I have extracted the fluids within the central processing unit of these Vex frames. The fluid seems to be a sort of… data milk. Each one houses a different variation of this liquid, and it seems to be the frame's life force. My hypothesis about the Vex being a fluid race was indeed confirmed through what I found the fluid to be made of. Radioloria. This is the Vex's mind, and the organism seems to be living inside this liquid. Hobgoblins, goblins, and Minotaurs are all different frames for this radioloria. Goblins are obviously the most basic form of this fluid, diverse fighters with no real purpose. They can be used as either religious entities or offensive fodder. Hobgoblins being made for defense house a different form of this data milk, which seems to be specified to defensive strategies. Meanwhile the minotaurs have a very different form of this fluid, its purpose still unclear. Through further investigation I may be able to uncover every Vex frame's purpose, down to the chemical makeup of their bronzish metal, their power source, etc. This concludes my studies on Vex frames and life forces.
Ashur wrote all of that with the frame of the Goblin in front of him, his hands prying inside its mechanics.
He knew not to touch the workings of the Vex without protection, i.e. a glove of some sort. Their metal seemed to house some kind of radioactive material that tainted the mind, did weird things to the body. The fluid itself was hard to study as well, as its properties are hard to maintain out of its glassy outer casing.
"Ghost. Get me a scan on the ocular systems. I want to see how this thing… sees." Ashur said, studying the material of which the outercasing was made of.
The mesh itself seemed to be made of some sort of transparent fiberglass material. Its elemental consistency literally matched that of fiberglass, but the only difference was the fact that it was able to be seen through. Weird.
He squinted his eyes, turning behind him to another desk and pulling a thin sheet of the material, fiberglass. Of course, it was unsanded and untreated, this would require primitive measurements and observations.
With one careful hand, he removed another section of the glassy outer casing, prying around at the inactive and dead organisms within the data milk. Carefully, he extracted the sludge-like fluid and delicately poured it over his untreated piece of fiberglass on a seperate work table.
Three of them littered his cramped living space, and the fourth table was merely a workbench with a matress on it, of which he usually threw out of his room to make more space for his studies. The room had four walls and was roughly 6 feet all the way across, from one wall to the other. The fact that the room was a square meant that the other sections of the walls were 6 feet long as well.
Meanwhile, the fiberglass seemed to be treating itself. Very slowly, Ashur figured it was because the radioloria wasn't living anymore, and that its chemical properties weren't the only thing that made the fiberglass transparent. He jotted his discovery down, just as his Ghost chirped across the room.
"I scanned it. You know, you really should get out more. I mean, look at your weapons, Ashur. Your handcannon is quite literally rusted to its holster." The Ghost said, taking a collective pause before continuing. "And I have a name, you know. I'm not just Ghost. It's not Ghost do this or Ghost do that. It's Angel." The female voice retorted back.
Ashur merely winced and asked, "And what did you find? What did the ocular systems contain?"
"Nothing too fancy. It acts merely as a camera, but you already knew that. The substance it's made out of tends to be the same kind of glass found… well, within the Vault of Glass… or at least that's what my reports are gathering. So yeah, nothing too special. Just an eye."
Ashur took out another deep breath, mixing the stale air in his lungs and exhaling the carbon dioxide, polluting his workspace even further and depriving the crammed workspace more than it already was.
"Alright. I'll mark it down in my record." He spat, reaching to his shelf of books and plucking one with a goldish bronze binding, clearly symbolizing the Vex. It had an embroidered II on it, his second study of the mechanical race. This one included everything from their ocular systems, as well as other inner workings, such as arm movements, the wiring, materials, etc.
He opened to his final pages, the only ones that don't have hasty drawings or scribbles in them, and began scratching at the paper with his pen until the research was jotted down. After that, he jammed the book right where it went, in between his Fallen records and his Cabal records. Which really do need expanding…
"I know what you're thinking, and no. They do not need any more additions. Please, go outside and catch some air. It's bad enough you're keeping yourself in here with nothing but a Vex corpse to keep you company… and well, me, but that doesn't matter. Go out, to the Cosmodrome. Gather some field data-"
"FIELD DATA! Ah, yes! Thank you… Angel." Ashur tried, almost stumbling on the name, making it sound like it was the first time he'd ennunciated it. "That's exactly what I will do. My Fallen archive needs expansion anyways, and I would like to add in another section dedicated to the makeup of Spinmetal."
With that, he threw the door to his living quarters open and into a narrow hallway, one of which he walked to the end and threw open yet another door, his Ghost trying to make pace with him as he jogged.
"Ah, but I forbid you going out without the right equipment." Angel tried. "I have a perfectly fine handcannon, I'll have you know." He said back without much sustenance. "Really? Pull it out."
His hand darted to his left side, reaching for the grip of the gun and attempting to pry it out of its holding place. But the gun didn't move any further. His Ghost had been right, it was quite literally molded to the sheath.
His palm tried to focus fire to the place, to make the metal easier to pluck out without Angel noticing, but he ended up searing his thigh and screaching a small bit internally.
"See? Go talk to the gunsmith." Angel said, disappearing in Ashur's cloak as he lazily sauntered to the Gunsmith's operating table.
When he got there, another Guardian had began to walk away from the table, and the gunsmith noticed Ashur immediately. "I always recognize the faces I see the least." He muttered in a deep, harsh sounding voice.
Ashur put the gun on the table, rusted holster and all. The gunsmith took one look at the gun before smacking it behind him, off the table. "That is a disgrace. Need to keep it well-oiled. I suppose you are requesting another one?" He asked, but it came out as an order rather than a question.
That was when Angel flew forward, materializing some of the codeable currency, Glimmer, on the table. Enough for a few guns and then some. The gunsmith's artificial eyes widened, as he pulled out a few of his best weapons without haste.
There was three. One was a Suros Scout Rifle, made for precision, encrusted across the weapon was the gold outline of a dragon. Not the standard red and white look, but it still made for excellent decorum. The next was an Omolon Fusion Rifle, but instead of it being a darker color scheme, the Omolon foundry decided to paint it pearl white, complete with a red optic sight. That was pretty as well. The final gun was a machine gun, obviously looking like a prototype. It was a Hakke make, big and bulky like the design they took. Nothing made it too special, but Ashur knew well enough to conclude that it packed a big enough punch.
"All yours." He muttered, sliding the guns to Ashur and the Glimmer to him.
Ashur blinked.
Instead of waiting like an idiot, his Ghost decided to materialize all of the weapons, adding them to his 'backpack' and left Ashur nothing but to saunter away again.
"Where did you get all of that Glimmer?" He asked curiously. His Ghost merely glanced at him, then saying, "Gambling." And looking the other direction. Ashur looked confused at first, but shrugged his shoulders and continued walking.
"Now to get you a ship."
…
Ashur walked into the hangar, taking note of his surroundings.
It was all very noisy. He noticed that much. To his right, ships constantly flew in and out, making a large amount of noise as they did so. To his left was a small setup for the Faction Dead Orbit, which wasn't too obnoxiously loud, but did add to the volume of the place. Straight ahead led downstairs, where frames and tools were worked on, as well as where a lot of Guardians ended up lounging and kicking back, not helping with the noise problem. And to his semi-right was Amanda Holiday, who was probably the loudest addition to the Hangar.
Not that she as a person was loud, just that her work was. She constantly had an engine or mechanism in front of her, and her tinkering was not that of the silent type. She always had a loud tool in hand, or was dropping large metallic tools. Ashur winced at a loud banging noise as he ascended the stairs to her workshop.
When he reached the top, she went silent for a quick second, giving the Warlock ample time to assert himself.
"I am Ashur, and I request-" "Sorry, buddy. No can do right now. I gotta get this warp drive back into that sucker before she blows," The mechanic gestured behind her, to a shaking ship that was obviously running. Her hands moved without complication, navigating through wires and plucking what she didn't need out, adding what she did need with the same grace.
"Right, but," He began. She held up one hand, then saying, "Quiet. I gotta focus." While Ashur looked around him.
The noisiest part in the hangar and she needs silence to focus? He thought to himself.
He obeyed her requests, though, and ended up being mesmerized by her work. It was as if they were following a pattern, a rhythym of some sort. They did everything without failure, and for some reason Ashur just could not look away.
Then, the loudest crashing noise surfaced the hangar as a broken down Arcadia Class jumpship entered the hangar, not with the grace he had been witnessing. It smacked the bottom of the hangar, sliding across it and sending sparks flying as it did so. It slammed into a wall, correcting itself and sliding once again back to the docking side, the platform where Ashur was standing.
The noise was so loud that even Holiday turned her head, putting down the warp drive and muttering something foul directed to the driver of the ship.
The cockpit opened, as a thin figure exited, stumbling all over the place and collapsing on the ship.
A few Guardians rushed forward, jumping onto the ship and picking the figure up, carrying him back on a makeshift stretcher. It was a Creeper, something the mechanics laid on to be able to slide and manuver under ships easier.
Ashur and Holiday walked down, as Holiday muttered, "Who in the hell?" While Ashur thought the same thing. The Guardians got the figure back onto the main platform, beginning to walk him out of the Hangar while Holiday and Ashur caught up.
Holiday peeked her head over, while Ashur listened to his words.
They were nothing but babbling, almost like a baby was speaking. Phrases like, "Woops. My apogees. I messed up your cubby."
As soon as Holiday peeked over, however, he froze and was dead silent. The man was obviously in some sort of traumatic episode. He lifted a hand, pointing at Holiday and saying, "She's very pretty. Very very pretty." As he put his hands down, closing his eyes as they rolled to the back of his head. Holiday stopped, giving Ashur a chance to examine the man.
There was a Ghost flittering by his side, but the man himself was dressed in tattered rags, and bits of his skin were showing through. They were bloody and in turn made the clothes he was wearing a darkish brown color. He had obviously bleed all over the clothes at one point or another, and these newer wounds did nothing to change the already crimson look.
His face was covered in dirt aside from the blood, where Ashur noticed he had both sides of his head busted in.
An indenture in his head seeped blood, where no breaking of the skull had been reported but the skin itself seemed to be cut open. More blood spewed out of his mouth, where he coughed and gurgled.
His hair was of course messy as well, caked in blood. It was naturally brown, trimmed short at the sides and messy on the top. Much like Ashur's, though his was blonde. He ran a hand quickly through his beach blonde hair, looking at the man bob his head from side to side, as if confused in his location.
He stopped following them, and turned to face Amanda again. She was beginning to saunter back to her post, the sides of her face red as if she were blushing. He ran up to her, then asking, "What about that ship I asked about?"
She turned to Ashur, with a squinted expression on her face, as if recalling a distant thought when her face lit up and her eyes went wide. "The warpdrive!"
She sprinted back to her workplace, picking up the small part while Ashur jogged alongside. She plucked more wires, shoving others in and sealing the opening off, tossing it to a frame over the side of the platform. The robot caught it, moving to the stuttering and shaking ship that was fixing to explode.
Of course, the frame did his work quickly and the ship suddenly calmed down. The warpdrive solved the ship's problems. She then turned to Ashur, asking him, "What can I get you?" as if the whole episode had never happened.
…
"...he's losing blood…" "...his Ghost…" "...three cases of internal bleeding…" "...goner for sure…"
Theriad slammed his body upright, as if awakening from a horrible dream.
His temples hurt, and he could feel blood caked on the top of his head. Ow. He groaned, putting a careful hand to each side of his head and feeling around.
His wounds were gone. The two indentions in his head were gone, no longer seeping blood. He ran his hands all throughout his chest, not feeling the previous fleshwounds that were bestowed on him by Fallen sabres and knives, the two headwounds coming from fists and bludgeons. Where his tattered garb once was, sleek white clothes had been given to him. But it wasn't matching that of any real clothes, they were rather thin armor-wear. He felt the material. Definitely not cloth. He thought to himself. All in all, he seemed okay. Everything was fine on his end. No limbs lost, no excessive bleeding, no pain. Everything was how he wanted it to be.
He leaped off of the bed he was staying on, walking around the infirmary, or at least what he assumed to be the infirmary. On the other beds, no one else was occupying them. It was just him alone. That and the constant beeping of the machines, as if the Tower had really needed them. He began to walk to a door, readied the handle to open it when a small robotic shape fluttered in front of him. "Hello." It spoke in a male voice.
The appearance itself scared Theriad half to death, but the voice talking out of nowhere caught him off guard, and he tumbled backwards and almost tripped. His back hit the ground and he looked at the small shape… a Ghost.
"A… Ghost?" he asked, getting himself back up from the ground and in a standing position. "Yes. Great observation." It sarcastically chimed. If a Ghost could roll its eyes, this one certainly did. "Hah. Great with the sarcasm. What… What are you doing here?" He asked, almost as if he knew the answer deep down.
If something happened after his beat down, he didn't really remember it. It was all hazy, like trying to remember a specific dream that had happened years prior. If something did happen that caused this Ghost to be following him after he had gotten beat to a pulp, he didn't recall.
"Well. I suppose it's normal for you to not be able to recall these events. You were quite the wreck when I saw you. Of course, I wasn't linked to you quite yet, couldn't really do much other than just watch you. But that's changed now."
Theriad stepped back more, holding his head in one hand and beginning a question. "Wait… You're my Ghost? And what do you mean that's changed now."
"That means that you are a Guardian. A Hunter if ever I've seen one," The Ghost paused for effect, which seemed to work on Theriad. "And… you kinda died." To this, Theriad's expression tensed and his face went red. "I mean, you didn't really die. You maintained consciousness but your heart stopped, which was enough to classify you as dead. And if you're wondering, yes, I could have linked with you before your 'death' but the bonds are stronger recognized if I am paired with you in your dead state." The Ghost explained.
"So… You mean to say that I am among the Dead? The Ressurected?"
"Yes. You are a Guardian."
"So I can use Light?"
"Yes, but-"
"Which means that I can't die?!"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Oh hell yeah!"
"Wait! Hold on! I need to ask you some questions before we leave. No one knows you're up yet, and being a newbie who knows the next time I'll be able to ask you these kinds of questions uninterrupted." To this, Theriad raised an eyebrow, then saying, "Shoot."
"Okay. What do you remember? About your past life?"
"Well… I remember being alone, in the wilderness. I remember my parents, how they died, where I went… I remember everything. Nothing's really changed." He answered.
"Alright. What's your name?"
"My name? Oh, right. My name is Theriad… Theriad Hawke." the Hunter answered. But before the Ghost could ask another question, Theriad asked, "How long have you been with me? Scratch that, when and why were you with me? I have no recollection of you in my memory."
"Ah. Well, if you didn't know you were kind of… well… engaged in a Fallen skirmish. They got the best of you, but didn't kill you for Traveler knows why, and you crawled as far as you could. And I kind of found you. I thought you were just a civilian, some lost explorer or something, but then I found that you carried Light. I corraled you to a ship, and you did your best to fly it… didn't really work out so well. Kind of broke down as we entered the hangar." The Ghost answered. Theriad supposed it was well enough to count as an answer.
"Wait. One more question. Who was the girl I saw? When those other people were carrying me… somewhere."
…
Ashur paced into the Vanguard Hall, looking at his three commanders as he entered their presence. They turned to him, each one with a joyous type of expression riddled on their face.
"Ah, Ashur. My… Warlock." Cayde said. Ikora greeted him with a slight nod, and Zavala had the look of someone who didn't recognize him. "Greetings. You know who we are, correct?" Zavala asked. Who doesn't know who you are? He thought in an annoyed tone.
"Yes. Why is it you requested me?" Ashur asked, still slightly annoyed. He could be doing research right now. Adding to his books. Instead, he was here dealing with whatever mess his enemies decided to create.
Why couldn't they get that through their heads? He was a Warlock, a scholar. Not a fighter. He did the research. Only fought when he needed to, obviously for the sake of more research. Which guns kill best? What effects Fallen shielding best? Etc. With a sigh, he began to listen more intently.
Cayde stepped forward. "Well, there's been a new arrival in our ranks. A new Guardian. Hunter, by the looks of him," Cayde said, almost in a proud tone. "I can tell I'm going to like him. Anywho, he's a lone wolf type. Doesn't have anyone to chaperone him. And since everyone else is either paired with another Guardian or two, or simply doesn't need a Hunter," He paused again, angrily spitting the last portion of the sentence. "We've assigned him to you."
Ashur felt a red hot flash of anger glaze across his face. It was one thing if they called him in for a field assignment of some sort. Something along the lines of, Kill this or Blow this up. At least then he could still gather some field intelligence. Now he kind of wished that he had taken the latter, or at least hoped for it.
"What? But he's a newbie, and-" Ashur began. Ikora stopped him midway. "Right, but unfortunately you are a newbie as well, to the field at least. Your studies are fantastic, but those only get you so far." She stated. Ashur held back the urge to stare her down, as if he was a rebellious child receiving a lecture from his parents. But he knew that wouldn't help his case, especially since he had just received a compliment on his studies from the Warlock Vanguard.
"You're going to help him out around here. Maybe go out and kill some Fallen. Who knows? Maybe you'll even become best pals!" Cayde inserted. Ashur didn't hold back the urge to stare daggers into him, but it had no effect.
Ashur knew how the Hunters were. They preferred to either brave it alone or be the stupid one of the group. They could care less about studies or information. It didn't matter who the Hunter had once been, all of them were like that in nature. Something with their cockiness or their ego...
"He's in the infirmary now. Go to him, and report back here once you get him the proper gear and knowledge of our home." Zavala ordered, looking away from Ashur and down at the table, where a map was sprawled out beneath him.
…
Ashur approached the door to the infirmary, which was a floor below the balcony. He pushed it open delicately, only to see who he assumed to be the figure, only with less blood on him this time, talking to his Ghost.
Before he could shut it and return to his studies with the excuse of him still being asleep, the two noticed him. Damnit. He thought to himself. Well. Here goes nothing.
They immediately ceased their conversation as Ashur walked into the room. He shut the door behind him, looking straight into the Hunter's eyes. "Looks like I'm your sherpa. You're with me for now." Ashur spat, gesturing for the Newborn to follow him out.
"Oh… Okay?" Theriad answered. "What's your name?" The Hunter asked. "Ashur." The Warlock muttered. "Hmm. That sounds mystical. Mine's Theriad." He answered in a friendly tone. "Hmmf." Ashur grunted, making his way to the elevator, which would lead them to the balcony.
"So what're we doing?" he asked, once the silence of the elevator began to calm Ashur. He let out a sigh of anguish, then answered. "We're getting you geared up. We'll have to talk to the Gunsmith, then to the Speaker, and finally to the Vanguards."
"Can we meet… Holiday?" He asked, pondering the name a little more. Ashur raised an eyebrow, remembering his comment about her when he was being carried to the infirmary. "Well, I guess that you will need a ship, but…" His voice trailed off.
Wait. Exploitable weakness?
"Why? You got a fondness for her or something?" He asked, staring at the Hunter, who wasn't making eyecontact but instead was still giving him all he needed to know through silence. His cheeks turned rose red, like a schoolkid being asked whether he or she has a crush on someone. Works everytime. Ashur said to himself. "Yeah. Let's go meet her." The Warlock chortled.
Author's Note:
I wanted to make a prequel to Outcasts, explaining the other three's origin and devloping their characters more than what is in Outcasts, as Outcasts is focused on, well... the Outcasts.
But at the same time I wanted to make a Destiny story you can read without having read the other one. This story is going to go all the way until the moment they met the Outcasts, and I have a lot to cover and a lot planned. Hope you guys enjoy.
Read, review, and rate.
And don't forget to check out Outcasts if you haven't already. You can find it on my profile.