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"Friend, do you understand pride?" Pathfinder’s monotonous synthesized voice carried slightly on the wind, rushing over the shoulder of the stoic Bloodhound who was sitting on an ice cliff at Epicenter.
"I do." Came their solemn response, their voice heaving through their mask, each syllable carrying the full and heavy intent of their question; the question itself though, was rhetorical in nature. From their icy perch on a ledge at Epicenter overlooking the remains of the Capitol City with the enormous monstrosity that was the ‘Hammond Robotics Planet Harvester’ silhouetting the background of it all. “Are you proud Hammond?” Another rhetorical question, followed with another deaf answer.
In the last couple of weeks, Bloodhound had sat most of their recent games out, citing personal reasons, and that's what the Syndicate had released in multiple press releases on their behalf. Jacob Young wasn’t the most useful, but he tended to have the Legends’ back when they needed him. In actuality, the reason was more complicated; recently the games had moved back to World's Edge, often rotating out the Arena’s as and when needed. But with World’s Edge, for Bloodhound, it carried an immense amount of trauma. And that’s why they were both here, as an escape, Bloodhound needed time away from the other Legends, and they could just about tolerate Pathfinder enough to bring him along.
You see, World’s Edge lives up to its name. Undoubtedly it is an unforgiving place, even before Kuben Blisk and his motley crew in the syndicate decided to ship their bloodsport out here. Long before the towering spire emitted from the planet harvester and the perilous ravines of lava, Talos was stripped of its inherent resources by a shell corporation of the IMC. Bloodhound had lost their parents numerous years ago to a meltdown in one of the facilities, also causing a giant freeze across World's Edge, stifling the many developments that had been wrapped up under the "New Dawn" branding. Hammond Robotics, used to be one of the many shell companies that operated underneath the IMC, and many years later, their return to the outlands filled Bloodhound with rage, yet a rage that they didn’t show.
“Do you wish you knew them?” Pathfinder’s tone wasn’t friendly nor was it cold. He just had one tone. Cheerful. Bloodhound was inconsistent on whether or not they enjoyed it, one thing was for sure though, Artur hated it. With every inch and fibre of that small bird’s being, they hated that voice. All the vocabulary with none of the nuance - plus it wasn’t uncommon to find small birds nests in the wrecks of old MRVN units in the New Dawn facility. "Your parents, that is." It took Pathfinder an uncharacteristically long time to clarify what he had said just moments “Jacob Young gave me a brief outline of what happened, and why you’re here.”
Beneath their mask, their face turned pensive. "Perhaps, before the games, I wished that I had graced their presence for longer." They spoke with clarity, there eyes hidden because of their visor, but their vision was set upon the blue Horizon, far beyond World's Edge. "But that's not the case anymore." The cold winds whipped up small currents of snow, spiraling around in the air. Thy held their arm out, passively gesturing as a landing spot for their bird Artur. "Uncle Artur will protect them in Valhalla. He'd be proud." You could pick it out in their voice, there was a headstrong certainty.
"Friend, I think your creators would also be proud of you." It was clunky, but Pathfinder sat down next to Bloodhound. "If they knew what you got up to these days. How far you've come. They'd be proud." The display on his chest rolled as if it was one of the slot machines in Mirage's Solace Bar, it rolled around onto a green smiling face.
"Mmm." Came their response. Bloodhound hated the futility of these debates with Pathfinder. Caustic once said that the robot had this 'infectious positivity' and they right now fully understood the extent of what he meant with that. "I have no fear if they're proud of me.” They took a sharp inhale, their mask whooshed as the filtered air passed through. “The Gods will show their pride for me." They spoke with an air of what could almost be described as finality, followed by a loud caw from Artur.
Pathfinder wanted to say more. But he wasn’t sure. And neither was Bloodhound. Sure, they believed each and every word they had spoken.
So instead, they waited. They were both waiting for a Syndicate dropship, similar to the ones used in the Apex Games, however more suited toward being used for passenger transport - often used for ushering VIPs around.