Langston and Jabes sat in Zavala's office, the Vanguard Commander sat glaring at the two perpetual human calamities before him.

"Langston, Jabes, we have to discuss the looming Vex threat. The Garden—-"

Jabes cut him off. "Fire Wolf."

Zavala pinched his nose in frustration and gave a beleaguered sigh as his will to live plummeted. "Mr. Hugs, Mr. Wolf…."

Jabes/Fire Wolf leaned back in his chair, his electronic eyes rolled back in his head. The 'whites' trembled in ecstasy, physical pleasure from receiving acclaim and ceremony he so rightfully deserved. His eyes refocused, satisfied. He tapped his fingers together, "Yes Zavala? What can the noble clan of Fuzz do for you?"

Zavala scratched his chin and leaned back in his chair, "Unfortunately I must remain here, but I can… trust you to get results, if nothing else. Please Mr. Wolf, I can only ask that you not repeat your actions in the Vault of Glass. I can't… my heart can't…."

"The Vault of Glass?" Langston asked.

Zavala closed his eyes, the memory painful, "It is a dark story, which I'd rather not remember—-"

Jabes chimed in, "The Vault of Glass? A trifle! I pillaged it dozens of times, all it takes are five other Guardians to sacrif - erm, to assist in crippling the oracle system, vanquish the templar, and kill Atheon."

He paused, smiling at the memories that most certainly did not include an infinite cycle of death for newly woken Guardians. He stroked his own mechanical collarbone.

"The most sensual thing about time manipulating Wizard machines is that their deaths exist in a superposition of true and false time, and they rewrite history so that I never killed them. So I can kill them again. The Vex just get me. But I soon grew tired of our game. So when Oryx invaded, I allowed him to infiltrate the Vault. A deliberate, brilliant move on my part. The Vex system was crippled, and that's when I led my team in. The Vex thought they could fool us by simply opening the doors and not attacking us with their frames. But I saw through their deceit. I slaughtered every frame I saw. Once we descended into the Vault, time itself was fluid. We even came into contact with Praedyth, the Warlock lost long ago in the first Vault of Glass Raid. He came to us, weeping. Thanking us for his salvation after centuries lost in the Vex construct. He was a simulation. No doubt. I threw him head first back into the Vex portal."

Zavala lowered his head, "So many lives lost… poor Praedyth." He wiped a single tear from his eye, "There is a threat in the Black Garden. Eris has provided all the information we need but I need you both to handle it."

Fire Wolf leaned his head back, "HA. Easy. We just need some conscripts and -"

"NO!" Zavala yelled, desperate to save his fellow Guardians. "Volunteers only. And they must be experienced. No more new recruits. Our numbers can't take another hit like… like what happened on the Dreadnought."

"The Dreadnought?" Langston asked, sure where this was going.

"Oh god." Zavala whispered.

Jabes blustered, "The Dreadnought? A trifle! I ravaged -"

"NO. STOP. Just… will you do it Jabes? The City needs you now more than ever."

Jabes pondered. He was disappointed to have his usual strategy for plundering so handedly rejected, and finding actually competent Guardians was rare. He knew a few, but convincing them would be difficult. But Zavala's groveling pleased him. Physically. "Very well." He said. "Langston, it is time you met the other members of Fuzz. First, we must go to the darkest place on the planet." He said, grave. "The Library…"

...

A titan cradled an ancient tome in his hands, he thumbed the pages, and looked down on the expectant children who sat criss crossed before him. Orphans from the Jabes Fire Wolf House for the Parentally Deficient had come as they did every Saturday, and he read them tales from the great Red War.

His smooth, british accent wove together a narrative of heroism, of the greatest Guardians and of human exceptionalism. As he came to the climax of the story, it crescendoed into the very noblest parts of the human spirit. Just as two polar opposite examples crossed the threshold into the reading room.

The Titan Ollie looked up from his page, and broke into a cold sweat. He was familiar with the exo, and was one of a few select people who did not fear him. But he feared for the children. Their safety was compromised from the second Jabes entered the facility.

"Children, run! Flee!"

The children scattered in all directions in a practiced serpentine pattern, screaming "Run for your lives! It's the House Director!"

Jabes raised his mechanical eyebrow.

"What was that for, Oliver? Practicing for the Running of the Orphans?"

"No, it was just a precaution... For their sakes."

"Shame. Although the way they scamper in fear always entertains me greatly."

Jabes sat in front of Ollie, the warlock's narrow frame, thin hips as wide as his twiggy shoulders, was utterly eclipsed by the titans broad and mighty form. Langston stood off to the corner, calming the children with lunchables and slowly beginning the process of drafting them into his orphan narcotics network. Jabes splayed his legs out far beyond the realms of socially acceptable. He 'manspread' past the point at which human joints could twist, reaching a plane of lewd posture only achievable by a robot, the fabled 'exospread'. "Ollie my good Fuzzy chum, I am putting together a team at the groveling behest of Zavala. A conquest, of dire importance. One that only with the might of the full Fuzz clan can we succeed. We're raiding this weekend. I require thine assistance."

Ollie rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh I don't know, I got a lot going on…"

Jabes slapped his thigh, "HAHAHAHA! You?! Plans?! You don't have plans!"

"That's not true! I ...uh… have a date this weekend!"

Jabes bellowed, he laughed for minutes to drive the point home. "No you don't. What misfortunate wench have you swindled into spending her precious time with you? HMMMM?!"

Oliver was caught in his lie, he could double down and preserve his manhood, or admit the truth. One thing was certain, his weekend would be spent at the barrel end of Vex cannonade.

Oliver's mouth moved before his brain could stop it.

"Mara Sov!"

"Oh REAAALLLLY?!"

"Y-yes!"

"Then I must congratulate you on securing the most coveted waifu in the system! But wait, Oliver, you are such a gentle, kind and handsome man. Any lass should consider herself lucky to have you as a piece of masculine meat for their eye-candy, no?"

"Thanks, I guess?"

"In fact, I shouldn't even be congratulating you! I should instead, send my commendations to Mara." Jabes slowly, torturously, moved his hand towards his comm. A bead of sweat ran over Oliver's temple. He thought desperately of a way to save himself from the impending humiliation. In a string of quick calculations, he calmed down. Mara Sov, answering a call from Jabes? Impossible. He steeled himself, and put all he had on the bluff. All Ollie possessed in this battle was luck, and the collective disgust the fairer sex shared towards Jabes' infamous 'exospread'.

"That's fine. Do it." He narrowed his eyes, challenging Jabes. The Fire Wolf returned the gesture. It was a Mexican standoff. One that Oliver was winning. But Jabes had one last card to play.

"Or, perhaps, I should give my condolences to the newly be-cuckled Shaxx?"

They heard the dialing of the phone over the group intercom. Ollie dove to his knees and gripped Jabes' robes like a drowning cat gripping driftwood.

"No please! It was a lie, all of it, a filthy lie!" Oliver screamed, Langston watched the scene with pleasure. It was not his own handiwork. But he appreciated a solid mind breaking as much as the next man, given that the next man was Jabes.

"That's what I thought," Jabes whispered, silently masturbating to his own intelligence. "Now, you and I have had issues on my authority before, haven't we Ollie? You think you and your square jaw can refuse my demands? Refuse to commit the weekly war crimes mandated in the Fuzz Clan Charter? No. Did you get all that Knight Commander Snowball?"
Jabes' ghost appeared from his inventory and played back the conversation on recording. He shouted in his inexplicable long island accent, "DID INDEED BOSS! Should I add it to the blackmail folder?"

"The very same my tiny horned friend."

Ollie pounded his fist on the ground and wept. For nigh on a decade he had managed to evade the dreaded Fuzz blackmail archives. Oliver was just too clean. Too pure of heart. But now, what did he have to show for it? Squat. Bupkis. Jabes stood and rubbed his nethers.
"You are available and you shall join us on our conquest! Conversation over!"

"I shall do as you command…" Oliver accepted his defeat, and marked his real plans off his weekend calendar. Practice kissing with pillow, binge watch the Romance Channels, and even cry in the shower was crossed over by harsh, black ink.

"Oliver, I'm the big picture guy. I'm also the small picture guy, but you're the 'middle picture' man. We need you and your gloriously ridged brain to concoct a strategy. I would not have come to this squalid place of learning were it not for a radical change to my operations. Zavala made quite clear in his grovelings that we were not allowed to engage in our classic Fuzz plan."

"No more sacrifices?!" Oliver's mouth stood agape. Finally, finally Zavala had reigned in Jabes' wanton mental destruction of new guardians. The souls, hearts, and dreams of the guardians ensnared by Jabes' promises of 'raid grade loot' were stacked like logs upon an ever growing funeral pyre, one that threatened to burn down the whole of the Tower. There was only so much attrition humanity could take, only so many letters Zavala could pen to grieving widows and widowers. Ollie had a vision of a crying, small and pale boy shooting a squirt gun at a forest fire. The titan followed Jabes as the warlock walked over to Langston, whose newly drafted orphans fled anew in pattern Beta Sigma Alpha.

"It is unfortunate, but this time we must wage our little war traditionally."

"So this is a real raid then? A real, honest to god raid?" His pulse quickened, this is what he became a guardian for, not for keeping a ledger of victims. Kissing the pillow be damned, this weekend was looking to be an exciting one.

"Indeed it shall. But sadly this also means that we require guardians of skill, fortitude, and dignity. A rare lot to be certain. We need you for your jawline and moment to moment following of my orders. But we also need to increase our damage per second. For once, I am not enough. We require Divinity. And I don't just mean my magnanimous presence."

Ollie's smile vanished. A chill ran up and down and back up his spine.

"No…."

Fire Wolf smiled. "Yeeeees."

"Zavala will never allow it!" Ollie shouted in a desperate attempt to deny the dark reality before him.

"If Zavala wants to save the fragile minds of his filthy noobs so be it. But it shall cost him his one and only victory against the Fuzz Clan ranks. We are getting Lewis out of prison…"

...

Langston's yet unnamed ghost stayed close to his hunter compatriot. The fireteam had landed at the edge of the prison of elders. Jabes strutted his usual strut, a signed and tear soaked envelope in hand which bore the vanguard seal. The 'Trolley Problem' had once again trampled over Zavala's self respect, and claimed another night of sleep. They showed it to the guards at the front entrance. Their pale awoken faces lost another shade of color and they shook their heads, bemoaning the injustice of the world.

"Yes, yes now move aside." Jabes said

The Ghost shuddered as the great steel doors opened, "What did this 'Lewis' do that was so bad he had to be locked in the prison of elders?"

Langston lifted his nose, ready as ever to brown it. He would do everything it took to secure his position in his new community. The theft of Jabes' wallet depended upon it. "Whatever it was, I'm sure it was a lie, a manipulation by Zavala to weaken Fuzz clan influence. I'm sure it was planted, under false pretenses, and through a sham trial -"

"No." Jabes said. "No, he deserves to be here. Frankly, he should stay here. But if Zavala thinks he can control me with that filthy, powerful, masculine, bureaucratic hand of his then by god he shall face the consequences!"

Ghost trembled in terror. If even Jabes thought the man's unspeakable crime was worthy of imprisonment, he couldn't imagine the depths of depravity this 'Lewis' was capable of.

Ollie closed his eyes, "I'll never forgive myself for this."

"That sounds like a you problem," Jabes said. They came to the doors of a cell. Unlike most cells, with their sliding doors, this one was a steel box, only accessible through a small hatch. Jabes knocked his secret knock, 'a shave and a haircut'. A horrible baritone voice responded from the echoing black chamber.

"Oi! What're you doin' knockin on me cell?!"

Jabes flipped open the hatch, a small thing only fit for trays of food. He peered through, waited for a moment, then impatiently stuck his arm in and waved it about.

"Lewis! We've come to raise you from your perdition, free you from your bondage!"

"Can't you see that I'm listening to my tunes bruv?"

"Lewis, you have no idea how much trouble you've put me through. I even had to ask" - he shuddered, "Zavala for your release. The amount of bribery-" He looked over to the guard, then whispered through the little door "- the amount of charitable political donations I paid to keep you from being ejected into the sun could've bombed a thousand fallen orphanages to radioactive smithereens! The amount of paperwork I had to do - ME - to keep you alive! Can you imagine what would happen to Fuzz Clan influence if one of our own could be held accountable for their actions with proportionate punishment! NO! I won't stand for it. And I have finally completed your absolution of responsibility, you filthy mongrel. Not for you, but for the rest of us. Now, we've come to spring you! Lewis I swear to god if you don't come out this instant I'll-"

"You need me? Needs me for a job, yeah? Else you would've just left me here to rot wouldn't ya?"

"Don't sass me boy. It is true you're needed for a conquest. And you're… degeneracy has been forgiven. But only just. It's the straight and narrow for you from now on, and you'll have your freedom once we've cleansed the Garden of Salvation."

"Howdya think I feel? Abandoned by me friends? Just fer engaging in a wee bit o-"

Jabes punched the cell wall in emphasis, "Lewis! Stop! Never speak of your crimes. It took a legion of sweaty, filthy nerds to scrub the details of your escapades from the holonet! You nearly bankrupted me for two whole days!"

"It was just a diddle or two!"

"LEWIS!"

"Fine, yeah, alright."

They heard the shuffling of ropes, the kick of a chair, and Lewis respawned on the other side of the cell.

He was a hunter, in stature and swagger not unlike Langston. But where Langston was suitably muscled, Lewis' form was befitting of a man whose exercise routine consisted of five reps of holding his head up with his neck. Not obese, but savagely deconditioned. The copse of hair on his head heralded back to Korean popstars of old, contrasted with the pasty skin his imperialist accent implied. His hair, not unlike his street mannerisms, was acculturated.

The one part of Lewis that maintained musculature befitting of a guardian was his right forearm, veins bulged out of the limb, it's strength akin to that of ten men. His pants remained permanently unbuckled, yet tight around his hips. He was, in a word, disappointing.

"What raid are we runn-"

It seemed that Oliver's fist was quite the gigolo, because unlike Ollie, whose career of romance was as pathetic as a parapalegic linebacker, the Titan's fist had a date. With Lewis's face.

The hunter crumpled to the ground, and clutched his nose as Oliver mounted him, swinging left and right hooks down upon the prisoner. Lewis squealed in impotent protest. The only part of him that was impotent.

"M8 that's me money maker! U wot?!"

"You bastard! They were my responsibility, my CHARGE! And I trusted you!"

Lewis spit blood back into the Titans face.

"Oh and how they trusted you!"

Jabes put a hand on Oliver's shoulder.

"Kill him if you wish. But only once. Mourn the betrayal of your most trusted friend with a swift murder, then be done with it. Half of the responsibility was yours, afterall." Victim blaming was Jabes' favorite kind of blaming, for he was never the victim.

Oliver put his gauntlet through Lewis. Then got off of him. A pool of light and Lewis respawned, pants already unbuckled.

"We good mate?"

"NO! We're not good!" Ollie began to storm off but Jabes held him by the arm.

"Shake on it lads. We need cohesion if we're to pillage the Garden."

They shook, and Oliver wiped his hand on the walls. He kept it elevated, safely away from his person.

Lewis retrieved his most prized possession, a gun that defied causality. "This is wot you really need me for innit?"

He brandished the trident form of Divinity. Langston's Ghost was shocked. "Wait, how could you have that? You get that gun from the raid we haven't even started yet!"

Jabes looked over his shoulder to the spiritually broken lugnut, "Lewis' greatest skill is to stick his hands, and sometimes his tongue, where you'd least expect. Or want. He stole Divinity from right under the Vex collective's nose."

"Light help me," Visions of the life he wished for, the life he could have had danced in his head. He was for a moment, surrounded by heroes. Proud of his guardian, fighting life and limb on a fireteam of men and women, honorable, but rough around the edges. His snap back to reality was brutal and swift. In front of him was a psychopath, his psychopath, a 'god knows what', and Oliver. He hovered closer to the Titan and dreamed a pleasant fantasy. Langston noticed and narrowed his eyes. He would need to use the 'sock' again.

The Ghost whispered, existentially defeated, "So who's next? Are there any other Fuzz clan members we can approach?"

"No," Jabes said. "Sadly this is all of the competent guardians in the tower that I can simultaneously stand. The rest of Fuzz exists solely to generate engrams for farming glimmer. They're useless. I must LFG a guardian who has spent hundreds of sweaty hours researching the black garden. The dregs of humanity. I must reach out to the council of neckbeards and hire a theoretical expert on the Garden of Salvation."

Langston's nameless Ghost had to ask, "A theoretical expert?"

"Yes, an expert only in theory. No Guardian has actually conquered the Garden, we need one who has spent their lives with noses in the tomes. A nerd, who we would normally rob for their lunch glimmer. But now, we require their services. "

Langston counted heads, "That still leaves us one short."

Fire Wolf punched Lewis for no discernable reason, "Damn it! Does anyone here have a contact? Anyone who can hold a gun and follow directions, but isn't an utter noob?!"

Ollie shook his head, and Fire Wolf knew for damn certain Langston had nothing as well. His contacts could peddle drugs, steal and threaten, sure. But Langston would never surround himself with henchmen he could not pummel into submission. They would be useless. Lewis squeaked from the floor.

"I might have someone bruv. You might not like em, but he's good. A master, I'd say."

"As long as he can generate orbs of light I'll take it! Bring me your 'master'."