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It's been about two days since Walter lost his eye. It still hurts, he still wakes up every day thinking about it. It’s impossible not to notice the absence. It hits him again and again for even simple things - brushing his teeth, getting dressed, unlocking a door… having a drink.
Walter is uncomfortably aware of the gap in his vision as he reaches for his beer. His neck is sore from all the extra head-turning he has to do just to look at something now. It'll just take some getting used to - that's all. A year from now he'll hardly remember what it was like to have two eyes.
That's a depressing thought, living a year like this. No, living a life like this. It's not as if his eye is ever coming back. The window for installing something synthetic is closing quickly, and there’s nowhere on Salvo with that kind of tech. If he thinks about it too much, he’ll start to spiral. Nevermind the effect that no depth perception is sure to have on things like throwing a punch, parrying a blow, throwing a gren-
“You look like you’ve had a hard day.”
A stranger takes his place on the barstool two seats down from Walter and is just loud enough to pull him from his thoughts. Walter’s still very much adjusting to his injury, though, and he doesn’t need some clueless off-worlder commenting on it.
“All due respect mate, I ain’t in the mood for talkin’ right now.”
“Really now? And here I thought you were a fan.”
The comment rouses the old fighter’s eyebrows from their grimace, much to his regret. It’s enough to send the wound on the left side of his head reeling. Walter winces and covers it as he turns his good eye down the bar to finally look at who he was talking to.
“Oi, Ku! I, I didn’t uh-“
“Relax mate, don’t bust your head open again for my sake.”
Fuse can feel the flush on his cheeks come hard and fast. It’s bad enough to fail to recognize someone you’ve met a dozen times before, and even worse when you’ve spent years watching them on television. He can’t blame his newfound blindness for everything, but maybe Kuben will let him.
The merc pretends not to notice Walter’s uncomfortable wincing as he calls for a drink from the bartender. It earns Kuben a glare; normal reception for off-worlders like him. The subsequent glass of brandy spills a good amount of liquor from its edges as it’s flung down the counter at him. He pretends not to notice that, either.
“So, how’d it happen huh? Hope the pay was worth it at least.”
“Oh, uh-“ Walter is on the spot again . Kuben seems to be on a roll with that today. “No pay. Just doin’ a favor for a friend.”
Walter knows the response he’s going to get before the words are even out of his mouth. He’s never been much of a liar, and the truth is better than something Kuben will pick apart in an instant.
“You lost an eye and it wasn’t even for a job? The hell are you doin’ Fitzroy?”
“Look, may not’ve walked away unscathed, but it was a fun romp. And I got off easy - Maggie’s still in bed. What I took to the eye, she got to her skull. Headache’s been kickin’ her ass ever since. Got about four inches ‘a metal in there now.”
“Sounds fun at least. What was the job?”
Kuben already knows the gist of it. If Maggie’s leading the charge, it's an assault against his usual employers.
“Well, I assume you heard about the plant that blew up this week. Sorry if it affected your pay, by the way.”
“Ah, so that's what that was,” Kuben replies, sipping his brandy. “Y’know you oughta be careful ‘bout givin’ that information up. Could easily get a criminal like that arrested if I wanted to.”
“Mm,” Walter cracks a smile. “And do you want to?”
“Depends,” the old merc says, a wry grin on his face as stands from his stool and walks up to Walter’s. “Will he let me buy him a drink?”
Blisk puts one hand on Walter’s shoulder, waiting for his answer.
“Will I get turned in if I say no?” Walter smiles, cheek in his hand as he stares at the Syndicate goon standing beside him.
“Eh,” Kuben shrugs. “Sounds like a lot of paperwork honestly.”
Walter snorts, finishing off the last of his beer. Kuben is still standing, and he's just figured out why - the old merc’s itching to leave. With a quick glance around the bar, Walter can see the uncomfortable glares he's earned. Off-worlders like Kuben stick out like a sore thumb, and with how things have been lately, tensions are high.
“Oi, bartender, a couple for the road?”
Walter’s the one to ask, knowing he'll get the more amicable response. Two cans of beers are put in front of him which Kuben leaves a few coins for. That’s something Walter taught him - to always carry cash. He didn’t before, and it got him in trouble more than once. Just one of the many little things customary to Salvo that Kuben’s managed to adapt to.
Walter grabs both beers and heads out the door after Kuben. He can see the merc already has a destination in mind once he’s outside, heading down the dirt road back to the IMC base that isn’t far from here. Did he come here just to get Walter?
“Oi, Ku, where ya goin'?”
“What’s it look like? Headin’ back to base. ‘Least we can have some privacy there.”
“Nah, that place is stuffy as hell. Come on, I got a better idea.”
Kuben raises a brow, skeptical. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Walter, more that he’s simply doubtful anywhere on Salvo is better than what he has in mind. He isn’t the type to like surprises, but Walter seems like he’s in a bad mood and he isn’t about to start an argument. So, he follows him to the back of the building where a sleek motorcycle is waiting for them.
“Didn’t know ya had a bike.”
“Eh, usually don’t, but let’s just say she’s on loan from Maggie.”
“Ah, so you stole it then. You even have a license?”
“A what?”
Kuben thinks he’s joking, but Walter’s expression is sincere. The Salvonian shakes his head and chuckles, throwing the beers into a compartment near the engine and mounting the bike. He pats the seat behind his ass expectantly.
“Oh hell no,” Kuben scoffs, “You expect me to ride bitch for a man who can’t even drive?”
“I mean, either that or you can walk, makes no difference to me,” Walter says, showing his commitment as he revs up the engine.
Walter waits atop the rumbling bike as he waits for Kuben’s decision. The merc’s job has never been anything but dangerous, but that doesn’t mean he has a death wish. As Walter offers him a hand he doesn’t need, Kuben thinks back on all the other hare-brained schemes he’s trusted that hand with. They’ve all been stupid, dangerous, and needlessly risky and well, he’s survived. He’s survived all of it. He’ll probably survive this too.
With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Kuben knocks away Walter’s hand and mounts the bike behind him. It’s every bit as awkward as he thought it’d be. Walter is smaller, shorter, and enjoying every agonizing second of this if that smile is anything to go by. Still, it’s better than that sulking mess he was in the bar, so Kuben swallows his pride, just this once.
“Aw come on, just gonna put your hands on the seat like some kinda Puritan?”
“For fuck’s sake, just drive.”
“Your fault if you fall off,” Walter chuckles. He takes his boot off the ground and off they go.
Kuben isn't certain where Walter’s taking him. No road is paved on Salvo, so it's a lot of bumpy, dust-riddled dirt as they pass by old, falling apart buildings and the occasional bar or trailer. There's a radio tower right at the edge of town, marking its entrance. It's a wonder it works, but it does, and Walter fiddles with a knob up front as loud rock music starts to blast from the speakers.
It's fuzzy sounding, even as they pass right by the tower and out of town. The music is hard and nostalgic, blending with the rhythmic sound of the engine that seems to accompany it like an instrument. The buildings disappear, and it's nothing but desert as far as the eye can see.
In what Kuben is certain is no accident, Walter hits a rock. The hog does a little jump in the air, and Kuben’s forced to grab on to the nearest thing to secure himself - that would be Walter’s chest.
“Aw, see? That wasn't so hard, was it?”
“You did that on purpose,” Kuben grumbles, holding on to the seat again. It isn’t that he's afraid to touch Walter, it’s just that he should be the one driving.
Mercifully, after what Kuben counts as five songs, getting progressively more static-filled and unlistenable, their drive comes to an end. The desert gives way to a chasm between two enormous slabs of rock that dive downward for thousands of feet. A bridge joins its sides, and Walter parks right in its center. The engine quiets, the pair of them dismount, and Walter removes the two beers he'd stashed earlier.
He tosses one to Kuben and joins him as they look over the edge of the bridge to an impressive, winding canyon. Every layer of rock is streaked with color, brilliant reds and whites and golds that run horizontally, billions of years of ancient history split open for all to see. Neither of the two of them were ever one to appreciate topics like history or geology, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t quite a sight. The science aside, if one were to fall into that canyon, they’d end up a splat on the ground.
“You remember this place?” Walter pipes up, snapping the cap off his beer.
“Remember it? How could I forget it? Pretty sure that’s the spot where you rammed our transport into the wall.”
Kuben points to a far away but still very sizeable crater in the side of the canyon. Walter remembers it fondly.
“Biggest hole I ever made that didn’t involve explosives,” the grenadier nods. “I’m tellin’ ya, IMC builds ‘em beefy, I just wanted to see how beefy is all.”
Walter brandishes his comment with a wink and a knock on Kuben’s arm.
“Yeah well, apparently not beefy enough to keep from fryin’ the nav systems.”
“Those blokes acted like they ain't never used a paper map before! You should thank me for teachin’ them some survival skills.”
Kuben chuckles. Walter’s being humble, but the truth is he's got a lot to thank him for that day. The crash, the delay, the alternate route - every fuck up was planned so that his crew wouldn't run into an ambush.
It's just one of many somewhat traitorous things Walter’s done to Salvo, even if he's never quite seen it like that. Kuben doesn't know whether it's admirable or laughable, the way he just sort of ignores the politics of it all. Walter will help a Syndicate thug like Kuben cross the desert without being ambushed and then blow up a Syndicate power plant the very next day. He doesn't go by whose cause is more worthy, because Walter’s metric is much simpler: whoever he likes most, whatever sounds the most fun, or whoever pays him the most.
He's a lot like Kuben, in that way. Maybe that's why the old merc’s so fond of him.
“So…the bike-”
“What about it?”
“Stealing from Maggie? Ain't that a bit dangerous?”
Kuben grins, expecting some mischievous response, but Walter’s quiet for once.
“Don't think she'll be makin’ much of a fuss. After what happened with me eye, she's been extra nice ‘round me.”
Walter’s usually good at taking a beating and moving on, but usually a good beating doesn't leave him permanently disfigured. You can't exactly grow an eye back, and Walter seems keenly aware that this is the one thing he can't bounce back from.
“Sounds like she's actually managed to feel guilty for once. Good for her,” Kuben says.
It's endlessly relieving that Walter manages to chuckle at that. Kuben can sense he's on edge, and he has a good idea why.
“I could get you a new one, y'know.”
“A new what?”
“A new eye, mate. I know the prosthetics here on Salvo ain't worth the tin they're made of, but I've got connections. Just let me take you off-world, I'll set you up with one of me best. You won't even be able to tell it ain't real.”
Walter thinks for a moment, swirling around the beer in his can. It doesn't take long for him to make a decision.
“Nah, I'm good. But thanks for the offer.”
Kuben scoffs. The rejection is absurd, and he won't take it lying down.
“What do you mean no? What've you got to lose? You like havin’ no depth perception?”
“Ain't like that, Ku. If I leave and get a Syndicate doc to put a new eyeball in me skull, people will ask questions. They'll be askin’ where I got it, since nothing that good exists ‘round here. Then they'll find out where it came from and - well, they ain’t gonna be friendly about it.”
“So what, you're gonna give up on havin’ two eyes just to keep the peace with some backwater goons?”
“Oi, I'm one of those backwater goons.”
“That ain't what I meant.”
“Then what did ya mean huh?” Walter raises his voice. It seems Kuben’s struck a nerve. “You think you're better than us? Like we're just a buncha backwards morons and you're the rich off-worlder who's got everything figured out, eh, is that right?”
“They're holding you back, Walter, that's what I mean.”
“Holdin’ me back from what? This is my life, Ku. You can’t just barrel in here and tell me I’m livin’ it wrong.”
Kuben can sense there’s something deeper to Walter’s words. He’s never gotten quite this angry before, and it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Kuben. Walter’s been in a bad mood for a while now, and it’s all starting to finally bubble over.
“Look,” Kuben sighs, running a hand through his hair and choosing his next words carefully. ”I look at you here, and you're miserable. Weren't like that when you were younger. Maggie keeps asking for more and more and now she's cost you an eye and you're still loyal. Why? What about what you want?”
“Doesn't matter what I want.”
“‘Course it matters. Are you gonna spend your whole life doin’ for other people instead ‘a lookin’ out for yourself?”
“I don't know, I've got the Bone Cage don’t I? That’s always been mine, Maggie had nothin’ t’do with it.”
“Is that enough?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” Walter admits. “Why ya pryin’ so much today anyway?”
He looks so defeated, mustache drooping over his lips as he looks down at the canyon. It’s a pitiful thing to look at, especially knowing how he usually is. That chipper demeanor has been eroding more and more lately, and it’s changed him.
Kuben puts a hand on top of Walter’s, who looks up and meets him eye to eye.
“Come with me.”
“To where?”
“No, come with me , off Salvo. There’s plenty ‘a merc work out there. We can get you a new eye, a new place to live, you don’t have to follow orders from Maggie anymore.”
“Ku..”
“I just…I want you to be happy, and I don't see you bein’ happy here.”
Walter sighs.
“I can't just leave. Salvo’s all I know. And leavin’ with someone like you… I can't exactly expect a warm welcome comin’ back,” he shakes his head. “Nah, nah. It’d never work. Leavin’ Salvo… folks in the Outlands ain’t even fond a’ Fringers like me.”
Kuben throws back his head and looks to the sky. Somewhere, out beyond the clouds, far beyond this planet is a star whose warmth he hasn’t felt in decades. He thinks of leaving it and how it felt for him.
“I was born on Earth, y’know.”
“No kiddin’? Only ever read about the place. That’s the one we came from, right?”
“Yep. Ain’t much to look at these days, though. Smoggy, crowded - food’s alright though.”
“Gotta say, you ain’t sellin’ it very well,” Walter chuckles.
Kuben shrugs. “Is what it is. Can’t exactly go back there even if I wanted to. Not ‘cause I ain’t welcome, just that I’d be dead before the trip was over.”
“You ever regret leavin’?”
“Not even a little bit,” he says. “The Outlands are worth it, every single time. And I didn’t even choose them, really. Mercenary work on Earth was gettin’ dry, so I offered my services to the IMC. Job took me to the Frontier, then out here. Needed all sorts of shit done. Did a lotta good, a lotta bad, fucked up me arm… then I met you.”
“Yeah, and then what?”
“Well,” Kuben clears his throat. “I always figured I’d meet this real handsome bloke, spend a few years goin’ back ‘n forth from his planet to mine, and eventually he’d come with me. Get him his own place on Solace, close t’mine, since I know how much he likes his space ‘n all.”
“That he does.”
“He’d live there, I’d get to see him more often…”
“How’s he payin’ for this place? Or is he relyin’ on your charity for the rest of his days?”
“Oh he’d have a job. Can’t have him bein’ a deadbeat. In fact, I figure I’d hook him up, bein’ charitable ‘n all.”
Kuben reaches into his jacket to fetch something. Walter’s eye goes wide as he pulls out a sleek, metal card, an unmistakable emblem on its shiny surface.
“Wasn’t sure about givin’ you this, but…” Kuben trails off. “If you’re that set on stayin’ here, make sure it’s what you really want.”
The old merc holds out the card as Walter hesitantly takes it. He looks like a kid on Christmas with the expression he makes, but it quickly changes to one of doubt.
“Y-you’re serious, Ku? I can’t accept this, I’m not-”
Kuben puts up his hand.
“Before you say anything, you oughta know I didn’t break any rules for you. Didn’t slack the requirements, or what I look for. If anything, I held you to a higher standard. Hell, I don’t even know if I want you in the Games, personally. Shit’s dangerous, people die all the time, and as Kuben I’d tell ya to never set foot in the Arena. But as the Commissioner, well-”
He puts a hand on the one of Walter’s that’s still holding the card.
“You earned this.”
“I don't... I don't know what to say,” Walter can hardly believe what's happening. “If you told me seven years ago I'd be gettin’ an invitation to the Apex Games, I mighta just dropped dead from shock. This is -”
He stops mid-sentence, still staring at the card in his hands, an impossibly wide grin on his face that threatens to draw out tears. Kuben knows the look, the kind where every one of Walter’s anxieties evaporates when he gets his mind on something he truly, truly loves. The glory, the action, all the fun of the Bone Cage to an audience a million times larger. He can tell he made the right decision in giving it to him.
Kuben puts one arm around Walter’s shoulder, drawing him in to get a closer look at that grin of his. He surely missed it.
“Salvo will always be here, Walter. And with the Syndicate’s help, it'll get better every day.”
Kuben barely has time to react as Walter takes the scruff of his chin in his fingers, his lips to his cheek. The grenadier has to pull Kuben down a bit for that one, and the merc happily obliges him.
It doesn’t last as long as Kuben would like. It’s a thank you, something in the moment that Walter’s only half-certain of. But, Kuben thinks, it’s the start of something bigger.
“I’ll think about it.”
