Ignition Code
Ignition Code Lore: “I can decode anything with a grenade launcher.” —Saint-14 Ahrrha hauled a metal crate from the drop ship toward the haphazard Eliksni settlement. He moved slowly, matching the pace of his malnourished workmates. Though he had fasted during his trip, Ahrrha knew that his solid frame still made him stand out. He feared it would reveal him as the imposter and infiltrator he was, even while dressed as a House Salvation deserter. During the approach to Earth, Ahrrha had been overawed. The Last City looked like a perfect ripple of Light from above, dropped from the impassive form of the Great Machine. Ahrrha wondered for the first time in his life if the Spider was wrong about the Guardians. But his misgivings evaporated as soon as he emerged from the drop ship. Rather than living in a gleaming city of crystal, the Eliksni were packed into the bombed-out ruins of a former war zone. The area they’d been “given” appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Ahrrha sneered inwardly. Did the Guardians really believe that the Eliksni could be pacified so cheaply? That they were content to live under the boots of the Vanguard, gnawing at scraps? Perhaps it was true for fools like Misraaks, his Awoken-raised hatchling, and cowards like the Empty Weaver. But the Spider’s acquiescence would not be so easily bought. In fact, Ahrrha thought, the Spider could probably own this settlement within a year. The generosity and goodwill of House Light would soon crumble to greed and hubris, as they all did. And once Spider’s syndicate had a foothold, they would make the Vanguard pay. In Glimmer, weapons, Ether, and blood. Discover More Weapons Here – ext Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.
Chroma Rush
Chroma Rush Lore: Drink from the data stream. The Eliksni awkwardly shouldered its way onto the empty stool at the ramen shop and rested its four elbows on the bar. Maurice looked up over the huge pot of broth and, thinking a Titan in one of their ridiculous helmets had arrived for lunch, called out “Irasshaimase!” It wasn’t until he absently stepped to the bar that he realized who his customer was. Metal plating covered the creature’s forehead and the side of its face, ending in a nozzle that hissed a stream of blueish mist. A haphazard collision of heavy canvas and metallic weave draped over its shoulders. A Vanguard lanyard dangled absurdly from its neck. It was small for an Eliksni, but its angular head still towered above Maurice as it hunched over the bar. Four blue eyes looked back at him from above a lipless mouth. It opened, revealing rows of thin, sharp teeth. “One item ramen soup,” the Eliksni croaked stiltedly. “Please.” Maurice held his breath, tightened his grip on his pencil, and grinned. He grinned when he was nervous, and this seemed like as good a time as any. The Eliksni grinned back, nodded, and then opened its horrible mouth again. “I smelled it, and the smell was good,” it said. Maurice scanned the bar. His other customers sat frozen, their bowls of ramen steaming silently in front of them. He realized his mouth had apparently decided to talk on its own, as if nothing were wrong. He heard himself ask, “How spicy, zero to five stars?” The Eliksni had anticipated this question. “Spicy five stars,” it said, holding up one hand with three claws splayed, and another with two. “May I receive additional dead flesh, please?” “You got it,” Maurice said, his even voice betraying none of his tension, and he turned back to the bubbling pot of broth. Muscle memory took over, and he soon found himself placing a steaming bowl of ramen in front of the creature, who clucked cheerfully. Maurice took a half-step back. A small crowd was forming in the walkway in front of the restaurant. Some of the customers leaned in as their curiosity overcame their terror. Maurice noticed the woman in seat 2 needed more water, but it could wait. The Eliksni raised its arms tentatively, then looked to Maurice again. “What is the protocol?” Maurice found himself unsure of which pair of the Eliksni’s eyes to look into and focused on the ramen instead. “Well, you eat the noodles and pork and egg with—” “Egg,” repeated the Eliksni, enjoying the unfamiliar word. “—yeah, egg. You eat all that with the chopsticks, and you get the broth with the spoon.” Maurice saw how the Eliksni’s claws dwarfed the ceramic spoon. “Or you can just lift the whole bowl and drink it.” Maurice mimed lifting a bowl to his lips. The Eliksni nodded. Its claws tapped the metal on its face and the hissing blue mist ceased. The Eliksni held the chopsticks, tested their weight, and respectfully placed them back on the bar before bringing the bowl to its mouth with its upper arms. Above the ramen bowl, Maurice saw all four of the Eliksni’s eyes close. A long moment of tension fell over the shop, the silence broken only by a staccato series of hissing slurps. Finally, the Eliksni lowered the empty bowl. It breathed in as the blue mist resumed its thin spray. It looked toward Maurice. “I tasted all of it,” it said with deep satisfaction. “I am very thankful.” Maurice’s grin turned into a tentative smile. “Glad you enjoyed it.” The Eliksni stood and held out what looked like a small model of the Traveler. It glowed as it floated in the Eliksni’s palm. “Compensation,” it said. Maurice reached to take the treasure, then drew his hand back. “For new customers, there is no charge,” he said. “No compensation. Thank you for coming in.” The Eliksni cocked its head, then clucked and the model vanished beneath the folds of its cloak. It smiled at Maurice. “You,” it said, then cleared its throat with a rumble, “you are a—” and the five spirited words that followed were replete with hard consonants. In the confused silence that followed, the Eliksni nodded graciously, then walked through the crowd outside and deeper into the City. Discover More Weapons Here
Dead Man’s Tale
Dead Man’s Tale Lore: “Long, short, they all end the same way.” —Katabasis Gaelin-4’s war beast leads us through balmy Venusian jungle. Our rifles low, our Ghosts high in the canopy like sentry drones. “My vehicle is old. Needs maintenance. Been running too long without cutting the engine,” I say. Gaelin sends me a sideways look. “That shipwright still around? She used to make cider in the autumn. I swear, she kept us like a pack of strays.” I sigh. “No, I mean this thing.” I run my hand over my body. “Besides, you know I can’t go back there.” I straighten the leather wrap around my Tex-foundry rifle. “You know I literally tune myself, right?” asks the Exo Hunter. “Why? You’re immortal.” “And you’re not?” “I know, but I’m… slower. I feel slower.” “Uh huh.” “Just not like what I used to feel like. Not… spry. Not up here either.” I tap my helmet. “Tragedy. I feel for you. Have Gilgamesh tune you then.” I chuckle. “Yeah… he’d love that.” “You two having issues again?” I shake my head in a stiff, narrow lie. “You think we come back the same every time?” “I do. Straight from the manufacturer ,” Gaelin-4 says. “Sometimes I get the feeling… something’s different.” Gaelin stops and squints at me. I dip my head and let my hood fall forward. “Nothing I can put my finger on, just little things. Adjustments.” “You think he’s changing you?” Gaelin’s voice sounds more serious than surprised. I wait too long to answer. It’s not because I don’t know my answer, but because I want to feel like I still doubt it. I raise my head. Gaelin meets my eyes and looks up to the canopy. He leans his shoulder into me and drops his voice to a whisper. “My Clip’s a good one, but you need to realize Ghosts don’t know anything. Nobody does. They’re just like us. They get curious. They question. If you think something’s coming unwound, you need to sit down and talk it out.” “Wait… did Clip change yo—” “Please,” Gaelin scoffs. “You’re paranoid.” He turns to keep walking and calls back, “Life changes you. Same with them. I’m the only one that stays the same.” Gaelin raises a fist and we stop. His war beast sniffs the air and turns us east. We continue walking. “What’d you name the beast?” “Castus.” “You’ve been reading too many of the Spider’s books .” “Some of ’em are good.” I laugh. “Aren’t you the man that said anything you got tying you down can be made into a noose?” “Yeah, some time ago.” “You’ve been taking a lot of jobs with him ? Those Fallen?” “You’re one to talk, Emperor’s lackey . Some of those Eliksni aren’t so bad.” Discover More Weapons Here
Multimach CCX
Multimach CCX Lore: Friends are as companions on a journey who ought to aid each other to persevere. Lord Saladin sat at a small table, examining a holographic display of Cabal troop movements throughout the system. He was crammed into the corner of his once-spacious quarters, made small over the years by shelves full of ancient weaponry, trophies, dated tactical reports, and dusty gear mods. Like all old men, he told himself that the relics might prove useful again one day, but deep down, he recognized the clutter for what it was: fading nostalgia. A firm knock on the door roused his attention. He put his hand on his Sidearm and peered through the viewing port. It was Ikora, holding a brown paper sack. The Iron Lord snorted and opened the door. “Thought you might be hungry.” Ikora held up the sack. “Is Thai okay?” Lord Saladin ushered her in. “It’s all the same to me.” The Warlock breezed into the room and set about clearing space for the food. Though she said nothing, Saladin could sense her alarm at the state of his dwelling. Her eyes lingered in the mildewed corners. Her nostrils flared at the sour smell of his armor’s fur lining. Her fingers traced visible lines in the dust. She handed him a bamboo bowl filled with savory noodles. “How are you, Lord Saladin?” Her head tilted with earnest concern. “I’ll be better once Caiatl is out of the system.” The Iron Lord, who could field-strip any weapon in under a minute, was suddenly made clumsy by a pair of disposable chopsticks. The delicate utensils trembled in his massive, weather-beaten hands. “Zavala seems confident that you can force her withdrawal.” Ikora held her bowl and leaned gracefully against the table, having no place to sit. “Zavala’s optimism is more dangerous than Caiatl’s army,” he said and scowled. “But after peace talks fail, we’ll drive them out the hard way. We always do.” Saladin discarded the chopsticks with a frown and tilted the bowl to his lips, slurping the noodles loudly. “Of course. And after that? What will you do?” Ikora fixed him with a gentle gaze. “A vacation, perhaps?” Saladin gestured to the tactical hologram. “By the time we deal with the Cabal, it’ll be on to the next atrocity. Vex, Hive, Taken, Fallen, who knows. It’s always something.” He eyed Ikora pointedly. “When was the last time you had a vacation?” Ikora raised an eyebrow. “Fair point. But you’ve been at this a lot longer than I have.” “That’s right, I have.” Saladin’s retort was sharper than intended. He paused before continuing, “I’m happier out in the field. Battle keeps me fresh. Keeps me connected. It’s being here at the Tower, staring at these damn reports, listening to all this politicking that makes me tired.” “And what would you do if we won?” Ikora pressed her point. “What if we destroyed the Black Fleet tomorrow, and there were no more battles to fight. What would you do then?” Saladin scoffed at the Warlock’s nonsense. “Well, in that case… I suppose I’d take a vacation.” The two warriors eyed each other in stony silence, before breaking out in relieved chuckles. The moment of levity briefly softened the Iron Lord. “Don’t worry, Ikora. I’m fine.” The Warlock’s eyebrow arched as she surveyed the surrounding mess. Saladin held firm under her scrutiny for a moment, before relenting with an exasperated sigh. “If it’ll make you feel better,” he grumbled, “I’ll get some eager New Lights in here to clean up a bit.” “It would, thank you.” Ikora’s eyebrows knitted in concern. “You know, with Zavala stretched so thin, and without a Hunter Vanguard, I worry about our readiness. You know what’s coming. We need the Iron Lords now more than ever.” Saladin’s eyes drifted back to the tactical display. “I know it, young pup. I’ll always be here when you need me.” Discover More Weapons Here
Extraordinary Rendition
Extraordinary Rendition Lore: “My warriors fight not for themselves, or even me, but for each other.” -Empress Caiatl [Report by VanNet encrypted router] My friend and first, I know Her Royal Tuskiness is not my assignment, but I couldn’t help but catch the following exchange on my latest trip to you-know-where. If anything, it’s good for a laugh. Don’t let our favorite Praxic wear you down to a nub. If she gives you grief, you give her a swift kick from me. -C.Y. [Attached transcript.] RECORD: 30.10.15.C.Y.Report IDENTITIES: Advisor Taurun [A.T.], Empress Caiatl [E.C.], The Spider [T.S.] FILE//HID_CLASSIFIED//AUDIO [A.T.] The connection is made. Let the imperial record show that, on this day, the great Empress Caiatl, ascendant of Calus, slayer of Umun’arath, convened via radio message with the Spider of the Tangled Shore, formerly of the House of- [E.C.] Enough, Taurun. The scribes can add whatever flourishes they wish after the fact. [T.S.] Yes, let’s not waste time. I know you have more important matters to attend to. Matters that I would be happy to help with… in my own small way. [E.C.] I would no sooner seek aid from you than a war beast would from a bog-tick. Do you know how many thieves I’ve had to excise from my ranks? They debased themselves. Crawling about our proving grounds. Refashioning battle-trash into weapons. All because you tempted them with a flash of Glimmer. [T.S.] Ha! Me? Tempt them? It’s all I can do to keep them from flooding the market. [E.C.] This is not my first time dealing with war profiteers, insect. Though, if I squash you thoroughly enough, it may be my last. [T.S.] And here I thought I was doing you a charity, promoting Cabal entrepreneurship. I was told the empire was low on funds. [E.C.] Is that so? [T.S.] Your Majesty, I don’t know what advice you’ve been getting from your imperial hangers-on, but- [A.T.] How dare you- [E.C.] Quiet. [T.S.] But things are different here in the Sol system. Smash and conquer-like so many traditions of old Torobatl-won’t get you far. Ghaul found that out the hard way. The remnants of his Red Legion have learned to adapt. [T.S.] Let me know if you’d like to do the same. I’d even go against my own custom and consider a payment plan. [E.C.] How generous. But it seems I have no need. As you’ve revealed, I have untapped resources at my disposal. [T.S.] Whichever ones have survived your purge, yes. But weapons are not my most valuable wares, not by a long shot. If you’re anything like your father, you’ll be far more interested in the information I have to offer. [E.C.] Send your coordinates. We can discuss face-to-face. But tread lightly. I’ve yet to decide whether you’re worth my mercy. [T.S.] Oh, I’m honored to host Her Imperial Highness on my humble Shore. It’s no palatial estate, but we insects are just happy to have a place to call home. [End transmission.] Discover More Weapons Here
The Time-Worn Spire
The Time-Worn Spire Lore: Forged in honor of Silimar, and persistence in the face of impossible odds. A cold wind whipped Lord Saladin’s cloak as he reached the bottom of the stairwell and entered a small courtyard carved in the side of the Wall. The orange glow of the Last City poured through the arched windows, washing over the room’s contents: leafy ferns, decorative pillars, a dried-up tiled fountain; and Commander Zavala, seated at a small metal table against a wall. Saladin approached his former apprentice. “Wouldn’t your office be more comfortable?” the Iron Lord asked. Zavala smiled faintly. “A different field for a different kind of battle.” Saladin took a seat at the table. “Quaint.” Zavala grabbed a woven blanket from his lap and offered it to his mentor. “Wolves wear their own coats,” Saladin said. Zavala smiled and tucked the cover under his chair, turning his attention to the lacquered wooden board in front of him. Etched lines formed a grid on its surface, and a pile of white and black oblate stones rested nearby. “Shall we?” Saladin picked up a stone and placed it on the board. Zavala followed with his own move, and the game was on. They sat silently as pieces continued to be set and removed. The board became crowded. Saladin held on his next turn, methodically scanning for options. He eventually grunted and waved in resignation. “I’m surprised you still invited me,” Saladin said, breaking their silence. Zavala hesitated before he answered, fidgeting with a stone. “Your dissension on Caiatl has been frustrating, I will admit.” “You were expecting an Iron Lord to remain silent?” Saladin asked. Zavala sighed. “I was hoping an old friend would respect my position.” “Titles are implements,” Saladin said. “What earns respect is how you use them.” Zavala smiled. “And how should I use mine?” “To meet Caiatl head-on, and cut her down,” Saladin said. “A decisive action for a decisive victory.” “You desire another full-scale war with the Cabal? To chase them through the black gulfs?” Zavala asked. “How many will die on this crusade of yours? And what will you leave behind?” Saladin chuckled sardonically. “Still finding excuses to avoid the hard choices. Every victory requires sacrifices.” “You would wear those sacrifices as accolades, but I see them for what they are,” Zavala said firmly. “Consequences of my failure.” “It’s easy to judge from your plush command center,” Saladin growled as his demeanor soured. “But someday soon, you’ll find yourself in a position with no easy way out. No victory on the horizon, no clever escapes. Nothing but a disaster and a choice of who pays the price.” “There are more currencies in war than the body count,” Zavala said gravely. Saladin looked out at the glimmering lights of the Last City. “Maybe so, but you don’t always get to choose. Sometimes the exchange is decided for you. Sometimes you’re stuck on the other side of the door while your friends burn.” Zavala saw pain in the furrowed creases of the Iron Lord’s face. “I’ve lost people as well.” “Not nearly as many as you will,” Saladin answered. Zavala sighed and placed his arms behind his back. “I am sorry I have been such a disappointment to you.” Saladin shook his head and stood from the table. “You’ve exceeded all my hopes, Zavala. But you are still not what you could be, and not what we need.” Zavala stood as well. “Be that as it may, I am still your commander, and what I need is your obedience.” Saladin smirked. “You know better than to try to tame a wolf, old friend.” Zavala stood, unmoving, and held his gaze on the Iron Lord. Saladin sighed. “We both oppose Caiatl’s terms. That should be enough.” He turned to leave, but the commander placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is good to see you outside the confines of duty,” Zavala said. Saladin nodded, then paced away. Zavala sat again at the table, studying the result of the game as the Iron Lord’s footsteps faded. Discover More Weapons Here
The Messenger (Adept)
The Messenger (Adept) Lore: The bearer of bad news. Aunor was in a sour mood when she transmatted into Ikora’s personal library. She hated visiting the Tower. Even in a room without doors, well away from the dank Annex basement, she could still smell the Drifter’s sulfuric odor. How the others could stand it, she had no idea. Her irritation was softened slightly, when Ikora looked up from her writing with a smile. “I’m glad to see you,” she said. “Interesting choice of words. I thought I was being summoned for a ‘matter of grave importance. ‘” “‘Relieved’ may be the better word. There aren’t many I can trust with an assignment like this.” Ikora gestured towards a seat. Aunor shook her head. “Is that so?” “I mean that as a compliment to you. Not a condemnation of anyone else.” “You don’t need to butter me up before a bad job, Ikora.” Ikora sighed, then tapped her datapad. “We’ve received word of another tainted Guardian in our ranks.” Within her cloak, Aunor’s pad dinged. She took it out, reading as she scrolled. “Disobeying orders, trading Vanguard secrets… Pretty standard. Prolonged and intentional torture?” She looked up questioningly. “Fallen civilians fleeing the House of Salvation,” Ikora supplied, her voice grave. “According to her fireteam, she wanted to know how Eramis accessed the Darkness. “When they tried to intervene…” she trailed off. Aunor looked up sharply. “She tortured her own teammates too?” Ikora nodded. Aunor stowed her datapad back in her cloak. “Where’s she headed now?” “We believe she’s still on Europa, trying to access the Darkness on her own.” “Makes sense. Now that the Vanguard’s lifted the ban, she has plausible deniability. As does anyone else who’s tempted by that power,” she added pointedly. “Please don’t make me go over this again. The Vanguard—” “The Vanguard allowed Darkness into the Tower. You let Guardians play with it, so long as they do it under the Drifter’s roving eye. Otherwise, you’ll send me after them as punishment.” “Not punishment,” Ikora corrected evenly. “Redemption. You offer them a chance to cooperate first. To make up for their selfish acts and rejoin the side of humanity.” “And so far, I’ve had no takers.” “That doesn’t mean that none exist.” “And this Trestin? You think she’ll be lucky number… how many are we up to now? At this point, the only chance I’m giving them is the chance to kill me first.” “Enough.” Ikora’s eyes flashed. “I won’t pretend to be optimistic about the outcome of this case. Or any future ones. But there’s no guarantee that all who are touched are forever tainted. Until that’s proven otherwise, your orders remain the same. Is that clear?” Aunor stared at her, jaw clenched. “Future cases?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll tell me after they’ve wreaked havoc somewhere.” “You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to. I’d understand.” Aunor swatted the concern away. “I stand by my promise,” she said. Then, in a flash of blue, she was gone. Discover More Weapons Here
The Messenger
The Messenger Lore: The bearer of bad news. Aunor was in a sour mood when she transmatted into Ikora’s personal library. She hated visiting the Tower. Even in a room without doors, well away from the dank Annex basement, she could still smell the Drifter’s sulfuric odor. How the others could stand it, she had no idea. Her irritation was softened slightly, when Ikora looked up from her writing with a smile. “I’m glad to see you,” she said. “Interesting choice of words. I thought I was being summoned for a ‘matter of grave importance. ‘” “‘Relieved’ may be the better word. There aren’t many I can trust with an assignment like this.” Ikora gestured towards a seat. Aunor shook her head. “Is that so?” “I mean that as a compliment to you. Not a condemnation of anyone else.” “You don’t need to butter me up before a bad job, Ikora.” Ikora sighed, then tapped her datapad. “We’ve received word of another tainted Guardian in our ranks.” Within her cloak, Aunor’s pad dinged. She took it out, reading as she scrolled. “Disobeying orders, trading Vanguard secrets… Pretty standard. Prolonged and intentional torture?” She looked up questioningly. “Fallen civilians fleeing the House of Salvation,” Ikora supplied, her voice grave. “According to her fireteam, she wanted to know how Eramis accessed the Darkness. “When they tried to intervene…” she trailed off. Aunor looked up sharply. “She tortured her own teammates too?” Ikora nodded. Aunor stowed her datapad back in her cloak. “Where’s she headed now?” “We believe she’s still on Europa, trying to access the Darkness on her own.” “Makes sense. Now that the Vanguard’s lifted the ban, she has plausible deniability. As does anyone else who’s tempted by that power,” she added pointedly. “Please don’t make me go over this again. The Vanguard-” “The Vanguard allowed Darkness into the Tower. You let Guardians play with it, so long as they do it under the Drifter’s roving eye. Otherwise, you’ll send me after them as punishment.” “Not punishment,” Ikora corrected evenly. “Redemption. You offer them a chance to cooperate first. To make up for their selfish acts and rejoin the side of humanity.” “And so far, I’ve had no takers.” “That doesn’t mean that none exist.” “And this Trestin? You think she’ll be lucky number… how many are we up to now? At this point, the only chance I’m giving them is the chance to kill me first.” “Enough.” Ikora’s eyes flashed. “I won’t pretend to be optimistic about the outcome of this case. Or any future ones. But there’s no guarantee that all who are touched are forever tainted. Until that’s proven otherwise, your orders remain the same. Is that clear?” Aunor stared at her, jaw clenched. “Future cases?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll tell me after they’ve wreaked havoc somewhere.” “You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to. I’d understand.” Aunor swatted the concern away. “I stand by my promise,” she said. Then, in a flash of blue, she was gone. Discover More Weapons Here
Holless-IV
Holless-IV Lore: The sigh of annihilation. Discover More Weapons Here – ext Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec ornare placerat interdum. Integer sollicitudin gravida sem quis tempor. In pharetra placerat molestie. Nam sodales finibus est sed gravida. Sed tristique semper mi, sed finibus ex vulputate molestie. Suspendisse mollis quam ut aliquam sodales. Proin elementum, odio in auctor volutpat, arcu arcu consectetur diam, quis porttitor nibh quam a lacus. Donec efficitur vitae erat at auctor. Suspendisse erat mauris, mollis nec justo ac, fringilla ultrices neque. Pellentesque vel facilisis ipsum. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Suspendisse dignissim urna dui, quis posuere magna tincidunt eu. Nam vitae pulvinar dui, a auctor ex. Morbi in aliquet magna. Maecenas luctus dui ac tellus volutpat tempor. Quisque at vehicula lacus, in molestie tellus. Duis consequat odio sit amet posuere pulvinar. Quisque sapien ex, porttitor eget imperdiet eu, varius quis nibh. Praesent id rhoncus dui. Duis nunc ex, accumsan quis fringilla ut, scelerisque eu lectus. Sed tristique non elit sed porttitor. Etiam scelerisque elit mi, et bibendum metus egestas vitae. Proin a purus a ligula eleifend eleifend. Proin nec molestie odio. Proin tincidunt neque congue enim sodales eleifend a et velit. Sed mollis quis dolor ut semper. Phasellus nisi lacus, egestas sed lectus a, finibus lacinia massa. Nulla consectetur nibh quis varius porta. Donec ac dui id ex ultrices lobortis. Pellentesque lacinia erat vel massa ultricies, eget feugiat neque fermentum. Nam vestibulum metus ac est dignissim rutrum. Sed aliquet egestas turpis, ac molestie urna fringilla et. Vivamus ut mauris pretium ante aliquet dapibus. Morbi a pellentesque massa. In nibh leo, tincidunt gravida urna at, suscipit finibus turpis. Duis sed dictum dolor. Etiam tincidunt mauris nec turpis volutpat dictum. Maecenas a varius velit. Aliquam sit amet ex nec nunc viverra sollicitudin non ac nunc. Aliquam in turpis sed justo tempor eleifend at.
No Time to Explain
No Time to Explain Lore: A single word etched onto the inside of the weapon’s casing: Now. Novarro’s timeline analysis indicates the weapon is the fabled Exo Stranger’s Rifle, enhanced at a future point in this continuity and then sent back to this present… …on Europa. Late Golden Age. Deep inside a secret lab. “Which window?” “3025, Dr. Bray.” “I thought we’d run out of possibilities there?” “We had… and then a new one popped up.” “Austen-1, how is that possible?” “We don’t know. We still don’t understand how any of this works. It’s highly volatile and uncontro-” “Have we pinpointed the weapon’s exact location?” “…More or less. Elsie-1 is supposed to attempt retrieval tonight.” “We can’t risk the window closing before then. I’ll be going this time.” “But last time, those things in the sky almost killed you.” “And now I know how they work. That’s half the battle.” The old man gears up and enters a strange metallic pod made from Vex parts. Austen-1 stands at a distance from the pod, typing “April 10, 3025” into a console. “All right, Dr. Bray. You’re a go in 3… 2… 1…” A burst of light. An icy wasteland. What stood pristine moments prior is now dark, old, and falling apart, as if centuries have passed. Clovis wades through the wreckage and comes to a frozen, deserted battlefield littered with human, Exo, Vex, and alien bodies. He reaches down and brushes snow from one of the alien bodies, lifting one of its many arms. “Fascinating…” A piercing whir emanates from somewhere in the distance—Clovis looks up and sees a black and red ship floating in the air. It stops above the battlefield and emits a bright red light, scanning the area as if searching for something. Clovis slowly pulls a device from his pocket. He presses a green button, and the screen lights up, showing a blinking dot a few yards away. Very close to where the ship itself now searches. He grabs a dead Exo and opens a panel on its arm, tinkering before closing it with care. He quickly sneaks away, and in seconds, the Exo explodes, drawing the attention of the ship. He sprints across the battlefield towards where it was searching only moments ago. Using his device again, Clovis scans the ground until the blinking light goes solid. He digs into the snow until he hits something. He pulls it up halfway-a rifle, shining like new, etched only with one word: Now. Clovis attempts to fully free the weapon. But it’s stuck; attached to something. He pulls harder, revealing an entire dead Exo, hand wrapped tightly around the grip. He takes a good look at its face and gasps. “Elisabeth…?” The whirring sound reaches Clovis’s ears again, pulling him out of his stupor. The ship heads right towards him. Clovis pries the gun from Elsie’s rigid hand and sprints back the way he came, diving into his pod and activating it just as the ship fires on him. A burst of light. “You could have been killed,” says a familiar voice. “Instead, I got you a gift, Elisabeth,” Clovis responds, catching his breath and dusting himself off. “One down, an infinite number left to go. It better have been worth it.”He looks into her eyes and musters a half-hearted smile. “We’ll make it so.” Discover More Weapons Here
