Team Fortress 2: Who Am I?

by Mortimer Jackson

Team Fortress 2: Who Am I?

  By Mortimer Jackson

  Copyright 2011

  1. The Ballad of An Engineer

  Hello there, children. Speaking is your old favorite 문제를 해결 사람. That’s Korean for man who solves problems.

  Now, I like my job. I like doing what I do; greasing the engines of science, and making population control just a little more technologically efficient. You ask me, there’s nothing better than finding out new ways to fix a real world problem with real world solutions.

  But every once in a while, it’s nice to take a break from all that hard science, and indulge in some good old fashion poetry. Now, not many people know this, on account of most of them being dead and all. But yours truly is a sensitive heart.

  But don’t you worry. I ain’t gonna kill ya. Just here to tell ya a story is all. So, if I may be fortunate enough to have your attention, I got me a little rhyme I’d like to share with you today. It’s a little somethin’ or other that teaches us the value of appreciating ourselves for who we are, and finding that special little part of us that makes us, us. It’s about a man who gets a bad case of amnesia, but in the sweltering heat of battle finds out who he really is deep inside that rubbery old mask of his.

  Curious? I hope so. Cause we’re just about gearing to start.

  The name of our little jingle of the day, is Who Am I?

  2. How It All Started

  You see, it all started with a mission. Those rascally devils over at RED (or Reliable Excavation Demolition) were trying to get their mittens on some sensitive intel that BLU (or Builders League United) was contracted to protect. The specifics of it ain’t that important. The point of it was that BLU knew that RED was contracted to lift some top secret intel that their benefactors didn’t want falling into the wrong company hands. And that RED knew that BLU knew what they knew as well.

  How do I know this? Well, let’s just say I got me a friend who’s got a knack for espionage.

  Anyhow, so the set-up is this. BLU done holed up their top secret intel in that bunker down over at 2Fort. Figure with it being fortified and all, RED would have a hell of a hard time getting to it. On the outside, the place was packed with mines, bombs, and snipers just itching for something to shoot at. Then, on the inside, an engineer had a mother hubber of a computer plugged up to over a dozen cameras and sentry turrets.

  The point was this. There wadn’t no way RED was gettin’ that intel and walking out alive. The boys at BLU were gonna make damn certain of that.

  The fight between RED and BLU was inevitable. No two ways about it. Both sides knew as well as the other that there was one way it was going to end. With one side going home, and the other side dead. And you don’t need to be a chemist to know that when you got two compounds that feisty mixing in the same brew, there’s really only one way it can start.

  With an explosion.

  3. The Pyro That Forgot He Could

  Our man of the hour was a pyro with BLU colors and a thrifty little hat he swiped from the last SOB he had the good fortune of terminating. He was running offense around the perimeter when a stray rocket flew just over him and hit the wall behind his head. The explosion knocked him out cold. And when he woke up, not only did he not know where he was, but he also didn’t know who he was.

  He was disoriented at first. He was counting stars out of every which direction. He didn’t know what was what. Couldn’t remember where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing, or for that matter who he was.

  His eyes were covered in dirt. He swiped his goggles clean of all that brown he was seeing, but all he did was smudge it even worse. And it made him realize he was wearing a rubbery fire-resistant mask. Hell, his whole damn uniform was rubber. The pyro felt like a stuck pig inside his own suit. Though if he knew better, he’d have realized that that moisture swirling around inside his pants wadn’t all sweat.

  Our pyro was on the ground, shaking his head and mustering the strength to pick himself up on his feet. And what with his mind not being all there and all, he didn’t know what was going on around him. All he could be certain of was that there were pellets of gunfire and sparks of rockets and bombs flying all over his head.

  The pyro saw a bridge, and one portly lookin’ fella that was walking over it. A big man with a big whooping gun wearing a red shirt, and a black bullet vest.

  The pyro didn’t know what to make of the guy. He was laughing at something, so he seemed like a nice guy. Except before he knew it, the heavy man lowered his heavy whooping gun to aim. His weapon started spinning, and our pyro didn’t know what in the hell to make of it. But the gun was loud. And our pyro might have gone special at that juncture in time, but he knew a gun when he saw one. And he knew what was supposed to happen when the barrel end was pointed at his face.

  Guess there are some things that even a knock in the head won’t make you forget. Either way, it was too late for our pyro to up and high-tail it to safety. Like it or not, our hero was just a second away from getting his head blown off. And there wadn’t nothing he could do about it.

  But don’t you worry none. Our hero might have been a second away from getting his head blown off. But the heavy was about 0.25 seconds away from getting his. Because right then and there, the BLU sniper on the window took him clean. Clean being a euphemism, of course. In all honesty, it was pretty darn messy. Reason being that damn sniper was using a custom-made explosive magazine, courtesy of a certain Irish explosives expert. So when the bullet hit his head, it didn’t so much leave a bullet hole as much as it did pop it open like a watermelon.

  Some of the gore splattered on our pyro, and it was even harder to see with all that blood and brain on his mask.

  “Oy! Get off your backside mate. That frontal assault’s gonna tear your hide to shreds.”

  The pyro got up, and saw the sniper calling him from up the window.

  “Thanks for the help,” said the pyro. But those weren’t the words that were coming out of his mask. More like, “Mhmmh mhmmmh mh.”

  The pyro staggered for a second or two. The explosion was still sending his head off-balance.

  “You alright there mate? You look a mite bit off your game.”

  The pyro was itching to tell the guy up top that he’d forgotten who he was, and that he didn’t know just what in the heck was going on.

  “Mmm hmmmh mmh? Mmm hmm hmmm.”

  “Eh, right. Well uh, why don’t you go hobble on inside and see the doctor? You’re no use to anyone dizzying about.”

  The pyro didn’t know who this guy was. But whoever he was, he saved his life. And in his book that made him friend.

  The pyro went into the fort, away from all the danger and high chance of death. As he went inside though, he didn’t know what was where. Nothing looked familiar to him. He searched for anything that might have looked like a medical room. The first thing he saw was a stairwell that took him down some underground bunker. There were some lights going in, but all in all it was pretty dark.

  It was a little strange, too. As hot as it was outside, the bunker was even hotter. There was sounds of machinery everywhere. He got on the bottom step, turned the corner, and saw a whole hunk of big ole computers humming along, cameras on the walls, and mounted machine guns turning one way or another.

  All the noise and heat was making his head hurt even more.

  He made for the corner to catch his breath when the supply room door flipped wide open behind him. Inside the room were closets packed with medical supplies, munitions, and all sorts of uniforms. The floors were waxed. And pretty recently too judging from the fresh smell of lemons.

  The pyro found the doctor at the corner, cradling a dove in his hands like
it was a newborn baby.

  “There there Archimedes. It may be loud out zere, but you’re safe with me.”

  The pyro had never seen him before. But he could tell he was a doctor with the lab coat and medic’s patch. Putting two and two together wasn’t exactly hard to do.

  “Mmmh hmmh,” which, loosely translated, meant ‘Hey doctor, I just done knocked my head and forgotten who I was, and I need you to come and fix me up or find out if there’s something seriously wrong with me.’

  “I’ll be right there.” The medic put his dove inside a cage. “Birds are such easily excitable animals. With all zat infernal shooting upstairs, it breaks my heart that my poor girl worries.”

  The medic turned around and saw the pyro, standing utterly unarmed and smelling of something foul.

  “Is zat the smell of urine?”

  The pyro said nothing.

  “I see zat sniper is back to his bad habits. Ah. And all just after I finished cleaning za floors.”

  Again, the pyro said nothing. Though he did find it strange that with all of Armageddon breaking loose upstairs, the doc had spent the whole time mopping the floor and cradling a bird.

  “Mhhm mmhhm,” which meant ‘I need your help.’

  The pyro reached for the back of his mask, and he was going to pull it free when the medic reached his arm and stopped him.

  “Ah. Perhaps maybe you should zo that