I keep thinking about the Drifter in the basement of the Deep Stone Crypt and wondering when that will be me. Would I have ended up dead, alone and rusting away, if Ana hadn't found me?

The Last City looks worse than I remembered. Buildings leveled and edifices stripped of their vibrancy pollute what was once the last vestige of hope humankind had. The commerce, the children, the bustling life—all gone. Difficult to think about that day. The Bombardment. We were hit on all sides. Eramis, the Cabal, Savathûn, all attacking our strongholds at once. We never recovered. When the Dark Guardians turned on Eramis and the Cabal, everyone who wasn't killed went into hiding.

Rasputin says something in Russian that I miss, and Ana laughs. Is that what it's like to be with friends again, I wonder, as I stare off at the empty sky where the Tower once stood.

"You were close with the Vanguard, right?" I ask.

"I don't know if I'd say 'close.' We had a working relationship. They trusted me."

"Still, must have been nice. Closest thing to a family."

"If Zavala could hear that…" she trails off. A pensive expression rounds out the lines on her face. "What was ours like? Our family… before all this."

"Didn't your research tell you, Ana?"

"You were with them… with us. You know what they were really like."

"I don't know. We were a family."

"Can you just try a little, for me? You know I don't remember anything. You got to spend time with them. You must be able to tell me something. Anything. What did Mom's hair smell like? What was Dad's favorite song?"

"I don't… remember everything. Clovis made sure of that."

"Then tell me what you do know," she pleads.

"I don't want to have this discussion."

"You don't have the right to keep this from me. It's my life, too!"

"Drop it, Ana!"

From behind us, we hear the readying of a rifle.

Ana looks to me and inches her fingers toward her weapon. "We don't want trouble."

My hand goes frosty with Stasis while Rasputin's fist clenches.

"You came to the wrong place," the rifleman says.

Ana cocks her head and faces him. "Zavala?"

I turn to get a look. Before us stands the once proud Commander of the Vanguard, disheveled, in rags. His ghastly white beard is as thick as a steel door. And from the looks of him, a gentle breeze would knock him off his crutch and one remaining leg. They must have taken his Ghost too. Sad to see the deterioration of a body that's been stripped of its Light.

"Commander! You're alive!" Ana exclaims.

He doesn't lower his rifle.

"It's me… Ana…," she says with hurt in her voice.

His expression never changes.

"We have a plan to take down Savathûn. We need to speak with Ikora Rey. Is she here?" I ask.

He grimaces. "She is," he says and points with his rifle toward the flotsam of the Tower. "Buried deep under that."