The door closed behind Shepard's squad, leaving Scarlet, Lyra, and Nyx alone in Arthur's quarters. The silence stretched for a moment before Nyx turned to Lyra with a raised eyebrow.
"You didn't deny it," Nyx said.
Lyra looked up from her datapad, confusion flickering across her delicate features. "Deny what?"
"When Zero said we were all sleeping with Arthur," Scarlet clarified, settling back onto the bed. "You didn't say no. You just said Command wouldn't approve."
Lyra's fingers stilled on the datapad. Her blue eyes—mechanical irises with targeting overlays currently inactive—flickered with something that might have been embarrassment. "I didn't think it mattered. The implication was clear enough."
"Except it's not actually all of us," Nyx pointed out, leaning against the desk. "It's Scarlet and me. You're not in that kind of relationship with Arthur."
The silence that followed was weighted, expectant. Lyra set the datapad down carefully, as if buying herself time to formulate a response. Her silver hair, usually tied back for missions, hung loose past her shoulders.
"I'm aware," Lyra said quietly.
"So why didn't you correct her?" Scarlet asked, her tone gentle rather than accusatory. "Zero assumed. You could have clarified."
Lyra stood, moving to the small window that looked out over the Ark's lower residential levels. The artificial lighting cast her profile in sharp relief—delicate features, the faint scars from hasty repairs visible on her synthetic skin.
"Because," Lyra said slowly, "I wasn't certain I *wanted* to correct her."
Nyx straightened, interest sharpening in her golden eyes. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Lyra continued, still facing the window, "that I've been questioning what I want. What I feel. Memory fragmentation makes everything complicated. I don't always know if what I'm experiencing is genuine emotion or residual programming or some echo of who I was before conversion."
Scarlet exchanged glances with Nyx, then patted the bed beside her. "Come here."
Lyra hesitated, then crossed the room and sat. Up close, the tension in her frame was obvious—shoulders tight, hands clasped in her lap.
"You want Arthur," Scarlet said simply. "Romantically. Physically. Both."
"I think so," Lyra admitted. "But I'm not certain. And I don't know if that's fair to him. To either of you. I can't even be sure my feelings are real, or if they're just... gratitude. Loyalty. Squad cohesion protocols manifesting as something deeper."
"Your feelings are real," Nyx said firmly. "Whatever else we are, whatever we've become, our emotions aren't fake. Command wants us to believe they are—that we're just machines mimicking human responses. But that's bullshit."
"Arthur sees us as people," Scarlet added. "He'd say your feelings are valid regardless of their origin. What matters is what you choose to do with them."
Lyra's laugh was soft and uncertain. "And if I choose to act on them? You're both already with him. I'd be—"
"Part of something complicated," Nyx finished. "Yeah. It's messy. But Arthur's Outer Rim. He understands survival and connection aren't always neat. And honestly? If you want him, tell him. When he gets back."
"He won't reject you," Scarlet said with certainty. "That's not who he is."
Lyra absorbed this, her expression thoughtful. "I'll consider it. Thank you."
The moment settled into comfortable silence, broken thirty minutes later by Lyra's datapad chiming with an urgent notification. She picked it up, scanned the message, and her expression shifted to concern.
"Nyx. You need to see this."
Nyx crossed the room and read over Lyra's shoulder. Her jaw tightened. "Fuck."
"What?" Scarlet demanded.
"Summons," Nyx said flatly. "Missilis Industries headquarters. CEO Syuen wants to see me personally. Two hours."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Scarlet stood immediately. "Syuen? She never personally summons mass-produced units. And when she does acknowledge Nikkes at all, she calls them—"
"Buckets of bolts," Nyx finished bitterly. "Yeah. I'm aware. I was manufactured by Missilis. I know exactly how she treats us."
"This could be bad," Lyra said quietly. "The Monarks' success has been highly visible. Tyrant-class kill, multiple high-risk missions. If Syuen sees you as a liability—"
"She could recall me for 'defects,'" Nyx said. "Decommission me. Or reassign me somewhere Arthur can't intervene." She straightened, forcing her shoulders back. "But I don't have a choice. Refusing a direct summons from my manufacturer's CEO would be grounds for immediate termination."
Scarlet grabbed Nyx's arm. "We'll come with you."
"No," Nyx said firmly. "You're Elysion products. Missilis territory, Missilis rules. You'd just make it worse." She managed a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "Besides. If she's going to scrap me, I'd rather you two weren't there to watch."
"Don't joke about that," Lyra said sharply.
"Who's joking?" Nyx pulled free gently and headed for the door. "If I'm not back in six hours, tell Arthur what happened. He'll raise hell with Deputy Chief Andersen."
The door closed behind her, leaving Scarlet and Lyra staring at each other in worried silence.
***
Missilis Industries headquarters occupied the Ark's industrial sector, a gleaming complex of steel and glass that projected wealth and power. Nyx passed through security checkpoints, each scanner cataloging her serial number, manufacturing date, and current assignment. The receptionist—human, naturally—barely looked at her.
"Sublevel three," the woman said. "Executive suite. Don't keep CEO Syuen waiting."
Nyx descended, her synthetic heart—unnecessary for function but included for psychological comfort—beating faster than tactical situations warranted. The executive suite's doors opened automatically, revealing an opulent office that contrasted sharply with Arthur's Spartan quarters.
Syuen sat behind a massive desk, her posture radiating authority and barely concealed disdain. She was young, brilliant, and notoriously volatile. Her gaze swept over Nyx with the clinical assessment of someone evaluating defective merchandise.
"Soldier EG," Syuen said flatly. "You're late."
"I'm three minutes early," Nyx replied, keeping her voice neutral.
"Then you should have been earlier." Syuen gestured impatiently. "Sit."
Nyx sat in the chair across from the desk, hyper-aware of her worn combat gear compared to Syuen's pristine business attire.
"You're probably wondering why I summoned you," Syuen continued. "A mass-produced, defective unit who was supposed to be cycled into low-priority assignments until eventual decommission."
"The thought occurred to me," Nyx said carefully.
Syuen's smile was sharp and utterly without warmth. "Your squad killed a Tyrant-class Rapture. The Reaper, specifically. Do you understand how rare that is? How much attention it's generated?"
"I'm aware."
"Commander Cousland's methods are being discussed at the highest levels," Syuen said. "The Monarks are becoming famous. And you, rusted bucket of bolts that you are, are part of that fame." She leaned forward. "Which presents Missilis Industries with an opportunity."
Nyx waited, tension coiling through her frame.
"Public perception matters," Syuen continued. "Elysion has Scarlet and Lyra getting recognition. Cerberus has their precious Shepard. Missilis needs representation in your little revolution." She gestured dismissively. "That means you."
"I don't understand," Nyx admitted.
"I'm upgrading you," Syuen said bluntly. "Full reconstruction. Enhanced combat systems, improved durability, upgraded neural processing. When I'm done, your specifications will match custom-built models. You'll be a showcase for Missilis engineering."
Nyx stared. "You're... upgrading me? Why?"
"Because you're useful," Syuen said coldly. "The Monarks' popularity benefits Missilis if we can claim credit for your success. A mass-produced unit performing at custom levels reflects well on our base manufacturing quality." Her smile turned cruel. "Of course, you don't actually have a choice. Refusing would be breach of contract. You'd be decommissioned and replaced."
"When?" Nyx asked.
"Now." Syuen pressed a button on her desk. "Medical team is waiting. You'll be in reconstruction for four hours. Don't worry—your precious Commander Cousland will get his heavy weapons specialist back. Just improved."
Nyx stood as technicians entered. "And the cost?"
"Your continued loyalty to Missilis branding," Syuen said. "You'll mention in any interviews or reports that your upgrades came from Missilis Industries. That your effectiveness is due to our superior engineering." She waved dismissively. "Now go. I have actual important work to attend to."
Nyx followed the technicians to the medical bay, her mind racing. Upgrades were supposed to be rewards for custom Nikkes, not mass-produced units. But Syuen's logic was sound—if brutal. The Monarks' fame was marketable, and Missilis wanted their share.
"Strip and lie down," the lead technician said, gesturing to the reconstruction table. "This will take several hours. CEO Syuen authorized full-spectrum enhancement. You're lucky."
Lucky, Nyx thought as the anesthesia protocols engaged. If this was luck, it came with a leash attached.
***
Arthur returned to the Ark six hours later, driving his old mercenary vehicle through the Outer Rim checkpoint into the proper residential sectors. Two weeks with Moran had been necessary—reconnecting, reaffirming their relationship despite the complications of his new life. But he'd missed his squad, missed the clarity of purpose they represented.
He parked in the lower-level garage and took the elevator to his quarters, expecting to find them waiting. The door opened to reveal Scarlet and Lyra, both looking tense.
"Where's Nyx?" Arthur asked immediately.
"Missilis headquarters," Scarlet said, standing to embrace him briefly. "Syuen summoned her eight hours ago. She hasn't come back."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Syuen? That's—"
"Bad," Lyra finished. "We know. But there was nothing we could do. Refusing would have been grounds for termination."
Arthur crossed to his desk, pulling up his datapad to check for messages. Nothing from Nyx. Nothing from Missilis. He was reaching for his comm to contact Deputy Chief Andersen when the door opened.
Nyx entered, and Arthur's prosthetic hand froze mid-motion.
She looked... different. Her dark purple hair was the same, cut short and practical. Her golden eyes were unchanged. But her frame—her entire physical presence—had shifted. The reinforcement plating on her arms and legs was sleeker, more refined. Her bronze-toned synthetic skin had a polished quality it hadn't possessed before. And her proportions had changed in ways that were immediately, obviously noticeable.
Particularly in the chest area.
"Nyx," Scarlet said slowly. "What happened?"
"Upgrades," Nyx said, her voice carrying a mix of satisfaction and bitterness. "Full reconstruction. Syuen wants to use the Monarks' popularity to boost Missilis branding. I'm now a showcase model."
Lyra stood, circling Nyx with professional assessment. "Your specifications?"
"Match custom-built standards," Nyx confirmed. "Enhanced strength, improved durability, upgraded neural processing. I'm probably twice as effective as I was yesterday."
"That's incredible," Lyra said quietly. "Mass-produced units never get those kinds of upgrades."
"Unless they're useful for marketing," Nyx said. "Syuen made it clear. I'm a walking advertisement now. And I didn't have a choice."
Arthur finally found his voice, moving closer to study her with genuine curiosity and a hint of amusement. "So," he said, his grin turning mischievous. "The breast expansion was your only upgrade? Or is there more?"
Nyx's golden eyes narrowed, but her lips curved into a matching grin. "Syuen said it was for 'aesthetic optimization and psychological impact.' Apparently custom models have more generous proportions, and she wanted me to match."
"I wasn't complaining," Arthur said, his tone teasing. "Just curious about the full specification list."
"Combat efficiency increased by forty percent," Nyx recited. "Reaction time improved by twenty-five percent. Structural integrity enhanced to withstand direct hits from soldier-class Raptures without significant damage. Neural processing upgraded to reduce targeting calculation time."
"And?" Arthur prompted.
"And yes," Nyx said dryly. "Cup size increased by two sizes because Syuen thinks it makes me more visually impressive. Happy?"
"I'm happy you're back safely," Arthur said seriously, the teasing fading. "I'm less happy that Syuen treated you like a marketing tool."
"She treated me like what I am," Nyx said. "A product. An asset. This is the world we live in."
"For now," Arthur said quietly. "But not forever."
Scarlet moved to Nyx's side, examining the upgraded plating with professional interest. "You're faster now. Stronger. This changes our tactical options."
"It does," Nyx agreed. "But it also means Missilis owns me more completely than before. I'm their investment now. Their showcase. If the Monarks fail, if Arthur's methods prove ineffective, Syuen will recall me and probably scrap me for parts."
"Then we don't fail," Arthur said simply. "We keep doing what we've been doing. Succeeding. Surviving. Proving that treating Nikkes as soldiers instead of equipment works."
Lyra spoke quietly. "The stakes just got higher. If Missilis is willing to invest this much in Nyx, other companies will follow. More attention. More scrutiny. More political pressure."
"Good," Arthur said. "Let them watch. Let them see what's possible when you stop treating people like disposable machines."
Nyx crossed to Arthur, her upgraded frame moving with fluid precision that spoke to her enhanced specifications. She stopped close enough that he could see the refined details of her reconstruction—the seamless integration of plating, the improved articulation of her joints.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For coming back. For not giving up on us."
"Never," Arthur promised. "You're my squad. My people. That doesn't change, regardless of who upgrades what."
Nyx kissed him then, brief and fierce, before pulling back with a grin. "Though I have to admit, Syuen's aesthetic optimization does have certain advantages."
"I noticed," Arthur said dryly.
Scarlet groaned. "We're going to have to recalibrate all your armor, aren't we?"
"Probably," Nyx admitted cheerfully. "But look at the bright side. We're now a squad with a mass-produced unit performing at custom-model levels. That's going to turn heads in Central Command."
"And make enemies," Lyra warned.
"We already have enemies," Arthur pointed out. "What's a few more?"
The question hung in the air, prophetic and ominous. Outside, the Ark's artificial lights continued their programmed cycles, simulating day and night in the underground city. Somewhere in the command levels, officials were already discussing the implications of Nyx's upgrades. And in the deeper shadows, those who opposed change were planning their responses.
But in Arthur's quarters, the Monarks stood together—upgraded, unified, and ready for whatever came next.