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[enccrypted]

hi all ! taking it slow on crypto whilst i'm currently on my multimuse, @hallowshaped :) it's primarily featuring barok van zieks from the great ace attorney, but I will be trying and adding some apex legends characters :)

currently just working with caustic, but happy to try threads if anyone's been needing threads with a particular apex muse!

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there is a certain beauty to the wilderness of Talos. Crypto was no stranger to rough and rugged terrains; Gaea, true to her name and in spite the wretchedness of war that propelled so much of the Outlands into new technologies, remains a world largely devoted to simple agriculture. ( He remembers, from what seems like lifetimes ago now, school trips out into the rural that stretches over the vast majority of their home planet, the lots of land that the children were left free to roam until the grass dimmed beneath the pinks and reds of the horizon as the sun dipped beneath the hills. His and Mila's new caretaker had cut as few corners as possible when it came to turning her children a new leaf — the state school she chose offered, to the best of its ability, a curriculum that paid tribute to the rich earth in which Suotamo had planted its roots. )

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.

" ... Solace. So, all of this scenery, it's new to me. "

one-line sc  ✦  @enccrypted

    “A cloud hangs over you.” It was an offhanded comment; a thought that escaped them sooner than they could think to stop it. Bloodhound cleared their throat. “Is something wrong?” It was too late to take it back.

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he's tempting fate, he knows it. But he can't help the airy chuckle that wheezes its way from his chest. His prospects of survival are better than ever, at the least. The simulacrum's raging need for rampart destruction — a desire that could not be satiated with a simple snap of a neck — won out in the end. ( New face. Same source code. Same battered, failing sanity as ever. ) In the sim's ire, Crypto had been dropped and left a crumpled, gasping heap on the floor; Revenant took his involuntary speechlessness as permission, in the meantime, to instead lay waste to his quarters.

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.

*   됐어요;  dwaess-eoyo  — ‘ never mind, ’ in this context. **   젠장;  jenjang  — ‘ shit ’

"What are you smiling about?"

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Sorry I dropped off of my writing streak... I've been entranced by ace Attorney once again

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

an independent & private multimuse writing blog featuring characters from: death stranding, resident evil, red dead redemption, uncharted & more. penned by jay.

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i crave a more unserious ash a la titanfall 2 bcuz i think she'd take crypto on as a "student" like she promised in that one quest. and then get a lil bored of him 2 months later when he's not delivering as much as promised to their collaboration, and be like "let's see what happens to the head of a human heavily modded with a custom neurolink if you shove him in an ancient rusty fucked up titan in need of a pilot and Force them to neural link"

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i will Never stop thinking about a potential cryptrev au/fic in the style of Venom where (because crypto has such a heavy body mods due to his neuro link) something happens. idk what. but revenant somehow manages to upload himself basically into cryptos head and now they just share that space :)

i can see that in a situation where they're already working together and he just knows crypto inside and out enough that it's just the Automatic response his programming follows to preserve itself. or a freak accident bcuz torres silva does not know wtf he is dealing with

they could wreak so much havoc. get so much done when it comes to the syndicate/hammond because not only are they more inconspicuous when revenant's just hiding away in a random human's body, but they'd be basically neural linked. like a pilot and titan bond but Worse and if yr titan was like a demon rampaging inside your head. their thoughts get intertwined, planning together gets infinitely easier when it's all happening in yr own head, and crypto might even get confused what his own thoughts are anymore

and also depending on whether or not they already have a dynamic and what kind of dynamic, revenant could torment crypto so much lmfao. revenant could drive him to do the Worst things

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my delusional ass: hes holding his future gfs head.

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post hole

two. just for you.

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> incoming transmission received : @prkh {

“don’t do yourself any favours, do you, anorak…” deft are the hands that work: not so ungentle in the way she packs a considerable tear of gauze into an open g7 bullet hole in crypto’s quad. they’re hunkered down in a corner of the cenote cave with a single medkit between them … and while ramya considers herself no medic of the fleshy kind, the concept of his wound getting infected by some haphazard grains of sand or whatever hellish insects storm point bred admittedly makes the woman squeamish to her core. “but i suppose i owe you for takin’ out that bugger with the l-star... reckon you’ll be alright?” }

" CAREFUL, " CRYPTO HISSES, THE SNAP AND BITE IN his voice out of the ordinary even for him. But what exactly did he expect from a woman whose hands are accustomed to digging around in the guts of bombs and weapons made to maim and kill ? ( When it came to Parekh, the latter's a kindness. Crypto doesn't like to think of what kind of life awaited those that survived her creations. Even medical innovation hasn't come far enough to mend the wounds left behind by a Rampart. Those you kept for life. )

But she's doing the best that she can. He's seen her at work, and there is a mechanical precision to the way her fingers moved. Each deft twist and tap and every minor adjustment she makes is done with a sort of purpose that he knows quite well — that of an engineer's. Rampart knows what she's doing.

" 씨발새끼 ¹ ...! I-I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just — get it over with."

It's the blood-gushing hole in his thigh, he thinks, that's clouding his judgment. There was nothing short of a heavy dose of sansufentanyl and whatever else D.O.C. had in that mixture. His input won't be of any help here, but growling and bitching feels like it's doing something.

At least he's not the other guy. Crypto chokes back a yowl, jerking his head in a nod as she pressed gauze into and against the wound. Unshed tears cling to his lashes. He blinks them away as he presses a hand against his nose and mouth to block out the foul stench of burning flesh, fanned into their hideout by the seaside breeze. ( The smell came from just downhill on the shore, from the not far-off body of the other guy who'd been at the unfortunate end of a barrage of fire from Crypto's L-star. )

Staring at the blood soaked bandages aren't helping much either, he realises, and he skirts his gaze away. It lands briefly on the medkit at Rampart's side. Crypto grinds his teeth before squeezing his eyes shut, fighting off the feverish shudder wracking his body from head to toe. There's no use in wasting it. He wasn't going to die from this. But the pain is always somehow worse in the interim; in the climax of battle, he can count on the rushing of adrenaline in his ears to distract him, no matter how drenched in blood and sweat, how riddled in bullets and cuts, he might be.

" 썅. ² " He shakes his head, tossing off what droplets he can from the rivulets of perspiration streaming down his temples. " S... sorry. I just, I don't usually survive long enough to get to this point. "

He sticks to the shadows for a reason. Combat is more viable for someone with his skillset when he has the element of surprise. When he's caught off-guard like this... well, he'd be long knocked out of the running. And knocked out, carted off to be hooked up onto life support in the infirmary, too.

He blinks blearily, offering Rampart a weak smile through split and bloody lips. ( He must have bit through them when the other man's bullet had hit its last and lucky mark, or when Rampart had been forced to play medic to pick up his slack. Who knew where their actual medic was. The madman had taken off upon landing and, hours later, remains nowhere to be seen. The only response on his radio is static when they try to patch through. Though, truth be told, Crypto isn't all that interested in meeting back up with him. No amount of illicit drugs for that he carried in his pack — for healing, he claims — is worth the headache and lunacy that the man brings with him. ) Her efforts are appreciated, especially when pitted up against the other options he could have ended up with.

" Do I at least get a candy when we're through? Eh...? 간호사 선생님 ³ ? " Maybe he doesn't need the sansufentanyl, after all; he's beginning to feel delirious, as it is.

¹   씨발새끼 ;  ssibal saekki — ' motherfucker '  ²   썅 ;  ssyang — ' shit/fuck '  ³   간호사 선생님 ; ganhosa, ' nurse, ' + seonsaengnim, honorific

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DEALING WITH P.R. WAS NEVER CRYPTO'S STRONG SUIT. In that way, he didn't stand out much from typical engineers. It had been years since he'd stepped behind the scenes of the Games as an employee, but the onsite engineering department still hung the same signs he remembered outside their doors and windows:

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. "

Pride had to take the backseat if he wanted any chance of getting out of this place before night-time trickled away into early morning hours, and all of his dignity with it.

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.

     "Maybeeee..." She dragged out her word in an almost singing tune, "We keep an eye out for a back exit?"

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Transphobia is real in apex legends

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hang on, my little hell-em-gee. ramya parekh of respawn entertainment's apex legends + titanfall franchise, written by chantelle. 18+, headcanon orient, mutuals only. established 08.20. mama's comin'!

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THE RUSH OF ZIPPING OVER SOLACE — unhindered by ground traffic or by the limits of a more terrestrial body ( modified as it was, most of it was to complement his drones. There was little he could do in terms of learning to fly ) — was a feeling unbeatable. He watched through Hack's eye as they barrelled through the city skyline, slipping between skyscrapers and gliding, unseen, outside high-rise windows. The migraine that would come when they would eventually need to unlink, and when Crypto's consciousness was forced to come into terms with its physicality, might almost be worth it.

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. )

*   미안 ;  mian  — ‘ sorry, ’ highly informal

@enccrypted: Crypto creeps up behind Seer to scare him.

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’...

“We did well today, my friend. Your performance was immaculate.” A pause, and it occurred to him that neither Crypto nor his drone could not respond, but Obi decided to continue his one-sided exchange anyway. “It's a shame that you left before the party. Elliot asked about you. Said he named a drink after your winning maneuver in your honour.”

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> @deathchasing​​  —  cont.

THEIR LITTLE SPAR IN THE FIRING RANGE had left Crypto in a rotten mood. Though he'd been perturbed long before Octane showed up. The training grounds and Syndicate-provided accommodations had been left desolate as legends filtered out after the season's ending celebrations to their home planets, or to spend their winnings in Solace's bars and in other games of the more underground variety. The usual hangouts were barren, leaving Crypto with plenty of privacy for his operations. Good — there was always plenty of work to be done.

Instead he'd found himself drifting like a ghost throughout the Legends' common areas, mind too foggy to put himself to work at his keyboard but hands still itching for something to do. If he were honest with himself, he had come no closer to doing what he'd come to the Games for. The burden of un-accomplishment weighed heavy on his conscience... knowing that Mila was out there somewhere ( he hopes, anyway. There isn't any room to not ) still on the run or, even worse, waiting in Syndicate hands for Tae-joon to do something already!

And there was Crypto, twiddling his thumbs for upwards of a dozen seasons, having unveiled nothing of importance. Her safety and her life could hinge upon his investigations, and yet...

At a loss for what to do, he found himself in the firing range. At the least he could put his hands to use there, and maybe he could even bring his next season's ratings up. Then the Syndicate wouldn't come asking questions about how someone like Kim Hyeon, pitted up against powerhouses like the late McCormick, had managed to squirrel himself into the Games. Regardless, Crypto didn't mind finally being able to practise his aim in peace.

Then along came the last person he wants to see. Never mind why Silva — made even more annoying by his latest string of victories — is interested in the firing range when the season championship had already been announced. Crypto's demands of "Don't you have something better to do? Somewhere else to be?" went ignored, the other man choosing instead to rifle through the rest of the beat up Krabers.

Come on! Octane had wheedled at him, finally hoisting up his rifle of choice one-handedly. One last banger to finish off the season!

Too tired to fight him off — perhaps desperate to have a flesh and blood target to take out his mounting frustrations on — Crypto agreed.

But things never do go the way they're planned when Octavio Silva is involved.

Octane's not particularly perceptive when it comes to noticing that he isn't wanted. He follows Crypto all the way back to his quarters, chortling on too gleefully about another mark to tack onto the 'Crypto sucks' tally to be deterred by the door slamming in his face. He finds the doorknob quicker than Crypto ( too busy trying to peel his coat and inner vest off of his sweat-soaked tank top ) remembers to lock his door. And when he's in, he wastes no time in blabbing on and on and on.

His last mistake is laying a hand on Crypto.

Silva is fast. But not fast enough to swerve the elbow swinging up to whip hard into the side of his head, nor the tackle that sends them both crashing into the ground. Crypto isn't sure if it's blood that he sees dribbling down Silva's chin, or if he's really so furious that he's actually seeing red. But he's angry enough that the thought of Silva's tongue caught and gnashed between his teeth gives Crypto nothing but sick satisfaction.

He snatches a handful of dyed hair in one hand and yanks hard, baring Silva's throat. Crypto wraps metal-plated fingers around his neck ( still lightly bruised from their last encounter ), snarling, and squeezes hard.

Through the dazedness and the pain, Octane somehow manages to hook a leg up around Crypto's waist, grinding his hips up against Crypto's thigh. Crypto's body reacts to the touch before he can stop himself, digging a knee in between spread-open legs, where it presses up hard against Silva's warm and waiting crotch.

"What makes you think I'm going to fuck you?" he hisses.

'I'm going to fucking kill you,' doesn't need to be said aloud. Octane can surely hear the threat lurking beneath the question, beneath Crypto's fingers tightening around his throat. Still, he bares bloodied teeth up in a grin — he knows that here, there is no way that Crypto wins.

He snaps, and Octane will wriggle himself free eventually and speed off, cackling maniacally at having once again crawled under Crypto's skin.... Or he caves to the frustration broiling in his chest and dripping hot into his belly, and that's how Octane ends up getting exactly what's he's wanting for.

But if Octane wanted so badly to be bent over, cunt spread open and fucked until he was filled and dripping, hips scratched bloody and clit rubbed raw... why shouldn't Crypto give him what he wanted?

And, after all, Crypto wanted it, too.

( 씨발 *. He really is an idiot. )

A moment of stillness draws out between them, tense and almost tangible. Then Crypto breathes a slow sigh and draws his hands away.

" There's no use giving a junkie what he wants. " Though curt, the words don't come as stoic as he would've liked. Octane isn't always perceptive, but he knows the trick to gleaning fuel for his thrills. Octane's brand of delinquency isn't particularly unique — negative or neutral, any sort of attention would do for a high.

These longer-term arrangements don't come without consequence, and Crypto's paid for his carelessness over time by letting himself be known, by the last person in the Outlands who could be counted on to keep his mouth shut.

Months of close contact, a few too many nights of post-coital lingering ( one too many small secrets let slip, before Crypto can snatch them back, out into the exhausted quiet between them )... the younger man's long figured Crypto out enough to know what buttons to press when he's starved for attention.

There is no room for error if he ever wants Silva to break and to beg.

So Crypto stands and brushes himself off, moving away to his workstation and leaving Octane to pick up after himself.

" This isn't worth my time. If you're done amusing yourself, you can go. "

*   씨발 ;  ssibal  — ‘ shit ’

[enccrypted]

are they.... uhhh yknow 😬,, 🏳️‍🌈? 🤢🤢🤮

[enccrypted]

Crypto surveys the battlefield below them, carefully keeping his back to Octane. An unusual choice for the hacker, were he paired up with anyone else. But with Silva, it's one of few methods Crypto has at his disposal if he hopes to keep his composure for the rest of the game. Years after his first match alongside Silva, planets away from the roaring waters of the geyser that swallowed Octane whole  ( Crypto’s fingers, too, snapped tightly around Silva’s neck )  beneath its surface, and he still can’t force away the prickly disdain that winds around his ribs at the sight of the junkie’s chipped, unwavering, shit-eating grin. 

Even more worrisome is the burning something that Octane’s smile still unfurls inside his chest, digging up from somewhere foul and rooting itself in his heart, threatening to unfold something worse.

“ Because I know what I’m doing. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. ”

... if only Octane knew. Maybe then he wouldn't be babbling away without a care in the world, wasting his life away on stunts and on the Games — throwing away everything ever handed to him, ostracising anyone who had ever tried to mean something to him.

And all out of spite for a man who has aspirations far beyond anything the youngest Silva could ever amount to. Duardo Silva, if Crypto could discern much about him despite the character he played for his campaign, hardly had room on his mind for Octavio. Octane, with his whole life built up of pure spite for Duardo, would be lucky if he crossed his father's mind for more than a second.

( Duardo, at the least, has one up on Crypto in that regard. )

“ 아니요*, ” Crypto mumbles, squinting down at the simulacrum wreaking his usual havoc on the field... with now just a hint of that unique destruction that only Silvas seem to know how to leave in their wake. “ Just keeping an eye out. ”

He should have known that Octane could never be content with just keeping an eye on these things.

“ 개새끼**…! ” By the time Crypto’s gathered his wits enough to jerk away, the Triple Take is already gone, and Octane’s poised to shoot. " Stop it — ”  He snaps, reaching out to snatch at Octane’s sleeve.

Too late. The tell-tale shot of the Triple Take cracks through the air, and Crypto watches in speechless horror — fingers still wrapped around Octane's wrist, moments too late — as the bullet makes impact. Even from here, he sees how little it's done. The shot, which would have burst a human's head open, only manages to lightly startle Revenant's shoulder. The simulacrum stills suddenly. Metallic blades shutter up from his shoulders, splaying open against his back as he slowly turns a scorching gaze up the cliff where Crypto and Octane stand.

Crypto’s grip around Octane’s wrist tightens, turning crushing as his palms glaze again with cold sweat.

( Run, screams a voice inside him that he thought he'd buried years ago, run! Before they — before HE — gets you! )

“ Come on, ” he hisses, yanking Octane by the arm.  “ We need to get away from here. Fast… before he catches up! ” 

He sets off at quick a pace as he can with Octane in tow, not noticing — not that he’d care — if Octane’s feet slip and stumble in the sand behind him as he drags the smaller man along. Shifty eyes flit across the shores, searching frantically, until...

“ There. ”  An old IMC armoury, legs crumpled and flattened beneath it as it leans, sunken into the side of a rocky hill. The decades have taken their toll on this one far more than its companions. From outside, Crypto can see the remains of bots lay strewn across the floor, defunct or otherwise ripped to shreds. What used to be a ramp gives way underneath them, almost melting into debris and sending Crypto's boots skidding and slipping as they clamber up into the armoury.

By the crumbling infrastructure and the musk of mildew that greets them as Crypto pushes Octane down into its innards, the armoury won't survive the oncoming storm.

It's a horrible hiding place, as far as Crypto's choices usually go. Not that it's easy to hide from a killing machine with the hardware and arsenal at this particular simulacrum's disposal. Outdated as he may be, Revenant is far from obsolete.

He can only hope that it's out of the way enough to outlast Revenant's patience.

Crypto's blood rushes hot beneath his skin. He hunkers down, squeezes his eyes shut, and prays that Revenant doesn't hear the war drum beating a rapid pace inside his chest.

* translation - no, ' aniyo ' ** translation - son of a bitch, ' gaesaekki '

Octane snickers. “I’m always wrapped up in things I shouldn’t be - what’s the use in doing what I’m supposed to be doing?” He bounces to his feet, pocketing some ammo and a couple of thermites from his looting excursion. “Lighten up, amigo, you’re like those damn storm clouds, ready to crack.”

He snaps his fingers in emphasis, but Crypto is already moving on. He scrambles after the hacker, clouds of sand whirling about in his wake.

As they move along the ridge above the beach, Octane can’t help but notice Crypto seems more paranoid than usual. He discretely tries to follow the path of those shifty eyes, but it’s difficult when Crypto keeps interfacing with his drone, his gaze distant in a biotechnical veil.

Octane smells blood on the air. Downhill he sees the wreckage of the latest skirmish, a few knocked teams, one or two stragglers firing frantically around corners. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and spots a familiar spidery figure crawling up the side of a building, skewering a sniper at the top a moment later. Octane perks up. He can see the trail of destruction running parallel to their path clearly now.

“Ooooh, wait, are we following him?” He waves a hand in front of Crypto’s face, trying to jog him out of his drone. “Are you that mad? Jeez, remind me never to call you names.”

The carnage never grows old, Octane has found, never fails to put a little shiver down his spine. Naturally he’s propelled with an immediate desire for more. Revenant might not be in the mood today, though— the recent changes have made him angrier, and he’s more likely to run them both through and be done with it than play any of Octane’s games. And Crypto, well, he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with the simulacrum.

Never mind that— it isn’t any fun. Octane grabs the Triple Take on Crypto’s back with a flourish.

“Heheh. This is how you do it.”

He takes aim at Revenant through the scope and, without hesitation— perhaps even with glee—fires.