Amelia Heress felt GOOD. Being in the cockpit felt GOOD. Raking Dominance's claws through the armour of an opposing machine felt SO GOOD. There was very little in the world that got blood pumping through her veins quite like combat. She’s always been this way. From the first time she’d been allowed into the pilot’s seat of her beloved mech she’d always overexerted herself, just to feel the rush. The Imperial pilots she fought alongside always bitched about her “not following protocol” and “over extending into enemy lines”. She didn’t like them: too uptight and always giving her weird looks.
They didn’t understand what it felt like to hunt alongside Dominance, and they never would. Not in those clunky mass produced HECTOR units which couldn’t keep up with her if they tried. Rushing headlong into the fray was exhilarating and the vibrations in the cockpit from her weapons connecting sent a shiver through her like nothing else could.

She could feel herself growing warm from the excitement, and almost let herself slip into distraction before a sharp pressure on her jaw pulled her back into focus.

 

Her muzzle. There to keep her grounded, there to remind her of herself, of what she is. The straps were tight and the solid metal was always digging into her face whenever she moved too much.

 

It hurt, but it was good pain.

 

It was pain she was supposed to feel.

 

It was pain that She wanted her to feel.

 

Amelia blushed behind the metal cage just thinking of Her. She barely even acknowledged the mech she'd been rending apart, nor the warning flashing on her radar of an approaching threat behind her. Her beloved Handler was all she could think about, and there was only so much a muzzle could do to keep her focused, the thoughts of Her touch was enough to completely pull her attention off of the battle.

Handler understood her. Her needs were met, and she was rewarded whenever she did what she was ordered. Amelia needed to do a good job for Handler. It was Handler who gave her purpose. It was Handler who was so gentle with her when she got confused or hurt, and needed reassurance. It was Handler who made her feel cherished in a place where anyone else would sooner spit at her than show her even the most basic courtesy. If she didn’t do a good job for Her, it would be an insult to the one she saw as nothing less than a benevolent goddess, and that wasn’t something Amelia could comprehend.

 

Her mind was completely clouded when the enemy barreled into her. The hit sent Dominance splaying onto the dry earth, coating the deep green plating with dirt and kicking up a thick cloud of blinding dust. Dominance wasn't made to be a walking fortress like a lot of other mechs, Amelia liked it quick and lightweight with its strange elongated limbs able to close distance fast.

 

Speed wouldn’t be any help here. The world was spinning, her head had slammed hard into the wall of the cockpit and her ears were ringing. Dominance had to get up. On the ground it was easy prey for a heavyweight mech like the scrappy rebel machine that had knocked it down like this. Amelia couldn't focus, her mind ached, so many warnings flashing and beeping at once was disorientating. She grabbed her head tight and was about to scream when-

 

 

The voice of Dominance's computer snapped her back to reality. The lights and alarms stopped almost as suddenly as they began. She knew what this meant, and stopped worrying. Everything would be okay. Her comms screen flickered on, and she saw her heaven.

 

"Hello my dear pet, are you struggling? Your systems aren’t looking too good." Handler's voice dripped into her mind like the sweetest honey. Her tone was calm and collected, even when She was concerned. Panic was beneath someone like Her.

 

"Yes I- I can't do it, I need help Sir, e-everything’s blurry. Please, please" - Amelia barely managed to croak out between staggered breaths, her mind a mess from a mix of the concussion and seeing the face of her goddess in front of her.

 

"Very well, you've done a good job. You deserve some rest, go to sleep puppy."

 

Something set deep in her mind clicked, and Amelia sank away with no more than a slight groan.

 

"Wake up my Hound. It's time to play."

 

Hound lurched awake.

It snarled and bit at the air as it found itself. The body of what was once Amelia hunched as it took on a new posture, bones clicking and cracking as they were forced to angles not meant for the body of a human.
Hound was not human. It did not feel the pain. It did not care and growled as it prepared to hunt.

 

In unison with its pilot, Dominance's limbs twisted in their sockets as it righted itself. Metal screeched against metal as it shifted into a quadrupedal stance. The mech wasn’t meant to move this way and the noise from its joints made that known, but it bent to the will of Hound. Within seconds of rising, the hunt was on. Dominance burst out of the dust cloud as it began sprinting at the rebel machine that had downed it mere seconds earlier. The enemy pilot barely had time to react, still recovering from their shoulder charge. In no time at all the distance was closed. The prey was caught. Hound's claws were upon them, and they were shredded to pieces in an instant.

 

As soon as its target was torn apart Hound howled with joy before bounding off to find more prey, drool dropping from its jaws as it gnashed its teeth and shuddered with excitement. This was its purpose. This was what gave its life meaning. It would please Handler, and it felt GOOD.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Handler Lavinia did not feel good. The walk back through the kennels to her quarters was already irritatingly long, and the constant noise of the useless, untrained mutts howling in their cells did not help to make her mood any better. The few veterinary techs she passed gave her a wide berth, probably thinking they’d be strangled if they got too close.
On top of it all, the berating she’d just received from her mentor was repeating in her head. Her superior's words made her want to scream.

 

“Once again, your mutt didn’t return to the hanger. This is the 4th mission in a row now that you’ve allowed this to happen.”
Lavinia had needed to hold herself back from attacking the woman in front of her.
“I expected better of you Lavinia. This is pathetic! By now a Hound should be returning with no need to be retrieved or ordered back, and your pitiful excuse for one would be if you took any time to discipline it. Your ridiculous coddling is stopping it from developing what should have been beaten into it within a month. It’s disgusting. Asset retrieval is, as always, your responsibility. Now get out of my sight.”

 

Lavinia hadn’t bothered to salute when she’d left her mentor's office. If it wouldn’t get her executed, or worse, she’d have spat in the bitch’s face. She HATED that woman. How she treated her pet was no business of that fucking wretch, it was her Hound. She’d seen the sort of things that happened to the others,, the soldiers were given free reign to treat them like punching bags. Her mentor claimed it was “enriching” for them and made them “learn their place” which made no fucking sense to Lavinia at all.

What was there for a Hound to learn from being beaten by a no name grunt who’d never amount to anything in their career? The Hounds did more for the empire than any of them. The way Lavinia saw it is that discipline, punishment, and reward should only come from a Handler. A pet is supposed to be trained by its owner. Any cut or bruise on her precious Amelia's body not earned in combat, would come from her and her alone.

Finally arriving back to her quarters, Lavinia needed to destress before the retrieval took place. She needed to break something. A glass on her desk, perfect. Seeing it shatter on the opposite wall brought some catharsis, not enough to relax her, but enough for now.

 

Sitting in front of the large mirror at the desk, she began to fix her appearance. It was improper for a Handler to be anything but perfect in front of others, even in the field, and especially in front of her pet.

 

Lavinia took great pride in her appearance, even before being granted the position she had. Her crimson hair reached only just past her shoulders and framed her face neatly. She never wore much makeup, but did allow herself a small amount of eyeliner to draw attention to her eyes. She’d heard of others who had gone through the process of becoming a Handler and had their eye colour change, but hers had remained a pale green.

 

Her clothes were immaculate, as always, no need to fix anything there. Lavinia enjoyed the uniform given to those in her station. The sight of the black leathers was enough to make any subordinate snap to attention, usually from fear.

She was ready. It was time to go and retrieve her lost pet.

 

The hangar was quiet. A few pilots chatting after a training exercise, engineers repairing machines damaged in the earlier mission. Anyone who saw Lavinia gave a salute and got as far out of her way as possible; fine by her, fraternising with subordinates was the last thing she wanted to be doing. There, ready and waiting, was her chariot.

Wake-The-Dead was not designed as a combat frame. Scouting and intelligence missions were its specialty, with a lightly armoured body and small stature. The sonic cannons mounted on each shoulder were powerful, supplemented by bladed arms, but if combat could be avoided then it would be.

 

She would be alone as always.

 

Lavinia wasn’t worried about hiding; even if her machine’s black armour offered camouflage once night fell, it wouldn’t matter once Amelia was in tow. Dominance was too tall to keep fully out of sight. A lot could go wrong on a retrieval mission, but she knew there was one absolute certainty. Amelia would be exactly where she thought.

“What keeps bringing you back there, my pet?” she mused to herself, settling into the cockpit. Amelia had been questioned on this after not returning from previous sorties but couldn’t remember anything after Hound had been woken up.
Lavinia never punished her for it, but was concerned. Without fail, after every single outing, Amelia had unconsciously returned to the place she’d first been picked up by Lavinia’s scouting party.

-

It had only been a month since they found her. Dominance had been picked up by long range scanners and upon discovery was just standing still, heavily damaged with no reaction from the pilot upon approach.

 

She’d been found with her cockpit ripped open, in a dusty hole in the ground, bleeding from more places than she should have been able to survive. At first they took her for a stray rebel, but that was shot down by the calling card found hanging from her mouth.

‘Like what you see? If we’d do this to one of our own for free, imagine what we’d do if you paid us! - Havel.’ was scrawled on the note, along with a communication ID.
Lavinia knew mercenary infighting wasn’t uncommon, but this was brutal even by the usual standards of their ilk. Filth ridden mongrels that could barely follow an order.

The one bleeding out in the cockpit however, had potential. Lavinia would fix her, and make her into something beautiful.

-

The journey to the retrieval site passed without incident. No sign of rebel patrols, they likely saw this area as about as useful as the Imperial High Command did. Nothing but flattened wasteland left. The war had taken its toll on the planet, so many places stripped of resources and levelled to nothing by the fighting.

There, in the middle of the dust clouds and scattered debris, stood Dominance; A monolith towering over the stones. Exactly where Lavina predicted it to be. Exactly where it would always end up so long as this problem her Hound had wasn’t worked out.

As she approached, a comms link with Dominance was opened. There on the viewscreen was her beloved Amelia, covered in her own blood but beaming with adoration. She’d definitely need medical attention upon returning, her skull must have been cracked open further after Hound was awoken.

“Sir! You’re here” she blurted out, half slurring the words.

“Well hello there my pet, I’ve come for you. We’ll get you fixed up.”

“It still- hurts a lot. Everything is still blurry, thankyou Sir.” Amelia’s speech was frantic, she was definitely still suffering some shock from the earlier concussion. “Oh you poor thing” Lavinia always made sure to keep her tone softer than normal when her pet was hurt. “You’ll get all the attention you need to make sure you’re healthy again once I’ve gotten you back home. You deserve a reward after all your hard work today.”

She watched as Amelia’s eyes lit up at the promise of reward. Even through her injuries she fidgeted slightly with excitement. “Yes! I- thankyou Sir! Thankyou!”.

Lavinia couldn’t help but grin at the eagerness. “It’s alright my sweet. Now don’t push yourself too hard. Let's get you home. We’ll need to discuss these little post sortie walks you’ve been taking when you recover.” Dominance climbed from the pit as Wake-The-Dead started off back towards the base. It loomed significantly taller than the scouting frame, but never stepped fast enough to overtake it. The perfect image of a beast following at its master’s heels.

After reward comes discipline Lavinia thought as they moved.

This will not happen again, no matter how much it's going to hurt.