The holographic display of Arthur's Omni-tool cast a pale blue glow over his face as he sat in the center of his penthouse living room. He scrolled down the contact list, his prosthetic finger hovering over the 'Select All' function. He looked around the room. It was spacious, certainly—a luxury by Ark standards, earned through blood, goddesium, and political maneuvering—but as he mentally populated the space with the people who now mattered to him, the walls seemed to shrink.
"Scarlet, Nyx, Lyra, the rest of the Monarks," he muttered, counting on his fingers. "Then there's Matis, and Drake alone takes up the space of three people with her posturing. Seraphim, the Wardress duo, the Scouts... Moran..."
He paused, the realization settling in with a mixture of warmth and logistical panic. A year ago, his list of allies had been short enough to fit in a single APC. Now, he needed a banquet hall.
He tapped his comms, patching into the Outpost's administrative network. "Dolla? This is Cousland. I need to book the Grand Hall at the hotel. Yes, tonight. All of it. And get the kitchen staff on triple time. I'm paying."
***
The Grand Hall of the Outpost Hotel had been transformed. Though the atmospheric atomizers outside had powered down, ending the artificial snow, the interior was a sanctuary of golden light and festive warmth. Towering fir trees, synthesized but smelling of genuine pine, lined the walls, draped in silver ribbons and glowing orbs. Long tables groaned under the weight of food that defied the usual post-apocalyptic rationing—roast fowl, mountains of fresh fruit imported from the Ark's hydroponic farms, and towers of pastries.
Arthur stood near the entrance, adjusting the cuffs of his dress uniform. His goddesium arms gleamed under the chandeliers, polished to a mirror shine for the occasion.
The doors opened, and the flood began.
The Monarks arrived first, a unified front of chaotic affection. Anis was already complaining about her dress shoes, while Rapi, looking stunningly severe in a black evening gown that complemented her red beret, scanned the room for threats before relaxing.
"At ease, Rapi," Arthur said, stepping forward to greet them. "Tonight, the only enemy is the champagne supply."
"Understood, Commander," Rapi said, though her golden eyes softened as she took his hand.
Behind them, the room filled rapidly. The noise level rose from a murmur to a roar. Drake, wearing a cape over her formal wear, was already loudly declaring herself the villain of the buffet line, while Maxwell was examining the structural integrity of the chocolate fountain with suspicious intensity.
Arthur moved through the crowd, acting as the fulcrum he was designed to be. He found Moran near the bar, looking every inch the Underworld Queen in a sharp white suit with a yellow peony flower pinned to the lapel. She swirled a glass of amber liquid, her gaze sharp but fond.
"You throw a decent party for a commander," Moran drawled, passing him a small, heavy box wrapped in velvet. "From the Peony Association. Genuine pre-war whiskey. Don't share it with the lightweights."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Arthur smiled, accepting the gift. He slid a small envelope into her hand in return—access codes to a secure shipping lane he'd cleared in Sector 8. "For your logistics problems."
Moran's eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in her composure. "You always know which strings to pull, Arthur."
He left her smiling and turned into the arms of Scarlet. The Elysion soldier wore a deep blue dress that complimented her red hair, her usual SMG replaced by a simple clutch. She smoothed his lapel, her touch lingering.
"You look exhausted," she noted, her voice a low hum amidst the noise.
"Good kind of tired," Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He handed her a small box containing a custom-tooled maintenance kit for her favorite firearm, engraved with her initials. "For the next mission."
"Practical," she chuckled, leaning into him. "I got you something too. Later."
He circulated, a satellite in his own orbit. He found Nyx and Lyra by the dessert table. Nyx, bold and brash, fed him a strawberry with a wink that promised trouble later, while Lyra stood quietly, her expression fragile. The memory fragmentation was a constant shadow, but tonight, she was lucid.
"I remember this song," Lyra whispered as the band played a slow jazz number.
Arthur took her hand, squeezing it gently. "And we'll make sure you remember the next one, too." He gifted her a digital locket that cycled through photos of the squad, labeled with names and dates. A hard backup for her heart.
Further into the room, he saw the Scouts. Delta and Signal were chatting with Gayle, the Wardress newest addition. Gayle turned as Arthur approached, beaming. She rolled up the sleeve of her dress uniform to reveal her new prosthetic arm—a sleek, goddesium-plated limb that mirrored Arthur's own.
"It's not the real metal, just an alloy plating," Gayle explained hurriedly, looking flushed. "But... I wanted to match. It felt like... like armor against the bad memories."
Arthur placed his hand on her shoulder, the metal of his palm clicking against hers. "It looks like strength, Gayle. Wear it proud."
He moved on, finding Zero standing in the shadow of a pillar. She said nothing, simply handing him a small, perfectly carved wooden bird. He accepted it silently, understanding the language of her quiet presence, and slipped a high-grade sensor upgrade chip into her palm.
The energy shifted as he approached the Wardress duo. Mihara and Yuni were holding court in a darker corner. Yuni's eyes tracked him with a predatory glint, while Mihara smiled, a subtle invitation.
"Commander," Mihara purred. "The noise is... stimulating. But we were hoping for a more private audience."
"Patience," Arthur murmured, handing them a shared gift—a set of neural-link bracelets that allowed them to share sensory input over short distances without physical contact. "For better coordination."
Yuni's eyes lit up. "Oh, the things we could do with this."
Arthur extricated himself before he was dragged into their gravity well, nearly colliding with Maiden. The powerful Extrinsic Nikke blushed, hiding the lower half of her face behind her hand.
"I... I wasn't waiting for you," she lied poorly.
"Merry Christmas, Maiden," Arthur said softly. He presented her with a limited-edition romance novel, a first edition he'd scavenged from a collector in the Ark. "I heard the protagonist finds her true love in chapter eighteen."
Maiden clutched the book to her chest, her eyes shimmering. "Thank you, Arthur. I... I got you a tie. It's boring. I'm sorry."
"I love it," he assured her.
Across the room, the crowd parted for Rupee. She was radiant in a gold-and-white 'Winter Shopper' ensemble, flanked by two Nikkes Arthur hadn't formally met yet.
"Sweetie!" Rupee waved, pulling him into the circle. "You have to meet the girls. This is Yan and Dolla. My squad."
Yan, a woman with a sharp, mercantile gaze and a distinct accent, looked him up and down like she was appraising a piece of real estate. "So this is the Commander who makes the market jump. Nice suit. Expensive."
Dolla, cool and professional, extended a hand. "A pleasure, Commander. Rupee speaks of nothing else. It's bad for productivity, but good for morale."
"The pleasure is mine," Arthur said. "Rupee made this night happen. I'm just paying the bill."
"As you should," Yan grinned.
A hush fell over the room as the main doors opened again. Deputy Chief Andersen walked in. He wasn't in uniform, wearing a heavy charcoal coat instead. The air in the room grew tense—this was Central Command walking in—but Arthur stepped forward, bridging the gap.
"Deputy Chief," Arthur said, offering a hand.
"Cousland," Andersen shook it firmly. He looked around the room, taking in the mixture of soldier Nikkes, underworld bosses, and elite squads breaking bread together. "You realize this gathering alone is enough to give General Hawthorne a stroke?"
"That was the secondary objective, sir."
Andersen actually chuckled, a dry, rusty sound. He accepted a glass of champagne. "You're walking a razor's edge, Arthur. But... it's good work. Just don't fall."
"I have a lot of people to catch me," Arthur replied.
Suddenly, there was a squeal of delight. "Papa!"
Arthur turned just in time to catch Anne as she barreled into him. She was wearing a new dress, white with red ribbons, and her face was flushed with pure joy. Behind her, Angelina walked hesitantly, looking overwhelmed by the opulence but smiling as she watched her daughter.
"Look!" Anne shouted, gesturing to the room. "Look at how big the family is! Are they all my aunts?"
The room laughed—a warm, genuine sound. Even the stoic Rapi cracked a smile.
"Yes, Anne," Arthur said, lifting her up with his prosthetic arm. "They're all family."
Miranda Lawson, seized by the festive spirit (and perhaps too much punch), suddenly appeared holding a sprig of mistletoe over Arthur's head. "Protocol dictates a morale-boosting gesture, Commander!"
Before Arthur could react, Anne kissed him on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Papa!"
Miranda deflated comically. "Mission failed."
Arthur laughed, setting Anne down. "Alright, everyone! Formation!"
He signaled to a floating camera drone.
"We need a record," Arthur announced, his voice carrying over the hall. "For the archives. And for Anne's diary."
It took ten minutes to organize. The sheer number of people made it a logistical nightmare. Matis kept trying to pose like superheroes; the Wardress duo kept trying to be inappropriate; Moran insisted on standing back-to-back with Arthur. But eventually, they squeezed in.
Arthur stood in the center. Rapi was on his right, Moran on his left. Rupee leaned over his shoulder. Anne sat in front of him, holding Angelina's hand. The Monarks, Wardress, Seraphim, Extrinsic, the Scouts, the Shepherds, the sailors of the *Admire*—they were a legion.
"Smile!" Rupee shouted.
The flash blinded them for a second, freezing time.
As the night wound down, the energy shifted from raucous to mellow. Guests began to filter out. Andersen left with a nod. Moran slipped away with her entourage, promising to see him in the Rim.
The hall grew quieter. The staff began clearing plates.
Arthur found Rupee on the balcony, looking out over the dark, industrial landscape of the Outpost. Without the artificial snow, it was just metal and rock again, but tonight, it didn't look cold.
He stepped up beside her, the cool air biting at his face. He took her hand, his goddesium fingers lacing with her gloved ones.
"You're quiet," he said.
"Just... processing," Rupee admitted, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It was a lot. But a good lot. Did you see Anne? She filled three pages of her notebook just listing names."
"I saw," Arthur said softly. He turned her to face him. "Rupee."
She looked up, her green eyes reflecting the distant lights of the Ark's elevator shaft.
"None of this happens without you," Arthur said, his voice thick with emotion. "The snow. The cookies. Finding Angelina. You saved her, Rupee. I might provide the walls and the guns, but you... you brought the heart."
Rupee's eyes welled up. "I just wanted a sale. A big Christmas event."
"Liar," Arthur smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, flat box. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't a Golden Ticket. Inside lay a simple silver pendant, shaped like a snowflake, with a small emerald at its center.
"It's not from a sponsor," Arthur said. "I made it. In the workshop. It's goddesium. Indestructible. Like you."
Rupee let out a choked sob, laughing through the tears. "You made jewelry? For me? The expert?"
"I love you, Rupee," Arthur said, the words simple and heavy in the night air. "Thank you for giving us a Christmas worth remembering."
She didn't respond with words. she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that tasted of sugar and champagne and absolute, terrifying hope. It wasn't a performance for the stream. There were no cameras, no Lupins, no audience. Just the two of them, standing on the edge of the world they were building, holding onto each other as the long winter night finally came to an end.