A path converges
Pathfinder had never been in an establishment such as this because he never had a need to enter until now. The bar known as Knickers was a seedy little place in the outskirts of Angel City filled with mean looking mercenaries and skimpily clad waiters and waitresses wearing only underwear (hence the name Knickers). Ordinarily, a corporation would never publicly sponsor a place such as this, but then again the Apex Games was no ordinary event and the contestants that typically joined were rarely the type to care about luxury and sanitation. Pathfinder strode in and surveyed the drunk and angry people, a strange creature in foreign lands. Making friends was going to be a bit more difficult here.
Pathfinder wouldn't be in a bar were it not for the next match of the Apex Games, which required squads of three. By this point in time, there had been many meet-and-greets with the other legends who had passed the preliminaries, giving everyone ample time to establish alliances and forge bonds. Even if the alliance was only for the Apex Games, the audience ate it up like cake. Pathfinder's attempts at making a team had so far been fruitless, and so he was here on his last shot to progress and remain in the games. He stared at the remaining legends interacting with each other, drinking, laughing, smiling. These were the survivors that barely lived, the last pick in the sports team, the bottom of the barrel.
He hated to think what that made him.
Still, Pathfinder must do his best. He went up to the competitors and contestants and greeted them with a smiley face on his chest and enthusiasm in his movements. It went about as well as he could expect. That is, they all told him to shove off in less than polite language. One woman—a lovely young lady with golden curls and golden teeth—was ever so kind in her refusal, dumping her expensive cocktail all over his chassis. Pathfinder did not know if she knew his components were air-tight and waterproof, but he liked to think it was a compliment. His sensors told him that the drink would be delicious if he had taste buds, or a tongue, or a mouth for that matter.
He made his way over to the bar and politely asked the curly haired bartender for something to clean himself. He turned his head and found himself glancing at a young woman with deathly pale skin and milky blue eyes. Unlike literally everybody else in the bar, she seemed to be truly alone and not waiting for someone else (Pathfinder had made that mistake earlier tonight). He enthusiastically waved in her direction. She turned from her drink to him. Her eyes seemed to be concentrating on the grapple extending from his left arm.
"Who are you supposed to be?" She asked.
Finally, a person who talked back without insulting him. At least, he thinks she's not insulting him. "I'm MRVN, a Mobile Robotics Versatile eNtity Automated Assistant, but you can call me Pathfinder, friend."
"Call me Wraith. And don't call me friend unless you want that metal to remain spotless." She raised her knife threateningly.
"Easy, easy now," the bartender said, flashing his pearly whites. "No need for fights here. Well, not unless you're fighting for my autograph," he winked.
"Just make me a drink," Wraith snapped. "And one for the robot too."
"That's me," Pathfinder said excitedly. Oh boy, he was definitely making friends now.
"One Flying Fuck, coming up." The bartender turned to Pathfinder and tilted his head. "And uh…OK, how do I do this…can you…even drink?"
"I'll have what she is having, the drink that is." He had to make sure his meaning was clear.
The bartender seemed surprised, but Wraith just shook her hand in front of her face. "I'll pay for it."
"In that case, how 'bout I do a little show for you two? You into magic tricks?" He winked at Wraith.
"No."
"I am!" Pathfinder happily clapped his hands. "I like magic tricks."
"Oh. Uh….w-well just watch me, OK?" And he proceeded to do a variety of tricks, pouring the two drinks into metal shakers and sealing them. They fly above his head, behind his back, a simple juggling act that still seemed to mesmerize anyway. He unsealed one, and threw the lid above his head, catching the falling liquid with the base. A few other patrons began to watch. "And now, for my final trick, I will need an assistant? Perhaps from the lovely lady in front of me."
Though Wraith rolled her eyes, a small smile was barely suppressed.
"Whatever you do, don't take your eyes off these shakers, OK? On three. One…two…three!"
He threw them above and he disappeared in a trail of light. Pathfinder stared as the shakers fell back down, ready to catch them when suddenly two hands grab the drinks from behind him. The bartender had reemerged from behind them, taking a seat between Pathfinder and Wraith. His grin was disarmingly charming, and the small crowd clapped. Even Wraith seemed impressed.
"Don't think I introduced myself," he said, putting the shakers down on the bar counter. He leaned his arm in an overly casual pose. "The name's Elliott, but you can call me Mirage. I also respond to champion, gorgeous, sexy, and handsome."
Wraith smiled wryly. "My drinks?"
"For you, on the house," he grinned. "Yo, bartender. Get us some cocktail glasses."
The light clone of Mirage reappeared behind the counter, placing the two cocktail glasses down and giving another wink before disappearing. As Mirage poured the drinks, Wraith stared at the empty spot where the clone stood.
"Not gonna brag but I used to work here. Saw all the best legends come past by here and I like to think I learned a thing or two from them. So," he slid the drink to her, "fancy teaming up with a champion such as myself?"
"As if you will be the champion," Wraith scoffed, quietly sipping her drink.
Pathfinder grabbed his own and sniffed it. His olfaction systems determined the drink was sweet but with a high alcohol content. What was it about humans and numbing their brains for fun? Wasn't life itself fun? In an attempt to mimic Wraith, he poured the drink on himself, soiling his body once again.
Mirage and Wraith stared. A bubble of noise of escaped Wraith's mouth, and soon she's giggling. Mirage laughed too, shaking his head incredulously.
It wasn't the reaction Pathfinder expected, but that didn't mean it was a bad reaction. Giggles and laughter usually meant friendship, and friendship meant friends, and friends meant potential allies. This might be his team.
"Are you OK, bro?" Mirage said, handing Pathfinder a towel from behind the counter.
"I am fine, friend, and thank you for the towel." Something pulsed within Pathfinder's systems and before he could stop to compute his words, he added, "I guess I don't give a flying fuck, in more ways than one."
Wraith snorted loudly, which elicited more giggles from Mirage. As Pathfinder carefully cleaned himself up, Mirage turned to Wraith. "I can't believe you've got your own robot."
"He's not my robot," Wraith said.
"He's not? Then what's he doing here?"
"I am also a contestant in the Apex Games, just like you two," Pathfinder said. "I beat the preliminaries, but I do not yet have a squad for the first match."
"W-wait a second, wait a second. Don't tell me…you're the robot that killed Red Alert?!" Mirage asked.
Wraith turned to Mirage. "Who's Red Alert?"
"O-Only the 62nd champion of the Apex Games. He was a legendary mercenary with an outstanding bounty before he entered. Rumours said he only joined the Apex Games to hide from the cops. He was the only winner of the Apex Games to never even get a single scratch on himself. After his win, he disappeared for decades and only just showed up a few months ago to sign up for the games again. Soon as it was official that he was a legend, everybody was betting on him to win. Like…everybody! Me, my mom, my neighbour Jack—"
"So you killed this...Red Alert?" Wraith asked Pathfinder.
"Oh yes, I did, and it was very fun. He was such a nice man, until I killed him that is."
"That's prepo-prespo-prepustro…that's ridiculous!" Mirage stuttered. "I was expecting some super tough simulacrum with like chainsaw arms, but it's just a MRVN with a grappling hook?"
"Don't judge by appearances," Wraith said. "Sometimes the biggest threats are the unassuming ones." Her eyes were on Mirage, but Pathfinder suspected her words were directed at him.
"I am not a threat to you, unless you are my enemy," Pathfinder said.
Wraith chuckled while Mirage rolled his eyes, a smile peeking from his lips. For the life of him, Pathfinder could not remember chatting to anyone so casually like this. It was warm and cosy like a perfectly attuned charging station. He had a good feeling about these two. They would make good friends and, even better, good allies.
"Since we seem to be getting along swimmingly—that means 'good' by the way—why don't the three of us join together as a squad?"
Mirage blinked rapidly, then rubbed his head sheepishly. A slow blush crept up his cheeks. "Y-yeah I don't know. I just met you, and I don't know what the hell your game's all about. I mean, why are you in the Games in the first place?"
"Why are you?" Pathfinder asked.
Mirage spluttered. "I-I asked first. But fine, since you're so curious, I am here to win and get famous. I mean, I've already got plenty of adoring fans just begging to spend some time with me."
"No you don't," a guy with a man thong and a tray said as he strutted pass.
"Thanks, Rob, totally asked for your opinion there."
Rob gave Mirage the middle finger as he continued forward. Mirage rubbed his face with one hand, quickly springing back with an ill-suited smile. "He's just bitter I quit. And anyway, you know how it is, most people here want fame or money."
"Not me," Wraith said.
"Not me either," Pathfinder said.
"Well then what are you guys here for anyway?"
"I am here to find my creator. I do not know what he looks like or what his name is, but I am certain I will find him."
"Well, there's a lot to unpack there. Let's forget about the fact you don't have a clue what your creator looks like, how are you so certain you'll find him?"
For once, Pathfinder was without words. A question mark emoji appeared on his chest and lingered there for some time. How did he know? He'd been so certain that he will remember who his creator was through his journey that he never stopped to consider why he was so confident he will get the answer. It was just one of those things he knew on an innate level, just like he knew he could handle a gun competently.
"I just…do," he murmured. Pathfinder's surprised at the strange, soft tone his voice took; a disquieted, quiet voice that sounded far too human and very un-MRVN-like. He glanced down and saw that a sad emoji appeared on his chest. He banged his fist at it and it sprung back to happy. A wave of joy overwhelmed his systems.
Wraith watched curiously, her eyes alight with a small flickering flame. "You're just like me," she said. "You're looking for answers."
Mirage and Pathfinder turn to her. Realising that she brought attention to herself, Wraith took another swig of her drink before speaking.
"I'm in this competition to find my own answers. There are some underground facilities for the IMC scattered all around the Apex Games arenas. I plan to find them. I'll get my answers there." She smiled at Pathfinder. "I've a feeling you'll find your answers there too. If you'll join me, that is."
"Does that mean…?"
"You need a squad, count me in. Provided, of course, that you help me along the way. Think you can use that grapple of yours to get us where we need to go?"
Pathfinder's joy was immeasurable. "Grapples and ziplines for everybody to use. This will be so much fun!"
"H-hold on, hold on, you want to team up with the robot?" Mirage asked incredulously.
Wraith shrugged. "A bit of extra mobility won't hurt. Besides, I don't think Pathfinder here will be any trouble."
Her milky blue eyes stared into Pathfinder's lens and he felt an odd sense of foreboding in her words, as if she had seen the future and already knew exactly who he was and what he was and what he wanted.
Mirage had crossed his arms, glancing warily between Wraith and Pathfinder. Wraith smiled knowingly in his direction. "Oh no, don't give me that look. Please don't give me that look."
"From what I'm hearing, it sounds like you need a squad as well," Wraith suggested.
Mirage made something in between a squeak and a groan. He rubbed the back of his head. "N-no I don't…well, maybe I do…OK fine, I need a squad." He glanced at Wraith. "You're not uh…suggesting what I think you're suggesting, right?"
"Well, it depends. Do you want to win?"
"A-absolutely."
"Will you do what I tell you to do?"
"Yes, m-ma'am. Should I call you ma'am? Is that sexist?"
"It's Wraith," she said. "Do you want to be a champion?"
"Of course!"
"Then you're in. Congratulations, Mirage."
In a flurry of half-attempted hand motions, Mirage finally extended his hand out to Wraith to shake. She glanced down at the hand, then up at his face, then continued to sip her drink. Mirage sighed, leaving the hand hanging in the air. Pathfinder saw this and with a gentle curiosity, gave a high-five to the lingering hand.
"Down low, too slow?" Pathfinder asked.
Mirage chuckled lightly, activating his clone, who proceeded to do an elaborate hand-shaking ritual with him before vanishing in a cloud of sparks and light. "Too slow for you, teammate."
Teammate. It was a funny word that nevertheless spread chills through Pathfinder's circuits. The three of them chat by the bar, swapping meaningless stories that bared no true emotion behind it until the final call came. As they leave the bar, Pathfinder trailing behind Mirage and Wraith, he heard bits and snippets of their conversation. Hushed gossip about him and his robotic nature and how strange it must be for Pathfinder to even be in the Games.
"I'm just saying," Mirage whispered, mischief coursing in his veins, "doesn't the bot spook you a little bit?"
And Wraith laughed for what must be the hundredth time already, revealing in her smiles her true, gentler nature. "A little bit," she admitted.
If Pathfinder was a human he might be hurt about the whispers being said when they think he could not hear. As a robot however he was glad that his new friends and teammates ( what a wonderful word, teammates, Pathfinder thought) were getting along. If being ridiculed meant that his friends got closer, then he could suffer ridicule for a hundred years.
If you love Pathfinder half as much as I do and wanna write, PLEASE do. I will love you for eternity if you make Pathfinder fanfiction of any kind. He is best robot, best boy, and best character.