"Every crew needs a captain. Otherwise, who'd take all the credit?" —Drifter
The Ether Tank, Eliksni Quarter, Last City
What's that, Guardian? You want to hear about the old crews from someone who was there?
You think I was around for the Whirlwind? Ha! I'm a few molts shy. No, I hatched into the House of Wolves. You know the story—and if not, I don't have the time to explain it to you.
But I trade in information. I ran with some tough crowds in the past, maybe knew someone who knew someone… you get the idea. So I know a fair bit about those crews.
For them, every puff of Ether came at someone's expense. Your best bet was to be stronger than the next crew over—and when things were especially bad, stronger than whoever was in the cot next to yours.
So they got strong. And remember, they didn't have Void or Solar like you do; they had claws. Blades. When they killed, it was without hesitation, and when they died, there was no coming back.
You Guardians, with your little Ghosts hovering nearby, you have the luxury of kindness—that was never an option for the old crews. They were like anyone else; they were cruel, but you needed to be cruel to survive in those days.
And they're not "back," like I hear Misraaks saying; they never left. You're up against the ones who stayed alive all this time. The ones who learned how to survive. How to sacrifice. How to take what they need, whatever the cost.
…and speaking of cost, I'm not seeing any more Glimmer in your account. I think we're done talking.