Drifting Away

Things were settled nicely around the Tower. His little Gambit was coming along, and the motes were flowing strong.

So why do I feel like a psion's lining up a shot to my skull?

Who knows? Maybe that Praxic agent was sniffing around again. He hadn't seen his favorite Snitch in a while, though...

Sure enough, strutting into his little corner of the Annex was the Internal Affairs agent herself. He put on a smile as she marched right up to him.

"Aunor! How's my favorite Light-obsessed zealot today?"

She grimaced at yet another of his nicknames; little jabs at her devotion to the Traveler and the Light. With a sigh, she stood before the little weasel. 'Just deliver the message, then go.'

"Drifter." She said the name like a curse. "As per the last request of Guardian CT-3555, Maloy, I am here to inform you of her final death."

Silence.

It was odd; the dark man seemed in shock. For once, no easy quip or sarcastic response. The Drifter cleared his throat before finding his voice.

"How-How'd she die?" Aunor recalled the details of the report she had received from another of the Hidden on Luna.

"She fell in combat with the Hive. Before fellow Guardians could assist, the damned monsters herded her deeper into the Hellmouth. Her ghost was found later, nearly gone. It had fled, on her orders. It delivered her last message before expiring. When the strike team found her remains, they also found...this."

She pulled out a sealed case, normally used for hazardous materials. Paracausal hazardous materials. The old risen opened the case. A Malfeasance hand cannon. Or...was it?

"What is...? Is that blood?" The formerly green and black cannon had been dyed a deep crimson. Even the leather grip had been inked a deep maroon. The weapon seemed to pulse every few seconds, glowing brighter before fading back into a darker hue. Almost like...

"...her heartbeat." Drifter cradled the piece in his hands, eyes following the grooves of the barrel that almost seemed to ripple with blood. He sighed.

"Ah, Snitch. What's become of you?" The warlock stared curiously at the man, who sagged inward, head bowing.

"Snitch? You mean Agent Maloy?"

"Yeah. That's what I called her. I knew she was working with you, O Praxic One. Snitch wasn't really cut out for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff. For all she was a warlock, girl acted more like a titan in gambit. Wore her heart on her sleeve, even around me."

He set the cannon down gently on his workbench. It took effort to turn away from the gun and focus on the warlock in front of him.

'Don't shoot the messenger, no matter how much she aggravates you.'

"So, how'd a regular old Malfeasance turn into...that?" His eyes stared hard at Aunor, dark and flinty. "I'm a fair hand at smithing, but Snitch never seemed the type."

Aunor looked at the man before her, trying to recover from his shock now that there was something else to focus on. She decided it wouldn't hurt to answer him, as the method wasn't something he would ever reproduce.

"Agent Maloy knew what the Hive planned for her, and decided to do something drastic instead of just waiting for death. She had her ghost transmat the weapon directly into her chest cavity, where the disgusting creatures couldn't get at it. She then focused on imbuing her Light and life force, her very soul into her cannon."

She paused a moment before steadying herself. Such an act of will, despite what must have been excruciating pain...

"Her last words to her ghost before she sent it away, were these: "It's not for them. They can't have it. Only 'He' can have it." Her ghost escaped to the upper levels before it began to fade. We suspect it may have used too much energy helping Maloy infuse her weapon, and just couldn't survive the various Hive magics in the Hellmouth."