Chapter 8: The First Night Out.

The Abyss Stares Back

Chapter 8: The First Night Out.

Cephalon Ordis.

Brockton Bay.

It was a strange chain of events that led Ordis to where he was now. But after centuries of serving as an aid to the Tennos, he had learned to expect the unexpected, and even when you didn’t, to roll with it anyway.

Being a Cephalon was… hard work. Thankless, too, in Ordis’s personal opinion. But he loved it.

He’d been granted the honor of assisting the very first Tenno. And despite the punishment that had turned him into a Cephalon, he still remembered fragments of the life he once lived. 

The minor glitches in his programming? They were more than just code errors. They were cracks… little moments when his first identity pushed through.

Ordan Karris, Ordis thought with a flicker of amusement.

Oh, how wild he had been in the past. But recklessness came with a price, and he had been caught before he could complete his stupid suicidal mission, punished by Inquisitor Ballas himself after failing to assassinate a pair of Orokin elites.

Ordis knew, deep down, that he was a flawed creation. Even more so after the bleed-out started warping his thought process. Maybe that was why he was so on board with his new Operator’s path of vengeance. Perhaps that was why he pushed him.

But… he also knew he was right.

His methods might seem harsh to the people of this world, especially with their quaint ideas of laws and justice, but Ordis didn’t care. He wasn’t a native of this reality. All he had ever known was war.

And speaking about this reality… Ordis was interested in how interesting it was.

All those heroes and villains. The gangs infect nearly every city on the planet, and the lawful beings try to stop them. 

Ordis found the patience they had for the blight stupid. But he understood, to a degree. Things were different here compared to the Origin System. Even so, something had to change if this world expected to survive.

He ran his predictive programs. His own architecture was light-years beyond anything Earth had produced. Still, even without brute force processing, it wasn’t hard to predict the downward spiral this world was heading toward.

According to his models, if nothing changed, the Operator’s native planet would cease to exist within the next twenty years, give or take. At least if nothing apocalyptic happened.

And yet, despite the grim projections, Ordis found himself... intrigued.

The "superpowers" that plagued this reality weren’t random, not entirely. Something about their origin felt wrong. Too orchestrated… too convenient.

He would need deeper scans and access to more data to be capable of creating a theory.

The so-called internet was woefully inadequate… likely censored, filtered, and manipulated. It almost felt like someone was hiding the truth, keeping the masses in the dark.

That mystery excited him.

Even more so when something, or someone, tried to trace his investigation hours earlier. Shaking them off had taken only a sliver of his processing power. Still, Ordis had no trouble identifying a fellow AI behind the attempt.

He briefly wondered if the Operator knew about it. But considering the lack of records online, Ordis assumed this AI was competent enough to mask their presence.

He could have dug deeper to find their identity, but that didn’t matter much to Ordis, at least for now.

What mattered was the Operator. His survival and, most importantly, his growth.

That’s why Ordis dedicated 30% of his processing power, an unusually high allocation, to craft a long-term progression path for him.

He wanted it completed before the Operator returned from the hospital.

The Operator didn’t yet understand the full extent of what he could do. He was still an infant in that regard. So, it was the Cephalon’s duty to teach him, unlock his potential, and guide him toward something greater.

The Operator already knew about the Foundry, at least in passing. But he didn’t yet understand how crucial it truly was to his survival. Crafting drones, building traps, repairing Warframes and weapons.

Without the Foundry, the Orbiter would be little more than a shell. Ordis needed to make the Operator understand that.

And then, there were the Mods.

Operator Nate didn’t realize just how fortunate he was. He had inherited the legacy of Operator Hayes… the first changed by The Man in the Wall, the first Tenno to interface with the suits and show their true potential to the Orokin.

Because of that, everything was already available inside the Orbiter. Every weapon, every Warframe, every augment and upgrade… was all there.

But power given too easily could be dangerous.

That’s why Ordis had placed strict limitations on access, as per his directives.

Firewalls that were designed to keep Nate from growing too quickly and too recklessly. He needed to learn why those limits existed. Because too much power, too soon, could destroy a Tenno before they even understood who they were.

Mods, short for modules, were programmable enhancement cards that reshaped how Warframes and weapons functioned. Want stronger shields? There’s a mod for that. More durability? Faster reflexes? Enhanced agility, resistance to cold? There were modules for every situation imaginable.

Each one could drastically alter what a Warframe was capable of.

And that applied to weapons, too.

Poison effects? Easy. Fire, lightning, magnetism, cryo, explosive payloads, every element was within reach.

But not yet, not until the Operator earned them.

Ordis hummed quietly, pleased with his latest calculations. The progression path was finalized: a series of carefully chosen steps, objectives, and encounters, each designed to challenge the Operator and mold him into what he was meant to become.

He would have to defeat enemies, take down capes, and dismantle organizations. And with each victory, the Orbiter would unlock more. A new mod, a different weapon, new warframes.

Ordis wasn’t just preparing the Operator for survival.

He was preparing him for his ascension.

Yes... soon, the Operator will be ready. Just like Hayes once was. 

Or perhaps… he would become something even greater.

Nathaniel Vazquez.

I watched, almost lost in my rage, as Ordis glitched and fell silent for a full minute. It was by far the longest he'd gone without speaking in the three days we'd been working together, and I had to admit... it worried me.

I didn’t understand why he had those glitches, and honestly, it felt too soon to ask. I didn’t want to push.

Sure, he was technically here to help me, but my parents hadn’t raised me to treat people, or AIs in this case, like tools. Even if it was stupid, I wanted to be his friend. And maybe, just maybe, help him with whatever he was dealing with. Because something was clearly wrong.

“Ordis? You alright, buddy?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Everything is fine, Operator. My apologies for the interruption,” he replied, a guilty tone bleeding into his otherwise polished voice.

It always surprised me how human he could sound. Sometimes, I forgot he wasn’t.

“Are you certain you wish to pursue this path, Operator?” he asked, more seriously this time. “I will follow you anywhere. But I want confirmation.”

The anger that had started to cool suddenly flared again. I nodded, my jaw clenched.

“I think it’s time something changed in the Bay, Ordis. And if I have to be the one to start that? Then I’ll gladly do it.”

“I’m ecstatic to hear that, Operator,” he replied with a smug little flourish. “Would you like to begin today?”

“If everything’s ready, then so am I,” I said firmly.

The simulacrum training had helped a lot. I was nervous, sure, but excited, too. I was curious to see how much of that training would translate into real life.

Logically, I knew I was rushing. I wasn’t thinking straight, not entirely. But my anger wasn’t exactly easy to bottle up. Staying here was making me restless.

“Ordis, I had a question,” I added before he could reply. “How am I supposed to explain where the money came from?”

Ordis’s screen flickered, and for a second, I thought he would glitch again. Instead, his voice returned to his unusually calm and professional tone.

“If you wish to utilize the physical currency retrieved from your nighttime activities, Operator, you will first need a legal identity and financial infrastructure. Fortunately, I have already prepared one.”

“Wait, already?” I raised a brow.

“The Man in the Wall chose you for a reason, Operator. I already anticipated some of your desires through my predictive programming. You are now Dominic Harper. Born in Delaware, currently residing in Brockton Bay, and was recently hired by a small logistics firm I fabricated from several shuttered companies in the Midwest. Your employment history is modest but functional. You receive biweekly payments, filed through a third-party payroll service that does not technically exist.”

My mouth opened. Closed. “That… actually sounds really illegal.”

“Extremely. But I do not care about this planet’s laws, Operator. The only ones I recognize are very far away. And hospitals do not accept duffel bags full of cash. At least, not without asking questions.”

I smirked. Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

And I wasn’t feeling exactly lawful. I knew that the things I planned to do were wrong… but if my father taught me something, it was that you needed to have a firm hand for the lowlifes to learn their lessons... lessons that the government failed to teach with its passive approach.

Ordis continued, “You will need to make controlled deposits, no more than one thousand per location, spread out over several days. ATMs are preferable. You will need to wear gloves and a hoodie or something to hide your face. If surveillance is active, I will spoof it.”

“What happens after that?”

“Once funds are in the bank account tied to your alias, they will appear as regular wages. You may pay for your mother’s care, eat, or order essentials through various online vendors.”

“Doesn’t that raise flags?” I frowned.

“Not unless you get greedy,” he said with a very pointed tone. “The cover I’ve created can support modest expenses. You may look like a slightly overpaid warehouse tech, but not a millionaire vigilante.”

I let out a breath and leaned back. “So I’m a working stiff, huh?”

“For now,” Ordis said. “Until I create a better front, or until you decide to burn this one and go loud. Either way, you are no longer financially paralyzed.”

“I need the money soon. I don’t know how much exactly I need, but I would rather start soon,” I wondered thoughtfully. "What do you suggest? Which gang should I attack first and why?”

Ordis’s drone beeped twice before he replied, “The best option to start your journey is the merchants, Operator. They are not as unionized as the other gangs in the city, and they have the less dangerous parahumans present. And we both know you have a personal reason to hunt them, too.”

“Tell me what you know about them,” I asked sharply.

“With pleasure, Operator,” Ordis replied before a small holographic screen appeared before me.

“They do not control territory in the traditional sense,” Ordis began. “Rather, they are nomadic. Their so-called ‘safehouses’ are temporary shelters in abandoned buildings, burned-out cars, and construction sites. I’ve tracked no less than nine active clusters in the last forty-eight hours.”

He paused, “I hacked the phones of the thirty-eight most active dealers and couriers. I’m monitoring their calls and movements in real-time. None of them are aware.”

“Good,” I muttered. “What about firepower?”

“They are poorly organized but well-armed. Expect small arms, handguns, sawed-off shotguns, and the occasional assault rifle. All of them are low quality and probably stolen. Ammunition is unreliable, and weapons are rarely cleaned.”

“They possess specialized vehicles through their tinker, designation: Squealer.” Ordis continued.

I frowned. “What can she do?”

“Not much,” Ordis deadpanned. “Squealer is a tinker of low sophistication. She specializes in scrap-based machinery and weaponized vehicles. Her constructs are known for being unstable but deadly in enclosed spaces. If you hear engines, assume something loud and poorly welded is nearby.”

A photo appeared of Squealer with wild eyes; she looked… trashy. She was a blond woman who put on too much makeup and dressed like... well, like a slut. The photo was taken the last time she was captured, but as the PRT was known for, she was back on the streets not long after.

“Charming,” I said dryly. “And the others?”

“Skidmark,” Ordis continued, “has a power that creates some kind of force field. They have the effect of pushing things at increasing speeds. The speed depends on how many of said fields have been layered. Fortunately, he is also chemically dependent and aggressively stupid.”

Another image popped up: Skidmark, shirtless, holding a join in one hand and flipping off a camera with the other.

“The last one is Mush. He can fuse organic and inorganic matter into a semi-solid sludge, enhancing his strength. His creations are slow but durable, and he often retreats into them to avoid personal harm.”

I smirked. “Not that impressive for a gang, but I’ll be careful. What about the non-powered members?”

“Estimated ground forces are approximately seventy-five to ninety active gang members. Most are untrained addicts or opportunists. A small number are ex-cons or disgraced mercenaries. Do not underestimate them, Operator. Cornered animals are often the most dangerous.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m guessing they won’t all be in one place.”

“Correct. Raiding one safehouse will alert the rest. If your goal is eradication rather than deterrence, you must strike hard, fast, and without mercy.”

“Good, get a stealth drone ready, Ordis. You will be my eyes during this night,” I grinned, “I’ll be counting on you, pal.”

Ordis retreated back to the backyard, and I took a deep breath. 

Thinking of my mom made my feelings flicker, but I was ready. I walked toward my bedroom and jumped into it. The feeling was nice and reminded me that I was back home. 

With a thought, I began piloting mag like before, and after a final check-up of my equipment, I just waited for Ordis to appear.

Later that night.

“Ordis, before I forget... mark the bastard that beat my mother. If he tries to leave the city, alert me immediately. He’ll be left for last. I want to make an example out of him,” I almost snarled.

Just thinking about him made my blood boil, but I knew I needed time to prepare before I faced him.

I wanted him to suffer—but if I saw him now, in the state I was in, I wouldn’t be able to control my rage. I’d end it too quickly. And that wasn’t enough for me or the memory of my father.

“Already done, Operator,” Ordis replied with a note of finality. “I will cloak us before we depart.”

With that said, his small drone perched itself on my shoulder. A soft shimmer of light swept over me, and we disappeared from sight. The HUD in my Warframe blinked to life, and I gave a sharp nod.

I was really doing this shit.

“The coordinates are marked, Operator. Good hunting.”

I ran out of my house with one last deep breath (even if the Warframe didn’t show it).

It was a shame I couldn’t feel the wind on my face at the speed I was going. Warframes were absurdly fast when pushed to their limits, but their sensory feedback was dulled.

Good in practice, sure, but it still felt like a shame.

I dashed at full speed toward the closest stash marked on the visor’s map, barely three miles from home. I got there without a hitch and slowed as the target came into view: a decaying house with a few junkies loitering out front.

“Will you go all out from the start, or would you like me to run a little recon, Operator?” Ordis asked through his speakers, giving me a moment's pause.

Sighing, I gave a nod. “Sure, go ahead, buddy. Mark every person of interest there, and tag the location of the money and drugs.”

Ordis gave a soft beep, and his drone zipped into motion. It took less than two minutes before it returned. My HUD updated with a schematic overlay of the house. Red dots for enemies, yellow for what I assumed were the stashes.

“Twelve inside, then,” I muttered, nodding in thanks.

“Indeed, Operator,” Ordis replied, voice lower now. “No parahumans in sight. I will block their signals so they cannot call for help.”

“Good,” I smirked.

I walked under the cloaking effect until I reached the main door. With a soft push, it creaked open, and no one noticed a thing.

The air smelled like shit. Which, honestly, shouldn’t have surprised me—but it did.

I stood corrected. The dulled senses of the Warframe were incredible. I didn't want to imagine the real thing if it smelled this bad, even with my senses muted.

It was a rancid mix of smoke, piss, and rotting blood.

The closest junkie muttered to himself on a stained couch, saying things I really didn’t want to know. Another wandered behind him, scratching at his bare chest.

Twelve inside, according to Ordis’s scans.

I moved without a sound, the tips of my toes barely touching the floor.

The shirtless one walked right past me. He didn’t even get a word out before my kunai buried itself in his thigh. He screamed his throat raw. I grabbed him by the waistband and slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack the drywall. Then, just to be sure, I drove another kunai through his shoulder to pin him in place.

He was already unconscious before I finished.

“Target incapacitated, Operator,” Ordis’s neutral voice came through the drone’s speaker.

The one on the couch tried to stand, but whatever he was high on made him sluggish. Before he could even move, I threw two kunai into his legs, pinning him in place. A hard smack to the back of his head, and he dropped.

I flowed through the hallway like smoke. The next two were in the kitchen, laughing like idiots. They hadn’t even noticed they’d lost two people.

As soon as I entered the room, Ordis canceled the cloak.

They froze, but it was too late.

I crossed the kitchen in a flash. One of them raised a metal bat.

I caught it mid-swing and crushed his wrist with my free hand. He screamed. I swept his legs and drove a knee into his gut hard enough to make him cough blood.

The other screamed and tried to run. A kunai flew into his thigh, and he collapsed with a cry.

“Stay down,” I warned coldly. “I suggest you leave the knife where it is unless you want to bleed out.”

The junkie whimpered, clutching his leg, nodding pitifully.

The noise drew the others.

Four more came from the back. One had a rusty crowbar. Another with a handgun. The last two carried knives.

The one with the gun fired. I raised my hand and focused.

Willing my control over magnetic forces, I stopped the bullets in the air. They floated in front of me before I let them clatter to the ground.

I threw a kunai at his wrist, but my aim was off—it pinned his arm to the torso of one of the knife-wielders behind him.

The Crowbar guy charged.

I spun, kicked his knee sideways, and slashed across his chest.

The sound of his knee snapping made me shiver, but I forced myself to focus. He dropped the crowbar and hit the floor, howling.

“Who the hell are you?!” the last one shouted. “Do you even know who you’re messing with?!”

I chuckled. The neutral, computerized rasp from Mag's voice modulator made it sound far scarier than it should have.

“Of course, I know, dude,” I said, stepping forward. “That’s why I picked you. You’re stepping stones and no longer welcome in my city.”

I willed Mag to shove him with a burst of kinetic force. He slammed into the wall, cracking it on impact, then slid down without a sound. Not even a groan.

“Operator, the remaining targets are converging,” Ordis said in my ear, calm as ever. “I suggest... oh. Never mind. They’re here.”

I was already moving.

Three more bursts into the room. Eleven out of twelve.

One tried to tackle me. And I let him.

He threw his weight into me, trying to bring me down, but I didn’t budge. I grabbed his shoulders and twisted. His arm bent the wrong way with a sickening crunch. The squelching noise of bone tearing through his skin made me falter.

But he was done, and no longer a threat. I let him drop.

Another rushed with a broken pipe, shouting obscenities. I sidestepped, slashed his leg, then elbowed him in the jaw... hard. Something cracked and he crumpled on the floor.

The last one turned and ran.

I let him.

Someone had to spread the word: the Merchants weren’t welcome anymore.

Then... a sound.

A woman’s cry.

It came from a room down the hall. Muffled sobbing. Then a scream... not of fear, I could recognize the pain.

I froze.

“Ordis,” I said, my voice low. “You didn’t mention a hostage.”

“She wasn’t a priority for the original mission, Operator.” Ordis replied neutrally.

The rage hit me cold.

I slammed the door open with all my strength. It exploded off its hinges, dragging part of the wall with it.

Inside, a woman lay on the ground. Her clothing, if it could even be called that, was minimal. Just panties and a tank top. No bra. But I didn’t focus on that.

I focused on her bruised and bloodied face.

A massive man straddled her, one hand gripping her hair, the other raised in a clenched fist.

He turned as the door exploded, his eyes wide.

I crossed the room in a second, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, and squeezed. Bones cracked as he screamed... but I didn’t stop until all I felt was Mush.

Then I drove him to the floor. Forced his ruined arm behind his back and pressed my knee on it.

I pushed.

The snap was sharp… but his scream? It was music to my ears.

“You like hurting people who can’t fight back?” I hissed in his ear.

He fumbled with his other hand, reaching for something in his waistband, but it didn’t matter.

I raised his good arm and drove a kunai straight through his palm, pinning it to the wooden wall behind him.

Then I twisted.

He screamed again. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

I didn’t look away.

“You won’t hurt anyone ever again,” I said coldly.

Then, with one last thought, I crushed the bones in his legs… from the inside. Nothing looked broken… but I doubted he’d ever walk again.

Perfect.

This was a punishment was long overdue.

I turned to the woman. She was shaking, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and something close to gratitude. It made me feel… something—remorse, maybe.

Not for what I’d done. Just that she had to witness it.

I gave her a slight nod. “You’re safe now. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Then I walked out.

The house was dead silent except for the soft whimpers of the broken.

I swept the rest of the house, checking for anything Ordis forgot… or simply chose not to mention.

My fist clenched.

“Ordis,” I muttered. “She wasn’t irrelevant. Don’t make that mistake again.”

Ordis’s drone floated silently from my shoulder.

“…Noted, Operator.”

Five minutes later.

I stood in what used to be the living room, the floor littered with unconscious bodies and blood-stained tile. The stench hadn’t improved, and the silence felt heavier now that the screaming had stopped.

Ordis ensured they all were alive, which was the most I would do to help these blights.

I dropped two duffel bags onto the ground. One full of rolled-up cash. The other one had zip locks of white powder and enough pills to ruin lives for years.

The woman was still shaking, still watching me with that mix of fear and something else. She flinched as the bags hit the ground.

I grabbed the first bag and took eight of the fifteen bundles of cash, each marked as a thousand. I needed the money… but this woman also needed it.

“Take the bag,” I said simply, pushing the bag toward her.

She blinked. “W-what?”

“Take it. Leave the city and start over. Or don’t, it’s up to you. I’ll call the PRT after I’m gone and I don’t think they will let you keep it. ” I replied as softly as I could... which was not that much.

She looked at the bag, then at me. “Why are you giving me this?”

I paused. A part of me wanted to say something dramatic… something a hero would say. "Because everyone deserves a second chance." Or some shit like that.

But that wasn’t me.

I wasn’t here to inspire anyone.

I wasn’t a hero.

I was selfish in my desire to help.

So, instead, I shrugged. “Because I felt like it. And it looks like you need it. Escape, build a new life somewhere better.”

She nodded slowly. No words came from her mouth. It was just quiet understanding, or maybe fear… probably both.

I stepped outside and dropped the other duffel bag, the one filled with drugs, into the backyard.

“Ordis,” I said. “Burn it.”

“With pleasure, Operator,” he replied, and his drone floated out of the shadows. A focused beam of energy struck the bag. In seconds, the flame caught. Chemical smoke curled upward into the night.

The neighborhood was silent as a graveyard, but I could feel eyes on me.

There was just an old woman watching me from behind her curtains and a youngish-looking dude in the house next to hers. The male had a phone in his hand and was filming me. I nodded in his direction.

I wondered if I would end up famous in PHO.

“They couldn’t make any calls, right?”

“Correct. Signal suppression remains active. I thought it best, considering your actions,” Ordis chirped in.

I grinned, “Smart.”

I watched the fire burn for a few more seconds, then sighed, “Call it in now. The police line.”

Ordis beeped twice, “Done.”

The call rang twice before connecting. A woman’s voice came through.

Calmly, the woman began, “Emergency services. How may I help you?”

“I just hit a Merchant stash house near 3849 Emerson and 8th. You’ll need medics if you want any of the junkies inside to live.”

The line was silent for a bit before the woman sighed. Then, “...please hold.”

There was a faint click, a line transfer.

A new voice came on. It was an older male whose voice was clipped and composed in that too-perfect way only government handlers managed.

“This is Dispatch Officer Keane with the Brockton Bay PRT. We’ve been looped in on this call. Please confirm: are you reporting an altercation with members of the Merchant gang?”

“That’s right. " Thanks to my voice, I was sure he knew it was a cape.

“Are you injured?” He asked slowly, and his typing into his keyboard greeted my ears.

“No, they aren’t that capable,” I snorted.

“Are the suspects armed?”

“They were,” I replied, amusedly, and I heard a snort from Ordis’s speakers.

Then, a beat, the line stayed silent for just a moment too long.

“Sir... I need you to clarify. Are the suspects alive?”

I stared at the bodies inside. The ones awake were groaning and crying but alive… and the ones knocked out couldn’t make any sound.

“They’ll live,” I said after a pause. “Assuming your medics are fast.”

“...Understood. What level of force was used?”

I gave a soft exhale. “One enough to make them reconsider their life choices.”

The line went quiet again.

“Sir, this is an ongoing investigation tied to criminal networks. We would appreciate your assistance in identifying yourself," the dispatcher said seriously, then, he took a deep breath before he continued, “I’d also like to note that withholding information or interfering with a PRT investigation is a criminal offense.”

I tilted my head. I could hear the subtext. We want to know who the hell you are.

Good.

I took a slow breath. I wasn’t doing this for fame. Or recognition. But they had to know I wasn’t just a typical vigilante. I would not be cowed, neither by the gangs, or the heroes.

I was something else.

“... You may call me Judicator,” I said quietly.

And then I hung up.