Chapter Text
“I'm not thanking you.”
“You're just a program with a scary voice modulator. And that's all you'll ever be.“
Wattson adored new seasons in the games. New seasons meant new friends, new knowledge, and more opportunities to learn. Usually.
This new season has been anything but. Wattson knew very little about the newest member of the games, aside from the fact that he had killed the man who would've joined the games this season and that he was a robot.
A bullet punching a hole through the wall next to Wattson snapped her out of her thoughts, her loose grip on her sentinel sniper tensing back up. She scuttled behind cover as her squadmates, Revenant and Loba returned fire at the offending sniper. Wattson was in her own personal hell with this squad; people were never her strong suit after all and the tension between her other two squadmates was heavy enough to almost be physically felt.
Wattson got up from her cover while tossing her interceptor pylon down, a frag grenade almost immediately getting zapped from the air.
“Nice save, love. We stand our ground here, we might have a chance at this.” Loba shouted over the gunfire, returning her own shots whenever an opening was available. Revenant, however, did not seem keen on staying put in the slightest. The simulacrum slipped out of the building while the other two women were preoccupied, pushing the enemy team with his own agenda in mind.
Wattson manages a headshot on the opposing sniper, leaving two to still fire in their direction. Rather than tending to their injured squadmate however, their firing frantically changed targets towards the incoming threat. Wattson couldn't see well from her cover underneath the window, but she heard multiple loud shots from a peacekeeper shotgun before there was silence.
Loba let out a scoff, standing to her full height while offering a manicured hand to Wattson, who took it unceremoniously.
“As much as I despise the demonio, he does his job well.” She sighs, turning to the shorter woman now that the immediate threat is gone.
“Come on, let's go see what goods they had. Hopefully that prick hasn't already taken everything..”
Before leaving the safety of Wattson's little makeshift sanctuary, she pauses, idly checking her sniper.
“Madame Loba, Revenant… is just a robot, non? Like Pathfinder?” she questions, jogging a bit to catch up with the other.
Loba lets out another soft sigh, her wingman now holstered at her side.
“I wish it were so simple.. That bastard has a head out there somewhere. His source code. Of course the syndicate couldn't let their best hitman just die and be done with it.”
Wattson cast her gaze aside, pondering her words as they met up with the mentioned simulacrum. Had Revenant been human? Was human? She needed to do her own research after the match.
Thankfully, Wattson didn't need to wait long. An argument between Loba and Revenant was the perfect opener for a rival squad to swing in and clean them up with no issue.
Revenant was quick to crawl back to wherever he hid when the games weren't happening, grumbling something about skinbags or the like. Loba was just as quick to do the same, clearly upset with their easily avoidable loss. Wattson, however, simply stood there for a moment, lost in thought about the information Loba had provided her. If Revenant truly was human, there must be a reason for his lack of manners and rude attitude, surely. Wattson shook her head slightly and headed off towards the one person who could help her with this, Crypto.
The next morning, Wattson was struggling to find the willpower to get out of bed, as her mind was far too occupied to even consider moving. She had learned a lot from her friend about Revenant, none of which was uplifting. Some of it she already knew from Loba, such as his history as a hitman. But learning he was roughly 300 years old.. There was no wonder why he was so angry all the time. Wattson fiddled with her stuffed Nessie on her chest, a frown set in her features. Perhaps she had simply gotten off on the wrong foot with the new legend? She wanted to know more and what better way than to ask the person who would know for sure?
With newfound confidence, Wattson hops out of bed, getting dressed while running through questions she could ask in her head. Thankfully, she knew where Revenant liked to hide, though she gained that information through the form of a warning. ‘Never go to the abandoned construction zone right behind the firing range, the new guy has taken residence up there.’ Lifeline's words echoed in her head, a bit of guilt eating at the back of her mind for what she was about to do. With a set huff, she stepped out of her room, heading with a determined stride towards the firing range.
The back of the firing range was a bit ominous, especially with the knowledge of what-or who-lurked here. She had considered bringing a weapon, but to show up with the pretense of making a friend with a gun seemed incredibly counterproductive. She had other ways to defend herself if absolutely necessary, regardless.
Soft footsteps sounded as she wandered cautiously into the cave-like structure in front of her, her eyes scanning around for any movement at all.
“Hello? Monsieur Revenant? I would like to speak with you if that is alright?” She calls out, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darker lighting inside.
A soft thud behind her made her whole body tense, causing her to immediately whip around to face whatever had made the noise. Wattson barely got the chance to register what she saw before a hand was on her neck, gripping to the point of suffocation. She scrambled to claw at the wrist of the attacking person, hoping and failing to relieve any pressure on her throat.
“What the hell do you want? Here to blame me for our loss earlier?” A gruff voice growled out, the owner squeezing Wattson’s throat a bit tighter.
The woman gasped, letting out a few sputters before she could finally muster some words.
“Here.. To.. Help!” Wattson choked out. Air suddenly filled her lungs again as the pressure left her neck. After some dizziness and coughing, Wattson straightened herself out, managing an annoyed glare at the simulacrum.
“That was hardly necessary! I simply came to speak.” She huffs, her gloved hand rubbing her now sore throat. Revenant didn't look apologetic in the slightest, not that he could have any emotion on his face anyway.
“Whatever. What could you possibly help me with? Or why would you even want to?” He glared down at the small woman, clearly suspicious as to why anyone here would willingly interact with him.
Wattson took a few more much needed breaths before speaking, “First, I wanted to ask a few things, if that's okay.. Is it true you are over 300 years old?”
Revenant still seemed suspicious, but answered nonetheless.
“I never kept count, but yes.” Seems he was going to keep his answers brief. Wattson was just glad he was answering at all.
“When you get well.. Destroyed, you awake in a new shell, yes? Is it.. Painless?”
“..Everytime I die and come back, it feels just as real as the first time.”
Wattson frowned, crossing her arms calmly as she thought. She couldn't imagine it.. 300 years of dying with no control over it.
“Thank you for answering.. As for my end, I.. Want to help you, Monsieur Revenant. To help you find your source code. We may have had a rough first introduction, but no one deserves to go through what you have.. Regardless of what you did while you were human.” She says, offering her hand to shake.
“A deal then, yes? I help you look for your head. All I ask in return is perhaps allowing me more questions every once in a while. I've never met a simulacrum personally after all.” She smiles, her gaze now focused on the significantly taller figure.
Revenant let out a soft hum, his hands staying still at his sides as he considered the offer. Wattson didn't falter and continued holding her gloved hand out.
“.. I have nothing to lose anyway, why not. I doubt you'll be able to find it anyway.” He caves, very quickly shaking the engineer's hand before stepping away.
“I look forward to our partnership!” Wattson managed to call out before the simulacrum crawled back towards the ceiling where he liked to reside. Wattson managed another smile to herself, stepping out of the cave with the intent on heading back to her room. She had lots to think about after all.