Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“God save me from funny robots.” Tim loaded the SMG by feel, snapping the clip home.

The funny robot in question dragged itself down the pass between the buildings, spewing deadpan pained noises from its busted speakers in between bursts of static and shock jock patter from the local radio. A broken-ass loaderbot, the fourth one he’d seen since infiltrating the compound. They still reacted to him, even after all these years, although their programming had taken a bad hit from whatever junkyard amateur hackers Malady had working for her. For whatever reason, they had them picking up bootleg radio waves.

He took sight, squeezed the trigger. Corrosive payload ate away at the armoured plating. The loaderbot went down with a warble and burst of “—keep your head between your ears because we’re comin’ atcha—“ before exploding. They always fucking explode.

Tim heard a shout of “Goddamn mercs!”, giving him enough time to duck around the open doorway, before he caught sight of the other creatures that lurked in these halls.

A bruiser lumbered into view, scarred face pulled in a sneer, cybernetic arms spewing a shower of sparks. He slammed his massive, three-fingered fist—the fucking thing looked like he’d ripped it from construction equipment—onto the ground, breaking the stone and sending shockwaves to the scrap metal pole house, shaking it like a coconut tree. The digistruct he’d stowed up there lost his balance and fell with a shatter of blue light. Tim felt the familiar pinch in his temple that signified a lost ‘struct. One down.

Bandits poured out from their hidey holes, spraying the landscape with buckshot and bullets. Tim risked a peek and caught sight of at least two bad guys with metal stuck to the side of their skulls like a crown of tetanus and rust before a burst of bullets sent him back into cover. Two cybermen, and probably more behind them.

“Come out, little one!”

And the bruiser with a fucking loader arm. Malady’s little franken-monsters of the future. Whatever she’d had done to the loaderbots was nothing compared to what she did to her flesh-and-blood followers.

“Report,” Tim snapped.

“Bad news, pumpkin,” came the simpered response. “Two more scavenged loader bots, at least seven cyber-bandits, the big boy bruiser, and something even bigger comin’ down the pike. And more on their way,” his other self said more cheerfully than the situation warranted.

“Count your ammo,” Tim said.

“Sure thing, kitten. But unless you pull out another Jack to replace the one who just ate dirt, things could get ugly.” The bruiser howled, as though on cue. “Uglier.”

Tim knew he was right, much as he loathed to ever admit it. But he also knew by the sharp pain that only spread through his sinuses, that he couldn’t afford another digistruct. Not for a while.

He grabbed his machine gun, leaned out, and took his shot. Three bandits screamed in agony, electricity coursing through their bodies, handily conducted by their metal upgrades. One fell. Two cracks from a sniper rifle finished the other two. It felt good, but at the cost of revealing his position.

The big bruiser his lumbered to a run, and the drawled “Give us yer stuff!” told him the nomad (definitely a fucking nomad, fuck those guys) wasn’t far behind.

Tim let the bruiser charge, dodged to the side, running backwards and unleashing an explosive payload from his double-barrel. The bruiser staggered like Tim had flicked water in his face and swung his huge fuck-off arm while Tim fumbled with the reload. The bruiser just barely caught him, and the edge of the strike hit him hard enough to fling him back a few feet. His shield flickered and died with the impact.

Laughter crackled through his ECHO. Even after forcing their coding into using the same voice modulators he used, he could still hear that familiar contempt. He bit his tongue before he could order the digistruct to kill itself out of spite.

The bruiser was still coming, but at least Tim’s shotgun was loaded. He raised it—

His ECHO released another burst of static. “Tim! What’s going on? Have you found Rhys yet?”

The bruiser raised his arm, stumbling with the weight of it. Tim fired—six shots in two bursts at close range. The bruiser didn’t even have time to scream. Blood fell like warm summer rain and Tim had enough experience to close his mouth and eyes before the worst of it, but it would never be quick enough.

“Vaughn.” He spat out the taste of salt and metal. “I’m working on it.” He flicked the switch to the digistruct’s frequency. “Was that the last of them?”

The thundershot crack of a sniper bullet was answer enough. “What part of ‘more on their way’ didn’t you get? I’ve got 20 rounds left, by the way.”

Tim stood up, vision swimming. Keeping the digistruct going this long felt like he was pulling a muscle in his head and chest. He’d pay for it worse, later. He took a breath, tried to tell himself that it helped, and broke the shotgun open.

Another crack. “19. And one less bad guy.”

Tim ran down the hall, reloading with steady hands. He snapped the gun shut and unloaded explosive buckshot into the face and head of a bandit psycho with an antenna sticking out of his ear. He spotted the ripped open wall that lead to a chamber, where Malady had holed herself up good, and went for it.

It was tedious going with only one extra pair of hands, but he managed. He knew he was in the right place when his path lead into a walkway overseeing a massive, open room with a platform in the centre. He hugged the wall, wedged himself behind a row of lockers and peered out. There was a lot of equipment lying around, pieces of what looked like former loaderbots and—Tim realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach—a few clap-trap units.

“Jesus. What kind of maniac sticks clap-trap parts into people? There’s twisted, and then there’s twisted.”

“Tell me you’re in position.”

“Allllllmost!”

Blood covered the floor, dripping from the grating. Malady stood in the centre of it all, looking like a fever dream. She had enough silver and baubles stuck to her person to blind the average onlooker. As far as strategies went, it wasn’t a bad one. Even through the SMG’s scope, the glare her robo-accoutremonts put off made Tim wince. Two of her bandits, outfitted in what looked like modified loaderbot chassis, flanked her on either side.

After nearly a half-decade playing vault hunter on Pandora, it took a lot to turn Tim’s stomach, but the sight of scabbed flesh around the bulky cybernetics came close. Malady’d saved the best mods for her personal body guards, it seemed.

Given all those distractions, it was easy to miss the scrawny kid in the black and gold suit strung up from the ceiling. Head slumped against his chest. Not moving and completely exposed.

“Oh, fuck me.”

“Tim?”  Of course Vaughn picked now to check in. “Tim, please talk to me. Have you found him yet?”

“I’m in position and holy crap that kid is really screwed.” The digistruct laughed. “Seriously, one stray shot and he’s a goner. Assuming he ain’t already dead.”

“Tim?”

Suddenly, the impending firefight looked like a really bad idea. He couldn’t take Malady and her goons out with the hostage strung up like a pinata. The digistruct was right, the bastard. One stray bullet and it was over.

“Tim?! Seriously, man, what’s happening? Is Rhys—”

“Uhh, you’re… breaking up.” Tim killed the line, cutting Vaughn off mid-sputter.

Seven—no, eight hours ago, Tim found himself in another bandit camp, dressed in clean clothes, standing upright and out in the open without a gun in his hands. It wasn’t Tim’s first visit, but the novelty of it all still hadn’t worn off yet. The Children of Helios were a strange bunch. They were pacifists, or as close as you could get to being pacifist on Pandora. Most of them weren’t even armed. Defending the camp was largely handled by the jury-rigged remains of the satellite’s defensive systems. That same defensive systems that welcomed Tim to Helios before the massive doors slid open with only a small shower of sparks.

The bandit king waited for him on the other side, hands folded behind his back and impressive chest thrust forward. His bare, red-smeared chest. Tim gave a low whistle.

“Look at you, all decked out like a proper killer. Last time I saw you, you were still trying to make that pocket protector work.”

“Yeah. It, uh. It broke.”

“Good riddance.” Tim clapped him on the shoulder. “You look like a man that could use someone’s scalp as a shower cap.”

It was difficult to see the flush beneath the beard, but Tim picked up on the pink around the bridge of his nose. “Thanks. I mean—I wouldn’t. Not ever, not even for a lot of money. But thanks.”

A few of the former corporate lackeys flanking Vaughn exchanged amused looks. Tim’s head twitched in their direction, and they looked at their feet.

“So, what’s this about a job?” he asked.

“I should warn you, this one’s a little trickier than the last few I gave you,” Vaughn said, once they were alone in his office.

“I don’t know if you heard, Vaughn, but tricky jobs are sort of my thing,” Tim said.

Vaughn shot him a brief look before he busied himself with the stack of ECHOtablets. “Yeah, I heard some things. About the sort of stuff you do. The massacres, and um, smoking craters were people used to live.”

“Bad people, Vaughn. Bad people lived there, the sort of people who’d take your lovely camp here and turn it into a waterpark of blood and viscera. What am I looking at here?” Tim asked as Vaughn held out an ECHO.

“A compound, about a half-day’s ride from the closest fast travel.”

“Filled with lovely people, I’m assuming, who are more than happy to cooperate and listen to reason?”

“No. Filled with bad people.” Vaughn pushed his glasses up.

“Ah, worth a shot.” Tim flicked two fingers across the screen, zooming into a likely entry point on the west wall. “What am I getting for you this time?”

“A friend of mine. Here—“ He reached forward to touch the screen and Tim stiffened, hand falling to his gun out of instinct. Vaughn didn’t seem to notice, or maybe didn’t care. “His name is Rhys. He was last seen outside this bandit encampment a few days ago.”

A portrait of a man with mismatched eyes and a startled look on his face superimposed over the map.

“Nice haircut.”

“He was one of us, before Helios fell. And this is the last I heard of him.“ Vaughn tapped the ECHO. The speakers emitted a soft hiss before a voice spoke.

“—close this time, sure of it. Listen, the place is crawling with… well, they look like bandits but there’s—they’ve got these metal attachments. Christ, Vaughn, they look like cybernetics but they’re all infected. How they aren’t all dead from sepsis and tetanus is a mystery, but they’re not.” There was a clip in the recording, and Rhys’ continued. “I’m nearly into their transmissions. I’ll let you know what I hear. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow—“ Another clip, and the audio file went dead.

“A couple hours later, I got this.” The speakers hissed again, and a woman’s rough voice began to speak.

“—know this thing is working? Of course it’s working, you idiot!” A smack, a howl of pain. “Listen, this is Malady of the Silver Hand. I’ll make this quick. We found your pretty boy sneaking around our camp. We’re taking care of him but our hospitality only extends so far. I know you Children of Helios have got yourselves set up nice and cozy in that broken-ass satellite, and I bet you can get your hands on some primo tech and—“

“Money! Ask for money! Lots of—“ Another smack.

“Who said you could talk?” More hits, what sounded like a boot being put to someone’s chest in Tim’s expert opinion. “He’s right though. We want money too. Let’s say $10,000. Delivered in 24 hours or we start pulling your boy apart for scrap.”

“Malady,” Tim said.

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Enough to know she’s bad news.” A real up-and-comer on the scene, one of many since Vallory met the wrong end of a deal and left a hole behind in the underworld’s upper echelons that freak shows like Malady have been scrambling to fill.

“But you’ll do it? Only, I need to know kind of soon. Really soon. You were the closest agent I could get a hold of, everyone else is at least a day away and if Rhys has gone and gotten himself captured by bandits and I’ve only got a day to get someone down there before—“

“Take a breath, boss.” Tim made a show of scratching the underside of his jaw while he turned things over in his mind. What the hell was with that amateurish edit? What was a scrawny thing like Rhys doing, scouting near a bandit camp on his own? And what was it he said that Vaughn didn’t want him to hear?

If Tim still had a soul, he might’ve felt betrayed. Hurt. He liked Vaughn. Thought they worked well together. Mostly, he felt insulted that Vaughn didn’t think he’d notice.

“That ten thou she’s asking for. You’ve got it?”

Vaughn winced. “Not even close. I don’t know what she’s heard, but we’ve barely got half that.”

“I thought Hyperion was loaded?”

“Yeah, but not in liquid assets stored in locked vaults we could just raid when the dust settled,” Vaugh said, waving his hand through the air.

Tim stood, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’ll need it if—hah, when things get rough. I’ll bring back half when I’m done.”

“W-what?” Vaughn sputtered. “You want half? That’s—that’s half of this entire colony’s funds! That’s—insane! We’ll die in a month!”

“Then find someone else.”

Vaughn still had a soul, apparently, if the look of utter betrayal he gave Tim was any indication.

Tim rolled his eyes, the gesture going unseen behind his mask. “Alright, fine. Jesus. How about this: I take a grand now, and you can pay me the rest in a month.”

Vaughn stopped gaping. “Six months, and you can have $500 now and $500 when you deliver Rhys.”

“I’ll take $700 now, and you can pay me back in two months.”

“$600 and I said six months. Honestly, how do you expect me to raise enough funds in such a short time?”

Tim pushed a breath out slowly. “Fine. You got yourself a deal, boss.” They shook on it, Vaughn holding Tim’s hand gingerly, like it was a snake that might bite him. “Just to be clear—you want this Rhys back alive, right?”

“Of course!”

“Just checking. Hey, this is Pandora, Vaughn. People out here can get awful mercenary.” Tim felt himself smile, the same smarmy smile that looked out from hundreds of posters still scattered across the borderlands.

“Yeah,” Vaughn said sourly. “I noticed.”

Rhys wasn’t dead. Tim would not accept that. If he was dead, that meant Tim didn’t get the rest of his money, which would make Tim very unhappy. And the universe owed Tim a clean payout for a job well done, goddammit.

A shimmer in the air caught his eye, and he just spotted the digistruct before it took position on the strut opposite.

“So, what are we doing here, Timtam?”

He had to get the hostage down safely before he could even think of taking on Malady. Which meant he had to come up with a plan.

“What’s your count?” he asked.

“Two.”

Tim nearly spat. “Are you kidding me? Two bullets? Why didn’t you scrounge fresh ammo on the way in?”

“Guess I was a little preoccupied making sure you didn’t get your very attractive head blown off.”

Tim cursed. Malady held her sparkling wrist up to her mouth, muttering into one of the baubles she’d stuck there. Tim caught a brief glance of her troubled expression before the device caught the light and nearly blinded him. He could hear the faint chatter of whatever forces they hadn’t killed, their voices bouncing off the metal walls behind him. He cursed again, pouring more feeling into it.

“Seriously, what are we doing here? I can’t tell if Schrödinger's hostage is breathing or not.”

“You stay put and wait for my signal. Aim for her head.”

“Duh. What are you gonna do?”

Tim didn’t reply. He lowered his gun and stepped out into the open. A psycho caught sight of him before he could so much as open his mouth, but a shot from the hip took him down mid-scream. The body fell forward, sliding off the railing and onto the ground. Everyone went silent.

“That’s one way to get an audience,” he muttered.

“You!” Malady strode forward, flashing like a disco ball in a strobe factory. Tim squinted and tried to keep her in view. “You’re the scum that’s been killing all my boys!”

“That’s me.” Tim winced. Not the smoothest introduction he could have hoped for, but too late now. “I’m here for this guy!” He gestured to the limp form of the hostage with his free hand. “So, you know. Hand him over.”

She sneered. Tim was entirely unsurprised to see the golden teeth through the glare. “What is this? You come into my factory, kill my men, and now you’re coming out to ask nicely if we’ll give up the hostage?”

“I tried asking nicely outside, but no one could hear me over the screaming.”

The loader bandit beside her let out a growl. He stepped forward in a whir of machinery and raised his arms. “Why don’t you come down here and try that line again, funny man?”

“Yeah!” Crony #2 chimed in with a shake of his metal fist. “And then we’ll tear your legs off!”

As witty repartee went, it was better than he expected.

Malady raised her hand and the two cyborgs fell silent. “You’re here from Helios? You’re Hyperion?”

Both Tim and his digistruct laughed, for entirely different reasons.

“Definitely not,” he said. “Didn’t you hear your boys? I’m a goddamn merc, lady.”

“I got her head. I think. Hard to get her in the scope. Just say the word.”

That’s not what Tim wanted to hear. He needed a sure-fire hit. He grit his teeth.

“You look Hyperion,” she said, tapping her talon against her chin. “You look expensive. That mask of yours… You got some reason to hide your face, honey?”

“You’re not getting it. I didn’t actually come out here for a tea party.” Tim raised his weapon. “Hand over the hostage and you can all keep your organs inside your skin.”

Malady smiled slowly. “Oh, you’ve made a mistake, sweetcheeks. All that huffing and puffing, and yet I don’t think my house is gonna blow down. You know why?”

Tim aimed down the scope. Just as his clone said, she glittered and flashed between his crosshairs. An awful shot.

“Uh, Timmy? What are you waiting for, pumpkin?”

“Because if you could have done it, you would have. You came out to ask me sweetly instead. Oh, baby, you showed us your hand.” She patted Crony #2 on his chassis. “Take him alive, if you can. I think I can make something of him.”

“Now,” Tim said.

A few things happened next, almost all at the same time.

The digistruct fired once, and then again. The first bullet cleaved a path through the air and breezed past Malady’s cheek as she turned—just a moment too late. The second caught her in the shoulder, the force of it spun her around. She screamed.

Her boys had lumbered forward, abandoning their boss in their efforts to clamber up to the hanging pathway.

Tim raised his gun and fired corrosive bullets into the chain holding the hostage. He did this at a run, before vaulting over the railing. The bullets took a second to work their way through the metal—enough time for Tim to grab the hostage mid-air, slap a scavenged shield onto his back, and fall.

Helios’ plummet had done a lot to change the landscape, and not just because the falling debris had ripped open massive scars into Pandora’s surface. A few people, those more inclined to whipping up quasi-religious fervour around the flimsiest premises, saw the fall as a sign of the end times and took measures. Tim hadn’t seen it himself, but apparently the horizon out on the Fridge had been dotted with the orange glow of camps going up like Roman candles, twisted murder-suicide pacts sparking flames, leaving behind the ashes of people determined not to see where it all would end up. Those people had been few and far, though. Most natives used the fall of the all-seeing eye as an excuse to let off steam and several rounds of bullets into the sky, like they were aiming to shoot down whatever debris—and bodies—remained in the atmo.

Tim only heard about it. He spent the few days following the crash with a bottle in his hand, tunnelling with grim determination into oblivion. In those few moments he was capable of coherence, he tried to tell himself that at least he’d never again have to set foot into the House that Jack Built. Even drunk as a skunk, this had been cold comfort.

But if Tim had learned anything over the 38 years he’d been alive, it’s that the universe hated him, personally. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when, less than a month after Helios crashed, he received a message from the bandit king that’d taken up residence in the largest chunk of wreckage, offering him a job. Tim wanted to say no, but money was money and since when had he let his pride stand in the way of making a decent living on this hellhole?

Helios looked better on the ground. Tim hadn’t expected it, but he actually felt a little better at the sight of that metal H, all ripped open and picked clean like an animal carcass left in the desert sun. A mean sense of satisfaction settled over him like a warm blanket.

And then he met the Children of Helios. Weedy-looking men and women, still dressed in their corporate finery. Once upon a time, all pinstripes and sleek silhouettes and sharp stilettos, each one primed with a business card in one hand and a knife in the other. Now they slunk through the broken halls and torn down walls like whipped dogs, turned out from their house by their old masters. They watched him eagerly, but flinched whenever his head turned their way. Tim checked and rechecked, but the device on his ear was intact and functioning. Whatever it was that made them twitch like beaten skags, it wasn’t his face. Maybe they didn’t need his face. Maybe they could just smell Pandora on him.

The bandit king was a compact mass of muscles and efficiency named Vaughn. He met with him in a mostly-intact office, where someone had scrounged enough furniture to set up a desk and two chairs. Vaughn laid out the job: a simple grab-n-run of materials to build a bedrock borer and water purifier. Before taking up the mantle of leading a group of terrified idiots, he’d been in accounting.

“Really.” Tim could hear the scepticism in his voice, clear through the modulator.

“Yeah, for like five years?” Vaughn paced around the dusty desk to hand Tim the ECHOpad. “I was hoping to get promoted to a managerial position next month but, uh.” He rubbed his stubble and smiled sheepishly. “Guess I’m doing this now.”

“Life happens when you’re making plans,” Tim said absently as he flicked through the maps. A few bandit camps, last spotted in the area. They hadn’t quite gotten to the equipment stashed in the crater, but…

Vaughn had been quiet for a while, and when Tim looked up he found the little man staring up at him with an intent expression.

“Can I—“ Vaughn swallowed. “Um. Athena. She—she’s the one who gave me your name. She said you’d do any job.”

Tim winced. He wanted to argue, but it wasn’t as if she’d misrepresented him.

“She also said… that you, um.”

Tim lowered the ECHOpad, kept his face empty of expression out of habit rather than necessity.

“Said what?” He could guess.

“Your face. Can—can I see it?”

Ding ding ding.

“Why.” His voice was hard, but Vaughn didn’t flinch back. Maybe he wasn’t as green as the others.

“To rip the bandaid off? Get it over with?” Vaughn suggested, smiling weakly.

Tim tilted his head to the side, examining the bandit through narrowed eyes, looking for signs of—what, he wasn’t sure. Duplicity? Manipulation? Maybe the kid would try to blackmail him, although Tim really had nothing valuable to offer. But Vaughn only stared back, face like an open book. Tim sighed, and tapped the device on his ear.

Vaughn’s eyes widened. He stepped back.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Tim said, in the voice of Handsome Jack.

Tim took the worst of the impact, and he didn’t need the tell-tale blue shatter of his shield dying to tell him that.

“Oh, you absolute asshole!” Malady held herself on all fours, one hand clutched around her broken and bleeding shoulder. Sparks of electricity danced across her body and from the way she twitched and winced, it wasn’t meant as part of her ensemble. “You prick! Look at my outfit!”

Tim stood up, slinging the hostage over his shoulder. He wanted to add a witty rejoinder, but all that came out was a wheeze. Maybe for the best. He pulled out his pistol with his free hand and shot from the hip. Instead of piercing her skull and putting her out of his misery, the bullets pinged off her shield. She bore her bloodstained teeth at him.

“Nice try, dick. Matty! Esteban! Come back over here you idiots, he’s got no shield!”

Tim was running before she finished speaking, his speed hobbled by the weight across his shoulders and the stab of pain in his abdomen that accompanied each breath. Buckshot exploded on the wall beside Tim’s head as he ducked down the flooded hall.

“Get the fuck down here,” he gasped.

“Working on it! Kind of—pinned down by robo-assholes at the moment.”

The cheerful sound of a grenade bouncing off metal dogged Tim’s steps. He lunged for the ground before it exploded, knocking his teeth against the metal and filling his mouth with fresh blood. This time his own. His least favourite kind.

“Fucking fuck—!“

Tim lifted himself on shaking arms, black stars winking in his vision and ears ringing. The hostage landed a few feet away, thrown clear before the blast, his head turned away from Tim. A bandit screamed something unintelligible and opened fire with his SMG. The worst of it bounced off Tim’s still-regenerating shield, but it broke through what little he’d managed to gain just as he pulled the hostage back over his shoulders and get them moving again. He lobbed his own homing grenade and took off before the bandit knew what happened.

He was ducking behind a convenient pile of scrap metal when the weight on his back groaned and stirred.

“Oh good, you’re alive.” Tim dropped him on the ground. “That’s one problem taken off my fuck-you list. Come on, get up.” He nudged Rhys with his boot. The kid groaned and cursed, curling up on the floor. “Nah-ah, none of that! I need you on your feet. I can’t carry you and fight our way out of here single-handedly. I’m good, but not that good. Come on!”

Rhys pulled himself up slowly, pushing his hair back with a shiny metal arm. Those mis-matched eyes blearily fixed on Tim’s face. “Whh… what?”

Tim flinched at the sound of masonry exploding behind him. “Come on, come on, on your feet, let’s go!” He grabbed Rhys by the arm and hauled him upright.

“What’s… what the hell…”

“You’re alive and in one piece.”

“This… We’re…” Rhys’ entire expression seemed to sharpen as he stared at Tim. “Your—your face—“

A handful of bullets dented their cover, the rest flying over their heads. Tim cursed, palmed his pistol.

“Hold that thought.”

Rhys yelped as Tim set three bandits on fire.

“Yes!” Tim pivoted on his heel and fell to a crouch. “Yes, let’s get this over with. My face is blank! It’s a digital mask. You were taken hostage by robo-bandits! I was sent by your buddy Vaughn to rescue you. I killed a lot of people to get here and it looks like I’m running out of ammo faster than they’re running out of bad guys, so I need you to take this—” He shoved a spare pistol into Rhys’ hands. “—and shoot it at anyone who isn’t me. You’ve got a shield,” he went on while Rhys gaped in horror, “and you’ve got a full clip, and a pair of working legs, so you’re golden. You’re gonna stick close to me, and I’m gonna cover our exit, and we’re both gonna ride off into the sunset. Got it?”

Rhys’ eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, and his skin was the colour of milk that’d gone off days ago. He said nothing, and Tim cursed again. He readied himself to deliver another inspiring speech—not his strong suit to begin with—when the kid surprised him.

“Okay,” he said. It was like a switch had been flicked. Rhys’ jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed—the yellow one flaring a little—and he held the pistol properly, with both hands. Like he’d been doing this his whole life.

“Okay,” Tim repeated, honestly surprised for the first time in a long time. “Stick close to me and do as I say. I mean it.”

Rhys nodded, his mouth pressed tightly closed. Crouched this close, Tim could see more clearly the fine tremor in his jaw. He held himself like a man trying not to vomit or scream.

Tim felt a stab of sympathy, deep in the abandoned coal mine of his heart. Another surprise.

“Alright,” he said more gently than he might’ve otherwise. “You ready?”

Rhys nodded again.

They gained inch by painful inch through the compound with a dying shield and depleting ammo stores. Rhys held to his word and did as he was told, to Tim’s satisfaction. He even shot a few bandits. As they pushed their way to the exit, Tim made the mistake of feeling a little hopeful.

But the universe hated Tim Lawrence, and Crony #2 waited for them at the entrance. The metal chassis around his arms showed signs of warping from the corrosive rounds his digistruct managed to hit him with, but it didn’t seem to impede their function. He hefted a missile launcher as he spotted Tim and Rhys.

“Wh—“ Rhys managed before eight missiles whistled merrily through the air. Tim moved without thinking, flinging himself forward and toppling them both to the ground. The missiles twisted and struck the wall, the ground, hard enough to shake the building. Fire ripped across the ground, scorching the concrete and burning up the patches of grass that sprung up through the cracks. And across Tim.

His shield died and his coat caught fire. He yelped and scrambled up, tossing the coat away, instincts screaming at him to run, run now get away now now now but Rhys was still on the ground, looking dazed, and Tim couldn’t leave him to get recaptured or worse.

“Give us yer stuff and I’ll letcha go!”

“Fuck off!” Tim unloaded a clip with one hand and hauled Rhys up with the other. He shoved him inside a storage shed, just as the bandit came lumbering forward. The bandit backed away, growling, from the too-small space. The smell of burnt cloth and—god—flesh was nearly unbearable in the cramped quarters. Tim did his best to ignore it. “Okay. Okay. You still with me, Rhys?”

With wide eyes and jaw set, Rhys nodded.

“Good. Good boy. Here’s the… the thing.” Tim swallowed against the searing pain blossoming along his burnt side. “I’m not gonna lie to you, this is a pretty bad situation we’re in right now.”

Rhys laughed weakly. “Yeah. Yeah, I noticed. You’re… Are you okay?”

No.

“Fine. I’ve had worse. Listen, I’ve got a vehicle parked about a kilometer and a half east of here, just at the foot of the hill, where the rock face splits. There’s a safe house located about a 20 minute drive further east. You getting all this?”

Rhys snapped out of whatever shock was threatening to take over his system. “Yeah. Yeah, but what about—“

“Okay, when I say the word we’re gonna—“ A thump rattled the shed, knocking them both against the wall. Tim choked back a scream as the metal pressed directly against his freshest and most painful wound. “Fuck.”

“Are you—“

“Fine. Yep.” Tim blinked away the tears he knew Rhys couldn’t see and took a deep breath. “Right. On my say-so, you’re gonna run and you’re gonna keep going until you find that vehicle I mentioned.”

“But—!” Another thump. This time Tim was better prepared; he braced himself against his stinging palm—god, when did he scrape them? When he fell?—against the wall. Rhys waited until the dust settled before continuing in a furious whisper. “What makes you think they’re just going to let me walk out of here?”

Tim grinned, not caring that it couldn’t be seen. “Because they’re gonna be busy dealing with me.”

Rhys looked at him like he was stupid or nuts. “You’ll die.”

“One day, yeah,” Tim agreed. “But not here. And not for you, stretch.” He clapped his hands onto Rhys’ shoulders. He poured as much charm and confidence as he could into the words, hearing them hum with it over the modulator. “Trust me. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Haven’t died yet.”

Not for lack of trying, eh, Timtam?

“Wait for me there. I’ll catch up when I’m done.” Tim flipped his ECHO to life. “I take it you’re still kicking?”

Rhys gave him a confused look. “What—?”

“Not you,” Tim hissed.

“Barely,” came the response. “I’ve scavenged enough shitty guns to build a house out of shitty guns but they’ve got me pinned down. Malady’s in the wind but I got one of her monsters still here. Don’t know what happened to the other one.”

Fuck. Malady was probably half-way to whatever safety hole she crawled into when things got ugly.

“Is there someone else inside?” Rhys asked.

“Tweedle Dumber is out here with me. Get as many grenades as you can,” Tim said, ignoring him. “And wait for my signal.”

The digistruct groaned, already familiar with the plan.

“You bastard. Fine.”

Tim flicked the ECHO off and turned back to Rhys. “You ready?”

“Is there someone else inside?” Rhys asked, gripping his pistol tightly.

“Not exactly. Don’t worry,” he said, catching sight of Rhys’ dark look. “Don’t you got enough on your plate? Let’s focus on escaping the killer robots and I’ll explain everything when we’re not being chased by explosions.”

“Cyborg,” Rhys said.

“What?”

“Cyborg, not robot.”

“Jesus, whatever. Just—are you golden or do I have to strap rockets to you and launch your ass from this compound?”

Rhys didn’t look at all impressed, but he nodded anyway.

“Good. On my signal. Three, two…”

Walking away from an explosion might just be the coolest thing a human being can do. Tim has managed it once in the last ten eventful years, and only because he’d broken his ankle and couldn’t run. Still, he imagined that it had looked really awesome.

But because Tim valued his skin more than he valued his image these days, he ran from explosions. Or crawled, while jabbing Anshin healing syringes into his sides. He hissed through his teeth as the needle punched through his clothes, his skin, and deep into the damaged muscle tissue. The tingling of mending flesh and bone was almost enough to distract him from the incredible heat boring down on him from the flaming wreck of a bandit camp. He staggered forward a few more feet before his shaking legs finally gave up.

Fine. This was fine. Bits and pieces of cinder and ash rained down from the sky, belched out from the pillar of black smoke rising high. Tim rolled himself onto his back with a grunt, and let his head fall back. The sunset bruised the sky, what he could see of it anyway, and the compound fire glowed like a second sun, orange and hot on the wrong horizon. Tim lay on the ground and waited to heal.

He kept that last digistruct alive for too long. His head felt like he’d cracked it open. He rubbed at his temple, half-expecting to find his fingers tacky with blood, but the skin was dry and unbroken. He rubbed at his wrist, wincing at the unpleasant but familiar feeling of something solid and strange under his scars. Anshin’s finest couldn’t touch that pain, he knew.

The ECHO hissed static in his ear. The fight and subsequent explosion had knocked out his signal, although he didn’t know how. Enough shit in the sky to disrupt the frequencies, maybe. He’d tried to raise Vaughn again, but he didn’t get anything but a garbled mess of sound before the line died. He tried to raise Rhys before he remembered he’d failed to get the kid’s contact info before sending him off. That was also fine, Tim decided, letting his hand fall back to the ground. With any luck, Rhys had found Tim’s stash and bike and was obediently waiting for him.

Or he’d tried to take Tim’s stash and his vehicle and fucked off to the safe house. Tim let his eyes close. Why the hell did he tell the kid about the safe house? He had to go. The longer he waited, the greater the chance the kid would try something stupid. Yes. It was time to get up. Time to move.

Just… maybe in five minutes.

He jumped as a burst of static emitted from his ECHO, his eyes flying open.

“—don’t be dead. Hey!”

Tim stared up at the sky, brow furrowed.

“Hey, you—uh, badass vault… hunter… guy! Can you hear me? Please, come on, don’t be dead…”

Tim cleared his throat. “Not dead. Rhys?”

“Ohthankgod! Where are you?”

“How’d you get this frequency? I thought the explosion…”

He heard an impatient sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m a hacker, I hack into things pretty much for a living and we’re both still within close range. Never mind that now. I’m at the rendezvous point with all your stuff. Are you close?”

“Yeah.” Tim breathed in deep and sighed out through his nose. “I’m close. I’ll be there in a few.”

Walking didn’t hurt any more, but his feet still dragged. He needed sleep. And food. Maybe not in that order. He’d gone too long without either and no amount of glowing red syringes could make up for what his body needed.

He found Rhys sitting on a rock, arms and legs folded, fingers tapping, eyes narrowed. He sprung up when he caught sight of Tim.

“Hey, you made it—“ Tim stopped. Rhys had a pistol in his hands, aimed directly at Tim’s head. “Uh?”

“You. Start talking.”

Christ, he did not need this right now.

“You after anything in particular?”

“Let’s start with the man on the other end of your ECHO, the one you left to die in the factory.”

Tim’s brows shot up. He remembered that Rhys couldn’t see his expressions and decided to use his words.

“What are you talking about?“

“Don’t lie to me. I heard him on your ECHO.” Rhys tapped his temple, the yellow of his eye flaring to life once more. Hacker. Right.

“You listened into my conversation?” Tim felt more impressed than annoyed.

“Don’t change the subject! You left your ally to die! No—actually what you did was worse: you made him kill himself so you could escape!”

“So we could escape.” Tim rubbed his hand over his face. God, he really just wanted to eat and pass out. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Shut up.” Rhys stepped forward. “I’m telling you to explain yourself.”

Tim fell silent. There was no short version of the story that could explain the digistructs, and he really didn’t have the energy to tell the long version without incriminating himself. He sighed.

“It’s easier if I just show you,” he said. He slipped his fingers under the leather band wrapped around his wrist and pressed hard. He felt the now-familiar sensation of something solid press against his bones, a sensation of snapping his fingers with his whole body, and the taste of ozone and tin in his mouth. For a split-second, he struggled with the disorienting sensation of having two pairs of eyes, two sets of limbs, and two heartbeats. It passed as quickly as it came, and left him present in his own body, with another body that looked just like him standing three feet away.

“No talking!” he snapped, jabbing his finger at the digistruct. It held its hands up in a placating gesture and, although Tim couldn’t see his face under the mask, he could practically feel the eye roll. He turned back to Rhys, who gaped at the digistruct.

“See? This—“

“A hardlight digital construct,” Rhys breathed.

“Uh. Right.”

“A clone? Hyperion was working on something like this. You can just… make these? Whenever you want? How?”

“Not easily. Are you happy now? Because I really need to sit down.”

Rhys lowered his pistol. Tim collapsed onto the boulder with a whuff of breath. He dropped his head in his hands and braced himself.

“This is really amazing…” Rhys murmured, his one eye bright. “It’s a near-perfect copy, too. Really amazing. He—whoa!” Rhys jumped back as the digistruct winked from existence.

Tim hissed at the fresh spike of pain. Rhys said something, but Tim ignored him. He focused on keeping his head together. He flinched at the hand that gripped his shoulder. When he looked up, he saw Rhys standing over him, with Tim’s own sack in his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’d give you some water or something, but I don’t want to get my hands blown off by your lock.”

“Smart.”

Tim took the sack, thumbed over the security lock and waited for the flash of green light before he began rummaging around inside. He pulled out three nutrition bars—peanut butter and chocolate flavor—unwrapped them and crammed them into his mouth. Rhys winced as he sat down on the ground. They sat side-by-side in silence, while Tim finished chewing.

“So… it hurts? When you dismiss them or whatever?” Rhys asked.

“Yeah. And summon them. And keep them going. Like an icepick in the skull.” Tim closed his eyes and let his head rest against the rocks. “S’why it took me so long to get up again. After we blew up the compound.” Tim winced and rubbed his side. “The cracked ribs and the second-degree burns didn’t help either. Here.”

Without looking, Tim pulled the sack close and rummaged around. He found what he was looking for, and tossed it towards Rhys.

“What’s this?” Tim could hear the crinkle a wrapper.

“A nutribar. Not sure about the flavour. Eat it. I’m guessing the bandits weren’t running a B&B, so you’ll need something in your stomach.”

Rhys hesitated. “Don’t you need it?”

“There’s more at the safe house. Go on, I’ll be fine.” He had barely finished speaking before he heard the sound of a wrapper being ripped open.

“Almond flavour?” Rhys mumbled through a mouthful.

“Eh, that one’s not great.”

Silence, save for the sound of chewing and the faint crackle of faraway things burning up. Tim enjoyed it, the satisfaction of a full stomach and another escape from certain death settling over him like a warm blanket. If it were made up of moments like this, he thought, then life could be alright. He cracked one eye open, and got a look at the reason he’d come out all this way.

Brown hair, messy, like he’d been pushing his hand through it. Flashy chrome arm, flashy yellow eye, and a port in his temple. Not a bad sense of style, if the corporate d-bag look was your thing. (And Tim couldn’t deny that it’d been his, once.) Skinny, bordering on scrawny. Legs for days. Tattooed, neck and chest. Interesting.

Good looking, too, Tim realised with a small start. It’d been difficult to notice before, with all the excitement and gunfire, but Rhys was attractive. Handsome, even.

“So.” Rhys pulled his legs close, and rested his chin on his knees. “I didn’t catch your name before.”

Tim dragged his gaze away from Rhys’ distractingly full lips.

“Tim,” he said. Rhys stared ahead with a blank expression.

“Seriously, what’s your name?”

Tim’s face warmed. “It’s Tim.”

“Tim. You—okay. You can shoot guys from twenty paces without breaking your stride. You create hardlight constructs clones at will. You’re a vault hunter. And your name is Tim?”

“It’s Timothy Lawrence, actually. What’s wrong with my name?” he demanded while Rhys bowed his head, his shoulders shaking.

“It’s just—I mean, I thought you all had cool names. Like Athena, or Axton. Zer0 with an actual zero. Not Tim Lawrence. You sound like a personal injury lawyer.”

Tim pushed himself to his feet.

“Oh, come on!” Rhys called after him. “I can’t be the first person to say this to you!”

“You know, most of the people I rescue from bandits are too busy falling over themselves to give me their money and their gratitude to pull out killer comedy routines about my name. But I’ll tell you what, Rhys, I’ll try to think myself up a better name. That way, the next time you get captured by gun-toting lunatics, you’ll have something cool to scream when I leave you to get eviscerated.”

“Okay, okay, point taken. I’m sorry, T-tim.” His voice wobbled on the word and Tim just knew he was trying not to laugh. Tim pulled out the camelback from his stash and took a long pull.

“Apology not accepted,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna go to the safe house. We’re gonna spend the night. In the morning, we’re gonna take off for the Wastes and then I’m going to dump your scrawny ass on Helios’ doorstep. And then I’m going to ride off into the sunset with a bag full of money. Sound good? Good. Get on.”

Rhys folded his arms, curling his lip as he took in Tim’s ride.

“Uh. Where?” he asked. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Behind me, stretch. Come on. Haven’t you ever seen a motorbike before?”

“Not really.” Rhys awkwardly got his leg over the seat, bouncing a little as he tried to get comfortable.

Oh. Tim had not considered the reality of his situation. If he had, he would’ve been better prepared for the sudden warmth behind him, for the feel of Rhys’ knees pressing against his thighs, and his hands fluttering around his waist, looking for a place to hold.

It was a good thing, then, that Tim was a grown ass man who shot people to death and walked away from explosions for a living. He wasn’t the type of person whose stomach flipped just because there was someone attractive wriggling around behind him. He turned the ignition, and the engine purred to life.

“There’s a helmet behind you,” he said after clearing his throat.

“Oh.” One of Rhys’ hands disappeared. “Don’t you need one?”

“Probably.” Tim ran his thumb across the widget on his ear. The air in front of his face shimmered for a second before settling into something more solid. It wouldn’t protect his face from road rash, but it would keep the dust out of his eyes. “I guess you’ll just have to break my fall if we crash.”

“Maybe try not to crash.”

Tim laughed and revved the engine.

“Whatever you say, boss!”

After five years alone on Pandora, Tim had to learn to find joy in the simple things. Like the feeling of the wind through his hair, or the long stretch of open road, or the smell of the desert just after the sun set, before all the warmth leeched away, or the feel of his bike bouncing over rough terrain.

Or an attractive person’s arms tightening around his waist, the feel of someone pressing flush against his back.

Hidden under his mask, Tim let himself smile.

“There’s something you should know,” Vaughn said. Tim paused at the door, hand outstretched. “About Rhys. And, um. Your face.”

“What about it?”

After the first grand reveal, Vaughn hadn’t said a word about Tim’s… condition, except to request that Tim keep his mask in place whenever he came to visit. As if Tim needed telling what would happen if a bunch of ex-Hyperion stooges saw their former evil overlord waltz into their camp, back from the dead. He’d seen the headless statues, thank you very much.

“It’s just. Rhys kind of has a history with Jack. A personal one.”

Tim went cold. “Oh.”

Vaughn winced, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not my place to give the details but, uh. It got pretty ugly at the end. So, if you wouldn’t mind…” He ran his finger along the bridge of his nose, looking sheepishly into Tim’s blank face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear you. Mask stays, no problem,” Tim heard himself say lightly. He waved his hand in front of the automatic door and stepped outside before Vaughn could say another word.

It wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t as if Tim didn’t know he had the face and voice (and body and walk) of a mass murdering maniac. Tim didn’t wear a mask every minute he was in public because it was fun. He knew what Jack did to this place, the scars he’d left behind in the landscape and in the memories of every single person that lived through his reign as self-declared king of Hyperion, Elpis, and Pandora.

But it was fine. It really was. He wasn’t a delicate flower. Being reminded of the monster whose face he wore didn’t bother him. He would have gone out of his goddamn mind by now if it did. Because most days, Tim could live with himself. He’d done some horrible things, but he would never be like Handsome Jack, not even in his wildest nightmares. It was like having a dragon’s face.

But that was Handsome Jack, the larger-than-life super villain who died in volcanoes. Being reminded of Jack, the guy who took forever in the bathroom in the morning, who wore dad glasses when he was tired and the same ugly sweater almost every day, who used his daughter’s name for his computer password, who drank day-old coffee with five table spoons of sugar and smoked wherever the hell he pleased, who brought personal relationships to ugly ends…

It could be a little harder, on those days, to live with himself.

The safe house had food but, more importantly, it still had the glass bottle Tim had stored there a month ago. The rubber band he’d put around its body to measure the waterline had lowered significantly, he noticed. Mordecai must’ve come through. Or maybe Maya, who’d try anything these days. Salvador drank his own stash and Axton drank beer or Moxxi’s rakk ale. Krieg drank the sort of stuff that could dissolve teeth. He cracked open a new box of nutribars, and started counting.

“I locked up your horrible bike,” Rhys announced as he strode through the door. “If anyone tries to steal it, I’ll give them a medal. That thing is a death trap. I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse ride, and I once got stuck in a malfunctioning escape pod.”

“Sorry, stretch. My limo was in the shop.” Tim shoved the camelback into Rhys’ hands and pointed him towards the cistern. “Count the seconds while the water runs, will ya?”

“I’m not asking for luxury, just something with four wheels and sides,” Rhys grumbled.

“Nag, nag, nag…” Tim took a swig from the liquor bottle, closed his eyes as the burn hit his sinuses.

“Why do I have to count, anyway?” Rhys asked, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of running water.

“We have to keep track of how much we take, and then write it all down in a ledger so we know how much we owe,” Tim replied, zipping his bag shut.

“Owe to who? Whose place is this?”

Tim rummaged around the cupboards and discovered that the box of dehydrated bird chews he’d left last time were empty. Mordecai, then. He wondered if Talon liked them.

“It’s a vault hunter safe house. We share it, try to keep it in decent condition, restock it when we can.”

“Huh.” Rhys shut the spigot off. “You vault hunters must be closer than I thought.”

“Not really.” Tim found the battered clipboard stuck on a nail, a stub of a pencil hanging from it by a string. “I’ve never even met most of these guys. But word gets around about places like these, and it’s in all our best interest to keep them going.”

It was funny, the things he’d learned about the others without ever having met them, just going by how the left the safe houses. Tim could always tell when Salvadore had been the last visitor, just by the way all the pillows got piled on one bed, and the way the place stank of gun oil. Axton by the way the beds were all made up to military-precision, even the ones he didn’t use, and the empty beer cans stacked up by the door. Zer0 and his nutribar wrapper origami of creatures and flowers Tim couldn’t recognize, all of them left in a parade-line on the windowsill. He hadn’t been too active before Lillith took up residence in Sanctuary, but he remembered the empty bottles of cheap booze and the ashtrays filled with spent cigarettes she’d leave behind.

Back when Athena’d still been active, she’d leave the place in a mess. Dirty dishes in the sink, sheets balled up at the foot of the bed. A real pain in the ass. He wondered how she and Janey were getting on. The last time they’d spoken, Athena’d mentioned something about a wedding.

“That’s it, then? You’re out of the game?”

Athena stared down at the pint she ’d been nursing all night. “Jenny thinks it’s too dangerous. Thinks I can do better.”

“Well, hell, Athena. She’s probably right.”

“Maybe.” Athena took a drink to hide her embarrassment. “What about you, Tim? You think about settling down? Getting out of the game?”

Tim snorted and finished his drink. “Me? Nah. I figure I’m in it ‘til the end.” When he looked up again, it was to find Athena with her brow furrowed and her lips pursed in a pout. “Whoa, what’s with the look? We’re here to celebrate, aren’t we? Have a wake for your bachelorette lifestyle?” He signalled for another drink.

Many drinks later, she ’d leaned into him as they left the bar. When the door swung shut, she took his face in her hands and pressed her forehead against his.

“You’re not going to die like this, Tim,” she said very seriously, her breath reeking of cheap beer and one too many shots. Tim puffed out a laugh.

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout dyin’?”

She glared at him, squeezed his cheeks, bent his head forward and smacked her lips against his forehead. It was a little too violent to be a tender gesture, but that was Athena all over. 

Tim finished his tallies, handed the clipboard to Rhys, made his excuses and stepped outside.

Even this far out, you could still see the dull red-orange glow on the horizon. It’d gotten fainter since they arrived, signs that the fire was burning itself out. He tried to reach Vaughn again and actually succeeded this time, although the connection was still garbage.

“He’s okay? He’s not— or anything?” Vaughn asked.

“He’s fine. We’ll be on our way back in the morning.”

“I can’t— you. What’s— this connec—?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the ozone layer. Maybe it’s the giant factory I blew up an hour ago. Who can say?”

Vaughn’s response was lost in a burst of noise and static. Tim cursed and cut the line, confident that Vaughn had gotten the jist.

Rhys’d found the bottle with the rubber band around it. He looked up when the door closed.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“You weren’t listening?” Tim shot back. Rhys had the decency to look embarrassed.

“It’s easier if I’m in the same room as you,” he muttered.

“It’s fine. I got a hold of your buddy Vaughn. Let him know you weren’t dead yet and to expect us tomorrow.”

“Good. What’s this?” He held the bottle up.

“Tequila. Sort of. Brewed from those electric cactuses you can find up north. It’s not bad stuff,” he added defensively as Rhys set the bottle down as if it might bite him. “A reposado. Do you know how hard it is to barrel age stuff in this part of Pandora?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Suit yourself.” Tim scooped the bottle up and took a swig. “The electricity really makes it tingle in your teeth.”

They settled in for the night. Tim pried the windows open and took the cot closest to the door. He pulled his shirt over his head, toed off his boots, and removed his belt. He looked up to find Rhys staring at him.

“What?” he asked. Rhys jerked like he’d been slapped.

“Nothing!” Rhys turned to stare up at the ceiling, his cheeks flooding with pink.

Tim quirked a brow and looked down at his chest. He was nothing special. Long gone were the days of cut abs courtesy of the Handsome Jack exercise routine. Life in Pandora had relaxed his muscles into something a little more natural, made him look like a man who used his body for living instead of for vanity. Age had given him a ring of softness around his midsection that he hadn’t managed to shake.

His arms still looked good, though. Nice and toned.

“So, what’s a kid like you doing in a place like that, anyway?” Tim asked casually, stretching out on his cot.

Rhys turned redder. “I’m not a kid. I’m 28.”

“Huh. I would’ve pegged you for 22. You got a bit of a babyface there, stretch. The pouting doesn’t help, by the way.”

“I’m not pouting,” Rhys snapped, turning away. “And how old are you? 70?”

“Yep, nailed it. Look pretty good for a septuagenarian, though, don’t I?” he asked.

Even Rhys’ ears had gone red.

“No!”

He’s attractive, okay? Rhys wasn’t blind. He’d spotted the dark hair peeking out from his ripped collar before, so the chest wasn’t a huge surprise, but the arms and the shoulders. He’s got that martini glass silhouette, like the heroes in the comics: big, broad shoulders and narrow, slim hips. Rhys could do a lot of things with a man like that. Climb him like a tree, for starters.

It’d been a little over an hour, maybe, but Rhys had been asleep, more or less, in the compound and still felt too keyed up from their escape to settle in easily. After Tim had flicked the lights off, Rhys had lay in the dark and tried to ignore the impure thoughts of the man stretched out on the other side of this too-small space. God, it’d be easy to just get up and go over there. Show him just how grateful Rhys was feeling. Assuming Tim didn’t laugh in his face for it. Or worse.

And don’t even get him started on everything that happened in the bandit camp. The way Tim had swanned into a deadly situation, rescued Rhys, took charge, and handled guns in those big hands of his…

Look. Rhys has a type. He knows he does. But Tim is the first person to tick on every single item of Rhys’ checklist since—

Since.

Rhys let out a long breath, the hot feeling in his stomach cooling. Nothing makes a better wet blanket than the memory of the psycho sort-of ex who’d tried to kill him.

You’re wasting time, Rhys, he told himself. Put the libido to bed and think about something else. Like maybe the reason you came out to this hellhole and got captured for in the first place.

A flash of violet like the strike of a chord through the universe and a beautiful world laid out at his feet, the past encased and stored, crystal-perfect and within reach. Rhys could still feel the echo of it in his head, something so impossibly large and old. It shouldn ’t have worked, his little piece of code that bloomed into a project. The whole wide galaxy of truth, a forgotten race, countless artefacts, riches and wonders, all of it just under the surface, within reach.

Rhys shivered, his stomach turning as it always did at the memory.

He’d found it by mistake, while digging through Atlas’ files. Atlas had done their best to keep an eye on Hyperion. Their corporate espionage wasn’t great, which is why this particular project only got a few lines in a massive report, but it was enough to catch Rhys’ eye.

‘Project code named Epimetheus: eridium as a source of digital storage. Theory likely from eridium experiments with AI. They seem to believe eridium might store ancient memory files of Eridians. Proposed method of extraction AI interface.’

Rhys had been buzzing, coming down from a prolonged high after his exposure to the Vault of the Traveller. He’d been desperate to learn anything about the ancient race.

An old Hyperion experiment, the data of which had been lost in the fall of Helios, along with everything else. It’d taken Rhys almost a month to track it down, following damaged signal after damaged signal, picking through the physical and digital remains of the old satellite until he’d found the right one. Of course, it’d been just his luck that a troupe of psychos had planted their operations over it.

He should’ve waited. He’d intended to. He’d set up camp a half-kilometer away, content to monitor their ECHO communications until Vaughn could send back-up, confident in Malady’s lack of ability. It would take her time to break into the stack of servers Rhys had come to investigate. But he’d underestimated her and Malady and her gang weren’t interested in waiting. She and her band of vultures had been picking through Hyperion’s corpse for months, looking for the same thing Rhys’d been hunting for.  Somehow she’d found out about the old Hyperion experiments, about Epimetheus. And just like that, Rhys was in a race he didn’t intend to be in and didn’t intend to lose. What could he do? If he’d waited, she would have taken everything and left him with nothing.

Getting inside without being seen had been tricky, but tunnelling into the systems had been child’s play. The servers had taken pretty bad damage during the impact, but Rhys was able to extract enough to get a name.

Dr. Etna. The AI. Project Epimetheus. Rhys folded his pillow over, huffing with annoyance. He had no way of knowing if Etna survived; and even if she did, he had no idea where he could start looking. But a lot of Hyperion survivors had fallen in the same area. He could only hope she hadn’t gone far.

He let his gaze rest on Tim, who had one arm flung over his face. He’d worn the mask to bed. Rhys’ ECHOEye couldn’t see beyond the visual static the earwidget produced, which impressed and disturbed Rhys. It took a lot to fool the eye, which meant the earwidget couldn’t have been cheap. What sort of person would rather spend that much money to do what a strip of cloth or a piece of cardboard could do? Who needed to hide their face that badly?

Rhys remembered Zer0 and considered the notion that maybe Tim was an alien. But what sort of alien had grey hair at his temples and freckles on his shoulders?

Rhys only realised he’d gotten to his feet after he’d taken the two steps towards Tim’s bedside. The earwidget emitted a soft glow in the dark, highlighting the long line of Tim’s neck, the sharp curve of his cheek. The gadget looked simple enough to disengage and his curiosity burned him.

Tim had stopped snoring.

“What are you doing?” he growled. Rhys fought against a shiver threatening to crawl up his spine.

“Um. I couldn’t sleep?”

“How is that my problem?”

“I was, uh, just gonna go outside… stretch my legs…” He cleared his throat. Tim stared at him. Rhys felt his face burn.

“Bad idea. Go and lie down.” Tim kicked him in the shin and Rhys jumped back. “Count skags if you’re bored. You wake me up again, and I’ll put you to sleep with my fist.”

Or you could use your thighs, Rhys’ horrible brain supplied as he slunk back to bed.

He did fall asleep, eventually. He dreamt of burning metal, flickering monitors, and a man with no face who stalked him through ruin.