‘Eris, you’re falling behind expectations… I’m giving you a five minute warning, then I’m sending her in.’

‘No! Please, Sir! I’ve got this, I-I’m just encountering heavy resistance is all!’

‘You’re hesitating. Need I remind you what happens to those who hesitate?’

‘N-No, Sir… Hesitation gets you killed, I remember.’

‘Good girl. Do your best to impress me.’

It’s dark in here, though she doesn’t know where “here” is. The engine noise outside keeps waking her up. She was in the middle of such a wonderful dream: Laying in a field with her love, relaxing as the sun shone down on them. Sleep has been hard to come by lately. She’s learned to value every little bit they grant her.

Drool drips from her muzzle. Her muscles are sore. Static begins to fill her vision. It’s easy to get lost in it, but today is special for some reason. Why? She hasn’t the faintest idea. They probably explained it when she was awake, but was that today? Or was it yesterday? Hard to say.

All of the days sort of blend together in her head.

She doesn’t even know where she is. Clearly on-board an aircraft of some kind, going by the engine noise that keeps waking her up. It’s for the best that she doesn’t question it: Her superiors wanted her here for a reason. That assurance that there is a reason, even if she doesn’t know it, helps her to drift off again.

The next time she wakes, it’s not because of the engines. Light spills into the dark room, and in the doorway she sees a blur of feminine form. The woman's features won't resolve into anything solid—anything real—as though her mind is not worthy enough to accept Her. Her... Why does she know Her? She steps into the room and saunters over, lifting her chin with a gloved finger. “It’s time for you to sortie.” Love; Her voice is full of love. “I’ve got a present for you. Do you want it, Hound?”

She releases hound's chin from Her grasp, leaving hound to notice something in Her other hand: a syringe full of a glowing green liquid. Hound thinks of the moon and the stars and doesn’t know why. Hound’s hand curls around the syringe, staring up at Her, awaiting permission to take it. Hound knows to wait. Knows that She will give permission.

“Good girl.” Yet again, there is so much love in Her voice that the praise feels incredible. “Now, take your medicine and come with me.” With a slow, almost lazy nod, Hound guides the syringe into her neck. She pushes down the plunger, and then there's stars everywhere. They drip from the walls, waft through the air, and burn in her veins.

When hound looks at Her again, She's no longer blurry: She's radiant. Supreme. Better than everything. It's like the cosmos itself poured into a distinctly feminine form. Her eye shines like a nebula, Her wicked grin a constellation set against a field of vivid purples, oranges, and blues. “That’s my good girl. It’s time to get you ready for combat.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it feels orgasmic.

She takes Hound by the hand, leading her into the bright hallway that makes her eyes hurt. It’s okay though, the stars are whispering sweet nothings into her head to help numb the pain. When she stares at the blurry-face again, she realizes that they’re made of stars. Thousands upon thousands of bright stars all twinkling at the same time.

A dark red light bathes the room she's led into. Two mechs hang from the ceiling. “Don’t worry, you’re not going alone. I’ll be right behind you in Argus.” Her voice stirs up happy memories of that field.

With an obedient nod, hound climbs into the cockpit of Ixion Stryx. A cable interfaces with her collar, bridging the gap between pilot and machine. A garbled technological sound echoes through the low levels of her consciousness. Burnt metal and fuel waft through the air as the reactor comes online. Even half-asleep, hound remembers the calming effect this scent has in these final moments before launch. Relaxing into her seat, hound grips the controls tightly.

‘You’re dropping first.’

“Yes, Sir.”

With a rush of air, the bay doors open, bright light spilling into the otherwise dark hangar. She can’t see anything but layers upon layers of clouds through her monitors. Makes her wonder how high up they are. There is no time to linger on that, however, as sirens begin wailing and lights begin to flash.

‘One minute to drop, are you ready?’ She finally recognizes this voice. It’s so plainly obvious now, how could she have forgotten?

It’s Her.

Handler Iota.

“Yes, Sir.” Ixion Stryx drops from the restraints holding it in place and begins plummeting into the clouds below. She’s falling fast and the altimeter can’t keep up with the rapid plunge. Looks like it’s time for her to wake up, then. With a yawn and stretch, she runs a hand through her hair, opening her eyes wide. It’s all coming back to her now. Shame, she was in the middle of a good dream, too.

Unfortunately, that’s life.

Nothing makes Juniper Sladek feel alive, quite like—

Ah, who is she kidding?

That’s bullshit.

She’s dead in spirit, at least. Just another walking corpse. Sure, she tried running from the Empire, and what did it get her? A painful death twice over.

Now she’s just another mutt in service to someone of higher standing.

The rebellion used to call her a hero: someone who could go out there and get the job done no matter the circumstances. After all, those seven black and gold stars on her collarbone aren’t just for show, but truth be told? Who cares?

She was just some ugly mug they slapped on propaganda posters. It didn't matter that she was an ace amongst aces, one of the best damn pilots to ever fight. Might've even been better than that Leukon girl they can't stop talking about.

It didn't matter. All they wanted was a symbol. The Empire might've hollowed out her head until all that was left was a shell of what once was her, but the rebellion had hollowed out her soul long before that.

She couldn't escape. It took her so long to accept that her leash was simply longer than thought.

When she could still feel much of anything, she would have been in the throes of a panic attack at this point. Thing is though: she feels nothing.

Except for a fiery passion in her veins, that forces her to keep going. Turns out, plummeting thousands of feet to the ground in what is essentially a metal coffin really gets her blood pumping and heart racing. Helps her to know that at least some part of her is still physically alive, even if it’s only a small part.

This metal coffin has seen better days. Much of its armor has been patched over, while its missing limbs have been replaced with ones from a Doru. It’s not exactly an ideal situation, but now, pilot and machine are a matching pair! Juniper has a cybernetic left arm, and can’t see well out her right eye without the neural connection. To say the least, they’re both little more than patchworks at the moment.

‘It’s showtime, June I want you to show me the best dance you can perform down there, understood?’ Handler’s voice is soft, comforting, but most of all? Commanding. Her orders are absolute.

“Yes, Sir!” Juniper beams beneath her muzzle, running the startup cycle to the flight system. If a dance is what She wants, a dance is what She will receive.

Terrain and altitude warnings scream in her headset, but she ignores them, focusing only on the altimeter. Just as she should impact the ground, she pulls back hard on the controls, sending her mech blasting only feet above the ground. If anyone is unlucky enough to not be behind tons of steel right now, they’ll probably lose their hearing. She’s going fast enough to make the earth rumble beneath the feet of her machine. “Time for us to get busy, Stryx.”

The sun is beginning set over the Kitalian Alps. Mountainous terrain isn’t a fun fight, one wrong move and you could wind up dead, all without taking a single shot. At least the fog hasn’t rolled in yet.

‘June, two enemies on your six o’clock, three klicks out.’ Handler’s voice is like a ray of sunshine in her ears.

“On it, Sir.” Ixion Stryx unfurls its scythe. A loud roar echoes across the mountains from the mech cutting across the terrain. Two enemy mechs—They’re enemies, right? Not Friendlies? No, t-they’re enemies.

Get it together, can’t disappoint Her, not now.

The right sub-arm deploys, firing a wire into the nearest enemy mech. With a familiar lurch, it begins to pull the mechs into each other. Ixion Stryx draws its scythe back as the mechs barrel towards each other. Juniper waits... and waits... and waits until the proximity alarm blares. Only then does she jab forward to bury the scythe into the enemy unit. One wire releases its hold, another retrieving its fallen weapon from the corpse. Ixion Stryx climbs fast to avoid what’s coming next. Before the second rebel mech can react, Argus' Anti-Material rifle punches a hole through its cockpit. It crumples forward, a lifeless wreck.

‘You set them up perfectly for me. Good girl!’

Juniper beams with pride beneath her muzzle, like the lovestruck animal she’s become. “Yes, Sir!” Those words feel so good to hear; And it helps her to know that she’s following orders. It also means she's fulfilling the secondary role for her machine now: Ares and Ixion Stryx feed Her targeting data and She acts accordingly with Argus.

There is no time to savor the praise, her internal HUD lights up with another inbound hostile. Dodging and weaving through enemy fire, Ixion Stryx has the finesse of a dancer, easily avoiding threats. Every movement is precisely timed for maximum efficiency. You don’t survive this long without learning a few tricks.

She’s giving them hope, a hope that is snuffed out with a swing of her scythe.

‘June, sniper to your eight o’clock.’ Handler’s voice comes over frequency, bringing a renewed focus with it.

“Copy, moving in for the kill,” Juniper says, moving Ixion Stryx accordingly. A sub-arm wire fires, burrowing into the sniper’s thick torso. Seconds tick away. Collision warnings echo. The wire releases. Juniper throws her scythe and the blade sinks into the sniper’s core.

A second wire fires, retrieving the fallen weapon. Afterburners kick in, propelling Ixion Stryx higher and higher into the dark skies. With each kill, comes an adrenaline rush like no other. It’s hard to describe just how orgasmic it feels. The stain on the crotch of her pants grows with each kill, every death on her nonexistent conscience only exciting her more. Perhaps it’s because she’s just that broken, who knows?

Who cares?

One thing however, is clear: This is where she belongs. On the battlefield, snuffing out lives left and right. Her hunger, her blood lust, it’s never-ending. It doesn’t matter how many lives she’s been fed, it’s not enough.

‘June, link up with Eris.’ Handler commands it, and so it will be done.

‘S-Sir! I—’ Eris whines so pathetically, how were they ever equals?

‘Oh, Eris, I gave you a time limit. You failed.’ There is only disappointment in Her voice when dealing with Eris. ‘Need I remind you, that Epsilon has given me full authority over you in the field?’

‘N-No, please, Sir, I… I’m sorry.’

“Yes, Sir, inbound on her position now, ETA one minute.” Ixion Stryx descends fast, losing altitude at an accelerated rate. From her current position, Juniper can see Ares struggling with six mechs. Looks like it’s time to send them to an early grave. With a howling roar to it, her machine rips through the terrain, locking onto the attackers.

No ranged weaponry at the moment, due to the aforementioned patchwork state. Only a scythe. But she isn’t one to complain, her blade hungers for the blood of rebels. And who is this lowly hound to deny it such?

Cannon fire erupts from behind, a salvo of artillery rains down, but is predictably easy to dodge. Three of the six fall, leaving stragglers for her to feast on.

Ixion Stryx breaks through the cloud of smoke, taking down its first victim in a matter of seconds. Coolant gushes out like blood, staining the blade in it. Poor bastard didn’t know what hit ‘em, but that’s not her concern. There are still two more to deal with.

One sub-arm wire deploys. Ixion Stryx streaks across the muddy battlefield, preparing to end another existence. This one puts up a fight, shooting her with a beam rifle, but it’s far too late. Two dead in three minutes.

Realizing what they’re up against, the final rebel attempts to flee. Juniper licks her hackles, firing a wire. Trapped with nowhere to run, part of her hopes they find the rationality to eject.

They won’t.

They never do.

One cleave of the scythe is all it takes to snuff out another life. Wires release her target, letting it fall to the ground, devoid of life. Even without a linear rifle, Ixion Stryx is the one machine you don’t want to dance with. It wins every time.

‘THOSE WERE MY KILLS! I-I—’ Eris whines uselessly. She’s lucky they’re on the same side. Because she forgot one important thing:

“Hesitation gets you killed. Now unless you want to meet my scythe, get out of my damn way,” Juniper says, sounding much more like that old hotshot ace. Of course, she isn’t that person anymore. Because she isn’t a person.

Just a hound.

‘I HAD THEM LINED UP! AND YOU— YOU JUST, YOU JUST—’ Eris sounds like a rookie, not the seasoned veteran she allegedly is. Is this really the same mutt from Vernio? Let alone the former Wardog?

“You hesitated, that’s why She sent me in, to mop up your mess.” Juniper snarls, showing immediately why she leads and Eris is forced to follow. The superiority is already established, but reestablishing it wouldn’t be hard.

‘I WASN’T HESITATING!’ Eris is sounding like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. Good.

Ixion Stryx vents steam from its ports, landing, hungering for its next meal. Juniper fights back an urge to turn her scythe on Eris. She wouldn’t want them going to blows. “You were sloppy. Need I remind you, why I lead?”

‘Hounds, cut the chatter. Two units moving in fast, take them down.’ Handler’s voice cuts in, killing the argument with ease. ‘Bearing is two zero zero, north north west.’

“On it, Sir.”

‘Acknowledged, Sir.’

Ixion Stryx streaks across the ground, easily surpassing Ares in speed. Once upon a time, the two hounds were squadmates, close friends even. When Eris was presumed dead, Juniper mourned her. Now? Sisters in death, packmates, the word doesn’t matter. They’re not who they once were.

They’re simply corpses now.

Radar lights up with two hostile contacts. But that’s when her heart sinks: IFF pings them as Leo and Erinymes. Both machines painted in a muted green camouflage, bear the Wardog emblem on their upper chests, confirming her worst fears: They’re former allies.

‘So the rumors were true then, and you didn’t die back at Tarsus?’ Aurora’s voice comes heavy over comms. She’s mourning the corpse before her, seeing it as a former friend, and not an enemy. ‘Guessing that’s Eris, too?’

Ares joins the scene unfolding, standing tall with Ixion Stryx. Four Wardogs stare down one another from across the battlefield. Each thinking the same thing: Why? Why couldn’t they have all made it back? Because the world is a cruel place.

“Eris,” Juniper quietly issues her order. “Hold fire, until I give the say so.” She has no rank to pull, no command, they are both equal in Her eyes. Hounds. But this battlefield is stained with enough blood. Perhaps mercy could win out?

‘Copy.’

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Aurora.” She draws in a breath, steadying unsteady hands. “Please, surrender. Otherwise…”

‘Sorry cap, we both know that ain’t happening.’ Unfortunate, but to be expected.

There is no mercy to be found. Perhaps their former leader was foolish to attempt it. No matter what happens to old allies now, She will forgive the attempt later. She would want Her Hound to try, for old times sake. “Eris, that’s our cue.”

‘Acknowledged.’

It’s with a heavy sigh that the dance begins anew.

No time to get nostalgic, it’s time to feed this damned beast another soul. Wardog or not, anyone who opposes Her has to be taken down. Ixion Stryx blasts towards Leo, swinging its scythe at the Belos’ head, only for its partner to cut in and take the blow instead.

Erinymes, eh?

This isn’t some rebel scrapheap made out of spare parts. It’s legs are tall, sleek, clearly holding back a set of two long wings. How interesting! A pest who thinks they can match her beast of burden!?

Atop the thick sloped chest armor, a familiar bad omen rests: The Wardog emblem.

On its head? A familiar streak of orange paint that Vera kept on, said it gave her machine “character”. It’s all so obvious that this used to be Helios. Whoever its pilot is, they’re desecrating the machine of a dead woman, by pretending to be on her level.

To make this even more farcical, it wields one of Ixion’s assault rifles. Surprised someone found that old thing. Imitation is its own form of flattery though.

Seems this pilot needs to be taught about Furlo Pass.

Juniper throws open the throttle, dancing around Erinymes with considerable ease. Just as scythe should impact armor, a smoke grenade is launched, blanketing the already darkening battlefield in thick white smoke. Shit, they’re already smarter than Glass, look at that!

Come on, Stryx, it’s time for us to dance.

Through the thick smoke, one thing is clear: Erinymes. Not even making an attempt to obscure its heat signature. Chest vulcans impact the former-ally serving as a distraction. Just as the smoke begins to dissipate; Ixion Stryx strikes, cleaving its scythe into the left shoulder of its prey.

Not deep enough for meaningful damage, but that’s fine. There’s a clear skill gap between the two pilots and she wants to goad them into making a mistake. Ixion Stryx dodges incoming fire with a blast of its side thrusters. Definitely not fighting Vera. She had skill, but didn’t know how to properly use it. No, this pilot has some semblance of knowledge and knows how to use it.

Erinymes is in hot pursuit, wielding that same axe she remembers so well. Right as its swung, the scythe parries, forcing the attacker back. They’re forcing Juniper to fight defensive, oh what an enjoyable dance!

Unfortunately for Erinymes, Ixion Stryx leads! It does not follow!

Excess power reroutes into the scythe, creating a glowing crimson blade. An internal countdown starts the moment the charge begins anew. Zero hits; Ixion Stryx is airborne for five seconds, enough time for the sub-arms to deploy. The burning blade cleaves into its opponents left arm.

Damage dealt, but still not enough. Melted armor plates eject, smoke shrouds the battlefield once more.

Give me your best shot, I’ll end you either way!

Warnings fire off in the cockpit, giving Juniper seconds to run evasive maneuvers. An axe embeds itself in Ixion Stryx’s right arm, only to be pulled back with a chain, narrowly avoiding critical damage to the limb. Have to be careful, that Doru arm is poorly armored. Throws the weight distribution off entirely.

She hasn’t had this much trouble putting down an opponent in quite a while. Countering everything thrown and making her sweat, it’s invigorating! But also leaves no other option — Ixion Stryx clears ground, its flight system sending the mech into the dark skies above.

It’s safer up here, Juniper can clear her head. The skies are her domain, after all. She closes her eyes, breathing deep. Relaxing in her seat, a cold, metal hand is run through her hair. Just need a working strategy to get around that reactive armor. Simple, easy.

Warnings blare, forcing her eyes open. Missile!? No, it’s— Erinymes!?

It’s fast enough to catch to the hovering Ixion Stryx. With a furious roar to them, her beast’s engines come to life, sending crimson energy crackling across the wings. Her opponent may be fast, but no one is faster than her.

Can’t disappoint Her now, need a strategy and fast.

Erinymes fires AR rounds onto her backside, serving to piss her off, more than anything. It’s a similar build to Ixion’s old one, which means it’ll be prone to jamming at high altitude. Juniper could laugh right now, because she realizes just who she is up against. Weaponry taken from Ixion, the Wardog emblem?

Isn’t it not already so fucking obvious?

Vera Glass is dead, that much is fucking obvious by this pilot’s fighting style. No, it’s so very clear now that this is Mara Saparlo, the ex-Imperial, the one who set this entire twisted story into motion. It seems she was more of a fangirl, than once thought.

Just don’t know when to quit, do you?

Erinymes tries to keep pace with Ixion Stryx, but it’s nowhere near fast or maneuverable enough to keep up. Hastily added on flight equipment won’t do you any good, when up against a true flying mech.

Show them why we’re feared, Stryx.

Every ounce of power is rerouted into the flight system, pushing Ixion Stryx higher and higher into the dark skies. Erinymes attempts to keep up, but the higher it climbs, the slower it becomes. Just as it fires another round of full auto fire onto Ixion Stryx, the barrage ends abruptly with the gun jamming.

The long awaited opening.

Ixion Stryx screams to life, igniting its afterburners in a show of force. The left sub-arm launches a wire. Smaller thrusters keep the cable on-track, right until it impacts into its targets chest.

Sorry Mara, you danced with the wrong reaper.

Collision warnings echo, but Juniper ignores them, focusing on her HUD. Seconds before impact, the wire releases. Ixion Stryx cleaves its burning scythe through the wings of its opponent, ripping the entire set off.

A set of chains fire from Erinymes’ waist, ripping off one of her own wings the instant they bind to her mechanical body. Warnings cascade across the cockpit, ones she’s never seen before. Even rerouting thrust through the remaining wings does nothing to silence them.

That was my wing, you fucking bastard!

Not dead yet, but losing a wing certainly puts her in a foul mood. The reactor won’t be able to produce as much power if it’s being directed through five wings. Ugh, it’s a problem for later.

Right now, she needs a way out of this headache.

Every move is being countered before she can even think it. Sure, she ripped off two of Erinymes’ wings, but she’s down to five herself. Flight is possible on five, but it won’t be pretty.

Think Sladek, think, think, think, you’ve been in worse situations than this.

Oh, it’s so fucking obvious!

From the right control panel, a switch is flipped, followed by one more to silence the alarms. Exhaust ports seal tight and the throttle redlines. An entirely new, but familiar set of warnings cut across the monitors. Probably a good thing she has a tank top on and not an entire jumpsuit. It’s already too fucking hot in here.

‘Sorry June, you told me to run, turns out I’m too fucking stubborn to listen. Oh, but this? This ain’t a rescue mission. Nah, I’ll disable you, then kill Praxian with my own two hands.’ Mara never got it. No, she was too caught up in trying to ‘save’ someone who didn’t deserve it. ‘Hey, Praxian, you’re listening, right? You still punch like a granny.’

Altimeter is falling every second, so it looks like it’s time to unleash that ace up Juniper’s sleeve. Reactor vents screech open, spitting out a torrent of superheated air, melting much of Erinymes armor. Not critical damage, but it removes much of that annoying reactive armor from the equation.

But best of all?

Ixion Stryx is free!

The chains binding it to Erinymes have melted from the extreme heat, giving her just enough room to finally escape! Ixion Stryx delivers a furious kick to Erinymes, pushing it away. Oh, this is all so fun!

Dealing with those other pests was such a bore! Finally an entertaining dance partner who can keep up! It’s been such a long time since she’s had a worthy prey!

Come on Stryx, it’s time for us to hunt.

A feral hunger grows within as the seconds tick away. Her other half, the beast yearning for blood, wants desperately to take control. There is no vying for control, both sides of this hound know their place. Because she isn’t simply a feral beast - she’s the Angel of Death.

And it’s time to reign death upon this usurper.

Ixion Stryx pulls into a long, deep glide. Once Juniper has brought her mech back onto the ground, she’s forced to kill the flight system. Exhaust ports blow open and steam gushes free, allowing the reactor to cool. Had she waited any longer, the reactor might have gone critical.

With all the damage sustained, she’s forced to make on-the-fly adjustments. Need to compensate for the missing wing. Far from an enjoyable position, but it makes her grin like the dog she is. Most opponents don’t last long enough to force a ground fight. Even right now, when she should be strategizing, she’s savoring the battle before her.

“Sir, you’re getting this, right?” Rhetorical; She is always watching, listening, choosing only to intervene when necessary.

‘Of course I am, June.’

“Permission to remove limiters?” Sheer insanity to ask for this. If she plays this next hand wrong, there may not be a chance of recovery. Already lost an arm though, so what’s left to lose? Her life? Who cares? It’s forfeit anyway.

Handler laughs a nostalgic laugh. ‘Permission granted, Junebug.’ And there’s that nickname, Her nickname for Juniper.

“Thank you, Sir. Will you be joining the fight?” Two overhead switches are flipped, removing all limiters to the neural hook. And with it, a stabbing pain strikes her nervous system. She grips the controls tight, letting it pass. It’s temporary, that’s what matters in this dance. Everything is temporary!

As the pain subsides, she can feel her mechanical half. Nothing else matters now — Ixion Stryx and Juniper Sladek are one.

‘Perhaps.’

Erinymes obviously survived the fall, must have pulled up with seconds to spare. But much of its frontal armor has been scorched and melted. Just the opening that was needed.

Don’t you think it’s time to accept death, Mara?

Rifle fire impacts Ixion Stryx, dealing damage, but nothing critical. Beneath the muzzle, Juniper is grinning madly, the hunt has begun anew.

She wield the scythe of her savage beast tightly, preparing for what’s to come. Erinymes recklessly charges, clearly forgetting just who led Wardog. It’s time to give Mara a nice reminder of why she was never worthy.

A wire deploys, burrowing into Erinymes damaged chest. Ixion Stryx reels itself in closing the gap in seconds. If she wants to dance, then who is Juniper to deny such a request? The glowing blade slices into Erinymes shoulder, removing much of the armor, sparing it from dismemberment by mere inches.

It takes the minuscule advantage, turning to face Ixion Stryx with a combat knife in hand. Instinctively she jukes the controls left, but it’s not enough to avoid damage. Ixion Stryx is stabbed through the right arm. Much of the plating buckles underneath the extreme heat of the blade, but that’s what she expected.

The right sub-arm quickly grasps onto the scythe, transferring it into the left hand. Just as the blade is pulled from the limb, Juniper strikes; the scythe is cleaved through the Wardog emblem.

Reverse thrusters fire, Ixion Stryx blasts backwards to gain the advantage. Argus’ anti-material rifle reverberates, destroying Erinymes' left arm in a single shot. A shower of sparks and coolant rain from the amputated limb. One more second and she would be dead. But she’s alive, because Handler and Juniper are a team.

“Thank you, Sir,” Juniper says, never taking her eyes off of the fight.

‘Of course. Now go, finish the traitor off.’ So She commands, so it will be done!

Every single system is rerouted into the scythe. But even that is still not enough. Need every last ounce of energy so that the blade can burn much hotter. This attack is going to count for everything.

Rise my Stryx, rise, and feed me more of your power.

Pushing her machine further, and further, Juniper screams out in a rage. Blood drips from her right eye and nose, staining her sweat-soaked tank top crimson, but that’s such a small burden to pay. There is no pain to be found, only bestial pleasure.

Ixion Stryx fires its wires through the damaged body of Erinymes, blasting forward with what thrust remains. Blades clash repeatedly, vulcan fire is exchanged, and an opening is created for Ixion Stryx to bury its burning blade into the former Wardog’s chest. With a deep seated animalistic rage as fuel, its scythe burns through armor plating.

There is only one Wardog here, these other three are pale imitations.

Erinymes slices through both wires, freeing itself from Ixion Stryx’s grasp.

‘Mara, we’re done here.’ Aurora thinks she can survive? Cute. She’s next.

‘Sorry, June, looks like our time’s up.’ Static suddenly overtakes the radar and comms, bringing a new challenge with it.

That’s right, run, run, if you can’t dance with death.

Juniper throws off the headset, breathing deep. Then, with insane laughter echoing through the cockpit, she pushes the throttle to max. Ixion Stryx chases down its prey, refusing to let it escape. Its scythe stabs repeatedly through Erinymes, once, twice, ten times. But it’s still not enough.

Neither machine is in great shape now, but who cares? This is a dance like no other! Damage can be repaired, she can be put back together. But her bloodlust won’t be sated until Mara fucking Saparlo, the godsdamned reason that Juniper suffered worse, is dead.

The taste of blood is heavy on her tongue, vision in her right eye is degrading. It doesn’t matter, none of this matters. Not until her prey has been snuffed out.

Is this all you’ve got Mara!? Even Eris gave me a better fucking challenge than this!

Ixion Stryx begins its final charge towards Erinymes, preparing to end this danse macabre once and for all. Mara danced with death, but she simply was not good enough to survive, was she?

Back and forth they fight, until Erinymes fires a barrage of grenades at Ixion Stryx. Its scythe meets an end when Erinymes slices through the handle, leaving the blade sticking out of the remains of the ruined Wardog emblem. With a sustained burst of suppressing fire, Erinymes pulls back. Even when her prey attempts to flee, Juniper can’t help but cackle. She’s moments from winning when—BANG—blinding light fills her sensors. Flashbangs to the face, eh? Juniper laughs even harder.

If you want to play dirty, then so be it.

She overrides the cooldown cycle, sending her machine screaming into the skies. Alarms blare, severe damage warnings streak across her monitors. But it’s all ignored in favor off dealing with the annoyance that dared to dance with her.

Need to continue this fight, can’t stop now.

Multiple cameras fall silent, damage warnings force Ixion Stryx back onto the ground. The process to reroute to the sub-cameras takes times. Time that forces her to allow Mara to slip through. Juniper wants nothing more than to scream out in agony, she’s failed Her, hasn’t she?

Can’t disappoint Her. Not now, not when she almost had this annoyance taken care of.

Is that all you are? A disappointment? Didn’t She save you for a reason?

Shut-up Shut-up Shut-up Shut-up Shut-up Shut-up Shut-up Shut-up

Juniper screams out in frustration, punching the instrument panel with her left hand. Over, and over, and over again, until the fucking panel finally smashes. The visual lock on Erinymes has disappeared, radar is down and even the comms are fucked. This is it, she failed, didn’t she?

Should have killed Mara when you had the chance. Now She’s gone.

It’s with a groan, that she slumps into the cockpit seat and lands Ixion Stryx onto a nearby clearing. She was supposed to be better than that, but every chance she had to prove her worth, Erinymes countered her.

‘June?’ Handler’s voice cuts through the static. Most likely disappointed in this wretched mutt.

“S-Sir! I-I—“

Don’t cry, Don’t cry, Don’t cry, DON’T CRY.

‘Both enemies escaped. Damage report?’ There is no anger in Her voice, only concern for this worthless failure. It’s because She loves Juniper, but why? Why love such a failure?

“… I failed you, I’m sorry, Sir,” Juniper says her through her tears. “I-I shouldn’t have offered mercy…” Failure, failure, failure, FAILURE.

Handler breathes out a quiet sigh. ‘Juniper, I want a damage report. We’ll go over the debriefing later, okay? I promise I’m not angry with you. I need to ensure you’re okay.’ Even now, there is no anger in Her voice, only a wasted compassion for a broken mutt.

“Yes, Sir,” Juniper quietly says, “Right arm severed at the elbow. Scythe destroyed, two wings inoperable, no wires left. Erinymes blinded me, escaping with Leo.” Pilot and machine are both in awful shape, but their mood is much fouler. She needs revenge, but Ixion Stryx needs repairs too. “I’m sorry, Sir, I failed, didn’t I?”

Handler sighs again, but Her soft voice never fades. ‘On the contrary, Junebug, I’d say you did adequate for your first sortie.’

You failed Her, you don’t deserve Her sympathy.

Right now, all Juniper wants to do is cry herself to sleep. Every bone and nerve in her body, fucking hurts or aches, or burns. The only silver lining is that when the limiters are reapplied, she still has full limb functionality.

As if that actually mattered.

***

Back when Juniper was whole, post-mission cooldowns were always a headache. Half the time was spent either coordinating repairs, or going over combat footage. After all, the work of an ace was never done, always something new to deal with. It got to a point wherein she was forced to relax.

Combat footage could wait, the repair crews knew what they were doing. All she had do is lay back and take it easy. It’s much like right now, when all she wants is to pore over the footage from the fight against Erinymes. She needs to know where it all went wrong. Countering her at every turn, forcing her to disable limiters in an effort to fight back.

Then there are the repairs.

Ixion Stryx limped back to the dropship with severe damage. Parts are not her concern, someone else handles it. But Juniper? She collapsed when the neural cable disconnected. Woke up on a gurney, being told by the vet that she was lucky to be alive. Limbs still function and vision is slowly returning to the right eye, so no new permanent damage.

Now that she’s been shattered, post-mission cooldowns are different. She was sent to the showers after being cleared, told she had earned one. Should be grateful for Her kindness to this failure. Instead, she’s left angry and depressed, because she couldn’t finish off Erinymes. Handler must be disappointed in her. She expects perfection, only to be given a suicidal mutt.

A scream rips through the communal shower and Juniper collapses in pain, curling up into a ball on the floor. The moment hot water touched her neural surgery scars, all she could see was blackness.

Pick yourself up, Sladek, haven’t you been through worse?

Tears mix with water, pouring down Juniper’s muzzled face. It’s too much to bear, but this is her punishment for removing neural limiters. Every time the limiters are removed, she swears the pain gets worse. It’s all in her head though, she knows that’s not true.

The steady stream of water mercifully slows to a drizzle from the automatic timer kicking in. Five minute hot showers are a reward. One she doesn’t deserve. No, she deserves to be beaten black and blue for failing.

As she finally clambers to her feet, she sighs, grabbing a towel to dry herself off with. Leaning against the concrete wall, she flexes her left hand and stares at it. A reminder of her greatest failure: Thinking it was possible to fight Her.

It was hopeless, but she had to try, right?

Who even knows anymore?

Running a towel over her hair, Juniper starts drying off. Can’t afford to take her time, that’s not a luxury she’s earned. Wiping steam from the mirror, a dead-eyed mutt wearing a muzzle stares back, because that’s her place in this twisted world.

Her dirty blonde hair has grown out a bit more since recapture. Feels weird not having the sides shaved, not bad, just strange. Around her neck, a collar sits. Dog tags hang from the D-Ring, still bloody and dented; still Hers.

At least her right eye is finally clear of blood. Still can’t see much out of it, but that’s normal. Vet says vision might return fully in time, or it might not. When not connected with Ixion Stryx, it varies.

With another sigh, she opens the door, allowing the steam to dissipate. A clean set of clothes sits on a bench, probably Her doing. It’s the little touches that shows She still loves Juniper. The two of them aren’t… themselves, not anymore, anyway. But a semblance of their relationship remains, and isn’t that good enough?

If She says so, then yes.

No matter how hard she fought to bring Her home, it didn’t matter in the end. She didn’t need to be brought home. It was Juniper who needed to be brought home. The fact that She spared this fool back at Tarsus just shows that.

At least the old bomber jacket still fits with the new arm.

She flexes both arms and then laces up her boots. Some things never change. Like how she has to dig through her jacket pocket for the old lighter. At this point it doesn’t even ignite anymore, but it’s refreshing to fidget with.

“Feeling better now that you’ve showered, June?” Handler’s bright voice lights up the dark changing room, startling the mutt. Clad in a black trench coat, She now looks the part. A silver pin on Her right collar gleams in the light. It’s difficult to make out the pin with the one good eye, but who cares? Gone is the basic officer’s uniform, replaced with a sleek black leather uniform, high black boots and a cap atop Her fire red hair. The scar once hidden, now sits on full display.

Gods, She’s so beautiful in that uniform.

“Yes, Sir.” Juniper stands to attention, saluting Her. No mock salute, no joking. An actual salute, for her superior. “Thank you, Sir.”

Handler laughs. “At ease.”

Juniper relaxes her posture. “I… Sir, was I… was I a useless partner?”

Handler approaches, a soft nostalgic smile on Her face. Then, without warning, She pulls Juniper into a tight hug. A reminder of the hugs they shared when mourning friends. “… Mm.” The question lingers for a moment. “I’ll be honest June, you were. But, it’s my fault too. I sold my soul, not bothering to read the fine print. Life for us has taken an unexpected, yet complicated turn.” There are many things that could be said, but the two share a quiet moment instead.

“When it’s just us, you can address me by name. I give you permission,” Handler says, breaking the hug. “Please?”

“Yes, Sir—Laila.” Just saying that name aloud makes Juniper’s heart race like a teenager trying to ask her crush to the dance. “I love you, Laila Praxian.” Even like this, they’re still in love, everything is right in the world. She didn’t get Laila killed, that guilt doesn’t exist.

“I love you too, Juniper Sladek. No more secrets, no more games, it’s us versus the world again.” She laughs just like how She always used to. “Except now, we’re fighting for the Empire.” Love; that’s the feeling Juniper has been searching for, to describe their relationship.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?

“… I failed you today, didn’t I, Lails?” Juniper’s heart sinks, because it’s the truth. The order was simple, take down the rebels and she couldn’t finish Erinymes. She let herself get absorbed in the fight. And it cost her.

Should have died in Tarsus. if you couldn’t follow one damn order.

“You did,” Laila smiles, folding Her arms. A knife to the gut, that’s how Juniper feels right now. Like someone stabbed her repeatedly and then kicked her for good measure. Even being in Her presence should be enough to make her ecstatic, and yet. “Though, I suppose I can’t fault you. You are just a dog, aren’t you?”

“I… y-yeah, I… I am just a dog, Sir.” A dog needs to know its place and not ask so many stupid fucking questions. Maybe if she had been smarter, she wouldn’t have needed to remove limiters to function.

“Oh, but don’t worry, June, I forgive you. Because I know you just need that extra push,” Laila leans against wall, grinning.

Forgiveness? Juniper isn’t deserving of forgiveness.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, Sir! I-I’ll do better next time! I-I won’t ask for limiter removal next time, I-I—“ The pathetic blubbering of Juniper Sladek is silenced with a gloved finger to her muzzle.

Laila, laughs a dark and haunting laugh. The laughter of a Handler. “Oh, Juniper, I’m not getting rid of you. No, it just means I’ll need to push you harder.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” Can’t fail again, need to be better. It’s the only way to survive in this world.

“Come on.” She walks out of the changing room, ushering Juniper to follow. “Tell me, June, how are you feeling? Aside from being a failure, of course.”

“Angry. Frustrated.” Juniper mutters. “Need to hit something, need to scream. Can’t scream, not here, not in front of you, Sir— Laila.”

Laila nods, gripping Her love’s mechanical hand. The kennel halls are cold, even with the bomber jacket on. Linoleum floors, thin walls, feels like an old hospital in here. A single grated lamp hangs above them, heavy cell doors painted black line the walls and the scent of bleach stings at the nostrils.

Much of Juniper’s time down here is a blur, but that stench of bleach? Impossible to forget. A haunting reminder of when Handler Epsilon originally exposed the truth. She let Juniper assume that Laila was dead. An assumption that did more damage than any weapon ever could.

Two imposing doors stand at the end of the hallway. One, a cell door: Juniper’s quarters. The other, white and unassuming. A thumb print scanner sits atop the handle. Her quarters.

With a soft hum, Laila presses Her thumb to the scanner. The door clicks, opening to a large room within. It’s fully furnished, more like a small home, than quarters. Much larger than Juniper’s quarters, let alone their shared one back at Volterra.

“You’re okay, June.” Laila smiles softly, ushering Her hound in. “I’m authorizing you to enter.”

A familiar jacket hangs on display above the bed. Patches line much of it but the Wardog emblem still flies proudly across the back. Of course She kept it, they’re still Wardogs. Just them. No else but them.

“Sir, I don’t want to question you, but… why am I allowed in here?” The answer should be obvious, but Juniper can’t begin to reason why She would authorize this.

Laila laughs, softer, more nostalgically again. “It’s because I love you, June.” Once it’s just them, and no cameras or anything, She finally relaxes. “Things are different now, but as long as you perform in the field, I’ll see to it that you’re given privileges. Such as this for instance. Maybe even let you share the same bed as me, if I deem fit.”

She removes Her coat, hanging it and Her cap onto a rack. A similarly black uniform rests underneath. “You messed up in the field,” Laila ushers Juniper to sit down on bed with Her. “Thing is, I knew you would.”

“… Am I a failure?” Is the only thing Juniper can mutter.

“Juniper, listen to me: You didn’t fail me, okay? If anything, you exceeded expectations. It was our first sortie as a team, you were wonderful.” Laila holds her close, kissing Her wife’s forehead. Another reminder of the old days. “Your machine is being held together with inadequate parts. But I’ll see to it that’s fixed. Just as I’ll see to it that you’re fixed.”

Juniper… didn’t fail Her? Those words are enough to heal so much pain. The physical wounds don’t matter, but the mental ones? It’s not an instant fix, but she can feel herself relaxing into Her touch. “Sir?”

Laila grins, pulling out a first aid kit. “I’ve had a bag requestioned for my quarters, why don’t you get your frustrations out on it?” She holds Juniper’s fleshy hand, wrapping tape around it. “Imagine it as that traitor who escaped your grasp. After all, you do want to make me proud, don’t you?”

Juniper nods, flexing her hand. “Yes, Sir.” Once her boots and jacket are off, she approaches the monochromatic bag in the corner. “I’ll be better for you, Sir, I swear!”

With a sharp exhale, Juniper squares up her shoulders, throwing a jab at the bag. She slides back, landing on the balls of her feet, ducking and dodging invisible punches. An uppercut slams hard onto the bag’s mid-section, being followed with a low jab by her left arm. Need to compensate for the new arm, it’s heavier, not overtly so, but noticeable enough.

“I know you won’t, because I’m going to mold you into the perfect weapon.” Laila’s tone is sweet and full of nostalgia to it. Another reminder of the old days.

There’s a spring in Juniper’s step, with her every movement. Just like when she used to destress this way after missions with the rebels. “So, this is just our life now?” Her right fist strikes hard. Every little impact, it’s like she’s hurting Mara. And that’s what She wants.

“Yeah. I’ll give you credit although, you were entertaining. Had you hesitated less, you might have had me.” Of course, but Juniper did hesitate. How could she not?

“I’m sorry, Sir, I should have listened to you in Druzi, shouldn’t I?” A one-two left cross hits the head of that imagined traitor. A jab to the midsection follows that. Another downside to the new arm: No pain. She can feel the pain in her right hand, but nothing in her left. Phantom pain, sure, but it’s not the same.

For a brief moment, she hesitates, recalling Vera’s death in vivid detail. Juniper’s punch completely misses the bag and she narrowly avoids falling flat on her face. Dammit, can’t hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed, makes you soft. Can’t afford to hesitate in the field, not like last time, not like—Fuck.

Get it together, stop failing Her.

“Yeah, but it’s because you failed to listen that I met Epsilon. In fact, it’s thanks to you, I was put on this path. Oh, but don’t worry, love, I forgive you. We’re better for it now!” Laila sounds much like She always did. Loving, unbothered and relaxed.

Only now their positions are reversed. Juniper is the one sparring, while Laila is the one relaxing in bed. She’s earned it, Juniper hasn’t. Can’t get sloppy now, not with Her watching. Don’t want to die, don’t want to disappoint Her. “I’ll give you credit, love: Your form isn’t as sloppy as I expected.”

“Yes, Sir,” Juniper says, never taking her eyes off the bag.

“So, tell me: Are you going to kill Saparlo next time?” It’s such a simple question with an even simpler answer.

Juniper will kill Saparlo, because that’s what She wants. “Yes, Sir!”

Juniper swings wide, slamming punch, after punch, onto the bag until she can’t go anymore. Her lungs are burning like all hell now, reminds her of—No, can’t think about those days, she’s not that person anymore. Because she isn’t a person, she’s just a corpse.

“Exactly what I wanted to hear,” Laila claps, watching with intent.

With a final blow, Juniper hops back, landing on the balls of her feet. “Towel, please, Sir?” Laila hands her a sweat towel and some water. “Thank you, Sir—Lails.”

Despite Juniper’s obvious attempts to break free, she was never truly free. Now? She serves a higher purpose — Her. In the end, she gambled her humanity and lost.

“Juniper: I’m proud of you,” Laila kisses her cheek this time, holding Her beloved hound close. “I love you, don’t forget that, okay?”

Handler Iota— Laila Praxian’s love is all that’s needed, humanity? Please, it was wasted on Juniper Sladek.