Dawn filtered through the basement windows in shades of gray. Arthur woke to the smell of field rations being heated—Ash had scavenged working heating tabs from their supplies and was preparing breakfast with methodical efficiency.
"Morning," she said as he sat up. "Coffee substitute's ready if you want some."
Arthur accepted the cup gratefully. The liquid tasted nothing like actual coffee, but the warmth and caffeine analog served their purpose. Around him, the squad stirred from standby—Scarlet and Nyx rising smoothly, Lyra emerging from the second floor where she'd taken last watch.
"Perimeter's clear," Lyra reported. "Decoys diverted two patrols during the night. No breaches."
They ate quickly—nutrition bars and rehydrated protein that had all the appeal of cardboard but provided necessary fuel. Ash sat cross-legged near Arthur, studying the route map on her datapad.
"Today's going to be tighter," she said between bites. "We're entering the industrial corridor. More cover, but also more patrol density. Raptures use the warehouse complexes as staging areas."
"How long to reach Sector Eighteen?" Arthur asked.
"If we maintain good pace and avoid major contact, we should reach the outer perimeter by nightfall. Shepard's crash site is another four kilometers beyond that—we'll hit it tomorrow morning."
Nyx leaned over to examine the map. "These warehouse clusters could work in our favor if we're smart about it. Lots of interior routes, vertical options."
"That's how Shepard and I navigated it before." Ash traced a path with her finger. "Stay inside the structures when possible, use the elevated catwalks, avoid open ground."
Scarlet moved closer to Arthur as they finished breakfast, her hand resting casually on his thigh. The gesture was subtle but unmistakable—a quiet claiming that spoke of the intimacy they'd shared. Nyx caught the movement and smirked, her golden eyes glinting with knowing amusement.
Ash's green gaze flicked between them, recognition dawning in her expression. Her eyebrows rose fractionally, but she said nothing, returning her attention to the map.
They broke camp with practiced efficiency, dismantling the perimeter decoys and erasing signs of their presence. Within twenty minutes, they were moving northeast again, following Ash through ruined residential streets toward the industrial sector.
The morning passed in tense silence, broken only by whispered warnings and tactical updates. They encountered patrols every thirty to forty minutes—Ant-types mostly, with occasional Soldier-class units mixed in. Each time, they found concealment and waited, letting the Raptures pass without engagement.
Around midday, they entered the warehouse district. Massive concrete structures loomed on both sides, their loading bays gaping like empty mouths. Ash led them into the first building through a side entrance, and they moved through dim interiors filled with decaying equipment and collapsed shelving.
"Stay quiet," Ash whispered. "Sound carries in these spaces."
They climbed to the second level via a metal staircase, then crossed to an adjacent building using a catwalk that bridged the gap. Below them, Arthur could see a patrol moving through the ground floor—twelve Raptures in tight formation.
Scarlet pressed close behind him on the narrow catwalk, her breath warm against his neck. When they reached the other side, Nyx brushed past him with deliberate contact, her hip grazing his in a way that was anything but accidental.
Lyra, bringing up the rear, covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.
Ash glanced back at the exchange, her expression shifting from professional neutrality to barely contained amusement. When they paused in the relative safety of a warehouse office, she leaned toward Arthur with a wry smile.
"So," she said quietly, her voice pitched to carry only to him and the nearby Nikkes, "I'm guessing your squad has more than standard tactical cohesion."
Arthur kept his expression neutral. "We work well together."
"Uh-huh." Ash's smile widened. "The way Scarlet and Nyx position themselves around you isn't tactical—it's territorial. And Lyra's finding it hilarious."
Scarlet's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no real hostility in her gaze. "You have a problem with our dynamic?"
"Not at all." Ash raised her hands in mock surrender. "Hell, if it works for you, more power to you. I'm just saying—if Zero were here instead of me, she'd have had Arthur pinned to a bed on day one. Girl's got *zero* impulse control when she sees something she wants."
Nyx laughed outright at that. "I like her already."
"You would." Ash shook her head with fond exasperation. "She's crude, aggressive, covered in tattoos, and absolutely lethal. You two would either become best friends or try to kill each other within five minutes."
"What about Kasumi?" Lyra asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
"Kasumi would pick both your pockets, hack your personal files, and disappear before you noticed she'd been there." Ash's expression softened. "She's quieter than Zero, but just as dangerous in her own way. More subtle. Prefers infiltration and precision over Zero's 'smash everything' approach."
Arthur studied the Cerberus Nikke, noting the way she spoke about her squad—the mixture of professional respect and genuine affection. "You miss them."
"Every day." Ash's voice carried weight. "Command wants to reassign us separately now that Shepard's gone. Says we're too attached, too compromised. Like grief is a malfunction instead of proof we're still human where it matters."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
"That's bullshit," Nyx said flatly. "You fight better together, you survive better together. Command just doesn't like Nikkes who remember they used to be people."
Ash nodded slowly. "Which is why this mission matters so much. If Shepard comes back, if the conversion works—maybe we get to stay together. Maybe she can fight for us the way she did before."
They moved out again, continuing through the warehouse complex with increasing caution. The Rapture density was noticeably higher here, forcing them to take longer routes and use more concealment. Twice they had to backtrack when patrols blocked their intended path.
By late afternoon, they'd covered another eighteen kilometers. Ash called a halt in a warehouse that had once stored vehicle parts—rusted metal shelving rose three stories high, creating a maze of cover and observation points.
"We're close," she said, pointing northeast through a gap in the wall. "Sector Eighteen is just beyond that ridge. Another hour of travel, maybe less."
Arthur could see it in the distance—a elevated section of terrain where buildings gave way to more open ground. Somewhere in that direction, Commander Shepard's body waited.
"We camp here tonight," he decided. "Hit the crash site at first light when visibility's best and we're fresh."
They secured the warehouse using the same protocols as before—decoys, perimeter sensors, defensive positions. This time they chose a third-floor office with reinforced walls and a clear view of approaches. The space was cramped but defensible.
As they settled in for the evening, Ash pulled a specialized container from her pack. The device was roughly cubic, thirty centimeters per side, made of matte black material with biometric locks and a small display panel.
"Brain shelter," she said, setting it on a desk. "Latest Cerberus tech for field recovery operations."
Arthur studied the device. "I thought we were recovering the body."
Ash's expression grew somber. "That was the original plan. But Command updated the mission parameters after we deployed. Given the time constraints and the need for speed on extraction, we only need to recover the head."
The words settled like lead in Arthur's gut. "You're saying we decapitate her."
"I'm saying we maximize her chances." Ash's voice was firm but not callous. "This shelter uses a gel matrix that suspends and preserves neural tissue. It extends the viable conversion window from seventy-two hours to almost a week. And it weighs five kilos instead of fifty—we can move faster, avoid more combat, get back to the Ark with less risk."
Scarlet leaned forward. "What about the rest of the body?"
"Cerberus will fabricate a new one based on her original specifications. Custom conversion, full integration." Ash met each of their gazes. "I know it sounds brutal. But it's the best chance we can give her. Shepard would understand—she always prioritized mission success and squad survival."
Arthur considered the implications. The practical side of him recognized the tactical advantage. The human side recoiled from the image of sawing through someone's neck like they were butchering meat.
"You've done this before?" he asked.
"Twice. Both successful conversions." Ash's hand rested on the brain shelter. "I won't lie and say it's not difficult. But I've made the cut, and I'll make this one if you need me to."
"We'll assess conditions when we reach the site," Arthur said finally. "If this gives Shepard better odds, we do it. But I want everyone mentally prepared for what that means."
Nods around the group, though Lyra's expression showed discomfort.
As evening deepened into night, the squad settled into their watch rotations. Arthur found Lyra on the third-floor catwalk, staring out at the darkening ruins through a gap in the wall. Her silver hair caught the last traces of twilight.
"You okay?" he asked, moving to stand beside her.
"Thinking about bodies," Lyra said softly. "About what we are. Shepard's going to wake up in a new body with someone else's face in the mirror. Will she recognize herself?"
Arthur heard the deeper question beneath the words. "You're wondering if you recognize yourself."
"I look at my hands and I know they're mine, but I don't remember what my original hands looked like. I know I had a life before conversion, but the memories are fragments—faces without names, places without context. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really the same person or just a copy running on borrowed hardware."
The vulnerability in her voice cut deeper than any combat wound. Arthur chose his words carefully.
"I don't think identity lives in our bodies," he said. "You're you because of how you think, how you choose, how you care about things. The hardware might change, but the software—that's still yours."
Lyra turned to face him, her blue eyes luminous in the darkness. "Do you really believe that, or are you just saying what I need to hear?"
"Both can be true." Arthur managed a slight smile. "I replaced half my body with prosthetics and I'm still me. Angry at the same things, loyal to the same people, making the same stupid jokes. The goddesium and circuits don't change that."
"You chose your modifications," Lyra pointed out. "Most Nikkes don't get that choice."
"No, you don't. And that's another crime Command's guilty of—treating you like property instead of people." Arthur's prosthetic hand rested on the railing beside hers. "But what you do with what you've become, how you define yourself going forward—that's still your choice. They can't take that unless you let them."
Lyra was quiet for a long moment, processing his words. Finally, she nodded. "Shepard's lucky to have someone like you leading the recovery. You'll treat her like a person, not a tactical asset."
"She deserves that much. You all do."
They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the darkness deepen over the ruins. Somewhere in the distance, Arthur could hear the mechanical sounds of Rapture patrols. Tomorrow they would reach the crash site. Tomorrow the real test would begin.
But tonight, standing beside Lyra on a catwalk above a dead world, Arthur felt the weight of responsibility settle more firmly on his shoulders. Not just for the mission, but for every Nikke under his command—their dignity, their identity, their right to be seen as human regardless of their hardware.
Behind them, he heard Ash beginning her watch rotation, her footsteps steady and professional. Scarlet and Nyx were in standby, close together in the makeshift camp.
One more night of preparation. One more night before they reached Commander Shepard and faced whatever waited at the crash site.
Arthur checked his rifle one final time, then headed back inside to catch what rest he could before his watch shift began.