The morning sun—or what passed for it in the Outpost's illumination system—filtered through the skylight panels as Arthur made his way through the residential district. His prosthetics moved with perfect fluidity after Mary's repairs, each step precise and responsive. The settlement bustled with early activity: Nikkes heading to patrol assignments, civilians opening shops.
Arthur's path took him past the Bibliothèque Cousland, the library that had become one of the Outpost's cultural cornerstones. On impulse, he pushed through the ornate doors into the quiet interior.
The scent of old books and preserved paper greeted him immediately. Rows of salvaged volumes lined the shelves, organized with meticulous care. At the central desk sat Phantom, the library's curator and perhaps its most elegant resident.
She looked up from her work, heterochromic eyes—blue right, yellow left—fixing on him with recognition. Her white hair cascaded over the shoulders of her grey and purple suit, the white shirt underneath crisp and formal. The grey skirt revealed more than it concealed, though white leggings covered her long legs to her black and purple shoes. A small hat perched at an angle on her head, adding to her sophisticated appearance.
"Monsieur Cousland," Phantom greeted, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the Commander's visit? Surely not overdue books—you have no outstanding loans."
Arthur approached the desk, allowing himself a smile. "Maybe I just wanted to see the most beautiful curator in the Outpost."
"The *only* curator in the Outpost," Phantom corrected, though color touched her cheeks. "Your flattery is noted, Monsieur. And transparent."
"Transparent doesn't make it less true." Arthur leaned against the desk, noting how Phantom's gaze tracked the movement. "How's the collection growing?"
"Substantially. The recent salvage operations recovered several boxes of pre-war literature—including, surprisingly, a complete set of romantic poetry from the twentieth century." Her smile turned playful. "Perhaps I should reserve a volume for you? It might improve your technique."
"My technique seems to be working just fine."
"Is that so?" Phantom stood, moving around the desk with grace that made Arthur's pulse quicken despite himself. She stopped close enough that he caught her subtle scent—paper and jasmine. "You are bold, Monsieur. But boldness without substance is merely noise."
"Then let me prove there's substance behind it." Arthur met her heterochromic gaze directly. "Have dinner with me. Not as Commander and curator, but as two people who enjoy each other's company."
Phantom studied him for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. Then she smiled, genuine warmth breaking through her teasing facade. "Perhaps, Monsieur. When your schedule permits something beyond missions and political maneuvering. I prefer my dinner companions present in body *and* mind."
"Fair enough."
A frustrated sound from deeper in the library interrupted the moment. Arthur glanced past Phantom to see a small figure hunched over a table, surrounded by papers and books.
The girl couldn't have appeared older than twelve—silver hair visible beneath a hood with cat ears sewn onto it, small hands gripping a pencil with visible frustration as she stared at what looked like mathematics homework.
Arthur's chest tightened painfully. A child. They'd made a *child* into a Nikke. Which meant unless they could somehow transfer her brain to an older body as she would have grown—a procedure that remained theoretical at best—she would never experience adolescence, never become an adult. Frozen at twelve forever.
The injustice of it threatened to choke him.
"Excuse me," Arthur said quietly to Phantom, then walked toward the girl's table.
She looked up as he approached, cat-ear hood shifting with the movement. Her eyes were bright amber, currently filled with mathematical frustration.
"Having trouble?" Arthur asked gently.
The girl's expression cycled through surprise, recognition, and embarrassment in rapid succession. "Commander Cousland! I—I'm fine, just—" She glanced at her homework. "Math is hard."
Arthur pulled out the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit? I'm pretty good with math."
"Really?" Hope sparked in her amber eyes. "The equations don't make sense. Miss Phantom helped earlier, but I still don't understand."
"Let's see what we're working with." Arthur examined the worksheet—algebra, relatively simple equations that should have been straightforward. "What's your name?"
"Anne," the girl said shyly. "I've been here three weeks. The Outpost is nice—everyone's really kind."
"I'm glad you think so, Anne." Arthur pointed to the first equation. "Okay, let's break this down. See how X is on both sides? We need to get all the X terms on one side and all the numbers on the other..."
The next twenty minutes passed quickly, Arthur patiently explaining concepts until understanding dawned in Anne's eyes. She worked through the problems with increasing confidence, occasionally asking clarifying questions that Arthur answered without condescension.
"I get it now!" Anne exclaimed finally, solving the last equation correctly. "Thank you, Commander!"
"You're welcome. And Anne?" Arthur met her gaze seriously. "If you ever need help again—with homework or anything else—you can always find me. That's a promise."
The girl's smile was radiant. "Really? That's so cool! Wait until I tell the others that the Commander helped me with math!"
Arthur stood, ruffling her cat-ear hood gently. "Good luck with the rest of your studies."
Phantom watched him return to the desk, something soft in her expression. "That was kind, Monsieur."
"She deserved the help." Arthur's voice was rough. "They all do."
"Which is why you built this place." Phantom reached out, touching his prosthetic hand briefly. "Your substance shows in more than words, Commander. Remember—dinner, when you have time. I find myself curious about the man behind the legend."
Arthur left the library feeling both lighter and heavier, the weight of responsibility mixed with satisfaction at small kindnesses offered.
The AZX train carried him to the Ark an hour later, the familiar journey passing in contemplation. His destination was Cerberus headquarters—and Jack Harper's long-standing offer of upgrades.
Cerberus occupied a prime section of the Ark's corporate district, all sleek design and cutting-edge technology. Harper's office commanded an impressive view of the underground city, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the residential sectors far below.
"Commander Cousland." Harper stood from his desk as Arthur entered, hand extended. The CEO of Cerberus was tall, well-built, with sharp features and sharper eyes. "I was pleased to receive your message. Ready to accept my offer?"
"Depends on what you're offering." Arthur shook his hand firmly. "The encounter with Chatterbox proved my limitations. If I'm going to keep my people safe, I need every advantage."
"Smart man." Harper gestured to a side door. "My personal fabrication lab. We've made significant advances since we last spoke—some of which I think will interest you greatly."
The lab was impressive, filled with advanced manufacturing equipment and prototype components. A medical chair dominated the center, surrounded by surgical equipment that would have looked at home in Mary's repair bay.
"First," Harper said, moving to a display case, "I want to install an Omni-Tool in your right forearm. It's Cerberus's latest personal fabrication technology—capable of forming tools, and interfaces on demand using programmable matter."
He activated a holographic display showing a sleek device integrated into a prosthetic arm. "Included is an Omni-Blade—a silicon-carbide weapon that can cut through most armor. Perfect for close combat when firearms aren't an option."
"I like it," Arthur said honestly. "What else?"
"Omni-Gel." Harper produced a small vial of silvery liquid. "Experimental medical technology. When applied to wounds, it accelerates healing dramatically—even in Nikke synthetic tissue. I'm installing a reservoir in your left forearm with controlled delivery."
Arthur studied the vial. "Side effects?"
"None that we've observed in testing. It's stable, effective, and could save your life." Harper set the vial aside. "Now, you mentioned needing a weapon with serious stopping power?"
He moved to another case, revealing a brutal-looking assault rifle. "M-99 Saber. Semi-automatic, incredible stopping power per shot. Uses armor-piercing rounds designed to punch through Rapture plating. Against something with regenerative capabilities like your Chatterbox, sustained fire from this will overwhelm healing factors through sheer damage output."
Arthur picked up the weapon, feeling its substantial weight. The balance was perfect, the design clearly meant for someone with enhanced strength. "This will work."
"I thought you'd approve." Harper's smile widened. "And regarding upgrades for your Monarks—I'm prepared to offer top-tier equipment for your entire squad. But I have one condition."
The side door opened, and Arthur's attention shifted immediately.
Miranda entered with confident grace, her perfect form displayed in a skintight black and white bodysuit that left little to imagination. Dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a face of striking beauty. Blue eyes found Arthur with recognition and something warmer.
"Commander," Miranda said, her smile slightly mischievous. "It's been a while."
Arthur remembered her clearly—Squad Seven, a single mission before the Monarks formed. Miranda, Flower, and Ocean under his command, clearing a fortified Rapture position. Professional, lethal, and remarkably competent. They'd worked together seamlessly.
"Miranda." Arthur returned her smile. "You're looking well."
"I keep myself in optimal condition." She moved closer, stopping beside Harper. "I hear your Monarks have become quite legendary. Three Tyrant kills, political victories, and you've built an entire city-state. Impressive."
Harper's expression turned calculating. "Here's my condition, Cousland. I'll provide upgraded weapons for all your Monarks—custom equipment designed for their specific combat roles. But in exchange, Miranda joins your squad. You have Elysion Nikkes, Tetra Nikkes, even Missilis Nikkes. But no Cerberus representation."
Miranda's smile turned decidedly cheeky. "I told you, Commander. Keep being impressive and I'd follow you home. I keep my promises."
Arthur looked between Harper and Miranda, considering. The strategic value was obvious—upgraded equipment would enhance his squad's effectiveness dramatically. And Miranda herself was a significant asset: skilled, experienced, and already familiar with his command style. More than that, she already had established rapport with Flower and Ocean.
Eight Nikkes. The squad would be massive by standard military metrics.
But the Monarks had never been standard.
"Welcome to the Monarks, Miranda," Arthur said, extending his prosthetic hand.
Miranda took it, her grip firm and warm. "Looking forward to working with you again, Commander. I promise I'll be worth the investment."
Harper's satisfaction was evident. "Excellent. Let's get you upgraded, Cousland. We have a lot of work to do."