Welcome to my experimental Girls' Frontline story!
I'm sorry if I haven't posted anything in months, but a bug on the app caused all of my work to lose its special fonts, and anything I typed was tripled, making writing a total slog. They have finally fixed this stupid ass bug, and I can return to my favorite hobby (other than gaming): writing.
I found GFL through a piece of GFL x Division official artwork, and after looking up GFL, I was hooked. Especially after finding the IOP (all things MICA Team-related) Wiki's Lore page for it. And the fact that a weapon's specs are shown upon finding a new T-Doll is a really nice touch.
The biggest two challenges I have in writing this story is A) not copypasting canon while maintaining the game's general theme and atmosphere, and B) not accidentally copying ClearlyInvisible's Toy Soldiers. If I can successfully capture the GFL feel and avoid similarities to Toy Soldiers, then I'll have decent chances at success.
Our Commander will be... let's just say, an alternate version of Ian Becker, the protagonist of Origin Story. This one has seen much more shit than SAO's Becker will ever see, and as such, his worldview is a bit scarred. Also, I posted fanart of him in the Griffin Commander's coat and a US Army BDU on Reddit in r/girlsfrontline (my profile is called u/Be_an_1an.)
Kirov Green Zone
Russia, Neo-Soviet Union
April 29, 2062
Ian Becker
"...the government advises that anyone living in Green Zones arm themselves to deal with these bandits lest they show up at their doorstep. In other news, during a public statement, the Premier told the public to report any remaining American military presence they find, as they are reported to still..."
The news report served as nothing more than background noise for the young man standing in the kitchenette, who was busy eating a bowl of oatmeal. Watching with mild interest, he sat down on the bed and continued to munch away at his breakfast.
The man's green eyes scanned the old-fashioned television as the reporter went on with his report. By default, he usually ignored news reports, but it had been left on to serve as background noise while he made breakfast.
The same things that were always shown were currently on the news channel: a plea to report stranded American soldiers' whereabouts to the government, damage that World War 3 caused, rogue androids in less-populated Green Zones and Yellow Zones, and other things he didn't want to bother listing.
A pair of dog tags sat on the nightstand, marked with information concerning his original identity, rather than the alias he used in public. Picking them up without looking, he brought them up to his eye and read the owner's full name off of them.
"Ian Becker..." he muttered, a weird feeling on his tongue as he said his real name. "It's been a while since anyone's called me that."
And it had been. The six-year-long Third World War had left a lot of American troops stranded in the remnants of Europe, particularly Germany, the Ukraine, and Russia, all three part of the Neo-Soviet Union in present day, and the US government had left them all for dead, leaving a high percentage of American survivors to be found by the Russians and sent back to the US by them... or executed, a more likely outcome for those who continued fighting and terrorized the Motherland's people.
Ian himself had served in the US Army in the later parts of the war, fighting in the German front against Russia. Despite joining the fight in a later date than most (by lying about his age), he had seen enough combat in Berlin and the battlefields leading to Moscow to lose hope for a better world.
A long scar that ran across his cheek and ended at his jawline in a downward curve, which was currently covered up a bit by a dark stubble, was physical proof of that.
The war's end and the Soviets' efforts to rat out his nation's troops had forced him to lay low, assuming cover identities and constantly moving from location to location, which had served him well in avoiding the Soviets. However, the downside was that he was constantly on edge and under the impression that there was an enemy around every corner, and having rotated to a worn, but functioning motel in Kirov, Ian was running a higher risk of being found by his enemies, something he was acutely aware of, which was why a few knocks on the motel room's door had him putting his dogtags up, reaching into the drawer of the nightstand, and pulling out a tan M17 handgun, hiding it behind his back as he cautiously approached the door and opened it.
On his doorstep was what appeared to be a short teenage girl with short, fluffy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cute face. She wore a short-sleeved blue coat with gold trim over a white shirt and a tie that looked like the Americal flag, mismatched black and white gloves, a white skirt, long white stockings, and brown boots.
Thanks to her ridiculous attire, Ian recognized this girl as a Doll, or an A.I.-controlled android that looked and acted exactly like a human. This particular one was developed by the IOP Manufacturing Company.
What the hell is an IOP Doll doing here?
He anxiously let her in, keeping his pistol behind his back as he shut the door behind her. She skipped happily towards the bed and sat down on it, pulling out a clipboard. He might have thought she was a stand-in for his landlord, had he not seen a black pistol and a silver pistol holstered on her hips as she passed by.
Shit.
The Doll looked up to see the barrel of Ian's M17 pointed at her head, her eyes widened, and she started shaking slightly.
"Who are you? Tell me the truth, and I'll consider sparing you." the ex-soldier told her with a cold, dangerous tone. He flicked the safety off and stepped outside of her arms' reach.
"C-Colt M1911, an employee of Griffin and Kryuger PMC." she shakily replied, attempting to compose herself.
"Griffin? The PMC who mainly uses modified IOP Dolls in combat?" he asked with the same tone, straining his ears for any kind of odd noises like footsteps.
"Yes."
So that makes you a Tactical Doll...
"Why are you here?"
"The company's currently recruiting, and I was sent to find potential recruits..." M1911 showed Ian her clipboard, which indeed had Griffin's shield logo on the top of the topmost paper.
It looks real, but it could be a prop.
"Why are you armed, then?" he then asked, not quite believing her yet. The fact that his weapon was still trained on her head was proof of that.
"Self-defense. Bandits tend to come through this region, and I have been authorized to fire on them in case of being attacked by them."
Seems legit, but until I'm sure that she's not lying, I'm not letting my gun down.
Ian strained his ears for sounds of possible footsteps once more, but the area was silent, except for his heavy heartbeats and M1911's stressed breathing. Concerning the girl, if she was lying, then all he had to do was kill her, leave Kirov, and avoid going to major cities from then on. However, she was a Tactical Doll, who likely had internal armor plating and could put him down on her own even if he shot her.
"Give me those guns, now." he ordered sharply, intent on taking away any advantages she may have had.
Nodding shakily, the blonde Doll carefully set the clipboard down, reaching to her back and pulling her handguns out, handing them to Ian. Fitting her name, they were both modernized Colt M1911s, which Ian's inner gun nut appreciated.
Carefully setting the handguns down on the TV table, Ian looked back at the recruiter/potential assassin. If the Soviets had sent her, then she had likely wanted to get his guard lowered before she killed him. She had failed in that endeavor if that was her goal, but that whole idea seemed a little too over-the-top, even to his paranoid self.
On the flip side, Griffin would have sent her, an American T-Doll, to put him at ease for easier recruiting. Being a loyal patriot of the United States, he didn't want to fight for blood money, but the Russians wouldn't execute him if he were with Griffin, since they themselves contracted Griffin sometimes, right?
"How do you know about me?" he asked warily, a final question that would determine if M1911 was working for the Soviets or Griffin.
"Griffin sends out T-Dolls to scout for potential recruits, then Logistics scans all existing databases for the individual in question. We found you in the US Army's database, and they figured that sending a T-Doll that was built in the US would put you at ease as a result."
"Why me?"
"Military experience is a valuable trait for potential recruits to have, and Griffin is in desperate need for good recruits. It is a PMC, after all.
"I get it. Just let me think for a moment."
Ian thought long and hard on the subject. He had no clue how Griffin and Kryuger operated, but if anything M1911 said was true, then Griffin was his best option. He just hoped that joining a PMC that accepted contracts from Russia wouldn't disrespect his fallen comrades. Mulling over the conversation, he reviewed every reply M1911 gave, and he soon came to a consensus.
"Alright. I believe you."
He lowered his gun at last, grabbing M1911's namesake pistols from the TV table and sitting down beside their rather cute owner. He wasn't fully relaxed, though, and the grip he had on his lowered gun was a solid indicator. It was entirely possible that someone could have heard the spat and called the cops.
Two long, tense minutes passed, and when nothing happened, he slowly relaxed and sighed, looking down towards the floor.
"Are you in?" M1911 asked carefully, picking up her clipboard.
"Yes. What do I do now?" Ian asked.
The blonde Doll put a checkmark beside his name on the clipboard, then she smiled warmly.
"If you want, we can go get you registeted right now." she said happily, as if he had never pointed his gun at her.
The ex-soldier waited a moment before he spoke.
"Why not? I don't have any plans for today."
Standing up, he held the Doll's guns out to her, letting her take them and holster them again. Grabbing his own holster, he went to put it on, only to realize that he was still in sweatpants and that he had certainly seen better days. It wouldn't do good to get turned down because he looked like a crazy man, after all.
"I need to change clothes and clean up, so can you give me some privacy?" he asked, not letting go of his holster.
M1911 nooded and turned away from him, covering her eyes with her gloved hands and letting him reach into a small dresser to pull out a somewhat formal set of clothes. He tried to keep his gaze on M1911's head, but after not being in close contact with anyone in ten long years, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander a little.
Despite being a bit short, the Doll was physically well-developed, with feminine curves in just the right places, nice, creamy thighs, and long, smooth-looking legs. Her blonde hair was soft-looking and clean, and her porcleian skin looked delightfully smooth and flawless.
IOP sure knew how to make their Dolls attractive, it seemed.
Realizing that he may have gone a little too far in his staring, he turned around and started to change clothes in preparation of the upcoming trip.
Now dressed in a white button-up shirt, black trousers, a black belt, and loafers with his stubble shaved and his hair combed, Ian was now ready for his little trip. His M17 and its holster were now in a bag not unlike a camera bag, disguising the American hardware and hiding it from civilian eyes.
To a civilian, he looked like he was a simple photographer, not a soldier who survived the world's bloodiest war-- if the haunted look in his eyes didn't give him away, that is.
M1911 was at least kind enough to not peek on him, and she only opened her eyes when Ian passed by her to reach the door.
"Thank you for being considerate, M1911." he said in thanks, opening his door.
Even after I almost shot you... he mentally added.
"You're welcome." the Doll said, skipping along out of the door.
Following her, Ian shut the door behind him and took a breath of the Kirov Green Zone's air. Despite a Green Zone typically being an area that had low radiation levels, Kirov's Green Zone was green for a whole other reason, being full of foliage that could be found consuming destroyed buildings and other bits of architecture, the morning light that poked through the clouds giving the flora a very lush appearance.
He had fought in this area before, he realized, after seeing a fully overgrown house that he had used as cover to stay hidden from Russian soldiers years back.
Back in present day, M1911 had just finished calling in transportation, putting her old 2010s-era smartphone in her leather pouch and turning to face him.
"Alright, HQ's sent a car out to take us to the test facility." she reported. "We ought to find a place to wait for it."
After she said that Ian soon saw a worn-down bench and pointed it out to the Doll, heading over to it and sitting down on it, M1911 following suit. For a good bit they just sat there in silence, Ian looking around for their transportation or people staring at them and M1911 falling asleep in the bench, her cute face looking even cuter as she slept, her lips parted slightly and her breathing slow and rythymic.
Really? You're supposed to be my recruiter, yet you entered sleep mode. Come on, M1911.
He then took the time to survey his surroundings, his sharp eyes methodicslly scanning the environment for anything amiss-- but alas, the only things out of the ordinary were his presence outside and the Doll sleeping next to him..
Soon, a black car marked with Griffin's insignia pulled up next to the bench, and another, older-looking Doll got out of it. This one had shoulder-length honey-brown hair with violet eyes and a more mature face (and body). She had a darker blue coat with longer sleeves and a fur collar, a white top with belts wrapping around her exposed midriff and ending at pouches on her hips, blue jean shorts, and brown boots. She wore dark grey gloves and a pistol rode on her thigh by a military-style holster.
"So you're the new guy, huh?" she asked him.
"I am. Who are you?" Ian asked warily.
"Name's Grizzly Mark V. Oy, 1911, get up."
Grizzly shook her blonde coworker a bit, who left sleep mode and looked up into the brunette Doll's eyes.
"Grizzly? Are you the driver?" she asked slowly.
"Yup."
M1911 looked a little worried now, tapping Ian on the shoulder to get his attention.
"You ought to hold on to something. Grizzly never takes it easy on the road."
"I'm an ex-soldier, M1911. I can handle rough driving." Ian said calmly. He would come to regret this decision later. Standing up, he walked over to the car and opened the door, revealing a clean interior with black seats. Before he entered, a question entered his mind.
"Why are you named after your weapons?" he asked the Dolls.
"Griffin policy." Grizzly simply said. "Once a Doll joins Griffin, they're supposed to be called by their weapon's designation."
A dehumanization tactic, perhaps?
"Oh, uh, okay." he said awkwardly as he got in and sat in the passenger seat, setting the camera bag containing his gun down in it. M1911 entered the seat to his left while Grizzly sat in the driver seat, closing the door and starting the vehicle. M1911 visibly squirmed in her seat, obviously scared of her driver's ability to drive.
"Relax, 1911." he said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "It'll be fine."
No, no it wouldn't.
"You know what? Forget I said that. I will never go on a ride with you again, Grizzly."
After an hour, they had reached a gray medium-sized structure with Griffin's logo painted on the side in white, but at the cost of Ian not wanting to be in a car that Grizzly was driving. Seriously, he had spent so much time trying not to throw up that he forgot that he might potentially be tricked by these Dolls-- although something about M1911 seemed to put him at ease.
"What, too much for you?" the bad driver in question asked jokingly.
"You drove like you were under fire and drunk at the same time." Ian pointed out, a deadpan expression on his face.
"Yeah, what he said!" M1911 indignantly added. It was obvious that everyone hated Grizzly's driving.
And that wasn't the worst part of it all. We got pulled over by the cops, too.
The veteran recalled watching Grizzly try to get the police off of their backs, only to instead nearly get them arrested. Only Ian was able to get them out of that mess with some quick talking and a small fine.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Ian put the M17-toting camera bag around his shoulder and got out of the car, M1911 following suit. Grizzly then drove off with no further comments, although she did pout at him for calling her out on her only-suitable-for-a-warzone driving skills. Unlike he was inclined to believe, the building didn't seem too heavily guarded, and M1911 only had to use a keycard to grant them entry.
"Why is the building so lightly guarded?" he asked himself as he entered the facility.
"It's just a registration and testing facility. Its only purpose is to register yourself as a potential Commander, test your capacity to operate under pressure, as well as some of your tactical capabilities."
Ian was about to ask why they were at a Commanders' testing facility when it clicked; as Dolls were the main combat force of Griffin and Kryuger, they needed people who could lead said Dolls into battle, not normal soldiers.
"Got it."
"More advanced training takes place at dedicated facilities scattered across the countryside. You ought to give your camera bag to the receptionist before you do anything else, just so you know."
The building's interior was sparsely decorated, with human service staff keeping it clean on the top floor. A pair of Dolls with submachine guns stood watch by the elevator, ready to take down any threat that might appear in the lobby. The receptionist, a Doll with black hair tied into a bun and matching eyes, busily typed away into her computer with startling efficiency while human service staff finished their work on the surface floor.
M1911 approached the receptionist with her signature warm smile and got Ian signed on, chatting away as Ian leaned on the desk and examined the security Dolls. They both had MP7s and looked identical to each other, a trait that Ian attributed to Dummy Linking, a feature used by civilian Dolls post-World War 3 that gave a Doll up to four identical clones of herself to control. He then set his bag down on the desk, feeling a little naked as he forfeit his service weapon. It was only then he realized how out-of-place he felt.
"Alright, future Commander! Finish the registration and follow me!" M1911 told the man, heading to the elevator with a spring in her step.
The veteran saw a piece of paper get placed onto the desk by the receptionist, along with a pen. After writing his name, date of birth, age, and other info (including his signature) onto it, Ian simply went to the elevator like M1911, but the MP7 and her Dummy stopped him to frisk him.
"Hold on, sir. This'll take just a second." the mainframe MP7 said as she and her Dummy patted him down, then scanned him with a metal detector
Ian stayed externally calm, letting himself get frisked without a care in the world despite how antsy he was feeling inside. After finding nothing on him, the Dolls stepped aside, giving Ian access to the elevator.
M1911 had waited for him, pressing a button in the elevator and selecting the third floor down as soon as he entered it.
The elevator doors shut and the metal box began its descent down, while 1950's era jazz music played in the background.
"Nice to know that Griffin appreciates the classics." Ian commented lightly.
M1911 nodded with a hum, placing her hands in front of her as they waited for the elevator to reach its destination. Ian leaned onto the wall of the elevator instead, popping his knuckles to release the pressure that was built up and soon coming up with a question to ask.
"Hoe can you act so calm around me, even though I nearly killed you?"
The Doll waited for a moment before replying, thinking her words over before saying them.
"Because I know you felt threatened by me. Plus, it was my fault I didn't disarm before knocking, you know."
"Right, but still..."
"On top of that, I know you won't do that to me again, Mr. Becker."
The elevator opened, and the two elevator riders shut up and left it, entering a hallway full of doors. For some reason, it resembled the veteran's old school hall, but with signs by each door to identify what were presumably test rooms instead of other things.
"This used to be an old private school for the wealthiest of people, but it was remodeled like crazy during the post-war era." M1911 helpfully supplied as they started walking down the hall. "Now, it's used as a registration station with basic tests available. More serious testing takes place in its own dedicated facility."
The Doll stopped at a door marked with the number 18 and entered a numeric entry code before she opened the door.
"This is the place, sir." she said, standing next to the door and making way for Ian. "The Doll in there has been notified of your arrival and is waiting for you."
"Alright. Wish me luck."
The veteran waited a moment, and after taking a breath to calm his nerves, he entered the room.
A few hours later, Ian had found himself taking special tests (not unlike the psychological ones he took prior to basic training) inside a repurposed classroom with a Doll as a teacher. While they had been tough, Ian made it through them with (nearly) perfect responses, earning the Doll's approval in the process.
After retrieving his M17-housing bag and going home, Ian carefully opened the door to find that his apartment had remained undisturbed, to his relief. Placing the handgun back in his drawer, he pulled his shoes off and set them down beside his bed, sitting on said bed a moment later. For some reason, an advertisement for IOP was playing on the news, with an IOP spokesperson listing off benefits of joining the Doll manufacturer.
Turning the TV off and significantly darkening the room, Ian summed up the events of his day.
"So... I woke up, ate breakfast, got approached by Griffin, held their rep at gunpoint, went to one of their registration and testing facilities, and I'm now on the way to becoming an honorary member of Griffin. Today sure was eventful." he said to himself. As he went to lay down, his phone rang, causing him to jolt up and pick the device up.
He cautiously answered the phone, holding it close as he scooted closer to his nightstand.
"Hello?"
"Hiya, Becker~!" a familiar voice greeted.
"Oh, 1911, hi there. What's going on?"
"Griffin HQ's sending me to pick you up tommorow, so pick something nice to wear." the cheerful Doll answered.
"Understood. I'll be ready."
"Okay. Goodbye~"
M1911 ended the call. Setting the phone down, Ian got off of the bed to fetch a change of clothes for the next day, setting it on the foot of his bed. Grabbing his pistol from the nightstand, he replaced it with his dog tags and put the firearm under his pillow so he could get to it faster. Better to be safe than sorry, after all.
"That oughta do it." Ian said with a yawn, laying down on the bed and pulling the covers up to his shoulders.
He fell asleep mere moments later.
A knock on the door the next day woke the veteran up with a jolt, his M17 out and leveled at the door in record time.
"Are you awake, mister?" M1911 called from behind the door.
"*Prosto day mne minutku!" Ian yelled loudly in Russian, as to keep up the illusion that he was Russian to any passerby. He stuck the M17 into the waistband of his pants after setting it to safe and approached the door, opening it to reveal M1911 and-
"Hey, Grizzly." he groaned.
-a very bad driver.
"Hey, Mr. Becker." she greeted. "Ready to go yet?"
"I need to change clothes, actually." Ian replied in English. "Give me a minute."
He went inside and picked up his clothes, changing into them with the same speed as his pistol draw a minute earlier. After changing into his clothes, he grabbed his camera bag, stuffed the M17 into it, and left the apartment building.
"Just so you know, if you get us pulled over again, I'm driving." Ian told the Doll sternly.
"Fair enough."
"You're gonna be driving." M1911 just said, glaring at Grizzly.
"Yup."
Grizzly surprisingly managed to drive normally, even though she whined about not going at it like a daredevil. However, after a quick visit to a convenience store and a box of doughnuts purchased, the Grizzly bear's irritation was assuaged. It was like she was a stereotypical cop, only without the desire to uphold the law to ridiculous extents.
They stopped by the registration building again, finishing off whatever wasn't done the other day and being told to wait for a confirmation letter or phone call, then they moved off to a neat little café to enjoy lunch. Of course, Ian had to assume his alias, but it was not an issue, as he had used many cover IDs over the years, all of them either Soviet or German, so it wasn't an issue-- once again, as long as nobody noticed his haunted eyes.
M1911 thought the accent was kinda cute, at least.
They later returned to Ian's apartment, with M1911 staying to help pack up his stuff. Even if he was for some reason disqualified, he still had to leave, as the authorities would potentially know that he was American.
Which was why Ian was currently telling the Doll to set his disassembled M4A1 carbine down, as she had literally found the well-hidden weapon (parts) like it was nothing.
"Just get a case for me to put those parts in." he told her.
"Okay."
M1911 saw a shockproof case with the foam cutout being the perfect size for an M4A1 laid open on the floor, waiting for a weapon to be slotted into it. Picking it up, she handed it over to Ian without any comments.
"Seriously? Did you really expect me to have an M4, and not something like an HK416 or a SIG SPEAR?" the veteran asked dryly when he saw the cutout. Either way, he carefully reassembled his service weapon (bar the scope, foregrip, and laser sight) and put it into the case. As there were separate cutouts for the attachments and magazine, he slotted them into those instead.
Shutting the case, Ian pulled his dog tags from the nightstand and put them on, slipping them under his shirt.
What few sets of clothes he had (including his old BDU and armor) were stuffed into a rucksack, with Ian finally sitting down on the bed and picking up his phone after he was done.
"Now, it's time to wait for Griffin to call." he said, simply exhaling.
After about an hour, M1911 had left to recharge herself and Ian finally got a call.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Becker, your performace in the preliminary tests has qualified you for advanced training. We will be sending the T-Doll M1911 to your place of residence tomorrow morning to get you." the Doll on the other side told him.
"Understood." he replied.
"We will see you shortly. Farewell, for the time being."
The call ended as quickly as it began, and after Ian set his bags down beside his bed, he laid down and went to sleep.
Tactical Doll M1911
M1911 couldn't believe that she had to go through what she just went through. Not only did a guy try to (unsuccessfully) rob her when she got to Becker's neighborhood, but she also had to convince the Russian authorities, who had found out that Becker was with the US Army (thus marking him as an illegal immigrant and an enemy of the state and as a result making him a target of their little witch hunt,) that he was better off with Griffin than with them.
It was a pain in her ass, but she had managed to do it, with the retrieval group's leader simply saying "If Griffin wants his ass, then they can have it."
Now standing outside of the old apartment for what she hoped was the last time, the blonde T-Doll knocked on the door and put her hands behind her back, smiling brightly as always.
The door opened slightly and Becker's head stuck out, a half-tired look to his eyes, as he scanned the area behind her.
"Time to go yet?" he asked lamely.
"Yup~"
He opened the door for her and the T-Doll skipped inside, picking up his clothing bags and lifting them onto her shoulder. Ian grabbed his M4's case and the last bag, heading out the door to where her car was waiting (as Grizzly was given a job at the same time M1911 left the local Griffin HQ, she had to get to the apartment herself.)
Opening the trunk, the two put all of Ian's stuff into it, with the M4's case and the case with his BDU on the bottom of the trunk.
After she was sure it would fit, the blonde skipped along to the passenger seat while Becker entered the driver's seat, shutting the door and buckling his seat belt. She gave him the car's keys and buckled her seat belt as he turned the car's ignition and brought the engine to life with a rumble.
"Where are we going to?" he asked.
M1911 supplied him with the coordinates to the nearest Griffin helipad, which was unfortunately only reachable through a Russian-owned checkpoint.
"Are you sure that's the best way to go?" he asked warily.
"It's okay. I cleared everything with them."
"I trust you, but I still don't like dealing with the Russians." he sighed.
"Don't worry. I'll deal with them. Again." she added dryly.
With a hum of understanding Becker finally pulled out of the driveway, turning the black car around as he began the trip to the Griffin helipad.
Ian Becker
After forty five minutes of driving, the two finally got to the checkpoint, calmly stopping at the gate as two Russian soldiers went to inspect the car, their Soviet flag patches sticking out like sore thumbs and their gear a bit outdated-- which was a common trend for both sides in the European theater of the war.
M1911 was pretty calm, despite the circumstances, and Ian began to assume his current alias (which humorously included the name Boris) when the soldiers reached the driver-side door.
"You know," the soldier started, leaning against Ian's door, "you have quite the debt to the Doll in your passenger seat, American."
Shit, they made me.
"What?" Ian asked lamely, confused as hell that the Russians knew who he was, but weren't preparing to take him in.
"We were planning on taking you in and throwing your ass into prison, but she explained to us that you were going to join Griffin and that you were better off with them than in jail. Either way, think of it as... community service."
Ian turned to M1911 and silently gave her his thanks before turning back to the first soldier as the other soldier walked to the first one with a his M4A1's case in hand, opening it up to look at it.
"No bombs or traps, just this thing." he said, letting the other guy inspect it. He carefully pulled the rifle out, commenting on its antiquity compared to the current era before putting it back and then checking the rest of the case's contents.
"Was there ammunition?"
"Nyet. Just some clothes, his uniform, and that. It's weird."
"Alright. Run along before my bosses get the wrong idea and I get fired. My wife would kill me if that happened." the soldier said to Ian with a chuckle as the other guy repacked his trunk.
Ian didn't really bolt when the gate opened (despite how much he wanted to, though), but he didn't have time to spare, so he bid the men farewell like a gentleman (despite being his former enemies) and drove off without further fanfare.
"Why didn't you tell me that they knew who I was?" he asked M1911 when they were out of earshot of the Russians.
"I didn't want to see you freaking out." the T-Doll explained. "Either way, you're welcome, mister."
"Um, thanks again." he said off-handedly, remaining silent for the rest of the trip.
After a half-hour, the veteran pulled up to a clearing in a forest path, where a recently renovated helipad was stationed. There wasn't a helicopter on it yet, but when Ian turned the engine off, he could hear the thumping of helicopter blades in the distance.
Other Dolls were stationed there, in place to help deal with anything needed, like bringing his stuff onto the approaching chopper. It wasn't exactly neccessary, but it was a formal thing.
The veteran opened the door to the car, stepping out and closing the door behind him while M1911 followed suit, watching a black helicopter with Griffin's logo on the side fly towards the helipad, its dark shape standing out starkly against the cloudy sky. It stopped flying forwards and slowly lowered itself onto the landing zone, casting powerful blasts of wind in a 360 degree angle and forcing the blonde T-Doll to hold her skirt in place as it flopped around.
The two advanced towards the helicopter, with Ian moving catiously and laying a hand on his pistol's grip-- as an instinctual response more than anything. One of the other T-Dolls, who wore a WW2-era German tank crewman's uniform and held an MP40, opened the door, which revealed an empty, dark grey cabin.
M1911 went in first, offering Ian her hand as she sat down. He then grabbed it and let himself be pulled in, sitting down as the MP40 and an M3 Grease Gun T-Doll with a WW2-era American uniform and small, black cat ears loaded his luggage onto the chopper.
Closing the door at last and casting the cabin in darkness, the T-Dolls retreated from the helipad to give the helicopter clear space to take off from. M1911 told the pilot to take off, and after a few seconds, Ian felt the aircraft ascend into the sky, the loud thumping of helicopter blades filling his ears as it began its trip to whatever Griffin facility they were heading to.
This is it... Ian thought, grabbing his dog tags and pulling them out, reading the contents (again) with the midday light coming from the window. I truly hope this isn't a betrayal to everyone I fought alongside, as well as the US itself.
A white gloved hand touched his shoulder, prompting him to look over to M1911, seeing a concerned look on her face.
"Is something wrong?" the blonde asked him softly.
Ian sighed, looking down at his boot-clad feet, then replied.
"I'm just worried that I might be betraying the US by working with Griffin. I know this was the best way to avoid being hunted, but I just feel guilt about not finding a way back home." he explained, voice laced with guilt and regret.
M1911 seemed to understand, though, rubbing his shoulder lightly as she replied again.
"What you will accomplish at Griffin will benefit the world as a whole, not just the Neo-Soviet Union." the blonde told him, a small smile on her face. "If anything, I think your old unit might be proud of you for moving on past the war. God knows the Russians need to do the same."
She inched closer to him, leaning her head on his side to comfort him further.
"Anyways, you ought to leave the past behind and look to the future. If you don't, then it's going to hold you back. Okay?"
Ian looked at her, or rather the top of her head, and nodded.
"Yeah."
"Good. Welcome to Griffin and Kryuger, Commander." she said with a smile, her head leaned against his for the entire trip.
Finally. The first piece of content on FFN since summer has been posted.
Concerning the formatting, some chapters (like the next one) will be formatted like a journal, and later on, I may or may not go Black Ops 1 and have Ian telling the Nytos about his work history, even though they never went that far in-game.
The other stories have chapters in progress, but the bug de-fonted each one of them, so I'm having to rewrite them to include the fonts. A new one for Origin Story is coming soon.
*Translation note: Ian says "Give me a moment" in Russian in the second day of the chapter.
Anyways, thanks for reading and I'll see you in later chapters (or on Reddit, if you're Redditors.)