Writer, Photographer

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KALEB: Used to think about calling myself ‘Blackout’.

WALTER: Oh, yeah. Like ‘blackout drunk’?

KALEB: No! Like… I’m the last thing you see before you blackout…

WALTER: Yeah, that still makes me think it’s just from bein’ inebriated.

KALEB: … I think it sounds pretty cool.

WALTER: Oh, yeah. Yeah. Too right.

Kaleb lifts his head up, and eyes Walter suspiciously.

KALEB: … Why do I feel like you’re just agreeing with me to end the conversation?

WALTER: (Stuttering) ‘Cause- ‘cause I am.

Kaleb raises a brow.

WALTER: Talking to you’s like talking to dogs.

Kaleb cocks his head to one side, fighting his annoyance at Walter.

KALEB: … How?

WALTER: You don’t ever say much o’ nothin’. Ya just kinda make a face, or a growling noise.

KALEB: And you talk too much. You irritate me, Fitzroy. There’s nothing special about having a big mouth. It’s just going to get you killed.

Walter smiles boyishly, wondering how he’ll react to his next question.

WALTER: … Have ya ever tried singin’, then?

Kaleb growls, turns and walks away.

WALTER: See, that! That’s what you always do. How do I respond to that, Revey?

KALEB: (off screen) Don’t call me that!

Walter snaps his left hand, and points to the hallway that Kaleb left through in acceptance.

WALTER: Noted.

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August: … I don’t suppose you’d like some tea?

Kaleb: DAMN YOUR TEA! If it ain’t blood, I ain’t drinkin’ it.

August: Oh, dear.

Kaleb: Yeah... that bothers you, doesn’t it?

August: Erm, yes. It does.

Kaleb: Good.

August: My God, you’re a peculiar individual.

Kaleb: AND YOU’RE ENGLISH!

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Revenant: Hey.

Ballistic: Well met.

Revenant: … You like dressing fancy?

Ballistic: Always.

Revenant: … We’re gonna get along just fine.

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Revenant: And I can dance better than you!

Seer: … What’s that?

Revenant dances like he’s never danced before. He puts Seer to shame. Poor Seer, he will never live this down. He’s goin to have to reinvent the dancing wheel, and fast.

Seer: Please, Kaleb, at least give me time to-

Revenant starts dancing uncomfortably close to Seer, and he recoils slightly.

Revenant: Yeah, beat this, right? Try to beat this. No, I mean it. Try! TRY!

Seer: I will not be subject to this!

Seer jumps out of the spaceship onto the planet’s surface, possibly to his death.

Revenant peers over the emergency exit, looking quite pleased.

Revenant: If you can’t take the heat, stay outta the kitchen.

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“So what can I call you?”

Don’t say ‘The Grenado Tornado!’ Don’t say ‘The Grenado Tornado!’ Don’t say ‘The Grenado Tornado!’

He decides to bring himself up to his full height and shout with as much testosterone-fueled volume as he can muster.

“THE GRENADO TORNADO!! … Augh, I’m sorry, Hounds! I really tried! I said it myself in my head, but I just couldn’t do it! It’s who I am! I earned that name!”

He covers his ears as if he hadn’t heard his own words, and curls up his stomach like someone who is trying to minimize damage to their bodies when being targeted by Walter’s mortar cannon. (Coincidentally, named Wally. I’ll bet something else is, too — but let’s leave that to your imagination. Of course, by now you probably don’t need any more hints.)

“It is alright, Walter. I trust this man, he will tell no-one of your presence here.” Says Blódhundr.

“Ah, that’s grand, Love." Walter says to Blódhundr “Sorry about the outburst, then.” he adds to the shop-keep.

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Oh! Where would I be when my froat was dry?

Oh! Where would I be when the bullets fly?

Oh! Where would I be when I come to die?

Why,

Somewheres anigh my chum,

If 'e's liquor 'e'll give me some,

If I'm dyin' 'e'll 'old my 'ead,

An 'e'll write 'em 'Ome when I'm dead

Gawd send us a trusty chum!

Barrack Room Ballad from Kipling's "Soldiers Three"

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I Am Revenant - an Apex Legends story

Kaleb and August talk for a long time. August Brinkman is the type of man that reserves judgement, and so Kaleb finds it easy to speak to him about his life.

AUGUST: Have a seat, won’t you? If only for manner’s sake?

Kaleb looks at the chair. He hasn’t had the need to sit down, or rest in any way, for centuries now. Then he stares sideways at August for a moment, growls affirmatively, and sits down.

AUGUST: What would you like me to call you?

Kaleb stares at August with his glowing yellow eyes, and takes a seat across the table from him.

KALEB: I am Revenant.

AUGUST: Of course. A truly frightening sound to it, I’d say.

KALEB: That’s all thanks to me, you know. A name is nothing without someone defending it.

AUGUST: Now, I find that intriguing!

Kaleb recoils like he’s in disgust and asks with the tone of voice that implies he doesn’t really want to hear.

KALEB: What??

AUGUST: You chose the word ‘Defending’! Please, allow to to try and read more into this; are you saying that your only desire is to defend your name?

KALEB: No, I want to die. But I want to die with my name intact. I don’t want someone else to steal the title that I earned. I still pride myself as the greatest hired-killer in the known Frontier. I’m sure you agree.

AUGUST: Yes, absolutely. Then again, you’ve had a bit more time than… well, most Legends altogether, haven’t you?

KALEB: Only because I made the right choice! I wanted to be invincible, and look at me now! Now I’ve become everyone’s nightmare! Look at me! Aren’t I terrifying? Aren’t I your worst nightmare?

August considers him for a second, still looking calm.

AUGUST: … Yes. Very much so. I’ll be quite honest with you, I would rather you were not led down this road.

KALEB: How dare you question my decisions? My first memories are all of being controlled by others. I had no say in any facet of my life. It was sickening. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I wanted a drastic change, and God, did I find it... I found a way to control life and death.

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Escaping the Arena - Part Two - Tales from the Outlands

“I won’t lie to ya, this is the most afraid I’ve ever been before a match,” says Walter, really looking it. The expression on his face is enough to unnerve Blódhundr, as well. The air inside the Dropship is incredibly tense, even in the isolated squad compartment, as if everyone knew somehow that a bold risk was about to be taken. Blódhundr, being more attuned to these things, cannot help but comment. “Do you think that anyone knows about what we are attempting?” “Nah, not a chance! If anyone did know, they would’a reported us to the sponsors, and they’d probably send some goons to arrest us before we even boarded the Dropship.” Walter says, in an attempt to convince both Blódhundr and himself.

Another voice, a fairly young-sounding one comes from another compartment of the Dropship. “Help! We need help! Something’s wrong with the M.R.V.N.s! They’re trying to kill us!” (Mobile Robotic Versatile eNtity. The same type as Pathfinder, except these M.R.V.N.s are supposed to be serving as the Dropship guards, and, according to the officials at Hammond Robotics, are here mainly to prevent the legends from trying to kill each-other on the Dropship. Something has obviously gone very wrong.) Blódhundr and Walter waste no time in responding. Walter slams the inner door release-lever with his metal arm, which opens the door quite nicely, but completely destroys the lever and its mechanism. They both take off at a run down the long industrial steel corridor, as Blódhundr scans the upcoming area using the controls on their left arm, and does indeed reveal other legends desperately trying to escape the rogue M.R.V.N.s, now just a few more paces, past one more door.

They break through the door, and witness a disgusting scene: The room in almost entirely dark. The only reason that they see is the slightest rays of gray light filtering in through the row of windows. At least 5 legends have been brutally murdered. None of them recognizable. There isn’t a corner of the wall that hasn’t been spattered with blood. A rogue M.R.V.N. reaches out from an empty squad room, and seizes Walter by the throat, doing it’s best to crush his spine. The M.R.V.N. looks very unusual; like it was dragged through the lava pits, and partially melted. It seems to have great difficulty moving about, and the fact that it was able to move its hand and arm is very surprising — or disturbing, it’s up to you. Blódhundr leaps toward the M.R.V.N. and kicks its metal leg with both of theirs, and its misshapen left leg shatters immediately. It falls to the ground, but doesn’t release its grip from Walter’s neck, so he falls to the ground with it. The M.R.V.N. ‘bites’ Blódhundr’s leg with the crudely reforged, icicle-shapes on its face, pinning Blódhundr to the ground as they roar in pain. Walter manages to draw the bowie knife from his left boot, and lodges it in the socket between the shoulder-plate and the torso. It still has not released its grip, and won’t need much longer to paralyze him, but after a few more successful stabs, plus Blódhundr’s throw with their raider axe, the arm was finally severed. Walter takes a second to regain his breath, then runs to help Blódhundr. The M.R.V.N. is still driving its spikes into Blódhundr’s leg, who draws another blade from their side, and hacks a good deal of material off of the M.R.V.N.’s neck joints, and Walter drives his knife into the M.R.V.N.’s back, and it finally stops thrashing around. Blódhundr pulls the M.R.V.N.’s spikes out of their leg, and patches it up with cloth bandages. When Walter can speak, he suggests they keep looking for whoever called for help, if anyone is even still alive.

“No. These were sent to kill us — I am sure of it. We should leave now.” Blódhundr says, quite clearly. Walter looks shocked that they would so quickly leave their old friends. He can’t help but look out towards the corridor, wondering if anyone died because they haven’t left already. “… You’re right, Hounds. I care for you more than anyone…” He looks at Blódhundr, not seeming to notice the sense of urgency. He snaps out of it before long. “Alright, let’s get outta here!” Blódhundr and Walter move to the outer hatch, test the aerial boosters on their back, hold tightly to the bars surrounding the hatch, then they pull their respective levers, jettisoning themselves from the Dropship. There is a moment of bliss while they seem to be suspended in mid-air, then a surge of adrenaline as they begin their rapid descent towards the ground. They arrange themselves like a predatory bird, performing a nose dive at dangerous speed. Their hearts race uncontrollably, the air rushing past their ears, then, finally close to the ground, they fire their aerial boosters, which slow their descent to a safe speed, allowing them to land on their feet.

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Escaping the Arena | Tales from the Outlands | An Apex Legends story

Part 1

Paradise Lounge was quiet this morning. Or rather, a facsimile of it. The Legends weren't allowed outside of the Arena facilities for half the year. Only Walter, Blódhundr, and Makai are here while Elliot serves, for old time’s sake. Though he has enjoyed every minute of bamboozling and out-witting (Or "Elliot-Witting" as he likes to say) his opponents in the Blood-Sport known as the Apex Games, he still finds that he’s missing his mother, Evelyn, more now than ever before. He’s also missed the life of a bar owner, which, after the mortal terror of fighting in the Games, now seems like meaningless busywork. He's playing the song "Cherry Thrill" by Movements through his phone speaker, and decides to ask about the mood.

“Why so glum, guys? We’ve got the day off, let’s drink and smoke our brains out!”

“I do not partake of mind-addling substances. While I believe that everyone should choose for themselves, I would rather have my wits about me always.” Blódhundr answers politely. Walter strides in with more confidence than 10 people would ever need altogether, and yells across the room to Blódhundr

“Well, what the hell’re ya doing in a bar, then?” Elliot and Makai wave to Walter, cheering his Legend name.

“Fu-u-use!!”

“Evenin’ fellas! How the hell are we??”

“Uh, not too great, I guess,” Elliot replies. Walter rests his metal arm in his usual spot on top of the bar, where by now, there is a large dent the size of an apple, and notices that the Lounge is quite dull at the moment.

“Ah, no kiddin’? What’s this sorry-lookin’ lot?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with them. I suggested alcohol and pot, and I’ve never needed anything else…” Says Elliot, watching them curiously, as one does if watching a baby Leviathan who decides to speak English. Makai looks up from his drink, towards Elliot.

“I don’t wanna offend you, Elliot, but what works for you doesn’t work for everyone else.” Makai turns to Walter.

“I think we’re just tired of wondering if we’ll come home after every match.” Elliot seems to agree. “Yeah, I gotta admit, I’m not feeling great about heading up to the Dropship tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on! I know we’re going out there to fight and likely die soon, but this is the life! We've got more money and fame than anyone else in the Frontier! We all signed up for it, no use mopin’ about now!” Walter says, incredulous. Blódhundr looks to Walter.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Walter hears this, and his expression sobers up. He looks to Makai and Elliot.

“Gimme some privacy here, fellas?” They nod and leave for their bunks. Walter sits with Blódhundr and tries to reassure them.

“Now, don’t go worryin’ yourself about me, ya hear?”

“I cannot deny my fears. You must understand that.”

“‘Course I understand, but I’ve been at this for years. You can’t imagine that there’s something I won’t handle?”

“But I do. I care for you, my Walter. Please do not leave me. We must find another way out of this life. I have had my fill, surely you have as well!”

Walter sits in silence for the longest time… a most unusual occurrence. When he finally answers, Blódhundr can tell that he’s being completely truthful.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t know you felt like that.” He is quiet again for a moment. “If that’s what you want, I’m set on it as well…” Walter perks up, suddenly inspired. “I’d bet the best time to bust outta here is during the match.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am. Figure you can scan for a path with the fewest hostiles, we could nab a nice Trident hovercraft, I could outfit it with a heat shield for the radiation, and blow up the outer walls before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

“Then I will support you. Let us try.”

“Absolutely. Tomorrow, we’re free from the Arena... y'know, you’re quite lucky to have someone as great as I am here…” Blódhundr laughs softly — another unusual occurrence.

“I love you, Walter.”

Blódhundr carefully removes their helmet. Something they haven’t done in many years. Walter is honored to witness such an event, and is taken aback by their gentle beauty. Their face is quite pale, rarely having seen the sun in any world, yet Walter sees a great passion in them. Blódhundr’s white-blue eyes meet Walter’s remaining brown, and they hold each-other close, listening to the song still playing from the phone that Elliot was kind enough to leave on the bar, desperately wanting to stay that way for all eternity. May all others take their best shot, though it's very likely that no-one in this good universe could tear them apart.

Ooh, am I the only one?

I think it might be fun

Drop everything and run

Ooh, you look so fit to kill

World explodes and I’m with you still

Hypnotized in your cherry thrill

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The End of Old Fuse | Tales from the Outlands

Gibraltar and Mirage are fighting for their lives as they find themselves in the middle of a Prowler Den. Gibraltar guns down a pursuing Prowler with his Mozambique Shotgun, spins around to help Mirage and sees the Prowler scratch Mirage’s leg as he tries to escape, leaving a large, bleeding gash. Gibraltar tries to shoot the Prowler chasing Mirage, but the shotgun shells do very little at this distance. Mirage activates his army of holographic duplicates, which all run in opposite directions, but the Prowler easily tracks the scent of his blood, locks him in its jaws, and rips him to pieces in mere seconds.

GIBRALTAR: No! Damn it, I’m sorry, brother!

Gibraltar looks, disgusted, at the Prowler feasting on Mirage’s remains, and then becomes truly enraged. Gibraltar roars at the Prowler with such ferocity that for a moment, the Prowler takes off at a run, never having heard another noise quite so terrifying. Gibraltar had closed the distance between them as if there was none. Gibraltar had the Prowler backed up, shaking, against a cave wall. He drew his War Axe and proceeded to hack the Prowler apart with all of his might. Breathing heavily, Gibraltar drops to his knees in a corner of the cave. He looks from the Prowler’s corpse to Mirage’s, and is beset by tears.

He looks up to see Mad Maggie, who has been sitting on a taller ledge, nursing a flask. Gibraltar notices that she is looking down, at Fuse’s torn body.

MAD MAGGIE: I told him this would happen sooner or later. He should’a stayed with me on Salvo. We were goin’ to make somethin’ of ourselves!

As she speaks, her voice begins to crack, and she eventually breaks out into tears of fury and anguish.

MAD MAGGIE: Why the hell’d you do it, Walter?! Ya didn’t have to get yerself killed, ya damned idiot! What am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to fight for? What reason do I have to keep going? God damn you, Walter! God damn you!

Mad Maggie draws her Wingman Pistol and aims it at Gibraltar,

Gibraltar draws his Mozambique and aims it up at Mad Maggie

GIBRALTAR: I don’t wanna do this Maggie. I didn’t mean to kill Walter; I was just defending myself.

Mad Maggie stares hatefully into Gibraltar’s eyes, wondering if both of their deaths would make any positive impact in the universe.

She slowly lets down her weapon.

MAD MAGGIE: … Oh, God. You’re right. If it wasn’t you, It’d be someone else…

She sighs, looking immensely distressed.

MAD MAGGIE: This fucking blood-sport. We’re not ever going to escape this, are we?

Gibraltar lowers his weapon and sits down on the rock surface.

GIBRALTAR: I’m so sorry, Maggie. I wish I could help you.

The Dropship soars overhead, thousands of feet in the air, its engines droning, causing the ground to tremble as it goes. They both look up at it, suddenly inspired. They take off running after it.

MAD MAGGIE: How many of those M.R.V.N.s do they have guarding the Pilot up there?

GIBRALTAR: only six, but they’re heavily armored. I think it would take more than 5 of us to disable one of them. And we can’t bring weapons into the ship.

MAD MAGGIE: But what if we got everyone on the ship to fight at once? I know it’ll be difficult to convince ‘em to work together, but I bet if we say we’d help ‘em escape, we could break through to the cockpit, and take control of the ship!

GIBRALTAR: But would we be able to take it outside the Arena?

MAD MAGGIE: I don’t know. I’m hopin’ I can access the navigation. We’ll figure it out when we get there.

GIBRALTAR: Alright, but we gotta hurry! It’s starting to lower for the Revival Beacon there!

At the Revival Beacon, Loba is working its screen, while Pathfinder jumps down from the Dropship. As he falls, Mad Maggie quickly installs her Riot Drill into the Beacon, which spews flame out onto the other side, severely burning Loba’s face and left hand. She screams in pain, and falls backward into a deep trench that encircles the Beacon, then attempts to take off her Jump Drive Bracelet, but the fire causes her skin to stick to the metal, and she winces as she runs her fingers over the scorches on her wrist. Mad Maggie jumps down and kicks her over. Loba tosses an Arc Star, which sticks to the trench wall and electrocutes Mad Maggie. She roars as she tries to escape its radius, ignoring the excruciatingly painful energy coursing through her. Loba readies her Longbow DMR, fires at Mad Maggie, and it pierces through her shoulder. when suddenly, Loba is gut-shot by Gibraltar. She looks at her wound, horrified, then falls to the ground, and her soul departs without ever knowing the face of her killer.

Gibraltar runs over to Mad Maggie, who has collapsed on the ground now that the Arc Star has finally worn out.

GIBRALTAR: Oh, Maggie!

Gibraltar takes out some bandages and patches up her Mad Maggie’s shoulder. Then, he prepares a syringe, locates a vein, and injects her with Morphine. Her brows loosen, and her eyes slowly shut.

GIBRALTAR: Hey, come on, Maggie. Gotta stay awake.

Gibraltar tries to lightly shake her back to consciousness, to no avail. He holds his breath, suddenly tense. He’s just heard a noise behind him. He turns to look up at the top of the trench wall, as Pathfinder slowly peers over the edge. Gibraltar carefully climbs up the wall and takes out his War Axe. He vaults up, and plants the Axe firmly in Pathfinder’s metal shoulder-piece, cutting off the circuitry to his left arm. Pathfinder politely replies,

PATHFINDER: You killed my buddy. Now you must die.

Pathfinder fires his Grapple Gun, which lodges itself inside Gibraltar’s leg and pulls him and Pathfinder together at dangerous speed. Gibraltar yells in pain, but just as he is about to be hit by Pathfinder, Gibraltar swings his Axe through the bulk of Pathfinder’s steel torso. Gibraltar rips Pathfinder’s remaining arm off and leaves the rest of him to short-circuit into oblivion. Gibraltar picks up the barely conscious Mad Maggie in one arm and fires the Grappling Launcher on Pathfinder’s severed limb with the other. The Grapple attaches to the inner ceiling of the Dropship, and its mechanism swiftly propels them both upward. Mad Maggie wakes up as they fly towards the Dropship, and panics. She nearly slips free of his arm, but he readjusts his grip. The two of them feel a glimmer of hope now, which will be necessary for what lies ahead.