It was shattered, foggy. No, that didn't make any sense. Fog was soft, dull, and slowing. Shattered implied sharp, glittering, and flying. Two completely opposite things.
Granted, the dream didn't make sense either. He could only catch pictures, flashes of images in his head that just left him… confused.
A traitorous storm, dying to reveal his position for all to see.
A pretty face, red and white, grinning over him with an amused smirk.
A sick feeling of despair, as if someone had just told him that the universe was ending and there was nothing he could do about it.
A roaring fuel-fire around the carcass of a ship, the pyre of their own salvation, hope, and escape. Worn and weary, resigned to death.
A crackling campfire, surrounded by friends, no, comrades. Worn and weary, but euphoric in some momentous unknown accomplishment.
And most of all, an evil red eye. Glaring into his, ignoring his desperate hatred. Reveling in his helplessness. Not for himself… for- for…
Damn it.
He woke up with a start, and slowly sat up with a groan. Beeper was still perched on his nightstand, snoozing away.
What was going on all of the sudden? He seriously needed something to do. But he can't leave the Tower, he's gotta watch that Strike Board. He glanced out the window, where the world outside was just beginning to wake up. An idea struck him: I'll go for a run.
He quickly slapped on a sweatshirt and a pair of pants, scribbled a note for Beeper (that ghost could sleep like a log sometimes) and headed out the door. And even though he had never run for recreation in his life (that he remembered, at least), a sense of comforting familiarity settled over him as he finally reached the ground and took off. He couldn't tell if he used to go on early morning runs or it was just the effect it had on him, but it was soothing.
As his servos worked away, left-right-left, his mind calmed. Cleared. Focused. The crisp morning air was rejuvenating, in all honesty. Refreshing. Calming. He needed to do this more often.
And as he ran, he started sorting things out in his head. His dreams where memories, that much was clear. Fragments. Pieces. Why was he just now seeing them? Feeling them? There must have been a trigger of some sort. Maybe a door got cracked, and pieces where seeping in.
He sped up.
A catalyst. That's it. But what? The hill. That hill. The first flashback occurred there. Visiting that hill triggered them, and the flow was getting stronger with every passing day. What to do about it though? They were only going to get stronger. What to do about it?
A single voice suddenly whispered in his ear as he ran, distracting him from his thoughts. Hup! Two! Three! Four-ay!
It grew in volume, but he couldn't tell if the sound was growing closer, or the fact that more voices where taking up the cry. HUP! TWO! THREE! FOUR-AY!
Again the single voice, crying out in a familiar masculine joy. Hup! TwOOoo! Three! Four-ay!
The other voices took up the cry, growing ever louder. HUP! TWOOOO! THREE! FOUR-AY! Krix slowed down a bit as he looked around, trying to pin-point the origin of the cadence.
Now the sound of a hundred feet pounding the concrete in sync filled his ears, unintentionally driving him to match their pace and rhythm. He still couldn't see the origin of the voices, but he also couldn't see the City anymore. The tall mountains had disappeared, replaced by wide-open fields, surrounding a fenced military base of some sort. Suddenly, instead of wood and bare dirt, his feet were vigorously slapping wet grass next to a vacant runway. His hoody was gone, replaced by some sort of PT uniform. But he didn't wonder at the change.
He was wondering at the people that were materializing next to him, yelling out with all of their might as they ran.
Sounding good! SOUNDING GOOD! Like we should! LIKE WE SHOULD! Rangers! RANGERS! Lead the way! LEAD THE WAY! Everyday! EVERYDAY!
He started to hum along, the words finding their way out of the back of his mind and moving to the forefront, the rhythm invigorating him, speeding him up, filling him with a sense of powerful joy and invincibility he hadn't felt in- forever. They were running in a tight, orderly pack, all young faces, men and women, sweaty, but beaming with joy at their solidarity and volume. The man running next to them couldn't keep the grin off his face at the perfection of his platoon, the volume, the rhythm. The soft light of the Traveler and the awakening sun-bathed the runners in a warm glow, invigorating them to yell ever louder in greeting.
Yeeaah! YEAH! Ohh yeah! OH YEAH! Noo pain! NO PAIN! Noo gain! NO GAIN! Time to do it! TIME TO DO IT! You can do it! YOU CAN DO IT! Dig deep! DIG DEEP! In ya heart! IN YA HEART!
He watched them with a grin on his face, a strong feeling of home echoing with every vibration in his chest from the cadence, belonging coming with every jarring slap of his feet.
Yeah! YEAH! Noo pain! NO PAIN! Noo gain! NO GAIN! Roll call! ROLL CALL! Where ya at?! WHERE YA AT!? Sound off! SOUND OFF!
A could detect another pair of feet behind his, slapping along in tune with the soldiers as they passed. A feminine voice, slightly out of breath, came from behind him. "Nothing like a good session of motivational PT to start off a day, huh?"
He glanced behind him at the voice, saw a flicker of grinning red and white, and with a flash, was back in the Last City.
He skidded to a stop; his blue eyes growing wide as he glanced at his surroundings. He was back in one of the many slum portions of the City, no grass, no sun, and no one.
"What the hell?"
/
Beeper was livid when he got back. Not so angry he couldn't form words, but angry enough to give him a cold glare when Krix finally came back.
Krix just slumped on the bed and looked back. Beeper's anger dissipated at the look on his Guardian's face. He was so worried he forgot he had his audio modulators fixed.
*Bleep? Wheeoooo… bipbop?*
Krix shrugged off his hoody and tossed it into the corner. "Nope. Flashback. A vivid one this time. I dunno what the hell is going on with my head, but I need to figure it out ASAP. Because if things keep going at the pace they are, I'm going to be rendered inoperable." He quickly changed into his normal black undersuit, then had Beeper materialize most of his armor back on.
Beeper was worrying to himself the entire time.
"Relax, I'm not leaving the City. I'm going to go talk to someone… and I feel better in my armor."
The soothing weight of his Wayfarer cloak comforted him as it appeared on his back. He had found it in the City, during the Reclamation. The sharp-eyed bird on the back with the stretched wings, soaring ever forward, inspired him. "Ok… who to talk to about this… Cayde? No… he's Vanguard. Better not start that with Zavala and Ikora hanging around." He slid a glove on and wiggled his fingers, testing the fabric. "Maybe Saint… yeah. How about we start there. He's lived long enough to know something about this. I mean, he's an Exo, right?"
They started for the main Tower Hanger. It was busy, as usual, the sounds of a rivet gun and grinders echoing in the background as workers yelled for parts and an overall oily smell permeated that air.
It wasn't hard to see Saint.
The massive Titan stood like a statue of peace behind his ship, right slap in the middle of the massive hangar. Krix always enjoyed talking to the Titan- he couldn't tell if it was the Russian accent or the simplicity of the way the Legend spoke. Either way, ever since Saint had moved into the Tower (a little while after the Panoptes debacle) Krix had made it a point to stop by and talk to him whenever he was at the Tower.
"Hey Saint. Is it just me or did you find even more pigeons than you did last time I was here?"
The Titan's faceless mask turn to evaluate the new-comer before recognizing who it was. The Russian's already loud voice was amplified by the high ceilings of the hangar. "AH! Hunter! Where have you returned from this time?!"
Krix chuckled and stuck out his hand, with was promptly crushed by the other Exo Guardian. "Mars, Titan, and Nessus this time around. Met an old friend of mine and gained one or two more."
Saint nodded satisfactorily as he brushed the last of the birdseed from his gauntlets. "That is good. I always worry about you so called 'lone wolves'. They never seem to understand that they can't do everything alone. Anyways, what can I do for you, my friend?"
/
Amanda Holliday chuckled to herself as once again his booming voice reverberated around the hangar. She stood up from the sparrow she was working on and glanced over. The fact that Saint-14 stood there still amazed her. The Legend himself, the greatest Titan who ever lived, was just one jumpbay over.
Granted, the big guy liked to take long walks into the City. He would disappear for hours, then come back with flowers stuck in his armor and, unfailingly, a lollypop stuck on his back. She would just chuckle and clean him up while he checked on his 'burds'. The grandness of it still took his breath away, and she never tired of his marveling at the people that he met. It helped remind her that not everybody lived in such an amazing place. Hell, she was one of them for the longest time.
The hunter he had been talking to stalked over to her, a worried expression on his face. "Hey Amanda, you got a sec?"
"Sure." She stood up again and wiped off yet another layer of grime onto her overalls. "What can I do for ya?"
The royal blue Exo gestured with his thumb back to Saint, who was already back to cooing at his pigeons. "Been talking to Saint about an issue I've run into, and he said I gotta find a 'Raya Solventia', who's some Warlock located at the Warlock Library. Already forgot the official name of it. Seeing as I've never worked with a Warlock long enough to figure out where, or what, the hell that is- you mind pointing me in the right direction?"
She shrugged. "Sure. Best guess to what he was talkin' about 'Warlock Library' wise is uh… here, I'll point it out to you."
The two of them walked over to the City side hangar openings. "Ya see the business district? The one with all them tall skyscrapers and apartment buildin's?"
He nodded. "In there somewhere?"
She shook her head. "Nope. The Warlocks who use that library would demolish that whole part of town just to get them to shut up. Ya see the Traveler?"
Another nod.
"Almost directly between the two is some sort of ugly-ass gothic spire. Yup, that's it. That buildin' is creepy as hell and I've never bothered to step inside. Don't get me wrong, I love them mystic types, but they can be uh… really strange at times. At least the order that normally uses it can be. Not the Praxics… maybe the Cryptographers? Cartographers? Started with a 'C' or somethin'… ah, I dunno. But that's what you're lookin' fer."
Amanda gave him a bit of grin. "Plenty of shadows in there though, so you should feel right at home."
Krix shook his head as he turned back toward the exit. "Har har, sleezy me. Thanks Amanda!"
She stepped back toward the sparrow she was working on and waved. She had just gotten back to work when she heard Saint laugh: "Geppetto! Hahaha! Take picture of this one! He is too greedy, and forgot to swallow!"
She chuckled along with him and got back to work.
"Haha! Spit it out my burd, spit it out! Theeere we go. Smaller bites this time, my friend."
/
The Warlock Aquatarium. 'Where Knowledge Flows To All That Seek'. That's what the library was called.
Beeper thought it was funny that 'Aquatarium' wasn't an actual word.
When Krix stepped inside, the first thing that struck him was the dimness of it. Despite strains of the Traveler's Light gleaming through windows situated high above the floor, and innumerable candles placed everywhere a book wasn't, it was still… dark.
The other thing that struck him? The massiveness of the room. Bookshelves lined to everywhere he could see. Data terminals lined that walls at evenly spaced intervals, and study tables lay concealed behind the walls of paperbacks.
The door closed behind him. He had no idea what to do next. He noticed an old Awoken Warlock near him, studying a particularly old volume. The warlock noticed him at the same moment, and glided over, a calm smile on his face.
"Greetings, hunter. It is a rare sight to see one of your kind in our area of study. What may you be looking for?"
"I'm looking for a 'Raya Solvetia'. I hear she can help me with some… questions I have."
The white-haired warlock nodded. "Hmm. Our resident authority on Exos? I know of whom you speak. Come, I will show you where she studies."
Stealthy tread followed soft glide.
He led the cape-wearer to a far corner, where an old human woman sat with three others at a table, studying a myriad of lore books arrayed before them. The Awoken warlock nodded in her direction then with a smile, departed back to where he came.
Raya glanced up at him, not showing any surprise to see a hunter standing uncomfortably nearby. She gestured to her students. "Go, we will continue your lesson tomorrow. I have a friend that requires guidance."
The three younger warlocks rose and took their leave, one of them casting him a slightly thankful look as they departed. Raya gestured him over. "Please, my friend. Sit." She sounded disturbingly like Eva Levante. Distant cousin maybe?
Krix did so, clearly unsure as to how to proceed.
She smiled at him, having done this before. "You have a question for me?"
He nodded, holding out his hand for Beeper to phase onto. "Yes ma'am."
She chuckled and settled into her chair. "Please, call me Raya. I'm just a Guardian, same as you. What is it that you seek the Warlock's guidance on?"
Krix sighed. "I guess it'll make more sense if I give a bit of a background. I was Risen about… three-ish months before the Red War."
She raised an eyebrow. "My, you're young then. You don't sound that young."
He chuckled. "Yeah, I'm a little over a year old. Sure don't feel like it though. Anyways, I discovered something about myself that I haven't really given much thought to before now."
"Oh?"
"It's what I want to ask you about. I have something in my head. My ghost describes them as programs. Combat programs. They took over my motor functions soon after we lost our Light during the first attack. People who were with me say that it was instrumental to getting them out of there, but that's debatable. The point is, I'm abnormal. Even for an Exo."
Raya suddenly looked much more interested. "Combat Programs, you say? Can you elaborate?"
"Sure. It was like… driving a Sparrow, getting yourself in a bad spot, then suddenly something pushes you off of the controls and all you can do is watch the Sparrow somehow drive itself out of the situation and to the finish line. Then as soon as you cross that line, you're back in control with no idea what happened."
He took a breath, leaning his elbows on the table. "I didn't have to think about them until recently. I decided to do a little investigation once I found out that that's not normal. So I had my ghost take me to where I was Risen." He suddenly jerked back and put his hands to his sides, suddenly aware that there might've been a rule about elbows on tables.
She just smiled. "And you had a sudden flashback?"
He took her correct assumption in stride, fully expecting her to be a few paces ahead of him anyways. "Right. I found out a little bit of info on where I came from, and that's when I've started having more flashbacks. Dreams I can't remember, but they're growing in severity. I'm starting to remember images, flashes, things like that. I even had a flashback when I went running this morning, and it felt so real I can't even describe it. I'm worried that if these memories are coming back in full force… then whatever is in my head might start coming back as well, and that it can be dangerous."
She sat back a little bit. "So you seek understanding as to why you are seeing what you are seeing, not... of what you see?"
He gave a single nod and sat back. "Yes. That, and advice on what to do about it. I don't really care about what I see, that's all in the past, but I'm concerned about my operational capability. I can't afford to be stalking a target and suddenly get caught up in a hallucination."
She chuckled, picking up a pen and studying it with mild interest. "You're not the first to ask."
His eyeplates flew up. "What?"
"Why yes. Not just with flashbacks, but also with this 'Program' issue you mentioned. I will start with the common ground, and it will shed light on your unique situation. How does that sound?"
He shrugged. "That'll be perfect."
"Good. You see, humans always seek advice about their struggle with their lack of memory, Awoken want to know about the clash between light and dark within them, and Exos always struggle with the fragments of memory they have left, and the dark dreams of a black tower and blood." She chuckled a bit and put the pen down. "the ones who come to me anyways. Let me explain to you how I see the Exo mind working. From my limited experience and research, of course."
"Imagine if you will, a mighty castle. That is your mind. Everything that is in your consciousness is stored there."
Krix nodded.
"Inside the castle are multiple rooms. Upstairs, downstairs, in the attic, and even the basement. Each room has a purpose. One is for emotions, one for your soul. One for your talents, and one for the skills that were drilled into you. One for your instincts, and most importantly, one room for your memories. And inside that room you take the million particles of sand that make up your innumerable memories and you craft a mini house of glass. A beautiful house, made up of all of the important memories and experiences you have had. The useless ones are cast to the floor, where the grains are swept up and forgotten. But the house- the house is incredibly important, for that model is the template for your castle. The key to who you are."
She started gesturing in the air, becoming a little more animated as she spoke. Swirls of Void Light started to form small pictures, animating what she was describing. "Now, during an Exo reboot, what happens in that room is that the most key parts of what is already a selective sculpture is removed and placed at the base. What remains is melted down and forgotten. Thus, when you start anew, you have enough memories to stay who you are. The foundation of your sculpture remains, so to speak. Who chooses what is removed or how that is possible, I do not know. All I know, is that always, something is left behind: where it is supposed to be."
Her eyes glinted. "Now, when you are Risen, something else transpires. A hammer is brought to both the sculpture and base, smashing both. The remains are washed away. Now in humans and Awoken, the Light sweeps away the shards and usually does it well, leaving behind a new person for it to forge for the good of Humanity. Sometimes nothing remains. Occasionally bits and pieces are found in the corners. Now keep in mind, we are speaking in the general here. Exceptions have been known to occur."
Krix nodded in understanding.
"Good. Now, in this analogy, something key differentiates your kind from your organic brethren. Your memories are hardware. We never know if backups have been made and hidden. Or if the wipe was anywhere near as successful as it was supposed to be. This, in our metaphor, is symbolized by that fact that many times, more shards than normal lay scattered on the floor of the memory room after the hammer smashes your glass house. Your template."
"Those are your dreams. Your brain is discovering the shattered remains of what constituted your memory's foundation as it tries to construct a new one. A new you. It is trying to incorporate those things into your new foundation. In other words, it is trying to make sense of the old, to make it compatible with the new."
She gave him a small smile. "And usually they don't fit so well together. Sometimes they… clash. Refuse to fit. One must be prioritized over the other. Is this making sense?"
Krix nodded a bit. "Sort of… but I don't get were those programs and the flashback come in."
"Ah. I'll explain your flashbacks first. Now, in the analogy I gave, I said that memories were in their own room, separate from everything else in your head?"
He nodded.
"Well, that implies they have nothing to do with each other. This is false, as many of us know. Memories, especially foundational ones, are made foundational from strong emotions that ride along with the experience that created them. Love. Fear. Fury. These are all things that- if strong enough- will guarantee that that memory is made key in the glass house you are building. Think of it this way- those emotions made the shard before it was moved to the memory room for storage and use. This is also represented by the fact that when that glass house is shattered during a Rising, those emotions re-claim what shards they can, before the room is cleaned. The stronger the emotions, the larger the shard. Every time you had a flashback there was a key prompt, was there not?"
He nodded again, both he and his ghost captivated by the old woman.
"Those experiences brought those emotions to the forefront, and those emotions brought their shards with them. Now, in terms of your programs… those I am less clear on. I do not know what their origins are, what they are truly capable of, or what their purpose is, seeing as they are more… unique, than other Exos I've encountered. All I can say is that they inhabit a room of their own, and I believe that you can either lock them in forever, attempt to use them… or let them use you."
"But why am I having these issues now?"
She laughed a little bit. "That is easy to explain. Your memory room is upstairs, you live in the keep of your castle. You have had no reason to travel up to the upper levels until recently, busy with life as you were, and now that the stairways are unlocked from your initial triggering event, visitors from those floors can now come and go as they please."
They talked for a few more hours after. Krix left with understanding, but still not a clear direction to go. He knew now what was happening, but still not how to handle his situation. The old Warlock was disappointingly obscure in that department. He decided to get some food while he mulled over everything he had just learned.
Bright orange eyes tracked him as he walked out. A sharp ear withdrew into the shadows, and a decision was made. Action might finally be taken.