sniper. He thought that maybe he should have put some burning coal there, but he'd used all of it on the intel room. Saved up for a week, too. It was just to see if it worked. Of course, it would probably only work once.

More work for Pyro, then. He hurried to his corner, spewing flames periodically in case there was a spy around, and blasted the room he was supposed to guard before going to hide again. Well, no one on fire there. Kind of a shame. He went back to hide again.

Man, it was still too quiet. It'd be better tomorrow, maybe - he'd be on the offensive tomorrow, going to get the intel himself and taking a different path than Scout. Right now, though?

"Scout, did you get shot yet?"

A bit of drama would be welcome news.

-

(With FMC's permission, I am now also the BLU spy.)

Taking the overground route was always more stressful than the sewers, at least ever since Spy learned to wear shorts (although he always created illusory pants) and bring a towel. He disliked the open space. There was rarely any space to safely decloak or change disguises without being spotted by the demon sniper, and usually there were kinetic or explosive projectiles that might disrupt his disguise. Today, however, the plan did not involve a large battle overground, so he took this route, remaining invisible for most of the way.

He had not seen or heard the demon scout on his way here, but killing the scout was not his priority; the defenders could likely deal with him. Rather, he was here, at the base of the stairs to the sniper tower, for a particularly different reason.

It was a godsend, Spy had often realised, that the demon snipers worked completely differently from Sniper. No one could sneak up on Sniper; everything made a sound, even if it was just breathing or the lightest footstep, and Sniper could hear everything. The demon sniper relied on sight - on light - and light was what Spy controlled.

Spy's entire body felt tired for a moment, muscles weak, like he was on imminent collapse. Then the feeling vanished. He frowned - he'd spent too long getting here, been too careful, and now his angel was tiring. He had perhaps two minutes to kill the demon sniper with assurance of invisibility. His finger brushed the trigger guard of his ambassador, and he flicked out his butterfly knife with his other hand. He crept up the stairs, watching each step, and considered his next move. The demon sniper often had an odd electric shield that hindered Spy's attempts at stabbing his back, and a successful throatcut was nearly impossible.

Spy had two knives, of course, but the main problem was that the last time he tried to stab the demon sniper in the back, his muscles seized from the electricity. And that naked girl thing he'd tried with the demon scout wouldn't work, either. He could try shooting the sniper to death; he hadn't done that one before. But backstabs were the signature of spies, and it helped keep the demons nervous. And he hadn't killed the demon sniper in far too long.

This would be much easier if there was someone for the demon sniper to shoot at. He'd have to discuss it with the other angels tonight.

Spy paused to shudder at the sight of a few jars of urine, but he pressed on. His finger snaked under the trigger guard of his ambassador and he pointed it at the back of the sniper's head. Maybe if he stuck his knife through the bullethole, he could avoid touching the shield entirely, but it would be faster to just shoot the sniper, he thought - even if it was with his off-hand. With a mental sigh, he squeezed the trigger. He'd try to shoot at the sniper's general form as much as possible to kill him if this was nonfatal, as it somehow tended to be.

((...I knew you'd go after me if you were the spy, Kusa.))

The footsteps, the shadow, the very feeling that someone had entered his space should have warned him. Sadly, he was too occupied in calming his rifle when it started to shudder violently. He was too slow to comprehend that the shaking was a warning.

He felt the pain of the bullet entering his body, the demon inside of him screeching in his ears. He could feel his blood and life slipping, the demon nattering in his mind and taking momentary control over his arm. He could only watch as his arm pulled the Kukuri from his belt and swing at the Spy's gut, leaving a deep gash.

"Bloody Spook...piss"

Sniper's senses shut down, his body dropping to the ground with a muffled thud do to the hay on the floor. His eyes slide shut and he felt his body start to disappear, followed by his weapons.

Respawn was always a bloody pain in the neck.

"Shut the fuck up, mumbles!" Scout hissed, flicking his headset down around his neck so he didn't have to listen to that stupid pyromaniac anymore than he needed to. "You're starting to piss me the fuck off. I need something to beat up."

Scout made a low growling sound and bolted up the remaining stairs, running through the halls without much notice of his surroundings...until he nearly ran smack into the BLU Demoman. The strangest little squeak came out of the Scout's mouth, and he staggered backwards. This was very not good.

The teen turned on his heels and made to run back the way he came.

"Fucking hell! Fuck shit fuck!" He swore loudly into the mic, trying to get someone - anyone! Even that damned Pyro! - to hear him and answer.

((F-word count: 12))

Gotcha.

As the blur of red popped into his vision, Demo ran forward towards it and immediately launched a flurry of pipe bombs after the Scout. He watched the flickering blue lights bounce away down the hall and out of sight. A few seconds later, the sound of explosions rung out. If there were screams, they were covered up by the cacophony. It was times like this that he wished he had a more predictable weapon....He also wished he could chase the Scout further, but he didn't want to stray too far from his trap.

He motioned to the Pyro. "Did you see him?" The Pyro's reaction answered that question soon enough. "He went running back the way he came. I don't know if I got him or not. Probably not. You'll have better luck going after him than I would, but be careful."

Demo quickly switched weapons and laid down his two remaining stickies in the doorway the Scout had left through. With that, he continued his patrol of the inside of the fort, his senses focused on keeping out anyone else who tried to get in.

Oh wow, thought Pyro, it was like Christmas and then he thought of the scampering scout with a big green bow round his head and it was very funny. Just minutes ago he'd been idly hoping for a scout to run by so ... flammably (he guessed no one was going to spellcheck his thoughts) and one had come! It was like the glinting thing around Demo's waist was a shooting star and he'd made a proper wish on it. The scout had stopped comically short of Demo (did Demo have a name? It made Pyro nervous to think about) and for a second it was like time froze in order to move its affairs out of the way of the scout's inevitable tsunami of swear words. Pyro forgot, for a moment, that he was supposed to set the little bunny because there were two people there and for a second it was really awkward and what was the scout thinking, but then Scout turned and ran for it and Pyro felt his grip on his flamethrower change and with a nod to the demoman he was running too.

"Cmm bkk!" he said. "Ah jsst whunnah tahkk tuh yuh!"

He thinks maybe he once had a brother who used to say that all the time, but it never ended up just being a talk.

The way he saw it the scout wasn't gonna get that far: he was in the wrong base entirely and he was running for stairs and turns and even worse water and Pyro knew where he was going and where to aim and also that it took less time to aim fire than it did a bat. Pyro enjoyed the syncopated sound of his muffled boots layered over the scout's rapid footfalls before he adjusted the flamethrower and let out a thick burst of fire to lick at the scout's heels.

But who was he kidding. The scout was a scout, he ran maybe three times as fast as Pyro if he wanted to. Pyro scowled a bit at his flamethrower -- so good to him but so heavy, and so awkward to hold. He'd never get that scout this way.

He dropped his flamethrower. It clattered and he winced at the thought that it might dent. His palms itched.

Spy winced when the metal bit into his abdomen, and he staggered back to ensure that the sniper's weakening body couldn't get another shot at him. That the sniper could attack at all was Spy's own failure. He shot twice more, one bullet embedding itself in the wall and the other striking the sniper's shoulder, and the sniper collapsed.

Spy flipped his knife shut and pocketed it so he could hold onto his bleeding wound - there was no real benefit to it, but it seemed to hurt less. He sidestepped over to a hated jarate and, holstering the ambassador, picked it up. He walked over to the sniper's body and poured the sniper's own urine on the sniper's head.

"Piss indeed," he said, dropping the jar on the sniper's head as one final insult. He couldn't know the sniper was completely dead until his body disappeared, about a minute after the final shutdown, but he was fairly confident the sniper was still aware enough to witness this.

The sniper's weapons also would not disappear for a minute, and Spy crouched by one to inspect it. The sniper had been muttering to his weapon in a soothing tone, and if it had not been Spy's imagination, it had been shuddering. Perhaps it was possessed, but it was also possible the man was psychotic. A shaking weapon could be explained by shaking hands, after all.

He picked the sniper's mic off the sniper's face and held it near his own mouth and ear, but not touching his actual face. That would be disgusting, since it was also soaked in urine. He caught the demon scout's familiar voice, swearing about something. That was a good sign. He could speak back and reveal his presence - there was nothing quite like the demon scout's response to any mention of his mother - for the sake of psychological torment, since the sniper would respawn soon enough. Since Spy still had not learned to set up explosives properly and could not do much more damage here without enemies overground, there would also not be much of a detriment. But he chose against it, instead taking out his electro sapper and crouching by the razorback shield. The sniper was probably dead now, so he wouldn't witness this experiment.

Then Spy pressed the plates against the shield and flicked the machine on. He quickly stepped back to see the results from a possibly-safer distance.

-

"Beat up yourself," Pyro advised him, "or I could beat you. You also wanted me to bite you. I can do that if you'd like."

There was no answer, though - maybe Scout didn't hear him. That was disappointing and also mean. There was a short pause and a gunshot and then Scout swore very loudly.

"That doesn't make any sense," Pyro said. "Hell is maybe a nice place but it can't fuck, and I'd rather not fuck shit. Or shit-fuck. You can do it, but then I'm not touching you."

Whilst all this had been going on, the blinded BLU Sniper, Andrew, had been hidden behind a wall, listening. He'd been doing that a lot more often now, since the angel had improved his senses so much. Listening was such a fun thing to do. Its amazing how many secrets people reveal when they believe they aren't heard. Who would have ever guessed the RED Sniper had a love affair with his gun? Scratch that, everyone did.

He had just heard the Spy's kill, and knew that with the rifle gone, his bow had the largest range. Time for the blindy ta shine. Having already memorized the entire location of 2fort, getting off the battlement was easy. Hearing nothing of note on the wooden bridge, Andrew crossed it and entered the RED base. It smelled like wood, very much unlike the one he had grown accustomed to.

Hiding in a dark corner within the base, he sat down and listened once again, this time with his bow strung. Huh, fire. Seems to be coming from deeper in. Probably their Pyro dicking around at the intel. Bah. I've got jarate, and I could smell him from a mile away. Looks good.

He rounded another bend, carefully keeping silent. The sound of the Pyro's mumblings barely came through, not that being closer would have made them any more decipherable. Andrew noted he was probably on his mike. Unless he was going out with his Flamethrower. Which he somehow doubted.

He was in the courtyard now, and could smell the wood around him, as well as the stair behind him, which would lead to a walkway that would likely lead to the intel. Alright, just this way huh?. The smell of burning coal was getting stronger. Dangit, maybe Jarate can't deal with all this.

Ascending the stairs and crossing the narrow walkway, he cautiously selected an arrow from his quiver, placing it in position so he could draw and fire within a heartbeat. It would come in handy. Descending the long staircase and listening to the pyro saying something about reproducing and faeces (at least that's what it sounded like), he walked out of the corner with his arrow at full draw. Obviously his own chatter had stopped him from noticing the approaching man.

Upon seeing the fire-crazed being, he let loose.

The sound of someone drinking, and then loudly belching.
"Alright." The RED Demoman said, throwing the empty bottle into the wall. Breaking the silence in the spawn room. The closed eye on his waist opened wide at the sound of breaking glass, staring at him with a hollow, unblinking gaze.
"Don't look at meh' like that, ya little freak." he said, "You know me better than that."
He grabbed his stickybomb launcher and began walking towards the intelligence room.
To say the least, he did not expect his team to be so bloody stupid they would leave the most important part of the building undefended. But whoever was there right now could most likely not do the job as well as him.
He turned the corner, and found the intelligence room to be only inhabited by the Pyro.
"Just what we need, a psychotic mute defending."
"Hey Pyro", the Demoman said, shooting a stickybomb at a wall, "Get outta' there and do something constructive, I'll handle the defendin'."

The Razorback, returned to it's original form of wood and battery, let off a small willow of smoke as the battery was fried within. It didn't make a big explosion, more of a little smoking carcass then later lit the wooden shield a flame.

Not all exciting at all.

After the few minutes were over, the weapons disappeared from the room completely and out of reach of the spy that now stood in the nest.

"Bloody Spook"

Sniper brushed himself off, opening the wire cage of the respawn center and walked to the lockers. He opened his own locker and and let out a relieved sigh that his weapons had returned complete. After a few moments of gearing himself up again, he grabbed a spare jar of jarate he kept locked in his locker for special occasions. He then opened up the garage door that blocked one of the two respawn areas and found himself standing next to the Pyro. He tipped his hat slightly to the fellow in greeting.

"There's a spy at my nest. Might you do me a favour and set the wanker ablaze...and I need to find myself another place to work from until it's been cleansed of it's French infestation. Contact me over the radio if you get the bloody spook."

Jack then slips away from his comrade, hearing the drunken words of their Demoman. Seems like the crazy loon had started taking to spectres again, thinking there were people around to talk too. He shakes his head and starts to move on when his Tribalmen started to growl softly in his sheath. He withdraws the now Dingo jaw and looked down at it silently. He glanced at the hallways leading to the intel, rolling his shoulders.

He lifted his hand to his ear piece and flicked onto Demo's channel.

"There's someone down there with you...and it's not Pyro. Get to defending."

Jack then slipped out of the side and starts to look for a new place to set up a temporary nest. After some considering, he figured a way to climb on the fence and work his way to the rooftop. He smirks as he walks onto the roof, taking in a better view of the battlefield. He clips the strap onto his rifle and sling it over his back, withdrawing his skeletal huntsman.

"Alright my little chook sheila. Let's go have some fun~"

Jack then starts to slink along the rooftop, watching the field is if he was back in the outback, tracking animals like the good old times.

Scout let out a loud squeal as the gleaming blue pipe bombs bounced after him, the loud explosions tossing him forward and to the side a bit, where he stumbled but kept his footing for the most part. The cacophony of the bombs drowned out the pounding of his feet on the floor, the frantic birdlike beating of his heart, and the torrent of screamed swear words that he spat out. When the sound died down, he was left with painfully ringing ears, a few chunks of shrapnel stuck in his side (fuck that hurt), and a powerful surge of fear-adrenaline pumping though his body.

He couldn't hear the words of the Pyro behind him through the brain-numbing ringing, but his demon gave a powerful throb, a signal that he was being chased. He let out a few more curse words and glanced over his shoulder to see who was following him (Pyro, crap. Burning was his least favourite death, if he had to pick one), before smacking roughly into a wall, which he swore hadn't been there before.

He turned and tried to bolt back into the sewer, but his foot caught on something, probably a loose bit of shrapnel or something, and sent him sprawling on the floor. More curse words, and he rolled over so he was sitting on his rear on the floor, fumbling for the pistol in his pocket.

"Eat it, yah mute fuckin' moron!" He screeched, firing the small gun in the general direction of his attacker, praying for a hit, just one good hit!

The scout was an long tangle of limbs when he ran, since Pyro had the feeling that he was a little too fast and left his brain behind when he kicked off. The breaths of the explosives played scorch marks on the concrete and tugged at the air they'd lived in, throwing the scout just a bit off balance, and he flailed inelegantly for just a moment. Pieces of the casing scattered around the black and gray of the flooring and one embedded into the sole of Pyro's boot, clicking steadily as he gave chase. His palms were burning hot/cold.

This was always the oddest part.

At this time Pyro was Pyro and he became his silhouette and the sleek wet feel of rubber touched into his skin and calluses dissolved into a sudden flush of cool and empty air that rushed into him and then out pulling away all the empty parts of his body. His arms felt lead and heavy and then, then bright and nothing and his fingers were twitching without him asking them. The delicate parts under his wrists and forearms tingled and slipped. His palms itched.

The scout smashed into a wall and everything was solid again. Pyro's shoulders tensed away from the rest of him. By the time the scout was skittering away from the wall, Pyro was breathing. When he fell and he clutched at the rough concrete for a hold to push himself upright, Pyro had caught up to him just enough.

Somehow Pyro caught a jingle of dog tags. The scout was swearing at him and holding a gun he hadn't before. But Pyro was grounded and he could feel blue caught on the edges of his hands, and then it was an impossible snake of hot plumes pulling at even his skin and filling the space like a sudden flood. So white it shouldn't have existed. So hot he wondered if concrete would melt.

But a bullet (or two? he didn't know) still caught him along the side of him, and though in the breathless, bodiless moment of flame he didn't feel the pain, he noticed the hot air that laid on the unfavorably exposed flesh and blood after who knows how long a period of heat. He pulled his hands close -- the fire snapped like string from his palms, and whatever glimpse of teeth and tongue there was to be found drew in fast -- and touched the rip in his suit with a few fingers. Less a rip than a weird hole, really, like the way his skin was jagged in the place you could see under the suit. Huh, was that melted?

Then the pain happened like he'd forgotten it and he grimaced past his mask. He swore, muffled.

The beep of a lone sentry echoed in the intel room.

There was then a series of mumbles and clattering as a ghostly white hand flew up from behind the desk, groping around for the top. Finding it, the white hand helped support the BLU Engineer as she pulled herself up from what was apparently her hiding place. Since the room was last cleaned, however, there were no signs of a fight yet, and the sentry was still full of ammo. So what was there to hide from? She rested her chin on the desk and glanced over at the giant sandwich on the desk. What? She blinked slowly and the sandwich was a shiny blue suitcase. The nearby telephone was fortunately no longer a talking steer's head. Standing up, she came to the conclusion that she must have been hungry.

Of course, there was no time to eat. There was the intel to keep safe. Engie stood up and noticed her right, white hand was missing its glove. Spotting it on the floor behind the desk she bent down to pick it up, replaced it on her arm and went about inspecting her machines. The sentry gun was fine, and the dispenser was full of unused metal. The teleporter outside the respawn room would need looking at though. She had a device that showed the state of repair of all of her machines at any given time, but she had to make sure. Holding her pistol in one hand and her wrench in the other, she crept out of the intel room, afraid of what she might find. It must have been hours since she holed herself up in there, and anything could be going on now. A voice in her head told her to man up.

(guh it's about time I posted)