The AZX train rattled through the maintenance tunnels connecting the Ark to the Outpost, carrying Arthur and Jackal through familiar darkness. Arthur had stowed his tactical gear in his pack, the Revanchist mask secured in its compartment. His tactical coat sat heavy on his shoulders again, concealing the handgun beneath. Respectable. Professional.
Jackal pressed her face against the window, breath fogging the glass as she watched the tunnel lights streak past. Her shotgun remained strapped across her back, cheerfully oblivious to the stares from other passengers.
"How long until we get there?" she asked for the third time.
"Twenty minutes," Arthur said.
"That's forever." She bounced in her seat. "Tell me about the Outpost. Is it really as cool as everyone says? Do you really have a library? And a café? Viper said you built a whole theater. That's so extra. I love it."
Arthur watched the tunnel walls slide past, still processing the warehouse raid. Kestrel secured. Evidence collected. Mission parameters satisfied. But Viper's voice lingered—*We're even, right?*—and Crow's laugh cut deeper than it should have.
Some ghosts followed you no matter how far you ran.
"The Outpost is different," Arthur said finally. "Nikkes have autonomy there. Respect. Purpose beyond combat assignments."
"Sounds fake," Jackal said, grinning. "But I want to see it anyway."
The train slowed as they approached Central Station.
They disembarked into the station's harsh fluorescent lighting. A few workers shuffled past, exhausted and indifferent. Arthur guided Jackal toward the residential district exit, hoping to avoid unnecessary attention.
That hope died when Officer Poli stepped into their path.
The A.C.P.U. officer stood with military precision, uniform immaculate, hand resting on her sidearm. Her dark eyes fixed on Jackal with recognition that promised nothing good.
"Jackal," Poli said flatly. "You're under arrest for destruction of public property, resisting detention, and escape from lawful custody."
Jackal waved cheerfully. "Hi, Poli! Sorry about the jail thing. Those bars were just so chewable, you know?"
"Twenty-seven thousand credits in damage," Poli continued, voice tight with controlled frustration. "Three separate incidents this month alone. You left bite marks in reinforced steel."
"They shouldn't make it look so tasty," Jackal said reasonably.
Arthur stepped between them, hands visible and non-threatening. "Officer. Poli. I can take responsibility for Jackal."
Poli's expression shifted to suspicion. "You're vouching for an Exotic Squad member? Commander, her file reads like a disaster compilation. Explosions, vandalism, property destruction—"
"I'm aware," Arthur interrupted. "But arresting her clearly isn't working. Your cells can't hold her, complaints are escalating, and the situation needs a different approach."
"What approach?" Poli demanded. "Letting her run wild?"
"Supervision," Arthur said. "Structure. The Outpost has resources to manage... unconventional Nikkes. Give me custody. If she causes problems, I'll cover damages and accept full responsibility."
Poli studied him for a long moment, clearly calculating whether this was worth the paperwork reduction. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But if she destroys anything else in the Ark, Commander, you're personally liable. All damages, all complaints. Understood?"
"Understood," Arthur agreed.
"Good." Poli stepped aside, then added quietly, "I don't think you're her accomplice, Commander. Your reputation suggests otherwise. But Exotic Squad has a history of chaos. Watch yourself."
She left without waiting for a response. Jackal immediately latched onto Arthur's arm, grinning.
"You're so cool! Nobody ever talks Poli out of arrests. She's super serious about rules and stuff."
Arthur gently extracted his arm. "You gnawed through prison bars?"
"They were boring," Jackal said defensively. "And I was hungry. Speaking of which—can we eat? I'm starving."
"There's a restaurant near here," Arthur said. "We can stop briefly."
Jackal's face lit up. "Really? Oh man, I knew you were the best!"
Arthur checked the messages on his omni-tool while Jackal went in ahead of him, by the time he finished reading he could hear a loud commotion.
The restaurant—Nam's Noodle House, according to the flickering sign—occupied a corner storefront between a pawn shop and a closed pharmacy. Through the windows, Arthur glimpsed overturned chairs and scattered napkins. Not promising.
Inside was worse. Tables sat askew, condiment bottles lay on their sides, and a harried-looking server swept broken dishes into a dustpan. The smell of spilled broth and panic hung in the air.
Jackal sat at the only upright table, surrounded by empty bowls, happily slurping noodles from a massive serving dish. Her shotgun leaned against the wall. She'd apparently already eaten her way through half the menu.
"Jackal," Arthur said carefully.
"Mmph?" She looked up, noodles dangling from her mouth.
"What happened here?"
"I was hungry," Jackal said, swallowing. "And the waiter was slow. So I helped myself. Want some? The spicy pork is amazing."
The server approached Arthur with visible relief. "Commander? Please tell me you're here for her. She's eaten eighty thousand credits worth of food and I don't think she's planning to pay."
Arthur pulled out his credit chip, already resigned. "Add twenty percent for the trouble. And damages."
The server practically ran to process the payment. Arthur sat across from Jackal, who continued eating with oblivious enthusiasm.
"Jackal," Arthur said. "Can I have your company?"
She paused mid-bite. "My company?" She set down her bowl, suddenly serious. "Why?"
"Because you're causing chaos everywhere you go," Arthur said bluntly. "And I think you're doing it because you're bored and nobody's given you better options. The Outpost could use someone with your... energy. If you're willing to learn some boundaries."
"Boundaries are boring," Jackal said.
"Treats aren't," Arthur countered. "The Outpost has a café. Library. Theater. Training facilities. And a cook who makes food that would put this place to shame. But it requires respecting the community. No explosions in residential areas. No gnawing through infrastructure. Actual patience."
Jackal considered this, picking up another bowl. "How good are the treats?"
"Better than anything in the Ark," Arthur said honestly.
"Okay," Jackal said brightly. "I'm in! But first—quick stop. I promised Crow I'd meet her."
Arthur's stomach sank. "Crow?"
"Yeah, she gets super cranky if I'm late. Come on!" Jackal bounced up, grabbing her shotgun. "She's probably waiting already."
The alley was exactly where Jackal led them—a narrow gap between two industrial buildings in the entertainment district, lit by a single flickering overhead lamp. Crow leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, expression carved from ice.
"You're late," Crow said.
"Sorry, sorry!" Jackal said. "But look, I brought the Commander! He promised me treats! But I remembered our meeting, so I figured—two birds, one stone! I'll meet you, then follow him for treats. Efficient, right?"
Crow's dark eyes fixed on Arthur with predatory focus. "Why are you here?"
"Jackal needs to learn to behave," Arthur said directly. "And to be patient if she's going to coexist with the Outpost community. The A.C.P.U. can't handle her, and letting her bounce between custody and chaos isn't sustainable."
Crow laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "So nosy. Always inserting yourself where you don't belong. Playing savior again?"
"Playing administrator," Arthur corrected. "Jackal has potential beyond destruction. She just needs structure."
"Structure," Crow repeated mockingly. "From the man who collects broken things and pretends he can fix them. How's that working out, Commander? Viper seemed real fixed earlier."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "This isn't about Viper."
"Everything's about something," Crow said. "You think you can rehabilitate Jackal? Make her into one of your well-behaved little soldiers? She's Exotic Squad. We don't do well-behaved."
"I'm not trying to change her," Arthur said. "Just give her better options than jail and property damage."
Crow pushed off the wall, circling him slowly. "Fine. You want to play teacher? Here's the deal. You have one week. Seven days to educate Jackal about boundaries and patience and all that boring domestic bullshit. After that, I come to the Outpost to collect her."
"And?" Arthur asked, sensing the trap.
"And you offer her your wrist," Crow said, smile sharp and cruel. "Jackal has a thing for gnawing wrists. If she's really learned patience and control, she'll decline. If not..."
Crow leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper. "She'll tear that pretty prosthetic right out of your arm. Fun fact—she's strong enough to do it. So this week? It's your only chance to make sure Jackal won't literally dismantle you."
Jackal bounced excitedly. "Ooh, wrist time! I love wrist time!"
"One week," Crow repeated, stepping back. "Prove you're not as pathetic as I think you are, Arthur. Or prove me right. Either way, I'll enjoy watching."
She turned and walked into the shadows, disappearing as completely as if she'd never been there. Jackal waved after her.
"Crow's so dramatic," Jackal said cheerfully. "But don't worry! I'll try really hard not to eat your arm. Probably. The treats better be amazing though."
Arthur looked at his prosthetic arm—Cerberus-designed, military-grade, worth more than most people earned in a year. Then at Jackal, whose grin suggested she'd gnawed through tougher materials before.
One week to teach patience to someone who'd eaten through prison bars.
Andersen was going to love this report.
"Come on," Arthur said, resigned. "Let's get going before you decide to snack on something else."
Jackal fell into step beside him, humming cheerfully as they moved forward. Behind them, the alley remained empty and dark, but Arthur felt Crow's judgment lingering like smoke.
Seven days. One wrist. And a Nikke who thought boundaries were suggestions.
Maybe he really was as pathetic as Crow thought.