I'VE BEEN COPYPASTING THIS EVERYWHERE BUT IT FITS AS A DESCRIPTION HERE WE GO

No one asked my name. They just handed me the papers, and the next thing I knew I was chasing BLUs with a flamethrower. I guess no one cares to know what kind of person would take a job burning people alive. I personally think it's a great living.. but what do I know? I'm just a Pyro.

It was days...weeks... hell it might have even been months that had gone by. I'd spent all this time behind the mask, spending my days literally tearing human flesh asunder by simply pulling a trigger and watching them burn. After all this time... not one person had spoken to me. I screamed at them on the battlefield, however each and every utterance was acknowledged with a simple nod. Outside of that... not one person had said a word to me. No one would share their thoughts. No one would pass the funniest new joke my way. I wouldn't even get a simple "hello". There is a bright side to this, however. No one bothered to say "pass the beans". I never, EVER had to share my beans.

One day, I was sitting by a small fire our Engineer built, eating my beans like always. But since it had been an exceptionally long day, I set them down and got up to set my bedding down so I wouldn't end up passing out on the floor later. It wasn't even five minutes, and when I got back some grubby little Scout was eating my goddamn beans. I did what any respectable, well-balanced man would do. I grabbed his arm, broke his wrist, and took my beans back. The Medic yelled at me, but do you think I gave a shit? Of course not. I just wanted my fucking beans.