I told you I'd do another one. This one is about Leon and an off encounter with the fallen. Short and sweet, but more to come. [i]357. 3 mile gusts. Adjust for rotation.[/i] I pulled my eye back into the sight, that looming blue hexagon, and adjusted the sight until the reticle lit red. It knew. With a smile, I looked to my left and right, noting the location of the Vandals no more than a ship's length away from me. Then back to my target. He wasn't a necessarily big captain for a Wolf Scavenger. Or she. I could never tell the difference between the two and at this point, I assumed, it would be too little, too late. I squeeze. The barrel cracked blue with a sound like a hammer hitting a board. I saw the shields drop as the round effortlessly tore through them and the Wolf stagger, crying out in agony as ether seeped from its veins. I had missed and I couldn't take the chance of it getting away. Already, Dregs and Shanks had begun swarming it's dying body and I knew a Servitor wasn't far off. I squeezed again, the active camouflage afforded by my new rifle shedding as I stood, not caring to watch second shot finish the job. I had company. And it was time for a Revelation. "Crap shot, kid." "-blam!- off, Cayde." I didn't need my Vanguard mentor in my ear as I drew, my cannon effortlessly eviscerating the few Vandals around me. The first screamed as I landed a round in it's forehead, ether screaming from what I could only imagine were it's lungs. The second caught three in its upper left and right arms and chest, docking it instantly. I turned to face the others, but they were so far away that I had time. I always had time. Turning back to my escape route, I noticed my docked Iliksni and stopped. Most of them just keel over and die after a disgraceful injury such as this, but this one, he had fallen to his knees, head to the sky. It looked like it was crying, almost. "That was really mean. I mean, there was no reason at [i]all[/i] you had to do that." "Yeah, I know. I'll say all my sorrys when I get back to the tower, but. . . Just hold on." I cut comms and rushed over to it. By now, it had decided to look back to me, speaking word I couldn't even come close to understanding. But they weren't like those of a dying captain: angry and steadfast, or like a wounded Dreg: about the consistency of spit. No, these words were soft and calm and, well, sad. It was sad and it was crying. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry. I don't know where that impulse came from. I guess I was just mad that I missed my shot and all, but-" A wire rifle beam zipped over my head. "I have to go. I'm sorry, but I gets better," I said as I rose, putting the barrel of the cannon to it's head. I squeezed and took off running. "Thanks for that, kid." "Stop watching my feed."