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A Tenno stands on the verge of an ancient forest. The sky is the light blue of a fresh coolant cell. Cold sunlight shines on its metal skin. Eyeless, earless, faceless. It is a vaguely human form hewn from metal.
A rock is thrown by steel hands. Whizzing through the air, it completes an arc over the forest until it hits metal with a crunch of circuits. It is the fastest the rock has gone in thousands of years. Under the Tenno, corrosive waste slithers out of a pipe into a stream, the water snapping and hissing as the chemicals mix and react.
The distant klaxon of an alarm blares over the trees. The Tenno moves slowly but with precision, lowering its arm and cocking its head as if it is listening. Birds vacate their long-held nests, voicing their indignity in shrill tones. The forest falls silent.
It sits. Wet leaves fold as they give way to metal. It waits.
The base belches out Grineer marines like a sick animal vomits in the throes of its death. They form groups and fan out into the forest, gnashing out thick words in their garbled language, searching for the source of the alarm.
Encased in his standard alloy armor, an older Grineer marine sits with his squad and loads his gun. His name is Kreeg, yet none of his comrades know it. Face hairless, eyes beady, his brow a mess of pale wrinkled skin. His gun is clean and well- oiled, identical to its millions of brothers and sisters save for the markings on its stock. A well-used knife scratches another tally into the soft paint. There are eleven of them. Another marine looks at him, one eyelid drooping down to touch the pale skin of her cheek. She is young and has no tallies on her gun. Hands rattle out a staccato beat on her armor.
He stands and motions for the rest to move forward. The young marine walks next to him, her disfigured face stretched wide, drinking in the sights of the forest. A three-winged bird lifts off with a raucous cry and flies into the canopy. With four eyes a five-tailed fox watches them.
The young marine reminds Kreeg of when he came out of the vat, of the first time he was told that he was imperfect. A century of genetic cloning had taken a toll from the Grineer, destroying their genome and slowing their minds with every generation. He wonders if without the educational videos his ancestors will know what a gun is.
They step onto the edge of a dead city, slowly losing a millennia-long war with rust. Ornate whorls of tarnished gold flow between vines, shaped by hands long gone from Earth. The forest is old, but the city is older. The trees have taken root in metal valleys and streams are formed from broken roads.
Kreeg arranges his troops in a loose line to brave the urban wilderness. There are twelve in all, ten in front, with him and the younger marine in the back. They move silently, checking behind the gnarled trunks of massive trees. Silent air hangs between them, devoid of the usual chatter of insects. Kreeg notices this and holds up his hand to stop the column.
Tenno hands silently pull back a cord of steel, then release. There is a rush of movement and the first marine in the line flies to the left as if struck by an invisible hand. An arrow sticks out from a gash in his armor.
The marine behind him shouts, bringing his gun to bear and fires. The muzzle roars, spitting out lead into the foliage. A metallic shape flits between the bullet holes. For a moment, the forest is silent again. Then, the Tenno drops from the trees and lands in front of the Grineer.
The squad opens fire, the bullets whizzing in every direction as they are caught and redirected by the Tenno’s blue energy shield. It pulls a sword off its back. Short, its edge curves slightly until it tapers into a savage point.
The Tenno runs up to the second marine. His gun magazine empties, shield flashing as it redirects the bullets. Two marines rush up to join him, and Grineer screams fill the air as the Tenno paints the ground with their blood.
Kreeg’s troops are in a loose semicircle now. The Tenno charges, bringing death on a steel wind. The Grineer’s cooperation is not enough as the Tenno plants its feet on a root and strikes with a silver flash, peeling back alloy armor to reveal reddened flesh. A marine screams as spine departs body. The Tenno flinches, a quick moment of hesitation that ends when it throws the top half of the marine into the rest of the squad.
In the moments before the Tenno comes for them, Kreeg wonders at the lethality of the Tenno and tries to equate it with a soulless killing drone of the corporations. He fails, remembering it flinching as the marine ripped apart. It was a gesture that seemed almost… Human.
The young marine clutches her gun that has no tallies and fires at the Tenno. A snarl crawls its way across her face. She has never known combat before, and the rage of adrenaline embraces her. Bullets sink into the Tenno’s arm, shield expended, and its sword lurches forward to carve a line into her chest and sever her arm. He wonders if her malformed nerves let her feel pain.
She dies with dignity, raising her pistol and firing careful, paced shots. It falls silent as the Tenno’s blade steals the throat from her neck. Another marine abandons honor, falling to his knees and dropping his gun, tears shining in his eyes. Both get the same treatment.
Metal meets metal as Kreeg’s bullets find the Tenno’s chest. His gun’s action kicks back and smoke rises from the chamber, its payload expended. There is no time to reload it. His pistol is brought out with a calm efficiency, born from hours of practice. The trigger is pulled and the gun jams. He stares at it, wondering at the odds of the pistol failing at that particular moment.
He looks at the corpse of the young marine and a tear runs down his face.
The Tenno’s arrow pierces the armor plate over his shoulder and shatters the bones underneath. Kreeg exhales sharply, feeling the arrow grind into the now-useless joint. He grits his teeth, awaiting the moment every Grineer clone soldier dreads and loves. Release. He closes his eyes.
It does not come.
A gust of wind rustles a bush. Shells clatter, gravity guiding them to their final resting place. The buzz of insects return to the air and he opens his eyes.
The Tenno is gone. His squad is dead. Kreeg watches his blood drain onto the grass. Before he loses consciousness, he wonders if the Tenno are all that remains of the real humans.
On the other side of the forest, an older Grineer marine scrapes the eleventh tally onto the stock of his gun. He stands, calling for his squad to move forward.
In the shadows, Tenno hands tighten on the hilt of a sword.