(17:33 | 6/6/2056)

"They're returning to the airfield now. I'm expecting them in under an hour."

Hsu stood in the old aircraft control tower once again, sun setting to the west as the sky was lit a deep orange. Santiago had departed, off to check that her helicopter was ready for a quick getaway. He was joined by another holographic projection of Helian, the sub-director once again jockeying with the Commander.

"Do you know what models those salvaged cores are from?" Helian questioned, tapping her foot. She was looking down to an open file, checking the names of the T-Dolls that were assigned to this mission.

Hsu grunted. "Numbers Twenty-One and Sixty-One in the database, from what Fourteen pulled."

"Hm. Sturmgewehr Fourty-Four and Papashaw." Helian remembered, underlining the names in the file with a red pen. "...One of the missing three is an echelon leader. Code-name 'Skorpion.' Surprised Ingram hasn't said anything, she's her second."

Hsu cocked a brow at the woman, girding himself for what might come next. "You realize we can't risk waiting for more dolls. The rendezvous is compromised, and they can't hold out against a counter-attack."

Helian frowned, but bobbed her head in agreement. His forces had done all they could, asking any more would risk what they had already accomplished by the skin of their teeth. Hsu relaxed his expression, relieved.

"Such a pity. I hoped that there would be more survivors." Helian lamented, brushing a lock of wayward hair from her face.

"Griffin can easily replace the lost assets." Hsu bluntly observed, a sentiment that knocked Helian off balance.

"I find your lack of empathy disturbing, Major." Helian man grunted, playing with the cuff of his uniform. He still didn't understand why he had to wear this in the field, or why he'd even let G36 talk him into keeping it on.

She sat down in a chair, the whole of the furniture materializing as it was brought into frame. "What's your assessment of the combat team's performance?"

"Acceptable, but dangerously flawed." Hsu assessed, hitting a remote to bring up a recording of the skirmish. As the battle footage played, he paused at the moment where BAR and Garand had their not so glorious last stand.

"Splitting the team was a poor choice." He explained. "They were already outnumbered. If air support hadn't been en route already, these two would've been overrun."

"You could have easily over-ruled her decision to break apart."

Hsu shook his head, turning to a console and beginning to type a set of commands. "Coddling them won't improve their performance."

"Neither is treating them with malicious indifference. Or like they're expendable drones." Helian countered, fingers drumming against the arm-rest of her chair.

"If they were just drones, ma'am, then I wouldn't give a damn one way or the other if they were fragged." Hsu said, cursing himself. If anything he wished they were only drones, it would make it easier to send them into the meat grinder. Using tactical dolls as fodder was standard doctrine back home.

Yet, that image of Garand with a hole in her head still hung over him. In spite of everything, he didn't want them to get hurt.

Helian leaned forward, easily reading his emotions. The furrowed brow, his mouth pulled into a taut line. They were not the expressions made by someone in a good headspace. She could sense a strong conflict, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why.

She was about to ask, when Hsu spoke up himself.

"Something I noticed in Moscow. Most of the other new hires for this job were civilians." He explained. It was an observation that had bothered him on the entire trip down here. One would expect a PMC to be staffed by former soldiers. Not clerks, accountants, teachers and mechanics.

"Military experience is a bonus for us. But it is not a deciding factor."

"So what is?"

"Character and capacity." Helian answered, removing her monocle and whipping the lens with a rag of some sort. "You remember your examinations before we offered you a position."

Hsu grunted. "Standard Wargame simulations. VIP escorts, settlement protection, logistics planning."

"Yes. And in every one of those simulations, you always took the path that involved the least collateral damage." She explained, counting off points with the fingers on her right hand. "No civilian losses, no destruction of local property. You even avoided excessive casualties when you knew your units were androids."

"Any Officer worth a damn does those things." He dismissed.

"If that was true, the war we just spent eight years fighting wouldn't half killed half a billion people." Helian answered, venom seeping into her words. The Commander gawked, caught off guard from the sudden shift in tone.

"We're recovering at a rapid rate. But if we're going to keep this peace, we can't have madmen as the guardians."

"Here I thought Griffin was in this for the money." Hsu observed trepidly.

"Oh, there is plenty of money to be made. We just prefer to be ethical about it." Helian clarified, rather smugly as well. As this wasn't the first time she had to explain their situation. "The 'evil Private Military Company' is such a played out trope."

The Commander huffed, but his mood was somewhat lifted by how flippant Helian was being about this topic. He could tell she believed in her words, the emotion behind it was undeniable. She believed in the mission, and she believed in Griffin. Perhaps that was why the woman was so firm with everyone, himself included.

Helian mounted her monocle back on, then removed a silver pocket watch from her coat. "...I've already sent a transport helicopter for the survivors. But those cores will lose power by the time we get back to headquarters."

"I'll take them back to my outpost." Hsu said, the corner of his mouth curling into a soft grin. "Remember our deal."

Helian rolled her eyes. "Fine, but I want a copy of their memory banks sent to me. And their transfer costs are coming out of your budget."

"Dully noted." He answered. With that final word, Helian's hologram faded away as the call ended. Hsu took a breath, muttering a silent prayer that the conversation had gone well. It was the first time they'd spoken without things turning into an argument.

...Maybe she wouldn't be such a bad boss after all.


(17:50)

"Tell me what happened."

Thompson was the one asking that question, both she and Ingram taking the far rear of their group. Each of the other girls was in front of them, Garand and M14 taking point while BAR and Springfield helped the injured G3 along the dirt path. The sun was taking it's leave, visibility quickly disappearing as the summer afternoon turned to dusk.

The sportswear clad doll had been mostly silent the whole way back. She would respond to questions about her status, or Springfield's attempts to analyse her condition. But beyond that she didn't want to speak with anyone.

Or at least, anyone but Thompson.

"It's a long story." Ingram lamented, flashing an impish grin at her old teammate. "Don't want to bore you with the details."

"Humor me." Thompson pressed, drawing out another cigarette as she lit up again. Ingram rolled her eyes, disgusted that Thompson had kept the smoking habit. Even if there weren't any adverse health, the smell alone was irritating to those around it.

Which she was sure was one of the reasons she even smoked, it was a display of authority because she knew no one could stop her.

"...We got dragged into some black ops crap." Ingram informed, albeit with clear reluctance. "Don't know the details, just that we had to cover a Prima Donna squad's asses while we got left as the rearguard."

"Since when did Skorpion's team act as Special Missions support?" Thompson questioned, not missing the clear flinch Ingram made at the mention of the mission echelon leader.

"We don't. None of us have the brains for that stuff, that was your job. But you know I don't run from a fight." Ingram answered, pleased with the chance to go wild even if this was the ending. "But I guess you're doing well for yourself, Griffin finally gave you a squad after you complained for so long."

Thompson shrugged, blowing a cloud of smoke out from the corner of her mouth. She didn't deny any of what Ingram was saying, she'd been biting for this opportunity long before being transferred to Sector Nine.

"So where's Skorpion and Em-Three?" The gangster asked, curious about what had happened to her long lost friend.

Ingram grew more sullen, her eye flashing a sickly green once again. The battle had been a blast, a non stop thrill-ride from start to finish. But the finish had been a horrorshow, with the Ringleader and her dummies descending from down high to tear all the remaining dolls limb from limb.

StG44 had been blown clean in half, they'd pried her exposed core and left everything else behind. PPSh-41 had been one of the people fleeing to the rescue, before her battery was finally drained and they had to take desperate measures.

And the others…

"Skorpion gave us the order to run. Tried to play as bait while we beat feet." Ingram said. "Grease… well you know she was never that fast."

"Don't tell me…" Thompson

"It was quick. Her head got blown to bits, no pain." Ingram assured, though it didn't give Thompson any comfort. M3 wasn't the best fighter, but she was also the nicest person you could ever meet. Hearing about her getting hurt left a pit in Thompson's gut.

A fire began to burn deep in the taller android's core. "...What was the name of the team you were helping."

"You know I can't-"

"Ingram." Thompson repeated, voice firm and unyielding. "Who let this happen to you?"

Ingram groaned, knowing this wasn't going to end well. Whatever she'd gotten involved in was well, well above all their salaries. But she also knew Thompson was not going to let this go.

"They called themselves 'Anti-Rain'." Ingram finally admitted. "From what I heard over comms, their leader's a lost cause. Sounded like a schoolgirl who got lost on her way home."

Thompson nodded, memorizing the name for some later digging. She'd been in Griffin long enough to have quite a few contacts, along with some less than savory sources outside of the company. Someone who could give her a clue as to who these 'Anti-Rain' people were.

What she would do after that, she wasn't sure.

Meanwhile at the front of the formation, BAR and M14 walked side by side. Both had their weapons set, magazines topped off and ready for anything. Though M14 was quite joyous now, being on the home stretch to their first successful mission in a long time. She'd even forgotten about how she'd had part of her hair shot off. Well, for the most part.

"Glad to see you're chipper again." BAR observed, muzzle of her machine gun aimed directly down the path as they moved.

"Mmhm~!" M14 sang along, almost skipping just as she had on their way to the farm. "We did a great job, y'know? Maybe the Commander'll crack a smile for once!"

"Pretty sure that fossil doesn't know what a smile is." BAR joked, the image seeming almost comical in her mind. Hsu was a man who seemed to be perpetually unhappy, for some reason or the other. Not that she could understand why, being that upset seemed tiring from where she stood.

"Well, maybe I'll make him smile then! He has to once we bring everyone back!" M14 rationalized, but her elder just rolled her eyes. "...Do you not like the Commander, Bar?"

BAR waved a hand, dismissing the idea. She didn't dislike the man, but she sure as hell didn't trust him. Especially after what he'd said at the start of the week. "Remember what Garand warned us about. And the threat he threw at us."

"Well… maybe he was just upset! It was right after we messed up, y'know!" She rationalized.

"And maybe you are way too forgiving." BAR threw back, before she caught herself. Raining on M14's parade didn't help anyone, and that wasn't her job anyway. It was Thompson's.

M14 was about to answer, when there was a rustle to their left.

They were making their way through more abandoned farmland, though nothing industrial anymore. Family homesteads, probably used by a small cadre of locals. To their left was even an overgrown corn field, tall stalks of plants swaying in the wind.

That is, they would. If there was any wind blowing. And yet they swayed anyway.

The source of the movement made itself known quickly, a box on four legs jumping out. In a flash, BAR brought her weapon up and blasted three rounds into the creature.

Thompson ran up a few moments later, Springfield putting herself between G3 and the sudden violence. As the team leader came to the front, they saw the broken shell of a Dinergate splayed out on the dirt path. BAR watched on, smoke curling from the muzzle of her LMG.

"Think it got the message out?" Thompson questioned, having unslung her weapon on the quick jog up.

"Doesn't matter, they'll track the signal loss." BAR deducted. "Besides, you know Dinergates travel in packs."

"Son of a…" She cursed, before spinning around and yelling to the rest of the group. "Let's move it, gals! No time to gawk!"

The seven dolls picked up the pace, entering a full sprint towards the airfield in hopes to dodge whatever was near.


(18:18)

M1897 was doing her best. Honest.

This was the first time she'd left the base on a combat mission. When word had come down, she'd been beside herself with excitement. She was actually going in the field, actually going to be a T-Doll. Finally, she was doing what she'd joined Griffin for. Not to be a cleaner all over again, just like she'd been in Alabama.

And yet…

This whole time, she'd just been on perimeter duty. Patrolling along the edge of the airfield, checking each of the turrets to ensure none of them were malfunctioning. At first it had been enough to bind her interest, the majesty of such open plains reminded her of home. Sure, it wasn't exactly like Dixieland. But farming was farming, no matter where you were.

But soon it merely led to homesickness, compounding her disappointment.

Why did she even leave America if this was all she was going to do? She could've just joined a security company back in the states, and at least over there she didn't have problems understanding the locals. The language software that'd been given to here hadn't exactly stuck.

Despondent, the small girl sat herself down in between two of the sentry guns. She curled her legs close, letting the stock of her gun graze against the dirt. Though this motion caused her grey droid to roll forward and off her head. With a gasp, she caught it in mid air. The squishy robot then rolled around, looking up at his melancholy friend.

"You're sad too, aren't you Casper?" She asked. Casper waved around the red flag in his hand. "I miss home too, buddy. But we've gotta make the most of this!"

She set the blobby bot on the ground, then hopped back up to her feet. Unslinging her scattergun and fiddling with her belt.

"Let's see… how did Miss Springfield do this…" M1897 pondered out loud, drawing out a bayonet that mirrored the one that Springfield carried on her person. After a bit of fumbling, the stout doll managed to fix the blade on the end of her weapon.

She then took up the stance that her mentor had shown. Feet spread apart, right foot back. Squared and dug into the ground. Knees bent, but not bringing herself low.

"Aaaaaaand strike!" She cried, thrusting forwards with her weapon. Though, she ended up using too much force, and stumbled forwards before face planting into the grass. She groaned loudly, arms and legs splayed as Casper bounced up and down as he tried to cheer her on. M1897 didn't budge, wallowing deeper into the dirt as her depression came back in force.

Maybe she didn't belong here. She wasn't like her sister at all. M1887 was an elite doll, off doing solo missions deep in enemy territory. Meanwhile she was a glorified maid at a supply outpost who couldn't even do a bayonet fencing drill right. And maybe that's all she would ever be good at; cleaning.

Her imprint didn't work properly. She didn't have any combat sense. She was the shortest doll on base, something PPK loved to terrorize her about. Even with Springfield and G36's help, she was… helpless.

How could she belong in Griffin?

"Sleeping on ze job, faules kind?" A familiar voice rang, one that made her quickly scramble back up to her feet. As she stood up again, her fear was compounded. G36 was before her, glaring with displeasure with assault rifle in hand.

But the Commander was there as well, his own long-arm clipped to his body armor.

"Miss Gretel! Mister Hsu! I-I-I'm sorry!" The young one blathered out, saluting them both. Casper rolled over to the doll's feet, then mimicked the gesture.

"We're in ze field, Ninety-Seven." G36 droned, unimpressed and stoic. "Refer to us by our field designation or our rank."

"Y-yes Miss Gre-. M-Miss Thirty-Six! Commander! Sorry, sorry!" She continued to say, hoping that a string of apologies would free her from the wrath of both of her superiors. She still didn't know much about the Commander, but G36 was a demon when upset.

Hsu came forward, M1897's short life flashing before her eyes. But the man didn't do anything to her. Instead he went down on a knee, took her shotgun in hand, and began to dust it clean. Specs of dirt and blades of grass fell back to earth with each stroke of the hand.

The Commander looked the gun over when he was done, half-running the gun to check what lay within. He noticed that a shell wasn't chambered, then pumped the action completely before offering it back to its owner.

"Rule one. Never let your weapon touch the ground." He instructed. M1897 quickly snapped her namesake back into her hands, nodding her head up and down rapidly in understanding

Satisfied with the response, Hsu took his leave and continued his march along the perimeter. G36 gave her subordinate a look, one that promised that her mishap was not going to go unpunished, before the maid ran up to walk beside their leader.

"I apologize for her shameful display, Kommandant." G36 spoke. "Rest assured that she will be properly disciplined once we return to the outpost."

"That girl's going to get herself killed." Hsu replied, hands gripping the neck of his chestplate. "She needs more training."

"I have been trying my best, Kommandant. Truly." G36 laments, looking over her shoulder as the subject of their discussion scooped up her pet and placed him back on her head. "But she is so young. Even for a doll's age, Ninety-Seven was only built a year ago."

"Excuses don't matter when someone has your head in their crosshairs." The Commander dismissed, looking out to the east as the sky continued to darken. "If she doesn't improve, she'll be replaced."

"She will improve. You have my word." G36 promised fiercely. "Ninety-Seven has great potential, I can see it. But she is still, at her core, a cleaning android."

"Then it's ironic she got imprinted with a trench broom." Hsu chipped in, well aware of that particular weapon's history. Whoever had given her that imprint either had a love of puns, or a very twisted sense of humor.

Both of them made their way past the hangers, PPK sitting atop a long abandoned plane's wing as she once again ran her knife along her fingertips. An aesthetic choice, but one she also probably wanted to test out in combat.

"You'll be getting two new members after this mission." Hsu informed, much to G36's shock. "Once that happens, I'm going to expect even more from you."

As the surprise subsided, G36's will returned as she nodded. "Of course, Kommandant. Expect nothing less than perfection from my services."

"I'll hold you to that." Hsu noted, before remembering another point. "And you still haven't given me an answer from this morning."

"Ah. Yes, that." G36 said, recalling their conversation about her name. It had been a rather personal question, but he'd treated the matter with more respect than anticipated. He didn't pry or push, and he wasn't forcing anything upon her.

Though if she was being honest, G36 didn't have an answer.

The last people who called her Gretel had long since left this world. She'd become used to being addressed by a serial number, or a nickname, or her field designation. The only people who even called her by her true name were M1897 and Springfield, and that was a kindness she showed them as well.

As silly as it was… did she trust this newcomer enough with that privilege?

Doll or not, G36 certainly had her pride. Pride in her work, pride in her history, and pride in her character. And though she prided herself on being a maid, she was no doormat. Many of her past employers had found that out the hard way, when they'd tried to treat her like a vacuum cleaner.

But he didn't do that. Even if he was brooding and unhappy, Hsu treated her rather well for the short time they'd known one another.

"A doll is called what their superior wishes to call them."

"...I don't have much experience working with dolls. Especially sentient dolls."

"I can tell. You keep all of us at an arm's length." She remarked. "Though you do the same for the human personnel on base as well."

"I'm not a social person."

"So you don't have friends?"

"If we're being honest, the reason I came out here was because I wanted to avoid people." Hsu admitted. He'd only been telling part of the truth to the other girls during their Q&A session. Mostly out of a desire to not discuss the subject.

G36 seemed receptive, however. She frowned, but not at Hsu. More-so at the realization of his situation. "Instead you ended up surrounded by robots who look, talk and act like people."

The Commander nodded, letting silence answer for him. It was a shameful predicament; he who had no experience with A-Dolls being thrust into a position where he dealt with them on a daily basis. Something made even worse by how he wanted to move away from the human element.

It was a problem. But, lucky for them, G36 was a problem-solver. As any maid worth her salt was.

"A proposal then." She began, watching Hsu's expression as she spoke. "You and I are not yet friends. However… I do not think I would mind calling you my Master. In a strictly professional sense, of course."

"So only the sado-masocist is a horn-dog. That's comforting." Hsu deadpanned, but chuckled at the amusing circumstances. A show of emotion that spread over to G36 as she joined him.

"Quite." She assured the man. "So. On base, with your permission, I will refer to you as such. And in turn, you may call me by my real name. Privately."

"Now you're making it weird." Hsu answered, though his growing grin betrayed his teasing intent. An expression that continued enlarging as the maid pouted at his insinuation. "Alright. That seems fair."

"Sehr-gut, Master Hsu." G36 said, pleased with herself. Both of them stopping in their tracks as they finished their lap around the airfield. The German doll bowed to her leader, before looking back with a childish mischief in her eyes. "I look forward to serving you."

Hsu huffed again, not sure how to take the display.

"Just make sure she doesn't get any of my boxers."