"Praetorian, right side." Bishop sounded almost bored. The Hunter was an example of the vast extremes Guardians tended to exist in regularly. Casually reporting spotting one of the more dangerous breeds of Vex foot soldiers, rushing to reclaim the very ground he stood on, yet Ricochet had heard him nearly throw a tantrum at another guardian relying a tad too heavily on a shotgun in a Crucible match. "Reloading. Rocket's down." Doss reported. They were on the same side, holding that panel. They'd be fine. Ricochet hoped they'd be fine. It'd be easy to tell if they weren't. Doss didn't take too long to reload, it was just a matter of waiting for the--- [b]BOOM.[/b] There were six of them. Any time he was able, he had his team to travel as a pack. It was a fact about his method which most looking in from outside would never have guessed---he came across as a hyper aggressive, smart mouthed, violent variety of Titan. He'd sparred both verbally and physically with other entities at the tower with the sort of fervor and heartfelt disdain which let everyone know that it [i]had[/i] to be genuine. He didn't want to be anyone's friend. He didn't want to be anyone's ally. The Vanguard Assault Lance had earned its name and kept its title not by forging friendships with other factions and Vanguard allied groups, but by simply being an effective fighting force. Most said he'd rather use another Guardian for target practice, or a punching bag, than help them. Unless it was profitable, he'd lead his team in a formation of sparrows right by a firefight, no matter how desperate it looked for the other Guardians trapped there. Single-minded, abrasive, underhanded, murderous, unhinged, were all words used to describe him regularly. By members of his team. Outsiders were far more colorful. It lead many to ask why he was worth following. They ask because those who [i]do[/i], do so fiercely. They ask because what is so obvious about him can't be all of it, it can't be the whole story. They're right. The assignment was to open the Vault of Glass, and not allow a Praetorian to touch one of the sync plates. Not to enter it. That wasn't their concern right now. Some researching Warlocks decided that opening the Vault in various ways, despite going through the same trials within, lead to different results on some macro level. Something about time, and realities. Something about unlocking secrets they could use. Three could open the door. He brought six. Because when the Vanguard Assault Lance went to a task, he made sure to lead the most able and available into the fray. He made sure to come back with them all. How he took on work for his team may be morally dubious, overly contrary to the cause, and downright disrespectful to what it means to be a Guardian---but what it meant to be [i]part of the pack[/i] was in no way ambiguous. Everyone fights. Everyone does their job excellently. Everyone goes home. Everyone. Every time. [i]We all fight like our lives depend on it. He fights like everyone else's life depends on it.[/i] "Right side, report." He was finishing reloading. Thumbing the release on his Unwilling Soul's magazine receiver, snapping his wrist the right to forcefully eject the mag once it was loose. Nearly worthless fabricated casing. Some Guardians preferred to use the most expensive, most advanced gear---he preferred the most expendable. Left hand moving to his hip, he felt the sudden weight of a new full magazine transmatting on the spot from glimmer he'd picked up already. Slamming the mag home, flicking his hand along the weapon's frame to rack the bolt in a single practiced, memorized motion. He glanced to his right, over the lush Venusian valley separating him from part of his team, and could only see smoke and dust settling. "We're good." Bishop replied shortly. "Kinda close there, Doss." "Forgot I was on cluster. My bad." Doss sounded more amused than apologetic. While a whiz with tech, in almost every other arena Doss approached a situation only slightly abashed about having absolutely no clue what he was doing. He was accident prone. A klutz. But not someone you wanted to leave at home when you were fighting the Vex. He had his purpose, and because of that Ricochet had every intention of keeping him alive. No one was expendable. The pack was whole, or it wasn't a pack at all. That was why he sent him with Bishop. "Center, report." He grumbled, shouldering his rifle. Focusing on what was before him---what was before him was a group of five Goblins, marching out from nowhere in particular in lockstep. Already firing. He was already moving. They were already missing. It was like they didn't [i]WANT[/i] to hit him, sometimes. Wasn't his problem right now, though. The Warlocks would study that eventually, and that might be work for his team later on. No reason to do his job too well, unless they were paying more. Right now, it was do what they were asked to do and go home. That was always the plan. "We're good." He heard Fault over the muted pop of his Hand Cannons firing, and the much louder chatter of his own Auto Rifle pouring rounds into the nearest Goblin. It fell apart under the hail. Its core fluid splattered. He saw its red eye blink out before its chassis had even taken much damage. [i]They really don't care. They're here to do their job just well enough, just like we are.[/i] He switched targets. "Big one, moving---yeah it's headed your---nevermind." Wally began to report from the center pad. The young Titan was more spirited than he was helpful. More talented than he was skilled. But he was willing to fight, and his desire to be a part of something made him loyal to the pack. That made him worth keeping. That was why he put him with Fault. His attempt to report was cut off because, as he was alerting them to a Praetorian moving down toward left side---where Ricochet was posted with Fox---Fox was already reducing said Praetorian to slag and the ground beneath it to a shimmering rough bowl of vitrified soil. She must have found something poetic about making glass out of these particular Vex, because she was rather enthusiastic about it. "Got him!" She chimed pleasantly. Ricochet was on his fourth Goblin. He'd reloaded, his body going through the motion automatically. The next Goblin just kept walking. He cut it down just as quickly. Business as usual. Fox briefly entered his field of vision from above, still glowing orange---she skid to a stop beside him, turned, and he heard the tell-tale [i]cla-CLACK![/i] of her Multi Tool being ready and the bolt racked. [i]They're like us. They do exactly what they set out to do. But losing members doesn't matter to them. Deaths don't matter to them. Who's leading this pack?[/i] "Spire's forming. Nice." Doss reported, punctuated by another tremor-inducing explosion. "Open a link to that exploration group. Tell them we've scared all the monsters out from under the bed. Closet's their problem, unless their budget just tripled." Ricochet grumbled in reply. It was as though he heard himself saying it. He knew what he would say. They all knew what he would say. They were done here, nearly, and it was a sigh of relief. The Vex stopped appearing. They were done here too. [i] So many teams report destroying Atheon. The Templar. Gorgon. And the Vex don't seem to care any more than they care about these. Who's leading this pack? Why don't they care?[/i] "Yezzir." Doss replied quickly before switching to transmitting to the team waiting in orbit as well. "You're clear down here. No mud tracked on the rugs either, as requested. Get down here quick, I think we're letting the cold in. Or, you know. The... time. Or whatever's going on there." The door was opening. Before, Ricochet always went to go watch it. He didn't bother now. [i]This was to learn something about them. Maybe they're doing the same thing for us.[/i] People usually said he didn't care about the details. He lowered his rifle, turned to look away from the door. Watched the brightly glowing spire for a moment, than turned his gaze off of the cliff behind them. Fox caught his eye, looking his way and tipping her head to the side questioningly. He gave a small shrug. She kept her weapon up and ready, continuing to scan. "Falling back." Fault reported from center. "Comin' to you." Bishop, from right. "Good work, people." Ricochet noted, watching three ships streak down from orbit toward them. Cutting bright swaths through the sky, then suddenly leveling and slowing down, headed straight for the cliff. [i]I care about this one, though. We're not getting the whole picture here. And enemies that I can't see are a threat to my pack.[/i] The guardians they'd cleared a path for landed in formation, and appeared simultaneously. Three Warlocks in New Monarchy colors. Vanquishers out as they sprinted for the hill in lockstep, blinked up to the center platform simultaneously, and sprinted into the vault. "...didn't even say thanks." Wally muttered. Faulted jabbed him in his broad, armored shoulder and shook his head. Ricochet watched, then took a look around at his team. All accounted for. All here, all alive. [i]No reason to care much, if you're not losing anything. In that case, literally everything is profit.[/i] "They [b]did[/b] pay, though." Fox noted, a smile on her voice. [i]Profit.[/i]