Chapter Text
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday (?)
The air smelled like smoke and dust. The city—if it could still be called that—was a wasteland of shattered buildings and crumbling streets. Twisted metal, broken glass, and the occasional burned-out vehicle lined the road.
It kind of looked like Detroit in the 1990s.
Or the 2000s.
Or the 2010s.
Or the 2020s...
Or... Just Detroit in general, honestly.
A young man strode through the wreckage, trench coat billowing slightly with each step. Beneath it, his military-style clothing suggested he belonged somewhere civilized, somewhere disciplined. But his face, locked in an annoyed scowl, made it clear that he didn't feel like he belonged anywhere right now.
His hands were jammed in his pockets and he walked like a man who had seen enough to not care anymore, yet somehow still found things to be irritated about.
He muttered something to himself, too quiet to hear.
Maybe about the heat?
Maybe about how his boots were covered in grime.
Maybe about the sorry state of the world.
After a few moments, he let out a sharp sigh and pulled a phone from his pocket. He clicked the power button and squinted at the screen.
No signal.
His scowl deepened.
With his thumb, he tapped the side of the screen. Nothing.
He tapped again.
Then again.
And then—he started hammering the screen like it owed him money.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
TAP-TAP-TAP—
CRACK.
His thumb paused mid-motion. His eyes widened slightly. A thin fracture spread across the glass like a spiderweb.
A slow blink. Then, a sharp inhale through his nose.
"Shit in my ass," he muttered.
What an absolutely amazing first line.
He tilted the phone, angling it toward the sunlight filtering through the dust. The screen still lit up, still barely functional. It just needed a replacement.
Annoying, but fixable.
"Of course. My luck is absolute dog—"
BOOM.
The explosion tore through the air like a roaring beast, shaking the ground beneath him. A nearby building buckled inward, windows shattered and debris rained onto the pavement.
He didn't flinch.
"Fortni—"
BOOM.
Another detonation, this time further down the street. A car flipped onto its side, its windows blowing out. Flames licked at the sky.
His expression didn't change.
"I'm gay—"
BOOM.
Another explosion, this time closer. Something metal and flaming hurtled through the air and crashed into the wreckage of a car a few meters away. He didn't even spare it a glance.
"Doro—"
CRACK—CRASH!
An entire building to his right gave up the fight against gravity, collapsing in on itself with a deafening groan. Dust and debris rolled outward, filling the air.
"...Barbeque sauce—"
KRRRSH!
A chunk of metal skidded across the pavement near his feet, clanging loudly before rolling to a stop.
His eye twitched.
"—FUCKIN'—"
BOOM.
He sighed sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as another explosion rocked the landscape.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
KA-THOOM.
A massive support beam gave way, and an entire building groaned before collapsing in on itself.
The young man stopped mid-step, his mouth slightly open as if about to finish his sentence. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaled deeply, and continued walking.
"I'm filing a complaint to HR."
The young man found and sat atop the rusted hood of an old, half-buried car, arms crossed, one leg lazily draped over the side.
His trench coat was open, revealing the military garments beneath, but he barely looked the part of a commanding officer. Instead, he looked more like a man who had just had one too many bad days in a row.
His phone, still cracked from earlier, rested on his thigh. Occasionally, he'd glance at it, as if hoping the damage would somehow reverse itself.
It didn't.
Lmfao.
He sighed, dragging a gloved hand down his face.
The world around him remained a ruined mess. Smoke curled from collapsed buildings, distant fires flickered in the wreckage, and the occasional groan of shifting rubble filled the otherwise quiet street. Well—quiet for now.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps. Multiple pairs.
They were light, practiced, moving in a rhythm too orderly to belong to scavengers. It wasn't hurried, wasn't cautious. It was deliberate.
He exhaled slowly, tilting his head just enough to see the approaching figures. His gaze landed on the one leading them.
A young woman with impossibly long grey hair, strands catching in the faint wind. She wore a sleek black bodysuit, accented with crimson lines tracing her form, and along her forearms, the iconic look of samurai armour.
On her hip, attached to a belt, sat a massive scabbard housing an even more massive sword. In her right hand, she held the hilt in a reverse grip, as if it was simply a natural extension of herself.
Her eyes met his, and she offered a small, warm smile.
"Commander," she greeted.
His eye twitched.
Pushing himself off the car, he landed with a solid thud on the cracked pavement, straightened, and ran a hand through his already messy hair.
"Rose," he started, exasperation dripping from his voice, "how many times do I have to tell you? Lieutenant. Just Lieutenant."
Rose's smile didn't waver. "Ah. My mistake."
He squinted at her. "That sounded insincere."
"Did it?"
"Yes."
She gave a light chuckle, shifting her grip slightly on the sword's hilt. Behind her, the other members of the squad continued their work, securing the area, performing post-mission checks, and ensuring none of their equipment—or themselves—had suffered any unexpected damage.
These weren't just any soldiers.
They were Nikkes.
The higher-ups called them that, though, to the Lieutenant, the term felt more like branding than an actual designation.
As far as he was concerned, they were cyborgs.
Human brains, metal bodies—sure, their skin looked and felt real enough, but under that? Some kind of metal composite he'd already forgotten the name of. Whatever it was, it let them take damage a normal person would die from and still walk away like it was a mild inconvenience.
The Melee Squad. That was what command called them. A specially modified team of close-quarters specialists designed to dish out an absurd amount of punishment. It was effective.
He just wished the name was a little more creative.
Rose, as their squad leader, was the most human of the bunch. At least in how she carried herself. Always smiling, always composed.
If she had doubts, fears, anger—she never showed it.
She tilted her head slightly. "Forgive me, Lieutenant. I may have been... distracted during the last mission. It must have slipped my mind."
The Lieutenant's face remained thoroughly unimpressed.
Rose's smile then took on a sharper edge—not outright hostile, but something dangerously close.
"Lieutenant," she said smoothly, "are there any injuries I should be aware of?" Her tone was pleasant, but there was an undercurrent to it.
A silent we will talk about this later energy.
She shifted her stance just slightly, the weight of her massive sword adjusting effortlessly in her grip. "Your plan of luring the Raptures away on foot was..." she paused, then continued with that same unreadable smile, "...risky."
The Lieutenant, unfazed, crossed his arms and straightened slightly, switching to a more professional tone—but not without letting sarcasm drip through.
"Well, the only real casualties were the Raptures," he said casually. Then, with a sigh, he held up his cracked phone, tilting it slightly in the dim light. "And this."
Rose raised an eyebrow.
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose. "Tripped while running. Fell. Cracked it. Real tragic loss, honestly."
Rose didn't say anything for a moment, just watching him with that ever-present, slightly-too-knowing expression.
"..."
Did she believe him? Nikkes weren't human, but they weren't just machines, either. Their intelligence varied depending on their models and the freedom from their NIMPH, but Rose? She was sharp—sharper than most of the officers he'd met in command.
She could probably tell when he was lying.
If she did, she didn't push the issue. Instead, she turned slightly, scanning the surrounding area, where the other squad members were finishing up their checks.
"..."
The battlefield—or what remained of it—was littered with Rapture debris.
Raptures.
He still hated the name. It felt like some scientist had named them after their own personal apocalypse fetish.
They existed in every variation imaginable—small, insect-like drones that scuttled across the ground, medium-sized walkers bristling with turret arrays, towering mechanical monstrosities that could level entire buildings with a single blast. Some were quadrupedal, some were bipedal, and some didn't even have a proper body, just twisted amalgamations of metal and weapons.
They weren't just machines.
Hey, wasn't that phrase already used?
Guns, explosives, razor-sharp limbs—whatever it took to kill. Some of them functioned like mindless drones, attacking anything that moved. Others had tactics and intelligence. The smarter ones coordinated, flanked, and set traps.
They evolved their combat strategies.
And all of them—every single one—existed to wipe out humanity and the Nikkes that fought for them.
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose, his thoughts still lingering on the battlefield.
Then, he felt it.
Another presence is approaching.
He didn't turn immediately—just slightly shifted his weight, casting a glance over his shoulder. A second later, a figure stepped into view, her movements just as silent and fluid as Rose's, yet carrying an entirely different air.
Scarlet.
Rose's younger sister. Another Nikke.
Like Rose, Scarlet wore a sleek black bodysuit, though there were a few differences. Unlike her sister, she had additional armour plating on her shoulders. Her sword, while smaller than Rose's, was no less impressive—gleaming red and slightly curved—like a katana!
Scarlet was a serious, no-nonsense type of woman.
Where Rose smiled, Scarlet frowned. Where Rose made conversation, Scarlet only spoke when necessary.
And when she did speak—
"Pray tell," Scarlet said suddenly, "What dost thou stand to gain from such deception?"
The Lieutenant sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
Yep. That was Scarlet for you. She spoke in a way that made every interaction feel like an interrogation from some ancient court. She was direct. If she felt wronged in any way shape or form, she'd voice it out.
He opened one eye, already expecting her to be staring at him like he was a trash heap.
"Alright," he muttered. "I lied."
Scarlet's yellow eyes narrowed slightly, unamused. "Then I would have thee tell the truth."
"I was getting to that." He glanced left, then right, subtly checking for Rose before leaning in slightly. With an exaggerated flourish of his hand, he lowered his voice and, mimicking her speech, whispered, "Lend me thine ear, fair Scarlet."
Scarlet gave him a blank stare. Then, after a short pause, she actually leaned in, tilting her head slightly to listen.
The Lieutenant smirked before quietly explaining what had happened.
The cracked phone.
The signal check.
The increasingly frustrated tapping.
The harder tapping.
The accidental screen destruction.
By the time he finished, Scarlet looked... perplexed. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes held a slight glint of disbelief—both at the sheer absurdity of the situation and at the fact that he even bothered to cover it up.
"A trivial folly," she murmured.
"Right?" he whispered back, nodding. "But now it's a mystery."
Scarlet was still looking at him as if he had just described the most unnecessary plot twist in existence.
"...And thy reasoning for the deception?"
He shrugged. "Felt embarrassing."
Scarlet blinked once. Then again. Slowly, she turned her gaze downward, staring at the phone in his hand as if it were the mastermind behind all of this.
"You are strange, Lieutenant."
"Been called worse."
They were still close, whispering, when—
"Aha!"
The Lieutenant barely had time to react before Rose popped up beside them, looking way too pleased with herself.
His shoulders jumped slightly. Scarlet, to her credit, remained perfectly still, only flicking her gaze toward her sister.
"You did break it!" Rose declared triumphantly.
The Lieutenant sighed. "Oh, for—"
"I knew something was off," she continued, now grinning. "So, what was it?"
The Lieutenant waved his phone slightly. "I tapped too hard."
Rose's grin faltered just slightly. "...You tapped it?"
Scarlet exhaled quietly. "He struck it repeatedly, fueled by frustration, until it fractured beneath his own strength."
Rose stared at him, then at the phone, then back at him.
A slow smile stretched across her face again.
"This is very humourous," she said. "And you lied about it? To me?"
"Hey, I'm the one who came up with the plan and ran 3 kilometres across this buckshot hillbilly city," he said, throwing his arms up. "I didn't need a phone-related inquisition on top of that."
Rose shook her head in mock disappointment. "Shameful."
Scarlet simply sighed, stepping back. "Utterly hopeless, this one is, without honour."
The Lieutenant sighed for the umpteenth time, shoulders sagging as he ran a hand through his already messy hair.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself. "I'm getting tag-teamed by Terminators 1 and 2."
Scarlet's eyes flicked to him immediately.
Rose followed half a second later.
The Lieutenant froze.
There was a weight in the air now. Scarlet's stare was sharp with an edge to it that suggested she was already dissecting his words. Rose, on the other hand, was still smiling—but that smile had turned ever so slightly predatory.
Scarlet tilted her head ever so slightly. "Which of us, pray tell, dost thou assign to each?"
Rose leaned in, curious. "Hm, I'd love to know."
The Lieutenant mentally cursed himself into oblivion.
A few meters away, the rest of the Melee Squad—now finished with their post-mission routines—had begun gathering nearby, just in time to witness the unfolding disaster. And, because the universe loved screwing him over, several of them giggled.
The Lieutenant's eye twitched.
This was a problem.
Rose and Scarlet had a rivalry. Both were incredible with the blade, and neither ever passed up an opportunity to compare themselves to the other.
Rose was better by a long shot, so she was Terminator 2.
And now, thanks to his own stupid joke, he had just given them a brand-new reason to measure their worth.
Scarlet crossed her arms, looking at him expectantly.
Rose mirrored her, tilting her head. Her smile hadn't faded in the slightest.
"Well, Lieutenant?" she asked sweetly. "Which of us is the first movie, and which is the second?"
The Lieutenant swallowed. His mind raced. Was there a way out of this? A neutral answer? A distraction?
No.
No, there wasn't.
He was well and truly doomed.
As they continued to press him for an answer, he could feel his soul withering away, shrivelling into nothing.
As he stood there, staring at the two CYBORG warriors now demanding answers, only one thought consumed his mind—
In fact, he didn't think he was even qualified to be commanding prototypes of all things!
How the hell did he get here in the first place?!
Year: 2X33, Two Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning
The hallway smelled of stale metal and recycled air.
The Lieutenant walked in step with his superior officer, his hands tucked in his pockets, posture straight.
"I assume you've been briefed on what Nikkes are, but I'll summarize," the superior began, voice firm, no-nonsense. "They are the spearhead of humanity's survival effort. Cyborgs—effectively—but not in the traditional sense. A Nikke is a human brain housed inside a mechanical body, enhanced for combat and augmented for survivability. They function at a level no human soldier can match. Faster, stronger, more durable."
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose. "...And more expendable."
His superior didn't acknowledge that. Instead, he continued. "The companies producing them—Elysion, Missilis, Tetra—each have their own methods, but the goal is the same. The war against the Raptures won't be won with sheer manpower. The sooner humanity fully integrates Nikkes into its forces, the better."
The Lieutenant tilted his head slightly. "I assume by 'integrates,' you mean 'relies on them entirely'?"
"..."
"..."
"Perhaps."
The Lieutenant hummed, unconvinced. His gaze flicked toward the nearest wall, where various mission reports and newly minted propaganda posters lined the surface.
One caught his eye.
A Nikke, standing tall with a massive rifle in her hands, the words: Glory to Humanity written in bold beneath her.
A brain in a metal body.
He resisted the urge to sigh. "And you're sure they're stable?"
His superior finally looked at him. "Meaning?"
"We're talking about human consciousness ripped out of the flesh and shoved into steel. That doesn't exactly sound... gentle on the mind." The Lieutenant kept his tone professional. "Do we have data on long-term effects? Psychological stress? Mental degradation?"
His superior raised a brow. "You sound like you think they're ticking time bombs."
"I think we don't know enough yet."
A beat of silence.
Then, his superior smirked. "That's why you're here, Lieutenant. You're gathering that data."
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression neutral. Of course.
They turned a corner, the hallway opening up slightly. He glanced at his superior. There was something about the way the man carried himself—something off. The stiffness in his shoulders...
...The way he hadn't quite made eye contact since they started walking.
"...Is there anything else I should know?" the Lieutenant asked. "About the prototypes. The 'Melee Squad,' as we're calling them." His voice carried a dry note at the name. "Are there specific tests you want me to run? Combat simulations? Psychological assessments?"
His superior stopped walking.
The Lieutenant halted as well, glancing at him with a raised brow.
The man's expression was stone-like, unreadable. Slowly, he reached into his coat, pulling out a clipboard filled with notes. "There is something," he admitted. "Look through these."
The Lieutenant took the clipboard, flipping through the pages. Basic diagnostics, combat evaluations, mission parameters... standard stuff. Until—
His fingers paused as he reached the final page.
One order stood out. The words were plain, clinical. But their meaning was anything but.
Missions will escalate in difficulty until casualties take hold. The last remaining unit will undergo the Grimms conversion.
The Lieutenant's grip on the clipboard tightened slightly.
Grimms models. He had been briefed about them—The most powerful classification of Nikke, designed to surpass all others. Only a handful had ever been created...
And if his squad birthed a Grimms model...
The prestige would be undeniable.
A slow exhale left him. He glanced up at his superior. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
His superior's expression didn't change. "You accept?"
The Lieutenant looked down at the clipboard once more, staring at those cold, inhumane words.
Then, after a moment, he smiled lightly.
"...I accept."
And just like that, his fate—and theirs—was sealed.