Chapter Text
Dreams are such fickle things.
They never really make any sense, comprehending one is about as fruitful as trying to collect grains of sand with your claws. It just doesn’t work, there’s no real way to do it where you would gain anything useful from the experience.
But dreams are so damned consuming, once you experience one, it’s the strangest feeling. It’s like watching fire climb up a decrepit building, you can’t help but watch as the flames lick their way up until the entire thing is a beacon of heat. Good or bad, dreams have a way of holding you by your very being and making you question all that you are. They really do set you aflame if you let them.
You remember dreaming a lot when you were first brought online. For a long time, that’s all you felt like you could do. Sometimes though, your subconscious kindly reminds you that your so called ‘dreams’ likely weren’t dreams to begin with. Part of you wants to explore the idea that maybe those dreams were fragments of consciousness you’d managed to cling to from your initial creation. Pieces of a past you’d viciously fought to keep buried in the farthest recesses of your processor.
Dreaming, you’d decided, was for those who could afford the price of being let down. Of waking up, tasting the sweetest realities and bearing the loss of having to face the world for what it was. And this world, unfortunately, was very broken. No matter the lens you looked at it, Cybertron was in shambles.
The very foundation of this accursed sphere needed to be torn out to have a chance at fixing anything. The planet itself was struggling, hardly able to bear substance to sustain the many lives of those who called it home. Which is why mining had become an entire caste here, countless unnamed individuals toiled away endlessly in the deepest mines. They were the most miserable bots on this rock, each one considered expendable and hardly worth batting an optic over. It was tragic really, the life of a miner was often considered a fate worse than death, and you don’t blame bots for thinking that way.
Halting your train of thought, you pause for a moment and glance briefly at your surroundings once more. It was late here, that was normally how these things played out. You typically arrived at your destination of choice when the two moons shined their brightest and there were fewer bots around to be suspicious. You took note of the surrounding buildings and sighed, there seriously had to be a hundred bars in every direction. And you thought Iacon was bad, this place was worse in every way, including how stupidly massive it was.
Kaon, you thought miserably, had to be one of the most poorly designed and frustrating places to navigate. No matter how many times you came back to this annoying metropolis you always needed to triple check coordinates and reroute wherever you were going at least eight times. Especially when your ultimate destination was a moving target, well at least, most of the time. Another reason for coming here late, most of your targets tend to be deep in recharge, making your job just a bit easier.
Taking another cautious glance around the wide streets, you manage to slip behind some taller structures in order to remain in the shadows. The main streets were far too bright for your comfort and you simply didn’t have time to act calm and bored in order to be inconspicuous. Slinking into the shadows, you reach into your subspace and pull out the receiver for the tracker that had been planted cycles earlier. Your target wasn’t far from you, and he hadn’t moved in awhile. Confirming your suspicion that he was likely recharging and completely unaware of what was coming.
This specific contract was different from the others though, normally, you received a name and a price. Pretty straightforward, eliminate the name and the price was paid in full the moment the kill was confirmed. This contract however, had instructions, a name, and a very generous reward for following said instructions. A bit odd, but in your line of work asking questions didn’t get you anything aside from more trouble in the long run. So you had accepted this contract, snagged the receiver that had the live coordinates of your target and immediately made plans to get to Kaon as soon as possible.
Killing a senator was hardly uncommon for anyone working as an assassin, especially these days. So many political movements, policies, and dirty secrets that could easily get you killed by anyone with enough shanix to hire a hitman. But framing one? Now that was a bit more rare, whoever wanted you to plant this Syk really wanted to watch this senator’s downfall more than they wanted to see his insides. That was your objective, get into this Senator’s current residence, plant this variant of Syk, steal a few classified documents, and get the hell out.
Easy enough, foul play wasn’t even required, this should be relatively simple. You have a sinking feeling that you should probably research this guy a bit before you ruin his life and end his political career. Senator Shockwave was his name, and apparently his ideas would ‘ruin Cybertron’ or some stupid slag like that. Again, Cybertron was already ruined long before this guy had his ‘revolutionary ideas’ about whatever the hell it was he was trying to change. But you stop yourself from thinking about it, better to turn off all thoughts and focus on the task at hand.
You eye the receiver one last time before tucking it away in your subspace, starting a brisk pace towards your target. The claws on your hindlimbs tend to make a noisy clicking noise as you dart between buildings, round corners, and wind your way through Kaon's many levels. Thankfully, having large wings neatly folded against your backstruts while in root mode helps with that annoying sound. You’ve learned to flare them to help prevent the loud ‘clunk’ noise whenever you move from one surface to another. It’s an art really, spreading your wings just enough to lessen the noise from you running around, while also ensuring you don’t flap them haphazardly and make a ton of noise. Mastering this little technique is the result of vorns of practice, countless missions, hundreds of attempts, and more.
As you jump down from one street to a lower level, you roll to muffle the sound, as this drop is a bit farther than the others. Keeping your wings pulled tight against your frame, you round one last corner before you're standing at the base of a very tall building. It looks like a housing facility, only much nicer. Unlike the spaces where most bots in Kaon live, this building was far more refined. It was tall, well polished, the surrounding area was well kept, and it whispered wealth from each nook you could see. You look it over blankly and take the time to note windows and other methods of escape. Your tail flicks behind you as you observe the space before you, an old habit of yours. Shockwave was somewhere on the seventh floor and you had a quarter of a groon max to get this done.
All the windows and other ways into the seventh floor appeared locked or secured in some fashion. And you needed to make this look like the guy was an addict, not a victim of some kind of break-in. You bite your lip until you taste energon and wince a bit at the dull pain. Surely some idiot might leave their window open at night? There had to be someone in this huge aft building that was a little too tired to care and just left it be. If not, you were looking at lock picking, glass cutting, or something equally quiet but time consuming.
Apparently Primus felt bad for you because you do spot a way in, the fifth floor, there’s a balcony that has the door unlocked. You can tell because the door itself is slightly propped open, just enough for you to see that the glass doesn’t meet the door to properly seal. You take this as an invitation and snap your wings open quickly, lifting them just enough to get one firm flap that helps you get airborne. Then it’s a matter of making sure you’re keeping yourself in the air without flapping your wings hard enough to draw attention. The nature of your alt mode allows you to fly in root mode without having to transform, but it’s a bit awkward and not as graceful as if you just transformed. But for you, transforming isn’t practical, you need stealth more than you need anything else.
You make gentle semi-circle motions with your wings, sweeping them in a soft downward motion to slow yourself down and quietly reach the balcony. Your clawed pedes hitting the ground with a quiet click, you glance over your shoulder to ensure no one noticed your little trespass. Folding your wings snug against your backstruts, you use a clawed servo to slide the door just open enough for you to slip into this unsuspecting residence. Immediately you're accessing the space before you, optics darting around every surface you can see, before landing on the door that presumably leads out into some kind of hallway. You also notice with a touch of bitterness, how nice this place is, tastefully decorated, with nice furniture, and even some art on the walls. You briefly think over the irony of having been on the poorer side of Kaon not a groon earlier and seeing some bots unable to afford enough energon to function properly.
How sad.
The door you spotted earlier opens easily and you make sure it’s locked behind you when you shut it and start looking for a stairwell or elevator of some kind. Eventually after you somewhat speed walk down the corridor, you find the stairwell. Instead of walking up the stairs to the seventh floor, you glance over your shoulder and use your wings once more to fly upwards as quickly and quietly as you can. You make sure to pull your wings a bit closer to your frame to avoid smacking them into the railing, taking smooth sweeping motions. You reach the seventh floor and exit the stairwell to look for the room of your unlucky target. You’re seriously getting annoyed with this whole process and you’re about ready to leave with how uncomfortable this errand is making you feel.
You pause for a moment and take out the receiver once more while you mull over why you feel like scrap. This never happens, you’re usually so indifferent about targets, why does this one feel so gross? You feel off about this one, something about this whole contract just screams wrong. You’re in the middle of deciding if leaving would just be easier when you reach the door of this Shockwave guy. Well, guess the decision is made for you , your subconscious says unhelpfully. You grumble while using your claws to pick the lock and input the code given to you along with the receiver when you accepted this contract. The lock had two parts, the part you just picked, and the digital part that acts as a second precaution that needs a code. The door offers no further resistance and you open it with utmost care, slipping inside and closing the door behind you.
Upon taking two steps inside you notice there’s light coming from under a door to the right of what appears to be the main berthroom. You take care to be as quiet as possible, not completely sure if Shockwave is awake. You take out two small containers full of Syk, the first one you crack open and start to dump it in spots where someone might investigate for drugs, between books, on a table in the middle of the living area, on the floor here and there. In this form, the Syk was hardly noticeable, it honestly just looked like debris from outside, but a lab test would reveal what it really was. You close that container and take the other full one into the berthroom, searching for somewhere Shockwave himself wouldn’t notice but whoever was going to ‘catch’ him would. You decide on tucking it in a vent and taking a few screws out to make it a bit more obvious. Surveying your handiwork, you decide that’s about as good as it was going to get, so you snap a picture of the Syk in its new hiding spot before making sure the vent lays flat.
Before sending the photo to get your paycheck, you remember you needed those documents as well, frag . You search the berthroom, the main living space, the kitchen area, even the detail room, but you can’t find any of those documents you were apparently supposed to be looking for. Your optics land on the room with the light and before you can think better of it your pedes are taking you over there. You tell yourself it’s to get the documents and not because you want to see…You have to, you have to see this one. It’s irrational but a piece of your spark just knows you have to see this one. So, you peer through the cracked door and push it open slightly.
Shockwave is out cold on his desk, he’d fallen into recharge while looking over some datapads or something. You take small, cautious steps towards him and let your optics flit down to inspect him. He has white, blue, and has a bit of greenish-yellow paint on him, and he’s fairly nice to look at. He seems rather spent, laying on his crossed arms with a soft frown on his features. He seems so peaceful, it alights that feeling of discomfort once more and you can’t bear to stare at him much longer. So you quietly skulk around this little study until you find the classified documents on a datapad stored on a large shelf to the left of Shockwave’s desk.
It’s a miracle he doesn’t wake, he must genuinely be exhausted, you’re thankful for that. You snap a picture of him for good measure, to ensure this client doesn’t try and frag you over. It really is a shame, part of you wonders what’ll even happen to him. Probably a slap on the servo, maybe at worst, some time in solitude, but nothing extreme. Senators are rich and can just bail themselves out, you’re sure this one is no different, despite his charming features. With one last fleeting look his way, you slip out of the study, stick the datapad with the documents into your subspace, and open the door to the main hallway once more.
Once outside of Shockwaves habsuite you vent deeply for a moment before returning to the stairwell to get the frag out of this primus forsaken building. You decide to go to the highest floor and leave via the roof, as you're certain it will be less monitored for those leaving the building than it is for those entering. The only real thing to worry about was camera’s, but most of the cameras you’d spotted had been on the lowest level. Besides, you were fast enough and quiet enough to where no one would really acknowledge some random femme sneaking around. Your logic is proven right as you exit the building and a bot, presumably on night shift, blinks blearily at you with amber optics before returning his attention to whatever he was smoking. Seemingly unbothered by your presence, which means either he genuinely doesn’t give two frags or he’s too high to care, probably a mixture of both honestly.
You shrug that interaction off and snap open your wings to dip into the dark sky over Kaon. Finally, you can be a little more careless now that you’re in the clear. You glide smoothly through and between buildings before stopping atop an older one to address the issues of the pictures you took. You send them, along with the files on the datapad, to your client on the disposable communication device you had been using for this contract and in seconds you get a ping from another device on your frame. You take out a different datapad to see the notification that you made just under a million credits for that little errand. You exvent and crush the disposable communication device, watching the little pieces scatter to the ground from between your claws. You had officially completed that contract, so now you had some time to lay low before accepting another one.
Something is still off , you think to yourself, tail lashing behind you. Now that you’re in the clear, you have the space to move your tail how you like, during missions though? You’ve learned to keep it calm and not swing it around. That feeling of discomfort is still hot in your energon lines though, you tap your clawed pedes to the ground as you frown. Why is this one so different? Then, with a sinking feeling in your tanks, you suddenly realize what this feeling is.
It’s guilt. You’re feeling guilty, and it’s too late to do anything about it.
You dig your claws into the sides of your helm and let out a deep exvent. Of course, of course you had to pick tonight of all nights to feel bad about some random mech. Of fragging course, you didn’t even feel this bad when you took out an entire family a few months ago. Which was arguably a hundred times worse than planting some illicit substances in some posh senator’s home. Mentally you’re once again at war with your nonexistent moral compass, which has decided to make a guest appearance tonight for the express purpose of making you feel like slag.
This stupid turmoil is going to ruin the rest of the week if you don’t find a way to shake this off and bounce back from this self loathing. So, you take out the device you normally use to browse contracts, a way to pass the time , at least that’s what you tell yourself. In reality, you’re looking for more senators and other top names to see if there’s a clue as to what the political climate is going to look like in a few days. Sometimes, based on the parties getting hits placed on them, and their most infamous ideas, you can kinda get a feel for what’s going to happen in the political ring. You also happen across some contracts listing a couple gladiators.
You always found those contracts to be stupid, and a wild waste of time. Gladiators get themselves killed for you, so offering to pay someone to speed up that process seems like a huge waste of shanix. Unfortunately, browsing the many contracts yields you nothing, but you do mentally flag some names here in Kaon. Might as well keep an optic out for these bots while you’re in Kaon for the next couple days. There really weren’t any big contracts, well not any that you were willing to go after, but killing a couple randoms would stack up fast, and you could make some extra credits before you leave.
The sky was always so dark here, it never fully cleared up for you to enjoy a nice day. That was because Kaon has this smog to it that persisted pretty consistently due to the nature of the city’s economic environment. This place was the industrial center of Cybertron, there were refineries, factories, and just about every other soulless occupation you could think of here. The night sky reminded you of ink, not just because it was so dark, but because the air always felt so dense. It was heavy, it felt like being suffocated, flying should be the most freeing thing one can do here, but somehow, Kaon ruined that too.
With one last put out look towards the city and its neon lights, you decide it was time to check into a hotel on the far end of the city. Not for more than a couple hours, you mainly needed the detail room more than you needed a berth. Rust dust was a real problem here, and you weren't going to risk getting rusty because you were too lazy to clean up. That was one reason, the other was to make sure there wasn’t any Syk residue that was leftover from your little errand.
You pause for a moment, before reaching back into your subspace, and pulling out the other container of Syk that you had completely forgotten about. Back at Shockwave's residence you had started pouring this one out but had left about a third of it in the container by accident. How inconvenient. For about half a klik you consider just using it yourself, but you decide that’s the dumbest slag you could do right now. It would be much better if you just ditched it somewhere or sold it to someone, at least if it were normal Syk. According to the client, this Syk was modified in some way, they didn’t specify, and you didn’t bother asking. Honestly, you’re about seventy percent sure that was complete bullscrap to keep you from trying it. Under the very small chance that it was modified though, you weren’t going to bother using it, at least for now.
Although, the nature of this client and this contract in general was wildly different than how most of these transactions usually went. This client had reached out to you personally, and had supplied you with both the Syk and the receiver. Granted, by ‘personally’ you mean the contract was sent to you anonymously, along with the instructions and coordinates to a random storage unit where you picked up the receiver, the Syk and a disposable comm device. Which, again, was very odd, no bot did this kind of thing unless it was personal, or this guy was causing more problems than this client wanted to deal with. The amount of effort over one mech was insane, not even mentioning the amount of credits. Which was downright appalling for the objective itself. Even in your line of work under a million is nothing to scoff at, most contracts aren’t even half that amount. There are very few bots who can toss that amount of shanix at a problem to make it disappear, meaning this guy made enemies with other upper caste snobs.
You accidentally whack your tail against the railing that wraps around the top of this building and it makes a dull clunking noise. Which causes you to cringe at the sound and recoil from the stinging pain of that action, which was essentially the equivalent of stubbing your pede. Primus, how long have you been standing here in thought? One glance at the time and you know you’ve been on the top of this building long enough and you need to get your scrap together and decide your next move. You very faintly recall a small building close to the gladiatorial arena where you could rent a room for a few hours to collect your thoughts. It was probably there for bots coming from other cities for the fights. Just a cheap little motel for those who didn’t want to stay for very long, or for those who didn’t want to spend very much.
Neither of those things really mattered to you. In your case, you just wanted somewhere there was little to no security and no record of your stay. Sure, you could totally afford a nice room at some fancy hotel in the nicer parts of Kaon, but that was far too public for your liking. Besides, it would be a waste to rent a room for the night and just use the detailroom.
With one last final sweep of the area, you tuck the Syk back into your subspace before taking off into the dreary sky.
—---
If there was a hell for all the sparks that didn’t make it to the well, you’re almost positive it would be doing customer service for all of eternity.
“So, you just want the room for a couple hours basically?” A weary voice asked from behind the small desk in the main lobby of this crappy little motel. Clearly this bot was not built for late nights, and doing a night shift was actively dimming their spark the longer they stared at you with empty optics.
“Yes, I just need the detailroom. I won’t be here long.” You say with equal enthusiasm. You have your wings pressed firmly against your back, and your tail is coiled around one of your hindlimbs in order to make it less obvious. Although, between the tired employee who looks about ready to collapse on the desk in front of them, and the low yellow lights in the lobby, you doubt that even matters.
“Well, considering it’s basically early morning, and my manager isn’t here…I’ll just charge you for one night and you can keep the room till tomorrow morning.” They say with a tired exvent, shuffling around under the desk and pulling out a small keycard for you to unlock the door to your room. They set the card down next to a datapad and punch in a couple things on the device.
“Ok, your room is number twelve, it’s to the left of this lobby. Did you want to pay with shanix or did you have an account that works better?” They ask with a quiet tone, you vaguely wonder how many groons into this shift this bot was. Clearly they were in desperate need of a nice long recharge, or drugs. For a moment you debate just giving this employee the Syk, because watching them fumble with the datapad for a full klik was almost as painful as just impaling yourself with your own claws.
Without saying much you pull some shanix from your subspace that you had set aside for this express purpose. You slide it toward the employee and nod politely as they take it, count half of it, before shrugging and tucking it away. You watch them slide the keycard your way and offer a weak smile. All you manage in return is a dry “Thanks” before turning around and power walking out of that lobby.
Between the awkwardness and shared understanding that neither of you wanted to be there, that interaction was mercifully short. You audibly sigh and slink your way over to your room. The walk wasn’t long but you start planning the rest of your stay in Kaon as you walk further from the lobby towards the twelfth room. Once you reach the door to the room, you swipe the keycard once, twice, and finally on the third time, it takes and you push the door open.
The room wasn’t bad at all for being a motel, it had a small berth, a small area to prepare energon, a very small sitting area near the berth, and a detailroom near the back. Thank primus, fragging finally. You think to yourself, shutting the door behind you and tossing the keycard onto the berth. You waste absolutely no time starting the shower and waiting for the gentle solvent to get to a comfortable temperature.
Once satisfied, you step into the spray and start meticulously scrubbing every little seam and around every piece of plating on your frame. You take special care of your wings and tail, both tend to be sensitive and you don't want to risk rust dust anywhere near them. You were a rarity of sorts, most cybertronians don’t have tails or wings like yours. The closest thing to what you were, was maybe the dinobots that you occasionally hear news of. Or maybe other beast-like bots, but all of those species were fairly few and far between. That, and they were not liked by the general populous on cybertron, you were aware there were plenty of colorful slurs addressed for that subspecies alone.
Technically, you weren’t really supposed to be alive in general. Your species died out a long time ago, far before most cybertronian civilizations started to be built. The only reason you were alive was because of science, shanix, and ambition. The details of your creation, and how you were brought online in general, are foggy and depressing. You don’t like to think about the fact that you exist because someone disturbed the remains of your extinct species in order to raise a predacon from the dead. Ultimately that entire experiment backfired, horribly. You were roused from what felt like a dream and in your unstable state you had set several pieces of expensive equipment aflame, mauled multiple mechs like an animal, and effectively burnt down half of a lab on the outskirts of Crystal city.
You pause and wince, because the next set of memories aren’t much better. Becoming an assassin, or mercenary, wasn’t what you woke up wanting to do. It was the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting mixed in with the wrong bots. You stop your thoughts before you force yourself into an emotional breakdown over this. Which was the last thing you wanted right now, you flick some of the solvent off the tips of your wings before shutting the shower off and drying off in front of the mirror in the detailroom. You stare blankly into the mirror and your own optics for a long moment, as if maybe you’ll see past your own optics if you just look hard enough. Maybe if you glare a little bit harder, your reflection will yield and show you the version of yourself you should be seeing.
The reflection before you doesn’t yield, it doesn’t give, it doesn’t do anything, it just is . And it bothers you, sometimes, you wish you could peel back the layers to your own optics and find yourself again. You sneer at your reflection, flaring out your wings and accidently smacking one into the wall, which snaps you out of this little daze. You don’t bother with your reflection anymore, you just snatch a bottle of oil sitting on the small sink and start to apply it to some of your joints.
After sloppily applying oil to as many of your joints as you deem necessary, you flop onto the small berth and heave a heavy sigh. You have the room for the entire day and the next night, so you can recharge for a bit before doing one of the many things on your mental checklist. One of those things being to check up on a medic that you hadn’t seen in ages. You missed the bot, he was grumpy, way older than you, and blunt, but in an endearing way. He had all the right qualities mixed with some tastefully potent ones. Which wasn’t bad, but he certainly wasn’t everybots cup of engex.
You met him at a rather low point, he had been skeptical, and almost left you, but something had made him reconsider. You wonder to this day what made him want to help you, but whatever it was, you’re thankful for it. After he helped you out, you felt indebted to him, you still do in a way. For a while you stayed with him and did everything you could to help pay off this nonexistent debt you felt towards him. To this day, you still look out for him from where you stand, and occasionally you try to drop some credits his way. You’re sure he knows, and he’s annoyed by it, but you also know he’s putting it to good use, whatever that may be.
Point being that you missed him, and you knew he was hanging around here last time you checked. You wanted to see him again, not just to see him, but also because your conscience has been eating you alive for the past couple groons and he normally makes you feel better after judging you. He probably would scold you for doing what you do, tell you to get your scrap together, before imparting some random piece of wisdom that would be useful at some undisclosed time in the future. Which is something you could really use right now. So you set an alarm to wake you in a few groons before burying your face in your arms and trying to chase recharge. You normally lay face down to leave room for your wings and tail, otherwise it’s just annoying to splay them out and try to roll around and be comfortable. But your chassis sometimes makes that annoying, the best sleep you ever had was in your alt mode. Unfortunately, most motels don’t have the space for a predacon to take a nap in. So, with a processor full of all the possible things that can and have gone wrong, you let yourself fall into a dreamless slumber.
—---------
The sound of your alarm angrily informing you that it’s time to get up makes you groan into your claws and aggressively flutter your optics open. You sigh as you stretch your wings as far as they can go on either side of your backstruts. Closing your optics and inventing deeply as you curl your tail inwards, before straightening it and feeling out all the kinks. Recharging is a blessing and a curse, the blessing is falling into it, the curse is waking up from it. At least you’re feeling a bit more rested now, that should help with tracking your medic down. How to go about finding him though? Should you just comm him?
You consider it for a moment before deciding that you’d rather just track him down yourself, maybe you’ll catch him in his element. A quick glance at a nearby clock tells you that it’s about midday, plenty of time to go looking for him. Last you checked he was helping patch some gladiators up in this area for the paycheck. You can start around the main arena and branch out depending on if you have any luck. You might end up in the lower levels of the arena itself, which is not allowed in the slightest, but it’s only really illegal if you get caught. And no lazy aft guard, warden, or otherwise was ever going to catch you, especially not if you're being quiet about it.
That’s the secret to sneaking around, no one really wants to do their job, at least, the jobs where you have to put effort into fragging someone’s day up. Well, most of the time at least, sure there’s fraggers who love being a piece of slag for no reason, but most bots in those positions don’t care unless they could get in trouble. Just act like you belong, look like you know what you’re doing, and most of the time that’s enough. Unless it’s a rare scenario where that doesn’t work, you should be fine like eighty-five percent of the time.
The keycard had somehow migrated from the berth to the floor at some point during the time you spent in recharge. You use your tail to slide it closer to you, and lean down to snatch it up. Unfortunately it was a flat object so you couldn’t do a fun tail maneuver and pick it up, boo. You fidget with the card for a moment before walking towards the door and out into the daylight. Even during the day this place managed to look gloomy somehow. In a weird dry sort of way? It made you feel just a tad off, but that was just Kaon for you. Haphazardly, you just kinda toss the keycard into your subspace in favor of retrieving your datapad and using your network of bots, sightings, warnings, and all the other junk on what was effectively a dark web to look for your medic.
It doesn’t take you long to find enough clues to tell you that the arena is in fact the best place to start looking. Now, the only problem was getting there without garnering too much attention. Normally, it’s not too hard to blend into crowds, but if someone looks at you too hard, it’s really easy to tell that you don’t belong. But your excitement at seeing someone you consider a friend wins out over the fear of being noticed. So you happily start the not-too-long expedition to the main arena, which you could see the outline of from the lobby of this motel.