Krix-13, The Archology, 2 Weeks after Xol's Defeat
Creaking. Everlasting creaking, with an organic, musty smell. That was the Archology. A massive maze of dripping hallways- a Golden Age floating city, consumed by bio-organic horrors. Treasures untold lay concealed within its winding passages, both of the physical and data type.
Krix sighed in defeat and slumped in a corner, staring glumly at the rotting corpses of the Hive soldiers he had killed a couple of hours ago. His hours-long search had come up empty: nothing Braytech was to be found on the upper levels. No lab, no research facility, not even a working terminal to access cargo manifests. The only option left was to gain direct access to the Archologies' main computer system in hopes of discovering a map of some sort. And for that, he would have to go deeper- definitely not a pleasant prospect.
He sighed again and stared up at the ceiling, his hunter's hood drifting off of his smooth, reflective head. Glowing blue eyes casually studied the cracks in the ceiling. "Well Beeper, another dead end. We could try to go farther in, but I'd need a fireteam for that."
Krix saw Beeper solidify himself and study his Guardian worriedly. Gold edging glinted in the light of the watery sun. He beeped concernedly.
Krix went back to staring at the ceiling. "Next move? I haven't got a damn clue. Not a single damn one. The only thing I can think of is we gotta go to the Vanguard and authorize a fire mission into the Solarium. And the chances of Zavala okaying that just to satisfy a personal history search? Nil."
Beeper chortled a little bit, swooping forward in a gentle, encouraging manner.
Krix holstered his 18 Kelvins and stood up, brushing off his pants of the mold from the floor. "You miss all of the shots you don't take, eh? Well, I guess you're right. Before I take THAT one though, let's go talk to Sloane. Maybe there's something we're missing."
It was a long walk back to the Commander. When they finally found her, the grey-haired Titan was standing guard over another supply drop, her scout rifle held at the ready. She was bare-headed despite the raging wind and rain, which was driving so hard that it had the hunter swerving over the decking as he climbed up to her position.
"Commander Sloane?"
She glanced to her left at the Guardian before watching the ship drop its last crate and disappear into the stormy sky. She slid her rifle onto her back and gestured toward the shelter of the nearby control room.
As soon as Krix stepped inside he blew out a breath of relief and started wringing out his cloak (earning him an annoyed look from a nearby operator). Sloane walked up to her station, checked something off, then turned to her visitor. "What can I do for you Hunter?"
Krix slipped his hood off as Beeper de-materialized his helmet. "I just have a quick question for you, if you don't mind. I've been uh… doing some recon for Ana Bray, and I've been trying to locate a BrayTech facility that we learned was located somewhere in the Archology." He gestured out of the streaked windows toward the broken, menacing shape of the Golden Age city.
Sloane's eyebrow went up. Krix continued without noticing. "I've already swept the upper layers that we've had easy access to and hacked what computer terminals I could find to try to locate it. As you're probably guessing, we came up empty. I was wondering if there was any way- short of getting a Vanguard-approved fireteam mission authorized- of getting farther in the Archology. Or more preferably, gaining access to a terminal that can pinpoint the location of any Exo labs or shipping records that still exist in there. If I can pinpoint a location, I can get to that location."
She shook her head with a chuckle. "Listen kid. I can tell you haven't fought the Hive too much."
Krix shrugged, hatred gleaming through his synthesized voice for just a minute. "You're not wrong. I specialize in Cabal."
She nodded with a sigh. "City?"
The hunter gave a single nod. "From beginning to the end."
"Ah. Well... I'll be straight with you, if you don't mind."
"Wouldn't expect anything else from a Titan."
She chuckled a bit, subconsciously scanning a new report.
"Good. What you're asking is about near impossible. If you had come maybe a week ago you might've been able to it pull off. Not anymore."
Krix tilted his head. "What happened?"
Sloane sighed, her mood turning somber again. "I lost a 9-man Guardian fireteam to the Hive. All of them seasoned veterans. They got too cocky, went in there, and got turned into Void Light energy crystals. Every single one. Now, we got sorta lucky because The Guardian was able to stop the ritual the crystals were supposed to power before it did too much damage, but now I don't have the authority to allow Guardians back in there without some serious support." She looked at him pointedly. "And a serious reason. To get access to any terminals that might have a connection to the main Archology network, you're going to need Vanguard authorization, as well as a fireteam. Your best bet? Join any strikes that're headed over there. 'Cause there's no way in hell you'll convince Zavala to authorize an expedition for some of Anastasia's research. And that's assuming any more will be happening after that last debacle."
Krix nodded glumly and glared at the rain outside. "Well, shit. Thanks for helping me out, I guess. I think ah… I think I'll take your advice."
She nodded curtly. "Good luck on your endeavor."
Krix reluctantly flipped his sopping hood back over his head. "Thanks. I'll need it."
Sloane never noticed the blue Exo step outside and vanish into the rain.
/
Getting back to the City was a welcome relief. Despite the clear damage still scarring the streets, the people of the City were hard at work making it beautiful again, healing the wounds and repairing the homes.
And having the soft Light of the Traveler illuminating its people helped a lot.
After transmatting into the modified courtyard that now served as the Guardian's hub of business, Krix took a moment to admire the City as it repaired. A quick one, just long enough for him to remember. And after doing his normal rounds to Kadi, Rahool, and Banshee, he headed over to the Vanguard Strike Board with crossed fingers.
There were no Strikes headed to Titan. Besides two that where already claimed by full veteran fireteams, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing, for what looked like the next two weeks. Krix just stared at the board for a bit, trying to come up with a plan. He sighed and walked off toward the hanger.
"Beeper?"
The little thing materialized above his shoulder and glanced at him expectantly. *Blip?*
"Do you know of anyone who can fix your audio modulator? Or give you a new one?"
The ghost's eye grew narrow. *Bweeeeep?*
"Why? Because if I'm ever going to go on a Strike with a real fireteam, they gotta be able to understand you. And not all guardians are robots that happen to have language evaluators on board you know."
*Bip!*
"Yes."
*Bip!*
"Yes."
*BIP!*
Krix sighed as he stepped into an elevator heading down to the general Guardian quarters of the Tower. "Beeper, I'm your Guardian. I know what your name is, and don't worry, I won't change it, but this isn't a point you can argue. I need you to get that fixed so we can actually do our part in a team. I don't want you to become a liability to anyone." He gave his ghost a look. "Or myself."
The little thing drooped. Krix gave him a glance as he stepped out of the elevator and grabbed his keycard. "Ok, I'll tell you what buddy. How about this. You get your modulator fixed but keep your… droid vocabulary. When you and I are by ourselves or on solo missions, talk however much beepanese you want. I just would like the option to have a normal conversation with you every now and then. How's that?"
Beeper perked up a bit then nodded.
"Awesome. Off you go."
Krix watched his ghost leave before walking into his new(ish) apartment. It was a temporary one (his had gotten hit by a crashed Harvester during the Reclamation), and was definitely small, definitely spartan, but it had a bed and a fridge. All he needed. He dumped his field duffle bag on the bunk and sat down next to it. He still had the issue of what next to do.
"Well-" he said out loud, fully aware that no one was around to listen to him. "I got all day to figure that one out."
He was still coming up empty that evening however, one meal and one full-body polishing/cleaning at Ella-9's later. Even a night at his favorite hunter den didn't help him out much. His brain was starting to hurt with how much meaningful thinking he was doing.
At least he had a good time catching up with some of his fellow roamers.
The next morning- after checking the Strike Board of course- he decided to go out into town. He shed his armor, weapons, and cloak for something a little more informal (and much more comfortable)- a basic tee-shirt, sweatshirt, and a pair of cargo pants. And on a comfy leather side holster went his 18-Kelvins sidearm: after the Red War Krix never went anywhere unarmed. The whole ensemble was complete with something a street vendor had called a 'baseball cap'. It fit with a strange sense of familiarity and comfort over his newly-polished dome.
As soon as he stepped outside he melted into the crowds, hands in his pockets. He could hear Beeper wake up in one of his cargo pockets with a confused whistle. His ghost's new voice sounded almost… boyish. It made Krix jump a bit the first time he heard it.
"Uh, Guardian? Question: where are we going? You're acting really suspicious. Well, more than normal, I guess."
The hunter grinned as he ducked into an alleyway. "Food. We've got nothing to do other than wait for more Titan Strikes to come up, and I was getting hungry. Nice voice by the way."
Beeper floated out of the pocket and next to his head. "Seriously? We've got no other leads?" The ghost paused for a second before almost blushing. "Thanks. I haven't heard myself like this since I woke you up."
Krix shook his head as he stepped into an Air Train headed toward the Central District. "Figured. And no, none at all. That Archology Lab is all I've got, and you heard Sloane: no way in other than a Vanguard Strike. So all I've got to do is wait for more Strikes and get myself logged in on one. Shouldn't be too hard, with all of the Fallen and Hive activity on Titan I'm sure there'll be more soon."
The train slowly lifted off of the ground and launched into the air, with a smoothness so easy the hunter didn't notice the launch. They rode on in general silence for a bit, Krix contentedly melting in among the normal people of the City. Unlike other Guardians who enjoyed strutting around in their armor among the populace, Krix did not enjoy attention. He actually despised it to an unnatural degree: he flat-out refused to show up to a Vanguard ceremony that recognized the many heroic feats of the Red War, and attended the funeral service of all the fallen in the same civilian attire he was wearing now. That had been a painful service, actually. He had buried himself in work soon after, and it took a while before he could forget and move on.
Beeper's voice in his ear snapped him out of his thoughts as he stared out of the train's window.
"Krix?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you sure about this? I've had this bad feeling since you started this that you'll be getting in over your head. And it seemed like this whole mission started as a whim. Like a side project. It seems like all that is driving you is a 'this'll be cool' or 'why not' type of thing."
Krix made a face. "I wouldn't say that."
"Oh? What would you say? Guardian, this is some serious stuff you're getting into. This isn't just something you can do in your spare time. I've known Guardians that have gone down the path you're looking at and it hasn't ended well for them. Can you at least tell me why?"
Krix sighed and glanced up at the Traveler as it passed slowly by their windows. Just looking at it made his stomach twist. "I dunno Beeper."
"That's not an answer."
"Yeah."
They touched down and Krix headed for a nearby burger joint. After ordering he sat down in a corner booth, his back to the wall as his eyes subconsciously watched the doorways.
He sat in silence until his burger arrived. As he settled down and started to eat his eyes fell on another Guardian in the shop, this one a tired-looking hunter, sitting quietly by the window and obviously just enjoying the peace the City provided. The woman, an Awoken he could see, was too lost in her own head to notice his gaze.
"Ever had something drive you and you can't figure out what it was?"
Beeper materialized across from him and gave him a look. "No. My life always been pretty straight forward. Serve my purpose until Destiny is fulfilled."
Krix looked at his ghost skeptically as he took a massive bite out of his burger. "Uh huh. You never wondered what your purpose was?"
Beeper shook himself. "I always knew what it was. To find a Guardian, and to help him till I die. Plain and simple. That's what I was made for, right?"
Krix took another bite. "See that's what I don't get. You don't ask questions. You just accept what is, without trying to find out why. How do you know what you're made for?"
Beepers shell twisted as he thought. "I just know. I was made to find you and help you, and thus I will. That simple. I don't get what questions I'm supposed to ask."
Krix gestured silently to the hunter a few feet away from him, still lost in her own thoughts. "I'll give you an example of how my head works, and maybe things will make more sense. See, like right now I'm wondering why is it that both of us are hunters on break, away from any kind of danger, but she's siting in the open without a care in the world and I'm here with my back to the wall and five escape routes planned out just in case everything goes to hell."
Before Beeper could say anything Krix continued, his half-eaten burger temporarily forgotten.
"I'm also wondering why it is that in that report Failsafe gave me I was classified as 'Special Forces' when I know SpecOps are usually deployed in full teams of at least six individuals that had trained together, not just two. And probably more importantly, why it is that my memory was wiped, supposedly 13 times, and yet I still remember that fact from the Golden Age?"
He glanced down at his food and resumed eating as Beeper just floated there in silence. "Oh."
Krix gave him a critical look. "You see? Up until recently I was too busy with life to worry or even notice this type of thing. First figuring out this new world I was born into, then the Red War, then the clean-up. But now… I have time. Time to think. Time to wonder. I get the feeling I've never done either properly for centuries, and now the more I think about it… I want to know why I am the way I am. Maybe I'll find out too much. Maybe I'll never find out. Now-" he took another bite of burger. "I will give this one to you, when I started this on Mars it was kinda just because I was bored. But after visiting that hilltop on Nessus…"
He took a gulp of water. "But to answer your question in a practical sense, I at least want to find out a way to make sure whatever's in my head doesn't take over my brain and start killing random people. I think that's important enough to warrant an investigation. It's proven pretty dangerous already."
Beeper looked at him queerly. "Yeah, how about we focus on that… that sounds like a tangible goal we can go after."
Krix shrugged, his mouth full of the remains of his burger.
/
So they hung around the city, waiting for a Strike slot to open up. None did.
And so they waited some more. Krix updated his armor, gave it a fresh color scheme. He got himself a new coat of paint, since his current layer was pre-Red War and thus was slightly banged up. He strutted around the tower a bit with said new coloring. He finally got around to naming his Alpha-Umi Cityhawk: The Arc Phoenix. He thought it sounded cool. Had Amanda stencil it to the side of the ship. And he checked the Strike Board.
And he checked it again. Ate again, checked it again.
Granted, it had only been a day and a half since he touched back down in the City but he was already getting seriously bored.
And since he had exhausted all other short-term activities, he decided to turn in early.
That night was strange. He didn't even remember dreaming, he just woke up with an odd gut feeling, like when you have a nightmare but have no recollection of it. So he shrugged it off and worked out.
Checked the Strike Board.
Went to the range.
Checked the Strike Board.
Ate.
Checked the Strike Board.
Yeah… This was going to take a while. But he could wait.
The next night was the same as the first, only the feeling was stronger.
The next night was worse than that. He just ignored it and typed it up as another one of those bloody Black Tower dreams all Exos have.
But it wasn't one of those. Soon he was waking up and startling himself with the fact that he was in his room… almost as if in the misty half-dream world he went through to wake up he was expecting to see the interior of uh… not his apartment.
A facility. He realized it after another memoryless night. He was expecting to see the insides of a stark-white facility. The details of the room grew as the days passed, the strength of the panic and confusion he felt every morning upon discovery of his apartment grew as well. The panic always quickly wore off. The confusion never did.
And he had nothing to do but to check the Strike Board, and think. Worry and hypothesize on what was going on. He couldn't figure it out. But he was a hunter, a hardened fighter for the Traveler and the City. He could shrug this off, everything would be fine as soon as he had something to do. He just needed something to do.
His first real dream came two weeks after his arrival to the Tower- if you want to call it that. A flashback was more like it.