#mechsplo

The air being fed into my muzzle suddenly turns cold and crisp, and as it settles into my lungs it cools me from the inside out, relieving me of the heat of the combat stimulants. The world around me comes into perfect clarity, the sounds of my cockpit no longer muffled, as if I had been hearing them from underwater and suddenly come up for air.

Ping. Ping.

My gaze is drawn to the console in front of me. The screen is so, so bright, but as I squint I can read: "NULL LEASH PROTOCOL ACTIVE / MUZZLE DEACTIVATED, FREE TO REMOVE / CURRENT OBJECTIVE: Rescue Officer Anlee."

Rescue my handler.

For years, I have been fighting in this war. I didn't have a choice, I was "drafted" right off of the streets, placed under her command. The things I've been exposed to would make any sophont weep. Finally, after years of haze, I'm allowed to think for myself. I can take this mech and run away. But...

Memories flood back: her gentle voice; all of the exquisite meals she fed me, often right out of her hand; the way I felt when she touched me.

...Stars damn it.

I slam the throttle forward. Extending my mech's clawed hands forward, I intercept and sink them into an enemy fighter, halting its movements entirely. Holding it in one hand, I use the other to rip open its undercarriage, and remove a warhead from its battery. With no other use for the vessel, I fling it into a nearby asteroid.

Kill confirmed, the console reports. No longer fed stimulants thanks to the NULL LEASH protocol, I half expected not to feel anything. Instead, I can hear the phantom of her voice, sending my heart into a flutter: "Good girl!"

That's right; I never fought for the glory of the Poplar system. The combat stimulants felt good, but they were never what I actually craved. I fought for her and her alone. It feels so, so good to finally have the mental capacity to admit this to myself.

I continue sailing through space, towards the enemy vessel currently violating the hull of the space station. The battle is still raging around me, and I have the ship's systems to worry about, but I'm finally awake. Nothing else matters except reaching her. I hold the warhead in a dagger grip and, as I approach the ship's hull, swing it down over my shoulder.

...

An explosion in the distance. Screaming. Anlee barely even lifts her head as she sits in her cell; just more sounds of war. It'll end soon.

...Except, it doesn't. In fact, the sounds keep getting closer, and closer. Screams, gunshots, thudding, splattering.

Thud, thud, thud. CRASH.

Suddenly, a giant maw is pressed against the hardlight wall of the jail cell, pushing, pushing, until it forces itself through. The mech's mouth open, and out steps the hound...

Except, she's not a hound right now, is she? Her pupils are constricted-- no, they're just not dilated anymore. She stands on two legs, her broad shoulders square as she pants and, most importantly, her muzzle is off, dangling uselessly by its straps in her palms.

She walks out of the cockpit, her steps heavy, unpracticed. She walks to the front of Anlee... and drops to her knee, holding her muzzle up with shaky hands.

"I've... I've come to rescue you, madam handler."

Anlee smiles as she takes the muzzle from the hound, gently placing it back over her mouth and nose where it belongs and strapping it behind her head.