{Springfield won't let Michael leave them again.}

NATO-EU Joint Mobile Base, Around 0700, Elmo MCV Perimeter, TF Europa-10 Mobile MCV HQ.

The smell of diesel, coffee, and cold metal blended in the still morning air... For someone like Michael, who has been in the Bundeswehr and is accustomed to the limited overtime pay and always burning the midnight oil?

It's a normal habit...

He awakes with the usual rhythm... that half-second of alertness where his soldier's instinct kicks in before his mind catches up. His hand automatically went for his sidearm, his other reaching for his Bundeswehr-issued tablet. But instead of the smooth touch of cold steel or polymer... It was something... softer.

Something that exhaled.

Something warm.

He froze and was confused.

A woman's voice, soft and nostalgic, cut through the faint hum of generators outside his tent...

"Good morning, Dear Commander..."

Michael's eyes snapped open, and his heart almost stopped. Lying beside him, serene and heartbreakingly familiar, was Springfield.

That T-Doll who's always his Coffee Drinking partner... Now? She won't let him leave him again...

Her auburn hair was tied loosely, her eyes gentle yet unwavering... the same eyes that once greeted him every morning at the G&K dorms. Except now... There was something else...

A faint, possessive glow... The kind that said she had crossed the line between longing and obsession long ago...

"... Frau Springfield?" Michael whispered, his disbelief crawling up his throat.

She smiled faintly, her gloved hand resting on his chest, keeping him down.

"Yes, Commander Leipzig... Or should I say... Michael? You look exhausted... You've been pushing yourself too hard again. You should rest."

"Wha... But, how did you...?"

Before he could even finish, he felt something tugging at his legs. He looked down... and nearly cursed.

Two other familiar figures were there, curled against him like cats... they're hugging his legs.

"Guten Morgen, Kommandant..." Mechty (G11) muttered sleepily, her tone sluggish and muffled by the blanket as she snuggled closer to his thigh. "You owe me like... two years of naps. Don't move yet."

"Comrade Commander~!" Papasha's cheerful voice followed, her arms wrapped tightly around his calves like steel cables. "You think you can just vanish from us? We searched everywhere!"

Michael's mind raced.

They were supposed to be gone. Free. Safe. And independent of him...

He let them go... He wanted them to be themselves...

He sat up abruptly... or at least, tried to. As Springfield's hand pressed him back down, gentle but firm, the subtle servomotor strength beneath her skin reminding him how easily she could overpower him if she wanted to...

He looked at all three... Springfield, Mechty, Papasha... and felt a rush of conflicting emotions. Nostalgia. Relief. Fear...

"... Why?" Michael muttered under his breath. "I wanted you girls to live free... Why come back to me...?"

Springfield tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Free?" she repeated. "Free from what, Michael? From purpose? From you?"

Michael swallowed hard and added...

"You were never meant to fight forever. I thought..."

"You thought we'd forget?" Springfield interrupted softly, her voice trembling between tenderness and something far darker. "You think we'd move on? That we'd stop needing you?"

Papasha lifted her head then, her normally cheery expression carrying a hint of manic devotion. "Comrade Michael, you don't get it! We are free. And we freely chose you!~"

Mechty yawned and mumbled without opening her eyes, "Yeah... tried sleeping it off, but turns out... being without you sucks like rotten eggs..."

Michael exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. "You shouldn't be here... You shouldn't even know where I am... Like last night..."

Springfield's smile turned almost tragic.

"We've always known, Michael. You leave trails, datas, radio patterns, encrypted memories... we followed them all."

Michael's heart sank. His European Army colleagues were right outside. The entire TF Europa 10 base was active within a hundred meters. If they saw what was inside his tent... three combat Dolls from a blacklisted pre-war AI line... it would cause chaos.

Michael tried to reason with them. "You don't understand. The URNC is still hunting me. If they find out you're here..."

"Then we'll kill them," Papasha said flatly, that bright Soviet smile never faltering. "Because this time, we won't let you die, in silence!"

"Already patched your comms encryption," Mechty added lazily. "Your Cyber Command won't even notice us. We've... improved."

Michael stared at them, then at Springfield again... the one who used to pour him coffee and hum softly while cleaning her rifle, the gentle soul of his old base.

Now?

Her hands shook faintly as she cupped his cheek, the faintest hint of desperation in her eyes.

"Michael, my beloved..." she whispered. "We tried to be what you wanted... free, independent, happy. But none of it mattered without you. You gave us purpose, and then you left... We can't exist without our Commander."

"And that Commander... Is you. Michael.~"

Michael didn't know what to say... He wanted to tell her she was wrong... that they could exist, that they had every right to...

But the way her eyes glimmered with equal parts love and insanity made his words die before they reached his tongue.

Outside, the faint footsteps of Florian Janek and the Aleksandr brothers could be heard, joking as they approached the mess tent.

Michael sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.

"This... is going to be a nightmare to explain."

Springfield leaned closer, her voice a tender whisper that chilled him more than any battlefield.

"Then don't explain it," she said. "Let us stay hidden... right here, where we belong... With you."

He looked into her eyes, and for the first time since leaving G&K... he wasn't sure if he was the Commander anymore. Or just the prisoner of their love.

And outside, unnoticed by anyone, a shadow flickered past the Elmo MCV's reflective plating.

Another pair of glowing Doll eyes. Watching. Waiting.

The others had found him, too...

And by god... They won't let Michael be assassinated by the URNC or dismissed by NATO...

...

Meanwhile... Outside Michael's tent...

"... You wake them up." Sharpe muttered, crouched beside the tent entrance, whispering to Vasili with that typical British nonchalance that suggested he absolutely wanted no part of whatever was inside.

Vasili blinked twice. "Are you fucking mental?! You do it then!" he hissed, eyes wide behind his goggles. "Last time you woke him up early, he almost broke your nose with a headbutt!"

Sharpe smirked and then chuckled. "That was because I tossed a ration bar at him."

"Yeah, and you missed his face and hit the HK rifle instead. That thing almost shot back." Vasili barked back to Sharpe.

Before they could continue, Viktor leaned against a supply crate, cigarette in mouth, his expression halfway between amusement and pity.

He exhaled a slow puff of smoke and spoke in that calm, philosophical tone that usually meant chaos was brewing behind his eyes...

"Tell me, comrades..." Viktor began... "Is this doomed love or Yandere Harem?"

Sharpe side-eyed him and said...

"You're really doing this now?"

Viktor shrugged, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette to the ground.

"Think about it. Comrade Commander disappears, wants peace. Dolls return from the grave of war to drag him back into their arms. That is not strategy, that is... destiny dipped in madness, da?"

Vasili pinched the bridge of his nose. "You read too many Russian dramas, Брат." {Brother}

"Better than watching this slow-motion collapse of reason," Viktor replied, grinning faintly. "And if you look closely..."

He gestured toward the tent, where the faint sound of a female voice... gentle, too gentle... could be heard murmuring something...

Springfield's tone, followed by G11's half-conscious mumble, and Papasha's laugh...

Vasili's face went pale. "He's not alone, is he?"

"Define 'alone', lad?" Sharpe said dryly.

At that moment, Florian Janek, the Polish grenadier and second-in-command, walked up with a steaming mug of black coffee. His expression was the kind that could only be formed after two decades of explosions, bureaucratic nightmares, and watching commanders make personal mistakes at international scale.

He looked at the three men crouched by the tent, then at the flickering motion of shadows inside.

He sighed. Loudly.

"Our Squad Commander is never getting out of this if this keeps going..." Florian muttered, taking a slow sip of coffee. "Boże zmiłuj się... {God have mercy...} it's like watching a romance film directed by a crew from Michael Bay's Wannabes."

Viktor nodded sagely. "Ah, but with better writing, nyet?"

Sharpe chuckled under his breath and speaks...

"Well, I'm not waking him. If those three are who I think they are, we'd need Christ's own EOD suit to separate them."

Vasili groaned. "So what now? Leave him to his T-Dolls?"

"Of course," Florian said, already walking away toward the mess hall. "He survived the URNC's Killteams, KCCO drones while he's G&K, and NATO paperwork, right here. Let him handle a few clingy androids. He's earned it."

Viktor laughed. "You think he'll live, Janek?"

Florian didn't even glance back and added...

"If anyone can talk his way out of a Yandere Apocalypse, it's Michael Visscher, himself."

...

Sharpe looked at Vasili, deadpan. "You really think he's talking his way out, lad?"

Vasili frowned. "No. I doubt it."

Viktor smirked again, flicking his cigarette to the dirt.

"Then pray for him, мои друзья {my friends}. Because love like that? Even Saint Nicolas doesn't interfere."

Behind them, the tent shifted again... a quiet rustle, a sigh, and Springfield's gentle, almost dangerous voice to Michael.

"Michael... breakfast's ready... And please, don't get up just yet. I'll get it for you."

The four men stopped in their tracks...

Sharpe muttered, "... Yeah. He's doomed."

"Seconded." Janek added.

"Third." Vasili.

"Bet my Vodka for that." Viktor with his smirk...