Lost in a sea of static, Juniper finds herself at peace. It is the one gift She gives Juniper even in Her absence: numbness. The two are the same to Juniper now. Somewhere far away, there's the sound of a buzzer, followed by locks turning. Juniper sits upright, legs crossed on the cot, waiting. Expecting Her to walk in. As light begins to spill into her cell from the opening door, though, the sound of boots never make their presence known... and a twinge of rage breaks through the numbness. She's dreaming. Knowing it doesn't stop the anger.

It’s the menial, again, holding a tray of food for her. Laila's in the doorway, wearing that same damn pilot suit she died in.

“Why did you have to die? Why couldn’t we just fucking fake our deaths?” Her wife never responds. Standing there, leaning against the doorway with a soft smile to her expression.

“D... Don’t give me that look, okay!? I know I should have listened! I FUCKING KNOW!” It takes so much of her willpower to not immediately breakdown. “What was I supposed to do!? We couldn’t surrender! The two most wanted rebels in Kitala would be facing a firing squad! This is a mercy! She gave me mercy!”

Again, no response.

“I’m sorry, okay!? Is that what you wanted to hear!? I FUCKED UP!” She’s lost her sense of reality, but then, she’s always been insane, hasn’t she? “I... I was afraid. Afraid to lose you, to wind up all alone again and...” Juniper bursts into laughter, realizing just how alone she is. “You were right, you were always fucking right.”

The menial slowly makes their way into her cell, and Juniper readies herself. Every day, the two have the same, one-sided conversation. Weeks of this now since Juniper gave in to Her Laila pushes off from the door and saunters closer. The menial sets down the tray, but Juniper doesn’t take her eyes off of the wretched creature. Laila sits down next to her, and Juniper cannot help but gaze lovingly at her. “...I’m sorry.” She speaks quietly — for their sake, but also for her own. The whisper helps her to dissociate action from intent.

Lets it get lost in the static. The static that was supposed to protect her from this.

Laila only sits there, with that same fucking smile she always wore. The one that made her so fucking kissable. “Why won't you say anything? Please, Laila. Please just say something!”

The menial tilts their head, confused by her words. They obviously don’t speak. Maybe they’re gagged or they’re a mute. It doesn't matter. Instead, they stare at Juniper with red, glowing eyes. It's a kind of recognition that's plagued her ever since they first stepped into Juniper's cell. What the menial's doing every day isn't just an act of service to a broken woman, it's a show of solidarity to a fellow prisoner of war. And it rips at the peace Juniper is supposed to have.

The door is still open, light spilling into the room. It would be so easy for Juniper to run and escape the silence that's beginning to strangle her. But why bother? They know just as well as her that she won’t run — that’s why the door is still open, why this “conversation” is happening.

“Please will you just talk to me.” Juniper clutches her dog tags tight. “I know I’m supposed to embrace Her. I don't want to end up like you.” Juniper reaches out a hand, touching Laila on her cheek. Warm leather greets her, not skin. Juniper regards her hand. "Laila, what...?" Sleep-addled fog clears from her mind, the confusion fading.   

She looks back to Laila, and yanks her hand away as if it'd been scalded. Her wife is dead. Juniper killed her with her failure. There is no Laila. Corpses don't get happy endings. The Dog-Hooded Menial continues to stare at her; even when Juniper turns away, their attention is focused only on her.

It should be unnerving, but there’s nothing to feel. Or, should be nothing to feel. Any emotions Juniper had are Hers now. Juniper cannot have them without Her. She brings Juniper numbing peacefulness, and this thing makes her feel — especially in the hangover from whatever terror brought Laila Praxian briefly back from the dead. It makes her mad. It makes her scared. Every breath the menial draws feels as though it's done in mockery; it calls out the lies Juniper tells herself to make all of this okay. It makes Juniper Sladek a human being, and not a corpse.

It pities you, just like everyone else does.

Tears burn at the corner of Juniper's eyes. Embarrassment and shame twisting inside her. “Gods, I’m sorry, okay? I know I failed. I'm just as much of a disappointment now as I was before Her. I failed Eris. I failed Laila when she needed me most. I fail everyone, and I’m forced to survive. Do you know how that feels? I... I’m tired of it.” They still don’t respond, not even a fucking nod. Juniper begins to hyperventilate, any pretense at numbness gone. “Just... JUST ANSWER ME! I... I can’t deal with this anymore! Don’t you fucking understand!?”

Of course it doesn’t, she was a fucking insane moron to think this, this thing would entertain the mad ravings of a lunatic. “I SAID ANSWER ME, DAMMIT! JUST... JUST... ANSWER ME YOU FUCKING MONGREL!

Every second they continue to stare at her, the anger begins to boil over. What the fuck happened? Wasn’t she supposed to be free? No, of course not, it’s all a fucking lie.

Come on, unleash your rage on this thing, isn’t that what you want?

Juniper pushes the hooded-menial to the ground, throwing a punch at their glowing red eyes. It doesn’t matter where her hits land, what matters is that she’s making this thing hurt. All she wanted was a fucking response, some acknowledgment that she wasn’t insane. But this fucking mongrel couldn’t even nod!

Just like that, make it hurt.

Her fists hurt from repeated strikes, but she keeps going landing whatever hit she can. If it doesn’t want to talk to her then fine — she’ll make it hurt. She’ll make everyone fucking hurt.

“IF YOU’D FUCKING ACKNOWLEDGE ME I WOULDN’T HAVE TO KEEP DOING THIS, YOU FUCKING MONGREL!” She screams, throwing another punch at that same damn eye. No matter how much she hits, they don’t even whimper. What the fuck is wrong with this thing?

It’s mocking you.

“FUCKING SAY SOMETHING AND I’LL STOP! I-I’LL FUCKING STOP!” Juniper’s fist slams into that same glowing eye again and again, until it reveals the flesh underneath: Pale dark skin, a single green eye. Something like this should make her want to stop, but that rage keeps building. She can’t stop, not until this fucking thing feels her pain.

Kill it, June. Avenge me.

Her hands grip its throat, strangling it in an attempt to get them to finally fucking react. “Just... Just say something. Do something... please...”

“My, my, Juniper! I didn’t expect you to attack a menial.”

How long has She been watching from the door? It doesn’t matter now. Juniper keeps swinging wildly until the rage disappears, leaving her with the shame of what she just did. She stares at her trembling hands, staring at the blood dripping from her knuckles. “I... I’m sorry...”

“Oh? For?” Handler raises an eyebrow.

What isn’t she sorry for? “All I ever do is cause bloodshed, don’t I?”

“You do.” Handler grins. “But I forgive you, Juniper Sladek.”

“But, I, I just...” Juniper stares down at the bloodied and beaten menial. “I attacked someone...”

“Did you?” Handler tilts Her head. “It seems to me that all you did was let your aggression out on something deserving of it. After all, it never answered you, did it?”

“Y-Yeah, you... you’re right.” That doesn’t seem right, but Juniper can’t argue because when has She ever lied?

Handler pets her head, offering a soft smile. “Would you like to learn why this thing wears a mask?”

Juniper nods, staring down at the bloodied menial laying on the ground.

“This is what happens to failures.” She chuckles, staring at the bloodied mess. “Time and time again, I offered it a chance to redeem itself. Yet, this pitiful thing never accepted it. Quite a shame, really.”

“W-Will I—”

Handler smiles, shushing Juniper with a gloved finger. “No, of course not. You have the potential to exceed my expectations. I chose you for a reason, Juniper.”

Even with the reassurance, she can’t stop staring at the product of her aggression. It felt good to hurt it. The numbness is a gift, is Her gift, but hurting them made Juniper Sladek something other than a corpse. It made Juniper something more than whenever she'd been 'alive' before this. She would bloody herself again and again if it means that She would be happy. What She wants is all that matters now.

“Now then, would you like to finish your meal?” Handler smiles warmly, offering Juniper comforting words.

“Please, sir, I... I’m hungry...” She’s crying. Juniper doesn’t know why, but she can’t stop.

“Very well! I’ll be back for you soon, I promise. For now, enjoy your meal.” Handler walks out without another word. The menial crawls behind Her, too ashamed to even stare at Her. The door doesn't lock shut behind them. It's a sign of Her trust.

Juniper sighs, staring at her bloodied knuckles a little longer. She says it’s okay, that it wasn’t wrong. Of course, She’s right, so why does she feel so... guilty? Whatever that thing was, it was once a person. So, why doesn’t she feel remorseful?

It’s because you’re a beast.

Yeah, she is a beast. It’s easy to embrace reality because a beast wouldn’t feel remorse. Guilt, sure: she feels guilty for bloodying her hands. Even for letting Laila die. But remorse? Fuck, no.

Back when Wardog were invincible, they’d come home with some damage, but— Ugh. Get your head together, Sladek, there’s no point in thinking about the past anymore.

There's no point in being human.

Its with another sigh that Juniper starts to finally eat from her tray. In beating the menial, she snapped the flimsy plastic utensil it'd set near the tray. Not that she'd need it. Juniper scoops up a handful of rice and beans from the tray, brings it to her mouth, and feasts. The taste is almost right, barely a trace of bitter industrial astringent clinging to her tongue. Then another flavor mingles in as she licks her palm: blood. Tangy, tart iron.

Her hunger takes on a different dimension and Juniper feels the compulsion to eat more. She scoops up more, eating greedily and then licking again. No more blood. She's cleaned her palm. There's more on on her knuckles. Her tongue starts lapping at it and soon even the her hunger takes a seat to emotions far more primal. Emotions only fit for a beast puppeteering the corpse of a human: the blood makes her remember Laila.

Juniper has lost her mind and only continues to breakdown when she unzips her pants. If her wife’s vision won’t leave her alone, then she’ll just have to desecrate it. That’ll fix everything, right? Yeah, that, that makes sense to her.

Once her hand slips into her panties, everything feels right, or it’s supposed to. Why? Why doesn’t it feel good? Why can she only continue thinking about Laila? Her smile. How fucking quick to a joke she was. That kindness she showed everyone.

Gods, her tits. When it was just the two of them, she was not afraid to show them off. She wasn’t trans, or at least, Juniper doesn’t think so—she never actually asked.

Drool drips down onto her skin, too lost in her own fantasies to notice. That night before everything, they fucked and it was incredible. Laila was always so beautiful. Even moreso when she topped. Her strap-game was unmatched.

Just thinking about that makes the drool fall faster. She was rough in bed, always finding new ways to get Juniper to shout her name. There was one time where they fucked in Ixion’s cockpit. Gods, just thinking about that now makes her so hard. It was the perfect night, they had finished a patrol and she ushered Laila over into the cockpit, where they immediately started fucking.

The way she moaned out Juniper’s name for a change was what immediately drove her over the edge. It took weeks to clean the cockpit afterwards. But it was so damn worth it.

Before Laila, Juniper had never eaten cunt before. But she got good at it and fast, just to hear how loud her wife could scream. Lucky for them that their quarters were on the far end of the base, away from everyone else.

When they fucked, it left them being drenched in sweat after. Sweat that she was more than happy to clean off of her partner’s perfect body. And then there were her armpits, they smelled amazing after sex.

Every thought focuses on Laila’s armpits — their smell, their taste, how she would force her wife’s face into it after a workout. Neither of them were exactly vanilla, but they were fucking freaks together. They were more like master and pet than just two lovers at times, and it drove them both crazy. It’s enough to make this pitiful mess climax, staining her hands with cum.

Why did Laila have to die?

Should have been me, my life has no meaning, anyway.

Juniper sobs out her wife’s name, curling up on the floor in her own shame. She... she desecrated the memory, masturbating to good memories. Worthless, she’s worthless. It’s no wonder everyone around her dies, she’s weak and worthless. That’s why she’s always so damn alone. Juniper slips into the unconsciousness as fatigue rolls like a fog through her body.

When she awakens again, she notices something in the corner next the doorway. It looks like... her jacket? It’s folded neatly, stacked on-top of a pair of pants and a tank top. For the first time in... weeks? Maybe months? She’s been given clothes. Did She... no, it must have been here already. This has to mean something, but the answer is lost on Juniper.

It's comforting to wear her jacket again, even her lighter is still in there. Handler is too kind to her. The pants are just imperial regs, but they feel more comfortable than the old khaki fatigues she’d wear. They feel right in a way that sets Juniper's teeth on edge. Then the static reaches up and pulls her under.

The door clanks open. This time, there's the telltale footfalls of Her boots. Juniper goes to stand, but stops herself. Sir hasn't given her the order. So she waits, even as a whimper slips past her lips. The sound of Handler's boots stop, and Juniper can't help but look at Her. Handler gives her a cursory once over and smiles. “Now then, up. I have one more gift for you. One that I’m certain you’ll quite enjoy.”

The walk through the kennels isn’t long, but it’s unnerving. How long has she been down here for? Weeks? Months? Time has lost all meaning. “Tell me something, Juniper: Your mech, Ixion. How exactly did you get your hands on it?” Handler most likely knows the answer, but wants to hear it from her. There hasn’t been time to think about Ixion since their capture. Hopefully they’ve treated it with some dignity.

“Needed money, so I raided an old archive. W— You Imperials just leave them unguarded."

"Oh? And did you get rich?" She knows the answer, but twists the knife anyway.

"No. All I found were schematics for a 'broken, unworkable' mech."

“Ahh, how ironic.” She laughs. “I believe you’ll be happy with the work done to it.” She presses her hand to a panel on the wall. It hums and glows for a moment before a chime sounds. Then the door rumbles open.

The first thing Juniper notices once they’ve gone through a security door, is the salutes. Personnel stand straight and salute Her. Even at full attention however, they make their resentment of the former rebel known with their glares. Once through another security door, the sudden bright lights hurt Juniper’s eyes. They’re in a hangar, that much she can tell, just from the smell of oil and sounds of hot work going on.

It’s larger than the hangar back at base was, that’s for sure. A lone mech bay rests at the far end of the hangar. “Do keep in mind that Ixion is not quite repaired yet. But I want you to take a look at it. Consider it a reward.”

Even from here, Juniper stares up at Ixion transfixed by it.

What stares back is a black beast like no other. Three white scratches lay across the Wardog emblem atop the upper chest. Sin lines: because she’s no longer a Wardog.

No longer a hero.

Two long, gull wings jut downwards from the engines along its waist. They replaced the stubby pair she'd scavenged from the wreck of a jet fighter and retrofitted. A similar set now sit atop twin engines mounted to the shoulders. Speed, not stability is key here.

Sleek, thin, reverse jointed legs give the machine a new appearance. No longer a proud rebel beast controlling the skies. She's a caged bird, spreading its wings with permission.

Scratches buffed out. Inadequacies replaced. An Imperial beast.

The Rebel died in Druzi, alongside her Captain.

Something else lies next to it. A weapon: Longer than anything she’s wielded before. Its pure white metallic body houses a thick downward sloped blade, that gleams purple in the light.

A Scythe.

Ixion now wields a scythe.

“What do you think?” Handler breaks Juniper from her fixation.

Juniper stares at the scythe for another moment before speaking. “I don’t want to question you, Sir, but... why a scythe?”

Her question is met with demented laughter. “Do you know the alternative name for ‘Angel of Death’?”

“The Grim Reaper, Sir."

“Exactly. You will be my reaper, cutting through swathes of enemies. It’s befitting of your moniker.” She regards Ixion as she says the words, but they nonetheless send a chill down Juniper’s spine. As if sensing She's being watched, Handler looks to Juniper. “I figured it fitting, being as they were unable to salvage your weaponry.”

The way She smiles is unnerving. Soft, almost understanding; yet still it’s like She’s taking joy from watching Juniper squirm with unease. All the same, Juniper knows whatever She has planned is for the best. This is the only way she can repent for her sins and clear her conscience.

The sound of a box being dropped echoes through the hangar, the barest stimuli before Juniper finds herself hurtling sideways through space. In a split second, she’s on the ground and everything hurts. Someone is attacking her, but she can’t defend herself — only lay there lifelessly to take the beating. “Sorry about this, just play along with it, okay?” her attacker whispers.

“You piece of shit!” They yell as fists beat against her body. Is this her punishment for failure?

Juniper catches a glimpse of Her as the person on top of Juniper continues their assault. Handler does not intercede. She looks bored, maybe a bit put out. “This is your only warning: Stand down.” Her words do nothing to stop the attack. Their fists continue to beat against the hound, while she can do nothing but scream in pain. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Juniper: “Off the leash.”

Those words force a change within Juniper. Her eyes drain of color and life, a glassy look overtaking them. Something is happening and she can’t stop it. It's like a pit forming where only she can only embrace it. Juniper Sladek dies and something else takes over: More animalistic and filled with a never-ending rage.

Hound.

JuniperHound snarls, ripping free from her shell at long last. She headbutts her attacker, pushing them off of her. Her hands wrap around the attacker’s neck, strangling them, until She steps in. “Hound, Heel. By my side.” Her words are law. They force JuniperHound to let go and take her place next to Handler.

“You, state your name and rank.” Handler glares at the attacker, waiting for them to obey.

They stand at attention and salute. “Warrant Officer, Mara Saparlo, Sir!”

“Warrant Officer, I’d like an explanation as to why you decided to attack my hound.” She reaches over, petting Hound’s head. “Do keep in mind, I can have you transfered if I decide your answer isn’t satisfactory.”

“Why!? Sir, have you looked at this fucking bitch!?” Warrant Officer Saparlo spits and stares. “Why in the fuck are you letting this rebel loose? You know she’s responsible for countless deaths, right!?”

JuniperHound stares, but doesn’t pay attention. It’s all meaningless words that she can’t understand, anyway. Dogs don't need to understand — they only need obey.

Handler laughs coldly, smirking. “I’ve personally seen to Juniper’s rehabilitation. She is of no threat to the Empire anymore.”

“Fuck right off, I’ve seen what she’s capable of.” The Warrant Officer is growing angrier by the second.

“Ah, I see! You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Handler thinks for a moment. “Those notions of revenge are pointless. Juniper Sladek died in Druzi.”

“Afraid!? Are you fucking insane!?” Warrant Officer Saparlo cracks her knuckles. “Nah, it’s not fear. That jacket? Those fucking stars on her collarbone? Even that same shitty hair. It’s all her. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this is Juniper Sladek.”

Handler says nothing, studying the Warrant Officer for a moment. “Physically, you would be correct. However, mentally? The human mind is quite malleable, you see.”

“Yeah, I don’t buy it for a second. Minute she snaps, we’re all fucked.” Warrant Officer Saparlo eyes JuniperHound cautiously. “Who’s to say that she’s not just waiting for a chance to attack!?”

Handler raises an eye eyebrow curiously. “She won’t.”

“Nah, you’re full of shit.” Warrant Officer Saparlo laughs, pulling a gun out and aiming at JuniperHound’s head. “Give me a reason not to blow her brains out.”

JuniperHound stares vacantly, not even noticing the gun. Really, it’s not that she doesn’t notice it, it’s that she doesn’t care. She’s just some dumb animal, fear isn’t something she knows.

The Warrant Officer shudders, staring at the hound. “W-Why isn’t... Why isn’t she reacting?”

Handler laughs again, much louder this time. “It’s as I said, she’s totally broken. The muzzle on her face? It’s for your safety, Warrant Officer. But if you’d like a practical demonstration, I can certainly—“

“No, I... I think I’m good.” A look of fear comes across the warrant officer’s face. The gun is withdrawn from the hound’s head and put back into its holster. “Just, tell me: Why is she here?”

Handler smiles wide with a chuckle. “As it so happens, Warrant Officer: You’ve been assigned to work with the Hound on your next mission. She’s not quite ready for solo work in the field, but I think it would be interesting to see how you two get along.”

Sorry, Junebug, looks like you have to live a little longer, huh?

Why does that voice feel... familiar?