Hello! I've gotten kind of tired of not having any real story to revolve around while playing destiny, so I've decided to make it. In this little excerpt, a Warlock tries to understand the journey that Exos take through Deep Stone. (There's a Grimoire card about it in Mysteries and Legends) Enjoy! I sit in my room, pondering the properties of a ball of Ascendant Energy on the table. The fires of destruction swirl viciously within the capsule; no control, no direction, only energy. It had come to my attention earlier that day that I had never once questioned this unbridled energy, nor tried to understand it. It was one of the few things I just used without a second thought. A tool: its function to serve, not to be understood. My ghost understood it. “You should probably not play with that too much. The capsule will hold, but it does not hold everything.” I nodded, understanding. There were stories of Warlocks breaking the capsule, instantly vaporizing everything within a quarter mile radius. This was pure power and it was best left trapped. My pondering was interrupted by the soft hiss of Exo joints fidgeting. My fireteam leader, and my companion, lay sleeping on his cot, eyes closed. I had gotten used to knowing when he was actually sleeping. Exos have a bad habit of closing their eyes and pretending to rest only to listen in on the world around them. Probably some forlorn strand of code constantly pushing them to observe. But when they sleep, they aren’t so restless. Ever so often, a joint would move or coolant would circulate. With him, it was his hands: they would twitch and ball up into fists when all of his processors weren’t processing. He was a curious thing. Apollo 44 was his designated name. He was old in mind, always trying to remember something that had happened long before his rebirth. A face or an event: something to help him remember what the world was before. . . all this. He was always trying to figure something out. I liked that. Most Exos don’t much care about answers, let alone Exo Titans, but he was curious. Always curious. Even the space around his cot was more interesting than half of the Hunters I meet. From shelf to shelf, on the walls and tables, were trinkets. Memorabilia, scraps of battles past, Golden Age technology that he knew he would never make work again. He was bathed in the beauty of the unknown and that was his world. Then, as all Exos do, his hands stopped moving. His body went rigid and I knew what was coming. “Ghost, be ready to record this. I’d like to see if he made it this time.” Its tiny eye blinked as it moved to get the both of us in the frame. Even it wanted to see how this was going to play out. After another moment or two, he woke up, coolant flowing almost audibly as he gasped for air he knew he didn’t need. “Was it the tower?” I asked, leaning in softly. They never liked to talk about it. “Yeah,” he offer back, the lights of his eyes gently illuminating his lap as he sat up. I nodded, turning to fully face him. “And?” He shook his head. “No, I didn’t make it.” I sighed. My ghost closed its eye and began to move back to me, but I ushered it back. “Who was it this time?” I asked. He paused for a moment and I bet if he had lips, they would have been pursed. “Ikora.” A lie. It was my turn to purse my lips. “Apollo, I know this is hard, but-“ I began, but he cut me off. “It was you. Again,” he let out without looking at me. “Oh.” I was speechless. This was the third consecutive time I had ended his journey to Deep Stone. “It’s not your fault, Asera. It just a. . . Well, you know.” I nodded. It was an anomaly. A mechanical dream built on strife and murder. I knew he had killed everyone else without a hitch: Zavala, Cayde, Tess, Eris, Leon. People I didn’t know and people he didn’t know. But, for some reason, he couldn’t kill me. I opened my mouth to say something comforting, but as I did, our door opened with a hiss. “Okay, two things: One, I found another mention of the word ‘nerd’ in the ruins of North America, so I’m not wrong and you’re still a nerd and two, this.” Our third fireteam member, Leon, stood proudly in the doorway, holding an Eliksni Wire Rifle, it’s shock cores still humming. He was another curious friend: A Hunter by trade, but a collector in effort with Apollo. Apart from that and his penchant for learning old and new words, he was rather. . . dull. “Leon, for the last time, Wire Rifles don’t work in human hands. The shock cores that produce the molten shards give off too much particle decay for anyone but the Eliksni to fire.” I had grown so tired of him trying to work our enemies weapons that telling him he was stupid wasn’t even fun anymore. “Okay, well then why don’t you tell me why I saw two, count ‘em, two Hunters today with a Queenbreaker’s Bows? You’re just gunna tell me that I can’t have nice things again, ‘cause I will walk right out of this room and find someone with a little more enthusiasm that can make this work,” he fired back. I opened my mouth to curse every atom in his body when Apollo stood. He was a good head taller than the both of us and his foreboding form demanded every eye in the room. “Come on, Asera. I’ve been searching for a Bow of my own as well. And you know as well as I that he won’t be satisfied until it explodes in his hands and he has to wait for his ghost to bring him back.” Shock is a kind term for the looks he got from the both of us. “See? Even the robot with PTSD knows that this is a worthwhile idea!” Leon exclaimed, breaking the silence. “I never said it was a good idea, Leon. I just said you were too stupid to listen to anything besides being vaporized,” Apollo offered back, picking up one of his old chest pieces. “Now help me put this thing on and we’ll go see how particle decay effects a brainless Hunter.”