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Short and long range sensors inoperable. Reactor barely holding at 5%. Fused pistons groaning with every movement. Down an arm and trailing a mixture of coolant, lubricant, and scrap.
The towering mech was in a sorry state as it entered the base. Trundling through checkpoints, the normally menacing stride of Lupus Domina was replaced with a slow and lopsided gait. Mechanics and troops on the ground moved carefully out of its way, many slack-jawed and stunned by what they saw. They knew what this machine was capable of - as well as what it must have taken to lay it so low.
Astride the broken beast in the cockpit, Hound fared no better. Blood caked across half its face and splattered on the glass where its head had struck during a particularly savage maneuver. A combination of drool, sweat and bile dripped and hardened through its muzzle. What should be a skin-tight bodysuit hung loosely, burnt and torn. Uncontrollable shakes wracked its body at random, left arm limp and useless after the neural feedback had taken its toll.
Above it all though, the only thing that registered to Hound was the exhaustion. Bone deep. Soul deep. Its entire, meagre essence was pleading for rest. Staring blankly through heavy eyes, there was a single reason it was still conscious and willing the Domina forward.
Her.
Hound knew every step was taking it closer to Her. That She would be waiting, as She always was, to welcome it back from a successful mission.
And it had been - successful that is. Hard fought and hard earned, just as every sortie was for Hound these days. If it had been allowed to ponder such things, Hound would have noticed its missions had been gradually taking more out of it, how recovery times never felt long enough and how it needed more and more stims to keep up in combat. It might have considered just how many times it had launched, the perfect killing machine sent to tidy up all The Empire's problems, and how spending that much time linked with the machine would wear down its already damaged body and mind. It might have even known about the concept of cerebral tearing, as well as the inevitable outcome for long-term pilots that didn't know when to quit.
But Hound had not needed to worry about such things since She had taken it in. Whether the missions She sent it on were getting harder or if Hound was getting slower was irrelevant. All that mattered was, despite it all, it had kept succeeding. Left countless fields and burnt-out bases littered with broken enemy mechs.
All for Her.
Knowing it had done her bidding was all the reward Hound truly needed. The only other gift it received from Her these days was the look of satisfaction on Her face as She read through mission reports. It would stand at attention in front of its mech, watching eagerly. Each sharp nod and affirmative noise as She scrolled through the pages would send ecstasy coursing through Hound’s body and mind.
Of course, part of it did still yearn for the boot. She had said its body was too frail, its stamina too low to have that particular reward these days. There was no doubting Her decision, but Hound had still spent many sleepless nights whining in its cell, wishing it was strong enough to earn the touch of that beautiful leather again.
This time, on this particular march back to base, the thought of reward was far from its mind. The tiredness left no room for it. Not a single thought could be produced by Hound's broken, exhausted brain. Instinct alone drove it.
Return to Her.
A hundred metres or so from the hangar bay doors, something finally snapped. The scream of tearing metal and the hiss of depressurized conduit filled the compound as Lupus Domina jerked a final time before sinking to its knees. Absently, Hound observed reactor readings failing and reaching zero before all the consoles flickered out. In another world, they would have shed a tear and said a prayer in this moment as they felt their old friend and guardian die. But here and now, after it stopped feeling any response from the controls, its only reaction was to start the slow and agonising process of disentangling itself from the lifeless machine.
Like it was moving through water, Hound’s drained body slowly disconnected cables and removed restraints. Pulled sensor needles from itself and let the fractured helmet fall from its head. With a whimper, it tried to stand from its chair - and collapsed immediately to the floor of the cockpit, opening wounds new and old. Delirious, it began to half crawl, half drag itself towards the hatch. Any other being would have passed out from the level of pain that its worn out body was enduring, or they would have given up hundreds of klicks back and succumbed to the siren call of eternal sleep. Hound felt nothing though. Registered nothing. Knew nothing except that it had not yet earned its rest or arrived at its destination.
She was waiting.
Outside, a crew was hurrying to maneuver stairs up to the cockpit hatch. Hazard control teams stood nearby, keeping onlookers away from the wreck. All for naught - the mech was utterly inert, nothing left in it to combust or cause damage to anything.
With the stairs in place, a pair of mechanics rushed up to the hatch knowing it would need to be pried open. They saw Hound through the reinforced glass, pawing weakly at the release handle. It couldn’t make it work, yet had no capacity for other options. So it sat there silently, a pool of blood growing under it, weakly repeating the action while the crew worked to free it.
When they finally opened the cockpit, the assault on their senses was immediate; one bent over the railing to retch and heave. Filtration had failed a long way back, and the heated, stale air inside was filled with the smell of spilt stimulants, burnt electronics, and bodily fluids. Their eyes stung and their throats burned and they both looked down at Hound, each feeling a mix of awe, disgust, and terror. How far had it travelled in this?
Hound noticed none of that. As soon as the hatch came open, it slowly started to move again. Pulling itself up slowly onto shaking legs, it inched forward and out between the workers who had freed it - neither willing to touch or aid the wretched creature that emerged. The light outside was blinding. Tears would have run down its face as its eyes adjusted if its body had anything left to expel. But Hound was dried up. Spent. Those who saw it in that moment would later describe its appearance as a desiccated corpse. A husk that The Empire had finally sucked the last drop from.
Half blind, Hound started to slowly descend the stairs, oblivious to everything except its instincts. Completely devoid of thought or feeling until a voice called out. Stern. Commanding. Resonant.
“My Hound.”
Hound felt as though it had been struck by lightning. Dead eyes shot wide open and heat flushed through its body. Neurons fired as the scarred mass of tissue that was Hound's brain pulsed to produce a single thought. She was here.
Handler.
Blinking as though waking up, Hound focused on the image of Her standing at the base of the stairs. Black leather coat gleaming in the afternoon sun, shifting softly with the breeze. Her eyepatch had the opposite effect, somehow seeming to eat the light around it as it always did. Cap angled just so upon Her head, looking not unlike the Imperial crown Hound knew She should be wearing instead. The polished grips of Her twin revolvers poked out from the gap in Her coat, gun belt draped elegantly across Her hips. Immaculate, shining, perfect boots.
Handler was flanked by a squad of Imperator guard, all bluster and machoism and high-tech weaponry. They were somehow out of place - She would never normally allow those thugs in Her presence. To Hound, though, they didn't exist. Nothing else could exist within Her radiance.
Hound tried to let loose a howl of happiness, but all that came out was a wheezing, hacking gasp. It doubled over as the sound turned into a brutal fit of coughing, more blood and spittle getting caught in its muzzle. When the attack abated and it could raise its head again, it thought it saw a flash of sadness on Handler's face, but that thought disappeared as quickly as it came. An impossibility, Hound's psyche attributed it to delirious imagination. As the guards around Her began to move forward, She tilted Her head slightly with a disapproving look to halt them. Handler looked back up to address Hound again.
“Come now, you must rest.”
With a shudder, Hound willed its body to continue the descent. A command was received and would be obeyed. The newfound flash of energy Her voice had given it let its mind respond as it normally would. Its body, however, did not receive that same grace. Fatigue asserted itself once more, and as it took another step the single leg supporting Hound shook and gave out.
Hound tripped over itself and began to fall. Its good arm flailed and hit against the short railing, but momentum carried its body over the edge.
As the ground raced up to meet it, Hound once again caught a glimpse of Handler. An arm outstretched, She was moving forwards now.
Hound simply closed its eyes and smiled, realising it could finally succumb to the lethargy. Of course She would be there to catch it. Of course She would help it recover its strength. No one cared for Hound like Handler. She was powerful and loving and would protect Hound from anyth-
Beep
...
Beep
...
Beep
Where... Was it......
Beep
The brief spark of consciousness faded as quickly as it came.
Beep
“...on’t understand, this level of tearing is beyond saving. It should have been decommissioned weeks ago.”
Who…
“You WILL operate.”
That... Handler!
Realization forced Hounds mind to wake further. With newfound clarity it processed more of the conversation happening around it.
“But this is a waste! Even if by some miracle it survived, rehabilitation alone would… It would be years before it was of use again!”
“Doctor. These concerns are beyond your station. If you cannot do this I will simply bring in another surgeon who can. And while they do their work, I will find immense pleasure breaking your insubordinate self down before your own ‘decommissioning’. Am I clear?”
“I... Yes, Sir.”
As everything started to fade once more, Hound took solace knowing She would fix it. That it would still be able to serve... Her...
Beep
It stirred again to the sound of boots. A sense of alarm pushed its way through the small gap awareness had made in Hound's psyche.
Troops.
Enemies?
Still trapped in its own mind, Hound listened to the sound of slammed doors, crashing tools, curtains being pulled until eventually the boots were around it.
“This is the one. Let's move.”
Locks disengaging on the bed. Movement. Shaking. Radio clicks.
“Sir, we’ve got trouble. Just got word that She’s in the build-”
More doors slammed open.
“GET AWAY FROM MY HOUND.”
Hound wanted to cry at the sound of Her voice, the thunderous boom of Her rage reverberating through it. It felt consciousness wavering again, but willed itself to stay present. She was better than any drug it could be given, and it desperately wanted to hear Her one more time.
“Sir, stand aside. We have our orders and you are not going to stop us taking this asset. It has been marked for disposal.”
The familiar click of revolvers was music to Hound's ears.
“You will wheel that bed back into the ward. You will tell Me which one of those pathetic generals it was that sent you scurrying down here behind My back. And then you will leave. Otherwise YOU are not going to stop ME from putting you all down and taking. Back. MY. PROPERTY.”
Beep
Consciousness flashed again, different this time. Like gears slowly engaging, Hound's thoughts and senses began to sluggishly surface.
The feeling of the bed it was on. The smells and the sounds. It was in med bay. That explained the pain. It coursed through Hound’s entire body. It could feel the weakness of its limbs and the ragged rhythm of its breathing and heartbeat as the pain savaged it entirely.
But it was awake. Alive. She had always told it that pain was the path to healing, and that was as true now as it would ever be.
It still couldn't see, but its restored sense of touch told it that what felt like bandages covered its face. A low, pathetic whine built in its throat, barely a whisper as it forced its way through Hound’s lips. The sound triggered an immediate movement in the room. Hound felt someone move closer to the bed.
“You're awake.”
Her voice was an instant salve. Endorphins flowed through Hound, easing its pain. A contented growl came out as more of a gurgle - She had been here, waiting for it. The thought made it giddy. Empowered, it tried to move and gingerly lifted a hand towards where it thought She was.
“No. You still need rest.”
Another whine forced its way out as Hound stopped its efforts to move. It couldn’t defy Her order, but needed some way to show its adoration. It would surely be dead without Her care, abandoned on whatever battlefield had left it so injured. She had once again saved Hound, and it loved Her all the more for it.
The sound of drawers opening and packages being unsealed grabbed Hound’s attention anew.
“I will help you sleep again now. It won’t be long until you can leave this place, and then things will be different. For the better.”
The anxiety borne from change was overruled by Hound's faith in Her. She had never given it the ability to imagine anything better than what it had, but knew that if She said so it would be true.
As the familiar embrace of sedation took hold, Hound felt peace.
The wheelchair rocked slightly as they navigated through the winding corridors. She was pushing Hound along Herself, an honour it could never have dreamed of. Sleep called to Hound with the gentle swaying, but it had to stay awake now. Had to fight off the terrible exhaustion.
For Her.
Handler had told it that today was a special day. Explained that after the raft of surgeries it had gone through, and the months spent induced in a coma, She could finally take Hound home. It fidgeted idly with the cloth of the medical gown it wore. Thinking of the darkness of the kennels, its isolated cell. That was where it belonged. It was ready for a return to familiarity.
But as their course deviated from the usual path back, its head lolled back lazily to look up at Her with an inquisitive murmur.
“You won't be living down there anymore, My Hound. Things will be different now, remember?”
It didn't, but the satisfaction in Her voice affirmed Hound's feelings - She knew best.
They continued on in silence. Despite its best efforts, the pull of exhaustion brought Hound in and out of sleep. It was a large base, and they did not travel quickly.
Very few personnel walked the halls at this hour. The handful Hound noticed in its half-waking state stood aside with appropriate deference to Handler as they passed. Through its hazy perception, Hound thought they also looked at it with what seemed to be jealousy. This brought the crack of a smile to its face. It was truly Her favourite. Her prized weapon. They should be jealous that it was being cared for by Her. Pride surged through it.
“Here we are.”
Broken from its reverie, Hound glanced around. They were at the end of a long hallway, the imposing double doorway in front of them the only one that Hound could see anywhere nearby. Handler moved to unlock and open the doors.
“My quarters.”
Unadulterated awe filled Hound. Her quarters. Never before had it been allowed to peer at Her personal space. It hadn't heard of anyone who had. The entryway alone was immaculate, all shining hardwood and low lit lamps. It was-
Realization struck. THIS is where Hound would live. It looked up at Handler with tears already forming in its eyes. It... This place... With Her...
“Yes, your new home.”
She bent down and cupped Hounds chin in one hand, locking Her gaze with its own. This was different to any way She had touched Hound before. Delicate, like a snowflake caught on Her glove that She did not wish to break. Hound’s tears fell freely as She tenderly ran a thumb over its cheek. Handler’s one good eye shimmered with the spark of something Hound could not place.
“You have ever been My faithful Hound, My unerring sword. But now, your battles have ended. You gave Me everything you had, and so now I would have you rest at My side. Would you do this for Me? Would you be My Pet from here on?”
Chin still nestled in Her hand, it nodded slowly, trying to process Her words. The waves of gratitude they brought were overwhelming. Of course, there was no world in which it would say no to Her requests - it would do and be whatever She asked of it. But to follow this particular command felt nothing short of euphoric. Happily, Pet nuzzled against Her hand, already purring. Handler smiled and slowly let go of its chin, walking back behind the wheelchair.
“Then come, we shall start by getting you cleaned up. I'm going to take such good care of you, Pet.”