Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Wake up beautiful, we’ve almost arrived at our destination.” Loba nudged them with the foot of her staff, rousing the sleeping mercenary.

Lifting their head, Bloodhound flexed their legs and adjusted themself in their seat. Looking out the side of the window their ship dove down over sandy wastes under the cover of the night. They were relatively distant from any urban areas, though the twinkle of distant cities sat over the horizon like fallen stars. Bloodhound had never been one for the city and they found themself grateful that tonight their job was guiding them elsewhere. 

Jaime appeared in the cockpit as Loba navigated the terrain. “Look who’s finally up! It's good you’re well rested since I reckon you’ll have to put up a show if you’re to impress the warlords.”

“They will take me how I am, or not at all.” Bloodhound dryly replied, their voice rough from the air in their respirator.

“That's the spirit.” Jaime chuckled as he moved to help Loba bring their transport down to the ground. “It’s almost show time.”

Leaning down, the man spoke some code into a radio, giving the heads up to their contacts that they were in bound. With a heavy thrum, plumes of dust kicked up as their engines gradually shut down, firing against the earth. From where they sat, Bloodhound could spy the entrance to a bunker and the heat signatures of guards out front, both armed.

Somewhere in their stomach they felt that they were in for a long job ahead of them. As the civilian doors dropped open, Loba was first to rise, gesturing for Bloodhound to follow. First appearances were everything after all, and the people who had hired them would expect to see the services they had purchased up close and personal.

From the mouth of the subterranean base, more bodies flooded out. Under their armor, Bloodhound tensed, taking stock of all the people who had gathered around, noting that they were well armed. Artur hopped on the metal runway behind Bloodhound, pecking at their ankles before sailing into the air to study the area. Clearing the distance between Jaime's ship and the base, they ended up mere feet from the doorway, all eyes settling on them.

“Miss Andrade, it's good to finally meet.” A woman stalked out from the middle of the pack, her voice callous and gaze sharp as daggers.

“Likewise, Ms. Kōhere.” Loba replied before extending a hand.

“Let’s drop the formalities, cuz, you can call me Maggie.” Leaning forward the warlord shook the thief's hand, devilish smiles on the women’s lips.

Bloodhound knew who she was instantly, the leader of the Cracked Talon. Behind her stood presumably her second in command, a man equal her age, who looked rather disinterested in the whole affair at hand. 

Maggie stepped around Loba, looking Bloodhound up and down. “I presume they’re the real deal?”

“A real Titan pilot, in the flesh.” Loba grinned as she gestured to her silent companion. 

The woman looked skeptical, taking in Bloodhound’s unconventional attire and stature. “I don’t believe the history books have ever shown any pilots dressed like this.”

Bloodhound grit their teeth. “It has been many seasons since I wore the mask of a soldier.”

Maggie snorted, trying to judge as to whether or not she’d just been scammed. “You know the Cracked Talon is in a precarious spot right now, and I’ve paid a whole lot of credits for your services. The last thing I need is an out of practice mercenary trying to relive their golden days.”

“Believe me, they’re even better than what you’d ever expect.” Loba interjected, trying to defuse the situation. “I am no liar when it comes to jobs like these, especially when it comes to them.”

This seemed to get a rise out of some of the Cracked Talon lackey’s, the men and women mumbling amongst themselves. Maggie’s second in command suddenly perked up, a worried look crossed his face as several Cracked Talon members stepped forward. Like a pack of wolves they circled Bloodhound, shoving Loba back roughly, even Maggie seemed slightly taken aback by the action.

One of the men immediately intruded upon Bloodhound’s space. “I think they’re lying to you boss. People like these – ex-militia – they don’t exist out here anymore. They left us all to rot, you hardly even find ex-IMC in these parts. Besides, what makes this person so special? They don’t look anything special, no jump kit in sight. I think you’re being bullshitted.”

A second man stepped forward, also getting into Bloodhound’s face, making them step back slightly. “What? Are you getting cold feet? I thought you were supposed to be a pilot. Pilots aren’t supposed to be afraid of anything. Maybe you’re just scared we’ve sniffed out your lies.”

They were here to work, not settle petty squabbles like these. Besides, there was only one inevitable outcome that they wished to avoid. They didn’t respond, but their silence must have been mistaken for cowardice.

“Don’t worry, we’ll set ‘em straight.” A third man chirped, stepping up behind Bloodhound.

Before the first punch could be thrown, Bloodhound reacted, slipping out of the way in a blink of the eye. They caught the first man by the arm, dragging him close into their body before redirecting him into the man who stood behind them, toppling them over like bowling pins. As they hit the sand, they turned to the second idiot in waiting and knocked him flat on his ass with a simple, concise, jab to the jaw. As the second man toppled to the ground unconscious, Bloodhound quickly moved back over to the two heaped together, still stunned as to what was happening. Whilst they were still contemplating getting up, Bloodhound’s boot met with one of the men’s temples while their hands bashed the other’s head into the ground, rendering them incapacitated. If anything it was a light workout, and even more grim, harder for them to prevent themself from bringing these fools to an early grave.

Like a domino effect, more of the Cracked Talon members stepped forward, standing in solidarity with their comrades. They descended upon Bloodhound, who just as easily dispatched them as they did the first set of attackers. They were fast – unnaturally so – leaving the leaders of the warband stunned. 

“Jesus Christ–” The second in command breathed in awe, before nudging Maggie. 

Shaking her head to exit her trance, the woman barked out, “Stop - stop – bloody hell!”

Nearly being the last one standing, Loba snickered behind her hand, before moving over to run a hand across Bloodhound’s shoulders, grounding the former pilot. 

“As I said, you do not need to worry, my friend here is a Pilot, and a damn good one at that, as you’ve just seen.” Loba beamed as Bloodhound panted, body rattling with the sudden adrenaline.

Everything shook and their body was still elevated, watching every movement from the leaders closely, ready to pounce at any sight of aggression. They only began to settle down as Loba kept soothing them.

Maggie stepped forward, a pleased look crossing her features. “Then I believe we’ve got a deal. Apologies for my associates behavior, they get ahead of themselves, but it seems you taught them a valuable lesson. Being able to handle yourself like that on Salvo is what will keep you alive.”

Simply humming, Bloodhound ran a hand over their gloved knuckles, Artur appearing in time to land on their shoulder. “I’ve seen far worse than what this planet could offer.”

Snorting to herself, Maggie turned to the man behind her. “What do you say Wally, looks like they’ll be able to keep up?”

The man – Wally? Was still in utter disbelief, unable to take his eyes off of Bloodhound until Maggie roughly snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Oi, are you paying attention? Of course not, you’re too busy thinking about the pits and peacocking about.” Maggie grumbled as the man startled. “I suppose we should get introductions out of the way, this is Walter Fitzroy, the closest thing to a right hand man I have.”

The man in question cleared his throat before nodding along, reaching up to run a hand over his stubble nervously. It seems Bloodhound had put the man on edge in some form or another.

“My name is Blóðhundr, but you may call me Bloodhound.” They curtly responded, still on edge, eyes studying the remaining Cracked Talon mercenaries that stood around.

“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, but as you know, there's still some extra details we need to iron out.” Maggie replied, nodding towards Loba’s ship. “A Pilot on their own is impressive, but I’m paying for premium security detail. I want to know what I'm going to be working with.”

Huffing into their respirator, Bloodhound extended their arm to invite the two Salvonians towards their transport, Artur taking off as they did so. “As you wish.”

Loba reached up to her comms, quietly speaking to Jaime, directing him to open the cargo hold on their ship. The skies were pitch black, the only light provided was the blinking ramp lights and the sliver of the moon from behind the transport. The heat sunk into Bloodhound’s clothes, sweat beading at the back of their neck as they moved, another thing they would have to grow accustom to. Next to them, Maggie gestured for Walter to take point, beating Loba around the side of the ship, looking into the bowels of the vessel, eyes scanning over empty crates. Most notably, there was no Titan in sight.

Reaching for the rifle on his back, the man called out, shock written on his features. “The bloody thing is empty!”

Maggie instantly bristled, reaching for her shotgun. “What in the hell are you two playing at – where is the damn thing?!”

Both Salvonian’s certainly found themselves hoping they were scammed and not about to be met at the end of a rogue Titan’s machine gun. They may have been children of war – not the Frontier war itself – but even still they were familiar with the destruction they could bring. In a moments notice the situation went critical, almost breaking their contract on the spot.

Loba nervously smiled, raising her hands slowly as weapons were drawn on her. Maggie and Walter began shouting incoherent, distressed commands until Artur cried out into the night.

Bloodhound simply chuckled from behind the group. “What you seek has been watching you the whole time.” 

Turning on their heels, the pair stopped as if they had run face first into a wall. Basking under the full moon's light, Bloodhound was perched upon the hull of a modified Tone model. The Titan’s hull was painted a sandy camouflage, matching the Savlonian desert climate. Bloodhound’s raven circled overhead before joining his companions, staring down at the humans as though they were ants. Pure power and glimmering steel sat before them, prepped for warfare, alongside one of the best warriors the Outlands had to offer.

Walter would have been lying if he claimed this wasn’t  the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

In contrast, at the very least, from where they stood, holding onto metal beams, Bloodhound took note that Maggie was more than pleased. Though the woman wasn’t as enthralled over Freyja – their Titan – as her comrade was. Suffice to say, they had a deal, the wordless transaction being sealed as their goggled eyes met Maggie’s gaze.

“Greetings, Pilot.” The machine rumbled as she scanned the other humans before her, blue eye flickering.

Running a hand over Freyja’s chassis, Bloodhound hummed to their mighty companion. “These will be our newest allies for the time being. Add Margaret Kōhere and Walter Fitzroy to your database and add any local land surveys to your records through local satellite systems.” Sliding down the metal arm of the Titan, they landed on the ground with a heavy thud. “I presume we will have access to your facilities? I require a large enough space to store Freyja when she is not in use.”

It did not take a genius to realize that combat Titans were strictly forbidden unless directly under the payroll of the Syndicate. Most had been de-serviced after the war, turned into regular labor machines or entirely destroyed, but clearly this policy hadn't been entirely successful. The only rules Bloodhound tended to follow were that of the Allfather, anything beyond that was fair game, so long as they were not caught.

“We’ll clear out a bay in the hangar for you and I’ll send some men out here to move the rest of your hardware inside.” Maggie replied, a cat-like grin sat over her lips. “Wally, stay out here and bid our associates farewell once the pilot's things are brought inside.”

The woman raised her hand to the sky before twirling it around. The Cracked Talon soldiers that remained, lurking across the dark, sandy, dunes shuffled about, immediately getting to work without a single word being said. Maggie offered Bloodhound a curt nod and a wave to Loba before slinking off back inside, presumably to dish out more orders to her underlings inside.

Moving over, Loba wrapped her arms around Bloodhound for a brief embrace. “Don’t be afraid to call if you need help, beautiful. You know how to find me, but until then, I’ll see you once this job is done.”

“Thank you, Miss Andrade.” Bloodhound breathed back, patting their friend's side.

“Stay safe, Bloodhound.” The woman smiled as she pulled away, carefully adjusting her white blouse.

It was always like this, bidding one another farewell, going radio silent for months at a time until they had sought their task through. No matter how many times they did it however, the subtle ache in their heart never left. It felt too much like loss, something they knew all too well. One day they feared it would be the last time they’d see their dearest friend – the last person who knew the real Blóðhundr. Regardless of how they felt, it was something they forced down. They had a job to do and moments of weakness like these would make them sloppy, causing errors in their work, which was something they could not afford. Artur cawed as Loba moved to board her transport, saying his own farewell as she was consumed by the depths of the spacecraft.

“Hey mate–” Walter had made his way over, trying to catch the attention of the pilot.

Unfortunately for him, Bloodhound was not interested in talking. The last thing they needed was some hard headed Salvonian picking their brain about the inner workings of a Titan. The bond between a Titan and their pilot was something even the greatest engineers in the Outlands still could not fully understand.

“Freyja, let us move, we must find where Maggie is placing us.” Bloodhound spoke as Freyja knelt down to be eye level with her partner.

“Affirmative.” Freyja responded, tilting the lens that made up her eye, spying the tension in her human’s vitals. “Are you alright, Pilot?”

Smiling behind their mask Bloodhound knocked their helmet into Freyja’s side. “Do not worry about me, I will be alright, my friend.”

The Titan paused for a moment, readjusting her head. “I am unable to do that, Pilot. It would be a breach in my protocol.” 

Sighing to themself, Bloodhound shook their head. Of course it was. Turning away from their metal companion, they were met by Walter who was still watching them, rather awkwardly. It wasn’t like he was trying to intrude, Bloodhound had seemingly forgotten he was present, mostly in their effort to ignore him. With sharp words on their tongue, they spoke their first of many sentences to come to the man.

“Instead of staring, show us the way, Walter Fitzroy.”

Chapter Text

Days slipped by in that dimmed hangar bay, waiting for action. Between running the occasional patrol and surveying the area with Freyja things had been dull. Bloodhound found themself feeling like a bird trapped in a cage with the way they were kept in the empty hangar they currently called home. Artur was obviously feeling it too, stealing and hiding a variety of tools Bloodhound was using to help maintain and modify some of their Titan’s weaponry. 

At the moment, Freyja sat on the floor like a giant stone, crumpled over as two of her batteries had been removed. Not only was a restless Titan the last thing Bloodhound needed, but it was to preserve the lifespan of her battery packs. Bloodhound estimated that a single one of Freyja’s batteries would require them to syphon a vast majority of this compound's power supply in order to recharge them. Rerouting the power would be a nightmare and would cause sporadic blackouts that would be less than ideal. They also figured that Maggie would not be pleased with them if she caught wind of them taking on some electrical renovations on her base.

Picking out clusters of sand with a screwdriver and wiping away moist residue with an oil stained rag, Bloodhound quietly sang an old Talosi work song. It always helped Artur settle down when he was restless and Freyja seemed to enjoy hearing of Bloodhound’s culture. Being from the Frontier and combat programmed, the Titan did not know much of the Outlands, let alone the customs of a tiny colony in the backcountry of Talos. She would listen, learn , from her Pilot, curious of the legends surrounding the Allfather, asking Bloodhound questions as they went. It was a pastime they picked up during the war, while waiting on orders and being pulled off to some far off land.

Even now they maintained the tradition, Bloodhound finding comfort in the act. It was their way of staying connected to their roots – to the Old Ways – despite being estranged from their community. They did their best to continue their beliefs and practice, keeping that flame alive despite everything they had faced, and no matter how their faith had been shaken.

“Pilot?” Freyja spoke, bringing an end to their song.

Stepping back from her metallic hull with tools in hand, they placed their hands on their hips. “What is it?”

There was a small, affectionate, smile on their lips as they scanned their companion up and down.

The Titan stared at them almost contemplatively, considering her inquiry carefully, before snapping up to look at something behind them. “We are not alone.”

Bristling, Bloodhound turned around, ready to throw their screwdriver with deadly force if needed. Instead they were let with a sheepish grin and hands thrown in the air. Freyja, trained as always, took her queue to log off to preserve power, knowing that this interaction could take some time.

“Fitzroy.” They grumbled before lowering their guard.

The grenadier had become a regular fixture to their makeshift workshop, much to Bloodhound’s chagrin. He would frequent the area, almost as if he were trying to hunt them down, catching them in between guard rotations and meetings with Maggie. In response he was offered terse conversations (if you could even call them that) which quickly came to an end, coupled with a disappointed sigh. 

In truth Bloodhound didn’t know why they were so appealing to the man. They were a former pilot, turned mercenary. There wasn’t much more to it than that, at least to the extent they were willing to share. Yet he was still, for whatever reason, positively infatuated with them, so much so that he was willing to get chewed out by Maggie for slacking and had no shame in digging into Bloodhound’s excess of free time.

“Hey now Houndy, don’t go biting me head off before I can even get a few words in.” The man chuckled as he sauntered over. “How goes it down here?”

'Houndy.' They thought, stifling the groan that threatened to rise from their throat. 'Where in the hells did he come up with such a nickname?'

The hunter elected to ignore the butchering of their name, though not without a scrunch in their nose.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Bloodhound moved to their workbench, placing down their tools, remembering they still had yet to address his question. “Perfectly fine.”

Chuckling, he stepped forward. “You know what we say about when someone says their ‘fine’ and what it actually means right?”

Raising an unamused eyebrow behind their goggles, Bloodhound shook their head. “I do not know what you are implying, nor do I care to know.”

Walter winced slightly, offering them a hurt look. It made them instantly feel guilty, staring at the one-eyed man and how the troubled wrinkles formed on his face. He was good at that. Feigning pain to get under your skin to gain sympathy. 

Heavily huffing, Bloodhound conceded before the man could dejectedly turn away. “If you insist on being here, at the very least, be helpful.”

As they anticipated, that instantly got Walter to perk up. Joining Bloodhound over by the table he scooped up the wrenches and sockets they required. Climbing up the side of Freyja, Bloodhound found an ample spot to perch as they were passed tools one by one, tightening bolts and panels, ensuring their security.

“So, what do you make of it here?” Walter began, standing on his tiptoes to reach Bloodhound’s spot.

Maintaining their focus on the task at hand, Bloodhound replied. “It is... adequate.”

Walter snorted loudly, bordering on laughter. “That’s putting it nicely.” 

Humming Bloodhound continued to listen to the clicking of bolts under their hands, finding satisfaction in the sound.

“So, I know you were a Pilot, which is cool as, by the way, but where did you originally come from? Are you from the central Frontier planets?” Walter continued his line of questioning, trying to keep it easy and slow, not wanting to mess up the best interaction they’d hate to date.

Bloodhound knew these were all questions he likely already knew the answers to, but they elected to humor him. “Nei, I am from the Outlands. I was born on Talos.”

Letting out a sharp whistle, Walter was impressed. “That means you’ve traveled a long way from home and back again. Especially if you were fighting in the Frontier War and all that.”

“Indeed. I spent many years traveling, but I know where I belong, thus I am here.” Bloodhound responded coolly, taking a moment to massage their aching palms.

“Couldn’t have been easy getting back and forth, especially with this big girl.” Walter patted Freyja on the side.

Artur, who had been resting on the Titan, shot up and cawed at the man in irritation, protective of his robotic napping spot. Similarly, Bloodhound scowled, to which Walter embarrassedly removed his hand from Freyja’s hull, sensing that he had crossed a line.

Freyja’s blue eye flickered back online from the contact, though that hadn’t meant that she wasn’t listening. “My transport constraints are not as restrictive as they would appear, Walter Fitzroy. I am able to fit in most moderately sized civilian transport vessels.”

Walter just about jumped out of his skin as the Titan addressed him directly, staring deep into his soul. “Bleeding hell–”

“My apologies if I startled you, Walter Fitzroy. It was not my intention.” Freyja spoke to the human, sensing the sudden spike of stress in his tone.

“It's all good, just gave me a bit of a heart attack that's all. I’m also glad you’re on my side too.” Reaching up to wipe his brow, Walter smiled at the Titan.

Freyja studied him closely before replying. “It would be unfortunate if we were to meet on the battlefield.”

“You’re telling me. I’d be pulverized in an instant.” Walter chirped back, shuddering at the thought before looking back up to Bloodhound. “What does… Freyja here even run for weaponry?”

Sliding down the side of Freyja, Bloodhound landed on the ground without so much as a sound. “Plasma railgun as her primary, tracker rockets when they’re in supply, a particle wall for defense, a sonar locking system, and a Salvo Core for missile barrage. Though again, coming into contact with that caliber of missile is difficult these days.”

They rattled off Freyja’s abilities by heart, knowing their Titan inside and out, as a good Pilot should. On the other hand, Walter nodded along, interested in anything and everything about the Titan that was linked to explosives. 

“I can tell you’ve put a lot of hours into her.” Walter remarked, taking the pair in.

“We’ve put a lot of work into each other .” Bloodhound corrected, reaching up to run their hand along Freyja’s hull. 

“I can imagine so, after all those years together, and the neurolink you share.” Walter agreed, listening intensely to what the former Pilot was saying.

Taking a breath, Bloodhound moved back to their table. “Sharing a part of your mind with a machine is no easy feat, but you adapt with time, as you say.”

Scuffing his cowboy boots against the floor, Walter clapped his hands together. “At least I got something about you two right. Say, I know I’ve been a bit of a bother, but I did come down here for a reason.”

“Go on…” Bloodhound cautiously spoke, narrowing their eyes with suspicion.

“I wanted to invite you to join Mags n’ I at the Bonecage match later tonight. It's a huge brawl like the old Roman coliseums, and believe it or not, in my good looks and older age, I’m one of the competitors.” Walter pointed at himself with pride. “If you’re into gambling, you can bet on one of the fighters, or if it's more your style afterwards we can all go out for drinks. I’ll buy, since I owe you for listening to all my ramblings.”

Out of all the things the man could have said, this was one that Bloodhound could have never anticipated. To say they weren’t curious would be a lie, however, with the nature of their job, they were cautious. With the current state of Salvo and the negotiations with the Syndicate, they weren’t keen on inadvertently causing a stir just by the mere sight of them.

After a long pause, finally came their noncommittal answer. “I will consider it.”

In Walter’s mind however? That was far better than a “no.”

Pumping a fist in celebration of this minor victory, Walter beamed. “I’ll hold you to your word.”

And with that he left with a wink over his shoulder, the shop doors rattling as he disappeared. Shaking their head at the man, Freyja made something akin to an amused sound. After nearly twenty years, one would think she’d have picked up on humor by now.

Holding up their index finger, Bloodhound bristled. “Do not begin.”

“I have said nothing, Pilot.” Freyja shot back easily, Bloodhound could feel the metallic thrum of her voice through her back.

“Good.”

Trying to get a Titan to separate with their long time Pilot had been a harder bargain to drive than Bloodhound expected, but even still here they were, standing out on an expanse of tarmac, pointing towards the cluster of cities that sat out over the horizon. Artur on their shoulder warbled with excitement as they neared the meeting point. Several motorbikes and a large transport truck sat there with a number of Cracked Talon members getting onto their vehicles. Maggie had advised them to travel light and as inconspicuous as possible, no jump kit or firearms, just their raven headed axe. 

“Look who showed up!” Walter called out, hopping down from the bed of the truck. “Glad you’re coming with.”

Bloodhound crossed their arms, Artur taking off as they moved. “You intrigued me.”

Maggie appeared from behind him. “Not only that but I wanted to bring them along to help scope out our competition. Kelly’s group is up to something I can smell it.”

Walter scoffed with a head shake. “They aren’t stupid enough to launch an attack during a Bonecage match, they’d get mauled in the crowd and it wouldn’t be good for publicity, especially if he’s trying to make peace with the Syndicate.”

“Better safe than sorry and I want to get my money’s worth out of them.” Maggie replied roughly before whistling for her men to get ready. “Get in, Wally or I’ll leave you behind. Hound, we’ve got a bike for you. You do know how to ride, right?”

Walter balked as he jumped back into his transport. “Of course they can! If they can operate a Titan then they can handle a motorcycle.”

“Fitzroy is correct, I will be able to manage just fine.” Bloodhound remarked as Artur scoped out their ride, perching on the handlebars. 

Maggie huffed in acknowledgement before letting out an ear splitting whistle, getting the attention of the other Cracked Talon nearby. With that, Bloodhound moved over to their designated bike, hopping aboard and kicking the engine to life. Artur gently nuzzled his beak against their finger before hopping down into their lap. It was far too long of a flight for the raven to keep up, so this time he would hitch a ride with his human. 

Turning up the ventilation on their respirator, Bloodhound ensured their goggles were fastened as they set off. Carving through the mounds of sand, they kicked up plumes of dust, like a man made storm. In the back of Bloodhound’s mind, something unsettling about the action of taking control of nature nagged at them. The Old Ways called to them, whispering to them about how they turned away from tradition. All they could do was try and shake the thoughts from their head, they had a job to do. Keeping their speed up, they rode in tandem with the rest of the Cracked Talon, as if they were one of them. 

Wrestling with the persistent and recurrent voice of their past through the duration of what seemed to be an infinite ride, they finally made their way to a cordoned off area, following the large black truck housing Maggie and Walter. Apparently this parking zone was designated specifically for the Cracked Talon. Artur poked his head out from the hem of Bloodhound’s jacket, shaking off his small black feathered body. Doing the same, Bloodhound rolled off of their bike trying to remove the accumulated grit from their clothing. Wiping down the lenses of their goggles, Bloodhound walked over to Maggie and Walter who were waiting. 

“You kept good speed.” Walter commented as the hunter approached.

Bloodhound simply responded with a shrug as Artur disappeared into the skies, off to do his own scouting job. “I simply did what was required.”

The statement " Keep up or die” was left unsaid. 

Maggie scoffed, shaking her head. “Get your ass into the dressing rooms, they won't wait all day for you down there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Walter waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

“Best of luck, Fitzroy, hunt well in there.” Bloodhound spoke as they stuck by Maggie’s side.

With a devious grin, Walter’s reply came. “Thanks, but don’t worry, I have a feeling I won't need it. Be sure to keep your eyes open for ol’ Fusey, I’ll be making sure you’re watching.”

“Fusey?” Bloodhound raised an eyebrow behind their helmet.

“It’s a stage name!” He chirped back before a handler came to shove him along towards his dressing room, cutting him off from speaking further.

Rolling her eyes, Maggie began to stalk off, leaving Bloodhound to trail after her. Following the woman into the concrete and metal building, they were led up a flight of dim, musty, stairs. Around them people who lingered in the hallways hissed and spat as they walked, hurling insults to the Cracked Talon members who shot right back. There were nearly several fistfights that were swiftly broken up by event coordinators with harsh commands snapped. Keeping their eyes forward they finally came to a halt as Maggie and her higher ranking associates opened a door into a viewing area separate from the rest of the masses. The woman took a seat whilst Bloodhound elected to stand next to her, squinting down into the giant, bloodstained pit, in the center of the building. Viewers rattled against the chain link fence, screaming out an assortment of names. One, however, was screamed loudest of all: Fuse.

A gruff man’s voice called out over the humongous speakers, loud enough for Bloodhound to wince. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready!”

Roars from the crowd rattled their ribcage as Maggie leaned forward in her seat. Bloodhound kept themself focused on the ring, spying bodies near large stone entrances cordoned off by gates, waiting for battle.

“Salvo, let me hear you sing! I can’t bloody hear you!” The announcer continued, the audience getting impossibly louder before trickling back out. “Without further ado let's give a warm welcome to the crowd favorite, hometown hero, and reigning champion of the Bonecage, Fuse!”

There was the resounding grind of gears as the gates were raised and Walter swayed into the pit of death. The grenadier raised his hands, gesturing for his fans to get loud, shouting indecipherable words from where Bloodhound stood. In that moment they swore that the onlookers were going to blow the roof clean off the building based on the amount of noise they were making. Alongside them in the booth, a few higher ranking Cracked Talon also cheered along, but Maggie sat in stoic silence, eyes sharper than daggers as she stared on.

Unable to hear whatever the commentator was saying, two more gates in the pits opened and a group of men rushed out. They were all in various states of dress, tank tops, leather coats, spikes, barely anything at all, the list went on. Some of the competitors carried primitive weapons, clubs and whips, ready for brutality, while Walter stood there with nothing more than bare knuckles. In the ring they circled one another, waiting for the bell to ring, sizing one another up.

Settling back, waiting for the violence to begin, Bloodhound recalled a time, long ago, when the allure of blood sport called to them. It had come to them in a moment of anguish and they had entertained the idea momentarily before other obligations pulled them away. Most namely, joining the Frontier War. That in of itself was enough for them to begin their quest of reclaiming the honor of a man they once loved.

Regardless, those memories were best kept for later as the bell rang overhead, signaling for the fighting to proceed. The moments leading up to the first strike were silent, almost as though you could hear a pin drop. A large man, at least two heads taller than Walter charged forward recklessly, opening himself up for attack, obviously getting greedy and wanting to take out the current champion. The same could be said for the other fighters, Walter was the man to beat, and if they could all work together to bring him down, then they could all pick each other off afterwards.

Walter received the large man with a heavy hitting fist to the gut, brass knuckles glinting along his fits as he folded his opponent. While the man doubled over in pain, Walter took the opportunity to hook the man across the side of the head, sufficiently bringing him down for the count. Walter made it look almost easy, but Bloodhound knew from experience it was more exerting than it seemed. While he dealt with his first attacker, it unfortunately left him open for a pair of smaller enemies to slink around behind. One lunged to grab Walter’s waist to lock him down where he stood while their companion came in with a heavy bat, narrowly missing Walter’s head and slamming into his shoulder. Gritting back a howl of pain, Walter swiped back as the series of attacks continued.

Bloodhound grimaced at the sight of the man being brutalized, shifting uncomfortably where you stood.

“What, you can’t stomach gore, Hound?” Maggie quipped, eyeing them from over her shoulder.

“I am no stranger to death, not in this fashion, however.” Bloodhound hummed, keeping their tone neutral. “I am surprised that so many gather here to watch, as well as how popular ‘Fuse’ is. It is impressive.”

She leaned back in her chair, tipping it on edge as Walter broke free from his opponent's grasp. “To me, this is all just a waste.”

They stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to go on. Down below, Walter cracked open someone's skull, spraying blood across the dirt after recovering from yet another blow from a club.

“He could be using his skills elsewhere, but no, he’s down here peacocking about. At the very least he could at least let us use him as a symbol for our cause and make a public statement disavowing Kelly’s moves to join Syndicate space. We all know that the Syndicate will just run through Salvo like it has most other planets for resources and to feed into their power trip. Their egos are so fragile they need to annex another planet to make themselves feel good.” Maggie ranted while Bloodhound nodded along. “Say, Wally mentioned you’re from a Syndicate planet, Talos, right?”

“MikIimunnr…” Bloodhound spat under their breath before meeting Maggie’s gaze. “Yes.”

Nodding to herself, Maggie narrowed her eyes. “It's interesting that Talos of all places was left relatively untouched by the Syndicate, despite being pulled into the treaty. It's a small planet with a low population, surely they’d be able to harvest resources from there. I have to ask, if not Talos, then why Salvo? We’re highly populated with basically nothing but desert, the only thing I see those rich and famous from Solace and Psamathe wanting is beachfront property.”

“I am… unsure.” Bloodhound offered, uncomfortable with the topic, their skin pricking with anxiety. 

Maggie studied them for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, but before she could continue her interrogation, the crowd around them exploded with sound. They returned their attention to the cage, right in time for Walter to throw himself against the last enemy standing, heaving them up and smashing them into the ground. He crawled on top of his opponent, he threw a barrage of punches with sickening crunches that followed until they stilled.

The announcer's voice returned once more. “Once again, we have yet another masterclass from our champion Fuse!” 

Bullet casings rained down from the crowd, showering the last man standing who spun around, steeped in gore but gloating over his strength. Over his head he hoisted a belt embellished with the skull of a large toothed beast. Joy covered his features as he swung himself around before finally settling on Bloodhound and Maggie standing in their viewing area. Maggie had already gotten to her feet, prepared to leave, whilst Bloodhound stood there, staring down at Walter who couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

Meeting Walter down by the back doors they had entered from, he whooped to himself as he joined his fellow Cracked Talon members. Several of them slapped him on the back – or his behind – telling him it was a job well done. As soon as he was done with the standard post-game pleasantries, Walter moved his way over to Maggie and Bloodhound.

“Congratulations, Fitzroy.” Bloodhound acknowledged as the man approached.

Next to them Maggie grumbled. “Don’t say that, you’ll only inflate his too-big ego even more.”

“Too late.” Walter moved to lean against the truck, bumping shoulders with Maggie. “I’m just glad you were paying attention. At least now you know this old dog still has some fight left in him.”

“It was never in doubt.” Bloodhound offered back while Maggie gagged.

Keeping his distance, despite the urge to pat them on the shoulder, Walter grinned. “Awe, Houndy, you’re getting me all misty eyed over here.”

Letting out an exasperated huff, Bloodhound looked away, turning their attention to Artur who had returned. Calling for his owner, he circled around before landing on the ground. In his beak he held a leather wristband with the insignia of the Black Rattler’s stared back at them, a dark omen. For what? They did not yet know.

Regardless, they still elected to still report their findings. “Your adversaries were great in number at this event. They were watching us and will likely be keeping an eye on our movements throughout the evening.”

A pout formed on Walter’s lower lip as he turned to Maggie, tone shifting to a more serious one. “So no drinks then.”

Maggie sighed heavily, turning to her second in command. “Tell our boys to get rounded up, we’re heading home.”

“I’d recommend the contrary.” Bloodhound spoke up before either of the Warlords could speak. “We must do our best to lose their trail before returning to your base.”

“I didn’t take you for the bar hopping type.” Maggie whistled, almost impressed with their line of thinking.

Bloodhound shot her an unenthused look from beneath their mask, before saying, “There is much you do not know about me.”

Walter grinned slyly. “Then it does seem like drinks are in order after all. Same place as usual, aye, Mags?”

“You’re paying.” Maggie shot back moving to the side of the truck to talk to the driver before wordlessly crawling in.

“Follow along, Houndy, I’ll be sure to show you where the fun is at.” Walter patted them on the shoulder before climbing inside to join Maggie.

They found that their shoulder tingled where Walter touched it. Staring down at the joint, they moved back to their bike, wordlessly ordering Artur back to the skies on patrol once more. Zipping through the streets of the city, Bloodhound took in the warm lighting, it was vaguely reminiscent of their home. It wasn’t long before the Cracked Talon vehicles littered the streets, filling every parking stall with their insignia. They bounded into the bar that was labeled under their protection, more than ready to celebrate another victory for their treasured second in command.

The building was steeped in the scent of booze, leather, and vomit. All fitting the setting of the area in which they were roaming, sticking close to those they were familiar with, Bloodhound tucked themself into a booth.

Next to them, Walter flopped down, almost uncomfortably close. “So, what are you drinking?”

Confused as to what the man meant, Bloodhound reeled back slightly. “What?”

“I told ya earlier I’d buy you a drink if you came to see my match, and you did, so I’m here to square up with you.” Walter nudged them slightly on the arm.

“Oh…” Bloodhound let out heavily before readjusting their posture, allowing themself to relax ever so slightly. “I will not be drinking tonight, I have no wishes to do so at the moment, but perhaps another time.”

Without any form of judgement, Walter nodded. “Fair enough, but at least let me get you some sort of refreshment, non-alcoholic of course.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Fitzroy, however I will be alright.” They reached up to tap a finger against their respirator. “Regardless, my equipment is in no state to process fluids at the moment.”

Walter’s brow furrowed, leaning into the hunter’s space. “Aye so you can’t take it off then?”

“I was in an accident during my younger years.” Is the only answer they offer, which Walter accepted contently.

At the very least the man knew when boundaries were set and when to not push. Maggie eventually joined them, the leaders of the Cracked Talon tossing heated words back and forth to one another while Bloodhound distantly listened. At least until the table shook and a stack of tall glasses were brought down upon the table. 

“Three cheers to the man of the hour, our Wally Fitzroy!” Is hooted out by some man in the back before the Cracked Talon began to shoot down their drinks, to which Bloodhound let out an amused huff.

As the celebration died down, the alcohol running dry and merry cheer going thin, it signaled that it was time for the long trudge back to base. Though not before Bloodhound could offer one small toast to their newest ally.

“May your next hunt be as invigorating as your last; may you fight well and true as you did tonight, Walter Fitzroy.” They breathed before slipping away into the night.

Chapter Text

Sliding the final power cell into place, Bloodhound ran their hands across their pants with a sigh. It was late, most of the Cracked Talon were merrily drunk and tucked into their bunks for the night, leaving Bloodhound as one of the only remaining people awake on base. Something hadn’t settled right in their stomach since Artur returned to them as they had left the bar, an ominous glow in the raven’s eye as he landed upon their arm. Of course he meant no ill intent towards them, however something from what they could tell, was very wrong. In all their years together, the raven had never lied, and Bloodhound knew better than to second guess his judgement. 

That is why they were currently boosting Freyja to full power. If there was an emergency, they would be first on the scene, ready to go at a moment's notice. Knowing one of their most trusted allies was watching their back brought Bloodhound a sense of ease, so much so that they allowed themself to submit to the sense of sleep in their bones. Instead of laying in the rickety cot they had been supplied with, they found themself reclining in the metallic palms of a Titan.

Distantly they thought about how it most likely wasn’t any good for their spine, but it wasn’t as though they hadn’t done before. During the war, Freyja was the only shield from the weather they had, not to mention a friendly surface to lie on. They had been used to it, lying on stone floors throughout their youth, however when in the jungles of unfamiliar planets, they weren’t keen on being picked off by creatures that lurked in the underbrush.

As they stretched out, they rested their head upon Freyja’s wrist, staring up into the curious eye of the Titan.

“What is it?” Bloodhound hummed softly, understanding that she may have had a question.

“Do you miss what once was, Pilot?” Freyja inquired as she remained stock still in place.

Furrowing their brow, Bloodhound crossed their arms across their chest, tipping their head back as far as they could. “How do you mean?”

“Do you miss your village and the people there? I do not know what it is like to yearn for something.” Freyja responded in kind, tilting the small apparatus that served as her head.

Frowning to themself, Bloodhound looked down to their lap. “Oftentimes, yes. It was simpler then, full of life and love, but you already know why I cannot return to my commune. That is why I honour the Old Ways whenever I am able to, in my own way.”

“They shun you because you embrace technology.” Freyja clarifies, almost as if saying it to herself.

“Precisely.” Bloodhound murmurs, a yawn on their lips as they lay there. “They presumed I was dead or kidnapped – ran off with a man who led me astray – then returned years later with several tons of metal following after me. I had tried to show them to embrace the ways of the old and the new, however once I was gone, those beliefs never took root. If I remained on Talos, perhaps things would have been different. They do not even care for velafolk such as yourself.”

The Titan paused, thinking, evaluating the human in her hands, already knowing much of what Bloodhound was saying. “You see me as a person, that is why you named me?”

Slowly blinking, Bloodhound shrugged. “To some extent, yes. I named you as a serial number is no way to address a lifelong companion, especially after the bloodshed we have seen.” Letting out a tired sigh, they continued. “When we first met, as you know, I did not think highly of you, but we both have changed since then. You may not have been born from flesh and blood, but you have evolved enough to be more human than some of the men we’ve met. That alone is enough for me.”

With nothing more to say, Freyja lifted her head to look towards the hangar doors. “Rest now, Pilot. I will wake you once it is time for patrol.”

“Góða nótt, Freyja.” Accepting her words easily, Bloodhound nodded as they dipped their chin into the soft furs that hung around their neck.

“Pilot, detecting hostiles in the area.”

They woke up to Artur crowing into their ear and the whole building shaking. From the depths of the concrete hallways around them, shouting filled the night air. Wiping the sleep from their eyes, Bloodhound rolled out of Freyja’s hands and jumped into action. Grabbing the Wingman they had stored beneath their workbench, they slunk across the room, Freyja reaching for her rifle and following suit. Listening closely, Bloodhound crept over to the giant steel doors, pressing their ear to the surface, hearing heavy footfalls pass it by. Artur, on Freyja’s shoulder, made a rough noise, obviously agitated by the ruckus outside.

“Freyja, prepare your particle wall.” When they opened the door, hell was going to rain upon them. “Secure this area, I will help clear the interior and find Maggie and Walter.”

If they were able to direct other Cracked Talon members to this area, the more casualties they could minimize. In their spare hand they readied their axed before pressing their back against the nearest wall and slamming their hand into the bay doors control panel. With a loud groan, followed by the whining of belts, slivers of moonlight began to seep into the room. Taking the opportunity to spread his wings, Artur darted out into open air, ready to provide recon wherever he could. With a steady, electronic whirr, Freyja dropped her particle wall in the newly formed space, the footsteps outside the hangar came to a screeching halt.

“Insignia identified, we are being attacked by the enemy warband Black Rattlers.” Readying her railgun, Freyja heated it, coils sparking as the bottom cell rotated rapidly.

From outside Bloodhound could hear the screams of terror “Is that a bloody Titan?” right as the first, powerful shot sounded.

“I will hold here, best of luck locating Walter Fitzroy and Margaret Kōhere, Pilot.” Freyja spoke as she prepared another railgun strike, aimed at the silhouettes of scrambling Black Rattlers.

“Happy hunting, Freyja, I will see you shortly.” Bloodhound called to their Titan before rushing towards the interior doors. 

Reaching down to their wrist, they opened the small interface that rested upon their left arm. An orange pulse cut through the halls, highlighting any body that produced heat in the area. They saw mass after glowing mass slamming into each other, a brutal and bloody fight as they burst through the doors. Their enemies appeared in their eyes with a red outline, to which they quickly struck them down with well placed shots from their Wingman. Three bodies hit the ground, one of which was a young woman who Bloodhound vaguely recognized as someone they had seen around the base. One of the nearby Cracked Talon soldiers knelt beside her corpse, Bloodhound hadn’t made it in time to save the woman, but her companion let out an enraged screech before throwing himself down the hallway and towards the main fight. 

They were thankful for their training, the close quarters being more their element as they alternated between gun and blade, striking down whomever they could. In this situation, a Smart Pistol would have been ideal, beautiful even, but they had no such luck finding one in the Outlands. Even still, they made do, Talosi obsidian easily crumpling any enemy warrior that stood in their wake. They would start by rushing forward with their inhuman speed, sending a left handed blow into their rival’s stomach, spilling their guts before placing a bullet in their skull. As they ran, they tried saving as many of their newfound comrades as they could, sparing their lives and funneling them towards where Freyja was guarding.

All around Bloodhound, bodies thrashed, the halls getting increasingly tighter, making it hard to avoid elbows and catching a few stray blows. They could see from here the elevator was a lost cause, jammed with men and women alike brawling viciously. As much as they wanted to support, this would only hold them up from their true goal. Bloodhound had to reach Walter and Maggie first, they understood warfare all too well, and if one of their leaders was to fall, the battle would be lost. Their troops would be in disarray, unable to make sense of the situation, there wouldn’t be time for the drive for vengeance to settle in, that is how quickly their ranks would shatter.

Spying an emergency stairwell, red lights gleaming, Bloodhound sucked in a breath before weaving their way through the hoard around them. Even without their jump kit they launched themselves off of walls, slamming their feet on heads and shoulders to make themself an airborne path. As they reached the heavy steel entry, right before they could settle their hand on the handle to shimmy it open, it jolted outwards. It staggered Bloodhound for a moment before they met the eyes of a Black Rattler mercenary who was even more stunned, fear crossing his features as he peered into the black lenses of their goggles. Noting the man's hand on the doorframe, with all their might they forced it shut, crunching his fingers between the latch, causing him to scream in agony. Taking the opportunity while he was incapacitated, they flung it back open, a pinky finger dropping to the floor independent of the rest of his hand, before they sent him off with a round from their sidearm.

Sliding inside, relatively undetected, Bloodhound panted, counting the flights they would have to climb. Looking down to their Wingman, they were running out of ammo, only having a single bullet, right as they went to rifle through their pockets, more people began to rush down. 

Training their pistol on them, they quickly identified them as friendlies, shoulders sagging slightly before yelling. “Get to the hangar – now! Do not wait for anyone!”

“But Mags – Wally–”

“I will get them. Defend the exterior, do not allow more enemies inside!” Bloodhound spat quickly, eyes flickering around the area. 

Shakily nodding, the fighters began to scramble out of the all too small room. As soon as they were gone, Bloodhound returned to their rapid pace. They scaled the stairs with the prowess of a gymnast, clambering up banisters and ricocheting around to cut down the climb. Their muscles began to burn from exertion – in ways they had not felt since engagements they’d been on during the war. Despite high demand for a mercenary of their caliber, very few of their “extra” skills were needed for the odd jobs they worked. Most of their time sonar and hunting skills sufficed, but today they were fully applied.

Reaching the highest level, they slammed their hand down onto the interface on their left wrist. Instantly a pulse of orange light bounded out, capturing enemies and friendlies alike. If you had a heat signature, there was no hiding from them. Right through the door registered an enemy, holstering their Wingman, they readied their axe in their dominant hand. From the other side the door shuddered, they were able to infer they must’ve been pushed right up against it. Good. Grabbing onto the handle as quietly as they could, they flung the door open, causing the man to instantly tumble backwards. Before the man could hit the floor, they grabbed him, clamping their free hand over his mouth and using the underside of their axe to slit his throat. 

Using the man's body as a momentary shield, they shoved the corpse into two additional enemy mercenaries who had witnessed their companions' demise. The meeker looking of the two squealed in fear as they were splattered with blood, unprepared for Bloodhound’s next attack. In their mind, they sighed to themself, almost in disappointment as they efficiently took them out. This was yet again another unremarkable, quick, set of kills. The Black Rattler’s were significantly lower skilled than Bloodhound, trained in street tactics rather than active combat, but they were vast in numbers. No matter how many they carved through, there seemed to always be more.

Flying through another wave of enemies, Bloodhound heard relieved shouts from some Cracked Talon members as they passed. They were now nearing the hideout's main recreation space for higher ranking crew members. They were so close they could almost taste it.

“Oh thank the Gods that the Pilot is here–” One woman yelled as she did her best to defend the entry.

Maggie’s rough voice came through the ajar blast door, “About bloody time!”

Sliding underneath the hatch, Bloodhound rolled into the room with ease. Maggie meanwhile smashed her nail studded bat into a man's skull, beating his body without mercy. Walter on the other hand had himself braced around a pillar, taking shots with his 30-30 Repeater, trying to pick off whoever he could. The pair were more than capable fighters, holding their position until extra help could arrive, making Bloodhound the slightest bit relieved.

All around the common area, windows had been entirely blown in, and abandoned lines meant for repelling danced in the desert wind. The enemy warband must’ve attacked from any and all possible angles they could while they had the element of surprise.

“You’re a sight for sore eye, Houndy.” Walter quipped over his shoulder before returning his attention to the mayhem below. “What's the plan then, cuz going out the front door is going to be suicide!”

“No shit!” Maggie snapped back as she stuck her bat to her hip and kicked a shotgun up into her hands, straight off the floor.

The Pilot let out a quiet huff. “We are running out of time. I have Freyja guarding the back and have directed the others to her.”

Maggie scowled, pumping the bolt. “You can’t expect us to worm our way back through there, we’ll be minced meat before we even get through the first set of doors. I consider it a minor miracle you’re even standing here.”

Shuffling over to the window, Bloodhound carefully inspected the ground for heat signatures before grabbing onto one of the ropes hanging in front of them. Giving it a firm tug, they knew it was fastened into place. Sending off another sonar burst, they scanned the roof above them, no signs of life. Perfect.

“We won't have to. Artur will help guide our way.” Calling out into the night, the flapping of feathers quickly approached. “Come.”

Under the moonlight they caught the glossy glint of his body, Artur happy to be in the action. The raven knew how to execute his job perfectly, zipping up to find them a clear path. As he surveyed around them, Bloodhound swung out on the rope, hands gripping it tighter than death as they began to shimmy up the six or so feet to the lowest part of the roof. Swinging themself up, they rolled to their feet, scanning the area before leading the way across the sand covered roof. All Black Rattler’s who had infiltrated from above had moved away, probably to try and deal with Freyja. Behind them, Bloodhound heard Maggie and Walter’s boots hit the cement behind them, followed by the other young mercenary who had greeted them.

Alongside them Artur flew, helping them navigate through a maze of air filtration systems and thick beams, finding the path of least resistance. Compared to their earlier trip, this was a cake walk, they cleared through entire sectors of the base in seconds before leading up to the thick walls of the bay. From here they could hear the static from a railgun blast, meaning Freyja was still holding strong. As they met the edge of the building they came to a screeching halt, rocks falling down from the steep ledge. Below them, as predicted was their ever loyal Titan doing her finest work. Despite her best efforts however, it was becoming more obvious this could be a losing battle

Gritting her teeth, Maggie started towards a steep embankment. “We need to get down there – I’m sending out my wrecking ball. Wally, mortar them!”

“On it!” The man called back, removing the heavy weapon free from his back with a purr, lining up his best shot.

Pulling the ripcord on a device she pulled from her waist, down went Maggie’s wrecking ball. The ball spat fire as it rolled, discharging small chunks with speed boosters inside. As she charged, more flames descended, cordoning off some of the Black Rattlers from one another, whilst burning a few strays alive. 

“Freyja!” Bloodhound called as they jumped down from the highest point.

Walter who had been behind them shouting distantly, “Are you crazy?!”

Instantly snapping to attention, the Titan whirled around, opening one of her gigantic hands wide and plucked them from the air. In one fluid motion she opened up her cockpit and deposited Bloodhound inside. Instantly their hands were on the controls as the display began to light up, displaying what was outside of Freyja.

“Welcome back, Pilot.” The Titan greeted, marking enemies for them as they heated up her weapon to rip off an earth shattering blast. “Tracking – targets to the east.”

Five heavy armored vehicles rapidly approached, carving through the sand, with chain guns mounted to the top firing rapidly. The bullets bounded off of Freyja’s hull, however in their gut, Bloodhound knew it would not be long before anti-Titan weapons would arrive. Gritting their teeth, Bloodhound whirled them around, dropping another particle wall to provide further cover.

“Our position is compromised, taking damage, Pilot.” Freyja automatically chimed, one of the many things built into her code. “Tracker rockets prepared.”

A white outline appeared, locking onto all five of the trucks. Inputting the command, from Freyja’s right shoulder a small arm flipped out, loaded with missiles. Thumbing open the cap on the control stick, Bloodhound pressed down, sending a volley of rockets towards the Black Rattlers. The projectiles spread out across the night sky, lighting up the ground, only the mere silhouettes of mercenaries scrambling to stay alive were visible. 

Pushing ahead, Bloodhound chose to ignore the foot soldiers and press ahead to deal with the trucks. Bodies dove out of their way instinctively as their bullets only bounced off like rain. Reaching the foremost truck, that was already in part a burning husk, they flipped it into their Titans hands before smashing it down onto the vehicle parked behind it.

“Two enemy vehicles eliminated.” Freyja reported as she scanned the wreckage for any signs of life.

Before they could lumber any further, the truck taking up the rear had a head pop out from the sun roof with an EPG in their hands. Unable to move in time, Freyja took the damage head on, critical enough to make her whistle and whirr as her armor peeled away. Right now they weren’t willing to allow her to fall in battle, the Titan was Bloodhound’s greatest asset. Backing off, they dodged another three incoming blasts to varying degrees of success. While they were preoccupied, the two middle trucks saw an opportunity to split off, taking their chance to scamper away.

“Freyja, I’m going to disembark and eliminate the rocket user. Prepare to throw me on my mark.” Bloodhound shimmied out of their seat, knees bent and ready to be ejected. “Now!”

Just as fast as they were put into the Titan’s hull, they were flung back out, tossed like a fast ball with their axe in their hand. They landed on the hood of the truck, stepping up and cracking the windshield under their heel. From here they could see the driver was dead, the passenger was stuck between their seat and the dash, while the gunner scrambled to try and reload their weapon. Intending to take them out swiftly, they were disrupted as one of the other trucks hit the wall near the hangar, exploding in glorious fashion. 

“Kelly’s here!” Rumbled through the night, Bloodhound could have nearly sworn they picked up Maggie’s voice.

As the gunner fumbled with the large cartridges to the EPG, he made the split second decision to switch to his pistol, firing and hitting Bloodhound in their belly plate. They let out a groan as the shock reverberated through their body, their mind still split between the two situations around them. Shaking their head, they distantly registered that their axe had greeted another man's throat before quickly sliding off the side of the truck, leaving the other mercenary still trapped inside, left to rot.

Rushing over, they quickly had to dodge as the remaining truck swooped in with the same tactic, trying to act as a last effort to cause as much harm as possible. Freyja tried to grab onto the truck as it went by her, but she narrowly missed, her finger making contact with one of the rear tires, sending it spinning before it smashed into the other side of the hangar doors, causing them to droop.

Still trying to approach Bloodhound came to a halt as people scrambled past, calling for them to get back. The Cracked Talon members who had been taking shelter in the area screamed and scattered right as another explosion ripped off, the shockwave was strong enough to send Bloodhound’s feet sliding backwards. The trucks must have been rigged – or at the very least carrying a substantial amount of munitions. Embers rained down upon them, but even still, they felt the drive to push forward. Artur was alongside them, screeching as they went, obviously wanting the hunters attention. Amongst the many things that had gone wrong that night, something even worse awaited them. The last standing Black Rattler’s moved into the hangar before the smoke lifted as Bloodhound tailed them.

Side stepping bodies, Bloodhound tried to find any familiar faces, uncertain of who had survived the blast. Artur remained determined, making sure Bloodhound was right behind him. As the smog began to lift, they found Maggie on her knees, gripping her shoulder with a rough cough. Instantly they dropped a knee next to her, listening closely, scouring her for injuries.

“Crazy bastard.” The woman groaned, using the back of her hand to wipe away blood from her lip. “They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill me. Kelly, their leader, has shown his ugly mug and I’m not letting him get away. Are you with me, Hound?”

“It is part of the job.” Bloodhound replied, twirling their axe.

She smiled sharply, golden tooth glinting. “Good. Now show me what I spent all that money on.”

Staggering to her feet, Maggie growled before pulling an LMG that she presumably looted off of someone, into her hands. Alongside one another, they were a blaze tearing through the scene. Maggie took out anyone who was mid to far range while Bloodhound silenced those who got bold and wanted to test their luck with close quarters combat. Together they whirled around each other, Maggie pulling Bloodhound out of the line of fire while they blocked baseball bats and crowbars meant for her head. As they moved, they felt a subtle creak in their blade as its red eyes gleamed, demanding more blood. 

Behind them, Freyja finished securing the rear as they moved interior once more. Fallen comrades littered the floor, some trying to crawl away while others finished taking out the rival warband. Bloodhound couldn’t catalog all of who were injured, though one of them stood out. Beneath a beam that had collapsed laid Walter, a pool of blood beneath him. Maggie must have caught on at the same time as they had as she let out an enraged scream. For all the fire within her, she was deeply loyal, able to set aside her current goal for her family. 

She did not hesitate before running over to him, while Bloodhound stayed stock still, eyes combing the room. Something wasn’t right. After their last display of force, the Black Rattlers effectively rolled over and accepted defeat, a far cry from their earlier aggression. Not to mention their leader was supposedly here, though none of the deceased stood out, and they were certain that if Sandringham Kelly were to have fallen, everyone would know by now.

That’s when it struck them. Walter was bait.

From the rafters they caught a glint of red, a hulking man precariously perched from above. He wore an outfit akin to a military officer, but with the way he wore it, it was evident he was anything but. They could see it in his eyes, sitting below the surface that this man was a ruthless killer, a ruler with an iron first. In his hands was a katar with a laser edge, ready to slice into anything that got in its way. Bloodhound knew in that moment what was to come.

Sprinting forward, they readied Raven’s Bite in their hands, prepared to meet the brunt of the assassins strike. Their arms strained as the man's weight bore down upon them, catching him before he could reach Maggie and Walter. Letting out a shout, they felt the man's blade slipping against the axe head. Red light spat out as the weapons grinded against one another before the katar rolled off the edge of the axe, dropping down onto the neck, digging into the obsidian. To their horror, chips began to fly free from their treasured tool, splintering as it gave its last breaths to defend its owner. Unable to move Bloodhound was now a passenger of fate once more. In an instant Raven’s Bite shattered, head snapping messily away from the rest of its body. 

Both chunks clattered to the floor, just out of range of their fingertips. Searing pain crossed their torso as the weapon dug into their chest plate, kissing against their skin, severing the tubes to their respirator in the process. Panic crossed their mind for a fraction of a second as the man pushed down, until they found it in them to reach into their holster and fire off the final bullet hidden inside their Wingman. 

They caught the man in the shoulder, forcing him to reel back and stagger away, blood dripping down his front. 

“Take this as a lesson and stay out of our way.” He spat as he stared at the trio spread across the floor.

Maggie roared behind them, charging forwards and firing at the man as he slunk away. ”Kelly!”

Clamping their hand around the breach in the lining of their respirator, Bloodhound rolled onto their side with a wince. Their chest rattled as distress filled their body, staring down to their broken axe, the last tie they had to their uncle. With their free hand they scooped up the pieces shakily as they got onto their knees. Before them landed Artur who screamed at them in distress, pecking at the pieces in their fists, making tears threaten to bubble out of their eyes. The raven stared at them somberly, just as he had when their uncle had cast them away from their village.

“Pilot, your suit is breached. I have emergency tubing inside my first aid kit.” Freyja filed in behind them, her heavy footfalls alerting them to her presence.

Getting to their feet, they hazily looked around, Maggie quickly reappearing with a handful of others. Tracking her movements, their eyes settled on Walter once more, the man finally returning to consciousness, however a few feet away lay his severed right arm. He coughed roughly as he gripped onto his wounded shoulder, uttering garbled words. Bloodhound frowned heavily as they limped over to Freyja, trying to keep their shaking fist steady. They propped themself on her fractured hull as they felt around for the med kit and pulled out the lining for a replacement.

“Pilot your axe-”

“Not now, Freyja, please.” Bloodhound grit out through hard, clenched teeth, their blistered skin aching as they breathed.

The Titan conceded before placing her large hand on Bloodhound’s back for extra support. It was the most comfort a machine of her size could offer.

Swearing, Maggie ran a hand through her hair as Walter was loaded onto a stretcher. “Everyone, pack up, now! You’ve got five minutes otherwise we’re leaving you behind. This base has been compromised, we need to go.”

No one was in a state to disagree with her. Instantly those who were able bodied were helping gather supplies, ready transport vehicles, and tending to the injured. Nothing needed to be said between them as Maggie passed by, her eyes said it all, a silent offering of respect and gratitude. Loading themself into the damaged frame of their Titan, Bloodhound prepared themself for a long walk. The need for concealment and secrecy was long gone. By day break almost every corner of Salvo would know that they were haunting it.

Unfortunately, they were right. The hike to their next safe house was long, humid, hot, and miserable. Too much was on Bloodhound’s mind, gone was the focus of the fabled hunter, and in its place was the doubtful mind of their teenage years. The physical pain was bearable, but the mental anguish of losing their most prized possession was immense. Their wounds would heal and their compromised gear had been replaced, but still their heart ached. That was one thing Bloodhound had never mastered – how to cope with their grief. They agonized over it, shutting down to silence even when Freyja tried prompting them with questions, trying to gauge where her Pilot was at.

They spoke to no one in the following days, simply worked on repairing their Titan, painting over battle scars and replacing damaged components. Some parts were harder to come by than others, reminding them to possibly contact Jaime and Loba for a resupply. In the coming days they knew there would be more skirmishes demanding their attention. It had become a recurrent theme of the Black Rattler’s picking off small groups of Cracked Talon that were on supply runs or patrols, then slinking away to lick their wounds. Bloodhound periodically would make an appearance to warn them away. Apparently they had made quite the statement during their first engagement.

Occasionally they’d eavesdrop on passing conversations, reports of what Maggie was planning, updates on how Walter was healing, and other gossip in between. They still had yet to confront either of the warlords, not out of shame, but out of exhaustion. They were doing their job and that was enough. The last thing they needed was emotional entanglement and yet… There they found themself outside the door of a makeshift hospital room.

Scuffing their boots against the floor they finally mustered the drive to open the door as a medic shuffled by them with a sidelong glance. Slowly the door rolled open in front of them, revealing Maggie sitting in an old lawn chair of sorts, boots resting on the lip of the hospital bed as she sipped from the beer bottle in her hand, watching the muted television. Next to her, Walter snored loudly, apparently the drugs they had him on were helping the man get some much needed beauty rest. The vitals monitor steadily beeped, showing that everything was nice and level, nothing of dire concern. 

“You finally come looking for orders, Hound?” Maggie sharply looked over her shoulder, dark circles resting beneath her eyes.

“You could say something like that.” Bloodhound responded as they shut the door with a firm click.

Maggie lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a long drink before responding. “Well I ain’t got nothing for you. Walter’s down for at least three months if we’re lucky, even longer if we can’t manufacture him a new arm. All the while Kelly’s getting more cocky and pretending he knows how to play the game of politics.”

Settling against the wall, Bloodhound let out a small huff, processing all of the new updates. “Then I suppose I will continue to do as I am paid to do.”

The woman snorted roughly. “Damn right you will, would kill you if you did anything less.” She then went quiet, tapping her ring finger on the glass in her hand. “He’s a sorry sight, ain’t he? First his eye and now his arm, old man’s having a hard time keeping himself in one piece. Maybe if he’d listen to me more–” She ended her rant with a rough sigh. “Right now would be a perfect chance to show the planet Kelly’s real colors. He blew the arm off of Salvo’s darling pit fighter and if Wally came out with a statement admonishing the bastard, then the masses would turn on him. It’d be night and day.”

“He already told you no.” Bloodhound mildly replied, unsurprised based on their prior conversation.

“Of bloody course he did, the selfish dick.” Maggie spat back bitterly. “There’s a reason I upped his sleeping meds an hour ago.”

She slowly got to her feet, rolling her legs off the lip of the bed and stretching her back out. Bloodhound quietly watched as she threw her bottle into the garbage can and moved to the door. Frustration marred her features as she navigated the room, it practically radiated off of her. Yet under the surface she had an air of listlessness, uncertain of what was to come in the near future. Turning to the vitals monitor, Bloodhound skimmed the information before turning back to track Maggie's movements once more.

“I leave him to you.” She half heartedly spoke as she disappeared, deciding that she had more productive things to do than seethe.

As soon as the door rattled shut, Bloodhound snorted softly, counting as the footsteps paced away from the medical wing. “She’s gone now.”

Immediately Walter’s eye popped open. “Thank whoever is out there that's holy.”

“You were pretending to be asleep.” Bloodhound spoke matter-of-factly, crossing their arms.

“Yeah well, I was tired of listening to her and she was tired of listening to me. Mags might be as sharp as a whip in a brawl but she ain’t no doctor.” Walter quipped, stretching out painfully, wincing as he jarred his bandaged side. “Have you ever heard of an opossum? I was playin’ dead and after a while I was startin’ to think she’d never leave.”

“Hm.” Bloodhound raised an eyebrow before moving to sit in the chair the aforementioned woman once occupied.

Walter smiled at the gesture, skin slightly pale and stubble growing in. “Eh, all things considered I think it turned out alright in the end, got you to come and see me. I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

“In truth, I myself am surprised.” They murmured as they settled into their seat, the faintest notion of a smile on their lips.

“Ach, you wound me.” Walter sighed dramatically before bursting into laughter. “I getcha though, really, I do. You don’t really know any of us so you aren’t obligated to come and see how your old pal Fusey is doing when you only just met me a few weeks back. I may be old, but I’m not delusional, I get that we’re not mates yet, so don’t sweat it if you were, I can’t really tell with the mask in all, but I just have a feeling.”

The ‘yet’ rang in their ears, something about it reminding them of a man long ago. How similar words rolled off of that charlatan’s tongue, worming his way into their heart. 

Clearing their throat, Bloodhound picked at frayed strings on their gloves. “I appreciate the consideration, Walter Fitzroy.”

Grinning back the man reached for the television remote, unmuting it, and flicking it to some random program. “What do we have here?”

A sandy canyon appeared on screen, a female announcer excitedly narrating the actions happening. They were familiar with this – the Apex Games – not only that but they knew the arena in which they fought. The memories that clawed at the edges of their mind made them shudder, something which Walter did not miss, but again did not comment on. On the screen, a woman launched forward a barrage of smoke canisters, charging in with a larger man with a gun shield generator and a young woman with ghastly eyes. They descended upon another group of three gladiators, firing rapidly and ruthlessly as they knocked them down one by one.

“Now that's more like it.” Walter purred, eye sparkling as he watched the brutality ensue. “The Bonecage is great, don’t get me wrong, but this is where it's at with arena fighting. The Apex bloody Games, the biggest stage a man could stand on.”

Tilting their head to the side, Bloodhound made a vague noise of agreement. “Once I had considered entering my name.”

“Really? I didn’t take you for the fame driven type.” Walter breathed in awe, still wistfully watching along.

“I am not, but there were other reasons why I was tempted.” Bloodhound turned their attention to the window. “It does not matter now. I have other priorities.”

“Heh, yeah I reckon flaunting Freyja would be a bit bad for business.” Walter replied, tipping his head further into the pillows. “For me, I just want to get off of Salvo. I’m tired of all this – no not tired – bored. I’ve been doing this merc business since I was in me teenage years, I need something else, something more. The Bonecage was good for awhile, but after seeing these guys? I realized it called to me.”

Bloodhound frowned, watching as Walter’s face screwed up in frustration, almost mimicking Maggie.

“Let me tell you something now, and you can’t tell a soul otherwise Mags will skin me. I don’t think you will but, here goes… I wanted to be like them – to join ‘em y’know? I was damn near close to signing a contract with the commissioner.”

“For that to have happened, Salvo would have to become Syndicate space first you’re not saying you were going to–” They were cut off.

“Work with Kelly? Damn near rolled over right into his palm. Well, not directly, but you get the idea, I’d have to endorse the annexation of Salvo and all of that. The people would hate me, Maggie would hate me, and all of that.” The man sighed heavily with the shake of his head. “I know it ain’t right of me to throw this all aside for my own gain but that doesn’t mean I’m happy. The saying has always gone that Maggie will follow the cause and I will follow the fun. Seems like that last bit hasn’t been coming to fruition lately. It’s why I’m not letting Mags use me for any of her propaganda pieces, I’m not here to tie myself down with politics and dig myself into something bigger than myself. I just want to do whatever the hell I want, eat, and drink until the end of my days, keeping things nice and convenient for myself.”

The hunter was slightly taken aback, staring at the bedridden Walter. “I see.”

Grimacing, Walter pursed his lips. “I think that you can appreciate that freedom means something different for all of us.” Turning the TV off he continued. “I won’t lie to you, the only reason I stayed around was cuz I knew you were coming.”

They scrunched their face up. “Why me?”

The man shrugged as best as he could. “Figured things would get interesting with a Titan around, and granted, they did. Thought I’d try giving myself one last good adventure here before making any hard decisions. Thinking was never one of my strong suits.”

Despite their initial efforts, it seemed these Salvonians were intent on dragging Bloodhound into their personal drama. 

Biting at their dry lips, Bloodhound wasn’t sure what else to offer the man. Comfort? That did not seem to be what he was seeking. Understanding? They could not claim to align themself fully with the ideology of forsaking your world to a tyrannical government. Scolding? No, he was far too self aware of his actions for that. Then perhaps a new ear to listen to him? To properly try and hear what he was saying.

Carefully wording their statement as though they were on a minefield they replied. “Then I suppose I should consider myself lucky I am graced with your presence.” They stopped to swallow thickly as Walter snorted, amused by their words. “For now I can only advise you to rest. You have a long road to recovery ahead of you, regardless of what you decide in the future, Fitzroy.”

Walter seemed relieved. “Thanks mate. Don’t worry, I’ll be taking care of myself until my new arm comes in. When it gets here, I hope you wouldn’t mind if I came downstairs to bother you. It’ll take some getting used to and some fine tuning, maybe you could help me out. You seem relatively tech savvy and you could also show me some sweet as axe tricks.”

Instantly Bloodhound froze, their mouth going dry, hands subtly quaking. “Unfortunately, I believe that is not a possibility.”

“What – why? Did I do something? I mean more than the obvious.” Walter gestured to his missing appendage, fully sat up in surprise.

Sighing heavily, Bloodhound ashamedly spoke. “Did Maggie not tell you?”

The man’s brows furrowed heavily, concerned for them. “No, truth be told in between our bickering I haven’t heard much of anything.”

“When we found you, we were attacked by whom I infer was Sandringham Kelly. In the process, my axe was broken and in my moment of weakness I was injured.” Bloodhound admitted, the words sitting thickly on their tongue. “It is unbefitting of a warrior such as myself, I should not have been as sloppy as I was–”

“Woah, woah, woah Houndy, calm down there mate.” Walter tried, speaking straight from his heart. “No need to be so hard on yourself. You kept us all alive that night, you should be proud. If anything I should be down by your boots groveling for saving my sorry skin.”

Shaking their head slowly, Bloodhound grit their teeth. “There is no need for such a thing, Walter Fitzroy. I merely fear that this is a sign from the Allfather – that I have passed a point I can no longer return from.”

To them, Raven’s Bite was more than just an axe. It was a symbol of their heritage they were proud to wield and now it was fractured beyond anything they had ever seen.

“I don’t like thinking in terms of absolutes, mate.” Walter began to console them. “I’ve met a lot of people in this life and to me it's very rare that someone gets to that point of no return. You ain’t one of those people, that's for bloody sure. You’re just a misfit like the rest of us, but I’m certain if you put your mind to it, you’ll be able to find your footing. After all, aren’t you supposed to be one of the greatest trackers in the Outlands? Getting back on the right path should be easy for you.”

Bloodhound breathed as they met the man's gaze. “I pray that you are right.” 

They desperately wanted to believe Walter’s words but a pit still sat in their gut, something that would remain for the months to come.

Chapter Text

“You need to be more careful, the craftsmanship of this prosthetic is inspired... to say the least.” Bloodhound grumbled as they unwound their soldering iron.

“It’s the price I gotta pay if I want this puppy to throw knuckle clusters for me.” Walter rumbled as he laid out his new appendage for the pilot to examine. “Besides, when else am I supposed to come bother you?”

Bloodhound scoffed lightly as they adjusted their goggles, Artur flapping over to rummage through their small trolley of tools. “Whenever I am not preoccupied.”

Rolling his eyes Walter grumbled as he helped open up one of the wiring compartments. “You’re always busy, Maggie’s got you running around out there all day everyday.”

“You forget that it is what I am paid to do.” Bloodhound responded, voice warm as they finally began to set to work on the man's metallic arm.

“Yeah, well, doing this whole warfare thing for two months straight outta be exhausting.” Walter huffed grouchily. “I just got back out there causing chaos and I’m already tired!”

All things considered the man had made leaps and bounds in his healing. Three months was cut down to two with him actually adhering to a medical plan, as well as the Cracked Talon raiding a Silva Pharmaceuticals shipment that was refueling nearby.

Humming softly Bloodhound kept their hands steady as they worked. “Do not worry for me, Walter Fitzroy, I am well seasoned.”

“I ain’t worried for you mate, I’m worried about myself!” Walter cried, as always with good humor beneath his dramatic antics. “You’ve got Freyja to take care of you, I’m not so lucky.”

They chuckled beneath their respirator. “That is only if I remain in her good graces. Recently I believe we have been testing those limits.”

“Your unconventional warfare tactics are less than optimal.” Freyja commented from the corner she was prescribed to rest. “I carry concern that this recklessness will result in harm and result in conflict with my internal protocols.”

“You worry like a mother hen.” Bloodhound waved over their shoulder, but in reality they couldn’t particularly disagree with her.

Things had been getting harder with every week that ran by. It was getting more difficult to find resources and defend strongholds. Even if a Titan and pilot were a match unlike any other, they could only do so much. Trying to sway half a planet into submission was beyond the scope of what they could do alone.

“What I say is purely factual.” Freyja robotically replied, blue eye flickering in a way that could be perceived as irritation. “Our combat efficiency rating has decreased since our arrival to this planet.”

Bloodhound looked over their shoulder, the beads on their helmet jingling quietly. That fact was hard to ignore, even Walter’s face fell at the Titan’s words. This was a losing battle. While they had taken steps forward, Kelly took leaps and bounds, beating them to the finish line more often than not. Bloodhound speculated that it was in part due to the Syndicate getting involved behind the scenes. They were likely funding him under the table until the formal treaty could be ratified, something that was becoming increasingly more likely as the days went by. That’s not to say that they didn’t put up a fight. These had been the bloodiest months Bloodhound and Freyja had seen since the end of the war. Each day in and out they came home with more fresh wounds. 

For them it was a cycle of heal, fight, heal, fight, over and over again. Though even now they could tell that these methods were unsustainable. The heat protectant plating on Freyja’s exterior had largely cracked away, making any future orbital drops exceedingly risky unless repaired. Her batteries were also becoming dangerously drained, only ever half charged when they were lucky enough to route power to her. Even then the cores of those batteries were getting worn down with each use and needed to be changed out. This also didn’t even begin to consider the laundry list of armaments that were in dire need of restocking either.

Not only that, but they hadn’t been doing their best work lately. Apparently their axe breaking was tied to that of their mind. Constantly they found themself making rash, anger filled decisions, costing them in varying degrees each time.

“I know.” Bloodhound finally responded, their voice going quiet. 

She tilted her head again, scanning them up and down from where they sat. “We will correct this statistic soon once repairs are completed.”

“Hell yeah.” Walter whooped encouragingly. “That’s the right mentality to have.”

Raising their eyebrows, Bloodhound turned back to their work, chewing on their cheek. It was good to have an outlet to focus on, it helped keep their mind quiet and rational.

“She’s not wrong, y’know, Houndy.” Walter spoke, his breath gently shifting the furs they wore around their neck. “This’ll all turn out alright in the end, one way or another.”

Freyja shifted with a clunk behind them. “That is an exaggeration of my words-”

“Hey now, let me finish. Turn that little logic center off for a moment. Screw the stats and how this all looks, it’ll all come together in the end. No matter how bad it looks, through divine intervention or human willpower, it will work out.” Walter continued, trying to maintain the position of the optimist. “You both know that, being Militia. That Jack Cooper worked a minor miracle, so maybe you can too.”

Bloodhound set down their tools as they finished manipulating one of the cords back into place. “You put too much faith into someone such as myself.”

“Have to believe in something at the end of the day.” Walter moved his arm out of their grasp, working the fingers. “If not you, then I have to hope that Maggie has something up her sleeve. Speaking of which, we shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees while Bloodhound got to their feet. Offering their hand out to him, the man accepted, being pulled to his feet with ease. Artur, with a bolt in his beak, flapped his wings to sit on Bloodhound’s shoulders, nuzzling into the leather of their cap. Following Walter, they navigated the dark, molding, hallways of the base they were currently residing in. They could practically taste the moisture and permanent stench of alcohol that hung in the air. Together they found their way to the bar entrance where Maggie was most commonly found. When the heavy gated doors lifted, the room was deathly silent as the large holographic screen blared. It was deeply unsettling, making a pit form in Bloodhound’s gut instantly.

“A merger has been formed between Sandringham Kelly and the Mercenary Syndicate. In the absence of other Warlords, Kelly has announced that he is to take leadership of Salvo. This campaign comes in announcement after frequent, aggressive, skirmishes between rival warband, now labeled terrorist organization, the Cracked Talon. Kelly aims to put an end to Salvo’s history of violence with the support of the unified Outlands government. He claims that due to the negligence of Margaret Kōhere Salvo has been left to suffer. Kelly cites her current avoidance of public engagement as ammunition in his declaration as well as the Cracked Talon’s urban warfare tactics, leading to civilian casualties.” The woman on the screen announced, voice bordering on solemn. “It is estimated that by this winter at latest, Salvo will fully enter Syndicate space under a full treaty.”

As soon as the screen flicked to advertisements, Maggie roared, throwing a bottle into the wall and flipping over the table in front of her. Artur startled from the commotion and took towards the open window. Walter winced ever so slightly, reaching up to fiddle with the golden grenade that sat around his neck. They had noticed him wearing it after his injury, but did not inquire as to where it had come from.

“Traitor!” She screeches amongst a cacophony of other things before whipping around. “He’s trying to hand our planet over on a silver platter right from underneath us. All this is going to do is fracture us even more! Unifying Salvo, my arse. He’ll have to kill me first before I give in.”

Bloodhound placed a hand on their hip. “The people will not take kindly to this, there will be revolts.”

Things like these had popped up throughout all of human history and this was no exception.

“But with the Syndicate backing him – this is going to be a tall order.” Walter remarked, eye flickering down to his boots. 

Maggie growled, baring her teeth. “So what are you suggesting? Just give up? God, you’re getting to be no better than those bootlickers.”

“What I’m saying is that they’ve labeled you a terrorist and if we don’t lay low they’re going to stop at nothing to capture and execute you.” Walter exasperatedly exclaimed. “This ain’t a fight you want to go picking right now.”

“Right now is the only time to do it, otherwise we’ve lost. Right now we have the best shot as ever with a Pilot and while the Syndicate pigs haven’t moved in yet.” Maggie shouted, anger rolling off of her in waves as she wildly gestured.

Her anger must have riled Walter up as well since he yelled back. “I know you're pissed but Christ you’re just going to get more people killed Mags! Use your bloody head! Making choices like these after getting that news dropped on us is the worst thing you could do.”

Growling the woman stepped forward, invading Walter’s space, crowding him. “Then you just expect us to sit here like ducks and wait to be slaughtered? Hell no. There’s a reason I’m the one calling the shots Wally, and you’ll fall in line. Grab your gear and tell the boys to load up, it's about time that we saw how well that arm of yours works now.” She then turned to Bloodhound. “You know what to do.”

Lifting a hand to their headset they spoke, eyes shifting down to the floor. “Freyja, prepare for battle.”

“Pilot, my hull has sustained critical damage that has yet to be repaired, are you sure?” The Titan radioed back, her voice sounded as concerned as it could be.

Walter whipped around to catch them by the wrist, face stretched in shock. “Houndy – no – this is absurd. Don’t listen to Mags, she’s lost it!”

“Walter, stay out of this! If you’re taking an issue with my orders then you can go mope elsewhere but keep out of my way.” Maggie spat, pulling him off of Bloodhound. “They can make calls for themself.”

Sighing heavily, their shoulders were filled with tension as they responded to Freyja. “I fear we have little choice.”

Their ribs ached as they stumbled out of the cockpit of their Titan, blood trickled down from their nose and into their mouth, and the lens of one of their goggles was smashed in. Behind them Freyja toppled over onto the floor with a heavy thud, she was running out of power. Not only that but she had entire hydraulic hoses ripped from her sides. Apparently the Black Rattler’s had taken a page out of the IMC’s playbook and learned how to try and rodeo Titans. Thankfully they were unsuccessful, but it was a near thing. Bloodhound had warned them away by ejecting themself and taking the fight on the back of their Titan, only to have an unfortunate tumble to the ground immediately following. Thankfully Artur had caught the attention of Maggie and Walter who were able to provide cover fire as they picked themself up off the ground.

As they collected themself, Walter and Maggie were hot on their heels while the bay doors behind them rolled shut. They had won, barely, but at what cost. 

“Good work out there.” Maggie panted, grime covering her face as she rubbed the back of her gloved hand across her forehead. 

Walter shot her a lethal glare before moving over to Bloodhound’s side. “Shit, Houndy, you good?”

With a groan they waved the man away. “I am – I will be fine Fitzroy.”

The man, as always, was insistent. “You should let a doctor check you out or something. I saw that tumble you took and–”

“ Nei . I have been through far worse, I merely need rest.” They limped forward to the nearest seat they could find, body screaming at them.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Walter hissed to no one in particular.

Maggie crossed her arms, electing to ignore her friend. “When can I expect you back at full strength?”

“Can’t you give them a break?” Walter hollered in their defense, arms flung out to his sides animatedly.

“I have a war to win! I can’t afford any setbacks.” Maggie snapped, finally paying Walter some mind. 

Reaching up to pull away broken chunks of glass from their face, Bloodhound made a noise of discomfort before speaking. “Freyja is far from fighting condition, she requires extensive repairs. I will contact Miss Andrade to see what she can bring to me as some parts are becoming exceedingly rare.”

“What about yourself, mate?” Walter asked, pressing them on the issue once more.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Bloodhound began. “As I said, I am alright-”

Freyja from the corner lifted her torso to better view the humans. “My Pilot has sustained serious injury to their person. It is advised they are treated medically as upon first analysis it is likely they have broken multiple ribs and massive bruising that is at risk of forming blood clots.”

“Heimskr machine keep your-” Bloodhound tried to cut her off, only for a twinge of lightning to shoot up their side, causing them to double over.

Walter winced, almost as if he were watching a wild animal struggle. “See I told you, you don’t gotta play tough all of the time, Houndy.” He paused before looking over his shoulder. “Maggie for the love of god make yourself useful and go get some bloody help. It's the least you can do after today's shit-show.”

Maggie scoffed in response before coming over to elbow Walter in the side. “Fine, but just know that this ain’t over.”

Shaking his head with a sigh, Walter watched as Maggie slunk out of the room. “Someone will bring a med kit around soon. I can get you some ice or something.”

He stared into their bruised eye, frozen irises with specks of red from years of steroid use. They were certain the man could see the exhaustion that sat beneath the surface of their pain. 

“I grow weary, Fitzroy, I can care for myself until whatever medic you conjure for me comes.” Bloodhound breathed raggedly, holding on tightly to their sides for support. 

They had been doing it for years. Plucking bullets out from beneath their skin, applying balms to sores, bathing in ice to settle bruises, and suturing edges of torn flesh shut. After forty years of abuse they were a collage of scar tissue and they had learned to manage it as well as anyone could. 

Besides, they were not friends, friendly yes, but merely allies, nothing more, no matter what Fitzroy’s soft spot for them claimed. He was being more kind than some of the men they had known in the past, but it was a line they dared not cross once more. Professional entanglement in their life often had lethal results.

The older man scuffed his boots against the concrete of the floor. “Right.” Walter looked like a kicked puppy in that moment, wanting nothing more than to be helpful to someone, anyone . “I guess just holler if you need anything?”

“I will contact you once I reach my agents with more details. Depending on what they are able to forward me, I may need your help repairing Freyja. You seem reasonably competent.” Bloodhound relented with a grunt, beginning to unbuckle some of their body armor.

Saying nothing more, Walter took the memo with pursed lips and a stiff nod. Running his metal hand through his hair, he gave them one last concerned glance before backing off entirely and disappearing into the base, presumably to go have a drink. 

As chunks of their suit clattered to the floor, Bloodhound placed their head into their hands. Pulling their goggles onto the tip of their helmet they scrubbed at the sand in their eyes. Finding the strength to get up, they shuffled over to their small workbench they had annexed for themself.

“You should remain seated, Pilot.” Freyja spoke from where she remained, watching them closely.

Bloodhound shook their head fondly as Artur landed on the bench next to them. “I have not had a móður since I was a child, I do not need one now, though I appreciate your concern, old friend.”

Stroking along Artur’s throat they dug through the various materials scattered about before scooping the head of their axe into their palm. Artur hopped forward to investigate the item, warbling as he did so and giving it a gentle love-peck. Smiling to themself, they held their arm out for their feathered companion to take perch on their arm as they limped over to Freyja. She held her hand out for them to sit, using her large forearm as a back test. Leaning into their Titan and tucking Artur close to their chest, Bloodhound relaxed. Silently they ran their fingers across the edge of the axe head, feeling it's still sharpened point. They then traced over to the ruby eyed raven on the backside, carefully thumbing out grime from the delicate carvings, thinking of all the old stories their uncle had told. Lastly, they settled on the jagged break along its neck, pricking their gloved fingers along the bottom, the leather catching onto the metal ever so slightly.

“Walter Fitzroy is correct, you require rest.” Freyja peered down at them, careful not to make even the slightest movement to avoid causing them discomfort.

Rolling their eyes, Bloodhound glanced up. “You like him.”

Freyja’s display flickered in what could be interpreted as faint annoyance. “Walter Fitzroy speaks common sense, he understands the severity of your injuries while you are resistant to treatment.”

“I did not know a Titan could pick sides.” Bloodhound grumbled in good humor.

“I cannot, I am only to follow my Pilot’s orders, however your actions are in direct conflict with Protocol 3.” Freyja rattled back easily, with the resolve of a marine.

Still fidgeting with the remaining pieces of Raven’s Bite, Bloodhound bit at their lip. “While both of your hearts are in the right place, at the moment we have other more pressing concerns than that of minor injuries.”

“Your injuries are not what can be classified as ‘minor,’ Pilot.” Freyja responded as she looked towards her own ailing body.

“You have seen me go through much worse.” Bloodhound shot back easily, defiantly, only to receive a nip on their finger from Artur.

Normally they were not the type to neglect their own health, but right now it was not on their list of concerns. Repairing Freyja was. They knew pushing their luck with potentially broken ribs was a liability, but they agreed with Maggie, with the nature of this job, they could not afford setbacks.

Slipping the surviving piece of their treasured axe into the inner pocket on their tunic, they gently cradled Artur up by their neck. “Once I have recovered some, we will attempt to make contact with Jaime and Loba. The Syndicate will not make our transmissions easy, so I suggest we make an attempt to reach out as we did back on Talos.”

“Understood.” Freyja looked up again, staring at the main set of doors. “I do, however, believe it would be unwise to do so alone. You must recognize that you can rely on our allies, correct?”

Bloodhound shook their head fondly, looking down to their empty hands. “Trust no one in the Outlands Freyja, this place is not the Militia.”

“You reply on Loba Andrade.” Freyja pointed out flatly, her free arm begging to move but still hanging limply.

“Precisely and that is all I need and whom I will be contacting.” Bloodhound grunted back, almost childlike with how they spoke.

They had never been a good patient, always demanding to be on the move. The worst place they could be was stuck to the ground, as their uncle had always said.

“You have admitted yourself that Margaret Kōhere and Walter Fitzroy have proven to be reliable allies during our time on Salvo.” Again Freyja spoke entirely factually, trying to get her Pilot to concede.

“That is different, money is involved, you know this.” Bloodhound replied, walls slowly building up as they grew tired with this near circular discussion.

Freyja was not going to give in so easily, her coding was ever persistent. “You are employed by Margaret Kōhere, not Walter Fitzroy. It appears that Fitzroy has come to see you as some form of trusted companion.”

Grinding their teeth, they pushed themself to sit back upright, prepared to stand until they were blocked by another firm hand. Freyja watched them, warning them as to not move. Of course she would never hurt them, but they were certain there would be consequences one way or another. Artur was even in alliance with the Titan, despite all of his displeasure to all other forms of technology.

Sharply inhaling, Bloodhound squeezed their eyes shut firmly. “Then he is a fool. We both know what happened the last time a man decided to work alongside me.”

Freyja looked down, almost ashamedly, as if they had just burned her with their words. Frowning, Bloodhound felt a pang of regret slice through their chest, deep beneath their bruises. Taking a moment to think, Bloodhound thought of how to best amend the situation. They hadn’t meant to take their stresses out on arguably their most trustworthy friend.

“I will rest for a few hours, then perform a set of repairs to keep you functional until we are able to get assistance.” Bloodhound breathed, settling back down into their Titan’s frame, finding no more reason to resist. “Perhaps I will ask for assistance in locating the nearest radio tower and have someone accompany us.”

The Titan’s mechanical body whined as Freyja settled down in her own way. All defense systems going offline with the single confirmation that her Pilot would make an attempt to not further injure themself. That alone was enough for her, with what limited emotions she could feasibly feel. Settling into her giant touch, the weight of one of her hands across their torso, they began to lightly doze.

And rest they did, as sound as a child by a wood stove during a snowstorm. Bloodhound pondered the comparison themselves, absently wondering if it had been a memory they had dreamed of; the comforts of home they found themselves longing for. What had stirred them from their slumber was a sheepish young man with arms full of medical supplies, presumably to help piece them back together. 

The stim packs went down easy, the nanobots trickling through their veins. Bandages and ice packs applied to their wounds, bringing down the swelling. A nice steady buzz worked its way throughout their mind and body. They stayed reclined, curled up in Freyja’s hands as the medic worked, staring up at the Titan in persistent fear. It was a common response to a machine of her caliber, making them smirk. 

As soon as the man was done his work, he shot away from them wordlessly, markedly paler than when he first arrived. Scooting over towards the entry they didn’t give a second glance back until Bloodhound spoke, rolling to their feet.

“Thank you for your work.” Bloodhound hummed, cracking their knuckles from their lap. “I have one request, if you would not mind. Tell Fitzroy that I need his assistance.”

With only a series of rapid nods, the man scampered off, leaving Bloodhound to their own devices. Adjusting the ice pads taped beneath their tunic, they hobbled over to their work bench and picked up a wrench, rolling it over in their palm. Artur hopped down beside them, sorting through the bolts on his beak. 

Running their hand along his back, they looked over to Freyja. “It is time to get back to work.”

After two decades, it became second nature to know their Titan’s work arounds and system cheats. Having to learn some maintenance skills had been tedious but they loved the challenge. Bolts, brackets, hydraulic lines, cables, grease, and all. They may not have everything figured out yet, some of it was still beyond them without any formal training but they made due. With a few ratchet straps to tie down a handful of lines and panels they had yet to repair, they admired their work. This would be enough to limp Freyja out to a tower so they could get a stable connection off world. They’d be somewhat of sitting ducks, well below their full strength, and so the compromise was none other than the Bonecage brawler himself.

Reaching for their goggles, they shimmied the broken set back over their head, grimacing at the painful stretch in their side. Apparently their timing was still as immaculate as ever because the door across from them crept open.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually bother calling and I’d have to come run another welfare check on you before Maggie totally loses it again.” Walter remarked as he entered, more mild than before, apparently having learned to put a curb on his exuberance.

“It wasn’t fully of my own volition.” Bloodhound rumbled as they gently pulled at the beads on their head dress.

Walter crossed his arms, popping a hip out to the side as he spied their swollen eye. “I wish I could say I’m shocked that you’re back on your feet and ready to go again.”

They snorted in response. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Fitzroy.”

“I’m sure what you need me for is ‘light work.’” He teased back, robotic arm dropping back to his side.

Bloodhound rolled their eyes with a shake of their head. “For me yes, for you, I am not so sure. Can you manage a long walk?”

“I may be in my fifties but my legs still work, Houndy, what do you take me for?” Walter squealed, back at his theatrics, cranking up the melodrama just to get a rise out of them.

“A free spirit.” Bloodhound replied truthfully as they scooped up a duffle bag and tossed it over to the man. “As well as an extra set of arms – er – arm.”

Obviously forcing down a laugh and a witty remark, Walter grinned, gaining more of his confidence and character back. “Well, lucky for you this so-called ‘free spirit’ is in good humour and willing to do some heavy lifting for his favourite injured Hounddog.”

Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he watched as Bloodhound gently knocked against Freyja’s side with the back of their fist. Lumbering to her full height, the gears in her body groaning and popping. In their mind, Bloodhound crossed their fingers, hoping she could keep it together until they got supplies. Of course so long as they had her main core, she could be transplanted into another chassis, but that alone was a tall order.

“Where are we headed?” Walter inquired, watching as Bloodhound slammed their hand into the bay doors control panel.

As the doors rolled up with an ear splitting screech, Bloodhound looked over their shoulder. “To call for assistance.” Holding themself upright with the wall, Bloodhound staggered forward. “Some things are beyond my current expertise and I will need help in repairing Freyja.”

“Glad to be at your service then!” Walter chirped back as he sauntered over, patting them on the shoulder.

From behind, Artur swooped forward, catching the draft from outside with his wings, but not before taking the opportunity to smack Walter from behind playfully. 

“Oi you cheeky rascal!” Walter shouted, moving away from Bloodhound to chase the raven a short distance.

The action left them with their mouth wide open, fighting back laughter. Apparently, Fitzroy had gained some of Artur’s approval, mechanical arm and all. Letting out a soft sigh, they shook their head in amusement. Taking up the rear, Freyja set the pace of the group, making sure she was there to support her Pilot if they needed. For the first time in months, a task they were sent out on wasn’t a matter of life or death.

“Careful not to fall! I’m not exactly the best at playing ‘catch.’” Walter called from the ground while Bloodhound reached high above their head, on their tiptoes. 

Right now they were carefully balanced on Freyja’s back, fully extended as they carefully adjusted the satellite dish on the top of the radio tower. Artur was perched on top, clapping his beak at them as they worked.

Freyja rotated her lens up as far as she could to watch them. “As we are no longer under gunfire, I will be able to provide them assistance if my Pilot does fall from my hull, however I cannot guarantee that they will not incur further injury.”

“Allfather help me…” Bloodhound breathed as they worked. “We have done this many times back on Talos, it will be alright.”

Fiddling with it some more, Freyja spoke. “Alignment is at 90%, it should be sufficient to make contact.”

Getting down onto their knees, pressing into Freyja’s beat up frame, Bloodhound gestured for Walter to toss them a cable they had run over from the main console of the tower. They routed the line into a small, ancient, machine they had found several years back. It was from the time of the old worlds, a few decades into early space flight. Even still, all these years later, it still worked like a charm. Connecting it to their headset, Bloodhound flicked the machine on and picked up the receiver. Little by little they adjusted the knobs on the box next to them, waiting for the sound of static to pass them by. They occasionally caught wind of transport ships sluggishly passing by in orbit, military ships moving to this sector from deeper in space until finally-

“Glad to hear from you Bloodhound! It's been forever, I was starting to think you’d gone rogue or were eaten alive!” Jaime announced over the crackling wavelengths.

They snorted as Walter stared at them from down on the ground. “Unlikely situation in either scenario.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a tough hot-shot Pilot, but one day it’ll catch up to you.” Jaime chided, giving them a hard time, a note of loneliness in his voice. “All things considered, it's good to hear from you. Between Loba dropping off the face of the earth and you being on the job, I feel like I’m going a bit crazy on my own. But anyways, enough about me, what can I do for you?”

Bloodhound furrowed their brow, recoiling in shock away from the radio. “I was contacting as I need supplies for Freyja but what has happened to Andrade?”

There's a heavy groan from the other end of the line. “About three weeks back, maybe a bit more, I dunno, things have been a blur. From what I know she got in trouble with the Syndicate, got caught on one of her hunts to put an end to our favorite murder bot. She told me she’d be in touch but I haven’t heard much since. I’m trying to get back on her trail but you know how she can be, though I’ve heard some rumblings.”

Looking down to Walter who had since opened his phone, they continued. “Go on…”

“It’s stupid and not like her – but she’s supposed to make a debut in the Apex Games.” Jaime reported back, clearly shifting around in his seat.

“The Apex Games?” Bloodhound hissed, instantly watching Walter perk up sheepishly. “Nei, she would never. It would be bad for her business.”

Furrowing his brow Walter paused. “You’re talking about your Loba Andrade, yeah?”

Bloodhound grumbled, reaching up to pinch between their goggles. “Yes, and Jaime is talking insanity. Loba would not follow some flight of fancy like the Apex Games.”

The man froze in place, nervously gritting his teeth. “Hate to tell you this mate, but I’m afraid your Jaime friend is right.”

“Pardon me?” They spat, eyes going wide as Walter tossed his phone up to them.

Staring down at the live feed he had running – sure enough red tipped braids went flying across the screen.

Dread filled their stomach as they asked themself what to do. Loba was the only one who knew how to get ahold of their anonymous parts broker back on Solace. She held the key to that particular deal and with her predisposed it left them vulnerable. Not to mention that their friend could be in danger, only the Allfather knew what the Syndicate was hanging over the woman's head.

“Jaime, bring your ship, Freyja will forward you our new coordinates.” Bloodhound spoke, winding the cord around their arm.

“Woah, woah hold on–” Jaime started bringing Bloodhound to a halt. “I can be there within the next day or so, but you can’t be seriously considering going after her. You’d entirely fracture your contract.”

Bloodhound sneered to themself, as they uploaded data from Freyja’s network over the line. “I can and I will. I owe Andrade much in this life. I will deal with my current situation, I just need you to be present. You will be able to reach me through proximity radio once you arrive. All I ask is that once you are here we refuel on Talos, as I have some personal business I must attend to.”

“Right... Okay, but you realize what you’re getting yourself into?” Jaime repeated, trying to gauge where his friend is at.

“Always.” Bloodhound replied softly, trying to soothe their friend. “In the meantime, prepare to put forth my name to the commissioner of the Apex Games. I am going after Andrade and I hear that the man in charge is fond of Pilots.”

Jaime sighed thickly from the other line. “See you as soon as I can get there.”

With that, Bloodhound harshly pulled free the cable, making the line go dead.

Walter’s mouth was ajar as they were lowered onto the ground by Freyja.

“Come Fitzroy, there is much I have to discuss with Maggie.” Bloodhound breathed, limping forward.

“You can’t be serious – how of all the conclusions out there did you come to that so quickly?” Walter barked, almost out of jealousy, arms thrown out wide.

Bloodhound put a hand on their side, turning on their heels. “There is a problem and there is a solution. It is not the first time I will work under the Syndicate and if it is to help free Loba from whatever she is stuck hunting for, I will help her every time.”

“But what about Salvo and your deal?” Walter cried looking around, sweat beading down his forehead.

“I will choose her every time. She is a friend that money cannot buy. I will deal with Maggie and make her see reason. Once this personal matter is resolved, then I shall return.” Bloodhound explained as they began to walk.

Letting out a huff, moving to rub at the junction where his prosthetic met his arm, Walter followed along. “Maggie’s not going to take this well.”

“I do not need her to.” Bloodhound spat back roughly, mind hard set on their chosen path.

Freyja picked herself up, scanning the area as they traversed the sandy plains. “This decision is not logical, Pilot. I must advise you that this course of action will bring us in direct danger. It will make us visible to the Syndicate and possibly destroy relations with the Cracked Talon. If we are to leave now, we may not be able to return.”

She was right, the choice was entirely emotional, as much of their decisions had been as of late. Their heart and head was a mess but they needed to remain with a goal in mind. Right now that goal was to protect their friend, they could not afford to lose another precious soul in their life.

As they made the journey back to base, Walter hung his head, thinking deeply, eyebrows furrowed. Out of the corner of their eye they caught him opening and closing his mouth a few times.

Feeling an unsettling tension building, Bloodhound popped it as soon as it began to rise. “If you are going to speak, then speak.”

“I won’t lie and say I’m not envious of the fact that you’re so… free and able to make these choices.” Walter began after a moment, gaze still downturned. “Though I guess I do understand where you’re coming from. You owe Loba a lot and you’d do anything for her, just in the same way I’d do for Mags, so you can’t give up on her.”

Bloodhound was nearly impressed with his statement, how precisely he worded it. “She has her demons and I have my own and we will battle them together.”

Walter pursed his lips, flesh fist quaking as the complex appeared in sight. “Right, as all good friends should. We make sacrifices for each other and all of that.”

Again, frustration sat beneath the man's surface, bubbling and ready to spill over. They could almost smell a half-decades worth of smoldering resentment coming off of the man. Bloodhound could sense, however, that those thoughts were not directed at them.

Together they ended their hike in relative silence, slinking back into Bloodhound’s workshop. Walter could do nothing but watch as they shoved their tools and equipment in black bags, arms crossed over his chest, forehead wrinkling. Artur found a perch by the man's head, nipping at the gray strands absentmindedly.

Freyja held out her humongous hands, Bloodhound handing bags off of her fingers, packing up their space as quickly as they could. They hesitated once they came across the fractured handle to Raven’s Bite, hand settling on top of it, squeezing their eyes shut.

“What in the bloody hell is going on in here?” Maggie’s harsh voice barked out from the still open bay doors.

Bloodhound grimaced, lifting the axe handle and depositing it safely in their belt loops. “I am leaving.”

They didn’t need to see her face to know what she was thinking. “Leaving? Like hell you are, you’ve still got a job to do! What, you take one hard fall and that's it?”

“Nei, an unforeseen emergency has arisen and it demands my attention.” Bloodhound turned around to face her, keeping their tone neutral.

She sneered, eyes blown wide with a resurgence in her rage. “And I’m just supposed to believe that? I thought you had principles, that you believed in the cause! Just another fucking traitor who goes whereever the money is. I paid for you and I will be getting my money's worth, if you dare try getting off of Salvo I will shoot your ship down!”

“This has nothing to do with money, and I am free to do as I wish.” Bloodhound spoke firmly. “The woman who holds the deed to our agreement is currently imprisoned by the Syndicate, making our agreement null if anything is to happen to her.”

Maggie recoiled, eyeing them suspiciously. “Your little thief friend was finally caught? I find that hard to believe. You’re trying to run away now when times are getting tough.”

Walter stepped forward, moving to intervene. “It's true, I saw it myself. She’s in the Apex games and Houndy’s informant corroborated the story.”

“Oh so now you’re both besties? Fantastic.” Maggie spat, hand dangerously lingering over the pistol in her holster.

“I’m here to try and help talk some sense into you.” Walter snapped back, metal arm whirring as he threw it to the side. 

“I’m not the one you should be lecturing Wally!” She hissed, voice dripping with venom, almost trying to warn him off.

“If you’re so worried about them running off and not coming back, then send me with them!” Walter shot back, face tired and worn. “Besides… I need a break from you.”

Her teeth were bared as she roared, moving forward to grip onto his vest, nails digging into the leather. “Oh now you too? Suddenly the life we built together isn’t enough? Of course you’d ride the fence like this, never being able to commit yourself to anything! You’re nothing but a selfish, prideful, ass, only concerned with yourself and apparently now living it up like those Syndicate snobs.”

Behind them, Freyja shifted, reaching for her gun, making Maggie’s breath hitch. Instantly the woman's hand shot forward, pulling the grenade off of its seat on Walter’s neck. Pulling the pin out from its slot, making the room come to a stand still. 

“Mags, I’d ask if you’re crazy but I already know that much – if you let go of that thing you’re going to kill us all.” Walter raised his hands as he was roughly shoved away.

Maggie looked around the room wildly, hand ready to drop the grenade at the slightest of movements. “It would save me a whole lot of trouble in the end.”

Bloodhound’s heart beat roughly in their chest, making their lungs rattle. “It would also mean the end of your cause. You will lose this battle and there will be no one willing to take your place. The sole reason the Cracked Talon is able to make a stand is because of your guidance and commitment.”

The woman’s eyes went dark as she stared at the floor, almost sounding defeated. “Yeah, well, it seems most people have forgotten what we’re fighting for.”

“The people may have forgotten, but you have not.” Bloodhound spoke as diplomatically as they could, ribs burning and swollen eye visible for all to see. “Margaret, if you allow me to go after Miss Andrade, I can show you how deep this corruption runs within the Outlands.”

“Do you take me for an idiot? I can see it plain as day!” Maggie snapped back defensively, though her eyes spoke a story of intrigue.

Flapping down, Artur landed on Bloodhound’s shoulder, screaming at Maggie. “The Syndicate wears many masks and is in bed with just as many corporations, leading back to the times of the old wars. It's more than most can comprehend. I have worked for them in the past, for the companies they puppeteer, it's almost impossible not to, and I can say with confidence what you know is just the surface. The Syndicate has many ties, those of which bring them strength, but it is also their greatest weakness, once you follow the trail and catch the edge of the string, it will all unravel. Let us make a new deal, between you and I, if you allow me to leave, I can help you find out what the Syndicate exactly wants with Salvo so we can bring them down.”

Shaking like an earthquake, Maggie let out a soul shredding scream before turning and throwing the grenade out of the open hangar doors, shoulders rising and falling as the shockwave reverberated through the area. “If you’re going to go, then beat it, before I change my mind! You too Walter, I don’t want to see your disgusting moustache around here again, or else I might just skin it off of your face!”

“Maggie I–” Walter tried, going a bit pale, reaching out with his good arm.

“Get. Out.” She growled before pushing between both of them, kicking over a chair as she stomped back over to the door.

Placing a hand on the man's forearm, Bloodhound let out a quiet huff. “Let her go, she will forgive you with time, but for now we must leave.”

Walter grimaced, running a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, before walking forward to scoop up a slice of the golden shrapnel left behind. “She won't, it's not in her style.”

Freyja timidly moved forward, despite her size, hoisting up her weapon. “I have sent out a beacon, Jaime will be here in approximately three hours.”

Bloodhound just nodded quietly as they were led out of the Cracked Talon base, unable to find the right words to say. They knew no comfort they could offer would bring Walter any kind of reprieve, that healing would have to come on its own.

Chapter Text

Leaving Salvo had been the easiest and hardest decision Walter had ever made. The grenadier was silent as he left the only home he had known, the only stability his life had ever offered. As he got aboard the unfamiliar transport ship, loading the cargo bay with bags filled with Bloodhound’s personal effects, he found himself looking back, waiting to see if Maggie would be there to bid him farewell. He knew it would never be with a smile, but instead a nod of approval, the unspoken permission he had grown used to receiving. It was something he waited for, down until the bitter last moments before he was strapped in his seat, his body filling with an inherent wrongness for that signal that never came.

Once again, he fell silent, something Walter was seldom able to do, but these days he was often lost. Finding words getting caught in his throat in situations where he normally would have spat them out without a single care. He couldn’t help but attribute it to the arrival of the hunter that sat the next seat over, already having nodded off. Walter wasn’t sure what to make quite yet, a mix between chalking this all up to bad luck, or if they were the root of it all. The last words they spoke to Maggie still rang in his mind, his usual sense of adventure tangling with an indecipherable feeling, as if his body was warning him. If things ran deeper than how they seemed, then what were the implications for every aspect of his life?

Helping in condemning his planet to hell, leaving his friends to be eaten alive, the loveless start to his fifties, his craving for a good fight, all of it, every last wrinkled edge of it could be upturned in an instant. Never more did his life feel so precarious, and that was on account of a myriad of near death experiences and a childhood that one could label dysfunctional at best. Walter realized he couldn’t complain, he’d signed up for this, every last second of it. In a way it felt like he’d signed away his soul in his early teen years all for it to culminate to this. Maybe this would be where he found purpose, right on the edge of losing it all. He wasn’t a religious man, but he was a gambler, and perhaps beyond his wisest judgment, he’d put all his money in on a good time and even better company.

At least, that's how he rationalized it all to himself.

“I’m surprised they were willing to let you come along.” The man in the pilot's seat spoke, Jaime, or at least that's the name Walter had gleaned from conversation with Bloodhound.

Walter snorted tiredly. “I’ve gotten the impression they’re not the friends making type.”

That got a burst of quiet laughter from Jaime. “Nope, never have been. BH likes to keep their inner circle close, even more so than Loba, so count yourself lucky I suppose. The last time they brought someone in here, it was to hand them over to some lazy bounty hunters who couldn’t be bothered to do the job themselves.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose a bit, aye?” Walter raised an eyebrow, the thick scarring pulling.

“See – that's what I said!” Jaime turned around with a smile.

Next to them, an unbothered snore rose from the Hunter’s frame, a fresh set of goggles plugged into their sonar system and adorning their face. They slept as soundly as they could beneath the labored breathing of their respirator and battered body.

Walter peered at them from the corner of his eye before placing his elbows on the small table in front of him. “So long as they got their money out of it, that's what matters.”

“Between their luck with gambling and instilling fear into someone who crosses them, they always make sure to get even.” Jaime huffed softly, cracking his knuckles. “Though, apparently it doesn’t always work out in their favor. I haven’t seen them this sore in ages, Freyja already gave me the rundown, and good god you guys got lucky out there.”

Snorting, Walter shook his head. “Between me losing my arm and the rest of us getting the snot beat out of us, you should see the other guys, if you think we look bad, Maggie also makes sure to get even.”

“Oh I’m sure.” Jaime breathed as he pushed some buttons on the dash. “Loba was sure to tell me plenty about this job ahead of time.”

“And her concerns were misplaced.” Bloodhound spoke, jaw clicking with a yawn, shifting in their seat to sit up gingerly and reaching to hold their sides.

Jaime gave them a skeptical look up and down. “I’m not sure about that one, bud.”

Bloodhound scoffed as they reached their hands out in front of themself to stretch. “I am alive.”

“I don't think being just ‘alive’ is something to be proud of.” Jaime quipped back as he looked back out the window in front of them. “I’m just glad that your intake for the Apex Games will slow you down for a bit so you recover some. I don’t know why you’re so intent on being a workaholic but you need to relax sometimes, Bloodhound.”

“Military indoctrination is the answer you seek.” Bloodhound blandly replied. “I cannot allow injuries to slow me down. A wounded animal will not survive unless it fights.”

Walter pursed his lips, tipping his seat back. “But what if the wounded animal has a pack around it, then it can rest and let the others take care of ‘em.”

Bloodhound turned their head, dark lenses drinking in the overhead lights. “Then they are a burden if the pack comes under attack.”

Both men looked between each other, a collective sigh between their lips. Walter couldn’t figure out how Bloodhound could be so graceful and caring to others but so stubborn when it came to their own wellbeing. Even for a former soldier, they were callous when it came to showing self compassion.

“Are we due to arrive on Talos soon?” Bloodhound inquired, struggling to get up and work their way to a small cabinet towards the back of where they sat.

“Ship sickness getting to you?” Jaime inquired as he looked over to a small chart on his left.

Opening a medical kit, Bloodhound pulled out a syringe before pulling up the hem of their layers of shirts, and sinking it into the meat of their stomach. “That does not answer my question.”

Walter just caught the faintest glimpse of the label as they shoved it into the sharps bin – anti nausea medication. Their mask and suit could conceal much, but they still had their tells. Rubbing the sliver of exposed skin, they tucked their shirts back into place before moving to their seat.

“Give us thirty then she’ll be within sight, then another twenty for re-entry. I can only get this old girl to go so fast. Not to mention finding a refueling station is going to be a nightmare. Those rich assholes from Psamathe like to price gouge everything from groceries to resetting your jump drive.” Jaime grumbled, trailing off at the end.

Bloodhound let out a shaky breath as they stabilized themself on the back of their chair. “So long as they stay in their cabins and do not come off their mountains, I care little, I will settle the cost if it is such a concern.”

Jaime rolled his eyes as he pushed a dial forward. “Oh don’t be dramatic, you’re letting Loba rub off on you too much and it's showing.”

“Add it to the list of things I owe her, she’s shown me much in this new life of mine, so I do not take it as an insult.” Bloodhound replies, tapping their knuckles on the lip of the table next to their seat. “I will go tend to Freyja and prepare her for our descent.”

Settling his hand on the back of his neck, Walter looped the hairs that tickled the nape around his finger mindlessly. “Want me to come help?”

“Nei, if I am to remain sane then you will let me go alone.” Bloodhound replied, shuffling over to the door. “I will replace her batteries and prepare to offload what parts we possess and create a list of what we must acquire.”

Jaime shook his head with a sigh. “Sounds good, boss.”

“Be silent.” Bloodhound cursed before uttering something indecipherable in their mother tongue before disappearing.

And silent it was, until the lava splintered and perpetually frozen crust of Talos appeared. Walter had been off of Salvo in the past for jobs, but never to the more obscure planets like these. From where he sat, Talos was palm sized when compared to Psamathe, Gaea, or even Solace, all of which resided in the same system. 

Jaime reached out to turn on the ships intercoms. “She’s just as beautiful as the last time we were here, Bloodhound.”

“It is good to be home.” Their voice crackled back after a long moment.

“Y’know, if Freyja had her heat sealing still on her and you didn’t tag along, right now they’d already have dropped out of the back of this thing?” Jaime laughed to himself as he brought them down, flames lapping at the windows around them. “That’s including the fact that they’re terrified of heights. No matter how much they put on a tough face, they always get excited like a little kid to be brought back here, even after everything.”

Walter snorted, half impressed. “How can a Titan Pilot both be prone to ship sickness and afraid of heights?”

Jaime shrugged as he got to his feet, shaking out his legs as autopilot guided them through the turbulent atmosphere. “They claim it's different, that, and from what I’ve gathered, they really had no choice.”

“Always live fast or die with them, huh.” Walter hummed as the ship rattled around them.

“Yep.” The other man quipped back, popping the ‘p.’ “Good luck, since you’re stuck with them for at least a couple days, and they aren’t afraid to leave you behind. Well, that's if the Prowlers and their relatives don’t find you first.”

Walter’s good eye widened in shock. “Wait, I’m gonna meet their folks already?”

Jaime grimaced, catching himself and slapping his forehead. “ Stupid. I’ve gone and run my mouth again.”

“Don’t worry mate, I’ve got the same issue. I won’t go and tell on you.” Walter chuckled lightly, trying to ease some of the younger man's anxiety.

As diplomatically, Jaime spoke, demeanor entirely shifting. “I’ll let them tell you the rest at their own pace. Might take them half a decade, but it’ll come out eventually.” He huffed softly. “But before you go asking, they have no ‘folks’ to speak of, it's just that the locals aren’t exactly the most friendly with outsiders. At most they tolerate Bloodhound and Freyja hanging around, that's all I can say.”

“Right.” Walter drawled as he reached next to his legs to shoulder his pathetic little bag. “Thanks then, mate. I’ll be sure to keep my eye peeled and ears open.”

The ship rumbled as minutes ticked by until they were settled down on a large platform covered in snow and ice. Heading down to the ramp, Jaime and Walter were greeted by their resident towering Titan peering down at them, ready to march away. At the slightest sign of day, Artur was gone like a stray bullet, relieved to stretch his wings.

“Fitzroy, Jaime.” Both Bloodhound and Freyja greeted in perfect tandem.

Jaime hugged himself, rubbing his freezing arms. “Oh you’re all nice and cozy in your cockpit huh, well some of us are freezing over here and the longer you guys stand out on this ramp, the more cold air gets into the ship!”

“I will miss you as well.” Bloodhound joked back, sarcasm finally shining through their steadfast walls.

Up they sat, towering nearly twenty feet high, Walter having to crane his neck back to meet Freyja’s primary sensor. “Nice ride you’ve got there.”

Jaime snorted, his breath visible in the air as he shuddered. “Alright, alright, quit your flirting and get off my ship.”

Freyja easily took the command and started forward as Bloodhound controlled her. “Be safe, our presence here and on Salvo have not gone unnoticed. Keep us updated on the status of our applications, I want to meet with Blisk as soon as possible.”

Nodding briefly, Jaime turned on his heels and waved over his shoulder as soon as their feet touched the snow crusted ground. Freyja’s massive feet hissed as they sunk through the soft coating of powder that covered their landing spot. Before them stood abandoned skyscrapers and small homes, a rusted sign with “New Dawn” reflecting off its surface greeted them as they entered the empty town.

As they passed through cracked asphalt and lava fissures, Walter took in the rundown buildings. “What happened here?”

Freyja came to a halt, scanning her surroundings, before speaking. “The New Dawn mining facility accident that took place in early 2704. It resulted in a catastrophic flash freeze leading to the deaths of 250 cooling plant workers and the subsequent abandonment of the settlement.”

“Good lord.” Walter whistled, turning to look at the icy pyre, its humongous icy spires casting shadows upon them. “Were you around for this? You mentioned you grew up on Talos but–”

“Walter Fitzroy, I will advise you that my Pilot–” Freyja began, only to be cut off.

“It's alright, Freyja, but thank you my vela friend.” Bloodhound began, voice soft as they maneuvered their Titan to view the destruction head on. “Yes. I witnessed it happen, it was what claimed the lives of my móðir and faðir.”

Mentally slapping himself, Walter looked down to his feet, all seven toes curling in his boots. “My condolences.”

It somehow felt worse hearing it from them now that Jaime had already let the information slip, almost as though he were being dishonest with them, feigning his shock.

“It is fine, Walter Fitzroy. You and my companion have the same issue of apologizing for something beyond your control. It was over thirty years ago, I do not remember much from that time.” Bloodhound spoke as they guided Freyja to keep moving. “I am certain you will have many questions during our time here, and I feel as though I must offer you some answers.”

Brushing the bottom of his lower lip with his moustache, Walter tried to keep pace with the long legged mech. “You don’t gotta tell me anything. We don’t owe each other, at this point we should be working as a team and not keeping score of who saved who’s skin.”

Bloodhound was quiet for a beat. “I will keep it in mind.”

Leading him around to a gated area, Walter watched as the Pilot’s cabin flipped open, Bloodhound climbing out with the help of Freyja. Scaling the fence with relative ease, Bloodhound began interacting with a terminal to bring a powerful solar paneled generator to life. Walking around, with his eyes Walter traced thick lines of cabling back to a small wooden hut sitting against a lush backdrop. From here he could smell the sulfur and the vague sound of geysers shooting out, water lapping at the skies.

“I’m surprised the Syndicate has never returned here, it's beautiful.” Walter complimented, having never seen such raw and untainted beauty so up close, of course beyond the oceans and sand dunes of Salvo.

Bloodhound seemed to bristle at his remark, pausing in their motions. Artur landed on the fence above him, staring down with his beady eyes and letting off a harsh caw, telling him to drop this particular issue.

“We will rest in my home for the night and tomorrow you may accompany me to the outskirts of the forest, but no further. I must gather materials if I am to repair Raven’s Bite.” Bloodhound spoke as they scrambled back over to join Freyja and Walter, breathing ever so slightly labored.

Walter placed his metallic hand on his hip. “Remember what I said about being a team? I should be out there helping watch your back.”

They looked the man up and down, judgingly. “In your vest, you will freeze, or fall into a lava fissure as you are quite… accident prone.”

“Oi, a man loses one arm and suddenly it defines him for the rest of his life.” Walter jokingly huffed as he followed them towards the humble home.

“Pilot, he does provide a valid point. As I will not be able to accompany you into the forest, it would be preferable if you were to allow him to join you on your hunt, on account of your injuries.” Freyja spoke up as she moved to sit under an oversized lean-to to protect her from the elements.

“The Old Ways do not wait for anyone.” Bloodhound sighed softly, letting their guard down in the safety of their home. “I do not believe the Elders will accept the presence of another outsider if I am to undergo the trials required to repair my blade. They likely already know of his presence, and they most certainly know we are home. I can feel their raven’s eyes on us now as we speak. If we are to encounter a patrol of hunters who will surely arrive tomorrow, they may forbid us from entering.”

Walter rubbed his freezing fingers. “These are your people, yeah? They wont start a fight, will they?”

Bloodhound shook their head as they waved him around to the door, easily pushing in it with a rush of air. “Nei, they are warriors, yes, but they hold some respect for me still. I once was their leader for a short time, just as my uncle before me. They will not attack unless provoked, though they will make their displeasure known.”

The air was stale, stagnant from months of disuse. Reaching for the light switch, strings of lights nailed along the walls illuminated the small, rustic, home. On the walls trophies from their countless hunts and journeys abroad embellished the room. Hand woven tapestries, painted shields, and furs lined the room. Moving into the kitchen that was backed against Freyja’s hiding spot, Bloodhound cranked the window open to let some fresh air in and to continue speaking to their friend. Walter stood there in awe as he looked at the array of helmets, some carved from skulls, some the standard issue armor of the Militia troops you’d see in war museums. 

“You weren’t lying when you told me you had worn many different hats throughout your life.” Walter moved to gingerly take a seat in a hand carved chair next to the kitchen table.

“Out of all the things I am, and all the things I have been, a liar is not one of them.” Bloodhound spoke as they too moved to appreciate their walls filled with their accomplishments. “I will allow you to borrow some of my winter attire tomorrow as we will be out for quite some time. As I have not been here in several months, I possess no food here, but we may forage on our journey.”

Walter smiled as the chair creaked beneath his weight. “Aye, I appreciate it.”

The Pilot reached up to undo the bulkiest part of their helmet, beads rattling as they settled it on the wall, just leaving a leather cap on beneath. Next came their jacket, boots, and gloves before they moved to the small wood stove, filling it full to the brim. While they fought with the flint and steel they grabbed from the nearby shelf, Walter continued to look around. Beyond the walls carrying their trophies, countless bookshelves were scattered around. From what he could tell, they were quite the literary buff, perhaps in competition with his own film collection. Next to him on the well worn and scarred table were the remnants of a flower bouquet that had since withered, leaving nothing more than green water and dried out stems in the bottom. Though alongside them sat something of interest. A small picture frame, picking it up, he ran his fingers through the generous coating of dust covering the glass.

There stood a young man, not too different from what Walter had looked like in his youth. Though he was bespectacled, with green eyes, though with the same dark, unkempt hair. As Bloodhound finally willed sparks to strike from their lighter, they rose to their feet, peering over to Walter, stopping in their tracks.

“Was this a friend from back in your military days?” Walter asked, carefully turning the image around in his hands.

They seemed winded, voice going rough. “Nei… he was an old flame. I met him in my youth, twenty winters ago now.”

“Is he–”

“Yes.” Much like so many others in their life, unsaid pain dripped in their words.

Nodding solemnly, Walter placed the photo back onto the table, trying not to let the other man's eyes eat away at him. “I won't lie and say I wasn’t curious about the more personal things in your life. I was wondering for a bit if you and Loba were a thing with the way you spoke of her.”

He could sense their smile from where they stood as their shoulders sagged, bringing them to ease. “Allfather, no, she is merely a longtime friend. I met her through my mercenary work around five or so years ago. I have not had such an interest since… him . Though I do not blame you, I had thought the same of you and Maggie.”

That got Walter to bark out in laughter. “Mags is more like a sister to me, known her me whole life, both of us are a couple of rascal leftovers from the civil war. She’s been with me through thick and thin, besides the puberty hormones leading to an awkward spell. Either way, I’m not her type and she certainly isn’t mine.”

Behind their mask they giggled, a sound so tender it made Walter’s heart skip a beat as though he were a lovelorn child. He watched them closely, feeling his heart clench as they wandered their home, Bloodhound’s demeanor had entirely shifted now that they were out of the battlefield and into their safe space, something he counted himself fortunate to be able to see first hand.

While they ambled about, Artur hopped through the kitchen window before soaring across the room to his perch, to settle next to a set of old battle gear. As he beckoned Bloodhound over, with demands for pets, the hunter rested their hand on the closest helmet. It appeared to be something in between their current helmet and something standard issue. Their fingers danced across the visor, digging into the dust to reveal their own reflection. In an instant, he watched as they were sent back in time.

The heavy taste of blood coated their tongue. Their gloved hands were red and dripping, the lip of their coat absorbing the last heat of Boone’s mangled body. Torn right down the middle, there was nothing they could do besides watch as all light drained from his eyes. Not even a scream could escape their lips, all of their rage had been spent dealing with the great beast that had been the root of all evil. Behind them a mob formed to finish off the óséður while they mourned the first real love they had experienced. They wanted to spit venom at him, just as they had done the day before, they wanted to cry, they wanted to scream to the Allfather, ask him why he had taken yet another loved one from them. Yet they were paralyzed, unable to move as their eyes burned, hot tears gathering around the seal of their goggles, another reminder of the dead man laying in their lap, a gift they had collaborated on for weeks on end.

This wasn’t right to them. It was undignified, an unfitting end for a man such as Boone. Though in retrospect, perhaps it was, his greed and vanity led to his demise, something they would soon see happen time and time again.

Before they could begin to debate the matter of Boone’s honor, footsteps approached, stopping mere feet from where Bloodhound sat, slouched over.

Shakily they looked up to a man, tobacco pipe hanging from his lips. “Good work kid. What a bloody fucking mess it is out here.”

“There is nothing good about this.” Bloodhound spat, chest heaving, spitting it like a cat as they gripped onto the lifeless form settling into their arms.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The man knelt down, taking the pipe from his lips, reaching up and closing Boone’s eyes and shutting his lips to hide the horror that sat in his face in his final moments. “I take it he’s a friend of yours and that you’re a long ways from home. Nonetheless, you did good work today, saved a whole lot more people from getting hurt. Not to mention, you know how to fight. All good qualities to have in this day and age.”

He must’ve taken note of their traditional attire and skull they bore on their head. Bloodhound still was bristling, unable to move, locked into this undesired conversation.

“I know not of what you speak.” They spat defensively, bringing Boone closer to their body.

The strange man almost looked shocked, Bloodhound now beginning to take stock of his features. He was bulky, wearing nothing but synthetic fibers and dark glasses. His face was thick with sandy colored facial hair.

“We’re at war , kid, don’t you know?” The man hummed, intrigued by them, just as many others had.

Bloodhound’s shoulders rose and fell rapidly, overheating in this unbearable sun and terribly overwhelmed by everything happening. 

He must’ve taken their silence as their answer as he spoke. “Say, where are you from?”

“It is none of your concern.” Bloodhound hissed, bristling, untrusting as their clothes grew more uncomfortably damp.

“Right.” The man huffed as he got back to his feet, extending a hand. “Let's cut a deal, I’ll do you the service of helping put your friend here to rest, and you come with me for a quick little chat and to get yourself cleaned up. It's clear as day you aren’t from Solace and it's dangerous to be wandering out here alone, especially if you’re as green as you clearly are.”

At the time they didn’t know that this would be one deal of many that were yet to come in their life. Unable to think of what else to do, and unwilling to limp their way back home so soon to face the ire of the Elders, they took the man's hand. True to his word, Boone’s remains were settled into the sands of what was once known as the Thunderdome; what would become Kings Canyon. Boone may have been gone, but he would not be forgotten.

The man led Bloodhound onto a ferry and into Solace City for their first ever time, dipping into a small alley and an empty bar. They should have been more aware and far less trusting, but they were on the border of shutting down entirely. From above, they barely registered Artur following along, inky wings catching the air currents as he surveyed their route.

He allowed them to use the small bathroom to scrub the gore on their clothes off with water, hand soap and paper towel, before gesturing for them to take a seat. Still stinking of rich iron, their hand twitched over Raven’s Bite.

“My name is Nathaniel Chase.” The man sat across from them. “You?”

“Blóðhundr.” They promptly responded, clipped and exhausted.

Nathaniel chuckled, settling into his seat, tapping his fingers on the counter. “It's unique, definitely a name suited for a warrior such as yourself.”

Bloodhound was growing tired of these games, of the blatant manipulation they had now become hyper aware of in the last two days. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I’m something of a warrior myself, a soldier.” Nathaniel gestured to himself. “You interest me.”

“You are IMC.” Bloodhound replied plainly, having seen the names on the sides of shipping containers and the long abandoned worksites across Talos.

Nathaniel chuckled heartily. “Quite the contrary, my friend. I come from the Frontier, specifically in the interests of the Militia. Daring move, I know, but we’re in need of a particular set of talents, some of which you seem to harbour.”

Bloodhound grit their teeth, yet another man trying to exploit them and scam them for their good nature and skills. “I want no affiliation with your kind and I want to be returned to Talos.”

Almost as if a lightbulb went off in the man's mind, he leaned forward with renewed interest. “You’re from one of those Talosi villages out in the woods. You’re a tough bunch, that's for certain. I have nothing but respect for your way of life and beliefs.”

They eyed him skeptically, almost dangerously, ready to lunge across this table and escape at a moment's notice.

“Though it explains why you know little of what's going on elsewhere in the galaxy.” Nathaniel cleared his throat, just like all the wandering traders did before selling their wares. “I’m going to give you the short version and be blunt, I hope you forgive me. We are fighting a losing battle, trying to liberate our people from a government who wants nothing more than to chew up the planets all across the Frontier. It hasn’t quite reached the Outlands yet, at least not in the same ways, but it will, the IMC is greedy and ruthless. If you’re from Talos, then you must know of the branthium mining operations. They may have given up for now, but they will return, with even more aggressive planetary fracking, leaving the place you love the most crying and in pain, especially as this war is dragged out and times get tough. You don’t fight wars without resources to back you up.”

“What do I have to do with this?” Bloodhound growled, getting more unsettled by the moment, feeling cornered.

He wasn’t wrong, they knew what the IMC was capable of, what they could do, and the destruction they could leave behind. If what he was saying was true, Talos would be chewed to pieces and spat out. Their judgement may have been poor, but their gut was never wrong, something in them understood that what he was saying was true. In a handful of years, Talos would be left to become a shell of itself, and with it, its people would wither.

“The Militia have enough resources to win this war, we just need people to join our cause, people like you. I don’t reckon you’ve heard of Pilots or Titan’s before.” Nathaniel spoke, tapping his fingers on the stone cold table.

Bloodhound worried at their lower lip, trying to end this exchange as quickly as they could, but they felt intrigue gnaw on their stomach. “Go on.”

“They’re the thing of legend, utilizing the best hardware that humanity can offer. The ultimate warrior, and the gambit to change the tides of these battles. I think you have the makeup to become one of them. Being a Pilot isn’t something that can be trained, there has to be a level of innate talent and sheer grit.” Nathaniel spoke, words silky smooth and becoming more appealing by the moment.

The memory of Boone refreshed in their mind, making them wince through the haze and brain fog. That's when it struck them ‘ avenge him , bring him honor with slain foes, give him a place in Valhalla. He has forsaken the Allfather, you now must help him atone. Perhaps you will reunite with him sooner than later, if you are to join this path.’

Bloodhound’s breath caught in their throat. “What do you offer in trade?”

Nathaniel smirked, knowing he had their attention, knowing how to trap them when they were vulnerable; pliant to suggestion. “Almost anything you want. I can’t guarantee anything until this war is won, but what's your price, Blóðhundr?”

It was irrational, something they seldom were, but their mind swirled and screamed, fractured from death and destruction. Their throat was thick with phlegm and guilt. This was their chance to atone. This was their chance to secure their village's future. This was their chance to see the universe beyond what they had been raised in. 

There was not much they could do for the dead: Boone, their Uncle, their parents but they could protect what little they had left.

The words fell from their lips slowly.

This was where their heart lied, regardless of whether they lived or died.

Barely eighteen and on their first voyage away from the place of their birth, Bloodhound sold themself into a plot that was decades in the making, and into a deal with a legacy that would echo for even longer. It was the first gamble they had ever made, not knowing what they would gain and just what they would lose. Without a word to their people, no call, nor letter, they were swept away into the stars.

Walter settled a hand on their shoulder, making the hunter jump. Their body rattled like a frightened cat. 

“Houndy, are you alright mate? You zoned out on me.” He squeezed their bicep gently, doing his best to mind their bodily boundaries whilst grounding them.

“Many memories have… returned for me as of late.” Bloodhound dropped their hand from the helmet on the wall.

Walter nodded in response, still lingering in their space. “A penny for your thoughts then?”

Not that pennies still existed, though the sentiment was still there.

“I do not believe I have any stories you would be interested in hearing.” Bloodhound was still subtly shaking as they shuffled over to the kitchen window where Artur sat, digging their fingers into the raven’s feathers.

Walter moved back into the chair he had claimed for himself. “Well, I always love a good story or a good tune, no matter the content. Now I don’t think you’re the singing type, but I am here to listen. I have other skills than having a thick skull and running my mouth.”

Bloodhound shifted their weight as they stood at the counter, Freyja peering in at them from outside. “I would not know what story to tell.”

“How's about the story of how you and Freyja met? So long as I ain’t accidentally prying of course.” Walter smiled as he watched Bloodhound fill the kettle and settle it onto their stove.

Letting out a soft huff, Bloodhound crossed their arms before moving to sit in the other kitchen seat, “I believe that is a story I will be able to tell.”

Waking up from stasis on Harmony was unlike anything they had ever witnessed before. Pristine and manicured buildings towered all around them, a sterile scent in the air as their ship docked, making their stomach rumble with nervousness. Bile rose in their throat though there was nothing left for them to cough up, even still, they breathed out a prayer as they touched the ground.

Immediately they were whisked away and stripped down. The only things they were allowed to keep was Raven’s Bite, Artur, the sonar they had built, and the boots on their feet. Nearly everything they possessed was replaced with standard issue armor. Not only that but before they knew it, they were laid flat on a steel table for a relay of surgeries to ensure their combat effectiveness. Appendix, wisdom teeth, anything that could pose any future issues that wasn’t essential was removed, including their boundless amount of hair. Upon their request they were even sterilized, the medics not even batting an eye as they shoved them beneath blinding fluorescent lights and a face mask intended to pump them full of drugs.

While they were recovering from being stitched back together, Artur never left their side and was present for their rehabilitation. Manuals filled with words they had never seen before were shoved into their hands while they were incapacitated. Every so often Nathaniel would visit them alongside an older woman who would show them breathing exercises to better increase their respiration and maximize their functioning through scarred lungs.

As soon as the stitches were removed, they were sent crawling through the mud, scaling walls, and handling firearms. Trying to keep up with all of the unfamiliar technology was overwhelming but invigorating for the hunter, though they still did their best to pay tribute to the Old Ways. Bloodhound declined to use gadgets such as grappling hooks or pulse blades and remained loyal to the sonar they had poured hours into crafting. They accepted firearms into their arsenal which had been harder than they anticipated, but very few of the other recruits in the accelerated program could keep up with their close quarters combat skills. At first they had almost made a fool of themselves, being struck with the wry realization that what they would be hunting from here on out would not be animals, but humans instead. Though they quickly were torn from that line of thinking by receiving a hard jab square to their jaw. A cocky young man staring them down as Nathaniel circled, evaluating his hand selected recruit expectantly. 

“Get in there, BH!” The man barked over the drill instructors howling at the sparring groups.

Taking it as their sign to get into gear, they would not bring shame to their name and made easy work of laying the man out.

By the end of their training they had excelled in most areas, destroying countless Simulacrums barehanded, displaying the lethal prowess they had fostered over the past six months. Their jumpsuit training had been easy, tracking was natural, and combat tactics came quickly. Learning how to utilize firearms however had been more difficult, running between walls, firing rifles and trying to curb recoil was something they had yet to master. Instead they opted for longer range and more slow paced weaponry before bringing their fights up close and personal. Lastly however, their biggest struggle yet was bonding to their Titan. 

They were giant metallic beasts meant from destruction, everything their uncle hated and something they too were taught to despise. Bloodhound had been one of the more open minded Talosi settlers, but this was a step beyond where they were willing to go. When FR- 1316 was brought before them at the end of their virtual training, Bloodhound scoffed in disgust. In person it was even worse, Artur attacked the Titan head on, pecking at its glowing eye viciously. Bloodhound couldn’t blame him and felt much the same. Nathaniel and Bloodhound argued hour after hour for several days, debating the matter of the Titan they were to be assigned. In the end however, they begrudgingly allowed the neural link once the terms of their agreement were brought up as leverage. Though that only made resentment for the several ton machine grow within their belly, so much so that they almost claimed they hated it. Bloodhound especially despised the way it spoke so softly to them, with the tender voice of a woman, trying to soothe some of the aches in their soul.

That night they had prayed for longer than they had even when they still resided in their village, begging the Allfather to understand why they were doing this and to forgive them someday. Bloodhound cried that they were not turning their back on him, that they still believed in his values, but they had to stay true to their deal to protect all that they loved.

As soon as they were given their first proper assignment, Bloodhound made themself a promise: to reject the usage of their Titan at all cost. If they were to complete this deal, they would do it by the merit of their own work, just them, Artur, their axe, and sonar. After all, they were sent across the cosmos to disrupt supply lines and gather intel, all things a Titan would be counterintuitive for. Covert was the name of the game, they were not meant for upfront battles or dropping into warzones from orbit, Bloodhound was trained to move in calculated and planned attacks that could turn the tides of future campaigns.

For a time, their resistance worked, being able to pick off IMC soldiers one by one and knocking them down like dominos. They would quietly stalk high value targets through air ducts in stuffy buildings, using their sonar to capture their location and heat signatures before precisely lodging a bullet into their skulls. Bloodhound hunted down any objective they were given methodically and as quiet as they possibly could. 

Bloodhound however was a creature of habit, which is how they quickly learned that it made them predictable. Once the IMC caught on that there was something tracking them down, popping up in places of interest, they set traps and ambushes, intent on catching the Pilot responsible for their recent headaches. 

With the teeth of a bear trap digging into their ankle, threatening to rip their foot off and bullet holes searing through their shoulder and thigh, they crawled for their life. One arm in front of the other, pulling them forward as their good leg weakly kicked. Artur overhead dodged bullets, screaming at his owner in warning as they wallowed in the mud. In their headset an array of voices screamed from a distant firefight, some commanders howling at them for their status, and yet if they were to speak, it would be a death sentence. From where they lay, they could hear the patrols closing in on them, it was their only choice.

Reaching up to their helmet that was blaring at their crashing vitals, Bloodhound quickly pressed their finger behind their jaw. In their heads up display a digital marker appeared in the ground mere meters away.

A man’s voice rattled through their head, the exact same one they had listened to time and time again in training. Even with their animosity towards their unconventional partner, it sent shivers down their spine.

“Standby for Titanfall.”

In the sky, an orbital battle was being fought, ships being shot at, shrapnel raining down upon them. Amongst the wreckage an orange blip caught their attention, a drop of sunlight rapidly approaching the ground. Before they could even blink, the ball of flames collided with the terrain, tearing up dirt and spraying them with rocks. In an instant the giant mechs form unfurled itself, standing tall and immediately darting to the side and dropping down a particle wall. 

Firing off rocket pods towards a set of approaching targets, the Titan spoke. “You have sustained critical damage, Pilot. Once I have secured the area you must embark and I will proceed with provisional first aid and evacuation protocols.”

“I have the data.” Bloodhound coughed, respirator on its last legs as it tried to sustain them, all of this for some strings of code.

“Understood. Mission complete, we will leave at our earliest convenience.” The Titan hummed as humongous bullet casings slammed into the ground.

Gritting their teeth and holding back the cry in their throat they dragged themself towards the Titan as heavy gunfire rang out. IMC soldiers ran, shouted, and hid while the Spectre units tried to press forward, only to be blasted over like dust in the wind. There was a brief pause in the fighting after what felt like an eternity for Bloodhound, until they were scooped up by their Titan, as gentle as a parent with a newborn and into its chassis. All around them, screens came to life and their bodies melded together, making them one. With their hands on the controls, Bloodhound had never felt more powerful as steroids were pumped into their veins as they launched a volley of missiles at anyone who dared challenge the pair. Together they worked their way through that hellscape, tearing down outposts that dared to try and contest the Militia forces until they were faced with their greatest foe yet.

Mere meters from safety, the Titan announced. “Enemy Titan inbound, prepare for offensive maneuvers.”

Biting their lip, Bloodhound gripped on tightly to their controls. The only thing equal to a Pilot was another Titan user of a higher or comparable skill, but as they bled out, Bloodhound mused to themself that there was no one who could compare to the hunter the Gods sent. Dropping another particle barrier, they counted down the seconds until their rival made touchdown. 

Before the enemy Northstar could begin to right itself, they charged forward, unloading rockets and bullets into its body, trying to hit it with everything they had as quickly as possible. Together Bloodhound and their Titans heavy fists slammed into the vulnerable cockpit time and time again, of course sustaining their own damage in the process as their prey was not keen on going down without a fight. The two giants knocked each other around violently, dancing around the array of IMC and Militia personnel who were trying to assist in the battle. It became a contest of sheer willpower, and Bloodhound was not keen on giving up even as their shielding was peeled away and alarms blared, their Titan reporting damage. 

Letting out a sharp screech like a banshee, with all of their combined might, they were able to lift the enemy Titan, hydraulics screeching as its struggling frame was raised to the sky, only to be slammed down on its head. As soon as its shields fractured once again, Bloodhound unloaded two strategically placed bullets from their Titans rifle to bring the battle to a close.

This would serve as their first Titan brawl out of many more to come. After they were peeled out of their machine companion everything was a blur in their memory. Loaded onto the nearest space vessel they were returned deep into Militia space for medical treatment as well as commendations for their service. Though none of that compared to the buzz that now permanently sat in their mind, it left them yearning for more, even though guilt sat deep within them. All they could wish for was that in the end, this would all be justified in the eyes of the Allfather.

Weeks flew by from then, and as months of their life trickled away, they quickly warmed up to their strongest ally who had been through the worst humanity had to offer with them. At last there was only one final piece left to solidify their bond and thus the name Freyja was coined.

“Gods alive, you really have known each other for a long time.” Walter whistled as a stripped down version of Bloodhound’s memories were laid out for him to feast upon.

“I am near the age of forty now, so around eighteen years.” Bloodhound hummed softly, as they poured themself a cup of warm water, gently adjusting the intake on their respirator to allow fluids through.

Walter ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t even tell you what I was doing back then, probably something stupid, but nothing like that.”

Bloodhound snorted as they traced the rim of their cup before glancing to the kitchen window. “Some things are unforgettable, though I suppose I have a good reminder of all that has happened.”

Chuckling, Walter smiled. “You’ve got one hell of a memento out of it. Freyja’s a good one that's for sure, happy the big girls still around. I know after the war, most of these fellas were discontinued.”

“It has been a challenge.” Bloodhound sighed tiredly as they lifted their mug to pour some fluids into their mouth. “We returned to the Outlands mere days before the communications blackout. We were intended to eliminate remaining IMC strongholds to destroy their presence in the Outlands. In the end however, it mattered little, the war ended and it was mostly forgotten, people were more concerned with the power vacuum left behind.”

“Which left you with the opportunity to sneak Freyja around and keep her active.” Walter spoke as it all fell into place for him, only receiving a nod in response.

Bloodhound looked down, indecipherably as they mulled over something in their head. “The Syndicate is aware that we exist, however they appreciate our work as mercenaries and allow us to remain. Between our work, we reside here, keeping away from unwanted eyes.”

“Right.” Walter nodded along, intently listening. “And I presume this is how you ended up meeting Loba.”

“Precisely.” He could almost feel them smiling beneath their mask as they spoke, before they rose to their feet. “I recommend that we end our exchange of tales here, Walter Fitzroy. It grows late and tomorrow we must set out early.”

The older man snapped his fingers. “Damn, right as I was starting to get to know you. C’mon, after you slept the whole way back here, there’s no way you’re tired!”

“There will be other times for stories, Fitzroy.” They replied, voice playful in a way they had not heard before. “Though I appreciate having someone to hear my tales.”

“Of course, it's what friends are for, mate!” Walter slowly motioned to get up, ass sore from the wooden seats.

Giggling, almost fondly, Bloodhound waved him along. “I will help prepare your bedding for the night. Do you require anything else?”

“Nothing but your good company and even better hospitality.” Walter kept on grinning as he was lead away into a small side room.

Between the two of them, settling down the small foam mattress and furs was easy work, with Walter easily shedding his coat and falling back onto the makeshift bed. 

Staring down at the man, Bloodhound shook their head as they stepped to the door. “I wish you a good night's rest, Fitzroy.”

“You too, Houndy.” Walter replied, still beaming whilst his head hit the pillow and the door clicked shut.

Staring at the wooden plank ceiling, the man was restless in ways he hadn’t felt in years. Rolling onto his side, he began to mentally count sheep to ease his racing mind, trying to process all that he had learned while the moon stared back at him. Reaching up around his neck he ran his fingers over the golden shard of shrapnel left behind from his and Maggie’s childhood keepsake that was now nothing more than ash. As Walter laid there, deep within his chest, something new began to stir, a feeling he hadn’t harbored in a good few years. 

Chapter Text

Dawn seeped through the windows as Walter sluggishly opened his eyes. His neck ached something fierce from the thin padding he had slept on all night. Finding his vest balled beneath his head, Walter slipped the garment on, feeling a chill work its way through his body as he started to amble about. Already knowing Bloodhound as an early riser, he cracked open the side room door open, peering out into the living space and kitchen, they were nowhere to be seen, however his socked foot made contact with a soft lump. Looking down he found a pile of clothing, organic blues, whites, and browns greeted his eyes, hand sewn and packed with warm fur and insulated with feathers. Apparently Bloodhound was quite intent on making sure Walter wouldn’t freeze to death, despite their cycling attitude towards him.

Wanting to avoid an earful in case they caught him outside, he quickly pulled the jacket they provided for him overtop his other clothing, feeling toasty and snug. As he slipped his boots back over his feet, Walter gave the cabin one last look over, catching the slightest bit of movement outside the kitchen window. With a chilled huff, he ventured out of Bloodhound’s home, carefully moving around the side of the building. There he spotted Bloodhound, right out in the open, standing out against the pale background. With Freyja towering alongside them, Bloodhound held out their arm as Artur ate seeds from their hand.

“We will be gone no longer than a day at most.” Bloodhound spoke to their mechanical friend. “If we do not return, you are to contact Jaime but do not approach the village, do you understand?”

Freyja knelt down by her companion. “Pilot, I cannot do that. These orders are in direct violation of Protocol 3. I would be indirectly leaving you to be harmed or killed.”

“And I do not want a massacre of my people over a misunderstanding.” Bloodhound crossed their arms firmly. “I do not want to see you harmed either, my friend, and your presence will only irritate the Elders. I understand that this is a difficult request, however it must be done. Just as we have many times before, we must separate to complete this mission.”

The Titan looked down to the basket that was sitting in her hands. “I will connect with Jaime if you return late as well as perform continuous patrols of the area as well as monitor your vitals remotely.”

Bloodhound reached out to place their free hand on the Titan’s arm while Artur continued feasting. “Thank you, Freyja. You have known me long enough to know that while I may be stubborn, I will always return home, even if I am prepared for my end.”

Dipping her head, Freyja then turned to view Walter as he approached, spurring Bloodhound to do the same.

“Fitzroy.” They greeted, voice still carrying the slightest bit of sleep as they cast Artur free.

“Houndy.” Walter replied in kind, sauntering up to the Talosi trio. “Good mornin’ she’s a bit chilly out, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Bloodhound stepped up to him, just a hare taller than Walter as they studied his attire. “You are wise to accept my offerings.”

Walter smirked, opening his arms to show off how everything fit. “What can I say? You’re a fantastic host.”

The hunter let out a soft, amused, grunt before beckoning Freyja forth. “We went out foraging this morning, it is not much, but it is what I am able to provide. Eat now and then I will show you the springs so you may bathe before our journey.”

In the Titans large hands sat a basket filled with colorful berries, sweet reds and deep blues staring back at him. Dipping his hand into the cedar woven vessel, Walter scooped up a handful and easily popped them into his mouth. With a tender crunch the gentle outer skin gave way for soft, juicy, flesh for him to devour. Seeds lodged themself between his teeth as a freshness he had never tasted before hit his tongue. Purple juice stained his lips and the tips of his moustache as he dipped his hand in for another mouthful, letting out a pleased groan. 

“This place really has everything huh.” Walter spoke as he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Givin’ me the five star guest treatment, private hot springs and all!”

“Talos takes care of its people.” Bloodhound nodded as they waved him along, guiding him around the large rock faces all around them.

All around them slowly the area began to shift to a subtle yellow color, right along with pristine blue water that stunk of sulfur. Walter scrunched his nose at the smell as they passed by, from here the humidity stuck to his face and he could tell that the water was boiling hot.

“Mind your footing, geysers are not kind to human bodies.” Bloodhound commented while Freyja splashed along behind the group. 

“If you were to fall into a geyser, you would almost certainly perish. Geysers such as the ones found on Talos can reach excess temperatures of two-hundred degrees Celsius. At minimum a human victim would receive severe burns and in the most dire case, rapid death due to the heat and acidity within.” The Titan thrummed as the ground rumbled. “Detecting nearby seismic activity.”

Walter felt a shudder work its way up his spine. “Couldn’t you have told me a more ‘fun’ fact?”

Bloodhound chuckled softly. “You will soon learn that there is little humor bound within Titan codes, though at times it is endearing.”

Freyja tilted her head as Artur came to perch upon her shoulder. “I am here to provide empirical information to best suit my Pilot and their comrades' needs. Was my information not helpful?”

“It wasn’t something I knew before, now I do, so I guess so?” Walter shrugged hoping to appease the Titan, even though still slightly horrified.

That got another small laugh from Bloodhound as they cut through a small cropping of trees, steam billowing through the branches, only getting thicker with every step. Finally breaking through the wall of white smog, what was revealed before him was unlike anything else Walter had seen. Beautiful and clear pools of water sat before him with the vague scent of mint, the stalks growing on the rocky edges of the springs. Moss squished out beneath his foot, one of the few things that he noticed wasn’t frozen solid. Freyja’s mechanical feet echoed against the stones, crackling branches that stood in her way.

“We will wait here for you, proceed as you must.” Bloodhound began to get down onto their knees, resting the broken pieces of their axe in front of them. “I will be here praying until you return.”

Walter wasn’t sure how to respond besides a simple nod and a thumbs up before slowly padding away from where Bloodhound rested. If anything right now he was on their lands and would listen to what they were telling him, just as they had listened to him and Maggie while back on Salvo. Despite being hard headed, Walter was capable of listening some of the time, it was what kept him alive this long.

Carefully shimmying along the wet stones, he found a small dip in the rocks that he could rest on. Pulling off some of his layers, he dipped his hands into the warm water, stinging his chilled fingers for a moment. Cupping his hands together, he rinsed off his face and ran a damp hand through his hair to revitalize the days old gel that had crusted in there. As he cleaned himself, his mind drifted to the past 48 hours, making his brain hurt, body ailing from the stress. He had tried to make a somewhat selfless choice from something that appealed to his own drive for glory, but in the end still was burned. After all he had given to the Cracked Talon – to Maggie – he felt the slightest bit entitled to live his life how he wanted and to make his own choices. 

Maybe it was wrong of him, Walter wasn’t sure, and he sure as hell wasn’t the best gauge of morality either, but it was where his heart lied. Not to mention he had committed to this and had to see it through, right to the bottom of whatever conspiracy they would end up finding themselves intertwined with. Staring down at his own reflection through the bubbling water, Walter rammed his metal fist into the surface before getting to his feet and stomping away. The frustration that had begun brewing in his mind was quickly quelled by the serene sight of Bloodhound meditating through the fog.

He wished he could read their mind, understanding all that went on behind those goggles, and maybe gleaning some of their knowledge for himself. In more ways than one, he had come to admire them. 

Shrugging his shirt and jackets back on as he wandered over to Bloodhound, he cleared his throat upon approach. The Pilot lifted their head in greeting, only to jolt ever so slightly as they caught sight of him still pulling on his clothes, as if they were scandalized.

“Ready to go whenever you are.” Walter started as he did up the buttons of the jacket he had been provided with.

Pushing themself to their feet, Bloodhound dusted off their knee pads and tucked away the fragments of their damaged weapon. “I am as prepared as I can be. It is a short journey to the village, but we must remain vigilant. There are beasts that stalk these forests that are unafraid to fight for their territory. Freyja, you will remain here and begin your patrol pattern as agreed.”

“I will be on standby, Pilot.” Freyja acknowledged as Artur let out a cry and tore off into the air at the mention of the aforementioned village.

Bloodhound once more reached out to their Titan. “We will be swift.”

Freyja’s large eye blinked before she reached around for her weapon. “Understood. I will be expecting contact by tomorrow morning at 0600.”

“Good, now, Fitzroy, follow me closely.” Bloodhound glanced over their shoulder as they set towards a line of shaded spruce trees. “I believe Artur has already alerted my people of our presence.”

Swallowing thickly, Walter began to obediently trail after them. Crossing over lava filled streams one after the other, mud crawling up to the tops of their boots, Bloodhound steered them around the forest floor as if it were the back of their hand. To them, this was like riding a bike, muscle memory leading the way as they easily navigated the wilds.

Suddenly, they came to a halt, Bloodhound raising their hand before Walter could crash into their back. The Talosi hunter stood deathly still as they began to slowly scan the area, Artur letting out a cry from out in the distance. From behind him, the bushes began to rustle, the tiniest of sticks snapping, but before Walter was able to investigate, head whipping around, the bridge of his nose slammed into a solid mass. Landing on his ass Walter gripped his nose as blood began to trickle free, however before he could begin to scream profanities, he was forced down onto his chest roughly. In front of him, he heard Bloodhound shouting, their words indecipherable to him.

Wincing as he looked to Bloodhound, the Pilot looked between him and his attacker. “Stay silent and do not move.”

A foot was placed on the center of Walter’s back as another form approached Bloodhound, a wall of a man. He was older, hair made from strands of silver and deep scars creased his face. Bloodhound crossed their arms as he growled at them in a language Walter could not pick up on. He had tried to pick up some terms Bloodhound used and did his best to learn over the past few months, though that was nowhere near sufficient enough.

Bloodhound raised their chin as they spoke back, other members of their village surrounding them. Walter could see the tension rising in their shoulders as they debated the other Talosi settlers.

“You still speak the language of our people well.” The man remarked, swapping back to English before sending a scowl down to Walter who was still bleeding out. “Perhaps you are not entirely lost after all.”

They scoffed in response. “My loyalty is not as fickle as you believe it to be. I have always been a child of the Allfather, Gunnar.”

All around the strangers snorted and giggled before, the man, Gunnar, replied. “It would not seem so, as you are in bed with another stranger along with your mechanical abomination. You are still a traitor to our people, running off and leaving us without guidance.”

Bloodhound balled their fist, body shaking with anger. “I have given up more for our people than you will ever know.”

“So you claim, but you forsake our ways. These lands are no longer yours, state your business and be gone.” Gunnar shot back dismissively. 

Bloodhound growled, ready stepping forward in challenge. “I am still blessed with the gifts of the hunt and I still command respect. I was the leader of our people for three winters, just as my uncle was before me.”

“Yet rage consumes you, like a child.” Gunnar stalked around them, eyes rolling. “You still have not said what you are here for. The only respect I will offer you is listening to what you have to say.”

“I wish to speak with the Elders.” Bloodhound responded bluntly before reaching into their tunic, pulling free Raven’s Bite. “I will say no more until I am able to seek their counsel. Kill us or heed my request, but do not show us disrespect by turning us away.”

Walter felt a strike of panic run through his veins at the idea of being slain where he laid. “Houndy wait that's a bit extreme–”

“Quiet!” Bloodhound spat harshly as Walter was suddenly thrust impossibly deeper into the dirt.

Gunnar looked Bloodhound up and down before looking over his shoulder and smoothly giving orders to the other hunters around them. The man's tough front began to fall as he watched Bloodhound, seeing that they were not willing to back down. Tucking away the remains of Raven’s Bite, Bloodhound held out their arms to be bound while Walter was pulled to his feet. 

Being shoved into Bloodhound’s side, the pair were pulled along, rough hands gripping them from behind as they traversed the forest.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Walter hissed under his breath, unsure if he was allowed to speak yet, blood still pooling on his lips, coating his tongue with a metallic tang.

Bloodhound turned their head to the side ever so slightly. “We are being taken to the village, they have refused to kill us.”

“Not exactly the warmest of welcomes, aye?” Walter groaned, wishing he could wipe his face.

“Nei.” Bloodhound sighed in agreement as they walked. “I will be subjected to much… judgement. Whatever is said or done, you must not intervene.”

That idea didn’t sit right with Walter, within him something stirred, an inherent feeling of wrongness over being unable to defend his friend. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any hard promises.”

It wasn’t long before there was finally a break in the trees, the smell of woodsmoke the first indication that the quaint little village sitting alongside a deep blue lake was near. Walter found it gorgeous as they passed through the outskirts of the town, blue and white canvas forming banners and the roofs to homes, log cabins being constructed and reinforced with metals. It was simple in a way he had seldom seen, even back in the roughest parts of Salvo. The colors in the town matched the clothing Bloodhound had loaned him, probably a testament to how old they truly were and how well they had held up over the years.

All eyes were on them as they were brought through the heart of the town, children hiding their faces in their parents coats, workers dropping their tools, and even merchants pausing their transactions to try and see what the commotion was all about. They were brought before a large hall, Bloodhound pausing for a moment to stare up at it, before being gently pushed forward up the stairs. Walter couldn’t imagine whatever they were feeling right now, from what he had gathered, they were estranged, but to what extent he didn’t know fully, even still he could tell it was messy.

Large oak doors were pulled open, bound with iron handles, revealing a large fire pit with a roast in the center. All around sat benches that were being arranged for presumably a community meal. Some townsfolk wandered about though quickly cleared the area as the group maneuvered through to the head of the room. There sat five head chairs filled with three women and two men, all around the same age as Walter or older.

“Gunnar, what have you brought to us today?” One of the men spoke, voice gruff and cold.

Gunnar turned out of the way to reveal Bloodhound and Walter. Suddenly the Salvonian felt bare with the way the council stared through him.

The woman who sat in the center shot to her feet, blue eyes watering and her long blonde braids falling forward “Blóðhundr?”

A shrill sounding woman leaded forward. “Ah, a deceiver of our ways and a stranger dressing up in our clothing are presented before us.”

Bloodhound ignored the harsh words, keeping their head forward. “I have been led here by the Gods.”

An old man began to laugh as he waved, dismissing the hunting group who had brought them. “The Gods! Between your metal beast you still possess and the strange men you bring to our planet they have given up on you child, do not jest.”

“Leif!” The blonde woman snapped, standing to Bloodhound’s defense. “They have sought a hearing with us and it is our obligation to do so, not mock and belittle.”

The woman next to her sneered. “They are no longer one of us, we are not obligated to provide them with anything.”

“You are correct.” Bloodhound cut in, stepping forward. “I have passed the point in which I cannot return to this life, I believe I did so long ago. I am not naive and I am not here to ask for my place back amongst our félagi people.”

That seemingly got the gaggle of Elders to shut their mouths instantly. They clearly were expecting Bloodhound to snap back and argue, but their agreement with their words had them all stunned.

The friendly woman moved down the steps to approach Bloodhound, her eyes soft. “Speak your business child.”

The bindings were freed from Bloodhound’s wrists, the scratchy rope hitting the floor.

With a huff, Bloodhound reached back into their pockets to reveal their axe before they knelt down in front of the woman. “This is the gipt my uncle gave me before he passed, a token of completing my final test. In battle it fell nobly and it is my duty to repair it, not for myself, but for Artur and his memory.”

Leif snapped, getting up to follow the woman down the stairs. “This is yet another sign that the Allfather has abandoned them! Ingrid, do not sympathize with this traitor.”

Ingrid turned towards the man. “Or perhaps this is a trial the Allfather intends to send them on – to prove themself once more in his eyes!”

The second older man rose from his seat. “He would do no such thing unless they were to sever their ties with that machine they believe they have tamed. Look at them, they stink of technology, head to toe, even in their blood!”

Ingrid growled as once again Bloodhound’s fists began to quake by their sides. “You forget that those beliefs are the reason we have driven away many of our village's youth! I have sat on this council for more than ten winters, I was present when Artur fell in battle, I heard his final words! He wanted us to embrace change, not turn it away! I have sat here season after season, watching children leave in exile or out of frustration with our ways and our unwillingness to adapt to this new age. Blóðhundr had set us on that path before they left us, we had begun to follow those teachings but not nearly enough. What we have done is not sustainable for our people.”

“If I am to undergo these trials, I will do so in the Old Ways.” Bloodhound dipped their head. “I still value the art of the hunt and the merit of one's own work.”

The five Elders paused to look between each other, it seemed like wordlessly, it was up to vote. It was obvious where Ingrid stood on the matter. The shrill sounding woman wrinkled her nose, to which Walter frowned, while the second man who had just insulted Bloodhound looked away. The more timid woman who had yet to speak looked indifferent to the situation, leaving Leif as the final vote.

“We will see.” Leif grumbled after a long stretch of silence and thought. “Let them try and let them fail.”

Smiling, Ingrid placed her hands on Bloodhound’s shoulder. “Then it is settled, we will accept your request and administer the trials you seek. You will prove yourself in the Old Ways, using your intuition alone to complete the tasks you are given. Your companion will not accompany you on this hunt but he may join us in invigilating you from afar. Now come, Blóðhundr, it is time for you to bear the markings of a young hunter once more.”

Rising to their feet, Bloodhound gave another bow. “Thank you.”

Giving their shoulders a squeeze, Ingrid gently directed them back through the hall, towards a small side room filled with a water basin and herbs. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Ingrid surged forward, pulling Bloodhound close.

“You have been gone for so long, I was getting worried.” The woman breathed, shoulders shaking.

Carefully, Bloodhound reciprocated, entirely shocked by the gesture. “It has been several months, yes. I have been in the fringe worlds… hunting.”

“God’s how you have changed since the last time we spoke.” Ingrid breathed as she let them go, turning to grab a mortar and pestle, filling it with a red powder and water.

From what Walter could glean, they had not seen one another this close in years. It settled something in him to know that at least one person from this village cared for Bloodhound and wasn’t afraid to speak up for them. Next to him, Bloodhound slowly began to unclip pieces of their armor that they would not need during their test, setting aside their sonar and other weaponry.

In between Ingrid's mixing of body paint, she handed Walter a damp cloth. “Your name?”

Taking it, he began to wipe his face, blood smearing across the rag. “Walter Fitzroy, nice to make your acquaintance. Thanks for the towel, your men out there know how to throw a mean punch.”

She only nodded in response as she stepped in front of Bloodhound, blocking out their face from view as she dipped her thumb inside the paste. From where he stood, Walter could hear the faint hiss of their respirator being removed and the sliding of their goggles off of their face. Doing his best to be respectful, Walter shifted to look the other way. He listened closely until he heard them resettle their equipment on their face before turning around.

“Perfect.” Ingrid breathed, almost as if she were a mother. “We will have more time to speak once you return, but we must not keep the others waiting. You, Fitzroy, once they set out, will stay by my side and mine alone, understood?”

“Yes ma’am.” He responded, to which Bloodhound snorted as they quickly shuffled back out of the side room.

The group reconvened out on the front steps of the hall, Ingrid separating from Bloodhound's side to rejoin the other Elders. Words were exchanged back and forth in what Walter presumed was some variety of Nordic language. Walter tried to follow along with the banter as best he could. He watched as Bloodhound nodded at the Elder's words before once again bowing and starting down the stairs as Leif dismissed them. Walter stared after them as Bloodhound’s figure began to disappear amongst the buildings, furrowing his brow, an unsettled feeling entering his stomach.

From above, Artur let out a screech before diving down, startling the man as he landed on Walter’s right arm. “I guess you’re stuck with me then?”

Letting out a dismayed shriek, Artur leaned over to peck at Walter’s metallic arm as finger’s stroked along his throat.

Ingrid spoke from next to Walter as Leif and a few nearby hunters pulled on pairs of goggles. “Whatever occurs during their journey, we must not interfere, they are at the Allfather’s will.”

“What if they get hurt?” Walter asked as Ingrid flipped down her own red lensed goggles. “There isn’t anything even you can do for them?”

“Then they will persevere or die, it is the way of nature.” Ingrid spoke solemnly. “I have done what I can for Blóðhundr, I still owe them a great deal, however this is something even I shall not interfere with.”

Walter nodded, still trying to wrap his head around everything as he followed the woman down the steps, Artur launching off from his arm. “How does this all work? I’m sure you can already tell I’m not exactly versed in your beliefs quite yet.”

Ingrid snorted in amusement, glancing at Walter through the side of her eye as they set out towards the forest, following Bloodhound’s footprints left in the snow. “The Old Ways are seldom used outside of our commune, you are Salvonian, becoming one with our beliefs takes years to master, it is understandable that you would know not of our ways.”

“Well, I like to think there's still a bit of room for improvement left in these old bones of mine.” Walter responded as they quickly carved through the snow, the shadowy frame of Bloodhound weaving through trees a few hundred yards ahead.

“In time, if you prove yourself, then they may teach you. In the past they have been fond of troublemakers such as yourself, but they were quickly spurned by those same people that claimed to love them and were willing to learn our ways.” Ingrid replied as she watched closely, pressing her side to a bundle of trees as Bloodhound began to climb a steep rock face. 

Walter frowned deeply, picking at his nail bed as he peaked around Ingrid’s side. “If it helps ease your mind, I ain’t here to mean them any harm, I’m just trying to be a good mate. Houndy needs someone in their corner, even more so than I thought.”

Ingrid let out a fond hum as she studied Walter as the pair watched Bloodhound reach the top of the ledge with a strained shout. “It may be of interest for you to take note of this teaching, Walter Fitzroy, as these trials are meant to form a union with the Gods, just as one would with their chosen partner.”

Face flushing, Walter stepped back, flustered. “Woah, alright, erm, not quite my intent, really we’ve just met a while back. Half the time I’m not even sure they like me hanging around.”

“They do.” Ingrid responded as she led him around the forest, swapping their position again to find a good view of Bloodhound. “It is as you say, they need more people they are able to depend upon. I can see they grow fond of you.”

“Hmph, that's good to know I guess. Seems like they’ll be stuck with me for a while yet, I ain’t keen on abandoning them.” Walter crossed his arms as he let Ingrid's words set in as they approached an abandoned quarry of sorts, filled with glimmering stones.

Next to him, Ingrid winced, face falling as her shoulders went tense. “Casting them out was a mistake. They have been through much pain in their life, I pray that you do not add to it.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Walter smiled as Bloodhound hoisted up a glistening red boulder. “What even happened between you guys? I know the rough version of it, but it seems like there still are people here who care about ‘em so why hasn’t anyone said anything?”

Taking a sharp breath, Ingrid hung her head in shame. “If you wish to know, then hear my words well, Fitzroy.”

They were in their twenties now, fresh scars from far off worlds adorning their skin. It had been over two years since they had left the Outlands and at long last they were home. All that had happened was not yet forgotten, but for a moment they knew peace. With the communications blackout, the IMC and Militia fell away, leaving them free as the crew they had been sent to the Outlands with disbanded, trying to build their own lives until it was possible for them to return to the Frontier. 

Alongside them stood their faithful Titan, as tall as the trees that sprouted through the frozen ground. The machine was just as anxious as her owner as they traversed the lands Bloodhound had been born on. As excited as a child, they pressed onwards to their village, throwing aside their military garb as they ran to their people, Freyja trailing along.

Ingrid was not yet a member of the council, but a well respected community member all the same. She had been one of the first to greet Bloodhound as they appeared before their people, like a ghost coming back to haunt them. They had changed, shorn hair, a sterile scent, and darkly circled eyes stared back at their loved ones. Cheers of delight quickly turned to that of horror as the looming beast of war approached. 

The argument between Bloodhound and Leif was almost instantaneous – it was explosive – loud enough to rattle the heavens.

“You dishonor your uncle – you spit upon the Old Ways. That man has led you astray, tainting your mind!” Leif howled, face red with anger. “You turned your back on us – you ran away from your home out of greed!”

“That man you speak of is dead! He died the day I left.” Bloodhound screamed back, eyes beginning to water, emotions bubbling to the surface after being masked for so long.

After years of fighting, they had grown weary, only to be bitten when their guard was finally let down. Ingrid was frozen in place, unable to help the long lost hunter.

Leif kept his assault going. “You lie! Not only that but you bring a monstrosity to our home. This creature will bring destruction to our lands.”

“Nei!” Bloodhound wailed back, feeling helpless, Freyja behind them growing agitated. “You misunderstand, if you allow me to explain-”

“Actions are what matter, not words. We have seen enough!” Another council member, Erik, a man who had since passed, spoke. “Be gone from our sight or we will dismantle your abomination and force you onto the next traders ship away from this place!”

Bloodhound quaked like a leaf in the wind as they stood there, utterly horrified, losing all they had known once more. Hot tears made their way out of their eyes as they stumbled back towards their Titan, letting out an anguished scream, the most pained sound Ingrid had ever heard. How she wanted to chase after them, to call their name, leave alongside them and to understand the world as they saw it, and yet she still could not explain why she was welded in place. Perhaps it was out of a sense of duty – a part of her yearning for change – or more worryingly selfishness.

“A hunter like them only graces our people once every few generations. They are gifted and wise beyond their years and yet we turned them away.” Ingrid sighed softly as they followed Bloodhound back through the snow and towards the village. “I can only hope that they will forgive us and allow us to show them that we are still capable of change. I do not know the full reasons of why they disappeared on that day, those many years ago, nor do I need to. I trust that child and know their heart is strong, they will prove the others wrong.”

Trailing back the direction from where they game, half an hour elapsed. From here Walter could see the steam billowing out from Bloodhound’s respirator as they exerted themself. On their back the shiny red stone bore down upon them, their feet shuffling as they moved. As they approached the village, Artur returned, this time in his beak a small bundle of flowers to which he pecked in between the steel plating of Walter’s exposed wrist. Finding their way over to a blue canvas covered tent, Walter watched as they bowed to the blacksmith who had been manning the fires before entering the space.

In pure admiration Walter unashamedly stared as they chipped away at the stone they had harvested, shoveling coals into the main fire pit they would use for repairs. He was beyond impressed, everyday he found something new to admire in them. Shearing away the blemished outer shell, they were soon left with a handful of gorgeous metal they began to melt over the small basin filled with lava. Heating up the remains of Raven’s Bite the process to remold it started. Using the new metal, they poured it along the frame, securing the edges with a subtle weld, filling in the cracks and gaps from when the head was sheared off from its handle. Bloodhound threw off their jacket in the middle of the process, the forges getting unbearably hot, revealing expanses of muscle in their arms that hung free from their black undershirt. Ingrid let out a pleased hum as they worked, sculpting the minerals to fit its original shape, their uncle's weapon becoming reborn before her eyes.

The other Elder’s circled the tent like vicious predators, eyeing Bloodhound as they worked, sweat beading down their form. Some were impressed, others still watched them with disdain, making Walter’s lip curl at their hostility. Regardless they pressed on, working from memory and their soul. 

Before long they were dipping their axe in a cold bath one last time, allowing it to settle as they rewrapped the handle and added the beads around its neck and bottom. Testing the edge with their thumb, they nodded satisfied with their sharpening. Rolling it over in their hands to test the weight, they finally turned to Walter and Ingrid, the first acknowledgment they had made on their presence since their trial had begun.

“I will not fail again. I am ready for the final test.” Bloodhound spoke, stepping out of the tent and slamming the axe into an unlit brazier with ease, lodging itself in place.

Ingrid knew this declaration, one this same child had made upon their first failed trial. Moving forward, she called for the council to regroup, each of which admiring the glimmering reds of their reforged work. Kneeling down, they bowed their head as they awaited their assignment.

Leif was the first to speak. “As we have watched you, we have settled on your final task to regain your name. Blóðhundr, you are the slayer of a Goliath, a beast that had terrorized our people for generations. Now you must do so again, there is a Prowler unlike anything we have seen before nesting near our home. It wounds our people and steals our food right from our fingers, it must be slain.”

“It will be done.” Bloodhound spoke roughly as Artur landed on the brazier next to them, inspecting his human’s work.

“Rise and prepare for the hunt.” Ingrid added, trying to hide her pride, though it still bubbled out.

Even if he wasn’t supposed to speak, that still didn’t stop Walter from having the widest shit-eating grin on his face as he stared at the Elders. He was glad Bloodhound was proving them deathly wrong. They were still a warrior, right down into the marrow of their bones.

Crawling through the mud, Bloodhound spied tracks in the dirt, a trail from the giant creature terrorizing these lands. These had to have been the largest Prowler tracks they had seen since they were in the Frontier. This hunt would be no easy feat, only meant for the toughest of fighters. Thankfully, while not a vain person, they believed they qualified as skilled enough.

A pool of blood was left in the snow, alongside feathers, this beast was well fed. Its lair had to be near. From what they could tell it was a large male, its range was far too wide for a female, especially during this season when pups would be freshly born. Through the brush, Bloodhound slunk along the forest floor, their clothes becoming soiled. Above they could tell Artur was on close watch, still intent on helping them from afar, the slightest shift in his head told them that they were quickly approaching the den.

They could hear a rumble from a short distance ahead. Readying themself Bloodhound slipped forward, through the spines of a set of pine trees. A large orange and red body came into view, humongous paws tearing through the dirt, pulling out roots to feast upon. It had its back turned to Bloodhound, perfect for an opportunity attack. Lunging out from the brush and roots with a war cry, they entered the clearing, closing the space between themself and their target. The Prowler turned with a roar, the fleshy frills on its neck flaring up as it crushed bones and skulls beneath its feet. 

Large fangs from a hard tipped mouth snapped at Bloodhound, trying to get a taste of their flesh. Sliding between the Prowler's front legs to dodge its devastating bite, they slashed at the creature's tender underbelly, narrowly avoiding being crushed by its hind legs. Blood dropped onto the ground in a thick cascade, but Bloodhound knew better, this Prowler would continue to fight until its body gave out. Enraged, the animal surged forth, giant paws and mouth hanging wide open. Trying to avoid its teeth once more, this time however they did not have the element of surprise and were batted in the side, sending them flying. Skipping across the dirt like a stone, Bloodhound’s spine made contact with a tree stump, the rotten base shattering ever so slightly, sending slivers into their back. Raven’s Bite had slipped from their grasp and sat a mere five feet away from them. 

The Prowler circled wildly, tail lashing as it hissed at them, teeth gnashing together as energy ebbed from its titanic form. Gritting their teeth, Bloodhound forced themself onto their feet, their wounds from mere days prior screaming at them, agony searing through their sides. They were not giving up now; Bloodhound rationalized that they had been through worse in the past. Clenching left fist Bloodhound’s shoulders heaved as they pulled their spare knife from their waistband with their right. A familiar burn started in their stomach, working its way through their bloodstream, heart picking up the pace, dulling out their pain and sharpening their senses. Red hot energy ripped through them, forcing a roar out of their body loud enough to challenge the Prowler’s own growls.

Like a lightning strike, Bloodhound met the charging Prowler head on, slamming their fist into its sensitive nose, stopping it like a car running into a brick wall. The beast piled up onto itself, giving Bloodhound time to twist around and lodge their knife into its eye before dipping out of reach. Diving for Raven’s Bite, they kicked the axe from where it laid on the ground and up into their hand, right in time as the Prowler aimed for another sloppy attack. This time Bloodhound was prepared, winding up and side stepping, they were able to catch the Prowler in the soft junction of where its upper and lower jaws met, splitting the side of its face wide open, making its mouth uselessly hang open. 

Using the momentum of the attack, they swung themself through the air like an acrobat and onto its back. Instantly the beast began to buck wildly, trying to shake the hunter off, even if its demise was a certainty from its wounds. Balancing on the creature like a trained bull rider, they finally saw an opening, the Prowler staring up at them with the angriest eyes they had ever seen. Taking mercy on the creature, showing their opponent a dignified death, they brought their axe clean into its skull, severing the lobes of its brain, making it lifelessly drop to the forest floor. 

Letting out a triumphant roar as they stepped off the Prowler’s form, Artur dipped down to land on Bloodhound’s arm, letting out a caw of pride. Chuckling, the hunter petted the raven on his chin as the last bits of their adrenaline and energy surge wore off. Waves of discomfort slammed them, making them grip their side, folding over slightly. Wheezing as they tried to manage their pain, all around them the foliage began to rustle. Snapping into a battle ready pose, Bloodhound scanned the tree line, Artur took off from their arm, making their hairs raise. The world went still for a moment, the Pilot dare not even breath until finally Leif stepped out, clapping. Alongside him was Ingrid and the other Elders, as well as a handful of other hunters such as Gunnar, trailing behind was Walter whose face was wide with awe, an expression they found themself enjoying.

Pointing firmly to the cooling body of the Prowler, Bloodhound dropped Raven’s Bite back into the loops of their belt. “For a time I may have gone astray, become lost to a cause that was never my own, but I am the Blóðhundr and I have never forgotten the Old Ways.”

“I believe this is proof enough that you are still one of us. You are Artur’s blood relative, first of your name, and gifted by the Allfather.” Ingrid remarked as she stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest as she turned to the other Elder’s.

Some of them had twisted looks on their face that quickly melted away. Leif in particular looked conflicted. Gunnar turned to the Elder’s for guidance to which Ingrid bowed. Getting down to one knee and lowering her head, she offered the deepest token of respect she could provide. Much to their surprise next followed Gunnar, then the other hunter’s behind him. Looking around at those around him, even Walter got down onto his knees, a smile on his lips. The remaining Elder’s glanced around at their people and even the outsider they had antagonized since his appearance. One by one each of them knelt until only Leif stood. The weathered man swallowed thickly, hesitating as he met their gaze before falling down to bow.

A stone sat in Bloodhound’s throat. For the first time in over a decade, they were one with their tribe, they were seen clearly once more. Emotions ran high within their mind. Their body went on autopilot, moving in front of Leif as they gestured for him and the others around to look up at them.

“I will always stand with my people, that is a vow I swore to my uncle and before you all, no matter the cost.” Bloodhound’s voice shook as they began to speak. “However I cannot give up on my cause, I cannot abandon those I have sought companionship and comfort in. I now walk the line between two worlds, I am unable to return to who I was or how I was. I do not believe I can become one of you once more with full faith, but I wish to foster our relations once more.”

They were not the same Bloodhound who had been raised in the village, nor were they the same child who had gone to war. They were a blend of experience, a stray of the new and the old, divorced from many of the exact ideals built into them as a child. There was no world in which they could leave bare to leave Freyja behind, but perhaps there was one in which their tribe learned to begrudgingly accept her presence. Maybe, even by extension, outsiders such as Loba, Jaime, and Fitzroy. This was not a commitment to returning to their village, but it was a way of recentering themself; a way of beginning their next journey reborn.

Below them Leif nodded, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for them.

Clearing their voice Bloodhound glanced around, taking a breath to balance themself. “Now my félagi people, rise. We shall not let this hunt go to waste!”

All around the hunters of the village rose to their feet, a roar from the crowd, cheers of their comrades triumph. One by one hands were placed across their shoulders in passing  as everyone went to prepare the Prowler for transport. Last to approach was Walter who rested both his hands upon their shoulders, shaking them slightly.

“Congratu-bloody-lations Houndy, I knew you could do it. We’ll have to tell Freyja that she had nothing to worry about after all.” The grenadier grinned in a way that made Bloodhound snort softly.

Smiling to themself, Bloodhound nodded, still holding onto themself. “I am certain she will have much to say upon our return, especially with my wounds reopening. Though for now, I am not worried, I believe we will have a feast to attend before we return.”

“Sounds like one hell of a plan.” Walter replied, brown eye glinting in the afternoon light, as he shifted to help Bloodhound along.

Belly full and overwhelmed by the celebrations, Bloodhound slipped out of the hall. Events like these were never to their liking after their accident, too crowded for them to get comfortable, not to mention they lacked an appetite due to the stress filled day. As they left, they had given one last glance to Walter who was merrily indulging with some ale alongside Gunnar, loudly telling stories as he gobbled down the Prowler meat. The sight made them chuckle, the man was easily likeable to many, easily blending in without a care in the world, in a way it was admirable. 

Letting out a long, relieved breath, they set down the steps. They allowed themself to wander the village, remembering old routes and observing the new buildings and pathways. So much had changed since the last time they visited. A sadness ran through them at the thought, it had been the same way after their deployment, this time however they successfully reclaimed their place in the eyes of the Elder’s and the Allfather. They took some comfort in that, yet remained weary.

Artur greeted them on a nearby post, singing to Bloodhound, demanding their attention as he then hopped onto the ground. He wanted to show them something, and who were they to refuse?

The gravel path beneath their feet crackled as they walked, being brought to a familiar sight, the place they used to call home. Their uncle's house stood tall, even after decades of weathering, apparently the villagers took care of the place despite it being long abandoned. Bloodhound had a feeling that Ingrid had a hand in that, likely fighting fiercely to keep the home as a memorial site. Following Artur up the front steps, Bloodhound ran their hand over the wooden bannisters, a lump in their throat forming.

The same skull ornaments and shields hung above the door. Even now they could still envision the warm light of the woodstove shining through the dusty windows. Reaching for the door handle, they hesitated, taking a moment to look around behind them, finding no one watching. It was unlikely anyone would give them trouble for the act, but even still it had an inherent wrongness attached to it. Swallowing that feeling and with Artur pecking at the door, they forced it open.

In an instant the scent of their childhood hit them, making their lower lip quiver. The interior of their old home was something they thought they would never be able to see again. Artur flew up to his perch in the window, settling down with ease, shaking his little tail feathers to get comfy. The small living room still possessed the same worn carpets tucked beneath furniture, the ancient, creaky rocking chair jiggling ever so slightly as the floorboards shifted under the Pilot's weight. Furs and hand woven blankets still sat neatly folded on the back of the couch alongside down filled pillows. Moving across the room, they picked their favorite green blanket out from the bunch, a possession they thought was forever lost. Burying their respirator into the fibers, they tried to pull whatever scent they could from the item, hugging it close to their chest as tears pricked at their eyes.

Tucking the blanket beneath their arm, they found that the pots and pans were hung on the kitchen wall just as they had been left, though clearly they had been recently dusted. It was as if the day that they ran off from Talos was frozen in time, everything right as they had left it. Moving down the narrow hallway, Bloodhound found themself in their bedroom, same bedsheets freshly tucked in, white curtains turned yellow by sun damage. In the corner stood their old altar, overcome with emotion they stumbled over before collapsing.

Reaching forward they ran their hand over the skulls, stones, candles, and pieces of parchment that sat on the purple table runner. Tears fell freely from their eyes, becoming trapped in the lenses of their goggles. Letting out a wet sob for the first time in what felt like years. 

Resting their elbows on the altar, they clench their fists together in prayer. “Móðir, faðir, Artur… Boone.” They began. “I made it home for you, I can only believe that it was your plan to guide me here, I can hope I have done well in your eyes. I hope I am someone you are able to be proud of.”

Behind them the aged flooring groaned, calling them to attention right as the stench of alcohol and hops hit them. There stood Walter, leaning against the doorframe, quietly watching, jumping as they turned around.

“I uhm, didn’t mean to intrude. I can go if you want, I just noticed you took off and your little raven pal decided to bring me over.” Walter quickly explained as he already started to back out of the room.

Snorting as they adjusted the goggles on their face to allow some moisture out, Bloodhound stayed seated. “When has that stopped you before? Worry not, I would not abandon you here, if that is what you were concerned about.”

Walter laughed softly, being mindful of his noise for once. “Hey, at least you would be leaving me somewhere half decent, Mags would leave me out in the desert to fend for myself.”

From the way he spoke, they could tell it had happened before, once or twice.

Turning back to the altar they gestured to the spot next to them with their head, beads on their helmet rattling. “If you wish to stay, then you may sit.”

Striding across the room, Walter took the gesture, moving to sit cross legged, head swiveling as he took in the room. Walter didn’t question where they were, likely able to infer that much, dipping his head to the altar in respect.

After a long, contemplative moment, Walter broke the vigil like silence. “I think I’ve learned a lot today, a lot of lessons I think I could use in my ripe old age. Seeing you in action made me feel something I can’t quite place, but all the same I admire it.” Taking a beat to compose himself, he turned to Bloodhound. “I’d like to ask if you’d be able to teach me some of your Old Ways, show me the world as you see it. I’d get it if not, of course you don’t have to, but it might do me some good. I can’t promise you that I’d catch on right away, but I’d like to give it a shot.”

They were stunned to say the least, their mouth going dry. It was very seldom someone cared to be attentive to their beliefs, but Walter had to find a way to shock them once again. For all of his talking, it seemed that he was able to listen. He cared about them, how this came to be, they did not know. Despite their unconventional introduction, Walter saw them as a friend, not as a tool or a weapon, something they were seldom afforded in their line of work. Furthermore, he had no reason to exploit them, unlike so many others, anything Walter wanted, he could very easily obtain on his own. He didn’t need to drag them into some kind of scheme for his own gain, he was willing to get dirty and openly admitted as much.

“I believe that is something we could arrange.” Bloodhound replied softly, glancing over to the man to meet his eyes.

Hitting them with his trademark smile, he bumped their shoulders together. “Right on, I’ll do my best not to let you down. Now in the meantime, I think we can either Irish goodbye this or it might be wiser to go bid our farewells properly.”

Nodding lightly, Bloodhound shifted on the floor. “I will join you outside shortly, I would like to remain here a while longer before we depart.”

“Of course, there's no rush. Come and get me whenever you’re ready.” Walter got to his feet, dusting off his rear, though he paused at the doorway, knocking his metal fist against the frame. “And just so you know… I’m certain that whoever is watching over you upstairs is proud and always has been, there's no world where I see you letting them down.”

Departing with those heartfelt words, Bloodhound felt their heart clench as they listened to the man's footsteps leave the house. Turning back to the altar, they closed their eyes with a heavy sigh, as if a great weight was lifted off of them, deep in their stomach they felt that whatever came next would change them fundamentally once more.

Chapter Text

The application process was unbearably slow. Apparently, even the Syndicate was way too comfortable procrastinating office work. Staying tucked away on Talos, life was simple for the next few days. Walter and Bloodhound had run into several curious hunters who finally swallowed their fear and approached the remains of New Dawn. Bloodhound had greeted them contently, introducing them to Freyja who understandably terrified them, but she put in an earnest effort to be as gentle as she physically could. Though even the Titan held a healthy dose of skepticism over Bloodhound’s potential reintegration with their people, to which her Pilot reassured that they were not leaving her and never would.

Together Walter and Bloodhound worked to repair Freyja, patching her up with what they had, on top of the previous work Bloodhound had done. The pair’s partnership grew as they collaborated over solutions to problems they encountered. Neither of them were engineering geniuses, but between the two of them they had enough creativity to make things work, of course with each of their own flair. Bloodhound dealt with the details and Walter worked on anything that could go “boom.”

Jaime returned with the refueled ship days later, he seemed to see right through them with a knowing look. What he knew, neither of them had figured out quite yet, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Good news you two, Blisk is open to seeing you both.” The blue haired man grinned as Freyja was comfortably being loaded up and strapped down. 

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get on it!” Walter whooped as he moved to the personnel ramp into the main cabin of the ship, only stopping to look back at his main companion.

Bloodhound felt a sense of unease worm its way into their stomach. There was still much they had to consider, the past few weeks had been emotionally polarizing, flipping between extremes. Of course they had to be adaptable, but for once they wished they could linger on Talos longer in their newly found peace. They were committed to helping Loba regardless of her circumstances, that was a fact that would never change, though they felt more reservations slip into their mind the closer everything got.

Not only would there be a game of politics to be played with their entry, but keeping Freyja secure was paramount. There was no reasonable way for them to bring Freyja to the Apex Games, and if they were able to, it would blow what little cover they possessed, likely resulting in her being dismantled. Jaime would keep a good eye on her, that would never be in question, however they knew how relentless the Syndicate could be if they even put a toe out of line. Not only that but their entry wasn’t yet a sure thing, they still had the commissioner to win over.

Docking in Solace City, Bloodhound grimaced to themself, they tried to avoid this place like the plague for a multitude of reasons, many of which came up in the form of bile in their throat. Following the coordinates Jaime supplied, Walter and Bloodhound weaved their way through the city, vendors trying to get their attention, calling out to them about some new product or their street restaurant. Here it was already evening, migraine inducing neon lights boring their way through their eyes and into their brains as they walked. Walter seemed right in his element, ogling all of the city’s amenities while Bloodhound kept their head tucked as they moved, being overwhelmed by everything happening all around them. Dipping into an alley they paused in front of a bright red sign, looking down to the paper in their hand, Bloodhound verified the name before nodding to Walter who entered first.

In contrast to the street front, it was quite inside the selected bar. There were very few patrons inside, men in suits, presumably bodyguards, covered all entrances, some playing pool at the table tucked in the corner. Above them the speakers played a quite jazzy tune while a man sitting at a leather topped table caught their eye. The man’s hair and beard were pale, though his skin was dusted with a tan, for his age he was fit, bulkier than Walter and about the same height as Bloodhound from what they could tell. His face was worn, a calculating look in his eye as he evaluated them from afar, he carried himself with an air of fearlessness; the mark of a man who knew damn well who he was and what he was capable of. With the raise of a hand, the bartender who had been cleaning glasses disappeared, knowing that this conversation wasn’t for his ears.

“Kuben Blisk.” Bloodhound paused mere feet from the table while Walter made himself comfortable at one of the provided chairs.

“So it's true, Chase wasn’t just running his mouth like usual.” Blisk spoke as he looked Bloodhound up and down. “A real Pilot in the flesh. You’re part of a dying breed, kid.”

Shifting their weight, Bloodhound kept their distance. “As I have heard.”

Blisk snorted, amused, seeing right through their stony exterior, slowly picking up their tells piece by piece. “I’d have expected you to keep a lower profile, you’ve angered a lot of people, and your political immunity goes so far. Being Nathaniel's attack dog can only give you so many benefits.”

“I belong to no man, especially him.” Bloodhound bristled, gritting their teeth. “What I do is none of his concern. I do what I have to to survive.”

Walter sent them a confused glance to which they slowly shook their head. Now was not the time for him to start interrogating them.

“Which I can appreciate, business is business, however colluding with rebels and terrorists certainly draws attention to a person.” Blisk remarked, tapping a finger against the rim of his whiskey filled glass. “There were some individuals interested in putting a bounty on you, I hear. Though even the Clessidra Rossa knows better than to try and bite you, which is an impressive feat. You’ve made a name for yourself but that will always come at a price. I’d wager you and your little pet are the best and worst kept secret across the Outlands. Regardless, I am glad that you’ve come to your senses and that you’ve returned to Syndicate space. Salvo would have killed you and I hate nothing more than wasted potential.”

Under the table Bloodhound noticed Walter ball his fist, trying to bite his tongue even harder than they already were.

“With all due respect, I believe we have a contract to negotiate rather than discuss whom I do business with, as you say.” Bloodhound replied, out of the corner of their eye they noticed the bodyguards moving closer to them.

“Of course.” Blisk smiled at them, his grin entirely false. “I’m not so interested in the politics in the Outlands as I am looking to see a good fight. I’ve seen a lot of faces pass through here sharing tall tales of themselves and all they have done, however none have had the bragging rights you do. We may have been enemies at one time, but I can appreciate a real Pilot when I see one. That name has lost all meaning, people lying through their teeth about their time in the war, and trying to claim a rank that was never theirs. I want you to show people what it truly means to be a Pilot, remind these planets who the elite were. Think you can do that for me?”

“At a price. None of what has been spoken here leaves this room.” Bloodhound states their terms despite being in no position to.

That got a laugh out of Blisk, the first genuine emotion they believe they have seen out of the man. “Consider it done. The security feed will be wiped and our conversation will remain confidential amongst my staff.”

It was far too cheap of a price for what they were signing up for, all of them knew it.

“What of him?” Bloodhound nods to Walter who was still wistfully lounging in the chair, though now like the seat was burning his ass.

“Don’t you know? Walter here – or should I say Fuse – completed the entrance trials quite some time ago but never finalized his offer. By rights he already has a spot reserved for himself, especially as the recent acquisition went through, all he needs to do is say yes. We can spin a tale of how this season will be uniquely symbolic: two names added to the roster that represent unity as you both come from war wrought backgrounds, but finally we’ve hit the ultimate era of peace in the Outlands. It's unfortunately easy to get reporters to eat up any story they get.”

Bloodhound turned their attention to Walter who began to sweat, cheeks going red with embarrassment and a tad of shame. He had gotten much farther into the process than he initially led them to believe. When Walter said he was close to throwing the Cracked Talon away, he wasn’t lying. They couldn’t find themself to judge him fully, right now they both were withholding information from each other it seemed. Did his actions sit right with them? Of course not, it was everything they opposed, and yet he had shown them signs that he wanted to and was willing to change. Perhaps there was hope for them yet, but right now they needed to escape this seemingly shrinking room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Walter swallowed thickly. “Just had to have some time to myself to think things over, but I think it's time I accepted.”

“It's not so easy to have to admonish everything you’ve ever known.” Blisk responded as he watched Walter squirm in his seat. “Be warned, those reporters will be like vultures, asking for every detail about Margaret Kōhere, if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut regarding both fronts.”

Walter just nodded, reaching over to rub the junction of where his shoulder used to meet his arm. “Right. Are we done here then?”

The man reached into the interior pocket of his worn vest. Pulling out two red and white cards adorned with a horned beast, he slid them across the table. Finally closing the space Bloodhound places two fingers on the card to drag it into their grasp.

“My assistant will arrange your lodgings.” Blisk speaks before placing another item onto the table. “One last thing. I think you’ll have an appreciation for this, Pilot.”

It's a palm sized device, with a ring of lifeless lights building up the section of the item. Small hooks on the bottom indicated that it was attached to a gauntlet of sorts, the type usually worn during the war. The wiring was concealed within its thick frame, making it hard to discern its purpose other than it was clearly fried and in a state of disrepair. On the bottom it had the old IMC insignia, though it appeared to be partly scratched away.

“What is this?” Bloodhound raised an eyebrow, naturally curious as ever.

Blisk smirked knowing he had them hooked before passing it to them. “An artifact from the Frontier. Typhon. It's little more than scrap now but maybe you can find a use for it.”

Skeptically taking it from the man's hands, Bloodhound inspected it before pocketing it once deeming it safe. They were unsure if they were to thank the man or not. It was almost certain that Blisk had given them this relic not from the goodness of his heart, but out of some kind of ulterior motive they hadn’t sniffed out yet.

Electing to give him a grateful, yet cautious nod, Bloodhound motioned for Walter to follow, the pair backing out of the room. Out on the street both of them let out a long sigh before turning to one another, both of them with questions on their lips.

“You didn’t say you had completed the entry trials to the games.” Bloodhound began, eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t tell me that you were cozy with one of the heads of the military!” Walter hissed back in response, face wide with shock.

“It seems that there are still many things we must learn about one another.” Bloodhound replied bluntly, trying to keep their voice neutral. “I would rather we have this discussion in a more secure location and not on the streets.”

Walter reached out to them. “Hey, look I just–”

Bloodhound raised their index finger. “Hush. We will find a solution once we are in a place where no one can overhear. I will answer questions and in turn you will answer mine. If we are to survive this place, we need to trust one another, wholeheartedly. I do not wish for tension to grow between us, we have both been mostly truthful until now, and I see no reason for us to stop.”

Pursing his lips, Walter’s arm dropped back to his side, almost as if to say that they were right. “Yeah, alright, whatever you want.”

Watching the man kick at the ground, Bloodhound frowned before they themselves moved to catch the man by his wrist. “Come, I will summon for Artur and he will show us the way. I am not inclined to enter a vehicle with Syndicate bodyguards.”

Walter’s eye widened in shock, dropping down to look at the gloved hand on his arm. “So what I’m hearing is you’re not opposed to getting into some trouble.”

“Not enough to draw attention to us.” Bloodhound remarked, trying to get some sort of characteristic expression back on the man's face.

That seemed to be enough to quench the tension that had grown between them for the time being. With assurances of returning to the topic, they allowed themselves to pause and take in Solace City for all it was. Despite both being middle aged, they were fit as ever, easily putting on the kilometers between them and wherever Artur was leading them to. The raven’s inky wings were glossy with colours beneath the neon street lights as they worked their way through late night markets. As they went, Bloodhound sent a quick message to Jaime, informing him of their success and that they would soon return to check up on Freyja once they had scouted their competition.

Nearing a large fenced area, Artur landed on the thin lines of metal, pecking at the ornamental spikes. From here they could see a small parking area, low to the ground limousines sat, dark bodies blending into the night. A vibrantly red headed woman held a clipboard in her arms, ranting to a ground of men before an alarm chimed above them. Drones rose from behind the building and circled Bloodhound and Walter. The woman jumped from where she stood, looking up to the armed machines and then down to the two people waiting at the gate. 

Her high heels clicked like cockroach shells against the ground as she approached, this woman, Linda (from what was written on her name tag), did not carry herself with the same dignity that Loba did. Looking between each other, both Walter and Bloodhound pulled out the cards that Blisk had offered them, holding them up as if they were a white flag of surrender.

“I have been trying to track you two down for hours!” The woman exclaimed as she marched forth, manicured nails tapping into a pin pad. “My God, where did you two go? I don’t understand why Kuben can’t hire easier to manage individuals and not some scruffy mercenaries!”

Walter scowled but still tried to put his best foot forward. “Look, lady, I mean Linda, Houndy and I here just wanted to get a feel for the city, we’re getting acclimatized you could say.” 

Batting her hand at them as the gate unlocked and they were offered entry, Linda tapped at her clipboard. “We have much to go over, your media obligations, your introduction ceremony tomorrow morning prior to the games, introducing you to the other Legends, and starting your jumpmaster training.”

“Look, we can get all of that done, just give us time to settle in.” Walter argued as they trailed after the woman.

“Speaking of which, you both will be temporarily lodging together, we were only able to vacate a two bedroom apartment for the time being.” Linda continued, checking more items off her list composed of miniscule print.

Bloodhound shrugged as Walter glanced over at them. Neither of them seemed to mind thankfully and accepted the news with ease.

Linda continued to drone on about facts of the buildings and their new jobs as they walked through the large complex. Apparently this space was meant to house Legends who did not come from Solace in between games. The rest of her words slid off of both of their brains as they finally arrived at their new apartment. 

As soon as the biometric scanner was coded to recognize their handprints, Walter stepped into the room, instantly headed for the couch. Meanwhile, Bloodhound body-blocked the front door, not allowing Linda inside.

“We will meet you in the common area you mentioned later this evening. You will allow us to unpack and you are not to bother us until we are ready.” Bloodhound firmly said to the woman, voice frightening enough to gain compliance from Walter, even though he was not at the brunt of their ire.

Apparently that was enough to get Linda to scramble away as the door slid shut within milliseconds of the interaction ending. Going over to the window, Bloodhound felt Walter watching them as they propped it for Artur to come and land in. Doing a lap around the apartment they checked for cameras and recording devices, finding that the space was clear they shrugged off their jacket, hanging it on the back of the disgustingly plush recliner they sat in. Bare arms handing out, Walter stared at them bashfully, face going the slightest bit pink.

“Do not be shy, Walter. We may speak now.” Bloodhound started as they settled into their seat, though struggling to get fully comfortable.

Sitting up, Walter chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I was afraid you’d be more mad – you should be.” Letting out a defeated sigh, he tried to search for their eyes behind the goggles. “That day when you visited me in the medical wing, I felt like if I had told you the full truth of how far I had actually gotten into the process I’d scare you off, that or you’d tell Maggie.”

Tilting their head as they judged the man, they considered their response. “I would have appraised you more harshly, yes, though I had no reason to tell Maggie unless you had shown signs of being a risk to my employment. Even now, I cannot claim to sympathize with your reasoning, though I know better than to hold it against you in every moment we spend together.”

Letting out a quiet ‘oof’ Walter opened his mouth to speak again. “I want to be somebody you can trust – not whatever the fuck I was thinking back then. I wasn’t lying back on Talos when I said I want to learn from you, and you’ve already started to give me a well needed reality check that no one else could.”

Sighing, Bloodhound leaned forwards. “Boone was a deceiver and I was too naive to notice. Nathaniel was a liar, however I learned to see through him and his smile. You withhold information but remain honest once it is uncovered. Compared to the evils I have seen from the other men who I have allowed close to me, you are the one who has spurned me the least thus far.”

“That’s a kind way of saying I’ve been acting like a greedy dickhead.” Walter replied dejectedly, the weight of his actions starting to get heavier and heavier.

“I am in a generous mood, do not waste it.” Bloodhound tried to jest ever so slightly, though no humor was left in their tone.

Shaking his head, Walter let out a huff as he ran his hand over metal knuckles. “Say, what's the story there, between you and Nathaniel Chase?”

Bloodhound let out a long exhale, thinking of ways to explain. “We knew each other from my time in the war. He was the man who recruited me to the Militia and the one to discharge me once the war ended and both factions dissolved to make way for the Syndicate. Nathaniel and I came to an understanding where I would be able to maintain my ownership over Freyja, amongst other things. When he was able to fill a role as one of the military commanders, he provided me with a permit that allows me to operate across the Outlands without issue or question. I do not maintain a close relationship but a cordial one.”

“Maggie would eat you alive for an ally like that.” Walter remarked, stunned at this development.

“It was a matter of circumstance – luck – above all else.” Bloodhound stared down to the scars that twisted along their arms. “I did not choose the life I have led, it found me. The same stands for those I have met. Fate has its plans for all of us and who am I to fight it?”

A reasonable enough defence, or at least Walter seemed to think so, based on how he began to slouch. “I like to believe we have a bit of sway when it comes to our fates. As you put it, choices can change the course of history in the blink of an eye. Maybe it's the fighter in me, but I don’t like the idea of rolling over easily when some higher being tells me to.”

“You sound like her.” Bloodhound teased, thinking of the dark haired woman likely sitting alone in her makeshift base, seething and waiting for whatever report they could offer.

For once Walter didn’t take offence to the comparison, instead clearing his throat and slapping his knees. “I’m glad we were able to do this – hash everything out before it got bad. Communication and diplomacy aren’t exactly part of the average Salvonian skillset.”

“Then perhaps this will be your first lesson from me.” Bloodhound replied as they tracked him, watching the older man stagger up.

Walter smiled, more reserved than his normal, bashful self, more appreciative and content. “I think it's time we face the music for avoiding Linda this long. I’m sure she’s already wrangled up whatever poor souls she’s caught out in the halls.”

Nodding in agreement, Bloodhound moved to follow, shrugging their jacket back on. “The sooner we find Loba and speak to her, the more at ease I will become with our predicament.”

Artur hopped onto Bloodhound’s shoulder as Walter led the way out of the room, the door cracking open with a hiss. Descending upon them like a vulture, Linda strutted over, mouth already spewing words a mile a minute. Between their scenic walk and their conversation, apparently she was done being patient with them, not that she had been in the first place. Ranting the whole way down the stairs and into the common space of the complex, finally something of use was said.

“I was only able to locate a handful of competitors to greet you, from my last count there were seven Legends present.” Linda announced as the door came free from its latch. “Be nice. You may be competing in the grandest blood sport in history, but save it for the arena.”

Walter placed a hand on the small of Bloodhound’s back as they tensed up at the sight of movement in the room. “We’ve got this.”

The area opened up to a games room, an air hockey table abandoned in the corner collecting dust while an assortment of bean bag chairs and couches sat on a large green carpet. Two bodies were curled up on opposite couches, while one paced about, and another was on the ground squishing into one of the bean bags.

“We’re getting two new people? I can’t remember a time we got someone new who stuck around because they uh – well uhm – y’know - heh heh…” A man in a yellow jumpsuit spoke to his small audience, curly brown hair bouncing around on his head.

“Now that’s cruel.” Another man, this time with prosthetic legs replied, kicking himself up from the couch, basically bouncing around, constantly shifting between feet. “God I’m getting bored, where are these people so we can go-”

A woman with bright pink buns in her hair scolded. “Be patient, O.”

“I don’t blame him, I could be back at the shop by now and working on my next masterpiece.” With a pop of bubble gum to emphasize her point, another lady hoisted a large minigun over her shoulder.

From over in a dim corner with a lamp ghostly eyes were visible, a petite form appearing. “How have none of you noticed that they’re standing right there?”

The four who had been arranged near the couches jumped violently, turning to look instantly. 

With his hand that wasn’t currently buried in the loops of Bloodhound’s belt, Walter offered a wave. “The names Fuse, it's a pleasure!”

“You’re that guy from Salvo!” Yellow-jumpsuit announced, stepping forward with his arm outstretched. “Wait, sorry, the names Mirage, er or just Elliott.”

The pink haired woman crossed her arms with a quirked eyebrow. “What’s a Salvonian doing here?”

“Chica, don’t tell me you forgot about the merger! Of course he’s able to be here, just like how I’m planning my next big stunt over on Salvo now.” The speedster shot over, dusting his hands off on his knees.

Getting on her feet, Pink-hair crossed the room, placing a hand on her companion's shoulder to try and settle him into place. “You can call me Lifeline, this here is Octane.”

Walter moved to shake Mirage’s hand while Bloodhound remained completely silent. “Nice to meet you.”

From the couch another pop of gum sounded. “The names Rampart and don’t forget it! If you ever need some weapon mods, I’m your gal.”

Glancing to Bloodhound, Walter gently encouraged them. “Hey, could be of use for you-know-who.”

He must have sensed that they were scanning the room for Loba, coming up short two people from what Linda had said.

Lastly the woman who had been lurking in the corner approached to introduce herself. “Wraith. Who’s your partner here?”

“Ah – Houndy?” Walter gave them a gentle nudge, prompting them to speak. “Don’t play shy, they don’t bite.”

Artur did however.

“I am Bloodhound. My companion is Artur.” They replied easily, still sticking close to Walter, reaching down to their wrist, scanning the area for any extra heat signatures.

“I’ve seen suits like these before!” Rampart commented, leaning over the arm rest of the couch, waving a large red pipe wrench. “That’s old Pilot gear, customized, which I respect. How did you get your hands on that?”

Under Walter’s touch they bristled, rubbing their wrists as they caught faint orange outlines approaching down the door at the other end of the room. “A remnant of my former employment.”

All of their eyes went wide with the implication. 

Octane let out a crazed laugh, moving to crowd their space while Artur tried pecking at the man's goggles. “I gotta borrow your jumpkit man, imagine the tricks I could do if I could run on walls!”

“It is not for sale.” Bloodhound backed further into Walter’s hand that remained firm on them.

“Come on!” Octane whined but backed off as Walter shook his head disapprovingly, trying to warn them away.

Wraith moved to take a seat on the couch, her voice soothing. “Give them some space you guys. No one was getting in your face’s when you all first got here.”

Lifeline reached for Octane and Mirage’s collars, hoisting them back. “She’s right!”

 Both men choked and gagged before they moved to take their own seats. 

“Sorry – SORRY!” Mirage croaked before dropping onto the floor dramatically.

“No worries mate.” Walter chuckled in good nature as he followed and took a seat for himself, Bloodhound elected to remain standing.

“So what’s the deal with you two eh? No former Pilots or Salvonians have seemed keen on walking through those doors before.” Rampart questioned, clearly interested in hearing a good tale.

Artur gently nuzzled into Bloodhound’s neck as Walter took on the role of socialite. “They’ve got some personal business around these parts and the money doesn’t hurt.”

Lifeline nodded at the answer while Octane sat on the floor by her legs. “You’re right about that, keeps you plenty busy but opens up opportunities.”

“So you guys are a package deal then?” Mirage waved his finger between Bloodhound and Walter. 

“I guess so? Met on the job a few weeks back and they offered to bring me along for the ride.” Walter replied, eyebrow quirking.

Mirage sat up, mouth falling open, flushing. “Oh uhm my bad, I thought you two were like an item or something.”

“Elliott!” Wraith spat from the couch, tossing a pillow at him at mach-speed. “You don’t ask people that!”

“It's not my fault I thought they were dating – Linda made it sound like that when I asked!” Mirage yelped, making no move to avoid the projectile sent his way.

Bloodhound felt themself blush, and instinctively turned away with an agitated huff.

Rampart let out a long groan. “Now look you’ve gone and pissed the Pilot off! Quit getting us in shit with them, I want to leave the room in one piece thanks!”

“Not to mention he’s asking all the wrong questions! Do you have a Titan somewhere – did you know Jack Cooper?” Octane piped up loudly, animatedly interrogating Bloodhound, arms and legs sprawling out.

“I-” Bloodhound tried, already getting overwhelmed with the eccentric personalities around, Artur joining in and screaming at the humans.

Bickering only got louder while Walter sat in the middle, flicking back and forth between the Legends arguing, and settling on Bloodhound, sending them an apologetic look. The only reprieve from the noise was when the entrance across the room slid open. Instantly the Legends acted as though they were frozen in time.

A familiar voice chimed in. “What is all this ruckus for? It’s making me being fashionably late feel more like a mistake.”

Clearing the room automatically, Bloodhound felt a rush in their ears. “Andrade?”

There Loba stood, saying she was in shock would not be sufficient enough to describe the look on her face. “Bloodhound? What in the hells are you doing here?”

Being pulled into her arms, Bloodhound sagged under her touch. “Jaime informed me you had gone missing, Walter and I came to find you.”

“You brought the Cracked Talon’s right hand with you? What happened to your contract?” Loba squawked as she pulled away to hold their masked face.

Walter couldn’t resist and spoke up from where he sat, waving his prosthetic arm. “Former right hand, mine kinda got ripped off.”

“It is a long story.” Bloodhound sighed softly, from behind them, they felt all kinds of eyes boring into their back. “I will explain and you will do the same. Jaime and I feared you were here not out of your own will.”

Loba smiled, giving them a squeeze. “You know me better than that, beautiful. No one could ever cage me, even if they tried. Now that you are here, I could use your help, though I am just so shocked you are here.”

“Lo, what's going on? Who's this?” A voice spoke from behind Loba’s form.

Moving back with a chilled look on her face, Loba uncomfortably shifted, making Bloodhound scrunch their nose. As their friend moved aside, their eyes fell upon a woman, similar in stature to themselves, a face carved from stone looking back at them. Artur saw the patches before they did, cawing loudly in warning, the raven never forgetting those insignias.

Taking a step back, Bloodhound felt their veins go cold, a pit entering their belly. It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop.

Loba turned to the woman, extending a hand forward. “Anita, this is my long time associate and friend, Bloodhound. I have spoken of them in passing before. Bloodhound, this is Anita, or as you will know her in the games, Bangalore. She has been a great help since my arrival.”

“You were IMC.” Bloodhound stated, almost as if in a trance.

Bangalore instantly sneered, already defensive. “What’s it to you? Going to just stare and judge me?”

“Oh snap.” Mirage whispered all too loudly, which promptly got him an elbow in the side.

“Bloodhound.” Loba warningly called their name, not wanting a fight. “She is a good person, I can vouch for her.”

“You do not know what I have seen. What I continue to see.” Bloodhound distantly spoke, memories of stolen youth at the forefront of their mind, old bullet holes aching under their skin.

Bangalore looked to Loba, hissing, “What is their problem?”

Taking in a sharp inhale and braids swaying over her shoulders, Loba ripped the band aid off. “They are a former pilot.”

That was all that needed to be said for everything to blow up.

Bangalore let out a wry laugh before stomping forward to grip Bloodhound by the jacket. The action got Walter on his feet, unsure whether or not to fight or get them out of there. Loba sent the man an equally unsure look. Artur was wrestled off of Bloodhound, landing on the floor with a displeased noise, now forced to watch his human instead of helping.

“Wonderful!” Bangalore spat sarcastically, fist growing tighter. “A Militia hot shot here to act like they’re the Frontier and Outlands moral compass. Fact is, you’re no hero, none of you are. You killed innocents who refused to join your cause and when all was said and done, failed to step up.”

“The IMC cannot claim righteousness either.” Bloodhound retorted harshly. “Preventing people from escaping exploitation and gaining their own freedom. You very well know the Militia had no way of returning to the Outlands after the blackout. The IMC is also liable, unable to “step up” themselves, as you say. Both were failed campaigns and now we are left with the Syndicate. You complain that people judge you for being IMC, yet you display patches of oppression, unable to let go of a cause long since dead.”

Bangalore scoffed, letting them go and throwing her hands up. “Look at you go, talking like you’re some kind of saintly priest. You also have blood on your hands and you have no room to talk. You also can’t even stand by your own principles, abandoning everything you stood for, and unable to take accountability. All you are is a puppet.”

Bloodhound crossed their arms, heated words leaving their lips. “I never claimed to have never dirtied my hands. I likely have accumulated enough blood from my time fighting to fill rivers, that is my truth. I have abandoned many things in this life, but never my beliefs nor what I began fighting for.”

“I doubt you’ll last a day around here.” Bangalore snapped, switching gears a bit.

“Time will tell, we will meet each other on the battlefield tomorrow.” Bloodhound coldly replied, buying into her challenge.

“And I’ll be sure to kick your ass. I’ve beaten a Pilot before and I will do it again.” The woman bristled as Loba stepped between them.

Their hand moved to the handle of Raven’s Bite, prepared for if things were to escalate, angered words sitting on the tip of their tongue. Like a snake they were ready to strike, venom ready to drip off their fangs if further provoked.

“Enough you two!” Loba hollered as she moved between the arguing duo, brown eyes narrow and filled with anger.

Clearly this introduction had gone as well as placing oil and water together. It was in no way what the thief had intended.

Walter finally darted forward, grabbing Bloodhound by the shoulders now that an opening presented itself. “I think it's time we left for the night, mate. We’ve overstayed our welcome a bit.”

After a beat, Bloodhound lowered their hand from their weapon, ears rushing, veins at a simmer. It wasn’t worth their energy, they could save it for tomorrow. Fighting here would only prove the IMC soldier correct. Trying to save what little bit of a first impression they had left, Bloodhound dipped their head.

Letting out a strained breath, Bloodhound backed down with a subtle nod, turning to the other Legends in the seating area. “It was nice meeting you.”

A few sheepish farewells were said behind their back, and as the door shut, still barely open they heard shreds of the outburst that followed. Shaking their head, Bloodhound let out a discontented huff. With Walter’s hand on their arm, Artur hopped after them as Bloodhound was led out of the room without argument.

“You good mate?” Walter asked quietly as soon as the door was shut, glaring through the crack that slowly disappeared.

“I am fine, Walter, merely rattled is all. Unsavory memories have left a bad taste in my mouth.” Bloodhound uttered as they took the largest breath they could.

Listening to his companion, Walter moved his hand to the center of their spine. “I hear you. Look, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

“I think rest would do me well.” Bloodhound rubbed at their wrists. “We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

Letting out a gentle laugh, Walter replied as they made their way back to their shared apartment. “I’m sure we can arrange for that.”

Their belly burned with the knowledge that Loba was intertwining herself with a person who opposed their existence. They would speak to her, of course, but it still lingered in their heart. For now however they would do what they always had done, hide away and nurse their wounds, waiting until it was time to strike. With an appreciative hum and Artur nipping at their feet, Bloodhound let their outburst melt away, focusing on the grounding touch that seared across their body.

Chapter Text

The pair rose early, at least that's what Walter believed. In reality, Bloodhound had hardly slept, stuck in between realms, dancing the line as they heard Walter’s snoring echo off of walls and into their room. They envied the man, even Artur, who also seemed to have no issues achieving a restful slumber. It was no one's fault but their own, dreams filled with terrors of a blood filled battlefield, crying for Freyja, begging the machine to save them. Even more cruel was when they stirred to consciousness, just enough that they were aware of the separation, unable to be directly by her side for the first time since they had landed on Talos together. They found themself nearly lonely, not that Artur wasn’t plenty of company, it was a profound emptiness, as if their neural link was calling out to their Titan.

As soon as they were dressed, neither of them had time to eat before being whisked away for a briefing. They were given their specified class designation, Bloodhound in Recon and Fuse in Assault, and were loaded up with tools to add to their rigs. Apparently the game makers wanted to level the playing field between specialties, preferring skill to prevail over luck.

The next thing would be their first proper media engagement, their entrance ceremony before the games would commence for the day. Walter couldn’t hold back his excitement, already coming up with ideas to bedazzle the crowd. Meanwhile Bloodhound was filled with dread, this was what they had agreed to, and yet they were immensely displeased.

Their dismay only grew once they arrived at the venue. Kings Canyon. The burial place of their first and only love. The remnants of the Thunderdome were long gone but the memories persisted as they always did. Fans who were allowed near the catwalk to get their first exclusive glances at the new Legends reached out for them, Walter shook hands, dished out fist bumps, along with a healthy dose of high fives. Some tried latching onto the tails of Bloodhound’s jacket, tugging on the worn fibers until security came along to scold them. It was overwhelming in a way they had never experienced. They were not built for the spotlight, but thankfully Walter seemed to bask in it, sucking up the attention.

“With the second highest admittance in competitors since 2732 let us give a warm welcome to our newest Legends – Fuse and Bloodhound!” A metallic woman's voice rang over the loud speakers, beckoning them out onto the ship's main stage.

All of Walter’s time in the Bonecage seemed to pay off, face bright and cheery as they went out. “Kings Canyon – Let me hear you make some noise!”

Removing his mortar from his back, Walter shot off a round filled with confetti and plushies into the crowd, a chuckle on his lips. Cheers erupted, echoing off the orange canyon walls, much more vibrant and rattling than what they had witnessed at the Bonecage. Bloodhound just did their best to stay as unnoticeable as possible, hiding behind the man's back as best they could. As they watched the camera drones whirl around overhead, they had to wonder if somewhere out there Maggie was watching. Sitting in her chair bitterly in the remnants of her Cracked Talon fortress, beer in hand as she stared at the nearest TV screen. It wasn’t lost on them that the terms that they and Walter had agreed to when they first left Salvo were still in play, though they could only hope Walter remembered the same.

They were unable to stay preoccupied with their thoughts for long as quickly a woman with a microphone stepped out onto the stage. The young woman waved to the crowd and Bloodhound recognized her as Lisa Stone. She shook each of their hands with a tacky smile before standing on a blue X marked on the ground.

“It's nice to finally meet you both in person!” Lisa announced, holding onto a cue card in her free hand with a death grip. “Fuse how does it feel to be admitted into the Apex Games after months of rumors circulating about you leaving the Bonecage to join?”

“Never been better.” Walter rumbled with pride, confidence oozing out in his words. “Its been a long time coming and I’m happy to finally be here, right where I belong.”

Lisa kept up her smile as she looked down to the card in her hand and then back up again. “How wonderful! Now fans who have followed you through the Salvo and Syndicate merger are wondering where this new metal arm has come from. You haven’t been seen in the public eye for several months and your fans were concerned, can you make any sort of comment on that?”

“Workplace accidents, occupational hazards, and all of that.” Walter quipped back, settling for a witty response while giving nothing away. “It's gonna take a lot before I get knocked down for good, so don’t you worry your pretty little heads one bit. Not to mention I’ve got ol’ Houndy here to keep an eye on me.”

That set everyone's sights on Bloodhound, making them bristle like a cornered cat.

“Indeed! You two seem to have quite the mysterious yet dynamic partnership. Are the rumors true that you applied and signed on at the same time? How did you meet?” Lisa continued, shoulders rolling back.

Walter glanced at Bloodhound out of the corner of his good eye. “You’re right, we joined at the same time, met through some common friends.”

Lisa then moved up to address Bloodhound. “You, Bloodhound, are an enigma, a new name and face in the Apex Games, can you give us some details on why you joined and who you are?”

Bloodhound was quiet, tongue going dry. “I-”

They weren’t sure what to say, placed on the spot, trying to think of what to say. What were they here for, how could they even begin to unpack that? In truth this all had started with Boone, then Freyja, Loba, now their agreement with Maggie and Walter. None of those were suitable answers, the last thing they needed was to spill their guts to the entire Outlands. The less people knew about them, the better.

“Ah! It seems they’re the strong silent type, folks.” Lisa chirped, playful laughter bubbling from her lips as they tried to work the crowd while they floundered.

Walter threw his arm over Bloodhound’s shoulders. “It pays to be like that around here. Let me tell you they’re one hell of a fighter and will blow you all away, but for now I think they’re gonna keep their cards to their chest and let their skills speak for themself.”

“Smart and tactical, I like it, and by the sounds of it, the fans love it too!” Lisa grinned as a bead of sweat rolled down from her hairline. “I’m sure the next time we meet, we’ll hear more from our newest masked Legend.”

The audience lining the canyon face cheered, the noise greater than thunder as Bloodhound and Walter were ushered off stage. Linda was right there to receive them, she glared at Bloodhound, displeased that Walter had to save them from themself on stage. They weren’t exactly pleased with it either but were grateful for the man. Bloodhound let him know as much with a gentle shoulder bump as they walked alongside each other.

There was an hour between their interview and the start time of the scheduled games for the day. Thirty minutes of removing civilians from the canyon side to safety back on the mainland, then another half hour of filling loot bins and preparing respawn chambers. In those last ten minutes Legends were loaded onto the drop ship and bought up to altitude for a safe drop. Conversations bubbled across the cabin, cliques of competitors moving to talk to their friends.

Walter went to join them, trying to find an inning with the younger Legends, leaving Bloodhound to their own devices. They watched the room, boisterous laughter from a large man in a thickly padded white suit as he patted Walter on the back. A young blond woman with scars stretching across her face also came forward to greet Walter, followed by a tall red head with curls like no other. The last to load onto the ship was their main competition, Bangalore followed by Loba. A dirty look was sent to them by the former, while Loba spoke some quick words to her chosen companion and split off. She crossed the room rapidly to come speak with them.

“Andrade.” Bloodhound hummed as she approached, arms crossed over their chest. 

“Don’t be like that, beautiful.” Loba breathed as she got close, not accustomed to being on the receiving end of their coldness.

Bloodhound huffed, jaw clicking beneath their helm. “I do not wish to speak of what transpired last night. I would prefer it if we both focus on the coming match.”

Pursing her lips, Loba deflated some, eyes flicking back and forth as she studied them before giving up on whatever she was thinking of saying. “Come see me back at the ship with Jaime once this is over, we can talk there. Please?”

“If that is what you wish.” Bloodhound replied, a part of their mind echoing that seeing Freyja may do them some good.

Not to mention, Loba hardly ever asked them for anything, so perhaps it was the least they could do.

Nodding dejectedly, Loba rubbed her arm, bracelet jingling as she did so. “Alright… I will see you then.”

As she disappeared amongst the mob of bodies, Bloodhound let out an exhausted sigh. They hadn’t even gone through the hardest part of what was to come and yet they were tired in brand new ways. The noise, the attention, the lights, all of it was too much to take in, but for things like these there was no way of slowly dipping themself in. With the Games you had to drop right into it to understand how it worked.

Above them a siren blared and large screens inside the ship came to life, the faces of the Legends appearing on them, dividing them each into teams. Predictably, Walter and Bloodhound were placed onto the same team, apparently the Syndicate really wanted to sell the angle that they were inseparable best friends, despite its inaccuracy. To complete their trio Mirage was selected to be on their team.

Their teammates approached, locked in conversation right until they were all stood on the platform they were meant to launch themselves from.

Mirage smiled, snapping out some finger guns. “Hey, hey Bloodhound, sorry about last night n’ stuff, can we call a truce and all that? I don’t mean to be on your uh, bad side or anything. Not that you have a bad side but uhm.”

“It is alright.” To be honest they had been so busy they hadn’t even remembered what the younger man had said.

“Cool, cool yeah, well lets put our best effort in. It's your first Games so no worries if we don’t win, but just so you know, you are teamed up with the very best.” Mirage pointed at himself as a hologram of himself shed off his body, offering a fist bump to the real Mirage.

“Sure, mate, whatever you say.” Walter replied teasingly, playfully dismissing his newest friend. 

Mirage gasped in offense. “Come on man! Just trust me, you’ll see!”

As Walter opened his mouth to continue their banter, another alarm went off and the platform below them began to rattle. In that moment, Bloodhound felt their belly drop, getting knocked slightly off balance. Being lowered down in a small cage, they saw their competitors all around, some of them already jumping out to whatever drop point their team agreed upon.

“Let's head to the far side and land in the Swamps, give you guys a chance to get your bearings!” Mirage suggested, staring down at the swirling world below.

Walter was right along with him peering over the ledge. “Sounds like a plan, mate, but you’re the first one off this boat.”

“Ooo, letting me be Jumpmaster? I’m flattered!” Mirage used his hand to brush at his hair. “Well, we’re getting close, so race you to the bottom?”

“Oh you’re on!” Grinning, Walter stepped forward ready to go, before noticing that Bloodhound was anchored in place. “On second thought, maybe next time.”

Mirage stared at them both, face dropping momentarily before perking back up. “R-Right, yeah, I getcha. Still, I’ll meet you down there, careful not to hang around up here too long or you’ll miss the landing point.”

Waving, Walter nodded as he then turned his attention to his partner. “Heard loud and clear.”

Part of Bloodhound supposed it was a good thing they were on an empty stomach as they stared down at the canyon below. Cool air beating against their armor as a wave of nausea hit them. Their disdain for heights was something inherent, immutable, a primitive fear even their time in the military couldn’t beat out of them. Dropping down from this height without a case of steel and Freyja’s gentle voice to soothe them, it made the task near unbearable. 

A hand patted them on the back. “I’ve gotcha, and we’ll see each other on the ground. You’ve got this, always do.”

Walter was right. This was pathetic of them. How they had behaved since the day began was unbecoming of a warrior such as themself.

Taking a breath, Bloodhound backed against the cage as far as they could go, firmly positioning their feet on the floor, they pushed off with strong strides, getting a running start as they sent themself soaring from the ship. Walter’s mouth dropped as he watched them throw themself from the ship, and as soon as he registered what happened he quickly darted out after them. Hitting the open air, Bloodhound flipped around, completely weightless. The boosters on their jump kit came to life, sending them forwards through the air. Spying the purple contrail Mirage had left behind, they adjusted themself to follow along. Looking around, they spotted a small black form terrorizing a MRVN dropping into battle with his squad, before peeling away and heading towards Bloodhound.

“Artur?” They laughed as the raven approached, spiraling around his treasured human.

The raven let out a loud caw as he dove down ahead of Bloodhound, guiding them towards the ground as Walter zipped by them with an adrenaline filled cackle. Feeling the wind dance between their open fingers made their body tingle, realizing that this is what Artur must have felt like as he watched over them. Appreciation bloomed within their chest, for all the times they had dropped into battle Freyja, they had never considered how it was from their tiniest companions perspective.

‘What a lucky creature you are.’ Bloodhound thought to themself with a smile as they finally made landfall, knee deep in murky water.

Bloodhound was familiar with the process of these games, while never an avid viewer, it was hard to avoid seeing snippets of the matches and how they were played. Wading through the water, they reached an orange and white bin, popping the lid wide open, they gathered the stack of large blue batteries into the small gray backpack also inside. Looking around, they saw Mirage already talking Walter’s ear off as the man also rushed around to arm himself. As they combed through another bin, they lifted up what was listed in their HUD as a R-301, it was reminiscent of its predecessor the R-201 from the Frontier War. It seemed Blisk's appreciation for the war they both partook in was evident in many ways across the games. Nonetheless they were pleased to see that a majority of the weaponry they would encounter would be familiar to their hands.

“Hey Hounds, are you ready to roll out?” Mirage shouted, waving them over to consult his team. “Gotta figure out where we want to go before the ring fries us and other squads track us down.”

Bloodhound scowled at the nickname, but chose not to comment, grunting. “I am prepared well enough. If other squads are of a concern, then we must become the hunters, strike them fast and effectively.”

Walter smashed a balled fist into his other palm. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Lets not get ahead of ourselves here guys, this is your first match, we’ve got to figure out how we s-s-synergu-gi-ze, whatever that word is, together.” Mirage crossed his arms and lifted his chin to the air. “Besides, how can we even find the other squads? It's huge out here and wild, for all we know we could become a Flyers snack!”

“Leave that part to me.” Bloodhound rumbled as they whistled to the skies.

Overhead a small black body zipped across the sky, excited to scout ahead, almost as though they were back in the war. Soaring across the canyon ledges Bloodhound gestured for their teammates to take the lead.

Mirage gave them a quizzical look, leading them to explain. “Artur will lead us to our prey. Once he returns, we will know what teams are nearest to us.” 

“Oh man, that's cool!” The man chirped. “Maybe I should get a pet like that. Though maybe something more manly, like a Prowler.”

“Good luck with that one, mate.” Walter laughed as they began to roll out of their sector.

Shuffling out of the swamps into an old IMC worksite of sorts, Bloodhound sneered at the old paint. It was a reminder of all they had fought against, everything they had lost and sacrificed. Not to mention, it reminded them of one of their competitors who had made a less than stellar impression upon them. Bangalore was most certainly lurking somewhere in the canyon, with whom, they did not know, but they were certain she was keeping an eye out for them. Within less than a minute, Artur returned with a screech, landing atop Bloodhound's arm. The bird pecked at their sonar, ensuring he had their attention, before turning to the direction of the next nearest squad. Reaching into one of the pockets strapped across their chest, Bloodhound offered the raven a small sunflower seed before he took off once more to gather more intel for his companion.

Watching the counter that had been wired into the corner of their goggles, Bloodhound took stock of how many teams and enemies remained. Off the orange, stony walls, the crackling of gunfire echoed out. Carefully weaving through rocky ledges and hiding amongst cover, the trio watched gunfights explode across the main gulley that spanned Kings Canyon, tracking the origins of the bullets, they found two squads perched across from one another, sending sniper shots back and forth. Bloodhound could see that several squads had passed through this spot, some footprints more recent than others. They were certain a team was lurking around here somewhere.

“We are not alone.” They uttered as they glanced around the area, Walter leading them to safety near a set of metal structures. 

Mirage smiled with a wink and snapped his fingers. “Ahh I’ve got this. Sending out a decoy.”

An exact replica, albeit slightly translucent, of Mirage peeled away from the man's body, offering them a cheeky wave before running down the hill. Bloodhound and Walter looked between each other, impressed with his gear and the plan that was beginning to form before them.

Letting out a whistle, Mirage placed his hands on his hips. “Look at that handsome, devilish man go.” Bloodhound couldn't help but roll their eyes at the mans commentary, while Walter chuckled in amusement. They supposed the man found it funny that one of the quietest people he had met was now paired with one of the noisiest. Nonetheless, they watched the duplicate run down the hill, mimicking the man's mannerisms with shocking accuracy, it ran past a small passage to their right, leading towards the old artillery base that sat on the island. Right as it came to a halt at the mouth of the gap, a bullet ripped through its holographic form.

"You just got bamboozled." Mirage clicked his tongue with a smile and readied his gun. "C'mon guys lets go get them!"

Pulling his mortar off his back, Walter turned to Bloodhound. "Mind giving me some guidance on where to land this thing?"

He was intending to flush the enemy team out or trap them. Instantly slipping forward to ensure their enemies were within range, Bloodhound opened the small interface on their forearm, slapping it, causing an orange burst to come alive around them. Orange outlines frantically moved behind the rocks as the fire of Walter's mortar round whistled through the air, raining down upon them. Alongside Mirage they rushed forward, firing into the the flames, they recognized Wraith through the flames who fired back, bullets bouncing off their shields. A bubble dome was dropped in front of them, bringing the battle to a standstill. Wraith had all but disappeared while a hulking man picked up the MRVN they had spotted Artur harassing from earlier.

Mirage hopped from foot to foot while they waited for the shield to drop or the flames to dissipate, whichever came first. "Where did she go — where did she go?"

Behind them, Walter stood guard, covering their rear.

As the MRVN was pulled to its feet, it waved cheerily as it readied its weapons. "Hello friend! I'm sorry that I'm going to have to kill you, but you're still my best friend!"

Mirage let out a long sigh. "Hey Pathy, c'mon, you sure you can't give us an easy break, not even for your best friend?"

A gust of air hit their back followed by a gun being pressed to their temples, rattling against their helmet. "Trying to manipulate Pathfinder, that's a low blow, even for you, Mirage."

Bloodhound went rigid, breathing slowed. Obviously Wraith knew how to prioritize enemies, she was clever. However, her instinct to target them revealed a major flaw, she saw them as a threat, which lead her to underestimate their companions.

"Do not worry about me, focus on what is in front of you." Bloodhound uttered to the young man next to her, knowing that at any moment, they could be taken down.

They heard the soft click of Wraith's finger growing firm upon the trigger, adjusting her weapon. Before she could bring forth the life-ending squeeze required, a shot rang out, the pressure from the muzzle of Wraith's weapon disappearing and her body hitting the ground.

"One down, two more to go — knuckle cluster's going long." Walter yelled from behind as he shouldered his rifle and sent a grenade flying through the air with his mechanical arm.

"Now Mirage — we strike as one!" Bloodhound let out a beastly shout before lunging into battle.

"I — uh — OH — right!" Mirage was still rattled as Wraith was a crumpled pile on the floor with a shield protecting herself from further injury.

All around them six decoys appeared, a whirlpool of Mirage, as it were as he rushed around, each of them copying his exact movements. The large man began to fire from behind a gun shield generator, though having to pivot to try and defend against the fragments of Walter's knuckle cluster beating upon his form. That was Bloodhound's opening, weaving forward they sprayed the man down with support from Walter, sending shots down from his perch where he could. Next to them Mirage's SMG rattled off as finally the gun shield fractured and the man toppled to earth. The whirr of a zipline hummed by as Mirage let out panicked shouts as the clattering of metal feet slammed into his chest knocking the man over.

Pathfinder, the repurposed MRVN stood on top of Mirage, looking down at him with the barrel of his gun. "I'm sorry you lost, but look on the bright side, I won!"

Bloodhound almost found the cheery attitude of the robot off-putting, even more incentive to bring an end to the fight. Whipping around with their reforged Raven's Bite, now it was the time to put it to the test in combat. Throwing it as hard as they could, it met true into the back of the bot's neck, causing sparks to fly. This staggered Pathfinder, offering Mirage enough of a gap to free himself and end the encounter. As the MRVN's body hit the floor and Walter came down to help Mirage to his feet, boxes were scattered around with the fallen Legends portraits. Retrieving Raven's Bite they evaluated the blade.

"How's she holding up?" Walter asked, leaning over their shoulder to look.

"Just fine, Fitzroy." They tried not to let their pride ebb out. "We should not linger here long, I would wager we have gathered the other teams attention."

Mirage dusted himself off as another tube of nanobots was sent into his veins. "They're right, we need to get a move on or the ring will fry us."

"The Kill Leader has been eliminated; there is a new Kill Leader." A robotic voice chimed out as their squad began to reposition themselves to a new vantage point.

Looking up to one of the nearby digital banners hung up across the canyon, Bloodhound took note that the most recent team to fall appeared to be Bangalore's, as confirmed by their goggle's display, the pool of enemies only growing lower and lower as minutes ticked by. Together they picked off what looked like at least one other squad, though it was becoming harder to tell as the circle around them grew smaller and competitors got mixed around in the chaos and bloodshed. It all was coming to a close, three squads remaining and they certainly didn't want to be caught in the crossfire.

Between the Salvonian and Talosi warriors, Mirage whispered. "Man, today's been great guys, I'm surprised we've made it this far for your first games."

Walter shrugged with a snort. "This is child's play, pup, just another day on the job. It's like the Bonecage, albeit a bit bigger, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Though I will say, we make one hell of a team."

Beneath their goggles, they side eyed the man as they stared down the optics of their assault rifle, waiting for another team to make their first move. "It would serve us well if you were to remember why we are here and to focus on the task at hand."

Their statement carried a double meaning, though at the moment they reckoned Walter would not have picked up on it, adding it to their checklist of things they would have to do later and remind the man of. Disrupting their thoughts however, Bloodhound paused, sucking in a sharp breath as a blurry form moved through their viewfinder.

"The enemy draws near, ready yourselves." They uttered as the two other remaining teams clashed with one another near cages filled with local wildlife and a large tower of sorts.

Bullets ripped through the air. From where they stood, watching the fight, they noticed the familiar trail from Loba's jump drive soaring through the air. It seems she had also grown accustomed to the Games while they were on Salvo if her placement was anything to go by. Even still, soon that light flickered out, the numbers that had been in the corner of their display had become obscured. Once the valley silenced, Bloodhound could only assume that only one team rose as the victor of the fight.

"Lets get in there!" Water growled before setting down the hill, Mirage in tow.

"Wait!" Bloodhound yelled as they caught a glint in the air — a drone — right as they were slammed with raw electromagnetic energy.

Their suits systems were scrambled and by the looks of it, Mirage and Walter were in a similar boat with their mechanical parts and pieces. Artur screeched from above as a red mass lunged for them. Bloodhound was able to side step the attack at the last moment and began firing.

Mirage also began spraying down his attackers, wailing in dismay. "Oh come on! Not this guy!"

"Better luck next time, Old Man." A cool, monotone voice spoke, as the form of a thin young man approached.

Walter meanwhile had dispatched their third squad mate, from the looks of it an untrained street fighter of sorts. The mans right arm spurted electricity as he did his best to hold up his rifle with his non-dominant hand. That however, was not what drew the bulk of Bloodhound's attention. They were stunned, wondering if their eyes were deceiving them.

"The Demon." Bloodhound spat out roughly as the red and white simulacrum unfurled itself before them.

It was all beginning to piece together for them. This was also the moment they realized their chances of leaving here alive were growing increasingly slim.

"Well if it isn't the little girls lap dog." Revenant spoke condescendingly, his voice reverberating through a synthetic voice box. "It looks like you've finally come out to play."

Offering no dignified reply, Bloodhound resumed lighting up Revenant with their R-301, though his shield's ate up a full magazine. Next to them, Walter tried helping Mirage fend off Revenant's remaining teammate. Revenant was barely phased by Bloodhound's assault, only marching forward, forcing them back slowly. They were fast, however machine proved to be faster as he began to erratically move and strike, giving Bloodhound no option but to weave away as quickly as they could. Using their jumpjets they began to spring off nearby rocks and the ground, trying to put space between them. At this rate they needed to buy time for themself and their team. They would meet Revenant's spear like finger tips with Raven's Bite as he used his arms like a lance. Sweat built upon Bloodhound's brow as they leapt and rolled, striking in time with the dead laced tango they were trapped in.

However, even Bloodhound could admit this, flesh and blood had its weaknesses in ways mechanical forms did not. Beings like Freyja and Revenant did not tire, but humans did. After a day of back to back battles, a long space voyage, and the remnants of incurred injuries, Bloodhound felt themselves getting more sluggish. To them it was unacceptable, but there was nothing in the present they could do. From just over Revenant's shoulder, they saw Mirage topple once and for all, Walter using their ally's demise as an opening to knock down the drone-wielder.

But by now it was far to late. A searing pain tore through their gut as fist met the gap in their belly plate. It was the last thing they felt before their ears were assaulted by a long, high pitched wail of a machine. Their eyes had barely begun to open as the sliding doors of the revival chamber opened, leaving Bloodhound to spill out, coughing, gasping, and spluttering as they did so. Artur hopped came forward to peck at their gloved hands, a subtle relief for the warrior as at least someone had the decency to worry for their pet.

This was the closest they had brushed with death in all of their forty years of life. Something about it was unsettling, despite Bloodhound's acceptance that one day they too would fall, either from age or battle. Next to them, Mirage had already exited his chamber and was drying his hair off with a towel supplied by a MRVN. He acted as though nothing had happened, a strange indifference in his features.

The young man had a troubled look on his face as he scrolled through something on his phone, before noticing Bloodhound picking themselves up. "Feels weird right? The whole dying and coming back, heh, don't worry though, you get used to it." Mirage let out a long sigh before stretching out his back. "Well we didn't win, but put up one fine effort. Not bad for a couple of rookies."

Mirage spoke as Walter was dropped out from his own pod, stumbling down onto his knees as he hacked up his lungs.

"Fuckin' Christ." Walter groaned from the floor as he was finally able to look up and take in all of those who were around him.

"Say, why don't you guys drop by my place later — the Paradise Lounge — for some drinks." Mirage enthusiastically quipped, the man still had far too much energy for the two older Legends to keep up with. "A bunch of us like to meet up after matches and catch up or gossip. No pressure though, y'know I totes get it… Look, how about I send the details to Walter — er — Fuse here and you can make up your minds for yourselves."

"Thanks for the offer, we'll think about it. Just give us a sec to get back in order and we'll catch up with you." Walter replied, peeling himself off the ground to come over and stand next to Bloodhound.

Apparently, the man was keen on becoming a constant fixture within their personal space. Regardless, Mirage seemed to get the memo and stepped out of the room.

As soon as he was gone, Walter let out a relieved sigh. "Well, we went through hell and did our best. All and all I will say that was a job well done."

"Indeed." Bloodhound pursed their lips, reaching down to rub at their wrists.

"Don't go gettin' all quiet on me now. I know there's something on your mind. You knew that Simulacrum, right?" Walter pointed out as he slowly rotated his prosthetic shoulder.

Bloodhound scrunched their nose. "Unfortunately, yes, however that is a topic I must discuss with Andrade. I intend to return to our ship tonight to meet with her."

Walter frowned a bit, almost as though he were hurt. "You know, we should really take the kid up on meeting some new faces and bumping shoulder's with the rest of the Legends. At least you should try to if you can make time for it, and another thing, don't think I've forgotten why we came here in the first place. I heard what you said in the match, and I'm no dummy, I know exactly what you were laying down. I also know we've got an obligation to the lady back home, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun or get to know other people. The fact of the matter is, we're going to need allies and these are some of the greatest killers in the galaxy, so I'd rather be on their good side if it comes down it it. Who knows how long we're doing to be here, but we can try to make it as least painful as possible."

They pondered his words for a moment, there were truth in his words, they could at least put in some effort into making alliances. There was no telling where they would lead, so they would have to use their best discretion as they did so.

Carefully nodding, Bloodhound held out their arm for Artur to join them. "I suppose I could make time to, as you say, bump shoulders, with others. Though I must speak to Loba and return to the ship before I make my appearance. It would bring me relief to see Freyja and to sort out personal endeavors with her."

"I hear you, I'd never stop you from going to do what you need to. They're your family and you've got a lot to sort out, more than it seems I can help handle, and some of it probably isn't meant for my ears anyhow. All I want is to hear that you will at least try if not for me, not even for yourself, but the mission. I think that's at least something we can compromise on." Walter offered a soft smile before knocking their arms together.

"Then I will make my best attempt. I will see you tonight once I have spoken to Miss Andrade." Bloodhound dipped their head down in a small bow, before clearing their throat and moving to take their leave.

As the sliding doors opened and they began to step out, Walter called for them. "Hey Houndy — thank you by the way."

Bloodhound couldn't understand why the man was thanking them, they hadn't done anything, and yet it was another one of his small quirks shining through.

Trying to keep their head down as they weaved through the streets of Solace City, Bloodhound felt some eyes upon them, but not long enough for anyone to walk up and speak to them. With Artur leading them through the streets, they found new short cuts they had missed on their way in. Coming up to the hull of their home ship, they noticed that the personnel ramp was lowered, they could already see the heel marks in the dirt, Loba having arrived mere moments before. Before Bloodhound spoke to the woman, they couldn't help but take a detour into the cargo area.

Inside the grand belly of the ship, Freyja was a crumpled ball in the corner, at least until Artur dove forward to peck at her head.

"Pilot, you have returned." The Titan commented contently before scanning them up and down. "It appears you sought medical attention, your injuries have made a full recovery."

Had they? Perhaps it had something to do with the revival chambers from their match.

"It is good to see you, my friend. I do not wish to be away from you for long." They hummed as they moved to sit on a set of neatly stacked boxes, before letting out a mournful laugh. "This is amusing…"

Freyja tipped her head, gears whirring throughout her body. "What do you mean, Pilot? How is our separation amusing?"

"No, not that. I am speaking of my participation in the Apex Games." Bloodhound breathed, resting their hands on their hips. "It is funny to me that we have returned to the very place my journey began, to fight in the same arena in which Boone died, in an event overseen by Kuben Blisk. It all lead me to you, and in turn brought us here to finish this all."

"What is your reasoning for believing this is the ending to our journey?" Freyja inquired, concern filling the Titan's echoing voice.

Bloodhound reached out to take her hand that Artur had perched upon. "It is a… gut feeling so to say. I do not believe that this will be our definite end, but a decades long chapter closing. We've intertwined ourselves with the politics of the Frontier and Outlands in ways very few know or understand. As our arrangement with Maggie goes on, I foresee her pushing for more and more, fighting for the truth to be revealed. With that will unravel the Syndicate as we know it and uncover a great deal of our own past decisions. There will be no way for us to avoid it, but we can caution ourselves and ensure that we have chosen the right path."

Freyja was still troubled as she processed the humans words. "What will be our right path? What will define it."

"Ourselves, first above all else…" Bloodhound paused and shook their head, reconsidering their words, "and those that we love. You, my tribe, our friends. That will be how we decide, not loyalty to a institution or a system, but people. Just as you protect me as it is your obligation, together we will do the same for those others."

"I see. I will log this for future reference." Freyja responded as a sliding door hissed behind them.

Loba's heels clicked across the floor with the jingle of her bracelets. "Glad to see you've made it beautiful."

Turning on their heels, boots squeaking on the metal floor, Bloodhound nodded in acknowledgement. "You know I am a person of honor. I would not leave you here without notice, or go back on my word."

"Of course I do, its how we differ." Loba's smile was reserved as she set her eyes on the Titan. "Not that I don't enjoy Freyja's company, but I want to head to the roof. I feel that this conversation is better had between us in private."

"As you wish." Bloodhound rumbled as they patted Freyja on her metallic forearm. "I will come to bid you farewell once we are done. While we are preoccupied, could you please secure a line to Salvo on the old radio system?"

"Yes, Pilot." Freyja responded before beginning to move, lumbering into a different position for her to link into the far wall of the cargo area filled with blinking lights and transceivers.

Both new age and war-time technology was integrated aboard the ship. The newer pieces were for ease of communications and general business, not only that but could sustain more sophisticated encryption. However, that meant they were common and likely had easy workarounds and thus could be breached given a day or two. With the systems from back during the war, most people wouldn't possess them or even know how to work them. Not only that but between Loba, Bloodhound, Jaime, and Freyja, learning how to encrypt them to the current standard became a breeze. They typically used the older radios for their more risky business offers and jobs, such as the predicament Bloodhound was entangled in.

Stepping back outside a warm breeze settled over them, the sun still high, but starting to slowly sink away. Loba slipped the silver bracelet off of her wrist before nodding up to the roof of the ship, beckoning Bloodhound to follow. Tossing the piece of jewelry effortlessly through the air, with a hushed poof Loba appeared, sat down with her legs crossed on a level strip of the steel hull. Letting out a huff, Bloodhound began to scale the side of the ship, fingers finding purchase on thin lips in the metal, nimbly flipping and pulling themself to the top.

Finding a spot for themself, Bloodhound dangled their feet off the edge, looking out across the shipyard, out towards the beaming city center. Loba tapped her finger nails along the side, thinking of how to approach the conversation.

Bloodhound took the opportunity to start. "It seems your demons followed you here."

The woman laughed at that softly as her braids shifted in the wind. "Quite the opposite, beautiful. I've been following the demonio since I picked up his trail shortly after you began working on Salvo. I found that there was a facility beneath Kings Canyon where he creates replicas of himself. Using the distraction of one of the Games, I destroyed the facility but was apprehended afterwards. Hammond Industries was not pleased with me, however we struck a deal. I am to recover an artifact for them, and they will provide me with the source code I need to kill this monster once and for all."

"A dangerous game indeed. There is always a cost when it comes to working with Hammond." Bloodhound remarked coolly, eyeing the woman up and down.

Loba sharply exhaled through her nose, tension sitting on her features. "I've enlisted the help of the Legends, we've been slowly making progress on the goal. The artifact is hidden in another dimension, and I've needed the extra expertise in order to find this treasure."

If they didn't have such trust in the woman and had seen such things themself, the notion of alternate dimensions existing would have had them laughing. "And you are certain this is a path you wish to proceed down?"

"It is the only way we can kill Revenant in any meaningful capacity." She sighed, her fist tightening. "Besides, I have already begun this mission and I cannot back out, even if I wanted."

Nodding, Bloodhound quietly processed all that she was saying. "Then I presume that is how you've grown close to some of these… characters?"

Noticeably, her ears went pink. "Some of them, yes… The rest however are poor at hiding their secrets, its easy work getting them to fall into line."

Bloodhound raised their eyebrow before turning back out to the skyline. Secrets were both a luxury and currency in this world.

"Then where does the IMC sergeant fall into that scheme?" Bloodhound saw no point in avoiding the elephant in the room any longer.

"She's something else." Loba began to rub at her arm. "I would have told you if I had time or had known you'd be here. Look, Anita isn't a bad woman, nor is she evil. She is a product of a system she was raised in, just as you and I are. She's been a valuable companion to me while you've been gone… a source of comfort during these games. Anita is like you, once you get past her cold exterior, she is sweet."

Bloodhound bit back their scoff. "You know not of what you speak — of what I have witnessed and endured at the hand of the government she parades on her jacket."

"I understand, and I wasn't expecting you to accept this. However, my relationship does not fall under your jurisdiction, and all I ask is that you are civil. I have spoken to Anita to do the same after last night." Loba replied smoothly, not backing down. "Do this for me. We do not ask each other for a lot, but I am now."

They paused for a moment, mind swirling as they contemplated their reply.

Setting their jaw in place, they felt heat go to their face, but they swallowed it down as soon as it rose. "I can — will try. For your sake, as I owe you much in this life, but I cannot promise that it will be seamless."

There was still far too much rawness for them to move past this entirely, but they could be professional. They could do this for Loba, it was the bare minimum in truth.

The woman let out a relieved sigh. "Good, and thank you." She let her head fall back against the ships hull. "I can brief you on the rest of this situation regarding the Demonio later, but now it is your turn. How did you convince the Mad Maggie to free you from your contract?"

Besides the obvious sway of commanding a war machine, Bloodhound thought of how to organize everything that had happened.

"Same as you, we made a deal." Bloodhound looked down to the earth below. "Once I learned of your situation, I approached her. We had been fighting in engagements for the better part of two months consistently and I presume she was exhausted when I broached her with the issue. In return for safe passage off of Salvo, I offered to uncover what the Syndicate has planned with the planet. She was not pleased when we left, but I have reason to believe she will be soon satisfied with what I can offer her."

Loba's eyebrows furrowed as she stared at them, bewildered. "That is a tall order. Where would you even begin? What is the end goal?"

"Their contractors. It does not take much for them to begin oversharing." Bloodhound put their hands into their lap. "Hammond, the Che's, the Silvas, each of them fill a piece of the pie and can't resist profiteering on destruction. I intend to gather information of supply lines and cargo pulled on and off world. Only a portion of Salvo is unified under Sandringham Kelly currently, and as such I would not be surprised if heavy arms are being shipped back and forth to instigate more fighting. Our end goal is… ambitious and so I dare not speak it."

"And what about the Salvonian you brought with you?" Loba inquired, listening to her friend and weighing the situation.

Bloodhound let out a humorless laugh. "Like you, I've had to make allies out of necessity. Walter is one of them, he helped convince Maggie to allow me off of Salvo and offered himself as insurance."

Loba let out a whistle, making their cheeks go warm. "You two are already on a first name basis? That is rare for you, beautiful. He must be a special man if that is the case."

"He's… unique to say the least." Bloodhound carefully worded their reply.

"You must like him if you allowed him to join you. You're a loner as am I, it is rare we allow people into our inner circle. There must be more to it than that." Loba pushed.

Crossing their arms, they looked away. "I do not wish to continue with this line of questioning, I have other matters I must attend to."

"Come on!" She whined back. "I spilled my guts to you, you can't hold out on me like this."

"You are too addicted to gossip, but if you must know, I have been invited to the Paradise Lounge to 'bump shoulders' with other Legends." Bloodhound indignantly responded.

Loba leaned forward intrigued, pushing their shoulder playfully. "You? Making friends? Never thought I'd see the day. I am glad however, it will serve you well while we are here. There are a few who I'd want to introduce you to, some I believe you've already met."

Bloodhound tilted their head in intrigue. "Go on?"

"Rampart specifically, Ramya is one of the best weapons specialists in the Outlands. She is the one I purchase Freyja's parts from on your behalf." Loba explained. "She will be one of the Legends you will want to befriend. I can help with that, that is, if you do not mind me joining you."

"Of course not, my friend." Bloodhound hummed, feeling ease wash over them, a break from their normally rushing mind. "First however, I wish to send a message before we depart."

"Then lets get to it." Loba only grinned before sliding off the side of the ship abruptly, arms in the air.

They were okay. Their relationship with Loba was still intact. Things were secure and their intuition was mostly correct.

With a small smile gracing their lips they followed the woman down. Landing with a heavy thud, they looped back into the cargo hold, which Loba elected to wait outside on the exit ramp.

Freyja turned as she heard Bloodhound enter the area. "Pilot, I have secured a connection."

"Thank you, Freyja. I can always rely upon you." They smiled as they knocked their fist into her side lightly.

Moving over to the wall filled with flickering lights and switches, they ensured that all cables were in place and carefully adjusted a few dials. Instinctively Freyja flipped open her cockpit so Bloodhound could grab the old radio inside.

Clearing their voice, they let out a small sigh before holding down the button on the side, and speaking. "Margaret, are you there?" Silence, only a slight crackle rattling out of Freyja's internal speakers. "I know that you are hearing this, or at the very least will hear this, even if you do not wish to speak to me. We have arrived on Solace and I am arranging the first steps in fulfilling our deal. You will hear from me again soon, but for now, keep watching the Games and keep your eyes on us. I will ensure we do not lose our way and forget the cause. You have my word that no harm will come to Walter as well. We both know that we are playing a dangerous game."

As they let go of the receiver, they paused for a moment, listening closely, until they heard a sharp click from the other side. Not a word was spoken back, but they felt they could hear the Maggie's reply in their soul. Their message was received and now it was time for their plan to begin.

Loba directed them to the Paradise Lounge, it was housed inside an aged and slightly run down building. The sign sat high up, trying to draw in patrons off the street for a drink, lights flickering inside.

"Ready for this, beautiful?" Loba hummed, a wolfish grin on her lips, they could feel her urge to cause mischief growing.

Letting out a sigh with a shake of their head, Bloodhound moved past her to give the door a rough shove. Instantly they were slammed with raw, unfiltered, noise. Drunk and belligerent people stumbled about, others were merrily buzzed, rosy cheeked and yapping away. The speakers belted out some random pop song off the radio as they entered the building. Slipping through the vast sea of bodies blocking the doorway and flashing a nasty look to the bouncer, they were let in. Scattered across the tables were various Legends mingling and sharing stories from their time in the arena. Rampart and Bangalore sat together at a table with the large man Bloodhound had fought earlier in the day, sharing drinks and looking over some weaponry. It appeared that a makeshift weapons shop had been carved out in the corner of the bar with people eyeing the wears engraved with a cursive 'R'. Octane was bustling about, standing and shouting from tabletops, trying to impress some fans. Meanwhile Walter sat right at the bar, talking to Mirage as the young man dished out drinks, alongside him was Lifeline, Wraith, and Pathfinder. Boisterous laughter erupted as they talked, Walter undoubtedly sharing his exploits.

Loba bumped their shoulder, rubbing their forearm, directing them towards Walter. "Go get him, tiger. I will be waiting over with Anita and the others. Come over once you are ready."

"I— Andrade!" She had already slipped away from them, feebly as they reached out. "Andrade!" Their calls fell on deaf ears as they were abandoned, with a frustrated pout. "Allfather, help me."

Crossing their arms they made their way over, wit Mirage noticing them first. "Hey look, Houndy really did show up!"

Walter sent the man a glare at the nickname before turning around fully and greeting the hunter. "There you are! I saw startin' to think you stood us up."

"I would do no such thing and you know it, Fitzroy. I honor my word." They responded as they moved to take a seat next to the man.

Mirage let out a low whistle. "Using last names now? You're in trouble, Wally-boy."

Walter scoffed as he took a sip from his dark bottled drink. "You're the one who's going to be in trouble if you keep throwing out nicknames and teasing Houndy here, Witt."

The brunette put his hands on his hips, nervous sweat hitting his brow. "Are you uh — trying to threaten me?"

"Not at all, just trying to give you a friendly warning, I'm not the one you should be worried about." Walter watched Bloodhound from the corner of his good eye.

Mirage paled and Bloodhound felt bad for the young man. The other gathered Legends exchanged weary and confused glances.

"Walter, do not scare him. You act as though I'm some vicious dog prone to attack." Bloodhound scolded, no actual heat to their words.

Walter's face fell, a mouth dropping open. "C'mon Houndy — I didn't mean it like that."

Mirage meanwhile looked like he wanted to melt away behind the counter. Pathfinder had maneuvered behind the counter to help serve other patrons and Wraith stood with her back against the bar, shaking her head in embarrassment.

Lifeline stepped in by clearing her throat. "Aye now you three, I don't want to be putting DOC to work this late at night, we're all friends here."

"Do not worry, we are merely sharing some… banter." Bloodhound struggled to settle on a word but nonetheless they didn't think to dwell on it.

Wraith let out a laugh at their words, clearly seeing through whatever they and Walter had going on. Mirage simply stared at her as though he was begging her to stop.

"Right." Walter looked away, flustered for a moment, before running a hand over his face. "I was meaning to ask you, Houndy, if I could buy you a proper drink this time, seeing as I wasn't able to get you one back on Salvo."

Bloodhound settled back on their stool. "Your offer is most generous," they paused, thinking of their answer, a nagging in their gut making them wary of accepting, and yet they still surprised themself, "and I wish to accept."

Instantly, Walter perked up as though he was waiting for their rejection. "Right on then, I knew you had it in you. So what do you drink? A whiskey kind of person or maybe some cocktails?"

Reaching up to their respirator, they began to undo the smaller section of tubing that helped filter the air they breathed. "Whatever ale is on tap, with a straw."

"You heard 'em, Witt!" Walter smiled as he leaned on the counter top, knocking his metal fist against it.

Witt. The name quirked Bloodhound's eyebrow, familiarity tingled in their mind as they flicked through their memories, trying to find the connection

"On it!" The man called back as he grabbed a glass and began to pour a pint, foot tapping against the floor while his phone buzzed with notifications on the lip of the bar.

Spying it laying face up, Bloodhound could make out the faint features of a woman in the lock screen, she was clearly older, but shared the same smile as Mirage who was plastered against her. That's when it clicked. A mother and son with the last name Witt, in Solace City no less.

Bloodhound leaned forward as the drink was brought before them, with a metal straw dropped right through the foam.

Wrapping their gloved hand around the cup, they spoke. "You're one of Evelyn's sons, correct? Evelyn Witt, she was once an engineer of sorts."

Mirage stopped dead in his tracks, seemingly losing a few shades of color from his face. They couldn't discern whether or not he was scared or surprised, maybe a healthy combination. He was certainly intimidated, and them knowing his personal information would not have helped. The other Legends around them paused their conversations and watched from the corners of their eyes, most notably Walter who was all too nosy.

"Yea-yeah. I am." Mirage stopped, sweat prickling at his brow. "How do you know that — is there a bounty out on me or something? God I hope not."

He was trying to play the awkwardness off. The man also did not mask his discomfort well.

Bloodhound moved to push the straw through their respirator. "Do not worry, I only know her in passing, she worked with my parents many winters ago on Talos, at New Dawn before the accident. I met her again, a decade ago, or more, she helped repair some of my equipment shortly after the Civil War whilst I was wandering the Outlands. A very intelligent and brave woman indeed."

"Well I'll be! You know a hell of a lot more about our new coworkers here than I could have guessed." Walter spoke up, reaching over to shake Bloodhound by the shoulders.

"Oh damn..." Mirage rubbed the back of his neck, sending a glance to Wraith who stood up and gently beckoned Lifeline away with her, as soon as they were out of earshot, he stuck out his hand. "I guess if you knew my mom, you can call me Elliott then."

They accepted the gesture, finally meeting the man properly. "I am Blóðhundr, child of Johann and Brigida. It is funny how the fates bring people together."

Elliott sheepishly smiled. "Definet-define- for sure. So uh, I'm not sure what to ask. Uhm, how is your family?"

Walter somehow cringed harder than Bloodhound, but to his credit, stifled whatever noise was trying to whistle from his nose.

"Huh — what did I say? Oh shit—" Elliott tried to recover, stammering. "I'm sorry—"

"It is alright." Bloodhound awkwardly let out, trying to keep their voice neutral as they could by sipping their drink. "Is it alright if I ask the same?"

The man's face fell slightly, starting to shift his weight uncomfortably. "She's still alive, if that's what you're asking. She's my number one fan, gotta make her proud somehow, hah." The man swallowed as he poured himself a drink, swirling it around. "Y'know how when people get older, things start to get mixed up in their head, 'n forgetting stuff? Yeah, that, she's got her good days like anyone…"

They didn't mean to make the man so crestfallen or damper the mood of the night. Maybe they were somehow worse at making acquaintances than they thought.

"Awe hell." Walter frowned, to which Bloodhound lightly elbowed him.

"Mitt apologies if I asked a poor question. You do not need to share more with me, or at all." Bloodhound added softly, being as gentle as they could.

Letting out a wry laugh, attempting to play off the discomfort, Elliott drank down the bitter liquid from his cup, making a face as the after taste hit him. "It's all good, makes us fair and square, after all I kinda started this, with the whole parents thing and all. Just uhm, don't go around spreading this about to the other Legends, okay?"

"You are fortunate, I do not have any reason or desire to gossip to those around us. I will also ensure Fitzroy's silence, you have my word." Bloodhound replied as they began to swallow down more of their drink.

"Right," Elliott nodded, reaching over to turn his phone face down. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it. You helped us out by showing us around the ring, its our turn to pick up the slack." Walter quietly added as well, his own spin on comfort as he slid some cash across the counter.

Standing to drop his beer bottle into the empties bin, Bloodhound rose to follow along, still working on their own beverage.

"That could have gone…" Walter started as the glass rattled into the bottom of the bin.

"Better?" Bloodhound leaned against the wall, scanning the room from over Walter's shoulder.

The man let out a tired chuckle. "I was gonna try and be more diplomatic than that." Rolling his shoulder's Walter glanced back over to the bar, watching Lifeline and Wraith return to their spots, sending the pair a set of glances. "Though I suppose it could have gone a whole lot of ways, but at least it wasn't worse. I'm more impressed that you have a memory for that type of thing and that you recognized the kid."

"The people of the Outlands are not the sort you forget easily." Bloodhound replied, watching Loba smile as she threw down a handful of cards onto the table in front of her from across the room. "Just as I remember the beasts I have fought and their weaknesses, I do my best to recall the people I meet, so that I know whom to avoid or rely upon."

"How am I holding up in your memory then?" Walter moved to lean against the wall with them.

"My judgment of you is not yet finished, and I believe it will not be for some time yet." Bloodhound watched him from the corner of their eye.

The back of Walter's head lightly hit the wall. "Well, damn, just let me know when you're done thinkin' on it, I'm curious. Heh, I guess on the upside though, it means you'll be keeping me around for awhile yet."

"You will most certainly be aware of when that time comes." Bloodhound responded, pondering the cup that was nestled between their hands. "Though, for now I can offer you this: you have been helpful to me and your companionship is appreciated, Fitzroy. I hope that this will be something we might foster going forward."

"Right back at you, Hounddog." Walter smiled back, reserved in a way that he seldom was, it was how Bloodhound knew the man was being earnest.

Bloodhound tapped their finger against the metallic straw. "For now, let us find out what our next steps are in this… mission of ours. Andrade says she has a lead regarding some dealings with Hammond. I'm interested in learning more; it will help us establish what we do next, though I have some ideas."

"Then we best get over there — that's if you want me there too." Walter stopped himself from getting too far ahead.

"Are you afraid that I will traumatize the others, as I did Elliott?" Bloodhound teased, trying to make what happened minutes before a bit lighter in their mind.

Walter looked as though he were a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Well, when you put it like that… In all seriousness, if you want me there or not, its up to you, just please tell me what you're thinking once we get back. Its hard to tell sometimes with you. Maggie always roped and updated me on things I never thought I cared about, but now… I think I'm starting to miss it? Maybe, I dunno, look, I just want us to be a team, alright? I've got a lot I need to pay for, and you've been through a lot, lets not add some more shit to the pile we have to deal with."

"I will keep it in mind." Bloodhound remarked, considering the mans words, and more than that, his feelings. "If you so wish, you may follow me. I have a feeling that I may need support, based on some of the individuals gathered."

"You mean that ex-IMC gal, right? Is she and Loba a—" Walter began before being sent a withering look, even he could sense despite the goggles.

Bloodhound grit out through pursed lips. "They are not, but even still, Loba cares for her. I will approach with an open mind."

Walter knocked his metal fist into their shoulder. "Sounds like a plan, lets just try not to rip heads off and break hearts, save it for the arena."

"When you speak like this, you sound as though you are a very rational man." Bloodhound cheekily responded, Walter's charisma was dazzling but they could see through it well enough, though when in a good mood, they would humor it.

"I've always been a convincing actor." Walter chuckled lowly as he took point. "Back on Salvo, you need to know how to pretend in order to stay alive, that way no one else but you knows how scared shitless you are."

"Very insightful." Bloodhound hummed as they followed after Walter, almost stepping on his heels, nipping at the leather.

As they approached the table, they watched as Loba perked up, making eye contact with them and folding her cards onto the table. Leaning over to Bangalore who was sitting on a stool next to her, words were quietly exchanged between women. Notably, Bangalore's eyebrows furrowed, a scowl building, followed by a defeated sigh, and her features smoothing over. It was a subtle reprieve from the hardened exterior she kept standing, even in casual settings. Letting out a small huff, the woman pushed out from the table and got to her feet. Walking up to Bloodhound, Bangalore paused a few feet shy of them. Tilting their head, Bloodhound crossed their arms.

"I need to talk to you." Bangalore bluntly requested, her eyes level with theirs, almost as though she were standing at attention. "Soldier to soldier."

Walter sent Bloodhound a sideways glance. "If we must. Walter, you are free to join the others at the table and wait for me."

Clearing his throat, Walter dipped his head in acknowledgement before stepping around them and continuing to the table.

"Say what you need to, I grow weary of the days games, and my civility runs thin. I am doing this for Andrade's sake, and that alone." Bloodhound lowly spoke as they matched Bangalore's stance.

"I want to call a truce, between us." Bangalore began, fighting back a scowl. "I ain't happy about this either, but it looks like we've got the same reasons for hashing out our problems. At the end of the day, neither of us are saints, no matter how we look at it. I came across strong last night and I…" she grit her teeth slightly, "apologize for that. I can't say we'll see eye to eye, but I will give it a shot and suck it up since you'll be here for awhile, so long as you do the same."

Bloodhound's arms dropped to their sides. "I refuse lie and claim you do not leave a bitter taste in my mouth, however in truth I no longer find it in me to argue over armies and organizations that no longer exist. I gave up that life long ago, but the things I have seen I will never forget. I cannot forgive now, but perhaps with time I will soften. Until then, I will comply with Loba's request as I believe it to be in all of our best interests."

"Alright." Taking in a long exhale, Bangalore scuffed her boot against the floor and coughed. "I guess the silver lining with having you here now is that I'll have a real challenge in the arena. Too many of these kids don't know what real battle is like, but I've seen you, and I can at least respect it. Now, before Lo starts worrying to much, we should head back to the table, I'm headed off to get us another round."

As Bangalore moved away, navigating across the bar, Bloodhound felt themself decompress the slightest bit before moving to stand behind where Walter hand seated himself, resting a hand on the back of his chair. Walter tipped back, staring up at them with a smile, mostly glad to see that the bar behind him was still in one piece and that they hadn't torn each other to shreds.

Looking to Loba they spoke, squeezing the wooden frame of the chair. "You wanted to introduce me?"

"I'm happy to see you've finally joined us, beautiful." Loba purred as they were beckoned over, the bracelet on her wrist jingling and nails clicking.

The man next to her had a humongous smile on his face. "Hey, she's been hyping you up, my friend, and I agree with her. You've got some moves! The name is Makoa Gibraltar, didn't get a chance to introduce myself before we squared up in the arena earlier."

"I— thank you. It is nice to meet you." Bloodhound bowed their head to the man, doing their best to accept the praise. "You may call me Bloodhound."

Makoa let out a boisterous laugh, his grin growing impossibly bigger. "I reckon you'll fit in here just fine. You and Fuse here have made a splash."

"A splash? That's an understatement." Rampart announced as she plopped back down into her seat, waving around a sizeable red wrench. "These two have made a bloody bomb factory out of this place."

"Better to make an impression that sticks in peoples mind, from my experience." Walter quipped as he pulled one of the bottles off his hip and cracking it open.

"You better hope it doesn't leave you with a target on your back. For every pal you make in the Outlands, you get a few enemies that come along with it." Rampart continued, blowing out a large, pink bubble.

Loba leaned forward across the table. "That's what I'm here to help do — make friends for them. You two are already acquainted, but right here, Ramya, is your best client."

The woman raised an eyebrow, looking Bloodhound up and down for a moment, curious before the realization struck her. Shooting up, she came around the table and smacked them roughly on the back, knocking their chest into the back of Walter's head.

"Well what would you know. I take it all back, I think all of us will get along just fine." Rampart grinned, wrapping her elbow around the back of their neck, drawing them down. "So you're the one Loba is buying all those parts and pieces for. You really give me a run for my money — a challenge — but nothing I can't fix. I like it! I'm the best weapons modder in the Outlands and I won't let a little Pilot and their gear give my reputation a run for its money."

"Then I am grateful that you are my ally." Bloodhound grit out, uncomfortable, but compliant with the contact.

Rampart beamed before letting go of them, twirling her wrench. "One of these days you'll have to let me look around the rig I've been scavenging all of these parts for, see how my craftsmanship has paid off."

"It is unlikely… however," Bloodhound reached into the pocket woven inside their coat, finding the circular device Blisk had handed them upon their acceptance to the Apex Games. "Perhaps if you like puzzles, this will be of interest."

Rampart perked up, letting out some excited hoots. "Ohoho, where did you find something like this?"

Passing it over to the woman, she appraised it, staring at it in the light. "It was a present from Kuben Blisk, a relic from the Frontier Wars. Perhaps it will mean something to you."

"Uncle Kubie? Then you must be very special. I've never seen anything like this before." Rampart bit at her lip before setting it down for the others to see. "You are now most certainly my favorite customer. Givin' me all the fun projects to work on. How's about I clean this little gem up and we can figure out what she does together?"

Walter glanced up at Bloodhound expectantly as they flattened the fur around their neck. "I see no harm in it."

Rampart whooped victoriously before scooping the device back up and whirling over to her corner of the bar, placing it in a safe spot. While the woman was whisked away with her fascination with technology, Bangalore reappeared with Mirage at her side, trays full of drinks.

"Hell yeah." Walter rumbled as he was passed a bottle, handing the pint over his shoulder to Bloodhound.

Once all the drinks were passed out, he cleared his throat once again with a smile, looking at the Legends gathered. "Cheers to new friendships, beginnings, 'n all that?"

Everyone raised their glasses, even the more reluctant attendees. Nothing was set in stone but it was a start, friendships were beginning to blossom while longstanding battles were put to rest.