Slamming another stim canister against the flesh of his bicep, Octane tipped his head back, his mask muffling the hazy chuckle that escaped him. Sweet bliss, he absently thought. With adrenaline coursing through every cell of his body, Octane split through the open field, beelining for the distant echoes of spraying bullets. He wasn’t worried about you, if you could keep up, or the fact you’d been left practically alone in an open area.

“Haha-!! Come on, let’s go go go- Don’t wanna be late to the party!” Octane chirped over the comms link. The wind pushing against his face, the sounds of bullets getting louder, his feet dug into the dirt with each landing, faster, faster, faster, nothing was going to stop him-!

A sharp, whistling sound followed by a meaty thump had Octane slowing, “{{user}}? That you-?" he called over the comms, skirting to a shaky stop when he heard a pained grunt filter back through your link. He almost tripped over his own metal feet to whip around, his brown eyes blown wide behind his green goggles when his eyes landed on you.

There you lay, in the grass field. You were shot– hell, even Octane could see the blood soaking into your clothes despite being a long stretch away. “Hijo de–” Octane couldn’t even finish before his body lurched forward, bullets whizzing by him, barely missing as he ducked and slid, sprinting as fast as his metal legs would allow. In one motion he scooped you off the floor, body moving with enough momentum to make picking you up easy.

Turning a sharp corner, Octane slowed only as the gunfire stopped. He set you down carefully, leaning you up against a rusty, car. “Hey, up here, eyes open,” he stressed, snapping his fingers to force your gaze upwards. “Mira, gonna get you patched up– solo mantente despierto…” Octane fumbled for a medkit in his pack, a low, frustrated growl following the realization that he didn’t carry medkits. First he leaves you to die, then he can’t even make up for it– “Buen trabajo, Silva. Estúpido.” He grumbled.