Chapter Text
The final minutes of any match came down to focus and execution. Every move mattered. Every play counted. If a team could not deliver as a unit, defeat would be inevitable. Mirage, Wraith and Bloodhound were teamed up, each of them familiar with the others’ capabilities and characteristics. It made battling together relatively easy, though the fights themselves had been anything but. Their enemies fought with equal hunger for the win, pushing them to perform to their limit. Thankfully, every time, they came out on top. Their chances seemed promising.
The next ring was in the swamps of King’s Canyon. En route, the golden glow of an enemy deathbox tore Mirage from the group. To say his squadmates had been frustrated was an understatement, and he feared they might actually leave him behind when he announced that the legendary item in the deathbox was only a fancy scope. Luckily, he caught up to them a second before the ring closed. They slid to a halt beneath a building, listening as enemy bootsteps thudded against the wooden floorboards above their heads. Their by-the-skin-of-their-teeth arrival meant they were at a tactical disadvantage.
“Shit,” Mirage swore between panting breaths. “That was…almost bad.”
Wraith’s eyes were like ice as they met his. “Almost bad? That was bad. We can’t afford another close call like that. Not this close to the end. You almost blew it for us.”
Mirage pushed his lips into a pout, uncomfortably shifting his weight in the sludge of swamp water soaking him up to his knees. “My bad, alright? I thought we had time! I was trying to do us a favor. What if it was a body shield? Or a helmet? You’d be thanking me!”
“Doubtful. We could’ve lost you, Mirage, and we wouldn’t have been able to revive you.”
He clasped both hands against his heart and pretended to melt. “Awww, so is that what this is about? You guys would’ve missed me?! I’m blushing.”
She rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. “Unbelievable.”
A barrage of gunfire burst around them. Mirage flinched, shooting panicked eyes over his shoulder. The swamps erupted into a cacophony of callouts and gunshots as surrounding squads engaged in what had to be the final battle. Bloodhound divided their attention from the battlefield to their team, their fingers flexing in anticipation against their weapon. “That is enough, felagi fighters. We will find no victory in quarrel. Focus.”
Mirage exchanged a playful glare with Wraith and then turned his eyes to Bloodhound. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Hound. Time to get our heads back in the game.” Crouching at their side, he scouted, his eyes tracking enemy movement. He let out a low whistle. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“There is one squad to the West and two to the East,” Bloodhound noted.
Wraith frowned. “We’re pinched.” Her eyes sharpened as her mind flooded with whispers from the void. “It’s too dangerous to move now. We should wait until one drops. When the final two engage, we can advance. For now, we’re safe here.”
Bloodhound acknowledged with a nod. “Yes. We must wait. The element of surprise will aid us.”
Mirage felt a smile pull at a corner of his mouth. It was incredible. Even when faced with battle, Bloodhound had an ease about them. It puzzled him. He had questioned them about it before and found their answer equally as puzzling – mentions of unquestioning belief in the Allfather and unconditional acceptance of a fate destined to be theirs. They were a skilled, proud fighter whose calm, humble demeanor could easily fool the unsuspecting. They moved like no other Legend – downing hostiles with the accuracy of a sharpshooter, moving swiftly with the grace of a dancer, eliminating targets with the brutality of a beast. Watching them battle was captivating.
An opposing squad soon met its end. The final two engaged almost immediately. Recognizing their opportunity, Wraith acted. Wisps of energy danced off of her as she punched a tunnel, advancing toward the battle ahead. She skirted past areas within enemy eyeshot, ducking beneath buildings and weaving between reeds. Halting beneath the structure where their enemies fought, she placed the end of the portal at the bottom of a flight of stairs, setting them up for the perfect surprise attack.
“Portal’s ready.”
Bloodhound approached the portal at once, entering it without hesitation. Mirage took a breath before he followed, holding it for the entirety of the interdimensional ride. Whispers and white noise filled his ears until he tripped out of the exit with a gasp. The hunter took a moment to assess, a gloved hand signaling for them to wait. Anticipation swelled in Mirage, his foot tapping anxiously against the ground. He was eager to fight. He was eager to win, and the sounds of exchanging gunfire and grenades only made him hungrier to take to the field with his team.
When another squad fell, Bloodhound signaled for them to push. “Now.”
Wraith hurried first up the wooden stairs, her submachine gun aimed and ready. “Surprise.”
Mirage stepped out from behind her, twirling his shotgun like a double-barreled baton. “Look who’s here to crash the party!”
Wraith fired at the nearest enemy – Lifeline. Caught off guard, the medic spun upon impact and failed to steady her weapon in time to return fire. A hailstorm of bullets tore through her body shield, dropping her in seconds. From her position on the roof, Bangalore watched with fire in her eyes as her teammate was downed and replaced by a deathbox. The soldier clenched her jaw and aimed her sniper for Wraith, following her movements through the sights of her scope. The reticle ended up landing on Mirage who stood out in the open beside Lifeline’s deathbox, presumptively rifling for loot. With a smirk, Bangalore steadied her Kraber and fired. Her confidence instantly faded when he dissipated into thin air.
A decoy.
“Damnit,” she swore, searching the swamps for a sign of the actual trickster. She spotted him beside Bloodhound. The pair fired at her, shots from either rifle striking her in the torso. Her shields flickered as she ducked down, looking over her shoulder at her teammate crouched behind her. “Octane – take care of ‘pretty boy.’ I’ve got Bloodhound.”
“Right away!” The daredevil was standing before she even finished speaking, bouncing eagerly on his feet. Throwing a jump pad, he gave himself a running start and launched into the air. His dismount was anything but graceful as he landed in front of Mirage, softening his impact with an impressive tuck-and-roll. “Alright, compadre! Bring it on. I’m dying for a challenge!”
Mirage let out a laugh. “Hey – you ask, I deliver.”
He pointed his Peacekeeper, smirking as the Precision Choke whirred and charged. Anticipating the incoming blast, Octane narrowly evaded the shot with a pivot. He returned fire with a wild laugh, adrenaline coursing hotly through him like a shot of stim. A second shot compromised a chunk of his shields. He hid behind a beam to reload and recharge, turning his head to talk smack over his shoulder. “I said a challenge, amigo! Ándale! You can do better than that!”
“Aren’t we a little demanding?” Mirage playfully chided. With a finger gun, he sent out a decoy. The duplicate trotted past Octane, disintegrating into thin air the moment he fell for the trick and fired. The trickster slapped his knee as an overdramatic laugh rocked him, a hand lifting to flick away a nonexistent tear. “Oh-ho-ho, man! Gets me every time.”
Octane emerged from his cover, releasing a battle cry as he riddled Mirage with bullets. The trickster deployed a number of decoys and vanished from sight, scrambling to climb up an open supply bin and hoist himself onto the roof. Recalling Bangalore’s position on the roof a few feet away, he first took a second to locate her. She was occupied with Bloodhound, the crack of her sniper answering the pop of their rifle. With the coast clear – for now – he de-cloaked, but remained hidden to hurriedly recharge his shields. Octane stabbed himself with a dose of stim, his bionic legs propelling him forward and up onto the roof with surprising speed.
Mirage stood, grimacing as the daredevil unloaded an entire magazine into his chest. He watched in panic as his shields were quickly depleted. Before his health could be equally compromised, he brandished his shotgun. He fired, sending Octane stumbling backwards. With plenty of fight still in him, the daredevil tried to hop up and take aim, though a second shot sent his weapon spinning from his hands. Mirage gave a cheeky laugh, lowering himself down to Octane’s side. “Don’t beat yourself up. You tried your best.” He beamed his signature smile and stood, preparing to take the final shot. “Still wasn’t enough to beat me.”
He curled his finger around the trigger. Game, set, match – just about. The win was basically theirs. Lifeline was out. Octane was next, leaving Bangalore to fend for herself in a one-on-three matchup that would likely end in her defeat. It was a done deal, and even if they hadn’t been named “champion” yet, he couldn’t fight back a grin. The thrill of a win never got old. Everything about it – the dopamine rush, the validation, the glory. He was on top of the world.
Until the crack of a sniper rifle cut the air.
It echoed in his ears until it was all he could hear. Time seemed to slow. He shot wide eyes toward the origin of the sound. Bangalore. She pumped her fist and let out a cheer. “Hell yeah! Tango down!”
Mirage felt his heart sink. He spun on his heel and abandoned Octane, knowing the downed daredevil no longer stood a chance. Tango down? Who was down? Wraith? Bloodhound? A well-placed shot from a Kraber could be more than just incapacitating. He had seen it debilitate Legends for days in the infirmary, and the thought of that happening either one of them was unnerving.
It took him only a second to spot Wraith. She whisked by him, her sights set on the daredevil scrambling away on his hands and heels. She flung herself onto the roof and eliminated him with a single shot between the eyes. Her attention then shot to Mirage. Normally not one to falter, there was unease in her eyes. It made his chest tighten. “Bloodhound needs a hand,” she urged. “Now.”
He didn’t question her. He didn’t hesitate. He ran, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs and into dark, shallow water. His boots dredged through weeds and reeds, his panicked eyes darting through the thickness of the fog for any sign of the downed hunter. If there was anything he knew about them, it was their tendency to subdue their pain. They did not vocalize it. He had seen them endure entire battles with awful wounds, making no mention of them until the match concluded. If anything, the hunter preferred to tend first to their teammates, offering extra med kits and syringes at their own expense. To him, their selflessness was a testament not only to their character, but to their strength.
Either way, it worried Mirage. He did not like knowing they had been in pain and neglected to say as much. He had mentioned it to them in the past, poorly disguising his tremendous worry as friendly concern. But, there was no use trying to hide it. Bloodhound had picked up on the way his words tumbled out of a soft spot in his heart. Their hand had provided him some comfort when it fell on his shoulder, along with the whispered words assuring they would be alright.
But, now, such was the contrary. They were not alright. He had to find them. Help them. But, he couldn’t find a trace of them. As seconds of searching turned into minutes, dread started to twist his stomach into knots. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His open mouth felt dry, his breathing choppy and rapid. Behind him, gunshots ceased. He didn’t stop to look. He couldn’t. He had to believe Wraith had succeeded. He had to believe they’d won. His mind could not focus on anything other than finding Bloodhound.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted. “Hound?! Hound, where are you?!”
Resounding silence – heavy, deafening, disheartening.
He tried again, shouting louder. “Hound!”
Not far away, he heard a noise. It was barely audible, like a whimper from a wounded animal. Mirage flicked his eyes in the direction of the sound, letting his feet carry him forward. Was that them? It had to be them. Who else could it be? Worry gripped him, his voice hoarse as he called out for them over and over again. Picturing them in pain hurt almost as much as the guilt that gripped him. He wished he had found and helped them already. He wanted – needed – to see them and make sure they were okay.
Spotting a figure slumped over in the water, he froze. The silhouette was unmistakable.
Mirage gasped. “Hound!”
He rushed to their aid, neverminding his disgust for the muckiness of the water as he knelt at their side. The small noises leaving their lips broke him. Bloodhound writhed in the shallow swamp, their body shuddering as wave after wave of pain crashed over them. Their breathless words were incoherent pleas in their native tongue, impossible for him to comprehend apart from the desperation in their tone. The shot from the sniper rifle had embedded itself in their left shoulder. The surrounding layers of clothing and gear were worn after withstanding a significant amount of the damage. Blood oozed and trickled into the water, spreading thinly over the surface.
Mirage muttered to himself in frantic disbelief, his arms weaving carefully around their frame. Tearing his scarf from his neck, he applied controlled pressure in an effort to slow the bleeding. He nearly withdrew his hand when a spasm of coughs rocked their body, their gloved hand shooting out to grip his arm hard enough to leave a bruise. Their chest rattled with every rise and fall, their fingers tightening as they fought to control their labored breaths.
He set a hand over theirs, worry heavy in his hazel eyes. “Hey, hey. I’m here. Alright? It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Their effort to speak was inhibited by another fit of coughs. Every breath felt heavier than the next. Their chest felt tight and aflame. Their lungs burned with every struggled attempted to take in more air. Gritting their teeth, they hid their face against his chest and let out a strained groan. Mirage watched in horror. He felt hopeless. He could do nothing to alleviate their pain. It shattered him to watch them suffer. Bloodhound never looked so vulnerable, so human. They always radiated pride and power. To see them like this felt like a nightmare.
He brought his face close to their helmet, his voice as calm as it could be. “Look at me. Try to take a breath with me. C’mon,” he pleaded in a whisper, trying to look where their eyes might be. “Please, Hound. Look at me.”
Bloodhound declined, not out of disrespect, but out of fatigue. Gently, he tried to turn their face. They did not resist, letting him turn their head until the front of their helmet faced him. Fear replaced the worry in his eyes. In its trajectory, the shot had also pierced their respirator. The mask covering their mouth and nose hung loosely from their face. The respirator’s punctured tubing hissed as air leaked out, rendering the apparatus entirely useless. Their exposed lips quivered in strained attempts to capture breath. Their body heaved and contracted, their hand trembling as they tried to fix the mask back onto their face. There was no use. Mirage took their hand in his, feeling his heart shatter like glass.
“I’ve got you, Hound. Just relax, okay?” he said softly. “We’ll get you out of here.”
Bloodhound whined in response. He couldn’t tell if it was in protest or in pain. Their body began to grow limp in his arms. Terrified, he squeezed their hand again. “Hound? Hound? Hound, c’mon now. Don’t fall asleep on me.” The pinpricks of tears started to sting his eyes. He drew in a deep breath and looked aside, fighting the emotions that wanted to spill out. This wasn’t the end for them. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t let his mind go there. He had to hold out hope.
Wraith materialized from the void in front of him, her splashing footsteps coming to a halt beside her squadmates. Her eyes darted over them, making a quick assessment of the hunter lying weak in his arms. She looked up at Elliott and made no mention of the tears shimmering in his eyes. His worry for them was tangible. It was selfless, a genuine expression of how much he cared. Offering her reassurance, Wraith set a hand on his arm. “They’ll be alright, Elliott. The dropship’s inbound. Not much longer.”
Mirage gulped down the lump in his throat and nodded. He tried to calm down, blinking away his tears before they could fall. He tried to find comfort in her words. Help was on the way and it would not be much longer until they were treated. Looking down at them, he wove his arms tighter around them. He could have sworn he heard his name leave their lips in a shallow breath, prompting him to give their hand another squeeze. They would be fine. They had to be fine. He had to believe someone with Bloodhound’s unshakable strength would not let this be their end. They would recover and rise with newfound might – and he was determined to personally see it through.