Destiny: The Watcher
I wrote this for my brother some time ago, a story featuring the origin of his Guardian. I thought I'd share it with the rest of you as well. It has nothing to do with the story I'm writing about the Paladins, it's just a little view of a different hero walking a different path through the Dark and to the Light.
The Cosmodrome, Old Russia, Earth
Day 007
"You do know you can't outrun me, right?"
The Exo ignored the chirping voice behind him as he crouched underneath a low broken pipe. The old path had changed, twisted, but that was to be expected. After all, he had no way of knowing how long he had been dead.
"I'm not going to leave, if that's what you're thinking." The voice said again. "I spent centuries searching for you. I'm not going to get bored and go home after a week."
"Pity." The Exo replied, not bothering to turn his head. The tunnel system was quiet. It was beginning to put him on edge - by now he should have run into something, be it a sentry, or some prowling Vandal looking for an easy mark. For not the first time that day, and certainly not the first time this week, he cursed his lack of a weapon. The Ghost had brought him back from the dead, granted him new armor, but had given him no gun to use. They both had been lucky that they had not encountered the Fallen yet.
Mercifully, the Ghost had stopped talking. Good, the Exo thought. No distractions. The old path was dangerous, and he was still far from home.
Was it angry, he wondered, this Ghost dogging his every step? Sad? Disappointed? It had sounded so happy to bring him back, to cease its eternal quest for a companion. It took a great deal of effort to ignore its words, and the almost primal urge calling him away. Something seemed to be softly nudging his thoughts, beckoning him to some other place. He had asked the Ghost what it was once.
"The Traveler is calling you home." It had replied. "All Guardians feel it. Even those who don't want to."
Home. It was less a word and more a feeling. Laughing children and bustling markets, friends at the bar and comrades watching the tunnels. The Exo knew what home was, and the Traveler had nothing to do with it. His home was here, in the rat ways of the ancient Cosmodrome, though he knew he would not recognize it when he saw it. Time had passed, decay had progressed, and there was more fear in the air. Things were getting worse.
Something else was in the air. He almost didn't notice it before it was too late. The Exo jumped back as a Vandal dropped from its hiding place, arc knife and shock pistol in hand.
One more time, he cursed his lack of a weapon, then attacked.
The Vandal fired a quick three shots from its pistol, but it had been a desperate burst. It recognized the Guardian's armor he wore, incapable realizing the nature of the man underneath the Hunter's helmet. Two of the shots splashed uselessly against a wall, but one managed to hit the Exo in the chest. It did nothing, the blow absorbed and dissipated by the strange powers that had brought him back from the beyond.
The Exo brought his knee up into the Vandal's chest, a brutal attack meant to break ribs. When the alien stumbled backwards, he pressed his attack. A sharp jab to the Fallen's shoulder caused it to drop the pistol in pain, the weapon clattering noisily as it hit the floor.
The Vandal slashed wildly at the Exo as it recovered, trying to buy time and distance. He would give it neither. A kick to the chest sent it sprawling, and the Exo dove on top. He dropped on the alien hard, letting his mass break any fractioned bones and knock the wind out of its form. The fight ended a moment later as the Exo broke its skull against the concrete floor. Dead or unconscious, he couldn't tell, but the Vandal did not stir as streaks of white pooled beneath its head.
Slowly, the Exo got back to his feet, dusting himself off. He had been lucky - there were worse things to encounter in the dark. His Light had protected him, but it was hard not to imagine what would have happened had it not been there.
"The Cosmodrome is theirs, now." The Ghost quietly spoke. "Has been for a long time."
"It wasn't when I was here." The Exo replied. "We'd see them, repel them from the tunnels, but it was quiet most days."
"We?" The Ghost repeated, sounding surprised. "What do you mean, 'we'?"
The Exo flinched and stayed quiet. It had been a slip of the tongue, but now the little machine knew. He had hoped to make it think he was heading to some survivalist's den, another attempt to drive it away. Like the others, it had failed. Finally, he spoke.
"I have a responsibility to my home." He started, turning to look at his floating companion. "These are dangerous times - they will need everyone they can get."
The Ghost looked at him for a time, measuring its response carefully. When it did reply, it did so quietly, softly.
"Guardian, no human lives in the Cosmodrome. They haven't for centuries."
There was a quiet that seemed to stretch on for hours. The Exo listened carefully, and heard no laughter and no bustle. Like a tomb, he realized. Quiet like a tomb.
The Exo began to run. He didn't hear the Ghost's surprised and worried cries as it tried to keep up with him. He followed the old path like if in a dream, moving through the tunnels in a trance. He knew what he'd find at the other end long before he reached it.
The settlement was dead. Burned structures stuck out of the ground like the bleached bones of some ancient creature, and the ground was thick with ash. There were no corpses, just pieces of skeletons - a crushed skull here, a discarded femur there. Lying on the ground, laid as if in reverence, was a familiar-looking rifle, worn but ready. When the Exo had seen his full, he leaned down and picked it up. The Khvostov's magazine was full, the sights broken but still operational. The last survivor of the Ratway, just like him.
"Guardian, I'm..." The Ghost trailed off, floating silently behind him. "Traveler, I can't imagine what happened. How many..." Horror made it stop mid-sentence.
"I can." The Exo grimly replied.
There was a long pause as the two regarded each other. He broke the silence.
"Watcher-22."
"What?"
"My name." The Exo explained. "They called me Watcher-22."
"A pleasure to meet you, Watcher."
"Likewise, Ghost." He looked out at the devastation one last time before turning to head back down the old path, Khvostov ready and in hand. "So, which way to home?"
"As it happens, there's an old jumpship not far from here." The Ghost answered. "Just on the other side of the Cosmodrome wall." With a flash, it vanished inside Watcher's armor, something it had done many times on the long road to the ancient ruin.
"Eyes up, Guardian."
The Cosmodrome, Old Russia, Earth
Day 007
"You do know you can't outrun me, right?"
The Exo ignored the chirping voice behind him as he crouched underneath a low broken pipe. The old path had changed, twisted, but that was to be expected. After all, he had no way of knowing how long he had been dead.
"I'm not going to leave, if that's what you're thinking." The voice said again. "I spent centuries searching for you. I'm not going to get bored and go home after a week."
"Pity." The Exo replied, not bothering to turn his head. The tunnel system was quiet. It was beginning to put him on edge - by now he should have run into something, be it a sentry, or some prowling Vandal looking for an easy mark. For not the first time that day, and certainly not the first time this week, he cursed his lack of a weapon. The Ghost had brought him back from the dead, granted him new armor, but had given him no gun to use. They both had been lucky that they had not encountered the Fallen yet.
Mercifully, the Ghost had stopped talking. Good, the Exo thought. No distractions. The old path was dangerous, and he was still far from home.
Was it angry, he wondered, this Ghost dogging his every step? Sad? Disappointed? It had sounded so happy to bring him back, to cease its eternal quest for a companion. It took a great deal of effort to ignore its words, and the almost primal urge calling him away. Something seemed to be softly nudging his thoughts, beckoning him to some other place. He had asked the Ghost what it was once.
"The Traveler is calling you home." It had replied. "All Guardians feel it. Even those who don't want to."
Home. It was less a word and more a feeling. Laughing children and bustling markets, friends at the bar and comrades watching the tunnels. The Exo knew what home was, and the Traveler had nothing to do with it. His home was here, in the rat ways of the ancient Cosmodrome, though he knew he would not recognize it when he saw it. Time had passed, decay had progressed, and there was more fear in the air. Things were getting worse.
Something else was in the air. He almost didn't notice it before it was too late. The Exo jumped back as a Vandal dropped from its hiding place, arc knife and shock pistol in hand.
One more time, he cursed his lack of a weapon, then attacked.
The Vandal fired a quick three shots from its pistol, but it had been a desperate burst. It recognized the Guardian's armor he wore, incapable realizing the nature of the man underneath the Hunter's helmet. Two of the shots splashed uselessly against a wall, but one managed to hit the Exo in the chest. It did nothing, the blow absorbed and dissipated by the strange powers that had brought him back from the beyond.
The Exo brought his knee up into the Vandal's chest, a brutal attack meant to break ribs. When the alien stumbled backwards, he pressed his attack. A sharp jab to the Fallen's shoulder caused it to drop the pistol in pain, the weapon clattering noisily as it hit the floor.
The Vandal slashed wildly at the Exo as it recovered, trying to buy time and distance. He would give it neither. A kick to the chest sent it sprawling, and the Exo dove on top. He dropped on the alien hard, letting his mass break any fractioned bones and knock the wind out of its form. The fight ended a moment later as the Exo broke its skull against the concrete floor. Dead or unconscious, he couldn't tell, but the Vandal did not stir as streaks of white pooled beneath its head.
Slowly, the Exo got back to his feet, dusting himself off. He had been lucky - there were worse things to encounter in the dark. His Light had protected him, but it was hard not to imagine what would have happened had it not been there.
"The Cosmodrome is theirs, now." The Ghost quietly spoke. "Has been for a long time."
"It wasn't when I was here." The Exo replied. "We'd see them, repel them from the tunnels, but it was quiet most days."
"We?" The Ghost repeated, sounding surprised. "What do you mean, 'we'?"
The Exo flinched and stayed quiet. It had been a slip of the tongue, but now the little machine knew. He had hoped to make it think he was heading to some survivalist's den, another attempt to drive it away. Like the others, it had failed. Finally, he spoke.
"I have a responsibility to my home." He started, turning to look at his floating companion. "These are dangerous times - they will need everyone they can get."
The Ghost looked at him for a time, measuring its response carefully. When it did reply, it did so quietly, softly.
"Guardian, no human lives in the Cosmodrome. They haven't for centuries."
There was a quiet that seemed to stretch on for hours. The Exo listened carefully, and heard no laughter and no bustle. Like a tomb, he realized. Quiet like a tomb.
The Exo began to run. He didn't hear the Ghost's surprised and worried cries as it tried to keep up with him. He followed the old path like if in a dream, moving through the tunnels in a trance. He knew what he'd find at the other end long before he reached it.
The settlement was dead. Burned structures stuck out of the ground like the bleached bones of some ancient creature, and the ground was thick with ash. There were no corpses, just pieces of skeletons - a crushed skull here, a discarded femur there. Lying on the ground, laid as if in reverence, was a familiar-looking rifle, worn but ready. When the Exo had seen his full, he leaned down and picked it up. The Khvostov's magazine was full, the sights broken but still operational. The last survivor of the Ratway, just like him.
"Guardian, I'm..." The Ghost trailed off, floating silently behind him. "Traveler, I can't imagine what happened. How many..." Horror made it stop mid-sentence.
"I can." The Exo grimly replied.
There was a long pause as the two regarded each other. He broke the silence.
"Watcher-22."
"What?"
"My name." The Exo explained. "They called me Watcher-22."
"A pleasure to meet you, Watcher."
"Likewise, Ghost." He looked out at the devastation one last time before turning to head back down the old path, Khvostov ready and in hand. "So, which way to home?"
"As it happens, there's an old jumpship not far from here." The Ghost answered. "Just on the other side of the Cosmodrome wall." With a flash, it vanished inside Watcher's armor, something it had done many times on the long road to the ancient ruin.
"Eyes up, Guardian."
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