~ Part one here: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/174123346/0/0 ~ - Part Two - "[i]Are you Sadeski's guest?[/i]" Bardo-105 jerked suddenly, his finger on the trigger. But somehow he could not pull it - he could not apply the 2.2 kilogram-force required to drop the hammer. Maybe it was the appearance of the white human male before him, maybe it was the serenity in the words, or perhaps it was the uncanniness of the ridiculous situation he found himself in. "[i]Sadeski said you'd come[/i]." he continued. The man was short and thin. His mouth showed a friendly smile but his hazel eyes wore a mocking grin. He had light brown hair, converging to his right and upwards. He had his palms showing, as to tell he was not armed. Bardo-105 was squinting. It had gotten suspiciously dark inside that ruin. The Ghost seemed to feel the same - it blinked twice, then turned flash-lighth-light. Bluish highlights bathed the man, and he too squinted and covered his eyes. "[i]Will you take Sadeski away, vagrant?[/i]" The man seemed to be rambling, all smiles. Bardo-105's revolver was still pointed at the man's chest, its springs tinkling as the grip tightened. "[i]Who are you?[/i]" Bardo-105's synthesized voice made the bricks in the ruin dance a little. "[i]We? We're like you[/i]," began the man, "[i]we're Sadeski's guests. Please sir, don't point that thi-[/i]" the man broke as he looked at [b]The Last Word[/b] in the Guardian's hand. "[i]I know that gun! It's an old friend of ours![/i]" A chill crept through his metaphoric spine (really just Plasteel alloy vibrating after some of his oscillators adjusted to a random phase shift) as the darkness seemed to grow thicker. The Ghost blinked. The flash-light went out for exactly 13.755 milliseconds - barely enough for an Exo's corneal reflex to kick in and adjust aperture and reset the focal length sweep. That was it - Bardo-105 lost 13 milliseconds of visual data, something that would majorate to one hundred milliseconds of "blinking" for a human. And the man was gone. Nothing could vanish so quickly - the enhanced tracker was completely clear. Bardo-105 could feel the heat of his coil warming up his chest. His scapulae bent upwards at the joint ever so slightly to let the air in. And for the next second or so the Exo Hunter sat distraught in the darkness, holding his revolver pointed at nowhere, listening to the soft brushing of his fans - something he liked to refer as the "endorphine binaural". As Ghost pivoted and shone its flash-light back at the Hunter, he saw a hand slowly running two fingers across his Hand Cannon's barrel. As Bardo-105's grasp tightened, the springs inside the trigger mechanism tinkled softly again. His string compensators allowed him to feel every motion in his revolver - the grinding of the springs against the hammer, the cylinder scratching the barrel as the trigger shook in place, and the gentle raking of the man's fingers on Last Word's inscriptions. Rake rake... Rake, rake. The Hunter looked up nonchalantly as Exos are prone to do. He came face to face with the man smiling back at him - the mocking grin still in his eyes. The man was looming over him, as if hovering. Bardo-105 took him for some kind of Warlock, to be able to warp and possibly levitate like that. The raking stopped. The Hunter's auditory magnets drove a spike through his samplers as the man let out a fazing screech - "[i]NYAH![/i]". The man's remaining fingers wrapped around [b]Last Word[/b]'s barrel, and began pulling it up. The Guardian was holding it with both hands, pulling it down. The man started yanking the gun, jerking it up and down. The man's haul was relentless, and the stress on Bardo-105's arm was amazing. His linear compensators kicked in to try and dampen the hysteresis of the oscillation - no human had ever beat an Exo at arm wrestling for a reason. But this time he was losing. "[i]Ghost![/i]" he called. The little thing knew what the Hunter wanted. Ghosts knew how to disable some safety limiters, such as the one that does not let an Exo press more arm force than a human would. But the Ghost knew better - the Guardian had stepped out of his mission area, meaning respawning was not an option in these conditions. It's better to lose a gun than to lose a life, or so the Ghost's quorum algorithm told him. The brave little thing tried ramming the man, as he shook the gun and yelled "[i]Give the gun vagrant! This gun is our friend! It's ours! Let go, vagrant, let GO![/i]" But as the Ghost got near the man, his left hand left the gun barrel and reached for the Guardian's companion. Bardo-105 had no choice but to slap the Ghost away. It was one thing to be a Ghost without a Guardian, but a Guardian without a Ghost here in the Frontier is as good as dead. His left hand left the revolver's grip to swat the Ghost. But as the Hunter was trying to hold his revolver again, the man screeched once more. With the butt of the grip he'd just grabbed, the man twisted the gun horizontally, locking the Guardian's finger between the trigger and the guard. A sharp shock went through Bardo-105's arm. His right index finger was twisted all the way back, and would not respond to any command. The gun's barrel was now pointing at his right shoulder, and the man behind him trying to wrench [b]The Last Word[/b] free. The Hunter leaned forward, so that the muzzle touched his shoulder. With his left hand he pulled the hammer all the way back, and as a result his broken finger jerked the trigger into the firing position. [b]The Last Word[/b] was ready to fan - he let go of the hammer, and a shot went through his shoulder, the man yelped again, but this time in pain. Bardo-105's left hand found the hammer again, and fanned it seven more times until the cylinder was empty and his arm was punched full of holes. He could hear the hot barrel searing the man's flesh. With a final harrowing cry, the man yanked out the revolver, with Bardo-105 finger and part of the hand with it. "[i]OURS![/i]" he screamed with a high pitched, agonizing voice as he ran off. The Guardian immediately gave chase, ignoring the itch of the high impedance on his newly opened circuits. To his surprise it was day outside. Whatever happened in that ruin made it seem like the blackest of nights. Ghost followed close behind. The man had left a clear trail of blood. With the sun now warming his back, Bardo-105 decided his priority was his arm - he could pick up this trail again, he knew, even if he only came back in two weeks. But there was no need. He and the Ghost backtracked to the mission area. Bardo-105 stopped once the Tower was within comm-link. "[i]Ghost,[/i]" he said, with a serenity in his modulated voice only machines could understand as a lust for human blood, "[i]transmat me a new arm. Not the green one - I want the new purple one.[/i]" ~ Part Three here! https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/174945547 ~ ~ Table of Contents : https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/175908765/0/0 ~ ~ PS: Do you think the initial images as covers are a good idea? ~