Chapter Text
Hunting hound but literal: a local hunter trespasses into a wooded area that belongs to someone high up in the Imperial machine with a history in a special project's division. Instead of killing her, the retired handler takes the hunter back to her "workshop" and picks up a new "retirement project".
Country drawl: "I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't know these woods belonged to you. I was just tracking a wounded buck, it's no good to let them bleed for too long."
Cold calmness: "It's*Sir* to you, girl. You are very lucky I'm in a good mood, otherwise I would have had you shot and strung up."
"No matter, you're right of course - it's never good to let a wounded animal bleed for too long. You said you were tracking a kill onto my land?"
"Y-yes, sir. Was hunting on public land, didn't realize we crossed into yours. Please don't shoot me or send me to prison, I won't do it again, promise!"
"The nearest public access point is fifteen miles away. How long have you been out hunting for, girl?"
"All weekend, ma'am! I mean, sir! Pack a tent, some food, find a real good kill and just stay out here as long as it takes to finish it. Good for food, good for thought."
"You sound earnest, girl, but I didn't get to be my age by trusting the word of any young pup that crosses my path. I'll agree not to call the authorities or have you shot by grounds security. On one condition."
"Yes ma- sir! Anything."
"I want to watch you hunt for me."
"These woods are littered with game cameras - that is how I spotted you so quickly. I want you to hunt this wounded creature, and I will watch your progress. When you have killed it, bring it back to my manor at the top of the hill - there, you can show me what you do with the body."
"Perform satisfactorily, and I will grant your request. If you fail to track the creature and bring it back to me by sundown, I will have my guards start hunting *you* instead."
[The retired Handler watches from the comfort of her manor, fixating on dozens of screens showing various scenes of indistinct foliage. Dull lights illuminate dusty old trophies and memories of victories that exist only as redacted paragraphs in forgotten books owned by dead men.]
[She's not a retired hero, she's not lauded for her actions. She was a necessary evil, the kind of thing that wins wars but has no place in peace. Sure, she had metals, money, status, but she was playing a role now. She was expected to behave, to stay quiet. To die peacefully in solitude.]
[She's not there because she wants to be in hiding. She lives alone in a mansion in some forgotten backwoods because she was a convenient person to take the fall. Handlers were the necessary result of total war, and the winners had no use for such a stain on their reputation - so there she was.]
[She didn't mind it - not really. She didn't regret her wartime actions, and if people hated her for what she was, then she would enjoy whatever time she had left in solitude. What she did mind, however, was the sheer boredom. She had always laughed at the concept of boredom in retirement, ironic.]
[But this? Her eyes narrowed as one of the screens alerted to movement. Out of the brush, like a ghost emerging from the greenery, was her. Covered in dirt, holding a rifle, eyes never still for more than half a second. Handler leaned forward, her heart rising into her throat, her pulse quickening.]
[She had almost forgotten what this felt like. Watching someone on the hunt for her. Knowing that the beautiful young woman on the screen was about to go and kill something *for her*. It felt like something inside of her was pulling her towards the screen, like her soul itself was grasping for her.]
[Hitched breath. Pounding in the head. Tightness in the abdomen. Tensed thighs. Hands clenched into fists. Eyes wide. Nostrils flared. Hunched forward. The pale glow of the screen reflecting off her mature face. Wrinkles that had previously had shadows sharpen under the light of the game cameras.]
[BANG.]
"See, sir? I told you tracking this thing would be no problem!"
"You did - and you did such a good job at hunting for me. But you aren't finished your work yet, girl."
"You really sure you want to watch me dress this thing? You got the stomach for it?"
"Show me everything - don't hold back."
[The young girl, hands soaked in blood, wipes some grime off her forehead. The blood on her hand mixes with the dirt on her sweaty skin and leaves a smear across her forehead that's objectively worse than before, but she doesn't notice. She's too busy gutting the creature in front of her.]
[The Handler watched, trying not to give away just how much she was shaking within the layers of her dressy attire. The girl in front of her was no more a human than any of the pilots she had worked with during the war - in a world of dogs, this girl shone brightly in bloodsoaked potential.]
[The girl looks up at the Handler, on her knees, covered in blood and grime, and she smiles. Bright white teeth cut through the grime and blood, and her youthful earnestness makes the Handler's heart ache. Such a pretty young face, covered in blood, with a smile - it was just missing a muzzle.]
"There you go, sir! Whole process finished. Tracked, killed, bled, gutted, butchered! Even happy to share the meat if you'd like... So, are we good? Not gonna turn me in?"
"Actually, girl, I think that you've performed so well that I've changed my mind. I don't want to report you at all."
"I would like you to come here, stay with me for a while. Watching you hunt has been some of the most entertainment I've had in years."
"Oh! I... I'm sorry sir, I can't do that, I gotta get back to my town. I live with my mum and pop, and they'll be expecting me back by tomorrow night."
"And I've got work too! This is just a hobby, sir. I love it, but it doesn't pay the bills, it just keeps the freezer full."
"I see. Well then, what if I were to subsidize your hunting? You come here, live at the manor - a whole room to yourself, with a bathroom, and access to the facilities."
"I contact your employer and your parents, arrange the whole thing. All you have to do is agree, and I will take care of everything else. Your family will be taken care of, your finances will be secure, and you will get to do what you love and get paid for it. All you need to do is say yes."
[One year later. The girl is crawling through the bush, rifle in hands. She crests a ridge and aims through the scope. Her prey is somewhere down there, and she needs to track. This is a big one, because it's the first real hunt She's ordered. There's no way she's going to fuck this up.]
[The creature would be standing near a water source, in a pack of its fellows. Just one prey animal among many. But herd safety doesn't exist here. There is no herd safety from her.]
[The bud in her ear crackles to life.]
"Report."
[The sound of Her voice sends a shiver down her spine.]
"I'm here, Sir. Tracked target in sight."
"Good girl. I want you to breathe, just like we practiced, and remember that you're doing such a good job for me. You're so close now, and once you're finished, you can come back home to me for your reward."
[Squirming, but breathing, she settles herself.]
[The target swims in her scope. Short, fat, hairy. Like some sort of ugly, corrupted pig on two legs. Two legs? She whines. She's never hunted anything on two legs before. What was she doing out here again? She's supposed to shoot the pig, but why is he laughing and smoking a cigar?]
"You sound like you're struggling. Take a deep breath for me."
"Sir!"
[A whine. A whimper. Her trigger finger shakes. Her scope blurs - or is it her eyes bluring?]
"Sir I don't... I don't know what..."
"Shhhhh, shhhhh, that's okay. It's okay my pretty girl, you don't need to fight, I'm here."
"Take one deep breath for me."
[She inhales to the sound of Her inhaling in the bud in her ear.]
"Hound, heel."
[She exhales. The shakes go away. The tears run dry. She breathes out her emotions, her thoughts, her feelings in one sickly cloud. Her finger stiffens around the trigger.]
"Now, Hound. Take the shot. Make it a killing one. And when you're finished, come back home to me. I miss you, pretty dog."
[The crosshairs swivel to the man's bald head. She waits until she has the perfect shot. She doesn't know how long she lays there waiting - dogs have no concept of time.]
[Eventually he stops moving and turns to look at the sunset - facing directly towards her hiding spot. The crosshairs settle over his right eye, she adjusts the scope so she can clearly see the white in his eyes. Then she pulls the trigger, the same as she has hundreds of times before today.]
[When she goes home, her Handler is there waiting for her, glee in Her expression. She's been getting more happy lately, talking about old rivals, old battles, political things. They're all such complicated ideas, and she's glad for Her, but those things aren't for dogs to understand.]
[All she needs to understand is that Handler wants her to go hunting again soon. She's *so* excited to go hunting for Her again.]