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Being as old as he was, Revenant had his share of walking through hell. The raw malice those with lungs would breath from the air was no stranger. Horrid pictures painting the setting before him. Anyone with eyes could see the peculiarities that were scattered over the wasteland.
There was a stark temperature change from boiling lava to frozen ice crystals. Flowers grew in fortunate grass patches while cracked obsidian plagued others. As pitiful and useless as humanity. It will all end the same. Abandoned and barren just as soon as it has spent being the humans’ plaything.
The pathetic meatsuits too would all end like one another. Each taking minimal attention from the walking synthetic nightmare as he’d spread their insides into a beautiful masterpiece.
Revenant regrettably knew each one by name. Sometimes he purposefully mixed them up or called them something entirely different just to get a reaction. He liked to call Pathfinder 'Box of Bolts'. Mirage and Octane were 'Tweedle-Dee' and 'Tweedle-Dumb'.
Regardless, he prefered to pay as little attention to them as he could, less they think he enjoyed their company. It proved not the hardest task in the world. In life, he distinctly remembered losing focus during occasional jobs. But this never deterred his reliability. The deed was done before he could realise what just happened. Instinctive. Frightening to many.
To Revenant, the most frightening thing was the tactical hunter stationed beside him.
He caught himself watching them far more than he was comfortable with. Out of the corner of his eye. From afar. Up close. He despised it.
He noticed the way Bloodhound tilted their head when something they needed was pinged. How they drummed their fingers against the barrel of their rifle as they waited for an opening. When covered with shadow, their goggles glinted red. You could almost tell where they looked. When activating their ultimate, Revenant always listened for their beastly cry. He admired how they left carnage in their wake and became all the more threatening during the hunt.
On opposite teams Revenant sought out the tracker. And when someone beat him to them a dark feeling writhed deep inside of him. It was far more direct than his usual hatred. If the hunter managed to take him down it just fueled his desire to catch them first.
Despite his best efforts, he found himself subconsciously orbiting them. If Bloodhound took notice of the frequent attention, they gave no indication. Sometimes, Bloodhound seemed to choose to stick with Revenant. A smart decision. He couldn't help but feel prideful when they actively sought him out.
That day's match was like any other.
Revenant prowled as his team waited for the ring to move. With no upcoming threat there was no reason to move. Not moving meant not killing and not killing made Revenant restless. He turned to watch Bloodhound turn away. If they were watching him out of annoyance or irritation, he didn't care. However, he did enjoy the thought of their eyes being reserved only for him. Just him.
Instead of saying or doing anything he might regret, he merely huffed and resumed his previous outlet of pent up energy.
Eventually the time came and they moved.
The back of Revenant's robotic neck prickled. Someone watched them. He always had a knack for this sort of thing. Improved his reliability. Now in the ring it served as a good advantage.
He studied the terrain with eyes made of fire. Someone aimed from the scope of a Triple Take. If their aim happened to be true then the line of fire would directly hit…
Bloth.
As if hearing his thoughts, shots rang out.
The first shot missed Bloth, effectively giving away their position. Wraith from the look of it. Before he could realise Wraith had fired another round of shots, he was pushing Bloodhound out of the line of fire.
Revenant was used to his body performing unusual tasks he didn't consent with. There was no adrenaline to numb the pain of bullets embedding themselves in his limbs and complex circuitry.
The duo took refuge against the stream of bullets behind a rock. Big enough for the both of them. Their third teammate, Octane, sped off to return the heavy fire. He could undoubtedly hold his own. Maybe.
He would probably have a better chance if he kept his mouth shut.
Revenant took his chance to secretly survey Bloodhound's state. No visible wounds. Him however, not so lucky. His right arm functioned despite the newfound bullet accessories. His chest had been penetrated by two stray shots. Other than that he seemed fine. Low health, but fine.
"You saved me."
Revenant raised his gaze to meet Bloodhound's. They watched him intently. With the mask covering their facial expression, Revenant had no clue just what they were feeling or thinking. Their current crouched position prohibited any subconscious body language. This made him uneasy and unreasonably annoyed.
"Don't flatter yourself skinbag." His words were harsh like the steel that had just been shot.
Revenant had no idea why he did what he had done. If someone asked him why he did it, Revenant would claim faulty wiring or he just wanted to push Bloodhound around. He would never admit to the fact he did as such because he actually cared about them. Maybe he just hated the idea of someone other than him killing the skilled tracker.
He chose not to dwell too much on it.
Bloodhound occupied their gaze by taking a look to where the daredevil sped off too. He seemed to be doing well. Revenant found himself wondering if his stim delayed processing the pain of bullet wounds.
Revenant casted his eyes downcast to his own mangled body. He was unaware of Bloodhound doing the same.
"You're hurt"
No shit. He thought sourly.
"I don't care." He opted to answer instead. And he really didn't. His cybernetic body could take so much, worrying over a few bullet wounds seemed pointless and time consuming. Time they could be using to inch closer to the ring. If he was functional he was fine.
"I do."
Bloodhound's statement was stern and sure. They took hold of his damaged arm with fervent determination, as if the walking nightmare couldn't tear them apart in seconds. The action caught Revenant off guard. Their hold on him started out rough, insistent with the underlying fear he would slip away. As soon as it seemed the simulacrum wouldn't resist too much the grip loosened and became more gentle.
The whole ordeal didn’t sit right with him. Bloodhound seemed to pay no mind, observing the damage.
"You do it then." He couldn't muster the same amount of bite as before. Instead his tone relented, much softer than before.
The tracker watched him curiously as he attempted to reposition his arm. The appendage disagreed with the decision and visibly lagged.
He snarled when a needle was inserted directly into his shoulder, the area needing the most recovery. The hunter remained unphased and proceeded with healing the difficult synthetic nightmare.
"Don't expect a thank you." He said, relocating his arm back into his socket.
"Your gratitude is graced." They responded, sounding much more pleased with themself than they should.
Revenant was left behind as Bloodhound repositioned to where Octane was struggling, the forgotten teammate.
The simulacrum replayed the interaction once in his mind before joining the two. How odd, the hunter was. They said they cared. About what? His well-being?
The match was coming to a close with two squads remaining. But Octane ran out of luck and struck out. The early words of Bloodhound played through Revenant’s mind like a broken record and he failed to notice the enemy squad. He too fell victim, followed by Bloodhound. They placed in second. His teammates didn't seem to be discouraged or disappointed by this fact. Revenant let on little of how he was feeling. In truth he was still thinking of the way Bloodhound had handled his arm. Those gloved hands kind to the touch.
Once out of the arena he lurked to his bare room. It was clean but not out of tidiness, moreso his lack wanting to personalise and express himself. The only thing of interest was the glass shards laying forgotten before a shattered mirror. He seemed to do that a lot.
Eventually the silence became too much for him and he left the comfort of his own room. He had no destination in mind. Sometimes he just needed to let his legs wander as his mind left in the opposite direction.
"You did well in the ring today." The soft voice broke him from his trance, Bloth.
Revenant simply gave Bloodhound the luxury of having his attention, no verbal response given. Bloodhound leaned against the wall opposite him. Their arms were crossed and they watched him. No further words were spoken so the two fell into a silence.
A silence Revenant decided to break. "For a tracker you're terrible at your job."
Bloodhound gave a quick chuckle, acknowledging their failure to notice the enemy. "And for someone who speaks death threats like a second language, you oddly care."
Revenant's neck recoiled indignantly, “I do not. Shut up.”
“You may be able to fool the others,” He watched as Bloodhound pushed theirself off the wall and made their way over as they spoke. Unlike other people, fear didn't wrack their body as they approached. “But I can see otherwise.”
Bloodhound softly placed their hand over the piece of metal that had once been shot on Revenant’s chest. Anyone else would have shuddered at the lifelessly cold sensation, refusing to touch him without any need. But Revenant supposed Bloodhound wasn't like everyone else. Perhaps that was why he was drawn to them. He had no other excuse as to why he was letting them do this. The touch was so soft he failed to notice the hand now caressing the age old scarf.
"I do appreciate your actions today," they pulled on the scarlet scarf and brought him down to eye level. "I hope to return the favor someday." They continued, voice lower and gravely and Revenant swore he nearly short circuited.
Their mask tilted as Revenant was released. The tracker brought their hand up in a salut that Revenant could practically tell was an oozing tease. Once satisfied, they began to take their leave.
“Oh, and do try to keep yourself out of harm's way.” They called over their shoulder. “It would be such a shame to lose such a valuable companion.”
Once alone, Revenant pried his eyes away from where Bloodhound had just been. His hand rested where they had felt him. So gentle with no hurtful hidden intentions. It was possibly a better feeling than when Bloth beat him to death. The exciting adrenaline replaced with longing fulfillment. He knew he wanted more. But how could he?
Maybe he should cut off their hands. No, that’s stupid. He could never reenact the softness of their fingertips felt against the cold shell that was his body.
He thought back to what Bloodhound had said. They wished to return the favor. Revenant shivered as he remembered how they spoke. It was like when they landed the finishing blow against him as the powers their god sent down swam through their veins. He also wanted to hear that more.
He straightened himself, not bothering to check around his current environment. No-one needed to walk into his existential crisis. He needed to invoke fear into all those who looked at him, including Bloodhound. Trying to erase the memories of earlier and focus on the feeling of revenge and hate proved unreasonably difficult.
Everyone knew he was dangerous. He was born into the red hot embrace of vengeance. He’s a menace to anyone with the unfortunate luck to cross him. He’s killed before. He enjoys it. However, the very thought of hurting his dear hunter was met with a bile taste. He was growing rather soft.
The hunter would be another death for him.