"Fire! Fire fire fire! Pour it on 'em!" M2HB cried out, standing with one foot on the lip of the security barrier, as if to hold the steel barricade down as her machinegun chattered. Deep, heavy concussive thuds, seven every second, sending death down the main hallway.
It was an over-the-top performance that drowned out a lot of the others who send lead downrange, or rather, down the hallway. It was also complete overkill for the few Rippers and Vespids that had wandered into her sights. They had been leap-frogging their way through the halls to these abandoned security barriers, but the pace was… well BAR could only say that mobile warfare was not their strong suit.
The ambush plan had gone out the window the moment the commander called for immediate backup.
"We don't have time to waste. Push under covering fire!" BAR shouted- though trying to shout over the drumming thunder of a fifty was a tall task. It didn't help that she wasn't a command unit either, not even close to one, but her words at least carried some weight to them. Emergency command protocols, sure, but the other dolls always respected veteran models like her, FAL, G36, M14...
Came at the cost of her nickname though.
"On it, Auntie! Bounding!" Glock slipped over the security barrier, low and quick like most handgun models should be. Another rip of fifty-caliber down the hall, smashing a Vespid that turned the corner into little bits and body-parts. The rounds flying by Glock's head didn't even make the handgun flinch, despite just one of those bullets being just as capable of pulverizing her.
"Set!" The twin-tailed doll called back, aiming one handgun at each side of the junction. Her bullets alone wouldn't do much, but her targeting markers-
"Bounding!" BAR called out, doing her best to keep up the pace despite her weight. Not even waiting for BAR to get stacked up properly, Glock peeked the corner only to snap back, crouching low and pressing herself up against the wall. As small a target as possible- and BAR copied her as best she could.
Another Vespid rounded the corner and was torn to pieces the very next instant by BAR and M1919's combined firepower. Bits of alloy, plastic, and splashes of conversion fluid hit Glock, and BAR could hear the little handgun cursing under her breath the moment she stacked on her.
"Set!" BAR called back to the last member of the fireteam, training her automatic rifle at the split Glock wasn't covering.
"Bounding!" STG called out, making her run.
All the communication, all the coordination that would normally be handled by a command module and a team network, all done analogue for safety concerns. Clumsy, slow, inefficient… but just like the commander had trained them- like a human-
That sent an electric warning through BAR's digimind. Best not approach that concept again, at least not in combat.
STG slid into place on the stack, placing a reassuring hand on BAR's shoulder.
"Set."
The enemy was probing, and it would only be a moment before they consolidated and pushed… or at least that was one of the options that her tactical module landed on. Best counter- hit them before they consolidated. A couple of quick hand gestures, motions for Glock and STG to peek while BAR bounded opposite. Secure the intersection, and then the bigger problem.
"Which way?" Glock called back, guns still trained down her section of the hall.
Another problem that a command module could handle- instilling the confidence in decisions. BAR bit her lip, still holding her shooting position down the opposite hall. The Vespids came from the right, so the enemy was to the right-
But where was the commander?
"Ma, hold the hall!"
"Got it, Auntie!"
"Go right." BAR commanded, and the others moved seamlessly. They seemed to have full confidence in her, even when her own self-assessment was just an inflated opinion. It wasn't like BAR had the specs to back up her authority. Definitely nothing like Miss M4 and her team, not self-sufficient in the slightest, and if they ran into anything significant, they would most certainly have to retreat. IFF signatures would keep them safe if they had to back out into M2's field of fire, but if anything were to happen to jam those… no, she had to block out those thoughts, as hard as that was to do sometimes. Take that shot of controlled enthusiasm, pump up the confidence. Think of what the commander would tell her to do.
Push. Aggressive action. Clear the hallways and secure another chokepoint to push up more dolls to reinforce.
Aggressive action, but moving and planting to fire was plodding at best. She had an idea- one that she and the commander had experimented alongside the other MG dolls with.
"STG, rear." BAR commanded, taking point, moving down the hall at as quick a pace as she could muster, "Glock, forward targeting."
With a nod, Glock slipped ahead. Though they weren't directly networked, the hope was that BAR could pick up her laser designations as she called back to an old doctrine program.
Rifle at her hip, BAR marched forward.
"Contact-"
Glock's weapon laser painted a Vespid just down the hall, right at the edge of BAR's vision, and she squeezed the trigger. Recoil was horrendous without having a hip-brace, but not only was she a doll, she was a doll that had been programmed specifically around this ancient weapon system. She could take some pride in that, of everyone in the world, she was its only master. The hole in the Vespid's back was testament to it.
The automatic rifle thumped again, a follow-up round smashing the brain-casing easily. More movement, Glock painting more targets-
BAR marched forward in that same mindless way that Sangvis dolls did.
One, two, one, two. On every "two", a thump from the rifle at her hip into a Sangvis doll that, for some reason, was holding position facing away from her. Still, they were reacting to the fire now. A Vespid, already crouched and set, raised its weapon to fire, and priority targeting kicked in. One in the chest, but the Vespid only flinched. A second round squeezed out just as the glow of plasma lit the hall. She could feel it sizzle the air when it streaked past her, could feel it singe her hair, but she wouldn't stop this advance at any cost.
Her bullet hit home, cracking in the cranial case like a melon. The loose formation, the lack of direct control and coordination meant that these units must be a blocking force for anyone coming down the hall. They would have been enough to handle a single doll or… or a human.
The commander had to be this way.
One, two, one, two, one, two...
Step, *whud!*, step, *whud!*, step, *whud!*...
Marching until the mag ran dry and BAR was forced to take a knee.
"Changing-"
Mag dropped out, a fresh one clacked into place as STG fired over her shoulder. Plasma lanced back in response.
A grunt of pain, the crackling sound of epidermal mesh burning away, the acrid smell of plastics and metal melting.
"P-Push!" STG's voice modulator wavered- she tried to hide the pain impulses from BAR, tried to keep firing her weapon, but when BAR rose, she collapsed. Emotion module kicked in, that protective impulse to care for her wounded comrade nearly overpowering her current objective.
"F-Forward!" STG stuttered. Somehow she'd managed to drag herself up once more. One arm useless and her body leaking conversion fluid from her gut, but she was moving. Enough for BAR to trick her empathy, for the time being.
And the ones that did it to her, the ones that been hurting their friends and family…
A double-time march, that twisted nugget of anger in BAR's emotion module pumping electrical fire into her systems. Glock would lock a target, and BAR would service it- forty rushed steps forward, twenty rounds in the blink of her eye.
A security barrier- intersection between the mess hall, the armory, and the cafe. Glock had already pushed to the barricade, peeking inside.
"Clear!" She called back, ushering BAR and the wounded STG inside. Evidence of combat, melted divots from plasma strikes, brass casings, empty plastic magazines…
And a body, partially covered by two coats. Enough of a morbid sight to trigger her empathy module, to spike that bit of fear of failure, but there was no blood- not human. Heeled boots, a doll then, the question was who?
As Glock eased STG down behind the barrier, BAR couldn't help but reach out for the coat that covered the upper half-
A sweet giggle, thick and syrupy, like a dancer who was trying to entice a patron. God, if only that were the case. It was cruel satisfaction; the bitch had played him like a guitar, corralling him like a damn sheep in his own home-turf. Wasn't exactly his home turf if she was in the systems though, was it?
Maybe because… he had underestimated just what Sangvis Ferri was capable of?
Another rib cracked beneath heeled boot, another fresh shot of pain burned through the Commander. He didn't scream out though, wouldn't give this machine the satisfaction- if it could even feel satisfaction. A stifled grunt, a gritting of the teeth so hard that his jaw quivered… but he'd been through worse. Well, back then it had been an interrogation to get information out of him, this time he could take solace in knowing that this thing only wanted to kill him.
"My my… so manly~" Intruder cooed while fanning herself with one hand. The sadistic machine even had the gall to put a bit of a blush on that pale face of hers. Fluster was certainly not what she was feeling right now, having the commander pinned beneath her heeled foot.
"Glad… I could entertain my guests." The commander grunted, an involuntary bit of spittle forced out of his mouth from the pain. There was nothing else he could do besides stall at this point, to use this android's twisted sadism to buy more time.
"Oh, my dear audience, I should have been the one entertaining you." Intruder shifted her foot onto his arm, leaning down to bring her face closer… while at the same time throwing more weight onto those already stressed bones-
He swore he could hear his own arm creak beneath the boot, feel his bone bowing until the very last moment. The crack, the snap.
And that moment where his world went white from the pain.
"What happened to a merciful death, huh?" He blurted, trying to fight off the shock by shouting his frustration. Intruder clapped in delight, having finally pulled a sharp reaction from her captive audience.
"That was before you ran! That was before you shot me." Intruder hissed, hand brushing at the window of pale skin on her chest where the commander's slug had done nothing but mar the epidermal mesh there. "So, as punishment for trying to end my performance early, I will use you as data collection. Your pain thresholds are quite high for an average human. Astounding!"
The smile on Intruder's face was cold, an empty mimicry of a human's- of even a doll's. The Ringleader had set her weapon aside, so if he could just keep her distracted for longer, one of the base's reaction teams might be able to take her by surprise.
Or she'd just kill him right then and there, but they'd cross that rickety bridge when they came to it.
"And here… I thought you Sangvis units were emotionless. Finding joy in suffering, huh?"
"Ah… this isn't joy." Intruder replied with a tilt of her head, turning that cruel smile even more crooked. "I do not find joy in exterminating an insect. As I said, this is data collection now-"
Arm limp, there was nothing the commander could do to resist Intruder reaching down and taking him by the hand. It is an odd moment of twisted affection, her fingers laced between his that still spasm from the pain-
He groans at the fresh, agonizing wave when she closes her hand tighter and tighter. Joints pop, tendons snap...
"My primary mission on collecting critical intelligence is complete, so I've moved to a tertiary mission." Intruder whispered as she crouched over him, face just centimeters from. Clearly she was taking in just how he writhed in pain, "This is data collection on how to best make humans like you suffer."
BAR stumbled back, dropping the coat to shroud the body once more. Her systems locked up from the shock, like someone had smacked her upside the processing unity with a baseball bat. As one of the "old guard", she'd certainly seen her fair share of injuries and ways that a doll could… "die". It was their lot in life to be expended, some even could find joy and fulfillment in that purpose. They'd come back from the dead to do it all over again, time and time again.
But…
There was something ghastly about it when it was your friend. When it was someone that everyone knew and respected. Someone who, frankly, no one thought they'd see in such a state.
At least… her final moments wouldn't have been recorded and uploaded to the backup servers; one benefit to this jamming haze that filled the air. 36 wouldn't have experienced the slow, powerless feeling of frame death either. That horrible sensation of processes shutting down one by one, of losing power while the digimind tried desperately to find a solution to something unsolvable out in the field. How the emotion module was always the last to go, feeling that sting of failure right up until total frame-death.
BAR shook herself out. Just because she had one traumatizing backup memory did not mean all dolls suffered the same experience. No, what was best right now was to figure out just what had happened here, and more importantly, hold this ground. Jamming signal… it must be close, but which way? Just glancing down the adjoining halls revealed nothing, and she wasn't high-enough spec to run predictions based on so few inputs. The only thing she could do was make safe bets...
"Glock, get Ma up here and report back that we need reinforcements to hold these intersections." BAR ordered, setting herself to scan the adjacent halls for movement. As much as she wanted to push forward, leaving a handgun and a damaged AR doll to hold an intersection screamed "bad call" in her tactical module. The same tactical module that picked up the sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen.
BAR was already set, ready to send a burst of .30-06 into the cramped hallway before the figure came into the dim emergency light, before the IFF signature came in through the electronic haze, just barely in time to register within BAR's targeting range.
"Friendly! Friendly!" Voice light and panicked, the doll at the end of BAR's sights waving frantically as she approached the security barrier. She didn't need to make a show- BAR's trigger was locked the moment her muzzle swept near her, but G3 was even more flustered than usual.
"Where's your team?" BAR asked as she helped G3 over the barricade, but purposefully blocked the gentle doll from witnessing her team-leader's body laying just behind her. The platinum blonde was overheating- her simpler mind-map clearly overwhelmed by the current happenings.
"Moved… ahead of me. They were faster…" G3 stuttered, her body making micro-flinches as she tried to steady herself. "I'm… sorry."
"Don't apologize." BAR glanced at STG, still barely able to hold her rifle up as she braced herself against one of the barriers. G3 herself looked barely functional as well, that stuttering overheat seeming more and more serious as she stood still, twitch and flinching at nothing.
Only one call she BAR could make, and again it made her tactics module scream at her.
"Get STG back to the armory, she's too wounded to fight." She ordered, watching G3 relax slightly when she processed the words. Of course, STG pushed herself off the wall, frown clear now that she'd re-routed her pain.
"But I can-"
"Tell Ma' and Glock to hurry up when you pass them, 'kay?" BAR cut STG off.
It was… an illogical and purely sentimental order. They were dolls, they were expendable. It would make more sense to keep G3 here to hold the hall, or link up with her team again…
But she wasn't in fighting condition, not bottlenecked on her processing like this.
What would the commander do? He'd tell them to fall back… he'd… try and save every last one of them. But… would he do that at the cost of his own life? Was she thinking in that flawed, human way instead of how she should be?
ZAS 21 pushed her frame as fast as it could go- power rerouted to her legs and she could barely keep up with Skorpion. The lithe little SMG doll certainly seemed faster than usual, perhaps it was drag from her coat that had slowed her before. Just behind her was 36c, personally a surprise for Zas that she was keeping up with them. Zas expected her to stay behind with her sister's body, but no, 36c only threw her jacket over the frame and carried on.
Or perhaps it was the sight of G36, headless and surrounded by brass casings, her rifle still hot despite her body gone cold, clear signs of the head-maid doll doing her best… that spurred them forward. If they had been faster off the chopper, faster clearing the halls, faster…
Just... faster, they would have spared G36 the hard reboot. If that was weighing on Zas' digimind, then it would have been doubly so for Skorpion and 36c. They needed to be faster too, because the one person who couldn't be rebooted was next in line. Rippers set in blocking formations spoke to that being the situation- the normally nimble Sangvis dolls just set in a line of bodies in the hallway.
Nothing a forty millimeter couldn't handle, sending the body bits bouncing off the walls and ceiling, and more importantly out of the way. There, in front of the cafe's door, a scantily clad woman stood over the commander.
Weapon cast aside, metal-clawed hand reaching down for his neck, light pulse and warmth still coming from his body-
Zas didn't hesitate, sending a quick burst into the Sangvis doll's back and making her lurch. The Ringleader only twisted her head, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching Griffin dolls, grinning cruelly. Her hand still reached out, still went for the commander's throat. Another burst, faster than Skorpion or 36c could react, though the two SMG-class dolls moved to close-quarters range.
Clawed hand around the neck, just a squeeze to snap it like a stick. Her predictive program screamed; no matter what they did, no matter how many times Zas shot the leather-clad Sangvis, it wouldn't change the outcome.
Except the pale woman froze- not because of the round that impacted her or the fact that the SMG's were almost on top of her. Eyes wide in surprise, the Ringleader appeared frozen in time, and in that instant the thick haze in the network was gone. The source of the jamming cut, just like that. The connection to this frame here had been severed from its mainframe-
A spike in the Ringleader's heat signature, coming from the core.
"It's going critical!" Zas yelled, trying to leap into help get the commander away from the self-destructing doll…
But 36c and Skorpion were faster, were already moving at full speed.
Scorpion cried out something just as she threw herself at the locked-up ringleader, tackling the Sangvis doll away just as G36's little sister threw herself atop the commander's broken body. That snapshot in time that Zas knew her digimind would try to delete later as "unnecessary files"- the image of Skorpion wrapping herself around the Ringleader's chest… of 36c curling herself up and readying for the blast…
The explosion. Heat, radiation, shrapnel- Zas was a good distance away and even she had to throw herself to the floor to avoid most of it. Smoke filled the hall, the automated fire suppression system dousing it all in a soberingly cold shower.
Zas… well she had no breath to hold, but all of her processes froze in that moment she managed to look up from the floor. Only when she saw the blue glow of 36c's shield did her digimind finally blink itself out of its stupor.
And as much as she wanted to express her relief… the pragmatic part of her programming took over, started taking stock of the situation without her prompting.
[Damage Assessment]
(VIP) COMMANDER - Wounded; potentially critical. SEEK MEDICAL TREATMENT!
(SMG) G36c - Damaged; functional
(SMG) Skorpion - KIA; frame unrecoverable.
(AR) G36 - KIA; frame salvageable
(SF) RINGLEADER_ID ? - Terminated
Zas gritted her teeth as she dragged herself to her feet, feeling the frustration peak at her own dispassionate assessment. Skorpion... G36… her digimind only registered them as identification and status, while her emotion module screamed to be heard. Valor had no quantifiable value, after all. Oh sure, she could try and parse it out through other variables. How long G36 had held her position or how many SF units she took out before Zas and the rest of the team caught up.
Or Skorpion's sacrifice. She couldn't stop her digimind from running the cost-benefit analysis of the SMG doll's mainframe unit to see if it had been a "wasted investment".
Of course, the commander's life outweighed all of their frames combined, so losing G36 and a Skorpion was considered "cheap"...
Cheap.
Was that what let Skorpion sacrifice her frame without second thought? What if she couldn't be backed up and restored, would she still have done it? What if they didn't have any spare frames to upload her into? That if IOP deemed the Skorpion model obsolete and...
And Zas couldn't keep thinking like that. Luckily, there was something more pressing she could focus all her processing on.
"He's… critical." 36c called out, checking the commander's vitals, "Internal bleeding, multiple fractures across ribs, arms, legs… we need to get him back!"
Shock risk, subject not stabilized… but they couldn't treat him here either. Without a second of hesitation, Zas burst into the cafe, making for the sofas on the other end. She just needed one of the seat cushions- the long ones. A quiet apology letter to Springfield typed out in a subroutine as she whipped her knife out. In a flash Zas split the leather open, butterflying and flaying the long pillow and spilling the cushiony innards across the cafe floor. Tensile strength should be enough to carry a body, the only question now was would the commander… survive long enough to get him back?
So many questions that she just didn't have the processing to spare right now. Where were the base's quick reaction teams? Why had the commander run towards the cafe instead of to the armory? Just how were the networks scrambled so well?
As she and G36c gently lifted the commander onto the makeshift stretcher, Zas couldn't hide the stutter she felt when her predictive program hit on an uncomfortable thought.
This had to have been an inside job.