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“Jackpot! Don’t mind if I do-“
“Back off.”
“But, guys- I’m a legend in this-“
“Legends don’t choke under pressure. That clears things up: this is mine.”
“Heh, yours? If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be laying down on the job!”
“I believe with ten kills, the loot should be mine.”
“Ehh, that’s a made-up number.”
“Right- so I think we’re all in agreement that-“
“They know where you are.”
“You’ve been spotted.”
“Grenade!”
Sinking back through the portal, Wraith is spat back outside the shack, just in time to see the shockwave travel across the water, smoke pouring from the building as three figures step inside.
Working nearly on autopilot, she aims the Triple Take rifle, eyes glowing with a still, calm, white rage as the voices whispering guidance to her. With deadly accuracy, the squad that killed her own falls.
It would seem as though arguing over loot is never a smart use of time.
The second the threat has passed, Wraith trips over herself getting back inside the wooden structure, desperate for any sign that the inevitable didn’t happen.
She pays no mind to the lifeless corpses of her enemies as she steps over them - the voices deep in her mind murmur their aliases to her anyway: Gibraltar, Lifeline, Bloodhound - instead, the only thing she can acknowledge is the guilty lump that’s formed in her throat and left her sick to her stomach; this is the Apex Game, this is always how it ends, so why is she so bothered? She’s angry, not only at her squad’s ambushers, but also herself, for not saving her teammates. Her eyes are resting on Pathfinder - the robot was always so enthusiastic, so helpful, only here to try and find the answers they longed for.
It didn’t matter here, though. Their metal frame has not a spark running through it, left slumped against the wall.
There’s a bubble of panic rising in her chest, and Wraith is unsure as to whether or not she can handle looking down. Her limbs feel weak, her entire being suddenly numb, a desperate attempt to process the situation without taking in the final detail of the massacre.
In an attempt to prevent the hyperventilation she feels coming too fast, she just stops breathing. It’s only for a moment, and any air she inhaled would have gotten caught in her throat anyway as she forces herself to look down at Mirage.
Just a few moments ago they were teasing each other about their rescues, this death match kept light by his humour. Now, he’s simply silent, motionless.
It’s futile - she knows it’s futile - but falling to her knees and checking for a pulse is the first instinct she can follow. With trembling hands, she searches for a pulse, a breath, any sign of life, but there is none.
She stops, both her hands curled around just one of his. She slumps back, no longer leaning over him, staring blankly at his face.
Her mind is numb, but she still finds herself asking what did he fight for?
That’s what his dumb, overdramatic speech was about, just before she cut him off - just before it all went wrong. He’d spoken about what Pathfinder fought for, he’d spoken about what he presumed she fought for, but he hadn’t mentioned what he fought for.
Huh. Funny. Ironic, considering the proud reputation he’d built himself.
Wraith takes a deep breath, stealing her nerves, meekly hoping the cameras hidden around hadn’t focused too much on her. She knew they did, though. The people watching the Apex Games love drama, and what’s more dramatic than five deaths in rapid succession followed by a near-breakdown?
She’s nervous to flip his wrist over - what if something went wrong? What if there’s no respawn available? - but her fears are unfounded, and there it is in bold text on the screen strapped to Mirage’s wrist:
RESPAWN AVAILABLE
The hesitation to leave his body is forcibly shoved away as she instead grabs his and Pathfinder’s banners, ripping open a portal to the nearest respawn beacon.
The effort required almost makes her throw up, and she sways on her feet for a moment as she stares into the void. Swallowing thickly, ignoring the dull ache in her skull, she stumbles through the tear in the fabric of this reality.
Shadows flash behind her eyelids as she tumbles out the other side, keeling over, her body thumping against the ground. Sweat beads her forehead and her breathing is ragged. Her head is pounding. A scratch at her lungs forces her to cough, the metallic taste of blood being hacked up into her mouth. She was overexerting her powers, dangerously so. Nevertheless, she grits her teeth, wiping at her bloodied nose with a tightly clenched fist as she forces herself to her feet. She was almost there.
Her stomach churns at the sight of the neon green beacon up ahead. It was a good sign, of course, but situated next to the opening to a cave system and on the edge of the desert, it was so open, so unguarded, and she was alone - if the voices failed her now, not only would she die, but her friends would be lost forever.
Wraith sways slightly as she crouches down, trying to go unnoticed as she plugs the banners in. Her vision is beginning to blur - the strain of using her abilities was catching up - so she closes her eyes, resting her forehead on the respawn beacon, and waits.
Respawning wasn’t an instantaneous occurrence; the bodies would have been collected once the surrounding area had vacated, leaving behind nothing but crates holding their belongings, but the actual process of bringing a participant back to life wouldn’t start unless a squadmate reached a beacon within the allotted time.
And Wraith lost track of how long she waited.
The ship carrying her resurrected teammates wasn’t quiet, though. Anyone in the vicinity would have heard, but right now Wraith didn’t have the strength to do much else but crawl back, slumping against one of the loot bins arranged around the drop point.
“Mirage to the rescue! Well, after being rescued.” At the voice, the interdimensional skirmisher cracks open an eye, coming face to face with a dozen or so decoys designed to offer cover.
“Good.” She murmurs. One of the Mirages catches sight of Wraith, his expression immediately falling. From his spot amongst his doubles, the real one runs forth and slides on his knees towards his weakened teammate.
“Hey, hey, hey, what happen? Are you okay?” He questions, worry seeping into his quick words, his usual bravado vanishing in an instant. One of his arms had slipped around her waist, his other hand resting on the side of her face, angling her to look at him.
“I’m fine, just... tired,” Wraith states through gritted teeth, refusing to let her guard down any further. As she pushes herself to her feet, Mirage is there for her to lean on. “What about you? You died.”
“Psh, yeah, thanks for the warning back there, by the way,” He rolls his eyes, referring to the grenade that ended him. His tone clearly indicates that he’s joking, but he recognises his mistake the moment Wraith averts her gaze. He swallows thickly, quickly backtracking. “Hey, uh, sorry, that wasn’t the best time to joke around, but seriously, I’m fine,” He pauses, gauging her reaction. She still doesn’t meet his gaze, but she has relaxed again in his grip. “Though I think I owe you dinner now. Y’know, with you saving my life and all-”
Mirage cuts himself off as Wraith breathes out a laugh, glancing up at him as she cracks a smile. Their eyes lock for a second, and the holographic trickster can’t help the swell of pride he feels at getting his partner to laugh.
“As exciting as this reunion is, we should move before someone finds us.” Pathfinder speaks up, interrupting the moment, though they do mean well. They’ve found a weapon, and the way the robot is positioned suggests they’ve been keeping a lookout while their squadmates talk.
Wraith shrinks a little, leaning into Mirage as she embarrassedly realises she momentarily forgot about their robotic support. Mirage laughs - a little too loudly, a little too forced - as he agrees with Pathfinder, hoping to distract from the way his grand facade slipped away for Wraith so easily.
He doesn’t move from her side though, and she doesn’t make a move to push him away.
As the trio begins to move away, Wraith speaks in a quiet voice, her words meant to be heard only by Mirage. “Earlier you implied I fight for the fortune; that’s not exactly true - at least, it’s not anymore,” He looks at her as her gaze flickers to him and away again. She forces a cough, as if struggling to finish what she has to say. “I think I’ve found something else to fight for.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and for a few moments, neither does Mirage. He almost doesn’t need to. There’s some deeper, unspoken understanding between them, but still, after a few seconds, he quietly speaks up. “Yeah... yeah,” His gaze rests softly on Wraith’s face.
”I think I have, too.”