Hey. I decided to make a part two. I hope you like it. I sure did. Oh yeah, and thanks to the people who read and took the time to write a review. It's nice to know that some people appreciate my hard work. Once again, if you feel like leaving a reply, criticisms, suggestions, anything, just let me know. I might just do a part two.

Also, Destiny in no way belongs to me. I just play the game.

Joan had expected to have the Cosmodrome to herself, but there he was all the same. The Warlock had been in her spot for the last hour, taking pot shots at the fallen, his battered rifle's shots careening off the rocky landscape. He wasn't very good. He'd managed to hit a few overconfident dregs that had wandered from cover, but other than that, he might as well have been shooting at thin air. Still, he kept at it, determined to take the fallen to their grave.

He seemed so focused... An evil idea wormed its way into her mind, and she grinned evilly under her hood. She crept forward slowly, placing each foot carefully, so as to not step on the dry brush that populated the area. A faint wind stirred her furs.

He was close enough now that she could see the dints and scratches that adorned his helmet. It was a pitiful sight. His robes weren't much better. They had once been fine, she noted, a deep, rich crimson, but neglect and the passage of time had made them more brown than red, and the hem was tattered and torn. It was odd, but the obvious wear of the gear fit perfectly with the surroundings, making him seem almost as though he were a permanent fixture. It was then she noted with surprise that he wore no bond. A warlock without a bond? Strange times indeed…

She was right behind him now. Ready. Waiting. "Hey!" She announced in a clear, loud, voice.

The Warlock spun, his reflexes whip quick, quicker than she had thought, and, before she had time to react he emptied the rest of his magazine into her belly. Her shield deflected the first few rounds, but the rest of the volley penetrated her flesh, ending her life. The Warlock stood over her dead form and watched her, still tensely holding his rifle. A minute passed in silence.

A sharp gasp ushered from her mouth, and she shuddered from the shock of the resurrection.

"Ow..." She moaned, pressing a hand to her stomach. "What was that for?"

The Warlock grunted and turned back to his targets, sliding a fresh clip into his gun, the barrel still smoking.

"Hey," She said. "I'm talking here." The Warlock Ignored her. "Is anyone home? You shot me!"

"It was your fault. Please leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, my fault? How was that my fault? You shot me! And get out of my spot!"

"… Your spot?" The Warlock's tone was strangely regretful.

"Yes! Yes, it's my spot! It's good for target practice..." Her voice dwindling to a near-squeak.

"Hrmm..." He slid the gun onto his back. "I'll leave."

"What?" She asked, confused at how easily he'd given up. "W-Well... Thanks. You still haven't apologized for shooting me," she added reproachfully.

"Sorry for shooting you." He grumbled and trudged off towards the old Skywatch.

"Weird," she muttered, turning to look back the towards the fallen only to find that they had, in the intervening time, marshaled a band of pikes that were now speeding towards her location. "Oh, great," she turned and ran after the Warlock, just now climbing the hill that lead to the entrance of the old facility.

While normally Joan wouldn't have thought twice about facing a pack of pikes, she'd just been brought back, so she thought that maybe she should give it a pass. Just this once. Besides, even she would find trouble with the sheer quantity that she was faced with. What was it, like eight? Nine? Yeah nine. Turning and running at full tilt, her cloak whipping behind her and furs ruffling, Joan scrambled up the hill that lead to the Skywatch, her once wounded abdomen still sending her the reminder of a wound now gone. That was when she noticed the second weird thing about the Warlock.

As she crested the rise, she immediately noticed the two dead vandals both riddled with bullet holes, and the Warlock's gun discarded to the side, spent casings littering the ground around it. Then she saw the Warlock and the Captain. The Captain bled profusely from the stumps of where three arms had once been, the blood shimmering in the noon sun. The last arm was in the process of being violently torn off the Captain's struggling form, the Warlock twisting it in his grip as he pressed down on the Captains chest with his foot until the tendons ripped and bone splintered.

Joan watched with an odd combination of horror and fascination as the Warlock strode calmly from the ruined corpse of the Captain to retrieve his battered rifle, his robes stained with the dark blood.

"What the fuck," muttered Joan under her breath. The drone of the pikes was getting louder. She ran after the strange Warlock, but more importantly, the refuge of the ruined golden-age facility. The Warlock stopped and cocked his head, seeming to take notice of the pikes' high-pitched quivering. He turned to face them, the first of which had just turned the bend in the old path that lead up the hill. He raised his gun. Joan, seeing this, hurtled forward, and, as she passed the Warlock, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him back towards the metal and concrete sanctuary.

"What are y-"

"Look. I know you think you can take them, but I've seen you shoot," said Joan as she dragged him back. The pikes were almost close enough to unleash their electric hell. "Come on if you don't feel like dying today. I've already had my fair share." She winced again at the phantom of pain in her stomach.

The Warlock, almost dejectedly, turned, and ran the last few meters to safety as the pikes released a volley of thunder and death into the mouth of the long dead facility.

...

Joan took a moment to catch her breath. The warlock just stood tall and straight. Joan hadn't really noticed the Warlock's stature before, which was strange, since he overtopped her by at least a foot and a half. While Joan didn't consider herself to be exactly short, she still didn't quite match the size of most people, and by her judgment, neither did the Warlock.

"What is this place?" He grumbled, gazing around at the dimly lit interior.

"Hmm? Oh. This place used to be the old skywatch, here in the Cosmodrome- Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life?"

"No," he said, and then just under his breath, "Why can't I ever just get a real answer…"

A few moments passed in silence.

"I think we should keep moving," said Joan, straightening herself and dusting herself off.

"Why?"

"Those pikes outside? They're probably still there. I don't think we should go out to meet them, and I don't really feel like waiting here for the rest of the day."

The Warlock seemed to think for a moment. "Fine," he growled, and his boots scraped off the rough concrete floor.

"I'll take the lead then," she said as the Warlock brushed passed her, his rough robe rustling in the dead air. "Or you could." She quickly began to follow.

Another long stretch of silence settled as they trekked through the Skywatch, the only sound, the shuffling of their feet on the ancient floors. They passed several fallen torches and supply caches.

"Keep an eye out," she whispered. "Could be fallen here."

"Hmm," he grunted.

They crept forward, edging their way along, alert for any signs of enemy movement. And then there it was. A small blip on her radar.

"You see that?" She hissed. "We've got movement ahead. Get ready for a fight."

"I thought you didn't want a fight."

"What? Look, this is different."

"Is it? The way you went down..."

Joan ground her teeth. "Just let me do the shooting, okay?"

The marks on the radar were closer now. Just through this opening.

She peeked around the corner and appraised the situation. Two dregs. Easy. She signaled to the Warlock. Two targets. He nodded, then she rounded the corner, took aim, and the first dreg's head exploded with her hand cannon's report, it's soul evacuating its corpse. She turned to the other, ready to fire, and watched as the Warlock grabbed it and slammed its head into a long out of order computer station. It didn't die immediately, so the warlock slammed its head into the console again and again until its head was nothing more than a scrap, and its soul oozed from the wreckage.

Joan stood in silence. The Warlock seemed to still himself. He appraised the room. "Dead end."

"Not... Not quite," she said, warily stepping around the dreg's corpse. "This looks like a door."

"It looks sealed shut."

"I can fix that," she said and summoned her ghost. She pushed it outward and it began to scan the control panel on the wall with short bursts of light. The Warlock stepped back.

"The fallen appear to have sealed this gate," her Ghost explained. "Looks like they didn't want anyone getting in."

The door cracked, and an eerie green light gushed out of the wound, followed by a symphony of squishing and pulsing.

"Or out..." Murmured Joan, transfixed by the spectacle before her.

"You wanted to keep moving?" The Warlock's voice seemed cold and harsh.

"Yeah. We have to continue now. This really shouldn't be here, and we need to find out why." She felt ice in her spine.

She began into the darkness beyond the gap, and was secretly relieved to hear the Warlock's boots echoing behind her through the murk of the stairwell. It really got dark then. Her Ghost floated over her shoulder, and projected a light for her to see. The Warlock's didn't.

"Come on. Get your Ghost out," she said, and gazed into the dark void of his visor. A moment of cold silence passed before the Ghost flickered into existence above the Guardian's shoulder. They continued moving.

"Look," he grumbled. "Motion. Lots of it."

They were coming to the top of the staircase, her breath coming low and shallow. When she entered the open space with only a few feet in front of her illuminated, that's when she really became high strung. Faint clicking could be heard. A rustling. Then something moved in the dark. She fired without hesitation, the flash from her barrel illuminating the swarm of pale bodies. An air rending screech reverberated through the chamber, and then they were crowding on her. Suffocating her. Too close for guns. Her knife. She wrestled it free and began to slash. The thralls grasped at her, tore at her armor, her cloak, she could feel her shields straining, even giving way. She just kept working in a survival induced frenzy. Stab. Slash. Rip. Tear. Stab. Slash. Rip. Tear. Until they were nothing but dust.

There were still the screams of the thrall, the savage tearing, ripping noises, but it wasn't the hive making them. The Warlock roared, a battle cry to rival any, the hive breaking in his hands, their limbs splitting easily in his grip. Killing thrall hadn't been hard for Joan, but the Warlock made it look like an art. Like it was his calling. Then he was done, the thrall were gone, and he didn't look too good. Like a dead man walking. So maybe he wasn't as good as she'd thought.

"Woah, are you alright?" Asked Joan, running over to support the Warlock.

"Been better." he grunted.

"You look like a train wreck."

He did.

"Thanks," he answered wryly. "Just let me rest for a moment." He let out a long, pained sigh as she helped him sit, leaning his back against one of the concrete pillars.

"I wasn't expecting that," Joan muttered in between deep breaths. "The fuck are the Hive doing here?"

"Hive?"

"Yeah. The Thrall?"

The Warlock just shook his head.

"God, you're weird," she breathed out, and slumped against the pillar next to him, and they were quiet for a moment, the only sound was her breathing.

"So. What's with the fur?" The Warlock asked.

"Pardon me?"

"The fur. Why?"

"Oh. I, uh... I won it. In the Iron Banner."

"Iron Banner?"

"Yeah. It was an elimination round, and I was the last one. My team mates were.. Well they lied to me, said they were vets, but they went down easy in the first minute with all three of my opponents left. Luckily for me, I had my golden gun and picked them off one at a time. Lord Saladin was so pleased with my performance, he presented it to me himself."

"I don't even know why I ask..." The warlock grumbled and began to stand, scraping his way up the concrete wall. "Let's keep moving. I want to get out of this pit."

"I'm with you, there," said Joan, scrambling to her feet and mooving to brace the Warlock. at first he protested, but when he almost fell he silently surrendered.

They began to wade through the darkness, their eyes scanning the ever-thick gloom.

"So how about you? What's up with your bond?" she asked.

"Bond?"

"Yeah. You know, the thing warlocks wear on their upper arms."

He looked at his arm.

"I don't have one."

"Yeah, I know that. Why don't you?"

"I don't know. I'm not a warlock."

"You're not... What?" An incredulous tone entered her voice.

"I'm not a warlock."

"Light, you're weird."

"And you're not?"

Joan chuckled to herself at that. They were silent as they trudged forward.

"My name's Joan," she said.

"Oh." His reply was curt.

"Oh? What's yours?"

"Hmm..." he grumbled. "Calder."

"That's a nice name. It's-" she started, but he cut her off abruptly.

"The darkness seems to be dissipating." Calder mused, and his Ghost vanished quickly from its place over his shoulder. It was true, the thick murk that had once surrounded them was giving way to warmer lights, and Joan could even feel a faint draft tugging at her cloak.

"We must be nearing an exit!" She said excitedly, ducking out from under Calder's arm, causing him to stumble, and rushing forward in search of the exit. The place she came to was no different really from what had come before, but Joan skidded to a stop all the same. She knew that feeling, the feeling like your bones were frozen, like the air in your helmet was as thick as blood. A thin, sinewy shape uncoiled from behind the crates on the raised platform that took up most of the room, its leathery membranes fluttering as it rose into the air. It was then that Calder chose then to round the corner.

"Get back!" Joan shouted at him, the panic in her voice causing him to falter in his steps. She rushed him and pulled him around into cover as a salvo of scorching energy blasted the place where they had just been.

"What is that?" He asked, his voice strangely level.

"That wizard... It came from... the moon... " She breathed heavily, clutching her side and watching the wall across from them. "This is really bad. This must mean a fully-fledged assault. This could turn into a second Great Disaster, if things get out of hand..."

...

Calder didn't know what she was talking about, but it sounded bad. Bad enough that he didn't think he'd be getting out of there if that, what, Wizard? If that Wizard didn't get out of their way. He'd had enough. He ground his way up the rough concrete wall that was their shelter, and firmed his resolve. Joan looked to him, her body was shaking. That thing must be fucking terrifying. He turned the corner again and screamed a hoarse, coarse roar as he barreled towards his target, his gun completely forgotten, thrown to the side, all that existed was the Wizard. It spotted him. He thought it would. That was the point of the cry. He didn't plan for the next part though. Its emaciated form raised a frail arm. Pain lanced through him, and his limbs felt as heavy as lead. He felt his vision darkening, a miasma of shadow permeated his surroundings, like the one they'd just escaped from, but this time it felt concentrated. Pure. It leaked into his being and he began to shut down. Before it all went black he heard a desperate cry, a loud bang, and saw a flash of light as though the wizard was being lit from within by a ten-kiloton nuke.

…

Joan started as Calder groaned from the grainy dirt. The dry grass crunched against his robe.

"Oh. Good, you're up," she said.

"No. I'm still down." He grunted in pain from his resting position.

"Well what do you expect, rushing right into that Wizards trap like that. You might not have come back."

"Come back?"

"Oh, yeah. You died a bit back there. When I revived you, you were out cold, so I dragged you all the way out here. It sure is nice to see the sky again."

"A bit?"

"I hope you can find a way of thanking me for saving your ass. After all, it was one hell of a Golden Gun that blew that Wizard away. Oh, I've got it. My drinks are on you tonight."

"Drinks?" Calder forced down the pain and scrambled to his feet, drinking in the rich oranges and golds that made up the sky around a dying sun. The warm, sad light painted the surroundings in a stark contrast. He'd never been so happy to see the light.

"You know," said Joan, standing beside him." The sunset actually makes this place look beautiful."

She was right. The Sun's burning rays seemed to bring the dead grasses to life, and the rust that covered each metal surface seemed sanguine, like a painting of blood. The visor on Calder's helmet was a deep pit of darkness. It consumed the light. Destroyed it. Joan shivered.

…

It was hard to hear anything over the loud bustling of the bar, but the faint sounds of pre-classical music played over the few beat up speakers scattered around the place. Soft strains of nearly lilting music created a warm atmosphere, musky and crowded, but Joan wasn't as crowded as the other patrons at the place. After all, being a Guardian meant you held some sway among the normal citizens of the Last City and it had landed her a small, dimly lit booth near the back where they wouldn't be so noticeable. At least for Guardians. Remaining unnoticed wasn't so hard for her. After all she didn't stand out in a crowd, that was certain, but she also had a way of slipping past people's vision, as though they really just didn't want to see her. Her companion was hard to miss though. He stood taller than most of the patrons at the bar, in fact almost brushing his head on the low hanging lights at the place. His manner didn't help either. Instead of slouching, or slyly slipping around the other patrons he seemed to part the sea of bodies around him. Wherever he went, people just happened to move out of the way, perhaps seeing an unexpected friend or moving to occupy the restrooms. Some even felt the sudden urge to find somewhere else to get their fill for the night.

Oh well. Joan supposed it couldn't be helped. Not with a face like his anyway. It had truly shocked her when he had removed his helmet to reveal a face plate the colour of blood and burning green eyes that flared in black pits. His jackal of a mouth grinned constantly, but he almost never laughed. A fissure like a scar ran down under his right eye. A poorly done weld stitched it together with a line of pale grey. Above his eyes a pair of black horns jutted from his skull. She could see him now, making his way back towards their table, his bright eyes piercing through the fine smoke like search beacons, swaying from side to side as he parted the crowd.

Joan had been surprised that he'd even agreed to come with her. But he'd mumbled something about "paying his debts" or something like it and she hadn't minded so long as he was buying.

"Hey!" She shouted over the sound of the noisy arguing couple sitting in the booth next to theirs. "What'd you get me?" He held two glasses in his hands. "Two? Oh, you're not trying to get me drunk, are you?"

He looked a little surprised at that. "I thought..." he started, but something seemed to occur to him and he settled for a simple "No." He seemed to deflate a little as he took his seat across from her, though that may have just been the need to contract in order for him to fit into the space. He handed a drink to her and placed the other one in the middle of the scarred wooden table top.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Dunno," he said. "I just asked for a drink. I didn't expect it to be so... blue." The drink was blue, bright blue in fact, and it smelled like the air before a storm, little fizzes bubbling to the top and sparking over the rim of the glass.

"Hmm... I think you got a good one." She smiled at him.

"Let me know."

She took a sip. The drink seemed to hop around in her mouth, and a sour, bittersweet taste shocked her tongue like licking a battery.

"I wasn't expecting you to be so blue. You look like a Smurf," he said when she'd lowered her glass with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"A what?" She asked, swallowing her mouthful. A pleasant warmth began to spread through her body. An almost tingling. She hissed through her teeth. Damn that was a good drink.

"Why is that?" He asked. Her yellow eyes stared over her drink into his green.

"I'm Awoken. Not from the reef, my Ghost found me in the sea of storms. On the moon. I don't think I was Awoken before, but I don't know much about before. Anything really." He grunted at that. She took another sip before continuing, "so what's the deal with your scar?"

"Scar?" He asked, leaning back against the worn red cushions of the booth.

"You know," she said, tracing a line under her right eye with her finger.

"Oh..." He said then seemed to think for a minute. "I got it in a fight."

"Great. That's such a great story. You really know how to paint a picture." She took another sip from her glass.

He sighed a little. "It was a while back, I was out in the cosmo drome" the word was stiff in his mouth. "and I had been fighting a group of dregs. I'd just emptied my mag when the Captain came out of his cave and saw me. I didn't have time to properly reload, so I just dropped it and charged him."

"Like before the Skywatch." Joan went to take another drink from her glass, but it turned out is was a lot smaller than she'd thought. She set her glass down and snatched the other one up from off the table.

"Yeah, I guess, except this time I wasn't doing so well. I was newer to it. So, the Captain, he grabbed me and ripped my helmet off and grabbed my head and started to pull. He'd forced his... thumbs? He'd forced his thumbs into my eye holes and started to pull. The metal under my right eye gave way first." He stopped.

"Go on. I want to hear the end," she said, setting down her already half-empty cup. He eyed the cup apprehensively.

"You might want to slow down-"

"Just finish the story," she complained and moved to shelter her glass. Who was he to tell her how to drink. He'd never had a drink in his life.

He sighed dejectedly. "The Captain just put me down."

"What? He didn't try to kill you?"

"No. I guess it thought I was already damaged enough."

"Wow," she said, and with that downed the last of her second drink. It was a good story, but somehow it seemed just off. Fallen weren't known for their mercy. He watched her ruefully as she downed the last drop.

"I had to give that guy five coins for those," he grumbled.

"Coins?"

"Yeah. Is that not what you're supposed to use?" He asked confused pulling a strange looking coin from a pocket behind his back. It glinted a bit in the light.

"I've never seen them used. You must not really spend much time in the city, huh?" She commented as she snatched the coin from his grasp. It seemed to hum slightly, but she wasn't sure over the noise of the bar.

…

Joan didn't feel very steady. It was late she knew, most of the other patrons had gone home to sleep off the nights work. She knew she should have to too, but she didn't care, she was pissed. She just couldn't seem to win. There had been what? Twelve or fourteen rounds of arm-wrestling between her and her guest and each time he managed to beat her. It wasn't her fault of course, the table kept tilting and her elbow always slipped. Her hand smacked into the table another time. Calder, that was his name, right? Calder was looking off to the left somewhere. He sighed a bit.

"Aww come on!" She yelled. "I knew I had you that time!" He just muttered and shook his head ever so slightly. "Oh, you think you can beat me again? Go on then! Let's have another!"

"You know, when you're drunk you look nicely purple."

"What?"

"It was nothing. We should really go."

"Oh, come on, just one more!" She begged. He just sighed.

"Fine," he said eventually, placing his elbow on the table. She gripped his hand hard and began to push, but just like the last thirteen or fourteen times, her elbow just wouldn't stay where it was supposed to.

"Oh, dammit!" She yelled. "How're you so good at that?"

"I'm not. You've been doing all the work since the third round I think?" Her face flushed an even deeper purple at that.

"Oh." She squeaked.

"Come on. I think you've had enough for one night."

Joan tried getting to her feet, but she just couldn't manage to get her way out of the booth, the seats were too slippery. Calder, who had already begun to walk towards the exit paused for a moment, sighed, and turned back to help her up. She struggled ineffectually in his grip claiming "I got it" but it was immediately undercut when her foot slipped and she almost fell.

"Okay, I don't got it." She murmured quietly, and clung to Calder as he helped her out into the fresh, cool night air of the last city. It was surprisingly quiet outside, and only a few lights showed their path along the ram shackle streets and alleys of the city.

"Do you live down here?" He asked.

"No... I live in the Tower..." She mumbled into his shoulder. It was surprisingly soft.

"Alright then." He paused to look at a map of the surrounding section, D-16, then turned down a small side street.

"Where are we going?" She asked him.

"I'm taking you to a park so that you can transmat back to your ship."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. As soon as you're in your ship, I think your... Ghost... I think it can handle it from there."

It didn't take long to find the park, a wide strip of well-lit trees among a dark urban silhouette. As they walked down the leafy corridors Joan began to feel fuzzier than before. She was falling asleep. Calder gently layed her out on the smoothly paved walkway and took a few steps back.

"That should be good," he said. You can have your Ghost do its thing now.

There was a small flash and a humming. Everything sounded like it was coming from down a long tunnel.

"Goodbye" he said.

The last thing she saw was him pulling his helmet over his face and turning to look at her over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

When she woke up she wished she was dead.

Hey. Congratulations on making it t the end. I am aware that according to canon exos can eat and probably drink. I don't care. Calder can't. Also, I may or may not make a part two depending on whether or not I can think of any ideas. I would like to work with Calder and Joan again though.