No Snooze Button For the Dead

No Snooze Button For the Dead

What a tremendous warmth I felt… The fire that lulled me into the light. There was peace like I’d never felt before, a calm that rang through my ears as I lifted into the sky over the clouds and off of the wispy white tips. Below, fire raged and burned, driving back the night. I could see the stars, golden sunlight breaking the horizon as dawn greeted the world with gentle fingers spanning across the sky… Finally, peace at last.

***

“Guardian… Eyes up Guardian.”

My head throbs with a dull sense of aching. I’m coughing as I watch the vista of dusk melting into darkness, regaining my breath in subtle gasps. A figure comes into view while my eyes strain to adjust. It hurts to breathe, each time my lungs inhale and draw a breath I feel as if my bones are breaking. A floating cube with a glowing blue eye comes into focus—my eyes are still adjusting.

“It worked… You’re alive!”

I try to speak—I’d like to smash this creature into bits—but I’m still having trouble breathing.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for you…”

Some of the robot’s speech fades in and out, my ears glean through the sounds and words that stand out, but my vision seems to clearing up now despite feeling dizzy.

“I’m a ghost. Well, actually, I’m your ghost. And you? Well you’ve been dead a long time… So…” His voice drones on… “Why the HELL is this tin can still talking?” I tune out most of what he has to say. The numbness in my arms fade, followed by a tingling sensation until finally some feeling creeps back in. Each movement aches to life as my heart pounds and blood courses throughout my body. My nerves lash at my muscles who, in return, bark back a message “Too tired, try later.” The same response given with every movement I attempt. At first, I’m only able raise my arms. Clenching my fists, there’s something missing. The familiar feeling of longing to grasp the hilt of a blade returns. “I’m back! Great… I’m back.” Meanwhile, the ghost is still under the impression that I care what it has to say.

“This is Fallen Territory, we aren’t safe here. I have to get you to the city.”

Something about that word makes my head hurt… It sounds familiar, too familiar. “Fallen… Fallen! Vermin.” The mere sound of the word sends spikes of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The blurriness fades as my vision comes into focus. “Where are you?”

“This way, we have to hurry.” the ghost says. It was already halfway between where he found me and the door to the old wall—the one I used to help protect. It’s seen better days. “How long was I dead for? Centuries?” Each movement reminds me how stubborn my body is; it feels like I’m forcing fire into my muscles and ignoring the burn, but I have to find it.

“Hey! No, come this way guardian. We need you to survive! I’m not losing you a minute into your reviv—“

“Shut it! Dinky piece of junk… Help me look for my gun!” My raspy words spray into my helmet. It hurts so much to talk… My throat is so hoarse and dry it feels as if I’m breathing sand from my lips.

“You don’t understand, there is a Fallen hunting party no more than a few clicks from us. They’ll kill us—they’ll kill you!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Help me find Ganon, I know it’s here!”

The ghost flies back over to me. Toward the south I can hear the sounds of Fallen creeping toward us through old cars. Their spindly legs scrape along the metal as they draw nearer. Knees in the dirt, I’m searching the ground in a feverish attempt to recover my hand cannon.

“Guardian. They will kill you. You’re not ready to fight them yet—you don’t even have a weapon” The Ghost flutters over my shoulder, swirling around as he hovers in front of me. “Let it go. You’ll find more.” He says, this time with more urgency.

The ghost swooshes around to my face. Blue light from its ocular sensor bores into my eyes, causing them to sting. Wincing, I turn away. With both hands, I snatch the pesky robot in midair. Panicked, it tries to pull away. My fingers clasped around the body of the ghost and I squeeze the metal struts as it tries to escape.

“Listen you dinky piece of—“ Plasma screeches past me, just over my right shoulder, I lift my head and see the fallen leaping over the cars, their bodies masked in the sunset’s rays. Blue light pours from their direction and sails toward me, some shots whiz and crackle the air as they zip by. “The fallen seem to have made some upgrades, their projectiles have a crude tracking system now…”

“We’ll talk later. Move!” I let go and sprint in the direction of the open door.

The ghost disappears and I feel all of my body surge with a sudden tingle. “Did I catch a round with my back? My armor is still functional right?”

“Don’t worry, I’m still with you.” The ghost’s voice echoes inside my head and ringing through both ears. There’s no time to process all this, but everything feels familiar. I’ve never felt so much aching between my movements but I have to keep moving. My legs propel me through a corridor of rotting cars coated in a thick layer of rust. All around me, I can hear the Fallen clambering after me, their legs scraping the metal of cars as they cry out their hunting cries. My head is locked on a small black rectangle in the wall, a doorway tucked into the wall… Closer, closer, each footstep feels like I could topple over at any moment and roll into the wall. I jump through the threshold but loose my footing upon landing, sliding and skidding my armor against the concrete until I crash into the wall. From there I catch a glimpse of what’s behind me: a Dreg, a Vandal, and a Captain. Three flavors of Fallen spewing hot blue plasma my way. My body rolls into the stairs and scramble to my legs as a succession of rounds impact where I had been on the ground.

“It’s hard to move in short bursts of speed like this, each one leaves me winded and gasping… I’m only 115 years old, I can’t be this out of shape can I? Maybe being dead for so long really takes it out of you. Three flights of stairs later and my legs feel as if they’ve already been run through a gauntlet. After three flights of stairs, I’m out of breath. The doorway at the top opens up into a room where the scaffolding allows the fading sunlight light to bleed into the room and paint it a withering amber color. It’s a surreal feeling being back inside, when I was alive, this walk way served as the lookout for whomever was on duty to watch guardians leave or return.

“Okay, I need to find you a weapon before they find us.”

“What do you think I was trying to do out there? Scrounge for spin metal in the scrap heaps? I had a gun on my hip before—“

“Then when didn’t you look there to begin with? Isn’t that what’s on your belt?”

I feel stupid. It seems that my impulsiveness was the only thing that didn’t die whenever I did. On my hip in its holster I can feel Ganon sitting where it’s been the whole time.

“Looks like you’re good for something after all.”

“Quiet. They’re right above us.” The ghost chirps. The room grows darker as we move deeper into the wall toward the main channel. This open corridor was where munitions were carried via a vast system of conveyor belts throughout the wall. Here, a group of warlocks inspected and procured the sunlight for the artillery unit behind the wall. They were known as the “Storm Wardens”, the 28^th Legion Enchanting Division.

Great. They’re inside. In the wall ahead of me I can see some of the vermin crawling around and hiding in the shadows. They slide back into the shadows as soon I notice them… They were always better fighters in the dark, experts at hit and run guerilla tactics and laying an ambush. “They’re going to flank us.” I say to the tiny robot, turning left up some stairs and walking to a dim platform overlooking on of the massive open assembly area.

“Hang tight. Fallen thrive in the dark, we won’t. We need more light. I’ll see what I can do.”

The pain catches up with me again now that there’s time to rest but I suppress it by keeping my mind busy. I reach for the gun on my hip and take it out… The weapon is black, pitch dark and coated in a film of soot and rust. My fingers work to move the cylinder and unload the chamber but the gun is frozen, forever preserved in a layer of inky black muck.

“Another one of these hardened military systems…” The ghost’s words bleed into the dark while he looks around. The only thing working is my growing frustration at knowing that the Fallen are positioning for an ambush and I’m standing here with a weapon that doesn’t work… My knife! I still have my knife. I slide my down to my waist and reach for the hilt of my blade. Yep, still there. Like the hand cannon, the blade also never left my side. It feels My world is black aside from a few dingy lights on the floor to mark the platform’s edges. The ghost disappears, but he calls out to me as light flicker on.

“They’re coming for us!” Ghost calls. A noise sounds from behind me. Looking over my shoulder, a pair of Shanks, small lightly armed scout/support drones, fly into the open metal area and take up firing positions. “Here! I found a rifle! Grab it.”

“Rifle… Music to my ears.”

The Shanks open fire and I lunge toward the old weapon laying against a crate… A Khvostoc G7-02. My fingers cradle the grip –it feels like home. Lifting it to my shoulder, I instinctively sight through the holographic reticle. The fluid movement feels as natural to me as it did before. I squeeze a few rounds off at one of the shanks. The bullets tear through its metallic frame causing it to catch fire. The lurching body rolls out of control and spirals into the other one. The hovering drones explode in a clumsy fireball and sink to the bottom of the corridor.

“I hope you know how to use—Oh.”

“It’s good to have a weapon again.”

We moved down another hall where we see are shadows of more vermin dancing ahead of us. They can hear our footsteps and take refuge inside the rubble… Their silhouettes betray them.

I’m sprinting down the hallway now—achy pain be damned! I have a gun again. Two dregs jump down from the ceiling in front of me. I lay them out quickly with a few short bursts to their heads. The momentum builds inside of me, taking fire and retorting with each clambering blast of lead. It’s a language spoken only by those who fight… My mother once told me “A warrior should be well versed in death, it becomes their native tongue the moment they pick up their weapon.” Today, I’m speaking it again yet it feels like the first time: POP! POP! POP! HISS! BLAM! Reload. CLICK. It’s a language I plan to refresh in by practicing it regularly.

I’m coming up on larger room, running careless toward the entry. A Dreg leaps from the ceiling but runs head first into the blade of my knife… May I just reiterate “It feels great to do this again, to watch its blood drip from its throat is so therapeutic.” In an open area, four more are setting up for another ambush but it is I who gets the jump on them this time. I take two Dregs before the Vandal turns around –Just in time for all of them to feel my stream of bullets tear into their faces. I don’t bother to step over their corpses. I step on them instead. Their exoskeletons crack under the weight of my boot. I missed that sound.

“So weak and stupid, yet somehow they’re beating us aren’t they?” I say to the ghost, but he chooses not to answer me.

“There’s more ahead, keep it up” is the only response I get as I move deeper into the guts of the wall.

Up ahead on the top of a railing platform I can see something brown with a green light sticking out amid the rubble. “One sec. I see something.” says the little voice in my head –the impotent ghost never ceases to state the obvious. There’s a moment of hesitation here as I approach the chest. I can’t help this feeling in my gut as I stare down at the rusted metal frame. The only thing I recall is a green light swallowing someone and spitting out a mangled body…

“A loot cache. Let’s see what’s inside.”

“It looks Fallen. I don’t trust it.”

The Ghost flutters from my body and swirls around the structure, leveling itself with the light and casting a beam out onto the chest to scan its entirety from top to bottom. “You’re fine. It’s just a chest. Fallen store a variety of items in these containers.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they do.”

“So open it. You might find us something useful.”

“As soon as we get out of here, there won’t be an ‘us’ anymore. You’re a dinky relic who thinks it’s still useful. You’ve had your moments but there’s nothing I can’t do without your help.”

“Guardian, open the chest and let’s be on our way. Your disposition toward me is of little concern. So long as the Traveler needs us, I’m not going anywhere.”

I could argue with it or I may just end up beating sense into the tin can, but for now I retire my stubbornness and kneel to the container. “If this kills me. Do me a favor and let me stay dead this time. I was enjoying my nap before you came along.” My fingers work to open the seal which unlatches and spits out a glowing white polygon. My fingers draw in the warmth of the object and the structure takes shape to reveal a long white bodied sniper rifle with a decent looking scope mounted on top of the gun. I breathe in a sigh of relief and sight the gun like I did the assault rifle. “I could get used to this.”

“Told you. Now quit fussing and keep moving. I don’t like us being here longer than we have to be.”

“This is one of the reasons I need you gone, you’re no fun.” I say, getting back up and pressing onward. The sniper rifle is empty, I’ll find ammo for it as I go… Fallen carry all kinds of junk. Some of it is actually useful.

After clearing a room laid with traps—some kind of trip mines—and another large open area, I find myself in air duct large enough for a medium shuttle to fit in. Two rusted fan blades divide the section, one sitting stagnant and broken while the other cuts through light that feeds in from the outside. This fan spins in a ghostly fashion and only reminds me how empty this place feels. This room was a mere air duct between the main chamber of the wall and the Divide. It’s funny to think that this is one of the few places in this hole that still maintains the same purpose… Can’t say the same for every room. We make a right turn and follow a passage way until it opens up. The outside has changed.

Where I expected to see a munitions depot and a receiving area, I see instead towering platforms and structures that are unfamiliar to me. They loom over a land that nature has taken back, a land that somehow persists despite the death that tills the soil.

“This used to be an old Cosmodrome. There’s got to be something we can fly out of here.” The ghost murmurs.

“Not always… Before that, when I was still alive, this place was a receiving area that fed into the road where the artillery was kept. The 28^th Legion used to have control over this sector.”

The ghost is quiet, something is stirring in the picturesque night sky and I can feel the air rush toward us out in the open. The silence is ripped apart as a single orange light climbs into the night, my knuckles clench. I shake my head. “Talk about bad timing.”

“Incoming!” says the voice in my armor. I sprint into the plain and take cover behind the carcass of a tank—it’s seen better days. I had managed to scrounge a few bullets from the skirmish into the main chamber “Again. Fallen carry a lot of junk. Today just happened to be my lucky day.” A full magazine was all I had for my sniper rifle—four shots to make count. In the distance, a large Fallen starship shakes the ground as it comes out of warp space. The massive body of the ship tears a hole in the sky; a concussive sound wave billowing out from its hull as the massive brown hunk of metal comes out of low orbit and rests on a plateau further off in the distance.

My sniper rifle is loaded; I pull back on the hammer to chamber a round. My legs sprint to a large concrete gate before a smaller fallen shuttle sweeps over my left and hovers above a clearing that the ledge in front of me overlooks. I have the high ground, but probably know that I’m here. Might as well announce myself.

A mess of Fallen leap from the ship and onto the ground as I sight the enemies in my scope… At least two Vandals. Too many obstructions and too many Dregs to count, but there appear to be at least eight of them. Before they can dig into cover, I level the reticle of scope onto the head of a Vandal and pull the trigger. The moment the bullet leaves the barrel feels like an eternity… It sails through the air, a butterfly carrying death’s touch the moment it lands right between the Vandal’s eyes. Down it goes, the Fallen scatter into rocks and concrete girders to take up a fortified firing solution. I manage to pick off two more straggling Dregs who hesitated in the open for too long while trying to return fire; one didn’t even get a shot off and the other held the trigger as he tumbled to the ground lifeless littering the air with wasted shots.

“Like riding a sparrow…” I mutter.

“How’s this anything like driving?”

“It’s—never mind. We’re going to have to work on your metaphorical sarcasm.” I run for the platform’s edge and land in the hornet’s nest I managed to piss off. I don’t want to stick around in the open for too long—my instincts rush me into cover. I run into a building on the edge of a cliff, but I don’t bother checking to see if it’s occupied or not. One of the Dregs took must have refuge inside and expected me to follow. The beast charges from the shadows in the corner! Funny thing about sniper rifles… They’re built for distance precision, yet anything that gets in front of it long enough to pull the trigger drops like a sack of rubbish—even at point blank. This bastard ran right at me, daggers drawn, ready to tear my head off, but I couldn’t miss. My barrel reamed its chest with a bang: POP, CRASH, HISS. Underneath my mask I’m grinning… When they die up close you really get an appreciation for your weapon and the ability for it leave your enemy breathless.

“I can read your facial expressions through the armor mapping. This brings you joy?”

“Glad you can at least pick up on that.” I reply, sighting the scope on two Dregs who lob fire at me from across the field.

“You find pleasure in taking life?”

“I like to avenge it.” I say, pulling the trigger just in time to deliver a headshot and duck back into cover. They’re getting better at trying to kill me. Something rushes past the air toward me. A sparking blue rod lands a few feet from me. Yup. Too desperate.

“Grenade!” the robot’s voice cries out. I rush out of cover and run to the nearest girder I can find, it’s not much but the blast behind me gives them time to advance. I crouch and ready myself for another barrage. Just then, I hear something land on top of the girder. I look up just in time to see a pair for swords coming down at me. My body freezes as they come closer and land on my shoulders. The force of the electrical blades burns through my armor causing sparks from metal scraping metal. That hurt like Hell—typical Vandal going for the limbs instead of the head… We have something in common at least. As he readies for another blow, I jam the barrel of the sniper into his gut and pull the trigger. CLICK. My magazine is dry… Dammit! Again, the blades rush downward “Move you idiot!” Ghost’s cry echo inside the armor. I don’t hesitate. I roll to the right and pull out my knife, ready to throw it at the Vandal, but a searing pain shoots up my arm causing me to drop the dagger… Why the hell can’t I throw it? I used to be able stick vermin from ten yards out!

“Not the best time to explain to you, but your body hasn’t recovered from your death yet. There’s still some trauma with some of your more exotic talents.” Ghosts says.

“Mention that earlier then dammit!” The Vandal is relentless and his Dregs increase their advance as fire surges from their weapons toward me. I take a shot to the knee but it wasn’t enough to burn through the armor… I can’t help stumbling as I try to recover my knife on the ground.

“Your rifle guardian, use it!”

The Khvostoc is in my hands by the time I roll to recover. A few shots into the Vandal’s chest and he jumps back while the Dregs cover his retreat. My body is hurting but I push through it to recover my knife and get behind something. They know where I am, I’m pinned down, and I can’t do a thing from where I’m sitting.

“Guardian.”

“Not a good time! Running out of options!”

“You have grenades…”

Why am I not surprised that this piece of junk would wait until now of all times to tell me I had grenades? I reach for the orb on my waist and squeeze the arming mechanism. Peeking my head up, I lob it in the direction of the Dregs running to me… Fire explodes in a blazing orange light as solar energy incinerates the Dregs. Solar fire bleeds into their exoskeletons and in a matter seconds they’re consumed by the heat. My rifle but is lodged into my shoulder and I squeeze a couple bursts their way… Three down, not even ashes left to litter the ground with. My breathing is hard, eyes stinging with sweat as my arms clutch the Auto-rifle. I’m frantic to find where that Vandal disappeared to.

Scanning the area, my eyes see nothing out in front of me. The Vandal gets the drop on me again. The vermin must have used the Dregs as a decoy. I see him spring from the roof out of the corner of my eye. The sting of his blades sear into my shoulders for the second time causing me to cry out into my helmet! They slice through the woven mesh leaving gashes in my flesh. This pain forces the rifle to slip from my hands. It drops and slides to the other side of the girder—his strikes are too fast—this isn’t going well. Panting labored breath stains the inner part of my mask with saliva and I yell out “Die you wretched bug!” The pain works in my favor, adrenaline pumps into my nerves like a fuel-injected force of nature. He misses with his follow-throughs and I’m back on my feet with the hilt of my dagger clutched to my palm, knuckles white under the armor.

The hand holding his sword falls to the ground as blood gushes from its severed shoulder. He falls to his knees wailing at the loss of his limb. Pity died in me long before I too perished. In its place festered the need to vanquish, to reap the lives of the Fallen that took my mother from this world. They made no effort to spare my mother… Why should I show them any sort of reprieve for their sins?

I turn the blade down and drive it into his head. I don’t stop, I continue to pummel the cephalic appendage until he’s left with nothing but mashed brain matter leaking out of a shattered exoskeleton. Its carcass lays lifeless on the ground, but still twitching.

“Die you bastard! How’s it feel to lose? How’s it feel to have my blade in your skull, to know that I’m not afraid of you, to know that I won’t stop until all you roaches are nothing but splatters on my knife!” I don’t stop mutilating the head as my breath seeps from my saliva drenched lips nor do I hear the ghost’s voice in my head.

“GUARDIAN!”

“WHAT!”

“You’ve made your point… Move on.” One more strike. The Vandal’s head is nothing more than mush now, staining the dirt with gooey crimson pulp.

“Listen you dinky little nuisance. You do NOT call me idiot and you do not order me around. I have the body, I carry the gun, and I lead us.”

“…We work as one Guardia—“

“My name is Scythe. Learn it. And you’ve earned yourself a name too. Dink, short for dinky little smart ass. Congratulations, feel like we’re ‘one’ yet?”

Dink is silent. I can’t see him inside my armor but I can feel his energy as it tends to my nerves and repairs the edges of the gashes to cauterize the wound. The heat stings and I wince a little from the slow burn left on my skin. “Mind the minor discomfort. Haven’t had to heal anyone in quite some time.” I have a feeling he meant to do that. Great.

After taking a moment to let the ghost repair me, I search the Fallen for ammo, weapons, anything I can use. One magazine of Sniper ammo and two for my auto-rifle… It’s hard to breathe again, my body aches despite the numbing agents injected into my nerves through the ducts in my armor. The grenade reappears on my hip…

“It’s an extension of the Traveler’s light. So long as I’m able to synthesize his energy within you, you’ll only experience a minor delay between replenishing your grenades.”

“Handy. First useful thing you’ve done all day.”

“Did you forget the part where I resurrected you?”

“Piss off Dink. Did you bother to ask I wanted to be brought back to this forsaken hell of an existence? I was at peace. My soul had found rest. My light had settled.”

“You’re welcome… Scythe.”