Chapter Text

Hesitation

“You - Belong - To me now”

Her last words to me as I slipped into a hazy slumber. I can’t recall how long it’s been since I got here, all I can imagine are the events that led me here. While I sleep, feeling no physical sensation, likely drugged or losing consciousness from the shocks, I begin to dream. I dream of my capture, my willing surrender to this fate.

When I found those files, read through Sartha Thrace’s extensively documented ‘infiltration’ process, my disgust at what they’d likely done to her was overtaken by some sick sense of jealousy. I envied the final product, the hero no more, the hopeless legend stripped bare and given new purpose, no longer on some pedestal to be praised by the masses, but a tool in someone else's game. Listening to tapes of post-interrogation aftercare and mission debriefs, catching glimpses of her demeanor switching over the course of Her ‘infiltration’ was sickeningly fascinating, how a beacon of good could be shut off, repurposed, and how she- enjoyed it?

I wrestled with this information for what felt like days, sitting in D-27’s cockpit, listening to more recordings, then exiting to search for more. Back and forth, back and forth, a hypnotic rhythm only interrupted by small moments of sleep, before resuming my search. Some of the things I read were horrifying, but in my desperation I compartmentalised, assumed that surely it was worth it, dismissing my better judgement. After all, as the saying goes, ‘things get worse before they get better’, so it only makes sense that what I believe to be my only salvation besides suicide, an unfitting end even in this hollow state, would have to be prefaced with some real horrors. 

As my search became a steady routine, I began to notice things in this warehouse every so often. Once I’d made my way past at least a dozen large containers of files and tapes, a small electrical box caught my attention, some high-visibility tape on the handle reflecting the light from my headlamp beckoned me in. Opening the container was a struggle, this thing was old, strangely old, probably some pre-war remnant of whatever this place used to be used for before the empire repurposed it. Inside was an Imperial communicator, impossibly out of place, anachronistic in its cleanliness compared to the rusted sarcophagus it resided in, nestled in a small charging dock. This was left here on purpose. Surely. Picking up the radio, it immediately sprang to life. Black symbols on a bright red screen flashed so fast it was hard to register, but when the flashing stopped, a voice crackled over the degraded signal.

“Well done, you finally found it. Now what’s your name, my dear?”

A sweet, sultry tone pierced through the static. Out of reflex, I pulled together my false ‘Rebel legend’ bravado in response.

“My name is Bella Williams, Rebel pilot from the ruins of Arcadia, now who the fuck are-”

“I am of no importance to you, yet. I take it you’re alone, Bella? If there was a team investigating Archive 546, you would’ve likely found me days ago. I take it you’ve taken the time to search through some files”

I struggle to think for myself as She reads the situation I’ve found myself in with a clairvoyant eye, but then She interjects before I can even formulate a response.

“Did your discoveries pique your interest Bel?”

No one calls me Bel. Well, not just anyone, how did she-?

-

I begin to stir, the singular light in the room hanging above me, still and lifeless. I’m sore all over, I was likely dragged from the interrogation room to- wherever this is. As my eyes flutter open I see Her, the woman over the radio, the woman from the interrogation room, the siren who lured me to this place. She’s standing just in the soft glow of the dying light above me, in this dark, almost empty room. I can spot some old furniture, a table and some chairs, this was likely some old lounge that got abandoned years ago, could be the last room down here to be fixed up as this is a relatively new expansion to the Imperial settlement. It’s probably not fixed up yet because of some leaky pipes that were too costly to repair in this seemingly never ending war. I thought I was left in here alone with Her, but I swear I can see other people in the room, behind her, and they’re kneeling? Sitting? I can’t fully tell as they’re just outside of the light’s reach, but my suspicions are confirmed when I hear disembodied heavy breathing from behind Her. As she steps closer to me, entering the light, I see she’s now wearing that leather coat, it looks good on her, especially complemented by her deep red shirt. The clack of her boot’s heels on the damp concrete floor echoes in my mind as my consciousness fully returns, accompanied by a panging headache, bordering on nausea-inducing. What else had they done to me?

”Rise and shine, Bella, you did so well in our little chat. Most lost souls I take on are a little less willing than you are. Typically they require a little more - persuasion- than you do. But don’t fret my dear, I’ll get what I want, and you will get what you’ve always wanted deep down. You’ll become what you always were under that heavy veil of your old life, the life you have to live. The veil will be lifted soon, I will lift it from your soul and you will see things in a new light, my light. But you already know that. Don’t you?”

Her tone is more intense than in the other room, but that voice, it still soothes me. Even as I’m bound to a chair in a dark room, unable to see anything- anyone but Her, I feel that fear barely registers.

“Who are they?”

I croak out

“Who? Oh, right, how could I forget? Girls, HEEL!”

She clicks her fingers and addresses the kneeling shadows with a ferocious and commanding call.

Without a moment’s hesitation, they both spring to life with what I can only describe as happy yips and coos. As they prance into view on all fours, the shimmering reflections of metal cages on their faces send shivers down my spine, and my eyes dart open in terror. Both of them have metal dog muzzles firmly clasped to their faces, the leather straps digging into their skin so deeply they might as well be fused. Tattered old Rebel fatigues lay unflatteringly over their slender forms. Their faces hold glassy, hollow, sunken eyes, with mouths hanging limp and leaking drool. One even has haphazardly sewn-together leather dog ears fastened to the straps of her muzzle like broken faucets. Sick fucks. They both plant themselves directly infront of the woman in an orderly fashion, sitting back down on their knees like well trained pets.

“What the- What the fuck is this shit?! Who are they?”

I yell as I struggle against the restraints, eyes fixed to the muzzled creatures before me.

“These are my dogs, but I thought you knew that. Didn’t you see the files? Did you not question why there were no pictures Bel? You have much to learn my dear, things I must teach you, but you’re simply not ready yet. These dogs are the final product. Docile, unthinking. When they’re at my side, they are pets, but when given the right push, they do as I wish, and they enjoy it.”

My breathing is reaching hyperventilation and my fists are clenched, pulling backwards against the restraints to no effect. How did I not notice the lack of pictures? How did I not question that? Before I can ask myself more questions about how completely out of my depth I have become, She reaches Her hands behind the - dogs- and gives them another command.

“STAND, go say hi pups.”

That ferocity returns for a single command, shortly followed by a sweet, sultry request. The contrast seems inhuman.

The two girls stand immediately, and in the dim light I can see the life return to their eyes, regaining autonomy. Well, a limited autonomy, leashed and withheld beneath the bounds of Her words. Their free will only stretching as far as strings attached to the tools of a puppeteer, and when these poor lost souls are brought back into a fragile state of conscious thought, they are just that, puppets. The girls slowly make their way to me, kneeling at my feet, holding my restrained hands and looking up at me with weary eyes that betray their soft, caring whispers.

“Heya Bel-” The left girl, the one with the leather ears, yaps with a chipper tone, “it’s good to meet you, I know you’ll do so well, I can feel it!” Her voice puzzles me, seems… kind? Familiar? Or am I just seeking comfort in her warmth? Her shockingly warm palms, and an almost maternal delicacy to her words.

The girl on the right is far more reserved, I wonder what’s been done to her.

“H-hi Bella, you’ll like it here, just- just trust Her, ok? Listen to what She says and it’ll all be ok soon.”

She strains out the words, like a poorly rehearsed script. Was she told to say this? My mind is racing with the possibilities, but is quickly cut short as the Handler provides the girls with one more command, and she elegantly tosses a set of keys to the girl on the left.

“Where’s the fun in delaying, let her out and bring her to my room girls. You’ve done so well for me today and you will both get a reward later, but first get this one up and in my room, ok?”

“Yes, Handler!” the two girls exclaim with joy in an eerie synchronicity.

The Handler pauses for a moment, shoots me a cold, victorious grin before turning to leave the room. Her large black coat fanning out as if to swallow up the last remnants of heat from the room, stripping it bare and leaving the three of us in the cold, damp cell, door left a-jar for our exit. The vortex created by Her flowing coat kicks up some dust from the furniture around us, like a miniaturised replication of the sandstorms that plagued the summer droughts of my home town, before everything went to shit, consumed by the ashes and submerged in sediment. The left girl caught the keys and fumbles with the set to find the correct one to unshackle my cuffs, reaching across my  body and unlocking the restraint on my right first as the right girl holds me in place, she’s deceptively strong for someone so seemingly malnourished and drained.

“P-please can you tell me what’s g-going on? Who- who are you two? What did She do to you?”

I plead, but it falls on deaf ears. Both girls have gone dead silent, that hazy fog in the eyes had returned the moment they received the order.

One hand freed, I try to wriggle free of her vice-like grip of my forearm, but fail just as I did with the restraints themselves. The other hand gets unlocked and held even tighter, with a crushing, throbbing pain. Moments pass as they refine their grip and leverage, then I’m hoisted up onto my feet, unbalanced due to how long I was unconscious in that chair. Before I can fully adjust myself, I’m dragged by the arms out of the cell into a dark, unkempt basement area. Suppressed echoes of the Imperial mech hangar above us, damp walls from leaky water and fuel lines add to a repulsive smell. Combined with the frigid concrete flooring, this entire place is an assault to the senses, more metal cell doors line the walls, each with small food hatches and small sliding peepholes, all with large deadbolts to secure them from the outside, likely overkill, but the Empire was never known for subtlety, apparently even in its lowest maintenance state.

My eyes adjust to a new, warmer light source at the end of the hallway, door wide open, welcoming me in. The girls throw me into the Handler’s room, a far cry from the sorry state of this basement level. The lighting is still fairly dim, but it's warm, homely, and oozes with an almost regal significance. A large ornate black desk sits perfectly framed between shelves sprawling with literature and drawers and wardrobes likely lined with further examples of Her impeccable dress sense. This level is Hers to control, and this room matches Her natural blend of cold detachment from human ethics, and Her beauty so magnetic it's as if a black hole was swallowing me whole, bringing my eyes to Her event horizon and clutching my throat with a death grip magnitudes above my human comprehension.

As I’m on my hands and knees, She clicks Her fingers, and as if this is routine, the girls come in too, shutting and locking the door behind them. The thud of the door and clang of the lock bring me startled jolts. I’m a caged animal all over again. Maybe, for the time being, that’s the entire point.

She reaches into a pocket in that imposing black coat, pulling out a pair of leather gloves, sleek, dainty, with knuckle stitching and a small faux bow sewn onto the back of the hand, slipping them on effortlessly, clenching Her fists as they sit snugly to Her form. The leather letting out a small squeak as it rubs against itself, as if mocking me, or teasing me as to what sounds I may excrete if she squeazed my throat. Once She takes a glance at the gloves, satisfied with their comfort - and likely my increasingly hesitant demeanor - She turns to a small bag sitting perfectly in the center of the desk. Out of the bag, She pulls a small glass vial full of some kind of liquid. The colour, inky black, almost a complete void, however when the light hits it at just the right angle, I spot shimmering white specks that shine through the darkness, showing it's more of a deep green.

“You're a rather eager learner Miss Williams, a little sloppy, careless, but you have a curious mind. From our little chat, I assumed you wanted this, that this was what you desired most. I really don't appreciate this hesitant attitude-”

“Hesitant? I- I'm so fucking FUCKED!”

I lash out, interrupting Her callous monologue, before She nods, a signal for both girls to my sides to strike me in the stomach, the sudden thunderous blows make me go limp as I attempt to catch my breath, only remaining upright from being held up by my attackers, who still stand there with cloudy eyes, as if there was a storm brewing behind their lifeless focus on Her, perhaps that storm IS Her.

“Your attitude won't be taken lightly. Talking back means you won't get a reward!”

The mere mention of a reward causes the girls to tense up, that one word paints hideous smiles on their caged lips, and those tortured grins seem to bring a twisted delight to the Handler, this monster, a vile beast obscured by a smoke screen of alluring beauty. The longer I spend in this gods-forsaken room, the more intensely I question my choices. How did I fall into this trap? How could I look past the warning signs? How could I trust an Imperial officer, even at my lowest? Surely I wasn’t THAT desperate, I couldn’t have been so careless, but clearly I was. At this point, I’m hoping to hold strong, defy Her for long enough that She just puts me down. I finally catch my breath enough to retort with further sarcasm, praying to provoke Her further.

“What? You give your ‘dogs’ a bone and they beat people up for you? Is that all it took to make Thrace pine after her Handler? A fucking chew toy?”

My contempt is useless against Her disapproving glare.

“Typically this information isn’t made privy to you mutts, but as you went snooping, I ought to jog that memory of yours and give you a hint. You remember the compound from those files, yes? Code-named ‘Starlight’? Well, in my position, we use it as a kind of medicine-”

Another word that perks the ears of the girls.

“This induces a state of pure bliss, lowering your inhibitions, increasing your suggestibility, and exposing the cracks in your subconscious mind. Cracks that a hand as skillful as my own can feel, touch, and with the right motions, pry open to take a look deeper. Do you remember what happened when you were brought in? Our first conversation?”

My mind trails off back to that room, baby blue tile walls, neutral lighting, and a soothing aroma of citrus and violet. I could swear I was in a chair, strapped to it tightly, not unlike the chair I awoke in not minutes ago. I remember they fitted me with a wrist-mounted device- Yes, they told me it was for recruiter’s clearance, but it felt… off. A little too tight, something jabbing into me, I assumed it was a loose buckle that nipped the skin of my wrist a bit, but Her twisted remarks make that assumption blatantly false. They lied to me. She lied to me. During my interrogation, I must’ve been shocked by the device, which would explain the lingering stench of burnt arm hairs from where the prongs made contact. I can’t remember much of what I said, what remains are faint memories of… well, Her and how I felt about Her. How did I open up so easily?... Oh- oh fuck, the compound, the Starlight, must’ve been administered through the same device that tried cooking me, or maybe an attachment to the chair? No time for speculation, shit- She injected me with that -stuff, and it felt… good.

“Miss Williams? You seem to have lost your concentration. Now, one thing I want to make you very aware of from here on out, if you need my help, all you have to do is ask. Am I clear?”

She speaks in Her sultry tune, bringing the vial of a green abyss to head level and giving it a small shake to let the stars shimmer in the disruption, only exacerbating my rising temper.

“F-fuck would I need your help for?”

“My dear, you came here for this. You liked what you saw in the documents, you admired the results, and you came to me. As long as you’ve known me, all you’ve been doing is asking for my help. Back when you called me, back when you surrendered, back when you needed to explore your past, escape it even. And now, after all that, all you have to do is ask again. Just one more time. The last half a dozen times were so easy, now be good for me and ask me to help one last time, let me show you what it feels like, a full dose, to see things the way my dogs do, just this once. You’ll be good for me, right? Being good is very easy. Easier than continuing this meaningless fight which you cannot win”

I pause for a moment, wrestling with the words that shouldn’t make any sense, but feel so right. I suppose I did ask for Her help. I hate to admit that, for as little as I can remember right now, it really was easy. I hang my head in shame, and without looking back at Her, I speak one final request.

“P-please Sir-”

She nods and the girls strike again, letting me hang limp in their grasp. I haven’t taken a beating like this since my last ground mission, before mechs were the only combat viable. That Imperial close quarters training is no joke, and these two have clearly had a full course.

“H-handler, pl-lease help m-me.”

The words slip from my mouth between unsteady breaths, and as I lift my head to confront Her, I see She’s stepping towards me, handing the vial to the girl to my left, the one She clearly trusts more, the one who seems to know me, called me Bel, why? She then pulls a syringe out of the bag, sets it down, then retrieves the vial from the girl and gives her a scratch behind the ear, the leather ear, a head scratch meant for a dog who had obeyed a command, and I watched the girl lean into that scratch with eyes rolling back and a mindless groan of pleasure. Then when the small reward had been given, She lowers to meet my eyes, only inches from my face. If I wasn’t so beaten and exhausted, I’d spit in Her face from sheer disgust, but was that disgust for Her actions, or my own?

“Are you ready for your medicine my dear?”

She whispers as the needle is inserted into the vial, the plunger retracting and extracting a portion of the void, a small pocket of empty space with my name on it, written in the stars and shimmering in the emerald abyss before my eyes. All I can express is a simple defeated nod. In response, all I receive is a light ‘tut’ at the tip of Her tongue. Before I can conjure any words or movements, the girl to my right cranes my neck towards her violently, popping some of my vertebrae, relieving some tension but causing a head rush from the sudden burst of motion. With my carotid artery pulsing in the open, beating against the fragile skin of my neck, She injects the needle into one of the surrounding veins and sinks the plunger.

-

My body goes limp, not from paralysis, but from relaxation. The immediate effects wash over me like a calm yet swift evening tide, and if I'm not mistaken, the room seems to swell and deflate in tune with the waves. My heartrate quickens, I can feel it, but I'm still calm. The faintest taste of copper rises in my mouth, and after likely having nothing to eat all day, any flavour makes my mouth drool. My mouth droops open, tongue hanging loose, the perfect runway for a large bead of saliva to trickle down to the tip and take flight as I lap my tongue up to lick my lips. This feeling, it makes no sense. I'm hyper aware, yet paradoxically I'm in the most serene state of relaxation I've experienced in my life. My breathing is quicker to match the rhythm of my pulse. My arms hang to either side. Did the girls let me go? Were they told to? Is this drug so strong She knows I can't resist anymore?

I can swear the room is beginning to dim, but-

“How does this feel pup? Does it feel good to take your medicine?”

She says, echoing between my ears, dancing across the folds of my mind with such grace it draws the eye, draws the soul, my thoughts slow, focusing on Her. In this growing darkness, She remains visible, infact She shimmers in the dark, creating Her own guiding light. The light is beautiful, but- did She call me a fucking pup? I shouldn't- why does it feel good? This isn't right? I'm still a person- My neck begins to violently twitch as I try to resist Her pull, my body must be telling me something. Perhaps I should just listen?

“Don't fight it, it feels only natural to let go, to follow my voice, to agree with my words.”

It does, I try to respond to Her, with words of course, b-but She called me a dog. I can't be. I'm no- n- fuck! Why can't I disagree? Why does it feel right to be called that? An involuntary painful twitch of my neck distracts me from my questioning. I shouldn't question Her, I can't question how Handler makes me react. All I can do is nod, nod my head with a stupid grin, this state of inhuman bliss compelling me to whimper.

“There's my good girl”

My eyes light up, lit up by Her starlight. The stars are the only light in this room, the only light that matters anyway, and the stars beckon to me. She makes everything sound so good, but I- I can be Her good dog, and She said being good is easy. I've already given Her everything; my home, my family, my fears, my desire for that sunlight to glide between those buildings again, waltzing into view, shimmering against the steel giants. Perhaps Her starlight is my sun? Feeling my emptiness, only illuminated by Her rays, I can't help but shake, but it's only my lower back. Am I- wagging? Questioning why I'm moving this way causes a sharp pain in my neck, and I snap, ceasing to ask yet again, falling into the urges Her presence demands.

“As I said before, I don't usually treat my dogs this way in the beginning-”

Being called that again ceases to phase me

“-, it would spoil the surprise, but you're a different beast from the other dogs, you're special!-”

Special? Me? Y-yes, yes I am, She said I'm special! I- I like that

“Yes you are, good girl!”

Wait, I said that out loud? Why doesn't that concern me? Am I saying all of this for Her to hear, or does She just- know?

“You probably can't even understand my words, not fully. You hear them, sure, but only their meaning, only my tone and intentions. Unlike the medicine my most loyal dogs receive, this strain of the compound metabolises quickly, so your mind will kick back soon, but I can see the cracks, and you want me to pry them open. I can see that. I'm sure it won't take long until I've enveloped you fully, until you accept that you belong here, joining the other dogs wagging in their kennels. They love their Handler, and you'll love me too, care for me, just as I care for you! You want to join them, don't you, my pet? You don't have to stay, just meet them, they'll make you feel comfortable, they'll make you feel at home. You would like that, wouldn't you?”

With a heavy nod of my head, a warmth trickles down my face, but I quickly ignore it. There's more of them- us? Rebels turned into playthings for Her amusement? Or is it something more? Maybe they can help me? Because I wanted this, She told me this is what I came here for, and She tells the truth, right? Doubts re-enter my mind, and I can finally break my focus on Handler to notice the warmth that trickled down my face and dripped to the floor. It feels like a nosebleed. Did someone hit me? But then my eyes readjust away from Handler's blinding light. The liquid isn't the deep crimson I was bracing myself for, it's green, and it shimmers. My hands start to shake as my nerves and anxiety return ever so slightly. Good, I suppose. But one thing remains certain from when I was high on Starlight, I need to meet these dogs, Handler said it would be good, I don't know whether I want Her to be wrong or right, but I finally feel my purpose here beginning to form, and I shudder at the thought, but feeling the Starlight gushing from my nostrils like a post-brawl nosebleed I begin to lose consciousness, it's pouring out and pooling at the tread of my boots as I sway and shortly collapse to my knees. Did the girls let go of me? When did they? Each question feels exhausting to ask, searching for answers weakens me down to the bone. My face meets the carpet beneath me, as my eyelids grow heavy and my eyes roll backwards.

The last thing I can recall feeling in this room was a heeled boot pressed against my temple, digging into me. I- I let Her down. Even after my body forcefully expelled the drug in a messy display of defiance, that disobedience brews an undercurrent of regret, like the stars in the compound had bound themselves to my blood cells and my circulatory system has morphed into a solar system, with Handler as my central point of orbit. An orbit that should probably concern me after what I assume is such light exposure, but still, it feels good.