Mission prep started at once, but my role in it was to be minimal. Instead, I was sent to the operations center and given my unit assignment and orders.

There, I’d been given a unit assignment and official orders, then sent to find the logistical officer at the CIF (Central Issuing Facility). There I got my uniforms and my TA-50 which included field gear, my ruck, canteens, helmet and seven gray, “Reactive Armor Body Suits” (RABS) Which, like the rest of my clothing was stocked in the room I was assigned.

“You’ll room next to me,” Rooker grinned as he shoved an old fashion wool blanket and linins into my already oversized load of basic issue. “You’ll like it. We share a front patio, back patio, and bathroom,” he grinned.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We have a joint bathroom?” I complained as he led me toward the printed structures that would house us.

Around us, soldiers trained in everything from hand-to-hand combat to physical fitness, and for the first time I felt a little at home. I was fresh meat to these troops, but despite the eyes that tracked us from every sector, it was familiar.

“Yeah, so don’t be a dirty, nasty, grunt and clean up after yourself,” he said with humor in his voice.

“Because I sure as hell am not scrubbing your hairy back,” he chuckled.

Flipping him off nearly caused me to drop my load, but somehow I managed and earned a double bird from him in return.

“Your only this crass because you have man crush on me,” I shot back.

“Bro, I don’t have any kind crush on you. You’re a bald Wookie with a pretty smile, I’ll grant you, but you’re still a bald Wookie,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

“Oh the Wookie thing again? Get new material old man, that’s so 1900s,” I scoffed.

The term ‘Wook’ was used for butch female soldiers for ages, and it wasn’t a term of endearment. It essentially implied if you were bad enough to run with the men, you weren’t a real woman, instead you were a bald Wookie.

I’d owned the term back in the battalion, right down to the part about pulling someone’s arms off if they pissed me off. While I never beat a douchebag with his blood stumps, I had broken a wrist or two in my day. Word spread, call me a Wook, get treated like a Wookie treats you.

Rooker, being Rooker had called me a Wookie when ever the tension between us went beyond Brotherhood. I left him to get away with it, but mostly because as my battle buddy, if he had a broken arm, I’d have to do it his work, and, like I said that’s just Rooker.

The room was it turned out was more of a flat. It had its own kitchen, a double person table and an entertainment center. I dumped my gear on the bed, then we both stood there, looking around. Then Rooker reached up and clapped me on the shoulder.

“I’ll let you get cleaned up, but then we should get you squared away with the new team,” I was looking forward to a shower, and maybe some rack time, but I had a feeling it would be several hours before that happened.

“I’m glad you’re here. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you again. You know, after the-” He let his words drop, but I knew what he meant. Eighteen months was a long time to be indisposed in the hospital.

I gave him a grin and punched him in the arm hard enough to make him step back. “No Hallmark moments until after I’m cleaned up, and in new clothes,” I warned him.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Okay, Bro, okay,” he laughed and turned to go. “But when this is over, we are sitting down and having a nice steak, and you can tell me all about how much you missed me,” he said playfully.

Chuckling, I went inside. Like I said, the place was nicer than I’d expected. I expected army barracks, not Air Force apartments. The place even smelled new and clean, and part of me was really worried about messing everything up. It’s like when you get a new sound system and you want to keep the protective film over it as long as you can, so it stays feeling new.

“I thought dating our subordinates was against regulations,” the Yōkai-girl’s voice abruptly sounded off, and I yelped as I turned to face her.

“Don’t do that!” I hissed, but she seemed oblivious to my reaction. In fact, she was looking the room like an inspector general, as if assessing its suitability.

“He’s not really cute, but he seems nice. Funny too,” she said, but I was busy really taking her in for the first time.

She was an average sized girl, in her late teens, dressed in black jeans and a tank top, with a short white lab coat over the whole thing masking her figure. Despite having a devilish smile, lips painted shockingly red against her pale skin, she appeared youthful, more than seductive.

Maybe it was the pigtails, or how her bangs fell just above her green and gold eyes, but I was sensing serious gamer geek, or hacker youth coming off this girl.

“I’m not dating Rooker. That’s actually kinda gross, he’s like an obnoxious older brother,” I scoffed and backed up toward the wall to remove my combat frame. Before, Yuri and Rooker had helped me out of the frame, but now I was on my own.

“How do I get out of this thing? I’m not going to fall down am I?” I asked, as I dropped the poncho liner, and then a prompt appeared.

“You don’t need the frame to stand. You just need me,” she said and flashed me a devious smile.

[Do you wish to disengage from your combat frame? Yes/No]

I selected, yes, and I felt straps loosen and the yoke split in the middle like a chest opening up to reveal its heart. Freed from their harness, my breasts felt liberated and sighed in pleasure, it was almost as good as removing my bra for the day.

I stepped out and onto solid ground with just my bare feet and hissed at the glorious cold sensation. I’d forgotten how it felt to stand on my own feet. Back at the lab I had been ambulatory, but I didn’t have time to think about it.

For a moment, my balance shifted under me, and a wave of vertigo washed over me. When it passed and I stood there with my hands out, looking down at the floor. Yōkai-girl was grinning wider, and I wanted to throw something at her smug expression.

“Are you finding this amusing, Yōkai-girl?” I asked, then felt silly calling her that. “What is your name?”

“I don’t have a name. I am just your Yōkai-tech,” she said.

She said and was suddenly sitting on the bed cross-legged, which drew my attention to the spiked collar around her neck and at her wrists, as she humbly pushed down her skirt in the middle to avoid flashing her panties.

Wait, do holographic AI’s have panties? My eyes lingered there too long as I consider it, then shook my head and looked up and away as if pondering.

“Yeah, well you changed, so now you need a name. Why did you change, anyway?” I inquired.

“You started out all stone faced, and clinical, now you’re a gamer geek, vixen,” I asked.

You said I sounded inhuman. My programmer thought that introducing me to you as a clean program would be better than having you meet me like the ghost of a childhood friend. Once I realized she was wrong, I created a composite of the people I have interacted with and developed this persona,” she said.

I wasn’t sure I bought that. Previously, it was more like she was acting clinical than being robotic.

“You look sort of gothic punk rock. Is that your choice, or was it how you were designed?” She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t figure out who. It was like if Betty Page has a kid sister who played video games and had a hobby of collecting crosscut images of head wounds.

“You have to have a name. I’m not yelling, ‘Yōkai-girl’ every time I want your attention. I’m just going to call you Abby, just don’t call me Gibbs.” I chuckled as I realized who the girl reminded me of.

She shrugged slightly and pointed to the three drawer chest beside the bed. “Why Abby? Is it short for something? I don’t see myself as an Abby, more like a Ziva or Shasha.” She said, clearly clueing into my reference to the old TV crime show.

“So, what exactly are you, Abby, and why don’t you want me telling anyone I can see you?” I asked, as I cemented her new name down.

I am the collective awareness of your Yōkai. We are designated as an Ancillary Intelligence. We support you, but without you I am nothing, just a collection of nanites,” she said.

That term, “Ancillary Intelligence” struck iron bells in my memories. The last time I’d heard it was in the office of Jason Nyeson, of Vision Dynamics and the memory of that came flooding back.