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revenant-dumpster-fire · 1 year

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Quiet Before (Revenant x Reader)

Theme: No longer a volunteer, but what are you now?

Warnings: Pain, bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, bipolar disorder, mania, depression.

Reader's Notes: I tried to write this so you don't have to have read "Just A Volunteer" first. It means there's a bit of review for returning readers, but hopefully it's worth it. Sorry I got depressed after book 1 and needed a long break. It's a miracle you guys are still here, thank you for waiting patiently for my dumb ass to survive trauma, tragedy, and total emotional decimation to come back and give you this.

Writing Notes: Clean yo damn room and stop making fanfic

Navigation:

(This is the first chapter) | Next Chapter

"Just A Volunteer" (Book 1) | "The Lost Files" (Book 1.5) | "Of Feathers And Venom" (Book 2)

You grab around the giant alpha prowler's muzzle with your whole body, hugging it completely. Six nuzzles into you and whimpers lightly, extremely happy with your increased trust over the last few weeks.

Fall has passed quickly. Revenant has doubled down on his efforts to keep you locked up in this apartment and away from any criminal element that might want revenge, spending all of his season off to spend in the room beside yours. Otherwise, he has been aloof and quick to disappear during the day and sometimes into the evenings, insisting he is still working on leads and "important business". He has insisted on your continued efforts to care for his massive pack of prowlers, raise the stray white kitten you found and named Royce, and decorate your room as you please. You've been able to keep the animals entertained, but Revenant still remains unsatisfied with your room decorations, insisting it requires more than a bathroom rug and a new pillow.

His intent seems to be to keep you busy enough to not sneak out, but the temptation has been gnawing away at you as your surgical wounds have healed up completely. Finally you are well enough to jump around and roughhouse with the dog-like prowlers, and you want nothing more than to get out of here. Although, some part of that might be your manic state, which has started up again as of late. The only thing that holds you back a meager amount is your new synthetic lung, which continues to feel heavier and duller than its counterpart. You simply can't exert yourself as much as you used to, which all in all is not a bad price to pay.

Six pushes his muzzle into you, causing you no pain whatsoever. You can feel the raised scars on your skin rub against your shirt though: now a physical memory of being kidnapped, drugged, shot, and rescued in a night that still feels like a blur. The scars are also a reminder of Revenant's odd protectiveness of you, as he offered up his old Hammond prototype organs from his chassis to keep you alive. You literally can't ever be separated from him now. At least not without being gutted again, which you'd rather not.

Instinctively, you swing your body around Six's muscular neck and manage to grapple onto his back. He winces a bit at your sudden movement, but ultimately allows you to get on his back like he's not opposed to being ridden like a horse. To be fair, your surgery has left you lighter than normal, as you've struggled to keep your diet in check. Although you don't feel too worried about it, you've noticed Revenant insisting the MRVN assistant make richer and richer foods for you to try to get you back to where you were. Six lightly prances around, humored by your giggly nature all of a sudden. He likes the sound you emit and with each chuckle he speeds up a little more, trying to keep the ride entertaining for you.

Six has never seen you manic. In fact, for the most part, Six has only ever seen you in a state of fear and despair. Life is like that: changes can happen at any time and for any reason, lasting days to months at a time. At least Six seems to be very accepting of your changing nature. He adores the excessive affection you bestow on him as well as your apparent happiness when he interacts with Royce now. He was quite concerned when you didn't trust him initially, as far as you could see. He really is a smart creature. It's so odd how much personality Six has. If only the rest of the Outlands knew how wonderful these creatures can be if only given a chance.

"I'm going out, I have a job to—" Revenant announces loudly as he steps out of his room, stopping dead in his tracks as he happens upon you giggling while sliding off of Six's back and onto the hardwood floor of the living area. He goes completely still for a moment, letting his condescending stare follow you as you melt into a puddle on the floor, unable to contain how happy you feel for the first time in ages. He shuffles over to you, seeming a bit concerned. You cannot collect yourself enough to address him looming over you. Six watches you with amusement. Revenant shoots a glare towards the MRVN in the kitchen.

"Hey, what the hell did you give her?" Revenant's wrath is apparent immediately.

"Nothing yet, medication-wise!" The MRVN chirps happily, not picking up on Revenant's underlying accusation tonally, only logically.

"What are the counts, then?!" He barks angrily at the MRVN.

"The remaining pill counts for the anti-anxiety and pain killers are as expected!" The MRVN remains happily unfazed. Of course Revenant would have the MRVN keep track of the remaining pills. He's been excessively controlling and very thorough about it lately.

Revenant looks back at you, now with a level of bewilderment in his body language. He kneels down over your body, finally reaching out and grabbing you by the wrist, lifting it up to see how you react. As he tries to check your pulse, your wrist tremors against his grip uncontrollably. You see a flicker of realization come over him.

"Ah, it's this fidgeting of yours again. And here I almost forgot how you so haphazardly met me." He almost purrs as he relaxes himself a bit while tightening his grip on your wrist to force it into stillness. The touch helps you focus for a moment and collect yourself.

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"Clearly feeling better. If you can now be this reckless with yourself, I guess you're finally healed." He interrupts you, refusing to allow you time to apologize. His grip on your wrist slips as he stands up, causing you to quickly hug on to his leg from the floor. He reels back a little, not expecting that.

"Please don't leave, just one day. Just stay today!" you beg. He's left every single day this autumn. He's gone the whole time the sun's up, and if he ever spends any time here it's when you're passed out. You've even tried modifying your sleep schedule, but somehow he always manages to be gone while you're awake. It almost feels planned, and you're not sure why. He's kept to himself heavily, staying in the depressingly plain bedroom opposite to yours. On the rare occasion a nightmare has woken you up, you've made a point to knock on his door and let yourself in, always finding him there on the bed, reading an ancient book or periodical alone in the dim light of an old lamp. He'll let you rest next to him, but if you wake up, it's always back in your own room, alone.

"I can't. I have a job to do." He states plainly as he lifts his leg and gently shakes you off of it. You grab the other leg before he can get away.

"Why?! Why must you keep leaving?" You know the answer he's going to give, but it's never satisfying.

"I'm just keeping you safe, idiot." He lifts this leg and shakes you off again, prompting you to grab the other again. "Stop that!"

"No! You have to tell me the truth, or you have to stay! Just one day!" You grapple on as tight as you can, pressing your cheek into his cool, metal shin. If he tries to shake you off this time, he's going to run the risk of kicking you in the face.

"While watching you beg is—" He pauses upon lifting his leg, realizing he can't shake you off this time. He lowers it in a huff, allowing you to stay attached. "While watching you beg is very entertaining, I actually have things to do." He grunts, now starting to drag his leg and you attached to it across the floor as he attempts to limp to the elevator that leads to the exit. "Also, I told you the truth, and no, I cannot stay here today." He reaches the elevator, pushing a button to request it to your apartment.

You really don't want him to leave. You're attached to this simulacrum now, even if he has a mean streak and a terrifyingly foreboding power. Even if you didn't like him before—which you did—the moment you woke up from surgery after he rescued you, you have felt an indescribable bond to him. Maybe it's the organ replacements? Maybe it's the psychological need to attach yourself to your savior? Maybe it was the trauma of the whole event? Or maybe it is something else entirely. You don't know, but your heart races around him more than ever. All you want to do is be in his presence. You shudder into his leg as your psychomotor agitation reacts to your own stress.

"Skinsuit." His voice isn't so aggressive now, perhaps sensing your genuine distress from your unintended tremor. "Trust me."

There it is again. Those two words you've come to dejectedly accept every time he utters them. You groan as your grip relaxes from his leg, allowing him to step out of your grapple and into the elevator car. He turns to look back at you, lying there on the floor to the apartment entryway. His expression reads blank, as his mask remains stoic and his body language is silent in his stillness.

"Finish your room" is the only command you hear as the elevator doors close and the hum of its machinery comes to life.

Dammit.

You're alone, manic, mentally a bit blurry, bored, and unwilling to stay put for any longer. Is it safe to go out? No. Are you concerned about that? Also no. Should you be? Probably.

You jump to your feet a little too excitedly, already knowing you're going to go see Sherry, come hell or high water. Maybe she can help you finish your room too, in some way. Then you have an excuse to leave, right? If it's to finish your room, surely Revenant will understand.

Somewhere deep down you know better, but you choose to ignore that inkling.

Sherry has practically been your sister since you met her while looking to volunteer for the Apex Games. She put her neck out there for you without question when your starting date was delayed due to being the victim of an attack and the subsequent hospital recovery, and she has continually advocated for you since. She's even faced down Revenant for you, although unnecessarily and much to Revenant's condescending amusement. Even Rev has adopted calling her your "girlfriend," making fun of how inseparable you seem and feigning some kind of jealousy. In reality, though, Sherry and Rev's sassy and demanding attitudes make them more of a team against your bashful self than anything else. Revenant has started to show her some level of respect lately too, although it was inevitable with how much they both do to keep you safe.

You know Sherry hasn't left her post at the Apex facility even though it's the off-season. Both you and her used to work off seasons together before your untimely run-in with a trafficking ring; now you've been imprisoned in the fanciest apartment in the surrounding city. Revenant hasn't allowed you to leave without him, instead paying for delivery services and a MRVN butler to take care of everything that might normally require you to leave. Even the prowlers get to come and go with the MRVN, likely using the back alleyways and abandoned underground tunnels to meander undetected. Revenant rescued you when you were abducted, but his current effort to protect you by keeping you hunkered down feels like an emotional prison sentence at this point.

Revenant left you with the key card to get back in the apartment on the off-chance you needed to leave. You slip into your room, finding Royce—the little white kitten you rescued from an adjacent alleyway early in the Fall—curled up and purring happily right where you placed your keycard. You slip your fingers underneath the sentient puff and slip the card out from under her. She stirs a little bit, annoyed that you would take it from her. Undoubtedly she will be ignoring you in favor of Revenant later, but you've gotten a bit used to it at this point. She loves curling up in his scarf and almost seems to know she's kissing up to the one in charge of this whole operation. Revenant indulges her while teasing you that your cat loves him more, feeding her love for his attention further. She will also snuggle up to Six when Revenant isn't around, seeming to understand the hierarchy better than you would have assumed otherwise. Royce still comes to you for attention, food, treats, and toys, but she absolutely appeals to power first and foremost. She is strangely smart, just like the prowlers.

"I'll be back later, you'll have to hang out with Six." You say as you pet her on the head, using your thumb to caress her fur from the bridge of her eyes to the back of her head. She purrs happily as she pushes into your hand, squinting her heterochromatic eyes in relaxation.

Six, hearing his name, perks up from outside your bedroom, looking in your direction. You turn to address him as you twirl your card to freedom in your fingers.

"Six, take care of things while I'm gone! You're in charge!" You chirp as if you have the authority to give to him. He's always in charge when Revenant isn't around, even above you in the hierarchy.

"Wait, what about me?" The confused little helper MRVN calls out from the kitchen, still cleaning up from the morning prowler feeding. The MRVN does a lot of work, but he's not all there logically. Pathfinder is much more human-like, although they share a strange, aloof optimism.

"Six first, then you're in charge." You quickly answer him, not putting much thought into your words as you slip on your shoes. Six leaps up at the thought you might be leaving, swirling around you with nervous energy, desperate to bring attention to your flagrant disregard for the rule against leaving.

"Oh! Well, wait, what about you?" The MRVN asks.

"I'm leaving! So while I'm gone—"

"You're leaving?! You're not allowed to leave! I'm supposed to call Mister Cross if you attempt to—" The MRVN starts to pull out a communication device from a pocket on his little utility belt. Revenant must have given a fake name while signing for the apartment, so everyone around here knows him as "Mister Cross". You jump up from putting on your shoes to try to stop him from making the call.

"Wait! Who is in charge?!" You shout out to the MRVN with your hand outstretched to balance and get his attention. He cocks his head a little at the question.

"Six…? Since Mister Cross is gone..." He answers slowly in confusion.

"Exactly!" You turn to Six, who is nervously circling you and trying to understand where you think you're going. "Can I leave, Six?"

Six whines loudly, clearly upset and disapproving of the idea. The MRVN pauses.

"I am sorry, I do not have the ability to understand prowlers." He chirps sorrowfully towards you, clearly feeling as if he has failed somehow.

"Oh, I do though! Six says I can leave!" You lie, causing the MRVN to perk up again.

"Oh good! I guess you can leave, then! Have fun!" He falls right into your trap.

Perfect. You are truly a tactical genius beyond compare. Only a supercomputer like Pathfinder or a simulacrum like Revenant could have escaped the perfect logical snare you set, so this naïve MRVN had no chance. You brush yourself off a little, double checking your shoelaces as you secure your shoes to your feet.

Six whines as loudly as he possibly can, nervously dancing around in front of you. He circles clockwise, then counterclockwise, then nips at your shoelaces, whines loudly as he tries to catch eye contact, and repeats. You ignore him. You'll be fine. It's the middle of the day, the streets are bright and filled with people, and you have your newly acquired phone on you. The last one was lost on the night of your abduction, but this shiny new device can easily reach help with a couple button presses. Not that anything will happen, anyway.

You slip into the elevator that Revenant left in only a couple minutes before. He's far quicker than his massive frame would ever let anyone know, so you're pretty certain you won't bump into him in the lobby. In fact, you're pretty certain he didn't even take the elevator to the lobby, given that a quick glance upwards reveals the emergency escape door on the ceiling may have been opened recently from the scratches near the latch. The latch is back in its place—the elevator isn't supposed to operate with the emergency hatch open—but it's definitely in Revenant's modus operandi to prefer crawling through the elevator shaft himself than take the elevator car. It's possible that he crawls to the roof instead, choosing to lurk around with his uncanny gecko-like abilities at the top of the skyline rather than meander amongst the common folk on the ground.

You sigh. You're probably right. He had talked about using the roof access as an entrance and exit to "obscure your location" and keep you safe in the past. He's really going above and beyond, and it's annoying. It's like he has clinical paranoia or something, but you can't fault him too much. You did almost die, and he did almost have to deal with that reality. You're just quite certain it was a random act of violence and not really something that's going to be followed up on, but if Revenant has any humanity in him then he's perfectly capable of being traumatized and developing a paranoid outlook. Deep down, you were secretly hoping to bump into him in the lobby: see that look of surprise for a moment, get chided for leaving, then hear more about how your lack of self-preservation is somehow his favorite and least favorite thing about you simultaneously. You just want some kind of reaction from him, just some acknowledgement that he still sees you as a person and not an inanimate treasure to hoard as a dragon does. It's been so damn lonely since you arrived in this pristine condominium prison, and there's no reason for it to be. Revenant is just being flippant and withdrawn for no good reason. At least no reason that's a good enough excuse in your book.

The chime of the elevator snaps you out of your internal ranting. You've crossed your arms in a huff without realizing. Your manic self can be a lot more emotive than normal, so as you step into the lobby you emanate an aura of determination. Enough to where the receptionist doesn't try to address or greet you as you stomp out the front doors.

The end-of-autumn bustle of the city hits you with a crisp and cool breeze and the scent of mulling spices wafting in the air. Every shop on the street is offering some kind of spiced cider, coffee, tea, or pastry for the season, just as they have been for a couple months. However, winter approaches rapidly, and many of the drinks are transforming into something a bit more warming with the addition of peppermints, orange peel, and cranberry. Even better are the pastries, which are beginning to sport a thin powdering of confectioner's sugar to represent snow. The people walk around all bundled up in light coats, carrying lots of shopping bags inevitably filled with gifts for the many holidays contained in the winter season. Many walk around in groups, chatting loudly. Other solo-fliers keep themselves occupied on their phones, either talking to someone loudly or tacking away at their screens. Most of the seedier crowd is nowhere to be found, since the cold drives the loiterers back into their dens. Not to even mention the massive crowds of witnesses comprised of both locals and visitors—it's simply too risky to conduct nefarious business in the open now. Suffice to say, you expect to be fine under these conditions.

The streets are bustling and noisy. The scent is welcoming. The sun is warm and bright while the breeze is chilly. You wish you had a light jacket or winter coat to wear, but you haven't exactly had the thought to buy one, even after the little kerfuffle regarding your visit to Talos, or when you were staring right at them in the department store the night of—actually though, why haven't you gotten any warm clothing? Regardless, it is tolerable enough for now.

You power walk in the direction of the Apex facility, reaching into your pocket to touch your Revenant-branded and endorsed ID in your pocket. It's all you need to get back into the building, although you're a little concerned that the rules might be different for Legend VIPs than for volunteers. After all, volunteers are needed during the off season to keep the facility clean, but Legends and any employees or guests they may have don't have any reason to stick around during the off season. There's a chance your ID won't get you into the building while everyone is on break, but you can always call Sherry to let you in if you need to. Still, the tiny bit of anxiety nibbles at you as you tap the card in your pocket.

Perhaps it's a bit chillier than you thought. The cool air and breeze is nipping away at your ears and fingers, which is just purely uncomfortable. You're a good part of the way there, but there's no reason you can't slip into a nearby shop for a warm beverage and a break. After all, you have money now, thanks to Revenant's excessive repayment for every little favor you've done for him, plus your so-called salary, plus random deposits to your account with weird amounts and even weirder messages and labels. He's as strange, mysterious, and creepy as ever, but he's certainly generous with you at least. Now if only you could convince him to let you leave the apartment freely—without you needing to break out, specifically. You scan the stores along the sidewalk you're taking, finding a store that appears to be a coffee shop. You can slip in there and grab a cider for a few minutes to warm up.

As you turn to enter the shop, a large body bumps into you, snapping you out of your internal musing and back into reality. His arm manages to hit you in the stomach, causing you to reel forward and clutch your abdomen. Your surgical wounds are doing much better, but not well enough to take a hit like that.

"Ah, my apologies. Are you alright?" His voice is airy and strangely calm. You feel his hand touch your back as you stare down at the ground, observing the threshold of the coffee shop and hoping not to cough up anything on the nice, hardwood floor. The hand on your back feels like a prosthetic, not exactly comfy. "Do I need to call a medic for you? If you don't or can't answer, I'll take that as a yes."

You carefully brace yourself against the figure, touching a large metal body rather than the fleshy one you were expecting. A MRVN, perhaps? No, but what are the chances that—

"I deeply apologize, I see you're in pain. It's very difficult to recognize the power gap of being a simulacrum until moments like these. I hope you'll excuse me." His voice doesn't sound very modulated at all; it completely fooled you. Revenant sounds so severely inhuman, whereas this one almost sounds… beautiful?

You manage to slowly bend yourself upright, still holding your abdomen as you do so. Moving slowly isn't too bad, you're pretty sure you'll be fine, it was just a very unfortunate set of circumstances. As you look up, you meet eyes with an unusual looking simulacrum. He has a completely custom build with a uniquely angled head and oddly alluring golden-yellow eyes. His chassis is mainly pearly white with sky blue accents. Despite his metallic form, he is wearing a heavy jacket with fur lining and thick winter pants, but his unusual sabaton-looking feet are exposed. He reminds you of some kind of science fiction mecha in a way, but almost knightly and angelic in tone. He appears to be made of a much more balanced mix of plastics to metals than Revenant's normal chassis, meaning he's lightweight and probably very fast if Revenant's previous lectures hold true. He's a bit akin to Revenant's beast chassis in terms of the metal to plastic ratio, although he is also notably shorter than Revenant. He's still much taller than you, though. You give him a smile to hopefully ebb his fears that he's injured you, but instead of letting you go he begins to lead you into the shop a little forcefully.

"Here, let me get you something to drink. Anything you want. It's the least I could do. Please, sit." He leads you to a chair near the window facing the street, towards a small table intended for two. You don't try to argue and sit, feeling a bit bashful but ultimately okay with the idea of a free drink. "What would you like?"

"Just a warm cider would do me wonders, honestly." You answer through a groaning tone, still nursing your pounding abdomen. He pauses, tilting his head a little as he looks down towards you.

"Juice? You strike me as more of a coffee person. Are you sure? You don't need to worry about the price, I can afford whatever you like, even if it's the fanciest coffee they make."

You actually would prefer a coffee, but caffeine is a no-go after a major surgery like yours. You've already tested that theory once and regretted it. Considering the hit you just took to your abdomen and the pain it's in, you'd rather not test it again. You give him a little thumbs up and a smile to confirm your choice. He hesitates, but moves away to order the drinks.

He soon returns, bringing you the largest spiced cider they sell and placing it in front of you. He also is holding a drink for himself, placing it across from you and sitting down.

"I hope that is sufficient. I'm very sorry about that. I had no idea I bumped into you so hard." He still sounds slightly concerned for you. You finally feel up to talking since the adrenaline has moved past the fight or flight stage.

"You didn't hit me that hard, it just happened to be coincidentally perfect that you bumped me right where I had surgery a few weeks ago." You admit. The horror on his face is somehow apparent in his eyes and body language alone as he reels back in his seat, leaning his head back. "That's why I can't have caffeine, either."

He immediately hangs his head, shaking it back and forth as he brings his hands away from his cup to cradle his makeshift face in very clear embarrassment.

"I am so sorry. I feel horrible." He really does sound mortified. "Are you absolutely sure you're not injured? I will do whatever it takes to make this right."

"I'll be okay. Don't worry so much over it. I have another simulacrum friend, so I'm not too unfamiliar with the overwhelming power." You say, desperate to calm him down. You notice that he lights up a little more at the mention of another simulacrum, immediately perking up in interest.

"Wait, you're friends with a simulacrum? There's not that many walking around here, that's very surprising. Are they ex-military?" He's asking questions weirdly quickly now, gripping his drink again with concerning force but not crushing the cup.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer his questions. You need to hide the fact that your simulacrum is the Revenant, but for once you can't even answer a basic background question honestly if you wanted to. You have no idea who or what Revenant used to be. Maybe that's for the best.

"I'm not sure, actually. He doesn't talk about it." You hush yourself a little as you speak, the white simulacrum in front of you leaning in to listen closer.

"Oh, certainly he was then. Most veterans don't like to talk about what they've been through." He cusps his hands more gently around his cup. He pulls away from you, learning back in his chair. "I don't like to either, so I understand it completely. You fight, you watch your friends die, you give everything… Yet in the end society will cast you aside when your traumas echo through you too loudly to be bothered with. It is truly injustice at its peak."

The somber silence falls for a moment. Are all simulacra like this: somber and tragic? You don't know much about Revenant, but he's right: you can feel the pain of a lifetime in their very being. It's undeniable. The simulacrum takes a moment and begins again, only giving the silence a short stay.

"Sorry, I just don't often get to hear about other simulacra. I always wonder if there are any others out there like me. It's been a weird experience so far. Most simulacra don't even know they're..." He trails off, making a sound that is reminiscent of someone clearing their throat. "So, uh, what's your name, if you don't mind me asking?"

Oh. Well. You don't have one. Not a real one, anyway. You never knew your parents, you've lived your whole life free from any legal name. As you understand it, legally you don't exist, just as much of the homeless or formerly homeless population does not. You've picked up a few names here and there, tried them on, but for the most part you live by nicknames that others give you. Revenant's 'little skinsuit' pet name probably won't work in this situation, so you rummage through your brain for any option to throw out. You're sure you look ridiculous trying to figure out your own name as you pause indefinitely.

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to." He relents. You take a deep breath, deciding to admit the reality of the situation.

"I've never had a name, so I don't know how to answer. I'm sorry."

He pauses for a moment, a look of surprise but heavy interest crosses him. He leans forward a little again, his optics focused on you.

"My name is Samael. Nice to meet you." His hand leaves the cup to meet halfway across the table, palm open and inviting despite the metallic gauntlets' expressed power. You reach halfway, shaking his very warm metal hand—inevitably heated by the drink he's grasped on to so insistently this whole time. "If you haven't any name, is there something you'd like to be called, then?"

His sudden change in demeanor from an awkward simulacrum to one with an oddly charming level of clarity and determination is concerning, but you can imagine that being a simulacra is a tough gig no matter the circumstances. Revenant always seems conflicted and a little depressed at all times, and he claims to be centuries old. This one seems younger to you, so it's quite possible that he's not fully settled into his new life. It's a little disconcerting still, but you can forgive it.

"No ideas, huh? I guess I'd also be unable to come up with a name for myself on the spot too." He chuckles a bit, releasing your hand and returning it to the cup. "I'm going to call you Cider. Hope that's not too obtuse."

Actually, that rolls off the tongue better than you would have expected.

"So, Cider, please accept my sincerest apologies for bumping into you earlier." He continues, no longer waiting for prompts from you to continue the conversation.

"It's okay, I appreciate the drink, really." You say while lightly waving your hand in front of your face. The pain is subsiding quickly, you just needed the rest and warmth. You sip lightly at the drink while gauging if your stomach approves or disapproves. It seems okay.

"So, what kind of work do you do? I mean, I presume you must work in some kind of robotics or military outfitting to have a simulacra friend." He asks plainly. You aren't sure how honestly you should answer. Probably better to play it safe and tell an obfuscated truth.

"I don't actually have a job, to be honest. I just do my best moment by moment." You say in hushed tones while staring down at your cup, not wanting to lock eyes with the machination inevitably worth more than all your savings multiplied by tenfold in front of you.

"Oh, I am deeply sorry to hear that. I didn't mean to hit a sore spot with that question. That's an honest shame, you're quite well spoken and mild mannered, you would do great in most industries with your attitude." One of his fingers taps his drink in a rhythm for a moment while he thinks. "You'd honestly work out great in the organization that owns me."

You sit for a moment in silence. Is that an offer? Obviously you have to decline, but it's truly strange for someone who claims to have no work or income to decline the opportunity for both. Or is it? You're actually not sure anymore. You're panicking internally. Your thoughts aren't quite straight anymore. Your reckless mania is bound to get the best of you if you don't reel back right now.

"Are you quite alright?" Samael asks, perking up and waving his hand in front of your line of sight.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry, I was just not sure what to say to that." You blurt out a little quickly.

"I apologize, I guess I just sort of hoisted that on you." Samael says as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a phone. "Do you have a phone? I can share my contact information in case you're interested." He tilts his phone in your general direction.

You shift to your side and pull yours out of your pocket, after all, it's not like you have any obligation to call him. You can just accept his contact info and let it be forgotten. You move to hold your phone close to his so the contact info can be wirelessly transmitted.

"Wait, how'd you get a phone like that?" Samael exclaims lightly as he sees your shiny new phone. He seems a little taken aback. It must be a nice model or something, but you never bothered to keep track of those kinds of things. You pause. If it's a nice phone, then it must be expensive, and if it's expensive, it makes no sense that your jobless self would own one. If his simulacra eyes could narrow, you're sure they would. You avert your eyes for a moment, deciding if you should just come clean a little.

"Sorry, my simulacrum friend gave it to me." You stop short of admitting anything more. Samael pauses, but nabs your attention when he taps his phone to yours physically.

"No need to be ashamed, I think I get the picture." He suddenly comes off a little flippantly, shrugging a little as his contact info is added to your device. "Please tell me they treat you well, at least. If they don't, you should really consider my offer. It would spare a lot of grief."

"Wait, what do you think I do?" You ask as your face burns a little. Damn blush.

"Listen. Clearly you do something worth quite a bit of income for your 'friend'. Which I understand, it's not necessarily a job where you get paid over the table, but it's definitely better than sinking into the dredges of this hellish city." He accentuates each euphemism strongly, leaving you grimacing internally as you gather his meaning.

"Wait, I'm not a—"

"Whatever it is, you don't get an old fashioned paycheck, now do you?" He shrugs and shakes his head before putting his phone away in his jacket, then carefully sliding his still full cup towards you. "No shame in it, Cider, honestly. I'm in a similar boat myself. Simulacra are bought and sold like property. I serve who I have to, and give unto Caesar what is Caesar's. It takes a while to get to the Brutus moments in life, but the eventual justice is well worth the wait."

You don't quite catch where he's going with that last part, but he seems weirdly at peace with this whole conversation. You look curiously at his cup—now in front of you—realizing just in this moment that he has no mouth to drink it with.

"It's also apple cider. I just wanted to hold it while it was hot. It's a drinkable temperature now, if you want it. You wouldn't believe how much I miss being warm." He scoffs a little to himself, as if he's realizing something. He quickly lets you in on it. "Any simulacrum with the means to do so would want that warmth at their beck and call. I get it."

You sigh, hanging your head for a moment as you realize he probably can't be convinced otherwise without you spilling the whole truth. That's not worth it. You might as well give a summary and move on.

"Well, if it makes you think any better of me, I'm not really running any kind of hustle. I just met a simulacrum who took a liking to me, and he takes care of me like I'm more special than I actually am." You take the cup. At this point there's no reason to avoid accepting his gift.

"I never thought less of you, and I wouldn't even if it was a simple hustle. The Outlands aren't fair and it's filled to the brim with people who play dirty: robbing the hungry just to feed their gluttony. I can hardly blame anyone who is just trying to survive. Honestly, it's a relief to know you've lucked out. Little things like you are always at risk, if we're being honest." His folded hands rest against the table as you drink the second cup. He quiets his voice for a moment, tilting his head, and locking eyes with yours. "I just hope you aren't familiar with the simulacra strength because of something unsavory. If you need an out, just say so."

The cider catches in your throat for a moment, causing you to lurch and begin to cough into your arm. Samael stands up from his chair and comes to your side to pat you on the back gently while you regain your composure. You're a bit teary eyed from the coughing fit, but you manage to look up and address him.

"Thank you, but I promise he's just clumsy, not malicious." You wipe the tears away as your surgical wounds pound a little from the sudden fit.

"I'm glad, but you have my info just in case." He looks down at you for a few moments, gauging your expression before he stands completely upright. "I'm sorry about the accidental bump, but I must be going now. Please give me a ring if something changes, but otherwise, I hope you have a good rest of your day. It was nice to meet you, Cider."

He nods one last time at you before vanishing behind the chime of the swinging door, too rapidly for you to conjure a response more complex than a lazy wave.

What an odd simulacrum. He seems fairly kind, but strangely interested. You take another sip of the cooled cider, trying to clear the tickle in your throat before continuing on your way. He looks so unique compared to others you've seen on television and in the news, but then again so is Revenant. You feel strange about the whole encounter, but you can't find a reason to dislike him. He's just a bit forward, just like the other simulacrum in your life.

You sigh and shrug to yourself. It's not like you'll run into him again unless you call him. Maybe if you're bored, getting a job wouldn't be a bad idea. Data entry jobs are easy to snag since the Syndicate passed a bill giving tax breaks to companies that replace MRVNs with real people in an attempt to get the economy improving, and such jobs can be performed from even your gilded prison of an apartment.

You feel your throat knot. That's mean of you. Revenant clearly pays a lot for that place, and it's all in an attempt to keep you safe. Sure, maybe he's paranoid to a fault and a bit possessive, but it's coming from a benign place. Running away is bad enough, but you don't want to keep thinking of your expensive home as a prison. He clearly has done a lot of work to make you comfortable and has consistently insisted you spend his money to decorate the room you've picked. Heck, he's even given you your own space. Why does it all feel so bad though?

You stand up. You don't want to waste your runaway time regretting running away. That's dumb. You take your cooling cup of cider with you as you resume your journey to the Apex facility. The streets are now filled to the brim with a wide variety of people. As it nears noon, every single person within driving or flying distance of the city is out and about. Every restaurant can be smelled for blocks away as their fryers, stovetops, and ovens roar to life to keep up with demand. Every boutique, gift shop, and major department store has a branded bag in a pedestrian's hands, advertising their business as they carouse the sidewalks. The various electronic billboards are roaring with advertisements for all sorts of products, but all universally featuring attractive celebrities as the bearers of their message.

You let your eyes wander up to the screens as you pass them, watching as some of the Legends you recognize appear as brand representatives. You try to count how many celebrities you recognize and how often they appear, but you find yourself unable to track anyone else as Loba quickly makes a dozen appearances on your walk. She really is beautiful when she's not mercilessly fighting in the Games or standing toe to toe with Revenant. She's really the whole package, huh? She's not a pushover, doesn't take sass from anyone, she's famous and rich, and on top of it all she's got the looks of a goddess. Even though she seems to have everything lined up for herself, Revenant really seems to hate her. Even worse is that those feelings seem to be mutual.

You stop walking for a moment, even though you're across the street from your destination. It hits you like a train. You have no idea how you didn't realize it before. No two people ever hate each other that much without there being some scandalous backstory. You've seen enough television to know where such visceral, ruthless, and conniving levels of malice stem from. It's never as simple as a mere rivalry, nor is it in any way an act they put on for the cameras. It's always far deeper than that, and so utterly obvious to you now: Revenant and Loba must be exes.

Why else would they hate each other that much? Why else would Bangalore absolutely refuse to get involved with their ruthless spats? What else makes sense? And why else would Loba have a mix of concern and distaste for your apparent closeness to Revenant?

You space out for a moment before snapping back to the busy streets. You're kinda glad, since you really do like him. Although, you wonder for a moment... why you? If he could literally have anyone, what makes you so special?

You shrug to yourself and keep walking. You will never have a good answer to that question. You can ask Revenant, but you already know his answer is going to be something about your bold and reckless disregard for your own life. He's been quite consistent in answering that way, but you still don't fully accept it as the reason. He might not even know either. Attraction is weird and varied. You understand that logically, but you can't quite grasp how someone like you would ever mean more to anyone than someone like Loba would.

Maybe you're just lucky? Hard to say. You start walking again, crossing the last street to the Apex facility.

Your manic brain can't be bothered to focus on that thought long enough for it to be catastrophic. If they aren't together anymore, it's a win for you. You get Revenant, she gets Bangalore. You're both happier this way, as long as her and Revenant never come in contact.

You check in with your identification at the gate. Security is halved during the off season, since most of the Legends don't spend the fall and spring at the facility. They have their own places, friends, and family to catch up with—presumably—so it's rare if a Legend ever spends unexpected time in the facility during this period. Even so: on a rare occasion it happens, and keeping the place clean and in check is always necessary. That's why Sherry and a handful of other volunteers stay year-round. Even if there's no end to the work and upkeep required, at least the fall and spring are considerably less busy.

As you walk up the drive to the set of double doors on the side of the building, you pull out your phone and begin texting Sherry.

"Hey, I'm at the facility. Wyd?"

"UR WAT?! Ur not supposed to leave the apt!"

You sigh and roll your eyes to yourself as you scan your ID to enter. It works.

"I'm already here, wanna get food or smth?"

"Fine. Meet in Rev's room."

"GG EZ"

You slip down a couple empty hallways and let yourself into the familiar, unremodeled room that Revenant claimed as his own after Wraith broke the door to his previous room. You actually missed it. You made some memories here already, and it still feels like home in a strange way. You plop yourself down on the red couch.

For a mere moment, you feel sad.

You're going to be allowed to come back here, right? Revenant isn't just going to keep you in that apartment forever, right? You miss him. Things haven't been alright since you woke up from surgery. Some part of you wonders if you were fated to die that night and some part of your soul never came back from that nightmare. Maybe your story was to be just a short fling, a tiny tragedy to end in Revenant's arms, yet you kept going after the story ended. Maybe you weren't meant to make it this far.

You bolt out of your thoughts and to your feet as Sherry's badge causes the lock to click open moments before she enters. She slips behind the door quickly, shutting it behind her before she lets loose a little.

"What are you doing here?! You're supposed to be laying low at that apartment! Revenant is gonna go crazy if he notices you're gone!" She chides you in hushed tones.

"Eh, he won't notice. He's gone all day most days anyway." You gesture as if to wave her fears away before proceeding. "I missed you!"

Sherry pauses for a moment, staring into your eyes for a couple more moments before shedding a few tears. She doesn't move except to wipe them away.

"Idiot... We were all so worried about you... How can you just stand here and pretend like nothing happened? You almost died! And now you're just—" She waves her arms around a little frantically, trying to come up with the words. "—you're just going to walk around like there's nothing going on?! Like no one is trying to find you and finish the job?! Like nothing can touch you?!" She sniffs, using her sleeve to wipe her nose. "I missed you too. I almost had to miss you forever, you know that, right?" She cries a little more openly now.

You finally move to hug her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone, I just got so sick and tired of being cooped up in that apartment, I decided I was going to leave and go somewhere for just a bit." You confess, hoping she'll understand your perspective without letting it invalidate her feelings.

She takes a little bit, but she pulls herself together faster than you'd expect her to.

"It's fine, you're just frustrating as hell when you're manic." She manages to get out.

"How did you know I was manic?"

"Because you're only this level of reckless when you're manic. Yet you always have the best luck with it. Just don't push it too far." She says as she messes up your hair to try to cheer herself up. "Please keep in mind that people who care about you also would rather keep you around for as long as your body will hold up."

She takes a deep breath and she's completely pulled herself together.

"Speaking of, I'm going to order some of that greasy pizza for us. I have so many gift cards for it now! But we're staying here and you're definitely not leaving the safety of the facility!" She prods into your chest gently, careful not to hurt you but making sure her point gets across.

"You ate that whole thing?!" You exclaim as you huddle over the empty pizza box, still completely dumbfounded at the disappearance of the entire large pie.

"Are you not gonna finish yours?" Sherry asks innocently enough.

"No! That was the largest size! I ate a fourth and I already feel stuffed. How did you manage to eat the whole thing by yourself?!" You motion over the box, still at a complete loss.

The television drones on in the background. While you ate, you watched some show about Silva Pharmaceuticals and how their stim revolutionized the simulacra program during the war, allowing them to go further beyond human limitations. You know Octane is of the Silva family, although he never talked about his connections in the Games or with the volunteers that you can recall. His nearly endless access to stims would stand to confirm his network is pretty strong though, in your opinion. You're still not entirely sure how his dialysis machine keeps up with the amount and magnitude of the drugs he shoves in his body on a regular basis, though. It just seems unreal. You secretly wonder if Revenant has ever tried a stim before, and if so, what happened when he did.

"So... can I have what's left of yours, then?" Sherry lackadaisically asks. You slap your palm to your face without hesitation, unsure of why you're surprised by this development. Of course she's still hungry. She's made of a black hole surrounded by a human body.

"Yeah, sure." You sigh as you shrug, watching her immediately inhale a slice in mere seconds. Her voracity and speed never ceases to surprise you. She finishes her current slice before turning back to you for a moment.

"You'd forgive me for almost anything, right?" She suddenly asks.

You hesitate for a moment, before chalking it up to Sherry's usual teasing.

"Hey, if I let you get away with all the sass over all the years and inhaling ‘the Outland's best pizza’ without even having time to taste it, then I'm pretty sure I can forgive you for just about anything." You chuckle for a moment, standing up to take her empty box to the trashcan in the kitchenette. You toss it in, turning back and slamming into a giant, looming metal figure.

"Good, if it's any condolence... he paid me off." Sherry snickers a little from the background.

You've locked eyes with a set of bright and burning yellow LEDs. They stare down at you with an oppressive silence and harsh judgment for your blatant disobedience for his only rule. You're paralyzed for a few moments, unable to move. He’s managed to make his way into the room completely silently, now standing tall over you with his arms crossed and an aura of pure frustration emanating from him. He is truly terrifying. Then you hear him.

"Skinsuit..." His voice is deeper than usual, and far more angry than you've heard it in a long time. Your adrenaline peaks and without a moment more of hesitation, you bolt on a high of pure instinct, leaving a stunned silence in your wake from the audience.

You burst out of his room, making your way down the hallway as quickly as your legs can take you. You don't even know where you plan to go or why you're running. You're just gone. You start to head towards his old room, the one with the previously broken door. If you can get in there, perhaps you can hide? Your thoughts race illogically, not caring to even question why you're attempting to escape or if it's worthwhile to stop and turn around.

It's only a few moments before you hear the unquestionable sound of Revenant's metal feet hitting the tile floors in a rhythm that implies he's moving at mach speeds down the hallways in your general direction. Thankfully there are enough turns, corners, and even some dead ends to keep you out of his line of sight. You have no clue where he is in relation to you, only that he's going to see you if you don't keep trying to lose his trail. You intentionally round an extra corner to take a longer route to the room, ensuring he won't get a sight on you before you make it there.

You can hear him slow at intersections to thoroughly check all directions for you as your much quieter running brings you to the door in question. You carefully slow to a stop and fumble for your ID card, begging internally for it to work on the door. As you hold it, lifting it up, your vision tunnels and you fumble it to the ground.

Suddenly it catches up to you. Fear. Anxiety. Stress. Pain. It's hard to breathe. Your synthetic lung is heavy and your chest feels like it's splitting. Fear grips you harder than you expected. With what little control you feel left, you carefully work your way down to the tile floors, curling into a ball on your side, and gripping your chest. You hear yourself whimper as your lungs struggle against the strain. The synthetic side is so much heavier and weaker than the other, causing both lungs to feel like they're suffocating you as they desynchronize from one another. The scar on your chest feels like it could tear open on its own. The adrenaline builds into a second burst of energy as your head swims and your senses fog. Your vision is blurred so heavily that everything appears as a smudge now. Why did you run?

A shadow is cast over you as you feel cold, smooth, fingers begin to grab at you. They move swifter than you expect, pulling you out of your fetal position and bracing your chest as you ragdoll for him. He's talking to you, but he sounds so far away that you can't make out what he's saying. The inflections of his pitch makes it sound like he's asking questions, but you can't answer.

It doesn't take long to see his blurred frame start to sharpen as he presses on your chest gently, allowing your breathing to steady as your lungs begin to work in synchrony. You lightly grab on to his wrists as he pushes in, digging your fingers into the wraps and feeling for the metal underneath.

"Just stop freaking out. You're so damn flighty, how am I supposed to stop you from dying like this...?" He's mumbling to himself as his fingers start to inspect the rest of you with his free hand, looking for injuries before finally grabbing your face to jostle it. "Can you hear me? Respond."

You hum in affirmation, still woozy.

"Good, now... breathe calmly. Your lung is rattling a little still." He pushes your chin up and places his palm around your throat as you breathe, pulling your hands with it. His touch is so cold compared to your warm neck, making you instinctively try to push his hand away with your grip, your fingers now utterly tangled in his wrist wraps. He's immovable—per usual—so you have to accept the icy grip on your throat for the moment. You dig your fingers further under the wraps, eventually finding and touching the metal chassis beneath. As you brush your fingers against the volar side of his wrist, his arm shudders happily just a little before he sighs openly, concealing his enjoyment.

"Don't resist. You've done enough of that for a day." He murmurs as you continue to lightly caress where his ulnar veins would be, if he had them. He shudders just a little more with each stroke of your soft fingers, convincing you to continue despite his warning. He likes it. You know that shudder. It's pleasure. Hesitant pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless. His spare hand presses into your heart, presumably feeling for the rattle he mentioned.

You aren't really breathing calmly for him. You're in fearful awe of him, yet so excited to see him, and still so tired from running. Your vision is clearing up slowly but surely, giving you an opportunity to study his masked visage yet again. His facial expressions are non-existent, but his eyes give away a lot of his emotions as his pupils wax and wane with his thoughts. His eyes are sharp at the moment: meaning he is determined and focused, possibly frustrated as well. You'll know you're in the clear when his eyes relax and widen, even if only a little.

"Calm your breathing. You're hyperventilating." His fingers lightly squeeze on your throat, trying to snap you to attention.

"Sorry, you're just so pretty..." You lightly whisper to him. He seems taken aback, leaning away from you for a moment. His eyes widen and his mask pinkens as he registers what you said. You release his wrists, letting your arms fall to your sides. His eyes tighten again as he grunts a bit angrily.

"You're still in trouble with me, little skinsuit." He audibly huffs, returning to your breathing. "Now…" He moves the hand from your chest and covers your eyes with his palm instead, blocking you from seeing his pretty visage. "...calm, steady breathing. I don't need you to hurt yourself because I was too attractive for your weird little heart to take." His fingers are cold on your eyelids. How did he make this more exciting for you? You feel yourself start to naturally breathe even faster, but you force it to steady to try to appease him.

After what feels like half a minute, Revenant pulls both his hands away, clearly satisfied with your breathing rhythm. He doesn't leave your side yet, instead crossing his arms as he stares you down for a few moments longer. He's definitely frustrated, but you can't help but smile seeing him pout with his body language.

"Explain yourself." He demands, staring you down. You don't bother to sit up. You just stay on the floor, still focusing on your breathing before you realize that you'll have to break it in order to speak.

"I needed to run away." You mumble lightly, not really sure how to explain your undeniably manic obligation to leave comfort and safety behind at every turn, careening towards random locations with no goals or intentions in mind. It's a weird place to be mentally, but it comes with a dose of euphoria that makes it infinitely better than depression in your opinion. You enjoyed the run, even if it hurt at the end. You kinda want to do it again. You don't want to stay still. You feel a twitch in your legs as you want to go... somewhere... ideally at high speeds.

"No, you really didn't." He is clearly miffed, potentially unimpressed with your explanation. You barely remember the question he asked at this point, but you feel a tiny, uncontrollable snap in your psyche at his disbelief. Has he really noticed nothing different between you these past few weeks?

"Yes I did! Aren't you paying attention?! I haven't been able to go anywhere or do anything in so long...!" You feel your lungs empty completely and you're forced to brace your chest to prevent a pang of pain. You're unable to go on the long tyraid you wanted to, but you got the point across. Yelling at him can't hurt at this point; he's already mad at you. Plus you genuinely have felt uncared for a number of weeks now. It feels good to get it out, if nothing else.

"I know. You almost died. I remember. I was there." Revenant's angry demeanor falters a little as his arms unfold. He adjusts himself from his hunched crouch to a much more relaxed sitting position. He folds his legs across one another, letting his arms fold at the elbows so his wrists can rest on each knee joint. He curls his spine to lean forward and watch you carefully. You watch him equally carefully back, knowing full well he won't end his chiding there. He sighs, perhaps wishing you would talk more before he continues, but ultimately relents. "I know you didn't ask to be rescued... but you could at least respect my efforts by not throwing yourself into danger for no good reason."

You're not sure if he's wrong for doing so, but that does feel like he's guilt tripping you and leaves a horrid feeling in your gut. It's similar to being verbally punched, but you genuinely question if a proper jab to the abdomen would hurt more or less than this. You choke back a knot in your throat to respond.

"It's not about that. I just want to feel like I matter, or at least to have the freedom to find meaning somewhere else if I don't matter." You speak on your exhale, making the last sentence sound like a giant, wistful sigh.

Revenant pauses for a moment before answering, shuffling a little in position.

"You won't find meaning in our old room. It's probably empty." He grumbles, clearly missing the point but simultaneously hitting a note that affirms your hopes. You reach out and grab one of his legs, pulling yourself towards it to hug it. He recoils a little in surprise at your reaction, even more so when he sees you wearing a goofy smile.

"I don't understand. What are you on about?" He almost snorts like a bull, but with an air of frustrated confusion at your apparent glee.

"You said 'our'." You giggle a little as you writhe yourself further into hugging his leg. The cold metal doesn't deter you in the slightest, nor does his exasperated wilt as he realizes what you're so giddy over. He perks back up only to speak.

"You... you've just been seeking attention this whole time, is that it?" He pinches the bridge of his would-be nose and hangs his head in some combination of disappointment and frustration. "But it's more than that too. Your leg was twitching a second ago and you're acting irrationally again… you're manic. Right. I somehow forgot… So, you need even more attention or else you'll implode in some act of wanton stupidity?" He's asking because he isn't sure enough to insist, but he still asks as aggressively as he can. He stares down at you, registering that you're simply caught in his gaze, not responding at all. As you try to understand why his LEDs have the radiant glow of polished amber under a summer sun, you feel his demeanor soften a bit. "You need my attention, don't you?" His tone is low and gentle suddenly, almost like he doesn't want to be heard by anyone else. Chills run up and down your spine but you're still caught up in the countless ways the yellow light of his eyes create a minor tinting glow on the ridges of his mask. It's scarcely visible, but if his eyes were any other color normally his mask might be washed out by the hue.

"Well?" Oh. Has he been waiting for an answer this whole time? You were too busy fawning over him internally to notice.

You're too excited to answer in speech, so you simply hum in affirmation while you rub your cheek into the metal of his knee joint, hoping he doesn't shuffle and potentially pinch your skin. You giggle mid-hum, sounding absolutely unhinged, so you complete your answer with an aggressive blep—sticking only the tip of your tongue out to rest between your lips and sneer at him. He stares you down for a few seconds longer before slouching openly.

"Yeah, you're deep in mania, and all you want is someone to tolerate you." He grumbles a little, most likely unsure how to act around you with this new information. He pauses a moment longer before reaching down and running his claws through your hair a few times. After a few pets, he gently grasps it near the scalp, making your whole head feel alight with pleasure. It finally feels like the attention you've been craving. He carefully pulls your head back until you finally unfurl from his leg, leaving your throat and belly exposed to him as you roll onto your back. It could be seen as aggressive and cruel to an onlooker, but he's being so gentle with gripping your hair and scalp that you feel no pain at all. You want him to continue, but he releases you before standing up himself. He leans over, casting a wide shadow over you, before slipping his hands under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You carefully balance yourself on your twitchy legs, staring up expectantly at Revenant. He pauses, assessing you.

"Fine. Go. Run all the way back if you must. Just don't trip and fall, and take breaks before each turn so you don't break yourself. I'm going to call a ride and—" You bolt momentarily, making it to the end of the hallway, stopping to turn and lock eyes with him. You want him to chase you again—give you attention—even if it means being a problem to get it. You've seen dogs and sometimes cats do this in the media to demand a game of tag. Surely it can work for you too. Revenant stares at you from a couple yards away, legitimately looking shocked for a few moments before shrugging it off and looking disturbingly determined. He growls in your direction, his already modulated voice echoing in a dark, methodical way.

"Idiot prey, waiting on the predator to start the chase. You should already be running." His voice is mortifying and everything you could have hoped for. His eyes have turned red and are locked on to yours. He steps forward with a fierce gait you don't even get to see in the Games. Before you get paralyzed in his eyes, you take off around the corner, making a rapid sprint for his newer room. You hear his laugh echoing behind you, as if for once he might actually be having fun with your attitude. It shakes you to your core, the adrenaline pushing you to move faster, questioning if you want to let him catch you or not.

As you turn a corner—ignoring his demands to take a break—you feel a sudden knowledge of his presence right behind you take hold of you. How did you manage to avoid him before, and now he's suddenly keeping up and unshakeable?

Before you can fully contemplate the sudden difference, you feel his fingers stretch around your frame and ensnare you. As soon as your feet can no longer touch the ground, he's braced a hand against your heart and pulled your back against his chest. His synthetic breath is silent but it washes over your bare skin as he presses his lips into your neck, as if he might bite at any moment. The motion is all so rapid that you fail to even have the breath ready to scream, but you're captured almost as quickly as you bolted.

Your breath and heart rate slow as the stillness sits. Your lung feels a little uncomfortable in response to running, but nowhere near the pain of before. Perhaps the duration wasn't long enough for it to be reeling. Maybe short bursts like this would be good for you.

"I told you to take a break." He finally growls. "When I put you down, run again… if you like being caught like prey."

You feel your excitement well up again. You can't say it out loud, but you fully plan to run to the next corner as well. You won't be taking any breaks not forced on you. A synthetic set of teeth tease the flesh of your neck causing you to squirm.

"Good. I like a nice hunt." He coos, putting you down gently with enough adrenaline to compete with a stim. "Now… Run."

"Aha, sorry again for snitching." Sherry says as she hangs her head for a moment while you step into the taxi, still a bit nervous at the yellow color and familiar checkerboard insignia on the side. After your last taxi ride turned into an abduction, and the limo ride before that was marred by sexual harassment by your soon-to-be kidnapper, who could blame you? You go to tell Sherry you're not upset with her, but you're interrupted by Revenant.

"You did great, kid. Don't worry about it." He speaks loudly to prevent you from chiding her, not that you were going to. "I'm still working on the leads I have. You didn't remember anything new, did you?"

What are they talking about? It could be about the crime ring, but why would Sherry remember anything 'new' about that? You tilt your head for a moment as you watch Sherry shake her head a little sadly. Revenant taps the top of the cab with his palm, making a loud clang echo above you. He seems a little frustrated, but he doesn't seem surprised by this news.

"Well, if you think of anything at all, let me know. You have my contact info." He pats her on the shoulder before he goes around the cab to get in on the other side. You get a chance to meet eyes with Sherry briefly.

"I'm not mad at all, I'm just glad we got to hang out a little, and tick the big guy off a bit—"

"I heard that!" You hear him interrupt you as he walks around.

"I'm glad too." Sherry sheepishly smiles. "Be safe, okay? I don't want to lose you. Just... listen to Revenant. He's smart."

"She's right you know." He says as he crawls into the seat beside you, causing the whole vehicle to be weighed down on one side. The car is so tilted you begin to slide across the leather seats towards his hulking mass. You feel comforted knowing he's with you. You never would have agreed to take another taxi without him. You immediately turn to him and shove your entire hand over the lips chiseled into his mask.

"Shush, you." You command with no fear. He snickers at your boldness. You turn back to Sherry. "Can you come visit soon?"

Sherry locks up for a moment. It's quite possible she never considered such a thing. Heck, she probably hasn't had any reason to leave the Apex facility in years anyway.

"I'll make arrangements as needed." Revenant pipes up. He's gone from mocking your closeness to Sherry to fostering it. You know that they worked together during your recovery, but you never could have predicted how much they've come to respect one another through it.

"Thanks, are you sure?" Sherry asks quietly.

"Not an issue. This one clearly needs a babysitter at all times. I'll pay you to keep her from doing anything stupid, or at least warning me when she's doing something stupid." He says, mostly directed as a chide towards you. You shove your hand into his face more, forcing his head back a little.

"I said shush!" He's initially shocked as he's pushed back, but he ends up chuckling to himself after a short pause. Sherry mirrors it, but more softly and shyly.

"Alright, I look forward to it." Sherry says as her expression relaxes. "Have a safe trip." The side of her lip curls up a little, or perhaps you merely imagined it. "Oh, and Skinsuit?" Oh no, he's got Sherry calling you that too. She pauses for your attention before lowering her voice and trying to make it sound raspy. "Behave."

Revenant busts out laughing at her impression of him. She waves a little, looking excessively proud of herself as she shuts the car door. You initially pout at her through the car door, but quickly switch over to a genuine wave goodbye as the vehicle starts up and begins to move away.

Even the movement of the taxi brings back bad memories. For some reason they're all the same make and model of vehicle, and they all rattle as they start to accelerate. You could even be convinced that they have all the same suspension oddities as they all bounce in familiar ways to one another. You glance into the rear view mirror, praying not to see a familiar face. It's not. It's just a random, unusually young guy looking fairly bashful at your gaze. He seems to be unsure if he can or should start up a conversation with a literal celebrity and his random associate, but he takes your eye contact as an accusation that he should.

"Is the temperature okay?" His voice is high pitched and airy, ladened with uncertainty and worry.

You pause for a moment, unsure of if it's your or Revenant's job to answer.

"It's fine." Revenant pipes up in your silence, not opening the air to any further conversation. The driver sinks his head a little deeper into the dash, understanding the shutdown but still clearly being emotionally affected by it. He focuses on driving, not making any further eye contact or verbal acknowledgements.

Even with everything as normal and safe as possible, you feel your fight or flight response linger anxiously on the horizon of your mind. The knot in your throat and the pit in your gut are quickly apparent, and you feel slightly nauseous at being in a simple taxi. It develops into a lightheadedness and racing thoughts before you come to the unfortunate realization that the taxi has only just now pulled off of facility grounds and onto the main roads. It's going to be a long drive. You beg yourself internally to calm down, internally chanting that 'nothing is wrong' and that 'everything will be okay'.

You feel a cold hand bury itself behind your lower back, reaching to your opposite waist and grabbing it gently but firmly under your shirt. He pulls you closer so you're sitting right beside him, but he doesn't press or pin you into himself. He's just there, grounding you. He says nothing. You say nothing. The entire ride is silent, but you're grounded now. The thoughts stop swirling, and the panic subsides. That's what really matters.

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