"That's a problem." 9 pointed to the garage doors which were rapidly starting to emit a dull orange glow- and glowing brighter. They hadn't met much resistance tracing their way back to the garage, but they had done a wonderful job of kicking the beehive- Sangvis units were coming up from the lower levels now, boxing them into the garage. The only thing keeping them back was the kill-funnel of the hallway, and that would only hold as long as their ammo did.
Problem to the front, problem to the back. 45 gritted her teeth, running the calculation as quick as she could. They had roughly three or four minutes before whatever was on the other side of the garage to burn completely through the doors. Most likely a Manticore team waited on the other side, and they didn't have the armor-piercing capabilities to deal with it. They were certainly in a predicament...
And 9 wasn't panicking. Normally stress loads like this would have her needing constant command impulses to keep on track; suspicious. Her permissions were locked as well- not difficult for 45 to override, but they gave 9 a warning for when 45 was probing the network.
She was hiding something.
'Reloading.' 416 pinged, signaling for the next in the group to suppress. 45's weapon clapped with the closing of the bolt, her weapon coughing in tight, close bursts, alternating with 9's fire to keep constant pressure on their kill funnel until 11 was up again.
[Withdraw] Capture by Griffin forces- data risk… inadvisable.
[Assault] Probability of frame-death: 80%... inadvisable.
[Hide] Probability of success… 30%... inadvisable.
"I thought you had a plan, Forty-five!?" 416 slipped the final grenade into her launcher, but 45 locked the elite-doll's trigger for it. They needed that grenade- either for the solicitor at the door, or to punch through the queue of Sangvis dolls that had formed in the hall, and it was not 416's decision to make. It all depended on which pyre 45 decided to throw them on.
'Reloading!' G11 pinged as soon as she ducked back behind the UAZ, pulling a long stick of her ammunition from the trunk. 416 let out a scream of frustration as she took her turn suppressing the hallway.
'Sis-' 9 privately tapped on their network. 45 knew what her sister was going to say, and put a halt to 9's thought.
45 was stuck. There was no way to get exactly what she wanted, no matter how many times she ran the predictions. So how could she get the most of what she wanted? Subroutines began spinning even as lashes of energy started to get discomfortingly close to her cover.
"Can we just play dead?" G11 cried, taking up her firing position again, "Pretending to be dead is a lot like sleeping."
[Is the mission worth it?]
That voice in the back of her digimind- that damnable whisper cloaked by redacted data. 45 had come to loathe it.
[Is it worth your team's lives?]
She wanted to snap back at it, but it was just a ghost program, it wasn't as if it could hold a conversation. The only thing 45 could do was try and bury it under processes.
[Just swallow your pride! Remember when you used to be such a crybaby?]
"Unlock my fucking grenade trigger, Forty-five!" 416 shouted, a sudden surge of Sangvis units pushing through the kill funnel, lead by a formation of bullet-ridden, but functioning, Guard models.
One minute. The door was warping now- beginning to melt, the orange light of it now back-lighting them for Sangvis visual sensors.
Bait the Manticores in, and slip out…? No result- they most likely shared targeting data with the infantry units, meaning there was no hiding from them.
Fight through to the Griffin reinforcements…? But then they were in Griffin custody, and that meant a full shakedown if they wound up back on a Griffin base.
But that was better than dying here. The only major variable came from if she could hide the data from Griffin probing...
What was it that humans tended to say in this situation? Unprompted, her digi-mind searched through a catalogue of idioms. Our of the frying pan, into the fire? No no… The lesser of two evils.
45 swore loudly, enough to even get 416 to raise an eyebrow.
"First we go one way, then we go the other, then back again." 45 grumbled. She focused so much of her processing to her tactical assessment program, but for some inexplicable reason her digimind kept focusing on how this situation unfolded.
9 could have slipped back into the bunker alone with the repair kit… there was no reason for the team to have come, let alone take something as noisy as the UAZ to get here. Calling Griffin using their emergency frequency was just as suspicious, and either act alone could have been dismissible.
But both at the same time?
It was a master-stroke in trapping 45, limiting their tactical options down to…
Down to…
[You can't abandon them.] The ghost whispered, [As much as you want revenge, you can't abandon them.]
"We're fighting through." 45 reluctantly gave 416 her full permissions; ammo conservation restrictions, tactical shot-calling restrictions, autonomous command restrictions… all of them recalled. She functionally unshackled the attack dog now, and 416 was practically foaming at the mouth. "Fire it." She ordered.
'We meet up with Griffin and have them escort us from the bunker. We break from them as soon as we can- scatter if we have to.' 45 sent the order out, ensuring that plan was hard-coded using the command module. No insubordination this time around, no reluctance to it could be pinged back.
The only part of the plan that 45 made sure didn't get sent was the dirtiest part- one that would surely have drawn the ire of her teammates. This was a mission flagged 'at all costs'-
If that meant removing the Griffin dolls escorting them…
Well then 45 would do the dirty deed herself. It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the last time.
Mark 23 slipped into the tunnel when her dummy reported that there was no threat. Despite the very limited parameter of "no threat" to the simplistic AI of the dummy, it was certainly clear that the bunker was not secure. Recent evidence of combat- thermals were picking up heat off of shell casings and there was evidence of residual blast damage- not to mention the scattered parts of Sangvis dolls still fresh with leaking and spilled conversion fluid. As she slipped further and further into the dark, the chattering echoes of machine-gun fire from above bled away.
23 put a mute on the network so she didn't have to deal with the current combat data being flung about between the proper members of Five. Less "noise" for her processors to deal with meant she could focus on the here and now- as well as focus on her darling.
Emergency lighting was activated, command room was open. Quick scans showed nothing regarding her current mission, though there was evidence of biological material in the hall-
"Darling, there is evidence of combat- and dried blood?" 23 radioed to the commander, "Permission to detach from my team and investigate for the VIP?"
"Granted. Be careful, Twenty-three."
"Of course I will, darling. Don't worry!" The thought of the commander worry about her sent a happy jolt through Mark 23's entire system, giving her just that little boost she needed to overcome just how dangerous of a situation she was in.
She sent her dummies in first, of course, making sure that the stack moved with at least a minimal cover. She didn't have as great of control over them as other dolls like Welrod or Five-seveN… but they could serve as an early warning system.
"Command room is clear- two dolls in need of rescue." She marked the information, readying to send it to 1911 in Echelon Two- whenever they got down here. The signal had come from the command room initially- and it still was… but it wasn't as strong. It was like it was simply being relayed- bounced off of the emitter in the bunker. That already was a red flag for this whole mission- but her darling would need more evidence before calling it off.
More evidence- more casings. 5.56 and 9 millimeter brass… a 40 millimeter grenade casing- whoever it was that did the fighting here had to be Griffin, they were the only ones readily supplied with Western armaments in the red zones.
It was the *pap pap* sound that caught 23's attentions, causing her tail to go rigid in alarm. A ways down, echoing through at least… one bend in the hall? Suppressed gunfire, and moving away from her.
"If these VIP's want to be rescued, they could at least stay still." 23 sighed. Something in her predictive process told her to wait for Two to back her up; after all the old saying was that curiosity killed the cat.
What would her darling do…? Hmm…
He would advance to the VIP and secure them first, then wait for Two to reinforce and extract. The mission came before personal safety- especially when the mission was to rescue others.
23 moved as quietly as she could past security barriers. They were not unlike the ones they had on their base- the ones that they used during intruder drills. Except whoever had manned this barrier had failed in holding it. The bodies had caught her eye, and a quick scan certainly raised alarms.
"D-darling. I think… um-"
"What, 23?" Her darling commander's stress levels had elevated once again, and made 23's heart curl over itself- at least that was how she imagined the feeling she got from hearing it.
"I-I've got a Griffin commander KIA." 23 knelt over the corpses. The body was desiccated- they had been dead for a few months, maybe more.
"..." Her radio sizzled, the commander's channel open but her darling silent.
"Send an image."
"A-are you sure, it's… messy."
"Send it, Twenty-three."
23 focused on the body, her eyes adjusting to the dim light to set a better picture. Curiously, the thermal signature of the body was long cold. This was not the VIP.
Still, she snapped the picture, though she took a second with the thermal readings before sending them both over to command.
"If you can, dog-tags or ID badge." The commander was asking a lot of her, and the reluctance in his voice gave 23 that little bit of spark to get her through such a grisly task.
"Umm… darling?" 23 hesitated. Her digimind was whispering to her, urging her to move on… but would the commander let her? "I think I should push forward. The VIP is still isn't secured-"
"...Do it."
He took her suggestion! Her darling took her suggestion! Her excitement drove her legs to move double-time towards the sound of a gun battle. She rounded the corner before all of her dummies had even responded-
Straight into the rear of Sangvis Ferri Vespid. The combat droid was focused down the hall- the rear of a queue of other Sangvis droids all marching to the same spot-
Reflexively, Mark 23 snapped off two rounds, center-mass in the back-
Unsuppressed shots.
This was supposed to be a loud mission- she didn't think to pack it… The rearmost element of Sangvis androids turned, their weapons already warmed up. 23 didn't have time to fully activate her combat programs, squeezing off two more wild shots before she slipped back around the corner. Her dummies caught up with her the moment the dread really sank in.
She was a support model- designed to help targeting calculations in combat and data analysis outside of it-
The first Vespid rounded the corner, plasma rifle warmed and glowing. 23's combat protocols had kicked in, but there was so much of her processing being eaten up by other programs that her shots were shaky at best- but there were five of her to the one Vespid. Bullets cracked and ricocheted off the walls, some even finding a comfortable home inside the torso of the Sangvis doll- but the thing was damaged, not dead.
23 retreated further, past her dummies as the first lashes of plasma came streaking down the hall, some of the shots tearing into the closest dummy. The smell of melted synthetic flesh and plastics as the bits blown off of 23's doppelganger scattered down the hall.
But she could do this! She focused her neural-load to her weapon imprints-
When a second… a third… a fourth Sangvis doll rounded the corner behind the first. To say that 23 felt dread would be… well... roughly accurate. Even with the mind-map backup… losing oneself was never described as "pleasant" by any doll unfortunate enough to experience frame-death.
She shrank as best she could, commanding her dummies to take what little cover there was when a deep *Ptoop* punctuated down from the cross-hall. Even from a distance and distorted by the walls here, it was a distinct sound that every tactical doll had in their data.
The blast tore into the corridor, and 23 could hear the devastation it had caused.
It just didn't help her at the moment- the Sangvis dolls at the corner undamaged by the blast.
23 retreated as best she could, hugging the wall and trying to avoid the enemy's angle as her second dummy was torn apart by plasma… then the third… as long as her dummies kept firing they would be prioritized over her mainframe that was scrambling away.
"Get down." A gruff, authoritative voice bellowed. 23 didn't even need a command impulse to motivate her to do so; the moment she hit the metal walkway concussive snaps of rifle fire punched out from the dark. The smashing of processor-casing and the thud of synthetic bodies told 23 all she needed to know about the status of her pursuers.
"Miss Thompson, is that you?" 23 called out to the dolls approaching her.
"You went on ahead, kid. That wasn't smart." The leader of Echelon Two helped 23 get to her feet as the rest of her team continued down the hall. They certainly looked as if they took a beating- M14 only had two dummies left, Mac-11 and M1911 looking as equally banged up. The only one who was relatively fine was Thompson herself- most likely that shield device of hers.
"It's all yours then." 23 sighed in relief, though she had no actual lungs to do so with. She managed to pull herself together enough to start making a dignified retreat to her team.
"Where you going, kiddo?" Thompson grabbed 23 by the tail, sending a shock of embarrassment through the pistol doll's systems, "You didn't pass the intel."
More Sangvis dolls rounded the corner- were they… retreating? Or were they advancing this direction?
"There's no time!" Mark 23 shouted, slipping behind Thompson as the bolts of energy came raining in.
And Thompson laughed, blasting back from the hip- straight out of the old gangster reels from the West. She actually laughed in the face of enemy fire! Her mainframe was at the head of their formation too- was she just mad?
"Mac, cover the side passage with the Oldie. Fourteen cover the main lane." Thompson shouted back even as M14's bullets cracked past her- why she didn't use her network to send the orders also confounded 23.
"Kiddo, you're on me."
"W-what? But my team-"
"-Is doin' just fine upstairs. You're an offensive handgun, so lets go on the offensive!"
Thompson sent the permission request to be linked with 23's targeting system, and for that microsecond, 23 hesitated. She wanted to be more than just the targeting doll- more than just the night vision…
But going alone had only got her shot up. She accepted the invitation, snapping into Thompson's network.
'C'mon. You said time is important. Your fire command's invaluable, so lets go waste some SF!' Thomson pinged.
I'm invaluable. Her digimind looped that sentiment over and over.
I'm invaluable. Darling will always need me. I'm invaluable.
23 slipped behind Thompson, connecting her ocular sensor data to the team leader's weapon imprint. Her pistol might as well be good for show, but if 23 could hone someone else into the killing instrument- if she could be the crux of the mission- well surely her darling was insightful enough to see just who caused the mission to succeed.
Her processors warmed up- to the point of causing her to pant the excess heat. With no dummies to offload the processing to, it was solely up to her mainframe to crank the data… but her Fire Control N program made Thompson all the more aggressive- all the more accurate with every burst- exactly what they needed to drive through and finish this mission.
And then darling would praise her. And then darling would praise her. And then darling would praise her-
'I won't even begin to ask why we're going back the way we came.' 416's frustrations pulsed through the network, and there wasn't much 45 could do to suppress them. It wasn't as if 416 was going to go against the orders- but logic let her certainly be fickle about it.
The grenade had cleared part of the hallway, and a quick targeting sweep revealed that, though thinned, there was still ongoing combat- it was just that SF attentions were now split, going from the pincer to the pinched. The sound of gunfire meant that Griffin units were close.
Despite her damage, 45 pushed through the dark at the head of her team, closing in to engage the last bits of scrap left in the halls- then she'd be free to plan the next move. Sliding behind the enemy formation was easy enough, they were distracted with shooting down the corridor- returning fire against Griffin dolls.
Disregarding the IFF warning, 45 squeezed off a quick burst where the rest of her team had hesitated. Two of the shots hit the back of a Ripper- but two more just happened to be fired outside her margin of error- just past the Ripper-
A shield went up, the bullets distorted from their trajectory by the force of it. Internally 45 clicked her tongue- so much for scoring an "accidental" kill.
"Hold fire! Friendlies." Their "rescuers" had dashed forward, expertly... if not the slightest bit crudely, dispatching Sangvis dolls with savage close-quarters bursts. The pop- the decibel crack of the rounds sounded like that familiar .45 ACP. Four seconds and that blue glowing orb had snapped away, revealing a Thompson model T-doll and a handgun behind her.
"Your IFF signal checks out. You must be the VIP's." The Thompson doll hadn't lowered her guard, the barrel of the old Chicago Typewriter still very much aimed at 45 and the rest of her team.
"Oh, VIP's?" 45 coolly responded. Despite the limp and clear damage, she postured herself to display as much authority as possible; she hadn't lowered her weapon, either.
"I'm glad we've been upgraded to very important."
"T-dolls huh, thought we'd be extracting humans." Thompson's gaze lingered just that little bit longer than normal, most likely trying to match doll model to an IOP database.
"Boss, VIP secured. They're dolls-" She spoke clearly into her radio, making a show of it.
45 had quickly fabricated preliminary scan data, scrambling to counterfeit Griffin ID's to cover up 404's scrubbed ones.
[Assessment] Unit: Unidentified - Tactical Zenner Connection detected… Estimated six-doll team. No combined efficiency data..._
[Assessment] Unit: Thompson - Full Link… Combat Efficiency 5000 Caution advised.
[Assessment] Unit: SOCOM Mark 23 - Damaged… Combat Efficiency 3000 Caution advised.
45 frowned internally. Even against a Mark 23 her systems bet against her- either she was underestimating them from personal experience or she was underestimating just how damaged she was. It hadn't factored in the element of surprise though… for when their guards were down-
"No time for formalities, lets go already." 416 had shoved past their escorts- her own way of asserting what authority she could. Instead of intimidating the team leader, it only seemed to galvanize the sub-machine gun doll further. The short-haired doll grinned wider- clearly firing messages across a closed network to her teammates. If 45 could crack their local network she could redact what she needed to-
"Echelon Five is running low on ammo. We have to extract." An M14 at the end of the hallway announced.
"There's another team here?" The new information startled 45's plans. A damaged echelon they could handle, but two-
"Who do you think's been holdin' down the fort? Your team lit up the sector like a damn bonfire. Now all the moths are coming to flutter and burn on it." The buzz of a radio pulled Thompson away for a moment, the voice on the other end came in hazy at first as the team leader answered with a "Yeah boss?" 45 tuned her audio, honing in on that radio conversation.
"Hot extraction. VIP's on the chopper once the supply is dropped. Your team and Five are pushing for a different landing zone."
That voice. The orders came in crystal clear to 45's audio… only because of the familiarity. It was the one that haunted 45.
She glanced at her teammates. G11 showed no response but 416 had stuttered, her eyes going wide for the fraction of a second; she recognized the voice pattern as well. 45 should have blacked her memory as well- but 416 was less of a problem- her digi-mind was rock-solid stable due to its framework. 45 turned an eye to her sister.
Curiously however, 9 did not react as 45 had expected her to. Her sister perked up, the curiosity clear in those wide eyes of hers… but it was clear she didn't recognize the voice.
I should have killed him-
[You couldn't kill him.]
Only because I took his name off the list.
[-because it was the right thing to do.]
Humans are disposable, they use us up, so-
[-but would he?]
45 locked up, using every ounce of her processing to try and shunt those battling thoughts away.
"Sis, are you alright?" 9 grabbed hold of 45, taking her sister's arm and lifting the side with the damaged leg.
"Leg." 45 grunted, playing up the hardware problem with 9's help. Part of the act was true, another bit feigned. Play up that the UMP-45 frame was technically an "inferior" model, outdated SMG doll, lower their guard more.
"Even more reason to do a hot-extraction. You won't make it to the original LZ on a bum leg like that." Thompson grinned, "You talk a big game, but you need to know your limits, missy."
45 gritted her teeth. The Thompson didn't need to know that 45 had calculated at least five different ways that 45 could help her experience frame-death.
Thompson frowned, though not because she somehow miraculously cracked 45's inner mind-map. "Pecheneg isn't responding." She sighed, glancing up the ladder. There still was the sporadic rattling and growl of machine-gun fire, so they hadn't been overrun. If anything, it sounded as if they had beat back whatever was crawling through the woods, the bursts becoming less and less frequent.
"She's caught up in combat again." The Mark 23 responded dispassionately, "I can't even get back on their network."
"Friendlies coming up!" Thompson shouted at the highest volume level she could set to, though casting a quick glare to 45, undoubtedly still sour about the whole "friendly fire" bit from before. She then motioned for 45 and her team to go first.
Again, it bit at 45, limiting her tactical options. Sandwiched again… but between "friendlies" this time. Friendlies for now.
And when she had ascended from that hole, a whole new set of problems. Machine-and-shotgun team forming a -to a preliminary scan- damn fine perimeter. Slipping this particular snare would be… difficult at best. They were on a heightened security protocol, and clearly were firing at anything that moved.
The whole area outside of the cabin had been red-zoned by them.
"Pecheneg!" Thompson had to physically wrangle the doll who 45 marked as the mainframe unit, forcibly pulling the goggles off of the doll's face to get her attention. The way those ocular sensors were widened to their maximum exposure- twitching to every micro-movement showed just how lost she was to her combat protocols.
"Small clearing to the southwest!" The Thompson yelled into the Pecheneg's audio sensors.
"Da. Clear." The Pecheneg gave 45 a cold hard glare before pulling her goggles back over her eyes. "South and West show no movement. Only north. You waste time talking."
"If you'd just open up your network you wouldn't have to tell us." The Thompson growled back, motioning for everyone to follow after her.
"Just get them on the chopper and get our ammo." The PKP shouted back, drowning out any chance of a retort with a chopping burst of machine-gun fire.
The perimeter was made to keep Sangvis out, little did these Griffin puppets know how it hemmed 404 in. They wouldn't be able to get back to their truck, but with the disruptions between the two Griffin teams maybe they might have the chance to make a break for it- fall behind for just a second or two in the woods and then slip away… 45 began to run the scenarios.
[Run] Success… 10%. Traceable broadcast, under direct observation from drone.
45 flinched at her own process. The data… it had to be flawed, right?
9 was still broadcasting-
9 was still broadcasting! Were 45's systems so taxed that she hadn't checked if 9 was following through with the order?
Just what was her sister up to? Was she trying to compromise the mission for the sake of whatever ghost was whispering to her? A part of 45's priority directives had her instinctively tighten her grip over her weapon, the barrel- though down, still sweeping in 9's direction-
She had to fight the impulse- she had to fight the programming...
The thud of chopper blades... the rush of artificial wind as the prop-blast washing over everyone and drowning out the rattling of the machine-gun ring. The occasional bolt of energy came in for the chopper, some missing, some biting into the light armor of the hull.
But it still made a hasty touchdown- barely. There was no chance to run. Five crates shoved out from the open door, a human crew chief beckoning them onboard.
"Get on the chopper." The Thompson ushered, just the slightest bit forcibly through a voice-boosted modulator. Her dummies were unpacking spare ammo from those crates- it was clear that they were staying to hold the perimeter. "What're you waiting for? Get on!"
The entire team resisted, it was against 45's command module order. The Thompson's emotion module was unguarded -escalated even- preliminary scans showed the impatience and irritation; the VIP's were putting her team at risk by delaying…
9 stepped up into the helicopter first, wordlessly offering her hand to 45. Like a fraying rope, the rest of the team began shaking the command module's demands, with 416 lifting 11 into the helicopter before leaping in herself.
She had shaken 45's programming again- like 9's digimind was destined to always wind up in the same configuration. If she had, there was no way that 9 could ever forgive 45. There was no reason to trust 45.
[I trust you, Nine. I'm sorry I ever doubted you… I wish I had the strength… to say that… to your face…]
Her own words, recorded from her voice module, played out in her own head.
Why?
Why was she this way? Was it her programming? Was it fragmentation? Was it- [Redacted]...
Her own mind was betraying her.
"We don't complete the mission unless we complete it together, sis." 9's words were crystal clear. Over the deafening thud of the chopper blades, past the computation haze that 45's digimind was caught in. It was stern- filled to the brim with confidence… confidence in 45. Confidence in the 45 that was her sister.
2.3 seconds had passed. 2.3 seconds of hesitation driven solely by emotion. 45's motors stuttered against what, according to her digimind, was the only option left, held in place by the sheer… the sheer mudslide of reluctance that roiled out of her emotion module. It was illogical- she had come up with a backup plan to hide that data, she was running bug-generation software based on the network data she scraped off of these teams, that part of her digi-mind that she couldn't escape from was already getting the next set of contingencies ready. She couldn't even shut the damn thing off.
It was 2.3 seconds of completely irrational, completely unlike everything she had molded herself into.
It took 2.3 seconds for 45 to take her sister's hand, having 9 haul her into the chopper and embrace her. The relief she felt… it washed over every circuit, every emulated synapse, quelling those voices from behind that confidential partition in the back of her digi-mind.
And despite the wonderful feeling of relief and safety, that stem of darkness lingered.
"Right." 45 muttered as the door slid shut, trapping her within, "Together."