"I know you're there."
A scuffle. A small, shadowed figure comes out from around the damaged concrete pillar of his shelter.
"Uhh, I think your radio is broken."
He drops the gun he's got pointed at her head to a less threatening position, holstering it on his belt. His ghost brushes the edge of his consciousness, alerting him that she's alone. No identity in any database in the fledgling city. Likely a newer refugee. She doesn't seem too startled by the gun pointed at her, instead staring at the fizzling exposed wires of his radio scanner.
Warily, she crouches low and approaches. "Are you a guardian working on the wall? To keep the bad guys out?"
He nods. "And you are?"
"Someone who can fix that," she says, little hands already trying to pull the radio out of his.
"This is official Vanguard equipment."
"It's still 'ficially broken," She drawls. "You got any food?"
He chuckles. She's not the first to come around asking for food. "If you're hungry, I will feed you." He lifts the radio up above her head. "But this is not a toy for little girls." At her sulking pout, one corner of his mouth curves upward. "Broken or not."
He's heating up two rations of stew over a small thermal cookfire when he hears the triple thuwip-thuwip-thuwip of Fallen gunfire. The girl bites her lip when it trembles, and he immediately turns off the burner, the orange glow fading into black. The only thing she can see are his eyes, glowing electric blue in the dark.
"Take cover in the corner furthest from the windows and do not attempt to move from this building. Be silent. I will return shortly." He shoulders a much larger gun than the one at his belt, and she blinks up at him owlishly. "Everything will be fine," he promises, as an afterthought, already at the doorway. "Do not worry."
She spends the majority of the night listening to the sounds of gunfire, creeping out of her hiding spot only once, to procure the broken radio lying forgotten on the floor beside the burner. The most recent shots fired were far away, and she hopes that the guardian will stop their enemies and come back soon. Her stomach is hurting and she doesn't want to eat the man's food without him.
She traces the sigil on the radio in the dark, feeling the straight lines that contrast with the round, badge-like shape of the logo itself. Without really thinking about it, she's taken to fixing the radio, deft fingers untangling and righting the frayed wires. She reaches for her belt and pulls out a small soldering tool the size of a pen, relinking them immediately thereafter. Carefully checking the volume to prevent from giving away her location to any lurking enemies, she flicks it on. The static is a balm for her nerves, the voices across the air sounding cool and collected like the soldier she was attempting to get a meal from.
She drifts off to sleep against her will just before dawn, a combination of hunger and exhaustion. The radio drones on in static, the soldiers carrying on in their communications.
A low, waspish sound jolts her awake less than half an hour later, her aching body curling in on itself. She chances a look, her eyes downcast and she feels like her body has been doused in icy water.
There's four of them.
They're in the room with her.
She forces her body to go slack, but it wasn't quick enough to avoid the enemies' notice. Their chatter became louder and more hostile sounding, until a wraithlike bellow from the leader (she assumed, her eyes were scrunched closed in an obviously failing attempt to play possum) silences them.
Her fingers find purchase on the radio's knobs and she thinks up a prayer to the Traveler, to her Ma and Pa, to anyone or anything that is feeling particularly inclined to help her.
Save me, she pleads. Please, please, help me get out of this.
She knows that if she attempts to make radio contact that they'll shoot her before she can utter two words. It's been a few moments though, and none of them have shot her yet so maybe she can use how little of a threat she is to her advantage. At least to attempt to escape. And she doesn't hear anyone else around, so she's pretty sure that guardian she met earlier was either pulled far away from her location or that he's reported back to whatever guardians report to (he said somethin' about a Vanguard?) and forgotten her entirely. Something in her gut sours at that. The quiet, strong man she encountered earlier today doesn't seem like the forgetting type. He seems straight-laced and honor-bound. She wants to still like him on the other side of this mess.
Slowly, silently, she opens her right eye a crack and assesses the situation. If it weren't so dire, she'd give them an earful, as the strange-looking aliens are slurping at what was supposed to have been her dinner and chattering loudly about it. Her eyes darken at the realization that they're either convinced that she's dead, or maybe they have some compassion in their veins (assuming they're built the same) and won't murder a little girl like her in cold blood. She scoots slowly to the base of what used to be a stairwell to the upstairs but now goes to open sky. They still haven't noticed her movements.
She continues her micromovements until he's very nearly out of sight, her green eyes still half lidded, in case they look at her. Once she makes it the two feet over to the stairs, she knows she has to stand if she's ever going to get out of her invaded shelter. The radio static will fade and the stairs will creak until she slips out the window she came in. It's a dangerous plan.
The little girl inhales deeply through her nose and exhales silently.
Amanda Holliday is used to danger. These walls they're building are supposed to keep people safe from stuff like this, but she was born in the wilds where there were no walls and even fewer shelters. She feels the smirk on her face and knows her Ma'd be proud. She ain't gonna let these fallen get her. She's gonna get outta here.
Without giving herself time to think, she springs up, one hand clutching the radio. She bolts up the stairs and has one leg out the window frame when an icy cold clawed hand grabs at her other leg, slashing through her grimy, frayed pants and lacerating her calf. She grits her teeth and kicks hard, all the while twisting the radio knobs until a loud blaring sound is emitted. She pushes the radio in the direction of what she assumes is her assailant's ear and he recoils, giving her just enough time to flop out of the window and fall, landing in the bushes below.
The air leaves her lungs all at once, but she forces herself not to panic and breathe. She's got to move and quick, because now she knows they'll hurt her, based on the gashes on her legs. She gasps a breath of cold, damp air and pushes herself up into shaky legs before moving away quickly as they'd allow.
It's almost morning, and she can see the edges of light at the horizon, a faded orangish purple color that at least gives her the ability to see where she's going. There's thick brush at the end of one of the war-torn streets and she realizes that she's probably better off in the bramble than any of these dilapidated buildings.
She makes a wide loop around a block and screeches to a halt. They've fanned out to try and catch her, and she's all but run directly into the Fallen Captain and the barrel of their rifle. Two of their Dregs fan out on either side, and she's sure the other two are somewhere in the vicinity.
Her eyes widen and she turns back in the other direction, heart pounding and chest heaving with both panic and exertion. The others aren't behind her, so she pushes her right foot hard against the crumbling blacktop in an attempt to build up speed.
Something she can't see trips her about ten meters away from the Captain and she hits the ground, skids a bit further, crying out. He laughs in his strange synthesizer-esque tongue, the sound of his armored boots clacking against the pavement almost as loud as her heartbeat in her ears as he approaches her.
She pushes her scuffed palms under herself and tries to get up, but there is an invisible force that assaults her side with a pain that burns unlike any other kick she's ever felt, and it nudges her none too gently into her back. Her jacket is smoldering from the contact, and as she looks up, electric pulses and the stench of ether burn her eyes and lungs as the other two Fallen appear out of thin air. Stealth Vandals, she remembers them being called. They crow at her menacingly and she feels her lip tremble against her will. The Captain still approaches, taking their time.
"I don't got nothin' y'all would want!" She screams, fists clenched tightly against the ground. "No weapons, no glimmer, no food!"
The Captain pauses, and she thinks maybe they understand her language, but it chatters to its subordinates and they step back as their leader raises the rifle at their prey.
"Don't kill me! I'm just a li'tle girl! I can't do nothin' to ya!" Her eyes scrunch shut and she sobs.
The reply from her enemy sounds like Fallen-speak for 'Not yet, but someday you could,' and the rifle's aim at her chest does not waver. Tears cascade down her face in hot, angry rivulets, but she opens her eyes to face her fate like she knew her Ma and Pa would tell her to, if they hadn't met a similar fate.
She feels like life has become slow motion as the Fallen squeezes the trigger: two things happen at once.
A shot is fired and a large figure jumps to the ground from a building behind the Captain, fist first.
The ground beneath her lights up blue and wisps of warm current seem to buzz under her aching fists in a way that's practically soothing. The Fallen scream in agony, the Captain's subordinates vaporizing from the ground up. The Captain misses their shot, barely grazing the side of her torso with a painful but non-lethal blow.
Amanda's face lights up in awe at sight of the guardian from earlier. His armor barely looks scuffed, and his face is contorted in rage as the Captain turns toward him, their gun looking to make contact with the new enemy. The guardian's fist glows blue and he leaps forward, punching the ground twice at the feet of the last Fallen enemy, and it screams again, firing shots that bounce off of his armor like pebbles. Emptying their clip, the enemy brandishes a dagger and moves to advanced, despite looking rather worse for wear.
Zavala bellows, "Your kind made a mistake the second you entered this place. This is not, and will not ever be your domain." He steps forward and easily disarms the Fallen team's leader, landing the killing blow with the Captain's own knife. They screech as they perish, but Amanda does not look concerned. She's too busy pushing herself to her feet and running toward him.
"Are you unha-" Her little hands are touching his and the amount of concern in her eyes practically steals his breath from his lungs. She turns his palms over in his hands and looks up at him after a moment of intense inspection.
"How are your hands still in one piece?" She looks skeptical, but very, very relieved. "If I had done that mine'd be broke," She continues in a smaller voice.
He can't help but give her a little smile. "I am guardian. I have.. abilities that regular humans do not."
"Oh," she accepts, and the Awoken can't help but feel a bit relieved that he does not have to go into a fuller explanation. "How'd you find me?"
"There was a report of a scout radio tuned to the emergency relay frequency that happened to be assigned to myself. They have location tracking equipment in them. I take it you fixed the radio when I was called away?"
She nods. "Got lucky that that's what I tuned it to. Just wanted to spook 'em," She admits bashfully. "Needed to get outta that house with 'em crawling all over in'it."
Speaking of, the titan looks in all directions before speaking again. "We will need to get moving. There shouldn't be many more, but I am required to report in, and you cannot stay out here if the enemy has a way to get in." He turns her around and guides her in the direction of the civilian camp, where he will inevitably drop her off. She reluctantly follows. "What were you doing out this far," he asks after a moment or two of watching her dirty shoes scuff the pavement.
"Scrappin.'"
"For?"
"Turn in good stuff, 'n they feed ya," she says with a shrug. "Shank shells, ammo, metals, wiring, stuff that ya can use to fix other stuff."
"Your parents don't worry?" He immediately senses that he's asked the wrong question, because she doesn't respond for a long while, and there's a nagging feeling in the back of his brain he can't shake.
She finally spoke, and it was in a whisper he strained to hear. "Ma died a coupl'a years back. Pa died few months ago, 'fore we got here." She looks up at the understanding look on his face. "Been scrappin' since before all that though, this ain't anything out of the ordinary, 'cept it's easier to hide out there when they come after ya," she gestures toward the fledgling wall and the wilderness outside it.
He quirked an eyebrow at that. The little girl had a very near miss with death, and she seemed to process the more frightening situations she was exposed to with little pomp and circumstance. It was an impressive thing, in his eyes, though also terribly sad. "You are one brave little girl -" He pauses and looks down at her. She never did tell him her name.
"Amanda," She replies. "Amanda Holliday."
He stops to turn toward her, kneeling so that she comes up to the middle of his chest instead of his thigh. "Zavala," He says in kind, extending a hand.
Her gaze is drawn to the swirling light under his skin, but she reaches out without hesitation, her palm fully engulfed in his larger one as they shake hands. "Thank you for saving me, Zavala," She whispers bashfully.
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Holliday. Thank you for fixing my radio."
They trudge along for a while more before the titan reaches into a pouch at his waist and pulls out the scuffed but functional radio. He hands it to her and she beams, examining her earlier handiwork. The radio has definitely seen better days, but she figures he knew that. She hands it back to him. "Y'know, those Fallen guys were scary, but you 'n that glowing fist trick are way more terrifying. 'M glad you're on our side."