Time has lost all meaning. No light in here, let alone a clock. Can’t even sleep because, despite the pitch blackness of this cell, Juniper hasn’t been allowed to sleep. Every damn time she tries, her restraints shock her awake. The clank of chains every time she jolts to wakefulness tells her she's not standing any time soon. It's been like this, Juniper stuck kneeling, ever since they pulled her from *Ixion*'s cockpit.

How long has it been? Days, maybe a week, now?

Hard to say, exactly, but she remembers waking up with her hands bounds to her chest. A straitjacket, based on how confined her movement is. Her flightsuit is gone, replaced with something open, exposed. A hospital gown? Difficult to be certain. The way her knees bite into the floor as she's kneeling tell her modesty isn't the goal, though. Laila’s dog tags are still there, which is a blessing in and of itself. She feels their weight around her neck now more than ever.

Ugh, did Laila escape from Argos?

Yeah, she had to have ejected. Probably nursing her wounds, waiting to plan the rescue mission. At least this’ll be a good story in the hospital; to whoever listens to this deranged fuck tell it. Provided she gets out. It’s far too quiet in here for a prison cell. Probably just somewhere to hold her, until they can extract information. Not that that’s going to work; she’s not about to sell out her comrades. But then, she might *not* have a choice.

Always rumors of Imperials having some “truth drug”, but it’s bullshit, right?

Juniper wants to laugh, but laughing hurts right now. Admittedly, so does much of her body. The sharp, stabbing pain tells her she's broken a rib. The slickness underneath her straitjacket tells her it might be worse: a slow bleed. There’ll be time enough to panic when she's out of here. Just need to hold out until then.

Easy.

***

Some interminable period later, after she's been jolted awake a dozen times, Juniper’s stomach begins to ache. They’ve taken to starving her, it seems. Nobody's come to give her water, but the tug and the twinge of pain in her left arm every time she staggers awake tells her there's an intravenous line. She must be getting the barest amounts of fluids and electrolytes, just enough to keep her head throbbing and her mind slow. And, to make matters worse, there’s something heavy and metallic on her face.

When? Had it always been there?

“Good morning, Lieutenant Sladek. I’m hoping we might be able to have a discussion.” Gods, it’s that insane bitch from Druzi. Juniper would recognize that voice anywhere. The slight accent, the emotionless tone. It’s far too dark in here to see anyone or anything for that matter.

She isn’t even here, is she?

No, it’s clearly an illusion made by a concussed brain. She ignores it, hoping this pain in her head finally goes away. Really shouldn’t have slammed into the console like that, but then rationality has long since failed to be her strong suit. Anxious thoughts flare up, and she has to fight to keep herself from giving into them.

Is Laila safe? She has to be safe. Has to be. Please.

“I said, 'Good morning, Lieutenant Sladek.'” A sudden shock rips through Juniper’s body, forcing out a scream. Unlike before, it doesn't stop once she's torn from sleep into wakefulness — the current sparks through her body, so intense her restraints give off a dim glow. She can see the walls, no more than a few feet on either side, before the pain gets too intense and she has to shut her eyes. Her body thrashes, spasming as tears stream down her face; she wants desperately to be put out of her misery.

Juniper isn't sure when it stops, only that it does.

"Let's try that again. Good morning, Lieutenant Sladek." Bitch.

“G... good... m... m... morning...” Her voice comes out raspy, having screamed herself hoarse.

Her captor's laughter echoes through the small cell. “Normally I would appear in-person for an interrogation, but I’ve decided to take my time with you. You, my dear Lieutenant, interest me in a way so few manage to.”

“W... Who are... you?”

“My name right now isn’t important; however, to keep things relatively polite, you will refer to me as ‘Sir.’"

Juniper sneers at the title.

‘Sir?’ What is she going on about?*

Her captor continues to monologue. "I’m certain you’re wondering why you’re here, and it’s quite simple: My superiors want you dead. I, however, want information. I know you're hurting. If you work with me, I assure you I will get you medical care.”

Juniper recalls the pain in her side. She's bleeding out. Despite the pain, all she wants is sleep. Maybe if she answers the questions she'll get it. “Fine... what do you want from me?” Another shock. Fucking bitch. "What do you want from me, Sir," she says through gritted teeth.

Her captor lets out a satisfied "hmmm" before continuing. “Let’s start with something basic: name, rank, and serial.”

'Sir' knows this, so why...?

“Lieutenant J... Ju... Juniper Sladek..." Her head hurts. "S-Sorry, I— My head is killing me.” She breaths deep in an attempt to ignore the pain. Every second she speaks, her head splits open a bit more. The low throb of her headache's grown to be and insistent, stabbing pulse. “S-Sir!”

She expects anger from this ‘Sir’, maybe another shock, but nothing of the sort. “Take your time, after all: the longer it takes, the longer you go without medical care. I would hate to see you bleed out.” Soft venomous words fill the air.

Juniper breaths deep, calming her unsteady nerves. “Lieutenant Juniper Sladek, I... I don’t know my... my serial... please...” Another shock tears through her; this one feels more like she’s been hooked up to a generator. Her body is a live wire, the glow in the room bright enough she can see the glint off the camera lens. She sees herself reflecting in it, and something that must be a trick of the light. It can't be what she thinks, hanging heavy off her face.

“Mm, apologies, I should have been clearer. When I said to call me ‘Sir’, I was not asking. I was demanding you do so. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?” There is no warmth to be found in this woman’s voice, only a cold venom.

“Y-Yes, Sir...” Juniper strains against her bindings, even as she knows it's pointless to try.

“Remember, Lieutenant: if you answer my questions correctly, I’ll see to it that you receive adequate medical treatment. Perhaps I’ll even see to it that you’re released from your bindings. I would hate to turn you over to my superiors, after all.”

“Yes, Sir...” Juniper wants to cry and fight and do so, so much, but she can’t. ‘Sir’ is bluffing, it’s so damn obvious. These Imperials are all the fucking same. There's no way to win, though. No game to play except this one. So Juniper plays it. Answers, but just enough to satisfy.

“Your mission in Aurelia, who tipped you off?”

Laila, where are you? I... I need you.

“...Coeus. Info broker, I... I don’t know more, y-you have to believe me!” Juniper winces, expecting another round of pain. But yet again, it does not come. Did... Did she do good? “S-Sir! P-Please, d-don’t shock me!”

“I believe you, lieutenant, don’t worry. However, if you want those wounds tended to, I’ll need further information. Just *how* did you infiltrate?” Sir sounds as if she’s bored by this.

Gods, this fucking creepy bitch.

Juniper stays silent. Coeus can go fuck herself; she’s sold them bad information multiple times, and there's no way she wasn't in on the ambush. Hope that bitch rots in hell where she belongs. But her comrades? No. She'll endure the pain this time. She's sure of it.

Sir tuts, delivering another piercing shock to Juniper. One breath, just one breath is all Juniper can hold out before— “OLD MILITARY PLANE! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! I DON’T KNOW THE DETAILS, BUT---AGHHHH GODS IT FUCKING HURTS!”

“Lieutenant, it’s in your best interest to tell the truth. Please, do keep in mind that my superiors would rather see you in front of a firing squad.” There’s that same bored tone again.

I'm sorry, Laila.

“OKAY! I’LL TELL YOU! I DON’T KNOW THE FULL DETAILS, BUT IT CAME FROM OUR BACKERS! THAT’S THE TRUTH! PLEASE, SIR, NO MORE!” She screams, finally giving in to the torture. It’s too much, she’s too banged up to fight back. “I... I don’t know who our backers are, but---“

Her babbling is interrupted with that emotionless voice again. “Oh, Lieutenant Sladek, I understand.”

“T... Thank you, Sir.” Juniper cries out. The pain will stop soon, right? As long as she doesn’t fight back, it has to. That thought should be comforting, but Juniper can’t help but feel worried. What if... what if Laila *didn’t* survive? Then *no one* will be coming to the rescue. Gods, please, let her be alright.

You better not have died on me, dammit. We had a dream. That had to mean something, right?

Juniper isn't sure when the pain stops, only that it does. And then it's quiet. Time passes. In the dark she slips through it, her only guide through it the silence. It’s been quiet for a few minutes now. Maybe it's years. Maybe seconds. She's not sure if she's awake.

***

She glides along the darkness until a buzzer breaks the unnerving silence, followed by the sound of locks turning. A blinding light follows it and she quickly closes her eyes. She forgot something could be this bright. It hurts, and she wants the darkness back. Easier in there. When it doesn't go away, and when it stops hurting, she opens her eyes.

Standing in the doorway is a person, no, a... a dog? They’re wearing a black dog hood with glowing red eyes. It’s unnerving, both the hood and how still this person is. Only then does the color of Dog-Hooded Person's jumpsuit ram into Juniper's consciousness: rebel green. Not a uniform per se, but a common color.

"Wh- what the fuck is this?" Juniper's tongue catches on the word before she adds, "S-Sir!"

An electronic hiss fills the room, so much louder than it should be. Then, Sir's voice: “I really must applaud you, Lieutenant. After all, you gave me such a lovely show in Druzi. Not only was my hound slain, but by the ‘Angel of Death’ no less.” Gods, she hates that moniker. Rebels gave her the nickname after Rio Canyon.

Well over forty dead Imperials when the dust settled. Didn’t wind up mattering: they fought hard, but were forced to retreat when imperial reinforcements flanked them. Heavy losses. So many dead, and for what?

“Hound? Is that..." Juniper tries to gesture, but it's pointless.

"No. I wouldn't have sent her for such menial work... but even disappointments can be useful." The Dog-Headed Person stands there, unmoving, except for a tremble in their hands at the word 'disappointments'. Not a word said between them, but it’s as if they’re sizing her up.

"Do your job, mutt," comes Sir's voice, so loud now it feels like it's broadcasting from inside Juniper's skull. Her head pulses with awful pain, mind splitting open and leaking out into the inky black of the cell behind her. When she's able to force her eyes back open, The Dog-Hooded Person — this mutt, as Sir calls them — has knelt down to stare into Juniper’s eyes. It still says nothing.

Gods, just the way those red eyes pierce her very being make her feel sad. Not just for her own predicament, but for *them.* There’s not much light, even with the door open, but there’s enough to see their jumpsuit has no patches on it; there's only pockmarks from they’ve been ripped off. Staring into those eyes, Juniper finds herself wondering if this is her fate. Not even a person anymore, just a blank face underneath a hood.

A disappointment, but a useful one.

It’s just as Juniper tries to speak that a needle pierces her neck and something warm rushes in from the syringe. The touch of the Dog-Hooded Person, the light graze on her neck, feels... familiar. Makes her think of better times, back when it was easier to feel hopeful.

Laila...?

But that’s when the paralyzing darkness sets in. Her eyes feel so very heavy, she just wants to sleep. She could try to fight it again, but her body goes limp in her bindings anyway. If she could laugh right now, she would have to. Doesn’t matter, does it? It’s all meaningless.

She’s just going to close her eyes and... sleep.

***

Hazy. Bright lights, figures, spots on the edges of her vision. She’s cold, so fucking cold; this isn’t the same room she was being held in, that much she can ascertain. She's still in a straitjacket, and there’s still something on her face; but at this point it doesn't feel as uncomfortable. It's not as heavy. She just wants more sleep. However much she got wasn’t enough. And she’s still so very hungry.

The pain is gone, though. Her body doesn’t feel like it’s burning up, and her head isn’t threatening to split open. Means they at least gave her medical attention. Hard to tell how long she’s been out for, but they clearly did something to her. She feels... off. Painkillers? Something else? Fuck, she has to hope the “truth drug” rumors aren’t real; who knows what that *mutt* drugged her with. That's what Sir called her, right? Mutt?

Sir.

Despite the way her head swims, enough clarity returns that Juniper remembers: she's been captured. She needs to run. She tries to stand, but once again the clank of chains tell her that any chance at that left long ago. Her pitiful display brings with it laughter; all she can hear is the sound of that bitch laughing. Juniper's eyes can't focus, so all she sees is darkness swallowing up the light as Sir steps closer.

“Open rib fracture, fever, and a concussion... and that's to say nothing of your panic attacks and anxiety." A leather gloved hand lifts Juniper's chin up, forcing her to stare at her captor. "I must say, Lieutenant: your diagnoses are quite the adventure to read.” As Juniper's eyes finally begin to adjust, she sees Sir so clearly. She’s wearing an odd uniform: a leather trench coat that’s as black as the night sky with a golden pin on the collar in the shape of a muzzle; a black button-up peeking out underneath where the coat's been cinched and buttoned up; and leather boots that gleam with a mirror shine. Her snow white hair hangs well past her shoulder. Certainly looks the part of an Imperial.

“Who... are you?” Juniper slurs the words.

Sir ignores Juniper's question, and places her other hand on Juniper's chest. “Ah, but then there are your lungs: Artificial, yet you smoke? How daring. I have to wonder just how you afforded that.”

“Did some unsavory jobs; did things I’m not proud of, Sir.” Juniper struggles against her bindings, in a foolish attempt to free herself. If she can just get free, she can escape. That’s all it’ll take, right?

That’s how you get by in life, doing shit you’re not proud of.

Sir stands, and when she leaves Juniper's line of sight the light is too bright again. There's a scrape of metal against the floor. A chair. Sir places it a few feet away, then sits down across from Juniper. She looks like she's already decided she's won.

“Come now, Lieutenant Sladek. I’ve treated your wounds, so I believe we’re even now, are we not?”

Juniper swallows hard, sighing. “Yes, Sir.” The response is automatic, as if she had no a choice but to answer.

“Very good, Lieutenant. See how easy things become when you’re truthful?” Sir smirks. “Though, I do wonder: Do you think about the screams of those you’ve killed? The people they left behind? The mistakes you’ve made?” Her sharp gaze penetrates deep into the captive pilot’s soul.

Juniper groans, closing her eyes in an attempt to center herself. When did the shaking first start? How about the panic attacks? Gods, it’s so hard to remember now. Sir already knows. “It’s literally all I can think about. When I close my eyes? I can hear the screams.”

“And yet, you celebrate their deaths by marking your skin. Five gold stars. Why?” There is not an ounce of judgment in that voice, just a simple curiosity that forces her to answer.

She breathes deep, staring at her captor. “Pride, I guess? I survived, they didn’t. I’m not proud of the shit I’ve done, but... I... I had to do something.”

“Pride..." Sir lets out a little hum after the word. It's the first time she sounds interested instead of bored. “You must be filled with so many questions. I’m feeling generous and will answer one. I would use it wisely, if I were you.”

“Laila Praxian.” Juniper’s hands tremble imagining the consequences of the question. “Did she eject after your ‘hound’ attacked? Where is she? D-Did you capture her!?”

Sir nods, taking in the question. She doesn't speak, but simply places a tablet on the floor in front of Juniper. The angle forces Juniper to bend down to view it, peering past her muzzle. Seeing it soothes something in Juniper, even as it feels... wrong to feel it. “Tell me what you think, Lieutenant. What happened to the pilot?” An image of Argos — or the remains of it, anyway — dominates the screen. One arm missing, another held onto the joint with only two wires.    The cockpit block is missing, meaning that there was an ejection.

That’s... that’s good news, right?

“She survived, right? Ejected at the last second, before your hound could finish the job? W-Why are you showing me this?”

Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be. Laila is safe, she has to be.

Sir laughs. “Ahh, denial, how sweet. I’ve been told that Praxian did eject before the finishing blow could be administered. However—” Juniper trembles staring at a picture of the cockpit block. Smashed to pieces by what looks like a wild beast.

NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo.

A piercing voltage of electricity runs through her body, causing Juniper to spasm in pain. Her knees scrape against the floor. It's only as the chains go slack that Juniper realizes how taut she pulled them. “Apologies, Lieutenant. Unfortunately, I’m simply being precautious. Painkillers have a tendency to make prisoners like you a bit... feral. Can't have you manage to break free and hurt yourself.”

“... She’s dead, isn’t she?” The color drains from Juniper's face at the question. It’s rhetorical, because she knows the answer. Laila is dead. Even if Sir doesn’t outright say it, it’s obvious from staring at the photo that no one could have survived.

Sir shrugs. “Quite the conclusion. And not the question I'd have asked."

"What...?"

Sir leans forward, smirking. “The question I'd have asked, Lieutenant, is this: who within your organization would benefit from selling out the infamous Wardog squadron?”

Pain rips through Juniper's mind again. Throbbing, insistent pain that's worse than anything she experienced in the dark. Her lungs seize.

"It was quite entertaining to watch the two of you struggle so valiantly, listening to you try to figure out how it went so wrong."

"H-how...?"

Sir licks her lips and smile. "I wonder what's worse: knowing she's dead; or, knowing that — if not for you — Laila Praxian would be alive." Sir presses a button on a small handheld device and Juniper braces for another shock. What happens is worse: an electronic hiss, then the dead speak to Juniper through the speakers in the room.

"June? Stand down, we can’t win here." It's Laila. From Druzi. From a secure line that only Wardog and those back at base had access to.

Laila is gone.

"We’ll come along willingly, if you agree not to attack," Laila says, her voice so beaten down.

Laila is gone.

"I know when we’ve been beat." There's something in Laila's voice. Juniper doesn't want it to be 'relief'.

Laila is gone.

"LIEUTENANT SLADEK, STAND DOWN!" The furious, desperate panic of Laila's words are too much for Juniper to bear; her body goes limp, wracked with sobs. Their dream is dead, and it’s Juniper’s fault. They were always skirting a fine line between life and death on the battlefield, that much happens when you’re a combat pilot. But if there was even a semblance of a chance of them escaping with their lives, she should have stood down.

“Dry your tears, Lieutenant, the important thing is that you survived.”

“Just... Let me die, so that I can be with her.” Life has no meaning without Laila in it. Her smile was enough to make things feel okay. That cute laugh brought more joy into Juniper’s life than anything.

“Oh, Lieutenant, I can’t let you die. Not yet, anyway.” Sir smirks, leaning back in her chair.

“What do you want from me? I... I’m no good. Y-You don’t understand anything about me!”

Sir laughs. “What is there to understand? You’re in immense pain, but I? I can fix you.”

Rebellious anger flares in Juniper's chest. Sir doesn’t understand the first fucking thing about pain. She's never seen her allies fall around her and be unable to save them. She's never been useless like Juniper. Rage overtakes sorrow, and Juniper attempts to lunge again. An electric current tears through her body, leaving her to scream in agony instead. Sir just watches, her smile growing more demented in the process. “There is that fire I saw. Such an intense anger. You may just prove to be the challenge I wanted.”

You’re just a feral beast, so why not give into your true nature?

Something about the words... There's spots in the corner of Juniper's vision. They never really left. Now they want Juniper's attention. Away from here. Away from the bitter, painful truth: no one is ever coming to save her. No one will mourn her.

And then another, even worse truth: Juniper Sladek is dead, so what does it matter if this woman wants to use her corpse?

In the end, it’s better this way.

All she ever did was hurt people. Sure, she tried to run from her pain, but it always caught up. This woman at least feigns an understanding, something most can’t even begin to comprehend. Laila was always the strong one, she would have been able to resist whatever they’re doing now.

It’s funny, if Juniper stares long enough into the nothingness of reality, she can see stars. The same stars that Juniper and Laila fell in love under. Her hands were never particularly soft, but on that night they were the softest thing that Juniper could hold. Would Laila have been able to save them?

Who knows?

Certainly not her, not anymore.

She just wants to lay here on the hill from her memory forever. It’s safe here. She doesn’t have to worry about anything. Her wife’s death was her own fault. Not even that matters now, though. The stars whisper their sweet nothings to her. They want to protect her, guide her somewhere better. With every little twinkle she loses a bit more of herself, but it’s okay. Her old self wasn’t any good.

They want her to serve a higher purpose, to serve someone who wants to *help* her. Would that be so bad? She could use the help. Even if Juniper isn’t deserving of her sympathy, it’s okay because Sir offers it nonetheless.

It wouldn’t be so bad to accept help for once, would it?

Sir seems like she knows what is best for Juniper, so it’s okay to let her in deeper. Nothing has to be hidden from her, like it was from Laila, because Sir doesn’t judge; because Sir only wants to *help.* She sees something that others never did, that *Laila* could never never. Sir sees someone useful, someone who doesn’t *have* to think anymore, only listen.

A corpse who can heed a command.

And, it’s rewarding. Juniper will listen to Sir, because that’s what a corpse is supposed to do. Listening is easy, listening and obeying feels right. It means that Sir will be pleased, which is all that someone broken could ask for.

The stars twinkle faster; the display is dizzying, yet Juniper finds herself lost in their beautiful radiance. It hurts her head to watch them flash, but that doesn’t matter anymore. These stars are just a way for Sir to resurrect this corpse and make it into something useful for her.

Usefulness...

Yeah, that... that sounds... good. Juniper was always useless, always weak, and always scared — even with her wife. But she’s being fixed, being turned into something that will actually be useful to someone.

‘All you need to do is let go. Can you do that, Lieutenant?’

That voice... that patient voice that forgives her a thousand times over. It’s so easy to obey it now; it’s second nature to give in and listen. If she’s supposed to let go, then she’ll do that. She’ll let go of her pain, watch it dissolve along with her guilt into the stars themselves. It feels good to obey those words, because they don’t judge her.

Ever since she wound up in here, that voice has been there to keep her from going insane.

Handler accepts her for the broken thing that she is, though. Handler wants to guide Juniper, help set her on a better path than the one she was on. Handler forgives Juniper’s guilt because She is forgiving.

‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant, this will only hurt a bit.’

***

Juniper remembers the sound of a drill digging into the nape of her neck. More darkness after that. Days or weeks later, she still feels the searing pain. Something metallic now rests in her neck. She’s unsure as to what it is, but a person in a lab coat promised that it would make everything better. A part of her wishes she could cry, but lately she’s found that impossible. Like every other emotion, she’s become numb.

It’s not all bad though, she was placed in a slightly bigger cell. No more bindings, not even a muzzle. She’s allowed to sleep on a cot. It doesn’t have a blanket, but she’s gotten used to the cold. A reminder of how she let go.

Corpses don't need warmth.

She feels... happier this way. If Laila could see her now, she would be happy that her partner is okay. That, despite how it started, Juniper embraced her end and wound up letting go of her guilt. Besides, she has someone to help ensure that she doesn’t need to feel guilty anymore.

Handler has promised to make it all go away, as long as she cooperates. As if it were possible to resist Her sweet words anymore. No, the time to fight Her is over. What would be the point now, anyway? Juniper isn’t Juniper anymore, she’s just a walking corpse.

It’s funny, the realization that Laila is dead should make Juniper feel sorrow. After all, she is the reason her partner is gone. It’s not that she can’t feel anything, it’s that the guilt of it is like a security blanket, keeping her safe. Laila is gone, it’s Juniper’s fault, but she can’t do anything about it anymore.

There’s nothing left for her in this world, anyway. She was always alone, always scared, trying so damn to hide her failings from everyone. A “hero” isn’t supposed to have a panic attack just from sitting in the cockpit. They’re not supposed to have thoughts of faking their death just to avoid fighting.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Juniper yawns, laying back on her cot, staring up at the dark ceiling of her cell. There’s a soft static tone that she finds herself getting lost in. It’s easy to do so, because when she closes her eyes and lets go her worries don’t exist anymore.

The fight is over, it’s okay to sink into the static and drown in it. Now, the way forward involves embracing the static, letting it wash over her. Easier if she drowns in it, so that whatever emerges from it, is someone who is capable of living up to Her expectations.

A lazy smile overtakes her expression, feeling the euphoria of nothingness wash over her. Physically her corpse is lying on a cot, but mentally, she’s drowning in the static tone. Whatever happens to her now, doesn’t matter.

Juniper Sladek is a corpse.

She can see that hill in her memories again: Bright, twinkling stars, each one of them has a static hiss that she can’t quite make out. Every second she spends listening, she can feel herself falling deeper into it. Despite the trembling of her hands, a soothing voices calms what fears still linger. Whatever they’re saying, doesn’t really matter, it feels right to listen to them. She’s promised to fix Juniper, and isn’t that enough?