Ode to a Rookie

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful. Another chance at life? Seeing the solar system? Learning the truths of the universe? That was all well and good, but if the Traveler could bring him back from the dead and give him powers that were unimaginable to him in his old life, why couldn't he have made him better at using them?

He had been fairly lucky up until now, the Fallen he had faced were hardly a challenge. Even if his aim wasn't the steadiest in the Vanguard. The Hive had utterly terrified him, as had the Cabal. He was pretty sure he had totally blocked his memories of the few times he had fought the Vex. If it wasn't for his ghost, and his companions, he probably wouldn't be standing on Venus right now, waiting for another guardian to crush him without a second thought.

His companions. His friends. Oh, had he been lucky to find them! They had found him outside the Vanguards' chambers. Back to the wall, hyperventilating. Trying to stitch memories back together. There were two of them, a Titan and a Hunter. Seasoned veterans, he could tell.

The Titan introduced himself as Sixty-Eight, apparently the only part of his name he could remember when he woke. An Exo like himself, the Titan was just that. Titanic. More than a head taller than himself, his armor shone in the fluorescent lights. There were so many bullet holes and scratches on it, he was surprised it still functioned. Sixty-Eight had pulled him to his feet, and slapped his back so hard he had no choice but to stop hyperventilating.

The Hunter grabbed his shoulders, kept him from falling over. "Take it easy there Warlock, nothing to be scared of here," he had said. The Hunter grabbed his hand and forced him into a handshake. He said his name was Jack, he couldn't believe an Awoken had such a bland name. Perhaps he had just adopted it? It didn't matter then or now. His cloak didn't quite reach the floor. It was tattered yes, but it seemed like the fraying was more from time rather than from excessive damage.

Their meeting was the catalyst for a long-lasting relationship. He wasn't sure why they kept him around, it seemed to him like they used more of their light reviving him than using it to kill their enemies. He appreciated their patience in the field. He knew his aim could use some work. Or a gun without so much Traveler-damned recoil. His powers had developed acceptably, Void light being his weapon of choice. It seemed to do the job well enough.

One day after a rocky mission, they had been approached by Lord Shaxx himself. He said was impressed, said the Crucible could use more skilled combatants to train others. Well… he had said that to his friends. It didn't take a genius to figure out he had been one of the "others" that Shaxx had mentioned. Jack and Sixty-Eight had quickly accepted. They had needed a new challenge. Besides, no one refused a direct request from Lord Shaxx.

So this had been his life for a while now. Head to a Crucible arena. Gear up. Get psyched. Make jokes to his friends about how well he was going to do. Listen to the bets Sixty-Eight and Jack made (Sixty-Eight usually lost, though not by much). Touch down planet-side. Join the initial advance. Die repeatedly.

It was the last part that bothered him. The minions of the Darkness were chumps compared to these battle-hardened Guardians. "Dying" had become commonplace, his ghost was usually very quiet at the end of every match. He wondered if the little light ever had regrets about him. He tried not to think about it too much.

He supposed this was better than actually dying to the ravenous hordes of the Darkness. Perhaps the Crucible really would beat the flaws out of him, like Shaxx always said. Maybe it would make him a guardian the City could be proud of. It was hard to believe that as he was taken out by yet another Warlock that had appeared from nothingness in front of him, shotgun at the ready. Blinking… he had never really gotten the hang of it. It made him sick whenever he tried it.

The bottom of the scoreboard was his home. His friends took the top usually, he was proud of them. It was incredible to see them in action. To see Jack pick off other guardians' heads like he was in a shooting range or watch Sixty-Eight obliterate the other team in one fell Arc lightning-charged swoop.

He would keep trying. It certainly wasn't much fun being burned away to ashes or punched in the face over and over again. But he would keep trying.

Venus really was beautiful. Its bright yellows and green made a beautiful backdrop for the carnage about to ensue. He wondered if his other guardians ever looked around before they raced forward to meet the other team head on. Sol was beautiful at this distance, not like on Mercury. It was a little too oppressive for his liking there.

He looked to the horizon. He saw the Vex compounds sprout from the wilderness like so many malignant tumors. It infuriated him. He may not have the skills to stop them now, but he would see those geometric eye sores fall. One way or another.

A hand on his shoulder removed him from his reverie.

"Hey, you okay man?" It was Sixty-Eight, his mechanical voice full of concern. The massive rifle magnetized to his back didn't seem to hinder him at all. Jack stood behind him, sniper rifle hefted over his shoulder. The rest of their six man team must have already ran ahead.

"Yea… yea, I'll be fine." He was glad his helmet hid the crooked smile he had tried to force out.

"This'll be the one right? Ready to take 'em down?" Jack had asked. He would never know where all that optimism came from. Looking at them both, even fully armed and armored, the smile became a little less fake. He gripped his pulse rifle with both hands. Checked his ammo. Gathered his Light. Maybe this would be the one.

"I'm right behind you."