(27/7/2056 | 13:11)
Garand looked up into the sky, her rifle cradled in her arms as she leaned back in the trench.
It was a clear day. Not a cloud in sight, with the wind having died down since that morning. A few birds could be seen frantically flapping in the air, flying west and making their great escape before the firefights reignited.
Sangvis had begun their incursion that morning. At first, a few units probed their defenses. Then the first assault came, non-humanoid dolls running into their kill zones and fortifications. But after that, for hours now, there was a foreboding silence. No second attack, no scouts in sight. Merely each echelon, dug in and awaiting their opponents' next move.
Hence why Garand was loitering in the glorified hole she found herself in. Each of the teams was now stuck on high alert, preparing for the inevitable second strike that was taking far longer than she'd have preferred.
At least it wasn't all bad. It was a beautiful day for a shootout.
Thompson traipsed herself over, standing next to the sitting markswoman as she continued to relay information back to the outpost. Hsu's voice could be heard giving a directive to dig in and wait for more contact before the Captain ended the call.
Thompson pocketed the communicator, before looking down at her team member. "You look bored."
"I am bored." Garand assured, her head remaining craned up to enjoy the view. "Do we really have to sit here?"
"Orders're orders." Thompson answered with a shrug. "Besides, this isn't any more boring than what you did durin' the War."
The blonde shrugged. "At least driving trucks gave me something to do. Plus I was stationed in Paris. All the wine and pretty French dolls I wanted."
"I'm sure you were real popular."
"No reason to be ashamed of my good looks."
"Yet you still complain about findin' bras in your size."
Garand shot her friend a dirty look, but it bounced off Thompson like she was made of teflon. Meanwhile, over the horizon, a few shouts could be heard between the other dugouts. Garand's frown grew, grumbles leaving her as she sunk deeper into the dirt.
"Why did we have to trade Barbs for her?" She asked.
"Thirty-Six's team needs a machine gunner more than we do." She reminded, blowing a donut of smoke out of her mouth. Though, the team leader herself wasn't pleased with these circumstances. PPK had a very well founded reputation.
"She's a freaking sadist! And she's creepy!" Garand insisted, defending her opinion against someone who quite obviously shared it. But Thompson wasn't going to stop some good old fashion shit-talking, especially coming from one of the resident 'nice girls.'
At least, until the gunfire began in the distance.
Both of the dolls snapped into action, rushing their way over and leaving their hidey-hole behind. Thompson began to hail the others, with only M14 able to respond in something resembling words. Springfield's link was merely more gunfire, and PPK was ever silent. Silence that only drove the two to pick up the pace.
The duo eventually reached the station where Springfield had been stationed, with M14 linking up. More gunfire continued to go off, further into hills and away from their line. M14 hesitated, looking to the others for guidance.
Thompson waved them on, and the trio pressed on towards the deadly percussion.
As they kept going, a trail of red began to stain the grass. The smell was familiar, that of the coolant that Griffin dolls had flow between their outer layer and their internal systems. The trail grew and grew, until they got to the defilade between two of the larger hills.
Springfield was on a knee, firing off one last shot into a Vespid's skull before she lowered her rifle. Half of her uniform was drenched in red, a large exit-wound punching out of her back and under her endoskeleton's ribs. Four dozen empty cartridges and their stripper clips circled around, paired with her leak to show the positions she'd taken during the fight.
Off to her side, PPK laid lifeless. The doll's signature handgun was nowhere to be found, and her small form had been perforated several times. A pool of coolant had already formed, with the red leaking into the grass and further down the hill's side.
Exhausted and drained, Springfield finally fell over into a heap.
"Fourteen, cover! Garand, on me!" Thompson ordered as she sprinted down the hill. Both the sharpshooters did as they were told, Garand following behind as M14 went prone and flicked her weapon to automatic. Suppressive fire began to come down on the remaining enemies, forcing them into cover.
Thompson motioned for Garand to go for PPK, meanwhile the older doll jumped in front of Springfield. She triggered her deflector, a few plasma bolts pinging off her form. Garand, meanwhile, fired off five shots before putting all her focus on PPK.
"How is she, Garand?!" She called to the closest thing that the team had to a combat mechanic. Garand dragged the handgunners body out of the line of fire, taking in the catastrophic damage first hand. The plasma burns, the holes that made her look like a slice of cheese, the cusp of her skirt and coat that had been torn off.
And even despite all of that, she'd managed to keep a smile on her face, up until she'd powered down.
"Oh Christ." Garand muttered, guilt and shame attacking at once after what she'd said only minutes earlier. "I'm sorry, Paula. I'm so sorry-"
"For fuck's sake, Garand! WHAT'S HER STATUS?" Thompson roared as she too dragged her charge over. Springfield at least remained conscious, her own sanguine leaking out to leave a trail that drowned the green grass.
"Gone! Her core's tarf'd!" Garand yelled back as the Captain arrived next to her. Springfield groaned in agony, being laid up against the hill as she kept a death-grip in her rifle's stock. Thompson grit her teeth as M14 announced that she was reloading over the radio, trying to formulate a plan.
"We're out of position." Thompson said, looking at Garand while lifting a hand to point back towards where they came from. "Get Springfield back to the Op. Fix her as best you can, tell Old Man Hsu we've been re-engaged!"
"B-but, what about PPK?!" The panicking rear-echelon doll asked.
"We can recover her chassis later! Right now, we need to get Springfield back in the fight!" Thompson ordered, grabbing Garand by the arm and shoving her towards the wounded survivor. "I'm not asking, Genny. I'm tellin'! GO!"
Garand stumbled over, but offered no more resistance. She went over to her wounded cousin, producing a roll of electrical adhesive and wrapping it around her stomach. She then grabbed the woman by the front, hefting her up and over into a fireman's carry.
As M14's weapon resurrected it's fire, Thompson's joined in as well. Garand began to run, fast and hard as she could with her extra cargo, going back the way they'd initially come..
Though the gunfire continued behind her, she eventually made it back to the trench where she'd started this whole cascade of failure. Garand carefully sat Springfield up against the wall, placing both of their weapons next to her as she rummaged in her sack.
"Ugh…" Springfield began to say, her senses returning as her damage control mode subsided. Her eyes flicked back on, irises returning to normal as she clutched at her side.
"Don't move a muscle, Savannah! You got licked pretty good!" Garand admonished, taking out a sealant canister and pulling the adhesives down. The electric-blue spray poured out similar to a fire extinguisher, filling the sizable hole before turning into a hardened foam.
The pressure on her injuries made the doll wince, but at least it caused the pain to settle. "Where's… where're the others?"
"Don't you worry about that, Thompson and Fourteen're doing great." Garand assured, digging out her radio. Zener wasn't quite working, for some reason, despite being within range of the base. So she activated the device, falling back on more traditional methods.
"Liberator to Dominion! Commander!"
"This is Dominion, send traffic." Hsu's voice responded without any wait.
Garand sighed in relief, before continuing her message. "Commander, we've got a problem. We're still at O-P…"
Garand hissed, looking to Springfield as the elder mouthed the word 'Victor'.
"O-P Victor!" She continued, giving Springfield a thumbs up. "Sangvis hit us again out of nowhere! PPK's dead, Springfield's hurt and the others are still dealing with the ambush!"
"...Dominion copies all, wait one, over." The radio went dead, the Commander likely processing the information. Meanwhile, Garand went back to working on her cousin. She lifted Springfield's skirt, checking to make sure no fragments or GSWs had damaged either of her legs.
"Right…" Garand said, nodding as she saw no further injuries. "You probably collapsed from overheating. Lost too much coolant."
Springfield nodded, grabbing for her rifle and beginning to reload as she remained sitting up. "Something grabbed PPK, something big. I tried to call over Zener, but no one responded."
"So it's not just me? Shit." Garand cursed, digging out a bag of coolant that she began to prepare. "But regular comms are fine. Why's Zener busted?"
"Entirely different systems." Springfield recalled, locking the bolt of her weapon shut as she completed her reload. The gunfire continued to rage in the distance, but no word came from either of the surviving team members.
"Was it 'something big' that shot you?" Garand asked as she opened a port in Springfield's left hip, a fresh batch of red pouring inside. Springfield's temperature warnings finally began to stabilize, though her display still showed a rather obnoxious damage warning.
"Liberator, this is Dominion. Orders are for your team to regroup and RTB for refitting and rearmament." The Commander relayed as Garand moved to put the finishing touches on Springfield's field repairs. "New tasking will be handed down upon arrival. How copy?"
"Wilco, Chief! Out!" Garand confirmed, switching her radio to the team's internal frequency. "Thompson! Chief wants to hoof it back to base! How're things going over there!"
"We're winning, that's how they're going!" Thompson responded, another burst of gunfire filling the air. "Go on ahead, we'll catch up in a few!"
"You got it!" She answered, before going to help Springfield back up onto her feet. The older doll muttered something about being able to walk, but Garand didn't seem keen to risk it. At the very least, she merely supported her gait this time.
As they walked through the badlands, Garand grunted under the effort. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've put on a few pounds, cousin."
Springfield chuckled, doing her best to alleviate what burden she was imposing on the other doll. "Please, we can't gain weight. Seeing as how many of my brownies you scarf down, that's a good thing."
Garand laughed at the jab, but didn't parry back with her usual snark. Right now, all she was focused on was getting her team member out of harm's way. Without a handgunner doll like PPK, all she could see was what was in front of her. Behind her, the firefight continued. A sign that Sangvis was still dealing with the others.
The two passed in between a hill that had been split in half during the war. Hard, scorched stone carved a wide path straight through.
That blasted gunfire was still going off in the distance, but it was fading away now. The gap between them and the other two continued to grow, something that made her worried. That perhaps they should turn back, and make sure Thompson and M14 were safe.
A burst of plasma fire cut those ideas away.
The bolts impacted her at the joint, making Garand's leg snap in two as she collapsed into a heap. The young woman cried out in pain, trying to spin around and see where the shot had come from. To which she was then greeted with a boot to the face that sent her flying into the stone.
Springfield tried to whip around with her weapon, but she too was launched with a strike to the opposite side of the split. She impacted the earth's face hard, falling back down with an unceremonious 'THUMP' as she felt her wound open up all over again. Coolant began to seep, and warning signs returned with a renewed vigor.
Between the two sharpshooters, a tall feminine figure stood. Short, cropped black hair and a patchwork overcoat with the Sangvis Ferri logo emblazoned on one of it's front sides. The muted, sickly skin tone of any other Sangvis doll that made them seem readily uncanny. In one hand, curled up under her shoulder, she held a beast of a steel weapon that resembled a minigun with muzzles on either end.
She locked her weapon onto her back, then crouched down to pick up Garand's fallen M1. The ringleader looked upon the weapon with a strange expression. Emotionless. Not apathetic, mind. But a simple… void, a lack of any and all human features beyond the face's structure.
That was, until her lips curled into an affectionate smile.
"Fascinating…" She observed, running her hand over the handguard. Each of her fingertips digging into the wood grain. "A gun that still uses tree bark? And here I'd thought such designs were only found in films-"
Her monolog was cut off by more gunfire. Rounds digging into her right flank, though she seemed to react to the sound more than the new holes in her sternum. The ringleader turned to see Garand having sat herself up, defiant as she held a 1911 in both hands. The slide was locked open, magazine having been emptied into the target.
The ringleader released a dramatic sigh, as if she was on the stage of a mid-budget soap opera. "Come now. Can't a lady appreciate craftsmanship in peace?"
Garand glared at the hostile doll, offering no verbal response. Instead she dug around behind her back, producing another pistol magazine as she began the process to reload. The ringleader watched on, seemingly taken aback that the girl was even still trying after what little effect the last eight bullets had.
Tutting her tongue, the ringleader spun to face Garand and aimed the Griffin doll's own rifle back at her from the hip. The American had a split second to realize what was about to occur, right before the first rifle round punctured her cheek. Then the second. Then the third. One right after another, until the weapon went 'PING' and ejected the clip.
Garand's arms flopped to her sides, before her chassis slumped forwards as a splatter now painted where her head had rested prior. All the while her killer looked down at the weapon with a renewed interest, her smile returning as if nothing had happened.
"It even makes funny sounds. Such a fascinating weapon." The ringleader said, looking at the now empty rifle before slinging it under her arm. "What a perfect souvenir to remember this by."
"Garand!" Springfield called out, looking upon what was left of her escort. What sorrow she felt was quickly overcome with fury, as she tried to claw herself back up. But, to no avail. The old damage, paired with the old, was rapidly causing her internal temperature to rise again.
"Hm? Oh." The ringleader said, having totally forgotten about her second catch. She walked over without any urgency, grabbing the weakened Springfield by her outfit's collar and hoisting her up well above where her feet could touch the ground.
"You. You survived a bolt from my disruptor." The doll observed, her eyes flicking down to the mess of blue and red that now filled the original hole in Springfield's side. She looked back up, smiling again as she nodded. "Suppose you're made of stronger stuff than the other two. Though for Griffin, that means little."
Springfield lifted one hand, grabbing for the ringleader's wrist and trying to yank it away. Though again, her lack of strength made such a task almost impossible. But she kept trying, if only to keep focus away from her other hand.
"I suppose I should make an introduction." The ringleader said, joyous at the idea to flaunt herself. Instead of paying attention, she merely continued her soliloquy. "My name is Intruder, I'm the stage director for this show we've been performing. The first act was underwhelming, it seems. Though this second one is quite marvelous so far. I do believe I've outdone myself."
Intruder lifted a finger, tapping her lips and looking above before gazing back down at her captive audience. "What about you? Are you enjoying the drama?"
Springfield snarled, before her left hand dug out her bayonet. Channeling what power she had left, she lifted her hand and brought the blade down, puncturing through Intruder's eye-socket with the long knife. Her assailant staggered, head snapping back from the force, but she maintained her grip on Springfield's collar.
That was the last thing Springfield saw before her chassis went into a forced shutdown, steam beginning to coil from her form from the excess heat.
Intruder brought her head back up, a look of wrath and fury dancing across her face, before she saw that the life from Springfield had already drained. With a dissatisfied huff, she released her grip, letting the doll fall to the ground.
"Intruder. I just received a damage notification." Another ringleader's voice rang, filling the space between Intruder's ears. "Are you alright?"
"Major ocular damage, but fine beyond that." Intruder reported, grabbing the grip of the bayonet and ripping it out. She gazed upon the now purple coated blade, her digimind somewhat blurred after her cranial area was probed. "Tell me Hunter, what's the status of the Anti-Rain whelp?"
"Tracking. She's quick, but stupid." Hunter observed, smugness coming through loud and clear even over a communicator. "My forces and I can handle her capture."
"I do hope so. You wouldn't want to undergo the same tragedy as Scarecrow or Executioner, hm?" Intruder intoned, the threat readily present. Hunter didn't respond immediately, something akin to a shudder echoing.
"I won't fail." Hunter assured, before ending the connection. Intruder rolled her remaining eye, having little faith that she would succeed. After all, her other peers had managed to fail spectacularly. Getting themselves killed and letting the real prize get away.
But that didn't matter. For now, all she had to do was buy Hunter time. Time to inevitably muck it all up, as Mastermind had ordered. So instead, Intruder continued to gaze at the blade that had pierced her, giving the body of the doll who'd done it one last glance.
"Fascinating." She muttered.
(14:23)
Hsu stood before his newly updated battle map, grinding his teeth together.
Thompson and M14 had found the bodies half an hour ago. The two dolls they'd sent back ahead of them, both having been killed by God only knew what. He'd tried to check the recording of either dolls, but the connection had long since been terminated. Their live-feeds hadn't been saved, as if their connection had been blocked off.
In fact, he couldn't see any of the feeds for any doll in the field. Active or not, near or far, team lead or regular member. Zener had completely and utterly shit the bed. All of the teams were forced to fall back to radio communication, and he had to update the status of each echelon solely based on the reports that were given back to him.
It was like he'd been thrown to the turn of the century. Relying on a glorified game of telephone to get any idea of what was going on.
Despite the handicap, the Commander had acted quickly. Each team was ordered to fall back to the third ring of defenses, not even bothering to try and hold the second ring when Echelon One was now utterly combat ineffective. Thompson had raged at him over the radio, demanding a chance to avenge her dead friends. But she complied, eventually. Like it or not, all of the dolls had to follow his orders.
He grimaced, disliking the thought of giving up territory without resistance. But with the turrets and minefields that dotted the zone, it would be some time before Sangvis could muster a proper attack. Long enough that the remaining three echelons would be able to dig in and repulse whatever came.
"Santiago, how long until Kravchenko's loiter is done?" The Commander asked the Chief Aviator, sitting at one of the consoles and acting as a glorified aircraft control tower.
"Another twenty minutes, Senior. But he's found nothing so far." The pilot told him, chattering into her microphone for a second before looking back over her shoulder. "It seems whatever got those two didn't make it any further."
It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. He didn't expect anyone to get behind the second ring, not without blowing themselves to kingdom come. But he hadn't expected the dolls to sneak past the first one either, dodging the sensors in place and the cameras.
Again, he looked down to the map. Having one team get taken off the board this quickly was something he'd made a contingency for. Tighten the line, amplify their remaining strength, minimize the numbers advantage and use their fortifications to bleed the assault.
Though this now likely meant the main base itself was going to see some combat.
"Kalina." Hsu said, waving the young woman over. The Logistics officer came over, holding her clipboard close to her chest. Her eyes were red, having shed a few tears once she'd been told of the dolls' fate.
The Commander grimaced, another reminder that this was the closest half the humans on this base had gotten to war.
"We're gonna start the secondary evacuation. Get the rest of the staff ready to leave." He instructed, before leaning in closer. He looked over to the Sub-Director, then lowered his voice as low as possible.
"And make sure my field kit's ready." He finished, leaning back and nodding his head over towards the door. Kalina nodded her head quickly, scurrying out as she began to relay directives over the logistics channel.
"Khan." He continued, turning around and speaking to the Engineer. "Head to the armory, get all the base staff who volunteered armed and on internal defenses."
"Yes, Sir." The Englishman answered, bowing out just as quickly as Kalina had. Santiago remained focused on her task, guiding the helicopters still in their airspace away from any area with hostile presence.
Which left Helian, who seemed to be still wrapped up in her own call.
"For God's sake you cat-eared madwoman! What do you mean you can't fix it?" She sputtered, having been stuck in this back and forth for a good while now. She'd contacted the designer of Zener, 16Lab's lead scientist. Though the 'cat-eared madwoman' seemed to be unable to fix whatever issue was plaguing them.
"Zener works on a hub system. Sector Nine's hub is waaaaaaaaaaaay out of my range." Persica explained, her yawn echoing out into the room. "I can send one of my techs out, but to get from here to Kiev would take… I dunno, three days?"
"Three days?! We barely have three hours! We're being attacked and our dolls can't even communicate with us without external devices!" Helian answered back, steam practically fuming from her ears.
"I wanna help, but I don't have a teleporter… yet." Persica promised, though Hsu could practically hear a shrug in her voice as she spoke. "I'm trying to find out what could've happened. Once I do, I'll work on repairs. Sorry."
Helian groaned, but that seemed to only make Persica chuckle at her expression.
"How do you think I feel? You only call if you want me to perform magic or get yelled at." The scientist reminded. "You know, this is why you can't get a boyfriend-."
Helian killed the communication before the nosy scientist could finish her sentence. The board member deflated into a heap, lost in her own muttering. Hsu turned back to face the screen, looking over to see the three dolls' portraits greyed out among the mob.
Things were already spiraling well out of his control.
(16:54)
Unlike the first assault, there had been no more breaks until now.
From the moment that Sangvis had hit the new line, they continued to hammer it over and over again. Wave upon wave of mobs crashing against their front lines. Sangvis bodies, riddled with bullets of every caliber under the sun, laid splayed out under the Ukrainian summer sun.
The attrition had begun to hit each of the echelons now. More and more dolls were taking injuries. Ammunition was becoming more scarce, the gap between them and the base itself still far too wide to make regular use of their reserves. And despite their efforts, despite their preparations and tenacity, it felt like nothing had changed. The past two hours had felt more like two days.
Type 100 sat alone in her foxhole, the tacky opera of carnage and misery still surrounding her. She was covered head to toe in mud and dirt. Red scarf now stained purple, her bayonet having snapped in two from overuse. She'd lost her green overcoat long ago, having been stripped down to her uniform and pouches. Her chassis felt… slow, overloaded and overtaxed. Perhaps the closest thing she could feel to the 'fatigue' of humans. Her battery was already well drained, and her ammunition pouches felt far lighter than comfort would allow.
She unwrapped a ration bar, looking to the sickly grey foodstuff with apathy. These things had been custom made by Griffin to provide cheap and plentiful energy on the go, acting as the ideal fuel for the bioreactors that were in each doll. But they tasted like sawdust, and frankly only served to punctuate the miserable situation she was in.
As she bit down into the stiff product, the Japanese doll thought back to the path that had brought her here.
When she had first been activated, the concept of a tactical doll didn't exist in her mind. Her purpose had been far less violent. She'd been given a broom, a uniform, and been told to sweep. At first that's all she had done; sweep. Cleaning a shrine that had stood for centuries. Long before the idea of automatons had even been conceived of.
Her duties had expanded rapidly. She went from sweeping to maintaining. From maintaining to interacting. From merely watching ceremonies to participating in them. Over the two years she'd been there, she'd gone from a glorified janitor to a fully fledged Shrine Maiden.
It had been quiet and peaceful. Even if their Shrine had been large, and in the middle of Fukuoka. Even if their Shrine had been a simple recreation of the more famous one in Kyoto. Even if her life had been lonely, having dedicated herself to a spiritual system many had come to see as outdated.
She knew she would still be there, if the ELID clouds hadn't come. The Belian Island Incident, that disaster that occured in China, had dug it's claws into the rest of the far east. Even an island nation like Japan wasn't safe. It couldn't have been. The spirits of the sea were second to the spirits of the sky.
Kyushu was gone now. Her shrine was likely overrun by ELID creatures, overgrown and unkept. The kami she'd been created to protect were alone. No monks or maidens, no worshipers or tourists. It had all been lost to disaster. Like the rest of the province, and so much more of Japan.
But the thought still brought her peace in the hole she was in, eating disgusting food and doing disgusting work. Because if nothing else, the Shrine was still likely more peaceful than this.
"One-Hundred." IWS' voice called over the radio, knocking the small doll off of her walk down memory road. "We just got some new orders. Come back to the fort."
"Hai." Type 100 responded, scarfing down the rest of the ration bar before getting back up and walking over.
The 'Fort', as IWS had named, was a rectangular encampment made up of HESCO barriers. One of four that had been erected in this ring, a position for each team to easily defend. They were rather small, however. Something akin to a fort made by a child. But they did the job, easily acting as hardpoints that had seemed near impossible for Sangvis to breach despite their numbers.
Except now, when they were all desperately low on ammunition.
Type 100 climbed up and over the lower wall, dropping down to see that the other four were still at their posts. K11 stood at the high wall, face covered in soot from all the explosions she'd concocted. But she still wore her goofy, carefree grin.
IWS sat in the dirt, trying to service her massive rifle. The thing had been made mainly of polymers and plastics, which had helped to keep the weight reasonable. But now, after being used and abused for so long, it was becoming less and less accurate.
S.A.T.8 was kneeling over AUG. The latter was now in hibernation and missing an arm, having it been shot to pieces once a ripper had gotten up close and personal. The former was missing her left eye, shrapnel having made it through her defenses once her personal shield went down.
It seemed like a baptism by fire for all of them.
Type 100 went to the duo first, squatting down next to the injured lieutenant. She pulled down on the hem of AUG's dress, covering up her stomach from the elements.
"She is fine now?" The smaller doll asked.
"As fine as one can be without an appendage." The Italian joked, wiping her face clean of some muck. "She'll live. We need to return to base so she can have a new arm fitted."
"Which is what we're doing." IWS called, taking her rifle back up. She waved for K11 to come down from her sentry post, which the grenadier did quickly. The remaining two dolls both coagulated around AUG.
The sniper looked worse than any of them. Physically she was the best off, only suffering some cuts and tears to her coat. But mentally, the Austrian looked utterly defeated. Commanding the group during this trial had clearly taken its toll. Her red eyes looked dim and deadened, life having been bludgeoned out from defense after defense. Her words and actions seemed slow and muted, personality all sucked dry.
"The Commander wants us to abandon this ring. We're to fall back to the base proper and mount a final defense." She droned, looking down at her damaged and inactive friend. Eyes closed, the white lily in her hair having long since been lost.
The others released a collective sigh of relief, but Type 100 silently kept her gaze locked on her Captain. As S.A.T picked up the injured doll, K11 moved ahead. The four of them formed a slapdash line formation, not even bothering to wait a moment longer to escape the fortification.
IWS lagged behind, her rifle slung on her back. She kept a death grip around the Glock in her hand, flicking the fire selector back and forth between semi and full. The doll would look over her shoulder constantly, paranoid and off kilter without her spotter.
Sensing that something was wrong, Type 100 began to pull further back, until she stood next to the Captain.
At first, IWS didn't acknowledge the arrival of company. She kept walking on, kept flicking the fire selector, operating on autopilot as her AI seemed to regress to the most basic of parameters. But eventually, as more space grew between them and the front, some vestiges of life returned to the Austrian.
Enough for her to ask a question.
"One-Hundred. Why did you come to Griffin?" IWS asked, voice still drab and defeated.
Type 100 gave her Captain a sideways glance, processing what she'd said. There was a question within the question, which she was trying to decipher on her own.
"My original purpose was no longer applicable." Type 100 answered, honestly. "For a long time after that, I was put to work as a coal miner. Griffin then opened an office in my city. They offered better pay and better housing. In exchange, now I do…"
Type 100 gestured wordlessly to their surroundings. A set of automated turrets revolved on their tripods, locking onto them for a moment before their IFFs were registered. Ahead, K11 jumped in fear. S.A.T.8 laughed at the reaction. The point-woman turned around, yelling obscenities at the schadenfreude. But the final two in the formation continued to trudge along.
"So you came for better opportunities." IWS sumized aptly, something that Type 100 could do nothing but nod in agreement with. Though her answer didn't seem to please her leader. In fact, it made her visibly upset.
"I didn't come to escape anything. I came because of wanderlust." She revealed, eyes downcast on the dirt as she followed the footsteps of the others. "My old life was good. Great, even. I had friends, I had a mentor. I even had a nice apartment for myself."
Type 100 hummed in understanding. She hadn't been given the pleasures of an apartment after her shrine had been abandoned. She'd spent her days in miner barracks, more slapdash and appalling than even the makeshift rooms that they'd been given in the hangars here in Sector 09.
"You must hate me." IWS said, words that brought fresh alarm to her walking companion. "I've never had to struggle like so many other dolls. My life was better than most humans, seeing as I worked in a White Zone."
The words brought new realization to Type 100. She rarely interacted with her leader. No one on their team did, other than the now unconscious AUG. It wasn't out of malice, or even indifference. She was simply quiet by nature, rarely partaking in activities unless roped in by more sociable dolls such as K11 or PPSh-41.
But IWS didn't know that. Since this team had been brought together, she'd remained at an arm's length. And now, for the first time, Type 100 could see that her leader seemed… alone. Even more than the gothic priestess she spent most of her time with.
No one on this team of theirs was anything alike. They all came from different backgrounds, had different interests and personalities. It's why despite their high star rating, their cohesion was sub-par. Even IWS and AUG seemed so polar opposite, like the colors they wore. Yet they were still close, genuine friends.
Type 100 took a breath, shaking her head at IWS' observation.
"I do not hold ill will for those who have been more fortunate than I. Our lives have each been decided for us, up until we chose to join Griffin." She intoned, having long since accepted her lot in life. She was a doll, her purpose was to serve humanity. Whichever profession she had, it all rounded back to that simple fact.
With that said, she pulled her stained scarf down, revealing the rest of her face to the sniper.
"For what it is worth, even if your reasons are unlike mine, I am honored to serve under a senpai who cares." She said, truthfully. The former shrine keeper smiled at her leader.
IWS looked at her, not having expected to have her self-loathing rebuked readily. But she smiled back, grateful nonetheless. "Danke schoen."
Their discussion was broken up as K11 and S.A.T.8 continued to bicker up ahead. With a sigh, IWS picked up the pace and went to go sooth over the Korean's bruised ego before she drew unwanted attention to their march.
All the while, Type 100 continued to take up the rear, at peace despite knowing the storm that was still ahead.
A/N: This one took a long time to plan, but a short time to write. On the plus side, I've planned out the whole rest of this arc. On the negative, the next chapter will be long. So there's gonna be a gap in content.
Either way, glad the story's gaining some notoriety. Or infamy, seeing as Hsu's disdain for wrecker crews is a meme now. Thankful for all the views, reviews, follows, and favs. We've still got more in store, so stay tuned.
Also; 'URNA' is the acronym for the previously mentioned 'United Republic of North America'.
o/
