Work Text:
It happened in the middle of the final ring. The closing force field surrounding their team brought intense heat with it, and Bloth Hoondr felt the sweat pool under their mask as the dark amber energy crept closer. It was three teams, but only their team was left fully intact. There were three other people to go through, so in theory, it should have been an easy win.
The temperature change from being so close to the edge brought a flush to the hunter’s cheeks, distracting them from the scan they had just used. The lightheadedness that followed made them sway on their feet, and they had to lean back against the nearest wall to gather themselves. The change in demeanor was easily noticed by his teammate, Mirage, who stopped admiring himself in the reflection of his shiny wingman to check on Hound.
“Er- you alright?” The concern in his voice was palpable, because Elliot had never seen his stoic teammate hesitate or show any sort of body language other than preparing themselves for the hunt. He had almost assumed that Hound was robotic for that reason, never showing any sort of weakness.
Hound was already upset that they had been noticed so easily, especially in such a moment when they needed to be focused and prepared for the final fight. They almost wished they could take their mask off to catch some cooler air on their face, but with the cameras livestreaming the games, they would never dare to do such a thing, not only for ambiguity’s sake, but pure embarrassment.
“Vandræðalegt.” Hound said it like a curse, as they knew exactly what was going on. A fever, it seemed, being worsened by the heat they were feeling in that moment from the ring. Exhaling hard, they loaded their shotgun, before pressing another scan through. It exposed a sole enemy a wall over, seemingly hiding on their own.
Brushing off Mirage’s question, they moved to the door between the two walls, beside their other teammate. The gas man. Hound only preferred working with him as his abilities enhanced their own, as they could see clearly in the green gas and hunt down their prey with effectiveness. With this method, Hound wanted to blast through these last few opponents so they could retire to their barracks in peace and comfort.
“Stand back.” The scientist’s cool voice instructed as he lobbed a grenade into the window of the next building over, blasting the enemy into dust. Hound exhaled with some relief, still leaning against the half open door.
Another scan would reveal the last two. Above them, waiting to pounce as the ring began to close in smaller. Hound had never been especially claustrophobic, but the feelings of anxiety began to creep up on them. Mirage would sandwich himself between the hunter and the scientist, sending a decoy out with a snap of his fingers. Once it was shot at, the team comms revealed the location of the enemy exactly, once again.
“Well?” said Caustic, thoroughly unimpressed. His brow was raised as he glanced down at Hound. “You know where they are, don’t you? Push in and we can support.”
Hound’s hand trembled over their shotgun, and it became harder to breathe, even with the respirator in their mask. Mirage noticed the hesitation almost immediately, placing a hand on their shoulder and gently guiding them behind him.
“Excuse me, I’m not going to let them take all the kills. I’m not support, big man. Let me dive and you cover.” He winked as he was wont to do, an easygoing smile on his lips even though the situation was looking pretty grim from Hound’s perspective. “Sound good?”
“Guide us in the hunt, felagi.” Hound’s voice, even through their modulator, sounded weaker than usual. They hoped that they didn’t embarrass themselves even more, or worse, end up having to be resurrected after a death in the match. It was one of the most painful experiences they had endured, and they wanted to avoid the procedure at all costs.
Mirage’s spurt of confidence showed through as they were guided by Hound, a legend who Elliot looked up to. Always so cool, calm, and collected, it was something he aspired to be. It was what drove him to actually dive from his cover, producing an army of decoys to distract his enemies. Hound and Caustic followed suit, pushing from each direction to cause distraction and chaos.
Until Hound finally succumbed to their high fever, tripping over rubble and landing head first onto the ground. The crunch of their goggles breaking from impact could be heard, busting one of the lenses out and exposing a soft blue eye. The boot of their haughty opponent landed right on the back of their neck, grinding down, as the barrel of a loaded assault rifle pressed between their shoulder blades.
They heard the sickly croaking laugh of a man lowering himself down to get face to face with the hunter. A man they had never seen before, as his visage resembled a toad. A deep gashed scar crossed over his face like a slash, and his lips were pulled back over some gnarly teeth.
“You killed my brother,” The man started, his hand burying itself in the fur of Hound’s armor, right where their mask lined with their shoulders. “He was a kid. Had no reason to join the Apex Games.”
A rising cough bubbled from Hound’s chest, and they said nothing. A man like this wouldn’t be resurrected if he were to perish in battle. In order to survive beyond a failure in the ring would be to have benefactors, to have a fanbase, to have family in high places. Hound was a humble person, but they knew they wouldn’t die permanently without a major losing streak. This was something that wouldn’t affect them too much, as whatever the Allfather had planned for them was alright for them.
The hand on their neck, though, found purchase under the heavy leather mask, calloused fingertips touching bare skin. The feeling sent a gross shudder down the hunter’s spine, as they were someone who tried to avoid skin to skin contact as much as possible.
“Might lose here today.” The man continued. Hound was too weak to press on from the position they were in, breath coming out in pants. They could not move or a bevy of bullets would be buried in their spine. The man grinded the gun down for emphasis, a disgusting scowl on his frog-like face. “At least everyone will get a good look at what’s under here.”
Time seemed to slow for them. The feeling of having their mask yanked up from behind made their blood run cold in their veins. It reminded them of the coolant hitting their face, scarring it, and the pain of going up against that beast from so long ago. Hound preferred to keep things quiet, to be humble, to only take pride in things they had earned. The mask was a safety blanket to separate themselves from the games, from the title of Bloth Hoondr, in order to live peacefully on their time off.
There was nothing to be done about it. A gun to their back. Their teammates were still in the rages of battle. Hound rested their face against the ground, hoping to hide most of it once the mask was off. The man gave a tug and a thick cascade of rust red hair fell down their shoulders, some of it braided with beads and feathers. An ear was freed, their jaw was out of the leather protector. Scars from battles new and old littered their fair skin that was exposed, and all it would take was another pull.
“Bam-fuckin’-boozled! You must be a- hey!” A swift kick to the chest was all it took to throw the frog man off of the hunter’s back, sending him crashing into the center power bank. The assault rifle clattered to the ground, and Mirage, the literal savior of the moment, beat the everloving hell out of the guy until he couldn’t move to fight.
“A winner has been decided.” The announcer said momentarily after, and the feeds around the arena were full of fans cheering to celebrate the victory.
Hound remained on the ground. The burn of emotions they didn’t like to feel surged through them, and for the first time in a long time, they felt the sting of tears in their eyes. Their heart was firmly lodged in their ears, and the fever was not making things better. Delirium, mortification, surprise, it was all too much to bear.
“Hey.” A hand would rest on the hunter’s back. A hand that was now cracked open and bloody. Elliot’s voice was soft and warm, like the feeling of the sun on their face. “Here. Sit up and I’ll hold the mask in place until you can get it back on.”
Hound didn’t know why Elliot always wanted to help beyond his duties to his team during the games. Caustic was the type to completely drop all formality when the winner had been decided; as even now, he was impatiently waiting for the dropship to take them back to the barracks. Elliot was different, he genuinely wanted to help to be a good person, not to gain something from his teammate.
Hound sat up. Moving hurt, but only because of the overexertion during their fever. Their head blistered with pain and irritation. Mirage held the front of the mask as Hound pulled it back over their head. The red hair, however, wouldn’t be tucked in so easily. It hung like flames around their neck, and they knew they’d have to take care of it. Cut it to the scalp to preserve ambiguity.
Elliot helped them to their feet. Arm around their middle to support them. Normally, Hound would’ve pushed him off, quipped something in icelandic, and moved on. Now, they welcomed the help, using Elliot’s support to remain upright. Their breathing could be heard so close to Elliot, and he didn’t know how he felt about the situation. It brought some humanity to the mysterious legend, for sure.
Hound did not remember the ride in the dropship. Elliot was still by their side, declining the opportunity to livestream his usual victory speech to his fans. Instead he sat, right beside them, letting them use his shoulder as a pillow while they slept. His knuckles hurt on both hands, like he’d broken them in several places. Elliot would’ve done it again with no hesitation, as he noticed the tremble of the hunter, the real actual fear in their body at that moment of being potentially unmasked.
Masks. He knew a lot about those. Elliot embodied Gemini, a man of two minds and two personalities. Mirage was a mask, but Mirage was also some part of who he really was. Elliot was the hidden part behind the legend, the shy and timid youngest son of a mom with no real memory left of him. Mommy issues aside, he knew what it was like to put on a performance. Sure, it wasn’t the same song and dance Hound had going, but the stress remained the same.
It took some time to return to the base, but Hound was whisked off the moment Elliot could tell them what was wrong. They were sick, and the severity was unknown. Hound only trusted Ajay to be the one to treat them, to see their face under the mask, so Elliot knew he wouldn’t be able to go with them. He wasn’t going to push it, having to visit a separate doc in the med bay to fix his hands.
---
The hunter awoke with a start. A stuttered breath on their parted lips. The dream they had been having was intense, a beast was smothering them with a heavy paw on their chest. Crushing weight bearing down.
“Don’t go jumpin’ around.” Ajay warned with a stern tone. She had been in the middle of painting her nails at the desk nearby, waiting for the hunter to awaken. She had them hooked to an IV for fluid’s sake, and a chest monitor to watch their vitals. “Don’t go not listenin’ to me, either. Pull another one out like last time and you’ll be wishin’ I was someone else.”
The cool air of the room hit their face as they sat up, propping themselves up with a pillow. The learned panic of realizing that their mask was off was only brief this time, as Ajay had seen their face a million times before. She was the only one there. They trusted her.
Their mask sat on the bedside table. Hound lifted it gently, thumb rubbing against the busted out lens of their goggles. It was not the first mask they had ever broken, nor would it be the last. The grief of parting with something that had seen so many battles still brought on melancholy.
“That man. Perished, yes?” Blue eyes would look up at Ajay questioningly.
She had sort of a wry look about her. Blowing on her fingernails, she raised a brow. “Witt did a whippin’ that’s for sure. Can’t say if he’s livin’ or not, but if he survived it, those bettin’ money on the guy will take him out sooner.”
The feeling that rose in their chest scared them a little. Revenge was not something Hound believed in. To take out revenge would be to question the Allfather’s plan. They would never dream of putting the plan into question, but their human feelings forsake them constantly.
“Elliot’s been askin’ about ya since the ship landed.” Ajay continued, her soft brown eyes focused on Hound’s face. “Seems really concerned. Say, love, y’didn’t go into the ring knowin’ you had pneumonia, hm?”
Hound’s face also forsakes them. The expression was one of guilt, of sadness. It was all Ajay needed to know in order to deduce that they had, in fact, competed without feeling the best. The medic smiled somewhat sadly, pushing her rolling chair to the edge of their bed. She took their hands into hers, thumbs brushing over the intense scars all over their palms, wrists, fingers. Her hands were warm. They were caring. She, was caring.
“I know you have your private reasons to compete. It ain’t easy droppin’ out from a game when you feel bad, either, the Syndicate wants their money’s worth. But a doctor’s note can get you cleared to miss some games. Dying outside of the arena means you ain’t gonna come back. Nobody wants to pay to resurrect outside of the games.” Ajay’s eyes were so kind. She was not a pushover by any means, but her intentions were always good. Her lips pursed, “Please come to me when you feel bad. We can find some way to fix it, we always do.”
Hound’s hand came up to rest on her cheek, “Falleg skepna. You are Eir’s will manifested. I will always extend my gratitude to you.”
Ajay just laughed, leaning in to kiss the hand on her cheek. “Quit callin’ me some sort of goddess, huh? I know it ain’t your style, but we’re manifestors a our own fortune.”
Hound’s smile returned to their face. They smiled more than people realized, but it was always hidden. Hound did not believe that they were ugly, or that their scarred face and smile were ugly, but the social pressures that arose from being public about identity was more than they wanted to handle.
“Not tellin’ ya what to do, love, but if ya want things to cool down around the barracks, I’d go pay Elliot a visit. Poor thing is whingin’ around like a lost puppy, won’t stop blowin’ up my phone askin’ about you.” Ajay turned her phone around so they could see the thirty text messages with Elliot’s face attached.
A caw from Artur seemed like he was in agreement. Hound had not even realized they hadn’t looked for their feathered companion until he made himself known. Holding an arm out for a perch, the raven landed and cawed once more.
“So it’s decided. Svo skal vera.”
---
The Paradise Lounge continued to house some of the most popular Legends every weekend night. Nobody could deny the booze was affordable, the atmosphere was awesome, and the sliders were to die for. Elliot Witt prided himself on his bar, even though it was threatening to plunge under without a little help from Ramya’s shop in the back. Landlord, schmandlord!
Saturdays were for the boys. And the girls. And the robots, and the weird ass Spectre demons that wanted to hang. The one person Elliot wanted to see in his bar was the person who’d never showed up. Bloodhound was invited near constantly, but he had never seen that mask in his place. To be fair; he’d never seen that mask in any social setting. Not really beyond the ring had he seen that mask.
Shaking up a hard drink for Andrade, Elliot poured it into one of the nicest glasses on the bar. She always paid her tab and a little more, so he was more careful when serving her. Sliding the glass over to the vivacious legend, she lifted it with a manicured hand and took a long drink.
Elliot watched for her reaction with a raised brow. He secretly (not so secretly) loved the praise from Loba.
“It’s good.” She licked her lips, gently patting them with a napkin. Loba surprisingly drunk the hardest liquor of the legends, without batting an eye at the intense taste. “I sense your heart wasn’t into making it, beautiful. Something on your mind?”
“Bah.” Elliot huffed as he had been seen so clearly by her. She had some sort of gift at reading his moods, or Elliot wasn’t as good as hiding his feelings as he thought he was. “Try it one more time. I think you’re just sensing something else.”
Her smile was always so stunning. Loba was truly a woman out of everyone’s league, but he knew she must keep some emotion closely guarded to her chest. Something beyond the revenge fantasy of her parent’s murderer. Loba drank it without complaint, right down to the ice cubes. She managed to look like a goddess while doing it.
Anita, on the stool next to her, banged her fist on the countertop to get the attention of the distracted bartender. Elliot and his decoys jumped and he glared at the soldier, sitting down their trays for the time being.
“I asked you about the match the other day. You know the one.” Anita finished her drink (a fruity little thing with hardly any alcohol), before playing with the umbrella. “Things went sideways, we all saw it. You were closer than us, you see anything of note?”
Bangalore was not known for beating around the bush. Her brashness was appreciated in some situations, but in this one, it just made Elliot’s face twist into some weird confusion.
“Are you asking me about Bloodhound’s face?” His voice sounded way more protective than it should’ve. He had no reason to be like that over someone he didn’t know.
“I’m mainly just asking if they’re human.” Anita clarified, sensing the question might have been slightly off kilter. “Call it professional curiosity, or just being nosy. You get a good look at them?”
Elliot’s mind wandered back to their skin, pale and scarred. Their hair, a wild rave of red waves with braids and trinkets. He didn’t know how Hound managed to keep such a mane tucked under their armor. Elliot clicked his tongue, wiping down another glass. He didn’t want to expose more of Hound than had already been seen, but he had seen the same amount as everyone else had.
“Honestly? It’s hard to say. I didn’t see much more than you did.” Elliot answered the best he could with a shrug. “I also don’t think it’s a good idea to go poking around them like that. I’ve seen what they can do with a knife, and it’s not pretty.”
“Wonder why they keep it under wraps like that.” Anita was a little sloshed, of course, obvious by her thinking aloud.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Renee was in the next stool over before anyone could register her presence. It caused the three of them to jump in surprise, and Elliot chastised her for scaring him. Again.
“Ambiguity.” Wraith noted, sipping on her water. She was not in the mood to drink tonight, it seemed. “I don’t make my name public knowledge. You know it, but that’s only because we’re close.”
“I tended to keep my name secret to avoid getting caught before the games.” Loba remarked, swirling her glass around, making the ice click against each other. “Or aliases. If I was feeling rather hands on in my field work.”
“The point is: not everyone is like you, Elliot. We can’t make our names known for some reason or another, be it past, present, or future. Maybe Bloodhound doesn’t want to be in the spotlight.” Renee, the sage she was, finished her water with a knowing smile. “Consider all outcomes before you make a decision or observation.”
The tiny woman always had the best advice for the lumbering trickster, and he owed her his life thus far for saving him from stupid decisions that would’ve costed him his fan base, his bar, and more importantly, his love life. Not that he had much of that in the first place, but his reputation as a legend would have taken a bigger hit if not for Renee.
“Yeah, yeah. We get it, you’re wiser than us all.” There was no spite in Elliot’s voice when he talks, of course, he considered Renee to be the closest thing he had to family at the moment. He wondered why she cared about him so much, but he didn’t know that it was because he reminded Renee of someone she used to know, someone she barely had any memory of now.
“Say it again so I can record it for my ringtone.” Renee’s smile was coy. She finished her water and passed it on to one of his decoys, bouncing through the bar with a tray to pick up stray glasses and hor devours.
“Read my lips- no freakin’ - hey?” Elliot paused in his banter, squinting at the far off entrance to the lounge. It was littered with patrons, both legends and benefactors alike, but one particular person caught his eye. Well. Not the person themselves, but the very large and familiar raven sitting on their shoulder. The caw of the bird could be heard through the music, and turned some heads.
It was not the mask that Bloodhound wore during the matches, no one that Elliot had ever seen them in. As the mysterious legend drew closer to his end of the bar, he realized it was an ornate, black leather half face mask, with soft raven’s wings extending from the temples and the bottom tied with intricate knotting. It looked like some sort of religious symbol, but was a lot more casual than the games version of the mask. Their eyes were concealed by goggles, but their lips and jawline were uncovered. Exposed.
The rust red hair that Elliot had seen so clearly had been obviously shorn to the scalp, as nothing was concealing their head. Scars of all kinds could be seen along their scalp, neck, jaw, and mouth. Webbed lines across pale skin, they stuck out even in the low ambient lighting of the bar. Every single one of the decoys, plus Elliot, had paused their actions to just gawk at them, soaking up the little details they had never shown anyone before.
Hound approached the bar with faltering confidence. It seemed a little too brash of them to make their first outing at the Paradise Lounge of all places, but. They wanted to see Elliot and express their gratitude for the help during the match, to give him something to put his faith into when he needed to rely on them in the battle once again.
Hound did feel the eyes of everyone in the room on them. It made them want to run, as if they were about to be pounced on by one of the hungriest beasts they had ever encountered. Artur cawed, as if he had heard their thoughts, shifting on their shoulder to ground them in place.
“Fyrirgefðu. Too much?” Their voice without the modulator to conceal the true sound was something that only Ajay had heard, outside of their family. It was a nice sound, deep and honeyed. Not too different from how it sounded with the mod, but distinctly more human.
Loba laughed, pushing at Anita’s shoulder. She leaned over the soldier to get a closer look, like a wolf examining her prey. Hound was intimidated by her, only because she seemed like the one who would truly be their equal in battle. She also knew how they felt in losing their parents at a young age.
“Let me get a closer look at you, lovely.” It was not a threat, but it felt like one. Hound swallowed thickly, their bare, calloused hands resting on the bartop. Loba gently rose their chin up with her staff, her eyes observant and clear.
Hound wanted to bolt. They did not like to feel hunted. Their blood ran cold as they were picked apart under this woman’s watchful eye, but their feet stayed glued to the floor. They respected her. They wanted to be approved by her, for some unknown reason.
“Certainly lindo e lindo.” Loba leaned back, giving them space. The soldier was still gaping at them, as the wolf picked up her new drink. “Human through and through, Sargent.”
Anita huffed at being mentioned, but remained quiet, twirling the umbrella to her drink between her fingers. Hound did not know what exactly the two of them were referring to.
“So-” Elliot began to stammer, and he stopped himself before it got too bad. Renee had told him that filling the space with more words made it easier for him to slip up and stutter, so he was working on it. “W- What’s your poison?”
“You push poison here?” Hound feigned innocence, an attempt to tease the poor man. It worked, as he raised his hands in defense, like Hound was going to throw a knife at him.
“Figure of speech. Ha. I meant booze. Alcohol. But if you’re not into that, I have juices, hot chocolate, sparkling apple juice. The works, really.” No matter how terrified Elliot was by this change of events, he was also intrigued, wanting to get close to look at them. His eyes kept darting back to that uncovered mouth, as despite the scars, it still looked soft.
“ Grínast, Elliot.” Despite their nerves, they sounded at ease when they spoke. Sitting down at the bar, they tapped a hand on the wood. “Pomegranate. Do you have it?”
Elliot had never heard the hunter speak his actual name. He hardly heard them speak Mirage, only to get his attention when he wasn’t paying it up. Opening his mouth to speak, closing it, and opening it again, he had no time to talk before a decoy was already beside him, pouring a glass of pomegranate juice, adding diamond shaped ice cubes.
“Yeah, seems like we do.” Elliot laughed, clearly sounding nervous.
“Þakka þér fyrir.” Hound lifted the drink with a smile, finishing it quickly. They drank because of nerves, and it did not help as the drink was not a spirit of any kind. “You were right, felagi. Interesting place you have.”
“Interesting? Me?” Elliot’s face was brash red. He couldn’t stop the sputter. “I’m j-just glad to see you out of the med bay. I thought Ajay was going to kill me.”
The smile on Hound’s lips made Elliot’s heart squeeze in his chest. He couldn’t stop looking at those lips, the very same ones he had been spectating about all this time. It was that second when Elliot noticed the creep sneaking up behind them with a freaking camera. With the flash on! Calling him out with a yell, that was all he could do before the hunter turned around and was caught on film once again.
Hound stood, having a good bit of height on the paparazzi. Artur was already on the violator, picking and plucking at his hands to get him to drop the camera. The music overhead stopped amidst the chaos, and Hound simply plucked the device from the stranger’s hand and observed it closely.
They were fascinated by the public’s drive to know who they really were; when in reality, they were not extraordinary. Their only ability was the hunt, and it was not practical for modern life like their parents had intended them to grow up in. Without Uncle Artur and the old ways, they would be a normal person without those abilities. Now, they were a normal person with the ability to stab someone effectively.
The paparazzi yelped as the small knife made its way into his thigh. Not an injury that would kill him, but it would make him second guess his intentions. Elliot closed the space between them, his hands moving to get a look at the violator’s press badge.
“Hell! This is expired. Guys, do we even check anyone at the door anymore?” The decoys shrugged in response, as they were the ones who primarily checked the guests. Elliot huffed, looking up at Hound with a frown. “Sorry-”
“Biðst afsökunar ekki.” Gutting the innards of the camera like it was a kill, they threw it to the ground, watching it shatter. “This was a mistake.”