Arthur stood outside Bay Fourteen, reviewing the sparse personnel files on his tablet. Squad Seven. Temporary designation, temporary assignment. Seventy-two hours had passed since his night with Scarlet, and now Command's rotation protocol reasserted itself with bureaucratic efficiency.
The bay door hissed open as he approached. Inside, three Nikkes waited in various states of readiness. Arthur cataloged them quickly, falling back on mercenary instincts that had kept him alive in the Outer Rim.
The first was a redhead with striking features and a body that would've turned heads even in the Ark's jaded population. She wore standard tactical gear in black and red, but her posture screamed uncertainty. Her eyes—beautiful green with mechanical irises—tracked Arthur's entrance with something approaching fear.
The second was platinum blonde, slim and elegant despite the military setting. Her bodysuit was form-fitting blue and black, and she carried herself with more confidence than her companion. She offered Arthur a small nod as he entered.
The third made Arthur pause. Even among Nikkes, she was exceptional. Perfect face, perfect figure, curves that defied physics wrapped in a skintight white and black bodysuit that concealed absolutely nothing. Dark hair fell in carefully styled curls past her shoulders, and ice-blue eyes assessed him with calculating intelligence. Custom-built, Arthur realized. Not mass-produced like the others.
"Commander Cousland," the blonde said, stepping forward. "I'm iDoll Ocean. You can call me Ocean."
"Ocean," Arthur acknowledged, then looked to the redhead. "And you?"
The redhead flinched slightly. "I... my designation is iDoll Flower. Unit F-7739. I'm combat specialist, rocket launcher equipped, I—"
"Your name," Arthur interrupted gently. "Not your designation. What do I call you?"
"I don't..." Flower's voice dropped to barely audible. "My previous commander said mass-produced Nikkes don't deserve names. That we're not human enough for that. So I'm just... Flower. The designation."
Arthur felt familiar anger kindle in his chest—the same rage that had driven him to reject standard doctrine with Squad Thirteen. He stepped closer to Flower, keeping his movements non-threatening. "Your previous commander was wrong. You're human enough that someone chose to save your life by converting you instead of letting you die. That makes you human in every way that matters. So I'll ask again—what should I call you?"
Flower stared at him, green eyes wide with confusion and something that might've been hope. "I... I don't remember my name. From before. It's been fragmented."
"Then pick one," Arthur said. "Or keep Flower if you prefer it. But understand that I'm asking because you're a person, not because protocol demands it."
The custom-built Nikke had been watching this exchange with obvious interest. Now she stepped forward, extending one perfect hand. "Miranda. I dropped my last name when I was converted, but I kept my first. Pleased to meet you, Commander."
Arthur shook her hand—her grip was firm, confident, nothing like Flower's uncertainty. "Arthur. In private, at least. In the field, stick to Commander for protocol's sake."
"Interesting," Miranda said, her blue eyes glinting with something that might've been approval. "Most commanders prefer maximum formality at all times. Helps maintain the equipment-operator relationship."
"I don't command equipment. I command soldiers."
"So we've heard," Ocean interjected. "Word gets around in the maintenance bays. Fresh commander survives his first deployment, brings his squad back intact, and even scored a master-class kill. That's... unusual."
"Most fresh commanders die on their first mission," Flower added quietly, then seemed to realize she'd spoken out of turn and fell silent.
"I had a good squad," Arthur said simply. "And I don't believe in the doctrine that commanders should hang back and watch through scopes. Makes it hard to build trust when you're not sharing the risk."
Miranda tilted her head, studying him with renewed interest. "I read the mission reports. You did more than survive—Squad Thirteen's performance was exceptional. Resource recovery exceeded projections by thirty percent, tactical execution was flawless, and you personally drew a Barbell-type into optimal kill position. That's not luck. That's competence."
"It's also why you got rotated," Ocean said with a knowing smile. "Command doesn't like it when problem units perform well. Disrupts their convenient narratives."
Arthur couldn't argue with that assessment. "Well, I'm here now. Let's make the best of it."
"Speaking of which," Miranda said, checking her internal chronometer, "we're due for briefing in twenty minutes. Should probably head to Operations."
They left Bay Fourteen in formation—Arthur in the lead with Miranda and Ocean flanking, Flower trailing slightly behind. The Ark's corridors were busy with shift changes, military personnel mixing with civilian workers. Arthur caught the usual stares directed at Nikke squads, the mixture of resentment and poorly concealed desire that characterized most human-Nikke interactions.
Operations was two levels up, accessed through security checkpoints that scanned Arthur's command credentials. The briefing room was smaller than the one he'd used with Squad Thirteen, dominated by a holographic display table and communication equipment.
Their operator was already waiting, and Arthur had to suppress a smile at her appearance. She was Nikke—obviously, given the role—dressed in a black bodysuit that contrasted sharply with blonde hair tied in elaborate braids. Her expression was animated, almost theatrical, and she bounced slightly on her heels as they entered.
"Commander Cousland!" she exclaimed, her voice bright with enthusiasm. "And Squad Seven! Oh, this is so exciting! I'm 6O, your operator for this mission. I've been reading about your last deployment and it was *amazing*—five caches recovered, master-class eliminated, zero casualties! I told my friend 21O about it and she said it was statistically improbable but I knew it was possible because—"
"6O," Miranda interrupted gently. "The briefing?"
"Right! Yes! The briefing!" 6O's fingers danced across a control panel, bringing the holographic display to life. A three-dimensional map materialized above the table, showing a section of surface territory northeast of the Ark. "Your mission is resource recovery in Sector Twelve, specifically targeting an abandoned warehouse complex. Intelligence suggests minimal Rapture presence—mostly scout-class patrols, possibly one or two soldier-class units. Primary objectives are industrial components, focusing on hydraulic systems and power regulators. Secondary objectives include any medical supplies or ammunition."
Arthur studied the terrain carefully. The warehouse complex was large, multiple buildings connected by loading corridors. Plenty of cover but also lots of blind corners. "Rapture patrol patterns?"
"Irregular," 6O admitted, her enthusiasm dimming slightly. "Sector Twelve hasn't been surveyed in six months, so our data's outdated. Could be more hostiles than projected. But that's what makes it exciting! Well, not exciting like fun exciting, more like dangerous exciting, which is actually not exciting at all when I think about it—"
"Extraction points?" Ocean asked, mercifully cutting off what threatened to become a rambling monologue.
"Three marked locations," 6O said, highlighting them on the map. "Primary extraction is here, at the north end of the complex. Secondary and tertiary fall back to these positions if primary is compromised. I'll have transport on standby the entire mission, and I promise I'll get you home safe! All of you! Nobody's dying on 6O's watch!"
Despite her scattered delivery, Arthur appreciated the sentiment. "Mission duration?"
"Six hours for full sweep. Less if Rapture presence is heavier than expected." 6O pulled up additional data screens. "You'll have secure comms on channel nine. I'll provide tactical updates, environmental warnings, and moral support! Lots of moral support! It's very important for squad cohesion and—"
"We get it," Miranda said, though her tone was affectionate rather than annoyed. "You're the best operator in the Ark."
6O beamed. "I try! Oh, and you should probably hit the armory. Deployment is in ninety minutes!"
The armory assigned to Squad Seven was larger than the one Arthur had used with Squad Thirteen, suggesting either better supply allocation or simple random chance. Flower immediately moved to a rack of heavy weapons, selecting a rocket launcher with practiced efficiency. She also claimed black and gold armor plating, attaching it to her bodysuit with mechanical precision.
Ocean chose lighter equipment—black and blue kevlar armor and a compact SMG. She moved with quiet competence, checking her weapon's action and loading magazines with smooth economy of motion.
Miranda approached a secured locker that required biometric authentication. Inside was specialized equipment that made Arthur's eyebrows rise. A personal force shield generator—experimental technology, from what he'd heard—and a custom SMG that looked like it had been manufactured specifically for her. She also claimed a sidearm, holstering it with practiced ease.
"Cerberus takes care of its custom units," she said, noticing Arthur's attention. "Prototype gear, personal modifications, actual maintenance instead of minimum-standard repairs. It's one of the few advantages of being custom-built instead of mass-produced."
"The other advantage being that people actually remember you exist," Ocean added without bitterness, just stating facts.
Arthur moved to the standard weapon racks, selecting his usual sidearm and an assault rifle. This time he added a scope—without Lyra's sniper support, he'd need better range coverage. His goddesium hands manipulated the weapons easily, muscle memory from the Outer Rim combining with enhanced prosthetic feedback.
"Commander," Flower said quietly, still not quite looking at him directly. "Your hands. They're... prosthetic? Modified Nikke components?"
"Arms, legs, and parts of my skeletal structure," Arthur confirmed, loading magazines. "I had them installed in the Outer Rim before joining the Academy. Wanted to be able to fight alongside my squad instead of hiding behind them."
Miranda's perfect features showed genuine surprise. "You voluntarily underwent augmentation surgery? Do you have any idea how painful that procedure is? I remember my conversion—I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
"It hurt," Arthur admitted. "But it was worth it. Can't ask soldiers to trust a commander who won't share the risk."
Ocean studied him thoughtfully. "Most commanders see us as disposable shields. You actually want to fight beside us."
"That's the idea."
Flower finally looked up, meeting his eyes directly for the first time. "Thank you," she said simply. "For... for treating us like people. It's been a while."
Arthur felt the same protective instinct he'd developed with Squad Thirteen rising again. These three had been beaten down by a system that saw them as equipment, dehumanized by commanders who viewed them as disposable assets. Just like Scarlet, Lyra, and Nyx.
"We're soldiers," he said firmly. "All of us. We go up together, we fight together, we come back together. That's how this works."
Miranda's smile was genuine and warm, transforming her perfect features into something more human. "I think I'm going to enjoy this deployment, Commander. Let's hope you survive it so we can work together again."
"That's the plan," Arthur said, checking his chronometer. "We've got an hour before deployment. Let's run equipment checks and review the tactical map one more time. I want everyone familiar with the terrain and extraction points before we hit the surface."
They worked together efficiently, falling into the professional rhythm of soldiers preparing for combat. Arthur watched his temporary squad and felt cautiously optimistic. They weren't Squad Thirteen—he missed Scarlet's fierce protectiveness, Lyra's quiet precision, Nyx's crude honesty—but they were good soldiers who deserved respect and competent leadership.
Somewhere above them, Deputy Chief Andersen and CEO Ingrid were watching, evaluating, determining whether Arthur Cousland's success was genuine or circumstantial. Arthur didn't know about the test, didn't know his career and Squad Thirteen's future hung on this mission's outcome.
He only knew that three more Nikkes needed a commander who saw them as people, and he intended to be exactly that.