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Destiny 2

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Edited by NateZolor: 8/28/2019 2:12:39 AM

Tales of a Mars Sentry // 08

Masterpost: The roar of fire and alien gunshots filled the old man’s ears. He grimaced as he buckled a reinforced chest plate onto his frail torso as he took one last look around his shop. Militia and expeditionary armor stood on stands everywhere. The polishing booth where he had met so many people, heard so many stories, lay cold in the dead lights of his home. A woman in robes and a helmet burst in, covered in soot and bullet wounds. She represented one of the only things that confused him in his simple life. One of many who bore the gift of the Traveler. He knew her by a strange name. “Old man, I heard the distress call. I’m really sorry. I’ll defend your settlement at all costs. Do you have ammo?” He stood and rubbed his eyes. “Truth be told, 08, this town isn’t going to last. We have to leave.” He gestured to a crate behind the counter of the shop, and she nodded grimly. “Please, fight them off while I round the survivors up. Take whatever you need.” “If we head for the city, a lot of people will die on the way.” 08 stocked up on supplies before heading for the door. An explosion of arc energy rocked the street, lighting up the interior of the building. “If we stay here, there won’t be any survivors.” The old man equipped himself with a backpack, a sidearm, and stood behind her. “You’ve done so much for our town, but at the end of the day, it’s not the location, it’s the people. Please, just keep them off of us while we escape.” She rested her hand on the door frame and sighed. The town was like home to her, too. She loved everyone in it, especially the old man, who had taught her so much. As another explosion sounded in the distance, she swung the door open and began firing. Eventually, 08 was able to allow most of the civilians to escape. On their pilgrimage to the city, the old man became horribly sick. On his deathbed, they had one final conversation. “Don’t be sad. I had a very nice life.” He said, “You know, you still haven’t told me your name.” “I don’t have a name. I go by my ID.” “Would you be okay with me naming you, as one final gift, 14?” “Of course. I can trust you with that much.” “Heather. It was my daughter’s name. She served in our town’s militia, but she fell during an attack not unlike the one you evacuated us from.” “Old man…” “You remind me so much of her. I am grateful I got to see you grow and change. Please, put the skills I have given you to use, and good luck.” - Heather fought with all her might against the red-clad invaders alongside the hunter Kale-8. They were pushed back, farther and farther, until they ended up in the square that her armor shop stood at, which existed because of the inspiration and prowess the old man had passed on. “Look familiar?” Kale remarked, pointing to the shop. “We can get some more ammo there, right? We’re not gonna die like this. Right, Heather?” Heather looked down at her soot and dirt covered gloves, and the smudged bracers above them. Her ghost had worked hard to restore the armor, but nothing could be done for the particles than invaded their metal. “I don’t know. Let’s go inside, though. You’re right. We need ammo.” The two rushed over, tearing the door open. She loaded herself with rounds and began to step outside. “Hey, Heather. This is your place, right? You gonna take anything? I mean, you might not see it again.” The hunter waved his hand around the dark store, and Heather was reminded of the old man. “I’ll defend this place no matter what. It’ll be fine.” As the two continued their struggle outside, Heather saw their friend, Zahir-2, approach from an alleyway. Perhaps they’d be safe, after all. “Heather!” Kale cried, attempting to push her away. A ring of red light glared at them from above. A Cabal warship had positioned itself over them, and it had already fired a barrage of missiles below.

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