The medical bay's sterile lighting felt harsh after the darkness of Sector Twenty-Three. Arthur stood outside the repair station where Scarlet and Lyra were being processed, his prosthetic hands clenched at his sides. The tremor had finally stopped, but he could still feel the weight of his sidearm, still see Marian's sad smile.
"Commander Cousland." The voice belonged to a technician in a white coat. "Deputy Chief Andersen requests your presence in Conference Room Twelve. Immediately."
Arthur nodded wordlessly and turned toward the elevators. His legs carried him through familiar corridors, past Nikkes and human personnel who stepped aside when they saw his blood-spattered uniform. Word of the mission had already spread. He could see it in their eyes—fear, respect, something that might have been awe.
Andersen was waiting when Arthur entered, standing by the window overlooking the Ark's residential sectors. The older man turned, his weathered face showing none of its usual stern composure.
"Sit down, son."
Arthur remained standing. "My squad—"
"Is being taken care of," Andersen interrupted gently. "Scarlet needs six hours for neural pathway recalibration. Lyra's synthetic muscle requires complete replacement in her left arm. Both will be fully operational by morning." He paused. "No signs of corruption in any of your people. You brought them home clean."
The words should have brought relief. Instead, Arthur felt hollow.
"You also brought home Rapi and Anis," Andersen continued. "Two survivors from three squads. Killed a second Tyrant-class Rapture. Against coordinated enemy tactics and overwhelming numerical superiority." He moved to his desk, pulling up a tactical display. "Central Command is calling it a miracle. Commander General Hawthorne is calling it propaganda. The corporate CEOs are calling it proof of concept."
"And what are you calling it?" Arthur's voice came out rougher than intended.
Andersen met his eyes. "I'm calling it exactly what it is. Exceptional leadership under impossible circumstances. You made the hardest choices a commander can make, and you brought your people home. That's all anyone can ask."
"I executed Marian."
The words hung in the air between them. Andersen's expression shifted—not to disapproval or judgment, but to something Arthur recognized from his Outer Rim days. The look of someone who had walked through the same fire.
"I lost a squad mate to corruption once," Andersen said quietly. "When I was still a field commander. We didn't have kill-switches back then. Didn't have protocols." His hand moved unconsciously to his chest, as if touching an old wound. "I held my operator while she begged me to end it. Felt her synthetic skin burning as the corruption spread. And I couldn't do it. I froze."
Arthur said nothing.
"My second-in-command had to make the choice I couldn't," Andersen continued. "She saved six Nikkes that day by acting while I hesitated. And she never forgave me for forcing that burden onto her." He straightened, his voice becoming firmer. "You didn't hesitate, Cousland. You took responsibility for the impossible decision. That's what separates good commanders from great ones."
"It doesn't feel great."
"No. It feels like hell. And if it ever stops feeling that way, that's when you need to walk away." Andersen pulled up personnel files on his display. "Which brings me to your next assignment. Scarlet and Lyra will be temporarily out of commission. You're down two squad members for at least forty-eight hours. But you still have active Nikkes under your command, and the Ark doesn't stop needing commanders."
Arthur forced himself to focus. "You're assigning me Rapi and Anis."
"Permanently, if you'll have them," Andersen confirmed. "Not as replacements. Additions. The Monarks are being expanded to a five-Nikke unit. First of its kind in Ark history." He highlighted Rapi's file. "Rapi started as a mass-produced Soldier FA model. Standard designation, standard expectations. But she gave results that defied every metric we had. Elysion rebuilt her from the ground up—custom body, enhanced systems, tactical processing that rivals command-grade Nikkes."
"And Anis?"
"Probably Mustang's favorite Nikke, though he'd never admit it publicly." Andersen pulled up her service record. "Counter-Rapture specialist, grenade launcher expertise, survival rate that shouldn't be possible for someone who volunteers for the worst missions available." He looked up. "They want to be Monarks."
Arthur processed that information slowly. "Why?"
"Because you treat them like soldiers. Like women. Like people who have value beyond their tactical utility." Andersen closed the files. "And because they survived what should have killed them, under your command. That means something to Nikkes who are used to being expendable."
"I lost Marian."
"You saved Rapi and Anis. You brought Scarlet, Lyra, and Nyx home intact. You killed a Tyrant that had already consumed five Nikkes to enhance itself." Andersen's voice hardened slightly. "Perfection isn't possible in war, Cousland. All we can do is minimize the damage and honor the fallen by continuing the fight."
Arthur finally sat down. The weight of everything crashed over him—exhaustion, grief, the terrible knowledge that he would have to make choices like this again.
"I'm sorry about Marian," Andersen said quietly. "She deserved better than what happened to her."
"They all do."
"Yes. They do." Andersen moved toward the door. "Your squad is in Bay Twenty-Three. Nyx is with Rapi and Anis. When you're ready, go make it official." He paused at the threshold. "And Cousland? What you did today—making the impossible choice—that's what's going to change this war. Not because it was easy. Because you proved you can carry the weight and keep moving forward."
When the door closed, Arthur sat alone in the conference room for three minutes. Then he stood, straightened his blood-spattered uniform, and headed toward Bay Twenty-Three.
He found them in the common area adjacent to the equipment racks. Nyx stood with her arms crossed, her upgraded frame radiating barely contained energy. Rapi sat on a supply crate, her posture perfect despite obvious exhaustion. Anis leaned against the wall, her grenade launcher propped beside her.
They looked up when he entered. For a moment, nobody spoke.
"I still can't believe we killed a Tyrant," Anis said finally, her voice carrying disbelief. "We actually survived a Blacksmith encounter."
"We had good leadership," Rapi replied. "And excellent coordination."
"We had Arthur," Nyx corrected. "There's a difference."
Anis studied the heavy weapons specialist with open curiosity. "You really believe that? That one commander makes that much difference?"
"I know it." Nyx's golden eyes remained fixed on Arthur's approaching form. "I've had six commanders before Arthur. Five treated me like equipment with a voice synthesizer. One tried to treat me like a person but couldn't see past the guilt. Arthur just... treats me like a soldier who happens to be synthetic."
"And a woman," Anis added, her tone shifting. "Right?"
Nyx grinned, showing teeth. "And a woman."
Rapi's expression remained neutral, but Arthur caught the subtle shift in her posture. Calculating. Processing.
"You're in a relationship," Anis stated flatly. "With your commander."
"We are," Nyx confirmed. "Me and Scarlet both. Lyra's figuring out where she stands. And Arthur has someone in the Outer Rim—Moran, one of the Underworld Queens. Who is also a Nikke, by the way."
Anis's eyes widened. "That's... I've never heard of a commander who..." She trailed off, struggling with the concept. "We're equipment. Custom or mass-produced, we're just military assets. Who gets attracted to equipment?"
"Someone who sees past the synthetic skin and recognizes the person underneath," Rapi said quietly. "Someone who values consciousness over biology."
"Or someone from the Outer Rim who learned not to waste time on arbitrary distinctions," Nyx added. "Arthur doesn't care about human versus Nikke. He cares about competence, honesty, and whether you can watch his back in a firefight."
Anis opened her mouth, closed it, then laughed—a genuine sound that carried relief and something like wonder. "Commander Forn put a bullet in his own head rather than keep fighting. And here's a commander who..." She shook her head. "I don't know if Arthur is crazy or if the rest of the Ark is."
"Both," Arthur said, finally closing the distance. "Probably both."
Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. He looked at each of them—Nyx with her knowing smile, Rapi with her careful assessment, Anis with her open confusion.
"Deputy Chief Andersen has officially assigned you both to the Monarks," Arthur stated. "Permanent assignment, not rotation. You're part of the squad now, if you want to be."
Rapi stood immediately. "Accepted."
Anis pushed off the wall more slowly. "You're serious. You're actually taking us on permanently."
"You survived the Blacksmith. You followed orders under pressure. You kept fighting when your commander gave up." Arthur met her eyes. "You're exactly the kind of soldiers the Monarks need."
"Even though we're just—"
"Soldiers," Arthur interrupted firmly. "You're soldiers. Custom, mass-produced, upgraded, standard—I don't care about the corporate labels. Can you fight? Can you think? Can you trust your squad and let them trust you?"
Anis glanced at Rapi, who nodded once. "Yes," Anis said. "To all of it."
"Then welcome to the Monarks." Arthur pulled up his command tablet, officially processing their transfer. "Scarlet and Lyra will be back tomorrow. We'll do formal introductions then. For now, get some rest. Check your equipment. We're on stand-down for seventy-two hours, but in this war, that can change in minutes."
Nyx moved forward, placing a hand on Rapi's shoulder. "Welcome to the squad. Fair warning—Arthur's version of command includes treating us like people, which means he expects us to think for ourselves and call him out when he's wrong."
"And he feeds us in actual restaurants," Nyx added. "And cares when we get hurt. And—" Her voice softened. "Makes the impossible choices so we don't have to."
Rapi's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "Understood."
Arthur looked at his squad—three Nikkes standing together in Bay Twenty-Three, exhausted and damaged but alive. Two more being repaired in medical. All of them choosing to follow him despite the dangers, despite the pain, despite everything the Ark and Central Command had done to break them.
"Get some rest," he repeated. "That's an order."
As he turned to leave, Anis called out. "Commander? Thank you. For not leaving us behind."
Arthur didn't trust his voice. He simply nodded and headed toward his quarters.
That night, alone in the darkness, Arthur finally allowed himself to feel everything he had suppressed. The weight of Marian's death. The burden of command. The terrible knowledge that he would face choices like this again, and again, and again.
But also—quietly, carefully—something else. Hope.
The Monarks had killed two Tyrant-class Raptures. They had proven that treating Nikkes as soldiers and people produced results that the Ark's dehumanizing doctrine never could. They were forcing change through action, one mission at a time.
It wasn't enough. Not yet. But it was a start.
Arthur's tactical display chimed with a priority message from Director Caldwell: *Satellite anomaly detected. Deep surface regions showing technological signatures. Origin unknown. Preliminary assessment: non-Rapture, possibly pre-war. Further investigation required. Expect briefing in 96 hours.*
He stared at the message, processing its implications. A new threat. New mysteries. The war evolving in directions nobody had predicted.
Arthur closed the display and allowed himself a grim smile. The Monarks had started as outcasts—unwanted, labeled defective, written off by everyone who mattered. Now they were legend. Five Nikkes and one augmented commander from the Outer Rim, proving that humanity's strength lay not in treating soldiers as equipment, but in recognizing the people behind the synthetic skin.
Whatever came next—new threats, political battles, deeper mysteries—they would face it together. As soldiers. As people. As Monarks.
The surface waited above, filled with dangers and secrets. The Ark watched from below, slowly, grudgingly beginning to change. And somewhere in between, a squad of supposed outcasts was rewriting what it meant to be human in a war that had tried to strip away humanity.
Arthur closed his eyes. Behind them, he still saw Marian's smile. He always would. But now he also saw Scarlet's fierce determination, Lyra's quiet strength, Nyx's defiant loyalty, Rapi's professional competence, and Anis's surprised hope.
They were worth fighting for. Worth leading. Worth every impossible choice he would have to make.
Tomorrow, the war would continue. But tonight, for the first time since joining the Commander Academy, Arthur Cousland allowed himself to believe they might actually win.