[Author's notes]And so, we move on to our real protagonists. I appreciate any and all feedback, and the lack of it is discouraging, I will admit.[/Author's Notes]

BLU's Pyro sighed as she let her leather trenchcoat slide off her shoulders as the end-of-combat bell rang out. The last RED scum must have been taken out, and no doubt today's Watchtower contingent would be heading back. She had been glad, when she had been assigned to this particular base, to find that the REDs and the BLUs here wore different uniforms, for once. Their Pyro, for example, chose the bulky, protective Asbestos suit, complete with heavy gasmask and airtank, much like the one she had recently given up. BLU Pyro wore the uniform granted to the commandos of BLU team, a navy trenchcoat, a gasmask with a pair of respirators to double efficiency, and fireproof urban camo fatigues. She slipped off her gas mask and boots as well, placing them in her cubby along with her coat.

She headed towards the team's lounge area, where Soldier and Scout were likely watching yet another Wild West flick or something. They might be at each other's throats all the time, but at least they shared a taste in films. Pyro slumped onto the couch next to Soldier, a slightly nuts Texan with a penchant for ranting about his personal heroes, Robert E Lee and Davy Crockett. Scout, contrarywise, was a little annoying scottish brat. He liked pestering Engineer, killing REDs, and golf. The kid was a monster on the battlefield, but he was calmer than a summer day on the green.

"Watcha watching today?" Pyro asked. She was the only member of her team who, as far as she could tell, wasn't obviously from the same place as someone on RED.

"Fistful of Dollars," Soldier replied gruffly. "Scout demanded."

"Oi! It were yer choice, ye numbskull!" Scout retorted. Pyro took this as her signal to leave, as it would soon turn into a brawl, each man going after the other's hat and trying to keep it. Those two were almost obsessed with headwear. She got up, shaking her head as Soldier snatched the younger man's gatsby and made a dash for his quarters. Pyro made her way to the entrance from Watchtower, waiting for the rest of her team.

She didn't have long to wait, as they came barreling in, slamming the door shut behind them as hard as they could.

"You all look like you've seen a ghost," she commented. "Humiliation too scary for you?"

"Naaaw," Spy drawled out, Bostonian accent clinging to the edge of irritating like a man on a cliff. "They's got a monster uh a Pyro, tho."

"Th' lad's not even 'uman!" Heavy said, setting his Australium-coated minigun and Vegemite sandwich down, wiping his brow. " 'E's like a monster now! Spittin' fire all over th' place and walkin' on all fours like 'e's a gator 'er sumthin."

"Wait wait wait. So, you mean the one person I can't burn's not even a person anymore?"

~~~~~

The former RED Heavy, Medic, and Pyro met outside the spawn room, a look of hunger in each's eyes. They stood, staring as one-by-one, the compatriots respawned, soon to join the army of the undead.