"NO WAY! I ain't serving that freak," shouted a disgruntled Bostonian train attendant.
"Listen, I don't care if he's wearing a gas mask or if he's the freakin' Queen of England, you're assigned to Car 12 and you're serving him, and that's that!" Shouted the angry supervisor of staff, manager of the sole passenger train headed for Teufort.
In Car 12, a rustic part of the train, there sat alone mask clad person, he sat in an ancient booth, the once new and expensive red leather turned brown with age, the old bronze table, the engravings long since lost to dust and rust.
The train car smelled of smoke, for on the table sat countless burned matches and an empty match box.
The car was briefly illuminated with a faint orange glow, it was quickly extinguished as the mask clad man looked at the spent match absent-mindedly. He was getting annoyed; he'd ordered lunch almost half an hour ago.
"Uhm, Mr. John Doe?" Asked the attendant nervously, using the obviously fake name the strange man had used to buy the train ticket.
The man in the booth simply turned his head and stared at the attendant, thoroughly enjoying watching the young man squirm.
"H-here i-is your lunch sir," stuttered the nervous Bostonian, as he placed the silver platter down on the table, he then ran out of Car 12, hoping the odd man needed nothing else.
Several hours later the train was pulling into Teufort station, screeching as it let off several bursts of steam. The crowd hustled out of the cars, wasting no time in getting to whatever business they had in Teufort.
"Look, all I'm saying is that I don't see why WE have to greet the guy," asked an obnoxious Bostonian known as Scout.
"Because mate, Solly ordered us to, and he'd tan our bloody hides if we didn't," replied an Australian who went by Sniper.
"Yeah well, helmet-head will probably yell at us anyway," said Scout.
Pyro saw two men waving him down, dressed in BLU team color. Pyro approached them, carrying his bags.
"Well mate don't be shy, speak up," said Sniper, eager to meet the new teammate.
"Mmph mmph mph mmmph mmph," said the Pyro, making an attempt at communication.
"Right, well, let's get mumbles here back to base," said an annoyed Scout. Pyro sized the small boy up; he figured he could take the obnoxious Bostonian down easily, should it ever come to it.
Back at BLU base, all the team members welcomed the new team member. Notably absent was the Demolitions man, but the team didn't think it was odd at all. It was several hours later that Pyro was shown the barracks underground, where all the team slept. Eventually the announcer called in and told everyone to report to their bunks. After Soldier had given Pyro the run-down of the situation at 2fort, the announcer chimed in and told them lights out was 15 minutes ago. As Pyro was headed down to his room, Soldier pulled him aside, and told Pyro to meet him 15 minutes before briefing.
As Pyro was unlocking his door, he heard an odd slurring noise.
"Hell - hic- hello matey! You might know me as the Demoman!"
Pyro turned around to see a dark skinned man stumbling around holding a bottle of whiskey labeled DeGroot.
"Mmph mmph mph," said the Pyro, in no mood to deal with a drunken fool.
"Oi matey, no need to be so rude," slurred the Demolitions man.
Pyro paused, had the fubar man actually understood him? It didn't matter; the idiot was passed out on the floor, time for bed.
A loud sharp alarm buzzed through the two bases set in the desert, waking everyone up. The BLU Pyro was long since up, he was setting an empty coffee cup down on his bedside table and reattaching his mask, time for battle.