The descent into the Ark felt longer than the journey up had been. Arthur stood with his squad in the industrial elevator, feeling the weight of accumulated fatigue settling into his prosthetic limbs. The adrenaline that had sustained him through combat was fading, leaving behind the familiar phantom ache that Sal had warned him would be permanent.
Nyx broke the silence first, her golden eyes fixed on Arthur with unusual intensity. "So, Commander. How long do you think we've got you for?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. Arthur glanced at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
"The rotation," Lyra explained quietly from where she leaned against the elevator wall, her sniper rifle still mag-locked to her back. "Command cycles commanders through different squads every few missions. Standard operational procedure."
"It's supposed to prevent 'inappropriate attachments' between commanders and their Nikkes," Scarlet added, her voice carrying layers of bitterness. "Really it's because most commanders treat us like shit, and after a few missions together we stop taking it. Easier to keep shuffling people around than to address the actual problem."
Arthur felt something cold settle in his stomach. "How often?"
"Depends," Nyx said with a shrug that didn't quite hide her tension. "Sometimes two missions. Sometimes five. Never more than that. Command doesn't want commanders getting protective. Makes us harder to use as expendable assets."
"And when Nikkes refuse orders from abusive commanders?" Arthur asked, though part of him already knew the answer.
"Officially? Disciplinary action. Reassignment. Maybe some time in maintenance lockdown." Scarlet's crimson eyes met his. "Unofficially? Sometimes commanders just execute problem Nikkes on the surface and report it as combat casualties. No witnesses, no accountability. Why do you think they call us disposable?"
The elevator settled into its dock with a mechanical groan that felt too loud in the sudden silence. Arthur looked at his squad—at Scarlet with her defective label earned by questioning orders, at Lyra still struggling with fragmented memories of who she'd been, at Nyx who'd been converted from the Outer Rim against her will. All of them marked as problems because they refused to accept dehumanization quietly.
"That's fucked," Arthur said flatly.
"Welcome to the Ark," Nyx replied with dark humor. "Where humanity's last hope treats half its fighters like malfunctioning equipment."
The elevator doors opened onto the bustling corridor of the operations level. Other squads moved past, commanders barely acknowledging their Nikkes beyond tactical necessities. Arthur noticed the way his squad tensed, walls going back up now that they were in the heart of the Ark's military structure.
"Debrief first," he said, starting toward the operations center. "Then we deal with whatever Command wants to throw at us."
Shifty was waiting in the same briefing room they'd departed from six hours earlier, her diminutive form practically vibrating with enthusiasm as they entered. Her blue hair was slightly disheveled, as if she'd been running her hands through it during the mission, and her eyes lit up when she saw them.
"Squad Thirteen!" She launched into a quick bow that somehow conveyed both professionalism and genuine affection. "Successful resource recovery, zero casualties, master-class Rapture eliminated with minimal ammunition expenditure. You just made me look very good to my supervisors."
"We aim to please," Nyx drawled, setting down her rocket launcher with a heavy thunk.
Shifty pulled up holographic displays showing mission data, resource tallies, and tactical analysis. "Seriously, this is exemplary work. Most squads with your risk rating would have extracted after the third cache. You secured all five targets and neutralized a master-class threat. That's commander-class performance, Arthur."
Arthur noticed the use of his first name, the informality that Shifty seemed to extend naturally. "The squad did the work. I just tried not to get in the way."
"Bullshit," Scarlet interjected, surprising everyone including herself. "The Commander drew the Barbell's charge to create a kill opportunity. That took either massive tactical awareness or a death wish."
"Little of both," Arthur admitted.
Shifty's smile widened. "Well, whatever the motivation, Command is processing your mission report now. Resources are being allocated to maintenance and medical divisions. You've earned your squad a seventy-two hour stand-down period."
"And after that?" Arthur asked, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.
"After that, you'll receive new assignments." Shifty's expression flickered with something that might have been sympathy. "Standard rotation protocols apply. Commander Cousland, you'll be reassigned to Squad Seven for their next operation. Squad Thirteen will receive a new commander for their follow-up mission."
The words landed like a physical blow. Arthur felt his prosthetic hands tighten into fists before he consciously relaxed them. "That seems counterproductive. We just proved we work well together."
"I don't make the rules," Shifty said gently. "I just try to keep my people alive within them. But for what it's worth, I'll be your operator again when you return to Squad Thirteen. I'm assigned to you specifically, not just the squad. Small consolation, I know, but it's something."
Arthur looked at his squad. Nyx's expression was carefully neutral, the walls firmly back in place. Lyra studied the floor with intense focus. Scarlet met his gaze with resigned understanding that spoke of too many commanders rotated through her service.
"Seventy-two hours," he said finally. "That's three days. We should make them count."
"What did you have in mind, Commander?" Scarlet asked, her tone careful.
"First, stop calling me Commander when we're off duty. We agreed on that." Arthur pulled off his tactical vest, feeling the weight of combat gear and exhaustion. "Second, I'm starving and we just completed a successful mission against shit odds. I want to celebrate with my team. You three know anywhere in this city that serves decent food and won't give us problems for having Nikkes at the table?"
The silence that followed was different this time—surprised rather than heavy.
"You want to eat with us?" Lyra asked, her blue eyes wide. "In public?"
"That a problem?"
"Most commanders don't socialize with their squads," Nyx said slowly. "Especially not in public. Bad for the image, fraternizing with equipment."
"Good thing I don't give a fuck about image." Arthur shouldered his gear bag. "So? Anyone know a place?"
Scarlet exchanged glances with Nyx and Lyra, some silent communication passing between them. Finally she nodded. "There's a place in the lower commercial district. The Iron Kettle. Owner's a former combat engineer who worked directly with Nikkes during the war. He doesn't discriminate, and the food's actually edible. But it's not exactly upscale."
"I grew up in the Outer Rim eating recycled protein paste that barely qualified as food," Arthur reminded them. "I'm not precious about atmosphere. Just want decent company and something that doesn't taste like cardboard."
"Then the Kettle works," Nyx decided. "Give us an hour to hit maintenance for basic repairs and cleaning. Meet there?"
Arthur nodded. "One hour. First round's on me."
They separated in the corridor, his squad heading toward the Nikke maintenance facilities while Arthur made for the barracks assigned to junior commanders. He showered quickly, washing away surface grime and gun oil, then changed into civilian clothes—simple dark pants and a grey shirt that covered most of his prosthetics. The goddesium hands were harder to hide, their black metal distinctive, but he'd stopped caring about curious stares years ago.
The lower commercial district was exactly as Arthur remembered from his brief visits during academy training—a maze of narrow corridors lined with shops and eateries catering to the Ark's working population. The Iron Kettle occupied a corner space, its entrance marked by a battered metal sign showing a stylized cooking pot. Warm light spilled from the windows, and Arthur could hear the murmur of conversation and clatter of dishes from inside.
His squad was waiting near the entrance, changed into civilian clothes that looked worn but clean. Scarlet wore a simple red jacket over black pants, her hair loose around her shoulders. Lyra had opted for a grey dress that fell to her knees, practical but more feminine than her combat gear. Nyx wore a tank top that showed off her heavily reinforced arms, making no attempt to hide her nature.
They looked like people instead of soldiers. It was a good look on them.
"Shall we?" Arthur gestured toward the entrance.
The interior of the Iron Kettle was cramped but welcoming, tables packed close together and walls decorated with pre-war memorabilia. A handful of patrons looked up as they entered, eyes lingering on the three Nikkes before returning to their meals with varying degrees of acceptance. The owner—a grizzled man with a mechanical leg and burn scars across half his face—waved them toward a corner booth.
"Commander Cousland," the owner greeted him with a nod that held more respect than most of Arthur's academy instructors had managed. "Heard you graduated. And these must be your squad. Welcome to the Kettle. Sit anywhere you like."
They settled into the booth, Arthur on one side with Scarlet beside him, Nyx and Lyra across from them. The proximity felt natural rather than awkward, combat proximity translating into comfortable closeness.
"So," Nyx said once they'd ordered—some kind of noodle dish with actual vegetables for everyone, and drinks that claimed to be real beer—"what do commanders usually do during stand-down periods? Besides avoid their Nikkes."
"Mostly I've been studying and training," Arthur admitted. "Academy didn't leave much time for social activities. Before that, in the Outer Rim, I mostly worked."
"Mercenary work," Scarlet said. It wasn't a question. "Shifty showed us your unredacted file. You've got quite the resume."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "She showed you classified personnel files?"
"Shifty's got access to things she probably shouldn't," Lyra explained. "And she believes in transparency with the people she supports. We know about your background. The Outer Rim, the mercenary work, your connection to..."
She trailed off, uncertain.
"Moran," Arthur finished, seeing no point in hiding it. "Yeah. I worked primarily for the Peony Association. Still have connections there."
"Moran's people say she's ruthless but fair," Nyx said, studying him with new interest. "That she keeps her territory stable and protects her own. That true?"
"True enough." Arthur accepted the beer the owner brought over, noting the slight tremor in his prosthetic hand that spoke of fatigue. "The Outer Rim isn't like the proper Ark. It's survival of the strongest down there. Moran maintains order through strength and loyalty. She's brutal when she needs to be, but she doesn't waste lives casually. People respect that."
"And you?" Scarlet asked quietly. "Do you respect it?"
Arthur considered the question seriously. "I respect competence and honesty. Moran's both. The proper Ark pretends to be civilized while treating entire categories of people as expendable. At least in the Outer Rim, everyone knows where they stand."
Their food arrived, steaming bowls of noodles with vegetables and meat that actually looked like meat. They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the simple pleasure of decent food and good company settling over the table like a warm blanket.
"Three days," Lyra said eventually, her voice soft. "Then we're back to rotation protocols and new commanders who'll probably treat us like the last ones did."
"Maybe not," Arthur offered. "Maybe the next one will be decent."
"Maybe," she agreed without conviction.
Nyx leaned back in her seat, golden eyes fixed on Arthur with calculating intensity. "So what's your play here, Commander? Why actually give a shit about three disposable Nikkes with problem files?"
"Arthur," he corrected automatically. "And you're not disposable. You're soldiers who've been repeatedly shit on by a system that's too broken to recognize its own failure. That pisses me off."
"Lots of things piss people off," Nyx pressed. "Doesn't mean they do anything about it."
"Then I guess I'm not most people." Arthur met her stare calmly. "I grew up in a place where people were measured by what they could do, not by arbitrary categories of worth assigned by bureaucrats. You three are good at what you do. You deserve better than being treated like malfunctioning equipment. That's not complicated."
Scarlet's hand found his under the table, her synthetic fingers warm against his goddesium palm. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For today. For treating us like people. It's been a while."
Arthur squeezed her hand gently. "We're going to be rotated after this. But that doesn't mean we stop being a team. Three days from now, I'll be assigned to Squad Seven, and you'll get some new commander. But eventually, rotation will bring us back together. And in the meantime, Shifty's going to be with both of us, keeping channels open."
"You're planning something," Lyra observed, her analytical mind working through implications. "Something beyond just accepting the system as it is."
"Maybe," Arthur admitted. "Or maybe I'm just tired of watching good soldiers get wasted because the Ark's leadership is too comfortable with the status quo. Either way, we've got seventy-two hours. Let's make them count."