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The night hung still over King's Canyon, a rare moment of peace amid the chaos the Apex Games had brought to this haven of the natural world. The call of the Leviathans resonated through the caverns and mountains, an unearthly hum that thickened the very air.
Yet, a rhythmic thudding punctuated the atmosphere. Rigid metal repeatedly met soft earth as a lone figure tore across the landscape, their feet striking a pulsating beat through to their core.
"Bit of a fancy introduction, maybe," Octane announced to the emptiness. He had been lost in thought for many hours, and that was exactly what he'd gone running to avoid. It wasn't exactly what he was known for either.
Though it was still dark, there was something about the constant motion of his feet, the world as it blurred past…it focused him like a precision choke; all he had to do was move forward. There didn't even have to be a goal at the end, but it obviously helped.
Yet here the goal was always just out of reach. Running away wouldn't solve anything, and running straight into trouble could end up getting someone killed.
Never mind running in trousers, that would be outright stupid.
"TROUSERS!" he exclaimed to the night air. Of all the things to be upset over right now, it was Che that hit him the hardest. Wattson was down, but she'd pass the message on for him. Revenant was messing with everybody, and no-one seemed willing to fight back.
"And on top of all that, Che's the one to have sent me on some lousy date. Why don't we just send the demon back to hell eh? What a date that'd be!"
The pale sky still held no answers for him, but he hoped for no further questions either. So he pushed on; splashing through the pools past Slum Lakes, the moonlight sparkling in his wake, lost in admiration at the rock formations that arched out into the valleys below. The tiniest details jumped out to fascinate him, but there was always more to see.
"Oh yeah, it's Go Time," he whispered.
He span a vial from his utility belt, and slammed a dose of his precious Stim into his chest.
"A shot to the heart, never too late," he sighed contentedly as the world tore about him.
Everything seemed brighter now, but there was no focus. There was only forward. Mountain crags and dilapidated buildings flowed together as if in a dream. Doors opened ahead, caverns funnelled him onward. No one place was the same, yet it all was one.
There was only forward.
His worries and drives had both slipped from him, and he had given himself to the rhythm of his feet. He didn't even notice himself launch a jump pad into his own path, until the rush of cold air jolted him back to his senses, and the familiar sensation of the ground beneath him disappeared.
"Woo! That one had a real kick!" he celebrated, pumping his fist in the air. But before he could even lower his arm, the familiar piston of his jump pad hissed behind him, and something shot past, crashing into the arcing stone above. A meaty thud and a gnarled cry darted his attention upwards as the ground rose to meet him below.
"Looks like I've got some jogging partners. Come on then, kitty-cats," Octane grinned to himself as he hit the floor at a sprint. Or are they lizards?
The Prowlers had ambushed him back before the Lakes, and he wasn't prepared to play with them again. This King’s Canyon wasn’t a petting zoo. As he started up the oncoming hill, the jump pad thumped and hissed once more, and teeth and claws rained down from above.
Another Stim punched its way into his chest, his hands moving without thinking. He only had four of the green syringes left now, tossing the empty fifth back into the face of a rapidly approaching Prowler. He'd needed the rest of his stash earlier that night, along with the RE-45 he'd snatched from by Wattson's bed. The Mozambique at his other hip had been a lucky find. Those things are everywhere. I don't see why Che likes them so much.
"Oho chica, if only you could see me now," he found himself chuckling as he careened down the other side of the slope, his knees tearing through the sodden earth.
You probably wish you'd never given me these legs if this is where they take me.
He shook his head in sudden annoyance, and spun around as he slid, the sound of rough padding close on his metal heels. A Prowler leapt from the apex of the hill, bouncing off the cliff face to dive straight for him. Octane's momentum slowed, and he dropped another jump pad behind him, letting a final hop launch him into the air as the Prowler crashed into the ground.
"Aha! Eat my dust little doggy!" What is a dog actually, anyway? I’ve only ever seen photos.
Then he gasped, a sudden pain tearing through his upper arm, and a surprising warmth trickling down it. May have cut that a little close. But yet again, his train of thought entirely derailed as he looked up, bringing him back to laser focus. An entire pack of Prowlers were surging over the hillside, their multicoloured scales glinting daggers in the moonlight. And as he realised his predicament; a burst from his jump jets turning him to face the long road ahead, he stopped. In mid air. With a crash.
His arms clung fiercely to whatever it was he had hit, and his mind was still racing from both the Stim and the situation. It only took one piercing screech to bring him to attention, and he was surprisingly okay with where he'd ended up. Struggling past flapping wings, clawing talons and the occasional spatter of his own blood, he pulled himself up on to the back of an enormous yellow Flyer, as it swung round straight into a nosedive.
"Alright compadre, let's go! NON TERRAE PLUS ULTRA!" he yelled as they fell. The earth yawned beneath them, and he strained to hold on to the beast's neck. "Hey now amigo! I don't want to take you down with me!" he cried, blood now pouring from his arm, his teeth clenched. A Stim smacked its way into his leg, and his hands found purchase; jerking the head of the Flyer upwards, and sending them soaring away from the Prowlers.
Octane relaxed, the wind pushing through into his mask, biting into his wound. The alternate King's Canyon was still beautiful from up here. Revenant couldn't take the sky away from them.
Could he?
Octane snapped back to reality as they passed over the remnants of the Containment facility. The Flyer had cried out to its own kind below, clambering atop nests made from the cages that once held them. A stark call came back from the wreckage as a fierce red Flyer took off towards them, and Octane's ride took an immediate turn for the worse.
"Oh no no no. No bueno, Yellow!" he stammered, yanking the Flyer's neck to the side. They fell away from the incoming mate, spiralling down as Octane struggled with the flailing neck, buffeting wings and biting fangs of his surprise airborne captor. As they plummeted into the canyon below them, Octane threw himself from the creature, knocking into the cliff face, and bouncing into the waters below.
The cool stream washed over his stinging wounds as he lay still, watching the pair fly away; for once happy to do so, if only momentarily. Maybe I should do this more often.
And yet, he once again moved faster than he could think. He suddenly had his RE-45 in hand, pulling back the slide, but he had not stood up. He then found himself checking his Mozambique, cocking the pump ready for what he knew he was about to come.
The splashes were getting louder. Closer.
I hope I don't miss hermana. ‘Cause I'll miss you if I do.
In a sudden cascade, Octane's feet slammed against the riverbed, rolling him backwards to stand upright. He held both guns aloft, but the pistol in his left hand shook slightly. He didn't need Stim to keep it steady, he just needed a target.
“What is it the old fart says? I feel most alive when rapidly approaching my death?" he pondered aloud as ripples slowly dissipated along the stream, "Heh! You know what amigo, I think we might finally agree on something.” Octane smiled to himself beneath his mask, as the first Prowler bounded over the rocks to face him.
Not that it could do so for long without a face. The first round from Che's favourite saw to that. As the creature's body tumbled past him, more streamed over the rocks and atop the nearby hill. The next one lashed out at him, but a sidestep and a double tap to the temple sent it flying across the stones. His left hand burst with fire as he laid bullets into the oncoming horde, swinging the shotgun into the face of the remaining straggler before shunting the chamber open.
But there was no time to lose. Or all the time in the world. Running from your impending messy death certainly helps clear your head. Prowlers didn’t really think about why they were trying to eat you alive, they just did it. Octane could appreciate that.
“Okay compadres, let’s take it up a gear!” he cried at the roaring, undulating mass bearing down the hillside, as he slammed the final shells into the chamber. He tossed the Mozambique into the air as he pulled out another magazine, sliding it effortlessly into the RE-45 clasped in his now steady, blood-soaked left hand. His right flickered like a snake striking at its prey, embedding his penultimate Stim right into his own neck, where it stuck fast. He didn't even notice it then catch the Mozambique, but he sure as hell knew when he fired it again.
This was what he'd needed. A good fight. To run full tilt towards his impending, messy death.
He knew he couldn't fight Revenant. The stick-in-the-mud was too nasty; he'd go after the people close to you first.
Also he's basically immortal. Odds aren't in anyone’s favour there.
But he couldn't properly confront Che either. That stick-in-the-mud was too kind.
She'll be worried sick as ever, not that I help that much.
As his mind cleared once more, the Prowlers tore around him like a whirlwind; sprays of bullets, blood and scales bursting from his guns in a frantic spectacle of death. He didn't notice them claw at his flesh, and he couldn't feel the biting at his ankles. As he kicked another away, he felt its jaw break all the way up through his spine, and the jarring crack snapped him back to awareness.
The hill was drenched in a greenish blue; punched full of seeping holes, and trenches scored by tumbling bodies scattered in all directions. His guns clicked dry. Nothing moved.
Sorry pups. Hate to do it to ya.
The RE-45 dropped to the floor, squelching in the churned mud. Shaking, Octane's hand slowly pulled shells from his jacket. As each were clumsily shoved into the chamber, the world around him seemed to stay perfectly still. There was nothing but this moment.
As the chamber finally clasped shut, the roar he had expected behind him came from his side, and a Prowler slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground. His first shot was wild, flying past the torrent of blood, teeth and claws that now poured over him. The Prowler writhed as it landed on its back behind him, immediately righting itself, and launched into another pounce.
Octane hadn't even had time to find his feet. Just like early morning, amigo. So he clicked a button built into his glove, and his jump jets fired, propelling him off the cliffside as the Prowler scrambled overhead, throwing him back down to the stream below. His fall was broken by a Prowler corpse, the water littered and stained with their bodies. He lay still once more, gasping for breath, but his Mozambique was trained on the cliff edge.
He could always run. He didn't need to think, or not, or fight...or not. Not any more. Now he just needed to get home. He needed to survive. If he could.
Heh, Che would bring me back to life just to kill me all over again anyway.
A sudden series of splashes spun him around. His final two shots pummelled fiercely into the looming Prowler’s shoulder and neck, but it only delayed the inevitable. The Prowler pushed on, diving atop Octane and its slain kin; its oozing blood coating his mask as he held the gnashing maw at bay, his feet frantically shoving the beast back.
As the shotgun fell from his grasp, Octane instinctually reached to his hip, and pulled out his final Stim. He always acted for himself first, but maybe now it was time to think of others. He slammed the syringe into the Prowler’s eye, pushing the plunger down. The cocktail of chemicals burst through the socket and the Prowler howled, collapsing back off Octane.
But before he could stand up; the Prowler, now fired up by the Stim and the pain, grasped at his leg and pulled him down into the water. Octane was shaken like a rag doll. Yet amid the swirling water, jagged rocks, gnashing teeth and spattering blood, all he could think of was Che pulling his own legs off and beating him with them. He was more scared of letting her down than he was of a bloody lizard, or a death robot.
Hey, don’t you know I’m loco, amigo? She does.
Inspired, his hand finally found its target, and he pulled at the clasp on his knee. He flew from the Prowler’s grasp, but it didn’t seem to notice. The leg still held its absolute attention, as it attacked its insurmountable prey endlessly and furiously.
But Prowlers evidently hadn’t heard of a comedown. The creature’s movements dulled quickly, as it clearly tired itself to the point of exhaustion, mindlessly clawing at a lifeless piece of gnarled metal. It eventually tossed the leg away, collapsing into the water, drained of any will to fight; its teeth cracking from the pressure of attempting to subdue such an unbreakable foe.
It didn’t even notice the other leg come crashing down onto its skull. And Octane barely noticed that he left the leg there afterwards. It was bent out of any usable shape by the time he was done with it. By the time he realised his lack of legs, he had found himself back on the riverbank, having evidently crawled to the doors of the Bunker.
Well, I definitely don’t have the insurance to cover Prowler mangling. Not even Che’ll fix me up now.
Why could he never escape her? Why did she make him feel like his mind could never actually rest? Why could he not run on and live without a care?
Because he did care. He cared about her.
A crowd could cheer til their lungs burst, a grenade could blow you up to stardom, and Stims were…well, Stims. But a friend picking you up off the floor was an altogether different kind of high. And a friend wanting you to not hit the floor in the first place was something else entirely.
Because it’s hard to trust someone with your life. Or your feelings. Or even replacing your legs.
Crowds and grenades were easy by comparison. Stims he'd have to work on.
But he had trusted her, and she’d put him in trousers. Again, TROUSERS, of all things! Well, she did get him the legs for them first, so maybe that wasn’t all that bad.
“Okay hermana...for you, I’ll stay out of trouble,” he spluttered to the night sky. “But it’s not ‘cause I have no legs, or that I’m slowly losing blood. Nothing stops the Octrain...unless you want to catch a ride with me.”
"Sounds familiar...I think I've found him."
As his vision blurred, so did the very air above him. Wraith’s portal warped into being, and Octane finally let himself rest. Che was not about to offer him the same courtesy.
And she shouldn’t. Thank you hermana.
-END-