+14 Days, 1600

​

Cool air rushed out of the hardwood door, brushing the cheek as the boots stamped onto the white marble tiles. The false leg tugged at the flesh and bond, the false shoulder slumped and swerved slightly with every swing. The gait was awkward. Doctor Lada was correct in her assessment: I needed time to acclimate to the increased mass of these new limbs.

 

The metal detectors beeped. AKS-74U snapped from her stupour and blinked. She covered her face, exhaled into her palms as the employee’s badge landed on her counter. She lowered her hands, squinted at the false eyes and drawled, “Aren’t you supposed to be hospitalised?” 

 

“I was discharged early.”

 

She blinked again in dull surprise. “Huh.” She picked up her scanner, lurched out of the door to the left, stopped and blinked again. She had already raised her free hand, making a ‘stop’ gesture; an absent-minded reflex. “Ho, you aren’t ignoring me this time.” 

 

Shrugged. Rolled up the sleeves, raised the arms into a T-posture. She smirked as she waved her scanner about. The banner beeped as it brushed past the watch, the false limbs, the belt buckle and the wallet. “You are cleared to go,” she said as she slunk back into her station.

 

“Is that him?” her director spoke, just out of view. “Isn’t he supposed to still be in the hospital?” 

 

Picked up the employee’s badge. Five steps forward. 

 

“Izvini!” 

​

A shocked exclamation. 

 

False eyes peered downwards. Pink hair under red beret, round glasses perched atop a small nose, small frame wrapped in burgundy greatcoat. Employee’s badge hung on her neck, too low to be read. Officer…a commander perhaps. She had caught herself mid-stumble, bowed profusely and hurried after a waiting personnel. 

 

The personnel carried a non-standard weapon and wore non-standard garments: a T-Doll. 

 

They strode towards the base of a stairway which wound around the lobby’s perimeter, ascending fifth storeys. The ears peaked even as the boots stamped towards the receptionist. 

 

“That’s Hortlak! I almost ran into the Hortlak!” 

 

Hortlak. Restless spirit. Revenant. A strange rumour had circulated during my absence. 

 

“Kommandir Yilmaz.” 9A-91, the receptionist, snapped into attention. 

​

Grunted. Placed the employee’s badge and Director Kryuger’s tablet on her desk. “The tablet belongs to Director Kryuger. Return it to him and inform him my report is saved within.”

 

9A’s gaze continued to pierce this form.

 

“...What is it?” 

 

“Are you sure about this?” she answered softly. “Two weeks is scarcely enough to recuperate fully from your wounds, and there is elevated Sangvis activity throughout the frontline and the rearline.”

 

“All the more reason to rejoin my people as soon as possible.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll inform VAL of your arrival.” She picked up her Bakelite phone and then stopped. “Welcome back, Kommandir Yilmaz.”

​

“...I have returned.”

 

Her small smile emerged and vanished like a glimpse. She slid the badge towards the false hand resting on her desk. Picked it up, turned left, proceeded towards the east corridor where the elevator waited. Staff members veered aside, gawked and murmured. The false finger pressed the ‘down’ button. A crowd of five had gathered, all gawking, all gossiping. 

 

‘Hortlak.’

 

‘Hortlak.’

 

‘Hortlak.’

 

The bell dinged, the grills parted. The passengers transfixed their stares as they exited.

 

Stale air rushed upwards. Grilles snapped open, unwanted companions departed for their vehicles. Silence followed as the elevator descended into the second basement. Sigh exhaled. Bell dinged, exited the elevator. Guard station ahead.  

 

The metal detector’s alarm blared. VAL stumbled out of the door and performed the security procedure. “Ah! Wait!” she exclaimed suddenly, just as the boots stamped forward. She ducked behind the door, then exited with a tray. On it, a PMM, customised. Long-barreled, with a Grifon logo etched into its handle. Director Kryuger’s pistol, the very same he had offered at the OMS.

 

“...I’ll collect my service weapon from the quartermaster.”

 

“The Director insisted,” she replied, not lifting her gaze. 

 

Sigh exhaled. PMM now rested in the holster meant for a Grach. The motor pool opened up. 

 

“W-Welcome back! Kommandir Yilmaz!”

​

Turned around. VAL had already retreated to her station. 

 

Three steps forward, turned left into the waiting area. Clatters, blood-curdling yowls. M14 and a container on the bench. The markswoman held one of her pigtails over her eyes. The container by her lap rattled. "C-c-commander!" she blabbered. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting at the hospital?”

 

Needle pierced skin. Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. Sat by the container, it emitted a low growl.

 

“S09 is under threat. I must return as soon as I am able.” 

 

M14 had already looked away. 

 

Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. Peeked into the container. Orange-red fur, a metallic glean. Prosthesis. Fox rescued from Novum Sambir. 

 

“Vet said to return him to his habitat.” 

 

The container rattled more violently. Picked it up, placed it by the true limbs. The growls subsided, it seemed to have calmed. 

 

“You haven’t returned to Erlik’s Gate?” 

 

M14, still averting her gaze, shuddered and shook her head. “We were recalled for neural cloud diagnostic tests.” 

 

“Ingram didn’t need those tests.” 

 

“Well...” she paused, hesitating. “Not to sound like Miss FAL, but our neural cloud’s special.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve heard of what happened at the OMS, that you continued commanding despite being blown up.” 

 

“I was in the Command Room when I came to.”

 

“And you didn’t go to the Medical Bay right away?”

 

“The situation had not stabilised when I came to…” 

 

M14 was frowning, likely furrowing her brow behind her pigtail. 

 

“...and I was rendered immobile. I did what the circumstances dictated.”

 

A brief pause. The curls on her lips suggested she was flabbergasted. Her frown deepened, radiating disapproval. “Miss Springfield isn’t going to let that slide, you know.”

 

Sigh exhaled. “I’m aware.” Took a deep breath. “Indulge me some hours of peace before I confront the inevitable.” 

 

She cracked a smile. “We can help you practice talking to her.”

 

“...I have already prepared my words. I yearn for some calm before I sail into the storm.”

 

She angled her head and snorted. She must have rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” 

 

“Have you met Stefan?” 

 

She lowered her head for a moment. “A few times, in between tests. Returned ‘Oliver Twist’ to him too.” She fished out a key and showed it. “Said we can go to his house, pick whichever book we want.”

 

“Did you?” 

 

She nudged her foot against her duffle bag. “We picked an easier read this time. A shorter book. ‘White Nights’, we think.”

 

Fortune did not favour her; she picked classic Russian literature. 

 

“My condolences.”

 

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’ll see.” 

 

She frowned, clearly confused. She looked ahead, towards the parked truck, currently loading. 

 

“Stefan’s not coming back, is he?”

 

“...That matter will be between him and HR, though he will be unable to hold a rifle ever again.”

 

She hung her head. “I hope he at least takes on a desk job at Grifon. I hear most places don’t hire veterans.”

 

“...The Union has a pension program.”

 

“The payouts are always delayed and always too little. And the pension office always pressures veterans into joining a PMC.” The hand closest to the base of her pigtail released its grip to gesture at her shoulder. “But most other PMCs won’t hire someone who can’t hold a rifle.” 

 

“I see.” 

 

She returned her attention to the truck, still holding her pigtail over her eyes. 

 

Inconveniencing herself for my benefit. 

 

“...a proper conversation...”

 

“Said somet-” M14, having caught the utterance, met the false gaze for but a moment.

 

“Ce! Tin! Yil! Maz!” 

 

The markswoman’s attention had been caught by the arrival of the Doll in healer’s garbs: Eighteen.  “We! Are! Supposed! To meet! At the hospital!” She lumbered towards the bench, winded. Her rucksack was laden, and her doctor’s bag and briefcase did not seem to be any lighter.

 

“Did you know! How embarrassing! It was! To mill around! The lobby! For an entire hour?!” 

 

She slammed down the bags in her hands.

 

“Director called! Had to! Jump in front! Of a taxi! ACK!” 

 

The animal container rattled violently, almost unseating itself from the bench. The fox yowled and growled. Eighteen had gotten too close.

 

True hand caught the handle, held it in place. 

 

“The fox was brutalised by a Ringleader. Its trauma is still fresh.” 

 

Eighteen, taking several deep breaths, lifted her right foot and rubbed it. She then picked up and dusted her briefcase and laid it against her doctor’s bag. She pointed and proclaimed, “You are reimbursing my taxi fee!” 

 

“Hey! You lot!”

 

Sandy brown hair, dark eyes, thick brow. Flightsuit. Nametag read 'Danyil Krylenko'. 

 

“S09 Company…,” he was reading off a sheet of paper, “...794! Erlikan, right?” 

 

“Yes!” M14 released her grip on the base of her pigtail and waved. “It’s us! 794! Erlikan Company!”

 

“O-okay,” Danyil squinted at the paper. "Kommandir Cetin Yilmaz, M14 and Gsh-18. All present?”

 

“All present!” 

 

“Horosho!” He tucked the paper into his thigh pocket, then slapped his left chest twice. “Danyil. Your new Siskin 2. I’ll transport us to base, but first, we will be making a detour to Novum Sambir. Director’s orders.”