This was it.

Lark’s first real rebel mission without Sasha around to keep her calm.

The moment she was dreading.

Lark was promised this would be easy. A simple recon mission near a recently plundered weapons warehouse on the flat, dead land of Ansa’s Condita peninsula. Close to home while they check for some reported United Arcadium activity. Even without Sasha, Bailey, or her mask, this would be a breeze, right? She had SHIEN, her custom mech suit. She had a supposedly genius comms girl in her ear and the supposed best pilot on the planet to scout with. Even had two other apparently fantastic pilots on standby.

Easy peasy, right?

…

So why was it all going to shit so fast?

Aoi Tarowaka: This… i… insa… eve… drone… coul…

What a fucking disaster.

The voice of Corvis Base’s comms expert, Captain Aoi Tarowaka, jammed itself through the speakers of Lark’s radio. Her entire body was starting to shake in the high-tech cockpit of her SHIEN. No active heating in the galaxy could stop that right now. She felt cold. It all happened so fucking fast. From boring recon to a screaming, broken-up attack against their poster girl, Major Nataliza “Liz” Rayfield, breaking the silence like a nuclear bomb smashing into them at full force.

Did Lark have enough time to get to her superior’s location? Apparently, not a fucking chance. Liz went completely dark mere moments after the attack.

Aoi Tarowaka: Got… ne… enem… appro…

Now Aoi was next in line, and in a mech built entirely for scouting and communications support, the girl didn’t stand a chance.

None of them did.

Sasha wasn’t here. Fuck, even Bailey wasn’t here.

Lark could sit around bitching in her head about inferiority and the hopelessness of her odds against whatever horrible machine her former masters had presumably sent to steal Liz and Aoi away, or she could do what she was good at.

Tear shit apart.

“Try not to get hit. I’ll be there soon.” Lark yelled into her radio in a mixture of panic and adrenaline-fueled aggression before engaging every thruster SHIEN had to beeline it to Aoi’s last known location.

Aoi Tarowaka: You go… t…

It was at least a little comforting to the ball of rage that Aoi’s signal wasn’t getting any worse. It kept her hands steady as she twisted and turned her mechsuit around the gray, miserable Condita landscape, motion blurred to Lark by the sheer velocity her mech was able to produce.

The SHIEN was fast, alright. Really fucking fast. One of the only good things those Arcadium monsters ever did for her was make her assault mech one in kind. It helped that there wasn’t a massive trek between her and Aoi’s scouting positions, too. Good planning in an otherwise miserably bombed mission.

Aoi Tarowaka: Think this i… a new on…

Lark was getting closer. Aoi’s signal was getting stronger. Did Lark have a single clue what her game plan was as she began seeing Aoi’s Umezawa and a mysterious, crazily fast imperial mech giving her chase through her viewscreen? Not a fucking chance. There was no Handler in her ear. Sasha wasn’t here to help out with her clear head.

Maybe there was one idea…

“Come on, dipshit. That won’t work!” Lark spoke to herself with visceral annoyance. She didn’t like the idea forming inside her, but she had to wing it, even if it might be a total mess.

No other ideas formed in Lark’s stressed-out mind as she loomed closer to the high-octane chase between Aoi and the unknown imperial.

This was stupid. It would get them both killed.

…

Fuck it. What else did they have to lose today?

“Aoi?” Lark could do this without any communication, but her time with Sasha, both as a rebel and a fascist tool, made her prefer coordination.

Ideally, Aoi was close enough to pick her up properly now.

Aoi Tarowaka: Hear ya loud an… clear!

Finally some fucking success today. It wasn’t a crystal-clear connection, but it was good enough for Lark to try while the bright red SHIEN jetted towards the comms girl. “I’m, like… maybe ten seconds out. Bait them into attacking somehow. Got it?” A plan communicated about as hastily and poorly as it had been thought up was still a plan. Lark had to stop sweating. This would work.

Lark just had to trust Aoi had good timing.

Trust.

Great.

Aoi Tarowaka: Kay!

Aoi replied as chipper as ever in even the most high-stress of scenarios. She gave this unknown mech the runaround for another few seconds before doing a 180 at record pace, winding up for a punch Lark certainly hoped was fake. With the Umezawa’s lightweight construction, a punch from it would barely dent a tractor, and any kind of counterattack would disassemble the thing.

If the Umezawa had one combat strength, it was its immaculate pace. Aoi could make this Arcadium fledgling fly in a circle until one of them ran out of fuel, weaving between high-caliber pistol rounds until all the ammunition on Ansa had been depleted.

If the Umezawa had a weakness, it was that one slice from the nimble enemy’s blade would tear through it like scissors through tissue paper, and this plan had just opened her up like a can of cat food.

Lark couldn’t let that happen.

She had to prove herself.

Someone had to make it home today.

Lark had to hope her prey was too focused on Aoi’s mech to notice the almost silent mech speeding towards them both. Every second passed like a week. Lark’s already blurry view of the battlefield grew blurrier.

This had to work.

For once, this had to work.

The SHIEN was looming just meters away from the two other frames. The gap between them grew smaller by the high-velocity millisecond.  Lark grabbed the compact, one-handed chainsaw mounted on SHIEN’s left leg and repositioned itself so it was strafe-boosting towards the pair. Frustratingly, this slowed the thrusters down for a moment, but Lark had managed to time this down to the wire.

She had to be fast enough.

For once, she had to be fast enough.

The SHIEN slipped between the two mechs just as the imperial beast prepared to slice its sword through the delicate body of the Umezawa. Lark did her best to calculate the trajectory of it in her improvised, focused rage, raising her arm and pressing the trigger on her compact chainsaw with only hope to guide her.

CHCKKKKK-

For once, it worked. For once, Lark was fast enough. “Nice fuckin’ try!” Lark’s ecstatic bragging was only diminished a little by the slight damage the enemy’s slim sword did to a tooth of her jammed chainsaw. Unfortunate, but repairs like that were what Sierra and her sick workshop were for! “Aoi, buzz off and let me deal with this!” Lark was abrasive, but given the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she eyed up the mech that almost cleaved Aoi in half, she’d fucking earned some abrasiveness.

Aoi Tarowaka: Kay, I was gonna suggest that, too! I called for reinforcements when Liz… y’know… So just hold out for them! Good luck!

Lark sensed some slight apprehension in Aoi’s voice, clearly not as unfazed by Liz’s potential death or capture as she was, but Lark did her job. That’s all that mattered.

In a flash, Aoi had started retreating while the SHIEN body blocked this unknown mech. Comms were guaranteed to go dark, but, barring any other surprise guests from the UA’s gallery of inferior animals, Aoi was safe.

Job done.

“Nice mech, pipsqueak! Did your mommy buy it for you?” Lark taunted her prey while she kicked its leg with all the force SHIEN had, sending them both backwards a good few feet.

The other pilot didn’t respond, but Lark didn’t expect them to. They were either a lobotomized mess hooked to a neural link, waiting for Handler’s precious words, or already hooked on them. Probably one of the latter two; their lightweight mech suit looked too personal to be something from the assembly line.

Maybe she was-

???: Well, isn’t this a nice surprise, Lark?

Lark was interrupted by a voice that, regardless of anything Bailey could do, the recently turned rebel could never forget.

Handler.

“Great. I guess Sasha didn’t manage to put you in the ground last time either, huh?” Lark’s sweating grew more visible in the light orange lighting of her cockpit. She wore her best confident, angry facade, but this was terrifying. Obviously she’d come back. Why did Lark think otherwise?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

All her fault!

???: Would it not be unbecoming for the devil to die, Lark? Surely they have not scrambled your once perfect mind so brutally.

Handler’s warm, orange eyes, sickeningly gentle smile, and smooth, cared-for skin with all the color of her papery white hair, barring the orange accents currently invisible at this angle, were all a familiar sight to Lark.

A horrifying one, right now.

What was that expression Handler was wearing? Confidence? Smugness? Collected happiness? Lark didn’t know how to gauge it, even months separated from the woman and after a mental flushing of her power via Sasha and Bailey.

It was unnerving.

But if she could take any solace right now, it was that Handler’s voice seemed to have little effect on her sense of self. Small, petty victories seemed to be all that Lark had today.

“Shut the fuck up!” Lark’s voice got a little more passionate, basking in its years-yearned ability to curse out the woman who put her through hell.

Thank you, Sasha.

Thank you… Bailey.

???: I can forgive such harsh language towards me, Lark. I understand what they’ve done to you. What they’ve done to what we had. The door will always be open for you to come home. To return to where you belong.

One word jimmied through the defenses of Lark’s mind like a crowbar grinding against her skull. Where she belonged.

Where. She. Belonged.

Fuck you. She was where she belonged.

“I’ve been home since I found Sasha again. Leave me and her alone!” Lark felt her blood boiling. She felt her hands shaking as she contemplated just ramming the chainsaw in SHIEN’s hand through this mystery mech until she was covered in the pilot’s blood. Stupid standoffs. She always fucking hated them!

???: Such damage they’ve done to you, Lark. I did want to avoid tough love, but I suppose Crow may benefit from a teaching moment like this.

Every utterance of Lark’s name made her want to puke, but at least that confirmed this pilot was someone new. Poor sap.

Crow. Wonder what petty reasoning that name had.

Eh, none of Lark’s business. Maybe someone else could get through to the new bird and be the light that Sasha was for Lark. “Oh, I’m gonna teach her all the places she doesn’t know she can bleed from!” It wasn’t going to be Lark, though. She was pumped up on adrenaline. She was talking down Handler with only minimal fear after rescuing Corvis Base’s favorite weirdo.

Lark was going to rip the fucking wings off this bird, or collapse trying!

???: How good it will be to have you back where you belong, Lark. Now…

There was a pause. An intentional one, Lark had to imagine. Suspense and dread filled her veins like searing magma, terrified still that it could work.

???: Spread Your Wings, Crow.

It didn’t work on Lark, of course. She hoped and prayed it wouldn’t, and, for once, the gods blessed her with a miracle. A slight feeling of dread when it started was nothing. She’d felt nothing but that since she got out of bed this morning, anyway.

The answer really might have been Sasha’s hedonism with Bailey Cluanaire. 

Disgusting, but fine, whatever.

Alas, Lark didn’t have the precious seconds to think about Corvis Base’s soon-to-be extremely pissed-off seductress. A mere second after that vile trigger phrase was uttered, Crow’s mech rushed straight towards the SHIEN like a bolt of lightning. The mech was moving significantly faster than it had when chasing Aoi. Was the comms girl just bait, or was the trigger phrase key to unlocking the primal insanity Lark could faintly remember herself?

No time to think about any of that even if Lark wanted to. She engaged SHIEN’s thrusters and made a short leap to her left, just about dodging the serrated, thin blade charging for her mech’s body. She was safe for a moment, but the rapidity of her dodge meant she needed to rebalance SHIEN onto both legs again, wasting precious moments that Crow took clear advantage of.

Lark saw the blade make a clean swipe towards her viewscreen and just about managed to block it with SHIEN’s right arm. Though, blocking may have been a generous way to describe it. 

“You’re kidding me! Shit!” Lark yelled into her radio as the new rival’s blade sliced right through SHIEN’s right forearm, painting them both in oil and hydraulic fluid. The forearm fell to the ground not a moment later with a thud loud enough to make Lark flinch. Down a limb two moves into the fight. Even for Lark’s chaotic and messy duels, that was bad.


She needed to come up with something here. Without SHIEN’s right arm, she couldn’t reach her assault rifle, so anything long range that wasn’t a suicidal close-range missile barrage from her single shoulder-mounted launcher was off the table.

Clever move for a brainwashed dumbass.

…

She swore she could hear music faintly coming from the cockpit of Crow’s mech, come to think of it. Was that…?

Who cared, Lark? Fuck her up.

“Cute fucking sword, birdie!” Planning was never a Lark activity; if she was going to beat this fledgling, then she’d rip her apart her own way or go out trying. Without Sasha here, that was her best option.

With fire in her eyes and a heartbeat rapidly increasing past a healthy pace, Lark plunged forward, ramming SHIEN’s compact chainsaw directly into the enemy mech’s body.

The chainsaw managed to make brief, gratifyingly loud contact with the lightweight machine before it skipped backwards in the nick of time. Lark also could have sworn it was in time with the quiet music emanating from her cockpit.

Who. 

Cared?

“Where ya goin’, birdie? Getting scared yet?” In truth, Lark absolutely was, but being able to freely demean her target with a bit of Bailey’s transplanted energy at least gave her a good outlet for it. The anger hid it well, not that the drooling brainwashee in that mech could appreciate it.

The lack of any words from Crow and Handler both, paired with the fuel gauge in her mech dwindling from the leakage in her arm, gave Lark no sense of comfort. She could go for a charge of her own here, maybe, but one wrong move up close and Crow might slice her in half. Lark wanted to rip the other machine in half with SHIEN’s bare hands, but she needed to soften them first.

Aoi: Reinf… min… t…

Besides, it wasn’t like she had anyone else here right now. She had to pull something off.

“Not gonna start shooting? Fine. Fuck you!” Lark settled on the annoying strategy of taking potshots at her opponent. They were too far away from the warehouse for this open land to provide Crow with any cover, and if nothing else, the shotgun holstered behind Lark’s back had damn good shell velocity, even if she missed those explosive shells her former captors could handily get for her.

Lark had doubts; frankly, she always did, but this was the best move she had, and she took it. Lark grabbed SHIEN’s semi-auto shotgun and fired a volley of buckshot towards the nearby mech. She couldn’t fault her aim. She went for center mess. She wasn’t shaking. The following rhythmic dodge from Crow wasn’t her fault.

Still pissed her off, though.

“Nice footwork for someone without a damn brain!” Maybe that was a rich bit of aggression from Lark. She may not have fully remembered her prior night with Bailey, but she wasn’t above the mindlessness. All the more reason to make it back to her new home and prove she was better than this.

Determined to do some kind fo damage to this tricky bird, Lark’s shots continued unabated by her annoyance and light brain fog, lobbing well-aimed flurries of buckshot towards her lightweight opponent while trying to keep up with their metrical dodging. 

SHIEN was fast, but Crow’s mech was composed. Its balance didn’t falter for a millisecond as it weaved and spun around Lark’s buckshot volleys like they were nothing.

Truthfully, SHIEN wasn’t built for this. It was built to ram into this mediocre pilot’s fancy mech and rip it to gory pieces like Lark was some kind of horror movie monster, and her inability to get close to doing it was giving her a headache. Even the couple of pellets that managed to ding the enemy’s limbs as it circled closer by the second brought her no relief.

Click.

Ah, no rounds left in SHIEN’s shotgun. Maybe Lark should have kept count of those, but whatever. This wasn’t working anyway. 

“Stop buzzing around and fight!” Lark was hoping that this pilot’s weakness was bait. It had to be, right? That trick worked on Lark when she was a United Arcadium stooge.

What else could she even do? This had to work.

With sweat dripping onto her dashboard from her brow and the yellow light flashing above her head driving her only reasonably insane, Lark tossed SHIEN’s shotgun to the ground below with a heavy thud. She grabbed her compact chainsaw again and gave it a brief, loud rev with the trigger. All Lark had right now was an attempt at mind games, and she was sorely not the expert in the field of getting into someone’s head.

Could baiting Crow be this easy? Doubtful. This too was a mediocre game plan, but in the absence of any good ones, Lark had to trust her gut.

Come on, birdie.

Spread your wings.

…

Lark waited for a moment, feigning a defensive retreat backwards until she saw Crow take the bait, starting to silently fly towards Lark with her short sword drawn in their mech’s left hand.

That’s it.

A little closer.

Now!

With the other mech moments away from a strike, Lark revved her chainsaw again and went for a swiping attack aimed right at the sword-wielding arm. “Dumbass!” Lark took a preemptive victory lap moments before the chainsaw made contact, but that was bluster she would quickly pay for. 

With the same rhythmic flourishing the enemy pilot had been performing all fight, they tossed their sword in the air and grabbed the blades of SHIEN’s chainsaw with their mech’s now empty hand. Sparks flew everywhere from the impact, and SHIEN’s blades were clearly doing significant structural damage to the unnamed mech’s tightly gripping talons, but that was its own kind of bait.

Before Lark could do as much as react, the short sword landed by the handle in the enemy’s opposite hand, completing that impressive trick by slashing at a particular part of the SHIEN’s minimally armored stomach.

“Son of a… Fuck you!” Lark went into overdrive the moment she saw that slash end, kicking Crow’s mech back away from her and SHIEN with her hands shaking against the controls on her dashboard. She engaged her thrusters and slid backwards to create a few dozen feet of extra distance.

Lark’s nervous eyes dropped to look at her fuel gauge. Levels began dropping enough for that irritating yellow light to turn into an infuriating, blinking glow of fiery red just a moment later. The small trail of petroleum SHIEN’s torn arm created along the harsh, gray ground of the battlefield turned into a larger, sputtery mess of mechanical viscera. 

Crow’s weakness wasn’t bait, nor was it inherent to the mind control Handler drowned her pilots’ minds in. Bait was Lark’s weakness, and she’d just handed her opponent a free hit at SHIEN’s internal fuel line.

Fuck, she knew exactly where to hit it too. Smash through the right arm to mess with her, then go in for the kill by slicing where the fuel line met SHIEN’s body. This brainless bird probably had the mech’s full blueprints sitting on a screen in front of her drooling maw, and Lark had precious little time to act before her mech's fuel supply was sitting in trails and puddles on the ground it stood on.

That Sierra chick was right; she should have swapped her old mech out the second she decided to fly for the rebels.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Lark couldn’t afford to mope right now. She could afford to smash a fist against her viewscreen until it bled, sure, but this fight wasn’t over until one of them was on the ground.

Strategy.

Strategy.

Lark wracked her brain while her opponent mirrored her own previous move, sitting there with their sword drawn in their one undamaged hand, waiting for Lark to approach. Somehow they’d turned a predictable dance into completely unpredictable chaos.

What should she do?

What should she do?

There was no Sasha to speedrun a genius battle plan in the chaos. Fuck, there wasn’t even Bailey here to flex her supposed Gods-given talent with that likely kidnapped fossil of a dick warmer she called a girlfriend. Come on, Lark.

???: Two… cl… hol… li… longer…

A voice had managed to bust through whatever the opponent was jamming their comms with. SHIEN’s transcriber couldn’t piece together who it was on her viewscreen, but Lark knew that meek, soft voice well enough by now.

Private Ina Ymari, Captain Sierra’s arm candy and Sasha’s close friend, was coming to save the day. How thoughtful.

…

Grr… fine!

“I’m holding them off just fine, but if you want to help, move your ass!” With blood on her hand, bloodshot eyes, and frightened rage filling her voice, Lark spoke into her radio with a clear, growing impatience for the disaster she was in. And perhaps some overconfidence in her ability to turn this dying dance in her favor.

???: O… m-m… way…

If little Ina wanted to come in and save the day, then Lark may as well give her the opportunity, right? That was the supposed power of teamwork Sasha had gotten Lark to see reason with, wasn’t it?

Fine.

With blood slowly trickling from one of her hands, Lark punched her screen with the other to unleash whatever doubts she had about this somewhere, then sent SHIEN into full throttle towards her stationary enemy, revving her chainsaw with the deranged hope that she’d land some shocking killer blow before Ina needed to bail her out.

Unfortunately, Lark wouldn’t even get that far. Mere moments after kicking into high gear to strike, or get struck by, Crow again, the enemy’s mech performed a slow pirouette that initially seemed pointless. “Showoff…” Pointless enough for Lark to comment under her breath, even. That feeling of pointlessness quickly transported from Crow to Lark as the latter realized why the former was pulling dance moves mid-fight.

One last trick to piss Lark off with. One last annoying gimmick to send her over the edge of frustration.

Lark watched as a fusillade of large grenades shot out from the enemy mech’s back, bathing the battlefield in a thick, concentrated cloud of smoke and flares. Whatever they were, they added a total destruction of the SHIEN’s tracking and aim-assist systems to the already debilitating lack of basic visibility.

Lark rammed SHIEN’s brakes and tried to gather her bearings. Moving around in smoke this thick to try and find an exit may have been her best call, but even she could guess that Crow’s mech had some kind of counter to their own equipment. The best she could do was keep her eyes peeled and try to play defense, slowly turning SHIEN’s body around to try and gauge where her opponent could attack her from.

Something from behind made sense, but behind quickly became an unknown concept in such a thick fog of war. She was grinding her teeth at this point, her skin starting to boil an aggravated shade of red to match the blood vessels in her eyes and the red paint job on her bleeding mech.

Just when Lark was starting to take her deep breaths and listen in for the low sound of her opponent’s boosters, her radio began to crackle, and her viewscreen once more had that damn, blissful, confident face taking over a corner of it.

???: Final chance to come home peacefully, Lark. Back where you and Valkyrie belong.

Handler’s voice permeated through her like a migraine, but not because it had that hypnotic power it used to. If Lark could take any solace in this looming loss, it was that the only power Handler had over her was pissing her off and reminding her where home truly was now.

Why keep that rage silent? She was owed some vocal rage!

“Why don’t you g-go shove your hand up this new puppet’s ass and leave me and Sasha alone!” Lark screamed her words like she was cursing out a lifelong enemy, and was Handler anything but?

???: You’re truly certain?

Lark had hoped her words would faze her former superior even slightly, but the look she saw on Handler’s face changed naught. Still warmly smiling. Still wearing the eternal expression of a collected woman who’d won this engagement before it began.

Now where had she experienced that kind of self-satisfaction lately?

There was no time to think about either controlling woman in her head right now. Lark engaged her thrusters at the lowest speed she could to try and retain as much of her dwindling fuel supply as possible, only then dignifying Handler with a response.

“I found a better home with better people! Fuck. Off!” Short, sweet, and splenetic. Handler deserved nothing more.

???: Suit yourself, Lark. I had hoped we could reunite more amicably, but I surmise the damage those imps have done to you really is quite severe. I’ll see the real you again soon.

Once again, no effect on her ex-superior. Much like that warm, hellish face, Handler’s voice remained confident and calm, starkly contrasting the several exasperated punches Lark gave her screen when she vanished from it. Even seeing what could have been the end of this seemingly eternal plume of smoke didn’t bring Lark the slightest hint of comfort.

CLING!

Maybe it would have if she didn’t hear a loud metallic sound followed by SHIEN’s controls stalling. “Cheap asshole!” Lark screamed out as she felt the body of her mech enter free fall, watching its now separated legs crumble into a heap a few feet forward while the body began careening towards the ground.

The smoky sight she was getting through her view indicated that Crow had managed to slice her mech cleanly in half via a silent ambush. Maybe Lark would have heard it if she weren’t so busy with Handler. Gods, even removed from her head, she was still manipulating her.

Stupid.

Stupid!

Lark’s train of growingly self-loathing thought was extremely short-lived. The near-immediate fall alone was enough to almost make Lark regurgitate her ration pack through screams within her spinning cockpit. The rough landing very well might have killed her if she wasn’t belted to her seat. Sierra and her stupid safety checks win again.

That didn’t mean the impact didn’t cause serious damage, though. Lark’s back felt like it had been beaten with a crowbar. Her arms, which immediately tried to force a rapidly powering down SHIEN to fire or hit or do something to the nimble mech now standing above, could barely move and felt like they were on fire when the little distance they could make was made.

Worse than all of that, her head was wrecked. She tasted blood, her vision was blurry, and she felt a concussion bad enough that her eyes could barely stay open.

???: Pick her up and exfiltrate, Crow.

As she tried to keep herself awake long enough to call for her reinforcements, Handler’s voice smashed against her battered skull like a hammer, and with SHIEN in a two-part heap leaking petroleum, Lark could do little but listen to her distant-sounding words.

Ina Ymari: Stay… ay… fro… he… 

Just as Lark had begun to let her eyes shut to the soothing, hazy images of Sasha, her love, and, rather disgustingly, Bailey, her… something taking over her fading mind, Ina Ymari’s voice beamed more clearly through her radio, and an even louder, devastating rail cannon shot joined it a moment later.

When Ina shoots, she always scores. The slug of pure tungsten barreled through the victor’s right shoulder and took its arm with it. Even in Lark’s barely present state, it was nice to see that bucket of bolts smoking and missing a limb instead of the SHIEN right now, even if Lark wished Ina just went for the chest and killed the bitch. Concussions didn’t tend to make Lark sympathetic.

Sierra DeSoto: Clea… sho… girl!

Ina Ymari: Tha… y-yo…

Ina and Captain DeSoto both, eh? Lark was either really important, or she was a convenient stopgap on the way to check on Liz. The feeling of doubt this loss brought her tired mind chose the latter justification, even as she heard a second shot barely miss Crow’s mech.

???: Unfortunate, but I suppose our decoy claimed the target we really needed today.

Handler’s voice returned, taking a brief pause while her new prized bird dodged Ina’s distant fire.

???: Exfiltrate immediately. I’m sure I can make Lark see reason the next time we meet…

Lark laughed, then coughed, then laughed again at her ex-superior’s confidence. “Fuck… yourself…” Lark breathily spoke in a tone as quiet as one would expect from someone seconds from passing out.

Handler heard it still.

???: Try not to let those imps ruin you any further. I would prefer your reeducation to be a brief process. Until then, Lark.

Handler’s voice was like pins and needles swiping across her incredibly sore head, but not long after, her visage was gone from Lark’s screen, fled with the mech that had so thoroughly dismantled the SHIEN. Off into the distance with a few extra shots of Ina’s rail cannon, whizzing by the crumpled scrap pile Lark was entombed in. Shots that single-handedly saved Lark from more years in Handler’s grip.

Never again. She’d never fly this tool of imperial control again, and she knew that wasn’t just her slipping consciousness speaking. She hated her.

She hated the mask she made her wear.

She hated the mech she built for her.

She hated the name she gave her.

Lark wasn’t hers anymore. She had a better home. A real home.

Sierra DeSoto: Well that’s somethin’ to celebrate today. Ina, you rendezvous with Aoi and make sure she gets back to base without another ambush. I’ll get Lark home.

Home. With Sasha. That sounded beautiful right now. As did Sierra’s comradely loyalty to her. Maybe Lark did matter to them after today.

Ina Ymari: On it… B-But, uhm… What about…

Ina, however, seemed to be avoiding a question; even in her daze, Lark could gather that. Even as thoughts of Sasha cuddling against her in a hospital bed overtook her mind as her eyes began to force themselves shut, she could sense the tension on the finally unjammed radio.

Obviously, it was about Nataliza Rayfield.

Sierra DeSoto: Liz’s Whitehawk was gone when I got there, Ina. She’s…

Gone.

Taken in the same fashion Lark was, not that she remembered anything about that old life.

Taken in the same way Sasha was, before Liz, the old bat, saved her from it all.

Ina Ymari: R-Right… I’ll g-go and… I’ll help Aoi.

Lark’s eyes were shut, and that only gave her dwindling hearing a better chance at hearing a light sniffle and a change of tone in between some of Ina’s words. But this wasn’t Lark’s business.

Sierra was coming to help.

Liz was already gone.

Aoi was already saved.

Aoi Tarowaka: Bailey isn’t gonna handle this well, y’know?

Liz wasn’t Lark’s responsibility. Nor was Bailey, as right as the suddenly interjecting, bailed-out comms girl was.

None of this was on Lark now. She did her best.

…

Sierra DeSoto: She’s gonna kill me.

…

For once, none of this was on her.

Aoi Tarowaka: I’ll handle telling her; you handle figuring out how we get Nataliza back. Besides, she’ll take it better from me than you, no offense!

…

This was out of her hands. Mission accomplished, Lark.

Sierra DeSoto: Good call, Aoi. Thanks.

Whatever was about to happen to Liz was everyone else’s problem now.

Lark could close her eyes…

Sierra DeSoto: Dunno if you’re in there, Lark, but I’m gettin’ ya home.

…

…and rest…


*****


While Lark rested in the aftermath of a brutal battle, Nataliza Rayfield finally awoke again with a pained groan.

Time had passed; Nataliza knew that much. Maybe two days? While her head was killing her, that seemed to line up with her recollection of everything.

Retracing her steps, she knew an ambush from someone sent her Whitehawk to the floor. She was unconscious in her ancient death trap of a mech long before that mystery assailant spoke. She woke up being dragged through the foggy recollection of what she thought was a weaponry and mech factory, remembered dazedly punching a guard hard enough to break her nose… then the rest was foggy again.

Sedation? Probably. But she could have sworn she remembered being awake again afterward. Bright lights. Another injection. Questions about herself she was confident she lied her way through.

She couldn’t be sure, though…

Nataliza quickly shook herself out of her own head. Beyond recalling the blurry bits of the factory’s work floor layout still in her head, obsessing over how she got here would just let her captors burrow into her head easier. Better to assess the current situation instead.

She was tied to a chair, even while her vision was still adjusting; that much was obvious. The chair was bolted to the floor. Smart.

They’d tied her arms behind it with some pretty sturdy chains. Smart.

The removal of her clothes was a choice, though. No prison garments? Don’t tell her United Arcadium was underfunding their Ansa war effort.

Pathetic.

She wasn’t too worse for wear, at least given the tumble she took in her Whitehawk. A few bruises and a headache would heal just fine. She’d been through worse.

Small victories.

With her immediate physical situation gathered, Nataliza cleared her vision with a few blinks, and her eyes began slowly scanning around the cold, oppressive room they’d left her in. The walls were metallic, and if she were to wager, not particularly soundproof either. Maybe sleep deprivation was a planned torture tactic? Basic, but effective.

The lighting would have been comically stereotypical if Nataliza could find humor in this situation. The room was lit with a few cheap, dim red strips of dark light, with one dimmer light of white dangling above her like it could clonk her on the head any second. Guess the “we are evil fascist rapists” neon sign would have been too subtle, huh?

As Nataliza scanned the room further, the lack of a bed and any kind of toilet arrangement was notable. Did they intend to kill her when they had the info they wanted? They’d be waiting a while.

Amusingly, the cell door was both unlocked and left open. A way to mock her or a careless mistake? That much wasn’t an easy gamble with how moronic most of these pigs tended to be.

So, she was sans her clothes, tied to a chair in a room as barren as Ansa’s farm, and had no clue what her captors were after beyond information and a possible execution.

Relaxing.

In her state of clear and obvious relaxation, Nataliza’s thoughts turned to one of her close comrades. If they’d gotten her without breaking a sweat, had they gotten the rest of that mission’s participants too? Aoi was assigned to watch over Lark. Assuming the turncoat wasn’t playing some long United Arcadium con, Aoi was probably safe. Good head on her shoulders with a capable pilot nearby.

No worries there.

Ina. Gods, Ina. Nataliza never liked leaving that girl on her own. Sure, a stealthy, long-range sniper didn’t tend to benefit from having an assault mech up her ass at all times, but it was tough for Nataliza not to worry. If they got her, would she crack? Almost definitely.

If they got her, would they even bother keeping her alive at all?

Nataliza banished the thought from her aching head. Sierra was on that mission, too. The odds of that girl letting a hair on her girlfriend’s head get harmed were nonexistent. Safety above all, that woman.

Bailey.

Of course Nataliza’s thoughts quickly turned to Bailey.

There wasn’t a hope in hell that woman was handling this well. Nataliza hoped she would. She’d hoped change meant she wouldn’t get as reckless, even if she may very well have appreciated some recklessness right about now.

A daring rescue mission where Bailey stormed through a dozen mechs with good intel, fought like a bat out of hell, and got her back to Corvis Base before there was a new scar on Nataliza’s body? Ah, now that was a comforting thought.

Less comforting was the thought of them somehow getting Bailey, too. But, again, banished from her head.

Just as Nataliza started to get frustrated with the unknown status of Ina and Bailey, both, footsteps began echoing down the hall. Powerful, loud, striding steps that clearly wanted to make themselves known.

After some slow buildup, Nataliza watched hell itself walk through the open door to her cell.

Her.

Sasha’s Handler. One she’d backed the former imperial pilot against in two separate fights now. One she’d watched Sasha seemingly fail to kill twice now. Two bombastic explosions survived without as much as a scratch on the woman’s cold, pale face. A perfect effigy of the United Arcadium’s presence on Ansa.

A failure who just won’t fucking die. Dressing herself in a fancy red coat adorned in gold didn’t hide the walking pile of capitalistic manure she was underneath it.

Much like the empire she represented, her presence had an imposing quality, though. Fearless as Nataliza was, she understood why others weren’t when looking at her. Nataliza was a tall woman, but it was clear this woman had a good few inches on her, even discounting the bump in height from her boots. Nataliza heard tales of the sword resting in a scabbard by her hip, too. Quite the combatant before accepting the job of a soul-sucking imperial rapist.

She’d managed to curate a near-perfect vision of fearless power, but that hair, though. So much effort was put into producing a long, luscious head of pale, white hair that flowed down to her back just to add some orange highlights that made her look like the villain of one of Aoi’s pirated Earth cartoons.

At least Bailey’s high-effort nonsense made her look good; such vanity dashed this wretch’s fear factor and made her commitment to a pathetic persona all the more laughable, if Nataliza felt like laughing right now.

Ridiculous, but what wasn’t ridiculous about a woman who still called herself the Devil of Radix long after the name lost any meaning to most?

Others may have faltered on their historical studies of the Arcadia System, but not Nataliza. So much fascist rot began with this woman.

This undying stain on the galaxy.

One who finally chose to speak only when Nataliza made eye contact with those fiery pools of red.

“Well. Quite the pleasure to finally make your acquaintance in person. You are rather similar to those party favors your comrades call propaganda posters, aren’t you?” The Devil spoke with a warm, sickening reverence for Nataliza that made her stomach boil from the first word. “I understand your contempt quite well, but I am only here to talk, Elizabeth.” She couldn’t even get her name right, but Nataliza chose to leave it. Why hand out information, even of absolute unimportance, for free?

“You’ll kill me before you get a useful word out of me. Last words are for–”

“They're for fools who haven’t said enough. Quite aware, Elizabeth. I could spend the evening quoting dead ideologues to you, too, but that seems like a decided waste of my time and yours.” The Devil cut her off with harsh words delivered without as much as the slightest change in cadence.

“Then I’ll make it easy for you. Do whatever you want; you’ll get nothing from me.” Nataliza once again didn’t take the bait of correcting her name, growling her words at the woman standing above her with clear contempt in her stare.

“I’m afraid you’ll give me everything, Elizabeth, though what I want isn’t a factor in this conversation of ours.” The Devil let her smile drop, stepping as close to Nataliza as possible without risking a bite from the woman she clearly viewed as some kind of naked animal. “You and I share a reputation. Just as I’m sure the imps you align yourself with would see me skinned like a bear given the chance, the troops and commanders on this base would rather see you torn limb from limb than anything else right now.” The Devil’s words flowed with a practiced eloquence that made Nataliza’s stomach churn.

Not a game that would work on her.

“Sounds like you should give them what they want, then.” Nataliza growled again but did at least manage to wear a confident smile towards her captor.

“Oh, but I’m afraid I am.” The Devil paused, meeting Nataliza’s smile by firmly gripping a tuft of her hair and yanking her head upwards. “I would much rather handle this less barbarically, but my hands are tied on this base. The troops here will not treat you well. You are a tool, one that I am to let be used until I can convince this base’s leadership to leave you more directly in my care.” Despite the aggressive strength of her hair pull, Handler’s tone remained as steady as ever. A disgusting level of calm apathy in her abuses.

“Right. Violent monstrosities are all your empire is good for, aren't they?” Nataliza remained unfazed by the hair pull, keeping both her glare and her growling regardless of it.

“I do hope you keep some of that fight by the time I have that matter dealt with, Elizabeth. You’ll be quite the pilot for me when you see reason.” The Devil’s eyes practically gleamed, making Nataliza want to slice one of them right out of its socket. The glimmer faded, and her grip on Nataliza’s hair did too, the red-jacketed, leather-adorned ghoul already turning around to slowly make her exit. “I have additional work, so do forgive me if that takes some time. It’s been left to me to arrange future internment efforts for… Ah, Ina Ymari and Bailey Cluanaire. Yes.” The Devil’s voice changed naught, and all Nataliza could do was picture a horrifying grin on her face as she spoke those words.

Fucker. She did homework after all. Or…

No, Nataliza didn’t tell them anything. She knew that. She remembered that. The Devil wouldn’t get in her damn head.

“Should be careful with that one. That Bailey girl would do a lot worse than skin you alive, scumbag.” Nataliza tried to play coy, but Handler only turned her head back when she reached the door in response, meeting Liz’s ever-so-shook gaze with her own glimmering glare.

“Your girlfriend is quite the firebrand, I hear, yes. She will perish all the same.” Girlfriend. Fine, she knew that, but it was an easy guess. There were posters of them both plastered on city blocks all over the Western Hemisphere by now. Nataliza didn’t tell her that no matter how confident she sounded. “You’ve survived as you have by sheer luck, Nataliza. Neither your girlfriend nor your protégé will share that luck. They will die. You will outlive them by my hand.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Nataliza told them things. Things she didn’t remember. If the Devil’s confident side-glare was any indication, she said far more than she was letting on, too.

Her name.

Her girlfriend.

Ina.

What else did she say? What else didn’t Nataliza remember revealing?

“Is that all?” Nataliza tried to keep her composure, but there was sweat on her face. Her gaze was less sure of her own mind.

Bastards.

“For now, I suppose. Until we’re permitted to meet again, Nataliza.” The Devil mercifully didn’t linger, taking her leave and leaving the door open as it was when she arrived. Her footsteps grew quieter, then were gone outright.

Then a slower, less powerful set of them loomed in the distance.

Nataliza was confident in herself, but she wasn’t a dumbass. If they’d managed to claim some basic info from her mind in such a short amount of time, then no amount of willpower and mental fortitude was going to survive too much of this.

She was on borrowed time, and she didn’t have the slightest damn clue how long that time would even be. She could be stubborn, but that would only get her so far when her enemy seemed to be in possession of all the cards.

Her hope, as powerless as it made her feel, was that Sierra and Bailey were as stubborn as her and wouldn’t let her rot.

Hope. That was what she had, no matter how bad this would get.

Hope for Bailey Cluanaire, assuming she hadn’t already exploded and given up on the rebel life and Nataliza both.

No, if nothing else, the depraved sleazeball she loved was better than that now.

She believed Bailey and her allies would save her.

That was all she had right now…