"Agitators are widespread. The Board must remain ever-vigilant, lest we deny the Void its due. The Grineer test our borders, yes; but the greatest threat lies from within. The Solaris must be kept in check, lest we lose the foundation upon which the our Great Economy is built.
The Solaris seek autonomy. Let them have it.
Their bodies; our terms."
- Nef Anyo, addressing fellow members of the Corpus Board.
Aboard the Severance Package, the panicked crewman was still fleeing down the corridor when an elbow emerged from the shadows of an open hatchway, smashing him to the deck. Kelpo's boot soon rested on his throat.
"Where's Neera?!" Telin hissed in the crewman's face. Kelpo had already stripped the man of his sidearm.
The crewman gibbered something unintelligible. Telin snarled in irritation, shaking him.
"The girl! Where is she?!"
"He doesn't know anything." Kelp shook his head.
"He knows his way round this ship." Telin countered. "On your feet. C'mon."
They hauled the man upright.
"What's your name?" Kelpo asked. A friendly question, considering he now had the man's gun pressed to the base of his skull.
"Spendric." The crewman wailed. "Please don't kill me! I'm just a mechanic!"
"Okay, Spendric. You wanna live?" Telin stared him in the eye. "First you're gonna take us to your armoury. Then you're gonna show us to the bridge."
"He is?" Kelpo frowned in surprise.
"Yeah, he is."
"You're insane." Spendric breathed.
Telin Voss didn't blink as he glared at the shaking crewman.
"I'm tired. I'm pissed off. We're owed a hell of a lot of credits, and by this point? I'm about ready to hijack an airship."
Kef Mehrino assembled his War Council in the Boardroom Table.
A strategic overlay of the Upper Tier projected down from the ceiling. The rebels had established a beachhead on the Western Landing Deck, cutting a swathe through the City Watch's efforts to contain them. Corpus response teams had successfully stalled the advance on its furthest fringes, but the main spearhead continued deep into City Watch lines, unimpeded; a single flashpoint at its centre, where any Corpus forces seemingly vanished as quickly as they arrived.
"Reports are scattered, but one thing is certain: the insurgents have Tenno support." Kren Maruk reported, indicating the area in question. "They're headed for Watch Control."
"You mean here." Kef Mehrino corrected, pacing. "They're headed here."
"That's, uh… correct, Sir."
"How long before we can get drone servers back online?"
"Within the hour."
Kef Mehrino paced, thinking; sweating visibly. He snapped his fingers after a moment.
"The Exchange. Hire them. Tell them we'll pay them. Anything they want. Just put those Tenno down."
"Sir, we tried that."
"And?"
Kren Maruk swallowed, coughing awkwardly.
"They said they were busy. Sir."
"Busy?! What could possibly be keeping them busy at a time like this?!"
"Fall back! Fall back!"
Exchange Agents fell back down the corridor, returning desperate cover fire in thinly disguised panic as they dragged bleeding comrades back to safety. Another brace of shots cut them as they fled.
Brakarr advanced, seemingly implacable as he stormed up the corridor. Sheets of fire licked out from his rotary cannon, painting targets across the now-pockmarked white walls. He stopped at the next doorway, shying back as a flurry of shots snapped back in return; spanking off his armour.
The Grinner looked down at Vern and shook his head; smoke drifting up from the various dents dimpled across his plate-work.
"Heavy fire." Brakarr growled. "Fixed emplacement."
Vern nodded, clapping the Grineer's war rig twice. The Grineer made way, letting Vern slip by.
Vern ducked over to the far side of the doorway; chased by a scattering of shots as he crossed the threshold. He looked at the Grinner, holding up three fingers, before making a fist. The Grineer nodded. Isolde and Parson-Luk stacked up behind the brute.
Vern plucked a grenade from his webbing; smoothly tossing it through the door.
There was a muffled crump and a flash. The Empflash was a custom made, intended for contingencies involving cybernetics. Black market gear, highly illegal in Corpus circles; an expensive hypothetical, should the unthinkable happen and Vern found himself facing opponents with similar augmentations to his own.
It proved a worthy investment. Exchange Agents staggered about, utterly blinded.
Vern swept in first; the Lex snapped to bear. It sounded twice in quick succession; blasting the now blinded machine gunner off his perch on the far reception desk.
Vern moved right, clearing a path for Brakarr to storm in on his heels. Brakarr filled the centre of the room; chopping targets off their feet. He was Grineer, built for war. The shrill keen of the rotary cannon split the air once more. Energy bolts and cutting beams singe him, but the Grineer's throaty laugh filled the chamber as he responded in ruthless kind.
More agents rushed them. Vern shrank back behind a pillar; felt it vibrate under a fusillade of beam fire. Felt the heat and smelt the scalded plaster. You didn't take chances in a beam fight: it was all too easy a way to get cross-sectioned.
A shape darted by. Isolde was on them in a flash. Then came the sound of bones breaking; of strangled chokes and shrieks. The Tenno carried no weapons beyond the single kunai. It flashed; arcing great splashes of blood as it punctured throats and severed arteries. Bodies fell left and right; beam weapons clattering to the floor, useless.
Vern already knew the outcome.
But they were short on time.
Vern swept into the savage melee; a throat punch opening his assault. Much like the Tenno, the veteran hunter fought with tremendous economy. No movement was wasted. Hard strikes: elbows, knees; punctuated by decisive barks of the Lex at point blank range. A brutal dance; he flowed through them; a choreographed rampage born from a lifetime of combat experience. Every kill punctuated with a confirmation trio: two to the chest; one to the head.
The last man to rush him had a knife. Vern took it in the forearm, grunting as the blade met the metal beneath his sleeve. Arresting it. The Lex snarled twice more. The agent folded, clutching his belly. A final bullet ended the conversation.
Vern looked around. The lobby was a smoking mess, choked with fallen Exchange personnel. Brakarr strode through the devastation, panning for additional targets. Parson-Luk was already looting the dead; pocketing any ammo, trinkets or keepsakes he could flog.
Isolde stood apart, unscathed bar for a small droplet of blood splashed across her ivory cheek. Vern approached, wiped it away with his thumb. The girl seemed in shock. Not at the violence; but the sudden and irreversible change in their circumstances.
They were fugitives now. Wanted by one of the single most ruthless organisations in the System.
She noticed the knife still-lodged in Vern's arm immediately, blinked in concern; focused now.
"Servos took it." Vern grunted, as he pulled the blade free and cast it aside.
"You're insane." Isolde scolded, raising her voice to address the others. "You're all insane."
"Better than dead, Surah." Parson-Luk shrugged. He was actively trying to pry a golden tooth from one of the bodies. There was good money in teeth. "Or worse: bored."
"We take care of our own." Vern insisted.
Brakarr simply thumped his breastplate with a clanging fist.
"Drask won't take this lying down." Vern said. "Time to go."
"Not quite." Isolde shook her head. "We forgot something."
Neera sat clamped in the scanning chair, trembling.
The clerk seated on the far side of the chamber seemed oblivious to the bleating alarms and rattling gunfire that echoed throughout the corridors beyond. Instead she calmly worked her way through the questionnaire. The clerk was shorn of hair, her face stencilled in Corpus script. Her hands were cybernetic; and whirred as they danced over the keypad; tapping in each and every detail of Neera Hosk's relatively short and unhappy life.
Occupational Assessment, as it was known. Neera knew what it really was. She spied her reflection in the chrome manacles that bound her to the chair; suddenly became all too aware of her skin, her nails, her eyes and lips. Her hands began to shake even more.
"Can you confirm your skills and existing occupation?"
"H-hospitality. C-3 Licence. Lower Tier."
The clerk ticked a box on her data pad. In the distance, another explosion rumbled.
"Any existing trades or experience handling manual equipment?"
Neera quaked in terror by this point. She just shook her head.
Another tick on the checklist.
"Any existing medical conditions, or historical rejection of prothesis?"
Neera never got a chance to answer. The door blasted off its hinges. Neera was blinded by the settling wall of swirling dust; coughing. A giant Grineer strode in, sweeping the room with a truly staggeringly large cannon. The clerk rose to her feet, protesting the intrusion; wholly ignorant of the very real and present danger before her. Alarms wailed in the distance. Neera could smell smoke and fire.
Isolde swept in past the giant, her face a mask of ruthless fury. She impatiently rose a hand. The air seemed to swell and pop.
The clerk hit the far wall with a meaty smack, unconscious.
Isolde raised a hand and a jolt of arcane energy spat out, shorting the locks that bound Neera's wrists. They sprang open with a clack.
The rogue Tenno looked at Neera.
"You. You're with us now."
Mirage's form seemed to sift and flow through the shadows; alternating light and dark as Sara urged the Solaris fighters forward. The Corpus had broken. Now was their chance to push the attack.
A voice buzzed in her ear.
"Sara, tell me that's not your Frame I'm seeing on the feed."
"Uh no. Not me. Pure coincidence."
"You said quiet retrieval. In and out. Now you're leading a revolution."
"I'm not leading it. I'm participating."
"The Tenno is with us!" one worker yelled excitedly. "Follow the Tenno!"
A resounding cheer went up throughout the line. Mirage shrugged, and pointed onwards, prompting another roar of approval. The Resistance flooded in around her, pressing the assault.
Sara cut the com line, bright voice angelic.
"Catch you later!"