[quote][i][b]If you are new to my works, which is likely as I have only recently moved to #Community, then you can find the links to my previous stories here: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/250401973?sort=0&page=0. I [u]highly[/u] recommend you give the other two books a read before continuing on with this little journey of mine. Thank you for your time.[/b][/i][/quote] [b]CHAPTER 1 (1 of 3)[/b] In the shadow of a dying god stands a mindless man. His form was reminiscent of a metal heap, limbs of iron and bones of steel. This living machine, known as an Exo, always moved with a pained hesitation that alienated strangers and concerned once-known friends. Selfmade isolation had left its mark upon his iron heart. There was a time when he was much more than this pitiful thing, but the years have not been kind to a being which will never die. The truth is that he had already lived a life, one of greatness and heroism uncommon within the husk of a dying world. Earth had been shattered, the sole bastion of Light’s last gift and home to the Guardians. Among these godlike chosen was Biocatarus-2, a savior of countless and killer of horrors, a messiah in all but name. This hero had vanished on the eve of a grand celebration, only to return as a different, broken soul. The product of this transformation was the inheritor of his name, his past, his Voice, and nothing more. So it was that Biocatarus-3 had grown resentful of his choiceless existence, for he was never given to opportunity to forge a unique life of his own. Each night he looked upon his god, his Traveler, and hated what it unquestioningly demanded from his life. Conquest and slaughter eternal. The life of a Guardian, the life of a murderer. Cloaked in shards of moonlight, Biocatarus-3 stumbled his way through the brick archways and expansive patios of which the Tower consisted. There had once been a different structure that his kind had once called home, but its vast wreckage scarred the horizon, annihilated by the foes of his hated deity. Biocatarus-3 had never felt much attachment to the burnt spire, for he had come after its fall, so to him it was a monument representative of a dead era. Absentmindedly, the Exo wandered his way into a well lit and vibrant bar, a famous site of leisure for both Guardians and mortals alike. He found an open seat and looked up at the distant stars. Knowing that he could one day visit them had made the burning sources of life feel almost welcoming, a comfort that was soured by the reality that he was unable to ever leave. The Vanguard, in their laughable attempt at wisdom, had decided that he was “unfit” for travel due to his regressive condition and subsequent need for recovery. It had been two months since his reset, and it was more than apparent their official reasoning was a lie. The subjugated Guardian was considering his existence when a bottle containing a sickly neon-green fluid smashed against his rusted chest. The shock caused the Titan to flinch with such fervor that the wooden chair he had rested upon splintered and crumbled. Biocatarus-3 wiped away the booze and turned towards his assailant, a bartender who’s eyes gave way to recognition and surprise. The Exo possessed no memory of having ever met the bewildered man, but the same did not appear to be true with the other side. “What the hell man, you slow today or something?” asked the confused barkeep, his voice genuine. “Were you expecting me to catch it?” responded the Exo, anger consuming his words. “You used too.” Biocatarus-3 tossed the bartender some Glimmer as payment for the ruined chair, and then promptly left without saying another word. He had grown used to the blatant confusion found in others, but that familiarity did not provide even a particle of comfort. No matter where he went, no matter who he talked to, every conversation would quickly transform into a mirror in which the dead man stared back. He always stared back. What made matters worse was the dead man’s legacy. The stories he had heard of Biocatarus-2 had defined him as a metaphorical leviathan, whose boundless shadow was impossible for his descendant to escape. While Biocatarus-2 was well known for killing literal gods, Biocatarus-3 was infamous for being a complete failure at everything he tried. The exhausted Exo walked down a metal staircase that lead into the core of the Tower, all the while recalling his own ineptitude. He had spectacularly failed to grasp the Light and her gifts, his will and understanding depressingly subpar at best. Whenever he attempted to create a barrier, it would only be the size of a napkin. When he tried to form a grenade, it was comparable to a sparkler. The Titan couldn’t even channel a functional super, so it and all the other compounding weaknesses had left him little to feed moral. Biocataurs-3 stopped by the edge of a locked doorway, one which lead into his private quarters. He used a small spark of Light to unlock the device that sealed the entrance, and was internally grateful to have at least mastered one thing in his wretched life. The room was small and colorless, the only points of interest being his “bed”, a simple machine that had all but failed to relieve his stress, and a compact shelf that held a variety of mementos that he had no recollection of ever taking. There was a jagged chunk of a Hive sword, which gave a dull pulse of an ethereal greenish smoke every now and then. Another was a scrap of stained fabric that was marked with the insignia of Wolves. Near the far wall was mounted the severed golden head of a Vex Minotaur, one that constantly dripped dead radiolaria despite having no source to leak from. Finally and last, there was a collection of small devices called Data Clusters, the only objects that had a known and importantly cruel meaning in regards to the Exo’s life. Each of the small devices, eleven of them to be exact, contained a message made specifically for him and him alone, a gift from his past soul. He had spent days going over each one, reading and then rereading a hundredfold, all to try and understand why he even existed. They were unfortunately cryptic at times, often omitting crucial events such as an entire year of his life, and the moment that had cost Biocatarus-2 his mind. These journals had ultimately failed their job at giving the Exo a reason to persist. But the messages, despite the apparent simplicity of their written contents, also held a second vital purpose. Contained within each was a simulation matrix, a crude machine that would allow the Exo to relive hand picked sections of his past life. At first glance, this offering seemed wonderful, for it was a direct and easy path to becoming a legendary hero just as Biocatarus-2 had been. Only one abhorrent thing alone had kept the Exo from using this option. His inherited Voice. [b][Why do you refuse this gift?][/b] The Voice asked from within Biocatarus-3’s mind, it’s tone inorganic and emotionless. [b][Very few Exos have had the chance to restore portions of their memory. Your avoidance would be considered disgraceful in their eyes.][/b] Biocatarus-3 moved away from the Clusters. The Voice had been a part of him since the beginning of his recollection, and from early on he determined that it was inherently untrustworthy, with motives so expertly hidden to the extent that no good intentioned man would have been so dedicated to such a veil. Ironically, The Voice’s blatant desperation to use the simulations had only accomplished the opposite of its goal, for the Titan had lost his taste for the devices and barely paid them any thought. Besides, they too were another mark of his failure, as they were originally intended to be gathered from beyond the Last City’s borders, a quest and challenge the past had devised for the future. Yet the descendant was never permitted to leave to the Tower’s restrictive grip, resulting in the Clusters being found by another unintended Guardian. It was pure luck alone that had granted them back into his care, and not that of the Vanguard’s prying hands. Biocatarus-3’s Ghost floated into the room from a small panel built into the ceiling, a creature composed of angular geometric shapes bound together by a singular glowing eye. Despite the unbreakable bond of Light that forever tied the machine’s life to his, they rarely spoke and often ignored each other’s presence. The reason for this was simple: The Ghost, named Aydin, had resurrected the corpse-Biocatarus-2 to be his Guardian, not the distinctly uncomparable personality that was Biocatarus-3. Aydin was still visibly mournful of his closest friend’s demise, and this ever present sadness had only made the memoryless Exo feel worse about himself. Aydin drifted towards the head of the Vex Minotaur, emitted a thin beam of bluish light to remove new radiolaria stains, and then sulked into a corner to rest on a pedestal. Biocatarus-3, in turn, moved to his colorless bed and collapsed upon it. For a moment he looked at the Ghost, whose brilliant eye stared back, and pondered if the rift between them would ever close. Hours passed, yet neither of them went to sleep, and neither of them spoke a word. [b]Next Chapter[/b]: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/250468294?sort=0&page=0 [b]Lore Book[/b]: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/250401973?sort=0&page=0