Griffin & Kryuger Corporate Headquarters, Berlin, Germany
December 1st, 2088, 15:44
410 Judge poked her head into the Commander's office, followed closely by the rest of her body. Despite her shorter stature, the creaking of the floorboards beneath her boots betrayed the retrofit Doll's heavy armored body.
"A printout of the briefing, Commander." Clutched in one of the adjutant's hands was a thick packet of papers stapled together just a few minutes prior. Boldly printed against the front of the packet was a grim-looking title: Operation Calliope
Despite the general anxiety on-base about this latest assignment, the Commander wasn't particularly stressed about the success of the upcoming operation. They'd already been given the highlights straight from the brass, and while every mission for their experimental fireteam came with some stakes attached, the six T-Dolls assigned to Omen Team had yet to fail their purpose. Admittedly, commanding an echelon that was just as much a public relations stunt as a peacekeeping unit was a strange assignment, but that didn't stop their Commander from doing their best to excel at both roles. The former director of this squad left big shoes to fill, but so far, the Commander was able to rise to the challenge.
Momentarily absorbed in thought, the Commander didn't notice 410 loitering before their desk until they reached up to take a pen. Pausing, the human officer's expression softened a little in an attempt to offset an otherwise brisk question.
"Is there anything else?"
The T-Doll fidgeted a little, fingers brushing awkwardly against each other. The downside in tuning a neural cloud specifically to interact with laypeople, it seemed, is that their emotional expressions are a little too inefficient for a professional setting. Very visibly waiting for some sign to speak freely, 410 didn't open her mouth until the Commander gave a small nod.
"...Why are we a part of this, Commander? I don't feel like it's wrong for us Dolls to police humans, but this is… different."
The Commander's lip hardened slightly. 410 wasn't wrong, and in any other circumstance, the Commander likely would've contested their assignment to this mission purely on the grounds that the public wasn't ready for a world where T-Dolls assisted police in no-knock house raids. The point of Omen Team was to improve the public image of Tactical Dolls, and while they had worked alongside the local law enforcement in the past, the team was careful to only get involved in matters of EOD (Hellcat's ordnance disposal training being tied to an infinitely-restorable neural cloud backup rather than a fleshy human brain looks great on television), fugitive Doll hunts (turns out, malfunctioning domestic Dolls are significantly less likely to brutalize their own kind, especially when GMP5's EWS makes disabling them from range a sinch), and other matters where the media can focus on how G&K support is preserving the lives of officers rather than ending the lives of suspects. Germany is a brand new frontier for expansion, and in the absence of large-scale military deployment, the company has to find some way to put their recovering combat force to work.
Unfortunately, Operation Calliope isn't about spreading good PR on late-night television. If anything, should the public ever find out exactly what was about to happen, Griffin and Kryuger would be the next ones to find the badges bashing their front door in.
"I understand your concern, but I have faith that Omen is the best team for this situation."
Unable to lie straight to their adjutant's face, the Commander ignored the question entirely. 410 lingered for only a moment longer, before giving a salute and wordlessly excusing herself from the room. The Commander waited for the door to click shut before tearing the adhesive strip on their briefing packet and beginning to read through. Even if a successful mission completion was practically a guarantee, the it was what would come after that sickened the Commander most.
Griffin & Kryuger Corporate Headquarters, Berlin, Germany
December 1st, 2088, 11:31
"The landespolizei are closing the net on the group behind the stadium bombing last week. There's to be a house raid at 0200, Omen Team will deploy alongside Direktion 2 direktionshundertschaft to pacify the situation." Helian was never one to flower her language, and even if her German could use a little work, her plain statement left the Commander blinking in confusion. Nevertheless, Helian continued before they could get a word in edgewise. "Early this morning, we received a private communiqué from Polizeipräsident Jung. During last night's search of the staging area for the bombing, this was discovered among the items left behind."
Helian moved to the next slide, which contained a handful of images collated together as though pinned to a real corkboard. Front and center was a crimson-red Griffin commander's jacket laid out among the evidence seized, although all patches and medals had been torn off in a sloppy manner. It wasn't altogether uncommon for commanders moving on to other jobs to take their uniform with them (they were damn expensive; the Commander was still paying off their full complement bit-by-bit from their salary), but to so carelessly leave such a thing at the scene of a high-profile crime was altogether unlike the professional tacticians such a job galvanized. The presence of Paradeus memorabilia amongst the contraband in the photo didn't provide any comfort.
"Griffin has denied any involvement in the bombing, but still, this is a bad look. Jung has agreed to redact this piece of evidence for the time being. I'm sure you can imagine the impact, should this leak." Helian advanced to the next slide, where a half-dozen headshots of female former Griffin commanders were nearly organized. "Judging by the measurements, age, and condition of the jacket, we believe one of these six women to be its former owner. Your briefing packet will contain detailed information on each; please commit these faces to memory, you alone will be responsible for identifying a possible match on-site."
One of the profiles on screen belonged to Lena Myasnikov, former Commander of Omen Team, a figure the new leader of the squad hardly needed to be educated on. The cloak-and-dagger was beginning to make much more sense.
"The Dolls won't be aware of this wrinkle, I imagine?" The Commander had sat back further in their chair, confusion exchanged for ready concern at such a sensitive situation. At the very least, Omen Team being a regular at the direktion headquarters over the last year had sown enough goodwill that Berlin's police chief was personally sweeping G 's potential involvement in Berlin's worst terror attack in a decade under the rug for the time being, but that didn't make the possibility of Omen Team's former commander having a hand in it any less terrifying.
Helian shook her head. "As far as Omen Team is concerned, this is a joint operation with local police to ensure a quick and clean raid. More than one of these women have had substantial personal interaction with members of Omen Team, and we'd rather not risk past relationships jeopardizing the mission. Your command packet will have everything you need to ensure that doesn't happen."
"What do we do if we find a Griffin employee, former or current?"
"Polizeipräsident Jung has received generous compensation in exchange for custody rights. They are to be captured and returned to us for interrogation."
The Commander couldn't help but grin uncomfortably at the statement. The chief going out of her way to pay Griffin back for their help was one thing, but this was outright corruption. Anything for the public good, right?
Polizei BE17 Transport, Berlin, Germany
December 2nd, 2088, 01:44
The armored transport rocked back and forth as it pulled out of the driveway of the directorate. Gripping a handrail to maintain balance, The Commander held a small packet in their free hand, reading the words printed verbatim in Russian. Even if the Dolls were capable of thinking and speaking in hundreds of languages, most of their system commands were still programmed in the tongue of their manufacturers, which hadn't made the same continental leap as G&K was forced to.
"Your rules of engagement are as follows: I authorize Omen Team to defend the lives of myself and the officers of the 2nd Direktion Direktionshundertschaft with lethal force, if necessary. I authorize Omen Team to defend their persons and the persons of Omen Team with nonlethal force, if necessary. I authorize Omen Team to speak only with myself and the officers of the 2nd Direktion Direktionshundertschaft. I do not authorize Omen Team to record this operation. I do not authorize Omen Team to communicate wirelessly with anyone outside of myself and team members for the duration of this operation. I authorize Omen Team…"
The command packet seemed to go on forever, a fact not aided by how slowly the words had to be read. Every so often, The Commander glanced up at their team, dressed in the same full-body uniform and armor as the rest of the special police, to ensure they were still paying attention. Still, this decorum certainly left an impression on the other human officers in the vehicle–few of them had ever fought alongside Dolls before.
"... in accordance with the wishes of the Polizei Berlin, blanket redaction will be active on your facial recognition, authorization: Кузьма́." Finally having reached the bottom of the list, The Commander took a breath.
Seated to The Commander's left, FN15X finished flipping the relevant mental switches, before turning her attention to the antique rifle clutched in hand. If not for the fact that she was carrying around a thoroughly customized, 70-year-old AR-15 derivative, she'd likely blend in best with the rest of the human officers sitting silently in the transport. When the Doll looked up to meet her commander's eyes, even through the balaclava, they could plainly make out the same uneasy concern shared by 410 Judge earlier that day.
Omen Team DollNet, Neural Stratus, Cyberspace
December 2nd, 2088, 01:56
[fn15x]: this feels wrong. we shouldnt be part of this
[hellcat]: ? do u think there's something we don't know?
[shrike556]: when *isn't* there something we don't know ',:/
[gmp5]: u really think skk is lying to us?
[410j]: The Commander isn't lying to us.
410 Judge's voice briefly silenced the wireless chatter. A handful of chat bubbles appeared and disappeared, nervous Dolls searching for the right words to express their concerns in the presence of their captain.
[410j]: They wouldn't. That's why they won't tell us anything.
[shrike556]: ...how important can this really b? i mean even IF it's connected to paradeus, shouldn't the government be in charge of that?
[awm]: Muromets was all Griffin. Maybe they just want experts for support?
[gmp5]: none of us were there, neither was skk. if this has 2 do with paradeus, wheres defy n daybreak?
The Dolls chattered on, sharing their collective unease in the only space safe to do so. In the real world, they dutifully dismounted from the armored transport and took their positions in line with the Commander, occasionally flicking glances at each other as the stack began to make a move towards the target house. Paradeus remnant groups were far from an uncommon find in and around Berlin, but rarely did the police reach out to involve private contractors in smoking them out. Every so often, 410 would see a headline proudly announcing yet another successful capture of a wanted Paradeus fugitive or successor cult brought to justice. The police were doing just fine… why did they suddenly ask for reinforcement?
[410j]: Let's just focus on the mission. Even if something's afoot, The Commander will see us through safely.
410 Judge put an end to the speculation. Inches from the front door, with a solid steel ballistic shield clutched close to her chest, the last thing the team leader wanted was a noisy comms channel costing her life in the breach to come. The shotgun Doll could feel the Commander's hand against her back; even if she was to die here, she would ensure The Commander saw the mission through.
Seimensweg 7-C, Berlin, Germany
December 2nd, 2088, 02:18
By the time Omen Team had cleared the first and second floor of the small house, half of them were out of the fight. The building was, as the polizei suspected, a meeting place for some sort of Paradeus successor cult hiding in plain sight, and Omen Team had served as the perfect meat shield against the black market firearms smuggled into the city. Shrike had been caught on the wrong end of a pipe shotgun, Hellcat's legs had been near-completely shredded by what appeared to be a salvaged Nyto cannon, and AWM pulled back to stabilize the pair on account of her long rifle being next to useless inside such a tight building. Fortunately, despite the residents brandishing plenty of Paradeus paraphernalia (and even some reclaimed weapons), 410's radiation monitor never ticked above a comforting zero.
The leader of the police element motioned towards a set of narrow attic stairs, directing the Commander to let Omen Team finish securing the area whilst they stepped away to attend to the suspects they'd managed to apprehend alive. By now, 410 Judge's anxieties had been diminished somewhat by the (relative) smoothness of the mission. Still, that didn't make the cautious advance up the narrow stairway any less stressful, even if her eyes could see straight through the steel ballistic shield she held in front of her.
Inching the door open with her foot, the stack was met with a dim, stout space, walls cluttered with an uncountable quantity of small cardboard boxes. The more immediate item of interest, however, was a single porcelain washtub positioned square in the center of the space.
Two spindly mechanical legs hung out of a cracked bathtub, neither quite matching the other in color or condition. The second 410 Judge laid eyes on what little of the figure was visible, she knew she was looking at the legs of a Nyto, although how one had survived for so long severed from Paradeus' ashes was a mystery she didn't even think to ponder. Even if it wasn't moving, the shotgun Doll hardly even had to think about drawing her heavy revolver off her chest and pulling the hammer back with her thumb, although the sudden grasp of the Commander's hand closing around her wrist gave some pause.
The Commander stepped forwards, out from behind the protection of 410's shield and around to the bathtub the Nyto was lying indisposed within. The shotgun vanguard inched up as well, curious as to what would drive the Commander to pause her execution. More and more of the isomer's body came into view, although the thing hardly looked extraordinary to her. It was draped in a tattered cloth and made up of what looked to be the cybernetics of several different Nyto units, but her target ID was quite confidently outlining the figure as unquestionably a hostile unit.
The third in the stack, GMP5 loosened up slightly as the Commander lowered their own weapon to inspect the Nyto in the tub. Rather than being drawn to the unextraordinary enemy unit, the Doll instead took account of the several folding tables crowding the small attic room, each covered in various power tools and cutting implements. The various crusty towels spread across the floor crunched uncomfortably beneath her boots as she stepped towards one of the tables, although the bloody power saw she found lying across it didn't bring happy images to mind. These cultists had been busy: were they trying to take it apart, or put it together? GMP5 turned away from the table, addressing her lead.
"Commander, should we let the police handle this? I don't want to think about what could have been going on here." Her words fell upon deaf ears; the Commander was transfixed upon the Nyto in the tub, face drained of all color. GMP5 glanced down briefly at the enemy drone, but nothing seemed out of place (other than the facial redaction distorting the Nyto's head).
410 had squatted down to inspect the legs of the antique bathtub, but stood back up when the other Doll began to speak. She too was concerned by the Commander's sudden distress, but couldn't discern the cause.
"Commander, are you hurt? What's wrong?" 410 holstered her revolver and looked across the bathtub towards them. A Nyto was a strange find, but nothing to be overly concerned about. Most were harmless without Paradeus directing them, and even those who did carry on the fight were hardly worth fretting over.
When the Commander was finally broken away from the Nyto, they looked as though they were about to be sick. Their voice caught in their throat, their eyes widened as they looked to the Dolls in their company, as though suddenly afraid of each of them.
"...Everyone, downstairs." they ordered, although their cadence was far from authoritative. 410 opened her mouth to question them, but was interrupted by a much more forceful "Now." from the shaken officer. After a second of silence, she lowered her head into a nod and turned to descend the narrow attic staircase. GMP5 and FN15X followed suit, the latter casting one last glance over her shoulder towards the censored face of the Nyto.
Once the creak of the stairs faded and the Commander heard the door at the bottom close behind the departing Dolls, they fished their communicator with shaking hands, and rapidly flipped between contacts. Even as the secure connection rang, they could hardly hold the device up to their face, unable to look away from the body in the tub.
"Helian here. Is the mission- Commander? What's happened?" Helian's slightly fuzzy voice was enough to get the Commander to look towards the camera, but it still took them a second to compose the words.
"We… f-found… I think... it's fucking Myasnikov…" They managed to get out, their stoic facade finally breaking down in the absence of Omen Team.
Helian began to say something else, but when the Commander turned their communicator around to face the Nyto, she too went silent on the line.