Soaring high in the sky above the muddy battlefield below, Juniper Sladek is free.

“Free” isn’t quite right, though. No, she’s a caged bird being allowed to spread her wings under supervision. She was free once. It feels like so long ago, but it’s only been two months. Now she wears a muzzle, to show what she really is: an animal who serves her master, because that is all she is good for.

It took so much to never show anyone how broken she was, and that cost her everything. She’s come to realize that she was never human, just a pitiful failure. Yet, Handler forgives her and does not judge, instead offering salvation in exchange for Juniper’s obedience.

Humanity was wasted on her, that’s what She has begun to teach Juniper. An attack dog does not need humanity, it only needs Her hand to guide it. After all, what good was she as a human?

Laila died due to Juniper’s failings as a human and a partner. This is simply the penance she must pay for her failures. It’s not all bad though, far from it, Ixion was returned to her better than it ever was before. Faster, refitted with imperial equipment and repainted into an Imperial Black.

What more could a sinner like Juniper ask for?

She’s thankful that Handler has seen fit to allow her to pilot Ixion again, it makes her feel complete. Normally a rough descent onto the battlefield below would shake her, but Juniper feels at ease. Nothing is right in her world, but that’s okay. She’s learned that it doesn’t need to be right, as long as that is what’s asked of her.

Piloting brings a new sensation with it, now that she’s connected with a neural interface. To get Ixion to do something as basic as moving requires more work than it ever had before. But the end result is speed, speed which she uses to easily disable the first enemy Doru.

One down, keep pushing, Juniper

“Yes, Sir.” Juniper automatically responds.

Unfortunately this is only a training exercise and as such, her weapon systems have all been disabled. In their place, a simple laser marker to denote a kill. It brings a chance to test the overhaul done to Ixion and put it through its paces, but she longs for actual combat.

The controls are more responsive now than they ever were before, especially after she made adjustments to get rid of the lag time. Maintenance techs failed to notice the point five input lag, something rebel techs never failed to pay attention to.

It’s most likely a side effect of the new control system, which links her consciousness with that of Ixion. But she doesn’t like unknowns messing with her mech. They don’t understand the fine details like she does.

Handler approved of the fine-tuning, even going so far as to make it known to the techs that Juniper would be allowed to handle the fine-tuning herself. She wants what is best for Her Hound and will do what is necessary to achieve that. It reminds Juniper of Laila, and how she always looked out for her Lieutenant.

Even if it cost her dearly in the end.

It’s hard to not get distracted by thoughts of Laila; she was Juniper’s everything, and now that she’s gone–Two enemy Doru light up her sensors, they’re not even trying to hide their heat signatures. Ixion dispatches them both in quick succession, taking to the skies yet again.

It feels so damned good to be back in the saddle.

These Imperials are making it too easy; it’s like no one ever told them to manage their heat in a night operation. No wonder she’s killed enough of them to have five stars tattooed to her collarbone, if they’re all this fucking incompetent.

She missed this, missed piloting and the rush that comes from picking off your targets from the sky one by one. It brings an intoxicating high that few things could ever match. She and her machine are a single being, her every move is executed flawlessly by her mechanical self.

This was the cost of wearing the muzzle and forgoing her humanity.

Gods, she wants to boot the weapons system and give them all a show, so fucking badly. But Handler wouldn’t want that and Juniper isn’t keen on disobeying. She isn’t even certain she knows how to disobey that voice.

Her every word brings with it promises of more starlight.

Juniper could easily run, there’s no one who could stop her. But there is no point in running, not when her former allies would be disgusted at what she’s become. She accepted every word of what Handler said, because She was the only thing capable of numbing the pain. None of them would understand.

How could they, though?

When they learn that Laila is dead, they’ll immediately know to blame Juniper. But she knows the truth, that they were the ones who got Laila killed. Her supposed allies sold the two of them out, which led to Laila’s death.

Could she seriously expect to return to a hero’s welcome? No, of course not, they’ll use her for intel and then, when she’s no longer useful, keep her imprisoned. As for Ixion, they’ll dismantle it so that no one ever pilots that beast again.

They’ll do worse than blame her.

Handler does not blame Juniper though. No, She only offers forgiveness towards the sinner known as Juniper Sladek. Because She is a benevolent God, who sees beneath the muzzle that the pilot now wears, and sees the truth: Juniper is broken, hollow and most of all, scared. That is the true version of her, not the pretend-person that she only vaguely remembers on a good day.

Ixion descends back to the forest floor, hunting for its next target. A lone Doru that seems to at least have the common sense to mask its heat signature. As she gets closer, preparing to fire, it evades her every attempt to close the gap between them.

Juniper drools through her muzzle, laughing to herself. She’s finally gotten herself a challenge and she’s going to savor every second of it.

The enemy unit's every movement is erratic, making it hard to pin down, even with her enhanced senses. One minute it veers left, the next right, only to disappear through the tree line. She pursues it deeper into the forest, refusing to allow her prey to run. But it’s at that moment that three other enemy units appear from nowhere.

Enemy units appear from nowhere, moving into a pincer attack and clearly.

Two units surround her on the left, two additional ones on the right. They each fall one by one, being taken down by Ixion leaping into the sky and hitting their sensors from a seemingly impossible angle. They failed to account for flight and paid the price, dumb bastards.

Who the hell authorized this rebel bitch to show-off? Fucker belongs in a grave, not a godsdamn mech! She wishes she were allowed to turn off comms, so that she wouldn’t have to listen to the rantings of angry pilots. Their anger, though well deserved, means nothing in the end.

Captain, I will remind you that she is my responsibility. If you have issues with her, I suggest you speak to me privately after you’ve returned. As for you, Juniper, excellent work. Quite the record you’ve set, downing an entire squad in under ten minutes. I’m impressed.

Juniper sits up straight, listening to that voice. The voice of God Herself. There’s still a part of her that fears it, remembering the pain suffered at the hands of it. But those thoughts are blocked out by static and starlight. “Thank you, Sir.”

A static that broke her down and turned her into what Handler desired: A weapon.

That’s all she is to Handler, but Juniper is okay with that. She was worthless to the world as a person anyway. Everyone saw her for the bad luck charm she turned out to be; it’s why she only ever had Laila.

You’ve met my every expectation and more. Quite frankly Juniper, I believe you’re deserving of a reward upon your return. There are still twelve enemy units on the field, eliminate them and then return.

“Consider them already disposed of, sir.” Juniper responds, bringing her attention back to the battlefield.

Adjusting her muzzle, she lets out a happy, relaxed sigh as it sits just right on her face. So far, she’s adjusted her muzzle at least six times and every time, it brings back the same relaxed sensation. Nothing in her world is as it should be, but it’s okay, because Handler will fix it.

Hey, you’re that captured pilot right? A bright voice lights up the radio, but Juniper ignores it. She only needs to care about one voice.

In only a blink of an eye, three more units fall without so much as a sound coming from Juniper. She could have taken the time to play with her food, but these imperials present absolutely no challenge. Not even one of them has figured out how to counter Ixion yet.

That same annoying voice from before crackles from the radio again. C’mon, you really gonna ignore me? Juniper wishes she were allowed access to her weapon systems right now. Instead, she’s forced to endure whoever this is making an ass of themselves.

Second Lieutenant Saparlo, this is an open comms channel and– The line goes dead??? In the distance she picks up an explosion, followed shortly by a signal flare. And at that moment, a chill runs down Juniper’s spine. Something’s gone wrong.

What the hell is going on!? Another voice shouts, only for static to hiss across the channel with them as well.

Just as Juniper prepares to turn Ixion back towards base, at least a dozen heat signatures light up her sensors. “We’ve been ambushed, please advise!” She shouts into the dead comms.

It’s quiet again, she doesn’t like the quiet. Reminds her of Laila. Of her failure.

Juniper doesn’t give herself time to think, throwing the flight system to full power instead. This is just like last time, comms are down, she’s all alone and surrounded by enemies. Gods, Laila would be disgusted with her.

She wraps her hands around the controls, mumbling incoherently to herself. Laila is gone, it’s her fault that Laila is gone, why did she turn out to be a failure? She was supposed to be past this, so that she could be perfect for Handler. So why? Why is she still so damned broken and useless?

Juniper slams her head repeatedly against the cockpit in an attempt to shut her brain up, but it only leads to blood pouring down her face. Her chest feels tight, so damned tight and she can’t stop hyperventilating either. Just as the panic attack sets in, Ixion begins to plummet back down to earth.

An emotionless voice breaks free of the jamming, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Juniper, you’re rapidly losing altitude, what’s happening?

“I–I–I–I” Juniper can’t even spit out the words, she’s so godsdamned useless. Even as she begins to see the stars, she can only remember her failures.

Juniper, listen to my voice.

Handler isn’t angry with her, She is never mad. She only shows concern for Juniper’s mental state.

“P-Panic attack, c…can’t think–” Juniper spits out, her thoughts rapidly spiraling to no end.

Would you like me to help you?

“Please…I-I I can’t–”

Normally, I would not authorize usage of it so soon. However, I believe this is a worthy situation. There’s a long pause, as though She were drawing out the words. Juniper. Off the leash.

The light in Juniper’s eyes vanishes, being replaced with a dull and glassy expression in their place. She was afraid to show anyone the true extent of her damage, but it’s okay now. Handler will fix her, by removing whatever is left of the old Juniper. She should hate Her, but instead she only feels gratitude.

Gratitude for Handler showing her the truth, that Juniper Sladek ceased to be, because she stopped existing long ago. What exists in her place is something else, something feral and hungry.

In her final moments as herself, Juniper relaxes feeling the panic attack and her worries drift away. Then, as she blinks, she sees the world through a different set of eyes. In that moment, Juniper Sladek is gone, replaced by Hound.

Juniper-Hound is young and untested, but she’s eager to prove her worth. And what better way than to hunt rebels?

Ixion continues its free fall descent, only to pull up at the last second, engines screaming through the forest at breakneck speeds. Upon seeing its first target, Juniper-Hound activates the weapons system and unfurls the scythe of Ixion.

There are prey everywhere for her to feast on and she’s going to get her fill.

The earth rumbles as Ixion slams onto the ground, steam venting from its reactor in the process. It only takes her seconds to sniff out her first prey and then she licks her lips with a hungry grin. Her first target is a walker, slow moving, full of guns. With only a swing of the scythe she punctures through the armor of the walker, neutralizing it. On her next swing, she takes out the reactor, causing it to explode and setting fire to the forest around them. Chaos and carnage erupt all around the howling pilot, much to her animalistic delight.

Ixion takes to the skies again, while Juniper-Hound sniffs out her next target. It’s fast moving, the pilot clearly scared shitless by the display they witnessed; good. Not wasting even a second, she closes the gap, transforming the scythe into a rifle and pulling back the bolt with each shot. Steaming shells discharge from the rifle’s ejection port, littering the ground around the latest corpse.

Then, releasing all safety limiters, she slams down the throttle, pushing more power out from the Pulse Reactor. Every bolt, rivet and screw onboard the mech rattles threatening to shoot off as the engines propel her through the skies above But they don’t, because Ixion is stronger than that. It’s been through far worse punishment.

She kills the the throttle, letting Ixion slam onto the ground, kicking up a storm of steam and dirt with it. Bracers on the back of the mech’s legs clamp down into the soft ground, the scythe shifts to cannon mode, with the blade being swung into the ground.

Prey think they’re smart running from hound, but they can’t hope to win against her.

Juniper-Hound snarls, licking her lips, while a large blast fires from her scythe. The force alone is enough to knock trees off their roots and toss them into the air, but Ixion hasn’t moved even an inch.

Her prey tries its damndest to evade the shot, but it’s over before it even began. The sudden shockwave of the shell being fired is enough to startle the enemy pilot long enough for it to hit them head-on, killing them instantly. There’s more of them out there somewhere and she’s going to kill every last one of them.

That’s what her Master would want.

A tank-treaded mech makes it presence known with two rail cannons that fire weak shots at her. But, as Juniper-Hound charges it, harpoons pin her to the ground, causing serious pain and distress to the Hound inside of the mech. Impossible to tell what’s going on, but her mental state is rapidly declining and it’s getting increasingly difficult to get Ixion to respond. Juniper-Hound can only growl in pain and frustration.

_{June, I know you’re in there.}

A voice calls out to Hound, but she doesn’t recognize it. It’s not Master, so who–

_{June, please, you need to wake up}

It itches in her skull, as if whatever that voice is, is trying to escape, but–

Juniper, I need you to listen to me.

The voice calls to her, like the words of a siren, she can’t turn away. It feels…right to listen to the words.

Kill Them.

That voice feels warm and familiar. She remembers how she would do anything for that voice. Juniper-Hound snarls again, breaking free of the harpoons pinning her to the ground, setting her sights on the Doru that did this to her. Ixion'sengines roar loudly through the forest, closing the gap on them in seconds. Then, right as it prepares to fire another barrage of harpoons at her, she rips its arms off, staining Ixion in its coolant.

June, listen to me, I need you to run, before She takes control again.

The warm voice pleads with her and there is no choice, but to obey. She reclaims her scythe from the corpse of a nearby mech, taking off deeper into the forest to evade any would be pursuers.

Hound is faster than them, better than them too.

She is a weapon for Master to use after all.

I love you, June.
I'm sorry.

***

Fucking hell, her head is killing her.

She runs a hand over her face, clearing the crust from her eyes and adjusting her muzzle. There’s dried blood all over her face and doesn’t recall how it got there. A possible concern, but something to deal with later.

Juniper yawns, finally coming to. She’s still strapped into the cockpit of Ixion , but she’s not back at base. The last thing she remembers is laying underneath the starlight with Laila. But that wasn’t real, it was only a fleeting memory of a time before.

She rubs at her aching head, letting out a sigh. According to the systems, Ixion has been running for over twenty-four hours, which raises so many questions. None of which she has the answer to.

What the fuck happened?

After Handler said those words, her memories were coated in a thick layer of static, making it impossible to remember, no matter how much she tries. Fighting back another sigh, she runs a systems diagnostics, while simultaneously finding a hiding spot for Ixion.

According to data being pulled up, she’s somewhere in the Levka Valley, which puts her fairly far from where she remembers home to be. Gods, Handler will never forgive her for running.

Juniper didn’t mean to run, she doesn’t even know why she ran in the first place. Her memories are scrambled and twisted, there’s no way to recall what exactly happened. What good would it do if she were to remember, though?

Dozens of errors pop-up on the main screen as the diagnostics completes its checks. Of the major errors, the thrusters have incurred heavy damage, while the balancers are completely shot. Flight is possible, but only in short bursts, anything more and there’s a risk of them exploding.

Ugh, what she wouldn’t give right now for a cigarette. It was easy to ignore the nicotine cravings, when she had the invisible hand of Handler, to guide her. But now, it feels like Juniper’s head is about to split open.

She reaches for a side compartment, grabbing for her emergency rations. If she’s going to be stuck here, she might as well eat something. First thing is first though, she sets Ixion down into a kneeling position. Then, as the mech switches to auxiliary power, the hatch opens so that she can stare out at the morning mist.

It takes Juniper a long pause to remember she has a muzzle on. But after a silent prayer for Handler to forgive her later, she removes it and lets it rest in her lap while she eats. Chili with some beans, it’s not exactly good, but it beats starving. The rations are standard amongst Imperial and Rebel armies, it’s shit no matter what. Calorie dense shit, but still shit.

Levka Valley isn’t exactly an ideal spot for a picnic, much of it is soaked in radiation and gods know what else. It should however be rather safe where she’s at now.

After downing an emergency bottle of water, she sits down cross-legged in the seat of her mech, staring off into the distance while eating her rations. She’s far from home and long-range comms are shot, like most things on Ixion.

She stares at her hands, silently wondering how many of her former allies did she kill? The thought alone is enough to make her nauseous, but she resists the urge to vomit, instead turning her attention to the rising sun. She’ll need to find her way back, but with the damage Ixion sustained, there won’t be any easy way to get back.

Continuous flight won’t be possible with the damaged thrusters. She can’t risk sitting here, hoping that someone will save her either, given the past however long it’s been. And with long-range comms down, there’s no chance of relaying her location for support.

She’s fucked, that’s the only way to really look at it.

What would Laila do in this situation?

She would find a way to survive, because she'd been in worse situations. Laila Praxian, was always the smart one who everyone loved. Gods know she was the better pilot as well. Juniper only ever got by, thanks to Ixion.

Laila would be disgusted with Juniper right now, for not fighting back against Handler. There were so many chances to and Juniper wore the muzzle, becoming Her weapon. What choice was there, though? Handler was the only one who understood the pain.

Juniper stares at the muzzle, letting her mind wander aimlessly. Handler will understand what happened, even if Juniper doesn’t fully grasp it herself. Because She is a merciful God who shows compassion to sinners, like her.

But another intrusive thought crosses Juniper’s mind, Laila wouldn’t even recognize the dead-eyed pilot that Juniper has become. Because Juniper doesn’t even recognize herself, right now.

She doesn’t recognize herself because what is there to see? Juniper Sladek died in the skies above Aurelia, and in her place, a hound was born. Clearly a very stupid hound, judging by how she’s currently stuck in the fucking Levka Valley.

Now is not the time to spiral, you idiot.

She fits the muzzle around her face again and tosses any remnants of her meal. With the hatch closed, it’s pitch black in here due to keeping the systems cold, save for radar and comms, on the off chance rescue does somehow find her.

From within her tattered jumpsuit, she pulls out Laila’s dog tags, squeezing them for dear life. It would be so easy to toss them, but Juniper can’t bring herself to.

Not now, not ever.

Maybe she’s just sentimental, or is simply trying to hold onto the one thing Laila left behind, who can tell?

Juniper slumps into her seat, her face illuminated by only the soft glow of radar. Nothing on it for miles and nothing on any comms channels, aside from static. Or that should be the case, but almost as soon as she blinks, multiple signatures light up the radar.

Shit.

They’re registering as hostiles, meaning this situation has somehow gotten worse.

Has she been spotted? No, there’s little chance of that, with Ixion’s radar being run off auxiliary power. But every second the blips get closer and closer, until they’re practically on top of her. Any closer and they will spot her.

Fuck it, she throws caution to the wind and restarts the reactor to Ixion. Blackness overtakes her vision, while her mind feels like it’s becoming static yet again. As it hums to life, her body thrashes violently in its seat. Every fiber of her very being is screaming out in pain as her lungs fill with bile and her head with starlight.

Now more than ever, Juniper’s head threatens to split open and reveal its contents to the world. For a brief moment she can see Laila again, except flashing lights erase her, leaving Laila as just another scar on the pilot’s psyche. It hurts so godsdamned much but it’s too late to sever the connection without brain death.

As the startup sequence finally ends, the static has become her everything. Her sight, her vision, it’s everything. A gift from God Herself, it’s only right for Juniper to embrace it, no matter the toll it takes on her body.

Coming to, the light finally returns to Juniper’s eyes, but all she sees is darkness. It should worry her, but it only comforts her in a strange way. And after wiping the blood from her nose, Ixion takes to the skies.

Sensors light up almost immediately, confirming three frames closing speeding across the valley in a hurry. The first two she recognizes immediately as Helios and Pixie. But the third one, she has to adjust sensors to get a better look at, because it looks like Argos. Only…not?

Juniper tenses in her seat and chews on the inside of her mouth, while her hands shake and squeeze the controls. She’s trying so damn hard to focus on the objective at hand and not on how she failed Laila. Last time, she only focused due to Handler, but She isn’t here now. Meaning Juniper is all alone, yet again.

From this range it’s difficult to tell exactly what this unknown is, but it’s definitely built on the Doru frame like Argos was. The frame of Argos, was bulky, due to the jury-rigged flight system put together, but this impersonator has a large radar dish instead. Helios has the same paint scheme as the unknown and they both have an emblem on them, meaning they’re PMC pilots. Great, they brought GWACS with them, just when this was already a bad situation.

Attention, Lieutenant Juniper Sladek, you’re being ordered to stand down now, or we will open fire. Come on June, don’t make this hard. Nobody wants to hurt you.

Gods, that name boils her blood. Only one person was ever allowed to call her ‘June’, no one else ever earned that damned right. She should be happy that they’re attempting to rescue her, but it’s come too late. She’s already surrendered her humanity and drowned in the static. ‘June’ is dead.

Warnings cascade over every monitor, reminding Juniper just how battered Ixion is. She clears the warnings, looking over the damage. Engines are fucked, there’s no way the flight system will stand up to another usage. No way to tell how the reactor is holding up either.

She should stand down, there’s no way Ixion will stand up to another battle. But then, she’d rather die than have to deal with the consequences of her failures. They’ll have to force her to stand down.

Ixion’s thrusters let out a low whine touching down atop a rocky hill overlooking the Levka Valley. Under normal circumstances, she could approach this fight from the air. But that’s no longer an option with the damage done to the systems. For now, she’ll have to settle on long-range and hope it’s enough.

Pixie is a CQC mech, it’s essentially a just a frame attached to some weapons. All of its armaments are designed for eliminating a target with speed and precision, rather than overwhelming firepower. Which is why it’s easy to set a trap for it, but that will require taking care of either Helios or the unknown first.

Absolutely zero data exists that she can find of anything matching Helios. It’s not a typical scrap-build, purpose-built even. Probably a mercenary hired to take her down, it would explain the lack of available data.

The reactor signature on the unknown pings as Argus, leaving Juniper to wince at the name. There’ll be time to mourn, once she gets out of this situation. For now though, she needs to focus.

From the data she’s pulled, it looks as though Argus has a range deficit of around 110km, making it perfect sniper bait. Should be able to take it down in one hit with the cannon, but it leaves the issue of detection. If she fires more than one shot, detection is almost assured, meaning this one needs to count.

Ugh, Juniper rubs at her aching head and groans.

Ixion makes for the nearest opening and takes up position, unfurling its scythe and planting the blade into the ground. With both balancers damaged, she’ll need to make this shot count, because there may not be another.

Argus is wide open, practically begging to be shot.

She draws in a deep breath through the nose and out through the mouth. Once, twice, three times, steadying her nerves. It stops her hands from shaking and quiets the raging torrent of anxiety in her head.

Click

Boom

An explosion of energy bursts free from the barrel, kicking up a storm of dirt and debris that pound against Ixion’s armor. The shell rips through the reactor of Argus, letting loose a massive explosion and leaving behind only a crater.

You didn’t deserve this fate, but that’s what happens when you dance with death.

Steam pours out from the scythe, while she begins reloading it. More warnings go off blanketing the cockpit screens in red. Both arms have sustained heavy damage, but the right arm is beginning to fail. Even after re-routing systems to compensate for the damage, this next shot is going to need to be her last.

Pixie and Helios scramble for cover behind a large rock formation, probably hoping to use the incoming fog as cover. Juniper is already one step ahead of them. Pixie is going to run as soon as the pilot thinks they’ve got an opening, while Helios will sit tight and wait. They’re too predictable.

C’mon June, just surrender, make it easy on us.

Pixie does as predicted, its thrusters burning brightly as it runs. Then, once it crosses a waypoint, Juniper fires the next shot.

Click

Boom

A shell pierces Pixie’s reactor, causing a large explosion in the distance as the reactor goes critical. Debris rain over the landscape and Juniper silently mourns her former comrade. She didn’t know them, but then she had become reclusive at some point.

Left actuator is at twenty percent, no chance of it being able to function much longer, while the right arm is out of commission. Not many options left besides engaging Helios head-on. They removed everything they could from Ixion during the overhaul, in an effort to lighten the frame. She’s stuck with a heavy scythe, chest cannons and one working arm.

Ixion’s seen better days, but then, so has Juniper.

The motor on the right arm has most likely just seized, but there’s no way to investigate that during combat. And no amount of resetting the connection does anything, it’s stuck in a firing position. Field repairs aren’t an option either, so she’s left with an insane idea: Take on Helios with only one arm.

It’s downright insane, she should surrender, but refuses to without a fight. Ixion’s scythe isn’t designed for one-handed operation, it’s far too heavy for that and will destroy the left arm in no time.

Suicide, there’s no other way to describe this idea.

At least if she dies, she’ll die on her terms and no one else’s.

This was supposed to be a simple field exercise, getting used to the upgrades on Ixion and it’s instead turned into a fight for her life. The maintenance techs will have a field day with this, once she returns. If she returns.

Juniper heaves out a breath, fighting back an urge to vomit, instead focusing on keeping Ixion level. It’s much more difficult to move with the balancers shot, but she has no choice. Even if she ran now, there’s no chance of she would even get far.

Handler would want Juniper to finish the remnants of the attack force. And Juniper is too broken to refuse such a intrusive thought.

Ixion speeds forward, using what little thrust it’s still able to safely generate. With the damage sustained, it’s not exactly a smart idea to keep pushing like this. But then, she was never the smart one.

Helios is fast, but not nearly as fast as Pixie. It’s medium-range build makes it perfect for keeping its distance from Ixion while still keeping it at bay.

With no options left, she throws the thrusters onto full burn, speeding after Helios. Temperature warnings blare and are ignored. The scythe of Ixion easily lands multiple slashes on Helios’ armor before it even knows what it hit it.

Then, once she’s up close and personal, Juniper rains down hell with Ixion’s chest cannons, dealing severe damage to Helios. She lets them take out her right arm with an axe, it was just a shield anyway. Scythe and axe clash, but in the end, the scythe wins out, slicing the arm of Helios off before it can inflict any damage onto her. As she goes for the killing blow, her physical body seizes up and everything goes black.

The next thing she remembers is being strapped to a gurney and being loaded onto a transport. Right before she’s injected with something to render her unconscious again.

***

After two agonizing months spent away, she’s home.

It’s bittersweet.

Everywhere Juniper looks in her quarters, she sees remnants of Laila. The punching bag that she used almost religiously still hangs there waiting to be used. While the poster of Sartha Thrace, the pilot who inspired Laila, still rests on the wall next to the door. Then there’s her camera, older than either of them, coated in a fine layer of dust.

She’s really gone, it’s hard to believe.

Juniper woke up in her quarters almost a week ago and has not slept since. Not for a lack of trying, but when she closes her eyes, she’s reminded of her numerous sins. Handler offered her repentance. Yet, Juniper instead chose to run like the defective animal she always was.

Handler was wrong to offer her a chance at salvation, She should have offered it to someone worth saving. Now, Juniper has nothing left holding her together. No Laila, not even the starlight that she came to crave.

Instead, she’s stuck in her quarters, under orders of quarantine, until they can “fix” her. But that’s the thing, what’s wrong with her cannot be fixed. She’s beyond fixing, no matter what anyone says. Her soul is forever sullied, her hands forever stained with blood.

A few have tried to speak to her so far, but they all get turned away by the guards posted at the door. Everyone wants the same fucking thing, to know that their “hero” is okay, that she’ll be fighting by their side again.

They’re not asking about Juniper specifically, they’re wondering if Laila made it out. She died, because of Juniper’s failings and now she’s the one who has to pick up the pieces.

As she lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she can’t help but lose herself in the static yet again.

In the static she’s safe. She doesn’t have to face the questioning eyes all wanting to know the same thing: “what did you do?” They all know the answer to–She killed her own comrades, because she’s a traitor.

It should make her feel sick, guilty, fucking anything, but she feels nothing. Because she is nothing. She’s not even human, she’s just a weapon.

Juniper should feel lucky, they’ve confined her to her quarters until further notice, because no one wants to be the one to imprison one of the Wardogs. The ones who saved their asses more times than they care to count. It’s a bad hit to morale if they go around imprisoning one of their own.

But she isn’t one of them, she never was.

Laila was perfect in every way. She never dealt with the pains of gender dysphoria, or the crippling panic attacks. The one on all the posters was Laila Praxian, because she was perfect.

Juniper was never anything but broken.

The only thing ever tying her to the rebellion was Laila. Before that, Juniper claims to have been an independent mercenary who joined the cause after falling in love with Laila. But it’s a lie, one that even Laila never knew about.

She was the one who believed in the rebellion, who wanted to make the world a better place.

Juniper?

No, she only believed in her ability to make things worse for everyone around her. It proved true in her three plus years here, getting to watch people she’d shared drinks with only hours ago, die in front of her. When the panic attacks set in and the shaking got worse, Laila came up with this insane dream she had: A cabin somewhere in the countryside, untouched by the war and radiation.

Juniper fell for it, because she believed everything Laila said. They were in love, it didn’t have to make sense, they had each other and that was enough. But it wasn’t. When the panic attacks got worse and the breakdowns became more frequent, Laila lost her partner and gained a headcase.

Handler was the first person Juniper had met who felt different. Different how is hard to comprehend, it’s something beyond words.

But she tries not to dwell on it, because She would be disappointed in Juniper for failing. Not only failing to take down the enemy, but she ran away and got captured in the process. She’s a failure, yet again.

Rolling onto her side, she stares at a framed picture of her and Laila. It rests on the nightstand coated in a thick layer of dust. Laila always had a love for photography, had she not fought for the rebellion, maybe she could have been a photographer. Various photos of Wardog line the walls in here, some of the fallen, some of Juniper, but only one she cares about.

It was the first one of them.

She and Laila had only become official days prior to this photo and this was how they commemorated it. As the war on this front progressed, so did the need for heroes, which is why they became propaganda pieces. The Wardog was supposed to be a symbol, but it only ended up being another reminder of loss.

Juniper’s hair was much shorter in that photo, just the way Laila loved it. Now, her hair is a shaggy unshaven mop that covers her eyes. It has the added benefit of hiding the pain at least.

Laila used to say that you could tell a lot about someone by how they posed for a photo. Which is why she always had a big grin on her, in case it was her last photo. But just staring at it leaves Juniper wishing she could shed a tear for Laila.

She lays there, staring mindlessly at the photo. Perhaps in the hope that Laila will suddenly walk through that door and berate her for moping, but the truth is that Laila is dead. And it’s Juniper’s fault.

Laila is just another drop of blood onto the stained soul of Juniper Sladek, the Angel of Death.

Why’d you have to go and get yourself killed?

She can’t even cry, her body refuses to shed a single tear. Instead, there’s only an emptiness inside of her, one that will only ever be filled with static. A static that even now hums quietly in her thoughts and threatens to erase her very being. If she’s lucky, someday soon it might just do so.

But she is not lucky, she is the furthest thing from “lucky”.

Juniper curls tightly around a pillow, closing her eyes. She’s not tired, on the contrary, but she is tired of staring at the photo. They should have executed her the moment they pried her from the cockpit.

Unfortunately for Juniper, her dissociation episode ends with a knock at the door. She doesn’t bother to get up, but it doesn’t matter as the door is opened anyway, spilling light into the pitch black room.

“Lieutenant, it’s time for your debriefing.” An MP says, staring at her with disgust. They see her for what she is: A traitor.

She says nothing, slowly shuffling from the bed to the awaiting MP, holding out her wrists to be cuffed. A traitor like her does not deserve respect. Traitors like her deserve to be executed, not looked at like a victim.

The walk through the halls of Volterra Base is slow, it takes her a minute to acclimate her eyes to the light after being confined in the darkness of her quarters. It’s quiet enough that she can hear the sound of her worn boots stomping lightly against the floor with every step. There are no on-lookers, the halls are empty.

No, as she’s led into the interrogation room, it’s immediately clear to Juniper that no one would dare lay eyes on a traitor like her. As she sits down, memories of Handler interrogating her suddenly overtake her senses, sending her into dry heaves. Nonononononnono–She’ll do better, she’ll be better, please don’t–She opens her eyes in a panic staring at unfamiliar surroundings.

This isn’t an interrogation room, it’s too white, too sanitized, reminds her of the white room in every way. Which only serves to bring back the memories of when they broke her. Juniper thrashes about, only to realize her limbs have been bound to a gurney. A gurney means she’s in the infirmary, which means she’s safe.

In the throes of a panic attack, they must have brought her here for her own safety. Gods, how insane does she look? Supposedly a hero, only to succumb to a panic attack that led to her being strapped into a gurney.

“They really fucked you up, eh?” She recognizes that voice, but doesn’t remember from where.

Juniper does not speak, choosing instead to stare at the wall in an attempt to lose herself in the static again. But it’s useless, there is no static, only silence.

“Hey, I get it. Whatever that woman did to your head, probably fucked you up bad.” She walks into view of Juniper, offering a friendly wave. She’s young, early twenties at best, with ginger hair and freckles. “I’m Mara Saparlo, y’might remember me from that training exercise?” Mara shrugs and leans against a wall.

Juniper stares at Mara, saying nothing. It’s not that she has nothing to say, it’s that the words refuse to form and that there is nothing to say.

“Y’know, y’really did a number on my Doru. Fuckin’ techs are still trying to piece it back together after you ripped the arms off of it and then sliced it with your scythe.” The young turncoat laughs, there’s a smile on her face, as though Juniper had told a joke. “Guess it’ll be a funny story to tell over drinks at least.”

…Did she do that to–Gods, Juniper is going to be sick. She has no memory of that, everything after those words were said is a blank and–Ughh, her head is pounding again.

“Not much of a talker, eh? Can’t say I blame ya.” Mara moves closer to the gurney holding down Juniper, getting a closer look at her. “Gotta ask though, how the hell’d they pick you up? Five stars on your collarbone, that’s what? Thirty kills at least? Surprised you didn’t go down swinging.”

Juniper’s expression turns to fear, recalling exactly how she was captured. How every minute detail was her fault. And then, when shakes with fear, wanting to scream and to cry. “Y–Y–I–I–I–”

As if on cue, the stammering is broken up by the sound of the door opening and boots against the ground. “Lieutenant Saparalo, could you please clear the room? I’d like a moment with Lieutenant Sladek here, please.” An older man, flanked by two guards stands in front of Juniper.

Mara stands at attention and salutes. How odd, the rebellion while essentially a military, doesn’t bother with the formalities. Maybe a force of habit from her time in the Empire? “Yes Sir, Commander Adama.”

He dismisses with a nod, offering Juniper a sympathetic look. “Feeling any better, Lieutenant? You gave the medical team a good scare, when they extracted you. They thought for sure that you were dead after that third seizure.” He sighs, taking a closer look at her. “I can’t begin to imagine what hell the Imperials put you through. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

Juniper says nothing, knowing that her words mean nothing.

Commander Adama pulls up a chair, sitting down next to Juniper. “I’d like to apologize for the delay. We’ve had technicians working around the clock to crack the encryption on your unit, in the hopes of prying any intel they could from it.” He shifts in his shift and lets out a loud sigh. “It was…unsuccessful.”

Silence emanates from Juniper who is still starting at the wall.

Hunching over in his seat, he rubs at his temples, staring at Juniper. “You came back to us thanks to Miss Saparlo, but Captain Praxian is still MIA. Can you tell us what happened to her?”

“...We got ambushed.” Juniper finally breaks her silence, hating herself for it. “...Laila…she–she’s dead…I-I’m sorry.”

Her commander speaks in a soft tone, a frown overtaking his face. “I see. That is…quite the shame.” He removes his glasses, rubbing at the corners of his eyes. “Our scouts have been unable to locate the wreckage of Argos, and our spies within the Empire have nothing either.”

“Wait, but it–it was there when She–” Juniper stops herself mid-sentence, trying desperately to recall the image, but she only sees static in her memories. It’s so hard to remember what she saw.

Commander Adama clears his throat, “we’re working to suppress footage from the ambush and as such, the official word is that you were coerced. But after what you–I mean, what the Imperials made you do, it’s difficult to be optimistic. Seven pilots lost their lives. Your fellow rebels will not trust you, let alone feel safe around you. People are justifiably angry considering the circumstances. That being said, there will be no charges of treason, nor an execution, as long as you continue your duty as a pilot. Am I clear, Lieutenant?”

She stares up at him, wishing for her death, “...Yes Sir.”

“Upon your release from medical, I’m asking that you remain in your quarters, until further notice. However, being as this presents us a unique opportunity, I’m seeing fit to have you promoted to Captain. I wish this could be done under better circumstances, but they are what they are.” He stands up, saluting Juniper, as he walks out of the infirmary, leaving her to disassociate again.

She doesn’t deserve this humane treatment, after what she’s done. They should put her to death and be done with it.

***

Juniper’s feet slide against the floor, delivering blow after blow to the punching bag. Every breath hurts a little more than the last, but she feels the burn in her lungs, letting her know she’s still alive. One jab turns into two, which leads into a left hook with a taped fist. Can’t rest yet, she dances to the side delivering an uppercut to the bag.

Whipping her left arm sideways it lands a devastating haymaker onto the bag. The burn in her lungs only gets worse as she continues the rhythmic punching, landing two more hits onto the swaying bag. Every second spent hitting the bag is a blessing that helps her to forget.

Another jab hits the bag, which is carefully followed up with a left cross. It’s easy to imagine the bag is everything she fears. Even easier to shut her brain off and focus solely on the bag. But she can’t keep going at this pace, she needs a break. Her every breath burns and she would rather not go into cardiac arrest right now.

Taking a long exhale, Juniper pours water over her sweaty body to cool down. It’s been two long and agonizing weeks since she was released from quarantine. They grilled her for information, but the truth was that she knew nothing.

Since then, she’s been forced to speak with a shrink in an attempt to deprogram her. They think they’ve made a breakthrough, but to be honest, they haven’t. What the Empire did to her is something that cannot be undone, they remade her into a weapon.

You can’t undo what they did to her, it’s impossible. It doesn’t matter though, she’s seen the stares in the mess, heard the whispers. The Wardog is a bad omen and despite being a “hero”, other pilots have become hesitant to associate with her.

Laila would know what to say to ease everyone’s fears. She would lie to them all and say that Juniper was forced to fight for the Empire. Probably something about a bomb attached to her for dramatic flair.

But Laila isn’t here anymore.

No, she’s gone and it’s Juniper’s fault. If she had been quicker, she could have saved Laila and taken out that beast. Instead, it led to Laila’s death and Juniper’s capture at the hands of Handler. Just thinking about Her, leads Juniper into yet another panic attack. She saw the truth, that Juniper was a broken woman, but never judged her for it like everyone else does.

Juniper collapses onto the floor, her chest tightening, her breathing becoming shallower by the second. She failed everyone, it’s her fault that this pain refuses to leave her.

What can she even do to repent for the suffering she’s caused? Her life is worthless, she already abandoned her humanity.

She crawls over to the nightstand, grabbing for the pill bottle that rests next to her dog tags. The spiraling only gets worse as she downs a pill and clutches at her head. As the pill takes effect, she relaxes against the bed frame, splaying her limbs out. The panic attacks have gotten worse lately, the pills help. Just barely.

The Doctor gave her these pills, said they’d help, but for how long will they be effective? Days? Weeks? Months? She misses the starlight, it helped to keep her calm. But she dares not speak of it to anyone, or they’ll see her as insane.

After a long rest on the floor, Juniper finally picks herself up, climbing onto the side of the bed, clutching her head in her hands. The pain gets worse every time and soon, she isn’t sure how to stop it.

Fuck this, she needs a drink. That’ll numb the pain and the memories.

Stumbling to her feet, she makes for the door, shaking hands clutch the frame as it opens into the hallway. Juniper staggers out through it, pressing her hands against the walls for support. It’s quiet in here, most people are asleep by now, but not her. Sleep is hard to come by nowadays.

She sleeps maybe three hours at most before the nightmares take over and she’s wide awake. It’s why she’s started hitting the bag, so her body has something to focus on.

Juniper composes herself standing outside the door to the mess, taking a deep breath and standing up straight. She can do this, there’s so few people in there by now and they’ll be too drunk to pay her any mind. The less people perceiving her, the better.

Then, as the door opens, she sighs and walks in. Compared to the clean halls of the rest of Volterra Base, it’s musty and reeks of alcohol in here. After hours, the mess doubles as a bar to unwind and get a drink in. It’s heaven in here.

Taking a seat at an open chair, Juniper attempts to find the words in her to speak. Gods, she rarely speaks anymore, it’s so damn hard to remember how. “Whiskey”, she blurts out, trying to not fall apart on the spot.

“Fancy meeting you here.” She remembers that voice, Mara Saparlo, the Imperial-Traitor who orchestrated her rescue. “Figured they’d be worshiping the ground you walk on, being as you’re some big damn hero.” She lets out a laugh and takes a sip of her drink.

Juniper hates that word, “hero”. She was never a hero, Laila was the hero and what good did it do her? “...Please, I just want a drink, could we not talk about…that?” Her every word has a hesitancy to it, as though she’s afraid to speak.

“I know, I know, it’s bullshit. Hero, Villain, it’s all made-up bullshit. You’re just some chick trying to survive in a fucked-up world.” She shrugs, not seeming bothered by it. “Honestly, for someone the Empire nicknamed ‘The Angel of Death’, I expected someone more…fearsome? No offense, of course.”

Juniper downs her first whiskey, signaling for another. “...I’m sorry.” She mumbles under her breath, not making eye contact with Mara. “I’m no good to anyone anymore, I’m sorry.”

Mara has a look of apprehension in her eyes, but pats Juniper’s shoulder. “Look, I didn’t mean–” She sighs, “Shit, they really messed you up, didn’t they?”

The conversation goes silent, because Juniper isn’t sure how to answer and then under her breath she mutters Laila’s name, silently wishing she were here. It should have been Juniper who died, she would have deserved it. Laila was the hero, she was everything Juniper wasn’t.

“I…I don’t know. I think…I think they tried to fix me…I was just too broken to be fixed.” Juniper admits, finally staring at Mara with a dead look in her eyes.

“That’s what they do, y’know? For folk like me, they offer you a way out, but it’s fucked. It’s all fucked. The fact that you survived whatever they did to you, has to mean something, right?”

Juniper shrugs, shaking her head. “No, it just means that I was too stupid to die.” She downs her drink, signaling for another. Liquor is the only thing that gives her any pleasure at this point. “Why do you even care about me? Don’t you see the glares? The–The fucking–the fucking looks I get? I’m a traitor, I fucking killed seven of our own and for what!? I–I don’t know, I don’t fucking know. And–I–I–”

Mara puts a hand on Juniper’s shoulder, sighing.“I didn’t mean to–Shit. Okay, so I’ve got blood on my hands too, obviously. Siege of Turni, we were supposed to hold until reinforcements could arrive. Killed five rebel pilots that day and gods know how many civilians ‘cause it was my duty. After that, I drank myself stupid.” She laughs at her own story, holding back tears. “That was my breaking point, started feeding info.”

“Guess what I’m saying is that you aren’t the only one with blood on your hands. We’re both here getting drunk off our asses, cause of it.”

Mara is trying to reassure her, but it’s pointless. Juniper knows the truth, she’s run from the truth for so long, but it has a way of rearing its ugly head back up. The truth is that Juniper Sladek is broken, she’s been broken for a long time. And the fact that Handler wanted to fix her?

It was a lie, like everything else.