Pleasant music plays, akin to a 1950's PSA.
A chipper narrator speaks up.
On today's Tales of the Frontier: "Tight Spot Robot"
Beneath a crystal clear sky breathes another enchanting day in King's Canyon. Birds chirp and burble their love songs, hoping for a sweet melody in return that welcomes them to the start of a nest and family. A playful gust whips up sand and sprinkles the Gauntlet floor, soaking up freshly-spilled blood. Shrapnel glitters just before embedding itself in Wattson's arm, creating a collage of punctures in a shape not unlike a camel.
Oh, yes, there's also a bloodsport going on at the moment.
On a rooftop, a crimson red simulacrum sprays lead like a child with an automatic slingshot, hoping to burst open flesh piñatas and dance on the mortal candy within. Revenant is picking off members in another fight from a distance, using their battle against them. However, in his revolting reverie, he does not sense the axe behind him. With one swing, Bloodhound beheads the sniping owl and watches as his metal skull rolls off the roof, onto a jump pad, and then into the waves below.
But, my friends, this is not the end of our automaton assassin. For, like a bastardized Spring, he will come forth once more with new life. But where will he awaken? Let's find out.
His eyes open, electronic light dimly glowing from them into the darkness. He attempts to stand up, but fails in doing so. With a grunt of displeasure, Revenant turns on nightvision and discovers he can't stand because his legs aren't attached and are, in fact, nowhere near his body. The robot scans his surroundings and finds that he is in a box. He proceeds to take the next logical course of action:
Panic.
In a closet in an abandoned apartment on Solace, a suitcase begins rumbling and screaming. Revenant's terror echoes through the room as he attempts to open the suitcase in vain. This container, however, was made by Hephaestus Travel Tech, and isn't easily opened without the key.
"Hephaestus Travel Tech: For the hardy spacefarer. (Subsidiary of Kodai Industries)"
Revenant's suitcase tumbles around the room for a few minutes before he stops and formulates a plan. The plan is to find a wall, bump into it repeatedly, and scream louder. He does this for three hours, constantly demanding for someone to let him out.
After the third hour, a maintenance worker for the apartments is sent to address a strange knocking. She unlocks the apartment and suddenly hears the muffled angry cries of a man in the master bedroom. However, upon opening the door, the worker finds our distressed luggage lunging at her like a vacationing poltergeist. In the rudest of fashions, she runs from the flat in pure fear.
After a fair bit of shuffling, Revenant is able to make it into the kitchen, but it is here our sinister friend devises a change in tactics.
"Maybe screaming is a bit too traumatizing for some people. If I keep this up, they may just set me on fire, or they could end up launching me into space (wouldn't be the first time). So, what's going to make them open this thing?"
A few minutes later, following the blunder of the maintenance worker, the building's superintendent can be seen entering the apartment. She is posh, refined, and always in control of the situation. No amount of "Agh, it was a ghost!" will deter her. Once her footsteps reach the kitchen, she stops and sees the luggage.
"Well," she harumphs, "doesn't seem to be so haunted after all."
Then, from within the suitcase comes a "Meow."
This isn't the sound of a kitten, mind you, but more like an ancient alley cat that has discovered how to smoke cigars while belching. All the same, the poor thing is trapped and doesn't deserve this fate. The superintendent retrieves some laser bolt cutters and snaps off the locks on the suitcase, all the while comforting the supposed feline encased within.
"There there. Let's get you set fre-"
Frozen. The super's eyes have always told her the truth, but now she desperately wishes for a lie. However, reality cares not for anyone's wishes, especially when they have found a talking skeleton in some discarded luggage.
"About time," the skeleton announces, "Does this thing have wheels?"
At this moment, any scientist worth their salt would give their life savings to study the faster-than-light travel exhibited by the superintendent.
With some effort, Revenant crawls down the stairs and into the street. He recognizes this area. In fact, he had done some reconnaissance here and knows just where to go to meet a friendly face.
A couple of blocks and a few screams later and our lanky limb-lugger is knocking on the door of one Octavio Silva.
"I need to borrow your legs."
It's now late in the evening at the Paradise Lounge. Bass beats bounce as a few people dance in what space is available. Colorful smoke hangs in the air like that one shirt your mother got you a few years back but you refuse to wear it due to how garish it is. An unconscious man lies on the floor while sporting two black eyes. A few feet away, Loba takes another shot of Skalinov Liqueur at the bar.
Mirage addresses her: "Are you sure you don't want me to put that guy somewhere else? A few of his fingers keep getting stepped on."
"Leave him," she replies, "let it serve as a warning to any other fools who think my hair is a toy to be pulled."
The main entrance opens, and the dance floor freezes. Suddenly, there is a lot more room, most of it now surrounding the front door. Mirage and Loba are unable to see who the newest patron is, and the bartender turns down the music's volume to catch if anything is being said.
But everyone is staring silently, in awe of Revenant standing in the doorway. He is only a fraction of his usual height, however, as Octane's prosthetics are attached to his hips, and they aren't full legs even for their caffeinated owner.
The simulacrum raises one of his arms (which are almost scraping the ground) and waves the crowd away, "Move it."
They part, allowing the assassin to waddle his way to the bar, an outstretched arm pointing at Loba in accusation.
"Where are my legs?" he demands.
Loba has trouble keeping her composure as she answers, "Don't you know? Or did they decide to run away from you?"
Revenant lunges forward, "Listen here, gir-argh," except he doesn't quite have the balance, so he instead tumbles like a toddler taking its first steps.
In the background, Mirage sweats while furiously cleaning a glass that hasn't even been used yet. If he allows himself to laugh, Revenant will probably just take his legs.
The stunted simulacrum picks himself up, feels the gaze of the crowd, then turns around slowly. In his eyes, there is no mirth, only the foretelling of suffering should the sin of laughter be committed in the bloody cathedral that is his presence. Several patrons require new pants.
Returning to Loba, Revenant adopts a quiet, threatening tone, "I woke up in a suitcase this morning, and I know that was your doing. Give me. My legs."
Loba's smirk lingers for a few seconds before she takes another shot and replies, "I'm not sure why you came here. I left them in the same closet."
A solid beat crosses Revenant's face as his mind goes blank. The following thoughts fill the gap: confusion, realization, rage, embarrassment, rage due to embarrassment, a need for ice cream, rage due to no mouth with which to eat said ice cream, acceptance.
A little more rage.
Resignation to circumstances.
Without a word further, Revenant about-faces and creates another divide in the crowd, the skinny red orangutan solemnly preparing for the long waddle ahead.
Loba takes one more shot and relaxes in her complete satisfaction.