The armored transport rumbled through the tunnel back toward the Outpost, carrying seven Nikkes and one commander who'd just killed their third Tyrant-class Rapture. The atmosphere inside was charged with adrenaline-fueled relief and triumph.
Scarlet couldn't stop grinning. "Three. Three Tyrants. Do you know what that makes us?"
"Legends," Nyx supplied, cleaning hydraulic fluid from the Screamin' Eagle's barrel. "Absolute fucking legends."
"The only squad in Ark history with three confirmed Tyrant kills," Lyra added quietly, her digital eyes reviewing footage of the battle. "I've been checking the records. No other unit has more than one."
Flower and Ocean sat together near the rear, still processing. They'd gone from basic combat operations to killing a Tyrant in their first major deployment with the Monarks. The magnitude hadn't fully settled.
Arthur watched his squad with quiet satisfaction, his prosthetic fingers drumming against his thigh. They'd performed flawlessly under impossible pressure. Every one of them had earned this moment of celebration.
The transport emerged into the Outpost's arrival platform twenty minutes later. What greeted them was unexpected: the distinctive crack of gunfire echoing through the cavern, accompanied by the harsh mechanical screech of dying Raptures.
Rapi's hand went to her rifle immediately. "Contact?"
"Stand down," Arthur said, recognizing the controlled pattern of fire. "That's elimination duty on the lured Raptures. Probably one of the mass-production squads."
But as they disembarked, Arthur realized he was wrong. Four figures moved with practiced efficiency through a scattered group of Ant-class Raptures, their weapons speaking in precise bursts. These weren't mass-production Nikkes.
These were the Shepherds.
Shepard herself led the engagement, her red hair pulled back in a tactical braid, assault rifle tracking targets with fluid grace. Beside her, Ash moved in perfect synchronization, brown hair swaying as she fired controlled bursts. Zero advanced aggressively, her tattooed arms flexing as she worked her shotgun, the shaved sides of her head giving her a predatory edge. Kasumi flickered between positions like a ghost, her hooded combat suit blending with shadows as her SMG chattered.
The last Rapture fell with a metallic shriek, and Shepard turned toward the arriving Monarks. Her breathy voice carried across the platform. "Welcome back, Commander. Good timing—we just finished cleanup."
Scarlet's eyebrows rose. "The Shepherds are on elimination duty? That's usually mass-production work."
Shepard smiled, ejecting her rifle's magazine with practiced ease. "It's relaxing. Good target practice without the real danger." She reloaded smoothly. "Besides, the Outpost needed experienced hands while you were away. We volunteered."
"Beats sitting around," Ash added, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Shepard keeps us sharp."
Zero holstered her shotgun, her red lips curving into a smirk as she noticed the Monarks' condition—carbon scoring, hydraulic fluid, the unmistakable marks of heavy combat. "You lot look like you went through hell. What happened out there?"
Nyx's grin was absolutely feral. "Only killed another Tyrant, that's all."
The Shepherds stopped. Kasumi's hood turned sharply toward them. Ash's mouth fell open. Zero's expression shifted from casual interest to stunned disbelief.
Shepard's green eyes widened. "Another... another Tyrant?"
"Number three," Scarlet announced proudly, crossing her arms. "Massive drilling bastard beneath Site-17. Emerged from underground, nearly took us all out, but we put it down."
"Three," Ash repeated, her voice awed. "Three Tyrant kills. That's..."
"Unprecedented," Kasumi finished quietly, her accented voice carrying genuine respect.
Zero let out a low whistle. "Shit. And here we are shooting Ants for fun." Her gaze fixed on Arthur with new intensity, something calculating and hungry in her expression. "Commander, you're making the rest of us look bad."
Arthur shrugged, exhaustion beginning to settle into his bones. "Team effort. They did the work—I just pointed them in the right direction."
"Modest too," Zero murmured, her eyes tracking him with predatory interest. "Dangerous combination."
Shepard stepped forward, extending her hand. Arthur shook it, feeling the strength in her synthetic grip. "Congratulations, Commander. Truly. What you've built here with the Monarks... it's extraordinary."
"We're just getting started," Arthur replied. "Site-17's power core is intact. Once Centi and Liter integrate it, the Outpost will have full energy independence for nearly fifty years."
"Then this is a day worth celebrating," Shepard said warmly. "You should rest. You've earned it."
Arthur nodded, though his mind was already moving to the next task. "I need to report to Central, then I'll be back. Monarks—get cleaned up, get some food, and try not to destroy anything while I'm gone."
"No promises," Anis called out, already heading toward the barracks with Rapi.
Arthur made his way to the train platform, where the sleek AZX sat waiting. Diesel wasn't visible—probably in the crew compartment—but the officer's car door stood open, welcoming.
He climbed aboard and immediately spotted Brid at the pilot's station, her fingers moving across holographic controls with practiced efficiency. She wore her usual attire: a long blue skirt and a tight sleeveless shirt that strained dangerously across her chest, buttons holding on through sheer determination. Her short silver hair caught the cabin's soft lighting, and her blue eyes flicked toward him as he entered.
"Commander Cousland," she greeted, her voice carrying professional warmth. "Returning to the Ark?"
"Central Command," Arthur confirmed, settling into one of the plush seats. "How long until departure?"
"Two minutes. Just finishing pre-flight diagnostics." Her fingers danced across the controls. "We'll have you there in thirty minutes."
Arthur watched her work, noting the fluid precision of her movements. Something nagged at him—the efficiency was too practiced, too ingrained. "Brid, when was your last rest cycle?"
Her fingers paused fractionally. "Rest cycle?"
"Sleep. Downtime. When did you last take a break?"
Brid's expression remained professionally pleasant. "The AZX operates on a continuous schedule, Commander. Someone needs to maintain readiness for priority transport requests."
"That's not what I asked."
She hesitated, then returned her attention to the controls. "I... don't require sleep, Commander. Nikkes are designed for extended operational periods."
"How extended?"
Another pause. "I typically work twenty-three to twenty-four hours daily. Diesel and Soline rotate shifts for maintenance and passenger service, but pilot operations are my responsibility."
Arthur felt something cold settle in his chest. "Twenty-four hours a day. Every day."
"It's my purpose," Brid said quietly. "I was designed for this role. I... don't mind it."
"Designed for it doesn't mean you should be exploited for it." Arthur's voice carried an edge. "That ends now. Effective immediately, you're on an eight-hour rotation. Diesel or Soline can handle pilot duties when you're off shift."
Brid turned fully toward him, surprise breaking through her professional mask. "Commander, I... that's not necessary. The AZX requires—"
"The AZX requires a pilot who isn't running on fumes," Arthur interrupted firmly. "You're not a machine, Brid. You're a person, and people need rest. Eight hours on, sixteen hours off. Non-negotiable."
Something flickered in her blue eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or disbelief that someone cared enough to notice. "I... thank you, Commander. I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll actually take the time off," Arthur replied, his tone softening. "Do something for yourself. That's an order."
The corner of Brid's mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile. "Yes, sir."
The train departed smoothly, cutting through the tunnel toward the Ark with practiced ease. Arthur watched the reinforced walls blur past, his mind already composing the report for Andersen.
Thirty minutes later, he stood in Central Command's executive office, facing Deputy Chief Andersen across the polished desk.
"Site-17 is secured," Arthur reported. "Fusion core operational, facility structurally sound despite Tyrant emergence. I'm sending Centi and Liter to begin integration with Outpost systems."
Andersen leaned back in his chair, satisfaction evident in his expression. "And the Tyrant?"
"Dead. Designated 'Grave Digger'—specialized excavation unit designed to locate underground shelters. We neutralized it before it could fully orient on the Ark's position."
"Your third Tyrant kill," Andersen observed. "The Monarks are becoming quite the legend, Commander."
"They performed flawlessly," Arthur said simply. "Every member of the squad."
"Including the new additions? Flower and Ocean?"
"Especially them. They held their positions under impossible pressure and delivered critical fire support. They're Monarks now, no question."
Andersen nodded approvingly. "The Outpost's success continues to exceed expectations. Energy independence, defensive capabilities, and now the highest Tyrant kill count in Ark history. Well done, Commander."
"Thank you, sir."
"Go get some rest. You look like hell."
Arthur returned to the Outpost as evening settled over the underground city. The train ride back was quiet, Brid piloting with her usual skill but occasionally glancing his way with that small smile still playing at her lips.
The penthouse was dimly lit when he entered, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He'd planned to collapse into bed immediately, but movement in the shadows stopped him.
Zero stepped into the light, her tattooed arms crossed beneath her chest, red lips curved in a knowing smirk. She'd changed from combat gear into casual clothes that left little to imagination—a tight tank top and low-slung pants that showed off her toned physique.
"Commander," she purred, her voice carrying that familiar edge of challenge. "Took you long enough."
Arthur blinked, surprise cutting through his fatigue. "Zero? What are you doing here?"
"Your girls kept on bragging about your third Tyrant kill," she said, pushing off the wall and stalking toward him with predatory grace. "Got me thinking. Got me... interested." Her smirk widened. "And when I get interested, I get what I want."
"We barely know each other," Arthur pointed out, though he couldn't help noticing the way she moved.
"We know enough." Zero stopped directly in front of him, close enough that he could smell her scent—gunpowder and something floral. "You're the Commander who treats Nikkes like people. Who leads from the front. Who just killed his third fucking Tyrant." Her hand reached out, fingers tracing the edge of his uniform collar. "And I've decided I'm getting laid tonight. Question is whether you're smart enough to say yes."
Arthur felt a smile tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion. The benefits of success, indeed. "That's pretty forward."
"Life's too short for subtlety." Zero's other hand grabbed his uniform jacket, pulling him toward the bedroom with surprising strength. "Now stop talking and start moving, Commander. I didn't come here to chat."
Arthur let himself be dragged, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Zero kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, her red lips finding his with fierce intensity.
Success, he reflected dimly, definitely had its perks.