Big Sis Victory motivates the Scrap Sisters into action

Exhausted pilots, young and old, huddled together in their underground hangar. The sound of the battle raging overhead shook the roof and threatened to kill them all, but... their machines were already trashed, so they might as well be dead anyway.

A young man hiccuped out a sob and turned away in shame, before the grizzled veteran beside him slapped a hand on his shoulder, turning it into outright ugly crying. It wasn't supposed to be like this! The corporations weren't supposed to know where they were. They were supposed to ambush them, show the world that you could fight back and win! And... instead they're just waiting to die, staring at the bonfire lit in the hopes that it eats all the oxygen in the room before the corpos can get in and execute them publicly.

But instead that fire takes on an odd color, one nobody has seen before. Flame of Victory, and emerging from it a massive figure covered in Fur the color of Freedom. Towering over everything in the room except for the pieces of what used to be mechanized infantry, a Hellhound. She looks around with a massive smile on her face, ready to participate in some mischief and standard Hellhound things, but the men around her are so distraught that not even the appearance of a demon can change things. The smile fades. "Hey, what gives? Why the long faces?"

The oldest and most grizzled of them drags himself upright despite the blood oozing through his uniform. "Bastards got us pinned down. You not from here, miss? Might want to leave. Corpos aren't a fan of extraplanar visitors." The Hellhound frowns now, flame wrapped around her dispersing through the room, the history of this world, of it's people sliding through the objects and into her head. The frown becomes a snarl, eyes full of supernova. "I'm so sick of these corporate dystopia worlds!" she roars. "They're no fun at ALL! Ugh!" She stomps her paw. And then she's all smiles again, the supernova in her eyes fading away. "Okay! Don't worry! Big Sis will fix this!" she declares, Flame of Victory localizing in her paws, taking the form of pom-poms, as a short skirt manifests around her waist and a far too tight top to match.

The tired soldiers stare in confusion and disbelief, all but the oldest of them convinced that they're hallucinating from oxygen deprivation. The oldest of them allow themselves a moment of hope that one of the ridiculous creatures that used to roam the lands in their youth will actually fix things like she declared. Big Sis Victory closes her eyes and bounces on her hindpaws for a few moments before shaking those firey pom-poms, sparks of victory flying around the room. "1, 2, 3, 4! Pick yourselves up off the floor!" She cheers.

"5, 6, 7, 8! Corporate bastards aren't so great!" she continues. The pilots blink slowly, none of them being able to have predicted this, nor being able to predict the exhaustion and despair leaving their bodies. "9, 10, 11, 12! Big Sis says give 'em hell!" she continues. The pilots find themselves pulling each other to their feet despite everything. So what if their machines are trashed? So what if something just exploded above their heads so hard that the ceiling is starting to collapse?! Big Sis says give 'em hell!

Big Sis Victory's cheering stops just long enough for her to throw a wall of flame at the ceiling that holds it in place despite the audible sound of mechanical fists now slamming down into it from above. Corpo bastards trying to crack their way in. She continues bouncing on her paws as she tries to get her rhythm back after that interruption, the smile on her face growing wider and wider as she sees the pilots on their feet, uniforms growing ill fitting, beards melting away into fur of a variety of colors on their faces. Even if she stopped now they would survive this attack, escape with newfound strength and speed to strike back another day. But Survival isn't the color of her Flame, that's her sister's thing. "Flame of Victory wreathed around, get ready to beat them to the ground!"

With a cheer the pilots take off to the scrap metal that was once gleaming weapons of warfare, manifestations of themselves of a titanic stature. Pointed ears more powerful than any radar, noses that can smell weapons charging up miles away bestowed now to all of them. Paws wrap around control sticks and a rainbow of flames that would overwhelm a mantis shrimp with all of the different colors burst into existence, blinding every single one of them until their eyes simply reconfigure to demonic standard. Dead metal screams to life. Flame burns wires back into operational order, re-attaches limbs, creates new weapons and ammunition out of sheer Essence.

When Big Sis Victory's wall of flame gives out, the public execution squad cracking into the underground hangar expects to find a group of men ready to die. The corporate army that slaughtered their comrades on live television before cracking into the hangar that was meant to be their tomb outnumbers them a thousand to one, but every disabled machine simply roars back to life, wreathed in flame that grows brighter and brighter.

Unprepared for a foe that can fight back, corporate pilots groomed only to look professional and desirable in propaganda have no choice but to fall back with their tails between their legs. Big Sis Victory turns the camera to her little sisters, their machine's heads cracking open, mouths filled with jagged metal teeth erupting with a victorious howl that shakes the foundations of the world, the Little Sister Hellhound pilots erupting from the open mouths in balls of flame to crash down around the corporate general that didn't get the chance to run.

And so the world is left watching a platoon of newly reborn demons descend on a man screaming and begging for mercy that he's never offered anyone else, and those screams melt away into brainless moans and vapid giggles, left nothing more than a soft, squishy chewtoy. Big Sis Victory salutes to her little sisters that return the gesture. "Full scale war isn't my thing! So you girls make this a world that Big Sis can come back to and have some fun in, yeah?"

"Anything for you, Big Sis!" they cry out in return. Depending on where you fall, those words inspire fear or hope in equal measure. Big Sis Victory will return one day, to a world of freedom. And her platoon of little sisters will finally be able to drop their weapons and show their thanks how a Hellhound does.