Work Text:
Puddles of sweat like bullets on her forehead, twice the size of the bullets embedded in her arm. She had stopped the bleeding for now but needed a syringe or a MEDKIT asap before she was spotted by passing enemies. The sun was a wicked one, heating up the dust piling on her face as she ran across the desert. Wearing nothing but black under the baking sun had backfired majorly and in a few yards, she could best the sun itself in a one-on-one measured by temperature.
Wraith ran as far as her short legs could carry, gasping for air to the beat of her heart playing a concert inside the eardrums. Legs were fire, wounds were acid and her head was floating in the sky as she B-lined for her objective. The smart device in her pocket was patted over and held close, afraid it would fall out and sink into the earth or rust away the moment she dropped it. Like an empty wine glass, the banner collector weighed nothing but it was as if she held the world on her shoulders - her world, her teammates.
She wanted to see them.
The squad had spread out after dropping, like usual, to gear up with loot. They smiled to each other across RUNOFF after emerging victorious from their first team-fight only to encountered another party. Third-partying people this early in the game was common knowledge to be quite rude yet did not stop the enemies from mazing the place down. It left no survivors and attracted more attention to the scene.
"I'll cover you!" Wraith shouted as her teammates fell back to patch themselves up.
In the blink of an eye RUNOFF was piling up with more and more death-boxes and Wraith decided it was wise to fall back as well before becoming one of them. Reloading whilst sandwiched did not seem to be on her to-do list this Apex season, nor anything she wanted to experience.
"I’ve been down, friends!" She heard Pathfinder shout over their shared communication radio.
"What!"
"It seems like I’m being executed, go without me!"
Quickly swiping up the mini-map, seated in her hiding spot, she could see where Pathfinder was incapacitated. It was not far away, maybe she could intervene? Maybe mow down whoever the person was and resurrect in time.
"Shit, my time has come."
Another red dot appeared on screen when Pathfinder’s position-indicator had turned into a green triangle. Wraith cursed breathless and finally pulled up the whole map. Between clenched teeth and shaking hands, Wraith attempted to draw out the shortest route to her teammate. Even though she had played in the Apex arena many times before, she could never distinguish the map orientation and the field apart - it was one or the other.
"Hang in there Bloodhound, I’m coming right now!"
"Don't bother. There's too many - she will finish me soon."
"Hound, please! Just crawl over here and I can meet you halfway."
"Don’t move!"
Bloodhound howled so loud there was a buzzing residue on the radio. She had never heard The Hunter yell or show any signs of anger - but there was this small tint in Their voice. It was enough to scare Wraith back in her seat, jolting an elbow into the barrel she was clutched behind.
"It's up to you now, felagi fighter (companion). I will see you on the victory screen."
Loudly the crackle of a rapid machine gun interrupted the call, initially killing the coms. Wraith sat in deafening silence under her staircase, the creeping of bullet rain would occasionally fire off in the distance. As many times as her heart hit her throat was the number of times she wanted to bolt out into the open and fight. She felt furious enough to punch everything in sight yet scared enough to freeze in her seat - seeing headlights driving down Route 66 towards her. Nails dug deeply into the palms clamped around her Wingman, chilled metal soaking up the cold sweat she secreted.
The whispering voices she heard every day would tug tightly on her leash. They murmured warnings about what would happen if she stepped out the door at this moment. So she stayed and listened to them, listened to Bloodhound and did not move. Any sliding of muscle fiber was expected to be punished with a bullet to the head.
She wanted to see them.
She wanted Pathfinder’s funny remarks and quirky jokes. She wanted his laughing and simulated snorting to fill the radio embedded in her ear. She wanted BloodHound to give her advice and tell her stories, click Their tongue and hiss at unfortunate happenings the team might encounter. “Unlucky” They would say, “Ping one more Mozambique” They would groan. She wanted the obnoxious heavy breathing, the beast mode sneaking up behind her and the sound of a Zipline going off every ten seconds.
Anything.
She needed anything but her own voice echoing, screaming and dying in her head. She had traveled with her squad for so long the thought of being alone again was nearly forgotten. The breathtaking ringing in her ears from sleepless nights - weeks - years was suffocating her. Neverending hours of uninterrupted banshee screeching finally turned into tomorrow. She wanted to see tomorrow and she wanted it with them. Like missing a limb, like missing a second soul, pair of eyes and ears or your pants when you’re outside - the spot by her side felt empty. Her irrational and rational brain fought each other about the matter, banging pans and pots to shake her entire being. The human brain and the screaming monkey tearing at the wheel.
"G-guys?"
Her voice dry over the radio received nothing in return but the dark void itself. Both her teammates banner could be seen on the mini-map so there would be no reason to call out to dead bodies.
"Hel--Hello?"
Still nothing, not even gunfire.
Wraith licked cracking lips and holstered her Wingman. Her legs almost collapsed from the sudden movement out of the building, still functional after sitting for so long, still running like an Olympic athlete.
The first banner was close by, surrounded by boxes and looting foes, oblivious to the rest of the arena. With the explosive anaerobic powers Wraith possessed she slid in, grabbed the banner and opened a rift in the void to escape. An unlucky heavy bullet had hit her shoulder and upper back, thanks to the bulletproof vest surrounding her torso it knocked The Skirmisher into the void rather than piercing her straight through. She faded far away and into cover.
Ducking in between a few misplaced rocks was crucial for letting the pursuing footsteps pass right on, giving Wraith time to catch her breath. The back of her throat was burning, her saliva had an acidic scent to it and peeled the skin around her uvula. Quickly cupping her mouth and tilting her head to the sky kept the urge to vomit down where it belonged. The heavy panting was held to a minimum as she barely managed to patch her wound up with a syringe. The needle pierced the skin like butter and dug around in the vein, vibrating hands was really not the optimal condition to operate sharp objects into your flesh.
“Fuck...”
Emptying the entire syringe managed to stop the bleeding but did not heal her completely up as a MEDKIT would. It left a dark bruise the size of Dakota but otherwise painless. Nine squads remaining in the battle and she was one of them.
The collector device she had unconsciously gripped in her hand was lined with dried blood and had formed an outline in the skin. The screen said “BLOODHOUND” in bold letters along with a portrait of Them. It made The Skirmisher bloom with a smile as she kept it close to her chest. There really was no one there to give her advice anymore.
Pathfinder was not far out, tucked away in a building by the river. Two minutes remained on the clock before her robotic Scout would disappear completely - an impossible thought, a preventable outcome if she could just touch his death-box. Just a small love tap - her device against the surface was all she asked. Wraith was never one to pray like The Tracker. Bloodhound would often invite her to say a few words of reassurance before heading into battle. Not to any specific god, not Their Allfather but to herself and the power she possessed.
“You hold the outcome and the capability. Let us pray you will have the right mindset at the right time.” They had said with fingers braided together. She cannot say the act was repulsive at this moment as she crawled under the crossfire of shallow water.
One minute remaining.
Wraith crawled as fast as she could, always sliding downhill and close to walls if she could - something Pathfinder always reminded her off. Being independent of her void abilities was a favored skill, seeing as they were not always available. All skills were good skills, patience being the most important, The Scout would often sing. If she had the chance of using nothing but her bare fists she should take it with a smile. Every bullet counts, every movement and momentum an extra achievement when they stood on the victory podium. If only she could punch like a truck the way he did.
“You're being aimed at.”
The voices in her head alerted her of unwanted attention, a sniper shot pierced the air next to her head and hit the ground behind her. There was no other choice than to take further cover, closing the distance at record time. They were guarding the death-box, those bastards.
Thirty seconds remaining.
The sniper loomed on guard with the gun barrel poking out the window - unaware of the shadow which had found another entrance in. And there she found it, his death-box bathing in the sunlight peeking through the cracks of the wooden ceiling. It had his robotic eye smiling at the camera next to his name in bold letters. The surface was reflective and seemingly untouched.
Get the banner.
Kill the sniper.
Wraith did not know how much time the fight would take if she decided to engage. The banner or the kill, the pussy choice or the power choice. As she stepped on old floorboard which filled the silence with tinnitus inducing creaking it locked her choice into a superposition. A magnified scope was quick to rotate towards The Skirmisher and she saw the checkboxes hover over her vision.
The kill or the banner.
The kill or the banner.
The banner.
Wraith slid to the ground and aimed her Wingman at the scope staring at her with interest. A shot to the base of the rifle averted the bullet trajectory to fly into the ceiling and another one into the door behind her. She took another shot, a heavy bullet landing critical damage into the stomach of the enemy. No armor, no vest, just red confetti and screaming.
“ENEMY ON ME!” The player yelled as she tapped her device against Pathfinder’s death-box. His banner was slowly being uploaded and sang a cheery note upon completion, it was all she needed, it was all she wanted. She had them both in her hand and she could run.
But she did not. The paralyzing fear from earlier had been consumed by anger, wrath upon the outcome and the timeline she had ended up in. The trigger finger itched against the revolver once more, a steady grip and a deep inhale fixed her on a new mission.
Finish the kill.
There was no more room for shaking or cowering in a corner anymore. Only one person could leave this room alive and she would make sure it was the right one. Wraith received a spray of light ammo across her body, hurting like a bitch did not stop her from landing two headshots and a finishing punch to knock the sniper down. A clean death, a quick death, just like her teammates received. Wraith reloaded one last time, clutching her wounds after her gun was full. People were coming, she needed to be quick.
“Tell them I'm on my way.”
A perfect heavy pierced the space between The Sniper´s eyes, leaving them limp on the ground before a death-box spawned where their corps should have been. Taking nothing but a MEDKIT from the box sent The Skirmisher on her merry way. She could hear footsteps approaching the building as she faded into the void for a faster escape. The desert seemed to be her element as it was the place she naturally fell back to. The zone was estimated to land somewhere around the swamp area so she felt safe when she approached looted buildings. No one would bother her here.
“Punching a tunnel.”
A rift was opened inside the small town. In the void she saw nothing but strains of light and faces smirking in the corner of her eye, shadows of herself stepping in and out of the void and disappearing again. Her breathing was localized and loud as if she was breathing into her own ear or wearing a helmet. The BUNKER was visible with the turn of a head. Distracted by her surroundings she stumbled in pain out of the portal in front of the respawn beacon. Floating in between dimensions always did something to her, becoming lighter or more refreshed each time she entered. The sensation of having a body would turn off at some point without her realizing and all the pain she was in would instantly flow back upon exit.
Wraith gasped in the sudden agony that had returned, pressing down over her stomach as she collapsed onto her side. Each bullet wound stung like a beehive to the point where she could count each bullet by feel alone. The soreness had tightened the fibers going down her legs, leaving them immobile whilst she shimmied closer to the beacon. The Banner Collector was whipped out and held ready as she army crawled - her body was merely going into shock. She could do it, just a few more inches.
The Device was forcibly shoved into an entrance as the data was uploaded. For six excruciating seconds Wraith held the device in place, seeing as the entrance was just a tad too high from where she lied on the ground it numbed her arm. A sweet ding released her from tearing a tendon and she was free to crawl back into the portal and into cover. The engines of the respawn plane were the last thing The Skirmisher heard before going back into the void. The shadows of her were less frequent now but in the distance, as she traveled, there was a silhouette embracing an invisible entity.
Another painful gasp upon exist threw her to the floor. In a few seconds, her teammates would exit the same portal she did and everything would be okay. It had to be okay, there's no way the respawn system would fail now. As she crawled over to lean on the closest wall it struck her: Wraith had actually never used the respawn beacon. It was a function advertised when the Apex Games was announced but she never knew how the technology worked. It just had to work somehow.
She sat up panting and kept the pressure down on wounds that might want to open up. Her head was spellbound to the hole in time and space, however, the one floating on the other side of the room. With her breath held tight and the anticipation at a peek, Wraith broke down crying. Two familiar faces came rushing out, one after another into the building. They were alive, both of them alive and moving. Wraith eyes began fogging over when Bloodhound rushed to her side, Pathfinder sprinting out the door. Wraith could barely see shapes at this point as gentle hands hastily pulled out the MEDKIT forgotten in her backpack.
“Hound…”
“Shh, elskan. I’ve got you.”
“Marvin… He--”
“--Is looting the area. It’s okay. We saw everything and you did well.”
The Hunter pulled the large syringe out of the MEDKIT and quickly stabbed it into the withering body. Nanotechnology was pumped into her veins and swam under her skin once again, ejecting bullets out and repairing broken tissue completely this time. A few seconds of Wraith groaning in the discomfort and sobbing in Bloodhound’s embrace was enough. The Hunter held around her tightly when the healing had finished its job, stopping her from hyperventilating with a stuffy nose.
“Shh-- it’s okay, I'm here. You’re not alone, you’re not alone.”
She clutched Their back, digging nails into the thick jacket as she was kissed by the black feathers on the hood. It radiated heat soaked up from the sun and was dusty to the touch. Once she tamed her whimpering sobs and cleared her airway from snot she could faintly smell the desert on The Hunter’s clothes. The gentle hum of Their gas mask filter was cool pressed against her forehead and there was no more pain, only an embrace.
“I’m not crying, by the way, I'm just allergic to assholes who overextend.”
The raspy remark had Bloodhound turn Their head to look at the swollen redness around her dark eyes. They glimmered like the turning of a gem and matched the trail of snot running down from her nose. Bloodhound ran a thumb over the mucus and wiped it on Their own pants.
“Of course you are.”