Forty-five years, three months and a handful of days - seven? - old, and here he was once again staring into the dark abyss that was the How.
Why could the Freedom Fighters just not let him continue to do his thing, mingle, travel, debauchery his way across Anaxas to drag up secrets and leap his way across rooftops?
Because your knees won't allow it. And you have been summoned.
Sighing, he took up his lantern and slipped down into the darkness.
It was a strange set of occurrences that he largely did his best to avoid; firstly Jon Serro went missing. Then he was dead. And the delightful Alyssa Pierre was leading, or trying to lead - he never quite worked that one out - and then was not and then Gunner of all people arose to lead. And now he, Teeter, of all people was being summoned by the very metal masked man who introduced him to the earlier version of the resistance some twenty-odd-nearing-thirty years ago.
The issue with that was that Beckett Saunders, and by extension Gunner, was very dead. He knew, he helped dig the bastard's grave with his daughter- No, son. Beckett had always insisted little Abigail 'Gale' Saunders was a boy and he would not hear otherwise. Peter simply shrugged his shoulders to it at the time, and not long after went back to gallivanting across the country, wooing the ladies, the men, and sometimes the both, together at the same time. Of course, it was not always fun and games. There was always some element of violence and blood, and tragedy - he just skipped over those details when telling stories.
But that did not solve the immediate problem.
Someone else was using Gunner's name and using it to lead. How dare they.
He knew where he was going, deep down through the layers to a part of the How where it was less tunnel and more cave. He was not sure when the ground changed from brick to hewn rock, the white stone eating away at the masonry as he descended with only the lantern light to guide him. It was places deep beneath Vienda that time lost meaning, where the ruins of kingdoms long past jutted from the ground as broken and buried monoliths of the past. He was not even sure the other Freedom Fighters knew where he was going, but the fact someone knew to go this deep... meant something. He was not sure what exactly. He would work it out as he went along.
Opening out into a cavern, Teeter lifted his lantern - ruins of a bygone age cast shadows across the high ceiling, higher than his light could reach. Collapsed columns and tower bases scattered through, broken hands of carved stone peeking through the cold earth reaching up for something but never being able to grasp at it. Beneath his feet gravel scraped, his eyes squinting.
Perched upon one of the collapsed columns he saw the shadowy shape, hands covering the metal grill of their mouth, the cold steel dully reflected in their own lantern light. Teeter stiffened as a shiver passed his spine; a ghost made real, the shape was the same but different, the dark sockets of that mask turning to him. The apparition stood, hands withdrawing beneath the layers as it surveyed him.
But Gunner was dead.
"You are no Gunner." He spoke, lantern held between them as if it would somehow protect him. "You are nothing but a ghost-"
Yet here he was, summoned by this being that wore his skin. It took a step towards him, head bowing as it remained focused on him. It was nothing more than an imposter-
"Vrunta!" Teeter's skin prickled, "Should banish you to the afterlife."
The hands of the apparition slipped out then, it took him a moment to realise it was sign language - silent as it was passed between them.
"Enough, Teeter." Spoke the hands. "I am very real."
"Then you are an imposter." Knife, where was it? His free hand reached for the tiny knife at the base of his spine. "Should put you down for using his name."
"I am no-"
He threw the knife at the figure. The ghost jerked to the side, attention turning after the knife as it skittered across the floor. But Teeter did not stop; quickly he closed the gap, fist clenched as he swung back as he punched the apparition. They had no chance to move, shoulder shoving against the frame and following up by slamming into it again.
Smaller than Beckett.
Beneath the layers of the imposter came a gun, point-blank range - he slapped the firearm aside, squeezing down on the wrist. Locked in a struggle, the imposter swung at him with their other hand. He knocked it aside, his leg sweeping forward to catch the back of the knee. It resisted, even as he continued to push, a strong core of muscle that lacked the finesse of combat until he put his weight into it. The ghost grunted, a snarled voice escaping from the grill.
"I wanted to talk-"
Definitely not Beckett. Taking out the legs, the imposter slammed to the ground. He wasted no time planting a boot on its chest, his hair falling forward as he lunged down for the mask. Reveal the imposter, eliminate, return Gunner to being some form of urban myth to scare children. He tilted the metal mask back, catching a slither of the features beneath before he was kicked firmly in the chest. Wheezing, he staggered as he tried to breathe, his eyes wide as the realisation on who was behind the mask.
No, it could not be-
"Abigail?"
The green eyes glowered at him.
"It's Gale."
She propped herself up onto her elbows, the mask sliding back in place while the firearm was slipped back beneath the poncho folds.
"What is your game, girl?"
She was not a girl really, but he remembered her as one - even if the same boy façade worn then had manifested into man despite her being a woman.
"Mister."
"What?"
"Mister Gale Saunders."
Teeter waved the words aside. They were unimportant.
"Answer my question- You- Dammit, Gale." He jabbed a finger. "I was going to kill you, you idiot. Bloody, running around as Gunner-"
"I've been doing it for the last few ye-"
Composing himself, Teeter went and reclaimed his knife.
"You are running around, playing at being your father. He taught you-"
Gale was clambering to her- no, their - feet, the hood being pulled neatly around their head. It was like staring at Beckett again, all be it a smaller framed version. Teeter slid the knife back into its sheath.
"What? You not going to ans-"
"I need help."
It was words that gave him pause. Beneath the mask he heard the accent twist, the northern Anaxian dialect lost behind a hollow monotone voice. Gale continued to speak.
"And you said that if I ever needed help, I could ask you for it."
Teeter sighed.
"Help?" He gestured to the cavern. "And this is how you ask for it? By the Gods, you could have just written a bloody letter-"
He could not read their expression, but the body shifted to look away from him; with it, the slow trickle of realisation filtered into Teeter's skull.
"You are the resistance leader."
It was a statement, a single pointing of fact. The corner of his lip twitched. "Little baby Saund-"
"I, Gunner, am the leader of the Resistance."
He pulled at his beard, regulating the air in his lungs. "And Wisp has... is... what off doing some defecting- She's going to kill you when she gets a chance. And you, what on Vita were you thinking?"
"Someone had to step up. Someone who was not a war-hungry bloodhound."
"And you thought you were the best option? You're out of your mind."
Stupid, Beckett raised that child to be better than that. To be the creator behind whatever mouthpiece lead the resistance, not to actually and actively lead. Gunner was supposed to be something to scare children, not actually be real.
"What is done is done. Are you going to help or not?"
Help. That was what this was all about, what foolishness was Gale going to try and drag him into? Could he even turn away from it? If not from loyalty to the resistance then from the relationship he had with Beckett and Yelenn. He let a low groan escape.
"With what? Information, assassination, bending the gollies over and loyalty to-"
"Training."
He must have misheard them, his expression betrayed him as he gave Gale a quizzical look.
"I need to learn to resist. Truly. Just as my father once did. And I need you to teach me."
Him? Teach Beckett Saunders' daughter to be Gunner. No there was more to it than that, something else lingered behind those eyes.
Artful. Their name was Artful. The creative, and the deceitful.
"Fine. But loose the mask. Right now it will only get in your way."