(Somewhere, in an undisclosed area of Old Russia)
A floating orb hovered over a field of dried grass and melted snow. He scanned the terrain around him, and everything came up negative. Great. Another dead end. As always for the past 4 years. The Ghost collected his thoughts and thought to himself that he should have given up a long time ago. He was about to return to the Last City when a small, miniature blip appeared on his radar. Could it be?
He rushed over towards the marker and then he saw it: a mangled figure half buried in the mud, hidden by the tall grass and the dead Fallen walker that was felled upon the poor Guardian. It was almost sad, really. It seemed like a Hunter, by the looks of it, but it's armor was old and rusted, it's mantle and cape nothing but burnt shreds of cloth, and the helmet's visor was cracked and fogged. Only the leather jacket clothed over it's rusted plates seemed to be in somewhat pristine condition. This was by far, without a doubt, the most pathetic Guardian the City would ever see.
But something was better than nothing, even if that something was only half a Guardian. The Ghost sighed and began his very first resurrection.
(Guardian's POV)
The Guardian jolted awake and found himself lying in a field. As soon as he woke, he was immediately berated by his subconscious with questions. Where am I? Who am I? Why can't I feel my right arm? Where is my- All of these questions were halted when he looked down to where he expected to see his right appendage, but was met with a sight that almost made him vomit.
There was only his shoulder, and at the end of his shoulder was a barren stub in place of where his arm was meant to be. So he did the one thing that seemed logical at the time: scream in terror.
"Calm down! Are you trying to get us killed? I couldn't bring back your arm, stop screaming," said a voice next to him.
The Guardian followed that voice to a- little Light? But somehow it seemed familiar to him. "What are you?"
"I am a Ghost. Well, actually, now I'm your Ghost. I know you have lots of questions, but they can wait 'til we get to the Last City. Now, we need to find a ship. And I seem to have spotted one nearby. Think you can make it?"
The Guardian nodded. He and the Ghost walked in the field towards a hangar, in which they began to talk.
"Do you remember anything?," the Ghost questioned.
"Somewhat. They come in bits and pieces. I now remember what a Ghost and what this 'Last City' is. My name's coming along; I think I remember the first letter."
"Good, good; you're doing better than most. I'd like to know your name later, because calling you 'Guardian' is too broad a term."
"What do I call you?," the Guardian questioned unexpectedly.
"Huh. Never thought about a name. Guess you can just call me Ghost."
The Guardian shook his head. "Nah, seems too improper. Guess I'll call you… Nolan? Nah, doesn't seem right. How 'bout… Jack?"
"'Jack.' Yeah. Yeah I like the sound of that."
Jack the Ghost and the unnamed Guardian walked up to a ship hidden under a tarp. "Woah. This ship is in surprisingly good shape. These engines aren't even standard issue. And look! A stealth drive, too! And the paint job ain't half bad! What should we call this beauty?"
"The Galleon," the Guardian said.
"That's pretty good; you make that up?"
"Kind of. The name is painted in gold finish on the side. I know this… because. Because somehow, this is my ship."
The two boarded it; it was a roomy ship with a sizable cargo hold. They went up to the cockpit, and they took off immediately, the Guardian seemingly knowing what he was doing.
"Oh yeah, one more thing," he said.
Jack looked at him. "What?"
"My name's Axel, but you can call me Ace."
Jack looked at him in surprise; albeit only his glowing eye widening just ever so subtly giving off the impression. "Okay then… Ace."