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it's a bit strange how the fear of heights can positively root them in place when plummeting from the ship or the top of a jump tower but Bloodhound is almost unaffected during the trip before that point. how sprawling rivers of dark green or fire seen from space happens to captivate them only for as long as they don't think too hard about the scale. waves of vertigo used to arise when they slipped and thought too hard about it, but enough practice has given them reprieve from this particular phobia.
Gaea is admittedly gorgeous. each time the rotation brings the games to Storm point (every two weeks or so), Bloodhound finds the same spot to watch the ride in from most days. multiple people have commented on this, teasing them for the interest contrasted to their mood once boots are on the ground. the spectacle of white sand and lush jungle and prowlers that are bigger and meaner indeed begins to wear off once a fine layer of sweat has covered them from head to toe. not to mention running a good kilometer before the first skirmish. before they had the chance to learn hot spots and easy methods of moving long distances, they were irritable and unhelpful during matches. even the heat is different from the worst summers they remember from their childhood on Talos. Solace doesn't exhaust everyone like this planet can, what with how humid it is.
still, all of this does little to stop them from hopping on the same, unmoving crate and leaning against the cool hangar wall to peer out the window before a scheduled game. nor does it deter the very souls who comment on it from occasionally joining them.
Andrade is often joined by Kairi, who sits on the opposite side and sips from a can of soda or energy drink while her partner collapses into the spot next to them and throws an arm around their shoulders. Bloodhound only grins to themself as the girls pass the can back and forth and try to cheat each other in games of i-spy.
Renee wanders in when it's a little too silent and their nerves are frayed. she'll take up the same standing position before the window, hands braced on the metal sill and doesn't make a habit of talking unless they initiate, removing much of the pressure they feel around some others. even when she is restlessly pacing around the space on bad days and they're exhausted, bonelessly watching her with their back against the shuddering surface, the presence alone seems to keep the worst from spilling over. the ritual of coming here and existing together, perhaps.
existing together.
this also seems an adequate descriptor for the company of another who slinks in when there's nobody else in the space. who mutters the same, sarcastic line about 'straying from the flock' or 'safety in numbers' as he sits.
"why fear an attack when you're here," they decide to chirp back, once. Revenant regarded them oddly then. a glance out of the corner of his eye.
"think you got this backwards, hound."
today, something is a bit off about him. a few times before this has happened: days where revenant seems far-away. they've learned a little more about him since that first episode (namely what loba has told them), but have grown no closer to pulling him from that stupor. in the time they've known him, there has been no fix. no solution that he is willing or lucid enough to entertain.
the simulacrum was in their usual spot when they boarded, so they crossed to take his. Revenant isn't subtle about watching them, but returning that gaze in fleeting hopes of inspiring a challenge tells Bloodhound what they already know. there will be no cure today.
it puts them in a strange mood. for a while, they are grateful for how his very presence ensures no one else really lingers. a greeting, maybe, and confused glances between the two. this is short lived and their mood begins to shift towards apprehension for the match. usually Revenant shows up when they're set to be paired, but there's a third to worry about today. Trios requires seamless teamwork, especially now. these days abilities and strategy matter much more than it did a year ago.
the simulacrum turns hazy, uncoordinated eyes up as if hearing their thoughts. even without their goggles on, Bloodhound suspects his gaze would've slid past their eyes the way it does now.
"You cannot hope to fight like this," they begin stiffly. he shakes his head. "We can find a replacement. Me and whoever it is, there's-"
"Seer," he interjects.
"Obi. He will understand."
"Ain't anyone to replace me."
"You're not well."
"Don't fucking tell me what I am," Revenant hisses.
this is how these pre-match spats have always gone, since the first time they thought to try at all. they admit defeat easily and stand, mumbling a promise to be back before drop and slip into back into the main areas of the ship.
Seer is not hard to find. he plays the spotlight easily, no matter where it shines. right now it points to a crowd; the man sits atop a counter between Silva and Elliott and spots them immediately. without need for them to come closer, he turns and places a hand on Elliott's shoulder, leaning in to give a farewell to him and the others milling about and hops down to follow them out into a chilly hallway.
"You and I, my friend? What a match it'll be." ever gracious, he lets bloodhound bring it up themselves, continuing to saunter along beside them until they can find the words.
"Revenant is our third. But he is not.. himself today. And- well, you know how he can be.. "
"I've seen it once before," Seer replies easily. "Suppose we should go and collect him then, yes? We'll be arriving shortly."
he is so observant. there is very little chance he doesn't see the way they pause at this. there is no time to argue that a replacement is the best course of action before the taller man is down the corridor, veering off towards where they left the simulacrum.
when they have caught up with Obi, to their surprise, he is warmly greeting Wraith, who departs immediately with a tight smile. Revenant hasn't moved from the spot by the window, but he seems a bit more alert now, tracking hound as they move towards him.
The first announcement goes off. A three minute reminder and call for attendance checks.
Revenant inhales sharply, struggles upright and marches the way Renee had just gone. they watch him go, a pang of anxiety rising in their gut. Obi puts himself in their line of vision and beckons.
"Come now, we shouldn't be late," he says gently.
with a small nod, Bloodhound allows themselves to be led back down.
other teams are congregating slowly. a spare few typically have knowledge of who they're set to be matched with - namely the veterans - while the rest search for themselves on the flashing screens overhead. they shoot a look at Che as they trail behind their own squad and are rewarded when she weaves through the crowd to reach them.
Under the pretense of a last minute gear check, something which Bloodhound is typically less inclined towards, she takes them off to a less crowded corner.
They unclasp their respirator and move to unhook the strap behind their head, but another long beep from the speakers has her waving her hands and tilting the mask down to inspect the inside from up close. Their words come out in a breathless rush next to her ear as she pulls a glove on and checks the integrity of each filter.
"It's Revenent. He is not fit to fight today - " They are interrupted by the drop doors opening, automatically throwing an arm out to steady Lifeline. she gives them a tense nod and leans up to fit their respirator back in place. Securing it, then putting hands on their shoulders and leaning close to be heard.
"It's his choice, hound. my hands are tied, y'know this"
they knew already, yet try each time. there is no psychical injury. no marks to be found, no x-rays to take. no rattle to hear in his lungs. he would never admit to anything that could take him out of today's games even if the trauma team regarded him as human.
he's been dumped out of this ship in worse condition, though snarling the entire way. he doesn't fight now.
they jerk their chin down as Che gives them a pat and departs to find her team before stepping down onto the platform descending with their own. Revenent is staring down at the sea of tree tops, dotted with purples and yellows, shoulder pressed firm to a metal beam.
Obi catches their eye from his position in the middle of the platform and cants his head to one side. stepping away from the title of Jumpmaster without a word spoken. Revenant doesn't notice. They swallow hard, grateful that the wind steals the sound, and look out over the edge. The countdown winds down from ten, and by five they've identified a small cluster of buildings on the eastward side of the island. anything to give him a chance, landing inside where they think the first ring is would be pushing their luck.
Revenant doesn't so much as stir as the first few teams dive when usually he would have demanded to join them minutes in advance. They nudge their elbow into his and finally his eyes snap up. Bloodhound doesn't acknowledge it, as if they had not noticed, and jumps, only looking back to ensure he has come with.
The first few structures are emptied of loot before they happen across a peacekeeper, one of the simulacrum's favorites, and notice the prompt in their HUD to ping it for a teammate. Bringing up another screen tells them that Revenant hasn't yet picked up a gun. Obi wanders in behind them and likely sees the same thing. Their gaze turns in Revenant's direction on the minimap, down a steep slope towards a beach.
..
His mind is static.
He can hear it coming in slow pulses.
It rises and falls and when it's reached his eyes and all sensation is blanketed in this oppressing, feverish warmth, he's senseless. he can only press his back against the nearest surface and witness the storm of corrupted, drifting memories before him like snow or dust or embers raining down from above his head because the sky is falling down around him and so he must tense his shoulders and/and bite down and bear it.
when the sickness begins to subside the first time, there is a figure before him. Wraith has her forehead pressed against the curved glass, eyes closed.
"Y-you get it," he slurs at some point. the moment the words are out, he struggles to recall what he had said. or when. something raspy and small asks if he had spoken at all. his voice is not his own though he doesn't remember what his own even sounds like. thoughts turn to useless wisps the moment he tries to focus on them. "It's loud.."
"That's putting it lightly," comes a bitter sounding reply. so she is as tired as him. he is trying to conjure the will to say something else, maybe something with as much bite as this all deserves, but the kid turns as another shape glides into his periphery. The moment he turns his eyes he can feel the ache creeping back up. it's disorienting but still he looks.
"Pleasure to see you again Renee," comes a familiar voice. Of course they did. Seer is smiling politely as she slots a hand into both of his and gives a little shake. how does she still do it? turn and smile and duck her head when all he wants to do is stare down at his hands while they rust. Revenant watches uselessly as she makes another wry joke he cannot hear - prompting an honest laugh from seer - and excuses herself. slipping past Bloodhound, who has appeared as well. fun.
the next few minutes pass in a blur. it can't have been that many. he can recall getting up and faintly recognizing the sensation of emerging from water. the static goes from muffled to entirely deafening within the same second and then it's beyond recognition. he forgets hound is supposed to be on his team and all he can do in the split second his systems believe he is being attacked is turn his eyes to them. it leaves every internal plate scorching with the equivalent his makers created for adrenaline. at some point he thinks he's grateful for the slight boost in awareness, but the fresh stinging is already beginning to fade as the team leader hurtles from the dropship and pings a location for breach. the voice is muffled, crackling through the ear piece and filling more of his aching head than it should. ho/w many minutes of sleep did he get on the way here? back to b/back contracts are a fre.sh hell in the whirlwind year, what with all the t//rain/ing and drills and
he's falling and then he isn't.
he hits the sand and his knees buckle and he collapses down and tries to get his lungs to cooperate. gasping for air. he's well off his mark.
.
Obi gives them a wide berth as he continues looting. repeatedly advises against checking on Revenant until the ring is a minute from closing and there is no more time to give. Then, his pale eyes flick towards where the simulacrum had landed.
"I'll be waiting here," he states to their already retreating form.
Bloodhound leaves their longbow leaned precariously against a desk, shoulders the door open and descends the steep slope towards the beach with the peacekeeper in tow. Revenant hasn't moved a foot, half sitting and half collapsed in the shallow, warm water. it laps at him slowly while he regards the sea beyond. the ring's incessant noise draws nearer. they hesitate before dropping the shotgun down onto the sand. he doesn't stir. Bloodhound sighs and steps into the waves.
.
it's peaceful here, sometimes. it's an old nightmare that begins bathed in a late summer sunset. he knows each step well and only wishes sometimes that he could skip right to the good part. skip all the brainfog and shit before the finale. the light he sees now is bright enough to dispel the delusion in fits and bursts. once during a rare night game, there was nothing to distract from what he saw.
though even now the clear, sparkling water sloshing around him half appears to reflect the dipping sun, flashes of orange and red that leaves his vision stained like fire. it's endgame now. he can hear faint voices but cannot tell their source, whether it's his comms today or an earpiece centuries ago. He looks down at a hand. he sees flesh and his maker's brand.
sometimes, he doesn't wanna leave this particular scene. the painted sky. stumbling down steep stairs to reach a private beach when he should've headed to higher ground for extraction. his excuse is occasionally different from the old 'saw movement beneath suspect's residence' but the result is always the same.
kaleb had collapsed on the sand as high tide began to spill onto it. he fumbled with his earpiece until it came loose, then flung it out into the water. he tried to scrape the drying blood from between his fingers and beneath his nails, and only then did his gaze catch briefly on the unused pistol tucked into its holster. not yet submerged.
the moment the nightmare begins to really kick off is when there's a blaring series of interruptions. brief distractions to what's playing out before him. he recognizes the prompt to get back into the ring but it blends into the text that informs him of his disobedience and the exact time of arrival of a specialized extraction team, down to the millisecond.
boots slosh through the water, breaking the dream up a little, but the scarlet text continues to demand much of his attention. the two are nearly the same shade and that's even worse. it's been decades since he last fought this but being dumped into their games brings back some sort of animal desperation that shouldn't burden him still, after so much time. a voice reaches him at the same time a dizzying amount of hands do and the only true fight left in him fizzles out. the static is all encompassing now, all he can do is wait for it to end. soon, now. there's gonna be rough gloves on the back of his neck and he's gonna be taken under the arms and shoved almost beneath the surface of the thrashing water while they do something at his nape. there will be spotlights and the roar of a small airship deployed just for him and the water will only dance more violently around him as he closes his eyes and waits for it to be done and over.
the accent is what throws him off. nothing like the rough voices speaking over his head, heavily modulated and inhuman. though still spoken through some filter, this voice is gentle. it asks something and he has the delayed realization that the dream isn't progressing yet. instead, the sun above glitters on the surface of the lazy tide, though it's all tinted orange and when he notices that it isn't long before he begins to sink again.
more footsteps, falling almost as lightly as the first had despite the water and all the fucking other noise.
"what will make it better"
the words don't make much sense at first. their meaning drifts just out of reach until bloodhound is suddenly in his view. kneeling in the shallows. another masked face.
his head turns as a shudder overtakes him. lucidity becomes an afterthought as a different noise begins. heat shield, his glitching HUD reads. they're here, they've found you, his mind provides. the buzzing above him means game over, that's the way it had always been.
"we've run out of time," comes yet another voice. the accent is a bit more familiar than the first, and there's nothing obscuring it. who would come out here without the types of armour to protect from him, the type that makes the thing inside anonymous and safe and
and
a hand is laid upon his shoulder. he realizes only then how hard he is shaking. there is a question he needs to answer, noncompliance will not be tolerated. he cannot force himself to speak and instead awaits the punishment to come. any second now. there will be a knife brought somewhere, to the port at the back of his head and it will be blinding. any second now.
there is a hushed conversation over his head like there always is. he catches consonants and that word.
"that's not my name," he manages to get out before realizing his mistake. speaking out of turn, another thing to add to the growing list of his misdeeds. indeed those hovering above him stop and within the half reality he cannot help but shift back into, there is a metallic ringing as a knife is pulled from its metal holster. it's poised behind him. it never touches him.
the sun has almost dipped below that far off horizon and bathes gold in a warm light. he gets a brief flash of the day he first truly awoke. the buzzing sputters out with a loud crack and starts up again slightly to the left.
"can you stand?"
"i.. don't. don't wanna go back."
"go where?"
"seer, we cannot-"
he's tired. the dream should've ended in the way it always does by now. he almost wants to tune back into it, just to move things along.
"ring's far," he tries. he's not sure who pays attention, but someone keeps talking while the other lands an awkward pat on his shoulder.
finally, the heat shield begins to shudder. the sun disappears behind a far off mountain. the water seems to grow colder below, while the air is scorching against bare skin.
there seems to be no more conversation. those dark lenses finally stop boring holes in the shimmering edges of his vision as their owner shakes their head and heads back towards the beach.
"we need to get in the ring," comes their voice, tossed over a shoulder like an afterthought.
so the hand that landed again and again upon him belongs to the other. fingers dipped in gold flash before him as Seer loads a pistol with three bullets. counts them out loud. shows him, even.
he cannot help it. he fumbles for his own. officer must've taken it first thing.
he watches as hands that move like water press the gun into his.
then, in the space of one second and another, they're gone and he's left staring down at it.
it's a good skin. expensive looking.
the buzzing has all but stopped. the cool air is making his skin prickle. if he waits a little longer, maybe the stars would come out. if he looks up, maybe they are already.
the barrel of the gun clacks clumsily against his chin before he can dampen the tremor and slot it beneath.
one
two
.