The briefing room in Arthur's quarters had become cramped with bodies. Monarks Alpha Team stood in formation—Scarlet checking her SMG's magazine, Nyx adjusting the straps on her Screamin' Eagle rocket launcher, Lyra running diagnostics on her Basilisk sniper rifle, Anis spinning a grenade between her fingers, and Alisa smoothing her magical-girl-style skirt with mechanical precision. Jackal sat cross-legged on the floor, shotgun across her lap, practically vibrating with barely contained energy.
"Mission parameters are simple," Arthur said, tapping the holographic display projected from his omni-tool. A topographical map of Sector Nineteen materialized, showing wastelands and crater-marked terrain. "Pre-war battlefield, two klicks northeast of the old command bunker. Client wants a military medal recovered from an officer's remains. In and out, no extended engagement."
"A million credits for grave robbing," Anis muttered. "Classy."
"A million credits plus medical supplies that'll keep Mary and Pepper stocked for a year," Arthur corrected. "Which means fewer Nikkes suffering because they can't get replacement parts."
That shut down further complaints. Scarlet stepped forward, red hair pulled back in a tactical braid, assault vest loaded with magazines and tactical gear. "Rapture activity in the sector?"
"Standard patrol patterns. Nothing above Master-class on recent scans. We move fast, stay tight, complete the objective."
Jackal raised her hand like a student. "And I get to come because I've been really really patient and didn't break anything for five whole days?"
Arthur met her eager red eyes. "You come because Andersen approved your field evaluation. This is your chance to show what Exotic Squad training can do when properly focused. But you follow orders. No running off. No eating things you find. No gnawing on equipment."
"I promise!" Jackal bounced to her feet. "I'll be so good you'll give me extra head pats!"
Nyx snorted. "Kid's got priorities straight."
"Move out," Arthur ordered. "Transport departs in ten."
---
The surface hit them like a frozen fist. Wind screamed across the wasteland, driving snow into every gap in their gear. Arthur's tactical coat whipped around him as he led the squad down the transport ramp, N7 Typhoon held ready. His goddesium legs handled the uncertain terrain without issue, prosthetic feet finding purchase on ice-slicked rubble.
Jackal emerged last, and Arthur caught her expression—wide-eyed wonder mixed with primal excitement. She'd probably never been topside on an official mission.
"Stay close," Scarlet commanded, taking point position. "Lyra, elevation. Nyx, you're on heavy support. Anis, watch our flanks. Alisa, close protection on the Commander. Jackal, middle of formation."
The team moved with practiced efficiency, spreading into tactical positions. Lyra scaled a ruined building's skeletal framework with inhuman agility, her sniper rifle tracking potential threats. They advanced northeast, following Arthur's navigation markers.
They'd covered maybe five hundred meters when the first Rapture patrol appeared—eight Strikers, their metallic bodies blurred by wind-driven snow, optical sensors sweeping the ruins.
Scarlet didn't wait for orders. She broke into a sprint, SMG chattering as she closed distance. The aggressive assault caught the Raptures mid-reaction, bullets tearing through armor plating. She rolled beneath a retaliatory blast, came up firing, destroyed two more with precise burst fire.
Jackal's jaw literally dropped. "She's *fast*!"
The remaining Strikers tried to flank. Lyra's rifle spoke once, twice, three times from her elevated position—each shot a kill, each target dropping with critical systems destroyed. No wasted ammunition. Pure precision.
"Holy shit," Jackal breathed.
More Raptures emerged from concealment—a dozen Crawlers, low-profile targets skittering across frozen ground. Nyx stepped forward, her massive frame blocking wind, and shouldered her rocket launcher.
"Fire in the hole!"
The Screamin' Eagle roared. The rocket arced across the battlefield and detonated in the center of the Crawler cluster. The explosion painted the snow orange, shrapnel shredding everything in a fifteen-meter radius. When the smoke cleared, nothing remained but burning wreckage.
Jackal made an appreciative noise. "I want one of those."
"You *have* one of those," Nyx called back. "The T.O.P. isn't just for show."
"Oh. Right." Jackal hefted her own rocket launcher with renewed enthusiasm.
They pushed forward. Arthur tracked movement on his omni-tool—more contacts converging on their position. Standard Rapture response to detected intruders. "Contact, three o'clock. Multiple targets."
A full squad of Raptures—mix of Strikers and Soldiers, maybe twenty total—poured from a collapsed bunker entrance. They spread into attack formation with mechanical efficiency.
Anis grinned and loaded her grenade launcher. "My turn."
She fired in rapid succession—thump, thump, thump, thump. Grenades arced through the blizzard and detonated in sequence across the Rapture formation. Explosions overlapped, creating a devastating cascade. Bodies flew apart, armor shattered, optical sensors went dark.
"Boom," Anis said with satisfaction.
Jackal stared at the carnage. "You guys are *amazing*."
But she'd been watching Alisa—the pink-haired Nikke in the frilly dress who'd stayed near Arthur, moving with light steps that seemed almost dainty. Jackal had initially dismissed her as some kind of magical girl wannabe, all cute aesthetics and no substance.
Then a Lord-class Rapture emerged from underground.
The massive unit burst through frozen earth, segmented body ten meters long, multiple weapon pods tracking targets. Its roar shook the ground. This wasn't standard patrol—this was a coordinated ambush.
"Heavy target!" Scarlet shouted. "Nyx, Lyra, suppressing fire!"
Alisa stepped forward.
Her shoulders *opened*, panels sliding back to reveal concealed rocket pods. Her legs deployed similar launchers. She looked at Arthur, smiled sweetly, and said, "Please cover your ears, Commander."
Then she fired everything.
Rockets screamed from every launcher simultaneously. The Lord-class tried to evade, but the sheer volume of ordnance saturated the area. Explosions rippled across its armor, staggering the massive Rapture. It tried to return fire, but Alisa was already moving—blurring forward with speed that matched Scarlet's, closing distance in seconds.
Blades emerged from her forearms. Not regular blades—*chainsaws*, teeth spinning with mechanical fury. She leaped onto the Lord-class's back, drove both chainsaw arms into its armor, and *tore*. Metal shrieked. Armor plating separated. Internal components sparked and shattered.
The Rapture thrashed, trying to shake her off. Alisa rode it like a mechanical bull, repositioning, finding new weak points, cutting deeper. She found the central processor housing and plunged both arms straight through. The Lord-class convulsed once and went still.
Alisa dismounted gracefully, chainsaws retracting, rocket pods closing, pink hair barely disheveled. She curtseyed to Arthur. "Threat eliminated, Commander."
Jackal stood frozen, mouth hanging open. Then she rushed forward, grabbed Alisa's hands, and shook them enthusiastically. "That was the *coolest thing I've ever seen*! You're my new favorite! Can we be friends? Do you like explosions? Do you want to blow stuff up together?"
Alisa blinked, processing the sudden enthusiasm. Then she smiled—genuine and warm. "I would like to be friends. Though perhaps we could start with something less destructive than explosions?"
"Deal!" Jackal bounced excitedly. "Best day ever!"
Arthur shook his head, fighting a smile. "Focus. We still have a mission."
They continued northeast, encountering scattered resistance—Jackal finally got to use her T.O.P. rocket launcher against a cluster of Soldiers, whooping with joy as her shot obliterated the entire group. The Monarks provided covering fire, letting her have the moment.
Thirty minutes later, they reached the coordinates. A frozen battlefield stretched before them—pre-war vehicles half-buried in snow, weapon craters forming irregular patterns, skeletal remains scattered across the killing ground. Arthur checked his omni-tool against the client's description.
"Officer's remains should be near that overturned APC," he said, pointing.
Jackal sniffed the air, then bounded forward with predatory focus. She moved between remains with surprising reverence, eventually stopping beside a partially buried skeleton in tattered uniform remnants. "Here! This one's got rank insignia!"
Arthur approached, knelt, carefully brushed away snow and frozen earth. The skeleton wore the remains of a dress uniform, and there—pinned to the chest—was the medal. Pre-war commendation, still gleaming despite decades of exposure.
He retrieved it carefully, sealed it in a protective case from his gear. "Got it. Let's move."
The return journey passed without incident. The Raptures had learned caution—the Monarks had carved a path of destruction through their patrol patterns. They reached the transport as the blizzard intensified, loaded up, and lifted off.
Jackal spent the entire flight chattering at Alisa, who tolerated the attention with patient amusement.
---
The restaurant's warmth was a shock after surface cold. Arthur had reserved a private section—large table, comfortable chairs, proper plates instead of standard mess hall trays. The Monarks claimed seats around it, shedding weapons and gear, relaxing into post-mission relief.
Jackal sat at the head of the table—guest of honor position. She stared at the menu with an expression approaching religious reverence.
"Order whatever you want," Arthur said. "You earned it. Found the objective, followed orders, didn't eat anything inappropriate."
"Even the crayons yesterday," Jackal added proudly.
"Even the crayons," Arthur confirmed.
Jackal ordered enough food for four people. When it arrived—protein steaks, roasted vegetables, fresh bread, actual dessert—she dove in with enthusiasm but also newfound patience, actually chewing instead of inhaling everything.
Scarlet raised her glass of water. "To Jackal. Solid work today."
"To Jackal!" the team echoed.
Jackal's face went bright red with pleasure. She ducked her head, suddenly shy. "I just... wanted to make you guys proud."
Arthur stood, walked to her chair, and placed his hand on her head. Stroked once, twice. Jackal melted into the contact, that familiar contentment washing over her features.
"You did make us proud," Arthur said quietly. "You're an honorary Monark."
Jackal looked up at him with shining eyes. "Really?"
"Really."
Alisa leaned over. "And tomorrow, I'll make us friendship bracelets. We can wear them on missions!"
"Friendship bracelets," Jackal repeated wonderingly. Then she grinned—wild and bright and genuine. "Best. Day. *Ever*."
The meal stretched on, filled with laughter and stories and the easy camaraderie of soldiers who'd survived together. Arthur watched his team—his family—and felt that familiar warmth settle in his chest.
One mission down. The client's medal recovered. Medical supplies secured for the Outpost. Jackal integrated into the squad.
For now, everything was exactly as it should be.