Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Tower is far from pristine. There are cracks in the walls, grime on the floor, and try as they might the frames can only clean and repair so much. The Vanguard employs some civilian and guardians to ensure the walls stay stable and strong, but past that? You'd have better luck getting a Praxic to hug a Dredgen.

The Hunters use those cracks, writing little etchings of their arrivals and departures. If the hole is big enough, you might even find a stash.

The Titans roam the halls, memorizing where cover might be. Where last stands might happen. Their legacies are written in defenses and ammo caches.

The Warlocks will tell you these walls have history. They have ears and they have heard it all. The crazier ones will tell you that's not metaphor, but honest to Traveler truth. You know what? They're not too far off. 

Because whether you find yourself a little piece of crude paper, or something deep on a VanNet terminal, everyone leaves a mark somewhere. Even ol' Praedyth's remembered somehow. Even the undead still want a way to be remembered.

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// VANNET // GUARDIAN TERMINAL //

// TRANSMISSION ORIGIN: EARTH ORBIT //

// TIME: 1840 //

// USER: @TOWERGUEST123 //

// USER: @DESIG563 //

:: Thank you for using VANNET ::

:: Your conversation may be recorded ::

:: Connecting you with your party // @DESIG563 ::

@DESIG563: ... Hello? Who's this?

@TOWERGUEST123: Hey, Ten-4, it's Jonah.

@DESIG563: Jonah! They haven't got you set up with a proper code for the terminals yet?

@TOWERGUEST123: No, they're doing that now.

@DESIG563: Better make sure you keep on them, or you'll get something stupid like they gave me!

[long silence]

@DESIG563: Alright man. You called for something, right?

@TOWERGUEST123: Oh, yeah... Ten, do you think I got rezz'ed to late?

@DESIG563: What?

@TOWERGUEST123: I mean, the Witness just got unmade? That's the things name, right? The big looming voice in the dark is gone. The final battle is over. I mean, I never even got to meet this Cayde guy, and he just came back!

@DESIG563: Woah, woah, slow down man.

@TOWERGUEST123: It's just that, my Ghost is telling me I'm meant to be a defender, a bastion against the dark, but where's the dark?! What am I supposed to defend against? Am I just the Traveler's last big joke?!

@DESIG563: Man...

[longer silence]

@TOWERGUEST123: Sorry, sorry... It's just... Everyone's already PROVEN themselves. I've got an auto rifle barely held together by glue, and the guy in front of me at the gunsmith has a rocket launcher with EYES on it.

@DESIG563: It's alright. I won't lie to you, times are looking better now than ever before. I mean, I'm old enough to remember when Crota was slain. The life of a Guardian doesn't seem as bad anymore. But that doesn't mean there isn't more left out there.

@TOWERGUEST123: What, for the Hunters? 

@DESIG563: What, you forgot about the- OH. Oh yeah, forgot, they've been gone a while, haven't they?

@TOWERGUEST123: Who?

@DESIG563: The Stoneborn Order. Last I heard about them, most died during the Red War. They helped forge the walls of the City. Guarded it to the final man, even without their light. Died protecting the civilians evacuating. 

@TOWERGUEST123: And so what?

@DESIG563: And so, you can still do good without having to have some 'last stand' bullshit. Hell, even just guarding the walls is good at this point, with the Stoneborn being gone. Making your mark as a titan isn't just being like Saint or Shaxx, it's about doing the good work no one else wants to do. Pillars don't have to prove themselves, just make sure the roof stays up.

@TOWERGUEST123: ... I guess you're right.

@DESIG563: I'm always right, Jonah... your ghost taking you to see the sights?

@TOWERGUEST123: Haven't really gone City side yet...

@DESIG563: Listen, I'm coming in for landing soon, I know this EXCELLENT bar down in the City, I am sure you'll love it. They got stuff that'd make an exo fall out his seat!

@TOWERGUEST123: Well... I'll wait at the hangar then?

@DESIG563: Great!

:: SIGNAL CLOSED ::
:: THANK YOU FOR USING VANNET ::

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TYPE: LIVE COMBAT FEED [CONTIGENCY RECORD]

PARTIES: Variable, approx. [520]. One [1] Guardian-type, Class Warlock, designate Castellucci [c]; One [1] Ghost-type, designate Hazard [h]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Titan; Two [2] Ghost-type; Two [2] Dread, Tormentor-type; approx. [#] Dread, variable tyles [Grims, Attendants, Husks, Weavers]

ASSOCIATIONS: Operation Excision; Fireteam Drunken Sailors [Castellucci, Eve-6, and Slip]; Dread; Witness Forces; Tormentor; Nezarec Imprint; Traveler

// AUDIO PRESERVED //

// TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS //

[The sound of numerous footsteps and battle fade in as the recording starts.]

[h.01] Guardian down!

[The shrill sound of paracausal fire fills the recording]

[c:01] Shit! Eve's down, Slip, get him, I'll cover you!

[Garbage noise and static overpower the feed]

[c:02] Wait! Tormentor cresting up the hill, fall back! Fall back!

[Following transcribed loosely by Cryptarch Apprentice Desalnus: Kik'thid'va'na'tsi'vo. Meaning unknown.]

[Void energy is heard swirling as the audio becomes distorted, before regaining clarity.]

[The cracks of twenty hard rounds peak the feed's audio, before a large growling is heard]

[h:02] Guardian down!

[c:03] I know, Haz, I just saw that thing crush him!

[h:03] I'm just doing what I can!

[Shrieks and cries overpower the audio, intercut with the sounds of two different firearms, counting twenty rounds between them fired.]

[c:04] How long till their Ghosts can pick them up themselves?

[A bolt of paracausal power rips by the recorder, peaking the audio once again.]

[h:05] Weavers on your left!

[c:05] Thanks, Haz!

[The sound of shattering glass echoes loudly, followed by a blasting sound of paracausal discharge.]

[c:06} Hazard, what was that?

[h:06] Scuttle's gone! Eve's dead!

[c:07] No, no, no, no, no!

[Three loud crunches bell out, with all background fighting becoming muffled.]

[h:07] We have to fall back, Caste, there's too many!

[h:08] Broadcasting, any nearby fireteams, this is Fireteam Drunk Sailors, we need backup, I repeat, we need-

[Two loud crashes ring out.]

[Human coughing.]

[c:08] Damnit, another tormentor?!

[A shrill sound of darkness peaks, and then fades away as two shots hit flesh.]

[c:09] Hazard, we can't run away, it's now or never!

[The sound of shattering glass echoes loudly, followed by a blasting sound of paracausal discharge.]

[h:09] They got Coin! Broadcasting, please, we need help, there's too many for us!

[Fifteen paracausal bolts whiz past, hitting into rock and dirt.]

[h:10] Overwatch, yes, this is Fireteam Drunken Sailors, we just had two FDs, requesting reinforcement!

[The slicing of blades through air is heard, supplanted a violent gust of wind.]

[Screaming from c is heard alongside the wind.]

[c:10] Do we have an ETA on those reinforcements?!

[Three loud explosions ring out, with two guttural roars after.]

[c:11] Thank the Traveler for threshers!

[h:11] Thank Caiatl, now we can finally push-

[h is cut off by a loud paracausal bolt ringing out.]

[The sound of glass abruptly shattering ends the feed.]

Chapter Text

AUDIO PLAYBACK BEGINS

You know, down in the Tower's hangar bay, there's a small note board posted up that only a few Guardians and mechanics know about.

It's not as if it's some dangerous secret. It's barely a secret. It's not worth telling, so no one does. It's just there. Hanging by a singular knife. The number who even know about it dwindles each day, with guardians going MIA, or mechanics simply dying of old age. That note will stay though, even with those who have read it disappearing. Might actually extend its lifespan.

Sometimes, someone will add something to the note or put up their own notes right by it. Sticky notes don't stay long though, and fall. The knife trick of the first ends up reducing how much you can say with it. Simply burning a message into the wall wouldn't work either, because then a frame would detect the damage and notify the Vanguard that it needs to be repaired. Then the note would be taken away. Then the fun of the secret would be gone.

See, that's the fun of it. That no one knows about it. About who made the first note, even. It must have started with a Hunter, what with the knife and everything. No suspects on the culprit besides that though. The contents of the note don't tell you anything either. It's just pointless talk, nothing of any real note, despite its medium.

Each note under it tells something else. Some bragging about their writers. Others giving warnings, both true and false ones. There was even one that tried to talk about a "galaxy pool", legends of a beautiful area that no one could get to. As if! Suppose the whole thing is just one big inside joke. Done by those bored enough to spend time just... wandering the Tower. Even Guardians have boring days. Unthinkable, what with being essentially immortal demi-gods, but it still stands. Not everyone of them lives life fast and deadly.

There was once a Warlock who, with all his immortality and smarts, decided to open up a bookstore and newspaper down in the City itself. Hid the light he had, just wanted a peaceful, normal life. His Ghost simply wandered around and the Warlock pretended the Ghost was just his employee. Wasn't until he was pushing into his hundreds that people really noticed his lack of aging. Vanguard got a bit upset at him never really getting assigned a designation. His name's Eden. Lovely guy, invites everyone he meets for tea and a book. Typical Warlock behavior, honestly.

Guess that's what erks me about the note left at the hangar. It's not what I would think a Hunter would do. There's no secret, no rush of excitement to it. It's too... normal. No map to treasure, no schematics, nothing! It's always the Warlocks or Titans that are boring. One's up with a book talking about ancient vex magic or whatever, the other walking back and forth on a wall for hours. Hunters, they rush out, they seek. So maybe the note wasn't a Hunter? Maybe it was someone else, pretending to BE a Hunter. Like that Dredgen Yor guy did. Titans LOVE pretending to be us.

Yeah, maybe it's a Titan! Would explain why it's so sparce with words. Why it's got no substance... But, then again, why? Titans don't really go to the hangar unless it's to gawk at Saint-14 or get something from him, so why do that? Inside joke theory or something else? 

Warlock would make more sense for being so confusing, but it's too short for them. Those types have to be so wordy CONSTANTLY. Even what they name their abilities feels like a mouthful, or just sounding like they're trying to be cool. I mean, Penumbral Blast? Who really thought of that one? 

Maybe I'm just getting to far into this. It's nothing, really. Just a stupid note in an unusual place. Somewhere that people don't really go. Doesn't need an answer. Huh. I must sound like a crackpot. 

Hey, who's there? Ghost? Why are you... HEY! Have you been recording me this whole time? You better not post that to the VanNet, or I swear-

AUDIO PLAYBACK ENDS

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// VANNET // CIVILLIAN TERMINAL //

// TRANSMISSION ORIGIN: TOWER//

// JOURNAL LOG COPY - TRANSLATION MODULE ACTIVE //

// ACCESS GRANTED TO USER:@CIV135//

:: Thank you for using VANNET ::
:: Your browsing history may be recorded ::
:: Transcription notes done by Cryptarch Apprentice Desalnus ::

[The following is a journal gifted to the City by a Guardian Hunter. It is meant to represent a part of the life of a Guardian, and to be viewed by the citizens of the Last City, so we may know more about our defenders.]

[All expletives removed in transcription.]

Hello! Name's Candle. Matches [his Ghost] tells me I should actually use this book, since the Vanguard provided it and everything. She likes to remind me that it was only free so long as I did the assignment that [Warlock] asked of me. 

So that's what I'm doing. Writing. F u n. Now she's glaring at me 'cause I'm doing what she asked. Whatever. [Might as well write about something important], like names!

Each Guardian has one, so does each Ghost. But, since Guardians don't remember jack, how do we choose a name? Depends on the Guardian, but most just find a word they like. See, Candle is just a really cool word, no? Short, rolls off the tongue, plus goes with my best bud Matches' name! 

Met other Guardians who name themselves after old gods or myths, but that's [pretty] pretentious. Met some who name themselves after animals. This one guy named himself after his favorite animal plus a nut. Warlocks are [a different breed], I tell you. What I'm trying to say is that Guardian names are entirely up to themselves. Don't got a parent to name us, unless you count the Ghosts. They are usually the only thing there when we wake up, unless you count hostiles. They don't usually talk to us, just shoot. That's the thing with Guardians - we just ain't like mortals. The guys who got one life? Their life intersects with another. They're born. Guardians just get revived. The woman I was before Matches found me? She had her own life before. Lived, saw sunset glow, loved and maybe loved back, and then laid down her life out in Manhattan during the collapse. She had a name. That's not me though. She never had the Light like I do. Whatever her name was, it was never mine to have. So I had to find myself a new one.

I figure Ghost names are weirder. I mean, Guardians get revived, but Ghosts were just... unleashed? I tried to ask Matches how they get their names. Was it the Speaker, may his Light ever rest, the Traveler, or something else? Matches still won't answer it. Maybe they named themselves. Would explain why some Ghosts are so uncreative. One time, I overheard a Ghost just saying its name was Ghost. That's like one of the Tower guards being called "Hugh Mann" or some other [stuff.] That's something even some Guardians don't think about. Their Ghosts, I mean. Listened to Eido, the Scribe of House Light. She said that Guardians tend to take resurrection for granted, cause of the Crucible. She isn't wrong, but she ain't right. Ghosts certainly don't need us. [Savathûn] proved that well enough. Wonder why Ghosts put up with us, sometimes. Guess that's another mystery, just like how they get their names. I know you're looking at this Matches!

[Section removed due to vulgarity.]

Our callsigns now? Those are different. Vanguard actually monitors what you call yourself, tries to make sure there's no overlap. Would suck to be Overwatch, giving orders to two schmucks named the exact same thing after all. That, and it gives them the ability to stop any name too stupid for real patrol. Some real ones slip by sometimes. I remember rolling with this one group for a time, went by the fireteam codename "The Bad Guys Don't Care What They Call Ourselves Do They?" Absolutely hilarious guys. Hearing that big blue softie call them out over the intercom was great. Shame they got rid of that, though I get the security reasons.

The names of everything not made by a Guardian in particular? Vanguard. They get final say on the names for things, even weapons. Even if they ban or blacklist it, like the Red Death. Scary weapon, Guardian-killer type. Yet, even still, Vanguard's the one who got final say on what sort of name us Guardians could give it. VanNet isn't called that because it's run on Hive juice! The names aren't half bad most of the time. You can tell who put the title on it sometimes. Most of the fancier names probably come from Ikora, given she's the [Warlock], and the [simpler] ones come from those Titans, obviously. The [cool] ones? All Hunters. Even if we don't have a Vanguard, it's us!

:: END TRANSCRIPT::
:: THANK YOU FOR USING VANNET ::

Chapter Text

EARTH // LAST CITY // DETENTION FACILITY //

The harsh buzz is all he can hear. The numbness all he can feel. He knows why they have done this. They hate him. Fear him. That is why they suppress him, along with his Light. It is in this Vanguard cell, with not but the bare concrete and minimalist bed that Kilroy sits on, that has become his world. Waiting in between the static. 

The walls that surround him are deep. They must be, for they have to contain a Risen. His kind has always been strong. Pillars of true power, both within and out. Kilroy remains so, even now.

The buzz reverberates throughout him. Kilroy focuses on it. So long as the buzz remains, he knows he lives. He remembers the feeling of Light being torn away, not suppressed. When the Cabal became a species Guardians hated. Feared. When Kilroy gave another Risen their final death for the last time.

As a new jittering hum sparked to life, before Kilroy stood the Titan, Heimdall-6, or rather a projection of the Exo. One of the few given charge of lower priority cases in the facility in case of the warden's absence.

"Hard to believe it's already another week, Kilroy," the Titan unintentionally boomed. The hologram's flickering caused the wide-shouldered Exo to distort. Kilroy blinked.

The Titan and the prisoner watched each other in silence. Kilroy had to crane his neck upwards to look his warden in the eyes. Heimdall saw pity in the prisoner's eyes.

"So it is. Has the Vanguard not decided what to do with me yet?" Kilroy's monotone voice bounced off the walls that caged him.

"...No, they have not. We still don't know if you're even telling the truth," Heimdall squinted at the fellow Light-bearer and crossed his arms. Even in the pale blue light of the projection, Kilroy could tell the armor Heimdall wore was immaculately clean to the point of blinding him.

Heimdall was a tall Guardian. The tallest Exo Kilroy had ever seen. He remembers their meeting well, when Kilroy turned himself in for his own bounty. It was Heimdall who stopped a Praxic Warlock from simply taking off his head. The one who cuffed him. Kilroy gave the Exo his own title after that.' The Weird One'.

The audible clap brought Kilroy's attention back to Heimdall, who was staring at him in a mix disappointment and pleading.

Sighing, Heimdall said, "Do you want the Praxics to get their wish? 'Cause right now, you're one of a long list they want gone and you're already in custody. You're refusing the therapy, and Ikora's given up hope on this case."

Kilroy looked at his surroundings. He spent years in the wilds. Decades scavenging for food. Centuries atop a throne of gold, killing any who crossed him. Now, he sits alone, no gold or even his ever-companion by his side. 

"I still think there's hope for you. Even if you're really are the guy on the Praxics' list. You can still protect the City. We need everyone we can to take on the Witness. You can be redeemed," Heimdall pleaded to the elder Risen.

"You know nothing," Kilroy spat. 

"I know your file. I know we've had this song and dance every week since you gave yourself up after the Prison of Elder's jailbreak. I know you have enough of a soul left to give the Vanguard counters to the Hive Light-bearers. Is this really what you want to do for the rest of your life?" Heimdall retorted, placing his hands on his hips. Kilroy scoffed and turned away.

The silence was deafening as both Light-bearers refusing to back down. Kilroy scratched at the cuffs that kept his Light deadened. As the  Hologram crackled, a buzzer went off.

Heimdall sighed, "And that's my cue to leave."

"More prisoners?" Kilroy asked, dispassionately.

"Nah, patrols. Every Guardian is being used for fieldwork. Preparing for the 'big plan' to work, whatever it is," Heimdall replied. " 'fore I go, I want to let you know that Vera is still alright. Both your stories match up, so..."

"So next week, its decision time?" Kilroy supplied.

"Yeah. Decision time. You know the button to contact the guards, should you reconsider the Vanguard's offer." Before Kilroy could say goodbye, the hologram flickered off. 

That entitled Titan couldn't know anything. He hadn't created things meant to sever the Light. He hadn't followed a Warlord into battle. He hadn't razed humanity's settlements for glimmer and glory. This was what Kilroy deserved. Right, right. Kilroy couldn't lose sight of that. The heroes needed to be heroes. Villains needed to stay in their lane. Makes it easier. No moral disputes. The least he could do for the people he loved, right?

Chapter Text

ACCESS: RESTRICTED
DECRYPTION KEY: 55AB71PG25V21$GRA-556
REP #: 062-VIP-4056
AGENT(S): GRA-556
SUBJ: Threat Assessment

1. THIS DATA OBTAINED FROM PAST FIELD SURVELLIANCE OF VIP #4056 ON THE REEF AND INTERVIEWS DONE WITH SURVIVORS
   
   
   
2. As stated in previous reports, it is my opinion that VIP #4056 should be updated to a higher threat level after the RAID class operation was successful. This assertion was based off the potential harm to New Lights and Ghosts being considered a lower priority to the enacting of the Final Shape. Given the speed at which the fallout of recent events has been resolved, I highly recommend a review of the following documentation and a renewed assessment of potential threat.
   
   
   
3. Related to the above is testimony from MICAH-10, transcribed below. Nonverbal communication is described in annotations.
   
   MIC: [VIP #4056]? I haven’t seen him for a few years… Thank the Traveler for that.
   
   Note: Here MICAH-10 wrings her hands, and a nearby Ghost nuzzles into her neck.
   
   MIC: He hunted me for a long time. Well, hunted the Ghosts I should say. Wanted to stop them from ever finding their Guardians. He had this cloak, made up of all the ones he’d already killed. I’d say that he’d already killed at least a hundred. Would’ve been more if I hadn’t protected the ones I found.
   
   Note: Here MICAH-10 reaches over and hands the attached recording of VIP #4056.
   
   MIC: If you ever come across him, put him in the ground. His Ghost already left him, but he might’ve found Darkness. Name’s [VIP #4057]. If you can come across his Ghost, he can tell you more.
   
   Interview ends.
   
   
   
4. I submit to you now photographic and video evidence given by MICAH-10. This evidence details the appearance described by her above.
   
   The number estimate given for potential victim Ghosts is accurate given the appearance of his cloak, though it might have increased due to time since the photograph was taken.
   
   
   
5. I request authorization to contact VIP #4057 in order to conduct an interview to further gauge the potential harm VIP #4056 could inflict, as well as the potential for him to have obtained powers of Darkness.
   
   The potential for a rogue Light-Bearer who can infiltrate and eliminate Guardians before they have the chance to be risen is a threat that must be countered immediately.
   
   
   
6. Additionally, I advise MICAH-10 and her post be given extra security and monitoring, given the potential for a retaliatory strike from VIP #4056, as per past history. The strategic importance of MICAH-10 and her post within the Traveler cannot be understated.
   
   

MESSAGE ENDS

Chapter Text

Near the Tower was dozens of office buildings that leased to Guardian clans, where their leaders could have a place to store things that the Vanguard's vault system might not want to have lying within their walls. Leaders could also rent these spaces to give their siblings in arms and light a place to rest in between major operations. Some even used the space to do the thing every leader dreaded. Vanguard mandated paperwork.

The two-story office that Hawkes leaned against was one was rented out for all of the reasons above. The building itself wasn't anything that she hadn't seen before in the last city; yellow painted concrete walls, cracked windows, faded red door big enough to get even the largest Titan inside. The only thing to set it apart from any other office was the plaque above the doorframe reading "CLAN BAD NEWS FOR THE BAD GUYS." What was most shocking was the silence. Being so close to the Tower, one would expect much more noise, or the occasional Guardian corpse falling from the sky, but both problems had been solved by the Vanguard's installation of a net and park right where most of the falling debris would end up. Still, the silence of the civilian population could only be explained by the lateness of the day, but the earliness of the night. Not dark enough to be time for drinking and celebration, but late enough that market stall workers and day walkers had all long gone home. Only the grey pigeons that seemed to infest everywhere in the Last City that the purple ribbon ladened Titan had been.

Unfortunately, Hawkes' smoke break was coming to a close, and she knew that hiding from the report she had been running from wouldn't fly any longer. While last year, she could have got away with another week, with the new Hunter Vanguard on everyone's heels for deadlines, the fact she had a few hours left was a miracle. A miracle gained with a small 10 thousand glimmer bribe to her favorite Vanguard clerk. 

The Guardian let her head hit the cold wall behind her, her Hunter cloak softening it enough to be passably comfortable. Grumbling under her breath, she let the cigarette between her fingers drop to the ground, before crushing the smoldering cancer stick under a black boot. 

Walking back inside, the inside of the office was as uninteresting to her as the outside. All of her clan had either gone to their 'homes' or to get a head-start on late night Vanguard bounty hunting, so the building was as silent as the outside, with only the AC's hum filling the air. The ground floor had an open floor plan, decorated with a few opened crates of weapon parts, a workbench for tinkering, and a pool table salvaged from an unsanctioned exploration of Old Florida. Walking past this, Hawkes stopped before the staircase tucked in the left side of the building, looking at a hanging photograph.

Within the old picture was the office she stood inside now, with six Guardians standing in front of it. The full fireteam blending together into a kaleidoscope of colors in Hawkes' eyes, all except one. At the center of the group, pulled two ways by a Titan and Warlock, stood a Guardian without a mark, cloak or bond. Classless, and looking straight from the grave. One New Light, surrounded by Light-bearers who had been fighting for centuries. 

Closing her eyes, she takes the first step up to the next floor. Each one having a different photograph, showing the years long gone. Each photo with more Guardians, new faces coming and old faces leaving. 

Reaching the landing at the end of the stairs, Hawkes is brought face to face with the only other door in the building. The door to the clan leader's office. Hers. 

Opening it, the room is filled with podiums with helmets of the previous leaders. Class items of the departed, left behind to remind the next leaders the legacy they have to uphold. There was even space left open, to remind the next leaders that, they too, must one day join their predecessors in the Traveler's embrace.

In the back of the room stood a desk and three chairs, arranged in the standard arrangement, letting the leader have two guests sit while they might be working on the paperwork that let a clan operate in the Last City.

Walking to the chair behind the desk and sitting down, Hawkes nodded, and her Ghost materialized. Wordlessly, she rolled her wrist, and her Ghost transmatted the form and pen she needed to finish.

"Easy stuff out the way first," Hawkes steeled herself. 

Picking up the pen in her left hand, she first signed off the date. Then, her name. Clan. Rank. Guardian class. Vanguard designation number. The operation number.

Easy numbers and words to memorize. Now for the harder.

The day of the incident. Impossible to forget.

The enemy encountered. Dread. Tormentors, she specifies. 

His name. Arizona-4.

His clan. Same as hers.

His rank. Former leader.

His Guardian class. Hunter, same as her.

Last was the boxes to mark off. Remains/gear recovered, yes or no. No. 

Encounter type, battle, nonbattle, individual, or multiple. Battle, multiple.

Final death, yes or no. Yes.

And with that final stroke of a pen, the last remaining original member besides her was gone. With that, she was the new leader of her clan. For all the good and bad that meant.

Chapter Text

// VANSEC // HDN TERMINAL //

:: User Credentials Required ::

. . .

:: User AUN-326 Verified ::

. . .

:: Recording 928b Pulled From Archive ::

// CAM578b // LOWER HANGAR - TOWER //

// AUDIO & VIDEO PRESERVED //

The Hangar was dark, with only the dim red lights on in case of late night Guardian departures or landings. This section of the Hangar was empty though, with only a single Bassanio class fighter occupying it. The frames that went about their tasks were the only signs of life, with all the civilian engineers long since retiring for the night or moving to sections in more need of extra hands. The workspace where the human hands would have been hard at work were left tidy, with not a single tool left out of place. 

Distant machinery and light rain outside the safety of the Hangar's rooftop were the only noise, the frames moving silents as they cleaned. With the lack of human presence for now, the job was easy, but menial. No Nessus dirt to sweep, no Throne World mud to mop, and no Solar burn marks to buff out. 

This peace was short lived, however, as someone came in from the elevator behind the camera. The stranger wore heavy armor, with blue and orange paints long faded and scratched. As they continued into the large room, they tore a piece of cloth off their belt and threw it to the ground, ignoring a frame that hurriedly moved to pick up the discard outerwear. Despite the armor, the person did not wear a helm, with their shott and wavy auburn hair bouncing as they walked.

Following not too far behind was a Ghost, flying as fast as it could to reach the human. "Where in the Traveler's Light do you think you're going? We still have bounties to pick up!"

Turning back, the camera was able to pick up the Guardian's face. The deep blue eyes piercing the Ghost, who stopped petrified in front of their risen.

"No more," the rumbling voice of Guardian sounded as violent as rolling thunder. The Ghost shook its shell, flexing the triangular pieces that comprised it.

"No more what? Guardian, you aren't making any sense. Now, let's go back, and I'm sure if you let me explain to-" the Ghost was cut off as the risen swatted at the drone with their gauntleted hand.

"I have a name! It's Niall and you WILL call me by it!" The Guardian's booming voice filled the Hangar, echoing off the walls. "And I will NOT go back there! I am DONE! How many of my friends are gone because of missions I told you we shouldn't go on? Of people we SHOULDN'T have trusted? Do you even remember?!"

The Ghost recovered, rising to avoid any more attempts to swat it like a bug. "You are MY Guardian, and you will NOT talk to me like that, young man!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry for my tone, machine," Niall scoffed, folding their arms over their chest.

"You've grown soft from this peace. I am trying to stop that," the Ghost intoned, its eye staring down at the human. "If your friends weren't soft like you, maybe they'd have survived the Excision assault."

Niall's eyes widened, and their arms fell to their sides. For a moment, silence filled the Hangar again, both the machine and human staring at each other. The frames still in the Hangar meandering away from the scene, one walking over to a security station nearby the camera.

"If you are done having your temper tantrum, Guardian, can we go back to our job now?" the Ghost snarked at its charge.

The human Guardian didn't move for a moment. Then, they slowly reaching to a pouch on their belt, and took something out. In an instant, Niall threw the object at the Ghost, hitting it square in the eye.

"I said I'm done, Lord," the self proclaimed Niall spat back at the Ghost, "I'm done dealing with the strain of all this. You said that it'd be over, that we could rest, but the Witness is gone and we're still fighting like we might die tomorrow. I thought you were my friend, but if I'm just another weapon to you, then go buy a new one."

The camera zoomed in on the object now resting on the floor. It was a bag filled to bursting with glimmer.

"A friend? Guardian, you are my charge. My responsibility. My weapon in service of the Traveler. What you were meant for is to fight for humanity, and that's it. Before me, you were just another corpse in Old Chicago, and without me, you'll be right where you started. Dead." Lord's voice carried through the Hangar, the digital reverberation capturing its contempt for the disloyalty of its risen.

"Goodbye then, Lord."

"You can't leave, you are MINE." If the Ghost had been a human, it would have spat those words dripping with venom.

Niall simply shook their head, and turned to walk towards the lone ship in the Hangar.

"Take another step and I will take all my Light back! You will be powerless! I can leave you dead for a century!" The Guardian simply continued.

Suddenly, a shimmer of white Light came off Niall as they stumbled to their knee. "See? See how it feels to be powerless? Just come back and I'll give the Light back to you, and we can forget this little act."

With a lurch, the human righted themselves back to their feet. "Keep it. Tell Lysander he'll need to find another pawn to his little scheme. Goodbye, Lord."

Niall made it to the ship, opened the cockpit, and flew out of the Hangar. As the Ghost hovered alone, it shimmered slightly, but stayed.

"... Idiot turned off their transmat... Fine. Won't survive a day without me anyway. Then, I'll just find their corpse and force them back."

The lights in the Hangar came back up in full, bathing the large room in white light. Turning the Ghost looked at the now lone frame, who had turned on the Vanguard Security terminal.

[END OF 928b]

:: Additional Notes Filed By GRA-556 ::

1. Interrogation log VS928b-FLW done with suspect [Ghost desig. Lord] uncovered very little additional information on Tower Hanger Incident 928b.
   
   
2. Referenced interrogation log showcases additional evidence to support claims of renegade factions growing in the aftermath of Operation: Excision.
   
   
3. It is my suggestion that all information regarding Incident 928b be sealed to all except those with clearance level TRAVELER'S CHOSEN.

---

END MESSAGE

:: Interrogation log VS928b-FLW Requested, Verifying Clearance ::

. . .

:: User AUN-326 Verified ::

. . .

:: Interrogation log VS928b-FLW Pulled From Archive ::

TYPE: INTERVIEW RECORDING [ONGOING INVESTIGATIVE]

PARTIES: One [1] Ghost-type, designate Lord [L]; One [1] Ghost-type, designate Camelot [C]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Titan, designate Grail [G]

ASSOCIATIONS: Traveler, Renegade Guardians, Concordat, Lysander, Most Wanted, VanSec Open Cases, Public Disturbance, Missing Persons, MIA Guardians

// TIME: 1840 //

// AUDIO PRESERVED //

// TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS //

[Long and monotone beep starts the recording.]

[G.01] For the record, my name is Grail. Recording this conversation is my Ghost, Camelot. Across the table is another Ghost, Lord, who is here of his own free will. Is that correct, Lord?

[L.01] I wouldn't say of my free will, but yes, I turned myself in after your witch-hunt of me.

[The sound of someone clearing their throat is picked up by the microphone]

[G.02] I wouldn't call it a witch-hunt. You made quite a scene at the lower hangars last week, didn't you? Mind telling me about that?

[L.02] What is there to tell? My Guardian and I got into a disagreement, and they left. Turned off his transmat location, so I couldn't follow. Tried to get you idiots to help, and you put me in prison. 

[G.03] This isn't a prison, just a facility to keep you safe. 

[L.03] I don't need to be safe, I need you to get off your ass and find my Guardian. 

[G.04] Of course. And what might your Guardian's name be? The report I was given didn't have a designation for them. Any little bit helps.

[L.04] Their name is... Their name... Oh, right, yeah I know that. It's Neil. 

[The microphone has a slight audio distortion as air is blown into it.]

[G.05] Right. Neil. Well, from what I can see, we can get a read on the ship decently easy. Not many Guardians fly a Bassanio anymore, especially given how outpaced it is by newer models. 

[L.05] I tried to tell them to get something better, like one of those ones made to look like Holiday's old ship. That would've been a vessel worthy of us. But no, they had to go and give all our glimmer away.

[G.06] Give it away?

[There is a bump heard, and the following L.06-L.08 are muffled.]

[L.06] Gave it away. Stupid charity cases, like something for refugee displacements or what have you. Could've saved refugees by getting gear to FIGHT instead.

[G.07] Really?

[L.07] REALLY! It wasn't so hard, and its not like the Concor-

[The recording is silent for approx. 32 seconds.]

[G.08] Like the what?

[L.08] Forget about it. So, I've told you everything, is that all? Can I go now?

[G.09] Sorry, I know I'm taking plenty of your time, but just one more thing. One little question, its just been bothering me is all.

[L.09] Spit it out then, so I can go.

[G.10] Can you tell me who Niall was talking about when they said "tell Lysander he'll need to find another pawn"?

[The sound of metal scraping metal rings out.]

[L.10] I don't know, I want to leave. I don't know a damn thing about him.

[G.11] I'm sorry, Lord, but I don't think that's the case. Here's another question though: Why would a Ghost have his Guardian run away, while namedropping one of the Vanguard's most wanted terrorists?

[The following two minutes of the recording is silent.]

[G.12] Well, until you decide to tell us, its on my authority as a Vanguard Operative that you are hereby placed under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.

[L.11] Go to hell, Titan.

[G.13] Camelot, end recording.

[C.01] Aye aye.

[END OF RECORDING]

Chapter Text

Down in the underbelly of the Tower, below the Bazaar where the famed Ikora Rey and the noble Suraya Hawthorne can be found helping New Lights harness their Light or sending battle-hardened Guardians out on life and death missions, there is the Annex. But to get there, you have to pass through that grimy stairwell, where vendors don't even bother trying to set up shop anymore. Too many untrustworthy types make their home near where the Drifter set up shop, and despite warnings, make it so civilian businesses simply don't want to bother with the risk. What that means for the Guardians who do end up going down to see the infamous 'Rogue Light-bearer' or the ingenious Ada-1, there is a stretch with nothing. Well, nothing of note, outside of a few frames and maybe the odd Eliksni or Lightless loitering about.

Now, while the Vanguard might not think much could happen in the minute or so it takes for a Guardian to get from the Bazaar to the Annex, those who took that walk got bored. And what could be more damaging to an environment than a slight bored Guardian?

Lucky for the Tower, this bored only resulted in small property damage. If one was to not go directly down the second to last staircase, and instead step inside what must have once been a storage space for one of the now closed shops, they will come across the engravings.

The tradition of carving a message into the concrete wall was old by now, with no one really knowing who started it. The message at the center of the community-made mural that was the first was innocent enough though. One simple message: "I was here."

That's all it took, one simple engraving in a spot not usually travelled.

First a reply, "Who was here?"

Then an answer, "I was, duh."

As it spiraled, people started engraving their clan logos, putting hearts with letters inside, the like. As they grew in numbers, the engravings began to take up more and more space, with it slowly crawling across the wall, like a drink being spilled. However, one day, an engraving was made on a wall that could be seen from the first staircase out of the Bazaar. Frames were there the next day to patch the concrete, spouting about potential 'structural weaknesses' that Ikora had been notified of.

Through this, an unwritten rule was made. The engravings must be kept secret. When the wall became too full, the backsides of pillars were utilized. Short dead-end alleyways, fronts of sheet-metal covers, backs of deactivated frames, and even the Annex itself became a canvas for small conversations, communicated over days, weeks, months, years.

Down one alleyway, there is simply a log of names, with dates beside them. Beneath the names, those who recognize them mark their farewells with a tally. Hundreds of vertical lines under names, showing the many who were touched by one.

Some even took the engraving to be a challenge, which is seen by one cover being filled with only a single continuous poem, detailing the life of a Lightless Guardian.

Of course, the original wall is still there. Chock full of what might be the last recorded words of some Guardians. That's why they still come by to look at it, even if there's no more space for something new. Ghosts take scans of the wall on the request of their Guardians, over a notion that, should something happen, the original forebearers of the tradition are kept alive, even if the Vanguard discovers this little secret.

Favorite quotes are shared among those in the know, with high definition scans of them being traded. Sometimes, these engraved quotes find themselves engraved again, on ships, weapons and armor. At least a hundred hand cannons bear the quote, "may the Traveler have mercy on us," without ever knowing the original engraving was a response to a Guardian thirsting over Lord Shaxx and what might rest under the helmet.

While the VanNet might always be more known, and through that, have thousands of more Guardians and their dialogues recorded in its archives, the engravings in the Annex still continue to grow. Grow the engravings will continue to do, much like a weed, and live within the cracks of the Tower, wherever Guardian hands can work a knife or chisel into.

Chapter Text

// VANNET // CIVILLIAN TERMINAL //

// TRANSMISSION ORIGIN: TOWER//

// SHAXX'S V-DAY SPEECH EXCERPT PART 1 OF 10 - CIVILIAN RECORDING //

// ACCESS GRANTED TO USER:@CIV135 //

:: Thank you for using VANNET ::

:: Your browsing history may be recorded ::

"Fellow Guardians, citizens of the Last City, and all allies of humanity in the audience and on stage with me. Today is a day of triumph, of perseverance, and of monumental success. Today, we celebrate our victory against the forces of Darkness, against the Witness and their plan to take away all that we have. We did this together, as one coalition against the enemies of our existence, and we stand proud.

"When the Witness and its armies came knocking, we answered, and we answered the Titan way! 

"In our darkest hour, we lit a spark, and together, burned the hand that brought the Collapse upon us. Together, we were strong enough to stand against the violence and tyranny of the Dread, of the House of Salvation, of the Hive, and all those that sought the destruction of our coalition.

"Yet still, as this new hour that draws on us, let it not be an hour of warriors. Let it not be an hour of fighting, of death, or of destruction. Let it be an hour for you. For the citizens, for the innocent, for the ones who sheltered behind the shields our Guardians crafted. The speakers before me have given their medals to our great heroes, they have promised rebuilding and for our City to finally lose the 'Last' in its name, and instead be the first of many. 

"However, let us not forget those of us who cannot stand beside us any longer. Let us not forget those of us who laid their lives down so that we can celebrate. 

"Let us remember those who died in the pursuit of the new Golden Age that we will build. Let us inscribe their names on the foundations of the skyscrapers we construct, so we might never forget those who gave their all and more for the beauty they will never see.

"Let us remember the brave souls who fought to ensure that this City stands today, so that this day of speeches and medals may be. Those of us who gave their lives even if just so that one more person can be in the audience today.

"So let the Titans hang the marks of their departed over the walls of our City, so they may watch over us. Let the Hunters don the cloaks of their departed, so that they may still join in their adventures. Let the Warlocks paint effigies into the libraries of the City, so that their departed may safeguard knowledge for an eternity.

"And even still, let us look toward to the future. Turn your eyes forward, and together, let us build. Rebuild up foundations that cracked from bombs. Rebuild roofs that caved from mortar strikes. Rebuild the planet we call home. And while we must not let our grief subsume the celebrations, let us not forget our siblings in arms.

"May the Traveler's Light shine our path, and may our hope for the future shine evermore.

"With that, I am proud to be the Guardian to give the Posthumous Medal of Distinguished Civilian Service to-"

:: END OF RECORDING ::

:: Thank you for using VANNET ::

Chapter Text

// VANNET // GUARDIAN TERMINAL //

// TRANSMISSION ORIGIN: TOWER//

// GUARDIAN LOST ITEMS // 

// USER: @HUSB4 //

:: Thank you for using VANNET ::
:: Your browsing history may be recorded ::

[The following is documentation of all recovered personal items of unknown Guardians. Anyone with information as to the potential identities of the owners is to talk to Vanguard Commander Zavala immediately.]

SORTED BY: Random

1. [Photo taken atop the old Tower's observatory. The Speaker is shown looking out onto the last city as a gauntleted hand pretends to hold his head between its fingers.]

2. [Note detailing the rules to a game called 'Titan Tipping.']

3. [Highly damaged Pocket Infinity fusion rifle.]

4. [Stuffed baby Eliksni plush doll.]

5. [Helmet of unknown origin, with a red and white N7 on the left side.]

6. [Damaged 'Vault Cleaning Tips for Dummies' book.]

7. [Arcadia-class ship key with the words 'Ride & Never Die' etched onto the side.]

8. [Metal dog-tags with 'Even Unto Death' etched in Ulurant.]

9. [Disassembled Imago Loop hand cannon.]

10. [Dark brown trench coat, with 'A7' in faded white letters on the back.]

11. [Wood carved statue of Lord Shaxx with only helmet.]

12. [Pre-Golden Age ballistic rifle.]

13. [Tormentor scythe to-scale replica.]

14. ['English to Eliksni Translations' drafting pamphlet.]

15. [Miniature model of Saint-14, complete with Perfect Paradox shotgun and detachable grey shoulder pigeon.]

16. [Bright neon yellow Tex Mechanica Hunter cloak.]

17. [Rune with Hive symbols etched into it.]

18. [Large crate filled with 'Hello, My Name is B' tags.]

19. [Audio device with a miniature screen, backed up with only pre-Golden Age human music.]

20. [Vanguard-Issued Datapad, unit code 762-556-9-5006.]

21. [Vanguard Vault key, coded to Vault 9873034.]

22. [Playing card deck with five Aces.]

23. [Aviator sunglasses, left lens broken.]

24. [White and gold Last Discipline Titan mark.]

25. [Model pre-Golden Age automobile, painted in Vanguard blue and orange.]

26. [Guardian Transmat Frequency Transmitter (GTTT), coded to 'a guardian.']

27. ['The New Stone-born Tenants' book.]

28. ['The Call' high caliber rocket-sidearm, painted black.]

29. [Full packet of cigarettes and lighter, the initials G. + E.M engraved on the lighter.]

30. [Small black book caked with ash, inconsistent handwriting inside.]

:: Page 1 of 679 ::

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Chapter Text

September 10th, XXXX 

The Vanguard was quick to repair any damage The Conductor might've caused in her reckless blitz. Honestly, the physical damage paled in comparison to the psychic. Seeing Red Legion again, after all these years fighting them and whittling their numbers down to mere stragglers, to suddenly see them attacking the Tower again? The amount of resignations from the mortals working VanSec made the tiny ding of the notification sound like an opera singer stretching their final note. 

Still, life continues on, as the saying goes. I know you would agree to that, Mister Therapy Man. Sorry, no breakdowns today! Today, I'm everyone's favorite Warlock, still having to deal with Tes' bull.  Nothing of note to write in your little journal! Something interesting happened as soon as I put this stupid journal away.

I was walking through the City proper, as one does, and I happened to find myself near the Umbral District. Rather, what WAS the Umbral District. Seems like a misnomer now that the Traveler's shadow isn't cast over them. Not like there's a Consensus to have a meeting about renaming it. ANYWAYS. I was walking through there, passing by the fortune tellers who claim that they can "see the lines where Light and Dark form your fate" or that they've "unlocked the secrets of the Nine." Just strolling along, looking at the stalls that actually had merit, when someone stopped and just... stared at me.

Now, might've been my fault, I was walking around without my helmet on, and Tav wasn't hovering alongside me like usual. I was probably already a sight to behold, what with the machine gun and robes and all. But, this gal, this woman with eyes the deepest hazel I'd ever seen was staring at my face. Not the gun, nor the robes, nor the "all." And all still. Like, a Hunter could've pushed her and she'd topple kind of still. It was so unnerving that I stopped too. Just staring at each other. Me, a Warlock with some old gear I'd just taken out of my Vault and trying to rebreak in. The gal, some City-dweller with this lovely blue dress, elegant blonde hair, and deep hazel eyes. 

It was if all the world went silent. Just me and her. Then, it shattered with one question: "Daniel?" 

Now, Mister Damien, I am sure you know this, but my name is most certainly NOT Daniel. Your beloved patient is still the one and only Palamon. So I, of course, told her this.

She did not take that well. Said that they'd sent search parties to look for me. That I should never have gone looking for "that stupid tech." Even got right up to me and hit me on the chest. Real scene she started causing, crying like she did. Only stopped when Tav materialized and tried to stop her. As soon as she saw him, she froze up again. It was kind of freaky, I won't lie.

She started crying again. I hugged her? Felt like the right thing to do, at the time. Cause that's what you're supposed to do, if someone starts crying. Comfort them. Like what you've been teaching me. But it only made her cry harder. Kept on wailing about Daniel. Ended up having to walk her back to her place. 

Now, this is easier said than done. First, she won't let go after I hugged her first. Second, the bystanders watching us. Third, Tav is still trying to stop her crying in his usual blunt manner. I'm sorry, buddy, but saying "this isn't helping you" won't make the lady stop crying. In fact! It does the exact opposite. Jerk.

Anyways! I get her to her apartment, and she's STILL sobbing, when I look around her foyer and there's a picture of ME. Or at least, someone with my face. My face, and her. Standing together. Wearing nice clothes, formal wear type. Each holding a bottle of something. Smiles wider than I could ever remember my own being. My hair shorter than I've ever had it. Rings on both our fingers. 

I stayed with her until she was calm. She told me her name was "Katherine." I have her comms written on a piece of paper. I put it in my gauntlet. 

I'm writing this as a reminder for our next session. I hope you'll let me move it up to next week.