Weiss adjusts the strap of her rifle, her remaining hand tightening in determination. The fallen Captain's Arc Blade, still humming faintly with contained energy hangs across her back, its weight oddly comforting, despite it being used to cut off her arm earlier.
Spark hovers at her shoulder, optics rotating as he scans the open yard.
"Ah, the Wall!" he chirps brightly. "A marvel of Golden Age engineering and looking at it now—a superb example of entropy left completely unsupervised."
Weiss snorts softly. "Great. So we're walking into a giant, collapsing death trap."
"Yes! Precisely." Spark bobs in agreement. "But it's the only way to reach a usable jumpship unless you are suddenly capable of flight. Are you capable of flight?"
"…No."
"Then onward!"
They slip through a torn door leading into the wall. Inside, the air is colder, stale, filled with drifting dust motes. Echoes of distant metal clatter through the dark. Weiss pauses, fingers brushing the hilt of her Arc Blade. "Spark… you said this place used to be important."
"Indeed!" Spark's light brightens as he enters lecture mode. "The Cosmodrome launched humanity's first colony ships. Billions dreamed of the stars here, and departed from it. Now it is—" he scans a patch of ceiling as something scuttles overhead, "—infested quite unpleasant."
A skittering sound approaches. Fast. Weiss drops into a stance, one Spark did not teach her but which feels instinctual. Two four armed silhouettes emerge ahead, their strange rifles glowing. The first bolt hits a support beam beside her. Weiss grabs the Arc Blade, its blue light flaring to life. Electricity crackles up her arm, but instead of pain it feels energizing.
She darts forward, slashing the first Vandal across the chest. The blade tears through its armor and body in one flash, dropping it instantly as a pained cry escapes it.
"Oh excellent!" Spark cheers. "Impressively violent!" Weiss whirls, cutting another Vandal's gun arm before kicking it backward. The remaining Fallen screech and scatter deeper into the wall.
With the hall quieting again, Weiss exhales. "I… didn't know I could move like that."
"Hmm! Likely the Light asserting itself. You are newly risen, after all, and your abilities will manifest in erratic, occasionally alarming ways."
They continue deeper through the wall. Climbing broken stairwells, weaving through dark maintenance tunnels, and passing the hollow shells of centuries-old equipment. Every so often, a Fallen patrol appears, and Weiss alternates between rifle shots and sharp, brilliant arcs of her stolen blade.
The Arc energy dances beautifully in the dim corridors, blue lightning carving brief, jagged shapes across the walls whenever she swings. Spark hums approvingly each time. "Such efficiency! That Captain would be furious if he could see what you're doing with his weapon. How delightful!"
Finally, after a long climb through a shattered ventilation shaft, faint sunlight appears ahead. Spark floats ahead, peeking out the exit. "Oh! Good news. The air outside is only mildly toxic. And better news, my scans have indicated a jump ship is ahead. Getting to it, however…" He hesitates.
Weiss squeezes the Arc Blade's hilt. "Let me guess. More Fallen."
"Yes. And likely irritable ones." Sparks frame nods in acknowledgment.
Weiss breathes in and steps forward anyway. "Then we keep moving."
—————
The corridor ahead widens into a storage alcove littered with half-collapsed racks and broken crates. Spark pauses mid-air, his eye brightening.
"Oh! Weiss look there. A weapons chest. And it appears to have retained its locking mechanism… barely."
Weiss steps toward the battered container, brushing away snow and grime. A soft chime responds to her touch, and the lid rises with a hiss of escaping cold air.
Inside lies a sleek, compact weapon: a Fusion Rifle, its frame etched with faded Golden Age markings. Pale blue filaments pulse along the barrel like veins of frozen lightning. Weiss lifts it carefully. "What… is this?"
Spark vibrates with excitement. "A Fusion Rifle! It charges a high-density energy bolt, then releases it in one concentrated blast. Highly effective at medium range. Excellent for precision-oriented Guardians with fast reflexes."
He tilts toward her. "And you, Weiss, are extremely reflexive. Especially when panicking."
"I wasn't panicking," she mutters—and then, after a moment, "Much."
"Regardless, this should synergize wonderfully with your blade. Charge, strike and then vaporize enemies in a stylish combination!"
Weiss tests the rifle's weight on her shoulder. It fits her grip naturally, like she's handled one a thousand times before. "Feels right," she says quietly.
"Splendid! Now, try not to vaporize yourself. Or me."
They proceed deeper into the wall. Fallen chatter echoes ahead, sharp and rising.
A Vandal drops from a ledge, wire rifle aimed at her head.
Weiss reacts instantly, charging the Fusion Rifle with a rising hum. The weapon fires with a sharp fwum, releasing a bolt of compressed energy that hits the Vandal center-mass, causing it to disintegrate in a bright blue spark.
Weiss blinks. "…Okay. I really like this thing."
"I knew you would!" Spark beams. "It complements your temperament. Focused precise and slightly dramatic."
She swings the Arc Blade off her back next. "Let's keep moving."
They push on through the Cosmodrome wall, Weiss alternating between careful Fusion Rifle shots and sudden bursts of close-quarters Arc Blade strikes. The combination is a seamless rhythm.
Spark bobs proudly beside her. "Oh, this is going exceptionally well! For me. And somewhat well for you." Weiss rolls her eyes. "Thanks, Spark."
"My pleasure!"
————
After traveling for a while, eliminating any Fallen that chose to pop out if the vents, Weiss asks a question. "So… Spark," she begins, trying to fill the heavy silence, "were all Ghosts like you? Before you found me?"
Spark emits a cheerful beep. "Oh, certainly not. Most Ghosts strive for seriousness, solemnity, reverence—very dull things! I however, embrace a more lively approach."
"Figures," Weiss mutters as she looking at the twirling ghost flying beside her, humming without a care in the world.
A metallic screech echoes across from her. Fallen Dregs scramble over the walls, crawling on all fours before pulling themselves on the ground. Their weapons crackle with unstable Arc energy.
Weiss sighs, lifting her rifle. "Great. More of them."
"Good eye! And judging by their body language, they seem extremely excited to shoot you."
"Why does that not make me feel better?" Weiss grumbles.
"Because it shouldn't! They're terrible shots, but very enthusiastic."
The Dregs open fire. Weiss darts behind a rusted container, returning shots with tight, controlled bursts. Two Dregs drop instantly. The third tries to flank her. Weiss pulls the Arc Blade free, its glow lighting the snow with electric blue. She lunges, cleaving through the Dreg's armor in a single graceful arc.
Spark tilts toward her. "Beautiful! Efficient! You're adapting wonderfully."
Weiss pants softly, adrenaline buzzing through her. "It feels… natural," she admits. "Like I've done this before."
"You more than likely have. Many Guardians retain muscle memory, combat instincts, or deeply unwise tendencies from their past lives." Guilty Spark hums out.
"So I was… what? Some kind of fighter?" Weiss asks as she continues forward.
"Possibly! Or perhaps a dancer with extremely aggressive choreography. Hard to say yet."
Weiss laughs softly, glad that she isn't alone, even if her companion never seems to shut up. "You're impossible."
"And yet indispensable!"