Chlorine, bleach, stung nostrils. Eyes whined, squinted; incandescence overhead. Right arm refused commands, left arm reluctantly twitched. Metal pierced skin, embedded in the vein. 

 

Left arm supported the torso’s mass. Hiss exhaled, linen tugged against threads buried in flesh.

 

“Doctor Lada! Doctor Lada!” 

 

Tufts of white furtive by the bedside; Nurse Zina. Kyiv Hospital.

 

“He’s awake! What should I do?” 

 

Weight shifted, bed frame groaned. The nurse yelped. Beeping machines absent. False limbs reduced to metal-polymer stumps. Veins felt constricted, flesh shriveled. 

 

“Of course, I hid all the sporks! Wait! No! I didn’t bring them into the ward in the first place! Wh-wha…how am I supposed to know he will wake up so soon?” 

 

By the true arm, beside the IV drip, a side table. Jug…plastic sheen. Bottle…bromine-tinted. Cup, malleable within the grip. 

 

“What do you mean ‘Hide under the bed’?! Doctor Lada!”

 

Tongue tingled with relief. Chalky grime washed down the tight throat. Veins dilated, taut flesh loosened. Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled.

 

“What are you doing, Zina?”

 

Clatters, crashes. Door slammed open. One…two…three…a single ruby eye peeked from behind the door frame. “You aren’t going to attack me, are you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

She narrowed her eye sceptically, her gaze directed at the plastic cup held in the true hand. 

 

Exhaled a sigh, placed the cup on the side table, raised the arm. “Shall we cross our pinkies?”

 

Zina stepped out. “No need!” 

 

The bandage on her right arm was absent, five bandaids in its place. Her left eye still concealed under a patch. Gauss on her left cheek…dressings on her left wrist…

 

“...Were you attacked again?”

 

“Of course I was.” She strode towards the IV drip and pinched the base of its tube. “Fyodor from Ward Five bit me earlier.”

 

So, Fyodor still hasn’t been discharged. 

 

“And don’t think I have forgotten all about what you did.” She puffed her cheeks and glared. “You are still the worst.” 

 

“...I’m sorry.”

 

She narrowed her ruby eye, but said nothing. 

 

“How long was I out?”

 

“Three days.” 

​

+3 days, 0900

 

“You are a light sleeper you know. I thought you wouldn’t be up for another six days.” She frowned and gave a look-over. “How are you feeling?” 

 

“Desiccated.”

 

“You just drank.” Her head motioned like a scanner. “Are you feeling pain anywhere?” 

 

“...No.”

 

“Any tingling, feelings of euphoria?” 

 

“No.” Sigh exhaled. “Why these questions? You can identify addiction or withdrawal symptoms at a glance.”

 

Zina planted her knuckles on her hips. “I still have to follow protocols.” Her gaze fell upon the true thigh. “That cut wasn’t from the attack at your base. What happened?” 

 

Wound. Deep cut into the thigh. Sutured. 

 

Stefan, SVD, M14. Confrontations, accusations, pleas. Stefan accused SVD of bullying M14 into relinquishing her position in Team FAL. M14 attempted to break up the fight and take the fall. 

 

Unacceptable. M14 was not at fault. SVD, the upstart newcomer, hadn’t the right to usurp her. 

 

Intervene. Break up the fight. Absolve M14, reprimand SVD.

 

Take Ingram’s knife. M14 must be absolved. Yellow Eyes must not stop me. 

​

“Self-inflicted.”

 

“Sorry?” Zina had blinked. 

 

“Self-inflicted.”

​

OMS. Mortar fire…Sangvis assault. Skorpion…sealing foam on her right shoulder and left thigh…a pigtail shot off. Makarov…singed hair and charred scalp…clutching her right chest. 

​

“I must contact Grifon.”

 

The nurse frowned. “You must stay in bed.” She folded her arms and declared smugly, “And you can’t attack me this time! I didn’t provide you with any sporks!”

 

“I still possess teeth.” 

 

Her brow twitched. She took three steps back. 

 

A knock. Another. Zina spun around. Berezovich Kryuger at the door, clad in a burgundy greatcoat, holding a briefcase in his right hand and a paper bag in his left. “Kommandir Yilmaz.” He strode past the nurse, laid down the suitcase, pulled up the plastic chair and sat by the side table. “Nurse Zina, excuse us for an hour.” 

 

The nurse eyed the paper bag in Kryuger’s possession suspiciously before nodding and making herself scarce, shutting the door behind her.

 

Paper bag laid on the lap. “You must be hungry.” Kryuger lifted his briefcase and undid their clasps. 

 

“You had me sedated.” 

 

“I did,” the warlord admitted impassively. “You were destabilising, and at risk of a cardiac failure.” 

 

“What happened to the OMS? Skorpion? Makarov? Team AR? The Ringleader?” 

 

He removed a stack of documents from his briefcase. “Your adjutants have fully recovered and returned to Erlik’s Gate. As for Team AR, the OMS and the Ringleader…” Kryuger thumbed through his documents, “that’s the subject of today’s debrief. I granted M4A1 command over OMS’ standing and reinforcing forces.” 

 

Kryuger pulled several sheets of paper from the stack and placed them on the lap. The topmost page bore the image of a young girl, barely Skorpion’s apparent age, with a pair of platinum pigtails. The header of the document read ‘Destroyer’. 

 

“And tasked her with overseeing the elimination of the Ringleader and her entourage, whom we have tracked to a command post in Odessa Desert.” 

 

The warlord retrieved another paper: a map with a red cross marked at the western border of a small town.

 

“Was M4 successful at eliminating the Sangvis?”

 

Kryuger thumbed through his documents again. “Team AR successfully exterminated the Sangvis minions posted there, but Destroyer had given them the slip.”

 

The heart deflated, dismayed. “I see.”

 

More maps. Swathes of red, details of enemy movement…

 

“Destroyer escaped further into the dune sea,” a red cross on a sea of beige, ”and exfiltrated aboard a helicopter before Team AR and supporting echelons could reach her. We have yet to ascertain the means they procured that transport.” Kryuger paused, then continued, “Based on analysis of the Sangvis’ movements and their communication patterns, we determined another Ringleader was assisting her.”

 

A second Ringleader. Massed Sangvis outside the cordon.

 

“Director, were any cordon perimeter bases attacked before the OMS assault?” 

 

“The cordon is intact.” 

 

Cordon intact. So how did two Ringleaders and this large a Sangvis force manage to….

 

“My mission is to kill time. Your time, specifically.”

​

“What’s on your mind?” Kryuger’s gaze met the false eyes.

 

“Intruder. She had mentioned that her mission was to ‘kill our time’.”

 

“You think there is a link.”

 

“The Sangvis...” Pursed the lips. Continued. “Their minions had dispersed into straggler cells, undetectable by passive UAV surveillance. They were not neutralised. S09 Subsector Two...”

 

“Kalin’s report stated that the Executioner dummy gathered the stragglers to assault Base Camp Hevhj.” The warlord drummed his fingers against his thigh. “‘Kill your time.’ Intruder kept Erlikan Company distracted while Destroyer and the other Ringleader snuck out of the cordon.”

 

“The Ringleaders could have crossed the rubble-choked roads out of Subsector Four.”

 

“Right under the noses of our UAVs’ passive surveillance net. Then reactivate the Sangvis straggler cells as a ready army.” Kryuger took a deep breath. “They can raid our supply lines whenever they please.”

 

“Intruder mentioned a plan: ‘Rain on the Plains’...”

 

"Parapluie." The warlord nodded. “This is why I called for a meeting at the OMS, to share what we know of Parapluie and discuss its implications and countermeasures against it. Parapluie is an e-war weapons system aimed to disrupt the Zenner Network and to turn our Dolls into moles and, potentially, sleeper agents.”

 

OMS. Odesa Meteorological Station. Underground base. Undersupplied, underequipped and undermanned. Likely a recent acquisition. Secret except to a very select few. Nobody should know of its existence before the meeting, unless….

 

“Parapluie is how the Sangvis learned of the OMS and the meeting.” 

 

Kryuger nodded. 

 

“This compromised Doll...have you found her?”

 

His expression took on a stony complexion. “Cetin, I need you to prepare yourself for what I will tell you. Take a deep breath. Inhale, count to three, exhale.”

 

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. 

 

“The mole, or rather, the source of the data leak was AR-15.” 

 

Stinging in the heart. Throbbing in the temple and aching in the ribcage.

 

“Our techs detected unusual network activity from her: anomalous data bursts at irregular intervals.”

 

Heart rate levelled. Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. “There has to be a mistake. She wouldn’t betray M4, let alone Grifon.”

 

“We believe it to be involuntary. Professor Persicaria hypothesised she had been infected by a Sangvis virus...”

 

“She is not an e-war unit.”

 

“I had been working on breaking through Hunter’s deadlock the past week. Along the way, I discovered a method to intrude into Sangvis network.”

​

“...she was infected at S09 Subsector Three. Possibly even before that.”

 

The warlord arched his brow. “How did you infer that?”

 

“M4 stated that she wasn’t an e-war unit. Yet, she was able to hack Hunter’s forces and scramble their IFFs, turning them against each other.”

 

“...Two-way backdoor into the Sangvis’ network.” Kryuger nodded. “I will inform the professor of this.”

 

“Can Persica remove this backdoor?”

 

“I believe she can, but...” Kryuger inhaled deeply. “AR-15 escaped her confinement. We are in the process of locating her.” 

 

Sharp pain erupted inside the chest again. The warlord furrowed his brow, picked up the bromine-coloured bottle and retrieved a capsule. He refilled the cup and offered it along with the medicine.

 

Capsule tumbled down the throat. Kryuger returned the bottle to the table. “Don’t stress yourself; your heart is still delicate.”

 

The throat emitted gurgling groans. The pain subsided. Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. 

 

“Does she not emit an IFF signal?”

 

“Cetin, you know better than anyone how difficult it is to track a single Doll.” Kryuger picked up his documents and straightened them. “We have set a team of contractors on her trail. They should find her within the month.”

 

Gasped, “A month is too long.”

 

“Cetin,” Kryuger’s gaze hardened again. “AR-15 is a survivalist, all of Team AR are. You know this.” His eyes softened. “We will find her. The contractors have a proven track record.” 

 

“Are there guarantees?”

 

“No.” The warlord stacked the documents on the side table. “But the probability of them succeeding is high. I have faith in them.” He placed a tablet and a stylus atop the stack. He sat down and stated, “I’m sure you have further questions.”

 

“OMS, who else knew of its existence before the meeting?” 

 

Kryuger drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Helianthus, the Grifon Honour Guard, Team AR and myself.”

 

The Honour Guard…KS-23 and PK must be counted among them.

 

“You pulled Team AR out of Erlikan Company and had them posted at OMS. Why?” 

 

“They were to field test a prototype.” The warlord leaned forward and hid his mouth behind his clasped hands. “A signal spoofer. If the device passes the test, more will be fabricated and distributed to the recon teams we intend to penetrate into Sangvis territory. To find more intel on Parapluie, and for future shaping operations.” 

 

“Is this how you avoided detection by the Sangvis when you snuck outside to repair the antennas?” 

 

He nodded. 

 

“You had assumed a grave risk.”

 

“I won’t risk my soldiers on an untested prototype,” Kryuger proclaimed sternly.

 

“...This prototype..in light of AR-15’s compromised status…”

 

“They weren’t briefed on the prototype at the time. I had sent them to investigate unusual activities around the OMS as the techs smoothed out a few issues. The Sangvis should have no knowledge of the device’s existence.”

 

“I see. These recon teams…is Team FN to be counted among their number?” 

 

Kryuger nodded again. “And every other Doll echelons picked by their respective frontline companies.”

 

Frontline companies remained at their posts during the attack. Only rearline commanders at the OMS…except…

 

“Only rearline company commanders were at the OMS, except myself.”

 

Kryuger straightened himself. “The protocol is to have the rear line company kommandiry attend the meetings and convey the meeting minutes to their respective sector’s frontline company kommandiry. You, however, I have granted special dispensation to attend as S09’s representative.”

​

“Why is this so?”

 

“Erlik’s Gate sits before a highly-defensible chokepoint into Sangvis territory, thus at minimal risk of an attack. Moreover, you have the most experience dealing with Ringleaders. I wanted you to share your insights.”

 

“Team AR’s testimonies should have sufficed.”

 

“You are still the Kommandir who presided over the Ringleaders’ defeats.”

​

“...I see.”

 

“Any further questions?”

 

“The OMS. Underground base with sizable rooms dedicated to Signals and Cryptography disguised as a meteorological station. Understaffed, underequipped and undersupplied. What manner of base is this?” 

 

Kryuger frowned. “It is one of the several former KGB bases Grifon had recently purchased. Fallback bases in case defeat is imminent. As you can see, we were in the process of bringing them into operation when the Sangvis attacked.” 

 

“...Why would the KGB relinquish their bases to a PMC?”

 

He exhaled. “The Rodina is short on funds for her reclamation projects, and these bases haven’t been used since the war ended.”

​

“And the KGB allowed them to be purchased?”

 

The warlord shrugged. “They were the ones overseeing the auction.”

 

“And their equipment…they were scrapped? Base hollowed out?”

 

“Of course. We had to install our own equipment.”

 

“I see. Another question.”

 

Kryuger kept his gaze fixed upon the false eyes. 

 

“Who are Lycoris and Elisa?”

 

“Professor Lycoris…” the warlord’s nostrils flared. “Sangvis Ferri Manufacturing’s Head AI Researcher and Professor Persicaria’s…and my…friend. Safehouse Three was his alternate residence and private laboratory; we learned of Parapluie through his notes and the data scrubbed there, though they were incomplete or partially corrupted. Elisa…” he glanced downwards, “....was the codename of his other, personal, project. This is all we know for now.”

 

“Elisa and Parapluie appear alongside one another in the snapshots of Lycoris’ files. Are they linked?”

 

“Very likely. We don’t have enough data to form a conclusion yet.”

 

“Perhaps if we interrogate Lycoris…”

 

“Professor Lycoris is dead.” 

 

The air fell still. Kryuger grimaced, then added, “He was killed in a KGB raid meant to apprehend him on suspicions of illegal AI research. Official records state he was caught in a crossfire between KGB Doll operatives and the Sangvis’ automated security.” 

 

“You believe there is more to Lycoris’ demise.”

 

He exhaled. “His death coincided with the beginning of Butterfly. Persicaria believes this is no accident.” 

 

“...Is this why Persica sent Team AR into Sangvis territory, to Safehouse Three? To discover the truth behind his death and how it led to Butterfly?”

 

Kryuger nodded. “Yes.”

 

“How does OGAS tie into all of this?”

 

The warlord’s complexion ashened. “Leave the matter of OGAS be.”

 

“The term ‘OGAS’ was printed on Lycoris’ notes and files. Why would he be interested in an ancient, defunct network with a non-functional automated component?”

 

“Leave the matter be.” Kryuger had assumed a harsh tone. His voice softened. “To pry into the subject is to unearth the Union’s secrets, secrets they will kill to keep buried. There are consequences for digging too deep.”

 

…The illegal research was OGAS?

 

“Leave it be.”

 

“Copy.”

 

Kryuger got up with a grunt while carrying his briefcase. His shoulders were hunched as though suddenly burdened. “One last thing.” He placed his palm on the tablet atop the document stack. “The Defense of OMS. Kalin does not have any visual references to the incident. As the Kommandir in charge of the operation, you will write the report in her stead. Submit it to HQ after you are discharged.” He laid his gaze on the paper bag on the lap. “Eat up before it gets cold.” 

​

The closing door and the fading footsteps marked Kryuger’s departure. Within the paper bag, three deep-fried breads, with sausages nestled within their doughs. 

 

Retrieved the tablet. Pressed the side button, lit up the display. Video file icon on the main screen, titled ‘WATCH ME FIRST’. 

 

Brief screen flash. Buttons at the bottom of the display: play, fast forward, reverse, previous, next, a thin bar. Pink iris on the screen, then blue. “Lights! Camera! Action!” Heterochrome drew back. Mischievous grin, pink streak flowed amidst silver. MDR flashed two V signs. “Hai! Hai! ’tis I, the great Kuro! Broadcasting live from…” She blinked, then tapped on her nape.

 

“You are not breaking OpSec on my watch.” Gloved hands laid on the Doll’s shoulders and pulled her away. 

 

“Davi-bro! You are breaking my flow!” 

 

“Cetin!” Yellow pigtails, deep blue iris, eyepatch. “Are you alright? Did the doctors do anything weird to you?” 

 

Rolled-up documents came down on her head. “Be more professional, Tovarisch Skorpion. This is supposed to be a report.”

​

Skorpion stuck out her tongue. The document roll came down on her again. She pouted, then reluctantly took three steps back.

 

Azure glow, array of monitors, armchair, server blocks, couch, bronze samovar just out of view: Nerve Centre.

 

“June Twentieth! O-seven-hundred!” Skorpion started. “All’s quiet here! Yep, yep!” She glanced to her left, then grinned. “Macky’s trying to get her phonograph into the Nerve Centre. It’s sitting in storage right now. Kalin said…”

 

Makarov marched in and smacked her yellow compatriot with the paper roll. “You talk too much! And I told you, it’s not a phonograph, it’s a suitcase turntable!”

 

“With thick stacks of vinyl!”

 

“Three sets of vinyls! Litvinovsky! Shostakovich! Tchaikovsky!”

​

“Can I have Nanaka’s Third Anniversary…”

 

“No/Nyet!” both adjutants retorted. 

​

“Wah! Unfair!” MDR brandished her fists. “Nepotism! Favouritism!”

 

David pulled back the grey-haired Doll. “You already have all her albums on your mobile.” 

 

“It’s not the same! I told you, Davi-bro! Analog’s different from digital!” 

 

The aux guard rolled his eyes, then directed his gaze at Skorpion and Makarov. “Guys? I thought you were taking the drone out to tour the base?” 

 

“Right!” Camera fixated on Skorpion’s eye. “Lots of stuff happened while you were away. Dimas built the chicken coop, and we have twenty chickens in residency!” She flapped her arms excitedly, almost striking Makarov. “All rounded up from the vicinity of our base and the village!”

 

“Why are you acting like a chicken?” the Doll in blue complained.

 

“Shut!” Skorpion grinned at the camera again. “Let me show you.”

 

Rotor-whirls. Camera blinded by brilliance from beyond the door. The wire-strewn roof opened up into a blue sky. Snow-swept street led downwards, flanked by white-padded containers on stilts. 

 

“Ingram! Five o’clock!” P7 burst out from behind the left container, her hands grasping a grey hen. “Got it! Got it!” Ingram, out of view, shouted her reply. “Chopsticks! One o’clock! Schnell! Schnell! Schnell!” 

​

“Hey! You guys! We are recording a video for Cetin!” 

 

P7 immediately sprung towards the camera and lifted the hen. “Commander! Commander! I’ve a complaint! Dimas did a shoddy job with the coop; the roof was blown away last night! The fence toppled! The chickens are running loose!” 

 

Metallic bark; a black rooster sprung into view, talons reared, pursued by a dinergate. 

 

“Chopsticks!” P7’s hen crowed to match her shriek.

 

“Ooooiii! P7! Ingram! Where are the eggs? Springfield and Nagant’s already...Eek!” Sten yelped aloud; a hen and the pursuing Ingram had tumbled out and tripped her. Three more hens scattered their feathers about. 

 

The door of the right container, with a pylon attached to its roof, slammed open. Welrod, in a white fur-lined coat, stepped out, holding a teacup. “This commotion has gone on long enough! You are confounding our communion with the void! Hey, Comrade Sten! Have you seen FMG-9 anywhere? The tardy lass should have returned with our sandwiches ten minutes ago!”

 

“We are out of eggs!” Sten was buried under two large hens. “Ingram and P7 were supposed to deliver them to the kitchen an hour ago!” 

 

Welrod sighed. She took a sip of tea, then turned towards the whirling camera. “What are you doing there, Madame Skorpion, Madame Makarov, Mister Keller, Comrade Kuro?”

 

“Oi! Wells! Why do I, the great Kuro, not have a respectable title?”

 

“We are recording for Cetin!”

 

MP41 crashed out of the door, brushed past Welrod and immediately dominated the view. 

 

“Salutations, Herr Kommandant! All quiet at Erlik’s Gate! So…” she leaned forward. “I’ve heard that you took command of the OMS whilst suffering grievous injuries.” She lifted her film camera. “Would you grace me with an interview? I’m sure everyone will want to hear of your heroi….”

​

“That is quite enough sycophantry,” Fingers dug into MP41’s crown and dragged her aside. Welrod took her place, then sipped her tea. “My Lord, we’ve heard of what happened at the OMS. Please, have a good rest. We’ll take care of matters during your absence. 41!” she barked aside. “You are supposed to listen for the devils’ whispers! Get back to your post! 

 

“Verdammt, you uptight taskmaster!” 

​

“Hey, Pops!” Ingram shoved herself into view, her arms wrapped around a chicken, cooing contentedly. “You gave them a good licking, huh? Anyway, things have been pretty down since you and AR-15 were gone.” She glanced over the camera drone, then grinned. “Skorpion practically bawled her eye out….”

 

“Did not!” 

 

Ingram snickered. “There’s talk floating around about growing tubers around here, so you best get ready for that coming up in the next meeting. I’m going to deposit Sophie in her coop. Get back soon.” 

 

“Oi.” Camera panned towards Skorpion; she was folding her arms, frowning. “You aren’t trying to chase us away, aren’t you?”

 

“You are imagining things.” Ingram denied while stroking Sophie’s back. The hen continued to coo contentedly.

 

“I think she’s trying to shoo us away, Tovarisch.” Makarov cut in, also with her arms folded. “I declare a coop inspection!” 

 

“Guys?” Camera turned towards David; increasingly exasperated. “The tour?”

 

“Surprise chicken tour!” MDR popped into screen, invigorated. “Coop critique!” 

 

Ten paces downslope, two paces left. Chicken coop wedged between the Captain’s Quarters and the power substation; three hundred by two hundred paces. Dirt, snow and mud mixed together and coated Grigori’s boots; he was shovelling, stabbing and tamping dirt at the base of the third fence-post to the right of the gate. Two others besides it were crooked, toppled and then straightened up. 

 

Grigori’s actions were vigorous, yet his stubble-marred visage was haggard. The Night Guard captain was overdue his rest. 

 

“Hey, Griga!” Skorpion waved. Ingram creaked the door and deposited Sophie, who obediently strutted deeper into the enclosure. “How bad is it?”

 

“Last night’s gale toppled the fence,” Griga replied as he packed the dirt and moved for the one to his left. “Dimas didn’t bury the post deep enough.” His bloodshot eyes blinked, and he regarded the camera drone silently. 

 

“We are making a video for Cetin!” Skorpion proclaimed. 

 

“So that’s why MP41 ran out like that.” He let out a tired chuckle. “Coop tour, right? Well, don’t mind us.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the aforementioned Night Guard, engrossed in tapping on the coop’s thatched roof. “Dimas’ punished. Feeder duty for the rest of the week, first thing at dawn.”

 

“Uhuh. Hey! Dimas!” Skorpion shouted. Dimas ceased his tapping, slouched his shoulders in silent sighs, then peered behind himself. “What is it?”

 

“Are the eggs okay?” 

 

He blinked, then shrugged. “Should be fine.” He descended the ladder slightly and peeked through the cracks between the boards. “Yeah, they are there. Should be more than thirty in there. Maybe more.”

 

“You should fix that!” Makarov cried out. “Put some mud on that crack or...” She weaved aside, her gloved hands pressing down her hat, “...Skorpion!” 

 

The yellow Doll grinned mischievously. Her raised fingers were curled like claws. “Come on, Macky. We’ve gotta collect those eggs!” 

 

Makarov ducked under Skorpion’s lunging arms. “My ushanka isn’t a basket!”

 

“Lively girls, aren’t they?” 

 

Quickly tapped the pause button. Doctor Lada leaned against the bedpost by the IV drip, wearing a small, tired smile. “Go on,” she said languidly, with a soft voice like steady ripples on a puddle. “Don’t mind me.”

 

“This is an OpSec violation.”

 

She glanced at the document stacks on the side table below her and uttered, amused, “A little late for that now, isn’t it?” Her dark eyes wandered towards the food in the true hand’s grip. “Deep fried.” She clicked her tongue. “That isn’t healthy. Director Kryuger ought to know better.”

Her wandering eyes landed on the tablet’s screen again, at the still image of Makarov ducking under Skorpion’s pounce, interrupted by the large pause icon at the centre of the display. “You aren’t continuing.”

 

“OpSec.”

 

She smirked, then leaned back and sat on the plastic chair. “Doctor’s confidentiality. Your secrets are safe with us. Isn’t that right, Zina?”

 

Nurse Zina peeked from behind the doorframe. 

 

“Well? Are you coming in?” 

 

The nurse Doll shrunk away. 

 

Doctor Lada shrugged. “Check up on Stefan. Ward Fifteen.” 

 

The nurse hurriedly pattered away. Cleared the throat, inquired, “How is Stefan?”

 

Lada arched her brow as she pulled up the plastic chair. She sat down, hung her head back and exhaled, “Right, Grifon and Kryuger guardsman.”

 

“I am his commanding officer.”

 

The doctor folded her arms and tapped her foot. She reached into her breast pocket, paused, and then sighed. “He can’t hold a rifle anymore.”

 

The heart ached. Took the capsule and washed it down. Doctor Lada’s gaze followed the plastic cup as it was returned to the side table. Cleared the throat, “How severe?”

 

She pursed her lips. “Shoulder bones and muscles torn and fused together.” She unfolded her arms and tapped on the clipboard on her lap. “Too close to his right lung and clavicle for prosthesis replacement.”

 

“...I see.”

 

“If he returns to work at G&K, he will be unable to do anything more than a desk job, but enough about him. I’ve heard you still have episodes.” She glanced at the true thigh. “One of them led to self-harm. Your orderly reported you are on oxycodone. That is an addictive drug.” She clicked her tongue. “Naughty, naughty.” 

 

“I am not experiencing any symptoms of addiction or withdrawal. Mikhail controlled my dose stringently.”

 

“He also prescribed you with sedatives to cope with the episodes.” She turned her gaze towards the true wrist, at the spots by the IV drip. “You have been using them frequently. Every time you are about to encounter your triggers?”

 

Silence kept. The head nodded. The doctor narrowed her eyes and glanced at the medicine bottle. “Your medic Doll also informed me you had abused stims and painkillers.” 

 

Again, replied with silence. 

 

She leaned back and sighed. “I will schedule an appointment with Doctor Kazimir. I don’t need to remind you to behave, hmm?”

 

The head nodded again.

 

“Good man.” She picked up her board and unclipped her laminate. “Prosthesis catalogue. Director Kryuger thinks you should pick whichever you want. All charges covered by your company.”

 

“...I do not wish to be further indebted.”

 

“All costs covered,” she repeated as she laid the laminate on the blanket. “Consider it hazard compensation. Director Kryuger insisted.” She got up and collected her things. “Grifon and Kryuger’s been good to you, by the way.”

 

Replied with silence. She smirked again. “You smiled while you were watching that video.”

Fingers on the lips; they were not upwards-curling. False eyes caught the hem of the doctor’s coat, whipping past the door. 

 

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. Tapped the play button. Short struggle. Makarov scowled. Ushanka filled with eggs. Sten joined, her wooden carton too brimmed with eggs. Fifty, perhaps more. 

 

Past the rows of barracks and side paths. Roofs laden with snow, scrape lines along the board-cobbled street. Smoke and steam ahead; the Dolls neared their destination.

 

“Springfield!” Skorpion waved her arms upon her entry through the back door. “We’ve brought eggs!”

 

“Finally!” Nagant cried out from before the unlit stove. She waved at the corner by the oven, then spun towards the counter. “FMG-9! Make sandwiches!” 

 

FMG-9 almost stumbled into Springfield as she hurried to assist Nagant. Along with Sten, they crowded around the stove. The clanging of pans masked Springfield’s approach. She looked at the camera. “What is this?” 

 

“We are recording a video for Cetin! Say something, Springfield!”

 

She blinked and fixed her emerald gaze at the camera again. “I’ve heard of what happened at the OMS.” 

 

Paused. Continued. 

 

“I was told there were other commanders present. Boris Shvets, Jean Boehler, and even Shay Baker. All unscathed. Yet, you assumed command and refused to leave your post despite your injuries. Even after the situation had stabilised.”

 

Another pause. 

 

“You know of my opinions about not taking care of yourself.”

 

Yet another pause. Her serene smile did not radiate warmth. 

 

“We’ll discuss your conduct upon your return.”

 

The oil sizzled and cracked on the pan, yet the scene remained frozen. 

 

“...Springfield,” Skorpion spoke timidly. “You are supposed to say something nice.”

 

Yet, Springfield’s petrified smile remained unthawed.

 

The camera drone whirled. Skorpion, Makarov, MDR and David hurried past the counter and the rows of seats and tables sheltered under the buffeted tarp roof. To the left, MP40’s grand piano lay concealed under canvas. Ahead, beyond the furniture, gunsmoke wafted, and gunfire ignited.

 

“Alright!” Kalina waved within the smoke, crossing and separating her arms over her head. “That’s enough!” She looked at Pierre, seated beside her and studying his laptop. “Well?”

 

The technician kept his eyes glued to his screen as he pointed towards the range.

 

“BAR! Pass!”

 

“Yay~,” the machine-gunner cheered lethargically.

 

"MG5! Pass! PKP! Pass!"

 

PKP. Unknown name. Must be Fleur’s replacement.

 

“Kalash!” 

 

Camera drone pivoted towards Makarov. She had furrowed her brow and trained her gaze towards the riflewoman. 

 

“Pass!” Pierre declared loudly. 

 

AK-47 pumped her fists. Makarov’s shoulders slumped; she let out a relieved sigh.

 

“IDW! Fail!”

 

“Nya!?” came IDW’s distressed exclamation.

 

“See me later for FCC recalibration!”

 

“Guys! Hey!” Skorpion cried out. “We’re shooting a video for Cetin!”

 

Like a sudden landslide, the Dolls crowded around the drone’s proximity.

 

“I’m sorry, Commyander!” IDW was teary-eyed. “I failed my calibration test. Please dyon't retire me, nya."

 

“Nobody’s retiring anybody!” Pierre replied off-screen. “I said I will recalibrate your FCC!”

 

“Commander!” Gloved hands redirected the camera towards the upper left. BAR pointed at herself. “They are bullying this old me again!” she whined. 

 

“Yeah! Don’t bully Auntie!” 

 

“I’m not an Auntie!” BAR retorted at the barely visible Skorpion, her expression of hurt morphed into that of aggravation.

 

"Hey~ Tovarisch Kommandir~" AK-47 waved. “I’ve got some of that Beluga waiting for you~” She shot a thumbs up. “The good stuff. Better than that bottled water they called ‘Smirnoff’ that you always drink.” She smacked her lips.

​

“Don’t listen to that drunk, Kommandir!” Makarov snatched the drone and turned it towards herself. She wore a fierce scowl.

 

"Come on, Tovarisch Macky. It will help him relax a little.”

 

“Nyet!” the blue Doll snapped at AK-47.

​

“Alright, alright. Girls, settle down.” Kalina had pushed past the glowering Makarov and clapped her hands. Dark ringed her lustreless eyes, clearly displayed despite her brilliant smile. “MG5! PKP! Don’t you have anything to say?” 

 

“Nein. Nothing the others didn’t already say.” MG5, economical with her words, as always.

​

“Then, PKP! You are new here! Introduce yourself!” 

 

Kalina reeled in a silver-haired Doll. Her mouth was hidden under a high collar, and her eyes were concealed beneath tinted lenses. She was of Skorpion’s height.

 

“Let me tell you some bad news,” she started, her voice humourless. “MG4 has been reassigned to the rear line. Kommandir Klein Washington’s company. Now, the good news. I am her replacement.” 

​

She did not gesture. 

 

“PKP. Or Pecheneg, if you prefer. I’ll be your trump card.”

 

“Oi! Oi!” Skorpion, almost out of view, pumped her fists fitfully. “What’s that? That’s way cool!”

 

Pecheneg regarded her briefly, looked towards the camera and nodded curtly. “I’ve heard news that PK was at the OMS during the attack. You must have commanded her.” She nodded again. “I am interested to hear your review of her performance.”

 

A sharp whistle pierced the commotion. 

 

“Ah!” The camera turned towards Skorpion. “Team FN must have finished getting thrashed by Team AR.”

 

“Skorpion!” Makarov exasperated. “Even if that’s certainly true, that’s still a rude thing to say!”

Skorpion stuck out her tongue, then sprinted past the crowd towards the seemingly crumbling structure past the gunsmoke. 

 

The camera crew followed close behind, crossing the debris-strewn field. Makarov stalled for a moment to scowl; Simonova was caught dozing behind a pock-marked barricade, clutching a bottle tightly against her chest. The camera drone redirected its lens towards the faux warehouse. Holding a whistle, Lev beheld Team FN shambling out of the door. 

 

“Don’t say anything,” FAL, huffing and puffing, extended her upturned index finger to shush the Day Guard Captain. “I’ll have you know we lasted ten minutes longer than last.” 

 

“We still failed to down any of them,” Five-seveN, her clothes dishevelled and her gait shambling, criticised. “What’s the matter? I thought you said we would certainly take one of them down this time.”

 

“Weeeelll,” FAL huffed, puffing up her chest. “The plan would have worked if somebody had not gone off on her own. Again!”

 

“Maybe someone should have done better at distracting them!”

 

FNC, who had emerged after them, swiftly pitter-pattered towards FAL and tugged at her sleeve. The riflewoman fished out a bar of chocolate from her bag and gave it to her. The younger Doll bounced with jubilance.

 

“Well, thank you then for volunteering to be the distraction. Such a pity that your posing by the door didn’t yield anything useful!”

​

“Excuse me!” The handgunner unfolded her arms, leaned towards her leader and scowled. “If all had gone as planned, I would’ve shot Sop II in the head!”

 

“Well, it’s too bad that it was M16 this time. Hon hon! I assure you that flashbang did not bleach the yellow out of your eyes!”

​

“Girls!” Kalina stepped forward. “Camera’s rolling!”

 

"Video for Cetin!" Skorpion added.

 

Five-seveN swiftly turned aside as FAL stepped forward, dominating the screen. She was utterly drenched in yellow and green paint. 

 

“Team FN leader reports,” she started. “This training exercise is our third engagement against Team AR. Through my leadership, we have survived thirty minutes against their onslaught. That’s ten minutes longer compared to the previous engagement...”

 

“Tell our esteemed Commander how we bungled the first two times, why don’t you?” Five-seven whipped towards the camera and looked over FAL’s shoulders. She had wiped the paint off her face and hair, straightened her ponytail, and wore sunglasses. “Last time! Fired grenades at the door. Covered the entire room in smoke! Visibility! Ruined! Then Sop II cut right through, lunging at you...”

 

“I shot her,” FNC interjected. 

 

“While you went AWOL,” FAL added as she passed the childish riflewoman another bar of chocolate.

 

“I was trying to neutralise M4!” The white handgunner rested her fingertips on her chest. “Something you never thought to do. She was completely alone! If I eliminated her, Team FN would celebrate a brilliant victory!”

 

“And she turned out to be a far harder opponent than you expected, am I right?” FAL laughed haughtily. “Hon hon hon! Of course, she is. I read the data via Zenner; you thought you were so clever, sneaking up on her. I can only imagine the look on your face when she whipped around and shot you three times in the head!”

​

Five-seveN glowered, cheeks red like the setting sun. 

 

“This is exactly why I did not plan on doing that; I saw that coming several days ahead! My plan was to have you tie up anyone who comes after Forty-Nine.”

​

“Miss FAL…I don’t think…”

 

“Hush, dear. You did brilliantly, surviving for as long as you did against M16.”

 

FN-49 rubbed the back of her head, blushing, seemingly pleased. 

 

“Ladies, ladies...” The bickering Dolls jumped; M16, appearing without warning, had placed her hands on their shoulders. “Instead of quarrelling over spilt whiskey, maybe you should celebrate…” she pointed at the yellow spots on her torso; two to the chest, one to the shoulder and one more to the pelvis, “...landing a couple hits on me. Were I a Ringleader, I would have died already.”

 

“You are being too humble.” Five-seveN rolled her eyes. “We have all fought Ringleaders, we know exactly how difficult it is to take one down.” She glared at FAL. “Frankly, we ought to have died so much sooner if you weren’t being easy on us!”

 

M16 emitted a jolly laugh and slapped FAL’s shoulder several times. “You gave me too much credit, I’ve only lived long enough to know a thing or two. If you like, I can share some pointers. Anyway,” she looked beyond the gathered crowd, past the settling dust, “Why’s BAR not with you? Her suppressive fire would’ve been trouble.”

 

FAL crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “She would have if she wasn’t dragging her feet all the time,” she stated while passing another bar of chocolate to FNC. She then turned towards the camera. “If she refuses to shape up by the time you return, Commander, I will recruit elsewhere. Until then, I will whip Team FN into shape by the time you return.”

 

“I’ll make you proud!” Five-seveN shouted from off-screen. “Keep your eyes on my sparkling rise!”

 

“Commander!” Sop II barrelled onto the screen. “How could you let the Sangvis blow you up? I haven’t finished making you a new arm yet! I need another month,” she paused, glanced over her shoulder, “no, two months to make you that new arm!” 

 

“Come on, Sop.” M16 squeezed Sop II’s shoulder. “Let M4 have the stage.” 

 

“Wait for the arm, Commander!” The black garbed Doll flailed her arms as she was dragged aside. “Waaait for the aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarmmmm!”

 

In her place, M4. Her expression was stiff. 

 

“Commander...” she started. “I thank you for everything you have done for us. I know we didn’t get along, but I still have to say...” She looked aside, then sighed. “... I’m sorry to inform Team AR will be leaving the Erlikan Company in a week. We’ll be answering directly to Director Kryuger as a lead team of the Parapluie Task Force. Our first task will be locating and retrieving AR-15...”

 

She closed her mouth and frowned.

 

“Miss Persica wants us to be the first to pursue any leads on AR-15’s whereabouts. She thinks we will reunite sooner rather than later through our close connection as Team AR members. However, we have no estimates. I don’t know how long we will be away.”

 

She bowed. “I have to find AR-15 and bring her back to Miss Persica at all costs. By the time you return, Team AR will be away.” She lowered her eyes. “I hope you understand. I’m sorry...and thank you for everything.”

 

She bowed again, then departed from the screen. The drone focused on SVD, Papasha, and Tiss next. They just arrived and met up with Lev. They carried rabbits on their persons and needed help unloading a deer from Papasha’s truck. SVD and Tiss had returned from night guard duty at the pass, dubbed Erlik’s Throat. As Makarov informed, two hours after SV-98 and XM8 had left for the changing of the guards. Papasha went to the pass to inspect the demolition charges and fetched them and their trapped and shot quarries along the way. 

 

The tour continued on to the black walls inherited from the Sangvis. Andriy and Vadim milled about by the radiator close to the gate. Deuce slept on the hammock she had erected under the battlements further away, exposed to yet unbothered by the chill. Nineteen and her dummies kept watch on the parapet above. David showed off the sensor drone of his own devising, which he had attached to the searchlight towers. MDR then pestered him for the same tech applied to her camera drone. 

 

Kalina broke them up, and the tour continued to Admin, where Sturmgewehr was hard at work (MP40 complained about Lev’s unacceptable absence from the desk), then to the Motorpool (where Grizzly and Sudaev tried to jury rig an incompatible engine to an old repainted Dacia), the Hangar (Nicholai met the tour crew at the shrine on the east wall and raised a toast for Oleksiy and Rasputin), and the Proving Grounds (David showed off his auto-turret retrofit kits. His prototype, made out of a spare M1919A4 on a tripod, kept tracking the birds perched on the target dummies).

 

Mosin Nagant, Bohdan, the others, nowhere to be seen. Skorpion, Makarov and Kalina did not comment on their absence. They must be safe; present company would have urgently reported their duress early on. Mosin and Bohdan were Night Guards. Likely recuperating in the Barracks. Others too. Or patrolling elsewhere. 

 

“This is it,” Kalina announced, upon reaching the Armoury. “On a more serious note, we have experienced probing attacks daily. Probing attacks. Small. About ten Prowlers, ten Scouts and a dozen Dinergates each time. Not serious enough to put Plan Pretzel into effect.” She sighed, then rubbed her eyes. “I had assumed your duties throughout your absence. I would have demanded a week’s leave upon your return, but...” she smiled weakly, “... Kryuger’s put us on general alert.” She nodded. “I will sort out the inventory, fill out the requisition forms, then return to the Nerve Centre.” She stretched, then let her arms hang beside her. “Get back soon.”

 

“So!” Skorpion and Makarov reappeared on screen. “Was hoping to end the video on a high note but half the base are such downers...”

 

“You are all amateurs!” MDR forced herself between them. “There are good and bad changes, but we are doing well and still trucking on. Still!” The heterochromatic Doll pointed at the drone forcefully. “Without you around, it feels like we are missing a big piece! In other words, you better come back quickly! So get back on your feet and come back right away!” She raised her right fist, spun it vigorously over her head in a clockwise motion. “Go, go, go!” MDR then flashed a V sign over her brow and grinned. “Howsat for motivation? Come back soon! Kuro, out!” Casual salute, followed by a farewell wave. “Ja ne!”

 

“H-Hey!”

 

The video cut off abruptly. Silence followed, palpable enough to hear the dripping of IV fluids. Stacks of documents on the desk. Maps. Emptied wrapper, stylus still nestled in its sleeve. 

Communicator on the side table, between the jug and the documents. Picked it up.

 

"Da? Yilmaz?" Doctor Lada spoke.

​

“I need your most durable prosthesis.”

 

“And judging by your tone, I expect you also want an early discharge?”

 

“...Yes.” 

 

She took a deep breath. Pause. “Two weeks, but with one caveat.”