SANDOR-16754C had fallen in love with his Little Bird and her chirping the moment they entered basic training. He loved her beautiful auburn locks, to stroke his fingers through her hair even after it had fallen out during the augmentation process. Her blue eyes never ceased to steal the breath from his lungs. The few times during training in which LION Squadron had worked with WOLF Squadron Sandor had tried to his best not to simply stare at her perfect skin and the gentle curves of her strong body.

SANSA-167677C, hadn’t returned the same affections for a long while, and his heart ached every time he thought of his Little Bird being with Joffery, the prick little “hero” of LION Squadron. His Little Bird being fucked by the handsome little asshat who had only been brought into the SPARTAN-III program because his grandfather was apparently this great scientist. Tywin Lannister, his name, famous for creating an even safer way to create AI’s, or Artificial Intelligences.

He wanted to tear up as he stared at her.

He could almost feel her.

Almost.

Sansa Stark had been one of the first to be “sacrificed” for the greater good of the program, as even though her body had yet to be distorted during the augmentation process, she had been deemed unable to continue forth with training for an unknown reason. Sandor had wanted bash a someone’s head in at that fact. He wanted to die with her. To watch as the enemy swarmed over them and fight and kill with her until their dying breaths.

The Hound, he was called by most everyone between the seven squadrons of SPARTAN-III company Zeta. ROSE, DRAGON, WOLF, KRAKEN, LION, and STAG. They all knew he was bred to kill. To destroy. But a hound is always loyal to it’s master, and he would shoot himself on command if Sansa asked him too. Little Bird, she was called now. And even now, when her name came rasping out of his throat when he was too drunk to care if anyone saw him, Sandor would tear up and call for her over and over.

He wanted her, and no one else.

Any other type of relationship he’d had with the other SPARTAN-III had been nothing but primordial instinct. Asha had tried for a long time to reawaken the urge to fuck for love instead of just plain animal instinct. He was a hound after all, and a hound is happy to fuck any bitch that comes his way.

He sometimes caught her slender, lady-like hologram glancing at him, blue gaze shimmering as if she was still human, standing in front of him. Little Bird was just as polite as his Sansa, always chirping away. The AI had taken the liberty to choosing the form of a young medieval woman in a long dress.

Bloody Sansa would never wear a goddamn dress.

He thought angrily as the Little Bird chirped and chattered away at the many scientist on the bridge of The King. What was left of the Zeta SPARTAN-III company were all on the ship, waiting for whatever suicide mission was coming their way next.

Sometimes, though he caught her watching him in the onboard training rooms, dodging and firing at the holographic Sangheili and Jiralhanae. Aftering he had finished, she would pop up out of nowhere with a scared smile on her face and congratulate him on beating his last record.

“Excellent job, Ser.” Another one of those strange smiles. Sansan never smiled at him like that. It was almost awkward.

“I ain’t no Ser, Little Bird.” Even the damned computer outranks me. I’m just the canon fodder.

“Oh,” She would say, so unlike his Sansa it made him want to smash her hologram console right then and there. “I apologize, S-.”

He clenched his fist.

“Sandor.”

The light in him was suddenly rejuvenated. Brought forward at an astounding speed.

“Sansa?”

Silence followed. He’d forgotten, she was no Sansa, only Little Bird remained. Sansa was nothing but the beginning of her, Little Bird was only a fragment of her sweet mind. She cleared her nonexistent throat, and spoke again, this time in question. “I hear you call that name while you are. . . . intoxicated, Sandor.” She paused again, eyes wide, as if he was really going to run up to her and punch her lights out. “May I ask who she was? If I may be of assistance in finding her?”

Sandor’s mouth went dry as Mars, his steel-colored eyes suddenly just as nervous as the Little Bird’s. “No, Little Bird. You wouldn’t know her.”

“Are you positive, Sandor? She sounds famili-”

“No. No. You don’t know her.”