(Girls frontline) I will always be at your side Commander! Monthlyish updates.

Decisions

¨IDIOTS. ALL IDIOTS, I SEND YOU TO CAPTURE THE GRIFFIN SCUM AND YOU SHOOT HIM AND LEAVE?¨

*Crack* A Vespid doll collapses from a blow to its head, the hole deciding shaped in a fist.

¨Calm down Hunter, we know you have a murder addiction with catching him, I don't think he can survive several plasma bolts though.¨

¨WHAT IF HE DID? ARE YOU GONNA TELL ELISA THAT WE PRACTICALLY THREW HIM A KEY TO HIS CELL?¨

*thwack* A ripper doll falls victim to the next anger blow, crumpling next to its unfortunate friend.

¨Fine, we'll go look for him than, but you owe me something if all we find is burnt meat.¨

¨If he's gone, I'll beat you into a pulp Dreamer.¨

The two ringleaders begin to move, the Dreamer model rather lazily and amused watching the Hunter model stomp off in the direction of the dying.

2~ miles away.

He's bleeding and it's warm. That's good, it means he isn't dead yet, 'yet' being the keyword. He can't remember what got him here but he knows he doesn't have time that is long on this patch of blood soaked ground.

¨...shit¨

Is about all he manages to get out before coughing fits from his drowning lungs take over and he grabs onto a smoldering wound on his sides and squeezes, forcing himself to stay rigid, blood flowing from his mouth as a small river pools down his chin. Cursing in his mind, he grabs for his piece, finding it a molten lump starting around where the receiver starts, the missing portion cooling on his prosthetic, so he grabs and closes his hands around his colt, its wet and cold, soaked on his own blood as he forces his feet to start functioning, the demand for flowing blood forces more to escape his gasping mouth, his hands scrabble and find the beacon, turning it on, he begins to stagger towards the brush hoping to hide his trail of blood.

¨I'll have your head Dreamer, I mean to fulfill that promise.¨

¨Relax. The blood trails are still fresh, he's bleeding out, we'll just follow them till we find him.¨

The bleedings stemmed, just a bit, he found his bloodied kit after prying off the remnants of his rifle from the arm it was melted onto, the banadages already were soaked but they were better than nothing, so he jammed them into his wounds, gritting his teeth as his breaths increase before leveling off. His plates feel too heavy to bear any longer so he grabs and pulls at the buckles before pulling out 2 of the 3 he's lugging, they clatter into a nearby brush and he keeps limping.

¨Where is he Ms. Helian? Where is he?¨

¨Please calm down M4, his beacons turned on, looks like he's survived the crash.¨

STAR: ¨Why didn't the transport receive a escort? We had materials and important people on it.¨

¨Our resources and lines are stretched thin, if we could have, we would have.¨

STAR: ¨Don't turn this into a should've, could've, would've, blame game, we need to go get him!¨

¨The beacon's in a heavily wooded and defended area behind Sangvis lines, we can't afford to lose any dolls over this, he'll have to make it closer towards sector 6 before we can initiate anything.¨

STAR: ¨Our teams made for this! He's our Commander!¨

¨What if he's dead by the time you all get there? What if the beacons just a lure?¨

M4: ¨He's still alive, I know he is.¨

¨We wait.¨

The bandages are useless now, they're far too soaked so he drops them into a bush and tears off whats dry of his uniform and applies that to his slowly clotting wounds. The colts almost definitely jammed up now with all his blood seeping into it, his heads weak and hazy, the NVG's are cracked and exasperate his headaches, he leaves one eye open and it helps, his true legs dead in the water now but the prosthetic keeps going, it won't run out for a long time. Krieger shares a laugh in his mind and thanks the person or doll that forced him to get the fake limb. He keeps moving.

¨Some of the Jaguars are falling behind, the lands too thick and mired for them.¨

¨Leave them, we don't need artillery here.¨

¨Maybe we should call for some help, it's getting dark.¨

¨No. We're going to find the bastard, Dreamer, or I'll bring your head back as a apology.¨

¨Have it your way. The scum's still bleeding- *crack*

¨Now you can shutup until I get back to Elisa with his head.¨

Hunter moves on, leaving the limp body of Dreamer laying on the forest floor, sparks flying from the hole in her head as slag drips from it, the nearby units stepping quickly past the ringleader's corpse.

Her eyes aren't welling up anymore. Maybe it's that she's done enough crying now, or maybe its the wind blowing by that is drying all her tears. It doesn't matter, she'll find him or she'll die trying.

¨They stole what now?¨

¨ah um.. Well.. The team stole one of the blackhawks that was on the pad, but the pilot didn't really put up a fight either.¨

Helian sighs, rubbing her forehead, she should have put a guard on the transports- Sighing louder, she leans back in the chair of sector 9's MIA Commander and mutters under her breath that the STAR dolls words were in her head again.

¨The transports responders been turned off as well, we're tracking them by radar but it'll be out of range soon Miss Helian.¨

H: ¨Put his echelons on standby and wait for that team to reestablish contact.¨

¨Yes Ms. Helian.¨

The cave is cold, dark, and damp. He's suffering from exposure already, the life support systems doing its best but its failing, too much bloods seeped into its openings and cracks, he doesn't dare light a fire if it might catch any unwelcome attention so he sits against the rock wall, breathing in shallow breaths as his hands strip and reassemble his colt, its not repetition but the motion that keeps him from slipping into a deep sleep as the pooled blood around him grows colder, his mind digging through his memories as they flash by. A day at the park, time at the beach, a cafe party, he ignores the bad ones, AS VALs desecrated body, M4 restrained and bundled into that janitors closet, his men are back, but their uniforms are tattered and rotten, their faces gray and dim, men with futures he took by leading them, they died happy but now they aren't so. Now there's so many bodies. Just too many, shattered and broken they lay in snapshots, going through his mind like a slideshow, dolls he knew, dolls he didn't, men he taught and loved, claimed by explosions, shells, bullets, plasma beams, blades, so many so many so many so many so many so many so many so many so many so many so many.. Too many to bear, and in the moment he feels the cold barrel end of his colt pressed against his chin, offering escape, escape from the dead and the dying, its so easy.. just one pull....

He accepts it and pulls.

Nothing.

He pulls again.

Nothing.

He pulls and pulls, tears stream down his face, running red.

A click.

The blood ruined the firing pin. Krieger drops the gun, letting it clatter to the floor as he laughs at the irony of it, his death stopped by his own blood he bled. The time isn't right, his own blood tells him, its not done, he needs to make sure theres a happy ending. Not for him, no but for them.

Time to write like the GFL main event stories. Depression. 10/20/22 8:49 PM.