The Lost House

by SurefireReadingFF

The Black Garden is dead. Two Guardians, battered and bruised, walked in and stopped the heart once and for all. However, an ancient evil thought to be long dead stirs again, this time posing a direct threat to the City and the Traveler itself. Time is of the essence. Precision is key. Don't believe everything you see.

20. The Time for Truth

Chapter 19

The Time of Truth

Voidwalker Maximus

18 hours later…

Drop pods. That's what Dea called them. That's what was inscribed in black paint against the gray walls and flurry of activity behind me. Drills whirred, people of varying tonality, gender, and origin shouted different orders that blended into the background. I, however, was focused on walking down this hallway one step at a time. When I saw "DROP POD BAY" in large black letters, I stopped for a moment, the future stopping me like a wall. I was the Speaker, a feeling that I'd been denying for some time now.

A few weeks ago, I felt something change, but I couldn't tell what. It was more subtle than anything else. In my head, I heard a new voice, felt thoughts that were not my own nor were Starco's, new impressions. This, perhaps, is why he's been so silent as of late, didn't want to mess with the messages from what I knew was the Traveler. Though if I'm honest with myself, I'd suppressed his suggestions too, blindly focusing on what Dea would have me do to counteract the situation. Before the ship blew up, I hadn't taken much of his advice, feeling my own ideas were a little more suited for the situation, that Dea knew what to do. Now as I stand here with the City in shambles and most of the Guardians dead, I couldn't help but think 'Could he have been right?' If I'd listened to him, would we have saved the Tower, the City? This, I could tell, was going to be something plaguing me for the rest of my life, regardless of the outcome not too long from now. If Starco had the ability, I'm sure he'd be smirking with an "I told ya so," on his non-existent lips.

"Little late for that now," he said, flashing into existence above my shoulder. "But at least you've decided to embrace it. Now that you're listening, what's it telling you?"

I blocked out the noise for a moment, trying to find some connection to the Traveler, one that transcended everything else around me, but nothing came to me, no surge of energy or Light or anything, simply me standing there with my eyes shut. "It's telling me…" I began slowly. "...Not to rush into connections I haven't yet fully explored," I finished, trying to add a sense of mysticality to my voice. Starco wasn't amused, responding with: "So nothing then. Got it."

Deciding I'd stood there long enough, my legs moved forward without me really telling them to, searching for Drop Pod number thirteen. As I walked through the corridor, I would toss my eyes into the small window on each of the closed doors. Most of them were unsurprisingly empty, none of their command requiring them to report to their pods for at least another thirty minutes, but that wasn't going to stop me or Arla for that matter. As far as I knew though, she was getting something to eat. I would've joined her, but I was struggling to make sense of everything that had happened, of everything that was about to happen. I struggled with the fact that I may have to kill some of the people I was trying to protect, not only because I had a team I was putting in harm's way but also because the Illusion were going to use the citizens as meat shields. Changing their minds wouldn't be too hard when the dust settles, mainly because the Illusion can't retain their form past death, however nothing was going to stop them from opening fire on what they perceived as an enemy while their Guardian protectors moved "to get a better vantage point." It would become a Catch 22. Fire, and we'd maim or kill those we were trying to protect. Don't, and we'd literally be sacrificing ourselves. The plan was to stay away from the patrols altogether, but everyone in the room knew that there was no way that we were going to sneak into Traveler Square or the Queen's Palace undetected by someone or something.

I halted in front of my pod, punching the access code Dea had given me beforehand and then pushing the button at the top that opened the door. With a pressurized hiss, it slid open, the few yet luminous light fixtures coming to life and letting me see its octagonal interior. Each flat side was a seat with a heavy frame that could be pulled down and adjusted to keep someone from moving. Per Dea, there was also several openings connected to pipes that would quickly fill the pod with a fluid that would keep us from dying upon the abrupt impact with the ground when we launched. Hard and fast, that was how she described the impact while we were in the command center. She reasoned that the anti-air guns couldn't hit what they track unless they got lucky, so the entire pod was going to fill with a fluid that would, theoretically, break our fall. I had my doubts, but held my tongue. In all likelihood, I could survive that, anyone in the pod hopefully could with the gear we were given…

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Earlier…

"What's this?" I asked, taking the cylindrical package Dea was offering me. It was fairly heavy, heavier than the box Ikora had given me all that time ago, a time that seemed like a past life at this point. At the same time though, it all felt so fresh. The Garden, the Vex, the Cosmodrome, all of it so recent yet so distant. Dea's voice snapped me back to the bleak present.

"The last set of armor you'll ever wear," she announced. "It's tougher than anything the Tower or the City were able to develop, and the shielding should withstand quite a bit more damage before failing. I put in a special request for yours and Arla's though."

"Is that so? What'd you do to them?" I eyed the container, slightly suspicious of its contents now.

She gestured with an open palm to the uniform. "Why don't you put it on and find out?" I unzipped the package and began shedding the Guardian armor, Starco storing it piece by piece and sending me apprehensive thoughts. It felt a little awkward at least partially undressing in front of her, but I ignored it and admired her professionalism as she patiently waited for my to slip the pieces on.

For the most part, the armor was white, however it was stylized after my own warlock robes. The most apparent difference being that the padding was a little thicker but more flexible. I pulled the helmet out, and immediately recognized its shape, just like the one that had broken at Suros: Light Beyond Nemesis but with a white and gold shading to the metal feathers with a similar sheen across the reflection of the black visor. On the back and in gold lettering, there was a hand-lettered message: "Bane of the Machines." Dea folded her arms and watched me expectantly. I slid the helmet over my head and watched as the HUD immediately powered up, a small, white diamond with the center exchanged for a blue eye occupying the top right in a minimalized way. "Ghost Connected" blinked across the screen for but a second.

Suddenly, the HUD highlighted an L-shaped object arcing towards me with a bright blue circle. Immediately, I reached for it, finding the object to be a pistol. Pulling the slide back, I noticed another figure highlighted, this time, in orange. I shoved my right arm, pistol in hand, forward and pulled the trigger, the orange figure shattering and fading away on the floor. The whole encounter took less than two seconds.

I tossed the gun back to Dea, exclaiming, "Now that's a targeting system!"

Dea chuckled lightly as I took off my helmet, holstering the pistol. "Glad you like it. Figured it was a bit of an upgrade. Everything fit well enough?"

I stretched my legs and arms, rotating them and jogging in place, ending it with a long stretch towards the ground. "Feels good. Starco?"

The Ghost flashed into the air next to me. "You guys might be liars, but you sure can make a set of armor," he said. "How were you able to get Ghost compatibility?"

"I'll ignore the slight, but time and experience," she said with a wink. She reached behind her back and pulled out something else, a small rectangle with a red button on it. "Something old, yet new," she announced, pressing the button and throwing it in my direction. There was a flash similar to the one she had when we met on Venus all that time ago and in my hands landed a MIDA Multi-Tool in the same coloration as my armor. I appreciated the gift, but it looked exactly the same as the one I had, just with a different paint job. "What's so new about it?" I asked, turning the weapon over in my hands a few times

Dea placed a hand on her hip. "A couple things actually. For one, the scope is tuned to see through the Illusion's disguises." As she spoke, she took a few steps towards me, gently raising my arms so that I was looking down the scope. "Your helmet can do that too, but it's always good to have backup, especially if you're nearly as rough with this helmet as you have been with others in the past." She reached for something on the gun, but I gently knocked it away in protest of what she said. "Don't get me wrong, Maximus, you're not the worst I've seen when it comes to breaking armor, but you've managed to break more than a few pieces. That said, and continuing with the theme, that helmet is made of material more durable than you'll be able to break with just a fall or a single punch from me or you. Smaller bullets will bounce off, but plasma melt away some of the layers and leave it exposed to larger bullets or other plasma…"

"So, don't get shot in the face," I interjected, sarcastically. "I've survived this long. What makes you think that I'm suddenly gonna keep my head above every piece of cover I come across?"

"Nothing. Just giving the speech the armorer told me to give you. Arla got a similar one…"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Just after the transmission…

"What happened?!" a voice yelled into the Strategic Operations room. I turned around to see Arla, knife twirling angrily in her fingers. She stopped it on the hilt and carried it as she nearly jogged forward, maintaining a walking composure but that was as far as her leisure went.

Mueller stepped away from the console and attempted to slow her down. "Miss Nublier, we have a lot to exp…"

"Good," she interrupted. "Then start with why my home is in ruins, where the heck I am, and what you all did to Heksis?" Mueller tossed an uncertain glance at Dea who then deflected it to me. I squinted in Dea's direction and motioned Arla to the console, beginning to explain what transpired while we were all out.

She was devastated to say the least.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"But she got it from him," I countered.

"Her, but yes. So, you're probably wondering why I'm outfitting you then. The answer is simple: I wanted to see if my modifications worked, and, as expected, they are. Also, I need to give you your team's assignment." Dea began to move towards the exit, the door opening as she neared it.

I hurried after her, placing the weapon on my back and nearly falling over in surprise as it clattered to the floor. Without pausing, Dea called back, "The magnets are a little higher." Doing my best to keep embarrassment at bay, I picked up the weapon and didn't reach as far before the magnets nearly snatched it from my fingers. I caught up just as she turned the corner. "Team?" I asked. "I thought Arla and I were going after Charli."

Dea retained her brisk pace as she spoke. "Slight change of plan. You're going after Charli. I've put Arla in another squad that's focused on flanking the enemy in the square and lending fire support from the rooftops."

I tried to get her eyes on me, but she remained set on what was ahead of her, even when we turned a corner. "Dea, the last thing she needs right now is to be isolated. She just lost her home…"

Dea stopped abruptly. "She's also lost countless squadmates since she became a Guardian. Back then, she didn't grieve at all." Dea pushed a hand towards me, retracting it and continuing walking a second later when she resumed. "If she wants to call herself a Guardian despite their obvious destruction, then she needs to act like the one she used to be. The time to use gloves is gone, Maximus. Moping around a battlefield is only going to get her killed, especially against an enemy that has literally engineered themselves to be harder, better, faster, and stronger than you in almost every way imaginable and then some."

"Then why take her in the first place if she's going to be such a liability? Heck, why take me? I'm feeling the same rage she is."

"She's not feeling the same rage you are. She's feeling regret." Dea stopped at a doorway and turned to face me, leaning against the frame. "Look, I'm not going to say you can't see her before the mission, but I think if she's going to prepare herself for this battle, then she needs to figure everything out for herself. Maximus, I hope you realize that I can't guarantee we'll all make it back. This battle is probably going to look a lot like when you all defended the Wall, more akin to the ones you saw as an AEA soldier."

I tried to digest her words, but one thing still bothered me. "Why does it matter if I see her before the battle then?"

Dea straightened her posture against the doorway. "There's one thing you and I aren't necessarily able to emulate like humanity: sentiment. We're wonders of mankind. They're wonders of nature. No matter our degree of sentience, there are some things that remain distinctly human." She took a step inside the room. "Meet me and Mueller at the Strat Ops room in fifteen minutes. We've got to finalize a couple things, and then it's show time." The door shut

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Back in the Drop Pod

"Mr. Speaker?" a voice called out from the doorway. I quit tapping my foot against the grated, metal floor, looking towards the door and answering, "Yes?" In stepped a woman in her middle-ages, gray-white streaks sweeping through her shoulder-length black hair. Her armor looked similar to a Titan's, and she carried herself like one too, her voice very formal, almost condescending to a certain degree. "The Captain wishes you the best of luck." I glanced at the band of black pain on her right arm, discerning her as a sergeant.

Keeping my head still, I looked at the wall next to the woman. "If the Captain wishes me luck, I'd rather her keep it for herself given our present circumstances." I turned back to her. "What's your name sergeant?"

"Beckham. Shelley Beckham. The Captain assigned me to your team along."

I nodded. "Then by all means take a seat. I was just...meditating on a few things, mulling over the plan before we got this underway." Beckham moved out of the ingress and sat in the seat adjacent to mine, setting her weapons in a bracket and bracing the lock. "Listen, Beckham, you don't have to use the formal demeanor. We're not out there yet."

Beckham hunched over and clasped her hands. "If there's a time for formality, sir, it's now more than ever. We're stepping on a battlefield that many people are going to die on today. The least I can give the walking dead is the courtesy they deserve."

"That's a little pessimistic don't you think?"

"A pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist."

I adjusted myself in my seat. "I don't know if I would quite call myself an optimist."

Beckham turned her head towards me, her joined arms drooping below her lap. "Then what are you?"

"That's the question I've been asking myself for quite some time now. I don't believe we ever truly know until the moment arrives." A hush fell over the room. One word rang out, "BRACE!" Alarms blared, and suddenly the world went sideways, Beckham and I being tossed across the pod and colliding with each other in a heap. Almost automatically, she rolled off of me and came up with her weapon drawn and a hand on her earpiece. "Davis, what was that?" She tore her weapon out of the bracket and listened. I reclaimed my own weapon and awaited the sitrep. Beckham let out a tense sigh, looking towards me. "We've got incoming Fallen. A few Skiffs and a Ketch bearing different Houses and all aiming our direction."

"To the fighters?" I asked, moving towards the door and referencing the sleek ships I saw in the hangar, ones I could only assume were fighters of some sort.

"Not yet. First wave is going out there as soon as the ship rights itself." My mind immediately turned to my last experience with them in space. While I was sure this ship was going to be a bit more resistant to it, all it would take is one weakness. "We don't have that long. Dea needs to get people out there right now if we're going to have any chance at…"

Beckham held up a finger and turned away. "Yes, Da-, Captain?" Beckham stiffened. "Madam, I must adv...Yes, right away." Beckham turned to me solemnly, eyeing me closely as she stepped towards the door.

"What's the verdict Sergeant?"

"We are to stay here until Specialist Davis arrives. Then, we launch into the City. The Captain's orders."

I took a couple aggressive steps in her direction, keeping my voice from echoing down the hallway but making my disagreement known. "We're abandoning ship?! We can't just run when things don't go according to plan."

My words obviously upset Beckham as her face suddenly turned to concrete. "You may be a speaker and a soldier, but, on this ship, we're warriors, brothers and sisters in arms. We trust one another, and if the Captain says that we need to get down there right away, I won't question it for a minute. I won't pretend to understand you Guardians, but there's a chain of command here. We follow what they say to the letter."

"And where would I fall in that chain?" I asked, readying myself to pull rank.

"Nowhere. As far as we are concerned, you're a civilian that can shoot a gun. We're protecting you and willingly giving our own troops to fight your war." Accepting my loss of leverage in the situation, I nodded slowly and moved back to my chair. Dea knew what she was doing. She had to know if she was going to be ordering around a ship full of people. I just hoped and prayed she knew what to expect from those Skiffs, prayed that we'd actually be able to get into the City before we were either shot to ribbons in the atmosphere or in the City.

Minutes passed like hours as we waited for Davis, flurries of activity bounding down the hallway, armed troops calling out and loading their drop pods around us. I heard large doors seal shut, followed by different alarms. Suddenly, the door shut, the restraints around me clamped down over my shoulders, and an odd, amber liquid began to fill the pod…

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Remnants of the City

"You good?" I called out as a near blinding light streamed through the doorway, the brown liquid slowly pouring out of the opening like syrup. Taking dizzy, uncertain glances at my surroundings as I fumbled my restraints, I noticed that as the liquid left, everything almost immediately dried behind it aside from a light sheen that reflected the low-power lights overhead.

I snagged my weapon from its frame and pushed myself out of the chair. It felt odd to be wielding a Multi-Tool again, especially a modded version of the weapon that saved my skin in the Garden, the one I'd replaced with the weapon Dea have given me soon after its defeat. Its strange yet familiar grip and heft brought memories flooding back into my mind, ghosts of the pasts, illusions of a time seemingly more pleasant than this one. I silently wished I could return to those times where things made a little more sense.

In my thinking, I didn't hear Beckham's reply. The first thing I noticed was suddenly being tugged forward and stumbling out of the pod just in time for a high-pitched whine to take over and suddenly a large shockwave to decimate the area, throwing us to the ground. Out of my stupor but disoriented, I looked around me for something that would tell me where we were, but there was nothing. Crumbled remnants of the Tower were scattered across the area, large sections of concrete and metal impaling the ground and casting dark shadows in the waning hours of the afternoon.

Disorientation subsiding, I picked myself off the pavement and grabbed my weapon by the barrel from its place about a foot behind me. "Are you alright Maximus?" Beckham asked. A thought seized me, froze me in place for several moments. It was the Traveler. I couldn't tell what it was saying, but there a tingle shivered down my back as, without moving my head, saw the Traveler in its broken glory, trying to shine as a beacon through the debris in the air and shadow below it. A faint glow seemed to encircle it, nearly choked by the shadows of the cracks that criss-crossed its surface. A hand shook my shoulder, and I shuddered back into the world once more. "Maximus," Beckham repeated, wrapping her arm under mine and pulling me to my feet. "Are you okay?"

Standing tall, I shrugged her off and adjusted my robe. I looked down at the weapon in my hands, turned it over in my hands, removed the magazine and reloaded it silently, pulling the bolt back and watching it snap back into place like clockwork, like machinery. Overhead, I watched more drop pods smash into the ground like meteors, spreading more dust and debris into the air all around the City. White-hot streaks painted the evening sky as I watched a dozen or so fall steadily towards the Earth. More explosions thundered in the distance, bundles of flame slamming into the meteors and the two combining in a glorious explosion of debris and plasma, metal shrapnel dotting the air like rain and falling to the earth below.

"We need to move," I declared, nudging Beckham's shoulder. Silently, she agreed, following me down the road a couple feet behind. "How far off were we from the drop zone?" This was definitely not Omolon. In fact, I wasn't a hundred percent sure where we were in the City. Everything looked deadly and dystopian, bent metal frames like claws waiting for an unfortunate soul to crush.

Beckham pushed her weapon on her back and flipped up a small panel on her forearm, a gadget I could only assume was a map. "Looks like we're a solid click and a half from it. A miracle if you ask me."

"What about the Queen's palace?" I asked, pausing at a corner, holding up a fist, and listening before she responded. When I was sure the coast was clear, I dropped the arm and continued down the way with my eyes on the next alley.

"That's at least another ten. Hard to get anything precise beyond just a couple."

"It's eleven and a half," Starco blurted in a slightly offended tone. "But thanks for asking."

"Anything else the Ghost wants to insert?" Beckham queried to which Starco responded with a thought: Not anything she would care to know. I about spoke for him, but then something changed in my head, I could feel something in the distance, like the flash of a beacon being powered on. Just as it appeared, it dissipated as if it had never been there. Almost felt like a tap on the shoulder but in the mind, a small droplet spreading across a shimmering lake. "What was that?" I asked. Beckham stepped next to me and pulled out a sidearm, apparently believing that I perceived a threat.

Starco materialized next to me and hovered silently. "That was a Ghost," Starco whispered, retreating a few inches and turning to face Beckham and me. Another flicker. "I'm getting small bits of data. Hold on." We began to take a few cautious steps towards where I could've sworn the beacon was coming from, a pillar of smoke in the distance. "Dea," Starco began to translate. "Mission failed...EMP detonated...Ghost destroyed...need-I can't make out the rest. Strange, I could've sworn that was a Ghost sending the signal."

"Got any coordinates?" Beckham asked, switching her weapons back.

"They're coming from Omolon I think. The coordinates are broken, but I can make out enough of it to say they point somewhere in that vicinity."

"The Illusion'll be sending patrols if they haven't already," Beckham announced. "We need to move fast if we're going to respond before they find it."

An idea popped into my head. "How long do you think it'll be before they get here?"

"We're probably risking it just standing here. Ten minutes maybe given that we weren't the first pod or the nearest. Why? What are you thinking?"

I gestured to the buildings around us. One looked like it had held an apartment complex, mostly-shattered windows stretching four floors above our heads with crumbled brick behind it. With any luck, there would be a viable spot for one person to hide. On the other side, there was a similarly sized building but a little more intact at least from the same height as the crumbled one. "My guess is they'll come on Pikes probably in pairs or trios to search for us. If we hide in the building until they disembark, we can kill them, grab their bikes, and get to the beacon in a fraction of the time."

"I say it's a risk worth taking," Beckham stated. "Where do you want me?"

I gestured to the largely-intact building with my gun. "Second floor window near the center. I'll be up on the third floor if I can find a viable platform. Second floor if not. Keep the comms open. Ready?" She nodded and began to make her way to the building. Confident, I turned around and began to make my way to the building I thought stood the best ground but also stood the most unstable.

Upon a closer look, I noticed a sharp slant in it as I looked inside one of the windows. I marked each window with my weapon as I tried to find the best place to climb up. Inside, parts of the floor sagged in the semi-darkness while jagged bits of glass barbed the floor like razor wire. Choosing a path fairly flush with Beckham's route, I locked my weapon on my back and began to climb onto the sill, hauling myself onto the top ledge. When I got to the second floor, it, unsurprisingly, didn't fare much better than the first. The floor sagged a much more noticable amount and caved in several other places. The tile floor inside was cracked or missing altogether. Once more, I moved to the top ledge and grasped the bottom of the 3rd floor window sill. As I reached up, part of it crumbled in my hand, throwing my balance off just enough to consider jumping off and finding another approach. I latched the free hand onto a piece of sill next to its counterpart and steadied myself, tossing a glance over my shoulder and seeing Beckham scaling her building as well. Noticing my glance, she radioed, "Everything alright over there?"

I adjusted my grip and footing. "Weak spot on the building," I sent back.

"How's the interior?"

"Not much better on this side. Second floor was warped severely. Not placing high hopes on the third floor. Any news on yours?" I prepared myself to blink towards the next floor and grab onto whatever I could.

"Standard war-torn apartment complex I would say," Beckham mused. "Similar to what I've seen on….Shhh...you hear that?" I turned to the right, hearing the mechanical whir of a chorus of engines. "Fallen. We need to get inside now."

I let go of the sill and grabbed the frame of the window with my left hand and reared back my right. Throwing my hand forward, the air shattered like the glass. Careful not to cut myself, I slid inside and redrew my weapon, checking the immediate area for any sign of Fallen. Thankfully, I didn't find any of them, but what they lacked, the City made up for. "Got a few bodies here," I announced, looking over three crumpled bodies, crushed by a large wooden set of shelves. I paused over the set of shelves, deciding whether or not I should move them, but then I saw a small, blue hand poking out. "Oh…" I trailed off. Immediately, I turned away from it and began moving to another room, so I didn't soil their unfortunate graves. Rage tinged with sadness built inside me as I looked one last time at the tender fingers. Thankfully, the slant of the building kept the blood over pushed against the far walls, but it was not mystery where they were as the staining stretched across most of it.

I quickly exited the room and found one void of life and furniture. The image of the hand pushed into my thoughts again, unyielding and heavy. I found myself once again looking towards the room. I didn't know those people, but I couldn't help but blame myself for their deaths, take pity on deaths I had no right to mourn. Starco, equally appalled, tried to console me and use it as one of the reasons we fought, but it didn't change how I felt about it. Who knows how many of them had died?

Beckham's voice broke the silence but lost to the static. "Say again," I requested, knocking out the window in front of me and taking up a position. Across the way, I saw Beckham motion with her weapon from inside the building. "I'm in position," she reiterated. "But what was it you found? It broke up a bit."

"Three bodies," I stated flatly. "At least one was a child."

"That's messed up," she said glumly.

"Indeed," I sighed. "Let's keep our eyes on the prize and not let them die unavenged shall we?" She didn't say anything back, but she pressed herself against the wall and watched the streets in front of us. The engines grew nearer with each second, their echoes filling the void of sound. Earlier than expected, three figures emerged from the horizon, two Titans and a Hunter in various combinations of black, gray, and white. The HUD immediately highlighted each of them in orange, tagging each with a small exclamation point to the right. "Three confirmed Illusion," Beckham announced.

"I've got eyes on them. Switching the silencer on." Keeping my eyes trained on them, I pressed a button near the barrel. A long black cylinder flicked out and quietly clicked into place. "Pick your target."

The Titan dressed primarily in white suddenly went red. "Got the white one," Beckham selected.

I brought the scope to my eye and trained it on the other Titan, the one in carbon gray with what looked like the New Monarchy symbol in black and white draped off his right leg. "Got the other Titan." Its highlight turned red as well and replaced the exclamation point with a small X.

The three of them stopped and hopped off their long, streamlined vehicles. "Those aren't Pikes," Starco observed.

"Where'd they get the Sparrows?" I asked myself, crouching down next to the window keeping my mark.

"The grid went down here when the Tower fell," Starco answered. "My guess is they manufactured them in one of the foundries they took over." Starco was quiet for a moment. "Do you think we could get a better angle?"

"We're moving to your left to get a better angle," I relayed to Beckham.

"Confirmed."

I stood up and quickly moved down the hallway, steadying myself against its slope as I moved. I moved as far down as I could, peering into the last room before the collapsed section of this floor began, right as the slope became too much to stay upright against. The window in this one was already busted and its remnants scattered across the floor. I stepped cautiously around the barbs that hadn't slid over to the wall. "They've split up," Beckham informed us. "Your target en route to the first floor. Hunter is investigating the crash."

"Tell me if he starts scaling. My Ghost wants to see something with their Sparrows."

"Keeping an eye on him."

I turned the scope to the Sparrows in a triangular formation below us. "This angle work?" I asked quietly. They largely looked like normal Sparrows except that their design was sleeker than the usual ones, a little more rounded on the front and back. The seat was more hunched forward and had a small windshield about where the Guardian's head would go. Starco highlighted something on the back, a light blue and red logo with what looked like a slanted bird outlined in white. Below the insignia was three connected letters, "SRL."

"Those are prototypes from the Sparrow Racing League," Starco concluded. "They must've gotten into them when they invaded the Tower."

"Faster and more agile eh?" I had heard of the League but knew that it was only an experiment at this point, something Holliday had been working on in her spare time.

"Yeah. At the cost of your life," Starco added to my surprise. "Project got halted while we were investigating those rumors on Venus when two of the prototypes' cores overheated and detonated with the Guardians still on board.

"You don't want to risk it?"

"We don't have a choice this time. We'll have to risk it if we want to get to that beacon in time."

"Beckham?" I radioed.

"He's still investigating the bottom floor. He just passed the column of windows you're in."

"Thanks. Just an update for you. Those Sparrows are experimental tech that have a tendency to blow up."

"Noted. Will keep my aim off of them."

"Engage when ready. Keep it quiet." I quietly slid out of the window and steadied my aim with the window frame behind me, a couple shards pressing into me but thankfully staying in the window despite the discomfort. The Titan paused in front of a window and pushed the barrel of his long, Suros rifle through, sweeping it around silently. Satisfied it was empty, he pulled the gun and turned just in time for me to deposit two silent bullets into the back of his head. Immediately, I ducked back inside the building. "Titan down," I reported.

"Titan down," Beckham echoed a moment later. "Hunter is exiting the drop pod."

"Do you have a good shot?"

"Not one I'm comfortable making," she answered. "I'll try and get closer."

"Confirmed. I'm going to investigate my target. I think he might have something we could use." I put my weapon on my back and quietly slid out of window, jumping out and blinking towards the ground to minimize the noise. As I had expected, the Titan's armor wasn't nearly as filled now that the imposter wearing it had expired. It looked flat and sad rather than sturdy and rippling with power. Just to his right was the long, white and orange weapon he'd poked through the windows. I stooped over the course and picked up the gun, turning it over in my hands. A sniper rifle or at least a high powered scout rifle loaded in the middle. My eyes flicked over to the back of the belt on the imposter's armor. Opening a horizontal flap, I removed a white cylinder, a silencer. "Sitrep?" I asked, moving to the corner of the building and screwing the silencer onto the end of the rifle and then relieving the body of its ammuntion

Beckham whispered, "I'm tracking him. She's talking into her radio, probably trying to contact the other two."

I paused at the corner and pulled the scope close to my eye, leveling the dot in the center at the Hunter's forehead. "Got a shot?"

"About to take it. On 1." I pulled the bolt back and readied myself in case I needed to take action. "3...2...1…" she counted. "Crap!" Several cracks pierced the air as the Hunter dropped to the ground holding her leg and trying to stand up. Quickly, I moved the reticle just as her head picked up and squeezed the trigger, more cracks splitting the air like gunshots. A low rumble shook the air and ground as the building next to me began to shift and reach to one side. I dodged a large piece of debris and rolled under another as I darted out of the way. Clear of the collapse, I stopped myself and turned back to the crumbled building. Only the wind whistling through this ghost of a city remained. "Beckham, you alright?" Silence. I took a few steps toward the rubble. "Beckham? Do you copy? Shelley?" I looked over the mass of furniture, stone, and framework when a gloved hand shot out between a couple large pieces of stone.

"I'm...I'm over here," she coughed. I ran over to the hand and started to move a few of the stones out of the way, their weight feeling like nothing as I removed them. Finally, a white helmet shifted a few of the smaller pieces away from her. "What happened?" I asked.

Beckham wriggled her shoulders, shifting smaller pieces away as I pushed some of the larger debris to the side. "What you see is what you get. I don't know." Most of her upper torso free, I got behind her and hauled her up by the shoulders. "At least you weren't in the building when it went down. Is the Hunter dead?"

I looked back towards the pod and the Hunter's crumpled remains nearby, the armor, like the others, now sagging with the corpse of its imposter. "Yeah, I got him. Are you alright?" I took a seat next to her. I leaned out of the way as she windmilled her arms and bent her legs. The white in her armor was now scuffed fairly well in several places along with a heavy gash down the arm's plating. Overall, it gave her a dusty appearance those let the shinier parts of the armor that hadn't blocked the building magnify their light that much more. Much of my white robe had gotten dust all over it as well. I rubbed a gloved hand over the top of my helmet and saw the small grains of dust and ash flutter downward in the stagnant air. "I'll live, but the fight ain't over ju…ah crap." She looked down at the hole. I quickly realized what had happened. Just by looking at her empty hands and armored backplate. "Thought I'd come up a little light."

I grabbed the sniper rifle from my back and offered it to her as she double-checked her sidearm. "How's your aim with something meant for long range?"

She pushed the pistol back into its holster at her thigh and accepted the gun. "Better than something meant for mid-range." Beckham turned the gun in her hands and stood up, moving towards the sparrows just down the street that had just barely escaped the punishment of the building's instability. "Sounds like a plan to me," I responded. "Let's get to that beacon."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Sparrows themselves handled just like the ones I'd used, and failed to master, in the past except for the fact they moved nearly twice as fast and were several times more sensitive. Before we set off, I tested the steering some, but that didn't prepare me for that initial jolt when I hit the accelerator. Beckham fared little better, falling off the back of hers and shouting, "How in the world do you people handle these things?" I shrugged as she dusted herself off and climbed back on. We started off slower, the accelerator much more sensitive to slight adjustments than I was accustomed to, but as we neared Omolon, I began to feel a little more confident on it, going near half of its top speed by the time we pulled into the much-destroyed foundry. The area frankly looked as if a battle had raged through it, but according to the reports, this had simply been where a bomb had gone off. The sleek design of the building more jagged and sharp than its usual cutting edge sheen. Now, it looked like it would cut you.

Suddenly, the beacon pulsed again, a hammer slamming against my head and causing everything to ring. "Starco?" I asked painfully.

"I felt that too," he confirmed. "Something's wrong with that signal. It shouldn't be doing that."

"Obviously," I groaned. "Where's the source? I don't know how much of that I can take before I lose it." Another hammer, a sound that sent me to my knees and drew the attention of Beckham while she stood ready.

"Got it," Starco announced before the next strike. "Location on your HUDs."

"Thank goodness." I whispered, pushing myself off my hands and knees. I turned to the sergeant as she swept the area with her sidearm. "You ready?" I asked, drawing my weapon. Beckham nodded and moved towards the hole that once was the door.

As we moved inside, the interior took on much of the same characteristics of its outside, jagged edges, disarray, and a complete contrast to its previous self. Bodies, Exo and humanoid alike, lay in various positions on the floor, sharing one commonality, death. The farther we delved into the walkways, on high alert for the slightest noise or movement, the less it was a foundry and more it became a graveyard. A graveyard of time, of dreams, of prototypes, and of the citizens themselves. The corridors felt like tombs and each flight of stairs we took as we went higher and higher in search of the beacon felt like yet another strike on our tombstones, a mausoleum once known as Omolon slowly being sealed up.

Beckham tapped me on the shoulder just before I mindlessly stepped through another door. Suddenly, the white diamond on my HUD disappeared, the beacon just on the other side of the door. I pushed a fresh magazine into the Multi-Tool as Beckham checked her sidearm. I adjusted the light on my helmet, making the circle of light a little bigger than what it was currently. "The pulses have stopped," Starco whispered into my head. "I'm not even picking up a trace."

"Starco lost the Ghost's signal," I relayed. "It may be too late for the Guardian."

"Too late to turn back now," Beckham commanded. "Time to at least confirm he or she has expired."

I took my position at the door and prepared to sweep the area. "On you." The sergeant grabbed the door's manual override with one hand and slowly pushed her pistol in as she slowly opened the door. Nothing stirred on the other side. Beckham let go of the door with her hand and reinforced her grip on the pistol, holding it at the ready as I followed her in. The room was mostly empty save for a large, broken cylinder of metal with fried and flayed wires draped across the floor where it stood near the center of the room. Otherwise, it was devoid of anything as far as I could see. Until it filled with a scream.

A black shape melted out of the shadows and swiped at Beckham, her scream piercing the air as she flew into the metal wall. The shadows piercing, yellow eyes set their gaze on me as I raised my weapon to fire. I squeezed a single bullet, one that soared harmlessly above its head, before I too flew back into a wall, disoriented but alive. "Maximus!" Starco screamed above Beckham. "Something isn't right." I rolled onto my side and pushed myself to my feet just as another shadowy blade sought to pierce me. I squeezed a pair of bullets off as I dodged yet again. Beckham stopped her yelling and staggered to her feet. I immediately regretted taking my eyes off the shadow as it suddenly gripped my arm, wrenched my weapon out of my hand, and threw me across the room. As I slammed my back into the wall, the lights suddenly roared to life, pops resounding through the room as I struggled to gather my wits about me and stop Beckham from charging straight forward, pistol firing as fast as her trigger finger could take it. From my position, I saw a flash of silver and green, and then a large splash of red that was quickly followed by two wet thuds hitting the ground in a syncopated rhythm. The war cry stopped. The pistol stopped. There was a flash in front of me, and a black diamond painted like the night sky materialized. A light blue eye stared into mine as I lay there struggling to move, helpless as it floated there. "Maximus," Starco whispered, starting to get smaller in my vision. Focusing only on my Ghost, I reached out with both arms and latched onto him, an immense force trying to pull me along with him as I struggled to maintain my grip. For a moment, I began to defeat it, Starco slowly coming towards my chest until my adversary doubled its efforts, let out a cry of rage, and I felt myself being lifted into the air again, Starco flying from my grasp into a vortex of purple and landing in a strong, gloved hand. "NO NO NO! Max!" he cried as he was ripped from my grasp. I watched his eye grow smaller and smaller in slow motion until the hand seized him. I pushed myself to my knees, trying desperately to get on my feet and run at the same time, but suddenly, everything exploded into a blur of fuzzy, pixelated images strengthened by the inferno that quickly razed all my presence of the world and in it. A fiery, empty void began to surround my mind as I struggled to recognize what was myself and what wasn't. Flashes of the past played in front of my eyes, the past year passing in what only was a couple opaque black ring seized my vision, a shadow dancing just at the edge of my vision, creating a tunnel that wasn't there but had existed this entire time. A void created in this moment destroyed another that had consumed me. "So this is what becomes of the Speaker," a chilling voice growled in front of me. Something awoke within me, something I hadn't felt since the second day that everything changed, since the Garden of flora and metal golems, where a heart of black fell to the light, a light that I now wielded. I thrust forward my hand and a cry as small shards decorated the floor...

responding to a Light that calls for the Black of Death.