~44

[wormblood]

A quick little story from the point of Banshee-44. Post-forsaken, so, spoilers.

On some days Banshee wakes up without knowing who he is. This should make him scared, but even this panic seems familiar. Exos are supposed to have their names hardwired into them, numbers and all. Banshee is no different, but just like everything else his name can get a bit… fuzzy. When he wakes up like this its like the first time he woke up an exo, but this time he’s alone. Slowly everything comes back to him, like forgetting a dream in reverse and he remembers, he’s Banshee-44. Probably. Sometimes he thinks he could’ve been reset more than 44 times, could’ve just forgotten to count up past 44, or maybe the damage can get to your “counter” or something once it gets too high. He doesn’t like to think about that. He’s Banshee-44, and what matters is he does his job.

What makes him a good gun-smith is this; there’s one answer to a gun. Give him a piece of machinery, something that’s broken, something that’s not working like it should, he can figure it out. It’s like one of those old flimsy cardboard puzzles with the picture printed on the box; no matter where you start you know how it needs to end up. He also takes a lot of notes.

Banshee doesn’t like to leave earth, doesn’t like to leave his house, doesn’t like to leave his stand. Everything is labeled, every surface has a pen and notepad. One time he tried experimenting with a chalkboard, but that was too much work to keep updated. Pen and paper is much better. If he needs to, he can look back at what was just written so he doesn’t lose his train of thought.

In the days after Cayde died and was avenged, Banshee hesitated. He never wrote down Cayde died. He went through a few days of asking where Cayde had been, if he was still off on that mission to the reef, if he was on a different mission. Most people got pale and just looked down at their feet. Some went off to get someone else to break the news. Some just blurted it out. Some tried to let him down easy. Some lied. He didn’t care for that.

He couldn’t write it down though. Writing it down would make it real. He wanted to wake up some days and still think he was out there. But still, learning again and again that a friend died? Even that takes a toll. He’d write it down. Later. He’ll get around to it.