Pyro. That was it- Pyro. Easy, short, effective and truthful. It was what the masked mystery did best- start fires and that was exactly what the Administrator insisted Pyro do. Like a real life game of 'Clue' the members of the Reliable Excavation and Demolition Team were thrust into a violent game hiding behind false titles. Nine blood thirsty mercenaries, all so familiar with one another, yet completely foreign. Their true selves were secrets, some holding their identity more closely to themselves than others. Pyro was one of them and the Administrator had advised the action. A word of caution she had offered – 'Never let ANYONE see your face.' For some reason, Pyro had sworn there was an honest hint of concern in the woman's voice. It was true, unbeknownst to the team, but Pyro was indeed, a woman; a thin, fiery redhead with the temper to boot, but to everyone else – a thick red jumpsuit and gasmask.
She wasn't the most talkative of the bunch, but there was no need for words when you had the Scout around. He was from South Boston, with a mouth as fast as his feet. He was, quite honestly, the fastest on the team, amassing the most captures from the Builders League United. The Builders League was their rival team, the two fighting to gain the other's document case –or Intelligence, if you will.
They were in constant battle for these briefcases. They held everything from sketches to blueprints – everything they needed to upgrade their weapons and equipment. It wasn't long before they began referring to each other as "enemy," becoming more brutal in their onslaught towards victory. But was there really an end in sight, or just the thrill of capture and kill?
Pyro could only recall retrieving the intelligence once. It had been incredibly awkward to strap to her shoulder, balancing document case with oxygen tank. She quickly learned her class better suited to defense, specifically against Spies.
Spy, he was next on the team, a tall thin man in a pinstriped suit, donning, what appeared to be, a balaclava mask to hide his identity. He was addicted to cigarettes, too much so to snuff them out during battle. He always had one pressed to his lips, and if he didn't, he was preparing one. He was talkative when he wanted to be, like a cat he did everything on his own accord. More often than not, his conversations revolved around the intelligence case and its contents, never much on anything else. Of everyone on the team, it was he that Pyro felt most connected. They both did their best to keep their identity a secret, and truth be told; Pyro was doing quite a bit better than he. Despite any sort of attachments, Spy would never acknowledge anyone's feelings (barely even his own) and his interest in Pyro was minimal if any. His higher than thou sense of self kept his intrigue to a minimum and focused on the tasks at hand.
Of the nine that made up the team, by far the Heavy Weapons Guy was the kindest. On many occasion the large Russian had crushed Pyro in excruciating bear hugs, doing more damage than received on the field. Of course, Medic was never far behind for wherever Heavy went, he went. The two shared an odd bond, Heavy genuinely caring for the German Doctor as a good friend, while the Medic held Heavy as a great means of defense. Of course it wasn't as cold as it seemed, Medic did like the man, but he liked him more when he was annihilating the BLUs.
Engineer was close behind Heavy in kindness, but his fascination with machinery seemed to pull him from reality. It was like talking to a Sentry, no real response save for a few beeps here and there and a nodding of the head. He traveled up from the south, if they hadn't known better they'd assume by horseback. He and the Spy never got along well. It wasn't a surprise; the masked menageries would slink in at the most inconvenient of times and destroy the Engineers' hard work. No doubt Pyro had heard his cries over a hundred times; SENTRY DOWN, or SPY SAPPIN' MAH SENTRY! Of course she never paid much mind past the 'Spy' portion – after all, what did she know about machines?
Then there was the Demoman, he hailed from Scotland, donning the thick accent to boot. The first day they had met, he had complained about being the only Black Scottish Cyclops to ever live. Of course, only a select few of the team could quite understand what he was trying to say beneath his drunken slur. If he wasn't blowing things up or speaking machines with the Engineer, he was quite usually, engrossed in a bottle of booze and a game of Football.
To combat the drunken Cyclops were the mad ravings from their Soldier. His helmet flopped lazily over his eyes, rocking from side to side whenever he jerked his head about. He was incredibly loud and at the most unimaginable times. He was also a bit short tempered and ran the base like a drill sergeant. Many a time he would stop a teammate in the hall to shout at them for some infraction on their part. Conversation was difficult with the man and he was NEVER wrong. The Scout had made the mistake of contesting him once, and received a colorfully worded, three hour long "speech."
There was one other man- the Sniper, but he kept his distance on ceasefire as much as he did in battle. He was a solitary man from Australia and a damn good shot. His hospitality was minimal and he was brief in conversation. He didn't seem to care for friendship or even camaraderie, it was just another job and he was going to complete it, get paid, and get going.
It certainly wasn't the most conventional bunch, but the brightly colored personalities made the working environment that much more enjoyable. Occupying the second floor of their base they dormed like college students. The Sniper and the Spy were the least thrilled about the arrangements, their wishes for solitude being only slightly addressed. They each had a room to themselves with a large communal bathroom (complete with shower stalls) and a mess hall for eating or lounging. And just like in school, they all formed cliques. Scout was a pest to all, but Sniper seemed the most patient with him and though the man preferred the company of ghosts, he allowed Scout to sit and eat with him. Soldier, Demoman and Engineer hung around in a pack, acting like the stuck up valley girls, laughing at anyone who tried to be like them. They were the masterminds behind weapon upgrades and if you weren't in – you were out. Heavy and Medic hung together like stitches. It was like watching a man walk his dog, the large Russian was so very excited about, well, everything, and the doctor so very serious. If anyone could elicit a smile from the man, though, it was Heavy. Pyro was a bit of an outsider, much like the Spy, she found herself handicapped in the area of speech, speaking a few muffled words to be interpreted by no one.
"SPEAK UP YA NINNY!" shouted the Soldier.
"Boy I can't tell a dang thing yer tryin' ta tell me," laughed the Engineer.
"Ahvenae clue whot yer on aboot," Demoman slurred.
No doubt she had a hard time conversing with her teammates, points only getting across on the battlefield. Though her teammates were cold at times, they could also be quite warm. Sniper had covered her ass plenty of times on the field, Scout had given her a gift on her birthday (how the hell he found out she'd never know), Heavy was consistent in giving great big hugs after successful Spy checks. But these aforementioned checks had granted her a most imaginable enemy - The Spy. There was no reason for him not to be bitter and of course out of these bitter feelings came an incessant nagging at the back of his head. Pyro was more of a secret than he could ever hope to be and for some reason, he felt it picking, like a vulture, picking at the back of his skull. He wanted to know who this leather faced anonymity was
– and he was going to find out.