Mark stayed relatively silent for the rest of the ride. The Ghost filled him in on a few things; his abilities as a Titan, his sparrow, his weapons, basic things, but not much else.
Honestly, he wasn't sure he could absorb much more information. He needed the time to think more than anything. He tried, for a moment, to fight to recall more of his old life, but it was exhausting and pointless. So many mental barriers had built themselves around these memories that trying to think about them was like trying to walk through a brick wall.
He decided to sit in silence and try to relax and recover from the most adrenaline fueled awakening he had had in what he could remember of his life.
It wasn't until the Ghost alerted him that they were approaching the City that he finally stood and looked out the ship's canopy at the view of earth.
The City came quickly into view. It was a sprawling metropolis, surrounded by high walls that were laced with gun emplacements and foot patrols. The skyline of the City was mostly blocked by a large, white orb he recognized as the Traveler from his memory.
The Ghost was right, it did look significantly different. It was tarnished and charred from conflict. Multiple sections of it were missing, exposing its skeletal frame. It barely looked able to stay in the sky.
His attention was snapped away from it when the Ghost brought the jumpship onto an approach vector to a large tower that dominated the City's skyline. It guided the jumpship into a nearby hanger bay, parking it and disengaging from the controls before turning to face him.
"the Last City awaits, Guardian," it said, lowering the boarding ramp and exiting at its usual, leisurely pace.
Mark paused for a minute and drew his rifle before following. This was all still a bit foreign to him, and he figured he was better off keeping his guard up for now at least.
He walked down the ramp, rifle held against his chest and at the ready, watching as three people approached him at a somewhat quickened pace.
Towards the center were three odd looking men. One wore armor, not unlike his own, that was painted white with red accents, but his face was a bright, glowing, alien blue. He was flanked by another blue skinned man it yellow robes, who was carrying a datapad in his left hand, and another, much taller person who wore an armored face shield and long, white robes. Flanking the group were two, skeletal robots, simplistic in design and carrying odd looking auto rifles that were much more advanced than his own.
Mark tensed as the robots stopped and readied their weapons, but the other three approached, unconcerned by the robot's caution and undaunted by him.
"Welcome Guardian," said the one in the white robes, "we have been expecting you."
Mark raised an eyebrow.
"You have?" He inquired.
The white robed man nodded and stepped forward from the other two.
"Well, I have," he continued, "I am the Speaker. I speak for the Traveler and its light. It protects us and guides our city. Without it, we would all be nothing but survivors, striking out on our own in the dark. It has awakened you and given you purpose, Guardian."
Purpose? He thought to himself.
He hoped that word would trigger some kind of flashback to something, but it didn't. If the Traveler had awakened him for a purpose, surely he would have remembered it.
He didn't get long to think before the heavily armored man with blue skinned approached, smiling at him and laughing slightly.
"Looks like the Traveler gave me someone useful for a change," he said, gesturing to the insignia on Mark's chest and extending his hand to shake, "I'm commander Zavala. I lead the City's Titans. I'm proud to have a tested warrior like you join our ranks."
Make shook his hand, and Zavala reached over to grab his dog tags, looking them over and smiling.
"Welcome, Staff Sergeant Mark Kelly."
Mark looked at him with an odd expression, then down to his insignia. Clearly it meant more than he realized.
The blue one in yellow robes brushed Zavala out of the way, clearly sensing Mark's confusion.
"Please Zavala, he clearly remembers nothing," he said, looking up from his datapad, "I am Master Rahool, Cryptarch of the Tower. I analyze all of the Tower's data, and that insignia of yours was the mark of a great warrior before the Collapse."
He looked down at his datapad and brought up a file with the same insignia on it.
"I'm afraid the true meaning of it was lost to time, but this battle song identifies it as the mark of fighting soldiers from the sky, fearless men who jump and die, a respected and feared unit by the title of the Green Berets. A cryptic meaning, but impressive none the less."
Another flash of memories triggered as the lines of the song were uttered. Memories from various battles he had fought flashed before his eyes; battles against humans, the Fallen, and several other enemies could neither name nor recognize.
The mental fog continued to hold him back, however. He knew more was there, but he wasn't going to be able to get to it any time soon.
To save him from his confusion, and from the Cryptarch's rambling, the Speaker stepped forward, halting the Cryptarch before he could continue.
"Regardless of your prior service Guardian, we are all equals here, equals in the fight to defend the Last Safe City on Earth. Now, as I said before Guardian, the Traveler awakens each new Guardian with a purpose. What is yours?"
Mark stared at him blankly for a moment. The only thing he remembered living for was to fight, but surely he had lived for something else.
"I don't know," he deadpanned, "I didn't even know my own name an hour ago."
The Speaker laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sure you will find it in time Guardian. In the mean time, I'm sure the Cryptarch can help you unlock the secrets of your armor."
The Cryptarch nodded as the Speaker stepped away and began to scan Mark's armor with his tablet.
"Golden age armor is always so interesting," he mused as he continued to scan it, much to the chagrin of Mark, who was tensed and still held his rifle at the ready.
"Maybe we can find some clues to your purpose in your armor Guardian," he continued.
Mark hesitated for a moment, and instinctively backed away. Something about him was very opposed to giving up his armor, but he shook the feeling off. If this was the way to piece together his life then so be it.
He carefully took of his helmet, revealing a man in his late twenties, his black hair in a short-cropped military haircut, and his bright green eyes squinting after seeing the light of day without a polarized visor for the first time in an untold number of years.
He tensed as the Cryptarch accepted his helmet and plugged a cable into it to download it's memory onto his tablet, but tried his best to hide his discomfort.
Commander Zavala clapped his hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, let's go get you some proper armor," he said with a slight smile.
Mark nodded silently and followed him off into the Tower.
Mark was beginning to become more uncomfortable by the second in this tower.
Clearly, despite the apocalypse it had endured, humanity was more advanced now than ever, and that alone was beginning to overwhelm him.
He had learned quickly of his newfound powers that had been gifted to him by the traveler, and now he felt more nervous than ever that he might accidentally trigger them and kill someone. The very thought that his own fist could emit a deadly discharge of electricity powerful enough to kill was unnerving to him.
Although he had little recollection of wether or not materials like smart matter had existed in his own time, the ability of just about any Guardian to create and dissolve objects out of thin air was alarming to say the least.
Even the night he had had to sleep on all this didn't make him any more comfortable. He had just tossed and turned restlessly, not content to sleep or even just lay back and relax.
The one thing he did feel comfortable in, however, was the new armor Commander Zavala had given him.
It was significantly more sturdy and thicker than his old armor, while also being flexible and easy to wear. Hiding behind a wall of metal in that way made him feel safe and protected against this new world he would have to face.
Maybe that was why, despite the slight discomfort it afforded, he loved wearing heavy armor.
Still, he kept some of his old armor's components for the sake of familiarity. The Cryptarch had wanted to break it down into smart matter, but he had left it in a box in his jumpship, not even willing to trust it to his newly assigned vault, and attaching only useful pieces to his new armor.
He wanted to keep it with him to remind him of his old life. He wasn't about to get rid of it if there was a chance it would help him remember more in the future.
As for his new armor, he had repainted the logo of the Green Berets onto his chest, and although he was still fuzzy on why that logo was so important, the Cryptarch gave his membership of the unit a ringing endorsement. He had also repainted the rest of his armor in the same blue-green digital camouflage color as his old armor, despite the fact that the pattern didn't seem to work very well at all as camouflage, and reattached his combat knife to the left side of his chest.
Keeping these few components around made his new armor feel more whole. He felt almost as though he needed them, even though he knew most of the changes were still cosmetic.
It was all still fuzzy.
"Guardian," called the Cryptarch to him, waking him from his thoughts.
Master Rahool had spent the time he had been preparing and sleeping, not seeming to mind the overtime in the slightest, trying to decode the information contained on his armor to no avail. Most of the information was shrouded in military grade encryption, set to destroy any information that he attempted to access without authorization.
Hopefully he had some good news.
"What have you found," asked Mark simply, looking over the Cryptarch's shoulder at the computer monitor he was examining.
The Cryptarch shrugged, scrolling through some images on the computer's screen.
"Mostly maps and logistical information, nothing of use to us now, but I did find this," he said before bringing up one last image.
Mark's eyes went wide and more memory fragments began to pass before his eyes as he examined the image.
The image was of a woman in her late twenties with bright, red hair, and intense, green eyes. She was wearing an ID badge on a lanyard and a blue digital camouflage uniform. In the background behind her was several more people in similar uniforms and a large spacecraft, similar to the ones he had seen in Old Russia.
For some reason, she looked like she was shying away from the camera as though she didn't want her picture taken, but she was still smiling.
Flashes of memories began to flood his mind of this woman.
The memories were of intense happiness and sadness. One was a short lived image of her in a white dress, autumn colors surrounding her. Another was of her crying on his shoulder, looking absolutely crushed and sad enough to make him nauseous even at the memory of it, and finally he remembered himself taking that very picture.
It had been a bittersweet moment by his memory. She was going to leave him for a long time after that picture was taken, but still he had known she would come back.
"Guardian," he heard the Cryptarch say, stopping the flow of the memories.
He stood there, dazed for another moment, wishing he the memories to continue, but they had frozen for good.
He irrationally felt angry at the man for having interrupted him. Those memories had felt good, and in a way more real than the ones he had felt before. Up until now, they were his only memories that didn't involve war.
"Are you feeling alright?" Pressed the Cryptarch.
Mark pinched the beige of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain his focus.
"I'm fine," he said, deciding not to bring up the memories.
The Cryptarch nodded and began to zoom and enhance the image, highlighting the ID badge that hung around the woman's neck. Because of how she had been moving when the picture was taken, the details of the badge were distorted and blurry.
"I can't make out her name, but that badge identifies here as part of the US Navy's Technological Intelligence division. She must have served aboard a colony ship before the Collapse."
The Cryptarch pondered this for a few more moments, before closing the image and starting to sort through some additional information.
"It's probably nothing though Guardian," he said dismissively.
Mark practically leapt out of his armor to stop him, yanking the Cryptarch's finger from the mouse and pulling the image back up.
The Cryptarch was startled and angry at his transgression, but Mark didn't care.
Something about this woman was very important.
The Cryptarch looked ready to protest, but seeing the look in Mark's eyes he decided against it.
"I need to know who this is," Mark practically barked, searching the image for anything that could identify her.
The Cryptarch smiled slightly and laughed, turning to face the screen once again.
"I see you've found your purpose Guardian?"
"Yes," responded Mark without a second of hesitation, "How do I find her?"
The Cryptarch frowned, shaking his head.
"Guardian, you've been dead for a long time, and if she hasn't become a Guardian yet, she's dead as well. I'm sorry."
Mark was infuriated by the mere thought of that. He didn't know much about this woman, but he knew she was important.
He needed to find her, and he knew he would, or at very least he would die trying.
This was his purpose, he was sure of it, and the Traveler wouldn't have reawakened him for a purpose that was impossible to fulfill.
"You said I have a purpose," he spat, "well this is it, I'm sure of it. She's out there, somewhere. Now, where can I find her?"
The Cryptarch rolled his eyes at Mark's demanding tone, not having any inclination as to the thoughts that had just rocketed through Mark's head, but still he thought for a moment, searching his mind for a solution.
"Well," he said absentmindedly, "an old warmind AI by the name of Rasputin still controls a lot of Earth's military infrastructure, and should have access to old military records. He tends not to be very hospitable towards us, but seeing as you were a soldier before the Collapse, maybe he'd be willing to help you find her."
Mark didn't need to be told twice. The moment the Cryptarch finished Mark had already started leaving.
He grabbed the new, oddly shaped Suros auto rifle he had been issued from its rack and slapped it onto his back, grabbing his helmet and transferring the image of the woman to it quickly.
He didn't wait around to hear the Cryptarch's protests, there was no time.
"Ghost, find me the location of that AI," he said flatly.
The small, mechanical object appeared next to him in a flash of light, already beeping and searching for the data he had requested.
"Rasputin's core is contained in a bunker in old Russia, not far from the cosmodrome. Another Guardian was able to enter it a few months ago to halt hive activity, but no Guardian has entered before or sense."
"I'm getting in there," he said flatly, "I don't care what I have to do."
The Ghost whirled and clicked, drooping slightly in exasperation.
"Why do I have a feeling you're going to get me killed one day?"
As he strode off to the hangar, the Ghost filled Mark in on all the details of a warmind's functions. It was built by a military coalition before the collapse to help fight the approaching darkness, and was linked into a network of orbital weapons systems and naval ships. It was the last defense of a the Golden Age military, and contained all of their surviving records.
Hopefully it would be able to help him find her.
As he entered the tower's hangar, a cavernous area littered with jumpships in in various degrees of disrepair, he noticed three people standing directly in front of his own ship, one of which was Commander Zavala.
He didn't recognize the other two.
One of the two Guardians was a Hunter. She was young, and Asian with tan skin and black hair, dressed in light armor painted the same camouflage pattern as his own.
The man standing next to her was a Warlock. His armor was painted a bright red and gold. He had several subtle scars on his lower jaw, obscured by five o'clock shadow, and short cropped hair not unlike his own.
What really caught his attention, however, was that unlike the other Guardians he had seen so far, both of them had symbols on their chest plates that were vaguely similar to his.
The Hunter's symbol was a blue shield emblazoned with a half-man-half-horse sort of figure holding a red sword. A crescent moon sat in the upper right hand corner and a banner underneath that read Nightstalker. A set of wings sat to the right of the symbol. Perhaps she was a pilot?
The Warlock wore another symbol, this one the same red and gold color as his armor. It was an eagle clutching onto a globe, with an anchor hanging beneath it. A large inscription on his chest read Marines.
The Commander noticed him approaching and turned to face him.
"Off to somewhere Guardian?" He asked.
Mark nodded and brought up the image of the woman on his wrist gauntlet, showing it to Zavala.
"Who's this?" He asked, examining the photo.
"I don't know, but I have to find her. I found the picture in my armor. I knew her, I think."
Mark realized he must have sounded like a madman, going out into the world and possibly to his death because of a picture he had found and a flimsy hunch, but Zavala didn't seem to bothered.
"You're starting to sound like the Speaker, Guardian," he said dryly, "well, at least you won't be going alone."
Zavala gestured to the two Guardians that were flanking him.
"This is your new fire team. I put them together for the purpose of your mission."
Mark looked them over.
The Hunter with the Nightstalker emblem was the first to step forward, smiling at him.
"Hey, I'm Li Dawson," said the hunter warmly, offering her hand to shake, "I'll be the fireteam's pilot. Don't worry, I've never crashed a jumpship badly enough to kill all my passengers."
The slightly sadistic smile on her face didn't put Mark at ease at all, but at least she was joking, or so he thought. Mark shook her hand and nodded.
The Warlock, however, was significantly less warm. He had his hands folded over his chest, a critical frown on his face, and didn't make any attempt at all to shake his hand.
"Derrick Vaughn," he said bluntly, "and It's not you I'm worried about Li."
He jabbed a finger at Mark's chest.
"You have no business accompanying us on a combat op. How long have you been in the field? Ten, fifteen minutes? You don't know a thing about operating out there."
Mark locked his eyes on his, narrowing them slightly. He had a bad feeling that the two of them were going to have a hard time getting along.
Mark jabbed a finger at the symbol on the other Guardian's chest plate, and then back to his.
"Looks like at some point in our lives we both had a bit of experience in the field," he said challengingly.
The other Guardian didn't even flinch and just kept right on laughing.
"Hopefully your living in the past doesn't get us killed," he shot back.
Mark leaned forward, infuriated by the comment, but commander Zavala came between them, blocking the two from coming to blows.
"Guardians," he said forcefully, "I have no idea what has gotten into you. You're soldiers of the light. Start acting like it," he snapped.
Mark remained tensed for a few more moments, then nodded and relaxed a bit as his adrenaline wore off and he realized what he had been about to do and who he was going to do it to. This man was a member of his team now, like it or not. No sense in attacking him.
Derrick didn't seem to relax much at all, but back off just enough to satisfy Zavala, still snarling and locking his eyes with Mark.
"Now," continued the Commander, "you will begin your mission effective immediately. Find that woman by decree of the Traveler's light. Dismissed."
The Commander strode off, leaving the other three guardians in silence.
Li, who had been standing there silently the whole time, laughed and headed for the waiting jumpship ahead of the other two.
"I take that back. Maybe I will crash the jumpship and save you two the trouble of killing each other."
Mark looked from her back to Derrick, who said nothing before following her to the ship, not even meeting his gaze.
In a way, he understood his frustration. He barely knew these two, and he was about to go into combat with him. The distrust was understandable.
Still, none of them was going to fair well if they didn't learn to understand each other quickly.
AN: So what did y'all think? More action in the next chapter I promise.
Until next time Gaurdians.