Did you know that quality control has the big gay?

Yeah, you must've known because you're reading this story.

Also what the fuck in all seriousness WHY ARE THERE SO MANY REVIEWS I set it to 15 thinking, "Yeah I'll get like four or five." but what the fuck 18. That's straight up 12 reviews on a chapter.

I'm in a hell of my own making.

(Also transition chapter plz no kil)

Anyways, what the fuck is humour?

"So you're…"

"Second Lieutenant Mike Jones, Time Warrior Air Force Special Operations Command, Task Force Commander of Joint Task Force 420-69-5."

Gentiane had given up on writing notes. It'd only slow down the speed of interrogation, with her taking minutes to scribble notes, and she knew it was all being recorded anyways. "And where exactly do you come from..?"

Jones scratched his chin, "Well, hard to say at this point, been a couple hundred years since my induction. I'd have to ask Records for that. You mind if I just run over right now?"

"No."

"Really, I can just get Brandon to open a Stargate right now, if he isn't off making a cameo in a Mr Beast video without telling anyon-"

"No! No," Gentiane shook her head vigorously. The way he so casually stated that he could just… leave? She had three echelons guarding the Time Warriors in their cells… maybe it wouldn't hurt to add another. "Let's just skip that question. How about… what are you doing here?"

There was a sharp intake of air, and Jones' eyes told her she was about to get the name, rank, and service number treatment.

/ - /

And to be honest, she preferred the name, rank, and service number treatment.

"-and that's everything," Admin said. Had it really been two hours since she started the interrogation with him? Three? Four? Twenty four? It all felt the same. "Also, do you-"

"Stop, please."

Jones hadn't said much more than the basics, but Admin… he was like a broken fire hydrant, inundating her with every little tidbit of information he could, then asking his own questions, his own, completely irrelevant questions on her setup… She should've taken Ange's offer, but noooo, she just had to personally talk to them, didn't she? Admin didn't say anything else, sitting at the metal table, his hands shackled, just waiting, the balaclava covered face curiously watching her.

She ran her hands through her hair, taking a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, "You ever take off that balaclava?" she snorted, he was probably going to say something like-

"Never, I can't. Well, I mean I can turn it into a neck gaiter, but well… only High Lord Admin can take his off," he flashed her a thumbs up. "And even then, balaclava stays on during sex."

Dear god, she was going mad.

./ - /

"Why did you… join… the Time Warriors?" Gentiane's hands shook as she asked the question to Mojo. She fully expected him to spout some philosophical, convoluted reason that involved some sort of vast dynasty of copies of himself that spanned the ages and for some damn reason, Ron Jeremy.

Mojo shrugged, "I'm just here for the violence."

So colour her surprised when the stout Asian man just wanted to blow things up. It made her want to laugh, to drain herself of every last inch of sane fibre and stomp on it until only the insane remained, because that was starting to feel like the only way to cope with everything. If things were going to be insane why couldn't they at least be consistent?

Maybe it was consistent in the fact that regardless of whatever time or age she was in, there was almost a suicidal war hungry nut somewhere.

She just wanted to walk out of the interrogation room, collapse onto her bed, and hug her blanket tight until sleep took her, but what she wanted didn't coincide with what she needed to do, unfortunately.

"So, apparently, according to… Admin," she cringed. That interrogation took four hours to complete, mostly on account of Admin just simply not knowing when to stop. What kind of name was Admin anyways? She wanted to ask but she felt like that was an extraordinarily bad idea. "Each Time Warrior has their own specialty. Would you mind telling me yours?"

"Breaking the laws of physics," he said as casually as ordering in a fast food drive thru…

Wait, why was that the analogy she went for?

/ - /

"So, in conclusion," Gentiane had gathered everyone pertinent to the Restaurant Incident—AR Team, the Commanders, Ange, and a few Echelon Leaders—as she'd heard the dolls refer to it as, in a small conference room that she had the vague memory of being used by Kalina to explain to her why stealing KCCO Technology, selling it on the black market, and therefore increasing combat mech proliferation throughout the KCCO's enemies was a good idea mainly for the fact it filled their coffers. Or Kalina's coffers. "We have…"

"Eighteen 'Time Warriors' in custody," G36 muttered something in German. Likely something about the world going crazy. "Plus him."

Her Adjudant nodded over at Gadwin. He had the good sense to stay quiet, unlike a certain someone who made her blood boil.

"Who," Gentiane continued on, staring intently at Gadwin. "Has no relation to these Time Warriors, and was just randomly picked up by them?"

The former fast food worker vigorously nodded.

She paused, mentally reviewing the combat footage uploaded from the T-Dolls who'd been in the ambush. Gadwin had acted with extraordinary calm and aptitude for someone with supposedly no military experience, and not only that, had charged the enemy position with seemingly reckless abandon. For a moment, she contemplated pushing further, and figuring just who Gadwin was, then she remembered he probably was the last normal (maybe?) (actual) person that was in vague reach.

Nah, that was a can of worms to open later.

"Alright then, we'll probably hold you for a bit longer," she raised a hand, stopping Gadwin just as he opened his mouth, likely to voice some protest. "We just need to make sure everything goes smoothly. It's unlikely Paradeus knows who you are, but on the off chance they do, we don't want to release you and find you dead within the day."

Gadwin blanched.

"So we can either release you, or, should you accept, keep you around in the base as a er… what would you say you're good at?"

"I used to work at a fast food restaurant and I can sew."

"Kitchen staff then. That sound good?"

A nod.

Wonderful. She could figure out who exactly Gadwin was later instead of now, And maybe it'd work out better. she just needed to get a doll to hang around, befriend him and figure out what he was really up to. Maybe SOP? No, definitely not. That would end terribly.

"I'll have one of the dolls get you a room, and that can be-"

SOPMODII, who'd been hunched over the long wooden table—she'd gone into sleep mode five minutes ago, prodded occasionally back awake by RO, who quietly scolded (with her megaphone) her every single time—immediately shot up, raising her hand high, "I'll do it!"

She feared what they'd get up to, but really, she needed to get through the meeting as quick as possible, mostly to get everyone appraised of the situation, and partly so she could take a nap.

"Alright," she said, bringing a grin to SOPII's face, and a shudder to Gadwin's. "Orientate him around the base and we'll sort out some sort of contract later. Make sure to watch over him, I don't want anything to happen, 'kay?"

They left, one more gleeful than the other, and Gentiane dove right back into the discussion.

"So, Ange, for you, did Admin talk for hours on end about useless information?"

"Well," she stroked her chin with her robotic hand. "He was actually quite to the point. Very interested about the robot arm, but answered all my question very to the poi-"

"God dammit!"

/ - /

Gadwin tried desperately to forget everything that happened that afternoon. The feelings, the adrenaline. That wasn't him. That wasn't Gadwin Halanis. Gadwin Halanis was a young adult working a 9-5 fast food restaurant job to try to make some money before heading to college. Gadwin Halanis was not a death machine that could flick the proverbial death switch at a moment's notice.

So he was a bit relieved when Commander Gen-something-vaguely-French offered him the job. He could relax, working for GnK. Well, not relax, but he likely wouldn't feel… whatever he felt in the ambush, working in the kitchen and preparing food for the human employees of GnK.

It'd give him time to figure out everything, to process the madness. If, of course, he could go through everything without getting harassed by Dolls, which he was currently failing at.

"Soo…" SOP, as she apparently preferred to be called. It was an odd name, mostly in the fact that… she was named after her gun? He really needed to ask about it. They walked, or in her case, skipped down a hall, supposedly leading to the human dorms. "Gaddy, are you the new Commander?"

The word sent a tingle through his body which he tried to ignore, "No, no! Didn't you hear Gen- Genta- your actual Commander? I'll be working as kitchen staff."

The hallway they walked was mostly secluded, carpeted with intricate patterns, likely a holdover to when the base used to be a hotel. SOP skipped in front of him, walking backwards so they could talk face to face. "Really? At the coffee shop, you were all like, rargh! And then you charged into that place! How many did you get? You looked like you got a few. Do you take any trophies? We should show eachother them. You also looked pretty confident with your gun, like, you're almost as good as me!"

"Shooting and commanding are very different things," he also didn't know why he was good at shooting, he didn't say. "I'm probably a better cook than a commander."

SOP pouted, falling back into step beside him. Then, to his infinite dread, she started to grin, "Probably? You mean you don't know?"

"...no?"

"Then we gotta find out!" her robot hand—each finger a pointy claw that could probably tear through flesh—latched onto his arm, and she began running forward, dragging him along with her. "To the sim room!"

"-gah! what?"

/ - /

To his infinite displeasure, he was oddly good at it.

He tried to play it off as er, well… videogames, but well…

"Are you suuuuurrreeee?" SOP asked with eyes as wide as saucers after looking at the sim results.

"Really, really, realistic games."

Nailed it.

"What are they called?"

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

"Er, Vae… Victus?"

"What's it about?"

"It's a uh… warcrime simulator?" Shit uh… details… details always gave credence to a lie, right? Or was it stay as vague as possible… "Machetes. Lots of machetes. Mhm. Yup."

"Really?" she asked with far too keenly. She must've caught onto the lie. No way she was interested because she wanted to play something like that. She would've had to have been a psychopath, and despite the claws and all that, she seemed sweet enough.

Right?

Also, like, wow, this was where his lie was about to be uncovered? How come he was good at shooting and ordering people around but not lying. A flaw in his suppressed memories that gave him abilities far beyond any reason, obviously.

His mouth however, went on autopilot, "Yeah, uh, there's this mission where you can massacre an entire tent full of unarmed POWs because you don't want to deal with keeping them prisoner."

"Woooowww," SOP said with rapt attention. "That sounds-"

Like a lie? Like the plot to a bad fanfiction?

"-so cool!"

Uh.

What.

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, it sounds cool, doesn't it? RO tells me not to show everybody this, since you play the same games I do, you'd love this!" she giggled, before pulling out a…

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he flinched as she brought an eyeball necklace out of her pocket. "What in the…"

Then he realized those weren't flesh and arteries, but wires and electronic internals. Not a real eyes, thank God.

"So these are the ones I have from Sangvis," she dug a hand into her other pocket. "And these are the ones I have from the KCCO!"

Before he could find out what she meant, a time portal ripped itself a hole in reality behind him, and Jones stepped out, dressed in the same labcoat he'd seen him in in the ambush, still tattered and bloodied.

"Gadwin!" Jones shouted as Mojo, Admin, and a few other Time Warriors stepped out as well. "I've been looking for you! Do you know how awkward it is to accidentally walk into a meeting discussing how to contain you? Fucking awkward. You really leave a time trail, it actually confuses Admin-"

"Jones, you did the navigating this time."

"-Admin," Jones insisted. "So uh, we found where the primary Ron Jeremy variant ran off to, a restaurant for some reason, like the variants around these parts really love restaurants, so we're just here to collect you and go."

"W-wait, hold up. Weren't you all in a cell..?"

Jones shrugged, "Gave a shout to Brandon and opened the Stargate. Hey, what were you doing here anyways? This a uh… simulation room? Oh hey, it's that murder puppy again."

"Uwa?" SOP took all of half a second to shake herself out of her wonder, "How- wha- huh?"

"I-I-" Shit uh… his mind froze, but luckily, he didn't have to think of anything.

"I was testing him to see if he was going to be our new Commander!" SOP yelled, eyes darting briefly to all the Time Warriors that had spontaneously taken over the Sim Room. "He was… really good."

"Ah, makes sense, he used to be a veteran Time Warrior," Admin produced a phone out of his pocket. "Over four-hundred-sixty-nine campaigns under his belt."

"Nice," Jones said.

"Nice," every other Time Warrior said.

"Nice," Gadwin involuntarily added.

Jones clapped his hands together, "Anyways, Gadwin, to answer the rest of your unasked questions which i know because I am a Time Warrior, we were just waiting for Brandon to get back to us about the Ron Jeremy trail, and decided that we'd just chill in your custody while we waited. Maybe have a little fun, or a little too much fun-"

Admin gave a thumbs up, "We do a little trolling."

"-but fun's over, we got work to do, and Ron Jeremies to kill. We'll probably have to find another local guide to tell us about the enemy factions somewhere else, because I'm pretty sure we pissed off most people here."

It was that feeling again. The constriction of his heart, the numb cold seeping through his limbs. His mind screamed for him to run and hide, but his legs under a power of its own, stepped forward. God, he was doing this, wasn't he? He was going to walk to his death, walk to his death because he just couldn't turn and run.

As the Time Warriors began filtering into the swirling portal, SOP grabbed his arm, "I thought you weren't with them?"

"I'm not," he hissed. It was that cold feeling again. "But… I dunno. I think I gotta go with them."

SOP pursed her lips, then grabbed Jones' shoulder, pulling him back and stopped each Time Warrior as they turned to look. Nobody aimed their rifles, yet. "You're… are you going to fight Paradeus?"

"The white suited Ron Jeremy variants?"

"...yes?"

Jones nodded, "Yeah."

"Can I come? I've been fighting them for a loooonnngg time. You said you needed a guide, right?" she kept glancing at Gadwin biting her lips as she did. That wasn't… right? Something was happening.

Jones shrugged, "Sure, you can come with us."

"SOP, you don't have to come-"

SOP skipped ahead, "Well, you're my friend! And er, the Commander told me to watch you, so… I'm going to follow! Plus it feels kinda right."

"...sure, that checks out. Let's go."

"Yay! More trophies!" SOP skipped right through.

Gadwin paused.

Naw, he just heard it wrong.

Then he followed, not entirely sure of his future, but his own conscience propelling himself forward, for the unreasonable fear of shame that fabricated itself out of nothing. He owed the Time Warriors nothing. But SOP owed him nothing, and she still willingly stepped forward…

A friend, heh.

Dammit, he said to himself as he found himself swallowed by the Stargate, and enveloped by a tingling, warm feeling. He really was going mad.

And so, another piece of the scattered and distorted jigsaw puzzle clicked into place.

Brb going to prepare all my jokes for the next chapter (don't leave because this wasn't funny please I have abandonment issues).

Anyways, uh, 14 reviews on the next chapter and I draw coverart for this story. 18 and I do it for Field Agent. 20 and I draw Hsu refusing to call a wrecker crew.

Next chapter in two weeks. Later.