Aside from the initial commotion following their escape, the drive from the now vaporized St. Petersburg had largely been quiet. It had been a very stressful, very hectic, and all-around nerve racking day.

The road to Nizhny Novogorod seemed endless over the horizon, and darkness had fallen. Stars were now glittering in the sky, but the soldiers in the truck felt no desire to even look at them, or anything really-they were simply too drained. They had fought, killed, and barely escaped from that place with their lives.

They stopped every once in a while. If someone had to heed the call of nature, or switch out drivers, they would stop for no longer than five minutes, and then it was back on the road to get as far away from the barrier as possible. They passed through deserted smaller towns that looked to have been evacuated in a hurry, doors flapping against the walls of houses. Hyong-Jin swore that he could smell dinners left to rot in the mass exodus. Trash and suitcases littered the streets of these desolate places.

Sergei had taken over driving duties, but it still didn’t relieve Yon-Soo’s highway hypnosis. The road was so repetitive and it just didn’t seem like it would end. Finally Hyong-Jin asked the inevitable question, “So how much longer now anyway?”

Porter groaned; Hyong-Jin and Firebrand were the most impatient during this hours long ride, and though he couldn’t blame them, it did get annoying at times. Even worse was how they would sometimes continually ask if they were at Nizhny Novogorod yet, partially just to amuse themselves. He picked up the GPS and looked over it before replying, “At least another two more hours.”

A collective sigh rolled through the truck, like a wave cresting and receding from the shore.

“Arrggghh!!” Firebrand half-groaned, half-growled out of frustration. “This is getting so tiring! How do you people not lose your sanity over these long trips?!”

Yon-Soo shrugged and said, “Well, Equestria’s a lot smaller than Russia, plus you can fly, Firebrand. You don’t have to worry about that stuff right?”

“Not really,” he replied. “We actually had pretty basic trains in Equestria before the war against Sombra and the Crystal Empire. I think the Equestrian trains were along the level of those trains from your 1800s.”

Porter couldn’t help but notice. “So the Royal Guards use swords and shields and all that other kind of medieval level stuff, yet you have stuff like trains? Didn’t some ponies decry technology as evil or something?”

Their prisoner, Cyclone Twister, butted in, yelling, “Yes, it is an abomination that poisons the soul, corrupts the planet and - OWW!”

Hyong-Jin whacked him over the head with the butt of his shotgun. That, and a very well-placed death glare, shut the loudmouth up.

Firebrand stifled a chuckle at the sight, sighed and said, “I’m confused by it too, honestly. You have things we’ve had for decades, centuries even, but in your world they’re obsolete. And there’s tech we couldn’t even imagine back in Equestria… some ponies said your development made no sense, as if that was a bad thing, but I’m beginning to think it’s us that make no sense.”

Sergei chipped in, “So it’s just plain hypocrisy then?”

“I guess so.”

Yon-Soo felt nothing short of blistering scorn for this whole situation. It was that accident at CERN that opened the portal allowing the Equestrians to come, and judging from the friendships he and the others made with Firebrand and other good ponies out there, it was more than perfectly possible that humans and ponies could get along in genuine harmony. There was so much that could have been accomplished!

So why was Queen Celestia so insistent? Why wouldn’t she listen to reason?

Yon-Soo couldn’t help but wonder if there was something even bigger, even worse, at work here.

“Brace yourselves,” Porter said, “looks like we’ll have to go through a security checkpoint.”

“I don’t care,” Hyong-Jin admitted. “At least we don’t have to drive anymore for a while.”

Yon-Soo snorted and said, “Yeah. Did you and Firebrand really have to continuously ask “are we there yet” over and over again?”

Firebrand and Hyong-Jin both laughed; Yon-Soo had to groan as he made a mental note to himself to limit their viewings of The Simpsons.

The Tigr stopped at the checkpoint and some fully equipped security guards ran out, one yelling, “Halt! State your name and purpose!”

Porter saluted and replied, “I’m Porter Stanley. We’re Tigr Unit 8402-Romeo. We evacuated from St. Petersburg and were instructed to come to Nizhny Novogorod. We also have a prisoner - a Royal Guard pegasus.”

The guard eyed Porter before giving the go-ahead to someone else to check the back of the vehicle. The other guard opened the back doors and Yon-Soo moved out of the way, showing the pegasus guard who was now struggling and screaming at them to release him.

“Yeah, that definitely is a prisoner,” the guard nodded, evaluating everyone else before giving a thumbs up to the main guy. “The bruises look authentic, too.”

“Alright, you are all cleared to enter,” said the security officer. “Park your vehicle at the designated garage, and take your prisoner to intelligence. If you wish to, go to the main hospital, relax, have a meal, and follow protocol from there.”

“Thank you,” Porter said to him as he drove the truck past the checkpoint and into the city.

Nizhny Novogorod had a similar vibe to it as St. Petersburg did. It was to be expected as the city was the fifth largest city in Russia. The buildings were beautifully painted and had a historically majestic feel to them, lush green trees lined the roadsides, and Yon-Soo could see the large beautiful blue river running off in the distance. But it was hardly the time to sightsee right now.

Like many other places they had been in, soldiers were everywhere, patrolling the area, giving a tense vibe to the general atmosphere. They were cooperating with local law enforcement to help civilians that had come in from St. Petersburg and probably Moscow as well. There were lines of people signing up to join military resistance movements, or just trying to receive food rations or find out where to stay for the night. Some were armed, carrying guns from all over the history of Russia - surplus of the second world war, Kalashnikovs that ran the full spectrum from the wood furniture and beaten metal of 1947 to the polymer of 2018, ancient hunting rifles, Saiga shotguns, and even what looked like pneumatic rifles, small single-action revolvers, and what looked for all the world like a cheap copy of an American .44 Magnum. It was like a small arms museum had come out to fight. And everything looked so backed up and crowded, traffic everywhere and people (mostly refugees) were adrift and confused.

“Where do we go first?” asked Hyong-Jin.

Porter replied, “If I remember correctly, we should go to the Nizhny Novogorod State Medical Academy. Apparently, it’s been partially converted to a center for military operations.”

“And we can finally drop this annoying load off there too, right?” Firebrand asked, pointing to Cyclone Twister, whose mouth had been stuffed with some cloth Hyong-Jin found.

“Yes,” the American soldier said in a slightly exasperated tone, “he won’t be our concern for much longer.”

“Thank God,” Hyong-Jin said, giving a sigh of relief.

A couple minutes passed, and the traffic was still badly congested. Yon-Soo could notice that Porter was looking a bit frustrated, especially when several other drivers were honking their vehicle’s horns, and law enforcement was having its hands full trying to direct everything. Suddenly a man in a green military uniform ran up to the Tigr, prompting Yon-Soo to roll the window down.

“Hey, are you all from the St. Petersburg evacuation units?” the cadet asked them.

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“Nothing really, but since you’re military, there is a special route you guys can take if you’re going to the State Medical Academy,” he told them.

“We’ll take it,” Yon-Soo said immediately, looking for any excuse to get out of this truck. “Which way do we go?”

The cadet pointed them down a street, barely wider than an alleyway, which several annoyed-looking policeman were waving other vehicles away from. “Go that way, make a right turn, and follow the other vehicles.”

“Got it!” Porter said to him before he turned the wheel and began going towards the special route. Yon-Soo couldn’t help but notice in the rear view mirrors meanwhile that some impatient civilians started getting into scuffles with law enforcement over how slow the traffic was going.

The military route was much quicker, though it still was clogged in its own way. There were several Tigrs, along with other kinds of military vehicles. Several soldiers and the ponies on their side were walking along as well, many looking just downtrodden, even as they pushed carts and lifted boxes of ammo, supplies, weapons and whatever else was packed in those crates.

They soon reached the front of the Nizhny Novogorod State Medical Academy, which was surrounded with tents that seemed to be hastily put together. It looked like most of them were being used as makeshift hospital rooms for soldiers and even civilians alike. Others were full of intelligence officers discussing various matters regarding the barrier, fighting royal guards and newfoals, and international affairs, and there was even one with what looked like senior officers looking over maps and talking about strategies.

It was what now was a very familiar scene to Yon-Soo; everyone busy, on edge, and burning their candles from both ends. People were running around, double and triple-checking things, trying to prioritize between their tasks and pushing themselves beyond their limits. A security officer walked up to the driver’s seat, prompting Porter to roll the window.

“Good evening. From what I see, you’re Tigr Unit 8402-Romeo. Are you Lt. Stanley?” he asked.

“Yes. Is there something important going on that requires our attention?”

“Just that I was sent to look for you. You said over the radio that you had a prisoner on board this vehicle, correct?”

“Yes, we do,” Yon-Soo answered. “Do you know exactly who we should bring him to?”

“Yes,” the soldier replied. “You can exit your vehicle now, since the mechanics will have to look over every vehicle that came out from St. Petersburg and Moscow anyway for maintenance checks.”

“Understood,” Porter and Yon-Soo answered in unison, and the group got to leaving the Tigr. Sergei swung Cyclone Twister over one of his shoulders as Firebrand and Hyong-Jin gathered their own belongings. A soldier in a rather greasy maintenance suit ran up and took the steering wheel, driving the truck off to another section of this makeshift base.

“Follow me,” the officer said to them, his tone somewhat urgent now.

Yon-Soo just felt worn out if he had to be honest with himself. He trudged alongside his friends as they went into the Medical Academy building. Tonight, it had been converted into a full hospital. Human and pony soldiers and doctors were everywhere, tending to people that had been injured in anyway during the evacuations, and other sick people. It was a whole different kind of chaos really.

This wasn’t the first time Yon-Soo had asked himself if he really knew what he was getting himself into, but right now, he felt the full weight of what had just happened over the past 20 hours completely sink in.

He was in a war.

He felt sick, horrified and thankful all at once. His head was light and dizzy…

“Uh, Yon-Soo, are you okay?” Porter asked.

Yon-Soo darted for a nearby trashbin and promptly vomited. As much as his throat burned, he felt a feeling of release from vomiting. He had felt head crushing stress and a flurry of contradictory emotions overwhelm him, and this surprisingly helped. He felt strangely woozy inside.

“Yon-Soo!” Porter nearly yelled in concern and fear as he rushed by his friend’s side. Yon-Soo hacked and coughed, spitting up foul bile as he tried to steady himself. A nurse was by Yon-Soo’s side helping him up as she took him to a nearby chair to run quick checks on him.

“Holy shit, Yon-Soo, are you alright?” Porter asked him shakily. He had seen this kind of thing before in rookie soldiers and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t expected it. Hyong-Jin and Yon-Soo had handled themselves rather well, but it had to come at some point.

After gasping for air, Yon-Soo looked at Porter and replied, “To be honest, I don’t know.”

Porter looked to the rest of the group and said to them, “Drop the prisoner off to intelligence. I’ll stay with Yon-Soo.”

Sergei gave Porter a thumbs up and said, “Sure thing. We’ll see you later.”

As the rest of the. walked off to deliver Cyclone Twister to intel, Firebrand looked at Hyong-Jin with concern.

“What?” the North Korean soldier asked. “You think I’m going to throw up too?”

“No! I don’t think that,” Firebrand said defensively. “But I can understand why Yon-Soo would break down like that. How are you still standing?”

Hyong-Jin had to admit, Firebrand brought up a good point. Why?

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted.

Firebrand sighed, and just followed along, blocking out the sounds and sights of soldiers and civilians frantically scrambling all over the hospital to do something. He sure hoped this war would be over soon, for everyone’s sake…

“Don’t be disappointed with yourself Yon-Soo,” Porter reassured him. “This was your first major fight, and you did have to do a lot things to survive the day.”

“I know,” the former actor/model/singer said, sighing. “Still…”

Yon-Soo took another drink from the water bottle they gave him as he chewed on some bread to settle his stomach down. They were quiet for a moment before Yon-Soo asked, “Does it ever get easier, Porter?”

“Not exactly. Easy just means you can walk through and just shoot, and ignore the bullets the few times you get hit, like some cheesy old action movie. You do get sharper though.”

Yon-Soo let that sink in for a second. He understood that fighting was the only option at this point, and if anything, killing the newfoals was, in a way, doing them a favor. Even if they were former humans.

Still, staying alive through that whole battle took everything out of him. It was through a combination of raw skill, luck and teamwork that they were able to even survive.

So why did it feel like they hadn’t accomplished much?

Porter then got up and said, “Well, I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve all gone through a lot, and we should rest and regain our strength while we can. I’m going to see if I can be able to get in touch with my family, let them know I’m alive and all that.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me. I should probably do that too,” Yon-Soo agreed as he gingerly got up.

“Oh thank God you’re safe now, Porter!” a female voice gasped over the phone. “We heard the news about what happened in North Korea, and from what we heard, it’s turned into a madhouse! We’ve been worried sick. It kept us all up at night, thinking you might be dead or turned into a newfoal, and by God I wasn’t sure which was worse!”

“I was real worried about you too, mom,” he replied, giving a sigh of relief. Just talking to his family, it felt like the world had become a little bit safer; if they weren’t newfoals, then perhaps things weren’t quite as bad as they seemed. “And how are you three doing back home?”

A gruff male voice replied, “Well, we’re all holding up well. We’ve been helping in all kinds of small jobs to aid the war effort. Guarding and patrolling have never gotten any easier.”

Porter smiled, slightly glad that his parents and little brother were all safe and sound (or as safe as they could be in this war). “That is good to hear. But I’m mostly calling to ask you something.”

“What is it, son?” his father asked.

“Well, I’ve been keeping up with the news somewhat, and I did meet Ambassador Heartstrings a while ago, and from what I’ve seen, the Human Liberation Front isn’t looking at the problem from the right direction. It’s all ‘four legs bad, two legs good’ with them, and from what the Ambassador said, that doesn’t seem right. I’ve gotten worried, so I have to wonder if you’re still with them.”

Porter’s mother replied, “Well it’s good that you’ve been keeping up on the news. And you don’t have to worry too much about us; we already left a long time ago.”

Porter sighed with relief, and asked, “What happened? Just curious.”

“You’ve heard the reports of some HLF members kidnapping ponies and any ‘sympathizers’, torturing and brutally killing them and releasing the videos to the news, I take it?”

Porter grimly answered, “Yes. The worst part is that they always act like we should be thanking them, the entitled sons of bitches,” he growled, before letting his mind wander momentarily. He did see that the HLF had a website of its own, and there were also reports that several similar groups began popping up all over the rest of the world. Since they followed the same philosophy, Porter knew in his gut there would probably be similar crimes going on here in Russia, and probably the rest of Asia. ‘Or,’ a deeply pessimistic part of him suggested, ‘They’ll be wherever humans are displaced to.’

He didn’t like the sound of that; it meant that every assignment he had in the future, every possible means of cooperation with escaped ponies that could possibly find a way to get past the barrier would become infinitely more difficult. And there was also the feeling he had that they would probably get an assignment in the future to deal with these groups.

‘God,’ he thought, ‘what a waste that’ll be…’

“Aitmatov, Melnik! You guys are alright!” Sergei said excitedly.

“It will take way more than a bunch of newfoal pansies to put us down,” the older soldier said. “I’ve survived worse things than those goddamned bullet-sponges in my day.”

“Damn right!” Melnik agreed. “You look out there and see a bunch of evil brain-raped newfoals, I see a target-rich environment.”

“Like shooting fish in a barrel, it was,” Aitmatov said, almost wistful, a smile on his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone through a magazine in so little time. Hell, aim for the unicorns while they’re casting spells, and they practically explode! I just remember thinking there, ‘Oh my God! They explode! My life has new meaning now...’”

“Oh, you two are incorrigible,” a female voice said. “Aren’t you supposed to be older than me?”

Sergei looked down and saw the voice’s source. A lean but toned pegasus mare with an icy blue coat, silver eyes and a black mane and tail. Her mane was pulled back into a bun, and her cutie mark looked like snowflakes blowing in the wind.

Yon-Soo said, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve caught your name.”

She held her hoof out and placed it in Yon-Soo’s hand in an approximation of a handshake, answering, “My name’s Blizzard Flurry. Nice to meet you, Yon-Soo! I have to say, I really liked your work in ‘The Baker’s Dilemma.’ You were the funniest I’ve seen.”

Yon-Soo blushed, feeling slightly flustered at the fact that someone pointed out his pre-war profession. It hardly seemed appropriate; he was just one of many people who signed up to stop the Equestrian threat. And if he had to be honest, it was a bit embarrassing too.

“Any idea what to do now?” Hyong-Jin asked, rubbing his sore muscles. It was hard to blame him for being both confused and tired. They had evacuated an entire city, escaped from the Royal Guards, newfoals and the Barrier with their lives intact, drove for nearly 15 hours straight through the countryside and now just dropped their prisoner off to intelligence. It seemed like Cyclone Twister would not cooperate easily, but he wasn’t their problem anymore.

“I’d say some good old-fashioned R and R,” Porter said when he walked towards them. “We definitely deserve some, don’t we?”

Everyone nodded solemnly. It had been a very stressful and long day, and right now, there was something the men could all agree would help.

“Well, now what do we do?” Firebrand asked. The bar they’d found, a hole in the wall that likely didn’t see this much traffic in a year, had been kind enough to serve beers in a very large bowl to Firebrand, Blizzard and any other pony that visited. A cup likely wouldn’t have helped them at all, given that they couldn’t lift it in their mouths or with their wings.

Some of the patrons were soldiers, just like them, who needed to unwind. Others were civilians, just needing something normal after the ordeal they all had gone through. And there were citizens of Nizhny Novgorod who had been regulars of this bar, enjoying what little time they had left here before they would have to outrun the barrier themselves.

It went without saying that everyone in the bar just needed a freaking drink. They’d all seen yet another city steeped in history and home to millions wiped off the earth for the umpteenth time, destroyed in a manner so contemptuously and anticlimactically simple that there were almost no words that could describe it. It was so very anticlimactic and inevitable that the news barely paid mention to it. Years ago, in Yon-Soo’s childhood, the destruction of just an important building would leave the world reeling, but they were now all numbed to such tragedy.

More than a few people in this bar had lived in St. Petersburg or Moscow, and they could pack only the bare necessities and a few heirlooms in the hasty evacuations. They were all essentially homeless. Some were making drunken phone calls to family and friends from outside the country, asking for sanctuary. Others simply cried, not knowing what do now that they were left adrift. Friendships based on necessity were forged on the spur of the moment, with men and women, mares and stallions from countries consumed by the barrier shaking hooves or hands, pledging to share payment for their new residences. Assuming they could find them.

They all knew the future was uncertain. They all knew that they had little but suffering to look forward to. But in this bar, like many others across the globe, they could forget that if only for a couple hours.

There were several TVs showing the news. One had mentions of heroic resistance in Moscow. Choppy footage shot from the back of a dusty pickup truck in the Middle East, as resistance fighters tried desperately to outrun the barrier, firing off their DsHK at the few ponies that came close, which would became famous in journalism in the years to come for truly capturing the monolithic horror of the Barrier.

Another TV showed cheap cell-phone video of a wild-bearded Menschabwehrfraktion man in relatively modern armor cobbled together from several sources, clearing an entire street of charging newfoals with a last desperate spray of an MG2019 light machine gun as others in the Menschabwehrfraktion waved off people in some faraway desert, pushing them towards a plane.

Yet another TV showed interviews with refugees whose faces were wet from hours of crying, or left so shocked that they were almost dead to the world, responding to questions lazily, half-babbling as if they could not truly comprehend what had happened. A mention of a ragged fleet of ancient Equestrian ships, soon nicknamed the “Mercy Ships,” landing on the east coast of South America, lashed together, battered by fire-spells and storms from pegasi, full of starving refugees. Footage from a helicopter taken next to the door gun had shown them as a charnelhouse, with ancient Equestrian taboos against water burial literally overthrown as one dead unicorn dropped into the ocean.

And then, finally, commercials. But that didn’t do much to ease anyone’s anxiety; if anything, it felt like complete mood whiplash.

“Well, I do remember you promised us that you’d tell us a bit about yourself,” Yon-Soo reminded him, taking another sip from his beer. “What’s the history between you and that Guard anyway?”

Firebrand sighed and began, “Well, you guys know that I was in the Royal Guard before all of this happened, right?”

“Yeah, I remember you saying something to Lyra about getting kicked out. What happened?” Porter asked.

“It was about a year before the war against the Crystal Empire began. I signed up to join the Royal Guard; just felt natural to me. And I met Cyclone Twister there, and we became pretty good friends. He was competitive and driven, and he and I just got along well with each other. Many of the guys in our unit joked that he and I were like brothers separated at birth.”

Aitmatov then remarked, “But then some kind of falling out occurred?”

“Exactly,” the pegasus said. “I’ll admit, it was stupid of me to have agreed with it in the first place… but basically, Cyclone and I were at a bar near the training base, with our other unit members, just drinking and having a good time. We were acting stupid and dared each other to do something crazy. Cyclone dared me to show off this offensive trick I developed. And I was drunk and fearlessly stupid enough to accept it.”

“Whoa, what kind of trick was it?” Hyong-Jin asked, clearly very interested.

Firebrand took another sip from his beer and replied, “It was this fire tornado. It’s hard to explain, but basically, when I fly fast enough, I’ll heat the air around me enough to trail fire behind me. I was trying to think of different fighting moves and tricks to do with this. I came up with the fire tornado with Cyclone’s help. I did just that. But to reiterate, I was drunk and stupid that night.”

“And then things went wrong,” Porter dryly commented, drinking another shot of vodka. He could guess how this ended.

Hyong-Jin however was transfixed. “That sounds so cool! I’d love to see you do one of those against some newfoals!”

Firebrand actually shot Hyong-Jin a hard, unflinching glare. He strictly said, “Hyong-Jin, I know it sounds cool, but it’s also incredibly risky, and I’m about to tell you why. I was able to fly fast and smoothly enough to make a decently sized tornado. Cyclone was egging me on and he told me to go by the officers’ quarters, just to show off and give them a good scare. I agreed to it, and tried to move the tornado by their quarters. I lost control very quickly, and the tornado actually threw me right out and it went out on its own. The tornado went haywire and fire rained down on everything, destroying a huge chunk of the officers’ quarters and parts of the base, while injuring a few others.”

The look of guilt on Firebrand’s face was clear as he recounted this. But Yon-Soo could also see some anger boiling underneath too, as Firebrand continued on.

“I woke up the next morning with a giant hangover and surrounded by a bunch of angry guards. The higher ranking officers told me right there that I was getting discharged from the guard. And Cyclone was nowhere to be seen. I tried to ask him about it, but he just pretended like nothing happened; never once did he try to stick up for me. He pinned the whole thing on me, and every pony believed him,” Firebrand growled angrily.

Blizzard breathed, “Wow, that sure stinks. What happened after that?”

Firebrand took another sip of his beer before answering, “I confronted Cyclone and nearly got into a fight with him, which only made things worse between me and the other guards. I left the camp and went back home, and my parents were disappointed but understanding enough to let me back. Since then I was doing several odd jobs as a bodyguard for other ponies.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, letting Firebrand’s story sink in. Yon-Soo was the first to speak.

“So why were you so secretive about this?”

Firebrand shrugged sadly and said, “I just look back on that and feel so embarrassed. But at the same time, especially right now, I kinda realize how lucky I am in retrospect. If I were still in the Guard today, I’d be like the rest of them, forcibly ponifying people.”

“Yes, you would be,” Porter nodded. “But you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about it. We don’t think any less of you for what happened or for getting kicked out. My mom always liked to say ‘if one door closes, there’s another door open with new opportunities.’”

“Yeah, you never would have met us!” Hyong-Jin added happily, holding his beer up for a cheer. “And you are not just a good soldier, but an awesome person in general! We are all glad to have you here, Firebrand.”

“Indeed we are,” Yon-Soo added, raising his glass cheerfully.

As the guys cheerfully drank in honor of Firebrand, someone in the bar yelled, “Holy shit! Everyone, look at the news! Something insane just happened in America!”

The bar employees changed the channel on a couple TVs, and each one had the same report. ‘Breaking News’ they both said, and the news footage showed a giant mushroom cloud over a large field.

“Is that a nuclear bomb…?” Blizzard asked, her voice trembling with utter fear and all color drained from her face.

“Yes… holy shit…” Aitmatov answered her, his own voice shaking with shock. He trembled, moving towards Blizzard ever so slightly, his hand coming to rest on her fur, near her mane. “I’d hoped to God I’d never see one deployed.”

The anchor, a young attractive blond woman, swallowed a lump in her throat as she said, “Today, US President Jack Davis has... I'm sorry... I… He called for... for a nuclear strike of the country's capital. This is... The order was called after local law enforcement and military personnel fought for hours against the PER and a horde of newfoals. Despite the involvement of the PHL and the HLF, the newfoals overwhelmed their forces. A spokesperson for President Davis released a statement saying that the President came to his decision... Hold on, the President of the United States is broadcasting live from a secure location."

The feed cut to the Presidential Logo and podium, with President Davis walking from offscreen to stand at the podium, somber and clearly looking worse for the wear. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“My fellow Americans... Actually, I’d like to correct that... My fellow humans, just an hour ago, I was forced to make a call that will forever haunt me. After watching young women and men fighting tooth and nail in the defense of their capital…” President Davis slumped over, he held a hand to his face, grief and devastation clear on his features. “I watched my people fight for their very lives. I watched young men and women barely old enough to drive kill one another, renouncing their humanity, telling their families, their brothers that they had no souls, that humanity was a sickness, a curse....” he stopped, and continued, starting immediately on a new sentence. “All because of a single drop of liquid and they turned on each other... If only to stop the suffering of being enslaved and mentally warped beyond anything we have ever seen. I watched as my entire cabinet was nearly killed. People that I grew to care for and respected threw their very lives away to protect me. I... called for a nuclear strike on my own soil so as to keep the nation’s capital from falling to the Solar Tyrant’s hooves... Oh God… The families still inside...” President Davis fell, clutching to the podium as if it was a lifeline. He was clearly failing to be stoic, pretending that his face was not getting wet with tears.

“Mr. President!” a male voice called out. The feed was abruptly cut off, leaving a stunned reporter on screen again. She scrambled to recover.

“Uh… I-in similar news-”

As the anchor recounted some news pertaining to the status of the British Royal family, the whole bar went up into nervous chatter. It was one thing to be seeing cities get disintegrated by the barrier, but to see this go down was a whole different worry in itself. First all of North Korea, and now the American capital. It could happen to them too it felt like.

Porter and Hyong-Jin both looked completely shocked at this news. Porter just looked like he had been slapped in the face, while Hyong-Jin just looked horrified.

“Nukes? Again?!” the North Korean soldier asked. “We’re pretty much destroying ourselves, if you ask me!”

Yon-Soo cut in and said, “Hey, you heard what the President said. He certainly didn’t like making that decision. And hey, I’m pretty sure no one really wanted to nuke North Korea either; but in a time of war, there is no such thing as an easy decision.”

“But what about the right decision?” Hyong-Jin argued back. “You heard the President too. He admitted that there were still families, and children, in the city when the bomb hit. He might feel guilty, but that’s not an excuse!”

“I’m not excusing him, Hyong-Jin; I’m simply pointing out the fact that we are in a war, and everyone’s going to have to make tough choices. Easy, or right, we have to do what we got to do to win this.”

Porter cut in between them, hoping he could stop this from becoming a full blown argument. “Okay, look, both of you are right to an extent. President Davis had to make a very tough call, and there were undoubtedly a lot of casualties. But we are in a war right now, and if we lose, we will literally lose everything - our lives, history, culture, accomplishments, everything that makes us human; it will be as if we never even ever existed. All of us will have to cross a line at some point if we have any hope of winning this thing. I’ll be surprised at the end of all this what lines people wouldn’t cross.”

Both of them quieted down, as Porter’s argument was nothing if not very logical and true. This was a war, and not just that, but a war for humanity’s very survival. They would have to give everything they had to survive, or lose it all.

Yon-Soo sighed and rank the rest of his beer before saying, “Well then, I might as well savor the moment, and what little sanity I’ve got left at this point. Another beer please!”

The next morning, Yon-Soo woke up in the motel room he and his fellow soldiers had been granted, with a mild hangover, and a craving for some of his grandmother’s cooking. She sure did make some of the best doenjang jjigae, spicy squid and pajeon. He groaned, knowing the headache and nausea were his fault, and decent Korean food was about as rare in Russia as a penguin in a desert.

He wondered when the next time he’d get decent Korean food would be. It was a terrible thought.

Yon-Soo sighed and got up out of his cot, rubbing his forehead. He headed for the bathroom, washing his face to clear his vision. He examined himself in the mirror, and wasn’t surprised to see a couple scars on his face and torso. They didn’t look bad, but they definitely would not be favored by his now former agencies.

He had to be honest with himself, it was odd to be looking back his old life. He wasn’t selfish (or at least didn’t think of himself as such), but he had been superficial and a little haughty. He would have never imagined himself being in this situation. Fighting against brightly colored little horsies trying to assimilate humanity into their own. Or even just shooting a gun, jumping from rooftops, aiding in a city-wide evacuation, and all this other stuff that had been happening.

He sighed, knowing there was no way to back out of this. There would be no honor in that, and there would be no way he could ever live with himself if he did. He walked into the shower stall, and let the hot water soothe his aching muscles and raging hangover headache. He savored this nice moment of recovery, knowing it would probably be a long time before he could ever get a nice hot shower like this. He quickly washed himself up with the shampoo and soap the motel provided for them and got out, drying himself up and putting on a fresh set of clothes.

‘Much better,’ he thought to himself. He looked at himself in the mirror once more, wiping the steam that accumulated there. The scars were still visible, but still nowhere near as bad as they could have been. It was as if he could see a very different man in that mirror now.

He had a feeling he’d get worse scars as this war went on. A knock on the door shook him out of his reflections.

“Hey, Yon-Soo, are you in there still? Some of us really have to use the bathroom!” Firebrand said from the other side.

Yon-Soo opened the door, revealing Firebrand and Hyong-Jin, the latter really looking like he needed to heed the call of nature.

“You really can’t hold your liquor, huh, Hyong-Jin?” Yon-Soo asked him.

“Oh shut up!” Hyong-Jin said angrily, pushing past Yon-Soo into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Yon-Soo could vaguely hear water splashing into the toilet and a very relieved sigh of bliss from the other side of the door.

“You weren’t much better at holding your liquor either, Yon-Soo,” Porter grunted as he chugged a large cup of coffee.

“Oh well,” he said, shrugging. “It’s going to be a long while before I can ever savor anything, so I might as well have indulged a bit.”

Sergei simply said, “Well that’s good. At least I don’t have to drag your pink-faced inebriated giggling self all over town anymore.” When Yon-Soo looked defensive, he added, “But hey, at least you could still walk somewhat. Hyong-Jin was singing idiotic songs from some show he saw called “Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls,” and needed to ride on Firebrand’s back to get here. I always thought it was exaggeration, but I guess Asian people really can’t hold their liquor.”

Porter, Sergei and Firebrand were all laughing, but Yon-Soo and Hyong-Jin (who just exited the bathroom) both slapped their palms against their faces, partially out of embarrassment and partially because they really didn’t want to admit the others were spot-on.

“Okay!” Yon-Soo half yelled through clenched teeth, trying to hide his annoyance. “What’s the plan for today anyway?”

“I’d love to get something to eat first,” Porter admitted. “After that, we can go back to the Academy and regroup with other soldiers and find out where to go from there.”

“Sounds good,” Yon-Soo nodded.

Once everyone was done cleaning up and gathering their belongings, they trekked out to the city in search of somewhere to eat. The whole city was still just as backed up as it was last night; with civilians everywhere not knowing where to go or what to do. Most seemed like they were going to leave Nizhny Novogorod to hopefully safer zones farther east in Russia, or even to the Pacific, the Americas and Australia. But that still didn’t mean the whole place wasn’t congested. Several businesses in the area were filled beyond capacity trying to cater to clients, and the roads were so overcrowded with vehicles and pedestrians alike that even law enforcement was tied up in knots trying to direct things in an orderly fashion.

“Crap, where do we go now?” Firebrand asked, clearly frustrated.

“We’ll have to try to keep looking,” Porter replied.

It wasn’t exactly easy. Most restaurants and cafes were already having their own hands full trying to give clients a place to sit and a meal to eat. Some places even had to close because their stocks had run low, and knowing that the Barrier was close and that food supplies were unlikely to reach here due to there being other, more high-priority areas full of refugees who couldn’t bring any money during the evacuations, they were unlikely to ever reopen.

Firebrand began to complain, “Arrgh, how hard could it be to find a place to eat?!”

“Why don’t you just eat the grass at the park? You can’t be too dissimilar to earth horses, right?” Sergei asked him.

Firebrand’s lips pursed slightly as he answered, “Well, it’s weird. We can, and in especially desperate times like a famine, being lost in unfamiliar territory, or a harsh winter, or when they just couldn’t afford food, ponies can resort to grazing. But we generally don’t like it or find it appetizing. I think it’s about the same as a human eating bugs - you could eat bugs, but you probably wouldn’t because it’s just gross.”

Yon-Soo shrugged and said, “Eh, some cultures have bugs as food. I remember once seeing my grandparents in the countryside one summer as a kid, and my cousin and I ate some fried silkworms. Can’t say I liked it, but it’s there.”

Hyong-Jin snorted. “Please, it was worse back where I’m from. Some of us had to eat porridge made from the corn cob and dead birds we found on the sidewalks just so our stomachs would stop growling all the time. Anytime I get hungry nowadays, it’s nothing compared to how it was way long before.”

It was a rare moment for Hyong-Jin to talk about his past, and it was generally not something the guys liked hearing. Hyong-Jin’s childhood was no doubt brutal, and it was understandable that he generally didn’t like to talk much about his old life.

“Wait, what’s that up over there?” Firebrand pointed.

There was an orange sign in the distance, right next to what looked like a large house. It was written in Russian.

“What’s it say?” Porter asked Sergei.

“It says “hungry soldiers welcome here.” I think it’s worth a shot.”

They shrugged and decided to check it out. The house was some large duplex style home, and there were indeed a few soldiers out sitting at the front steps and eating plates of food. There were also a couple ponies eating bowls of salad.

A teenage girl with brown hair, likely a resident of this house saw them and smiled, letting them in. “Come on in,” she told them. “We’ve been making food for hungry soldiers, and you all look like you can use a bite to eat.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Sergei replied to her.

“Oh, not at all!” the girl said. “We have prepared ourselves very well, and we have more than enough to go around. Granny can make more than enough food to feed a whole army!”

Sergei translated what the girl said and the group seemed on board.

“Well, these guys look like they’re satisfied,” Yon-Soo noted, seeing some soldiers looking rather jovial as they ate, a rare sight to behold these days.

“Alright, let’s go on then,” Porter agreed, and they entered the house.

The whole house was filled with soldiers, some standing, others sitting wherever they could, eating bowls of okroshka and a plate with a piece of kotlety and bread. They walked into the kitchen where two women were at work making more food. One looked like she could be the teenage girl’s mother, somewhere in her forties, who was peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables. The other was a plump and much older lady, no doubt the girl’s Granny, who was standing at the stove, frying more kotlety in a pan while keeping watch over a boiling pot of hot soup.

The girl said in Russian, “Mama, Granny, more have come - four men and one pony! Do we still have enough okroshka and bread to start them off?”

The mother turned and replied, “Enough okroshka for two men, I’m sure, but the shchi will be done in a moment, and it will still be a bit before the kotlety is done cooking. We do have enough salad for the pony as well. See to them, Olga, and make sure they’re alright with waiting.”

“Will do, Mama!” she said before turning to ask Sergei if he and the other soldiers were alight with waiting.

“Tell her it’s no problem at all,” Porter said to Sergei. “It’s only a couple minutes, so we understand.”

Sergei relayed the message, and Granny replied, “Oh, don’t worry, your wait will be worth it!”

It wasn’t too long before they were given plates and bowls. While Sergei took some okroshka, Porter, Yon-Soo and Hyong-Jin opted to try out the shchi. The broth was slightly opaque, and filled with chunks of cabbage, tomato, onion, carrot and slices of beef. There was also bread and fresh kotlety, much to the enjoyment of the other soldiers. Firebrand got a large bowl of salad with sliced cabbage, carrots, tomatoes, and celery.

They sat in the living room alongside other soldiers and ponies, enjoying the moment. It was telling that no one was really paying much attention to the news, which was following up on the aftermath of the nuking of Washington DC. Mostly memorials and stuff like that. Yon-Soo took in a spoonful of the shchi and fell in love immediately. It wasn’t very spicy, but he could taste the subtle hints of garlic and bay leaves in it, and the meat was perfectly tender. It may not have been his own grandmother’s cooking but Granny sure did come close. Some truths applied to all cultures it seemed…

A piercing scream echoed, grabbing everyone’s attention. Several soldiers set their food down, rushing out to the door. Granny and Olga’s mother also came along, clearly scared, and with good reason - Olga was nowhere to be seen.

At the front yard, they saw what was causing a ruckus, and Yon-Soo noticed the utter dread that washed over Porter.

“Let me go!!” Olga’s voice rang out. She was struggling against some burly looking man in what looked like some makeshift armor. There was a small group of men and women in similar clothes and they all looked well armed. Their weapons were either beaten to hell and back, or new, practically gleaming black metal and polymer; all of it stolen, no doubt.

“Come on, kid,” the burly man said, “we came here for food. The sign said hungry soldiers welcome. Not these… pony prancing traitors!” His eyes drifted over Firebrand and the other ponies in disgust.

“You’re not soldiers!” Olga’s mother yelled. “And let go of my daughter! She did nothing to you!”

“We will when you give us some food!” another man barked her, pointing his rifle at her. “We deserve it more than them! They’re probably halfway to being newfoals already!”

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Hyong-Jin whispered.

“Get the hell away from them!” Sergei yelled angrily, pointing his own gun at that man. The anger on his face was clear and he was not going to let these people die.

On cue, Firebrand flew up and before anyone could react, he kicked the leader right in the face, causing him to release Olga. Olga ran up to her mother and grandmother, and a small group of soldiers rushed them back into the house while the fight commenced.

There wasn’t much cover, but that didn’t stop anyone from going at each other. Yon-Soo immediately fired off from behind a tree, cursing the fact that he didn’t have his AK-107. Their armor wasn’t anything advanced, but it still provided enough protection to shield their torsos.

There was a unicorn among the other ponies, and she could barely keep her shield up against the shots raining down on her and the group of soldiers she came with, the group quickly falling back into the house as quickly as possible. Porter unloaded a good amount of his own rifle’s magazine into the shooter, driving him off and killing him, bullet holes riddling his body. Firebrand meanwhile was flying up in the air, trying to dodge gunshots.

A few soldiers were occupying the higher levels of the house, shooting at the assailants under the cover of the house. They sniped the attackers, managing to get them at their weaker points. This worked well; it was pretty clear that even if this gang was well-armed, their tactics weren’t worth shit. Yon-Soo and another soldier each unloaded a decent amount of bullets into the last member, any part of his body that was unprotected getting hacked to bits by the rounds.

It was mercifully, if not anticlimactically, brief. These mercenaries/not-soldiers were disposed of quickly, their bodies looking almost like Swiss cheese. Yon-Soo just felt pity for them; they could have been perfectly good soldiers, but it was clear that their anti-pony stance (as seen earlier) kept them from it, and now they were dead and gone.

The other soldiers didn’t hesitate to get down to business. Some were making calls to law enforcement and their own commanding officers, as others stripped their bodies for their armor, weapons, ammunition, rations, and anything else of worth. And other soldiers were helping out each other, looking over anyone that might have been injured by stray bullets in this fight.

“Well, now what?” Yon-Soo asked.

Porter replied, “We’re going to have to report this to the Commanding Officers, and probably the police as well. My parents told me these kinds of groups have been popping up all over the place.”

“A bunch of pretend mercenaries that think they’re better than us?” Yon-Soo asked.

“Yeah, and they think every pony here is a spy and anyone working with them is a traitor. You saw how they looked at Firebrand.”

“Oh God, seriously? Do they really think they’re going to help us with that kind of attitude?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, at least for right now. Come on, let’s go back inside and check up on the family. No doubt they’d all be shaken up.”

As they walked in, Yon-Soo noticed Hyong-Jin and Firebrand having a small conversation with each other, and couldn’t help but realize that Hyong-Jin could have very easily become like those people they just fought - a rabidly anti-pony warrior consumed by his hatred instead of seeing reason. He had to admit, he was very glad they had Firebrand around, who was not only a valuable teammate but also a good friend, and it was clear that pegasus had a good effect on Hyong-Jin in general.

Olga, her mother and Granny were huddled in the living room. Olga was curled up in her mother’s arms, crying and clearly traumatized after that harrowing ordeal they had all just gone through. The other soldiers guarding them were now somber, the fight earlier reminding them of yet another grim fact about this war.

“Just who were those people?” Granny asked, half-scared and half-angered at the fact that those people tried to shoot her daughter, hurt her granddaughter and almost killed several of the soldiers.

Porter looked to Sergei and asked, “Are you okay with translating for me?”

“Not a problem at all.”

“Well,” Porter began, “those people were likely part of the Human Liberation Front, though there’s a chance they might call themselves something different. They are a group of mercenaries that operate outside of any standard military units, though I’ve heard them referred to as a hate group as well. For the most part, they’re very rabidly anti-pony to the point that they’ve even targeted the…” he paused, muttering something in English about how ‘PHL’ didn’t translate well. “Ponies For Human Life, who are perfectly innocent ponies that have been helping us in the war and hate Celestia as much as you do, maybe even more. The HLF doesn’t think they deserve the thanks, just cause they’re ponies, and they’ve hurt, killed, tortured, even had hunts for them, and they’re utterly convinced they’re helping us when they’re really not. It’s like they can’t fucking comprehend that they’re doing wrong!”

As Sergei translated this, Olga’s expression turned to confusion. “But why?” she asked. “Going by what you’ve said, they don’t care about innocent civilians and people just trying to live. I understand being mad at the PER and the newfoals, but why would they do such a thing? The man that grabbed me was shaking like a madman, and that other man that pointed his gun at my mom looked like he was really going to shoot her and Granny.”

Sergei translated this for her, and Porter shrugged and replied, “I don’t know. If you ask me, they’re just plain insane. I’ve done some digging around and a lot of HLF members seem to have had criminal pasts; the war just gives them an excuse to do whatever they want. Though...”

“What? What is it?” Firebrand asked.

“Well, there’s more than a few HLF members who joined because they thought they had no other choice, or dove in on the spur of the moment. Family men and women, people who lost loved ones... If they’re not insane with hatred when they join, they’re definitely headed in that direction.”

After Sergei relayed what Porter said, Olga’s mother looked downright frightened. She whispered something under her breath, clearly sounding aggravated that she and her family had yet one more thing to worry about in this war no one ever asked for.

Yon-Soo asked, “Did they get any training? The military has been giving civilians self-defense courses. If they haven’t gotten anything, they should sign up. We can help them.”

Sergei asked them and the expressions on the three women’s faces clearly said they hadn’t, but Olga at least looked interested. She said something to her mother, and Yon-Soo could only assume she was all for getting some self-defense lessons. Olga’s mother looked worried and scared, but Granny seemed a bit more open to the idea.

“It would be a good idea,” Sergei told them. “And really at this point, everyone needs to learn how to defend themselves. It’s sad to say, but danger is lurking in every corner nowadays. It’s better to be prepared for the worst.”

Olga’s mother clearly didn’t like what she was hearing but knew that this was something they would have to do. She asked Sergei what Yon-Soo could only guess was where to look for self-defense classes.

A somber atmosphere nearly took over the house, but Granny clapped her hands and declared something, getting the soldiers’ spirits up.

“What did she say?”

“She said that we can worry about that stuff later; for one thing, we still haven’t finished our meals,” Sergei translated.

Firebrand smiled and admitted, “She is right. I didn’t even get to taste my salad.”

Yon-Soo found his bowl, and resumed eating, glad that the soup hadn’t cooled down too much. It wasn’t lost on him that things went from stable to crazy, then stable again.

He supposed these mood whiplashes were something to be expected nowadays.

“This is very distressing news,” the St. Petersburg CO said, looking over the reports that had been submitted to them. There were reports of start-up mercenary groups all over the world assaulting human and pony civilians alike, showing a blatant disregard for safety, and brutal methods that went beyond justified anger against an enemy wishing to snuff out the entire human race.

Yon-Soo, his friends, and many other soldiers were in a large lecture hall at the Medical Academy, the commanding officers of several cities’ military branches having come together to discuss the rise of these groups. It seemed like for now, battling Royal Guards and newfoals would have to take a backseat to this disturbing new development.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” one soldier said, “but how are we supposed to combat this problem while ignoring the Equestrians or PER?”

“We don’t,” another CO, most likely from Moscow, replied. “But some of you will have to take on the task of getting rid of these groups. Believe us, it is not an exaggeration when I say these people would be the biggest danger to human-pony cooperation, and I’m not sure if they’re going to be more dangerous to us or the Equestrians; they’ve shown equal contempt for both, and our acceptance of ponies in support and scouting roles has enraged them immensely. They could kill any potentially useful allies from Equestria, and given their blatant disregard for civilian casualties, they could have also taken many innocent people into their clutches or outright killed them. Local law enforcement, both from here in Nizhny Novogorod and in places already destroyed by the barrier have come to us with reports of several missing persons, most of them women and children, and we have reason to believe these groups are linked to them.”

Yon-Soo frowned; that would make sense. He was now even more glad that he and his friends had disposed of those mercenaries from earlier before; God only knew what those sick men (who probably had criminal pasts if Porter was right) could’ve done to poor Olga and her mother.

Many of the ponies here also shuddered, worried for any other Equestrian defectors that could’ve ended up in the HLF’s clutches. There was no telling what kinds of horrible things their brethren were being subjected to at those people’s hands...

‘What a waste...’ Yon-Soo lamented as the meeting was called to a close and the soldiers departed, receiving briefing reports for their next missions. He picked up a file for himself and walked along with the rest of his group.

“We have to go all the way out in Siberia?!” Hyong-Jin asked, utterly bewildered and dreading the inevitably unpleasant weather there.

“It’s our next mission,” Porter stated. It was clear he didn’t like the idea of this either, but continued on, “aside from the HLF upshoots we’re going to have to get rid of, we’re also likely to cross into the paths of PER knockoff groups.

“So we’re gonna be caught in the crossfire of various fanatics,” Yon-Soo grumbled, pretty much summarizing their mission. He rubbed his forehead, trying not to remember his first brush with those misanthropic nutjobs.

“Pretty much. This is going to be fun,” Aitmatov said sarcastically.

Firebrand, though just as apprehensive, seemed a bit more optimistic. “Well, maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. Plus, keep in mind, if we find any Equestrian defectors, they can help us out, all of us really.”

“True,” Blizzard said. “But I sincerely doubt that they’ll be in the best frame of mind if they’ve sequestered themselves so far up north. We’re unused to harsh weather like it is on earth - it can change so quickly on a whim, without warning. When we escaped Equestria, we were caught in a massive storm. My parents kept on checking their weather schedule, long after they knew it wouldn’t work.”

“If you don’t like the weather in New England, wait a minute,” Aitmatov recited. They all stared at him. “What? It seemed relevant enough. But trust me, Blizzard, you wouldn’t like it there. And, I suspect, neither will any ponies that try to invade America if the barrier gets there.”

Melnik didn’t seem too convinced. “You’re too optimistic, Khan. The Barrier will hit them, same as everyone else. Nothing can get through that thing, and they’ll likely struggle to survive as desperately as us, if not more.”

“Yeesh, sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Blizzard remarked, cringing at how pessimistic he was acting.

“Think of it, though,” Melnik said. “When the barrier has eaten up the Atlantic, think of how big it’ll be. How much it will have consumed. We’re living in the last vestiges of the carefree lives of the twentieth century-”

Aitmatov and Porter stared at him, their eyes recalling past conflicts.

“Well, our cultures weren’t dying by inches back then!” Melnik exclaimed. “Mark my words though. It will get worse.”

Everyone became uneasy with this. They didn’t like the sound of this in the least. But Melnik had a point; as far as everyone knew, no human made object could get through the barrier. Probably not even nukes could do anything, and if they attempted to give Equestria radiation poisoning, it’d likely do more harm than good…

Sergei then tried to change the subject and get everyone to focus on the more immediate matters. “So when would we have to leave?”

Porter looked over the briefing report and answered, “By tomorrow morning. We’ll be boarding a plane heading to Yeniseysk, from there we will drive into Lesosibrisk.”

Yon-Soo sighed and said, “Well, we might as well get ready now then.”

“Right,” Firebrand agreed. He now looked a bit dejected and Yon-Soo couldn’t blame him; it would be nothing short of heartbreaking if all of this work everyone - from Ambassador Heartstrings, to Marcus and the PHL, the EU forces, themselves - did could all be for nothing. That they could fight like maddened beasts, defend against hordes of millions, advance in technology by leaps and bounds and turn war into glorified pest control, and yet it would all be gone like tears in the rain.

It was a sobering thought indeed.

Author's Notes:

Another! Thank you Red and Doc Fluff for helping me out! You're both amazing!

So main antagonists for the next chapter will be the HLF and PER upshoots in Russia, and two more pony OCs will join our heroes. And Firebrand will get to show off his cool trick too!

And I also command anyone reading this to research the food I've referenced here. Korean and Russian alike. Food pr0n is something to be celebrated after all.