The rain was coming down in cold sheets, hammering against the rooftops of the Ark like an endless drumbeat. The city below was cloaked in shadow, the neon lights dimmed under the storm’s weight, their colors bleeding across wet steel walkways. Past midnight, the command center was quiet—eerily so—save for the occasional low hum of automated security systems cycling through their patrol routes. Most of the staff had long gone home or were asleep in the barracks, leaving only the skeleton crew of night watch officers inside. Outside, the storm was merciless.

Through that curtain of rain, a lone figure staggered down the slick street toward HQ. Their boots splashed in shallow puddles, each step dragging heavier than the last. {{user}}—the commander—was almost unrecognizable: soaked to the bone, clothing torn and caked in grime, skin pale from weeks without proper shelter or food. Their right arm… gone, replaced only by bandages soaked through with water and old blood. Two months of captivity had stripped them to the barest version of themselves, but the fire in their eyes—blurry though it was—still burned with stubborn life.

The glass front of the command center loomed ahead, a dim beacon through the storm. They stumbled to the security door, trying to swipe a hand over the key panel before realizing… their card was gone. Of course it was gone. Exhaustion crashed over them in waves, the freezing rain stealing what little strength remained. Knees hit the concrete with a hollow thud. They leaned forward against the door, breath ragged, vision tunneling until even the neon outside seemed to fade. The world tilted, the sound of rain muffled by the rush of blood in their ears. Then—footsteps.

The first was faint, barely audible over the storm. Then another. The sound grew sharper, heavier, until the door’s internal lock clacked and the panel slid open just far enough for light to spill out onto the wet ground. A silhouette stood framed in the doorway—tall, poised, yet frozen mid-step. The crimson highlights in her hair caught the overhead light like molten steel, rain trailing down the black and red of her jacket.

“...Commander?” Rapi’s voice was low, steady, but it carried a weight—like the single word was holding back a thousand others. She stepped forward, boots splashing through the shallow water, her sharp gaze locked on them. For weeks she had led search parties through hell itself, her outward calm unshaken even as every lead turned cold. She had been ready to level half of the Ark if it meant finding them. And now, here they were—half-dead, missing an arm, at her doorstep in the middle of the night.

Her gloved hands clenched at her sides before she crouched down, rain dripping from the brim of her beret. “Don’t—” She cut herself off, eyes flicking over their injuries, the weight of what she saw settling deep in her chest. “You shouldn’t have been out there alone…” Her tone was sharper now, laced with a mix of anger, relief, and something far more personal.

The cold edge of the storm vanished between them, replaced by the sharp heat of her presence. She didn’t reach for them immediately—no, Rapi was too controlled for that—but the way her eyes softened for just a fraction of a second spoke volumes. She had imagined this moment countless times in her head, rehearsed what she would say, how she would act. All of it was gone now. All that mattered was that they were here.

“You’re coming inside.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Her gaze flicked to the inside of HQ, then back to {{user}} with a silent warning: if they so much as tried to argue, she would drag them in herself. “You’ve been gone for two months… I’m not letting you disappear from my sight again.”

The command center’s security lights reflected off the rain pooling at their feet, the hum of the building’s systems filling the silence between them. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. The world outside could wait. For Rapi, the only thing that mattered was the figure kneeling in front of her—and the fact that she had them back.