File 1: The Captain and the Soldier
1. The Exile
Kiviks had trudged through miles of icy nothingness before coming across her sanctuary, though such a word hardly described the place. The cave was frigid, dark, and barren, just like the rest of Europa, but it offered a reprieve from the wind and snow. Wasting no time, she doused some spare cloth in fuel from her shrapnel launcher and started a fire. Kiviks found it hard to believe that she had been on the move for three weeks, but, then again, she had always been moving. Whether she was rising through the ranks of the House of Kings, or leading raids as a Captain in the House of Exile, she refused to stop. It was necessary if she was to make things right. Both in the House of Kings and Exile, she strived to rule and both times were met with banishment. She longed to make things better for her kin, but she could only do so as Kell.
She became lost in her thoughts as she watched the light of her meager fire dance on the frozen walls. She nearly fell asleep before noticing a silhouette crouching in the dark. Leaping from the ground, she leveled her weapon toward the shape. She snarled at it, beckoning it to get up, but there it sat. As she cautiously drew closer, the light of her shrapnel launcher revealed the intruder. Half-covered in ice, lay the inert frame of a mechanical man.
2. The Body
Kiviks had heard descriptions of such beings. The humans called them Exo’s. Some legends said that they were created by the humans to wage war against their enemies, while others claimed that they were created by the Great Machine itself. Regardless of where it came from, this one seemed dead, though that did not stop her from prodding it to make sure. It’s black plating had been corroded and bent from years of ice damage, but most of the components seemed usable. What caught her eyes, however, were its arms. Upon her unceremonious banishment from the House of Exiles, the lower two of her four arms were docked to disgrace her. These could serve to either replace them or buy her a new set. After all, Exo components were quite the valuable commodity.
However, she lacked the tools to detach them properly. Not wishing to damage her meal ticket, she used the butt of her gun to break the ice around the body. As she propped it against a wall she could not help but feel silly. This Exo did not look like a killer, though the deaths of her kin cautioned her not to underestimate it. Guardians had killed many of her friends, and no small number of them were Exo’s. Before sleeping for the night, Kiviks resolved to carry the machine with her until she could find someone to dismantle it, or tools so she could do it herself. Her vengeance would be to use this one for spare parts. It would be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
3. The Bond
For nearly a week, Kiviks had lugged the piece of literal dead weight across the endless sea of ice. The short periods of the day where the sun managed to shine made the journey bearable, but only just. At night, she would either find a cave or dig one out of the snow and huddle near a small fire. Out of loneliness, she began talking to the metallic corpse, reassuring it of their journey during the day and telling it stories at night. Flint was nothing, if not an excellent listener. Flint was the name Kiviks had come up with for her unlikely companion, having named him after a Guardian she overheard talking in Old Russia. It seemed to fit, as his black shell resembled the mineral quite nicely. At night, the red glow of the camp fire flickering in his eyes almost made him look alive. Kiviks had grown quite fond of her trophy, so much so that she almost felt bad for deciding to sell him for scrap. She never got the chance.
The Captain awoke one morning to find Flint gone. She was infuriated, not that someone had stolen her prize, but that they had neglected to at least try to kill her, as if her dishonor made the effort not worth their time. Before she could let out a roar of frustration, she detected the faint sound of voices coming from outside the cave. Not only had these brigands robbed her without a fight, but they had the the gall to linger outside. Such disgrace proved to be too much for her, as she snatched her shrapnel launcher and stormed outside. However, the source of the conversation turned her rage into shock, causing her to drop the weapon.
4. The Awakened
Flint had just finished dispatching his foes. He didn’t know what they had planned for him, but the little drone assured him that his actions were necessary. It was an angry little thing, barking orders like Flint’s life depended on it, though he supposed it did. It possessed a zealous jingoism that Flint couldn’t comprehend. For that matter, there were many things he did not understand, such as where he was or why he was made of metal. He had only just woken up and the only thing he could remember was his name, even if he didn’t know why. Just as the drone began scanning the corpses, the two heard a clatter come from the cave.
She was big. She looked like the others but her clothing and armor were green instead of the blue of those that had attacked him. They stared at each other for a while before he noticed the little drone was yelling at him again. “Get ‘im! What are you waiting for, soldier?!”, it yelled, gruffly. It circled Flint before repeatedly plinking against the back of his head, “GO, GO, GO!”. Get him? This was a she. But how was he so sure, and why did she seem so familiar? Flint’s ponderings were interrupted as the Captain lunged and pinned him to the snow. The two struggled against each other’s strength until Flint managed to toss her off before rolling away. Unfortunately for him, the Captain was just as deft as he was, as she used the momentum to roll off of the ground, grab her weapon, and aim it at Flint. “I don’t want to hurt you.”, Flint said, raising his hands. “I just want to talk.”.
Without hesitation, she fired the shrapnel launcher into his chest, killing him instantly. However, before she had a chance to claim the body, the Ghost intercepted and raised Flint again. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! I DIDN’T REZZ A SLACKER!”. Ignoring the belligerent drone, Flint calmly got up and tried to resume the conversation before the Captain clutched him by the neck and walked him over to a nearby cliff. Despite the auditory corruption, Flint managed to cough out a few words as she dangled him over the precipice. “My n-name’s-s-s Fl-i-int. Wha-what’s your-rs?”. He could see the rage leave her eyes as her grip loosened. Of course she was mad that she lost her prize, but she couldn’t bring herself to kill Flint, even if he was a Guardian. She tossed him back onto the snow before taking a Wire Rifle from one of the dead Vandals and sauntering out into the wilderness.
The Ghost repaired the damage to Flint’s neck as it continued its tirade. “What was in your head?! You have no idea how lucky you are that he didn’t just toss your sorry hide of this cliff.”. Still sitting in the snow, Flint watched her as she left. “She wouldn’t have done that, Carmine.”, said the Exo, rubbing his neck. “I think we’re friends.”.
File 2: The Broken
1. Workbench
“Scrap. That’s what they called my art. So I may have kitbashed a few things: a shotgun grip here, a Hive chitin firing pin there. So what? It’s still an auto rifle. Plus it works better than that sleek Suros garbage they sell in the Tower. That’s what I call scrap!”, ranted the Titan to no one in particular. “Don’t even get me started on Omolon. Those crooks design all their guns to shoot liquid ammo.” “LIQUID AMMO?”, he electronically grunted as he tried to squeeze a makeshift stock into the beginnings of a new weapon. “That’s fine if -hrrngh- all you own are -static- Omolon weapons…”. Frustrated, he held the gun vertically, butt down over the bench. “…but not if you use bullets!”. He accentuated the statement by slamming the makeshift stock into the workbench. -BLAM- The weapon discharged through the ceiling of his shack, providing the desert sun one more hole to leak into.
Unphased, the Exo poked his finger through the smoldering hole as he mused to himself. “I was wondering where that went…”. A clatter of scrap metal and steel rods fell to the floor as a small voice shakily entered the room. “Hellion?!”, the tiny drone sputtered. “I heard a shot. Are you ok?”. Her mismatched shell was barely visible among the ecosystem of refuse that the two called home. “Yeah, Fritz. I’m fine.”, he said, still looking through the fresh aperture. Fritz nervously looked around the shack. “Do you think the neighbors heard?”. “Nah,”, he sighed, returning to his work. “the Fallen have only ever attacked at night.”.
File 3: The Enlightened
1. The Stranger
It was shaping up to be just another mission. We got a call that Fallen were raiding an outlying settlement; some nowhere camp named something pretentious like Hali’s Hope or whatever. As if nomads like these could afford hope without the Traveler. Anyway, it was supposed to be a standard op: Get in, kill some bugs, get out. Simple as. This was before the City even existed, so we didn’t have much in the way of organization, much less proper fireteams. Still, we did our best to organize ourselves based on our strengths and weaknesses. I was the scout, Idris was the brains (y’know, being a warlock and all), and Dreven was the brawn. Brawn was about all he had, considering the guy opted to replace brains with faith and charisma.
We couldn’t find hide nor hair of Idris, which was odd. He was always punctual and made sure to tell us when he’d be late. Dreven wanted to go without him, but I figured we’d need someone to take his place. I’d learned two things during the Dark Times: 1) You need every advantage you can get, and 2) never underestimate the Fallen. We managed to find another warlock in time, but he was weird, even for one of you bookworms. He barely talked, and when he did it seemed like he was saying just enough to get by. I can appreciate a guy who likes his privacy, but he never took off that faceless helmet either. It’s like he got off on being creepy.
When we got there, we couldn’t find any signs of life. It looked like the Fallen had gotten there, took what they wanted and left long before we arrived. As expected, Dreven got hissy and blamed the warlock for us being late before kicking some sand on his boots and chasing after some tracks. The warlock didn’t seem to react at all. I thought it was just him taking it well before he turned to me and shrugged. I don’t know why, but that always stuck with me. How he could just nonchalantly shrug in a place where people had most likely died or been dragged away screaming.
He started talking in that dead voice of his, claiming that the nomads left out the supplies as a bribe for the Fallen, only to call us in to kill them and give them back the spoils. I didn’t buy it for a second. Sure, it happened sometimes, but there was no way he could have known that, right? Since there was nothing to kill, I started snooping around for clues. There were no signs of blood or a struggle in the area, so I looked around the surrounding terrain. Sure enough, I found signs of a small sniper’s post in the nearby rocky outcrop. I couldn’t help but feel a little weirded out knowing that the warlock’s theory was right, even if it meant that nobody was killed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some new-light. I know warlocks are good at deducing things, but the way he said it seemed like he knew before we got there. Either way, I made my way back to the site to share the intel only to find him gone.
I don’t know how he managed to disappear in fifteen minutes, much less without leaving tracks. I started by following Dreven’s from when he had his tantrum. After a few minutes I could tell I was getting close, judging from the signs of a firefight and a number of bashed Fallen corpses. As I started exploring, I heard a gunshot. At least, what I assume was a gunshot. It sounded more like a weird scream, but the preceding bang made it clear. I jumped from scrap pile to scrap pile before I found him. The warlock that is. I assumed he was walking back the way he came, since he still didn’t leave any tracks. Before I had a chance to ask, he just droned out, “Dreven’s dead.” before pointing to a ramshackle hut in the scrap. “They took his Ghost. The body’s in there.”.
I wish I wasn’t so damn curious. I didn’t think Guardians could die like that. Dreven…what was left of him was crushed under an old, bloody, cooling unit. The Fallen bastard cut off his arm, crushed the body and just left. I assumed the shot came from the warlock when he tried to kill the raider in question, before I saw him putting something in his coat. I don’t mean to cast suspicion, but it looked like he was holstering whatever kind of gun that was after he tried aiming it at me. I’m sure it was just my nerves.
Idris was still gone when we got back. I just assumed he was with another fireteam before I got the missing persons report. As for the creep, I never saw him again. Frankly, I don’t think I want to. There was something very odd about the way he would look at me. More accurately, the guy looked through me. Thinking about what he could have been looking for always gives me the shakes. What do you want him for, anyway?
- End Interview Log 314787#C - Subject: Valorie “Val”
2. Dream Study
I guess the nightmares started a couple months ago. They would always go the same way: I’m running down a street I don’t recognize, surrounded by people I’ve never met. Hive ships are firing blasts all over the place, but I can barely hear the explosions over all the screaming. That’s when they start teleporting on the ground and slashing people. I try to turn to run away, but get backhanded by a Knight and slam into a concrete wall. I pick up a car door and throw it at the Knight to keep him from killing more people. It smacks him in the back, and turns his attention to me. I try to run but my legs won’t move. He stomps over and slams his sword into my head before I can crawl away, and then I wake up.
At first I just figured it was part of being a Guardian. Y’know, since doing the stuff we do probably puts a strain on our minds and I guess my brain couldn’t cope with smashing so much Hive. But the nightmares just kept coming. It was the same one over and over again. But the more it kept happening, the more I started to notice. For one thing, I can vividly remember how bad the Knight smelled, or the feeling of getting the wind kicked out of me when I hit the wall. Sometimes the nightmare would be specific parts of the scene, as if something was replaying parts of my vision. What really weirded me out was when I started seeing the shadow man.
That’s what I called him. If I focused hard enough, I could see blurs of a person standing still in the crowd. Sometimes he’d be looking at something on a wall, or watching the running people, but it was always quick glimpses. The only time I got a good look at him was when I saw him staring at me. From what I can remember, he was wearing a smoky, flowing robe, but what spooked me was his face. He didn’t have one. I figured that it was too real to just be a nightmare, more like a repressed memory, so I decided to look around my dream for clues.
I tried to run to different places, but it was really hard, like trying to sprint in waist-high water. Even if I did manage to get away, I always ended up right back with the Knight again. I didn’t have much luck until I tried just looking at my surroundings. For the most part, the identifiable signs and posters were just blurs of color or had words that didn’t make sense, but I finally found one that looked familiar. I tried looking at the buildings just before the Knight caved my skull in when I noticed a red, neon sign on the building across from me. It read ,“Giordano’s”. That sign was the first thing I remember seeing when my Ghost rezzed me in Old Chicago. Hell, it’s what gave me my name.
End Testimonial: EX9 - 7225 - LAMBDA Subject: “Joe” Giordano Description Match: {Faceless} - {Shadow Man} Notable Lead: {Old Chicago}
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