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Quinn Ambrose never slept. A career of combat stim abuse supplemented by neural implants meant the closest she got to sleep was slumping against Hela’s bedroom door on guard duty.
“Quiiiiiiinnnnnn!” The heir to the GalliProxis corporation lilted in a sing-song voice, stretching her single syllable name into a multi second ordeal. Quinn straightened up, pulling herself to attention as Hela strode out of her bedroom. She was unusually elegant for this time in the morning. Dark of eyes and hair, she wore a white pantsuit that sat comfortably on her body. It was tailored to accommodate her plump figure, not hiding nor flattening it. Hela Gallick had nothing to be ashamed of.
Unlike Quinn. Hela controlled her life, which meant she controlled her wardrobe. She made her dress like the ace pilot Quinn once was, enjoying the sight of her in a drab, olive flight suit. Hela had sewn her pilot's patch onto the shoulder; A shield surrounded by the text "Bouclier, your protector".
But Bouclier was gone. And Quinn only protected Hela.
“I’ve got a surprise for you!” Her melodic voice dripped like venom into her ears. Quinn’s expression rippled anxiety. Decades of socialising from a cockpit had left her poker face lacking. She stayed silent, hands at her side, eyes straight ahead.
“Mother has arranged a tourney, and you simply must accompany me. It would be unseemly if a woman of my station were to attend alone. We wouldn’t want anything untoward happening to me, would we?” Hela wore a wide, wolf-like grin. Her fingers traced up Quinn's shoulder and wound through her greying hair. Quinn swallowed the saliva that had pooled in her mouth. Better that than spit it at her.
“Of course not.” Quinn grunted, her words coming out stilted. Hela’s personal modifications to her vocaliser were causing havoc, limiting her speech to short, efficient words. And yet the girl always emphasised decorum and manners. One should not speak to their betters without the proper grace, after all.
Hela would not allow any of the GalliProxis techs to work on Quinn. She emphasised that Quinn was her guard, and she would personally perform repairs and maintenance. She did not have the steady hands or skill of a cybernetic engineer. Quinn's body ached from numerous little defects.
She was almost entirely Cytofract-Proxis equipment. Most pilots were augmented in some way. Augmented or dead. If the enemy was upgraded, you’d need to match. And so the arms race went on and on. She'd go out there, kill a pilot, and they’d augment the next one they sent after her. On the rare occasions she’d lose, she'd limp home and request an upgrade. CyProxis were more than willing to swoop in and give her body a tune up. The best independent mercenary should have the best parts, after all.
But that was twenty years ago. When she’d still been fighting for something.
Since her glory days, Cytofract-Proxis was restructured into the Sufi Group. Then they were acquired by PSOcomp. When they went bankrupt, they were carved into parts, and the cybernetics & industrial armor division was spun off into the Proxis Corporation. And they merged with the Gallick Conglomerate. And then GalliProxis won the war.
Not the war between nation states, waged by the common man fighting for his country’s pride. The proxy war waged between the largest exacorps in the system. The war that ravaged everything but profits.
Quinn had dropped down the rankings by that point. Repairs were getting more and more expensive. Bouclier was a greedy bitch, guzzling itself on thousands of bullets per sortie, forcing Quinn to dip deeper and deeper into debt. And her reputation was only worth so much. There were always newer pilots. More augmented pilots. Better pilots. She was old-gen. She was slow.
She was lucky, but she couldn't buy ammo with luck.
One of those up and coming pilots taught her she was past her prime. They ambushed her on a dusty world she couldn't name, with a mech she didn't recognise. The engagement didn't last a minute before she was toppled. Her mech was pinned beneath the enemy's centauroid frame, its front pair of legs digging into her own. The beast's arms came down again and again, its thermal-axe slicing through Bouclier's chest until Quinn was exposed. Heat and radiation flooded the cockpit as the superheated plasma edge came down.
Quinn didn't know how to prepare herself for death. An overdose of combat stims didn't help suppress the terror flowing like ice through her veins. She knew she was fortunate to have made it this long. A girl like her? From a place like that? She was lucky to make it past twenty. No one made it to forty.
The axe never fell on her. Instead, a contract appeared on Bouclier's remaining viewscreen. A simple trade. GalliProxis would assume her debt, and she would lose her independence. It was that or her life.
"Give up, Quinn Ambrose." The hulking mech boomed at her.
She signed it.
Quinn would live out the rest of her days as Hela Gallick's personal bodyguard.
She was a trophy. A reminder of GalliProxis's complete control over the solar system. Even the wildest dogs could be brought to heel.
The dog stood next to her owner, held close as a swarm of executives and suits filled up the viewing room. Quinn had spent the morning getting ogled at and whispered about as Hela paraded her around, nattering and drinking. Quinn was not allowed a drop, even as her brain ached for any sort of numbness. She had to be on alert for any threats to Miss Gallick's life.
The only risk to Hela was choking on hors d'oeuvres, or the social death of a faux pas. But no one would dare accuse the heiress of any such negligence. Besides, they were all too enamored with her toy to critique her language.
"One hundred and seventeen confirmed kills. And that's not counting automated armors." Hela puffed her chest out as she bragged about Quinn's record. Any victory of Quinn's now belonged to Hela. Not even her history was free from GalliProxis's control.
"I heard she was number one on the mercenary rankings." Another rich girl chimed, staring at Quinn with barely-restrained lust. She felt like meat. Girls used to look at her with envy, with awe, with respect. No longer. It was only ever lust for the tamed beast. She would have preferred hatred. Quinn tried not to look any one of the dozen girls gathered around her in the eye. It wasn't hard, standing a foot taller than them, but it didn't stop them gawking at her.
"Oh yes. She was the best. Even before she became a mercenary. What did they call you? The Iron Mutt?" Hela sneered at her, taking a long sip from her champagne glass. Quinn waited patiently for her to click the device at her waist. "Speak."
"Erebus' Guard Dog." Quinn said, seething at Hela. Another click from the remote and she was silenced. Her gaze fell to the control box, dangling from one of her carabiners on Hela's belt. A device of Hela's own creation, it was a simple on/off switch for certain augmented functions. Like speech.
Or breathing.
The back of it was decorated with her pilot's emblem.
"Oh yes. For a moment I forgot you were from the fringes." Hela mimed puking and the gaggle of debutantes politely chuckled at her indecent display.
The cheers of the crowd were growing. The noise bled through the bulletproof glass window that ran from floor to ceiling across the width of the box. The main event was about to begin.
"Well, maybe you can catch up with one of the other mongrels later." Hela beckoned for Quinn to follow her as she strode over to the window to plant herself in one of the plush leather seats. Quinn stood to attention behind her, her arms crossed.
"Oh no, dog, you should sit right here, by your master's side." She patted the seat beside her, and a chorus of gasps and whispers started up behind the pair. Quinn did her best to block them out. She sank into the chair and focused on the match beyond the glass. Anything to take her mind off of the gossip going on behind her.
A huge oval covered with a thick layer of sand gave way to massive steel walls, surrounding it all save for the gates opening up on either end. Above that, tens of thousands of specks made up the audience. Every seat was full, already erupting into cheers and boos as the first mech lumbered into arena.
The announcer's voice reverberated off of the colosseum's walls, too fragmented by the roar of the crowd for Quinn to make out. Hela leaned over to clarify.
"That one's an Erebus mutt too. Scooped up by their Imperium and sold off to GalliProxis. No augs, they say. She's a purebred hero." Hela groaned, her voice full of contempt. Heroes were bad for business.
Quinn didn't recognise the pilot's name or her mech. The newest generation of rebels were ghosts to her. Already dead. Just children playing at war. They didn't understand it was all futile.
She recognised her opponent. Four legs, a broad torso, a thermal axe held in both hands. It stomped out to nothing but hoots and hollers from the crowd. Its elongated body was stamped with the GalliProxis logo.
Labris.
The mech bowed towards their box, lowering its front set of legs into the sand, signalling its respect.
"I fight for you, Hela Gallick!" The mech boomed, and the audience's cries only grew louder.
Its gaze lingered for a moment, as if the pilot were locking eyes with Quinn.
Quinn's pulse quickened. Her stomach lurched. Her brow furrowed. She craved the sobering bite of a combat stim's syringe. She stood up, ready to storm away from Labris.
Hela snapped her fingers. She froze.
"And where do you think you're going, dog? Sit back down."
Quinn forced herself back into her seat, her chest rising and falling as she panted with frustration. The box was full of talk, all about her. Everyone around her watching what the mutt would do to embarrass her master.
She sat very still, trying to keep her trembling rage under control. She took long, slow breaths through gritted teeth.
"Good girl." Hela tousled her hair. "You deserve a treat." Click. "You may speak until the match is over."
"Thank you." Quinn hissed. She was going to be crushed under the weight of the room's collective gaze.
"You're very welcome, mutt."
The centre of the arena opened up. Sand poured into the hole as two great doors slid back. An inclined elevator was rising from the colosseum's depths.
"Oh! They're about to show off the grand prize! You're going to love this. Mother worked so hard to get it ready for today!"
The platform reached the arena floor. It carried a pristine mech, slowly rotating on a raised dais. Its steel plating was polished to a shine. A pair of oiled machine guns bigger than a person were clasped in its hands. The only scar on it was the gash in its chest, exposing the cockpit to the world.
The back of its head was stamped with the GalliProxis logo.
Bouclier! Bouclier! Bouclier!
The crowd chanted loud enough for Quinn to feel it in her bones.
"You said it had been scrapped." She said without looking at Hela.
"Oh? Did I? My sincerest apologies. That's what I wanted, but Mother wouldn't let me peel it apart. It's far more valuable as propaganda than its pilot." Hela inspected her manicured nails, pretending to be bored by the topic. Quinn knew that nothing could be further from the truth. This was another torment at the hands of a rich girl who'd long ago learned that consequences were for other people.
"The winner gets Bouclier. New blood for the old girl. Well, if they want to pilot her. They might just want to sell her off. Or strip her down. These older frames can't really compete with moden machines." Hela tutted, shaking her head.
"I really should have told you about the tournament sooner. Perhaps you could have signed up and won your darling back..." She cupped Quinn's scarred jaw and turned her to face her.
"Of course, an old, broken mongrel like you would never have made it past the first round." She smiled so sweetly up at Quinn. "Right, dog?"
No one dared move. No one dared speak. They were all transfixed by the pilot's humiliation. Their faces were masks of sympathy, but Quinn saw the hunger in their eyes. They relished this beating she was taking. They craved the power Hela held. They all wanted to be the one holding Quinn's leash.
"Right, dog?" Hela asked again. Her sweet smile had become a wicked grin. She had Quinn right where she wanted her.
"PILOTS, GET READY!" The crowd grew silent. The air was electric with anticipation. Hela didn't take her eyes off of Quinn.
"LAUNCH!" The arena exploded with noise as the two mechs charged each other.
Quinn took off with such force that the back of the chair splintered to pieces. She wrapped her metal hands around Hela's neck mid air, and they crashed against the floor together. Hela grunted, spluttering as Quinn mounted her, keeping her pinned to the ground with her immense frame.
No one spoke. The corporate masses just stared at the show with morbid fascination.
Choked laughter escaped from Hela's lips.
"You can't do this." She insisted. "You're just some pathetic has-been. You wouldn't even be able to choke me now without those arms Mother got you."
Quinn pushed on Hela's windpipe with her thumbs. Her cybernetic limbs had enough strength to bend metal. She shuffled forward, putting more of her weight behind her hands.
"You couldn't bring yourself to die out there in your beloved Bouclier. You can't bring yourself to kill me now."
Quinn upped the pressure, desperate to silence the heiress. There was no doubt that security was on their way, ready to put a bullet in her brain. But at least Hela would be dead with her.
"You're pathetic, pretending you can act for yourself."
Hela was turning red, but Quinn couldn't wipe the stupid grin off of her face. Her whole body shook. Spit dripped from her maw and splashed onto Hela's face.
"I've poked around in your brain. I know what you are."
Hela coughed again, reddish-pink spit decorating her unblemished face. The pilot growled. She was unable to form anything but wordless noises of hate.
"You're a tool. Useless without someone wielding you."
Quinn's eyes burned with tears. Blood trickled from around her fingers to stain Hela's blazer. Crimson rippled across white.
"Give up, Quinn Ambrose."
Quinn roared with frustration as she let go, rolling off of Hela and collapsing to one side. She clutched her knees to her chest as she wept, her whole body wracked with sobs. She howled for the whole world to hear, begging someone to find her too pitiable, too reprehensible, too worthless to go on existing.
Security forces rushed into the room and urged the corporate spectators back as they formed a semi circle around the pilot. They levelled rifles at her, half a dozen red dots appearing on her flightsuit.
Quinn prayed they'd shoot her, but she knew Hela would never let them.
"Impressive, you actually broke the skin this time." Hela coughed, clearing her aching throat into a handkerchief. A pair of security officers hauled Quinn up, facing her towards Hela. Despite the mess of spit and blood and tears, she still managed to look every bit the elegant heiress she was.
"Don't worry, one day you'll kill me." Click. Quinn stopped wailing. Silent tears poured down her face as Hela guided her into one of the other seats. She toyed with Quinn's hair, tracing her fingers over the GalliProxis logo tattooed onto the back of her head.
"Right, dog?"
All Quinn could do was nod.