Warframe thoughts

Tennos. The demon of the Void that the orokins oh, so feared. No surprise here. They held power that wasn’t in their control, they couldn’t force them to bow. But… they were children. Well. Somewhat. The zarimans ten-zero incident make them… more. And less. Maybe just, different. Not that it mattered to the goldens lords. They were lower caste. They weren’t orokins, just children altered forever, who were… well, just a step above slave. But really, everyone was just a step above slave to them. Right. Story. Or thoughts.

The discovery of tennos. When these children were brought out, brimming with the power of the Void, sane, when all have gone mad. They were held in white hall, in isolation, observed, probed by orokin scientific. And, as they soon discovered, not all of these children were the same. They soon came to classify into four groups, and some learnt the hard way the difference between them.

The first group was made of those who retreated into the apathy. They didn’t care. Didn’t talk really, didn’t look either, just… being. Unresponsive, unless probed, looking blankly ahead or gaze lost in the void. Traumatized children.

The second one was childlike. They played with the void, and laughed freely, seeming uncaring about the hardship outsides. They were the ones who were in denials, who refuted the monsters outside. Who looked warily when they came clawing. Scared children.

The third were covered in blood, snarling, hand in fist, eyes defiant. They despised the two others group, the weak, hated the adults, who hurt them, hurt the others. Angry child.

The last… the last was maybe the sanest. The elders, for all that they looked the same ages. They were the ones who gathered the others, took over the farms, and took care of the others. They were the ones that made sur they ate when they could. The ones that took care of the adults. Be it locking them somewhere far away or killing them. Who soothed the child whimpering in fear, the angry child who erupted. They were the protectors. They turned all their hardship, not in apathy, not in denial, not in anger, but loyalty. Loyalty toward their companions. And when the orokins found them, they were the ones looking on. Eyes sharp, and mouth thin. They looked and observed. They didn’t lash out like the angry child, but didn’t let themselves trust either.

Margulis was a good woman. But she didn’t understand either. Yet, she was helpful. Helpful in drawing the traumatized out of their shell, the scared one to be really carefree. And so, they let her. Showed her a bit of trust, by letting her sit on the side when they helped the youngers get a handle on their power. Soothing the angry ones, who, reluctantly, has come to see the whole of the tennos as their kin, and the elders as trustworthy, not blinded by the false sympathy of the adults.

She pushed too far. That was the problem with her. She was useful with the scared and the traumatized. Not the angry and mistrustful. They trusted the elders, who looked out for all of them, who didn’t trust the golden lords or the adult. So, they warily looked on Margulis, not mingling with the others group, but trusting the elders to know what they were doing. Until she came, trying to push them into interacting with her, the other. One lashed out, half mastered power surging out. She was blinded, and the elders exchanged look, grim ones. There was no way the orokins would let that pass.

They didn’t. They were separated, kept in glorified golden cage, as Margulis pleaded and pleaded. And they watched, grimly, as she was executed for it, as Ballas came to them. And they laughed, bitter, in the dark. Scared, traumatized children huddling together, crying, angry children curling fist and raging, hate growing and growing, settling deep in their bones, fire simmering and consuming. And the elder wanted to laugh, bitterness creeping in, hate simmering down in resignation and tiredness. They looked at Ballas with disdain. He who put down his love yet blamed them. He who never knew love, only greed. And they kept looking, as they were forced into pods. For all their power, they were child, teenagers. Bullet wrecked their flesh, and taser their nerves. And so, they were hidden away, monsters, one more errors and failures of the golden lords that they refused to acknowledge.

They remembered the times in between, somewhat aware of what was happening outside of these coffins. Some were scared, others fascinated in a deeply unsettling way. A few… a few worked with Margulis once, a few knew the truth and felt compassion, pity, for these children. The archemedian who whispered tales, even as she studied her graphics, the Dax singing softly, as they kept guard, the technician humming to them, as they checked the pods, the cleaning person who told them about the outsides, talking about the new blooming tree, the blue sky.

They remembered the monster. The broken things that ate these hateful scientific, the ones too fascinated with using children, the ones who forgot what they were. And they felt for it. Twisted abomination, broken mind, one more being that the golden lords have twisted, corrupted beyond sanity. The beast stilled, stilled at the intricated coffins, at the child similar, lost and twisted, hurt and yet… But even this moment of understanding was broken, shattered by Ballas, by the golden lords, who twisted everything, in their eternal greed and arrogance.

When they were taken out of the pods, they snarled, but they were tired, and the elders stepped forward. They were the protectors, they swore to protect the others, and they wouldn’t let them be experimented upon. They volunteered, trying to ignore the pleased smile of the golden lord, the twisted enjoyment, giving reassuring smile, or tried to, at the others.
They clenched their teeth, as metal was put into them, as the heavy scars these procedures left, as the pain of the process, at the electricity it sparked. And even as some died in the procedure, implant turning void power against its host, disrupting their control. And when the damages became too much for the tenno to recover for, they took cold comfort. Cold comfort that their death and suffering will spare it from the others.
They were shoved anew into these pods, only, this time they could reach, reach through it to new body. They wanted to hurl. The monster, twisted, destroyed by orokins. Dax and soldiers, some scientific, some slaves. They gave their life by becoming infected, becoming super-soldier, and even beyond their death, they used their corpses. Fighting, bleeding, strapped to a bed, to suffer, to lose oneself, and then shaped anew. Flooded by these memories, they looked, trying not to hurl, not to cry, not to despair. The orokin were learning how to block, erase the memories of these husk, once people, who became flesh abomination, and then warframes. And Ballas was so proud, so amused. They hated, and raged, but took comfort. Their brothers and sister wouldn’t have to know this, wouldn’t have to remember the fell to madness, body becoming twisted, unusable, the last memory before their mind disappeared being the full loss, attacking, eating, loved ones, and orokins looking, always looking.

They were sent on the battlefield, unable to talk, only look, and kill. They were that much better, the void allied to these frames. Body stronger than steel, barrier shielding them, muscles allowing to be fast, agile, strong. And the Void surging through their shared link, these body conduit of their will, their power. They fought with the Dax. Some saw them as monster, just one more weapon deployed on the battlefield, but many more as allies, as they proved themselves, cleaning enemy camp, fighting, bleeding, dying at their sides, body shredded. They came to see these strange being as comrades. Different, powerful, but comrades. They couldn’t talk, weren’t supposed to even think for themselves, only following order. And yes, they followed them, even when they were sent on suicide run. They learnt the hand signs used on the battlefield. And when they extended it to create their own language, signing between each other, the dax kept silent. Orokin called them monster. But it wasn’t the golden lord who fought, who bled, who died. They weren’t here, and they let these being have a shard of comfort, between one bloody battle and the next.

The war was becoming worse, and soon, every tennos were on the battlefield. The elders became desperate. Ballas reaped the benefices of it. He was congratulated, to have created such useful weapon, such loyal tool, and even found a way to use these void demons. What a great man. And he smirked, and laughed, at these elder took suicide run after suicide run, slaughter after slaughter, trying, over and over, to shield the others from the worse. The tennos learned death. Learned to occlude the memory, powering through being stabbed, gutted, ripped apart, jumping in new frame, hearth hammering and pain burning at their nerves. But the elders were not enough, and, as the war worsened, more were sent on these mission, awful, nightmarish mission.

The war was winding down, a lull in the fighting, both sides exhausted. Soon, the sentient would be nothing more, but broken remnant, locked away into Tau. The tennos themselves, could not be hidden away. Too much of a useful tool. But still too rebellious, too much of a flight risk. The Void shielded their mind from orokin manipulation. They tried, and killed tennos with it. And they couldn’t let regular peasant know about the child. They were given… right. Gift. Give food to a beast, and keep it content, and they will not attack you. That was the idea. They didn’t let them speak, not really. But they gave them access to the chat-link beyond receiving order from it, and mollified the chat restriction. They let them create clan. This social aspect seemed to strengthen them, make them more efficient, making for better squad and better trained tennos, sharing their experience between each other. They allowed for the creation of dojo. Place where they could care for their frame and equipment. And also allowed to have tennos presence around. And then Margulis, Lotus, happened.

The war was really on its last legs now, now that one of the enemies have switched over, not to the orokins camp, like they believed, but the tennos ones. It was a subtle difference, but an important one. They were just wiping out the last pocket of sentient now, which made for many pockets seeing the vastness of the system, but still, wiping out pocket. In a few years, nearly every tennos has a clan. Many were small, just shadow. Small group of friends who decided to pool experience and resource. With the reassignment of tennos to new mission, such as bodyguarding, fewer and fewer tennos were purely focused on battle. The tennos still only missioned as such grouped into two clans, seen as the best of the best. Bloody Dawn, or the Hundred Elites. They were elders, and the odds tennos that saw the same nightmare than them. Focused, experimented, incredibly competent and deadly. They were allied with the Crimson Legion, who gathered nearly all the others elders and their comrades. Strong of a thousand member, their teamwork was incredible, as was the sharing of skills and experience. Loyal, they never let anyone behind. A few more shadow clans were in this alliance, tennos used to work with each other. The Path of War was really the biggest alliance at the time, and it was the ones who brought war back.

A few years of lull, a few years for tennos to adapt, as the war ended. A few years for tennos hate and ressentiment to boil over. They tought that it will be over, that they would at least treated with the same respect than the Dax. They didn’t. They were still the Void demon. Having ones as bodyguard was an honor, as you would have a ferocious beast on a leash, and they were treated as little more than commodity. Their names were never uttered, when they weren’t just insulted to their face. The thing, the infested monster, the warframes, the tools. So, they kept their names close, their true names only shared between each other. They took callsign, one they chose, a way to spite on Ballas. They weren’t just number, just their frame. Their frames was part of them, yes, but they were children, once, children who saw horror after horror. The slow death of the ones they cared. The few dax, dying in inane mission, the tower and riot they were sent to “calm”. Walking out of these civilian places, trembling, covered in blood, having to hose it off their frames. Their true body still hidden, locked away, in a pod, unable to move, under the control of the orokin, under their golden capital on lua, only guarded by the lotus.

After another tower to clean, after another child given to a golden lord, to use as a body, they snapped. Whisper grew, discontentment rising, ushered voice and low argument. In the shadow, they talked, voice silent, but mind abuzz. They had enough.

It was another parade, another place where they would parade their weapon, smirk and condescending attitude, blue skin bared to the world, showing their monstrosity. Body stealer, who should be long dead, whose body has the tinge of death on. They were lined up, seeming deferent, as the Seven talked. A head snapped out, and a howl were heard. Every Rhino howled as the same times, power washing over each tennos, strengthening them. It was chaos, it was revenge, it was rebellion. Names were used as rallying point. Margulis, mainly, but also Tales weaver Suda, Song mistress Octavia, Healer Okuda and World Painter Atack. They struck them down.

The tower was washed with blood, but for once, it was blood corrupted by kuva, and not regular ones. Sentient, who were supposed to be defeated were popping up anew, and the tennos were sent to fight it. When Hunhow, their leaders, breached lua defense, Lotus pulled Lua into the Void. Getting it out would be near impossible in the immediate. But they were safe from the sentient. The war become a one-sided slaughter after that, all while the great empire collapsed, only stable enough to fight the sentient. When the last fight was fought, when the last battle was down, they hid the warframes, opting to sleep until such a time they could be awaken. Awaken, and free. Free to use their own body.