In Which Azra Does a Kidnapping
Don't believe everything happiness says
Nothing's as real as our old reckless ways
When we drink by the fires, the burning car tires
Bad girls and good liars, the dreams we conspired
The days we went crazy, the nights wild and hazy
Man how in the hell'd we get here?
Old School - Hedley
August 21, 2951, 04:12; The Last City, Earth
The day started with a kidnapping.
The Tower was surprisingly difficult to scale. Azra tried to limit the distance- she climbed down from a lounge several stories above the target instead of up from the nearest observation deck. She picked her way carefully, focused wholly on the feeling of her fingers on the metal and the distribution of weight between her feet. The handholds, though solid, were few and far between. Everything was cold and wet with morning dew.
Cold? Wet? That was par for the course as far as Azra was considered. The real trick was opening the window quietly. That was the whole reason they'd chosen this method instead of the door- the door creaked. Azra was half-convinced Cayde put grit in the hinges to make it louder.
The window was locked from the inside. It would have stopped a human, but it was no issue for Spark. Azra slowly, slowly eased the pane open. The trick was not rushing it. The waiting at times could feel maddening, but you could almost never go slow enough. One big change might wake the target, but a dozen small ones could slip by his unconscious attention.
So Azra got the window opened after a few minutes and slipped inside. If this were a larger operation, she'd tie a rope off and drop it to the next balcony down. As it was, this was only a one-person job, and they didn't want to leave anything behind. Azra slid the window closed again and locked it.
Sundance's eye flickered to dim awareness as Azra slipped across the room. It would be too much to hope the Ghost would remain asleep. Azra put a finger to her lips and Sundance raised no alarms.
One weakness Azra could exploit was Sundance's trust. Not many people could sneak in through the window and go unquestioned. The second weakness was that Cayde slept on his stomach, and he slept deeply. It was easy to slowly draw his hands behind his back and loop a cord around his wrists.
Unfortunately, tightening the knots roused him. He shifted and a mumbling rasp made its way out of his mouth. Azra scrambled for the blindfold. She yanked it around his optics just as they booted.
"What the-" he jerked on his restraints, hard. But it was too late. Spark hit the transmat. The cool darkness of Cayde's room was swapped for the cool darkness of Shiro's jumpship.
"Punch it!" Azra commanded. She couldn't see all the way to the pilot's cabin, but she didn't need to confirm Shiro had heard her. The ship lurched into motion. Azra shoved Cayde into a passenger's chair.
Tevis was there to help restrain the Gunslinger. He was becoming a bit of a problem now that he was actually awake. Azra took a precious second to make sure Sundance had made the jump with them (she had), then her attention was diverted when Cayde pulled a knife from a sheath hidden in his waistband. The Arcstrider whisked it from his fingers and tossed it to her Ghost.
Just a few more minutes, Spark urged in her mind. The ship was really speeding up now. It was hard to both keep her footing and keep a hold of the still-thrashing Gunslinger. One of his feet swept out and snagged her ankle, sending her sprawling. She didn't have to look to see his Light waxing Solar. Shadows cast by an orange fire jittered around the cargo hold.
"Calm down," Tevis growled. Suddenly, Cayde's yells melted into vocal static, like the open end of an empty comms channel. The orange light faded.
Azra finally got her feet underneath her again and moved to help. The Gunslinger was slumped over in his chair. Tevis had a glimmering purple hand braced across the back of the Exo's neck. The Nightstalker's eyes were unnervingly violet. "Hate doing this," he muttered. A chill went up Azra's spine that wasn't entirely due to the cold air in the ship. Cayde looked like a puppet with his strings cut.
"He'll forgive you," Azra said, shaking off the eerie feeling. A little naptime was a small price to pay for the plans they'd laid in.
"Forty-five seconds to transmat!" Shiro shouted from the cockpit.
"Take your time," Azra replied. "We've got it handled back here."
?
The first thing Cayde noticed was the heat. His brain struggled to add up the facts- it wasn't this hot where he'd last been. It was not often the Hunter Vanguard woke up not knowing where he was.
His optics booted after a half-second, revealing blurred greens and tannish gray. He was lying on a patch of dried-out grassy dirt. His brain cataloged the scents of dust and scummy water and… licorice? His senses were jumbled.
His limbs moved without him needing to think. The world swayed and steadied as he pushed himself upright. His hands checked on instinct- gun on his belt, cloak on his shoulders, his Ghost-
"Up and at 'em, sleepyhead. We're wasting daylight."
He spun to face the (very familiar) voice. Azra had been the one to speak. His eyes found her automatically, and he relaxed a bit. Her hood was pushed back and she leaned against a tree. (Tree?) Tevis crouched next to her, checking the firing mechanism on an Auto Rifle. Shiro was discussing something with his Ghost. They were on the edge of some field where the summer sun had baked the grass into submission. The earth around them was trampled.
Sundance appeared over his shoulder and helpfully informed him that they were near Rome, it was his birthday, and that he should start booby-trapping his window at night.
Shiro-4 let his Ghost go and turned back to face Cayde. "We wanted to take you on a picnic for your birthday. You know, since you can't get out much. Sorry for the kidnapping."
"Not sorry," Azra countered, grinning. "That was fun. And now you've got plausible deniability about sneaking out."
Cayde rubbed the back of his neck and sorted through the memories. There was an obvious flaw in the plan. "Uh, not that I'm complaining, or anything, but the deniability kinda loses its shine when I can just make you to take me back."
Something was up. Shiro bounced on the balls of his feet. "Oh no," he drawled in obviously-fake disappointment. "It seems I have already sent my jumpship away. Do either of you have yours?"
Azra shrugged, still too happy herself. "Why would I bring mine, when you were driving? I guess I'll call it." She held out a hand for her Ghost, who appeared and dryly reported the bad news.
"It appears long-range comms have been blocked. House Devils have a communications hub set up near here, they're jamming all Guardian signals."
"Such a shame," Shiro said. "If only we'd known, we could have called in backup. Hitched a ride back to the City. Guess our only option is to bike back."
Tevis stood, finally done with his gun-work, and shook his head. "The jammer blocks transmat signals. No Sparrows. We'll have to walk."
"I've got a bright idea," Azra said. "Why don't we blow up the jammer? Then we could call in our ships, easy. It would be faster than walking out of range. It's twenty miles west to get a clear signal."
"You mean," Shiro gasped (he was having entirely too much fun), "that our best option is to storm the House of Devils den? Just the four of us?" His Ghost, Pace, unloaded a pile of gear onto the ground. Besides the usual breaching charges, transmitters, and grenades, there were a few odds and ends- a rocket launcher, a few submachine guns, a helmet modified to fit a horned head. Perfectly suited to cover the gaps in what a tower-bound Hunter might not carry day-to-day. "But we're completely unprepared!" the Bladedancer said with glee.
Alright, Cayde had to admit, the plan is basically foolproof. The path was clear for him to skate by with no repercussions. All he had to do was make a show of being upset and hand out a few punishments after they got back. "So who's taking the fall for masterminding this thing?"
"I hear the Vanguard has some scouting missions nobody's too eager to take," Azra said, "Europa's so boring. And after all that excitement with that House of Winter Archon Priest, I'm not sure I could take a few weeks of quiet mapping. Oh well. At least Shiro and Tevis can claim they were just following orders."
"Daylight's wasting," Tevis grumbled. He shifted his feet, antsy to get moving. "What do you say?"
Cayde picked up the helmet and slid it on. It was one of his spares, perfectly fitted. "Best. Birthday present. Ever."
August 21, 2951, 13:14, House of Devils den, Rome, Earth
This was the best of all of them, Tevis thought.
Shiro called out troop movements, sometimes translating the Fallen comms and sometimes predicting their moves on his own. His Ghost, Pace, hacked the consoles they came across. He called out priority targets. Somewhere in the random crossfire, his sidearm took a hit. The Bladedancer swore in perfectly-pronounced Eliksni and sought revenge with ruthless efficiency.
Cayde crowed challenges and taunts at their enemy, doing flashy gun twirls and sidesteps and always, always making his shots. He was dazzling: blinding, yet impossible to look away from. He drew a lot of attention, but he dodged the Scorch Cannon bolts with a skip in his step, forever another joke or comment to reply.
Azra was everywhere. Up front, in back, scattering the Fallen and leaving sparking ashes in her wake. Nothing could land a hit on her. Tevis took an arc bolt to the leg and she was just there, suddenly, protective Light buzzing like ozone and frozen starlight on his tongue. When she pushed, Tevis had to sprint to keep up.
And him? He'd never admit it, but he was the most comfortable here, with the bullets whizzing by his head like angry hornets. He understood quiet, wore stealth like a second cloak, but nothing could beat this power, this momentum his fireteam gave him. There was nothing bad here, no inevitability they couldn't shatter together.
It was all music to Shiro's ears (or audio sensors, or whatever). The triple-fire of his sidearm, the crackle on the feed, the frantic Eliksni orders and reports were the usual melody.
The harmony made it sweeter- the short chirping bursts of Azra's Mythoclast, the rattle of Tevis's Auto Rifle, their two Submachine Guns, distinct in tenor. The occasional Arcstrider-whir and Nightstalker-hiss were the sounds of safety in his subconscious. Only his pack sounded like this.
Distinct in his attention was the hole that was filled. Every bark of the Ace of Spades caught Shiro just a bit off-guard, in the best way. He'd think, somewhere in the back of his head, I wish Cayde had been here to see that, only to be surprised when the Vanguard called out a compliment over the roar of battle. His Golden Gun rang like a bell.
The tempo of the song sped and slowed, the dynamics faded and grew, but the song was the same as it had always been. It was victory, and success, and power, and it meant everything was right with the world.
It was here, in the middle of a Fallen nest, with their screeches filling the air so much it seemed to muffle the gunfire and drown the world in ether-stained Darkness, that Azra realized she felt safe.
Because she had Shiro to her left and Cayde was at her back, and their crackling, burning Lights sang in harmony as they worked. She knew, in some deep part of her she'd thought had given up believing, that they wouldn't let her down. If they were here beside her, nothing could happen. Her trust in them overpowered her fear that the universe was going to screw her over again.
And it was there, in the tunnel that smelled of rot and machine oil, where the ground squelched and shifted under her feet, with mud caking her shins and back, that Azra realized she felt powerful.
She saw the shot just before she heard Tevis's grunt on the comms. A particularly lucky (or unlucky) Arc blast caught the Nightstalker in the thigh. He fell into an awkward crouch, alone before the Fallen. Azra was there in an instant with a grenade and her Mythoclast. Tevis's Ghost was already attending to the wound.
It ran two ways, the trust. They were all here for her, and she could be there for them. Part of the sweet surety of the moment was that she knew they were safe too. She could keep them safe.
She could read in Tevis's Light that he was fine, but she cast a precious glance back at him anyway. Their eyes met behind their respective visors. Tevis rose from his crouch with a nod. The Fallen were seeking cover now, startled by the rapid approach.
Cayde's voice over the comms: "Azra, sicc!"
She answered with her Staff. No Fallen could offer a second retort.
They ran into heavy Fallen resistance, but Cayde was having a very hard time being upset about it. There was just something about a firefight that couldn't be captured in the heat of the Crucible.
There weren't Scorch Cannons there, for one thing (maybe Cayde could talk Shaxx into something), and damn were they fun to dodge. The looks on the Captain's faces when he spun to the side like some pre-Golden-Age matador were always good.
But really, it was nice to just let go. Stop wrangling with his instincts, drop the careful eye on his reputation, just be in the moment. Ace in his hand seemed to move of its own will, finding shot after shot in the smoky, Fallen-stuffed tunnels. The Firefly explosions always hit a half-second after. It set up a nice rhythm.
He'd known he'd missed this, in theory, but he hadn't realized exactly how much. There was something there, between the smells and the echoes and the familiar movements of battle he wore in his bones- that was impossible to capture on a feed. This was very real, and he felt more alive than he had in months.
They pillaged their way forward, through main tunnels and side-passages, never stopping, never faltering. It was just like old times. The Crew was legendary, and there was a reason for that. A strike of this scope, this deep into Fallen territory, with disabled comms? The Vanguard wouldn't consider a fireteam of less than six. Just the four of them were routing the Fallen and having an absolute time of it.
He was almost sad when they reached the main Fallen comms relays. Lucky, they had enough explosives on them for a very pretty fireball.
And maybe he set the timer a bit short, so their exit was hasty and breathless.
And maybe he left enough explosives behind to collapse the entire structure.
And maybe he took everything that wasn't nailed down, dropping the more worthless items for space as he found expensive parts and rolls of sapphire wire. Everything not stolen would be lost, after all.
And maybe he found himself approximately twenty-thousand glimmer richer, sitting in a smoking pile with his family, laughing his ass off as Azra scolded him for not using a remote detonator.
And maybe he wasn't in bad spirits when they had to return to the Tower. Maybe he was happy.
August 21, 2951, 15:54; The Last City, Earth
There was a debrief and a scolding waiting for Azra back at the tower. It took Zavala a few minutes to get over his disbelief at the heist they'd pulled off, but after that he was quick to get to his reprimands. Shiro and Tevis looked a bit guilty as they placed the blame squarely on Azra's shoulders.
She glared at them through her helmet. They'd had a plan. Feeling bad about it now was like apologizing for someone buying you dinner. Azra would have told them off for their shamefaces if she wasn't receiving a tirade herself. She hoped Zavala would think her glower was at his speech. It was obvious Cayde saw through it, from his giddy expression.
Azra found Ikora Rey watching her. Zavala was still going on of the importance of leadership and something about safety- the Arcstrider mostly ignored it. Cayde cut in every now and again with a few token words Azra could tell he didn't mean. Ikora Rey just looked at her silently.
Azra wasn't bothered with the mind-reading, but the way Ikora looked at her with interest slid a thin edge of discomfort between her ribs. "It's not from the Vault," she said as a ward. She wasn't used to having to watch her thoughts as well as her words.
"Don't, then," Ikora said. "I value honesty. You won't hurt my feelings."
Azra purposefully turned her attention away. She looked at Zavala, all stone and steel and annoyance, but more perplexed frustration than true anger. She thought he might even be grateful, if duty didn't demand that he enforce the rules. They'd done good work, if outside the system, but it was his job to uphold that system. Azra could respect that.
She let her eyes slide over one person and linger. Look how Cayde stood lighter, less weight on his shoulders, more animated. Feel how his Light moved more fiercely. Something had stoked the coals of his enthusiasm back into flame. Azra Jax knew every mood Cayde had, and this one… he was happy. Happier than he'd been in a while. He was riding high even as he scolded her.
She turned her focus back to Ikora and plainly thought, I'd do it again. I know the price, and I'd do it again, for him. She wasn't afraid to let show how much she cared for the Gunslinger. She knew Ikora shared at least a little bit of fondness.
"Enough," Ikora interrupted, not unkindly. "I'm sure they get the point, Zavala. And after all, this is a victory. Nothing bad happened."
"It could have," the Titan countered. Azra could tell he didn't have much heart behind it. As Vanguard Commander, he couldn't let the disrespect fly, even if he wasn't that upset about the literal events.
"They are all very competent Guardians, with shining track records," Ikora pointed out. Azra suppressed a snigger and very carefully did not think of the hundreds of bits of mischief she had seen through.
Cayde sighed and shook his head. "Still. Uncool," he obviously did not think it was uncool, "going behind the Vanguard's back. Take two weeks and give me a five-hundred-word essay on the importance of the Vanguard and how it supports you in your everyday life."
Azra's stomach dropped and she straightened from her slouch. Essay?
Cayde winked. "I'll take high-fidelity maps of the Beta and Delta sections of the Talos settlement as substitution. Now shoo. Don't let me see you back here for fourteen days."
Azra took it gratefully and hightailed it out, heart still beating fast from the adrenaline.
You got scared by an essay, Spark teased.
"Shut up," she said, failing to put any venom into it.
She was glad she was still wearing a helmet so nobody could see her smile.