A/N: Apologies for being AWOL half a year. Winter can be downright miserable and this season was pretty spectacularly awful. Hoping to get back into writing more these days when I have the time.

Reviewers:
Mo Eazy -
Oh, the name is cringe as heck. It's going to be a bit of a running gag down the road, and will be explained in a bit more detail in following chapters. Still will be cringey, but will be less cringey, I promise. Yeah, the ambush was bad. I was aiming to make it less of a Hollywood bullet-time shootout and more of a frantic, screw-it-we'll-do-it-live, but I will agree I could have done better. I just really struggled on that one for some reason.
Humlet - Yeah, I don't know how it did that either. I've honestly enjoyed writing into the lore too much. The problem is the more I write the world up, the less I enjoy writing the random hookups. Gonna have to build up some actual relationships over time, but I know I can't take too long. Don't worry though, I have a plan to get things back on track. :D
Freddylane1 - Great idea on MDR! Commander is quite a bit older than he looks. There is a reason for it, I promise.
O57 - He certainly is rougher around the edges than most peoples' dream Commander.
ArtyomDreizehn - I promise DSR will have her time to shine soon!
Sagittipotenta - The first chapter was definitely written with the intention of being a one-shot. Then the story shifted, so I get where you're coming with that. It is a weird balance, and one I plan on shoring up and making work better over time.
Kargan3033 - Glad you liked her chapter! I think I've worked out a good niche for Mac-10 in the story.
Guest - Glad you like it!
Be an 1n - I have her in my list. Might be a while, but will get to it.
ArizonaRanger057 - lol. I was very confused when I saw your first review.


Perspective - Commander
Base Oberon
07:14 AM

"See you at dinner, Commander." CR-21 waved as he made his way out of the officer showers, her sleek body silhouetted in the doorway. The Assault Rifle had a contented smile on her face even though this had been an uneventful morning. In truth, shower time had not progressed past some heavy petting, but that did not stop CR-21 from the teasing. Today she had held back, which was a good indicator that his current mood showed more than he wanted it to.

Age really was taking its toll on him. His reflexes were dulled, his nerves frayed. The ice-cold control on his expression that he maintained showed constant signs of cracking. His bones ached from the aftershock of adrenaline. A decade ago, he would never have worried about such things. Back when he regularly accepted gene treatments and maintained his fitness at near inhuman levels. Back when near-superhuman feats came as second nature.

A decade ago…

He had not stopped replaying the shootout since last night. It kept him awake thinking of how sloppy he had become, how reckless that decision had been. Circumstances had forced him to act when he did, but he could have handled it better. All he had to do was turn the pistol into Gretchen's back. That would have solved a fair bit of the trouble.

It was not because she was a woman that he had hesitated. He had killed plenty of female soldiers or mercs during the war. What he had not done, however, was shoot a former ally in the back. Sam's death had been harsh enough, and that was in a life-and-death situation with the man armed and facing him. Sam was not the kind who would have let himself be taken in. He, and Tom, would have fought to the death if they were given a chance. But Mike and Gretchen… there might have been a chance. Not that he would know now.

They were dead, and that was the end of it.

What bothered him more was the fact that he had hesitated at all. Fifteen years ago that hesitation would have cost him his life. Hesitation claimed too many lives in combat. It was lucky for him that even those four expert mercenaries had aged and lost their edge. He himself was still good; he was still damn good, but the time to showcase his combat prowess was honestly behind him.

CR-21 pointed that out with painful clarity this morning, identifying various points in his body where even the adrenaline of that short action had caused lasting tension in his muscles and tendons. He should not be putting himself in the crosshairs anymore, and she had no qualms about saying as much. Were he to go against killers in their prime, it was a tossup if he would survive. And he was a Commander now, not an operator. It was not his job to engage in reckless combat actions anymore.

"See you at seven," he called back. The little grin he tried to force floundered in the wake of his morose thoughts. Deciding it was better to not pretend, Commander allowed his grimace to slide back into place and brushed off the lingering guilt. Sometimes the best way to handle frustration was to just let it run its course.

At the very least, he wanted to have cleared his head by tonight.

Tonight was the night of the weekly team dinner. CR-21's team, including R93, Aug, LWMMG and Thunder, were meeting up with him on-base for Italian night. There would be pizza and pasta for everyone, courtesy of Kalina's clever catering schedule. The addition of catered weekly themed food nights had an instant and marked effect on the base's morale after it was introduced. Everyone loved variety in their meals, and the local places had great options that were unfortunately too far for daily outings.

His work phone buzzed, and Commander drew it from his pocket to inspect the text message. It buzzed incessantly, registering a string of text messages that popped up one after the next with hardly a second between them.

Kalina - What the fudge! My orifice, now!

Kalina - My office, no!

Kalina - *no

Kalina - *now

Kalina - Dam knit.

Kalina - You

Kalina - Here

Commander did not have to ask what had Kalina so riled up. Almost two dozen shipping containers arrived in the unused parking lot overnight. She had been off duty last night and likely drunk so she had not noticed them until this morning, probably as she was walking from the dorms to her office. He could imagine her panic and confusion as she frantically tried to figure out who had brought what into her base.

Thankfully, the team he hired to transport the containers had already taken a thorough inventory of the contents and emailed them overnight. While he had not reviewed it all in detail, the broad strokes were simple enough to understand. Mountains of high-tech equipment, enough small arms to equip a company, and a garrison's worth of de-chipped Tactical Dolls. The latter find would warrant the most attention from Kalina, and by extension Griffin and Kryuger. The RPMC Act meant that the confiscated materials and goods belonged to the organization now, not himself. That did not mean he would fight tooth and nail to secure the choicest selections from the lot.

Commander skimmed through the document on his phone as he crossed towards the office building. The transport team attached their invoice at the bottom; the number there made his stomach twinge, but he cleared the payment without bothering to negotiate or complain. They were fast, efficient, and trustworthy. That made any rate they offered a prime deal. Their inventory writeup was top notch too. There were only a handful of items they had not been able to identify in the short hours they spent examining everything before transporting it all to Base Oberon and these were notated in a separate section.

"Good morning, Commander!"

Spas-12 waved cheerfully at him, and he returned her greeting with a slight smile and a nod. Out of all the Shotguns on base, Spas-12 had proven the best operator in the first month of recurring operations. Which was not to say the others performed poorly, but Spas-12 outshone the others in pure efficiency and finesse. The plump Tactical Doll also had a very big-sisterly attitude with the others, being very kind to her fellow dolls while also encouraging them along when needed. Unlike the sterner leaders on base such as DSR, Jericho, or even fellow shotgun Saiga, Spas-12's reputation on base was solely adored.

Seeing her out bright and early was not unusual. What was unusual was the direction she was heading. Rather than walking towards the dining hall, the Shotgun's path led towards the dorms.

"Morning, Spas. Done with breakfast already?"

"Um…" The Shotgun blushed faintly, embarrassed by his guess. Despite her infamous appetite, she could be a little shy when confronted about it. "I forgot my base card."

All Griffin and Kryuger personnel were paid directly through their base card. It was a standard debit device with accessibility at any ATM worldwide and acceptance in most facilities. Since most staffers rarely left base while deployed it was hardly a bother, and the base had plenty of ATMs that charged no fees to withdraw cash. For Tactical Dolls, however, the base card was their only source of income and quite precious to them. He had heard some dolls joke that losing their base card was like losing a core process.

"Ah. How's the menu look today?"

"Oh, it is amazing." Her eyes practically sparkled with excitement. "The cooks have really outdone themselves! Country fried steak, corned beef hash, salmon cakes, stuffed omelets… I can't wait to try it all. Just need to get my card and be back before the rush gets in and everything disappears."

Commander felt his lips curve uncontrollably in the face of the Shotgun's exuberance. Spas-12' appetite was well known on base, and the thought of missing out on even one of those dishes showed in the flickering panic that danced across her expression. Caught between anticipation and fear of missing out, the Tactical Doll wavered on the decision to continue speaking with him or rush off towards her dorm room.

"Here," he fished his own card from his wallet and handed it over. "Save yourself some time."

"R-really?" Even as she voiced her surprise, Spas-12 timidly reached out and took his card, eyes so side they almost took in the entirety of her forehead. "You don't have to-"

"Help yourself to a good breakfast," he ordered. "Your team's up for a mission today and I want you in top shape."

"Thanks, Commander. You're the best!"

Her flying tackle nearly swept him off his feet. Spas-12 was no lightweight, least of all because she was a doll. While not exactly overweight, she had a pleasing plumpness that made the impact feel more like a blow from a heavy pillow. A very heavy pillow. A very heavy pillow with a pair of utterly massive breasts that squished against his chest as the Shotgun hugged him with all her strength.

And dolls were ridiculously strong when they wanted to be.

"Spas…"

Arms crushed to his sides, Commander endured her ferocious bear hug until a passerby intervened. Jericho's firm hand landed on Spas-12's shoulder like a hammer, rousing the Shotgun from her elation and sending her scurrying back a few steps, a delicate pink flush on her cheeks.

"Are you trying to break our Commander, Spas-12?" The Handgun frowned at Spas-12, a fierce glower gracing the Handgun's expression.

"Sorry, Commander. I just got really excited."

"No harm done," he assured them both. "Now, Spas, go get yourself some breakfast. If you could bring a plate over for me when you are done, I would appreciate it. Country fried steak and hashbrowns, with some fruit if they have any."

"Yes, Commander! Thank you again, Commander!"

The Shotgun giggled with glee before turning and rushing off towards the dining hall. He watched her go, then sighed and rubbed his arms. They did not quite ache, but her tight embrace had been strong enough to leave a lasting buzz under his skin.

"Unprofessional," Jericho murmured, shaking her head in wonder.

"Spas? She just loves her food."

"Yes, she does." The Handgun offered Commander a tight-lipped smile. "Commander, you would not happen to have an idea why we suddenly have a very full spare parking lot, do you?"

"That's what I'm on the way to talk to Kalina about right now," he replied. That bit of news he could share. It was not as if the presence of the containers was a secret. It would surprise him if the majority of the base was unaware of the situation.

"Convenient timing, then. I needed to speak with her as well. Do you mind if I accompany you?"

He motioned for her to join him on the walk. The Handgun took her place on his right. "How is your team doing? They've had solid reports the past week, but I haven't been able to meet with them in person recently."

"Everything is satisfactory, Commander."

"That is hardly a glowing review." He shot the Handgun a sidelong look.

"If you read my file, then you would know that I have high standards." Jericho increased her pace suddenly, briskly darting ahead to grab the door to the office building and hold it for him. "Satisfactory is my glowing review."

"Your file did mention you are a stickler for quality." Deciding not to fight her over the door, he accepted the gesture and went inside first. A pair of dolls, HK416 and Sten, smiled at him from their post as building sentries. "Nothing to report, then? No concerns or worries that need to be addressed?"

"Nothing that needs to be brought before you, Commander."

She left the decidedly vague comment as her answer. They took the elevator to the command floor, and she sat down in the hallway lobby while he entered Kalina's office. Her quiet, not-quite-smile remained in place as he excused himself, although her eyes remained fixed on him until the door closed at his back.

"Good morning, Kalina."

"Good doesn't begin to describe it," his logistics officer growled. Kalina sprawled across her desk, her head weakly lifting from a pile of paperwork as bleary, red-eyed orbs gazed up at him. The signs of a raging hangover alerted him to the fact that she really had gone all out the night before.

Taking her state as permission, he diverted to the keurig machine and began whipping up a pair of coffees. Neither spoke for a minute, his attention resting on the keurig and hers on studying the back of her eyelids. By the time the first cup brewed she had recovered enough to sit up, though the effort made her wince.

"What happened to you last night," he asked, offering the cup.

"I could ask the same thing," she grumbled back. Her thin fingers wrapped around the cup and she huddled over it like a boozehound over her last drink. "Ugh… don't ever go drinking with Helianthus. She doesn't have a limit."

"That would explain the texts I got this morning."

It was better the world never discovered the poorly written, jumbled messages that were on his phone when he woke up this morning. Helianthus was certainly one of those people who lost all filters once she got properly liquored up. Her messages were… well, he had a feeling it would be an awkward conversation the next time they met.

"She drunk texted you?" Kalina laughed sourly, clearly regretting the instant she did, and groaned. "God, I wish I could laugh right now. Anyway, enough about last night. Wait, no, enough about my last night."

Her eyes sharpened just a little, enough to show that although she was hurting, she had entered business-mode. He finished making the second cup, then sat down across from her.

"Yesterday I went into the city accompanied by Mac-10. We discovered and eliminated the high-end smuggling team I volunteered to investigate. Per the RPMC Act I claimed salvage of the resources on site and had them delivered through a trusted and reliable courier after an inventory of the site was taken. I emailed you the preliminary inventory list. You will want to specifically review pages three through six."

Kaina stared at him, blinking owlishly as her brain struggled to digest what he reported. After several seconds of silence, her mouth opened slightly and she cocked her head to one side.

"What?"

"Killed smugglers, took their stuff," he repeated, summarizing the event.

"Yeah, I got that part." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm stuck on the 'trusted and reliable courier' you called in that had base access. Who the-"

"Penguin Logistics."

"Penguin Logistics? As in, the Penguin Logistics?" That answer woke Kalina up. Her body seemed to shimmer as a wave of negative energy shed itself from her skin and her back straightened, eyes growing wide and clear. "You called in Penguin Logistics! How? They're like a- How the hell could you have th-"

"Griffin and Kryuger has used them before," he pointed out.

"Yeah, The Griffin and The Kryuger. Penguin Logistics doesn't just answer to anyone!"

"You know I am not exactly 'just anyone.'" His brows furrowed slightly.

"I mean, yeah, I know, but still… Penguin Logistics. Holy shit. And they just happened to have people nearby?"

"I had them contracted for a couple days to be safe."

"..."

"Kalina?"

"I hate you sometimes, you know that, right?" The logistics officer sagged in her chair, a scowl entrenching itself on her expression. "Phew… I guess I can be happy they weren't some local outfit you let through security. Penguin's reputation is above reproach. But that doesn't answer the question, what is in those containers?"

Commander pointed towards her computer. She sighed and spent a minute clicking on buttons until the email was up in front of her. The change in her posture was smooth, almost unnoticeable as she applied her full attention to reading through the pages of information.

"Hm… they are thorough. Not seeing much that interests us on this first page though. Lots of fancy weapons, but our dolls have the- is that a Trakkpad 2Z? A box of Trakkpad 2Zs?" She hastily scribbled something on a spare notepad. "Gonna definitely claim one of those for the logistics team. Ooh, Knockoff Raybans? Check. Geez, that's enough RAM to make a T-Doll cream her- oh, right, you're here. Dah-da-da… page three you said…"

He waited patiently while her eyes frantically zigged and zagged across the screen. With each passing second her eyes grew wider and her eyebrows higher. By the time she reached page four, guessing on the height of her brows, she also suffered from a case of open-mouthed wonder.

"Commander."

Kalina blinked once, and the slight motion seemed to tear her from her trance. Her neck creaked as she slowly, mechanically, shifted her gaze to fix him with a stare that was borderline ravenous. The quirky Kalina was nowhere to be found in those horrible eyes. She had been utterly replaced by a starving, opportunistic, terrifying logistics officer.

"Commander," she repeated softly, her voice deceptively calm and gentle. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Had he not felt a chill run up his spine at the sight of her eerie smile, he might have laughed at how politely she swore. Instead, his professional instincts itched, warning him to dive behind the nearest bulletproof cover he could find.

"It was a lucky find," he said, chuckling weakly. "The s-"

Battle-honed reflexes saved his life. Commander rolled to the side, upending his chair as he dodge the half-empty coffee cup hurled by a manically laughing Kalina. His shoulder slammed into the floor, sending a hot rush of pain through his body as his muscles voiced their complaints after having suffered through not just CR-21's intense workout, then Spas-12's brutal hug, and now this too!

"You absolute MOTHERFUCKER!" Spit and coffee sprayed out of Kalina's mouth as she shouted. "I HAVE SPENT MONTHS TRYING TO FIND THOSE MODELS ON THE GODDAMN MARKET. I HAVE BEGGED AND BORROWED AND CALLED IN FAVORS TO EVEN GET A CHANCE AT SOME OF THOSE AND YOU JUST WALTZ IN HERE LIKE FUCKING CHAD WITH YOUR BULLSHIT SHIPPING CONTAINERS FILLED WITH OUTOFPRODUCTIONTACTICALDOLLMODELSTHATHAVEN'TBEENOUTFORPUBLICRELEASEINGODONLYKNOWSHOWMANYYEARSANDYOUEVENBROUGHTINTHEFUCKINGPENGUINLOGISTICSCOMPANYBECAUSEOFCOURSEWHYWOULDN'TYOUHAVEBUDDIESINTHATCOMPANYANDYOUJUSTHADTHEMDROPALLTHISSHITOFFLIKEITISN'TEVENABIGDEAL! HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-EEEEEK!"

A back-rest pillow bounced off his elbow, hurled with commendable force by the dainty logistics officer as she let out a primal scream and slammed back down into her chair. The chair's spindle broke from the impact, cracking loudly enough to be heard as her scream turned into a yelp. Tumbling over backwards in an undignified jumble, Kalina disappeared behind her desk.

Commander used the breathing room to pull himself back to his feet, watching the desk warily in case feral-Kalina reappeared.

"So I take it that was a good find," he said, bracing himself for whatever was about to come flying up at him this time.

After his question went unanswered, he tentatively stepped forward and listened to the quiet, steady breathing hidden behind the desk. The door opened behind him, Jericho peering inside with a questioning gaze. He waved her back out of the room.

"I give up," Kalina muttered tiredly. The logistics officer clambered stiffly to her feet, rubbing her back as she did, and alternated spiteful glares between her broken chair and Commander. Inhaling loudly, the woman made a face. "I just don't get it with you. This shouldn't even surprise me anymore, but every time you pull some nonsense out of your ass it just keeps leaving me shocked."

"Believe it or not, I don't do this to get my rocks off watching your reactions," he said dryly, and went to go brew a new cup for her.

"I know… sigh… I know." Kalina nudged her chair remnants aside and reexamined her computer screen. "Jesus… I just have to stare at this for a few minutes. It's still- this is taking me a minute to digest. Where did they even find some of these models? This isn't just rare kit, Commander. These models are-"

"Their serials are scrubbed and they were dechipped," Commander interjected, his cheery mood fading as he considered their origin. "They were not acquired through legal means. And their former owners likely aren't around any longer to file claims even if they could be traced."

"I see. I guess that comes hand in hand with being high end smugglers." She let her shoulders droop. "Goddamn… they even had a spare DSR-50 model. She'll be happy to hear that. We were running a little low. But that last one…"

-v-

Perspective - Grizzly
Tactical Doll Dorms, Base Oberon
8:28 PM

"Whatcha working on, Mac?"

Grizzly idly tossed a pillow at the SMG. From her bed half the room away it was a bit of a stretch, what with throwing from flat on her back and all, but she managed to at least land the pillow on Mac-10's bed. The SMG's head twitched, tilting just enough to reveal a single glowering eye, then she returned to her tablet screen.

The Handgun let out a dramatic breath and kicked her feet. Their team was on standby today, the 'backup' of the response team, and so they were supposed to stay close together. On an ordinary day, they would be playing cards or watching a movie, but everyone was strangely quiet today. DSR-50 was doing her now-familiar disassociating as she stood at the window and gazed vacantly out in the direction of the offices. M249 was sleeping, predictably buried under multiple layers of sheets like a polar bear hibernating from the cold. M82A1 was the only other active doll at the moment, though brushing her hair could hardly be considered 'active.'

She had to admit, she did miss her old crew. Bren, Ithaca, PTRD and LWWMG were a livelier bunch in their own way. But after the team reorganization she found herself surrounded by serious, quiet professionals. They were hardly unfun, but the amusing chatter had taken a serious nosedive in her new gig.

Grizzly's only real complaint about Commander's team selection came from these downtime periods. The others just weren't as lively and fun as she was. They slept, or moped, or generally lazed around while in standby. Trying to drag a conversation out of one took more effort than pulling teeth.

"Maa-aacc… I'm bored!" Grizzly stared at the ceiling wistfully. "Please deliver me from this abominable silence with the enlightening tales of your technological excursions!"

"No."

"Bah, that's no fun."

The Handgun rolled off the bed, landing lightly on her feet, and sauntered over. She idly swatted the lump of blankets that probably hid M249's feet, eliciting no response from the happily dozing Machine Gun. When that failed, she leaned in close to M82A1 and gazed at the Rifle's reflection with a dramatic sigh.

"Wooow, you're so pretty, M82A1. I can see why people worshiped you."

"Tch." The Rifle forced her off, nearly smacking Grizzly across the nose with her hairbrush. "I'm not in the mood, Grizzly. Please stop."

"Haaa… fine…"

She turned towards DSR-50, made a face, and turned back to Mac-10. Zeroing in on her target, the Handgun grinned and strode over, hands tucks innocently behind her back.

"Hey, Mac, you're looking a little intense. Need help?"

"No."

"C'moooon…" the Handgun flopped down beside the SMG, darting in to sneak a look at the screen. Mac-10 did not bother hiding her screen, but she shot Grizzly a glare at the Handgun's intrusiveness. Undeterred, Grizzly leaned over her shoulder and inspected the screen.

"Merc units? When'd you become interested in history, Mac?"

"Call it idle curiosity," Mac replied, her voice short and irritable.

"You know you could just scan the net on the Neural Network. Or do you just like the click-clack of the keyboard?"

"What I am looking for is not in the network."

"Not in the network?" Grizzly frowned, confused by the statement. "What do you mean it isn't in the network? If it's not there, then it isn't-"

"She means it is blocked," M82A1 called out from across the room. "The Neural Network has plenty of restricted sections we cannot access. That's part of the Griffin and Kryuger integration process, Grizzly."

"I know we have blocks in place," Grizzly grunted, giving the Rifle a playful scowl. "But I've not heard of any blocks regarding the old war. What are you looking up specifically, Mac?"

"Commander."

The room fell silent for a moment. The only one who moved was DSR-50, whose body shifted slightly as she turned her head further towards the window.

"You're looking up Commander." Grizzly spoke slowly, eyes narrowing. "So he was a merc?"

Mac-10 shrugged. "Can't say."

"Well, you are looking up mercs, and you said you're looking for info on Commander. So that would mean Commander was a merc." The Handgun smirked. "Is that what you found out on your little excursion with him?"

"Can't say."

"Stop being so obtuse, Mac." Even M82A1 shot the SMG an exasperated look.

"I can't." Mac-10 sighed and pointed to her face. "I can't say what we did, or what I learned. Commander requested I lock that memory behind a Non-Disclosure code."

"Oh." The Rifle's brows lifted in surprise.

"Shit." Grizzly pulled back from the SMG and exchanged a meaningful glance with M82A1. Commander keeping secrets? She was not sure she liked the sound of that. There was a difference between Commander's past being a secret and his current activities being a secret. The one could be excused, and was almost expected in Griffin and Kryuger personnel. But if Commander was keeping his daily activities a secret, and roping the Tactical Dolls into it alongside him, then she had concerns.

"It's nothing to worry about," Mac-10 assured them, reading their unspoken concerns. "I have full memory of what occurred. I just cannot discuss it."

"He didn't do anything to you?"

Mac-10 looked up from her screen, turning to face Grizzly. An impish grin flitted across the SMG's face. "Can't say."

"Good grief." The Handgun lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Mac-10's thin shoulders. "You're a real troublemaker, you know that. Seriously, you're fine? Commander wasn't doing anything bad?"

"Depends on your definition of 'bad.' Suffice to say, he had the base's, and our, best interests in mind. You'll probably hear about some of it later."

"I guess I'll have to settle for that." She dropped her chin onto Mac-10's shoulder and watched the screen move as the SMG continued with her perusing of internet sites. "Hm… what's the name of the merc outfit you're looking for?"

"Can't say."

"... I guess I asked for that."

"Yeah, you did." Mac-10 reverted to the browser's main search engine and highlighted her search topic. "All I can say is I am researching famous merc groups."

"Gehenna," DSR-50 said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"What?"

"The mercenary group's name is Gehenna." The stately Rifle eyed them coolly, expressionless.

"Gehenna. Weird name." Grizzly reached across Mac-10's body and typed in the word. The first result looked right to what they would be looking for. Suspicion flashed through her circuits, and Grizzly stared over at the aloof Rifle. "How'd you know that, DSR?"

The Rifle's mouth twitched towards a frown and she returned her attention to the window.

"Whatever. Mac, click it. Let's see what we can find."

The webpage listed was not a company site, but a news article. The headline read From the Shadow of Death: The 'Blood' Brothers Behind Gehenna.

Commander appeared in the article's main image. He looked different; he looked young, but there was no mistaking the stern face, those harrowing eyes, and the subtle handsomeness of his posture. What was different was the bad-boy haircut and sleek military gear decorating his chest, arms and thighs. If ever they wanted proof that Commander had been an operator before, this was it. The man looked so at ease, so natural holding that now-ancient assault rifle, that no one could argue other man in the photo, a more slender, stylish man in a clean suit with a professional haircut and a winning smile, took center stage in the photo. He did not look like an operator at all. The brains and the brawn, she decided.

The story of how two orphans forged their own destiny and founded the most prominent private military corporation on the globe!

"That's him," Mac-10 confirmed, letting out a deep sigh as if relieved to finally say something. The SMG dragged the mouse over the photo and clicked. A small info window appeared, giving more information on the pair.

"Hm…" Grizzly skimmed over the window and shook her head. "Yeah, let's forget about that name. Commander's good enough."

"He has been very private about his previous life," Mac-10 agreed, closing the window. "I do not think he would take kindly to us exposing his real name like that."

"Agreed. Besides, Commander is nice and easy to remember."

The pair scrolled through the article, devouring what lay within. At some point M82A1 came over, her curiosity piqued as she silently climbed onto Mac-10's bed and joined them. No one complained about her presence or how the bed shifted as a third body made the poor bed creak.

"...son of British ambassador and Russian actress…"

"...first kill at the age of eight while fighting over a United Nations care package…"

"...credited with two hundred and thirty five kills by age of…"

The article was a lengthy biopic of the pair, seamlessly interweaving the narrative between the two who seemed like they had been inseparable from their youth. It was not a pretty, fairy tale story that the two had found themselves in. The one, Commander, was orphaned in an indiscriminate airstrike and lost in the chaotic war that swept over the eastern European country his parents worked in. His 'brother,' as the article called them, was just a regular orphan child cast aside by his family because they lacked the food and resources to care for him.

Together, the pair fought for survival, becoming ruthless and savage until their young teens when they joined a local militia group. From there, the pair's aptitude for death and destruction blossomed, overwhelming the militia and growing into something far greater. After saving up the funds they split off from their group and created a PMC, naming it Gehenna to spite the miserable place they came from.

"I've heard of Gehenna," M82A1 announced, having waited patiently while they read before speaking. "They were considered the premier human merc group of the war. The only ones with a good record against proto-dolls, too."

"They fought proto-dolls?"

Grizzly and Mac-10 exchanged a surprised look. First generation Tactical Dolls, or what later generations called 'proto-dolls,' were little more than automated murder machines. They lacked any form of personality or affability, having been created for the sole purpose of winning the War. The introduction of proto-dolls had greatly unbalanced the land battles of the War, and the inferior human military force were almost universally savaged by merciless, calculating logic engines.

"That's a rare feat," Mac-10 muttered, and went back to scrolling. "Commander's life is pretty impressive. It says here he is one of the…"

The SMG's mouth clamped shut, clearly not of her own accord. Offering an exasperated grunt, the SMG pointed at the name.

"Commander's nickname was Apostle of Death?" Grizzly snickered, amused by the revelation. "God, that's an awful nickname. So cheesy."

"He had a nickname?" M82A1 frowned. The Rifle nearly bent Mac-10 over as she lunged forward to look at the screen. After finding her target, M82A1 whistled. "Oh, wow. He was one of the Apostles."

"Apostles?"

"The Twelve Apostles of War," M82A1 explained. "They were the highest of the high tier mercenaries during the war, fighting for either or both sides of the conflict. Each was considered to be a one-man army in their own right."

"So Commander was an Apostle?" The Handgun chuckled quietly. "Sorry, that just sounds lame."

"Maybe, but that doesn't dismiss the point that if he was an Apostle, he was internationally famous. The Apostles were celebrities."

"Celebrity killers?" Grizzly raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Humans are weird," M82A1 pointed out. "They celebrate everything."

"Fair point." Grizzly blanched at the thought. "I can't imagine taking a human life. That just seems so wrong."

The Tactical Dolls fell silent, two appearing noticeably sullen while the third conspicuously left herself expressionless. For several seconds they heard nothing but the gentle snoring from one bed over. Then Mac-10 resumed scrolling, and they finally reached the end of the article.

"I never would have imagined Commander was this old," Grizzly muttered.

"He must have taken rejuvenant treatments," M82A1 agreed. "That technology was more readily available before the end of the war, and I recall seeing it was quite popular among the ultra-wealthy at the time."

"Ultra-wealthy?" Grizzly cracked a smile. "Hm... I guess I wouldn't mind dating an old fart with tons of cash."

"As if," Mac-10 muttered, glaring at the Handgun. "You'd have to get in line. He's hardly unspoken for."

"Yeesh, truer words..." the Handun shook her head and motioned at the screen. "Alright, move it along. We're burning daylight."

"Wait. What is that?" M82A1 pointed at the screen, drawing their attention to the last image in the article. Rather than just the two men posing, this photo was more of a candid shot, but there was a third person in the picture. The setting looked to have been taken directly after a combat mission, because young-Commander's gear was dirtied, there were dark smears across his face like blood, and postured reeked of exhaustion. Despite his rough appearance, he stood straight with his rifle slung as he spoke to the blond-haired suit-wearing man that was his 'brother.' But it was not their appearance that made all three Tactical Dolls gasp.

Grizzly was the first to say something. Her eyes lifted from the image, snapping across the screen and over to the room's other occupant. DSR-50's head twitched, somehow aware of the sudden attention leveled at her, and the Rifle turned to face the others with a weary sigh.

"DSR…"

"I know," DSR-50 said quietly. The elegant Rifle crossed her arms over her chest and grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with their discovery. "That woman… is me."

-v-

Perspective - CR-21
The Pond, Base Oberon
6:34 AM

CR-21 snuggled deeper into his arms, nuzzling Commander's as she let out a contented sigh.

"Yyyyaaaawwn. That was really nice, Commander."

"You think so?" He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Her thick mat of hair softened the gesture, but not enough that the Tactical Doll could not preen. Her teeth nipped against the soft skin of his throat, so warm and intoxicating against the cool pre-dawn air. They spent a moment enjoying the intimacy of their embrace; two quiet bodies wrapped in each others' arms. "I'm a little spent, myself."

"It's not my fault an old fogie like you can't keep up. We Tactical Dolls are pretty damn sturdy, you know."

"I will admit that my stamina isn't what it used to be."

Commander's smile faded just a little, revealing a hint of how personally he took that admission. She found the gesture cute. It was not as if he could hide his tiredness. Human bodies were irrepressibly honest. His shoulders trembled as he controlled his breathing, fighting the very human need to suck in air after such an exhausting bout. His limbs were slack, muscles loose. By contrast, CR-21 was hardly worse than when they had started. Her hair was a little wet from his sweat, and her core temperature still held at a couple degrees over standard, but no human would be able to tell the difference.

"I mean, it was a five-k run around the pond in the pitch black." She teased him mercilessly, running her hands across her sweaty arms.

"Let's just say it was what came after the five-k that took it out of me."

The Assault Rifle giggled at Commander's frank admission. It took a real man to admit his failings, and Commander did not have so much pride that he refused to say when he was beaten. Both knew that at his prime, Commander could outlast even a Tactical Doll when the situation arose. That was a benefit of being human. Human fitness fluctuated. It changed, whether for better or worse, depending on applied effort. Tactical Dolls did not get any better or worse in capability. She envied humans in that regard.

Easing out of Commander's arms, CR-21 rolled her back and spent a moment stretching out her limbs. She sniffed her arms, relishing the mingling sourness of Commander's sweat and the sweetness of the grass. Then, bending over in an exaggerated manner, she began collecting her clothes from where they had been carelessly tossed aside.

Following her lead, Commander shimmied back into his PT gear. A handsome smile blossomed on his face, fed by the eye-catching sight of her caramel skin as she presented her taut backside for his pleasure. Were it not for the sun creeping over the horizon, or her internal chrono alerting her to the upcoming yoga class she had to go lead, she would have been tempted to bound back onto him and continue their 'cooldown exercises.'

"If it makes you feel better, Commander." She winked cheekily. "We can have a rematch after class."

Her dear Commander made a face at the suggestion. "I'll have to pass on that. Got a meeting with Thunder before she goes on her combat mission."

"Right."

The reminder that Thunder was slated to go out today ruined the mood. CR-21 cleared her throat and looked elsewhere, staring off at the distant dorms. Her chest tightened with the inexplicable unease that arose every time she thought about it. It was selfish, thoughtless even, to fear for the Handgun's safety. They were Tactical Dolls. Fighting in the place of humans was what they were built for. It was their original purpose. Their reason for existence. Thunder was hardly exempt from that. Especially not while serving Griffin and Kryuger.

"She can't shirk her duty," Commander said softly.

He stood up beside her, rising with a soft grunt, and the man's warm hand slid across the small of her back. CR-21 nodded absently, her gaze drifting across the grass.

"I know, Commander."

Commander's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a warm embrace from behind. The Assault Rifle sighed, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the comfort of his body. They remained motionless for several seconds, listening to the chirping of birds.

"I need to go."

She broke contact first. Offering the slightest push was enough for Commander to release her. Her smile returned, though the effect was dampened slightly, but she did not hesitate from turning back to him and placing a quick kiss on his lips. After all, she knew that he cared about them. What he had done for her… it was not just because of her. Commander had demonstrated in her eyes that he had a viciously protective attitude towards his subordinates. He cared about them all far more intensely than any commander she had served under previously.

Thunder knew what she had signed on for, and it was no one's place to question the Handgun's commitment. Not her, not anyone. It was a difficult thing to admit; no one wanted to risk losing their ally, but as Commander stated, it was her duty, her purpose.

And what was a Tactical Doll without a purpose?

-v-

Perspective - Jericho
Commander's Office, Base Oberon
7:45 AM

"Your seven forty five is here, Commander." Jericho looked up from her desk, eyeing Commander as he stood with his back to her, staring out the tinted window at the small carpet of green the human personnel jokingly called 'the village square;' a basketball-sized patch of grass cowering between broad avenues that often hosted off-duty humans or Tactical Dolls in various activities including picnicking, sports, or simply lazing about. He had remained there for two minutes and thirty four seconds, saying nothing and making no movements. His gaze wandered, she could tell that from the snippet of reflection the bulletproof windows offered, but in such a way she was certain he was tracking movements of various passersby.

Humans did that, her database informed her. They liked to watch things in motion, to observe nature when in distress. There were theories relating to human psychology and visual-therapy that led her to believe Commander was pondering something uncomfortable to his moral compass, or that he was actively avoiding some task that he wished to delay.

The former struck her as the more likely of the two, but she could not discount a combination of the pair. The two were not mutually exclusive. And the object of his appointment could very well be the source of his silent musing.

"Send her in," Commander whispered. The human officer straightened his jacket and turned back to face the door, a stern expression masking whatever thoughts lay behind those piercing eyes.

Rising from her chair, Jericho smoothly walked over to the office door and revealed the slender Handgun waiting outside. "Commander will see you now, Thunder."

Thunder's gentle attitude had made her a favorite on base. She barely reacted to Jericho's presence, but not out of disdain or dismissiveness. Rather, it was a subtle showing of her many years in service that she unconsciously glossed over little interactions like that. Despite her small body and delicate appearance, the Handgun was quite old. Older than Jericho, certainly. Though she did not know for certain, Jericho had a suspicion that Thunder belonged to the first generation of Tactical Dolls; the generation humanity referred to as 'murder dolls.' More refined and controllable than the proto-dolls, those Tactical Dolls had all the capabilities of modern Tactical Dolls but lacked the human preservation protocols that prevented harming humans in the modern era.

No one dared ask Thunder what grisly accomplishments lurked in her past. The Handgun largely kept to herself, choosing to remain in a self-imposed isolation. Similar to how Mac-10's history remained off limits as topic of conversation, Thunder's history was a topic no one spoke of or questioned. This was Griffin and Kryuger, after all. Colored pasts were hardly taboo in the ranks, so long as they did not continue their previous lifestyles.

The lonely nature of Thunder's solitude, coupled with the well-known lack of replacement parts available to her model, had led to an underground fan club. Unbeknownst to Thunder, many of the Tactical Dolls paid attention to the frustrating truth that even Griffin and Kryuger could not find a single backup model should she lose her current one. She was a rare instance of an irreplaceable doll, and that stigma formed a sympathetic bond with most every doll on base. Even Jericho could not deny the faint buzzing in her core at the sight of the demure Handgun. Thunder's stoic acceptance of her situation stirred the emotional processes in their cores.

"Good morning, Commander."

"Good morning, Thunder. Please take a seat." Commander motioned for both Handguns to sit, Jericho at her desk and Thunder in one of the comfortable chairs opposite his. Remaining silent and curious, Jericho returned to her duties and resumed filing the combat data reports from last night's operations.

Her eyes drifted over Thunder for a moment, watching out of the corner of her eye without losing a microsecond of productivity. Her familiar white blouse and navy skirt peered out beneath the oversized parka she wore, arms hidden by the raven feathers decorated both limbs, revealing only her pale face and long legs. If ever a tactical Doll could be described as doll-like, in the manner of the old fashioned children toys, it would be Thunder. She looked so much like a life-sized doll a child might hug and cuddle with on stormy nights that Jericho's emotive systems flared briefly in her chest, simulating a subtle racing in her non-existent pulse.

If Commander had a similar reaction, he did not show it. Remaining visibly impassive, the human staffer gazed unblinkingly into Thunder's scarlet eyes. His fingers interlaced on the desk, accompanied by a soft huff as he exhaled.

"I wanted to speak with you before you depart on today's mission."

"Yes, Commander." The slender Handgun nodded robotically, a gesture that seemed almost human in its exaggerated fakeness. "Miss Persica ran a full diagnostic this morning and declared me fit for duty. My combat simulation scores have shown a zero point three four increase collectively in the past thirty days. I-"

Commander raised a hand, and Thunder fell silent. The faintest twitch of his lip corners marked his amusement at her factual report. "I am aware of your up-to-date documentation. That is not why I called you here."

Jericho's ear perked at the vague statement. She could not help but glance in his direction, betraying her interest in the conversation. Although both Handguns were no doubt confused by the purpose of this meeting, Thunder showed better grace and merely nodded her head.

"Statistics and numbers only mean so much. I am not interested in the results of a lab test. What I want to know, Thunder, is that your head and your heart are in the right place."

"I do not have a heart, Commander." Thunder's brows twitched in the faint indicator of an oncoming frown.

"That is what people keep telling me. The more time I spend among you, the less believable I find it."

Commander stood up and approached the Handgun. She was already a small figure, but against Commander's towering frame she might as well have been a child sitting beside her father. The Tactical Doll tilted her head back to gaze up at him, watching expectantly as Commander held out his hand.

"I have something to show you, Thunder."

The Handgun looked at his outstretched hand, pondering the offering for a moment. Jericho's gaze settled on that man's palm, synapses snapping into overdrive as she tried to digest what Commander meant. He had not shown any secretive tics this morning. Other than the mysterious shipping crates that arrived the day before, nothing stood out to her. Then again, Miss Kalina had taken a great interest in the security of those crates after her meeting with Commander, going so far as to have two entire teams of Tactical Dolls surrounding them at all times while they were slowly unloaded in the utmost secrecy. The whole thing was being handled mysteriously.

Her musings were interrupted by a sudden violent rapping on the office door. Three rapid-fire knocks shivered the door, then it was thrown open as a small flock of Tactical Dolls burst into the room. Uncaring for decorum or procedure, they stormed inside. Jericho's eyes widened in outrage at the sight, her body throwing itself to her feet on impulse. The ringleader of the group was easy enough to spot. With her bomber jacket, short shorts and complicated holster webbing, Grizzly was an unmistakable figure. Behind her stood MP7, PSM, M1911, and even SVD. She almost had to wonder if there were more in the hallway judging by how they poured inside.

"Commander, I know this is unannounced but we need to speak," Grizzly began, not caring in the slightest about whatever she was interrupting. The brash Handgun walked right up to Commander, zeroing in like a homing missile. "I know you've already stated your piece on this, but Thunder's up for a mission today and I really, really think she needs to sit this one out."

"Grizzly," Commander murmured, smoothly shifting his attention to the intruders. "Ladies."

The Handgun did not give him more time to speak. She glanced down at Thunder, eyes widening in surprise at seeing the object of her protest present, but adopted a determined grimace and defiantly stood in between them.

"Commander, you have to believe me. I've got a really bad feeling about this upcoming mission and Thunder needs to be pulled from it. I'll take her place, I don't care about the combat pay or any extra duties I would need to take for it. But she needs to not get on that chopper."

"Your concern is noted, Grizzly." Commander blinked once. "Please leave."

"I won't, Commander." Eyes blazing with an intensity that set even Jericho on the backfoot, the Handgun refused to budge. "Not until you sign off on a roster swap. This can't happen. Not today. She can take any mission in the future, but it can't be this one."

"That is not your call to make," Commander said. His eyes sparked, the only hint of irritation that he allowed himself to show. Breathing in deeply, almost in a self-calming manner, Command stepped forward, closing the distance so the Handgun had to tilt her head backwards to look up at him. "Thunder is a Griffin and Kryuger employee. She is paid to fight, and she will."

"Why can't she just sit this one mission out?" Grizzly's voice grew louder, more demanding.

"Because one mission will turn into two, then two into three, and then suddenly Thunder will find that Griffin and Kryuger has no need of a Tactical Doll who will not do her job." Commander cleared his throat, refusing to lift his voice to match Grizzly's rising tone. "You and several others already started that trend. Replacing her on shift after shift, keeping her out of harm's way. I put an end to that, and the fact that you are bringing it up again is-"

"Screw putting an end to it!" Grizzly's interruption blasted in everyone's ears.

The other dolls, Jericho included, gazed at the Handgun in shock. One did not yell at the base commander; not like this. Barging in here was already grounds for insubordination. Each Tactical Doll in the room could be facing that charge. But to actually insult the commander by talking over him and cutting him off… just how strongly did Grizzly feel about this? She had always been a boisterous and courageous Handgun, but to go toe-to-toe with Commander was just insane.

Did she want to get sent back for recalibration?

"If Thunder goes out there and gets cored, she's done! She has no backup models! She is quite literally the last Thunder we've got. She'll True Death, Commander! That means she isn't coming back."

The Handgun's eyes grew misty, tears forming as the Handgun shouted at the silent, impassive human before her. Like a helpless primate wailing against the oncoming storm, she gestured empathetically at the quiet Thunder sitting in the chair, who examined the floor with flushed cheeks.

"Sure, we'll have a backup chip, but it isn't like we're ever going to find something to put her in. And you know what they do to Tactical Dolls that are out of models. She'll get archived. She'll be gone. Don't you understand what that means?"

A shudder wracked the Handgun's frame. Grizzly took several sharp breaths, fighting to control the trembling in her limbs. Having blown her load, she now stood in tentative silence, staring at the silent Commander and waiting for a response. A response that took some time in coming.

Commander's nostrils flared ever so slightly as he took a deep breath. Jericho took a step forward, a reprimand forming in her mind. Incensed as she was by Grizzly's lack of decorum and behavior, she could not deny that she agreed with Grizzly's concerns. After all, Jericho was guilty of stealing Thunder's shift too.

"Never accuse me of not understanding the cost of this lifestyle," Commander growled, his voice low and threatening. Anger seeped into his brows, eyes and lips. "I have buried my share of comrades."

Grizzly's simmering emotions drained away, shoulders slumping as a look of uncertainty swept her own anger aside. Like a sleepwalker waking to find herself surrounded by danger, she took an unconscious step backwards, but held his gaze.

"You Tactical Dolls like to forget that just because you shoulder the majority of combat, it does not mean you are the only ones who know it. I have killed more humans than you can imagine. I have buried friends, lovers, and enemies by the hundreds. I have listened to enough dying breaths to last ten lifetimes. I have sent my closest friends to their deaths and watched their lives snuffed out while I was helpless to stop it. Humans do not have the opportunity to be put into a backup model. We always face True Death. That never once stopped us from from stepping out onto the battlefield."

"Commander…" Grizzly's whisper slid from her lips.

"Every death is laid at the feet of the commander who sent them," Commander continued. "But it is the duty of the soldier to fight, and to die if needs be. Thunder is a soldier, not a civilian. The risk of death comes part and parcel with her profession."

The dolls remained silent, watching Commander's scowl slowly emerge with each word that passed his lips. Jericho stepped past him, reaching out to take Grizzly by the arm. The fiery Handgun had been rendered completely silent, doused by the hidden pain laced in Commander's words. They could all hear it, all sense it. Frustration and regret bursting at the seams of the man's steel-clad heart.

"Please, stop fighting."

A soft, quiet voice broke the silence. Thunder rose from her seat, one hand grasping Grizzly's arm, and the other reaching out to cling to Commander's sleeve. Tears streaked down the Tactical Doll's face. Elfin features etched with sorrow, the slender Handgun placed herself between the two and spent a moment regarding each in turn.

"Commander, I apologize for Grizzly's outburst. She- I, I have been selfish. I allowed them to protect me, knowing full well what they were doing. If anyone is to blame, it is me. Grizzly, I appreciate your efforts, but Commander is correct. I am a Tactical Doll. Our purpose is to protect humanity, not to hide behind the protection of others. Humanity has sacrificed so much… surely I can afford to sacrifice myself for their sake."

"But… but Thunder… you'll die…"

"Perhaps." A cloud of regret passed across Thunder. "Perhaps I deserve it for the things I have done. Thank you, Grizzly. I am deeply grateful for your care. But enough is enough."

Commander took Thunder's clinging hand in his, gently releasing his sleeve from her grasp. His anger dissipated, cooled by her touch, and the human officer closed his eyes for the briefest moment. Longer than a blink, hardly long enough to notice.

"Grizzly, step out of the office. The rest of you, as well. This conversation is finished."

Obediently, the Tactical Dolls turned to leave and filed out of the office. Grizzly stopped in the doorway, hesitating a moment to glance back at Thunder.

Jericho closed the door in their wake, choosing to remain beside it for now in case others attempted a last-second appeal. Clearly, there were dolls on base that possessed a reckless desire to protect Thunder. The thought troubled her, but not as much as the realization that Grizzly had dared to argue with Commander and went so far as to raise her voice. Regulations strictly applied to Tactical Doll behavior. If Commander desired, he could order her to be factory reset, or even dismantled for aberrant behavior studies.

That was the last thing any Tactical Doll could wish upon another. To be dissected in a lab like a.. like a doll.

"I am sorry, Commander." Thunder bowed her head nervously. "I promise, I will not fail you."

"I know you won't," he agreed. "Jericho, do I have an opening in my schedule this afternoon?"

"Three-thirty to four-fifteen is available, Commander."

"Good. Tell Grizzly I wish to speak with her at that time. This office."

"Yes, Commander." Jericho's artificial heart quickened, uncertainty flaring in her synapses. "I believe she has a scheduled meeting at four."

"That will not be an issue," he told her, waving a hand in dismissal. "It will not be a long meeting."

An unfamiliar sensation crept into her awareness. Jericho shivered, startled by her own reaction. Her mind whirled, circling the sensation, testing it, analyzing it with clinical precision. Barely a second passed before her analysis brought forth a conclusive answer.

Dread.

Commander's words inspired dread.

-v-

Perspective - DSR
Hangar Bay, Base Oberon
9:18 AM

"Weapons check," a stern voice called out, barking to be heard over the hum of machinery and voices. "Ammo on and safety's life, ladies."

Tactical Dolls pored over their weapons, seeking out motes of dust and imperfections that they knew logically would not present themselves. Each had cleaned their weapons dozens of times in the past days. There was not a single firearm in the hangar that had not been lovingly and meticulously cleaned and cared for in preparation for the daily scouting mission. Still, they inspected their weapons with absolute seriousness, unwilling to let a moment of carelessness affect their comrades.

Often the air would be filled with pre-battle banter and witty comments at this point. The common sight of Tactical Dolls cracking jokes and chattering away in relaxed manners was nowhere to be found this time. Instead, the only sounds in the hangar were the clacks of weapons being checked.

A dozen dolls readied their weapons. Three times as many lingered in the hangar, some because of their duty as the reserve squad, others for more personal reasons. Extra dolls in the hangar prior to a mission launch was no extraordinary thing. The sheer number that congregated here defied expectation however, and left some of the human staffers unnerved as nearly half the base's Tactical Doll garrison occupied the place, and even more filed in with each passing minute.

A quick glance around the room revealed the object of most's attention: the white-haired Handgun standing close to the rear of her squad. Oftentimes, the observers' gazes were filled with half-hidden pity and regret. This time, however, the Tactical Dolls proved just as confused as the human staffers who wondered what had caused so many to show up.

If Thunder noticed the oppressive atmosphere, she gave no reaction. In fact, compared to the gloomy air pervading the hangar, Thunder almost seemed to occupy an entirely different world. Like a fairy drifting over a silent bog, her frame exuded a vibrant energy that clashed against the melancholy, pushing back in an unspoken struggle for the hangar's mood. Humming a happy little tune as she turned her sidearm over and over, sometimes interrupting her ministrations to spin the weapon about like a trick shooter displaying her prowess.

A quiet figure eventually strode up to the Handgun, unable to contain her curiosity.

"Thunder." DSR-50 stretched out a hand towards the shorter doll. Her fingers curled, unconsciously pulling back even as she reached out towards her comrade. The hesitation lacing her voice, the subtle uncertainty that had pervaded her every waking moment for some time now, frustrated her to no end. She knew the source of it, knew what she would have to do to resolve the problem. The thought of that confrontation made her synapses tangle and stutter.

"Good morning, DSR." The Handgun flashed her a wondrous smile, overflowing with a purity and loveliness far removed from the demure resignation they were so used to. Her current frame had been active for eleven months; that was how long ago she had lived with the knowledge that her next death would be her last. Like a prisoner on death row awaiting execution, she had relentlessly plodded onwards, and the melancholy that she kept sealed tightly inside had nevertheless shown in her eyes and mannerisms.

There was none of that melancholy here. Instead the Handgun practically glowed, and she surprised the Rifle by stepping into DSR's reach and enveloping the taller Rifle in a friendly embrace.

"It is a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Thunder's question caught DSR by surprise. Struggling to understand what she meant by the unexpected query, the Rifle gazed down at her and merely raised her eyebrows, silently asking for further explanation.

"Pardon me, that was rather out of character."

Drawing back, Thunder spent a moment adjusting her facial expression. Her face went through a series of looks before settling on the dull, impenetrable stare she so often wore. The look was virtually identical to her most commonly known face, but there was no denying the faint twinkling in her scarlet eyes.

"Are you… well, Thunder?" DSR clutched her arms, feeling a faint chill ripple across her system at the Handgun's idiosyncratic behavior. "Does Perscia need t-"

"If I have one more comrade insinuate that I am not mission capable, I will have to remind you all why I am named Thunder," the Handgun interrupted. Her flat, emotionless gaze bored into DSR. Still, there was that ghost of a grin reflecting off her irises. "My system is functioning at one hundred percent. No… more than one hundred percent."

The Handgun's left hand twitched, thumb rubbing against her ring finger. The motion drew DSR's gaze, and the Rifle let out a small noise of surprise at the shiny metallic object.

"Is… is that an Oath Ring?"

"It is." Thunder nodded emphatically. She lifted her hand, flashing the ring as subtly as she dared so as not to alert the rest of the hangar. With all eyes fixed on her, she may as well have shouted out her confirmation into the base's sirens. A dozen cries and murmurs broke out among the assembled Tactical Dolls. Cries of surprise, amazement, and jealousy rained down on the pair, causing them both to blush faintly and huddle together.

Startled by the revelation, DSR snatched up Thunder's hand and inspected the Oath Ring. There was no denying; it was the genuine article. She hastily dialed into the Neural Network and inspected Thunder, using her privileged Elite authority to open up a remote diagnostic window for the Handgun. The information displayed confirmed what she could see.

"He gave you an Oath Ring?"

"Commander did more than that," Thunder stated. Unable to hide her growing blush, Thunder tilted her head to the side and put her free hand to her cheek. "Those containers that appeared on base. Commander went out on a private mission with Ingram. He found spares, DSR."

"Spares?" The Rifle gaped at her. "Spares of what? Spare parts?"

"Better." Shaking her head vehemently, Thunder's dull expression cracked, revealing a gleeful smile. "Commander found ten backup dolls for me. I have backups again."

"You have backups? You have ten backups!"

Her shout exploded through the hangar like a grenade blast. The background chatter was silenced, overpowered by the unbelievable revelation. Then, like a bursting dam, the Tactical Dolls in the hangar burst into excited cheers and rushed over to Thunder to congratulate her. The hangar fell into complete anarchy, requiring nearly ten minutes to calm everyone down and allow the away teams to move out to the helipad.

-v-

Perspective - Commander
Base Oberon
09:21 AM

"I am surprised you decided to remain out here," Jericho murmured, studying Commander's profile.

Off in the distance, the scrimmage game between Handguns and SMGs came to an abrupt halt as a startled Tactical Dolls registered the massive uptick of chatter on the Neural Network. Being already dialed into the common chat rooms, Jericho knew exactly what they were reading, and her lips twitched towards a smile as first one doll, then another, and then the whole bunch let out whoops and high-fived. Almost as one, the whole group abandoned their game and rushed off towards the hangar, eager to congratulate their fellow Tactical Doll in her miraculous announcement.

She could see other dolls come bursting out of the far-off dormitories too. Most of the dolls on base were already in the hangar; there had been enough uncomfortable feelings about Thunder's inclusion on this mission that a whole bunch had come to see her off, almost like how ancient humans would send off their Forlorn Hope before a violent siege.

Tactical Dolls were not religious, but she could not deny a healthy level of superstition in their cores. She did not know where the idea had started, but too many of her comrades had become spooked about this mission. Not for the mission itself, but for Thunder's appearance in it. No trace of rumor mill could be found in common chat rooms, honestly she had found no record of it anywhere, but somehow the idea had spread that Thunder was doomed on this mission.

The evident relief on every doll's face, the ecstatic chatter going on in the chat rooms, and her own prickling skin assured her that Commander's discovery had a chance of being eternally remembered by all dolls on base.

Which made her curious as to why he had not gone into the hangar. Certainly, this was a great triumph for him, in a way. He could easily rake in the accolades and appreciation of the base's dolls. It was the smartest play, the easiest way to cement his standing and wipe away any lingering doubts. By staying away from the limelight he ran the risk of being forgotten, treated as an accomplice to the event rather than the driving force.

"I don't like crowds." Commander shrugged nonchalantly and took a long sip from his mug. His gaze flickered, tracking the dolls racing towards the hangar. "Besides, this is Thunder's moment. She deserves a bit of pampering, I'd say."

"Pampering, Commander?" Jericho arched an eyebrow in his direction. "What about your talk today of her duty? Surely she has done just that."

"Doing one's duty is commendable, but also the expectation," Commander agreed. "That does not mean I cannot empathize with her plight. Going into battle knowing that the next hit will be your last… it takes a brave human to risk their one life in combat. Thunder is no less brave for risking her last life."

"Assuming she was not cored, she can still be archived, Commander. There is a difference."

Even as she spoke, Jericho regretted opening her mouth. It sounded more callous than she intended, and she was not sure he would take her intentions kindly. After all, Grizzly had clearly struck a nerve earlier today, and Jericho's statement toed that line.

"Yes, to be put on a shelf and spend eternity processing raw data with no body. Humans have a scenario for that. Have you seen a human in a coma, or a vegtative state?"

"I have, Commander."

Commander's expression hardened for a moment. He took another sip, then set his mug down on the walkway beside the bench. "If I had to pick, I doubt I would have the courage to accept a coma over death. The thought of that emptiness terrifies me."

"The inability to control one's fate," Jericho guessed, watching his reaction.

"Indeed." Commander relaxed his face, turning slightly to offer a reassuring nod. "It would have been a terrible waste to allow Thunder to be destroyed, or left behind like that. Still, it is her job. While I do not know how traumatic your death experiences are, giving preferential treatment would cause dissension down the road. And Thunder is an excellent operator; she belongs in the field.

"What the rest of you failed to realize, or perhaps refused to acknowledge, was Thunder's own desires. Yes, she was terrified of True Death, as you dolls call it. But she also did not want to be a burden to her comrades."

"She never said as much," Jericho murmured. The urge to deny Commander's words itched at her throat, but she could not voice them. Because that would be a lie. She knew. They all knew. Thunder had never shied away from a combat mission. She had never wanted to be pulled from the missions.

"Fear of death is a good thing. But if we all gave into that fear, then we would be quite useless. In a perfect world, all beings would fear death far more than they lusted after others' belongings, and there would be no war. But there is, because evil beings exist. I do not hold Thunder's fear against her. If anything, it makes me appreciate Tactical Dolls more. You are not mindless drones. You can think, feel, hope, fear. I know how to handle that. I wouldn't know how to handle emotionless robots that marched vacantly into battle."

A hint of a smile formed on Jericho's lips. She swiftly quashed the expression, but turned to watch Commander's face as she pondered her Commander. His mannerisms and ideals were so foreign compared to their previous commanders. He did not have the naive expectations of those who came before him. Nor did he possess a desperate need to protect every life no matter the cost.

His willingness to throw Thunder into the line of fire was not something she could chastise. At the end of the day he was human and they were mere dolls. He owed them nothing, nor did they have the right to make demands of how they should be used. That did not meant he dismissed them as tools; in his own way Commander had shown he valued dolls moreso than any commander or staffer she had ever met. Perhaps it was because of the losses he had known in life that she felt comfortable with his peculiar style. The depth of his experience and command had been forged in the hell of World War Three.

Commander was a well-honed blade, deadly and perfected over many battlefields. Though she would never admit it, Jericho wondered what it would be like to follow him into battle. She had no experience fighting alongside humans; that was the point of Tactical Dolls, after all. Movies painted a romantic vision of war alongside humanity. Sometimes literally, as there was a growing genre of movies revolving around human and doll relationships. She wondered what kind of soldier he had been. A quiet professional, or a brash and bombastic firecracker?

"It's about time," Commander muttered. He drained the last of his coffee and upended the mug, shaking out lingering drops onto the grass. "Is Persica checked into her lab?"

Jericho drew her thoughts back to the present, pulled the security logs for the base, and voiced confirmation. That satisfied Commander, who stood up with a grunt and held out his hand in a gallant offering to assist. She accepted his outstretched hand and left the bench behind.

"Commander, I have a question."

His sidelong stare indicated for her to continue.

"This afternoon, with Grizzly… what do you intend to do with her?"

"May I offer you a piece of advice, Jericho?"

His sudden interruption caught her off guard. The Handgun stiffened, but nodded for him to continue.

"Grizzly's fate is none of your concern. She made her decision, and she will have to live with the consequences."

"Yes, of course, Commander. It was my intention to ask if you required any documentation on her service record or-"

"When the Handguns decided to start replacing Thunder in daily operations, you were one of the first to volunteer." Commander's tone made it clear he had no intention of apologizing for the second interruption. "I do admire the care you Tactical Dolls have for each other. It is a very human reaction, and in a way I find it relieving to know that you have such attachments. But I do have to warn you, Jericho. If you stick your neck out too far in aid of others, it might be your head on the chopping block."

"Commander?"

His hand came down firmly on her shoulder. Not so strongly that she felt pain, but enough that her muscles tightened against the pressure of his fingers. Speaking in a soft tone that brooked no argument, Commander fixed her with a serious gaze.

"Help your sisters, protect your sisters, but do not let yourself be dragged down by them. Grizzly has dug her grave. There is no reason to join her."