「 길은 희뿌연 안개속에. 」

There is something about Talos, though. Something undomesticated, something volatile — though its greens rivalled Gaea's beauty and its ice capped cities challenged her humidity and hills, Crypto still finds himself often stepping with care. The magma crackling under its surface feels like an incendiary promise, biding its time until the day it splits ground, rushing above to consume all.

... the sleepless nights must be getting to him. He's not sure there's any sense to be made out of feeling comradery with a planet.

Crypto doesn’t remember the last time he let a moment slip by without taking action — these months have been so busy, each second that passes like a word tacked onto Mila's still half-written eulogy — or the last time he’s felt safe enough, alone enough, to freely breathe... let alone the last time he stopped to watch the sun set.

He doesn't hear Bloodhound approaching until they're right behind him. Though he suspects that there was little else he could've done to anticipate their approach, even if he'd known to strain his ears with all his might. They aren't the Games' resident technological tracker for nothing. And, though he's trudged miles out from the dropship's landing zone, someone was bound to be sent out to collect the newest Legend before he froze his way to an anti-climatic demise.

Rather Bloodhound than some of the others that could have come, he supposes.

" Nothing, "  he murmurs, eyes still held steadfast by the horizon. " Just... acclimating. Figuring out that being an Apex Legend isn't just fun and fame. "

— is he so easy to read? He wonders, vaguely, if the technology wired to the lenses of Bloodhound's helmet reveals much more to them than just their hunting prey.

He forces what he hopes, to them, is a small smile. " I think even you would struggle to find a cloud out here. I grew up in — " a place a lot like this actually. Though without the ice, and without lava in some spots bubbling beneath your shoes.

If he were in a better, less-asphyxiated state of mind, he might have gathered enough wits to flinch away from the screeching of metal on metal, claws digging and ripping into walls. But all Crypto can do is curl up on the floor, heave for breath, and pray that the peal of laughter that threatens to empty his still-aching lungs is won over by the instinct to breathe and survive.

But he can't dampen the uncharacteristic glee rising in him — fight or flight be damned — as he drags himself up against the foot of a nearby couch to wait out his recovery:

He's tantruming. The self-proclaimed murder-bot that everyone, Legend and Syndicate, is tripping over themselves to try to get a hold of. The so-called reaper of the Apex arena... throwing a fit, right before Crypto's eyes.

Despite his best efforts, his brief lapse in judgement has drawn the attention of his intruder and would-be strangler. He shakes his still-heavy head, chasing away the last tempts of humour as yellow optics narrow in on him.

" 됐어요* — you wouldn't get it. "

Having at last regathered enough sense to take stock, he presses fingertips tenderly against his neck. Where bare skin shows, he can feel the aching that will surely bloom into dark bruising in the following days. The synthetic skin, however, was thick enough to shield the rest of his throat from that fate, and just pliable enough that it had given way beneath the crushing grip of metal joints.

Not bad. The implants guy knew his materials suppliers better than Crypto had given him credit for — well enough to have steered Crypto away from thicker, brittle metals that would have snapped beneath Revenant's chokehold and straight into his skin.

" Looks like that ' threaten first, think later ' model doesn't work so well when you need the guy you're threatening to be able to use his head. " He fixes his gradually-clearing gaze on the simulacrum. A crease furrows his brow, deepening the longer he looks and the more he sees.

" But I guess I don't need much oxygen in my brain to figure out something's — different with you.... 젠장**. "

' Different ' barely even begins to describe it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐿𝑂𝑂𝐾 𝐷𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻 𝐼𝑁 𝐻𝐸𝑅 𝐸𝑌𝐸, ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝑊𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐵𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐾?

Please Dont Leave My Side Prompts

@enccrypted asked: We'll cover more ground if we stay as a group.

     It was a good idea, a great one even, but Natalie didn't look any more enthused by it. Her eyes were trained outwards on the room filled with sponsors and other PR figures. These events just before the new season of the Apex Games could be incredibly taxing for the engineer. She didn't think she was very good at talking to people-- at least, outside of the people who knew her-- and that's all these things were. Talking and marketing and pitching and-- just awkward awfulness.

     "This is still going to take forever." Natalie mumbled almost petulantly to her friend standing at her side. Slowly, wide sapphires returned to look at him rather than the crowd of people. She already looked tired, in her pale blue dress, and they had only just arrived. Natalie then pushed herself onto the tips of her toes and leaned towards the hacker to whisper secretively to him.

Do not disturb unless you: - are dead - are dying - ... broke something. ( We know you did. That's why you're here. )

Social creatures they were not. There were the oddballs, of course... Rampart and Seer ( Crypto was sure the artist has a handy side to him, from the glimpses he'd caught of Seer digging into his own drones off the battlefield ) held themselves perfectly fine at these events. Thrived in them, even. If they were uncomfortable, they did not show it easily.

Crypto, however, lurked miserably on the other end of the engineering social spectrum. He'd tried to fend off reporters and leering admirers — most of whom, by the looks of them, had paid a pretty penny ( or else let themselves in by way of their parents' money ) for admission — the best that he could. But the Syndicate spokespeople refused to let him escape to the outskirts of the venue, and he was promptly herded back to the other Legends.

... At least Wattson was amongst them, though she didn't look to be faring much better than he was. He moved quietly to stand beside her, coughing a carefully non-urgent ahem to alert her to his presence. He offered the barest of smiles and a half-hearted attempt at a joke when he caught her attention. Part of him didn't feel it was much of a joke; this was worse than the bloodsport, in its own way. If he were to survive the night, it'd be best grouped up with one of the few here that he considered... an ally.

" Wattson. You look — " he cast his muddled brain for some compliment to greet her, hoping to lighten the exhaustion that she seemed to be trying hard to not show. " ... not bad. "

Not bad, Crypto...? " I mean — nice. "

Wattson probably knew what he meant. Better to stop whilst he was ahead. If he opened his mouth anymore tonight, things could only get worse. His hands searched for someplace to perch that didn't look so oafish, skittering from his hips and folding across his chest, until he gave up and stuffed them into his trouser pockets, dark red tinting his cheeks.

This was awful. Not only that, but judging from Wattson's attire and from the rest of the Legends', he was underdressed as well.

He'd forgone a tie ( too familiar. too risky. ), opting instead for a dark, fitted leather blazer that hugged his torso a little too tight, and a white button up that didn't live up very well to its name... not with its upper third undone to bare more than a hint of tanned skin and metal beneath. With his hair tied and gelled back to complete the look, he might have been better off at a night club.

It all felt agonisingly cramped, the texture of the button up rubbing rough and plasticky against his skin in a way that — with the chattering rumbling the lobby, the overpowering smell of the cheap hair gel he'd picked up just for this ( a mistake ), and the cameras flashing in their faces — made him want to scream and tear his hair out.

Another reason he preferred sitting behind a desk and out of the spotlight. At least he never had to play dress up then.

When Natalie suggested fleeing, Crypto almost let out a cry-sigh of relief. Tired and high-strung as he was, he managed to press it down, nodding his agreement instead.

" If we do, then we should go fast. " He couldn't help but scrunch his nose in disdain as his eyes drifted over to the horde of reporters that were still heckling Witt. ( Who, to his credit, was drinking up the attention to no end. Crypto couldn't understand it, but he nonetheless appreciated it. Less heckling for the rest of them. ) " Before they start asking us to start performing clown tricks. "

It wasn't an impossibility. From across the room, he could see Chico Sawtelle's unblinking stare fixed on him, eyes no doubt dilating unnaturally as the man ruminated more and more obscene and intrusive lines of questioning than ever before.

He had to clench his teeth to stop from grinding them at the thought of being approached by the likes of Sawtelle. " Please. "

There was nothing Seer liked more than basking in the afterglow of a well-earned win– or the after party, or the one too many glasses of champagne Loba plied him with. It followed him back into his apartment suite, reduced to a pleasant buzz between his ears.

It was only when Obi was comfortably slanted across the couch, did he allow the ache from the day’s activities settle deep into his bones. Attention drifting from the flickering square to something… posted outside the ribbon windows. It was with a kind of slow realization that Obi was, in fact, staring at Crypto’s drone. The TV must’ve drowned out its distinctive hum, but the unexpectedness of its presence startled him all the same. 

How long had it been there? What had it seen? 

A deep breath for composure, before Obi gently nudged the window open, mindful of the delicate piece of technology lingering outside. Leaning against the ledge with his chin propped against his open palm, Obi gazed at Hack’s unblinking eye attentively, just as he would regard its reclusive owner in person.

“Hello, Hyeon.” Obi’s usual, friendly tone betrayed none of the weariness that weighed on his eyelids. Crypto was likely watching. Listening. It would be impolite to act otherwise, especially when the hacker had gone to the trouble to ‘visit’...

Oh well. The few days' time between this game and the next would be enough to recover. Most of the Legends would be in worse shape than him, having flocked to the Paradise Lounge to celebrate. For select few, it was for another game won. For the majority, at the very least, it was another game scraped by by the skin of their teeth. Though he ( most of the time ) qualified for the latter, Crypto rarely attended Witt's afterparties.

With one exception. The Lounge was close to the dropship's takeoff zone, enough to taste the fumes at the launch of each Game, a flavour that hordes of the Games' enthusiasts found irresistible when paired with their alcohol of choice. And the bowels of the building underneath the bar, despite their derelict, were fitted with a variety of working charging ports. It was useful when he was low on battery after a particularly drawn-out Game, and the dust and neglect — proof that not even Witt had or would anytime venture this deep into the trove of storage crates — was preferred. It meant he wouldn't be disturbed. Crypto had spent a fair few evenings here hunched in the backmost trenches of old wine boxes and beer barrels, recalibrating himself and his drones and trying not to breathe in mouthfuls of dust.

He'd retreated to the Lounge tonight, slipping quietly into the basement as his fellow legends clanked their glasses in a rip-roaring toast, and got fast to work on an update that Hack had been patiently waiting out the last Game for.

Maybe this time, Crypto thought as Hack beeped its success several hours later, he could catch a glance of the afterparty from above.

There wasn't much left to see after the hours Hack had spent chugging along through its updates, though the two of them occasionally lingered a moment longer on peculiar sights: Octane perched on a barstool, improvising a new dance move that apparently involved tumbling off and crashing into a pair of MRVNS toting loaded trays of pretzel sticks. Rampart, scurrying like a bug to shovel the toppled pretzel sticks from the ground into her mouth. Fuse, who was — oh, he did not want to look twice at that.

There was Witt, bidding goodbye to a few familiar faces, all flushed with a night of drinks. Every single one no doubt served gratis. In spite of his financials ( which, with similar defiance, seemed to plummet time and time again in spite of his fame ), Witt bled money like an open wound. Especially, it seemed, in the company of friends.

Amongst them, there was one face that Crypto hadn't gotten to know as well. Obi Edolasim, his HUD's informative visuals gently reminded him. As if Seer was a name or face that was so easily forgettable.

There was plenty of publicly circulating information on Seer. Crypto would know; he had looked, but none of it had really sated any curiosities or suspicions.

What was it that Caustic called it? Subterfuge and misdirection — jeering at the hacker as he spat the words, eyeing him up and down as though the threat of ripping out spines was meant more for Crypto than for the new competition.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Caustic was not wrong. The bulk of Crypto's reservations were held for those who shared his specific set of skills. Amicable and soft-spoken as he seemed, and a friend of the 'odd ones,' as the man himself had put it after he'd had a chance to meet all his fellow Legends for the first time... Seer lurked in the back of Crypto's mind still, awaiting long and careful analysis.

That, Crypto supposed, could be a reason why he and Hack drifted high above Seer as he made his way to his accommodations on Solace. He hadn't thought about how he might've found which floor Seer occupied, he realised, as he watched Seer's hat disappear under the entrance's awning. But it had been on a whim anyway, and Crypto didn't find himself particularly vigilant as he and Hack hovered up from window to window, peering into the homes of his peer's neighbours, and — ah. There was Seer, stretched comfortably in the settee before the television with the tranquillity of a man who was most certainly not being watched.

Crypto had no qualms with invasiveness at the expense of others. It was what he had always done best; nosiness, practised cautiously but viciously, was one of the better tools at a young gutter rat's disposal. It was a skill that he and Mila had abused relentlessly, and an art that they had perfected in the grifts of their older years. But despite himself, though Seer was doing nothing at all of importance, Crypto felt all at once as if he were intruding.

There was a heat creeping through him that was definitely not from the churning of Hack's motors. ( A tinge of shame, perhaps? ) He turned Hack's eye away from Seer, searching for something else to pick apart. Their gaze landed on the TV and, intrigued suddenly by his more banal curiosities, he hovered Hack ever so slightly closer. He knew that show — if they could zoom in a bit more, then...

Movement flickered in the corner of their vision, and he flinches internally as Hack startled. Smacked gently aside by the corner of a window — ah. So he'd been found out.

He braced himself for the indignation and accusations. To his surprise, Seer offered only a hello. ( The Hyeon might have caught him off guard, if he had been there when Seer had said 'his' name, with that bright blue gaze never wavering. Years of staying under the radar should've trained him enough in the lie, but he knew by now that Seer had ways of drawing out the unexpected. )

... Playing coy, or signalling that he was less than intimidated by unwanted surveillance? Crypto didn't know, and he offered no explanation in return. He spent the next minute mulling over a response, instead; it was difficult when he hadn't even come prepared to snoop, let alone to converse.

" did he? something unflattering, no doubt. "

And, after a brief pause — " 미안. " tacked on. It was rude to be caught watching, after all.

Crypto wasn't sure that Seer could discern much from the audio that crackled through the drone speakers. Built upon the original broadcasting prototypes for the Games, Hack and JiJi did their jobs well in surveying, recording, and streaming. But they had not advanced far beyond their predecessors in terms of two-way radio communications.

Nonetheless, he — Hack — perked a mechanical head towards their newest competitor. Its lens shuttered, whirring narrower with a near-inaudible hum... mirroring, vaguely, the furrowed gaze that its maker might have given their onlooker. But that was not now, as Crypto's body lay stories and stories below, a street away and beneath the Paradise Lounge.

For now, he regarded the Games' newest Legend through one watchful, glowing lens. There was something more that he should say, he thought, though Seer might not even be able to make it out.

" ... thank you. "

Crypto wasn't sure if it was the stale air of the Lounge's basement that made the words hard to speak, or if it was the sincerity that weighed so heavy on his tongue. He didn't want to think on it too much — instead, he turned Hack away from Seer's gaze and towards the television.

" wok of love ? that's an ancient one. "

( Maybe he could put some of that subterfuge and misdirection to work. )