Side Episode VIII: Hunter Vick and the Heart of a Kell

Previous Episode: Episode XX, the House of Winter
Next Episode: COMING SOON

The Last City, Earth

Day 047

The Den hadn’t changed much since the last time Vick had visited. It was still as much of a dive as he remembered it, the kind of place that made you feel like you had to take a shower once you left. It was the kind of bar that attracted the worst kind of people, the kind that found comfort in being deep in the Wall’s shadow, far from prying eyes both civilian and Guardian. It was the perfect place for a person like Wyx.

Wyx had somehow found the darkest corner of the building, a rather rickety-looking booth illuminated only by a barely-functional lamp hanging from the ceiling. The bar had seen better days, but as with much of the City, Twilight Gap had changed it for the worse. That had been before his time, but the faint glimmer of a former glory was still in the walls like a ghost. Vick looked over his shoulder at his, a warning glance letting Vesper know that she should make herself scarce in case things go sour. He himself wore his armor, barring his helmet, in preparation for such an eventuality.

“Over here, Vick.” Wyx called from the table. He wasn’t a Guardian, far from it, but the man had the swagger and ego of the proudest of Hunters. He bore the scar he had got from a Vandal’s saber proudly, an ugly pink line that crossed from his left cheek to his forehead, passing cleanly through where an eye used to be. As the Hunter took a seat, Wyx smiled an ugly smile. “I hope the venue doesn’t offend your Guardian sensibilities.”

“I’m fine.” Vick replied, curtly. “We’re used to having to shine Light in dark places.” His eyes never left Wyx, wary of any sudden movements. It would fall to Vesper to notice if anyone else were to try something, a hired gun closing in from the side or the man in the seat behind him unsheathing a knife. It was paranoia, Vick knew, but when dealing with the kind of man that Wyx was, it paid to be wary of everything.

“How’s life up in the Tower?” Wyx prodded. “I hear the air is thin up there.”

“I doubt you’d be able to tell.”

The smile faded on the man’s face, and he slowly shook his head. “Temper, temper, Vick.” He replied. “Is that how you treat an old friend?”

Vick glared at Wyx, his eyebrows furrowing. “Save the routine, Wyx, what happened had to happen.”

“Did it?” Wyx countered, leaning back in his chair. “You got your Ghost, and suddenly you’re too good for us peasants living in the dirt.”

“You’re lucky you’re not deeper underground, Wyx.” Vick growled. “It’s a miracle I’m not. This is my second chance.”

“And for thirty years you’ve been sayin’ that line. Haven’t aged a day from when I saw you bleeding out in that ditch.”

“You left me to die there.”

“There wasn’t much of you left.”

There was a pregnant pause as the two stared at each other, past hatreds drifting through their minds. The break had to have come eventually, and they both had known it. Vick just hadn’t expected it to come in the form of a shotgun at point-blank in some alley. Thirty years a Guardian, and the pain of that blast still made Vick wince. He remembered watching Wyx run, so much younger back then, without the scar, leaving Vick behind holding his guts in. The last thing Vick saw before death took him the first time was a beautiful blue glow moving towards him, and fast.

“So, why the comm, Wyx?” Vick leaned in, breaking the trance.

“I hear that someone put the Kell of Winter down.” Wyx replied. He looked over the side of the table and spat in disrespect for the fallen Fallen. “No love lost here.”

“That’s a shock.” Vick muttered. “I thought you’d mourn the passing of a kindred soul.” Wyx’s face twisted in anger.

“I’m no butcher.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You’ve changed, Wyx, and not for the better.”

“Could say the same about you.” Wyx sighed, and leaned in. “An hour or two after the Speaker says that Draksis is dead, I get a comm from some crazy bastard on Venus.”

“A Guardian?”

Wyx shook his head. “No, some nutjob City-dweller. The guy is crazy, but he starts going on about some ‘Heart,’ and suddenly I’m interested to hear what he knows.” Wyx looked down at the mug before him, filled halfway with a frothy beer of disputable quality. The man took a swig of it before continuing. “So, I start pressing the guy about it, and he starts talking about how this Heart is gonna be buried in the same shallow grave that the Kell is gonna fill, and suddenly he says that ‘he didn’t think the Fallen bled red.’”

Blood thundered in Vick’s ears as the revelation hit him. “You’re kidding.” Wyx shook his head, crossing his chest with a bent finger.

“Cross my heart.” He replied. “The Heart of a Kell, swear on the Speaker’s soul.” Vick sank in his chair, running his hand through his cleanly cut black hair. The Heart of a Kell was a ruby, big as Vick’s head, gleaming red and sculpted to be a perfect sphere. There was no way to tell how much glimmer it’d go for, but as far as Vick could tell, it was damn near priceless. That was if, of course, it existed, but for as long as Vick had searched for it, he could never turn up a single clue. In fact, he had been looking for one the day he found an old Exo come to life again, the day the House of Winter moved into the Ishtar Sink.

Vick sat up again, staring at his opposite. “Why tell me?” He asked, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?”

Wyx folded his arms dismissively. “Can’t a guy help a friend every now and again?” He shook his head. “It’s a favor, Vick, no strings attached. Don’t question it.”

Vick scratched his chin as he mulled over what Wyx was saying. There was bad blood between them decades old, and a peace offering thirty years down the line struck the Hunter as strange. Still, the siren call of the Heart was hard to ignore, and so long as he wasn’t walking in a trap - something that was probably a good deal too difficult for a City scoundrel like Wyx to arrange millions of miles from Venus - it was a chance he couldn’t pass up.

“Alright, Wyx.” He sighed. “Alright. I’m probably going to regret this, but I’ll trust you on this one.” He stood up, readying himself to leave. He grimaced as he looked down at his former partner and friend, uncertain. In the dim lighting, it was hard to really see how he looked, but there was an odd air about the man. He almost looked frail from where the Hunter stood, but then again just about everyone did to a Guardian. “Thanks.” He finally said, hesitatingly.

“Don’t mention it.” Wyx said, before returning to his drink. Vick sighed, shook his head, and headed for the exit. Vesper floated over to him from where she had hidden before vanishing inside his armor.

Vick, I’m not sure this is a good idea. Vesper’s voice projected itself as if it came from his own head, a product of the neural link that Guardians formed with their Ghosts over time. He’s dangerous.

So am I. Vick replied. There’s something about this that I can’t put my finger on, but I don’t think he’s lying to us.

If you say so. Vesper replied, wary. Vick smiled at her concern as he walked out the door. The light of the sun reflected blindingly off of the alabaster shell of the Traveller. Vick basked in its warmth until the cold of transmat took him away.

<><><><><><><>

Hunter Vick stood on the Venusian soil for the very first time, his eyes taking in the virgin soil. It was different then, free from the tyranny of the House of Winter save from the occasional raid. It was a world that fully belonged to the Vex, and to the Guardians that battled to reclaim it, but Vick wasn’t here for either of them. He was here for the Heart of a Kell.

He’d been in the Tower Bar the night before, his mentor of fifteen years turning in early for the night after their last patrol outside of the City Wall, nursing a nightcap when Cayde-6 and a few other Hunters walked in, looking to shoot the breeze and share a few rounds. Vick listened in, but he was around people decades his senior and didn’t dare to speak. The stories drew him in, vivid recollections of firefights won, women lost, and treasures sitting just out of reach. They described a world far more vibrant than Vick could have ever imagined from the dark and dreary forests outside the City that he patrolled day in and day out. They described the Heart of a Kell.

“The biggest gem I’ve ever seen,” a cloaked Hunter had said, his hands pantomiming holding something that was a solid two feet in diameter at least. “Red like blood and polished to shine like the sun.”

The others had dismissed him, but Vick’s mind started to race. Perhaps it was an old instinct that drew him to treasure, or perhaps it was that Hunter’s mindset that made him crave the adventure of seeking it, but regardless he left the bar minutes later, heading straight for the Tower Library. A few hours after that, he had “stolen the keys” for his mentor’s ship, and off to Venus he went.

Vick stood again in that spot where he had fifteen years before, his eyes scanning the horizon. There was an air of eternity to Venus, as if the planet was not just incapable of changing but actively fought against change. Perhaps that was why the entire world wasn’t a machine like Mercury was, as if some kind of planetary spirit was waging a silent war against the Collective Mind’s corruption.

Are you sure you want to do this alone? Vesper asked. I’m sure that we can ask Fria or Solomon.

No, this is something I need to do myself. Vick replied, frowning. His Sparrow shimmered into existence by his side, brought down with a single thought. Besides, this is the kind of job that requires a subtle hand. It’ll be easier to sneak through alone than with a Fireteam. Vesper didn’t reply, though he could feel that she was still concerned.

Vick clambered onto the sleek vehicle and let its engine roar to life. The Sparrow began to float off the ground, kicking up dirt and debris as it lifted both man and machine. The Hunter scanned the horizon one last time, searching for any hidden snipers in the craggy rocks. Satisfied, he twisted the throttle, and the Sparrow shot off like a bat out of hell, its engine howling as he brought it up to speed.

Past sheer cliffs reaching up to plateaus far above him and diving beneath dark tunnels, Vick hurried through the tortuous route towards the Cinders, where the House of Winter made their fortress. He expected trouble, of course - even leaderless, the Fallen were a dangerous foe.

Any intel on infighting? Vick asked.

There have been isolated reports, but it seems that someone has regained control of the House. His Ghost replied.

Great. The Hunter sighed. It’s never easy, is it?

Don’t ask me. I just work here.

Vick laughed dryly under his breath as he brought the Sparrow to a halt behind the cover of a large rock sticking out of the ground like a splinter in the earth. As he got off the vehicle, it transmatted away with a soft woosh. Vick reached to his back and disengaged the magnetic seal holding a long sniper rifle. The scope on the weapon had a powerful zoom, perfect for recon work and for making that perfect distance shot.

Vick moved quietly to the shaded section of the rock, keeping as low as he could. He brought his sniper rifle to his shoulder, peering through the sights. Along a craggy ridgeline stood half a dozen Dregs, their Vandal overseer standing behind them. Even after a change in command, it seemed that old habits died hard for the House of Winter - they still were surprisingly comfortable with using the Dregs as cannon fodder.

“Damn.” Vick muttered under his breath. It wasn’t that there was too many of them - he was more than equipped enough to handle a pack of Fallen - but attacking them would only raise the alarm. Any ideas on how to sneak through?

Nothing’s coming to mind. Vesper replied. I’m sure you can figure it out.

Vick sighed, and slung the sniper over his shoulder again before reaching down and retrieving his hand cannon. The Hunter switched off the safety before moving from his cover, quietly advancing towards the Fallen position. They didn’t spot him as he made his approach, but he knew that stealth was a transient thing - it would take the smallest of things for it to vanish like a puff of smoke.

The first Dregs in the way guarded the walk up to the rest of the catwalk system, standing passively with their pistols hanging loose in their hands. The two sentries seemed bored, but they were still wary for intruders. Understandable, given that the consequences for failing their duties would be a swift and unceremonious death at the hands of whoever was higher up the pecking order.

Vick watched them for a time, trying to gauge if they had any pattern to their movements, but the Dregs stood still. They weren’t going to move anytime soon, not until they were relieved. He was going to have to make them leave their posts.

Vick looked down at where he stood - a few pebbles lay on the ground, rough and small. He scooped a few of them in his hand, feeling their weight, before quickly throwing them off to the right of the Dregs. They made a soft series of clacks as they hit the ground, and immediately both guards went on alert. Their pistols came up, and their heads turned to face the disturbance. The two Fallen began to chatter something in their tongue, likely deciding who was going to go and investigate. It was the distraction that Vick was looking for.

The Hunter dashed out from his cover, moving quickly and quietly. His target was a small platform to the left of the Dregs. Before they could see him, Vick let his Light push him up and again, throwing him up to the platform and away from the Dregs’ prying eyes. He rolled as he hit the ground, coming to a halt as quietly as he could. The two guards didn’t seem to hear, as one of them walked towards where the pebbles had landed, oblivious that someone had gotten past their cordon.

That’s one checkpoint. Vick thought to himself, frowning.

Traveler-knows how many to go. Vesper added.

She was right, but Vick didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. All he could do was focus on the guards in-between him and the caves where Winter made its home. He would worry about whatever was next when he got to it. Quietly, the Hunter moved forward, each step slow and calculated in order to cause the least amount of noise.

There were more Dregs, but their attention was elsewhere. Vick had made sure to park his Sparrow out of sight and earshot of the Fallen when he’d arrived, so he knew that they weren’t looking for him. Perhaps they were expecting a Vex incursion, or perhaps some Baron was about to come by and “inspect the troops.” Either way, they weren’t aware that a Guardian was a stone’s throw away from where they stood.

With their attention firmly set in the wrong direction, Vick quietly moved one foot at a time closer and closer to the mouth of the cave, slipping inside with none the wiser. By the time any of the Fallen looked back, all they’d see was the same sight that usually greeted them, not a Hunter in sight.

<><><><><><><>

It was quiet outside the Cinders. Suspiciously quiet, if Vick was being honest with himself. There was hardly anything moving, aside from the occasional pebble kicked up with a low breeze across the rocky surface of the world. Vick didn’t expect to see another Guardian, and his expectations were holding strong - as far as he could tell, he was the only Light-bearer in twenty square kilometers, maybe more. The good news was that he didn’t spy anything unfriendly nearby either, though that wasn’t as comforting a thought as one would think. There certainly wasn’t any sign of the Vex, and less of a sign of any Fallen. If there was a Vandal lining up its sights on his head, there wasn’t much hope of him spotting them first.

As the young Hunter moved step by step closer to the mouth of the craggy cave that dominated the area, his hands were wrapped tight around his hand cannon. The books he had “borrowed” from the Warlocks spoke of rumored locations of the Heart, and this cave was where most of the recordings came from. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that this was some form of staging area for the House of Winter, where they launched their occasional raid across the Ishtar Sink. He doubted that he’d be alone in the dark, damp caverns.

Vick’s sojourn remained unmolested as he continued to move deeper and deeper into the cave. He had lost hope that he was alone, however - the edge of his motion tracker would flare every couple of steps, as if something was trying very hard to keep a steady distance with him.

“We’re not alone.” Vick muttered. “They’ll have to jump us soon.”

He didn’t need to wait long. Almost as soon as he said it, two Vandals lunged at him from behind a stalagmite, arc sabers in hand. Vick ducked beneath them, rolling off to the side in order to keep their knees from colliding with his crouched form. He quickly got his footing back and let his hand cannon roar twice, both rounds punching into one of his attackers. The Vandal fell to the floor, limp, but his comrade fought on, roaring in a battle-fury. Vick dodged a wild slash, then jumped backwards as the Vandal attempted to skewer him in a thrust. The Fallen lunged again, but this time Vick was ready, and a hard kick knocked the saber from its hand. A single shot was all it took to end the fight.

Vick breathed heavily as the adrenaline flowed out of him. The last time he’d been in this kind of fight, he didn’t have Vesper floating over his shoulder like some kind of guardian angel. It had been just as harrowing then, too, even if he could come back again if he had made a fatal mistake.

As his breathing slowed, Vick listened to see if he was alone again. The air was perfectly still, but only a fool would believe he was in the clear. Vick was no fool.

As Vick moved cautiously through the same twisted tunnels he had traveled through before, his hand remained steady on his cannon. The situation had escalated some in the decade and a half between then and now, and he was more than aware of the changes. Oddly, his motion tracker remained suspiciously empty. Either the Fallen had become very accurate at estimating the range of his armor’s sensor package, or there simply was no one there to pick up. He trusted neither of those explanations - there was something happening, but he didn’t know what.

I don’t like this, Vick. Vesper whispered, concern in her voice. It’s too quiet.

I know. The Hunter replied. They’re up to something. Things cooled down here way too quick for what happened. They should be tearing each other to pieces with Draksis gone, not pretending it’s business as usual.

I think we both know what that means.

Yeah. Vick’s grip on his revolver tightened. They’ve found another Kell, and quickly.

We have to tell the Vanguard. Vesper pressed.

Send them a comm, then. I’m not leaving until I find the Heart. We can do a full debriefing when I get back.

If Vesper disapproved, she kept her mouth shut. Vick’s mind began to race as he tried to piece together who might be running the show. The House of Winter wasn’t exactly resplendant in command-rank individuals, thanks to their rather ruthless treatment of the lower tiers. The Vanguard had done a good job hunting down the few that did exist, leaving the Fallen to claw at each other. The nobles that survived the infighting and the occasional Strike had claimed the power and station of their fallen “brethren,” and jealously defended their prizes. Vick doubted that they would relinquish some of their control in order to add another Baron or two to make up for losses. That meant that whoever was the new Kell was either the baddest of them all… or the House of Winter had started to look for outside help.

Either way, it didn’t matter all that much to Vick. His eyes were fixed on that gleaming red prize, and he’d be damned if he didn’t bring it back with him this time. Fifteen years of searching had to come to an end this time - he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers again.

Through the caves he went, his eyes wary for any irregularity. Any patch of raised earth on the floor belied a mine, and any scratch in the wall could be a firing slot for some hidden firing position. Paranoia was, for better or for worse, a lone Guardian’s watchword - to let one’s guard down out in the wilds precipitated disaster.

Vick wasn’t too sure how long he had been moving through the caves, but it had been a while. Hours, more like than not. He must have lucked out and arrived right at the beginning of the watch, because there were no replacement sentries coming through the tunnels, leaving him still alone in the dark cavern. That quickly changed when the caves opened up to reveal the large chamber where the House of Winter made their den. Almost immediately, Vick’s motion sensor filled with red, and the Hunter froze dead in his tracks.

There, filling just about every inch of the terrain before him, stood hundreds upon hundreds of Fallen, all of them staring up at a massive creature.

I think we just found the new Kell. Vesper said, slowly.

The “Kell,” if that was what he really was, was oddly misshapen. Ether kept the Fallen alive, but the more consumed meant the bigger the aliens got, and they had a long time to grow. This one, however, looked like something had gone wrong. Its upper body was exaggeratedly large, like some kind of steroid-abusing body-builder, with tree-trunk thick legs. Its head was of an average size, like someone had scaled everything but it all the way up. It was a freak, even by Fallen standards, but it conveyed a strength unlike anything Vick had seen before. Its voice was unnaturally deep, a bellowing roar that shook Vick’s heart in his chest. In its hands, it held a glimmering ruby, a perfect sphere against its padded hands. There, unmistakably, was the Heart of a Kell, the prize of the new leader of the House of Winter.

Vick slipped to the back of the crowd, careful to draw no attention to himself. Just about every fighting member of the House had to be in the chamber, listening with rapt attention to the monstrous Kell there before them. It was some kind of rally, a speech of unification meant to bolster spirits and ready the House for whatever grand machinations their deformed leader had in mind.

What could cause those kinds of growths? Vesper thought aloud. Genetics? Too much, too fast?

It doesn’t matter. Vick replied, grimacing. I’d hate to be the poor bastard who has to fight that thing. What the hell does it eat for breakfast, Minotaurs? He holstered his revolver before crouching in a shaded part of the room and retrieving his sniper rifle. He brought the weapon up, fixing its sights straight on the Kell’s head.

The Kell held the Heart over its head, holding it with a single hand in some kind of triumphant display. Vick’s mind flickered back to the old books he had read so long ago - the Heart had become, or perhaps it always had been, an item of religious fascination for the House of Winter. To hold it was like to hold the ornaments of kingship. He had to wonder just how many had died trying to get their hands on it across the centuries. Hopefully I won’t join their number. Vick mulled quietly.

From where he stood, he couldn’t see a real way to take the Kell down without the monstrous creature dropping the Heart. He had no illusions as to whether or not the ruby would survive the fall, and he had even less about his chances of fighting through the crowd in order to get his hands on it. He was going to have to start thinking clever.

I’m going to need you to get ready for transmat. Vick said, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder again. And do a bit of math for me.

You’re not thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking, are you? Vesper asked, worry creeping back into her voice.

I think you know me well enough by now to know that I am.

<><><><><><><>

When the caves opened up to reveal the large central chamber, all of the pent-up stress in the Hunter’s frame flooded away like someone had unclogged a sink. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he was safe, but being able to not worry about a knife fight was a relief all the same.

The chamber was close to empty back then, free of almost all of the debris and equipment that the House of Winter had brought with them when they had set up shop. Even then, though, that Spider Walker was still half-buried in the ground, trashed by some unknown party a long time ago. It must have been really wrecked, because the Fallen seemed to have left it where it fell, not even bothering to try to salvage what remained of both the valuable internal components and the still semi-sturdy exterior armor.

Vick moved swiftly through the chamber, bounding from cover to cover as he tried to spot his prize. Somewhere in this massive cave system was the Heart, hidden somewhere amongst the crags or in the hands of some Archon. Either way, Vick wasn’t going to leave without it.

Silently, he moved forward until there was a glint of red out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around to face it, only to come face to face with the tallest Fallen he’d ever seen. Vick had no idea where the thing had come from, there had been no warning on his tracker - it was as if the alien had appeared out of thin air. The Fallen’s laugh was low, menacing - it had found a new prey.

Vick wheeled out of the way as the alien whipped around a shrapnel launcher and held down the trigger, spitting red shards of death at the Hunter. In its other pair of hands it held what had to be the Heart tightly to its chest, securing it against the violent recoil of its weapon.

“Dammit!” Vick shouted, lunging out of the way. He could feel his shield of Light taking the impacts, and he knew that it wouldn’t take this kind of beating for long. Whipping out his hand cannon, the Hunter began to fire blindly at the creature, hoping to score a lucky hit against its lower body, bring it to the ground. His shots either missed or didn’t make a scratch against the Fallen’s armor, ricocheting off Traveler-knows-where. With growing dread, Vick realized that he was well and truly out of his league.

“Vick, we can’t win this fight!” Vesper shouted in the Hunter’s ear. “You’re not ready for this!”

“Like hell!” Vick retorted, sprinting away from the towering alien. As he ran, he fired wildly behind him, only scoring still more misses. Vick hoped to find some nice cover to fight behind, but as he ran he could see more and more Fallen entering the arena. He’d be overwhelmed soon, drowned in a wave of Dregs and Vandals. Griting his teeth, Vick sprinted towards a ledge. “Get us out of here, Vesper!” He yelled before kicking off it. A hail of arc fire shot up to meet him, but he was gone before they hit, safely aboard “his” ship.

Vick left Venus behind that day, but he never forgot about the Heart, and his failure to snag it. The reprimanding he recieved when he came back to the Tower was severe, but Vick barely heard a word of condemnation as they spoke - in his mind, he was back in the Cinders, repeating his failure over and over again.

Vick gripped the grenades in his hand tightly, some considerably more rational part of his mind screaming at him to reconsider the plan he was putting into motion. It was far too late to think about backing out now, the Hunter resolved. Besides, even if it didn’t work, it’d be a story they’d be telling in the Tower for years to come.

At Vick’s side apparated his Sparrow. The Hunter looked down lovingly at it, pangs of regret in the pit of his stomach growing stronger as he braced himself for what he was about to do. He reached down and began planting the explosives on the bike’s drive core, carefully linking the bombs together to get the biggest bang for his buck. He’d only have one shot, after all.

This is a really bad plan. Vesper muttered disapprovingly.

That’s my speciality. Vick replied, a thin Hunter’s grin forming on his lips. Ready?

As I’ll ever be.

Vick gunned the engine, and the Sparrow howled to life. The din of chanting Fallen stopped dead as hundreds of pairs of eyes turned slowly to the back of the chamber. Vick waved at his captive audience before pointing his hand cannon down at the Sparrow and pulling the trigger. There was a spark as the round punched through the drive, and suddenly the speeder launched off on its own, heading straight for the horde of Fallen with Vick along with it, him holding on barely to one of the rear fins.

The Sparrow barreled through the thick of the crowd, stopping for nothing as it continued on its death ride. Vick could feel his grip start to slip, but he didn’t need to wait long for the second phase of the plan to come to fruition. The Sparrow rammed straight into the rock he had aimed it at, and at the last moment Vick let go and let his momentum carry him up and forward, towards the Kell. The Hunter closed his eyes and let his Light shine through him, solar fire sheathing his body as his hand cannon, the talisman for the ritual, transmuted into the Golden Gun.

Vick fired three shots of pure fire, the Light of stars, straight into the chest of the Kell. The brutish Fallen burned away, its body turned into ash. The Heart began to fall as the hand holding it disintegrated, but Vick caught it as he soared through the air.

“Vesper, now!” Vick shouted as a hail of arc bolts filled the air, every shot aimed straight at the flying Hunter. A moment before they could hit, he was gone, taken away by transmat. Left defeated in the caverns, the Fallen howled and roared in rage. That was when the bombs on the wrecked Sparrow went off.

Vick was safe in orbit when they detonated, but even he was hard pressed to miss the pinprick of light against the volcanic planet’s surface. He doubted it’d take the whole cavern down, but there was little hope of any poor bastard down there surviving. The Hunter’s grin widened as he hefted the weight of the Heart in his hand, the red gem safe and unmarred. Vick looked up at his Ghost, who floated above him.

“Still a bad plan?” He prodded, jokingly.

“Just because it worked doesn’t mean it wasn’t a horrible idea.” Vesper flatly retorted, the Ghost’s shell spinning in barely-repressed frustration. Vick shrugged, smiling.

“Well, you knew what you were getting into when you found me.” He said, putting his hands on his ship’s joystick. “Plot a course for Tower, Ves, and send a message to Wyx.”

“What should the message say?” Vesper asked, floating lower to look at her keep eye to eye.

“Tell him to meet me in the Den.” Vick replied, his smile fading. “I guess I owe him a drink.”

<><><><><><><>

The job had spiralled out of control as quickly as it had started. Vick held the pistol in his hand, a rough-shod weapon that he had bought from some underground blacksmith. There wasn’t enough cash for him to carry some Tex Mechanica revolver, though it was hard for him to resist their allure. Maybe he’d be able to finally get one, assuming he’d survive the next five minutes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Vick shouted at his companion as the two sprinted through dirty alleyways. The ground before him erupted joined with the sound of thunder behind him. “Oh, shi-”

Wyx slammed him to the side as the shopkeeper’s shotgun erupted again, pushing Vick out of the way.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, we have to go!” Wyx yelled. He pulled Vick back up to his feet, and blindly fired a shot or two from his own pistol at their pursuer. The rounds weren’t aimed to kill, but to delay, and the stream of curses that came from further down the alleyway proved that they had done their job.

“Go where?” Vick pressed, keeping pace with his partner-in-crime on the cobblestone street. “The Den? That’s the first place I’d look!”

“I’m not seeing any better options!” Wyx growled. It was a bad plan, but they both knew it - certainly any poor alternative was better than to let the homicidal shopkeep who had been chasing them for the past few minutes. Regardless of what choice they made in the end, they had to hurry - the longer they were out there, the more likely some wandering Guardian would get involved, and there was no escaping them.

Vick ran desperately, his path serpentine as another roar from a distant shotgun cut through the bustle of the City streets. There were screams and shouts from bystanders who were caught in the middle of all of this, but Vick blotted them all out as he ran. The entire world in that moment consisted of three people: himself, Wyx, and the man with a shotgun.

He heard the crack a second after it felt like a truck had hit him. Vick was thrown to the ground with a crump, his body collapsing against the wall and spinning with the impact. It was a worse pain that he could have imagined possible, and he screamed in agony as his hands instinctively went down to where he had been shot. His fingers came away bloody, stained deep red. Vick blanched as some distant part of his brain realized what had happened - he was dying, the wound was fatal.

Wyx skidded to a stop on the street, looking at where Vick lay. The second seemed to stretch on into eternity as the two locked eyes. The strength to speak was gone all too quickly from Vick’s lungs, and all he could do was mouth the word help. Wyx swallowed hard, his adam’s apple rising and falling as some primal part of his mind tried to parse between fight or flight. Then, without a word, the latter won, and he took off running, ducking into the clamoring crowd. Vick tried to raise an arm to beckon him back desperately, but his hands felt like they were made of the same stone that the Wall was built with.

The shopkeeper came to a halt in front of his kill, glowering at the twenty-something year old in not much better than ragged clothing and a improvised pistol lying limp next to his right hand. Vick couldn’t tell if there was any remorse in the man’s eyes, but he doubted it - remorse was saved for decent people. Even he knew that he didn’t deserve that. An armored hand grabbed the shopkeeper by the shoulder and pulled him away. Vaguely, Vick was aware of what seemed to be a Guardian, the kind they called “Titans,” speaking with him. As vision faded from Vick’s eyes, the last thing he saw was a bright light, like an angel, floating towards him. A soft voice cooed in his ears.

“Eyes up, Guardian.” Vesper said, the very first words she ever said to him. “I’m going to give you a second chance.”

Time in the Den must have paused between when Vick left and he returned, because almost every detail hadn’t changed an iota. The same drunks sat at the bar, the same tacky music played on the jukebox in the corner, and the same Frame continued sweeping the same section of the wooden floor. Vick’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the back of the bar to find Wyx, but the old man was nowhere to be found.

His concentration was suddenly broken when the bartender raised a hand. “Hey, you Vick?” The man asked, gruffly. Vick stared at the bartender, frowning. His hand slid slightly down to his hip, just in case.

“Yeah, that’s me.” The Hunter said, pacing towards the bar. The bartender eyed him carefully as he approached, a mix of respect and fear in his eyes. Even he wasn’t fool enough to cause trouble with a Guardian around, and he certainly would have made sure his patrons stayed quiet. “Who wants to know?”

The bartender hastily leaned over and picked something up from underneath the bartop. Vick’s hand fell quickly to his revolver, letting his Light brace for what might be a quick exchange of lead. The bartender blanched as he realized what the Hunter in front of him was ready to do, and he reeled away from the table, a small object in hand.

“Speaker’s Mask, don’t shoot me!” He blubbered. “It ain’t a gun!”

Vick smiled sheepishly as his hand left his gun and went back to his hip. “Sorry about that.” He muttered. He cocked his head as he looked at the thing in the bartender’s hand. “What’s that?”

“I dunno, your buddy Wyx told me to give it to you.” The bartender replied, slowly relaxing.

“Where’s Wyx?” Vick asked. The bartender shrugged. Vick sighed and held out his palm. Carefully, the man placed the object in the Hunter’s gloved palm before quickly pulling his arm away. Vick looked down at the thing in his hand, raising it up to the dim light.

It’s a voice recorder. Vesper answered him before he could ask. Accessing it now.

Vick nodded politely enough at the bartender, who shakily nodded back before starting to scrub at a frantic pace some dirty glass. Vick almost would find it funny, if it wasn’t that he’d been in the bartender’s shoes more than once.

The Hunter paced to the table where he had met with Wyx not terribly long before, and took a seat. There was no one across the table now, just him alone, but he could almost sense the old man’s presence, him and those shoddy cigars that he would smoke whenever he was in a good mood. It was an old habit, and it died hard.

You’re not going to like this one, Vick. Vesper warned, her voice softer than normal. Vick grimaced.

Go ahead and play it. He braced himself for what he was about to hear. He could hear a click in his mind as Vesper started to play the recording across their neural link.

Hey, Vick. Wyx started. He sounded different, now, his voice reedier and more tired than Vick had ever heard him sound. By the time you’re hearing this, I’m long gone, and you know that I don’t mean I skipped town. A cold chill ran down Vick’s spine as realization struck him. Wyx, as much of a bastard he was, still meant something in some corner of the Hunter’s soul, and to hear that he was dead stunned him silent.

It was the cigars, of course. Wyx continued, oblivious across time and space to the effect his words had. You were right, I should have stopped smoking years ago, but I thought I’d keep on doing it just to spite you. Wyx laughed, though it sounded more like coughing than anything else. I’m sure I didn’t look like it when we saw each other last, but I’m on my last legs here, Vick. I’ll be gone any day now.

I know you’re wondering why the hell I’d give you a hand, given how we parted. It’s not just that I ran away in that street - we’d had our fights, our clashes. Even when you came back with that Ghost on your shoulder, you weren’t the same. You were better than me, Vick, damn you and your sensibilites. You always were.

Vick was quiet as he listened, his entire body still as he heard the words of a friend gone through the veil of death. It all felt so surreal, like a terrible dream. He bit his lip to remind himself that he hadn’t left the real world, not quite yet.

This world isn’t mine anymore, Vick. When we ran the streets, there wasn’t any hope in the City. We were all scared, worried that the Fallen would come creeping over that Wall and kill us all in our sleep like they did our fathers and our father’s fathers. Scared children, fighting and clawing out a life in the shadow of our god. But you never were satisfied with it all, not really. I was the one who tore you down to the earth, but your soul wanted to fly. For that, I’m sorry, Vick.

Wyx sighed as the recording approached its end, another rasping cough leaving invisible lips. This is your world now, Vick, and people like me don’t belong in it. Go out there and fight the good fight now, make the world a better place. Make it so that kids like you and I don’t have to die in City streets holding onto pistols in one hand and stale bread in another.

Make me proud, Hunter.

The recording stopped, and in that moment so too did the world. Vick didn’t hear himself even breathe as his listened to hear another word that didn’t come. When time resumed, he realized suddenly that he had balled his hands into fists, and there was a lump in his throat the size of the Traveler hanging silently outside. With a thought, Vick materialized his helmet over his head, and the Hunter got up to his feet. He fished out a coin from a pouch, glimmer turned into currency that the denizens of the City would understand, and flicked it towards the bartender, who caught it quickly before it hit the table.

Without another word, Vick left behind the Den, and the weight of the world seemed to rest squarely on his shoulders. Are you okay? Vesper asked, concern in her voice. The Hunter didn’t reply for a moment as he looked up at the imperfect alibaster sphere floating silently above.

I’ll live. Vick replied, and with that he disappeared into the crowds of the City.