Grifon Headquarters, Command Center

Cube+1, 1700

"Good evening, Commander Sir. As you requested, here is your evening briefing."

Clad in brass buttons and a vermillion military jacket,the Chief of Staff in Grifon, Commander Helian, cuts a formidable figure against the six-foot doorway. Her spectacles, a simple wire frame with round glass lenses, brims with meticulous management and ragged combat experience. Today, like every day prior, a stack of papers fill her barren arms, as neatly clipped and arranged as her dress uniform.

"Just in time. Let's start."

The office chairs swivel. Professional glasses find themselves upon a battle-scarred facade. Obsidian pupils, cold as a rifle barrel, consider the pile in her hands. Scrawled in the scratchy scribble of a sleepless adjutant, these combat reports meet the onerous gaze of a brigadier general. On the titanic shoulders of his giant trench coat, entire wars have been won-or lost.

"Very well, Sir." Gloved hands separate the towering pile. The Eye of Kryuger sweeps down upon the endless stacks of combat reports. Each of these papers hides a precious drop of information, gleaned from a close call between his T-doll militia, and the arcane juggernaut of Sangvis Ferri. Against it, Kryuger needs every advantage he can get.

"One joint operation, Cube, has ended today in success, with squad 404 extracting safely. In their wake, however many of our divisions have filed reports of Sangvis activity within our territory. Reports indicate the renewed presence of mass-produced Dinergates, Jaegers and Vanguards. Scouts at night have also reported heavily armoured vehicles, moving against our defensive positions under cover of darkness-"

But today, the grizzled veteran of World War III has time for only one sheaf.

"Helian, I'm a busy man." A clink, short and sharp. Cocoa, a merciless black, stains the white porcelain. "I do not have time to discuss every front today. Tell me, Helian, if we accomplished all the objectives of Cube. "

"Very well, Sir. As I've said, Operation Cube has concluded. Squad 404 has defeated the enhanced SF T-dolls and extracted safely. UMP45 reports that the commander of Sangvis forces, a T-doll by the callsign Ouroboros, has been terminated. However-"

The formidable Chief-of-staff shifts, raises one rugged eyebrow. His jaw, sharp and resolute, crashes to the floor.

"WHAT?"

Brigadier-General Kryuger knows better than anyone that life in a PMC is not easy. Every day, every evening, Major Helian reminds him of this.

~+~Glory to Grifon ~+~

Grifon Main Complex, Office #4-04, 1920

"Shikikan, Handgun Five-Seven has returned from Logistics. She has brought back a T-doll contract and wants a hug when you're free. Shall I tell her that you will hug her later?"

"Please do, after she's done a second round of resource gathering. Is she still in that swimsuit?"

"Yes, Shikikan. Procurement has returned to us on last night's request for a handgun. We have recruited a new T-doll, and her name is M1895. Would you like to say hello to her now?"

"Another one? Ask her to prepare her resume for the Career Office. We have too many Nagants as it is."

"If you say so, Shikikan. I will ask Procurement later if Calico has changed her mind about signing up. Also, 6P62 and OTs-14 have finished their tra-Ara, Shikikan. There's a crumb on your lips."

The laugh of a young maiden, soft and innocent.

"Here."

White glove meets floral hankerchief. Soft fabric meets masculine lips. Between long, flowing locks flashes a comforting grin, white and pure, like the rich brown locks flowing past her jacketed shoulders. "Let me get it for you."

Of the T-doll called Springfield, many things can be said. That her grouping is as neat and tidy as her dress uniform, the crisp, smooth brass of West Point Academy. That her mind's eye is as sharp as the smartest officers to dress in her colours. That her smile hides a horror equal to the secretive Squad 404, sent to do the dirtiest of Griffon's work.

"Save it, Springfield." The commander waves his biscuit. The Siberian freeze creeps into his gloved hands, stiffening his precarious grip on the piece of pastry. "Squad 404 returned yesterday night, did they not? Did you manage to get anything out of UMP9 on what they did?"

Golden brown tapestry, crumbling upon white table fabric. Springfield's innocent smile widens. The flawless grace of an Asian air stewardess sings through her stiff officer's dress. Delicate porcelain dishes stack themselves onto the fold of her flawless uniform. Not one speck of dust dirties the girl's white dress gloves, lowering her lilac hankerchief onto the tablecloth.

"Are you really awake, Shikikan?" Crisp blue cuffs, stiff with freshly-ironed fabric and glittering glass, sweep across the table. Her magic touch strips the pristine tablecloth of pastry dust. "The hour is late, after all. If you need a short nap, you can leave your work to me. Your loyal Springfield will hold down the fort while you sleep."

"O-oh. I'm fine, thanks…"

Chiming laughter, clear as the frosty winter ice. A pink taint flashes across crumb-riddled cheeks.

"You're not fine, Shikikan. How could you forget? 404 has the highest clearance in this base. They might operate from our barracks, or live in our dorms, but they are not under our command. They report only to Helian, through Kalina- if even that. We can't even summon them for roll call."

The groggy-eyed commander does a one-over of his adjutant, and decides that no, he is not fine. Certainly not next to the T-doll named Springfield. Not even a Sergeant Major can find a flaw in her dress. Even a rookie private would find the missing patches and wrinkles all over the Shikikan's own uniform.

"... You're right, I do need some sleep. If you'd be so kind, Springfield, get Kalina to- oh, Kalina, you're here. Great timing." One spindly arm hauls the commander out of his chair, and the depressed piece of furniture heaves a sigh of relief. Quite unlike the former superiors of this wiltd man, office chairs did not like to own his military ass. "I'm quite done for the day. Springfield here will take over my duties. If there's anything important, wake me up."

It is into this wrecked mess of a man that Kalina runs into. Their collision is a clash of worlds: the meeting of a wrinkled forehead with flawless aubrun locks, of ragged military fatigues with bright, striped stockings. Not even his panda eyes can dampen the intense glow of her azure gaze.

In the ensuing tangle of limbs, the Shikikan's wallet tumbles to the floor, and Springfield seizes it with a terrified look: she has often heard Shikikan describe, the many diabolical ways that Kalina uses his money. But Miss Moneybags does not turn her attention from the commander, and true worry begins to creep on Springfield's mind.

"Are you pulling my leg, Shikikan? It's not even five yet! You're not off duty!"

"I assure you, it is seven-thirty! I'm already doing overtime and you know that!"

Ever the perfectionist, the adjutant casts the hanging clock a reserved glance. Trust a lazy office clerk to always know the time.

"Fine! Then consider this an extension of your hours, Shikikan! Helian has new orders for you."

The sprightly young lady hands her stack of papers into gloved hands. Weak arms nearly collapse under their increased weight. Bloodshot eyes stagger through one sheaf, then another, and another. Each turned page adds another drop of scarlet onto them.

New information on Operation Cube. Hunter reported neutralized. Body not found.

Search and Eliminate.

"I'm getting too old for this. SPRINGFIELD!"

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~
Black Hawk Two, 2100H

"Hunter disappeared from Grifon's awareness in this sector, not long ago. Our objective is to secure the sector, neutralize Hunter, and withdraw with conclusive proof of her demise."

Five khaki jackets bilow in the downdraft. Teal eyes linger upon the tiny blue hologram. Locks of gold flow easily over slung wooden rifles, obsolete relics of a ferocious war over a century ago. Yet in the hands of a skilled T-doll, even old weapons can be made to perform.

"Your mission today is simple. You are to scout the sector and secure any helipads you can find. Keep the road as open as possible for the main party, and protect them from any flanking attacks."

An impatient,clicking tongue rings across the aircraft. Garand glances back at the passenger cabin. Astra, a redhead in pirate dress, lays sprawled hopelessly over her seat. Behind her sits Mk23, whose flashy colours and bubbly idol routine is sure to give away their position.

"Garand, is this why I didn't get a hug?"

The voice to her left is Five-seven. Two seconds in base was clearly not enough for the exhausted handgun to change, and she fidgets in her bikini, her pale, naked skin aglow in the faint moonlight. "Why isn't Shikikan deploying with us, anyway? Is he busy with another doll?"

Garand glances back at her order. "The Shikikan has been deemed an extremely important asset and cannot be risked on the ground."

"... Is that true? I don't believe a word of it. Our Shikikan is just being the filthy, perverted coward he is."

And on her right, an ace of Grifon. The boisterous T-doll known as M14, whose nearly-as-outdated firearm is just as annoying as her constant energy. A bubbly schoolgirl with no idea of restraint, tact, or calm, and she is to be Garand's battle buddy.

A team of idiots. I couldn't have deployed with a less inept bunch.

Garand shakes her head at the riled T-doll, then at her orders. The pad wobbled briefly as her eyes glance over the field commander's name: Springfield. Her frown deepens. If the Shikikan is her greatest blessing, then surely this T-doll is her greatest curse.

"Shikikan! What have I done, to deserve a gift as valuable as this? To have found me a box of my most precious ammunition…"

The hologram distorted in Garand's tightening grip. I can't believe that shrew! First she steals my Shikikan's heart, then she steals my command!?

No, Springfield's dominance cannot be permitted. So determines the stalwart T-doll. In a magnificent swirl of glowing blonde hair, her stockinged feet rise from the spartan helicopter benches, and her turquoise gaze scans her motley crew.

"Team Garand, listen up! That wench Springfield always robs us of our victory, but not today. We're going to attack the Sangvis with all we got, capture Hunter, and shoot her between the eyes! Am. I. Clear?"

******
Black Hawk 3, 2105
"So basically, Shikikan, you want me to clean up after Garand's mess?"

Grey twintails slice through the blue hologram. The black jacket shifts in drafty midair, revealing the silent glint of a submachine gun- the sleek, modern chassis of Heckler and Koch's UMP45.

Her rest is rudely interrupted by a second doll. UMP45 does not have to turn to know who it is. Who else but her sister, will wear that same style of black and green and white, will tie her auburn hair in similar twintails? "What do you mean, sister?" UMP-9 demands, her eyes starry with admiration. "Garand knows how much our Shikikan trusts her, right? Won't she want a perfect performance?"

"Exactly."

The new voice came from the back of the helicopter. With flowing hair, grey as the moon itself, and lavenders as steady as a sniper's gaze, ST-AR15 cuts a formidable figure against the dark chassis of their vehicle. Pride brims under her steady countenance, sings from the decal emblazoned across her left stocking.

"You should know this already, UMP9. Garand and Springfield have been rivals, from the very day they were put in the same echelon. They've fought over the title of Most Valuable Doll many, many times."

UMP45 raises an eyebrow. AR-15 allows herself a cough.

"Now that our Shikikan has ordered Springfield to eliminate Hunter, Garand will not be content to simply sit back."

"... you're astute as always, AR15. I guess that is how Garand will behave."

The voice is soft, a mere whisper under thundering rotors. Its owner sits quietly in her dark corner, her tinted irises pitch black in the poor night lighting. The very sight of her casual, almost doll-like dress almost twists AR-15's lips in a scowl. "Our bossman deployed the wrong girl for the job, again."

"But," AR-15 replies coldly, "Garand's attack works to our favour. It will be much easier to control the radar stations and helipads in the wake of her assault."

"Yup! We'll find them, right, AR15? They'll be our new playmates!"

A shift of pink, a flash of red. If AR15 didn't know how her scowl could deepen, she does now.

"I wonder how long they'll last this time?"

******
Black Hawk One, 2110

"The commander didn't deploy with us, after all…"

As the helicopter thunders toward its destination, Springfield seized her venerable rifle in her white gloved hands and turns to her squad. To her steady gaze, they are a motley team: Grizzly in her flashy motorcyclist's jacket and dark shades, Welrod with her black combat gloves, her short pigtails a brief flash of gold amidst dark jackets, stockings and shoes.

Their trigger fingers are ready, their gaze focused. Springfield can ask for no better team.

"Attention, squad! As our Shikikan has ordered, I will take field command in this mission. Once Garand secures our landing site, we'll deploy on her position and mount an assault on the East. We will find Hunter, and take her out."

Both T-dolls nod. In the rear corner, a young lady smiles, her amber gaze a picture of tranquility. Her dainty black dress grates graciously against the vibrating helicopter frame, and she turns to her side.

According to our Shikikan, whoever controls North Radar Hill, controls this fight. I wonder how right he is...

A swish of pink hair, the tip of a sailor's hat, and her companion nods back.

Ribbons blue and red flutter out of the helicopter window, a splash of brown in the lavender twilight. In the blur of ebony glades beneath sings a single flare, a flash of red upon glimmering blonde hair.

"That's our signal. Squad Springfield, deploy!"

~v~Blood and Iron~v~

"Ripper 2441 reporting, Sir. As you've ordered, we have captured the western clearings and helipads. Grifon forces were not spotted in the area."

"Really?"

Armed with only a black jacket and a pair of high-caliber pistols, Hunter was hardly as intimidating as her peers. To many in Sangvis, her defeat at the hands of the Grifon doll, AR-15, was a sign of her obsolescence.

That was, until they saw her face-to-face.

"Did you think about why the helipads were empty? Did you bother to scout the area? Do you have any idea where our enemies are, or what they're doing?"

Crimson lightning crackled through her irises, crisp and fresh as the acrid smell of burning T-doll. Under her crazed gaze, even veteran Vespids cowered a little- as if their bright steel helmets would crumble under her palpable anger.

And with a loud crack, 2441 fell to the ground, lifeless.

"Ladies, Attention!"

One bloodshot eye glinted upon rows of flawless purple visors. Their dual pistols were ready, their powered boots and sensors calibrated for the night. Terror glowed in their amethyst eyes. One clear command, and row after row of purple-clad women turned crisply upon their sleek heels, their clear visor locked upon their deathly pale commander.

"2441 has moved rashly, and nearly compromised our position. Her negligence is a sign of incompetence. It is thanks to mistakes like these that we're even here at all. You are members of Kampfegruppe Hunter. You will not make them."

One pistol lowered to the planning table. Titanic twin barrels drew a menacing arc across the tactical map. A loud crack, and the ruby enemy indicator vanished from the display, replaced by a smoking bullet-hole.

"You will begin landing in the forward command posts. You will wait patiently, like any hunter does. You will let the enemy come forth, into your waiting jaws. And then you will cut them off, squeeze them dry, and hunt them like the rats they are. Am I clear?"

Her words were cold and solitary, like ice in the wind. Their reply roared across the void of trees, a distant thunder to the landing T-dolls.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good. You may deploy immediately."

The regiment of Vespids and Rippers marched away in neat columns. Squad after squad of Jaegers and Vanguards leapt deftly onto their assigned hovercrafts, their sniper rifles a malevolent glint in the night. The thudding helicopters rose to the midnight skies, and Hunter's crazed gaze followed them into the air, a swell of anger in her heart.

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~
Central Helipad, 2130
"Enemy sighted! Fire! FIRE!"

No sooner has Garand thrown herself onto the ground, when a hail of bullets cuts through the air above her. Her heat sensors scream as a single tracer round parts her hair, stripping the beret from her gold-wreathed crown.

"How did they find us? It was your fault, wasn't it, Springfield? I bet it was!"

She does not stay down for long. Leafy hedges give way to a single purple boot, crushing through the magazine next to her hand. A deft roll later, Garand is up, the bolt drawn back and released, and the menacing purple visor locked in her iron sights.

Crack!

The unsightly intruder fell to the ground like a dummy severed, revealing a helipad in utter chaos. Rippers flooded in through a gap in the brush, only to fall like dominoes, felled by steady rifle fire from M14. Astra stumbles into view, her gloves fiercely locked on a burly Guard's machine pistol. A tumble of red locks and florid pirate dresses later, the guard is on the floor, her hardened visor firmly pinned beneath the revolver's barrel. It takes six jolts for the revolver to empty its contents- brutal shudders before the smouldering guard stops moving.

"Where's Mk. 23?"

"I have no idea!" yells Five-Seven. As the crimson-haired pirate forces a second Vespid to the ground, her naked white arm shoots out from behind the trees and puts two well-aimed shots into its ample chest. T-doll fluids spring from the wound. After a few spasms, the doll is done too, and the full glory of a bikini-clad lady bursts out of the jungle brush. "I was with her a while ago, but-"

"Heads up, Garand! There's more coming your wa-ah!"

Their conference is briefly interrupted, as Mk.23's white vest fills their vision. For just the briefest of moments, Garand finds herself surprised by the doll's prismatic eyes: one blue, one red, and neither particularly American. And then she is down, and a menacing glitter replaces her image: a horde of petite robots galloping forth on their four spindly legs, crimson cameras locked firmly upon her position.

"Dinergates!?"

Plink!
~v~Blood and Iron~v~

"Sir, this is Ripper 2442 reporting. Alpha Company has made contact with one Grifon squad in Helipad Central. Recon identified three quadruple-linked Handguns and two quadruple-linked Rifles in the area. Visual identification shows them as M1 Garand, Mk.23, M14, Astra and Five-Seven. Alpha is now engaging them in heavy combat. Beta and Delta Company have also moved to encircle them."

Hunter's gaze rose from her tactical map, crackling in her visor. Fear rippled through the Ripper's synthetic hair.

"Tell me, Ripper 2442. Is the Garand squad the only Grifon presence in the area?"

"No, ma'am. Our scouts have also spotted a second squad on the fringe of our AO, probably an Assault Rifle Team. We were just trying to-"

"Then will you please tell me, 2442, why we have sent an entire battalion to cut off one T-doll squad?"

One sharp report later, 2442 fell to the ground. Smoke erupted from one eye, a tiny crack in her otherwise flawless facade.

"Where's the second-in-command?"
A second Ripper stepped in line. Her expression was not as peaceful. Indeed, it seemed that she would melt under Hunter's murderous gaze.

"R-ripper 2443, Sir. Charlie company reports that they have not met resistance in their encirclement attempt. They are about to close the encirclement and are prepared to shoot down any aerial Grifon assets."

The crimson eye shifted its target. Tremors rippled through 2443's core.

"Congratulations, 2443. You've earned yourself a field promotion." Scarlet vengeance erupted from Hunter's narrowed gaze. "I want you to take charge of Charlie company and scout for Grifon squads in the area. Fallschirmjager companies Eins and Zwei will soon arrive on site, to complete your encirclement and support your advance."

"Ready. FIRE!"

Fear turned into shock, and shock turned into concern. One bloodshot eye panned askance over the full moon above, as a flower of shredded metal burst from her chest.

~v~Blood and Iron~v~

Springfield!?

No sooner had the cries of "Sniper" rung across the fields, had the guards of Hunter closed their ranks about her body. Suppressive fire tore the suspected Sniper's hideout into shreds, guards snapping their shields shut about the Sangvis Commander. Hunter's dazed vision spluttered through it all, exchanging glances between the sparking ruin in her chest, and the direction of the grove.

What were my guards and sentries doing? How did those Grifon dummies slip past them? More importantly, how did they even know I was here?

"Get Hunter to the exfil point. Hurry!"
A pair of guards seized Hunter's arms in their formidable grip. A squad of Vespids thrust their bodies between Hunter and the direction of attack. The former HQ building disappeared into the horizon, and soon even the crackle of gunfire faded into the ambience.

"We'll be safe here for a while, Hunter-ack!"

Hunter's armour-clad gauntlet closed about her neck. Sparks sang in the dark, as mass-manufactured polymer gave way under military-grade steel.

"You idiot! Grifon has a Sniper squad on the loose. Now that we're separated from our intelligence and our men, how are we going to find her?"

2443 fell from her grasp, crumpled in a heap. Her guard guards gave each other a terrified glance. Lightning crackled in the evening air, a blood red fury in every Sangvis HUD.

"guards 501 and 502, bring 2443 to HQ. 501, you will take command and attempt to isolate the sniper. 502, you will send word to Sangvis on my current condition and request a casevac on-site."

One plated high heel ground its way into the mud, then a second. Two monstrous magnums obscured the sparking wound, and the the Huntress allowed herself a solemn smile.

"Remember, as fast as Grifon knows, I am severely incapacitated. If you think you know better, I will shoot you. Are we clear?"

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~
Western Helipad, 2155

"We've made first contact with Hunter."

"Just on time, Springfield," UMP45 replies sweetly, throwing herself against a pile of sandbags. Gatling fire whirls above her, tears apart the camouflage netting above. "Things were just getting exciting over here, too."

Hunter, huh. So that's why I'm not with Springfield… The SMG-toting doll spits out a wad of plant and dirt; a stray leaf had jammed itself nicely between the microphone and her lips.

"Hunter's dolls seem to have caught our scent. We've run into serious resistance against Vespids and heavy gunners. To add to our problems..."

Pistol- fire, steady and relentless, erupted to her flank, and AR-15 opened up in reply. Red visors spiderweb and shatter, and the torrent of bullets ceases. A wave of vespids steps up in their position, only to be swallowed in fumes of smoke. "Ask her how much more time she needs," AR-15 demanded. "We only have so much ammo."

"Is that all they have? This is getting boring." As her dummies fired from their cover, SOPMOD II appears from the fire trenches. The crazed doll has a vicious red gleam in her eye, as she jams a 40mm grenade into her assault rifle. A dull thump later, the forest erupts in smoke and fire. Dummy dolls vault over the wall of sandbags, UMP9s ablaze. What few Vespids remain dive behind the trees.

"Move through Garand's position, and attack the radar sites... I see. Once we break through, we should be able to..."

Whatever else she says is drowned in a whirl of thudding blades. Rappelling lines drop into the horizon, mysterious figures raining upon the groves about their defensive position.

"Shikikan's reinforcements?" UMP9 wonders. A second later, she too is against the sandbags too, swallowed in a mess of grey twintails. Laser dots sweep the air above, and a bullet whistles through her auburn hair. "Jaegers! Thanks for saving me again, 45!"

"Remember what I always say, Nine," UMP45 whispered back. "Be more careful. Squad, disperse. We'll sneak around them and regroup on North Radar Hill." With her white shirt pressed firmly to the ground, the SMG-toting doll makes her nerve-wracking crawl away from the sandbag cover. Guiding lasers whip through the air above, optical-camouflage cloaks shimmering in the dark. One loud crack, and a grey-haired dummy tastes the floor, a single smoking hole etched into the back of her skull.

Sorry, Springfield. Looks like we'll be late. UMP45 bites her lip. "Glock, scout ahead. Mark the Jaegers on our tactical map." Countersniping is not my squad's forte, but...

~v~Blood and Iron~v~

Through the tranquil forests about Radar Hill North shot a singular figure. The night sky dimmed over them but for a moment, the passing of a dark shadow.

Grifon likes to deploy their snipers in pairs, with the support of up to three handguns. The sniper who got me, likely is not alone.

Her passage was like the wind: a rustle of leaves, a bending of branches, heavy metal greaves gliding soundlessly over the forest floor. Her glimmering eyes, shot with lightning and blood, bore into the leafy glades below.

The sniper did not offer resistance or return fire after I had been shot. Either they think they got me, or they're circling for a second shot. That puts them in the immediate vicinity… within the coverage of this radar.

The horizon seemed to close, and in a rare break of the treeline, she saw it. Four gigantic dishes raised to the heavens, silhouettes silent against the foreground of a T-doll in sunglasses, oblivious to her approach. Shock turned to anger, and anger to glee. One oversized barrel locked itself onto the unsuspecting doll's head.

"My target's that woman. Ready?"

CRACK!

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~

CRACK!
The flatline flashes through her mindmap, like spilled bottled lightning. It is all Grizzly can do to keep her hands on her handgun. But Grizzly is battle-hardened, and a split second later, her dummies are on their feet, emptying their magnums into Hunter round by steady round.

"An ambush laid by just one T-doll." Cold fury arcs through Grizzly's dummy team. "I seem to have overestimated your commander, Grizzly MkV." For all her reaction to the steady, precise fire, Grizzly might as well have been shooting at tank armour. The Sangvis doll waltzes through the barrage of magnum shots, as if her dummies are not fervently punching holes through her ebony jacket. Her titanic handguns offer an equally steady reply, and not a second later, one sunglass-toting dummy crashes past the Magnum's concealed form.

"Thus the hunter becomes the hunted. Your sniper will suffer the same fate as you do."

"You're no better off, Hunter," The brave magnum rises from cover, standing firm against Hunter's steady approach. Shot after shot ring off the Sangvis doll, not perturbing her in the slightest; the furious Hunter only marches ever closer. "Our Shikikan knows exactly what he's doing. That's why I'm here."

"Is that why he left you here to die?"

Hunter's ebony-gloved fingers close around her throat. Grizzly was staring into her crimson eye. Sensors all over her skin erupted with danger warnings, the faint crumpling and tearing of metal grating against the doll's dying consciousness. No ordinary fury, Grizzly tells herself, sleeps behind that red glare.

"Not quite, Hunter. A-all I'm here for…"

One gloved hand makes a desperate grasp for Hunter's oversized weapon. Hunter swipes it away with laughable ease. A few coughs and spits, and Grizzly tumbles into the grass. Loose parts spill over the grassy forest floor.

… is to buy a little time.

Barely a dozen metres above the commotion sits a doll, clad in blue and white. Her boots, khaki as a bear's hide, dangle from the edge of the radar dish. The woodstock of her beloved rifle is cradled firmly in the folds of her blue dress jacket. One emerald eye peers down the aging iron sights. One white-gloved finger closes about the cold trigger.

A snap, a crack, and an empty cartridge flies past her cheek. Past the auburn hair, past the fluttering ribbons, past the box of AP ammo, perched precariously upon the lip of the dish.

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~
"Why is this happening to me?"

Garand stares at the smoking forest, bewilderment in her turquoise eyes. A sea of wrecked murder machines glow at her stockinged feet. The gap in the hedge hisses, seething with caustic smoke and glowing embers. Ripper handguns and abandoned Vespid helmets litter the forest floor, a reminder of a traumatic past, an embarrassing situation, and a newfound hatred for UMP9.

"We heard you were in trouble, Garand, so we rushed over! I'm glad we arrived on time. See you later!"

"Why so glum, Garand?" With a crash, M14 sat herself down, next to the bewildered T-doll. Her brunette pigtails twitched annoyingly in the older T-doll's eye. "The cavalry came after all! We won, and that's what matters."

Relentless, M14 jabs the silent Garand. "Look up, M1!. The light of victory shines upon us! Isn't it great?"

Garand stands up immediately, walks towards the woods.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, M14." Nothing important indeed. Nothing except how she's gotten herself into such hot soup, and has to be pulled out by a rowdy party of edgy Assault Rifles and crazy SMGs.

Nothing, except a wrinkle in the night, a transparent disturbance in the air like ripples in clear water. A crack, short and sharp, and a single bullet whistles right past the brooding doll's cheek. A soft thud, and a dummy crashes to the floor.

Garand thinks quickly, squashes herself against a nearby tree. M14's amber gaze pokes cautiously from her side, as she chambers a fresh round and pulls back the bolt. "guards," the younger rifle whispers; sure enough, the sparse twilight reveals a tiny line of amethyst shields in the horizon. Dummy M-14s poke out of every tree trunk and every ditch, firing volley after punishing volley into their formation, only to be forced back behind their own cover; a few furious cracks of Sangvis rifle fire, and laser sights sweep uncontested over the helipad glade, ready to nail Grifon doll to their coffin.

PING!

"Snipers? hmph!" Despite her situation, Garand cannot help but grin. With an imperious sweep of her golden blonde hair, the T-doll sweeps her rifle to the blurring mirages in the horizon. "You're in my domain now."

~+~Blood and Iron~+~
Through the forests Hunter ran, a bumbling oaf in the dark. One shapely arm hung by the barest filament of metal, clanging clumsily against leaf and bark, the other, clawing desperately through the brush with its gauntleted fingers.

Keep calm, Hunter reassured herself. Time was on her side. One company had already secured Grifon's rear helipad, and the central supply line was besieged; no supply helicopter would willingly deliver themselves into the waiting guns of a Sangvis battalion. Time was on her side; each step brought her closer to safety, and each ticking minute a further drain on Grifon's food and ammo. Eventually, they would starve and she would win.

"Sangvis field command?"

"Hunter? Report in on your unit status."

Fury rippled through Hunter's circuits. "That's not important, 2443. Are there any units near Radar Hill North?"

"...yes, Hunter. As you ordered, I've sent 2nd Armoured toward the Radar station. They should be crossing the radar site right about now."

"The reason I asked you to do so, was to find a team of snipers in the area. Is that right?"

An uncomfortable pause. Ripper 2443 gave her mouthpiece the slightest of terrified glances, as if Hunter's black glove would reach out at that very moment and seize her by the neck.

"... It can't be helped. Have your armour surround Radar Hill North, and deploy a team of Vespids and scouts to attack the site. Make sure no one gets through to the radar." We will clean them out.

2443 sighed in relief. "As you command, Hunter."

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~
"Will boss really be okay with what you did, UMP45?"

UMP45 looks up from her submachine gun. "Why wouldn't he? Can you imagine what our Shikikan would say, if I told him that Garand was dead?

'Your fellow squad leader died in combat, and you didn't lift a finger to help? How could you? Do you know how many reports I'll have to write now? Oh, the T-dollity!'

or something like that. It would be fine, of course, if he was the one writing the reports- Garand's just a T-doll, after all. But…"

"That's not quite what I mean." G17, fiddling with her headdress, offers the SMG a deadpan look. "You were there at Operation Cube. You saw Hunter. But the commander hasn't deployed you with Springfield's team..."

It is only then, that G17's questioning gaze is met in the eye. In the gray depths of UMP45's irises is an unsettling presence, and even a doll as steady as G17 cannot help but recoil.

A deadly silence, and a shrug. UMP45 slings her SMG, and turns in the direction of Radar Hill North.

"Hunter slipped through my fingers, didn't she? I'm just making sure that doesn't happen again."

~v~Blood and Iron~v~

Metal clubs gleamed amidst the woods. Crimson cameras flared between the boughs. Like packs of wolves the platoons of automata closed, steel-clad hooves crushing the verdant soil beneath. Energy rifles pivoted through branch and bush, barrels sweeping between cinder blocks and radar domes.

In the midst of it all, Hunter burned. A crimson dawn, veiled behind endless metal men.

Your end is nigh.

Amethyst shields parted. High-heeled greaves thudded through the undergrowth.

I am Hunter. I reign over the night.

The forest wept in their wake. Flames burned. Smoke suffocated. Hollow-point .45 rounds whistled uselessly off fortified plate. Doll cries rang through the air, a pointless symphony. Rapid coughs echoed in the background, an unwelcome reminder of a past nemesis.

You have gotten far with your dumb luck. You will get no further.

Sweeping blades thundered overhead. Ropes fell into the jungle. NVGs and sniper scopes glowed in the budding dawn. Silenced pistols coughed in the distance. Rippers crashed into the clearing, and more swarmed to take their place. Aluminium wires and steel locks broke under their combined weight. Between the endless streams of wavy lilac hair, two blonde pigtails could be glimpsed; black barrels rose and fell in the numberless swarm. Five Springfields worked away desperately at the horde. Then four, then three. Then two.

"A futile struggle." Hunter snorted. "They will not live to see the sunrise."

"An apt description of you, I would think."

"So says the one struggling against my armoured contingents." Black lightning engulfed Hunter's gaze, catching the first rays of the sun. Past thick branches and towering metal monoliths, A single grey eye glinted in the distance, the haunted, knowing gaze of a recent rival. "Today, UMP45, I am not the fool."

An anti-armour attack? Roger.

Dress shoes dug into the grass. Knee protectors and stockinged legs braced against stone and soft mud. Upon a distant hill, golden rays glinted upon a sailor's hat, upon a black schoolgirl's uniform, upon miles and miles of flowing pink hair. Walkers parted, dolls fell. A thousand and six hundred metres became zero, as a single AP round shattered the sky.

Let's go home. Mission Cleared.

~+~Glory to Grifon~+~

Cube +2
Grifon Main Complex, #4-04, 1920

The light of the lamp is weak, a hovering fog upon the commander's wrinkled forehead. Tired eyes glance over a flowing white skirt, over a meticulous blue jacket, over brass buttons newly shined.

"... I hope you didn't write this report yourself, Springfield."

"Why not?" Brown locks shift, eyebrows raise. Blue ribbons tilt curiously to one side. "It does read like a pretty exciting story, does it not? Lots of mystery, lots of action, a little touch of intrigue. I think I quite like it."

"I thought you were more mature, Springfield. This document reads like a kid's fanfiction. It doesn't tell me anything. It doesn't even have a proper plot."

The commander shakes his head. The combat report falls onto his workdesk. A jarring clink later, crumble-filled porcelain saucers slide unabashedly over the table. Springfield looks over the mess of misplaced dishes and forks tinged with dried sauce, and her smile widens.

"Ara, Shikikan, you seem to have had a tough time." Springfield sweeps the cutlery into her sleeved arms. "Did you try my pies? I left some in the fridge, in case you were hungry."

"... thanks for that. They were delicious." Sheepishly, the commander removes the stained combat report from the table. The hankerchief he fishes from his pocket is grey with overuse, but under its gentle rub, even the red jelly pulp atop the brown report folder begins to disappear. "Well, you took Hunter out. Good work out there. I'll rewrite this report and file for a commendation."

A gentle bow, a tender smile, and the diligent T-doll glides to the door. Verdant green eyes glance back at the Shikikan's form, at the grizzly spikes beneath his chin, at the dreary grey of his office uniform, the bent, worn shadow of his overworked back.

… and yet, I can't find it in me to hate him.

"Thank you, Shikikan."