Spoilers

NONE

Set on the cusp of Tethra's Doom, the event the introduced the "Hijack" tileset way back in 2014.

The rain fell in drenching sheets, hammering on the corroded metal buildings, and roaring down the gutters with the carcasses of drowned pobbers. As far as the weather was concerned, it was a nice day down at Pisswash Station.

Technically the site was designated as the Emesh Shipyard on all the nav charts – but nobody called it that, not even the pilots. Located at the western edge of the lowlands known to the Orokin as the Vendimia Planitia (nobody called it that, either), Emesh Crater was an ancient pockmark about 20 kilometers across at its widest point. The shipyard itself was a rusting, slapdash assembly bloating over the crater rim like an infected sore, a warren of hallways, factories, and assembly lines thrown together with no regard to overall cohesion. Wherever it fit, it went. The auxiliary docking platforms had been plugged in so low, only a scant forty meters separated them from the toxic yellow lake that gave the shipyard its name – and it was getting deeper every year.

Some of the boys had gotten together one night, tied half a condroc to the end of a cable, and tossed it over the side. When they'd eagerly pulled it back up some ten seconds later, the only thing left was a ragged tatter of bone and oozing feathers. Afterwards it became tradition to menace new recruits still dripping wet from the vats with the threat of a little dip, should they fail to toe the line. Stories persisted of an incompetent drudge who'd been thrown out for a swim and had to have everything replaced below the hip.

Prosecutor Shiv took great pains to foster those stories. He'd only paid out enough slack for that drudge to make it halfway down, just enough to get a chemical burn from the rising pall of fumes, but the threat of having your ass-cheeks melted together made for much better incentive – so that was the one he liked to cultivate. The drudge had made a bad weld; discipline had been necessary, but he looked down on brutality for brutality's sake. A quick bob from the docking platforms had served the lesson well, feeding the zeitgeist of intimidation necessary for command, and the drudge had never performed poorly again. Shiv still saw her from time to time. They got drinks once in while.

Standing on that same landing pad with a full security complement at his back, Shiv tracked the Bolkor with his eyes as it circled overhead, engines belching. The craft was overloaded, thrusters straining as the pilot struggled against the weather. They should have sent a Glaistig, Shiv mused, but he understood the reason for the switch.

The big containerships could have carried several Bolkors with room to spare, but the drawback to being able to haul that much tonnage was that there was no more room for the cannons, forcing them to rely on an armed escort. Hiding the resulting flotilla was nigh impossible – and Vay Hek demanded secrecy above all else.

The Bolkor swiveled hard, coming down with thump that rocked the decrepit landing pad all the way to its struts. According to the daily manifests, there was nothing special about this particular drop. Even its cargo had been offputtingly marked as "sanitation supplies" in keeping with the Councilor's usual brand of off-color humor. Shiv watched as the aft boarding ramp cracked open and several anxious-looking drudges disgorged onto the rainy platform, hurrying to activate the repulsors on a massive chunk of machinery squatting just inside the hold.

Blurg leaned in close.

"Why the cloak and dagger? Councilor afraid of ol' Tengus getting the jump on him again?"

The Lancer chuckled at his own joke. Shiv didn't bother dignifying it with a reply. The quip was in bad taste, but not necessarily off the mark. Vay Hek was afraid of someone interfering. Always the braggart, he'd been foolish boasting about the project on an open channel. Now it seemed as though he was trying to make up for past mistakes.

As far as Shiv was concerned it was too little, too late. There'd been too many rumors. Too many asteroid mines gone dark, too many comm stations carpeted in bodies, and it hadn't been the Corpus. Alad V had brushed the Councilor's ill-advised threats off with a laugh, and besides, the credit-grubbers killed with energy weapons, with electric batons and railguns – not cold steel. Shiv had seen the bodies.

They'd been killed with a blade.

It'd been clean work, too. Shiv had been impressed, even envious. Grineer soldiers weren't trained on anything more impressive than a machete or cleaver. Swords took too long to master and most tube-born hadn't the mental faculties necessary for such discipline, let alone the time. Crushing weapons – the hammer and the club – were easy to use, and much better suited the temperament of their wielders. Shiv fingered the haft of his polearm.

The amphis was a weapon meant to shatter bone, paralyze nerves and burst organs – but in the end, it was still a blunt instrument. He'd trained obsessively with it, balanced the poorly-manufactured shaft with modifications of his own, knew it better than his own body, yet it remained an itch that he couldn't quite scratch. Blurg nudged him with an elbow.

"Word of advice: take your shit before the day starts."

Shiv slanted him a deadpan look. He couldn't see the big guy's face, but he could feel the grin on his lips. "You are supposed to on duty," he said, returning his gaze to the landing pad. "Pay attention."

Blurg let out a short, barking laugh.

"On duty," he snorted. On duty against what? Vermin chewing the wires?"

It was true to a point. Wedged deep in the belt on the lee side on Mars, a long-held bastion of Grineer supremacy, Ceres was quite heavily guarded. Shiv was not convinced it would remain so. He scanned the pollution-choked sky. Blurg rocked on the balls of his feet, absently checking the ejection port on his Grakata.

"Bet I could hit that drudge over there. The one with the- with the, uh… the hot stripes."

Shiv directed a look to where the docking crew was connecting the Fomorian Core to the overhead rail, electricity snapping audibly against the rain. The foreman's suit had been painted in bright, slashing lines the exact color of a gun barrel about to melt.

"Orange," Shiv corrected. "The color is orange."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx-O-xxxxxxxxxxxxX

The first punch almost broke Shiv's jaw.

Almost.

Unable to avoid it entirely, he rode it backwards instead, allowing it's momentum to drive his upper body into a spin that carried him out of his adversary's reach. Even so, he tasted blood. He spat a glut of it onto the deckplate. All around him, the pit shook with jeers. They'd all come out to watch; the ballistas and the lancers, the nervous drudges and the Drahk Master with his charges snarling and baying at the end of their leashes. This match had been a long time coming, and nobody at Pisswash Station was going to miss the show.

Shiv's opponent was a hulking mountain of tube flesh taller than him by nearly half a meter and at least half again as broad in the shoulder. Rumor held that he'd spent time in the pens of Saturn Six, nobody knew what for, and the crudely notched tattoos that marched up and down his rot-mottled chest seemed to bear that out. Shiv circled to the right.

He didn't need those rumors to tell him that Krass had been assigned the role of Shield Lancer. The first indication was in the man's immense size, in those thick slabs of muscle over heavy, augmented bone. The second lay in the way he carried himself; one foot firmly forward, posture slightly hunched. He kept his left arm tight to his body, while the right had been mobile enough, and agile enough, to have come careening out of nowhere the moment the match had begun – nearly knocking the teeth from Shiv's head.

Despite that, he is weakest on the right side, Shiv thought. He's used to guarding his left, to keeping an impenetrable barrier between him and his opponents. Approach from that angle will be impossible.

He sprang at Krass before the man could get too comfortable, launching a flurry of body blows designed to bruise ribs – but Krass kept his feet with stolid determination. Ducking low, he rammed his shoulder into Shiv's nose. The crowd roared their approval. Shiv skipped backwards and wiped his face with a sweat-slicked forearm. Like his opponent, he was barefoot and naked to the waist. There were no weapons in this arena.

So, he is not susceptible to pain.

Most large opponents were surprisingly delicate once a solid blow had been landed – but not this one. Punching him had been like hurling a slab of raw meat against concrete. Entirely ineffectual, and the pain throbbing across Shiv's knuckles warned him of alloy ribs beneath the damp, glistening skin. He furtively shook out his hand. Krass grinned at him. He was missing one of his front teeth.

"Come on, kill him!" one of Ballistas screamed.

Emboldened, Krass lunged at him, his longer stride easily chewing up the distance. Shiv held himself motionless. Krass was surprisingly fast for his size, but he was no warrior. There was no follow-up to his strikes. He was used to overwhelming opponents with his brute strength, to knocking their lights out with either the first or second blows. The bloody nose had been a small price to pay for this information.

He let Krass hammer at him with a series of punches that would've concussed an Eidolon – had any of them actually landed. Feeling a max-power haymaker go past his ear, Shiv could have swept him right then, but held off. He faded back, not letting the blows drive him into the wall, but instead working his way in a circle. Krass followed him in mounting frustration. Sweat sheeted from his body, the sour, meaty odor rising to Shiv's nostrils every time he drew close. He was punching too hard, expending his energy too fast. Most big fighters were like that. The inexperienced ones, anyway. Shiv countered with a sideways lunge, driving his knuckles into the side of his opponent's trunk. Lower this time. Nearer to the kidney. Krass dropped to one knee. The crowd screamed.

Winded but undaunted, Krass tried to tackle Shiv's legs out from under him. Probably a favorite tactic. Shiv backpedaled out of reach. Krass staggered and nearly tripped, underestimating the reflexes of his quarry. Shiv was getting bored. He'd been looking forward to this bout, but the fight was turning cheap, a game of Keep Away for Ostron brats. It was time to end it.

Krass lunged at him again, and Shiv slammed a fist into the vulnerable hollow beneath the brute's right armpit. Fingers going sluggish, the big man's arm dropped uselessly to the side. Shiv stepped into the gap. Knuckles pointed, he hammered a series of blows into his opponent's unguarded torso, first to the throat, then to the heart, then back up to the throat. Krass let out an inarticulate gurgle of confusion, unable to comprehend the sudden power behind the blows, believing his much smaller opponent to be devoid of any real strength – just as the Prosecutor had trained him to think, pulling his punches and feathering his strikes until this crucial, final moment.

Krass went down on both knees this time, and Shiv dealt a punishing blow to his temple.

The big man flopped bonelessly to the floor.

There was a moment of perfect silence – then a roar broke out in the stands, followed by another and another, until the rusted ceiling shuddered with the cacophony of two dozen Grineer screaming and stamping as one. Shiv spread his arms, tilting his head back so that the dingy yellow light poured into his eyes. It was less a gesture of triumph and more a simple declaration of victory. As usual, the fight had not been hard-won. He felt no sense of accomplishment, and now that the adrenaline was fading, that persistent feeling of bitterness returned like a chronic ulcer.

He'd never been bested in a fight. Not even close.

With the exception of the beleaguered instructor who'd trained him, and whose skills he'd rapidly outpaced, none of Shiv's opponents had been in any way memorable. He'd faced every threat the Origin System had to offer, from Corpus machines to leathery Ostron warriors, as he humped the front lines from Earth to Saturn to Phobos. All of them had been chaff. Reaped and forgotten, like the unconscious brute they were struggling to extricate from the pit.

Shiv strode to the edge and hoisted himself out. Several lancers glared daggers at him. Shiv knew they'd been betting heavily against him, eager to finally see him on the ground, and they'd lost in a great deal in the usual clamor to exchange credits, ration packs, and grubby flasks of homebrew grog. The commanding officers permitted it for the most part, even joined in on occasion, until every few months when they staged a crackdown, confiscated crates of one contraband or another, and made a pretty show of running a tight ship whenever the high-and-mighty came around. It was all theater and everyone knew it.

Shiv lifted a towel from an overhead pipe and wiped the blood and sweat from his face. He participated in these makeshift versions of Rathuum to keep his skills sharp – and for whatever meager enjoyment could be coerced from the fight itself. As the years dragged on, there was less and less of both. He believed the Corpus phrase was "diminishing returns".

Thumping the floor to get his attention, Blurg waved him over. The Lancer was sitting on an empty crate, munching on greasy fistfuls of fried cockroaches. The dry-roasted kind, Shiv noticed, not the gelatinous protein bars rationed out by the mess.

"Nice fight," Blurg complimented him between mouthfuls.

Shiv shrugged. It'd barely even been a fight.

Blurg gave him an annoyed look. "Are you ever going to be satisfied?"

"When there's something to be satisfied about," Shiv replied, toweling the back of his neck.

The grimy deckplate felt wet and rough beneath the calloused soles of his feet. Looking down, Shiv realized he'd torn his big toe at some point during the bout and a sluggish ooze of blood was seeping from the nail bed. He sat down next to his shift-mate and propped the injured foot on the opposite knee. Two more fighters were climbing down into the pit. Blurg reached behind the crate and picked up a flask. Unscrewing the cap, he sloshed half the contents into a dented tin cup and passed it to Shiv.

It smelled of sour fruit and grokdrul. The Prosecutor sniffed it appreciatively, trickling some on it on his foot before taking a deep swig, eyes streaming from the burn of it sliding down his throat.

"Good stuff. How much you blow on it?"

"Eh, couple of rounds. Skoom tried to cheap me, so I put one through his leg."

Shiv grunted his approval. All around them, spectators roared as the second fight of the evening kicked into high gear. Two Scorpions from Raddick's unit had been matched and blood had already been drawn. Shiv eyed the fighters. One of the women was much bigger, but her opponent had been augmented below the hips, heavy metal pedes slamming the deckplate as she circled. It was going to be a close bout – but not a very spectacular one. The pair were better trained than most, but having been deprived of their trademark machetes, neither were impressive in a fistfight.

Blurg shoveled another fistful of roaches into his mouth. "I've got a thousand on Sloan."

Shiv quietly sipped his booze.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx-O-xxxxxxxxxxxxX

The alarms sounded just before dawn.

Shiv was comfortably asleep in his bunk when everything flashed to red. Bypassing the ladder, he quickly swung himself down to the floor, narrowing avoiding landing on Blurg. The Lancer still had a ratty mylar blanket wrapped around his leg. He kicked it away with a curse.

"All stations report in! All stations report in!" The PA blared. "Intruder in the compound. Lockdown in effect. Main gate sealed."

Shiv sprang into his combat suit, strapping his breastplate on with quick, practiced motions. Oxygen conduits hissed as the suit pressurized. Blurg lobbed a machine pistol at his head. He caught it one-handed and shoved it into a thigh holster before picking up his amphis, activating the weapon with sharp crack of electricity. Someone howled as they pinched a finger in the magazine well of their sidearm. Bullets chattered into the ceiling.

"Trigger discipline!" Shiv barked. He strode to a control console and punched up the comms. Frag was technically in command of the unit, but Frag had fallen into the trash incinerator three days ago, and a corpse couldn't issue orders.

"Somebody talk to me," he growled. "What's going on?"

"There's been breach in the lower levels," the comm officer reported.

"The freight rail?"

Silence.

"I can't see if you're nodding!"

"A-affirmative, sir! Assembly Area 5."

Situated between the blast furnaces, Assembly Area 5 sat at one end of an electrified freight rail. It was normally used for very large or very heavy pieces of machinery that couldn't be moved any other way, usually gas turbines and Galleon hull plates. Or the Fomorian Core.

"All of you, with me!"

There were twelve of them in all. Armed and mostly awake, they spilled from the barracks with Shiv in the lead. After a confusing series of switchbacks and internal staircases, they reached a wide, vaulted gallery on the south end of the shipyard. Air filtration systems with fans as big as Firbolgs cranked and rattled overhead, assuring that the atmosphere inside the facility was at least marginally less polluted then the toxic soup outside. The large bay doors at one end of the room were already open, the Core sliding noiselessly along the overhead rail. Shiv threw one arm towards the consoles.

"Alright, shut it down!" he ordered.

His eyes swept the room and the network of rusted pipes crisscrossing the ceiling. Nothing. Shiv wondered if it was some kind of mistake; it wouldn't be the first time maintenance had decided to shuffle something around without notice – but somehow he doubted it, because every instinct he possessed screamed otherwise. The thing Vay Hek had feared, the intruder Shiv had expected, was here. Somewhere.

The rail powered down with an audible whine. Shiv scented the air, inhaling the stench of stale water and engine lubricant. A drop of moisture, warm and oily, splattered on the top of his cowl and slithered down his face. Shiv looked up. Everything exploded to white.

The flash was brighter than exploding magnesium, stabbing through his pupils and into his skull. His vision gone, Shiv howled and clapped both hands over his eyes, optic nerves popping with incandescent sparks. Something heavy landed a meter to his right. Big, but not clumsy. Metal scraped and sang, almost crystalline in its resonance. Not Grineer pig iron, but something much, much purer. Primal instinct skittered the length of Shiv's spine.

He ducked.

Bright heat slashed across the bridge of his nose. Shiv hit the ground rolling, relying solely on his memory of the factory floor as the ground dropped out from under him and he toppled, limbs loose to avoid injury, into the deep channel that ran beneath the rail. Somewhere to his right, the sounds of his fellow Grineer transitioned to phlegmy, bronchial screams as body parts started thudding to the floor. Shiv swiped at his streaming eyes. His vision was starting to return in murky smears of yellow and dirty, metallic brown. The Core was moving again.

He staggered to his feet, the cut on his face already clotting. A grey shape was whirling in the midst of his unit, wielding a blade one-handed as it scythed through the crowd. Shiv grabbed his pistol and opened fire. The thing whirled behind another Grineer, seizing the man by the bulging collar of his suit, and hauled the body between them as a human shield. Shiv didn't have time to contemplate the tube brother he'd just shot dead.

The thing – the Warframe – was on the move, jogging alongside the Core as it reached the second set of doors leading to the auxiliary dock. With lockdown in effect, they should have stayed closed – but to Shiv's growing confusion, they juddered open to let the cargo through, moving swiftly along a plume of crackling energy attaching it to the Warframe itself. Shiv leaned over the control console and hammered on it with the side of his fist, but the Core continued to slide along the rail, completely autonomous from the system.

Leaving the dead and dying, Shiv raced after it. Ceres' predawn sky was a gangrene shade of yellow, so thick that he could taste the pollutants on his tongue. Shiv squinted against the incessant rain. He'd never seen anything like the ship hovering at the end of the dock. Vaguely like a kite, closer to the massive horseshoe crabs scuttling the tropical shorelines of Old Earth, its ivory hull and glistening golden panels spoke of an era long dead. Water swirled and spattered as it dropped lower, spreading its vectoring thrusters. The Core was already levitating up to meet it.

Tractor beam. It means to take it in one piece.

At this point, such an observation was a given. If the Warframe had intended to rupture the containment field, the entire facility would've already gone to Hell in a handbasket – taking a good chunk of the sector along with it. Blinking away the last of his vestigial blindness, he spotted the Warframe jogging in the shadow of the Core, still connected to it by a tendril of energy. Shiv fired at it as it ran.

Amazingly, impossibly, the Warframe used its sword to deflect the barrage into the sky. Most of Shiv's rounds never found their mark, while those that did vaporized against a solid film of energy. It was no surprise that the Warframe employed shields. There was also every reason to believe that the efficiency and output of those shields far exceeded those of Corpus, and Shiv had killed enough taxmen to know that his pistol would run dry long before they popped. If there was any hope of victory, however slim, he'd have to change tack.

Shiv switched his aim and drilled a line of bullets into a nearby pallet of fuel canisters.

Things could not have gone more perfectly. The containers shredded apart with a concussive thud, hurling shrapnel and flames up into the belly of the ship, and engulfing the Warframe in an expanding balloon of burning gas. The Tenno ship flared its thrusters, momentarily angling up, but it was only a reflexive twitch of caution. Shiv could see that it was completely undamaged. He'd expected as much. The sudden fireball had served another purpose.

Shiv dropped the empty pistol and took a better grip on his amphis, charging headlong into the oily heat. As he'd hoped, the Warframe burst forward to meet him. Shiv's gaze knifed to the sword it was holding in a low, double-handed grip.

It's first strike will come up from the ground.

Light flashed on the killing edge as it swept forward. Shiv met it halfway, batting Tenno blade aside and bringing the butt-end of his amphis up in a whistling arc meant to catch the thing in the stomach. The Warframe parried the upstroke easily, sparks peeling off with a harsh rasp. They traded blows once, twice. Shiv barely saw the sword as it hurtled around for a third, the Tenno expertly redirecting the momentum of its last strike, to angle at his hip. Had it connected, his guts would have sluiced out onto the floor. Shiv whirled his amphis to one side.

Tenno steel collided with Grineer iron, and skidded harmlessly off.

The Warframe hesitated, surprised. Shiv took advantage of its distraction. He spun the amphis fast enough to make it buzz, feinting to the right before launching a crushing, overhand blow from the left that the Warframe almost, but not quite evaded. The amphis cracked it alongside the ear, driving its head sideways with the force of the blow. The Warframe retreated a step. It gave its head a quick shake, maybe momentarily dazed, maybe rerouting whatever HUD it used for sight.

The Tenno craft sliced overhead, buffeting them in the downdraft. Aborting his follow-up lunge, Shiv shied away instead, shielding his eyes against the choppy splatter of water. The Warframe looked up, tracking the ship as it moved, then leapt straight up as it passed overhead, landing nimbly on the slope of the Core. Shiv's mouth fell apart. Powerless to stop it and too stunned to make the attempt, he could only watch as the craft arced away into the clouds. The Warframe looked back to regard him, its sightless gaze fixed on Shiv, and the Prosecutor thought he read something in the tilt of its head. Not fear, he thought. Not wariness. Curiosity.

Seconds later, it was gone.

Left alone in a slick of burning fuel, Shiv let out a cheated howl of frustration.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx-O-xxxxxxxxxxxxX

The Core was flagged as stolen, most likely destroyed, and Shiv did not envy the commanding officer whose duty it was to report the loss to Vay Hek, but Pisswash Station quickly returned to its usual humdrum. There were quotas to be met, orders to be filled. Warships to be built. The Grineer machine stopped for nothing.

Hours stretched into long, agonizing days that Shiv attempted to fill with menial tasks, trying to drown his frustration under repetition. The Warframe was constantly on his mind, consuming his waking hours and leaving him awake in his bunk while everyone else snored and flatuated in the hot, grimy darkness of the barracks. His only means of relief was to slip away to an unused storage room and drill with his amphis long enough to work himself ragged, hoping the fatigue would quiet his agitated thoughts. Sometimes it even worked.

The Warframe had been unlike any opponent he'd ever faced. They'd only squared off for but a moment, but Shiv found himself reliving every detail, every second elongating into forever. It had intuited his every move, met his every strike. He'd not defeated it, only caught it off guard, and it seemed to Shiv that even the Warframe had been taken aback. It underestimated me and I got lucky. It will not make the same mistake twice.

He slammed the lead-end of the amphis into the training dummy he'd built and ducked as the boom came careening around the other side, dealing another frustrated blow as it passed. The padding split, spewing moldy plant fibers and asbestos onto the floor. Shiv snarled and hit it again, tearing the dummy in half and sending a shower of rotten wood hurtling into the bulkhead. The remainder flopped to the ground with a sad whump of finality, leaving Shiv standing over the mess with his fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white, trying not to scream.

"Go ahead. Tear your back out," a voice reprimanded him. "When you can't use that precious baton of yours, they'll be shipping you off to the belt mines, or over to Ludi to strip rusty Bolkors for scrap."

"Piss off," Shiv responded testily.

He set one end of his amphis on the floor, slanting an annoyed look over one shoulder. Blurg glowered right back, his mismatched eyes only adding to the effect. The right was now a bulky orb of metal and circuitry glaring from a puckered seam of slow-healing flesh, courtesy of the sawbones down in medical. Shiv's gaze trailed down, following the scar to the skeletal prosthetic replacing Blurg's left arm. One clean slash, from armpit to opposite eye. He was lucky the Warframe hadn't opened his throat, too.

Shiv's ire softened marginally. "Is it healing alright?"

"It itches."

They faced in other in silence for a moment. Blurg scratched at his eye.

"Why are you so obsessed with that thing?"

"I'm not obsessed."

"Yeah, and my gonads actually produced a couple of brats."

Silence again. Shiv rolled his aching shoulders, the sweat on his skin drying to a crusty lather. Blurg folded his arms with an angry creak of overtightened sprockets. The new arm needed a better lube job.

"Why don't you go and join one of the units thumping on Cetus? I hear your new buddies have been spotted down there."

It sounded like advice, but Blurg's tone was sour. Shiv stared off into nothing. He'd already thought of that. Despite the blatant failure of last week, more Fomorian Cores were being shipped in. Pisswash Station was the only shipyard in the sector with the facilities to install them. Vay Hek was doubling security, doubling the workers. Doubling the timetable.

"The Councilor would never approve my transfer," he said quietly.

"Because you're needed here. Why is that not good enough for you?"

Shiv said nothing. There was no way he could explain it in terms Blurg could understand. After a long moment, the lancer heaved a sigh. "Put the club away and get your ass back to the barracks, Shiv. Me and Pock got a game of fuda going, and she's anteed up some… some, uh- whatever it is those fish-gulpers chew. Fresh, too. You in?"

Shiv looked at the mess on the floor.

"Sure. I'm in."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx-O-xxxxxxxxxxxxX

When the claxons ripped through the facility for the second time in as many weeks, Shiv's heart almost burst with excitement. It made no sense for the Tenno to be back so soon. The new Cores hadn't even been delivered yet – unless they'd had a palaver with their queen and decided to blow the facility sky-high in advance – and there was no reason to guarantee it would even be the same Warframe.

Despite all of this, however, Shiv hurtled down the passageway so fast the lancers puffing alongside him could barely keep up. Blurg had been right. It was an obsession, and Shiv was spurred on by an insane hope that he needed to see to fruition, or else sink slowly in madness. The alarms had been triggered from a console located on the auxiliary docks, and the tight, swelling ball in his chest clung to that fragile coincidence with all his being. One more door, he told himself. One more door and it would be there, planting charges on the fuel line or setting the reactor to blow.

The bulkhead cracked apart, and Shiv lurched out into the storm. Silver flashed past his temples, and the lancers flew back like sacks of grain tossed into a storeroom. Shiv skidded to a halt. He looked back, he couldn't help it, and realized both men were dead before they'd even hit the ground – gleaming silver kunai embedded in their throats. Shiv slowly rotated back the other way.

The Warframe was waiting for him in the middle of the platform.

It sat with its legs crossed, hands resting lightly on its knees with upturned palms cupped full of rainwater, a massive golden shotgun lying across its lap. It was also floating a half meter above the ground. Beneath it, blood sloshed in time with the rain. The dock was littered in bodies, radiating outward like a spiral galaxy with the Warframe at its center. Seeing Shiv, it casually unfolded its legs and stood. Looking at it, truly looking at it for the first time, the Prosecutor could only stare.

There were no golden adornments, no strange, protruding angles or decorative pseudo-clothing, just raw anatomical musculature, right down to the indented V of its pelvis. Even the suggestion of genitalia was contained in a low, sloping bulge. In an odd shimmer of insight, Shiv realized it was a tribute. A homage to the artistry of the human body.

The oldest stories told of gods, born of pure Thought, who'd fashioned the human race out of clay, leaving fingerprints on every dip and swell. Needlessly melodramatic in Shiv's opinion, but not entirely untrue. Far from it. Orokin had created Grineer. Theirs was the hand that'd fashioned the molten yellow irises in every identical face, in the straight nose and lush mouth that a few lucky tube-born could see in the mirror for just a couple of short days before their skin began to sag, their teeth grew crooked, and those luminous eyes sunk into hollow pits.

The Orokin even fashioned themselves, or so it was said. It was not hard to imagine the hands of some Golden Lord, flawless in every physical way, molding the Warframe in the idolization of his own image. The perfect Warrior, cast in living steel.

It was still holding the shotgun.

Muscles so tense they hurt, Shiv gripped his amphis with both hands, getting ready to roll behind cover. The Warframe slowly moved its gleaming weapon off to the side, held it for a moment… and dropped it to the deck, where it fell with a heavy, splashing thud.

Shiv's eyes cut to it, then back up. Lifting both hands now, the Warframe cupped one against the other, fingers curled around an invisible cylinder, and drew them apart. A blade of turquoise light emerged from its palm, its slightly curving length wreathed in oscillating skeins of energy that traveled up and down the blade in unsteady waves. Standing tall, the Warframe pivoted the incredible sword aside, its shields dying away with a crackle.

Waiting.

Shiv's mouth went dry. Whether the thing was incapable of words, or had simply chosen not to utter any, made little difference. It's meaning was clear. It was a challenge, an invitation with as much equality as could be arranged. No guns, no shields. Just natural talent. The cauldron of restless, bitter discontent that'd swamped the later years of Shiv's life suddenly boiled over. He heard the door at his back slam shut and lock. There would be no interference. No running. Shiv wouldn't have considered it even if the option had been open to him. He didn't care why the Warframe had come back. All that mattered was that it was here.

Trembling with anticipation, he swiveled his amphis into a ready stance.

The Warframe nodded.

Then it attacked.

By the Queens it was fast, but Shiv had read the coiled power in the Warframe's thighs, seen the artificial muscles tense in its calves, and knew it'd meant to lunge. He moved away at an angle and brought the butt-end of his amphis up in a crackling arc. The Warframe was ready for him. Grineer iron met unholy light as their weapons collided midway. Shiv felt the impact click his teeth together. He recoiled, sidestepped, and swung again. Again, the Warframe blocked. Glowing blue sparks showered into the puddles and were extinguished.

That blade is very light, and very, very fast. It will attempt to out maneuver me.

The Warframe revolved past him, their shoulders becoming a pivot, and directed a short chop to Shiv's exposed back. Shiv rolled his amphis over one shoulder, parallel to his spine. The glowing sword bounced off with a reverberating clang. Shiv found time to be surprised. Something told him that blade should have been able to cleave through entire men, through armor and muscle and bone. Was it possible that the Warframe could modulate its strength somehow? The idea enraged him as much as it piqued his curiosity.

His limbs became a blur, launching blows with both ends of his amphis as he drove the Warframe around the edges of the dock. It let him come for a moment, then launched a disorienting cut into Shiv's midsection, its sword a slashing flare of azure light. Shiv parried, drove it back, and lunged forward with a counterstrike of his own, amphis whistling in low. It was a blow meant to pulverize kneecaps, or failing that, to snap an opponent's tibia. A fighter that couldn't move, couldn't win. The strike was his!

The Warframe cocked its leg and stepped on the polearm as it passed, driving it to the floor. For one incredible moment, Shiv faced the thing as it perched on the shaft of his weapon. Then he caught the Warframe's heel across the temple as it delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of his head.

Flung sideways by the impact, Shiv accelerated through the puddles. He tumbled to all fours as his momentum played itself out, amphis clutched tightly in his fist. The Warframe regarded him silently, dark against the pustulent yellow floodlights. Shiv suddenly realized he'd been baited. He spat out a tooth, an insane laugh bubbling from his lips in a terrible, maniacal upwelling of delight.

He reared back to his feet and met the Warframe as it charged.

They went back and forth, gaining ground and loosing it again almost as quickly, their feet constantly in motion, spraying filthy water into the air as they moved. The rain was as warm as the blood flowing from Shiv's grinning mouth. He threw his head back and howled in pure animal joy as he traded blows with the thing, accepting the white-hot agony of the slashes it left on his torso, savoring the impact of the blows he dealt to its joints. There was no pulling his punches this time. He needed all his strength to attack and riposte, every ounce of concentration to see when the thing unexpectedly changed the direction of its strikes.

They wheeled back to center, spiraling in a dance of false cuts and feinting thrusts. The Warframe's hide was scorched black in places, epidermal layers sloughed back to ooze a brilliant molten gold. Energy flashed and leapt. One end of Shiv's amphis died with a sudden pop of sputtering circuitry. He drove it into the Warframe's belly anyway. It slap-parried his wrists with its free hand, blowing his arms wide. Too wide. He felt the Warframe's knuckles collide with his sternum.

For a moment the world seemed to slow on its axis and Shiv found himself processing information in fragments, like a comm unit with a broken oscillator. He stared at the Warframe's featureless visage, their faces only inches apart. Why hadn't it moved? An eternity seemed to pass, then Shiv looked down at his own chest… impaled on an exalted Tenno blade.

"Ah."

The amphis clattered to the floor as Shiv's legs unhinged beneath him. The Warframe's fingers clamped on the back on his neck, shielding that vulnerable place with the hard, solid plane of its hand as it sank with him, bearing Shiv's weight as they knelt in a rapidly expanding lake of blood. The blade cutting through his aorta had the weight of a sunbeam – but Shiv was acutely aware of the power of it vibrating through his bones. He cupped a shaking hand over the fist that held it, his grip death-tight, his arm dragging, unable to move again.

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears. Stuttering. Slowing. Dying. There was something wrong with its echo, a slow, venous cadence of three instead of two. Repeated ad infinitum. The Warframe had its own heartbeat, Shiv realized, now that he was close enough to hear it. Some terrible, thumping thing that powered its limbs and bestowed its twisted immortality.

Shiv hacked a clot of blood onto the Warframe's shoulder, slumped in its implacable grip. He didn't thank it. Didn't curse it, either. Simply acknowledged it with chuckle, thick and wet in his throat, and rode that hypnotizing sound into the black.

It had been a good fight.

At last.

He could not have known that long after his heart has ceased to beat, the Warframe had carried him away from the polluted shipyards, away from the grinders that would've recycled his flesh into the protein slurry from which new Grineer were born. He could not had known that on some distant spire of rock, a cairn was erected over his body and his amphis planted in the snow alongside it.

-o- Morituri Te Salutamus is roughly half of a Latin phrase commonly translated as "We who are about to die, salute you!" It is often associated with ancient Roman gladiators.