[b]Final Entry - Coded Alien Human - Ghost Location [i]Unknown[/i] - Guardian Location: [i]Deep Stone Crypt[/i][/b] They called it The Darkness... It was dark, I guess. I remember a strike deep into the moon with Ben and Jacob. That was dark. The stench of that place hasn't washed out of my base layer since then. I'm convinced that squishy headed monster held some kind of parasites and they're somehow a part of these clothes. They won't leave. And yet as bad as they smell, I don't want them to. But that's another story. This is something else entirely. When they appeared in the night I'd, well, we'd all gotten completely drunk at the parade; celebrating and what not. I never think those things are good for the Guardians. Sure they appease the masses, or what's left of them, but you never want to get that comfortable. Enough to enjoy that many drinks, lose your sense of surrounding and come back to base without a care in the world. And wouldn't you know it...that's exactly the time they chose to hit us. They were probably watching us that whole time. Laughing. Joking about how easy it would be. And it was. We've all fought the Cabal, but these Red ones are, well, they are an entity. Most of the garrisons we faced on Mars were scattered and leaderless. Only the big one they called Rockets McD***face was a pain. The rest were fairly easy to counter and went down quickly with a head shot and a spew of that oil from their pressurized helmets. I never saw their faces. I have seen them now. Trained, motivated and highly aggressive. New weapons and tactics. And their faces. Those faces. Full of rage aimed at us. We were not ready for this. I've never been kicked off of the tower and survived. We've all played games. All jumped to our deaths for sport. As I watched my ghost plummet a sinking feeling swept over me in a single rush of blood, and I realized it was my end. Their nameless leader towered over me. I could smell his breath emanating from his mask. His eyes glowed with an angry fire; his voice... He had a voice, and he spoke our language. It was so jarring that all I could do was cower. I've never been so ashamed. He spoke, but all I could think of was my ghost. For a moment all was quiet. Then the massive push kick off the Tower and all I remember is a sharp crack as I hit the ground. The Light hadn't fully left me and I was able to recover, stumbling down the small path around the base of the Tower. A fairly obscure platform down a small cliff had a Dead Orbit ship ready to go. I waved them to open up for me and they did. I fell in and blacked out. As I wake and write this last memoir, grimoire, I'm reminded of what it was like to be a Guardian. Waking for the first time. Taking down that first Fallen scavenging party. The smell of a place unexplored for centuries. Everyone loved their Ghost, but I found mine to be somewhat of a nuisance at times. He was always there for me, though. Sometimes I wonder if the Ghosts are fully aware of all that we are. All that we believe and all that we keep inside. They serve a purpose, but do they really understand why? I'm blacking out again and my thoughts are wandering. They tried to save me, but without my ghost there was no escaping this fate. It's alright for me, but for the rest of humanity... And all the allies. I can't fathom the devastation of the attack and all that occurred afterward which I did not see. Those eyes of fire. The sun is glinting through the cracks between this metal, and in this haze of purple energy I can just make out another ship coming in. A single ship. Where is the fleet? Not many could have survived. My last words are here. These ramblings. I will shut this journal in a capsule with a quick programmed trajectory for earth. If you have found it, I hope that when you read through it you learn something. There is so much out here, Guardian. More than many may ever know, or understand. My time of triumph has come and gone, but through our past deeds a new era has opened for you to make your mark. Make no mistake. You are the only savior of our truth. Fight until your very last breath. Rage against the dying of our Light. [b]Prolugue[/b]: The capsule is programmed and jettison. The Deep Stone Crypt calls this Guardian home. One story has ended. And another has just begun. It is time.