Chapter Text
The hangar was quieter when they arrived. A shift change had cleared out the mechanics and ground troops. Now the only occupants were the enemy pilots, dressed in their distinctive oil-black bodysuits. They leaned against the railings of the gantry, inspecting the repairs that had been made to their mechs. The damage Actaia had done to them was erased. So too is the puddle of vomit, mopped up by some custodian.
"Undo your top," the handler ordered. The other pilots heard this and turned, leering down and exchanging inaudible comments as they watched.
Actaia complied. Opening the fastenings, the sides of the fatigues separated, revealing her bruised breasts and a belly wrapped in bloodstained bandages.
"What…have you done to me?"
"You were stupid to try grabbing a ration pack. Even so, we could not afford to execute you for it. Skilled pilots are hard to come by. Loyalty and love are fickle. But there is one infallible leash." She gave the literal item a tug for emphasis. "With a little surgery and a few retroviral injections, you can never again digest anything the rebels could provide you with. Don't even think about another daring raid on our stores, either, because the ingredients are nothing without the right recipes, and those are my little secret."
The frankness with which the handler described the atrocity appalled her. Her hands clenched into fists, uselessly.
Out from behind the handler's back came not a dish but a metal bowl.
"The only way you can feel full ever again is to become my dog~."
She set it down on the floor. Inside there was some kind of green sludge, visually repugnant, like it had been scraped from the inside of an algal bioreactor. But the scent…
"If I - can I eat in private?" Actaia pleaded.
"No talking! A person may speak but animals don't."
She shut her mouth and looked plaintively between the bowl and the corridor back to her cell.
"Silly girl. Dogs don't care who sees them eat."
She tried to reach for the bowl to lift it, and the handler slid it away with a nudge of her boot.
Sinking down to her haunches, she lowered herself to lap it up. The taste was even more of an assault than the smell, thick heady umami like licking out the inside of a jar of yeast spread, an oily texture that lingered in the mouth, and a seaweed musk that roiled in the back of the throat. It all mingled with the bitterness of her bile and the tears that fell into the bowl as the handler pet her hair.