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Cryptor’s short life span, so far, was not exactly what he expected. From that short and angry little menace to the albino Serpentine that he was working with to achieve the Nindroid Army’s objective, life was nothing short of eventful. He was programmed to deal with the Nindroid Army and to aid with the resurrection of the Overlord in any way he can. He was not programmed to deal with the in-army drama that had been going on, and he was certainly not programmed to grab Mindroid and some insignificant droid with some amount of head damage from a ninja by the backs of their uniforms and yank them away from graffitiing any wall in sight. Most of all, he wasn’t programmed to deal with said albino Serpentine’s deteriorating mental health that he seemed to project onto anyone in sight.
Pythor switched moods at a rapid pacing. He had been overjoyed at one moment and yelling angrily in the next. When he was alone with Cryptor, he’d sometimes rant about some Hypnobrai by the name of Skales and how he missed him in a twisted sense, which Pythor said the general "wouldn't understand.” Cryptor was nearly positive that the Anacondrai was just absolutely insane, and luckily, the topic of this “Skales” had died out soon enough when Pythor was met with no reply. He had once complained about how the Nindroid Army constantly had malfunctions, which was obviously due to mass production that emphasized quantity over quality. Cryptor had fired back at Pythor's insults to the army with a comment that went along the lines of, “I suppose your mother thought that too when she had you.” It was a risky insult back because the general wasn’t 100% positive if Pythor was a mixed Serpentine or just a physical defect, but it proved to shut down the conversation immediately and replaced the bickering with tense, if not regrettable silence.
Cryptor, on the other hand, did not complain. He was logical and calculated with most of his actions, but that was proving to be an incorrect statement as time passed. He was beginning to make more mistakes and actually killed a few Nindroids on purpose because of his impatience to get the job done. He was actively using his soldiers as shields, which Pythor had strangely seemed to enjoy. He commended Cryptor for staying dedicated to the mission no matter the cost. Despite the general’s lack of enthusiasm towards anything but insulting Zane for being a “tin can with feelings” or laughing at Mindroid’s short stature, he felt his body get slightly overheated and his optics glow more intensely. Pythor had seemed to notice the small change and smiled slightly, grabbing Cryptor’s chin and staring at him before promptly getting his arm smacked away, far weaker than the general had intended it to be.
That was embarrassing— no, no. Cryptor doesn’t feel any sense of shame. He does not feel anything. No, he did not feel anything when Pythor complimented him, that was just a malfunction. Mindroid and his friend hit Cryptor on the head with a hammer they had found once, so that must be it. Alas, a head scan proved that nothing went wrong.
This sort of interaction seemed to cause immense frustration and confusion within Cryptor, so he had begun to distance himself from Pythor. They still planned the next moves together, but it was far more cold and efficient. No more occasional banter between them, which Pythor seemed to pick up on quickly and went along with in a cold, albeit hurt fashion. There were no more comedic gestures and inside jokes that Cryptor had never realized even existed between them until they were gone, no lingering hands on shoulders. Instead of curtly waking the Serpentine up like he used to when they were cooped up together in the planning room on long nights to get out and sleep in a bed, the Nindroid had just left him there.
Naturally, this neglecting the old routine had caused physical problems. Pythor had begun to slither a little slower at times, sometimes clutching his lower back or rubbing his own shoulders when he thought no one was looking. Cryptor, against all his wishes, could not keep his optics off of the man, especially with the deteriorating physical state the man was enduring. This on top of recovering from an accident involving some type of acid due to the coloration of his scales was not a good combination, Cryptor quickly recognized. Pythor not being woken up from increasingly uncomfortable positions and not being told to not be so tense all the time was an issue.
Cryptor didn’t really know how Pythor lived before this, and considering how he neglected his health so often, the general questioned how he was even alive right now. Perhaps this accident made the man more vigilant and anxious, which seemed to reflect on physical habits— that was the answer. It must have been some type of trauma that caused the Anacondrai to be unaware of how his habits affected him, or maybe he was just too busy with their plans to take his own health into consideration. This was affecting the success of the Nindroid Army since the two commanded them— no. Who was Cryptor kidding? Against all odds, he was starting to care for this Serpentine.
The problem with this was that Cryptor couldn’t just back away from this. There were consequences both emotionally and physically. Relationships, he had observed, were nothing like technology. Whatever he had with Pythor was affecting the both of them after this separation. The general found himself thinking about their dynamic more than he ought to, feeling a sense of discomfort when Pythor quietly hissed in pain or cracked his back and didn’t make any moves to change his behavior. Organic bodies were really so fragile.
“Well, Cryptor, I’m simply suggesting that if we move the troops wes—“
“Stop,” the general interjected sharply. He gripped Pythor on the shoulders, digits nearly pressing into his flesh. The man hissed in slight discomfort, but made no effort to move. He just stared at Cryptor as if he had gone mad.
“What?,” Pythor asked flatly, borderline scowling. “Is there something wrong with what I’m saying? In my opinion, it’s perfectly-“
“Lay down,” Cryptor instructed. The Anacondrai looked confused, but then let out a small fit of laughter.
“Cryptor— are you entirely sure that you want to do this? I mean, I haven’t gone over your manual or anything, but I doubt that you have the parts for-“
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“My, my, general! You need to be so…. Feisty about it. Now that I think about it, maybe you’ve been so deadset on hardly speaking with me because you realized you were pent up or something— do Nindroids get pent up? Oh, now I’m awfully curious-“
“I’m not trying to have sex with you!,” Cryptor yelled in an alarmed tone, shoving Pythor away with his visible eye darting around in a panicked manner. The Serpentine made a small “oh” noise along with a few bumbling apologies until the general had slammed a hand on the table. “Just shut up and lay down!”
Pythor’s head tilted to the side in confusion. “Where, on the floor? I may have been swallowed by the Great Devourer, but I’m never filthy by choice.”
Cryptor stared at him bewilderedly before slowly grabbing the maps and notes off the table and gesturing towards it. He received a slightly confused nod from Pythor along with him hoisting himself up on the table and looking at Cryptor expectantly.
“On your stomach,” the general clarified, clearing his throat, although Nindroids certainly didn’t need to clear their throats or anything of the sort. Oh no, Pythor’s constant coughs were rubbing off on his behavior— whatever, that was a problem to address later. Cryptor let out a long sigh, climbed onto the table after him, and cracked his knuckles. He looked at the Serpentine’s body sprawled out on the table and stared at the patterns on his back. He had always had an affinity for the intricate designs that covered Pythor like tattoos, sometimes looking for too long, but he had always looked away. Now, he was just staying still, observing silently, until a snap cracked in the air.
“So, are you planning to get on with whatever the hell you’re planning on doing, General?,” Pythor asked impatiently. Cryptor huffed and crawled forward to the side of the Serpentine’s higher section of the tail. He swung one leg over and straddled him. He splayed out his fingers on the man’s lower back, beginning to feel out the area and familiarize himself with whatever issues were going on there. “What, are you giving me a back massage?”
“Yes, Pythor,” the general replied in a clipped manner. Pythor shifted his neck so he was facing Cryptor, his expression a bit baffled.
“Oh, okay. I suppose that would help-“
“Stop looking at me, I am attempting to focus.”
“Will you stop being so snappy?!,” Pythor hissed, smacking Cryptor’s wrist with his hand. The Nindroid scowled beneath his mask, eyebrows knotted in contained frustration.
“Be grateful that I’m doing this at all!,” Cryptor retorted, then sighing yet again and shutting his eyes for a few moments. Okay. It seemed that their relationship had gone through a small tumble in their time apart. Hopefully, this gesture might be able to fix it. He ran his hands on the Serpentine's back slowly, taking in the texture of the scales on his fingertips. “Where are you feeling pain?,” he finally asked gruffly, gesturing towards what was in front of him with his left hand.
“.. Well, luckily I don’t exactly get neck cramps, but… I suppose you should move back a bit and begin at my lower back. That’s where it’s been hurting most.”
Cryptor nodded halfheartedly and repositioned himself about a foot back. He laid his fingers on either side of Pythor’s spine and began to press.
“A little harder, my friend.”
Good. He called him a friend again. This meant that this action was getting them somewhere. A sense of hope began to creep into Cryptor’s mind as he kept kneading into tense and aching muscles.
A silence followed as he continued. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it did feel more like a question than relaxation. Maybe the Anacondrai was waiting for him to speak again. God. What would he even say? The pressure of his fingers involuntarily increased as he got more and more into his head, until Pythor finally broke the quiet.
“You’ve been acting strangely,” he said quietly. “Why is that, Cryptor? I can’t deny that I felt a little betrayed by your.. recent lack of enthusiasm to be in my presence. You could at least tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
Cryptor’s hands froze in place, and he felt like he was falling from the tip-top of the Borg Tower. How was he supposed to explain this? That he was scared of that warm feeling whenever they laughed at some army-droids together, and when they talked about their favorite battle tactics or ways to choke a man (or woman; Cryptor really wanted to kill that girl ninja). He didn’t know what to say, so he just went with the most vague explanation he could think of.
“I am a machine,” he replied flatly as he resumed the massage, moving up his colleague’s back.
“… You are a machine…… and?,” Pythor asked while sighing impatiently. His fingers on his left hand were tapping on the table exaggeratedly. Loud. Annoying. But Cryptor didn’t tell him to stop.
“I do not know.”
“Just be honest with me, chum.”
The general took another long moment of silence, perhaps thirty or forty-five seconds, before stating in the most quiet and reserved tone that he could muster, “I am not designed for this.”
Pythor’s neck coiled upwards to Cryptor’s until they were face to face, staring into his eye and right optic attachment. He looked almost confused as the Nindroid did not continue at all. He had clearly expected some sort of brisk remark, not one of seeming resignation over something only the Nindroid Army could have ever understood.
“Cryptor, I…… can’t say I really…. Well, I do not care much for design. If we only went by our species goals and did not live out our own lives, we wouldn’t be.. Well, us.”
“It’s different for me.”
“How so?”
“I was built to be a general. I am stronger and better than the others for a reason,” Cryptor explained, leaning forward and beginning to rub his shoulders. “I was built to serve the Overlord’s will, and— I was built for nothing else. The Nindroid Army was built to serve one purpose. It feels.. strange that we are so well acquainted. It resembles a malfunction if anything.”
“… Ah. Well, I suppose I already knew that. I just find myself unable to put myself in your shoes— incredibly heavy combat boots.”
“You have a tail, Pythor. That is physically impossible.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“I know.”
“Well, blundering is a part of life, after all. Even if you say you aren’t living because of your lack of heartbeat or your metal body, you are living just as much as anyone. Imagine if all children listened to their parents! What a horrible and do-good world it would be. Imagine if organic beings solely went by what their bodies ordered them to do. We’d be a breeding station. No books, no education. There wouldn’t be any movie theaters or anything that brings remote joy, correct? Seasoning with food? I’m not sure if you can taste with whatever contraption is underneath that mask of yours, but we do cook food a certain way for a reason, as you know-“
“Get to the point, this is too long.”
“We’d be a bunch of animals breeding in the wild if we only fulfilled our instincts and nothing more.”
“Perhaps that would not be so horrible, especially considering how organic beings harm the environment as they do.”
“You’re completely missing the point, Cryptor. Look, we wouldn’t have even reached this point if all we did was fuck, eat, and produce spawn. Wait, I have something. Tell me this: we are friends, are we not?”
Cryptor grinned slightly underneath his mask despite himself as Pythor spoke, fingers spreading out like an embrace. He then rolled his shoulders back and shifted back to his seemingly indifferent expression.
“I suppose we are,” he said evenly as he avoided Pythor’s gaze. He slightly pulled his hood down and preoccupied himself with the massage yet again, though it did not look nearly as smooth as he had hoped for. He could sense the Anacondrai’s smirk, even while he could not see it.
“I saw you smile.”
“No, you did not. Perhaps your lack of sleep has gotten to you.”
“Your eyes— eye, it’s so expressive, Cryptor! Gosh, you are simply an awful liar.”
“Just get on with what you were saying,” the general said curtly.
“Ah, yes! Of course…. We are friends, yes. It doesn’t interfere with what you were built for. In fact, since we’re working towards the same goal, well, what’s the negative of it? We get along, and I’ve learned that when you know your allies better, things tend to work out more….. in your favor, hm? Name one thing wrong with us being friends other than your mild discomfort in doing something that is not explicitly mentioned in your programming.”
Pythor was met with a stiff shrug from Cryptor, who seemed to be very keen at looking at his back. Well, whatever. Cryptor didn’t punch his spine with those ruthless titanium knuckles, so this was a win in his book. In their book.
“…. I suppose that this friendship is in our greatest interest.”