The 'black market' wasn't really a black market. It was more akin to a regular night market that occasionally sold contraband out in the open due to a lack of oversight. The government didn't really care so long as they kept it self-contained.

And in comparison to the rest of the district of the green zone UMP45 was in, it was relatively well taken care of. The streets were clean, humans were less suspicious of each other out of the street and there were even constant patrols.

They were mercenaries hired by a few of the more well-established merchants but at least it was something.

It wasn't comparable to the inner districts, closer to the center of the city of this green zone but among the outer districts, this was one of the safest areas to be in.

UMP45 made her way through the large crowd of humans walking up and down the streets, searching for the man Nevena told her about.

Not the merchant selling prepackaged meals… Siphoning power was more efficient. Not the one selling A/C units either, although she'd definitely be going there later… Ah, there he was.

Strong Irish accent almost to the brink of parody, confident smirk that promised a ripoff deal, the old military Battle Dress Uniform he wore, and the flask strapped to his waist. That was him.

Elliot Winters, as he called himself according to Nevena. Likely a pseudonym but it did its job. A sketchy Irishman who was rumored to have been on the frontlines, and was left behind during the retreat. And perhaps there was some merit to those rumors.

Despite his loud voice, his eyes constantly scanned the crowd, searching for hidden weapons. Every human who got close to his booth, or storefront if you could even call it that, had to be inspected by one of the two guards that stood nearby. Both of whom were openly brandishing what UMP45 believed were AR-15s while their sidearm, what looked to be Browning High Powers, were strapped to their waists in a holster.

The only ones who approached his booth were in suits or some sort of uniform. They varied but they usually stuck to their groups.

Nevena had told her about him, they were close apparently or used to be. But ignoring that, his existence was a bit of an open secret in the district. A neutral merchant between the gangs of this green zone. And the supplier of a fair amount of their arsenal.

How he kept getting his wares was unknown but most people didn't care.

Those that did weren't around anymore.

But maybe he'd appreciate a larger variety of products. Well, not now. UMP45 didn't plan to sell anything to him just quite yet, a modicum of trust was needed for that but in the future might be a possibility.

"Guten Tag, meine Damen und Herren." UMP45 greeted the Irishman with a smile, casually strolling over to the merchant's booth.

The man's guards tightened their holds on their weapons, ready to attack if need be, but Winters waved them down.

"I don't recognize ye," Winters stated as one of his guards went over to pat UMP45 down.

"I'd be quite annoyed if you did," UMP45 replied back with faux cheer, letting the guard freely check for any additional weapons beyond the UMP strapped to her back. Once the guard finished, he nodded at his employer and fell back in line.

"I heard you sold some interesting items." UMP45 continued with a smile, "And I may be a bit interested."

"Bit obvious ain't it? I do got some stuff on me. Though, are ye sure ye want it from me? Not everyday someone comes by themself." Winters leaned back in his chair, resting an arm on its backrest, "Specially if they're new 'round these parts." He smiled confidently, "And especially not a Doll."

UMP45's face twitched.

He cleared his throat, "Now, if ye wanna outfit a small army, then I'm your man. But I'm not quite sure if that's what yer after."

"Who said I'm alone?" UMP45 leaned on Winters' booth, tapping her fingers on the metal structure, "And while I don't need to purchase equipment in bulk," Especially when she can make it herself, "I was also told you may also have some things I need for some personal projects."

"Then you were told wrong." Winters chortled, unhooking the flask from his waist and taking a sip, "I just have old shite some people no longer need–"

"His name is Winters, Elliot Winters." Nevena said hesitantly.

UMP45 hummed as she leaned on a run down kitchen countertop. She crossed her arms and grinned, "Okay and…? I need some more information than that."

Nevena gulped and a faint blush appeared on her face, "He's part of the night market. On Portova and Bazarna street."

"What services does he provide and what does he look like?" UMP45 inquired, absentmindedly pouring herself a cold cup of coffee from a jetboil. It was powdered, UMP45 doubted they even sold good coffee in the area, but it was something.

"He's the one who supplies most of the gangs here." Nevena eventually admitted after some hesitation, "Guns, bodyarmor, and even a few old automatons."

Oh?

"Which ones?" UMP45 asked her, taking another sip of the flat coffee.

Nevena looked unsure, "I… don't know. I think some old T-Dolls?"

"IOP?"

"N-no… I think Sangvis."

UMP45 nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"They… leave him alone because otherwise they'd have no one else to buy from. He got rid of his competition." Nevena nervously scratched her cheek, "Oh and, uhm." Nevena took a moment to think, "He has a very strong Irish accent. He's quite easy to find actually."

"Great!" UMP45 put her drink down on the countertop, she'd barely drunk half of it. She stretched her arms out, loosening her joint actuators, "You know him pretty well it seems."

Nevena's green eyes seemed to follow her movements for some odd reason, "I… did some things I'm not entirely proud of."

Interesting. Very interesting. UMP45 wouldn't press her for now. She'd already gotten what she wanted anyway. And it'd be better to keep a semi-cordial relationship.

UMP45 walked over to the door, slinging her UMP over her shoulder as she put her shoes on, "Anything else I should know before I meet him?" UMP45 asked, having stopped right before she opened the door.

Nevena blinked, taking several more seconds to think. UMP45 stood by the door curiously as her roommate spoke, "I guess you can tell him that–"

"Nevena says hello by the way." UMP45 interrupted the Irishman with an amused glint in her eyes.

Winters nearly choked on his drink, "Oh shite. You're a jammy hoor you know that right? And a damn dose." He glared at UMP45, "Should've told me that earlier."

"I wasn't sure it was completely necessary."

Winters sighed and rubbed his temple, "And here I was hoping for a cracking day. Alright, what do ye want?"

UMP45 smirked and pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket's pockets and handed it over. Winters glanced at it before blinking dumbfoundedly.

"Ah, if that's all then it won't be a problem." Winters pocketed the list, "It'll take some time though for most of this."

"How long?"

"A few days at best. Week at worst for the more exotic shit. But are ye willing to pay half up front?" He paused for a moment before elaborating, "Seventeen credits. I need guarantees."

"Check your bank account."

Winters blinked owlishly, "What?"

"Check it." UMP45 insisted.

"Keep an eye on her." Winters told his guard before pulling out his phone. After a few moments, he looked back at a smug UMP45.

"I'll need to go out for a dander after this." Winters sighed and turned to one of his bodyguards, "Alright. Sokolov, mind gathering a few things for me for this 'fine' lady?"

"Oh yeah. Throw in some cardboard boxes too. We need to get rid of those."

UMP45 was in a good mood as she was walking home. Resources would be coming in soon and she'd be going back to experiment with Workaholic. She didn't even have to spend her own credits either, being an E-War certainly had its perks.

But as if the universe itself had learned of her current mood, it sent something to bother her.

A familiar-looking teen stepped into her line of sight. The one that was watching her fight. Dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. If not for the fact he was quite lanky, likely due to malnutrition, he could've passed for a B-list actor in one of the movies she watched alongside U̴̡̹̰͓͙̣̣̙͙͛͒̍̓̀͊̋̋̋́̾͘͝M̷͈̠͔̈́̀̌͛̓̈́͒̾̌͐̅͊͋̀̊P̵̨̧͎̦͍̻͔͕̳̪̺̙̲͈͕̮̔4̶͈̞͇͚̦͕̲͉͉͖̯̗́̇0̵̛͚̪̲̥̪̖͉̯̩͙̭͕̮͑͂̍̄̉̄̍̌̓̎̍̊̑͘͠͝. However, strangely enough, rather than the generic civilian clothing he wore before he was wearing cargo pants and a hoodie. Black and gray respectively.

Now, if that was all, he could've passed for a regular civilian. Instead, over his hoodie was a matching plate carrier and chest rig. Tactical boots replaced sneakers and a cheap pistol, a Makarov, was strapped to his waist.

Now, UMP45 wasn't trying to be sneaky and this area was de facto neutral territory, but she was prepared to use her UMP at a moment's notice.

Then the human smiled as if greeting an old friend, "You're the one! The one who took out those–"

UMP45 nearly tripped as she covered his mouth with her hand. Glaring at the teen, she grabbed his shoulder with her other hand and dragged the dummkopf into a nearby alleyway.

"Halten Sie den Mund!" UMP45 hissed, throwing the idiot against the wall and pinning him there with one hand over his shoulder.

"Wha–"

"Keep your mouth shut." UMP45 interrupted the human with narrowed eyes, "What do you want?"

"I– You're a mercenary right?" The dummkopf said quickly.

The illegal T-Doll scoffed, "You can say that. I'm independent. Why?" She asked.

"I want to join your mercenary company!" The blonde idiot loudly exclaimed.

What. What. What?

UMP45's mind blanked out, "Wie bitte?"

Was this human an absolute idiot? No. He was even worse. He was a suicidal idiot. Who simply walks up to a T-Doll and asks to be recruited into a mercenary company?

"I… don't know German? " The verdammt idiot seemed confused.

She took a moment to look at him. Simply look at him. Her assumption that he was in his late teens was probably correct. He was just a stupid kid who spent more credits on equipment than the average family made in a few weeks.

B̸̛͎́̔͛̈́͐̿͛̀ͅa̴̬̻͙̘̯̪̩̠̟͖̯̝̝̙̺̓̒̀́̈́̋͗̿̚̚n̵̺͖̜̞̪̓̿͆̽͑̽̂̄͋ḱ̷̨̨̰̦͕̤͙̜͓͙̜̾ ̴̧̳̤̦̳͙̮̞̱̞̥͑̂F̷̢̡̡̝͔̦̬̝͇̥̠̩̤̰͈̬̋́͑̂̉͒̇̋͒̀̉̔̈́̚͝ĩ̵̝̔̈͒̇̐̍͋̒̏͜͝l̵̩̼̜̘͈̘͍̽̊̒̃͌ͅl̷̛͎̱̘̀̿͛͂̀̀e̸̟̼͒̓͌̓̿d̸̼̖̺͎̥̜͉̯͙͙̪̝͖̭̫̲͑͊͂̽́̃̅͛̾̏̄͐̃͘͘͘̚ͅ ̵̢̛͖͇͚̝͎̟̜̬̗̅̈́̏̀͌̋̾̄̊̂̾t̵̢̘̳͕̭̘̗̦̝̮͈̖̠̹̹̉̊ǫ̴̳̍́́͐̏̾̄͂͑́́͘̕ ̴͖̯̒́̒͗͂̎́̊̽̚̕̚C̶̡͚̹͇̣̘̝̼̲̪͙̞̲͙̝̳͋̓u̵̢̟̫̺͎͓̼̞̫̙͕̥̱͌͗͋̎́͂̀̀͊̀̕͘r̴̡͙͙̻͕͖̺̺̘̼̀͗̓̌͒͠͝͝ȓ̶̨͙̦̘̱̦͉͚̬͕̥͉͖̜̼̼̱͝ȅ̴̹̳̗̲̟̟̥̤̰͜n̴̲̯͈̯͙̬̝̟̘̣̙̟͕̜̰̣͒͛͜t̵̛̤͖̼̞̉̏̓̀ ̷̢̡̧͉̬̱̠͇͖͎͕͖͍̠̳͐̌̈̅͂̐̊͌͑͌͐̉C̷̨̧̧̛̛͉͓̟̲̤̳͎̙̥̫̝̹̺̮̍̐̍̄̎̓̏̓͐̆͘͝͝à̶͈̣̎̕p̵̨̧̝̘̲͓̱͓̫̿̍͒̉̐͂̆̑̃̎̐̚͝â̴̧͉͖̖̦̙͓̗̮͈͎͘c̶̣͖̥̺͍̘̦͈͇̈́͂̂į̸̙̽ẗ̵̼̠̝̉̊͝y̴̪̓͘

A sudden uncomfortable feeling hit her, as if an EMP had nearly fried her digimind, but she shook it off for now.

She took a step back, struggling to contain her rising temper and the abrupt headache she now had.

"Listen to me, very carefully," UMP45 said slowly, the human straightened his posture, "Go home. Sell the equipment. Return to your regular life."

"W-what?" The human stammered like an idiot.

UMP45 ignored him, "Take it from someone who was…" She paused, "Is still in the business," The German T-Doll took a deep breath, "You aren't trained. You're young. You're not ready." She said with finality, "Go home to your mother and forget about all this."

"I'm seventeen! I can get training!" He protested, "You can train me!" He desperately pointed out."

"Me? Train you?" UMP45 let out a hollow laugh, "You're joking. Enlist in the military if you want to kill yourself. Being in combat is no laughing matter. And I'm not even part of a PMC. You'd be working for a lone mercenary." UMP45 said with a scowl.

"But–"

"But nothing! All you're going to be doing is wasting your life!" She angrily interrupted him once more. Why was she getting so heated over this? She already made her point! She could just leave and let the human kill himself.

"I just want to be able to help my family!" The human angrily cried out, his words echoing throughout the alleyway.

UMP45 froze.

"I… My sister is…" The teenager struggled to find the words to say, "The gangs. We have to pay a protection fee. The entire street does. It's taking the credits that my sister needs! And my dad and mom have to work their ass off to pay and all of that just goes to the gangs! And I can't help because they think I'm too young!" The blonde kid bitterly ranted, "And then… you came and just… destroyed them!" A bit of wonder filled his teary eyes, "That was the first time someone actually did something. Not even the cops helped."

"Please." The young teen said softly, his body still shaking, "I just need a job. Even just a single credit an hour will do."

"Then that's–" Even worse. That was what she wanted to say. But the rest of her sentence failed to escape her lips and UMP45 fell silent for several moments. She closed her eyes.

Family. How noble… Tch. What a dumb dummkopf. He'd definitely get taken advantage of. Like most idiots. And if he truly cared about his family, he'd have kept the money instead of using it to go gallivanting around as a pretend mercenary.

But, maybe she can use this. An idiot still has some uses.

Definitely not permanently though. He'd easily become a hindrance one day and someone to ditch later.

But a warm body could be useful sometimes. Even if they were an idiot, that'd be at least one less bullet shot at her. And, more people would be more willing and comfortable buying something from a human than a T-Doll.

Humans were really annoying.

UMP45 finally spoke, "What is your name?" UMP45 huffed.

"H-huh?"

"What is your name?" UMP45 repeated irritably, opening her eyes.

"L-Leo. Why?"

"Because if you're willing to trust a random Doll to train you, you might as well give her a name." Leo perked up at her words as she began to walk off, "If you remember where I fought those guys, meet me there three days from now at sunrise."

"Y-yes! I won't let you down!" The human… Leo said eagerly.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

"Verdammter idiot," UMP45 muttered to herself while hunched over a table within her Workshop, her forehead slightly red as she rubbed it in frustration. The T-Doll had entered it after quietly greeting her roommate when she returned to her temporary home, having made sure to walk around to lose any potential stalkers.

And now she was already regretting giving Leo a chance.

"Ngh. Might as well make the most of me being an idiot." UMP45 sighed. Standing up, she sluggishly walked over to her workbench and double checked the materials that laid on top. She had enough to make a few Stechrochen-alphas and a singular mag pistol... But that wasn't what she was planning to make.

A nearly complete F.E.T.C.H sat next to the components, it was only missing two internal components, the 'core' and the generator, of which the two sat in front of her. Or rather, should she say ten? As five total copies of the two components stared back at her, a small part of her contemplated the implications of this.

It had been completely unintentional, activating Workaholic. UMP45 had simply taken out the 'core' and made several minor adjustments to it. And by minor adjustments, it was actually a complete rebuild, to improve the efficiency. And then four more copies seemingly appeared right next to it as she put in the finishing touches.

Workaholic applied to components too. It made complete sense now that UMP45 thought about it too. Why wouldn't it apply to individual components? But that brought on more questions, like would it apply to only mechanical parts and machines or would it also apply to something she sewed together?

Questions, questions. She could easily test it, if she found fabric and a sewing machine.

Actually, she'd be practically testing it right now.

Hm.

UMP45 would for sure not bring Leo into her Workshop nor would she bring him into her Weapons Lab, even if it had a firing range. She'd just have to improvise. Bottles, such as old beer bottles might work, but the shards flying about may be a minor problem. For Leo at least.

So handcrafted targets then. PVC pipe perhaps… No, metal would probably be better due to how abundant it is. It'd last longer too. But it'd also be harder to see the results as he's practicing.

Paper? It'd be easy to make just a sheet of paper and some paint. And there was a reason a lot of ranges used paper targets. But regular paper, the ones used in printers, was also a bit expensive to import to a green zone… Cardboard could probably work though.

Ja, it'd work, at least for the start. Once Leo got slightly better, metal targets would definitely be better.

She would just use the paper targets from her Weapons Lab but they were a bit high quality and she'd rather not have anyone ask questions on where she was storing them. So she'd just find some white cardboard and put red paint on it.

The actual cutting of the target would be easy. Figuring out how thick the steel should be was also somewhat easy. UMP45 was pretty sure just a couple centimeters would be good enough for a pistol.

So she began the process, taking out some of the new resources she'd acquired from her brief deal with Winters. It was nothing really special, mostly tools and some decent quality steel. If it was a White Zone then she'd have been able to get most of this from hardware stores or hobbyist shops.

Pulling out a plasma cutter and a permanent marker, UMP45 cleared the clutter from her work station, and slowly traced out a humanoid shape on a slab of steel. Just the torso and the head, like the targets in her Weapons Lab, and then secured the steel to the table.

UMP45 then carefully adjusted the amperage and air pressure of the plasma cutter before she began cutting. Ninety degrees, ignite, steady hand. Cut.

The sudden, harsh hiss of the plasma cutter and the groaning of the steel that answered in kind, nearly made her jump but she managed to keep herself still. The bright light strained her eyes but after a few adjustments, she got used to it. A few slow minutes later, the first target was carved out. The product was complete.

And then seemingly out of nowhere, the empty space around the target shimmered and four more copies of the targets appeared. UMP45 took an immediate step back as she deactivated the plasma cutter. The hissing stopped.

The average human wouldn't have noticed it. And UMP45 had to mentally check her own memory to make sure it even happened. But sure enough, it did.

"So it applies to stuff like this too," UMP45 murmured, "It still counts as making something I suppose. But what is the limit?"

Putting the plasma cutter aside, UMP45 gently inspected each target. They were nigh identical with only superficial changes. Even the scratches were the same. But one of the targets had a few more.

UMP45 hummed, "Not perfect copies then." That was preferred really. Easier to hide from close examination, in the case any of her creations got in the hands of her enemies.

Moving on, UMP45 only took a few minutes to paint a generic target on some leftover cardboard that Winters had given to her for free. By the end of it, she now had six different and messy-looking cardboard targets. And Workaholic hadn't activated.

"Is it the work I put in? Even though I didn't really do much for the metal targets, I still used a tool for it." UMP45 mused. It could be something else. Further testing would be required. Then she noticed her hand moving more sluggishly than normal. A quick check of her systems told her she was low on power.

UMP45 stood up, leisurely walking over to the neat pile of car batteries and picked one up.

UMP45 laid down on a rackety bed, resting her head on a soft pillow, which was a welcome surprise as she'd expected it to be fairly uncomfortable. The hum and whirs of the car battery she had plugged herself into was thankfully faint enough to not bother her roommate. If it did bother Nevena, the woman hadn't said anything about it.

When had she actually taken the time to rest? Let alone sleep? At least proper sleep that is.

Sleep was necessary even for all types of Dolls. Even actual combat automata had to sleep. She couldn't even hate humans for this, junk files had to go somewhere. And constantly deleting files while you were awake was… extremely annoying. And it took up enough RAM to feel a small drop in efficiency.

As for resting, T-Doll digiminds experience emotions just like humans. Rest was essential for regulating stress and other negative emotions.

UMP45 groaned, her right arm covering her eyes as she tried to drift off to sleep or a facsimile of it.

Still, countless thoughts ran through her digimind, preventing her from actually falling asleep. Dealing with Leo would be annoying. But that wasn't her main concern right now. It was the empty feeling she had.

Flashes of memories. The fear. The anger she felt. All the emotions she had during that moment. M16A1, the T-Doll who nearly killed her.

And Ú̷̧̨̦͈̩͍͈͍͓̙̪̝̲̯͛̀̈̋͛̿̐͘ͅM̷̛̙̪̠̥͔̄̍̀͗̾͠P̶͉͎̳̺̰̜̞̙̄̓͊̈́̈́͒̾̓4̸̢̲͈͓͕̗͇͔͖͕̑̄͋͑̂͋́̽̌͑̐0̸̧̨̢̩͔̮̼͔̹̖̥̲̩͖̫̎͑̿̇͊̃̈́̀̏̌̕͝͝… her s̴̖͈̹̆͆͊̒̾͑̎̾̃̊̈́͑̒͑̈̚͜͝i̶̳̦̫̣̰̭̳̹̺̟̱̱̙̎̀̐̔͌̓͛̿͝s̷̪̦̦̯̏̓̅͋̐̍̉̀̄̌̒̾͌t̷͙̘̳̤̘̜͎̪͍̲͔́e̴̢̧͙̹̠̦̮̟͚̲̙̝̭͙̊̏̃̃́́̃́̄̿͑͛̊͑̈r̸͇͇̪̳͕̜͚̦͕̹̀̾̈̔̅̄.

It hit her like a shot to the core. UMP45 missed her. She missed U̸̡̡̧͕̜̫̤͍̦͓̦̟̫̽̒͋̏͂̓͒̈́̿̎̽̄̚͜͝͝͠Ṃ̶̧̡̨̡̛̰̲̤̲̣̻̮̮̣͕̟̺̼͙͍͓̱͎̼͕̖͖̦̐̆̓̓̈́̽̇͐̂̈́̐͛̍̇̊̂̽̍́́͗́̉̑̃̄͒̇̒͋̈́͂̈̍̈͂̒̔̚̚͘͘͘͜͝͠͝ͅP̷̢̡̛̰͙̟̣̻̣͖͙͇̳̙̰̰̦̦̻͙̘̰̟̙̪̪̗̘̪̙͆͛̐́͋̒̈̄́̒̂́̊̔͂̍͋̈́͝ͅͅ4̵̢̛̲̞̹͇̪̒̈́͛̾͌̿̉͆̐͘͝0̴̡̧̢͕̲͈͚͎̪̥̗̦̥̲̺͈͎̤̱̫̳̲̖͑̅̎̀̏̿͜.

And again, she had to curse the humans that designed her and all the other Dolls.

Humans made Dolls because they didn't want to do their own dirty work, they wanted someone else to do it. Except they also wanted eye candy and they also wanted something that was human enough to be comfortable around while also letting them view it as inferior.

So that led to the mess that were T-Doll functions. Functions that had better alternatives were kept to keep the illusion of Dolls being human at first glance.

How annoying.

Really.

Why did humans design Dolls that could cry?