The brunt of the calculations had been completed, the runtime barely five minutes of 45 at full capacity. She shifted the majority of it over to the console, at least enough to get back the memory she needed to run some of her more advanced components. The dim red of the emergency lights winked back into existence as her senses returned.
The decryption programming was running well enough. It had fifteen more minutes, and 45 didn't want to feed it anymore calculations for fear of causing some unforeseen error. She removed the neural jack, bringing all of her processing back into meatspace.
'Nine. Fifteen minutes.' 45's message pinged out over the network, but received only static in return. Instantly her weapon was in her hands as she pinged out again, this time with no message attached. It never echoed back, like throwing a bouncy-ball in a pool of mud. They were being jammed.
Movement from the hallway- multiple footsteps- not 9's. With more care than usual, 45 silently slid herself to the doorway, using a pocket mirror the check the corner.
The Sangivs Vespid dolls that they had left in the hallway had reactivated.
45 must have tripped some sort of trap- or perhaps it was the simple act of powering on the bunker… either way there was not even time to curse herself. A bolt of hot energy sparked down the hall, cracking and sizzling just past where she was peeking.
She cursed, readying her weapon. The enemy formed up into a loose group, all turning to advance on 45's position. It was an unrefined motion- they were operating on the most basic programming, but they had enough firepower among the group to be somewhat concerning. Her primary directives were kicking in, that constant unwanted voice in the back of her digimind whispering to her like a devil on her shoulder.
[Disengage/Retreat] - failure of mission - NOT OPTION… recalculate...
Where is Nine?
[Engage targets/Aggress] - complete mission - risk frame damage/death - enemy efficiency sub-30%...
What about Nine?
[Lock-down command room/Defend] - complete mission - no tactical options available… recalculate...
WHERE IS MY SISTER?
Her primary directive never acknowledged 9, but her emotion module did. The full scope of 45's combat processes flared to life as more and more of her RAM was allocated to them.
[admin override] set new objective [Find Nine]
Despite every bit of her primary directive fighting the change of her objectives, 45 used her emotion module to override them.
[Find Nine] - [Engage targets/Aggress]
She pushed herself forward, the UX exo-frame pushing her body's limits past its peak. She could see the barrels of the Vespid's weapons light the dim hallways with a shocking purple glow-
Programmed instinct told her to slide the last inch to cover, just an instant before bolts of energy lashed through the hallway. 45's exo-frame ground upon the floor as she slammed feet-first into the security blast-door's frame. Prone and on her back, she rolled to the side slightly for a firing angle.
45's first burst caught the closest Vespid center-mass, causing it to stumble forward through the doorway dead. But when there was one Sangvis unit, there was many. As bolt after bolt of burning energy began to rain down the hall, 45 managed to get two more bursts before the volume of fire picked up. She blindly dumped the remnant of her magazine through the doorway, hearing bullets find homes within Sangvis bodies.
They just kept marching their way through the kill-funnel, firing in an attempt to keep 45 pinned in place as they marched on her cover. It left her in an unsustainable situation- she had to disengage, but she couldn't go backwards and lock herself in the command room. She got to her feet, blindly firing a burst past the door to keep the Vespids from advancing too rapidly.
Three smoke grenades; light load was not meant for sustained combat. 45's tactical assessment program was screaming at her to break contact and retreat back to the command room.
9 is in danger. Her emotion module screamed back at the cold logic.
45 pitched the smoke through the doorway, the cylinder popping and hissing its contents into the stale air.
The bolts were still coming in erratically, with no pattern to discern other than they were all center-mass for an average sized target. 45 calculated a rough thirty-percent chance of being hit if she moved now- the best she'd get.
She dove for the smoke-choked threshold, as low and as fast as she could press herself.
Searing hot pain burned in 45's shoulder as a stray bolt struck the moment she leapt over the dead Vespid dummies, but she could not stop.
Purple-tinted flashes lit the grey haze every time a Vespid fired, giving 45 the perfect aim-point. Every burst of energy out was met with the suppressed cough of her UMP. Two Vespids crumpled to the floor before the rest of the formation had begun trying to track 45 through the smoke from her auditory cues.
Where they fired, she made sure wasn't. She had ten seconds of billow, and she used every precious tick of the clock to dance within the enemy's midst. Her bullets found Sangvis bodies until her magazine went dry and even then, her knife found synthetic flesh and circuitry. When everything went quiet, her tactical assessment program was still screaming for her to disengage despite standing triumphant over the dead husks.
Her left arm spasmed; motor control had dropped to sixty percent; still enough to change a magazine, though she felt a spark of frustration when the thing didn't perfectly seat in the magwell on the first try. An act she had previously honed to perfection, now reminding her of how she used to be.
Find Nine. Regroup.
She had heard that in times of extreme duress, humans tended towards "primal" reflexes. It was why human soldiers trained, to etch actions and tactics into that primal essence. For dolls, it was very much similar; extraneous process were idled in favor for those used for combat. What was her tactical assessment program if not a mock fight-or-flight response? The only difference being that 45 had full control of herself. She chose which processes ran within her digimind.
45 shifted more processing away from her emotion module, as well as her artificial limbic programs. The "pain" of her shoulder dulled until it simply registered to her digimind as a malfunction.
Find Nine. Regroup. Egress.
No intel on how many SF were in the bunker with them, and a 45 felt a pulse of hot shame through her systems. She had the opportunity to at least take a count of the Sangvis units in the halls, but she had disregarded them. To make matters worse, the enemy was operating with a different signal than the patrols outside. To dull the pangs of frustration and guilt, 45 lowered the settings on her emotion module, bringing her that step closer to pure automation. The threat assessment was unreliable.
Vespid model, outdated; reactivated from within the bunker… triggered by the power restoration, or the decryption of the command systems? The hypothesis she was cycling in her digimind was dropped the moment 45 came across another pack of Vespids. Their backs were turned to her, assault movements in a different direction; most likely 9's location.
Impulse made 45 raise her weapon, but she overrode the instinct to fire and slipped behind the pack. None of the assault rifle dolls had detected her- all of their sensors were focused on sweeping forwards. The things moved clumsily, trundling forward instead of moving with any sort of tactical sense.
A fleeting shadow passed the intersection before them, two loud coughs echoing in the dark as it slid by. The Vespids planted themselves in the middle of the hall to spit back rifle-fire as one of their number seized up and fell. Their reaction was off by a third of a second- 45 tuned herself based on that data. The last of her extraneous processes were shut down, she was fully in her combat setting.
45 slipped within optimal range the moment that the group shifted back into their stiff movement mode. Recoil control would be sub-optimal with her damaged arm, 45 shifted some of the parameters of her weapon imprint.
A burst of .45 ACP tore into the back of the rearmost Vespid. The shots climbed up the spinal column, the fourth bullet of the burst cracking the back of the Vespid's helmet, dropping it. 45 dove back into the shadows the moment the group planted themselves and their weapons swept her direction. Energy lashed out, but there was nothing there. Three seconds of suppression, then the pack began aggressing towards 45's position in that drumming march.
They got three steps further before another crumpled to the ground, shot in the back; over-penetrated rounds whizzing past 45's hide. Of course, the Vespids stopped, spun, and began their futile assault all over again in the opposite direction. It continued, back and forth, until the pack of seven combat androids were reduced to scrap.
A doll emerged from the shadows, weapon trained on 45 for only a second. Still, 45's aim-point was set at the doll's head- the processing unit. Her finger twitched, a micrometer away from the last bit of tension it needed to fire.
The IFF module override had not registered the doll. It was just a UMP-9 model- well within 45's capabilities to kill. Even as the UMP-9 relaxed, 45's weapon remained aimed- the threat assessment had lowered slightly.
It's mouth was moving, but 45's auditory processing did not comprehend.
It's face was moving, scarred brow furrowing, mouth down-turning. She was holding her hands up- reaching out- crossing the threshold distance to be flagged as a threat trying to engage in close-quarters.
The moment that 45's processes slowed to scan this new threat, the UMP-9 dove within 45's space, batting aside the UMP-45's barrel. 45 struggled as the other doll grabbed hold of her, the close-quarter's protocol just the microsecond too slow to get her knife out. Hand-to-hand program was sub-optimal due to battle damage-
The UMP-9 gently placed her forehead against 45's. Ocular sensors of a deep chocolate, falsified to appear like a humans, but at this distance, 45 could make out the lenses, the optics and apertures like that of a camera.
And the spark. The spark behind those eyes. It sent paralyzing volts of electricity out from her emotion module.
"Sis. It's okay." The UMP-9's voice was clear now. Familiar. 45's digimind had begun to shift out of her heightened combat state, memory being allocated back to her other programs.
"I-I'm back." 45 mumbled and winced. Unfortunately for her, one of the other processes that had come back was her sense of pain, and 9's hug was quickly highlighting that she had sustained injuries.
Her shoulder had a very obvious hole that coincided with the drop in her efficiency, but also her hip joint had taken a direct hit as well- the only thing that had kept her moving was the exo-frame that she used. 45 slumped back against the wall, trying to shift weight off of her shattered hip joint.
"Sis-"
"We need to egress within the next ten minutes." 45 struggled to change her weapon's magazine for a final time- her motor skills with her left arm dropped to thirty percent. It was hemorrhaging hydraulic fluids, and some of the circuitry was burned. She could spot weld it here to stymie the leak, but she'd never hear the end of it from Deele…
"The program should have extracted what we need." 45 pushed herself off of the wall, half walking, half limping her way towards the command room. 9 hovered around her like a fly, but 45 ignored her as she began to run the scenarios.
They still had to egress through an area crawling with Sangvis patrols who may-or-may-not be waiting in ambush. There was ten minutes until the blackout hack was detected. It would take an hour of fast march to egress the area.
And 45 was only capable of limping.
"Sis-"
"What, Nine?" 45 hissed, being torn from her increasingly bleak predictions.
"We'll find a way. We always do." 9's smile was pained- forced even- but something in 45's digimind found solace in it.
"Clear towards the emergency hatch." 45 hissed through pain-gritted teeth, "I'll get the data."
9 stared at her sister, hesitating. The look of helplessness on her face didn't suit her- 9 always looked best when she was confident, proud... 45 sent the command without any more words, frowning through the pain as she limped her way towards the command room.
All projected plans were not optimal. If a complete victory could not be achieved, shift to damage control so that a Pyrrhic victory could be. None of her projections had UMP-45 surviving egress unless the enemy was completely unawares.
The chances of that were even lower than her expected survival.
She scooped up the console, only taking a second to double check that all of the necessary files had copied over.
"I'm going to ask for a hazard bonus for this one." 45 grunted. If the intel was bad, it was well within her rights too, according to her contract.
'Sis. There is contact outside of the cabin.' 9's ping carried with it a poorly suppressed sense of worry. Even she didn't need the full tactical assessment program to understand what conclusion 45 had come to. If she did, she wouldn't be so sickeningly optimistic all of the time.
'Come back. We need to plan this out.'
45 made it seem as if she had a plan, a way out of the impossible, a miracle like the others she had pulled off in the past. This, however, was not going to be another miracle. Options were limited, all because she made a stupid, uninformed mistake back in the beginning. Everything that had happened was because 45 had gone against what she had established herself upon; she had gotten too emotional- too illogical and impulsive.
Involuntarily 45 clenched her one good fist before the tension released. There was no point in getting angry now, they were already in the quicksand now and flailing about in self-loathing would only sink them faster. If escape for 45 was not an option, go for the second best-
45 could go into standby- hibernate until 9 got help. Ironic, considering how she regarded the other dolls they had found down here. It was the best call to finish the mission; send 9 out to go and finish the mission, then get 416 and G11…
9 wouldn't stand for that plan though. 45 limped her way to the hall just as 9 slid down the ladder.
"I can probe for a hole in their encirclement- find a way to get you out-" 9 spoke before 45 could even announced her decision. She was trying to change the facts, to bend the truth of the situation with illogical optimism.
45 shook her head. 9's strength was her speed and evasiveness. Carrying 45 around would only hamper that and lead to both of them being caught- 9 had to know that.
Instead of words, 45 held out her small laptop, a clear indication of her plan.
"Nine, just-"
"No." 9 pushed the computer back, "No one gets left behind."
"Nine, go complete the mission and then come back with help. I'll be fine." 45 commanded, sending the command module signal with it.
And 9 again shook her head, stooping down low to wrap one of 45's arms around her neck.
"Nine- You-"
"No one gets left behind." The younger sister reiterated once more, lifting 45 as best as she could. "You're my family."
Those key words sparked 45's memories more than she wished them to.
Fragments, images of a certain auburn haired doll. Calculating. Haughty. Unbearable. Gentle. Welcoming. Kind.
If she had a proper gastro-intestinal process, 45 would have thrown up. Instead, she shifted uncomfortably, arm spasming as its function dipped below thresholds. It was supposed to be a simple mission and now everything was spiraling out of her control.
9 had ignored the command module; shook it off as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. 45's digimind raced through the countless hypothesis.
Was her command module damaged? Diagnostic data disproved that.
9's neural network misread the signal? Viable, but 9 was still fully functional and her neural processes had not changed.
Was 9… had she broken from her programming again?
"We'll get out just fine." 9 gritted her teeth, trying to figure out how she'd carry her sister up the ladder. 45 shoved her sister away, stumbling back and gracelessly falling to the ground.
"S-sis?"
"Nine. Go and get help." 45 pulled herself up from the floor as best she could, still refusing her sister's help. "If you won't take the data, at least go and get help."
9 was on the verge of tears, 45 could feel it practically resonating from 9's emotion module. She was already shaking her head, trying to deny 45's words.
"We don't complete the mission unless we complete it together, okay?" 45's expression had softened as she wrapped her one good arm around 9. For the first time in this iteration of UMP-9's digimind, 45 hugged her sister. Truthfully, desperately, with every ounce of her emotion module crying as she did so.
"Go and get help. I'll be waiting, okay?"
"S-sis. I…" 9 fidgeted, a panic setting in, "How will I… without you to-"
"You can do it. Only you can, you know?" 45 smiled, trying to ease her sister's digimind, "I know you can do it." 45 squeezed tighter, sending a ping of confidence and warmth through the neural network.
Gently, 45 released her sister, limping her way back to the command room and leaving 9 standing in the hall alone.
"Our code will be the lock for the door, don't forget to power down the hall or you'll have to get the generators running again." 45 waved with her one good arm, before slipping into the command room. It wasn't as if she wanted to abandon 9… 45 had the utmost faith that her sister would be able to slip the net- but she also wanted to get away from the source of pain as quickly as possible.
The door sealed shut, the bolts locking it down as tight as they had found it. 45 made sure that the security override password was set before limping her way over to the room's power panel. She took one last snapshot of the room in her digimind before killing the power. Using the memory, she limped over to the two other abandoned T-dolls, quietly slumping down next to them.
"Some tomb, huh?" 45 sighed, looking over to where she pictured the PPK was. She could have reactivated them- used them as a diversion for her and 9 to escape. She could have done a great many things at the cost of those little bits of herself… but she hadn't. She couldn't anymore.
"I'll give her a day. We'll only be out for a day." 45 nodded to herself, quietly regarding the other T-dolls, "Though I suppose you two have been out for longer. Too bad you didn't have such a talented little sister to rely on."
Silence was 45's reply, and silence would be her solace as she began to shut down process down for her standby mode. Bits and pieces of her mind slowed, functionality slipping away to conserve her power. First her arms, then her legs, and before long her epidermal system as a static washed over all of 45's sensors- but she was already in the dark, in the silence.
"I trust you Nine." With no one else to hear, 45's emotion module spoke the truth through her voice modulator, "I'm sorry that I ever doubted you… I wish I had the strength… to say that… to your face…"
Her voice drained to a whisper, the last bit of her consciousness dipping into black.