The silence was palpable as the team trudged back to the Ark. The air hung heavy with the aftermath of the battle, their footsteps barely registering against the vast emptiness of the terrain. Anis, her face marked by fatigue but still determined, carried Mihara's limp, unconscious form over her shoulder. Mihara's body swayed slightly with each step, but Anis held her securely, adjusting her grip every so often to ensure her balance.

John led the way, his fist still bloodied, still clenched tight around Yuni's whip. He hadn't let it go since the fight, his grip firm as though releasing it would mean acknowledging something he wasn't ready to face. His knuckles ached with every movement, but his pace didn't falter. The whip dangled at his side, almost forgotten, but every so often his fingers flexed, and his jaw tightened, a reminder that the pain in his hand was nothing compared to the ache settling in his chest. The guilt sat there like a stone—Yuni's life, another on his conscience, another soul he couldn't save. The silence between them was thick with the things none of them said.

Rapi's gaze kept flickering toward him, the tension in her posture betraying her concern. She moved closer to him, her hand hovering near his shoulder, hesitating for a beat before she said, "Commander, your hand." Her voice was steady, but the worry edged through despite her attempt to hide it. She reached out, her fingers just grazing his arm as if to remind him that she was there. "Let me treat it."

John didn't break stride. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, distant. The whip swayed slightly with his movement, but he barely seemed aware of it. For a long moment, the only answer he gave was the cold wind brushing through the barren land. The blood crusting on his knuckles didn't matter. The pain didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the sound of their footsteps dragging through the dirt.

Neon, always the one to break the silence, walked a little faster until she was beside him. She glanced up at him, but even she seemed unsure of what to say. "Master..." Her voice wavered, softer than usual. "When my firepower increases, everything hurts less like I'm healing. Does your magic help you like that?" Her words hung in the air, carrying more than just curiosity.

John's expression didn't change at first, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a moment where the tension in his jaw seemed to slacken. "Tried it once," he muttered, the words barely above a growl. "Ruinous Gambit sped everything up. Healed me faster than I thought possible." His voice dropped, darker. "But it didn't lower the cost of healing, just the time it took to heal. The body needs energy. Materials. Burned through it all. Too fast."

Neon's steps faltered beside him, her eyes darting between his bruised hand and his face. There was a sharpness in the air now, something raw that none of them could touch. She didn't need to ask what happened next. The silence that followed said enough.

John's gaze flicked to Anis, who was readjusting Mihara's weight on her shoulders. Her breathing was steady, but each step felt heavier.

"How's she holding up?" John asked finally, his voice rougher now, quieter.

Anis didn't look at him, didn't stop walking. "She'll make it," she said, her voice clipped but firm. "Physically, anyway."

As the elevator hummed softly beneath them, the group's heavy silence filled the confined space. The dim light overhead flickered slightly as it passed another floor, the descent into the Ark feeling slower than usual. Rapi stood at the front, her hands behind her back, ever the soldier, her expression unreadable but eyes sharp. Behind her, Anis shifted slightly under the weight of Mihara's unconscious body.

Neon, usually chatty, remained quiet as she examined John from the corner of her eye, her brow furrowed. His bloodied fist was still wrapped around Yuni's whip, the red-stained leather creaking under his tight grip. His knuckles, raw and cracked, gave off an eerie silence as he stood, eyes fixed on the floor. The quiet buzz of her communicator snapped her into motion. She answered it swiftly.

"Rapi, it's Shifty," Shifty's voice crackled through the line, the connection unstable as if strained by interference. "I've been trying to reach you for a while. Things are getting tense between Burningum, Syuen, and Andersen."

Rapi's posture stiffened at the mention of the names. Neon watched as her usually composed squad leader's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around her rifle. Shifty continued, the static making it difficult to catch every word. "...Burningum and Syuen went ahead and authorized that black ops mission... Andersen's furious. He's insisting that you meet him first... before you meet Burningum."

Rapi's brows tightened. "Understood. However, the Commander is injured. He needs to get to medical first."

Before she could finish, John's voice cut through the comm. "No," he muttered, voice raspy but firm. "We're heading to Andersen."

Rapi shot him a sharp glance. "Sir, with all due respect—"

"I said we're heading to Andersen." John interrupted, his voice cold and heavy, final. He hadn't looked up, his focus still locked on the whip in his hand, fingers trembling slightly with the effort to maintain his grip.

Rapi's eyes lingered on him, narrowing ever so slightly. Her jaw tightened, a response barely perceptible, but she nodded. No further argument. "Yes, sir."

The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors slid open with a low hiss. Light spilled in from the outpost, harsh and sterile, but it wasn't the brightness that caught their attention. The figures standing just beyond the door commanded the space, an unspoken authority radiating from their stances.

Privaty stood at the forefront, her posture rigid, the long strands of her teal twin-tails swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. Her military uniform was pristine, immaculate, with the gleam of her boots and gloves catching the light. The way she held her rifle—angled casually but with the precision of someone always ready—spoke volumes. Her golden eyes scanned the group quickly, taking in the injuries, the exhaustion, the blood. Her gaze lingered on John's fist for a fraction of a second longer before moving on, her expression sharp, but unreadable.

Beside her, Yulha leaned against the wall with an almost playful nonchalance, but the ease of her stance didn't disguise the calculated sharpness in her movements. Her silver hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, and her unbuttoned coat added to the casual air about her. But her crimson eyes gleamed with something more dangerous—an edge. The tapping of her fingers against her weapon, soft and almost rhythmic, contrasted with the intensity of her gaze. "Long day?" she remarked, her voice carrying an air of amusement that cut through the tension like a blade.

Standing slightly apart was Admi, her small frame almost swallowed by the high-powered rifle slung across her back. Her short gray hair framed a youthful face, and her schoolgirl-like uniform contrasted sharply with her military gear.

It was Yulha who finally spoke, her voice carrying the weight of authority. " Evening newbie. We have orders from Burningum. You're coming with us. He's not happy with how this went down."

"I'm not interested in Burningum right now," he said, his voice flat but edged with irritation.

Yulha's brow furrowed, her exhaustion giving way to something sharper, more authoritative. "You don't have a choice in this. Deputy Chief Burningum wants answers, and we're here to bring you."

John finally looked up, meeting Yulha's gaze with a calm intensity that made the air feel thicker. "As I was assigned under deputy chief Andersen, his orders take precedence," he said, voice firm but controlled, like a dam holding back something far more dangerous. "I'm meeting with him."

Privaty's scoff broke the silence, but there was an edge of irritation in her tone. "You're walking a fine line here. Think you can just blow us off because of who you report to?"

Rapi's eyes flickered between them, her posture tensing. The weight of John's defiance hung heavy in the air, but she said nothing. Anis shifted Mihara slightly, her eyes darting to Neon, who stood fidgeting with her weapon, her unease visible in the way her fingers tapped nervously.

For a second, the air crackled with the tension between them. Privaty looked like she was about to explode, her mouth opening to retort, but Yulha raised a hand, stopping her.

"We'll relay the message," Yulha said, her voice taut with the barely-contained exhaustion of someone who had dealt with far too many headaches that day. "But don't think this is over."

John didn't even acknowledge her words, his eyes forward, pushing through the outpost as if they weren't even there. Anis followed, her grip on Mihara's unconscious body steady. Rapi gave Privaty one final glance before stepping forward as well, while Neon hesitated for a brief moment, glancing at Admi, before quickly catching up.

John and Rapi entered Andersen's office, a dimly lit room that felt more like a war room than an administrative space. The low hum of machinery provided a backdrop to the piles of reports scattered on the large desk, each one detailing the most recent events from the Ark's frontline. Andersen, leaning back in his chair, regarded them with his ever-calm gaze, though the lines of tension in his face suggested he had already been briefed on the chaos that had unfolded.

The door slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, and Andersen wasted no time, motioning for them to sit.

John remained standing.

Rapi, ever the professional, took a step forward. "Commander Andersen, we've returned from the surface. There are… complications."

Andersen raised a brow. "I'm aware. Burningum's breathing down everyone's neck. But let's start with the most important question, John. Do you think he's figured it out?"

John crossed his arms, his fingers still subtly flexing from the dull ache in his broken hand. "About me being a sorcerer?" His voice was low, cautious. "No. He might suspect something's different about me, but there's no way he knows the full picture. Not yet."

Andersen's brow furrowed, his hand reaching up to rub his chin in thought. "Burningam's smart—cunning, even—but he's already minimizing his role in this. His political instincts are too sharp for that. If anything, he's likely already positioning Syuen as the problem. Burningam may be politically astute, but it's Syuen who we need to watch out for in this case. She's more reckless, more vocal. She'll fight back if this goes public, and if this incident makes it to the Central Government's ears, she'll make a scene."

Rapi frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. "And the Central Government will look for someone to blame, won't they?"

"Exactly," Andersen replied, his tone grim. "But don't expect anything substantial. The government's going to give them a fine, a slap on the wrist to keep up appearances."

Andersen coughed "That brings us to the rapture you were assigned to capture. Chatterbox."

John's posture tightened. "He's sentient."

The words hung in the air for a moment. Andersen didn't blink.

Rapi's eyes shifted toward John. She hadn't heard him put it so bluntly until now.

"Chatterbox spoke to me during the battle," John continued. "He used language, taunts. He wasn't just some mindless Rapture following orders. He understood. And…" he paused, the weight of what he was about to reveal causing his voice to grow heavier. "He used sorcery."

Andersen leaned forward, his steepled fingers pressed to his lips. "A Rapture, using sorcery." He breathed out slowly. "You're sure of this?"

John nodded, his jaw tight. "I felt it. He has cursed energy."

Rapi, silent for the moment, scanned Andersen's reaction. Though she kept her emotions well-guarded, even she couldn't hide the slight crease of her brow. The implications were enormous.

Andersen stood, pacing slowly behind his desk, his face unreadable. "This changes everything. If the Raptures have even one that's developed consciousness and can control sorcery, the threat is far more severe than we anticipated."

Andersen turned to them, his voice cold with certainty. "This information will not leave this room. I will relay the details to the Central Government in a way that wont implicate you and your team. Syuen and Missilis kept this under wraps for a reason. The real question is how much more they've hidden from us."

John's eyes darkened, his voice a low growl. "And what will happen to them? Will they be held accountable?"

Andersen met his gaze evenly, though there was a bitterness in his voice as he replied, "Held accountable?" He shook his head. "At best, they'll receive a minor reprimand. A fine. Nothing significant."

John's fists clenched, the dull ache in his broken hand flaring up, but he forced himself to remain calm. "A life was lost because of their greed," he muttered, the anger barely contained.

Rapi looked over at him, concerned, but kept her focus on the conversation at hand. Andersen, too, let the comment pass for the moment, focusing on the bigger issue.

Andersen spoke. "I understand you are concerned Commander, but it's best you dont get involved in the politics of the Ark too much. You need to focus on Chatterbox. It isn't just another Rapture. We need to know what we're dealing with."

John stepped forward, his tone cold. "I want another chance to face him."

Andersen studied him for a long moment before nodding. "You'll get it. But for now, you need to recover and make sure the team is ready for whatever comes next."

John and Rapi stood silently, waiting for Andersen to continue. The weight of their last mission hung in the air between them, heavier now with the knowledge of what they had witnessed. Andersen sat in his chair, eyes dark with thought.

"Tell me more about the Pilgrim," he said finally, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk.

John's brow furrowed. "She showed up in the middle of the fight. Her shots were... precise, methodical. I don't know how, but she knew exactly where to hit Chatterbox to slow his regeneration."

Rapi crossed her arms, adding, "She didn't even flinch. She had a goal and executed it perfectly. But as soon as Chatterbox fled, she told us to go home and took off after him."

Andersen sat back in his chair, considering their words. "A Pilgrim with that kind of firepower... She could be invaluable. We need to know more about her, and—if possible—work with her." He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "John, Rapi, I want you both to track her down. She might be the key to taking down Chatterbox for good."

John straightened. "We can get back out there immediately."

But Andersen shook his head. "Not yet. There are things I'm working on—logistics, resources we'll need to put in place. It'll take time, probably a month before everything is ready. Until then, you two are on leave. Rest. Regroup. You've earned it."

John tensed at the thought of a month off, but he didn't argue. Rapi, however, narrowed her eyes. "A month? Chatterbox won't just sit around."

Andersen's gaze softened slightly. "I know. But if we're going to take him down for good, we need to do this right. And you need to be at full strength."

John gave a slow nod, though the tension in his shoulders remained. He turned to leave, but Andersen's voice halted him. "One more thing."

John turned back.

"As this was a black operation," Andersen began, his tone measured, "there won't be any official recognition or payment in the usual channels."

Rapi's eyes flicked to John, sensing his reaction, but before she could speak, Andersen added, "But you'll be compensated. I've arranged for something off the record."

John clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to argue, but after a moment, he gave a short nod. "Understood."

As they left Andersen's office, the weight of the conversation still pressing down on them, John's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down, his eyes narrowing slightly at the name on the screen. Takumi.

He stopped, his fingers hovering over the screen, before looking over at Rapi. "I'll meet you at the outpost later," he said quietly.

Rapi raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on him for a moment, but she didn't question him. "Be careful."

John walked into the small, dimly lit café, the aroma of freshly ground coffee and warm pastries immediately hitting him. His appearance—bloodied hand still wrapped in makeshift bandages, clothes singed and dirt-streaked from the recent battle—stood in stark contrast to the quiet, serene atmosphere of the shop. Takumi was already seated at a table near the back, his tall figure relaxed but upright. He was nursing a mocha, eyes closed as if lost in thought. In front of him, an untouched apple pie and an americano sat waiting.

John gave a small smirk at the sight of the pie. Takumi always remembered.

"Hey, old man," John greeted, sliding into the chair opposite him. He glanced down at the pie, the steam still rising faintly from its golden crust. "You remembered."

Takumi opened his eyes slowly, offering a slight nod in response, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thought you could use something familiar," he said, his voice quiet but steady. He gestured toward the americano. "And something strong."

John gave a nod of appreciation, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He felt the weight of Yuni's whip tucked into his jacket, and the memory of the battle still clung to him.

Takumi's eyes flicked briefly over John's hand, taking in the battered state of his knuckles. He didn't say anything about it, but there was a slight narrowing of his gaze, as if calculating something.

"I'm fine," John said, brushing off the unspoken concern.

"Sure you are," Takumi replied, his tone neutral but carrying a depth of understanding that years of mentorship had cultivated between them. He took a sip of his mocha, allowing a beat of silence to settle between them before speaking again. "We can't stay here, though."

John looked around, realizing the truth in Takumi's words. His current state—disheveled and clearly fresh from a fight—was already beginning to draw a few curious and uneasy glances from the shop's patrons. The shop owner, a kind old woman behind the counter, eyed him warily.

"Yeah," John agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not exactly a crowd-pleaser today."

Takumi chuckled softly, the sound almost inaudible. "Let's take this to go," he said, standing up with fluid ease. He slid the pie across the table toward John. "You'll need this. Trust me."

John gave a brief nod, pocketing the whip a little more securely before grabbing the apple pie. He wasn't in the mood to argue, and truth be told, the familiar comfort of the dessert was welcome after everything that had happened.

They stepped out of the café, the cold evening air hitting them as they walked side by side down the quiet street.

As they strolled down the quiet street, the dim streetlights casting long shadows around them, Takumi broke the silence. His voice was calm but edged with curiosity. "Why did you contact me, Anāman?" He paused, realizing his mistake, and corrected himself, "John. Why break the binding vow we set up?"

John's grip tightened slightly on the apple pie he still held, but he didn't break stride. For a moment, he contemplated how to answer, his mind flickering back to the lab, to the horrors he'd seen there, and to Chatterbox. Finally, he spoke, his tone low, measured. "I found something. A lab." His eyes darkened, recalling the vivid memories. "It looked like some kind of experiment... on Nikkes. Sorcery and brain matter growing like mold. Not only that, I also encountered a Rapture that could use cursed techniques."

Takumi's expression remained stoic, but John could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. His mentor's calm exterior was one thing, but John knew him well enough to recognize when Takumi was turning the gears in his mind, analyzing every word.

John continued. "The lab had barrier techniques... old ones. Archaic, really. Strong as hell though. Few people could've broken through. I managed it, but I don't know who built it or why. Thought you might have an idea... maybe someone from the society?"

Takumi stayed silent for a moment, his hands slipping into his pockets as they continued to walk. The soft crunch of their footsteps on the pavement was the only sound for a while.

"I can look into it," Takumi finally said, his voice contemplative. "But it'll take time. I've been assigned a mission. There's something in the outer rim—a curse they've sent me to track. Could be related, could be something else entirely."

John stopped walking, turning to face Takumi. "I'll handle it."

Takumi raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"I'll take care of your mission in the outer rim. It'll give you time to gather intel. You're better at the research stuff anyway," John said with a small grin, though the weight of the offer was clear in his eyes.

Takumi gave a slow nod, understanding the implication. It wasn't just about convenience—it was about trust. John would handle the danger, so Takumi could find the truth. "Fine. But be careful," Takumi added, his tone serious.

John chuckled softly, though his voice carried a note of exhaustion. "Aren't I always?"

Back at the outpost, Anis and Neon were finally getting a chance to unwind after dropping Mihara off at the repair center. The two lounged in the common room, the tension from the mission starting to fade, though traces of it lingered.

Anis flopped onto the worn couch, the cushions sagging under her weight as she rubbed her tired eyes. The hum of the outpost's ventilation droned softly in the background. "I can't believe it's finally over. We almost got turned into scrap out there."

Neon, standing in front of the fridge, glanced over her shoulder with a grin. "Well, we didn't. Thanks to my firepower." She lifted her shotgun in a mock salute before tossing it onto the counter.

Anis smirked. "Your firepower, huh? Maybe your firepower should have recharged itself instead of guzzling all our soda." She gestured at the empty cans scattered across the table. "Speaking of which…"

Neon's eyes lit up as she opened the fridge. "Oh yeah, speaking of which—there's one left!"

Anis perked up immediately, her gaze locking onto the last can tucked in the fridge's corner. "Whoa, hold up. I called dibs on that earlier."

Neon clutched the soda to her chest like a precious artifact. "I need this to recharge my firepower! You saw me out there, right? All that blasting takes energy!"

Anis leaned back with a grin, crossing her arms. "Please, I saw you panic-fire into the ceiling. I'm the one who needs a drink. Keeping my cool under pressure? That's exhausting."

Neon gasped dramatically. "Miss half my shots?! You take that back! I was making precision strikes!"

Anis raised an eyebrow. "Precision? You almost blew a hole in Rapi's back."

"That was tactical!" Neon's mock indignation only deepened. "You wouldn't understand the nuances of firepower."

"Oh, I understand firepower just fine," Anis replied, eyes gleaming. "But you don't need a soda for it. I need it to recover from saving everyone's ass."

Neon huffed, lifting the can. "Listen, I'm a finely-tuned firepower machine." She shook the can. "And this is my fuel."

Anis burst into laughter, shaking her head. "You've got to be kidding me."

The tension from the mission eased as their playful banter went on. Neon stared at the soda, torn between defending it and giving in to Anis's stubborn grin. Before she could react, Anis reached over and snatched it from her hand.

"Alright, fine," Anis said, cracking open the can and taking a long sip. "But next time, you're getting the snacks."

Neon pouted for a second, then shrugged and grabbed a snack from the counter. "Deal."

She flopped onto the couch beside Anis, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh, we stink. I feel like we've been marinating in battle sweat for hours. We need a shower. Now."

Anis didn't even glance up, still sipping the soda. "Yeah, good luck with that. Hot water's still out, and unless you want to risk frostbite, John has the key to the commander's shower."

Neon groaned, running a hand through her hair. "We need a shower—like, immediately. I'm pretty sure I could fuel a rapture with this stench."

Anis, lounging next to her with a satisfied grin, tilted her head. "Or, hear me out… we just turn off our olfactory sensors. Problem solved."

Neon shook her head. "No way. In my heart, I'm still human, and turning off my olfactory sensors makes me feel... less human. It's like erasing part of who I am."

Anis chuckled. "Oh, you poor thing. I have no problem flipping the switch and letting the stink disappear into the void."

Before Neon could reply, Rapi entered the room, looking tired and wary after a meeting with Andersen and a stop at the repair center. She paused at the doorway, wrinkling her nose. "You both smell awful."

"Well, unless you want us to take an ice bath, we're stuck until the water's fixed or John lets us use his shower again." Anis shrugged.

"About that," Rapi said, hesitating. "Despite my objections... John gave me the key to his room. He said you can use his shower. Hot water included."

Neon's face lit up instantly. "Yes! I knew the commander would come through!"

Anis chuckled, tossing the empty soda can into the trash. "Well, look at that. Guess it's time to raid the commander's shower."

Rapi sighed, clearly conflicted, but gave them a resigned nod. "Just... keep it clean, alright?"

Anis grinned. "No promises. Time to clean up, Neon. Let's go before Rapi changes her mind."

As they headed off, Rapi stayed behind, shaking her head. "I'll never understand them," she muttered, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she followed.

The air was filled with the smell of fresh soap and steam as Anis and Neon finished drying themselves after their much-needed showers. The warm heat lingered on their skin, a luxury they rarely got to indulge in. Neon stretched, her muscles relaxing as she wrapped the towel around her body, grinning over at Anis.

"See? Told you this was a great idea," Neon said smugly, her damp hair clinging to her forehead.

Anis shook her head, chuckling softly as she rubbed the towel through her hair. "Alright, alright. I'll give you that. But we'll see if we get away with it." She flicked the towel at Neon playfully, the moment feeling light after so much time in the trenches.

Neon dodged the towel flick and let out a sigh of relief. "Honestly, I don't even care. We deserved this." She grabbed a bottle of lotion from the nearby table, rubbing it on her arms as she relished the quiet moment.

"Plus," Neon added, a cheeky grin spreading across her face, "it's not like anyone's gonna come in and—"

The door creaked open mid-sentence, and both girls froze in their tracks, towels half-wrapped around them. Standing there was John, casually holding what looked to be a young girl by her left foot. The scene was bizarre enough on its own, but the robotic dog that was hopping around John's feet made it even more surreal.

"Are... kids allowed on base?" John asked flatly, staring down at the small figure he was carrying like she weighed nothing. His face showed a mixture of exhaustion and confusion, as if he couldn't decide if this situation was happening or if it was a strange post-battle dream.

The girl, dangling upside down in John's grasp, crossed her arms defiantly, clearly not thrilled by the situation. "Kid?" she echoed with an indignant huff. "I'm older than all of you greenhorns combined!"

John raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yeah, right."

The small robotic dog, meanwhile, seemed to have no such concerns as it continued yapping and bouncing around, tail wagging furiously as it tried to get John's attention. It jumped up, paws batting at John's legs in excitement.

Rapi stepped into the room, her usual calm demeanor unchanged by the scene in front of her. Her sharp eyes quickly assessed the situation, and after a moment, she nodded toward the girl. "She's telling the truth Commander. Your holding up Liter, leader of mighty tools squad"

John's grip loosened almost instinctively, caught off guard by Rapi's confirmation. He let go of the girl's foot without another word, watching in mild disbelief as she tumbled to the ground.

John let go of Liter's foot without much grace, and she fell straight onto her head with a dull thud. "Ow!" she grunted, rubbing the back of her skull as her dog, Bolt, continued to circle around, yapping as if cheering her on.

John looked down at her, unimpressed. "So, care to explain what you're doing here? And why you didn't bother to inform me, the commander of this outpost, before showing up?"

Liter stood up, still rubbing her head, her expression shifting from annoyance to a smirk. "I did tell you, Commander," she replied matter-of-factly. "I sent you a message on Blabla hours ago."

John blinked, clearly confused. "Blabla?" he repeated, digging through his memory. He recalled a message he'd seen earlier, something filled with what he thought was pure gibberish. A strange mix of symbols, letters, and random characters he had quickly dismissed. His eyes widened in realization.

"That... that was you?"

"Yeah," Liter shrugged, adjusting her hard hat. "What, you think I got time to fiddle with all your fancy newfangled tech? That stuff is a nightmare." She crossed her arms, puffing out her chest proudly. "Anyway, Andersen asked me to start prepping plans to expand the facilities here now that the outpost has an official commander. He wants this place to be able to handle more teams and increase its capabilities."

John groaned, rubbing his forehead. "So that gibberish message was your heads-up..."

"Exactly," she nodded, completely oblivious to how absurd her explanation sounded. Bolt barked in agreement, wagging its mechanical tail.

John sighed, looking around at the girls, who were barely stifling their laughter. "Of course... well, next time, maybe try sending it in plain text."