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dark side of the moon

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banshee’s always had memory issues. i mean, war machines only need memories in order to learn about their enemies. sometimes, though, it feels like there’s something to be learned by the good times.

but it gets worse. have you ever woken up with no memory of who you are? it’s freaky. no thoughts in your head except “where the hell am i?” and “what happened?”

in case you can’t tell, there's a lot of questions left unanswered.

he always checks his datapad first, probably because it’s the closest thing to his bed. all he sees on the screens are notifications about late shipments and messages from people he doesn’t even know, asking about weapons they need from him. nothing that helps him.

of course, this isnt the first time this has happened, but its not like he remembers that anyways. but every time, without fail, he checks his datapad, and gets a message from a certain hunter.

“hey bansh,” it reads, “all good? nobody’s seen you in a bit. just checking up on you.”

when banshee doesn’t respond, their “typing” bubbles pop up again.

“i’ll be over by your place in a few, hang on.”

scrolling back up through the text conversations, there’s plenty of talk of weapons and battles, but there’s also a fair amount of texts just like these. an express of concern with no response, and an assurance that they’d drop in soon. whatever was going on, they knew how to help. at least that reassured banshee a little bit.

that didn’t mean banshee wasn't freaking the hell out and pacing a hole into what appeared to be a living room floor. his living room floor. he had no idea where he was, and he had someone he didn’t even know coming into what seemed to be his living space, which was also a disaster. on top of all of that, he’s got a million messages from people he doesn’t know about weapons and guns and nothing is making any sense.

there’s a gentle knock at the door before the stranger lets themselves in.

they’re like banshee, made of metal, but he can’t remember what they’re called. he’s wearing armor and a cape with a hood, which is worrying, but his demeanor is so relaxed that just by being in the same room, some of the tension between banshee’s shoulders relaxed, especially considering that, whoever they were, they had helped him before.

“hey,” he said, “how’d you sleep?”

“uh,” is all that banshee can muster in response.

“yeah, sounds about right. can you tell me your name? or mine?”

banshee, again, was unsure how to answer.

the stranger sighed sadly and plopped down on the couch in the middle of the room, patting the cushion next to him to invite banshee to sit. banshee took the invitation hesitantly.

“i’m cayde-6. you’re banshee-44. we’re a race of robots that used to be human,” the stranger, cayde-6, said. he seemed to be simplifying a lot of things. “what’s happening to you right now is common. the number after our names represents the amount of times we’ve had our system rebooted. the more reboots, the worse your memory gets, and, uh, you’ve had more than your fair share of them.”

well, at the very least, something made a little sense for the first time today. cayde shifted himself to he was now facing banshee.

“let’s see if we can get those gears in your head going, yeah? this place is called the tower. soldiers, called guardians, live here. you give them guns,” cayde paused, racking his brain. “yesterday, after your shift was over, you and me hung out in your workshop. i brought you some food from the city, and we sat and talked. mainly about some other people in the tower. there was a gun that you were building you were real excited about, a scout rifle. remember any of that?”

every so slowly, memories came back to banshee. cayde and him hanging out in a disastrous room, pulling a gun off its work stand, making fun of people whose names were on the tip of his tongue.

“i… i think,” he stumbled. “the rifle. it’s almost near done.”

“it is, you said you were deciding who to give it to,” cayde encouraged him.

“yeah…”

and suddenly, it felt like the floodgates in his brain broke open. everything came back in waves, memories of who he and cayde are, the tower, the wars, the vanguard, his work. it was overwhelming at first, he shut his eyes and clenched all the gears in his face. cayde stuck by him, wrapping a reassuring arm around his shoulders.

“you back with us, bansh?” cayde smiled as much as an exo could and banshee opened his eyes again.

“yeah.”

“alright, let’s get you back out there.”