A/N: Hope you all are enjoying the end of summer. Got this chapter knocked out fairly quickly (for me) to make sure I don't lose momentum on at least one of my stories. Not quite as long as I wanted it to be, but I unofficially consider this to be Jericho Part 1. She won't be the main character in the next chapter, but she will get a second chapter later on to further explore her relationship with Commander.

Thanks to those who stuck through the last chapter. I knew people weren't going to like it, but I was expecting it to be for an entirely different reason than what a couple people posted in their reviews. Which is fine. I knew it was going to be offensive for people and I'm okay with that, and I appreciate that people care enough about the story to let me know what they do/don't like about it.

Reviewers-
ArtyomDreizehn - Kalina's going to be a slow burn relationship that eventually explodes with predictable hilarity and awesomeness(?).
Pan0ply - Oh, the house is going to be thoroughly cleaned out. Hang-Mun isn't the only bad egg on base. Commander's going to uncover a whole lotta crap that seeped into the system while the base was without a commander (and possibly from before that time too).
Blackwarfare2 - All good on the C96 front. As for Commander, I guess it's maybe how I was introduced to GFL, but all the fics and stuff I've seen of GFL are 'the world is a miserable, terrible place, but Commander is a spotless, innocent, totally righteous person' and that just never made sense to me.
Freddylane1 - at the very least, I promise to offer some satisfying bad guy deaths in this fic.
O57 - Glad you like it!
Guest - Good news, I will post the sequel soonish. Bad news, won't be until I knock out at least a couple more chapters in this story for plot/spoiler reasons.
Mo Eazy - Commander & CR-21 definitely happened very abruptly. It was a bit awkward to write, exactly because of that in mind, but also because I am trying to convey something about both Tactical Dolls and Commander in that scene. Trying to theme it solely as 'sexual healing' would have been a better idea, in hindsight. Good call on that one, and I'll at least explore it a little more in future scenes with her.
I Fredric I - I understand your response. Honestly, that isn't the part I thought would bother people, but from a 'real person in real world' response, I get it 100%. In the GFL world though, it's technically a post-apocalyptic-ish world where some things like law and order and justice are a bit… lacking. As Commander's history comes out over time, hopefully it will explain his actions in a more satisfactory manner. But if not, I do appreciate that you have a thoughtful response and not just 'STORY BAD!'
Data 0 - The story will go back and forth between funny and serious, partially dependent on who the focus of each chapter are. Some, like Saiga, are just going to be silly. Others, won't.
Anon - Glad you like it!
Rinalasha - I appreciate giving the feedback. Sorry that it left a bad taste in your mouth.
Kargan3033 - LWMMG's info that I've found just kind of makes her too sweet to go straight to a lemon in one chapter. Plenty of the Tactical Dolls can get away with that, one way or another. But she's just too darn cute and adorable.

Hope you all enjoy!


Perspective - Jericho
Base Oberon, the night of Hang-Mun's death
21:25 PM

"He's been over there for a while now," Galil sighed, her chin thumping down on the table.

Jericho did not need to ask whom the Assault Rifle referred to. They had all noticed it tonight. Probably everyone at the bar had as well. The 'Commander's chair,' as it had already become known as, was occupied.

While it was not unusual to see Commander in the bar, he made an almost nightly appearance, usually his seating area saw somewhat regular traffic as this person or that person came over to share a drink or invite him to a table. Usually he accepted the former, but declined the latter. Except for that infamous drinking session between him and the AKs, he generally made a point of maintaining a soft presence in the bar so as not to disturb everyone's night.

Tonight, however, Commander remained alone and unapproached. Not a single person had dared to visit with him; in fact one could say there was almost a No Man's Land carved out around the brooding officer. Even at this distance halfway across the floor, Jericho felt the intensity of his mood radiating out like repulsive waves, warning off anyone who dared consider approaching.

Something had Commander in a really foul mood. As far as Jericho could tell, it was not an angry mood, but a sullen and introspective monsoon that flared outwards irrespective of who was about. Since he was in the corner of the bar, it was not that big a deal and did not affect the majority of attendees, but it was noticeable, and more than a few tables looked his way every so often to check on him.

"Give him a break," Micro Uzi scolded, waving dismissively. "Today was the first combat operation he's been here for, and Aug's team took a pretty savage hit. I'd be depressed too if my first outing was a drubbing like that."

"Aug would be depressed about that, not him. Yeah, I don't think it has anything to do with that." Negev glared wide-eyed at Commander. "A little oil and sparks isn't going to put him off like that. I saw him later in the day and he didn't look so bad."

"Might have taken a while for it to catch up to him," Micro Uzi suggested, her expression doubtful. "Eh, either way it's not our problem. You were his adjutant yesterday, though, Jericho. What's your take?"

"On Commander?" Jericho set down her margarita and spent a moment sizing up the man. She recalled her spontaneous outing the day before, and how Commander had gotten so quiet and introspective towards the end of it. She could not think of what might have triggered this mood. A combination of stress and the resumption of combat operations could easily explain it. "Hm… I do not have enough information."

"Why don't you go ask him?" Galil snickered. "He should be having fun tonight. Those gals over there certainly are."

Indicating a private room near the back with a tilt of her head, one that was currently filled with uproarious laughter and party music, the Assault Rifle drew everyone's attention from Commander. Ithaca and her roommates were in there having the time of their lives on the Shotgun's tab. She had been so excited at finally getting out into the field that she dragged her whole room out for a moderately wild night. Elsewhere in the bar, mini-celebrations occurred as the Tactical Dolls celebrated base Oberon's return to active duty status.

"Knowing Commander, he would argue it is not his place." Jericho offered the smallest of smiles as she recalled the conversations they had yesterday. "He is an odd one. On the one hand, he wants to look out for us and take care of us. On the other hand, he wants to maintain an appropriate distance."

"Yeah, I don't think there's anything 'appropriate' about the distance he's maintaining with… what's the count up to now?""

"Four."

"Five."

"Five."

"Four."

The assembled Tactical Dolls spat out their numbers without missing a beat. After a second-long pause, they frowned and looked amongst each other.

"It's four," Tar-21 claimed. "DSR, Ithaca, Honey Badger, and Saiga."

"What about Lam?" Micro Uzi cocked her head to the side. "I could'a sworn I heard someone say she and Commander disappeared that one night and snuck off somewhere."

"No, that was innocent." Jericho brushed the suggestion off entirely. "PTRD watched them from the eastern tower. They sat on a bench and stargazed. Eventually LWMMG went to sleep and Commander brought her back to her dorm. Timestamps reported by PTRD and LWMMG's roommates corroborate and don't leave any time for a sexual encounter."

"Wow, you just spat that out, didn't you?" Galil lifted her head, waved down G36 to order another beer, and laughed. "What, are you stalking Commander?"

"I performed basic research before my day as his adjutant," Jericho confirmed.

"So he's just banged four of us?"

"Well, what about CR-21?" Negev giggled. "I saw her buying mouthwash in bulk the other day. That's not something we need unless we're putting something really nasty in our mouths. And you know Kalina set Commander up with 'private training sessions' a few times a week."

"CR-21 may be a flirt," Galil admitted, "but I don't see her being the kind to just spread her legs just because Commander's attrac- I mean, she-"

"Just because Commander's… what?" Negev's eyes gleamed maliciously. "What, what, what was that, Galil?"

"Erm, nothing! Nothing! I wasn't-" The Assault Rifle flailed her hands wildly, blushing red as a cherry under the whole table's scrutiny.

"Someone's got a crush," Tar-21 laughed, reaching over to pat the embarrassed Assault Rifle on her shoulder.

"I don't have a crush!" Galil ducked her head and hissed her defiance at them. Wary of causing a scene, she pointed her finger threateningly at her giggling squadmates. "Don't you dare say a word about this!"

"And why would we spoil our fun by doing something like that?" Jericho stroked the Assault Rifle's back soothingly. "Do not worry, Galil. You are hardly the only Tactical Doll that has taken a liking to Commander."

"You know, I keep hearing that," Micro Uzi grumbled. "It's weird. Like, really weird. I've served under other commanders before and no one's ever had much of an impact on us Tactical Dolls. But if you listen in on conversations you'd think half of the base is hot and bothered over him."

"That is… unsettlingly true," Tar-21 agreed, growing somber. "The number of dolls that have expressed an attraction to the man defies prediction."

"Even Shota-kun only had like two girls wanting to jump his bones back at Base Anubis," Negev agreed, nodding eagerly. "I heard there was one self-proclaimed playboy at some base up in the Arctic that developed a four-way relationship over a couple years, but Commander's done that in practically as many days!"

"Whatever it is," Jericho murmured, her eyes drifting past her friends to the dark figure in the corner of the bar, "I do not think he is the source of this… strangeness. Not intentionally, at least."

"Who knows," Micro Uzi sighed. The SMG lifted her arms and head dramatically as if beseeching the heavens. "Maybe we are all programmed with a daddy fetish."

"Ugh," Negev made a sour face. "Sign me out of that one."

"He does have that dependable aura," Jericho mused.

"And he isn't a socially awkward idiot," Galil agreed, her cheeks finally returning to their normal color. "He is a bit too intense sometimes, but he's charming."

"He just has that impression," Micro Uzi said, casting her gaze in his direction. "The 'I'll protect you at any cost' kind of vibe. Is it just me, or do you think he has experience with this kind of thing?"

"Experience?" Tar-21 frowned. "As a Tactical Doll commander?"

"No, as a human commander." Micro Uzi held up her fingers one at a time. "First, he knows his way around a gun. I mean, he did hella good on that training course. Far better than any human's I've ever seen. Second, that man is a paperwork fiend. The amount of backlogs and shit he's gotten through has even Kalina admitting he's amazing. Third, have you seen his rosters? LWMMG got to see his rough draft and that thing was damn near perfect. He's been on base for all of two weeks and it's like he already knows what each of our capabilities are. That isn't something you learn by reading our files. Either he's been secretly studying us for months, which I find unlikely, or he's an intuitive genius, or he's done this before. And fourth, if you've seen his body, he's got scars. CR-21 saw him up close and personal in the showers- Galil, stop blushing it isn't that big a deal- and she said he's got all kinds of scars, including bullet scars and blade scars. The man's seen combat himself."

The SMG closed her fingers, forming a fist. "Put all that together, and I find it highly likely that Commander was a soldier."

"A soldier…" Tar-21's gaze took a distant look. "Yes, I do see what you mean."

"But- but, humans haven't used soldiers in..." Galil frowned, puzzled by the others' idea. "Well, since we were created, right?"

"Commander isn't young," Micro Uzi said with a shrug. "I mean, I can't say he is 'old,' but if you've taken a look at his fitness charts, he's rocking some fairly extensive body augs."

"Body… augs?" The Assault Rifle cocked her head to the side, not understanding.

"Body augmentations," Jericho clarified. "I have heard of those. They are quite expensive and rare, but it is not unheard of for humans to have augmented their bodies for longer lifespans, better physique, or other things."

The Handgun eyed Micro Uzi, who wilted under her sudden pressuring stare. "More importantly, how did you come across Commander's fitness charts?"

"I… uh… wow, look at the time, Jericho!" The SMG frantically tried to slide out of her chair. "I just remembered I have to go… do something. Yep. A very important thing. Sorry to run, guys. See you tomorrow!"

"She knows where you sleep," Tar-21 called out, cheerfully waving at the fleeing SMG.

"Right beside her own bed," Galil added softly, not wanting to raise her voice.

"Heehee." Negev giggled maniacally. "Let me know if you need help extracting that info from her, Jericho."

"No, I will handle that myself."

"There you go with that severe look," Tar-21 scolded. The blue-haired Assault Rifle shook her head. "Micro Uzi does indeed have a point, however, and one that I had not previously considered. It is entirely possible that Commander served in a military capacity in the past."

"That could explain why we feel so comfortable around him," Jericho conceded. "A human with that knowledge is quite rare these days."

"He would have to be pretty old, though," Galil pointed out.

"Perhaps someone should ask him." The other Assault Rifle put her chin in her hand and lazily stirred her drink with a straw.

"Ask his age, or if he was a soldier?"

"Yes."

Jericho and Tar-21 shared an amused look. Negev snickered.

"Well, it isn't going to be me. I haven't talked to Commander yet and I am okay with that." Negev smiled wickedly. "He'll get to enjoy the full Negev experience, right from the introduction."

"You are the only one in the squad who has worked with him before," Tar-21 noted, shooting Jericho a pointed look. "Perhaps you should speak with him?"

"I do not see why I should do anything." A grunt of annoyance slipped from her lips. Jericho tsked at the intense glares of her comrades, turning her head to the side so she could see Commander. The man had been nursing a single lager since his arrival. His mood did seem like he needed cheering up. Jericho was not certain she was the right one for the job, however. That sort of thing fit Grizzly much better than herself.

"Come on, Jericho. Someone's gotta do it. Commander looking like that is bound to get out around base, and the last thing we need are rumors that he's shook by the first mission. We just got operational status again! We can't be stood down."

"Commander's mood has nothing to do with the day's results," Jericho countered. "Everyone knows that. Whatever is affecting him is personal."

"Well, he'd better get his act together. Mister Kryuger himself is stopping by base in two days to check in on us." Galil waved towards the bar and signaled for another drink from G36. "If he looks like that in front of the big boss, we'll be stood down for sure."

Several more seconds passed in silence. Jericho weathered the intense gazes of her squadmates before sighing wearily and easing out of her chair. "Fine, I will go speak with him. But I won't forget this."

"Aw, you're the best," Negev tittered, placing a gloved hand over her mouth in a coy look. "

The Handgun offered a final glare to her comrades before making her way over to Commander's seat. On the short walk she became keenly aware of all the eyes that followed her, the distant conversations that ground to a halt as practically the whole bar observed her courageous advance. It was almost as if she were stalking a feral beast, Jericho thought with a grim smile. It continued to surprise her how much the base's personnel had taken interest in their new commander. Certainly, over time such was to be expected. But since his arrival was broadcast in truly spectacular fashion, he had stolen the spotlight as a new and intriguing human that the curious dolls were all both desperate to get to know, but wary of treading around.

The humans had a phrase about being unable to look away from a trainwreck in progress. It was hardly the same, Commander so far had proven an excellent officer, but the morbid fascination perhaps was what drew so much attention. Jericho knew for a fact some of the less restrained Tactical Dolls had already made a betting pool of who would be 'next' in Commander's bed. Some troublemaker had even put her name in the pool.

"Commander." Jericho greeted him at a respectable distance, stopping two seats down and offering a modest bow. "You look like you could use a companion tonight."

Commander's head tilted upwards, tearing his gaze away from the distant, detached stare he was subjecting his beer to, and tracked in her direction. The Handgun studied his face, noting and diagnosing the tension in his jaw, the hint of weariness in his eyes. The man was tired, that much was obvious. His work days ran from seven in the morning until seven in the evening, which meant he was up by at least six, if not earlier, and usually awake until late into the night. Exhaustion was to be expected, since he did not yet have a second-in-command established to ease his burden and allow for days off.

"Grab a seat," he offered, pulling back the stool that stood between them.

"G36? Gin and tonic, please." With her new order placed, Jericho took the proffered stool and spent a moment collecting her thoughts. Commander made no move to strike up a conversation.

There was a small notebook in his hand, a battered and weathered notebook the size of a wallet, stained from gods only knew what. The pages were ruffled and torn and yellow with age, the cover cracked. It was a pitiful thing, but well-loved and carefully maintained. Commander held the fragile notebook tenderly, though the look in his eyes as he stared at the open page was anything but comforted.

Unable to hold back her curiosity, Jericho took a peek. There wasn't much in it. Just a bunch of tally marks next to dates. What made her hesitate were the spacing of the dates. The most recent was today, with a tally of one. The date before went back almost fifteen years, and looked like twenty one marks.

The number held a deep significance to Commander, and she held her silence. To ask would be prying, and it was not her intention to use this time to press him for information. That sort of behavior was shameful, and Jericho would not disrespect him like that. If he wanted to tell her, he would. In the meantime, she would see about lightening his mood.

Before she could come up with a conversation topic, Commander broke the silence.

"Do Tactical Dolls have addictions?"

His blunt question stunned Jericho for a moment. The Handgun gaped at him, blinking repeatedly as her logic circuits analyzed the man's questions and broke it down into several paths. Why was he asking such a thing? Did he merely want an answer, or specifics? Why was he asking this now? Had he seen something on base that needed to be addressed?

Taking her silence for pondering, Commander continued.

"Some humans have addictions. Whether it is drugs, alcohol, impulses, emotions, we are weak creatures, largely, and ruled by these addictions."

"As far as I am aware," Jericho answered slowly, processing his statement and deciding what part of it bore answering. "Normal drugs do not work on Tactical Dolls. Alcohol will disrupt our systems and give us an equivalent of drunkenness and hangovers. There are specifically designed drugs that are part-organic, part-software that were created to affect Tactical Dolls and are traded on the black market. But no, as far as I am aware, outside of certain personalities or intentional tampering we do not suffer from addictions."

A long, heavy breath eased out of Commander's lungs. "You're damn lucky for it."

His thumb pressed into the spine of the notebook, flattening it out and revealing more of it for Jericho to see. The leather cover creaked in protest, but bowed to his force. Unwilling to let the opportunity slip, Jericho leaned closer and inspected the reverse page.

More dates, and more tally marks. There were many of them. Judging by the state of the page edges underneath, there were even more. An entire notebook dedicated to those tally marks.

"What am I looking at?"

"Nine hundred eighty five." Commander recited the number with a reverent tone. "A number I have not added to in many years."

"That is a long time," Jericho observed. She started to reach for the notebook, eager to flip through the other pages, but Commander closed it and tucked it into his pocket. The lager that he had barely touched since arriving disappeared down his throat, swallowed down in a single long gulp.

"Nine hundred eighty six, now." He set the empty glass down, prompting G36 to hurry over with a replacement. "I thought after this long, it might get easier."

Jericho did not ask what the tally represented. She was not sure she wanted to know. There was a seriousness to Commander's attitude that warned her that such a reveal might tear down a curtain she could not put back up. Sometimes, it was better to be left in the dark.

"Easier to add to the tally?"

"Easier to not add to the tally," he corrected. "Human cravings… they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. You also can't unteach an old dog old tricks. If you… program a human, to use words you'd understand, to do a certain thing, it is damned hard to unprogram that behavior."

The Handgun listened to his words, fighting off the impulse to activate her advanced analysis software. If she wanted to, she could pick apart his tone, his pitch, his speech patterns, and likely come up with a very good guess of what it was he was talking about. Again, that would be disrespectful, and she doubted any good would come of it.

"Do you want help… 'unprogramming' this… desire to add to your tally?"

A quiet, melancholic chuckle rattled his frame. "No, I think it is too late for that."

"Would it help if you could talk to someone?"

This time, Commander's silence struck her as thoughtful, not oppressive. His attention seemed to drift, but she could read the consideration in his stare as he gazed aimlessly at the countertop. Content to wait for his answer, she lifted a cautious hand and gently, ever so gently, patted Commander on the back. His body did not react to her touch, which encouraged her enough to rub his back in a comforting manner.

"You are not alone, Commander. We Tactical Dolls are eager to help you however we can."

"Help…" something about the way he grunted that put Jericho on edge. She frowned, uncertain of what to make of the sudden troubled grimace that stole across his handsome face. "Jericho, I have a question, and I would like your honest answer."

"Of course, Commander."

"Say you, as a Tactical Doll, are put in a situation where a human wants to abuse you. Let's pretend in this situation you don't have a way to remove yourself from the man's presence. You can't get away, and he is going to hurt you. What would you do?"

"What would I do?" The Handgun placed a finger on her chin as she pondered the strange question.

Human assaults on Tactical Dolls, or dolls of any kind really, were rare, but not unheard of. Generally such things were frowned upon, though not illegal in every country, and Jericho had not experienced such herself. She knew a couple of the dolls on base had experienced such things before, however. The simplest solution was to leave, as Commander correctly surmised. If that option were removed, well, they did not have many other options.

"I believe I would plead with him to stop."

Commander chuckled, a quiet, unamused laughter that told Jericho her answer was correct, but frustrating. She understood that herself. But as a Tactical Doll, she really did not have a different option.

"And if he won't stop? Would you fight him off?"

"Tactical Dolls are programmed to not injure humans," Jericho answered. "Any attempt to intentionally harm a human being would result in a programming override that would at best wipe the command line, at worst shut us down and complete a factory reset command."

"So you're fucked either way…" he sighed heavily, staring down at the bottom of his empty glass. "Because humans are animals."

"The safety restriction is necessary. Tactical Dolls are much stronger than regular humans."

"But you aren't allowed to defend yourselves if pushed into a corner."

"Any actions that are taken against a doll can be recorded and presented to a court of law," she pointed out.

Something she said amused Commander, whose lips twitched towards a smile for a bare moment before returning to the downturned grimace. "Do you know the laws of the current country we operate out of."

"Yes, Commander. Tactical Dolls have no legal protection."

"You have no legal protection in any of the countries we operate out of. That's why we're here in the first place. Guarding the wasteland frontier where society is one bad day away from collapse, risking your lives… cores… for people that don't care what happens to you. Have you ever thought about that, Jericho. Tactical Dolls get the short end of the stick, if you could even call it an end."

"Yes, we do, Commander." The Handgun smiled gently. He was not wrong. All Tactical Dolls knew this was what they were built for: to protect humanity at any cost. At the end of the day, Tactical Dolls were replaceable. Humans were not. The life of a doll could be objectively measured in currency, whereas a human's life meant so much more. That was how they were programmed to believe, anyways. Jericho saw no reason to disagree with such teachings.

"I looked up the G&K regulations on that." Commander reached over and gripped her extended arm gently by the wrist. Carefully removing her hand from his back, he guided her arm back to her side and gave her a light pat of appreciation. "According to G&K judicial code, any crimes committed against Tactical Dolls are to be addressed by the base commander as if the victim were human, keeping in line with the legal proceedings of the local country."

"That is correct."

The Handgun stared. She did not know where this conversation was going, but a small voice in her background processes warned her that she should remain silent. Commander was, in his own way, perhaps trying to tell her something.

"There isn't much in the way of a justice system in this country even for humans."

"No, there is not."

"And those recordings don't help much to stop the crime itself, do they?"

"No."

"How often do Tactical Doll cases find a successful resolution?" He glanced at her sharply, gauging her reaction. Jericho mulled over the numbers, then shook her head.

"Ninety six percent of cases with Tactical Dolls as defendants do not see a positive resolution in court. Sixty eight percent of recorded cases of assault on Tactical Dolls involve repeat offenders. Thirty four percent of those occur after the initial case was concluded."

"So the justice system is worth fuck all, isn't it?" Commander swiped the Handgun's gin and tonic and knocked it back.

"We…" Jericho hesitated over her next words. She recognized what she wanted to say, but knew it could be misconstrued. After careful consideration, she changed tact. "We work with what is given to us, Commander."

"It amazes me sometimes, how you ladies seem more human than actual breathing men and women. Do you know the thing that sticks out to me the most? The thing that makes Tactical Dolls so different from us?"

"What is that?"

"The capacity for evil." He reached down and tapped his phone, which had been lying facedown on the counter. "Humans are cruel. Humans are vicious. We're scum. That was something they missed when you were made. Tactical Dolls can be merciless, calculating, and cold. But not cruel. You have standards, lines that you will never cross. But humans see lines as something meant to be stepped over. The darkness of the human heart is just another world to explore and see how deep it goes. That's what my tally is."

His hand drifted down to his pocket, where the notebook rested.

Several seconds passed, and Jericho reluctantly broke the silence. "Commander. What is it you are doing here, tonight?"

"Waiting," he answered.

"Waiting for what?"

"To see if my tally is going to go up again."

Commander's phone buzzed, and Jericho instinctively glanced at the device. Without missing a beat, Commander flipped the phone over, brought it to his ear, and answered.

"Speaking… so it did happen… four of them… hold a moment."

His eyes locked onto hers. Jericho shivered at the sudden intensity in them, the smoldering fury that flickered in the back of his dark orbs. The Tactical Doll suddenly felt incredibly isolated and vulnerable. His gaze reminded her of a sniper's focus, that narrow, laser-like focus that refused to let its prey escape.

"Jericho," Commander said, speaking slowly and tonelessly. "Going back to that hypothetical… if a human wanted to abuse you, wanted to take your body and violate it and break it for their own amusement, and I was in a position to stop them. What would you have me do?"

The Handgun listened to his question, and found herself struggling to answer. For some unknown reason, the weight of her response pressed down on her shoulders. Her answer to this question went far beyond a simple hypothetical situation.

"I… I would hope you put a stop to them and bring them to justice," she answered softly, lowering her gaze in embarrassment. "It would… if you were to intervene and hold them accountable for such a thing… not many humans would stand up for us like that."

Commander's gaze lingered on her, burning twin holes into her core. The handgun flushed slightly, skin crawling with an unfamiliar queasiness as his ceaseless gaze held her captive. Her breathing came a little faster, a little harder, and she dearly wished he would release her.

Though, she could not deny her emotional circuits ran hot at the thought of Commander stepping in to rescue her from harm like a dashing knight in those old stories.

"You are a better human than I am," Commander said, his voice so low she barely heard it. His gaze dropped away, vanishing like an icy claw that melted into mist, and Jericho heaved a long, grateful sigh. "Take them to the brig. I'll deal with the morning."

Commander ended the call and put the phone in his pocket, the same pocket as his notebook. With a grunt and a nod to G36, the human officer rose from his stool and indicated he was done for the night.

"Looks like my tally is staying put," he told Jericho.

The Handgun stared after him, long after he had left the bar. Her squadmates waited a few seconds from the time the door closed behind the man before rushing over to pepper her with questions, but Jericho hardly heard their requests. She remained lost in her confusion, the notebook and its tally marks dancing in her mind's eye. That night she went to sleep consigned to the fact that she would never learn the truth behind Commander's mysterious conversation.

The next morning, after hearing a scream in the gymnasium and following the commotion into the weight room, the Handgun realized exactly what Commander's tally marks were for.

-v-

Perspective - Grizzly
Forty kilometers north east of Base Oberon
9:56 AM

"Contacts in the village. Four. Dragoons. Three. Jaegers. Twelve. Rippers. Nineteen total." Grizzly yawned quietly, risking a glance over her shoulder at the ridgeline. "Should be a piece of cake."

"Contact number twenty is still out there," a stern voice warned. "Don't get cocky just because they are unaware."

The Handgun grinned at her team lead's reminder. "It'll be a fourth Jaeger, just you watch."

"Position D?" Mac-10 drummed her fingers restlessly on the dirt.

"Position E," Grizzly countered.

M82A1 had taken a position halfway up the slope, with DSR-50 on the crest and M249 guarding their southern flank. That left Grizzly and Mac-10 in the vanguard. Their position would come under heavy fire once the firefight opened up, but she had full faith in her team. Besides, one hundred meters north of her position, the other team had set up overwatch. Team Bullethose, as she had decided their nickname to be, would pour a blistering fire down on those fools. Between CR-21, R93, Aug, LWMMG, and Jericho, who had swapped out with Thunder, they had a ferocious output that excelled in defending a prepared position.

A synchronized opening volley would drop at least four of the nineteen hostiles. Eliminating the rest would be clean up work.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting bored with clearing out this same village," Grizzly complained. "It feels like we've wiped them out here a dozen times or more."

"They must really like this place," M249 agreed. "Considering they keep sending the same units and deploying them in the same locations. I can clear this village in my sleep by now."

"As long as you don't actually go to sleep," Grizzly chuckled.

"Oy, get small," Mac-10 warned, tugging on the Handgun's jacket. The pair of Tactical Dolls huddled down into the crater, removing themselves from sight as a pair of Dragoons loped nearby. "And stop jabbering, morons. Do you want to get shot?"

"Hm… I'll have to think about that," Grizzly murmured. She flashed a wry grin. "I mean, maybe if I get wrecked again Commander will do that whole heart stricken face over me again. I didn't get to see it last time!"

"That was because last time your core got blown out by Jaegers," M82A1 chided. "Now shut up already. Aug, is your team in position?"

"In position and targets marked," Aug reported, her crisp accent dancing in Grizzly's ears. "Dragoons marked for destruction."

"Roger. We are targeting the Jaegers. Good hunting, all. Fire on my mark."

Grizzly remained crouched in the crater, not daring to raise up and watch the fireworks. She and Mac-10 had the livery assignment of Jaeger-hunting. Once the others took down the Dragoons, they would sprint into the village and eliminate any surviving Jaegers so the long-range Tactical Dolls could pick the Rippers apart without risking themselves. It was a rush of a job; her system sparked with synaptic feedback as her motors readied themselves for the burst of speed and concentration this would require.

"Mark."

The thunderous booms of seven synchronized gunshots turned the relative quiet of the morning into a raucous hellscape. Flashes of light and oil sprayed out of the struck Sangvis Ferri units. Several crumpled, others staggered and recoiled from the powerful impact of incoming fire. Three of the four Dragoons toppled, and one of the Jaegers went down as well, in the opening shots.

Response fire was instantaneous. Unlike humans, who relied on organic reflexes and response times, combat machines had a host of active detection suites to identify, track, and respond to incoming fire. Even the lower-quality, mass-produced Sangvis Ferri units could pinpoint a shooter's location within zero point five seconds. The result was that, while there was a microsecond delay between the gunshots and their reactions, it was only a microsecond. The Dragoons were still tipping over when Rippers all throughout the village began reacting, some ambling forward to firing positions, others fearlessly turning and unleashing fusillades of accurate fire into the tree line.

"Get small," M82A1 ordered, barking over the comms. "DSR, you missed your shot! Grizzly, get in there!"

"Hup we go," the Handgun muttered, a beatific grin blossoming on her face. She and Mac-10 leapt out of the crater, hurtling a fallen Dragoon, and charged into the narrow alley between two ruined houses.

"Contact Ripper lef-" Mac-10's burst of fire stitched up the Ripper's chest, blowing out its core and toppling the unit before Grizzly finished calling it out.

"Contact Dragoon r-" A heavy caliber rifle round blasted the remaining Dragoon's head clean off. Grizzly rolled between its legs, coming up in a shooting crouch as she plugged a Jaeger in the side of the skull with a double-tap. "And a Jaeger down."

"Two left," M82A1 announced. "Shifting fire to Rippers."

"This is too easy," a cheery voice called out on the radio. "I just want to get back to base already. Commander's taking me out to eat tonight and I don't know what I want to wear."

"Isn't he taking your whole team out to eat, CR?" Grizzly started to cross the road, but leapt backwards as a slug tore past her kneecap. "Aw shit, Jaeger has us sighted. Someone wanna deal with that?"

BOOM

"Target neutralized," DSR-50 reported, her voice toneless and clipped.

"Thanks DSR!"

"Don't thank her," Mac-10 growled, gazing down at the smoking hole in her own leg. The Jaeger's shot missed Grizzly, but took a chunk out of the SMG's calf. "That was her original target."

"Psh, everyone makes mistakes," Grizzly muttered, waving it off. "Anyway, what're you thinking of wearing, CR?"

"Black, strapless," the Assault Rifle replied.

"Ooh, that sounds really pretty," LWMMG chimed in. "You'd look gorgeous, CR-21."

"I want to look my best for Commander! Of course, I'll look even better if he takes it off of m- YOWCH! Aww… they nicked my ear!"

"Guh! C- CR!" LWMMG's panicked shout could be heard even over the gunfire.

"YOU BASTARDS PUT A HOLE IN MY EAR! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FLIRT WITH COMMANDER WITH A GODDAMN HOLE IN MY EAR!"

"Temper, temper," Grizzly chuckled. She dashed across the street, closing in on the last of the Jaegers, and put three rounds in the chest of a Ripper that staggered into view.

"Hey, that was mine!"

"Should have finished it off, R93. Really though, CR? We know you tapped Commander, but you don't have to brag about it like that. There's some delicate ladies out here."

With the SMG covering her back, Grizzly swept through the building, eyes peeled for signs of movement. It was in here somewhere, likely the third floor, but relaxing their guard would only see them taken out of action.

A figure burst through the back door. Grizzly locked her aim on it, then grinned at the sight of Jericho's stern form.

"Speaking of delicate ladies…"

"Save it," Jericho barked, motioning for the pair to join her at the bottom of the stairwell. "I'll take left, Grizzly right, Mac-10 straight down the middle. Ready?"

"Yep."

"Uh-huh."

They rushed the stairs, weapons sweeping their sectors for the last unit. The village had fallen relatively silent, save for the occasional crack of a Sangvis Ferri round as the Jaeger played hide-and-seek with the others, all of whom had taken hard cover to avoid risking damage.

"Seriously, though," CR-21 muttered, her voice tinged with indignation. "On today of all days. Maaan… this sucks."

"M-maybe Commander will think it's attractive?" LWMMG's innocent suggestion brought a smile to the Handgun's lips.

"Who knows, Commander might have a kink for battle damage. Though, if he did I think we'd know." She cast a meaningful look at Mac-10, who grunted in annoyance.

"Fuck off, Grizz."

"I love you too, Mac."

"Focus, ladies." M82A1's irritation bled through the channel. "Do you really need to be talking about Commander's love life right now?"

"You certainly talk about it enough at base," R93 complained.

"Well, Commander's been in a really good mood the past couple days." LWMMG was munching on something crunchy. "He bought me ice cream yesterday."

"He's in a good mood because Ithaca and Honey Badger decided they are competing to see which one he likes better," Aug answered.

"Ithaca," CR-21 admitted.

"Definitely Ithaca," Grizzly agreed.

"Ithaca."

"Ithaca."

"Men can't say no to the Northern Hemispheres."

"B-b-breasts aren't everything!"

"Aww… is Lam feeling a little insecure?" Grizzly snickered and waved to the others. The second floor was clear, which meant the Jaeger had retreated to the third floor for its last stand. "He hasn't taken you to home base yet, has he, Lam?"

"Home… base? Like at the baseball field?"

"Good god," Mac-10 muttered, rolling her eyes. "Did they not program anything in that Machine Gun's core? Has he fucked you yet, Lam?"

"F-WHAT!"

"That'd be a no," Grizzly confirmed, snickering at the MG's embarrassment. "It's okay, Lam, I'm sure he likes you too. You might consider it a blessing he's going slow and steady with you. From what I've heard, Commander's packing a sledgehammer down there. Am I right, DSR?"

The Rifle did not answer. Grizzly waited a moment, just long enough that the channel became uncomfortable silent, then glanced at the others present. Mac-10 shrugged, but Jericho shot Grizzly a scolding glare and gestured for her to drop off comms.

"What?"

"You know better than to put DSR on the spot like that," Jericho hissed, speaking off-comms.

"Look, everyone else who's banged Commander isn't bent out of shape about it. I don't see why she's gotta be butthurt about it."

Mac-10 snickered at Grizzly's turn of phrase.

"No one else accidentally recorded and broadcast the incident to the whole base," Jericho snapped. "Think of it from her shoes."

"Yeah, yeah, she's an Elite, and they're held to a higher standard." Grizzly waved a hand dismissively. "I mean, she definitely set a high standard for endurance. I can't believe she lasted that long without breaking down."

"Grizzly."

"Sheesh, I'll drop it, whatever." The Handgun frowned. "All I'm saying is she doesn't have to act like he dragged her face first through an oil slick or something. It's been weeks, okay? It's about time she gets her act together and gets over it."

"DSR is coping with the situation, and is handling it just fine. Antagonizing her needlessly is bad for morale and performance."

"Not like her performance needs any help being bad," Mac-10 reminded them, tapping her wounded leg. "Shit like this will get her pulled off the active roster."

A complicated grimace wormed onto Jericho's face. The Handgun stopped at the door to the last room on the third floor, waiting for the others to stack up on it.

"Jericho, she needs to talk to someone about it." Grizzly's lackadaisical mood grew suddenly serious. "I don't care if it's Persica, Kalina, you, MP7, whoever. But she's clearly not handling the thing well, and it'll end up doing more damage if we don't nip it in the bud. You like to keep track of us, so you know what she's been up to. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She doesn't go out anymore, she doesn't socialize. She acts like a…" Grizzly glanced about, reflexively checking their surroundings, and double-checked that her comms were off. "She acts like she was permanently damaged or something."

"To be fair, she basically was," Mac-10 pointed out. "She did try and seduce Commander, but he got more mileage out of her than a fuck doll gets in a week. Persica flushed her system three times and replaced about a dozen parts in her hips alone to get her back to nominal."

"We aren't talking about this," Jericho stated, silencing them both. "They both agreed and confirmed, what happened was complicated. We were not there, and it is not our place to cast judgement on either side. Grizzly, you're first through the door."

"But I got shot last time," Grizzly complained.

"Bullshit. I got shot last time," Mac-10 reminded them both.

"You just keep crying about your leg," Grizzly muttered.

The flimsy, half-rotted door disintegrated against her shoulder. Grizzly's aim snapped up on target and she squeezed the trigger, as did the two Tactical Dolls behind her. The Jaeger stumbled backwards, onto the third-floor balcony, where a torrent of incoming fire turned its top half into a sparkling explosion of shrapnel.

"Village cleared," Jericho announced, once again using the main channel.

"Reinforcement squad, right on target," M82A1 announced. "249, if you would?"

"Huh? Oh, right."

The quartet of Rippers rushing up the main road towards the village turned into a cluster of tiny explosions as M249 opened fire on them. Having remained hidden throughout the fight, her position was not marked on the Sangvis Ferri grid, and her first burst of fire cut the Rippers down. Two more long bursts raked across their corpses, ensuring all four were permanently out of action.

"Yaawwn. Nap time now?"

"Walk-back-to-the-RV time, now," M82A1 scolded. "Good job everyone. Twenty four confirmed kills. Zero casualties, and only one minor injury."

"What do you mean, only one minor injury! What about my ear?"

Grizzly reloaded her weapon and followed the others downstairs. At the top of the stairs, she lifted off a hanging portrait and studied the drawing underneath, a hand-made sketch of the third floor. Pulling out a small knife, she carved another tally next to the back-right room designated 'E'.

"Seriously, it feels like we've done this a hundred times."

-v-

Perspective - Jericho
Base Oberon
14:17 PM

The Handgun stopped just shy of Commander's office door. She glanced left and right, checking to see if anyone hung about, but saw only an empty hallway. Not that she expected to find anyone. This time of day, the hallway remained largely empty. The staff were either in meetings or locked in their rooms working on time-sensitive projects. It was more rare than common to see anyone up and about, human or doll.

After ensuring the coast was clear of any snoopers, Jericho knocked on his door, then stepped back and waited patiently for his summons. Twelve seconds passed, during which she remained at attention, her gaze resting on the sturdy door.

The door slid inwards, revealing the surly SMG Mac-10.

"Jericho," the SMG greeted. After a moment's pause, the SMG stepped to the side and motioned for her to enter. "Commander will see you now."

Commander stood behind his desk, a stack of paper in his hands as he paced the all-too-familiar 'commander's lap,' the well worn track in the room's carpet that always reappeared no matter how thoroughly the carpet was cleaned or how often it was replaced. That track seemed a common theme in every commander's life, and had earned its reputation and notoriety due to how similar that track was in every G&K base. Desk, coffee maker, bookshelf, desk. The same four points, trod over and over and over while the commander pondered this task or that quandary.

The fact that Commander was using it identified to Jericho that something was up.

The fact that Mac-10 remained in the room, rather than leaving as was the custom of the adjutant when Commander called for a surprise meeting with a Tactical Doll, did not encourage her.

"Good afternoon, Jericho." Commander stopped pacing, turned to face the Handgun, and she noticed instantly that he was not smiling. No, he looked irritated. Exasperated might be a better word for it.

"Good afternoon, Commander."

"Would you like to sit?"

"I would prefer to stand."

"That's fine. Something to drink?" He motioned towards the coffee maker and minifridge. "I've got more than just water."

"Tea would be nice."

"Understood. Ingrid, if you would?"

Mac-10 nodded and went to prepare a cup. Jericho watched her go for a moment, her brows knitting at the unfamiliar name.

"I did not know you went by Ingrid," the Handgun admitted, watching the scarred SMG as she filled the boiler.

"You never asked," Mac-10 replied, a hint of annoyance in her tone. Well, it was more rare for her to not sound annoyed. Surly could be that Tactical Doll's middle name.

Tempted as she was to let herself follow that conversation, Commander did not call her to his office to discuss Mac-10's nicknames. Returning her attention to the present, she faced Commander and waited for him to continue.

"How may I be of service, Commander?"

Commander's expression lightened for a moment, a hint of brightness lighting up his face, before returning to its serious, business-like scowl. The man placed a piece of paper on the table; tomorrow's duty roster. The Tactical Doll scanned it in an instant, identifying the prominent change that had been logged in the roster since its initial posting.

In an instant, Jericho recognized the purpose of this meeting. Playing coy about it would do no favors either to her or Commander.

"Tomorrow would be Thunder's fifth deployment in the active patrol teams. I say 'would,' because for five straight rosters someone has swapped with her. You were one of those five. Three times were because of supposed work orders from Persica. The other two were reported as being a mutual discussion between team members. I conferred with Persica, and she reports that those three work orders were fabricated; she never put in special work orders for Thunder. The other two times, regarding the statement of mutual discussion, leave questions that so far have yet to be satisfactorily answered."

Commander did not sound particularly upset or angry about the situation. He was on a fact finding mission. The fact that he had called Jericho was self-explanatory. Jericho was one of those who told Commander that she and Thunder had discussed swapping roster slots. That was somewhat of a white lie; she had discussed swapping the slot, but Thunder had turned down the offer. The caring doll would never voluntarily allow another to take her place in harm's way.

"I understand, Commander." Jericho placed a hand over her heart. Or, where her heart would be if she were human. "For my part, I-"

"I don't care about your excuse," Commander interrupted, silencing her with a raised hand. He gestured dismissively, and Mac-10 appeared beside Jericho with her tea. "If five of you are willing to lie for her sake, then I am sure there is a good reason for it. You aren't human; you have nobler ideals and beliefs. So skip the bullshit and tell me why you all are so hellbent on preventing Thunder from going out into the field."

"...yes, Commander." Jericho felt her cheek heat up, her core warming as Commander's words registered in her sensors. The man's concern lay hidden in his stern voice, but it was undeniably there. Her thoughts drifted back to the strange conversation they shared in the bar that one night, and the discovery she made the next day.

Commander was unlike any commander she had seen before. He would do things that the Tactical Dolls had never seen before. In a world where humans were supposed to be weak, supposed to be protected, Commander refused to be weak. He would not tell the Tactical Dolls to 'deal with it as you see fit.' He needed to be in the know, to be in their lives. It was… different, than what they were used to. To a degree, they had grown accustomed to making little tweaks and changes under their commanders' noses under the unspoken agreement that the human officers were too busy to deal with mundane affairs.

Perhaps tweaking Thunder's schedule like this was too much, Jericho thought belatedly. Though it had been for a good reason, the Tactical Dolls had overstepped what they were 'allowed' to do. It was their fault that Commander was stepping in like this now. Just as it would be their fault if Commander ended up investing too heavily into their personal lives and overexerting himself.

Commander was hardly a micromanager. Far from it, apart from his decision to have an awareness of the mental wellness of the dolls, he generally ignored their personal lives, as was proper for the commander-doll relationship that they should have. The few whose lives he delved into were all for good causes, and he had made some good gains in supporting several of the more troubled Tactical Dolls on base. Ithaca was a good example of that. The bubbly and insecure Shotgun had been utterly miserable during the last commander's reign, despite her embarrassed protests otherwise.

Keenly aware that she had let the conversation fall into a lapse, Jericho took a sip of tea and firmed her resolve.

"It is not that we distrust Thunder's skills, Commander. Any Tactical Doll on base would trust our core in her hands without hesitation."

"I am aware of Thunder's qualifications." He drummed his fingers on the desk, a not-so-subtle indication of his impatience. "Her training records are exemplary, as are her battlefield reports."

"Yes. As I said, we have absolute confidence in her skills."

"... then why are you conspiring to keep her off the field?"

Mac-10 had remained silent through the conversation so far. At this point, the SMG decided to step in. Perhaps it was because she was bored with the back and forth, or maybe she did it to irritate Jericho. One never knew with that SMG. Mac-10's core had been tinkered with and warped enough that one could not hold her to the same inspection as others.

"It's because she's a dead design, Commander."

"Mac!" Jericho glared at the SMG, who returned her ire with a nonplussed grimace.

"She is, though." Mac-10 shrugged.

"Dead design?" Commander frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Thunder's design was discontinued some time ago," Jericho explained. "Acquiring backup models grew more expensive over the years, until three years ago Griffon & Kryuger officially stopped searching for backups of her model. The market was exhausted; the only Thunder models you can find now are in museums or owned by the wealthy as a showcase piece."

"Three years…" Commander steepled his fingers together, eyes flicking between the pair.

"And she has no more backups?"

"She's in her last backup," Mac-10 admitted. "Had to swap into it when the last commander bit the dust. She had tagged along as his bodyguard, then that surface-to-air missile fragged their transport and her bits ended up strewn across half a mountain range."

"Mac…" Jericho groaned under her breath. "You could at least show some respect for the dead."

"Why? They're gone, aren't they?" The SMG turned to Commander. "Not much point in moping over those left behind, right, Commander?"

Commander remained silent for several seconds, his expression conveying some deep thought. After a prolonged and uncomfortable silence, he sighed and picked up the modified duty roster. The Handgun's circuits tickled with apprehension when Commander ripped the paper in half and tossed the pieces into his wastebin.

"The shift change request is denied. I am sorry for Thunder, I truly am, but she is a Tactical Doll. Her job is to go into the field, not sit on base. That isn't why she is paid as a G&K operative."

"I understand, Commander." Jericho's shoulders sagged a little despite her acceptance. It was a simple thing, a silly thing, really, that she should be upset over this. Commander had the correct answer, of course. They were Tactical Dolls. Their job was to fight, not cower on base being protected by others. Thunder knew that too, which was why she turned down the various offers that were made on her behalf and forced the others to go around her to keep her out of the field. It was not cruel of Commander. It was realistic.

Still, no one wanted to see Thunder consigned to a True Death as her core, without a proper body to integrate with, was finally decommissioned. Or, worse, to live on in perpetuity without a physical form, to be reduced to a mere intellectual presence of code trapped in a data chip. To a Tactical Doll, whose programming depended on tactile sensations, such an end would be a nightmare. A fate even worse than True Death.

"Humans have had to put their lives on the line without hope of a second chance for ages," Commander told them both. "But I would not require her to do something I have not done myself. Thunder will go out into the field. And I do not want her presence to negatively affect her teammates. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander." Jericho nodded stiffly. She blinked rapidly, surprised to find that her left eye had grown wet.

"That will be all. You may finish your tea, then please inform Grizzly that she will not be replacing Thunder in tomorrow's roster."

"Yes, Commander."

Jericho finished her tea quietly, reflecting on the conversation as Commander resumed his duties. Once she finished her cup the Handgun offered it back to Mac-10, then excused herself and exited the room.

-v-

Perspective - Commander

Commander watched the door close, Mac-10's petite form vanishing into the hallway, then let out a long, exhausted breath. He had hardly caught his breath when his office phone chirped.

"Commander speaking."

"It's Kalina. I have Persica with me. Can we come speak with you?"

The logistics officer, normally a bright and cheerful person, sounded unusually distracted. So distracted that she did not even make a quip about whether he was 'busy' with a Tactical Doll. He spent all of two seconds considering the implication of that, then answered in the affirmative.

"Come over. Mac-10 just signed out for the evening."

"Got it. We will be over momentarily. Uh… I would cancel your dinner plans, if you have any."

The call ended, and he leaned back into his chair. His schedule was clear tonight. As a rule, he left three weekday evenings open, with the other two reserved for a team-dinner and a private dinner respectively. It was part of his ongoing plan to develop professional relationships with the Tactical Dolls on base. The team dinners were about developing friendly bonds, and the private dinner was application-based for those dolls that wanted to speak with him about this or that.

So far, Ithaca and Honey Badger had applied every week, to which he naturally suggested they stick to just once to allow the others a chance. The private dinner had turned into something of an event with the dolls on base, to the point where he had a full page list of those who had applied and decided he would get to each in turn, and even considered opening up a second night to accommodate the influx of applicants. They had even brought a proposal to turn the 'Commander Night' into a lottery.

Even so, on his unclaimed nights at the bar, he usually had at least one or two invitations to join in a round of drinks or the like. There was a certain Rifle whoe he had been trying to approach for some time now, and this was the one day of the week he knew for certain she went to the bar. The thought of potentially missing another opportunity like that soured his mood.

At this rate he really would have to just call her up to the office and rip that bandaid off. Not something he preferred to do, but if push came to shove, he would make it happen.

Bam-bam!

"Enter."

Kalina and Persica marched inside, the former wearing an unusually concerned expression, the other showing an uncharacteristic sharpness. The pair of human staffers greeted him before plopping down in the two seats opposite his desk, not bothering to ask permission.

As the logistics officer and science officer on base, he could hardly fault them. They were effectively at equal rank, though each covered their own areas. Kalina was technically his subordinate, but she also was the reason the base managed to stay afloat during the interim period, and he had no desire to belittle her with meaningless procedures that interfered with both of their time.

"I'm just gonna come out with it," Kalina said, huffing slightly. She tossed a small folder onto his desk. Commander snatched it up and started reading immediately, his ears still primed to listen to her explanation. "Someone's snatching the reserve dolls. Recall how you mentioned something about a count discrepancy back when you started? I double-checked with Persica and confirmed we were short. Since then I have been running an inventory report every day to check for more discrepancies. Yesterday, another reserve doll disappeared."

"So we are missing three." Commander grimaced. "Any idea as to culprits?"

"I would have pointed the finger at those shitheads that were after Grizzly's corpse, but they're already gone." Kalina sighed, and shook her head. "I don't know. We compiled a list of everyone that went in and out of the building going back two days, but that's almost half the base's human staff."

"Maybe a stupid question, but there is no chance a Tactical Doll is behind it, correct?"

"Not a chance," Persica cut in, yawning slightly. The neurotic scientist took great pride in the Tactical Dolls. "As part of their overnight health checks I inserted a subroutine that searched for any indications of theft or information relating to missing reserve bodies. Other than discovering some harmless pranks between dolls, the search came up empty."

"Thank you, Persica. I wasn't expecting anything but it doesn't hurt to be certain."

"Indeed," she replied, her gaze flat and her lips pressed together. His question seemed to have struck a nerve, though he could point out that she had preempted the question by interrogating the dolls themselves, in her own way. Persica did view the dolls differently than anyone else, however. She had an almost unhealthy attachment to the dolls, which was part of the reason she had gone along with the fake work orders for Thunder. Though, that attachment to the dolls was not strong enough to lie to his face about them.

"Do we have video footage of entry and exit, or are the records based on keycard swipes?"

"Keycard swipes," Kalina muttered, shoulders drooping. "There are cameras around, but anyone who knows the building can get around them. Plus, of course, there was a gap in the recording."

"That narrows down the suspect list, at least." Commander compared documents in the folder and identified the time where the recording went down. He did not even need to cross-reference who had entered before that time and exited after, because Kalina had done it already. There was a single name on the list. A name that explained why she had not already leapt to identify the culprit.

"Specialist Hang-Mun?"

"Yep. Our thief is a dead man." Kalina's frown grew more serious. "I oversaw the disposal of his security belongings myself, so I know for a fact we torched his keycard. Someone on base made a copy of it."

"How hard is it to make a copy?"

"Not terribly. People lose their keycards all the time." Persica gave the slightest shake of her head. "That being said, one does have to be the actual agent in order to replace their keycard. Obviously, Hang-Mun never requested a keycard replacement in the past days. In fact, he never requested a copy made even once during his tenure with Griffon & Kryuger. The man had… faults… but he was a good analyst."

"I would rather have good talent I can trust than excellent talent I cannot," Commander told them both. "Specialist Hang-Mun was the latter."

"Oh, to be sure." Persica voiced her agreement, surprising them both with her empathetic nodding. The vigorous motion made her cat-like ears bob, drawing attention to the odd headpiece she wore. "The dolls complained about him endlessly."

"In a way, I'm kind of glad that situation resolved itself." Kalina blushed as she considered her own statement. "That sounded… I am sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Inappropriate, maybe, but not uncalled for." Commander dismissed the topic with a grunt. "Back on track, however. So we have a doll thief. I assume this ties into the rumors of a black market ring that the ladies were investigating when they ran into me?"

"Yeah. That's the one. We've put out feelers, set up protocols to keep the Tactical Dolls safe, but we hadn't seen any real indication of a threat until this happened."

"Which model was taken?"

"Micro Uzi," Persica answered. "Most recently. Before that it was LWMMG and Galil."

He considered the three names, comparing them to his memory of the reserve doll roster. "They are going after the more common dolls."

"That they are. Perhaps hoping that we would be less likely to notice." The logistics officer glowered. "As if!"

"Do we have a theory on their outfit? The black marketers, that is?"

"No, unfortunately. At least, I don't think so. The only outfit we have positively identified is a high-end one. Not the kind that would be going after common dolls like Micro Uzi, LWMMG, and Galil. Honestly it would be cheaper to just buy those than hire a crew to steal them." Kalina grimaced. "These thefts feel like the work of amateurs. Competent amateurs, but amateurs nonetheless."

"Amateurs with an inside man," Commander agreed. "Kalina, do-"

"I'll handle this," Kalina interrupted. Her eyes burned with fanatical fervor, as if the thieves had insulted her personally. "I'll catch those bastards, just you watch."

"...I was going to say, do you want me to look into the outsiders? Including the black marketer group you already identified?" Commander tapped the folder. "If word gets out that this has happened, those professionals may try sniffing about. Better to nip that in the bud, don't you think?"

"Ah. Yes, that makes sense. Do you have time, though? Your schedule is pretty full."

"I will see what I can do. Not making promises. Just send me what you've got."

"Okay, I'll email that over tomorrow morning."

"Understood. Is there anything else?"

Kalina and Persica shared a mischievous look.

"Well, Commander. It's your thirty day mark today, isn't it?" Kalina pulled a bottle of whiskey out from… somewhere. "We thought we'd have a little celebration with you."

"You have performed excellently," Persica informed him. "Even Helianthus gave a glowing review of the base's progres under your command. That alone deserves a drink."

"I'll take it." He fetched a trio of glasses and set them out for Kalina to pour. "Appreciate the vote of confidence."

"You may be a womanizing pervert, but you're an efficient womanzing pervert," Kalina complained. "Morale on base is holding steady, combat operations have resumed without any significant troubles. Other than a couple notable incidents, things have gone smoothly."

They clinked their glasses and he took his first shot.

"The one death on base is the only black mark incident on your record so far." Persica eyed him coolly over her glass. "But that was an accident, so it is hardly your fault."

Commander met her gaze, then poured himself a second shot.

"Yes, it is an unfortunate incident."

Persica smirked. "An unfortunate incident that the man who had been blackmailing CR-21 and forcing himself on her suddenly decided to drink three high alcohol content beers and attempt an incredibly heavy bench press, all by himself, conveniently while you happened to be in the building?"

"What?" Kalina blinked owlishly, her gaze shooting between Persica and Commander. Despite being only one drink in, her face was already flushed and her eyes had a blurry haze over them. For his part, he kept his expression neutral as he returned the scientist's calculating gaze.

"Persica, are you insinuating something?"

"No, Commander." The pink-haired woman smiled wickedly, and knocked back her drink before setting it down on the desk and pushing the glass away. "I don't think I need to anymore."

"Hey! Don't ig-hic-nores me!" Kalina lurched forward, waving her hand in Persica's face to steal her attention by force. "Wha' waash that about Shpechialisht Hang-Mun 'n Shheee Ar twenny' one?"

"Oh, would you look at that. Kalina needs to go to bed." Persica's grin faded, and the eccentric woman rose to her feet. "Rest assured, Commander, I have nothing to say about the matter. Griffon & Kryuger hired you knowing full well your background. Those actions which you decide are the best course will not be judged or condemned by those who have an incomplete perspective on the matter."

"I'm not sure if that is a commendation or an insult," he noted.

"A bit of both, I would presume." Persica slung Kalina to her feet, carefully wrapping the already hammered logistics officer's arm over her shoulder. "Suffice to say, Tactical Dolls are precious to me. Each and every one of them. It is… a relief… to have a commander who will do for them what they do for us. They are quite vulnerable, Commander. They need you as much as we need them. In the meantime," her eyes flashed with a sudden glee. "Let's hope we don't find more Hang-Muns in our ranks. It would be problematic if accidents become commonplace, would it not?"