[The tunnels connecting the trenches aren't bad, or at least that's what Prompto tells himself. Some are big enough that he only feels the creeping discomfort as just that; he can ignore that the narrow spaces are too dark, air too still and space too cramped, even if he feels like the walls are about to fold in on him. He's dealt with worse, after all.

Even so, when faced by a space so small that the only way to squeeze through is by crawling on his stomach, he balks.]

So, uh, is it absolutely necessary to go this way?

[He keeps stealing glances at the Regency soldiers when they reappear, even if he gets called out for it. He can't help it.]

Think there's a deal with the masks? Besides creep factor, I mean.

[Prompto spends more than a little time watching other people's repairs, looking to them for guidance; he certainly isn't practiced at working with radios and will readily ask what someone is doing. It might be awkward or shy, but he is really, genuinely trying not to fuck this up.

And, maybe surprisingly, he picks up the basics quickly enough, settling into twisting bits of metal into passable shapes or trying to persuade his jury-rigged mess to stay screwed to a board. He isn't half bad at coming up with makeshift parts, which he'll readily pass on with a tentative smile.]

Um, here. Might need this?

[It's a little disturbing how well transporting the radio equipment goes, but hey, Prompto has never been one to refuse even the tiniest bit of good fortune. The enemy's attention mostly seems pointed elsewhere—to anyone from Group 1 helping Group 2, maybe—but he's still pretty hesitant when it comes to their sneakier moments.]

Think we're good to go? [It's half whispered, only loud enough to make sure he's heard.

Hopefully this isn't when the Regency fucks everything up. Or maybe it is. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯]

[Do your worst. Or your best. Either/or.]