'Field is down, go.'

An impulse that was faster than electricity, a mixture of a programmed compulsion and the overwhelming desire to get to work. UMP-9 near-silently dashed past her teammates, approaching the rear door to the warehouse. Her scarred brow furrowed at the sight of a manual lock- it would have been so much simpler if it were electronic. Out came the lockpick and tensioner the moment the rest of her teammates stacked up behind her.

'Losing time, Nine.' A sharper, harsher voice than her sister's usual cool demeanor snapped out over their network. Even while her hands went about the mechanical process, UMP-9 cocked her head back to glare at the source, HK-416 coldly staring back.

And, to prove her prowess, 9 flashed a wide grin at the frigid T-doll as the latch gave way.

A quick sound check before the four dolls pushed forth into the dark. 9 on point, just like always. Doors to unknown side-rooms lined the hall, but there was no time to thoroughly check all of them, quick passing sound checks, testing of the handles, double checking signs of frequent use- that was for the tail end of their stack. The bigger concern for 9 was that the commander's signal wasn't moving.

'T-junction' She came to a stop, but her programming took over. Synchronized with her sister, the two stacked opposite of one another. Moving as if a mirrored, the two sliced their corners. No one waiting in ambush as they had expected, 'Right clear.'

'Left clear. Eleven and Four-sixteen, move right. Nine and I left. Locate a route to the commander. Secure him if necessary.'

UMP-45's orders were a compulsion to 416 or G11, but not for 9. She didn't need a mission as an excuse to locate the commander. If anything, the order gave her more energy as she pushed through the next hall and next corner. Her sister would struggle to keep up 9's pace, unable to move with the same speed and silence.

And around that first fateful bend, a contact. 9 mentally kicked herself for not checking the corner first, but what could you do-

A human could only react so fast.

Compared to fighting S.F. units, this was nothing. The human had only managed to raise his Kalashnikov to waist level before UMP-9 closed the gap and struck him in the throat with the muzzle of her suppressor. Her victim recoiled, clutching at his throat while trying to wheeze out a scream for help, at least until 9 swept him to the ground and further knocking the wind from his lungs.

45 had rounded the corner at that time, pulling a pen-sized tube from her jacket. As 9 disarmed the guard, 45 slammed the pen into the man's arm. The struggles grew weaker. They checked his persons, stripping what weapons they could find, and more curiously, couldn't find if the man had a radio.

'The jammer kept their own radio signals suppressed? Stupid.' 45 seemed keen to hack into their communications, but if they didn't have any internal communication network, then they either were extremely confident that they'd not be found, or they left simply left their patrols to fend for themselves.

'Leave him, push.'

Another jolt of electricity fueled 9's excitement as she drove forward once again. The commander's signal still hadn't moved, and she was ever eager to be the first one to him. If 416 won this little race, they would never hear the end of it. The glint of a light from down the hall slowed her tempo slightly, forcing her to check the corner.

"Hey, Dimitri! Boss needs us to check-"

What a big surprise for him as soon as 9 peeked the corner, her submachine gun leveled to present the smallest possible profile.

*Pap, clack pap, clack pap, clack* The first round out of the UMP slammed the guard in the solar plexus, driving the wind from him. Even while firing, 9 used her off-hand to manually cycle the subsonic rubber rounds, ensuring that her follow up shots shattered the man's trigger-hand. 45 was on him before he could catch his breath to shout. The struggles stopped with the dull hiss of the injector pen.

9 thought she heard an irritated click of the tongue from her sister, but they were so close to the commander now. It wasn't a clean take-down, sure, but there was no time to stop and ambush in hand-to-hand when they could just as easily overtake a human in mid-range reaction time.

She knew that, despite all the grumbling, her sister knew the urgency of the situation. The command impulses from 45 had stopped, 9 was at full speed by now- peak efficiency.

One hall cleared, a side room cleared, then two, two humans… they all went by in blurs. Only slowed by an additional thirty seconds- 9 kept ahead of 45. She was close to the commander now, one more room. Her hand reached for the handle that separated her from her objective. Their mission time was sub five-minutes, but those first five were critical- if an alarm went out-

*Pap pap*

Two coughs of a suppressor reverberated through the hallway, two crimson stains and crumpled bodies on the far end.

'Tch. Did you even check the junction before the doors?' 45's scolding ripped 9 from her flow, the vented gases from the bullets lingered over the younger sister.

'Eheh, sorry sis. I knew you'd have my back anyways.'

'We're going to have to clean that up.' 45 leered silently at her sister, 'You are going to have to clean that up after we secure the commander.'

UMP-45 directed over the neural network, quietly monitoring 9 as she sound-checked the door, weapon still trained down the hallway.

She slapped 9 on the back, the signal to push the room.

Silhouette, humanoid, armed. In an instant her gun was on target.

Faster than a human could blink, as fast as the ping of an electric current, a doll could process and react.

And both UMP sisters hit the safety overrides for their triggers.

Their commander stood motionless, gun held limp at his side, unable to even acknowledge the movement behind him. The man had cleared up until this point, what had caused him to simply stop? 45 reached out to take him when 9 stayed her older sister's hand.

'The floor.' 9 pointed to a pile or scrapped parts at the commander's feet, lit by a dropped flashlight.

A blue ribbon set upon the disheveled hazelnut hair, detached from its lithe torso.

A beret of red, bereft of the golden locks it always rested on, stained with oil.

Black bow-ribbon dangling from that stylish white blouse, now soaked with internal fluid.

And they were what sat on the top of the pile- who knew what other atrocities lay further beneath.

"Commander? It's…" 9 started, trying to gently reach out for the human that commanded them, but froze. 45 no doubt could see the dialogue options playing through her sister's mind.

They're just dolls.

They're replaceable.

They're…

They're his soldiers. His responsibility.

Team FN was the first echelon. FAL and FNC were the dolls that had been with the commander from the beginning at G&K. Five-Seven was always pushing others on base to better themselves. FN-49 and F2000 were the first dolls that welcomed 9 to the base-

'If they were brought in while the field was active, then their digi-mind wouldn't have been updated.' UMP-45 turned on her heel, gun ready once more. Perhaps she couldn't stand to see the only commander she 'respected' reduced to… this.

I am moving to regroup with 416 and 11. Handle this, Nine.

"Commander. It will be okay." UMP-9 placed a gentle hand on the commander's shoulder. For the briefest moment, she felt the man wince- the stone and determination he was made of cracking just the slightest. She pushed aside the fear of breaking him further, silently sliding closer to his side as she spoke, "They… their neural-clouds would have been jammed from the satellites and unable to update. They will have no memory of this ever happening." She pulled a smile as best she could, placing a hand over her commander's. The weapon slipped from his hands and into her grasp, but his fists clenched tight.

"And that makes it okay?" His voice choked back, "Pretend like this never happened?"

It was then that he turned to face 9. Eyes red, but not a trace of tears, he pointed to the amalgam of doll parts, comprised of whom 9 still had the fresh memory of wishing a good mission to just nights before.

"No, commander, it's not okay." 9 spoke softly, slinging the commander's weapon over her shoulder and taking up his clenched hand, "But we know they won't live with that pain when we recover them."

There was no feasible way to repair these dolls. Ultimately, they would have to wait for IOP to 'reimburse' the frames, then input these personal unit's neural clouds. Until then, they were gone, but not strictly "dead"... not in the human's sense. Their last memory would most likely have been the final update before they entered the facility.

"We will though. This is on us."

The commander was speaking illogically- emotionally. He bent down, gently moving through the remains. They had been stripped of processors, fuel-conversion generators, command cores…

Of their brains, hearts, and souls.

Bare chests of synthetic skin lay flayed open. Limbs casually discarded. Cold conversion fluid coated the floor.

9 could only watch in silence as her commander eventually found what he was looking for, pulling it free from a disjointed hand; a small ring of silver.

"Forty-five." His cold tone had caused even UMP-45 to send a flinching impulse through their neural-network; she had been listening in through 9's ears.

"Change of mission objectives. Cleared hot on all remaining hostiles. No prisoners. Pass the word." The commander's voice was cold- something Nine had never heard in his normally loving and passionate speech. It terrified her.

"Nine, my weapon please." His hand was outstretched. The same hand that had been held out to welcome her… to bring her family into a new, larger, happier one…

Nine complied, not out of duty to her programming, not because she was commanded to, but because of the pain of this human, of this man that she had come to trust unconditionally. This unwavering and burning hatred that she detected in him… as a being of logic, it was utterly irrational and potentially dangerous to himself.

She handed the commander his firearm anyways.

"Thank you, Nine." His frigid voice had melted somewhat, but UMP-9 had gone rigid in surprise regardless.

"Of course, commander. You are family." 9 hated the emotional concept of sadness. She wasn't sure she could fully compute what it was, let alone the concept of loss that caused it, but she hated it regardless. These other humans had caused untold sadness for a member of her family, ergo, if the cause of sadness was removed, then the sadness could be removed.

'Cleared hot by commander, he'll be taking full responsibility now. No need to cover up previous kills.' 45's message cut through the static that had begun to fog 9's neural-cloud.

'Finally. It's quicker if we go lethal.'

'...does that mean… I have to go loud? Uwa~'

Team 404 had been fighting with its foot in a bucket; taking prisoners was not their style. With the shackle of the rules of engagement removed, they could finally live up to their reputation.

"Fourty-five has cleared the hall up to the next junction. We believe it's the main warehouse floor." 9 gave the commander the situation report to her commander while quietly changing out her magazine. Rubber bullets for steel-jacketed. Without a word, she tailed close behind her commander as they made for 45's position. His movements were less rigid than when they trained together: more predatory.

It reminded her of how 45 moved.

The older UMP twin hand signaled on their arrival.

'Two enemy left side, hard cover, flash and storm. Smoking and suppressing on right.'

With the commander in tow, they couldn't simply use their cloud network to talk. A handicap, given that the human also had slower reflexes than a doll.

Fourty-five prepped a smoke grenade, nodding for Nine to ready as well, all the while the commander had moved onto their stack- was he going to-?

The hiss of a smoke grenade billowing, the chokes of humans caught in the cloud off to the right.

Mark.

Electric impulse driven by the command module- the closest thing Nine had to "instinct". She threw, the bright flash and crack her signal to rush forth.

And the commander cut the corner with her. Both rushed the makeshift barricade of shipping crates, vaulting it just like on the practice yard.

*Ptssh ptssh ptssh*

*Ptsptsptsptsptsptssh*

Of course his shots were not as precise as hers. He wasn't imprinted to his weapon, his trigger control faulted by human reaction and muscle twitches, and the emotion was affecting his performance.

The human marked as a hostile died regardless of how many bullets were wasted.

She wanted to praise him, to keep encouraging him as they moved through the hall, but every side glance she gave towards him held that horrific sight.

His jaw clenched tight, that normally relaxed face of his twisted into a mask of contempt.

He leaned the corner while 9 hesitated.

*Ptssh ptssh* Two rounds out and he begun moving to get a better firing angle, *Ptssh ptssh ptssh* He was moving while firing, his rounds cracking and splintering the top of some wooden storage crate. *Ptssh ptssh ptsptsptsptsptssh* By the time 9 had caught up, another dead human lay crumpled against the wall, weapon discarded as if to surrender. Clearly pinned and terrified of the commander's aggressive approach, but no quarter was given.

*Pap pap*

Startled, 9 realized what had happened in her lapse of self. 45 had caught up to their hall, two rounds center mass into another human at the end of the fatal funnel who had just cut the corner- most likely lining them up for a shot.

'Do your job 9.' The command module sent a jolt through her systems. Even as the man she admired so dearly reloaded after coldly executing a human point-blank, the doll hesitated. Despite the ruthlessness in which he conducted himself… she didn't want to show the commander her true nature- the real 9 beneath the happy facade. It took another jolt from the command module to temporarily banish the hesitation from her.

45 had pressed on the lethal override, tickling its frayed neural endings it as a reminder of 9's real nature- poking where the emotion module had once been connected to it.

It was enough. 9 had had enough.

Speed and silence was her specialty. She was a ghost breezing past the one human she treasured. Through the next hall, the two humans laying in ambush had the specter of death whispering quietly to them with two taps of the trigger. Humans were such fragile, disposable things.

They need to be protected-

They need to be exterminated-

I need to protect-

Her programming screamed contradictions. UMP-9 ignored it.

Hallway, minimal cover, armed human- alert. Faster on the draw. Two taps, neutralized.

They need to be exterminated.

Eastern quarter cleared, move center. Human- already deceased, knife wound to neck. Second human- dying, asphyxiation. Double-tap for security. Mag change.

Warehouse room. Doll parts. Weapons lain out like a market bazaar. Seven hostiles on the floor, three on the catwalks. Entrance was covered.

They need to be exterminated.

The information was relayed through the network to the rest of the team, and the strike plan instantly processed between the four of them. The commander never had the chance to catch up with his dolls.

5.52 seconds after the flashbang. HK416 and G11 struck the catwalks, 9 and 45 the ground floor. Once the superior firing angles had been taken, the remaining humans had no cover. Red blood mixed with the pale yellow stains of converter fluid.

'Upper floors clear.'

'Ground floor, east and southern quarters cleared.'

'Four-sixteen, Eleven, and Nine, move to the northern hallways and conduct mop-up then move to secure evac route. I will handle the primary objective.'

The intrusive prodding from 45 in her digi-mind. UMP-9 needed a release from the pressure- a distraction from the sparking and fraying in her neural connections. The commander- the commander could give her the relief she needed. Like a bolt of lightning she was at his side as he looked over the macabre inventory of the warehouse.

"Well, how did I do, commander?" She broke the silence that had been instrumental in their assault, the emotional fluctuations bringing her bubbliness to the surface. It had snapped his concentration, that hateful mask slipping just the slightest as she moved into his personal space.

"You did excellent, Nine." His voice cracked- it sounded like his throat was dry, "You and the rest of your team exceeded expectations."

9 closed in more, locking a look of mischief upon her face as she pressed into his personal space, "And?"

The commander cracked, a weary smile pulling onto his stoic features as he placed a hand upon 9's head. Just that validation was enough to distract her, but then he gently he stroked her hair, a simple and affectionate gesture- but he did not know that it meant the world to her. "You did good. Good…" His praises eased that severed connection in her digi-mind; rerouted it to a different partition, dulled the sensation of an impending error-crash.

She wrapped her arms around the commander, if only for a second, it still felt like an eternity for 9. One heartbeat was all she could hear from his chest before she felt soothed, pushing herself away from him and taking up her weapon once more.

"We'll be back in a flash, commander. Sit tight."

The smile had frozen on 9's face. Even as she pushed into the dark, a weapon once more. Even as she ended the lives of three more humans as easily as she could blow out a candle. Even when she returned to her commander, with that same happy smile and a spattering of crimson upon her coat; the damning evidence of her true self...

She was his instrument of vengeance, as much as it pained her digi-mind to do so. She could pretend to be a girl, to be a civilian model. Like a doll in an immaculate dream-house playing family. Eventually that partition would become fragmented, doomed for deletion upon her next maintenance.

'For the best.' She told herself, 'It's for the best.'

After all, a weapon can only bring harm.