(15:00)
"Five mikes until touchdown!"
Matthew Hsu stirred awake in the back of the Blackhawk, rubbing his eyes and groaning from the ringing that accosted his ears. For three hours he'd been stuck in the back of this flying black coffin. He was used to helicopters, for the past eight years they'd been his primary method of transport. But even if he was used to them, that didn't mean he liked them.
As he looked out to the Eastern countryside, the rolling hills now covered in crater-shaped pock marks. Not a tree to be seen, all had been clear cut by the wonders of the European tanks that had rolled through years prior. A few ruined buildings, along with fresh smoke curling up from the air. Locals probably fighting over scraps, bandits jumping another supply convoy.
Just another day in the Neo-Soviet Union.
He'd never been to this part of the world. With how bad the War got, he never had a chance. Growing up during that time had been hard. Rationing, air raid drills. School had taught him how to hide from bombers better than how to do maths.
Coming to the place where it all started was an experience. Especially with how this was going to be his home for the foreseeable future.
He looked down to the outfit he was now wearing. A new uniform from his new employer, a maroon peacoat covering a black tie and white dress-shirt. Some silver epaulets on his shoulder, marking him as a Commander. Military, but not. A bit of an old fashioned feel to it, something he couldn't say he minded.
Griffin & Kryuger, the premier PMC out in these parts. Founded by an ex-Soviet FSB member, staffed by people from all over the world. Soviets, Europeans, Latin Unionists… maybe even some other Canadians.
Truth be told he didn't know much about this part of the world. Just that it was still a shithole, even if the War had ended years ago. With how few people were left, Governments were more ineffective than ever. They had to plug the holes, and how better to plug the holes than with mercenaries who're willing to shoot things for a check?
Not that he could judge them anymore. He was a mercenary now. Well, 'Contractor.' Whatever the politically correct term was.
The helicopter lurched forward as it began its descent onto the base. Matt grabbed for the hem of his seat, trying not to fall onto the blood tray.
"Hey! Fly this thing straight, why don't you!?" He yelled into the cockpit. The only response he got was a deep, Slavic cackle, clearly taking amusement from his suffering.
He opted to hang on until they were finally back on the ground.
It wasn't long until he was granted his wish. The helicopter touched down with a terrifying bump, one that almost threw Matthew out of his seat. As he looked out, he saw that they were in fact on a rooftop helicopter pad. He grabbed for his suitcase and dusted his coat, making sure to flip the bird towards the helicopter pilot as he stepped off and towards the base's interior.
Five, rectangular, prefabricated buildings made a pentagon shape. There was an outer wall, one with tall fencing with barbed wire lining around the entire complex. Watchtowers rose high, automated sentries perched atop each one scanning the surrounding area. On the north end, a few hangers could be seen with a small landing strip and even more landing pads present. All of this, surrounded with the same war-torn landscape he'd seen flying in.
Matthew huffed as he adjusted his tie, then looked to his altimeter watch. On time, if he rushed to his quarters. Wherever those were.
As he entered the building and walked down the stairs, he found that it's outside facade didn't reflect it's internal character. As soon as he reached the top floor, the building felt more like an apartment complex than a military encampment. Wooden floors, windows. Freshly painted walls and even a few potted plants.
The new commander didn't pay the surroundings much mind, he was too focused on getting where he needed to go. Which was probably why he ended up ramming into something.
Or someone, depending on how you look at it.
Both persons yelled in shock at the contact, then promptly fell to the floor. Hsu groaned in pain and anger as his face was buried into the hard surface of his suitcase. His glasses were askew, but not broken. He rolled over, staring up at the spinning ceiling.
"Gottverdammt, Ninety-Seven!" The voice, presumably coming from the person he'd run into yelled out. Very angry, distinctly female and VERY German. "How many times have I told you to watch where you are going, you complete scheiße- "
The voice cut itself off, right as a head suddenly popped up into Hsu's vision. His blurry, confused vision, the yelling having made his shellshock even worse.
"-kopf. " The woman finished, blinking once as she squinted down. "You… you are not Ninety-Seven."
Hsu groaned again, before his sight finally began to clear, and he was finally able to see who had almost killed him on his first day. The woman looked to be in her early twenties. Large, blue eyes giving him an unnerving glare. Well kept blonde hair framed her face, a frilly white and black headband topping it off. From the neck downwards she appeared to be wearing a maid's uniform, complete with a red tie.
"Actually, you are not anyone I know at all." The woman completed, her glare growing even more intense as she leaned in closer. "Zhis has something to do with the helicopter, doesn't it?"
Regaining his bearings, Hsu was now rapidly regaining his annoyance. He matched the woman's glare, gritting his teeth and setting himself up on his elbows. He was already having a terrible day, going through a terrible trip and being stuck in the ass end of the world. He wasn't going to start taking lip from a random stranger in a maid outfit.
"Get off." He demanded. The woman huffed, but complied, letting him grab his suitcase and push himself upwards once more. Now that he stood up fully, he also noted that she was actually as tall as he was.
Meanwhile, the woman continued to size him up, before looking to his shoulders. Seeing the rank insignias, she quickly took a step back and gasped.
"Y-you are a K-kommandant?" She started, gears whirring in her head before she put two and two together. Suddenly, her whole demeanor changed. Heels clicking together, arms straight to her side, and her gaze aimed directly before her instead of at him. Though she was still glaring.
"A thousand apologies, Sir! I did not mean any disrespect!" She rattled off, going from maid to soldier in less than sixty seconds. It would've been impressive, if he wasn't so pissed off.
Hsu walked a circle around her, trying to make heads and tails of it. What the hell was someone doing in clothes like this on a military base? Sure, this wasn't like the Army back home. He didn't expect to see everyone walking around in CADPAT with High-Powers on their hip. But… a maid's outfit, seriously?
"What the hell are you wearing?" He asked, the whole situation bothering him more than being late.
The woman's stoic expression wavered for a moment, confusion slipping through before she hardened up again. "Zhis is my service uniform, Kommandant." She said, as if it was something obvious.
"You're telling me this is what you wear daily?" Hsu asked again, growing more bewildered and annoyed. The woman merely nodded.
"Jawohl. I wear it with pride, Kommandant." She said again, not budging.
Hsu grumbled, not believing it for a second. He was five seconds away from ordering her to go wear something normal , but he stopped himself. Just barely, as he remembered he had something to do. And it was a better use of his time than this, which he could fix after the fact.
"So you've been stationed here a while, then?" Hsu questioned, pivoting the topic away as naturally as he could. "Do you know the way to my quarters?"
She nodded in response, which let him follow up. "Can you take me there?"
Another nod, before she extended her hand. Hsu was confused for a moment, before realizing the woman was reaching for his suitcase. The man almost hesitated, but relented, handing it over to this strange maid. A strange maid who grabbed a suitcase stuffed with thirty kilograms of stuff like it was air.
That's when Hsu realized, this wasn't a woman at all. It was an A-Doll. That explained the eccentric taste in fashion.
With that realization in mind, he followed the doll into the depths of the facility.
(15:30)
By the time they reached his quarters, the hologram of another woman was already standing in the center of it.
She wore effectively the same outfit he did, albeit with some distinct differences. The rank markings on her shoulders were a brilliant gold in contrast to his silver. Her boots had pumps, and there was a black belt with a silver buckle wrapping her waist.
Beyond that, she had more identifiable features. She looked like she was about thirty, just like him. One of her eyes bore a monocle, and she wore her dark silver hair in a ponytail that fell down the front of her left shoulder. Her expression was stony, and perpetually unamused. The aura she released exuded a strong authority.
Or in more plain terms, Hsu immediately understood not to fuck around with this woman.
As the doll walked past and set his suitcase down, she closed the door and stood there. Matthew was about to dismiss her, before the hologram spoke first.
"Mister Hsu. You're late." The woman announced, her eyes already boring into him. Her words were punctuated with a Scottish tinge, reinforcing her displeasure. "A poor first impression."
Now it was Hsu's turn to play the dutiful subordinate, lifting a hand to salute the woman. "Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am. My pilot decided to take the scenic route."
"I don't care for your excuses. Ensure it does not happen again." She demanded, to which Hsu simply nodded in response. The hologram then opened up a file, flipping through the pages.
"My name is Helianthus. You may address me as Sub-Director, or ma'am." She began, reading over each page quickly and not even bothering to pay attention to the man's response. "This is an interesting dossier, Major Hsu."
"I'm not a Major anymore, ma'am." Hsu pointed out, dropping his salute.
"No one ever really leaves their service behind, Hsu." Helian countered, still not looking at him as she continued to read. "Nine years of service. Grenadier Guards Regiment, impressive. Says here you were part of the peacekeeping missions in Southern China?"
"There were major pockets of collapse outbreaks. What was left of the UN went to help contain it after the Chinese Government fell apart." Hsu explained
"And failed miserably, yes. The outbreaks have spread into Indochina now." Helian observed carelessly, something that made Hsu's fists clench. Salt on a wound that was still extremely fresh.
She closed the dossier and set it on a surface behind her, something the projection wasn't rendering. "Well, I can see why you passed selection. Combat experience in an officer role is highly valuable to our company."
"Happy to have your stamp of approval, ma'am." He said.
"Don't presume you have anything of mine, Major." She points out, hand resting on her hip. "We've given you a week to prepare before your first contract is issued. Have you been briefed on your combat echelon?"
Hsu merely shook his head again. "No, ma'am. I touched down only fifteen minutes ago. I haven't seen a single T-Doll yet, but I'm assuming they're in their storage bay."
Such a statement only earned some confusion from Helian, before the ghost of a smile graced her lips. As if she was in on the most hilarious joke in the world. The woman's head tilted to look at the doll who'd come with this man.
"You didn't tell him, G-Thirty-Six." Helian observed.
"I did not know I had to, Unterdirektor ." The doll replied.
"Gee Thirty-Six…?" Hsu interjected, turning about to look at the maid once more. "Why're you named after an assault rifle?"
"It is my field designation. Each of us is named after the weapon we use in combat." G36 informed the man.
"Combat. You go into combat." Hsu repeated, just to be sure he wasn't completely losing his mind. The doll nodded again, keeping a poker face mounted as the new arrival spun around and glared at Helian's hologram.
"I thought this PMC worked with T-Dolls." Hsu hissed, jabbing his finger towards the target of his ire. "That is an A-Doll. She's in a maid's outfit!"
"Do not raise your voice with me, Major." Hellian ordered, culling Hsu's fury on the spot. The man rapidly bit his tongue, and all the expletives resting on it as he managed to withstand Helian's withering gaze.
Having regained full control of the room, Helian began a simple explanation. "G-Thirty-Six is a fully functioning tactical doll, though originally she was an assistant doll. Her firmware has been converted, and she is capable of all the duties any other second-generation doll can take on."
Helian then lifted a hand, gesturing over to the murder-bot dressed up for a costume party. "She, along with the rest of her echelon, have been the wardens for this base for the past three months. During which they have repulsed multiple bandit raids. These dolls have my full confidence, Captain. Something you've already lost with this childish display."
"Sub-director. With all due respect, I have never in my life worked with T-Dolls like this."
"Yes, yes. I'm aware that the URNA's android forces are still made up mostly of Sangvis Ferri models." Helian replied, waving a dismissive hand at the man's complaint. "Another reason why you were selected for this post, as you'll soon be briefed."
That information knocked him a bit off kilter. "Are the bandits using Sangvis dolls?"
"In a way. Expect a situational briefing tomorrow, once your Logistics Officer arrives." The woman said, before leaning to sit on the edge of her desk. The furniture itself partially rendered into the hologram, filling out the scene more. "For now, assess your troops. You have a week until I contact you again."
With that final word, the projection disintegrated. The room was emptied, leaving behind Hsu and the doll as she went to unpack his things.
Maybe it wasn't too late to resign.
(15:40)
"So. Booooooooooooooooooored."
M14 laid back on her table, her head lolling off the edge as her eyes began to glaze over. She'd lost track of how long they'd been waiting in the cafe, having been roused from their duties and randomly mustered here. She had plans today. Going to the range, or taking a walk outside the base, or beating the snot out of Garand at iRacer.
But no, instead she was here. Waiting for someone who hadn't showed up all day. So she laid there, one of three dolls idling by.
"Patience is a virtue, Fourteen." Springfield pointed out as she stirred the latte in her hands. The taller doll was sitting properly in a chair, legs crossed and blissfully calm. "And please, take your feet off the table. You know how hard G36 works to keep this place clean."
Groaning, M14 complied, flipping herself around so she sat properly atop the table. Her dark twintails bobbed as she rested her head in a hand, while Springfield took a sip from her cup.
"You need to chill, girl." BAR added, flicking through a list of aviators for sale on her phone. The LMG toting blonde was of a similar disposition to her rifle companion. "We're not in a rush, take the moment to relax."
M14 huffed, leaning forward as she grabbed the edge of her seating arrangement. "Sorry, Grandma , but I actually like to do more than just surf Amazon for some shades all day."
BAR stopped at the jab, lowering the aviators she was wearing with a finger so she could look at the younger weapon with disbelief. The machine gun then swirled her sights over to her age old equal. "Springfield, please control your junior."
"Be polite to your Aunt, dear." Springfield followed up, cautiously trying to maintain decorum. The two always seemed to get on one another's nerves lately, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why.
Another groan left M14, this time leading to her hopping off the table and walking around the edge of the cafe. "We've been here for two HOURS! How come Garand and Thompson got to leave, and we're still stuck here!?"
"Because someone wanted chips from the dorm." BAR grumbled, loud enough for M14 to hear. It was enough to make M14 stare daggers at the woman's back, but not enough for her to stop walking or verbally respond.
"They'll be back soon. And our new Commander should be here soon as well." Springfield assured delicately, setting the beverage down onto the small table next to her. The marksman stood up, walking towards her coffee bar. "I'm quite excited, truth be told. It's been so long since we've been in action, hasn't it Bar?"
BAR shrugged, swiping her screen and moving to a new row of eyewear for her to peruse. One set in particular caught her attention, and she zoomed in. "Seen one firefight, seen'em all. Honestly, I like being in Petersburg. Then my neural cloud gets a buzz from Command, next thing I know we're all down here."
"In the middle of nowhere, six hours south of Kyiv, surrounded by smelly raiders and berserk Sangvis dolls." M14 lamented. "Anyone else feel like we got demoted? Because I feel like we got demoted."
"You got demoted. I got reassigned, Springfield volunteered." BAR clarified, looking up from her phone once more. She watched as Springfield drew a large cake out from the fridge, cutting a slice out with a knife. "Why sign up with Griffin anyway, Springy? After the PEF let us go, I thought you were looking forward to civvie life."
"Oh, being an A-Doll again was quite enriching." Springfield agreed, continuing to evenly carve up the desert. "But I've gotten rather used to how the military works. Working in a city cafe just isn't the same as living on a base."
"That's a fancy way of saying you got bored, Springfield." M14 poked, going to Springfield's vacated seat and leaning on the backrest. "Ughhhh. Where are my chiiiiiiips. "
"You could've gone and got'em yourself, y'know." BAR reminded. Just as M14 was about to throw a reply back, the sound of chatter could be heard coming down the hall.
Two dolls had finally found their way back from the other side of the complex. Garand and Thompson, the former holding onto a rather massive bag of potato chips while Thompson hummed along to some music playing from her headphones.
"Garand!" M14 called, hopping up and rushing over to her snack toting savior. Garand squeaked, surprised by the suddenly outburst as she brought the bag close to her chest. Right as M14 ran up and jumped to hug her friend.
A loud 'POP' could be heard as the bag was squeezed between the two dolls, blowing open the button. At once, M14's salty bounty was sputtered out onto the floor, crumpled and crushed into flakes.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" M14 howled, diving down to corral her damaged goods with her hands. Garand watched on, frozen in surprise and empathetic despair at what had just happened.
Thompson laughed, turning the music down as she stood to BAR's side. "Looks like the brat got too excited again, eh Cuz?"
"One way to look at it." BAR lamented as she saw M14 start to cry over the death of her care package. Garand crouched down next to her friend, pulling her into a hug and patting the riflewoman on the back.
Then, more sound could be heard coming from the opposite hallway. Footsteps, clattering against the floorboards. As the dark haired woman continued to mourn over her snacks, Thompson looked over her shoulder to see who else was arriving.
She would see the arrival of a man, flanked by G36. Average height, disheveled brown hair, a deep scar running across the bridge of his nose. A pair of rimless glasses were there as well, rectangular rimless lenses making them seem almost ghostly. He had eastern features, but they were rather muted. One facial scan and she was able to deduct that he was likely of mixed heritage.
That, and she could sense a pulse. Which meant he was human.
"Hey, girls. Look what the cat dragged in." She called, stirring the rest of the dolls to stare at this man as well. Springfield leaned over from the bar, icing covered knife still in hand. Garand helped M14 up, the latter finally cutting off the waterworks. BAR turned about halfway in her chair, arm over the backrest.
Meanwhile Hsu looked over the motley crew. Five of them. Two blondes, dressed up World War Two era soldiers. A darker shaded brunette who had the outfit of a sailor, and a medal rack to boot. The other brown haired woman looked like she was in a dress uniform out of the nineteenth century, and the last one. Silver hair, gangster look with a bit of modern flare.
It let him know that everyone around here dressed up strangely, not just the German.
The newly commissioned Commander looked over the gaggle, not impressed at the slightest. From the mess that had been left, neither was G36. The doll stormed off past the group, muttering explicatives in her native language as she dug out a broom and dustpan.
"Guess we soured the Kraut again." Thompson joked, earning a chuckle from her machine-gun toting companion. Springfield paid no mind, walking over to the man with a plated slice in hand.
"Hello, Commander. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She greeted, offering the man the plate with a smile. "Please, it's double-fudge! My own recipe."
Hsu took the plate in hand, but made no motion to take a bite. Instead he just watched on, Springfield falling back as the five of them began to form a line. G36 continued to clean in the back, barking off annoyed mutters that he was glad he couldn't understand.
Each of the dolls had different dress, expressions, posture and personality. None of them looked anything like the soldiers he was used to. And these were the tools he had to accomplish whatever missions the company threw at him.
Now he really wanted to resign.
"Which one of you is the team leader?" He asked, having completely lost his drive to put up an angry front. The one with the sunglasses took a step forward, taking the shades off her head and slipping them into the crease of her suit.
"M-Nineteen-Eighteen, at your service Sir." The doll said, extending a hand for him to presumably shake. Hsu didn't take the hand, caught by the name. Well, more shocked by it.
"...Don't tell me you use a Bar." Hsu asked, no, pleaded with her. The idea of someone using a rifle from World War One was too much for him.
Unfortunately, the woman bobbed her head. "Yep. Later variant, machine gun. Sawed off the bipod, though. Helps supply, with how most of us use the same rounds."
"Thirty-ought-six." Hsu deducted, before looking at the rest of the dolls. "OK, what do you all use. Sound off."
"Springfield rifle, Sir!" The one who'd given him the cake informed him.
"M-One Garand, Commander." The woman with the beret said, still trying to comfort the sailor. "Sorry about her. She uses an M-Fourteen."
The man's despair only grew, so far the newest arm these dolls used was from the sixties. His eyes rested on the last woman, not having spoken yet. "And you?"
She chuckled, giving him a malicious grin. "Typewriter." Thompson told him, the final nail in the coffin.
"And these were all issued to you…?" He pondered, hoping he could try and get upper command to send them some proper weapons. A few M4s, maybe even some 416s. Proper, actual assault rifles.
"Yes, but they're also our weapons of choice." Springfield chimed in, going over to the man and grasping his arm. "Now then, Commander. I can tell you haven't eaten all day. Let me see if I can whip something up."
Hsu tried to object, but was stopped by two things. One, the extreme strength of the doll as she pulled him along. Two, the rumble that came from his stomach at the mention of a meal. He grimaced at the sound, but his guide paid it no mind and instructed him to sit at a bar stool.
In the end, he relented, sitting down as the other dolls surrounded him. Prodding him with questions and remarks about all sorts of things; who he was, how he got the scar, and of course; his name.
Right now all he wanted was some God damn food.
A/N: Another new project! That makes... four, five? I've lost track. Anyone coming here from my other fics, those are going to be updated very soon. Anyone who isn't, welcome! Hope you're going to enjoy this little romp through my new favorite mobile game.
o/
