Prak'kesh lounged atop his Gray Hornet while Tulnik, his bodyguard, clumsily riffled a deck of cards.

"They're not invincible," Tulnik sulked. "They wear pants now."

"You're not gonna beat a damn Vex at poker!" Prak'kesh exclaimed. "Predicting probability is their whole 'ikigai.'"

"YOU'RE an icky guy," a strange voice boomed.

Prak'kesh dove behind his Sparrow in alarm. Tulnik dropped his cards and drew his Fatebringer.

A massive trio of Titans loomed above them, startled by the commotion. They raised their hands in confusion.

"Didn't hear you lot coming," Prak'kesh said, dusting himself off. Tulnik frowned as the wind blew his cards away.

"Yeah, we're quiet now," the lead Defender said. "Murala realized that, even though they're called St0mp-EE5, you can still sneak around."

"We still stomp though," Murala chimed in, "for fun." The other Titans nodded earnestly.

Prak'kesh pulled out his datapad. "Hunters are in trouble this year. Betting on Titans to win the Games, I presume?"

"Presume you not," the Defender said. "We're betting on the next Titan Vanguard."

Prak'kesh and Tulnik exchanged quizzical glances.

"Big Blue can still kick a hole through the Dreadnaught," the Sunbreaker said. "But his Ghost is, like, super dead." The other Titans bowed their heads.

"So, we're betting on Sloane to get the job," the Defender continued. "I heard her Taken arm punches crazy hard."

Prak'kesh did some quick mental math. "Tempting action, but until he hangs up his pauldrons, I can't make any odds."

"Still better odds than beating a Vex at cards," the Defender japed. "We'll be back, icky guy."