{I got a job for you.}

She fucking stupid?  After bringing pain to my membrane?  I’m not going to work for her.  I’m going to kill her.

*bam* *ratatat* *bang* *boom* *rumble*

It's probably well after midnight.  Even with the open windows open this ad hoc operating room reeks of blood, gore, and, shit.  One of the wounded is still being worked on by two witch doctors.  The other two are bandaged up and now armed but too injured to move much.

It looks like a Mad Max spinoff of MASH.  So does that make Digger, Radar?  Klinger?

The initial panic wore off fast from the tribals and several witch doctors have left the room.  Armed and heading towards the battle that is now echoing inside this former garrison.

Digger has a pistol out now too but he’s not budging an inch from Sally’s side.

Frankie interrupts my about to be murder spree by touching my face and again locking eyes with me.

“Master?  I am ashamed.”  Pouty religious wacko is pouting.  “This slave has not sacrificed anyone to celebrate your descent.”  Okay...  “Merely offered her body for you to feed.”

And I’m okay with that.

“Frankie, you don’t nee-”

“Let me offer the Oxa’s lives.  Slaughter them in your name.”

“Hmm…”

[Adapting…  You cannot be serious.]

(Nina.  Have I met my “murder to death people who annoy me” quota today?)

[?]

(Well?)

[Analysis…  Please reconsider.  Even if you kill the one who activated your chip before they can detonate it?  Others will have the slave module’s codes too and remotely trigger it.]

(Awe.  That’s sweet.  I didn’t know you cared.)

[Clarification…  That chip is located near mine.  If it explodes my hardware will be damaged.]

(...)

“Savior?  Come with me.  I’ve been preparing for your coming.”  She knew I was coming?  “This way.”

Bikini witch gets a big smile on her face and pulls me out into the hallway.  Which is fairly busy with tribesmen carrying weapons and ammo back and forth.

A few doors down and Frankie produces a key from, somewhere.  Seriously, where?  There are no pockets in that bikini.

She unlocks the door, quickly pulls me inside, and slams it closed behind her. Locks it, including a couple of deadbolts, and I’m… in... WTF?!

Pink things.  Died here.

A lot of pink things.  And they were not clean deaths.

Pink.  Is.  Everywhere.

Pink rugs.  Pink blankets.  Pink pillows.  Pink curtains.  Pink stuffed animals.  Where did she find pink paint for the walls in post-apocalypsia?  Is that a pink gun?

What happened to my Priestess of Pain?  Bride of the Beast?  Princess of the Damned?  Who just the sight of could scare even knights to death.

“Uh…  Frankie?”

She’s already pulled a big pink footlocker out from under a tall pink poster bed and is bent over.  Emptying it.  Look at that booty.  If I wasn’t in a color induced state of shock right now?  Bom bom chicka chicka.

She lifts her top heavy half out of the footlocker and notices my expression.  Her whole head goes red in embarrassment and starts fidgeting.

“Oh.  Ah.  Master…  My mother in this world cared for me and pink was her favorite color.”  Was?  “So, after…  That.”  Sadness.  Grief.  “Pink reminds me of her.  Of... then-Wha?”

Her distraction makes it easy for me to swoop in and roll her up into a princess carry.  There are tears in her eyes but a smile soon graces her face as we enter a world built just for two.

A pink world, I guess, but I can live with that.

“Should I call you my pink princess n-”

*zing*

“Ah!”

Barely manage to not drop Frankie as that spike jabs into my brain again.

“Master!”

{Hurry up, slave.  You are running out of time.}

Frankie climbs down and speeds up emptying the chest.

(Okay, I am fucking done with that.  Tim to multitask.)

*click*

A noise and a “yes,” from within the footlocker signals a change in what's coming out.  This stuff is not pink.  Definitely not pink.

(I’ve gone from one hell to another.)

This is the Frankie I know.  Black leather.  Black metal.  Some shiny.  Some dull.  A bit of red or white or silver here and there but pretty much?  Black.  Complete nuclear chuuni meltdown.

Something else Hitomi taught her that she has been, and shall be again, punished for.

Sigh.

Well at least there’s no whip, this time.

[Inquiry…  How was she able to collect all of this?  These are expensive items and material.  Far beyond most slum residents’ means.]

(She’s Batwoman.)

[?]

“After finding the vessel, I prepared for your arrival.  Apologies, master, I was not able to smuggle in everything.”  There’s more?  “But these are a start.”

I get completely distracted as Frankie strips off the bikini and starts gearing up.

[Adapting…  You should get changed too.]

(Oh, uh, yeah.)

Damn, what a lewd body.  Know so little about her in this world.  How long has she been, her, here?  What has she gone through?  Is she really my Frankie?  I want to know these things.

She’s strapping on futuristic looking body armor smoothly and quickly.  Like she’s been doing it for years.  Stuffing and squishing her oversized cans into a feminine chest plate.

That can’t be comfortable.

Even has a helmet and…  Eh?

Doesn’t really stand out because it uses different shades of black, but it's there.  On her breast plate.  A dragon skull.  Frazur’s skull.  The emblem that spread dread wherever it appeared.  And made him insufferably smug for months after adopting it.

Only a day or two since I’ve seen it last.  But a wave of nostalgia still washes over me.

Frankie sees me staring and turns shy.  Running her hands down her chest and thighs.

“Do you like what you see, master?  I know this is different but, only fools ignore wearing extra protection in this world.”

Wow.

“It looks good on you.”

Houston.  We have blush.

“...Master…”  Her brain catches up.  “Oh, you haven’t changed.  Quickly.  I’ll help you.”

Frankie’s breathing turns rough as she strips me.  Gotta admit I’m not doing much better.  What the fuck is going on with us?  Seriously, we were humping just a couple days ago.  Why does this feel like long lost lovers?  Did I reincarnate into an otome game?  Lifetime romance channel porno?

My priest-wife has a whole ensemble ready for me.  Not as fancy as the clothes that were waiting for me on Ipra but a big step up from typical slums wear.

And it's all black, of course, with some red piping.  Again she is liquid smooth.  Boxers, socks, shirt, pants, boots, vest, gloves, are rapidly put on me.  Then she starts strapping on armor plates.

What did she go through to become so familiar with this?

*snick*

[Warning…  Reserves have fallen to seventy-five percent.  Recommend resupply.]

(Worth it.)

[How did y-]

(Again, don’t think too hard about it.  You’ll only burn your circuits.)

After the chest plate is on I notice the undead dragon skull emblem is also on it.  I unconsciously trace it with a finger.  Frankie notices and looks up at me with a smile.

“Fufu.  This time?  I did not dream of master's son.  I dreamt of master.”

Moves from my cock plate, she spent a while there, too adjusting my shoulder plates.

“Anything that kept the memory of you alive?  I would use.”  Sweet and sad at the same time.  “Master is at last mine again.”

*sniff*

She wipes tears from her eyes as she kneels down and starts opening cases.

(Holy shit!)

“Memories of laying with you and hearing about your birth world are treasures to me.  So I knew what to look for.”  She opens the first case.  “Rugged.  Reliable.  Lethal.”

Inside the case are two, well, works of art.

Black matte metal and plastic greet my eyes.  A long blocky slide completely encloses the barrel and sits on top of the trigger guard, magwell, and grip.  The barrel is even bigger than my 10mm and there is not just one, but two.

Carved into the slide’s side are the characters for “Black Dragon,” in red.  Letters appear in my eyes.

[Martial Manufacturing’s Mk IV Black Dragon 12.5mm dumbfire caseless semi-automatic pistol…]

Words continue scrolling but I’m ignoring them.  My eyes glued to the two brutal beauties as Frankie straps their belts and holsters on me.

Pick them up and get even more of a weighty feeling than my 10mm.  Oh this is a fine hunk of gunmetal.  Guess I’m switching pistols again.

Miss the glow on Frankie’s face as she sees how happy I am with her gift.  She quickly opens another, longer, case.  Unveiling...

Hallelujah and pass the ammunition.

It’s a rifle.  Black of course.  A compact bullpup configuration so the magazine is in the stock behind the grip and trigger instead of in front.

Oddly the handguard and upper receiver completely enclose the barrel.  Only its muzzle shows.  Another mean looking beast.

My secretly pink princess lifts the rifle up to me like a maiden presenting a sword to her knight.  Letters appear again.

[Martial Manufacturing’s Mk VII HCR 10mm dumbfire caseless automatic rifle…]

As the words go by I accept the rifle and adjust its strap until I have it in a comfortable sling carry while Frankie pulls over another case.

(Geesh, is this all for me?)

[Adapting…  There are only a couple of cases left.]

“Husband rarely mentioned swords in his stories of Earth but they were so much a part of you in our life together.”  The case opens.  “Could not imagine my savior without them.”

Laying in the black felt case are two blades.  One is about three feet long.  Around two feet of it being the blade.  All black, sigh, except for a silver edge.  Along one side.  Looks kind of like a straight samurai sword.

The second is a shorter version of the first.  Two feetish long with over a foot being the blade.  Same all black with a single silver edge.  Well, at least they don’t light up.

Acting the maiden again, Frankie ties them both to me.  The longer sword down my back.  Shorter is across my lower back. At first I was flattered but, isn’t this kind of getting ridiculous?

(Okay, are we done now?)

Finally, lastly, she gets on her tippy toes and puts on a futuristic looking combat helmet.  Lowers the face shield and plants a kiss on it so hungry that I can feel it through the glass.

[Integrating…]

Eh?

[This clothing and armor includes a number of data and sensor points.  Also open contacts to allow access by a control module.]

My now armored priestess leans against me with teary eyes.  Her hands softly clawing at my chestplate.

“Master?”  Is that a wistful look?  “This slave never realized how much she would miss dressing you until after you were gone.”

“Frankie, that’s enough.”  I lift her chin.  “I don’t know what you’ve gone through.  Don’t know how lonely you were or broken you became.  You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Think about it.  Would anyone, who could, not take a body this hot?  It's just shitty world common sense.  But I’m here now.

{That’s it!  Get your ass here now or your brain goes boom!}

Not easy with these helmets, but I manage to reach her lips after raising my face shield.  Then lift and pull my angel of no mercy in tight.

“We’re together now.  We’ll fight, fuck, and kill, until this world begs to set us free.”  She sniffs and nods.  “Are you mine?”  Nods, wipes her eyes, and shyly smiles again.  “Then let's begin.”

Let Frankie go and she quickly grabs a third Black Dragon, with pink characters, for herself from another case.  Along with a second HCR from the last case while I resling the Felger shotgun below my left shoulder.

The rest of my guns, gear, and clothes are left where they fell.

Frankie’s now happy again.  Skipping and bouncing beside me while loading an almost H&K looking submachine gun.  The pink one I noticed when I walked into this room.

Hehe…  We look like a couple of military otaku chuuni’s going to war.  Mall ninjas after maxing out mom’s credit cards.  Oh well.

Fuck it.  Let’s ride.