"Firing. Downed an enemy," Wraith reported.
Pathfinder's voice came in shortly after, saying, "Enemy down. Hey, I killed the whole squad. Cool!"
"First blood," the announcer declared.
"And so it begins," Caustic commented, coughing.
Once his airways had cleared, the deep, steady, mechanical hiss of him breathing through the gas mask caught his attention, reminding him of an astronaut or even the fictional Darth Vader. The slight high he'd received from killing Octane had left him contemplative. Caustic knew that deep down, Dr. Ulrik was dead. He had died long ago, perhaps after gassing his only true friend in the world and coldly watching him suffocate and decay. All for a sudden and profound obsession with a corrosive compound that might possibly be the greatest weapon ever devised. After all, how does one kill all the fish in the quickest possible manner? Poison the water of course.
Dr. Ulrik had respect, morals, and other pathetic weaknesses that held back his true potential, of being one worthy to wield such power. Ulrik had to be killed. Now there was only Caustic, the biological alchemist. Mysterious green smoke that is the breath of Death itself is at his command, swirling around his enemies and draining them of life. The sorcerers of old would be proud to see their legacy continued in such a way.
It was fortunate that Wraith and Pathfinder had been busy with their own battles and so were unable to witness the reunion between him and a living soul who recognized him despite his altered appearance. He couldn't have them getting curious and asking questions. Still, Caustic was surprised that Octane had known who he was. His lab coat was no longer white, but navy blue, as were his gloves. Silver cylindrical gas tanks were strapped to his chest and legs, and the portion of his face that wasn't hidden beneath his protective breathing apparatus peered out at the world through a set of enormous goggles.
There were some things, he admitted, that were a little tougher to change. Cosmetics aside, Caustic had a few very distinguishing features. His hair for one thing. He hadn't bothered to cut that or his beard, and to think that simply slapping on a gas mask and some goggles would fool anyone was just careless. On top of that, he wasn't the smallest man by any means; he practically towered over Octane during their encounter.
Digging through Octane's death box, Caustic found a level one shotgun bolt for his Mozambique and two shield cells. Now he just needed to find some body armor. He went from building to building looking for equipment, picking up light rounds here, an ultimate accelerant there. He was truly rewarded after opening a supply bin that was on a dirt mound midway between the chain link fence right outside the room he'd initially searched and a respawn beacon. Waiting for him inside was a G7 Scout, energy ammunition, and a fragmentation grenade. A Havoc rifle and a couple of different gun attachments were in the supply bin beside it.
"Havoc rifle here," he broadcasted to his teammates as he reached past it and grabbed the level two sniper stock and the Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight.
The G7 Scout is a semi-automatic light marksman's rifle with high vertical recoil and a deadly sting. Applying a tight grip, steady aim and a quick trigger finger, the user can easily shred through shields and turn targets into swiss cheese. Caustic affixed the ACOG, capable of both two and four times magnification, to his new G7 Scout and went back into Skulltown. There he found his teammates waiting for him in deep discussion.
"We're already in the ring," Wraith said, bringing Caustic up to speed after he arrived.
They could hear the competition fighting in the distance, gunfire going off like firework celebrations. He knew what she was suggesting. They could either hold position and wait out the rest of round one, or go find and attack other teams with the aim of stealing their gear and manually reducing the number of opponents in the arena. Tempting, but to Caustic, such a course of action seemed like an unnecessary risk.
For starters, Skulltown is a constant hotspot on the map no matter what round it is, given that it's still in the ring. More enemies would come. Of that, he could guarantee. What was the sense in leaving an advantageous position to fight the enemy on their terms? Why take any risk? Glory, he thought, eyeing his teammates. Kill Leader. Champion. Useless titles in his opinion. Caustic only concerned himself with one thing, and that was testing his noxious gas on living tissue. He cared not for the ambitions of insects.
"Then we stay here," Caustic said, turning to the black and yellow striped android. "Check that survey beacon up there and tell us where the next ring will be."
Pathfinder's chest screen flashed an exclamation mark, then returned to the ever present smiley face.
"On it," he chirped. "Here I go!"
As Pathfinder grappled up and out of sight, Caustic looked over at Wraith.
"I'm going to wire gas traps all throughout this sector," he explained with a wave of his hand.
"Good," she replied. "I'm gonna go up high, keep a lookout. I'll tell you if anyone's near."