𝒯𝓇𝒾𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇

   Luck would have it that the strange looking alien thing was very proficient with protecting those who could not do so themselves. Paetgeon had practically spent his whole life doing just that, though only recently was it by choice. Canting the Warframe’s head does Paetgeon peer down at the map with profound curiosity. It reminds him of those that his Cephalon had made when he was out gathering resources. Much easier then, than it is now. 

   Leaning back against the low hum of the Archwing jets, Paetgeon crosses one leg over the other, seeming rather casual despite the situation at hand. “Lua- uh.. Earth’s Moon? This might not be Earth so that probably doesn’t help, huh..” 

   It certainly looked like Earth, but then again, so did parts of other planets in the Origin System if one was not looking too close. Standing straight again the Nekros steps closer and peers down to the map once more. Yeah, nothing familiar, the writing doesn’t even make sense to him. He can only count himself lucky that their words are close enough to comprehend. 

   “If I am completely honest I have no idea where I am right now.”

     “ You most definitely are on Earth, behind enemy lines, in the aggressively expanding country of Erusea. ”   He blinked, crinkling the map a bit before folding it up.   “ If you’re from the moon than the landing over a decade ago definitely missed something. ”   Unless this kind stranger only recently arrived but... that didn’t explain the whole thing about knowing what planet the orbiting rock is found spinning around. Okay, well, time to make camp and hope for the best because if they both don’t know what they’re doing, then the enemy definitely doesn’t know either.

     He waved for the Nekros to follow, wanting to get as far away from the ejection seat and, by proxy, his beloved jet. At least the forest wasn’t all that dense. He could navigate through it decently enough by gestimating their location based on the cluster of mountain and the lack of a nearby river.  “ Do you have a name? Something I can call you? “  It’d be rude saying it or hey guy. Lord knows how long they’ll be together and whether or not he’s going to die because the space visitor got tired of him. Kind of like wanting to know the name of your killer if you don’t already know where they’re from.

   Yor keeps his gaze set just outside his ship, eyes peering up to the unknown vessel as it drifts away back out of view. He frowns at that and considers the possibility that his new friend had someone around that which may try to snuff him out again. There is also the idea that this stray Light was out looking to avenge their fallen comrades. He can’t tell just yet. The shadow frowns either way and slides out of his to begin towards the back ramp. 

    Stopping just before the threshold where moonlight drapes itself across the ground he is well hidden in the dark recesses of the ship, eyes peering out with dull color until they settle on the Guardian ordering Trigger about. He finds amusement when the man starts shooting- how bold. And possibility stupid, considering the target. Did the man really think he could take down a Guardian so easily? Maybe it is all that hate hidden in him towards their kind that drives action. 

   Even as bullets pepper the ground around the grey ship Yor still has not moved. Despite how easily frail Trigger was in comparison he does want to see just how the man fairs against the City’s finest. He does well enough until being hit, and then there is a tether, oh how absolutely redundant. If this Lightbearer needs to use such power to take down a simple pilot then it is a miracle he has survived this long. Maybe they are not that old to begin with.

   The shadow shakes his head and reaches for his canon at the same time he steps out and across the ramp, directing its wicked intention down towards the tether and sending a projectile into it. The violet orb in the center pops under fire of direct Darkness, freeing the ace, Yor’s attention sliding over to the source of the Void Light with scrutiny. “You are a pathetic excuse of a Guardian, using your Light on a civilian.”

    The Hunter had been shooting to incapacitate, not to kill, but that was no excuse for the excessive tether. His reflective visor held no hint of the sudden round two of surprise that was hitting him. “Stay out of this!“ He foolishly demanded, “He is to be tried for crimes against against the Last City and its sworn protectors.“ Guess imaging of Trigger’s ship made it back to the Vanguard this time. Even if it didn’t, it was safe to assume that he had shot those ships down. Few could tussle with the everlasting Light and dominate off of the battlefield.

     “In the Wilds it’s shoot first ask questions later.” Trigger spat, discarding his useless pistol. Both hands were putting pressure on his wound, both entry and exit holes. “I do not fall under your laws. You fall under mine.” Every wanderer, no matter what they did to carve out a living beyond the City’s walls, had their own mentality on the laws of the land. Economic powers and trade routes played heavily into this chaotic life, as did one’s ability to fend off attackers. This Hunter was trespassing and, although it was an obviously losing battle, Michael Rush wasn’t going to leave this all behind without a fight.

   Yor enjoys that aspect about Trigger already. Less talk more do, things got done and without comment or question, a dangerous thing to fall into but he is not about to go against it. So long as the pilot proves to be useful to him what he does and how he does it is of no concern. As the other stands he mimics the movement and sets the bowl back where he had retrieved it from, going on without another word. 

   Tired steps carry him on over to his own Jumpship parked in the cool grass of the nighttime forest, glance given past a shoulder when an idea filters through his head. No motion is returned to the wave and the shadow is disappearing into the dark of the ship. He leaves the ramp open and folded down as Yor carries no worry for being shot in his sleep; all it would do is wake him up and piss him off. Part of him really does desire for his new companion not to try something so dull, but if it happened, the ace would be another corpse in the dirt. 

   For the minutes that pass he does not even retire to his own means of sleep, instead sitting in the cockpit and pouring over notes of words that are far beyond any Human language. Runes decorate every available inch of paper worn tan from use. They are not recent by any means, most all of the ones that he had written were taken- he still has yet to figure out by who or why. One day, maybe. 

   The flash catches his attention where thoughts once preoccupied his gaze, body leaning forward to peer out the tinted glass. 

     The silence in between the stalker’s initial landing and their arrival within range of the camp was deafening. They were incredibly light on their feet and stayed well out of sight. A Hunter, most likely, the lack of obvious Titan activity and Warlock boasting made that fairly clear. With how dark it was, Trigger couldn’t see well enough to make out the hidden predator lying in wait. Whether it mattered or not in the long run, this Guardian was hesitating as if they weren’t expecting a single Human as their target. Michael Rush was not an intimidating man and his somewhat loose flight suit added zero protection. 

    Did that deter the mute pilot from drawing their weapon and searching for the intruder? Not one bit. This was his temporary home, his shelter for the night, and he wasn’t about to give it up. The Hunter rose from their crouched position, revealing them self as they walked forward with a rifle aimed directly at the pistol that stared back in kind. A command was given, the usual [ drop your weapon! ] and something like [ by order of the vanguard / speaker ] nonsense.

     All that did was annoy the Light-less ace into squeezing the trigger. Sure did surprise the Hunter, he looked stupidly shocked at how his armor absorbed the rounds up until one punched through. Then it was game on. An all out firefight erupted, shattering the peace and quiet completely with shouting on the Hunter’s part. Rush was quick on his feet but clearly not skilled in ground combat; he was making a lot of mistakes and paid for it when a round tore through his thigh.

   Does it hurt. His green gaze trails up from the bowl of warm food and to the pilot across from him. Innocent questions are not unwelcome for the time being. Most had a great multitude of such and oftentimes they went on without answer. Which generally lead into one of two things; people either went away and dropped the subject or pressed on until the shadow chose to silence them forever. 

   “No, don’t even notice it,” he replies back with a small shrug and drops his sight back down. “Bothers others more than it does me.” A sly smile upturns the corner of his mouth as he moves to take another bite of tender meat. Yor has used his appearance as means to stun and instill great fear upon those that served as prey, Guardian and non alike. A certain pleasure could be derived from seeing terror laced in the expression of that who was about to die, not that he would admit to it, but it certainly happened. 

   Silence sits between them and it doesn’t take long for Yor to finish his meal, a soft thanks given in response. Afterwards his mask is relatched back into place and the shadows simply sits there. Aching bones dictate that he do not move and should let sleep take over where he rests. He can’t, not yet at least. Perhaps later once Trigger has done so as well but trust is exceptionally rare. 

     Shifting somewhat uncomfortably, he nods and says no more. Being a man of few words tends to do that; sometimes not speaking up at all is the best thing to do. For Michael Rush, his actions spoke louder than his words did (metaphorically and literally). He listened and sought to understand, not to be understood, read in between the lines where others would pass over them. This made his hearing more attentive and fine tuned. It had his head turning away to search the sky for a brief moment before a sigh passed through his lips.

     Rising to his feet, the pilot ducked further under the overhead tarp and pressed a hand to a hidden panel. A compartment opened to reveal a pistol that had likely been scavenged. It was well kept for a discarded weapon, so was the holster. Both were fastened to his hip and a wave given to Yor. Time to catch a quick nap before he became restless at having been grounded for so long.

     He lied down on the bed roll and pulled the thin blanket up to his shoulders, staring for a couple of seconds before both eyes closed. Trigger was putting a lot of trust in this renegade killer. Perhaps it was another form of acceptance in that life was short and if he died, well, he died. What they didn’t know was their distant stalker was getting closer, their eyes had found their prize.