The silence in the penthouse was heavy, not with tension, but with the sudden vacuum of energy left by Anis's departure. The yellow-jacketed Defender had practically dragged Rapi out the door, muttering something about finding a secret stash of pre-war soda in the sub-levels or, failing that, a vending machine that didn't dispense motor oil. Rapi had gone willingly enough, likely viewing a perimeter patrol of the residential block as a necessary tactical sweep rather than a snack run.
Arthur sat behind the sleek black glass of the command desk, the holographic display of the Outpost's logistical nightmare hovering before him. He swiped away a notification about a critical shortage of structural rebar in Sector 4 and rubbed his temples. The silence didn't last long.
A shadow fell across the desk, blocking the ambient glow of the artificial twilight outside. It was a large shadow.
Arthur looked up to see Nyx standing there. The new Generation-3 body Missilis had forced upon her was a marvel of engineering, even if the politics behind it were rotten. She was taller, broader in the shoulders, her bronze synthetic skin humming with an internal power source that felt distinct from the standard Nikke core. But it was the look in her golden eyes that made Arthur pause—a predatory, smoldering confidence that had replaced her old street-ganger bravado.
"Paperwork already, Boss?" Nyx purred, leaning over the desk. The movement was deliberate, showcasing the exaggerated engineering of her new chassis. "We haven't even christened the place yet."
Arthur leaned back, the goddesium joints of his chair creaking softly. "Someone has to make sure the lights stay on, Nyx. We're running on emergency generators and goodwill."
"The lights are on," she countered, rounding the desk with a prowling grace that shouldn't have been possible for someone carrying that much mass. She reached out, her fingers—warm, heavy, and incredibly strong—hooking into the collar of his uniform. "But maybe they're a little too bright."
With a casual flick of her wrist, she swiveled his chair around. Before Arthur could protest, Nyx straddled his lap, the desk creaking in protest under their combined weight. She felt solid, like a statue heated by the sun, her weight grounding him in a way the logistical reports never could.
"Nyx," Arthur breathed, his hands instinctively finding purchase on her waist. The material of her bodysuit was smooth, but beneath it, he could feel the terrifying density of her new musculature. "If Rapi comes back..."
"Rapi is busy counting dust motes with Anis," Nyx murmured, leaning down until her forehead rested against his. Her breath smelled faintly of ozone and mint. "And I've spent too much time in a Missilis lab being poked, prodded, and calibrated by techs who looked at me like a science experiment. I need to remember what it feels like to be touched by a human."
She didn't wait for permission. She crashed her lips against his, hungry and demanding. It wasn't gentle. Nyx had always been physical, but the upgrade had dialed everything up. Her tongue swept into his mouth, tasting him, claiming him. Arthur responded in kind, his own reserve melting away under her heat. His hands slid up her back, tracing the new seams of her plating, feeling the hum of the goddesium in his own arms resonate with her frame.
She groaned low in her throat, a sound that vibrated through his chest, and ground her hips against him. The friction was electric. Arthur's prosthetic fingers tangled in her purple hair, pulling her closer, while her hands roamed over his chest, gripping his uniform as if she wanted to tear it off to get to the scars beneath.
"You feel good," she whispered against his lips, nipping at his lower lip. "Better than the simulations. You missed me, didn't you? Adimit it."
"I missed the quiet," Arthur joked breathlessly, earning a playful bite on his neck.
"Liar," she growled, her hand sliding down his chest toward his belt. "You missed the noise. You missed the chaos. You missed *me*."
They were lost in the sensation, a tangle of limbs and heat, the cold reality of the Outpost fading into the background. Arthur's hand had just slid down to the curve of her hip, testing the new geometry of her upgrades, when a soft, cheerful chime echoed through the penthouse.
The elevator.
Nyx froze, her hand halfway down his torso. She pulled back just an inch, her golden eyes narrowing at the silver doors across the room. "If that's Anis coming back because she forgot her wallet, I'm going to shoot her with the Screamin' Eagle."
Arthur gently patted her thigh, signaling her to move, though he made no move to push her off. "Tactical pause, Nyx."
"Tactical buzzkill," she muttered, though she reluctantly slid off his lap, smoothing down her suit and standing tall beside the desk, crossing her arms in an attempt to look like a bodyguard rather than a lover.
The elevator doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
Arthur stood up, straightening his uniform, preparing to scold Anis. But the words died in his throat.
It wasn't Anis.
Two figures stepped out into the penthouse. The first was unmistakable: Scarlet. The combat specialist looked… cleaner. Her white and red outfit had been repaired, the fabric crisp and new. The new upgraded SMG was slung on her back. Her crimson eyes scanned the room with a lazy sharpness, landing on Arthur with a warmth that rivaled the sun.
But it was the second figure that made Arthur's jaw drop, and beside him, he heard Nyx let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-scoff.
Lyra.
The sniper had always been the smallest of the Monarks, petite and slender, designed for stealth and low-profile reconnaissance. Elysion had taken her back to address "performance gaps" and "recoil management issues" with the high-caliber rifles she favored.
Apparently, Elysion's solution to recoil management was mass.
Lyra stepped forward tentatively, her silver ponytail swaying. She wore a sleek, form-fitting bodysuit in Elysion's signature tactical dark blue and black, but the fit was drastically different from her old gear. Her chest had expanded significantly, rivaling, if not matching, Nyx's new heavy-weapons frame. The armor plating around her hips and thighs was thicker, curvier, designed to anchor her against the kick of an anti-material rifle, but the aesthetic result was undeniable.
She looked like a pin-up model drafted into special forces.
"Commander?" Lyra's voice was soft, laced with a new shyness as she saw him staring. She fidgeted with the hem of her short jacket, her blue digital eyes darting between Arthur and Nyx. "We… we were told to report to this location. Is… is everything okay? You look flushed."
Scarlet laughed, a bright, melodic sound, and strutted forward. She ignored the tension and wrapped Arthur in a tight embrace, burying her face in his neck. She smelled of cherry blossoms and high-grade coolant.
"My Commander," Scarlet murmured, pulling back to cup his face. "You have no idea how boring the repair bay is. It was torture."
Arthur smiled, the genuine affection welling up. "Good to have you back, Scarlet. You look sharp."
"I feel synthetic," she complained lightly, stepping back and tapping her chest. "Ingrid insisted on reinforcing my core processing unit. I think I can calculate wind trajectory to the fourth decimal now. Effective for survival, I suppose."
Then, Arthur turned his attention to Lyra. The sniper was standing a few feet away, her posture rigid. She saw Nyx glaring at her chest with a look of comical disbelief.
"Lyra," Arthur said gently, stepping toward her. "You made it."
Lyra took a deep breath, seemingly steeling herself. She took two bold steps forward, closing the distance, and looked up at him. The shyness in her eyes warred with a newfound determination. During her time in the tank, amidst the fragmented memories and the code restructuring, she had made a choice. She wasn't just a defective sniper anymore. She was a Monark.
She grabbed Arthur's hand and pressed it against her side, right where the new armor plating curved along her ribs.
"My diagnostics are green, Arthur," she said, her voice trembling slightly but holding firm. She dropped the formal title. "Elysion… they upgraded my chassis density. For stability. They said I needed to be… more substantial."
Nyx snorted loudly. "Substantial? Honey, they bolted two warheads to your chest. I thought I was the heavy weapons specialist."
Lyra flushed a deep violet, but she didn't back down. She shot a glare at Nyx—a look of rivalry that hadn't been there before. "It optimizes my center of gravity, Nyx. And… I thought the Commander might appreciate the structural improvements."
She looked back at Arthur, biting her lip, waiting for his verdict.
Arthur squeezed her hand, pulling her into a hug. She felt different—softer in places, harder in others, but undeniably Lyra. "You look incredible, Lyra. And strong. We're going to need that strength."
Lyra melted against him, letting out a breath she seemed to have been holding since she left for the Elysion HQ. "I missed you," she whispered into his chest. "I was afraid I'd forget… again. But I didn't. I kept your face in my cache the whole time."
"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur promised.
"Alright, alright, break it up before we start crying," Nyx interrupted, though her tone was devoid of actual malice. She walked over and poked Lyra's new armor. "Seriously though, silver-top. Not bad. Maybe you won't get blown away by a gust of wind now."
"I can handle the kick of a 20mm railgun now," Lyra said, puffing out her chest slightly. "Try to keep up."
Scarlet drifted toward the kitchen area, opening cabinets with the desperation of a thirsty woman. "This is all very touching, really girls, but please tell me this luxury suite comes with a liquor cabinet. The train ride was too dry, and the conductor, while sweet, only had candy."
"Bottom shelf, left side," Arthur called out. "But save some for later. We have a briefing."
Scarlet found a bottle of whiskey, her eyes lighting up like crimson stars. "Nice."
Arthur gathered them in the center of the room, near the sunken living area. Nyx sat on the arm of the couch, Scarlet perched on the coffee table with her prize, and Lyra stood close to Arthur, as if afraid to lose contact.
"So," Arthur began, his voice taking on the command tone, though softened by the intimacy of the room. "Here is the situation. We are in the Outpost. It's a mess. The garrison is demoralized, the infrastructure is crumbling, and the defenses are practically non-existent. We are thirty kilometers from the Ark, which means we are the first line of defense against anything that comes from the surface."
"Sounds like a suicide mission," Scarlet noted cheerfully, uncorking the bottle. "My favorite."
"It's an opportunity," Arthur corrected. "This is sovereign territory. Or close enough. Andersen gave us autonomy. We build this place up, we make it a sanctuary, and we run it our way. No Hawthorne breathing down our necks. No Central Government discrimination."
He looked at each of them. "But to do that, we need a full squad. A real squad."
He paused. "Rapi and Anis are here. They aren't just temporary attachments anymore. Andersen signed the transfer orders this morning. They are Monarks."
Lyra's eyes widened. "Permanently? Rapi and Anis?"
"Yes," Arthur said. "They're out on patrol right now. Rapi is scanning the perimeter, and Anis is... providing moral support."
"Anis is a good soul," Scarlet mused, taking a swig. "She complains with the passion of a poet. I like her. And Rapi... She is sharp, disciplined."
"She's a tight-ass," Nyx corrected, grinning. "But she's got my back. And yours. If they're Monarks, they're family. That's the rule, right Boss?"
"That's the rule," Arthur confirmed. "We treat them like we treat each other. No secrets. No expendable assets. We protect our own."
He walked over to the window, looking out at the dark expanse of the Outpost cavern. The few lights from the construction crews twinkled below. He felt the weight of his goddesium arms, the cold metal a reminder of what he had lost, and looked back at the three women—Nikkes, weapons, lovers—who were his reason for fighting.
"We have a lot of work to do," Arthur said, turning back to them. "Tomorrow, we start drilling the garrison. We need to clear the sublevels of any lingering Raptures. We need to fix the power grid. But tonight..."
He looked at Scarlet, nursing her whiskey. At Nyx, stretching her powerful limbs. At Lyra, watching him with adoring eyes.
"Tonight, we celebrate being whole again."
Nyx stood up, walking over to Lyra and wrapping an arm around the sniper's shoulders, pulling her into a side-hug that squished Lyra's new assets. "Hear that, Lyra? Whole again. Which means you can tell me all about what kind of dirty upgrades you installed to impress the Commander."
"I did no such thing!" Lyra squeaked, though she didn't pull away.
Scarlet raised her bottle in a toast. "To the Monarks. And to the Outpost. May it stand longer than my sobriety."
Arthur laughed, the sound echoing in the glass tower. For the first time in months, despite the looming threats of Tyrants and political backstabbing, he felt something akin to peace.
"To the Monarks," Arthur echoed.
The elevator chimed again. This time, the doors opened to reveal Anis, holding a crate of dusty soda cans like a treasure chest, with Rapi trailing behind her, looking exasperated.
"You will not believe what I found in the maintenance closet of Sector B!" Anis shouted, marching in. She stopped, blinking as she saw Scarlet and Lyra. Her eyes dropped to Lyra's chest, then to her own, then back to Lyra's.
"Okay," Anis said flatly. "What the hell are they feeding you people at Elysion? I demand a transfer."
The room erupted in laughter, the sound chasing away the shadows of the underground.