Filling out the Sideline: Do Androids Dream of Missing Sheep? (Patreon)

“Incoming!” came the muffled scream. 

Sirens wailed through the cold winter air, complimented by hails of gunfire. Snow flurries blasted up from the earth, followed by shock and by fire. 

G11 winced, feeling the sparks against her legs. She glared down the scope of her high-powered rifle and squeezed off a reply. Across the open field, Architect laughed with devilish glee before shouldering her weapon. Her personal artillery launcher thundered. 

“G11!!!” the same voice screamed before the explosion blasted through the air. 

G11 growled. It sounded like a small dog whining. “I can’t pierce her shield!” she called back in her high-toned voice. She watched through her scope as Architect reloaded, saw the scarlet glimmer through the Sangvis leader’s bright violet eyes. “416, we need to move!!”

The arctic winds were the only reply. 

G11 squeezed off another burst. She saw the force-shield that defended Architect spring forth over her face, and her sharks smile sharpened, looking directly to the frozen hillside where G11 lay. 

“416, she’s reloaded!” G11 noted. “Retreat!” 

The com-line crackled. “G-G-” the voice was cut off. 

G11’s artificial blood was suddenly as cold as the air. She swiveled her rifle and spotted out the large crater of Architect’s last blast. A pale white hand lifted into the flake filled sky, slamming down into the snow and pulling forward the remnants of HK416’s body. Her left arm had been blasted off at the elbow, along with her left leg beneath the knee. Black shreds were all that remained of her torn tactical outfit, and through gaps in her skin, her internal circuitry was revealed. Fluids spilled out into the tundra wasteland.

“G-G,” the white-haired t-doll managed, her vocals straining as the mechanics fought to maintain. “R-r-r-run.” 

G11 dug her fingers into the ground, tearing into the ice and sprinting forward. “45!!” she hollered into her mic. “416 is hit, Architect has us, help!!!” 

“A-away, you idiot,” 416 snarled. Her neck had been torn open, and sparks flung from the open wounds. 

G11 felt the tears springing to her eyes as she watched her best friend. “45, where are you?!?” she screeched. 

“Carnival of the end!!!” 

Over the siren, over the gunfire, over the whole arctic war, G11 could hear Architect’s glee filled scream. She turned just in time to see the Sangvis sadist fling herself into the air. Her long single braid of raven black hair twirled around her like a drill as she aim her launcher, and fired. 

And then, G11 was awake. 

And then, G11 was crying. 

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

It didn’t take long for the nightmare to pass. The false memories had seemed so real, had held her in a crushing vice. But she knew that was because they almost had been. 

UMP45 had saved their lives during the Arctic event. Her leadership of Squad 404 had been invaluable, and thanks to the sacrifices of so many others at G&K, they had survived intact. 

And now, 45 was gone. Vanished from the Earth without any sort of notice. Although, technically, she had never existed in the first place. None of them did. 

G11 sleepily peered around the hideout. A very faint glow of sun came around the blackout shades on her window, infesting her room no matter how hard she tried to banish it. Trash was littered everywhere around her high-rise apartment bedroom. She’d stopped caring, but was beginning to wish that someone else would so she could stop thinking about how she didn’t care. She made to stand from her bed. 

It took her a while.

G11 had been one of the strongest Assault class members that G&K had ever dealt with, authorized or not. 

Now, G11 couldn’t run across the room, much less a battlefield. She stumbled onto thick piggy legs, ignoring the sensation of her thighs slapping together. Her large tummy grumbled hungrily, and the T-doll set to work finding food in all of the scraps. 

Squad 404 had been the wetwork team for Griffon and Kryuger. The members did not exist on any official record, nor did any of the operations they partook in list them in any capacity. They were a blank slate, paid thousands of credits underneath the table. Heaps of money, for which G11 still was unsure about the point.

She was a T-doll. One of the most advanced creations of humankind. A machine that was to feel, to react, and most amazingly, to think for herself. She was able to form friendships, relationships, decide what clothes she wanted to wear, what position she wanted to sleep in... or, evidentially, how lazy she wanted to be. And since 45 disappeared, G11 wanted to be exceptionally lazy. 

She hadn’t expected to get so fat. But something inside of her must have been malfunctioning. After she reached her daily calorie count, even when she knew for a fact she would be overdoing it, G11 simply kept on eating. She would eat until she was crumpled up on her bed, with a little tablet displaying one of her favorite shows for her to fall asleep to, and even then would continue munching. 

She kicked aside empty cans and potato chip bags with her chubby bare feet. Cankles had caused her to outgrow her boots, and she hadn’t bothered at all to get new ones. In fact, most of her outfits were completely defunct. Aside from her undershirt, which clung around the pinch of her belly that rolled onto her hips, and her goofy little hat, G11 wore no clothing. 

Her dummies, however... 

A flashing orange light emitting from one of her tablets summoned G11’s attention. “Ohh,” she mumbled sleepily, plodding over to it and scooping it up. It instantly turned on, but she was momentarily distracted when she found an unopened box of cream coated donuts beneath. 

“G11!” The familiar voice emanating from her tablet nearly caused her to drop it. She caught it on top of her fluffy thigh, balancing backwards upon her other, as thick and steadying as the trunk of a tree. The voice had only been so shocking because, inside of her nightmare, she had heard its owner die. 

G11 swallowed. Looking into the tablet, HK416’s severe expression looked back. She tried to keep her movement breezy and swiped her thumb over the control upon the screen. A small pale hand attached to a skinny wrist rose up and wiped the lens of the camera. “Uwah,” she said into the microphone. “You woke me up.” On the other end, G11’s dummy copied and released the breezy tone perfectly while her real body swiped the Neural Uplink button. A chord popped out and G11 stuck it directly into her wrist, and the download began. 

“Yes,” 416 prompted. The display flashed and G11 saw indication of a hand on her bicep. “You’re getting too heavy to carry. Come on, 9’s up ahead scouting the sewer.” 

The download was at 45%. Even in faux-reality, even knowing she was intentional deceiving her only companions, G11 couldn’t resist having her dummy reaching up her hand to hold onto 416’s. She watched her through the screen, looked into those bright emerald eyes. 

“Would you cut that out?” 416 grunted, looking at the hand. “I’m not your babysitter.” 

“No,” G11 agreed. “You’re my best friend.” 

The ghost of a blush colored 416’s snow white cheeks. “Gah,” she exclaimed, breaking eye contact, though she didn’t pull away. “Don’t make it weird!”

G11 grunted. The Neural Uplink completed, and she blinked her eyes tiredly. 

When she opened them, part of her display was now the scene from her dummy. She was looking at the paint on 416’s face as she was dragged along deeper through the city sewers. Back in her hideaway, G11 snapped up half of a donut in one single bite. 

“What are you chewing?” 416 asked the dummy. G11 froze, only just remembering to dedicate memory space to keep her dummy’s legs walking. She hadn’t anticipated chewing to be one of the natural actions that the dummy instinctively copied. Which was quite bad, given she was loaded with donuts that would require much more chewing. 

A thought sprung into her brain, something from one of her shows. “The fat,” she replied. 

416 looked round her shoulder, peering at G11. “The fat?”

G11’s eyes opened widely. She glanced down at her obesity. “Chewing the fat is an expression.”

416 tilted her chin. “Oh,” she replied. “What’s it mean?” 

‘That I’ve been eating way too much,’ G11 thought to herself. Out loud she said, “I dunno.” 

416 huffed. “Useless as ever.” 

“Unnngh,” G11 tiredly groaned. 

The sewer system was exceptionally large. Walkways on either end of the river of treated water lined the path. Human governments had come to the realization that a catastrophic event was only too likely after the first nigh apocalypse, and had taken to turning the sewers of cities into shelters as well. 

The pair of androids came to a large grate. The metal still glowed from where it has been torched. Etched into the metal was the long skinny frame of a girl with two very long braids. 

G11 realized her main body had finished her sixth donut. Already, she was at her calorie count for today given all she did was lay around. Still, she picked up her seventh and slowly bit into it, already wondering what she’d find next. She thought she could remember a package of cookies in the corner, but couldn’t place if it had been there for two weeks or a month at this point. 

“Why are you lagging?” 416 asked, tugging on her hand. 

“Mmph?” G11 muttered through her jelly-filled mouth. 

416 turned on her. “What are you eating?!” 

She went right up to G11’s mouth. G11 faked a yawn, which then became a real one. Her tummy was getting heavy again, and it was making her sleepy. Most things did that to the little android.

“... Hmpf!!” 416 grunted. Her snowy bangs parted around her forehead as she turned away, before stepping through the sliced open grate. 

G11 had to fight her internal sensors telling her she wouldn’t fit through the slim outline. Her ample bottom was wide enough that she’d get caught even if it was double the width, and her undershirt would surely tear.

Keeping up the computing power to differentiate the ‘minor’ differences between herself and her dummy would decrease her reaction time to a noticeable level. She could have her actual body enter a meditative state to focus on 416 and her keeping up her dummy’s appearances. But then, she wouldn’t be able to eat her snacks... 

She made her decision. Stepping through the hole, G11’s twelfth donut tumbled into her tummy, and she began to search for more to satisfy. 

“You move so slow,” 416 complained, seizing her hand once more. “Let’s go.” 

G11 only just managed to not groan in bliss when she found a package of large chocolate chip cookies. Her sugary thighs bounced as she joyfully thundered across weak floorboards to her microwave. 

416 went stiff. “What was that? 9??” she called into the darkness. 

G11 froze in mid quaking step. Her round rump shook for an extra moment, jiggling to a halt. She stared from her cookies, to the microwave, to her thigh below. There was no way that 416 could have heard her moving, yet she must have somehow. G11 gulped, “What noise?” 

Something strange happened. It took 416 a moment to answer, a clear hesitation. It only ratcheted up the tension in G11, who was suddenly packed with the need to have one of the cookies in her mouth right now. 

She winced when the bag crinkled, but 416 showed no sign of noticing. She showed no response at all.

Finally, she spoke up. “Sorry. It was nothing,” she coughed. “Come on, 9 is up ahead.” 

Very quickly, G11’s dummy caught up to and kept 416’s pace. 

Very slowly, G11’s tummy rumbled. She reached forward and gently opened the microwave, inserting her cookies. 

Thinking quickly, G11 spoke up. “416, what are we even doing here?” she asked before making sure to cover her mouth as she tapped the microwave. That should keep the doting doll talking.

“Are you never paying any attention?” 416 groaned. 

G11 didn’t respond. She held her hands over her trap, ensuring her quiet while the delicious hum of the machine melted her chocolates.

“Whatever,” 416 went on, “we’re following 9 to another safehouse. This one is in Sangvis territory, and if Sangvis finds us, we’ll likely have to fight another Ringleader.”

The ding of the microwave had G11 finally uncover her mouth. She reached forward, but she paused as memories of Architect flickered through her head. She tightened her dummy’s hand on 416’s before going for her cookies.

“And if Griffon finds us, we might lose our chance to find 45,” 416 went on slower. She sounded cautious, as if she were again distracted.

G11 didn’t care. It gave her time to chomp down upon one of the large cookies and she felt the grin spread over her chubby cheeks as the familiar comfort of chocolate returned to her. She marched back to her bed, a single mattress in the middle of her mess. The weight in the hand of her dummy caused her to remember something, and she looked around her mat for her weapon.

No sign of it. Her assault rifle was all too likely buried beneath one of the mounds of unkempt garbage. As far as she was currently concerned, it could stay there.

Things got easier to focus on as she sagged back onto her bed. The springs of her mattress were wearing away, but she simply deactivated the pain receptors on her large posterior and purely focused on her sense of taste and upon the computation of her dummy. Each munch of the cookie sent quivers of content happiness up from her tummy, and little crumbs began to accumulate upon her cheeks as bite after bite each vanished into her mouth.

They found 9 leaning against the brick wall nearby the steel rungs leading up to the surface. She wore her large trademark grin and spoke with her joyful energy as she greeted them. “What the hell took you two so long?” she beamed.

416 rolled her eyes, which G11 believed must be directed at 9’s undying positivity. “G11’s tired,” 416 bade.

9 turned upon her, grinning so brightly that it lit up the sewers. “Well, wake the hell up!” she exclaimed. 

“I am awake,” G11 noted breezily. “Can I go back to sleep, though?”

“No,” her companions both responded in widely varying tones.

416 took control of the conversation. “If there’s a Sangvis unit waiting for us ahead, then we need you at your sharpest.”

“Actually,” 9 giggled girlishly, “I should probably tell you before we go up there. This isn’t a safehouse!” She said it like she was celebrating.

G11 perked her lips in confusion, looking out of her half-lidded eyes. 416 spoke for her, “What the hell do you mean it isn’t a safehouse?” she demands.

“It’s not even in Sangvis territory,” 9’s laugh echoed off of the tunnel walls. “I lied!”

416 looked as if she’d been struck. “What the hell do you mean you lied?!” 416 demand. She went up to wave a finger in 9’s grinning face and whispered. “You better be playing some kind of game.” It was a threat.

“Nope!” 9 pushed 416’s hand away. “I lied, just like everyone else has been lying too!”

The heavy lump in G11’s stomach was only partially weight related. 

“We’re beneath a Griffon command center that was just attacked a few days ago!” 9 sounded like she could be singing, she sounded so unsettlingly happy. “We’re gonna break in and steal information for where those bastards are hiding my sister, m’kay?”

“Attacked?” 416 growled. She looked up the ladder. “Then how do we know Griffon staff aren’t still-”

“Oh, they’re all dead!” 9 responded. Her smile didn’t seem malicious, in fact it was as if 9 were simply talking about something like shoes or cookies or maybe some ice cream with little shredded bits of choco-

G11 leapt from her sugar-coated thoughts as the sensors in her shoulders suddenly flared. She looked to the side to see 416 had wrapped an arm around her back, slightly tugging her backward, away from the ladder. “And how do we know Sangvis isn’t up there?” she asked. “Who is even your source for this information?!”

For the first time, 9 showed a sense of hesitation. Not just reluctance, her frame seemed to actually freeze for a sharp second. 

G11’s heartbeat was slamming from near the inside of her throat. Her attention focused on the conversation, G11 did not notice she had finished all of her cookies. Robotically, she grasped empty air, brought it up to her mouth, and bit down on her unprotected hand. Pain receptors sparked. She whined aloud, her dummy flailing its empty hand. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Did she just bite herself?” 9 tilted a smug eyebrow.

416 whipped round to look at G11. She leaned down to the little doll who was now sucking her fingers, uncaring about keeping the disconnect between her body and her dummy. Her racing heart was too distracting, and 416’s doting gaze was making her fret. The emerald jewels were intent upon her, and her cheeks began to fill with ruby heat when she realized it wasn’t embarrassment that was filling her. It was guilt.

G11 dropped her hand from her mouth and swallowed. “I…” she paused, mustering the courage from inside her jelly-filled tummy. “I’ve something to admit to too.”

The others didn’t even flinch. It made it so much worse.

They already know. Of course they know… they must. She was moving too slowly, even for her. Artificially freezing, taking too much time to respond… whatever it was, they knew. Her gaze went to her untied boots, unable to meet their eyes, and another thought came to the young T-doll. Something deep inside of her code.

It’s not about them already knowing. It’s about you telling them.

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Finally, she managed, “I-I’m not… here…”

No response, and G11 couldn’t look up to meet those beautiful green eyes.

“I’m in a dummy. In a hideaway in Sector 02, the city block. I just…” she stopped herself. She was tired, her emotions overflowing her receivers. 

She asked herself why she had done this. Why did she wall herself off from her friends, the only ones she could even tell her name to? The only other T-dolls that hadn’t been programmed from the bottom to the top to think, feel, and act in the ways Griffon instructed them to? They could act freely, act selfishly and G11 was so tired of fighting.

But UMP45 was gone. She had been taken. And a jolt of energy sprung through her, a purpose come about. They would find her, and they would take her back.

She looked up. “I’m sorry,” she began, and then the rest of the words died in her throat.

Both UMP9 and HK416 were standing completely rigid. They were as still as the scummy concrete they were standing on.

G11 woke up, all tiredness flooding out of her as red warning sensors flashed onto every tablet throughout her apartment. A miniature siren began to play from her alarm clock. 

Years of training had the pudgy girl grabbing behind her, reaching around the mattress for her gun. She dove into the nearest pile of wrappers as the front door to her apartment slammed open. “No, no, no,” she muttered unthinking, again thoughts of Architect flooding into her brain.

Finally, she found her oblong weapon shoved inside a 24 pack of cola. She locked her hands onto it as a solid object roughly thudded off the wall of her complex, sounding as hollow as glass, before tumbling onto the ground in front of her.

Just as soon as G11 realized what it was, the flashbang detonated. The stunning brightness and noise had her tumbling over her pudgy feet, knees knocking into one another and sending her sprawling backward as her sensors tried to wipe the auditory ringing clear.

When she could see, she was greeted by a crinkled empty wrapper displaying the fabulous fox icon of her favorite gummy candies. She pushed it out of her face to find a pair of bright emerald gems glairing down into her own eyes.

“You idiot,” said tactical doll HK416. Her hand came down, pinching G11’s fat gut and making her writhe. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself! And you’re lying in filth, I’ve been worried sick about you and you’re just- just…” Her hand slapped G11’s tummy.

“S-stobbit,” G11 moaned, covered her blushing face. “I-I-I ate too much, you’re making it… unnggghh,” she groaned as her belly bubbled.

“And why should I?” 416 demanded. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice you’d slipped out? What would 45 say?”

“45 isn’t here,” came another voice. “And I can’t lead for shit. That’s why she ran away.”

G11 recognized it, but only just barely. It was so forlorn, so broken and sad, that G11 felt her own heart quiver as UMP9 entered into the room. 

Her hair was filthy and tangled, her usual twintails completely forgone. Her pale skin had become ghostly white, with a sickly color to her downcast cheeks. And she was disturbingly skinny; jawline poking outward, neck looking tiny. All her clothes were loose, far too loose. Worst of all, UMP9’s permanent smile was gone. Her gaunt face was coated in sadness.

416 righted herself. “I told you, the attitude will change nothing! You said there’s a Griffon center, you say they’ve the information. Well our dummies are standing right there.”

She turned down to G11, who was still gaping at 9’s appearance.

“We’ve come here to retrieve you,” she barked. Then, her tone softened, looking again to 9. “We need you. The real you. We can’t get by using your dummy, or else we’re going to lose the only chance we have.” Her stern tone returned, “Now stand up, or decide that you’re done.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, G11 tried to stand up.

“Oh my God,” 416 muttered to herself as she watched the littler doll awkwardly find her feet. Her bouncing thighs and doughy ass made it quite difficult, but she finally managed.

G11 turned to 9. A flash of movement in the corner of her eye made her realize that her Neural Uplink was still functioning as UMP9’s smiling face came into view. She looked so much more curvaceous, now. Her chest strained the buttons of her jacket, and there was a cute roundness to her chin.

Side by side, the skinny skeleton stood with her pleasantly plump twin. Both cocked their weapons and opened their mouths.

“Let’s go find where these bastards are hiding my fucking sister.”