Even with the advanced technology available to the hosts and competitors of the Apex Games, space travel could be frustrating. Data hub connectivity on space flights was unreliable, leading to dropped telecommunications and constant interruptions to any sort of streamed entertainment. Living conditions aboard the ship were cramped- each contestant had a small room to themselves, arranged in a circular pattern around an open common area, a kitchen, and a couple of bathrooms. Furniture was affixed to the floor and couldn't be moved. Beds were small, built into the walls, and came with uncomfortably stiff mattresses.

The experience was already taxing, and Octane always managed to make it more so. The other Legends were in unanimous agreement: he was the worst roommate.

At all hours, it seemed, the daredevil had hard rock or heavy metal music blaring from his room. An action movie of some sort played on one of his screens, race cars zoomed around a track on another, and he had a video game running on a third- all at max volume. On top of that, he had a tendency to jump around and shout as he played his game, whether he was winning or losing.

Caustic rolled his eyes and slammed the door to Octane's room closed as he walked past on his way from the common area to his own quarters. The adrenaline junkie's multimedia entertainment setup could still be heard from every part of the ship.

Preferring quiet and solitude, Crypto spent the vast majority of the journey in his own quarters. Rugs and cardboard were adhered to as much surface area of the inner wall as he could manage, which helped to damp the noise from the other competitors.

As they made the journey to the arena, the hacker sat cross-legged on the corner of his bed, reviewing the footage from the previous match- both that which had aired to the audience, and that which his drone had recorded. Since competitors eliminated in the Apex Games were brought back to life with no memory of the match, it was up to them to study replays of their performances to learn from their mistakes, as well as the weaknesses of their opponents. More than that, Crypto was searching for information on the corporate sponsor that had developed the technology which made the Games possible. He needed a better understanding of what he was up against if he was ever going to find his sister…

The manipulation of various electromagnetic waves beyond the confines of the Ring gave the surrounding environment an orange tint. Prolonged exposure to the non-ionizing radiation caused heating within the body, leading to serious internal burns with little or no visible external damage- it was a nasty piece of work. The hacker had to wonder, on more than one occasion, how someone as kind-natured as Wattson could design such a device.

The Ring would damage and destroy most electronic devices, too, but Crypto's drone was shielded from electromagnetic energy. It had to be, to set off an EMP without "frying" its own circuitry. Therefore he could use the drone to examine anything going on outside of the Ring, and there'd be no interference to its function. In doing so, he had learned that technicians patrolled outside of the Ring, wearing protective wire-mesh suits, to maintain the arena. They removed weapons that hadn't been claimed, and handled the disposal of dead bodies throughout the bloodsport.

Those technicians had a tendency to just… disappear from the arena at any given time.

Crypto suspected that the corporation maintained some kind of facility underneath the arena. He was determined to find its entrance. To the frequent displeasure of his teammates, he would spend prolonged stretches of time piloting the drone through the danger zone, watching the technicians and attempting to determine where they were entering their underground staging area.

So far his search had come up empty-handed. Wherever the technicians went, it was beyond the range from which he could maintain the neural link with his drone. Hopefully in the last match, that had finally changed…

"Jenjang!"

The hacker punched his pillow in frustration. As usual, the footage from his drone didn't show where the technicians had gone. They were specks in the distance, beyond where the drone could follow- the image was distorted, cut with static, and the figures would be gone.

He needed to increase the quality of the images and videos recorded by the drone, or figure out a way to extend the reach of the signal so that it could travel further. There was nothing Crypto could do about that right now, unfortunately- it was a problem for another day. He put the drone on its charger and lay down on his bed. As much as he'd rather keep looking for information that could help him find his sister, the hacker knew that it was in his own best interest to get some rest before the match. Once he was in the arena, there'd be very little time that wasn't spent running.

Crypto's eyes snapped open, his body alerted to the presence of a mechanical clicking and whirring that, while subtle, should not have been there. The hacker sat up abruptly, hands raised in a defensive position.

"Get out of here."

Revenant stood at the desk in the corner, hunched over Crypto's laptop. The assassin turned his head slowly, body posed in a predatory stance, like he was ready to pounce. His optic sensors glowed a menacing orange in the dimly lit room. His clawed hand reached out and slammed the lid to the laptop shut-

...and just like that, Revenant was gone. His physical form had dispersed, melted into the shadows.

The hacker let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The laptop was closed, and the air around him was still. The room certainly couldn't be called quiet with Octane's music still blaring, but there was no unusual sound. It was as though the simulacrum hadn't been there.

Crypto opened the laptop and tapped the power button. His login screen came up, as usual. He entered his password and pulled up a log of recent activity on the computer. It revealed nothing new- no evidence that Revenant had tampered with it at all.

Could the occurrence have been some kind of strange dream? Crypto returned his laptop to the lock screen and folded it closed. With a soft groan, he lay back down on the bed and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Shortly after, he opened them once again to stare at the ceiling. Revenant had been standing in his quarters- he was absolutely certain of it. That murderous android could move silently, and surely knew how to bypass the less-than-impressive locks on the cabin doors…

He checked the time. Following that experience, the programmer figured he wasn't going to get back to sleep any time soon… Wouldn't be useful rest, not with the time they had left until they reached the arena. After a quick glance at his drone to ensure that it was properly plugged in and charging, Crypto slid his door open and stepped out into the common area.

"Whoa, hey, go easy on the peppers there, big guy! You're ruining the pork chops!"

Mirage stood in the kitchen, glaring at Gibraltar across a sizzling pan of meat. A deep laugh echoed through the common room. "You gotta be wide awake for the game, my brother! Hot, spicy bowl of food'll clear your head for a clean start!"

Crypto glanced around the room. Pathfinder stood in the kitchen, where he wore a frilly pink apron and stirred a soup pot, artificial vocal processor humming a tune as Mirage and Gibraltar argued. Wattson was sprawled out on the floor, noise-canceling headphones over her ears, reading a book on particle physics. Bangalore sat at the table, timing how fast she could disassemble and assemble a rifle- despite not being allowed to bring her own firearm into the arena. Wraith was seated at the opposite end of the table, watching the Apex Undercard match on a portable television.

Revenant was nowhere to be seen.

The hacker glanced up at the ceiling, where he imagined that the AI piloting the ship looked down at them from. "Artemis, where is Revenant?"

The cool, feminine voice came back, "You know I can't just answer that, Crypto. Do you have a security override code?"

Crypto shook his head. He did, in fact, though he wasn't supposed to- which meant that he couldn't reveal it, not with the other competitors surrounding him on board a small spacecraft that was heavily monitored by the corporation.

A commotion in the kitchen caught the programmer's attention.

"Aah! Path, that is a co- copu- copiscuous? amount... Whatever. It's way too much salt! Why are you even in the kitchen? You're a robot! You don't eat."

A pot clattered to the floor as Mirage rushed to grab the salt shaker away from Pathfinder. The sound didn't seem as loud as it should, over the everlasting cacophony that blared from Octane's quarters.

"Many of my friends are human. I love making food to share with my friends!"

The screen covering the front of the robot's chest displayed a smiling emoji. Mirage groaned and made an overly animated display of bringing his palm to his forehead.

Crypto couldn't help but smile as he took a seat at the table. His fellow Legends were… something else.

He looked at the small portable screen on which Wraith was watching the games that preceded theirs. The Apex Undercard tended to be more brutal, more chaotic, less skillful or strategic- competitors in those games were often persons considered undesirable in society, perhaps prisoners competing for the reward of a reduced sentence. Participants who were killed fighting in the Undercard arena weren't always guaranteed to be brought back. Crypto said a silent prayer to no deity in particular that he wouldn't see his missing sister in the Undercard games.

Wraith glanced briefly in his direction. When she saw that he was watching, she tilted the screen so he could get a better look. The Undercard was down to the top five. They were playing in a format that involved single competitors rather than teams, and the camera was following a dark figure - either a robot, or clad in high-tech armor - through the battlefield. According to the stats displayed across the bottom of the screen, the competitor was known as Sparrow, and he was the kill leader with fifteen eliminations.

Wraith smiled. "Hey, Bloodhound. You ought to like this guy… He named himself after a bird."

Crypto looked around, confused. Sure enough, Bloodhound was standing several feet behind them in a corner of the room, also watching Wraith's portable television. How had the hacker missed that when he'd first entered the common area?

No matter how many times he'd seen Bloodhound do this, he still didn't understand how the hunter could move so silently. It was a skill that they had mastered, for sure. They answered Wraith's remark with a wave of their hand, a gesture which indicated that they'd heard the statement but did little to show whether or not they agreed.

Wraith leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to see into the kitchen. "How's the food coming along, boys? It'd be nice if we can take our time and eat before the game starts this time."

Mirage replied, "Hey, hey, you can't rush perfection!"

"Hmmm. Your cooking isn't bad, Witt, but calling it perfection is going too far.

Wraith smirked.

Mirage blew a raspberry.

The casters of the game on Wraith's mini-television began shouting and cheering wildly. Sparrow had won the Undercard game with seventeen kills, his final elimination being a particularly brutal maneuver in which he'd caught his opponent's finger in the trigger guard of their rifle and torn it off, disarming them after his own weapon had run out of ammo.

"Huh. That was something," Wraith remarked as she stowed the antenna and put the portable television away.

"Well, on that note, dinner is served," Gibraltar announced with a mighty bellow. Mirage pranced in with a heaping platter of pork chops, which he sat in the center of the table. Gibraltar followed with a pot of stew, and Pathfinder brought over the trenchers and utensils.

"About time," said Wraith as she heaped some food onto a trencher.

Mirage grabbed one of the pork chops off the platter and took a bite. "Man, the induction cooking on these spaceships is atrocious. These taste so much better cooked over a proper charcoal grill!"

With a dissatisfied sigh, he plopped down into one of the chairs near the end of the table, legs stretched out and back slouched. Bangalore cast an unimpressed glance at his poor posture, but said nothing.

Lifeline walked into the common room, pulling Octane along by the crook of his elbow. "Silva, ya need to eat. Ya need all yer' strength to make it through the Games!"

"Aw, but can't I just finish one more level? Just one? I'm almost to a new high score," the daredevil protested loudly. Nevertheless, he allowed Lifeline to tug him along, and took a seat at the table.

Just as Crypto had dished up his food and opened his mouth to take a bite, an alarm blared from the ship. Artemis, the ship's AI, spoke: "Attention, Legends! We are approaching the arena. Gather your gear and be ready to drop in twenty minutes."

Several voices around the table groaned and muttered quiet complaints.

"This always happens…"

"Never enough time to enjoy a meal."

"We weren't supposed to be there for another hour, at least!"

"Why, thank you for noticing that I've made excellent time this trip," the AI said, a little too proudly for a computer.

Bangalore nodded in approval.

Crypto hastily stuffed a pork chop in his mouth and walked towards his quarters to retrieve his drone and double-check that he had everything else he'd need in the Games.