"There are few compacts made between the Grineer and Corpus Empires. Fewer still are honoured.

The operation of the Solar Rail is one of them, central as it is to the day to day logistical operations of their respective cultures. Troop movements, trade delegations - it doesn't matter. Cooperation is required, and cooperation is given, however grudgingly.

The Dark Sector quarantines are another. Eris and the surrounding grave sites are kept under strict isolation, and violating quarantine is punishable by death - or worse - permanent exile to the Dark Sectors.

The reason behind this agreement is clear: the Technocyte plague must not be allowed to spread.

And yet every once in a while, whether by fluke or happenstance or some other malevolent force of imperceptible design, a ship appears on the horizon. It has carries no life signs, it has no targeted destination. These ghost ships drift through the trade channels, harbouring all manner of nightmares for those unlucky enough to stumble across them."

- Tenno Doric

The walls unfurled. Twisted shapes emerged from the steaming heat, dropping from walls, ceilings; scrambling out from tunnels unseen. Where once there was a jungle of flesh and skin, dripping with menace but devoid of life, soon there was a shambling horde of nightmarish shapes, sprinting towards them with frightening speed.

So many targets. Too many to count.

Grahk didn't blink. Instead he opened fire in methodical bursts, methodically putting the Karak to work. Krint and Freghor added their Hinds to the din, dropping to one knee as they hastily formed a firing line.

Nightmares burst and fell, shredded and pulped. Still more came.

"Fall back, Formation Bravo!" Grahk rose to his feet, back-pedalling to the hatchway behind them. His shell-kin followed suit, alternating turns as they turned and addressed in bounding sequence. "Maintain fire rate!"

The magazine clacked empty. Months of training kicked in. Release, replace; lock and snap. Re-sight. Fire or die.

Then Freghor was gone. Snatched up and away into the ceiling with a muffled yelp. The scanning unit hit the floor, coated with slime. Its bleating swelled into a frenzied shrill as the infestation poured in through the chamber.

A tentacle lashed out around Grahk's ankle. He went down on his back, hard, the wind driven out of him. With monstrous force he was pulled toward the horde, leg-first. A wall of fangs and claws and broken things reached for him. His machete wouldn't reach. No time. No other options.

Grahk flicked the fire-select. Full cycle. The Karak was not known for its subtlety, nor its ammo economy. There was no time to debate. No time to think.

It sawed clean through the horde. The tentacle itself burst apart, shredded entirely. He was free. Grahk rolled onto his stomach and half clawed, half sprinted for the hatchway. Krint roared encouragement from the hatchway ahead, as he snapped shots that whickered into targets far closer than Grahk liked to hear.

There was no way he was going to make it. They were right on top of him.

"Down!" that was Mox. Grahk knew his gene-brother well enough not to argue. He threw himself flat.

The rest of Squad Five opened up as one. Sheets of hard rounds bit into flesh and skin and steel. The nightmares wailed but kept coming, falling in tumbling droves. Grahk scrambled his way forward in a hunched crouch, almost diving into the arms of Zoln and Pakhor, who hauled him clear.

"Back! Back!" That was Sergeant Telb, his voice a hoarse croak.

Specialist flame units were brought up. Seena and her command team were with them now, Brakarr too. Their weapons joined the cacophony. With them were mission specialists, a kill-team Grahk and the others had not known existed. Three Scorch operators went to work, fuel tanks gurgling and sloshing as they shuffled into position, pilot lights hissing in anticipation. They took up position at the yawning hatchway, raising their projectors in unison. They clamped their fingers on the trigger, right as the horde closed the gap and pounced for them.

There was a roaring whoosh and thick jets of liquid fire hosed the chamber of horrors, slamming the fiends back.

The screech was louder than any descending shell Grahk had ever heard. It pierced his mind, and yet as he lay there panting and exhausted, he could only stare numbly at the flames as they consumed the corruption beyond. The Scorch units seemed impassive to it all, their faces unreadable behind the monocular lenses of their facemasks.

Even so, above the belching hiss of their chemical spray, and the crackling heat of the flames, Grahk could hear them laughing.

Grahk spent a month in an isolation cell after that, closely monitored by the Galleon's crew; left with little in the way of company but his own (admittedly limited) thoughts.

The Scorch units were never far away, and he could hear them patrolling out in the corridor beyond, their voices muffled but the smell of their gasoline tanks ever-present. Was he infected? Could the infestation have penetrated his armour? There was no way to tell. It had been stripped of him, taken for decontamination. He felt oddly naked without his carapace, stripped as he was to his bare body-glove.

Two weeks in, any fears of infection gave way to boredom. Grahk passed the time as best he could. First by counting rivets on the walls, then by devising a workout routine of his own creation.

What little he learned was from Mox's occasional visitations, where they mumbled a conversation through the speaking grille inset into the reinforced doorway.

The outbreak on the derelict Corpus ship had been contained and – the threat to the Rail extinguished (in this case quite literally) - the ship was summarily scuttled. Squad Five received recognition for their part in discovering the infestation, with Telb in particular receiving a commendation for requesting specialist reinforcements so quickly.

It marked Squad Five as a trusted unit in Seena's command hierarchy. They were solid, dependable.

It was perhaps because of this reputation that they caught the eye of General Sargas Ruk, and his elite Artefact Retrieval Teams. But that was later.

When it was finally time to emerge, the entirety of Squad Five awaited him, clapping and cheering. Brakarr was there too, and the hulking Bombard slapped him on the back so hard Grahk's knees almost gave out.

Grahk remembered that time with a wistful fondness that was rare for a Grineer, particularly a line trooper.

This was fitting.

For what followed was only horror.