Arthur stood before the reinforced glass of the interrogation room for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, his Cerberus prosthetic hand resting against the security scanner as the system verified his credentials. The guard looked at him strangely but said nothing as the door unlocked with a pneumatic hiss.
Crow looked up from where she sat, her distinctive red eye gleaming with sardonic amusement. "Back already, Commander? Didn't expect to see you again so soon. What is this, a booty call? Because I have to tell you, the accommodations here aren't exactly romantic."
Arthur ignored the jab and sat down across from her, his expression serious. "Were you really in contact with Marcus Chen before the attack?"
Crow's smile faded slightly, replaced by something harder. "Straight to business then. Fine." She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Yes, I was in contact with him. For about a year, give or take."
"And you're just admitting it?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Crow's voice carried an edge of irritation. "What's the point of lying to you, Arthur? Enikk is going to compile all the statements and testimonies, run them through whatever arbitrary algorithm determines guilt these days, and make a judgment that maintains the status quo. So why should you care about the real context of this debacle when you can just sit back and wait for the Overseer to tell you what to think?"
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Because I want to understand."
"Understand what? The system that created this mess? The same system that signs your paychecks and gives you authority over life and death?" Crow shook her head. "You want to understand, Commander? Fine. Let me paint you a picture."
She shifted in her seat, her eye distant as memory took over. "About a year ago, I was at one of the usual Outlaw watering holes in Sector Nine. Marcus Chen approached me—nervous, desperate, the kind of desperation that comes from having something precious to lose. He wanted Exotic's help."
"For what?"
"At first, I thought he wanted forged citizenship IDs. Standard Outlaw request, easy money. I was ready to shoo him away—Exotic doesn't do small-time fraud anymore. But that's not what he wanted." Crow's voice softened slightly. "He wanted legitimate citizenship for his daughter. Not fake papers, not a backdoor deal. Real, legal status that would let her live in the Ark proper."
Arthur listened in silence, his hands clasped on the table.
"I told him that was impossible," Crow continued. "The Ark doesn't grant citizenship to Outlaw children. It's generational punishment—you're born into it, you die in it. But Marcus kept coming back, kept asking. He'd researched adoption laws, found loopholes, wanted to know if there was any way." She paused. "Eventually, I told him to stop wasting my time and his hopes."
"But he didn't stop."
"No, he didn't." Something almost like respect flickered across Crow's face. "Marcus was persistent, I'll give him that. He'd show up wherever Exotic was drinking, not pushy, just... present. Always polite, always hopeful. Jackal threatened to shoot him twice, but Viper found it amusing, so we tolerated him."
Arthur could picture it—the desperate father haunting the periphery of Squad Exotic's presence, clinging to the faint possibility that these infamous problem-solvers might help where the system had failed.
"Then one day," Crow said, her voice carefully neutral, "Marcus came to me with news. He'd found an elderly couple in the Ark—retired factory workers, no children of their own, lonely. They'd agreed to adopt his daughter through the proper legal channels. The adoption would grant her automatic citizenship."
"That's... actually legal," Arthur said slowly.
"Surprised me too," Crow admitted. "Apparently there's some ancient provision in the Ark's charter about family integration. Marcus had done his research thoroughly. The couple seemed genuine—they'd lost their own daughter in the early Rapture attacks and wanted to fill that void. Marcus's daughter would get a real home, real education, real life."
"So what happened?"
Crow's expression hardened. "Marcus sent me his life savings as thanks. Not payment—thanks. Every credit he'd scraped together from whatever shit work Outlaws can find. Said it was to help other families in similar situations. I tried to refuse it, but he'd already transferred it and disappeared to finalize the adoption."
Arthur felt a cold weight settling in his chest.
"For about six months, everything was fine," Crow said. "The girl—her name was Lisa, by the way, not that the Daily Ark bothered to mention it—settled into her new life. Went to school, made friends, had the childhood her father wanted for her. Marcus would send me occasional updates through encrypted channels, just short messages. 'She got an A in math.' 'She joined the choir.' That kind of thing."
"Until a reporter noticed," Arthur said quietly.
Crow's eye blazed. "Until a reporter from the Daily Ark, doing a puff piece on 'Ark charity cases,' noticed that this elderly couple was living better than expected. New furniture, better food, small luxuries. He traced their modest donations back to the Outer Rim and decided he'd found a scandal. 'Outlaws infiltrating Ark society.' 'Criminal elements corrupting innocent citizens.' 'Dangerous precedent threatens security.'"
"The article made the couple look like accomplices to some grand Outlaw scheme. Made Marcus look like a terrorist using his daughter as a trojan horse. Made Lisa look like a plant, a spy-in-training." Crow's voice dripped with venom. "And the Daily Ark made a fortune from the exclusive coverage, selling fear and outrage to every citizen who wanted to believe Outlaws were the real enemy, not the system that created us."
Arthur's prosthetic hands clenched involuntarily, the Cerberus technology responding to the tension in his muscles.
"A.C.P.U. raided the couple's home," Crow continued. "Arrested Marcus when he tried to visit his daughter. Beat him bloody in custody—officially for 'resisting arrest,' though he had broken ribs and internal bleeding. The elderly couple suffered simultaneous nervous breakdowns from the trauma. And Lisa?" Her voice went cold. "She was taken to 'parts unknown' for processing and 'social rehabilitation.'"
"Processing," Arthur repeated, the word tasting like ash.
Crow leaned forward, her eye boring into him. "So tell me, Commander. Who's the sinner here? Marcus, for attacking the Daily Ark? The reporter, for being a xenophobic paparazzi who destroyed four lives for a good story? Or Lisa, for having the audacity to be born to an Outlaw father who loved her?"
The silence stretched between them, heavy with moral complexity that had no clean answers. Arthur stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor.
Crow's expression shifted to confusion. "That's it? You're leaving? Don't you have some sanctimonious speech about how violence isn't the answer?"
"I'm going to find Lisa," Arthur said quietly.
Crow blinked. "What?"
"Marcus's daughter. I'm going to find out what happened to her."
He turned and left before Crow could respond, his mind already cycling through resources and contacts. Processing centers, rehabilitation facilities, adoption system databases—he had access to files most commanders never saw.
It took him three hours, two dozen database searches, and one carefully worded request to Andersen's office. The answer, when he found it, made his blood run cold.
Lisa Chen. Age fourteen at time of processing. Psychological evaluation: traumatized, non-compliant, high-risk for rebellion. Recommendation: military integration through Nikke conversion program.
Manufacturer: Elysion. Serial number: N102-4471. Current designation: awaiting assignment.
Arthur stared at the file on his omni-tool display, the clinical language unable to hide the horror beneath. A fourteen-year-old girl, guilty only of being born to the wrong father, had been turned into a weapon.
He returned to the Rehabilitation Center that evening. Crow looked up as he entered, something wary in her expression now.
"They made her a Nikke," Arthur said without preamble. "Elysion. She's awaiting squad assignment."
Crow was silent for a long moment. Then she laughed—a bitter, caustic sound devoid of humor. "Of course they did. Why waste a perfectly good child when you can turn her into a soldier? Nikkes are treated barely better than Outlaws anyway. At least this way she's useful."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" Crow stood, approaching the reinforced glass. "Tell me, Arthur, when was the last time you saw citizens celebrating Nikkes the way they celebrated the Goddess squad of legend? When was the last time mass-produced Nikkes were treated as anything other than disposable military assets?"
Arthur thought of Scarlet's early days, the casual cruelty she'd endured. Of Nyx's forced upgrade, paraded as corporate property. Of Rapi's formal distance, learned from years of commanders who saw her as a tool.
"The first generation—the pre-Ark Nikkes—they were revered as goddesses of victory," Crow said. "Humanity's saviors, heroes who pushed back the Rapture tide when all seemed lost. Now? Now Nikkes are just another underclass, manufactured and expendable. Tell me how that's different from how the Ark treats Outlaws."
"It's not," Arthur said quietly.
Crow's eye widened slightly. "What?"
"You're right. The system is broken. It grinds up everyone who doesn't fit the narrow definition of acceptable citizenship—Outlaws, Nikkes, anyone who challenges the status quo." Arthur met her gaze steadily. "But Marcus chose violence against civilians who had nothing to do with the policy decisions that destroyed his life. That doesn't fix anything."
"Neither does your enlightened leadership," Crow shot back. "You treat your Nikkes well, Arthur. You've built your little utopia at the Outpost. But Lisa Chen is still a weapon, Marcus is still in custody, and thousands of Outlaws are still starving while you sleep in clean sheets."
The accusation stung because it was true. Arthur's defiance of established doctrine, his careful political maneuvering, his success with the Monarks—none of it had prevented this tragedy.
"Then I'll do better," Arthur said. "Starting with Lisa. I'll make sure she gets assigned somewhere that respects her humanity."
"Your squad?" Crow's voice was skeptical.
"If she wants. If she's ready." Arthur turned to leave, then paused. "I can't fix the entire system, Crow. But I can make sure the people within my reach aren't treated as disposable. That has to count for something."
He left her standing there, her expression unreadable behind the reinforced glass, and wondered if any of his efforts would ever be enough to balance the scales of injustice that seemed to define every layer of the Ark's society.