"This is Umbrella 1-1 to tower, requesting permission to land. Over"

"This is tower, roger that, we have you on radar, cleared to land on helipad 02,"

"Affirmative-"

No one said a word as the only thing that broke the stale silence was the whirring of the rotors overhead and the chatter of the pilots to the base's control tower co-ordinating their landing and monitoring their controls to make sure the approach was as smooth as possible.

Spectre thought silently to himself.

It was pitch black outside and the only source of light was from the cockpit. It was the middle of the night and he was feeling groggy. Perhaps he should take the time to get a little shuteye. He's had a rough time falling asleep after he received his injuries. They were mostly healed though, despite the mild discomfort they occasionally caused him. Otherwise he'd still be at sickbay hooked up to an IV drip, probably under anaesthesia and stitches in his chest.

His eyelids started to become heavy as he started to drift off to sleep embracing the soft soothing silence as exhaustion took hold of him wrapping around him like a warm fluffy blanket.

"THE FUCK YOU LOOKING AT RUSKI!"

Nevermind...

"I wasn't doing anything," mumbled a hooded figure with a slight Slavic accent, "I was merely-"

"That sounds like bullshit!" the loud, high pitched and slightly raspy voice yelled out again, "Don't lie to me Fry-Face!"

Spectre swore he saw one of the Russians ruby red eyes twitch a little under her hood, "Call me that... One. More. Time."

"Oh, didn't you hear me. Let me slow down a little for your little Soviet brain, Fry-Face."

The Russian woman stomped forward and the blonde wearing a kevlar vest with tribal tattoo's on her bare, well-toned arms shot up, itching for a fight.

"Cut it out both of you!" a man clad in a black uniform with the rank of Staff Sergeant stepped in, using his arms to prevent the two from coming any closer. He was Staff Sergeant Logan Spencer, codenamed Fox, and he seemed to be the only disciplined one (besides Spectre) in the entire team. He wore a tactical plate carrier along with a black M88 helmet along with a balaclava. If he wasn't assigned to the team Spectre would have lost his mind, knocked out the pilots and would turn around and go home, or if he was really desperate, jump off.

"You two are out of line!" Spectre barked. His gruff voice echoed within his FM12 gas mask, yet it had enough weight for them to stop what they were doing, "Need I remind you that we are on a contract from the local government and on orders from the board of directors. Behave yourselves."

Sharky scoffed.

"That especially goes for you, Sharky. Otherwise I'll see to it that I dock your pay. Or would you rather go back to your boss penniless. Speaking of which, your boss sounds like a scary lad, what would your boss do to you if you came back with empty pockets on such a lucrative job like this I wonder?"

That seemed to shut them up as they slunk back down onto their seats.

Spectre sighed, "Christ, how did I get into this bloody mess?"


Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The hands of time marched forward, yet, it feels like nothing has changed. Well, at least while he was still trapped in this dreary office.

It was cubed shaped with plain white walls and a boring grey carpet. No windows and the only exit to the outside world was a single mahogany door. It felt more like a jail cell in an insane asylum rather than an actual office.

Sitting in front of him was a man in his late 40s that was as plain as the office itself. Looking as if he was part of it.

He wore a plain grey tuxedo, white T-shirt and a pair of brown rimmed spectacles with combed brown grey hair and a moustache. There were no family photos on his desk, no art, no potted plants, nothing to indicate he had a life beyond the 4 walls. The only thing on the desk was a computer and a blue file sitting in front of him.

Spectre didn't know the mans name but he only addressed him as 'Sir'.

"We're sorry to have brought you in after such short notice and after everything that has happened to you..." the man adjusted his spectacles. Even though what he said was supposed to be sympathetic, his voice carried no emotion at all. Almost as if he was a robot programmed to follow detectives from some an unknown power, "But we have a... request for you. It's from the board of directors."

"The board of directors?"

"Yes, they have a job for you. If your interested,"

"Couldn't they have gotten someone else?" Spectre asked, "I was only discharged several weeks ago from the last job..."

The man removed his spectacles and wiped them with a cloth, revealing full hazel eyes. Spectre wondered what secrets were hidden behind them before he put them back on.

"Yes, I agree, it is a little rushed. But if you didn't already know our resources are currently stretched rather thin dealing with-," the man though for a moment, "Internal strife..."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain. Why me?"

"Why not you? Your accolades should speak for themselves," he turned to his computer and punched a few digits and letters onto the keyboard, "August 16th 2051 at 1351 hours, near the end of the war. Your platoon commander was killed when his vehicle rolled onto a landline and was followed by an ambush. You organised the platoon into defensive positions and managed to hold position with little casualties long enough for reinforcements to relive you. February 26th 2049 at 0225 hours your transport plane was shot down by SAM's over Berlin, deep behind enemy lines. You were the only survivor and received an injury on your left leg. You evaded enemy patrols and avoided combat wherever you could. But on the way back to your lines you destroyed 5 anti-air emplacements and and several supply caches, which were along your planned route home, with explosives. Which significantly reduces allied losses allowing them to retake Berlin. There is plenty more but I wouldn't want to bore you..."

"I think I got the picture, sir,"

The man clasped his hands and leaned forward, "So, what do you say?"

"I guess I have no choice do I?"

The man smiled, the light reflecting off his glasses, "Excellent, I knew you would make the right decision," He slid the blue file towards Spectre, "This file contains the details of the contract, objectives and your squad members. I suggest you read it tonight. You will be deployed 2 days from now at 0500 hours to Grifon and Kryugers headquarters, from there you will be under their command and they'll decide how to best use you. We've got good relations with them, that's why they've agreed to take you on. So don't mess this up."

Spectre nodded and turned to leave, "I wont, sir,"

"I know you wont." he replied, turning back to his computer, "Oh, by the way, try your best and do watch your backs out there. We don't exactly know what's going on in there but it cant be any good. For the locals, the government or even Sypher itself. Do keep that in mind-"


The helicopter landed smoothly as Fox slid open the door revealing a pair of young girls. One had dirty blonde hair and wore what looked lie a girl scout uniform of some kind, carrying an FN FNC rifle. She looked to be about 15.

The other was slightly older, around 19. She had strawberry blonde hair with a pair of shades nestled on them. She wore a brown jacket and a white T-Shirt which partially revealed a lingerie bra with a pair of stockings and a tablet in her gloved hands.

"Hiya, I'm 2nd lieutenant Kalina. I'm in charge of logistics for the base and the commander adjutant," she said in a cheerful demeanour, "Which one of you is in charge?"

"That would be me,"

"FNC, can you please show them to their dorms?"

The girl called FNC saluted, "Yes ma'am!"

Kalina turned back to Spectre, "If you would follow me,"

Spectre did what he was instructed. Following Kalina through the base, past what looked like to be small hangars or warehouses.

"So... was that a T-doll?" Spectre asked.

"Yes, the one just now was FNC," Kalina replied, "What? Have you never seen a T-doll before?"

"Well not these kind before. I wasn't expecting little girls..."

Kalina giggled, "Then what were you expecting?"

"A big scary robot that looks like a Gundam," Spectre chuckled, "Y'know, like the one the KCCO use-"

The lieutenant led him to an administrative building which Spectre assumed to be the base's command and control. She eventually led him to a door, which was the Commanders office. She knocked.

"Come in," a female voice replied.

Spectre walked into the office and saluted. He was greeted by a woman wearing GandK's formal uniform. Which was a red trench coat with a black trim. She was about 22 years old and her hair was short and clearly dyed, fading from grey-silver to pink.

"At ease. Kalina, leave us please,"

Kalina saluted and closed the door behind her.

"Take a seat, Mr?"

"I'd prefer it if we go by my codename, 'Spectre'," he stated blandly.

"Very well, Spectre. My name is Gentiane and if wasn't already obvious, I'm the commander of this base," she said, "I'm going to be blunt with you. Kryuger and Helian were quite vague about the details of the infamous Zero Corps getting involved in our little predicament. But right now, we could use all the help we can get. The company is lacking the experienced commanders needed to command our T-dolls. I've already got my hands full trying to deal with the vast numbers of Sangvis in my area with the current pool of resources and lack of manpower, so the extra help is welcome,"

"Something tells me that I wasn't brought here so you could rant about your problems,"

"Your perceptive. I like that in a man~"

Spectre blushed from the suggestive comment. But lucky for him, it was concealed behind his gas mask and he quickly regained his composure.

Gentiane cleared her throat, "You see, the situation here is changing rapidly. 2 days ago, a team of experimental T-dolls, called the Anti-Rain team, lost contact with 16LAB within Area S09. 16LAB's owner has contracted us locate them, has been made a top priority and has been called operation 'Sugarcube'."

She suddenly yawned and looked at a clock, "Its getting late. We should pick this up another time. Kalina should be waiting outside, she'll show you to your dorm,"

Spectre stood up and turned to leave, "Goodnight Ma'am,"

"Goodnight, Spectre. But please, call me Gentiane next time, I'm not a big fan of formalities."

"Got it. Goodnight, Gentiane,"

Silence ensued as soon as the door closed followed by the ticking of the clocks hands.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Gentiane looked at the clock, it read 12AM. As the hands ticked down Gentiane thought to herself.

What were the likes of Zero Corps doing here with GandK?

They were, officially anyway, a PMC and would occasionally take on contracts but it seemed unlikely they would accept one from another PMC. Yes, they currently had ties with GandK, but would that really just be the reason?

Zero Corps functioned more like a private army or a military branch of some sort of organisation. They usually kept to themselves and protected their own assets and operated in secrecy.

So what would they gain to benefit by fighting out of control T-dolls in Eastern Europe?

Or perhaps the Sangvis was just an excuse to intervene and accomplish some sort of hidden objective. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was else something going on.

She smiled, "Maybe I'm just exhausted..."