Chapter Twenty Five

Wraith covered her mouth, dizzy from the toxic fumes. She fought the urge to rid herself of the painful nausea in her gut. She didn't have time to throw up. Her gorge rose all the same as she rushed to the edges of the green smoke.

Barker had crawled behind a crate, leaving a bloodtrail behind him. Her ears were full of his retching as she reached him, and she fought the urge to mute her comms against the echo. So late in the game, it could be suicide.

"Darwyn, how we doing on the Runoff teams?" she rasped, leaning over their light specialist as she aided him in patching his wounds.

The stink of the gas was thick and cloying even here, rising from their clothes and burning her nose. Safely behind goggles, at least her eyes were clear.

"They're coming." was the tense reply, "I don't like this position much anymore."

"Get off the runway." Barker wheezed, spitting to the side as he yanked the cap from a syringe.

Wraith took it from him with nimble fingers, pushing a shield cell into his hands instead. His watery blue eyes met hers, and for a second he looked smaller without the confidence he'd been wearing so self-assuredly since they'd met. She slid the needle into his thigh and looked away.

As the cylinder emptied, a chilling whistling sounded from their right. A familiar creature in Wraith's gut rose in premonition. She couldn't help but peer around the crate and she watched, dismayed, as the artillery shells fell.

"Shit." she breathed, her gaze finding Darwyn as he dashed like a rabbit, zig-zagging between the deadly explosives while they primed.

Get down.

Wraith wavered, drawing back but unable to hide completely, watching as the first wave shook the ground, the blasts deafening. Darwyn disappeared in clouds of black smoke, and Wraith held her breath.

Someone has a shot on you!

Right at the edge of the minefield Bangalore had created, the archer placed an unlucky foot and was blown forward into the wall, crumpling to the ground. Wraith whipped behind the crate again, lips pressing a thin line as the sound of a Devotion sang over the last of the explosions.

Her banner pinged. She was down a squad member.

"Fuck." Barker spat.

Wraith checked her Flatline was loaded and ready to go as she counted in her head to steady her breath. Adrenaline was flooding her veins in preparation. A battle-calm settled over her mind as she breathed.

Gunfire started up where Darwyn had died. The ring halted, mere feet away from her. Three teams. At most, six people stood between her and victory. The timer on her wrist was already counting till the next ring would force them together. Bangalore's artillery wouldn't an option again, if Wraith could help it. She listened to the Devotion kick up, the blast of a shotgun, the growl of something else. Prowler, Hemlok.

She met Barker's eye as he crouched besides her, his goggles wiped mostly clean of blood. Wraith touched her own on reflex, still secure over her eyes.

"How we doing on your cool down timers?" she muttered, gaze drifting as she listened more intently to the fight going down than the man beside her.

"All present and correct."

Her mind swayed as she visualised the space they were about to cross, the abandoned vehicles, the walls that would give them cover.

A death ping from her banner. Her skin itched and burned to be sitting still, but if they could just wait it out, if they could wait until one team was knocked out, or both were left weakened, she could snatch that advantage and secure a swifter win.

Ping.

Wraith drew a breath. The ring counter hit 60 seconds.

"We should move."

Wraith's eyes flickered to the squadmate at her side, his gun ready. But there was a strange calm about him, a familiar calm, and her nerves were marginally soothed. There was no doubt reason Darwyn had taken note of Barker's rise as he too was climbing the leader board rosters.

The best of Legends knew that sliver of calm. The difference between a panicked scrabble and a precise movement.

"With the ring." she whispered back.

A curt, sharp nod.

45.

Wraith's heartbeat picked up. She shifted up onto the balls of her feet where she crouched. Wound like a spring, the knowledge of what was coming was soothing on her tired nerves. She was fighting for her life. That came to her as easily as breathing.

25.

She flexed her fingers, flat against the cooling body of her Flatline. Barker palmed an orb into one hand, bouncing it once in his palm, his expression set.

15.

Wraith shifted her weight to her back foot.

8.

The gunfire erratic, smattering. Someone was losing.

3.

The ring buzzed, like an engine revving.

2.

Barker hefted his sniper in hand.

1.

Wraith pounced.

Like an arrow she led the ring, feet pounding, blood singing with battle. She swerved, putting the first wall between them. A shot rang out but it was wide. They hit the second wall, backs flat against it as Barker drew back his arm and loosed the grenade, hand a blur as he drew out another, larger, glowing. It landed in the centre of fire and sounded it's odd, mechanical cry as it exploded.

Before the voices reached her ears Wraith was firing, her Flatline hungry and loud in her hands. A purple shield cracked in the first clip, before the yelling really started.

"Wraith's still up!"

Lifeline's call was startled and laced with a familiar fear, but Wraith bared her teeth and didn't stop. The Medic was down and out a half-clip later, and when she turned her gun on Bangalore, stepping into the open to keep her crosshairs on the soldier, Barker had already chipped away at her Gold with the hard-hitting sniper rounds.

Wraith drew out an arc star, snapping her hand back to gauge the angle, and was surprised by the jarring flash of pain when it was shot straight out of her fingers. She hissed and drew back, slipping between the worlds as her blood rushed startled through her limbs, making her light-headed. Another sniper crack and then the Havoc Barker had traded out in Runoff, covering her back.

She slammed into the wall and almost dropped the syringe with the blood gushing from her hand. She kept track of the gunfire, stabbing herself harshly with the needle and watching it impatiently drain.

She threw it to release the building tension in her shoulders, gripping her gun again with slippery fingers, reloading.

"The robot is down."

Wraith's head rushed the maths easily. Lifeline, out. Pathfinder down. Two pings, two deaths. Either they were down to one enemy team, a stolen glance at her wrist said no, or-

Of course. Who else.

Wraith clenched her jaw as a flicker of a smile crossed her lips, ready to return the favour for her trip in the sands.

The arc star clipped the soldier's ankles when Wraith risked the corner. Her shields were down but she was in cover.

"Get Pathfinder out." she barked as she move up, slamming behind an old truck, "We don't need him getting help."

She checked her corner, firing towards the soldier's space. With that armour her shield cells would so little time. Time Wraith could ill afford. As she slid another magazine into her rifle, Wraith heard Barker's cry out. The light specialist fell to the ground awkwardly behind cover.

"Refilling shields!" he yelled.

Another sniper shot bit the concrete by his foot and he twisted further back. So someone had high ground. Fuck.

Grenade!

Wraith bit her lip at the ragged burn of the Void as she tumbled into it, losing her footing as the world exploded and jarring her knees as she fell. Her grip slipped but she held on, feeling the gunfire rattling her very core as it warped around her.

Breathing was blinding pain. She'd spent too much time in the Voidstream already today and the sun was barely cresting the horizon, painting this final battle in warm gold. She forced herself to her feet, a long and painful breath in. The ring began moving and she heard Barker moving too. She had nowhere to go but forward.

She threw herself forwards, knowing the crate was too far away, that she wouldn't-

The Void slipped from her fingers as her muscles spasmed, and she grit her teeth as it ached. She just had to get a little further. With all the pain it was hard to keep track of the booming gunfire as she skidded left and right through it.

She slid on her knees to safety, her shields chunked, and tore her pack open for a shield cell. Gunfire outlined her and she pressed herself small as she could and-

Bangalore stepped in front of her as her hands were full, and she threw herself to one side. The unfinished cell fell from her hands and rolled away as she snatched up her Flatline. The shotgun hit her hard enough in the chest to take what was left of her armour, knocking her down. Her wrists burned too much for the Void to help her. She couldn't get an handle on it.

Fuck. This was it, this was it.

As the soldier pumped the barrel back and levelled it again, the echoed crack of a sniper sounded.

Right before Wraith, Bangalore crumpled. She hit the ground hard, clawing at her neck as blood flooded down her chest. Wraith grabbed for the shotgun fast and confirmed the kill. The haunted panic in the soldier's eyes faded as she died.

Wraith turned her face and spat out the bile that rose to her tongue. She dumped the shotgun and reached for the runaway shield cell.

"Bangalore out." she managed to articulate, as her PDA pinged.

Two teams.

Just them and him. Possibly Pathfinder too, if the Trickster had gotten the MRVN unit back on his feet while they dealt with Bangalore.

Silence greeted her ears. She noticed two things at once.

Her wrist showed no markers. And there was a soft humming in the quiet. The hum of a cell.

Wraith was wrong-footed to find that she'd lost him without even registering it. It was like ice, rushing up from her toes to choke her. She clutched her Flatline close to her heaving chest and listened to the pop.

What felt like a long moment of silence followed. The threatening buzz of the ring sounded loud. The water lapped far below, off the edges of the map. Her own breathing sounded loud, unbearably loud. Anxious energy wound like vines up her arms.

She fought the urge to move, listening so intently that the rustle of the breeze made her jump. The timer on her wrist counted down continuously. The ring was about to get real small if nobody moved first.

Where were they?

Mirage, it had to be Mirage. Somehow she knew it couldn't be anyone else, the foreign thought unnerving as it breathed to her across the Void.

The longer the silence ticked on, the heavier her tongue got. The air tasted like smoke, burning its way down her throat and into her lungs. A bruise on her thigh ached irritably. Still she held, still and quiet. Listening. Waiting.

"Think I can win this?"

Wraith sprang over the crate like a jack-in-the-box, Flatline growling out as though on its own. He yelped, fell, and as she slid the empty clip out, he groaned.

"No." she answered crisply, as her eyes found him on the ground.

She slammed the new clip in and levelled the gun.

"You got a Gold?"

The words came out of her mouth before she knew they existed, leaving her unsure they were even hers, and Mirage's expression flickered with pain and confusion as she shook herself and pulled the trigger.

The Victory music was harsh and loud after the quiet, and Wraith dropped the Flatline with a wince. She stumbled over to the nearest wall and bent double, finally emptying the lingering green poison from her system.