Team Fortress 2 - The Mercs Get REAL Jobs

Pyro - Chef

“Chef Pyro! We need orders 2 and 5, pronto!”

Pyro, who had been steadily building a stack of napkins in the shape of the Mann Co building, looked up and tilted his head at the manager.

The insane arsonist had gotten a job working at Fancy-Pants-Fancy-Eating, which was a high-class restaurant for the rich and fancy. He had only walked into the building because it had a bunch of fancy flashing lights outside. Spotting a sign that said ‘Help Wanted’ in the window, he had grabbed it and had been staring at it when the owner had come over to him.

Next thing he knew, Pyro was the new Head Chef.

The pyromaniac stood and walked over to the line of fancy ovens and stoves, all of which were piping hot. He stared into the flames for a long time, until the sous-chef came over and touched him. “Sir? We need you to give us our orders! Please, what are we supposed to be making?”

Glancing around, Pyro spotted the slips of order papers and grabbed them. He read off of them, then turned to the sous-chef and spoke.

“MMMMPH! HMMPH! MMM! MMM! MMPHMMPH!”

The sous-chef stared at him, then took the papers himself and rattled off orders to the other chefs.

Then he handed a list to Pyro.

“You are Head Chef,” he said. “Therefore, only you can make this dish. Follow the list and get the orders out at once!” He turned back to his own job, speaking quickly and easily to the others.

Pyro tilted his head, watching him go, then looked down at the list. In his eyes, all he saw were some flowers and scribbles. He scratched his head, then shrugged and threw the list over his shoulder.

He headed over to his station and began grabbing ingredients to use. First, he took some pork chops and placed them on the grill, then sprinkled them with various things he found around the kitchen.

Nothing of which he had found in the right places.

First, there was a generous helping of hairs he had found on the floor, followed by the crumbs and dust from underneath the grill. He ran outside and grabbed several generous handfuls of dirt from the potted plants, even going so far as to pull up one of the roses by the roots.

He plastered the muddiness all over the chops, then set his flamethrower to maximum heat and started ‘cooking’.

When he was finished, all that was left was a disgusting pile of burnt…stuff. It wasn’t even food at this point.

He set the plucked, root-and-dirt covered rose on top of the mess, then sent it out.

In his mind, Pyro was doing everything completely right. In his mind, he had just sent out the best dish he had ever seen in his life.

He blew it a kiss, then moved onto his next order, which was a bowl of fine soup.

He glanced around, trying to ignore the rainbows and candy and flying babies (again, all in his mind), and spotted a room directly across from the kitchen. What he saw was a big, beautiful, glowing golden door that said “SOUP!” in big letters across the front.

How was he supposed to know it was really a bathroom?

He hustled inside and filled up his bowl with toilet water, then ran back out to finish adding ingredients. After putting in some of the gasoline from his flamethrower tank, he dug into a jar of mustard with his gasoline-soaked gloves and pulled out globs of the yellow goop, putting it into the soup. Next, leftover food from the trash can was thrown in for flavor.

Once he was finished with it, he turned his flamethrower on and got to work.

Except he didn’t stop there.

Even after the soup was sent out, he continued using his flamethrower on everything he could find. The cabinets, the floors, the walls, the other people. Before long, he was a raging mass of extremely muffled words and fire. He kicked down the kitchen door and ran out into the fancy serving area, sending people running and screaming.

His fire hit the bowl of gasoline-mustard-toilet-water-soup, which they had just been about to eat, and it exploded.

Pyro ran all about the restaurant, laughing and dancing about everywhere, spewing fire from his flamethrower. Pretty soon, the entire building was burning down. All of the people had gotten out alive, and a few moments later, he strutted out of the building looking no worse for the wear.

But before the owner could yell at him, he blew them all kisses and skipped off merrily down the street, heading back towards Mann Co. He had clearly fired himself, though no one really knew why.

As far as he was concerned, that had been the best job ever.