World in Color

To tell a story in Color

People think they can describe scenes in shades of color. The idea seems stupid, thoughtless, like some child had said so one day and everyone else had kind of nodded along. How could you describe a scene in color? The world wasn't just color. There was motion and scents and feelings behind everything. Spirits ran through all things. You couldn't just slap a color on them and hope that communicated their existence well enough.

That's what Octavio used to think, anyway. Ajay had mentioned it once or twice in her musings long ago. The woman had went on and on about how their stargazing reminded her of the color purple as they both lay down amongst the cool grass of Olympus. She had seemed so animated as she waved her hands out in explanation. Octavio had shrugged it off, laughed at her wide eyes expression, before mentioning Obi to get Lifeline back to the real world.

Mirage had one time described Monday's as grey, talking about how every time a game fell on a Monday he wanted to do his head in. 'I don't work in greyscale!' He had complained with a wingman spinning around his finger. That had been more of a whispered complaint right before a harsh drop, so, well, Octavio didn't really look too far into it.

Things change, though. And of course it took a stupid scenario like this for him to understand all of Ajay's babbling. Wasn't that always the case? Wasn't his best friend always wipping up the blown up remains of his mistakes for him? It was her voice screaming over the comms right now as the ring tore her muscles apart. It was Elliot, miles ahead of them, that tripped over himself in apologizes for leaving them behind. Even as his speech was broken up by bloody coughs he was being torn apart by guilt. Ajay's hurried, 'it's okay, it's okay, just win' before the comm line went dead was almost enough for Octavio to close his own eyes and hope for the best. He would wake up right next to his best friend and everything would be fine. The nice nurses would take away his legs and tell him to lay still and he would argue until they threw them back at him.

But it was red. Everything was red, and he wasn't sure if it was the blood leaving the wound on his head or the dots spinning across his vision but it was the only color he could use to describe right now. No emotion helped. No 'it was blurry' fit. Octavio saw red. This was red.

"'Tavi I'm so sorry. They're going to see me if I circle around and the ring and-"

"Get outta here Elliot." Octavio groans, letting his body slump against the cement of the building he had gotten shot down in. Gunshots still echo through the area. It would be suicide for Elliot to try to get anywhere near him. "There's only two squads left. Use that Med-kit and win this."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Octavio reaches up with one bloody finger and grips the earpiece there. It takes less than a second to rip it from his ear and throw it away from him, the small clink sounds of the metal bouncing along the ground seemed amplified to his ears. It rolls all the way over the wall and onto the ground below. Somebody from the tech crew would find it. Maybe. Octavio didn't really care all that much right now.

The young legend looks down at the damage. His stomach was ten shades of purple — internal bleeding he had to guess — and his jeans were soaked through with dark blood. That could be Gibraltar's now that he thinks about it, as he himself had finished the older man a few minutes back. It was a nice thought. Not one he really decided to hold onto, though. His vision was getting so blurry.

Octavio rests his head against the wall behind him, looking up at the darkening sky. If he looked in just the wrong direction he would see the sun setting below King's Canyon, blurry in the dust from all the commotion of a game. Many times he had caught himself eyeing that very sunset in much the same position. Season after season of the games tend to familiarize you with death. He had a stat for that if he remembered correctly. Kill Death Ratio. Something like that.

His eyelids start to flutter closed with thoughts of the games. The champions were guaranteed some good loot from this win, as one of the first few games of the new season. Elliot might pull them through. Octavio doubts it, however. The man wasn't very good when so much guilt weighed him down. He makes a mention note to tell him it was all okay when he finally woke up from dearth's door.

The bang of a door sounded dull against Octavio's ears. It came and went as fast as a gunshot. For a moment Octavio was sure he had already slipped back into the medical ward, awake with a bunch of IVs in his arm. Then came the heavy footfalls. No nurse wore boots.

"Let me finish him, I need the shields." Octavio's whole body flinches at the words. Of course he wasn't dead. Of course he was going to have to feel the pain of one last punch. When was he ever lucky?

"Make it quick. None of that dramatic shit." The first voice was a little harder to place for Octavio, but this one was not. It was gruff and villainous. He could almost feel the acidic burn of Caustic's gas from here. He suddenly wanted very much to keep his eyes closed. Maybe hold his breath until he suffocated to death. Anything but get the gas of that crazy scientist.

Octavio feels the harsh tug of a hand on his shoulder. It sends him jolting forward, head slamming down to his chest with a loud groan. He blinks, let's the blood drip from his brow, and takes in a long gasping breath.

"Please." He grumbles. Everything hurt. Even raising his chin was too much in this state. Thankfully, he didn't have to do it himself. Crypto's features came into view as he lifts the younger legend's chin. The older looked as worse for wear as Octavio felt. The familiar shimmer of shields was lost and cracked around his form, and the following injury was evident. Bruises littered every part of the hacker's skin. His eyebrows were furrowed together.

"You have something I need." Crypto goes to slam Octavio down on the ground in his normal finisher. The daredevil sees this and, in one last frenzy of movement, raises his hands to grip at the older's arms. He babbles like a baby.

"Don't please. I-I can't fucking- Tae it h-hurts." And there it was; the vulnerability Octavio knew his friend hated to see in the ring. Octavio tried so hard to hide it, tried to bury all those emotions he felt towards the hacker under the layers of cockiness and snarky remarks. But now, under the heat of red, he couldn't really think of anything but the comfort Crypto offered him outside of the ring. He wanted that, not the sharp pain of a chip being pulled from his fucking head.

"'Tavi-"

"On with it! We are being pushed." Caustic's warning rang out through the building. Octavio couldn't even see the man in his state. Anything past Crypto's shoulder was blurry and out of focus. He knew the med bat was calling to him.

Crypto seemed to pause for only another moment before shifting. The next thing Octavio feels is cold against his chin. A click sounds, and the daredevil finds himself relaxing under it. He knew that sound well.

Crypto was going to blow his brains out.

"Thank you." Octavio smiles under all the layers of mask he covers up with under the ring. It doesn't do much for his companion, he knows, but hopefully he understands.

"See you on the other side." Crypto mutters.

"Love you." Octavio hums nonchalantly as Crypto pulls the trigger.

Crypto's hands shake as he wipes the remaining blood and guts off of his face, trying to completely forget who they belong to. That's one thing about fucking a legend; you never get used to killing them a few hours later.

"About time." Caustic throws an alternated Crypto's way, a gun he holds to his chest like a lifeline. "I take it I don't have to worry about Wattson anymore?"

"You never did." Crypto coughs, looking away from the taller man. He still couldn't shake the feeling of Octavio's little hands clutching at him so tightly. It made him want to hunt the man down and hug him until they both faded away.

"Good."