Till It's Over (A Destiny 2 Story)

Everyone Knows

Don't look so shocked
Don't judge so harsh
You don't know
You are only spying
Everyone knows it's going to hurt
But at least we'll get hurt trying

Firewood – Regina Spektor

-

Morning, Twelve days after the attack; The Farm, European Dead Zone, Earth

Azra followed Veera back from the cove towards civilization. Perhaps that word needed mental quotes. 'Society' was not the idea that came to Azra's head when she looked at the Farm. Everything was so... temporary. The tables were all foldable, the road was just a dusty path worn through the grass, and there were crates and lanterns scattered everywhere. When Azra closed her eyes she could practically taste the heady desperation in the air, the sharp tang of determination, the drowning feeling of loss upon loss upon loss-

She shook herself free from the sensations and jogged to catch up with her Warlock companion. Veera didn't need to shoulder her way through the throngs of people; they parted before her like water before a ship. Azra trailed in the wake, shrugging under the uncomfortably curious eyes of passers-by.

The two made their way inside the rickety old barn and up the stairs. Someone had set up a nest of sorts in the loft- nothing fancy, just a pallet for a bed and a few tables cluttered with equipment. The view from the window was nice.

A woman was currently seated at one of the tables. There was not a whiff of Light about her, though she wore what Azra would classify as Hunter garb. Her brown hair was pulled back under a hood. Though her face was clean, there was dried mud in the creases in her boots and gloves, evidence of travel or work. Really the only thing that was missing was a cape. The stranger was fiddling with some old radio, but she stopped and stood as the two Guardians took their last few steps up the creaky stairs. "I'm all set here-" she began. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the two of them. "Who's this?"

"This," Veera said (a bit too imperiously), "Is Azra Jax. We spoke of her earlier. Azra," the Warlock nudged the Hunter with an elbow, "This is Suraya Hawthorne. She is the leader of the Farm."

The Mortal sized up the new Guardian, making no attempt to hide her skepticism. Azra had to admit her glare was pretty sharp. "Where's my comms link?" Hawthorne asked.

Azra scratched the back of her neck in a nervous gesture. "Oh. Uh. I no longer have it?"

Hawthorne rolled her eyes. "Great. What'd you do, drop it in the ocean?"

"... Technically?" Azra said. Spark had been holding it, and she had kind of dropped him into the ocean-

The Ghost appeared as if summoned by her thoughts. "Ignore that," he dismissed, "She's just being confusing. We just came back from a trip to the Last City- we left the comms device with the Resistance there."

"Felt like they'd have more use of it," Azra mumbled, self-conscious.

Hawthorne eyed the small machine with suspicion but took his explanation nonetheless. "Fine. Let's go. Daylight's wasting." She brushed past the two Guardians and grabbed a beat-up sniper rifle that was leaning against the wall. The Guardians looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her as she clomped down the stairs.

If Veera in the crowds was a ship parting the waters, Hawthorne was a needle pulling a thread. She moved through the throngs in that self-assured Cityperson manner. It left Veera and Azra hurrying to keep up.

People became more sparse as they approached the Farm's small airfield, allowing the two Guardians to finally draw even with the Mortal. She began immediately with a debrief. "I don't know if you want to bring a Lightless Guardian on this mission," Suraya began casually. "Devrim has the signal booster we need but he's holed up in some pretty hostile territory."