List of Signs (Destiny SI)

[FloraRead]

And now, I shall proceed to engage in the lowest form of self decrepitation: writing a SI.
Hope you enjoy the product of my suffering and the three sleepless nights investigating the lore of behind this mess.

To clear things up for the reader, not for SI version of me, this will be taking place around the time when the House of Dusk was formed, after most of Destiny 1, but before Destiny 2, around the time when the Fallen, or Elikinsi, began "visiting" Nessus, "searching" for "supplies".
__________________________________________________________________
Lighting up

I think it is a Tuesday. That's the first thing that pops to my mind and I emerge into consciousness.



I know it's odd to think 'Hey! Today is a Tuesday everybody!' but as it turns out, it just happens that I could sleep in just a little since college began in the afternoon on these days.



Though… did I go camping? I don't remember sleeping on a rock side, as numb and distant as it may feel. It's not particularly comfortable. I feel weird and oddly distant. Had I gotten sick?



Right, that would be a worry, It definitely was hard to think, but as far as I'm aware, there's only one way to check.



I open my eyes.

At first, I confuse it with some sort of hallucination, or some sorta weird, abnormal dream. It certainly wouldn't be a surprise, though I do believe this is the first time I would experience a dream with the clarity I usually came to associate with the waking world, right?



Before moving, let me try the ultimate reality test: attempting to teleport one's self to the clouds, and to fly around by the sheer force of will.



You know, typical lucid dreaming stuff.



Then, the cavern doesn't disappear, the snoring and electrical humming are not replaced by open skies, and the three-fingered, leather-like hand that I'm holding in front of my face, does not change into what I could easily consider it's human equivalent.



It closes its fingers, turning around. Where… where are the others? I… I can't feel my hand.



A stub wrapped in cloth hits my arm, having raises instinctively. I try to back off but the extra limb seems stuck to me.



This isn't my body…



The thought of the oddness of earlier comes to be, the air entering my mouth in ways I don't remember it doing and tasting oddly acidic.



I remain there, for a moment, staring at the slanted ceiling, oddly lit despite its location. I expect to blank out or begin screaming, this was far too out of my comfort zone for me to attempt to even reason how it happened at the given moment.



I give it a minute.



Then a minute becomes five.



Five becomes ten.









But no panic comes, despite the constant difficulty to think and the feeling of sand running through my insides.



It's too surreal.



Too bizarre.



So much for those lucid dreaming sessions. I try again nonetheless, my face contracting in ways I never remember it doing as I close my eyes and do my best to once again go anywhere. Just… not here.



Not with this… thing stuck to me. This isn't my body. These aren't my fingers. This face doesn't feel like my own. I never cared much for my broken nose, I just want out because this is just so much worse.



The panic still doesn't arrive.



There are others around me, sleeping on the floor of the cave as well. It's not that I didn't notice them before, just that I didn't give them enough importance. Their snores are familiar sounding, yet, still odd. Kind of like those I heard when I put my nose close to a sleeping dog or any of my sleeping cats. Recognizable…



But not human.





This… this was real.




A pain builds itself in my throat as I try to scream. Not even a croak comes out. My call for help goes unanswered, and if I believe correctly, unheard. I don't think even a sound other than a suffocated squeak too low in tone to belong to anything else comes out.




From someone else's perspective, they would most likely see a poor imitation of a Magikarp doing a poor imitation of its signature move: "Splash." Staying still was not something I planned on doing- I wanted out.

After a moment of struggling to even move, I finally manage to be lying face down, one of these… things rubbing painfully across the floor where it ended.



It's not my arm. I only have two. This isn't the stump of a limb I don't remember having.





These… these are Fallen. Aliens from the Destiny Series of games.



I think I recognize these ones from the second game. Less armour, right? Purple loincloths and the such.



Right.



I think I'm wearing them too.



Ignore the fact that this can't be real because the pain from that scream of earlier should show you otherwise. You can't feel pain in dreams. Not that it helps you wake up in most of the ones you actually hit the ground when dreaming, but at least you have the so-called clarity of mind to not stand straight up.



At least I could stand up then.


Why did they even sleep in a cave? Didn't the Fallen have ships? How did this even happen?

Now that I thought about it, the probability of this happening, if some of the more pseudoscientific versions of the multiverse theory were correct, were both infinite, null, and everything in between at the same time. Quite a mess, to be frank. Thoughts for later, I guess. One of them pacing outside of the mouth of this cave corridor, probably doing a security check after what I thought it was a silent ruckus. Fortunately, it only seems to peek inside of the cave before leaving.



That was a Vandal, my mind recognizes. No name appears above its head alongside its level. It's just something that I particularly remember after spending countless hours farming away at strikes or just playing the campaign. White helmet, spiked shoulder pad, more rags than armour. The ones sleeping around me must be Dregs then, the cannon fodder.


I don't think I am able to tell much of the group at a glance, though I think it might have to do with my only partial knowledge of the lore. I didn't know anyone who played destiny for the story. I certainly didn't.


That and the purple scarf every single Dreg sleeping beside me should place this somewhere after the first game, right?



Getting a lesson that literally can't be applied to anything else was something I certainly never expected to happen to me.



'Study Well The Lore of that game you play occasionally' certainly could never be applied to anything else. Or at least I so hope. This already feels like a fuzzy odd dream and the fact that dirt feels not only distant but fake in a way I don't think I can put my finger quite on is something I personally find unsettling.

I try standing up, but I immediately give up. Even moving felt weird. Especially with the whatever remained of the lower sets of arms of the body I was currently inhabiting under my "main" set of arms. That could get confusing quick. Perhaps crawling could do a better trick? After all, with how vandals managed to sprint-crawl in the second game, perhaps thinking that crawling like a rabid spider came before walking for the Fallen, or at least, I hope so. This might look mighty foolish if I was wrong.



One step at a time, focus on attempting to pass off as 'normal' later.



As normal as an alien who is probably starving can pass off as someone who does not appear to know their own language.

One "step" at a time, I begin crawling towards the exit of the cave. Only four rows of dregs remain before I exit into what I believe to be the exit of this slanted geometrical cave. Or at least, I think it is. Maybe it's a building, tilted sideways, the dirt could have been blown in after decades of exposure to the elements.



This can't be a dream; the air feels too acidic for you to not wake up after smelling it so.



I never woke up in from a dream because of a foul smell, despite recognizing that it must have been there. I only really felt and tasted, for some reason, I forgot to smell in dreams. Did I develop it too little, or was it because I had gotten used to the smells of daily life to the point where I couldn't give it any importance anymore?



As much as I hate crawling on the concrete looking floor, going up the dirt hill leading to what I think is the exit, I struggle to get to my feet.



I collapse on my first attempt, and the second doesn't go much better.



It finds its footing on the fourth attempt. I ignore my memories of standing up straight and allow the muscle memory to do most of the work.



It's like giving up, almost. But it gets me standing so that though it banished into the shadow realm from a childhood show, where I have no doubts it will resurface later.



By the time I stumble over to the hill, to reach the outside of the small incline dirt incline, I come across a realization that might just explain why I otherwise woke up in a concrete looking cave:



One row of two dregs left. It did not bode well how cramped sleeping conditions were, but then again: cannon fodder. Try not to internalize it too much.

<<Oh shit.>>


This isn't any cave! It's the inside of a vex structure, possibly on wherever that may be. My chances of getting past a single year of waking up in a foreign body have just been reduced to lower than low. I certainly do not want to die, as that would involve being brought back to life in some odd years as a sort of headless zombie. And that can only lead me to ask: what is wrong with this universe? Actually, considering this is a Vex cave, it might be safe to assume that that just touching the... "Vex Milk" was arguably worse than death. Being absorbed into a hive mind that could possibly use any of the knowledge I possessed of the games did not bode well for the solar system. Then again, the player character was more or less Doomguy who could say 'fuck you' to fate itself, so what did I know? For all, I knew things would pretty much fix themselves right back up.

And with a final "midget jump" (that might actually not have been as small as expected) I had managed to exit into... another cave. I mean, it could have been worse, it could have been a Vex jail cell for all I've known. this certainly boded better for me. Especially considering there was solar panel flooring. Now I could not confuse this place with anywhere but Nessus (or maybe mars), especially considering the blue glow of the environment. While I had certainly I had to be close to the Exodus Black somewhere, the ship was freaking massive. It was an issue for another problem, I considered.

Shit. I need to get out of this cave. I can hear the Vandal coming over for a second checkup.

Shit.

You can't learn to run when you don't know how to walk, that fall reminds me painfully. My attempted bracing only resulted in the all too familiar elbow pain everyone should know.

Shit.

I didn't know if I could sweat before, but with that four-eyed thing looking straight at me…

FUCK. MY. LIFE.



I accidentally lock eyes with them. They look back at me with four blue, glowing eyes.



'They have killed people,' my mind states as casually as possible.



Well, I'm not sure if this one in particular has, but I can't stop thinking about it.



They don't aim their rifle, a standard amongst the likes of his kind, anywhere near me. Instead, they extend an open hand, as is offering to help me up.



Maybe that's what they intend.



I look at their face. I can't read their expression.



I look at their hand, still open.




I…





I decide to take it.





Pulling me up with a forceful pull, the Vandal speaks before I have a chance to thank them for the aid.



<<Do not stray too far, the Captain plans to assault the Artificial Intelligence chambers soon.>>



That sounded like they were trying to be breaking into Failsafe's core.



That doesn't sound like a good idea, but I don't think they succeeded in the game?



It just hurts to remember.



As the Vandal walks off I struggle to form words, but I manage to find what I desired.



<<Thank you.>>


They pass a glance over me, stopping their pacing.



As if I just told them something unbelievably stupid or incredibly offensive.



At least, it looks like an incredulous look. I can't tell, not with the mask on. A few seconds later that felt like hours, they go back to looking over the crates in the caves and disappearing once more.

I… just spoke Fallen. I understood it too. Or maybe it was Eliksni, I don't know. I'm pretty sure my knowledge is conflicting with each other here.



I tentatively try standing up, and to no one's surprise, a different centre of gravity often leads to someone falling down once again. The vandal does not seem to peek or look over, and while my arms broke my fall, that still hurt.


That might have been an embarrassing way to die.

I can see the news headlines, even if there is none: Idiot dreg dies by falling and breaking neck: are the new generations incompetent, or just stupid? See more on page 3!

Shuffling back into a standing position, I use what appears to be repurposed solar panelling to keep my balance up

It's like learning to walk again. Except without having to break a bone to experience such a thing.



I stumble once, then twice when I try to separate myself from the wall to stand under the creature's own power.



I stop counting after the twelfth 'false' standing. But I eventually am able to walk under my own power without the aid of a wall.



The movement feels like I've done it a million times before. As if walking with a different centre of gravity was something I had always done to the point where it's mostly automatic. Every time I tried to think on the specifics, I just fell once again. Standing is still an issue, though I try to remedy that by stopping every turn I take when walking back and forth over the relatively clear stretch of geometric rock I had found. Or was it Vex structure? What were they made off anyway?



This place… it's a lost sector, I recognize it as such. I don't remember the name though, but the ethereal blue glow coming from a hole beside the earlier mentioned plane is enough for this fact to jog my memory somewhat.

It's on my thirty-fourth 'lap', if It could be called that when the Vandal returns. Just as I was doing after finishing each walking cycle and taking a moment to crouch down and look on the abyss, it does the same, pausing by to look down at the chasm.



<<Are you worried?>>



<<About what?>> I question, turning to face the larger alien.



<<The planned extraction of the artificial intelligence core.>>



<<A little>> I lie with an ease that I tried to keep out of my usual conversations- <<Why do you ask>>



<<This is our captain, Talas', last chance to break into the core.>> It replies with a tone that I can't quite place an emotion on. Longing? They certainly looked like they were taking a breath.



<<Why is that so?>> I take a seat for the first time since I woke up, coming upon the sudden realization that I had something on my belt, I don't try to turn away from facing the vandal, but I definitely want to know what is back there.



Please don't let it be explosive.



<<Elyksul will be taking over, and they have far less ambition with what they plan to do with what they find.>> They seem to click in annoyance afterwards, taking a moment to seemingly glance at me before turning to look at the pit once more.



I guess I should have known then, but I guess this isn't the first time someone has asked for information it would seem. Or at least, I don't think so- I've always sucked at reading tones of voice. Still, I decide not to pester them with questions. I don't want to risk myself more than I need. I already have names for what seems to be two different captains.



Talas, the one leading whatever group resided within this cave, and Elyksul, someone who was going to take over whatever these ones were trying to do.



But this whole situation hurts to think about. Had the Red War already begin? Or were the ones who followed the Guardians here a different group?



My thinking is interrupted by the shuffling of the Vandal's feet as they walk off.











I lost track of time shortly after that. Absentmindedly trying to calm me down thinking about other things.



If anything, I think I gathered the courage necessary to jump over the gap. I stared at the blue abyss for long enough.



I only got one shot. I assume it's a long way down, but considering how Vex machines work it might just turn out to be endless. Either way, I only had one shot.



Breathe in the sickly sick air with light acidic after taste…



And go.













I land with a thick, dull thud as the momentum pulls me to a roll.



My back and legs hurt. I hope I don't make this a habit. I now had the evidence I could survive the fall, but I don't think I enjoyed the jump. I especially didn't like colliding against the rock wall. The weird gravely sound that I recognize as laughter coming from the side of the cliff I had just landed on gives me incentive enough to consider myself as a laughingstock.



Congrats! I was now the local clown. If this kept up I might end up becoming the whole circus.



I do my best to ignore the other dregs and the occasional Vandal as I head uphill towards what I believe was the exit.










As I walk outside the cave in what felt like an hour.



I feel absolutely pumped. Or hyped, as some would say.



Like the adrenaline that courses through after a roller coaster ride.



I knew it wasn't, but the feeling was similar enough to bring similar memories.



Maybe if I keep up this attitude, I'll fool myself into believing it is really what's going on.



I wasn't in the clear just yet, I needed a way to get out of this planetoid.



What a day to be alive.





Re-Write Notes
Re-Write Completed on the 20th​ of April of 2021

Ok yeah I know I procrastinated heavily. You have all the rights to shank me.

As for reducing the expected waiting time of all the re-writes before the new chapter, I think I have a small plan to avoid obscene waiting times. I will initially focus on just re-writing the following chapters:

• Chapter 2: A Way Out
• Chapter 3: A Way Out. Part 2
• Chapter 4: A Way Out Part 3
• Chapter 5: A Way Out Part 4
• Chapter 6: A Way Out- Part 5
• Chapter 9: Brand new Day.
• Chapter 11: A Waste of Oil
• Chapter 13: RECYCLE/REUSE PART 2
• Chapter 14: Weak Sunlight
• Chapter 15: Scenery
• Chapter 22: On the Skyway

Those are the ones that I seem to have the main issues with, but I'm going to focus on Chapter 11: A Waste of Oil and Chapter 14: Weak Sunlight to reduce the waiting time before the next chapter.
Re-writes are mostly done. What are you waiting for? New chapters are already being made


Also for the new readers, I have a fun fact regarding the OG name of the Vandal before I removed it due to lacking a way to implement it organically: Serklis. That used to be their name. I couldn't find a way to incorporate it into the re-write, so as a memory it shall stay.

 

[Gideon020]

Interesting. I hope your Eliksni gets a nice collection of exotics.

 

[Razgriz-Saren]

I am majorly excited for this keep up the exellent writing

 

[FloraRead]

A Way Out
I had not though an "escape" plan would go so poorly. Especially when I'm not being held, prisoner.
To clarify, I had been found looting the ether from a dead servitor found near Failsafe's core, something, that, in my lack of knowledge, was apparently heresy to the Fallen.
Heresy, that, in all frankness, seemed to be punishable by death.

The problem wasn't getting out of the cave. I had in fact, discovered before having my suspicions about being on Nessus and not on Venus that it was possible to "cheese" the jump by heading to a vantage point, above several containers. On the negative side, my legs, back, and neck now hurt, but at least I made it out. Falling into a glowy blue pit can't be good, especially when I seemed to be in a Vex planetoid. Most of the time, it was best to not know what was in the bottom of these bottomless pits. Ignoring the tangent, that was not the main issue at the given moment.

The honour of that would happen to be the band of pikes currently scanning around for me. I'm not sure how well any aiming lesson I've had is going to help me when the standard-issue dreg handgun has no iron sights. Not even the kind that lights up. Guess that must be a guardian only thing.

So, to recap:

• I had discovered the location of a servitor that apparently was hacked to death. Probably Failsafe's work.
• Upon loading up two canisters of what I assumed to be ether from its insides. I am unable to tell the difference between the regular from the corrupted variety, which is why I hope to not turn into a member of the Scorned's "Undead Legion".
• Thankfully, the system for extracting the ether wasn't much different than installing a gas pump, or something of the kind.
• There was probably more left inside, but I lacked the containers to store more. I especially had to scram to avoid getting shot to death by the earlier mentioned Serklis the vandal. Guess this sort of heresy warrants death, because only more Fallen came in to join in the shooting while I ran as fast as these legs could take me

And that is, how I now find myself with an underpowered handgun, hiding from the group I had recently alienated, though entirely on accident. A good chance was, my plan towards requesting help from the only partially intelligent intelligence had just gotten a whole lot harder.

I could still hear the pikes going around in circles. And other than I was hiding behind some wreckage of the Exodus Black, not that it helped much as the ship was absolutely massive, I had absolutely no clue where I was, which, case in point, could only serve to make this situation worse. I had certainly not claimed anything, so I should still be in the gulch where most of the Game's Nessus' map takes place. Still, it was not a comforting thought, considering that without a map, getting lost was pretty easy.

The pikes' circle around the remains of the supership once more. And while, as demonstrated earlier, I had the capability of understanding their language, they appear to either, slurring too much, the pikes make too much sound, or I've become incapable because I'm not paying much attention to their conversation, being more interested to look at I'm not really able to tell much of what they say, but eventually, the three of them go back in the direction where they came from: through the cave where somehow, some of the Exodus Black's remains had somehow landed. Carefully peeking from behind the crates I had moved to cover the better part of an aperture of a ramp, I look for any other Fallen, or maybe worse: Vex. Just like when crossing the street, I look left, then right, then above and below, just to make sure. I was not sure what would happen if any of the said forces caught me, but an execution was likely on both ends. Probably followed by some post mortem memory uploads to the Vex hive mind if it was the probability focused robots that got to me first. To be frank, I was not keen on either, to be frank.

It seemed safe enough. So after some struggling, I had successfully made it out. I pondered what was the best course of action at the given moment, and after several minutes, I still was at nothing, and it would seem like I wouldn't really be able to think of much, at the given moment.

And so, with as much of a sigh as this body could even muster, I began looking through the wreckage for anything that might provide any aid to my situation: emergency firearms, whatever could seem to pass for a hard drive, perhaps a PDA that was not partially carbonized. It's kind of funny how I'm engaging in the activity the Fallen are best known for, without really being one myself.

Well, maybe not physically. But mentally, I was still pretty sure I was human. There had to be a difference there, somewhere.

...

More dirt-covered wires, cracked screens, useless (that is to say, not user-friendly) tablets, and even what seemed to be a USB of some kind. Or a rectangular rock with a port of some kind. It was frankly, getting rather hard to tell, especially, with my contemporary knowledge of technology. Might as well have half of the things here be magic. And my lack of any sort of bag or any other item I could use to carry things left me severely limited in that regard as well. At best I could carry what could be considered the traditional Dreg equipment, and some other, smaller objects of minor, or major, importance. I was unable to tell anyhow, whatever this technology was, it was far beyond anything I had ever interacted with before. At least I could comprehend how Dead Space's tech worked, all of the things I had found scavenging so far? They were alien, beyond my understanding... or just broken. That might be a valid possibility why they didn't turn on when I pressed on any button I was able to press.

It's hard to tell the time when the sky doesn't seem to change colour at all. Or the possition of the sun. It's actually kind of unnerving. So as I drift from parts of the ship remains to another section of the generational ship's remains, I do my best to void the sunlight. Not only to avoid detection (but the glowing eyes might give me away anyhow) but to avoid the bizarre abnormality that was the sunlight on this planetoid, because there's no what the sun should shine as brightly as it did.

I think it was around two hours when I found a (mostly) working terminal. It had a piece of the screen missing, and several keys were missing or broken, as well, but It booted on as soon as it hit a button by the side of the screen.

It's nice to know they made technology sturdy in the Golden Age, but could they have at least put more confidence in their fellow crew? Having a PDA locked behind a password was probably a sign of paranoia... or just keeping things private.

After all, you wouldn't want your friends to check at your collection of questionable practices.
However, that means that I'm going to have to try to bust my way into this apparatus the old fashioned way, and so, I input the master hacking code.
"𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙴𝙳"
Well, that was expected. Not many people use the almighty "1234" combination anymore. Now I'll try the opposite, after all, the possibilities for something like this failing was close to null.
"𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙴𝙳"
Should have seen that coming too, well, time to try using the username on screen. "Crew Member #342 did not exactly roll off the tongue (especially now) but the chance of this failing was close to none. It might have been easier to type it if the "W", "R" and "E" keys were not missing, but pressing the spaces where they should be seemed to do the trick.
"𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙴𝙳.𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙴𝙻𝚈. 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝙰 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚆 𝚃𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙽 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙿"
Someone must have been trying to bust into this thing before me. And failed. Miserably. It was broken now anyhow. I sigh as I resume my search. My goal? To manage to get the ship on top of Failsafe's core working once more, so I could... uh... I'll get to It when I'll get to it, right now. That just was my main goal. I needed the PDA to access the ship, I needed the ship to get off-planet and then? I dunno, hop around the solar system, hopefully finding supplies to which live the day by day. A better gun would be nice, as well.

"I think you broke it"
!!!
An English robotic voice. Female in tone. It most definitely was Failsafe, the ship's bipolar emergency AI. From what I understood, she was pretty mean when It came to it. This, right here, right now, was my best shot at leaving the doomed planetoid. Feigning ignorance might be my best shot at establishing a "relation" if it came to it. But then again, lying was wrong and pretty nasty. And I'm not sure Failsafe was dumb enough to fall for it anyhow.
"Youu... ship's ÆI?"
I curse myself internally for not trying to speak my second language earlier. I literally sound like an infant with a horribly scarred vocal cords, if the pitch was toned down low, very low. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't really understand what I was saying. That was something I would have to remedy latter, however. If I were to explain it, it would be that the knowledge was there, but the practice was not. It's like being mute for a year before speaking again. It just feels wrong, in a way. A pointed tongue wasn't placed in mind when the English language was designed, it would seem.

"No, I'm Failsafe! The ship's Failsafe. And like, great work at blocking one of the few Personal Data Assistants that was still accessible to anyone. I totally won't resent you for that."

And here came out the evil twin. I guess it's easy to piss a Failsafe off when you look like the hundreds of individuals all doing the same. Which lead me to ask: why me? I think I already knew the answer to that, but I needed to know, because if so, then that meant that by the virtue of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" we were conditional allies. Or at least, I hoped so.

"Apologiess, thoose were not my inntentions."

That was slightly better than before, but I wasn't close to my prior level of ability with English. Though stopping abruptly at the end did allow for the AI to interrupt me once more, which she does via a particularly loud sigh.

"I'm slightly more of a mess, thanks to you."

Oh shit. I needed to calm her down fast before I got deaded. I wouldn't be surprised if she somehow managed to rig something up. Or kept me in a personal "hit list". And I certainly knew that I was going to be one of the targets in one of the many Nessus adventures if I did not remedy that.

"As saaid priorr, Appologies. Was not my goall. I-"

"It's alright! I never forget those who wrong me. According to my calculations, you'll starve in two Earth days after your Ether supply runs out, which means that you'll starve in 22.335% of a circular rotation on Nessus! This will provide valuable intel on your species, I am very exited!"

Not sure that being excited was a good thing in this situation. That complicated things. She must have been checking on whatever coms the Fallen had, which probably meant I would be forever unable to re-incorporate into any branch of their society, as it would seem to be that dissent amongst fallen was rare enough to be noteworthy for an informationally hungry intelligence to merit her keeping an eye on me. It would seem like this is an opportune moment to present my request to take the shuttle off her hands, if she didn't only connect to the local speakers to mock me.

"If theere is annything that caan mmerit my continued existence... I'dd be glaad to assistt. I asssume youu know-"

"Of your exile? Of course! Though I assumed there would be more of a spectacle "

"Iss that sspeech normmal?"

"The emotional cores on the ship were irreparably damaged on the crash. If I had emotions, I might have been offended!"

That explained the mood swings, and why even if she could feel other things, she could only express it either joyfully or disgusted. Nice to know.

"Ah, soo... on my request for assistancse...?"

"Even if I allowed myself to assist you, you would perish due to starvation in 47 Earth Hours! They're dead, and their bones are dust."

Valid point, but I knew a way to stop servitors from exploding. Sure, that might doom several fallen to starvation, but in this situation, it is justified. The House of Exiles seemed like a poor choice, and if I could get the Ether production systems working, all would be good (or so I hoped).

"Servitorrs that have been shut down remotely ddon't exploodde. With some assistancce, I migght get the pparts required for the productiion off ethher, thus, extendingg my lifeespann indeffinitely, hm?"

"But friendly dreg, you do not possess the computational abilities, equipment, or anything similar to perform such a task!"

"But yoou do."

"𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶?"

I push away the raspy voice, extended consonants, and whatever other problems these vocal cords might have when trying to speak english. I need her to understand the following part.

"I'll try to find you a body, to get you back to Earth. I promise that."

 

[FloraRead]

A Way Out. Part 2

Failsafe sighs, evidently tired of talking though the unblocked PDA. Even if she agreed to help me, pretending to just be the AI linked to the PDA must be getting to her.

"𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘵?"

"Noot quiite."

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨."

I had been trailing a group of Fallen that had gone out with a servitor to collect spare organic mater to "convert" it to ether. Right now, I was less focused on the four dregs and two Vandals, and more focused on the servitor. It's a small one, a lightweight. Should have what I need. And If it doesn't, then I'm dead anyway. What was my plan? Well, to hopefully take out the vandals with line rifles before they managed to shoot me. I had no clue what they would do to unarmoured flesh, but I had a feeling the little rags that covered me wasn't really going to stop a sub-sonic bolt of electricity. Chances are, that would make me even more of an Exile that I already was, unless I played it smart, which, Failsafe kept reminding me, was statistically improbable. It leads me to believe that after all those years just looking at the vex slowly tear her apart, just observing and recording data on something else to predict behaviours was something that could be considered somewhat exciting.

"Maybe yoou should hacck itt firstt?"

"𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭."

And so, without much time in between the finishing of the sentence, the purple glow of the servitor flickered, it's levitations systems failed, and, after wobbling for a couple of metres as if it were fleeing from something, it fell to the ground, lifeless.
The Fallen, for all that was worth, panicked at the first sign of trouble. Screeching, and, seemingly, running away, expecting trouble. After all, the servitor they were probably meant to escort had (figuratively) seized limp and lifeless in what seemed like a moment, in the middle of a road. They were probably correct in their suspicions, but I wasn't going to come out of hiding just because they ran to cover.

"𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵!"

I consider the following words: "Shut up" but I go for the kinder:

"Nott yet."

There's that sinking feeling similar to that one of doing something horribly wrong. Like stepping on an infant animal accidentally, or suffering a freak elevator accident. I could not change what I had done. At best, these Fallen might be reprimanded, at worst, they become exiles too, and they're probably going to gun for my head to re-earn their captain's favour. It was sad, disappointing, and raw, but their society worked that way, and unless I became some sort of leader, which won't happen, as I hated holding power over others, it would work that way until every single one of them was dead. And even then, due to later events, it would work that way thereafter. Or so I think. I am not too familiar with Scorned lore. All I know is that they're reanimated Fallen.

"𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨! 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩."

"It'ss a last resortt, I addmitt."

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘛𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 4442 Earth 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴!"

That had to be more than ten years. For sure. Staring Vex probably got boring after some time. I had thought that just disrupting the status quo would be enough to stop her from trying to get me killed, but it would seem that she wants action. Explosions, gunfights, that sort of thing. Unfortunately for me, I cannot come back to life. Not without losing part of my free will in the process at least. Frankly, I'd rather not become a bag of walking tumours.

"It is... a lastt ressott."

Another annoyed sigh.

"𝘖𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘴."

It was then when an awkward silence stretched for what seemed to be several hours but ended up being several minutes. Even the environment seemed to quiet somewhat, the wind no longer blowing over the artificial, Vex made foliage. When I finally broke the silence, it wasn't on purpose, but out of the possibility that perhaps, the Fallen nearby might have found us, or rather, me. They might "Find" Failsafe speaking through the PDA, but they won't have much of a reason to assume she's anything but a personal assistant.

"Arre tthey gone?"

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨!"

Well, that cuts my time for action short. Quickly running out into the opening from behind the agricultural container and scrap I was using to hide, I dash towards the servitor. I needed to make this fast. Removing the knife I had woken up with, I tried to remove the outer shell of the thing.

"A litttle helpp?"

"𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳."

That sounded easier than it looked. My finger's hurt after so much inexperienced prying. Glad to know my skills in climbing and holding on to things has not transferred over. Fun times indeed, and my fingers now hurt. I knew it was worth it, but I'm unsure If I'd even be able to hold a knife well after prying a cover that was meant to be unbolted. Thin slightly whitish lines run down from the cuts provoked by tearing the servitor open. Guess I must have cut myself, but the wounds appear to be closing already. Maybe that's why most Fallen could stand being shot. It didn't hurt as much.

Guess I'll have to make sure to not get injured. I might not even notice if the cuts on the hands were any indication, it worried me, and it explained why Fallen didn't mind getting pelted with rounds until they were dead. Did they lack nerve endings?

I postponed those thoughts, however. I needed this now. I was not sure how starvation worked for Fallen, and I was not eager to find it out. I requested the following set of instructions. A quick "Nextt!" before I went back to pulling on wires and tubes. I knew they needed to be loose, but I had no clue what I was looking for.

"𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘏𝘶𝘭𝘭, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨!"

"And that is?"

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘥𝘶𝘩."

"Glaad to know."

Guess I was right on track after all. I hope none of those tubes had anything to do with the ether production, because as they stood now, there were cut and torn in several different places. Same with the cables, but I'm pretty sure the Exodus Black had plenty of viable replacements for that laying around. The main concern was the tubes.

The servitor wobbles and it's core, a roundish-metal-looking-thing, with an "Eye thing" comes tumbling out from inside of the servitor. I almost would feel pleased with myself was it not for the fact that my hands feel even less than before. Guess touching an apparatus that has been on for who knows how long might actually prove detrimental to one's health, especially one's hands. I'm not sure if I can even get blisters anymore, but having skin that could be considered to be quite dark in shade turn pale and mostly floppy could not be good news.

"𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘺!"

"Tthankks for the waarning."

I had little time left, and I also haad giant, spherical thing to carry, or roll. I didn't matter anyhow. I could already hear the engines of the pikes, my alternatives grew shorter by the second (not like I had that many in the first place). I draw out the underwhelming handgun I had woken up with, and hope for the best.

 

[Cmmdfugal]

well now this is different.

I do hope you make good on your promise to failsafe.

otherwise...

words will be had.

other than that I do like this and cannot wait to see more.

 

[FloraRead]

A Way Out Part 3

I'm glad I didn't have to kill anyone. Apparently, just hiding is a pretty alien thing to Fallen. "Why hide when they didn't finish taking anything?" kind of deal. The thought of stealing a pike did run through my mind when the Dregs were investigating the Servitor's remains, but otherwise, we (me and Failsafe) kept mostly quiet, and soon enough, they left once more. I agreed, mostly to myself, as Failsafe was the one that wanted gunfights, that perhaps it was best to avoid conflict at all costs. I couldn't even feel the burns on my hands, and I'd reckon the same applied to being shot. I did not want to die unknowingly, which would be pretty easy. But if that was the case, why did my legs hurt after I jumped? Questions for another day, it would seem. I broke the silence once more.

"Do youu knoww where tto plugg this inn?"

The worst part about talking now was not that the sound came from a throat, or anything similar. After paying closer attention, I realized it most likely came from somewhere else. I found it hard to believe I only learnt how to chatter in a day or to reproduce sounds merely by vibrating different bodyparts at the same time, like cicadas made sounds, it would appear. I missed my old voice.

"Sure thing, friendly dreg! Vex mind fluid is able to power devices and other apparatuses for longer than I've been active for! And like, I'd like getting payback for what they did to my crew."

"Iss it really nessesarry to ennter figghts I cannnott winn?"

"It's a safer alternative than getting repurposed by the Vex radiolaria streams!"

I wasn't too keen on that.

"Thaat'ss a yess."

Punny, inaccurate, handgun vs a bunch of emotionless, time travelling, reality-warping robots, no way this could go wrong. Totally. The probability of getting reduced to atoms suddenly seemed way likelier than it ever was while I was still resting on a bed instead of a cave. Considering it seemed to "turn off" if killed by a hit anywhere but their "milk container" it sounded like a pretty hard task. And unfortunately, one that I was unlikely to survive if I were to use anything but the "Handgun" I had. Just like replica soldiers, Vex never went alone, but unlike replica soldiers, they did not put as much of a budget in making them seem competent. Of course, that led to some questions now, but if they behaved the same, then they should try to overwhelm with sheer numbers, if not, I had no clue, but I was probably dead either way.

"SSo, how ddoes thhe machinne worrk?"

"It's actually pretty simple, friendly dreg! It blends organic compounds into it's basic components, before re-structuring them into a mix of Dymetil Ether, sucrose, loose proteins, vitamins, and hormones required for your survival! It's not something I'd give to my crew."

Glad to know that this was a bioprocessor. Not like I could have deducted that myself, but... how did it work? I had no clue how to operate this thing, especially without AI support, and that boded poorly for my stay in this version of the solar system. My hopes for the future, no musical reference intended, were the opposite of being "high".

"I meantt, hhow to opperatte?"

"Simply power it up and do not interact with the processing chamber! Unless you plan on losing it. Bioprocessors were one of the things the exodus black possessed when it crash-landed onto Nessus!"

"Whatt hhappenedd to itt?"

"Your species took whatever was not in the process of being assimilated by the Vex! It made me very upset."

"Appologiess fromm my behalff, thoughh I am unssure thosse who took the eqquipment feel tthe same."

"Your apology will be accepted when you provide the body you promised! I want a body!"

Damn. On the plus side, I knew how to fire up a safety-less blender with some tubes sticking out of the side. I would have to find a way to keep the Ether pressurised, but that was an issue for later. Or was it? I still had two days Ether supply, and I could theoretically find a way to keep it pressurised, should Failsafe decide to assist me so. Considering I am her only shot at getting a body at the given moment, I wouldn't be surprised if she did. I eye the leaking ether from the main channel tube, and the multiple places I had cut it in my earlier desperation. That didn't look too good.

"SSorry forr asking, but ddo you possess any knowleddge on how tto keep the contents pressurisedd?"

"There was a set of un-used pressure units nearby! Unfortunately, the sensors would appear to have stopped working. I wonder who could have done it?"

"Appologies in addvance iff it wass my kindd"

"Your assumption is correct, friendly dreg! My electronic disguise works only on the Vex! Mostly."

No wonder why peeps shot Fallen on sight. Their society seems to produce an excessive amount of insufferable assholes. I hope to not fall in line, but I have faith that I won't. Also, by electronic disguise, did Failsafe meant that she's using a virtual computer to appear to be just one more unit in the vex hive mind? If so, that was pretty clever and particularly fascinating, not something I had considered at all. Maybe that would explain how she was able to falsify a login key for that adventure. I don't think it wouldn't stop her from getting assimilated, due to her immobile status, but impressive nonetheless.

"𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘴? 𝘖𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 "𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵" 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 [𝘙𝘌𝘋𝘈𝘊𝘛𝘌𝘋] 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴!"

"Iss thatt... Earth years, rrightt?"

"That is correct! Nessus's unstable orbit and Vex manipulations make it an un-usable tool for measuring time accurately!"

That's nice to know.

"I gennerally ttry to avoidd violencce. Charging wildly ends badly, I've seen. Gettingg promotedd doesn'tt seem as importantt when you cease livingg."

It got pretty quiet after that.
Kind of worried me.

"Well, are you heading to get that equipment or am I going to have to find someone else?"

I got moving, bare feet on bare dirt.

 

[Tel Janin Aman]

Always nice to see more Destiny stories, hope you keep going.

 

[Cabochon_12]

Loving the dynamic between Failsafe and our nameless Fallen

 

[FloraRead]

A Way Out Part 4

A sweet taste leaves my mouth. I certainly hope that's not the ether flow.

Finding the discarded, mangled spacesuit wasn't the hard part, what was quite hard was assembling some sort of "pump" for the Ether canisters. Turns out I needed a welder for that- which Failsafe pointed out was another reason to go mangle some Vex: Slap Rifles could double as welders, according to her.

"𝘐𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘣 12 𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘝𝘦𝘹 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘙𝘪𝘧𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴! 𝘈𝘯𝘥... 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦. 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺!"

"Thatts harddly commforting."

My concerns about the vex having spotted me already and they're just bringing more numbers grows when two harpies are transported in. Nothing good. Maybe I could rush in, stab a Goblin in the stomach until he kind of just exploded, and then ran back after scooping up his milk? (Gross.) I knew this gun couldn't aim for shit, and the knife made more of an impact on the wall when I was testing both of the weapons I had woken up with. Safe to say, this thing was pretty underwhelming.

The marching of the machines unerves me. I know they're not doing much but recording the soil, but they absolutely could shoot me full of holes. Something that, to be frank, I was not too eager to experience. Maybe removing the arms of a goblin and kidnaping him to... no, that wouldn't work. The Vex would know where I was making a refuge for myself. And that was anything but good. So, the original plan was the best plan. Glad to know.

I peeked from cover again. None were close enough to do a hit and run. Unless I wanted to harvest what amounted to less than one gram of radiolaria from a Harpy. So, back to waiting, I went.

I stored the handgun I had woken up with and looking at the three-fingered hand which I hoped, I would never learn to recognize as my own. The burns and the cuts provoked by the servitor had long since been scared over. It had happened surprisingly fast too, and even if they had left their marks in a slightly less dark brown "skin" over the earlier incident, even the "skin" (I wasn't sure what to call something that seemed like rubber and leather at the same time, so skin it will stay) that had been peeled over by the burns had re-grown itself.

This was all good and fascinating. So I decided to give the scars a poke with the hilt of the knife. I definitely felt pressure when I poked at it, but no pain. I flexed the fingers some, just to see if there were any tendons under the skin, and to my surprised, there were! I could see them moving when pulling a stretching these fingers. It might have been even more interesting... if I was not the one doing said movements. I missed my regular, fleshy, human hand. With the weak skin and the five fingers and the fingernails and a lack of claws. The kind that could actually feel texture and heat. There was probably a null chance of ever getting those backs if this was "real" though.

Silently cursing at whoever designed these canisters to have no indication of how full or empty they were, I realize that the lack of a sweet taste probably meant a lack of Ether. I remembered Failsafe's chatter on how Ether was just a bunch of things mixed together, and one of them was Sucrose. A sugar. It didn't explain why it tasted like antifreeze, but I do not expect alien vitamins to taste like human ones. Disconnecting the empty tank from the ain Ether flow, I place it to the side. I was probably going to use it to store the Vex Milk, especially considering how wide its opening was without being locked. I try to carefully connect one of the canisters that I had known to be full to the "respirator system" from where I had removed the empty canister.

The fizzling sound of pressurised gas flowing into empty space sounds pretty loud when considering the relative silence the grove was in before.

Peeking from behind cover once more, to make sure no one had listened to that small mishap. Thankfully, the Harpies appear to be imitating jellyfish, and the Goblins keeps scanning whatever is closes to them. One had been scanning the boulder I was hiding behind. I'm suddenly not so thankful anymore. Safe to say, I'm pretty sure he spotted me.

It would seem to be time for action, once again, grasping the dreg handgun I had woken up with, I prepared to charge sneak close to a goblin, shank the shit out of his stomach, collect his radiolaria, and to run the hell out of there. It sounded easier than it actually seemed, especially when you didn't have infinite one-ups. Leaping at the goblin that had spotted me, I execute the plan.

Either due to surprise, hardware limitations, both, neither, or something else, the Goblin barely manages to raise it's own firearm before he has a knife sinking into his... stomach? Radiolaria container? I had no clue, but I kept stabbing until his eye shut down, and he went limp. I tried to scoop up as much as I could from his insides before the rest began shooting at me. Soon enough, they began doing just that.

Now under fire from multiple entities, that were, unfortunately, tearing the remains of their ally, and my mobile cover, to sheds.

I don't think I've ever run as fast as I had done that moment. by the end of it, I had obtained a more precise gun, that was best to use as a welder, and around two millilitres of that.... white thing. Mind fluid.

"𝘕𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨! 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘹."

"I preffer life, thankks forr the offerr."

And Indeed I did. I'm not sure how detrimental is death to one's personality, but I can't think of it but being really bad. Speaking of awful, bad, absolutely terrible things, I was not quite sure I where I was.

"Appologiess forr askingg, but... do youu happen to knoww the way back to thee servitorr? I believve I'm a tad lostt."

 

[FloraRead]

A Way Out- Part 5

My hesitation in welding without a welding mask is not being helped by Failsafe. Her "calming remarks" would seem to only increase my hesitation on the possibility of sight loss. I like seeing. That's a fact, not a statement. I cannot imagine even getting out of this "hidden room" under a ramp if I can't see. Especially not past the stacked dirt crates.

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴: 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘹𝘺𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳, 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 12.3% 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰."

"I likke sttanding outt."

I bite the bullet. That is to say, I set the Slap Rifle to "Low" and "Continuous", place the remains of the torn circulation system on to the tube leaking ether, and apply the overheated flame onto both of them.

It doesn't really shine brightly. It shines blindingly, it stings to just look at it. I do finish the work, but I certainly wish I had stopped earlier.

Letting go of the tools squeeze my eyes, trying to get rid of the after-images. Do Fallen have better light reception? It would explain why something that might be "mildly" uncomfortable, was now "incredibly" unbearable. I barely register Failsafe talking, I'm too absorbed in trying to make sure I did not burn my eyes to the point where I can't see. "Great Job" is probably the least I expect, but damn past me for even considering to weld without protective equipment. Because it stung. A lot. It really hurt and that was probably an understatement.

"-𝘨𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳: 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?"

I let the words sink in. I did not expect an apology

"DDoes tthatt mean we're evven?"

"𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨?"

Have I screwed up?

"Onn tthe whole having my kkind "tear you appart"?"

"𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦?"

"Nno no no! I mean be-"

"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺."

Glad to know. I don't know how I'm gonna come back from this one. I'll try to not mention Failsafe's dilapidated systems in the future.

On another note, I'm glad I have not lost eyesight for nothing! The welding is a little shoddy, but I think It looks pretty good. Anyone who says otherwise can just go ahead and suck it. I'm proud of this thing, even If I have no clue how to operate it.

"Soo, hhow do I powerr tthis apparatus?"

"𝘎𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬?"

"TThe Vex one, rrightt?"

"𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘉𝘪𝘰-𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳!"

"Eye shaft?"

"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳!"

"Where iss the "Mainn Shaft", thenn?"

"𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨!"

Was doing this partly blinded a good idea? Probably not, but I was going to do it anyway. I'd rather not have the future version of myself stall over such a task for literal hours as I had done with the welding.

And so, with supreme care, I discovered the mostly hidden hatch, off to the side. of the main chasm that was the Servitor's eyehole. It didn't take much force to push it open, and from there, I practised dripping some drops of said milk at a distance, and then, it was less of practice, and more of a "trying not to lose a hand or the very hard to replace milk". Pouring two drops, I am content when they both land, and apparently, that was all that I needed. The purple glow of the servitor returns, as the hatch automatically closes, causing whatever extra drops that were going to have pored down there. It whirls, less grinding, and more like struggling to move around...

Servitors are not... sentient, are they? Because if they are, this is probably going to be some pretty terrifying last moments.

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨!"


I hit it with the back of the slap riffle, hard. Soon enough, the purple glow loses focus, but the machine, in general, remains on. Some whirls and clicking stop, but the smooth sound of air being blended persists.

"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵."

"I amm nott much of a... technology expertt."

"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨! 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧."

"Nnot going to complain aboutt that."

Now, on the list of problems, I need to get this hunk of metal to the ship above Failsafe's core, the opposite was also valid, get a better firearm for obvious reasons, and get out of this planet to begin getting Failsafe a body. I hope she has a clue on what she wants, because a frame is too simple, and I doubt that there are blank exos just laying around. Still, a promise was a promise, and I was unlikely to ever forget such a thing, though I certainly wished I had a way to write it down.


Exiting from under the ramp that I was using as my shelter, for now, I recollect on the events of the past day.

It's amazing to think all of this just got crammed in one day. Probably more. I had not rested since I had woken up. I did not feel particularly tired, but the lingering desire to sleep had become present somewhat recently.


The afterimage of the stupid decision of welding without goggles haunts me still.

"Failsaafe?"

She sighs before answering. It's the first time I've heard it being followed by a...
"𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩?"

"Mindd iff I borroww tthe shipp thatt iss aroundd the largestt concenttrationns of rremains off yourr shipp?"

"𝘕𝘰! 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘵? 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯... 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥."

"RReplacementt?"

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩!"

"But I don'tt breathe oxygen."

"𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘌𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 74! 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵."

 

[Cmmdfugal]

and suddenly i am reminded of why failsafe is so dangerous yet lovable.

 

[FloraRead]

A formal apology for the amount of spelling and grammar error in the prior part:

In conclusion, listening to king crimson while downing five cups of chamomile tea are probably more effective at making me drowsy than boredom. I'll try to not let this happen again. Today's chapter will (hopefully) devoid of said mistakes, as I'll be downing 5 cups of coffee and listening to MGMT instead.

 

[FloraRead]

A Wing and a Prayer

All things considered, the ship was in a better state than Failsafe had made it seem. It still had most of its furniture (4 seats) which led me to believe that either, this place was under severe lockdown, or that the Fallen had not yet gotten to ransacking the place. It even had a bookshelf, an aerospace helmet (it was cracked, but my dreams of becoming a spaceman could never be absolutely true anyhow), and a medkit! I mean... two of those were useless, but the pilot's manual might at least help I don't crash and burn if Failsafe goes offline for any reason. It was more or a preemptive plan. I reckon she's too invested in getting a body to allow that to happen, but still. I'd rather not risk it. Especially considering the list of locations I had planned to visit. First was earth, obviously. I needed some wood to keep the Ether flowing, and considering I was two canisters short now, I did not want to starve. The second location I wanted to pay a visit to was Eucledeanus. I was never much of a guy for lore, but that blew my mind when I stumbled across it while browsing the internet. Then I discovered the ARGs, and I was never amazed again.

While checking through the bookshelf, the built-in thing with sliding polymer planes, I discovered a set of blank books. Were they meant to be crew diaries in case of disaster? There were eight of them, so why only four chairs? Were the other four stolen, or were evacuees meant to each have two of said blank books? Questions to ask Failsafe at another time I guessed.

In any situation, the second cabinet kept hidden behind it's opaque, white, plastic, a set of pens, a small collection of classical literature, such as Moby Dick, two Assorted Volumes of the Sandokan series (talk about niche, not that I was complaining), A Stranger Calls, amongst others, similar novels... or plays. There were a couple of titles I did not recognise, but I was, all and all, a tad disappointed by the lack of new literature. I'd assume that humanity would have produced more books during the golden age, but alas, this did not seem to be the case from what I've seen. I try not to touch the books more than I need to. I'm not sure if I have developed the dexterity to not rip off a page or two by messing about.

The window, the only one there was, really, was caked in long dried dirt and scratched all over. It wasn't easy to see through it, but I assume that I could hopefully clean it without falling off to my death. This ship, was after all, on top of a bunch of wreckage. The insides, while dusty and worn, were a different story. Other than one of the seats, which I proceeded to find out that it was reclinable, upon sitting on one, everything was in nearly perfect state.

I sit on the pilot's seat and just admire the view.
It's not particularly pretty.

One could say something about finding beauty in ugliness, but apart from some red trees that were not trees in the distance, all I can see is the remains of a large colony ship and dirt.

If I'm lucky, I can even spot a Skiff de-cloaking, before vanishing into the air once more. But I don't get to see more than two during my stay at the pilot's seat. Reinforcements? Equipment? It's hard to tell from up here.

The servitor? I had brought its remains back on. Turns out I needed just a transmat beacon, and it was far easier to find one in Fallen hands than one would expect. Turns out they have some knack with turning them into short-range teleporters, for some reason. So I had, with a little help, managed to set it up to bring the thing back on?

The climb up here... it was particularly precarious, if I'm being totally honest. Loose hand and footholds, no shoes to speak off, and three fingers in each hand with claws made holding on... not particularly easy. On the plus side, I am either lighter, or stronger than expected, and being able to hold on tighter on to anything than I could while climbing up here probably save my life. Once. Maybe twice. I wasn't used to climbing without a belay or missing two fingers.

I look out the window once more and wonder when Failsafe will resume contact. After the incident of earlier, I've been trying to not push limits too much. I'm not even sure if she considers me "Crew" or "Insect Alien Monster" or whatever different category the rest of the Fallen fall down under. I'm not really sure I want to know.

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘹 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘨?"

Unexpected but manageable.

"I'vve been getting ready tto sleepp, after checking out tthe shipp."

"𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴?"

"WWaitt, why?"

"𝘋𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘯𝘪 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺, 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘬𝘩𝘴 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵!"

"Oh..."

That's all I say in respect. And shortly after that, silence falls in the cabin once more.


The floor of the ship is polished metal, much like the walls. It's only now that I pay attention to how my feet sound when walking on such a surface. Claws colliding with the floor, and instinctively, they try to claw into the ground. Like a muscle cramp pulling a set of fingers close, I cannot really control the movement. It's something that happens.

Boredom and anxiety eat at me. I eye the books, the empty, blank ones.

If I was going to waste away for a month and a half, might as well make sure I left something of the original, me.

The ones that came after were not going to be any less real, but... they wouldn't really be me. Some memories would stay, some others would remain. I wasn't sure if I could even remember my name by the end of it.

I grab one of the blank journals, I feel it's weighed and the pressure it pushes back on my hands, but the texture might be beyond my grasp.

I begin writing.

 

[Scurra71900]

Thanks for the update!

 

[Razgriz-Saren]

Im just getting question marks for Failsafe's speech that intentional or is my computer dying?

 

[FloraRead]

Im just getting question marks for Failsafe's speech that intentional or is my computer dying?

Click to shrink...

Damn, that's the problem with aesthetic fonts. Some devices can't reproduce it. I assumed that after checking it on my phone, tv, and computer it should have been good. Let me see If I can get you the list of quotations for you to keep up, and I'll try to find a way to make her speech different without resorting to plain old Italics. Do you have a discord account I can send the images of the chapters to, or anything similar? I'm relatively new to the forums, so I'm unsure I'll be able to send it via DM.

 

[FloraRead]

Due to privacy reasons, some names, locations, and relationships have been changed. I value my privacy as much as the next guy on the internet, which is to say I value it very highly. I hope you enjoy the chapter.
............................................
A Wing and a Prayer Part 2

It's.. hard to begin writing this, to be honest.
I've met people who died to Alzheimer's, but this isn't the same, isn't it? I'll eventually stop, but is the person that wakes up tomorrow going to be the same, or the one that wakes the day thereafter?
I wonder if this is what people who suffer from Anterograde amnesia suffer from. I knew how they dealt with it, somewhat, but would I remember that tomorrow? Or the day after that? But this wasn't quite like this either, not really.
The memories lost, as far as I knew, were random. No pattern, no choice, just bam, gone.
Would I remember my name?
I knew it well. Iago Rodrigez. Typical from where I came from, but my name. It had that sort of smooth ring you could expect anyone to have. I didn't feel restricted by it, rather than how I wore it around. I knew Eduard certainly did, for reasons unknown to me.
Would my date of birth still feel like my own? The eighteenth of October, of the second millennia. I knew it was more akin to a twelfth millennium, since the birth of civilization, but really, not many considered that an appropriate beginning to a timeline, for reasons beyond me.
I... have, I think. I'm not sure if they could be considered dead, or something similar, I'm not sure if they even existed here. I knew no cases similar to this, in fiction, and otherwise, but I have two siblings, one older, one younger. As in most things, I end up in the middle. Not that I was upset, I cherished both Dominic and Tamara a lot, but I wasn't going to see them again, wasn't I? I might not even be able to remember them after today, only think: "Who the fuck is that?" and just like that, people I've known my entire life would have just been gone.
The memories, the only thing I had left of them, would just vanish, like that.
I... live by myself. My parent's apartment. Kept it maintained, clean. When I didn't study, that was.
Would my cat wake up alone? I refuse to think about him further. I hope my aunt finds him before he starves. I did serve him a surplus, but it would only last for a day.
I hope she comes for a visit before then.
I have two cats. More like four, really, but two of them live with my parents. Patch, George, Ginger, and Sassy. I miss them all. The only Patch live with me, and Sassy was happier with my parents, but she exists in the apartment via painting.
I began going to school when I was five. I was placed once a year ahead, but it didn't last long. I eventually joined back to the norm, and frankly, I didn't resent anyone for it. It was just something that I failed at and needed to stand up from again.
I enjoy reading. Anything works, as long as it's interesting. I don't pick or choose. I stumble across half of the things I read most of the time.

You, me, we're both the same, in different points in time. One knows more, one knows less.

I know I will read this, eventually. But I need you to write what else you remember. Of my past, of our pasts. Please.

You'll miss it one day.


I don't know what more to write. My life, to put it bluntly, was never particularly interesting.

I was probably going to regret writing so little about myself tomorrow.

But I needed to detail what I was planning to do next, the knowledge that was going to be useful to a future, less knowledgeable version of me, rather than. details I might miss the latter. A sense of direction is always the most valuable thing to have, when one is lost, I think.

I just hope I can still understand this tomorrow.

There are bad things out there. The Darkness, the rest of the Species you're now a part of. The Hive, I think they were called. They're probably others, and many to come. The Scorned I know of. Don't die, or you risk joining their ranks. The Cabal want anyone who isn't them, dead. There's one exception, but he's crazy anyhow. Beware these groups, these species, and unless I specifically write one of the few you could trust, always trust them at your own risk.

There are arguably a few individuals you can trust. Failsafe, for one, is the reason you're probably not dead. You're probably going to rely on her for a while, until you can learn to pilot and identify things for yourself.




If you find more, please write so down below. Don't do it to everyone though. Remember to always double, triple, and even quadruple check someone's validity before adding them to the list.
Here, I'm going to list possible allies. I'm not sure if they're going to be as friendly as you'd expect, or as affable as one would think of them being, but if I'm wrong, feel free to cross out their names. If not, still cross out their names, but place them on the prior list.
Cayde-6: Probably not a good choice. The irresponsible, uncharismatic, member of the Vanguard. An Exo, and one who knows how to use guns very well. Make sure you know how to speak English (can you even read this?) before you approach him. I have a feeling he's not very bright, and you might need to explain in minute detail that you're trying to make peace, not war. If you encounter him, good, otherwise, do not seek him out.
Ulden Sov 2: The reborn version. The original one is a pretty big asshat. It would seem not many people understand that your memories make you. He has little to none of them. As stated, wait until he dies, then comes back to life. I know you, from your perspective, think this is a pretty awful idea, and it probably is, but he needs a friend.





I don't know who else to add. I was never a big one on knowing the universe...

I think that's less confusing than "lore" anyhow.

...but I think you'll be able to find some more, in due time. Once you get comfortable I mean. Don't feel pressured to meet up with everyone. Not everyone is worth meeting, I always say.
I think it's also important to mention the only individuals not worth pissing off.
Any Guardian. They'll have your head off your shoulders in a punch and it goes without saying that just threatening them cuts your life expectancy significantly. "But past me," you say, "Aren't Cayde-6 and Ulden Sov 2 guardians? With the ghosts and everything?". Well, future me, they're the exception, not the rule. You can expect most of them to shoot first, take your stuff, dance on your corpse, and then proceed to forget to ask questions. Pretty sure most are mute, too.
The Hive: They're undead wizards who worship death and suffering. Pissing them off by existing is a given, but try to avoid being the focus of attention.
Probably the Queen of the Reef too. Who knows?


As for goals, you should remember the following above all: make this...

I consider what to write down, I conform with a simple...

...this solar Solar System somewhere worth dying for. Not saying that it isn't now, but there's a bunch of things that need to be fixed, I think. All and all, this place doesn't seem like a great place to live out your years. First, on the list, no priorities in specific are to get Failsafe a body. It's the first promise you've made, and you're going to fulfil it. No buts about it. Second, you're gonna find some SIVA. Probably on the (soon to be, I think) the Old Tower, the Vaults. But not to steal the thing producing it, no. Just a cup of the nanite... thing. It's to help you with a variety of tasks... probably. It's also worth antimatter in weight, so it's pretty valuable, so don't give it away. It's more dangerous than said antimatter, and while you might use it for minor repairs with the assistance of Failsafe, but after you're done with it, do a favour to the universe as a whole and throw it into the sun. It won't be missed. Following up, try to get repentance for the whole Fallen (Elikisni? Eliksni, thanks Failsafe) race. Turns out that in the past, they've done some pretty disgusting things. Remember that repentance begins with wanting things to be better, not trying to apologize for everything that has happened. It's sometimes easy to forget that. Lastly, while not trying to co-exist with humanity's remains, try to at least exist with them, not against them. The rest of the Elikni Eliksni is probably not going to allow this "pacifism" to go unnoticed, but build enough ether converters and most of the group will come swarming over. It's easier said than done, most things are, but I am sure it could be possible.


And lastly, I'd like to introduce you to the music I listened to while I still was you. Or you were me. It gets confusing.
I enjoyed them the first time, so I guess I'll enjoy it the second time just as much. I hope you're able to remember something with these. I have no guarantees, as my knowledge of memory loss is pretty slim, but all I know some stores. Nothing proved of course, but I just hope you'll be able to at least enjoy the sounds I have.
I think my favourite band, is probably Pink Floyd. I like the way they sound. The soloist career of David Gilmour is pretty nice too, but I think you would have figured out that with enough time. They sort of remind me of Camel, another band I really enjoy.
I like King Crimson. Most of their music is... interesting, but enjoyable all the same.
Radiohead is also nice, but for another reason. The sounds are nice, most of the times, but most of the times, it helps me think.
The rest blend together It's not like they fail to stand out, that's why I listen to them in the first place, but I have nothing in specific I have to say. MGMT, The Beatles, Miracle Orchestra, Temples, Ten Years Later, The Who, Rainbow (especially Catch the Rainbow), ABBA, Fleetwood Mac, Franz Ferdinand, Jack Stauber... there are others, but I don't remember names, exactly.

And that's all I think I hope this gets to be useful. I have never written for myself, and frankly, I don't think I'm going to be able to improve at it any time soon. Take care out there.

 

[Razgriz-Saren]

Nah man dont worry too much been getting the implication of their conversations which works for me. Exellent chapter by the way. Like that hes making Cayde style journals.

 

[FloraRead]

Funny thing: at the time I began writing this, I had no clue Cayde made journals. The version of me in the story is probably basing it more on how his studies on psychology have taught him to treat people with amnesia.

 

[Cmmdfugal]

not going to lie this was a disheartening chapter to read...i can only hope the damage is not too bad and hopefully you can go up to vandal soon.

 

[KenneGlitch]

Or, this is a big cop out, and because human software running on dreg hardware, he doesn't get a wipe.

 

[Spamcore]

I dont think its going to be THAT bad....but you have to consider this will happen everytime he goes to sleep then it starts to get worrying.

 

[FloraRead]

I try not to write cop-outs. I think they're lame, most of the time. Instead, I use a Random Number Generator and a timeline of my life. Also: do people actually do that? I mean, cop-out from memory loss. I don't know much about computers, but that you run a Mac on a Windows does not mean you cannot delete data, I think. I assume organic organisms work similarly (I hope).

As a side note, I've traded aesthetic texts for the Book Antigua font for Failsafe. It should be readable for everyone now.
..................................

Brand new Day.
"Welcome back to consciousness Friendly Dreg! I am Failsafe, the ship's Failsafe, and based on your writing, an Individual of significant trustworthiness! If I had more complex emotions, It would fill me with joy."

Failsafe? That was odd, to say the least. And I thought my dreams were the bizarre ones..
Did I fall asleep in transit? If so, to where? The stars roll past the windows, but I have no clue where I'm headed, or if I had already arrived.

Also, an important note: Writing?

"Whatt ddo you mean by writingg, Failsafe?"

"You wrote a recollection of your memories yesterday! While I am not against trying to choose a new name for yourself, picking a human-sounding one might give drive you away form any other Eliksni you meet!"

Did... did Failsafe spy on me while I wrote? I have flashbacks to that movie with the self-preserving AI. I didn't remember the name. Also, where did... Ah.
I see.
I placed it on top of the navigational computer.
Picking up the plain, leather-covered book, I check it's insides. I think I remember most of what I wrote. It's distant, like... I can't bring an example. Probably that day I spent walking on a beach with my grandfather and my dad. My dad... I remember his name. I write it down, for good measure. I make sure to keep away from cameras, and Failsafe, she notices alright.

"Why are you hiding your writing, friendly dreg! Reading things not written by the Vex is like, a nice change of pace."

"PPrivatte."

And so, the name of my father is recorded into the unforgetting memory of the leatherback book. To be protected from my sleep, my treasonous memory. And just like that, I place it back where I found it when I woke up. On top of the navigation system computer.

"TThis isn'tt Nessuss."

"It's Enceladus , Friendly Dreg! You told me there was a high chance of finding an "Empty Shell" for me! You'll regret coming here if you're wrong."

"II... comprehendd. Couldd you land me, FFailsafe? I appear to eitherr hhave never learnt, or hhave forgotten how tto opperate-"

"Sure thing! Descending the ship to the designated location now."

She must have completed my phrase. As the ship heads down through the clouds, I check my equipment: Two Ether canisters, A knife, an underpowered, nearly useless gun, and a... slap rifle, If I was not wrong. I wonder why the Ether canisters are full, but as I turn to the humming, my the answer seems obvious: the remains of a servitor, welded to the floor. I sure hope that was always there, because I didn't see any protective equipment, and if I did it, I'm pretty sure I was slightly blinder now.

The ship lands. And it even has little, stilt-like legs to keep it standing straight. I have no ladder, though, just a hatch that opens. Well, at least it's less of a jump than the one crossing the chasm was, it's still a jump, and my legs... they haven't quite forgiven me yet. There's a lingering ache, but it's close to nothing. It really doesn't act up unless I fall from somewhere, or I jump like I just did. Still, If past me wanted to come to this frozen, snowy, decrepit wasteland, it probably was because of something, and if he judged this was a great spot to find an empty body for Failsafe, then it shall be it.

The cold snow crunches under my bare feet, but the expected cold does not arrive. It bothers less than one would expect if I'm being honest. Maybe that's how they survived existing on the moon? The cold didn't bother them as much, and the lack of pressure probably was on a similar vein.

The wind, though. That did bother me. It goes snow in my eyes, making it hard to walk. The sky was clear, but the wind didn't care. I reckon it was going to better indoors if the ice had somehow not sealed the entrances shut. Even then, I had a... welding tool/gun.

I'm going to regret thinking that, arent I?

"... ...... ..ay ....... is .. ahead .."

"TThanks"

".. ..obl.. .....y D...!"

The static was awful. The connection probably was off worse. The skyscrapers have long, sideways icicles, shaped by the wind. The ground itself appears to have suffered similarly to the buildings, thick layers of snow hid the surface from anyone's looks.
I stare at the hole that comes upon me. It was evidently planned, no doubt about it, the buildings were built around it with it in mind. But why make a hole in the middle of downtown? Unless...

Sliding down the ramps created by the snow, I arrive in the flattest spot seen so far. My legs once again complain due to the stupidity of hoping the slope would have some sort of curve at the end, to translate the vertical momentum into lateral momentum, but it would seem it was not so. Two stories of a slide and no one could say I nailed the landing. I had fallen face flat into the metal of the elevator, hidden under a thin layer of snow, and my face, just like my leg and my hands, has joined the "injured limbs" club.

My suspicions were correct, then. This was a giant elevator. But for what purpose? Was it meant to go lower? Because two stories were a waste of space. Building a ramp would have been more practical by far.

I find the doorway. Or a doorway at an end of a ramp. Seems like I was right on the "Waste of space" theory. When you got money to burn and the tech to keep it running for decades, why not? It's not sealed. It would, in fact, seem to have been... busted out of. I pull out the stolen, Vex gun. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the lights were off, but I was glad I could see, somewhat. Everything was... greyer, in the dark. But I doubted I would be able to see in total darkness. So I was glad the knife when turned on, released some light. I kept it strapped to my belt, to keep a free hand.

I don't get halfway down the corridor meant for vehicles when I hear it.

The sobbing.

Bouncing off the walls, echoing through the hall. It's far, but not far enough for me not to hear it.

I arrive at the parking lot, water covering the floor, dripping from the ceiling, splashing with each step, and eventually, as I reach the reception, It stops. There is no water here.

I know someone is sobbing, and that sobbing might happen to be a trap, but I had to make sure where I was. I don't some attention to the logo plastered onto two of the walls I've seen so far. Two letters: a C and a B. Melded together, the two lines of text underneath long since being scratched away. It evidently was done purposefully, but why? Why scratch only the text and the logo?


The Reception office is in a similarly confused state: the cabinets open, papers missing, the computer smashed, but the seats were intact. The sobbing sounds closer, here. It's likely that whatever is causing it to be behind the closed door. Why was just the vehicle entrance door smashed open? Maybe whoever was crying their heart out would have some answers.





They don't.

The double door is open, the two-floor lobby stands proud, clean, but the walls have bullet holes, and the voice producing the sound? It's a recording, hidden behind the lifeless body of a legless Exo.

The gunfire begins as I take cover.

 

[Crembo]

Dreg has startled the witch!