“Kinner, you’re with the transport. Palmer, rearguard. Watch our backs and don’t get separated.” Orders give, Blaze looks over them all and nods with some satisfaction. They’re determined. They’re so brave, and she loves them for that. Thrills to hear their fierce shouts and the eerie war cry Furiosa shrills into the twilit sky. What Guardian wouldn’t be proud to fight for such people?
Only she’s not any longer the willfully naïve novice who crash-landed here those years ago. The fierce joy is tempered by instinctive knowledge. Colored with the shadows of experience that lurk in the back of her head. The machine beneath her mind still runs its pitiless calculations. Some of them are going to die. These brave people are following her into something they weren’t born or trained to fight. A few are warriors in their own right, that she knows. They’ve faced their deaths before. They already know what it is to inflict death and pain. But the others- she’s no Defender. She’s never learned to raise the Ward and shield her comrades from all harm. She's a Striker by. nature. A Sunbreaker. The only kind of protection she offers is to draw the fire upon herself. Charge into the fray and demand death face her instead. But here, today, that’s not the Guardian they need.
Some will die, and some, if she is worth anything, will merely come back altered. The machine knows. You don’t put a bullet through another's skull and remain what you were. Not unless you’re an Exo. But that’s a price that will have to be paid. She doesn’t have other Guardians to call on in their stead, and if they don’t risk this then death is a slow certainty. There’s no transmat to whisk them out of harm's way. No reliable way for her to go out and bring home that much food.
Her fault. Her duty. But here they are, about to face it for her.
Ghost is eyeing her again. He can feel the heat rolling off her armor in short, erratic waves. Blaze promises herself a Fallen commander's head once more, and forces herself to focus. Everyone’s checked in. They’re ready. She raises a hand until she has all their attention, then lowers it and begins the march. The vanguard fall into position, behind them the transport crew and the scouts, running along the edges and ready to peel off, and then at last the rearguard.
The march to the torches is a matter of minutes. It’s shocking, how small their safe circle has become since they were lit. How palpable Winter’s chokehold has become. Barely a couple of streets from the plaza the road disappears into a howling veil of wind and snow. The cleared trackway ends at a sudden drift where the shovel teams turned back. Blaze doesn’t pause her march this time. She draws her rifle from her back and shouts over her shoulder, “Eyes up! Stay sharp!”
Then it’s out, out into the hostile storm. They progress steadily through the drift-buried streets, scouts moving off to watch their flanks and check the route ahead. Around them loom abandoned shops, once-charming houses with windows dark as empty eye sockets. Some of the walls bear scorch marks. Alien symbols painted in luminous white, that Blaze pauses to take in for a few seconds. For those who’ve been safely sheltered up to now, it’s their first taste of the unsettling landscape beyond the torches, though uneasy looks are hidden beneath masks and scarves. For those who’ve been this route before, it’s a reminder of the threats they’ve already faced. The knives and claws that scuttle out from the darkness for them…
This time, at least, they are together. The low thrum of engines around them is a testament to that. Still, it’s going to be a harrowing trek to the edge of the settlement, where even the buildings drop away and the real Wilds await, a vast sea of snow broken only by the shadows of skeletal trees. The darkness is softening slowly to gloom around them, thin grey light exposing a chilly landscape. They're going to be exposed themselves out here - and not just to the elements. Scouting off to their left, the scouts spot some strange, pale lights moving through the distant trees, and the warning comes back to kill any headlights.
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Only she’s not any longer the willfully naïve novice who crash-landed here those years ago. The fierce joy is tempered by instinctive knowledge. Colored with the shadows of experience that lurk in the back of her head. The machine beneath her mind still runs its pitiless calculations. Some of them are going to die. These brave people are following her into something they weren’t born or trained to fight. A few are warriors in their own right, that she knows. They’ve faced their deaths before. They already know what it is to inflict death and pain. But the others- she’s no Defender. She’s never learned to raise the Ward and shield her comrades from all harm. She's a Striker by. nature. A Sunbreaker. The only kind of protection she offers is to draw the fire upon herself. Charge into the fray and demand death face her instead. But here, today, that’s not the Guardian they need.
Some will die, and some, if she is worth anything, will merely come back altered. The machine knows. You don’t put a bullet through another's skull and remain what you were. Not unless you’re an Exo. But that’s a price that will have to be paid. She doesn’t have other Guardians to call on in their stead, and if they don’t risk this then death is a slow certainty. There’s no transmat to whisk them out of harm's way. No reliable way for her to go out and bring home that much food.
Her fault. Her duty. But here they are, about to face it for her.
Ghost is eyeing her again. He can feel the heat rolling off her armor in short, erratic waves. Blaze promises herself a Fallen commander's head once more, and forces herself to focus. Everyone’s checked in. They’re ready. She raises a hand until she has all their attention, then lowers it and begins the march. The vanguard fall into position, behind them the transport crew and the scouts, running along the edges and ready to peel off, and then at last the rearguard.
The march to the torches is a matter of minutes. It’s shocking, how small their safe circle has become since they were lit. How palpable Winter’s chokehold has become. Barely a couple of streets from the plaza the road disappears into a howling veil of wind and snow. The cleared trackway ends at a sudden drift where the shovel teams turned back. Blaze doesn’t pause her march this time. She draws her rifle from her back and shouts over her shoulder, “Eyes up! Stay sharp!”
Then it’s out, out into the hostile storm. They progress steadily through the drift-buried streets, scouts moving off to watch their flanks and check the route ahead. Around them loom abandoned shops, once-charming houses with windows dark as empty eye sockets. Some of the walls bear scorch marks. Alien symbols painted in luminous white, that Blaze pauses to take in for a few seconds. For those who’ve been safely sheltered up to now, it’s their first taste of the unsettling landscape beyond the torches, though uneasy looks are hidden beneath masks and scarves. For those who’ve been this route before, it’s a reminder of the threats they’ve already faced. The knives and claws that scuttle out from the darkness for them…
This time, at least, they are together. The low thrum of engines around them is a testament to that. Still, it’s going to be a harrowing trek to the edge of the settlement, where even the buildings drop away and the real Wilds await, a vast sea of snow broken only by the shadows of skeletal trees. The darkness is softening slowly to gloom around them, thin grey light exposing a chilly landscape. They're going to be exposed themselves out here - and not just to the elements. Scouting off to their left, the scouts spot some strange, pale lights moving through the distant trees, and the warning comes back to kill any headlights.