The morning sun cast long shadows over the makeshift training ground, the air crisp with the distant hum of activity. The scattered shipping containers and hastily placed barriers provided just enough room for two warriors to move freely.
John and Rapi stood opposite each other, tension thick in the air. He rolled his shoulders, muscles coiled like a spring, while Rapi remained as composed as ever, her stance firm, unshaken.
Then, John moved.
A blur of motion. He vanished from sight for a fraction of a second—then reappeared at Rapi's side, launching a sharp strike at her ribs. She reacted instantly, blocking with fluid precision, absorbing the force without shifting her stance.
John didn't slow. He twisted on his heel, disappearing from view again, only to reappear behind her with a downward chop aimed at the base of her neck. Rapi spun, intercepting the blow with a forearm block before countering with a precise elbow aimed at his ribs. He barely twisted away in time.
From the sidelines, Neon, Anis, and Marian watched, eyes locked on the battle.
"Master is fast," Neon murmured, her voice laced with awe. "Like, really fast."
Anis crossed her arms, scowling. "Yeah, no kidding. But Rapi isn't exactly lagging behind."
Marian observed quietly, her red eyes narrowing. "John has the advantage in travel speed, but Rapi matches him in reaction time. She's not trying to outrun him—she's just responding, letting him come to her."
John darted forward again—then again—then again. A flash of movement, too fast for the eye to follow. He was circling her now, his speed so intense that afterimages flickered in the air like echoes of his movements.
Rapi remained eerily still, her eyes tracking his motions. Then, without warning, she struck.
A sharp kick, perfectly timed. John dodged at the last second, but the force of her strike cut through one of his afterimages, dispersing it like smoke.
Neon let out a low whistle. "Okay, that's kinda badass."
Anis, however, looked aggrieved. "Yeah, yeah, all that fancy footwork is nice and all, but why isn't he twisting her into a pretzel like he did with me?"
Neon grinned. "Because you're easy to suplex."
Marian, trying and failing to suppress a small smile, added, "Commander said before that Rapi has experience with grappling. Since she has a lower center of gravity and weighs more than him, he'd be at a disadvantage in a clinch."
Anis groaned, flopping back dramatically. "So that's why I got wrecked. I was an easy throw."
Neon patted her on the shoulder mockingly. "There, there. Some of us are just built to be airborne."
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, John's relentless speed pressed the attack. He appeared at Rapi's left, his knee snapping forward—only for her to catch it mid-motion with a solid block. He spun away, pivoting into another strike from her blind spot, but her hand snapped up, stopping it inches from her face.
John grinned. Damn, she's good.
Rapi countered, closing the distance between them. She aimed a precise strike at his ribs—John twisted away, but she was already moving, pressing forward with a calculated assault.
For every attack he launched, she had an answer.
Anis let out a dramatic sigh from the sidelines. "If they weren't trying to murder each other, this would actually look kinda elegant."
Neon smirked. "Yeah, like a really aggressive dance."
Before Anis could retort, John lunged again—faster, sharper. He feinted left, only to disappear from Rapi's vision entirely. A flicker of movement behind her. She reacted instantly, twisting to intercept, her forearm snapping up just in time to block a downward strike.
Their eyes locked.
Neither hesitated.
John pivoted, bringing his knee up for a sharp strike to her midsection, but Rapi caught his leg, twisting into a counterattack that forced him to disengage. He barely landed before she pressed forward, her palm slicing through the air toward his jaw. He ducked, feeling the force of it whistle past his ear, then responded with a sharp kick aimed at her ribs. Rapi turned with it, rolling with the momentum, stabilizing just before she sent a controlled strike toward his chest.
John exhaled sharply, tilting his head back just enough to dodge, before raising his hands.
"Alright," he said, his breath steady despite the strain. "That's enough."
Rapi lowered her fists, her posture unwinding as she took a step back. A thin layer of sweat glistened on her skin, but her expression remained as unreadable as ever.
Anis groaned, flopping backward onto the crate she had been sitting on. "Aw, come on! You're just stopping now? I wanted to see a winner."
John exhaled, shaking the tension from his arms as he glanced at Anis with a smirk. "This isn't a show Anis, it's just a warm up spar. And anyway, I was obviously going to win"
Rapi wiped her brow with the back of her wrist before folding her arms. "You say that like you weren't already losing momentum."
John chuckled. "And yet, you still couldn't hit me clean."
Neon leaned over to Marian, whispering loudly, "That's the closest thing to flirting I've ever heard from either of them."
Marian, still watching John carefully, didn't respond. Her expression remained thoughtful.
John grabbed a nearby towel, running it over his face as he let out a breath. "Alright, fun's over. Let's talk business."
Rapi straightened slightly, Anis groaned again, and Neon finally shut her magazine.
"Our mission with Absolute is in two days," John stated, tossing the towel aside. "Which means today's the last day for any extra training or prep. Tomorrow, you're all off-duty. Rest up."
Anis perked up at that, her interest piqued. "Wait. You're actually giving us a day off? What's the catch?"
John smirked. "The catch is that if you don't take it, you're going into the field exhausted. And I don't want anyone at half-capacity when we're dealing with whatever's in Area H."
Neon tilted her head. "So we get to sleep in, eat whatever we want, and do absolutely nothing tomorrow?"
John nodded. "Exactly."
Anis threw her hands in the air. "Best. Commander. Ever."
Neon grinned. "Master, you're spoiling us."
John rolled his eyes. "I'm making sure you don't collapse in the middle of a mission. But if you want to call it spoiling, fine."
Marian, still quiet, finally spoke. "Do we have any information on what to expect when we get there?"
John glanced at Rapi before answering. "Not much. Absolute and Matis fought a heretic there before, and something about the area makes it highly restricted. Even Andersen said it was off-limits to most personnel. We'll be walking into unknown territory. And unknown usually means trouble."
Anis crossed her arms, her good mood slightly dampened. "Are we gonna be dealing with another heretic? Because I really don't want a repeat of last time."
John's expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening for half a second before he forced himself to relax. "We don't know yet. But that's why we're going in prepared."
Rapi nodded. "We should load up extra gear. If Absolute already fought something there, we need to assume the worst."
John nodded. "That's the plan. So today, finish any training, maintenance, or preparations. Tomorrow, recharge. We deploy the day after."
The dim glow of the outpost's lights barely filtered through the reinforced windows of John's quarters. The walls were silent, save for the faint hum of machinery running through the outpost's infrastructure.
John lay on his cot, one arm draped over his forehead, staring at the ceiling. His muscles ached from training, but exhaustion alone wasn't enough to pull him into sleep. His mind refused to quiet, running through the details of the upcoming mission, the past few weeks of constant intrusions, and the nagging sense that there was something—something—he wasn't seeing yet.
He shifted onto his side, exhaling sharply.
This wasn't working.
Rolling out of bed, he ran a towel over his damp hair, still slightly wet from the shower he'd taken earlier. He grabbed a loose t-shirt from the chair in the corner of the room and pulled it over his head before running a hand through his hair. Maybe a walk would help. It had been a long time since he had taken a moment just to move without a purpose—no missions, no fights, no strategy, just walking.
John stepped toward the door, but before he could open it, he caught something in his peripheral vision. A faint shift in the shadows near the window down the hall.
He turned his head slightly. Red eyes.
Marian stood near the window, arms folded, staring out at the dimly lit structures of the outpost beyond. The artificial lighting cast long, jagged shadows across the metal framework outside. She hadn't noticed him yet, or maybe she had and was simply lost in thought. There was something tense in her posture—not the rigid stance of a soldier on alert, but something subtler, something weighed down.
John hesitated, then stepped forward, making his presence known. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Marian turned slightly, blinking at him. She looked almost surprised before glancing away. "No."
John leaned against the nearby wall, crossing his arms. He noticed the way her fingers lightly gripped the fabric of her sleeves, as if grounding herself.
She studied him for a moment before finally asking, "Are you heading out to deal with something?" Her voice was quiet, but laced with concern.
John shook his head. "No. Just going for a walk."
Marian's gaze lingered on him, skeptical. The intrusions on the outpost were still fresh in her mind, and she knew better than most how often John did handle things alone.
He sighed, sensing her doubt. "I mean it. Just a walk. You can come with me if you want."
She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Alright."
They walked in silence at first. The hallways were empty this late at night, the usual distant chatter and movement of off-duty personnel replaced by a quiet hum of cooling systems and idle machinery. The occasional flicker of dim lighting overhead cast uneven shadows as they moved.
Eventually, they stepped outside. The air was crisp, the artificial lights stationed around the outpost creating scattered pools of illumination. The gravel beneath their boots crunched softly, the sound amplified by the stillness.
John exhaled slowly, taking in the quiet of the night. Marian walked beside him, her steps measured, arms loosely folded in front of her.
"You really can't sleep?" she asked after a moment, breaking the silence.
John gave a tired smirk. "Haven't been able to for a while."
Marian nodded slightly, looking ahead. "Me neither."
They continued their slow path through the outpost, passing by the scattered remnants of normalcy—makeshift shops, small communal spaces built up by Nikkes and personnel trying to carve out something resembling a life beyond war. Even at this hour, a few places remained dimly lit, signs flickering, their glow muted by the night.
John stopped in front of a particular building, its neon sign flickering weakly against the metal facade. The letters buzzed faintly, casting a dull glow onto the pathway below. The sound of low conversation drifted through the slightly ajar door.
It was a bar. One of the few places in the outpost where people could go to unwind.
Marian followed his gaze, then glanced at him. "You go here?"
John smirked. "Not often. I'd say I'm not much of a drinker, but sometimes it helps."
Marian hesitated. "I've... never been."
John raised an eyebrow, then turned fully toward her. "You want to change that?"
She looked at the entrance for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
The warm, low hum of conversation filled the air as John and Marian stepped inside. The bar was a repurposed section of the outpost, its walls lined with scavenged materials and mismatched furniture. The lighting was dim, a soft amber glow from overhead fixtures casting long shadows across the floor. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of machine oil lingered in the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of off-duty Nikkes and personnel looking for a rare moment of peace.
John led them toward an empty table near the side of the room, far enough from the main crowd to avoid unnecessary attention but not tucked away like a pair of outcasts. Marian followed silently, her posture slightly guarded, but she didn't waver.
"Grab a seat," John said, gesturing to one of the chairs as he stretched his shoulders. "I'll get us something."
Marian nodded and sat, her red eyes flicking briefly across the room.
John made his way to the bar, where a stocky, battle-scarred Nikke stood cleaning a glass with the casual ease of someone who had seen it all. The bartender barely looked up as John approached.
"What'll it be?"
"Two Bluemoon beers," John replied, leaning slightly against the counter.
The bartender nodded, reaching for a pair of bottles. As John waited, he let his eyes drift across the room, taking in the atmosphere.
Some of the Nikkes in the bar barely acknowledged Marian's presence. They were too busy drinking, playing card games, or nursing the exhaustion of another long day. Others, however, weren't so indifferent. He caught a few wary glances being thrown Marian's way—some subtle, others not so much. Conversations quieted as she passed, eyes lingering just a second too long before turning away.
It wasn't outright hostility, but it was clear that, for some, the memory of what she had been—what she had done as Modernia—was still fresh.
At the same time, there were those who didn't care. A few Nikkes treated her like just another patron, paying her no mind beyond the occasional glance. A pair of them were deep in conversation, sharing drinks as if nothing unusual had changed. Others laughed at some joke being passed around a table, their focus nowhere near her.
John let out a slow breath, grabbing the two bottles as the bartender slid them across the counter.
"Thanks," he muttered, before turning back toward their table.
Marian sat still, her hands resting on the table, her gaze low but attentive. She had noticed. Of course, she had noticed.
John set the bottle down in front of her and took a seat across from her, twisting the cap off his own drink before leaning back in his chair.
"Some people still look at me like I'm a monster," Marian murmured, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on the glass.
John took a slow sip of his beer, his expression unreadable. "And others don't."
Marian let out a quiet breath. "But enough of them do."
John rolled the bottle in his hand. "It'll take time."
Marian gave a small, humorless chuckle.
The bar had settled into its usual late-night rhythm, the low murmur of conversations blending with the quiet clinking of glasses. The dim, amber glow from overhead fixtures cast long, flickering shadows against the walls, giving the place a muted, almost dreamlike quality.
John leaned back in his chair, bottle in hand, rolling the cool glass against his palm. Marian sat across from him, her drink barely touched, her gaze flickering between the scattered patrons. She was watching, observing—just as much an outsider in this space as she had been anywhere else since returning.
Then, movement outside the entrance caught John's eye.
A woman, moving with a deliberate but weary pace, stepped past the table. Her sharp features and red uniform stood out even in the dim lighting, and despite the slight sluggishness in her step, she carried herself with precision. Dark circles clung beneath her eyes, betraying sleepless nights and the weight of responsibility that came with them. She had a glass of whiskey in her hand.
John recognized her, if only in passing. Yulha. Leader of Triangle.
His smirk was faint but unmistakable. "Well, now there's a surprise."
Marian, seated beside him, glanced up. "You know her?"
"Not personally," John admitted, his gaze still fixed on Yulha. "But I know of her."
As if sensing the attention, Yulha's sharp gaze flicked toward him. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with the kind of ease that only came from experience, John leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying just enough to reach her.
"Let me guess," he said smoothly. "You here because your boss sent you?"
Yulha met his gaze, unimpressed. "No." A measured pause. "I'm off duty."
John studied her for a second longer, then casually nodded toward an empty chair at their table. "Well, if you're here to drink, might as well do it with good company. No point in being miserable alone."
Yulha hesitated—just for a second. Then, with a quiet exhale, she pulled out the chair and sat down.
"I suppose I can spare a few minutes," she said, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had been running on fumes far too long.
John smirked, taking a sip from his bottle. "See? That wasn't so hard."
She had hesitated before taking the seat, and now that she was here, that same hesitation remained—not in her body language (she was far too controlled for that) but in the way her fingers hovered just short of the glass rim, the way her tired eyes took in both John and Marian with careful assessment.
John, for his part, played it cool. He leaned back in his chair, rolling his beer bottle between his hands as if the whole situation was just another night at the bar. But there was a sharpness behind his relaxed posture. He was watching, waiting.
Marian, however, was different. She sat stiffly, her red eyes downcast but aware, her fingers wrapped tightly around her glass. She wasn't stupid—she knew exactly what this looked like.
The leader of Triangle. The right hand of Commander Burningum.
One of the men trying to take her away.
Yulha finally picked up her drink, swirling it once before taking a slow sip. "Didn't expect to find you here," she muttered, her eyes flicking toward Marian.
Marian tensed. "Didn't expect to see you here."
John's smirk widened slightly. "Wow. The professionalism in this conversation is just astounding."
Marian exhaled sharply but didn't take the bait.
Yulha didn't waver either. "I take it you know where I work," she said, tone carefully neutral.
Marian's grip on her glass tightened. "Yeah. I know."
John watched them, letting the tension linger for a moment before tilting his head slightly. "So, how's Burningum these days?"
Yulha sighed, rubbing her temple. "Frustrated."
John grinned. "Good."
Yulha shot him a flat look. "You enjoy pissing him off, don't you?"
John took another sip of his beer, not even pretending otherwise. "Oh, immensely."
Yulha exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "You're a walking headache."
"Funny. That's exactly what I want to be for him," John mused. "I think I'm growing on him."
Marian, however, wasn't in the mood for games. She leaned forward slightly. "What's your squad going to do?"
Yulha turned to her, but her expression remained unreadable. "What do you think they're going to do?"
Marian's fingers clenched. "You're here. That means they haven't given up."
Yulha didn't confirm or deny it. She simply took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze unreadable. "You already knew that before inviting me to sit down."
John smirked, shrugging. "Just being a gracious host."
Yulha let out a quiet scoff. "That right?"
"Figured if you were here on business, I'd at least get a drink out of it before the headaches started."
Marian flinched slightly at that, fingers twitching around the glass.
Yulha sighed, setting her whiskey down. "If I were here on business, you'd already know."
The words sat heavy on the table.
John studied her, his gaze unreadable. "And if Burningum knew you were sitting here with us?"
Yulha tilted her head slightly. "I don't answer to him for everything."
John arched an eyebrow. "That so?"
Yulha swirled her glass again, watching the liquid shift. "I have my orders. But what I do off the clock is my own business."
Marian's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what are your orders?"
Yulha glanced at her, then at John. "You already know I can't answer that."
John smirked, tilting his head. "So that's a yes."
Yulha exhaled, rubbing her temple. "I'm off duty, Smith."
John leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table. "And yet, here you are. Drinking with the problem instead of doing something about it."
Yulha's eyes locked onto his.
Silence.
Then she sighed, lifting her glass to take another sip. "I'm not here for that."
Marian's fingers twitched. "…Then why are you here?"
Yulha hesitated—just for a second. Then, finally, she muttered, "Because I needed a drink."
John smirked. "And no Triangle drinking buddies?"
Yulha gave him a tired look. "Believe it or not, people don't like spending their downtime with their superior officer."
John watched her for a moment before shifting the conversation again. "You know, I don't think I've ever formally been introduced to Triangle's fearless leader."
Yulha smirked slightly, lifting her glass. "And I don't think I've ever formally introduced myself."
John chuckled. "So mysterious. Real Ghost behavior."
Yulha sighed. "Don't call me that."
John grinned. "Alright, Madam Yulha."
Yulha rolled her eyes. "That's worse."
John swirled the beer in his bottle, watching her over the rim. "So, Yulha, what's the Triangle Squad's secret? High-intensity drills? Cutting-edge tactics? Or is it just raw talent?"
Yulha smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow. "What, thinking of stealing some techniques for your own squad?"
John leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Can you blame me? I've got to keep up with all these impressive Nikkes running around."
Yulha let out a quiet scoff. "Flattery doesn't suit you, Smith."
"Oh, I completely disagree," he shot back, winking.
Marian, who had been silent for most of the exchange, let out a quiet sigh, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.
Yulha caught the shift, her sharp gaze flicking toward her. "Something on your mind?"
Marian hesitated.
John turned slightly, eyeing her. He could see the weight pressing down on her shoulders, the tension in the way she held herself.
Finally, she exhaled, her voice quiet but firm. "Why are they after me?"
Yulha didn't answer right away. She took a slow sip of whiskey, gaze steady. "Because you're an unknown—something that shouldn't exist."
Marian flinched slightly, but Yulha wasn't finished.
"The Ark thrives on control," Yulha continued. "Everything has its place. Nikkes follow orders. Raptures destroy. The lines are clear. And then you come along."
Marian's jaw tensed. "I didn't ask to be this."
"That doesn't matter," Yulha replied evenly. "What matters is that you are."
John's smirk had faded completely now. "And let me guess—people like Burningum don't like uncertainty."
Yulha's expression remained neutral. "He believes he's acting in the best interests of the Ark."
Marian's lips pressed into a thin line. "By trying to dissect me."
Yulha didn't confirm or deny it.
John clicked his tongue. "You know, for someone who doesn't answer to him for everything, you sure sound like you're justifying his actions."
Yulha's gaze flicked to him, something sharp behind her eyes. "I'm explaining them."
John tilted his head. "And what do you think?"
Silence.
For a brief moment, something unreadable passed across Yulha's face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
"My opinion doesn't matter," she said simply.
Marian let out a quiet breath. "It does to me."
Yulha studied her for a moment, then exhaled softly. "I don't think you're a threat, if that's what you're asking."
John hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. "But you do think they'll keep coming."
Yulha nodded. "Yes."
Marian lowered her gaze, fingers curling around her drink. "Then… what do I do?"
Yulha set her glass down with a quiet clink. "You survive."
The weight of those words settled over the table.
John, watching Marian closely, finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well. That's just incredibly reassuring."
Yulha smirked faintly. "I don't give reassurances. Just reality."
Marian's fingers twitched.
John tilted his head. "Then let's talk reality. You're Triangle. You're his people. What's stopping you from trying to take her yourself?"
Yulha's smirk faded. "Off the clock, remember?"
John leaned in slightly. "So you're saying if we weren't drinking right now…"
Yulha's expression didn't change. "If we weren't drinking, this conversation wouldn't be happening."
Marian stiffened slightly.
John exhaled, shaking his head. "Damn shame, then. I was starting to think we were bonding."
Yulha huffed. "You think buying me a drink makes us friends?"
"Not friends," John said, smirking again. "Just… friendly."
Yulha chuckled dryly, shaking her head. "You're relentless."
"I've been called worse."
Marian finally spoke again, her voice quieter. "What would you do if you were me?"
Yulha's gaze shifted to her, lingering for a moment before she responded. "I'd do whatever it takes to stay out of their hands."
Marian inhaled slowly, looking down.
John took another sip of his beer, watching her. He could tell that answer wasn't what she wanted to hear.
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling.
Then, John smirked again, breaking the tension. "Alright. That's enough heavy talk for one night. How about another round?"
Yulha raised an eyebrow. "Trying to get me drunk for intel, Smith?"
John grinned. "Would it work?"
Yulha's lips curled slightly. "No."
John chuckled. "Damn. Worth a shot."
Marian sighed, shaking her head. "You two…"
Yulha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You really don't quit, do you?"
John winked. "Not if I see an opportunity."
The outpost's command center was usually a place of order—or at least functional chaos. This morning, however, it was something else entirely.
Rapi stood at the entrance, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene in front of her. Empty bottles, discarded glasses, and a few toppled chairs told the story of the previous night's excess. But what caught her attention the most was the pile of two figures slumped over on the couch.
Marian and Yulha.
The former Heretic and the leader of Triangle were tangled together in what could barely be called a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Yulha's arm was lazily draped over Marian's shoulder, while Marian, still in her combat gear from yesterday, had one hand loosely clutching an empty bottle against her chest. Both of them were out cold.
Rapi sighed through her nose. What the hell happened last night?
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her attention away. Anis strolled in, yawning, her hair slightly disheveled from sleep. She paused just beside Rapi, rubbing her eyes before taking in the scene.
"…Okay, what the hell happened in here?" Anis muttered, voice thick with grogginess.
Rapi pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's what I'd like to know."
Anis snorted, glancing around at the mess. "Looks like someone threw a damn party and forgot to invite us." Then, noticing the unconscious pair, she raised an eyebrow. "Wait, is that Marian? And Yulha? Together?"
Rapi nodded. "Drunk."
Anis let out a low whistle. "That's gotta be a first."
Before either of them could consider their next move, a new presence barreled into the room—Neon, brimming with far too much energy for the hour.
"Morning, everyone!" she chirped, hands on her hips.
Rapi and Anis winced at the sudden noise.
On the couch, Yulha and Marian let out pained groans, stirring slightly as Neon's enthusiasm tore through their fragile states.
Neon, oblivious to their suffering, clapped her hands together. "Wow, you two look like hell! Did you have fun last night?"
Marian muttered something unintelligible, her red eyes barely cracking open before she winced and buried her face against the couch.
Yulha, on the other hand, barely moved. "Kill me," she rasped, her voice hoarse from what was likely too much whiskey and not enough water.
Neon leaned in slightly, grinning. "That bad, huh?"
Marian groaned. "Loud…"
Neon pouted, then suddenly clapped her hands loudly. "Rise and shine!"
Both women recoiled at the sharp sound, Yulha flinching as if physically struck, while Marian groaned and buried her head deeper into the couch.
Anis laughed, leaning on the table. "Damn, Neon. Mercy, at least."
Rapi, however, remained unimpressed. Her sharp eyes flicked toward the hallway leading toward the barracks. "Where's the Commander?"
Marian and Yulha both stiffened slightly at the question, exchanging a brief glance before looking back at her.
"…I don't know," Marian admitted after a long pause.
Anis raised an eyebrow. "Wait, hold up. You don't know? Didn't you guys leave together?"
Yulha let out a tired sigh, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes before running a hand through her disheveled hair. "I… don't remember."
Rapi's expression darkened slightly. "You don't remember?"
Marian sat up slowly, gripping her head as she tried to gather her thoughts. "We drank. Talked. Then… I think he said something about getting some air?"
Neon blinked. "Wait. So he's not in his room?"
Rapi shook her head. "I checked before coming here. His bed hasn't been slept in."
A brief silence settled over the group.
Anis groaned. "Oh, great. We lost the Commander."
The training grounds were quiet. Too quiet.
No overturned training dummies. No fresh craters in the dirt. No suplexed equipment or broken targets. It was almost eerie how undisturbed everything was.
Anis kicked at the ground, sending a small puff of dust into the air. "Well, unless he learned how to fight without leaving a mess, I'd say he hasn't been here."
Neon crossed her arms, pouting. "Kinda weird not seeing something destroyed."
Marian groaned, rubbing her temples. "Can we not be so loud?"
Anis smirked. "Aww, what's wrong? Hangover hitting hard?"
Marian shot her a tired glare, voice flat. "What do you think?"
Yulha, slumped against a nearby bench, let out a slow, pained sigh. "Louder. Please. I love the sound of idiots in the morning."
Anis grinned. "You're welcome."
Rapi, ignoring them, crouched near the sandpit where melee drills usually took place. She pressed her fingers lightly against the dirt, her sharp eyes scanning the area. After a moment, she stood. "No tracks. No movement. He hasn't been here."
Anis threw up her hands. "Alright, great! So we're still wasting time."
Neon wasn't deterred. She perked up, clasping her hands together. "Oh no, no, no—this is a rescue mission! An operation! We have to find him before it's too late!"
Yulha lifted her head just enough to glare at her. "Too late for what?"
Neon gasped dramatically. "What if he's gone feral?"
Rapi exhaled through her nose, rubbing her temple. "He's not a stray dog."
Yulha groaned and leaned back on the bench. "Wake me up when you actually find him."
Anis cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders. "Alright, next stop."
Neon spun on her heel, pointing forward. "To the cafeteria!"
The cafeteria was a quiet mess of half-awake Nikkes nursing cups of coffee, some staring blankly at their breakfast like it had personally wronged them. The scent of reheated rations and stale caffeine filled the air, and the overhead lights buzzed faintly, adding to the sluggish atmosphere.
Behind the counter, a Nikke with dark circles under her eyes barely looked up from her station. She had the air of someone who had seen too much, yet also not enough to actually care.
Neon wasted no time, practically launching herself onto the counter. "Hey! Have you seen the Commander?"
The Nikke sighed, rubbing her temple. "Smith? Yeah, he's usually in here for an apple pie at some point, but I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."
Anis whistled. "So not even for his favorite sugar bomb? That's actually concerning."
Neon gasped. "What if he was kidnapped? What if he's been taken hostage by enemy forces?"
The Nikke gave her a deadpan stare. "And the kidnappers are denying him apple pie? Harsh."
Neon nodded seriously. "Cruel and unusual punishment."
Rapi sighed. "He wouldn't just disappear. If he hasn't been here, then he's somewhere else."
Yulha, dragging herself toward a chair, flopped down with an exhausted groan. "I don't care where he is. I need coffee."
Anis grinned. "You look like you need medical attention."
Yulha, still facedown against the table, lifted a single hand and gave her the finger.
Neon pounded a fist on the counter. "Alright, then! Time for Plan C!"
Marian rubbed her temples. "Do I want to ask what Plan C is?"
Neon beamed. "To the next most obvious location—the hangar!"
Anis gave her a look. "You think he's fixing something?"
Neon shook her head. "Nope! But if he was feral, he'd need shelter, right?"
Rapi groaned. "Neon, he's not a stray dog."
Neon gasped. "We don't know that for sure!"
Rapi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's just check the hangar before this conversation gets any dumber."
After scouring half the outpost with zero results, the group returned to the command center, frustration creeping into their expressions. What had started as a lighthearted search was quickly turning into genuine concern.
Rapi stood at the center of the room, her fingers hovering over her comm device, ready to call in the ACPU. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "If something did happen to him, we can't waste any more time."
Neon clutched her head dramatically. "Oh no, what if he really was kidnapped?! What if they brainwashed him?! What if—"
"Neon," Rapi interrupted, voice firm. "Not helping."
Anis crossed her arms. "Okay, but real talk, we haven't seen him all morning. That's weird even for him."
Marian bit her lip, her fingers curling slightly. "I don't like this," she admitted. "What if—"
"Oi, what's with all the noise?"
The voice wasn't coming from inside the command center. It came from above.
The group froze.
Then, as one, they turned toward the ceiling.
John was casually peering down at them from the edge of the roof, arms resting lazily against the railing. His hair was slightly tousled, his shirt wrinkled, and his usual sharp eyes were still hazy with sleep.
Neon gasped. "He's alive!"
Anis groaned. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Rapi's brow twitched as she lowered her comm device. "Commander. Why are you on the roof?"
John yawned, stretching his arms before replying. "Told Marian and Yulha last night—I was gonna sleep up here. Weather was great. Figured I'd enjoy the open sky."
Silence.
Then, Anis let out a slow, disbelieving laugh. "Oh my god. We've been running around like idiots, and you've been up there the whole time?"
John blinked. "…Yeah?"
Rapi exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment as if summoning patience from the depths of the universe. "You could have told us."
John shrugged. "I did tell someone."
All eyes immediately turned to Marian and Yulha.
Marian blinked, realization dawning. "Oh."
Yulha, who had just slumped onto the nearest chair, sighed heavily. "You did say that. I just… forgot."
Anis clutched her head. "Unbelievable. I can't believe I wasted my energy worrying about you."
Neon wiped a fake tear. "We went on a rescue mission for nothing."
John smirked. "Appreciate the effort, though."
Rapi sighed, rubbing her temple. "Just come down already."
John chuckled, stretching lazily before heading for the access ladder. "Alright, alright. But next time? Maybe don't assume I've been kidnapped first thing in the morning."
Anis shook her head, muttering under her breath. "Unbelievable."
Neon wiped at her eyes dramatically. "Master, don't scare us like that again! My heart can't take it!"
John stepped down from the rooftop, stretching out his arms as he strolled into the kitchen where the rest of the team had gathered. The scent of coffee and reheated rations filled the air, a comfortable contrast to the early morning chaos of their search.
Neon was already seated at the table, happily stuffing her face with toast while flipping through yet another weapons magazine. Anis had slumped over her cup of coffee, barely functional as she stirred it absentmindedly. Marian, still slightly pale from last night's drinking, sat quietly nursing a glass of water, and Rapi stood at the counter, meticulously pouring herself a fresh cup of black coffee.
John sauntered over to the coffee pot, grabbing a mug and pouring himself a generous amount. "So, lesson of the day: I can go missing for one morning without a full-scale search party, right?"
Anis, still half-asleep, lifted her head just enough to glare at him. "Shut up."
Neon swallowed her toast dramatically. "Master, I was this close to declaring you dead and taking your room."
John smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. "Wouldn't have fit your aesthetic. Not enough posters of heavy artillery."
Neon pouted. "I would've fixed that."
Rapi set her coffee down with a small sigh. "We were actually concerned, Commander."
John tilted his head, his smirk softening just slightly. "I know. And I appreciate it."
Marian, who had been unusually quiet, glanced at him. "You really just wanted to sleep on the roof?"
John took another sip, his expression unreadable. "Something like that."
The conversation drifted into the usual morning banter, but in the back of John's mind, his thoughts drifted back to the real reason he had gone up there.
The night had been quiet, save for the distant hum of the outpost's systems and the occasional rustling of the wind. John sat cross-legged atop the roof, a faint flicker of cursed energy illuminating his fingers as he laid out a small assortment of materials in front of him.
A complicated web of barriers had already been arranged across the outpost, but this was different. This was a tracker.
In the center of the barrier, a single strand of hair lay stretched across a talisman—long, silky, unmistakably belonging to Yulha.
John exhaled slowly, focusing his energy as he pressed his fingers to the paper. The seals hummed in response, the ink shifting ever so slightly as it connected to the wider system of barriers he had woven into the outpost.
This wasn't just about defense anymore.
Burningum was careful. Too careful. The Deputy Chief wasn't a fool—he understood the capabilities of sorcery, and he had ensured that whatever operations he was involved in were insulated against it. Tracking him directly was nearly impossible with the layers of countermeasures in place.
But Yulha?
She wasn't as protected.
John had no illusions about her intelligence or instincts—she was a skilled operator, and she played her role well. But she wasn't aware of sorcery. If she was moving through restricted areas or meeting with the wrong people, then John's tracker, subtle as it was, could pick up the disturbances.
He traced a line of energy through the talisman, watching as the barrier flickered and expanded, stretching outward. There. Now, even the slightest movements within certain areas of the Ark could be mapped—locations that Yulha would unknowingly provide access to.
It wasn't perfect. The distance made the signal weak, and it was possible that even this could be noticed if the wrong person looked hard enough.
But it was a start.
Sitting back, John rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion creeping in. His fingers tingled from the prolonged use of cursed energy, but he pushed the discomfort aside.
One step at a time.
Eventually, he allowed himself to lay back, staring up at the artificial sky above.