Godddddddddddd I miss her...
They really don't like telling you this when you retire from being a Hound, but fuck you start to miss the blood, the violence, the concussions, and your Handler.
Especially sucks for me, my Handler was my lover, then we...
Look I'll just be upfront, we tried to kill each other. I thought she genuinely loved me as an equal. And y'all prolly thought that too, considering she helped me get this swanky job at a merc base.
But nope! We broke up HARD. I'm talking full facility lockdown shootout, where the both of us were Roberta from Black Lagoon and everyone in between were practically civvies compared to us.
Turns out, she was... dealing with her own bullshit, even hiding it from ME! She viewed me as her loyal dog, who'd love her and comfort her when things were truly bad, and also a fun little fuckbuddy when she got hot and bothered.
When I voiced my desire to retire, to move away, apparently it broke her brain. She forgot that her loyal Hound was a person, and that despite all her love, I still lived in the Kennelsand slept on a cot, while she slept in a proper bed in her own private room. I wanted a new home, a place where I could be free; maybe even free alongside her.
But she was caught in her ways, couldn't see a way out from being a Handler. She needed control over others, to be someone important. And I just wanted to work on mechs, without being someone's tool.
So she tried to lock me in solitary confinement. Didn't work, I'd jailbroken my implants in case MANAGEMENT tried to stop me, so I guess planning ahead saved my ass. Kicked down the door, broke a guard's shoulders, took his gun, and waged war through the facility.
Turns out, she'd expected this. She knew management had already approved my retirement, the Chief Handler had gotten enough use from me and I was getting old. So she'd armed herself, and we started trying to kill eachother.
Facility was in full fucking lockdown for 5 hours. The only reason security didn't help here was because she wasn't exactly caring for friendly fire, so they just huddled under desks until we killed one another.
By the end of it, I was down a kidney, my prosthetic left leg was broken at the knee, and my jaw was blown off. Thankfully my chassis had built in emergency life support, so by the time I managed to get inside, the auto-doc kept me alive long enough to get to a nearby city.
Fast forward an entire MONTH of radio silence, expecting her to kick in the door to my hospital room, and she rings me up. Yeah, I still had her contact info, just in case.
We... we broke up, but she left me some info for the merc crew I joined up with. Said they were good folks, and that ol' Fausty was with them already. After verifying with Faust, I joined up, and cut contact with my now ex.
And now I'm sitting here, in my office, chugging rum and rubbing my prosthetic jaws, wondering where the fuck things went wrong. I... I still wish I knew why she did what she did. Was she just troubled, desperate for love? Or was she just yet another fucking hound-driver who saw me as stress relief?
So yeah, now y'all understand why I fucking hate Handlers. Well, there's more to it than this, but this is the main reason.
If there's anything to take away from this, it's this:
Don't try to date your Handler, it rarely goes well.
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