Miss You
Who: BLU Pyro (closed narrative)
What: PYRO GOES SOMEPLACE FAR AWAY TO DIE ALONE ahahaha wow that is a horrible summary jesus
Where: Western District
When: Night and RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY BACKDATED TO A FEW DAYS AGO IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THIS LOG WITH MITHAM but Pyro is still available for even further backdated zombie adventure logs and shit from before this.
Warnings: DEATH AND GORE AND BAWWW OR SOMETHING god this is a really serious log in here sorry about that
So it wasn't
pizza.
The nozzle of the flamethrower was making a scree, scree, scree sound as she dragged it behind her over the concrete. In the core of her brain, she visualized a shower of sparks coming from it, spreading out over the pavement and rising up into a trail of flames behind her, shooting up to the sky and onward, upward. Forever.
Things made a little more sense now to Pyro. About all this.
The incessant, driving force they - the pizzamen, even though there was no pizza to be had here - all seemed to have, no matter how badly she burned them alive. How they continued to claw and scream for her even when all their limbs were gone. There was the hunger, the craving for the one thing that could ease that starvation.
Not pizza.
Though maybe a little similar in nice stretchy wet consistency-
The Pyro forced herself through the bashed-open entrance between two buildings back home in her West, an alley that looked maybe a little too much like the one where that thing had dug its claws into her body. Bits of her suit snagged and ripped on the ragged opening, scraps of flame retardant material being left behind on shards of glass and the now-broken wood that once boarded up the hole. No pain though.
Flamethrower had more trouble fitting.
It made sense now because there was that extra level of Awareness, or a level that ran deeper than simple sentience. A return to the reptile mind with no real chance of escape, but no desire to return from it either.
Something like it. Something weird that Pyro couldn't really wrap her head around.
The mask and the BLU rubber suit and the endless burned skin blocked and muffled everything from the outside world, though her being situated in them in the first place was
mostly unintentional.
But this deeper sense of the self, this growing gnawing presence in that pit of the mind that made her want to act like the rest of the pizza folk, it melted the muffling rubber and scar tissue down into one indiscernible layer and then scraped it all away, it left something raw and starving alive with open nerve endings in its wake.
It left that hunger, that incessant grinding of her teeth. Hyper awareness of her surroundings and the still living things filling it.
That growing churning curling fist in her stomach where the long-haired sobbing woman had caught and clawed deep with both hands.
And she had to leave.
Four of them had heard her as she scraped on by, those pizzamen. Four became sixteen, slowly, slowly, as though they knew there would be no fight here, all following her down into the darkened alley, her own spilling blood leading the way. Super helpful for everyone, thank you Pyro.
Now they can find you faster.
That starvation was worming its way throughout her body, that hunger, that taste for the wet and the blood and-
She had to leave.
She'd looked at Mitham, her stomach full of puncture wounds and claw marks and blood, and he looked good and she wanted to suddenly grab him and rip him into pieces for no reason, no reason at all, rip her gas mask clean off and gorge, fill her puncture-laden stomach until it ruptured and just keep eating, keep eating.
Keep-
Keep-
But he was
nice.
Wasn't
RED team
was he?
So Pyro had to
leave.
Something primal in her knew that the wounds were a time bomb, and the more time passed, the worse things would grow. She would get sicker than she already was, sicker still, curl up somewhere and die and then-
Where was respawn?
Didn't it
work here?
Getting herself away would be best.
Would just get in the way.
Sicker and sicker and can't hit anything in the first place and now even worse.
Pyro stumbled to the side and collapsed, sliding down against a wall because her legs weren't working anymore. Her normally monstrous breathing was even more ragged than normal, ragged and erratic and shallow, shallow. Oxygen not getting in. Error, error.
Sixteen shuffling bodies became forty. The smell of blood was drawing them like flies. They crowded down through the alley, slowly, because there was no fight for survival to be had here, because this one was dying, and before it became one of them, it would be food.
The holes in her abdomen were so big, and they breathed with her, pulsing open and almost-shut as she gasped for air, like ten little oozing mouths. She only stared downward dumbly, almost oblivious to the gathering crowd around her, their gnarled hands and broken fingers and shattered teeth and starving bellies.
Willfully oblivious.
She was
like that sometimes.
Why was she thinking of all this now?
It wasn't as though she hadn't already died plenty of times before.
This felt different.
She looked up, and there were no stars in the sky. The fires of the West obscured it all, filling the sky with smoke and dust.
All around her, the half rotted faces of the others stared down at her, a living mass encircling her vision and nearly blotting out the night sky.
The light on the tip of her weapon her only way of seeing their faces.
For a moment in time, they became her teammates.
Spy was smoking and she wanted his lighter, but he would get mad if she dug through his pockets again. And Sniper would snip at him to shut it and there would be a huge snarky argument and it would be such a huge mess.
Demoman was laughing hysterically at something, obviously this scenario Pyro had concocted in her own head, and Pyro wanted to continue on with it and crack him up further, but he was blubbering now and then she wanted to lend him a comforting overly strong back pat, but now he was asleep standing up and it was all making her head spin.
Medic was staring down from over his specs, and she wanted to reach out and ask for help, but he was fading away into a haze of darkness. She reached her arm out, and Medic grasped her wrist tight and bit down through her fingers.
There was Heavy, and he was coming here, coming to tell some kind of homeland-related story, but he was grabbing her arm away from Medic, clawing, pulling, pulling harder and harder, and she felt it let go, felt it release from the socket and stretch, stretch, stretch, and then there was no more arm, and there was a crowd of them, all around, tearing into the rest of her and biting, shredding, ripping the suit and the melted skin underneath apart and starting to tear out her insides.
They'd mistaken her for a steak.
It was funny, and she laughed deeply at this misconception, but someone's hand was over her face and was making it hard to laugh, and she looked up and Engineer had his goggles off and was trying to rip her mask from her face, pulling it so hard it threatened to split and tear in two, his eyes were oozing out of his flesh-stripped skull, somebody needs to give him his goggles and his face back, he was going to catch a cold.
And the arm that was still attached to her body, the arm cradling the flamethrower, its fingers twitched as she tried to smile with no lips left because
they were her family
the BLU Team
and
if they'd mistaken her for dinner
then maybe the BLU Team would
appreciate a little
less
raw
The undead tore further into the Pyro and would have torn further still had Pyro not then pulled the trigger and switched on the flamethrower, the nozzle of which she had pulled in and aimed at her own body.
She and the mob around her ignited in a blast of gasoline and fire, and the screams echoed out from the alley and into nothing, screams where none were her own.
maybe no respawn.
but it wouldn't be terrible.
her insides were burning away as bad as her skin, everything curling away into burned meat and charcoal.
but in those last few moments before her brain switched off,
pyro was very happy.
What: PYRO GOES SOMEPLACE FAR AWAY TO DIE ALONE ahahaha wow that is a horrible summary jesus
Where: Western District
When: Night and RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY BACKDATED TO A FEW DAYS AGO IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THIS LOG WITH MITHAM but Pyro is still available for even further backdated zombie adventure logs and shit from before this.
Warnings: DEATH AND GORE AND BAWWW OR SOMETHING god this is a really serious log in here sorry about that
So it wasn't
pizza.
The nozzle of the flamethrower was making a scree, scree, scree sound as she dragged it behind her over the concrete. In the core of her brain, she visualized a shower of sparks coming from it, spreading out over the pavement and rising up into a trail of flames behind her, shooting up to the sky and onward, upward. Forever.
Things made a little more sense now to Pyro. About all this.
The incessant, driving force they - the pizzamen, even though there was no pizza to be had here - all seemed to have, no matter how badly she burned them alive. How they continued to claw and scream for her even when all their limbs were gone. There was the hunger, the craving for the one thing that could ease that starvation.
Not pizza.
Though maybe a little similar in nice stretchy wet consistency-
The Pyro forced herself through the bashed-open entrance between two buildings back home in her West, an alley that looked maybe a little too much like the one where that thing had dug its claws into her body. Bits of her suit snagged and ripped on the ragged opening, scraps of flame retardant material being left behind on shards of glass and the now-broken wood that once boarded up the hole. No pain though.
Flamethrower had more trouble fitting.
It made sense now because there was that extra level of Awareness, or a level that ran deeper than simple sentience. A return to the reptile mind with no real chance of escape, but no desire to return from it either.
Something like it. Something weird that Pyro couldn't really wrap her head around.
The mask and the BLU rubber suit and the endless burned skin blocked and muffled everything from the outside world, though her being situated in them in the first place was
mostly unintentional.
But this deeper sense of the self, this growing gnawing presence in that pit of the mind that made her want to act like the rest of the pizza folk, it melted the muffling rubber and scar tissue down into one indiscernible layer and then scraped it all away, it left something raw and starving alive with open nerve endings in its wake.
It left that hunger, that incessant grinding of her teeth. Hyper awareness of her surroundings and the still living things filling it.
That growing churning curling fist in her stomach where the long-haired sobbing woman had caught and clawed deep with both hands.
And she had to leave.
Four of them had heard her as she scraped on by, those pizzamen. Four became sixteen, slowly, slowly, as though they knew there would be no fight here, all following her down into the darkened alley, her own spilling blood leading the way. Super helpful for everyone, thank you Pyro.
Now they can find you faster.
That starvation was worming its way throughout her body, that hunger, that taste for the wet and the blood and-
She had to leave.
She'd looked at Mitham, her stomach full of puncture wounds and claw marks and blood, and he looked good and she wanted to suddenly grab him and rip him into pieces for no reason, no reason at all, rip her gas mask clean off and gorge, fill her puncture-laden stomach until it ruptured and just keep eating, keep eating.
Keep-
Keep-
But he was
nice.
Wasn't
RED team
was he?
So Pyro had to
leave.
Something primal in her knew that the wounds were a time bomb, and the more time passed, the worse things would grow. She would get sicker than she already was, sicker still, curl up somewhere and die and then-
Where was respawn?
Didn't it
work here?
Getting herself away would be best.
Would just get in the way.
Sicker and sicker and can't hit anything in the first place and now even worse.
Pyro stumbled to the side and collapsed, sliding down against a wall because her legs weren't working anymore. Her normally monstrous breathing was even more ragged than normal, ragged and erratic and shallow, shallow. Oxygen not getting in. Error, error.
Sixteen shuffling bodies became forty. The smell of blood was drawing them like flies. They crowded down through the alley, slowly, because there was no fight for survival to be had here, because this one was dying, and before it became one of them, it would be food.
The holes in her abdomen were so big, and they breathed with her, pulsing open and almost-shut as she gasped for air, like ten little oozing mouths. She only stared downward dumbly, almost oblivious to the gathering crowd around her, their gnarled hands and broken fingers and shattered teeth and starving bellies.
Willfully oblivious.
She was
like that sometimes.
Why was she thinking of all this now?
It wasn't as though she hadn't already died plenty of times before.
This felt different.
She looked up, and there were no stars in the sky. The fires of the West obscured it all, filling the sky with smoke and dust.
All around her, the half rotted faces of the others stared down at her, a living mass encircling her vision and nearly blotting out the night sky.
The light on the tip of her weapon her only way of seeing their faces.
For a moment in time, they became her teammates.
Spy was smoking and she wanted his lighter, but he would get mad if she dug through his pockets again. And Sniper would snip at him to shut it and there would be a huge snarky argument and it would be such a huge mess.
Demoman was laughing hysterically at something, obviously this scenario Pyro had concocted in her own head, and Pyro wanted to continue on with it and crack him up further, but he was blubbering now and then she wanted to lend him a comforting overly strong back pat, but now he was asleep standing up and it was all making her head spin.
Medic was staring down from over his specs, and she wanted to reach out and ask for help, but he was fading away into a haze of darkness. She reached her arm out, and Medic grasped her wrist tight and bit down through her fingers.
There was Heavy, and he was coming here, coming to tell some kind of homeland-related story, but he was grabbing her arm away from Medic, clawing, pulling, pulling harder and harder, and she felt it let go, felt it release from the socket and stretch, stretch, stretch, and then there was no more arm, and there was a crowd of them, all around, tearing into the rest of her and biting, shredding, ripping the suit and the melted skin underneath apart and starting to tear out her insides.
They'd mistaken her for a steak.
It was funny, and she laughed deeply at this misconception, but someone's hand was over her face and was making it hard to laugh, and she looked up and Engineer had his goggles off and was trying to rip her mask from her face, pulling it so hard it threatened to split and tear in two, his eyes were oozing out of his flesh-stripped skull, somebody needs to give him his goggles and his face back, he was going to catch a cold.
And the arm that was still attached to her body, the arm cradling the flamethrower, its fingers twitched as she tried to smile with no lips left because
they were her family
the BLU Team
and
if they'd mistaken her for dinner
then maybe the BLU Team would
appreciate a little
less
raw
The undead tore further into the Pyro and would have torn further still had Pyro not then pulled the trigger and switched on the flamethrower, the nozzle of which she had pulled in and aimed at her own body.
She and the mob around her ignited in a blast of gasoline and fire, and the screams echoed out from the alley and into nothing, screams where none were her own.
maybe no respawn.
but it wouldn't be terrible.
her insides were burning away as bad as her skin, everything curling away into burned meat and charcoal.
but in those last few moments before her brain switched off,
pyro was very happy.