TEST DRIVE

[calloperators]

> Hello, you have reached the 1-800-HOTLINE Test Drive. We are currently unable to take your call. Whilst we put you on hold, feel free to play around for a while...

***

Waking up
Where the hell were you last night? Maybe waking up in an unfamiliar bed with a blacked-out memory isn't so unusual for you, but that buzzing in your head is. The phone beside you rings with a 7:00 AM wake-up call, and a message left behind:

Go downstairs, to the lobby. Meet the others. Don't get attached, and don't mention this call.

The AC is busted and in this hot summer, you probably won't want to stay in your room forever.

What's new, Pussycat?
Of course, there's much more around here than just the motel. Stepping out and hitting the town will give you plenty to do. There's stores aplenty, but that's nothing to say of the good residents of the stores; your friendly neighborhood bodega cats. They're content to laze around the aisles, though the more playful sorts may swat at your wayward accessories as you pass by.

Don't mind that they seem to disappear - and reappear - with a blink. That's just something cats can do.

Hungry?
Of course you are! There's plenty of places to eat here, but why go to some no-name joint when you can go to McDonalds? They've got burgers, they've got fries, they've got McPizza, and they even have a playplace! ...Though you're probably too old for the ball pit.

Regardless of what you order, if you even order, the cashier presses a small toy into the palm of your hand. Don't you feel a pair of tiny eyes on you?

McMurder
For fuck's sake, someone only went and killed a guy in the McDonald's parking lot. Maybe his head is smashed in under that chicken mask, or maybe you'll want to check? You could do the right thing and work out who did this, or you could make off with his baseball bat. The choice is yours.


Night life
What good's a city that goes to sleep? When the sun goes down, the lights go up. The city becomes aglow with every colour of the neon rainbow, with bowling alleys, nightclubs, karaoke bars, arcades and soon-to-be-extinct roller discos competing for your attention until the sun comes up. You're here, there's no curfew, it's time to make the most of it.

Wildcard
Have something else in mind? Go wild, and party like it's 1989.

Comments

The Pyro | Team Fortress 2

[rainblower]

Waking Up
[Pyro barely reacts to getting the call--this motel looks like half of the motels up Route 66. The heat doesn't seem to bother them, either, as they slowly totter their way down into the lobby. They don't have much to offer--they just watch and observe from behind the glassy eye holes in their mask. Lots of people they don't recognize, talking about boring stuff. Boring. Where's the team? Where's the fire?

Eventually, they get fed up and turn their attention to one of the flickering vending machines in the lobby and try to push all the buttons at once, watching as each selection pops up on the screen. Their gloved finger hovers over the Coca-Cola button and--

Oh. They're, um, punching the vending machine now. And shaking it. You might want to step in.]

What's new, Pussycat?
[While at the convenience store, you might spot Pyro with an armful of little plastic lighters, crouching next to the counter and gazing carefully at a cat lying on its side. The cat eyes Pyro carefully before licking its paw and starting to clean its face. Pyro lets out a muffled giggle, then pats the cat gently on the head. They then catch your eye and point gleefully at it--]

Mmmrhph!

[The cashier coughs. Pyro still hasn't paid for their lighters.]

McMurder
[Well! This is just like being back on the team! Pyro gazes sadly (?) towards the mangled body, their head tilted to the side like an inquisitive dog.

Then, they slowly turn to the person closes to them and hold up a lighter in suggestion.]

Hmrmh mmrmph?

Wildcard
[Hit me up at wolfnoir if you have any further ideas!]

mcmurder [cw: cannibalism joke]

[neverstudied]

[Oh, Jesus.

Venkman's probably seen a dead body or two before. It kind of comes with the line of work, you know? You hang around a bunch of ghosts, eventually you're gonna see That Which Comes Before A Ghost, IE a dead human body.

Still, this is gruesome. Venkman very lightly kicks at the body with the tip of his shoe, grimacing, and tries to roll it over so he can get a better access to the guy's pockets- to look for an ID in his wallet, of course, God- when he hears the muffled voice. He turns around and looks from the gas mask- creepy- to the lighter they're holding out- even creepier. He takes an automatic step back and holds his hands up placatingly.]

... Uhhh. I feel like burning a corpse outside a McDonalds might give people some weird ideas about what kinda meat they're preparing in there.

[rainblower]

[so no fire?

They tilt their head, then glance back at the corpse. Sad. They drop their hand at their side, casually flicking the lighter as they watch Venkman work. They like this person, even if he does make weird jokes that they don't always understand.

Click. Click. Click.]

Hudda mmmph mmmrhmph hrmmnd?

[They point at Venkman questioningly. In their line of work, corpses just clean themselves up. There's no real question of where they go or what happens to them afterwards, and the mercenaries certainly don't stop to shuffle through the person's belongings. What's he planning to accomplish here?]

[neverstudied]

[THROWS PHONE

Venkman nods, once, relieved that Pyro's apparently given up on setting the corpse aflame. For now. He crouches on the ground, gingerly patting at the dead man's pockets.]

Trying to see if I can find something to identify the body with. It, uh, looks like the face is too smashed in to recognize. If I can find a driver's licence or something... Nah. No wallet. Someone else must've-

[He frowns. Very slowly, he digs his hand into one of the pockets. And pulls this out.]

... Well. At least no one stole his prized possessions.

[rainblower]

[At the sight of the toy, Pyro's goggles practically light up with excitement. Which is quite difficult to tell, given that they look exactly the same as they did a minute ago. They drop the lighter in the ground before hastily crouching over to pick it up. Can't let go of it. Feels nice to click the lighter. They run a gloved thumb over the smooth surface.

They then make grabby hands towards the worm on a string, clearly excited. Do you dare give it to them?]

[neverstudied]

Ok. Scratch that. No one stole his prized possessions until now.

[He shrugs, and hands it over.]

Not like he's gonna need it. Go nuts, kid. Lemme know if he decides to haunt you for it.

[Venkman goes back to look over the dead body, his hands hovering over it slightly as he tries to gather the guts to actually Touch A Corpse. He wouldn't bother, but the cops are useless at best, corrupt at worst. The least he can do is try to maybe contact this guy's next-of-kin or something. Maybe even find a couple tips as to who did this and why.

Without the wallet, that's all seeming less and less likely, but it can't hurt to try to do a thorough examination, right?]

You got a stick I can poke him with?

[Or he could do that. Look, he doesn't want to touch dead human flesh today, he just ate.]

[rainblower]

[They snatch up the worm and immediately start fiddling with it, threading it between their fingers and pulling it through. It's impossible for them to feel that through their gloves, right? Either way, they seem to be pleased.

At the request, Pyro looks up, still somewhat distracted by the worm. Stick? They glance around, and--oh! There's something they can use. It's covered in ■■■■■ and ¿¿¿¿¿¿, but it's okay! Scout uses it sometimes, which means it's good.

They pick up the ■■■■■-covered baseball bat and hand it over to Venkman. The ■■■■■ stains their glove (and the worm), but they don't seem to notice.]

1/?

[neverstudied]

[Venkman sees Pyro return out of the corner of his eye with something that certainly looks like a stick, and reaches out his hand automatically, still peering at the body.]

Yeah, thanks, buddy-

2/?

[neverstudied]

[... Why does his hand suddenly feel wet and sticky and warm.]

3/3 [gore text]

[neverstudied]

[Venkman looks at the baseball bat. He's been offered the far end of it by Pyro, and his hand is currently clenched around what looks like a mass of blood, hair, and what he can only assume is brain matter and skull fragments. Not that Venkman really takes his time to examine it, of course, because the instant he realizes his hand is covered in fucking blood, he fucking takes the bat and flings it across the parking lot in a reflexive gesture to get it as far away from him as physically possible.

It goes soaring right into a nearby car and clips the side view mirror, partially tearing it off and shattering the mirror itself.

There's a long moment of silence while Venkman alternates between staring at his hand and the offending bat in mortified horror, shaking slightly. He wipes his hand off on the pavement, which does very little except smear blood on the ground, but he sure as hell doesn't want this on his uniform.

After a few seconds, he clears his throat and glances at Pyro, trying to sound civil.]

Ok, bud. Never do that again.

Waking Up

[thegreenhornet]

You should stick your hand in there. [He points at the hole where the soda can would come out from] Try to get two.

[Looks like Britt isn't particularly concerned about keeping the vending machines intact]

[rainblower]

[They pause for a moment, directing their glassy gaze towards Britt. They then crouch down to stick a gloved hand into the vending machine. After struggling for a brief moment, the smack the vending machine, and two soda cans roll out.]

Trr-ddh!

[They pick up one of the cans and holds it out for the stranger, then attempt to tug their arm free.

...

Ah. There appears to be a small problem here. They start to pull harder on the vending machine, which begins to teeter ominously.]

[thegreenhornet]

[Soda obtained. That's what he wanted. He had been about to laeve this masked guy to his business when his arm got stuck]

Shit!

[Britt immediately holds the vending machine, trying to keep it from crashing down. Geez, get it together, Pyro!]

Get out of there already! Take your glove off or something!

[rainblower]

Nmrmp!

[At Britt's suggestion, Pyro suddenly becomes incredibly panicked and jostles the vending machine even more. Take their glove off? That'd be the end of the world! They shake their head vehemently.

Okay, okay, they can figure this out. They gesture for Britt to keep holding on to the vending machine. Maybe if they pull hard enough in separate directions, they can get unstuck.]

[thegreenhornet]

Why do you have to do this the hard way?!

[Must be some very special glove, he thinks. Putting his back against the vending machine, Britt nods, not liking this at all. This vending machine can crush him easily!]

Pull!

[Without further warning, he tries to push the vending machine towards the wall]

[rainblower]

[After letting out a strained grunt, Pyro manages to yank their arm out of the vending machine. They tumble backwards, landing on their back and staring up at Britt. After a longer pause than necessary, they give him a thumbs up.]

Mmph mphna mprh.

[Carefully, they get up onto their feet, rubbing their sore arm and looking towards the vending machine. They then crouch down and pick up the second soda can.]

Hrmmhph dnrmmph?

[Pyro opens the can and moves to drink it, except...they're just pouring it directly on their gas mask. The soda itself drips onto the ground. It's fine.]

[thegreenhornet]

Yeah, sure. Don't worry about that.

[It's so good to step away from the machine and finally get to have a soda in peace. This was more of a hassle than--oh what's going on with you now, weird masked guy. Britt stares, exasperated. The Pyro did all that and got his arm stuck and all...just to waste it? What the hell?]

Can't you just...pop that round part of the mask open or something?

[Guess who doesn't know much about gas masks]

Waking Up

[beardcheck]

Oi, hey, knock that shit off.

[Sorry Pyro, you're being physically pulled back from the vending machine. By a dude that's about on par with Heavy's height.]

...That's some amateur hour shit, check this out.

[And Grog just hauls off and fucking punches the machine as only a high-level barbarian can. RIP Vendy, they had such a future of cola dispensary in front of them.]

[rainblower]

[Pyro stumbles back a little, staring up at the goliath in...awe? It's sort of hard to tell what they're feeling when you can't really see their expressions. They watch as his fist collides with the flickering screen, which shatters and dims. A few soda cans roll out into the dispensary area.

After a moment of silence, Pyro bursts out clapping. Anyone who can punch a vending machine like that is clearly extremely cool. They lean down to grab two soda cans and hold one out for the stranger.]

Mmmph dhrhm mdmmrhp prnmc?

[....Something about punching...??? It's sort of difficult to understand them.]

[malpractices]

[Medic resists the urge to— okay, no, that's a lie, there's nothing stopping him from pinching the bridge of his wrinkling nose at that... thing Pyro is making over. Cats. They'd be wonderful creatures if they didn't make prey out of birds. Unforgivable.]

Pyro, bitte. You don't know where it's been. It could and very well may be diseased.

[And then he turns to the cashier, makes eye contact and glances at Pyro again to scowl mightily.]

Pyro! Manners!

[And then he just fatly reaches out and pushes the cashier aside by his shoulder, pointing at the rack of lukewarm hotdogs slowly turning on the roller/grill thing behind the counter.]

You didn't ask me if I wanted anything.

thank god

[rainblower]

[Pyro glances back down at the cat, then nods slowly, as if understanding what Medic means. They give it one last pat when Medic isn't looking and get up on their feet, collecting their lighters in their arms and dumping them on the counter. A few of them fall onto the floor.

The cashier looks distinctly uncomfortable now that he's face-to-face with this abomination and this tall, forceful man who looks like he walked out of a hospital is shoving him aside. Pyro puts their hands on the counter and pulls out some of that old charisma of theirs.]

Chhn hh hhvv-- [They start counting on their fingers one by one before looking over at Medic for help.] --hhww mnny hht ddgs?

the genesis begins

[malpractices]

[If Medic has some mechanism inside him that allows him to smell fear, it's either malfunctioning or the cashier just isn't giving off enough of it because he definitely isn't smelling what this underpaid, in-over-their-head rock is cooking. But he does smell hotdogs, and those are far more worthy of his attention.]

Hmm. Well, I am very hungry now — famished actually — and we need to account for dinner tonight. Plus, provisions should we find ourselves trapped in the coming days. Eins, zwei, fünf... [He's counting them off on his fingers, looking very thoughtful.]

... Oh, warum eigentlich nicht. [He throws his hands up.] Let's just take them all.

phil collins begins to play

[rainblower]

[Pyro seems to brighten at that suggestion. More hot dogs for them! They nod aggressively, staring down the cashier and pointing at the hot dog heater.

This poor cashier isn't paid enough to deal with this. A bead of sweat trickles down his face as he scoots towards the machine, hastily shoving the hot dogs into a bag with a pair of tongs and keeping one eye on the customers. He feels as though if he were to turn his back, these maniacs might slaughter him where he stood over the hot dogs--and he's not entirely wrong about that.

Pyro stands there patiently, clasping their hands together and rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet. They idly pick up a lighter and start to flick it on and off, flame flickering ominously off their mask. They offer one to Medic.

The cashier pauses.]

Do you--do you want any condiments?

[He sounds like he wants to die. Pyro thinks about it.]

Kttchup?

[malpractices]

[Meanwhile, Medic is leaning down over the candy rack and scooping up anything that looks vaguely edible, tossing everything that doesn't (which is a good 70% of the inventory) onto the floor. Anything else that catches his eye follows suit, and it doesn't take long for him to start amassing a nice little pile on the counter. Bubble gum tape, packaged rice squares stuck together with marshmallow paste so old it probably has the consistency of cement, a neon purple flashlight keychain...]

—Mustard too. You know you need to watch your sugar intake. [He says this as he carelessly throws a ring pop to the ground. Then he hears the lighter flicking, causing him to glance up.] Too much of a good thing is nev—

[And the words die there, as if they were punched right out of him. Medic's staring straight ahead behind the counter, behind the cashier. Beyond the cigarettes and chew, there are a few miscellaneous souvenir items chilling in the back, mainly travelers cups and little beach trinkets that look like they were hastily assembled in the course of an hour.

And there, hanging dead center, is a shirt. But not just any shirt. This is the shirt. Medic is staring at it like he's found Christ in the rough span of ten seconds and is experiencing the emotional hurricane that goes along with it.

He points directly at it.]

That. [He turns to look at Pyro with terrifying urgency.] We need that too.

[rainblower]

Hh ddn't nndd tth wwtch my shhggr intthk.

[Said like a stubborn, petulant child. Pyro looks over the candy being amassed on the counter, then glances over to Medic. Hypocrite. They're going to slip a few pieces into their pockets.

When Medic pauses, they look towards him, confused. Their gaze follows his hand to the shirt, and they quirk their head to the side. Oh! A dog! Pyro clasps their hands together in delight. A muffled giggling can be heard from their mask.

The cashier attempts to flex their authority one last time--]

Uh--that, um, that's not for sale, that's for a contest--

[He's interrupted by a click of the lighter. Pyro holds the flame close to their face, the light glinting off the dark, dark, empty eye holes. They point again to the shirt, then start moving the lighter towards the pile of Stuff on the Counter.]

Shhhrt.

[The cashier stares up at Pyro and just...takes a step back, and then scoots out from behind the counter to the break room as fast as he can. He's not going to deal with this. The shirt--and, like, everything else in the store--is free game now.]