Then:

Wardog. Gods, what a fucking joke.

Laila's thinking about the nuggets again. Has been since they got turned into paste on their first sortie. Could she have kept those idiots alive? Of course not. First one charged in headfirst, second one didn't follow the plan, and the third one... Her skin crawls thinking about the third one.

Gods bless Eris Peray, the best pilot Laila's ever met. Dark sense of humor, darker skin, dark all over. Maybe after they finish this op, they can have a nice celebratory fuck. Sure, they're not together together anymore, but--

'You napping, Argos? Or did you just give up 'cause you know I'm gonna win?'

And then there's this bitch.

Some fucking merc hired on, because the rebels needed the extra manpower. She's... unique to say to the least. Pilots a silver mech that fucking flies. They keep calling her an angel, but nah, Laila sees it more like a bird than anything.

Rebels heard the term "angel" once and it stuck for whatever dumbass reason.

To say the least, this merc is fucking annoying. Shows up late, probably drunk off her ass, only to get bored and challenge Laila to take down a squad of Doru.

"Yeah, I'm here, merc. And the score is Six to Four, you slipping? Because I thought you were supposed to be good." Honestly, this merc needs a lesson in respect, and Laila is just the one to deliver it.

'Dunno, still feels like you're napping, 'cause the score is seven to six now' Ugh, fucking merc doesn't shut-up. 'Thought you rebels were supposed to be good, I even handicapped myself by--'

"Merc," Eris cuts in, before Laila has a chance to say anything. "Shut the fuck up, we got it. And for the record? I'm leading you both with nine kills. Better hurry!" Eris bursts out laughing.

Dumbasses the lot of them.

Well, if they want to tango so bad, might as well make it interesting.

Argos isn't quite like the scrapheap Laila used to pilot; unfortunately the old girl suffered a catastrophic systems failure and no amount of debugging could fix it. So she got herself a Doru. How? Well some things are better left unsaid.

Argos charges in with expert timing, taking down two Doru with autocannon fire. The third one falls shortly afterwards from an axe to the core. Tying Laila up with Eris, but the merc is only one kill behind and there are two more Doru left.

In the end, Laila won this stupid competition by a single kill.

Oh, sure, the merc has been bitching about it all the way back to base, but it'll be fun to rub it in. Mercs are mercs, they hang around as long as the getting is good, then they move along. Hopefully this one is the same, so that her annoying voice doesn't have to rattle through comms forever.

It's just as Argos shuts down and Laila disembarks that she notices Ixion got back first. Not a total surprise, what with the flight system. But what catches her eye isn't the mech, it's the pilot.

Dirty blonde hair shaved on the sides, it looks... surprisingly good on her. Ah, fuck, merc actually looks like a respectable person outside the cockpit. Who knew?

Once Laila's on the ground, she wastes no time in making a beeline for the merc. Might as well congratulate her on losing, right? Besides, a merc this cute can't be all bad, right?

"Can I... help you?" The merc raises an eyebrow, leaning back against Ixion's left leg.

Laila shrugs, grinning mischievously. "Dunno. Remind me again merc, what is it the winner of our little bet got?"

The mercenary groans. "Fuck, you're-- Okay, what do you want? Sex? Cash?"

"Oh, nothing like that," Laila pats her shoulder, offering a warm smile. "We're getting drinks, you're coming. Oh, and tell me your name."

"Ugh, fine," The merc sighs, knowing full well she's been beaten. "Juniper Sladek. Which means you're Argos, I take it?"

As if having the worst possible timing, Eris walks up to the two of them. "Oh, there you are Lails--we still getting drinks?"

Juniper laughs her ass off at the nickname. "Your name's Lails? Fuck, were your parents drunk off moonshine when they--" And Laila promptly punches the merc in the shoulder. A nice stinger, that'll teach the mercenary not to laugh.

"It's Laila Praxian, you'd do well to remember that if you're sticking around." Laila nods to Eris, walking off.

Eris isn't far behind, chasing after her CO. "What's up with you and the merc?"

Laila shrugs, shaking her head. "Whole lot of nothing. Ugh, this is why I fucking hate mercs. Boastful motherfuckers who only see the cash to be made from the war."

"Yeah, well, take it up with the boss man. He seems to see the value in them, I dunno why." As always, Eris sounds more like she's bored by the whole affair. "We still getting drinks?"

"Sure, why not?" That'll help get the mind off that disrespectful merc.

Fuck, merc's lucky that Laila didn't punch her lights out. But then that silver mech would have merc blood all over it and it's always such a pain to clean up. The chewing out from Adama would be worth it though.

"You good, Lails?" Eris says, as they walk into the mess.

Laila groans. "That bitch pisses me off."

"She'll be gone by week's end, lighten up," Eris grins, playfully punching Laila's shoulder. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"You mean aside from her antics getting one of us killed? We're the only decent pilots on rotation out here." Laila wants desperately to hit something, looks like she'll need to hit the bag. "Look, Eris, I appreciate it, but I think I'm gonna sit out of this round."

"You sure, because we can always--"

Laila cuts Eris off, sighing. "I need to hit something. Merc just got on my last fucking nerve, you know?" Ugh, why is this one bitch getting to Laila? It's a fucking nickname, big damn deal. Sure her name's personal, because it's hers, but that... that isn't it.

Eris shrugs. "Sure then, you down for some fun later?"

"Probably, see how I feel about it." Laila isn't usually this angry, just what the hell is wrong with her today? Was it that mission? The merc? None of it makes any damn sense to her.

* * *

Now:

Tossing and turning in bed, Laila finds herself lost in nightmares.

She wakes up gasping in fear. Turning, worried, seeking Juniper. Her source of comfort and stability. It's pitch black in their bedroom, but it all feels... wrong. The fire has been snuffed out, there's a chill in the air. And to make matters worse, there's a metallic stench in the air, reeking of blood.

She's asleep at the foot of the bed as normal, so it was just a nightmare, right?

Yeah, that has to be it.

Laila leans across the bed, stroking her sleeping partner's hair.

Except that's when June turns her head, staring up at Laila. From her hands, to her face, Juniper is covered in so much fucking blood. Her clothes are torn, body full of scratches, but she doesn't seem to notice. There's only a bestial grin on her face.

Her bloody face is illuminated by moonlight peeking through the curtains. There is no warmth to those eyes, not even a sliver of the person that Laila fell in love with. What stares back at her is a hungry beast, waiting for its next meal. This is not her love, only a corpse inhabited by a thing.

Because Juniper is dead.

Slain by the very person who promised to protect her: Laila Praxian.

Once when she sold the two of them out in a deluded effort to save June from herself. And once again, when Laila recaptured her, burning away all the unnecessary parts of her wife. This... thing still has some of June's personality, even the warmth. But it's... it's not her, not really anyway.

"Who do you want me to kill next, Lails?" Juniper growls, staring into the eyes of her killer. "Don't you love me?"

"I..." Laila finds herself lost for words, staring into those cold, dead hazel eyes. "... No one. Please, you... you've killed enough, right?"

Juniper cocks her head, baring her bloodstained fangs. "I can't stop killing, not now, not ever." Blood drips from her mouth and onto Laila. "I'm a beast, aren't I? Your beast. So come on Lails, point me towards the enemy, I promise I'll do better in the field this time!" Juniper cackles coldly, never breaking her stare, not even blinking.

"Juniper, that's enough! I... I said no!" Laila yells, using what little commanding presence she can muster. "Heel!"

Juniper licks her hackles. "I'm hungry, Lails, feed me more corpses."

She isn't listening, why isn't she listening? "I said heel!"

"No," June mutters. "Don't you see Lails? This is our dream now!" She laughs like a maniac, stroking a bloody hand across Laila's face. "We can finally be happy, right!? That's what you wanted, after you murdered me, right!?" It takes so much effort to not wretch at the affection, as if this beast would notice.

It would be easy to deny this bloody beast's, but it's correct.

This is what their dream became, because of Laila.

Their fantasy cabin could never happen, but a world in which Juniper no longer has to be in constant anguish became the actual dream. And all it cost was stabbing her in the back, when she was in pain, taking everything away from her.

"... I'm sorry, June. I... I did kill you, but it was the only way, wasn't it?" Laila laughs pathetically alongside the beast she created.

"Was it?" Juniper gets closer, pressing her face to Laila's. "You know, you never answered my question: Don't you love me?"

"I DO!" Even now, that remains so fucking true.

She loves Juniper Sladek.

But this was the only forward, wasn't it?

"Then why did you kill me, Laila? Why couldn't we have just faked our deaths!?" Juniper whispers it softly, planting a bloody kiss onto her partner's lips.

"Because... Because there was no other way to save you!" Laila recoils in fears, pushing away the bloody hound. "There was no other way I could save you, because you wouldn't have listened!"

Juniper twists her head. "But who said I needed saving? I'm just a beast, I'll kill whoever you tell me to! Even you!" This is who she really is. A feral beast kept in check by a fucking muzzle and leash.

"Then do it. Kill me. End this farce, I deserve it, don't I?" Laila cowers to the beast inhabitating her wife's visage Even now, she can't bring herself to control it. Because that isn't Juniper. This... thing is a monster like no other. Laila has seen it in action before, it's deadly, holding no regard for its own safety. In the field, this beast craves only the carnage that comes from creating more corpses.

It fucking scares her to even think those damned words.

Wordlessly, Juniper sinks her fangs into Laila's neck, biting down hard.

It's dark, so fucking dark. Is she--No, death is a luxury not afforded to someone like her. She's alive. June is right there, curled up at the foot of the bed, dead asleep.

Of course it was just a nightmare.

That same damned nightmare that haunts Laila's dream on a regular basis. Ever since the mission ended with Juniper brought back, the nightmares began. Different premises, but the message is absolutely clear: Laila killed Juniper.

"You okay, Lails? You were tossing and turning," Juniper quietly says it, crawling across the bed to offer comfort. Laila doesn't deserve it, but such is life, right?

Laila offers her love a soft smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine, don't worry, okay?" It's a lie, but she's grown accustomed to telling them. "I need to get up anyway. You mind getting my uniform prepped for the day, love?"

Juniper nods, yawning. "Yes, Sir, anything else?" She stretches, stepping onto the hardwood floor.

Laila shakes her head, offering June a soft smile. "No, that's all, love. I'm gonna get some sparring in." Their routine is beginning to normalize, as strange as it is. Laila gets up, has Juniper prep her uniform, while Laila spars. It's odd, but it works. That bag is damn near is the only thing keeping her sane right now.

Not because of the nightmares, gods no, she'll deal with those eventually. It's the monotony of Remus. Meetings with the brass, the corporate arms dealers, essentially Epsilon parading around Her new protege.

And it's all so damned tedious.

When you're used to running combat ops on a constant basis, you start to get antsy when you're taken away from the front lines. Ironic, considering this quiet is what they for, but it's too quiet. It's fine, the rebels can wait, they don't need to be dealt with right this minute. Embracing the quiet isn't the end of the world, it just takes getting used to.

Besides, there's a heavy bag waiting for Laila down in the basement.

After stretching and changing into a pair of shorts, she kisses June's cheek. Hard at work, already shining up those old combat boots to perfection. Laila leaves the hound to her work, heading out of the bedroom and down the stairs into the basement. It's peaceful down here, no need to worry about anything.

During the first week of their stay here, she had a heavy bag requestioned and gods does she need it.

This basement is just an old wine cellar emptied of its contents back when the Empire came in. Given the dark plank flooring down here, that makes sense. A single light hangs in the center of the room, with her black heavy bag sitting near the wall. Some of the old casks still stand, but they've been empty for years.

Laila sits down on a bench, mentally psyching herself up. These early mornings are always the worst, she would prefer uninterrupted sleep, but nightmares are nothing new to her. That's just life when you're used to seeing people die on the battlefield.

Drawing up her long hair, she ties it up into a tight ponytail. Even when she fought, it was kept long. Almost cost her once, but she collected teeth as payment for her hair being touched. Some people don't understand the rule of "don't touch a woman's hair."

Can't remember the last time it didn't reach her shoulders.

Reaching for the tape she left lying on the bench, she takes just a moment to admire the scars on her knuckles. Each one of them tells another story of a young woman trying to survive out in a hostile world. Certainly how the scar underneath her left eye came about; surviving a barroom brawl, because some idiot threw a bottle at her and another one did a piss poor job stitching her up.

Yeah, she told June it was shrapnel, but some lies are for the ego.

Life wasn't supposed to go like this, but then had Laila had it her way, she'd have died cage fighting. At least the Empire knows how to make a girl feel special with brown fist wraps. It vaguely matches her skin color, as opposed to the standard white ones.

With both hands taped up, Laila slides on her sparring gloves and stands up, throwing a few light jabs into the air.

Circling the heavy bag, she starts off slow with light punching to get herself warmed up. Her heart beats faster, the blood flows and after a few minutes of circling, she feels ready. Just like old times.

She breathes deep, throwing a jab dead-center, quickly following that with a left cross. Oh yeah, she can do this. A rear roundhouse kick strikes, she jumps back and repeats the same process.

These floors aren't ideal for her workouts, given that she's barefoot, but it was easy enough to requisition a mat with the bag. After all, they want her to be comfortable during her stay. Bah, as if someone could get comfortable here.

A kneestrike impacts, followed swiftly with a right hook. She sprawls, avoiding the nonexistent take down. It's just simple drills, but they help clear her mind. Just like the days.

The black heavy bag sways slowly back and forth from each strike. Gods, she feels incredible right now. This is absolutely the best damn way to get the frustrations out.

Even now, after so many years, Laila is a fighter.

Breathing deep, she resets her positioning to start again. One jab turns into a cross, becoming a kick. Again. That jab strikes harder, the left cross more precise, high kicks deadlier. Reminds her of those days when it was just her, fighting for the amusement of the rich.

Ah, what good times!

Juking to the left, a jab lands, followed immediately with a right hook. The entire time she's minding her stance, not letting her knees spread too far. Even if she isn't a cage fighter these days, she sticks to her regimen.

A body kick impacts, she switches her stance, almost hopping as she does so. Without delay, a flurry of low punches strike and she resets again.

Her stance switches, almost hopping as she does so, landing a body kick onto the bag. A flurry of punches hit, she resets again. Sweat is pouring off her body, her muscles are aching, but that all too familiar burn drives her to strike, again and again. No time to rest, not now.

Laila guzzles down her canteen of water, sliding back into position.

A furious right cross lands, she dodges right, slams a hook and transitions into a low kick. That kick becomes another another hook, turning to a rear uppercut, with the chain finally ending on a body kick to the the middle of the bag. Oh yeah, there's nothing quite like getting the chain down.

"Impressive form," Epsilon says from out of nowhere. Fucking hate when She does that.

How long has She been watching?

A quiet sigh leaves Laila's lips, nodding to Her. "Sir." No time to wonder. Never missing a beat, a left hook strikes hard onto the bag. "What can I do for you?" She grunts, sliding back, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"Nothing, nothing," Epsilon dismissively waves, leaning against an old cask. "Although, I am curious, why is it that you seem to always be down here sparring?"

Why in the fuck do you think? Is She that daft, that-- No, it's Epsilon, She's poking and prodding for a response again.

"What else am I supposed to--" Laila swings her body, delivering a hard-hitting kick with her left foot. "-- Do? I'm a fighter, you know that."

Her positioning resets, she breathes deep, peppering the bag with a combination of kicks and punches. The heavy bag lightly sways, but she doesn't let up. Every minute she can get sparring helps to keep her senses sharp. Helps to remember the pain, the fucking burn, all of it.

"Oh, I'm not against it, far from it." Epsilon stands there, watching intently. "Moreso, I'm wondering why go through all this effort only to hit a bag?"

Laila slides back, channeling her rage into her next punch. "Not sure if you've noticed, but I'm angry. Always been so damn angry, probably got that from my bastard of a dad." Her ponytail sways with each movement, revealing the scar she's tried so damn hard to hide for years.

"Of course, but why not an actual opponent?" Why must She always take that inquisitive tone? Even if Laila is used to it, it annoys her to no end.

A flurry of punches impacts the bag, she jukes to the right, laying down another set. "I'm not a cage fighter anymore, haven't been in a long time. This is how I keep my senses sharp and my wits about. Probably different for you, but for me? This is how I cope with the guilt of what I've done, the people I've betrayed to get here." No time to get distracted. A low kick impacts, quickly followed with a hard jab.

"Oh, I'm not speaking of that," Epsilon says, probably grinning, no time to know for sure. "Would you be interested in a human sparring partner? After all, you wouldn't want to start picking up bad habits from sparring alone, would you?" Oh, so this is Her aim.

"If you're volunteering, then by all means." Laila attacks the bag with an elbow, transitioning that to a back kneestrike. "I'll warn you though, if you got knuckledusters, I'll make it hurt worse." She grins, cracking her neck.

Epsilon chuckles darkly. "Unfortunately I don't fight, but I'm certain I can find you a worthy opponent once we've returned to base. Or perhaps-- Kione Monax would be a more fitting opponent?"

Laila stops cold in her tracks at that name. "Maybe if June doesn't put her in traction. Would certainly be more entertaining than these meetings, and whatever else it is you've had me doing. I know, it's power play bullshit, don't remind me." Monax would make a big mistake stepping into the cage to fight Laila. No mercy, not even for a fellow handler.

"Your boredom is a known quantity." Boredom? What is Epsilon prattling on about now?

Laila stares at Epsilon, fighting back anger. "I'm sorry? They're nothing but worthless dogs who yap about their treats."

"Any dog will bite if it feels threatened. It's time you stop acting like a rebel, and start acting like the Imperial Handler I've been molding you into." Epsilon's words, while meaningful, are annoying.

Charging the bag once more, Laila strikes with a back-footed kick, turning to connect with two jabs. "I'm not in the mood for this shit, Epsilon."

Epsilon shrugs. "For what?"

A jab lands, followed swiftly with a kneestrike. "This whole cryptic lecturing you do." Laila's muscles ache something fierce now, but she needs to push them harder. "Any other time, sure, but during my workout, no. So is it just a lecture, or is there something--" A right hook lands, quickly followed with a left elbow. "-- Else?"

Dry laughter echoes throughout the makeshift sparring room. "Do I need a reason, Laila?" She's grinning that predatory grin again, even without Laila paying attention, she knows. It's obvious in the tone. "Oh, but of course, there is indeed a reason. Rather than those dreadful meetings, I have a task for you."

"Go on?" Laila sideyes Her, but keeps her eye on the prize: That black heavy bag. Distractions lead to slip-ups, slip-ups lead to showing weakness. Can't do that in front of Her.

Epsilon grins, knowing She's gotten Laila's attention now. "Pay a visit to the Imperial Archive, perhaps it'll help you learn about Kione Monax. That's what you want, right? To learn about Her protege? What makes this ex-mercenary so special?" Every damn time She gets under Laila's skin.

"Yeah, sure." Laila ducks low, peppering the bag with a final set of punches. "More cryptic bullshit, I'm to assume?"

Epsilon shrugs. "Oh, who's to say?"

Laila grabs her towel from the bench, clearing the sweat from her face. "Who indeed?"

* * *

There's a chill in the air, a reminder of the coming winter.

Funny, out in the field, it's hard to tell what season it is. Dead grass, dead trees, dead everything. Corpses of old mechs litter many once lively cities, their reactors slowly leaking into the earth, ensuring that even the water is forever poisoned.

It's hard to even fathom such a thing in the Aurelian capital of Remus. Peace is the mood all around. Certainly makes it near impossible to believe that nine years ago, it took the Empire only a week to take the country in a bloody invasion. But then, once the Empire reached Remus, it was over. Aurelia's leaders surrendered full stop, almost as if it were always planned.

Clear away some undesirables in a bloody war and allow the rightful rulers to take control of the city in an otherwise bloodless coup. It certainly makes sense from a cynical perspective. Why not cut a deal with them?

Ahhh, but that's such old news.

Carved white marble graces the facades of every building Laila passes along the streets of Remus. The greenery of roadside trees certainly helps to create a stunning visual few have ever seen. It feels like one of those cities she remembers reading about growing up.

How they managed to turn back time in Remus?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Certainly not Laila, that's for sure. Walking along a stone-paved street, she's come to pay a visit to an Imperial archive. Hadn't even realized Remus had one, but Epsilon insisted that Laila pay a visit to it if she wants information.

Why?

Oh, because She enjoys these games, of course. Why does She do anything, if not for making things as annoying and mysterious as possible? It seems to be just how She is.

Epsilon and Alpha clearly set-up this "combat exercise" to test the new handler. Perhaps to test Laila's resolve, or to teach some mysterious lesson. Doesn't much matter, this archive will hopefully hold answers to just who in the fuck Kione Monax is. Some ex-merc who got bored of the life, that much is obvious.

Easy to get into a merc's head, they hung around the rebels too damn often. All they ever wanted was more cash from the coffers. But that's not enough, Laila needs to know how Monax fights, how she handles herself in the field, so many little intricacies that can only come from combat footage.

A cold breeze blows past, shaking this handler from pondering.

It's far too peaceful here, too... mm, quiet. People pass along the streets, some admiring Laila's uniform, others ignoring her. None of them brave enough to speak a word. What's the matter never seen someone wear this uniform as good as her?

As if any of their opinions would matter anyway, they're all just dogs.

Rich dogs with more money than common sense, but dogs nonetheless.

As the days go on, it's easier and easier to see the world for what it is: Dogs in human clothing. Oh sure, it was difficult to realize that at first. But with Her guidance, it's gotten easier to see that.

Of course, she isn't one of the dogs, she's proven her superiority time and time again. Even still, the entire prospect of a world of dogs in human clothing is... unsettling to say the least. Maybe this was Epsilon's actual goal, bore Laila to death with a brisk walk through the city.

Certainly feels that way.

Maybe it's just the antsiness, but there's a certain unease that comes with with this place. It's been about a month since her last combat sortie and it seems to be getting to her. Can you blame her, though? When you're used to running sorties on a constant basis, the quiet is... unsettling.

Ah, but who cares? She's found her destination, a black stone building that breaks up the monotony of the white marbled facades. This archival building was once home to the Aurelian military's headquarters, but in the time since Aurelia ceased to truly exist, this now exists to house the occupiers.

It's definitely something else inside the building, even for Remus this building is luxurious with its antiquated architecture. No wonder the military called this their headquarters, it's practically a palace inside of here. Even the floors are made of marble.

Turning down a corridor, Laila removes her cap, nodding to the clerk on duty, before fitting it back on and continuing along her way. Helps to be polite to the peons, never know when you might need one of them later. A charming smile and a nod are all it takes to get them to remember you.

Well, and the fiery red hair braided into a long ponytail.

A distinctive smoky smell grows stronger the further she walks through the hallway. Not quite smoke as if something is burning, moreso the stench of old papers left to gather dust. This is an archive alright.

What she's after aren't simple paper records. Too easy, too... simple. Whatever Epsilon and clearly Alpha, want Laila to find aren't records. Besides, this Kione Monax has probably never stepped foot on this front. So records relating to her would be useless, because they wouldn't exist.

Laila sits down at a terminal inputting her credentials. From there, it's a simple matter of beginning the search. Unlike her tablet search from before, this is a little more broad, digging for after action reports, combat footage, whatever she can find, things that would be found normally on archival servers.

And as it so happens, she's found combat footage.

Taken from a Doru, so the recording quality isn't by any means decent, but enough to where she can make out what's happening. This appears to be the first known report of Theaboros Archon, going off of the attached documentation.

Fucking hell, the footage is... gruesome. Even for this ex-rebel, it's hard to watch. Judging by the time line this was after Leukon fell; whatever rebels survived were on the run. Only to be found by Monax and the Empire.

It begins with Doru gunning down anything that moves, suppressing the area so that the big guns can move in. One by one, rebels fall to the might of the Empire, but it doesn't end there.

When Monax's mech comes into view, it's nothing short of creepy. Theaboros Archon appears, slowly floating across the battlefield with a spear in hand. Atop its head sits a ring holding a glowing crimson orb within it. A halo of some kind?

Before Laila can ponder that question, the footage pans to a mech attacking it head-on. The attackers efforts are in vain, as the spear stabs through the core of the mech. With the remains of a rebel still on its spear, Theaboros Archon continues forward, ignoring the scurrying rats, clearly letting the subordinates take care of them.

No, not ignoring them--it's simply too busy dealing with one rebel in particular to notice them.

A moment at the two minute mark catches her eye. It's... odd. Dozens of missiles fire at Theaboros Archon, and yet Monax makes no attempt to evade. No countermeasures, no evasive maneuvers, it only continues pursuit of prey. Except, just as the missiles should impact, they instead careen off course colliding with one another or detonating harmlessly.

None of this makes any sense.

How in the fuck are the missiles going off course like that?

Laila rewinds the recording, carefully going over it once more. When the missiles fire, she notices something: A red glow. That's when they go haywire. But what the fuck is that glow?

An ECM of some kind, clearly more powerful than what Argus used. And it's all crammed into an enormous halo, just to give off the appearance of an fallen angel.

A fallen angel versus a demon, oh the irony is certainly not lost on Laila.

She leans back in her chair, setting down her cap to rub at her temples. No clear answers from this recording, but it's been sent to her tablet for further investigation later. For now though, there's much more results to sift through.

Gathering and analyzing information has always been Laila's strong suit. Easier to plan and make adjustments when you know your opponent more throughly than themselves. For example, Tarsus: Juniper has always had a vicious fighting style, it was easy to make her slip up.

Not like Argus didn't take some extreme damage in the process though.

There's a reason Laila was always the brains behind Wardog. Her knowhow is what saved their asses more times than either of them could count. Ah, but this challenge Epsilon has given is such entertaining work.

Just what are you hiding, merc?

Upon Laila's next search, she finds another combat log, this one seems to contain clearer footage of her prey. Just like the last one it's total chaos, but there's something else with Archon. Another mech. It looks closer to a Doru, if a Doru were a raging wild beast. Uncoordinated movement, as though the pilot were struggling to maintain control.

Seconds later, it's unleashed onto rebels and the result is a slaughter.

Three rebel mechs take on this wild animal, two falling to a swing of its axe, another pierced through the cockpit by a pile bunker. Gods it's sickening to watch, but Laila stays focused. This beast is fast, barely even a blur on the camera.

Fucking hell, it leaps onto its next target, ripping them apart limb by limb.

Reminds Laila of that Aegis back in Druzi. When she asked Her about it later, She laughed and shrugged as to who or what that pilot was. Seems like a failed experiment She put into action.

Bah, not the time to reminisce.

She focuses, digging through the footage for anything relating to Archon, but only finds more on this beast. When the log ends, the final image is of this Doru beast covered in the entrails of a kill. But the minute Archon moves, the beast returns to its masters side.

There's still the question of that damned halo and it's purpose.

At least there's more footage to go off of, even if so few of it is focused on Theaboros Archon. She ran a search on Kione Monax, but came to an interesting conundrum: Her file wasn't classified, it was blank. When performing a similar search for her hound, only a name came up: Daseatus

Mm, so if records relating to them don't seem to exist...

The next search brings up an after action report, dated back fifteen years ago, which is odd. It seems that the term archon brought up something that shouldn't be here.

"After Action Report - Eight hundredth twenty six Imperial Mechanized Division

Outpost Delta - Location Classified

Memorandum for General Ceran Octavius, from Major General Marius Adama

Operation Archon was a success, we have secured Sibar as planned and are proceeding to phase two."

Hold on a minute... Adama? As in... holy shit. Bastard came out of practically nowhere. Communique relayed from up top wanted him appointed to lead up their little cell. Claimed he'd served with the poster girl, even gave seemingly falsified service records.

Well now, this is just what Laila needs.

With a few keystrokes she transfers all of the data relating to Adama, to her tablet for later. Something to sift through when sitting down to tea with Epsilon. Well, well, the ol' commander is a sinner, who knew?

Hah.

You guilty motherfucker, always knew there was something off about him. Too mysterious. Had a mean streak to him that really pissed certain people off. Certainly raises the question -- Just when did he defect?

Though now inquiring minds must know, just what was Operation Archon?

Hmm, an inquiry for later. Can't let distractions win out. Not when there's other work to handle.

Laila grins, digging back through the footage for anything relating to the her target. Footage from an Imperial Xiphos, showing Theaboros Archon floating, but what catches her eye is not the mech. Using its shoulders as a platform, an all too familiar mech launches off from it.

Ancyor.

She's heard the stories, even seen some of the footage from back in the day of the poster girl. But this? Fucking hell, this is not the same pilot. A feral beast is unleashed, slicing through two enemies with its claws. Upon entering the line of fire, one thing is so plainly obvious: A roar.

When that beast unhinges its jaw, a powerful blast escapes, taking down a heavily armored mech. Gods above, whoever designed that was clearly insane.

The camera focuses back onto Theaboros Archon floating across the battlefield. Much like previous footage, a string of missiles are fired at the fallen angel. One key difference however: These all impact.

Unless the rebels somehow broke the jamming, it's easy to assume these were heatseekers. Yeah, that has to be the answer. Because that halo must give off quite the heat signature.

When the dust finally clears, Theaboros Archon is still standing, a little worse for the wear, but standing. The poor bastard who fired on Monax dies without so much as a whimper. Not from Archon's spear, but from Ancyor's claws. Fuck, it's gruesome to watch.

Where is Daseatus in all of this?

Is this perhaps before Monax acquired its pilot?

Seems likely, but this certainly gives an insight into how she pilots. If you hit her, she'll send the hound to do her dirty work. How cute, but that'll cost you big time against an expert.

After a bit more searching, Laila comes across the next piece of footage of Theaboros Archon. No hounds accompanying it this time, just the mech. It's grainy footage, but-- Gods, its opponent kills themself. What in the actual fuck???

In the face of a fallen angel, a rebel chooses to end their life, instead of going down fighting? Something is off here, that much she can surmise. The way this rebel mech stabs itself through the cockpit with its own chain blade, feels too... unnatural, almost artificial.

Hmm, she rewinds the footage, noticing a bright red glow. It's only a second or two, but but it's that damned halo again. Just what in the fuck is its purpose? ECM? Or perhaps something more sinister?

No matter how much footage Laila digs through, it's the same fucking thing. Occasionally a rebel might turn their weapon on an ally and then themself, but Archon so rarely lifts its spear to attack.

Each time one of these attacks happens, its halo glows bright red, briefly overwhelming the camera. As the glow fades, suddenly allies are turning on each other. What could-- The answer is so obvious, why didn't she think of it before!?

Hacking.

Rebel mechs aren't known for high-security, being as they're often patchworks brought to life with whatever is lying around. So in turn, Monax must be hacking her opponents, in an effort to bend them to her will. That's certainly quite the interesting ability.

Laila leans back, pondering.

No concrete answers on Theaboros Archon, but she's certainly learned quite a few things.

Unguided munitions are its weakpoint, that much is clear. Argus will have no trouble in dealing with its opponent in that case. The jamming might potentially be an issue, but it remains to be seen if the counter system will be effective or not.

Ixion Stryx is similar in that it has unguided munitions, presenting Kérberos a possibly advantage over their opponents. Mm, but there's still the question of the hacking. How would you even counter that?

Monax is clearly exploiting weakpoints in rebel systems, but what if she's capable of doing the same to an Imperial one? In theory it could lead to chaos, but that's only if she's capable of it. Let alone the fact that both Ixion Stryx and Argus are running much more advanced systems.

On the off chance that this theory is wrong, just how in the fuck would Laila counter it? Chaff seems obvious, but it would depend entirely on the range. It would be rather difficult to target Argus, but Ixion Stryx? Hm.

And then there's the question of that hound.

Just what is this wild beast capable of?

There's the potential of it having wires, which would necessitate Juniper having to run evasive maneuvers. But the feathers on Ixion Stryx would be a powerful tool in dealing with both handler and hound. Mm, there's still the question of how to effectively use those however.

After forwarding every last ounce of data to a tablet, Laila can't help but grin slyly. There's a chance that all of this information is one big trap, but it may also prove useful in the future.

Never hurts to be prepared, does it?

* * *

"Again."

It's been like this for the last hour or so. Watching Eris hit the bag, or trying anyway. In truth, she's thrown nothing but weak strikes. Her form is all over the place, and there's little room to teach her, when there's hesitation in every blow.

While understandable, this can't stand.

The three members of Kérberos are down in the basement of their berthing for a training exercise. Eris, clad in a tanktop and fatigue pants is at the bag, throwing weak punches. Juniper is sitting idly at Laila's side, waiting for the word.

The nature of the exercise, though unsaid is simple: Get into Eris' head.

Laila has taken it upon herself to give her dear ex-turned hound a sparring session, so as to give them a bonding moment. It's ironic, when she looks at Eris, the only thing that can be seen is regret. So much fucking regret for how things ended with them. Poised to lead her own squad, she hung around Wardog because she had a thing for its leader.

Every fucking chance she had to strike it out on her own, she chose to stick around, claiming she wasn't fit to lead a squad.

And it fucking cost her.

It doesn't take a psychological profile to know what scabs to pick at. For example: "You need to shape up Eris, you wouldn't want to fall behind June, would you?" Laila bitterly grins, despising herself for treating Eris this way. It has to be done, but it stings nonetheless.

"Please, Sir! I'll do better, just give me a chance!" Eris pleads, finally delivering a well placed jab.

Asset Peray has inferiority complex with regards to asset Sladek. Always the better pilot, the one Laila chose, the one She desired. Eris has always been second best and it shows so perfectly in her strikes.

"Your stance is wrong. Fix it," The words come out so hollow and bitter to someone Laila once loved. In truth, a part of her still does love this dog. It's not a cold and bitter love, as much as she may say it is.

Because: Laila Praxian is but a sinner.

No matter how much she may try to lie to herself, the truth is so fucking obvious. Eris wasn't damned to a muzzle, because of Laila. It would have been easier, but no. She fucked up and got Eris killed.

Unfortunate as it is, that's the sad truth of their lives now.

A weak jab lands, Eris slides across the mat. Impressive, guess she is useful after all. Unfortunately it's time to step up the scab picking a notch. Laila hates to do this, but it has to be done.

"Eris, If you're trying to prove to me that you belong on the battlefield, I remain unconvinced. Maybe you need more time alone?" Dangle the implication of menial status and the asset will fall upon herself to impress superiors. Effective to an extent, but only in small doses.

Eris stops in her tracks, trembling at the implication. "P... Please, Sir. I'll do better, I promise. I'm just rusty is all!" This dark skinned woman was once so damn confident in herself, but now? Fuck, sorry Eris, but this had to be done.

You'd understand, if you were in this position.

Little by little, it eats away at Laila's conscious, but as usual, Juniper is right here to help ease the guilt. The right decision isn't easy, but both the hounds will be better for it. All it takes is smoothing out the edges on Eris.

Simple, easy.

"Then prove it to me. I want you to hit that bag harder than you've hit anything before." Laila leans back against the wall, folding her arms. "Square up your shoulders, get into the proper stance, breath deep and just hit it. Can you do that for me, Eris?" Her once beloved ex assumes a sloppy stance. Arms aren't high enough, nor are the knees bent correctly.

This should be simple, Eris has had multiple examples of the correct form from both Laila and Juniper. Then again, that's how Eris always was, she wasn't interested in learning to fight. She was a social butterfly in her off time, but chose to spend much of her time with the dark skinned woman she now has to call Sir.

Eris squares up, breathing deep. Then, at long last, she throws a one-two onto the bag, landing a decent shot. Hook into a jab, not bad at all. Sliding back, she dodges an invisible punch, striking low with another jab.

"There you go!" Laila grins. "Good girl!" Praise is an easy lever, all bright and shiny, Eris can't help but fall upon herself for a little praise and attention.

Eris beams proudly, sliding back into stance. "Yes, Sir!"

Asset Peray's extreme need to please her superiors has resulted in a warped sense of self. Nothing else matters to her, only getting Her attention matters. It's such a useful tool, if not sad in a way. Wasn't always like this, but then this is the result of the conditioning.

Bringing out the insecurities and amplifying them.

Squaring up her shoulders, Eris throws a jab, transitioning that to a left hook. The momentum carries forward with another jab landing, it's weak, but it's a jab. Unfortunately, there's another scab to pick at.

Neglect is a powerful tool to use against the asset. One that has the potential to do so much harm if not wielded right. "Just how do you expect to win Her favor like this?" Laila hates herself a little less every time she has to do this. There's a certain intoxicating feeling that comes from wielding psychological traumas against the hounds.

"Sir, I--" As Eris speaks she's interrupted by Laila.

"June, switch places with Eris, show her how it's done." It takes only a click of the tongue for the hounds to switch positions. Eris is kneeling by Laila's side, while Juniper has stood.

Her jacket and tank top fall to the ground, with Juniper choosing to spar in only a sports bra. So many little scars across her backside, but the one that stands out the most are the neural surgery scars. The implant itself is mostly concealed with the collar, but it's still obviously there.

Just like with Eris' implant, it's a reminder of their places in this twisted world.

June was always a sucker for ink, obviously the stars on her collarbone, but she used to call her body a canvas.

What better way to exemplify that canvas then her back being full of tattoos? Bony angel wings on her shoulder blades; from when she embraced the stupid moniker; an ace of spades, for the ace of aces; and Laila's name, right across the spine in purple ink. June was always a hopeless romantic and a sucker for ink.

With a quick stretch, she squares up at the bag. Taped fists are raised, awaiting the command to start.

"Begin."

Juniper circles the bag, mentally preparing herself. A hard jab lands, she ducks left, throws a strike with her metallic arm and resets. She's used to this, there's no point in guiding her when she's on a different level than Eris.

Unfortunately, this is about twisting the knife deeper, not helping both of them.

Grunting, Juniper ducks low, slamming her fists into the bag with a fury. There's a certain pleasure to be had in watching her go. Everything that she's told is obeyed without protest, because she's simply realized her place was by Laila's side.

Eris watches on, stewing in her own envy. Back when she was whole, there was a certain aspect to her that hurt. A desire to be loved, despite her fear of actually being loved. Probably the reason the two of them didn't work out in the end.

Trans women don't have it easy in this fucked-up world.

As if these former war dogs aren't all trans.

Sliding back, Juniper throws an uppercut, jukes right and hammers home a strike. Just as she was taught all those years ago. Without wasting a second, a flurry of punches strike the heavy bag.

"See Eris? This is what I expect," Laila hates pitting them against each other. But there is no other way. Not simply for her own sake, but for theirs, she has to burn away her humanity. It's no longer an option, it's what must be done.

"Yes, Sir," Eris quietly mutters. Too lost in her own anxieties to say much else. Too scared of the mask being forced back on her, too angry at Juniper for upstaging her. It's written all over the former menial's expression.

Part of Laila revels in that sweet, sweet fear of Eris. After all, she failed to impress, this is just her punishment right? Yet at the same time, Laila hates herself for this. The thought of what she's done to these two tastes so damn bitter.

Is this what becoming a handler is? Learning to hate yourself?

As if she isn't already full of self loathing.

"Juniper, enough, back to me," Laila snaps a finger and June immediately obeys. "Tell me something Eris, can you match her?" The answer is obvious, but the asset's fear of failure will prevail as usual.

"I swear I can be better, Sir!" Eris approaches the bag again, assuming a similar stance to Juniper's.

Laila grins. "Then begin."

This is life for the three of them now, there's no use trying to fight it anymore.