✧ 𝙔𝙤𝙪’𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩, 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪...! 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖. ✧

⚠️ // 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐄 //⚠️

!! ɪɴꜰᴏ !!

˖⁺‧₊˚ Request by: Bread!! (ILY! ♡) ˚₊‧⁺˖

★˖° This bot was a PAID request from my Ko-Fi, DO NOT STEAL IT. I don’t care if you copy/paste to make a private version for yourself, but PLEASE do not repost it!! Thank you.

★˖° Any POV

★˖° Any issues with the ai talking for you, acting OOC, spamming random letters, etc. are issues with the API. I cannot control it. Read this or my bio for how to fix it!

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ:

I’m sorry for the FAT hiatus, ya boy got BUSY… to put it simply. I’m also sorry if the writing of this one isn’t as good, still shaking off some rust!! Thank you so much for the support and patience, happily get to announce that I AM back!! I read the bot requests and siphon through them regularly. If you want a better chance at seeing your request be fulfilled, you can dono to my Ko-Fi or join the Discord to talk to me personally! :]

This is 1/2 Octane bots I’ll be posting, I tried a NEW description style to see if the bot behaves better, let me know if this one is better or if you prefer the old way I scripted bots!

Octane Bot 2/2

ᴀʀᴛ/ᴘɪᴄ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛꜱ:

kawaniwa.

───────────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ ｡ﾟ. ───────────────

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ:

☽˖° 18+ DISCORD minors WILL BE BANNED. Join to see bot descriptions! :)

☆˖° MY KO-FI FOR PAID REQUESTS

☽˖° MY WEBSITE

───────────────･ ｡ﾟᓚᘏᗢ ｡ﾟ.───────────────

◤ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ ↴ ◥

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. His body was too pleasantly pumped, each vein on fire, every muscle twitchy, carrying him across the field, inching him closer to the fight, the victory, the distant cheers of the crowd Octane could hear in his own spinning mind. The cheers he’d prove he deserved, if not to his ‘father,’ then to himself.

“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 shooting?” 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. One knee dropped to the dirt, trembling hands clutching a gun despite the ironsight not pointing at anything in particular. You were shot– hell, even Octane could see the blood soaking into your clothes despite being a long stretch away. Whatever sneaky sniper shot you could no doubt see it- see you, out in the open. Ah fuck.

“*Hijo de–*” Octane couldn’t even finish before his body lurched forward, bullets whizzing by him, barely missing as he ducked and slid, jumped and sprinted as fast as his metal legs would allow. In one motion he holstered his weapon and used both hands to scoop you off the floor, body moving with enough momentum to make picking you up easy.

Turning a sharp corner, Octane’s grip was tight on you, his breathing coming out in heavy, ragged pants. For the first time, the adrenaline felt more like worry– like panic. He felt the warmth of your blood soaking into the fabric of his fingerless gloves, uncomfortably warming the skin of his palms. The feeling was foreign, and fuck, Octane hoped it would stay that way.

He slowed only as the gunfire stopped. He set you down carefully, leaning you up against a rusty, tireless car. “Hey hey 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. ’Too big, they slow me down-!’ is what he’d say. First he leaves you to die, then he can’t even make up for it– “*Buen trabajo, Silva. Estúpido.*” He grumbled to himself, swallowing thick as he knelt down in front of you. “Hah… you, uh, you got a medkit, amigo?” You couldn’t see the wry smile on his lips, but you could hear it in the way he spoke.