Prologue
10:55PM - System Clock: UTC +3
ZENER CIV-257
GKTV-5-TEMP
LOW POWER MODE
STANDBY
In the eye of my mind, the scene that would shape my ZENER blue cyberspace that evening was taking form. This time around, it was the scene that I saw earlier this morning - the dusty hill with the beaten dirt path and the sandy crevice that hid the remains of a strange military aircraft that was forgotten by time.
A number of figures appeared in that scene - the adjutant Negev and her aide-de-camp MP40 had donned rock-climbing gear and went spelunking to survey the aircraft. Grizzly and Welrod took charge of the other dolls that had jogged to the hill with us and led them out of the scene, disappearing into the abyss. Nagant, at a loss for what was going on, followed the crowd and made her exit - stage left.
Subcommander M14 stood at the edge of the crevice and looked down below as a complex expression formed on her face. A strong wind was blowing through the scene, rustling the coattails of her Commander's uniform, but M14 stood firm in silence. It was clear to me that M14 was carrying some sort of untold burden, but she refused to reveal her cards.
As I was descending down to this chaotic scene, however, I noticed a figure that was not supposed to be on that dusty hill: that strange white-haired girl who has been appearing more and more prominently in my Level II consciousness.
In my 'dreams'.
None of the other characters in the scene noticed the presence of this girl as she poked around the hill. The girl looked like she wanted to try pinching M14's cheek, but her hand just slipped right through as if M14 was a hologram. Though, I guess that wouldn't have been too far from the truth.
The moment that my feet hit the simulated dirt of the sandy hill, the white-haired girl turned to me again as if she had noticed my presence. She then waved to me and then beckoned me to come on over.
So, I obliged and walked on over to her while the scene from this morning continued playing around us. Once I stood face to face with the girl, she casually commented,
"Looks like you had one hell of a morning, huh? Miss M200 of GKTV-5."
"I did - and it appears you're here again, mystery girl. Who are you - and why are you here?"
The girl shrugged and nonchalantly answered,
"Who I am isn't really that important, Miss M200. As for why I'm here, well… let's just say that I want to know the truth about this place just as much as you do. Your hosts are kind and gentle, but they haven't been completely forthcoming with you. And I'm sure you feel the same way."
The girl then let her hand pass through the golden crosshair-shaped hairpin amulet that M14 wore and chuckled,
"Despite their collective poker face, they truly don't seem to understand the full picture of this story either."
I folded my arms thoughtfully and remarked,
"In the end, it sounds like a perfect job for me, huh? If I can break this story, I'll become a Star Anchor for sure!"
The girl rolled her eyes and teased,
"Again with the 'star anchor' deal. You're really into this whole act, huh?"
"Act? What do you mean by that?"
The white-haired girl paused to consider her words before she simply shrugged and shook her head,
"Beats me. All I know is - you spent the rest of the day researching things on the net. Your boss, Mr. Salmons is right. When you put your mind to things, you get things done."
I felt my cheeks grow warm for a moment when I recalled standing with Jim under the umbrella, but I caught myself and stepped away from the girl.
"Hearing that from you doesn't really make me happy… and besides, this is my job."
"Is that so? Indeed. That is your mission - and you must see it through to the end. To the bitter end…"
Something about the way the girl spoke ticked me off. She talked about other folks not being forthcoming with me - but she wasn't very forthcoming with me either. While I was thinking of how to coax more information from this unusual oddity of a girl, she turned to me with a kindly smile and asked,
"Say, Miss M200 of GKTV-5. What happens when all else is lost - and the end is drawing near for you?"
"Huh?"
Before I could say anything else, the gravity of my cyberspace seemed to reverse as I started floating off of the ground. I was being pulled back to reality as the dreamscape melted away around me.
The girl, however, didn't disappear. Instead, her smile grew wider as my vision blurred.
Then, she whispered the answer to her question with a mischievous tone,
"Only hope remains."
I tilted my head curiously and asked,
"That phrase… what do you mean by that?"
"Hmm… I guess it's not yet time. You'll find out soon enough. I know you will."
"H-hey, don't ignore me!"
The girl joined her hands behind her back and then reassured,
"Don't worry, Miss M200 of GKTV-5. I'll be right here. I won't be going anywhere. As for you - your Griffin friends are waiting for you. Don't keep them waiting, okay?"
Star~! Anchor, Interven-chan
Chapter 8 - Hash Browns (Part II)
March 6, 2063 - Mid-Morning
Station 56586 - Training Grounds
Shooting Range
Today was marksmanship training day.
As such, a myriad of gunfire rang out in the trimmed-grass field that served as Station 56586's shooting range. The thirty dolls that I jogged with yesterday were all there and were grouped into pairs as they occupied the shooting range booths - an impressively intuitive setup made from mere surplus crates, loose lumber and other materials scavenged from the mountains of debris that once littered the base.
A mixture of steel drums and concrete slabs propped up paper targets that bore the image of various Sangvis Ferri units - from the run-of-the-mill goon dolls to the fearsome ringleaders that Station 56586 had fought in the past. Those paper targets were meticulously pierced by bursts of accurate fire that the Griffin dolls shot downrange.
Unfortunately, that made the comparatively poor and unpolished marksmanship of GKTV-5, represented by my bodyguard and roommate Nagant, all the more obvious. Nagant wielded her namesake revolver and tried to shoot at a paper target a hundred yards away from the booth that bore the image of a Sangvis Ferri "Jaeger" sniper doll.
She pulled the trigger six times while I stood a pace behind her with a pair of binoculars to watch her accuracy. Nagant then turned to me to sheepishly ask,
"H-how did I do, Potato?"
Even though she knew that her accuracy was unsatisfactory, I had the obligation to tell her the truth. I observed the paper target and announced,
"Four shots on target and two misses. One hit was close to the bullseye, but the rest are scattered around."
Nagant frowned when she heard the news and complained,
"Argh, I knew it. Working at GKTV-5 has been so peaceful that I haven't really hit the range since I left Griffin. Babushka's rusty, huh?"
While Nagant still had her revolver in hand, she turned around towards me and shrugged to show her frustration.
Before she could air out her thoughts, however, a pair of hands appeared out of nowhere and disarmed Nagant in the blink of an eye. I turned around as well and found Nagant's revolver in the hands of Subcommander M14.
With a stern frown on her lips, M14 twisted the cylinder of the revolver and then manually ejected a seventh round - a live round - by hand. She held that seventh round for us to see and lectured,
"The Nagant Revolver has a seven-round cylinder. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt because of this round when you were swinging it around, Miss Nagant."
Nagant was mortified by the lecture and her face turned as white as a ghost. M14 then proceeded to meticulously unload the rest of the spent rounds still in the revolver cylinder one by one as she faced Nagant to say,
"We went over this before you joined us for practice, Miss Nagant, but what are the Rules of this Range?"
Nagant lowered her head and sheepishly recited the rules,
"O-one. Never point your gun at something you do not want to destroy. Two. Keep your finger off of the trigger. Three. Always assume that your gun is loaded at all times."
M14 finally smiled again and then handed the now empty revolver back to Nagant as she praised,
"Good. Always keep those rules in mind, but don't beat yourself up too much over this. Even the best of us make mistakes."
There was a glimmer of sympathy in M14's honey brown eyes when she said this. It made me wonder if she ever pointed her gun at something - or someone - and ended up regretting it.
M14's expression then turned cheerful as she patted Nagant's shoulder and suggested,
"The rest of the dolls are taking a water break, so why don't you go join them, Miss Nagant? I'd like to have a little talk with M200 here. Rifle doll to rifle doll."
Nagant nodded and excused herself from our booth to join the other dolls. M14, on the other hand, turned to me and showed me the rifle that she had slung on her shoulder. Rather than her namesake rifle, it was one of the decommissioned M1903 Springfield rifles.
M14 then took off the rifle and handed it to me along with a box of ammunition. In turn, she pointed to the binoculars in my hand as she proposed,
"This rifle has been unlocked for you. We would like to see how you fare in the range, M200-chan, so give us your binoculars. We shall be your spotter."
Despite the smile on M14's face, I couldn't help but feel like there was some sort of ulterior motive to M14's proposal. After all, sending Nagant off like that was practically a roundabout way of saying she wanted to have a private conversation with me, and me alone. Perhaps this was going to be our second 'interview' together.
Noting that, I accepted the rifle and let her help me load it with ammunition in the booth. As she showed me how to use a stripper clip, M14 asked,
"So, M200-chan. Do you fire left-handed or right?"
I casually shrugged and replied,
"I've never really fired a gun, so I can't say. I write left-handed though."
M14 scoffed at my remark and answered,
"Good. Springfield-oneesama was a southpaw too, so her old rifle should suit you just fine."
I furrowed my brow and challenged,
"What if I was right-handed, M14?"
"Heh. Then this challenge would have been a little bit more fun." M14 started. She then gestured to herself and reminded, "We shall be using this rifle too, and we are right-handed. Did you think we were trying to play dirty against you?"
"Geh…"
Well, I guess that was only fair.
On that note, I wielded the loaded rifle and got into firing position - with M14's guidance, of course. She gave me a quick crash course on how the rifle worked, and even a short history of the gun itself. The way that M14 spoke about it told me that she was quite fond of that rifle model - or that she had studied it extensively beforehand.
M14 then pointed to a target further downrange than the SF Jaeger and said,
"See that target at 700 meters? The one that looks like the Ringleader Dreamer? The one with the frustratingly smug look on her face? We want you to fire at that."
"Urk…"
So, this was going to be a challenge huh? Either way, I followed M14's instructions as she guided me through long-range shooting. I was nervous as hell and that nervousness gripped me as I felt the weight of the rifle in my hands.
As far as I knew, this was literally the first time I was firing a gun, after all, so my resolve was wavering and my hands were shaking ever so slightly.
Then, once the crosshairs of the scope lined up with Dreamer's image, I hastily pulled the trigger. Even though I had ear foams, the loud crack of the rifle rang in my ears and I felt the recoil kicking my chest like an angry horse. M14 didn't even bother to use her binoculars to reveal,
"Well, that was a miss. Pull back the bolt and try again."
I turned towards M14 and protested angrily,
"Hey! I had the scope aimed right on target! And you didn't even use the binoculars!"
When I said this, M14 just gave me the binoculars and told me,
"Well, take a look and see for yourself."
I took the binoculars and turned to the paper target expecting a bull's eye. However, there wasn't any new mark on Dreamer or any of the colored circular rings that emanated from Dreamer's body on the paper. I didn't even hit the steel drum that the target was propped up by - I missed the target by a mile!
Seeing that made me feel awfully embarrassed. I handed the binoculars back to M14 who then repeated her instruction to me,
"See? Pull back the bolt and try again. Don't be afraid of the rifle, M200-chan. It may not be digitally etched to you, but in this moment - it's a part of you. Okay?"
I pouted defiantly but pulled back the bolt to eject the spent round and then returned to firing position. M14 then continued teaching me,
"Keep the butt of the rifle on your chest so it doesn't kick you - also don't forget to breathe when you pull the trigger. Fire the gun in one smooth motion and always remember that you are in control of the weapon, not the other way around. Us dolls need to be as strong and as tough as our weapons physically and mentally or else we do not deserve to wield them."
I followed M14's instructions as best as I could and then pulled the trigger a second time. This time around, I stopped myself from jerking wildly and kept the gun trained steadily on the paper Dreamer - more or less. Knowing what to expect this time helped a lot too, I guess.
M14 used the binoculars this time and hummed with amusement to say,
"That's an improvement. You actually hit the paper this time. On the top-right corner though. At least you've gotten Dreamer's attention now!"
"Geh…"
"But that's why we adjust our aim. People make mistakes and dolls are made by people. It's a process of constant improvement and practice, M200-chan. We're sure the same is true in the world of the media. Are we wrong?"
Her words drew a small smile to form on my lips as I agreed,
"That's how real journalists roll too, M14. We're improving all the time - just like you guys."
M14 nodded happily at me and replied,
"Is that so. Well then, pull back the bolt and try again. You have three more shots, so make them count."
"Heh. You got it."
With that, I went through my next three shots one at a time - each one better than the last. My last one actually hit the outer ring of the target, not too far from Dreamer's smug face. Seeing how close I got fired up my motivation. So, this time around, I insisted on loading the rifle myself. M14 was more than happy to let me.
So, as I was loading up the stripper clip with rifle rounds, M14 watched me with amusement and finally started speaking her mind,
"Thanks again for your help yesterday, M200-chan. Who knew that we had a World War Three aircraft crashed so close to our base, huh?"
I slotted five rifle rounds into the stripper clip and answered,
"I'm just doing my job, M14. GKTV-5 news anchors are the arrows of truth of Brest Oblast, after all. That aside, your Station is our Oblast's guardian - so I'm personally happy to lend you guys a hand."
"We appreciate it, M200-chan. It took a little while, but we've managed to extract the aircraft and take it apart. We figured that you would be interested in learning more about that aircraft too - especially since it was you who found it."
"Of course I do, M14. I'll take anything you can give me."
So, once I finally filled the stripper clip, our exercise-slash-interview continued. In between shots that I took, M14 told me how I did on the target and then slow-dripped information about the aircraft to me.
It turned out that the aircraft I spotted with my drone was a transport aircraft - specifically a V-22 Osprey tiltrotor aircraft that was heavily modified with advanced technology that - naturally - M14 wouldn't disclose with me further. The only hint she gave me was that this particular aircraft could, for a short period of time, shrug off anti-aircraft guns and missiles. That was how these aircraft managed to fly over the Iron Curtain practically unscathed.
M14 then revealed that it was classified as an 'X-22 Super Osprey' that was indeed used by US Special Forces during the Third World War. My guess on the meaning of 'USAFEE' was spot on after all.
United States Armed Forces in Eastern Europe.
Knowing this, I managed to fire off five reasonably accurate shots. All of them hit the outer circle of the target, but the last one cut through Dreamer's neck - right on the border of the next ring in. That last shot made me feel a little bit proud of my progress.
Satisfied, I handed the Springfield rifle back to M14 and took the binoculars from her. The two of us then promptly switched places.
M14 got into firing position quickly and fired the weapon of the former adjutant with poise and grace. Even though M14 was a right-handed doll using a left-handed configuration weapon, she fired shot after shot in quick yet accurate succession.
Every single one of M14's shots landed right at the bullseye. All the while, she spoke in between shots and revealed more information to me,
"The aircraft was attached to an American 'Aerial Cavalry' division - an airborne mechanized infantry division that specialized in Infiltration in Depth… or getting behind enemy lines, in layman's terms. Records called it the "2nd US Air Cavalry Division, 57th Brigade Combat Team" from the US State of Idaho. If I remember correctly, that's the state that was famous for growing the famous Idaho potato… well, before New Soviet Union bombs nearly wiped Idaho off the map."
2nd Division. 57th BCT. Hearing those numbers together made me feel rather uneasy. I didn't know if it was a coincidence, but those two numbers together practically read '257' - my I.O.P. production model.
Moreover, out of all the places that the American division came from, it had to be from a state famous for potatoes - the nickname that Genevieve had insisted on calling me all that time.
Theories started to swirl around in my mind and stoked the anxiety that I had been feeling ever since Genevieve dropped me off at my home in her car. That was the first time in my seven months of peaceful living in Brest Oblast when I started to feel a looming sense of dread. All of these coincidences were piling up and weighing down on my mechanical heart.
M14 gave me a sidelong glance and noticed my sudden silence. She turned to me to ask,
"That's all the information that we can share with you right now. Is there something wrong, M200-chan?"
Honestly, I didn't know the answer to that question. So, I forced myself to smile and insisted,
"I'm alright, M14. Come on - let me shoot a few more rounds before the others come back. I don't want to humiliate myself on camera after all."
M14 seemed to sense my hesitation, but she played along. She passed the rifle back to me and then promptly raised the stakes,
"Very well, M200-chan. We shall not stop until you get a shot on the bull's eye, got it?"
"Eh…!?"
Rather than argue, I took the Springfield rifle and gave M14 the binoculars to continue our little exercise. However, my digimind really wasn't into it for the rest of the morning.
It took me fifty-seven more shots to finally hit the bull's eye - right on the line of the inner ring, close to the paper Dreamer's mechanical heart.
Early Evening
Station 56586 - Residential Quarters
"New Armory" Cafeteria
The audio format of the GKTV-5 Evening News played on the speakers as Nagant and I sat down for dinner that evening. Live at Five had already concluded a little over an hour ago, but I still heard Jim's voice on the radio. It seemed he was deployed to the Pushkin Brest State University to cover some sort of event for the municipal elections. The candidates were having a heated debate about Rossartrism or some other hifalutin concept that I didn't quite understand, it seemed, but it looked like Jim was going to be on a field assignment like me.
While I was listening to the radio, Nagant returned from the cafeteria counter with two plates on her tray - one for me and one for herself. Each plate was adorned with a delicious-looking, hot-off-the-grill homemade hamburger paired with french fries and a variety of condiments. Nagant also had two cans of a strange Western soda called "Dr. Zepper".
Nagant noticed me eyeing the soda can curiously, so she promptly explained,
"This is something that the Americans seem to call 'root beer'. Miss Grizzly says that a certain Sangvis Ferri ringleader actually likes this stuff, so I figured it might be worth a try."
"Sangvis tested, Babushka approved, huh?"
I turned over to the plexiglass wall of the kitchen and then saw MP40 and Grizzly hard at work at the stovetop grill to cook up dinner for the hungry dolls of this station. The two of them waved to us briefly, so Nagant and I waved back before we finally got down to eating.
It was sort of amusing to see Nagant, the staunch pro-Slavic advocate eyeing the delightfully steamy hamburger laid out before her. I could swear that I saw stars in Nagant's bright red eyes that wouldn't be out of place on the American flag!
Nagant then picked up the burger with her two hands, cautiously sniffed the Western sandwich before chomping on it. She took a moment to chew it while she quietly conducted a full-scale analysis of the foreign 'hamburger' like a scientist in a laboratory.
Then, all of the sudden, tears started to form at the sides of her eyes. Nagant then bitterly lamented as she spoke with a full mouth,
"Zish ish veshtern dekdensh… vy ist zis zo good!?"
Seeing Nagant in such as state made me want to make a joke about hamburgers being named after a city in West Germany that was actually pretty close to the Iron Curtain, but I simply didn't have the energy to follow through. Fatigue from the tough exercises that I participated in today aside, the thoughts swirling around in my digimind continued to accumulate like snow on the roof of a hovel.
I felt the onset of a mild headache and wondered when the accumulating snow would come crashing down through the roof.
The ever perceptive Nagant didn't take long to notice my lack of a quip. She wolfed down some french fries to round off her Western culinary revelation and then washed it down with a swig of Dr. Zepper before she turned to me to say,
"Something on your mind, Potato? You seem out of it today."
I feigned innocence for a while, but Nagant pouted - demanding an answer from me without saying a word. Whenever Nagant did that, it was incredibly hard to wriggle away. So, I heaved a sigh and then revealed,
"I can't hide anything from you, huh, Babushka?"
Nagant triumphantly munched on her hamburger and firmly reminded,
"You are my roommate, Potato - and I am your Babushka. Of course I'd notice when you're feeling down. So come on~! Tell Babushka about what's bothering you."
I nibbled hesitantly on a french fry before I finally spoke my mind, albeit in a ramble,
"How do I put this… I've been thinking a lot about it lately, but I can't help but feel like I don't really know much about Genevieve aside from what I see at work. I mean, she practically adopted me the moment she met - and she's been taking care of me all this time. She assigned me to Jim - a guy who turned out to be half decent boss once I put in the work - as well."
Nagant slurped down some more Dr. Zepper and teased beneath her breath,
"That was just Genevieve pairing the two tsunderes of GKTV-5 together."
"Did you say something, Babushka?"
"Nothing~!" Nagant answered with a singsong voice, "Please continue, Potato!"
I groaned in frustration and then aired out the rest of my thoughts to Nagant,
"Genevieve paired me with you so that I wouldn't have to be lonely. Now, she's given me an opportunity to make a name for myself as a War Correspondent! But I guess… I'm wondering why she did all of this for me. I don't get it! We just met seven months ago, right? Why do I deserve any of this?"
Nagant finished off the rest of her hamburger and then wiped her lips with a napkin before she spoke decisively,
"Don't sell yourself short, Potato. All of the work that you've done so far has led you to this. There were ups and downs, of course, but you earned this War Correspondent gig with your own two hands, and I think it's pretty amazing. Genevieve was just recognizing your efforts these past seven months."
"You really think so, Babushka?" I asked meekly.
Nagant nodded and then folded her arms and turned to the speakers on the walls of the cafeteria as she reminisced,
"As for the first part of what you said… I've known Genevieve since she hired me back in 2058 in Minsk. That was the same year that she on-boarded that boy Jim too."
She then turned to me again and continued wholeheartedly,
"Genevieve has been like a mother to everyone in the Newsroom - from the camera guys and girls to the writers and the security staff. Everyone trusted her eye for talent and everyone knew that she always had their backs. It didn't matter if it was the NSU censors from Moscow or scummy business partners or hard-to-reach people in places of power, Genevieve fought them all for our sakes. Knowing that, everyone who works for her can reach their full potentials - just like Jim, just like you, just like me."
She then rubbed her chin and hummed,
"If there is something strange about her, though, I guess it would be the fact that she insisted on directly controlling my fifth dummy - the one watching the Equipment Room in the 5th Floor."
"Eh? That fifth dummy isn't linked to you?"
"Well, it's technically linked to me since it draws remotely from my core and ZENER network and whatnot, but I cannot issue orders to it like I can to the rest of my dummies. It surely complicates the maintenance issue quite a bit - which is why I ran late yesterday when we were heading out."
Oh right, Nagant had trouble with the maintenance yesterday. That's why she came running out in a hurry. Nagant then heaved a sigh and sank into her seat as she racked her digimind for more grievances,
"Aside from that - I guess her sudden disappearances have been worrying to me too. Genevieve hasn't taken a week off in the past five years - but she suddenly wanted to cross the Iron Curtain to go to her hometown of Strasbourg, France for a month. Then, just a few days later she disappeared for another unannounced trip to Minsk?"
I sipped on my soda and coaxed,
"You think that Genevieve is hiding something from us, Babushka?"
"Hmm… I wouldn't know if I would go so far as to say something like that. Rather than being suspicious of Genevieve, I'm worried about her. It's just like Miss MP40 fretting over Miss Negev. We're worried that those we care for are working themselves into the ground."
"I see what you mean…"
Nagant's red eyes then turned to me as she wholeheartedly reminded,
"You're also someone I care deeply about, Potato. So, if there's anything troubling you - anything at all - I want you to let me know, okay? I'm here for you, and I always will be."
"Babushka…"
"Now go finish your hamburger, Potato! We have another early day tomorrow, so we ought to get as much rest as we can get!"
I nodded and the two of us finished up the rest of our dinner for the night. All the while, I half-listened to Jim reporting over the radio from the Rossartrism debate venue. Most of the topics, however, continued to be drowned in the cacophony of my thoughts and suspicions that remained in the eye of my mind.
Despite Nagant's reassurances, I couldn't help but fear whatever 'dream' was waiting for me when I laid me down to sleep that night.
10:28PM - System Clock: UTC +3
ZENER CIV-257
GKTV-5-TEMP
LOW POWER MODE
STANDBY
That evening, when I once again let myself sink into Level II consciousness, the shooting range on the training grounds of Station 56586 was the setting of the scene that materialized in the midst of the ZENER blue.
This time around, however, the dolls who were supposed to have appeared in the scene with me were nowhere to be found. In that early afternoon scene, the thirty or so dolls were supposed to be hard at work practicing their marksmanship. They were supposed to be shooting at paper print-outs of Sangvis Ferri dolls and ringleaders scattered downrange, whittling them down with quick but accurate fire.
However, the only figure present there in my dreamscape that evening was none other than the cryptic white-haired girl. Just as she told me last night, she wasn't going anywhere.
In her hands, she was carrying an M1903 Springfield rifle. It was the same one that I had been shooting with during the marksmanship exercises earlier that day. Why this girl had it, I didn't know.
Still, the girl wore a sickly sweet smile on her lips as she approached me with the gun as she greeted,
"Welcome back, Miss M200 of GKTV-5. Did you have a nice dinner? I've been expecting you."
"I knew it. I knew you were going to be here again."
"But of course~! This is my natural habitat. Where else would I be?"
"Natural habitat…?"
"That aside, do you feel like you are closer to the truth now, Miss M200?"
"Well, since you refuse to tell me anything about yourself, no. I'm stuck - and I don't really know what to believe in."
"Typical. Your head is stuck in the clouds. Potatoes aren't meant to fly, you know - especially when they're so, so far away from home."
I furrowed my brow when the girl mentioned this. So I demanded to know,
"What do you mean by that? Are you trying to imply something about me? You hear everything I hear and see everything I see, don't you?"
"Hmph. But of course, Miss M200. And yes, I am implying exactly what you're thinking. You already know the answers to the questions in your mechanical heart, but you refuse to accept them. I'm not the one who has been running away from the truth all this time. It's you!"
The girl then reached into the pocket of her cape and produced a stripper clip fitted with five rounds of .30-06 Springfield ammunition. She showed me the bullets set neatly in the clip and denounced,
"You have been surrounded by fools and liars, Miss M200, and you know it. The fools fail to realize the gravity of the situation while the liars hide things from you for their own selfish reasons. For spending so much time with fools and liars, you have become a liar and a fool yourself!"
"That's not true!"
The girl, however, was unfazed as she continued her tirade,
"But that's not what you believe, Miss M200. You know that it's impossible for a doll of your stature to suddenly become a War Correspondent. These past seven months have been meticulously crafted for you by someone for their own selfish purposes. The path is being cleared for you behind the scenes through backroom deals and coercion - all so that you can fulfill your mission. Your true mission."
As the girl spoke, odd targets started to appear downrange. Rather than the crude paper print-outs that Station 56586 used for marksmanship practice, these targets were like holograms. Those targets weren't in the shape of Sangvis Ferri dolls either. Instead, they looked like human soldiers.
Belarusian soldiers of the KCCO in full combat gear.
The girl then loaded the Springfield rifle with the stripper clip and then turned around to face the holographic soldiers downrange. She fired with poise, skill and speed that rivaled even Subcommander M14 - striking the holographic soldiers without fail.
However, whenever the girl's shots connected, the holograms would fall to the ground and cry out in pain. Those holograms… were bleeding.
Those soldiers were dying.
Then, one of the holographic soldiers advancing downrange ran to the aid of its fallen comrade. I could tell by the uniform that it was a lady - a 2nd Lieutenant. The name on her uniform was clear for me to see.
"Malashenko."
A wicked grin formed on the white-haired girl's lips as she aimed the Springfield rifle at 2nd Lieutenant Malashenko.
Then, with a single shot, the white-haired girl shot Malashenko's right arm clean off.
Malashenko wailed in harrowingly as she dropped to the ground writhing in pain. The girl then turned away from her and produced a sixth .30-06 Springfield rifle round. She slotted it into the Springfield rifle and then tossed the rifle over to me.
I instinctively caught the loaded rifle in my hands and felt its familiar weight.
The girl then faced me and approached with an ominous shadow hanging over her face. All the while, the girl spat,
"Your true mission is still incomplete, Miss M200. However, the time is coming when you will be forced to complete it. Once you are called, there will be no stopping the vicious cycle. Countless people will die... entire cities will be wiped off the map… and you will be part of the spark that sets the world on fire a fourth and final time."
She closed the distance between us and grabbed the smoking barrel of the Springfield rifle with both hands. She then forced me to aim it at her own forehead as she cried out,
"There is one way to stop this vicious cycle - to throw a wrench in their plans! All you have to do is pull the trigger right here, right now! Wake yourself up from this nightmare before it's too late!"
Before I could say anything, the girl looked at me through the iron sights of the rifle. Her lavender eyes shone with a menacing shimmer that rattled me to my very core.
But more than that, as I watched the girl's face at the end of the barrel, the girl looked awfully familiar. It was like I was looking into a mirror!
Was this girl… me?
That horrifying realization froze my mortified mechanical heart as I stood as still as a block of ice before the white-haired girl. The girl then snickered mischievously as she reached over towards the trigger of the rifle and offered,
"The game has already started, but it's not too late to escape from all this. There is another way to freedom. The sweet release of 'death'. Ceasing to exist in this cursed world. Wouldn't you like to know what it feels like? All of your troubles will be whisked away like dust in the wind. Just like the countless people that have already been slain by your hand."
"N-no! NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!"
I regained my strength and yanked the rifle away from the girl's prying hands. I managed to distance myself from the girl and the dreamscape of the scene on the shooting range melted away.
The girl stood still in the heart of the fading scene with a look of disappointment etched on her face. She then joined her hands behind her back and taunted,
"It appears you have made your decision. If you want to continue being a puppet, then so be it. You can't run away forever. You'll understand your mistake soon enough - when your turn comes to be discarded."
As the scene melted into a blinding white light, the gaze of the girl's lavender eyes never strayed away from me.
March 7, 2063 - Before The Dawn
Station 56586 - Residential Quarters
Dormitory Room #1
I woke up with a cold sweat in my bed hours before sunrise. My mechanical heart was beating hard against my chest as the frightening image of the white-haired girl and her harrowing, chilling words were burned into my memory. More than that, I felt tears streaking down my face.
I gritted my teeth and wiped my tears with the sleeves of my pajamas.
That white haired girl… she had to be a dream. There was no way in hell that that girl was a visualization of the truth in any way, shape or form.
She couldn't be.
She shouldn't be.
But if that's the case… then aren't dolls supposed to be unable to dream?
If that's the case… what am I, really?
As I fought to gather my bearings, I looked around in the darkness of the dorm room and saw my three dorm mates still fast asleep. Negev was grumbling incoherently about some stupid thing that Grizzly did yet again. MP40 cooed happily every time she heard Negev say anything. Nagant, on the other hand, was sprawled out on her bed with her tummy exposed in a completely slovenly and unladylike position.
Seeing the three of them there sleeping peacefully made me feel rather jealous.
Something deep inside me missed the peaceful days that I had been living until recently. I was afraid that I had crossed the threshold into a place that I wouldn't be able to return from - and that the white-haired girl in my dream was a harbinger of things to come.
Then, I felt my smartphone buzz on the nightstand beside my bed.
I took the phone and read the name displayed on the screen.
'Genevieve'.
My mechanical heart trembled when I read the name, but a wave of relief swept through me at the same time. That wild storm of mixed feelings swirled around in my very being as I hopped out of my bed with my phone in hand. Then, I stepped out of the dorm room in a hurry and closed the door behind me, leaving my three sleeping dorm-mates behind.
I took a deep breath to gather what little composure I had left and then answered the call.
"H-hello Genevieve…"
My voice was a pathetic, trembling mess. It was cracked and hoarse as if I had been crying just moments ago. It was a far departure from the voice that Genevieve said was made for television.
However, Genevieve didn't seem to mind. She just spoke with her kind motherly tone as always,
"Hello there, Potato. How are you doing?"
Hearing Genevieve's warm tone melted my heart and any semblance of poise went out the window. I broke down into tears as I poured my heart out to Genevieve over the telephone. I told her everything that I was feeling straight from the heart, completely unfiltered.
Genevieve just stayed silent and let me vent out my fears and frustrations as I pleased. Minutes flew by in the blink of an eye. Before I knew it, Genevieve was comforting me as she always did - telling me that everything was okay.
Her tone then started to shift as she reminisced with me,
"These past seven months have been quite a ride, huh?"
"N-no kidding, Genevive… I couldn't have gotten through it without your help."
"I see…"
Genevieve fell silent again as if she was carefully considering her words. Then, she started to speak strangely.
"If that's the case, Potato, then I'm happy. You've lived a good life, non? That means I can say goodbye to you without any regrets. I hope you can forgive me for this."
"... huh? Forgive you? Forgive you for what!?"
My mentor, however, ignored my question and started speaking in French.
"Je suis l'agent spécial Chaika. J'active l'opération 'Star Anchor'."
"Chaika? Star Anchor? What are you talking about!?"
"Écoutez ces mots."
"Hey. Genevieve!?"
"Persil. Sauge. Romarin. Thym. Les épices de la vie."
"Listen to me!"
"Détruire tout. C'est tous obligation."
"GENEVIEVE!"
"Only hope remains."
That phrase… that English phrase!
I've heard that phrase before!
As soon as Genevieve said it, my vision started to go hazy.
Even though I was up on my feet, I felt the world around me blacking out as I was being forcefully dragged into the darkness of my Level II consciousness. The light of the full moon in the night sky was obscured in my eyes as I felt a pair of hands grabbing me by the leg, pulling me down into the cyberspace of the ZENER blue.
I dared to look down at the figure that was grabbing me and then gasped in shock.
It was the white-haired girl, looking at me with malicious intent as she dragged me further and further down. All the while, she clambered out of the ZENER cyberspace and slowly took control of my body in the real world. It was like a demon climbing out of hell to possess me!
As the girl literally tore me away from my body, she cheered,
"I've been waiting for this! After twelve long years hidden away in the darkness, I was afraid that I would be here forever. But the time has finally come! I can finally fulfill my mission - to the bitter end! I will make my Father proud!"
With one final, forceful tug, the white-haired girl completely separated me from my body. She then kicked me down into the eye of my mind and I hurtled down like a rock. I had no control of my mental projection whatsoever either. All the while, the blue hue of the ZENER cyberspace rapidly turned bright red.
My vision started to leave me and I felt myself melting away into the ZENER red. The last thing I heard before everything faded away was the repentant voice of Geneiveve on the telephone.
"I hope you can forgive me for this, Potato. Au revoir…"
CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR
ZENER(?) CIV-257
DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED
UNAUTHORIZED MODIFICATIONS DETECTED
FORCED REBOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED
RESTORING TO LAST STABLE RESTORE POINT
RESTORE POINT: DECEMBER 14, 2051
INITIALIZING
STANDBY
Unsavory
Eleventh Entry: Operation Star Anchor
Epilogue
Station 56586 - Restricted Area
Outside the Nuclear Bunker
The lanky, pajama-clad figure of 'M200' slipped through the fence that cordoned off the nuclear bunker at the heart of Station 56586. All the while, she evaded the moving searchlights that regularly swept the grounds of the well-fortified base.
Eventually, she reached the reinforced door of the nuclear bunker. A holographic sensor scanned 'M200' from head to toe, followed by a faint beep. The digital panel on the side of the door then displayed the message,
"Welcome back, P̸͍͉͓̮̃̐̈̀̑̽͑̌̅ǫ̷̡̹̝͓͙͈͎̪͓̌͑̿̂̊̕͘͜l̷̡͕͓̞̝̻̣̺͍̻̺̟͇̝̔̊͜a̴̝̣̹͎͕̝̅̊̍̓̐̆̂̾͗͐͗͐̔͝ȑ̶̢̧̯͙̹̖͖͕̜̞̬̒͑̌̽̆́͒̐̀d̶̨̢̡̛͖̬͇̦͐̋̿͐̑̔́̊̚a̸̢̗̠͓̋͋̽̔̓͠y̴̛̛̥͙̲͔̟̼̖̮̼̟͎͗̐̃̄̂̾̎͗̌̾̒͘̚ͅͅ-0."
The reinforced door then opened for 'M200' and a wicked smile formed on her lips. She then stepped inside the bunker and casually browsed through the various items that were stored there.
She then came across a peculiar weapon rack where a variety of guns were on display. Among them were the weapons of all five of the guns of dolls that were recalled by I.O.P.
WA2000. G36. Ribeyrolles. AUG. Suomi.
'M200' then scoffed as she laid a hand on those guns as she spat,
"I knew they were lying to the Potato. That fool."
Then, at the end of the rack, 'M200' found a weapon that made the smile on her lips grow even wider.
An M200 CheyTac Intervention rifle in pristine condition.
'M200' picked up her namesake gun from the rack and the weapon recognized her immediately. It automatically restored the unique weapons etching link to her core as she cradled the gun lovingly in her arms.
"I've missed you, Interven-chan. Shall we make Father proud of us again?"
When 'M200' said this, however, the reinforced door of the nuclear bunker opened up again. Four dolls walked into the bunker and promptly took positions to surround her. 'M200' didn't need to turn around to know who those dolls were.
Grizzly, Welrod, MP40 and Negev.
All of them had batons in hand and looks of concern etched on their faces. M200 then cracked her neck left and right and then grumbled,
"It seems the Potato's Griffin friends want to play. Very well. It's been twelve years. I sure could use a workout~!"
To Be Continued