She takes a few deep breaths, applying the last bits of tape to her fists. Juniper's feet move into the proper stance, her arms raising into position at the same time. Then, a right hook strikes hard onto the bag, following that with a jab. Her feet slide across the cold floor, crouching low to deliver a hard punch. Sweat pours from her face, continuing the routine over and over.

A right hook lands with ease, her feet dancing around the bag with a practiced rhythm. There's a burning sensation in her lungs that reminds her yet again, that she is alive. Even now, when all she wants to do is to collapse into bed and die, she knows she cannot.

It's time to play the hero that people expect from Wardog, even if kills her.

At this early hour, she would normally be asleep, if not for the nightmares getting worse. She only got two hours of sleep before jolting awake from another nightmare. Another one involving her actions in Furlo Pass, even if she can't remember most of it. They continue to haunt her no matter what she does.

When she closes her eyes, the only thing there is the look of disappointment from Her. Juniper failed the one person willing to absolve her of the pain and is now doomed to live in agony for it. She tries not to dwell on it, but it's close to impossible to not to. She was given a chance to prove her worth, to show that she was capable of more, and she failed.

She can't even disassociate into the static anymore. It refuses to materialize in her thoughts, making her wonder: just what in the fuck is wrong with her? That answer is blatantly obvious though, a lot. A lot is wrong with her.

It's easier to ask what's right with her, because nothing is right with her.

Now isn't the time to spiral, it's time to focus. There'll be time to fall into a depressive state later.

Sliding across the floor, a sharp jab strikes the bag, followed quickly with an uppercut to the top of the bag. Jumping back, Juniper assumes the proper stance again, exhaling sharply. Her heart beats faster and faster with every breath she takes.

Moving left, she lands on the balls of her feet, throwing a hard right hook onto the bag. Stepping back, that hook is followed up with two jabs. She moves right, repeating the same process.

Finally starting to understand why Laila always hit the bag. It must have helped to keep her level-headed, especially after a strenuous mission. Juniper chugs down a jug of water, pouring the rest over her head, sliding back into the routine.

Too soon to stop, not when she finally feels the burn.

A flurry of punches erupts, each precisely hitting the bag. Sparring is much like dancing, with how intricate her movement is, and how precise she needs to be. Too little force and it won't amount to anything. But too much and she misses her target.

Crimson stains her fist wraps, it stings, but the pain helps her to remember she's alive.

Imagining the bag as Her helps Juniper to stay focused. The irrational and scared part of her brain wants to run back to Her and beg for forgiveness. But it wouldn't change reality if she did.

Juniper Sladek is not human, she forfeited the right to call herself a human the second she put on the muzzle. The same muzzle that sits buried in her locker, it calls to her with its alluring words. Would it not be so easy to wear it again?

Grunting, she shakes off the intrusive thoughts, refocusing on the bag. Every punch lands with a fury attached to them, one that she refuses to let go of. Hitting the bag helps to blow off steam. And, gods does she need it. She's seen the way people stare at her in the mess, the looks in the hangar when she checks in on the work being done to Ixion. They all judge her, see her every fault, but it's hard to blame them. The surviving Wardog is nothing more than a traitor, whose fragile psyche was broken.

Command have grilled her for intel off and on since her "rescue", but every answer is the same "I don't know." Juniper's head was filled with starlight and static, not information. Even with data pulled from Ixion, they're left with more questions than answers.

If Laila were here, she'd have answers. But, of course, she isn't here. It's Juniper's fault, no matter what anyone else says.

With another uppercut she slides back, grabbing the sweat towel from the bed. She sits down to clean the sweat from her face and downs an entire bottle of water, panting for breath. Gods, she fucking needed that.

At first, the sparring was about refocusing her mind, after spending two months in the infirmary and then quarantine. Her senses were dulled, there's no way she would be useful otherwise. But then it became about the routine. Hitting the bag, the constant workouts, it's helped to keep the night terrors at bay. Sure, she still can't sleep at night, but she turns that fear into anger.

Gods know the fucking pills they gave her to sleep, sure as shit don't work.

Helps her feel more like her old self again. The Juniper before the muzzle, before she gave up her humanity. It's easy to slip into that old facade, still fits like a glove after all. Every day she feels more like her old self again, even cutting her hair again. Short on the sides, longer in the back, just like how Laila always loved it.

So many regrets with her. So many fucking things left unsaid. Juniper failed her, just like she failed everyone else. They call her a hero, but it's fucking bullshit, what's so heroic about not dying?

'Sladek, report to the briefing room.' The radio on her bed goes off. Ugh, just when she was starting to feel the burn too. She knows shouldn't show up, after all, she isn't one of them, nor has she ever been. But at the same time, it's in her best interest to show up and pretend that she's okay. Even if the truth is far from that.

After all, they cleared her for active duty again. Clearly expecting her to perform some kind of fucking miracle with Ixion. As if her last sortie didn't make it clear just how fucked in the head she is.

Groaning, she cleans the sweat from her body and grabs her dog tags from the nightstand. Two tags hang from the chain, Laila's and now Juniper's. Wasn't her idea, it was given after the infirmary stay. Command wants her to keep her own set, dunno why, probably some propaganda bullshit.

After a quick stretch, she grabs her bomber jacket and walk out into the brightly lit hallway.

It's funny in a weird way, the pretend-person would never have worn this getup outside of her quarters. She's done everything possible to hide it, the bulge, the stark reminder of him, the person who never was. Hormones helped, but there was no way to get this deformity fixed, not when she didn't have the funds to do so.

Up a flight of stairs and then through a doorway leads her to the briefing room, wherein other pilots are beginning to show up. There's only a few other pilots here, but she can feel them staring. Probably wondering why she's here, instead of six-feet in the ground for treason.

Unfortunately, there's no good answer for that.

Juniper rests a foot on the wall behind her, leaning back with her arms folded, watching the stragglers make their way in. Once everyone has finally made it in, the lights turn off and a holographic projection lights up the room.

"Okay people, listen up. We've got a supply convoy that'll be running through the old city of Vernio. You'll be escorting it through and ensuring it has a secure route to get here." The projection displays a ruined city, with markings for the route the convoy is supposed to take, as well as various details surrounding the mission.

Ah, escort duty. Not her favorite job in the world, but someone has to do it. The route itself is fairly straightforward, but there's too much open terrain, it's the perfect spot for an ambush.

"The convoy itself will be composed of twenty transport units, loaded to the brim with supplies. As a result, these things are slow moving and lightly armed" The projection shifts showing a hologram of the transport unit in question. Quadrupedal mechs that while slow moving are typically heavily armored. They're the perfect units for transport duty.

Juniper has seen these transports take down Doru before, though it's rare they actually do. These things are slow moving and their weapons have a terrible fire rate. They're more likely to die without landing a hit on an enemy mech.

"Normally this would be fairly routine, but with the losses we've sustained as of late–" Juniper shifts uncomfortably, wishing she weren't here right now. "–things are tight, and as such, we don't have many machines that are ready. We're running this with only three units."

Three mechs? Gods, are they fucking insane!?

Normally escort duty is done with multiple teams working in unison. Must have been a rough month, not that she would know. She's been cooped up in her quarters, sparring.

The projection changes to the mechs involved in the mission. "Helios will taking lead on this operation, as the PMC employing Glass has agreed to extend their loan through this mission. Lieutenant Saparlo, I'm assigning you to this mission as well, since you've been cleared. Which brings me to our third pilot, Captain Sladek." The Briefing Officer sighs, grimacing. "Word came down from on high, they want you on this mission, due to your immense urban combat experience."

Heh, guess they don't want Juniper running training evaluations until she blows her brains out from boredom, then.

Doesn't really matter either way, the few people here are probably staring at her. All asking the same damn question: Why was this traitor allowed freedom? Who the fuck knows? Pity, maybe? Or just an excuse to plaster this dumb bitch's face everywhere again?

"With luck, we shouldn't be dealing with much Imperial resistance. Our allies out in the east have been keeping them busy lately, which should keep their heavy hitters busy." The projection changes, blanketing the dark room in a new display. "Outside of Vernio is an old tunnel network we'll be using. I don't care how you do it, but get the convoy there."

Juniper studies the projections, making mental notes when needed. Best to keep a low profile and not attract attention, use the convoy as bait to lure in the enemy. As soon as the last transport hits the tunnels, it's a matter of ensuring they make it safely here.

Ixion will need some sensor adjustments to account for the tall buildings, but it's nothing that can't be done on the fly.

"Finally, that brings me to the route–" It changes showing the designated route. A mostly straight line through the heart of Vernio, surrounded by the skeletal remains of buildings. "–We've determined this to be the most optimal route, directly through the heart of the city." AKA Ambush City, joy.

The project fades away and the light flicker back on. "You ship out in an hour, make it count."

Free of the monotonous briefing, Juniper returned to her quarters for a hot shower. It's an easy enough mission, she's done convoy escort before, not a lot goes wrong. As long as you're not careless, everyone walks away without issue.

Yet, as she laces up her boots to head for chow, she can't help but wonder if she can really do this. Pretend that she didn't give up her humanity, or kill her supposed allies, just because She could make the stars come back. What if she fails again? What then?

Sure, she's been cleared for service again, but there's not a chance that anyone will want to willingly work with her after what's happened. There was a time when they would have seen her as a hero, but now it's obvious they only see a traitor. But then, Juniper was never a hero, she was just a weapon meant to be pointed at the enemy.

It's her true purpose in life, one that She helped her to realize. Even now, when she should be focusing on coming mission, she loses herself to thinking about Her, again. None of what happened feels real, like it was some sort of nightmare, only it did happen.

Wearing her muzzle for the first time, everything started to make sense. After all, it was a gift from Her. She wanted Juniper to have it. Gods, it makes her hard just thinking about wearing the muzzle again.

Laying back against the door, she slips a hand into her pants, while the other furiously unbuckles her pants. Can't stop thinking about Her, about what She did. No one should be this turned on, yet here she is, beating her meat, like the animal she's quickly become. She would wear the muzzle, again and again, if it meant that this feeling would never leave

If she wears it again, maybe everything would make sense again and she could finally hear Her voice again. She yearns to hear that voice again, for it to call her a good dog. Even just thinking about Her, drives Juniper crazy. This shouldn't feel so good, she was supposed to be free of Her influence, but Juniper no longer cares.

Handler would want Juniper to give into her animalistic desires. Because she is an animal. And that thought is what finally sends her over the edge, hot cum spilling onto her hand and staining her panties. She knows she should clean it up, but instead, she scoops it into her mouth. A reward for remembering who matters most. What's left can stain her cock and panties, doesn't really matter.

Now, coming down from her euphoric high, all she can feel is disgust, for what she's been reduced to and for who she is. Not even a person, a fucking animal and she loved every second of it. They twisted her mind and made her this way. Or that's the lie she wants to tell herself.

What She did to Juniper's head was simply bring out the truth. The truth that she needed to be broken down, she craved it so damn badly. When the choice was offered, she didn't even hesitate to take it, because she needed it.

Laila would be disgusted at learning what her partner has been reduced to. She wouldn't even recognize the one she gave her dog tags to, because there is nothing to recognize. There's just a fucking corpse wearing those fucking tags now.

Juniper rubs her head, trying to block out the noise in her head.

Should head to the mess and get some food in before the mission. Food will help her forget all about this, then she can focus on piloting, the one thing she remembers how to do. The halls are quiet, personnel are either sleeping or on standby. Her walk is peaceful, helps to almost forget what she just did. As if she can't feel the mess in her panties.

By contrast, it's loud in the mess, making it hard to focus on the food in front of her, let alone her thoughts. Not that the food itself is very appetizing, but it's better than the rations. She sticks a fork in her stewed meat, not so much eating, as she is staring at it. She's always had a hard time keeping down food before missions, probably due to nerves.

You should ask yourself, just who would benefit from selling out the infamous Wardog Squadron?

Doesn't help that she can't stop thinking about those words.

All of them would benefit.

Juniper remembers the glares, the cautious stares, as if they were waiting for her to snap again. Yeah, every last one of the people in here would benefit from selling them out. Sure, there's no concrete evidence, but that entire mission felt off. Coeus sold them bad info, but someone tipped off the Empire.

Every last one of these bastards is guilty.

She takes a bite of the shitty food to quell the intrusive thoughts. Rubbing her temples, she sighs quietly, centering her mind. Can't afford to spiral right now, this isn't the time, not when there's work to be done.

"Morning, Sladek, looks like we're working together today." Saparlo takes a seat across from her. Based on their limited interactions so far, it's difficult to say what her aim is, only that she seems chipper as ever. How did someone like her survive basic, let alone make it to Warrant Officer?

Meh, at least she looks less Imperial than last time, having shaved her black hair at the sides. Definitely not regs.

Juniper takes another bite of her meal and nods. "Guess so." She stares off distantly, not at anything in particular, just the nothingness of it all.

"Y'know as shitty as this stuff is—" Saparlo points with her fork to the mediocre stewed beef. "—It's still better than the slop they'd feed us in the empire. That stuff was calorie dense, but tasted like absolute shit, looked even worse." She laughs, but Juniper only shrugs and nods, picking at her meal again.

The conversation stays silent, as both eat the rest of their meal, until Saparlo speaks up yet again. "Tell me something, Sladek. How in the fuck did you get your hands on a mech capable of flight?" For just a brief moment, Saparlo reminds her of a starry eyed rookie.

Juniper leans back, exhaling sharply as she slips into the facade. "Stole the plans from an archive some years ago. Supposed to be an answer to something or other, but never built because of the cost and they could never figure out how to get the quadruple engines to run in sync."

Only reason Ixion's builders figured it out, was because the Swordsmiths know their way around unconventional designs.

Saparlo laughs, choking on the stewed meat for a moment. Juniper checks on her, but is waved off by the turncoat downing an entire glass of water, and coughing furiously before finally exhaling. "Bull-fucking-shit. I mean, no offense, but you don't strike me as the type to be able to handle an infiltration mission. You just got a unique look to you, that screams 'I'm not Imperial!' Maybe it's the hair, not exactly Imperial regs."

Juniper takes a final bite, setting aside the tray and shrugs. "Believe it or don't, not my problem. It's the truth though. We've been together since my merc days, back when I ran solo. Been rebuilt once or twice, before... yeah." If she says it aloud, she'll spiral. Better to pretend what happened, didn't.

The Lieutenant seems to buy the story, nodding along. "Can't imagine it runs on a basic fusion reactor, right?"

Juniper shakes her head. "Pulse reactor, one of a kind. Bitch and a half to maintain, but Ixion's got a crew here that makes it purr. Don't know the specifics on the reactor, never exactly my strong suit."

The Ex-Imperial stares at her for a moment, leaving Juniper to wonder if she said something wrong. "So what's the deal with the name then?"

"Ixion? I like it." Juniper tilts her head in confusion.

Saparlo grins, shaking her head. "S'a good name, but like, why?"

The confused pilot shrugs. "Guess it's a rebel thing? Lot of our units tend to be unique pieces of shit. So naming them makes them ours."

She seems to like this explanation, nodding. "Makes sense, does that mean I should name my Doru? There's nothing unique about it. Hell, it ain't even the only one in the hangar."

Again, Juniper shrugs. "Do what you want. Maybe wait for some defining feature."

Saparlo nods, clearing her throat. "On the subject of the Empire, kinda wondering what the kennels were like. Heard stories about it from other pilots, but we all knew better than to dig deeper. Bitch scared the shit out of us." Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad.

Need to say something, need to show that you're human, right?

But you're not human, are you?

No, of course not, you're just a lousy mutt who can't even do what she's told.

The trembling returns to Juniper's hands, forcing her to count backwards from ten in her head as a distraction. Some technique the shrinks want her to do in addition to taking the pills. It works, but she wonders why they're even bothering with her. "Don't know." Juniper mutters, staring at the table in an effort to distract herself.

"Y'don't know? But weren't you–"

Tell her the truth, maybe she'll take pity on you and put a bullet in your brain.

Shut up, I don't want anyone's pity. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

Oh, Junebug, we both know you do.

You're not real, get out of my head.

Trembling hands reach into her jacket pocket, grabbing for pills. Just need to pop one before the spiral gets worse, then it'll all be fine. These are different the ones on her nightstand, they're supposed to help with the psychological issues.

"I don't know, okay? They, They did... things to my head, h-hollowed it out—" The pill goes down smooth, her head is quiet once again. "Please, just... drop the subject. I'm no good to anyone, so just... leave me alone, okay?" Her words are quiet; trembling; full of hesitation.

"I don't know. Okay? I don't know, I don't know anything anymore. They–They–They fucking hollowed out my head a–a–and–" She hyperventilates, reaching in her pocket for the meds, popping a pill before the spiral gets worse.

Saparlo reaches a hand across the table, concern written clearly written on her face. Only for that hand to be slapped away. "Don't you fucking dare touch that thing." An angry voice scolds.

Before Juniper has time to react, she's sent to the ground. Her attacker's fists pummel her stomach and chest repeatedly, leaving her to take the beating, much like she did to the menial. It's what she deserves isn't it?

"Listen here you fucking mongrel, you might have these idiots fooled, but me? No, I see through your shit, you're a fucking murderer." It's a blonde woman, that much she can tell. But she doesn't recognize the voice.

C'mon June, are you going to let this cunt hurt you? Just give in and kill her.

"... Who are you?" She should fight back, but she's far too afraid to. If she does, they'll just see her as a beast. They'll hate her too.

It'll be worse if you don't fight back. Come on June, don't you want to avenge me?

Avenge?

Do it, June. Kill her.

Why is Juniper so hard right now? Memories thrash around in her head of Laila, of the two of them having sex. It was always so damn rough, because it turned them both on. But this?

Come on, why shouldn't this turn you on? You're just a broken mutt who does what she's told. And I say kill her.

Kill? Juniper can do that. Wrapping her hands around the attacker's throat, she begins choking them, laughing all the while like a deranged beast.

Just like that, Junebug.

It's so easy, the beating doesn't stop, only intensifies, but—"Hey! Get the fuck off of her!"

Saparlo pushes off the attacker, helping Juniper to her feet. "Who the fuck are you and why are you assaulting Sladek?"

Her attacker spits a bloody lump onto Juniper's boot. "Vera Glass. I dragged this fucking mongrel back kicking and screaming. Oh, and thanks by the way, you killed my sister, Nyx, and almost fucking killed me." Glass throws one more punch into Juniper's stomach. "Fucking die already."

"Come on, is that it?" The deranged creature only laughs. "Fucking Saparlo pulled her punches the last time she attacked me. And she still made it fucking hurt. That was nothing, Glass." Nothing hurts, because Juniper has lost her entire godsdamn mind.

Glass glares at the two of them, but doesn't attack again. "You really are insane. I bet you killed Praxian too, didn't you? All part of some shitty plan to defect? Do yourself a favor Saparlo, get away from this headcase before she kills you too. Everyone dies around this cunt, because she kills them." She cracks her neck, walking off. "We ship out in fifteen."

None of what was said was a lie. Everyone dies near the Angel of Death. Sure, Juniper hates it, but it's a natural occurrence. And there's no way to change her fate now, anyway.

"You good, Sladek? That looked rough." Saparlo puts a sympathetic hand onto the deranged mongrel's shoulder. "Come on, we should to get ready."

Juniper shrugs. "Sure, whatever."

As unfortunate as it is, she follows without issue, instead of running to hide in her quarters, as would be preferred. The walk from the mess hall to the lockers is short, but gives her time to think. If Laila were here, she'd have beat the shit out of Glass. No one disrespects Laila Praxian's wife, her fucking lieutenant, and gets away with it.

She was the entire reason Juniper got up in the morning, let alone continued piloting. Now that her wife is gone, it's a hollow feeling. Not even grief, just... emptiness.

They hollowed out her head, replacing everything with starlight, but that's not why she feels this way. It's because she had a chance to make things better and instead of taking it, Juniper failed. She hates herself for it.

The locker room isn't big, some holdover from the old train station above. But inside her locks hangs her jumpsuit, the same one that Laila had commissioned. Still don't understand why She preserved it, but there's nothing in it to suggest anything nefarious. Though the collar has been modified slightly to accommodate the neural port.

Doctors were fascinated by the fucking port on Juniper's neck. Apparently some outsiders came to look at it, while she was out cold from the drugs. Probably related to the "rich benefactors" funding much of the cells out here.

But on the bottom shelf of the locker, it sits. Her muzzle. The reminder of when she surrendered her humanity.

Come on June, just put it on.

Don't you want to make me happy?

Shut-up, you're not real, just a fleeting memory.

Put it on June, just give into the temptation.

Juniper punches the locker, reaching for her pill bottle. One pill wasn't enough, need more to shut that voice up. Four more pills are swallowed, silencing her head once and for all. No more muzzle. Can't let her other self assert control, otherwise she'll never be human, right?

Her insanity has thankfully gone unnoticed.

It takes only a moment to get her head straight. Her pants and jacket hang in the locker, while she steps into her pilot suit. Many pilots prefer a skin suit underneath, even her wife did. But they never fit right on her body, either too tight or not tight enough. Always a conundrum that Lails loved to laugh at in their more tender moments.

To the left of her locker is—was Laila's locker. It's gathered dust since that mission, but if she were still here, she'd be mad that Juniper had been promoted. Sure, the ranks are meaningless bullshit, but it's one less thing to jokingly hold over the lieutenant's head. There'd probably be some party, because Laila could never resist the dumb shit.

Inside the locker is a photo of the two of them. Taken about a year ago, nothing special, just something she took to commemorate their anniversary. Juniper grabs it, stuffing it inside her pilot suit.

No surprise, there's also spare medical tape, because Laila preferred taping her knuckles before combat. Fuck it, might as well carry it on. It only takes a few minutes for Juniper to re-wrap her knuckles, time she so desperately needs.

Could probably use it anyway, her knuckles still hurt like hell from sparring.

After a quick flex of her fists, she stands, watching the other two pilots finish changing. Saparlo is wearing the typical Imperial jumpsuit: Black, with all the identifiers, plus a pair of silver wings on the chest. Figured she'd have dumped it after defecting, but seems not.

Then there's Glass, who seems to be wearing some form-fitting suit, that's hard to wrap figure out. Heart rate monitor, and various oddities that look strange. Guess a merc's money is good for something after all.

Juniper closes her wife's locker, bowing her head in respect. Don't worry, Lails, I won't die out there. Someone's gotta honor your memory right? She's gone, it's Juniper's fault, but the only thing left to be done is to honor the memory.

Walking in through the hangar doors, her attention is immediately grabbed by the familiar smell and sounds of hot work. It's never ending in here, always something new to be fixed. Gods, she spent so many sleepless nights in here going over combat footage. Laila banned her from the cockpit after hours, in an attempt to look out for her subordinate.

It makes Juniper yearn for those days, even though they're long gone. The head technician waves her down and walks over. A tall, dark skinned woman, who towers over a lot of the pilots here. She definitely hasn't slept a wink in at least a week.

Mora Boscht, the head technician herself. Back when Ixion first started sortieing with the rebels, she handled all of its repairs. It because of her that Argos was born. Some insane dream of hers that became reality, worked up over many sleepless nights. And gods know how much outside funding. Only person ever trusted with Ixion, because she makes it purr just right.

There's an almost angry look to her, which turns to a smile the second she pulls Juniper into a bear hug. "Hard to believe you're still alive and kickin' after everything. Fuck, I heard about Laila, damn shame."

Wish everyone would stop mentioning that, but it's... understandable.

Juniper nods. "Is it ready?"

Mora shrugs and rolls her eyes. "I'll be honest, it took us some time to make heads or tales of half these upgrades. It's in good condition though, or about as good as I'm going to be able to get it, until we get that shipment in." She pats Juniper's shoulder. "Don't worry, Imps may have done a number on ol' Ixion, but I guarantee it'll purr like new."

Ixion menacingly stares back at the pair. It's hard to look at the supposed symbol for the rebellion. The Empire took that symbol and corrupted it, like they do with everything. The Wardog emblem still rests atop the upper chest with its three scratches.

Three sin lines; each representing Juniper Sladek's three greatest sins: Laila Praxian's death represents the first and shortest of the scratches.

Should have listened when she said to stand down. Should have listened to a lot of what she said. Hah, as if Juniper ever listened. Even after joining up, she was still a merc at heart, doing what she wanted, because she thought only of herself.

Gods, what a selfish asshole she is.

"That scythe is clunky, you sure about it? Still got a spare knife and rifle lying around if you want," Mora says, offering a reassuring smile. "Still don't understand why they gave you a fucking scythe to begin with. Fucking thing looks unwieldy."

"Nah." Juniper shakes her head. "No point."

Mora turns her head back to one of the mechs being worked on, and sighs. "Sorry, much as I wanna stay and chat, one of my juniors is about to kill us all if she doesn't listen."

"No worries." Juniper nods as Mora runs off.

That old equipment would be useful here, but it was made built for a different pilot. Juniper Sladek isn't that pilot from the propaganda anymore. She's a fucking corpse.

"You ready, Sladek?" Saparlo puts a hand on CO's shoulder, offering a smile. "Heard rumors that you rebs were always cooped up in a cave. But this place? It's an actual hangar. Godsdamn."

Juniper shrugs, "doesn't matter." Not bothering to waste any more time, she climbs up the ladder to the top of the mech bay, planting both feet on the metal platform. After a squeeze of her dog tags for luck, she clambers through the cockpit hatch of Ixion.

Back to the cockpit and the ghosts. Once again, it's so damned difficult to get comfortable in here. The neural cable connects to her implant. Connecting is a hell like no other. For the briefest of seconds, Juniper Sladek has died. Her heart stops, only to restart.

If she screams right now, there's a good chance that she'll choke on her own bile. The controls are gripped tightly, while her brain begins to sync with the mech. Her implant burns, it's too late to rip it out, she just has to bear it. Everything hurts so fucking much, having to relearn her sixth sense all over. Blood trickles down her nose, but that's when the connection process ends.

Machine and pilot are one and the same at last.

Wiping away the blood, Juniper steadies her breathing. The violent seizure is finally over; she survived connecting. How can anyone survive this without brain damage?

Monitors and various system panels illuminate the dark cockpit, while the final systems check begins. Green across the board. Even in a black coat of paint, this is her baby.

Cables disconnect from the reactor ports, blasting steam out and falling to the ground.    Alarms wail throughout the hangar, whilst the mech bay opens to release the three units. Ixion is first out of its pen, followed by Helios, and the Doru, the latter two having been painted into an urban camouflage.

Ixion is first onto the elevator. Juniper kisses her dog tags, burying them back into her suit. Time to get busy. "Come on, Ixion, it's showtime." She mumbles and silently prays for her own survival.

'This is your only warning, Sladek: You step out of line and I'll make sure you won't a third chance. You're a fucking mongrel and I intend to run your ass into the ground, got it?' That mercenary, Glass doesn't seem to get it.

"Sure."

* * *

Juniper fights back a yawn, escort duty is always so boring.

Intel may have been wrong, they've yet to encounter a single enemy and they're already halfway through the city. Every thirty minutes or so, she changes position, staying ahead of the approaching convoy. It's not hard work, most of the time, escort duty is easy. But with only three mechs, it's a pain in the ass.

Honestly, she'd rather be back at base sparring. Might even be able it picture it as that fucking merc. Would certainly be nice to hit someone who deserves it. It'd teach everyone not to fuck with her. But it would only lead to more uncomfortable stares from people she failed.

Ugh, she focuses back on the monitors, watching as nothing happens. These old cities aren't exactly a great sightseeing destination. Whatever isn't already rubble is due to collapse on its own any day now.

Once upon a time, Vernio was a city that never slept. Then one day, it fell asleep, never to awaken. Now, the only sound that Juniper can hear is rain pitter-pattering against the metal frame of Ixion. It's peaceful, yet haunting in its own way.

From her vantage point she can see the scars that haunt this city. Buildings once full of people, now sit empty, abandoned and crumbling. The remains of mechs fill the streets, many of them damaged beyond repair and abandoned, just waiting for their reactors to one day cook off. Some day it might be rebuilt, but for now, it sits abandoned as yet another haunting reminder of the many wars in this region.

The pouring rain is a nice distractor. It quiets Juniper's erratic thoughts, letting her stay focused on the task at hand, instead of falling into another spiral. Even still, it's far too quiet throughout the city. Could be an ambush waiting to happen, or it could be that she's grown paranoid. Hard not to be paranoid, when you've been through a situation like this before.

'Sladek, status update.' It's Glass, that merc. They've only had one interaction so far, but Juniper is already wishing she could have finished off Helios back in Furlo. It's easy to see why the merc's PMC offloaded her onto the rebels, with an attitude like that, she's bound to be trouble.

"Good on this end."

From here, it would be easy to take out Helios with a single shot. One well-placed shot through the gap in the reactor armor would kill Glass in an instant. Unfortunately, there's no way to make it look like enemy fire.

'Saparlo?'

'Nothing out of the ordinary.'

And then we have Saparlo. Ex-Imperial, overtly friendly, annoying and quite frankly, hard to read. From their limited interactions so far, she has a nasty right hook, but not much else going on. Annoying, but harmless. Probably just nerves, trying to build everyone's trust and such. Not easy when you're an ex-Imperial, even if you did practically hand deliver them an ace back.

Tendency to mention things that should be remain unsaid, such as the kennels or Her. Most likely it's that bluntness they hammer into you, back in basic. So long as she doesn't bring up the past again, or try anything stupid, Juniper might share another drink with her.

No radar contacts, aside from friendlies so far. The Empire may be good, but not good enough to avoid detection. She's seen firsthand how most of these pilots work. No strategy, no combat legs underneath the lot of them.

Another sensor sweep goes off without a single hostile lighting them up. Urban operations tend to wreak havoc on a mech's sensors, something about all the large buildings. And given the amount of them, that makes flight a pain to attempt, meaning that it's best to save that for an emergency situation.

'This is convoy lead to escorts, fifteen klicks from city limits.'

"Copy."

'Hey, we get out of this one unscathed and I'll toss some liquor your way. Some of the good stuff we usually keep in reserve.'

There's laughter over the comms, but Juniper fights back a bored yawn instead. Liquor is liquor. It doesn't matter to her at this point if it's the good stuff or the bathtub brewed shit, as long as it gets her drunk.

'Lead to all units, cut the chatter, we're not out of this yet.'

Comms go dead again, leaving her to perform yet another sensor sweep. Every five minutes on the dot she performs another sweep, and every five minutes, nothing comes up. She should be thankful, it means that everyone will return alive. It's almost time to change vantage points, which will give her something to do, at least.

This is the furthest she's been since her recapture. Makes no sense, she shouldn't be allowed in a mech again. It's weird to have this unearned trust, as though she deserves it. But when you're short on experienced pilots, you have to make sacrifices.

She wishes Laila were here, they were the perfect team. Ixion would set them up, Argos would knock them down. After the post-mission cool down, they'd lay in bed for hours, cuddling and talking about the most inane shit. Juniper once went on some random tangent about books for an hour straight. Her wife just laid there nodding along.

Their final night together, Laila had been sweating up a storm, spending a good chunk of the evening sparring. She was nervous too, but never let it show, because she bottled it up tight. Compared to Juniper who could no longer hide her pain.

Fighting back a sigh, she folds up the scythe, sending Ixion to the next vantage point. The shrinks cleared her for active duty, said that what happened wasn't her fault. None of them were there though. None of them saw the fucking beast that killed her love. Or what the Imperials did to her head. They'd rather believe she chose to betray them, that the truth of fucking everything didn't shatter her reality.

The thing is, she knows the truth.

Perhaps you should ask yourself, who within your organization would benefit from selling out the infamous Wardog Squadron?

One of these bastards sold Wardog out. And that thought refuses to leave Juniper's head. It's because of their "allies" that Laila is... dead. A fact that Juniper is still having trouble processing. Other rebels look at her with disgust, while pretending that they ever cared for her. Even when she needs to focus, she has to ask herself why she bothers? Would it not be so godsdamned easy to pull the trigger on Helios and then turn it on the Doru?

Gods, it would be easy, and so, so satisfying. Unleash the beast onto the merc who keeps threatening to kill her and the traitor, who sent her back to hell. But she can't, because then what will she do? Where will she go? Nowhere, of course.

Handler won't take back a failure. The rebels would never accept this monster. And the mercenary life never much suited Juniper.

She finds her hands shaking, suddenly missing the feel of a muzzle over her face. It calmed her fears, a nice reminder that she wasn't human. But she isn't that version of Juniper Sladek anymore. No, she's forced to wear the facade of someone long since dead, as if her head hadn't been filled with starlight and static.

'Sladek, gimme another sensor sweep.'

The irritating voice of that merc comes over comms and silently she hopes that Glass suffers a painful death.

Juniper takes a calming, centering breath and watches the sensors give her an updated reading. "Nothing to report, all clear–" An explosion ripples in the distance, startling her. "–What the hell was that!?"

'We're under attack, unit seventeen has been hit, still operational.'

Juniper grins from ear to ear, cracking her knuckles.

Showtime.

The throttle is thrown open halfway, propelling Ixion down from its vantage point and into the ruined streets of Vernio. This is her favorite part of piloting: The hunt. They can run, hell, they can hide if they want, but she'll find every last one of them. And then? She'll make corpses out of them.

Who knows what it is about this that makes Juniper feel like her old self if even for a minute. Maybe it's all the drugs, or maybe, she's just so fucking broken that this is the only way she can be anything but pain anymore.

Either way, it's going to be a bloodbath.

Sensors light up with over a dozen enemy signatures across the board just as she touches down. Juniper doesn't need to wait for them to come to her, as a shell just barely misses hitting her. The scythe on Ixion's arm unfurls, beginning the hunt for its first kill.

A Doru looks to be her first of the day as it charges towards her without much regard for its own ass. Ixion goes airborne, quickly shifting into a free fall as the engines cut out. Just as the thrusters re-engage, the enemy Doru is sliced clean through with the scythe, while Ixion climbs again.

Dumb bastard, shouldn't have done that and now you're dead.

Two more Doru come after her, firing round after round onto Ixion only to meet their end very quickly from two cannon shots. Doru are easy to deal with, they churn them out on a large scale, with minimal armor and terrible pilots. It's a wonder that rebels manage to steal these things and turn them into capable machines.

Juniper howls loudly, fully embracing her non-human status. Gods it feels so good to let go and be that beast for a moment. Another explosion rocks the ruins and a nearby building collapses. Out of the smoke she sees Saparlo's Doru engaging an enemy unit, looks to be a Belos. Spec-ops has joined the party, great, just fucking great.

Ixion blasts through the smoke, firing round after round at the Belos, which only shrugs them off. All while simultaneously holding off Saparlo in a melee fight, godsdamn, this is why rebels hate spec-ops. Elite pilots capable of doing more than your average Imperial shitstain.

Rebel-Doru has minor damage to it, giving Ixion a window to cut in, blasting the Belos from close range with the rifle. Then, with a swing of its scythe, Ixion draws the attention onto itself.

The Belos has better armor, but it's no match for a hungry scythe blade. A large gash is cut open and rifle shots pour into the now open wound. Direct hit, shorting the short-range missile launchers on its back before it even had the chance to use them. The enemy unit attempts a suicide charge into Ixion, only to be brought down with one more rifle shot.

Die with dignity next time, why don't you?

'Thanks for the backup, cap.'

"'Course." Juniper performs another sensor sweep, checking over the general area. Not a single hostile left, unless Helios took care of them–And she highly doubts that the merc could do that–more than likely there's an ambush waiting.

'The convoy is in deep shit, Sladek, Saparlo, link up with me ASAP. '

"Copy."

'Roger, heading your way. '

They're in an open part of the city, surrounded by nothing but potential hiding spots. Every corner, every abandoned building could be a trap. With every sensor sweep comes the potential for more problems. That's why she's paying extra attention to the radar, ensuring that as they come up on the convoy, the only blips are friendlies.

No telling how many enemies are left, could be none, could be a whole platoon. At least with the Rebel-Doru following behind her, there's a reassurance of safety.

Missile warnings light up the cockpit, forcing Juniper to feed the throttle more power. Pulling the stick hard to the left, Ixion escapes their flight path. Zero eyes on the missile source, but it has to be close, there's no way that was long-range. Would have been able to pinpoint it then.

Scans reveal nothing, which is incredibly troubling. Every building they pass by makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Could be enemies hiding in any one of these buildings. If spec-ops are here, they won't make themselves known so easily. Unless the missile was a distraction for something else.

'Convoy lead to escorts, we're five klicks out from city limits and—' The transmission cuts to static, only for the sound of screaming to overtake the comms.

Shit.

Juniper pulls back on the stick, taking Ixion into the sky. Once airborne, a wide range scan initiates, revealing jack and shit. Helios isn't popping up on scans, but there's black smoke billowing from the convoy route. It's not far, maybe a klick to the west.

Looks like it's time to go big game hunting.

Drawing the scythe of Ixion, the hunt begins anew. "Saparlo, link up with Glass, I've got this." She snarls, letting the animalistic side of her take hold. It's hard to admit it, but this is where she belongs, on the battlefield, hunting down enemies.

'Nah, I'm sticking with you.' This ex-Imperial is stubborn, much like her CO. Should just pull rank, but fuck Glass, hope she dies a painful death. 'Besides, I won't make it in time anyway.'

Once Ixion touches down, the only thing Juniper sees in front of her is an all too familiar corpse.

Standing in the crater of a downed transport, a gray and black mech stands tall. Easily bigger than Ixion, heavier too. Everything about this machine feels wrong. Long black limbs replacing crippled gray ones. On its shoulders, twin cannons rest, supplanting ruined engines.

The Wardog emblem sits on its upper chest, three white sin lines etched through it. One thing remains all too clear for Juniper:

She's facing Argos.

Or some twisted, fucked up version of it.

In its hands, a long rifle rests, aimed at Ixion. It has yet to fire, raising the question: Is this Laila? Perhaps she's hesitating to fire realizing who she's up against?

No, No, No, NO. Get your head straight, Sladek. LAILA IS DEAD.

Juniper nervously bursts into laughter, in an attempt to find her resolve. There's no reactor signature giving this corpse's name, it can't be her can it? It took only seconds for her false confidence to shatter. Gods, she can't do this. If this is really is her wife, the only logical choice is—The only logical choice is to fight.

Of course.

'Sladek, where the fuck are you? We're pinned down, need backup!'

The merc is met with silence. No time to deal with her. Two undead souls are locked in a danse macabre. One neither can truly win.

'Sladek, you better not have abandoned us, or so fucking help me—'

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Juniper briefly kills comms, rather than considering treason. No reason to give people more reason to stare. Her grip on the controls tightens, firing a single rifle shot before the impostor can make the first move.

As expected, the round is shrugged off, only for it to barrel towards her with a speed something that big shouldn't posses. With only seconds to spare, Ixion is airborne, barely evading the charging beast. It would be safe up here, if not for the Doru distracting the corpse with suppressing fire.

Well, looks like it's time for something insane, then.

High above the fight, Juniper draws the scythe's cannon out. A single shell is loaded in. No idea if this is designed to be fired in midair, but there's a first time for everything. External vents belch steam free from every on-board port.

Just need Saparlo to pay attention to her 10 o'clock, so she won't get hit from this.

Back when Juniper was whole, she had nowhere near the tactical acumen of her wife. Now? She sees the battlefield so clearly. "Saparlo, I need you to pull back. On my mark, retreat to your 10 o'clock."

'I hear you, but there's no way I can run as long as this thing is on me.'

"NOW! GET GOING!" The round screeches free of the barrel, exploding on contact with the impostor's armor. Too soon to say if it's downed, a thick black smoke is covering the area. But the Doru retreated as ordered, judging by the radar.

Recoil left some damage to Ixion, nothing major, but the engines are running a little hot. This machine is built tough enough to where a little engine damage won't slow it down. Much like it's pilot, it's been through hell and back.

Same for Argos. It won't go down with one measly shot. Wouldn't be a very entertaining dance then, would it?

Harpoons screech out from the cloud, the second that Ixion descends to a low altitude. Pretty sneaky whoever you are, but you've never danced with death. Juniper redlines the throttle, dodging incoming fire long enough to pull off something off.

She slices through the harpoons, propelling herself towards the fake. It predictably dodges, but not before she fires vulcan rounds straight onto the fuckers head. Anyone who dares to make a mockery of Laila Praxian, the best godsdamned thing to ever happen in Juniper Sladek's life, will fucking die.

If this is some attempt to rile her up, it's working. She backs off, blasting red-hot rifle rounds in quick succession into this beast, dodging return fire with ease.

You're not Laila, whoever the hell you are, you can't hope to match her.

The fake-Argos pays no attention to Ixion, focusing everything on the Doru. Like a predator playing with its food, it lets Saparlo get in close. So that when she goes to strike with an axe, it strikes first. In one swift move, the Doru's attacking arm is ripped off.

With the attacking arm in hand, the impostor buries the axe deep into the Doru's chest. The only thing Juniper can hear clearly is the crunch from the mech collapsing onto the street. She's left to watch, while the gun continues to cycle in new rounds. It's enough to make her vomit watching this. Another reminder of how Argos went down.

Fine, if you want to dance so badly, we'll fucking dance.

'Sladek, I'll be fine, get this fucking thing!'

The Doru is down for the count. Somehow the reactor didn't blow, but gods it's gruesome. Its axe and arm have been planted in its chest, just barely missing the cockpit. It's sickening to look at, but Juniper keeps her composure.

"Saparlo, I need you to stay put. I'll handle this thing, you focus on getting out a distress call to command."

'R-Roger.'

Ixion draws its scythe, venting steam as it lands in front of the unknown. As if sensing her intent, they draw a hammer, tossing away the rifle. If they want a melee fight, who is she to say no?

Juniper redlines the throttle, swinging her scythe at the enemy. Scythe and hammer strike, sending sparks flying around them. Pulling back hard on the stick, Ixion gains just enough altitude to deliver a kick to the bastards head.

It then retreats into the skies, before the impostor can respond. Still got a few tricks up her sleeve, and whatever this thing is, it can't match her. It isn't Argos, similar, sure, she'll give them that. But her partner was never that reckless a pilot. This one can't even keep their mech in a straight line, let alone land a good hit.

From up above, Ixion rains vulcan fire down on the bastard, landing atop a rooftop to allow the flight system cool down. Just outside the effective range of those harpoons, should be safe enough to hold up here for now. With the press of a button on the right stick, the scythe shifts to its cannon-form. Bracers on the back of the machine's legs clamp down onto the relatively solid roof. Once the blade is planted in the ground, it's a matter of waiting.

Whoever the fuck you are, please don't be her.

An explosion erupts from the weapon's barrel, shaking the ground beneath and kicking up debris. A steaming shell ejects from the rifle's port, falling to the ground. The round strikes dead-center through the lookalike's core, but fails to penetrate deep enough. Just what is this armor?

The cannon begins cooling down, while the next shot is loaded, aiming for the same spot. This has to work, otherwise she's out of viable options. Juniper pulls the trigger, watching the shell scream out of the barrel, quickly penetrating through the left arm of the lookalike. That only serves to piss it off, as it begins firing both cannons at her vantage point, sending the building crumbling down.

Ixion glides down onto a mostly smooth piece of road, searching for the one who makes a mockery of her love. It's definitely wounded, there's a large gap in the left arm, it's just a matter of exploiting it now.

Slamming the throttle all the ways forward, Ixion charges at the enemy mech, buffeting it with vulcan fire and rifle shots, all while preparing an all-out melee attack. As soon as the gap is closed—the enemy dodges, getting behind her with ease.

Shit, shit, shit, how did it know?

Too soon to fly again, systems still cooling down, so she'll have to go with Plan B. Shifting the scythe back to its cannon form, she puts some distance between her and the enemy, firing at whatever she can target. For a moment, it looks like she's won. The enemy has gone quiet, not even bothering to make a move now. It's only after a minute has passed, does it begin its charge anew, with its thrusters howling out.

Even with repeated cannon shots, they're shrugged off. The impostor closes the gap to slice at her with its claws tearing through armor like it were made of paper. Ixion embeds its scythe into the enemy, trying its damnedest to move. Everything she throws at it is being countered, almost as if—No, it can't be.

She's dead.

Juniper pushes the forward-thrusters on her mech well past their limit, drawing every last ounce of power from the pulse reactor. Overheat warnings blare throughout the cockpit, but none of that matters right now, not when she's got this thing to contend with. Ixion pushes the impostor off, just barely managing to evade another round of cannon fire.

Need a plan B and fast. Shit, even the armor on Argos was never that thick. What the actual fuck did the Imperials do to it?

With every last ounce of power propelling it forward, Ixion swings its scythe, embedding it much deeper into its opponents armor. Metal crunches from the scythe burying itself deep enough to do meaningful damage. The cannon fires. Round, after round, explode on contact, creating a gaping wound in the chest armor of this beast. Sparks fly, fluids spill out, yet it still doesn't react.

There's only moderate damage to Ixion, but Juniper isn't looking so hot. Throwing too much at the wall, only to have nothing stick. Not sure what it is exactly, but she's feeling a lot of pain with this cable connected.

Ixion heaves it scythe free, firing reverse thrusters once cleared. A salvo of harpoons fire, embedding themselves deep into the hip, taking out the gull-wings. Another set fires into the shoulders, missing the shoulder-set by inches. Shit, she can fly on two wings, but it's going to take way more precision.

Not her idea of a good time, but then she's fresh out of insane ideas. Slicing the harpoons off doesn't work, because the moment she tries, its hammer knocks away her scythe.

Pinned to the ground by an enemy mech that looks like her wife's, it slowly peels away Ixion's armor little by little. Juniper is fucked. There's no way this isn't her wife, she's more than capable of countering everything

"Glass, n... need help... s-s–stat."

'Little pre-occupied, pinned down by enemy forces. Bastards are everywhere.'

That seals it then, she's royally and totally fucked. Ixion refuses to move, it's been pinned down by harpoons and no amount of thrust will move it forward. Has to be something she can do. Situation is hopeless though, she's tried everything.

Come on, you've been in worse situations. Think, think, think.

FUCKING THINK, DO YOU WANT END UP DEAD LIKE LAILA? WHAT HAPPENED TO HONORING HER MEMORY, SHIT FOR BRAINS!?

This has to be Laila and Argos, there's no other possible answer. They're countering every single move Juniper makes to a T. It's almost as if what happened to her, also happened to Laila. It shouldn't be possible, Juniper saw the photos.

She never said Laila was dead.

Urgh, of course, She never said Laila was dead. She just wanted Juniper to think that, so that she'd give up the fight. It's so fucking maddening to look back on.

Gripping her tags tightly, she kisses Laila's set. Should have told her the truth on a lot of things. But truth with a heavy price to it. It doesn't matter now though, if this is really her piloting what looks to be Argos, then hopefully she'll be merciful and grant a merciful death.

Oh, who the fuck is Juniper kidding?

She isn't done, no not by a longshot. Still one last ace up her sleeve. It's insane, but she loves insanity. Drawing in a deep breath, she relaxes in her seat. Reactor safeties flip closed, with alarms falling silent shortly after. Exhaust ports seal tightly, with power being rerouted to the engines, pushing them well beyond safe operating limits.

Overheat warnings litter the monitor, leaving her to idiotically laugh. It's fucking sweltering in here, to the point that she unzips her pilot suit and shrugs it off. Her tank top is already soaked through with sweat and it's only getting hotter. She can hear the sound of steam hissing as the rain makes contact with Ixion's metal frame.

Just a little longer...

Come on you son of a bitch, it's time to die!

With what little cognitive function is left, Juniper switches the comms to an open channel, letting out a pained laugh. "You there, Lails? Sorry to cut our last dance–" She grunts, wheezing for breath. Fuck, laughing hurts, like much of her body does. "–Short. See you o-on the other side, love." There's no response on the other end, just silence.

As expected.

The moment Argos smashes its hammer onto Ixion's chest, is when the vents are thrown open. A torrent of heat is unleashed onto Argos, melting part of the hammer and a good chunk of armor. It's just enough of an opening to where the harpoons pinning her down have melted, giving room to grab the scythe. Everything fucking hurts right now, but she just needs a little longer...

Juniper takes a pained breath, letting out another laugh.

C'mon Laila, let's finish this danse macabre. Just the two of us, 'till death do us part, right?

Once the vents seal tight again, she begins rerouting every last bit of power to the scythe, for her most batshit insane idea: Superheating it. If she's to be the Angel of Death, then she'll do it surrounded by the flames of the underworld.

More laughter overtakes her, watching every possible warning light up the screens. Systems won't be able to take the strain of this for much longer, so this one needs to count. As Argos frantically charges Ixion for umpteenth time, superheated metal slices through the thick black armor, leaving a burning gash in its wake. The cannons on its shoulders melt from the heat, leaving it without any weapons.

Juniper isn't done yet, oh gods no. The heat has definitely fried her brain by now, but who the fuck cares? With an insane grin on her face, she preps the cannon to fire from extreme close range at the head of Argos.

A single shell rips free, sending the impostor crashing down onto the ground. A feral howl rips through the cockpit, drooling at the sight of a downed enemy. Her thoughts drift away from the melting monster. Relaxing into the cockpit seat once more, she lets out a soft, content sigh, while the hazy starlight overtakes her vision.

It feels good to once again give into her animalistic nature and simply let it win. She doesn't know when it happened, but her hand is already in her panties, once again masturbating to the pleasure of a kill. Pleasure is its own reward, as she's begun to learn, and soon, she'll be nothing but a feral mutt. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

All of her thoughts, worries and fears just disappear, being replaced by euphoria from an orgasm tearing through her body. It feels so good to give in, just like Handler would want her to. That's all she is, a dog who follows the orders of her master. This orgasm is simply the reward for being a good dog. It's why her panties are still stained with the remnants of her last orgasm, because she's a good dog. It feels so good to realize that.

She would want Juniper to give into her feral instincts and kill Laila. Once that's taken care of, Juniper can return to Her without worry, right? It would be so easy to just take the scythe and fire a few rounds into the cockpit, her wife would be gone in seconds. Besides, she's lost the strength to resist whatever was dumped into her head anymore.

Yet again, she laps up the reward in her panties, moaning at the taste. She was never particularly fond of this before, usually finding it disgusting. But now? She can't get enough of her own cum. It must be a side effect of whatever they did to her, but it doesn't matter now, as reality begins to snap back into place.

Damage warnings have been flashing the entire time, but she only now realizes it. Neither arm is functioning very well, Juniper's suffered heavy damage from the shared connection to Ixion and the reactor could blow if she does something that stupid again. But the important thing is: She won.

Ixion limps forward, taking aim at Argos' cockpit. All that's left is to pull the trigger and end Laila, before she does the same to Juniper. It's so easy, so... impossible. Juniper's hand trembles against the controls and she reflexively pulls it back, firing at the melted arm instead. No matter how much sense it might make she can't bring herself to kill her love.

Can't let the intrusive thoughts, no matter how right they feel. If that's Laila in there, Juniper has to save her. Argos is in rough shape, the barrage of heat melted away a good chunk of its armor. The cockpit hatch is partially melted, but it doesn't look to have spread into the cockpit. A blessing in disguise.

Ixion kneels onto the cold, wet pavement. With a few shallow and pained breaths, she's disconnected from her mechanical body. Everything fucking hurts and burns, she needs desperately to vomit. It's too much to take, disconnection is both physically and mentally painfully. Losing that sixth sense isn't easy, it takes precious minutes to relearn her own body.

The hatch opens and she limps out, barely managing to climb out without hurting herself further. Just need to hold on a little longer. Laila's there, she'll know what to do.

Climbing onto the wounded Argos, Juniper clutches her sidearm, just in case. Her entire body is screaming out in pain, but she needs to keep going, for the sake of her wife. By a stroke of luck, the manual override on the hatch is still where it should be and even works.

It takes her tired and wounded body time she doesn't have, to muster the strength to pull it. Once activated, she ducks out of the way, waiting for the hatch to blow and the smoke to clear. Peering into the cockpit, what she sees isn't her partner. The pilot is wearing a tattered and bloodied green pilot's jumpsuit.

No, it's not Laila, because the pilot has on a black dog mask with only one glowing red eye on it. The other eye? Gone. Because Juniper punched it out when she was enraged. She finally spills the contents of her stomach out onto the mech's armor and cockpit. It's all too much to bear.

With an unsteady breath, she crawls into the cockpit, pointing her gun at the pilot, who makes no attempts to move. The dog-hooded menial doesn't even acknowledge that she's there, staring off into nothingness. From a cursory glance, they're in worse shape than when she gave them a beating. Underneath the missing eye, their face is swollen from a fresh beating. A trail of blood leads down from the hood, only adding to the horror.

She gulps, steadying her hands to remove the cable sticking out from their neck. Her arms hurt pulling it out, but the cable disconnects without issue. It's not too late to turn back, forget this even happened. Laila's dead, and she should remain that way, right?

No, Juniper needs answers.

Against her better judgment, she slowly removes the hood, carefully placing it on the menial's lap. This pilot isn't Laila, but Juniper? Juniper knows them. Green eyes once full of life, now look dead when she stares into them. Their red hair has been shaved down to a simple buzz, it used to be long and usually tied back. And on her cheek? A scar from a bullet grazing it.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

No, this isn't Laila, of fucking course not, she's dead. Gods, it would be easier if it was her, but it's not.

Eris Peray. The former Wardog 2 and long-since dead friend.

Dropping her gun, Juniper clutches Eris tightly in her arms, softly crying. "Eris, y-you're alive? I-It is you, right? N-Not—"

"... Y-yeah... it's me, June. S-sorry... " The former Wardog laughs between pained breaths. "Guess I'm not dead, eh?" Her tired eyes weakly stare up at Juniper, bringing back all the guilt associate with the beating.

What the fuck did they do to you, Eris?

"W-What happened to you?" Juniper squeezes her former comrade's hand in an attempt to keep her awake. "... And where's... Laila?"

"Epsilon h-h—" Eris lets out a hacking cough, spitting up blood in the process. "—Happened. She... She sends Her regards." With a weak laugh, Eris finally passes out. Her heart's still beating as far as Juniper can tell, so it's probably just injuries catching up.

They both need an evac and fast, but there's no way she can just leave Eris in here. On the off chance she does wake up, it's better to stay with her, than to run off. She'll need the support right now.

Ugh, fuck, that means that Juniper has to connect to this monster. Carefully, she moves the wounded pilot from the seat, taking her place. Gods, the longer she stares at Eris, the worse everything feels. There's blood all over her and what look like scratch marks covering much of the pale dark skin underneath the jumpsuit.

The systems on this monster are heavily damaged and take forever to boot, but the connection process is less painful than with Ixion. Eris occasionally stirs on the floor of the cockpit, but never wakes up. For that, Juniper is grateful. She isn't sure she can face an old friend right now.

Eris was a dear friend. When she died, it felt like Wardog lost a critical piece. They could have rebuilt the squad, gotten new members, but... it wouldn't have been the same without Eris. She was a skilled pilot, easily someone who should have led her own squad, but she chose instead to be Laila's right hand with Wardog.

Still remember how Eris supposedly died. Imperial raiding party hit them hard, info on their base got sold out and Eris was one of the stragglers who stayed behind to defend the evac. They had no way to retrieve her body, shock troops were everywhere. Too heavily armed for the weakened rebel forces.

Fuck, to see her like this, and to realize she was the one that Juniper attacked? It's fucking sickening. This is Her fault, but it's hard to find the ability to blame Her. If anything, it feels like the longer she's alone with her thoughts, the more she simply accepts that it was for the best.

Handler said that the menial was offered chances to redeem itself, but failed to do so. And suddenly so much makes sense, when the name Ares pops up on the only working monitor. Juniper lets out a heavy, pained sigh. Of course, it was Ares, they never could recover it. Disturbingly enough, it's been remade to look like Argos. More questions than answers, yet again.

Should be relieved, this means that Laila and Argos, are dead. So why does this victory feel so... hollow? Probably because it confirms the obvious: They're dead.

No matter how many times the revelation happens, it hurts just as much as the first time.

Juniper clears her throat, hacking up blood onto her pilot suit. Not good, she'll have to deal with it later, though. With the limited power left on-board this thing, she sends out a distress call over the radio. "This is Captain J... Juniper Sla–Sladek–"I t hurts to speak, but she needs to get this message out. "Broadcasting on o-open channel. Requesting medevac ASAP." There's only static on the other end, but broadcasting on Imperial channels is suicide. Not worth risking Volterra's location by tapping into rebel comms either. Good chance this thing is bugged.

After five minutes of no response, she repeats the message, hoping for a response.

'That you, Sladek? How the hell're you still alive? Whatever, I read you loud and clear, transport inbound, send your coords.'

Juniper has never been more thankful to hear the voice of Glass, than she is in this moment. But gods, everything hurts so damn hurt. Just... just need to take a breather. Yeah, a quick breather will set everything right. Earned it after this exhaustive battle.

That'll stop the pain at least.