Ancient Apocalypse Armor (Titan)
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|Ancient Apocalypse Armor (Titan)|
Ancient Apocalypse Armor
Ancient Apocalypse Helm
- "Maybe you leave your first apocalypse. But your second one never leaves you."
- — The Drifter
Drifter leaned his seat back, hands behind his head. He sat in an Arcadia-class jumpship as it roared over a supply train heading into the City. The Titan who owned the ship, sitting next to him, cursed as she tried to align the vessel with the speeding train below.
"This better be worth it," she growled.
"I told you, you'll get twice the rate for Motes in your next Gambit. I'm good for it. Trust." Drifter sat up straight. "Get in close. I'll take care of the rest. Just make sure I get a ride back."
As he opened the ship's side hatch, howling air rushed into the cabin. He yelled over the din, "Good thing ya'll aren't a military. It's easier to bribe you this way."
"Go play in the Ascendant Plane," the Titan yelled back.
Drifter leapt off the ship and landed deftly on the train car below. He pulled a massive hand cannon and crawled forward, the wind ripping at his duster.
Ancient Apocalypse Gauntlets
- "Sometimes the difference between survival and eradication is just pure, simple stubbornness."
- — The Drifter
Drifter had a problem.
He had figured this was a train guarded by Redjacks. He had killed two of them out in the back of this car.
He could see the supply crates he was looking for just past the shoulders of two massive Titans. Their armor was branded with Crucible insignias, which meant Drifter would have to be careful in his negotiations. They raised their rifles at him. Jiangshi AR4s. Nice pieces.
"Whoa. Hey," Drifter began, and raised his arms to the roof. "Not lookin' for trouble."
They looked at each other. Then considered him a second.
"What the hell are you doing here, Drifter?" said the one on the left.
Drifter chuckled. "Joxer. How you livin'?"
"Don't let him charm you," whispered the one on the right.
"Redrix?" Drifter had found himself a couple of Gambit regulars. "Listen. Brothers. I gotta get to those supply crates back there. You know how hard it is for me to come across certain pieces. I'm a scavenger. Live a hard life. Cut me some slack."
"Zavala wouldn't like that, Drifter," said Joxer.
Drifter raised an eyebrow. "You tellin' me the Vanguard actually has power over you?"
They didn't respond.
Drifter leaned in. "Listen. You do this for me, and I'll make sure you get paid. Just show up for Gambit next week. Double rate for Motes."
The Titans looked at each other again.
Ancient Apocalypse Plate
- "Sometimes it's a cosmic event. Sometimes it's a beast from hell. Sometimes it's one man."
- — The Drifter
Drifter could see Redjacks from his vantage point on the train car roof. Two of Lord Shaxx's idiot frames were guarding the door to the car. The Drifter holstered his hand cannon and drew a long blade instead. He vaulted down to the deck below and took the frames' heads with an arcing sweep, sheathing his sword and catching the bodies before they fell. Complete silence.
Two Redjacks meant more Redjacks. He didn't want to start a firefight. As he entered the car and ducked low, he couldn't help but chuckle. They try so hard, the Redjacks. And yet the average 'Jack didn't last more than three missions.
Gambit was popular with Crucible Guardians—and they spoke frequently about the legend of Arcite and Dahlia, veteran Redjacks dating back to the early Last City. Drifter would believe it when he met them. He kept moving.
Ancient Apocalypse Greaves
- "I stopped counting the Armageddons."
- — The Drifter
Drifter found what he was looking for. Three long containers marked "Tex Mechanica."
He slid a long blade under each lid and cracked them open. Rifles, sidearms, and… hand cannons. Drifter pulled a cannon out of the long box, held it up in the dim light.
No one made Dark Age guns anymore. Drifter had looked far and wide. The one source of Dark Age weaponry in this system was him. Gambit.
Dark Age weapons had been forged at a time when Light fought Light. Everything was just a little more efficient back then. And lethal. In Drifter's opinion, of course.
But Tex Mechanica? They came close. They made very reliable cannons. Drifter stared hard at the one he held. The stuff of legend.
The train car jostled, snapping him out of his daydream.
He took everything he could carry.
Ancient Apocalypse Mark
- "Had a face like the end-times and eyes like manna in the desert. One look at him, and I knew I wasn't gonna be saved."
- — The Drifter
Drifter made his way back towards the rear of the train, from where he had come. He passed Joxer and Redrix, who had apparently found the Redjacks Drifter had decapitated. The two scrambled to put the frames back together before the train reached the City.
"You guys need to take a load off," Drifter told them.
"Go to hell, Drifter," said Redrix, clearly annoyed.
He and Joxer stared at all the Tex Mechanica pieces Drifter wore. They looked like they were having second thoughts. Drifter unslung a rocket launcher so he could sit down with them.
"Listen. Brothers. I'm doing all this for a reason. Gambit's for a reason. You think I like going out there with you every day? You're all psychos. No. I don't like it. But I do it because there's good reason."
He pulled a Mote of Dark out of his pocket. It glowed coldly. "Think about how many Motes of Light you've collected over your lifetime. A lot, right?"
"I miss my Mythoclast," Joxer said. Drifter could hear the frown in his voice.
"Yeah, you had a Mythoclast! And still the Cabal took the Tower. The Light failed you. Failed me, too."
Drifter held the Mote of Dark up to them. "This, though. It's something special. I made 'em. And you've seen the things you can do when you find even a handful of 'em. Think long and hard about it." Drifter slung the launcher back on his shoulder and turned to leave without looking back.
"Stick with me long enough, and I'll show you what the dark can really do."
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