Chapter 8

"Patch"

She got over her shock quickly. Easy that. She'd faced bigger, meaner, and quite frankly scarier things than the mech with the sparking not-hand. "Arrested? Ah, well, you see, therein lies a conundrum. Lovely word, that. Conundrum..."

The Enforcer - Nightbeat, was it? - narrowed his optics. "And what's that?"

"I don't want to be arrested. Therefore, I shall muster a defense: I'm not who you're looking for."

"... Yes, you are. You're Cloudbreaker."

"My designation's Hawkmoon, actually."

"A new designation does not erase the old." His gaze flitted over to Complexius. "Your identity codes match all the same."

Hawkmoon turned her helm to give the physician a scathing look. "You gave him my codes?"

Complexius held up his servos. "He's an Enforcer. I can't lie to him."

"You can't be fragging serious!"

"Not very nice," Doomcat said, shaking his feline head.

Complexius scowled. "Knockout, get that thing out of here."

Knockout didn't budge. He stared the Enforcer down. Or tried to, anyways. Nightbeat wasn't really paying him much mind. His optics were only for her. And not in a good way. Not in the worst way either, but still far from anything remotely positive.

"Come quietly or I will force you into stasis lock," he threatened. His still-normal servo reached up to his chassis. A panel opened, allowing him to rummage inside and procure - yes, cuffs. Actual archaic police cuffs. Sweet Traveler above, he was using his body as a storage unit. Was that weird? Neither Knockout or Complexius appeared all that fazed by it. Maybe not. Huh. Could she do that? It might come in handy - but only if she had things to pack. With a start, Hawkmoon came to the realization that she owned absolutely nothing.

It was a bit sad. And aggravating - she'd owned an awful lot as a Guardian. So much that her partners had always complained about her apartment overflowing with junk. There were a few threats of clearing it out mixed in too. And now she had nothing - no apartment, no personal armoury, no trophy collection, no walk-in wardrobe dedicated solely to cloaks.

Another travesty to pin at Xol's... well, whatever he had in place of feet. Belly, she decided. Yeah, belly sounded good.

"I take issue with... what did you say you'd do?"

"Force you into stasis lock."

"Yeah, that. I take issue with it."

Nightbeat bristled. "This is your last chance."

It sounded like he meant it. Hawkmoon gave the office one last cursory glance - because why not. Nope. Nothing. Not unless she wanted to pick up Complexius's desk to use as a makeshift club, but she wasn't quite confident about fighting - fighting with her current body, in any case. Flying and walking were too very different things to close-quarters combat.

And she didn't want to hurt the guy. Not yet. Not really. Badly, anyways - a knock around the helm might've done him some good.

"Fine." She dramatically threw up her servos - they always did that in the movies.

"What? No. Put your servos forward," Nightbeat ordered with a puzzled frown.

The movies had clearly lied to her. Hawkmoon scowled and held out her arms. Click-click went the cuffs and- Oooh, the cuff-rings had a sparkly energy stream between them! Fancy.

Apparently relieved, Nightbeat lowered his servo-turned-stump. "Vacate the building," he instructed her, "slowly."

She walked at a semi-fast speed just to spite him. Nightbeat groaned and hurried to catch up.

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yes. And I have elected to ignore it."

"You're-"

"Witty, smart, impressive? Any of those?"

"No. Be quiet."

"What if I'm not?"

"You have the right to-"

"Remain quiet, I know." At least the movies weren't complete bull. "You're a terrible Enforcer, by the way."

Nightbeat gave her a look that was part derision, part genuine hurt. "Why is that?"

"You're supposed to be in control over your detainees."

"I've arrested you."

"Yeah, so? I don't feel very controlled. I could kick you in the shin right now, you know. Like this."

Nightbeat pulled his leg back. Her pede hit nothing but air.

Hawkmoon huffed. "Nice reflexes. Maybe you're not so bad after all. Still, you've got the wrong Seeker, and bringing in an innocent never looks good on a résumé, so..."

Nightbeat grabbed her arm just before the shoulder, just as they left the building. A brief glance behind her revealed that, yes, while they were being watched, neither Knockout nor Complexius came after them. Probably for the best - for their best, in any case.

Maybe not hers, though.

They stopped. Or, more accurately, Nightbeat stopped which then forced Hawkmoon to stop or risk him pulling on her arm. Arm-getting-pulled was no laughing matter.

"What now?" she asked.

Nightbeat grunted something unintelligible.

"What's that?"

"We wait."

"For?"

"Be quiet."

"I have a right to ask questions."

"... No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No you- Stop."

"No.

Nightbeat gritted his denta. It made a high-pitched grinding noise. But he didn't say anything.

"What are we waiting for?"

Nothing.

"What are we waiting for?"

Still nothing.

"What are we waiting for?"

Not a peep.

"What are-"

"A transport. Oh Primus, shut up!"

That didn't take long. Hawkmoon rocked on her heels, satisfied. She'd found his limit. Always a healthy thing that - knowing the limits of those around you. Your own? Nah, those don't exist. But everyone else has their flaws. Learn them. Use them. And-

A shadow passed overhead. Something resembling a shuttle (or a rocket-powered van) lowered onto the street in front of them. It was an unremarkable box-shaped thing that tapered into a vague point towards the front. Two squat wings outfitted with massive thrusters jutted out of either side of the machine.

"I can fly, you know," Hawkmoon pointed out. "Just tell me where to go and I'll meet you there."

"I'm not going to fall for that."

"Fall for what?"

"Just get inside."

A door on the side of the box-shuttle slid open. Nightbeat pushed her inside. There were people watching - just a couple of pedestrians, and Knockout of course - but he didn't seem to care. In she went, in Nightbeat went, and the door closed. The shuttle lifted off.

He practically shoved her onto one of the seats. Her wings scraped against the back of it. Hawkmoon hissed as flight-sensors acted up, shrieking in painful stimulation. Her panicked cheer disappeared - replaced by a cold, cold anger. She didn't utter another word for the rest of the flight.

She was pissed.

"Here." When the shuttle landed and the door slid open, Nightbeat grabbed her arm and tugged.

Hawkmoon held back, just to show that his pushing and prodding was a fragging farce, one she'd merely put up with up to that point and one she'd no longer humour. He tugged again. She tugged back - her chassis boasted slimmer limbs, though they weren't weaker by any margin.

"Move," he ordered brusquely. The hand not holding her transformed again - into some kind of non-fatal shock weapon, she imagined. It was the only explanation. That, or he liked watching sparks fly.

Hawkmoon reluctantly stood up. "Where are we?" she inquired, voice sharp. Her fear tugged at her, but she ignored it. It wouldn't do her any favours to give in.

Nightbeat looked at her, as if weighing the pros and cons of telling. He must have come to a conclusion, because he said, "Fort Scyk."

'Fort Scyk' was an armoured garrison built into the side of a small rock mound, which appeared to be somewhere in the empty flats outside Stanix-proper. She didn't know where, only that it was far from her usual haunts. There weren't many people about. Practically no one, apart from a few scuttling drones. Perfectly secluded.

The fear in her core gave a jolt. It whispered insecurities and dark futures into her audials. Hawkmoon was growing hard-pressed to ignore it. It was too out of the way. She needed an out - she needed to fly!

Hawkmoon tore herself from Nightbeat's grasp, got a few steps and activated her transformation sequence, but no, no, it reverted, the order couldn't compute, not with something in the way. Damn cuffs. That was fine, perfectly fine, she had wings to-

A searing sensation hit her back and wing. Her sensors shrieked. The shock carried on, ripped right through her firewalls, and all higher-function thought-processes crashed on the spot.

Lights out.

Her processor didn't online slowly, as a human or modified Exo brain would. No, it woke up immediately - even if her sensors were blurred, her mind was on high-alert.

She was... well, on a berth of some kind. With restraints around her limbs and, yes, even her wings. What hopes she'd clung to that the arrest was a lawful and civil matter, and would be accompanied with all the restraint befitting of one, were mercilessly shot down. What the hell kind of corporate crime befitted... this?

"She's online."

"I know." Faceplates came into focus: Nightbeat, wearing a frustrated scowl. "You shouldn't have tried to run."

"You shot me!" Hawkmoon growled out past clenched denta.

"With a non-fatal electro-dart."

"You still... Let me go!"

"No. I'm going to ask questions and you're going to answer them."

Hawkmoon struggled all the same, but the restraints were beyond her ability to break.

"If you don't answer them," Nightbeat continued, "then I'll have to resort to less savoury means of extracting information."

Torture. Maybe. Hawkmoon stopped struggling, but the spark of anger that competed with her terror refused to back down. Torture she could take. That was okay - well, maybe not okay, but sustainable. She'd been under the scalpel of the Devils a couple of times - and once where Splicers were involved. It had been hell and she'd been left broken in ways even Gecko couldn't fix, but she'd survived it. Just like she would survive this. He'd have to work hard. She'd make him work hard.

The Why? of it all had quickly ceased to matter to her. He was an enemy, she concluded decisively - there was no explaining his reasoning. All she needed to care about was surviving, escaping, and hitting back.

"Cloudbreak-"

"Hawkmoon," she snarled. "It's Hawkmoon, fragger."

Nightbeat was unfazed. "Cloudbreaker," he repeated. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Where's the Scrambler?"

She had no idea what it was, so she told him just that.

"Oh, but you do."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It was your ident-codes in the extraction terminal. You took them."

"Took what?"

"The Aperture-Scrambler. Give it up."

"I don't have anything!"

Another voice chimed in. It was directed to her. "What did the physician say?"

"Corrupted memory files," Nightbeat replied, still looking at her.

"Maybe she's telling the-"

"No. Corrupted or not, the files are in there."

"But she can't access them."

"Then we move onto the patch." He leaned closer. "This is your last chance."

"Get scrapped," Hawkmoon spat. Or tried to spit. Hard to manage with no salivary glands. Ah well; it was the thought that counted.

Nightbeat's frown deepened. "Killswitch. Get the cortical patch. Link us up."

"But that's-"

"Do it."

There was some scraping of reluctant pedes on the floor, there was some rummaging, there was some glaring, and then there was a triumphant and yet at the same time nervous "Ahh! Found it!"

Nightbeat looked over to the right - her right, his left. "You misplaced it?"

"I didn't think we were going to use it."

"We were. We are. I called for you to prepare."

"Yeah, well, it never usually gets to that stage."

"You've been paid a lot of shanix for your services, and you expected not to have to perform those very services?"

"Whether she's guilty or not, this is pushing the boundaries of legality. I don't need that kind of attention."

"She's a high-end larcenist," Nightbeat said, turning back to Hawkmoon. "The Vosian Weapons Division owns her. They don't care if she lives or dies - only that they get their property back."

"Wait, wait! Kill her? I wasn't hired for mur-"

"Patch us up. Now."

The pedes clanked closer. Hawkmoon, under the impression that she wasn't going to like what was coming next, struggled. Nightbeat lunged and forced her helm down on the berth and twisted to the side. She fought with everything she had, but it was futile. She had no Light to draw on, no tricks to fall back on, not partners to rely on.

She was alone.

A port was forcibly opened on the side of her helm and something clicked in. Warnings blared across her vision, most of them screaming about unsanctioned processor connections. Hawkmoon tried to shout, but her vocalizer couldn't manage anything more than a static-filled buzz.

There was another click, but not on her. More warnings popped up. Malware warnings. Broken firewalls warnings. Compromised processor, alert alert alert.

/error: mind core breached/memory drives endangered/unauthorized access

He was going for her memories. Hawkmoon raced through her processor to get there first.

"Crown Six, comm check."

"Crown Five, check."

"Crown Two, check."

"Crown Seven, check."

"SOLSECCENT IMPERATIVE: Cauterize."

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Seven." Six looked at her, stern and sharp. "Get the spiders."

She nodded with mechanical precision and opened the crate beside her. Arachnid-esque drones crawled out and folded up into plate-sized disks in her lap. She handed them out; there were two for every Exo. Rifles were readied - loaded, locked, safety knocked off.

It was the real thing. Something like nausea picked at her; she wanted to get sick, but there was nothing in her stomach, nothing, not a thing. Did she even have a stomach?

"Get ready," Crown Five muttered.

Seven hardened her resolve. She could do this. She could.

"Hot drop in three, two, one... drop."

The doors opened. They leapt out with inhuman agility. Flesh-rending winds ripped at her skin, got in her optics, threatened to grab her gun and go on a rampage with it. It was irrelevant. Unimportant. Inconsequential. Only the mission mattered.

The Warmind had pointed. Someone needed to die - so die they would.

"Administrator van der Venne, there is a CARRHAE WHITE emergency in effect. As an AI-COM operative, I have the right to use force where and how I see fit. So, if you don't get me where I need to go and help me remove any obstacles to my goal, I will realign you with my mission parameters. Am I clear?"

The human woman - who could have been someone's kindly old grandmother - stared at Crown Six in fearful disbelief. "Are you threatening to shoot me?"

"I won't shoot you. But I will tell you I could if I found it necessary."

Crown Seven tightened her hold. The gasoline-rain was playing hell with her rifle's grip. If they needed to break in, they would break in. If they needed a guide, they would procure a guide. Only the mission mattered.

The mission burned to the ground. Time was a one-direction river - and it rippled. Space was a still-surfaced lake - and it rippled. Neither were supposed to ripple. It was scientifically impossible, as all the great geniuses of mankind's three million year existence attested to.

The extrasolar entity didn't care.

Crown Seven braced against a wall as all her atoms were stretched almost to breaking point... and let go. Then again. And again. And again. She came to the conclusion that there were hidden, incorporeal fingers and talons and tongues poking at all the little parts that made her up. Evaluating, prodding, tasting. It wasn't cruel: it simply didn't understand the human concept of morality. Or maybe it didn't care to understand.

That was what gods did, right? She remembered the old fascinating mythos, particularly the grim Greek ones. It was a god, the thing grasping at the molecules of her being. She didn't know which one - maybe none of them. Maybe all of them. The only thing she knew was that it was a god - and to it she wasn't even an insect. She just... was.

Seven had no lungs and still she felt like she was drowning. There was an all-consuming panic and a hopeless desperation. She clawed at the walls, at the floors, at herself, but nothing dislodged the smothering sensation out of her chest.

She felt more than saw the signs of the methane-covered moon upon which she found herself being forced out in two different directions, becoming egg-shaped, as if grasped by a giant tightening fist. Gravity screamed as it was forced to change according to the entity's whims. And then, just as suddenly, it let go - like it had done with her.

Crown Seven didn't even have time to scream as gravity crashed down and the tidal waves hit.

"What the FRAG?!" Nightbeat roared. His grip on her helm disappeared - he'd jerked away as if she'd tried to bite him. Hawkmoon wouldn't have put it past herself to do just that. She really didn't like him.

"What's wrong?" The second voice - second mech - asked urgently.

Nightbeat looked at her. He'd seen exactly what she had. Memories buried in a mountain of dreams and a sprinkling of death. He stared for a very long time.

"Again," he whispered, optics wide and bright. "Patch us in again. Now."

"I don't think that's such a good-"

"NOW!"

A moment later and a buzz ran from the cable in her neck right to her processor. This time she tried to ignore it, tried to get out of the way rather than cut it off, but she was dragged along all the same.

"-astards!"

She was bellowing into their faces, into their mass, into the swarm of gnashing teeth and waving shock blades. She'd been in a fight before, lots of different fights, but little skirmishes and shoot-outs were nothing compared to a full-fledged battle. And, by Traveler, was this a battle. The Battle of the City, maybe.

No, wait. Hadn't reached the City yet. Battle of the Wall? No. She wasn't even at the Wall. She was miles ahead, deep in Fallen country. As if to emphasis the point, a Kings Vandal jumped her, crackling knives clutched in all four hands. After a brief bout of punching, kicking, and prancing about, she broke the pirate's neck with a quick twist. Another saw it happen and came running, screaming bloody murder. It died not a moment later - totally vaporized. Arc danced overhead. A Warlock went with it, lightning lancing from his hands.

Fallen died by the dozens. So did he, when his Super ran out. A Captain took him down with a flurry of ruthless sword strikes, carving him up into bloody chunks. But there was another Warlock flying in, brighter, stronger, and the Captain turned to ash.

Lennox-2 roared just to fit in with the cacophony of deafening noise and fired indiscriminately into the surging, writhing mass of bloodthirsty aliens. She glanced back, just to grab a look at the City she fought for, and the only thing to catch in her mind was the sight of the silent god hovering above.

It didn't care.

But she did. And that would have to be enough.

It was a disaster with a capital D. She couldn't hear anything past the booming, shrieking rounds of hellish cannons or the nightmarish screams of flying demon-things. They weren't like the Fallen; they didn't fight with strategy, didn't dance around with Skiffs or teleporters, didn't care how many of their own people died. They just charged. They just tossed living bodies at the trespassers- why not, when there were so many to take the place of the dead? On and on the hordes went, crawling out of the very stone she stood upon.

She killed hundreds, Arc staff twirling. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't ever be enough. There were thousands more coming her way - thousands more with their eyes solely for her. Thousands for every Guardian present. Too many.

"We aren't winning this," grunted the Warlock at her side. He fired in one continuous burst, right until his carbine clicked empty. She covered him as he reloaded, tossing Solar knives and chucking tripmines. All it did was slow the swarm for a few precious seconds.

Then, miles away, the Moon's crust cracked open like a mummified egg and a building-sized monster roared at the Earth and the disinterested god waiting there. The sky filled with green fire.

"Leave?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"Leave," the Warlock agreed. He shouted into his helm's mic. "FALL BACK! IMBRIUM'S LOST!"

Ugly black smoke choked the sky. There were fires raging, oil-fires, and the Cabal weren't giving them a chance to put them out. Threshers bellowed overhead. Harvesters descended at nigh-suicidal speeds to drop off entire regiments of red-garbed militants. Warships rained down death.

It was still there. A colossal sphere of bone-ivory, just waiting in place. Watching. Doing absolutely nothing while the people who looked to it, the people who protected it, died by the dozens. Hundreds. Maybe more, but she didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to even consider the body-count.

When the Cabal lobbed some giant six-taloned thing at it, she wasn't angry. Just bitter. Just disappointed. Right up 'til the talons grew webbing and the nonexistent breath was knocked out of her. Then she was angry. That was her Light!

The Cabal didn't care, and they told her just that: with bullets and hounds.

"What the frag are you?" Nightbeat hissed.

"I'm going to kill you." Hawkmoon glared like she'd never glared before. "I promise, I will kill you."

He tapped the cable at the back of his helm. "Again!"

Gone were the accusations. Gone was the distaste. Gone was the frustration. All he had left was a curiosity that stood to flay her mind open in search of answers.

He was dead.

Lennox kicked open a door. A collection of bright blue alien eyes greeted her. One scrabbled for weapons, but too late - far too late. She pointed her sidearm in and sprayed. Bullets flew. Ether flushed. Bodies hit the floor. Scratch one hovel.

He was dead and not coming back.

The door to the next habitat over opened all on its own. An ex-Legionary limped out to investigate the racket. She shoved a knife in his throat and stepped aside to avoid the spurt of oil and blood. He fell and looked up at her accusingly, but she stared back with cold impassivity.

He was never coming back.

There was motion inside the Legionary's hut. Lennox-2 tossed an incendiary in and moved on. Screams followed her out.

Cayde was dead.

Another habitat burst into flames before she could reach it. A Warlock walked out, robes immolated and Solar wings fluttering. A Captain crawled from the collapsing habitat in front of him, burned half to death. He finished it with a swipe of his flaming sword.

Cayde was gone.

The Warlock looked at her. There was grief there, etched into the lines of his face. She didn't feel it. There was only room for anger in her heart.

They'd killed him. They'd killed her friend.

She was going to burn it all down. For Cayde.

"What happens if I fall?"

"Eternal limbo."

"Not good."

"Probably not, no."

"Then where to, oh mysterious voice?"

"Do you want to get even?"

She hardened/hardens/would harden her gaze. "Yes."

Her vents shrieked and sucked in cool, cool air, but her engines didn't need it, they weren't overheating. It was instinct, gathering in air for a body that simply couldn't breathe.

Nightbeat tore his cable straight from his helm. Hawkmoon narrowed her optics to pinpoints - she was hurting.

"What did you find?" The other mech asked. "The Scrambler?"

"No." The Enforcer stared. Not even the curiosity survived. All that was left was unadulterated dread. "Vector Prime."

AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for edits!