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Filling out the Frontline Chapter 2: Growing into it
🕑 Added 2020-01-04 04:07:07 +0000 UTCMosin-Nagant slept like a bear.
Spas-12 idly watched the massive girl’s belly pulse inward and outward between each breath. Her blanket lay discarded over the edge, exposing her snow colored skin and her black bra, the only fabric upon her chest. The reinforced twin bed was strong enough to hold her, but Spas couldn’t help feeling a slight bit of anxiety just watching the girl slowly shift with the weight of a glacier, worrying she might tip over and crash to the floor below.
“Worrying about your future, eh?” Grizzly teased, poking a finger into Spas’s much softer tummy. Spas hardly even noticed it now, she’d gotten used to Grizzly and the other girls teasing her about her rising weight over the last two weeks. All of the T-dolls in the Alpha Echelon of Office 707 were overweight, Spas was just the newest and, for now, the lightest.
She leaned forwards, feeling her exposed stomach straining the remaining buttons across her blouse’s chest, and obtained another cream-filled pie. She bit into it with an unashamed demeanor and spoke around chocolate crumbs that dotted her lips. “Is the point of being in Alpha to be overweight?” she asked Grizzly.
Grizzly lifted an eyebrow. “Who are you calling ‘overweight’?” the cheerfully overweight brunette asked. She lifted a meaty arm, drooping with fat, before poking her thumb into her buxom chest. “I am not overweight.”
Spas frowned at her.
Grizzly grinned. There was a crinkle of plastic before a snack cake landed between her watermelon breasts, snapping free one of the buttons of her taut shirt. The girl looked down at the cake with a sneer before turning it on her assailant.
“You keep telling yourself that.” RFB chided, before blowing a raspberry at Grizzly and returning to her handheld game.
“I’m not!” Grizzly declared. She struggled for a moment to sit up, taking the snack cake from her chest and unraveling it. “I’m curvaceous,” she said, running a hand down her large breasts, tucking in just a tad near her waist, and flowing back out at her hips like the fattest hourglass Spas had ever seen.
“Curvaceous my fat ass,” RFB huffed.
Spas couldn’t help but giggle.
RFB gestured over to the laughing girl. “See?” she asked. “That means a lot coming from me.”
“Yeah, why don’t you waddle over here and sit on me,” Grizzly mouthed off to her.
RFB looked up to her before snapping her game shut. She grunted, hefting herself off of the couch. Her thighs lifted the hem of her dress over the shelf of her plump posterior, exposing a pair of camo panties that were nearly hidden beneath the girl’s flab. Her thighs quaked against one another while she strut, and Spas could tell she was purposefully jutting her hips from side to side to obvious effect as Grizzly began to stammer.
“H-hey, I was kidding, don’t you dare try it.” She raised a placating hand.
RFB waddled up to Grizzly. The girls were unable to get too close to one another’s faces, having so much belly in the way, but their flabby sense of scale was greatly appreciable to Spas. She was afraid RFB might actually try to sit on Grizzly when RFB raised a hand.
Grizzly didn’t move as RFB simply reached out and took the unwrapped snack cake from her hand. The girl then pirouetted like a blubbery whale in a camouflage tutu before returning to the deep grooves of her place on the couch and sagging back into it, biting down on her winning and flicking her gamepad back open.
“Good,” said a voice from the side. Spas turned to see Mosin leaning upon her arm, her ample belly folding into two rolls of fat. “If you two were going to fight, I’d have to actually get up.”
Grizzly grumbled and took a cream pie from the table, thudding back into her seat, her chest bouncing to meet her rounded chin. “It’s not worth fighting anymore,” she grunted.
Spas was still looking at Mosin. She caught the glimmer in the soft sharpshooter’s eyes. She was alarmed when the winter blue darted to stare into her own gaze, moving so swiftly that they shocked Spas into swallowing a half-chewed mouthful.
It lodged in her throat and sent the albino girl into a fit of coughs, quickly attended by Grizzly’s aid. Grizzly clapped her twice on the back, but Spas held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said dryly before coughing again. Grizzly rubbed her back and held out a can of cola.
Spas took it and drank greedily, washing down the chocolate and the cream with a grateful rush of even sweeter sugar. She nodded appreciatively to Grizzly, but saw out of the corner of her eye, she still held Mosin’s watchful gaze. She turned back to the food on the table. “I should really clean this up,” she muttered.
She made to sit up, but a sudden flare of pain caused her to loosen a disgruntled cry. Her tummy did not appreciate being jostled, as packed as it was full of food. Spas fell back against the couch, laying a hand above her pale dome.
The clasps on her dress had torn open, again, the smooth pooch of her stomach flubbing out onto her thickening lap. Her hand snaked down to the bottom, cupping herself. It surprised Spas how heavy she felt, even knowing her tummy was packed to the brim. The girl was becoming increasingly familiar with this state of being and had even begun to relish in just how many options and treats she had to pick over, but a slight unease still pooled through her. How long would it be until she was as fat as the girls she sat with? How long until her tummy was pinched into rolls, or her arms were weighed down with sweets?
She tucked her hand beneath her belly, straining her arm to lift it up so she might be able to stand. The sudden movement caused a pocket of air to thunder up her throat, releasing from her lips in a soft but solid, “Urp.” She dropped her tummy, hands flying to her mouth and covering herself with a glowing blush. “S-sorry,” she muttered through her fingers, wide eyes scanning from Grizzly to RFB.
RFB raised a thin eyebrow, the only thing the girl had anymore that could be considered as such and swirled her soda in her hand. Then, she tilted her head back and released a large belch, pulling a snort from Grizzly and a thankful giggle from Spas.
“Pig,” Grizzly taunted.
RFB lifted her soda to her lips, responding proudly, “You know it.”
Spas sighed appreciatively. “You guys are amazing,” she said.
“We know,” both girls responded together.
“Bravo,” came an airy yet huskier voice. Mosin-Nagant had risen from the bed without a single sound, though as she came closer, her tummy audibly quivered against each of her rotund thighs.
Spas was again intimidated by just how fat the head of 707 Alpha Echelon was. The other girls were huge, without any question, but the belly heavy leader had developed into such an overbearing butterball that she’d all but replaced her official designation with the affectionate, nickname of Marshmallow-Nougat. Which was fitting, given how her pale Russian skin had become so sun-starved that she’d begun to resemble one of the fluffy treats. Black stockings clung to her thighs, outlining every mark on her skin before disappearing beneath her white downy skirt, which clung round the lower swell of her belly. Sausage fingers plucked the fabric of her dark bra out of her jelly-filled love handles. Her long blonde hair came down around the fat of her back, yet her pale blue eyes remained sharp and distinct on top of her soft exterior.
It took Spas a moment to realize the pale blue eyes still held her in the powerful sights, and memories of being downrange of a commanding opponent twirled through her head. “We have to work hard to achieve that level of unison, you see Spas?” Mosin asked.
Spas nodded, the ribbons in her wavy hair bobbing along with her.
The glacier that was Mosin shifted her weight. She moved forwards, belly quivering as she came alongside of Spas on the couch. RFB wordlessly withdrew her feet from the spot, bringing her large doughy thighs to squish her round tummy and cause it to form a number of rolls on her waist. She quickly maneuvered as Mosin plopped onto the cushion. The woman allowed her body to settle before reaching out to the treat packed table and withdrawing a pair of packaged cupcakes.
She tossed one to Spas, taking the other for herself. Her arm fat pinched around the edges of her bra, brushing her blonde hair back over her smooth white shoulder. “What was that question you asked earlier?” she asked.
Spas’s throat went dry, immediately feeling as if she were being questioned on a test. Her brief time in assembly bounced back to her. Visions of the trials to determine her ability to tank. But here, she was naked, without shield or her weapon. So she clung to what she could, unwrapping her cupcake and stuffing it into her mouth. “Ai ash abou da ega bak too,” she mumbled through her mouth.
Her belly tremored beneath, in fear for its stuffed safety. No more, Spas! There isn’t any room!
Yet Mosin’s eyes demanded something of her, and somehow, she managed to swallow the bit of cake. Her tummy roared in discomfort, sending an excruciating flash to spike on her sensors. She forced the second bite larger, taking in the rest of the cupcake, and quickly sent it chasing after the first. She could almost feel herself growing fatter, willed her tummy to stretch further so it wouldn’t feel so awkwardly packed. She tried not to wince beneath the leader’s watchful eye but couldn’t help herself when Mosin’s fat fingers swiped the packaging from the cupcake and lifted the treat up to Spas’s unwilling mouth.
Spas looked from the cupcake to Mosin. She shook her head.
Mosin nodded. Spas’s internal systems designated this act as a direct order from her superior, and her programming drove her to obey, however reluctant her tummy may be.
Spas outwardly whined before opening her mouth and inhaling the entire cupcake into it. She munched it again and again, hardly able to hear Mosin past the pitiful cries of her stomach.
“You asked if the point of being in 707 Alpha Echelon is to be overweight,” Mosin told her directly. “Do you feel that’s the point?”
Spas swallowed, her tummy forcing her face to a wince. Through the gluttonous haze she opened her mouth to affirm.
“Don’t answer that,” Grizzly hissed in advisement.
Spas froze, her programming screeching to a halt as her group superior ordered her mind into a direct conflict with her original ordered answer. Her eyelashes fluttered, considering the truth. She had briefly believed that was the point, but it couldn’t actually be, not really. There must be something more to it, and for the first time, Spas actually considered the question. What was the point of Alpha Echelon?
Ever so slowly, Marshmallow-Nougat leaned forwards. Her belly pinched into two prevalent rolls while she gazed around the grazing Spas. “Grizzly,” she commanded in her soft, powerful tone, “is there something you’d like to add for the indoctrination recruit?”
Grizzly was looking away from the conversation and had begun to whistle to herself.
“I still have the funnel,” Mosin intoned.
Grizzly nearly tumbled out of her seat. “N-no ma’am. Nothing ma’am.”
Mosin kept her eyes on Grizzly. “Are you sure? I can have the commander stop on his way back,” she paused dangerously. “He’d be delighted to pick up more vanilla ice cream if I told him it was for our little bear.”
Grizzly shuffled in her seat. “N-no thank you.”
Spas, sensing an opportunity to get on Mosin’s good side after her near fumble, spoke up brightly. “I’d love some vanilla ice cream, Miss Marshmallow. Is that your favorite flavor?” Then, her mind quickly wandered. “Oh, and maybe we can get some sprinkles. I haven’t been able to get sprinkles from the rations committee for months.”
Mosin beamed, returning to her cushiony seat. “Of course we can. Three gallons of ice cream for the hungry indoc,” she reached up and patted Spas’s head, rubbing her affectionately and Spas, like a child, nuzzled the rewarding hand. Then, her voice became sharp once more. “Would you like to add anything, pudgy brown bear?”
Grizzly’s voice was cast with a deeply sad pout. “Five gallons of ice cream,” she resigned herself to. Then, with a light plead, “Can I get chocolate chip cookie dough instead?”
Mosin smirked. “I suppose I can arrange for that,” she relinquished. Then, she reached out and patted Spas on the back. Conversationally, she told the albino, “One thing you learn is how to compromise when you’ve won.”
Spas looked from Mosin back to Grizzly, the meaning of the conversation going straight over her head. She felt like she’d lost, which made her feel worried. “I-I might not be as big as Miss Grizzly,” Spas said.
“Hey!” Grizzly huffed.
“B-but I think I could handle… Umm,” she looked down at her belly.
The pale dome throbbed, pleading with her to just shut up.
“S-six gallons of ice cream?” she muttered. Then, instantly, her hand went to her mouth as her tummy enacted stabbings of vengeance and brought her to a deep, painful groan.
Mosin was happily tittering in her seat before quietly sighing. She rubbed Spas on the back, placing an arm on her shoulder and pushing her against the backrest.
“I’d heard from FNC in 505 that you had an exceptional hunger, but I hadn’t dreamed to have you like this,” Mosin lightly spoke. Her hand went to Spas’s tummy, and she began to kneed it between her fingers like a hard pile of dough.
Spas felt herself melting, her taunt belly throbbing against Mosin’s touch, her eyes rolling back and her neck tilting over the rear of the couch. She pushed herself into Mosin’s hand, her fingers spreading magical dances up her sensors. Pain, yes, but mixed with fountains of pleasure as the solid mass in her stomach was rubbed out and broken, and her tummy felt like it might even manage to make room.
Again, Mosin laughed, gripping Spas’s belly. “There’s a good one, huh? I’ve gotten pretty decent at these,” she prided herself.
RFB leaned in, “That’s cause you learn by letting the Commander play with yours.”
A touch of pink came to Mosin’s cheek. “Hey, now. It’s not my fault that I’m his little marshmallow.”
“Yes it is,” RFB said flatly.
Mosin cupped her cheek, laughing airily. “We have our bond, and I have my orders.” She waved her hand.
Spas felt a bubble inside her tummy. At first, she thought it was another cupcake, but it turned into curiosity as the sensor pinged in her brain. “What are your orders?” she asked, tying to keep her tone polite.
Mosin turned back to Spas, “Oh?” she asked, before she remembered herself and her expression returned to her leadership role. “Oh, yes. You haven’t received anything past the indoctrination duties yet, yes?”
Spas numbly nodded before letting her eyes drop to Mosin’s hand. Her strong fingers could make such a harsh indent on Spas’s tummy, and the girl began to inwardly reflect. It was only two weeks, yet already she was gaining so much. How had she gotten so heavy? How had she lost her shape? “Indoctrination Directive 1,” her mouth repeated word for word from her memory bank, “No indoctrination candidates may leave the office unless expressly permitted.”
Mosin affirmed with a nod. “And why not?” she asked.
Spas hesitated. “I… I don’t believe I was told that,” she admitted after a moment.
Mosin brightened. “You weren’t.” Then, she sat forwards. “See, Grizzly? Just because it was your first instinct to lie doesn’t mean it would be hers.”
Grizzly grumbled, snatching a fresh snack from the pile. She tore open a package of brownies and shoved the bites into her mouth.
Spas turned back, again confused. “Grizzly was our most recent recruit, before you came along.” Mosin informed her. “She’s been a very helpful and invaluable team member.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t flatter me you big… marshmallow,” Grizzly stumbled before returning to her snack.
The jibe seemed only to brighten Mosin further. She returned her attention to Spas. “You’re not allowed to leave the office, because chances are, you’ll be seen out in the halls.”
Spas concentrated on that, trying to pick apart the meaning through the wonderful belly rub. “We’re not allowed to be seen?” she asked.
“Nope,” Mosin shifted, moving herself closer to Spas. Her wide body now rubbed up against her, her pale boulder squishing next to Spas’s snowball. “None of us can be seen like this. We used to use our dummy linked bots to move about through the base as need be, but even that’s a rarity now.”
“Why?” Spas asked.
Mosin was close to her now, only a hands length away. Her pudgy face framed her eyes to give them a gentle, nurturing look. “We can’t let the others know how out of shape we’ve gotten,” she explained.
Then, a sudden knock of pleasure bent through Spas’s gut, causing the girl to wilt with a moan against Mosin’s body.
Mosin chortled. “The Commander taught that to me. Trust me,” she raised her other arm and pat Spas’s hair, “I know.”
Spas allowed herself to be held in Mosin’s warm lap. The woman gave such a comforting massage that Spas seemed like her senses were misfiring. Before she’d realized, the lights to the room had been dimmed, and RFB and Grizzly had left from the couch. Instead she simply remained in Mosin’s arms, breathing easily.
“Why do we have to hide?” Spas asked softly.
Mosin hummed in response, sounding pleasant. “Because we’re trying to change the world,” she said after a moment.
Then, she pulled Spas tight to her chest. She felt as soft as a cloud, and as enveloping as a blanket. The whitehaired girl yawned.
“Rest now, my little foodie.” Mosin ordered, and Spas realized how much heavier her eyes felt. “When the commander returns, you shall learn more. He will be able to give you the order.”
“The order?” Spas asked sleepily.
Mosin hummed once more, hidden behind the curve of her breasts. “Yes.”
Spas put a hand upon Mosin’s thigh. The woman released her head and allowed Spas to rise up into a seated position. Spas looked around the room, spotted Grizzly and RFB upon the corner bed.
RFB’s face was lit with the blue light of her game, her round chin tucked into her chest, the gamepad inches from her face. The girl had gotten so fat that she could make a cushion for her gamepad on the top of her breasts, arms tucking into her massive belly and framing her cushiony body.
Grizzly, meanwhile, was using the girl for just such a purpose. She leaned on RFB’s side, wearing only her ill-fitting underwear. Her full buxom chest pushed outward and in with each breath, sleeping soundly against her plush pudgy pillow. No wonder Grizzly slept so soundly, RFB was now more marshmallow than T-doll.
The thought of the marshmallow made Spas turn. She gazed into the warm blue eyes of Mosin-Nagant, leader of 707 Alpha. She looked her over, taking in every crease and fold of her massively obese body. Hundreds of pounds of flab coating the firm fighting frame of her T-doll making.
Spas felt confusion spark through her systems. Mosin-Nagant couldn’t possibly fight anymore. Out in the field, how could Spas possibly block her blatant wideness from incoming fire? Spas was a shield, she was designed to protect, given weapons to protect. Her purpose was to fight Sangvis Ferri, a rebellious organization of homicidal T-dolls who’d gone insane and begun murdering all in their paths.
The practical side demanded an answer. “How does this help us?” Spas asked her leader. “How does 707 Alpha combat Sangvis troops? I can’t…” she paused, shaking her head. She stood up from her seat on the couch, feeling another food comma daze settling over her, yet this time she fought it. “I can’t fight Sangvis from here. I can’t protect the others.”
Mosin touched her, and Spas looked into her blue eyes. Her sympathetic, pitying eyes. “Not from here, no. You can’t.”
Spas twisted her head, looking to Grizzly and to RFB. She remembered something and put it to words. “Grizzly, she… she was a leader in the field. She led a combat team of five, went out and fought throughout all of the winter.”
Mosin nodded. “Yes,” she said softly. “Operation Arctic Warfare.”
On the other side of the room, Grizzly perked up. It took her a moment, but she was sitting up straight, her eyes wide and wakened. “What was that?” she asked.
RFB dropped her gamepad, her hand latching out. “Grizzly,” she courted.
Grizzly caught it, holding it back. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
Something else hit Spas, the slight tremble in Grizzly’s voice. The way she moved, how she straightened from her seat. Spas felt her defenders’ instincts bubbling to the surface, her eyes turned to Mosin.
Mosin stepped up. “It’s nothing, little bear,” she said with her gentle voice.
She rose from her seat and seemed to glide through soft comfortable lighting. Her pale white visage, her fluffy white skirt, her long blonde hair, she looked like a mother come onto her child in the night as she took Grizzly by the arm and whispered to her.
“Don’t worry, little bear. There is nothing in the dark.”
“I thought I heard…” Grizzly stumbled. She sunk into Mosin’s touch, leaned upon her like one might a pillar.
RFB rose from the bed, coming around Grizzly’s other side. “Hey, come on,” she instructed gently. “You’ve been up for five hours, you need to get some rest.”
“Yeah… sorry,” Grizzly responded. She followed RFB, letting her guide her back to the bed. RFB returned to her seat, while Grizzly bent over and leaned her back against the wall. A bitter chuckle came from her throat. “I’d lay on your thigh, but you’ve gotten so fat, I’d get a crick in my neck.”
RFB snorted into a chuckle. “Pffft,” she reached out, pressing Grizzly on the boob. “You dork.”
Grizzly bent out a laugh, a true one this time, sinking onto RFB’s shoulder. RFB looked over to Mosin, giving her a subtle wave, before running her hand through Grizzly’s hair. She stroked her brown locks, earning a nuzzle while Grizzly opened her mouth and began to breathe easy once more.
Mosin returned to Spas, who felt put off by the display. Worry flooded from her, and she realized her comrade was wounded. “Spas-12,” Mosin said, her leadership returned. “You are being granted permission to leave the office temporarily under my custody. You are advised to acknowledge and affirm.”
Spas felt herself go ridged, automatically replying. “Yes, team leader.”
“Spas-12, you are directed to follow me outside into the outer office area,” Mosin said.
“Yes, team leader.” Spas turned and smartly followed Mosin out through the door of the office, feeling a slight cringe at just how little space the portly woman had left passing through the wide doorway. At the last moment, she looked over her shoulder, and saw Grizzly sigh into RFB’s shoulder, peaceful.
When she turned around, Mosin’s eyes were upon her. They flicked to the door, which Spas quickly pulled closed behind her, slamming it. Then, she cringed, turning back to Mosin.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Mosin sighed. She looked to where RFB and Grizzly would be through the shaded windows of Winter’s interior office. Then, she turned to Spas. “You’re rather new, aren’t you Spas?” she asked.
Spas nodded her head, her ribbons bobbing along with her enthusiasm. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mosin waved a hand. “Let’s drop the formalities for right now,” she said, turning away. There were multiple desks in the outer office area of 707. All of them were completely abandoned, the only human staff being Commander Winters and, at times, the base’s chief assistant Kalina. Another Commander, a large man named Bellows, had stopped by a few times to speak with Commander Winters, but almost always in private.
Mosin wobbled across the tile barefoot, her marshmallow body starkly lit by the harsh lighting. She looked even bigger outside the comfort of the room, and she nearly took up the entire width of the desk when she leaned her butt upon it before taking a plodding hop. She landed atop the desk with her ass and a heaving groan from the wood, yet it bared her without further complaint. She gestured to the desk across from her and Spas took up position. She, too, moved to sit on top of the desk. The small hop was harder than she’d thought it be, her arms not used to their heavy bearing as she pulled herself back.
“Spas,” Mosin began, her arm settling atop her white belly “what do you think the purpose of 707 Alpha echelon is?”
Spas blinked silently, collecting her thoughts. “Alpha echelon reports directly to Commander Winters…”
Mosin interrupted her, shaking her head. “No, Spas. 707 Alpha reports to our Commander Winters. There are many Commanders working with Griffon & Kryuger, each allowed their own Alpha, Beta, Charlie, and Delta echelons, which are filled by the countless numbers of T-dolls used to fight battles and capture ground.”
Spas bit her lip. “I wasn’t in any echelon, but I’ve been in combat units.”
“Right,” Mosin nodded. “You served beneath an echelon, who in turn served beneath a commander.”
“Okay…”
“Meaning, you were likely attached to another Commander at another time.” Mosin tapped her hand on the desk. “Do you remember a T-doll by the name FNC?”
Spas knit her brow before nervously laughing. “N-not really,” she admitted. “There was a lot going on. Usually I just was told to stand in front of everyone and take fire for them, and to let them shoot over me.”
Again, Mosin was nodding. “You were a tank, using your issued ballistics shields and vest to combat light infantry units of SF and allow the girls behind you to mop everything up.” Her tone sounded professional, yet there was something inside of it. Droplets of vinegar escaped the honeypot’s lips.
Spas crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed. Suddenly, she found herself wishing for her shields, for her weapon, or in lieu of that, for a shirt that fit properly. She tried to tighten the clasps over her exposed belly, before surrendering with a pout. “How are you comfortable like that?” she asked Mosin, gesturing.
Mosin perked an eyebrow, her expression plucking up dangerously. “Like what?” she asked.
“Without a shirt on,” Spas grunted, trying to tug her blouse again.
Mosin paused. “Oh… Well, uhh, I just didn’t think about it.” She shrugged, her hand itching the roof of her stomach. “Anyway, back to the point. You’re new to Griffon. You missed what happened during the winter, didn’t you?”
Spas felt her eyes turn back to the office door. “Yeah,” she said. “I was still in testing phases. I heard some things though…”
“Whatever you heard…” Mosin let her words hang in the air, bringing Spas in. “It was bad, Spas. It was worse than you know. I can’t tell you how many T-dolls… how many girls came back in pieces, or were so damaged they needed to be fully recovered from an earlier backup.” She shook her head. “The Arctic Warfare event left scars that even backups couldn’t recover from. Not to mention the losses inflicted on human staff.”
Spas bent to that. “H-human staff?” she shook her head. “There wasn’t anything posted abou-”
“Twenty-eight Commanders were killed during the Arctic Warfare event,” Mosin cut her off. The blonde woman’s eyes were sharp and rippled with anger. “Forty-seven adjuncts were killed, fourteen messengers, twelve pilots, six crew chiefs, and thirty-four drivers were killed in the opening minutes as trucks filled with rescue dolls pulled up before the message from the AR team came in past the blizzard disruptions. Sangvis Ferri had developed entire trench lines using Jupiter Canons, and we didn’t stand a chance.”
“J-Jupiter canons?” Spas asked.
Mosin’s eyes dropped to the desk. “You’ve never seen one, have you?”
Slowly, Spas shook her head.
She puffed her chest outward, causing an angry ripple of flesh. “Imagine a canon,” she held her arm out in front of her, just to the crest of her tummy. Spas looked at it and nodded. “Then,” she said, bringing her arms wider, “imagine that canon is the size of this room.”
Spas looked around them, round the small rows of empty desks. The long, unused gaps of space. She turned back to Mosin and nodded.
“Then,” she went on, “imagine the canon is the size of this entire building.”
Spas’s eyes widened even further. Her breath low, she whispered. “What do they fire?”
“I’m not done,” Mosin said. She hefted herself to her feet, thunder clapping as she came to the tile. “Then imagine there’s three of them. Armor platted and arranged in a pattern so they may triangulate and fire upon the nearest target using explosive rounds.”
Spas couldn’t find words to say.
“They would tear through combat teams within moments,” Mosin went on. She began to talk with her hands, holding up her forefinger. “Even single installations could take out teams, and our armor had nothing for them. Only speed worked, encircling them to cut off their power, and then moving in to wipe out the gunners who lay in the bunkers.” Mosin grunted, leaning back on her seat. “Sangvis Ferri is constantly developing newer and more ubiquitous ways to decimate our girls.”
Spas leapt up from her desk. “That’s why we have to fight them, though!” she felt impassioned, her banks pushing memory after memory of Griffon speeches to the surface. “That’s why other T-dolls are still going out to battle and push them back. To make the world safe again!”
Mosin shook her head. “Spas I…” she faltered. “You can’t understand. Not yet, anyways.”
Spas shook her head, imagining herself beneath the barrel of the massive canon, wishing she had her weapon so she could charge forward and shatter the metal like the Griffon leaders demanded of her. “Understand what?” she asked. “Why we need to keep fighting? I know that! It’s my mission, to protect the other T-dolls of Griffon from being damaged.”
Mosin spoke calmly, her voice almost a whisper, “The other girls.”
“What?” Spas asked, shaking her head.
“The other girls,” Mosin repeated, louder. “The other girls from harm.”
Spas felt confused. “I-I don’t understand.”
Mosin nodded. “I know.” She stepped forward, crossing over the gap. She took Spas in her arm, touching her tummy to hers and placing her hand to her cheek. “I know, sweetie. Not yet. I just…” she looked down. “I needed to prepare you.”
“Prepare me for what?” Spas demanded. “What is the point of 707 Alpha?”
The front door thudded open, startling both girls. They spun to see it pushed inward by a gruff looking Commander Winters. He wore his uniform smartly, yet something was immediately off, and Spas found her defenders spirit spiked even higher. It was as if the man were carrying some sort of unseen grenade, and her eyes quickly searched his person to determine the discrepancy. The scarlet jacket was crisp, his black tie was pulled tight. He carried his beret upon his left arm, along with a brown manila folder marked by red stamps tucked against his side.
Then, she saw it. Not on his person, but in his face. His broad grin was gone, his light brow was creased, and his eyes were dark. In them was an icy blue fury that scared Spas, and she looked to her team leader for comfort.
She found the same fury in her eyes, alight with a fire that would burn the world to the ground. “What is it?” Mosin asked, moving to him without question.
“Commander Konrad is dead,” he told her, his voice cold and yet burning.
Mosin stopped, frozen in the water. “H-how,” she whispered, her voice shaken.
“A Sangvis unit ambushed his command team as they prepared for an operation in Sector Fifteen.” He didn’t pull the punch. “There were no human survivors.”
Mosin swallowed. It took her a moment. “What about Ava?”
The Commanders eyes fell to the floor, joining hers. “She’s alive,” he managed. He seemed to be struggling as well. “She’s…”
“She was oathed to him,” Mosin whispered.
Spas felt her chest twist, like a knife had suddenly flashed into her ribcage as she recognized the special word. The fairytale ending every T-doll dreamed about, and her eyes went to the woman’s finger, where she saw Mosin’s thumb twisting over her prized ring.
“She was oathed to him,” Mosin repeated, then she suddenly looked to Winters and a tear dripped from her round cheeks. “I will not let them take you away from me.”
He reached out and touched her, and she met him again without a moment in-between. She held his hand to her cheek, seemingly clutching it tightly. Winters looked down into her eyes and nodded, wordlessly imparting his feelings. “Spas,” he said, without looking away, “you and I need to have a talk. As soon as you are able.”
Spas leapt to the chance, her willingness to serve even surpassing her programmed need. “Yes, Commander. I am ready now.”
Finally, he looked up to her. “Very well,” he nodded toward the door.
Spas moved, pulling the door backward and allowing him to pass through, followed shortly by Mosin and then coming through herself. Before the door closed, she heard RFB groaning. “Awe, man. Commander, did you forget the ice cream??”
