NPA "Weir-Walker" Pants
[DAY 287] A rising pressure, signaling imminent danger.
"There's nothing to hide behind!" Sloane laughed sardonically over comms, annoyance building in her voice. She made a point of spinning in the empty, expansive ocean, exoskeleton-encased arms out wide, before turning to her Ghost. They'd been walking through desolate nothingness for days, tracking the next site. "We need to keep hitting them."
"It's been over a year of chasing Pyramid waves, of the blight. You're getting worse." Síocháin's shell cut like fins through the methane, "And there IS something out there. It's been trailing us, or ahead of us…"
"I know. It's something old." Sloane's voice was flat. "I told you; I think it's been talking to me. Or… more like thinking at me." Silence hung over them for a moment before being swept away by the current.
"Oh… is it now? Care to share more about that?" the Ghost asked with restrained frustration.
"Whatever's out there… I think it's guiding us. Or trying to see if it can trust us. If we're… compatible?"
"Oh, that's good and vague," Síocháin hissed. "You're sure that's what it wants? Because we have a HIVE GOD chasing us. We don't have the luxury of guessing wrong."
"It's just a feeling—not really my thing—but my gut tells me it's well-intentioned. Xivu Arath, on the other hand—"
Síocháin dropped onto the seafloor sand. "THAT'S what we've been following? Your gut? You think you can charge into fight after fight on a 'feeling' and keep walking away?"
"Isn't that the idea? I'm effectively immortal." Sloane stopped, turned, and shook her head. "The suit's wearing. Rations are… look, we need to finish the mission while I'm still in fighting condition."
"Titan's gone, Sloane." Síocháin rose and drifted past her. "What happens if you die somewhere too dark to drag you back? Have you considered that?"
"This coming from the gung-ho Ghost, taking on the whole Hive army with a set of shaving razors." Sloane chuckled to herself. "Seriously, are you expecting to live through… whatever this is?"
"No," Síocháin said meekly. "I hoped you would."
The firm lines of Sloane's expression crumbled for an instant.
This was unlike them.
She shut her visor, cleared her throat, and turned to continue marching. "No more fighting, for you. That's an order."
"But that's—I was saying that to you!" The Ghost zipped forward. "Hey! Don't walk away from me!"
Sloane stopped. The heavy metal around her boots sank into the silty sea floor. "I'm not—there's NOWHERE to walk away TO! That's MY point!" Sloane jabbed a finger at her Ghost.
"I'm not starving to death for an eternity just to turn out like the psycho that runs Gambit… if I even make it that far. But you don't have to worry about that. Let me be useful while I can. Then move on when it's over."
Síocháin whirred in thought for a moment. "I don't want to make it without you."
"We don't get to choose that." Sloane straightened her stance. "If you can't take it when it hits you, you go out and hit it before it gets started." Sloane raised her visor and met Síocháin's stare. "That's the best plan I have while I'm still walking. You have a better one?"
"Then let's get to work."