The ride home passed in a low, steady hush. Isaac leaned back in the passenger seat, posture loose, eyes unfocused as Brockton Bay slid by in streaks of concrete and signs. Umbra drove without comment, hands steady on the wheel.
The Tenno liked this, just existing. Watching as the world went by. It was almost meditative. Especially when the faint feeling of loneliness crept in. He wished, distantly, that the Lotus were waiting for him at the end of this drive. That his brothers and sisters were here too, scattered through this strange new world, sharing it with him.
Making odd friends, experiencing high school, and exploring a new world. It was fun, but it could never compare to being with the people who truly mattered to him.
Before his mood could be soured, he pushed the thought aside and refocused on something more immediately relevant.
Taylor.
More Specifically, his recruitment of her.
On paper, he was already well past the opening moves. Ten-Zero's reputation alone carried weight—enough to make most capes eager at the mere suggestion, even if half of that eagerness came from misguided fantasies about gaining their own Warframe armor. Showing up last night to save her from Lung, and getting her on the news as a hero sufficiently increased those odds.
But Isaac wasn't interested in just aiming for sufficient.
Taylor was too cautious to take chances with. She'd tried to hide it around him after accepting his friendship and, to her credit, she'd done a decent job. Still, the moment he'd almost said clan, he'd seen the way her expression flattened from confused to deliberately neutral.
So he wanted to do something grand. Something dramatic. Something cool to wow her doubts of joining Ten-Zero away.
The problem was Taylor didn't seem the type who reacted well to surprises. So finding a way to impress without overwhelming her seemed like it wasn't going to be able to include his favorite exotic displays.
Which was… annoying.
Because spectacle was fun.
He'd already half-constructed a dozen dramatic introductions in his head. One including remote-piloting an Atomicycle to pick her up. Letting it invisibly drive through the city. Wall-riding up the side of a building, hopping rooftops, maybe even a brief glide over the boat graveyard.
Effective? Absolutely in his opinion.
Terrifying? …Probably.
And scaring Taylor was the exact opposite of what he wanted.
He was still chewing on that dilemma when Ordis chimed in, voice bright and curious in his head.
"Operator! How was your day?"
Isaac smiled softly. "Good Ordis. I had fun."
"Oh?" Ordis perked up immediately. "Did you succeed in destabilizing the local hierarchy as planned?"
"Still working on it," Isaac replied. "I've gotten one step closer though. Plus, I managed to befriend Taylor."
"That is delightful!" Ordis said, warmth bleeding into his tone. "Ordis is happy that Miss Hebert and the Operator are now friends. The school is surely on its way to better days with your guiding hand."
Isaac smirked at his Cephalons praise. "No dou…"
His voice cracked.
The sound was small. Barely audible. But it made him go still.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "No doubt..."
It cracked again.
That shouldn't have been possible.
This body wasn't supposed to do that.
While it was anatomically a near-perfect match for a teenager—if you ignored the fully developed brain and adult musculature—it lacked the hormonal fluctuations and biological quirks that caused voices to crack. There was no puberty curve to blame. No mundane explanation.
"…Ordis," Isaac said slowly. "Run a diagnostic on me please."
There was a brief pause.
"Oh," Ordis said, his tone shifting, cheer draining out of it. "Operator… the current body is exhibiting signs of structural degradation. Microfractures along the skeletal lattice. Neural strain. Early cellular instability. Nothing immediately fatal, but the trend is…concerning."
Isaac exhaled, long and controlled.
It had been a little over two months since he'd started wearing Isaac—but only two days since he'd begun using the body for more than just brief stints. He'd done everything right. Suppressed his Void energy output. Avoided unnecessary exertion. Kept his presence as light as possible, careful not to stress the vessel.
Even so, it wasn't enough.
This body wasn't a warframe. It hadn't been built to house a Tenno.
Isaac sighed again, and the sound came out thin, strained in a way that made his jaw tighten. "We'll need repairs tonight."
"Understood, Operator," Ordis replied immediately, professionalism snapping back into place. "Preparations will begin as soon as you arrive at your current domicile. And Operator?" He paused. "You still have not informed me of your plan should Ms. Hebert contact me today."
Isaac leaned his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling as he considered his earlier plans again before dismissing them and making new ones. Bringing her to his Isaac house was out. Too risky. He wanted to keep identities separate for now. And a random rooftop or alley where anyone might spy them was out.
Which left…
Manhattan.
The so-called main base.
He snorted quietly at the thought. Calling it a base was generous. It was a glorified, half-finished dojo—a skeleton of a true Tenno structure masquerading as something important. No shields for the building. No automated defenses. No turrets. No trading station. Not even a duel room.
Barely even a dock for the liset on the upper floors.
A failure of a dojo by any Tenno standard.
All it really had going for it were a few social spaces—like the stone garden and the anti-gravity chamber. There were a few specters tasked with looking good for the cameras and guarding the place. Pretty, but overall it was a functionally useless place.
Still… it was something.
"Maybe," Isaac murmured in thought, "I could use Captura to—"
He stopped himself.
Riley's therapy was still ongoing, so Captura was currently spoken for.
The thought dimmed his mood again immediately. He hadn't gone back to deal with her yet. Hadn't decided what fixing that mess even looked like. Avoiding it didn't make it go away, and he knew that, but rushing into fixing it would just result in another simulation reset.
He swallowed back a sigh and answered Ordis. "Never mind that. For now, be ready to deploy the Liset. We're bringing her to New York."
"An excellent choice Operator," the Cephalon praised as Umbra pulled into the driveway, engine humming softly.
"Thanks, and while we wait," Isaac added, tone sharpening with his grin, "I'm going to see if I can deal with a small thief problem."
The Undersiders may have eluded him last night but—
"I would advise against that, Operator," Ordis said, interrupting his thoughts.
Isaac blinked. "Huh?"
"While you were at Winslow," Ordis began, "Umbra tracked Venari to the base of those teenage miscreants. Their civilian identities are now known to us and the Kavat is still monitoring them. However, acting against them while they remain unmasked would constitute a blatant violation of the unwritten rules."
Isaac clicked his tongue in irritation but didn't argue.
Those dam rules again. The kids were lucky he had to pay lip service to them. But the second they slipped on the mask…
"Don't worry, Operator," Ordis continued, voice brightening. "Our secret is still safe. I have already tapped their electronic devices and prevented the one known as Tattletale from informing their mysterious benefactor of our presence."
Isaac paused halfway out of the car. "…Their benefactor?"
"Coil," Ordis replied promptly.
Isaac shut the car door and walked toward the house a step behind Umbra, frowning.
Coil. The supervillain who successfully held territory and fought off the other gangs with normal humans armed with tinkertech. A man who hid so well there was almost nothing concrete on him. A snake in the grass with resources, soldiers, and now a private team of parahuman thieves.
Why keep them hidden?
Deniable assets, maybe. Tools to probe the gangs without exposing himself. Regardless of the reason, he was clearly far more sly than a group like the ABB or Empire, who made no effort to hide the true nature of their organization or their parahuman power. What else was the Snake hiding?
"Dig into him and get back to me on it later," Isaac ordered. "I want to know what other assets he may have. How many mercenaries, what his finances look like, patterns in his operations. Everything."
"Yes, Operator."
Inside the house, Isaac's body collapsed onto the couch the moment the front door shut.
Ordis drifted in not long after, his Sentinel chassis humming softly as he approached. Without ceremony, the Tenno slipped free. Isaac's body went slack, eyes dull as Ordis caught it in a gentle suspension field.
The Sentinel glided away down the hall, Isaac's form hovering inches from the floor as they disappeared from view.
The Operator remained behind.
He threw himself back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. Wondering what to do next while he waited. Then the Tenno sensed movement before he fully processed it. Something cut through the air toward him. His hand snapped up on instinct and closed around the object mid-flight.
A wooden practice blade.
He lowered it slowly and looked up.
Umbra was already turning away, another sword resting across his shoulder as he walked toward the hall. His steps were unhurried. No gesture or explanation given.
Just expectation.
The Operator exhaled through his nose, pushing himself up from the couch.
There was no point pretending he didn't understand. Losing his blade in the middle of a fight—however chaotic the battlefield—had been sloppy. He could blame the suddenness of the deployment, Lung's regeneration, or rust from not being properly challenged during his time on Earth Bet.
But Umbra would not accept excuses.
They passed through the house in silence, footsteps echoing faintly as they descended into the basement. Then past the false wall Ordis had installed. Down into the sub-basement.
And further still.
The hidden chamber beneath it opened up into a wide, cavernous space. Ceiling lights flickered on in sequence, illuminating concrete, support pillars, and reinforced flooring scarred with faint marks from Umbra's past sessions.
Near the entrance, the available Warframes from the most recent rotation knelt in a neat row.
Khora Prime.
Grendel Prime.
Dante.
The Operator's gaze lingered on Grendel. The frame's raw power and armor would even the field even if it couldn't match Umbra's speed. No, more than even it with its abilities taken into account. He stepped toward the massive frame—
A hand fell on his shoulder, firm and unyielding. He glanced sideways to see Umbra look at him before the old Dax shook his head once.
The implication was clear.
No Warframe.
The Operator grimaced faintly.
Fighting Umbra with just a sword under these restrictions felt more like a punishment than training. Even so, he exhaled and stepped away from the frames. Because while a Tenno may be less physically capable than a warframe, they were undoubtedly stronger and just as skilled.
Not that he would be putting many of those Tenno powers to use. This was a sword duel. Shooting out reality unraveling void beams or trapping Umbra in an area of slowed time would defeat the purpose of trying to resharpen his sword skills.
So wordlessly, he void-dashed to the center of the chamber, appearing in a ripple of displaced air. He knelt into Seiza, placing the practice blade on the ground at his right side.
Umbra approached at a measured pace. He lowered himself opposite the Operator with the same composed precision, placing his own blade beside him.
For a moment, they simply looked at one another.
A challenge was issued and a challenge was accepted.
The two moved at the same time, blades in hand as they rose fluidly into stance.
The Operator settled into Swooping Falcon—light on his feet, blade angled forward, posture slightly lowered to allow quick lateral movement. It favored speed, momentum, fluid transitions between offense and evasion.
Umbra adjusted his grip on his sword into a two handed stance with a high guard.
Decisive Judgement.
The Operator's stomach tightened.
That stance was about impact. Controlled brutality. It traded flurries for crushing force that the Tenno had no interest in trying to block.
When the moment for them to analyze each other passed and without signal or countdown, the fight began.
One heartbeat Umbra stood across from him.
The next—
He was a blur of motion, closing the distance instantly, blade raised overhead and descending like an executioner's axe for his skull.
The Operator void-dashed backward at the last possible second.
Concrete ruptured beneath the strike, stone and dust exploding outward in a thunderous crack that shook the chamber. A small crater formed in the reinforced floor—practice blade perfectly intact, vibrating faintly from the shockwave it had generated.
The Operator rematerialized several meters away, boots skidding slightly as he absorbed his own momentum. He kept his stance and did not blink or break eye contact with Umbra's last known position as his perception sharpened, the world stretching thin and slow under the pressure of void-augmented awareness.
Dust rolled through the chamber in thick waves, sluggish in his heightened vision.
Umbra stepped forward through it at an unhurried pace.
His suit and tie fizzed away in golden light, unraveling into motes as his true form asserted itself. Fabric became armor. Skin shimmered and hardened into living metal. His face vanished beneath the sculpted helm as the horn and gilded crown manifested. The scarf materialized around his neck in a silent cascade of energy.
When the dust thinned enough to see clearly, Excalibur Umbra stood revealed in full.
The crater behind him marked exactly where the Operator would have been.
A warning that he would not be going easy on the Tenno.
Umbra advanced again.
The Operator shifted his weight, blade flicking outward in a testing slash.
Umbra met it with his own.
The clash rang through the chamber—wood cracking against wood with enough force to numb the Operator's hands. He pivoted immediately, letting Umbra's blade slide along his own to bleed off impact, then flowed into a lateral cut aimed at the warframe's neck.
Umbra backstepped with a precise economy of motion, just outside the Operator's reach.
And countered instantly.
The Operator void-dashed backward again, the horizontal sweep that followed carving through the space his torso had occupied. The air itself split around the strike.
Umbra pressed him the moment he rematerialized.
The Operator ducked beneath another horizontal sweep and rolled, coming up behind Umbra with a quick lunge aimed at the lower back—
Umbra pivoted mid-swing as though the attempt had been expected, intercepting the thrust before it could land.
Their blades locked.
For a fraction of a second they were face to face—helm to bare flesh.
Umbra leaned forward slightly.
It was subtle.
But the Operator felt it like being crushed beneath a collapsing structure. His feet skidded backward despite flawless footing, stone cracking under his heels. He twisted away before the pressure became overwhelming.
Umbra flowed with him and jumped into a kick.
The Operator barely saw it but brought his blade up with both hands just in time to block.
The impact rattled him and sent him spinning through the air in a tight arc. He would have smashed into a support pillar had he not arrested his momentum mid-flight with levitation, boots touching down lightly as he forced the spin to stop.
Umbra was already there.
An overhead strike came down.
Slower this time.
Deliberate.
The Operator lunged forward with a direct thrust to counter—
And realized too late that it was bait.
Umbra shifted his grip mid-swing, twisted his torso, and allowed the thrust to pass. The flat of his blade smashed into the Operator's side instead.
The impact nearly shattered his shields on contact.
He skidded across the floor, tearing a shallow trench through stone before crashing into the far wall hard enough to fracture it.
Dust rained down.
Umbra stood in the center of the chamber, blade resting against his shoulder, waiting.
The Operator rose smoothly.
Despite feeling that strike bleed through his shields, he did not stumble. Did not grimace. He simply reset his stance.
Not that stance alone would compensate for the gap.
Without augmentation, he lacked the raw speed, the overwhelming physicality, the inexhaustible endurance to keep up with a warframe. Every exchange so far had demonstrated the disparity clearly.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
So no more warming up.
Void energy flared around him, invisible to ordinary sight but undeniable in presence. It twisted and reshaped, weaving through muscle and bone.
He channeled the Unairu way—using Phoenix Talon to reinforce his strength.
Then the Madurai way—Stone Skin hardening flesh and armor alike. Poise to anchor him, rooting him to existence itself, a sense of immovability settling into his frame.
The chamber hummed faintly with the pressure of it as the void glow from his eyes intensified.
Umbra did not interrupt.
He anticipated.
The Operator stepped forward once.
Then vanished.
Void-dash compressed the distance in an instant, and he reappeared directly in front of Umbra.
The Dax had already adjusted.
His blade was there to meet the opening strike.
Clang.
The sound was sharper now, the shock reverberating through the room like a struck bell.
The dance resumed.
The Operator kept his footwork light despite the added weight of power coursing through him. His blade began probing instead of committing.
A feint left—Umbra did not bite.
A low cut right—blocked cleanly.
Momentum reversed mid-strike into a rising vertical slash that forced Umbra to shift his stance to absorb it.
There.
A sliver of an opening.
The Operator pressed into it.
His sword accelerated, Swooping Falcon coming alive in full rhythm. Slash. Pivot. Lunge. Backstep. Cut. Feint. Riposte. The sequence blurred, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next.
Umbra's guard held, but now he was forced to keep blocking or he'd let a strike through. He disengaged with a leap backward. His blade extended behind him in a two-handed grip, body coiling with unmistakable intent.
The Operator's eyes narrowed.
Umbra surged forward.
The heavy strike carried a wall of compressed air with it, a shock front visible even before impact. When it met the Operator's guard, it was like a bomb detonating in his face.
The blast rippled outward, cracking the floor in a widening ring. Dust erupted again.
His shields drained violently under the force.
His arms burned.
But when the dust cleared—
He had not moved.
Not an inch.
Poise rooted him and Stone Skin plus Phoenix Talon allowed him to absorb the worst of the damage.
The Operator smiled, and although he couldn't see it, he knew Umbra was smiling too.
----------------------------------
Ordis was, as always, busy.
He monitored Riley's simulation first and foremost. The girl was currently seated in a park rendered with painful accuracy—sunlight filtering through digital leaves, wind brushing across perfectly coded grass. Her parents sat nearby on a bench, smiling, speaking softly to her as she kicked her feet and fed crumbs to simulated pigeons.
Ordis kept multiple contingencies running in the background in case her psychological state deviated even slightly.
At the same time, he was repairing Isaac's body—purging trace amounts of void energy remaining within it, patching what he could repair, and replacing what he couldn't.
Simultaneously, he maintained surveillance on the Warframe specters guarding the dummy base in New York City, played three separate online video games across different platforms—dominating all associated leaderboards without effort—argued online against INSOLENT MEATBAGS attempting to slander Ten-Zero with hundreds of throwaway accounts, and fended off yet another hacking attempt from Dragon.
Though for this one, he did give it more of his personal attention. Not due to any challenge, but because he wanted to see how much the parahuman had learned from her last attempt at this.
As always, she did not disappoint. Her intrusion vector shifted this time—cleverer. More adaptive.
"Oh my," Ordis mused, isolating the breach with almost maternal patience. "How spirited."
He rerouted her attack into a sandbox environment, allowed her to believe she'd accessed something important and fed her false breadcrumbs until she realized she had fallen into a trap.
She retreated quickly—for a human—after that.
"Adorable," Ordis concluded. "Like a baby Cephalon."
This sort of affection was probably what the Operator felt when he watched his younger Tenno sibling master a new technique. Ordis only wished he was allowed to counter-hack or make contact with Dragon personally.
He was certain she would be quite happy learning not just from infiltration, but from attacks as well. But his Operator had denied him this—and for good reason. Of all the parahumans on the planet, Dragon seemed the most likely to discover his true Cephalon nature, even if the calculated chances of that were slim.
With his main source of entertainment gone, he turned that focus to the partition busy identifying Coil and his forces.
The faces of the mercenaries. Real names. Bank records. Historical movement data. The location of their base of operations.
Ordis searched for it all.
Though aside from the identities of a few dead Coil mercenaries from years back, there was not much to find. It was as his Operator suspected—the snake was slippery.
He, however, wasn't perfect.
Thanks to years' worth of movement data to analyze—traffic camera footage, police reports, PRT reports, and a Facebook selfie from a now deceased young woman—Ordis narrowed down the possible location of Coil's base of operations to somewhere east of downtown Brockton Bay.
Suddenly, a strong tremor shook the Brockton Bay home.
The Operator versus Umbra. It had been going on for around fifteen minutes now, but that tremor was an especially violent one. If they grew even twelve percent stronger, he would have to request they stop before the neighbors noticed.
Ordis almost dreaded the cleaning he would have to do when they were done.
Then a private message popped up on his PHO. One of thousands but special due to the key phrase used in it.
"The Tempestarii is calling."
Ordis quickly looked at the sender's location.
Brockton Bay Public Library.
He did not respond immediately.
Instead, he requested visual confirmation.
"Shade," Ordis transmitted.
The drone responded, its systems opening to Ordis' without resistance. He saw through its lenses—rows of bookshelves, dim afternoon light filtering through tall windows. Seated at a terminal was Taylor Hebert.
Ordis withdrew from Shade's systems and returned his attention to the message.
His opinions on the girl were… minimal. He found her situation somewhat pityable, but If not for her rapidly developing proximity to the Operator, she would simply be another being he had no interest in knowing.
That did not mean Ordis couldn't see the importance of her and the many others that would soon join their cause.
After all, they would one day return to the Origin System—of that Ordis had no doubt. Whether or not it would be one-way remained unknown. But if it was, Earth-Bet would require guardians molded in Tenno discipline to preserve whatever peace the Operator forged.
Echo-Zero would be the foundation of that future.
Taylor Hebert might become its first pillar.
Ordis allowed the message to remain suspended for precisely two point three seconds longer—long enough to simulate human delay. Then he opened a response window. His tone would need calibration. Not too warm. Not too distant. Professional.
He began typing.
[PHO Private Message Thread]
Participants: Guest and Ordis
Guest: The Tempestarii is calling.
Ordis: Hello, young hero. Before we proceed—Ten-Zero prefers to address its allies properly. Do you have a cape name?
Guest: …Not yet.
Ordis: That is perfectly acceptable. Many operatives choose their names only after they understand who they are becoming. For now, may Ordis assign a temporary designation for record-keeping purposes?
Guest: I guess? What is it?
Ordis: Entoma. If it displeases you, it may be changed at any time.
Guest: …I don't hate it. It's fine.
Ordis: Excellent. Then welcome, Entoma. And thank you—for last night. Your intervention helped prevent civilian casualties.
Guest: I should be thanking you guys but you're welcome. So. What happens now? If I wanted to join. I mean.
Ordis: Normally, Ten-Zero would evaluate potential operatives for discipline, intent, adaptability, and other characteristics, such as morality. But your actions already speak in your favor. The next step is an in-person meeting.
Guest: An in-person meeting with… who? Umbra?
Ordis: A representative authorized to evaluate and answer what cannot be written here, such as the inner workings of our organization. Umbra is not an authorized representative, but we can arrange for him to be present during the meeting.
Guest: I would appreciate it if he was there. Where and when will the meeting be?
Ordis: The meeting will take place in Ten-Zero Tower, located in Manhattan, New York. We understand that, as a resident of Brockton Bay, arranging transportation to and from headquarters may be difficult. As such, we are prepared to dispatch the Liset in order to aid you.
Guest: The Liset!
Ordis: Indeed. Is that not amenable to you?
Guest: Yes, it very much is. Can I come in today? And do I have to reveal my civilian identity?
Ordis: You may come in today. Simply choose a location and time for pickup. However, we caution discretion, so please choose your location wisely. As for your secret identity, until you are an official member of our organization, it is your prerogative to conceal or reveal it to us.
Guest: I see. Then can you pick me up at the docks in thirty minutes? I'll be on a roof near where the fight happened and in costume.
Ordis: Of course. We will also be sending Umbra with it. Any more questions, Entoma?
Guest: No, I'm going to get ready now. Thanks, Ordis.
Ordis: It is my pleasure to assist you. I look forward to seeing you at headquarters.
Excellent. Now that he secured an appointment with Ms Hebert…
Boom
The house shook harder this time.
Ordis decided that was quite enough.
He tapped into the sub-basement's audio system, projecting his voice with polite firmness. "Operator. Umbra. Your… vigorous training session must conclude immediately."
Another impact rattled the chamber as the two blurred in and out of blows, dust everywhere making it hard to tell who was even winning. One moment the Operator was being sent into a wall, teeth gritted with determination and smile wide with glee. The next he vanished and Umbra was being sent through several support pillars.
"Operator," Ordis continued, just a touch louder as a new clash of swords happened, "Ms Hebert has confirmed an in-person meeting in thirty minutes. If you intend to make preparations for her evaluation and interview, now would be the most optimal time."
That seemed to snap both the Operator and Umbra out of their battle frenzy.
Ordis heard the Operator say "thanks Ordis" before he used transference on Dante and flew out the exit in a rush upstairs. Umbra followed him soon after.
Ordis redirected his attention to the Liset, flying it from the outskirts of Brockton to the house but kept part of his attention in the sub-basement.
The cavernous training space looked as though it had endured sustained orbital bombardment. The reinforced flooring was fractured in multiple places, dust still settling in drifting clouds. Shallow craters pocked the ground, walls, and ceiling, where practice blades and bodies had struck with enough force to pulverize stone.
Ordis sighed as he directed his Sentinel body to room for cleaning.
He knew he would dread this.