Destiny | The Blackened Heart | Discontinued

5: Missing Pieces

   Banshee-44 is what's known as an Exo, a race of humanoid, sentient robots build before the darkness came, in an era called the Golden Age. 

    He stands at a table, deeply focused over four firearms laid out on a canvas. I approach his stand on soft feet, not wanting to disturb him from his work. Even after I stop, it takes a few moments before he looks up at me, bright blue optics peering at me from his cobalt and gold faceplate. 

   "Uh huh. New Guardian right?" he asks gruffly by way of greeting. 

"Correct."

"Sure." He waves a hand over the four weapons. "Pick a gun. I've been keeping them cleaned and prepped. Won't jam. That's important."

He wanders off to the back of the canopy covered shop as I look over them, muttering under his breath about shoddy craftsmanship. Maybe of one of the guns hung on the back wall.

I turn my attention to my options. The Duke MK. 10, a Hand Cannon, small and maneuverable, but lacking any good accuracy for one as inexperienced as me. The next is the Trax Callum I, a scout rifle. A marksman's weapon, built for precision. Then follows a Pulse Rifle, the Psi Umbra I, but I don't like the idea of having such little control over my shots. The last is an Auto Rifle, a fully automatic instrument of war, like the one I already have.

I figure I should try something new. I heft the scout rifle to my shoulder and aim it at the ground, testing its weight and balance. Yes, I like this quite a lot. I hold it up and the ghost takes it, vaporizing it from my hands.

"Thank you," I say, stepping back from the Gunsmith's table.

He nods in answer, barely turning around. "I'll remember you next time. And watch where you point that thing."

"Yes sir." I turn and start off again, Ghost over my shoulder. "Wanna switch those weapons?"

"On it." A moment later I feel its extra weight on my back, small but noticeable. "A nice little gun, for not being from a big producer. The market for weapons sees fierce competition between the Foundries. The heavyweights are big boys like SUROS, Tex Mechanica, Hakke, and Omolon, but there are always new names entering and leaving the battlefield."  

"Sounds like the market can be as vicious as the Fallen." I pause. "When will we head back out?"

"Before we go anywhere, we'll need an update on our ship. That thing has been out of action for years. Hopefully Shipwright Holliday will have some good news for us."

"Where might I find them?"

"Amanda is up in the Tower Hangar. This way." He bobs ahead and I follow along the right side of the main plaza, before turning into a hallway, painted with the words 'Tower Hangar' in three different languages under a triangular emblem. We pass a few Frames sweeping and fixing lights, but other than that the hallway is empty, the only sounds echo from ahead.

The hangar opens before me, and a biting wind sweeps in from the open docking bay to ruffle my dark hair. The bay is blocked from the rest of the hangar by mesh fencing, but the darkening sky is still visible outside. I make my way down the stairs, turning in a circle to take in the whole room. I right myself before falling down the next stair case, and jog down, looking around for the Shipwright.

Down from the main tier, stands a pale, wiry man, with greasy black hair squarely framing his thin face. I strongly doubt that his name is Amanda.

 A woman's voice comes from up a set of stairs on the right, followed by the robotic droning tone of a frame. Guessing it's my best bet, I head up.