The shuttle ride back to the Ark passed in a blur of exhaustion and tension. Arthur sat with Scarlet's inert torso still strapped to his back, refusing to let the transport crew take her until they were safely underground. Ash held the brain shelter containing Shepard's preserved head with the same protective intensity. Lyra and Nyx flanked them in silence, their armor scorched and dented, their weapons nearly depleted.
Shifty had done exactly as promised—the moment they cleared the zone where aerial Raptures dominated, extraction arrived within minutes. The pilot asked no questions about the severed Nikke or the suspicious black container. He simply flew them home as fast as the shuttle's engines allowed.
Two days of forced march compressed into six hours of flight.
The landing bay was crowded when they touched down. Cerberus personnel in white coats waited for Ash, their expressions clinical and focused. Medical technicians with repair equipment stood ready for the Monarks. Shifty herself was there, her small frame practically vibrating with relief as the shuttle door opened.
"You did it," she breathed as Ash descended the ramp. "You actually brought her back."
"Almost lost the whole squad doing it," Ash replied, her green eyes tired but satisfied. She looked back at Arthur. "Commander Cousland. Your team saved this mission. Shepard would have approved of how you handled things."
Arthur managed a nod, his jaw tight. "Get her converted. Make it count."
"We will." Ash handed the brain shelter to the waiting scientists with careful reverence, then turned back one last time. "Thank you. All of you." Her gaze lingered on Scarlet's still form. "I hope she recovers quickly."
The Cerberus contingent departed with efficient haste, leaving Arthur and his squad with the repair technicians. A senior engineer—a woman in her fifties with gray-streaked hair and competent hands—stepped forward.
"Commander Cousland? I'm Lead Engineer Martinez. Shifty briefed us on your squad's conditions. We're ready to begin immediate repairs."
"Scarlet first," Arthur said, his voice hoarse. "She took a blade strike meant for me. Lower body complete separation."
Martinez's expression didn't change, professional and calm. "Understood. We'll prioritize her. But Commander, I need you to release her to our care. We can't work with her still on your back."
Arthur hesitated, then forced himself to comply. Nyx and Martinez worked together to carefully unstrap Scarlet's torso, transferring her to a specialized medical gurney. Seeing her like that—just a torso, arms, and head, still locked in standby mode—made Arthur's stomach twist.
"She'll be fine," Nyx said quietly beside him, reading his expression. "She's tougher than she looks."
"I know." But knowing didn't make it easier to watch them wheel her away.
Lyra and Nyx went next, each escorted by technicians toward the repair bays. Lyra's targeting systems needed recalibration after the debris impact. Nyx had stress fractures in her reinforced plating from the explosive backwash of her own rockets. Both injuries were minor compared to Scarlet's, but still required professional attention.
Arthur stood alone in the landing bay, suddenly aware of how much everything hurt. His prosthetic legs had performed flawlessly during the mission, but now that the adrenaline was fading, phantom pains crept through the nerve interfaces. His hands—goddesium-plated and steady—trembled slightly as he flexed them.
"Commander Cousland." Shifty approached, her blue hair slightly disheveled, her usually cheerful expression tempered with concern. "Deputy Chief Andersen wants to see you immediately. Conference Room Twelve."
Of course he did. Arthur drew a slow breath, forcing his spine straight. "How long do the repairs take?"
"Martinez estimated four hours for Lyra and Nyx. Scarlet will take longer—probably six to eight hours for full reconstruction. They have all her specs on file, so rebuilding the lower body is technically straightforward, just time-intensive."
Six to eight hours before he'd know if she was truly okay. Arthur nodded. "Tell Andersen I'm on my way."
The walk to the command level felt longer than usual. Personnel in the corridors gave him wide berth, their eyes tracking the blood stains on his armor, the scorch marks, the exhaustion written across his face. By the time Arthur reached Conference Room Twelve, he'd been stopped twice by security checkpoints verifying his identity and clearance.
Deputy Chief Andersen was waiting inside, standing by the window that overlooked the Ark's central shaft. He turned as Arthur entered, his expression unreadable.
"Commander Cousland. Sit."
Arthur sat, his body grateful for the chair even as his mind remained wired and alert. Andersen studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"I've reviewed Shifty's preliminary report and the combat logs from your squad's optics. What you accomplished in Sector Eighteen is... unprecedented." Andersen moved to the table, bringing up a tactical display. "A Tyrant-class Rapture. The Reaper, no less—one of the most dangerous units we've tracked in the past decade. You killed it with four Nikkes and small arms."
"We got lucky," Arthur said flatly. "If Lyra hadn't found that joint weakness, if Nyx's rocket hadn't hit perfectly, if Scarlet hadn't—" His voice caught. He forced it steady. "We got lucky."
"Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity. Your squad was prepared. You led them well." Andersen's tone held genuine approval. "You also secured Commander Shepard's remains within the viable conversion window. Cerberus is already beginning the process. If her memories are intact, the intelligence she gathered could be invaluable."
Arthur met Andersen's eyes. "What about Scarlet?"
Andersen's expression softened slightly—not much, but enough. "Lead Engineer Martinez is one of the best we have. Scarlet will be fine."
"Her lower body was completely destroyed. The blade went through her like—"
"Like she wasn't there. I know." Andersen sat across from Arthur, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "Commander, I need you to understand something fundamental about Nikke construction. As long as the brain is intact and undamaged, everything else is replaceable. We keep full schematics on file for every Nikke ever built—custom and mass-produced alike. Martinez can rebuild Scarlet's lower body exactly as it was, down to the millimeter. Same hydraulics, same armor plating, same synthetic muscle fiber density."
Arthur wanted to believe it. "And she'll be... the same? No memory loss, no personality changes?"
"Her consciousness, her memories, her personality—all of that resides in her brain and neural network. The rest is machinery, sophisticated as it may be." Andersen's tone gentled further. "She'll wake up in a new lower body, but she'll still be Scarlet. The same soldier who took a blade meant for you. The same woman who trusts you enough to give you her standby codes."
The knot in Arthur's chest loosened fractionally. "How long until she's operational?"
"Martinez estimated eight hours maximum. Probably less—she's motivated. Apparently your squad made quite an impression on the repair staff during your last visit." A hint of something like amusement touched Andersen's expression. "You fought the medical staff to get them proper repairs instead of minimum maintenance, if I recall correctly."
"They deserved proper care."
"Yes. They did." Andersen stood, moving to a secured cabinet and retrieving a datapad. "Which brings me to my next point. The Monarks are being granted two weeks of mandatory leave, effective immediately upon completion of repairs."
Arthur blinked, surprised. "Two weeks?"
"You killed a Tyrant-class Rapture, Commander. That's a feat most squads couldn't manage with ten times your numbers and heavy artillery support. You've earned rest." Andersen handed him the datapad with the official orders. "Your squad has also earned recognition, though I suspect the political implications of that will take time to process. Central Command doesn't like acknowledging that mass-produced Nikkes can perform at elite levels."
The familiar edge of cynicism crept into Arthur's voice. "Can't have the expendable equipment looking too competent. Might make people question the hierarchy."
"Careful, Commander." But Andersen's warning lacked heat. "That said... you're not wrong. There are people in this building who would prefer your success remain quietly filed away. There are others—myself included—who believe your methods and results should be studied, replicated, and taught."
Arthur looked up sharply. "You want me to train other commanders?"
"Eventually. Not yet." Andersen reclaimed his seat. "First, you and your squad need to recover. Two weeks of leave means exactly that—no missions, no briefings, no obligations beyond showing up for any medical follow-ups Martinez requires. Spend time with your team. Let them heal. Let yourself heal."
The offer was more generous than Arthur had expected. Suspicion flickered. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just reality." Andersen's expression turned serious. "When you return to active duty, things will be different. The Shepard recovery, the Tyrant kill—these have drawn attention. Director Caldwell will want detailed debriefs. Other departments will want to study your tactics. And there are always those who will resent your success."
"Like Commander General Hawthorne."
"Among others." Andersen didn't deny it. "Use these two weeks wisely, Arthur. Rest. Rebuild. Prepare. Because when you come back, the real work begins."
Arthur studied the older man, trying to read the subtext. Andersen had always been fair, even when critical. But there was something else here—a warning, or perhaps an invitation.
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Dismissed. And Commander?" Andersen's voice stopped him at the door. "Your squad is lucky to have you. Make sure they know it."
Arthur returned to the repair bay on sublevel eight, his body running on fumes but his mind refusing to rest until he saw his team. The bay was a sprawling facility of examination tables, diagnostic equipment, and parts storage. Martinez met him at the entrance.
"Commander. Your timing is good—we just finished with Lyra and Nyx."
"And Scarlet?"
"Still in progress. The lower body reconstruction is delicate work." Martinez gestured toward a sectioned area. "Your other two are in recovery bay three. They're awake and cleared for visitors."
Relief flooded through him. Arthur followed Martinez to the recovery area, where Lyra and Nyx waited on reinforced examination tables. Both looked tired but whole.
"Commander," Lyra said, her blue eyes brightening as he entered. "You look terrible."
"Feel terrible," Arthur admitted. "How are you two?"
Nyx flexed her arms experimentally, testing the repaired plating. "Good as new. Better, maybe—Martinez upgraded some of my stress points while she was at it."
"Targeting systems recalibrated and optimized," Lyra added. "I should have even better accuracy now."
Arthur pulled up a stool, sitting heavily. "Scarlet?"
"Martinez says another three hours," Nyx replied, her golden eyes steady. "She'll be fine, Arthur. You know she will."
He nodded, wanting to believe it. The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the past days settling over them.
"We killed a Tyrant," Lyra said softly. "The four of us."
"Five," Arthur corrected. "Ash was there too."
"Five outcasts and rejects," Nyx amended with a sharp grin. "Bet that's giving Command headaches."
Arthur couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his mouth. "Two weeks leave. Andersen's orders."
Both Nikkes looked genuinely surprised. "Two weeks?" Lyra repeated.
"We earned it, apparently." Arthur leaned back, exhaustion creeping over him now that the immediate crisis had passed. "When Scarlet's ready, we're all taking real time off. No missions. No briefings. Just... rest."
"What will we do with two weeks?" Lyra asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Arthur thought about it. "Whatever we want. That's the point."
Nyx's expression softened. "Sounds nice."
They waited together, the minutes stretching into hours, until finally Martinez emerged from the reconstruction bay with a satisfied expression.
"Commander Cousland? She's ready."
Arthur stood, his heart suddenly pounding. "She's okay?"
"See for yourself."
He followed Martinez into the reconstruction bay, where Scarlet sat on an examination table, whole and awake. Her crimson eyes found his immediately, and the smile that crossed her face was genuine and warm.
"Hey, Commander," she said, her voice steady and strong. "Miss me?"