UPDATE20181009: chp1 phrasing and pacing fixed, chp2 1st public version up.

Not everything is as it seems.
There's always plans within plans within plans, contradictions within contradictions within contradictions, plans ending up getting scrapped, either entirely or in part, and then there are plans that don't even exist and then suddenly make it into the bigger plans in either plausible, realistic ways or... 'go 'round the block', so to speak.

If you look close enough, analyse all possible sources, maybe then you can get to the bottom of all of this, or maybe lose your mind somewhere along the way.
Maybe.


It had been a while since I had been enrolled into the Soviet military. Not much happened.
What's actually interesting is what happened shortly after my sister finally recovered enough to be let out the tank for longer than an hour.

She was strong.
Or at least attempted to show it, but her legs tended to give out more often than not.

It took a while for her legs to grow strong enough for the job.

But our meeting with the self-proclaimed "prophet/messiah" known as Kane had approached before the re-growth was fully complete.
So my sister was forced to do something she never wanted: she had to show weakness, even if said weakness was temporary, to the one who she considered a completely untrustworthy stranger.

Granted, my father, uncle and I were strangers to her too, but I think she trusted us more because of... what happened when she first awoke after the transfer.

The transfer that took her voice almost completely. The transfer procedure that bastard designed himself.

Oh, how I wish I could rip him apart, piece by piece, and kill him...

But that is neither here nor there.

My sister didn't warm up to anyone at first. And I had tried everything.
From sharing to caring. Well, the latter not so much, but considering who built me (and whom my AS was based on), that wasn't a surprise.

It took a while until she started trusting me to not stab her in the back, at least.
That was something...

One thing I noticed is that she despised physical contact during most of her recovery, though she did relent when she realized she had no choice (other than landing on the floor face-first). Considering her past, that is hardly surprising.
I think the metallic feel of my armour calmed her down enough for her to not register me as a threat. I knew it wasn't that comfortable though. Good thing we had a pillow...

While we were waiting for the meeting with Kane, I had taken it upon myself to help her at least stand again.
It wasn't done fast enough.

One good thing though was that bastard: He sent some nano-machines through.
Said something about "from a possible future" and "making her talk".

Blasted bastard. What does he think my sister is? A science-experiment?!

The procedure was simple: force the nano-machines into the spine, and wait for them to stabilize.
Then attach the little transmitter he included in the delivery box, and my sister would be able to at least send text messages.

Of course, I was over-joyed: I would finally be able to hear my sister's voice!
She would've been able to talk sooner, but her nerves had been mostly fried, rendering her mute.
I still remember how much she cried that day...


"Remind me again, how are we going to do this?"

"We are not doing anything. You, my dear, will inject the machines in."

"Father, I mean no disrespect, but why me?"

"Your sister doesn't trust me or your uncle. Yes, she doesn't trust you either, but think of this as your only opportunity to gain her trust. You're also both girls, and the operation has to be performed on her back. I do not want to risk myself going berserk during the operation, you know how I got that from your uncle. You have a switch for that built in; you were meant to succeed where I can't: modifiable to the point it'd make a... certain "community" blush."

As I took the syringe, I looked at my sister's exposed back. She was lying down, on her stomach, arms and legs stretched out.
She had covered herself with a thin blanket, one of the many she had been using the past few days.

I approached slowly. I wanted to say something, but my calculator failed to conjure a proper phrase.
What was I supposed to say?

That the operation, if done wrong, could actually create even more damage?
That she might end up losing her legs, or even her life?!

As I reached her, I began to notice something.

My sister was shivering.

"Father? We need to tie her down."

"Why's that?"

"Didn't the bastard mention it'd be both dangerous and painful?"

"So?" I turned.

"Please, father. I might kill her..." No answer for a moment. Silence.

"Then do it."


My mission was simple: take my battalion and blast my way through the dogs' homes.

I wasn't happy with it. At all.

Our rules of warfare explicitly prohibit me from spilling innocent blood.

But boy was I delighted when I got confirmation through Stalin's and Kane's spies that the ones whose heads I was supposed to blast off were far from innocent.

After all, the ones I was about to kill would give birth to the ones who would later on oppress my people.
And if your children become oppressors...

Then you yourself are far from innocent.

I was in my tank, watching the town with binoculars out of the hatch of a specially designed, standard, double-barrelled Heavy Tank.
The only speciality in the design just being two simple jet engines from Einstein's propulsion system research directly under the chassis, between the two treads.

I had that request run through Kane, who ran it through Stalin who ran it through the mechanics at the Airfield and War Factory.
Pretty hilarious how the circle goes, eh?

To avoid the turret falling apart or fly off the tank, the body and turret would've been welded together, effectively making the tank turret-less. Or the tank itself being the turret, depends if you're the player who gets to enjoy playing around with it or the modder who has to put that thing into the game.
But I told the techies not to do that, meaning the turret was at risk of flying out.
Didn't happen during the test-runs though. And test-runs are generally done so the tested forces or whatever are around... three times higher than what you'd actually expect in real-life.

My sister was watching from another hill nearby; her gaze curious, but also worried.

You alright, Tarri?

It has been some time since I was enlisted and had run several tests with my special Heavy Tank.
It took a while to find someone capable of handling my commands.
And by handling I mean understanding my... rather "weird" way of saying said commands and acting quickly enough for me.
The main issue was finding someone with a reaction time that was at most half of mine, preferably less.

Simulations, and highly painful first-hand experience, pointed to a bug in our code that made too slow reactions leak memory to where it's not supposed to be, clogging up my RAM, processors and destabilizing my systems. The net-result being sub-par reaction, both time- and action-wise.
The problem is not finding it (I had some loggers handle that one); the problem is fixing it.

I was stranded in the past (for that moment), and couldn't risk going into repair-mode. Not yet.
Not now that my sister finally opened up to me. I had to stay online should she ever need me. At any cost.

I'm fine, sis.
The "Whiskers" on her back had a short-range communication-module attached to them. It worked in a very similar manner to the future mobile phone, but needed a transmitter built in to not be hijack-able or listened into without it sounding like absolute gibberish, as cell-phone transmitters didn't exist yet. It was the only way she could talk to anyone, as her vocal chords were barely responsive.
Except for that meeting with Kane. There the stupid flaps of flesh decided to respond to the weakened nerves. Screw organic matter and how it can't be fixed easily with no problems with some fresh wiring and part-replacement and/or re-coding...

You don't sound fine to me.

You're right. I'm not. But fine enough.

Nervous for the first live test? I could feel her smile. Those spinal implants (and being a machine on the receiving end) really do wonders at times.
Until you jump into the coding. Then you complain how it's all a bigger mess than your messy room (assuming your room is always a mess).

Probably. How are handling the cold over there?

I got a heater. And you forgot a "you".

Blame my uncle and how I'm coded to send texts. ...has Kukov tried anything?

No, he hasn't tried anything.

Good.

...You don't have to watch out for me, sis...

You're right I don't. But I choose to. It was decided on that day. Remember that.

Heh. How could I forget that day? What happened again?

Well, you could barely stand, let alone walk or threaten us with your non-existent knife...

Oh come on, I wasn't that defenceless...

You were. You literally couldn't do anything before or after I took you up in my arms.

You were crushing me...

Really sis? I didn't hold my smile back.

Yes, really really, absolutely. I chuckled, and she gave a light laugh. My smile remained as I recalled what happened on that day.

The day it was decided.

You were scared when you first saw us. What probably went through your mind then was how that bastard set you up and dumped you onto some heavily armed and armoured humans' laps. You didn't even think I was a girl.
Though I don't blame you. I am a copy of my father.

You're nothing like uncle, sis. If you were, you wouldn't be able to care for me all this time.

I know. Heh. It's funny how a man and a machine, both incapable of love or caring decide on getting a daughter.

To be fair, most machines don't need anything except for some oiling from time to time. I think.

Most machines?

Tari, please stop. You're not an ordinary machine. You know that!

Perhaps. But I am much like my father. There's just... so much anger inside me. I want blood-shed. We shouldn't even be together, and yet here we are.
On the polish front, waiting for our enemy's first move.

Tari...
You're not...

I'm not what?

I'm... I'm not sure. BUT!
You do care for me. That is enough to set you apart from all the other machines existing now.
That, and I saw the codes for... that year's "AI"s. You're better than all of them put together in every way. And you'll still be at least 50 years from then!

Heh, that is true.

"This is General Gradenko. You are clear to proceed with the operation."

"Roger that. Driver! Fire up the treads and keep your hand on the thrusters! All units, behind me and fire at will!"

Stay safe, Tari.

Me? Safe? I was built for this, you know.

I know! Just...
Please come back to me in one piece.

After some hesitation:
You too, sis. Keep you hand on the gun.
I didn't notice the typo. Nor did I care.

Hehe. Care.

I promise.

Now then. Let's see how these racist polish lap-dogs like being treated like the animals they are and will become, cornered, nowhere to go, and slaughtered.

"All units! Get your masks and fire Sarin shells!"


During the altered (and seven-year delayed) Second World War, Germany was part of the Allies.

A war the mysterious figure known only as Kane orchestrated.
No idea how Germany managed to become part of the Allies, considering how the blame and overly-high repair-costs were pushed onto the already crippled country's lap.
If anything, they should've been wanting revenge, not join the ones who had crippled them.

Unless Kane..?

As for the war itself: it began with a simple field test of Sarin nerve gas.
I started the war.

With a colourless, odourless, but not painless gas that kills humans agonizingly slow.

According to what transcripts were recovered, Stalin had originally planned to pump Poland and Germany so full of the gas that the West would be forced to surrender.

The test results themselves are... revolting.

Children... dead in not even 15 seconds.

Adults... some might've not made it past 18. But the real agony is reserved for those who push to the limit of 42 seconds, seeing as how the kill-time depends on the human's weight.

But, credit where credit is due, the Allies' spy network would eventually find the lab and bring it all crashing down in a blaze.

Though it should be noted this didn't happen until a long while later.

After Toruń was torn down and swimming in blood... the blood of innocent children.
But I didn't stop that one like I should have. It was too risky...


"Go at once to Toruń. Destroy everything and everyone. No prisoners, no survivors. … That is all!"

My back was to the wall. For some reason, my scanners went haywire whenever I was close to the newest officer. A lieutenant.

Why were my scanners going nuts? Because that... thing was powerful. There was something highly familiar about it, but I couldn't seem to figure it out at all.
It was only until much later, when I got the bastard's scent again, that it made sense.

"And what exactly are you doing here, listening in on conversations that do not concern you?"

"I'm worried."

"A self-proclaimed "ultimate killing-machine" is worried?"

"This is no laughing matter, Kane." I looked the "man" straight into the eyes. "That officer is highly dangerous."

"And why is that? Is he another machine like you and your father?"

"Worse. I have nothing on him."

"...what?"

"The worst enemy of an ultimate killing machine is not an AI with a higher intellect or a machine with more flexibility, speed or strength. But the complete unknown."

"And..?"

"We need him dead, Kane. Now."

"He seems quite useful. But rest-assured he will-"

"You don't understand! That thing is not a human! It's... far too... chaotic..."

"You mean the energy signatures?"

"I know I picked up large chunks of his wavelength somewhere, and I found the reference points."

"Well? What have you found?"

"That my memory core has been heavily tampered with. The sources themselves are all gone." Kane's eyes widened, but remained completely calm otherwise. "Do you understand what that means?!"

"Yes. However, I doubt any of our actions will have an effect. If he is indeed our... "partner" himself, or just a piece of him... Then anything we do, would have been done before already from his perspective."

"Not necessarily, but possible, yes. We need to find a way to not be predictable and stab the front, not the back."

"The opposite of which our new commander might be expecting."

"That's the thing: I don't think he's aware of anything. It's like a piece of that bastard is inside him, online, but not actively doing anything. Else my sister would've said something by now."

"You trust your adoptive sister far too much."

"My beam sabre made it through untampered, Kane. Do not tempt me."

"For being what you claim to be, you truly are simple-minded, child." Kane was smiling now.
"Rule of thumb, Tarrina: you can't kill the messiah."


"I'm sorry if it's too tight... Is it too tight?"

My sister was currently strapped to the operation table by arms and legs, covered by another, slightly thicker, blanket, save for her upper back. She could wear trousers, but we couldn't exactly find anything other than a bit too large underwear so enough of her back would remain exposed.

She shook her head.

"I still think we should use the last belt and tie her torso down."

"...Sis?" Nod.
"Alright..."

"Vitals shouldn't be out of the ordinary, considering what's on her mind..."

"...You afraid, sis?" A very hesitant nod.

"Makes sense: she doesn't know if she'll survive, her legs work, or the Whiskers themselves.
Have you two gone through the theory, at least?"

"Affirmative."

"Good.
Let's see... vitals, slightly more unstable than your usual average, understandable... body strapped to table... nano-machines loaded... how much of those?"

"If the bastard's papers are correct, enough for three."

"And your sister wants them all at once?"

Nod.