Chapter One
Eyes Up… Guardians?
The next strangest thing to happen to me today was regaining consciousness, waking with a snort. Didn't really expect that, having been turned into roadkill by an 18 wheeler earlier. So I'm not dead after all? As my senses slowly came back to me I started to notice a bit about my environment. I was laying on broken concrete, the rusted rebar poking through the crumbling infrastructure, infrastructure that looked vaguely familiar, but unrecognizable behind what looks like decades of rust and grime.
With a grunt, I try to get up from my prone position, but as soon I put my hand down to lever myself up, my world rocks. That hand is not my own.
The hand in front of me was massive, damn near a paw, wrapped in bandages to the elbow and plated with some kind of futuristic black and yellow scrap metal. I had an inkling as to where I knew that hand from but then, I curled the fingers, quickly realizing they were MY fingers, and saw the five heavy golden rings on the fingers and thumb, spelling out R. I. G. H. T.
I knew damn well where I recognized that hand from now, I'd played that character nearly every night on the computer after work for the last 4 years. I am in the body of Mako Rutledge. Roadhog.
As I finally levered myself to my feet, not an easy task as I was now a good foot and a half taller than before and more than double my old weight, I looked over myself.
Starting at my feet were an old, if immense pair of worn out combat boots, with scrap metal plating riveted on as an improvised steel toe, a pair of too small overalls being used as simple jeans, a small vest with pockets and a spiked tire for decoration and Hog's signature Wild Hog Power tattoo on his, or I suppose, my gut. His ever present mask was also in place over my face, making me sound Darth Vader-like. I also felt a weight on each hip, and I looked to find Hog's signature scrap gun on my right hip, along with a pair of small metal tins which must be the Hogdrogen, Roadhog's healing pots, and a truly huge meat hook and chain on my left.
Before I had a chance to get more acquainted with my situation I heard a screech, and that snapped my head around and I saw something else I had never seen outside of a video game.
It was a Fallen Vandal. Glowing blue eyes, four spindly arms and a lot of strange organic looking armour. Immediately after doing its best Tusken Raider impression, it opens fire with its strange weapon, a wire rifle, if my memory serves.
Thankfully, despite my scrambled state of mind, I have the sense to stop going through my own pockets and immediately run for cover. And as I slide behind a crumbling concrete wall, I have half a moment to take stock of my situation while the lone Fallen fires at my cover, likely waiting for its comrades.
Holy shit! Ok, treat this like any other problem at work. Details Leon, details. Not being dead. That's a biggie, but I can unpack that later when I'm not being shot at by an alien pirate. I'm Roadhog, so I can likely throw down pretty damn hard. I've got the scrap gun, the chain and hook, and the Hogdrogen.
I peek over the wall at the Vandal, trying to gauge how far away it is. Another shot from its wire rifle makes me duck back down right away, but the glance was enough for me to get a rough idea of what's where. The Vandal was on the roof of an old building on the far side of a large courtyard littered with scrap metal, which I can use as ammunition in a pinch, and a handful of wrecked vehicles including some old trucks and even a wild looking tank. To my left was a massive decaying wall of steel and concrete, stretching almost as tall as the strange bulbous looking ships in the distance.
Wait, those ships…. They're the Exodus ships from Destiny. The ones humanity rode off Earth when the Darkness arrived and ended the Golden Age. I'm in the Old Russian Cosmodrome. I'm in Gord damn Destiny for sure!
My revelation was then interrupted by a Fallen skiff swooping low over the courtyard, and disgorging a group of Fallen, including a Captain and even a black and purple floating eye looking thing, a Servitor.
Well, Roadie is a tank after all. I can probably afford to take a hit or two as I close the distance. Servitor has to go first. Gord damn ether based invulnerability fields…. Captain next, he's got shields and the biggest gun the Vandals and Dregs are just cannon fodder. Just shoot em in the face.
As soon as they touch the cracked concrete of the courtyard, I leap into motion. A quick vault over the low wall draws their attention, and I run as fast as my stumpy legs can to close the distance to the servitor. As expected I take a few shots, but the fact that the wire rifles' electrified projectiles barely felt like touching an electric fly swatter spurred me forward.
I close in on the servitor, and when I am close enough, I throw out my hook to pull the wannabe Beholder into range for a one shot kill, but it turns out I have a bit to learn about this situation. This is no longer a game, so when my hook made the trip across the courtyard to slam into the servitors center of mass, instead of hooking in and being wound back, it simply smashed in the 'eye' of the servitor before reaching the end of the chain, and being automatically reeled in by the small spring loaded winch on my belt.
As the hook and chain comes whipping back to me, I catch it in time to take advantage of the stunned Servitor. Evidently having a 40 kilogram meat hook thrown at you is deeply unpleasant, even if it doesn't get stuck in your robot beholder face. A full blast of five shots out of my scrap gun, and the splinters of the Servitor hit the floor as I drag my hand across the ground and come up with a handful of sharp scraps of steel. A flick of my wrist and the break open action of the scrap gun swallows the metal scraps, ready for another volley.
This time it was the turn of the Vandals and Dregs to experience the feeling of jagged metal tearing through them, as the Captain, the next biggest threat was out of sight. 5 more shots ring out and five more bodies hit the ground. The metal scraps are not only sharp, but much heavier than a traditional projectile fired by something like an old 12 gauge shotgun back home. The screeching has quieted down some by now, the last opponent being the unseen Captain, and what little I do hear is coming from the derelict wall off to my left, a large drain or air vent that pierces the wall at ground level, partially hidden behind the wreck of the golden age tank.
I bend down to scoop up some more scraps, this time, pieces of the Servitor in a funny turn of events, and start lumbering towards the tunnel through the wall, pursuing the cowardly Captain. However, before I reach the entrance, a blast from a traditional shotgun rings out followed by the staccato burst of an automatic weapon, and as I round the corner I see the corpse of the Fallen Captain, and its killer. A feminine shape clad in dingy grey armour that includes a full face helmet and a short hood and cape combo. Sadly I didn't have much time to ponder who they are as they bring their shotgun to bear as soon as they see me, and the Stubborn Oak barks out as a group of lead pellets make their way down the tunnel. Towards me.
"WAITWAI-"
"Guardian… Guardian? Eyes up Guardian."
A muffled yet , somehow tinny voice worms its way into my brain, kickstarting my consciousness. As I open my bleary eyes, the feeling begins returning to my extremities as well.
And it feels lousy.
I lever myself to my feet regardless of the ache that makes me feel like I've been sleeping on the ground for an age, and as I rise I see the source of the strange voice. It's a floating electronic eye, with a vaguely star shaped white case that moves independently of the center blinky bit. My examination is cut short by the presumably robotic creature continuing to speak.
"It worked… You're alive! You don't know how long I've been looking for you."
I try to find my voice, only managing to croak out a dusty sounding, "what?"
The floating light bulb does a little spin before carrying on, "I'm a Ghost." I could hear the capitalization there, "Actually, I'm your Ghost. And you… We'll, you've been dead a long time. So, you're going to see a lot of things you won't understand."
It seems like he has more to say, and I say he, because the faintly robotic and resonant voice has a deep, manly timbre to it, is cut short by a distant screech followed by strange sounding gunfire.
The Ghost spins to look in the direction of the noises briefly before turning back to me.
"This is Fallen territory," There's that capital again. More questions needing answers. He continues, "We aren't safe here. I have to get you to the City."
He makes a quick spin around the immediate area, as if trying to find his bearings, then faces me and says. "Hold still," and then just, dissolves into thin air.
Suddenly his voice is much clearer, "Don't worry I'm still with you. We need to move. Fast."
He is interrupted again by what I can only assume is some alien drop ship, probably the Fallen Ghost just mentioned, zipping over the wreckage strewn field we are in. As it dips below the edge of the crumbling wall in the distance more strange gunshots ring out followed by a number of metallic clangs.
"Something has the Fallen stirred up. We won't survive long in the open like this. Let's get inside the wall."
I simply nod my head hoping he can see it and slowly set off towards a massive rusted gate in the derelict structure following a gap in the piles of junk cars. The wind and blowing snow wasn't making this easy, coupled with my barely functioning limbs. As I near the large gate a flock of crows gives me a jump scare and I pause for a moment in a former bus shelter to calm down and maybe figure some things out.
"You can hear me right? I didn't bring you back to life just so you can die again, you have to trust me."
I grit my teeth and push off the rusted metal. Getting closer to the gate I can see it's clearly blocked up with more wrecked cars and debris, but luckily there's a man door set in the crumbling concrete right next to it. No such luck with any of the lights working however, the cracked steps are not easy to keep a footing on.
"Ok… I need to find you a weapon before the Fallen find us."
Ghost almost seems to be reading my mind.
I keep moving as I keep one eye open for a weapon, briefly considering pulling a rusty pipe out of the wall, but the noise that would make would probably be a bad idea.
Later as I am crossing a metal gangway behind the dirtiest windows ive ever seen, I pause for a moment, leaning gently on the still sturdy railing, just to give my mind a break.
Or even just a moment to process this whole thing a little bit. But just as I am about to ask Ghost to come out, I hear whispers and scuttling footsteps on the floor above me.
"Quiet. They're right above us."
I guess my questions will have to wait until I'm safe. So let's get safe.
Pushing ahead into the dark, Ghost appears over my left shoulder and lights the way ahead, like an old flashlight, and as I reach the end of another gang way, something vaguely biped shaped climbs up a pipe visible in the wall behind a broken piece of panelling, giving me a proper jump scare. Thankfully my vocal chords are still pretty seized up, so I don't shout like I really want to. After a moment to catch my breath, I emerge onto a balcony or mezzanine overlooking a large open black space. Another short pause seems to be Ghost's cue to take off from my shoulder, glowing much brighter and looking like a futuristic disco ball, bright enough to light our immediate surroundings in a cool blue light.
"Hang tight. Fallen thrive in the dark, we won't. We need more light. I'll see what I can do."
Then he whizzes off down the cavernous interior of the wall, showing just how big this thing is. As he flies along looking for whatever he is looking for, the sides of the space are lit up, and there must be at least a hundred and fifty feet between them. And I can't even see the bottom. Must be lots of hidey holes down there. Another Fallen skitters down a massive pipe in the wall as Ghost rounds a corner and disappears from view, muttering about hardened military systems and centuries of entropy.
Thankfully, he isn't gone long, the tinny voice having become very comforting in the short time since I met the little ball of light, and reappears as the lights snap on, lighting up the group of Fallen who must have been just watching you.
"They're coming for us!" he shouts as he zips back to you and opens a gate to a rubble strewn room beyond.
"Here, I found a rifle! Grab it!" He shouts as he vanishes near my shoulder again, presumably hiding somewhere on or near me. I snatch up the rifle and a threadbare but serviceable bag and bandolier that are next to it. Thankfully I can feel the weight of additional magazines in the belt so I have some ammunition to spend, even if it's years old and likely to be unreliable. Regardless I start running pell mell down the hallway, feeling a whole lot braver now that I have a weapon, old and banged up as this one was. Ghost must have seen me contemplating the weapon as I ran, "I hope you know how to use that thing."
I tried to find my voice again to tell him, I did strangely enough, even though I don't know much of anything else at the moment.
"Eyes forward, watch your tracker." Ghost's voice whips my eyes up just in time to see something vanish around the next corner, I run to the corner, and expertly check the corner, surprising myself with what must be muscle memory. Suddenly two of the bipeds from earlier drop from the ceiling. The first thing I let out was a grunt of surprise, then an entire magazine from the old rifle. And surprisingly enough, it feeds an entire magazine with no problems, and the fresh mag seems to work just fine as well. Trusty Russian engineering.
A few turns later in the tetanus lined tunnels, I come to another fairly open space, and once again these Fallen seem determined to make me shit my pants. One of the smaller, spindlier ones drops from the roof and lands on my shoulders, beating at my helmet with the butt end of what must be its firearm. I drop my rifle and reach up behind my head with my right hand as my left goes to my hip, where my fingers wrap around a leather bound hilt. And as my right hand comes forward, bringing the spindly fallen back in front of me, my left rises at the same time, meeting the Fallen, right beneath the chin.
It's not an attractive thing, with four beady glowing eyes, quickly dimming, and an almost carapace looking face with bristly hair on top. I quickly heave it away, holding onto my knife and hobble across the next gang way, nerves becoming more and more frayed by the second.
The next corridor had a leaky roof. That meant the water making its way through the ceiling masked the noise of a group of Fallen in the next room, but it also masks my sounds, so I actually manage to see them before they see me. So it's a simple matter to take out two of the smaller Fallen before running in and emptying the magazine into a bigger Fallen. This one had a wider head, maybe armour, and four arms. It's definitely a little harder to take down.
"There's more ahead, keep it up."
I don't acknowledge him, just grimacing and pushing forward. My hands clammy under the hardened gloves.
As I'm nearing the end of another bridge across the main breach, I see a strange shape, and point it out to Ghost.
"A loot cache! Let's see what's inside."
Opening it up, I find a shotgun, and much like the Khvostov, old and neglected, but still seemingly functional. Sadly, there was no ammunition to be found this time besides one old spent shell still in the chamber. Ghost once again appears with just the answer to my problem. It's honestly becoming a little suspicious.
"I can make a few bullets for that if you like. Glimmer is programmable matter, and with the right inputs and energy source it can be transmuted into nearly anything. Let me see what I can do."
A few moments later, a handful of plastic tubes fall into an empty pouch on my bandolier, and I jam them right into the mag tube of the Stubborn Oak. It's odd how I know what it's called, but that question can go in the box with the other labelled Things to Ask Ghost When Not Being Shot At.
The ragged flags and human skulls littered around the cache are motivation enough to move me on without a prompt from Ghost, until a clank and two red lasers cross my path.
"Trip mines, DON'T touch them."
Easy enough considering the emitters are in plain view, so a single shot for each from the Khvostov solves that problem. Next another hallway, more dripping water, and more Fallen Dregs, as Ghost informed me they were called, popping out of the floor, My nerves becoming more and more frayed by the minute. Thankfully Ghost was keeping my ammo pouches full, using resources dropped from the Fallen along with glimmer, I assume, to make ammunition as he could.
Soon enough I ended up in a large room hung with yards and yards of tattered red cloth, alien crates, and a massive broken pipe in the far wall.
And, yet again, these creepy fuckers wait till im inside to pop out and this time i do scream, letting the Stubborn Oak rip, and rip into the Vandals and Dregs. When it runs dry, I stand in the center of the room, breathing heavily.
"It won't be much further, stay with me here."
A few deep breaths, and I'm better, if not exactly good. I nod to Ghost to continue leading the way..
"The fallen have a tighter hold on this place than I thought. I hope there's still something left out there."
A quick glance around the room reveals nothing of interest except a door, dimly lit by a flickering, but somehow still burning bulb to the right of where I came in. Keeping my shotgun hard into my shoulder, sweaty fingers at the ready to pull the trigger at the slightest sound of an approaching fallen i entered the doorway. Once I'm in the tunnel, an old ventilation shaft from the looks of the two still turning fans, i see a big Fallen, a Captain according to Ghost surprised exclamation, absolutely hoofing it down said tunnel, right into the cone of lead being emitted from my shotgun at that very moment. I did take two shots, the first staggering the enemy enough that the follow up shot was basically a guaranteed kill.
And it was. So when a massive mountain of a man rounds the same corner the Captain just did, I don't hesitate. All this adrenaline, all this fear of the last few minutes…. Or has it been hours? I don't know. I do know I'm scared of these aliens, my lack of memory, this whole fish out of water scenario, of things I don't know. And I don't know who or what this thing was that followed the Captain in here, but I know I don't want it near me. And I have a shotgun.
"WAITWAI-"
"ARRRRGH SHIT!"
Whoever this person is, they're a crack shot. Doesn't even shoulder the weapon and they get me right above center mass, shredding my nearly useless vest and embedding shot in my chest and neck. Thanks to all the extra fat and general toughness of Mako's- I mean, my body, they don't hit anything vital. But by Gord, does it hurt like a mother fucker, hence the yelling and carrying on as I stagger backwards out of the tunnel back into the sunlit courtyard full of of formerly living Fallen.
Their shot got me right in the ribs, a few of the pellets caught me in my lower neck, and I am bleeding like a stuck pig, har har. I stood for a moment, watching my blood soak into the pouches on my vest, forgetting I was a video game character. When the sound of footsteps and a shotgun being reloaded shook me out of my funk, I finally remembered the cans of Hogdrogen on my right hip, and unclipped one and quickly brought it up to my mask's filter port for a deep breath, hoping its gonna stop the bleeding and not kill me with a cartoon chemical cocktail. Ironically, the taste and smell of the vapours from the can was both comforting and worrying all at once, because it tasted so much like my familiar cigarettes. Thankfully, just as quickly as my lungs filled, the shotgun pellets fell out of my wounds as they closed and tinked to the cracked concrete at my feet. Didn't help the sticky blood soaking into my clothes, but that's small change.
Just as I stop my life juice leak, the trigger happy psycho exits the ventilation tunnel, but this time I'm ready, and I'm pissed off. The adrenaline from the last few moments is compounded as the stranger lifts the pitted barrel of the offending boomstick, the muzzle coming up almost lazily as the rush of chemicals seems to slow time. My massive fist, encrusted with gold rings spelling out LEFT, closes around the leather wrapped grip of the heavy metal meat hook on my hip, and fling it at the enemy. They try to roll out of the way but the hook is simply moving too fast and 40 kilograms of sharpened steel moving at that speed is enough to hit the stranger with adequate force to bend them in two. In such a way that their spine could not have stayed together. But the red mist has descended for me, and I want to finish the job. No loose ends.
So just as I yank the chain back and the winch on my belt takes up the slack, I bring up my scrap gun, and as they get close, I let loose, sending shards of metal tearing through their torso. But even as their body is sliding off my hook, a white star shaped drone looking thing swoops by and the body vanishes in a flare of blue light.
It only took a moment longer for me to put two and two together. The dingy armour and cloak, The Khvostov and Stubborn Oak, and especially the plain white Ghost, all told me that this cloaked mystery is in fact a New Light. A Kinder-Guardian. And maybe, just maybe, they might be our Guardian.
And I just shot them in the head.
Well, shit.
With the Guardian occupied with respawning and the Fallen having, well, fallen, I finally have some time to finish looking myself over. The wounds in my chest and neck had closed completely after huffing that can full of Hogdrogen. But my vest was shredded beyond being useful.
And this is when I remembered I was in Russia. And judging by the snow it sure wasn't August, so the bloody vest and too small overalls were suddenly feeling inadequate as the wind picks up flecks of snow and ice and whistles through the cracked masonry and wrecked machinery.
A quick glance around the courtyard showed me little more than what I saw before I was interrupted. With the notable exception of the Fallen corpses and a very out of place red painted tin box. My lunch box. What the hell? Before I had a chance to go through its contents however, I was sharply reminded that I may be about to freeze to death, the layers of fat on my new body having held off the worst of the cold until now, but the rapidly cooling blood on my torso was now becoming problematic.
The smaller Fallen didn't have anything useful as far as gear, just pieces of mostly broken armour and a few wire rifles. The Captain however should have a nice cloak, and maybe some scraps of useful armour seeing as they were almost as tall as me, if not as wide. Only problem is, the captain ran into the ventilation tunnel where the Kinder Guardian came from. It sounded like they hadn't respawned yet, but I think I'd rather be gone before they make another appearance.
Jogging quickly I made it into the tunnel, and found the corpse with no trouble, lying face down in the muddy snow that had blown in. Looks like the Guardian put buckshot through its head, so thankfully the cloak was pretty intact, if a little scummy from the mud. So I sling the cloak around my shoulders, finding it long enough to brush the tops of my boots, and still cover my front if I hold it shut. The fur mantle is a nice touch, although it makes my neck look even more nonexistent than it already is. The armour, at a glance, would never fit me, so I'll simply do without for now.
Now that I'm slightly protected from the biting cold, it's as good a time as any to see what goodies I have left in my lunch box. Opening the dented lid on its creaking hinges show me everything I have left in there. My glasses, cigarettes, two and a half packs, one bag of pepperettes, unopened. Two pill bottles, my meds, enough to last me close to a month assuming they still had an effect on my new body. No sign of my keys, wallet or phone. But it's not like I'll be needing those again. Would be nice to have my truck though. Maybe I can find a derelict around here that's salvageable enough to drive out of here. I set the glasses back in the box, as my mask is doing an ok job of keeping my face warm, even if the Cosmodrome is looking a little fuzzier than it should. Finally, at the bottom, the two items I was really hoping to still have, an old fashioned flip top Zippo lighter, and my Gerber multi-tool.
A good multi tool is worth its weight in gold in my experience, even if you aren't fighting for survival in a frozen, alien infested wasteland. Knife, saw, file, can/bottle opener screwdriver and pliers. If you can't field fix what you're working on with a multi-tool, duct tape and WD40, you aren't trying hard enough. A can of WD would go a long way out here I bet. Does it even exist in this universe?
I shake my head, focus man, there's shit to be done. Before I pack up my meager belongings, I peel the cloak off for a moment, looking at the crest on the back, a stylized animal skull maybe? I'm not sure what it's supposed to represent, but I do know it's the crest of the Fallen house that has control of the Cosmodrome, the House of Devils. A line from the original Destiny runs through my head.
We have located the House of Devils' lair. And the high servitor feeding them their strength.
The foreknowledge I have sure would make things interesting if I got involved with the Guardian and the rest of the main cast.
Hmm.
Stopping myself from going off on yet another tangent, I finish removing the tattered leftovers of Roadhog's threadbare vest, and I'm about to fling it into a snowbank to be forgotten, when I feel a weight in one of the pouches. I should probably check the pockets before I toss it. Other than some soggy pocket lint, the only thing in there is something that might be a weird key, made up of an engraved golden disk roughly half the size of my palm, and two sharp prongs reminiscent of a Halo energy sword.
A closer look at the engravings showed one side to be what must have been a floating city, skyscrapers and towers atop a massive stone outcrop with waterfalls dropping off the edge into a forested valley. Looking even closer, it seems Roadhog's eyes are evidently as bad or worse than mine were, but I can still see tiny dots, somehow moving across the scene in slow motion, though I can't tell what they might have been. Aircraft or birds or something probably. Flipping it over, the other side showed a different scene, a cloaked figure silhouetted by the sun standing at the edge of a wall or cliff looking out over a city contained within massive walls with a floating orb above it. That must be the Last City.
Another minute of inspection didn't reveal any further details so it joined the rest of my possessions in the lunch box. Time enough to think it over when I'm warm, fed and not in danger of being shot. I can do without more bullet wounds today.
What I can't do without however, is a plan. I know at some point I should end up at the Last City. That's a bit of a problem however, because, from what I remember, the City was either somewhere in South America, or in India somewhere. Both are thousands of kilometers away, but I doubt there's an easy way across the ocean unless I find a functional jump ship besides the one the Guardian takes.
Speaking of the Guardian, what should I do about them? If I remember correctly, they aren't even supposed to see a captain until they reach the hangar where the Arcadia is moored, so is my being here messing with the story already? At the very least I should see them to the City if I can, the ship if I can't.
They should be back any moment, so I start moving towards the tunnel exit once again.
I'm not in the mood for another gunfight with them today, I think to myself as I lean back against the wall next to the tunnel. Then, lo and behold, the Guardian appears, and promptly walks right past me, looking across the courtyard at my lunch box I left in the open. Seeing an opportunity, I do my best to slowly sneak behind them, but whether it was the gravel under my boots or the Ghost alerting them, they manage to spin around before I get my arms around them in a bear hug, trapping their arms and weapons under mine.
So here we are more or less face to face considering the height difference, neither of us speaking a word, just standing there having a bear hug. Their Ghost appears then, and starts strafing my head and shoulders.
A moment later my brain catches up with what's happening, and I can't resist a clever quip.
"You know, you have the situational awareness of a potato."
I guess they weren't expecting me to talk, because the Guardian stiffens in my arms and the Ghost stops abruptly, spinning to face me.
"You can talk? We thought you were one of the Fallen."
"Really? Last I checked, I only have two arms and two eyes in my head. Pay a little more attention, Little Light."
The Ghost drew back abruptly, but whether it was because of the criticism or the silly name, I'm not sure. Heh. Little Light. I'll have to thank Elsie for that one when I finally bump into her.
I glance at the Ghost, "your guardian gonna shoot me again if I let go?"
"How about you let go and we find out, fat man."
The voice I hear is hoarse and scratchy from disuse, but it is unmistakably female, a fact that's further reinforced by the protruding shape of her breast plate, that actually contains breasts. How about that?
"Not sure I want to now, maybe I'll just snap you like a twig. A fat guy like me should have no problem breaking your spine. Again."
The guardian just looks up at me, expression inscrutable behind the reflective surface of their helmet's visor.
"Or, ya know, we could not continue killing each other, or trying in your case, and find some shelter, food, maybe even transportation so we can get to the Last City. There's a lot of Fallen between here and the hangars, so let's work together and kill these skittering aliens so we can sleep in a bed after having a warm meal tonight."
A long silence stretches between us, the Guardian likely having a discussion with their ghost on wether to trust me or not. Doesn't make a difference to me really. I need the food and shelter more than the semi mute murder hobo that I'm squeezing in my arms.
"Well?"
My irritable tone makes the Guardian look up at me, and they give a stiff nod after a moment, so I let them down and step away.
A moment later the Ghost appears and looks around, hovering near the cloaked Guardians head, taking in the Fallen corpses including the shattered servitor.
"The Fallen seem to have a tighter hold on this place than I thought. There isn't much left out here." It spins towards me, saying, "I'm assuming you took care of these Fallen?"
"Yeah."
My short reply seemed to irk the Ghost, and rightfully so. I mean, I have nothing to go on really, other than was dead, am alive. And standing in the flesh and blood in a video game world that I spent far, far too many hours exploring. But it's not like I'm going to tell these two that, or anyone here for that matter. It's not like I'm an expert on timelines and foreknowledge, but I've read enough to know it might mess shit up in some fantastical way later on. Guess I have to think fast, play dumb and try to smooth things over.
"Ok so we got off on the wrong foot here. Why don't we introduce ourselves and get out of the wind eh? Don't know about you but I'm freezing my giblets off."
I turn and start walking towards the shelter of the tunnel entrance before waiting for a reply, taking the opportunity to have a moment to think.
Well, shit. How am I going to explain how I got here? Can't say im a guardian, don't have a Ghost. Could say I'm a scavenger living outside the walls, but the Ghost will probably call bullshit on that one. Maybe marooned? I don't even know if there's ships out there to maroon people in the first place! How much do these people know beyond what was written in the story?
Stepping inside I turn to face the Guardian, and a glimpse of the Colony ship and its cryo pods behind her, gives me a spark of inspiration that brings a smile to my face hidden behind my mask.
Heh, popsicle. Bingo.
Unthinking, I slip my mask over my head, and thankfully the air is breathable still. Better even after 500-ish years without pollution. Taking a deep lungful, I hold out my hand. "Leon Snow. Machinist by trade, popsicle by choice."
The Ghost chirps and does a little spin. "Popsicle?"
"Yeah, was packed up underground being paid as a test subject for cryo stasis. They wanted data on how us heavier set fellas took to the process. Seems like someone forgot to thaw me out before they shut the lights off. So, you two have names?"
They look at eachother, mirrored mask to star shaped drone, probably talking amongst themselves.
"So you remember even less than I do. Great. Well, how about you take off the mask and see what we're working with?"
The guardian stiffens and the Ghost spins in place. "Why? Is that really important now? We should get moving, the Fallen could return at any moment."
"Relax, Little Light." Oh, little fella really isn't a fan of that name judging by the look it's giving me. That Ghost shell is surprisingly emotive. "Just wanna know who i'm going to be travelling with. Or did you expect me just to wander off into the wastes? We should probably stick together. And if you don't remember your names, maybe we can come up with something. Or would you rather me keep calling you Guardian and Ghost?"
Next thing I hear is the seal on the Guardian's helmet releasing, first letting shoulder length black hair down, then the rest of her face. Fairly pale skin, high cheekbones, cute lips and striking blue eyes. In other words, an example of classic beauty, and a dead ringer for my very first character I played through on the original Destiny. The same hunter that I carried through the events in the Vault of Glass, the Red War, the Final Shape, and everything in between. It feels like I already know them to an extent, they will be an incredible warrior, a saviour. But on the other hand I know nothing about who they are.
She finally speaks on her own, with a voice scratchy from disuse. "So? Any insights?"
"Not really, but at least I have a face, if not a name. But you," I say, pointing at the Ghost, "you look like a little disco ball when you poof up to do the revive thing."
"What's a disco ball?"
"Well, waaaay back in the day there were platform shoes and bell bottom pants right?"