Two Years, Eight Months Ago: Volterra Base.

Sobbing.

Someone is sobbing next to her. Ugh, fuck, five more minutes please? She's still hungover from a night of getting shitfaced.

Who's the-- Shit, it's June.

"June?" Laila groggily says, opening her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Juniper doesn't respond, sobbing incoherently. Gods, she's shaking, how long has this been going on for? Sounds bad, she's gasping for air. Probably trapped in another nightmare.

Laila reaches over, holding her beloved tightly from behind. "Juniper, it's okay, I'm here for you," She whispers.

"L-Lails?" June says through her tears. "What's going on?"

"You were sobbing, you good?" Laila rolls her partner over, cradling her in her arms. "Whatever happened you can tell me, right?"

"Not at all." Juniper shrugs, brushing away the hand to sit on the side of the bed. "It was that night Eris went down. I keep replaying it in my head, and-- Gods, why won't it leave me alone!?"

Unfortunately that's not really surprising. June's trauma nightmares have intensified lately. It used to be one every few months, usually relating to the Aurelian War, she said. Now? It's been like this for the last month or so, since they lost Eris.

"Did you talk to the shrinks about it?" Laila sits with Juniper, squeezing her hand. "I dunno, maybe they can prescribe you something?"

Juniper sighs. "Tried to, but with how many people we lost in the attack, they can't see me." Fuck, right.

A month and a half ago, the worst case scenario happened. Wardog, fresh from a sortie to Altare, had to defend the base from an enemy attack. Looked like damn near an entire battalion came up from hell to hit them. Ares was nowhere near combat ready, but Eris being, well, Eris, chose to deploy anyway.

Said she'd buy the evacuees some time to get to safety.

Lost her life in the process. When her signal went dark, Laila wanted to turn back, but there was an evacuation effort to deal with. All in all, they lost about forty people from that raid.

Nobody knows how they got discovered, the place was well hidden, built into old forest. Laila's guess? Wardog. Probably got followed home from a sortie one day. She blames herself for everything.

"It's okay, June, I'm here for you, you know?" Laila holds onto Juniper, letting her scared girlfriend cry as much as she needs.

"I know, I just, I could have done something!" Juniper says, her face half-buried into Laila's shoulder blade. "The three of us weren't combat ready, but--"

"But nothing," Laila sternly says, interrupting her. "June, Eris was in her element, there wasn't anything we could have done. It was either, fight and die with her, or defend the evacuation effort. We chose the obvious answer and because of that, hundreds more survived." They have this talk constantly, it never gets easier for them.

June's afraid, blames herself.

But Laila?

She doesn't let it show. Nah, just spends her time drinking away her sorrows, waiting for the reaper to come for June next. Hah, that'd be fitting, death coming for the Angel of Death? Fucking hell.

"You're right, I know, I just--"

Once more Laila interrupts her, this time kissing those scared, pale red lips. "Juniper Sladek, you're too hard on yourself. Eris died a warriors death, that's how she wanted to go. Always said peacetime didn't suit her."

Juniper nods, pulling Laila back onto the bed. "I miss her, Lails."

"I do too, so damn hard to believe she's gone. Still think she'll walk through that door any minute," Laila says, sighing. "Just life as a rebel, though."

"It fucking sucks," Juniper quietly say.

She idly traces her fingers over the two gold stars on Juniper's collarbone. Never asked about what they meant, she's just said they were kills that left a mark. Never clarified, never blamed her for it.

They've all got the little marks, helps them to know they're alive. Kill counts are overrated, nobody wants to know their true amount. Except Laila knows. Fuck does she ever.

Two hundred even.

Two hundred souls who got in the way of her survival. Should she feel bad? Dunno, she's stopped feeling much of anything regarding that, after her first dozen or so.

Hit the big two oh oh during the attack. A fucking Belos ambushed Argos just as she touched down. Poor bastards' reactor went critical, didn't last long. She felt disgusting for days after. Had to hit the bag extra hard too.

Laila rolls over, checking the time, shit already nine? Supposed to meet with Adama, he supposedly wants something. And she doubts it's anything good.

"Hey, June? You gonna be alright if I head out? Gotta talk to the boss man." Laila groans, rolling out of bed and onto the cold ground. "And get me some coffee, please?"

"Yeah," Juniper says, kissing Laila's lips. "I'll be fine, and I'll snag you some from the mess, the usual, right? Two sugars?"

"Damn right, Junebug." Laila laughs. Only fair she give June a terrible pet name, since she won't stop using Lails.

Laila stretches and then laces up her boots. Once done, she's out the door, walking through the concrete halls. Apparently this place used to be a doomsday preppers mansion built long before the Empire. All the rebels had to do was set-up shop and do a little sprucing up of the place. Well, that and they've been building a hangar out of what was once a large cavernous garage.

Large sloped concrete walls make up much of the hall, with breaks in it for living quarters. Apparently said prepper had insane plans to make this mansion into essentially a community in which he could rule over after the world ended. Hah, stupid bastard.

Pretty decent place the rebels've got now, even with the bits of construction work that litter the place. Nothing major, just general work like ensuring that they have electricity and running water. The joys of modern living!

Considering it's still early(ish), her walk is quiet, which is great for her hangover, since her head is fucking aching. Folks around Volterra have a somber tone, they're all trying to figure out how to go on, after losing so many friends during that last major attack. Same as you always do-- you just do.

Sucks, but Laila's gotten used to losing people.

Still beats the nomad life, no going back to that. Not after the shit she's done and seen. At least here she's fighting for something tangible.

Next to the mess entrance, there's a space between two concrete pillars that's been set-up as an impromptu memorial wall. It's just hastily scrabbled together mementos of the fallen, stuck on or around the wall. But every time she passes it, she has to stop and stare at the memorial set up for Eris. Someone found her dog tags and hung them up.

That stupid motherfucker! Had she just accepted that she deserved to lead her own squad, that she shouldn't have been stuck to Wardog, she'd still be fucking alive. Gods, fucking Eris! Stupid bitch, you better be living it up in Elysium, telling all your stupid war stories. Shit, maybe we'll see each other again someday then.

You can't save everyone, Laila knows that.

But-- Fuck, Eris deserved so much better. Thanks to her stupid heroics, a group of evacuees got out safe. Almost got out too, up until some Aegis hit Ares from behind. Last thing she said was to run, before the signal cut out. Strangest damn thing, the Aegis has been retired from service for years now, and the Empire never ran them in any capacity.

Why would the Empire even have them?

Oh, who knows?

Laila's probably misremembering shit, because she's hungover as hell. Whatever Adama wants, it'll hopefully be better news than "we're all fucked". Don't know if she can take that right now. It's probably just a mission, though.

She stands there in front of his door, finding her nerve to knock. Adama's door is much like the others, that fake wooden shit that must have been all the rage when this place was built. Unfortunately for Laila, she knocks. It's quiet for a moment, but the door opens and she's ushered in. His office is essentially just living quarters redone into some sort of office. Fake wooden desk, black carpeting, some shelves, nothing grand, all things found stocked in this place.

"You called for me?" Laila leans against the wall, rather than sitting down, burying her hands in her jacket pockets. "Tell me it's good news, I don't think I can handle anymore bad news right now."

"Praxian, glad to see you're up," Adama says, staring at her. He's an older man, dark hair, that looks to be going gray, glasses that look to have been fixed up a few times. And he's wearing standard tan military fatigues. "It's not quite news, moreso a request."

"And that is?" Laila raises an eyebrow.

Adama clears his throat. "Right, I'll get straight to the point: I want you to recruit three new pilots for Wardog. I don't care who, but I want Wardog to be five pilots again."

He's joking, right?

Right?

The old fucker was never much of a jokester, but maybe he's suddenly trying a comedy routine? Fuck, it's a not a good one.

Wardog was a trio for a reason. The three of them complimented each other perfectly, there was never a question of chemistry with them. Laila gave orders, Juniper and Eris followed them perfectly.

"No," Laila says. "You remember what happened when I formed Wardog? Three nuggets died, because they were incompetent. Oh, you talked me into replacements, and they each died in horrific ways. I'm done babysitting a bunch of starry eyed rookies, who can't tell their ass from an autocannon. We just lost Eris, a few weeks ago, do you understand what Juniper and I even feel?"

"No? Right now we could use the easy morale victory. Wardog can represent that, you can represent that." Adama removes his glasses, cleaning at them with a cloth.

Sighing deeply, she stares at Adama. "I get it, I, fucking get it." She clenches her fist, fighting back the urge to scream. "I'm tired of losing people, man. Okay? I'm just, I can't."

"Laila, I understand your frustrations, but--"

"Do you? Do you understand what it felt to see Eris die? To fucking-- To fucking realize that she's just, just gone!?" Laila slams her fist down onto the desk. "I don't want more squad members. We worked perfectly with Eris, I know this means we'll have an increased workload, but if you're so desperate for a propaganda win, look elsewhere."

"Calm down, I understand, how you feel, but--"

Oh, you do not tell her to calm down. Wrong fucking move, asshole. "But nothing! Hear me now: Wardog is two members. Juniper and myself. If we're going down, it's not babysitting a bunch of nuggets. Got it?" Before Adama can say another word, Laila is gone, running out the damn door and down the hall, back to her own quarters. Fuck him, fuck everyone. If he wants the easy morale win, look for another useful idiot, she's not interested. Being part of propaganda isn't why she signed up, isn't why June or Eris did either.

What's normally a eight minute walk is barely two minutes running. Laila can't even think, she's just running like her life depends on it. Outside the door to her quarters, she stops to catch a breath and compose herself. Can't let June see her like this, not now, not ever. She deserves better, deserves so fucking much from this shitty world. When the door's opened, she's still in bed, reading from a tablet. Good, easier that way.

"Back already? What'd he want?" Juniper pats a spot on the bed, prompting Laila to sit down and unlace her boots.

Once out of her boots and jacket, she collapses into her loving girlfriend's arms. Can't tell her the truth, not now, maybe when they're both in better headspaces, but not now. "Oh, you know." Laila sighs. "Just confirmed the total number of losses. SAR confirmed no ejection on Ares."

It's a lie, a fucking lie, but Laila Praxian is a liar, that's for fucking sure.

* * *

Present Day: Location Classified -- Laila Praxian's Quarters.

Sloppy.

Laila was sloppy.

It's how she would describe her performance during the combat exercise. Didn't matter that she disabled Daseatus, or that she thought she'd come close to disabling Theaboros Archon. Hah, no. Turns out, Monax let her think that, so that when Laila hesitated in using the leash, hell was unleashed instead. Juniper attacked her, because Laila failed to control her.

Upon their return to base, the pair have been kept separate. Epsilon says it's for "safety", but in reality? It's a punishment. Laila is being punished for her failure. And it's difficult to blame Her, after all, she showed full well that she wasn't ready for the big time. Turns out this supposed heavyweight, was nothing more than a pretender. Just some fool playing dress-up, essentially.

A Handler who can't even control her own damned Hound is worthless. But that's the thing, Laila knows how to fix everything. It's all so simple: She has to burn away this daydream she's forced herself into. Only, she doesn't know how to do so, and the question of how, eats away at her.

In every sense, a disgrace to the uniform. A handler? Her? Bah, don't be stupid, she's just a rebel playing at it. No, a true handler would have burned away their fears by now, and would not be dealing with these idiotic problems. So why can't she? Why is she still so fucking weak?

A high kick impacts the heavy bag and she breathes deep, jumping back. Sloppy, she's so fucking sloppy with her sparring. That kick was too high, an actual opponent would have seen it coming.

Laila's been sparring again, because she needs to get better, needs to be better.

Did that exercise rattle her so much, that she can't even time her strikes right? Yeah, seems so.

She went through the combat footage over and over, and fucking over, looking for that one little slip-up, trying to find where it all went wrong. It wasn't just her failing to use the leash, Monax was toying with her the entire fucking time.

Laila was never in control.

Monax let her think that, so that she could deal the final blow herself. It makes too sense and that's what pisses off Laila so much. She's just that little boy again, so weak, so helpless. There's a damn reason she burned away her past the minute she could, so that she wouldn't have to feel like that ever again.

Maybe this wouldn't have happened if she'd been better. If she'd used the leash, if she'd listened and stopped hiding. Right now, Handler Iota is nothing more than a rebel playing dress-up, pretending to be a Handler.

It's not just in her attitude, it's in her presentation, it's in her very being. Monax was right, she is just a rebel pretending to be something more. And what better example than that fucking jacket right above the bed? Still pretending she's some kind of fucking hero, as if heroism doesn't get you six feet into a grave, and your face plastered everywhere, for "morale" purposes.

It's all fucking sickening.

Epsilon made a mistake in choosing Laila. But then, She doesn't make mistakes, does She? So then, how? How is Laila supposed to change?

She's guilty, she's been guilty since she was old enough to be guilty. When she killed that abusive bastard. When they exiled her from the caravan as a result. Epsilon said to weaponize the guilt, to turn it into what hollows out those useless feelings. But She wasn't in Laila's position.

Fuck.

Can't even hit the bag properly. She's lost in her own thoughts, hanging her head in her hands. Supposed to be better than this, so why? Why can't she be the person she needs to be?

Why is she so damned weak?

Juniper needs someone who can command her, someone who isn't afraid to see her for the beast she truly is. Laila's been stuck in a daydream since Druzi, and she only now realizes it. When Epsilon offered hope, she took it without question. And since then? Laila's been stuck dreaming. It's just her and June against the world.

Two rebels fighting for a world that doesn't want them.

Except they aren't rebels, not anymore. Not after the blood they've spilled and the lives they've taken. Laila orchestrated it all in an effort to save her beloved. And now that she's done so, what's left for her?

One knock comes at the door, shaking her from her spiral. Probably a menial, delivering the morning's meal. It's morning, right? Gods, she doesn't even know anymore. She's been cooped up in her quarters for days on end.

It's more akin to an apartment in here, fake hardwood flooring and all. So she's made herself at home. The menial will set the food down and be on their way, it's just a matter of time. Better for them not to see her like this, not when she looks like absolute shit. Clad in her sparring gear, her long hair tied into a messy ponytail, this isn't how a handler should present themselves to the broader world.

Except that as she continues trying to hit the bag, the metallic doors opens with a hiss. And who should be standing there in the doorway? Epsilon. Looking as dour as ever.

"So you failed, hm?" Epsilon walks in through the open door, silently judging Her protege's very soul.

"You think I don't know that!?" Anger fills Laila's very being. She wants desperately to hurt Her, to make Her bleed, but chooses instead to take her rage out on the bag. "Juniper went berserk, because I failed to wield her--" A high kick strikes the bag, followed swiftly with a hard jab. "--If you're just here to remind me of my failings, no need. I get it, I'm not fit for the role."

"Are you not?" Epsilon curiously hums, cocking Her her head, yet Her face never reveals a slight hint of emotion. It's as emotionless as always. "Now when did I say such a thing?"

A running knee slams the heavy bag, taped fists impact on the follow-up. Laila jukes right, weaving past invisible punches. Her timing is off, that would have left her wide open for a counter. Gods, why is she suddenly so slow!? "You didn't, but you don't think I don't know!?"

Epsilon hums, watching the sparring session, but says nothing.

Juking left, Laila goes for a hard jab. Once she's reset her position, she takes a breathe and starts again. Two punches land, a kick follows them, but it's not good enough. If she were in the cage, that would have gotten her taken down, she would been thrown into a hold and forced to tap.

Epsilon pulls up a lounge chair, sitting down. Unlike Her office, the only chairs in here are meant for relaxation away from prying eyes. "And you're sparring, I see." She takes the tone of a disappointed parent, as if to piss Laila off more.

"If you're planning to act like my mother, try deadnaming me, see if that helps." Laila throws a solid right hook onto the bag, slamming it with anger. "Oh, and don't forget to tell me how you don't want me to wear a dress, maybe I'll get the message." Rage boils over and a high kneestrike impacts the bag.

"Laila," The pale-faced demon in dark leathers takes on a much sterner tone. "Sit down."

"No."

Epsilon doesn't seem to acknowledge the angry defiance. She sits in silence, waiting for the moment to strike. But Laila doesn't care, she's tired. It's the guilt that eats her alive, the fucking way that life ended up. She's just tired.

"No?" Epsilon raises an eyebrow.

Silence hangs over the small room, filled only with the sound of flesh impacting leather. Laila can't run from her problems like she used to. She can't keep dreaming either. She has to do something. But when all she seems good for is hitting a bag, what else is there?

"No!" She's drawn her line in the stand, and refuses to budge. This stubborn bitch doesn't go down without getting a few good swings in first. "You promised you'd help me save Juniper, to become someone better. And yet, here I am, fucking falling apart, why?" Instead of resetting, Laila stops, brushing the wound on her cheek. It should be kept bandaged, but not when she's sparring. Damn thing hurts like hell, but that pain is a reminder of her failure.

"Ah, I see." Despite half expecting Her to get up, she remains seated, pondering. "You're defiant, arrogant, you think this is some game. Perhaps I went too easy on you, I could have put you through absolute hell, but chose not to. And that was my mistake."

"Hell? What do you fucking call Druzi then!? I survived for months on my own!" A roundhouse kick swings wide, Laila's foot impacting the bag at a high angle. "I killed your fucking hound with my own two hands!"

That familiar razor sharp smile haunts Her face. "You needed to be taught your first lesson. Oh, I do admit that I wanted to rescue you sooner, but you needed to stew in your anger."

"You-- You what!?" Laila stammers, stopping in her tracks.

"I ensured you would come to a decision on your future. Whether you made the correct one, well, who's to say?" Epsilon shrugs Her shoulders.

Chose? Laila chose the path to save her beloved from herself, from a rebellion intent on using them both up, until they were dead!

"I swore my fealty to you, because you promised to give me a path to saving Juniper!" A one-two punch lands off-target and Laila swears under her breath.

Epsilon's razor sharp smile hurts worse than a gut punch, much worse than glass stabbing the cheek. "When you accepted my hand Laila, you pledged your fealty. And in exchange for that fealty, I granted you the ability to save Juniper. I allowed you to call an audible in the field. I allowed you to visit Juniper in Gormo, knowing full well that you would crack. But if you find yourself feeling ungrateful for my allowances, perhaps it's time for a new lesson?"

"Lesson?" Laila fights back laughter, swinging a wide roundhouse kick onto the bag. "How about this for a lesson? Do you know how many stitches Juniper needed? Thirty seven. Cockpit monitors shattered on impact. Piece of glass stuck in her right arm, she proceeded to use it to stab me with."

"You showed weakness, hesitancy, did you honestly expect a different result?" Her smile fades, much like the physical pain has. "Whatever little victories you've accomplished in the field mean nothing, if you continue to fall apart because of Juniper. When I granted you the title of Handler Iota, I thought you were ready for less direct supervision. And yet, I find myself having this conversation with you now, Laila. I've been patient, I realize there is much for you to learn, especially given your status as a former rebel, but I cannot have you breaking down crying over a hound. Nor can I have you hesitating to use the leash. In actual combat that may cost you more than a scar."

"So, what?" Laila throws a low jab, sliding to the right to deliver a hard haymaker. "You've come to tell me what I already know? Some lesson, I gotta tell you." Sweat glistens down her cheek, stinging the still healing wound.

Epsilon shakes Her head, sighing. "Come now Laila, we both know that isn't it. No, today's lesson is much more personal. Today, I'm tasking you with killing that guilt. I've been patient, waiting to see how you would interpret my lesson. But it seems you took it to mean you needed to act a fool."

"Or, and hear me out here: You don't. I get it already. That exercise? My fault." Laila shrugs off the attempts, focusing only the black heavy bag. Two punches impact, she slides back, a kick lands, she repeats.

"Honestly, I find it fascinating that even now, you want to what? Hit your punching bag, until you've decided you've had enough?" Epsilon stands, walking across to Laila. "Your stubbornness, though useful, is wholly unwise right now."

Gods, does She ever stop?

All Laila wants is to hit the bag. To hit the fucking bag until her knuckles bleed. And then, when they're bleeding and she can feel something besides anger, then she'll get on with her life. That's how it goes for her. Get angry, hit the bag, feel the pain, bury it all again. It's not a great way of handling things, but it's her way of handling things. It's how you handle shit when you're fighting in a cage for rich assholes.

"Fuck off." A heavy right kick lands, but that's not enough. Need to be faster, less predictable.

A predatory grin enraptures Her expression, "Then, as I see it you have two options: You can either sit down, and speak to me as an equal. Or, you can continue making an ass of yourself, and I can ensure whatever happens to Juniper, will be on your conscious for the rest of your days." That razor sharp look pierces through Laila's heart, through her very being.

If She so much as touches a hair on Juniper, she will... she will... will what?

Throw another fucking tantrum?

Laila's just that little boy yet again. The only difference is that it's not that shitbag she killed, pointing out her failings for the umpteenth time, it's Epsilon. The one who offered a hand, when it was needed.

"Y-You wouldn't dare, you--" It's easy to imagine what She would do to Juniper. And the thought is fucking sickening. That's it, that's checkmate. Taped fists fall idle, no longer clenched, the anger previously fueling them, gone. "... You win." Wordlessly, Laila removes herself from the bag, taking a seat, prompting Her to do similar. They're just faux leather lounge chairs, nothing special. Meant for relaxing privately, away from prying eyes. "So, talk."

Epsilon stares, folding Her hands. "You failed, that much is obvious. So tell me: Why is it you continue to hesitate?"

And yet, all Laila can do is laugh in the face of that stare, because her reason is so simple, so fucking stupid. "Monax taught me an important lesson that I failed to see before: It's Juniper. It's always been Juniper." Gods, why is it so painful to admit? "Back in Tarsus I met her before our battle. It was simple, all I had to do was use the leash, help her remember her place, right?"

And then, she's laughing again, much more pathetically than before. "Except it was like you said, she'd broken the leash. So I did what I was supposed to, I reminded her of her place. And... I, I hurt her. I fucking killed her all over again! She's wholly obedient to me, but every time I stare into those hazel eyes that I fell in love with, all I see is my sin!"

"It was so... so... fascinating to watch her break, to have her accept her position in life. So... why did it hurt so fucking much? Why did I break down crying after?" She clenches her fist tight, refusing to give into the emotion.

"You're scared."

"Scared!? No shit I'm scared! Do you know what I had to confront out there? My own damned weakness. Maybe I'm not cut out for this shit, who knows? But I'll tell you something Epsilon. I'm tired. Of the nightmares, of the walking reminder of my guilt, of my own gods forsaken failure!" Laila's falling apart, there's no way that she's fit for this. Too emotional, too idiotic.

"It's because you're human."

"Human?" Laila clenches a fist again, but releases it shortly after. "Yeah, isn't that what you said you'd help me overcome, when I swore my fealty to you?"

A cold smile plays on Her lips. "Indeed I did, but when you gave yourself to me, you promised something too. And being as you have yet to live up to your half, I have yet to live up to my half. Do you understand now?"

"No. No, I don't. All I wanted to do was save June, from a rebellion who wanted to use us up until we died from her own self destructive psyche. This entire time, I'm the one who failed us, and I'm only now realizing it." It was obvious, so fucking obvious, but Laila refused to see the truth.

Epsilon hums curiously. "To put it succinctly, you killed Juniper Sladek in Tarsus, ensuring her days of running were over. On the other hand, Laila Praxian killed herself, dying next to her beloved." Her tone is more inquisitive, not judgmental, not even angry. Inquisitive. Why?

Laila laughs, laughs harder than she's laughed before. "What are you talking about?"

And that's when Epsilon's gaze turns sharp. "Understand this: You're no longer Laila Praxian. No matter how you look at it, you're Handler Iota now. As I see it, you can continue moaning about how life wasn't fair, or you can accept the truth. It's your decision."

"The truth?" Laila says it quietly, contemplating what She's on about.

"You've said it yourself, Iota. We're all monsters, so why are you hiding from the truth, when you so clearly recognize it? You willingly stained your hands with blood to save Juniper." Epsilon leers, staring into Laila's very being.

She, She's right, of course. Laila Praxian would never have been able to tame an Imperial General. Laila Praxian could never stand up to Epsilon, nor stand as an equal amongst Her or Handler Alpha. Handler Iota is that monster that was birthed from the lovers dancing above the skies of Tarsus.

Thinking herself that scared little boy, Laila used it as a security blanket. Dad was a mean drunk, always liked to take his anger out on the boy. Dad died from a gunshot to the head because his boy couldn't take anymore. That boy died, just like Laila did.

Laila died because she had to find a way to save her beloved, to save her own self. She fought and clawed her way to survive in a cold world that hated her. But in the end, she died, because neither she, nor her beloved could be allowed to walk away from Tarsus alive.

What remains is a monster that was birthed from her.

Handler Iota.

"Gods, why didn't I see it before?" Laila says, burying her face in her hands.

"Starting to understand it, hm?" A dark chuckle leaves Her lips. "I have a suggestion: Renewing our promise here and now. In exchange for your fealty, I will help you become the monster you are so desperately seeking to become."

Laila perks up, staring into those cold predatory eyes."What would you have me do?"

"Kneel, cut yourself, whatever. I'm not picky." Her voice drops to a casual tone for a moment. "All I desire is something to show your fealty." Only for it to immediately deviate back into the standard Handler voice.

Fine.

If She desires a show so damn bad, a show Epsilon shall get. Standing, Laila walks across the room to her bed. Her boots sit next to them, unpolished and just as ratty as they were when she was a rebel. In-between the tongue and laces, a small sheath hangs, which she grabs. Unsheathing the knife, she stares directly at Epsilon, the anger finally burning once more.

"You want my fucking fealty? So be it." Tightly gripping her ponytail in one hand, Laila breathes deep. "Consider this my response." And then with a swing of the blade, the ponytail is gone, hanging in one hand, her boot knife in the other. But she isn't done, because those words still fucking ring out, she's hiding, even right now. With her next fling of the blade, her bangs that cover her scar are sliced off. "Here's your damned show of fealty. My hair and my scar. No more hiding, right?"

"Certainly an unusual display, but I believe I'm satisfied." Epsilon claps, smirking. "Make yourself decent, and meet me in my office in an hour. I don't care if you feel worthy of the uniform, I insist on protocol. Understood?" She stands to leave, not bothering to wait for Laila to even acknowledge.

Alone once more, Laila desperately wants to lose herself to laughter, but chooses instead to stare. To stare at that fucking Wardog emblem. It's hung over the bedroom for months now, a reminder of who she was. But it was never a reminder of that. It served to remind her of her failure. Of letting her pride and ego get in the way of everything.

With her knife still in hand, she tears the jacket from the wall. It was held in place with pins, like a kid might do with a poster. Laying the jacket flat on the bed, she starts to tear at that fucking emblem with her knife until all that remains is black leather.

Wardog is dead.

It's time to stop pretending that it didn't.

It's time to actually embrace Kérberos.

* * *

Laila stares at her reflection in the mirror, admiring herself for a moment.

What stares back is nothing short of perfection.

Her fire red hair, though now an uneven shoulder-length mess, is tucked neatly beneath a night black peaked cap, with a silver insignia of the Empire atop it. The scar she tried so desperately to hide for so long is now fully visible, as well as the bandage on her left cheek; a reminder of her hesitation. Protocol states a Handler should wear their coat properly, but she's chosen to forgo that, choosing instead to drape it over her shoulders. Two badges on her right collar reflect light: One signifying her status as a Handler, and another as a Second Generation Handler. Beneath the coat, a white dress shirt is tucked away into black slacks. Dog tags are buried underneath, close to her heart; Even now, she's a hopeless romantic. A silver-plated belt buckle emblazoned with an eagle, sits across across her slacks; polished with the same devotion as her badges. Perfection, if not for her boots, the ratty old combat boots she's worn since she was a rebel. They've been re-soled more times than she can count, but it's high time to retire them.

A problem for later. For now however, Epsilon awaits, and it's best not to keep Her waiting. Said to meet in Her office in exactly an hour and a handler must always be punctual. Once the door to Laila's quarters opens with a hiss, she mentally composes herself, turning right to walk down the hall. It's quiet walk that gives her time to contemplate.

Well, she could lose herself to thought, but there's no reason to. No, unfortunately, she's realized full well that Juniper is her weakness. It's why She allowed them so much leeway until now. It was a test; a test that Laila failed. She hasn't stopped seeing June as June, and for that, now must pay the price. Who knows what She has in store for the pair?

Doesn't matter.

This is the life that Laila chose, and now she has to live with that choice. She'd be lying if she said that becoming a handler was about power. Or respect, or anything egoistical like that. It was all to save someone who couldn't save herself.

Not for a lack of trying, no, it was because Juniper, much like her handler was simply too stubborn to leave. The both of them had the idea at various points. It was simple, they'd just leave, be in the wind. That would end the story of Wardog.

Problem was always that they were too stubborn to. Even faking their deaths had the same problem to it. Combat is all they knew, they'd get stir crazy and join back up eventually.

Plus, settling down into a quiet life? With these mugs? Nah. Their faces were plastered all over the propaganda posters. They'd be recognized by someone and the Empire would find them. And the nomad life never much suited Laila.

So, in a way, it was egotistical, gods know it was selfish.

Passing through the halls, a menial stops to stand at attention, offering her a salute. She could laugh at the sight, because it's barely a salute, let alone at attention. Right arm is crooked, and their stance is sloppy. To be expected from literal lobotomites.

Hah, look at her. Despite saying she wouldn't lose herself to thought, she still lost herself to thoughts about how it wasn't really her fault. Ah, gods, even she knows that's bullshit. Nah, she's guilty, so what?

But look at that, she's reached her destination, arriving at a door that's unlike the others. It's faux wooden, as opposed to the metallic doors throughout the rest of the kennels. She has very peculiar taste, that much is obvious.

Two minutes early, which means Laila is right on time. She knocks three times on the door, takes a step back and waits in the silence. An electronic noise buzzes, allowing her to open the door. It's been some time since she's been in here. Black carpeting lines the floors, as opposed to the linoleum flooring of the kennels. The walls are covered in fake wooden paneling. And in the center of the room, a grand desk made of actual wood sits, with an even grander leather chair behind it. A stack of papers lay on the desk, most likely reports and such.

Epsilon sits in Her chair, sipping tea, likely a herbal blend, if Laila had to guess. "Punctual as ever, Iota." She pointedly stares from behind the grand desk, setting Her teacup down onto a saucer.

Laila shrugs, stepping inside. "You said we were going to discuss what comes next, so I'm here."

"Indeed you are. Though, I feel I must ask, why are you choosing to break protocol? I believe I was very specific on uniform, was I not?" Epsilon raises an eyebrow, She isn't mad, moreso curious. Typical of Her.

"Isn't it obvious?" Laila says, pulling up a chair. It's a stiff 'ergonomic' design, one of those that's total hell on the back. "Oh, but don't worry, I'm within regs." She shifts in her seat, trying in vain to get comfortable. "Enough with the formalities, you wanted to discuss what came next, right?"

Epsilon casually sips Her tea, gently setting it back down onto its saucer before speaking. "Ever the impatient one, aren't you?" A soft chuckle escapes Her lips. "Ah, but since you're so insistent, very well."

"In other words: A lesson." That cold smirk adorns Her lips.

"So what's the lesson?" Laila speaks quietly, ashamed of her own failings.

"Oh, you'll see, soon enough." Epsilon has another sip of tea. "However, I'm rather curious, why is it you seem to grasp Eris' status, her very purpose, yet fail to do similar with Juniper? I've watched you, while you have not used her leash, you've demonstrated fine ability in controlling Eris."

Why?

Why indeed.

Laila has asked herself that same question over and over again. She loved Eris, mourned her for so long. So, it seems the answer is, "She died before me. Could have led her own squad and she turned it down to stay a Wardog."

Laughter. Epsilon is laughing. It's dry, bitter and unnerving in some sense, but it's laughter. "How tragic." Her sense of humor is twisted, but that's to be expected from someone like Her. "But I suppose it's only fair you feel that way."

"You'd feel the same way, if you saw her potential wasting away." There is no emotion to Laila's words, only a sense of resignation. At some point, she wanted to save Eris from her fate. But quickly realized there was nothing to save. Eris Peray was dead. And the one who killed her? Herself. She died because she wanted to be a hero.

Thing is, heroism gets you killed.

Laila survived, but she is no hero. She's a monster. Or that's what she has to tell herself. Whatever takes the pain away, right?

"I can see it in your eyes, you're wondering what your lesson is." Epsilon grins sharply. "Enter."

It's as Laila turns her head to the door, that she sees it: Juniper being carried by the arms into the office, by Eris and a menial. Eris has a black eye and her muzzle is crooked. Fucking hell.

As for Juniper? She's in bad shape. There is nothing left of her prosthetic left arm, only the connection port. Her muzzle, once shiny and perfect, has one of its bars bent. The left strap is still broken, but the right looks to be holding on for dear life. The collar with her dog tags is missing-- Laila's doing, unfortunately. Bits of Juniper's dirty blonde hair are missing, probably torn out. Used to love seeing her naked, but right now? Bruises and dried blood mark her nude form, without even a pair of panties to hide her cock.

Laila wants to throw up, to break down sobbing and hold her wife close, comforting her until the two of them drift off into blissful sleep. But she can't, won't. She's supposed to be strong, a monster. So, she has to resign herself to staring at the monument to her hesitation.

Isolated, stripped of even her dignity, June looks half dead. But when realizes where she is, she cracks a faint smile, it's weak and strained, but it's a fucking smile. On Her orders, the pair release her, letting her stumble to the floor, where she struggles to pick herself back up.

Eris stands at attention, saluting Her, at least one of the hounds is in good spirits.

Epsilon stares at the scene, hands folded across Her chin. "At ease. Tell me Eris, why have you presented me Juniper in such a pitiful state?" She knows why, but this is meant to hurt Laila, isn't it?

Eris relaxes her posture. "Sir, as per your orders, I've kept a close eye on June, and..." She swallows hard. "Complete mental breakdown. She wouldn't stop hurting herself... and, and then she attacked me when I tried help. I'm sorry, Sir, I tried help her through it, but she-- she wouldn't stop crying." Another dagger through Laila's heart.

"There, there, I forgive you, Eris." Epsilon nods. "You've done your duty, and have earned your reward." A click of the tongue leads Eris to crawl underneath the desk, most likely to fuck Her boots. "As for you Laila? Look at her, look at Juniper."

Laila hasn't stopped staring. She wants to turn away, but it's... it's heartbreaking. This is because of her failure. June fell apart, because her handler did not issue the correct order. "The price of my failure, right?"

"Precisely." She leans back slightly, relaxing. "Today's lesson is one I wondered if I would get the chance to teach. You showed weakness to an enemy. Kione Monax exploited your fear, because you wear it all over you." Epsilon resumes sipping from Her tea, caring more for it, than for the scene unfolding before Her. "As such, today's lesson is poignant. You will use the leash, you will take control of what is yours. And if you fail to? Well, perhaps Juniper's tenure as your hound will have run out. Certainly, I don't wish to separate you two, but I will not tolerate another failure."

Laila stares and stares at Juniper, her hands trembling. It's so simple, just utter those three damn words. Did it in Tarsus, and then... June died. She was finally fucking free, and Laila, Laila fucking killed her beloved Junebug.

Laila stands, solemnly nodding to Her. "Fine." There's no fighting the inevitable. She kneels down next to Juniper, stroking her dirty blonde hair. "Hey, June, I'm sorry."

"L... L a... il... s..." Juniper's voice is hoarse, but she manages to blurt out that nickname. Used to be that she used it to be a jackass, then it morphed into a loving pet name. "S... s...."

Laila holds her tightly in her arms. "I'm sorry, Juniper," She painfully says. "It's my fault you're like this, I failed you. Been failing you for gods know how long." A bitter and sad laugh escapes her lips. Later, when she's alone, she can cry about this. "I thought if I could get you back, we could live on like this, but, I failed to realize what you are."

Juniper stares up, holding tightly onto her wife's thigh. "Puh... puh... please..."

"I've been stuck in a daydream since I got you back, you know?" The guilt wells up in Laila's chest, she can remember it all so clearly. And despises herself for it.

"N-No, I..." Juniper lets out a hacking cough. "I... I... failed."

"June, what are you--"

With what little strength she has, Juniper climbs to her knees, those hazel eyes staring at Laila. "I. Failed. Us. Over. And. Over. I... I... sorry. Please. D-- Don't. Cry. O-Okay?"

Despite barely being able to speak, her words just make Laila want to sob even more. But she can't. Isn't it obvious what she's supposed to do? It takes so much of her own mental fortitude to not breakdown, because she knows she's supposed to use the leash. It's a pain in her chest like no other. Even getting stabbed by glass doesn't compare to this emotional pain she's feeling right now.

In the end, Juniper Sladek was always the sweetest, most loving partner that Laila Praxian could ask for. Their relationship was a constant mess, but they fought for each other. In the end, they're still together. And that's what matters.

So how does she insert this dagger? Through the heart? Yeah, straight through the heart. Make it quick and painless, don't draw it out.

Laila breathes deep, momentarily closing her eyes. "Sorry darling, turns out you fell in love with someone who kept failing you." Holding her partner close, she leaves a kiss on Juniper's forehead. And then, in the sweetest, most loving tone possible, Laila bitterly says those words. "Juniper: Off the Leash." A single tear is shed.

With those three damned words, their fates are sealed. Juniper dies, those hazel eyes once full of so much life have glassed over. No, it's not that she dies. Because Juniper was already dead. This is simply bringing forth a beast from within her. Awakening what Laila fears most.

Hound.

"Juniper, down. To my side," Laila says, standing. "Happy now?"

"No," Epsilon says it firmly. "Again."

"What!? I already--"

"I am your teacher, and this is your lesson." There is only that familiar icy venom to Her words. "Now again."

Laila clenches her fist tightly, staring down at the hound. "Juniper, on the leash."

Hound submerges back into Juniper's subconscious, but it takes her a minute or two to actually emerge from within the mental fog. "L-Laila!? PLEASE, I--I WON'T FAIL YOU AGAIN! I LOVE YOU, PLEASE! OH GODS, EVERYTHING HURTS, PLEASE! G-GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE TO--"

Sighing bitterly, Laila only says those three words, "Juniper, off the leash."

"N-NO OH GODS, I--" What re-emerges is an obedient dog, who sits and stares at her mistress, awaiting a command. The fearful expression on her face only moments ago is gone, burned away with three simple words. What remains is a bestial obedience.

"Again," Epsilon's icy words strike deep at Laila's heart. "If you're starting to have doubts? Just remember: You abandoned Juniper twice. Whereas I have been with her every step of the process."

"Fuck you, you don't think I don't know that!?" Laila has to resist giving into her primal urges, because she knows better. She isn't that scared little boy anymore, she's the woman that grew from him, that strangled the abusive bastard to death. "Juniper, On the leash."

It takes longer for Juniper to reemerge from within Hound. But there is no crying this time, not even a word is uttered. She's confused, her head must be splitting open by now. Just like in Tarsus.

"Sorry June, you fell in love with a monster." Bile burns her at throat, but Laila bitterly swallows it down. "Juniper, off the leash."

Juniper stares and stares, and stares, as though the words had no effect. Only when she blinks does it become clear that Hound has emerged once more to stare up at her owner. A hungering curiosity litters her expression, silently asking "Why was I summoned?" Of course, those thoughts aren't vocalized, because dogs don't speak!

Laila was so fucking terrified over this, this thing! She should be upset, she should be crying, screaming, threatening to kill Her. So, why?

Why?

Why is it that she feels powerful?

This is true power, isn't it? What She wanted Laila to grab hold of. It wasn't putting some arrogant general in her place, nor was it commanding mutts in the field. No, of fucking course not! She was afraid of a fucking dog. Deep down, that dog is still the woman she fell in love with and still loves, sure. But that doesn't matter, because as it turns out?

Laila Praxian is a monster.

"Juniper, on the leash," She says. "Let me guess: Again?" She's grinning, grinning like such a mad woman right now and can't stop. This is godhood, the power that she never knew she craved, the fucking respect that she deserved. The rebels never respected her, Adama just saw a propaganda tool, someone to push and push, until she had no choice but to betray them. And the caravan? Gods, she hopes the Empire killed them all. "Juniper, off the--"

"Enough." Epsilon's venomous smile only serves to fuel Laila's newfound power. "Anymore and you risk permanent damage to her psyche. Consider the lesson over for now."

"Good." Laila reaches down, offering Juniper a smile. "You were right. We're both dead. But me? I chose to die, so that I could become this monster. So, hey, you made your point. Next time, I'll use the leash and I'll kill the bitch for crossing me, that's what you want, right?"

There is no response, but it's clear that the point has been made.

"If there's nothing else, then I think it's time I do some learning on my own time," Laila says, already opening the door.

"You're dismissed."

Laila's beginning to realize her place in this twisted world. Though, afraid of what lurked within her beloved, she conquered it, made it hers.

Because as it turned out, Laila Praxian is a monster.