Somewhere Between Space [Somewhen Between Time]
Thinking back, Fortuna would remember two things from her encounter with the portal. The first was the feeling as if she were ashes caught in a breeze, an almost fluttering sensation as she fell through clouds of wispy nothingness. The second thing she would remember was the pain.
Fortuna knew pain. She would say that she was as more familiar with the feeling than almost anybody else. This pain was nothing like that which she had experienced before, nothing like a wound or a broken bone or electrocution; it was something else entirely.
It was as if she had been broken apart into a million pieces, each whizzing around and away in all directions, converging and separating in the blink of an eye, leaving only pain. She could not see, she could not hear, and she could not even breathe. It was all she could discern of the infinite blackness that surrounded her.
Her mind flashed back to her decision only moments prior.
Was it moments? How long have I been like this? How could I have been so stupid? Would disintegration have been really so bad?
Such gloomy thoughts would have to wait as another lash of pain rocked through whatever form her mind held. She tried to move, to do something, anything, just to break the monotony of pain and darkness, but to no avail.
A deep sadness welled in her heart as the consequences of her actions washed over her. Now, her mind knew only uncertainty.
Is this my fate? Am I to be forever lost in some dark corner of time? Am I to know only suffering for all eternity? Will I die here? No...
Before Fortuna could come to terms with the weight of whatever destiny awaited her, the most painful bout yet tore through her. She felt all those tiny pieces of herself align into place, ready to tear apart at any moment. The Exo braced, ready for whatever pain would come next, only to find that no more came. Instead, the Exo found herself feeling the sensation of wind on her skin, and light in her optics.
The void in which she had found herself in was no longer an endless nothingness of shadow. Instead, she saw... Luna, Earth's moon, staring at her. She simply looked at it, completely bewildered. A deep numbness had formed on her back. She was lying down. Whatever she was lying on was a mystery to her, but, for some bizarre reason, it gave her a sort of comfort, the kind usually reserved for a parent, or mentor.
The Huntress stood up, massaging the knot in her back formed by the cold ground. She spun in a circle, observing her surroundings with reserved glances. Street lights. Apartment complexes. People. A small laugh rose in her mechanical throat as relief washed over her. She was home. By some miracle, she had ended up somewhere in the Last City, the only safe refuge left on Earth following the collapse.
The Exo tapped a button on her left gauntlet. The Vanguard, the ruling body of Guardians of the Last City, would probably need to hear about her short escapade. A small diamond icon appeared in her vision, the words 'CAYDE-6' displayed next to it in a loud font.
"Cayde?" Fortuna spoke, "You there?" Only the buzz of static answered her. Fortuna hummed in annoyance. Probably in a meeting.
Or passed out in the bar again.
The Huntress tapped a different button, the words 'SALADIN FORGE' appearing instead. She spoke again. "Saladin?" Nothing again.
After a few more failed calls, Fortuna gave up.
The portal must've busted my communicator. Strange though, seems to be working fine. Unless...
Fortuna looked directly upwards, optics scanning the night sky. Her breath stopped short in her chest. This wasn't the Last City. If it was, where was the Traveller?
King's Row, London, United Kingdom [April 3rd, 2076] [5 minutes prior]
This was it, the moment she had been waiting hours for. That infernal machine was speaking, blind to the danger lurking only a few rooftops away. The assassin gave a soft hum as she butted a rifle square into a guard's forehead, sending him swiftly to sleep. She was tempted to turn the rifle around and put a bullet through his unsuspecting head. She almost did, until a voice in her head extinguished such thoughts.
No, not enough time. You have your orders.
Staying her hand, the artist raised her foot, tying a length of silky cord that ran from a gauntleted arm to a nearby chimney around her ankle. With this secure, she gracefully leapt from the rooftop, her rope keeping her in place a few windows down. Now hanging from the building by the foot, she slung her firearm to her shoulders, eyes glued down her sights as a visor slunk down from her forehead to cover them. It was then she found her quarry.
It (he?) stood before a stout podium addressing a crowd of adoring onlookers, both human and machine alike. The Omnic was already speaking, arms raised in a picture-perfect frame for its gleaming head, and the artist's small smile grew into a smirk on the sniper's lips as her finger brushed against the smooth trigger of her gun.
Whatever the robot was about to say was cut short by a blinding flash of lightning, which dispersed the crowd to a chorus of shrieks. For the energy had not come from the heavens, despite the cloudy night sky overhead, but had appeared instead seemingly from thin air amidst the robotic patron's audience.
The assassin shielded her eyes, her vision cut off completely as the light burned deep into her sockets, just in time to avoid another burst just moments after, which would have surely blinded her. Within seconds, the rally had dissolved into a mad frenzy to escape as more and bolts of energy crackled across the plaza, dancing across the raindrops that had begun to fall.
The energy, as quickly as it had appeared, vanished before the crowd's very eyes as if wiped away by an invisible cloth, leaving behind scorched cobblestones, the scent of ozone, and the ragged outline of a hooded figure splayed on its back, facing the sky.
It stood with difficulty, body turning to face its surroundings. It uttered a laugh, the cry echoing through the now silent city square. All around, pedestrians stood in awe of the stranger. Some, law enforcement, or security to the monk, had drawn weapons, all aimed directly at the figure, not that it would appear to matter; it, or rather she, if the tone of its voice was any indication, wasn't moving an inch, although it had started to speak.
"Cayde? You there? Saladin? Ikora? Amanda? Anyone?!" It spoke its last few words with a genuine spark of frustration that made her onlookers visibly jump.
The assassin blanched. In the confusion of the strange woman's arrival, she had forgotten all about her mission. She rappelled back up to the roof, the guards still unconscious, and scanned the area for her target, her masterpiece. Nothing.
"NON!" She cried, her French tongue echoing into the night.
Her outrage was such that she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs until all of London could hear her. Her target was gone, her mission failed, and she had accomplished NOTHING. She was supposed to be The Widowmaker, the greatest assassin the world had ever seen, and she had failed what could have possibly been her greatest work yet.
Her eyes met again with the strange woman. She had taken an upright position, faceplate pointed directly upwards, completely oblivious. With a grim smile, she raised her rifle once more, barrel aimed directly at her interruption's worthless head, when the second worst thing to happen to her evening occurred.
"Wotcha lookin' at, love?"
A voice, much too chipper to belong to any sane person, rang from somewhere behind her, sending her into a state of utter panic as she spun around, rifle raised to the new annoyance.
A woman, garbed in an aged leather bomber jacket, a set of bright orange leggings matched with a set of skiing goggles sat against her eyes stood some way along the rooftop, a twin pair of pistols in her hands aimed straight at the Widowmaker's chest.
Dust Palace Undercroft, Meridian Bay, Mars [June 5th, 2738]
It was rare for a Fallen raiding party to stumble upon a find as grand as this. Usually, the Fallen were lucky to find anything that was functional or even intact, but this, a fully working Vex transfer gate, with human modifications to boot, it was nothing short of a treasure. It was nothing compared to the Fallen's other discovery on Mars not long ago, but it certainly had its worth.
The Captain of the group who had found it had been keen to test this worth. Leaving the gateway alone for a few minutes so that his underlings could find a suitable power source could not have been so poor a choice, surely.
Even as the small army of Vandals and Dregs opened the ancient cargo doors to re-enter the gate's chamber, the consequences of their actions were more than apparent. Something, a pesky Light-thief no doubt, had almost completely destroyed their prize. The bronze frame was in shambles, the energies reverberating off the infernal device had completely vaporized one-half of the group and the other had been sucked through to whatever unknown the portal held.
The Captain was not fond of either choice and so fought with all its might against the gateway's gravity, determined to get as far away from the wretched device as he could. This was proving difficult, as the strange gravity that had swallowed his crew was threatening to draw him in as well.
The Captain roared, digging his heels deep into the concrete as he struggled to gain a decent footing. In desperation, he drew a stubby grenade from his belt and tossed it into the abyss before him. The subsequent explosion, though petty by most standards, seemed to be enough to shatter what little remained of the alien contraption. The swirling vortex vanished, the frame was torn apart, and the Fallen leader collapsed onto his four arms.
Sparing no time for rest, he rose and began sprinting away from the broken remains, lest it somehow tries again to make his life any more difficult. A rattling sigh echoed through his rebreather, he would surely be punished for this failure. His Kell, or king, was not known to be of a forgiving nature. Still, it was better than what the gate had planned for him.
He felt a stab of pity for his crew. He only hoped the gateway took them somewhere that was at least survivable. Somehow, he doubted this.
King's Row, London, United Kingdom [April 3rd, 2076]
To say that Lena Oxton was having a strange evening would be something of an understatement. It had started off normal enough though, she'd gone for an afternoon run, come home, gave her partner a quick kiss, had a phone call with a seven-foot Silverback Gorilla, and then left for King's Row square for the pro-Omnic rally. It all seemed to be a bland, normal, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary day.
That was of course, until the moment she arrived. Even as she stood before Tekhartha Mondatta, an Omnic monk who was giving the speech to the gathered masses, something had seemed definitely off. Mondatta's security staff seemed...troubled. As if something was about to go, or already had gone, wrong.
She had taken to the rooftops at breakneck speed, determined to find the source of the commotion. She found it in seconds, a woman, clad in full suit of shining lycra hanging halfway down a hotel, an obvious sniper rifle firm in her grip. Lena was already running when she saw her. Drawing pistols from a pair of wrist guards, she was ready to charge.
When the strange lightning had arrived, and the subsequent arrival of the mysterious woman, she had, naturally, been thrown off guard, as anyone else would have been; even she found some things outlandish from time to time.
Regardless, she had continued on her mission. She very much doubted the assassin could have made herself scarce in such short a time. Luckily, she hadn't. She was standing on a rooftop overlooking the square where the mysterious stranger was busy talking to herself. Determined not to waste any more time, Lena darted to the rooftop, being as quiet as she could as she sneaked up on her quarry, pistols raised. Thankfully, the sniper seemed too interested in the woman down in the plaza that she did not notice Lena who stood only a few feet behind her.
With the cheeriest voice she could muster, Lena called out to the would-be killer.
"Wotcha lookin' at, love?"
Lena found it hard to suppress a giggle as a look of utter bewilderment spread across the assassin's face as she turned to face the Englishwoman and her... less than standard attire of goggles, bomber jacket, leggings and crocs. Lena herself was a little shocked in turn. In the dim light of the city around them, the sniper's skin took to a periwinkle blue and the red-lighted visor that covered her eyes looked like it belonged to the face of an overgrown tarantula.
The expression soon turned to rage as the killer raised her rifle to the younger woman's chest. Lena barely had time to register what was happening as she managed to leap out of the way of the flurry of bullets sent her way.
Good job, Lena, real smooth. There goes that normal evening.
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