When times are good, the people look to the heroes. The heroes with their golden guns and their fists of havoc. Killers. The lot of them. But their weapons are benevolent, and so are they beloved. When times are bad though, suddenly they remember the Nightstalkers. You remember the Red war? I’m sure you do. You wanna know who Big Blue pinned that on? Yeah. Us. “When the Hunter tower fell, where were the Nightstalkers?” His words still ring in my head. Where were the Nightstalkers, Big blue? You wouldn’t know. We were out [i]here.[/i] Outside the walls. [i]Where we belong.[/i] They don’t sing songs of void bows and devouring unlight, there’s no kids down in the city playing make believe as one of the outcasts. It’s not our home. It hasn’t been, for a long time. When times are good, we’re [i]dangerous.[/i] But when the chips are down, the golden gun burnt out, it’s on us. To protect a place that’s not our home. To die for someone else’s story. What a Nightstalker is, Big Blue, you won’t find in the city. Not in the tower, and not in some dogmatic training drills. It’s out here, in the wilds. [i]Where we belong.[/i]