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A Fanfiction About The Stalker.


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Once, there were over three hundred Illusioners, each building digital galaxies from their imagination and at the behest of clients. The Tenno struck here. It did not matter what they did; they were Orokin, and that marked them for death. Only the oldest one evaded the wrath of the Skana blade.

He is of age. Encased in a golden suit that reveals no vulnerable flesh, but a pixelated face, that of a mythological sage.


“Why…have you come to me?” he intones.

I pause. “I am no Tenno,” I say. “I am but a Low Gaurdian, given power from the emperor’s dying breath.”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “They told me you were coming. They put you in the Void?”

“I am one of the few Low Guardians who could survive it,” I reply. I let my head hang. “The rest of the Potentials are dead.”

“So they gave you a Warframe,” he says, his eyes knowing. “A… variant on the Excalibur class. Designed as a backup plan, to kill the Betrayers when they betrayed.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask.


He scratches his holographic beard. I don’t like this man at all. He pretends to be a knowing sage when he has no more power than any other Shaper has, even less. Merely because the rest of his kin are dead, he is the most powerful of his caste.


But I am afraid. The emperor said I was not ready to kill, even armed as I am. The last nobility told me to look for him, and I have done just that.


“I know many things, Guardian,” he says. “I take wisdom and knowledge and shape it into planets for a living. I would not have that power if I was not in contact with the nobility you spoke too.”

Well, that’s not surprising. If my visit had been a surprise, the Sentry would have vaporized me in an attosecond. “Then you know why I am here.”

“Of course,” he says. “The simulation was prepared long before your birth. We knew that Lotus had no true allegiance long before she carried out her little massacre.”


No allegiance, indeed. That eyeless @#&*( guided her puppets to stain the soils of the Ten Thousand Worlds red, and for what? Power? Riches? Revenge?

Motives do not matter. What matters is now.

“Then I will enter,” I say.

“Of course,” he replies. He gestures with his robotic gloves to the chamber, a brilliant dome of gold, dotted with

luminescent sensors. They will enter my mind and do what they must.


I enter, and prepare to kill the Tenno.


The first time, Excalibur flips me on my back and cuts my spine open with my own Hate. The second time, Banshee deafens me with her scream and Nyx disables my brainstem. After at least a million runs of the simulation, each one taking centuries between battles, I have taken the life of not one of my enemies.

But I get better. I start to feel less, to ignore pain, to block out the Lotus’s taunts of my past. I fail, many times over, but I learn from my mistakes.


It is at least Run 1,234,697 before one, Mag, falls under my blade. They take me out as I gloat over the corpse, but I know my powers now.

It is at run 1,367,203 when another falls.

And it is at run 2,145,655 when I kill them all for the first time.

I do it a million more times over, and I succeed in every run. I forget my past; it does nothing to help me kill the Betrayers.

It is run 4 million when I am released.

At least a century has passed in real-time. The once mighty halls are overrun with corrupted trees. The insane Sentry, which would have subdued me with no effort long ago, stands no chance as I punch its golden carapace open and bathe my Warframe in its fluids.

I guide the tower into the nearest Terminus. I suspect she would have hid them in Origin, and so that is where the course is set.


Beware, Tenno. You think you can run from your past? Think again.


I am your reckoning.

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