"Pain"... It's the only, singular word you can use to describe the sensation. "Ignorance is Bliss," were truer words ever spoken for my kind? [b]Our[/b] kind? ... Be more descriptive? How should I do that? Colorful metaphors...? Have you ever felt like someone was taking course sand-paper and mercilessly scraping it across the surface of your brain...? Like someone is taking a wire-brush, and rapidly gouging its metal bristles up-and-down along the vertebrae of your spine? It starts out simply enough... You're wandering about the Tower; maybe patrolling somewhere on the Dreadnought when the transmission comes in: "Lord Saladin has engaged the Iron Banner again; these battles will test all that you are, Guardians. Be brave and come seek your glory!" Your heart flutters with excitement as a minor adrenaline-rush spikes in your nervous-system. -- "Time to go grind." You think confidently to yourself. Readying for the challenge ahead. "I wonder what the old-man is going to challenge us with this month. Rift, maybe?" There's an unexplained sense of 'nagging' in the back of your mind, though... It's nothing serious, at first. A shadow of a memory of an after-thought; you barely even recognize what it's from... "Indigestion." You think to yourself, shrugging it off without much concern. "Let's go grab those bounties and see what Saladin's forged this time." -- Your ghost manifests in your hand, and to the Tower you go... Unaware that your anguish has only begun. > "Finnala's Peril? Hell of a hand canon there, Saladin... Can't wait to get my hands on it." > "That's the spirit, Guardian!" He replies with that hearty voice that reminds you of Christmas when you were a kid; bringing promises of the wonders it offers and the thrill of a new, powerful weapon; after all, Saladin doesn't carry "Random Crucible-Junk." You grab the bounties as quickly as you can, and you put on that ridiculous Shader and Emblem that he insists you wear for "Bonus Standing-Points." No big deal. They're not that bad, really; a little tacky, but who the Hell cares? "Let's do this." -- You thump your chest-plate with determination, and again, Ghost takes you to Orbit, and you check the Destination-Coordinates on your Map... That's when that nagging-dread in your mind returns, with the force of a Category-5 Hurricane... > "Control... [b]-blam!-. Me.[/b]" The thing you'd been dreading, without realizing you were dreading it. Your stomach tightens in sour-knots as you hesitate to Launch your Auto-Pilot sequence... Why? Because of one reason; the thought that speaks itself from your mouth, before you even realize you're uttering those words of cold, hard-set reality... "I'm the only -blam!-ing person on my Team who knows how to Capture Objectives..." -blam!- it... -blam!- it, -blam!- it, -blam!- IT. "Why? Why Control?" You can feel that sand-paper like anguish scratching over your brain... It's always the same. It's [b]always[/b] the damn same. Your team will start off with the Lead. You'll feel that sense of hope and accomplishment: "I'm going to do it... I'm going to get those points and up my rank, and get that sweet -blam!-ing weapon. Finally!" ... But it'll happen... [b]IT[/b] always happens... "You're falling behind." Lord Saladins voice, you can already hear it in your com-speaker... "How?? There's 90-seconds left, and we had a 3,000-point lead...! [b]How?![/b]" -- "No, not this time. Your light wasn't enough, Guardian." [b]"HOW!"[/b] The match is over... You lost... How did you lose?? You slam your fist to your control-panels and look for the stats of the battle, and you see them there: Your Kills: 23. Your Captures: 7. Your Team-Mates Kills/Captures: 33/2. > 14/1. > 11/1. > 13/2. > 9/3. > "... I'm the [b]only[/b] -blam!-ing person on my team who knows how to capture objectives..." It's happening again... ([b]End Chapter.[/b])