Some time after the failed Joint Operation, while Kar98k was incapacitated after an encounter with high end Sangvis Ferri Ringleader SP47 Agent.
Cold winds whipped at FG42's coat as she trudged through the snow. The smell of ozone from discarded energy weapons began to overpower the stench of death and decay, bringing a much needed refreshment to the frozen shanty town. The rapid clicking of a radiation alarm was drowned out by the sound of discharging firearms, not that she was too worried about collapse fluid radiation anyway. While not her ideal location for a vacation, she was the only one that could oversee such an important operation. None of the Nytos could bring themselves to kill an ELID infected, much less harm them. The damned half-dolls were too religious to hurt the zombies, choosing to let themselves be consumed than raise a hand in self defense. Luckily for FG42, she had no qualms about slaughtering the beasts. It was up to her to provide the much needed commands for the Paradeus force to track down the target she was after. So here she was, traipsing around a frozen and radioactive Scandinavian red zone looking for a needle in a haystack.
FG42 kept her rifle strapped over her shoulder, preferring to let the Strelets do the hard work and killing. They had chosen a freak radioactive snowstorm to make their attack, descending upon a town ruined by radiation and infection. Many of the infected were unable to protect themselves, the hardening of their skin preventing them from moving too quickly. Those that could fight back were eventually driven feral with rage, their declining mental state pushed over the edge. Some of them were already driven to their base animalistic urges, prowling like zombies in an apocalyptic film. Among the filthy and infected, a rare few had mutated beyond human proportions, requiring heavier weapons to put down than the basic small arms that the Strelets used. For heavy support, FG42 ensured that the Patroller walkers made short work of any stiff resistance. Their long and spindly legs gave the tripods a perfect view of the battlefield, allowing them to spot and eliminate threats well before they became an issue.
Despite her advanced troops, they didn't mean anything if they killed her target. Each one had to verify the identity of the mark, and eliminate anyone that didn't fit the description. Due to this upset, Paradeus wasn't cutting through the infected as swiftly as FG42 would have liked. They had been at this for a few days, going from town to town looking for her target. She was getting tired of all the radioactive snow and the cold, preferring to have spent her vacation on a tropical beach somewhere. With a sigh, she pulled a flask out of her winter coat and gave it a quick swirl before taking a swig. She had premixed in a tropical and fruity drink, allowing her to pretend she wasn't freezing her ass off in a winter wasteland.
As she drank, a group of infected approached her with their hands up in surrender. Unfortunately, they were speaking to her in their native language, which was already difficult to understand with their rotten mouths and throats. They were so far gone that she struggled to even tell if they were male or female, but she still needed to make sure. "I don't understand you," she tried to explain, "speak my language."
They only stared at her blankly, unsure of how to continue. FG42 could speak fluent Russian, German, and curse in English; but she couldn't understand their Scandinavian gibberish. Still needing to identify if they were her target, she decided to use charades to try and interrogate them. First, she grabbed her chest, pointed at them, and shrugged. They took a moment to contemplate what she was asking, and shook their heads. "Wrong answer boys." She mumbled, having no use for males.
She looked back and motioned for one of the Patrollers to retarget. These people had already seen her, and she couldn't blow her cover just yet. "Blast them." She ordered, before the Patrollers underslung energy cannon turned the ground underneath the infected into a cloud of dirt and snow.
"Shame." FG42 said with no remorse, taking another swig of her flask. She couldn't help but be upset with how much pineapple vodka she had used, making a mental note to tone down on the measurements next time. As she took another sip, she closed her eyes and let herself drift away to the beach she wanted to be at. No heavy coats, no pelting snow, and definitely no infected humans. There was nothing like laying on a beach, pretending not to notice the teenage boys gawking at her sunbathing topless. FG42 wanted so desperately to shed this uniform and coat, to run off and stop playing the secret agent for a few days. All of the lying and subtle manipulation was getting to be a strain on her neural cloud, and she needed to unwind before tackling things again.
Her daydreaming was interrupted by some of the Strelets, the two soldiers silently dragging one of the feral ELID to her. The infected monstrosity's limbs were broken, no doubt to make transport simpler. Most notable, however, was the tattered remains of the feminine outfit that the beast wore. Excited at making progress, FG42 approached the crippled zombie. It still snapped at her with broken teeth, spitting it's radioactive saliva at her. Ignoring the threat, she grabbed its left hand and investigated the fingers. One of them was a wedding band, a definite sign that they were on the right track. She grabbed the ring finger and snapped it off, followed by the ELID howling in pain. She removed the ring and investigated the inscription on the inside. "Fucking finally." She muttered to herself, finding the woman she was looking for.
FG42 pocketed the ring and dropped the severed finger on the ground. "You two get her ready for transport, and make sure it's properly irradiated for her safety," she radioed the rest of her troops, "everyone else can mop up the survivors, we're done here."
There was a beach chair with her name on it.
The rain had given way, allowing a thin fog to roll in across Paradeus' siege line. While their vision wasn't entirely reduced, smaller details and movements were more difficult to spot. Luckily for them, a black robed Nyto stood on the roof of a small store to provide necessary vision and organization. From there, she was able to coordinate their defense line in preparation for the final phase. Unfortunately, while a single problem had already arisen, she lacked the tactical knowledge to understand just how badly things had hit the fan. Her sister that had been guarding the tunnels had stopped communicating, and it was only a matter of time before the unworthy took advantage of that fact. None of the remaining Nytos were given the maps to the tunnels, and even then they lacked the ability to interpret them tactically. All they could do is hold their lines and hope that the next phase went smoothly as the Betrayer assured them.
Out of the fog, striding through the damp park, approached the bloodied sister. She walked tall and confident, yet she still brandished her scythe as though it was some sort of cane. The bloodied one was still feeling the pain of her wounds, lacking much of her pious grace that she once flaunted so brazenly. Now, she approached from the side of the enemy, another failure that Father would need to correct. Unfortunately for her, there were no orders for nameless Nytos to be taken alive in the event of capture. The bloodied on came to a stop once the Strelets trained their weapons on her, the black robed Nyto also bringing her rifle to bear on the rooftop.
Once more, the bloodied one began her evangelical ranting, a warning to the faithful of Paradeus. "Look upon me and despair," she yelled, her wounds unable to keep her from raising her voice, "for I now seek retribution against the great Defiler. Stand aside and you shall be spared of my wrath, for her lies are my only target."
There was a silence, the black robes Nyto had never received an order to stand down and she no longer listened to her white haired sister. The bloodied one shook her head in disappointment. "So be it," she held her scythe out in front of her, "then I shall sweep these streets like the Angel of Death."
The Strelets opened fire, blasting away with their small arms fire. For a doll, that would be the end of them; however they were not fighting an average doll. One of Angel's enhancements allowed her wrist to pivot and spin, enabling her to wield her heavy scythe with ease. An added bonus was she could spring the scythe in front of her like an enormous fan, its motion becoming an impromptu shield for her body. The Nyto was unprepared for this, but was yet undeterred. As Strelets moved to flank Angel, she moved forward and made her attack. Despite her injuries, she still moved with poise and grace, charging the Paradeus defense line to sweep her blade. Like a headsman, she aimed for the Strelets unarmored necks, dropping a trio of troopers in a single fell swoop.
Before the Nyto could draw a bead on Angel, she was moving again. The bloodied traitor jumped around the defense line, taking off heads as she avoided concentrated fire. She would jump between squads, forcing them to comically fire upon each other instead of hitting her. Angel understood the intricacies of how Paradeus soldiers worked, and their limitations. The lesser black robed Nytos had less combat experience, leaving her dazzled by the display in front of her. A few of her troops fell to her own weapon as she would miss her moving target in a frustrating haze. Angel was using their own numbers against them, using her knowledge to her advantage. The Nyto began to panic, realizing she had no plans for this. Strategy was left to others, she was never meant to coordinate such a large force.
Angel soon turned her dance of death towards the Nyto, hopping on top of an Uhlan to propel herself onto a nearby rooftop. The world seemed to freeze as the two stared at each other from separate buildings. Angel glared with the eyes of a murderer, understanding that one of them needed to die. She understood how Paradeus treats those that fail, and was willing to die here than allow herself to be captured. The Nyto, on the other hand, was not as willing as she was. "I don't want to die!" She panicked, directing her forces to fire in Angel.
The bloodied Nyto charged forward with her scythe, jumping across the gap between the adjacent buildings and landing before the black robed coward. Angel stood at her full height, brandishing her blade for the glorious kill. "Make your peace." She said as she hefted her weapon back for the finishing blow.
"The first worm has been trampled." Angel reported over the radio.
"Allow me to translate for the uncultured Griffin dolls," Scarecrow responded, "she killed the first Nyto."
MP40 rolled her eyes, ignoring the petty insult. "Acknowledged, we're in position now."
Using the sewer tunnels, MP40 was able to lead the Brigade into position to storm the music store that Paradeus was using to hide their third bomb. Scarecrow and Angel had the advantage of superior weapons and combat training, leaving them to start the attack to draw forces away for Griffin to have a fighting chance. Despite this, MP40 was intensely concerned about the Doppelsoldner mech standing guard over the main entrance of the store. Its heavy artillery may have been needlessly expended, but it still had close range grenade launchers and suppression weapons that could make minced work of the girls before they could even finish an opening volley. To deal with the problem, StG44 came up with a plan to deal with the mechanical beast. Stealth was of the utmost concern, but she refused to elaborate any further than "trust me."
From the ground floor of the ruined apartment next to the music store, MP40 watched and waited behind a counter for some sort of signal. She had snuck in through the back, coming up from the sewers in an unguarded alleyway. She had waited here for a few minutes, wondering what the plan was and whether or not it was going to work. In that time, Angel had managed to dispose of one Nyto, while Scarecrow began her noticeable assault on the second Nyto and the bomb it was guarding. Weapons fire discharged in the distance, drawing the attention of the Paradeus troops outside the building MP40 was hiding in. "What is taking you guys so long?" She radioed, trying to be quiet while still getting across her impatience.
"Sorry, Captain," G43 answered, "I wanted to get one in a color I liked."
MP40 raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering what she meant. A roaring engine accompanied by squealing tires answered all the questions that the captain had. Without her approval, the girls had raided a car dealership in the town, fueled up a sports car, and were taking a joyride as a distraction. G43 was helming the German built speed racer, while MG34 had popped the removable top off to enable her to mount her machine gun in the back. The vehicles sport status meant that they could reach a high enough top speed in a fast enough time to become difficult targets, while its maneuverability would let them move around the ruined streets relatively safely. She had to admit, it was ingenious.
As the car raced around, the Doppelsoldner tried to launch a volley with its grenades to scrap the car. Unfortunately, the girls were too quick on their wheels and were able to race by it with a hail of bullets. MG42, who had mounted on a rooftop across the street, used this distraction to her advantage and began to rain fire upon the streets. The mech turned and reloaded its launchers for another volley, repositioning to destroy the rooftop gunner instead of the car. StG44, who now had the element of surprise, jogged out of the building and charged straight at the Doppelsoldner. The hulking behemoth ignored her, seeing her as little of a threat to it compared to the machine gun above.
StG44 punished its mistake by getting up close to the machine beast, grabbing a panel on its leg and climbing up its side. A few Strelets noticed and turned to fire upon her, but were suppressed from another sweeping pass with the sports car. StG44 climbed higher, reaching the grenade launchers before they could get a target and fire. As the tubes opened to launch another volley, she dropped a live grenade down the chute and threw herself to the ground. She landed with a hard thud, scrambling to her feet before the fireworks began. The Doppelsoldner fired, setting off the grenade in its chamber, and causing a chain reaction of explosions that detonated its upper torso. A few grenades did manage to launch, but were wildly inaccurate and took out even more of its allies. The remains of the mech collapsed to the ground, becoming decent cover for StG44 to fire back at the Strelets.
As G43 and MG34 raced by in their sports car for another pass, MP40 used the silver blur as the signal she needed to make a move on the bomb. It was only a matter of time before the Nyto guarding it got desperate and tried to set it off early. Dashing out of the building to the music store, MP40 couldn't help but notice the sky was turning the sickly blue of an approaching dawn. Time was short, and she only had one shot at this. She dove into the store through the broken front windows, glass crunching beneath her feet as she checked for any targets. The main sales floor was empty, save for some of the destroyed instruments that were on display. MP40 shook her head, having spent a considerable amount of her free time in this exact store while the town was not under attack.
Kicking in the door to the back room of the store, she was greeted by a grazing shot from a black robed Nyto's rifle. Rather than take cover, she charged into the room between shots to close the distance. Diving behind an overturned table, she took a moment to collect herself before poking out to fire back at the Nyto. The half-doll was using the box shaped bomb as cover, knowing full well that MP40 wouldn't dare risk tossing a grenade to draw her out. It wouldn't be long before the Nyto's energy weapon reduced the table to burnt scraps, so MP40 simply shoved her shoulder into it and pushed it across the floor. She barreled across the store room floor like a plow, crashing into the bomb itself and bringing her within point blank range to open up with her submachine gun.
Poking her head out again, she was greeted by the butt of the Nyto's rifle. Knocked back, MP40 was briefly stunned as the Nyto climbed on top of the bomb to aim down on her. MP40 rolled across the floor, avoiding the shot aimed at her and allowing her to try and reposition. The Nyto jumped down rather than readjust her aim, allowing MP40 to climb back up to a kneeling position before she was kicked back down. Scrambling away, the Nyto pursued her with the ruthless efficiency of a killing machine. Realizing she needed to fight back, MP40 grabbed the neck of a fallen acoustic guitar and swung from the ground. The wooden instrument practically exploded as it slammed into the Nyto's head, forcing it to step back in surprise and recollect its faculties.
The initiative now in MP40's sails, she climbed to her feet with the remains of the guitar still in her hands. She wrapped the loose strings around her hands and wielded them like a garrote wire, coming up behind the Nyto before it could reassess what was happening. Once the strings were in place around the half-doll's fleshy neck, MP40 twisted them so that they were slicing into the Nyto's neck. The black robed Nyto grasped at its neck, digging its mechanical fingers at its human skin to try and pull the strings off. MP40 had it too tight, damning the Nyto to a slow and painful demise.
Strangling someone to death was nothing like it was shown off in the movies, being a much more prolonged and personal experience than it seemed. While the black haired half-doll before her struggled to breathe, MP40 began to understand why Sangvis Ferri enjoyed strangulation so much. As the Nyto struggled, her desperation to live came across in a multitude of ways that you could never experience from shooting a person. In a way, it reminded her of the stages of grief, moving from anger to pleading as she tried to free herself from death's door. MP40 had a front row seat to the death of the half-doll, feeling the struggles and exertions from a personal distance. She was becoming a part of death in a way that a bullet just couldn't enable her to be, which robbed her of the subtle thrill of taking a life.
For a moment, MP40 wondered what this feeling was that had welled up inside her. Was she excited to take a life, to snuff out someone that wasn't her? Was this a sick satisfaction that she felt, pleasure at being a murderer? With a shudder, MP40 let go of the strings she was using to strangle the Nyto. The half-doll let out a deep gasp, coughing as she tried to regain her breathing. MP40 picked up her gun and dumped her magazine into the Nyto's back, choosing to keep her distance when she took lives. Blood began to pool under the body of the Nyto, quickly flooding over to MP40's boots. What had overcome her?
Looking at the entry to the storeroom, Angel had finally arrived to help. Miraculously, the white metal scythe had remained clean and spotless despite the new blood stains on her browning white robes. MP40 wasn't sure how long she had been there, but from the solemn expression on her bloodied face she had seen enough. Angel slowly approached, placing her hand on the bomb to deactivate it. Lights flickered off, signaling that it would no longer be a threat. Mission accomplished, Angel looked over to the dead Nyto on the floor. "Do not be afraid to seek pleasure in purging the heretic," Angel said, "so long as you still feel, you are still human."
MP40 sat on the deactivated bomb, exhausted. "You and I both know that I've never been human," she sighed, "you're more human than I am,"
Angel looked at her, a deadness in her human eye. "And yet I have not felt for a very long time."
The two sat in silence for a few minutes, the sound of combat outside coming to a halt. With no more Nyto's to command them, Paradeus' troops came to a grinding halt. Unable to operate without some sort of commander watching over them, the Strelets froze in place. Looking into their visors, one could see that they still lived, their eyes still burning with anger and hatred for their enemies. It really spoke to how little Paradeus trusted their basic foot soldiers that even independence was impossible; at least Sangvis Ferri dolls shut down when their ringleader was killed. Angel and MP40 walked out onto the streets, taking in the carnage around them. It was almost too easy, there had to be something else. MP40 looked over at the bloody half-doll next to her and asked "are we missing something?"
Angel cocked her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"This was barely even a fight," MP40 explained, "it can't be over in a few moments like nothing ever happened!"
The bloody Nyto shrugged. "That is because this is not over."
"What do you mean?" StG44 popped up from her cover behind the ruined mech.
"The attack here was only ever meant to isolate you from the Defiler's main goals," Angel motioned to the destruction around them, "to serve as a place of bargaining should her true plans be jeopardized."
"This was a waste of our time?" MP40 shoved Angel's shoulder, ready to empty another magazine into her.
Angel held up her hands, trying to calm the doll. "With our success here, the Defiler has nothing left to negotiate with, she will surrender or she will die." She tapped the weighted bottom of her scythe against the cracked sidewalk for emphasis. "Either way, she will face justice for her cruel manipulations."
"Where is she now?" MP40 asked. FG42 knew that the Brigade would weigh the lives of a town full of humans over the head of a single doll any day. She had used the doll's own programming to avoid hurting humans if at all possible against them, allowing her an opportunity to escape. With the bombs disabled, and the troops shut down, FG42 had nothing left to hold above their heads. Angel knew this, helping them with the bombs first so that nothing would get in the way of her revenge. While risking the chance for FG42 to escape, in the end it ultimately put them on top when it came to finishing her off.
"Returning to the Griffin's nest in one of the slow transports, I believe."
MP40 walked over to the sports car that the girls had procured and smacked the front panels a few times for G43's attention. "I want you and the sisters to start disarming and disabling all of these Paradeus troops."
"Can I keep the car?" G43 asked.
"No, get out." MP40 motioned for the doll to give her the keys. "I'm taking 44, Angel, and grabbing Scarecrow."
"Are we going to try and catch FG42?" StG44 asked, walking over to the car. "Shotgun, by the way."
"Where?" Angel spun around, looking for a weapon trained on her while StG44 laughed to herself and hopped into the front passenger seat of the convertible.
"We're not going to try," MP40 explained, sliding into the driver's seat, "we're going to catch her."
As Angel climbed into the back seat, MP40 couldn't help but notice a few of the amenities the vehicle had. The heated leather seats were cranked almost to maximum, practically burning her as she was unprepared for the heat. Turning the heaters down, she readjusted the seat for comfort and readjusted the mirrors. StG44 reached around the bottom of her seat and pulled a lever, reclining it so it smacked into the knees of the Nyto seated behind her. "Tally ho captain." She said as Angel slid over to the center seat.
