Now that a somewhat-decent plan was in place, the road to successfully taking Gray down seemed a little easier. Well, more like very marginally easier, but a little bit of progress meant a lot.

All they had to do now was to figure out how the hell they were going to get on a plane to Australia. Or rather, how they were going to get two robots on a plane to Australia.

"Can we bribe them?" Axel asked. "I mean like we have a lot of extra cash from the robots, could we bribe the airline to let them board?"

"Axel, I do not zhink you can bribe an entire airline. Ve are not made of money. Vhatever ve have is probably going to go into getting us tickets in zhe first place."

"I don't see you coming up with ideas, old man."

"I AM NOT ZHAT OLD!"

"Guys! Please, seriously," Miss Pauling huffed. She swore sometimes she was really babysitting instead of being a secretary. Guess the Administrator never wrote the truth of her job description.

The team sat in a rough circle, trying to toss ideas back and forth about getting to Australia. There was a lot more to think about, like how to bypass security and get into the weapons factory, but there wouldn't be a point if they couldn't get to Australia in the first place.

Frustratedly scratching her arm, Miss Pauling began to try think about all her options.

There was the obvious option of trying to smuggle the robots through security (and Miss Pauling was sure Spy could do it one way or another), Heavy had suggested hijacking a plane, Axel mentioned bribing security, and well... that was it. None of those plans seemed incredibly bright.

"I guess we could hijack a plane... I mean you're all mercenaries and I bet Spy can fly the plane, but even getting to the airfield will be difficult," Miss Pauling mused.

"Do you not have any associates?" Spy chipped in. He had refused to sit on the floor and made his place sitting on a table he had dusted off instead, legs elegantly crossed. Typical.

"For the most part they're gone. Hale went missing, the Administrator may as well have vanished off the face of the earth. I don't exactly have any other trusty contacts."

"Vell vhat about Hale's own assistants? Zhe two gentlemen who vork at his office?" Horst asked.

"Those guys? Oh yeah, I saw them before. Bunch of boot licking guys."

Miss Pauling's eyes lit up in delight. "Oh! Yes, of course. Bidwell!" She sprang up from her place on the floor, hurrying to the phone that was installed in every base. The mercenaries stared after her.

Grabbing the phone off the receiver, she punched in the Bidwell's number, silently willing him to pick up as she held the phone to her ear.

A little bit of hope drained from her for every ring that wasn't answered, and just when she was about to put down the phone, someone picked up. "Hello, Bidwell speaking," came the static-filled voice.

Miss Pauling broke into a grin. "Hello Bidwell, Pauling here. Are you busy?"

"Oh, hello Pauling, I heard about what happened with your mercs. Are you alright? And why asking? I've been a bit too free since Mister Hale disappeared."

"Great, I'm fine yes. And uh, I have a small request. Do you have a plane?"

"Let me guess, you want me to fly you somewhere because you can't use a commercial airline for some reason?"

The mercenaries couldn't hear their conversation, but solely based on the look on Miss Pauling's face, they guessed they had a ride to Australia secured.

"Vell zhat vas easy," Horst commented, leaning back against the wall behind him. "I can't vait to get my hands on some proper weapons again. I'm done fighting vith my fists."

"At least things are turning up from here, or at least seem to be. I wish I knew Gray's full plans." Makina was on the ground while Medibot tightened some loose screws back. The latter had been extremely quiet for most of the time, only occasionally asking a question or two. Truthfully he was full of doubt at the plan, but decided to just go along with it. After all, it wasn't like he had a better idea.

"I wouldn't count your chickens before they hatch," Spy commented, "there's a lot more to think about, and if we use this time here to plan, then we can at least get some shut eye while on the plane."

Demoman snorted. "Lad, I want in two seconds of sleep before some shite happens. Haven't had any alcohol lately, and it's driving me nuts." Spy made an effort not to say anything in return, even if he looked like he had a million things to say.

Miss Pauling came trotting back, the clacking of her heels capturing the attention of the mercenaries. "Vell?" Horst asked, eager to know if they had a plan in place or not. The wide grin on the secretary's face gave him a general idea of the answer they were going to get.

"Yes! Bidwell's flying over now, so he should pick us up by tomorrow morning at the latest. Then it's a one way trip straight to the factory. Only problem is it's in the middle of nowhere. There isn't a landing site near, so we'll have to land at a private airport first, and make our way there. That, or we can jump out of the plane."

"No offence, Miss Paulin', but I don't think a lot of us were made for… jumping out of planes." Engineer wasn't exactly on board with the idea, and by the looks of it, neither were Medibot, Horst or Heavy.

Miss Pauling shrugged. "It's an option, and we don't have a lot of time to travel on land. The sooner we get there, the better. Of course, that's only if Bidwell can even locate the factory from the air. He wouldn't drop us in the middle of nowhere."

No one had any comment to that, but distrust flitted across the faces of some. Miss Pauling huffed. "Trust me guys, I know Bidwell. Besides, have I ever lied to you?" Knowing looks rippled through, and no one agreed to Miss Pauling's questions. "Okay, so I lie every now and again about your jobs, but still. Bidwell's a good man."

Axel got up from his place on the floor. "Well if you guys are done here, I'm going to sleep." The Pyro left without another word, heading back into the mostly-empty resupply room to find a nice corner to sleep in while they waited for the promised plane to arrive. Spy elegantly got off the table as well, taking his leave to smoke outside. That left two REDs, two BLUs, two robots, and Miss Pauling.

Heavy sat in silence as well for awhile more, before deciding sleep sounded good. "If anyone needs, I will be sleeping. Do not need me." The bear of a man lumbered off, still visibly confused by the RED base, before disappearing into resupply as well. Demoman and Engineer stuck around for a bit longer, Engineer humming a low, unfamiliar tune, and Demoman admiring one of the grenades on his vest. That left Horst watching Medibot work with Makina, the Sniperbot having gone idle and trusting Medibot to do whatever he had to do.

"Herr, if zhis all vorks out and ve destroy Gray Industries… vhere are you going to go?" The Medic asked. Makina's eyes lit up again at the question, gears audibly whirring away as he processed an answer.

"That's actually a pretty good question. I don't know. I never thought about it. I guess at some point or another I considered trying to join Mann Co., but that seems quite stupid now, and I don't think the old lady in purple likes us very much." He nodded his thanks to Medibot as the latter finished up, quietly retreating to a corner of the room. "I guess that's something the Doc and I have to think about as well."

Horst wasn't sure if he liked the idea of the robots joining them or not. He liked them a good bit enough not to want to kill them - after all, they had helped with their escape from Gray and seemed like a bunch of trusty robots, but there were a lot of things to think about. Would they participate in battles? Who's base would they stay at? Would the Administrator even approve of the idea in the first place?

"But funny you should ask. I focused so much on getting out of the factory that I never even thought about where we would go. Away, I guess. That was all I considered. Just wherever Gray wasn't."

Outside rain began to drizzle down in a fine spray, and Spy returned, his jacket and hood lightly dotted with wet spots. He ignored everyone in the room, passing them all without a second glance. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Who, Spy?" It was Engineer who spoke this time.

"Yeah. He seemed pretty different from when we were in the docking bay. When Scout was still with us."

"Ah, yeah, about that. He didn't tell me nothin' about him and Scout, but if ya ask Pyro, he might tell ya something. Back in RED they were pretty close. I can't tell you whether he's okay or not. But I wouldn't pressure him if I were ya. He don't take too kindly to bein' asked about his personal life." Engineer put his hands on his knees and stood up, popping a few joints. "Well, I'm headed to bed. Best we're up early tomorrow. Never know when the plane will come. Night y'all." A quiet chorus of good nights followed, and Engineer was gone. Demoman got up shortly after as well, mentioning something about needing sleep or a drink, before leaving.

Makina returned to idle mode, leaving Horst to rest, and Medibot in the corner. The latter started up again, rolling over from his corner. "I zhink you know why Herr Spy vas so broken up," he commented, coming to rest by the table. Horst looked up, crystal blue eyes confused for a moment.

"Vhy?"

"If I interpreted correctly, zhey have some kind of relationship zhat's a little stronger zhan just meeting each ozher on zhe field. Perhaps familial ties, or a history of knowing each ozher. Or razher, Herr Spy knew Herr Scout, but not zhe ozher vay around. Herr Scout never seemed to treat Herr Spy anything more zhan just a teammate, while zhey vere vorking togezher." Guilt began to creep up his titanium spine as he remembered Spy's pleads for him to heal Scout. "If anyzhing, it's my fault he's like zhis now."

Horst cocked his head to one side. "How so?"

"You veren't zhere, but Herr Spy asked me to heal him. If I had my Medigun I vould have done it… but I didn't. I had nozhing on me, and Herr Scout died. So ja, I kind of do feel like it's my fault." Subconsciously, Medibot began to rub one arm, unable to look at Horst in the eye. He expected the Medic to get angry, blame him for the loss of a teammate, but the yelling never came. Instead he was met with an even look, and perhaps… a hint of sympathy in Horst's eyes.

The doctor smiled a little. "Zhat's okay. Many times on zhe field I can't save mein teammates. Even if I vant to. Some people have to be sacrificed for ozhers. Of course, zhey respawn, but still. You get mein point. Besides, not everyzhing is your fault. And frankly speaking, I can't really imagine how confused you are now. Robots hardly feel guilt… but you seem to. Must be hard being exposed to such a complicated emotion such as guilt."

Medibot fell silent, unsure of how to reply to Horst. He had most certainly felt guilt before, but it had never hit so hard. It was a weird feeling that clawed at him, reminding him of all his mistakes, all his faults and flaws. You're broken. Nothing but a malfunction. "Sometimes I vish I didn't know any of zhis."

Horst let a yawn out, getting to his feet. "Vell, you're not alone. Zhere are plenty more emotions zhat I don't zhink you feel, and a lot of zhem can be very problematic. But Herr Scout's death vas not your fault. Okay?"

Medibot slowly nodded, trying to accept the statement. It still felt like his fault.

"Gute Nacht, Medibot."

"Good night, Herr Medic."

...

Bidwell found himself landing outside Mountainlab's compounds, since the arena itself was a little too crowded to land an airplane. Mountainlab was as quiet as ever, the grass damp with rain from the night before. Dawn had just begun to peek over the forest, providing him only minimal light to wander the compound with.

He was completely unfamiliar with any of Mann Co's territories, since he worked in Saxton Hale's office most of the time. Of course, that didn't make him shy away at seeing suspicious stains that could have been blood that never cleaned off properly. A lot of violence went on at the office, nothing he wasn't used to. Nonetheless he tried not to step on anything that looked like it might ruin his grey suit, picking his way through the unfamiliar area.

He almost thought he lost his way, until a man dressed in a sharp, black suit materialised behind him. Bidwell tried not to flinch, scowling at the man. "Who are you?" He asked.

"I could ask you the same thing, mon ami, except that I know who you are, Monsieur Bidwell." Spy pulled out his cigarette case, offering one of the tobacco sticks to Bidwell. The secretary politely declined.

"Right, so you know who I am. I'm assuming you're one of Mister Hale's mercenaries then."

"That would be correct, yes."

"Where's Miss Pauling?"

Spy brushed past him, walking on past one of the inactive control points before the RED base. Bidwell followed behind, slightly irritated that he was not given an answer. The base was dead quiet as well, and it made Bidwell wonder if he had landed at the right place. If one of Hale's mercenaries were here, it was the correct place, right?

Spy stopped by the final control point. "Wait here." The look he gave Bidwell was enough to make him stay, unsure of what Spy might do if he didn't listen. The hooded assassin disappeared into the resupply room, where some conversation between multiple people started up, and not long after, was greeted by Miss Pauling herself, and what few mercenaries she had left.

"Bidwell!" Miss Pauling was tempted to hug him, but she had to remain a professional, especially when around her mercenaries. "So glad you're here. Where's the plane?"

"It's outside the compound. Couldn't exactly find a place to land inside, seeing as how small this whole place is. And I guess these are your mercenaries? When did Mann Co start hiring robots?" He eyed Makina and Medibot suspiciously, knowing who they belonged to. Gray Industries had bothered Hale a few times already, although the Australian never had much of an issue bashing up robots on his way out the door. Bidwell never bothered crossing one of them before, even preferring to take longer routes out if he had to just to avoid robots when Gray brought them to see Saxton Hale.

"Oh them? They're friendly. Or at least have been." Miss Pauling only added the last bit in a hushed tone, hoping the two of them didn't catch on. It was a little hard to trust some robots, especially when they came from the man who was trying to kill them.

Deciding not to push anymore about the robots, Bidwell turned around and began to leave. "Well the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get to the factory. I hope you have some way of getting in, because not even Mister Hale lets me in. But what I do know is all the things you need to bypass. I'll explain on the flight."

The mercenaries loaded onto the small jet, big enough to just fit them all. It wasn't any fancy plane or anything, but it had seats comfortable enough for most of the men to fall asleep in instantly. Miss Pauling stared at them as Bidwell prepared the plane for flight, before heading into the cockpit. She had to grab onto the co-pilot seat as Bidwell took off without notice, pulling herself into the chair. Bidwell offered her an amused side smile, relaxing into his chair as the plane climbed to cruising altitude.

"Right, okay." Miss Pauling straightened up in her chair, suddenly aware of how messy she must have looked. In comparison to Bidwell's sharp, ironed grey suit that looked like it was completely new, her purple dress was a little torn at the edges, and very, very dirty. "So, what are the things we have to bypass?"

"For starters you have to get into Mister Hale's office, but I can help you with that. Then there's- wait, are we trying to get into any of Mann Co's normal factories? Because I feel like as if I'm not telling you the right things."

Mann Co had factories other than normal? "Uh… I guess?"

Bidwell chuckled. "Oh, those are ridiculously easy to get into. You walk right in. But I feel as if where you're going, you might need more than whatever ordinary weapons we're already selling you. I'm talking prototypes. The mot expensive guns Mann Co ever made. Getting to those aren't easy."

"So… how do I get it?"

"At Mister Hale's office, there's a door that needs authentication. And not something as easy to get as DNA. It's a sensor that requires at least two-point-five thousand pounds of pressure per square inch applied. That's the kind of force Mister Hale can apply with one punch, even when he's not trying. So unless you or one of your mercenaries can punch that hard, that's going to be quite hard to pass. Maybe the big guy can do it."

Miss Pauling was a little more doubtful that Heavy could punch that hard.

"I don't even know what's behind there, since he only lets the really rich people in there. By rich, I mean trillionaires. Top mercenaries in the world. Don't tell your mercs I said that, I'm just quoting Mister Hale. I'm quote sure beyond that one door there's a few more, including DNA scanners and voice recognition and retina scanners." Bidwell seemed extremely relaxed about it all, though Miss Pauling was getting more and more stressed out by the moment, considering how they were going to get past all that security. There was always the option of just going back to any other factory, but she seemed to trust Bidwell when he said they were going to really need more than whatever normal weapons the mercenaries used on a daily basis.

"I'm sure you'll think of something though. Your mercenaries may not be the top of the world, but they're definitely something."

Miss Pauling was sure she had zoned out at some point and missed some things Bidwell had said, but didn't bother to ask. "Oh, thanks Bidwell." With nothing else to say, they went silent for the rest of the ride, Miss Pauling leaving Bidwell to fly the plane, and her returning to the cabin to make sure none of the mercenaries had pushed each other out of the plane.

Some several good hours later the plane descended in Saxton Hale's personal airport. There were multiple planes, some seemingly encased in gold just for show. The mercenaries woke up, glad for the long rest.

"Can the robots wait? This chair is way too comfortable to get up from," Axel complained. He was sprawled out across three chairs, and given the chance, would go straight back to sleep.

"Can ve put zhis to a vote? All in favour of staying in zheir chairs, say I."

The cabin chorused with agreement, the mercenaries all unwilling to actually get back to work. Miss Pauling didn't let them do it, of course. "No way guys. Robots first. Think about all the things you can do after we take down Gray. You'll actually get your jobs back. With mandated ceasefire days. Huh?" With some complaint, she successfully got the mercenaries out of the plane.

Saxton Hale's office building stood tall and majestic against the rest of the plain, cloudless, Australian sky. It was a huge shining tower of glass and metal, with nothing but a plain blue sky behind it, and rich, earthy tones below. It was quite impressive, if not out of place. Everyone except Bidwell stopped for a moment to gape in awe at it. Hale's secretary just walked on, pausing only to look back to see if anyone was actually following him.

Once everyone was gathered close enough to the door, Bidwell pushed open the doors to the lobby, revealing a fairly grand place. The walls were decorated with a fine wallpaper, the floor made of parquet. There were decorations all along the walls, and a comfy couch and coffee table by the side.

"Ah, I wouldn't sit on those if I were you," Bidwell reminded, just before Demoman could throw himself onto the couch. "Mister Hale installed them with trapdoors under the cushions, since no one who visits his office is ever expected to lounge around. So unless you fancy pulling yourself out of a ten foot hole, I wouldn't sit on that." Demoman gave the comfy looking chair a disgusted look, before following the rest of the group.

The mercenaries couldn't help but feel incredibly out of place. Amongst the well decorated walls, fine furniture and carpeted floor, they were just a bunch of ragtag mercenaries, mostly dressed in civilian-like clothing they had picked up from the town several days back. Most of them had never seen a place this fancy.

Bidwell took them in a lift up to the top floor, where Saxton Hale's office was. The door was plain glass, very easily broken through, but Bidwell nonetheless put his palm up to the scanner by the door. The glass doors slid open after accepting Bidwell's handprint, granting them access to the office.

For the most part the office was plain, just like Gray's had been. There was a large, fine chair behind a desk with a metal finish, that Bidwell mentioned also doubled as a grill for Saxton Hale's morning steaks. On the left a yeti stood, its body stiff, jaws apart in a menacing growl, and claws poised in the air, as if ready to strike. The rest of the wall was lined with a multitude of wild, stuffed animals, all of the murderous variety. The only conformation that it was dead was its stone cold eyes, frozen on something that couldn't quite be seen.

"Well, this is it. That's as far as I can take you, since I for one know I can't punch hard enough to make the system think I'm Mister Hale himself. I'll be around if you need me." He offered the group a nod, before turning to take his leave. Pausing by the glass door for a moment, he looked back. "Oh, and you only get one try on the punch. If it doesn't register it's Mister Hale the first time, it'll inform the police. Not that I think the police can stop you, but just something to think about, eh?"

"Thanks a lot Bidwell. Really, we'd probably still be stuck in Mountainlab if it weren't for you." Miss Pauling wish he'd stuck around a little more, but she had something to focus on, and he probably had things to do as well. A grateful little smile crept onto her lips.

Bidwell returned the smile. "Don't mention it. And give me a call if you ever need me. I'll be around." Miss Pauling only looked back to the pressure sensor after the glass doors slid shut once more and Bidwell was out of sight. She looked back in time to see Heavy getting ready to punch the sensor.

"Hey wait! Heavy stop!" She realised she hadn't told any of them what Bidwell had told her in the cockpit. Heavy stared at her, lowering his fist.

"Something wrong?" He asked.

She leaned down to scrutinise the sensor. "None of you can actually punch hard enough to produce two-point-five thousand pounds of pressure per square inch, right?"

"Whoa whoa, two-point-five thousand pounds? That crazy beefcake actually punches that hard?" Makina repeated. "Well if that's the case, we're better off just blowing up the door. Or the entire level. Heck, we may as well blow up the whole damn building and take whatever falls out of it."

Miss Pauling rubbed her chin for a bit. "Well, two-point-five thousand is two-point-five thousand. No changing that. Maybe Engineer can alter it down to… I don't know. Five? Five pounds?"

"Nothin' without rippin' off the whole wall ta start with," Engineer mused. "There don't seem to be any screw or what that goes to a configuration panel or nothin'. Unless yeah, ya don't mind me rippin' up the entire wall."

"Oh believe me, she vouldn't mind, but a certain Australian might. And zhat is not a man ve vant on our tails."

While they stared at the wall, Medibot rolled away to a pedastel. He shifted the ornate looking vase on it away, lifting up the entire pedastel with a grunt.

"Maybe ah, ve can use zhis? As a battling ram or somezhing. It's certainly heavy enough," He offered. Struggling to keep his balance while holding the pedestal, he rolled back to the group. Heavy eyed it.

"Does anyone else have ideas?" The Russian hauled the white block into his hands. "Nyet? Okay. Stand back."

He took a second to position the impromptu battling ram, pulling back and giving it a good swing with all his strength. As soon as the pedestal connected with the sensor, it cracked and crumbled, giving way under the tremendous force.

They waited in tense silence for the sensor to read out the pressure applied. An electronic voice crackled from the speaker. "Two four seven nine pounds of pressure per square inch. You are not Saxton Hale. Informing the police."

"Well that's stupid," Makina hissed. "And now the police are probably on their way here so… can we just pry the door open? It doesn't look all that thick."

Sirens began to sound outside, the soft wailing just barely audible from the top floor. Spy leaned towards the window, peering out at the cop cars below. "That was fast. I'm impressed at their response time. Someone get that door open, or I'm going to have to stab someone. Or a lot of someones."

Bidwell appeared at the door open, looking only sightly annoyed at the appearance of the police. "That didn't go so well." He had a pistol in his hand, though he didn't seem like he wanted to use it. "They'll probably be up here in at the most, five minutes. If they're willing to break down the door, though I'm quite sure Mister Hale will be more than willing to break their necks in return. Might want to work faster."

Heavy ran his hand along the wall, trying to find where the door actually was. It was perfectly smooth, no lines showing where the wall would slide away. Behind them, the elevator pinged, and out popped several policemen, guns raised. None of them seemed particularly threatening. The team relaxed a little upon seeing how scrawny the policemen were in comparison to themselves. Not the huge Australians anyone was expecting.

Axel cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Someone pop the door open. I'm gonna beat the crap out of these guys." With no further warning to anyone in the room, he tossed a nice ball of flames towards the wall. He didn't quite intend for it to hit anyone, but if anyone went up in flames then… oh well. The wall burst into flames, terrified men jumping aside to avoid their deaths.

While the rest of them fled, shaken by what they had just witnessed, one of the policemen remained frozen where he was, fire licking away at the wall behind him and threatening to consume him too if he didn't get moving. Axel stalked up to him, noticing his eyes locked onto his flaming hands. Extinguishing the flames, he grabbed him by the collar, pulling his face close. "You didn't see anything, okay?" His answer was a violent nodding, and Axel let him go, the man scrambling away.

"That was entertaining. Now let's give that pressure sensor another shot before this entire room burns down."

Heavy hefted up the more solid-looking part of the pedestal, a frown forming on his face as he reared back again, swinging the dusty not-so-white block at the sensor again with all the strength he could muster. The voice that read out the results of the "punch" was barely audible over the crackle of fire slowly inching towards them, and the thunder of the hit. They must have been successful, for the door slid open. The mercenaries filed in, and it closed once more, completely invisible from the outside.

The room inside was beautiful. The floor was made of freshly polished marble, the walls decorated with red banners and pillars with ornate carvings on their surfaces. Fancy chandeliers of glass hung from the ceiling, and all around the room were statues of men and women, holding very, very fancy weaponry.

The mercenaries were in heaven, Bidwell and Miss Pauling included. "Well, this isn't quite what I expected." Demoman darted straight for a glass table where several bottles of expensive wine stood. Completely ignoring the thin, tall glasses that stood next to the bottles, the demolitions expert grabbed three bottles all at once and chugged it all down. Spy stared at him in disgust, heading straight for a beautiful revolver held by a faceless statue.

Each weapon was beautifully designed and carefully made, as if they were only meant for display and never for use. How the mercenaries handled them, of course, showed that none of them really seemed to care. Miss Pauling began to scribble on a notepad she had in her pocket, leaving them on the tables where a precious weapon used to lay.

"Are you okay with this? With us just taking the weapons?" Miss Pauling asked. Bidwell just watched the mercenaries rob the entire place, leaving nothing behind.

Seeing the mercenaries so happy with their new, better arsenal of weapons, Bidwell had to just shrug. "It's not like as if I can do anything, and Mister Hale won't be needing these any time soon anyway."

"Come on guys, we don't have all day. Just grab everything you need and let's go. Gray might be on our tails already." The mercenaries had taken everything, leaving behind nothing but some handwritten notes by Miss Pauling stating how much money she owed. Saxton Hale was not going to be happy when he found out, so hopefully the ownership of Gray Industries would be enough to have the Australian lay off.

...

A frustrated Gray sat at his table, flipping through a book of contacts. People who owed him favours, mostly, for the money he loaned them. "A whole army of robots couldn't stop them. But I blame myself, because I made them. And I completely forgot that darn Medibot has the key code to activating the other two. So if I can't stop them with my robots, then I suppose I will have to hire someone with actual strategy to do it."

He was mostly talking to himself, for Olivia was only half listening. The rest of the girl's attention was used for looking out of the window and into the stretch of pine trees behind the factory. At what, exactly, she wasn't sure.

Scanning through the thick book once more, Gray settled on a page where one of the contacts written on it had many notes at the side, detailing the success rate and professionalism of that one assassin. All he needed was for the two robots to be brought back to the factory - no, one, actually. Makina was no longer of use anymore. Damn the mercenaries to hell.

Picking up the phone on his scratched and bloodied desk, Gray punched in the number he had scrawled down. The phone didn't even have to ring twice before someone picked up. There was no voice, expecting Gray to speak first. "Yes, it's time I called you in for that favour."

"…Speak."

"Six mercenaries, with two robots. I want the robots alive, mercenaries dead. Or you can make them your torture dolls for awhile, they can take quite a bit. Take your time. I'll send pictures soo-"

"Done. Pictures not needed." That was it. The phone went dead, and Gray put down the receiver.

It was time to get to business.