Filling out the Frontline Chapter 3: Panic and Preperations (Patreon)

Spas followed Mosin’s waddling gait as they followed the Commander into the office. “Grizzly, get a shirt on!” she commanded using her husky voice, moving to the corner where the tubby girls lay.

“Myyah,” Grizzly whined, wiping at her eyes before throwing herself back over RFB’s exposed middle. “I just fell asleep, Marshmallow. It’s nap time.”

“Come-on Grizz,” RFB dropped the gamepad onto her quivering thighs. “Wakey wakey, we’ve gotta get up.”

“Silence, pillow,” Grizzly mumbled into her fat.

“Grizzly Mark Five!” Mosin stamped a thunderous thigh. “Get up this instant or I’ll send you out to run laps tonight!”

As quickly as a girl her size could wobble, Grizzly spilled off of the bed. Her black bra creaked as she pulled herself upright. “I’m up chief, I’m up.” Then, her purple eyes narrowed. “Hey! You’re not wearing your shirt either!!!”

“Spas-12,” Commander Winters spoke up from the other side of the dark room. 

Instantly the room was filled with silence while the pudgy white-haired girl sprung to attention, turning to examine the near black shadow of her superior as he stood in the corner near his desk. “Yes, Commander?” she asked.

“Step forward,” he bade her with an outstretched hand. He waved toward the front of his desk where a small wooden chair awaited her. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, Commander.” Spas did as she was told, moving forward and to her designated spot. It was a familiar chair, but the context had changed. It had been weeks since her entrance interview… weeks since she’d seen the Commander so grave.

Behind her she could hear the rustling of clothing and an exchange of whispers from the other T-dolls. “I can’t get the buttons,” Grizzly whispered. “RFB help.”

“No way, chunky!” the pear hotly replied. “I told you, I’m not fondling your boobs.”

“I’m serious this time!!” her voice was tight and pleading. 

Winters placed the envelop on his desk. Thick black splotches of ink were illuminated against the manila background but was too dark for Spas to read what they said.

“God, Grizzly,” Mosin came back. “What have you been eating? You’re gonna pass RFB.”

“Hey, you can’t fasten your jacket!”

“Yeah, but my sweater stretches,” she smartly replied. “There. Now come on, prep time.”

Spas listened to the dolls as they approached from behind, but felt the strain on her mind to keep facing front and maintain her bearing. It was only when one of the dolls made contact, laying a blubber coated hand upon her shoulder that she allowed herself to look.

Mosin looked down upon her, her thick double chin cutting into her ghostly white face. “You’ll do fine,” she reassured. “Here, have a sip of this. I’ve been saving it.” She held out a clear bottle with some sloshing liquid inside. The bottle was cold, and quickly began to frost out in the open air. Spas took it.

“Oh God,” Grizzly moaned from the behind. “She’s not gonna want that!”

Mosin turned on her. “Let her try it before judgment,” she waved.

Spas looked from Mosin to Grizzly, who was grimacing unabashed. Even RFB looked hesitantly at the bottle, but Mosin seemed genuine and dotted upon her. “Do you need help opening it?”

“N-no, I’ve got it,” Spas said. She unscrewed the cap and took a whiff. Fire spread up her nose and she turned away from the bottle, coughing.

“See?” Grizzly declared. “Nobody likes vodka! Save it for the other Russian dolls!!”

Mosin scowled at Grizzly before pursing her lips almost worriedly at Spas. “Would you not like any?” she asked, for the first time ever seeming unconfident. “It’s a bit of courage. Helps with your belly.”

Spas felt herself gritting her teeth. “Umm, no no, I’ll have a… sip,” she nodded. Then before she could back out, she raised the bottle and gulped twice from it. 

The alcohol content for the bottle was immense, enough to kill any normal human outright should they drink more than a glass. It spread through Spas’s systems, kickstarting her like lightning, and yet left much to be desired.

Spas’s tongue hung out when she pulled herself away from the bottle before coughing heavily. “Bligh,” she muttered, wiping her tongue with the back of her hand.

“Emergency shake!” RFB called out. From nowhere, she supplied Spas with a fat paper cup. 

The shotgun T-doll nearly dropped the bottle of alcohol, fumbling for the shake and clamping her mouth over the straw. A smooth creamy flow of chocolate ice cream coated Spas’s mouth, bringing cozy relief when it all came down to her tummy.

“I told you,” Grizzly said, putting her hands on her hips. “Nobody likes that!”

“But everyone’s had it,” Mosin replied wisely, taking the bottle from Spas and cradling it. “I remember when both of you sat in this chair. You needed that courage, as she needs yours now.”

Spas blinked at them, still hungrily sucking down the frozen treat.

Grizzly’s expression softened. Both her and RFB put their hands out and touched her on either shoulder.

“You’ll do fine, Sister,” Grizzly said solemnly.

“You’ve got this!” RFB cheered. “Afterwards, you can have all the shakes you want. And trust me, you’ll want more.”

Spas separated from the straw. “M-more?” she asked.

RFB winked.

Finally, Commander Winters interjected. “Ladies,” he bade. “If you’d please.”

Each of them nodded before grinning down to Spas and turning to make their way from the room. As they went, they chatted cheerfully. 

“Marshmallow, can we turn off the lights out here?”

“Oh, yeah! I can use the projector, and you two can help me beat the cow boss!!”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Mosin responded. “We’ll be needed shortly.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Spas and Winters alone in the room.

Spas was unable to feel nervous or afraid in the presence of the commander, yet even her coding could not prevent her unconsciously noting the air of tension. She tried not to look over to where he stood, still waiting. She remembered the serious expression on his usually jovial face. 

Commander Winters let the silence hang for a moment before making his way to his chair. His dark uniform turned him into a shade. The desk was at the rear of the room and furthest away from the blinded windows, but he flicked on his desk lamp and opened the manila file.

He remained quiet. His eyes were dark, shaded from the light. He took up a pencil and tapped it twice on the desk before sighing and sitting back in his chair. When he looked up, his blue eyes no longer burned. They simply looked sad. 

“Commander Konrad was a friend of mine,” he told her.

Spas was unsure how to respond. She’d never known a human enough to call them her friend, but if Konrad was part of G&K’s upper staff, she had to speak well of him. “I am sure that he was a good person,” she said.

Winters nodded. “I knew him from before I came here, to the PMC. He joined a short while after I did, after he finally got out.”

Spas did not ask where he had gotten out from.

“He had a way with the spirit,” Winters went on. “Understood what we were doing. Why we’re here.” He paused, sitting forward in his chair. His speech shifted, and she saw the sadness fade. “Do you know why we’re here, Spas?”

Spas swallowed. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Y-you, sir, are a member of Griffin and Kruger command staff. I am a tactical doll designated with duties to protect and ensure the defense of fellow T-dolls.”

Again, he nodded. “A by the numbers answer. Without knowing immediately how to respond, you have been programmed to cite G&K doctrine as it is the letter of the law.”

“Yes,” Spas clasped her fingers in her lap. She knew she had given the right answer… so why did it feel like it was wrong?

“Spas, I wish to ask you a couple of questions.” His tone was firm now and she felt herself straightening, her sensors primed to receive his orders.

“Okay,” she replied before remembering. “Is this the order Mosin had mentioned?”

Winters breathed easily and there was a small comfort as his familiar smile peeked out from the side. “She has prepared you. That’s good. But no, not yet.”

Spas innocently puckered her lips. “Okay.”

“Firstly…” he leaned forward and gestured to her body. “Where did you get that outfit?”

Spas blinked at him. “E-ehh?” she stammered, confused. Then she glanced down at herself. She was surprised by how completely her pasty tummy filled out her lap beneath a large pair of fluffy breasts. 

The red clasps of her black shirt were undone, clearly outgrown by her weeks of non-stop feasting and enjoying every desire being fulfilled. No belt could contain her, though thankfully her skirt was so tight around her hips that she didn’t need one for the fabric to hang atop of the generous curve of her rear. Even Spas’s stockings were outgrown, with thick layers of flab bunching over their upper edges. The only thing that decently fit Spas was the red tie around her smooth neck and the black ribbons in her snowy white hair.

“Oh!” she hopped in her chair, her tummy bouncing cutely, nearly reaching the fringe of her skirt. “Well, I got them at the commissary, of course! That’s where all T-dolls get their clothes!”

“I see. Did you pick them out?” he asked. 

“I did!” she brightly replied. “I tried on a couple of different styles, but I loved how the black and red look on me, and had the seamstresses make me this! They’re my favorite colors! What do you think, Commander?” 

Winter chuckled. “I think the outfit is very cute, Spas.”

She beamed, swaying from side to side. “Thank you!” Then a thought occurred to her. “Were you thinking of getting me new ones?”

He breathed out a very short laugh. “Not quite. The commissary doesn’t make outfits that will fit any of the girls in 707, but Kalina has been supplying us with our,” he paused, “higher demand for fabric. Whether she’s making the outfits herself, or if she knows a quiet seamstress at the commissary, she has not said.” His eyes wandered to the side. “Probably because she knows we’ll pay her in pizzas and candy if she doesn’t mention it. Though, I have noticed even her clothing seems to have gone up a few sizes...”

The atmosphere of comfort had returned to the room. Spas felt relaxed just talking with her commander about the workplace. She giggled, “Miss Kalina’s clothing was already tight.”

“That it was…” the commander smiled, looking back to Spas. 

She felt something light tickle her chest at the warmth in his eyes. She remembered Mosin’s bright blue eyes and wondered if this was how he looked at her. 

Griffin allowed for their commanders to maintain many of the highly sought oaths… Spas wondered for a moment what the Winters thought of her and found herself looking down at her lap with a deep red blush.

He cleared his throat. “My next question is, did you choose to be a shotgun specialist?”

“Hmm?” Spas perked her head to the side and drummed her fingers over her tummy, thinking. “Yes! I did!”

“Did you?” he raised his eyebrows. “Do you remember when, during the process?”

Spas’s bright eyes fluttered. What a strange question to ask. The commander had been so formal, but now was asking such simple things. “Why do you want to know?” returned the question.

All sense of levity vanished from his voice. He spoke rapidly, “Spas-12, you have been issued a direct line of questioning by a superior. Acknowledge.”

She went rigid. “Question received,” Spas recited automatically. “I chose the designation of a shotgun specialist after joining Griffin and Kruger from the civilian sector.”

“Why did you choose the designation?” he rapidly fired back.

The answer spilled out of her. “Shotgun specialists are an integral unit in the combat position. They are the on the frontline of history, protecting other G&K assets and keeping them safe. Their role serves as support for the main land combat focused teams of the contractor, and to push our teams forward to victory over those who stand against us.”

Silence. The comfort was gone, the room became chilled, and Spas felt herself squirming beneath his gaze. His jawline was set, his disapproving frown almost angry. She’d given the instinctual answer, the correct answer, but something was quite clearly wrong with her wording.

She was saved by a firm knock on the office door. Three loud raps before the door was opened and light flooded in. It was quickly blocked by a large shadow. But, Spas realized, the shadow wasn’t flabby like those of her team members. 

“Whew,” came a highly pitched chuckle of a masculine voice. “I was hoping you’d be done by now. Do you need us to come back?” A huge man with a broad chest and a large pair of hands entered the room. 

“Of course not, we’re just talking about Spas’s favorite things.” Commander Winters rose from his desk to greet the man. As he drew nearer, Spas recognized Commander Bellows by the shine in his broad grin. 

Bellows was a large, squat man. He didn’t stand as high as Winters but appeared much more practiced. His Griffin uniform could hardly fit over his strong looking chest, and the red jacket had visible stretch lines on his arms. His muscles made it obvious that Bellows was a hands-on type. 

The stout commander had also allowed his facial hair to grow out into the beginning of a soft brown beard and mustache, which Spas almost instantly categorized as past regulation requirements for Commander-level staff members. However, the girl behind him had grown much further past any regulations…

UMP45 wobbled in his wake, her hips nearly as fat as Bellows was broad. While not the size of the 707 girls, she was still more double the weight of any of the standard T-dolls at the base and had a considerable lead on Spas when it came to the thickness in her thighs. She was currently snacking on a rather delicious looking crepe that almost instantly drew Spas’s deep, hungry gaze. 

It was only after she began drooling that Spas remembered she wasn’t supposed to be hungry. Even before sucking down the shake, she had been eating all evening. Her belly had been so packed with food that it was throbbing with pain. And yet now, it rumbled without any semblance of shame when the fruity scent of the sugary sweet drifted up to her nose.

45’s bright yellow eyes shimmered. The scar that ran over her left eyelid tightened when she looked over to Spas, wearing her feline grin before sticking out her tongue. “None for you, indoc,” she winked, then turned to Winters and coyly said, “Commander, you really need to control your girls. How are they supposed to fight when they can’t even stand?”

“Yes, hello 45,” Winters said flatly. “It’s good to see you too.”

The girl bobbed from side to side. Her long silver hair twisting around her pudgy body, nomming on her icy treat before turning back to Spas. “What do you guys have around here? I’m starving, and we’re out of M&M’s downstairs.”

“We are not,” Bellows laughed. “I’m sure the others won’t mind sharing though, Greedy.”

“Somebody needs to make sure Marshmallow-Nougat can still stand up,” 45 winked at Commander Winters before, heading over toward the couch. “Ooo, snack cakes!”

There was a sudden noise at the door as it cracked partially open. The voice of Grizzly shouted in. “If you touch those, I’ll make sure your other eye gets a matching scar!”

“Alright, fine,” 45 replied, and the door shut. She returned to the desk, where the commanders now stood. 

Spas noted she was carrying three cakes.

“You got my message?” Winters asked.

Commander Bellows nodded, his grin fading, replaced with a more somber expression. “I came as soon as I did. But that can wait.”

“It better,” 45 spoke up, “cause your charge is about to bolt for the door.”

Spas felt the weight of the world as each pair of eyes fell onto her. What the heck was she doing here? None of this served the purpose of fighting Sangvis Ferri. She was witnessing private correspondence between two higher ups of Griffin staff, which was already against the rulings of her code, but she couldn’t leave her seat lest she be disobeying orders, and T-dolls were incapable of breaking regulations! How, then, how had things become li-

“Spas-12,” Commander Winters broke through her thoughts.

Again without thought, she straightened and opened herself to receiving his formal commands. “Yes, Commander Winters?”

“Ooooh,” UMP45 cooed. She moved around the desk to Spas’s side. “So rigid and yet so soft…” with one hand, she reached down and poked Spas’s side. “You’re programmed to respond so sharply when your full title is used.”

The albino girl felt like she was about to have an anxiety attack, which should have been impossible for her. All of her programming was tweaking out, unable to understand the restrictions of her placement, but she must follow orders. She was a machine, a tool of Griffin and Kruger, a weapon to destroy Sangvis Ferri!

UMP45 lowered her crepe. Without even the chance to process the thought, Spas leaned forward and snapped a mouthful of the sweet. Vanilla cream dripped down her lips and a large frozen strawberry burst over her tongue as her teeth scrunched it down. The delicacy spooned over her, intrinsically calming her panic while giving her something to focus on. She was reminded again of the shake and of her teammates.

“Thatta girl,” 45 said, rubbing her hand through the back of Spas’s hair. “You’re almost through. Have another bite.”

Spas gladly imbibed. Her taste buds danced while the cream freely swam down her throat.

“Use her favorite foods,” she heard UMP instruct as she went for another chomp. “That’s her connection.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Winters said.

45 hummed cheerfully. “Come on, Samuel. I wanna go call Marshmallow tubby and show her how well I fit in your lap. We can come back in after, but she needs this done now.”

Bellows nodded and grinned. He extended his hand and UMP walked into up, rubbing her cheek against it before taking it in both of hers. Silently, he followed her back outside.

Spas swallowed the last of her bites. Her eyes were fluttering, fingers tensing. Something was wrong with her, something was very wrong and she couldn’t she couldn’t she couldn’t-

“You’re trying to question your orders,” came his voice.

Spas looked up. She stared into those rich blue eyes. They were so calm, so reassured. He reached his hand out over the desk and just like the ice cream, Spas instinctively reached forward and took it. 

An alert popped up in her faculties. Her breathing systems were working too quickly. She tried to stop it. After another moment, Spas could suddenly feel the beating of her heart.

“Breathe, Spas. It’s okay. You’ve begun to understand.”

“U-understand what?” she asked him. “What’s happening to me?”

He held her in his sight and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You feel the need to report me to higher command,” he told her. “Me, Bellows, and both 707 and 505 Alpha.”

And suddenly Spas knew it to be true. She found all the details she’d been filing, the regulations that had been stamped on and the rules that were broken, hidden just beneath the surface. After all, what sort of command structure could allow this? 

T-dolls couldn’t break imposed regulations, it just wasn’t possible! And these ‘commanders’, there was no discernible way they could be working to combat Sangvis Ferri. They were plotting something. They were going to use her for something. 

She had to tell someone. Kalina, or maybe even Kruger himself. She must report this. 

She must report Winters.

Yet Spas couldn’t stop holding onto his hand. The taste of dessert on her tongue was the only comfort while stomach kicked her, while her throat tightened… but she could only look into his deep blue eyes.

“Spas, I’m going to give you a single order right now. Okay? We’re almost done.”

She swallowed. She knew she was unable to feel unsure about him… and yet… Finally, she simply nodded.

He released her hand. She instantly put it onto her tummy. Somehow, her stomach being bare and pudgy made things easier to focus on, made the pleasure of food easier to remember. “Spas, try to relax. This will make sense soon.” 

Her neck tried to bend, but she was unable. Spas took a deep breath and stayed focused on his eyes.

He grinned softly before leaning back in his chair. “Spas, I want to know what your favorite food is.”

She swallowed and felt herself flutter. Her tummy rumbled beneath her touch. “F-favorite?” she asked.

“Yes, Spas,” he replied. “If you had to choose.”

Instantly, her mind flickered to cheeseburgers. What she wouldn’t do right now for a double bacon cheeseburger. Thick cuts of beef covered with provolone cheese and a myriad of condiments. And it’d be greasy. She loved the grease so much. 

But then there was pizza! And pasta as well!!

Her vision drifted from his as her mind sharpened, focusing all mental faculties on this simple task. She could almost taste each dish in her mouth as she thought of it.

Yet, even this task made her feel disquieted. “There’s so many…” she shook her head. “Umm… can I…” she realized her gaze had fallen to his desk and hurriedly snapped back to his. “Can I maybe pick… four?” she asked.

Commander Winters chuckled. There was power in the laugh, and Spas felt it had come from somewhere warm. “Of course, Spas.” He said with a grin.

For the first time, Spas felt as if she’d said something right. It made her perk up and bounce in her chair. “Okay!” she said excitedly, followed by, “Thank you, Commander!” 

Confidence came to her. She could do this. Spas knew all about food!

She leaned back in her chair, feeling her fingers drum on her tummy. “I pick… well, cheeseburger- no wait! Bacon cheeseburgers,” she spaced out for a moment thinking of the heavy taste of grease. “And I really like manicotti, with garlic bread of course! And then… pizza,” she grinned, leaning to the side. “I really love pepperoni, when it’s all toasted on top, you know?” 

Her stomach was rumbling, but now it felt like a pleasant reminder to Spas. She loved food so much. Loved stuffing her face and eating with her teammates. She remembered RFB’s cheeks covered in cream, and then Marshmallow’s fingers sinking into her belly.

“Wait!!” she called, sitting up straight. “What about desserts? Do those count?”

Her vision again centered on Winters, who raised his hand. “Those three will do, Spas.”

Was the food talk ending? She didn’t want it to… She gulped before nodding placatingly. “Okay.”

“I’ve another question. Are you ready?”

She felt shaky, like something was twisting around her circuitry, but she found something inside. Mosin, RFB, and Grizzly were at the forefront of her mind. Something about them, they mattered more than just T-dolls or even teammates. 

Their words coupled with the burn of the alcohol inside of her belly. They had known what was happening. They had been here, and still trusted him. And Spas found that she too trusted her commander beyond any order. “Yes.”

“Spas-12,” he said, “what is your favorite breakfast?”

Without missing a beat Spas replied, "The optimal breakfast for a T-doll is eggs and toast! I like mine scrambled, because they taste fluffier." Then, she blinked at herself. She hadn’t even thought, the words had just come, and they were far too excited for her current mess.

“Good response,” the Commander praised. “Directly in line.”

Despite herself, Spas couldn’t help but feel relieved. She took a shuttering breath and laughed, resting her hands on her thighs. “Hehehe, thank you.”

“Spas-12, what is your favorite lunch?” the next question came.

Again without thought. "The optimal lunch for a T-doll is potatoes and rice with an entree of chicken! I like my potatoes with a little... extra... salt?" By the end, Spas was trailing off, looking down at herself. She put a hand to her mouth before quickly lowering it onto her heaving chest.

Still he praised her. “Again, the perfect response.”

“Umm… thank you, Commander,” she bowed.

He waited a moment this time. It was as if he’d gone completely still, hardly even breathing before asking, “Spas-12, what is your favorite dinner?”

"The optimal dinner for a T-doll is protein focused, either fi- w-wait...” Spas struggled, her mouth opening and closing. Suddenly she felt hot, and warnings finally triggered that her breathing had spiked. Her temple was pounding. “M-my favorite..." she put a hand on her head.

Suddenly, Winters was standing directly in front of her. “Spas-12!” he barked. “Command ID 19120793. Recognize.”

Robotically her mouth was forced open. “Identification authorized,” came out from her lips. The pounding increased and she tried to lean forward.

“Spas-12!” his hand slammed into her shoulder, forcing her back. The desk lamp was completely obscured behind him, yet she tried desperately to hold onto the gleam of blue in his eyes. The fire inside. “Command authorization code Sierra Papa Alpha Sierra. Recognize!”

The room had begun to spin out from under her. Her stomach violently heaved, forcing her hands to clamp her hands to her shoulders, tightly hugging herself. Water dribbled down into her eyes before her sensors told her that she was dripping with sweat. “C-C-Commander?”

“Spas-12, what is your favorite dinner?”

“T-the optimal-” she began.

“SPAS-12,” he broke in, “what is your favorite dinner?!”

“M-my favorite…” she shook her head, trying to blink, unable to look away from that piercing stare. 

“Command authorization code Whiskey Hotel Indigo Terra Echo! Recognize!!” 

“I-I,” she was shaking in her seat. “My favorite…”

“Spas-12, you have been directed to answer the question! What is your favorite dinner?!”

A glass wall suddenly appeared within Spas’s mind. It had always been there, coated with thick fog, but now a spiderweb of cracks made it clear for her to see. It had just been hit by a sledgehammer. 

Spas could hear servos inside of her wrench as she forced her mouth open and doubled over to scream. “CHEESEBURGERS!! Double stacked, dripping with grease, bubbling fresh bacon on top!!”

Another hit and she was roughly shoved back in her seat. Fear flooded up through the cracks in the glass, spreading into Spas for the first time since the wall had been erected. She shrank down before his piercing blue eyes, desperate now to hide from the fire inside, but something far stronger was pushing her up. She needed his light. “Spas-12, when did you choose the designation of shotgun specialist?!” Winters roared.

“I-I-I-” she stammered, trying to think. She reached out, putting her hands on his chest, gripping the uniform.

“When did you decide you wanted to take incoming fire?!”

Impact struck Spas harder than any blow and she screamed. The feeling of rapid-fire pounding into her arm, slamming against Spas’s shield. Bullets, slugs, high powered explosives. Her left arm wrenched in pain.

Memories came to her. Memories of being downrange, of testing her resolve. The same memories that had been triggered by Mosin earlier, those of being downrange during the first months of Spas’s training.

And, for the first time Spas knew that they were false. Shards of glass were tumbling free, turning to ash and leaving only the visage a young albino girl with nowhere left to go. A defective civilian hooked up to a machine for hours on end as her life was rewritten.

“I-I di- I didn-”

Then, something hidden found its way to the surface. She’d remembered it once, had even held onto it… and then the programming had taken that from her too. But now it returned, pounding on the other side. Slamming through the cracks, fragmenting the glass.

“When did they decide you would be their fucking bullet sponge?!”

Sabrina broke down as the programming shattered. The trickle of fear became an overwhelming wave and it swallowed the girl as she realized how she had been shot at, had been wounded, had almost been killed. She couldn’t hold a checkout scanner, much less a gun. 

Her memories flooded back with the fear, and she remembered it all.

Arms were around her, holding her tight to some pillowy chest. Mosin-Nagant had appeared at her side and was whispering into her ear as she openly sobbed. “Shhhshshhh, it’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay, we have you.”

Sabrina stood up and threw herself onto Mosin’s shoulder as the last year of repressed pain and terror that had all been locked down broiled to the surface. How many gun barrels, how many bullets? She had been shot in the face! They’d shot her in the face!!

“I-I-I c-c-can’t,” she shook her head. “I can’t!”

Another set of arms closed around her from the right. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” RFB whispered. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Grizzly came before her and Sabrina could only just stop the heaving in her stomach to look into her purple eyes. The pain that was there reflected so clearly, and she remembered what Mosin had said.

A different sensation boiled within her and she took her arms from Mosin and RFB and threw them around Grizzly. And then they were both crying, holding each other, desperate to comfort one another through the freshness of pain.

******************************************************************************

It took a while to calm herself down. Sabrina’s systems had kept a complete diagnostic of every injury she had ever received in her time at Griffin, and when her programming had burst, each had all forced itself onto her body. The dampeners had suddenly vanished, leaving her completely open to the phantom assault. 

Mosin had explained that, being a shotgun designator, Sabrina… Spas, had been subject to more pain than most other dolls. She had also been destroyed four times in combat with Sangvis units due to poor direction from unit commanders, needing to be backed up and repaired bit by bit.

She kept running her hands up and down her arms, searching for wounds that didn’t exist. Even now, the ghosts of pain twanged at her body. They were clearly not real, only memories, but those were enough. She could hardly find it in herself to look at Commander Winters. He sat across from her on the large sectional, dressed down to only his white shirt and his black slacks as she lightly chewed over a fifth comforting bar of chocolate, trying to find her thoughts. The others sat with them, their presence a pillow to Sabrina’s fretfulness.

For the first time, nothing was directing her. She was free to speak… but, for the first time in ages, she didn’t need to.

“It tastes better, don’t it?” Grizzly asked.

“Shh, little bear,” Mosin quieted her. “Let her just be.”

Sabrina hardly heard them. Her eyes were on the manila folder set on the otherwise snack-covered table. She had thought that it contained the briefing on Commander Konrad… but that had only been a single piece of paper. The stack of files that sat before her was engraved with bold black letters ‘Tactical Doll designation SPAS-12. Classified.’

“You don’t have to read it,” Winters supplied.

From the Commander’s desk, UMP45 spoke firmly. “Yes, she does.”

Sabrina felt a shot impact on her leg. She rubbed at the memory while Winters looked over to the SMG. “45,” he sighed.

“Not for us,” 45 interrupted. “For herself. Even remembering what she does, Griffin locked away so much that she needs to see it in writing.”

“She’s right,” Mosin said. 

“Of course I am,” 45 stood from the seat. She walked over to the couch, resting her arms on Bellows back. “I was the first one to break away for a reason, remember?”

Sabrina looked up to her. She felt distrust for Griffin, but in this girl, just like the others… she now saw a sister. “What do you mean ‘break away?’” she asked.

45 tapped Bellows on the back. “Gimmie that,” she pointed to the table.

“Haven’t you had enough?” Grizzly asked.

45 blew out a lengthy raspberry. “You guys have a shipping container worth of snacks, you can share!”

Bellows looked to his fellow commander. 

“Give it to her,” Winters nodded. 

The large man retrieved the chocolate bar from the stack, giving it to 45. She unwrapped it and bit down with gusto before turning back to Sabrina. “I never worked for Griffin,” 45 said. “Technically, I don’t exist. No records, no pay stubs, and especially no pictures. Me and the rest of Squad 404, Griffin never implanted us with their programming.” She shook her head, “If they had, their wetwork squad would have pointed straight back to them when we were eventually captured and dissected.”

“Wetwork?” Sabrina shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

UMP45 hummed as she came around the couch, strutting her fat hips. “Weeeell, there was me, my sister, SMG UMP9, and two ARs. G11 and HK416. We made up Squad 404, which isn’t attached to an office or anything like 707 and 505!” she wagged her finger. “Complete self-control and oversight. T-dolls ruling T-dolls. We did all the dirty work Griffin didn’t want to admit to. All of it.”

“Yeah,” Grizzly huffed, “like nearly getting us all killed over winter.”

UMP45 smiled sweetly toward her. “Yup. It was because we hit them so hard that Sangvis ordered a lethal attack on any personnel but M4A1.” She then tapped a finger on her chest. “And it was also us who captured Architect and put an end to the assault.”

A twinge in her neck caused Sabrina to flinch. She tried to banish the sensation. “Architect?” she asked.

45 waved a hand. “Sangvis ringleader. It doesn’t matter, she’s locked away right now while Griffin tries to get information from her.” She took a fresh bite of her bar. “They’re not getting anywhere though.”

Sabrina hummed in thought. “Then… what happened to the others? Your sister?”

45 laughed. “If they’re smart, they used the piles of money we made and got out. Without my ID, they can’t get any work from G&K. Hopefully, they’re sitting in an apartment in the city getting as fat as Marshmallow here,” she smirked at Mosin.

“They wish,” Mosin winked, lifting her shirt and massaging her huge doughy belly. “The food tastes so much better once you’re freed from the system. And you know us T-dolls. We’d all be this big if we had the chance.”

45 snorted. “Maybe you weirdos! 505 is perfectly content being soft and cuddly.”

“Yeah,” Mosin smirked, “you just wait. Samuel just doesn’t feed you enough.”

“John overfeeds you!” 45 retaliated.

John… It was his through his true name that Sabrina found herself able to look at Winters. “Are all the girls like… that?” she asked. “Like what they did to me? 

He slowly nodded. “We call it ‘The Suppression.’ And yeah, most of them.” His gaze fell, and there was shame in his voice. “Some are made more aggressive. Others are forced to be remarkably confident. Almost all are rewritten.”

“Because we came in as defects,” Sabrina said. Her red eyes went down to her lap, the memory of entering the recruitment center wearing hardly anything but rags playing through her mind. “I couldn’t even be a service doll, because I kept eating the food customers would order.”

Grizzly sniggered, drawing Sabrina’s eyes. “I was built to be a daycare tender,” she shrugged. “They can’t change everything about us.”

“Which is why the break involves your favorite things,” RFB said. “Do you think Griffin wants someone like me bringing my games along on every mission?”

Spas giggled. “I guess not. Was that what your… ‘break?’ Focused on? Video games?”

RFB nodded.

“Mine was fashion,” Grizzly said. She put a hand behind her head and chuckled, straining her white button top with her massive chest. “I really like dressing up.”

Spas turned to Mosin. “What was yours?”

Mosin said nothing for a short time. Her eyes went to Winters and she placed her hand onto his thigh. “I didn’t have a specific,” she finally said. “I had mine during the Arctic Warfare event, when a Jupiter Canon salvo leveled our command center.”

Winters took her hand in his. They sat there quietly. His finger coasted over the ring on her hand and suddenly Sabrina felt genuine anger boiling inside. 

They’d been programmed to believe that the happy ending of a T-doll would be an oath to their Commander. Commanders who could have six or seven oaths to various other units. Even those who were most valued were replaceable. 

She felt sick inside, remembering the thought that Winters might one day also propose to her. Between he and Mosin, there was such a genuine bond. Feeling that went beyond what the now vile word ‘oath’ could mean. 

Sabrina then noted the ring on Bellows’ hand, and the matching one of 45’s.

That thought spiked another in her mind. She felt her eyes fall to the table, but her stare was far away. 

They said he had been oathed too. 

“Your friend…” she spoke to Winters. “He was freeing dolls like you are, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Winters replied.

“Yeah,” Bellows nodded in unison.

Sabrina stood up. She moved over to the two men, unashamed of how her belly hung out over her skirt. She looked from face to face. “Why?” she asked. “I need to know. Why do this?”

Bellows looked to Winters. “Well, John?”

John Winters looked back to Sabrina. He clenched his jaw, and his eyes again blazed with that kindling fury. He stood up, matching her. “Because we are reprogramming intelligent beings to forget themselves and only serve us. And then throwing hundreds of them and dozens of human lives away at an enemy that we have no chance at stopping. I intend to find out why when the company falls apart around Kruger’s ears.”

Finally, she understood the fire. Her protector’s programming was gone. Her will to save others rose in its place. Sabrina extended her hand. “Where do we start?”

Winters took it. 

With a grunt, Bellows removed a paper from his jacket pocket. “Our next move is here,” he said. “G&K is holding a beneficiary in recognition of Konrad’s death. Winters and I are… expected to be there.”

“You’re not still thinking about going, are you?” UMP45 asked. “It’s a trap. You’re both under investigation because Ava’s nearly three hundred pounds, and you were both close with Konrad.”

“What should we do?” Bellows shrugged. “Break off now? Our support teams aren’t anywhere near big enough, nor do we have enough intel.”

Sabrina took the paper and began looking it over. It wasn’t a summation of Konrad’s death at all. It was an order for Winter and Bellows to both report to the party at the end of the week, and listed that there would be consequences if they shouldn’t arrive.

“I thought Ava escaped before security personnel could arrive?” RFB asked.

UMP45 shook her head, balling up the empty wrapper and tossing it onto the table. “Sangvis Ferri stormed the command center from the sewers. They knew they were setting up there and attacked when they were unpacking. It was a kill mission. There’s no way they destroyed the base’s footage, nor took their files. Who knows what Konrad had written down? We could all be listed! Trust me, Griffin knows about Ava, and they probably have figured you two out too.”

Still, Bellows simply shrugged. “That doesn’t change anything. We can’t act yet.”

“Idiot,” 45 spat, “I won’t let Griffin lock you up.”

“Nor will I,” Mosin spoke from beside Winters.

“We have to go.” Winters said. His words were heavy with finality. “There is no other way. It’s a chance for us to get close to the high command too.”

UMP45 glared at Bellows, who held up his hands before tilting his head at his friend. “Hey, he said it.”

She pouted. “Fine,” she growled. Then jabbed a finger at him, “You’re lucky none of the command know what I look like.”

“What are you talking about?” Bellows perked an eyebrow.

UMP45 slid a digit over her left forearm. A panel opened up. “I’m coming with you. You aren’t leaving my sight.”

Mosin stood from her seat, swiping a finger down her arm as well. “Me too,” she said. Then to 45, “Wonderful idea.”

“Hmph,” 45 verbalized, tapping the inside of her arm. Her body briefly began to shimmer before her clothes melted away, transforming into an extremely dark blue velvet dress. Her curvaceous body filled out the clothing and then some, and her jiggling thighs were exposed beneath the hem. Her small chest held firm perky breasts atop of the smooth curve of her tummy.

Mosin, meanwhile, shifted into a deep ocean blue dress highlighted with a white hem. A blue choker briefly appeared and then exploded off of her fat, non-existent neck. The dress was hardly chest level, held up only by two black straps, but the doughy Marshmallow looked like it would cling to her even without them. Her boobs looked massive, nearly entirely exposed behind two small bits of cloth. A light red fabric became untied from her belly, and the black stockings she wore began to rapidly creak. The only thing not under immediate stress was the white lily flower she now wore in her hair.

“T-this fit the last time I wore it,” she mumbled. Then a cry came forth as. Mosin’s high heels snapped beneath husky feet and she tumbled backward, flab exploding out of her outfit as if she were a living grenade. Winters moved to catch her and she slammed into him, pushing them both backward onto the couch. With a slam and another scream, her obesity carried them through the back as it came free under her collapsing weight.

UMP45 openly laughed, pointing at the fallen couple that were groaning on the floor.

“Wait!” Grizzly hopped to her feet. “No no no no.” 

She mimicked the other girls’ actions to slide open her wrist. Yet when her body shimmered, it wasn’t just her clothing that changed. The fluffy hourglass began to shrink downward, and tiny little balls of light appeared on her head, revealing themselves to be little brown ears. 

Now less than five feet tall, Grizzly’s outfit began to instantly tear the moment it tried to squeeze her four hundred-pound, short-stacked body into it. A black choker went pinging to the wall, a tiny black tee was ripped straight down the middle, and the remains of her denim shorts clung to her fatty thighs while she joined Mosin in near nudeness.

Her voice, lighter pitch, began to cry. “Nooooooo! Not my cute teddy bear skin!! I thought I was supposed to shrink?!” she wobbled fiercely as she stamped fatty feet. “Do you have any idea how many tokens this cost?!”

45’s laughter redoubled. It belted off the walls of the chamber, surrounding them as it turned into high-pitched snorting from her inconsolable belly.

Sabrina stared at her exposed sisters before turning to RFB, who raised her hands. “Hey, the only skin I have is Christmas,” she said. “This dress already barely fits, thank you very much.” Then, she reached past the whining Teddy, and withdrew the box of snack cakes to munch on.