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The Spider steeples all 20 of his fingers and looks down imperiously from his throne. Standing before him is a Warlock, their armor scuffed and dinged. They're unarmed. "You Guardians look out at the Tangled Shore, all the violence and lies, and you think you're above it. But like humans used to say before the Collapse, 'If you sleep with the beasts, you're gonna get dirty.'" The Spider leans forward, examining the rumpled Guardian. "You've gotten terribly dirty, Warlock. And it shows. Just look at you." Though the Warlock crosses their arms defiantly, the Spider can sense the shame burning behind the ferocious metal helmet. He chuckles deeply. "Luckily, there's still time to salvage your honor. Nobody needs to know of your… transgression. Fireteams disappear all the time out here. Only a few people know it was you, and I could persuade the witnesses to forget all about it. In return, all you have to do is serve my best interests." The Spider leans forward, his voice lowering to a growl. "Otherwise, you're on your own. There's nothing to stop me from taking everything you've got right now. Your weapons. Your Sparrow. The very armor on your back. I may not be able to kill you, but I'll harvest you for every last part." The Spider opens his bottom pair of arms magnanimously. "So, how about it?" The Warlock's sneer is audible. "I'd rather lose my Light than work for you." The Spider motions to his goons, who raise their weapons. "Pride, pride, pride. It was always the Vanguard's failing. Very well then. Strip."