Third Strike
Planetarium? Or was it an Observatory? Zee didn't have the right words to describe the Speaker's quarters in the Tower North. It was indeed a large area, a giant contraption Zee tried to understand the first few days of playing, but then dismissed it as redundant. Sven was laying down from the right of the entrance on a rather flimsy cot with stained sheets, his hands relaxed at his sides and his dim eyes staring blank at the high ceiling.
The raging crowd had died down some moments ago; as to where they all went, Zee wasn't sure about. The artificial sun was beginning to set against the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant gold. Birds flew in formation before her, repeating their cycled animation every ten to fifteen minutes. Lights from the city streets below were just small flickering dots that slowly came to life. She wondered for a moment how oblivious the citizens down in those streets were to the danger that settled around them, but then sighed to herself. There probably weren't any actual NPCs down there, let alone any real "lives." She suddenly realized just how claustrophobic the Tower would be with all the Guardians coming to one combat-locked safe zone.
The only people present at the Observatory were her, the Speaker, and Sven. At the entrance stood the three Vanguards, preventing any Guardian who had ill-will against the Speaker. Frustrations ran high, even with the NPCs. On multiple accounts did Zee see Cayde nearly lose his temper, and Zavala use a more than necessary roughness to push back the Guardians who threatened to enter. Ikora stood her ground silently with her head high, more than capable to handle things herself. Things we're quiet for a while, much to Zee's relief, with her ever present Ghost keeping her silent company.
Well, it was silent for a while.
"We can't let you through here, Guardian," Ikora Rey's smooth voice spoke out.
"Yeah, and I'm telling you I need to talk with the Speaker," a rather irritated man's voice retorted. His Ghost started to try to convince him to leave, but was only pushed aside and told off with a curt "shut up Wheatley, I didn't fucking ask you." Zee cautiously peered from the balcony of the Observatory towards the entrance. She spotted a rather tall Warlock with a purple armor coat that swept at his feet. He had a wide, strong jaw, his skin was a dark tan and had a powder blue faux hawk. Around his narrow blue eyes (adding to his goofy appearance) were thick stripes of white that trailed diagonally across his cheeks. Though the current moment was not a laughable one.
"Guardian, I must ask you again to leave the premises," Ikora repeated, her voice as cold as ice.
"And again I'm telling you not a fucking chance. I need to talk to him," he insisted. He tried pushing past the wall of Vanguards, only to be roughly shoved back by Cayde. "Motherfucker! I could care less about that Speaker piece of shit! Unlike everyone else, I'm not trying to put the head of every NPC on a fucking stick!" His booming voice filled the air with multiple strings of curses. Zee's Ghost eyed her, seemingly tired.
"How about we not get involved?" Her Ghost suggested. She let out an exhale and treaded carefully across the bumpy floor in the middle of the Observatory just in time to meet with the Speaker at the base of the stairs. Although his face was covered, Zee can sense a bit of fatigued aura surrounding the Speaker as she approached him.
"What is going on?" The Speaker demanded, albeit tiredly. Commander Zavala gave the Speaker a tight salute with his hand at the corner of his eyebrow.
"It seems this Guardian wants to have a word with you," Zavala explained. The powdered blue Guardian sneered to himself.
"Yeah, try forty thousand words," he remarked. The Speaker took in a breath, his shoulders rising, arching his back in authority. He gestured a hand towards the Vanguards, having them allow the Guardian to enter. The Warlock went straight to business.
"A level fifteen Titan Guardian, Awoken. About yay high," he held a flat hand near the middle of his neck. "His RiVi ID is TheCurlyBush. Is he still here." Zee raised a white eyebrow at the assertive Warlock, but diverted her gaze when his eyes glared at hers.
"I'm not quite sure wh—"
"My fucking brother! Is he still alive, yes or fucking no?!" The Warlock threw his hands in the air.
"You want me to check the systems," The Speaker replied knowingly. "State your Name, Class, and Rank, Guardian." The Warlock rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, well as you can fucking see I got a coat that sweeps across the floors as I walk and a goddamn WARLOCK bond across my left arm so maybe that'll give you a hint as to what the fuck I am. I was on my fucking way to reaching level 21, but then this bullshit happened, and I think if you'd just use your eyes one in a while I'm sure you can easily tell my name is hovering somewhere above my goddamn head," he exclaimed, waving his arm around in the open air above him. The constant use of expletive words almost made Zee visibly cringe.
"'TripPeTruBEDOO?'" Zee read carefully. The Warlock nodded his head in her direction with a patronizing smile.
"Ah yes my dear, thank you for displaying your advanced skills in reading," he said, voice dripping with cheekiness. Zee made a face, turning toward her Ghost slightly.
"What does his name even mean, though?" It questioned a little too loudly.
"It's called fucking jazz, Wheatley. Ever heard of improv?" The Warlock spoke with a little more hostility towards her Ghost. Zee's Ghost faced her again.
"'Wheatley?'" Only thankfully this time the man didn't hear.
"He logged on a few hours ago, said he was going to do a Strike with a couple of friends. Next thing I fucking know, the news channels are reporting about countless deaths all over the country when people were disconnected from the servers or when they were unplugged by family members," he let out a huff. "And don't look at me like I'm a fucking idiot, either. I know damn well logging in here means I'm part of this stupid game of death, but there is no way in hell am I'm letting my baby brother stand in this fucking death trap alone." The Speaker slowly nodded to himself.
"Understandable…" he waved over the Warlock's Ghost to him. "Have you tried searching the systems for his brother?"
"I have, but it's been difficult. Sometimes he's here, and the sometimes his name is wiped from the system. It's strange," it remarked.
"Which is why I'm fucking here. I need a straight answer. Well, two actually. Is my brother still alive, and if he is, where the fuck is he so I can drag his ass back to the Tower," the Warlock demanded. The Speaker dismissed the Ghost.
"The answer of your Ghost is as good as it gets, I'm afraid. My knowledge of the system doesn't reach any further than theirs," the Speaker explained rather calmly. The Warlock stared back at him, not fully registering his words.
"You're...you're fucking joking right?"
"No, I am not." The Warlock let out an exasperated sigh before running a gloved hand through his powder blue hair. In a snap of a second, he brought his fist up hurled it towards the Speaker's face. He was pinned down to the ground in the blink of an eye, with Cayde pressing his elbow against his back. Profanities spewed from his lips, however, they didn't seem to be directed at anyone in the room but himself. Cayde held his Hunter's knife near the Warlock's throat as a warning. Zee struggled to find her voice.
"W-wait!" The three Vanguards and Speaker all looked in her direction, save for the Guardian still pinned against the cold ground, letting out heavy breaths. She hurriedly crouched down near the Warlock's face. "Your brother, do you remember what Strike he was planning to do?" The Warlock squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore his sore arm and trying to remember what his brother told him.
"It was…" his ragged breathing steadied out a little, and his attitude seemed to cool down as well. "I think it was the one with all the Vex. You jump down, Minotaurs, then a big fat-ass with a rotating shield just launches purple rockets at you." Surprisingly enough, she knew which one he was talking about.
"The Nexus Mind," she stated. He nodded in agreement. Zee looked up into Cayde's blue eyes, silently asking him to let the Guardian go. Reluctantly, the Vanguard slowly sheathed his knife, and jerked the Warlock back onto his feet. "If we go through the Strike, maybe we can find some kind of clue as to where you brother is," Zee suggested. "It's a long shot, but it's worth a try, don't you think?"
"Yeah, worth a try at getting us fucking killed," he dusted off his arms and pants. "Besides, why the hell do you even want to go? It's safer here."
"I have my reasons," Zee replied quickly, nearly cutting him off. He eyed her carefully with his narrow grey eyes, pursing his lips.
"Trip," he stated with furrowed brows, extending a hand out toward her. Hesitantly, she grasped it, and gave it a light shake, which was returned with his stronger grasp.
"Just call me Zee," she nodded. "Awoken Hunter. Bladedancer."
"Voidwalker," Trip said. "And I'm Canadian, so I'm fuckin' calling you Zed."
She wanted to bring up the blatant contrast between the Warlock's aggressive attitude and the usual trait of Canadians always being sweet, maple-syrup loving people, but she decided against it. What did she know about Canadians anyway? She'd never even been to Canada in her life.
He scanned through his weapons and armor inventory, upgrading what he could. She would do the same, but she already knew she had nothing to upgrade, considering how she didn't even finish the last Strike with Sven.
A brief image of Sven lying cold and still in the Observatory flashed through her mind.
How about we not mention Sven for the time being.
The Hunter still hadn't given Trip her reason why she wanted to join him on the Strike to find his brother, but it seemed to her that he didn't give a rat's ass about her reason. He was getting help finding his brother. Considering the circumstances, he needed any help he could get, and if a random chick genuinely volunteered for the job, then who was he to argue? Still, the awkward air sifted between them, weighing Zee down. She wasn't one to try and engage in conversations with people she didn't know very well about; no, she mostly kept to herself. After all, she saw it as her way of diminishing her chances at encountering a royal douchenugget gamer (which thankfully, has yet to really happen all these years).
"What's your loadout?" Trip's voice broke her out of her thoughts. It took her a while to focus again, prompting him to repeat his question. With a hasty sigh, he did. "What. Is. Your. Loadout. Your guns. What do you use."
"Oh, uh!" Zee quickly had her Ghost pull up the menu and showed the powdered blue Warlock her set up. It wasn't too bad, he thought with relief. She had a legendary Primary and Heavy, and a Rare Special. Her scout rifle had an acceptable damage stat of two-hundred and forty eight, while her sniper rifle did an okay one eighty seven with void damage.
"Huh...Sniper and a Hunter, huh?" He said under his breath as he put a thumb under his chin. "Quite the common combination, if you don't mind me saying," he said casually. She shrugged and closed her menu.
"What can I say? I like to say out of trouble and get out of it as fast as I can if it comes to me," she spoke a little softly, still rather wary of the young man.
"And yet you use your Bladedancer subclass?"
"It's a good crowd clearer, okay? I only use it when I absolutely have to," she nibbled at her lip. "Besides, I used to be the designated 'medic' because of how ridiculous my agility stats are. Now I guess I'm out of a job." That cracked a little smile out of the Warlock.
"Let me guess, your armor stats are…?"
"Crap."
"And your recovery is also—"
"Crap," she repeated with a smile forming on her pale blue face.
"Of course it is," he shook his head. He looked around the area of the Tower Plaza, feeling empathy for the various Guardians who have seemingly lost all hope. "If we're gonna do this, I'd rather we have a full fireteam…"
"Yeah but who would want to help us out anyway?" She folded her arms, casting her eyes downwards.
"Well, hopefully we can find a Defender Titan who is just as insane as we are," Trip's eyes kept scanning the roaming Guardians, all seemingly dead on the inside.
He clutched at his head, resting his forehead against his knees, curled up into a ball shrouded by the shade in the far corner. He absently thought how glad he was no many people were in the Tower Hangar at the moment. He clutched harder at his head. Was it even his head? This face wasn't even his face. How long will it be until he forgets what his own face looks like? His own body? His hands, feet, arms, hair…
This body wasn't his. He had no eyes or ears, some somehow he could still see and hear. Though all color seemed less saturated and all sound became muddled. His fingers trailed over the ridges of his wide Exo head, opening and closing his 'mouth,' trying to form words. He couldn't even smile anymore, could he? You'd need lips for that, don't you? Did he even have lips? He wanted to claw at his 'face.' He wanted to see the red lines his nails left along his cheeks. He wanted to be able to see his white teeth when he smiled. He wanted to still be human.
A piercing scream played on repeat throughout his head. Gunshots. Rocket explosions. The floor rumbling with every step of the Hallowed Knights. Screeches of Wizards all around him. A Cursed Thrall—Death itself, it seemed—slowly hobbling its way towards him, its glowing blue head getting brighter with every step closer. Acolytes hiding behind every corner, and his friends, one by one, dropping to the floor with either a thud! or their body being hurled twelve feet away from after being hit square in the face by a Hallowed Knight's sword. They hadn't even made it to Phogoth, the Ogre boss of the Summoning Pits Strike yet. No, they were wiped out in a matter of minutes as their Ghosts one after the other tried unlocking one of the doors. Before he knew it, he stood alone against countless Hive, his Ward of Dawn providing little help as there were no other distractions to the enemies in the room to let him heal up.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the body of one of his friends, laying limp on the ground, no revive Ghost in sight. He couldn't even hear their obnoxious voices anymore. He called out their names, but got no response. Time seemed to slow for him at a snail's pace, and he suddenly noticed everything. The sound of his quickened breathing, the numerous amounts of Thralls gunning straight towards him, the Wizard preparing to hurl another volley of attacks, and finally, how the Hallowed Knight loomed over him with its sword raised above its head, preparing to swing.
His Ghost managed to get them out just in time. He sunk to his knees once he materialized within his ship. His Ghost relayed the words of the Speaker regarding the Virulent Patch as they made a Jump back to the tower. He didn't shed a single tear for his friends or for himself. He couldn't.
After all, Exos lack the ability to shed tears.
Babbles: Ahhh it seems now we're getting somewhere, yes?
Little tidbit of information here: if you're curious and or haven't really figured it out yet,
Zee's face is this fic's Cover Picture thing.
Yep.
Also, I realized I never really put in a disclaimer yet have I?
I do not in any way own Destiny, nor it's characters. I only own my original characters.
Anyway! Thanks for reading! Hopefully you liked it and hopefully you're comfortable enough to leave a review! Reviews are always welcome and very much appreciated. Or y'know, you can just be a silent reader, supporting me from the shadows. That's perfectly fine too.
Whichever works for you, my friend.
Until then, Cheers!