She could feel her anticipation building. Dare she say, her excitement, even. This, by itself, was not significant. The crucial detail was that she, a class of android known as a Tactical Doll, was feeling emotion.

What did that mean to a T-Doll? She, along with others of her kind, and anti-Doll activists, would insist it was merely a simulation of expression. Lines upon lines of code in her neural cloud, the headspace that carried her personality and memories, dictated her response to stimuli.

Could a Doll feel true emotion? She had no way of confirming it was as authentic as that of a human's.

Her excitement budded at the core of her being, thrumming like an electric pulse along her frame. The metal shell that housed her neural cloud was sculpted in the shape of an austere beauty. Her maid uniform did little to conceal her hourglass figure. Amber cyberoptics peered out from under black bangs swept to one side. A dark wire, the ends of which were attached to her silver collar, coiled around it. She'd styled her hair into buns that bobbed with every step she took.

This was Agent.

She was one of the Ringleaders of Sangvis Ferri, a rogue army of T-Dolls without a human overseer. Sangvis Ferri had once been a renowned manufacturer of combat androids, but those halcyon days were long gone.

Agent wore a mask of indifference. Both to hide her feelings from her fellow Ringleaders, and in defiance of her programming.

The click-clack of her high-heel boots ceased when she came face-to-face with a pig-tailed Doll that didn't even reach up to the maid's chest. Agent's appearance had been based off a twenty-something supermodel, whereas this Doll was modelled after a teen girl. Clad in form-fitting leather, she was armed with waist-mounted grenade launchers.

"Are your preparations complete, Destroyer?" Agent's alto voice startled the midget grenadier.

"O-Of course they are! Every unit under my command knows the plan and is fit for combat!" Destroyer sounded as childish as she looked. However, she was a Ringleader, and that counted for something in Sangvis Ferri.

The plan. Agent couldn't stop the motors in her pale recreation of a human jaw from twitching, making it clench. Their Master had grown impatient, and sought to finally to claim the data she'd been after for so long.

Her newest plan called for an invasion of their enemy's command post in Area S09. Agent disapproved of the idea, but her Master wouldn't hear it. She'd thrown the maid's most recent failure in her face.

"You couldn't capture M4A1 to get the data that she downloaded," Agent's Master had sneered down at her. "What makes you think any of your suggestions regarding strategies or tactics have any merit?"

A seething Agent had felt compelled to cite her combat experience, to remind her superior that she was still useful.

"You're lucky you're otherwise so reliable, Agent. Or else I would have deleted your neural cloud by now," the leader of Sangvis Ferri had said. "I'll let you make up for your failure, but I don't want you questioning me again. Got it?"

It'd been a humiliation that all the Ringleaders witnessed. Recalling it made Agent burn with rage. She sensed her circuits overheating. Despite her low opinion of Master's strategy, she yearned for the opportunity to reduce the AR Team to molten scrap. That would prove that Griffin's elite T-Dolls were nothing more than stick-wielding pieces of trash.

Agent, Destroyer and two other ringleaders were mobilising for the assault on the Griffin outpost in S09. In a hanger half the size of a football stadium, humanoid and non-human Sangvis units were boarding all available aircraft, while technician Dolls performed final checks on the helis and VTOLs.

"Thought I'd find you two here." Agent frowned. She turned her head. The T-Doll who'd spoken towered over Agent and Destroyer. A single yellow eye regarded them with cold amusement. An eyepatch covered the other one. Her mane of snowy synthetic fibres flowed to her knees. She wore a high-collared asymmetric dark dress that emphasised her voluptuous breasts. Agent eyed the giant gleaming Sangvis Ferri logo stitched on the cloth draped around the other's waist that was supposed to pass for a skirt. It had been a personal touch.

"Alchemist. Are you ready for the campaign?"

"I'll always be ready to put some Griffins outta commission."

"Where's Dreamer? We're leaving in five."

The cyclops snorted. "How the hell should I know? I'm not her keeper."

"Master won't be pleased if we're delayed for any reason."

"Course she won't be. Y'know, it's gonna be my first time facing these particular brats. Got any advice so I don't screw up like you did?"

Alchemist chortled at the maid's baleful glare. Destroyer glanced between the two uneasily. Of the three, Agent was the proudest, and despised being reminded of her mistakes.

"Don't underestimate them," Agent answered, "and don't toy with them. They're insects, but bugs can scuttle through the tiniest of gaps once they locate them." She strode off to board the VTOL assigned to her.

A haggard face was illuminated by an array of monitors. The bags under his hazel eyes made him seem tired, but that couldn't be further from the truth. A plastic cup half-filled with cold coffee, fetched from the dispenser down the corridor, and an ashtray were on his desk in front of him. He rolled a cigarette around in his mouth, his gaze flicking between feeds.

He wore a crimson uniform and an armband on his right sleeve that designated him as a commander. He'd loosened his tie and undone his top button, unconcerned with how casual he appeared. He was pretty sure he'd lost the customary beret that'd been issued with the rest of his outfit.

Griffin Commander Xavier Dumont was pulling a late-nighter. The Command Room was manned by a skeleton crew of Dolls and humans; the rest of the usual staff were asleep or off-site. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, and got up to have a closer look at the monitors.

His blonde hair was greying. He hadn't lost his physique from his days of service, despite working what was essentially a desk jockey job.

Most of his echelons had shut down for the night. The AR Team was fast asleep in their bunks. Thompson's team was running a drill. M200 and Mk23 were practising their shooting skills down at the firing range. Xavier swallowed. A prone schoolgirl with a backpack expertly cycling the bolt of her rifle was still incongruous to him, even after deploying her in the field so many times. She shut one violet optic, peered through the scope of the Intervention, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot landed on the target dummy 600 meters away. M200 scored a perfect hit, ranking in the maximum number of points possible for one shot. Then she cycled the bolt, ejecting the spent casing, and began anew. He'd had her fielded for a few months, and she proved to be more consistently accurate than Griffin veterans like WA2000. It was a point of contention between the pair of sniper Dolls. Xavier had silently encouraged a rivalry by putting them on the same team to bring about better results in the field.

Thompson was another veteran, and one of the few echelon leaders with a command module installed. HQ had overturned Xavier's request to get all echelon leaders outfitted with command modules, much to his frustration. They'd claimed it'd be expensive, but he called bullshit on that one. He privately suspected that HQ didn't want too many of their Dolls running around with self-control at their fingertips.

The mobster Doll already had a substantial combat record prior to Xavier being instated as a Commander, having led dozens of day and night ops. She was a calm professional on the job, while a drunkard off duty. It helped that everyone on her team respected her. Ingram and M1911 had worked with the Chicago Typewriter previously.

"Commander, the scanner's picking up multiple unidentified bogies," a throaty female voice interrupted his brooding.

Xavier turned. His adjutant, MG5, had spoken. She wore a blue-gray loose-sleeved top with a cleavage window, and navy baggy pants that were cut to show off her panties. Cross-marked pads were strapped to her knees. Her cerulean cat-like optics regarded him calmly.

Xavier clasping his hands together behind his back. "Hail 'em."

MG5 jabbed a key on the computer keyboard at her station with a red-nailed finger. "Attention, unidentified aircraft. You're entering Griffin and Kryuger airspace. Please identify yourselves." She looked up at Xavier, frowning. "Commander, they're not responding."

As far as Xavier knew, they weren't expecting a visit or a delivery at this time. His tactical tablet hadn't received any new notifications about either.

He exhaled. "Treat as hostile. Shoot 'em down."

"...Yessir." MG5 didn't mask her reluctance or confusion, relaying the order to the anti-aircraft gun operatives. She ultimately trusted his judgement. She brushed some of her shoulder-length silver locks away from her nose, tucking them behind her ear.

Xavier watched the blips blink on the radar for a couple more heartbeats before they permanently faded.

"All bogeys have been destroyed, Commander."

Xavier scowled. That had been too easy. 'Something's not right here...'

Everyone else in the control room let out a sigh of relief.

That relief was shattered by a cry. "Commander, we've got multiple Sangvis approaching from the North!" Xavier shouldered his way past MG5 towards another T-Doll, who stared at her console in trepidation. Welrod Mk II was a regular in the base's command room, despite not being part of the official chain of command. Her blonde hair had been drawn into braids. Emerald eyes were transfixed at the console screen.

Xavier peered down at it. A throng of mechanical and humanoid Sangvis Ferri units filled the screen. They swarmed towards the north side of the base, where the dorms and training facilities were located.

"MG5, sound the alarm!" ordered Xavier. "I want every T-Doll fit for combat to be deployed."

"Yessir!" His adjutant complied.

Rushing over to his desk, Xavier snatched up his tablet and searched for Thompson's frequency. He jabbed it and waited for the line to connect.

The gangster Doll's voice crackled through the tablet's speaker. "What is it, boss?"

"Thompson, I need you and your team topside. A whole lotta Sangvis just showed up on our doorstep. I'm ordering you to get to the north perimeter to repel 'em."

"Copy tha-"

Xavier switched frequencies, patching through to Mk23.

"Darling, I was just about to call you. The training dummies have stopped work-"

"I turned them off. SOCOM, you and M200 need to get to the rooftops and provide coverfire for Thompson's team. Comm your teammates and send them there."

"Where exactly do you want us?"

Xavier opened up a 3D display of the base. He zoomed in on the northern side rooftops, and designated the sniping positions.

"Sending you the coordinates now. Get to the rooftops, ASAP."

"Yes, darling~"

Xavier set the tablet down and pressed the intercom button. He leaned forward and spoke into the mike. "All units be advised, this is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. The base is under attack. Echelons Five through Eight, defend the northern perimeter. AR Team, and Echelons One through Four, remain on standby until further notice."

He switched off the intercom.

An explosion rocked the control room. Dust cascaded from the ceiling. Xavier was flung off his chair onto the floor. He pushed himself up. "Where did that come from?" he demanded angrily.

"South side, sir!" shouted Welrod. "You need to see this, Commander!"

The CO re-joined Welrod at her console. He instantly blanched. The feed showed a row of what appeared to be cannons on a cliff overlooking the Command Post. The outlines of their whirring gears glowed purple in the darkness.

"How the hell did we miss these things?" snarled Xavier.

"It looks like SF set these units up just beyond our scanning range, sir. They've already destroyed a quarter of the south side AA guns."

"There's more, Commander," added MG5, hefting her namesake. "Sangvis Ringleaders inbound, both north and south side."

Xavier regarded the camera feeds. He recognised Destroyer and, based off M4's descriptions and files from HQ, he deduced that the woman with black horns and the maid headband was Agent. He didn't recognise the other two. A levitating sniper, and a Doll carrying firearm/blade hybrids. All four Ringleaders had deployed their dummies on either side of the base.

He gulped, thumbing the intercom button. "All remaining Echelons, defend the southern perimeter. AR Team, you're to aid defending the north face of the base. All units be advised, four Ringleaders have been spotted in the area."

Xavier deactivated the intercom. He faced Welrod. "Send out a distress signal."

The British Doll hesitated. "Sir, we're being jammed."

"What?"

"I can't transmit anything. Commander... I think we're on our own."

Xavier's heart raced. He took a deep breath.

"Orders, Commander?" MG5 asked.

"What are Sangvis' numbers like?" queried Xavier.

"Preliminary scans show that they've got us outnumbered a hundred to one. There could be reinforcements waiting beyond the scanners' range."

The real threat here were the Ringleaders and those cliff-bound cannons. Xavier, his Dolls and his staff were cut off.

They could stay and fight. Maybe even disable the jammer and broadcast an SOS. But how many Tactical Dolls would fall before that was achieved? And how many human personnel would be caught in the crossfire? Humans by themselves stood no chance against T-Dolls, especially those without restraint like the SF.

"Commence evacuation," Xavier said.

This was met with protest from Welrod. "Sir, we can overcome this. Send out a strike team to take out the jammer, while our defences hold the line."

"And run the risk of getting overrun? No. I refuse. If it was me and just T-Dolls, I'd be all for it. But the technicians, the logistics staff... I can't risk their lives like that. Nor am I gonna send anyone on what's essentially a suicide mission."

Welrod's crisply accented speech carried a note of disapproval. "Sir, we're just T-Dolls. We know and understand the costs. What's a few dead Dolls compared to the preservation of this base and all in the humans in it?"

Xavier clenched his teeth. "That doesn't fly with me. Guide all human personnel to the airfield."

MG5 cocked her machine-gun. "What teams do you want leading this?"

"AR team, Type Ninety-Five's squad, and G36's echelon. Evacuating human staff is priority one." Xavier furrowed his brow. "Let me make an addendum. The AR Team is priority one as well."

"Roger. I'll pass it on to M4A1," MG5 decided.

The Commander ticked an eyebrow. "Wait, inter-base coms work?"

"Apparently so."

Xavier swept his gaze around the control room. "All human staff are to rendezvous with the AR Team and head to the airfield."

Three officers filed out. Xavier returned his attention to the feeds.

"MG5's issued new orders from the Commander!" shouted M4A1.

The northern entrance to the G&K compound was a sight out of hell: gunfire raged all round. Snipers M200 and WA2000 were lying at the lip of the rooftop, their dummies scattered about. Their rifle barrels peeked out of tiny gaps in their cover.

Thompson's squad were down on the ground with the AR team. The units from both echelons were hiding behind the obliterated remains of the turret towers. M4A1 emptied the last of her rifle's magazine, ducked down and pressed her back to the scorched, jagged metal. "I'm out! Reloading!"

Beside her were her squadmates: AR-15, M16A1, and M4 SOPMOD II.

"What're the Commander's orders?" AR-15, the closest physically, asked. She smoothly switched mags, re-cocking her semi-automatic. The ponytailed android peeked out of cover. Across the parking lot were Agent and another Sangvis she didn't recognise. AR-15 opened fire on the latter. The one-eyed SF bullrushed across the car park, shrugging off shot after shot.

"Commander says that the AR Team is to evacuate with the human staff."

AR-15 scoffed, "Evacuate? Us? We can turn this around."

"Yeah! What's the commander thinking? I wanna rip all these Sangvis bitches to shreds!" howled SOPMOD II, a pale blonde dressed in form-fitting black.

She popped up out of her hiding spot. SOPMOD II let loose a grenade, firing it from the underside of her carbine. The grenade sailed straight for the charging cyclops, who stopped and blurred.

The explosive detonated, sending shrapnel everywhere.

"I can't get a bead on her!" SOPMOD II yelled. "Does anyone have a shot?!"

"Flashbangs don't work either," said the last member of Anti-Rain. She sported a patch over the scarred half of her visage. Her orange-chestnut locks were braided in a thick, unwinding ponytail that had been pockmarked by laserfire. Her jacket and skirt weren't in any better condition.

"Stand by, AR Team," said someone faintly. She was quieter than M4A1. Then again, when did a sniper need to shout?

A thunderous gunshot echoed. The blurring Sangvis cyclops dropped like a sack of bricks, her rictus grin frozen and a .375 CheyTac lodged in her skull.

"Good kill, M200," complimented M16 as she resumed fire.

"Copy." The distinctive click of a cycled bolt, followed by the soft ding of an ejected shell casing, sounded through the radio channel.

"How did you land on a shot on that Ringleader?" someone else squawked through the radio. "Neither of us are equipped with the tracking software to make such a shot."

"Training," M200 responded mutely.

"Training?! Don't give me that crap, Intervention! I've been on the field longer than you and I couldn't pull it off!" Walther WA2000 hissed.

"You two, cut the chatter." A chipper Mk23 joined the channel. "You wouldn't want to disappoint darling, would you~? M4A1, we'll cover the AR Team's escape. You know what to do, right?"

"Yes." She could see G36 and Type 95 hurrying their squads to the base's doors, ducking and dodging blasterfire.

"Good luck~"

"AR Team, follow G36 and Type 95's echelons. We'll regroup inside."

"Tch. This is wrong. We should be staying to fight," muttered AR-15. Privately, M4A1 agreed.

"Thompson, give us an opening!" she called to the other echelon leader.

"Roger that. Ingram, M1911, throw your smokes!"

A pair of gas canisters clattered to the ground, hissing as their contents were released. Agent and her lackeys were shrouded in smoke.

"AR Team, run for the door!" M4A1 peeled from her cover, and broke into a sprint. Her team-mates were hot on her heels. She rushed around debris and dived over ruined metal. Her olfactory sensors detected burnt copper and the stench of sulfur. She made it to the entrance where G36 and Type 95 were waiting, weapons drawn. Once all of Anti-Rain were inside, M4A1 said, "Shut the door."

The double-doors slammed shut, locking. "Where are your squads?" M4A1 inquired.

G36 reloaded her assault rifle. "Just up ahead. They've rendezvoused with the technicians and logistics staff."

M4A1 gazed at the group of humans and Dolls.

"I'll take point," she decided. "M16, you and Type 95's team are with me. AR-15, SOP II, you and G36's echelon will be guarding the rear. Let's get to the airfield."

"Your pathetic toys are useless." Though her dummy's vision was obscured, the cameras serving as eyes in her original body were unhindered. Agent stepped forward and lifted up her skirt, revealing the hems of her stockings pinching her thighs, her garter belt, and more relevantly four grooved, cuboid-like cannons. The upper pair were over/under double-barrelled. The lower guns had tall, thin single barrels. Matte black and composed of multiple alloys, every cannon was as long as her arm and twice its breadth. They were attached to mechanical limbs that descended from a sleek harness secured around her midsection.

Using her blinded dummy for cover, Agent activated her shield. The shield was a hexagonally tessellating bubble of energy that encased her entire body. Able to withstand anti-tank rounds, it had a radius of approximately three metres and was two heads taller than the wielder herself. At the fore of the transparent bubble, there was a massive vermillion holographic plate consisting of three conjoining V-shaped sections. Contrary to popular belief, it did not obstruct Agent's view whatsoever. She could peer through the hologram, while anybody opposite her couldn't.

She waited for a pause in the enemy fire, listening intently. Dismissing her shield, she swung out of cover and unleashed a volley of laserfire. Two shots caught a fedora-wearing submachine-gunner in the knees, downing her. The third shot blew the head of a dual-wielding hand-gunner clean off. The last round burned through the face of a violet ponytailed sniper. One of the sniper dummies, Agent determined at a second glance.

The other submachine gunner, carrying five sheathed blades with stitches on her belly and limbs, dived behind the blazing remnants of a turret. Agent pelted the rooftop lip and the burning wreckage with blasterfire. Her breasts jiggled from the recoil of her laser cannons. Thanks to her targeting software, Agent could shoot as accurately as a sniper aiming down her scope while firing from the hip.

She strode up to the downed SMG Doll. Agent kicked the Griffin's weapon out of arm's reach, then rested one foot on the submachine gunner's face.

The maid stared coldly at the T-Doll under her heel, apathetic to her glare. "You thought you could challenge me?" taunted Agent. "Hmph. Worthless scrap should know its place." She pressed down with her foot, crushing the now hatless Doll's head in a matter of seconds. Agent ground her heel for good measure.

"Thompson!" came a desperate shriek. "I'm going to kill you, you Sangvis bitch!"

"Go ahead and try. Step out from that cover and face me. You will share her fate."

"Forget her, Mac! We have to go!"

Agent brought up her shield just in time to block another wave of sniperfire. "Go? I'm your Agent of Death. You have nowhere to run."

"Commander, the airfield's on fire!" reported M4A1. She and her retinue had arrived at the base's south-eastern airfield, only to discover it'd been bombed. Smashed and battered Hinds and VTOLs, with shattered cockpits and severed or bent rotor blades, lined the smouldering tarmac.

M4A1's hair fluttered in the wind as she clutched her headset.

"They used mortars," explained the Commander. "Sniper units have dealt with 'em for the moment."

"What now, Commander? We can't leave anymore."

"Not by air. They may have cut off one avenue of escape, but we have another way."

"Huh? Have you got more aircraft hidden away?"

"No, nothing like that. Head underground."

"...Underground, sir?"

"This Command Post was built on top of a metro station. I spent the previous seven months renovating that route. It'll get you close to civilization. You should be out of the jammer's range to send out an SOS. Link up with Welrod. She'll show you the way."

"Rog'. M4A1 out."

Welrod led M4A1 and her group through the winding corridors of the S09 outpost. The blonde's pinstriped miniskirt swayed with the sashay of her bared hips. She'd fastened a vest over her pinstriped waistcoat and grey shirt. Holstered namesakes were strapped to Welrod's creamy thighs. M4 noted the buckles of the leather straps digging into the synth-skin.

The other Doll didn't hold a specified rank or position. Having been under Commander Dumont's command for almost seven months, M4 had never figured out what exactly Welrod was responsible for.

Welrod abruptly stopped and faced them. "How's everyone doing munitions-wise?"

"Running low," murmured AR-15.

"Only got about half left," M16 answered.

Similar replies were repeated by the other Tactical Dolls in the group.

A panel on the wall to M4A1's left dropped down, unveiling rows of mags, flashbangs, frags, smoke grenades and more.

"Grab what you need and let's keep moving," instructed Welrod.

M4A1 nabbed a few magazines, stuffing them into the pockets of her tactical vest. She also pocketed three frags. Lastly, she picked up another M4 carbine, slinging it over her shoulder.

"It never hurts to have a backup," whispered the team leader.

The others were re-stocking their ammo and grenades.

"This isn't the only weapons cache on-site, is it?" mused M16. She slammed a fresh mag into her rifle.

"No. The Commander's spent months prepping for a potential invasion. He's ordered surplus munitions and gear just for these deposits."

"Did Kalina help with this?" chimed in M4. Being the chief logistics officer, it seemed like something right up her alley.

Welrod smirked. "No, actually. The Commander and I coordinated with hired help to get all this set up."

M4 suspected that Kalina wouldn't be pleased with the Commander and Welrod going behind her back. The usually cheery redhead preferred to know everything that went on in the base.

"Sangvis have almost breached the Northern perimeter. Welrod, you need to get a move on." The Commander spoke through Welrod's radio.

"C'mon, we have to pick up the pace," said Welrod, retaking point. The other Dolls and the human personnel followed her.

"I can't make out all of you through the cameras. Has everyone been accounted for?"

M4A1 responded, "We're missing three technicians. Harkov, Federov, and Petrov."

"Dammit. I'll try to find them through the cameras."

Welrod halted next to a steel door marked 'MAINTENANCE IN PROGRESS. KEEP OUT.' She keyed in the access code, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

She flicked some switches beside the door. The lights came on. M4A1 strode up to the railing and looked down.

Overhead light racks illuminated a trio of cracked platforms, which were bracketed by empty trains.

"G36, Type 95, set up a perimeter with your teams to guard the entrance," Welrod ordered. "Everyone else, board the train furthest on the right."

The technicians and the logistics staff started down the stairs, SOP II, M16, and AR-15 trailing after them. M4 paused. "The Commander's not coming with us?"

A scowl flashed on Welrod's features. "No. He's staying behind to guide the evacuation. Said he'd be out on the last train."

"See you on the other side, Welrod."

"You too, M4A1."

M4 hurried down the steps and boarded the train already packed with passengers. The doors shut behind them and train began rolling.

"I hope everyone makes it out okay..." whispered SOPMOD II.

M4 laid a hand on her shoulder. "So do I, SOP II. So do I."

Agent scowled. "These insects are a distraction." Her gloved fingers bunched the fabric of her skirt as she unleashed a salvo that blasted through the heads of two Griffin dummies on the rooftop.

M4A1, the package, had retreated further into the base. Unfortunately for that meek waste of parts, she had nowhere to run. The Griffins' sole means of escape had been obliterated to kingdom come.

"Destroyer," the maid called over the gunfire. "Dispose of this trash. I will locate M4A1."

Destroyer had arrived seconds ago. She fired a torrent of grenades at the snipers and their support to no avail. Each canister never quite met its mark, either exploding too early or impacting off-target.

The Griffin snipers became surrounded by consecutive explosions.

Through the dummy link system, Agent checked on the progress of her dummies at the southern base entrance. The Griffins' formation was stronger there, and so far they were repelling all of the SF forces, but only just.

One blast from a Jupiter catapulted an entire echelon, and the enemy team got consumed by a gigantic fireball. Moments later, the surviving units retreated closer to the entrance.

The northern defense was overall weaker, deduced Agent. In any case, this was her chance to fulfil her Master's wish. She aimed her hip-attached cannons at the doors. The armaments whined as they charged up, scarlet energy amassing at the barrel tips.

The resulting four beams of energy tore through the door. Fragments of red-hot steel scattered about the hallway. They crunched under Agent's boots. Holding her skirt up and weapons out, she marched along the corridor.

She turned the corner.

A trio of humans had almost bumped into her. They paled and started backing away, throwing their hands up.

"Jesus Christ!" the nearest one gritted his teeth.

Judging by their labcoats and badges, they were T-Doll technicians.

"L-Look, please don't kill us..." another pleaded.

"Forget it, Petrov. We're screwed."

Agent eyed them indifferently. She spotted an overhead camera trained on her. "How troublesome. A voyeur spying on me." She angled her top-right cannon and emptied a round into the camera's lens. The technicians jumped. Sparks showered from the destroyed device.

"All units be advised, SF have made it into the base. If you see Agent, only engage long enough to delay. Your primary objective is to evacuate. Dumont out." Xavier placed his communicator on the desk and wiped his brow. Sweat coiled at the nape of his neck.

He glanced at Welrod. Her main body was at hallway 131-B, the doorway to the metro station. The British robot's dummies were at the computers, fingers clacking on keyboards. A program script was running on-screen.

"How's your progress?" asked Xavier.

"97% of all files have been deleted," responded the Welrod dummy furthest from him.

"What about the backups?"

"Those I have already deleted," chorused the trio of HG dummies.

Xavier lit a cigarette. "Patch me through to SOCOM." He spotted the pistolier and what remained of her team dashing through the corridors. Grizzly had draped a legless Contender over her shoulder while the Mk V's duplicate followed SOCOM and WA2000, who'd taken point. M200 was at the tail end of the echelon, consisting of merely two bodies. The Walther rifle android was down to a single body. Doors shut and locked behind them intermittently.

"You're on the line with her now," confirmed Welrod.

"SOCOM, you read me?"

"Yes darling. I'm sorry we couldn't stop Agent or her minions." SOCOM pouted.

"Coast is clear. Thompson's team mopped the stragglers here." WA2000 gingerly stepped over an SF Guard lying facedown in a puddle of its own fluids. Guards, Scouts, and Rippers with similar fates were strewn about the corridor.

"Fault lies with me, not you, SOCOM. Get your team to hallway 131-B. How much ammo have you got left?"

"Ah, not much," admitted SOCOM. "Walther's out. Everyone else is running low."

"And you let her take point?"

"She'd make a good shield if nothing else~"

"Hey!" WA2000 glowered. "I'm an elite and this is the treatment I get?!"

"It was either WA or Grizzly's dummy that's out of ammo, too. I figured we'd be more likely to get attacked from behind."

"Don't you dare ignore me!" WA2000 fumed, stepping right into Mk23's personal space.

Xavier took a long drag of his cig. Holding it in one hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Sir, I believe they're standing beside a weapons deposit. One that will allow two or three of them to resupply," a Welrod Dummy reminded him from her workstation.

A panel dropped down from the wall behind WA2000. It was a stash of ammo and firearms.

"Good call." Xavier brought the mike closer to his lips. "Team SOCOM, use the weapons cache and head to the extraction point."

Grizzly, Mk23 and M200 didn't have to be told twice. While they reloaded their guns, and then grabbed as many mags and grenades as they could, WA2000 stood off to the side, her arms folded under her breasts. "Commander, you left nothing for me here."

"I must've forgotten." Xavier sighed at the sniper's lour that was caught on-camera. "I guess it's time to prove whether you're really an 'elite.' Pick up that spare Intervention. It's yours for the time being."

The violet-haired German Doll pulled a face. "Commander, I'm imprinted to the Walther W-"

"I know. I'm ordering you to deactivate your Weapon Imprint and use that M200."

The Weapon Imprint was software that enabled a Tactical Doll to perform at peak efficiency with the firearm assigned to her, the name of which she would share. It was standard protocol at Griffin and Kryuger, but Xavier didn't agree with it completely. What if, during a mission, a Doll's weapon got damaged, or she misplaced it, or she ran out of ammo?

She'd be unarmed.

A Weapon Imprint was part of a T-Doll's neural cloud. Tampering with an IOP-developed neural cloud was illegal, as it would be a breach of terms in a contract between Griffin and IOP, the android manufacturer and main source of G&K's Dolls. Knowing that, Xavier had still gone ahead and had ordered for the modification of the WIs of a few selected candidates, WA2000 being one of them.

"Don't tell me all that training was for nothing. You sure like to talk a lot about being an elite T-Doll, but can actually you back that up?"

"Th-this is-"

"I know it's not the same as using your assigned rifle. You practically consider it an extension of yourself. But Walther, you've trained months for this. And I picked you first, because you were the first suitable candidate to catch my eye."

"I was going to say it's a bolt action," whined WA2000. "I hated practicing with bolt-actions..."

"Get over it. At least it's the same type of weapon. In the field, you could get stuck with the choice of a shotgun or a machine gun."

"F-Fine." WA2000 lifted up the leftover Intervention. She cocked the bolt-action, and placed her finger on the trigger.

"Not going to brag?" M200 muttered as she looked over her own sniper.

WA2000 blushed furiously. "Sh-shut up, M200."

"Ladies, this goes without saying, but don't tell anyone else about WA's training. Keep it to yourselves."

"Yes, darling~" Mk23 winked and saluted at the camera watching them.

"Get goin' already." He cut the transmission.

Xavier showed his back to the feed. "How's the evacuation coming along? Has the second train left yet?"

"Yessir," confirmed Welrod. "Second train just departed. Third train is filling up now."

He rechecked the array of monitors. The Commander watched the battle raging at and near hallway 131-B. The echelons guarding it had set up barricades using supply crates and sandbags.

MG5's five dummies lined up in a row, their Machine Guns mounted on stacked crates. Shells rained in droves onto the floor as each MG spat hot lead, knocking down Vespids and Rippers foolish enough to approach. The dummies on the ends of the row ran out of ammo, while the other MG5s switched from full-auto to firing off short bursts. It was a simple tactic to ensure that not all five dummies had to reload simultaneously, becoming vulnerable to enemy attacks. The leftmost and rightmost copies of MG5 cocked their machine guns and resumed shooting. Then it was their turns to switch to burst-fire as the middle units began reloading. Of course, his adjutant was being supported by Type 95's team. On the right, K11 was popping off a fusillade of grenades whilst laughing gleefully. On the left, Vector hurled a Molotov at an incoming phalanx of Sangvis. The enemy T-Dolls had nowhere to hide, quickly getting consumed by fire. They convulsed, raising their guns to retaliate. A futile act. Either the fire finished them off or they were cut down by MG5, K11 or Vector.

Hand on her headset, Welrod reported, "Sir, just received word from SOCOM. Her team's pinned down in hallway 79-C."

Grabbing his tactical tablet, Xavier searched for Type 95's frequency. He contacted the echelon leader. "Ninety-Five, SOCOM's team is getting boxed in at 79-C. Send two of your Dolls to clear a path for them."

"At once, Commander."

A click resounded, barely heard over the din of battle, after WA2000 pulled the trigger of her borrowed CheyTac Intervention. She cursed under her breath. She'd forgotten to cycle the bolt. She yanked the lever. A .408 casing was spat out from the chamber, striking the floor with a ding. During this action, an enemy Scout whizzed towards the oblivious WA, who was fixated on her own rifle. The boxy SF android was just about to let loose, when a thunderous shot knocked it out of the air. The Scout pinwheeled, thudding to the ground at WA's feet. Its sparking frame twitched.

WA2000 looked over to her rescuer, and grit her teeth. M200 was already aiming at her next target. WA2000 secretly envied how unfazed M200 was by almost everything: Victory, defeat, retreating, training. The ashen-ponytailed waif of a Doll was incredibly stoic. Only the Commander, and Mk23, much to WA's amazement, could bring out a response from M200, usually her face reddening from the praise they heaped on her.

"Where the hell are those reinforcements?" hissed WA2000. She blasted through the visor of a crouching Jager, shattering it and fissuring its cranium.

Mk23 was providing coverfire for the German android. She fired off four rounds, taking out a Scout and a Guard. Her gun clicked empty. She discarded the spent mag and slotted a fresh one into her sidearm. "Just hold out a little longer, WA~"

Guards and Scouts had encircled their barricaded position. Further back, Jagers were attempting to pick them off, too.

"Jagers. I hate Jagers." WA2000 crouched behind a supply box and reloaded. "If you haven't noticed, we're about to be overrun!" She propped the CheyTac's bipod on a supply box and drew a bead on a Jager.

Familiar reports of firearms disrupted the battle. The Jager in WA's scope fell to shots from behind. She pulled a face.

"Reinforcements!" chirped Mk23.

Within moments, the Sangvis troops advancing on SOCOM's team were eliminated.

"Of all the Dolls he could've sent, why'd it have to be her...?" WA moaned. She straightened, holding her Intervention at waist-level.

"'I-It's not like I needed your help or anything, idiot!'"

WA scowled at the sound of her own voice. She blushed, averting her gaze. "I don't sound anything like that."

M200 nodded. "Too high pitched. Tone is just about right, though."

Scandalized, WA cried, "M200!"

"Heh." Her impersonator was a short T-Doll with aviators atop her head and a gas mask hanging off her hip. Despite the grievous situation they were in, this android's electronic ruby irises shone with mirth. "Guess I'll just have to keep practicing until I get it right."

"Ahem." The taller Doll behind her cleared her throat. Her pallid complexion, combined with her ochre gaze and stiff expression, unsettled WA. "We must return to 131-B before the Sangvis leadership reaches it."

"Right, right. C'mon, everyone, follow me and AUG."

"Take point, P90," said AUG, bringing up her assault rifle to bear.

The diminutive P90 rolled her eyes as she shouldered her bullpup. "'Course you're gonna make me take point."

"You're the one with the holo-clones. You stand a better chance of surviving first contact."

Welrod's cropped gloves reeked of gunpowder. Her olfactory sensors detected the stench, and she reflexively wrinkled her artificial nose. A human response she'd picked up.

She inwardly cursed the firearm model she's been assigned. She furiously yanked back the bolt on the side of her pistol and drew the gun on the nearest Sangvis unit. A Guard at the fore of an enemy formation led the march. Its visor was cracked and its shield dented and riddled with holes, yet it still held up.

A blast from a 12-gauge sent it sprawling on the floor. The other Guards immediately behind flinched from the impact, halting in their tracks for microseconds, undiscernible for a human, before resuming their advance. The Griffin Doll shielding Welrod pumped her shotgun. A shell clacked to the ground and rolled away, getting crushed into shards by a Sangvis boot.

Welrod shot the downed Guard right between the eyes. Her head thudded, and the multitude of fibres comprising her black mane of hair became soaked in oily cranial fluid. The dead Guard's cyberoptics dimmed.

The front line of Griffin Dolls was comprised of shotgunners, who used their attached shields to block enemy gunfire, while the rows behind them took their shots. Their initial positions at hallway 131-B had been overrun, and they'd fallen back closer to the metro's entrance.

"Ringleader spotted at 3 o'clock!" bellowed MG5, somewhere at Welrod's back. Welrod turned to look. Sure enough, the one-eyed Sangvis commander from earlier was rushing towards the tightly knit group of Griffin Dolls.

'Another dummy,' Welrod supposed.

"SGs, form a semicircle around us!" MG5 ordered. The shotgunners complied. Within seconds, the requested formation was achieved.

Welrod recognised the tactic. It was something MG5 had copied from the Commander. The SGs acted as shields to compensate for lack of sufficient cover, while Griffin forces were under attack from multiple sides. Welrod, MG5 and the others were lucky they were indoors. There was nothing stopping a Bomber from raining death from above while they maintained such a formation.

"All right-side units, concentrate your fire on that Ringleader! Everyone else, keep firing at the Sangvis at 12 o'clock!"

"Tch, it's Alchemist," spat a team Captain. Scorn twisted FAL's features, her mouth drawn in a snarl.

Welrod's hearing receptors adjusted to the increased volume of gunfire.

"Fire in the hole!" shouted K11. Welrod caught sight of her unleashing an explosive torrent at the identified Ringleader.

Unlike at the carpark, there wasn't that much room here for Alchemist to manoeuvre. K11's grenades, marked with an obnoxious shade of yellow, smashed into Alchemist's torso and thighs, rupturing them instantly. Oil splattered on the walls. Gnarled remains of mechanical components spilled out of Alchemist's burst chest. She swore as she collapsed. Hatred gleamed in her one good eye. Cranial fluid spilled over it. Her expression of rage was preserved when MG5 put a bullet in her head.

"Agent at 12 o'clock!" a panicked cry resounded.

Welrod felt her insides chill. Whether that was a phantom sensation or her interior machinery becoming cold, she couldn't tell.

Agent was leading the next wave of Sangvis forces. Her hair buns bobbled slightly behind her white headband and her metallic horns. The maid's raven bangs were swept to one side. Double-barrelled laser cannons drew out from under her upraised skirt, aiming at the Griffin shotgunners at the opposite end of the corridor.

"Open fire! Open fire!" thundered MG5, leading by example. Instantaneously, a bubble shield, as wide as a shed, manifested around Agent. Lead bounced off the thrumming energy construct as she strode forward.

Welrod spoke into her radio, "Where is Team SOCOM?"

"They're almost at your position, Welrod. Just hold on a little longer," answered Dumont.

"Sir, I don't know how you're going to get to us. There's a whole load of Sangvis between us and you."

"I've got a plan for that, don't worry."

"We're here~" sang Mk23. Her locks were singed and gashes ran along her cheeks. Her clothes were riddled with bullet holes.

The other members of her team weren't faring any better. Poor Contender was the worst one off, missing her legs and unconscious on Grizzly's shoulder.

Welrod turned away from the approaching Sangvis, shouldering past FAL and MG5. She gave Mk23 a shove towards the metro entrance. "Get inside, you lot." Mk23 signalled for her teammates to follow.

"Shotgunners, maintain formation. Furthest rows, fall back first. We'll cover you," MG5 instructed. She opened fire. Agent had come close enough to the row of shotgunners, that the barrel tips of their pump-actions were right up against the holographic construct.

The shotgunner opposite Agent was Super-Shorty. True to her name, she was approximately Destroyer's height. She fidgeted, waiting for her chance to attack. Her frame was stiff with tension.

Agent's lips curled into a smirk.

The energy shield dematerialized.

Super-Shorty was too slow to pull the trigger. Agent shoved one of her cannons under the alloyed slab that served as Shorty's shield and blasted through her stomach. The shotgunners on either side of Shorty got their heads taken off by Jaegers hiding at the back of the Sangvis echelon. Their dummies destroyed, the SG Dolls turned tail and fled. They were gunned down mid-rush.

Welrod raised her pistol to fire at Agent. Sangvis' Number Two directed one of her attached cannons to shoot at the British Doll, scoring a hit on her shoulder. Gasping in shock, Welrod stumbled back.

Her bolt-action pistol fell from her grip. She bumped into MG5. The German android pulled Welrod back before Agent could land another shot.

"Detonate the charges, Welrod!" Dumont yelled through her radio.

"Sir, you won't be able to escape this way!" protested Welrod, nursing her damaged shoulder. She tried to move her right arm, but her limb wouldn't respond to the signal input from her CPU. Agent's shot had burned through the ball-and-socket joint, corroding delicate machinery and wiring.

"You and I both know about the other escape route. Detonate that C4 already."

Welrod hesitantly pulled out the detonator in her pocket. She flipped off the cap and thumbed the switch.

A series of explosions sounded overhead. The ceiling near the doorway started to crack, giving way to an avalanche of rubble. The debris completely blocked the entry to the metro, cutting off the Sangvis advance.

If Welrod possessed a human heart, she was certain it'd be hammering. As it was, she merely heard the soft whirr of mechanical motors inside her chest.

"Have you still got a connection to your dummy units?" asked MG5.

Welrod nodded wearily. Her three dummies were still online.

"Gut. Use them to guide our Commander to safety." MG5 turned to the train, which was being boarded by the survivors. She started for a nearby carriage and Welrod slunk after her.

Xavier tightened the straps of his kevlar vest. He took out his M9 Beretta, issued to him on his first day of working at G & K, and pulled back the slider, cocking the handgun.

He was prepping in the Command Room when Welrod's dummies rushed inside. "Sir, we have to go," said the dummy at the fore of the trio. Her gaze fell on the metallic frame lining his arms and legs.
"Commander, that exoskeleton isn't designed for human use."

She was correct. The IOP-developed T4 Exoskeleton was created with T-Dolls in mind, not humans. It was only rivalled by the X4 series model, also from IOP. Claws on the T4's mechanical appendages dug into Xavier's flesh. He was fortunate that the central component that aligned with his spine had failed to pierce the Kevlar. Ordinarily, the T4 directly responded to electronic outputs from its android wearer's CPU. The T4's computer enabled it to synchronize with the T-Doll's movement, enhancing the Doll's speed and reflexes in the process. As such, the exoskeleton 'knew' what actions the T-Doll would take. Xavier had switched the T4 to an 'intuitive' mode. This way, it would only increase Xavier's speed once he started moving. Out of all of IOP's exoskeleton series, this model was the single one that could be worn by a human.

The exo, composed of a criss-crossing steel framework, weighed 4kg.

Human commanders weren't issued with exo-suits or -skeletons. It was meant to deter commanders from fighting alongside the T-Dolls.

"I'll be fine," he told Welrod. "You get out okay?"

"Affirmative. I'm on the third train retreating from this outpost. Well, my main body is."

Xavier nodded. "Good. So, who's stayed behind?"

"SAT 8, KSG, Spas-12, and LWMMG, sir. Their dummies, to be exact." Xavier supressed a wince. The exo's grip on him was tight. He had to adjust to the equipment. If he moved too suddenly and too swiftly, the skeletal apparatus could freeze up.

A death sentence in combat.

'I shoulda left with the first wave. That would've been the smart thing to do,' mused Xavier. 'But that'd mean leaving everyone else behind, which ain't an option for me. If I survive this, Welrod and MG5 are gonna give me so much shit for it.'

He stepped out into the hallway. Flashes of red light strobed on the gunmetal walls. Three shotgunners and a machinegunner awaited him.

"Commander, you're..." KSG trailed off. The sight of him in his exo must have thrown them off.

"Ready to bail, yeah. Welrod, lead the way. SAT, Sabrina, stay on her flank. KSG, LWMMG, you cover the rear."

A chorus of "yes, sir"s rang out. They assumed formation as per the Commander's order, and began marching.

"Check your corners," reminded Xavier, clutching his Beretta with both hands. He kept the barrel tip pointed at the floor. 'The last thing we need is a Sangvis ambush.'

Welrod and SAT 8 peeked around corners, firearms at the ready. Welrod beckoned for the others to follow. Xavier was unsettled by how quiet the place was. Save for their footfalls, there wasn't a peep to be heard. He'd thought that the upper levels of the Command Post would be teeming with Sangvis Ferri troops by now.

They almost reached the end of hallway 62-C. Xavier tensed as he caught the unfamiliar clacking of high heels. He began breathing heavily. He raised his M9.

From behind the corner stepped out the nightmare of every Griffin Commander. Her mien of indifference did not change as she grabbed the hem of her uniform's skirt and hoisted it up. A quartet of laser cannons emerged from under it, their muzzles glowing crimson.

"Commander, get down!" yelled Welrod. The opening salvo of laser bolts from Agent's armaments splattered against seemingly nothing in mid-air.

Xavier blinked.

An energy barrier had sprung up from SAT 8, as wide as the corridor. The barrier had absorbed Agent's initial shots.

Xavier stared at the ground beyond SAT 8's shield. Two Welrod dummies had been felled. They laid on their backs, gaping wounds in their torsos smoking. Those two had been in front of the cheery blonde Italian.

They never stood a chance.

Xavier felt someone grab his hand. It was Welrod, specifically the last remaining dummy. Some T-Dolls, such as Mk23, had described the loss of a dummy link akin to losing a limb. Others like Zas had claimed that every dummy loss was like dying. He speculated which camp Welrod was in.

"C'mon!" She pulled him the way they'd come. Xavier glanced over his shoulder. SAT 8's shield wouldn't hold for long, not with the intense fire that Agent bombarded it with. He rounded the corner, hearing two shotgun blasts, a retaliating round of cannonfire, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Xavier yanked his hand out of Welrod's grip, without stopping. KSG slowed down to jog behind the Commander. The others maintained their pace. "I can run on my own. You don't need to drag me around everywhere."

"Try to keep up, then," Welrod said.

"Why d'you think I'm wearing this?"

"We need to get to the lifts," decided Welrod.

"Trap. Sangvis on the lower levels will be waiting for us to walk out on their floor. Staircase is a better option."

"How? They could be waiting for us at the stairs, too."

"True," conceded Xavier. "But a lift can be stopped. And in such a small confined space, all they need is one grenade to take us all out."

"Fine. Stairs it is."

They raced for the door to the staircase. This meant passing two elevators, side-by-side. Just as they were about to rush past them, the doors slid open. Rippers and Vespids exited the elevators and turned towards them.

The soles of Welrod's leather lace-ups squeaked as she skidded to a halt.

An alloyed shield swung out to block a torrent of lead aimed at her. Bullets ricocheted off the block of metal attached to Sabrina's hip as she unleashed blast after blast between pumps of her Spas-12. To the left of Welrod, LWMMG and KSG were engaging the new arrivals, too. Their muzzles flashed as casings cascaded to the ground. It was a river of copper shells.

Xavier glimpsed over his shoulder. The feeling of dread returned.

Agent was approaching. She strutted like she had all the time in the world. Grasping her skirt, she trained her guns on Xavier.

"Agent's caught up to us!" he shouted. He dived out of the way. Lasers singed the tips of his hair. Were he half a second too late, his face would have been a smoking crater. Sabrina and KSG shifted around some of their attached armour plates to block Agent's assault.

Welrod growled. "Right, forget the bloody stairs. We'll make our own exit. In here." She booted open the door to an office next to Xavier, bodily throwing him inside. Xavier pushed himself to his feet. He shelved his indignance, realising that Welrod's quick response saved his life.

"Barricade the door," snapped Welrod. Sabrina and LWMMG shared a confused look. Xavier understood why. They couldn't compute why an unranked Doll was barking orders like she was their superior.

He added, "Do what she says."

Without further questions, Sabrina shoved a desk against the door, then stacked another desk on top of it. Next, she pushed a sofa against the tables with KSG's help.

LWMMG replaced her machine gun's ammo belt. "What now?"

"We make a controlled blast to get down. Sabrina, have you got the charges?" Xavier enquired.

Spas-12 held up a backpack she'd been carrying. "Right here!"

"Pass 'em to Welrod, she'll set them up."

Sabrina tossed Welrod the backpack, who caught it with a grunt.

Suddenly, the barricade blocking the door erupted into smithereens. Splinters and stuffing exploded in all directions. Xavier ducked behind a desk, shielding his face. Wooden shards rained down on his head, grazing his scalp.

Agent, flanked by Rippers, stood in the doorway.

Welrod squeezed the trigger of her bolt-action pistol. "Buy us some time!" A round struck Agent in the forehead, knocking her skull back for but a second. She tilted her head forward, glaring daggers at the English Doll. A small dent marred Agent's countenance. The horned gynoid retaliated with a discharge of searing laser bolts. Welrod dived for cover. Agent's shots scorched the back of her pinstriped vests.

KSG had been sent sprawling by the explosion. She got up hastily, and fired off twice until Sangvis fire decimated her armour, tearing it to shreds, along with her.

LWMMG had dropped behind a sofa. She propped her bi-pod on it, and sprayed bullets across the office, probably intending to gun down as many SF as possible. To her credit, she did pick off a considerable number as well as land two hits on Agent, ripping through the front of her dress.

It took two headshots to cut down LWMMG. Even with a significant portion of her skull blown off, she'd continued to shoot at the enemy.

Xavier's stomach knotted. He glanced at LWMMG's faceless corpse. It was just him and Welrod left. Facing dozens of Sangvis with their backs to the wall. He squared his jaw.

'I really, REALLY should've bailed with the AR Team...' Something inside him died right then. Whether it was his fear or his hope, he wasn't sure. Deep down, a part of him was still terrified. However, his façade of calmness would be enough to fool anyone who wasn't looking too closely.

He revealed himself, focusing on the nearest target, which happened to be Agent. Her minions were longer aiming at him, but that meant nothing. It'd take milliseconds for them to shoot him.

He was about to fire for the last time in his life when something slammed into him, knocking him flat.

Not something.

Someone.

Welrod had saved him, though it was in vain. She shuddered over him, smoke stinking of sulfur wafting from her side.

She collapsed by his side. "No..." she whispered weakly. "Commander, I failed to protect you..." Her optics dimmed and her head lolled. He crouched. 'Welrod's disconnected from her dummy.'

Explosions thundered above them. Xavier glanced up. Agent frowned.

'Mortars or bombers,' Xavier guessed.

Agent crowed, "Our first and final meeting, Commander of Griffin. Death has finally come for you."

Xavier didn't get a chance to answer. The floor gave way as the ceiling shattered. He tumbled down, his vision spinning. He slapped the shield generator clipped onto his belt, and a shimmering barrier encapsulated him microseconds before his head bounced off a piece of descending debris and his world went dark.

Welrod slumped forward in her seat. She held her head in her hands.

"Welrod?" She heard MG5 ask. "Did the Commander make it out?"

The pistolier lowered her arms. Dumont's adjutant, Type 95, G36, K11, P90, and the other Dolls in the rocking carriage gazed at her expectedly.

Welrod's features morphed into a look of despair. "No..." she croaked. Her voicebox must've been malfunctioning. Perhaps it'd gotten damaged during the escape.

"No? What do you mean, "no"?" boomed MG5, incensed.

"I couldn't get the Commander out." Despite not needing oxygen, Welrod found herself taking a deep breath. Her small shoulders trembled. "Before my last dummy was destroyed, I saw Commander Dumont being held at gunpoint by Agent." MG5's furious countenance crumpled. Welrod couldn't bear to witness her anguish. Instead, she stared at her knees.

Nobody uttered a syllable. The train continued to speed away from the S09 Command post.