#enccrypted

Octane squints against the blustering wind, eyes glimmering green in the eerie strobe of furious lightning forking through the clouds above. His goggles are busted, lenses shattered from the previous skirmish, but it’s a small thing in exchange for victory over the team whose deathboxes now lay scattered over Storm Point’s once peaceful beach. The gale kicks up, flings sand into his eyes, and he startles away.

“Ow, ow— you done yet, dude? We gotta go.”

Crypto’s scanning for enemies, and he’s taking his sweet time as the ring draws closer in. The storm brewing out over the water doesn’t look so pleasant either, though Octane has to admit the funnel clouds spouting tornadoes look like a fun time. He tries to keep still, bouncing on the tips of his prosthetics; ever since the hacker went batshit and drowned him in the World’s Edge sulfur pools— though much time has passed since the incident— Octane can never be sure when the typically quiet, reserved man might snap. These other killers, Caustic, Revenant, they’re predictable, easy to read, easier to manipulate. Crypto? He lives up to his secretive moniker. Which, most of the time, just makes him boring. But sometimes Octane still wakes up at night gasping for air, the touch of choking water still lingering on his skin.

Right now though, Crypto’s just annoying. Octane can’t help himself. He sighs dramatically and takes to picking through the nearest deathbox.

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’...

Yeah! Like everything about her appearance is masculine to me (and people who claim oh she’s military forget that you can be army and still be feminine!), the fact that she talks about men being stupid (e.g in S5 quest dialogue, about Mirage n Octane) and when Octane calls her “lady” she says “call me lady again again and I’ll break your jaw.” (which is a big butch mood lmao) and then of course the way she refers to Loba as “”girl” in that soft voice like “No worries, girl” and “no thanks, girl, I’m good” etc. and the way she’s only opened up to Loba over the past 3 seasons rather than Octane and Mirage who she seems to have been teamed with quite a bit in the past... also the way she very much vehemently rejected Forge (who was harassing her) and was like, wishing she got to kick his ass herself @ Revenant lmao. 

the same people who use the excuse of “i won’t make a POC character because i respect their culture” will go and dig painstakingly through 29394 articles to learn niche historical facts, unique and identifying cultural mannerisms, and extremely region-specific dialect/slang when it comes to white european(-coded) muses. if they can do that for a white muse, then they can do the same… for a POC? ����

You can only trust those you know who are liars. He had told her that once, even followed it up with a question of his own. She hadn’t answered then, not definitively, and certainly not through a traceable message. Loba doesn’t ask for an invitation in; instead seating herself on the small sectional that takes up most of his cabin’s space. One leg slings over the other, and she leans back to study the fellow Legend with a curiosity that is serrated sharp. His question still holds fresh in the memory. One liar to another: what brings you here?

      Δ  - point a weapon at my muse

barrel of his gun pointed in his teammate’s face,  he knew that it wasn’t supposed to be this way,  but the fact that this  runt  was making a mess of his plans was incredibly irritating to him.  they were supposed to work together,  but putting two  stubborn  people together on one team was a foolish mistake.  ❝  we are moving to  that  sector.  ❞   he reiterated,  not allowing for the man to argue with him further.  surrounded by death boxes from their previous encounter with other squads,  he didn’t allow for any of them to escape.  ❝  understood?  ❞