I should clarify something before we begin: Alcatraz's strength in this story fits somewhere between the games and the books. He was borderline overpowered in Legion, but in the actual game, he gets shredded pretty fast if he's not rocking maximum armor.

The fact is, there are so many conflicting sources about what the Nanosuit can and can't do, and what happens to the wearer, that it's nearly impossible to discern which of it is true canon. To that end, I'm taking my own creative liberties.

So, yeah. Sorry to anyone who wanted straight-up Book Alky, but like I said in Chapter 1, I'm no Peter Watts. I'm a butcher's apprentice, not a published author. Huge difference.

"Team FN's latest scouting report came in this morning, Commander… More of the same, I'm afraid. This is the third major Sangvis outpost we've found destroyed this week. But if our T-Dolls aren't the ones responsible… then who or what is the real culprit?" -Kalina

(Sector S09 Wilderness – Five Days After Escape)

That creepy one-eyed sniper unit is sporting a pimpin' cloak.

There it is, draped over its owner's back, dark gray in color and decked out with a very stylish digicam pattern. It's lazily fluttering in the afternoon breeze, almost as if it were making a half-hearted attempt to free itself from where it's wrapped snugly around the Doll's neck.

It's practically begging me to take it.

I bring up the tac visor and zoom in on the machine, analyzing the basic information SECOND is able to provide.

Sangvis Ferri military-grade designated marksman combat Doll, product label 'Jaeger'. Equipped with a long-range beam rifle, a cycloptic visor chock full of advanced sensory software, and electronic camouflage cloak, it's a unit designed from the ground up to fulfill the role of a typical military sniper, using cold precision to eliminate threats from afar without exposing itself to danger. Built-in targeting adjustment systems ensured it would never miss a shot even in the harshest weather conditions.

The Jaeger is stationed atop a guard tower overlooking a small Sangvis compound about 150 meters away from my position. Unlike a few other outposts I'd hit over the past four days, this one doesn't seem nearly as strategically important, a notion further enforced when my visor marks fewer personnel and no apparent objects of interest. Guard units are patrolling the outskirts, while the main compound is mainly populated by Vespids, with a few Rippers thrown in for good measure.

From my hiding spot behind some dense shrubbery, I close the visor and sigh, then check my shotgun to make sure it's fully loaded. I've never seen a Jaeger Doll before, and my loadout is tailored specifically for close-quarters engagements. Bull rushing the front door doesn't seem like a smart option this time. There's also very little to be gained from assaulting the compound, tactically speaking, besides having a place to crash for an hour or two.

Then again, it's not like I have anything to gain by letting them live, either. And I really want that cloak.

I return my attention to the outpost. Other than the Guard patrols, it's fortified on all sides by thick, twelve-foot-high concrete walls; way too tall for normal people to scale. Unfortunately for Sangvis, I am anything but normal.

My mind made up, I fade from sight, crouch low, and make a quiet approach, never letting my field of vision wander away from the Jaeger. I dart behind a tree every time it turns to face my general direction, paranoid that its sensors somehow detected me. I'm suspecting it's unable to see through my cloak – based on the fact that it hasn't opened fire – though the way its green eyepiece follows after my movements as I draw closer unnerves me to the point where I sprint the last few meters before sliding into cover at the base of the wall.

Now that I'm out of its line of sight, I break invisibility to let the Nanosuit's energy replenish. Once it's charged again, I holster the Marshall, re-trigger cloak, and with a brief redirection of power to my legs, jump and clamber over the side of the concrete barrier. My feet don't make much noise when I hit the ground, though I duck around the corner of the closest building just in case.

A sweep of the compound with my tac visor informs me that the majority of Dolls haven't suspected anything. I hold my breath when I look at the guard tower and see the suit's alert marker raise to yellow, then release it when it lowers back to blue after a few long moments.

The Jaeger has to go first, I decide.

Moving through the compound like a shadow, I stay hidden between the wall and the rear sides of two prefab structures, taking every chance I get to recharge energy. The area is designed in a standard square shape, just big enough to hold four small buildings plus the guard tower. I manage to make it to the tower's edge without any incidents and with plenty of power to spare.

I can't stop myself from wondering why this outpost even exists. It's tiny, unimportant, and as far as I can tell, nowhere close to any roads or towns or, y'know, anywhere humans are normally found. If Sangvis Ferri's rogue Dolls are plotting to kill off humanity, this certainly isn't the place to make that happen. On the other hand, who knows what thought processes occur in an AI's mind?

Hmm. I feel like I should know the answer, seeing as I share a brain with one. Or maybe two; I'm not entirely sure anymore. Wait, does this mean I also count as an AI?

God, my life's gotten confusing.

My mountain of personal issues aside, scaling the ladder is a straightforward affair, if a little time-consuming due to my need to be silent. The Jaeger on the top platform doesn't suspect a thing until I have its neck in a vicelike grip.

I only pause after shimmering back into existence to tear the sniper's cloak off before throwing the machine over the railing with all my strength. It doesn't cry out or make any other sound even as gravity kicks in and tugs it downward; the machine crashes on the hard dirt ground and doesn't rise.

Now the other Dolls notice something is up. Their visors turn from their dead lookout to the top of the guard tower where I'm standing in plain view, one foot on the railing and shotgun back in hand, all of my monstrous glory on full display. Sneaking around is best left for scouting and high-risk ops. This is neither, and it's been well over a day since I allowed myself to cut loose and have some fun.

I use the railing as a springboard, hearing it crunch under the pressure of my feet as I launch myself high into the sky. When I reach the apex of my jump, the suit's exterior reinforces itself into a nigh-impenetrable surface, easily shrugging off incoming plasma fire from the Dolls underneath me. I rocket downward, gunning for a particular Ripper that gets in a couple more hits than her sisters.

The ground quakes when my heavy form knocks the rogue automaton prone, my boots keeping her pinned. Leaning down to grab a fistful of purple hair, I raise her head up, then smash it back to the ground, satisfied when a resounding crunch echoes through the compound.

Rising back to my full height, I fire off a few shells at the closest targets. Another Ripper and a Vespid are both blown backward, leaving streaks of coolant spattered on the hard-packed dirt.

I fire the shotgun again, and again, taking out another hostile with each trigger pull, Nanosuit 2's enhanced armor absorbing everything the Dolls throw at me. One aspiring Guard seems to throw caution to the wind and charges at me, counting on her heavy shield to protect her while she discharges shot after shot from her pistol.

Acting quickly, I grab the Jaeger's corpse with one hand and throw it at her full force. The impact of her dead comrade hitting the shield is enough to knock the Guard off-balance, buying me precious time to lay in some buckshot. It takes three shots to the dome to finally pop it.

It's not all rainbows and counting daisies, however. The amount of power needed to sustain Armor Mode and throw the Jaeger that hard is taxing. My reserves are already below 30%, and while I've long grown used to the sting of Sangvis energy weapons, that doesn't make them any less pleasant. Luckily for me, the Guard left something behind that I can make use of.

I make a dash towards the fallen android, never losing my stride even as I gun down a Ripper who'd been inspired to copy her fellow Doll's suicidal tactics.

Swapping the Marshall out for the Nova, I hoist the Guard's shield up and actually get taken aback for a moment by just how goddamn heavy the thing is. Not so heavy that it requires a power boost to hold, but enough to remind me that I'm dealing with machines here, not humans. Machines aren't burdened by trivial things like muscle aches. They're far stronger physically and way more adaptable.

Of course, being part machine myself, those same attributes also apply to me. Wielding the pistol and shield together, I dump a full mag into the remaining Sangvis Dolls, keeping my aim as steady as I can manage and somehow scoring a fair number of headshots. And I guess these shields are made to be heat resistant, since aside from a ruined paint job, it holds up remarkably well under sustained fire.

Is it cowardly for a frontline fighter like me to hide behind a slab of metal? Executioner might've thought so. Then again, she's dead and I'm not, so her opinion is kind of invalid.

The pistol clicks dry. I need both hands to reload, so I plunge the shield into the dirt, then crouch behind it while fumbling for a fresh magazine.

The Dolls quickly take advantage of the lapse in return fire to rush my exposed flank. I'd just finished slotting a mag in and have the slide pulled back when they make their strike, dousing me with violet energy bolts, having encircled me on all sides. Not a big deal, though. The suit's reserves are charged up and ready, and with their numbers steadily dwindling, my hardened exoskeleton doesn't have any trouble soaking up the damage.

Yanking the shield free by its edge, I settle on a Vespid and throw it one-handed like a frisbee, grinning under my helmet when it shears the android's head clean off her shoulders.

The odds in this skirmish are empirically lopsided in my favor and damn if I'm not enjoying it. I'm so enthralled by the heat of battle, the fact that I'm still getting sprayed by superheated energy bolts isn't even registering anymore. Pfft – Sangvis are fooling themselves by this point. I've walked away from far worse injuries than a little plasma. They can shoot me with as many high-tech guns as they want; the Nanosuit's signature Ionic Electroactive Polymer Liquid Armor doesn't give a fuck.

Combat data continually streams into my brain via SECOND's real-time battlefield analysis, subtly directing my every action. A Vespid provides covering fire for another charging Ripper; two back-to-back headshots drop the pair. Yet another Ripper emerges from one of the prefabs, probably wondering what all the racket outside is about. She takes a 9mm bullet to the face for her curiosity.

Three more Vespids team up to form a firing line. I swap back to my shotgun and rush them, shrugging off their barrage, and close the distance with a loud bang, killing the one in the middle. The Doll to my right is floored by a powerful blow to the chest with the Marshall's buttstock, while the android to the left gets nailed immediately after by a deafening, lethal blast. The one I hadn't shot is still moving, so I rectify that by slamming my gun into her silly-looking helmet over and over until her erratic spasms cease.

The area around me is littered with broken Dolls, some mostly intact, some not so much. The sole survivor of my one-man massacre is a highly determined Vespid.

Even now, surrounded by the trashed remains of her comrades, she's crouched in a firing position, relentlessly hammering me with everything she has. Honestly don't know whether to be impressed by her programmed tenacity or roll my eyes at her lack of situational awareness.

Turning to face her, I stow the shotgun on my back where it'll be nice and safe from getting melted. Then, unfazed by the pitiful damage she's inflicting, I stride right up to the android and proceed to cave her head in with a strong kick.

And just like that, the fighting is over and the outpost cleared.

I am Alky, Bane of Androids. Or maybe Doll Slayer. Thot Destroyer? I'll have to sleep on it tonight.

Now that things are settled down, I figure I'll take the opportunity to search the compound, maybe see if-

"Bark. Bark. Bark."

Whump.

"Bark. Bark. Grrr."

Whump.

The fuck is that?

I look down and find myself genuinely caught off-guard at the sight of a walking toaster thing ramming itself into my leg. It meets my confounded gaze with its single large optic, playing an audio recording of a dog growling. The little robot 'barks' at me again before doubling down on its effort to kill me (at least, I think that's what it's trying to do).

BUD visually identifying the small machine as a 'Dinergate' does nothing to quell my confusion.

Um. Okay. I have a lot of questions about this, chief among them why a faction of evil automatons hellbent on world domination like Sangvis Ferri felt the need to make pets. The darn thing isn't even armed, as far as I can tell. There is literally no reason for it to exist.

The Dinergate keeps ramming me and letting out simulated dog sounds. Unsure of what to do at first, I settle for picking it up by one of its stubby legs and throwing it against the side of a building. It breaks apart on impact, scattering tiny pieces across the ground.

Wisely concluding that giving further thought to the robot canine would end with an unneeded headache, I instead head back to the guard tower, itching to claim my prize.

(Four Hours Later)

It's nearing early evening. The sun is gradually dipping lower, the trees casting tall shadows across the small clearing where I've constructed my temporary camp.

The outpost I'd gotten my new cloak from hadn't yielded any useful salvage. The one I'd stumbled across between then and now, however, bore something I've longed for ever since my escape from the facility: MRE packs. I'd been subsisting on nuts and berries for the past five days, so even though the packaging is blank and I haven't a clue what's inside, I'm still more than willing to give it a try.

Don't ask me why machines had a shed full of MREs. As with the Dinergate, I don't care enough to find the answer. All that matters now is that I have food, and Lord almighty, my stomach is making the rumblies.

Sitting cross-legged on the cloak I'd laid over the grass, I tear the packaging open and get a whiff if its contents. It looks like chicken. It smells like chicken. I haven't found a ration heater, unfortunately, though it'll take far more than being denied the prospect of a hot meal to stop me from devouring the whole thing. Only wish I had a spoon.

I'm seconds away from digging in when I remember something.

Smiling, I courteously offer the ration to my friend. "Want a bite?" I offer politely.

Chino says nothing. I knew he wouldn't. It's in his nature to be quiet – he is a rock, after all.

I think it was around day three when I started going crazy from the lack of companionship, so I took it upon myself to make one from scratch. I'd used berry juice to paint my old squadmate's face, in excruciating detail, on a decently sized rock, complete with his buzzcut and devil-may-care smirk. He's a marine, like I am. He keeps watch for me while I raid Sangvis outposts, lets me have first crack at the spoils, listens to me bitch and moan about how unfair my life is, and all the other things a best friend usually does. He's my comrade in arms through and through.

In my defense, I'm getting desperate. People do weird shit when they crave any semblance of familiarity.

"No?" I raise an eyebrow at Chino's quiet refusal, then shrug indifferently. "Suit yourself, man. More for me."

Bringing the MRE to my lips, I inhale a mouthful and realize my partner made the better choice as soon as the contents touch my tongue.

It tastes like chicken… if the chicken was thrown in a sewer and left to rot for a week.

I immediately spit it back out. My subsequent loogies descend into a brief coughing fit when the taste refuses to die away, lingering in my mouth the same way cigarette smoke does, and the whole time I berate my idiot self for thinking I could eat a ration apparently designed for androids. Good god, it makes the fast food hamburger that gave me food poisoning when I was thirteen taste like five-star cuisine by comparison.

Fifteen dollars an hour, what a fucking joke…

I throw the rest of it away, sending a dark glare in Chino's direction. Growling low in my throat, I snap at him, "The hell are you smilin' about?"

Chino continues to demonstrate good decision making by not answering. Smart choice. He knows I'll punch him in his rocky little face if he gives me any lip.

Sighing, I flop to the ground, staring ahead at the blue sky that now possesses a slight orange tint. I shiver and wrap the cloak around my naked body when a stiff breeze blows across the clearing.

This has been my life for the past five days, I numbly think.

The facility's sewer deposited me at the bottom of a river in the middle of a thick forest; I'd followed the current for roughly five miles before breaking off to trek into the woods. I don't know the scale of Sangvis Ferri's forces out here or if they'll send another search party after me, so I keep my movements erratic, doing my best to shake any possible pursuers off my trail.

I never got a look at the facility's exterior, either. Didn't want to. The farther away I am from that damnable hellhole, the better.

I live a frugal lifestyle, eating whatever I can scavenge and sleeping whenever I feel safe, which isn't nearly as often as I would like. It perplexed me at first: Nanosuit 2 is supposed to remove any need for food and rest, so why can I suddenly feel hunger and drowsiness again? It never crossed my mind while I was in the facility, but with the great outdoors shielding me from prying Sangvis eyes – at least for now – I had plenty of time to find the answer.

Thankfully, what I learned put all of my potential fears to rest.

Turns out the hunger pangs occur when the suit's in need of a quick energy fix or when I'm seriously injured. A little help from SECOND later, I found out that all the food and drink I consume is broken down into nanites in addition to nutrients, which in turn can be used as techno-organic mass to repair the suit in case of breaches (like when I get shot). Any leftover bits my body deems unfit are expelled as waste, same as a normal human.

It makes sense in hindsight. Although the suit is capable of self-repair, the nanites needed to fix my injuries have to come from somewhere, right? They're totally mechanical; if there's one basic biology function they can't imitate, it's cellular mitosis. On a similar note, I'll no longer have to rely on the suit's dreaded NOM function if I find myself on a battlefield with no easy access to sunlight or electricity. I can just bring a bag of Skittles.

Sleep's not nearly as complicated. According to the AI, it's used as a power conservation method during night cycles. I guess that also explains why I've been able to burn a shitload of kilometers during daylight hours and not feel exhaustion.

All in all, it seems like the Nanosuit's adapted itself to not just look like a human, but to mimic their basic needs and habits as closely as possible while still benefitting from the symbiosis. Clever.

And since I'm on the topic of the N2, I used the excessive amount of free time at my disposal to both reacquaint myself with its abilities and see how many new ones Prophet might've unlocked while I was away. A few days' worth of testing yielded some interesting results.

For one, sprinting at top speed no longer drains suit energy; a boon if I need to engage armor and run away from something. I've also tested the new hacking function during my raids on larger Sangvis outposts, pitting it against automated cameras, turrets, and those godawful hoverdrones (which, now that my tac visor is no longer impeded, finally have a name to go with them – 'Scouts'). It works like a charm – there was even an instance or two where I cleaned out a whole area without firing a single shot.

Unfortunately, humanoid Sangvis Dolls are immune to remote hacking. I tried it once on a Vespid and all it did was alert her to my presence. Can't have everything, I suppose.

There are other differences, too. For starters, my overall intelligence seems to have regressed closer to how it was before I got the suit, a theory backed up by how much of the eloquence in my speech patterns is suddenly gone. Oh, sure, I can still roll big words like inconspicuous around without a second thought, but I'm not about to wax poetic about my situation or my surroundings. I'm living in a goddamn forest. I've said that already.

The eidetic memory, on the other hand, is mostly intact. Mostly. I can remember exactly how much medium machine gun ammo it takes to bring down a Ceph Heavy. What I'm not able to tell you is what I ate for breakfast on my sixth birthday.

I feel more like my old self: a snarky, booze-guzzling memelord. Not… whatever it was the N2 turned me into.

"Laurence Barnes, I think. Prophet.

"Alcatraz, then. It doesn't matter… That's not who I am anymore."

…Did those words seriously come out of my mouth?

I involuntarily shiver again, and not just because it's chilly out. How much was I really in control of my own thoughts back then? How many of the mission's objectives were accomplished by my choice and not the suit's?

How much of my identity was replaced, even before Prophet commandeered my body?

I glance over at Rock Chino. If he has an opinion on the matter, he's in no rush to share it.

"Am I overthinking this?" I ask him anyway. "Like, doesn't it rub you the wrong way how the suit turns you into what it wants you to be?" I blink when a new thought comes to mind. "Or better yet, why would it bother undoing those changes? Why would the perfect machine return my humanity?"

Silence.

"Maybe you're right," I concede. "I mean, I suppose it makes sense. This freaky armor and I are one and the same now, so we must've picked up each other's strengths and weaknesses. Maybe it inherited my human faults. Shit goes two ways, you know?"

Still more silence.

I wrap the Jaeger's cloak tighter, turning back to gaze at the puffy clouds overhead. I've grown to appreciate mundane activities like cloud watching after what feels like an eternity of trudging through one hellhole after another. "Man, we've dug ourselves into some real Spielberg shit… Aliens and androids and stuff like that. And World War III, apparently. I'm surprised the air's still breathable. Guess the Powers That Be didn't resort to nuking the planet, huh?"

A humorless chuckle escapes me. "Politicians making smart choices… can you imagine?"

I like to think Chino would've said no.

Stretching my right arm out, I watch fake skin disappear beneath layers of gunmetal gray nano-weave, continuing to observe as it switches back and forth and back again. Partial transformations – another neat party trick I'd discovered over the course of the week. I can summon the Nanosuit to cover any desired body parts, and while I'm not sure yet how that could be put to practical use, I still think it's pretty cool.

It won't help me out of my current predicament, though.

"…You think I'll be able to go back home?" I ask quietly. "Hell, I can live with being a post-human whatever, especially now that I can blend into society again, but what happens now? It's been almost six days and we haven't seen a single person. Just Dolls." I let out another weary sigh. "And let's not forget how we're at least eight years into the-"

BANG! BANG!

Birds roosting in the trees take off in a panic.

There's a fleeting whatthefuckwasthat moment, and I swear up and down I levitate three feet into the air from where I'm sprawled out on the ground. I'm already back in Nanosuit form by the time I scramble to my feet, rushing to collect my belongings – guns, cloak, Chino, all of it.

I'm busy fastening the cloak around my neck when SECOND, for the first time since my escape, posts an objective:

Primary: Investigate the Disturbance

A waypoint pops into existence approximately 279 meters away, somewhere to the northeast beyond a dense cluster of trees.

I gun through the foliage without hesitation, legs firing on all cylinders. I can hear the hydraulics pumping as I swiftly weave around tree trunks and bushes and jump over protruding roots. Thanks to my augmented reflexes, not even the natural obstacles prevent me from closing in on the waypoint at speeds that would make an Olympic runner green with envy.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Ballistic gunfire. Two distinct firing sounds, most likely belonging to a pistol and a mid-caliber rifle.

Although I don't know who or what could be firing those weapons, or why they're out this far in the middle of scenic nowhere, one thing is almost undeniably certain: whatever the source, it isn't Sangvis Ferri. All of the rogue Dolls I'd fought sans Destroyer used energy-based firearms.

It's not beyond the realm of possibility that a pair of wayward hunters got lost in the forest and accidentally wandered into Sangvis' turf. If that's the case, I have to reach them before the automatons ruin everything.

I pass the 150-meter mark and keep up the pace.

More gunfire erupts, and this time I recognize the distinct whuzz of plasma bolts. My heart leaps to my throat; I mentally urge the suit for more energy, pushing all the extra power it has available to my legs. I pull out the Marshall and hold it close.

Whoever my potential allies are, however, they definitely aren't pushovers. They counter Sangvis' assault with shots of their own, and for the next several seconds, the air is filled with the cacophony of exchanging gunfire.

Don't die, I chant in my head. Don't die, don't die, I'm almost there good Lord please don't die!

Less than a hundred meters to go. The gunfire's still there, but it sounds weaker on Sangvis' side now. Holy crap, are the sexbots actually losing to a pair of humans?

The skirmish comes to a close just as I reach the 30-meter point.

Slowing to a brisk walk, I cloak out of reflex, then scan the area in front of me with the tac visor's binoculars. Up ahead is another Sangvis installation, so tiny it's more like a checkpoint than an outpost, composed of a single metal prefab building with a few black tarps and a dozen dead Dolls littered around it. Looks like SF hadn't finished setting up before they were ambushed. The suit highlights a nearby boulder, big enough in size for me to crouch behind, recommending I do just that and observe whatever the hell is going on here.

With no better plan to speak of, I duck into hiding, focus the binoculars on the Sangvis camp, and wait with bated breath.

A few moments of dull nothingness pass before the shape of a person exits the prefab. Spying from a safe distance away, I zoom in closer on the figure and and and whooooaaaa she is dummy thicc.

It's worth noting here that despite my conversion into a Nanosuit lifeform, when you strip away the technology, I'm still a twenty-four-year-old guy at heart. I have needs, dammit.

And God delivered the solution to those needs in the form of a drop-dead gorgeous young woman, somewhere around my age or a bit younger. She's wearing a small yet fancy black jacket over a white blouse-slash-miniskirt combo, along with black high heels decorated with purple ribbons. The front of her blouse is unbuttoned enough to reveal some of the considerable… erm, 'assets' hiding underneath. A black stocking covers up most of her left leg, and her light brown hair is tied back with a third, massive blue ribbon. Completing her getup is a red purse slung around her shoulder.

I don't need BUD to tell me what the weapon she's holding in a sentry pose is. I've handled enough firearms during my enlistment to recognize a FAL assault rifle off the bat.

She's not alone, either. Perched on her other shoulder, a white ferret wearing a red bow around its neck sniffs the air, its little nose twitching incessantly. Its master turns to look at it, smiling affectionately as she scratches the animal's chin.

What. The fuck. Am I looking at.

This girl, whoever she is, evokes a strange, delightful feeling in my body; it's invasive to the point where I break my eyes away from her to stare at the space between my legs. Huh. I wasn't aware that part of me still works.

I return to watching the camp just in time to see a second figure enter from the wooded outskirts, this one sporting a handgun. Like her friend, she's dressed in a black coat and white blouse (and has a similarly large bust, I might add), the main differences being the lack of a stocking as well as her hair color: a waterfall of silver that glistens in the rays of sunlight that manage to peek through the canopy, tied in a long ponytail by a black ribbon that wouldn't look out of place on a Playboy Bunny.

Is it possible for a half-man half-machine to go full Blue Screen of Death? Because I'm pretty sure I do just then. No matter whether or not my internal CPU crashed, though, my next cognitive thoughts go a little something like this:

Personality file "Alcatraz" has encountered a system error and has been shut down to prevent damage. Please attempt to restart at a later time.

I must sit there gaping behind that rock for a good ten seconds, staring in awe at the two supermodels now conversing in front of the prefab. It isn't until my brain slaps my dick, yells at it to get its head out of the gutter, then points at the girls and demands it pay closer attention to their appearances that I realize something isn't quite right with this picture.

Now that I dwell on it, isn't it more than a tad suspicious that a pair of smoking hot chicks apparently just decided to grab some guns and waltz into a forest full of rogue Dolls? Why would they do something so reckless? So goddamn stupid? What was the point? Hell, if they want to conduct guerilla warfare, the very least they could've done is bring more tactical gear than a few holsters.

Caution creeping in, I pay close attention to the girls' conversation, the suit's AI amplifying their words while drowning out the background noise.

"Explain to me again why we're out here cleaning up all these obscure Sangvis outposts?" Snow White asks, sounding a little agitated.

Stowing her rifle, Dummy Thicc folds her arms across her shapely chest, regarding her companion with a cool, composed stare. "As opposed to chasing ghosts? Whatever this thing we're looking for is, it hasn't been playing nice with our enemies. And if our target is constantly seeking battle, what better way to get its attention than by starting a fight ourselves?"

Target? What target? Are they talking about me…?

"But what if it doesn't show up?" the silver-haired beauty presses. "Or worse, what if it's too strong for the two of us to handle alone? We left F2000 to guard the last outpost, and FNC and FN-49 are a mile away from us. Who even knows what Ballista's up to. Do you really think we'd stand a chance against this thing if it attacks while we're all separated?"

The ferret interrupts with a squeak. The brunette gently sets it on the ground, informing her pet it has five minutes of playtime before letting it scurry off.

"You sound convinced our target is a singular entity, non?" she notes after watching it disappear into some trees.

"Oui. All the evidence points to a single attacker." Snow White nods, her hair bobbing in rhythm with the motion. "I've heard of desperate humans banding together to fight SF and take back their habitable land, but some of the damage we saw earlier… I don't think humans did that. Some of those Dolls looked like they'd been ripped apart by a wild animal."

Okay, now I'm almost certain they're talking about me.

More unsettling, and what really kicks my paranoia into sudden overdrive, is the revelation that these two beautiful women are not, in fact, women. If the hand-crafted physical perfection and weird choice of outfits didn't tip me off before, the implied mention of humans as a separate species all but confirms my worst fears: I'm spying on more Tactical Dolls.

I force down any disappointment I might feel and mull over the facts. The good news – unless this is an incredibly elaborate trick designed to lure me in with a false sense of safety, there is no way these Dolls are aligned with Sangvis Ferri. The weapons and mannerisms don't match SF's standards at all. The bad news – they're still Dolls, they still have an interest in me (and not the good kind), and I now know there are at least four more of them patrolling the woodlands.

I sigh internally. I never used to be this popular with the ladies…

The million-dollar question now is what to do about this unexpected development. Dismantling those two is a very tempting option, as is interrogation. The pair might've been competent enough to wipe out a Sangvis checkpoint without getting so much as a smidge of dirt on their designer clothes, but if all they're packing between them is a rifle and a pistol, I have nothing to worry about.

I could alternatively keep gathering intel from a distance and avoid a fight altogether. Having a few extra Dolls around as cannon fodder to draw Sangvis Ferri away would buy me time to better plan out my next move, be it fight, flight, or some other third thing.

In the end, I choose to continue my observation. I'm not a mindless savage, even if the Dolls' mere existence has my trigger finger on edge.

Dummy Thicc shrugs. "Maybe you're right about that, maybe you're not. Or maybe Sangvis wanted a pet Stalker."

"That's not funny, FAL," Snow White snaps. "And it explains neither the gunshot wounds nor the headless Dolls at the larger outposts. You know, the ones with the jammers."

That one I have an explanation for. Three of the largest bases I'd tackled possessed towers topped with dish-shaped satellite jammers; unlike the Ceph version, those jammers only fucked with my minimap and not the whole suit.

I'd invented a sick game to celebrate each time I conquered one. It basically boiled down to ripping the humanoid Dolls' heads off and punting them at the radar dishes – the closer I got to hitting the center, the more points I earned. It's not too uncommon for my makeshift soccer balls to punch holes through the goal. If the BUD still wasn't fixed afterward, I'd find the jammer's power source, usually a mobile generator, and break it.

It's the only way to amuse myself out here that doesn't involve fighting, okay? Cut me some slack.

Back in the present, Snow White lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"Look, I know the Commander is curious to find out whatever this thing we're dealing with is, but it's been three days and we've barely found any tangible evidence. Something's running around the sector's border killing every Sangvis in sight? Good! I say we leave it alone, then. Better to keep letting our new friend have its fun than risk provoking it."

The rifle-toting Doll's expression remains stoic. "Has our purpose slipped your digi-mind, Five-seveN? Team FN was founded to root out the cause of unexplainable phenomenon, so there's no echelon more qualified for this job than us. No going back to base until we find something that firmly proves or disproves this creature's existence. Besides…" A ghost of a smirk graces her lips. "How will you explain to the Commander that you're willing to let something possibly dangerous stalk the woods unsupervised?"

The other Doll opens her mouth to respond-

"Squeak!"

...That is not a sound that girls, human or Doll, should make.

I deactivate the visor and look down. A small ferret stares back at me with beady black eyes.

Crap, how did it sneak up on me?!

"Shoo!" I whisper-hiss. "Git! Get outta here!"

It squeaks again, louder this time, and my breath catches in my throat when a female voice calls out: "Fel? Fel, where are you?"

I quickly glance back at the camp. Dummy Thicc is approaching my direction, rifle back in her manicured hands. Snow White is trailing behind with her handgun drawn and ready.

"What's the matter, Fel? Do you see something?"

I mentally beg SECOND for options but I'm left with nothing. The AI has an irritating habit of abandoning me whenever I face conflicting choices involving morals or ethics, as if to tell me, "You're the human here, so you have to deal with the human crap". Though in hindsight, I really can't blame it for refusing to hold my hand every time I get myself into trouble.

What am I supposed to do, then? A whirlwind of half-assed ideas cascade through my mind, discarded and replaced as quickly as they come with none of them taking root. Fight Dolls. Talk to Dolls. Capture and interrogate Dolls. Fuck Dolls. Fuck no.

Okay, yes, but in a different subtext.

I try again to persuade the ferret to scram, scat, leave me the fuck alone but it isn't having any of that. It lunges forward to bite my foot; thinking fast, I cloak and back into the open, cursing in my head when it moves to follow after me. I'm only saved when Dummy Thicc whistles for her pet to come back to momma, an order it obeys without question.

Just as I decide to fall back on a plan I often employed in the research facility whenever the odds were stacked against me (run away… Executioner might've been right, maybe I am a coward), both Dolls abruptly stop a dozen meters away, each raising a hand to her ear.

"This is Recon Team Alpha, what have you got for us FNC? …Come again?" The brunette Doll lifts a delicate brow. "Repeat your last. You said you caught a glimpse of someone fleeing into the woods just now? …I see. Relay the target's possible coordinates; Five-seveN and I will move to intercept. In the meantime, hold your position with FN-49 and keep us updated on any further developments. FAL out."

Once the call ends, Snow White shoots her friend a skeptical look. "You're not thinking about engaging, are you?"

"Non, but I'll contact Ballista and put her on overwatch. Let's see if we can't get this done before sunset…"

I take advantage of the distraction to beat a hasty exit. Enlightening as this encounter was, a slew of new questions leaves me wondering: Who did the other team see? Is someone else on the run out here? If so, are they a friend?

Or an enemy?

(Nightfall)

Dinner is a sordid affair, mainly because Chino won't quit needling me about earlier.

"Don't give me that look," I snap at him over a meal of blackberries and partially burnt salmon. I'd set up a bivouac at the shoreline of some rapids and figured, in a moment of young adult stupidity, that I'd give spearfishing a try. Using tree sap to glue a branch to a pointy rock was the easy part. It took close to an hour and a half to actually catch one of the damn things, and my augmented memory is the only reason I remember my FORECON trials teaching me how to skin and cook the fish. "I know what you're thinking: 'Ha-ha, Alcatraz panicked when some pretty girls approached him, he must be a beta faggot'. Fuck you, man."

Using more rocks as utensils, I spear another bite of salmon and pop it in my mouth. I'm normally a rotten cook, but this didn't come out half bad. I also got a warm fire going courtesy of some dried bark and a lot of trial and error.

It's times like these where I wish I'd joined the Boy Scouts when I was younger. As it stands, I'd kill for a bag of marshmallows right now.

"Kinda weird how the Dolls were calling each other by their guns' names," I muse aloud after swallowing. "Unless I'm missing something, I know I heard them say FAL and Five-seveN. Question is, did they name themselves after their guns, or did someone else? …Tch. I like my own names better. The one with the handgun is definitely a Snow White." I pause to chew a few berries, thinking to myself. "Or a Matilda."

Chino continues to smirk at me through the firelight.

I roll my eyes. "Very funny. I know they're packing some 'big guns'," I make air quotes, "but that doesn't change what they are on the inside. They're Tactical Dolls, bro, and they have it out for us. We can't trust them."

The smirk remains in place.

"If you wanna stick your neck out by putting the moves on them, I won't stop you. Just don't expect any help if shit hits the fan."

That Chino, always letting his dick do the thinking. A true marine.

I take a quick dip in the river once dinner's finished, using the Jaeger's cloak as a towel before washing it clean as well. I set it near the fire to dry, then sit down between it and Chino, finally allowing myself to relax for the night.

My mind begins to wander as I look up at the starlit sky. The lack of light pollution makes for a beautiful view – you can't get this kind of scenery porn back in my home state of New Jersey. Well, you can in some places, but not anywhere close to where I lived. The air is crisp, clean to the taste, possessing no traces of airborne chemicals. The noise in the area comes from the crackling of the fire and the rushing waters adjacent to the campsite, not blaring car horns and yelling neighbors.

It's the most I've felt at peace for a very long time.

It's also ironic, now that I think about it. I, a machine-influenced consciousness inhabiting a body heavily reinforced with cutting edge technology, am truly alone with nature.

"Would you shut the fuck up already?" I shoot a withering glare Chino's way when he not-so-helpfully points out how I'm technically co-inhabiting the forest with Tactical Dolls. "I'm not gonna let my guard down, so quit hounding me about it. Geez, sometimes you're worse than my sister."

He doesn't seem all that fazed. I let out a sigh, rubbing my tired eyes.

"Sorry dude… I know you're just looking out for me, and I really appreciate it. Us jarheads gotta stick together, right? Right. Rah."

A minute passes and I grow bored, so I grab a nearby stick and entertain myself by doodling in the sand. I start with a jacked stick figure representing yours truly. Then, as an afterthought, I draw a little circular smiley face next to it. Can't leave Chino out, can I? After that comes the Three Bitchketeers composed of Scarecrow, Executioner, and Destroyer, followed by a rough Sangvis Ferri logo.

So. Let's recap what I know so far.

Some crazy Sangvis Doll with a grudge against humans wants me taken in dead or alive so they can use me as a lab rat. Again. I don't want that to happen.

Ergo, I need to fight them. No case of mistaken identity this time; it's definitely me they're after, yet I'm still not sure why the sudden interest.

I circle Executioner's unflattering drawing. I remember her saying something about fixing the Dolls' flaws, so I'm hypothesizing there's something about my biology they want to incorporate into themselves. The question is, what are they after specifically? SECOND? Better combat hardware?

Why would they even need that? They're no Ceph, but Sangvis aren't slouches in a firefight. Their Ringleaders alone could kick CELL's ass any day of the week. So what are they trying to compensate for?

I don't have an explanation, so instead I shift focus to the unknown variable: Griffin. Shitty drawings of FAL and Five-seveN are positioned between the Marines and Sangvis.

Who's this Griffin faction, and where do they fit into the equation? Based on what I gathered through eavesdropping, they definitely know something is out here slaughtering Sangvis left and right, but what strikes me as odd is that they appear to have zero idea what that something is. They never mentioned a rogue Nanosuit operator or anything that specifically describes me at all; just vague details about some sort of wild creature.

On that train of thought, why are they out here trying to find me? If only I could deduce how they learned of my existence…

The answer hits me like lightning.

"The jamming towers…"

Yes, that has to be the reason. These Dolls and their 'Commander' must be monitoring enemy activity in the region via satellite, and the radar dishes I'd destroyed in my games of kickball must've been built in retaliation by Sangvis to mask their presence. The folks at Griffin are probably scratching their heads every time a previously undetected installation pops up on the map.

It all fits together. I've been causing such a ruckus these last few days that whomever commands these Griffin Dolls sent them out to find the source. I'd fled when I thought I was compromised, assuming they had hostile intentions when the truth is that they might not even be enemies at all.

...But what if they are hostile? What if the human race has been usurped by combat androids who don't always get along with each other?

Jesus, listen to me. I'm turning into fucking Leavenworth.

Several seconds tick by while I stare at the drawings with intense concentration. I'm missing a lot of pieces in this puzzle, and I'm honestly worried that unless I get my hands on more intel, this lack of knowledge will come back to bite me in the ass the moment I make one wrong move. Even by Marine Special Forces standards, I have very little to work with here.

I turn to look at Chino. "You got any input? Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you don't."

Without waiting for the response I know won't come, I crawl onto the freshly dried cloak, wrapping myself into a warm, cozy bundle. "Night, Chino. Wake me if you spot anything."

This has been my life for five days now. Despite my isolation and reliance on Stone Age tech to survive, things are going… pretty okay, I guess. It's infinitely preferable to being in that horrid facility, that's for sure. And if I'm being perfectly honest, I'd much rather have my enemies view me as a mythical forest hermit than an escaped test subject. Street cred and all that.

I steal another glance at my only friend. He sits sentinel at my side, keeping a vigilant watch over our surroundings.

"…I'm talking to a goddamn rock," I flatly mumble.

Sleep doesn't come easily that night.

First real breather chapter of the story. The next few will also be light on action, and if I'm doing the math right… (counts on fingers) then the chapter after the next one will be when Alcatraz finally gets the whole G&K experience.

I'm going to make him suffer. :D

On a different note, I can't stop thinking about what it would be like if certain guns from the Crysis series were implemented into GFL. What I wouldn't give for a Typhoon T-Doll. Crazy high damage, maxed out rate of fire, nonexistent accuracy… basically MAC-10 on crack.

So, yeah. That's all I have to say for now. I'll see if I can get the next chapter out before the Christmas holiday at my job destroys the fragments of my soul still clinging to life, but I make no promises.

(1/19/20 edit: Postponed the next chapter to overhaul the story. Rejoice, for the overhaul is done! Also decided to keep the fight scenes as they are.)