In the leadup to TennoCon 2023, two broadcasts from Nora Night's ship were released on the Warframe website.
TRANSCRIPTION OF UNAUTHORISED BROADCAST
The first was posted on 24 August 2023.
Transmission Origin: [DATA CORRUPTED]
Time Since Intercept – 43 Hours
> Transcription of broadcast log recorded on: [data corrupted]
> Intercepted from spaceborne vessel registered to: [nice try, friend]
> Registered serial number: [data corr-none of your damn business-upted]
> Transcription follows:
NORA: "Slow nights, Dreamers. Nothin' on the tightbeams but profiteer propaganda and Grineer trading recipes for drahk tick stew. Breathe while you can, know what I'm sayin'?
Screw it. Sometimes a girl's gotta shake things up. I'm opening up to calls from a very narrow slice of space. Talk to me. Let me hear what's on your mind. And don't get any ideas 'bout trackin' me down. I'll be gone before you finish havin' the idea. One thing Nora ain't is static. Alright, lines are open. Don't make me regret this.
First caller is… oh. That ain't right."
Caller: "Hello? Yes… um, is this thing working?"
NORA: "Could ask you the same thing. You all callin' from Deimos? Not the prettiest moon in the sky, that's for damn sure. Didn't know anybody was fool enough to be shacked up down there. Nobody with a face, anyway."
Caller: "Ah, good! And yes. Well, no… truth be told, I'm not exactly from here. In point of fact, I should be 'shacked up', as you put it, on a nice, safe Corpus Stanchion and not down here up to my knees in a whistling orifice's afterb—"
NORA: "Corpus? You Corpus? Damn, I knew this was a mistake. Nora out."
Caller: "No, wait, wait! I'm… my name is Latrox. Latrox Une."
NORA: "Okay. You got a minute. You sound scared, Latrox Une. Kind of a mouthful, that name. What do your friends call you?"
Caller: "Friends? No, I don't really… I suppose I had a lab partner once. Went three consecutive rotations together once. Doesn't happen often. She, erm, took to calling me 'Roxy'. Does that work?"
NORA: "Everybody's someone to somebody, Roxy. Even profiteers. Though these days even them lines are gettin' blurry. Got Narmer takin' people's names and faces – scrubbin' them flat like brass. Got Grineer breakin' bread with Solaris. Corpus hermits talkin' to strange women like me. The times: a-changin'."
Caller: "I don't really know much about that, to be quite honest. I don't get out much. Can't get out much. At all, really. I'm on a bit of a long-term contract. It's… dreadfully dull, to be entirely honest. Except when something is trying to eat me. Or assimilate me. Or both."
NORA: "Oh, I'm sure you got stories to tell. Like how you're survivin' on the wrong side of the angriest anthill in the System."
Caller: "Ahem! Erm, yes, but no. I mean, I'm afraid I really can't discuss that. Non-disclosure agreements with current… employers… and all that."
NORA: "Give a girl somethin' to work with, Roxy, or she's likely to think you're keepin' her on the line for nefarious purposes. Why'd you call, if it ain't to get a zero on my whereabouts?"
Caller: [sighs] "Yes, yes of course. An equitable exchange. Your time is valuable, and I must provide something of equal—"
Caller: "Deimos. Normally very dull, yes? I collect samples – samples of the Infested, I mean – for testing. You wouldn't think of Deimos as having an ecosystem, I'm sure, but it does. The homeostasis of Infested organelegy is quite brutal, of course, but surprisingly fragile. I get in, cut out a few cysts, check that nothing has seriously upset the great and terrible balance, incinerate the remaining tissue before it regains motor function, catch my breath after all the screaming, and get out. Simple.
Are… are you still there?"
NORA: "Keep talkin'."
Caller: "Usually that's the worst of it. I've learned to live with it. I can process the horrors I can see. The screaming helps one, of course. Most cathartic.
It's the recordings, you see. Of Deimos. The outgrowths and pustules and hematomas. The hideous, wet, landsong of this place.
Caller: "I apologise, my dear; you may be talking to an old man who has been alone for far too long, but…."
NORA: "We're here, Roxy. You're all good. Keep goin'.
Caller: "Y-Yes! Sorry… I was just thinking – wondering if I should even be telling you this. What if it's all some Infested trick? But, if it's not, someone needs to know. You can get the story out. Just in case."
NORA: "Roxy… in case of what?"
Caller: "In case whatever – whoever – the Infested seem so very, very afraid of doesn't stop here."
NORA: "Hold up a sec. The Infestation is scared? It told you that?"
Caller: "No, no, no. Well, not in words. That would be crazy. No, it's the exocrine."
NORA: "Right. The exo…."
Caller: "Exocrine, yes. It has been… furtive. And the capillaries, pumping blood faster and faster. The hypholoma sores should be blooming this time of year, but they're dull. Discoloured. I think… I think they're trying not to stand out. Trying not to be noticed."
NORA: "And that's… bad."
Caller: "I sound insane."
NORA: "Or you just know more about an ugly-ass spleen world than I do."
Caller: "Ha. Well. Yes. That's undeniable, I suppose. [sighs] I suppose it's just nice to have someone listen to me for a change. It… it's probably nothing, isn't it?"
NORA: "Maybe the planet needs its yearly physical. Get out! Go for a run! Eat less carbs! I dunno."
Caller: "Hahaha… yes, quite. Well… thank you. For humouring an old man. As you might expect, one does get rather in one's head, down here, alone. With all the peristalsis, eructations and whatnot."
NORA: "All good, Roxy. You take care."
Caller: "But it's the knocking that really gets on my nerves."
NORA: "The what?"
Caller: "The incessant knocking. It's ceaseless! Anyway, you've no doubt got more interesting callers waiting on your—"
NORA: "What kind of knocking, Roxy?"
Caller: "Well… the kind that prevents a fellow from getting a single night's proper rest. That might explain why I'm fantasising on a tightbeam with a woman I've never met, now that I think about it…."
NORA: "You're sayin' you hear it in your dreams?"
Caller: "I… I suppose I could have dreamt it, but what's that—"
NORA: "What's it sound like?"
NORA: "The knocking, Latrox. What does it sound like?"
Caller: "Like… knocking. Old pipes. Rhizal moles bashing about the place. That sort of thing."
NORA: "What's the rhythm sound like? Did it have a sorta beat to it?"
Caller: "Erm, rhythm? No, it— well, I think it sounded sort of like… One-two-three. One-two-three. Like the Orokin waltzes my old quartermaster used to play. Did… did I say something wrong?"
NORA: "Send me that data, Roxy. All of it."
It should be noted that within the Necraloid chamber underneath the Necralisk, where Albrecht Entrati's Vitruvian entries are found, could be heard a loud knocking sound at periodic intervals, three raps in succession, along with whispered Requiem words. This was likely added in Hotfix 33.6.6 on the morning of 25 August.
TRANSCRIPTION OF UNAUTHORISED BROADCAST
The second was posted on 25 August 2023.
Transmission Origin: [UNKNOWN VARIABLE]
Time Since Intercept – 21 Hours
> Transcription of broadcast log recorded on: [N/A]
> Intercepted from spaceborne vessel registered to: [direct all docking fees to Nef Anyo]
> Registered serial number: [data corrupted]
> Transcription follows:
NORA: "Another late one, Dreamers. And I do mean late. That kinda solemn, second midnight that doesn't come from no clock. An hour you don't wait for, but travel along – drivin' lonely roads and sailin' empty Rails, no sun to mark your dial. But if you're hearin' this, well, you already know what time it is.
Yet here I am, starin' down another green light blinking back up at me from my line. Who am I to turn away another sleepless soul in their hour of need?"
Caller: "I suppose that's my cue. Hope I'm not interrupting something important."
NORA: "Important? Nah. Just my nightly bottle of million-credit Prisma Champagne, a dip in my private Ducat pool, and too many worries. Take your best shot at improving my mood, mystery caller."
Caller: "Dr Fidelia Scorse. Though everyone calls me Delia. Of course, you can call me whatever you like, Ms Night."
NORA: "Hey now, in this house we got room for just one smooth talker, Doc. So, got something on your mind, or just callin' to show your appreciation?"
Caller: "Believe me, I wish it were the latter, but no. I treat a small mining colony, you see. Small enough that the Grineer have left us alone. So far, at least. I'd like to keep it that way, if you don't mind."
NORA: "Discretion would be my middle name – if I told anyone my middle name."
Caller: "Things have been… bad here lately, with or without the Grineer. It was a miner's wife, you see. Dragged her husband into my clinic, complaining about his nails."
NORA: "So far so ordinary. What's the twist?"
Caller: "Fingernails. Cracked and raw and split down the middle. They wanted a supplement to heal and harden them so he could get back to work as quickly as possible.
I'm a person of science, but in a tiny town like ours you also learn a lot about people. His nails were… it looked more like repetitive stress than weak keratin, to me. I supposed he'd been chewing them. Nervous or stressed. Not an uncommon complaint out here, as you might imagine. But he declined to talk about it. I assumed it was something he didn't want to go over in front of the missus."
NORA: "I take it you asked her to leave the room."
Caller: "I did. But he had no confession for me. Just an idiot grin. He had no idea what I was talking about. Said he felt fine – never better, in fact. Said he needed to get back to work right away. Having no cause to hold him, I sent him on his way."
NORA: "But I'm guessin' there was plenty of cause."
Caller: "I had no way of knowing, at the time. Then more patients arrived. A lot more. Bruised and bloodied hands. Broken fingers. Then came the insomnia, cases of extreme exhaustion. Dehydration. Malnutrition…. Nearly every adult in this colony works that mine to some degree. And nearly all of them have come to see me in the last week.
And then… the patients stopped arriving. Entirely."
NORA: "Sounds like you oughta send some hardliners down into that mine to set straight whatever's gone crooked."
Caller: "It's just me here. No support. Which is why I went down there myself. Three days ago."
NORA: "Okay. I'm trustin' that you made it back intact, right? So… you bein' of sound mind and body… don't keep us in suspense, Delia. What'd you find?"
Caller: "They were all down there. The entire colony. All of them. Digging. Had been for days. Since before I saw that first patient. No rest, no sleep, no food. I went back every day and saw the same thing. Thought maybe they'd get upset, eventually, and try to stop me, but they just kept going – grinning like idiots all the way up and down a twisting shaft."
NORA: “You try askin' any of 'em why?"
Caller: "Oh, yes. They were all too happy to answer me when I asked what in every last hell they were doing.
Digging, they said. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They weren't even carrying anything out except dirt. The deeper you go, the harder it is to twist and bend around all the leftover ore and mining equipment. Elliptical scours, partition torches, splitter carts… the whole lot."
NORA: "Hang on. Why abandon the mining equipment? Can't tell me it all broke down before the miners did."
Caller: "It didn't. I saw one of the miners use a wide-bore drill on the second day – right up until it died. Not broken, just out of charge. She dropped it where she stood, picked up a sledge, and went right back to work. She didn't want to take the time to swap the battery. Some of their hand tools had started to break. They dropped those, too, and just kept on… going."
Caller: "They just kept digging."
NORA: "Delia: can you get outta there? Got a clear LZ? I guarantee you we got listeners out there who'll—"
Caller: "This is a confession, Ms Night.
Early this morning I loaded the bottom of that shaft with enough explosives to deliver a mountain straight to Phobos. There's nothing left moving around down there now but liquid gravel collapsing in on itself."
NORA: "Delia… how many—"
Caller: "Three. Three miners. That's all."
Caller: "I sedated the ones I could carry, locked out the ones I couldn't. I hewed as close to the cancer as I could, but even with the best cuts you still get some living flesh.
None of the survivors have confronted me about it. Everyone is calling it 'an accident.'
We'll put the pieces back together, in time. Find a new place to dig. It's not the first time we've moved the operation. That we can survive."
NORA: "But not what was down there."
Caller: "You should know one last thing. I think it's important.
They dug every waking moment of every day. Down the same path, yes, but not in the same direction. At least not all the time. The mineshaft twisted and turned in on itself, like a spiral staircase rent inside out. It made no sense. And then, hearing you speak to that Corpus – the one on Deimos – is when I pieced it together.
They were digging to somewhere. Chasing it, the mine shaft curving to follow their quarry. They never would have stopped digging. Ever. They couldn't have. Because they weren't being called by something under the ground. They were being called by something on the other side of it: a body in orbit.
They were digging to reach Deimos."
TRANSCRIPTION OF UNAUTHORISED BROADCAST
The third was posted on 26 August 2023, a few hours before TennoCon.
Transmission Origin: [CRITICAL ERROR]
Time Since Intercept – 9 Hours
> Transcription of broadcast log recorded on: 
> Intercepted from spaceborne vessel registered to: [data corrupted]
> Registered serial number: [file not found]
> Transcription follows:
NORA: "One last ride, Dreamers. As the heat does rise, so do we seek cooler shadows. Time to lie low.
Ain't that right, caller?"
Caller: "I confess to being uncertain, but… how did it all come to be such a mess?"
NORA: "It's all good. We're all friends here. You got a name?"
Caller: "Oh. A name. Yes, of course. A sobriquet. Call me 'Bones', I suppose. That should serve as adequately as anything.
Please understand: anonymity is of paramount importance, here. As is trust."
NORA: "Always. Sanctum sanctorum, Bones. So. Let's hear it. What's on your mind?"
Caller: "What's 'on my mind' – or more precisely what is in my mind – is entirely the problem.
Something has occurred. Something that is not designed or intended to happen to one of my… kind. Message or hallucination! I cannot know. I feel compelled to reach out… but to whom? Perhaps that is why I have called you. The state it has left me in is one of profound unease.
And your previous callers, their plights… it all feels a little too familiar."
NORA: "Sometimes our minds protect us by turning us away from things that hurt. Other times they turn us toward things that help, even if sometimes we can't really know it.
Is there someone else you're meant to be calling, Bones?"
Caller: "Please forgive me. I am afraid. Acutely. And I am alone. I have not felt so alone in the universe for a very long time.
There was someone with whom I could share these fears. And yet, all of a sudden, right as this all began, they are gone. They would not have abandoned me, would they? So abruptly? So coldly?
They are missed. Terribly missed."
NORA: "I feel you. Nora knows a little something about isolation. Loss. That's our church, for better or worse.
So… the other stories rang familiar. Might you, by some chance, be in the proximity of a certain Infested moon?"
Caller: "Oh. Uh. Deimos? Ah, no. Ha ha. I mean who would wish to be anywhere near that place? Me? Ha. Never. [clears throat]
Miss Night, speaking plainly, if I may: one worries that after lo these many years… well… that they may be losing their grasp. On reality. As it were.”
NORA: "If you are, you ain't alone, Bones. Something's going down in this System. Something big. Now, think. Because we're all family here, and family wants you well. Is there anyone else you can reach out to for help?"
Caller: "Help… this world was so vile for so long that I had nearly forgotten how to ask. We hid, instead, to protect ourselves."
NORA: "Bones, Bones, Bones. We gotta look out for each other. Rule One."
Caller: [sigh] "It's so much easier when the task is meant to aid someone else. Yet this threat is quite… personal to me."
NORA: "Connection. Being known. Trust. Not things to be afraid of. It's how we do."
Caller: "Yes. 'How we do.' Quite. I never considered asking for aid myself.
Except… oh. Oh, I am a fool."
Caller: "I am not a creature of instinct, Miss Night. But I appear to have followed them nonetheless, albeit with a near-total lack of practice.
'Being known.' Of course. It was not you I was meant to reach out to, obviously. But… what was it you said about minds?"
NORA: "Something profound, I'm sure."
Caller: "'They turn us toward things that help, even if sometimes we cannot really know it.' Of course. Of course. My mind is not my own. It is a vessel for consciousness, but created by another. And they, I assure you, knew precisely what they were doing.
There is someone. Someone known to both of us, Miss Night. Someone you share more than a few admirable traits with.
Someone rather adept at dealing with the unknown.
Yes. They must be summoned, and summoned immediately. Thank you, Miss Night."
NORA: "We got you, Bones. Don't be a stranger. And good luck. To all of us."