Extravagance was a rarity in the modern age, with even basic resources and supplies being difficult to come by. While people lived and toiled their existence away just to make ends meet, even large military contractors like G&K found themselves struggling for the world's limited resources. While money used to be the focus of transactional deals; skilled labor and owed favors became the new economy. Many Griffin dolls found themselves employed for sometimes meaningless tasks, all for the price of a few boxes of ammo or a shipment of spare parts. The Brigade itself was no exception, with MP40 often serving as their representative to ensure everything would go as smoothly as possible.

Today's operation was meant to be a simple task; serve as security for a low priority prisoner transfer and receive a shipment of ammunition as payment. If everything went according to plan, nobody would even need to disengage their safeties. Despite the placid outlook for the mission, overland trips across yellow zones had a tendency to be extremely dangerous. Outside of green zones and city walls, bandits and mercenaries made the rules. While PMCs like G&K were often hired to deal with these issues when the federal government saw fit, more often than not they went relatively unchecked and unrestrained. Typically these gangs would only consist of a score or two of people, but it was never unheard of for an entire city or town to go rogue.

MP40 recognized this prisoner from one such city that the Brigade had taken part in pacifying, one of the men who had served under the now disavowed Captain Adelhard. They had been receiving supplies and reinforcements from Sangvis Ferri, unknowingly allowing Scarecrow to stockpile an army within a guarded city. A lot of innocent people died when Scarecrow attempted her takeover of the city, and Adelhard took the blame for the incident. While the former captain found himself dumped in the darkest hole the Soviet Union could find, many of his lesser officers working below him were not as lucky to disappear from the public eye. This particular officer was smart, and openly rejected the actions of his former companions in court. He was quite outspoken against SF during his employment, and his distrust was now paying off. He was finally being transferred out of a maximum security political prisoner hell hole to a place with a bit more freedom to serve his last few years.

As far as MP40 was concerned, she could handle this entire mission by herself. Unfortunately, the Commandant insisted that she drag G43 along as a "road-trip buddy." She had apparently noticed MP40's recent growing tension and figured that the best course of action was to assign the Brigade's biggest klutz would be ideal. The doll was an exceptional marksman while stationary, but during movement she had a high risk of ending up in the dirt. Fredrick had surmised that an upgrade to her vision and targeting systems had resulted in her system having difficulty processing while she was in motion. While it prevented her from properly aiming her rifle while in motion, her issues more commonly manifested when she would trip over small objects or bump into tables. Not to mention that ever since an automobile joyride her and MG34 went on, G43 would also get nauseous while looking out the window of a moving vehicle for too long; a phenomenon that Fredrick honestly couldn't explain. How Kar98k thought that babysitting her for a road-trip would help MP40 relax was beyond her.


"It's not a matter of trust, it's just a legal precaution in case anything goes wrong." The warden's tone seemed polite enough, but MP40 knew when someone was trying to bullshit her.

"I'm quite aware of how the legal system treats our kind," she assured him, "but we can handle our own if a problem arises."

The prison warden shook his head. "If I was worried about you girls getting into a fight, I'd have hired someone else," he explained, "but these things can be delicate and can't be left up to trust alone."

She was starting to understand what the Warden was getting at. As part of their escort mission, the prisoner transport vehicle would have a human police driver, alleviating liability on the dolls just in case anything went wrong in the dangerous world of the yellow zone. While not a perfect solution, it did allow for a reasonable margin for error in case anything went wrong. Still, MP40 didn't like being assigned a chaperone for simple missions such as this. "I understand your sentiments," she nodded her head slowly to show her resigned agreement, "and I can accept this so long as he stays out of our way in the event of danger."

The warden raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't assign a man to you if I thought he would be an issue."

"Of course not," MP40 gave a small laugh to ease any tension, "I'm sure nothing will go wrong."

If anyone believed those words, then she wouldn't be there. Yellow zones were practically lawless, controlled more by local governments or bandit gangs. While the Soviets held more influence over the isolated communities than the Western Rossartrist nations did, that didn't mean organized crime in any of its forms was nonexistent. Gangs still formed along the ravaged lands, but the smarter ones knew when to back off before being struck down. Sangvis Ferri had been allowed a great deal of freedom than most rogue groups, but their swift decapitation was more so a warning to all other gangs; rebels and criminals were allowed to exist as a sign of Soviet mercy, like farm animals to the slaughter.

Despite the occasional lawlessness of the yellow zones, generally travel across major roads was safer than most other places. They would be traveling across a wide swath of land that was fairly well populated and patrolled. If anyone did cause them trouble, all they needed to do was keep driving until they reached a place that would help them. Between towns and cities, however, they would find themselves in a particularly scarred stretch of land. Formerly a red zone, much of the region had been reclaimed to being on the cusp of human survivability, yet still resembled a cracked desert. The dead lands were dotted with bones of former forests, contrary to the living flora that surrounded the base back home.

In case of an emergency, MP40 had made sure to prepare a few supplies in case they were forced to travel by foot in the blasted wasteland. Standing by the prisoner transport van, she went over her final checklist with G43. "Spare batteries?" She asked as G43 dug through their bags.

"Check."

"Solar battery chargers?" "Check."

"Food and water?" "Uhhhh, check."

MP40 raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound too sure."

"The snacks you picked look kind of boring." G43 frowned at the choice of food, despite knowing full well that she didn't need to eat anyway.

"Deal with it; ammo?" "And grenades, check."

"Spare coolant?" "Check."

"Emergency bags?" "Double check!" MP40 shook her head, knowing that at least one of these bags was going to be used for car sickness. Something like this is quite rare for dolls, especially if it was a trait that developed after an event. She knew that the least she could do was throw G43 in the back with the prisoner where she could at least pretend she was stationary. Besides, her rifle wouldn't get much use from the front seats anyway.

"Get in the back with some of the ginger tea and get ready." MP40 instructed.

"I brought ginger soda instead!" G43 pulled out a can of carbonated sugar water that barely tasted like a proper ginger drink. If these girls were human, they'd be horribly out of shape by now…


"If I had a heart to give to a man, I would give it to Tchaikovsky." MP40 rambled on while sitting in the passenger seat of the police transport van, the driver more than happy to silently listen to her talk. He seemed like an amiable enough human, and was more than interested to hear her stories and adventures as a tactical doll. If MP40 had to wager, she put money that he wanted to be a soldier and not a police officer. While he was very intent in listening to what she had to say, he seemed most attentive while she spoke about tense action and combat encounters. While she wanted to keep him interested, the music on their radio drew her attention to another place of fascination. "The man was a genius composer, and his music is still enjoyed to this day in many different forms."

"The guy with the cannons, right?" The man asked, doing a good job pretending to care. "I've sometimes heard it in some old cartoons as a kid."

"The 1812 overture is a fun time, and I recommend attending a military band performance for the best experience of it." MP40 nodded as she remembered a time long ago when she once watched live artillery fire along to the bombastic song. "Personally, I'm more of a fan of what's referred to as the Swan Lake theme. The haunting melodies and flow combine with the terrifying-"

There was a bang from the back of the transport van where G43 was riding with the prisoner. She banged her fist against the metal for attention and to stop MP40 in her monologue. "Captain, please," G43 pleaded, "you're going to make me sick if you keep going on like this."

MP40 scowled, despite the fact that G43 couldn't see her. "Just because you're artistically challenged, doesn't mean we all need to be dullards."

"But you sound like a psychopath when you talk about music like that."

"I don't know," their driver interjected, "she's not crazy for liking something."

G43 groaned from the back. "You don't have to live with it."

"I'm so sorry 43," MP40 rolled her eyes, "I don't share your fascination with rolling around in the dirt."

There was a sound of G43 shifting into a slump in her seat in the back as she mumbled "At least I'm not getting fat."

It took every ounce of restraint MP40 had to now tear her way into the back of the transport to turn the prisoner into a witness to a murder. Clenching her fist, she settled for banging it against the metal partition separating the drivers cab from the back section of the vehicle. Seething with rage, MP40 looked out the window and stared at the passing landscape. While this region had always been more arid than the rest of Russia, the collapse that turned it into a yellow zone did nothing but turn the region into a desert. Every once in a while, as they traveled on the cracked highway pavement, signs of the former world could be seen dotting the landscape. The Collapse had devastated too much of the world, and this dead land was just a reminder of what much of the world still has to live in.

At that thought, MP40 noticed something in the side mirrors. A group of men riding motorcycles was approaching behind them, moving in a random formation but still keeping their distance from each other. Concerned, she turned to face the man driving. "We have company." She said, worried they might make trouble.

He checked the mirrors to also get a look. "Could be on their way to the rest station up ahead." He muttered, trying to stay optimistic.

Any hopes of a simple and easy mission died with the sound of small arms fire, some of the bullets pinging against the back of the armored vehicle. As the engine roared and the vehicle gained speed, MP40 took a risk and opened her door. The back section of the transport van stuck out just enough for her to use it as cover as she hung out of the drivers cabin. She ignored the protests from their driver as she held onto a handle inside the cabin and wielded her own firearm with her free hand. Evasive driving from both her driver and the bikers made it difficult for her to get a solid bead on any of them, but this was only meant to be suppressive fire. Regrettably, her submachine had too small of a magazine to effectively distract their attackers long enough to stop their assault.

Ducking back into the vehicle to reload, she looked over at the driver. He seemed terrified, but was still determined to evade their attackers. In the back, MP40 shook her head as she heard G43 already retching. Thanks to the ditches on either side of the highway, their driving was restricted to the roads. They were trapped on the asphalt strip, avoiding potholes and weapons fire. Hanging out of the side of the van again, MP40 tried to control her aim and lead her shots. Taking care now, she was able to hit one of the bikers and send him skidding into the pavement. Firing again, another biker had approached on the drivers side with a sawed off shotgun. Aiming at the back tire, the slugs launched from the short double barrels blew the wheel straight off. The back end of the transport immediately dipped and skidded against the pavement, which combined with the poor road conditions to send the van into an uncontrollable fish tail swerve.

MP40 was unprepared for such a jarring motion, losing her grip on the interior handle and falling from the vehicle. She had no time to control her fall; she slammed into the cracked concrete and skidded along, cutting up both herself and her uniform as she hit the ground. The impact had sent her system into temporary shock, rendering her immediately unconscious as she rolled across the ground. The driver tried to save the van, but at the speed they were moving he was unable to prevent the vet from ending up rolling into one of the ditches on the side of the road. The vehicle rolled end over end as it crashed, launching the unsecured G43 around like a pinball. The airbags deployed on impact, momentarily distracting the driver as he tried to prepare to fight back in a foggy haze. Bikes pulled up to the crash, their drivers dismounting to finish the job.