Then:

An invasion like no other.

The Empire tried to take over Boreas, but they failed. Resistance fighters took their armored corps down at every turn. Bastards ran with their tails between their legs. Or so it seemed.

In reality, this began the start of a massive firebombing campaign.

Families torn apart, survivors forever scarred, it was hell on earth. They gave no warning, it was barely the crack of dawn when the firebombing started. One blaze turned to four, turned to fifty, until the entire city was engulfed in flames.

Fire.

Fire everywhere.

Boreas wasn't some big city, it was just some shithole you stopped over in on the way further to the East. They didn't have any valuable resources, no military might. Just a bunch of civilians who did what they could to survive, in a place where the corporate overlords paid no mind to.

Laila Praxian is just one of gods know how many survivors.

Wasn’t like it mattered. By the time she was old enough to remember Boreas, she was a caravan brat, like so many others. Learning all about how shitty the world is!

Spending much of your childhood living on a caravan, you start to see just how awful the world is. What books she could find, detailed how the planet used to be lush and full of green. But nowadays, the only green around, is the color of cash. They say that the big Imperial cities are full of all sorts of life, but getting there isn't easy.

It's not just the permits needed to travel out that way. You need cash; cold hard cash. And lots of it. Or to have been born into that life. Even the grunts don't know what the big cities are like.

Life as a caravaner was boring, but it was also safe. Sure, you dealt with Imperials inspecting your cargo, and gods know the bastards always had smug attitudes that made you want to beat it out of them. But not even bandits dared to touch the caravans, because they carried lifesaving supplies on board. Groups generally knew they were fucked if word got out that a caravan had been hit by one of them. Fucking gruesome shit.

It also helped that the caravans traveled with old mechs, but it was mainly the first one.

Life was simple, easy; boring.

That is, until Laila chose to leave that life behind. It wasn't for her. The travel was fine, but she wanted more from life. Living out her days on the caravans sounded like a fucking stupid idea, so she cashed out.

Ended up finding her way to Kitala, struggling to get by. So, she started participating in cage fights for the entertainment of rich assholes. And gods was she incredible at it. Turns out when you’ve got anger issues, it’s better to deal with them by beating the shit out of people for sport.

Unstoppable, unbeatable, call her whatever, this bitch was a nightmare to face in the cage. Took a few teeth as trophies, won some titles too.

Life finally had some meaning, right?

Nah, of course not.

Every year the independent nation of Monoecus hosted a fighting tournament, because what better way to entertain the rich parasites than fighting for their pleasure? The best of the best were invited to participate and Laila just so happened to make the cut. Winner walks away with some stupid trophy, and millions in prize money, that they in actuality saw maybe a quarter of, after “fees”.

Everyone from the promoter to the asshole who brought you there needed their cut, after all.

Monoecus is independent because of their extreme wealth. All the rich assholes spend their days there, sucking the blood out from their prized pigs. Perfect place to slaughter a bunch of bastards who helped usher in the Empire’s reign. Attacks weren’t uncommon there, some moron loses everything gambling and takes it out on the poor workers.

Except during that year's tournament, an attack like no other happened.

Rebels using stolen Doru and whatever little scrapheaps they could build, attacked. And they hit hard. The Empire always maintained a small military presence there, being as Monoecus didn't have their own military, but the fighting was over before it began.

The rebels held Monoecus for five weeks, holding public executions for the wealthy parasites. Make a big show out of it, show the Empire’s weakness and kill some rich assholes too. What’s not to love?

This little cage fighter got caught up in the festivities, but the rebels gave her a gun and told her to help out. So she did. It was a great way to blow off some steam, since she got fucked out of a payday. Empire wound up breaking the siege after five weeks, by sending in spec-ops.

Sure, the ringleaders were later executed by firing squad, but it left a mark that couldn’t be forgotten. People knew they had an option now, they didn’t have to be slaves to a bunch of rich pigs anymore. It was the birth of a true rebellion.

After the Siege of Monoecus, Laila Praxian put down the gloves and started fighting the good fight.

Everyone's heard the stories, right? Sartha Thrace, that one chick, who could allegedly take down entire platoons in a single sortie. Her face was on all the posters, even out in Kitala. Doubt she even knew what the fight out here was like. But she inspired hundreds of pilots to fight for something greater.

And that's the big reason why Laila decided to rebel.

If that Thrace chick could do it, why couldn’t Laila?

She had no training, shit, she'd only ever saw the damn things at checkpoints, or on the back of caravan flatbeds. The caravan never even used 'em for anything aside from loading and unloading heavy cargo. But this was her chance to finally do some good in this shitty world.

It took her seven long months to even scrap together a mech. Parts from a Doru, built onto a worker frame that she got for cheap. Gods, it was such a piece of shit.

But it was her piece of shit.

Finding the rebellion wasn't exactly easy. You can't just go to a bar and ask where to find them. Gods, you'd be laughed out the place, or worse: OSI would get involved and you'd be in a cell begging for your life. That last one happened to a few drunkards.

Information is a commodity in this world. Troop movements, formation sizes, you name it, someone wants it. Wasn't until she met an info broker that Laila was finally introduced to the rebels. Back when she joined, the cell was small, living in what amounted to a muddy hole in the ground. It was one of gods know how many cells at the time.

Laila can still remember her first kill vividly: A fresh off the line Doru, that hadn't even been field tested yet. Its pilot fought valiantly, but they met their end pretty damn quick. She'd hoped the pilot would surrender, rather than let themselves die pointlessly, but no dice.

Then, in the blink of an eye, two years passed.

They’d made serious gains, taking back the Cecina Valley with a large offensive. Laila went from a wet behind the ears rookie, to an ace. Sure, she still held out hope that her enemies would eject, but there was no hesitation anymore. Her little scrapheap remained faithfully by her side throughout it all. By that point, having been upgraded enough times to be somewhat reliable.

That tiny little cell grew and with it, they became recognized for their actions. Henry Adama, a man famed for his bravery in commanding troops in the far east, had been appointed commanding officer of their cell. Sure, at first, none of them respected him. It felt more like he was there to babysit them, rather than lead.

But in time, he became someone Laila respected.

That respect was mutual.

She still remembers Adama approaching her one day. With a firm handshake, he said something that's hard to forget: "I want you to lead your own squad." Who was Laila to turn him down? It was the moment she had longed for, she could finally shine.

Of the few physical books that she could get her hands on back when she rode with the caravans, one stood out to her: It was a book on old fighter jet squadrons. Black Knights(She still doesn't know what a knight is), Mad Hatters, names like that were famed for their bravery.

But there was one name in particular that stuck with her: Wardog.

***

Now:

Laila Praxian is a guilty woman surrounded by remorseless killers.

But Laila is worse than any mere killer. Laila is a traitor. She betrayed her cause, her comrades, her wife. Everything she believed in, tossed aside. All for love. All to save Juniper Sladek from herself.

She succeeded at everything she set out to do. Juniper is at her side, loyal and loving. She no longer has to feel guilt—that’s Laila’s burden. She’s happy. And Laila is happy she’s happy. Damn the consequences, damn the guilt eating away at her soul.

It was either this, or they would have died in each others arms on the battlefield. In the end, this was the only move that would have saved them both. She played the hand she was dealt, and won.

Right?

They had a dream: A cabin in the countryside, just them. It was bullshit all the way through, they both knew it. But as so many tragedies go, neither of them wanted to admit it. You dream big when you’re in the shit, it’s understandable.

June didn’t understand the situation. But then, it was never her job to understand the situation. Laila was the brains, Juniper was the heart. And that’s still how it is, even now.

The irony of their life now, is not lost on Laila. She's become the enemy, a handler, someone who gambled their humanity and won. It's much like the high risk games in Monoecus, only with higher stakes.

Laila Praxian came out on top, because she knows her place in this twisted world.

In a world full of dogs, she stands superior.

Or that’s what she tells herself.

A conference room filled with people she’d dreamed of killing for years. Yet, she’s not here to kill, she’s here to make nice with the powers that be. A year ago, this would have been impossible: Meeting with Lieutenant Generals Aetius Morgan, the one responsible for much of the gas attacks during the Aurelian Campaign, Alba Perseus, formerly of spec-ops, and of course, General Ceran Octavius, the Butcher of Sibar herself. The very same cunt whose troops slaughtered civilians for not worshiping the very ground she shat on.

The Lieutenants don’t much matter, they speak only when spoken to, as per Octavius’ orders. Heh, they’re just like hounds in that regard. The only difference is that believe themselves to be human.

Laila certainly can’t help but smile at that thought.

Octavius is older, a seasoned general. Her jet black hair is starting to gray at the roots. Yet she has quite the temper. More like a young officer. She can massacre civilians without remorse, but is so useless at the negotiating table. Can only imagine how terrible she is at poker.

“I don’t understand why you insist on bringing that thing with you, Epsilon.” She points to the dead-eyed Juniper kneeling on the floor. “Not only did you let her escape, but you actively aided in it.”

They’re currently in the Aurelian capital of Remus, to discuss all things work related, with the general. And what an enjoyable experience it has been. Octavius makes for quite the entertainment.

Negotiating with her is far from relaxing. Dealing with one of the most powerful people from this branch of the Empire? You’re signing a death warrant. Her death warrant, that is.

Oh, it’s such a lovely experience. Withholding funds and threatening to put bullets in brains? Who wouldn’t enjoy it!?

"You’ve never heard of a calculated risk, general?" And then of course, the one who set this twisted love story into motion: Handler Epsilon, the mentor Herself.

Octavius slams a fist on the table. “Calculated risk!? You actively set loose one of your pet projects into Vernio, so it could get captured.    And don’t even get me started on this rebel cunt of yours.” Each word is enunciated with more anger to them. Temper Temper.

Ahh, but the general is so lucky that this rebel cunt isn't a rebel.

Oh, it would be easy to shoot the general in cold blood, but what good would that do anyone? Laila will simply let Octavius wrap the puppet strings around herself. And then, she’ll dance how she’s told to, like a good puppet.

Epsilon grins, hands folded in front of Her face. “Please, I let Eris go for a purpose. And I must say, she served it perfectly. As for Juniper: her value is not simply in her combat ability. Even you must see the propaganda potential, no?”

"I don't care about the propaganda value. None of that is going to win this war about these terrorists.” Octavius misses the point, but it’s to be expected. Puppets don’t need to think. They just do.

Laila leans back in her chair, unbothered. "Oh, Octavius the propaganda has its uses. Why do you think Wardog was so well known?"

"Listen here, you rebel cunt, I don't want nor do I need your input. Congratulations on defecting, now why don't you go die in a fire? The grown-ups are speaking." It will be so fun to break in Octavius.

"Oh, my apologies, general. This 'rebel cunt' as you so described, has a name. Now, I do recognize that my defection has presented issues, but I'm not after your kindness, nor your respect. Frankly, I believe you should keep your anger in check, lest it bite you." Laila smiles, much like she would when dealing with rebel brass. Hollow and full of so much disdain.

Octavius doesn't bother acknowledging the defector, only staring at Epsilon. "Keep your mutt on a tighter leash, I'd hate to have to put it down."

And so the strings already begin to form.

Laila glares at Octavius, but never loses her charming smile. "General Octavius, I would like to remind you that I earned my right to be here. We're all monsters here. You butchered civilians at Sibar, I put my wife in a muzzle. We've all done questionable things."

Epsilon stares at Her prey, with a mad grin. "You may not respect her, but I assure you general, the results speak for themselves." She slides a tablet across the table, offering Octavius a look over the results of their last sortie. "As per orders, the hounds were sent into the Alps, wherein they removed a vital lifeline for the rebellion."

Octavius skims over most of the notes, seeming to be uninterested. "Tell me then Epsilon, why were your hounds commanded by this rebel cunt. Don't tell me, you're going soft now?" She laughs, sliding back the tablet with a dismissive gesture.

"Oh, General, think nothing of the sort. We both know I don't dirty myself with field work. However, my protégé here is quite the tactician, as such I gave her the reins for this operation. You don't mean to tell me you haven't heard of Wardog Squadron, have you?" Epsilon lays on the sarcasm thick, as to be expected.

Octavius doesn't respond, choosing to stew in her own anger instead.

Epsilon gestures towards Laila, who offers a cold smile to her mentor. "As you can see, we removed the targets. I will grant you, two escaped. Although considering the circumstances of our machines being held together with patchwork equipment, I'd say we did fine.”

The true reason they’re making nice with the dear general: The machines of Wardog are in rough shape and need proper repairs. Something Octavius refuses to authorize. Hm.

"And why is it that your mutts can't be sent back out into the field? Your report says at least a month if not more for repairs. Unfortunately for you both, you’ll get basic repairs and deal with it.” It's so... cute when Octavius thinks she's won some little argument.

Unfortunately for the poor general, she's already lost.

"It's quite simple, really. Due to your, shall we say... unwillingness to provide resources as of late, we've had to make due with inadequate parts." Laila’s smile never waivers. All the easier to make her puppet dance a wonderful dance!

Octavius glowers at the accusation, but of course she does. "My 'unwillingness' as you so call it, is due to you people. This entire program is beyond fucked and I refuse to send the funding your way. You'll make due with what little you're allotted."

"If that's the case, so be it, the hounds can be ready to take down the base in Cecina Valley." Laila smirks, leaning back in her chair. "While a surprise attack right now would work, don't you think they would just reorganize? Why do you think they settled there?"

“Why? Because that’s what you fucking rebels do! You build wherever you can hide! I’m not sacrificing more troops for you rebel shitstains, just so you can have a go at playing pretend! I don’t care what Epsilon thinks, I’m done entertaining your delusions!” Who knew the butcher could be so... concerned about troops? Ironic!

Laila simply continues smiling in the face of anger. "You're so hard focused on one little cell, you failed to consider everything else. There are dozens of cells besides Volterra and they have all one thing in common: Do you know what that is, general?"

Octavius raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"Their financial backing. You can't honestly say you've never wondered how the rebels here seem so well equipped, can you? They're all funded by the Europa Federation. Of course, it's hush hush, only a few people know the truth.” Despite their ‘alliance’, it’s anything but friendly. Ahh, politics, how drab!

"I don't see how this is my concern." Why, Octavius seems almost bored all of a sudden. "It's not some insane revelation, who else would be funding you mutts? Europa has been fighting this shadow war for decades."

As Laila goes to speak, Epsilon silences her with a nod. Just what are you planning, dear mentor?

"Ahh, general, since you're so concerned with finances, I'd like to bring to the table, a rather... interesting story," Epsilon says, grinning wickedly.

Oh, dear mentor, you've caught onto the game perfectly.

Octavius furrows her brow, but motions for Epsilon to continue. "Thank you, sir. During my initial interrogation of asset Sladek here, I came across a peculiar discrepancy."

"And what is this discrepancy, exactly?" Octavius narrows her eyes, staring down the handlers.

"Juniper," Laila snaps her fingers. "Stand and tell the general, what you told Handler Epsilon."

"Yes, Sir." Juniper stands, saluting her handlers. "Due to the gas attacks during the One Week War, I developed lung cancer. Didn't exactly have the money to get treatment, so I raided an Imperial Archive to pay for treatment."

Octavius yawns wide, making a show of her boredom. "I see no reason to—"

Laila silences the boredom with a gesture. "Now, now, Octavius, my hound wasn't done. Juniper, continue."

“I found nothing of value there. Left to die in the Underworld of Gormo, I met a high-ranking Imperial, who offered me a proposition. In exchange for a set of artificial lungs, I would become their assassin." Juniper stares directly at Octavius, doing just as expected. "Civilians on the cusp of organizing a resistance, Imperials deemed 'expendable', even children, all slaughtered by me.”

Of course, Octavius never visited June, no, no, no. It was one of the general's underlings who did. Likely executed or reassigned to a new post, so as to not leak this information. One has to wonder what the end goal was.

Not only creating artificial lungs, but funding Ixion. Certainly an intriguing puzzle to piece together. One that is still being figured out.

"Good girl Juniper, you can sit back down now." Laila pets her hound, ushering Juniper back onto the floor.

Octavius' eyes go wide, attempting to stammer out an answer, only for Epsilon to interrupt her. "Perhaps these were... black ops? Fully off the record? But I find the circumstances to be quite amusing, myself."

"What are you on about, Epsilon!?" Octavius slams a fist against the table. With a temper like that, is it a wonder she’s so easy to exploit?

Epsilon grins slyly, finally revealing Her hand. "Oh, nothing, nothing, I just find it rather... intriguing that Sladek was tasked with the murder of Imperial officials. Now, I don't know about you, but I'd find that quite scandalous, if I were in your position. Oh, but I'm not implicating you, think nothing of the sort." Breaking down lessers like Octavius, is just one of the many lessons She instilled. A lovely reminder as it were.

"I... I wasn't— I wasn't privy to these details!" Octavius stutters, turning red. Her staff are looking at each other in confusion. They probably don't know whether to arrest her for treason, or sweep this under the rug. It's adorable!

"An impartial observer might ask where that money came from, and how much it cost. But we're all friends here, aren't we, General?" Laila smells the blood in the water, and her words deal the final blow. "It's funny, sir, if this were to leak out, what would happen to your post? I can't imagine the higher-ups thinking fondly of this."

"W-What are you accusing me of!?" Octavius stammers, her face turning redder by the second. So it seems the butcher does know fear! Aha, wonderful!

Epsilon's grin grows wider from that sweet, delicious fear of the poor general setting in. "Oh, nothing, nothing, call it... curiosity, perhaps?"

Octavius nervously looks to her staff, who obviously have no answer. "I trust you have proof of this, then!? N-No one would listen to some mutts words!"

Epsilon shrugs, grinning like the madwoman She certainly is. "Who's to say? Perhaps I'm just grasping at straws? Although, if I were you, I certainly would mind my manners. After all, you never know who might be watching."

The killing blow.

Now, all that’s left is for Laila to make her puppet dance! "It's pertinent that you remember your place, Octavius. We're all monsters here, aren't we? You, the Butcher. Me? Well, we both see what I'm capable of." This is power. Lording over the fucking Butcher of Sibar, making her cower like some rookie. Gods, it tastes so damned sweet.

The poor general tries to answer, but her words come out disjointed, clearly far too scared to form a coherent sentence.

Laila laughs at the sight of the Butcher reduced to this. "I'm feeling generous, Octavius, so long as you remember my name is not mutt, nor is it 'Rebel Cunt', we won't have a problem will we?”

“N-No, sir!” Octavius stammers out, furiously flipping through notes.

Laila grins madly, reveling in newfound power. “Now then, what’s my name?”

“Handler Iota, sir!” Oh, Octavius will make a fine puppet. Her face is still bright red, showing just how easy it was to make such an insolent gnat fall in line. This bitch is clearly more useful as a puppet than a corpse. Serves the Butcher right.

"Please, do keep in mind that I am not asking for your respect; I am demanding it. If you choose to further demean me, or even refuse supply requests, well... you may find yourself in front of a firing squad." Back in the day, Laila was never this sharp tongued. But you learn fast under the tutelage of Epsilon.

Laila reassuringly smiles at the general. "But we certainly wouldn't want that to happen, would we?" Raising her voice, yelling or even assaulting Octavius would be easy. This entire time, Laila has remained calm, respectful even, despite the lack of respect shown to her. Why get angry? Dogs get angry. And Laila Praxian is no dog, she’s a handler.

“I apologize for my attitude Handler Iota, sir! I’ll ensure that your requests are handled with the utmost care." It's cute how Octavius falls apart at the first sign of trouble. Serves the bitch right.

How long has the conference room door been open? A tall woman stands there in the doorway, smirking. Clad in a heavy black coat, a similarly black cap resting atop her platinum hair. Not a damned clue who she is, but certainly her presence makes Epsilon pay attention.

Someone higher up in the chain? Mm, no indication of her rank, save for... that badge on her collar. A fist dangling a muzzle from above, the same one on Laila's collar and on Epsilon's. The mark of a Handler.

Well, that certainly makes things much more interesting.

Judging by her appearance, and the way Epsilon seems to stare, this mystery handler is more senior in standing. “My, I must say I didn’t expect this.”

Just who is she?

The mysterious handler grins, taking a seat at the far end of the table, next to the general. "Epsilon, it's been far too long." She sets down her cap onto the table, getting comfortable.

Epsilon and this mysterious handler seem to be locked into an intense staring contest. "Not long enough, it seems. What brings you to Remus?" A hint of discomfort from the dear mentor? Hmm.

"Classified." There's a predatory grin on this unknown handler’s face, and gods is it creepy. "Imagine my surprise meeting you here, Epsilon." The mystery handler, stares at Laila, but says nothing to her.

Epsilon for Her part, says nothing either.

Someone is uncomfortable.

The unknown variable looks to Octavius and her staff, giving them a curious glance. "Ah, general, I wish to have a chat with Epsilon and her protégé, alone. Would you mind excusing yourself?"

Octavius glares, falling for her base urges yet again. "Go to hell, you creepy bitch, I don't know who you are, but we're in the middle of a meeting." Already dancing on her strings so elegantly.

It's with a sigh, and a shake of the head, that the other handler laughs. "General Octavius, I find your personality quite charming. However, I was not asking for your permission. I'm certain OSI would love to have a conversation with you over these allegations. The Empire takes them seriously after all."

"... Fine, do as you wish." Octavius stands, motioning for her staff to follow.

Once the general and her staff leave the room, only the three handlers remain. "Judging by the uniform, we're colleagues. However, I don't believe we've met?" The mysterious handler stands, offering Laila a hand.

She shakes it, offering a satisfied smirk. "No, we haven't, I’m Handler Iota. Forgive my ignorance, but who exactly are you?"

"Iota? So it seems Epsilon has gone and gotten herself a protégé. "That gets a laugh from the mystery handler. "I must say, I'm impressed with how you bent Octavius to your will." The mystery deepens, clearly old enough to know Epsilon.

Hmm…

This mysterious handler offers a polite smile. "Ah, where are my manners? I’m Handler Alpha." Alpha? Laila’s heard about her. Not much, but enough to know that Alpha is easily the most dangerous person in this room.

“Epsilon’s told me a little about you. Honestly thought that you were a myth.” Laila laughs. “The one on the floor is my hound, Juniper.” With a click of the tongue, Juniper stands and salutes. A lovely byproduct of the conditioning.

Alpha raises an eyebrow, almost seeming surprised by this. "Oh, I assure you, I’m quite real. But enough about myself, I’m interested in you. An actual rebel defected and joined our ranks? How surprising.” World ain’t so black and white, it turns out.

Laila nods to Juniper, allowing her to leave the room. It's time the superiors chatted alone.

"How exactly did you find her, Epsilon? I'm curious to know what you offered her." It wasn't money, that's for damn sure.

"Is it not obvious, sir?" Epsilon laughs Her usual dark laugh. "Love. The chance to save the one she loved most. I do admit, their relationship though unconventional, clearly works."

Laila grins, leaning back in her chair. "Love makes you do dangerous things. Even make a deal with a demon, in exchange for your wife's soul." Wasn't how any of this was supposed to happen, but it's better this way.

They're better this way.

"Consider my curiosity piqued. Epsilon seems to have a keen eye towards candidates. Although, I am curious, why defect? Why damn your beloved to a life underneath a muzzle? Did you not actually love her?" Alpha's trying to provoke a reaction, probably a test, just like Epsilon.

Shrugging, Laila sits up straight again staring down the senior handler. "What choice did I have? Keep fighting, until we died together? Fuck that. Epsilon offered me a hand when I needed it most. Did June deserve her fate? Maybe, maybe not.” She breathes deep, calming herself. Can't give into the emotions, not now. "I love Juniper, I always will, but I did what needed to be done. For us.”

Weaponize your guilt, just like you were taught.

Alpha grins wide, laughing. "Interesting, very interesting! Though, I feel I must ask: You do know what would happen if you were to forget your standing in this world, correct?" A deep cut, she's good, Laila will give her that. Probably seen many a potential handler wash out, because they couldn't burn out their humanity.

She will, because there’s no way other way to go on.

Laila shows no fear in the face of this monster. She's faced fiercer. “It’s the same lesson that Epsilon taught me when I accepted Her help. Admittedly, I’m faced with a challenge that is unlike anything either of you have dealt with. But this is my life now, I am Handler Iota, and Juniper is my hound.” It's too late to change their fates now. "Do you know what I see when I look into those dead eyes of hers? I don't see anything, not anymore. Just a hound." That's a fucking lie and she knows it.

What stares back through those hazel eyes once full of so much life, is guilt. Guilt in the form of someone damned to a life wearing a muzzle.

"Bravo, bravo." Alpha claps. "It seems Epsilon was correct to take a chance on you. I’ve trained many over the years, but you? You’re quite unique compared to them." She studies the younger handler, probably looking for weakness. "I would like to propose something."

Laila raises an eyebrow, motioning for Alpha to continue. "Go on?"

Like a predator about to devour its prey, Alpha grins wide. "To put it simply: A combat exercise. So few of our ranks are exceptional pilots, however a protégé of mine is quite the exceptional pilot. As such I’d like for you both to participate in this. Of course not now, I've seen the state of your machines. Despite the earlier theatrics, your requests for repairs were personally approved by myself, upon your arrival to Remus.”

Laila shrugs, laughing. "Why not? Evaluate me how you like, I'll show you the same damn thing I showed Epsilon. I'm more than willing to dirty my hands to ensure success. Juniper is a weapon, a weapon I intend to use to its fullest."

Epsilon seems to have the same reaction, as Her former mentor, curiosity more than anything. Is this some pissing contest between handlers?

No, that’s not it.

“That is of course, unless Epsilon has an objection?” Alpha turns her attention back to a grinning Epsilon.

“Oh, quite the contrary, sir, I’m all for it,” She says it casually, as though She were making dinner plans.

Hm, just what are you up to, dear mentor?

Alpha laughs, standing and fitting her cap back on. "Very astute, I look forward to our next meeting. Unfortunately, business calls and I must be on my way." She walks out, leaving with more questions than answers. As to be expected it seems.

Still so many questions and very few answers.

"Well," Laila says, grinning. "I certainly can't say I expected to meet your mentor, sir."

"Mm, the Empire is full of surprises, my dear Iota." Epsilon doesn't seem phased by Her mentor's appearance. Probably planned. But if that's the case, why?

"Is she always so..." Laila doesn't finish the thought.

Epsilon nods. "Imposing? Oh, that was Her playing nice."

"And I thought you were scary. No offense, of course." The two handlers stand, taking their leave.

Epsilon laughs coldly, it's almost inhuman in how She laughs. "Oh, in time you'll be the same way. I was like you once, young, eager to prove myself." This is Laila's future, isn't it?

It's a better than dying on the battlefield.

Laila raises an eyebrow, staring at her mentor. "Just how old are you?"

"Oh, that would be telling. Some secrets should remain secret, don't you think?" Epsilon shrugs, as if to add onto the mystery of it all.

***

Ahhh Remus, the Aurelian capital city.

The seat of power to a dead religion and corrupt politicians. It's the place that the rebels dreamed of for years. Houses that have stood for centuries. Clean streets that have never had a mech grace it. Trees.

Honest to gods trees, not the dead shit left to rot in the earth either.

Remus is green.

It's not Laila's first walk through the city, but it's still so damned captivating to see the life here. Grass lawns, that have sprinklers shooting clean water up across them. And not the thrice recycled shit either, actual clean water. It's a living, breathing city, without a hint of debris in sight.

Remus is everything Wardog fought for.

This is definitely the city the rebels dreamed of marching on. None of the Aurelian rebels had been here before. Only the wealthy elites ever stepped foot inside this city. Sure as hell didn't stop the rebels from imagining it, though. Streets lined with gold, waterfalls filled with the purest water imaginable. It was the end goal of the rebellion, take back Kitala and march on Remus. At the end of it all, they'd be the big damn heroes, who slayed the evil Empire.

It was such a fucking fever dream conceived by people who weren't on the front lines. Bastards living in their own fantasy worlds, thinking Remus could be won back. Just taking back some of the regions around Volterra, required an offensive like no other.

But that's life. It was that way on the caravans too. You got used to towns with horrible air quality. The factories choke the very life from its workers. Laila remembers having to wear a mask when they visited certain factory towns because of how awful the smog got. It was another reminder of the corporate greed that slowly killed them all. Dreams are all anyone had, bullshit or not.

Except it’s the exact opposite of those old towns. Clean, breathable air, without a single mask in sight. A cool breeze blowing in from the east. It's practically a paradise here.

Remus is everything Wardog died for.

The closest she can think of in comparison is Gormo, except compared to Remus, it's another run down shithole. Their air and water are recycled, it's essentially a city of old, designed to eventually topple over. The dome will last only so long, before time and greed catch up to it.

"It's strange, isn't it? Seeing trees. Perhaps it even makes you angry?" Poking and prodding, attempting to get a reaction. Typical of Epsilon.

Laila offers a small shrug. "Not really, no. I'll grant you that it certainly piques my curiosity. I'm sure June would agree, we all heard the stories of Remus. But none of us ever believed it."

The stone streets of Remus are quiet as the two handlers walk along it. Juniper and Eris follow behind them, guided by leashes. It's so rare seeing Eris being given the privilege of Epsilon's attention, that it feels almost strange. Certainly there's an irony to be had with both of Laila's subordinates from those days, being reduced to hounds on a leash.

Neither of them would ever have agreed to this in their old lives.

But then, they aren't people anymore. They're just hounds, and hounds have no say in these matters.

"I suppose it is difficult to believe, but consider this a taste of what's to come. You've ascended and have chosen a path more befitting of your status. Though, the road is long and fraught with peril, you made the right decision." Epsilon certainly knows how to woo a girl.

"Tell me something, Epsilon. Just who is Alpha?" Laila hasn't been able to get that brief meeting off of her mind. She knows of the wider program, and how each handler is responsible for their own charges. But she's ignorant to the program itself. Most likely by design.

Epsilon has mentioned Alpha before, but it was quite frankly, nerve wracking to actually meet her.

Talk about having looks that could kill.

Certainly makes one wonder, just how many handlers has Alpha met over the years? And how many of them were reduced to nothing more than a drooling mutt? Laila wagered her humanity, didn't she? They're clearly after something more than her humanity, but what?

Her love for Juniper?

No, that isn't it, wouldn't make sense.

Epsilon chuckles darkly. "Mm, She was my mentor. The entire reason we're even having this conversation, is because of Her. There used to be a time when She was directly responsible for the program." They stop for a moment, admiring the view of the city before them. Not a mech in sight, not even a stray shell casing on the ground.

Laila raises an eyebrow. "So why me, then?"

"Is it not obvious? You interest Her." Epsilon grins, and resumes walking, ushering Her protégé along.

"Hm." Laila interests Alpha? Let her be interested then, she'll see just why this Wardog was named Iota.

"I suppose that means that she's the one who captured Thrace, then?" Hard to forget the stories. Poster girl probably never stepped foot out here, but even so, the legends spread. Never understood it, then again, Wardog were in a similar position. The ones who allegedly did so much shit they never did.

They couldn't get the scar right on those posters.

As per usual, Epsilon shrugs. "Oh, who's to say? It's all just propaganda isn't it?"

It's all game of chess to Her. After all, life's more interesting if it's through the eyes of a chess master. Everyone is simply a pawn, save for those who have risen above to prove their worth as a queen.

She enjoys letting Laila find out for herself. That seems to be Her teaching method.

"On the subject of the program, there's a question I've been meaning to ask: Why me? Why choose me to be a handler?" There's a faint smell in the air that makes her feel nostalgic for the caravaning days. Can't place what exactly it is, but who cares? Not important.

The wide streets of Remus begin narrowing as they move into an older section of the city, where the habitat modules give way to ancient brickwork and concrete. They move through a rare, untouched memory of another empire, this one ancient, until they find themselves in front of a wide stone building. It used to be an administration building. Now, it'll be their berthings for the foreseeable future.

A guard standing watch salutes the party and holds open the door for them. It's rather spacious inside, dark wooden flooring, with a similarly wooden paneling on the walls. Once the leashes are removed, they dutifully bows their heads and walk off. Fetching tea, Laila imagines. Epsilon seems to enjoy these tea chats, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise.

The two handlers settle into a small room, awaiting their tea. This was once was someone's office, but now it serves as a tea room for Epsilon and Iota. Funny how that happens.

"Now then, as to your question: I've had my eye on you for years. Whereas the rest of Wardog may have perished, you remained strong." Epsilon settles into Her seat, crossing a leg. "If I had wanted you for your piloting skills, we wouldn't be here chatting. It's your tactical acumen that interests me, and how you've managed to survive this long."

Laila was always the brain of Wardog, she survived because she got lucky. It wasn't that tactical acumen, or her piloting skills. Survival happened because she had June to keep her grounded. Except, as she was falling apart, all either of them could do was keep taking on missions.

"Tea?" A snap of Her fingers, brings Eris and Juniper pushing a tea cart into the room. They split off to pour tea into two ceramic cups. It smells like the good stuff, not the shit you find in random settlements.

"Sugar, Sir?" Juniper says, receiving a nod in return. Their relationship is still going through adjustments. Part of Laila wants to wants to remove the muzzle and kiss that hazel-eyed mutt. But the other half knows their places in the world won't allow for that anymore.

It's with a quiet sigh that she leans back. "Two sugars, please."

Juniper nods, adding the two sugar cubes in. "Anything else, Sir?"

Laila grabs the saucer and teacup, nodding to the hound. "That'll be all June, thank you."

"Yes, Sir." Juniper salutes, leaving the room with the cart in tow. Eris isn't far behind, saluting as well.

Epsilon sips from Her cup, maintaining eye contact with the protégé all the while. "As I was saying: A handler does not need to be an excellent pilot, though it certainly doesn’t hurt." She laughs that same damned laugh again. It sends a chill down Laila's spine. "No, it's the tactical mind and commanding presence, that make a handler what they are. This however takes time to cultivate, it's not an overnight process."

"Mm, figures as much..." Laila stares down into her tea, watching her reflection ripple across the surface. A dark skinned woman with a face full of guilt stares back. "Be honest with me, Epsilon: Did I... make the right choice? I know, this was for Juniper's sake, but... Alpha is right, I did damn Juniper to life underneath a muzzle. When I stare into those hazel eyes I fell so in love with, all I see is a blankness to them. And part of me is... scared by that."

Kill the guilt, weaponize it, etc, it's all the same rational. She doesn't know how to do that. Let alone How she's supposed to be Juniper's perfect handler, who will fix everything. None of this makes any fucking sense, and that’s what scares Laila. If she turns out to not be up to the task, then that’s it for her, right?

Epsilon nods. "You did. I do however understand your... reservations. You feel guilty, after all it's only human to feel that way. The truth of the matter is that you need to burn away your humanity, if you want to succeed." A smile plays across Her face, not the same predatory one as normal, more... sympathetic, curious, perhaps? "Do you believe I was always like this?"

"No, of course not. You must have been an officer at some point, who caught Alpha's eye, no?" Laila sips her tea, steeling her nerves. Can't afford to show weakness, not now.

"An interesting guess." Epsilon offers an enigmatic smile. "You've been with Juniper for years. It won't be easy to simply see her for what she is. But that perhaps is your ultimate test, as well as Juniper's."

It's what She's taught since the beginning. A handler does not need their humanity, it’s ultimately useless. Guilt and its associated feelings are nothing more than necrotic flesh.

And you have to cauterize that rot, lest it spread.

Laila sips from her cup idly, pondering the lesson. "This is good tea."

Epsilon nods in agreement. "A perk of Remus, their tea is lovely. Certainly makes dealing with General Octavius much more worthwhile." It's with a soft laugh, that She sets down the tea. "I must say you dealt with her perfectly. She'll make the quite the usual pawn in your arsenal."

Octavius disrespected the wrong person and paid the price. That's all there is to it.

"Octavius is but my puppet, and I'll make her dance how I see fit. For now, it's getting supply requests fulfilled. Tomorrow? Who knows?" Laila shrugs, grinning. "She'll try to find a way out, but her strings can never be cut." Gods, it felt so good to do that to Octavius.

Epsilon laughs, clapping. "You'll make a fine puppet master."

"Oh, I'm sure, I will. But, I am curious, are all the brass like her? Arrogant, needing to be taken down a few pegs? Reminds me of the rebellion. Some of the brass were high off their own egos. It's a wonder we managed to take so much territory." None other than Adama, however. For Laila, it's not about vengeance, it's about unfinished business.

Epsilon grins, sipping from Her tea once more. "The vast majority see us as equals, or rather as a necessary evil to be feared."

Evil or not, if Octavius is what stands in the way of getting a needed supply of parts going again, then she had to be taken down. Their last field deployment though relatively smooth, is marred by a black mark stemming from the inability of either hound to finish their opponent.

To solely blame their inadequate machines is wrong. Laila failed to command them in the field. Too busy dealing with Eris' mess to notice Juniper's struggles. Too caught up in Juniper's struggles, to notice Eris needing assistance.

"This combat exercise, what can I expect?" The thought weighs heavily, but there's still the matter of Her lesson. That is what actually weighs heavily on Laila. "Is this protégé of hers like... us?"

Epsilon stares curiously, shaking Her head. "A designation? No. From my limited interactions with her, she's quite brash and arrogant. A fine addition to our ranks, I must say."

Far too many arrogant pilots, not a shock there. "So what's her name, then?"

"Oh, that would be telling. There's classified information at your fingertips. I suggest using that to your advantage. Though, I will grant you a hint: A former mercenary, who uses her own name." Dammit, of course Epsilon doesn't give an actual answer. It's Her thing, after all.

"As for the combat trial--" She shrugs. "I can't say I know what to expect. Alpha never does anything halfheartedly. It is safe to say, however, that She sees in you, the same as in Her protégé" Epsilon takes a final sip of Her tea, snapping Her fingers for the hounds to refill it.

Laila stares at Juniper momentarily. That dirty blonde hair practically covers her eyes now. And the muzzle only serves to reinforce the animal she's become. "It's like you said, Epsilon, I just need to weaponize my guilt, right?"

"Now you're getting it." Epsilon chuckles darkly. "You're in a unique position, Laila. Not simply due to your ascension, but due to your connection with Juniper. I've seen the way you treat her, it's impressive." As a handler, Laila is unconventional. Rather than dangling forgiveness or gods know what else, she uses love to keep Juniper under control.

They're in love, despite their positions in life.

Twisted, deformed, love, but love nonetheless.

Epsilon sips from Her freshly refilled cup. "If you can learn to harness that connection there won't be an issue. I see no reason to doubt you will. After all, I don't make mistakes, do I?" There's that predatory grin again and gods is it horrifying. "Although, I will say, your command of Eris has led to improvements in her behavior. Color me surprised, perhaps she does have practical usage after all."

"Eris is easy to read, dangle the treat and she obeys." Laila laughs hard, shaking off the guilt she feels for Juniper. "The sin lines across the Wardog emblem say it all, don't you agree?"

Epsilon laughs. "The sin lines are a lovely way to remind a hound of their place." And then, She leans in close. "Tell me then Iota, what do you propose we do with Eris?" Her words are quiet, but calculating all the same. Looking for an opportunity to take a knight perhaps.

Laila smiles, fishing a tablet from her coat. "The raw combat data from her last deployment shows promise. I think you'll find what I'm proposing to be sufficient." She hands the tablet to Epsilon. "Firstly, more conditioning. I want to fully instill that pack mentality into them both."

"And the second?" Epsilon raises an eyebrow.

Laila gives a sly smirk. "Kérberos. If I'm to be a demon, I'll need hounds. Give the hounds a purpose, a motivation and they easily fall in line. It's as simple as kill counts: We offer them a reward for the highest amount and the loser? Well, that depends." She would never been able to stomach such a thing months ago. But now? Laila Praxian is truly a demon in the making.

Embracing the intoxicating power that comes from this, is but the first step.

"Quite the lofty ambitions you have." Epsilon sips from Her cup. "Even going as far as to propose upgrades to Argus, I see. My, you continue to surprise me, Praxian."

Laila smiles, sipping from her own cup. "My first sortie with the hounds could have gone better, I admit. However, it would be unwise for me to solely blame them. As their handler, I should have been better." Humility is as much an asset as a gun is.

"The price you paid for bringing Juniper back the hard way." Fishing for a reaction. Typical Epsilon.

"Oh, dear mentor, we both know it was the only effective way." Using the leash would have made things too easy. June needed to admit defeat. It was the only way they could ever be happy.

"Hm, and this raid on Volterra that you're proposing, what is your goal? Scatter the rebels into the wind?" Epsilon scrolls through the documentation, casually sipping Her tea. "Or perhaps, revenge against the man who wronged you?"

Laila shrugs. "Who's to say whether it is or is not revenge? The survivors will scatter into the wind, either to Gormo or to other cells. And I say, let them. Gormo's rebel elements are strong, but the leadership of the city dares not to lay a finger on the Empire. We'll root out each cell one by one as well."

"My, my, you've learned quickly." Epsilon smirks.

Laila shakes her head, sighing. "No, far from it. If anything, I'm going off of instincts from my rebel days. I was heavily involved in planning, and without Adama, they'll fall apart."

"Even so, it's clear to me that I made the right decision in grooming you for the role. You've got the mind of a handler, it just takes nurturing those instincts." Of course she has the mind of a handler. She sold her soul to the worst demon of all: Handler Epsilon.

***

The soft glow of the fireplace illuminates the dark room. It crackles every so often, bringing with it a shimmer of life. Juniper is dead asleep at the foot of the bed, curled up in a blanket. Epsilon retired to Her room for the evening. And Eris was given a bed on the floor of a spare room.

As for Laila, she's been digging through classified records for the last hour. If you told her a year ago that she'd be accessing Imperial records, she'd have figured the planned offensives went better than expected. And that they somehow took an archive. She always wanted to be the one to crack the encryption.

It was always an insane dream of hers.

How had Juniper snuck in and found mech schematics, who knows? It was most likely a honeypot. Octavius unknowingly created a monster.

Reality is far from fantasy however. Laila simply used her pass code to gain access, no hacking or subterfuge needed. Honestly, she's a bit disappointed. Everything she could want is a swipe away on this tablet.

Of course, certain documentation relating to the program is kept elsewhere for safety reasons. Certainly wouldn’t want a hotshot hacker finding out their best friend was captured and planning a rescue mission. Oh, who is she kidding? That’s exactly what happens!

Furlo Valley was all part of Her plan, and Saparlo played the fool perfectly.

Ah, but that isn’t what Laila is after. If she wanted information on hounds, she could easily bring that up, it’s of little importance. Rather, Epsilon wanted her to find information on Alpha’s protégé. All part of Her training it seems.

Despite Laila’s clearance level, one thing remains classified: Names. Not designations, the actual name pertaining to each handler. Only a very select few know their true names. Alpha's protégé on the other hand, seems to use her actual name rather than a designation. It’s the only useful information that Laila was able to glean from Epsilon.

Although, it seems that Alpha is the exception, as anything relating to her is classified to the highest degree. Interesting, but not of concern. Only Alpha, however. Her protégé most likely wouldn’t carry the same classification level. Otherwise why even mention it?

Laila could turn off this damned tablet and go to sleep, rather than attempting to dig up information. It's not too late.

But she doesn't. Curiosity gets the better of her. Why not learn about Alpha's protégé? After all, it's Laila's right as a handler to access this information.

She's smirking, because she's beginning to understand her place in this twisted world a little better. Fear is overrated, kill that along with the guilt. This is what she agreed to, when she accepted Epsilon's kindness.

Two taps of the finger, brings up a name: Kione Monax.

Obviously never heard of her, but a personnel photo reveals something surprising: They're both black. Not exactly uncommon, but certainly interesting nonetheless. It seems Epsilon was right, this handler is a former mercenary. Of course She was, but still.

This handler’s mech certainly piques curiosity.

A machine named Theaboros Archon. Very little combat footage exists; or perhaps it's simply been buried; one of Alpha's moves no doubt. However, the limited footage    does show something to pique interest: It flies.

Another mech that flies? Laila's heard murmurings from the hangar crews about another mech capable of flight. But to actually have it confirmed?

That certainly gives an advantage in strategizing.

Whoever this Kione Monax is doesn't much matter. Nor does whatever beast this ex-merc tamed. It could be the poster girl herself and it still wouldn't change a damned thing.

Wardog— No, Kérberos will face all challengers. The tactical acumen of Handler Iota and the raw unbridled strength of Juniper Sladek, are more than a match for a merc who got bored of the life. They've fought worse. It's how you survive.

Wardog is dead. It died over the ruins of Tarsus, after both dogs danced one final dance. The rebels running around wearing that emblem are simply too stupid to realize the bad omen that came from it.

And yet, it's two former leaders continue to fly that bad omen on their machines. Once meant to be a symbol of hope and resistance, the Wardog is nothing more than an affliction. Befitting of their new positions in life.

Laila reaches down into her tank top, pulling out her dog tags.

A reminder of those days in Druzi after Juniper was taken. When it was just her memory that kept this sad sack of shit alive. Before Epsilon came along and offered a helping hand. Without Her, these two war dogs wouldn't be sharing the same bed right now.

They exchanged dog tags and vowed to stand by each other's side until the end. Doesn't matter how they got here. What's important is that they're together again, forever.

Laila reaches over, slowly petting Juniper's hair, admiring the feel of the dirty blonde hair. Used to do this all the time to her, back when they were rebels. She'd be out cold, having her hair twirled. It's nostalgic and calming.

"Lails?" Juniper groggily says. "What time is it?" June yawns and stretches, laying her head back down on the mattress.

Laila smiles gently, shutting the tablet off at last. "It's late, sorry love, did I wake you?"

Looking at the two of them right now, you wouldn’t think of them as handler and hound. It's all about reinforcing the connection. It's more than just that. Even like this, they're still wives. They still wear the other's dog tags and care deeply for each other. Life is different, but it's a good different, as long as she has her beloved wife.

Juniper wipes the sleep from her eyes, crawling across the bed to hug her wife. "Yeah, it's okay, you're busy." Gods, the way she says that? So fucking nostalgic. June was always the one who had to get Laila to actually come to bed instead of working.

The irony isn't lost on her either.

"Don't worry, Junebug, I just—" She yawns, covering her mouth. "Oof, sorry, must be more tired than I thought. Can I ask you something, June: Are you... happy like this?" They lay together in bed, just like they used to, holding each other tight.

Juniper tilts her head, but smiles. "Of course I am, Lails. You're my handler now, life's different, like you said, but I'm okay with that. I think it's just us... adjusting, you know?"

Of course, she is. Hound or not, Juniper is happy now. No night terrors, no breakdowns, hell, she doesn't even need a pep talk in the cockpit anymore. As soon as she's hooked in, there's not a single complaint.

They're both happy now!

The sad truth of this world is that Laila doesn't fuck dogs. However, she can and does plant a kiss on her beautiful hound's forehead. "That's what I wanted to hear, Junebug. Thanks for reassuring me." Nothing saying she can’t do that, now is there?

"I love you, Lails, thank you for fixing me." Juniper nuzzles in close, resting her head on her handler's lap. There's no muzzle on her face right now. A merciful treat from her wife-turned-handler. It would be so easy to plant a kiss on those unmuzzled lips. They could share a kiss, as lovers do.

But that doesn't happen.

June is just a dog, which is why Laila can't give into temptation.

It's already difficult commanding Juniper, without the guilt burning a hole through everything it touches. Laila still can't bring herself to use the leash, a part of her aches when she sees the hound buried beneath that muzzle awaken. That is the real Juniper Sladek, and it's fucking heart wrenching to see that beast.

Exactly why Epsilon says to weaponize the guilt, otherwise Her guidance has been for fucking nothing.

"Hey, June? How do you feel about our new squad having a proper name?” They can’t be Wardog anymore, there’s no room for that hope in the world.

"What did you have in mind, Sir?" Juniper stares into her partner's eyes, smiling just how she always did. Even when it's just them, June can't help but address her partner correctly. Not entirely her fault, that's the conditioning's doing.

It's a nice reminder of who holds the power here.

Even if the wielder is reluctant.

"Kérberos Squadron. A new name for, well, a new us. Obviously, I’ll be leading us, but you’ll be right there on my wing, following orders to the letter." Laila reaches down, stroking Juniper's hair softly. "I'm still working out the finer details, but Epsilon's given approval."

"So then, does that mean Wardog is officially dead, Sir?" There isn't a hint of anger or even disgust in her voice. The old June would have never agreed to this. But the old June was weak and broken. This new one? Well, she's just a fucking dog who listens to her master.

Laila continues petting her beloved's hair, sighing gently. "Don't worry, love, I'm not getting rid of the emblem, it's ours. We fought and bled for it. Those rebels who still persist on using it? Let them, they'll be taken care of soon." How interesting that Saparlo happened to be in the way of their alpine mission.

If she or Bion get in the way again, well, perhaps they'll enjoy life under a muzzle, like their squad leader.

Handler Alpha, Kione Monax, the rotting remains of Wardog, it doesn't matter. Kérberos will remove all challengers. It's two Wardogs versus a twisted world that wants to separate them at every turn.

Same as it's always been, except now they serve the Empire. But that's simply the winning team, isn't it?

Handler and hound remain as they are, falling asleep next to each other.

Until Death Do They Part, right?