#k41vy4posting

She cursed. She picked me up by the waist, injecting me with a serotonin stim. She was so strong.

"Handler," I whispered in my broken voice. My missing teeth, my displaced jaw, my raw throat. I wonder what it sounded like to Her.

"I'm not your Handler, little dog, but I will be."

"No," I argued. "Handler. Go back."

"She's gone, pilot," She pat my head. "go to sleep."

"NO!" I tried to fight Her, make Her drop me, I had to go back to Goddess to Handler to Handler Handler Handler Handler Goddess Handler Mistress Handler Mommy Handler --

"Enough, pup!" She dropped me to the ground and pressed a hand on my chest, nails digging into my throat. "If you bite, you get muzzled. If you fight, you get beat. You're a dog and you answer to your master."

"Master is over there." I flick my head toward the crashed and broken mech, flames still pouring from the exhaust vents, coolant dripping out. My body. My frame. My neuromatrix. My skeleton, my skin. My power.

"Your Mistress is dead, pilot, and you have a new one."

"Fuck you!"

She slapped me across the face, but I barely felt it. "Dogs like you," she hissed, "belong in a cage, or in a mech. Where are you, right now, little pup?"

I pointed up at the sky. "In the suit, with Mommy." In the stars. In the space, in the body in the mind. In my heart. I am in my heart, and my heart is in Handler's hands. My heart is in my frame is in my Handler's hands. Her hands. Her fingers. Her touch, her kiss. "Mommy..."

"Oh, sweetheart, you are broken. What did She do to you?" The woman caressed my cheek. "Pup, you're in a cage. You're in your cage. You're safe. You need to let your Handler take care of you."

"Handler..." My chest heaved. My body ached. My limbs wouldn't work.

"Tell me about Holly."

I snapped my head toward Her. "Don't say Her name."

"Does it bother you?"

"Yes."

She stared at me. Her orange and black Authority jacket held tightly to her body. It was a beautiful body. It was false. She was a false Handler.

Mommy knew how to make me speak. She knew how to open my mouth and make words come out. This false Goddess only knew threats.

So far She hadn't made good on them, except for the shocks. The shocks came when I reached too far through the cage. I had grown accustomed to them; low enough on the pain for me to tolerate. The muscle contractions hurt worse than the shock itself.

But every time She spoke to me, in this dark room with only floor lighting, She held what was mine. She asked me to talk about it. To tell her about my toy. My object. My gift. My reward, that my Goddess had given me.

The memory hurt now. "Here you go, little one. This is yours. Feel it, sweet pup. It's soft, okay? It feels nice, it's a toy for you to touch and bite and hold. It belongs to you. Just like you belong to me. It's yours. You may call it mine, okay? This is for my little Hound, and that's you."

I'm Mommy's little hound. Not Hers.

"This seems important to you," She said. "If you want it back, you need to cooperate with us."

"Where was it?"

"In her hands, little dog. I told you. We took it from the body before we cremated it. And if you tell us about your Handler, you can have it back."

I needed it. I needed my toy back. My little thing. Mine.

://HEART RATE 116BPM

I focused my optics on Her hands.

My little pink fox. It didn't have a name. It was just my fox. My object, my toy. Little whiskers, little beady black eyes, little paws, little white paws, I would tickle them the way Mommy would tickle my feet and make me giggle. I could pretend the fox was giggling too. My tiny little stuffed fox. Handler would keep it in Her pocket for me, keep it safe, but She would always give it back.

"She's gone," I whispered. I licked the muzzle. It didn't taste right. Didn't taste the same. I leaned my head against the cage bars. "She's gone."

"I know, little one," She said. Her voice was softer than the rest of the Authority people. "I'm asking you to tell me about her. Tell me what she was like, tell me why she gave this to you. Tell me why she was in the cockpit with you when you were attacked."

I locked an eye with her face. Her eyes were piercing, but soft. She pitied me. "Give, first." I gestured to her hands. "Give. I'll talk."

"You can't lie to me, Hound. Liars get punished. You're not a liar, are you?"

I said nothing.

"Listen to me." She moved closer to the cage and dropped to Her knees.

If I was fast enough, I could take it from Her hands. But She was fast and strong.

She reached into the cage and touched my hair. My body cringed violently, and I shrank away from the touch, but She held fast and pulled me back. "I am trying to help you," She whispered. "You are broken, sweet little pup. We are going to fix you."

I held the bar, my violet eyes holding her focus. "She gave it to me," I said, "because She loved me. You do not. I will not serve you."

She let go of me and took my fox away again. The lights turned off.

"She's too far gone, it's not likely that we can bring this one back."

"Give me a chance. This one is special."

"It's a half-dead dog, Commander! And it was Rooted already, there's what, a three percent chance of coming back from that? And you hear how it talks! It clearly fell in love with its last handler!"

"I will fix her!"

"Commander-"

"I'm pulling rank. Obey me as an Authority Executor, and follow The Will."

"..."

"Officer."

"...Yes Ma'am. Per your orders as an Authority Executor, I will waste resources on your pet project."

"Do not question me, Officer."

"..."

://FRAME.OS ://LOADING.OPTICS ://OPTICS.CONNECTED >>>://OPTICAL IMPLANTS RUNNING POLLING RATE 1MS LATENCY 2MS ://HEART RATE 87BPM ://

Back and forth. Pacing. One wall to another, to another, to another. Shaking my head. Keeping it clear. Licking the muzzle.

Get out. Get out. Get out. I have to get out. I have to find them, kill them, eat them, hunt them and kill them. They may not harm a Goddess and go unpunished by Her servant.

Lights come on.

"Hey. Dog."

Her voice.

I turned about and looked through the bars of the cage. My tailbone swiped painfully against the bar behind me. She was there. The false Goddess. The one who took me from Her.

Blonde, blue eyes, skin specked with freckles. Soft hands sharp nails wondrous breasts authority jacket she wears authority color she is evil she is wrong she is authority do not respect her no no no...

She tapped the bars. She was holding...

"GIVE THAT TO ME!" I roared, mashing my muzzle against the bars and stretching my hand out between them. My fingers curled inward in time for the shock to hit me, my muscles spasming, and I fell to the floor to wait out the pain. It didn't hurt as much as Mommy did when She was upset.

://HEART RATE 122BPM

"Do you want this, little dog?"

"Mine...Hers..."

"Speak up, Hound. Talk to me. Tell me what this is, and I might let you have it."

I pushed my aching muscles into action and used the bars to hold myself up. See Her face. Look Her in the eyes. "Mine."

Her hand darted between the bars and grabbed my collar, yanking me against the cage. "Sweet dog," She whispered. "Dogs do not have mine. Dogs like you do not own things. You belong to me. You understand that, right?"

I choked on my own breath and said nothing.

"Your heart is mine. Your things are mine. Your hands are mine, your eyes are mine, your exosuit mech is mine, your body is mine. Tell me you understand, little pup."

I barked.

She sighed and let me go. I threw myself against the bars as she walked away, clawing the air, howling, reaching for the little pink thing She held. It was MINE! MINE! GODDESS GAVE IT TO ME! HANDLER GAVE IT TO ME ITS MINE!

://HEART RATE 158BPM

"Enough of your howling, little pup."

The shock jolted my body, gravity forcing me to the floor. I licked the cage of the muzzle, the metallic taste almost the same as my own blood. I held a bar with one hand, the other clutching at my heart.

She turned the lights off.

Muzzled.

Cycling in and out of anesthesia, never truly awake, IV drip constantly plugged in like the nutrient slurry in my suit.

Repairs take time. "Maintenance," She says. Every time I see Her, She is backdropped by the bright lights. Her Glory is hidden in a silhouette. The Angel that found me.

Muzzle off.

Teeth fixed. Some pulled, new ones implanted. My optical implants yanked out entirely, damaged beyond repair. I needed new eyes. She told me I could pick the new iris color. I could only focus on the color of the medical scrubs I had seen when the anesthesia was taking effect.

"Violet," I had said.

Muzzle back on. Teeth hurt too much to bite the hands that fed me, anyway.

Handler. Mommy. Where are you, Mommy? I need you. I need your touch I need your commands I need your orders. I need your touch I need your kiss I need your claws your kisses your holes I need the rewards. Tell me I'm a good girl. Tell me I did good. Mommy. Holly. Handler Holly. Mommy. Holly, my Angel my Goddess my Mistress.

Who is the new...new woman. New...Handler?

No. No no no. I have a Handler. Pup has a Mommy. Every hound has a Handler.

"What is your name?"

"K....Pilot. Pilot. Little one. Little pilot."

"No, your name. Not your callsigns."

Why ask me questions. You don't care. "Kal...K41."

"No." The med tech sighed. "She's too out of it," she said to someone I couldn't see. Lights too bright. Ears ringing. My face is numb. "Put her in the recovery ward. Send her new Handler in when she wakes up."

My bed is moving. Muzzle still tight. There's comfort in the strap behind my neck, pulling my hair, embracing me. I can reach the steel cage with my tongue. It's not the same one.

"You need to stop humanizing it. We use it/its pronouns for the broken ones for a reason."

"I'm not looking at a pilot in there. I'm looking at a scared dog who doesn't know what she wants or even what it needs. I think it would forget to eat if we didn't put the protein in front of its...her fucking face."

"Great, and you want to invest huge amounts of money, time, and expertise on it."

"You saw what she did to the scouting patrols and the fuel convoys. She's an incredible pilot. She kept a kill count in the cockpit, there were dozens of marks."

"Stop reminding me."

"Get off the team, then! Resign, give the med tech keys to someone else! And excuse me for taking enough interest in my subject to refer to it how I choose!"

"You can't even do it consistently! You KNOW there's not a girl in there. Hormones and a name does not a woman make. It's a fucking dog, not even that, it's a coward. A puppy. It has to be whipped into submission before it even approaches being utilized as an asset."

"Get the fuck out of my sight."

://FRAME.OS

://PATCH 0.11.04

://

://

://EXTRACTING PACKAGE

The food tasted funny today. The protein bar was different. I couldn't identify how. Just tasted strange.

So did all their food. It was too rich; even the nutrient bricks had too much flavor. Too sweet. I missed the salty food that Handler would give me. I needed it. Sometimes, She would get ahold of vinegar, and we would make pickles. I liked those days. Those were good days. The F's, She would call them.

Fuel For Fighting Fascists.

Remembering the words made me feel sick. I felt all kinds of sick right now. Head spinning. Stomach turning. Woozy. Dizzy.

"Do you remember what you have to do?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"You get a treat for each kill, my little pup."

"I know, Mommy. Thank you."

"You're so welcome, little pup. Be good for me."

I pulled the battery charger and shoved the mech into gear, feeling the joints whine and pop under me as power surged through the machine. Frisson rippled through my muscles, my skeleton, my core. The chill, the joy. My real body came to life.

I wasn't done yet. I reached back and took the neuro-port cable, uncapped the plug, and thrust it into the shunt jack in my neck.

The surge of sensation is akin to an orgasm; like my legs had fallen asleep, and now they were up, revitalized. As if I spent days in a cave, and stepped out of it to a perfect spring day. As if I had a partner who knew all the buttons, touched all the sensitive places, all at once. My vision fell dark, and I blinked in my frame.

The real body. The real me.

Augmented vision. Hypersensitive hearing. A sense of touch, but with it the sense of power. I can feel the sensations of tearing a building down. I can feel the scrape of metal, the snap of concrete. The gravity, the pull of my full weight in tons toward the earth.

Oh, this is a good memory.

Holly tells me to kill. Mommy tells me to be good. Handler tells me to enjoy it.

"Good dogs are good hunters," She says. "Get your kills. Find your trophies."

Bliss.

"Hunt, my little Hound."

I burst across the landscape. Desecrated towns, ruins of old cities, picked through for materials, become nothing under my feet. My massive feet, my claws, stomping everything to dust underneath. Picking up speed. Blazing across the hills that are at once mountainous and also molehills. Nothing. My frame can do anything. Cross any terrain.

As long as I hunt, and bring back power to Mommy.

Mommy needs the power, my body needs the power. This body can't eat pickles and protein bricks and wild onions. This one churns through refined fuel, and she is hungry.

I see my targets. Over the hills, moving at a solid clip. A convoy of trucks. Bugs, to me. Easily stamped out. Only two mechs guard them.

I know they can see me coming. I am not stealthy, not now. Not this time. I am a killer and I will tear these guards apart and take the prize. I feel the anticipation surging through me, my heart racing, my jumpsuit tented wildly at my crotch. Was it the mech that needed to fuck, to rut, or the other body? The small one?

It didn't matter. It was all the same. The marrow of bones or the channels of screaming steel, the pulse of electricity through my veins.

The hum of the superheated blades attached to my massive hands. Wolfish. Hungry.

I howled at the pain when the initial fire of responding bullets sprayed against my limbs. One of the mechs had placed itself between me and my targets; the battery trucks. I couldn't use ballistics myself; way too risky that I would destroy the fuel I need, in the savage frenzy I knew I would fall into.

"Kill, my little darling. Kill."

I tore through the convoy. The bullets meant nothing. Their shields meant nothing. I stabbed my claws through the cockpit of the mech, letting it fall backwards on the gunner truck that couldn't speed up fast enough. The second mech swung its rail cannon at me, an expensive weapon, one I'd fired myself only a couple of times. One round would be a death sentence if it hit me. I ducked low and moved, pain lashing through me as my leg collided with stone that couldn't quite budge.

The rail cannon fired. The crackle of electrostatic charge made the air itself seem spicy. It missed. I was faster than the rotation of the arm that held it. I was a hunting dog, too close for the bird to fly away. I kicked the leading convoy truck across the dirt, turning it over on its side, and swiped my claws into the legs of the second mech. It collapsed sideways, bullets spraying into the air as the pilot held the trigger. I stamped the huge machine gun down, crushed the cockpit under my fist, and turned for the battery truck.

Everything was gone. My vision went black.

"I've seen enough."

"NO!" I screamed. "No! I'm not done! I had it, it was RIGHT THERE!" I slammed my fist against something solid, only to find pain sparking through my wrist and my arm; the mech was gone. I was shocked out of the thrill, pulled out of my own head, yanked out of my real body. My frame was a frail skeleton, a meat suit, again. "I'm sorry!" I screamed at Her. "I'm sorry! I can do better!"

I hit whatever was beside me again. Desperate. I couldn't fail like this. I couldn't let Her down. I couldn't take the punishment again. "PUT ME BACK!" I howled.

Bright light flooded my vision. Something was yanked off my eyes. I lunged forward and grabbed the skin that I saw.

"Hey!"

I scratched. Attacked. I found purchase in flesh and I bit down. I heard screaming. It was muted. I blocked it out. The enemy had yanked me out of my cockpit, somehow, some way. Mommy would be upset. Mommy would know. She would punish me. I had to fight. Make it worth it. Make Her proud of me. Get my kills.

There were hands all over me. Pulling. I tasted blood, and bit down harder. The screaming got louder. Yelling. Bright lights. Something flat and hard got under my teeth, pried my jaw apart, and then restraints forced me down. I fought. I punched something. Blind rage.

"LIAZEL! GET YOUR FUCKING DOG UNDER CONTROL!"

I won't fail, Handler. I won't fail. I'll do better. I can win.

My hair was pulled.

I froze. Don't. Please.

"No, no no, no, no," I cried out. Screaming. "NO! NO NO."

Leather filled my mouth. I couldn't work my jaw around it. Held my tongue back. I could only moan in misery.

"Puppy," I heard. "Stop."

Soft tones.

"It isn't real, puppy. That was a simulation. A test. Do you understand?"

No. I didn't.

I tasted blood. It felt real. It was so, so real. I felt the heat, the impacts, the rush, the burst of power, the surging, the need for violence. I didn't understand at all.

Tears touched the corners of my eyes.

My Handler was dead. Black market shoddy implants broken. Combat stims worn off hours ago, days maybe. I was cold.

Hungry. Feral. Angry.

Lashing out, looking to hunt down the merc that hired us, trapped us, played us like fools. Played my Handler. Caught Her in a lie and caught Her in a grave.

Her blood... The last thing I tasted of Her, holding what was left of Her body underneath the mech that had been torn apart. Her blood dripped from the gaping wound, into my mouth. My hungry, feral tongue drank up what it could, shaking, so cold without Her. The light was still in Her eyes, the blood still warm, Her body still appearing to be alive. Handler.

Handler.

She was dead. She. My goddess. I could barely see Her, my left optical implant shattered and the right one on the fritz. But I captured Her face, Her broken body.

They took Her from me. They broke Her, they broke Us, our bond. But I would find them. I would kill them.

"Her cortisol levels have been spiking. I'm telling you, what you're planning is going to break her. She's not stable."

"I know. This is the make-or-break."

"You haven't done any of the sensory breakdown procedures on her."

"No I have not."

"You think you're inside her head already, but how can that possibly be? I'm looking at her the same way you are-"

"Shut up, Captain. Fuck. You're not seeing at all what I'm seeing. You see a horny puppygirl with an axe to grind and suicidal tendencies. You're not seeing at all who she actually is."

"...Why are you doing her differently than you did the boy?"

"Because the dogs aren't identical? You ask a lot of stupid fucking questions."

"Liazel, I am your superior-"

"..."

"Don't roll your fucking eyes at me, I control your budget. Your reports aren't being itemized. You're not reporting cost breakdowns. You haven't submitted any paperwork since the flight logs from the training facility incident, and we know those were falsified. Come on, Liazel. Do you expect us to keep funding your project if we aren't seeing results? Why aren't you following the playbook for psychological breakdown, the methods we understand for how these fucking animals actually operate?"

"Captain, I am the cutting edge of psychiatric science here. Just because you have the pen that signs my budgets doesn't mean you know fuck all. The playbook doesn't work. You don't see results because there aren't any to expect. I am gambling, yes. I am playing with the rules and working things out. I am keeping detailed records, and just because I haven't shared them with you yet doesn't mean they don't exist. I need you to get off my ass, unless you're gonna fuck it, and fucking wait for me. Don't bring your clinical, clerical bullshit into this work. Breaking these dogs down is an art form. Gaige was easy. Kalvya is easy in different ways. But you're correct, she's unhinged. She needs a stabilizing agent, and when I show her how rocky her situation is, she will see me as that agent."

"What you want to do-"

The quiet is more upsetting than the noise. I can make noise myself, if I want. I can sing a little, snap my fingers, throw the lapel buttons from Her jacket at the wall of the cell. But it wasn't enough to keep the screaming of the Hound down.

It was quieter with Her here. I didn't like that. But it was the reality.

Handler used to make jokes about "the dog in you" as if that wasn't just me. I don't have a dog in me. I am the dog.

At least this woman acknowledged that. Understood that.

Mommy sometimes thought I was playing a game with it. I tried to tell Her that She wasn't quite seeing it right, but She would giggle and pat my head...pat my head...

I whined. Big sigh. I wanted Her to pat my head. I missed Her. I needed Her touch, Her care, Her love. Her smell. She always smelled so good.

"Tell me what this toy means to you."

I turned my back on Her. Crossed my legs, fiddled with the thread I had pulled loose on the trousers. She wasn't ever going to give me what was mine. She was taunting me with it. I had to ignore Her.

It was so hard to ignore my little fox. She didn't know how much it would help to be able to hold it. Cradle it.

Help what? The situation She put me in? Maybe She DID know. Maybe She knew exactly how much it would help, and She just likes to watch me suffer.

That's it.

Fucking puzzle cube and spiky ball and looped strings. Nice stimulation for a moment, but a joke all the same. A taunt, an insult. She knows what I really want, and She's holding it over me. The carrot on the stick.

I won't play Her game. I already played it, too much. I responded too violently when She showed it to me. I made it crystal clear that it was important, and I showed Her that piece of me. She got me to lay myself bare, for just a moment, to expose my vulnerabilities. I wouldn't let that happen again.

"Talking to us will help you," She said grimly. "The utilitarian nature of it would be beneficial. Trade, if you'd like."

"Trade me a gun in your mouth and we'll talk."

She laughed, at least. If it was genuine amusement or just noise meant to mock me, I wasn't certain. I could never quite tell. She had a way with her voice, the way she played with her vocal tones. She sometimes almost sounded like Her. But it was a sad facsimile.

"We've given you some small comforts. Consider what they are worth, Kalvya, and consider if you would miss them."

I bristled at the name. My name. I never told them. I never told anyone, nobody but Holly, but Mommy, only Mommy knew my name. My fingernails scratched against the polished concrete under me.

How did you find out. Where did you find my name. Who told you, who told you, where did you go what did you find who did you talk to--

I bit my tongue as hard as I could stomach to keep the anger in, keep the words, hold the outburst. Deep breath, baby. It's okay. Big, slow, deep breath, little one.

Her fingernails tapped against the bars of the cage. I twitched at the sound, but didn't move. "Next week, we're going to put you in a mech. I expect you to perform."

"Hard to perform when you've been on hormone treatment for as long as I have."

That one got a genuine laugh from Her. It was such a haunting sound, but beautiful. Endearing. Filled with affection, somehow. I shuddered under the tone of it. "You're funny, puppy."

"Let me out and I'll do a tight five in your conference room, you corpo sellout fuck."

Now Her laughter was mocking. "I think you woefully misunderstand where you are. But you'll figure it out soon enough, pup."

I could kill you so easily. I could rip your beautiful fucking throat out with my hands. I could watch you bleed to death against the cage and I would revel in it. I would look at your beautiful corpse like art on the wall of my room.