The first piece of Typhon-05 in character development run; vanilla Destiny.
Typhon sat on the ruins of the Devils’ spider walker, the body still jittering and accepting its death from the hailfire of his weapons and those of the Guardians departing from their unified goal. His Vector ESC depleted of its ammunition, barrel cooling from the repeated fire that the Titan had to commit to splice the Fallen tank’s joints. Risking current life time and again with the release of bouncing mines and shanks hover-drones so close.
However, the Exo just sat. Quiet and unfeeling to the situation, dull to the thought of extermination to himself - only to the enemy. He didn’t care much for the others. Didn’t feel for them in a way. Why he did he need to? He didn’t work with a fireteam nor want to. He would work with one if needed but prefer a lonesome path if he could help it.
Looking around with his horned helmet, seeing the scattered bodies of the Fallen and the scars where the defeated Guardians once sat before allowed resurrection, he let out an unsatisfied huff. “Ghost.” He called, summoning his constant and only recognized companion in this war against the Darkness.
Typhon-05 was his name and identification. He had almost no recall of anything before this new reset of memories, only that this was recent. Why?
He never thought to ask, but whatever it did, stole his thought of camaraderie. Not the Crucible in its driving importance of combat heightening and entertainment among Guardians and the people of the City, not the meaningless political battle between the recognized Factions of the City with the current martial command of the Speaker of the Traveler. It left but a hollow ache in his core and in a way, dampened his need for the truth to the matter.
Through it all, in his battle after battle against the Fallen, he felt an urge to leave Earth. As if, there was something. Something scratching and tugging from not of the terrestrial soil. Whatever it was, the Exo must go.
“-dian. Guardian?” The dry, emotionless voice spoke through the Titan’s train of questioning logics and psychological mumbling. His visor pointed at the floating machine, watching its shell twist and blink its inquisitive optic. “What is it, Guardian?” Typhon remained quiet a moment before answering with a low voice, “Summon the jumpship. We are leaving.”
“Leaving, to where?” The Ghost questioned, watching its charge stand up and place his collapsing weapon along his lower back. The Guardian, armed under the type-3 class of Arihant armor, rolled his shoulders and clenched his fist. His cuirass was burning underneath to a feel of this alien sensation. Yes, this is a correct pull…
“Are you sure this is the place?” Banner-1 muttered, his eyes flicking off to the side as he kept a close quarter with his companion for this ‘mission’. His hands in his jacket’s pocket and the breeze licking at his synthetic fur-lining, it wasn’t often he came to the western sector of the City. Its reputation is known as the more dangerous spot, not because of some wayward gangs fighting at the constant struggling; nor the malfested who survive the blight of fear to the Fallen that occasionally dwelled at the nearby mountain, but because of the shadowy pickets and devious actions done in light of the City’s struggles - despite all that the Guardians do.
A hand grasped the brown-painted Exo’s shoulders with a clawed thumb brushed once on the fur, provoking an instinctive jerk and glance at Typhon-5 who looked down at him - or rather, his visored face aimed in his direction. How did that thing work anyways? The war-torn titan never gave him an answer. While Banner was one of the smaller Exos around, Typhon was a big model. He was refined to look similar to everyone else, but under that paintjob, plating and very fine synth-muscles was a war machine. The civilian clothes fit him well too. The tight black muscle shirt gripping his pectorals, covered by a duster coat and satchel holding their trade. Prompt legs were wrapped in tested pants and iron-toed boots. Funnily, he couldn’t resist the urge of putting ancient Egyptian motif on those boots.
In the observation of the old Exo’s get up and the wait for him to say something, they stood at the start of an alley hissing with steam from the nearby munition factory that helped with the war effort.
Finally a minute in - probably one of his neural glitches again - Typhon spoke with his gentle yet gravelly dark voice, “I wouldn’t be dragging you here otherwise.” He stated, then he casually graced Banner’s shoulders and patted his back. “Just remember what I said.”
Keep the sensors up. Why, the enigmatic robot never said that either!
With that, the two stepped through the steam and darkness. Unlike Humans, Exo had the benefit of upgrades and combat-appropriate systems, including optimal optics to see through the dark when fighting through the warrens of Fallen caverns and the Hive’s wretched tunnels. Banner’s optics were quickly adjusting, pupils widening a little in their twisting emerald irises. Systems immediately checking for any surprises or dwelling dangers.
In this two-man wide passageway, it made a good ambush spot, and…
A limb wraps around his right elbow with a little squeeze.
“Hm?” Banner questioned, looking down at it. It was Typhon. His big arm locked to his, holding the other close. He looked questioningly, but the visored exo didn’t provide an answer. The mech was always uncharacteristically touchy, ever since they met at the Crucible in a game of Clash. The almost pinpoint memory caused a flare of heat in the metallic cheeks, replacing his anxiety with a fluster. Decidedly he held on to Typhon in return, giving him a gentle pat to his big bicep.
The walk seemed to stretch forever, the sound of their boots being the only noise outside of industrial movements. The afternoon was dark today with the sun pushing the ever-resting shadow of the Traveler over their heads now. The lights of flaring forges and running energy was their only actual illumination. In actuality, by their system’s City Standard Time, it was six minutes. Banner didn’t even notice they were going through a near labyrinth till they stepped out into a small courtyard in the back of one of the Monarch factories.
Piles of crates and storage units were placed here and there, but there was certain dreariness that kept the Exo on edge.
“Spooky.” He acknowledged, provoking a little sound of amusement from his companion before the gruff voice replied, “Don’t worry, this won’t last long.” Suddenly, the big mech grabbed his partner by his belt loop and pulled him into a rough kiss. It was unexpected, why’d he drag Banner all the way out here for some mischief while on their mission!?
Despite the complaining, Banner gripped at Typhon’s jacket as he was dipped slightly. There was grumbling but each soft metallic smack and a grunt from a fanged nibble on his bottom lip muffled it, servos shuddering at the aggressive little growl that the older titan tended to make in these affectionate movements. It was like trying to pet a back alley dog, you just didn’t know if they were going to lunge. As quick as it came, the kiss broke by mere inches with that snarking grin from the red Exo. Banner was about to question when his audio receptors caught something.
Quickly, the two looked over to see a guy landing against a crate. A figure stood there, dressed in dirty work-clothes with a bent crowbar in hand, tapping the surface. Their face was obscured under a filter-mask, meant to fight off the constant smog in the factory and actually breath. “Hey now, don’t stop on my account. Not often we see a bot get dirty!” He spoke with a muffled tone, followed by a nonchalant shrug. Despite the welcoming posture and voice, the malice was there.
Seven others appeared from the smog; several humans - three males, two females - and two Awoken males followed suit. Most were like the first, dressed like workers and the other two wore guard uniforms. They were scruffy, ill-prepared guards armed with standard-issue rifles.
Typhon smoothly pulled Banner upright and let him go. With a hand placed on the small of his back, he gave a subtle, single nod.
“Yeah. We get nice and dirty, that’s what we are good at,” he answered, head moving slowly. Calculating with his body, he edged to an angle. “You must be the gang dismantling the Frame units posted here?” The gangster rolled his shoulder again, causing Typhon to tick his claw. “Guilty as charged, Exo. We got a few of your kind too, took enough pieces. Not enough to have you ‘revived’, yeah?”
While Typhon had the majority of attention, Banner had his own look. A slight sneer, hard to see in the dark quarters. These part-stealing scum were the objective. Since the City Guard couldn’t risk upsetting the civilians here into a small revolt of agitated rights and give the gangs more fuel to their upstarting, they sent two of their own to take care of it quietly. So here they were, two Guardians against six. There were probably more somewhere, but immediate problems first.
“They must have been new. Disgusting.” Typhon snarled, the darkness shrouded the quivering outline dancing his body but his partner could feel it. The gathering ions of Arc energy surged through him. “We’ll fix that.”
Immediately taking that in consideration, the two ‘guards’ snapped their weapons up to take the two down while they were open. However, the Exo were much quicker. The puffs of leg pistons sent the pair in their intended directions. Banner crashed his way through one of the women and bashed his armored head against one of the Awoken’s face with a loud crunch. Typhon was on the kill like a prowling cat. Bullets were flying at his direction but the big Exo angled his body in a way that caught the gang’s speaker into a savage rend of claws across the chest from the right side and up to the left shoulder. One iron vice caught the man’s collarbone, heaving him up the moment his boots pushed off the crate and taking the person with him.
Catching the edge of the top crate,his weight lessened for a brief moment with arc energy pushing through him. Typhon bounced and came back down, using the screaming man’s body as an adequate meat shield to streak across the courtyard again before using him as a living javelin. He tossed the man with one swift movement, sending him onto members who made an attempt at rushing him.
Banner wasn’t nearly as acrobatic. Each movement was a precise and fierce blow. Leaving the Awoken reeling with a crushed nose and upper jaw, the small Exo caught an extended electric-baton by its wielder’s wrist and finely snapped it to the side at the small motion of kicking another’s plasma torch in the air with the cost of some broken fingers. With a sick drop, his heel popped the other arm from its socket and a free fist gave one straight punch to the ribs.
One swift crunch, shattering ribs beneath his fist.
Screams became yawns of struggling pain, but Banner drowned it as he hurled the crumbling human into his dangling-armed friend single-handedly. Squinting at the count in his head, his body snapped into action with hands lifting in front of the guards. He just barely stopped a full automatic barrage with an output of Arc, the crackling energy popping the heated projectiles into harmless spits of metal by the time they pelted his body.
The show of power had the woman agape in shock, obviously they hadn’t handled Guardians that were ready for them. Her eyes flicked at the other Exo holding one of her fellows by arm, twisting him one way and another with ruthless yanks as he was trying to pull it out before hammering a blurring fist into a knee and right behind the ribs. Immediate crippling.
“Fuck this.” She spat, turning tail and running in the same direction that the last Awoken in the group was heading for. However, Banner wasn’t letting that happen. His eyes burned and veins boiled with the weaponizing of his inner light. Hands opening, feeling the focus reconnecting and suddenly crackle into fists of righteous electricity.
“You’re not going anywhere!” His electronic-jittered voice roared and when one made the mistake of looking back, they saw a Striker pouncing with his Fists of Havoc primed. Stories were well told about that, the videos of the Crucible showed them...and they knew - no one but the most heavily-armored survived a Striker and his Fists of Havoc.
***
Banner stood over the spot where they once were; Where there had been two people - criminals under the law and practical murderers and torturers of his kind - there was now just atomized remains. His hands clenched and relaxed, feeling something akin to phantom tensions. His robotic mind was trying to comprehend, but something told him to ease. They were bad, they had go. Prison and exile wouldn’t have helped...would it?
He was staring, warily. Killing was easy, yeah - after fighting hordes of aliens and robotic menaces for as long as he did - it was as simple as stepping on a bug. Humans were strange; one would think every form of life would unite against their frontiers of enemies, but Humanity had an odd penchant to do dumb things. Perhaps, that is part of their programming too.
This time, Banner was aware of his surroundings and he felt Typhon behind him. That familiar speck of Light wrapped in some form of anomaly. The larger Exo walked next to him and looked at the spot as well. “Targets neutralized. We got ‘em. Ka’s digging into their communications now…” He reported. “The Vanguards asking for us to come back.”
Banner was still quiet for a moment.
“I know it isn’t easy.” Typhon inputted, his voice managing to be gentle and sympathetic despite its deep, gritty tone. “Killing the Humans aren’t the easiest feeling, make you feel like uhm...those ancient warning vids about A.I. rebellions, hm?”
The brown Exo quirked his lips at that and couldn’t help but grin at the other. “You are terrible at this.”
“Being sympathetic is hard, don’t know how you youngsters do it.” The older Titan quipped with a huff.
Moving slowly, Banner wrapped his arms around the larger mech, “maybe you should just stick with one of these.”
It took a couple seconds before strong arms wrapped around the smaller Titan with a short squeeze. “Yeah. Also, um...thanks.”
“For what?” Banner spoke, muffled against Typhon’s chest.
“For helping.”
“You are so vague.” He spoke, answered by a teasing chuckle. “Can’t spill all of my beans, as they say.”
My titan’s Fists of Havoc in action, probably about to obliterate something. He’s kind of small for a Titan, maybe even a bit on the softer side, but nothing stands in his way when he’s riled up :D
The battling against the hordes of Imperial Cabal and enigmatic Vex, Typhon-5 have clawed his way to some recognition but he have a long way to go. Now the piracy of the Fallen Houses grows his attention.
Typhon-5 have ventured through Venus, last he remembered was the rise of Skolas’ rebellion. The azure color of his Wolves fighting blade and claw against the machine menace known as the Vex. He was following the footsteps of another fireteam before him. He faintly remembered his own, just shades and voices. Nevertheless, he and Ka was given an assignment - to win the favor of the Reef’s Awoken - that involved the return of a Vex Gatelord.
These machines gave no respect to Time itself. The Titan wondered if the ones that the City kills are only repeats of the same machines from different timelines, trying all of their power to keep the Light from triumphing from their unknown plots. It didn’t matter, Typhon had bullets for all of them.
Chastised by one of the Crows for his annual disappearance, the Striker didn’t just return to show he was alive. He returned with the torn head of a Gatelord while aiding another brave Striker against the crawling Wolves trying to make a new cove for their diminished powers.
Inspired to play my old undeveloped Exo Titan for @maunderfiend , look at this! Even a blog just for him.
“Guardian...”
A describable uncomfortable shift was made.
“Wake up, Guardian. We have little time to be napping.”
A grunt synthesized through his vocals. “You know, Ka. I hate when you just call me, Guardian.” The optics behind the one-way visor shield opened to collect visual confirmation that the Titan was still floating untouched in Earth’s orbit as he last recalled. The appearance of his one constant comrade floated into his line of sight, its configuration twisting and blinked. “As much as I hate my nickname being the Egyptian soul?”
“Names are powerful, Ka. Would you like Little Light?” A brass voice teased. For such a small machine, it made some unique and personal expression. The masculine vocals answered back with a touch of annoyance in the dryness, “I prefer Ka.”
An amused chuckle lift the Exo as he shifted again and made himself upright. Servos and joints felt aged, causing the common question. “How long have I been asleep?” He questioned. There was a millisecond of calculation.
“One year, three months, three hundred-”
“A year!?”
“Yes. You was heavily damaged and it took time to return back here with the jumpship as it is. The Hive...” “What happened?!” He exclaimed with a mouthed expression of disbelief.
“A group of Guardians defeated Oryx, the father of Crota himself. Many lives were lost and Lights scoffed, but we did it.” Ka answered, bringing a soft sigh as his Guardian drew back against his angled seat. The Exo processed this a moment, fingers brushing at his faceplate in the way that Humans gripped their nose bridges.
“Now there is the Light Festival and another threat is ravaging at Old Russia.”
“It is always in Old Russia.” He said, “Let go to the City. I need to report to Zavala.” Grabbing controls, Typhon-5 made his return home.
