MEET THE SPYRO

[titusnowl]

Gentlemen. And ladies (hello). I am the Spyro.

My team believes I am a pyro. The other team believes I am two people. In actuality, I am a single card-carrying member of the International Espionage and Intelligence Workers' Union (UIEEI, it's based out of France) (yes, it's pronounced "wee;" I was kicked out of my first meeting for giggling). A full-fledged spy. Cloaks, disguises, backstabs, revolver games, nicotine addiction, danger, action, poncy accent - all this and more can be yours for the low, low price of me. (I mean, not that I'm cheap or anything. Anyway, I make union scale.) I just come with Free Bonus Pyro.

This whole thing started a couple of years ago in a bar, as so many of the best things do. The union, being French, was on strike, and I took the opportunity for a little vacation - it's nice to be able to travel once in a while without it involving breaking the government of my destination, which tends to interfere with my sunbathing and pub-crawling time. (Not that I would do much sunbathing while on a job anyway - union rules state that an active spy must wear his mask at all times, and there's something sublimely ridiculous in the sight of a man wearing nothing but a balaclava. Besides, the tan-lines that result are horrible.)

Anyway, I was in Jamaica, having a smoke and a Red Stripe in a beachfront cantina, when I heard a familiar voice clal out my old college nickname. (I'm not telling you what it is.) It was my sophomore-year roommate - we'd done our general studies together until he decided to major in Pyro and transferred to a different campus.

We spent a while reminiscing over wild times in the good old days, and then he started telling me about how great it had turned out being a pyro. He made some really good points, and showed me this really neat trick you can do to use the gas mask for smoking. (It makes your eyes go really red, but man, it's worth it - and nobody can tell behind the lenses anyway.)

I countered by pointing out that a spy can be ANYONE, and that's when The Idea struck.

I pumped him for more information on being a pyro, and did some research on my own after I got home. The obvious perks of getting to play with fire and wear a mask that doubles as a smoking implement are backed up with a host of other advantages that the recruiters and guidance counselors never mention for some reason. It's true of all professions - we spies can get discount airfare and hotel if we book through the union, and I've seen opthalmologists who offer half off for demos. Pyros get some pretty neat stuff, though: lower rates on car insurance, a special menu at Taco Bell, and - best of all - free gas. And don't forget that flamethrower.

Well, the idea was looking pretty good to me (especially the insurance and gas breaks; UIEEI had just settled a pretty big lawsuit against some outfit called Your Logistics Warehouse or something, and I'd dropped my cut on a really nice motorcycle). I sat on it for a while, and then opportunity knocked.

You see, after we came back from the strike, we all got new assignments. Me? I was put on a team that didn't have a pyro. It seems their last one had caught a rather bad case of the deads, and PHIRE (their union - don't ask me what it stands for; I've been told a couple of times but never quite made it out clearly. I think it's Spanish) hadn't gotten around to assigning a replacement. Their loss, my gain, no?

So right before my airlift dropped down, I disguised as a friendly pyro. If the helicopter noticed, he didn't let on, but honestly I didn't expect it to work very long once I got out of the chopper. Surely one of my new teammates would be on top of things enough to know that they were expecting a spy, or else someone would catch me slipping up somewhere (I was top of my class at disguising, but I'd never done it longer than an hour or two at a time before - it can get hard to remember to stay in character). Surely, surely they would at least question why I hadn't brought my own flamethrower. I'd be caught out by the end of the evening, we'd all have a laugh, and I would be their Spy with but a minor disappointment at missing out on the Taco Bell.

Only they didn't. Apparently running two men short for so long had gotten them kind of disorganized - besides which, I have the usual feeling of brothers-in-arms camaraderie for my teammates, but I have to say they probably weren't too well-organized at the best of times.

At any rate, they were thrilled to finally have a Pyro again. They welcomed me with open arms, hooking me up with the old Pyro's gear and even holding a special cookout as a welcome party. A lesser spy might have blown his cover there, but I am one damn find hand at lighting fires (really, I'm a natural Spyro!); plenty of hot dogs, beer, and enjoyment were had by all.

My teammates' oblivious acceptance turned what began as a brief joke into a challenge that's the biggest joke of all: how long can I keep this up?

I thought I'd lost the game the next afternoon, when the enemy started a skirmish. I had never actually used a flamethrower before - welding torches and such, yes, but not a real FlameThrower brand portable barbecue. I was doing my best, though, and as their Scout jumped narrowly out of my way I heard him call out to his teammates: "Yo, they got a new Pyro!"

Despite my pride in my abilities at disguising and Pyroing, I was quickly becoming aware of a few of the drawbacks of the profession. First of all, it's hot inside that chemsuit. I bet my old rommate wears his commando, but since I was expecting to be caught out at any moment, I had on the full three-piece suit that goes with my official position, as well as the balaclava beneath the gas mask. (I've gotten used to the heat by now, but it took a certain amount of acclimatisation and a lot of experimentation with different deodorant brands). It's also a hell of a workout - the flamethrower weighs a good forty pounds on its own, and then there's the tanks strapped onto your back, too. For a man accustomed to carrying nothing heavier than a revolver, it was quite an adjustment. Even without the flamethrower, it's hard to run in that suit - it makes you feel sort of slow and clumsy. And on top of everything else, I wanted a cigarette.

It was that need for nicotine that made me consider dropping my disguise; it was a near miss from a scoped rifle that clued me in to their Sniper's position and gave me justification. As a Pyro, I'd have a hell of a time getting up there to dispatch him, but as a Spy...

I Stealth Pyroed my way further in, then looked for a safe place to change. There weren't any phone booths handy, but I figured the breakroom ought to be good enough. No one would stop in for coffee any time soon. I killed the flamethrower, dropped the tanks, and peeled the suit off; stowed everything in the cabinet under the coffeemaker, where I would be able to grab it and throw it back on with a quickness a bit later; and lit my first blessed cigarette. Ah, sweet, sweet tobacco!

I continued on my mission, creeping sneakilly up towards where the enemy sniper lay, completely unaware of my very existence, secure in the knowledge that he was safe from backstabs because my team didn't even have a spy. I swear, it felt like my heart grew three sizes that day.

I cloaked against friend and foe alike on my way in and back out; and even though it was gratifying to be a spy who was so spy-y that no one even knew he was a spy, it was also gratifying to hear the other team's Scout again: "Sniper's down - oh shit, Sniper's backstabbed. Oh shit, they've got a Spy now too!"

Very, very gratifying.

I am the Spy so spy-y that he is two people at once.

It's been quite a while now and I must say I like it. The perks are great, the heavy gear has really toned my arms and pecs, and I get a little frisson of satisfaction every time I light some poor bastard on fire, then turn around and stab his sucker friends.

It's still a bitch to take a smoke break, though.

By this point I'm pretty sure that if the truth came out my teammates would be embarrassed into lynching me. If PHIRE ever gets on the ball, I'll have to see if the new guy is willing to pretend to be a spy.

If not, I suppose I'll just backstab him. It will obviously have been the other team's fault. After all, everyone over here knows that our team doesn't have a Spy.

-30-

Comments

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

:3

[darkjudicator.livejournal.com]

That's awesome. I love it. :D