One Year Ago: Druzi.
Three days.
Three fucking days ago it all went wrong. First it was missiles, then it was Juniper refusing to stand down. After that? Everything got fucking messy.
Happened pretty fast, Juniper got captured and Laila? She had to hide, like a fucking coward. Sure, she wanted to fight them. But how? Argos is out of commission, discounting its wounds, she ejected.
Oh, and of course the cockpit block got smashed when spec-ops came to sanitize the LZ.
So now Laila is left on her own, camping out in an old office building; because this was the only place that wasn’t completely wrecked and had a solid roof underneath it. It’s been raining since then, leaving her to lick her wounds.
Honestly, it’s probably the painkillers talking, but she can’t even begin to explain just how she feels. Angry? Depressed? Who the fuck knows? Everything that could go wrong went wrong. 
Or it’s probably that she’s in shock.
So hey, she’s just peachy. Betrayed the rebellion, but most of all: she betrayed Juniper. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, the dogwhistle was supposed to work! She would have stood down, and then... and then what? 
Everything Laila did was for Juniper’s sake. Epsilon never said what future Laila would have, because she never asked, never once wanted to know. After all, when has her life had any meaning? 
This is just her life now.
Living out in an old office building, while she waits for rations to run out. Separated from the one damn person in this world who matters to her, and forced to fend for herself. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this!
With only the light of the fuel pellet burning in her camp stove, Laila groans. She should eat something eventually, she has yet to open her MREs. It’s not that she’s not hungry; it’s that she’s no longer got the will to live.
So, hey, hunger will take her and that’ll be it. There’s no chance of getting June back, she’s… she’s gone for good. And it’s Laila’s fault. All she wanted was to save her wife, but it turned out that she played her cards wrong. It’s not like she has the strength to singlehandedly save June anyway; not with a broken arm and a trashed mech.
Laila rolls over in her sleeping bag, staring up at the shitty ceiling. Most of the panels are missing, but it’s held up surprisingly well given the rain outside. She guesses it could be worse, she could be out there exposed to the elements. Ugh, just her shitty luck.
Laying against the wall, she pulls out her dog tags with her left hand. Her right arm hurts like absolute hell to move—pretty sure she broke it in the ejection. Fingers run across the embossed text of Juniper’s set of dog tags, leading Laila to sigh. Sorry June, it looks like you’re in for hell, eh?
This was supposed to be it. Mix a song in with June’s playlist, get her mind nice and receptive to the idea of listening only to Laila’s orders. Epsilon said that it would help June to surrender peacefully. So what went wrong?
Was Epsilon lying? 
Gods, who even knows anymore.
About the only thing Laila knows anymore is that there’s no escaping this hell she’s brought upon herself. Her wife is damned to whatever they did to Eris. The rebellion is damned to be brought down once they crack open Juniper for information. And Laila? Laila is damned to never escape this shitty ghost town. 
If this is how it ends, at least she can say she had a pretty shitty go at things. Oh yeah, she definitely made everything worse in an attempt to save the one person who mattered to her.
Tossing and turning for gods know how long, she desperately wants to scream. Hard to sleep when she slept most of the last few days, and her brain desperately craves stimulation. Can’t exactly go anywhere with this fucked arm, though. Well, there’s a solution to that problem. 
Reaching for her boot knife, she then grabs her flight suit. Damned thing was supposed to have been delivered months ago for Juniper’s birthday. Shame it has to be trashed so soon.
The knife plunges into the fabric, slowly cutting away at the leg. From there, it’s a slow and painful process to actually make the sling and put her right arm in it. Every so often having to grit her teeth from the pain, because she refuses to scream or cry. Heh, she’s slightly lucky: her arm’s broken, but it’s not an open fracture, there’s no bone piercing the skin.
Once that’s done and Laila’s managed to get on her fatigues, she drapes her jacket across her shoulder. From next to her sleeping bag she grabs for her shotgun. Dad sawed the barrels off, thought it’d keep people from fucking with him; jokes on him, it didn’t. Gods, if she actually has to fire this thing, it’ll hurt like a motherfucker afterwards.
The journey down the stairs and into the quiet dark streets below takes a few minutes, but it certainly gives her time to think about everything. There had to be another way to save Juniper, no?
Couldn’t she have been convinced to finally give up the fight and retire? 
Hah, no, because Laila would never do that to her. Neither of them ever seriously considered faking their deaths, or just walking away. Even if they didn’t believe in the cause, too many people depended on them and in turn, it wouldn’t be right to just quit. 
No, this was the only logical way.
Any other way and it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be good for them! Fuck, Juniper had a panic attack just getting into Ixion, she wasn’t okay! Laila herself wanted to cry at the sight, because this isn’t right! None of this is!
So what the fuck else was she supposed to do? Let her partner kill herself from the stress  and anxiety? Since when did Laila give two shits about her own life? If her death means Juniper lives on then so be fucking be it!
Laila wants desperately to punch something, but instead she simply screams into the void. Ruined buildings litter the streets of Druzi, what ones aren’t collapsed into rubble, their windows have long since been shattered. Remnants of shattered glass crunch underneath her boots. There’s a chill in the air, so she’s at least glad she salvaged her jacket before escaping. And, hey, the rain stopped.
Heh, June always used to talk about Druzi; thought it looked better as a ruined hellhole, than a city of motherfuckers. The past wasn’t something they talked much about; hers’ a mess of war. And Laila? She killed her dad.
Guess they trauma bonded or some psychological shit. 
Further down the destroyed road, Argos is hunched against a building, much of the ground below it having cratered. Its left arm still pointed outward from the attempt to lay down a salvo onto Aegis, but the guns ran dry at the worst possible moment. Fuck, always did have the worst luck with this shit.
At least the pulse reactor on the back didn’t go up. Turns out when you’re jury rigging together a flying mech, you need extra power on it. Still a wing section attached and a pulse-engine hanging underneath; but this is the end of the road for them both. Much of its armor is shredded and what isn’t is in terrible shape.
Sighing deeply, she leans back against the right leg of her gunmetal gray mech. Mora would tear her hair out seeing the shape Argos was left in. Never quite seen a woman so passionate about a mech she didn’t pilot. Guess that’s an ex-swordsmith for you.
Laila runs her working hand across the leg armor of Argos. The walls closed in on them alright, just not how she expected. Epsilon promised to save Juniper, just like she saved Eris. Never once did Epsilon mention anything about Laila, because Laila never asked.
Her life stopped having value long ago. Juniper was the only bright spot in an otherwise dismal existence that was going to end with an eventual suicide. So why wouldn’t Laila devote every last ounce of her being to saving that one person who mattered?
She wishes that she’d betrayed the rebels for money, or for anything that would make sense. But no; she betrayed everyone for fucking love.
With another sigh, she finally pats Argos’ leg and walks off. Sorry baby, we had a decent run, but this looks like that’s it for us. Not very far down the road, lay another corpse.
Aegis.
Its lifeless corpse lays on its back in the middle of the road, staring up at the moonless sky above. Really thought the Imperials would have taken it back when they sanitized the area, unless its pilot is already dead. Wouldn’t be a shock given that what she remembers of the fight
Screw it. The torso is intact. Cockpit almost fully exposed from how Ixion’s combat knife warped it. Pilot is probably dead, but—who cares? All she wants are answers.
Once atop the corpse of this mechanical monster, Laila clutches her shotgun tight, forcing her way into the cockpit. Oh, this is definitely her unlucky day, the mech is still active. Cockpit systems are still running, but the pilot has long since ceased piloting it. The stench hits as soon as she crawls in. Gore, mixed with rain and who knows what else. She desperately wants to vomit up the contents of her stomach; too bad she hasn’t eaten.
To describe the cockpit simply: It’s wretched.
The pilot is bound by their wrists and ankles, literally strapped in. No wonder they never ejected, it’s clearly meant to be opened only from the outside. Laila clicks her tongue. Obviously the pilot is muzzled, why would she not be?
Though to call it a muzzle is not right. It’s more akin to an oxygen mask shaped like a muzzle. Dried blood stains her hands, her oxygen mask, and much of her body. Laila assumed that the pilot was dead already, but she’s clinging to life, if only just. Though, with that piece of jagged metal in her gut, there’s no way she’s got much longer. Laila points her shotgun at her, recoiling in fear the moment those dead eyes open. Nothingness greets her. No warmth, fear, or anything; a frenzied, but very wounded animal awoken from its slumber. Laila’s left hand trembles, almost dropping her shotgun. The pilot tries to growl, amounting to barely a weak whimper. Laila closes her eyes, aims the shotgun at the pilot’s stomach, and pulls the first trigger, ending the wounded beast’s life. Her body goes lifeless. A dying animal put out of its misery. Laila hates herself for having to do that, but there would have been no way to save the pilot. As if that were a consolation.
A mercy killing is a blessing so few receive. “Sorry,” Laila quietly apologizes, bowing her head. “You were dead anyway, right?” Who is she apologizing to? Gods only know. Her hands are stained in blood already. One mercy killing won’t change anything.
Wires. Dozens upon dozens of wires snake throughout the cockpit, all leading into the pilot’s corpse. Laila thought these were hastily-rigged together, but it’s the furthest thing from the truth. Each one has a purpose, some sickening attempt to bridge the gap between pilot and machine. Three metal indents carved in the pilot’s spine have a mess of connections running throughout them. Two more sets of cables lead directly into the pilot’s head. Parts of her skull have been carved into, metallic mesh replacing bone. More of them  are dug deep through mesh and into exposed brain, snaking forward into her frontal lobe. Sickening is the only word that can begin to describe this scene. Laila dry heaves, clutching her shotgun tightly. Her lips quiver, the realization of her actions setting in.
Godsfuckingdammit.
Not all of them are wires. Four of them are tubes leading from the pilot’s gray matter and into hanging IV bags full of long-since dried liquid. Laila has so many questions, but the only one that matters: Is this what they’re doing to Eris? Or to Juniper? Is this the result of Laila’s betrayal!? Having the love of her life turned into a fucking lobotomite!? Rage becomes the only thing that matters. She pulls the second trigger, shooting the console once.
Only after she’s firmly back on the ground does she vomit up bile at long last. It burns so fucking much, and that’s the consequence of becoming a traitor.
She deserves so much fucking worse.
By the time she makes back to shelter, she realizes then that she’s been crying. Her sins are finally catching up to her it seems. About damn time they did. Juniper’s gone, never to be seen again, destined to be another surgery nightmare. All because Laila ran out of options in her selfish quest to save Juniper Sladek.
Laila doesn’t sleep again for another two days after that. She supposes she should feel something, but she doesn’t. Not regret, not guilt, not even remorse, because what’s the point? Regret what? For what she did to June? Yeah, no shit. Guilt? Laila’s always been guilty. Remorse? For what? She mercy killed a victim of the Imperial war machine.
On the third day, she finally sleeps. After she got up and had some rations, she buried the pilot. It was painful; both in part because Laila’s arm is broken, and due to the emotional weight of it. Nonetheless, the pilot was given a burial underneath some rubble. It wasn’t much, though even dogs of the Empire deserve a decent burial. For pilots their grave is the cockpit; unfortunately Laila still has use for Aegis. Nothing grand; even removing the broken arm from the equation, she doubts it would run without surgeries. Just basic salvage.
By the end of the first week, she’s taken to collecting rainwater. Turns out the legs of her flight suit are pretty damn useful. It’s not much, but it means that at the very least: Laila’s got clean water. She’s suddenly glad that she also kept a month’s worth of rations in her rucksack, even if it means she’ll need to stretch them out. 
Rebels aren’t coming. Yeah, in theory there’s always the hope they will, after all Druzi is close to the contested borders. In practice, however, no. Wardog are valuable to the cause, yadda yadda, but the real reason why they won’t has nothing to do with Adama’s disdain for Laila.
Wardog took down a radar station, but not just any, it was meant to be part of a new project to fortify the region. High Command will be out for blood, and the rebels will want to give the Empire another black eye to match. Whole area’s been abuzz with air traffic throughout the week, too. Probably prepping a new bombing campaign to crater much of “Free Kitala”. 
Gods, she misses Juniper. Yeah, the final moments with her weren’t great; Laila wanted to scream at her, to tell her to follow the damned order. Could she blame Juniper? Hell no. She was scared. She’s always been scared. Hard not to be when you saw your homeland fall in barely a week to the Empire. Or seeing the people you’ve come to care about die in front of you. 
It used to be that she’d hide it beneath a cocky attitude, and that shit eating grin of hers. More recently it turned into shaky smiles, while hiding herself with a pair of headphones. All while having a panic attack the second the cockpit hatch closed. In her own words, she was broken. 
Even so, if she were here now, they’d find a way to survive. Shit, they’d start over from scratch as soon as they were both healthy enough. Wander to the nearest settlement, get a drink, figure it out after. She’s not, though, and never will be. If she knew the truth, she would never forgive Laila. And you know? Fair. She would deserve that. She’d deserve a hell of a lot more than just hated.
Everything’s she’s done has been to save Juniper, but she never thought about herself. Never once was Laila worried about her own ass, because quite frankly: she stopped caring. Live or die, whatever, as long as June is safe, who cares, right? 
In his more drunken moments, Dad used to say that Laila was worthless, that she’d never amount to anything. He was right, even if it hurts to admit. Doesn’t matter, though, he’s dead. So who’s laughing now, you dead bastard? One of us still alive, the other got murdered with his own shotgun.
By the end of the first month, Laila’s yearning for her partner only worsens. Every night, lying there in her sleeping bag, she swears she could hear Juniper’s cute snoring. Few times, she was sure she heard June call her Lails. But… nah, it’s not real. 
Gods, that nickname. 
That stupid fucking nickname still makes Laila laugh. Eris used to call her that when it was just them, then one day, she accidentally blurted it out on comms. The rest of Wardog started to use it to piss off their CO, up until they died. 
Eris always had a habit of blurting out shit; it was cute. Especially when she was moaning out Laila’s name after an orgasm. Eris knew how to eat cunt like no one had before. June on the other hand? Turned out the merc had no experience with cunt; only ever went after other girls with cocks. Laila can still remember June’s confidence and bravado fading away the minute she realized that she was bottoming. Fuck, just thinking about that makes Laila horny, fuck, it makes her yearn for her beloved wife.
Staring down at her dog tags, she clutches them tightly. I swear to you June, if I get out of here, I’ll save you. I’ll fucking get us a better future than dying in a dead city.
Slowly but surely, Laila learns to survive on her own. She occasionally goes to the grave site where she buried the mutt, not to grieve or anything: just to stare. There is very little she’ll do to survive, but that? It fucking haunts her sleep.
Near the end of the second month her rations run out, and she has to consider how to get more food. These days the land around here is pretty infertile, and the wildlife have died off, so it’s a difficult question. She figures she’ll have to start raiding buildings for rations. 
It’s not so bad here, her arm’s still broken and hurts like hell, but she managed to salvage parts to build a shitty radio from Aegis, so she’s been able to listen to what little music gets picked up out here; it’s mostly just weather reports, music stations don’t often get picked up.
The droning of rotors atop the high-pitched scream of turbojets, sends Laila scrambling from a dead sleep. Imperial Tiltrotor, hard to mistake it for anything else. Killing the makeshift lamp, she takes cover behind a desk, grabbing her sawed-off. Could be nothing, but this is the first time she’s heard the sound of one since they took Juniper.
No time to put on the sling, just have to hope this is a passing patrol, because Laila’s arm already fucking hurts. Her paranoia is on point, because the sound of rotors grows closer and louder, until the damned thing is practically on-top of her. She clutches her shotgun tightly, hoping to the gods that her worst fears aren’t confirmed. 
Yet again, Laila’s luck has run out, because it takes only fives minute for footsteps to charge up the stairs. Everything’s so fucked, Imperials have somehow found her and now they’re coming to finish the job. Or worse: They’re bringing Juniper to do it.
The door is kicked open, two CS gas grenades are lobbed in.
Laila can’t stop coughing, her lungs feel like they’re on fire, while her eyes can’t stop watering. Smells fucking awful in here too. It hurts her nose when she breathes in, but there’s no way to stop it.
When the gas finally begins to dissipate, a blurry figure emerges from the doorway, prompting Laila to immediately fire at them. Her shot misses, but she scrambles for another shell, only to be brought down to the ground in seconds by a figure in a black gas mask with red lenses, and a matching black duster. So this is how she fucking dies?
Hah.
“Commander, stand down.” That emotionless voice; it’s Epsilon. Easy to recognize it from their countless chats. “I thought you were a better shot, Captain Praxian,” she tsks.
The gas masked figure unhands Laila and offers a salute, but not before relieving her of her shotgun. Bastard.
“We meet in-person at last, Captain Praxian. I must say, I’m surprised to see you still alive after what my hound did to you.” Epsilon’s ice cold gaze is worse in person, certainly hurts more.
“Yeah, well, I finished what June started, with my shotgun.” Laila glares, attempting to plot her way out of this. No gun, one working arm, she’s up shit creek alright. 
“Hm,” Epsilon muses. “A shame, she was an expensive failure.” Not even a hint of emotion to her voice, just… indifference. What the fuck is her problem?!
“So what? If you’re here to finish me off, then fucking do it, because I’m already banged up bad.” Laila laughs pathetically, struggling to stand.
“Am I?” Epsilon look down upon her. “You’ve failed in every way conceivable. As a human being, as a pilot, but perhaps most importantly: As a lover.” 
Yeah, well, you try saving someone so hellbent on killing herself. Making a deal with the devil might have been the only way to save Juniper. Laila wheezes out a laugh, coughing up a storm. Fuck, that gas is just doing wonders for her lungs. “Yeah? And I’d do it again if it meant that June was safe.”
She could end this right here and now, just need a gun and… and then what? Spec-ops have their guns trained on her, one wrong move—off goes her head. Got nothing left to play, no ace up her sleeve, shit, not even a joker left. Looks like this is the end, eh?
Nowhere left to go: the rebels wouldn’t take her back, not after she sold them out. Never mind how many times she came close to treason with attacking Adama. Of all people, that bastard has to be the happiest that Laila’s on death’s door. One less annoyance to deal with in a never ending death march. 
“Of course you would, Captain Praxian. That’s why I’m not here to kill you, I’ve come to offer you a chance at something more.” 
“More?” Hesitation creeps into Laila’s voice. Taking a deal with the devil? Yeah, seems like she’s well and truly fucked.
“The chance to truly save Juniper Sladek, to become something greater than just a simple combat pilot. To become human.” Epsilon grins wide, offering a hand. “If you take my hand, I will see to it that your injuries are tended to. Refuse, and you’ll never see her again.”
Gods, this bitch knows just what wound to stab with her sharp tongue, doesn’t she?
Laila wishes she could break down crying. She’s long since run out of tears, replaced only by a pain that refuses to go away. Every last person she’s betrayed, every last stain of blood has been for Juniper. If they could be reunited at last, then there’s no other choice, right? Epsilon even now shows compassion to a dying enemy, because she is everything Laila isn’t: Strong. Epsilon stands tall, Laila curled up in pain. The embodiment of everything Wardog ever stood against in that black coat, and those polished boots. The Empire. The flames that engulfed Boreas. The despair that followed. All the same, this was inevitable, wasn’t it? What other way forward is there?
Take her hand, save Juniper, Laila. You’ve betrayed everyone already. There is nowhere to go back to, and there hasn’t been since you killed that abusive bastard. This is a chance at a new beginning—a new Laila.
“So be it,” Laila wheezes. Her lungs burn, her eyes water, she knows that one wrong move and these soldiers fire on her. Each one an itchy trigger finger, but Epsilon has not given the order. “My life has never had any meaning, Juniper is the only thing in this world that brought it any semblance of meaning.” Laila grabs hold of Epsilon’s hand, pulling herself up to her feet.
“You’ve made the right choice Captain Praxian,” Epsilon begins, “as a show of good faith, I’d like to share something with you. Commander.” She snaps her fingers, the gas masked figure quickly handing her a tablet. “Unfortunately, your beloved Juniper is not currently in my custody.”
No. No. No. No. No. NO.
So then was this all for nothing?
Pull yourself together, it’s too late to fucking cry.
“Due to a traitor within our ranks she was recaptured during her first deployment. Ah, but don’t fret, she is alive. The rebels have seen to her care from what I have gleaned.” Epsilon’s voice is cold and emotionless, but there’s still that familiar sting to it.
Of course Juniper was recaptured, rebels probably went looking for her as soon as they could. Their ace among aces is too valuable to simply write off. “Tell me,” Laila groans in pain. “What do I have to do to save her from them!?”
Figures the rebels would expend their resources looking for only half of Wardog.
“We will discuss that in the coming days. For now, come, there’s a transport awaiting us.”
***

Laila has to admit, she didn’t think she’d return to this shithole known as Druzi. Not now, not ever. She was a different person back then, idiotic, thinking all it took to save Juniper was pleading to Her to do something. No, the way to save her is to shape the future accordingly. Betray whoever or whatever stands in their damn way, so that they can get their happily ever after. 
Even on the outskirts of Druzi, the memories of a wounded bitch who betrayed the rebellion, continue to haunt the thoughts of this traitor. Tonight’s mission is a complicated one, not the bog standard “see rebel kill rebel” assignment. A large rebel force has taken over the Irto Pass Rare Earth Mine, probably an inside job if one were to hazard a guess. The nearest base was a small outpost that in turn also got overrun by the rebels.
Gee, it’s a wonder that the Empire is so powerful if their mines aren’t even safe.
Going by the mission briefing, it’s not the Volterra cell responsible for this. Though it’s fair to say that their incursion into Aurelia has been more successful than expected. Definitely the same rebels that Europa have been funding, though a different cell. Keep them isolated, so that when one falls, the others remain hidden. 
It’s the rebel way, after all.
Gods only know how the Empire will respond to the aftermath of this op. Executions of any persons caught having assisted the rebels? Likely. Poor bastards, alas, this is why you don’t work with insurgents. You’ll face the firing squad for it.
Honestly, this entire mission would be easier with Juniper in the rotation. Ixion is still in the throes of a refit, however. And Juniper? Well, Guard Dog needs time to come into proper effect. She isn’t ready for field work. 
It’s all according to plan, even if it still hurts knowing that Juniper is hundreds of miles away back at base, while Laila is the one in the field. They’re a team, that’s how they always operated. Isn’t that exactly why this had to happen? 
‘Strike team Iota, approaching DZ. Standby.’ And there’s the signal.
Laila isn’t alone, she’s leading an Imperial strike team. Four Belos units, along with Ares. Shit, it’s been years, since it was just her and Eris in the field. Last time would have been after Voltar, Ixion was down for repairs, so it was just Argos, Ares and a bunch of nobodies.
Sighing deeply, Laila removes her dog tags, kissing them gently. Don’t worry June, I’ll make it back safe. Taking a page from Juniper’s book, she wraps them tightly around the left stick. “Eris, status?”
‘Sir, all systems green, Ares ready for drop.’
From her lap, Laila grabs her helmet and slides it on to begin the connection process. She just wants to get this mission over with, gods know she could use some shuteye; tomorrow is looking like another long day.
Why assign her to this mission? Feels counterproductive.
Bay doors open, air begins to rush into the dimly lit hangar. There is nothing outside, just a sea of darkness waiting to be plunged into. Suppose there’s no time to dwell on that though, as sirens wail and lights flash. 
‘Strike team Iota, one minute to drop.’
Controls are tightly squeezed, a slow and shallow breath exhaled. Clamps release plunging Argus into the darkness below. Nothing makes you feel quite alive like hurdling hundreds of feet a second towards the ground, right? 
Closer and closer the ground comes, until Argus extends its wings, pulling into a slow and shallow dive. Reverse thrusters fire seconds later, touching down onto the mountainous terrain. Minutes pass before finally her strike team land all around her, courtesy of large thruster packs ejected upon landing. Ares touches down seconds after, cratering the ground around it.
And so, the mission begins. Great.
Minutes into a long trek up to where the rebels are holed up, the first firefight begins. Sniper taking potshots, easy to deal with. Terrible aim too, gods what are they shooting at?
Sub-arms deploy, equipping Argus’ anti-materiel rifle. Targeting data transmits; no wind to account for tonight. on a rather straight velocity. Okay.
The trigger is pulled; the rifle erupts. In seconds, a sabot round clears the barrel, screaming downrange. Once in flight, the sabot separates, leaving a trail of destruction on impact. This isn’t a training mission, she isn’t using lower caliber rounds.
“Strike team you have your orders. We’re five klicks out, so settle in.” 
A hail of acknowledgments plays out on comms, but there’s only one that matters, ‘Yes, Sir.’ Eris. 
Laila can’t help but laugh; she’s seen the glares, the scowls, all of the reactions to her presence in the hangar. They despise her, seeing her as the one who killed their comrades, bathing in their blood. 
Oh, she is a killer, and she revels in the fact that none of them can do a thing about it. Every last one of these miserable little peons can do nothing but salute and obey, because she is their superior officer.
There are certainly some perks to the military life.
While the rest of the strike team proceeds forward, Argus hangs back beginning the electronic warfare. The mech’s horns glow a faint purple from the EW system humming to life. This isn’t like the old days, if there’s an ambush waiting, there won’t be one for long. For now it’s selective jamming, keep the rebels guessing.
“Eris, proceed to point 227, prep a barrage,” Laila issues her command, and the hound unquestioningly follows it. Just like the old days.
Mission is proceeding as planned, the Belos team are in. Lackluster resistance defending the front entrance, not even any mines. Disorganized and sloppy, to be expected from rebels. Judging by comms chatter however, spec-ops have already made their presence known.
Cannon fire explodes in the distance, the sound of Ares’ guns roaring to life echoes across the landscape. Laila supposes that Argus should make its grand appearance. A sigh carries heavy through the cockpit.
Time to show them why you can’t defeat the Empire.
Argus arches its back towards the sky, tendrils of amethyst release; running across its back, up through its horns, spreading down and outwards, shaping a pair of wings. The midnight sky is bathed in an unearthly violet glow as the mech takes flight. Insanity has take over rebel comms chatter, all wondering the same thing: What is that glow?
Careful aim pays off, the first rebel signature that crosses Argus’ path is eliminated in seconds. Stragglers from Ares’ barrage are struggling to deal with the walking gun platform. Well, were struggling, because when Argus begins shooting; they’re dead. Half a dozen downed in under ten minutes, not her best time, but then who’s keeping track?
Still plenty of corpses for the dance, this was only a simple forward guard. And it will most certainly be a long night. Irto is a large facility, could be upwards of a hundred troops here.
“Commander, status report,” Laila calls out, prepping Argus’ rifle for its next target.
‘Running into heavy resistance, requesting the hound!’ Sounds of gunfire being exchanged in the background ring heavy on comms.
“Eris, fire a barrage onto the provided coordinates,” she commands, adding, “try not to hit our own forces.”
‘Yes, Sir.’ 
A concentrated barrage of artillery fires onto the strike team’s location, peppering the battlefield in explosions. Honestly, it’s all so boring, something like this used to be a dream for the rebels. Those days are long gone, this is nothing more than annoyance now.
When the barrage concludes, the two former wardogs begin their trek into the canyon created by the mining efforts. Not even a hint of resistance along the dirt road they follow, just nothingness. Gunfire in the distance lights up the area occasionally, but that’s it.
“Eris, ten o’clock, three enemies dug into a foxhole, flush them out.” Argus preps its rifle loading its next shot.
Another string of artillery clears Ares’ guns, shaking up dirt and derbies all around.  Steaming shells eject, the next set loads; destruction is all that remains.
Back when they were a couple, a situation like this on the battlefield would have a competition: loser bottoms. Don’t remember how many damn times Eris won out, but the sex, oh gods the sex. Some of the sloppiest, drunken sex the two ever had was after those missions. And then June came along and—“Eris, twelve o’clock, dead ahead, target is stalling our advance.”
‘Acknowledged, Sir,’ Eris bellows out, sending Ares sliding down a hill and into the canyon below.
Hah, Laila’s just now realizing that she’s still treating this like a competition. Why was she assigned this mission? Isn’t it fucking obvious? It’s another one of Her lessons. She’s been acting like Captain Laila Praxian, the famed rebel ace, and not Handler Iota.
So why not have a little fun with the rebels?
Laila cackles to herself, listening in on the rebel comms. All it takes is a little “we’re pinned down at point 119! It’s Ixion!” to get them scramble for their meaningless lives. Ares disposes of the fleeing mechs without so much as a whimper from its pilot.
Gods, and here she was bored out of her mind! Well then, if she’s still bored, she can certainly spice this dance up a little. Gunning the throttle, Argus shifts from a static hover, to soaring through the midnight skies.
Down below is a mess of gunfire from all sides of this large canyon. Belos fighting to take back Imperial property, rebels refusing to cede ground. “Commander, move your forces twenty meters westward.”
‘Copy, sir!’ 
“Eris, you know what to do.” Anti-grav thrusters cut out, sending Argus into a dive. Pulling across the surface, they reactivate, sending it to skating across the ground. Targeting data once more fills her helmet, and the rifle is primed for its next shot. Flak is loaded, bringing with it an opportunity to spice up this dance. Who says she has to kill on the first shot? 
Ares is locked in a close-quarters duel with an opponent named Skyhawk. Just some scapheap with the Wardog emblem on it, how entertaining. Oh, they’re fast; but not fast enough to evade Argus. “Disengage now.”
‘Acknowledged, Sir.’
As soon as Ares wrestles itself free from Skyhawk, Argus’ rifle lights up. The flak round rips free of the barrel, traveling fast and self destructing near the insurgent mech. A shockwave of shrapnel scatters in all directions, damaging Skyhawk and a Belos. 
Laila clicks her tongue in annoyance.
‘Rebel bitch, watch your firing line!’ An angry spec-ops pilot berates her, failing to realize they were in her firing line. This little attempt at glory almost costs them their life, because Skyhawk quickly takes the opportunity to slice through the Belos’ head with a sword.
Sighing ever deeper, she stows her rifle and guns the throttle, closing the gap on Skyhawk. The pilot is distracted attempting to deal with two enemies. Argus cuts in, a burst of wrist-mounted fire ending Skyhawk.
“Commander,” Laila sternly begins, “this is your only warning to keep your subordinates in line. I cannot and will not abide by your troops taking attitude with me. This gloryhound attitude will not stand, do I make myself clear?” Special Operations are exactly the kinds of people that she cannot stand. At least a hound knows how to behave in public.
‘Copy, sir, Warrant Officer Bion, you heard Commander Iota. Cut the attitude and fall in line, do I make myself clear?’ Bion? Hm. 
‘Fall in line!? She’s just some rebel bitch, fuck her!’ Bion growls, digging herself a much deeper grave.
‘Warrant Officer, this is your only warning: Fall in line or I will have you court martialed. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Bion dejectedly groans.
Attitudes like that make Laila almost yearn for her rebel days, where they followed her orders to the letter. The ones that didn’t? Well, they’re dead.
“Eris, you’ve got two closing in fast, range 500.” Suppressing fire is laid down for the hound as Ares charges into the fray. Explosions rock the sky from a torrent of cannon fire. And in turn the two rebels fall in seconds. “Continue along your current path, should be a dozen or so playing rearguard.”
Eris responds with a grunt, pushing Ares further along the designated path. She’s being flanked by two Belos units, of which one is the damaged head unit. Time to keep an eye on them. 
“Four o’clock, two of them up top!” 
Ares responds instantly, using its rifle to slay two more rebels, before the Belos following along can respond. Rebels comms are going crazy over Ares: they’re scared. They see the Wardog emblem, scratches and all, and want to piss themselves with fear. 
“Wardog are supposed to be on our side, right?” Is the most common question lighting up the rebel frequency. Because Wardog are just rebels, right? Hah! 
Well, this “rebel mech” fires its anti-materiel rifle at whatever may happen to be in its path, snuffing out lives with each shot. And when a string of missiles shoot for Argus, their trajectories change, some colliding with each other. Well, it’s more fun to fight dirty.
Turns out Monax was right, hah.
“Eris, eleven o’clock, range 500, you’ve got more incoming, should be the rearguard.” Radar is picking up well over a dozen units moving in. This may very well be their main force. Laila cracks a twisted smile, humming to herself. “I think it’s time.” After all, what better way to introduce the next number? 
‘Time, Sir?’
“Eris,” she begins, drawing out the words for the fun of it, “Restriction Lifted: Off the leash.” The change is instantaneous. Screaming fills the comms channel, as the other half of Eris begins to awaken. Hound asserts its presence with howling. “Are you hungry, hound?” 
What responds is not the Eris Peray that Laila once fell in love with because the only acknowledgment is the screeching of a hungry beast. Ares stands idly in the middle of the canyon awaiting orders. “That’s what I thought. Hound, I want you to feast on these corpses. Each and every one that gets in your way, starting with the enemies that are closing in on you. If anyone gets in your way, you have my permission to end them.”
A cloud of derbies is all that remains when Ares roars to life, unleashing its entire repertoire of ranged weaponry. Moments later, the heavy-weapons platform blasts across the battlefield, tearing at whatever stands in its way. Within the chaos of bloodshed, there exists a certain beauty that cannot be denied. Mechanical bodies fall silent, limbs torn apart; screams of mercy silenced by an axe.
Embers of fallen mechs illuminate the pitch-black sky, burning so radiantly in their deaths. So many corpses, so little time. Why not switch things up? The life of a sniper gets boring, and her spear could use a workout.
Argus spreads its wings wide, clearing the ground in seconds to send it soaring high above. Gods it feels so wonderful to fly. Oh, and how her wings radiate such a luminous color!
Laila is so very far from the action, but it takes only minutes to change that. Upon arrival there is only one word to describe the scene below: chaos. Ares is in the midst of feasting on a kill. Tearing limb from oil soaked limb, the beast roars out. When only the chest of its prey remains, that too is torn apart, until all that remains is a splattering of blood. 
Only when its lust has been sated, does Ares turn to begin the hunt for its next target. The last thing Laila hears over tapped comms is a horrifying scream as a rebel mech’s cockpit is crushed to pieces. The process begins again, with Ares covering itself in the viscous remains of its prey. When all is said and done, only a field of mangled corpses remain.
‘W-w-w-what the fuck is this thing!?’ A Belos pilot stammers, pointing their chainsword at Ares. One of the lighter damaged ones, she can’t keep track of them.
“Isn’t it obvious? The hound is feasting on its kill. You’ve been briefed on it, move along.” Laila’s tone is jovial, why be so serious, when she can just laugh at the carnage? Oh, there’s something seriously wrong with her, she knows that, who gives a shit!? 
It’s just so beautiful to watch! 
‘I—Fuck, we weren’t told it would be this horrifying!’ 
“Pilot, stand down, Ares is on our side,” Laila commands, watching as the pilot fails to stand down. Another one forgets their standing; a sigh leaves her lips. “Hound, dispose of them, someone forgot their place.”
Sub-arms deploy from the back of Ares; twin axes bury themselves deep into the Belos’ cockpit. Hound utters an inhuman screech over comms, tearing apart the Belos piece by piece, until its hunger is sated. When it’s done, all that remains is a trail of gore.
‘You killed Rani! You traitor, you fucking traitor! I’ll kill you!’ Bion screams, sending her Belos tearing across terrain in a hurry to catch Ares.
Laila clicks her tongue. “Commander, one of your subordinates interrupted the hound’s feast, and has fallen. Reign in Bion before the hound does.”
‘Warrant Officer Bion, this is a direct order: Stand down now or so help me, I will take you down myself,’ Bion’s commander frustratedly shouts.
‘SIR! THAT FUCKING THING JUST KILLED RANI, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?’ 
Argus aims accordingly at the headless Belos. “Final warning, Warrant Officer. Personally I hold no qualms about terminating you, so I suggest you speak to me upon our return.” 
‘… Copy, sir.’
Shame. Laila’s more than happy to put these dogs in their place. But then she prefers not getting Imperial blood on her. It’s so difficult to clean up afterwards. 
Anther set of missile warnings light up the screens; second pass, they collide with each other. Argus turns to face the source: an all too familiar foe that Argos once danced with in the ruins of Druzi. Hastily welded on parts replace much of the damage from that day. Gone is the faded blue paint, replaced by gunmetal gray. Atop this foes chest sits the Wardog emblem.
It’s an Aegis: the same Aegis from back then.
Scratches the same, claws on its right arm,  this is entirely the same the beast that tore Argos to pieces and began this descent. Not only did someone salvage it, but they’re very clearly attempting to carry on Wardog’s legacy. Hah. Oh, Laila supposes she’ll humor them. “Hound, you have eight targets, 5000 meters out, they’re dug into the mountainside.”
The hound snarls out a response; Ares charges.
From high in the sky, Argus fires potshots at the pest down below. With each shot, she quickly changes positions, firing from an entirely new angle. Combined with the electronic warfare spoofing radar signatures, it creates such a harmonious symphony! 
Grinning wide, she pulls back on the controls, sending Argus descending towards the ground, where its dance partner awaits. Oh, Aegis attempts to fire a chain gun, but the problem is that the firing path is predictable. And it’s missiles? Absolutely useless.
Upon landing, Argus draws its spear, slicing it through Aegis’ right arm. The blazing bident makes partial contact, but the damage is minimal. Upon firing reverse thrusters, she beckons her opponent to make their move.
Curiously enough, Aegis’ response is to move and gain distance in a foolish attempt to avoid the spear. Shame, but she has a few tricks for that. A barrage of armor-piercing rounds sprays from Argus’ wrists, shredding through its opponent with absolute ease.
Despite the damage, Aegis still continues running, firing limited bursts of its chain gun in an effort to slow down the attacker. That’s right, keep running. Argus’ spear is once more stowed for the anti-materiel rifle, loading in flak.
Once more the trigger is pulled, an explosion propelling the round free of the barrel, damaging the Aegis’ sensors. And yet, as if not realizing how worthless it is to, Aegis fires another barrage of missiles, only for the horns on Argus to glow a deep violet, ending the pitiful attempt at resistance.
Floating along the mountainous terrain, the energy around Argus coalesces, until its bident is thrown and pulled back, tearing off its foe’s right arm entirely. “Hey, Aegis pilot, can you hear me? If you surrender now, I’ll ensure you survive to fight another day.” It’s a lie, but who says Laila can’t have fun with her toys?
‘Fuck you! Wardogs fight until the bitter end!’ 
The bitter end? Oh, that’s precious!
“Wardog, huh? That’s adorable!” Laughter overtakes the cockpit, she can’t help but laugh her ass off at the scene unfolding. “Hound: Converge on my position, there’s fresh prey for you,” she issues the command and watches it all unfold. 
In no time at all, Ares appears, wielding two axes in its hands with two more springing from its knees. The hungry beast lunges for its prey, axes burying themselves into limbs. There was never any chance of this mediocre pilot doing more than scratching Argus. “Take them alive.”
Oh, the fun has just begun!
***

Argus settles into its berthing, reactor going quiet as it powers down. Once the docking pier has extended and the cockpit hatch opens, Laila disembarks, shaking her hair out from her helmet. Gods, what a mission. When she clambers out onto the metallic catwalk, Juniper stands with her palm extended, holding her wife’s coat.
Red lights flash as Ares slowly moves in, clutching Aegis tight against its body. Upon command, the beast releases it prey, continuing along to its berthing. The hangar shakes from the damaged behemoth collapsing onto the ground. Heavy damage marks the corpses body, though the pilot should still be alive.
Laila saw to that much.
Turning her attention to the hound, she greets Juniper with a warm smile. “Thank you, love.” Laila turns her back, allowing the hound to drape the coat over shoulders. “Come, we should see to Eris.” 
“Sir, I—” Juniper starts, but doesn’t finish her thought. “Coming.” It’s said quietly, pathetically. Sorry June, but there’ll be time later.
Down the far end of the catwalk, past what would be Ixion’s berthing, rests Ares. Its reactor finally shutting down at long last, with a tired burst of steam from its exhaust ports. Its body is marked by jagged wounds across its armor, blood stains bringing a splash of color to the dark beast, and so many blast scars across its entire body. The result of a successful deployment of the hound.
The boarding pier extends and Ares’ hatch opens, meaning that it’s time to collect Eris. Inside the darkened cockpit, a blood soaked beast sits, staring vacantly ahead. Blood stains liter her muzzled face, a dead expression in her eyes. There is no acknowledgment of the light invading the cockpit, or the two bodies staring at her. Just a vacant silence.
“Eris.” Laila clicks her tongue. “Still alive in there?” 
No response. Hm.
Boots click against the metal catwalk signaling Her approach. No time to disconnect the hound then. “Just what did the hound drag in?” Epsilon muses with a dark chuckle. Stopping short of Ares’ berthing, She stares into the open hatch. “Why is Eris still connected?”
Straight to the point as always with Her, just have to love it. No pleasantries, not even a ‘how do you do?’; it’s honestly refreshing, given how so many rebel commanders wanted to dance around the issue at hand. Too many of them saw the ace status and treaded lightly, afraid to damage morale in the slightest.
Laila shrugs. “Can’t say I know.” Half-truth at best. More than likely Eris is still piecing her psyche back together. After all, the leash was used and she did wind up creating such lovely carnage.
“Eris,” Epsilon takes a sharp tone. “Disconnect. It’s time to return to me, after all you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?” 
The cable in Eris’ neck disengages, she attempts to stand, immediately collapsing onto the ground. “S-Sir, I… I…” She wheezes, staring with tired eyes. Hm, may have been pushed too hard. 
“Rest now, I’ll have the vets retrieve you. You’ve done wonderfully, Eris.” Epsilon turns Her attention back to Laila. “Imagine my surprise to see that unit again. My, you are full of surprises Iota.”
“Oh, I do try to keep you on your toes,” Laila smirks. “I’ll submit my debriefing later, for now however, I want to meet my newest acquisition.” She clicks her tongue. “Come along, Juniper.” 
Across the catwalk and down an elevator leads to hangar floor, where Aegis lay in the middle of it, on its back staring up at the ceiling. The surviving Belos are being tended to on the far right end of the hangar, though the headless one already has maintenance teams surrounding it—looks like they’re in for a long night.
Boots slam against the hangar floor, piquing her interest long enough to see a pilot in a black flight suit charging at her. “Juniper, off the leash,” Laila commands without a seconds delay. The beast lunges for its prey, pummeling them before they can get even an inch closer.
Hound snarls, laying punch after punch onto its prey. If not for the muzzle, oh it would be quite the bloodbath. “Juniper, to me.” The command is given, Juniper returns; Laila turns her attention to the pilot. “You, state your name and rank.”
Ashen-blonde hair, shorter than her; definitely weaker judging by the thin frame. “Fuck you!” The pilot screams at the top of her lungs, struggling to pick herself up. “I’ll fucking end you right now!”
“That’s cute,” Laila chuckles. “Threatening a superior officer? I could have you court martialed for that one.” Oh, but she’s going to do much worse.
“Superior Officer? Don’t make me laugh! You’re just some rebel shitstain!” The pilot barely manages to pick herself up, before making another attempt at assault. Her CO, an older woman with white hair, holds her back. “Let go of me! I’m going to—”
“Warrant Officer Bion, stand down!” 
Bion? Oh, this is getting interesting. “Juniper, on the leash.”
Bion struggles to break free of her CO’s grip, but eventually the struggling subsides. Hah, at least she’s entertaining. “I’m feeling generous Bion, so I won’t have you court martialed. Do you really think one loss is reason enough to strike a superior officer?” Laila smiles so sweetly at her foe, after all, she’s already won.
“You’re just some rebel cunt! You didn’t know Rani! Didn’t care for her like I did!” Bion screams, her face turning red from tears. 
Bion? Why does that name sound so familiar?
“Aurora?” Juniper mutters, staring at Bion. “Y-You were… a traitor?”
Nostrils flare, Bion makes a fresh attempt to break free of her CO’s hold. “YOU FUCKING MUTT! KEEP THAT NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, OR SO HELP ME GODS!” Screaming at the top of her lungs, Bion lunges for Juniper, only for Laila to finally intervene with a gut punch.
“Commander, take your subordinate to the infirmary, she’s clearly not feeling well.” Laila reaches down petting Juniper. “Ah, and Bion? Since you’re so insistent on fighting me, I’ll give you a chance: 1100 hours tomorrow. Pilot’s gym. I’ll let you get in all the hits you want, but we’ll be playing by my rules, understand?”
“F-Fuck you, you fucking cunt!” Bion coughs up blood, slapping away her CO’s hand to pick herself off of the floor. Oh quite the feisty one this mutt. She’ll be fun to play with.
The eyes of the hangar are upon them, but let them be, who cares? The Spec-Ops Commander offers Laila a salute. “Sir, I apologize for my subordinate’s behavior, she’s not usually this—” Laila silences the commander’s apologies with a hand.
“You’re dismissed, Commander.”
“Sir.” The commander salutes, following after Bion.
Now that one problem is dealt with, it’s time to watch the show. “Bust open the Aegis’ cockpit,” Laila yells to the mechanics choosing to stand around. “I want a glimpse of my new prize.”
They’re quick to obey, rushing over with saws, getting straight to work on breaching the hatch. Juniper winces at the sight, holding onto Laila. “S-Sir, do I have to watch this?” Residual fear from when they cracked open Ixion most likely. 
“Unfortunately you do, love.” It’s said in a reassuring tone, all while stroking June’s dirty blonde hair, twirling a strand around with gloved fingers. “Oh, but don’t worry, okay? You’re mine now, and forever. We’ll never be apart again.”
“Yes, Sir,” Juniper responds quietly, burying her hand into her jacket pocket. “That Warrant Officer… she reminded me of Aurora Bion. She was the third member of Wardog—my Wardog, Sir.” 
“Oh?” Laila raises an eyebrow, humming. She had a handful of run-ins with Aurora Bion, but never much of conversation. “If I recall correctly, she dyed her hair frequently?”
The mechanics are struggling to cut through the Aegis hatch, yelling something about needing more blades. Progress is very slow, as a result. At least they’re entertaining, right?
Juniper nods. “Yes, Sir, she had blue streaks last I saw. We never spoke much, but the warrant officer looks and sounds almost identical to her.”
“Duly noted, thank you, June.” Laila pets her wife’s head, fingers slowly snaking down towards the neural port. A light gasp escapes the hound’s mouth, grinding against the sensation to no avail. “Aw, Junebug,” she cackles. “Tell me you love me, and I’ll let you fuck my boot.”
“I love you Handler, Sir! I love you so much! I’ve been in love with you since I was a merc working on rebel dime!” Juniper loudly sobs out her confession, painfully unaware of her surroundings.
Laila’s grin grows, staring down at her wife. “Are you going to fail me again?”
“N-No, Sir! Please, I’ll never fail you again! I promise!” The sobbing only grows more pathetic. This is what the famed Angel of Death has been reduced to, if there were any questions left as to where her loyalties lie, they’ve since been cleared up. 
“Oh? You promise?” She hums. “Then I want you to do something for me: You’re going to break in the new acquisition. Just give them the ol’ rebel charm, okay?” 
This display of power hits Laila where it hurts: her heart. Juniper doesn’t deserve this, nor does she deserve much of what is happening to her. “Deserve” is a funny word, though, does anyone deserve anything? Truly it doesn’t matter what she “deserves”. Juniper is a dog, much like these insignificant dogs gawking at the maintenance teams breaching Aegis. Oh, but there’s a key difference here: she has value, they don’t
“Come on then, love, you want my boot?” Laila points down to her boot, giving her beloved a bright smile.
Wordlessly, Juniper wraps her arm around around Laila’s thigh. A weak, pathetic whimper slips free from the muzzle of a mutt that even now, Laila still loves. How could you not love that pathetic face buried beneath the muzzle? After all, they’re married and it’s until death do they part. No sooner. 
Even as that muzzle is pressed deeper and deeper into her thigh in some shameful attempt to muffle the moaning, Laila just lets it happen. After all, Juniper is nothing but a dog enjoying her treat. People are staring, watching the bane of their existence fuck the boot of a bitch they absolutely can’t stand. Good, let them.
The background noise of saws cutting comes to a halt, maintenance teams atop the corpse shout, swiftly followed by the sound of hammers picking up in their place. When the hatch is at last popped, Laila clicks her tongue. Juniper whimpers, but obeys without question.
Gas masked security forces swarm the hatch, pointing their rifles at the newly formed incision. “Ma’am, your orders?” One of the gas masked personnel ask.
“Tear gas,” Laila smirks at the security officer. “Ensure my little prize is well acquainted with it.” 
“Ma’am.” The security team fire two bursts of tear gas into the cockpit after ensuring everyone nearby is clear. Seconds later, their guns are pointed inwards, shouting can be heard as one of them pulls out the pilot. Minimal resistance, most likely critically wounded, given how dealing with a rampaging Ares went for this mystery pilot. Tossed onto the cold hangar floor, the mystery pilot painfully groans.
What an acquisition. Pale white skin, as if she hasn’t seen the sun once in her life. Shorter than Juniper, but not so much shorter than it much matters. Underweight build, to the point that it looks like she was on the verge of starvation. Sunken, bloodshot, teary eyes with heavy bags underneath, probably hasn’t slept much. Her face is covered in a mask of dried crimson. Though, that dirty blonde hair down the midpoint of her back certainly draws attention. And the denim vest with the Wardog emblem on the back of it?
Definitely a fangirl.
“Juniper,” Laila lovingly calls. “Let’s welcome the new intake, shall we?” 
Tired eyes stare up at her. “C… Captain Pr… Praxian?” Raspy voice, most likely hasn’t had any water. “I-Is that…” A security officer beats her with the blunt end of their gun, barking orders to stay down or else. 
“Stand down, I’ll take it from here.” With the fakest smile she can muster, Laila squats down to the captive’s level, whispering, “yeah, the one and only. I don’t have much time, so listen, these bastards are going to squeeze you for whatever info they can. For right now, though, I need you to play along okay?” Laila stands back up, staring down at the prisoner. “I went through the trouble of rescuing you, so I suppose you could be polite enough to give me your name?”
Those tired amber eyes stare up at her, barely registering the light of the hangar. “Go, go to hell… bitch.”
Ahahaha, gods, Laila is such a bitch!
“Aw, that’s adorable. You and I are going to be the best of friends. Security, get this runt out of my sight,” Laila commands. “Take her down to the kennels, and have the vets patch her up. I’d like to have a conversation with her.” 
“Ma’am.” The security officer salutes, and two of them drag off the wounded rebel, who is far too out of it to fight back. Probably best she get treatment first, then Laila can have her fun breaking in this new mutt.
“Just what have you gotten yourself into, Iota?” Epsilon darkly muses, placing a hand onto Her apprentice’s shoulder.
“Why whatever do you mean, dear mentor?” Laila rolls her eyes.
Epsilon chuckles. “Oh, you know what I mean. I’m sure it will be fascinating to watch.”