The summons came during breakfast.
Arthur was in the commissary with Scarlet and Lyra—Nyx had gone to the training level to test her upgraded frame's endurance limits—when his comm chirped with a priority code. Deputy Chief Andersen's office. Immediate attendance required.
"That's unusual," Lyra observed, her blue eyes tracking the message on Arthur's datapad. "Shifty usually handles our mission briefs."
"Maybe he wants to congratulate us personally on not dying," Scarlet said, but her crimson eyes held concern. "Or tell us we're being reassigned again."
Arthur stood, his goddesium prosthetics silent as he pushed back from the table. "Only one way to find out. Meet me in Bay Twenty-Three in thirty minutes. Full combat load."
The walk to the command level carried a different weight now. Officers who'd once ignored him offered nods of acknowledgment. Other commanders watched with expressions ranging from respect to barely concealed envy. Killing a Tyrant-class Rapture had consequences beyond the immediate tactical victory.
Andersen's office was spartan—tactical displays, mission reports, and a single photograph of a younger man in pre-war military uniform. The Deputy Chief sat behind his desk, his weathered features tight with urgency.
"Commander Cousland," Andersen said without preamble. "Sit. We have a situation."
Arthur remained standing. "With respect, sir, why are you briefing me personally? Shifty handles our operations."
"There's no time to waste," Andersen said, ignoring the question. He activated the holographic display, showing a topographical map of Sector Twenty-Three, approximately seventy kilometers northwest of the Ark. Red markers indicated known Rapture concentrations. Blue markers showed friendly positions—three of them, scattered across hostile territory.
"Six hours ago, three squads deployed for standard resource recovery operations," Andersen continued. "All three encountered coordinated Rapture ambushes. One shuttle was shot down. The survivors are being actively hunted. Communications are sporadic. We need immediate extraction before they're completely overrun."
Arthur studied the map, his tactical mind already calculating distances, approach vectors, danger zones. "What assets do we have on site?"
"Squad Scouts—two Nikkes, Delta and Signal, sniper specialists—are already deployed in overwatch positions here and here." Andersen highlighted two elevated positions with clear sightlines across the operation area. "They're providing what cover they can, but they're not equipped for direct engagement. Your mission is ground rescue. Reach the survivors, consolidate them, and extract to this LZ."
He marked a clearing three klicks south of the scattered positions. "Extraction birds will be on station, but they can't land in hot zones. You need to bring the survivors to them."
"Three squads," Arthur said. "Give me details."
Andersen's expression tightened. "Commander Greenfyre with Silver Gun Squad. Fresh Academy graduate, first surface deployment. His shuttle took a direct hit from aerial Raptures. Crashed hard. We have confirmation of one survivor—Marian, custom-built combat specialist from Elysion. She's injured but mobile. No word on Greenfyre or the other squad members."
Arthur's jaw clenched. A green commander on his first mission, now likely dead, his squad scattered or worse.
"Second squad," Andersen continued, "Commander Ryan with Squad Eleven. All mass-produced units. Last transmission indicated they were pinned down in a collapsed overpass structure, taking fire from multiple directions. Ryan sounded competent, but they're running low on ammunition."
"Third squad?"
"Commander Forn with two custom Nikkes—Rapi and Anis, from Elysion and Tetra respectively." Andersen's tone shifted slightly. "Forn is experienced. Ten successful surface operations. He's holding position in defensible terrain, but reports Rapture forces are probing his perimeter. He's got time, but not much."
Arthur processed the tactical picture. Three separate locations, unknown enemy strength, time-critical extraction. "Rules of engagement?"
"Rescue the survivors. All of them, if possible. Prioritize the living over recovering bodies." Andersen met his gaze. "I'm sending you because you've proven you can keep Nikkes alive in impossible situations. Don't make me regret it."
"My squad?"
"Monarks have full authorization. Shifty will coordinate communications and logistics. Delta and Signal will provide overwatch and intelligence." Andersen paused. "Arthur, this is bad. Coordinated ambushes across multiple squads suggests the Raptures are adapting. Learning. If you encounter master or lord-class units, you are authorized to withdraw."
"Understood." Arthur studied the map one more time, committing positions and terrain to memory. "Time to deployment?"
"Thirty minutes. Shifty is prepping your shuttle now."
Arthur turned to leave, then paused. "Sir, why are you briefing me directly?"
Andersen's expression was unreadable. "Because if this goes wrong, I want to be able to look you in the eye and tell you I gave you every advantage I could. Now go save those people."
***
Bay Twenty-Three was organized chaos. Scarlet was checking her SMG's action, crimson hair tied back in a combat braid. Lyra studied a datapad displaying the tactical map, her silver ponytail swaying as she calculated angles and distances. Nyx arrived from the training level, her upgraded frame moving with predatory grace, the Screamin' Eagle rocket launcher slung across her back.
"We've got a rescue operation," Arthur announced, activating the holographic display from his own datapad. The map materialized, showing the three scattered squad positions. "Three squads ambushed in Sector Twenty-Three. Our job is to reach them, consolidate survivors, and extract here."
He highlighted the LZ. "We'll have sniper support from Squad Scouts—Delta and Signal, already on site. Communications through Shifty. Time is critical. The survivors are being actively hunted."
Scarlet leaned forward, studying the terrain. "That's a lot of ground to cover. If the Raptures are actively hunting, they'll have the routes locked down."
"Which is why we're not taking routes," Arthur said. "We're going cross-country, using this ravine system for concealment. It adds distance but keeps us off their patrol patterns."
Lyra's fingers danced across her datapad. "First priority target?"
"Commander Greenfyre's position," Arthur decided. "He's the most vulnerable—crashed shuttle, possibly only one survivor. We secure Marian, then move to Squad Eleven's position at the overpass. Commander Forn is experienced and in defensible terrain, so he's last. We move fast, hit hard, and get everyone out."
"What about the commanders?" Nyx asked quietly. "Greenfyre's probably dead. Ryan and Forn might not want to take orders from you."
"Then they can file complaints after we're all safely back in the Ark," Arthur said flatly. "I don't care about rank politics when people are dying. We save everyone we can. Clear?"
"Clear," all three said simultaneously.
Shifty's voice crackled over the bay's comm system. "Monarks, your shuttle is ready. Departure in ten minutes. I've established secure channels with Delta and Signal. They're excited to work with you!"
"Of course they are," Scarlet muttered, but she was smiling slightly.
Arthur moved to the equipment lockers, checking his own loadout. Assault rifle, sidearm, spare magazines, medical supplies, tactical gear. His prosthetic hands moved with mechanical precision, each motion efficient and practiced.
Lyra appeared beside him, her voice low. "Arthur, if we have to choose... if we can't save everyone..."
"We'll save everyone," Arthur said firmly. "That's not negotiable."
"Custom Nikkes versus mass-produced," Lyra pressed. "If Command forces priorities—"
"Then Command can join the fight personally," Arthur interrupted. "Every Nikke out there deserves rescue. Every single one. I don't care about manufacturing classifications."
Lyra's expression softened. "I know. I just... wanted to hear you say it."
Nyx joined them, the Screamin' Eagle's weight distributed perfectly across her upgraded frame. "You know this is probably a trap, right? Coordinated ambushes across three squads? Someone wanted to draw out a rescue operation."
"I know," Arthur admitted. "Which is why we're going in expecting the worst."
Scarlet completed her equipment check and crossed to Arthur, her crimson eyes searching his face. "We've fought a Lord-class before. We can do it again if we have to."
"Let's hope we don't have to," Arthur said. He looked at each of them in turn. "This is different from our usual operations. We're not just fighting Raptures. We're responsible for getting other squads out alive. Squads who might not trust us, might not follow orders, might panic."
"So basically every commander's nightmare scenario," Nyx said dryly.
"Exactly." Arthur allowed himself a brief smile. "Good thing we're not every commander."
Shifty's voice returned. "Five minutes, Monarks! Delta just reported increased Rapture activity in the western sector. They're definitely hunting something."
"Probably us, once we arrive," Scarlet observed.
"Then we'll give them something to hunt," Arthur said. He looked at his squad—his team, his responsibility, the Nikkes who'd trusted him enough to fight beside him through impossible odds. "Let's bring everyone home."
They moved toward the shuttle bay in practiced formation. Around them, other squads watched with open curiosity. The Monarks had become something of a legend—the outcasts who'd killed a Tyrant-class Rapture, the mass-produced Nikkes who performed like custom models, the commander who treated his squad like people.
The shuttle was a military-grade transport, armored and armed, capable of withstanding moderate anti-air fire. The pilot—a grizzled veteran named Torres—nodded as they boarded.
"Commander Cousland," Torres said. "Heard you needed a ride into hell."
"Just another Tuesday," Arthur replied, strapping into the jump seat. His squad secured themselves with practiced efficiency, weapons locked into ready positions.
The shuttle's engines powered up with a building whine. The bay doors opened, revealing the tunnel leading to the surface elevator system.
"Sector Twenty-Three," Torres confirmed. "LZ is hot. I'll get you as close as possible, but I can't land. You'll be roping down."
"Understood."
The shuttle lifted, banking into the tunnel. Arthur activated his comm, switching to the secure channel Shifty had established.
"Monarks to Scouts," he transmitted. "We're en route. What's your situation?"
A professional female voice responded immediately. "Scouts actual, callsign Delta. We have overwatch on all three target locations. Rapture activity is heavy and organized. Multiple master-class units coordinating ant and soldier types. No confirmed lord-class, but we're detecting energy signatures consistent with heavy units."
A second voice, younger and more enthusiastic, chimed in. "This is Signal! We've been tracking patterns. The Raptures are definitely searching, not just patrolling. Whatever they're looking for, they really want it."
"Probably the survivors," Arthur said. "Can you confirm status on all three positions?"
"Affirmative," Delta replied. "Greenfyre's crash site shows one heat signature, mobile but slow. Definitely Marian based on movement patterns. Squad Eleven at the overpass has five signatures, defensive posture. Commander Forn's position shows three signatures, alert and active."
"Greenfyre?"
A pause. "No human heat signature detected at the crash site. I'm sorry, Commander."
Another dead commander. Another Academy graduate who'd lasted exactly one mission. Arthur's jaw tightened.
"Understood. We're approaching from the southeast, using the ravine system for concealment. Mark any Rapture positions that could threaten our approach."
"Marking now," Delta confirmed. "Sending tactical overlay to your HUD."
Arthur's vision filled with augmented data—red markers indicating Rapture positions, blue friendly locations, yellow potential threats, green suggested routes. The information integrated seamlessly with his prosthetic neural interface.
"Good hunting, Monarks," Signal said. "We'll keep the big ones off you as long as we can!"
The shuttle broke through to the surface, and Arthur's stomach lurched as they gained altitude. Through the viewport, the ruined landscape spread out beneath them—broken buildings, overgrown roads, and the ever-present gray sky.
Torres's voice came over the internal comm. "Two minutes to drop zone. I'm reading multiple aerial contacts, but they haven't engaged yet. When you rope down, move fast. I can't wait."
"We'll be fast," Arthur assured him.
He looked at his squad one more time. Scarlet checked her SMG's chamber. Lyra adjusted her rifle's scope. Nyx rolled her shoulders, settling the Screamin' Eagle into perfect position.
"Remember," Arthur said quietly. "We're not just saving Nikkes today. We're proving every single survivor deserves to come home. No exceptions."
"No exceptions," Scarlet echoed.
The shuttle banked hard, dropping toward the ravine. The side door opened, wind howling through the cabin. The descent cables deployed automatically.
"Thirty seconds!" Torres shouted.
Arthur gripped the cable, his prosthetic hands locked with mechanical certainty. Below, the ravine waited—and beyond it, survivors who needed rescuing, Raptures who needed killing, and a mission that would test everything the Monarks had become.
"Go!" Torres ordered.
Arthur rappelled into hell, his squad following without hesitation.