(19/7/2056 | 20:05)

Despite her initial qualms, G36 had to admit that this had been an enjoyable experience.

She'd been able to wrap up her monthly shopping list, ordering a crate full of cleaning supplies to be shipped to the Sector by the end of the week. A new sewing kit to fix M1897's uniform after it had been torn in the last mission. A brand new bionic mop that could even help her clean ceilings, detergent so potent it could probably melt grease stains from ten years ago…

...And relaxing with the others was rather pleasant as well.

IWS had dragged her and Bren along to the National Library, having spent the entire trip there going on and on about the size and scope of the book repository. The maid's expectations had been heavily tempered, but stepping into the building had blown her away. Walls twenty feet tall holding filled bookshelves, sections filled with official records dating back to the days of the Tsar, even a digital area for dolls to download and take works in the public domain.

Then Bren had somehow procured tickets for a football match. The local club was playing an exhibition against a team from Vladivostok, and despite their seats being in the nosebleeds, it had been a good match to watch. Though the Englishwoman had ended up turning into a complete football hooligan, almost breaking the nose of a pudgy man who'd tried to hit on her.

The trip to the shopping center had been their last stop before Thompson had summoned them to this address; a bar hidden away in the lower quarter of the city. Night had already fallen, and IWS was now almost clinging to the American's back while jumping at every shadow. But now that they'd arrived, the four girls accompanying their guide were… less than impressed.

"Come on, when have I ever steered you guys wrong?" Thompson asked, feigning an innocence she had long since lost possession of.

"Last Wednesday, you tried to spike my orange juice with Everclear." Bren droned.

"You put a can of worms under my pillow!" IWS complained, blushing furiously.

"You lit Erika's armoire on fire." G36 reminded. "With thermite."

As M4 looked at the German maid with absolute shock, Thompson rolled her eyes. "You can't prove that. You tried."

G36 groaned, but offered no further protest as she and the others followed Thompson into the establishment.

The bar was as slovenly on the inside as it looked on the outside. Old wooden countertop, older looking plastic tables, patrons that looked like they were five bottles down before they even walked in. The divest of dive bars, known only to locals or tourists who had very clearly gotten lost.

Upon entering, a doll popped up before them, his yellow eye flickering from lack of maintenance. He wore a comedically outdated bartender's outfit, red pin-stripes and a black bowtie making him look straight out of a barbershop quartet. Artificial skin was missing in some spaces, leaving holes that showed off his metallic jawline.

"Welcome to the Bear Claw. Table or counter?" The android asked with moderate disinterest, until his eyes fixed on the woman in front. "Ho ho! Annie! I was wondering when you'd show up!"

"Nice to see you too, Tin." Thompson said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "I'm gonna hit up Victor. Sit my friends down at a table, yeah?"

The elderly android cackled, before ushering the other dolls over to one of the empty seating arrangements. Each of them pulled over a chair sitting down across from one another. M4 cautiously rapped her knuckles across the table top, sensing a strange hardness before looking between her compatriots.

"Right, ladies." The host android began, an extra set of arms shooting out from his back with their own notepad and pen. "What'll you have? We've got mostly everything and we don't water our shit down."

"Music to my ears." Bren intoned, pointing over to a bottle on the counter. "Old Etonian, use the dry Lillet. Don't skimp on the gin. Shaken, not stirred."

The service droid grinned at the Brit, falser than fiction teeth flashing at her. "Well well, someone knows what they want." He observed, though he got no more reaction from the machine gunner. His dimming eyes then flipped to the next doll, M4 sitting up and alert as his uncanny appearance came full force.

"Um… I'll have some water…" She mumbled, unsure and unfamiliar in the setting. M16 had dragged her out to boondock bars often after missions, but she never cared to partake.

The server twisted his face, but didn't press the issue, moving to G36 without incident.

"Himbeergeist." The maid requested.

"Nice and fruity of you, kid." The man mocked.

"Do you want me to go get it myself?" G36 shot back, causing all four of the older android's arms to be held up in surrender. As she saw him take the order down, the German relented.

"I'll take a Polar Bear!" IWS chipped in.

"Wait your turn." Was the only response the girl got, sinking deep in her chair. Eventually the man shuffled away, his limbs going to grab various bottles behind the counter as he went to work making the drinks.

"This place smells as bad as he looks." Bren lamented, keeping an eye on the android to ensure he followed her instructions. "We'd have been better off staying at the hotel bar, even with the markup."

"Intriguingly, we go to an establishment where she's acquainted with the owner." G36 observed, seeing Thompson sit at the bar and stare at the back door. The maid then glanced at M4A1. "You mentioned this was a recurring theme with her today?"

M4 nodded her head once. "It felt like she was going through a list. She made sure I wasn't around to listen, either."

G36 furrowed her brow, suspicious deepening. From the start she'd suspected ulterior motives, and now she was almost certain of it. She was even recalling at the airport when she'd confronted their guide, Thompson hadn't even denied the accusation.

Sensing the growing tension, IWS spoke up yet again. "We still had a good time, right? Maybe she just wanted some company during personal business."

"Occam's razor." Bren rationalized.

"She did lighten up near the end…" M4 admitted. "She even let me drive that sports car for a while before we all grouped up at the hotel again."

"Still can't believe she got her hands on a bloody Superlegga. Those things go for half a million quid."

"Rentals often allow for the veneer of wealth." G36 commented, shaking her head in disgust. "This is silly, we're talking behind her back like a gaggle of school children."

"Trust but verify. First thing you learn in the Army." Bren corrected, wagging her finger towards IWS. "Like Weiss and her very real boyfriend."

"But I do have a boyfriend!" IWS protested, yet again having to combat the disbelief of her peers.

However, Bren remained resolutely unconvinced, her eyes rolling so strongly they almost fell out of her head. "Who lives in another country, and we'll never meet him, and he's very good looking and extremely intelligent. Anything I'm missing?"

"...He also plays piano." The Austrian added on, sinking into her chair as G36 facepalmed.

"I'm beginning to understand why humans hate that 'High School' they go on about." She intoned, all the while M4 giggled at the scene.

It was nice to get away, even for a short while.


(20:15)

Long after the base's power should have been restored, the Commander stood next to one of the main generators.

The marksmanship match between the dolls had gone as he'd expected. As soon as TAC-50 took the range, she was easily able to put the other 'competitors' to shame. Which inevitably lead to M14 accusing her of cheating, and Garand having to make sure that the two didn't spend the rest of the night outside playing 'Horse' with bullets.

Hsu took it as his sign to leave before one of them demanded he join in. Which caused him to run into K-11, S.A.T.8 and Type 100. Each of whom had conscripted him into helping with their plan to restore the power.

Their plan was, to put it mildly, stupid. Which obliged him to make sure they didn't end up hurting themselves. Or worse, the power grid.

Now he stood above the trio as they rummaged inside a large panel, with S.A.T.8 holding a flashlight as Type 100 did as K-11 instructed.

"No, no, solder that wire to that board there!" The chemist demanded, lifting the faceplate of her welding mask. "Do you even know what you're doing?!"

"I… do not, Eleven-san. I am trained as a shrine maiden, not an electrician." Type 100 assured, holding the soldering iron as if it was a screwdriver.

"I could do it." S.A.T chimed.

"Then who's going to hold the flashlight for me?" K11 whined.

The Italian looked confused. "One-Hundred, of course."

"She's too short! I need the right angle." K11 continued to nag, a defeated sigh leaving S.A.T before she turned to Hsu.

"Commander, would you mind?" She requested, only to see the man shake his head.

"I'm just here to supervise." He said, doing his best to bury the laugh that had been building up through this whole debacle.

Disgruntled, the shotgunner gave him a deadpan glare before waving for him to leave them space to work. He graciously obliged, slipping back outside and standing away from the generator room. The sun was gone, the only light sources on the entire base were the variety of flashlights being waved around by workers and dolls alike.

Seeing as he wasn't going to be of any use here, he activated his phone's flashlight and made his way back towards the central compound. Occasionally he could hear the cries of different dolls attempting to 'help'. Though their hairbrained schemes seemed liable to only make the situation worse.

It didn't matter, Khan and M14 were already working on the base's actual substation. They'd have the power back on sooner or later.

So he eventually made his way back to the base café, before seeing that the room had been entirely engulfed in candlelight.

"Commander?" A familiar voice called, standing behind the counter as she usually did. Hsu shone his light to reveal Springfield, holding a few more candlesticks and a stick lighter.

Regaining his senses, Hsu looked over to the woman. "What're you still doing here?"

"The power outage happened while my transport was still refueling. So until it's restored, they can't finish." She explained, pausing next to her superior. "I've been preparing snacks for the engineers as they work in the meantime."

Hsu sat himself down, his mind growing fuzzy from the smoky sensation. It brought back many memories, good and poor. "Nice of you to lend a hand."

"I always try to help whoever I can, Commander. It's my nature." She asserted, something that Hsu was well aware of. Springfield helped people, it was just part of who she was. Whether that was because of her programming, or her own developed persona, he wasn't sure of.

Still, something nagged at him. Something he wanted to come clean about.

"I wanna apologize for leaving when I did before." He said. "It probably sent the wrong message."

Springfield blinked a few times, not expecting an apology despite Helian's assurances. "It's fine, Miss Helian told me why you may have been… uncomfortable."

"And what does she think made me uncomfortable?" The Commander asked.

Springfield set a few more of the candles in place, lighting the wicks. "She inferred that you lost some family members in the war."

Hsu scoffed, not surprised that the woman had found out eventually. Helian was perceptive and intelligent enough to put the pieces together without him wanting to discuss the matter. Maybe because she seemed to know exactly where he was coming from.

"Everyone lost someone in the War. Well, unless you're a doll who gets 'rebuilt and revived'." He recalled, though his voice sounded hollow of spite. Merely stating the facts, or at least the facts as he saw them.

Springfield, however, was not amused.

"Just because I was brought back doesn't mean the people I cared about were as well." She replied to him with a sharp tongue. Her tone held an uncharacteristic bitterness, as if another person had stepped into the conversation. Her green eyes turned into jade, the final candle in her hand had been in her hand being crushed in half.

Realizing he'd hit a nerve, the man hummed in understanding. His first instinct was to bury the conversation then and there, but then he remembered the constant theme. These girls knew little about him, and always seemed to want to know more. He also knew little about them, and rarely tried to find out more than he needed.

"Tell me about them." He said. "Tell me about who you lost."

Yet again, Springfield was caught off guard by the man's forwardness. But she still remained obstinate. "I don't like discussing it."

"Then I won't press further. But I'm willing to listen, always." He readily offered.

Springfield sighed, but knew the man was being genuine. This was the way he spoke to people, everything was an exchange or a probe. If he was going to give you something, he planned to be given something else in return. He'd ask questions, but he'd never demand answers.

Maybe speaking to him would do some good. At the very least, he certainly liked to listen.

"He was my Company Commander. I knew him before the War, we were already close." The barista said, cheeks growing in muted color against the candlelight. "Being stuck in Europe helped our feelings escalate, in a manner of speaking."

"Nothing says 'romantic' than dodging mortar shells and armored columns together." Hsu quipped sarcastically. Springfield giggled lightly, knowing how cliché the whole premise sounded.

"Things were… scary. But they were also some of the happiest moments in my life." She said, speaking with a sense of nostalgia that wasn't so uncommon among veterans. "It was also where I met Bar and Thompson."

"They joined your squad?" The Commander inquired.

"I commanded their platoon." She corrected, growing very amused at the cocked brow that the Commander expressed. "Don't look so surprised, Mister Hsu."

The man couldn't help it. Despite being allies, he knew rather little of how the United States had used their Tactical Dolls before they annexed his home. "Didn't know the Americans let dolls have that much authority."

"US Autonomous Doctrine revolved around Company sized units. The Captain, the First Lieutenant and the First Sergeant were all human. But the platoons were staffed by autonomous dolls. That way less humans were put in harm's way."

"No wonder the Yankees had the lowest casualty numbers in the theater." Hsu reflected.

"It was one of the reasons why the Soviets irradiated the west coast. Terror bombing and destruction of industry." Springfield relayed. "It worked, we almost lost. By the last year of the War, munition and manpower shortages were being reported up and down the front."

The Commander grumbled, some old resentment boiling in his chest. "I remember. I was in the Hague. Whole city was rubble and smoke, we were fighting for months straight in the crater."

Again, Springfield sighed. The last years of the war were the most brutal, when both sides had expended most of their airpower and missiles. The East and West had been relegated to tactics reminiscent of the First World War, relying almost purely on infantry, armor and land-based artillery. Now only with even deadlier technology at hand, including dolls.

"What were Bar and Thompson like?" The Commander asked, trying to bring levity back into the conversation. Something Springfield quickly jumped at.

"Bar was mostly the same. A little more proactive, maybe. But she was still calm and collected. People depended on her then as much as they do now." She relayed, remembering the first time she'd met the girl. Back when their AIs were both emulated into military chassis, and one could barely tell the other apart at a glance.

"Thompson was terrified of everything." Springfield reminisced, finding herself laughing yet again at the plight of her junior. "She was never supposed to be a soldier. Her frame was made for-"

"-Farming, yeah. Bar told me." Hsu interjected, only causing Springfield to laugh louder. But the amusement soon passed, as it always did.

"I don't know why Annette is how she is now. I wasn't there with her after the war ended." She said, tinges of regret coloring her speech. "Maybe if I had been, she'd have left this life behind."

The Commander nodded, wondering what the doll had gotten up to between the War and her time in Griffin. Unlike the others, her past employment history was blank. It implied she'd been derelict, left without an owner or an occupation. But she didn't carry herself like that had been the case.

But now, the million dollar question came.

"Can I ask about your Captain?"

A chill sunk into the room, gripping each surface in a vice. Springfield yet again rubbed her shoulders, visibly uncomfortable.

"The Serbians liked to send tactical dolls to infiltrate our lines and act as snipers. It was how they performed reconnaissance. It was also how they disrupted logistics, or eliminated targets of value." She recalled, a vengeful bitterness clutching her words. "Usually, it was a suicide mission. Perfect for a soldier that can't really die, hm?"

Hsu said nothing. Partially because he didn't want to interrupt, partially because he'd sent more than a few of his Battalion's Jaegers on one-way trips during the War.

But Springfield spoke no longer. The calm, motherly doll staring at the wall like a victim of shellshock. Not for a lack of words, but because there was too much to be said. Her lingering anger, her remaining despair. Wondering that perhaps it was the reason why she had signed on with Griffin. Because despite it all, she could leave her memories behind either.

That was when the lights reignited, filling the room and stunning the Commander as his head started to bang. Springfield sensed his heightened pulse, rushing over to the room's switch and turning them off yet again. Hsu groaned, rubbing his forehead.

"Well. I… suppose I should make my way over to the helipad." Springfield said aloud. "I'm already so late, Kar is going to be beyond upset."

Hsu nodded, massaging his temples as his eyes became accustomed to the candle light. Springfield went back behind the counter, grabbing her purse and a few other items before she went for the cafe door.

"Savannah." Hsu called, right as Springfield was about to leave. The American doll spun around, waiting for the man's words.

"Stay for an extra night. Make up for lost time." He instructed, removing his glasses and folding them closed. "I'll tell Sector Twenty's Commander before you land."

Springfield smiled, bowing her head in gratitude before she exited the room. Her footsteps could be heard, growing quieter and quieter as the sharpshooter jogged back towards the hangars. She almost doubled back, thinking that she should give the man a more proper thank you, before remembering he wasn't the one to look for such things.

Meanwhile the Commander settled down, lost in thoughts of the past.


(21:22)

"Annie-"

"No."

"I need you to do this."

"I don't give a rat's ass."

"You want me to beg? I'll beg."

"I'm already begging you to shut up."

The hushed exchange between Thompson and the bar's owner was covered up by the sounds made by the other patrons. More had filed in after the Griffin girls had settled down, with a sense of life entering the establishment. Even for its rugged exterior, the place seemed to bring a crowd. Too much noise, difficult to pick people from a crowd, drunkards five seconds away from a brawl...

It was a good place to talk without being overheard.

The bartender looked like your run of the mill sleaze. Slicked back hair and a cheap blue suit, a gold chain around his neck and over his tie. A few scars across his cheek that looked like they'd come from some kind of blade, but the man had gone through some effort to hide them through surgery. His accent and accent were obviously foreign; an American living in Neo-Soviet Ukraine.

Thompson sat at the counter with her drinking partner, her patience wearing thin. Two empty snifter glasses were lined up next to each other, with a third in her hand full of apple brandy.

"I've been with Griffin for almost two years, and now you start asking me for this shit?" The gangster chastised. "The entire reason I'm out here is because I was done with the Family."

"I'm not asking you to smoke someone, I just need you to drop a package off." The man pleaded

"And if it wasn't a dangerous package, you wouldn't be asking me." Thompson countered, not having any of it. "For fuck's sake, I just ran around the entire city relaying messages for you. Now you want me to be a Transporter?! Do you realize the kind of heat I might catch?!"

The slimeball laughed nervously, drumming his fingers against the countertop. "I'm just asking for another favor. Y'know, as an old buddy."

"I don't do 'buddies', Vic." Thompson insisted, getting another laugh from the bar owner as he waved in the direction of the other Griffin girls.

"Then what do you call them? Your new gang? Tryin' to play Capo again?" The man half-mocked, only drawing more of the doll's ire.

"Keep running your mouth, I'll have one of them smash it shut." She threatened. None of them would actually do it, especially how their programming didn't allow it. But he didn't know that.

The man huffed, not quite buying the story. "They don't look so tough."

Thompson then threw a thumb over her shoulder, aimed squarely at IWS as she gingerly sipped her cocktail and continued to speak with the others. "That girl wearing the white coat? Carries around a gun that can blow up streets. Seen her do it, too."

Victor tilted his head, looking over at the woman in question. At first, he didn't believe it. Until he realized that all of the other dolls likely worked for the PMC that Thompson now affiliated herself with. Which meant she probably wasn't bluffing.

He swallowed. "Uh… did I mention drinks're on the house?"

Thompson rolled her eyes, placing her glass down and standing up to her feet. "We're done here."

"We are not done until I say we are!" The man shouted, temper flaring as he went to grab Thompson's arm as she moved to leave.

That was, unfortunately, the wrong choice.

The doll pulled her arm back, dragging the man close before grabbing him by the suit collar. She then slammed him against the counter, pinning him in place as she leered over him with murderous intent in her gaze.

"You ever lay hands on me again. Ever. And I will make sure you spend the rest of your life pissing through a tube." She threatened, pressing him further and further against the bar. The wood began to splinter, with the bartending android watching in bemusement.

The owner, all the while, couldn't believe what the hell was happening. "T-this doesn't make sense. You work for G-griffin now! Why can you hurt a human!? You're a fuckin' robot!"

Thompson grinned, grip growing in strength as she lifted the man into the air. His feet dangled off of the ground, flailing and kicking in desperation.

"My new boss gives a shit about me. More than I can say for you, buddy." She hissed, sadistic glee lacing her words as she had the man completely at her mercy. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with him, but he wasn't gonna walk straight after the fact.

"THOMPSON!" A voice boomed, getting both her and her hostage's attention.

G36 stood at the front of a pack of Griffins, with all the other girls standing in the wings behind her. IWS looked on, appalled by the barbarous violence. Bren, on the other hand, seemed ready to hop into it to help her coworker. Meanwhile M4 stood to the side, keeping an eye on the bartender droid that was now frozen in place grabbing something under the counter.

Remembering where she was, or more importantly, who she was now, she gave the man one final glare before throwing him over to the other side of the counter. The man slammed against the back wall, a few liquor bottles tipping over and smashing into the ground. And his head.

"Come on, girls. This place sucks." The American said, moving through the group and towards the door. G36 huffed, but the group followed behind. M4A1's gaze lingering for a few moments longer on the bartender android until he backed away to help his injured owner.

Said owner clawed himself up, a large welt and a few fresh cuts all over his forehead. The hairs on his head stuck out every which way now, the slickback having been ruined by the vodka washing it away.

"You dumb bionic broad!" The man screeched. "I'll remember this, you hear me! You're dead! You're fuckin' dead!"

"Eat my ass, Vic." Was Thompson's reply, not looking back as she gave the injured man a backhanded middle finger.

The androids continued to walk back towards the Metro station, both M4 and Bren keeping an eye to make sure they weren't being followed. IWS remained silent, head bobbing between the front and back pairs as the silence smothered her.

G36 eventually spoke up, walking besides Thompson at the same speed.

"I take it we're now banned from that establishment." The maid inferred.

"No great loss." Bren followed. "Half the wankers in there tried to grab my arse when I went to wash up."

"That place was scary." IWS intoned. "Can we never come to this part of town again?"

"Probably for the best." Thompson said.

G36 nodded along, glancing at Thompson from the side of her eye. "So, who was that shifty fellow?"

"Old business associate." Thompson informed. "Wanted to hire my 'services.' Didn't like it when I said no."

"He wanted to contract Griffin?" IWS inquired.

"No." Thompson quickly corrected. "It was personal business, don't worry about it."

"You just threw a man into three shelves of liquor, I'd say worry is warranted." G36 readily replied.

"Those tables were reinforced with bulletproof plastic." M4 said, drawing the other girls' attention. "Where did a bar get that kind of material?"

All four of Thompson's tagalongs now glared at the woman, now realizing that she was getting backed into a corner quicker than she would like. The gangster spun around, flashing the group a grin that mirrored that of a door to door salesman. "Ladies, ladies! Who cares?"

Seeing as none of them seemed ready to drop the topic, Thompson rolled her eyes and threw the group a bone. "Look. He asked me to do something sketchy. I said no. He asked again, I said no. He got clingy, so I walloped him. Capisce?"

"And why should we believe you?" G36 asked, remaining skeptical in the face of Thompson's 'assurances'. She was already well acquainted with how willing and able the doll was willing to lie if it got her out of any consequences.

Except this time, she was telling the truth. Enough that the submachine gunner was rapidly souring to how much the maid distrusted her, despite being forthcoming.

"So what if you don't?" Thompson snapped back. "Report me to the Boss, I'm sure he told you to babysit me! Hell, that's probably the only reason why you're here!"

G36 halted in her tracks, the other dolls quickly following suit. Both of the senior Captains entered a standoff with one another, something that none of the other dolls were willing to get in between after what had happened last time. Though at least, Thompson didn't seem like she was going to go for one of her knives.

"I… had fun." M4A1 spoke up, again drawing everyone's attention. The meek doll looked between the two feuding leaders, wanting to defuse the situation.

"I got to see the city. I've never been able to see so many people in once place before." She said, turning to give Thompson a grateful smile. "You could've just left me behind at the hotel, but you let me come. You made sure I never got lost. You even let me drive a sport's car!"

IWS nodded her head, before speaking as well. "The hotel's nice, too! I've never had a room that big before! Plus I got to check out the books I wanted!"

Bren rolled her eyes, but shrugged her shoulders. "I did ask for a jag. I got one, and a show too. That gobshite looked like he deserved a smack anyway."

Listening to the calls of her other companions, G36 was forced to relent. With a deep breath, she nodded along. Because in the end, she'd also had a good time. In fact, this was the first day in ages that she could remember simply relaxing with anyone of note.

But that didn't change the fact that Thompson was still hiding something. And that was going to be an issue, sooner or later.

"We're your friends, Annette." G36 assured, taking the American off guard at such a declaration. "I'm asking because I'm worried, not because the Commander 'told me too'. You always play things far too close to your chest. So please, don't feel as though you need to hide from us."

Bren grunted in agreement, while IWS and M4 nodded along. Thompson looked over all of the other dolls, surprised at their reaction. Beyond her team, she never really tried to widen her circle of trust.

Though, now was as good a time as any to start the process.

"I told him to pound sand. I'm never gonna do anything that'd put you guys, the base or the Boss at risk." She said, honest to the point. "I'm a Griffin doll. I don't do anyone's dirty work anymore."

G36 hummed, satisfied with the response. She then pulled out a phone, checking how late it had become.

"Let's hurry back to the hotel. Weiss was going to show me a film series called… 'Sharpe' I believe it was."

"Ooooh, right! I've got it all hooked up in our suite!" The Austrian sniper gushed as the group began to walk once more. "You're going to love it! It's such a great show! Everyone else can come too!"

"I'll order room service. Still haven't had dinner." Bren reminded.

M4A1 giggled, seeing that the night wasn't over for them quite yet.

"Can… we do this again next month?" The AR team leader requested. "I like this."

"I have no objections, assuming you're still with us." G36 agreed, knowing that Hsu likely wouldn't mind signing off on the idea.

"I hope I am. Everyone's been nice to me." M4 wished. "Even the Commander's gone out of his way to try and help me learn."

"The Kommandant is very kind! He takes good care of us!" IWS agreed. "He acts like such a grump, though. Does he even know how to do anything but glare at people?"

"He also grunts in disapproval. Sometimes." G36 said, joining in the lampooning in their superior. All of the dolls laughed at the joke, beginning to trade stories about the various times they'd seen cracks in the old Officer's armor.

Thompson stayed quiet, listening in and smiling. She pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing a large cloud of smoke out into the summer's evening sky.

It was a messy life she had. But it was a good one, too.


(22:09)

Commander Hsu sat alone in the café, a half-drunken mug of hot cocoa sitting next to him as he watched the projection screen. The electric lights were still off, the candles had all expended themselves. The 'repair team' he'd been watching had hunted him down, regaling him with what a great job they did. K11 especially seemed boastful, outright demanding she be given a bonus for a job well done.

Eventually, they left. S.A.T.8 had been the one who'd made the beverage for him, along with setting out some leftovers from working the lunch shift at the cafeteria. Hsu switched between watching the hockey match on the screen and working on his command tablet. Final preparations for defenses, as well as plans to try and narrow down the locations of the last AR team members.

He had to find the lost dolls before the situation got worse. M4 had already almost ended up in the clutches of a ringleader, and with how things were going, it was only a matter of time before more showed up. The other AR team members were, according to M4, each extremely capable on their own. But there was only so much each could do on their own.

Looking over the maps, there were only three parts of the sector left that they could possibly be. The most likely was Crimea, in the ruins of one of the eastern cities on the main island.

A cough could be heard as the door to the room opened. Helian came inside, dusting off what smelled like cigarette smoke from her cuffs.

"It's rare that you call for me, Major." She said, moving to stand next to the man's chair and looking down at the plate next to him. "Is that the pizza that Sat made?"

"Take some if you want." He offered, though Helian made no motion to take a slice. So instead, the Commander swapped the screen on his tablet and handed it off to his superior.

Helian took the device, adjusting her monocle before going wide-eyed. "You can't possibly be serious. You want me to transfer this team here?"

"They're unassigned. And I need some more actual combat veterans in my staff." Hsu explained, grabbing his mug and turning to face the woman. "Should I be worried?"

Helian simply flipped the tablet around, placing her finger firmly on the portrait of the echelon's leader. A short girl with a blue and white coat, a Star of David pin in her long pink hair. She held a manic smile, and an LMG that almost looked too big for her person.

"Negev isn't a combat veteran, she's a pitbull. The only thing as high as her kill count are the costs she incurs through collateral damage!" Helian insisted.

"That sounds like the kind of damage dealer we need." The Commander deflected, though he made a point to prepare himself for an unwieldy arrival. "If she's such a problem, why does she still work for Griffin?"

"Because despite her destructive tendencies, she's extremely efficient." Helian admitted. Negev and her team's combat record spoke droves, easily one of the more seasoned teams Griffin had to offer. But she was also buck-wild, usually operating at the behest at HQ due to most Commander's inability to reign her in.

Still, she would be useful. And Negev usually listened to her orders, if not anyone else's.

"Sometimes we have to work with unsavory characters to get the job done." Helian grumbled, entering in an authentication code to confirm the transfer. She then offered the tablet back. "They'll be here in two weeks."

Hsu nodded, taking the device back and setting it in his lap. Helian then looked up to the screen, barely able to hear the sound of the match as it continued to play out at a whisper's pitch.

"Living up to the stereotype, don't you think?" The Sub-director asked, earning a shrug from the man.

"Canadians like hockey, British people like soccer. Every nation's got a sport." He said in his usual plainspeak.

"It's football." The Scotswoman protested indignantly, never understanding why Yanks and Canucks had to continue to call it by the wrong name. She looked back to the hockey match, utterly lost. The sport seemed so alien to her, yet she could tell it was something that the man she stood near held close to his heart.

Then a question appeared in her mind.

"Matthew, why didn't you go with the girls?" Helian asked

"So, we're on a first name basis now?" Hsu joked.

"You're complaining?" She huffed, before going back to her question. "I think they would have appreciated it."

Hsu shook his head in disagreement, taking a sip from his mug. "I'm their Commander. No one likes it when their Superior hounds them during their free time."

Helian chortled, catching the backhanded jab at exactly what she was doing. But it wasn't a satisfactory answer, not quite.

"Do you know why I came here? Other than the obvious Sangvis issue."

"Probably to see how I'm doing."

"More than that. I wanted to see how you were getting along with the girls." She explained, looking back down at the man. "Dolls are… strange creatures. They perform better when they like their leadership. A doll that has cold feelings towards their Commander doesn't perform at their best."

Hsu grunted, his head bobbing in understanding. Helian pursed her lips, bothered by how easily the Commander seemed to retreat into his shell whenever he disliked a topic.

"They respect you, you know." She told him. "All of your field leadership trusts you explicitly. The other combat members seem to take great value in what you say as well. It's… impressive. It speaks to what you've done here."

The Commander shook his head, disagreeing once again. "All I've done is-"

"Yes, yes. But when you first came here, you didn't care one way or the other." Helian said, cutting off his inevitable deflection of the topic. "My point is that you've changed. The man I met at the beginning of this summer wouldn't have let those girls leave for the city. He wouldn't have spent the evening checking up on them, or making sure they didn't get hurt in the dark."

Hsu sighed, seeing as he wasn't going to get out of this. Of course it would be Helian of all people pressing him on the matter, at least G36 knew when to give up. But this woman didn't. Or, to be more correct, wouldn't. She always dug into him, she always pushed him on. Trying to figure out what made him tick.

It would've been annoying, if it wasn't obvious she was looking out for him. Because despite all her threats and intimidation, that's something he had to appreciate about Helian. She cared about Griffin, she cared about the mission, and she even seemed to care about him.

He cared about her too. She seemed to be the only person who really understood.

"They're good girls. I want to see'em through this." He said, choosing his words honestly, but carefully. "I dunno if I'm used to dolls looking and acting like people. Don't know if I'll ever get used to it. But… I like the people here. The dolls, Khan, Kalina. I like them."

Helian breathed a sigh of relief, having finally gotten the answer she wanted. The woman gingerly set her hand on the man's shoulder, leaning down to give him a grateful smile.

"Good night, Matthew. Enjoy the match."

The Commander looked at the hand for a moment, but didn't buck it away. He simply matched the woman's eyes, nodding. Seemingly thankful for… something she couldn't decipher.

With that, the Sub-Director took her leave.

It was hard to believe that she was starting to become friends with the man, but she liked that fact. He was a good person, someone she felt she could trust. He was cold and closed off, but the times when he acted without boundaries were warm and genuine. The remnants of who he once was, perhaps.

She went through the hallways, the warmth from the contact drifting away, along with the happiness that it had brung.

One last matter to settle before the night was done.

She walked into her current quarters, having moved from the Commander's dormitory to an unused room that had now been furnished to her needs. L85A1 was waiting, a kettle of black tea filling the room with its scent.

"Lady Helian! I've prepared your evening bath, along with some refreshments." She said, having readily taken to the duty of interim assistant to the woman. "I also have the echelon's training reports that Miss Bren left us."

"Later." The sub-director said. "Right now I need to make that call. You have their location?"

"Oh, yes!" L85 assured, before setting down the kettle and grabbing a disposable smartphone. "The device is ready, I followed your instructions to the letter. And I made sure that internal surveillance would be unable to trace the call."

"Good." Helian said, before staring at the doll. "Power off."

L85A1 blinked, confused at the order. "Er, excuse me?"

"Power off. Now." She demanded. This time, L85 made no protests, the older doll immediately deactivating at the behest of her owner.

Helianathus sighed. She hated contacting this group, but time was of the essence. The rest of the AR team needed to be recovered, and with mounting Sangvis resistance, the odds of Sector 09 doing it alone were growing lower and lower. Persica's badgering had reached the point of unbearable, Director Kryuger was insisting on results, and now even the damned KCCO was getting involved.

"Sometimes we have to work with unsavory characters to get the job done." Helian repeated to herself, before activating the device and beginning the call.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the video call began. On the small surface, a face appeared. A girl with light brown hair and a scar over her left eye. She wore a black and yellow coat, with a white dress shirt and string tie around the collar. Her expression was deceptively sweet, but Helian knew that this woman had the conniving of a politician and the venom of a viper.

"Hallo, Miss Helian!" UMP45 greeted, smiling gingerly. She was standing in a vacant room, with a window overlooking a street. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need Four-oh-Four." The Sub-Director explained. "There's a situation that needs fixing."

"Ah, that's… problematic. We're already under contract with another employer." UMP45 said with false disappointment, turning the camera to show off the rest of the room.

On the far side, HK416 sat close to the window. She aimed her rifle to the dusk shrouded street below, the magnifying optic on her weapon drawn up as she prepared to take a shot. UMP9 and G11 were nowhere to be seen, which was a bad sign.

If UMP45 and Hk416 were on a job alone, that meant it was probably something very illegal.

"What kind of job?" Helian inquired, getting 45's smile to somehow grow even more condescending smug.

"Nothing that affects Griffin, I assure you. We're not even in the Soviet Union!" The rogue android assured. "For now."

"Details would be nice." She pressed.

"You know I can't give away our customers' confidential information, Frau Cameron. It's terrible for business." 45 admonished, tutting at the human.

"Humor me." Helian asserted.

45 looked over to the window, double checking that 416 was prepared. "Let's just say a certain French Governor… 'defaulted' on some debts to some very upset loan brokers. You know how these organizations are. They love examples for others to remember."

Helian sighed, hating that she was right. 404 tended to take the kind of jobs most mercenaries wouldn't. Contract killing wasn't new, outright assassinations weren't either. But if they did this, they'd have to spend the next month laying low. Which meant they wouldn't be available for work.

And she needed a good stealth team.

"If you let the poor bastard live, I'll front the costs to get you here." Helian promised. "I doubt whatever they're paying you is worth the trouble this would bring anyway.

"Ho-ho, don't be so sure, Frauline." UMP45 observed, very much enjoying a chance to play with her food. "Griffin isn't the only group with deep pockets. And from what I've heard, your pockets aren't very deep at the moment anyway."

UMP45 then looked to her wrist, checking a stopwatch as the ticked down closer to the end. "Target should be here in a minute. Four-Sixteen, make sure it's a clean shot. We don't need the Police sniffing a trail."

Realizing she couldn't afford to be stingy, Helian took the bait. "You'll get your Premium rate. Sixty percent can be wired to your account now, if you do what I say."

"Hm. Only the premium rate?" UMP45 asked, tapping her chin with a finger innocently. As she did the math in her head, the sound of a car engine pulling up could be heard from outside the window. The watch on 45's wrist began to beep, and 416 braced her rifle.

"Target is at the stoplight. Lining up the shot." The rifle wielding doll announced, clearly telegraphing her motions. Maybe to help her leader get them more money, maybe to hopefully get her out of the trouble of shooting someone.

Seeing she had one final chance, Helian played her last card. She released a long, exaggerated sigh, playing up her disappointment and resignation to what was about to happen.

"Shame, you'll be missing one of your old friends." She waxed on, as if she was a London stage actress. "Believe her name was... M-Sixteen?"

That name drop drew the attention of both dolls. UMP45's playful façade disappeared immediately, now focusing intently on the screen in her hand. HK416 stopped looking at her target, a shroud of darkness wrapping around her.

After a few moments, UMP45 waved for HK416 to lower her rifle. The doll complied, taking a step back from the window as the car's motor spun up and drove off yet again.

Meanwhile, UMP45's grin from before returned. The faux innocence and playfulness that she had been emulating prior was long gone. Now her expression full of anticipation and malice, like a snake who'd had a fat mouse dropped right into its habitat.

"You have my attention."


A/N: So, fun fact, the first few drafts of this chapter had a car chase in it. But I cut it out because it felt unnessicary.

Next chapter is the start of the Sector 09 Siege arc. It's gonna be long, at least six chapters. It's gonna be hard, and people are going to die. Lots of people are gonna die.

Oh boi oh boi here I go killing again

o/