Would you guys believe me if I said any possible S.T.A.L.K.E.R. reference from last chapter was completely unintentional?

I'm also amused that only one person has speculated about who the Commander is…

"Do you have a family, Alcatraz?"

I blink once, then twice. The question came so far out of left field that I'm at a loss for words. The best I manage is a confused stare and a stupid, "Huh?"

M4 wrings her hands, nervously averting her gaze. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking… I told you I have sisters, and family is considered an important subject to humans. So I was wondering if… um…"

She trails off and falls silent. I don't say anything, either. What an amicable relationship we have.

It's been a couple of hours since we met those human brothers, Damir and Lev. They dumped us in the flatbed of a pickup truck so close to death the ignition sounded like it was screaming in agony when the older twin turned the key. Even worse is that the road isn't paved, meaning every rough patch – which we run into about every thirty seconds – feels like a goddamn earthquake. It's not fun, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm a big boy. I can tolerate it.

The forest rushes by us in a blur of green and brown, the wind whipping at my loose clothing. I've missed stuff like this. Going on road trips, being with other people – normal things I haven't experienced in a week. Or a few decades, of you want to be technical about it.

It took less than ten minutes after we departed for M4 to start badgering me about my life again.

Simple stuff at first, not dissimilar to what you'd normally ask when making a new friend: "Is James your real first name?" Maybe. "Would you prefer I call you that instead of Alcatraz?" No. "Where did you grow up?" New Jersey. "What was it like there?" The state was fine, the people sucked.

This went on for a fairly long while before she realized I wasn't in a chatty mood and left me alone. It's not like I was trying to push her away though; hell no. She's the first person- err, machine… sentient being to give a shit about me in this fucked-up future, and despite the short time we've known each other, I find myself growing fond of her. Her kind personality, her timid yet polite mannerisms… it reminds me of Alice. I'm not trying to be a dick to her or anything. I'm just a quiet guy by nature.

And hey, at least she knew not to ask anything too personal, right? Right?

Wrong. I was expecting the rest of the trip to pass in silence when she opened her mouth again and dropped that bombshell on me.

"…Sister." I finally reply.

M4 looks back to me, interest piqued. "Really? You have a sister too? Older or younger?"

"Younger. She was just a kid when…"

Now it's my turn to leave the sentence unfinished.

Alice… I have no idea what happened to her after I went to say goodbye. After Prophet cowed that… that… abhorrent excuse for a foster father into submission. I personally would've killed the fucker on the spot if haunting my own body wasn't so damn tiring.

I should look into finding her. Even if our relationship can never be the same, even if she's dead… some closure would bring me peace.

The T-Doll seated across from me notices my distraught expression and quickly backpedals. "I'm so sorry, Alcatraz! I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories!" she assures me. "It was insensitive of me to ask you that. You've been gone for almost four decades, haven't you…?"

When I nod wordlessly, she continues, "Again, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. You and your sister… were you… close?"

"She meant the world to me," I freely admit. Memories of the years spent raising her come to the forefront: playing with her, studying with her, comforting her, everything a good big brother does. Although it was a hassle at times, the payout was well worth it. "We were poor. The Double Dip – you must've heard of that, you know, the major economic shitstorm some people called the 'Second Great Depression' – it hit us hard. But we took care of one another. As long as we had each other to lean on, it was enough. I worked whatever jobs I could find to keep the electricity running, and she handled all the domestic stuff. Cooking, cleaning, all the basics. She was making full meals by the time she was nine. Pretty impressive, huh?"

"She sounds like quite the special person. I would've loved to meet her."

I turn away to hide a smirk. Alice would've adored M4A1. She cared for me as much as I do for her, no question about it, although she did admit to me once that she sometimes wished for a sister. "Yeah, she was an angel. You two would've gotten along great."

"I'm glad to hear that." The Doll nods and smiles gently. "What about your parents?"

The smirk vanishes. Now she's just being nosy. "…I'd rather not talk about them."

I bite back a groan when it looks like she's about to ask something else when we're suddenly jostled by yet another speed bump. I stay rooted in place, having long gotten used to handling difficult terrain during my tenure in the Marines. M4, not so much. She lets out a shriek when her precious rifle nearly jumps out the side of the truck.

Damir pokes his head out the driver's side window. "Apologies for the rough ride, comrades! We will arrive at the base shortly; I promise you this!"

He's gone before either of us can acknowledge him. Even over the roar of the dying animal that is the flatbed's engine, I hear Lev chastise his brother about taking his eyes off the road. Damir fires back that it was only for a second, and how if Lev thought he was truly being reckless, he would've taken the wheel by force.

I go back to watching the passing scenery, content to let the two siblings bicker. Idly I wonder how much longer it'll be until we reach the outpost's front gate.

Soon I resign myself to the fact that M4's dead set on filling the void with more conversation. "So, um… I guess we'll head our separate ways once I'm at base, huh?"

"I guess so."

"Where will you go?"

"Haven't decided yet," I tell her in all honesty. "Think I might travel the world. Explore a bit, see what's changed. Help out where I can. Maybe put some old demons to rest." I shrug my shoulders lightly. "Dunno, really. I want to keep my options open."

She nods. "I understand. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for, Alcatraz." She gives me a warm, sincere smile. "And… thank you again for all you've done. Even though we've known each other for less than a day, you've been a huge help to me."

I snort and look away again, hoping she doesn't see the flush of color in my cheeks. I'm not used to getting compliments from strangers – the media in my time had a field day painting military servicemen as monsters over some of the unethical shit we resorted to in the name of 'peacekeeping'. Besides, I didn't really do much. All I did was tell her I saw a couple of Griffin Dolls and escort her to that village. I did nothing worth the amount of praise she's heaping on me.

She's quick to disagree when I point that out. "That's not true! If you hadn't been around, those Ceph Stalkers would've… I wouldn't be…" She shivers and shakes her head, dispelling the thought. "You gave me food, and a place to rest. That's more than most people would do for a mere Doll. And if you hadn't accompanied me, I would've stayed clear of the village, meaning there wouldn't have been a battle, meaning Lev and Damir wouldn't have come to investigate, meaning-"

"Okay, okay, I get your point." I raise both hands to placate the android. Passive verbal scans inform me she's getting distressed, and her being in hysterics when we arrive at base is a headache I don't need. "I'm, um, happy. To have helped."

M4 visibly relaxes. Then, shyly, she asks me, "Will you come visit sometime?"

I'm thrown for a loop for the second time in a matter of minutes. "I'm sorry, what?"

"After this is all over and done with… When the data's been delivered, and the rest of AR Team is rescued…" The girl puts on a brave face. Have to admit, it looks more adorable than serious. "I'd like to keep in touch with you. A lot has changed since 2023, and… I'm worried about you being overwhelmed."

She wants to see me again…? I'm so shocked that it almost doesn't register when we hit a particularly nasty bump in the road.

Wow. Okay. That's… kind of unexpected, but it's not a bad thing. No, definitely not.

M4 subconsciously drums her fingers on the gun in her lap. "If it were me in your position, I'm not sure what I'd do either… but I know for certain I wouldn't want to be alone. You can come visit me at Griffin HQ between your travels. I could introduce you to my sisters! We're often busy, but we'll make it work, somehow."

"M4-"

"You had a sister. You had a future, and it was taken away from you," she cuts me off, and I get the feeling her mind isn't in the here-and-now anymore. She lowers her head, black hair covering her eyes. "That's not fair. If you hadn't defeated the Ceph, then I never would've been built. Humanity would be extinct. The whole planet would be overrun by those monsters, or worse. Everyone alive owes you a debt, Alcatraz, and I can't sit idly by and let our savior feel like what he did went unappreciated. If you ever need someone to talk to... if you need to get something off your chest… I'll listen. I don't want you to feel like you're alone. I want us to, umm…"

She fidgets, and her already soft voice lowers to a whisper. "I'd like for us to be… friends. If that's okay with you."

Part of me immediately wants to tell her no, that I can't afford to let my guard down around Dolls when there's a very real possibility they could turn rogue and backstab me without warning. It happened to Sangvis Ferri after all, so who's to say Griffin & Kryuger's Dolls won't meet the same fate?

That part of me shuts the hell up when she lifts her head to give me the most brutally effective pair of puppy dog eyes I've ever seen. I mean… I guess it couldn't hurt to throw the girl a bone. I'm back to having no friends now that Chino's gone, and artificial lifeform or no, M4A1 does seem to hold genuine sympathy for my situation.

Or pity. Same difference.

"I suppose I don't have a problem with that. One condition, though," I add before she can get too excited. "No one can know about the Nanosuit, got it? No one. In fact, don't tell anyone anything about me at all, period."

She nods, suddenly all smiles. Seeing a face like that, the happiness on her youthful features, I know I've made the right choice. "Don't worry, I won't say a word. Your secret's safe with me."

Her smile's infectious. I hide my grin behind a half-empty bottle of whiskey; if she asks, I'll just tell her I'm drinking in honor of our friendship or some bullshit like that.

I polish off a good amount of alcohol when Lev leans out the passenger's side window to address us: "We are almost there, you two! Ten minutes, perhaps less if Damir stops challenging the fucking potholes!"

"A true Russian overcomes all obstacles!" we all hear the elder Paskov declare.

Lev ignores his brother, turning his attention to me specifically. "I would mentally prepare myself, if I were you." He warns ominously. "I'm not sure if your pet Doll has already brainwashed you into singing Griffin's praises, though if she hasn't, then take it from a fellow human: That base is nothing more than a collection of circus freaks under the oversight of a psychotic old man."

At first I think he has to be exaggerating. A quick glance at M4, however, leaves me feeling worried. She's not smiling anymore. In fact, she's not making any move to rebuke what Lev is saying.

All she does is give me a shrug that says, "Hey, don't look at me. I've never been to this base before either."

"Whatever business you two have, do it quick," Lev advises. "The less time we spend there, the less chance I have of seeing… urgh…" The man shivers through his hoodie, and now I'm really concerned, because he doesn't strike me as the type of guy to let his fear show. "You know what, forget about it. Just don't waste time, uh… what is that Yankee phrase… ponying around."

He disappears into the cab before I can correct him. I look at M4 again, making no effort to hide the sudden wariness in my expression.

"While I'll admit some of Griffin's T-Dolls are programmed to be a bit… err, eccentric... I think he's blowing it out of proportion." She tries to reassure me. "I've spent my whole life around G&K personnel and have very fond memories of them. There's no need for you to worry, Alcatraz."

She shoots me an encouraging smile. "I think you'll like it at Griffin – trust me."

I hope she's right about that, otherwise I'm jumping ship faster than Chino's biological dad.

(Griffin & Kryuger Forward Observation Base 794)

I wonder if I can cloak and sneak away without anyone noticing. I wonder how thick the walls surrounding the outpost are, and if I can bulldoze my way through them in a desperate effort to escape. I wonder how many people would judge me for doing so. I know Lev wouldn't.

It's not the FOB itself that spurred these thoughts; in fact, it's a welcoming slice of familiarity for a grunt like me: barracks, armory, motor pool, recreational building, all that good stuff. It's surrounding what I assume is the central command center, nestled squat in the middle of the square-shaped plot of land. All the usual commodities for a military base are present here.

There are also some unusual ones.

My eyes wander over a neon sign hung over the doorframe of a building that looks as out of place as I feel. Griffin Café is proudly displayed in bold red cursive, and as our little group walks from the motor pool to the command center, I see through the windows a gaggle of Dolls seated at polished wooden tables – chatting, laughing, and most importantly, dining on food that's way too classy for a military compound. Well, I guess it's technically private military, but still.

My stomach gurgles. I have to fight down the urge to slip away and help myself to a proper meal. Maybe later, if time permits.

Oh, and did I mention the dorms? It's like Griffin stole a wealthy college campus' residential buildings and set them down adjacent to the barracks. They must have deep pockets if they can afford to build infrastructure like that.

At least the air's clean. None of the human personnel I see are wearing hazmat gear, and the twins, knowing there's no risk of breathing in mutagenic radiation, have taken off their respirators.

Neither of the above oddities hold a candle compared to the T-Dolls themselves, though.

I thought I'd been adequately prepared for this, you know? I thought I knew what to expect after spending some time around M4. But there are some things you're just never ready for no matter how much you psyche yourself up beforehand, like boot camp or a Tommy Wiseau movie marathon. Griffin's T-Dolls are turning out to be another prime example.

"Damir…" I speak up slowly, eyes gluing themselves to a busty blonde hefting around a machine gun that's over a century old by now. "Why is that one not wearing pants?"

It's a valid question – a disturbing number of these Dolls are wearing miniskirts. Miniskirts. In a military base. What kind of backwards chain of command does Griffin have?

Damir lets out a hearty laugh. Besides M4, he's the only one who seems to be taking the weirdness in stride. "Ah, you mean comrade MG3? I asked the Commander about that once. He told me he saw no difference in their combat performance whether they fought in a cutting-edge uniform or a burlap sack, so the dress code for his Dolls is… oh, what is your English word… lax?"

MG3 notices me staring at her. She smiles and winks before heading in the armory's direction, out of sight. I wonder how she's not freezing her ass off in this weather. I wonder what kind of special nutjob this commander is if he can get away with such bullshittery without a superior breathing down his neck.

Lev scoffs, pulling his hood down further. He's been on constant edge ever since the sentries at the front gate allowed us through.

"Now you see why I don't like it here," he grumbles. "At least with the KCCO there's a semblance of order. They have structure. Discipline. Here, all I see is…" He looks around and shivers in disgust. His fingers twitch, seeking the comfort of the Grendel he was forced to leave with the motor pool's staff. "A mockery. Look at those things, parading around in their undergarments. This place is a den of sin…"

I'm about to ask who or what this 'KCCO' faction is when M4 suddenly pipes up: "Do you have a problem with Dolls, Mr. Lev?"

There's no accusation in her tone, nor disappointment. Just innocent curiosity.

The younger twin eyes her critically. "Would you blame me if I did? Can you, when Sangvis Ferri's own products massacred their creators and are now on a mission to destroy all humans? Da, I hate Dolls!"

"You don't really mean that, Lev." Damir turns to face his brother.

Uh-oh. He just broke one of the golden rules: Never tell your sibling what to feel. I should probably say something before an argument breaks out… but then again, I might be able to glean some valuable insight by letting it happen. I still don't know much about these hunters, and people are often more expressive with their true feelings when they're upset.

M4 wisely decides to keep her mouth shut. She's wearing a guilty expression, probably blaming herself for the sudden downturn in the mood. Though in all honesty it totally is her fault.

Lev shakes his head, expression twisting into a scowl. "No, I do! We've been over this before! I hate all Dolls, Damir! Every single one of them! Especially that annoying, obnoxious, clingy, good-for-nothing little-"

"DAAAAAAARRRRRRRRLIIIIIIIIIING!"

I hear Lev mutter "God is dead" under his breath a split second before a red-white-and-brown blur whizzes past us and slams him full force into the pavement.

"Darling, you came back early! Was it because you missed me?" The perpetrator nuzzles her cheek against his collarbone. Her limbs are wrapped around the poor man's body in an octopus hug, meaning he can't escape no matter how much he struggles – and believe me, he's trying.

"Oh, darling, you've made me so happy! You know I always miss you when you're not here!"

"Let go of me, you little freak!"

I look at Damir and M4. The former is grinning stupidly, while the latter's gone wide-eyed and has a hand pressed over her mouth in shock. I look back at the small android threatening to suffocate the human in her embrace. I notice the tail waving excitedly for the first time. There's a bell tied to the end of it.

I open my mouth to comment, and nothing comes out.

Because seriously, where do I even start with this one? There's so much going on with her appearance that I'm not sure where to begin. She's definitely a Doll, I can tell that right away, though she's the most bizarre-looking one I've seen so far bar none. The best way I can describe her is an America-themed cheerleader genetically spliced with a black cat. Wait, scratch that: When I peer closer, I realize the cat ears are actually just hair ornaments. The tail, however, is moving on its own.

...I think I need to lie down.

"Snrrk… Privyet, comrade Mk23…" Damir's barely managing to avoid breaking into a giggling fit. "It is good to see you again. Lively as ever, I see!"

Mk23 (one of the spiritual predecessors to the M12 Nova, if I'm remembering my gun history right) turns her head, regarding our ragtag group with one red eye and one blue eye.

"Hi Damir!" she greets in a cheerful, friendly manner. "Hi stranger! Hi-"

She pauses; mismatched eyes sharpen into steel when they land on M4. I hope I'm only imagining the low growling noise. "Who the heck's that?" she hisses.

It takes M4 a moment to snap out of her shock. She smiles and waves, but it's a stiff gesture. Forced. To be fair, it's more than I would've done.

"Um, hello. I'm Tactical Doll M4A1. I assume you know Damir and Lev? I only met them earlier today, but they've been very helpful. Anyway, the reason I'm here is because I have something important to give to your commander, so if you could point me in his direction, that would be-"

"WE WILL FIGHT FOR LEV."

M4 blinks. "…Excuse me?"

Mk23 rises to her full height – which is still amusingly short – pointing an accusatory finger at her fellow android. When Lev tries to get to his feet, she immediately hooks her free arm around his waist and pulls him into a bone-crushing side hug. Perhaps literally. I'm pretty sure I just heard a rib crack.

"Nobody gets between me and my darling, sister! You hear me?!" she snarls, baring her teeth. "What were you doing with him before you came here? Huh?! You better not have been making any moves on him, or else you and I are gonna have a serious problem!"

M4 desperately looks to me for aid. Having a Y chromosome and therefore no idea how to handle girl-related problems, I can only shrug.

It descends into chaos from there: M4 repeatedly tries in vain to convince Mk23 she has no romantic interest in her 'darling'. Mk23 ain't having none of that, overcome by jealousy toward what she perceives as a love rival. Damir's broken down into open laughter. And Lev? Lev just looks done with all of the insanity.

Fortunately, help finally arrives in the form of another young woman carrying one of those datapad things. Seems like she noticed the commotion while she was passing by and decided to intervene. At first glance I assume her to be a T-Doll; the unkempt orange-red hair and haphazardly thrown-together mishmash of clothing and accessories are, in my opinion, more befitting of the eccentric automatons than the human staff.

So imagine my bafflement when the artificial intelligence I share headspace with debunks my theory by confirming that she is, in fact, a regular human.

"Damir, Lev! This is a surprise; you guys weren't scheduled for another visit until Tuesday!" she says. Bright blue eyes roam over the odd duo of M4 and I. "Oh? Who are these two?"

Weirdly, she makes no move to acknowledge the thirsty Doll or how she's pinned her struggling crush back to the ground. I have a sneaking suspicion this isn't the first time this exact same scenario has happened.

"A couple of strays we picked up earlier this afternoon," Damir replies, just about finished recovering from his laughing fit. He reaches over and pats M4 on the head, prompting a scrunched-up face from the artificial girl that looks equal parts cute and annoyed. "Your commander always makes it a priority to rescue abandoned Dolls, da? I believe this one here was separated from Griffin, so I figured I'd save us all some trouble by bringing her to base myself."

"Hi." M4 straightens her hair and smiles shyly. "I'm M4A1."

Damir looks over to me. "This man, on the other hand… I do not know much about him. He was traveling with M4 and carries a big enough grudge against Sangvis to actively fight against them, but that is about it. Seems competent with a gun, too."

The redhead fixes me with an unsettlingly deep stare. I immediately slap on the poker face and try to play it cool. Fuck, why did he have to say that?

I have to force down a sudden surge of paranoia-born panic. My mind rewinds to the days I spent terrorizing SF in the forest so long ago, remembering how I'd unintentionally built up a reputation at Griffin & Kryuger as some kind of unhinged Doll killer. I became a fable, a fantasy, an urban legend. I'm the monster in the closet that eats young T-Dolls when they misbehave. This chick in front of me is eyeing my whole body up and down, searching for any sign that I might be more inhuman than I appear on the surface.

I've only just met this girl and I can already tell she's a smart cookie.

Also a bad judge of character apparently, because she puts her tablet under one arm and extends a gloved hand for me to shake. "Well, it's great to meet you both!" she chirps when I accept the gesture. "It's not often we have outsiders deliver lost Dolls straight to our doorstep. I'll let the Commander know to reward you for this!"

She cocks her head curiously. "I really like your eyes, by the way. They're the same color as mine! And… how are you making them glow like that?"

"Implants," I automatically respond, having thought up a cover story during the ride here. "It was an experimental procedure meant to correct vision problems and enhance normal eyesight. It worked, but… there were side effects. No known fix. Ethical standards back in the USA have really gotten sidelined these past few years."

The girl sighs. "Tell me about it. It seems like more and more countries these days are willing to cross lines we never even thought existed." Her expression changes to a good-natured grin. "Well, if it helps, I think the glowy eyes really suit you! They make you look… hmm… dangerous! You know, in a 'don't mess with me' sort of way!"

"Uh, thanks?"

"My name's Kalina, by the way." The girl briefly pauses to check her tablet, types something in with dexterous fingers, then puts it away again. "I'm the chief logistics officer here at Frontline Base 794! Inventory, resource procurement and distribution, that sort of stuff. I'm also the Commander's right-hand woman when we send our echelons out on field ops!"

Kalina's eye twitches; her smile becomes strained. "Though lately he's been keeping me cooped up in the data room typing battle reports. Endless… fucking… battle reports."

I don't know how to respond to that. "Oh. That's... great." Initiating emergency topic change: "I'm James. I'm what you might call a survival expert."

"An expert, huh? You mean like the hosts of those old TV shows who teach viewers how to make fires and stuff?"

I shrug. "Something like that."

She's not exactly wrong, per se, nor am I lying. Some of my Force Recon survival training took place in the humid jungles of Vietnam, right before the climate disaster transformed most of the country into a frozen wonderland. To put it lightly, it was a miserable few weeks, although we did discover Folsom made a bangin' caterpillar-and-rice stew. Tasted way better than it sounds.

"Wow, that's so cool!" Kalina openly gushes. "I've never heard of someone striking it out on their own before. Most people live in walled-off communities designed to ward away ELID and Sangvis."

"Not everyone, though," Damir interjects. "The village Lev and I come from is rather small, but it has never once come under attack. Some say we are blessed with good luck; as for me, I think SF simply ignores us. There is nothing of strategic value there. Is good and safe life, da?"

Keep your head down and hope the bigger fish doesn't notice you. Yeah, I know what that feels like.

"Darling, why are you resisting? What do I have to do to make you understand how much I love you? I'll be anything you want!"

"I want you to be dead!"

Oh, right. Lev. Almost forgot about him. I should probably give the guy a hand.

While I'm mentally weighing the pros and cons of prying the horny android off by force, Kalina's one step ahead of me: "Mk23, didn't your echelon come back from a search-and-destroy mission yesterday? Did you remember to upload your combat data to the main server?"

"Oh crap, I totally forgot!" the cat-girl-robot-cheerleader-whatever exclaims in alarm. She quickly scampers off to parts unknown, and Lev, clutching his chest, brushes M4's helping hand away as he gets to his feet. A quick check of his biometrics informs me he got no enjoyment out of Mk23's smothering.

"Fuck that bitch," he says between gasps. Funny, I once said the exact same thing to Prophet about my mom. "No, seriously. Ty che, blyat. I would murder that thing with my own hands were it not the Commander's property."

"I think it's cute," Kalina giggles.

…That's odd. My passive sensors – which have no understanding of 'TMI', by the way – are picking up a sudden increase in her estrogen production. But the data's saying it happens when she looks at…

Oh.

Oh, Lev. You poor, poor motherfucker. You have my deepest sympathies. As well as my old squad's admiration, I'm sure.

I wonder if he's aware of this. I'm guessing he isn't, otherwise I'm fairly certain he would've put a bullet in his head by now.

Kalina, for her part, does a fine job hiding it. "Now that our resident cat with a crush has been taken care of… if you guys are here to see the Commander, why not come with me? I was actually just on my way to see him." She checks her tablet again. "He should be finishing up his meeting with the Director by now, so this is the perfect time to introduce him to M4! He loves getting to know all the new Dolls on base!"

M4 pounces on the offer. "Yes, let's do that. There's a lot I need to discuss with him, and every second wasted puts more lives in danger."

"Well when you put it that way…" The redhead spins on her heel and walks toward the central command building. "C'mon, everybody! Let's go and say hello!"

(Base 794 Command Center)

Kalina leads us into the whitewashed lobby and down a whitewashed hallway with whitewashed floors and a whitewashed ceiling. The place feels more like a hospital than anything military-related, and I find myself subconsciously anticipating and bracing for the overpowering odor of antiseptic that never comes. Every minute or so we walk by a human staff member wearing a maroon longcoat with G&K's insignia stitched over the breast pocket. Damir greets some of them in passing; I wonder how long he and his brother have been doing business with the company.

I make sure to commit every detail, every face I see here to memory. This place is so different from Sangvis Ferri's research facility it's almost ironic. The facility was dark, cold, and in pretty shitty condition; a consequence of its owners having abandoned it in a hurry after their creations took over the reins. Griffin's command post, on the flipside, is lively and full of energy. The paintjob's also more aesthetically pleasing if you're a fan of the color white.

I take special note of a red-faced, weedy-looking fellow conversing with a Doll in a nurse's outfit (Ooh, kinky) over a cup of instant coffee. Dude's hormone levels are off the charts, and if the sly smirk on his companion's porcelain face is anything to go by, she's all too aware of it.

An involuntary shudder courses through me when I think back to the whole Mk23 incident. I'm bolting if I catch one of these T-Dolls sending 'fuck me' eyes my way, no if's and's or but's.

As we're walking, Kalina prattles on about this Commander guy from the front of the pack: "Did you know he used to be a member of not just one, but two elite special forces groups? Delta Force and SAS! Can you believe it?! Griffin's base commanders are usually young and receive on-the-job training, so I was surprised when Mr. Kryuger managed to hire a veteran with so many years of combat experience under his belt!"

…Something's itching in the corner of my brain. I can't quite put a finger on what it is, if it's some kind of buried memory or something, but the logistics officer's description of this man sounds strangely familiar.

"Did he ever fight the Ceph?" I decide to probe further.

From the corner of my vision, I see M4 shoot me a confused glance. I pretend not to see it.

Kalina looks back and nods, smiling brightly. "Oh, yes! He fought in every major Ceph incursion up until the Bloom. Just imagine, fighting against the alien menace for so many years and coming out alive at the end of it all…" Her voice drops to a hushed whisper. "He was at the place where it all began, believe it or not. I did some digging and found out he was one of the first people to witness their awakening."

She winks at me. "Let's keep that little tidbit between us, though. He doesn't know that I know."

"Actually, he does." Lev flatly states. "We were here on the day you did your, ahem, 'research'. I'd never seen you so spooked by anything before. Your hands were shaking so badly, you spilled hot coffee on your lap and you did not even notice."

"Plus, you also forgot to delete your browser history, if what the Commander said is true." Damir quips.

"Da. Sometimes I wonder if he has you write all those battle reports as a form of punishment."

"You guys…" Kalina groans. She perks up a moment later when we reach our destination: a simple wooden door proudly emblazoned with G&K's logo. "In that case, if you have any further questions, you can ask him yourself!"

As she reaches for the knob, she somehow either doesn't hear the argument going on behind the door or doesn't care about interrupting. Sounds like it's between a man and a woman. The woman's voice is the clearer of the two, definitely more heated, but… the man's voice…

My mind is screaming that I know it from somewhere. That voice, the accent it carries… where have I heard it before?

I don't have time to ponder before Kalina opens the door, revealing the Commander in all his glory.

And I swear to Lev's dead god I see a ghost.

He's got his hands tucked behind his bald head, combat boots propped up on the edge of a high-tech table emitting a blue hologram of a woman, watching with a bored face while she rants at him. He looks older than when I last saw him – there are wrinkles under his eyes, and he seems, I dunno, less beefy than I remember – but it's him, man, it's Raptor Team's fucking second-in-command, still alive and kicking after all these decades.

My knees grow wobbly. It takes a herculean amount of effort not to pussy out and faint. The room feels like it's spinning, so much so that I have to actively strain to pay attention to their conversation.

"How can you not be worried when there's so much at stake?" the holographic woman snaps, glaring at him through her monocle. Neither party seems to notice the five of us standing in the doorway with our thumbs up our asses. "The number of SF in your area has grown exponentially over the last few days, Commander, not to mention the continued search for-"

"The missing members of AR Team, I know, I know. You're preaching to the choir, sweetheart." Michael Sykes cuts her off with a carefree smirk. "I got the memo yesterday. Operation Sugarcube, eh? I don't know which one of you blokes at HQ names these ops, but that sounds a tad pornographic in my professional opinion."

His boss yells something else but I tune it out; the sheer magnitude of the situation hits me like a goddamn freight train.

That's Michael Sykes. Psycho. Fucking Psycho is the commander of this base. He went private, he works for Griffin & Kryuger now, he's the one in charge of all these weird-ass Dolls. And he's here, man, sitting ten feet away from me and he's fucking alive.

Psycho is alive. And he's here.

That revelation alone suddenly makes this whole apocalyptic future a little less bleak. This is… I can't put all of the emotions I'm feeling into words.

My brain is so overloaded I almost don't notice the gentle tug at my sleeve.

"James?" M4's soft voice snaps me back to reality. "You were spacing out again. Is something wrong? You look pale…"

"Huh? Oh, uh, I'm fine. Nothing's wrong." Nope, nothing at all. I've just been reunited with the best friend of the personality that kept driving my body after I died; nothing major.

"Can you blame him for being scared?" Damir asks half-jokingly. "Even when she is in an agreeable mood, Director Helian is a terrifying lady. Only a person with an iron will like Commander Sykes can work under her."

Good ol' Damir, giving me an easy excuse. Between the ride to base and unintentionally bailing me out of awkward conversations, my debt to the guy is steadily climbing. I'll have to buy him a drink sometime.

Okay. Time to focus, marine. Important stuff is happening in front of you; freak out over Psycho being here later.

"Have you at least made any progress finding out what this… unknown entity… lurking in your territory is?" the woman, Helian, goes on.

"Yeah, about that… Whatever the fuck that thing is, it seems to be gone now. There's been a sharp decline in activity around the sector's border lately." Sykes shrugs in a 'what-can-you-do' kind of manner. "Too bad, really. Can't deny it was doing us a favor. Plus FAL gets all hissy whenever she thinks she failed a mission."

Helian's hologram folds its arms. "Duly noted. I know you haven't been with us for long, Commander Sykes, and your extensive service record speaks for itself, but please see to it that you don't slack on your responsibilities. Mr. Kryuger has faith in your leadership abilities – it wouldn't look good for the company's image if that faith were to be misplaced."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart." He replies with a wink.

"And stop calling me that!"

She reaches for an invisible object and blinks out of existence a moment later. Psycho exhales loudly, then spins his office chair around to properly face his new guests.

"Sorry 'bout that. She's a bitch sometimes, but she doesn't bite. I think." He pauses. Blinks. "Erm, Kalina? What's with the motley crew?"

M4 worms her way to the front of the crowd before the redhead can open her mouth. "Commander! I've been searching for you for so long; it's an honor to finally meet you!" She does a quick, polite bow. "I'm M4A1, leader of AR Team. I assume you've been informed about us?"

"AR Team?" Sykes leans back in his chair, surprise etched on his weathered face. "The same AR Team my boss just told me to keep an eye out for? The one every G&K commander in a hundred-mile radius has orders to find?... Shit, well that was easy."

"It's been quite a hectic experience, actually," the Doll sighs. She straightens her posture, motioning to us with a metal hand. "You have these three nice gentlemen to thank for bringing me here. Especially him." She points to me specifically. "I would've been killed last night if he hadn't intervened when he did."

Psycho looks me square in the eye. Studies me. The wheels in his head are turning, attempting to figure me out. For a moment I swear I see a hint of recognition flash through those moss-colored orbs.

After a few seconds, he smiles. "What's your name, son?"

"You don't have a name. People have names. You have a call sign and a serial number!"

I do my best to ignore the pressure building in my head. "James," I answer plainly.

"James, eh? I'm Michael Sykes, commander of Base 794. Thanks a bunch for escorting M4 here; if the report Helian gave me is accurate, we've been tearing half the country apart looking for this little bugger!"

All eyes turn to the T-Doll. She lowers her head, suddenly very interested in her feet.

Psycho laughs. "Not much of an attention seeker, is she? Cheer up, love – you're among friends here."

The next several minutes are a blur of conversation. Psycho and M4 exchange mission-related chit-chat, carefully omitting anything overly sensitive. We let them be. SECOND doesn't seem all that interested in deciphering whatever hidden messages there may be anyway.

Kalina, growing bored as time marches on, decides to share some recent intel with Damir and Lev; the same subject she came here to tell Sykes: The heightened Sangvis activity lately might not be a coincidence. As their village's unofficial liaisons, the twins take the news very seriously, and together the three of them begin drawing up plans to keep Griffin-protected settlements safe from the SF menace.

I become a pariah, forgotten and left to observe.

I look around the spacious command room. It's more polished than anything I've seen before, more high-tech. Computer monitors hang on every wall; most are displaying satcam images, though a few show status bars and vital signatures for different Doll echelons. The holotable, the one where Helian's image stood before, dominates the center of the room. It's all so, so… different than what I'm used to. Is all this fancy tech normal nowadays, or is G&K just filthy rich? Did CELL ever own stuff like this?

My gaze shifts to the top brass in the room. I think back to our brief exchange. I think back to when Michael motherfucking Sykes, one of the few survivors of Lingshan, Prophet's best friend, smiled at me.

Prophet's best friend…

Something in my head goes click.

"Commander Sykes." I interrupt suddenly. I snap a clean salute, more out of habit than anything. Goddamn military lifestyle. "Permission to tour the café, sir?"

"Eh?" The aging man turns away from M4, regarding me with an odd look. Probably wondering where some random jackoff in disheveled civvies learned to salute like that. "Well, um, sure. I suppose that's fine. Why the sudden interest, mate?"

My hand falls to my side. "I thought it would be obvious – I'm fucking starving. Erm. Sir." Once again, I mentally block out the feeling of M4's eyes watching me.

"Enough with the 'sir' shit, kid. You're making me feel my age." He chuckles in good humor. "Sure though, why not? It's the least I can do to repay you after whatever trouble you must've gone through bringing little M4 here. Need a guide?"

My skin crawls at the thought of a Doll like Mk23 being assigned as my escort. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll yell if someone tries to abduct me."

Psycho grins, nodding once before resuming his talk with M4. I turn and leave the room without another word, retracing my steps to the building's front door. I need to be alone for a while. I need some time to think.

Growllll…

Above all else, I need a goddamn meal.

(Griffin Café)

A bell jingles overhead when I enter the café. It's the scent I notice first, however: smoky and sweet at the same time, like glazed ham. I swallow the saliva pooling up in my mouth as my nostrils are overpowered by the wafting aroma of cooked meat and other treats.

Griffin's café is built in a roughly rectangular shape; the entrance is straight across from the restrooms, and down the aisle to the right is a long bar area overlooking several booths with cushioned seats. The other end of the restaurant opens up somewhat, packed with the round tables I saw through the windows earlier. A small handful of Dolls in waitress outfits – white dress shirts, black pants, black aprons – are coming and going from some back area out of view, most likely the kitchen, delivering plates of food to their sisters and human superiors alike who came here to relax and unwind after a long day of work.

It's late in the afternoon and business looks slow, meaning the lunch rush probably already came and went. Having done a part-time stint as a busboy for a family-owned restaurant once, I know a thing or two about how the food industry runs.

A real shame it closed down. I liked the place, even if the pay wasn't great.

"Welcome to Griffin Café!" a sweet-sounding voice greets me. My head swivels to the bar counter, eyes settling on a young woman with long copper hair tied in a ponytail. She's in the middle of cleaning a mug with a dishrag.

She shoots me a disarming smile. "Take a seat anywhere you'd like, sir. Someone will be right with you!"

The booths are where most of the other customers are seated, so naturally I move to the tables and plant myself in the most isolated spot I can find. I pass the waiting period grinding my Knowledge stat with my favorite pastime of people-watching. Or maybe it's Doll-watching in this case.

Wait, is that…? Fuck me sideways.

Snow White and Dummy Thicc are chatting over coffee near the opposite corner of the room. I mentally slap myself; how could I forget those two are also under Sykes' command? They don't seem to have noticed me, so not all hope is lost yet. Still though…

It's going to be okay, Alcatraz. They never actually spotted me, and even if they did, they would've seen the Nanosuit and not the human inside. Besides, FAL doesn't have that stupid ferret with her. Just act natural and it'll all work out.

My fingers drum restlessly on the tabletop. I fidget in my seat like I'm holding in a massive dump.

Sadly, this is natural.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?"

I almost rocket out of my chair into the ceiling; I'm wound up so tight I wasn't paying attention when the waitress came over. Jesus Christ, I need to calm down – this is a friendly frontline base, for fuck's sake, not a POW camp.

Hold up a second. "I thought you were the bartender?"

The same girl who welcomed me, now holding a notepad and pen, smiles and shrugs. "She who holds the position of manager is burdened with many jobs," she says with an air of wisdom. With a flourish, she produces a menu seemingly from thin air and sets it down in front of me. "Don't worry, I can multitask. Now about that drink…?"

Since I was too busy being an idiot to browse the separate beverage menu, I say the first thing that comes to mind. The waitress hums and nods, writing it down. I watch her carefully. On the outside she looks like a regular human woman – no wild hair colors, no mechanical limbs I can see, no ridiculous outfit, nothing of the sort. Instead she possesses curves in all the right places, outlined by the tight apron she's wearing, and further accentuated by her generous height and healthy complexion. The whole package is tied together by a pretty face with a kind, almost motherly smile. She's attractive, I have no shame in admitting, but not in an exotic way.

Looks can be deceiving, however.

"You're a T-Doll." I blurt out before I can stop myself. To her credit, she patiently waits until I'm done banging my head against the table before replying.

"Figured it out already, have you? Very impressive." Verdant eyes dance with amused intrigue. "What gave it away?"

Gee, I don't know. Maybe it's because your movements are a bit too unnatural, a bit too controlled to be human. Or maybe it's because my personal AI outright says you're an android. Not that I can tell her that, though.

"I think the human staff at base would have more important things to do than run a café." I pause for a moment. "No offense."

She giggles. "None taken. You're a perceptive one, aren't you? Did you come here with Lev and Damir Paskov?" When I nod, she continues, "It took them nearly two weeks to learn the truth for themselves. Yes, I am a Doll." She beams at me, all sunshine and smiles. "M1903 Springfield, at your service!"

An unknown cosmic force compels me to give her my full name in turn. "James Rodriguez. The pleasure's mine."

"James…" Springfield rolls the name around on her tongue, testing it. She grins impishly. "Do you need a minute to order, James?"

A teaser, huh? Joke's on her: I'm hungry enough to eat table scraps, so every item on the menu is fair game.

I end up ordering a late breakfast: smoked sausages and eggs with home fries and a side of bacon. Springfield jots it all on her notepad, never losing her pace as she asks how I like my eggs and what type of toast I prefer. When she's got everything down, she promises to return shortly with my drink before departing to the kitchen, humming a little tune the whole way.

My eyes follow her until she disappears through the doors. Huh… I'm not sure what I expected from an eatery at a base where insanity reigns supreme. Maybe a clown. But definitely not a nice, normal girl. If it weren't for my unique augments, I never would've guessed she wasn't a real human. How lifelike can these Dolls get?

She comes back a short while later with a tall glass of apple juice (don't fucking judge me, I panicked), and after ten more minutes fly by returns a second time with a steaming hot plate balanced in each hand. I openly salivate as she places my meal down in front of me.

"Enjoy!" she sings.

Oh, I will. I am going to savor this moment. I politely thank her and wait until she's out of sight before throwing myself at the food like a starved hound.

The sausages are cooked to perfection, neither too red nor too dark in the middle. They last maybe thirty seconds before they're gone, and I quickly zero in on the scrambled eggs next, forking a chunk and bringing it to my mouth. It's so delicious and fluffy I almost moan from the foodgasm; the only reason I don't is because I'm in a public space. I wash it down with some fruit juice and continue my assault on the hapless eggs.

Yes, I know I'm making the experience sound dramatic. I don't care. This is the first full meal I've eaten since the night before we set out to New York, and even then, it was one of those crappy TV dinners with more salt than meat in them. The last time I ate something home-cooked was when I took some leave to visit… Alice…

I gaze at my reflection in the already empty plates. Not for the first time, my thoughts drift toward home.

"What's up, buttercup?"

It takes all of my willpower, all of my self-restraint, to not pick up the glass and use it as a projectile weapon. The girl across from me, unaware of how close she'd come to having her central processor filled with shrapnel, plops down in the opposite chair, a plate of French toast in hand.

Another employee, I note in relief, allowing myself to relax. The uniform and apron confirm it. This one looks a bit like M4. That is, if M4 had teal hair and yellow eyes.

"You're that James fellow everyone's talking about, right?" A lazy smirk spreads over her lips at my dumbfounded look. "Surprised? News travels fast around here, and right now the word on base is Damir and Lev showed up early with a couple of new faces in tow." She reaches for the maple syrup and begins pouring it over her toast. "So. First time at a Griffin outpost?"

"…Yes." I openly stare at the amount of sugary death she's threatening to drown her food in. And she's not slowing down.

"Thought so. You have that whole 'fish out of water' vibe most newbies get on their first visit. It's cool, though – the people and Dolls here are friendly to outsiders. Well. Most of them are, anyway."

By now the syrup is close to spilling over the edge of her plate. She finally shuts the cap and puts the bottle away. If either of us were full-blooded humans, we would've gotten Type 2 diabetes just looking at the mess she made.

My new acquaintance forks in a glob of liquid sugar. "Oh yesh, almosht forgot tuh introdushe myshelf," she says with her mouth full. "M249 SHAW..." She swallows, licking the syrup off her lips. "Sorry. M249 SAW. You can call me M249, though. Or SAW. Or Bubblegum Princess, if you wanna make it weird."

I'd… rather not. "I think I'll stick with M249."

"Booo. You're no fun." She blows a light raspberry at me.

Putting my exasperation that someone thought it would be a smart idea to give this girl access to a light machine gun aside, there's something I'm curious about. "You're an employee, right? Shouldn't you be, you know… working?"

"I'm on break," she replies easily, shrugging.

"Then why sit with me? I don't remember handing out invitations."

"I dunno. Felt like it." M249 shrugs again. "Also, you haven't told me to leave yet."

I'm getting slightly annoyed. I came here for food and time alone with my thoughts; if I wanted company, I would've sought it out. "So if I do tell you to leave, would you?" The irritation grows when she shakes her head, blue hair rippling with the motion.

"Nope." She pops the 'p'. "One thing you're quickly gonna learn about us T-Dolls is that we don't really give a shit about personal space. Totally not our fault, though. If you're gonna blame someone, blame our creator for programming us like this." She eyes me intensely all of a sudden, scooping up more of her half-dissolved French toast. "Speaking of which… The main reason I came over is because you looked like you had a lot on your mind. Maybe I can, I dunno, lend an ear? If you need one, that is. Anything you tell me will stay between us. Pinky promise."

Were my emotions really that easy to read? Crap. This is what happens when I let my guard down – I end up inviting trouble. In this case, it's taken the form of an android who's long run out of fucks to give.

Though on the other hand, my thoughts are stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I didn't pick up any malicious intent in the girl's words. Not all actions carry ulterior motives; it's perfectly feasible she's offering for no other reason than out of the kindness of her heart (or whatever T-Dolls have in place of a heart). Maybe a different perspective would help.

The question is on the tip of my tongue when Springfield comes by yet again, presumably to check up on her customer. The manager frowns, her perpetually cheerful demeanor broken when she notices her employee sitting with me.

"M249 SAW, what are you doing?" She places her hands on her hips and taps her foot, awaiting an answer.

M249 sends her boss a small wave. "Hey, Spring. Just taking my break."

"…But you already went on break," Springfield points out.

"Well I didn't take one yesterday, so I'm making up for it."

"Ignoring how that isn't the way the system works… You weren't here yesterday. Neither of us were. Commander Sykes deployed our echelon to put down that rampaging Manticore, remember?"

Manticore? Like those winged beasts from Persian legend? Sounds ominous.

"Uhh… kinda?" M249 knits her brows together, lifting a finger to her chin in thought. "Might've slept through most of the op, to be honest."

Springfield pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "Get back to work, M249. And please stop bothering our guest."

The machine gun Doll moves her plate aside so she can faceplant the table. "Uuuggh, you sound just like G36!" she moans into the wood. Then she raises her head to look at me, yellow eyes boring into mine as an idea comes to her.

"James doesn't mind, does he? You always say the most crucial element of good service is making your customers happy. If you ask me, keeping our guest entertained is just as productive as washing the dishes." She smirks and coyly winks. "Wouldn't you agree, big fella?"

I'm starting to get a grasp of her personality: Nice, easygoing, a little whimsical, but lazy to a fault. She's the type of girl who would put in the maximum amount of effort to make no effort.

My childhood buddies would've idolized her.

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. "I suppose."

Springfield makes a small, contemplative sound of acknowledgement. "Hmm… Well then. If that's how you want to play it…" She abruptly pulls a chair over from an empty table and seats herself between us.

"What the hell?!" M249 elegantly blurts, sliding her own chair back an inch.

"Your reasoning makes perfect sense, M249!" Springfield's amused smile is back in force, and it's one step away from evolving into a full-blown Cheshire grin. "As employees of Griffin Café, it is our sworn duty to ensure our customers have the best experience possible. And if that means keeping them company… then the more the merrier, I say!"

"Y-Y-You don't have to," the blue-haired girl stutters. "Really. I got this. Don't you always have like a hundred other things to do?"

"She who holds the position of manager is burdened with many jobs." I quote Springfield's earlier statement word-for-word, earning an impressed nod from the synthetic woman. "Besides, it's not busy. She can spare a few minutes to hang out with us for that quality experience."

M249 slumps in her chair, defeated. "And here I was thinking we could become friends…"

And that's how I spent the next half hour talking to a pair of Griffin's Tactical Dolls. There was one point where Springfield, delighted by the spotless plates in front of me, teasingly asked if I'd been living in the woods for a week eating nothing but nuts and berries. I choked on my own spit, and M249 laughed her ass off while the flustered manager apologized over a dozen times. Everything thankfully smoothed out after that little incident.

The relaxed atmosphere doesn't quite reach my heart, however. There's still a dull ache there, one that good food and company can't fix.

I think of Psycho's smile again. It was polite, but in the end that's all it was. It was a smile you'd give to a business partner or an amicable stranger – not to a friend. The more I dwell on it, the more I realize how him being here changes nothing.

Psycho, after all, is Prophet's best friend. Not mine.

The fucker didn't even recognize me. I'm positive he would've called me out on the spot if he did; subtlety's never been the British man's strong point. Should I tell him my identity? That I'm the same marine Prophet was reborn from? What would doing so accomplish? Do I have a right to force myself into the new life Sykes made for himself in the years after the war, the one he seems perfectly happy with?

No. Absolutely not. All that would do is open up old scars for the geezer. The new job, this base, even these Dolls… all of it belongs to him. He earned this. Factoring in the ongoing conflict with Sangvis Ferri, the last thing he needs is a ghost from his past hanging over his shoulder.

No matter which way I look at it, I don't belong here.

Springfield and M249 are oblivious to my worsening string of thoughts, of course. They're busy gossiping about the next batch of Dolls scheduled to be delivered to base sometime next month. They've both been so good to me; how would they react if I caused their Commander undue stress?

I remember M249's earlier offer to hear out my issues. Is it too late to accept? Suppose there's nothing to lose by trying.

"Are you happy here?" I ask out of the blue.

Both girls' faces turn to me, and both show their confusion. I verbally backspace: "I mean, have you ever stopped and thought whether you belong where you are? In a paramilitary company, as soldiers? Does it give you fulfillment?"

They exchange glances, and just like with real human females, I get the impression a whole mental conversation occurs between them over the span of a few seconds. They soon look back at me. "Kinda strange you'd ask a couple of Dolls that question," M249 eventually says, "seeing as we're basically just tools. What brings this up?"

I don't answer. Mostly because I don't know how to answer.

Springfield does. Emerald eyes widen, reaching some hidden realization. "Ahh. I think I'm beginning to see what the issue is." She puts her elbows on the table and folds her hands, resting her chin on them. "Tell me something, Mr. Rodriguez: How much do you know about the role of Dolls in society?"

No sense lying to her. "Not a lot. M4 said T-Dolls were created to supplement human workers after ELID wiped out half the population, but that's about it."

Springfield purses her lips. Her gaze sharpens, turns more critical. It feels like she's probing me. "Mostly correct. However, T-Dolls are generally geared toward military purposes, or any situation involving armed conflict. A-Dolls – Assistant Dolls – are the ones meant to fit into everyday life."

"But then why do so many T-Dolls on this base look and act like humans? Why are you both here, working at a restaurant when you were designed to be on the battlefield?"

"Because we didn't start our lives as T-Dolls," M249 explains. "You gotta remember, Griffin's a PMC. Their pockets aren't bottomless, contrary to popular belief, and true military-grade Dolls? Hella expensive. Don't even get me started on the legal shitstorm that would come with purchasing them. So Mr. Kryuger, in his infinite wisdom, decided to contact the spooks at IOP and buy up as many A-Dolls as he could. Then they hired the head researcher at 16LAB to make some… modifications."

Horror dawns on my features. "You mean… you guys were conscripted? By force?!" Human or not, no one should ever have to fight against their will! There are laws in place to prevent that! …Aren't there?

"Welcome to the end of the world, marine."

How much else has this apocalypse changed that I'm not aware of?

"Dolls are universally treated as second-class citizens or less, Mr. Rodriguez. We're seen as inferior to humans." Springfield says quietly. She gives me her best encouraging smile, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. "There's no need to worry about us, however. Commander Sykes treats everyone on base, human and Doll alike, as his own children. We were fortunate to be assigned to a man as wonderful as he is. Even if he can be a bit unorthodox at times."

M249 adds, "Besides, not every T-Doll working for Griffin is sent to them straight from the factory. We can sign up for service the same way humans can. That's how I ended up here, actually."

"I see. That's reassuring."

It's unbelievable, almost, how different Griffin's Dolls are from Sangvis Ferri's. M4 was correct when she said SF was the black sheep. I feel like a goddamn moron for putting them all in the same basket; I should've known better from the beginning.

These two having lunch with me – the ones I've known for under an hour but honestly find myself warming up to – they're actively working to ensure I feel welcomed here. Springfield could've just taken my order and been done with it. M249 wasn't given commands to sit with me. It was their decision to be hospitable; it was their decision to reach out to the quiet dude with weird eyes. That kind of empathy, the ability to feel, goes beyond any level of programming.

I recall M4's dogged determination to reach this base. Not just for the sake of completing her given mission, but to secure aid in finding her lost sisters. The fond manner in which she spoke of them, along with her unflappable resolve to rescue them, drives home how deep her loyalty runs.

While SF's Ringleaders command legions of mindless minions and are completely subservient to their master's will, Griffin's T-Dolls have their own unique edge. They have individuality. Their own thoughts and feelings.

Their own sense of purpose.

Maybe it's time I stop relying so much on math-driven logic and learn to trust my heart.

"I think I understand now," I say slowly. "Thank you both. This doesn't work out my problems, but it's a good start."

"We're happy to have been of help." Springfield nods, as kind and gentle as she'd been since fifty-something minutes ago. She looks at the empty plates again. "Have room for dessert?"

I smile and shake my head, pushing my chair back. "Actually, I think I'm gonna head out. I've wasted enough of your time as it is."

"You're leaving without paying?"

I freeze mid-rise. Oh. Shit. I am a fucking idiot.

Am I really machine enough that I've forgotten how basic society works? Of course I'd fucking need money. I'd been so focused on fending off Sangvis Ferri and surviving, it never crossed my mind to scrounge for the coins and paper notes that keep civilization afloat.

"Dammit… I'm so sorry, but I don't have any cash on me." Way to go, jarhead. Take advantage of your hostess' kind service and leave them with nothing. That'll endear you to them.

M249's clueless reaction doesn't help. "…Oh. Umm…" She flounders, pivoting her head around the room in search of inspiration. She finds it in the form of a wall-mounted clock. "Hey, would you look at that! Break time's over." She stands up, patting down her apron. "I'll leave this to you, Miss Manager. There are dishes that need urgent cleaning, y'know?"

She disappears through the kitchen doors, though not without a few parting words directed my way: "It was nice meeting you, James! If Springfield doesn't kick you out, stop by again sometime, okay?"

And just like that, she's gone. It should be noted that she didn't bother taking any of the dirty dishes with her.

I turn to Springfield. "I'll pay you back later," I hastily assure her. "You have my word. I'll come back as soon as I have the money."

To my surprise, she laughs and waves it off. "It's on the house. Consider it repayment for taking good care of the new girl."

"Thank you." I nod gratefully. My hands find their way into my pockets. "For everything. It's been years since I last had food as good as this. Longer since I've seen such friendly staff."

Although she tries to appear modest about it, I can tell that on the inside Springfield is eating up the compliments. She fully deserves them. Anyone who can put up with my antisocial ass does.

She shakes her head, chuckling lightly. "You flatter me, James Rodriguez. Keep it up and I might just give you a permanent discount!"

"You're assuming I'll come back?"

Her smile widening, she tilts her head, the lights hanging above the ceiling causing her green eyes to shine. "Am I wrong to believe that?"

"No." I return the smile. "No, I don't believe you are."

(Base 794 Motor Pool)

"Get down from there, darling! You're going to get hurt!"

"I'll climb down once you've gone through the trash compactor, you animatronic reject!"

The petite Doll rests her small hands on her waist. She scowls, mismatched eyes narrowed. "Don't make me come up there!"

"Try that and I will kick you off!"

I watch the back-and-forth exchange a while longer, then look away from the flagpole at Damir. "How long has this been going on?"

"For as long as I can remember, comrade." The older twin sighs wistfully, shaking his head. "For as long as I can remember."

Not exactly what I meant, but whatever.

I met up with the twins shortly after leaving the café. Damir brought me up to speed on what transpired while I was away: M4 will be staying at base until further notice, spearheading the search for the remainder of AR Team. It could still take days or weeks to locate them – possibly even longer – but Psycho's all too eager to lend her a hand. Based on evidence from Prophet's memories, the former SAS-slash-Delta Force operative is at his happiest whenever he's given a mission to sink his teeth into.

He also said Psycho called Helian up to inform her one of the missing Dolls she'd ordered him to locate had already been delivered safely, and that her reaction was, and I quote, 'legendary'.

As the sun dipped behind the mountains, Damir decided it was an appropriate time for us men to take our leave. We'd made it to the vehicle hangars when Mk23 ambushed us. Or more accurately, she ambushed Lev. I never saw a man scurry up a flagpole so quickly before, even when I was in basic.

"She's a persistent girl, that one." The logistics officer accompanying us comments.

Ah, right, Kalina's here too. Officially it's to see us off; unofficially, it's to avoid the heap of paperwork her awe-inspiring Commander reportedly left on her desk.

"Why does Lev hate Dolls so much, anyway?" I wonder out loud.

Damir shuffles in place. For the first time since meeting him, the jolly hunter's expression turns forlorn. "It did not use to be this bad. Lev has always mistrusted Dolls, but he was never openly hostile to them. Then when Sangvis Ferri came under new management…" He goes silent, leaving his brother's angry shouts and Mk23's pleading to fill the void. "Comrade James… do you remember when I said that our family is just the two of us?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing that's related?"

He nods somberly. "It is. I am afraid it is not something I enjoy sharing, so please forgive me for refusing to speak further about it."

I can't quite grasp why, but this civilian I only met today suddenly doesn't feel like a stranger anymore. Maybe it's because I can relate on the subject of SF ruining innocent lives. That or I just appreciate him being a forthcoming and chill dude. In retrospect, both reasons are correct.

"Aww, Damir…" Kalina pats him on the shoulder lightly. "It's okay. We all have skeletons in our closets."

Damn straight, I think.

She thrusts her index finger skyward and continues, "And it goes without saying that everyone here at Frontline Base 794 appreciates all the hard work you two put in to bring us meat that doesn't come from a can! You guys are our family too, so you're always welcome to swing by and say hi!"

The redhead punctuates her declaration by striking a pose, one foot raised high with her fingers forming the peace sign over her right eye. She wobbles. Then she slips.

"Thank you, Miss Kalina." Damir chuckles as the flustered logistics officer picks herself up off the ground. "You truly are a beacon of light in these dark times."

My smile reaches my ears. It's been forever since I've seen this much positivity over the course of one day, and it's proving to be more contagious than any Ceph pathogen. Loads more entertaining, too. I'm ready to toss in a witty remark when heavy footfalls approaching from behind steal my attention away.

"James!" a voice calls out.

I spin around. "M4?"

AR Team's leader skids to a halt in front of me, panting lightly. She cranes her neck to look me in the face.

"James… are you leaving?"

Aw, shit. I'd been hoping to avoid a scenario like this. I've never been a fan of sentimental goodbyes. "Yeah, I am. My time on base has been…" I trail off, searching for the right term. Something that won't upset her or Kalina. "It's been eye-opening. But I can't stay here, M4. I already told you that."

"Yeah, I know." She links her hands behind her back and looks away, rocking back and forth on her metal heels. "I just wanted to say thank you one last time for all the help you've given me. I won't forget my debt to you."

My big brother instincts kick in. I lightly tousle her hair, something I always used to do with Alice whenever she did something especially cute. M4's reaction to the affectionate gesture mirrors my sister's: puffed-up cheeks, pouty lips, and cheeks reddened from embarrassment.

"Don't make that a concern." I tell her warmly. "Find your sisters and kick SF to the curb. Then we'll call it even."

She takes a deep breath and nods firmly. "Okay. And I will. You can count on it." Then, without an ounce of her usual hesitation, she wraps her arms around my midsection and pulls me into a tight embrace.

"I'm really going to miss you, James," she says softly.

"Oh my goodness…" Kalina whispers. "That is the most precious thing ever."

I don't pay her any attention. I'm too busy trying to make sense of what's happening. For crying out loud, when was the last time someone's hugged me?

SECOND says it was thirty-nine years, eleven months, twenty-six days, and three hours ago when Sing Sing and I had a drunken heart-to-heart. Shut the fuck up, you stupid AI. Don't you dare ruin this moment.

My arms subconsciously wrap themselves around the Doll's waist, holding her protectively.

"Hey now, don't get all sappy on me. You said I could come visit, didn't you? Someday I'll take you up on that offer." With a tenderness once reserved only for my sister, I separate M4 from my chest and ruffle her hair again. "Take care of yourself, kiddo. And kick some ass for me, rah?"

A single tear slides down her cheek as she smiles. "Rah."

Kalina, sensing that our emotional farewell is over (and perhaps also seeing another opportunity to busy herself with something other than paperwork), takes M4's hand in her own and escorts the Doll to the dormitories. I overhear her cheerfully yammer on about dorm decorations and roomies and other assorted girl shit.

When they're both out of sight, I turn to look at my sole remaining companion.

"Yo, Damir. I hate to keep asking you for favors, but…" I wet my lips, unsure how to go on. Meh. I'll just wing it and hope I sound convincing. "You see… the truth is, I have nowhere to go. ELID took everything away from me, man. Everything. My home, my family… all of it's gone. That's why I'm not afraid to fight those walking corpse puppets and Sangvis Ferri. Nothing left to lose, you know what I mean?"

"Da, I think I do." He nods sagely. "But now that you have M4, this has changed, nyet? You are rethinking what you desire in life. I can tell you are a dedicated and trustworthy man, comrade James, and for that you have my respect. You are welcome to stay with Lev and I for as long as it takes you to find your path."

Couldn't have said it better myself. No, really, I couldn't have. The older twin's remarkably talented at filling the blanks in with his own conclusions.

"You sure Lev would be okay with that?" I nod over to the flagpole. A small crowd of Griffin personnel have gathered around it by now; a few are yelling at Lev to get down while most of their colleagues just watch on in bafflement. Someone's recording the whole spectacle on their cell phone camera.

Damir laughs heartily. "Probably not. Though if I need to, I will simply pull the older sibling card and tell him to suck it up."

"Thanks a ton, dude." I exhale a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. "I owe you big time for this. We'll go out for drinks sometime. My treat."

"Oh?" A mischievous grin crosses Damir's face. "A Yankee is offering to buy me a drink? You do realize where we are, yes? I hope you have not grown too attached to your cut of the reward. Comrade."

Even though I feel the wad of cash in my back pocket screaming in horror at the prospect of drinks with a grown Russian man, I nod anyway.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot: We got paid for M4's safe recovery. Griffin's brass never sponsored a reward for anyone with information on the missing AR Team – my guess is because they're listed as a classified unit – so Psycho improvised. The reward ended up being all the hard cash he could afford to part with, split three ways between the brothers and myself. When all was said and done, I was left with a little less than five hundred dollars which isn't too shabby.

I wonder whom at the café will find the stack of bills I left at my old table, complete with a sizeable tip.

All in all it hasn't been a terrible day. While it still pains me to know things can never go back to the way they were before, life, at this moment, is pretty damn good.

"Darling, please come down!"

"Would you idiots stop staring and get this cat fucker out of here?!"

Unless your name happens to be Lev Paskov.

(Paskov Brothers' Village, Late Night)

PERSONALITY SUBROUTINE ENGAGED.

? PERSONALITY FILE NAME:

ALCATRAZ

? PERSONALITY STATUS: PENDING…

SUCCESSFULLY MOVED TO STORAGE

ACTIVE HOST TRANSFER IN PROGRESS. PLEASE STAND BY.

TRANSFER COMPLETE. NEURAL COMPATABILITY AT 100%.

? PERSONALITY FILE NAME:

LAURENCE BARNES/"PROPHET"

? PERSONALITY STATUS:

ACTIVE

Commander Sykes… It has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you agree?

Next chapter will likely be shorter, but there will be a lot of exposition to cover (how Psycho ended up working for G&K, information on background events, etc.).

PSA: Don't stick disinfectant in your veins.

(Update: Someone pointed out a minor blunder I made with G&K's backstory. Went back and touched up on it a little.)