Barricade didn't put much stock in either - he'd survived by sheer willpower and skill, and not much else. No one was 'lucky' enough to survive a war spanning thousands of years, and fate was something idealists spouted. Reality was his domain.

"What else would we be here for?" It was a rhetorical question, and without waiting for Demona, he started off. Once it was sloped enough, he spread one foot out in front of the other, balancing his weight and letting gravity do its work. He slid down at a steady speed, easily cutting through the sand, until he'd just about reached the bottom. All the while he kept an optic out for an entry, but felt little to no disruption under his feet.