The elevator cage rumbled as hydraulics engaged, hauling the platform toward the surface through reinforced shafts carved deep into bedrock. Arthur stood near the rear wall, watching Squad Matis arrange themselves with practiced ease. Maxwell checked ammunition distribution while Laplace bounced on her heels with barely contained energy.
"Oh! Oh!" Laplace suddenly fumbled with a tablet, nearly dropping her oversized energy weapon in the process. "Commander, you have to see this again!"
She thrust the screen toward Arthur, displaying shaky combat footage—the plaza encounter with Chatterbox. The angle suggested it came from Mihara or Yuni's tactical feeds. Arthur watched his past self shove a grenade into the Tyrant's maw, then drive it deeper with a goddesium-enhanced punch.
"Look at that form!" Laplace gushed. "The timing! The courage! That's what real heroism looks like!"
"Adequate use of explosives," Drake observed from her position near the controls, red eyes gleaming with approval. "Though a villain would have used three grenades. And possibly a proximity mine."
"You can't fit three grenades in something's mouth!"
"Not with that attitude."
Maxwell moved closer to Arthur, ostensibly to view the footage over his shoulder. Her proximity suggested other motivations. When the punch connected and Chatterbox staggered backward, she inhaled sharply.
"That was..." She paused, eyes meeting Arthur's. A faint flush colored her cheeks. "Very impressive, Commander."
The way she said it carried layers beyond professional admiration. Arthur recognized the look—he'd seen variations in the Outpost lately, that particular blend of attraction and respect that his newfound fatherhood seemed to amplify.
"Desperation makes people do reckless things," Arthur said diplomatically. He gestured toward the squad. "Who's your operator for this mission?"
The question produced an awkward silence. Laplace and Drake exchanged glances. Maxwell's expression shifted to something between resignation and defiance.
"We don't have one," she said finally.
"What?"
"Squad Matis operates independently!" Laplace declared, puffing her chest out. "Heroes don't need support! We rely on courage and—"
"Villains require no oversight," Drake interrupted. "We work alone, accountable to no one but our nefarious ambitions."
Maxwell shot them both a quelling look before addressing Arthur properly. "The truth is, Syuen wants this mission completed with minimal outside assistance. Matis solving the disappearances reflects well on Missilis, especially if we do it without relying on Central Command resources."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "She's using a crisis as a marketing opportunity."
"Yes." Maxwell's tone carried bitter acceptance. "If the Central Government hadn't mandated commander supervision for all surface operations, you wouldn't be here either. Syuen made that very clear during our briefing."
"How do you normally coordinate without tactical overview?"
"Drake handles detection and threat assessment," Maxwell explained. "Her sensor suite is extremely sophisticated. Between her scanning capabilities and our combat experience, we manage."
Drake straightened, preening slightly. "My detection abilities are unparalleled. No Rapture escapes my villainous awareness."
"You can do more than just detect things," Laplace protested.
"Obviously. I am a multifaceted villain with numerous—"
"Battery concerns," Maxwell interrupted firmly. She focused on Drake with the patience of someone who'd had this conversation many times. "Remember?"
Drake deflated slightly. "Battery concerns," she muttered.
Arthur frowned. "Power drain?"
"Drake's sensor suite draws significant energy," Maxwell confirmed. "As do some of Matis's other proprietary technologies. Extended missions require careful power management. We all need to monitor our reserves closely." She raised her voice. "Which means checking your battery levels regularly. Both of you."
"Acknowledged!" Laplace saluted enthusiastically.
"Villains don't acknowledge orders," Drake said. "We simply happen to align our actions with stated objectives when convenient."
The elevator shuddered as it approached the final shaft segment. Natural light filtered down from above, growing stronger with each passing meter. The atmosphere shifted—less recycled air, more dust, the faint ozone tang that meant open sky and radiation.
"Surface approach," the automated system announced. "Deployment in thirty seconds."
Laplace immediately surged toward the front of the platform. "Vanguard position is mine!"
"Wrong!" Drake sprinted forward, black bodysuit a blur. "The villain always enters first! It's dramatically appropriate!"
"Heroes lead the charge!"
"Villains strike from the shadows of the vanguard!"
They jostled for position like competitive siblings, weapons clattering as they pushed against each other. Maxwell pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something that sounded like a prayer for patience.
"Laplace! Drake! Battery management! Stay in formation!" She took off after them, armored legs carrying her forward with surprising speed. "I swear, if you two drain your reserves in the first engagement—"
The elevator breached the surface with a pneumatic hiss. Wasteland stretched in every direction—gray dust, skeletal buildings, the perpetual overcast that defined the world above. Arthur followed Squad Matis onto solid ground, M-99 Saber rifle sliding smoothly into his hands.
The attack came within minutes.
Raptures swarmed from ruins to the east—standard Ant-types moving in coordinated patterns, their insectoid forms skittering across rubble with mechanical precision. Behind them, quadrupedal Moon Eyes took elevated positions, rocket pods swiveling to acquire targets.
"Contact!" Drake's sensors flared with crimson light. "Twenty-four Ant-types, six Moon Eyes, one Master-class at grid reference—"
A Rapture twice the height of its lesser cousins emerged from a collapsed storefront, particle weapons charging with building violet luminescence.
"There!" Laplace leveled her energy weapon, grinning fiercely. "For justice!"
"For villainy!" Drake's rifle barked, precision shots taking a Moon Eye's forward legs out from under it.
Maxwell moved with practiced efficiency, her own weapon tracking targets with calculated discipline. "Suppressive fire! Don't let them flank!"
Squad Matis flowed into combat like they'd been doing this for years—because they had. Laplace's energy weapon discharged massive bolts that detonated among clustered Ant-types, scattering formations. Drake's shots found weak points with surgical accuracy, crippling mobility systems and sensor arrays. Maxwell held the center, her fire discipline creating kill zones that funneled Raptures into overlapping fields.
Arthur took position on their flank, the M-99 Saber bucking against his shoulder with satisfying recoil. The Cerberus rifle lived up to its reputation—high-caliber rounds punched through Rapture armor like tissue paper, dropping Ant-types with single shots. His goddesium arms absorbed the kickback effortlessly, letting him maintain accuracy even on full automatic.
A Moon Eye swiveled toward Maxwell, rockets priming. Arthur put three rounds through its targeting array before it could fire. The Rapture staggered, trying to compensate, but Laplace's energy blast vaporized it entirely.
"Nice shot, Commander!" she called, already engaging new targets.
The Master-type advanced through the chaos, particle cannons tracking with ominous precision. It fired—Maxwell threw herself aside as superheated energy carved through the space she'd occupied. Drake's rifle cracked repeatedly, shots hammering the Master's optical sensors to no visible effect.
"Armor's too thick!" Drake snarled.
"Joint systems!" Maxwell shouted. "Target the joints!"
Arthur circled right, searching for angles. The Master-type's attention fixed on Laplace, recognizing her weapon as the primary threat. It charged, surprisingly fast for its size, particle cannons building charge for point-blank annihilation.
Laplace stood her ground, energy weapon glowing. "Heroes never retreat!"
"Idiots never retreat!" Maxwell sprinted toward her, clearly intending to tackle the smaller Nikke out of the firing line.
Arthur moved faster. His goddesium legs propelled him into the Master-type's path, Omni-Tool activating with a distinctive electronic hum. Orange hard-light materialized along his right forearm, solidifying into a gleaming blade.
The Master-type tried to track him, cannons swiveling, but Arthur was already inside its reach. The Omni-Blade sheared through the joint connecting its right arm to its torso—reinforced polymers and composite armor parting like water. The severed limb crashed to the ground, particle cannon discharging harmlessly into rubble.
Arthur pivoted, blade carving upward through the Rapture's neck assembly. Sparks erupted as critical systems severed. The Master-type shuddered, optical array flickering, then collapsed with grinding finality.
Silence descended over the battlefield. Residual smoke drifted across scorched earth. The last Ant-type twitched once, then went still under Drake's final shot.
Maxwell stared at Arthur, then at the bisected Master-type, then back to Arthur. The flush that had colored her cheeks earlier returned with intensity.
"That was..." She swallowed. "Very effective, Commander."
"The Omni-Blade's new," Arthur said, deactivating the weapon. "First field test."
"It's amazing!" Laplace bounced over to examine the Master-type's remains. "Clean cuts! Perfect precision! Can you teach me?"
"Blades are tools of assassins and villains," Drake observed, approaching with theatrical solemnity. "Welcome to the dark side, Commander."
Arthur holstered his rifle, checking ammunition reserves. "How are your power levels?"
The question prompted immediate scrambling. Laplace checked her internal display, eyes widening. "Oh. Um. Seventy-three percent."
"Eighty-one percent," Drake reported with marginally more dignity.
"Eighty-eight," Maxwell said. She met Arthur's gaze with new respect. "You're already thinking like our actual commander."
"Someone has to," Arthur replied mildly.
Maxwell's smile carried warmth beyond professional courtesy. "I think this deployment might work out better than I expected, Commander Cousland."
Drake's sensors swept the horizon, red eyes narrowing. "Multiple thermal signatures. Grid northwest. Fifteen contacts, possibly more."
Laplace readied her weapon with renewed enthusiasm. "More chances for heroism!"
"More targets for villainy!"
"More tactical concerns," Maxwell corrected, but she was smiling. She glanced at Arthur. "Ready for round two, Commander?"
Arthur thought of Anne safe in the Outpost, of his squad standing ready, of the dozens of missing Nikkes who might still be saved. He thought of this strange, theatrical, clearly competent squad he'd been assigned to support.
"Lead the way," he said.
Squad Matis advanced into the wasteland, and Arthur followed, wondering what waited in the ruins ahead.