This is connected to a story I planned to write after Nexus came out. The characters are only subtly referred to here, not even named, so it can stand alone as its own story as well. This centers on Ratchet. Reviews are appreciated.

I see your star

You left it burning for me.

Mother, I'm here...

I'm Here

Ratchet had forgotten just how quiet Fastoon was.

Then again, he was here without Clank. A major difference in a day of his life. The critter-like creatures that had roamed the city in search of spare parts and technology cleared out after the cragmites attack. So he was left with the lifeless light of the sun, casting tall looming shadows as it day faded. Vacant buildings and roads echoed with nothing but silence.

He strode slowly through the sandy dirt roads, head turned upwards, taking in the sights. He turned slowly on his feet; steady steps as if not to disturb the quiet.

It was unnerving to say in the least. And something about it all pulsed with meaning. Ratchet tilted his head as he walked through the broken walls and streets. What had it been like? Fires littering the land, explosions everywhere...?

The lombax tripped suddenly and his breath caught in his throat; his left hand struck out to slam against the side of the building beside him to steady himself. He breathed in slowly.

Wait. What was...?

He turned his head very slowly to the place his hand had landed on the wall. Gently, almost as if fearing what he would see, Ratchet slid his hand to the side. A frown rippled his features.

A handprint. Slightly skinnier yet with longer fingers. Ratchet shuddered and withdrew his palm He stepped back when he realized what the handprint may be made of. It had darkened to a rotted brown.

He looked forward. There were more piles of rubble in the outer city. Ratchet would sometimes come here but he was always kept from leaving the places that looked the least damaged. But this time he decided...he had to keep going.

There was a path-like space between the rubble and Ratchet slowly began striding along it, looking around all the way. Broken walls. Mangled pipes and construction equipment.

He came to a slope. Buildings had been built expertly once, on plate-like stacks of stone. He continued down the sloping land, and found smaller buildings beginning to become more frequent. What was left of them, anyway.

Unlike the strong metal buildings, these homes had been reduced to broken shells and the pieces of them still lingered. As if everything had been frozen after that night.

Ratchet's brow furrowed. He kept to the path and rubbed his elbow. He felt uneasy, yet something pressed him on.

His foot stepped on something that wasn't the ground. He looked down and spotted a wrench, not too unlike his own, lying idly in the middle of the street. He removed his foot and glanced around.

Then Ratchet shook his head. Was I really expecting someone to come and collect it...?

He turned a corner and was a path of land bare from buildings; covered in straw-like desert grass. It swayed gently in the wind, making a rustling hum ring through the area. Homes lined up the slightly sloping landscape, one in particular on a ledge-like mound that overlooked the main, bigger parts of the city. It almost looked whole from the front.

Ratchet found himself walking towards it. There was many hills here, a gentle one in the fields nearby the house he was approaching. A dead tree loomed at the top of the small hill, long hanging branches dangling dejectedly towards the ground.

Ratchet stared at it as he neared the door. He stopped and looked around. Blue-grey metal walls; curving sides and roof...about two stories. It was nice looking, sitting near the field. Maybe that was why he was drawn to it.

The door was open. He could see dust coating the floor of the hallway.

Ratchet's hand was shaking and he could feel a lump in his throat as he reached out and gently pushed the door. It swung open with only a slightly creak.

He looked to the left. It almost looked like no massacre had happened; just a lack of dusting. The Living room he could see was homey but nothing spectacular; though a strange belt-like garment was lying on the floor. A cracked glass disk was attached to it like a badge.

There was a mantle-piece. A single photo remained on it; the rest of the room was bare of any ornaments or family things you would think find. Its glass was covered in dust. Ratchet quietly walked towards it.

This wasn't his business. He didn't have the right to be here...

But he reached out and plucked the photo frame and dusted it off. He froze.

He found himself staring at someone he'd hoped never to see again. A grey creature with mismatched jaws; goblin like. Percival Tachyon.

But then Ratchet noticed something different.

He was younger; couldn't be over fifteen or so. And he wasn't glad in blood-red robes but plainer ones, and he wasn't alone. Standing on the left side of the picture was a tall, thin green creature with a fish/reptile like appearance. Green and brown; large eyes and a stern look. Probably older than Tachyon.

And in the middle was a lombax.

A pair of icy blue eyes stared back at him, a smiling face like that of Tachyon in the picture; though more enthusiastic. He wore the belt-like garment he'd seen on the floor around his shoulder; sporting black stripes and dark, purple-brown fur.

Ratchet stared at the photo for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, his alarmed expression melted into sorrow. Mostly for the lombax in the picture.

Tachyon was raised by lombaxes?

Affirmative. But when he learned of his true origins, he set out to bring back the cragmites.

The lombaxes raised you! How could you DO this to them?

Ratchet put the photograph back on the mantelpiece. He had a good idea why it had been left now, while it seemed all evidence of any only photographs had been removed. By whom he didn't know, though.

Ratchet would never understand the people he fought. Why give up things like friendship and your home for...Lord knows what?. He knew he'd never give up Clank for anything, not even Qwark...

Those filthy creatures had the GALL to pity me!

Ratchet turned and walked out of the home. He passed the desert grass field. He didn't glance at it for long. He couldn't see if there were any leaves; it was too far. He continued away from the home, ears drooped just a little as he went. He wondered, did Alister ever think about wandering around here, imagining what it was like? A noisy city, filled with people and families and friends?

Well. It didn't matter now. It was, as Tachyon had said, vacant buildings filled with nothing but dust.

And forgotten people. Ratchet was glad he knew about his father; and that people knew about his father. He kept that in mind as he left the quietness of the city; the faint rustle of the desert grass swaying in the gentle breeze; as if comforting a broken friend.

You can find out more about the characters in the photo on devianart, but this fic can stand apart from that universe I to my devianart is on my profile. Hope you enjoyed this fic.