[ He hums quietly, shallowly, his aching throat too inflamed to allow for any sounds from deep within his chest. He's wondered before if he could pass it off as that, as a strange but ultimately harmless tattoo, but even in the crown city, he'd been too worried about it being recognized for what it was. What if someone identified him as a product of the Empire when he was just a kid?

No, his parents were right to hide it, and he was right to go along with it. It...it would have only led to more questions, and...

His head dips in a nod. ]

...Wish it was. It's...who I am. These numbers...they're mine. It's how the Niffs know which of their, um...units I was.

[ It was the only name he'd been given at birth. It wasn't until he was adopted that he was given the name Prompto. ]

I don't remember ever being there. They...got me out when I was just a baby. [ Why him, he still doesn't know — but that's an existential crisis for another day. ] But I still had this mark. I knew it meant I was different, that I didn't belong, so I've just...always kept it hidden.

[ It was just easier that way. ]