//------------------------------// // A Simple Walk // Story: What Now? // by Q-22 //------------------------------// Night had fallen over Old Russia. Snow had piled high over the vast expanse of forgotten country in the past few years. Without any fighting or scavenging going on, the old shipyards and steppes were almost peaceful. Almost. Two boots crunched through the rusting, battered remains of an old cosmodrome, where rockets once soared into the sky, carrying colony ships to the stars beyond. Beneath the cover of a pale cloak, a tired warrior sighed, his breath fogging the visor to his cracked and busted helm. He looked up, staring almost soullessly at a titanic metal wall. He approached the structure, simply placed his hand against it, let it drag down for a moment, and walked away. It left a mark in the frost that caked the metal, next to dozens of others. He'd been here before. Countless times. Just outside the wall, he trudged until he found an entrance. A road, centuries old, used to lead into the cosmodrome. Frames of old cars were piled up all along the long, winding, broken highway, stretching for miles and miles into the distance. He followed along the road to a sudden drop in the ground, where a bridge once held up the road. It had fallen long ago, breaking apart in the small canyon. He stared down the trench for a good, long while. Breathing. Staring. Thinking. He backtracked towards the wall, turning to walk through the column of cars, and turned back toward the trench. His gaze slowly wound it's way through the cars and up to a small outcropping near where the bridge used to be. It was an empty space. A place of beginning. His place. There was a soft flash beside his covered head, a small mechanical eye materializing next to him. Following his gaze. Hanging beside him in silence. He knew what he was thinking. "You want to stop now, don't you?" spoke the eye, his blue robotic iris shining in the dark. The man nodded once, expression unseen beneath his dirtied golden visor. His movements were slow. Thoughtful. Perhaps pained. He had only been alive again less then two decades and he had already done so much. Seen so much. Killed so many. Saved even more. His job was done, he wanted to rest. The eye, the man's Ghost, almost seemed to quiver. His voice was solemn, much like the man. "I won't leave you." chirped Ghost after a long silence. The man's head lowered. His chest rose and fell, much like the tempo of a slow song. He walked closer to where he awoke all those years ago, standing roughly around where he was first resurrected. It was hard to remember exactly where, but he could remember what happened clear as day. Rising, looking up at the world around, the sky, the clouds, the rocks, the ancient skeletons trapped inside each car, and his violent introduction to life's fragile cycle of living and dying. He learned a lot about both of those over the years. Mostly the dying part, though. Especially dying. It was the one thing he could never do for very long. "Did you want the box now?" asked Ghost, floating around to hover in front of the hooded warrior. "I just...I think you should open it, before...You know." Silence reigned once more, the man silent, unlike the air rushing by. A storm was blowing in. "I just...Maybe you should sit? Then open it?" pleaded Ghost, bumping his fragile form against the man's helmet. That seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he was in, and he nodded again, turned to face the wall, and slowly sat back against a pile of snow. A sleek, black box materialized between his legs, and he picked it up, sliding a hand over the top before slowly removing the lid. Ghost flew in close, hovering just over the man's shoulder. Watching. Hopeful. Inside was a small collection of things the man had collected over the years. Things he managed to hold on to. Mementos. An old, definitely expired ramen coupon nearly brought tears to the man's eyes when he picked it up. A white, bull-barreled revolver with an ace engraved on each side of the handle did the trick. Two roses; one red with blackened thorns, the other white and smooth as stone. An iron sigil, depicting a wolf's head. There were a few other meaningful baubles and trinkets littering the box, but what really got the man's attention was a smaller box within the box. Ghost chirped excitedly, and the man picked it out, setting the bigger box down between his legs. Ghost gave a supportive nudge, and the man opened it, finding a small sticky note stuck to the ceiling of the lid. Inside, there were rounded, home-made sugar cookies. He tugged the note free from the lid and read, Ghost casting a faint light to make it easier. Dearest Guardian, I know this time of year is especially hard on you, reminding you of, well, everything, and all of us at the Tower thought you could use a little cheering up. Something to remember the good times, along side the bad. The cookies are from all of us. We each made one in the same oven that you used to make so many delightful treats for us all during my first Dawning back at the Tower after the Red War. After all you've done for us all back in The City, and at the farm, and everywhere else your travels have taken you, this is the least we could do for you before you go. Here's to hoping you can finally get some peace and quiet. With love, Eva Levante He read through the note a few more times, took off his helmet, and took a few bites out of one of the cookies, savoring the crunch. Sugar cookies weren't supposed to crunch, but that was fine. A lot of things weren't supposed to be like they were, but it all worked out in the end. "Remember that one Ghost who said she wanted to eat candied bugs if she had a mouth? Just for the crunch?" blurted Ghost rather loudly, making the Guardian laugh and promptly choke on his cookie. The laughing/coughing fit lasted for a few seconds before he managed to get himself under control, staring at his Ghost with a mixed expression. Obviously, the man did remember, and was both grateful and spiteful toward his Ghost for bringing up the memory. After all, he was trying to eat a cookie. Very important hero business, eating cookies. Terribly rude to interrupt such a thing. Just as he was taking another bite, Ghost snuggling close to his scarf in the cold Russian breeze, the universe hiccuped. Well, that's what it sounded like. The very fabric of reality stretching and popping, a burst of paracasual energy sweeping the area from an undisclosed point, washing over the two Beings of Light the way a blast of water washes over a soggy piece of paper. It was over as soon as it had started, and the snow blew on over an empty patch of ground.