Chapter 4: Preparation
Lukos' head snapped to his right, taken aback at the name he just heard. Katenos? Tharsos is a Katenos? Lukos redirected his eyes to Sideros. The towering Exo Commander stood uncomfortably it seemed, watching Tharsos. It was hard to read an Exo's facial expressions, if not impossible, but it appeared as if he knew Tharsos. The tension in the air was thick. What the hell is going on?
Sideros' discomfort dissipated almost as soon as Lukos noticed it, and he removed his attention from Tharsos. "As I have said, I doubt in your capabilities. Why the Council does not? I do not know. There is absolutely nothing I can imagine that would give me confidence in this team. Out of the three of you, Chorvo has had the most field experience. He is the most comfortable in a firefight, but he is an unpredictable liability. Kaiah, spoiled by her parents, has only studied combat tactics in a classroom and has yet to touch a battlefield. And Katenos relinquished himself from field duty four years ago, retiring himself to Wall security. He has not been in battle for years and I fear his skill has suffered."
"It shocks me to think that the bulk of the Council agreed to toss you into Fireteam Shachal. As much as it sickens me to see the Council scrape you three from the bottom of the barrel and place you in my fireteam, you scum are under my command. I expect you to follow my orders at all times. I own you. Not the City. Not the Council." Sideros paused, exchanging distasteful glances with the three Guardians in front of him. "Shachal needs to be tested. I need to see exactly what each of you will do on the battlefield. Your first assignment will allow me to assess your strengths, weaknesses, teamwork, individual skills, and mission efficiency. I will personally accompany you on your mission to directly observe these elements. I will be watching closely."
The Warlock in charge of the escort party then interjected, "Sir, permission to speak?"
The Exo Commander, annoyed, growled, "Granted."
"Sir, official Council regulations demand that someone of your rank must stay within the City, unless under certain special exceptions. Wouldn't you be disobeying the Council, Commander?"
"To hell with the Council. I do not care if they used to be Guardians as youths. Those fools no longer remember what it takes to be the best of the Guardians. Without the presence of the FOTC Command, they would coddle every soldier to the point of fearing the very sight of a rifle."
The Warlock shifted, appearing as if he were going to reply, but stopped himself. He knew he could do nothing to sway Commander Sideros' decision.
Sideros hadn't removed his burning gaze from the new members of Shachal. "Your assignment is a low risk mission. Seeing as how you three have not worked as a fireteam, I thought it best to give you a simple task for your first deployment. Dead Orbit recon teams discovered a small regiment of Fallen grunts scavenging a pre-Golden Age city. Your objective is simple. Eliminate every one of the Fallen. No prisoners or survivors. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," stated Tharsos and Selana simultaneously. Lukos refused to acknowledge the Exo's orders.
Commander Sideros, taking notice of Lukos' disobedience, peered in anger at the Hunter, but remained silent on the matter. "Head to the armory. Supply yourselves accordingly. You have exactly one hour to prepare for the mission and return here to set out for immediate deployment. Your personal weaponry has been requisitioned and is waiting for you in Fireteam Shachal's exclusive weaponry sector. You are dismissed."
"Sir," Tharsos and Selana confirmed. The three Guardians turned and headed for the hangar's exit.
Sideros attentively watched as the team exited the dock. He watched Tharsos in particular, but his thoughts remained a mystery.
The armory was tremendously busy. Guardians chaotically spilled in and out of its multiple doorways, spread out amidst the adjacent hallways. Titans, Hunters, and Warlocks, all sporting different types of armors and equipped with hundreds of weapons, littered the armory levels. The halls were filled with the chatter of all the soldiers, the indistinguishable talk almost disorienting. As we walked side by side down the hall, approaching the center entrance to the armory itself, we passed dozens of Guardians. Some complete fireteams bearing their respective squads' emblems on their uniforms and armor. Some stared at us in curiosity. Others merely found a simple glance too much attention. We stuck out amidst the crowd of soldiers traversing the hallways. I came to the conclusion that it was obvious we were a new unit. When we reached the end of the lengthy hall, we were greeted by a reluctant security officer at the armory checkpoint.
"Purpose in visiting the armory?" he asked unenthusiastically.
"We are being deployed shortly and need to gear up. We were told that our personal equipment has been requisitioned and is being stored," I informed the officer.
He queried, "Fireteam?"
"Shachal," I said.
"Alright, I was notified about you guys. I understand this is your first time here. Your designated sector is in the sixth block. The armory is comprised of four levels with nine zones per level. This is Level Three. You'll find the sixth block if you head east from the central, or fifth, block. Currently you are in the eighth, so head north," the checkpoint officer mumbled. He pointed toward the central zone and let us be on our way.
As we approached the middle of the armory, we passed scores of aisles, cramped together, lined with cargo compartments and lockers hundreds of storage spaces long. It took awhile to reach the fifth block and, upon arrival, I realized how massive the Tower's armory was. Much larger than the barracks' armory I was accustomed with. The center was far different from what we had passed. Unlike the surrounding blocks, it had dozens of wide workbenches lined up evenly throughout the area. Deafening echoes of several hundred Guardian voices ricocheted throughout its entirety. The sounds of clattering parts cluttered the air as Guardians surrounding the workbenches disassembled and reassembled their weapons. Earsplitting gunfire could be heard from the northern second block's firing range.
"This must be the fifth block," Selana said with a calm tone. Her voice could hardly be heard beneath all of the noise.
"Yeah, yeah," Lukos said shortly, "let's just get to our sector."
We began to head east, weaving our way through the maze of soldiers and equipment. As we walked, I looked to my left and right, observing the Guardians working with several types of weapons and armor. There were so many variations of gear being customized and worked with. There wasn't enough time in a day to study all of the equipment. With that in mind, I redirected my attention ahead. We were nearing the eastern-most block. As we reached the border, the three of us stopped and turned to face each other, one shared thought on mind.
"He didn't tell us where our sector was," Lukos complained, scowling as he scanned the area.
His demeanor had changed drastically from earlier this morning when I met him. It was obvious that he was upset with Commander Sideros at the briefing. I think some of it could be attributed to hearing my name as well. But I pushed the thought aside. We needed to find our sector as soon as possible.
Just then we were approached by an old man suited up with some medium grade armor. It was mostly gray with some dull orange lining throughout the threading. Parts of his uniform were armored with lightweight plates, including his forearms, torso, shins, and right shoulder. He walked toward us with a crooked smile on his face, prominent wrinkles appearing. He must have been at least fifty years of age. His sandy blonde hair was becoming consumed by silver at his sideburns. Despite his age, he was very lean and fit. His blue eyes shone with experience, but also reflected a pure heart.
He stopped in front of us with a seemingly over-happy grin pasted on his face. "Might ya' lads and lass be the members o' Shachal?" he asked with a Scottish accent, looking back and forth from the three of us waiting for an answer.
"Yes, we are," Selana replied. "Why do you ask, kind sir?"
"Ah, a polite lass, ya're, missy. Ma' name is Kaeneth. Kaeneth Atos," the old Hunter said. "I was sent here ta' help ya'. I hear ya' need ta' get ta' your sector, right?"
"Correct," Selana cheerfully said.
"Sideros sent you?" Lukos asked curtly.
"Aye, that he did," Kaeneth responded. "Follow me. I'll take ya' ta' your sector. I know this place like the back o' ma' hand."
We followed the senior soldier through the labyrinth of lockers in the sixth block, and then he turned to me and said, "Been awhile, eh, Tharsos?"
I shook my head and replied, "Forgive me, but I don't recognize you."
"Aye, it's been a long time. Age hasn't been good ta' me, I guess. Doesn't surprise me that ya' don't remember. I met ya' about fifteen years ago or so. Ya' were just a young lad at the time."
Confused, I started to ask him about meeting me. But before I could we reached our sector, a section of lockers with our names engraved on plates next to a keypad. "Here ya're, kiddos." Kaeneth handed each of us cards which gave us access to the glass-encased keypad itself. "I'll see ya' later, Shachal." Kaeneth smiled again and left us to ourselves.
I didn't get a chance to ask him about how he knew me. But it wouldn't be strange for me to forget. I try to avoid thinking about then. I stood staring at the steel nameplate on my locker in front of me, distracted by my thoughts. I was brought back to the present when two beeps sounded to my left. Lukos and Selana had already opened their storage compartments. I looked over at the two and noticed Lukos was looking especially upset. He reached into his locker and withdrew a huge revolver. It was gunmetal blue, save the handle and an extravagant design engraved across the receiver and barrel, both being a pearlescent white. A similar design was on the handle as well, only colored a metallic blue. It was a skillfully crafted revolver. Lukos released the cylinder and checked the ammunition. He then spun the stocky cylinder, snapping it back into the receiver.
"So how are you related to Thumos Katenos, Tharsos?" Lukos asked me without removing his eyes from his sidearm.
"He's my father," I told him.
"Didn't find that worth mentioning at the museum? I think you being his son would be relevant information." At this point, Selana looked over her shoulder, unable to refrain from hearing the conversation. She turned and leaned against her locker, listening quietly to what more there was to say.
For a moment I searched for the words. Now Lukos was standing squarely in front of me, his massive revolver at his side. "Why does it matter if I didn't tell you about me? We don't know each other."
"It matters because I have to work with you. How am I supposed to work with dishonest teammates?" Lukos retaliated.
"You didn't know we were going to be teammates. I have my reasons for not mentioning it. That's all you need to know," I said, but he didn't appear to be satisfied.
"How long do you think that's gonna last? As much as I hate it, I have to work with you. Since we're going to be spending so much time together, we're going to need to know each other."
We exchanged glares, silent and unmoving. "When you decide to tell me what was taken from you, I'll tell you about me," I boldly said to him. Lukos blinked, his expression changed drastically again. He dropped his head and turned away from me.
"Hurry the hell up," his cracking voice barely heard. "We'll be late."
I stared at the mysterious man's back and didn't respond. I shifted and swiped my keycard through the slot. A beep sounded and the lock disengaged. I reached into the locker and latched onto the heavy LMG sitting inside. "Hail of Fire." Its body was painted a charcoal black and ash gray capturing a detailed pattern of molten rock. Between the crevices of the molten earth, was a fiery, vibrant orange. The barrel sported the same orange paint, appearing as if it was burning. It was drum fed and a holographic sight was attached to the machine gun.
"Finish gearing up," I told my teammates. Lukos went to his locker and snatched an old bolt action sniper rifle from it, immediately slinging it around his back. The rickety rifle had a worn steel paintjob and its frame was severely scratched.
Selana looked at me compassionately. A short and weak smile disappeared quickly as she grabbed her weapons. The strikingly beautiful Warlock, adorned in dark pine green and midnight blue armor, and black trench coat, carried a compact assault rifle, hardly much larger than an SMG. A modified reflex sight was mounted on it, and a built-in fore grip was cut out of the metal plating encasing the body. The front and top were painted a glossy, blood red. The rest of the rifle was matte black and gold. She also had a fusion SMG slung around her shoulder. It was a dark lavender and white with thin yellow stripes falling between the purple and white paint.
After seeing them ready, I finished equipping myself with ammunition, grenades, and the like. With it nearly empty, I stared into my dark locker and removed the shotgun resting inside. It was painted black, gray, and white with sharp, geometrical lines stretching across the body. Out of habit, I examined the weapon quietly, letting my arms feel the weight of the shotgun. Taking a deep breath, I squeezed the pistol grip and loaded it to the maximum of six shells. I slung the semi-automatic "Make My Day" shotgun around my shoulder and equipped my "Hail of Fire" LMG.
"Alright, let's go," I started off and was followed by my teammates at either side of me. The return to the hangar would be a long and awkward one. I could only hope that this mission was going to work. I began to understand why Sideros doubted us. This early as a team, and even I feared what might happen. I gripped my rifle tightly and quickened my pace to Loading Dock S-153. I glanced at Lukos to my left. His furious gaze was locked ahead. We have to make this work.