Hi there. Before I start this chapter I just wanted to leave a quick note and some insight into my writing style. But before you move on please be warned that this a (very) mature story, which means there will be heavy language, alcohol, sex, drugs, and violence.

If you see anything "Like this." It is usually means that the character is thinking to or talking to themselves.

Anything in bold like this usually refers to Apex Announcers or messages being sent to the Legends or just something from the Apex side of things.

Bloodhound will be referred to as Bloodhound and/or They.

Legends are referred to by their real names outside of the arena matches (Octavio) and their Legend names during arena matches (Octane) unless there are extenuating circumstances.

Also the cover page artwork is actually mine.

Sorry if anything seems confusing. If you have questions just let me know. Enjoy :)

**Additional note to my fantastic readers. I release new chapters when I can (based in the United States). I also might go back and revise chapters so you might see some shifting of chapters and some new ones. I am not changing the story line I am simply going back and fixing errors as well as adding some much needed details. Thank you so much for your patience.**

The Devil (Didn't Make Me Do It)

Another race. Another depth defying stunt. Another pop of stim. Just another day to please his fans. This is what the last few years of his life had boiled down to. No vacations. Hardly any time off at all. At least the traveling had ceased for a few months when his manager, whatever his name was, got him a residency show on Harmony in the Freeport System. He had mixed feelings about living there but the show literally couldn't go on without him and he couldn't up and leave his contractual agreement.

He waved and did silly hand gestures as he waded through waves of unrelenting fans that waited for him after his show. Lights from cameras and phones flashed to get pictures and videos of him. Fans touched him, which he didn't mind because security always made sure that nothing went too far. Loud screaming always erupted as he looked in any young girl's direction through his blue tinted goggles.

He just wanted to get through this crowd and go home, but per contract he had to make an appearance after his gigs. If he wasn't doing this then he would be doing advertising for commercials; he didn't know which one he hated more. Either way he had signed a contract; another fucking contract. His whole life had become an obligation to contractual agreement after contractual agreement. He didn't know how even got to this point.

His manager liked to say that he was just upselling himself and making himself more profitable, but he preferred the term 'selling his body.' His manager, whatever his name was, didn't like that term at all, but in the end it was true. He tried to tell his manager that there was nothing wrong with selling your body for money and in fact, there were many different avenues that it could be done as if he himself had actual written some kind of guide on how to 'How to Make Money by Selling Your Body: Many Ways Included in This Edition.'

As always, time and time again his manager made it a point to brush it off whenever he brought it up. His manager always brushed off any of his, clearly, good ideas. Apparently when you sign a contract you sign your life away, including your rights on input, even if the input is good or if it is a joke. It doesn't matter, a signature on a piece, or several pieces, of paper ensures that your rights belong to said holder.

Against his better judgment he continued to sign contracts because contracts brought in money and money brought in everything and eventually it brought in nothing. At first the job with thrilling and it was exactly what he wanted to do but as time passed he started to hate it and then he just became numb to it. He wasn't allowed to do what he wanted to do, he wasn't even allowed to think for himself anymore.

The elevator dinged when it reached the penthouse floor where he was staying for per his residency contract. What was left of his original thoughts were gone as he walked a short hallway towards a set of double doors, which were opened for him by a man in a black suit and dark sunglasses. He didn't bother to thank the man because the security detail never said a word to him.

Nobody ever talked to him like he was human being. They all talked to him like he was a possession. At first he thought it was funny or like it was some kind of joke. Then after a while it made him mad. The kind of mad like he was screaming for help under water and no one could hear him or no one cared to even listen. Now, it even didn't faze him. He didn't care, just like they didn't care. He just nothing-ed the whole situation. He got paid, right?

The entry way of his penthouse was nothing spectacular, at least not to him; maybe it would have been amazing years ago when he was blinded by everything that was new and shiny. Everything was just… white. The floor was some type of white tile with gold flakes in it that was meant to look fancy but it simply just looked white to him. Gold accented everything it could. It reminded him of home and he would have cared for it would but it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Home didn't hold the best memories if were referring to home as a physical place. If he was implying that home was a person then there were a mix of good and bad memories of home. Either way he liked outweigh the 'person home' with good rather than bad. He missed that home and only that home.

He unzipped his racing jacket and threw the blue and white dingy piece of clothing onto the floor as he walked forward. Followed by an under shirt as he continued to move forward at a strikingly slow pace for himself. He neglected to take off his dirt covered helmet and dirt caked goggles, it was all part of a process that he went through nearly every night.

Next he removed his racing pants and by the time he made it out of the entryway and into the main room, which he called the entertainment room, he had left a trail of clothing behind him. He really paid no mind to clothing on the floor. Someone, besides himself, always seemed to take care it. In morning it would be clean and neatly put away.

He was left shirtless in a helmet and boxer-briefs which covered very little. He tossed his dialyzer belt off. The machine on the belt helped him process stim faster but tonight he was hoping to ride it out. If there was any piece of him left it was the piece that loved riding a high and he couldn't do that with his dialyzer attached.

He was fit and trim and always on the go. He left little time to sit around and be bored. He wasn't tall but wasn't short either; average height is how he would put it. Although he was skinny he had a set of very well defined abs implanted with ports for him to shoot up stim at any time. Really he could inject stim anywhere he wanted but the ports gave him ease of access.

'Why stay clean when the world loves a beautiful junkie.' At least that's what his fans called him, beautiful. What the fuck did they even know? Nobody really even knew anything organic about him. No one except 'her.' He didn't let anyone in his personal life, not that his manager even let him have a personal life anyway. Contract, contract, contract. Sign. Sign. Sign.

He stood in his 'entertainment' room which was a very stark white room with a floor that dipped down into a circular area that was surrounded by a couch that conformed to the area. Kind of like a stepping down into a hot tub without the water. Above the circle was a crystal chandler that looked like it had millions of little raindrops hanging from it; it often left small rainbows littered throughout the room when the light hit the crystals just right. It was about the only thing he like about the penthouse.

Waiting for him in the room was another security detail, this one was corralling five women like they were wild animals. All the woman were different ethnicities. They all had different hair colors, eye colors. They were all different heights and sizes. This had become his life now. He looked over the women and pointed at the one with the blonde hair who was also freakishly skinny; skinnier than even himself. He figured that he would try something different tonight; a different flavor.

The security detail escorted all of the other ladies out of the penthouse while the remaining blonde haired lady squealed in excitement. He rolled his eyes underneath his goggles and whispered, "Crazy chicas." He debated just taking the hallway towards his bedroom, knocking back a bottle of tequila, and calling it a night but this wasn't an option. It was never an option anymore.

"Oh my god Octane! You picked me! I can't believe it!" Octane reluctantly plopped down on the couch with legs spread wide open just as the security guard came back. Octane fumbled between the couch cushions while security basically read the blonde haired woman her rights, which was just a list of rules during her short, short, very short stay. She nodded the entire time but it she seemed to be too star stuck to be absorbing what was being said to her.

Octane finally managed to find a syringe of stim wedged between the cushions of the couch as the blonde haired woman smiled and tried to do some sexy walk towards him, which just made her look like malnourished bird trying to walk towards food and unfortunately he was the food. Once she made it towards him she kneeled down in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. He didn't like the way her hands felt but in that moment he injected the stim into one of his ports and the thought of her bony fingers began to fade.

"My name is…" She tried to say sweetly but Octane cut her off before she could finish her sentence, "I don't care." He said as he flicked the syringe away and waited for her to do what she was supposed to do. She ran her fingers along his legs and up towards his thighs. She pulled out his cock from his boxer-briefs and to her surprise he wasn't fully erect but he was full.

He placed his arms on the tops of the cushions of the couch next to him and sank in to get comfortable. "Get to it." He hated he games. He wanted her to hurry up so that she could get out so that he could have whatever time he had left to himself. She paused for a moment and grabbed his cock with her boney fingers.

He watched her long enough to notice that when she opened her mouth to 'get to it' that she was missing a lot of teeth and for the first time in a long time he really wasn't enjoying this; not that he really enjoyed any of this anyway. It was just what it was, a way for him to get off but the no teeth thing seemed to be bothering him more than it should have.

In the past, his manager had originally set up these after show meet and greets for more publicity and money. The meet and greets quickly became crazy parties back when that's all Octane wanted to do was party. At first his manager objected to the partying but it got a lot of mixed media attention and drew in a large crowd, so every night there was a 'meet and greet' which was really just a party that was supplied with alcohol and drugs by his manager.; whatever his name was.

The parties were wild and Octane always had a line of women waiting to suck his cock. At some point he lost his drive to party hard and the meet and greets got smaller and smaller. Now it had boiled down to holding his 'keeping up appearances' part on the clause of his contract to keep his manager off of his back. "I just want to go bed." He thought to himself.

He tipped his head back and stared up into the rainbows that plastered the ceiling and walls around the circular room provided by the chandler. The stim pulled him into a trance and at some point it he felt like he even heard music playing just for him. It sounded just like 'her music.' He drifted into whatever high that his body would allow him to have. He wanted this high; he needed this high.

It wasn't very often that he could catch a high and hold onto it for long, so when he did, he enjoyed it. He wanted to listen to the music all night. He wanted to remember the good and forget the bad. He wanted to tear up the contracts and go back to when it was easier. When it was simple. When it was just the Silva and C…

The high was already fading and he wasn't getting anything out of this, "This is so booooorrrrrriiiinnnngggg." He was almost whining when he said it through his helmet. He felt the blonde haired woman release his cock from her toothless grasp and stand up, using his knees as leverage. He wanted her to quit touching his legs, and him, but he also wanted her to get this over with so she would leave. He eased his head back into a position so that he could see what she was doing.

For the first time he noticed that she was wearing some sort of green dress that clung to her body like a glove. It was short and almost revealed everything above and below her torso; it made him cringe internally. All the women that came to the meet and greets seemed to think that if they wore something green it would be more appealing to him. Nothing about them or this entire situation was appealing to him. He just didn't care what was these women were wearing or even about these women at all.

Besides, this woman wasn't here to impress him with green clothing. She was there to do her fucking job and fucking leave. So far she was sucking at it and not in the good sucking kind of way. It was definitely a bad sucking way. She also wasn't leaving. So she needed to do one or the other; suck better or leave sooner.

"I have a better idea to get you off and it won't be so boring." When she it she meant for it to sound playful but for him it just sounded antagonizing. He didn't like the sound of it at all. He watched as she lifted up her dress up with one hand, she was clearly wearing no panties. She took her other hand and she reached for the bottom of his helmet. "Just a peek won't hurt anyone. I promise I won't tell if you don't." She whispered to him through a toothless smile.

Octane immediately sat up and grabbed her hand before she could touch his helmet, or his cock with her disease ridden pussy. "You know the rules." He felt extremely disgusted by her; more than usual. The little things were bothering him more and more in the last few months. He pushed her away and security escorted her out as she kicked and screamed something about a lawsuit.

The title of this Chapter is inspired by a band that I like: Twin Temple

There is also a lyrical quote in the chapter: 'Why stay clean when the world loves a beautiful junkie' - Twin Temple - The Devil (Didn't Make Me Do It)