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Splutters and crying can be heard, broken and gorey as the killer lets his victims bleed. There's no mercy from the grim reaper, no one was deserving of a swift death. Bullet lodged in their throat, blood swelling from wounds and out of their choking mouths as they die slowly. Choking on their own entrails, nails clawing to remove an inserted bullet. Overwhelming fear as they fight to survive, a useless fight at that, they were long gone and it satisfied the monster that inflicted it. They can cry and attempt to beg, words jumbled and quite frankly, incoherent. It's barely English, coughs and gargles interrupting. The simulacrum however, he stands, stares, blood on his hands and a pistol loosely hanging from it, gentle tapping as blood slides down cool metal and hits the floor, pooling at his feet, there's a curious tilt to his head. It's by far not a good way to go out.
Death was not kind to any man, good or bad.
Once human, there was no good.
Humans could never be good and they'd never be forgiven.
Lax footsteps echo closer to Revenant, alerting him and he presses up into the wall, slim and dark. He always fit perfectly into cover, truly one with the shadows, he could be there the entire time and who would notice? Well, the fear and burning stares he radiates would make many notice. You know when you feel like you're not alone in the room? You're not and you'd barely ever see him.
Exactly like death. Unexpected, you don't see death coming but oh, it's there.
Stood confident, tall, the silhouette of a man fell into view, peering around the corner, oblivious to who his next encounter would be. Orange eyes follow the shadow and reach to boots, scaling up at the toned figure. A once yellow outfit was stained in blood, quite the splatter of it on his torso with speckles thrown across the rest of his body, a weapon hung from his arms. He wears an overly confident smug expression, pursed lips and eyes squinted as he watches ahead of him for any enemies. Curls are stylishly hanging to the side, he always kept up his handsome façade even within these slaughterous games.
Revenant cocks a wingman, pointing the barrel to his temple as he rounds the corner and yelps with the sudden sight of a slender simulacrum covered in blood, fear shoots through him, twisting his stomach but he plays it cool, the corner of his mouth curling into a crooked grin as he stares up at the consistently blank expression of the sim.
"Way to make an entrance, buddy, have you been taking tips?" Mirage quips, his R301 aimed towards Revenant. "Can't bl — blay — Can't blame you, learning from the best." He winks, pursing his lips slightly out of nervousness, eyes darting up and down the man across from him, it was a flirty glance but did it for the fans. How charming is it to banter with a terrifying murderbot holding you at gunpoint? That thought makes his trigger finger twitch, wanting to shoot because otherwise he'd find him being tortured under the bots control. The two corpses behind the sim, still twitching and dying despite the amount of blood pooled around them made him cringe, it is gruesome but it's not like he hadn't seen blood and guts before — No, this wasn't his first rodeo.
A metal claw twitches then reaches to the barrel of the assault rifle, slowly twisting his fingers around it only to rip it from Mirage's grasp. It takes some force as the man tries to hold onto it. Mechanical eyes don't leave Mirage, not once, even as the wingman is removed and he tears the weapon away, leaving him pretty much defenseless or so it seemed, did Mirage not consider a second weapon? The lack of arms on his belt or holsters assured him of his thought.
Curious. Revenant found the obnoxiously proud man peculiar, so loud although he didn't find himself entirely despising it. His own interest in Mirage keeps him silent.
Nervous laughter fills the quiet air, the tanned man fumbling to back away, hands raising defensively as if submitting, his throat going dry as he hopes for mercy. Of course he couldn't show that to the fans, he had to give them a show. Revenant cocks his head to this action, stepping closer and keeping the space between them tight. This would be fun, certainly. That fear, the look in his brown eyes was empowering, he could almost taste how scared Mirage silently was. Did he admire or pity this persona he so, oh so desperately enforced?
"Okay — You caught me," Mirage chuckles, dipping his chin into his scarf as he forces a grin.
To which he's then grabbed by the scarf, aggressively falling into the metal chest as he's ripped forward. Revenant curls his hand around the scarf as if he's about to rip it apart, he had other intentions though and the fearful glance Mirage gives him encourages him to continue, "Elliott," he hums.
Mirage wasn't a fan of hearing that name. Not from the manic machine that currently held him hostage, his jaw tightens, grinding teeth into each other, he's nervous but that doesn't stop him from smirking and giving an expecting, "Yes?"
"Do you have any regrets?" his head tilts futher as he asks this.
He hoped to watch Mirage bleed, the blood on his clothes wasn't his own and that appeased the sim but what would look even better was more. Therefore his other hand crawls up to his cheek, thumb digging into scarring under his eye as he traces patterns into it. He squints.
"Pfft, me? Regrets — N- No…" Mirage laughs immediately, tilting his chin up to give a cocky grin. His 'no' becomes broken and shaky as he feels pressure applied to delicate skin, enough to make him bleed. It stings.
Revenant gives a long, low hum as if to note the trickster's response sarcastically.
His thumb halts, pressing into one spot on his face until he pulls back completely, shoving Mirage. He laughs. Not really a laugh but he goes 'hah' with a low vibration rumbling out of him. Mirage twists his body to throw his hands underneath him to catch himself, a yelp coming from his mouth, heaven forbid he goes face first into the dirt.
Revenant shifts over him, grabbing his shoulder and pulling the fallen man onto his back to face eye to eye with him. He squats over him, hovering.
His eyes narrow, hand slinking through hair to grab a hold of it, keeping his head up. Mirage keeps his upper body up with elbows digging into dirt and propping him, eyes wide with a furrowed brow. Fear settles in his chest, making it nearly difficult to breathe as he stares up at his attacker, he winces at the grab on his hair. "N - No need to be so rough!" he retorts, attempting to stretch his head back and out of his grasp. It doesn't work, only increasing the grip.
"Mhm," he acknowledges, "Scream for me."
Before Mirage has time to react or even think, sharp pain erupts through his chest. A grim noise of pleasure leaving the sim who plunges a hand into the front of his shoulder, he is well aware to avoid the chest so as not to ruin the fun too quickly. Such a feeble body, if you hit the wrong place it was over. With a sharp hand piercing him, his collarbone feels shattered, his arm feels useless and everything hurts. Everything burns. Meanwhile the cause of this agonising feeling is hovering above, savouring the screams of agony he's given. Later it would make him cringe that Revenant will encode all of this, saving it for later. Right now, nothing went through his mind aside from the unbearable pain, a weak hand squeezing and yanking at Rev's wrist, incoherent begging and undirected apologies. He was so desperate.
Revenant holds his hand there, he doesn't move, he just lingers. Warm crimson liquid seeping out, staining the fabric he wore even more than it already was. It's satisfying.
Mirage squirms beneath him and it gets him to grunt in his efforts, lowering his weight onto him better, holding him down. There was a large difference between a human body and a mechanic one. It certainly stills Mirage.
"Move and it'll get worse," he educates, his tone is sadistic and he wishes he could grin at the sight below him. Instead he stares, blankly and emotionlessly as always. It was his typical stare with his lack of facial features. He always seemed to be up to no good because of it, not that he was ever doing anything good. The gravelly voice, although somewhat soothing, gets the trickster to quiet and still, fearful eyes gazing up at the blank canvas that was Revenant's face.
Parted lips allow a yell and wince as a hand is slid out of the gash through his shoulder, lowering to careful whimpers.
The sim inspects sharpened fingers, watching as blood trickles down his forearm. It's almost like a type of art — No one really understood it except him though, maybe a type of abstract art. He's just twisted up inside. While Rev is busy mentally patting himself on the back, Mirage sits in fear, chest raising and falling at an unbelievable pace. He's lucky he can still get any air into his lungs. A knot forms in his stomach at the sight of his own blood on Revenant's hands. Oh… Oh. It suddenly hits the man that it's his own and his shoulder rapidly bled out, how could he have not realised? He's in defeat however. What more can he do? He's useless against the bot, just a chew toy from here until a bullet goes through his skull and he's revived by the gamemasters once more.
"Yeah — Yeah… You —" His words are tangled and unfocused, his nose scrunching as he falls back into the dirt. He gives in, "You win, big guy!"
Attention is stolen by the limpness of Mirage beneath him, that irritating voice interrupting his thoughts. This was disappointing, no, this certainly wouldn't do. Where was the fun in it if he didn't spark a reaction from the little man? Boring, watching him bleed out without anything else. If this was the end he might as well call it a day and move onto his next kill, surely this sack of meat had a teammate somewhere? That's sad — No teammate to support him, rescue him from the hands of death. He's all alone when in reality he could be with someone else and have easily won this battle.
He wonders if Mirage has any regrets now.
He drops his knees into the dirt, straddling him now with legs on either side. His full weight is down as he basically sits on the humans hips, creating a grunt and pained moan from Mirage. A bloodied claw cups his cheek, dragging across slowly, smearing his own entrails across skin. "No, I'm not finished with you," he hushes, a chime to his voice. His head is tilted up confidently as he admires his work, wanting to laugh at the cringed expression Elliott wears at the feeling of cold blood sticking to his cheek and sliding to his lips.
There's blood just about everywhere. On the simulacrum, on the trickster, on the ground. Revenant doesn't mind though, might as well be his favourite colour painting the grass below them, blending to the colour on his plates and obviously staining the yellow fabric and being painted beautifully across Elliott's skin.
Mirage still scowls at the action. "Hurry up," he urges, glaring now. He runs his mouth before he thinks of the potential consequences, "Or — Or are you afraid, huh? Not so tough are you?"
This comment receives a glare of sorts. It's hard to tell when death is looking you straight in the eyes, how can you tell what it's thinking? Does it think? Maybe it just acts, thinks later. Whatever; Revenant doesn't look happy, in fact he's taken back, his hand twitches at the cocky response.
"Watch your mouth skin suit," the sim hisses in an almost seducing tone, maybe his voice would be seductive if he wasn't currently tearing apart a human being and having zero remorse for it. That and the fact that death itself was encased in a metal vessel, containing him forever, only to be replaced once this one is worn down. He was a robot — People don't love robots. Fingers sink into the same wounded shoulder as he grips it, smugly watching at the pout turn to a pained expression. He wasn't so cocky now. "Cat got your tongue? Aw. Hah, you're not so confident now are you, meat sack?"
Mirage doesn't give an answer, shutting his eyes and squirming at the pain.
Revenant only gives more. How kind of him. He takes another hand, bringing it to his throat and applying pressure with sharp fingers, dragging steadily up and down the side of his neck, watching red marks being drawn onto tanned skin. This is fine, bearable, only a scrape until claw turns to blade and his pressed into his throat, not pressing down hard enough to pierce flesh but it's a warning. Eyes widened, fearful, a gulp is stuck in his throat at the feeling, he wasn't so tough in this position.
"A- At least you're…" His words trailed to a halt, shuddering at the thought. "At least you're giving the — The fans a show," he winks.
His life on the line, blood rushing out and threatening his conciousness, the weight of a metal body crushes him and the hand to his throat proves he's about to take his last breath, and yet he drops a playful wink with a stupid quip. He weakly smiles. Tears and swelling in his eyes, pain is becoming overwhelming and the increasing amount of pain being applied to his throat causes his breath to hitch.
It's pathetic.
Human life is so fickle.
Maybe a bug in his coding, a small error in his design but his hand hesitates, twitching but not in annoyance, instead he retracts it and returns it to a hand like state, gripping the jaw of Mirage aggressively while the hand on his shoulders inserts fingers into the wound, gaining an exasperated moan from the man, not in pleasure but pain, exhaustion, a whimper tails after and he stares cowardly up at Rev who leans in. His fingers curl, tearing open the wound and sending reactions through thousands of nerves in his skin, leading to inevitable pain. Things are getting dark in Mirage's vision, he grasps onto his murderer as if it would make him stop, hand balling around the material of his abdomen
"So tell me, Elliott. Do you regret anything?"
His answer is a whimper, a cry, mouth opening to snarkily reply with an 'of course not!' but no words come out. Metal twists around the wound.
"I spared your throat for a reason, skin bag. Do you regret anything?"
Mirage cries out, shutting his eyes and nodding rapidly as much as he could, being pressed into the floor. "Yes." he chokes.
That's just what he was looking for. The truth, of course, though he already knew it. He could see the pain and fear behind Elliott's eyes, something tearing him apart behind the scenes, he was a broken and sad man. He didn't belong in this bloodsport but Rev wanted to watch him admit to it, crumble under his own weight and this was the start. As a reward; Mercy. Death takes his wingman in his hand and cocks it to Mirage's lolling head, eyes fluttering shut, relief washing over him as he realises Rev gifts him with this at least. The idea of pain fading was nice. It was ironic, how he spared him. No one else would be spared like Elliott was, maybe he was an angel in disguise. If only. Eyes inspect his own hand, checking for that cursed logo on his hand but blood from the dying human hides it, actually he likes the look of that. Better than Hammond's ridiculous labelling. Far better of course. He pulls off the safety and drags his index across the trigger, not before giving Mirage a long, observing stare. They wear the blood of him, sharing it almost.
"You look good in red," Revenant comments, "You should wear it more often."
Mirage opens his eyes barely at the comment, nearly confusedly, he feels hot with that statement. Physically hot, like someone turned the heat up.
And with that he pulls the trigger.