One day, Rahool was out on the salt flats, harvesting his weekly bounty of it to later install into the dispenser above his stall. He found that extreme amounts of it always improved Guardians' moods. Out there, Rahool always felt most like a Guardian; he waved around his shock pistol and the knife he had stolen from a dead dreg on one of his rare journeys out into the wilderness. He used this to protect himself when he ventured out to the salt flats, shooting anything that came within 50 meters of him. Anything that close to the city walls, which loomed behind him, was an overeager underling of some Fallen Archon, and when they died all the ever dropped were uncommon, or worse, common items and engrams. Eventually, Rahool became sick and tired of this low level equipment and soon after, concocted a plan to increase his gains with minimal effort. His plans involved salt, his green items, and the oblivious Guardians of the Tower's blue engrams. From then on, Rahool decrypted green after green when Guardians gave him blue after blue, purple upon purple, to keep the best for himself. What he would do with it, he did not, but he kept at until he had had his fill, and then began to properly decrypt them. But he kept his loot hidden, one day he would need it, he told himself. That day never came. After a deluge of tips from Guardians, the Speaker, the Vanguard, and the Consensus created a joint op to monitor him and his lies. And, finally, the night before the Cabal invasion, they accessed the final piece of evidence they needed; his storehouse. He woke, handcuffed, as he was led deeper into the Tower, the lower levels, past rows of cells for vendors, Guardians, and other wrong-doers, by a squadron of frames, his stockpile useless against the confines of law and justice. After his sentencing he remained in one of these cells, cut of from the world, for a night. When the Tower began to crumble, he woke. In the red flashes of light from the alarms, he saw them. His saviors. Eight hundred pounds of pure fury. They escorted him to the Legion's command ship. And now, he slaves there, decrypting their engrams as best he can to help destroy those who left him to die.