Girls Frontline: Echelon: 463

mission 7

FIVE HOURS LATER AFTER PICK UP.

"Its crazy how far this new helicopters can move that IOP has made." Springfield noted, as Kalash slept next to Springfield, her blonde hair and red cap resting on her shoulder, the red cap flopping over to her side on the seat, a soft smile from springfield. Abraham nodded with a slight symptom of Dizziness, having just woken up from a nap.

"She really got knocked out huh. Well, its kinda wholesome seeing her sleep so peacefully. Relaxing too in a way." Springfield nodded in agreement.

"Blin….." a soft message from Kalashs dreams came forth.

Springfield giggled quietly. "Must be dreaming about something nice it seems."

"It never really popped into my mind now that I think about it. You T-dolls can dream?"Springfield leaned back in the leather seat.

"Well, we are partial AI systems, simply patterned after personalities from our pasts as Civilian dolls, or C-dolls. Kalash is different though. She was a slight error in the production process, so she gained more free will as to what be personality coded around. Overall however-" she slowly patted Kalash's head, a slight purr of comfort in response. "She still is programed to think like a stereotype Slav in general." they sat in quiet for a minute.

"What about you Springfield?"She laughed quietly under her breath.

"I had a more extensive past than her, as I worked in a bakery. Who knows, maybe I can bring you there someday with the others, when we get the chance."

"It sounds nice. I hope we could get there someday." The conversation was punctuated by a massive tower coming to view of their windows, and Springfield gently stirring awake, yawning as they reached a large landing pad part of the building, two other helicopters already there. The helicopter slowed and at an angle descended into the hangar, a slight bump from the landing. The other trio of T-dolls and their echelon commander were hopping out of a black helicopter, turning to them and waving as they hovered down. A stretcher was being moved out of one of the helicopters, a man rushing over to Abraham among the crowd of military workers and soldiers running around the hangar.

"Sir, I heard you were the combat engineer in charge of this T-doll. Please come over with us so you can head her repairs." Abraham jogged with him, signaling to the other two he would be back shortly, them giving a thumbs up to the decision. He disappeared along with the other repairman into a hall labeled overhead with a red cross, the stretcher for Thompson following alongside him.

The two men and some other repair workers followed Thompsons stretcher as it moved to the repair room, slamming open through Abraham. He lifted Thompson onto a table, her eyes fluttering open, a relief from Abraham.

"How are you feeling, dizzy?"

She nodded. "Yea boss, you don't even know. By the way, I got the message from Browns. I'm gonna miss her. You do a good job as our Echelon leader, alright?" she snarked sarcastically.

"Will do Musician." She laughed a little, as some thick cords plugged into the back of her skull, sending her into a temporary slumber. Abraham reached over to some wires, quickly plugging them into her arms and major synthetic blood arteries to keep her systems going. He carefully took off some of the necessary clothing around Thompsons waist and chest, and exposed her bare body Awkward, but that's not the problem right now. He thought. He took a light blue sheet, and draped it across her body exposing just her chest. Breathing in through his mask, he adjusted the Repair lamps to the damaged section. He depressed thompsons Clavicle rods above her breasts, then depressed the sternum, and with a quiet whirring of mechanical parts, her chest expanded open, revealing electronic lights and clear synthetic veins moving around her body, emanating from a central bank, status lights at a worrisome red. He pulled out from the repair table some miniscule tipped tools, and began to solder and repair the damaged areas from scarecrows guns. He picked out a small metal deformed object, being the remainder of the bullet scarecrow shot. He plopped it onto a small tray next to him, and carefully put back the artery that it had damaged.