FOR A FEW SCOOPS MORE

Chapter 1.

"What would you say to some... ice cream?"

Having said that, a rugged man, still in his prime, stopped loading the revolver-type grenade launcher he was holding, and waited for his partner's response.

His partner, seated across the narrow passenger bay from him, lifted her elongated muzzle covered in brown fur from the diagnostic tablet she was holding, and gave the man a good view of her beautiful prickly cold eyes. Not saying a word, she sighed, and buried her face in the tablet once again. The murderbot the tablet was connected to, laying on the bay's floor between the two mercenaries, lifted the front-mounted autocannon barrels all the way up, then lowered them all the way down, then returned them to the central position.

"You know, real ice cream, like in the old days. Made with milk. None of that synthetic fruit ice garbage they've got in stores."

The woman let out another deep sigh and shook her head in disapproval. A tuft of black hair above her eyes, a trace of human blood in her lineage, swayed lightly at the motion, along with her pointy ears.

"Nigel, did you hit your head in turbulence?", she asked the man, annoyance in her voice. "Have you forgotten the methane wars? You shouldn't have, considering that you were present."

"Yeah, no, I've not forgotten," replied Nigel, his mind's eye shifting to his cybernetic right leg for a moment. "I just know for a fact that they haven't stopped making ice cream after the dairy ban."

"And how do you know this, exactly?" The murderbot waved its autocannons left and right.

"I've got a very reliable source on that. Also, what do you think all the rich buggers are having in their walled-off resorts?"

The pointy-faced woman froze for a moment, considering her answer.

"The rich buggers probably have an army of concubines that they can milk," she suggested, still submerged in her screen.

"That sounds very plausible, actually," Nigel admitted, scratching his bushy sideburns. "But anyway. What if there was a factory in the middle of nowhere, with the sole purpose of..."

The woman slammed her tablet on armoured plating of the murderbot. The cannons fired, blinding and deafening both passengers momentarily, and lodging a couple of 20mm bullets into the bay's tightly closed loading ramp.

"Damn it, Nigel, focus. We've got a job to do!"

"I know, I know, alright?" The man raised his hands defensively.

The woman glared at him for a moment, then exhaled loudly, straightened her back and leaned into her seat, giving Nigel an unobstructed view of her sizeable, tanktop-straining breasts.

"It's just that, Aya, luv, I couldn't help but notice that you've been very... grumpy as of late," the man continued with his hands still up. "Besides, our anniversary is just 'round the corner, and I just happened to remember that story you've been telling me, so I did some digging, and..."

Aya sat silent and motionless, looking at Nigel with reproach. Nigel lowered his hands and quickly continued.

"It's a two man job. The factory looks very modern, built after the wars, bound to be almost fully automated. I expect very light on-site security. We go in, grab what we can carry, and get out before their hired guns arrive. Nice and easy. What do you say?"

The angry woman studied him for a moment. Then, with another sigh, she looked away.

"A loop on your rig is loose. A round's about to fall out." She motioned near her shoulder with a clawed finger.

Nigel looked down to his chest rig and adjusted the impact grenade that was about to slip out.

"Cheers, luv. But, well, what do you say? Are you in?"

A local comm link with the pilot had opened, transmitting a message straight into Nigel's ear. Judging by Aya's face, she was receiving as well.

"ETA fifteen minutes, going dark in two. You'll have twenty seconds do disembark, I'll circle 'round and pick you up at point Charlie," the pilot declared without any enthusiasm. "Good luck." With that, the link went down.

Picking up her tools, Aya threw a quick glance at the man in front of her.

"After we complete this mission," she began.

"Yes, honey?" tensed up Nigel.

"I'll think about it," Aya concluded.

"That's what I'm talking about! A little adventure, just the two of us. It's gonna be brilliant, you'll see!" Nigel smiled gleefully, and shook his hands with great vigour.

Suddenly, a trace of movement in a corner of his eye caught Nigel's attention. Something poked at the top of his hip. Then came a sound of something small and hard hitting the metal floor.

He leaned forward to see what it was. At his feet, a tube-launched 57mm impact grenade was laying. The tiny fuse LED near its bottom was shining bright red.

All Nigel could do was to mumble,

"Bloody hell."

Chapter 2.

"Any news from Ross?"

Nigel tore himself from his Net session and looked at Aya. She was standing in a doorway, her arms crossed, dark clouds on her pretty face. Tall for a woman and slender in build, covered from head to toe in brown fur with yellow underbelly, she had nothing on but a rather short tank-top and simple thongs.

"Nope. Guess we're still good to meet with him," answered Nigel, shifting his weight in his cheap plastic chair, stretching his limbs, and taking in the sight.

"How much time till we leave?"

"An hour and a half, considering the traffic."

"I'm going to take a shower," Aya declared, turned around, and marched away. Nigel enjoyed a good view of her shapely butt before she disappeared behind the corridor's bend, and deeper into the old industrial garage they have converted into a base of operations.

Sighing wistfully, Nigel dove back into the Net. Countless tables and diagrams were beaming directly into his brain. He focused on them, looking through the arrays of active transport contractors data for names he knew to be trustworthy. The ice cream factory was more than a fair distance away, and the armoured SUV they had parked on the ground floor wouldn't cut it.

Rain drummed relentlessly on factory glass pane that took most of one of the garage's walls. The transport solution could wait. Nigel was about to ditch his clothes and go join Aya, when a loud knock came from the front door.

Nigel turned his mind to the video feed from the door camera. Through the curtain of rain, a figure could be seen banging on metal. The tastelessly bright getup left no place for doubt about who was wearing it.

Nigel cut the feed and got out of his chair. He put on his slipper, straightened his shorts and a faded Hawaiian shirt, and strolled to the rail-guarded edge of the wide concrete perch that was their second floor living room. He shuffled down two flights of metal stairs to the ground floor, and ended up right by the front door. On the wall next to him hanged a 32mm sawn-off smooth-bore "welcoming committee", as Nigel called it. As the assault on the door continued, he checked if a round was in the chamber. Satisfied, he pulled the latch and pushed the handle.

A ball of soaked grey fur and neon-coloured polyester stormed past him and inside the garage. Closing the door, Nigel addressed the new arrival.

"Good to see you, Ross. Care to explain why you're breaking the arrangement so suddenly?"

Ross, wet and shaking all over, turned his elongated grey and white muzzle to Nigel, baring his large square front teeth.

"No way, 'mate'! How about you explain what the hell was in that data package first?"

"Not sure I'm following," answered Nigel, arching his brow.

"What the hell do you mean, not following? My guy got fried!" Ross was waving his arms and tail around, his long ears pressed to his head.

"Alright, calm down. Let's get you something to drink first." Nigel gestured to the stairs.

With a heavy sigh, Ross started climbing up, Nigel following slowly. All of this was highly unexpected, which meant nothing good. By the time Nigel made it to the top of the stairs, his guest had already found the liquor cabinet near the wall, poured himself a brandy, and crashed in Nigel's plastic chair by the window pane with an audible creak.

Leaning on the metal railings, Nigel called out his guest.

"Comfortable? Now, from the very beginning, please."

"Where's Aya?", perked up Ross.

"In the back", Nigel nodded towards the living quarters doorway. "Come on, Ross. What happened?"

The donkey man looked into his glass for a moment, then downed it in one gulp.

"My guy got fried retrieving your data. No warning. As soon as the last bit was downloaded, he got zapped. Dead before I could grab a cable."

"Well, that is unfortunate," Nigel scratched his chin. "But you knew the risks, right?"

"I though I knew the risks!" Ross bared his teeth once again. "This isn't supposed to happen when grabbing some factory floor diagrams! This is black ops shit! You knew that, and you didn't warn me!"

"Do you have the data on you?" Nigel pressed steadily.

"Yeah, got the drive right here," Ross tapped one of the chest pocket of his terribly bright-coloured jacket. "And I want double."

"We can arrange that. Didn't have to run all the way here, though, did you?"

Ross threw a nervous glance at Nigel.

"I think I'm being followed, man. Some rust bucked started tailing me when I was driving to my hideout. There was no way I was leading them in there."

"And instead, you led them here?" Nigel couldn't believe his ears.

"You're the two deadliest mercs I personally know!" cried Ross, jumping to his feet in agitation. "Come on, Nigel, don't do this to me! A couple of days, it's all I ask! I'll pay you, just name the price!"

"Ross, this isn't about the bloody..."

Nigel didn't finish. A large shadow quickly passed beyond the murky factory glass. Then, came a faint whirring sound.

Nigel dove down the stairs, and the world exploded. The window disintegrated instantly, giving way to a sideways torrent of hot lead. Hurting from his dive, Nigel tried to access the cameras. No use. All comms were jammed.

The front door got slammed with the force of a cannon blast. The hinges screamed, but held. They wouldn't hold for much longer. As Nigel stepped onto the second flight of stairs, the door got slammed again, the impact tearing it from the wall and sending it flying deeper into the garage. It bounced off the floor, by some miracle missing the parked SUV, and hit the hangar doors on the other side of the building.

Nigel was almost at the doorway when a scarily high calibre gun barrel swung in from the outside, checking the garage's corner opposite of him. He hugged the wall, tore the "welcoming committee" off the hook, and, without stopping, ducked and threw himself towards the hulking figure entering after the barrel.

In came the dreaded "killer pear", a heavy assault suit, thick, rounded armour and deadly armaments of which made it a nightmare for anything below its weight class. Sending shock waves through the concrete floor, it turned in place to face Nigel. Before it could do that, Nigel, already under its guns, pressed his weapon into the suit's torso plating and pulled the trigger. A muffled "chuff!" sent hot spall flying from the point where the suit got penetrated. The armour twitched for a few seconds, muffled sounds of ricochets coming from within it, then lowered its arms, and sunk into a half-crouch.

Exhaling and standing up, Nigel tossed the spent gun to the side and looked where the front door ended up. Very quickly, he realized that a small section of the hangar doors on the other side of the building had been opened.

Cursing, he dove behind the metal stairs, trying to put them between himself and the rest of the floor as best as he could. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and found with his fingers a plastic tube the size of a gas lighter. Holding it and leaning from behind his cover, Nigel looked towards his car. A red laser pointer hit his eye momentarily. Nigel twisted the tip of the plastic tube in his hand.

The SUV exploded. The blast wave knocked the air out of Nigel, sending him onto his back. His ears were ringing, and his head ached. A severed arm landed by his feet, still holding onto a military-grade assault rifle.

"Bloody optic camo ninjas," Nigel was cursing, as he picked up the rifle, checked the ammo, and, giving preference to his prosthetic leg, began crawling up the steps.

The living room was still and quiet, except for the sounds of wind and rain, and humming of grav engines. Nigel peeked over the top of the stairs for just a moment, before being forced back to cover by a burst of gunfire. What he managed to see didn't look good. Hovering outside of the window and smartly avoiding flying into confined spaces, a murderbot, bigger and better protected than anything he and Aya have ever used. An assault rifle would barely scratch it. Maybe he could strip the cannon off the dead assault suit. Blast it all. There were proper weapons in the car. If only Nigel had...

A familiar sound of an explosion caught Nigel's attention. It sounded like it came roughly from where the bot was. Then came another one. And another. Nigel peeked over the edge once more. In the living quarters doorway, Aya stood tall, completely naked and dripping water, with Nigel's grenade launcher in hands. Furious snarl on her face, pointy ears pressed to her head, she was lobbing round after round at the murderbot, which didn't return fire, instead madly spinning in place, completely out of control. Another grenade hit the bot like a cue ball, sending it down and out of view. The building shook as the heap of scrap hit the ground.

Aya's face softened to mere anger. She lowered the launcher and looked at Nigel.

"Are you alright, honey?" she asked, deep concern in her voice.

"Ears are ringing, but I'll be fine," answered Nigel, tossing the rifle aside and finally stepping into his ruined living space.

The floor was a mess. Broken glass, chipped concrete, and bits and pieces of what was once Ross "Drossel" Toole, an info broker.

"Nigel, you're bleeding," suddenly, Aya looked deathly worried.

Nigel lightly touched with his fingers the side of his head that was stinging a bit more than the rest of his body. His short hair felt sticky to the touch. The fingers returned nice and red all over.

"Oh, this? Just a scratch. No fracture, only needs a ba..."

Staring intensely at Nigel's injury, Aya began walking towards him. Nigel threw both of his arms up to stop her.

"Honey, please... There's broken glass everywhere. And, you're barefoot..."

The woman stopped, looking at the floor. Then she huffed angrily, turned around and dove into the building once again.

Left alone, Nigel produced an old handkerchief from his shorts’ pocket. Softly pressing in against his wound, he let his eyes wander over the rubble. There was a slight chance that Ross' data drive was still intact. He'd have to confirm. This was going to be a long day.

Who were those guys, anyway? Mil spec gear, no markings on the armour. Two people dead – so far. The car, gone. Out of 32mm rounds, down a whole bunch of grenades, and their mission hadn't even started properly. What a mess.

Aya came back. She had dried herself up a bit, and put on her knee-high boots – and nothing else. She looked stunning, thought Nigel, everything but her disappearing from his mind. Reading his face, Aya pressed her back against the brick wall near the doorway, and gestured him to come over.

He got there in a few quick, if unsteady, steps. With her tropical fruit shampoo, she smelled delicious. Nigel felt positively ravenous.

Before he knew it, she had her legs wrapped around him, and he was out of his pants and all the way in her. She moaned lustfully at his rapid advance, breathing through her mouth. The sound of her voice eradicated the last of Nigel's restraint. Burying his face in her neck, he began his gentle but forceful assault on her inner city's walls. Before long, Aya's moans gave way to quiet whimpering. She tensed all around him, claws pulling at his shirt, her velvet cave gripping his Big Ben tightly. Unable to bear the pressure, the Big Ben exploded like they were in the V for Vendetta movie, sending a mighty avalanche of tiny future Vs into the hot, sopping, hungry unknown.

For a while, they could do nothing but stand there, motionless in their union, holding onto each other for dear life. A small eternity later, they regained enough of their breath to speak.

"What the hell was this all about, Nigel?" asked Aya, panting heavily, and caressing Nigel's neck.

"I'm not sure myself," sighed Nigel tiredly. He gave Aya a loving smooch on her snout before continuing. "Looks like someone didn't like us digging around. Ross came over, and..."

"Ross? Where is he?"

"Well..." the man turned his head towards the mess on the floor behind them.

That's when he noticed that over the second floor's edge, downstairs, the cannon arm of the damaged assault suit came to life, and was slowly turning towards the two of them.

Should've stripped the bloody cannon off the bloody suit, Nigel thought.

Chapter 3.

"...I was standing there, completely lost and alone. It was awfully scary, so of course I started crying, like any little girl would. And then this human guy, this man – he seemed so big at the moment – he walks up to me, and smiles, and... Just gives it to me. And I was very scared to take it, but then I gave it just one lick, and it tasted so impossibly good..."

"Yes, honey, you've told me this many times before," said Nigel, throwing a glance at the driver, a stocky beaver in uniform, who was staring at Aya though the backview mirror with the look of utmost concern, paying disturbingly little attention to the road in front.

"And then mom and dad found me, and everything was great once again. We were able to afford good ice cream every now and again. Then, five years later, the methane wars happened. No more ice cream. Dad was killed in action. And... Here we are," concluded Aya with a sad smile, turning to look out the window.

Nigel, sitting in the back next to her, reached for Aya's hand and took it in his.

"Sorry, I got carried away," Aya sighed.

"It's alright," reassured her Nigel. "It's good to see you smile, even if briefly."

Aya didn't reply, her face turning into her usual travel mask once again.

"Hopefully, we'll be getting more of that when this is over," Nigel reached with his other hand, encasing Aya's from both sides. She turned her head to face him. In her beautiful cold eyes, there was deep sadness and even deeper longing. Aya wiggled her fingers free from Nigel's grasp, placed her palm on his thigh and squeezed it, the longing in her eyes growing. Nigel was considering his options, when the driver spoke.

"No funny business there," he said with the thickest accent. "I make you clean everything yourself, and I don't bring bucket or mop."

"No worries!" Nigel replied with fake cheer. The passengers pulled their hands from one another and turned away, facing the windows on opposite sides.

Outside, there wasn't much to look at. A straight and narrow dirt road, and on both sides of it, walls of straight and narrow faded red tree trunks that stretched for miles in every direction, and seemed endless. High above them, the black swarm of leafless branches clouded the skies. For a long time, there was nothing in the world but the small off-road van they were riding in and the eternal dead-pine-induced twilight around it.

Then, at long last, slowly, trees gave way, revealing a vast clearing, a sea of rocks and clay with small islands of grey concrete on it.

The driver took them to the middle of the clearing and stopped, killing the engine.

"Arrived," he announced, then quickly left the van.

Aya and Nigel followed him shortly. Once on solid ground, they stretched, looked around, and waited.

They didn't have to wait long. A human man with greying hair and a well-groomed moustache, in an officer's jacket and a flat-top cap way too big for his head, hastily approached them, smiling ear to ear.

"There you are! Made it alright, I hope?" he asked cheerfully, his accent barely noticeable. "Well, then, straight to business," the officer clasped his hands together and looked at the mercenaries expectantly.

"Right. Aya, luv, if you please," said Nigel, keeping a close eye on the officer and their surroundings.

The goal of their journey was right there, a couple of rock throws from the van, impossible to miss. An ancient five axle modular launch system, each wheel taller than a man. Its massive launch rail had already been erected, with a bright red drop pod, clearly purposed for training, installed at the base.

Aya went around the van and produced from the cargo bay a simple steel suitcase, then calmly walked back towards the men waiting for her, entered the lock combination and handed the case to the officer.

The moustached man opened it and peered inside. His eyebrows began raising, and didn't stop raising until he slammed the case shut once again.

"Oh, I could just kiss you!" he exhaled happily. "Both of you. Platonically. If you want. It's your show now."

"Yeah, no, thanks, mate," Nigel declined. "We need 30 minutes to load everything and suit up."

"Of course! We're here for the next few hours. And if you need help with loading, we've got hands available," the officer waved his hand to the side, where, a good distance from the launcher, a couple of troop trucks were parked. Around the trucks, a bunch of green-wearing recruits of all kinds of skin, fur, and scale could be seen, sitting and standing, chatting and smoking. "They are on exercise anyway. Might as well exercise a little."

"We'll handle it. Meanwhile," Aya produced her diagnostic tablet and held it on display. "Do you mind if I take a look at the drop pod's systems?"

"Go right ahead!" the officer smiled, bowing slightly and gesturing with his hand.

Aya strolled to the pod and squatted near the bottom of it, took hold the service hatch handle, and with some effort and a very loud creak, opened the thing. Nigel couldn't help but notice how nicely her butt strained her pants when she was sitting like that. The moustached officer had noticed, too. He shook his head in exaggerated disbelief, and gave Nigel the dirtiest of knowing smiles. Nigel ignored him, and began moving their hardware from the back of the van and into the pod.

One of the pod's three massive side doors was already open, and served as a loading ramp. With Nigel's strength-boosting augments, the few steel cases of tools they were bringing took two round trips to load. Then was the time for personal equipment. Recent experiences and available info had forced Nigel to up their arsenal significantly. He redirected most of the funds he was saving for their trip to Okinawa into gear, which allowed him to secure, among other things, a couple of reinforced thermal body suits and decently heavy armour rigs. He'd also secured 10 rounds of 32mm RPAP slugs, and brought his sawn-off along with a more practical box-mag-fed shotgun.

Aya approached Nigel as he was unpacking the suits.

"The pod's a heap of junk, but should get us there in one piece. I've put in the coordinates, they only need to press the launch button for us."

"Smashing," Nigel replied and handed Aya her package. "Though... Hold on a sec."

"What is it?"

Nigel leaned closer to her, lowering his voice.

"We are already paying these... lovely gentlemen with very, very precious merchandise, and there's no need to," Nigel gestured towards Aya's body, "Give 'em a show."

Aya sighed, her yellow brow "eyes" growing close together.

"Are you serious? Both of us have lived in barracks for a decade, I don't care if someone sees my undies."

"Aya, luv, if any of these sad sods lays an eye on you, I'm going to bloody murder every last one of them, and we'll have to launch us ourselves."

"Fine, I'll change in the van."
"Windows all around. Go into the pod."

"Have you seen the inside of the pod?"

"Plenty of space for you. Aya, please."

Groaning in resignation, Aya ripped the package out of Nigel's hands and stomped towards the launch platform.

Stripping down to his knickers, Nigel began putting on a suit of his own. The suit was well made, sturdy cloth and durable buttons and zippers. It felt pretty snug all around, though its designers had wisely left some space for movement near the joints, including the neck and the crotch. Also felt a bit warm for the weather, but nothing he or Aya couldn't handle. It will most definitely keep them from dying in a freezer.

When he was about to get to his armour, Nigel heard Aya's shouting.

"Nigel! Nigel! A little help over here?!"

Nigel poked his head around the van's corner to see what was the matter.

Aya stood in the drop pod's doorway, looking proper pissed, suited up for the most part, and making the problem clearly evident. The problem was two massive mammaries on Aya's chest. The suit tightly hugged Aya's legs and lower torso, as well as her arms, but around her upper torso, the zipper clearly refused to fully close while those two puppies were on board. Aya left them hanging out, contained only by her minimalistic bra.

Nigel looked towards where their moustached transportation partner was last seen. Still there, he was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, head turned away with a very unconvincing look of indifference on his face.

Putting his rig aside and swearing under his breath, Nigel shouted in reply,

"Coming!"

As he approached, Nigel noticed, to his great surprise, that Aya's face was brightening slowly. When he stepped onto the pod's ramp, she was already half-smiling. When he finally reached her, she grabbed him by the waist and pulled him close. Beaming in full force, she whispered to him accusingly.

"This is all your fault. I thought you knew my sizes."

"I thought I did," mumbled Nigel, mesmerized utterly by the woman in front of him. "Aya, I..."

Nigel quickly turned his head around. There was no one in sight, but from behind the van in which they came stuck out an arm wrapped in military sleeve, and gave Nigel a thumbs up. Nigel turned back to his partner.

"...I think the launch is gonna have to be delayed 15 minutes or so," Nigel droned gravely with a stifled voice.

"That's unfortunate," mocking his tone, answered Aya. "Come here. Let's see how this bucket of bolts handles mild turbulence."

Still holding him by the hips, Aya swung Nigel around and all but threw him towards one of the pod's seats. Stumbling for balance, Nigel flailed his hands about briefly. That was enough time for them to catch on to something, and pull it.

A loud buzzing sound came from the pod's wall speakers, followed by low-fidelity synthetic voice.

"Initiating self-destruction sequence."

"Why the hell is it in English?" asked Aya, visibly confused by the fact.

"Bloody good question to ask right now," Nigel replied.

Chapter 4.

"Isn't it a bit late for second thoughts?"

"Dunno. Are we out of stratosphere yet?"

"Don't even joke about it," Aya shook her head in disapproval. "I bet the emergency parachutes are in as good of a condition as the drop pod itself. Just sit tight, it's going to be over in twenty minutes or so."

Nigel sighed and checked his magazines for the thirteenth time since launch. The drop pod vibrated lightly as it went up on a ballistic trajectory towards their destination, the speed of ascent pressing its passengers firmly into their seats. The interior was dimly lit by tiny murky LEDs, which painted everything they touched nauseating yellow.

"A bit stuffy in here, innit," Nigel sighed again. "Hard to breathe with all the armour on. Makes it hard to think."

"And what exactly are you thinking about?" asked Aya with fake interest, examining her SMG.

Nigel scratched his big nose nervously.

"There are too many unknowns in play. It's been a while since we had this little mission intel, especially against guys with hardware this serious. The proper play would be to abort and scoot at the first sight of trouble. But..."

"But what?" indulged him Aya.

"This mission is special," emphasized Nigel. "We're not doing this for a paycheck. I'm doing this for you! And you know how I am when it comes to you."

Aya smiled weakly.

"Oh, Nigel. You know I'd jump into an active volcano after you, as well."

"That's exactly it! I don't trust myself not to lead us both into a bloody volcano. To play it safe when we're this close to the prize. You take charge."

Giving him a weird look, Aya shook her head slowly.

"I can't. I don't trust myself to think straight, either."

That took Nigel by surprise.

"Why not?"

With a frown on her face, Aya breathed in deeply and said,

"Nigel, I'm pregnant."

The words hit him like a loaded sub-orbital ballistic drop pod. For a moment, Nigel could do nothing but open and close his mouth repeatedly. He'd almost dropped his shotgun.

"Since when?" he finally managed to utter.

"Dunno," still frowning, Aya replied. "A month or so, from the looks of things. Found out after we left home already. There was a clinic across the road from the hotel we were staying in."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Nigel was pulling his hair.

"Dunno. The doctor said there could be mood swings. Maybe that's it."

"But... You said, the other doctors said..."

"Looks like the other doctors were full of shit, as numerous recent tests and a high-res full body scan say otherwise," Aya glared at Nigel. "I think at this point it's pretty safe to assume who the father is."

Nigel's world had began spinning. In the suffocating yellow half-light, words were slipping from his grasp like noodles from a drunk tourist's chopsticks.

"Aya, honey, I don't... This is..."

The pod shook violently, not letting him finish. Then followed the sickening sound of something very important tearing itself from their craft's hull.

"Are we in a spin?" irritated, asked Aya.

"It would appear so," answered Nigel.

The warning light on the pod's ceiling activated, adding migraine-inducing fast revolving patches of bright red to the ensemble. A speaker placed right behind Nigel's head came to life, blaring on repeat a message made incomprehensible by the volume, the recording quality, and electronics failures. On top of everything, Nigel realized that he really, really needed to go, right now. Trapped in a wobbling tin can dozens of miles above the surface of the Earth, all he could do was hold his shotgun tight and mutter through his teeth,

"Bloody brilliant."

Chapter 5.

"Well, it is a training pod, after all."

"That's very funny. When we get back, I'm gonna train that bloody git in taking a boot up his arse."

"Careful. You know military guys might just enjoy that," humourlessly noted Aya.

After simulating a stabilizer failure, the drop pod resumed its planned course, and after a while, they landed, though not exactly safely. At the very end of braking, when the inertia had almost stopped pressing pod's contents into the floor, came a loud bang on the hull, and very suddenly and very roughly, the pod ended up on its side, silent and motionless.

Struggling for verticality, the pair unlatched their safety belts, climbed to the drop pod's door that was now the topmost one, and pulled the emergency release lever.

Servos whirred softly and pushed the massive metal door up and out of the way. Into the pod poured sunlight, fresh air, and... a small cacophony of voices.

Nigel looked up. High above their heads was a roof made of concrete and steel beams, stretching in all directions. The roof had in it large sections of reinforced glass, through which sunlight was coming in. The section of glass right above them had a drop pod shaped hole in it, which seemed tiny from where they were. They seemed to have missed their target by half a click, and landed in the factory instead of an open field next to it.

Shotgun at the ready, Nigel carefully poked his head through the doorway.

He was not prepared for what he saw.

The pod was laying in what looked like a small town's plaza surrounded on all sides by neat modular multi-story buildings, with patches of lush green grass and flowerbeds all over it, and a few works of art present for decoration. It appeared that the pod caught on a corner of a large pedestal of some modernist sculpture while touching down, which caused its overturn.

Around the wreckage, keeping clear of chunks of broken glass roof, a crowd of people was gathering. Few were peeking out of surrounding structures' windows, as well. Several men. But mostly women. Young, pretty women, all wearing the lightest of gowns that did little to conceal their impossibly large breasts. Some breasts were so large, their owners had to use support exoskeletons. Cow women, horses, and goats by large, other species were also present, including even a couple of birds, and a snake.

"You, in the drop pod! Hands where I can see them!" a voice came for the side.

Nigel turned towards the source of the voice. A human woman in military fatigues, hair tied into a tight bun and face full of scorn, pointed a compact pistol in the pod's direction. However, that wasn't all she was packing. The real firepower was a detachment of assassynths, plastic and chrome wasp-like androids with ridiculous hips and an array of death-dealing tools folded behind their backs, which stood motionlessly beside her.

Six of them total, thought Nigel. Take down the officer first, that one's free. Take down one of the synths as they rush him, gonna be tricky. Then, it's dice rolls all the way. If Aya could...

"Alright, we will comply!" Nigel heard Aya shouting from behind him. "There's two of us, we're coming out!"

"Slowly!" ordered the military woman.

"Aya..." began Nigel.

"They'll cut you down before your round cycles," growled Aya, as she took the mag out of her SMG and tossed both down into the pod. She then raised her arms and slowly climbed to the pod's outer shell. Cursing silently, Nigel ditched his shotgun and followed her.

Standing on the pod's sloped plating had proven to be difficult, so both of them sat down, hands in the air.

"Check the inside," the human woman ordered. One of the synths leapt forward with incredible force and speed, flying straight into the pod's doorway behind the mercenaries.

Nigel couldn't help but keep looking around. Some women in the crowd looked distressed, others coming to comfort them, asking if they were alright. Did the pod squish anyone, he wondered. It was awfully hot in there.

"I'm sorry..." unable to think straight, blurted Nigel, "I think this is all some sort of mistake."

"Yeah, look!" One of the busty women nearby pointed at the pod. "It says 'training' right there!"

"He's kind of cute!.." came from somewhere not too far away.

"Excuse me, ma'am, is this the ice cream factory?" pitched in Aya.

"Shut up and sit still for a moment," the woman replied. The assassynth that went into the pod returned to her side just as quickly as it left, the mercenaries' weapons in its claws.

"Alright, now take off you rigs and holsters. Again, slowly."

Another two synths leapt to Nigel and Aya's sides, having no trouble balancing on the pod's surface, claws outstretched demandingly.

They obeyed. When Aya was removing her rig, a series of soft exclamations emanated from the onlookers: Nigel didn't quite manage to tame the unruly zipper on Aya's thermal suit, and her adjustable chest armour was the only real barrier between her prominent breasts and the rest of the world.

"Not bad for a natural."

"She's kind of cute, too!.."

The modest-chested gun-toting woman smirked sarcastically at the remarks. As soon as both Nigel and Aya's gear was handed to the bots, she lowered her pistol and commanded,

"Now, follow me. No funny business, these synths will dice you before you can say 'Kazakhstan'."

She then turned to address the crowd.

"Show's over, everyone! Go about your business, give some space to the engineers and the cleaners."

Murmuring softly, women around them began to disperse. The mercenaries hopped off the pod's side and, with synths close by, followed the humourless woman.

They didn't manage get far before Nigel's urges reminded of themselves.

"Excuse me, miss? Ma'am?" Nigel tried to grab their captor's attention. "Terribly sorry, but I need to go number one, really badly."

"No talking," the woman cut him down.

"I'm serious. This is an emergency. Bladder rupture levels."

"Nigel, please..." Aya tried to intervene.

The scornful woman stopped, and sharply turned around. Nigel heard a small puff, and felt a cold prick in his stomach. Looking down, he notices a couple of shiny pins lodged into his suit's abdomen, and a couple of thin wires running from them and to a small pistol handle in the angry bitch's hand.

"Please, let me help you with that," she said quietly, a strained smile on her lips. "I don't get to do this as much as I'd like to."

One word ran through Nigel's mind:

Bollocks.

Chapter 6.

"Ah, hello! Sorry for the wait!"

Nigel's brooding session was interrupted, his silent solitude ended, as a human man, a decade or so older than him, wearing a business suit and an apologetic smile, entered the large bright classroom where they were holding Nigel.
"Sorry, we don't have a proper room for... meetings like this," the man continued as he went. "Could you... move a bit closer, perhaps?"

Nigel considered him for a moment, then got up from the last row's desk he'd picked, and, walking slowly, sat behind the desk up front.

"Much better, thank you," the older man had began pulling a chair from the instructor's desk to sit in front of Nigel.

"Where did you take her?" Nigel's voice was cold as ice.

"Hm? Oh, she's right around the corner, actually. In medical," the man sat down with a groan. "She's alright, don't worry. So, straight to business, then, if you don't mind?"

Nigel didn't reply, drilling the man with his eyes.

"Okay! So. I'm Johnson, you are Nigel Ferguson, accompanied by Aya Tanaka. We've scanned your brain implants, pulled lots of info. Impressive resumes, both of you, and also, nice job digging up info on this place. The infosec guys told me tracing your channels led to many... interesting discoveries."

Still not getting anything from Nigel, he continued.

"The point is, I've been authorized by the higher-ups to offer you a job."

Against his better judgement, putting on as much indifference as he could, Nigel asked,

"What kind of job?"

"We have a few positions in maintenance, you can chose whatever you like. The factory's very high-maintenance, always looking for work hands. But, you know, with all the secrecy, the hiring process could get a little..."

"Yeah, what's with all the secrecy?" finally opened up Nigel. "Killing people over some... very mild stuff, as far as elites' activities go."

"Don't ask me," Johnson threw his arms up. "I'm just managing the place, one step above the boys and girls on the floor. Probably has something to do with chain of supply attacks or whatever. This is a very isolated facility, mostly autonomous, but not completely."

"Alright, this maintenance job," Nigel sighed. "What's this about?"

"Oh, you know. Fix machines. There are a lot of machines in here, I'll tell you. You'll get training, of course. And accommodations. And three meals a day, very nice cafeteria here. A media library, a gym with a swimming pool, plenty of other hobby stuff. And a bonus points program... Oh, yeah, forgive me for prying, but... are you and Aya together?"

"Yes, we are," with great difficulty, admitted Nigel.

"Ah, room for two, then. We can arrange that, as well, quite easily. Everything's modular here, just swap some panels around. Also, I can probably arrange so that your contract durations are matched. And when you're done, they'll fly you to some quiet place, and you'll be free. Well, as free as you can be, all things considered."

"Sounds bloody beautiful," Nigel dropped sarcastically. "What's the catch?"

"Well, the catch is..." Johnson looked around, as if searching for words. "We'll have to make some not so slight adjustments to your brain chips. For informational security purposes."

"So they could watch what we do, and remotely detonate our heads at any moment?"

"Nothing so severe. We had some of the chips malfunction. A lot of pain for the person. Like, a lot. But everyone survived."

"Good to hear," Nigel turned away, studying diagrams on the wall.

"Also, for the duration of the contract, no outside contact. Local Net only, tight perimeter enforced by drones. Shouldn't bother you two, that's one of the reasons we're even talking now. The diet will be strict all the way. Affects the milk directly, you understand. Can't risk you boys treating the girls for something, say, too spicy. And also, this is a workplace, first and foremost, so, some basic rules apply. Keep it civil."

"And Aya? You offering her a job, too?"

"Not me. And not in maintenance."

"You're going to turn her into a walking milk bag, like the rest of them, aren't you?" asked Nigel, bitterness in his voice.

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way... But seeing as she's already very gifted in the... chest department, she'd probably be a candidate for the growth therapy, and then, production, yes. If she chooses so."

"What's the alternative?"

Johnson sighed, and looked around again, clearly uncomfortable.

"If you refuse this job offer, we'll hand you to the assassynths, they will chop your head clean off, and what's left of you will be recycled. We have local recycling facilities operating at ninety two percent efficiency."

"Will I be able to see her?" Nigel's head hanged low.

"Of course! You've seen the living areas, right? That's where you, uh, entered. Get off your shift, and do what you like!" Johnson took a pause, then quickly added, "Within reason. And some things, only in private. Workplace ethics, remember."

Nigel sighed deeply, and slowly rubbed his eyes.

"This isn't what I was expecting when getting here," he said.

"Well, what did you expect?"

"Dunno... Some unholy abomination of flesh and tubes, maybe. Or a bunch of proper cows. Or one giant proper cow, at least..."

"I think they've tried some of those," Johnson smiled empathetically. "Not as feasible, economically speaking."

"I need to talk to her," staring at the desk in front of him, muttered Nigel.

"Sure, that's fine. I'll send her in when she's done with her part."

Johnson got off his chair and left, the sound of the door closing ringing like a gun shot.

Before long, the door opened again. In came Aya, deep in thoughts, dressed in a polka dot patient gown. Nigel jumped to his feet, almost turning his desk over.

"Honey, what have they done to you?" He ran towards Aya, gently clasping her cheeks with shaking hands.

"Gave me something comfortable to wear, for one," Aya exhaled. "Took some blood, ran some tests. Offered a job. In milk production. Seven years contract."

"I can't believe you were right about the army of concubines," Nigel shook his head.

"I just spewed out the first thing that came to mind... Nigel, listen," Aya grabbed his head behind the ears. "No children are allowed in the facility. Opsec. They are going to take them away." Seeing as Nigel was about to storm out, arms swinging, Aya added hastily, "Put them in the cryo. They'll be safe there until we're done here. Then they'll plant the embryos back in my womb. They said there's two of them. Two little puppies."

Breathing rapidly and glancing at the door, Nigel asked,

"How many outside?"

"Four synths to the left of the door."

"What's our chances, you think?"

"Even if they didn't jam our implants, not good."

"Any idea where they took our escape packages?"

"No."

"Honey, I don't know what to do," on the verge of crying for the first time since forever, mumbled Nigel.

Looking straight into his eyes, sheer determination on her face, Aya said,

"Whatever you choose, even if it's fighting a superior number of perfect killing machines with pieces of broken furniture – I'm with you."

Nigel returned her look. Then he kissed her. A long, slow, greedy kiss left them both light-headed. Nigel's hands left Aya's cheeks, migrating to her waist. Her gown's back was almost completely open, allowing Nigel easy access to...

The door creaked open, and Johnson's head stuck into the room.

"Nigel. Workplace ethics. If you're ready to make your choice, step outside."

Giving Aya another passionate look, Nigel let go of her and walked to the doorway.

"Okay, so, both of you. If you're interested in the job, follow me. If you're not," Johnson gestured to the motionless bots nearby, "Follow them."

Nigel stood still, looking at at the group of wide-hipped automatons. Then, he took a step in the opposite direction. Aya was right behind him as he reached Johnson, who then turned around and led them down the empty corridor.

The trek was comically short. At the second door down, Johnson stopped, pulling the handle and inviting the former mercs inside.

The room they entered was dimly lit. Right by the entrance was a couch with a coffee table in front of it. Deeper in the room was a medical chair, and all around it, a ridiculous array of cables, steel beams and brackets, and all kinds of sensors, all connected through half a dozen hubs to a simple work station manned by a bored-looking technician.

"Alright, who's gonna be first, sit down in the chair, please," the technician called out. Nigel stepped up.

The chair felt cold and hard as a gravestone.

"Great, now just sit still, and look at the big X on the wall over there."

As scanners buzzed around him, Nigel tried to relax. It's like a corporate job with NDA, he was telling himself. The benefits sounded nice enough. He wondered what would Aya like to...

"Sir, are you aware of a large, life threatening tumour near your brain implant that looks very inoperable?" the technician asked with professional concern of a cop about to issue a ticket.

Nigel got yanked from the clouds with enough force to make his whole body jolt.

"The bloody what now?!"

Chapter 7.

"Almost... there!"

Aya squealed in delight, clenching her thighs around the wand vibrator she held in one hand, and her other hand's fingers — around Nigel's. Nigel was on the couch beside her, naked as she was, and staring blankly straight in front of him, deep exhaustion on his face.

"Sorry, luv, I just can't keep up. My refractory periods aren't what they used to be. I think little Willie's in coma."

"It's fine," satisfied, exhaled Aya. "Girls tell me it's only for a couple of weeks, while the body adjusts to the hormones. After that, I'm going to be only slightly constantly horny."

She put the massager aside, and turned to Nigel, placing her head on his shoulder, and her significantly grown breasts on his arm.

"Damn, those are bloody heavy."

"Twelve pounds each. Thankfully, they won't get much bigger."

"That's insane," Nigel blurted.

"Only decent by the factory's standards. The production chief has told me that there was a bear woman once with 25 pound ones. She refused reduction when she was quitting."

"How did it come to this?" lamented Nigel weakly.

"Hm?" smiling, Aya pressed her snout in Nigel's hairy cheek.

Nigel looked around their living quarters. Behind them, a wide and low, foot-thick glass window was letting in a steady stream of natural sunlight. Under their feet, a simple but comfortable rug, and in front of them – a modest TV set. To their left, a bathroom and a kitchen. To their right, a bedroom with a queen-sized bed.

"Got ourselves boxed in, right and proper. Let them play with us like we're cookie dough."

"Beats having to dodge bullets just not to starve," Aya snorted. "Living like stray dogs."

"Well, at least we didn't have a leash on us," Nigel gestured in desperation. "That's why we left the military, remember? And now, we've got one permanently attached."

Aya sighed and nuzzled Nigel's armpit.

"It's just for seven years."

"Do you actually believe them?"

"Don't have a choice now."

Nigel could only exhale in frustration. Aya ran her clawed finger over his scarred chest.

"They have a wedding package in the points shop. Only fifty thousand," she said coyly.

"Oh. That's over two years of saving for me," contemplated Nigel.

"Far less if we pool our points together."

They turned their heads toward each other in perfect synch.

"Guess I have something to look forward to," said Nigel in resignation.

"That's the spirit!"

"I'm worried about the pups, Aya," a look of desperation crossed Nigel's worn-out face. "What if something happens while they're in cryo?"

"They took them out, and they'll put them back in. They do this in every clinic on the planet now. It's going to be all right," Aya gave him a smooch on the cheek, then stood up and stretched. Nigel could swear he could hear her skeleton and muscle implants whine under the new load.

"I'm going to wash myself. Want to watch something after?" Aya asked.

"Sounds good to me," replied Nigel with indifference.

"Would you grab some pop corn from downstairs?"

"I thought we were saving points for our marriage."

"It's just one point a pack. The packs are pretty big," saying that, Aya entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Not exactly how he'd imagined they'd be spending their anniversary. However, the big issue had been resolved. She was smiling again, like she used to before. And all it took him was just some bloody carnage, some extremely expensive travelling, and a complete surrender of all freedoms for the foreseeable future.

Whatever makes her happy, whatever she wants. An after-image of bare chocolate back still fresh in his mind, Nigel put on a t-shirt, sweatpants, and slippers, and silently left the apartment.

A busty neighbour by the elevators down the corridor waved at Nigel. He waved back, and took the stairs. Theirs was the third floor out of four, and vending machines, his goal, were on the first. As he was starting down yet another flight of concrete steps, he realized that something was very wrong. A surge of adrenaline allowed Nigel to perform a lightning-fast analysis of the situation, leading to a very unpleasant conclusion: his prosthetic leg's knee had seized, and with nothing to put onto the next step, he was about to enter free-fall.

Oh, come the fuck on, thought Nigel.