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It's raining again, finally.
The summer had been sweltering, an oppressive heat that you couldn't escape. Not a soul in the barracks had known any relief since early may, and now, pushing into the last moments of june, it rained.
Saorlaith was near heartbroken not to bask in the relief, she wanted nothing more than to lay flat on the ground and soak in it. But there was work to do, and there was no avoiding the ugly task ahead. So she watched the rain longingly from the cockpit of Nomadic, wondering aloud to herself if crawling out for just a minute would get her killed. Nomadic had been with her nearly 7 years, much as she wished she could say Nomadic had never failed her, it had. Nomadic was a complete mess, parts from so many different places people lovingly called her the Mech of Theseus.
The control module had been pulled from a prototype model, the controls were originally made for video games, and the body was a mismatch of different weathered metals. The glass was so chipped and cracked that Saorlaith had to work around several blindspots. The frame itself was a modified scouting model, Saorliath found the combat models too slow and bulky. Preferring to be as mobile as possible. This had given her a specific edge on the competition, allowing her to run circles around the bulky, overburdened mechs of her enemies. By now the name Nomadic had become a symbol of hope, of resistance, of fear. The muted green paint and the jagged teeth like protrusions on the front were a sight nobody could forget after seeing it.
None of this stopped her from being damn fucking good at piloting a mech. Saorlaith didn't like to boast, but when the revolution starts putting your face on propaganda posters and plastering them across every city they liberated, it goes to your head a little.
In fact this all made her better at piloting the beast. Soarlaith stood at a whopping 165cm, and so was never a very imposing presence. But inside Nomadic she was as tall as a mountain. From inside that cockpit Saorlaith peered down on the world, able to crush it at a moment's notice. The hands in front of her could reduce an enemy barracks to ashes with a simple flick of her wrist. Saorlaith was a threat when she had her hands on the controls of Nomadic, and that made her feel safe......
Saorlaith drifted from this train of thought, slowly realising she had covered far more ground than she realised. She was coming up on the engagement line and needed to snap back to focus. The target was the command centre in New Tania, one of the last strongholds of the Republic. It was a massive, brutalist compound, made in the likeness of the pyramids of egypt. There had been a year-long struggle for control of New Tania, due to its overwhelming civilian population. As opposed to the Republic, the peoples revolution were not willing to sacrifice civilians to achieve their goals. Months of planning and Guerilla warfare had amounted to this moment. Nomadic and the rest of the front lines had gathered strength enough to mount an all out assault on the Command Centre of the Republic. Nomadic was to take a small team and breach a relatively unguarded section of the command centre.
At the engagement line, she turned on her comms.
"Easy company, in positions." Saorlaith barked, stealing herself enough to hide her fear.
Behind her, 3 mechs noisily shuffled into a single file line. Each of the mechs were wore unique designs and battle damage. For a brief moment Saorlaith flashed these stories through her mind. All these years of fighting had brought her to this fight, win or lose this would be the end.
Win. She would win this fight, any consideration payed to losing was too much to bear. Soarlaith had been fighting since she was 16, she would be seeing this through to the bitter end.
"In position ma'am." Called back her sergeant, Evelynn.
"Give em hell easy company." Saorlaith roared down her comms, spinning out towards the battleground.
Rounding the corner, Soarlaith sought to gain her bearings. They were about 500m away from the entrance, an ornate and well maintained city garden in the space between. The entrance was guarded by two smaller city grade mechs. Due to several mech related incidents, laws had been put in place regarding inner-city mechs. Nomadic reached for its hip section, pulling a small improvised explosive device away. Saorlaith could feel the mechs weight drop noticeably when the device was removed. It was a struggle to contain the ecstacy of pulling the pin and lobbing the explosive towards the door. There was a certain rush she felt deep within her psyche knowing her aim was perfect, that this was going to do a lot of fucking damage.
And it did.
A massive explosion sent both mechs tumbling, and large chunks of the door and adjacent wall flying. The sounds screeched through the cockpit speakers, sending Saorlaiths hands up to her ears. When her senses returned to her, she saw her plan in full effect. Easy company had fanned out across the battlefield and were advancing in perfect formation. Saorlaith leaned forward in her seat, grabbing hold of the controls and focusing on her singular objective. No stimulant, sin, indulgence, no anything in the whole fucking world, could possibly compare to this feeling. As Saorlaith put every single ounce of strength, every morsel of power she had, into the controls she felt electric. Nomadic responded in kind, lunging forward and bouncing gracefully over easy company. Saorlaith was soaring towards the hole in the wall she had manufactured. Through the cacophony of intersecting bullets and thick dust, she spied the outline of a mech.
"This one's mine ladies!" Soarlaith cried over the comms, a little more excited than she intended.
Nomadic crashed down upon the unsuspecting mech and its pilot. Despite Nomadic's status as a retrofitted scout unit, tons of steel with the aid of potential energy and gravity are devastatingly heavy. Nomadic loomed over the generic, freshly minted Republic Mech. Saorlaith had come to a stage now where destroying an enemy mech and its occupying Pilot had become routine. It was a task to be completed, same as any chore. It wasn't something she struggled with, or grappled with in the late hours of the night. So when she looked into this cockpit, she did it out of a morbid sort of bloodlust. But when she raised her mechs fist and peered into the viewfinder, she saw Faye.
Faye is dead, Faye was dead. She should be. Saorlaith knew what she saw, it was something impossible to even drink away. A mission 4 months prior had put their scouting mission into the middle of an ambush, taking the lives of 3 of the most incredible women Saorlaith had ever known. Faye’s mech had remained behind to give cover fire, her modified minesweeper model martyring itself so that Saorlaith could get away. The Republic had never been known to spare a prisoner, and so Faye was declared K.I.A and given a morbidly hollow service. And yet there, right in-front of her, was Faye. She still had the same blonde hair, ragged black jumpsuit, scarred nose, and messy self done wolf cut. But the first thing anyone would notice was, she was wearing a muzzle.
The sound of a massive explosion and subsequent debris were a shock enough to make her realise she had frozen in position. Ripping her eyes away from Faye, she saw her plan failing right before her eyes. Easy company had been flanked by Republic Gunner Units, blocking all points of exit. Saorlaith knew these Units were supposed to be currently engaged, her stomach rose to her throat. Troubador and Wolffe were on their sides, riddled across the chest with armor piercing spears, Pilot status unclear. Meanwhile the remainder of Easy Company had taken cover amongst the opulent garden, all calling over each other on the comms.
Saorlaith understands she is of no use to them, she begins to turn her attention back to Faye. But she does so a moment too late. Faye had gotten hold of an exposed power cable in the debris, and was plunging it towards Nomadic viciously. The cable made contact with Nomadic and immediately caused a power surge. The screen of the cockpit was asked in red, warning messages overlapping on the edges of the screen, and any mobility systems previously active shut down rapidly.
Despite the rumors, there is no kinesthetic connection between Pilot and mech. But the feeling of losing control of a mech was the fear of any and all Pilots. When operational a mech makes man into god, when immobilised they were coffins, nothing more than a place to die.
"Faye, sweetheart Jesus fucking Christ what happened?" Saorlaith asked, softer than she intended.
No response came, save for a sort of wheezing and panting. Saorlaith was in a pure state of shock, this, whatever it is, was not her Faye. Her mind raced with possibilities. Had she been a traitor the whole time? Saorlaith dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it came to her. The Republic had used spyfare against them before, but no spy would go to the lengths Faye had. The Republic had to be forcing Faye to do this, this was the only possibility Saorlaith could handle right now. The absence of knowing who or what Faye had become left Saorlaith unsure what was to happen now. From what she could hear through the Comms, the fight behind her was not going in Easy Company's favor.
"Ma'am, report Ma,am." The voice calling out was Anne, she was still alive. This smallest of comforts brought the slightest resolve to Saorlaith. Before she even thought to respond, Saorlaith started at troubleshooting Nomadic.
"Good to see you're still with us Wolffe, was getting worried there for a second. My mech is disabled, stay in formation and call for reinforcements." Saorlaith shouted back, projecting any remaining confidence she had.
Soarlaiths head was spinning as she worked on troubleshooting the mech. She paid no mind to her visor, she could do nothing about what was going on outside her cockpit anyways. For a brief moment Saorlaith thinks she's managed to get movement back, but the jerk she felt was Faye grabbing hold of Nomadic's leg. A dread settled in Saorlaith's stomach. An idea came uneasily to Saorlaith, she could try a system restart. It was the fastest option available for restoring functionality, if it worked. The problem was it involved powering down, in the middle of a battle field, for 30 seconds. To the uninitiated 30 seconds could sound inconsequential, however any Pilot knows that 30 seconds in a battlefield can make or break an encounter. But she was beginning to be dragged by Faye, and with no other options, she began the restart. All at once the red disappeared from the screen, and all comms shut down. She was thrust into dark, the sounds of the battlefield now became a homogenous hum. Saorlaith counted aloud to herself, allowing her breath to quicken and shake.
Nomadic was hoisted, now sitting at a steep angle. Worn seatbelts dug into Saorlaith's shoulder, keeping her barely in her seat. Nomadic was being dragged further away from the battlefield clearly with an intentionality. Saorlaith worried that a member of Easy Company may go against orders and come to her aid. Memories of nights in the barracks flooded her mind. Of Wolffe downing whiskey and spitting at open flames, trying to impress whatever cute rookie she had set her eye on. Of Anne challenging the strong Dykes to fights, knowing full well she was going to lose. Of sneaking into the woods with Faye when nobody was looking, how Faye felt pinned up against a tree, that grin she got when she told a bad joke. That memory forced Saorlaith to look up at Faye. It was hard to make anything out through the muzzle, but for a brief moment Saorlaith could see through. Faye was grinning, but it was perverse, strange, and hungry. Faye was hunched and cross legged, animalist in her movements. The mech she piloted reflected this hound like movement, it was dragging Nomadic like a predator drags its prey.
Suddenly the cockpit was filled with sound, and comms were back online.
"Ma'am, report, do you copy." A panicked and shaky voice, unclear who.
"Loud and clear, systems coming back online. What's the status of reinforcements?" Saorlaith responded a bit too hurriedly, revealing more desperation than she intended.
"We've sent out various S.O.S calls, but we haven't reached anyone. What are your orders Ma'am" It was Eve, clearly hoping Saorlaith had a solution.
But that word, orders, brought a sense of doom to Soarlaith. Orders? What orders could she give? Run, Hide, and Pray? With her mech offline, she was hardly in a better position than any of them. Oh if only she knew how right she was. Saorlaith felt her mech fully activate, the joysticks unlocked and she could move again. The first thing she did was to plant her mechs unhindered leg straight into the chest of Faye. The kick connected, producing a thundering crunch of metal. But the kick was a moment too late, and a hair too weak. Faye tanked the blow and slammed Nomadic into the neighbouring wall. The crash sent Saorlaith flying forward, inducing an intense bout of whiplash and dizziness. Saorlaith's vision blackened and blurred gradually, she used what remained of her strength to reach for the Pilot eject button. EVery inch of movement sent a searing pain through every part of her body, but she fought it through sheer stubbornness.
But after a few seconds, she faded. Slowly drifting into a stomach churning, terror inducing sleep.
***
Cold, it's so fucking cold. That was the first thing that sprang to Saorlaith's mind as she groggily woke up. Paired with the oppressive cold was a sense of surprise, surprise to be alive. The Republic famously took no prisoners of war, and so why hadn't her brains been blown out right there on that battlefield? Oh god, the battle. She couldn't quite remember the details of what happened, but the dread of seeing her team under fire was not easily forgotten. Saorlaith tried to push this thought as far away as she could, clearly something had gone wrong and she needed to get her bearings. With a great strain she opened her eyes, hoping against hope to see the inside of her mech. She was crushed to immediately see cold grey concrete and steel bars. The cell was no bigger than 6 square metres, no bed, a rudimentary toilet, and a security camera in the corner. Once Saorlaith had stock of the room, she turned her attention to herself. Nothing seemed to be missing, not even her pilot suit. Torn and tattered as it was, she was still wearing it. In fact she was wearing more than she had before she woke up.
She was wearing a muzzle.
It was an ugly, sharp, and hefty piece of steel. The acknowledgement of its presence caused it to psychosomatically weigh more. Her hand moved reflexively towards the straps on the back of the muzzle, and stopped. She froze completely, unable to think, speak, or move a muscle. Something about what she was doing felt so incredibly wrong. The thought of removing her muzzle suddenly felt an impossible task, her chest began to race. This kept her safe, for a reason absent to her, she knew this for a fact. Lowering her hands slightly filled her with relief, but brought a new discovery. As Saorlaith's hands lowered they brushed against more cold steel, feeling around they found purchase. Saorlaith had something round and metal around her neck. A gut feeling told her what this was, but regardless Saorlaith felt around for confirmation. Sure enough the metal object was a collar, with an attached heavy steel chain. Saorlaith didn't bother with further investigation, the chain was attached to the wall. There was no need to hurt herself any further
Saorlaith began to realise that her eyes were not still adjusting to the light, anything beyond the steel bars was impossible to see. Saorlaith was disturbed by the absence. The absence of light, of sound, of smell. It was as though she had been interned in a hyperbaric chamber. She searched her mind relentlessly, surely there had been some part of her training that had covered what to do in the event of capture? Saorlaith's mind spiralled through the drills, the exercises and excursions she had been put through. But nothing came to her. And then, she remembered the one thing she had been equipped with, and her blood ran cold. The capsule that had been put in place of her missing left canine tooth. Enough cyanide to render her dead in a matter of 30 seconds, a last resort in the event of imminent capture or death. She had trained herself not to fiddle with her canines, for fear of ever piercings the capsule by accident, so it took all her strength to shift her tongue towards it.
It's gone. It's not there. Now Saorlaith sank into a full unbridled terror. Her mind flooded with a tidal wave of pure panic. Despite being fully clothed, someone had inspected her, operated on her, touched her. Violated her. Quickly Saorlaith began to pat herself down, made all the more painful due to the incessant clangs of metal every time she moved. Her search revealed that her body felt as it should, nothing else had been altered or affected. Though, when her hand drifted towards her crotch she suddenly shot it back. Saorlaith felt a sense of doom overcome her, keeping her mind from trying to remember why she didn't want to feel down there.
Through the desolate silence came a noise. An rhythmic echo from far off to her left clicked. The sound of footsteps, heavy, intense, intimidating. Saorlaith couldn't say for sure whether it was the intensity of the echoe, or if these steps were heavy. But either way it dropped her heart into her stomach.
Then *She* came into view.
She was tall, skinny, almost malnourished, but remarkably toned. Every piece of clothing she wore was too ill fitting and baggy to be tailored. Calf height black boots, sloppily laced up. Green workman's trousers, torn at the ends, ripped and sown back together in places, stained in colours too murky to discern. Her stained, off white tank top was draped over by a military jacket. A deep brown pilot's coat, the likes of which Saorlaith had seen on thousands of dead Republic troops. It was adorned on either side with medals, ranks and titles so numerous they scarcely could hold any meaning. But something far heavier than a symbol of this woman's valor, they carried a threat. The threat that this woman sat in some significance in the enemy counsel, that she sat just far enough above the normal rules to be dangerous.
Though, oddly, she did not carry herself like most women of her stature. Her movement was unbalanced, lacking in any sort of precision, she stumbled almost drunkenly. But as this mosaic of a woman approached, her expression became violently clear. She wasn't biting her lip, but chewing it. She seemed to hold an unbearable fury. And more literally, she carried a cattle prod. Saorlaith knew it, sure she knew the fucking make and model. Saorlaith had grown up around farms, family friends kept cows, and those prods terrified her as a child.
That same fear was trying to surface now. It was crawling its way up her skin. But she ignored it, with every ounce of her strength she ignored it. Saorlaith was, if nothing else, a soldier. Showing mercy, weakness, vulnerability were not an option. If it was death she was facing, she would not debase herself as a last act.
"Fantastic, you're awake! How are you feeling?" This woman cooed right through the bars, it was so soft and caring. For a brief moment Saorlaith softened, letting the praise warm her.
"I-I-, Where?" Saorlaith could hardly muster the words. Perhaps she hadn't realised how weak she was, or dehydrated. But her inability to respond wounded Saorlaith's pride a touch.
The woman fidgeted with the cow prod.
"Ms Onis, for the longest time the Republic thought it could fight the Revolution with numbers, and piousness" The woman opened the door to the cell, and stepped in. She squatted down right in front of Saorlaith, and grabbed a rough hold of her Jaw. Forcing Saorliahts face forward, the woman drew her into intense eye contact. "But with every battle the evidence stacked, this was not a sound strategy. Espionage consistently failed, as I'm sure you're aware. So we began a program, a method to replace the will and thoughts of Rebels, and replace them with our own. It wasn't much of a success at first, we had no prisoners to test our theories on, and so we used our own soldiers. But we broke each of them far too quickly, simply no reprieve from the violation and depravity we put them through. We offered them no repsite from the torture, no promise of pleasure and reward, nothing. Now surely as you can imagine this drove them all mad. They grew unstable and uncontrollably aggressive, erratic, and prone to anti-social behaviour. One by one we were forced to put them all down. What use is there for a hound you can't control, for a stray?"
Without warning the woman drove her fist into Saorlaith's stomach. A dull thumping pain shocked Saorlaith's nervous system, causing her to panic. Reflexively Saorlaith threw her hands up to fight, grabbing a hold of The Woman's shirt, trying to pull her inwards for a headbutt.
Much to Soarlaiths terror, she lacked the strength to both pull any amount of weight and bear the heavy metal chain welded around her neck. She slumped, and looked up at the woman. Who with startling speed slammed Saorlaith's throat against the wall.
"What was that? Do you have any idea how long you've been down here? Or where you are? You're going to learn to respect me, and refer to me as Miss. Lack of co-operation will result in this." As Miss said this, with a near lustful tone, she drove the end of the cattle prod into Saorlaiths side.
The pain was nearly unimaginable, causing Saorlaith to spasm uncontrollably and scream in pain. Saorlaith collapsed, accosted by an unbearable sea of panic. What if she's going to kill me? Will I be tortured, or worse? Will I crack under pressure and reveal confidential information? All of them to painful to hold for more than a moment. Saorlaith lay collapsed, desperately trying to catch her breath, clutching at her side.
Miss looked beside herself. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck that's incredible. Look at you." Miss panted out, while inching closer to Saorlaith.
Saorlaith refused to recoil further, to brook any quarter. She locked her eyes to the floor and stared, unblinking. She tried as hard as she could to disassociate, to be as far away from this as she could.
But a boot square to the back of her head broke all composure she had begun to build, and she began to struggle.
"There she is! There's Saorlaith Onis, the most feared Pilot alive! The face of the revolution, and an inspiration to all! Underneath my heel, pathetically squirming. God you don't how many times I imagined having you in this position. thinking of how little force it would take to just crush your windpipe. To watch you slowly choke to death. Even now the urge to prove what I've always known." Miss leaned down, applying just a little more pressure to Saorlaiths head to make a clear point. "That I can take you, that I can break you and make you mine. That I can mould you into what I want, make you proof that my theories are correct. And when I'm done with you, when I've broken your spirit, and made you kill every single one of your comrades. Not that you'll remember who they are, of course. I can dispose of you."
Saorlaith was struggling to think, her head was throbbing from the sheer force of the boot pressing down on her skull. Her mind raced, digging through all of her training to find something that would help her.
She was desperate.
Just as Saorlaith thought she was finding some clarity, another agonising shock coursed through her. The prod drove straight into the middle of her back and she convulsed significantly more violently than the first time. Every part of her exploded with heat and pain. Writing and trying to immediately escape the sensation, she found herself even more forcefully held in place by the boot. The pain seemed as though it would never cease, and Saorlaith began to hyperventilate.
Miss lifted her boot, easing the pressure from Saorlaiths head, and finally allowing her to rush back towards the fall. Saorlaith curled herself into a defensive position, and stared up at Miss.
"Oh fuck the look in your eyes right now, hold on a moment." Miss reached for her back pocket, and produced a digital camera. She pointed it at Saorlaith, who immediately covered her face and began to turn away.
Before she could do this, Miss plunged a kick deep into Saorlaith's chest. Saorlaith yelled, and coughed up a spray of blood. It formed a prominent role in her deep green jumpsuit, bringing a strange and undefinable feeling to Saorlaith. As she struggled to gain her composure, Miss grabbed a hold of her face and pulled it towards hers.
"Stay still, Mutt. Or I swear to god I will start doing some permanent damage. Do you understand me?"
Saorlaith stared back, a mixture of genuine rage, and obstinate defiance.
Miss saw the clear defiance in Saorlaiths face, and returned an irritated look. Miss rose to her full height, and took a half step backwards. Then slowly, and confidently, she reached behind her producing a handgun. It was a rusted, old, and battle proven revolver. The gun was an unusual choice for a high ranking officer. The lack of ammo capacity, potential for failure, and general crudeness were foreign to upper ranks of the Republic. A society of social climbers and sycophantic centrists, who were known to value image and status above all else. At a certain level of wealth, influence is all that's worth working for.
The sound of the cylinder being ejected drew Saorlaiths attention, as did the sound of a round being inserted. She watched as Miss reinserted the barrel and spun it.
The clarity of what was happening made Saorlaith's blood run cold, freezing her in place. Hiding her fear became a herculean task in that moment, and clearly some of it was betrayed. Miss looked at Saorlaith and smiled eagerly.
"I'm sorry Hound, but you refuse to behave. None of this is going to work if this is how you act." Miss droned this out, staring apathetically down at Saorlaith. The word hound hung in the air, an indication of what Miss wanted from Saorlaith. A pet, a slave, a trophy.
The sound of a hammer being cocked rung in the air.
Saorlaith stared up at Miss, fear overcoming her, eyes welling up with tears. Was this it, was she going to die in this basement? Kneeling on the floor cold and alone, diminished in front of a walking embodiment of all she fought against. What was all that she had done been for, if this was how it was all going to end. Despite all that she had seen, and that she was built up to be, at this moment Saorlaith was terrified. She didn't want to die, she didn't care under what circumstances she lived. Right here, in this very moment, she would do anything.
As Saorlaiths will betrayed her, she let slip a prayer. "P-Please......"
The prayer was to no God, for Saorlaith believed in no God. It was to Miss, who Saorlaith now fully understood, held power over her life and death. A moment passed, every breath Saorlatih drew felt laboured and slow. She could hear her heartbeat, pounding out of her chest. Every agonising second seemed to stretch, until Saorlaith was sure this moment was her last.
"Good Hound."
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