Work Text:
Same as it ever was
As the bag lifted from his head and he saw the wreckage of the room around him, Major James Thompson realised he was in deep shit. A short, heavyset woman prodded around Sergeant Jones’s legless body. She tittered to herself as she saw the locket he kept around his neck, and pocketed it. An empty wine glass lay smashed next to him. The poor bastard didn’t even have time to finish his toast before the bombs went off. A bored imperial Private smoked a cigarette in the corner, near where his bottom half had landed.
“Alright, James. You know the drill: numbers, location, tactics. We both know I don't care about your service number.” Birch looked down at the ziptied Major, grinning. She was in her element; it didn't take a functioning brain to hurt people, just passion. She had a lot of that. Corporal Birch loved her job. It was fun being at the base with plenty of time, but trenchwork needed innovation, she was good at that.
Out of habit, she started a stopwatch. The department's scoring charts had it at 15 minutes average to break a high ranker. A colleague taking advantage of an officer’s peculiar phobia of sledgehammers had unfairly lowered the time. Some people had all the luck. She placed the stopwatch in her pocket, and patted the Major’s head gently.
The Major noticed, with some horror, that they hadn't even cleaned the bodies out of the bunker yet. The door, crumpled by the blast, rested gently on a former logistics officer’s legs.
The officer's mess had seen better days.
James looked up at her with contempt; he wished the rebellion was even half as good at breaking people as the Imperial State Interrogation Department. The war could've been over years ago. There was something disconcerting about how happy she looked to see him—as though he was an old friend and they were just going out for drinks.
He spat on the ground near her, to test the waters, and was immediately hit in the chest. A bad sign. Rebel interrogators usually at least tried to work with psychology first. It was never a good feeling to meet someone this eager to start smacking people.
Birch began lazily fiddling with the clasps of her toolcase, and laid it open in front of her. To James’ disgust, he noticed she was humming to herself. Even worse, he knew the tune: Down WIth Tyrants, the forward base’s anthem. Birch palmed something, whistled out the final few notes, grimaced, and began speaking.
“Let's start easy, with something we both know.” Birch looked around at the room and nodded at several of the red smears on the walls. “How many officers are in command here? Or, were, I guess. Player’s choice." She counted at least 8 for the were side of it. Private Jean laughed from the corner and Birch shot her a withering glance that shut her up.
“Major James Thompson, intelligence Division. 8497—” a slap landed on his face. Through ringing ears he heard Birch giggle, “that was rather stupid. I said I didn't need to know that! Same question: just say a number, for me?”
Major Thompson straightened up. “Major James Thompson, Intelli- FUCK!”
Birch had driven a shard of shrapnel under his thumbnail, and began peeling. It was a favourite of hers, and she liked to start out strong. The rebels could occasionally lie and say they never gave anything up. They could never say they never met her.
She looked at James’ bleeding finger dreamily; it reminded her of the knife trick Sir showed her last month. She wished her fingers were bleeding. It had been so long… Birch shook her head to refocus.
“You piece of shit.” James somehow still had conviction in his voice. Birch was impressed. He was dumber than he looked. “I don't fucking have anything for you.” He insisted.
Birch considered this lie for a few seconds… and then her fist landed squarely on Major Thompson's jaw. She smiled; the force from the hit made her knuckles hurt, and sent the chair Major Thompson was tied to clattering to the ground.
She walked a step forward so James could see her face. He flinched and spat out a wad of blood. Birch was hit with an overwhelming feeling of envy and flushed. She couldn't work in these conditions. It had been two days since she'd last been punched and it was getting to her.
She turned to the guard, “Private, I think you should leave. There are some things it's better not to write an incident report about.” Private Jean looked at her, confused. The Corporal's gaze became icy, “that was an order, Private.”
Jean ran out of the room, tripping over Sergeant Jones’ legs as she went.
Corporal Birch waited until she was sure the Private was out of earshot, and then hoisted the chair and the Major up. A terrified cry emerged from his mouth, she shushed him and shook her head. “I don't have much time. I’m going to get you out of there. Next, I need you to hit me; I need you to hit me real bad. Make it count.”
She produced a pair of shears to undo the zip ties. James started squealing again, and then heard two neat clicks from behind the chair. Noticing his arms were loose and his fingers mostly intact, Major Thompson let out a sigh of relief. “See?“ Birch muttered, wounded by the distrust. She moved on to free his legs, then dragged him up to his feet. “Now get to it, I need you to do this. Now.”
The Major was baffled. A double agent? In the interrogation department? “Wait, you're one of ours?!” he sputtered.
Birch was delighted; the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She was so glad the poor man was concussed. “Let's say I am, yes!”
The Major took a few deep breaths to calm down. He suddenly realised how badly he’d been shaking. He would recover, he would escape, they would win. The rebellion had people everywhere. He stood shakily, and turned to look at Birch.
“Christ, lady. I know you have to play the part, but… denailing? Is that standard practice?” the Major gave out a smile and winced “I'm quite pissed at that. Glad the escape plan involves beating you.” He gestured his fists towards her, “Stomach, right? You’ll react more authentically.”
Birch felt herself grow hot; it wasn't the same as Zhu, and it felt like cheating. She didn't even like men. But she needed this. She would just have to close her eyes and pretend.
“Sorry, sir.“ The title felt deeply wrong to use on him, even as a lie, but it helped a little. “I assume you know how fucked these freaks are getting. They're turning people into animals and shit now. They're desperate.”
James shook his head sadly, simultaneously jealous and disgusted by the empire’s capabilities. “It's a damned shame,” he said, poking through her toolbox before grabbing a knife. “Anyway, as you said.” James gestured matter-of-factly. “I have to hit you now. Hostage situation?”
The Corporal nodded giddily. “Plea- HOUGH!” The blow barely knocked the air out of her lungs, and she had to force herself to fall to the floor. She felt disappointed. It was nowhere near as good as Her. Who taught this brat how to punch? Was he lying about being an intelligence officer?
Birch forced out a pained yelp. Zhu always liked her noises and she hoped maybe it would encourage the clearly impotent Major to do better.
Down the hall Private Jean’s ears twitched. That scream sounded completely incorrect. She dropped her cigarette and started jogging towards the mess hall.
Footsteps echoed into the room as Major Thompson grabbed Birch by the hair and pressed the knife against her neck. Birch was starting to get annoyed, his technique was terrible. It was like he wasn't trying to hurt her. More than that, she didn't have permission to die, only Sir could give that. This was completely uncalled for.
“Careful with that.” she growled, “Someone could get hurt.”
The Major raised his eyebrows. He shot her a smirk that probably would’ve worked if he was Her. Instead, it made her skin crawl. “Don’t you trust me? I’ve gotten out of worse scrapes before.” He hadn’t. Birch could’ve laughed, the trenches were utterly crawling with troops. He wasn’t even the only officer getting tortured. “Once we get to the Cheron Mountains, we’ll be safe. Fallback’s only a few clicks south from here.”
“Thank you.” Birch murmured, and reached a hand into her pocket. She clicked the stopwatch. Thirteen minutes and forty-three seconds. At least she’d achieved something.
“Shit.” Private Jean skidded to a halt and grabbed her pistol. She stared in terror; standard protocol would be to shoot immediately, but she knew who the hostage’s wife was. She took several deep breaths and looked pleadingly at the Corporal for guidance. Birch stared back calmly. “Just as you’ve trained, Private. I won’t hold any grudges.” She needed this to end, it had gone on far too long.
The Major looked in satisfaction as the Private slowly lowered her pistol, and screamed as the bullet went through Birch’s thigh and shattered his kneecap. Finally, he realised he’d been had.
The pair fell, and the Private, with near robotic precision, kicked the knife away from the Major and stomped on his head for good measure.
Corporal Birch looked at the pool of blood forming around her legs. She was too guilty to enjoy even this. Being shot to ribbons had been on her Snuff-it List, and it was taken from her. By a man, no less! That, and not her shattered femur, was the part that hurt.
Birch curled up into a ball and waited for the medical team to arrive. It was a small mercy when shock set in and she passed out.
–
When Birch came to, it was the middle of the afternoon the following day. The ward was far too nice for it to be a field hospital, and she realised she must have been taken back to base. She glanced to her left and smiled: the interrogation department had left her flowers. A small card with “Rend hell soon!” written on it in cursive with a batch of signatures rested on top.
She had her problems with her colleagues, but in times like this she realised they had good hearts.
Next to the flowers was an IV stand. Hanging from it was a full bag of B- blood. The IV fed into a drip chamber to combine with saline solution, then ran down a tube and into her arm. The sight of blood made her horny again.
After a moment, she realised how hungry she was; she darted upwards, a solid shrill beeping noise ringing out behind her. A shriek came from the other room and an orderly ran in. She looked at Birch and the disconnected heart monitor, tutted as she silenced the alert, and left the room. Birch stood there proudly for a moment, and immediately collapsed back into bed as the dizziness came on. She would be staring at the ceiling for now.
A few hours passed before they served a barely passable meal. Then finally, a familiar boot clicked on the tiles towards her. She looked towards the noise and started excitedly flapping her hands.
“HiSir!” it yelled. A passing nurse turned, startled at her patient’s exuberant outburst. Tracking Birch’s gaze, she saw Zhu, clocked her sleek leather uniform, and hurriedly left the room to tend to other patients.
“At ease, wife,” Zhu laughed. She closed the privacy curtains, and gently sat down on the bed. “Sorry about the wait. Work’s been murder today.” She grimaced. It had been in more ways than one. Her new barely conditioned asset had launched an unplanned escape attempt. Thankfully only a few low-ranking soldiers were among the casualties, but still. It reflected badly. She drove it from Her mind, and looked kindly at Birch.
It looked back at Her with a desperate sympathy, as though She was the one who’d just been shot in the leg. The Handler slid her hand towards Birches head, and started petting it indulgently. “How are you doing, pup? That must’ve been really scary.”
The hound beamed, for a moment experiencing pure bliss. It thought over yesterday’s events. The whole thing was scary. Then it remembered what had happened. The betrayal! How could it have forgotten? Birch shook its head away from Her hand. It didn’t deserve Her touch. It sobbed, and managed to choke out “I’msorrySir! I messed up!”
Zhu looked at it with concern. This was unusual. Sure, she’d been experimenting with doses. But Birch never cried without being made to. “Hey, I’ve messed up today as well, pup. You’re a good asset. What matters is we made it out, yeah?” She petted its hair more firmly, trying to see if She could shut its brain down, and continued calmly, “if it makes you feel better, Private Jean has already been shot for her negligence. I mean, really: the femoral artery? What was she thinking?”
In any other circumstances this would have made it feel better, but the show of kindness only ended up making the poor creature feel worse. Birch tried to explain itself, but its attempts at words only came out in incoherent panicked gasps. After a few goes, it took a minute to compose itself before— “SorrySir! I asked him to hit me! I was so horny I-” It blurted out, wringing its hands. “Ssorry I should have asked! I should have asked! I’m sorry!”
Zhu was aghast. They'd been married 5 years. Sure, in this line of business it was hard not to get up to some depraved shit. But Birch had never done anything like this before. Not without permission. Not with some guy. She tried to be angry, but then She regarded Birch. It was too broken, too innocent to be mad at.
Zhu reflected that maybe pumping Her wife full of the chemicals She used to make rebels fuck Her boots might be bad for fidelity. She went quiet and considered Her options. Her wife was not a bad dog. It just needed training. Besides, if She tried to stop drugging it now it'd be distraught.
She stood up and went to leave. Birch pawed for her hands, letting out a mournful whimper. “Stay, hound.” It did as it was told, despite the tears slipping down its cheeks.
This didn’t have to be a negative experience, this could be fun for both of them. She could make it so Birch wouldn’t even remember this within the week. She left the ward, and prowled the halls to find the surgeon running this department. After a few minutes, She found Her target in the ER ward.
Dr. Nilda Taylor-Wyndham-Rice was suturing a particularly grisly shoulder wound when a nightmarish vision appeared in the corner of her eye. The room had suddenly gone quiet. The injured Private dragged her arm up to salute and moaned. Handler Zhu ignored her and cleared Her throat.
“I won’t take up too much of your time, Doctor. I will need some privacy though.” She gestured around the room. Three imperial surgeons sadly wheeled their patients into the hall and continued stitching them up. The Private paused. Zhu glanced at her quizzically, and she leapt out of the cot and collapsed into the hallway.
Nothing about this made Dr. Nilda Taylor-Wyndham-Rice feel good. Zhu pretended not to notice, and clapped Her hands together. “Alright. I’m going to need to requisition ward E-10 for the next few weeks. It's my wife, you see.” She continued, in a tone of bored professionalism. “It would be in her best emotional and medical interests to receive treatment from me. It's compassionate. I will also need unrestricted use of your pharmacy. Saves me the walk.”
Nilda had been working in the Hospital for more than two decades, and fancied herself irreplaceable. She certainly wasn't going to let one tenth of the hospital to be taken up by this freak. Nilda scoffed, “Sorry, this is what you cleared the room for? People could die, Sir!” She enunciated the final word as though she didn’t believe Zhu deserved it. She could feel herself turning red. “Do you even know the first thing about medicine?”
Handler Zhu smiled warmly, and punched the surgeon in the gut. Nilda crumpled to the floor by the bed; she shrieked for help. In the corridor, a surgeon glanced away from their patient towards the noise and immediately looked back down. Zhu looked at Nilda, then over at the door and shrugged. It had been a tough day, so Zhu was glad to get some actual stress relief in. She pressed her boot down on the good doctor’s ankle, and got to her point. “So I guess first off, Nilda. I am a qualified doctor. Do no harm only applies to people.” She stamped down for emphasis. A cracking noise and a high pitched scream shot through the room. A startled doctor in the hallway dropped a scalpel into her patient’s ribcage.
“Second, we’re sorely lacking medical staff in the kennels. If you don’t want to work here, we can always work something out,” Zhu continued.
Any trace of anger and confidence had vanished from Nilda the moment she was punched; everything after was just seasoning for Zhu. One had to cook with the right ingredients, otherwise Rice had a way of ending up bland. The beleaguered surgeon, fearing more broken bones, agreed to the terms. Zhu left, nearly skipping. It was already going so well.
Birch looked up in fear as its Owner waltzed into the room, carrying an infusion bag filled with a Green Substance. She hung the bag on the IV stand near the bed, next to the bag of fresh blood. Then she grabbed the hound’s shoulders and stared into its eyes. The action made Birch stiffen. It didn’t even know if it could still look at Her, not that it could see through the tears in its eyes.
“It’s OK, pup. I forgive you,” Zhu said, her tone warm and affectionate. “We’re going to figure out a solution to this.”
Birch’s eyes somehow immediately stopped producing moisture. It was uncanny-it’d always been like this post hounding. It made aftercare so much easier.
“ThankyouSir! Gods, I was so worried. Thank you!” It bounced in the bed, the very picture of an excited puppy. Zhu smiled. How could She be mad? A wife this brainless doesn’t come easy. Besides, She always knew it loved Her. Zhu wiped the pup’s eyes, She knew it wouldn’t even consider it unless it was told to.
“Alright, pup.” Zhu said excitedly, “Even more good news! I’ve swung myself some time off. I’m looking after you now.” Birch cheered, and swung its arms up to hug Zhu’s neck, almost knocking Her off balance. Zhu laughed and hugged her back. “We have a busy few weeks ahead of us! First off, I think some training is in order after last night’s… incident.”
“Sir?” Birch almost started whining again, but the tone of Zhu’s voice reassured it:
“Relax and watch what I’m doing very carefully; you’ll be perfect shortly.” Zhu disconnected the saline from the IV’s drip chamber, and replaced it with the beautiful Substance. The Substance slowly dripped in, and the blood started to change colour. Blood and illicit mind-breaking drugs? Birch hadn’t been this horny ever. Its wife was so cool!
As the Substance drained into its veins, Zhu stroked its hair gently. Birch started to moan. She had given it the good stuff.
“Tthamkyou” it mumbled. It was both wide awake and not at all there.
Handler Zhu waited while Her hound grew more and more spaced out. As She looked into Birch’s blank eyes, She took a deep breath. “Love, do you remember our conversation on boundaries in kink?”