Author's Note: First of all, this story is virtually complete. I'll be posting updates regularly until it is done. I'm not sure how many chapters yet, but it will be about 40k words.
There's not a ton of canon for Wraith as a character. She intrigued me, so I took a dive. I filled in a lot of blanks. This starts with the Legends, but quickly involves the Titanfall universe.
I don't want to spoil anything, but I'm not a fucked-up ending guy. I like the way this shook out.
Enjoy.
Wraith stalks into the courtyard, clutching her AR firmly with a scowl on her face. Her squad is pretty hot this week, but they had a couple close calls. The courtyard is small, with some planters on one end. It's walled, but in front of them is a wide opening leading down into almost completely wide open bowl, about a hundred and fifty yards to the bottom. It's typical Olympus fare, lots of lush green grass and bright concrete. Also little cover, making it a killbox, essentially.
Wraith glances up at the flashy, brightly colored scoreboard. They're holding fifth place, out of the twenty that started the match. She feels a flare of heat.
Fifth is good, but nothing beats first.
Bangalore behind you. Only Wraith can hear the voice.
Other times the words would terrify her, but this week, she's team. "What are you thinking?" Wraith asks her without looking.
"Gut tells me that's the final circle, somewhere down there." Bangalore's cool, as always, eyes scanning the field in front of them. Her incredible, curly hair is piled up on her head, close cropped on the sides. Looking perfect, as usual. Her smooth brown skin betrays all the ugliness she's seen.
"Fucking blood bath, then," says Wraith.
"Most likely. We don't want to be the first to move in."
"Boundary's coming up behind us quick."
"What are you two doing?" Mirage jogs up behind them, looking worry-free, as usual. Wraith glances at him. He spent too much time on his hair, as usual. His beard's getting scruffy, though. "Talking strategy without me?"
They both look at him. The 'yes' is unspoken.
"Come on! What am I? A third wheel?"
"What do you want to do, then?" Bangalore asks. "Why don't you send a bunch of your holos down there? I'm sure everyone will fall for it."
"And reveal our position?" Wraith asks.
"No, no, no," says Mirage, "what I do is send them in from over there, then we—"
Behind you! comes the voice. Wraith's eyes go wide.
"Wouldn't think too hard about it." It's Rampart's voice. "Cause you aren't making it that far."
Wraith wheels, shoulders, and starts shooting, but Rampart drops behind the barrier she's already deployed in the corner of the courtyard. The holo-shield erects on top of it and she pops back into view with, you guessed it, a light machine gun.
Run!
Bangalore, smart as usual, shoots a smoke grenade at the barrier, blocking Rampart's vision.
"Jumping," says Wraith. She may not remember where her powers came from, but she knows how to use them. She makes her focus sign and in a second, slips into the Void. The world around her becomes an undulating grayscale panorama of soft light and shadows, the sounds around her echoing and muted, as if underwater. She's invisible and intangible to the others.
She turns only to see Gibraltar advancing on her allies with a Mastiff shotgun. She curses and slips through the concrete wall. She's able to maneuver behind Rampart before she runs out of juice. She releases the sign and slips back into material reality.
Rampart is cursing the fog obstructing her from glorious murder. Regardless, she's firing recklessly into the fray.
Fucking sloppy.
Wraith can't help but agree. She actually has to whistle to get her to turn around, comical surprise on her face. Wraith flicks her wrist, loosing a kunai that finds Rampart's eye socket. Her other eye rolls back, and body and heavy gun clamor to the ground.
"You had to make this messy." The voice comes from an all-too-familiar drone floating over her head. She pulls her P2020 sidearm and wastes it.
To the right!
Right, as always, but too late. The drone's controller is standing twenty feet away, a healthy bead on her with his heavy Sentinel sniper. She goes to move, and Crypto pulls the trigger.
A familiar numbing tingle suffuses her entire body and her vision goes completely white. For a second, she's nowhere, then she's in an electric freefall.
And instead of hitting the ground, she hits her body. Her hair stands on end, her eyes shoot open and she sucks in a deep breath.
She's sitting in the reclining chair in Bay 11. Apex support staff surround her, typing away rapidly at consoles. One of them deigns to attend to her.
"Another ten seconds and you guys would have placed fourth," says the goon. Larry, or something. "Revenant just took out Jax and Wasteland solo."
"Good for fucking him," says Wraith and her inner voices at the same time. She's still feeling link fatigue. She pulls herself up in her chair. She reaches for the uplink pad attached to her temple.
"Let me do—"
She yanks it out, scowling at the tech. "I believe you can take care of the rest."
Wraith stalks out of the bay, looking around. The Legends Platform, so called, is a long, open room centered with dozens of holograms and displays broadcasting camera feeds and data from the ongoing match. She searches out the feed dedicated to squad four. When she finds it, she only sees herself lying on the pavement with an angry red hole in her forehead. The words 'squad nineteen eliminated' flash across the screen repeatedly.
She curls her lip and turns away from the screen, flexing her fist. She decides she's not done fighting for the day.
She sees Bangalore walking out of bay ten, looking worse for the wear as well. She rubs the back of her head. "How'd you go out?"
Wraith just gestures over her shoulder at the screen.
"Ooh," Bangalore says, screwing up her face. "Clean shot, though."
"Yeah, I guess. You?"
"Makoa got me with his Mastiff. I think I yanked it from him when I died, though."
The two turn to see Mirage approaching, casual. He's almost in a good mood. He puts his hands on his hips. The other two stare at him. "What?"
"What's your excuse?" Bangalore asks him.
"Excuse for what? I downed Gibraltar, I was looking for the third when the smoke cleared and revealed Crypto playing Rampart from behind her shield. I…"
He trails off as all three of them glance at a monitor next to them rolling a replay. Crypto indeed appears from the clearing smoke, leveling Rampart's dropped LMG from behind Rampart's barrier. It cuts to Mirage dropping into a comical surprised crouch. Holos of himself appear around him and he makes a desperate run out of the courtyard. Crypto doesn't even use his EMP, he just fills the back of the real Mirage with bullets.
"Wow," says Wraith.
"That's just sad," says Bangalore.
"Well fuck you, too!" Mirage says loudly.
"Aww," says Rampart, "how's tenth plus treating you three?"
They turn to see Rampart standing in front of bay thirty seven across the room, hands on her hips.
They placed fifth, but Rampart's referring to the fact that fifth scarcely pays any better than tenth, which is the lowest scoring position to get any compensation at all.
"You won't be laughing when you guys lose to the zap," says Mirage.
On screen, the constantly shrinking boundary is indeed closing in on Crypto, threatening its electric death. Crypto appears to be issuing a stim to Gibraltar. The huge man finds his feet with seconds to spare, and they begin hustling down into the bowl.
Rampart smirks at them while the manic announcer excitedly narrates the nearing conclusion of the match.
"And he's up! They're headed right for the hot zone, but with no other full squads remaining, they still have a chance to take the match!"
Do the thing. Wraith smirks. She whistles at Rampart, like she did a couple minutes ago.
Rampart frowns in confusion for a second. With luck, another replay pops up.
"But they'll have to do it without their trusty techhead in tow!"
Wraith grins as it shows her whistling at Rampart's back right before expertly offing her with the kunai. Style points, for sure.
Rampart adopts an annoyed look and flips Wraith the bird.
"Whatever," says Bangalore, "if you're looking for us, you can find us on the strip."
"Don't burn those 8 G's too fast!"
"Don't worry," Bangalore shoots back, "some of us know how to save."
Psamathe is the ritziest planet in Syndicate space, its crown jewel. And Malta is the crown jewel of Psamathe, now that the sky-city Olympus has been rendered derelict after the disaster decades ago, and serves only as an arena for the Apex Games. And Manny's is an upscale bar, well-suited to Malta.
Which means it's not really Wraith's kind of place, but the drinks are good.
"Awareness is everything, and you can only look in one direction," says Mirage. He's regaling them with the superiority of his combat style. "So if you make your opponent look the wrong way, even for a second?" He smirks and makes an open gesture as if he's made an inarguable point.
"He's got a point about awareness," says Wraith, taking a sip of her Dionysian Ice.
"Yeah, well it didn't work too well on Crypto earlier," says Bangalore.
Mirage tilts his head as if to suggest it's arguable, then abruptly disappears. Wraith sniffs, shaking her head.
So full of himself.
Wraith nods in agreement.
Bangalore is staring at where he was a second ago. She blinks, and cocks her head.
The real Mirage appears behind her and places down another round of drinks, taking his seat. "Where was I, you know—"
"Did you know he was a holo?" Bangalore asks Wraith, ignoring him.
"Yeah," says Wraith. One of the Whispers, as she thinks of them, had told her.
"Oh, come on, B, don't be sore!" says Mirage. "That's just case in point. And hey, these are on the house!"
"What?" asks Bangalore, clearly annoyed. "Who here likes you enough to give you free drinks? That's like pouring water into a well."
"Well, that's just mean…" Mirage is clearly affronted, but as always, his pride brings him back. He adopts a cocky look and gestures to the bar.
A man there is having a conversation with a bartender with a confounded look on her face. He keeps gesturing his credit chip in front of the reader, but it's reading an error.
"I don't know what's wrong," the man protests, then his looks turns mischievous. "Or maybe I'm just lying."
Abruptly, he and the three drinks he was ostensibly paying for flicker and disappear. The bartender recoils in amazement.
Bangalore turns on Mirage, incredulous. "Asshole, you're going to get us kicked out! This is my favorite bar!"
"Come on, that was sick, right?"
"What's with you? Just to save fifty credits?"
"That guy looked nothing like me."
"That tech looked everything like you, jackass!"
Considering that, his grin fades a bit, he glances around slyly, not at all sly.
Wraith smiles. He's a dummy, but he's been a good friend to her. "Better seal the deal with Cindi quick, Anita."
Bangalore looks at her, then over her shoulder at the bare-shouldered waitress with the waist-length neon lavender hair. Bangalore frowns. "You know she's playing hard to get. I have to play the long game."
"Need a wingman?" Mirage asks.
"Absolutely not."
The heroes of the day are here. Wraith looks, and sees who just walked in. She curses under her breath.
Rampart has her hands in the air, strutting into the bar. "Have no fear, everyone! The heroes of the hour have arrived!"
"Oh, shit!" says someone. "That's Rampart!"
"I trade signatures for compliments," she continues, "if anyone is interested."
"Gibraltar!" another guy shouts. "That was sick how you took down Metalhead!"
"Hey, bruddah!" Gibraltar fist bumps the guy and they blow it up. "How about the next round is on us, huh!"
There are general applause and cheers from the room. Wraith groans in annoyance. She glances at Mirage, and his petulant annoyance at the spectacle is so funny she suppresses a chuckle.
"Crypto!" a girl says, approaching the Legend. Their third had been following along quietly, smirking at the show they were putting on. When she gets his attention, though, she freezes up. She covers her mouth with her tablet for a second. When he waits for a response, it finally pips out of her. "The way you took down Revenant at the end was awesome. I was on the edge of my seat. Can I have your sign?"
"You know if I touch that," he replies, "it becomes illegal."
No way that's true. Wraith has to agree.
The girl stares in wonder. Casually, Crypto raises a finger and installs a swooping signature on her tablet. The girl stares at it and then clutches it to her chest. He carries on.
"We're literally chopped liver," says Bangalore sardonically.
"That's not how 'literally' works," says Wraith.
Bangalore frowns. "Can we just," she makes a gathering gesture to the two of them, "get some positive energy over here?"
"How?" says Mirage. "It's all getting sucked up over there."
"Stop staring," says Wraith, "or they're going to—"
They noticed.
"God damn it!" says Wraith.
"Oh ho ho!" continues Rampart. "I knew we picked the right bar!" The plucky Indian tech maven practically skips in their direction. "But isn't this a little upscale for your salaries?"
Bangalore sighs, exasperated. "Look, are we gonna have to deal with this all night?"
"Of course not!" Gibraltar responds. "Come on, you know it's the winner's duty to take the piss out of everyone else! You!" He booms, pointing at Mirage. He wags a finger. "You got me, didn't you?"
"Not well enough for my fellows' liking, unfortunately."
"Ah, but you didn't give up! Don't you know no illusion fools my man Crypto?"
Crypto stands by the others with his arms crossed and a small smile.
"So what," says Wraith, "you're the cool guy who never says anything?"
Crypto's smile fades. "You saw that back there. Did you see how excited that girl was?"
"Hey," says Rampart, bending all the way over, face close to Bangalore's, who retreats. "Cindi, right?"
"What?" Bangalore stammers. "How did you know that?"
Rampart gestures between herself and Wraith. "You know we squadded last week."
Bangalore shoots Wraith a look.
What the fuck, Rampart!
"Just saying," Rampart continues, "I'm friends with her friend Nirzhe. I could set you up."
The expression on Bangalore's face changes. She considers. "You may sit."
The week's winners sit down at the table.
"Where are those free drinks you promised?" Mirage asks Gibraltar.
Gibraltar frowns. "Unless my eyes deceive me, there are one and a half drinks in front of you."
"Sure, but we've got time! A winner mustn't break his promises!"
And just like that, it's another Sunday night party.
The Apex Games are the most glorified bloodsport on this side of Demeter, and equally exclusive. Every Sunday, billions of viewers stream footage of this week's sixty competitors brutally murdering each other for fame and credits. Well, it's not really murder. They use the Syndicate's extremely proprietary tech to jack into newly cloned synths of themselves, and they murder those. Feels real enough, though.
There's a slowly rotating pool of about a hundred and fifty fighters eligible for the games any given week. At this point, the list of Legends, so called, that Wraith has not personally killed or been killed by is in the single digits. She comes out on top more often than not, though, and she's given the credit due her. She's one of the originals, part of this bloody spectacle since its first season.
It's true, it is tradition for the winners to boast, and to give each other shit for violence mutually inflicted. They get that out of the way, then hoist a few drinks in the air. Aside from the fame and access that being a Legend allots, there are a lot of credits at stake, mostly for the top three teams. And as winners, the three at the table with them will be ineligible for a month. Same for the bottom five. For them, it's called probation. For the winners, it's more like vacation, but some call it procation.
Nothing ends up coming of Mirage's little drink-stealing stunt earlier, probably because they're sharing a table with this week's bona fide Apex Legends. Until, of course, he decides to repeat the stunt for the benefit of the other three. Rampart offers an amused half smile, and Crypto just shakes his head. Gibraltar erupts into laughter. That, and the audacity of it finally bring over a well-dressed man Wraith assumes is a manager.
If you're going to get kicked out, maybe now's a good time to start that fight.
That's a good point. Wraith looks around.
The manager succeeds in intercepting Mirage, still carrying the round of stolen drinks. Mirage is inelegantly attempting to defend himself. Rampart, Bangalore and Gibraltar get up to offer up more defense.
Which leaves just Wraith and Crypto at the table.
Crypto is one of the Legends that has kept almost everything about his past to himself. Not unlike Wraith, except in her case, much of her past she can't remember.
"I can't believe I got baited by your drone," she says.
"You'd be surprised how often it's that simple."
"You know, you're the only Legend in the games whose name I don't know."
"What about Revenant?"
"Okay, so you're the second most suspect."
Crypto smirks, considering her. "Of course I don't blame you for being suspicious, but doesn't it go both ways? You seem to know the value of secrecy."
"Well," says Wraith, "I do, but it's something I'm trying to change."
He doesn't respond, but continues to stare at her. It's starting to annoy her. She thinks about picking a fight with him, but she's learned the best people to fight are either good friends, or people you hate. And Crypto's neither one, yet.
"Renee Blasey," he says suddenly.
Wraith, who had been playing with a plastic grape from a bowl on the table, stops.
"Can't be too common of a name, I imagine," Crypto continues. "It's easy for me to forgive your suspicion, because I confess, I'm suspicious myself. Of course it behooves me to look into the backgrounds of my fellow Legends, that's part of how I win. The tactics, yes. The mindsets, of course. The abilities, without a doubt. But what I find even more interesting…"
Crypto leans forward. Wraith is starting to get uncomfortable. What is he getting at?
"Are the things that are not on, ah, public record, strictly speaking."
"Are you blackmailing me?"
"No, no, nothing like that. I offer it up freely. Only thing I might ask in return, is an explanation, if you're willing."
Wraith drops the grape onto the table and leans forward in her seat as well. His face is level, but she can tell he's nervous. She's being civil, but there's plenty of anger. "Why don't you tell me what you found, then?"
"Well, mostly nothing. And I'm not just talking about Civ Servers, let's be clear. Your name doesn't come up anywhere. I figured it was just an alias, but for some reason I kept digging. Then I found something very interesting."
"What?" She's losing patience.
"I got a hit in an internal IMC database. Renee Blasey. Senior Science Pilot. Dimensional Research. Deceased."
Wraith feels a thrill. That's news to her. She keeps her face level. "Who'd you tell that to?"
"Just you. You should know, I'm very discreet. Helps keep you alive, in my line of work."
"What else?"
"Less than I wanted, but… You were coordinating with IMC's ARES division, on Project Wraith—"
"I worked for Marder?" she finds herself saying.
Crypto freezes, confused.
You gave it away! Wraith curses inwardly.
"You… don't remember." Crypto frowns, considering. "No, to answer your question, you worked under some ghost in the core IMC entity. You were liaising with Marder."
"For what?"
"It never occurred to me that you might not know."
"For what, Crypto?"
"I can't say for sure. The facility was somewhere in the Outlands, but the only one I could tie you to was…"
Wraith's teeth are showing. She waits for the answer.
"The hospital, as they generously refer to it. I've never been to such a facility, but I've heard what they're like."
Wraith's mind flashes back to that day, years ago when she was a helpless, scared, amnesiac prisoner in that 'hospital,' when a version of herself from another dimension had come through a portal into her room, freeing her and changing the course of her life. She'd never seen her since.
"That place was destroyed," says Wraith. She leans back, disappointed. Those were good leads, but didn't tell her what she really wanted to know.
"Good riddance," says Crypto. "But you should know, it wasn't destroyed. It was decommissioned."
Wraith freezes. "What? They demo'd the shit out of that place. Have you seen it? They practically dropped a mountain on it."
"Well, I've not seen it, no, but that's not quite right. I don't know what they did, but I was able to backdoor their system and send out a few pulses. It's been inactive for years, but based on the network structure, the building is still intact, just buried."
"How intact?"
"Almost totally. My running hypothesis, unimportant until this moment, is that they pretended to destroy it but left it there in case they needed it in the future."
Wraith feels a swelling feeling in her chest. One of her biggest regrets is not going back before they destroyed that place, to look for clues about her past. It's the only thing she remembers, where she woke up. There has to be record there of how she ended up where she did.
But now she's realizing it may still be possible.
"You can't tell anyone," says Wraith. "I need you to keep that quiet."
"So the answers I wanted…" He searches her face. "You never had them to begin with…"
"What's all this!" Rampart walks into view with her hands on her hips. "Are you harassing a winner? Leave little Cryppie alone! He only acts dark and treacherous."
Crypto falters, uncharacteristically chagrined. "Cr… Cryppie?"
Wraith doesn't bother addressing Rampart. She almost can't hear her over the voices in her head.
This is it.
We can get in.
There has to be a way.
We have to do it.
This could be the beginning of the end.
It will be dangerous.
We can't ask for help.
We'll have to be cautious.
What if you don't want to know?
Wraith grits her teeth. 'Not now!' she says inwardly.
"Hey," says Bangalore, standing behind her and touching her shoulder. "You alright?"
Rampart is chatting animatedly at Crypto now, but he shoots Wraith a curious glance.
"Yeah," Wraith decides. "Actually, I'm great."
Wraith wakes up in bed, half covered in blankets. At least, she finally decides she's awake after laying for at least a half hour listening to chatter from the Whispers.
This has to be the one.
Solo is the best approach.
The facility is derelict, it should be safe.
We can't assume anything.
Wraith groans, and the Whispers finally become silent for a second. But only a second.
Water. You need water.
'I know,' she says inwardly. She rouses herself and climbs out of bed, pouring herself a glass. She sips for a few minutes in blessed silence. She's in one of the Legend suites, provided on location of the games for participants. Her apartment is in Solace City, Solace.
When she's done she pours herself another glass. When she walks in front of the wardrobe mirror, she sees herself for the first time. She's got a black eye and a few bruises on her face. She squints.
That asshole.
It comes back to her. She'd finally gotten the fight she wanted at the third bar. Metalhead was there, and started talking shit. He's big, almost a foot taller than her, half his face covered in cybernetics, the legacy of his near-death experience. Too slow, though.
He looks worse than you today.
Wraith smiles. It's a rueful smile, though. A hangover is a poor substitute for victory.
Need to sharpen up more before next Sunday.
Wraith grunts. It's true, but it's also not problem number one.
IMC Psychiatric Hospital and Care Facility Delta Nine. Hospital. Care. Fucking bullshit. It's where they dump test subjects whose minds broke under their experimentation. And maybe Wraith is one of those. But if her mind did break, she survived.
And she's still coming for them.
The facility is near King's Canyon, the Apex arena on Solace, just one jump from Psamathe. She cleans herself up, she could get there by noon.
What's it gonna be then? Call Anita?
It has to be solo.
Wraith looks at herself in the mirror. She thinks about Bangalore. Squads are usually assigned by lottery, but if she got to pick, she'd run with Bangalore more often than not. She's been there for Wraith at more than one low point, and vice versa. She's familiar. A comforting presence. A good friend.
It's part of why she can't be there.
Wraith winces as the voices break into a clamor. "Enough!" she says out loud.
It's not just about the danger. It's also about what she might find.
IMC. Senior Science Pilot. It means that before she landed herself in that high-tech asylum, she was one of the ones running the experiments. And she's right to be concerned about that.
And she was working with fucking Marder?
General Marder is the head of the ARES division of IMC. Archeological research. Which, out here, means the securing and attempted exploitation of ancient alien tech. He was the one, behind Typhon. Or no, that's not right: the total destruction of the planet Typhon and the mass loss of life it caused was the better result than what Marder wanted. A weapon that could destroy any planet he wanted. They'd all be under the IMC's thumb right now if it hadn't been for that one kid and his titan and their uncanny last second ploy.
Why would she have had anything to do with him?
Wraith looks at the clock. 9:18. Technically, it's past midday, as Psamathe spins 18 hour days. She got at least eight hours of sleep, though.
There's leftover Elptivyr loaf in the fridge.
Mm. The best part about Psamathe. Wraith's stomach rumbles.
Food, shower, and then back into the game.
Solid plan, until she walks through the autodoor into the living space to see Mirage splayed over her sofa.
Damn it.
She forgot she let him crash at her place. Which is ridiculous, because he has his own place five minutes' walk from here. Guess he just didn't want to wake up alone.
He squints up at her, blinking feebly and making smacking sounds with his tongue.
"You look worse than me," she says.
"Scary thought," he replies. With effort, he brings himself up to a sitting position. "Can I have some water?"
"Help yourself."
"But you're right there to help me."
"Don't be a baby." Wraith opens the fridge and grabs the container of Elptivyr loaf and hands it to the cooking unit. It analyzes it with a series of clicks and beeps, then moves it into the heating chamber and begins applying waves of various types of heat to restore it to ideal eating condition.
"But I'm so good at it… IDA, save me!"
Wraith rolls her eyes as the Syndicate housekeeping bot descends from the ceiling and scans Mirage. He makes sure to look extra pitiful. The IDA glides to the storage unit and emerges a few moments later.
"One liter of electrolyte infused water and a tabule of acetaminophen, Mirage," it intones in its robotic voice.
"You're a lifesaver."
"Not literally. If it gets to that point, I recommend immediate medical extraction."
"Food's up," says the cooking unit.
Wraith collects her meal and grabs a fork from the drawer. She sits in a chair across from Mirage while he sips at his water.
"Looks like a rough one for you," she says, taking a bite of the loaf.
"Wouldn't have been so bad, but that fight you started killed my chances with that chick."
"Trust me, I wish that had worked out, too."
"Oh, come on! You'd rather wake up alone?"
"Now and then, yeah."
"Come on! Yesterday was our match! Sure, we lost, but we got paid at least. Poor Bloodhunter placed fourteenth. You know what that does to him."
Wraith snorts. It's true, the guy considers placing lower than tenth a moral failing.
"Maybe we should ring B. She's probably up already. Maybe we could—"
"Elliot," interrupts Wraith.
He gives her his best innocent, surprised expression.
When she first met Mirage, he'd stricken her as a shallow nimwit. And he is, a lot of the time. But what she'd eventually learned is how much he cares about his friends, loathe as he is to reveal his inner sensitivity. That meant a lot to Wraith. But he can be so… irresponsible.
"You were hitting on me again, last night."
He makes an oh, what's the big deal face. "Come on, Renee, I was drunk. I hit on everybody. Every woman," he clarifies.
"Well, I'm not every woman, I'm your friend. We've talked about this."
"But it doesn't mean anything—"
"Yes," says Wraith, "it does. I know it's your thing. I don't have a problem with that. But it's not my thing. I don't do… one night stands, or whatever."
"Maybe you should try it."
Seriously?!
"What the hell is wrong with you? I—"
"Not," he frowns, waiving his hand, "not with me. I'm just saying. When I met you, I was like yeesh, someone's guarded. Not," he waives his hand again, nervous at the reaction he's eliciting, "not in a bad way or anything, I just… You know…" He struggles. He's not the best with words. He gives up. "I'd just hate to see you lonely."
Wraith feels a pulse in her chest. She stares at him, frustrated and annoyed. And sad. Because he's not wrong. She is lonely. But she's also a mess. A broken mess, with a past that might be even worse. How can she put that on someone else?
And her and Mirage together, with his own mess? Perish the thought.
"Okay, Ellie," says Wraith. It comes out soft. "I hear that. But when it does happen, it's not gonna be us two, got it?"
"I," he stammers, "of course, I mean… You know, I don't necessarily… Like, I just…"
It takes all Wraith's energy not to roll her eyes. She needs to set this blockhead up with someone before things get really awkward.
"You know, in a way—"
"Because I don't have very many friends," interrupts Wraith. "And I'm not going to lose you."
Mirage, mercifully, is at a loss for words.
There's a loud beep and the front door opens, revealing the sentient MRVN, Pathfinder. "Good and glorious morning, dear friends!"
The two stare at the plucky android Legend. Apparently Wraith had forgotten to set the suite protocol to private last night.
As the silence carries on, Pathfinder looks between the two of them. "I feel like I'm interrupting something!"
"Actually," says Wraith, "it's fine. You can babysit this doofus while I take care of something."
"Goodie!" Pathfinder says cheerfully. "What would you like to do, friend?"
"Come back to life," says Mirage, collapsing back into the couch.
"Can't help with that! I'm not alive! Although, it is an open scientific and philosophical question!"
Wraith smirks. PF can be exhausting, but his inexhaustible energy and optimism are nice to have in your corner. She scoops the last of the loaf into her mouth. "I'm hitting the shower. Try to get some food in you. But don't eat the last of my Gorlo chips!"
"Ooh, she has Gorlo chips!"
Wraith rolls her eyes as she walks back into the bedroom.
Mirage plays a three of clubs. Pathfinder looks between it and his hand several times, then plays a nine of diamonds. It's a terrible play.
"Are you sure you know how to play this game?"
"Actually, no!"
"You said you knew how to play Fitz."
"I think I was thinking of Clutcher, but when I realized my mistake, I just ran with it!"
Mirage drops his hand on the table and sinks back into the couch. "Well, we have something in common, then."
"What's that?"
"We don't know what we're doing."
"Ha ha! You're right!"
Mirage sighs. Wraith was right. She's starting to make him feel that thing, every time he looks at her face. It's gotten worse, and he knows from experience it can get worse from here. Much worse.
And he has exactly zero solutions.
"Does this have to do with what you guys were talking about earlier?" Pathfinder asks. "It seemed really awkward!"
Mirage makes a muted groan. "Yes, frankly."
"Do you want to tell me? I keep secrets very well!"
"What about the teddy bear thing?"
"Ah, but that was different! I didn't realize it was a secret! As long as you are explicit, we are good to go! I've learned a lot about people, but I do sometimes misunderstand things."
"Yeah," says Mirage, "me too."
"You know what vexes me most? Feelings! Thoughts, data. These things I can work with. But feelings? They've got a mind of their own!"
Mirage chuckles. "Do you really have feelings, though? I thought that was for our benefit." He gestures to the display on the chest of Pathfinder's chassis, which displays various emoticons.
The screen changes to a sad face. "I'm pretty sure, because that made me feel bad!"
"Ah, Pathy man, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to do that."
"It's okay, that made me feel better! And you gave me a nickname!" Pathfinder brings a hand to where his mouth would be, in a thinking gesture, his cyclopic lens blinking. "Tell you what I know about feelings. Sometimes I feel good, and I like that. And sometimes I feel bad, and I don't like that!"
Mirage offers a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. You and me both, Pathy."
"That's why I'm always pursuing what will make me feel good! Like friends!"
Mirage smiles. "For me, it's the nightlife."
"Ah, yes! Evening time promiscuous carousal, accompanied by the mass consumption of metabolically dubious beverages!"
The sentence makes Mirage's brain hurt. "S'pose."
"You know, someday I'm going to have a girlfriend of my own! I almost did!"
Mirage has heard nothing about that. "Wraith keeps telling me that's what I need."
"I bet you could if you wanted to. You're very handsome!"
Mirage can't help but grin. "Maybe… I just like having options, you know?"
"Not really!"
When Mirage first met Wraith, she seemed like she had more than a screw loose. Time has proven she has her head on straighter than him, though. His cheek pinches. "I wonder what she's up to…"
"Are you talking about Renee?"
"Yeah. She had this serious look on her face when I saw her come out of her room."
"She said she had something to take care of."
"She did, didn't she?"