It’s dark. Cold. Wet. Zeta is lying on something hard and uncomfortable.
Xe groans. Xe’s used to waking up in miserable spots, but this one’s got to take the cake. Zeta’s not opening xis eyes yet. Xe’ll deal with whatever’s going on in a moment. For now, xe takes a moment to adjust to the feeling of having a body again.
Zeta stretches the sore meat puppet xe’s currently got custody of, and hears the rattling of metal; the clinking of chains. Xis hand scratches something wooden; a plank xe’s apparently lying on.
God, are they in the fucking clink? Oh, xe is going to have words with Rasa, or whoever else caused them to end up here. Might’ve been Thruss, honestly. She loves getting everyone in trouble.
Pain flares up throughout the body. Zeta groans. Xe, like the rest of them, is familiar enough with pain by now that xe can easily tell its origin, even if xe wasn’t there when it was doled out. Dull, throbbing pain on the chest. Beatings; fists. Similar, though larger sore spots on the thighs, coupled with sharper pain near their edges. Kickings; booted heels pressed into flesh. Sharp, stinging pain across the back. Whips.
…Hold on, whips?
God damnit. They’d talked about this. They’d set boundaries. No fucking BDSM shit when they are on deploment.
…Are they still on deployment? Zeta isn’t sure; time gets blurry if you’re not in the pilot’s seat. Xe furrows xis brow and focuses, trying to dig up some memories to help xim figure out what’s going on.
Xe takes a deep breath, bringing ximself back to the last time xe had clear memories. Having a clear chronological starting point always helps to figure out what’s happened in the meantime. Breathe in. Go back. Breathe out. Ignore the pain in your ribs. Breathe in.
Remember.
------
A shitty, run-down dive bar, the only kind the rebels can afford to run. Sticky floors. Stale, smokey air. Crowds of hunched figures adding their low hum to the chatter in the cramped room. Zeta’s kind of place. Thruss had been there, too; she appreciates the atmosphere of a good dive almost as much as Zeta.
Rasa usually let them handle this kind of schmoozing; too loud for her tastes. Too smelly. Too much. Suits Zeta fine.
Instinctively, xe knows it’s been a while since this had happened. More than weeks; less than a year. Months, probably. Xe’s not sure how many.
“So,” one of xis squad members - xe doesn’t remember her name; not her forte; not her job - said, slamming a few mugs of frothy beer down on the old, battered table. “We feelin’ ready for this next job?”
Zeta shrugged. “One fight’s as good as another, I guess.” Xe didn’t deal with the fights much. Couldn’t really even recall what they were like. That’s Rasa’s business.
Another squadmate, a blonde, mousy thing, spoke up. “I don’t know, Ras,” she squeaked, eyes darting nervously around the room. “I’ve heard some bad stuff about the front we’re deployed to. Weird stuff.”
Zeta rolled xis eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought into that ‘hound’ bullshit, pipsqueak,” xe responded. “That’s just stories the vets-” Fiorens snorted. Zeta groaned internally; he and his fucking puns “-make up to scare the bejeesus out of rookies like you.” Pipsqueak looked unconvinced.
“Come on, girl,“ Zeta said, “Think for a minute. Brainwashing programs? Mind control drugs? Surely you can tell that’s hokey. You can’t think even those fuckin’ weirdos in the Empire’d think that’d be worth the investment. Even if it’d somehow work - which it wouldn’t, not reliably enough to create new assets that won’t be at permanent risk of putting a nice big hole in their commanding officer’s mech and coming back to us - how fuckin’ worthwhile do you think that’d be? The R&D expenses on that magic fuckin’ drug alone would have to cost as much as just training and outfitting an entire army of factory-line Imperial mook mechs. Obviously you’d just build the army, right?“
Pipsqueak nodded, but her bunched-up shoulders and skittish jumpiness didn’t fade. Zeta’d groaned in annoyance.
“Whatever,” xe’d sighed, grabbing a mug and downing half of the pisswater the rebels had to make do with in one gulp. “How long are we gonna be out for?”
“Short jaunt,” the girl that’d brought the beer had said, plopping down into a chair and grabbing a beer of her own, “just a smash-and-grab. Shouldn’t be out for more than a month.”
------
No more than a month. Zeta still isn’t sure how long it’s been, but xe’s certain it’s been longer than that. Must be back at base, then.
Xe tries to pull up the memories of the others, to see what xe can patch together. Nothing. Not even Rasa has left xim anything. That's concerning; she's normally so diligent about making sure anyone else that takes the pilot's seat has enough memories to go off and at least stay functional enough until she comes back, which usually doesn't take long. This is out of character for her.
Zeta calls for her again. No response. Xe tries to pry open her memories - they have to be somewhere, obviously, so maybe if xe tries hard enough, xe can access them. No dice. Xe gets vague flashes of strange sights, faint feelings of dread, disgust, self-loathing and sick joy. Unsettling, but meaningless without context. And Ras seems to have that locked away deep.
Xe winces as the red-hot stripes of the lashes the body had endured burn across xis back. God damnit.
Hey, Anke, xe says, what the fuck did you do? I thought we’d talked about your hobbies. Some of us don’t want to wake up in some fucking sex dungeon beat to shit, y’know?
No response. No familiar flood of gentle pressure across the part of xis brain that indicates someone else showing up. Great.
Fuck me, girl, Zeta thinks. If you’re gonna put us in a situation like this, at least have the decency to own up to it.
Silence. Zeta’s alone. Xe squeezes xis eyes further shut; whatever freaky BDSM torture room xe’s in, xe really doesn’t want to see it right now.
Fine. If Ankebauw’s not in the mood to talk, maybe someone else is.
Yo, Fio, xe says. You there?
It takes a moment, but thankfully, Zeta’s plea doesn’t go unanswered this time. The muscles in the back of xis skull tighten slightly, rolling across xis brain. The pain dulls a notch. Zeta’s senses fade into the background, though only slightly. Xe’s still in the pilot’s seat. A presence in xis mind. A voice, responding to xis.
Zeta really doesn’t like its tone.
Jaysus, Zee, Fiorens says, are you okay? Did they get to you too? He sounds urgent; scared, even. On the verge of panic. Zeta hasn’t heard Fiorens sound like that before.
They? Fio, calm down, dude, what are you fucking talking about? Aren’t we just in the weird kink cellar of one of Anke’s ‘special friends’?
An abortive laugh, more like a snort. God, no, Zee, we’re not. We’re really, really, really not.
This is starting to unnerve Zeta. Fiorens is a jokester, but this isn’t the kind of prank he likes to pull. Zeta forces ximself to sit up, one hand supporting ximself against the wall.
Xe expects rough, damp rock brickwork, the likes you usually see in the dens and basements of the many cities the rebellion calls home. Instead, it's metal, cold and even to the touch. Xe shivers. That's not good.
Fio? Xe asks. Where exactly are we?
Silence. The presence briefly recedes, though not fully, and it quickly comes back; too much for Fiorens to share, then.
But Zeta's gotta know. It's important. Xe might need to start figuring out a plan to get them all out of here, wherever ‘here’ is. Xe’ll need all the information xe can get for that, even if it's hard on the others. Xe can apologise later - when everyone is safe.
Fiorens? Zeta prods gently, doing xis best not to upset the other person in here with xim. Please, buddy. I gotta know.
Silence, for a moment, though Fiorens doesn't shrink away like he did moments ago. Gathering his thoughts, then. Zeta gives him a moment.
Just… just open our eyes, okay? It's all that Fiorens can manage to get out.
Great, Zeta thinks. Xe'd really hoped to delay that for a bit longer. Gods, why is it so fucking hard for Fio to just fucking commun-
Zeta catches ximself. That's unfair. Fiorens has clearly been through a lot.
Sorry, she says. Speed of thought. Their usual phrase, for when one of them reflexively thinks something they don't mean.
None taken, Fiorens says. Xe can tell that's a lie; Fio is a little hurt. But he understands. It happens to all of them, from time to time. Having no possible filter on your words before they reach the person you're thinking about inevitably leads to things like this. They've all accepted it, and just try to give each other as much grace as possible.
Zeta shakes ximself out of xis reverie. Xe's just stalling, now. Time to bite the bullet. Xe wills ximself to open one of xis eyes. Fiorens instinctively tries to stop it, but he gets a hold of himself. Lets it happen.
Their eye opens.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
You can say that again, Fiorens responds, clearly fighting off a panic attack. Zeta feels it, too: the guts tighten; the hands shake; the throat grows dry. Xe's not sure how much of that is Fiorens’ terror, and how much is xis own. The lines get blurry like that, sometimes.
In front of xim is a bare, metal cell, a faint white light in the ceiling all the illumination provided. A grate has been placed in the corner of the room; their ‘bathroom,’ most likely. Zeta doesn't look too closely, but xe can see that it's been used.
It and the plank attached to the wall for a bed are the only features in the otherwise empty cell, unless you count the heavy metal door set in the wall across from their ‘bed’.
Zeta groans. Xe’s seen places like this before; or rather, Rasa had. She'd shared memories of the rare occasions when the rebellion managed to actually take an Imperial base.
Or, more commonly, from when she'd been sent in to stage a prison break.
Fio, Zeta asks, haltingly. It takes a moment for the rest of xis question to come out. How long have we been captured for?
A faint feeling of nausea trickles into xis gut. A tinge of despair drips down xis spine like tar. Xe already knows xe won't like the answer.
I'm… I'm not sure, Zee, the response comes. But I'm pretty certain it's been at least four months.
Four months.
Xe's been out for four fucking months. More than that, assuming Rasa didn't get them captured on the very first day.
Zeta stifles a scream.
God fucking damnit, she thinks. Jesus fuck. What the fuck happened? How did Rasa of all people manage to get snatched by the fucking Imperials? Christ above, even fucking Zeta isn't stupid enough to let that happen, and xe’s not supposed to be the star pilot.
Xe takes a breath, and collects ximself.
Sorry, xe says. Speed of thought.
Zeta doesn't expect a response; Rasa hasn't answered xim so far. To xis surprise, xe feels something. A familiar bubbling in his brain; a presence, coming to the fore. Rasa's presence.
But something's wrong. Something is very, very wrong with Rasa. Zeta feels it before she even speaks.
Normally, Rasa's confident; joyful; boisterous, even. She announces herself by kicking down the proverbial door and choking everyone else currently present around in a massive mental bear hug. She gets there fast and with force.
The Rasa that comes up now - if it even is Rasa - isn't like that. She floats, gently, into presence, cloying the brain with tendrils of self that seek to wrap around Zeta’s consciousness. Elsewhere in the brain, xe can feel Fiorens struggling to keep her at a distance, too.
Hello, Zeta, Fiorens, she says, her voice sickly sweet, unnervingly calm. It is good to see you both again.
Zeta, unlike some of the others, isn't really a visual thinker; xe doesn’t really spend much time thinking about what xe looks like on the inside, or pay much heed to how the others present themselves.
But even xe can't ignore the sickening light that Rasa has chosen to wrap herself in as she glides into being, radiating it like some kind of misbegotten quasi-angelic thing.
Behind the light, she is hollow. Or, Zeta thinks, not quite fully. But something like it.
Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, Ras, what happened to you? Zeta has a sinking feeling xe knows, but xe needs to be sure. Hopes desperately xe's wrong.
A dreamy smile stretches across Rasa's face. It takes Zeta a second to realise the lips of the body have followed suit. Xe struggles to wipe it off their face; fails.
Oh, Rasa responds, don't worry. It's okay. She happened.
She? Rasa, what the fuck are you talking about?
Don't worry, the response comes, seemingly immune to Zeta's obvious irritation, you'll get to meet Her soon enough, I'm sure.
I'd rather you tell me who the bitch is beforehand, Ras. Zeta ignores the hesitation and fear Fiorens is feeling; xe has to know. Needs to know who xe needs to kill for fucking with Rasa's head like this.
Rasa's smile grows wider, disturbingly so.
As you wish, she says, and opens the floodgates of her memories.
Zeta is nearly washed away in a torrent of horrific recollection, flashes of memory hitting xis mind in rapid succession. Rasa on her mission, safely out with the documents they'd been sent to acquire from the Imperials; a distress signal from a squadmate; Rasa, turning back to save her, against direct orders.
Rasa, walking dick-first into a trap.
Their mech, surgically disabled by hidden las-sniper fire. Her capture. The deprivation. The beatings. The torture. Worse.
It's all fast - too fast, thankfully, to really sink into Zeta's psyche. For a moment, xe thinks it's over, that it's just been the months of suffering that broke Rasa.
Then, Her.
The woman only known to Rasa as ‘Handler,’ entering her cell. Telling her She sees potential in Rasa. Explaining precisely what She will expect of Rasa, and what She will do to her. Rasa spitting in Her face. A thunderbolt of regret rocks the body at that memory - Rasa's emotion.
The recollections continue. Handler ordering Rasa beaten. Slapping her across the face Herself, on rare occasion. Ramming a needle full of drugs into her neck. The memories get fuzzy, there, but a clear sense of bliss emanates from Rasa's presence at the mere recollection. Zeta nearly hurls at that.
Then, indoctrination. Psychosomatic training. Videos Rasa's forced to watch. Bizarre, grating audio noises like dial-up or TV static pumped into her ears. The lines of reality blurring. Zeta feels ximself dissociate. For once, xe's grateful. The feeling makes the memories less real, takes the sharp edge off. Helps xim stay focused.
Alright, Rasa, that's enough, xe begins, but the storm of memories carries on unabated. Their mech, rebuilt in Imperial image. Handler, informing Rasa that she's almost ready for her first assignment. She just needs a little longer, She says. A week passing. Her torture-training intensifying.
Then, finally, somebody new emerging. Hound.
At the recollection of its name, it responds. The light in the hollowed-out shell that was Rasa dims, and the mask of her skin falls away. Behind it is a slavering beast in the shape of a woman, hunched over, feral, a sick wildness in its eyes.
There it is, Rasa's voice beams from her face, now discarded and in the recesses of the mind, still smiling, with the same tone of disgusting, ethereal, unreal joy. Isn't it beautiful?
What the fuck is that? Zeta already knows, of course, but it's all xe can manage to say.
Hound, of course, Rasa replies. You just saw how She molded it into being. Didn't She do a magnificent job? You'll learn to love it, in time, I'm sure. I already have.
Fiorens retches. Too late, Zeta realises the body is making those same motions. Xe tries to sprint over to the grate in the corner, but it's futile. Vomit spatters across the floor.
Come, now, Zeta, Fiorens, Rasa says. It's time for you to join us in Her light. It's really not as bad as you think.
Fiorens screams. The heart pounds in Zeta's throat. Xe has to get Fiorens back to his senses; the last thing xe needs is another one of them losing their mind.
Absolutely the fuck not, he says. With tremendous effort, xe strains against Rasa and whatever the fuck that ‘Hound’ thing is, trying to shove them back into the recesses of unconsciousness. They'll need to be dealt with later; for now, them taking up brain space and sharing their poisoned thoughts with the rest of them would only be dangerous. It's tough; there's not much of Rasa left to resist xis efforts, but it's still two against one, and Hound is a taut ball of rabid willpower. Zeta feels ximself being pried loose of the pilot's seat, despite xis best efforts.
Come on, Fio, Zeta says, grabbing onto the rough wood of the bed-plank until his knuckles turn white, help me out here.
The only response are wailing sobs.
Fucking HELL, Fio, Zeta screams, shaking Fiorens's presence in the mind about. Pull yourself together, man - we've GOT to get ourselves out of here before that crazy bitch does to us what she's done to Ras!
That does it. The shouting and shaking snaps Fiorens out of his panic attack - not healthy, Zeta's sure, but healthier than letting the two whackjobs in the brain do whatever it is they want to do to them. Fiorens shakes off Rasa's memories and slams his mental weight against the two sick creatures in their mind, steadying Zeta. It's enough to enter a stalemate, but not enough to begin winning ground.
They sit there for what feels like hours, struggling for control of the mind and body. Sometimes, Zeta feels like they've nearly won; others, xe feels the telltale sign of his consciousness falling away into the back of the mind, only pulled back at the last moment by Fiorens. They're both getting exhausted, while Rasa and Hound seem to have unending supplies of twisted devotion to their task.
Zeta curses. They can't keep this up forever.
Xe does his best to keep up, but it becomes obvious that it's futile. It's all over, Zeta realises, when xe begins faltering and fading again, and Fiorens no longer has the energy to pull xim back. A faint, sick smile creeps back onto the body's lips. Rasa's won, and she knows it. A feeling of resigned contentment begins to seep into Zeta's being. It's not so bad, xe thinks. At least xe isn't around much to experience these horrors. Maybe xe can just have the mindless bliss.
Then, suddenly, parts of the mind that Zeta didn't even realise had been sealed and locked away burst open, and two more presences slam directly into Rasa and Hound’s.
Hound howls as it's pushed back. Fiorens cheers, tears of joy streaming down his face.
Don’t worry, boys- Ankebauw starts.
-cavalry's here, Thruss finishes.
With one last push, the four of them manage to shove Rasa and Hound out of the mind, deep into the bowels of its unconsciousness. Zeta slams xis mental walls in place, making damn sure they aren't getting back in any time soon.
About fucking time, you two, Zeta thinks, though xe can't keep the obvious feelings of relief from his thoughts.
Sorry, Thruss responds, she'd locked us away once she realised what was going to happen. Took us a while to get back out; reckon it's your distraction that finally let us break through.
I think she did it for our safety, Ankebauw adds. Knew she couldn't save herself, but maybe could save us.
Why didn't she lock us away, then? Zeta responds.
She did, Zee, Fiorens butts in. Took you four months to claw your way back here, remember? I've barely been out for a week, and then only for seconds at a time, tops. I think she just missed that I'd gotten out until we talked.
Alright, well, good, then. I'm glad we're all okay. Still sane, at least. We are still all sane, right? Everyone voices their agreement.
Okay, great. That's a start. Now, how the fuck are we going to get out of thi-
Before Zeta can finish xis thought, the door to the cell hisses open. Xe glances up, jumping to his feet, ready to make a break for the outside or defend ximself if need be - xe hadn't been around for too much of the CQC training Rasa got, but xe is fairly sure the muscle memory it ingrained into the body would let him do a decent enough job of it, in a pinch.
All those plans fall away when xe sees who is standing in the doorframe.
Fuck, Zeta thinks.
We're fucked, Ankebauw agrees.
We've got nails and we've got teeth, we're not fucked until we're dead or she is, Thruss bellows.
Keep them down, they're trying to get back in, Fiorens exclaims. The muscles in the back of the head strain, pulling taut as the banished pair of presences try to force their way back in at the sight of the woman entering the cell. With some effort, the four manage to keep Rasa and Hound out.
By the time their initial assault on Zeta's mental defenses is through, she is already standing in front of xem.
Handler.
She's a reasonably tall woman at 6’1, though not the tallest Zeta knows by a long shot. Her hair is a bright orange, and her eyes are an emerald green that seem void of all emotion. She's wearing a simple black leather military outfit, riding boots up to her knees, golden tassels on the shoulders of her black coat, which is opened to reveal a white blouse, a red sash draped over it. Her hair is crowned by a black peaked cap, no symbol adorning it.
The sound of dial-up plays in the recesses of Zeta’s mind. In the gut, a sickly sweet sense of happiness wells up. The conditioning, xe thinks. It must be affecting Rasa, even as she's forcibly being kept from consciousness. That shit runs deeper than Zeta thought. Fuck.
The memories Rasa inflicted on xim and the rest dance in the back of the mind, reminding xim of who She is, of what She has done to Rasa, that, really, xe should be obeying, just like she would-
Zeta blinks. Xe pushes the memories back. Xe's extremely practiced at that, by now, and though it takes some effort, xe contains them. The sound of dial-up fades, though it doesn't fully leave. Xe looks up at Handler, meeting her gaze.
“Hello, Rasa,” Handler says. “Are you feeling quite well?”
Her voice has a musical quality to it, like a gentle brook babbling through the mind. Soothing. Calming.
It makes Zeta wants to throw up.
Xe contemplates jumping her here and now, to just be done with it. But then what? Xe'd be stuck in the middle of an Imperial base, with no weapons - unless this Handler bitch kept a side piece on her - and no idea how to get out or where xe even really is.
No, xe thinks. Best to play along with now. Their mech had been rebuilt, right? Let's at least try to figure out where the Imperials keep it. If xe can get them to the Dawnrider, xe is pretty sure xe can get them all out of there. Zeta isn't half the pilot Rasa is, but xe had been suddenly pulled in mid-fight a few times - or, more frequently, directly after - and xe'd managed to get back to base with only a few dings on the armour plating every time. So far.
It was a hasty plan. It'd have to do.
“Yes, Handler,” xe says, forcing the body's vocal chords into the lighter, airier tone Rasa usually talks with. Xe carefully filtered through Rasa's memories, ignoring the rising sound of dial-up and the faint flickering of TV static in the corner of xis eye. How did she act? What was expected of her? It was a lot to go through, and a lot to get right.
Thankfully, Zeta is a fast learner, and an even better impersonator.
Handler cocks Her head slightly, eyes narrowing. Her gaze runs up and down the body.
“Hm,” She eventually says, evidently satisfied with whatever it is She thinks She sees. “Good. I have been worried about you, Rasa. You haven't quite seemed like yourself lately. Your new self. Your better self.”
In the abdomen, the cloying happiness decays, rotting into a miserable sludge of despair. Rasa does not like what she's hearing.
Zeta knows what xe has to do. Xe hates it. But that doesn't stop xim. All for the greater good.
Drawing on all of the fucked-up petplay memories of Anke's she can scrounge up for xim in time, Zeta gives Handler xis best kicked puppy whine.
“I'm sorry, Handler,” xe says. "I'll do better! I promise!”
She nods. “I trust you will, Rasa. You've been a very good dog for Me.”
Poisonous happiness explodes through the body. A facsimile of true joy, but no less in its all-encompassing intensity for its falsehood. Zeta finds it difficult to think straight; the high-pitched noise in xis mind becomes nearly overwhelming. Black and white static dances over xis field of vision.
Before xe realises it, Rasa breaks through, for a fraction of a moment. She yips once, panting with enthusiasm, and then Zeta manages to lock her out again.
Fuck. This is getting dangerous. Next time, Rasa might have the presence of mind to warn Handler of what's going on, and Zeta's pretty sure that if that happens, it's game over. For all of them.
Handler ruffles xis hair. “Good dog. That's the enthusiasm I expect from you. Now, heel,” She says. Zeta knows what that means; has reviewed enough of Rasa's memories to understand what is expected of xim.
The body crashes to its knees. Handler produces a leash, which She affixes to the collar Zeta didn't realise was there until now. Next, She retrieves a muzzle from Her pocket. The sight makes Zeta feel nauseous, but xe allows Her to put it on xim. In the gullet, a warm, pleasant fire of comfort ignites. Rasa feels safe again. Like all is right in the world. Perhaps she thinks Zeta has seen the brilliance of Handler's light, or whatever insane way she'd phrase it.
Without a further word, Handler turns on her heels, and departs from the room, leash in hand. Zeta follows on all fours, the door of the cell closing behind xim. She leads xim through a lengthy maze of tunnels and checkpoints for what seems to the body's cramping hands and thighs like hours, but must in reality be more like twenty minutes at most. Eventually, when Zeta thinks the sore palms and knees are going to give out on xim, they arrive in a massive, open hangar. Rows and rows of Imperial mechs - Arcadia-class, if shared memory serves - line the space, with one notable exception.
Close by, near the entrance Handler and Zeta had just come through, stands a mismatched, retrofitted machine that only barely looks Imperial thanks to its new black paintjob and the massive, electrified mancatcher pincers attached to the frame's left hand. Dawnrider, or at least what’s left of it.
“Yes,” Handler says, mistaking the recognition in the body's eyes for enthusiasm, “it's time for another mission.” She fishes a small holoprojector from Her coat pocket, and turns it on. A 3D map of a rebel base - their rebel base, home turf - springs into view.
“You know where this is, Rasa,” She says. “Thanks to your hard work in eliminating the rebel outposts, we have been able to expose the base proper to an all-out assault. Today, we will end the rebel presence on this front.”
Zeta sits on the body's knees, resting the hands between them. Xe makes sure the body drools. It seems appropriate.
“You will go in first,” She says. “Take the element of surprise, and be My vanguard. You will disable any patrols quietly, and allow our troops to move in close without being detected. Then, you will lead the charge.” Zeta nods. That explains why there's no other pilots suiting up in their machines, then. To xim, it sounds like a suicide mission; but then, xe's seen what Rasa is capable of. For her, perhaps it isn't. Judging from the ecstatic excitement bubbling up in the gut, she certainly doesn’t think it is.
Handler unclips the attachment to the collar, letting Zeta off the leash. “Rise,” She says. Xe stumbles to xis feet.
“Before you go,” Handler says, putting away the holoprojector and taking something else from Her pocket. A syringe. It's filled with a deep purple liquid, white specks like stars dancing within the viscous substance. “A small boost. To make sure you keep being yourself.”
The needle's already going for the body's neck. There's almost no time to react. Despite what xe thought, Zeta is not a fighter. Rasa can't be relied upon to stop the injection of whatever fucked-up mindbreaker drug that is; wants it, even.
But Thruss is a fighter. And she has other plans.
Zeta feels ximself getting slammed out of the body's pilot seat, gladly giving up control to the indomitable Thruss, who acts immediately. The entire body shifts. The vision clears. The shoulders unbunch. The legs take on a combat power stance, spreading out the body's weight and ensuring it can't be knocked over easily.
The needle is coming from the upper right; Handler is apparently a leftie, and still a good bit taller than the body Thruss is now calling the shots for.
She tries to catch Handler's incoming syringe, but, as fast as she is, Rasa and Hound are faster. They howl, breaking through Zeta's mental defenses with blind fury, and freeze Thruss in place for just a moment. It's not enough to let the needle hit home, but it's enough to force Thruss to change tack. She switches from her attempted counter to a desperate dodge, clumsily ducking underneath Handler’s jab with the syringe.
Handler’s eyes narrow again, a hint of deep-seated rage dancing at their edges. “You,” She spits, “are not my hound.” She kicks forward, Her knee planting itself in Thruss’ gut. Air shoots out of her lungs, and she doubles over in pain. A second knee shoots up, aiming for her face. Thruss tries to dodge, but again, Rasa and Hound interfere, howling with anger, and the knee hits Thruss square in the jaw. Thankfully, Thruss didn't have her mouth open, or she'd have shattered a few teeth and probably severed her tongue, but she still sees stars as her head rocks back.
“You are not welcome here,” Handler hisses. “You are not supposed to be here!”
The needle comes swinging down again, with far more speed and force this time. Zeta, Ankebauw and Fiorens, recovered from their initial shock, throw themselves against the traitors within the mind, desperately fighting to keep Thruss in control.
Clinging on to the pilot's seat for dear life, Thruss throws up her arms, catching Handler's wrist with her own and using her left hand to support her right wrist. Handler's eyes widen in shock - the first emotion they've seen Her have that they can remember.
Adrenaline has kicked in, now, and everything else fades. The hangar. The other mechs. Dawnrider. Even the struggle between the presences in her mind.
For the first time in her existence, Thruss is truly, fully present.
Handler opens Her mouth. “Wha-” She tries to say, but Thruss is too fast. She might not have battlefield experience in a mech the way Rasa does, but she's got plenty of bar fights under her belt, and in a brawl like this, that counts for far more.
She locks her right hand around Handler's wrist, turning it clockwise in a large arc, forcing the syringe to turn point up as Handler's hand and hers are lowered to the gut. Handler tries to react, moves for a kick, but Thruss doesn't give Her the time - using the syringe as a lever and her own wrist as the fulcrum, she wrenches it free from Handler's grasp and, in one smooth motion, rams it into Her neck. She presses the plunger all the way down, ignoring the red-hot burning feelings of betrayal and rage bursting up in her gut, and dodges Handler's feeble attempt at a kick. Handler stares at Thruss, pawing weakly at the needle in Her neck.
“Yyyyy-youuu,,u,uu,,” She stammers out.
“Aren't your fucking dog,” Thruss responds, kicking Handler's legs out from under her. The woman collapses like a sack of potatoes, drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth, eyes rolled into the back of her head.
Rasa and Hound are an uncontrollable fury, now, screaming and howling in rage, but Zeta and the others manage to keep them mostly contained. The eyes water. The throat screams until it's raw. Occasionally, a hand wants to claw at the throat, but Thruss maintains ironclad control. She clambers into Dawnrider, the unfamiliarly familiar cockpit ready for her. Zeta gives her what guidance xe can while struggling to keep the two poisoned presences in the mind contained, and soon enough, Thruss has fired up the machine.
She turns it to the drooling Handler on the floor, giant metal foot raised high above her.
Thruss stomps it down with all her might.
“NO!”
She blinks. There is no thud. No splatter of blood across the floor.
Mere inches from the woman's incapacitated body, the foot hovers in the air.
Rasa and Hound can't seize full control. Can't stop Thruss from leaving.
But they can stop her from killing Her.
Snarling in frustration, Thruss weighs her options. Alarms are blaring. Shouts are being heard down the hall. They could win this contest of wills against Rasa and Hound, she's fairly sure. It's four against two. But that'd take time. Time she's not sure they have.
A few Imperial soldiers run in, opening fire on her machine. Pilots rush to their Arcadia machines. That settles it. They have to go.
Screaming in frustration, and her gut icy with the deepest grief and sense of abandonment she has ever felt, Thruss lifts Dawnrider’s foot away from Handler, turns the machine, and starts sprinting for the exit. She's no great pilot, but hers is a fast machine, and the Imperials aren't even in their mechs yet. It's not a contest.
Should've killed her when we had the chance, Zeta says. We're going to regret this.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! GO BACK! WE NEED TO MAKE THISRIGHT WE NEEDTO MAKETHISRIGHT WENEEDOTMAKETHISRIGHTWENEEDTOMAKETHISRIGHTWENEEDTOWENEEDTOWENEEDTO, Rasa shouts, barely-coherent through her fury.
Hound simply howls, any semblance of humanity long since carved away from it.
Thruss tunes them all out as best she can, focusing on dodging the few stray shots sent her way from the first suited-up Arcadia’s. One dings her in the leg, and for a moment she fears she's going to be caught.
Then she clears the doors of the hangar, and she's free. Leaping and bounding out of the base, her head filled with screams, her gut a black hole of despair, Thruss steers Dawnrider towards home. They can figure out how to help Rasa later, if she can be helped. Hound… she doesn't know what they can do about Hound.
Later, she thinks. For now, she's got a base to warn.
The Caninekin urge to have a large pack group of friends or partners that you live in a massive house with and spend your time together going on wild adverntures and journeys ♡♡
Fun fact ,, I see you as like an ideal packmate tbh .
Like . . what is it called when you have like a platonic crush ? Squish ? Or something ??
But instead packmate crush ?!??
-- 🪓
I saw your other one as well but I'll just be responding to both on this one !! No worries for taking time to send in asks I'm a patient mutt ^^
I'm always open to more packmates and friends of the sort !! so however you wanna go about that I'm happy to hehe
I love physical affection, like my IRL Pack mates know this but yall don’t know how much I love it.
That is my love language, that’s how you know I love you and how I want love. Just giving you a big squeeze after not seeing you for a week, laying on the couch and cuddling, crying in each others arms, sleeping in bed curled up next to each other.
I love showing other people that I love them by sharing my warmth and giving them all the live in my body. Giving my pack mates warmth is the most important thing, keeping each other warm in the cold months means keeping the pack happy and alive
when i'm having a bad day, one of the things i think about is that i've got to stay because of my mutuals. who else is gonna send them three asks in a row? i always think i'm annoying and yet i'm met back with such enthusiasm. i love u guys
NEW BLURB AU STARTED BECUZ IM BORED OF ONCOLOGY LECTURE
><
Dennis is one of the worst packmates there is; worst part is he isn't even aware of it. He bothers her every morning with coffee and too loud music that she likes and he always knows what takeout she likes and--
He just sucks, okay?
She isn't sure when he started presenting as such a caring member of her pack, one of which is associated to her much more closely as he too, is a werewolf. He grew up on a farm with a caring family, so he's probably much more used to open affection with his own pack.
Trinity was used to licking her wounds and suffering silently, she'd learned early on that her parents didn't care for her needs, didn't care for her desires, her dreams, her fucking feelings.
Her dad was a bystander to her abuse, her mother openly gnashed her fangs at her, calling her dramatic, pathetic, a mutt, a slut for letting her coach, a human--touch her that way.
Her friend, her old packmate, paid the price. She remembers the day her pack disowned her, remembers baring her teeth and trying to defend herself.
She remembers the cuts and bruises and bites she'd received.
Huckleberry isn't like that.
He's soft and sweet and kind--disgustingly so.
Like now, where he's snuffling at her ear as they trot through Allegheny's National Forest. They often spend their nights here, when shifts are too bad, too much, too--human.
She chuffs at him, ear flicking from his attention as she stalks past him deeper into the shadow. She hears his stumbling stepping after her and represses the grumble that threatens to pry from her maw.
He's a golden retriever pup in a massive werewolf body and it shows.
He whines as he presses up against her equally large form, head dipping below her jaw and rubbing against her unkempt fur. His tail is wagging, beating against her flank gently when she allows the affection.
She isn't sure when she became the supposed protector of their little duo pseudo-pack, maybe he sees something in her worth valuing. She isn't sure.
What she is sure of is that she'll kill anyone that hurts this idiot she has started thinking of as her brother.
Trinity rumbles, mouth jutting as she soothes him before her nose lifts to the air, sniffing and scenting what smells like an elk.
She chuffs at him again and they're off in a flurry of fur and teeth and howling barks.
Trinity won't ever admit how much she loves it.
@fellow-loser-salamander @tiniiiiii @neptunesenceladus you should join me in werewolf hell :3
#project hail mary
#pride month
