“Dress yourself. Wait for the medevac, then go with them.” Alleah blinked. She was back in the forest, nude. Nat stood before her, fully clothed. It took her a moment before she nodded and began to dress in silence. It hadn't been real. She hadn't fallen like that. She hadn't done those…acts.

Still, it didn’t make any sense for it to not be real. Alleah had spent years in her role perfecting the DI tech. She knew its limits. She knew how to exploit them. Even for her, though, this was new. Nothing the DI chip could do would make someone have that vivid of an experience. Had Mi- Nat just made her forget somehow?

She looked to Nat, but Nat stared past her, not meeting her gaze. The way Sh- no, she glared, it crushed her. It wasn’t just rage, it was something else in Nat’s eyes. Disgust? Who the fuck was she to think that Alleah wasn’t worth even looking at? It felt...

No. Alleah refused to accept the sinking sensation in her stomach. This was a blessing. This was good. She'd not had to do anything she didn't want to. At most, Nat had seen the same things she’d seen before: Alleah’s toned physique, her tits. Nat’s own cock fitted proudly between Alleah’s legs.

Alleah’s holocuff vibrated. She looked down at it, mind working far too slow to initially understand what she was seeing. At first all she saw was a pretty red dot against a field of darkness. She liked the way it thrummed and pulsed. There were words beneath it, but words were weird and spinny things right now. Her vision hazed and doubled for a moment before clarity returned to her. The red dot no longer thrummed and pulsed, and words weren’t weird and spinny anymore. They were sharp and crisp:

Craft ETA: 15s
Condition: Orange
Diagnosis: Head Trauma

Pain pulsed in her forehead. It brought with it a burst of focus. Ah. Concussions would do it. Anything, really, that could induce an acute hallucinatory state would. It was the one limitation of the DI chip she hadn’t been able to crack with R&D, despite her many years of working with them to shore up this weakness. The chip worked to align behavior in accordance with perception and command. If one perceived a command, even if it were a figment of their own mind, the chip had to presume it was valid.

Even just the realization that she’d had a concussion and that whatever happened was a lust-fueled illusion she’d be eager to forget. Yes. Any second now, she’d forget it. Any second no-

The shriek of the medevac VTOL’s engines caught Alleah’s attention. The craft was smaller than the drop shuttles, meant to carry a single patient along with the medical crew. “Do you want to come wi-“ she looked down toward where Nat had been, but the woman was gone. It stung. Alleah wanted to find her again, but even now the latent command of the DI chip told her to stay here.

One of the med crew rappelled down a line. Alleah answered the questions they asked, dutifully complied as they fit a harness around her to lift her into the VTOL’s med bay, and didn’t resist as she was hoisted upward. Her eyes didn’t leave the spot where she’d last seen Nat, not even as the hatch closed and they rocketed off.

* * *

Alleah raised a glass of water to the many women seated around her. They sat in the Executive Room at Valhalla. The club used to be the compound for Sonnellan High Command. Most of what was now the multi-level dance hall had been living quarters and a finely stocked commissary. What was now the Executive Room had served as the Premier Autarch’s personal dining room.

After some gruesome, publicly wide-netted executions in the compound’s foyer, beneath the burnt remnants of a four meter tall Sonnellan flag, The Interim Government sold it off to the highest bidder. There were few takers, but one of Tact Corp’s subsidiaries snapped it up, rebranding it as a luxury nightclub. Every other part of the club had been refurbished except for this room, where the violent and monstrous had plotted to destroy freedom itself. There was too much “historical significance” for the new owners to update the dark marble and oak interior. That “historical significance” really meant there was way too much fucking money to be made from Empire fetishists and entertainment moguls.

That’s not why Alleah was here. They used to find a different place for each victory party until someone - she couldn’t remember who, even without the lingering haze of the concussion - suggested The Executive Room. It’d been a gauche and trangressive jest, but Alleah loved indulging those. Seeing people wince and squirm when she pushed them to meet their words was too fun.

They only kept coming after Alleah got the bill. The first time she saw the words “Corporate Discount: -65%” she stopped looking for another place. Besides, Alleah mused, what was wrong with something a little gauche and transgressive? It’s not like Tag Hunts were fuckin’ baseball, even by modern standards. The people who were likely to condemn her for participating in a fucked up, kinky team sport activity already hated her long before they figured out that they celebrated their victories in a place that wanted to destroy freedom.

And they were victors, all, of the latest Hunt. It’d been much closer than any other in recent memory. Without Alleah there to anchor them, most of the team had gotten Tagged the first day. It was only due to an epic, daring pre-dawn raid by Blake and Mel that they managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Still, they won, which meant that Alleah had to make a speech.

“Alright, alright. Calm the fuck down. A toast to all you. The rowdiest, most fucked-up crew of absolute monsters to ever play this game.” Blake took the cigar she’d been chewing out of her mouth, stuck two fingers in her mouth, and let out a loud whistle. The other women on the team joined in, whistling, whooping, and clapping.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have joined you, but thanks to my ‘medical emergency’…” Alleah sneered. Loud boos replaced the jubilant noise from moments ago. “-I had to ‘convalesce’, hence this bullshit.” She gestured to the glass of water in her hand. “But there’s good news!” She paused, her free hand grazing over the bullet hole in the table. It was a gruesome reminder of the Premier Autarch’s fate. Tangible proof of a reign cut short. Alleah cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the sudden tacky feeling accumulating there. “I’m cleared for the next Hunt. And, upon reviewing the combat footage…I was incapped before I got Tagged. That’s right, cunts: I’m still the undefeated queen of this bitch!”

This drew raucous laughter and thunderous applause from the women around her. Alleah gave her normal, confident grin, but inside she felt…off. Bad, even. She hadn’t been able to shake that moment in the Dog Lake, even as she told herself that it was just a fluke. Mechanical analysis showed that her gun misfired because it’d absorbed the worst of what otherwise would’ve been a far longer recovery. Still, even healing from the concussion would take the better part of a week.

“To us!”

“To us!”

Alleah downed the water. She hated how bitter it tasted. When she could help it, she never drank the stuff. She hadn’t ever since she was a kid during The War. It’d been early in Cycle Seven, with the thaw really setting in. Plants bloomed to life. She’d been out with her family when the sirens sounded, a triple-time klaxxon blast that signaled an incoming chem blitz. The doctors were surprised that she’d survived the wisp of Twineflame she’d inhaled without more complications. Still, water never tasted the same after that. Instead it had an aroma of metal and waste. If she sipped it, she gagged.

Her mind drifted back to the Dog Lake and Nat. There were plenty of things that were wrong about that moment, but the one that should have made everything worse was the water. Her mask had filters in it specifically to block out excess moisture in the air, but being that close to any body of water should’ve made her want to vomit. Instead all she’d smelled was the clean scent of the water.

Anger and embarrassment and something she would not name as jealous roiled in her gut. This should’ve been easy. She was moving past this. She had to move past this. She’d moved past worst. She stared down a Hulkstrider after it had brought the building with her family in it down around her. Why? Why was this so difficult? It was one moment. One fake moment created by a chip glimpsing something that was a lie and making pretend at reality. It wasn’t real. No part of her wanted it to be real.

_Except.

The champagne flute shattered against the wall next to Alleah before she’d even realized she’d thrown it. Her hand trembled as she took in tremulous, uneven breaths. The eyes of her subordinates were upon her. She gritted her teeth. In her mind’s eye, she thought again of the Hulkstrider’s cannon aimed at her. It was so big compared to her small form that she could’ve walked down the barrel without her head grazing the top. She made that horrifying machine blink back then. It shuddered and swung away from her, unable to end her life.

Her other hand, the one still fingering the bullet hole in the table, curled into a fist. She rapped her knuckles against it, hard, then turned to face the ladies.

She grinned wide, staring down the Hulkstrider. “Which one of you fucking rejects is buying me a goddamn real drink?”

Fuck her doctors. She felt fine, and two days was enough. Her wonderful friends were more than willing to accommodate her, too, and tonight? Tonight was about celebrating success. She was still Alleah fuckin’ Masterson.

* * *

The second floor of Valhalla was Alleah’s favorite. It was just the right amount of lust and restraint. Unlike the sex club that dominated a large portion of floor three, floor two was styled after the officer’s club that had been part of Valhalla before its capture. It had high ceilings and low, warm lighting that mimicked the tungsten bulbs used during The War.

Alleah’s head was fuzzy again, but this time it was from a metric fuckload of booze. She hadn’t set out to get tanked. Just a few drinks to get her buzzed and out of her head so much. Dancing had been fun. So much fun. Like, the best fun and the alcohol kept flowing. It was drink six when she spotted her. No, five.

No. Last drink was six. This was drink seven.

There was a woman at the bar she remembered from the first day, before everything with Handl— Mistr— …with Nat fucking Temple. This woman at the bar was someone whom she’d noted had attributes Alleah’d been denied the opportunity to indulge in and enjoy. At least, she’d remembered her short dreadlocks and the jewels that hung from them. For the first time, though, she took in her former prey’s warm brown skin. Alleah especially loved the dimples her smile made when she caught Alleah staring. Yes, she needed to know more about eager, obedient Jewels. This was good. The alcohol had loosened Alleah up. She’d been so tense, second-guessing herself about things she knew to be true. She was still the queen of this bitch and it was high time she started acting like it again.

Letting the buzz sink in, Alleah slid into a spot at the bar next to Jewels.

“Hey there.”

“Hi,” Jewels said, voice lilting. “Y’know, I’m really bummed I didn’t get to see you at camp that night.”

Alleah grinned. “I’m sure you are, Jewels.” She traced a finger down Jewels’ arm, the tip ghosting over gooseflesh.

“Jewels. I like it. I’m Iniko,” she offered her hand. Alleah took it. There was something familiar about her. Something that tickled at the back of Alleah’s mind. It took a moment before it clicked into place.

“Iniko, like…anti-Tagging zealot Iniko Buhari?”

“Investigative journalist with a penchant for truth-telling.”

“And yet somehow, you end up out there for me to claim.”

Iniko took a swig of her beer. “What can I say? I’m multi-faceted.”

“Iniko Buhari.” Alleah shook her head. This was too good. God, she needed this.

“Alleah Masterson.”

“What did you once call me? A ‘soulless, rapacious corpo goon’?”

“Actually, I believe the word I used was ‘plunderer’.”

Alleah moved in close. “Tell me…did you know it was me when I Tagged you?”

She felt Iniko shiver.

“Y-yes.”

“And it excited you, didn’t it? To be undone by me?”

Iniko’s eyes fluttered closed. “Yeah.”

“I’d bet anything that a tenacious reporter like yourself would know where a soulless, rapacious, plunderer like me would go to celebrate, hm?”

“Yessss,” Iniko hissed.

Alleah brought her other hand to rest on Iniko’s thigh. “I could fuck you right here and nobody would bat an eye.”

It was true. Just like the Contract in the DI chip, there was an understanding that coming to this bar meant you’d be subjected to a non-zero level of sexual depravity. As long as you stayed quiet, inconspicuous, and clothed, you could stay on level two. Alleah didn’t want any of those, though. She was in the mood for conquest. She wanted Iniko screaming her name.

It took her ten minutes to get Iniko naked and in her bedroom. It would’ve been quicker if she’d been sober enough to risk not caring about the color of traffic lights. Instead, she had to wait for a driver to whisk her and Iniko away. That had its advantages, too, though: Alleah’s fingers were slick when she’d pressed her key into the lock of her apartment’s front door.

* * *

Alleah sat naked on the edge of her Thalassan Queen sized bed, her lascivious gaze raking up and down Iniko’s body. She was shorter than Alleah, with wide hips and pert, B-cup breasts. This was right. This was good. Alleah brought her hand up to her mouth and then teased her tongue along one of her digits. A wolfish grin spread across her face. “Tastes like victory,” she said. Then she motioned to the burnt sienna colored nightstand.

“Open that up.” Iniko did as she was asked, eyes widening as she beheld its contents. Iniko cut an inquisitive glance to Alleah before she withdrew a harness fitted with a plastic cock. This would be a master stroke. Who needed Nat Temple? Who cared about her? Nobody. Not Alleah. She’d get up, put on the strap, and take Iniko as she’d wanted to. She’d get the chance that she was denied.

She’d gotten so wrapped up in the fantasy of it that it took her by surprise when Iniko hooked her hands underneath Alleah’s thighs. When had she spread her legs so wide? Then Alleah looked at Iniko. She was wearing the harness, sparkly blue dick jutting out from it. She wanted to protest. No, no, no. She didn’t want this. She should stop this.

Alleah’s mouth opened and closed, breath quickening. Why couldn’t she bring herself to not want this? Just say it. Just say she didn’t want to get fucked hard and deep by Handler’s Mistress’ Nat Temple’s cock the dildo. Iniko pulled Alleah closer, the tip ghosting against Alleah’s entrance. Even that light brush sent a wave of pleasure through her that momentarily short-circuited her resistance.

“You were right, Alleah. I did hear about you being at Valhalla,” Iniko said. Alleah tore her gaze from Nat’s cock the strap-on to look at Iniko. She knew the smirk that played across Iniko’s face. Alleah had perfected that smirk herself: cool, confident, predatory. It was the smirk of someone who knew they were going to take what they wanted…and that the other was going to submit to being taken.

Alleah did not want to name this new feeling blooming in her as ‘giddiness’ or ‘anticipation’, so she settled on ‘fear’. Still she knew it was wrong. Alleah understood fear far too well, but she needed the lie as Iniko continued to gloat.

“I also heard about your run in with Nat Temple…” Iniko’s voice dropped lower, a husky quality letting Alleah know that Iniko was relishing in this. Iniko ground against Alleah, but didn’t enter her. “This is her cock, isn’t it?”

Alleah nodded, letting out a pathetic, mewling moan.

“Everyone says you hate her, Alleah, but you know what I think?”

Iniko’s hands slid up to Alleah’s hips, and then she hilted herself into Alleah. If she hadn’t been so fucking wet, it would’ve hurt. Instead, she cried out in ecstatic passion at the degrading violation of it. Nat Temple’s cock was inside her and it felt amazing, especially as Iniko began to pump in a slow, steady rhythm.

“I think you like her. Or as close to it as a pathetic, soulless, rapacious plunderer like you can get to liking anything.”

The words should’ve sparked fury, but instead Alleah felt her lust burn even hotter at it. Her hands grasped at her waterfall silk top sheet, balling it up in her fingers as the rest of her body thrummed and bucked.

“How badly do you want to touch yourself?” Iniko probed, smirking as she said.

“D-desperately.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

“N-no.”

“And why’s that?”

She didn’t know where the words came from, but she knew they were true. “Because I’m a Hound.”

Iniko laughed, picking up the pace. “Oh hells, you’re real fucked up, huh? You sure your Dominion Influence chips really are as ‘foolproof’ as you claim?”

“Wh-wha…?”

“Wh-wha…?” Iniko repeatedly in a mocking tone.

“Here you are, wanting to be a fucked up plaything for a dead empire…and me?”

She dug her nails into Alleah’s skin. Alleah didn’t care. Pleasure, pain…she was gone on all of it. Whatever was happening to her was beyond her control. From the moment Nat’s cock slid inside her, she’d been fighting against a flood of half-remembered fantasies. Now she was drowning. All she wanted was to be used. “I-I wasn’t ever so - fuck - I was gentle before this. Before getting Tagged. Now I just wanna…bully you until you come for me.”

A desperate, pleading moan tore from Alleah. She was so close.

Iniko pulled back, stilling her hips. “Ah, ah. Not yet.”

“Wh-why?” Alleah whined. Nat’s cock was still inside her. She wanted to grind against it, but Iniko’s grip held her there. Some small voice in Alleah’s mind told her that Iniko’s strength was an illusion. If she’d really wanted to, she was stronger. She could’ve done it, but to that small voice’s abject horror? She didn’t want to. Instead, a primal urge bade her to submit.

“I wanna see you really beg for it. For me. Tell me just how much you want this.”

It should’ve sobered her up. This was a direct challenge to the very notion of Alleah’s identity. God, she wanted to be angry. She wanted to curse and scream. She wanted Iniko to-

“Fuck me like the dumb, drooling pet I am! Degrade me, please! I need it! I deserve it! Please just fuck me until I come for you! Please, I’ll be so good!” The words felt amazing. They felt violative and wrong and she needed them as much as she needed Iniko to put her in her place.

Iniko was all too happy to oblige. Alleah loved every degrading moment of it. She’d had journalists killed for less, but if Iniko had asked? Alleah would’ve divulged any company secret right now. She was thankful that instead Iniko simply took the opportunity to thoroughly fuck her while reminding her how quickly she’d given in.

It was sheer ecstasy. It was triumphant.

* * *

Her alarm blared. Sunlight stabbed at her eyes. Even with all the gene mods to help metabolize alcohol, it was sheer pain. And then the memories of last night hit and it was revolting. Alleah retched from the nausea of her hangover and the way she’d allowed herself to be undone. She pushed herself out of bed, head swaying uncomfortably as she went.

A few steps towards her bathroom, her foot caught on something. She looked down to see the harness strap tangled around her big toe. Iniko hadn’t stayed the night. Why would she? Not that Alleah cared. She didn’t. Iniko had gotten what she wanted. In some way, Alleah could respect her for it.

After all, she’d have done the same to Iniko. Hell, she’d intended to do exactly that. Just like last night. The fury she wanted last night to push back burned into her then. It didn’t dim as she showered or made herself ready. She was still Alleah goddamn Masterson. She had a job to do.

* * *

“It’s not working, Temple.” Alleah gestured to a data slate she’d placed on Nat’s lap. “It runs slowly and glitches.”

Part of Alleah Masterson’s job was to bully her. The official verbiage was bullet point number fourteen on her job description: “ensure that corporate standards are being upheld in all departments.” During her latest contract negotiations, she’d made them add it. People had begun to talk and the legalese provided her cover. She was just doing her job, then, after all. Some people needed a firm hand to guide them. Alleah loved being that firm hand.

Which is how she found herself in the Information Services department, lording over Nat.

“W-well…” Nat mumbled as she fiddled with the slate. Alleah ignored how skilled she was, definitely not clocking the way in which Nat’s fingers were dexterous and nimble. No. Not here. Not at work. Not ever.

“You were the one who was assigned to refurbish it. Are you just not good at your job?”

“Uh-uhm…” Nat said, voice cracking. Good. Let her be thrown off axis. Not that she knew, but it was Nat’s fault, after all, that Alleah was being worse today. Yes, Nat had brought this on herself.

After all, Alleah had done her homework this morning. She pulled Nat’s HR file. There wasn’t much in it other than basic information: Date of birth, height, gender. She didn’t garner much praise for her many years working at Tact Corp. A single commendation from a former supervisor, that was all. And then, at the bottom, a note:

Nat Temple is an ACRE § 786.F(19) Recipient.

§ 786.F(19), as Alleah found out, was an obscure passage in the Armistice Control Repatriation and Exculpation Act. The first, magnanimous omnibus bill passed once the interim government had legitimized itself. It dissolved Imperial rule, declared the Sonnelan Empire anathema to the Congress of Peers and to the newly re-established Democratic Republic of Sonnel, and brought about much needed reforms. It was such a large document that Alleah scrolled past the handful of sentences a few times before she found them. It was short, but as Alleah read it, she felt a wonderful, cruel thrill go through her:

19. Any former Empire combatant of rank Captain or less, who was induced by The Empire into committing atrocities or genocides against their own will by means of profound disassociative stress, will receive the following from Congress:

a. A guarantee of rehabilitation into general society
b. Access to housing, education, and resources for work
c. Placement for employment in a non-military capacity

Alleah leaned down closer to Nat. “I mean, what kind’ve mu—“

“Is your head okay?” Nat interrupted. Alleah blinked. Nat never interrupted her. On instinct, though, her hand touched the med patch on her forehead. The pain had dulled.

“I-I…” Now it was Alleah’s turn to mutter and stammer.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Nat said, turning to fix her gaze on Alleah. Her eyes were wide, the green of them more vibrant with the tears pooling at the corners. Warmth - just a fleeting surge of it - coursed upward from her stomach and towards her heart. Alleah would not name it as affection. And the realization that she felt it at all was a problem.

Nat Temple did not make Alleah Masterson feel things. Ever. It’s why things worked between them. Alleah could use Nat and leave. She didn’t need more. She wasn’t worthy of more.

“Is that why you called the medevac? Too scared to take what you want, Temple?”

“N-no, I just…I knew you only consented everything to mess with me, a-and then your head, I just…I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Alleah reeled back like Nat had slapped her hard and spit in her mouth. She didn’t dwell on why that imagery sprang to mind, or why she felt heat stir within her at it. Instead, Alleah chose to do what she did best. “What the fuck? Hurt me? Pffft. You couldn’t if you tried, Temple. After all, you’re on the leash, aren’t you?”

The compassion in Nat’s eyes died as Alleah said it. Something else replaced it. Something that Alleah had never seen before in the many long years that Alleah had known Nat Temple.

Fury.

Then Nat closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and another, and another. When she opened her eyes again, the fury was there still. Alleah could tell. It wasn’t driving her, though, and Alleah could appreciate that. The display had been fearsome.

Temple held the data slate out toward Alleah. “It’s fixed. You didn’t update the drivers or operating system.”

Alleah took the slate without another word and left, a grin spreading across her face. This Friday was gonna be a good Hunt.

* * *

She didn’t see Nat again until they were at the rally point. The rest of the week had been a blur for her. That conversation with Nat had lit the fire in her to dominate at work. She’d brought her down to Alleah’s level, after all. She wasn’t some poor, weak thing like she pretended. Underneath it all, Nat had more strength and she chose not to use it.

Now that she knew, Alleah realized she’d seen moments of that same fury in Nat all along. It didn’t matter, though, and Alleah would prove it. Today she burnt that final bit of furious resistance out of Nat.

Her hands slammed against the hull of shuttle, caging Nat again. Just like last week. Just like always. She held up her holocuff, showing every box ticked green.

“No medevac. No compassion. You’re mine, Temple.”

Those grey-green eyes were filled with unfallen tears again.

“P-please don’t do this…” Nat begged.

The klaxxons sounded. Alleah pushed in closer. “I know what you are now, so I have to know. I gotta know that I’m really the best. They say they got rid of all the triggers, but if it helps?”

Alleah brought her lips so close to Nat’s ear, they grazed it as she whispered. “Off the leash, Temple.”

She didn’t anticipate the force with which Nat shoved her back. She caught herself, but it gave Nat enough space to slip past her and into the shuttle. That’s it, prey. Run for me.

* * *

The Raiders’ shuttle dusted off moments before Alleah locked into her seat. Blake slid her a look.

“Fuck you, Blake,” Alleah said. Blake didn’t say respond, instead she just racked her rifle. A pall fell over the shuttle as they left terra firma, skimming low over the terrain. Alleah checked her holocuff, trying to distract herself with details of the arena. Unlike the lush, dense forests of last time, this arena was…

Alleah’s blood ran cold. Gela-Akragas. She knew it was in the rotation, but she’d done her best to not dwell on it, or to find an excuse to not be around. Business trips, vacations…she’d once bought her way onto a jury just to ensure she didn’t end up back here.

It’s not that she was scared. Yes, she’d experienced tragedy during the siege, but the girl who’d stared down a Hulkstrider did so in those same ruins. Normally, that moment brought her the rage and fury she needed. Now she felt small. Unsteady.

Fearful and weak.

Far too soon, the lights in the cabin turned from red to green. The dip in Alleah's stomach told her that the shuttle was descending. All eyes were on her. Speech time.

“Keep tight. Get it done.” That was all Alleah could manage. Her pulse skittered and jumped. Everything was wrong. The lurch in her stomach had to have been from the shuttle landing. She would not name it as anything else. Never. She’d sworn to that young girl that she would never need feelings other than rage.

Alleah snapped free of her harness. The rear door fell open. The Hunt was on.

* * *

They landed in the ruins of Cirico Square just as the sun hit the horizon. On her fifth birthday, she’d dragged Tab and her parents here to watch a holoflick. She couldn’t even remember what it was about. Now the cinema was a blasted out ruin. All that remained was a single theater and half of the concessions counter. Everything was overgrown with a dark green creeping vine laced through with splotches of red and purple.

Titan’s Exhalation.

Made sense, given the level of radiation that had blanketed the whole of Gela-Akragas in the wake of the siege. Second-gen Hulkstriders - the ones that had fought The War - tended to come armed with beam weapons that pulled from their fusion cores. The resulting radiation signature was like potent fertilizer to the invasive weed. Nobody quite knew the story of how it started cropping up, only that its appearance meant that a battalion of Hulkstriders had been nearby. If the weeds were particularly thick, then it was likely one would find the burnt out carcass of a multi-ton metal giant nearby.

The dying breath of a mighty colossus, brought low.

Alleah didn't wait. She needed to move. It wasn't something confident; it was an anxious tension that needed to resolve itself. She needed to to be far away from this place, to be removed from this moment. This wasn’t hunting. This time? This time she fled. Deep into a concrete jungle.

She ran through familiar streets, not really taking in where she was headed until she was on Flatt Street. She recognized the cornices of the butcher shop, the rest of it a charred husk. Half of Ahzen Dreyhart’s mural - the one she’d spent months drawing on the community center’s front wall - still remained, the beautiful image of the Akragan countryside smeared black and brown with soot and dried blood. Alleah slowed, breath coming short as she moved past it.

Phantoms crowded the empty boulevard. Mr. Beecher with his bushy mustache, racetrack shaped glasses, and beady brown eyes. Les Carga, hustling people on the corner for petty cash. Her parents. Tab.

As she came back to the moment, she found herself staring at a thicket of Titan’s Exhalation. It climbed up from the center of what now was little more than a rusting, useless carcass made of then-cutting edge alloys. Surrounding it was little more than a twisted pile of concrete and steel.

It had been her home, once.

The war had raged for ten years before it found its way to Gela-Akragas. She was 13 at the time. It had sounded so far off that she couldn't help it she was drawn to it. Her family were all huddled in place, unable to evacuate. The sounds of fighting, the crunching of metal and the screeching thrum of beam weapons all seemed so distant. Remote.

So she snuck out, like a child would do. She couldn't see much from her street save for a flash of beam energy here or there a puff of smoke. Nothing definitive. And it was, indeed, off in the distance. Just flashes on the horizon line, really. Then her world darkened as something blotted out the midday sun. Whatever it was, it was massive and hung in the air a mile above her. She looked at it, trying to puzzle it out. Then a scintillating blur of heat and light cut into it and it plummeted toward her.

The remains of a Hulkstrider skimmed her head by inches, flattening the building behind her. When she turned she saw ash and broken concrete, along with a burning hole in the center of the Hulkstrider’s chest. With no pilot left, it was little more than a funerary stele. The marker of her family’s tomb.

And then she heard the deafening, horrifying clang from behind her, the ground rumbling as another Hulkstrider landed. She should have died with the rest of them. The only thing that had saved her was her lust for war. She would not repay their blood with cowardice.

Alleah Masterson was born in that moment. Reborn, maybe, in a crucible of death and tragedy. She summoned every ounce of fury that she could as she spun on her heel to face down a bestial nightmare of a machine. It was lithe, with digitigrade legs and lanky arms. One hand sported a claw, each one a meter long and gleaming with a mirror sheen. The other held a large beam cannon, which it had trained on her. It loomed stories above her and yet she felt herself grow tall in her fury. Tall enough to match it and then taller still. Within the barrel of the beam cannon, she saw a smoldering orange light.

She’d howled. It was something wild and baleful and sinister, possessing a singularly destructive intent. The beast shuddered and then withdrew. Its jumpjets flared as it fled, concussive waves of force battering Alleah’s frame. She refused to heed then.

Now, the better part of two decades later, standing in the horrid stillness of it…she wanted nothing more than to break down. To weep. Her fury had sustained her, but she’d grown weary. Those final flames had been doused in Dog Lake, sputtering and dying. She didn’t want it to be true, but it was. Whatever wicked light had come from burning the goodness in herself left with it, too.

Down the street, there was a shuffle of movement. Even against the fading sunlight she caught sight of it: a wild, unkempt tuft of brunette hair.

Nat. Fucking. Temple.

The rage she’d thought was gone burst back into full force. Yes. Yes. YES. She needed to hunt. Now. Now. She needed it. She needed to hunt hunt hunt Nat Temple down. Her body moved on instinct as she tore away from the ad-hoc mausoleum that held her family’s moldering corpses.

Kill. Hunt. Shoot. Kill. Hunt. Shoot. Kill. KILL.

She wanted to kill Nat Temple. She wasn’t sure why but she needed it. She needed Nat Temple gone from her life, banished from her mind and soul. She needed fury. Fury was all she ever wanted. It was all she’d had left and Nat Temple was stealing that from her, too.

Temple ducked into a high-rise building and thundered up the stairwell. She followed, nipping at Temple’s heels. She knew this place, too. Her dead friend lived her, down the hall on the second floor. Unit 2F. SUcks fOR hER, bEInG dEAD.

Temple kept running until there were no more stairwells up. Then she followed Temple down the hallway and into one of the luxury apartments she used to break into and steal from. She never got caught. SUcks fOR tHEM, gETing rOBBED.

Temple is trapped in a bedroom, backing up as she approached. She didn’t raise her rifle to fire. She raised her hands to close them around Temple’s throat. SUcks fOR tEMPLE, dYING.

And then Temple fired a Tag into Alleah and her mind cleared a little. She stumbled backward, letting out that same, anguished roar she had as when Alleah Masterson died and was reborn. This was another death. Just as potent. She could feel it. Cored through by Nat Temple, just like that Hulkstrider. Temple fired again. And again. It should’ve done nothing, but each one felt good. It felt right. The tiny prick of pain at the impact of it a reminder of who she would serve.

Eventually, her breathing slowed. She calmed. She relaxed into it as the DI chip asserted itself. There wasn’t anything to fear when it came to being submissive around Nat Temple. She blinked once. Why would this time be any diff—

“Strip.”

“Drop.”

“Suck.”