The scent of salt in the air is cut by the crackling bonfire burning bright in the sand. It's hard to see the waves in the dark of the night, but you can hear them crashing onto the beach along with music playing from a speaker and the conversations of your fellow soldiers. You don't really know anyone here since you're still so new to this base, but you forced yourself to come after your shift anyways. If anything, you'll get a free beer and enjoy stargazing on the beach.

It's always awkward to be the new kid. Everyone is already friends, inside jokes go over your head, callsigns you don't know the origin of are shouted instead of the last names embroidered on camo. A medic that's been friendly to you hands you a cup of beer, but before you can thank him, he's off chatting to someone else. You know you need to make an effort with these people. People that will depend on you, that you'll depend on in the field.

You sigh and wander towards the bonfire, wood stacked neatly to burn above the wet sand. A figure in head-to-toe black is standing near it. He pulls a small container from his pocket and sprays it into the fire. The flames swell, smoke billows into the night sky, and soldiers cheer. He slips the container back into his pocket, and you swear you can see him smiling under his skull-print mask.

He notices you staring and gives you a nod before his gaze is drawn back to the bonfire. The way the flames dance in his pale blue eyes is mesmerizing, like the fire is a part of him.

"Lighter fluid?" You ask, tilting your cup towards his pocket before taking a sip.

He chuckles and replies, "Caught red-handed."

You're caught off guard by his Australian accent, but that's not too surprising considering the wide variety of soldiers that are assigned to this base. Hell, you're here. You swirl the cheap beer in your cup then ask, "Are you the babysitter for the fire?"

"You could say that. They don't call me Pyro for nothing," he banters back.