oo1. action.
[Six am. Dawn, a time when the desert isn't so hot and there aren't as many creatures milling about.
With a yawn, Pyro starts sitting up. He stretches his back, then his arms. Well, that's odd. He's sure he has burns all up his arms. Where'd they go? And... Well, fuck. What's up with this bed? It's so big and clean and holy fuck there's someone lying in it with him.
With a start, Pyro jumps out of bed and immediately looks for his mask, his suit. No one was supposed to know his identity, no one. They said he could stay anonymous, that no one was allowed to know.
Swearing, he almost trips on the bedside table. No mask. A nice lamp, yes, and an alarm clock, but no mask. When he searches the room, he doesn't find his closet lined with suits. No, it's filled with-- with-- suits. Motherfucking suits.
He makes a break for the stairs and finds nothing familiar. It looks too clean, too neat to be the base. There's a faint smell of roast beef - maybe last night's dinner? - and a family portrait on the coffee table in the living room. There he is with some woman and a boy and a girl. His family, maybe? But he has no family, no one cares for him only more, no one matters, it's just supposed to be fire fire fire against those pesky REDs--
He runs outside yelling.] What the fuck is going on?! Where is everyone?! Scout! Demo! Solly! The fuck are you at?
[Scowling, he runs down the street and bangs on the door of the nearest house.] Anyone home? Come on, come on, come on, come on out and give it up already! This is the shittiest joke I've ever seen. Not worth the effort of setting this shit up.
[He continues to run down the street yelling.] Come on! Come on out and show your goddamn faces!
With a yawn, Pyro starts sitting up. He stretches his back, then his arms. Well, that's odd. He's sure he has burns all up his arms. Where'd they go? And... Well, fuck. What's up with this bed? It's so big and clean and holy fuck there's someone lying in it with him.
With a start, Pyro jumps out of bed and immediately looks for his mask, his suit. No one was supposed to know his identity, no one. They said he could stay anonymous, that no one was allowed to know.
Swearing, he almost trips on the bedside table. No mask. A nice lamp, yes, and an alarm clock, but no mask. When he searches the room, he doesn't find his closet lined with suits. No, it's filled with-- with-- suits. Motherfucking suits.
He makes a break for the stairs and finds nothing familiar. It looks too clean, too neat to be the base. There's a faint smell of roast beef - maybe last night's dinner? - and a family portrait on the coffee table in the living room. There he is with some woman and a boy and a girl. His family, maybe? But he has no family, no one cares for him only more, no one matters, it's just supposed to be fire fire fire against those pesky REDs--
He runs outside yelling.] What the fuck is going on?! Where is everyone?! Scout! Demo! Solly! The fuck are you at?
[Scowling, he runs down the street and bangs on the door of the nearest house.] Anyone home? Come on, come on, come on, come on out and give it up already! This is the shittiest joke I've ever seen. Not worth the effort of setting this shit up.
[He continues to run down the street yelling.] Come on! Come on out and show your goddamn faces!