The transport shuttle hummed through the underground transit tunnels, carrying Monarks toward the surface elevator terminus. Arthur sat across from his squad, watching the tunnel lights strobe past through the reinforced viewports. Scarlet sat to his right, Lyra to his left, and Nyx directly opposite, her heavy rocket launcher secured vertically beside her seat.
"So," Scarlet said, breaking the comfortable silence, "Shifty mentioned you had Squad Seven for your rotation. What were they like?"
Arthur glanced at her, noting genuine curiosity rather than jealousy in her crimson eyes. "Good soldiers. Better people than Central Command deserved."
"That's diplomatically vague," Nyx observed, grinning. "Come on, Commander. Give us details. We want names, specializations, embarrassing combat moments."
"There were three of them," Arthur began, settling back against his seat. "Flower, Ocean, and Miranda. Flower and Ocean were both Tetra mass-produced units. Miranda was custom-built Cerberus."
Lyra's interest sharpened immediately. "Tetra mass-produced? What model designation?"
"iDoll series, both of them," Arthur said. "Flower had a rocket launcher, red hair, completely destroyed sense of self-worth. Previous commanders treated her like malfunctioning equipment. Wouldn't even use her name—just called her by her unit designation."
"Bastards," Scarlet muttered.
"Ocean was calmer, more professional. Blonde, used an SMG, had this way of staying collected no matter what happened. She'd chosen her own name after conversion, actually encouraged Flower to embrace hers." Arthur remembered Ocean's steady presence during the Thermite fight, her precision under pressure. "She kept the squad grounded."
"And the custom unit?" Nyx asked, though her tone suggested she already knew what to expect from Cerberus products.
"Miranda. White and black combat gear, prototype force shield generator, enhanced processing capabilities." Arthur met Nyx's golden eyes. "She was what Central Command thinks all custom models should be—intelligent, capable, physically optimized. But she hated the inequality. Hated that she got preferential treatment while mass-produced Nikkes were treated as disposable."
Scarlet shifted slightly closer to Arthur, her thigh pressing against his. The movement was subtle, almost unconscious. "What happened on the mission?"
"Resource recovery in Sector Twelve turned into artifact retrieval," Arthur explained. "We found a sealed military container in one of the warehouses. Pre-war research unit. Inside was something called a Harmony Cube—crystalline device designed for neural-synthetic integration optimization."
Lyra leaned forward, her blue targeting displays flickering with intensity. "A Harmony Cube? Those were theoretical. Military R&D rumored to be working on them before the war, but I've never seen confirmation they actually existed."
"They exist," Arthur confirmed. "About twenty centimeters per side, pale blue crystal, generates its own low-level energy field. Supposed to optimize Nikke cognitive functions, potentially repair memory fragmentation."
The silence that followed was heavy. All three of his squad members understood the implications immediately—a device that could restore what conversion took from them.
"Command has it now?" Lyra asked quietly.
"Locked in some Strategic Research Division vault, probably," Arthur said. "Caldwell mentioned it during the debrief, but whether they'll actually use it to help Nikkes or just study it for tactical advantages..." He shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Of course they won't share it with us," Nyx said flatly. "We're tools, remember? Tools don't need their memories back."
Scarlet pressed closer to Arthur, her hand finding his prosthetic one. The goddesium was warm under her synthetic fingers. "How did you recover it? There had to be Raptures guarding something that valuable."
"Ants initially, acting strange—surrounding the warehouse but not entering. Then a Lord-class breached the wall right after we secured the cube." Arthur remembered Thermite's superheated form, the way its limbs melted through steel like paper. "Thermite. Massive thing, maybe four meters tall, limbs that could burn through armor plating. Core protected by ablative heat shielding."
"How'd you kill it?" Nyx asked, professional interest evident.
"Team coordination. Miranda drew its attention with her force shield, Ocean suppressed weak points in the armor seams, Flower put concentrated rocket fire into the compromised sections until the core was exposed." Arthur met each of their gazes in turn. "Then I put half a magazine into the core at point-blank range while Miranda intercepted its final attack. She saved my life—shield generator completely destroyed, but we all survived."
"And you got them out safely," Scarlet said. It wasn't a question.
"All three, full extraction, cube secured." Arthur squeezed her hand gently. "I don't leave soldiers behind, Scarlet. You know that."
Lyra made a soft sound that might have been approval. Nyx just grinned.
"What?" Arthur asked, catching the expression.
"Nothing," Nyx said, far too innocently. "Just noticing how our dear Scarlet gets all possessive when you talk about other Nikkes. It's adorable."
Scarlet's pale cheeks actually colored slightly—a testament to the sophisticated thermal regulation in her synthetic skin. "I'm not possessive."
"You're literally holding his hand and pressed against his side," Lyra observed, her tone amused. "While he talks about another squad. It's... actually kind of sweet."
"I hate both of you," Scarlet muttered, though she didn't move away from Arthur.
Arthur couldn't help but laugh. "For what it's worth, I appreciate the possessiveness."
"Don't encourage her," Nyx said, still grinning. "Next thing you know, she'll be marking territory."
The shuttle's intercom crackled before Scarlet could formulate a retort. "Approaching surface terminus. Deployment in five minutes."
The atmosphere shifted immediately, humor giving way to professional focus. Scarlet straightened—though she kept hold of Arthur's hand for another moment before releasing it—and began final weapons checks. Lyra activated her rifle's scope diagnostics, and Nyx verified her launcher's firing mechanisms.
Arthur pulled up the tactical display on his wrist-mounted datapad, reviewing Sector Nine's layout one final time. Standard commercial district, multiple potential cover positions, reasonable sight lines for Lyra's sniper support.
Should be routine.
The elevator ride to the surface was familiar now, that strange transition from Ark's recycled air to the open atmosphere above. Gray sky greeted them as the platform locked into position, wind carrying the scent of decay and rust.
Sector Nine spread before them—collapsed storefronts, shattered glass, nature reclaiming concrete through every crack. Beautiful in its desolation, deadly in its silence.
"Monarks deployed," Arthur reported over comms. "Beginning approach to primary objective."
"Copy that," Shifty's voice came back cheerful and steady. "I've got you on tracking. Sensors show minimal Rapture presence within five hundred meters. Stay sharp anyway."
They moved through the ruins with practiced efficiency, Lyra taking high ground while Scarlet and Nyx flanked Arthur's position. The first two caches were exactly where intel predicted—medical supplies in a pharmacy basement, ammunition in what had been a sporting goods store.
The third cache was different.
They found it in a collapsed department store, but the moment they entered, Arthur's instincts screamed warning. The building was too intact, the approaches too open, the silence too complete.
"Shifty," he said quietly, "scan the area again. Something's wrong."
A pause, then, "Contacts! Multiple signatures, ant-type clusters converging from three directions. And... wait, signature spike. Master-class, incoming from your six!"
The wall exploded inward.
The Woodpecker-type Rapture was all chitin plates and hydraulic claws, its eyeless head sweeping the room as ants poured through the breach behind it. Master-class, designed for coordinated assault, turning its lesser units into a coherent fighting force.
"Positions!" Arthur barked, already moving. "Lyra, priority targets on the ants. Nyx, I need that master-class suppressed. Scarlet, with me—we're flanking."
The next few minutes dissolved into controlled chaos. Lyra's rifle cracked from her overwatch position, each shot dropping an ant-type with mechanical precision. Nyx's rocket launcher boomed, explosive rounds forcing the Woodpecker to adapt its approach. Arthur and Scarlet moved through the cover, laying suppressing fire, creating angles.
But there were too many ants, and the Woodpecker was learning, adapting to their tactics with frightening speed.
"Nyx!" Arthur shouted. "I need a opening!"
"On it!" Nyx stepped into clear space, utterly fearless, and put three rockets into the Woodpecker's center mass. The explosions staggered it, armor cracking, and in that moment Arthur saw the core—exposed for just seconds at the base of its torso.
"Scarlet, go!"
She moved like liquid violence, SMG blazing as she closed distance. The Woodpecker's claw swept toward her, but Scarlet dropped into a slide, coming up inside its guard. Point-blank burst, directly into the exposed core.
The Woodpecker collapsed with a shriek of failing systems, and without its coordination, the remaining ants became disorganized targets. Lyra and Nyx cleaned them up methodically.
Silence returned, broken only by their breathing and the creak of settling debris.
"Everyone intact?" Arthur called.
"Operational," Lyra confirmed from her position.
"Intact," Scarlet said, breathing hard.
Nyx didn't answer immediately. Arthur turned and saw her sitting against a broken pillar, her launcher beside her, one hand pressed against her side where bronze synthetic skin showed scorch marks and a visible crack in her reinforcement plating.
"Nyx!" Arthur crossed to her immediately, kneeling. "Why didn't you report damage?"
"Because it's not that bad," Nyx said, but her voice was tight. "Caught some shrapnel from my own rocket. Ironic, right?"
Arthur examined the damage. The crack wasn't deep, hadn't penetrated to critical systems, but it would need proper repair. "We're calling for early extraction."
"Like hell," Nyx protested. "I can still fight."
"Not negotiable." Arthur activated his comm. "Shifty, we need extraction. One squad member damaged, requires maintenance."
"Copy. Extraction inbound, ETA twenty minutes."
Arthur looked at Nyx, saw something in her golden eyes he hadn't seen before—not quite vulnerability, but close. Something raw.
"I'm fine," she said again, quieter.
"I know," Arthur replied. "But you're still getting repaired properly. That's an order."
Nyx held his gaze for a long moment, then laughed—sharp and bitter. "You know what the worst part is? I actually believe you care whether I'm damaged or not."
"I do care."
"Yeah." Nyx leaned her head back against the pillar. "That's the problem, isn't it? Makes it harder to remember what I am."
Arthur sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. "And what are you?"
"A weapon that used to be a person," Nyx said. "Or a person forced into being a weapon. I can't remember which anymore." She gestured at her cracked plating with her free hand. "This body isn't mine. Wasn't my choice. Some Outer Rim gang enforcer put a bullet in my spine, and instead of dying like I should have, I woke up in a conversion facility being told I'd been volunteered for the Nikke program. Volunteered." The word was poison.
Arthur said nothing, just listened. Scarlet and Lyra maintained perimeter security, giving them space.
"They took everything," Nyx continued. "My body, my future, my choice. Rebuilt me into this—" she slapped her bronze thigh, the sound hollow, "—and told me I should be grateful. Grateful to be a tool. Grateful to die for the humans who threw me away in the first place."
"You're not a tool," Arthur said quietly.
"Aren't I?" Nyx met his eyes. "I'm stronger than I was, faster, more durable. I can carry weapons that would shatter a human's bones. I don't age, don't get sick, can operate in conditions that would kill organic soldiers in minutes. I'm the perfect weapon." She paused. "But I can't have children. Can't grow old with someone. Can't die peacefully when I'm tired of living. I'm trapped in this body until something kills me or I outlive everyone I could ever care about. So tell me, Arthur—what am I if not a tool?"
Arthur considered his words carefully. "You're someone who survived when survival should have been impossible. You're a soldier who chooses to fight even though you hate what was done to you. You're a person who refuses to pretend gratitude for a choice that was stolen." He met her gaze directly. "You're Nyx. That's enough."
She stared at him, something shifting behind those golden eyes. "You really believe that."
"Yes."
"Even though I'm not human anymore?"
"You're human where it matters," Arthur said. "In the choices you make, the loyalty you show, the refusal to accept what they tried to make you. Your body might be synthetic, but everything that makes you *you* is still there."
Nyx laughed again, but this time without bitterness. "Dangerous philosophy, Commander. Suggests Nikkes deserve the same rights as baseline humans."
"They do."
"Central Command would execute you for sedition if they heard you say that."
"Probably," Arthur agreed. "Good thing you're the only one listening."
Nyx was quiet for a moment, then, surprising him, she leaned against his shoulder. The gesture was tentative, testing, as though she expected him to pull away.
Arthur didn't move, just let her rest there.
"This is stupid," Nyx said quietly. "Getting attached to a commander. They'll rotate you out eventually, or you'll get killed, or Central Command will reassign me as punishment for something. It's temporary."
"Everything's temporary," Arthur replied. "Doesn't mean it's not worth having while it lasts."
She turned her head slightly, looking up at him. "Is that what we're doing? Having something worth keeping?"
Arthur met her eyes, saw the question behind the question, the need for honesty she'd never ask for directly. "If you want it to be."
"I don't share well," Nyx warned.
"Neither does Scarlet," Arthur said. "We're managing."
"She's going to kill me."
"She'll get over it."
Nyx studied his face, searching for something. Whatever she found satisfied her, because she leaned up and kissed him—brief, fierce, with an edge of desperation that spoke to how rarely she allowed herself this kind of vulnerability.
When she pulled back, her eyes were bright. "Just so we're clear—this doesn't mean I'm going soft."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Arthur said.
"Good." Nyx settled back against his shoulder. "Now we just have to explain this to Scarlet without her shooting me."
"I'll handle Scarlet."
"Your funeral."
The extraction shuttle arrived eighteen minutes later. Scarlet's expression when she saw Arthur and Nyx sitting together was complicated—surprise, calculation, then resigned acceptance touched with amusement.
"Seriously?" she said to Arthur.
"Is it a problem?" he asked.
"Should have known," Scarlet muttered. "You collect strays." But there was no real anger in her voice, just exasperation and something that might have been approval. "We're discussing boundaries later."
"Fair enough."
Lyra, watching the exchange, just smiled and said nothing.
They boarded the shuttle, mission technically incomplete but with something more valuable than resources recovered—another piece of the foundation that made them more than just a squad.