somewhere else? I mean, after I spent all zat time cleaning in here? I would like to keep it a little hygienic after all.”
“Then how am I supposed to explain my condition?” which came out as “Mhhm mmh mhh hmm?”
“Uh. Maybe if you vouldn’t mind writing it down?”
The medic pointed to a whiteboard on the wall. The pyro took a marker, and wrote one word.
‘Amnesia.’
The doctor was surprised.
“Is zat right?”
The pyro nodded.
“Mhhm mhhm?” which was gibberish for ‘What should I do?’
The doctor didn’t understand a word he’d said, but he’d seen this kind of thing before.
“Fret not my friend. In all my years practicing medicine, I have seen at least ten cases of soldats with amnesia. It is, as they say, the stresses of battle. Don’t worry. Zis sort of sing happens. You know what’s the best cure?”
“Mmmh hm?”
And the doc didn’t need to hear him to know what in the heck he was saying.
“The best cure is zoing vat you zu best.”
He rifled through the closet until he found a spare flame gun. A big, heavy little metal monster with a gas canister stuck to a tube. The medic could hardly lift it.
He groaned.
“I believe zat zis is yours.”
He dropped the gun on the pyro’s open arms, and the pyro heaved with all that added weight.
“Try and get ze hang out of doing vat you do best. Trust me, your instincts vill come to you in due time.”
The pyro fiddled with the gun. He was barely able to bring it up to his chest it was so damn heavy. He tried holding it steady when his finger itched on the trigger. A trail of flame shot out the nose, and almost lit the medic’s lab coat.
“Be careful vit zat sing. You could seriously injure someone. Here. Perhaps it vud be for za best if you stayed here vhile you recover.”
“Mmhh hmh?”
“Uh. Yes. Vell, it vould be for ze best. Just come out and join ze battle ven you are feeling ready. Zere’s sure to be lots of killing today. After ve’re done, RED is going to valk away empty-handed. Or better yet, not at all.”
Something in the pyro made him tingle when he heard that word. RED.
“Now, I am off su zu my part for the team. Join us vhen you’re feeling ready.”
The pyro nodded. And right there, he was grateful for all the help his team had given him during what was without question a difficult time. He felt a little bad that he couldn’t be out there to help them. He was afraid, what with him not knowing how to fire his own damn gun, that all he’d do was make things worse for the team.
But the medicine man didn’t judge him for it. And neither did that sniper that saved his life.
The medic went out the supply room while the pyro did his part in figuring out who he was. How he could forget so much after one bump in the head.
He went to go look himself in the mirror. He was about to take off his mask when suddenly the whole damn planet rumbled something fierce. It wasn’t just the whole ground that was shaking. It was the air, and every thin molecule around it.
The pyro staggered. He was barely able to stand on his own two feet. There was sounds of gunfire coming out of the supply room, and not to mention bombs going off. The pyro stepped out, and spat some air from his mask.
The room was a wreck, with chunks of sentry debris all around him. And not to mention blood.
The medic was on the floor, crawling hopelessly towards him. The pyro’s heart sank, and he ran straight up to him.
He cried, “Mmh hmm.”
The medic breathed all slow-like, and grabbed the pyro’s outstretched arm.
“It seems I von’t be surviving zis after all.”
He leaned closer until he stopped.
“Whoof. I zon’t know who smells vorse. Me zying, or you.”
“Mmhm.”
Please. Take care of Archimede for me.”
The pyro squeezed his hand, and nodded only once.
“And please. Kill zem all.”
The friendliest doc he’d ever seen since his amnesia. And now he was going to die. And there was nothing the pyro could do about it. He watched the medic die in his arms, and he closed his eyes. With a bitter rage, the pyro grabbed the flame thrower, and scoped the bunker.
Luckily he didn’t have to go far. There was RED coming out of the hallway. The pyro felt it, and saw his shadow on the wall. The pyro steadied his aim on the weapon, and then waited for the enemy to show.
He did. And the pyro hesitated. He pulled the trigger, but was too slow. The RED scout had to strafe to the side in order to dodge the flames that were coming out of the pyro’s gun. The pyro was open to attack.
Yet strangely enough, the scout didn’t.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The pyro was confused. He knew he’d seen him before.
“Mmmh hmm?”
“I’m on your side you idiot.”
And the pyro couldn’t believe it.
“Mmmh hmm.”
“And take off that stupid mask.”
The scout unveiled the pyro’s face. Underneath the fireproof protection he was wearing a red mask with holes on his eyes and mouth.
“What have you been doing this whole time? Getting tight with the other team or what? While we’re out here busting our asses?”
The pyro studied the scout, piecing the puzzle inside his head.
“You dropped this on the courtyard man. Keep better track of your stuff.”
The scout gave the pyro something that appeared to be a switchblade. The pyro held it in his hands, and with his instinct, he was able to unfurl the blade in one dexterous move. It was like the knife was a part of him. Some missing appendage. He closed the switchblade, then opened it again.
Everything came rushing back to his head. The mission. The briefing. The plan. RED’s plan to lift the intel. He was there when they discussed it. He was there.
He was one of them.
He studied the suit he was wearing, and he remembered the man he got it from.
“I killed him.”
“Geesh, are you dense or what?”
And he remembered his old colleague. The scout. A guy who didn’t care much for him, and a guy he didn’t much care for. Hell, now that he thought about it, he remembered how no one in his team really thought much of him in the first place. They didn’t respect him. They all made fun of him.
“Hey monkey man. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got a mission to get to.”
They always made fun of him. He remembered the agony his team had put him through. The hazes, the pranks, the jokes about his accent.
The long years he’d spent working for RED was nothing like the few minutes he’d spent on the other side. The team at BLU had helped him, and saved his hide. And that medic…guy like him didn’t deserve to go down that way.
He lowered his brows.
“I’ve got your mission right here.”
And he slit the scout across the throat. I kid you not.
The scout fell over and died. And about a second later, an alarm inside the bunker went off, followed by an old woman’s voice.
“Warning. The enemy has taken our intelligence.”
He ran for the intel room, and found a RED soldier. A face he recognized immediately. A face he hated.
He’d just finished strapping the intelligence case around his back. He felt his team member’s suspiciously murderous gaze fixed on him.
“Where’s that damn scout!” he hollered, until he saw the blood on his suit. And instinct told him everything.
The pyro was a turn-coat.
The pyro was a traitor.
“The pyro’s a spy!”
4. Closing Words
And that there just about sums up our little number. The BLU team won the game, and RED got themselves shanked by their own damn spy. And in the end, our little hero done figured out who he r
eally was.
Poetic, wouldn’t you say? It tells you that sometimes, to know who you really are, you just gotta forget who you were before.
Anyway, that just about does it. Time to get back to work. Stay safe, children. And remember, when the going gets rough, and things don’t make no kind of sense, you can always count on the truth to set you free.
About The Author
Mortimer Jackson is a self-published author and student at San Francisco State University, where he is majoring in political science. In between school and life, he writes fiction in the hopes of one day becoming an overrated author. His first book, Fear Of The Dead, is available on Amazon Kindle. His second book, I, Jimmy, Cheng, has just been released. His third book, I Love You Jimmy Cheng, is coming soon.
For more fan fiction and free stories, check out the author’s website.
www.themorningdread.weebly.com
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