“I’m lost.” Gizmo looked up with big, sad eyes. “I need ta get out, can ya help me? Pretty please?” His lower lip quivered pitifully.

Tink locked eyes with the colt. It couldn’t be a day older than what it was in the recordings she’d just watched. A few beads of sweat formed at her temples. Junior hissed at the colt from his perch atop her head.

The mention of her dad snapped her from her frozen state. “Don’t you dare talk about my dad, you fucking monster!” In a blur of motion she drew her pistol and sighted it on the foal. “‘Tay back!” She started to slowly back toward the room’s closed exit.

The colt froze, fear and confusion apparent on his face. “But...” His eyes misted with unshed tears, his voice quavered. “But... I need help! I’m all alone, Miss. I don’t wanna be all alone anymore! Please don’t leave me... don’t be mean. Don’t leave me like the others did!”

She continued to back away from the foal as he started to cry. It began as a sniffle, then a pained squeak. Gizmo’s small form was wracked by violent sobs by the time her flank encountered the reassuring cold of the far wall. Junior skittered down her neck, across her back, and over to the door panel. She kept the diminutive colt locked in her vision as Junior hacked the door.

“I... I... I just wanna live, Miss.” He stomped angrily.

Tink stood, face impassive, as the foal blubbered in front of her. With a soft hiss the door slid open, the red light of the hallway spilled in. She backed through the doorway as the colt shuddered with sobs, then with something more sinister. It was hypnotic, seeing it in front of her. His foalish cries shifted to pained wails as his colt fascade cracked and sickly vines pushed themselves through the weeping gashes in his flesh.

A shrill exclamation startled her back to the moment. She wheeled out the door, pivoting on her hind legs and clearing the doorway. She felt a subtle lightening on her back when Junior vaulted from his perch to the exterior panel to force the door closed. Staring down the hall she took a hesitant step back, then another.

The emergency lights down the hall were busted out. The occasional glint of broken glass down the inky hallway the only hint of light. Her lips parted and she tried to force words past her suddenly dry throat. What was that? She tried to ask Junior as the door to her father’s room slid shut. She took several more steps back when the banging started, whatever Gizmo had become was slamming itself bodily against the heavy door. Still she stared into the blackness of the hall, something large shifted deep in the shadows. Surely, a trick of the darkness. Another step back. That delusion shattered when a low, reverberating growl echoed out of the black. The rumbling calmed the thrashing in the room. She stood frozen, the tomblike silence hanging heavily in the air.

Clack, clack, scrape.

The sound of heavy hooffalls on steel and a horn scratched across a blackboard.

Clack, clack, scrape.

Shards of broken glass ground under hoof. The sickly sweet stench of overripe fruits wafted down the hall, it smelled like death.

Clack, clack, scrape.

The blood in her veins ran cold, Junior’s trills of warning falling on deaf ears. Stepping from the darkness into the harsh red emergency lighting came an old white stallion. He held his head low, staring off to his left. He turned his head as he took another step forward.

Clack, clack, scrape.

It focused on her with mismatched eyes. Its head was deformed; the two halves didn’t match up. In the back of her mind it reminded her of a foal’s puzzle cube turned only halfway. Thick strands of sap dribbled from its mouth. The viscous liquid frothed at the corners of its lips, little clouds of spittle hanging in the air with each labored huff. It growled low.

Clack, clack, scrape.

Junior buzzed and hooted urgently but she remained transfixed. The abomination reared, its long torso splitting, the near skeletal limbs it had been dragging flared out in a deadly bloom. It settled on its four hind legs, the other four flailed around the maw in its chest. It’s grotesque head tilted quizzically, seeming to truly see her for the first time. The lips on its vaguely pony-like face peeled back in a mockery of a smile. With a roar, it charged.

A wailing screech ripped her back to the present. Junior hurled himself at the charging abomination, impacting its deformed face. Pointed legs dug into its pseudoflesh, latching him in place as he brought his tail into play. The long, pointed probe plunged into yielding flesh. It thrashed under him, less in pain than agitation. Large swatches of its face hung limply, flayed from the bone by the automaton's scissoring pincers.

It bucked and grunted, Tink all but forgotten. A lancing thrust of Junior's tail found its way past the bony ridge protecting its eye and impaled the sensitive organ. Angry and pained the monster slammed its head against the wall. A shrill cry and a shower of sparks accentuated the the heavy thud of the impact. It reared back for another blow, Junior clinging feebly on.

Tink turned and fled into the red lit hall.

Thud.

Roar.

...

Clack, clack, scrape.

Gizmo pulled himself together. Skin and green fur knitted itself back together. What little of his ghastlier form couldn’t be withdrawn back into his colt form fell away. Those discarded bits formed themselves into smaller, more basic forms and skittered off into the darkened corners of the room.

Himself again, he stormed around the quarter’s small livingroom. He yelled, and screamed, and threw things in the throes of a mighty tantrum.

“Not fair! Not fair!” He headbutted the wall to punctuate each iteration. “NOT FAIR! OW!” Rubbing his head, he backpedaled from the wall and sat heavily on his haunches. With a huff, he collapsed. He lay on the floor, wrapped up in himself, rocking back and forth. She got in, but it’s gonna eat her. It’s just a mean old stupid head, if it eats her, I can’t find out how she got in! He shuddered, ten years he’d spent locked in this tomb with that feral cannibal. There used to be more smart survivors, they used to communicate. Then it started eating its own, the knowledge of all the individuals it had assimilated lost. There was no telling how many other intelligent individuals remained. We could have been free by now if it wasn’t for Him!

Tantrum spent, Gizmo lay motionless on the floor. The gears in his mind started turning. It will eat her. Maybe her toy knows the way out? If I can catch it, I can take it apart, figure out how it works. Then I can just take its memories and get out of here.

Gizmo smiled a predatory smile. That was the key, he could take what he needed from the little robot. It wouldn’t be hard, he was good with gizmos.

He made his way over to the far wall and yanked free a ventilation cover. He stretched his neck into the ductwork, his shoulders catching the edge of the opening. He grunted and flattened himself. His body popped and contorted, elongating as he slithered into the pitch black shaft.

Tink pulled up from her headlong gallop. She found herself deeper in the residential section. Red emergency lights played across the halls. She stopped, her ragged gasps the only sound in the still hallway. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to slow her breathing. Head clearing, she struggled to get her bearings.

The hall was familiar, but that meant little. The whole Stable was a labyrinth of nearly identical hallways. For all she knew, she could be in any residential hallway in Stable 48. The doors were all wide open, whatever treasures or horrors inside concealed in shadow. Her ears swiveled about, trying to hear any sound in the crushing silence. Did I lose it?

She looked at her map. In her haste, she had taken a wrong fork and ended up farther from the central lifts. She didn’t relish the idea of blazing a trail through unexplored residential sections, but it beat turning around and running into Gizmo or that thing with the fucked face. Fuckedface. Images of Junior’s attempt to slow the thing came unbidden to her mind. She paged through several screens on her PipBuck. No sign of him, I hope he’s ok.

Stillness reigned over the hall. A few splatters of some unidentifiable liquid and the dying echoes of a distant roar were the only indicators that something had passed. That, and the metal form crumpled on the floor. A leg jerked, then stilled.

>>Sensors: Online
>>Optics: Online
>>Motivators: Online
>>Structural Diagnostic Initiated
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Diagnostic: Complete
>>>Damage: Prolateral Surface: Limb 1,3,7
>>>Damage: Metasoma: Segment 4,5,6
>>>Analyzing
>>....
>>..
>>.
>>Analysis: Complete
>>>Mobility: 86% Efficiency
>>>Power: 62% Capacity

>>Prioritizing Objectives
>>>Primary Objective: Protect Asset Alpha

>>Tracking
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Signal Found: Plotting Course

Junior untangled his limbs and righted himself. He gave a doglike shake of his body from head to tail before skittering across the hard, metallic floor. His sensors placed Tink somewhere deeper in the residential section. He approached a covered vent near the floor and peered within, cycling his vision.

>>Optics: VisLight
>>Optics: ThermalO
>>Optics: ImagInts

The image intensifier turned his vision a palette of blues. The ducting dropped several feet before leveling out. He wrenched the vent cover from the wall and dropped into the inky blackness. He landed with a crash at the bottom of the short drop, the ringing clang reverberating through the twists and turns of the ventilation system. Focusing on Tink’s elusive signal, he worked his way through the labyrinthine ducts. He scampered to the ceiling, clinging to its smooth surface to avoid a long drop. A few moments later he pulled himself up into a vertical shaft. He froze as his optics beheld the organic above him.

>>Alert!
>>>Organism Not Recognized
>>>Analyzing
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Analysis Complete
>>>Partial Matches Found
>>>>Arachnid (46%)
>>>>Insecta (31%)
>>>>Malacostraca (21%)
>>>>Psilotopsida (9%)

>>Error!

>>>Organism Registers Flora
>>>Organism Registers Fauna
>>>Organism Registers Aggressive

>>>Thinking
>>...
>>..
>>.

>>Deactivating Lawn Care Protocols
>>Classifying: Arachnid
>>Organism Tagged: “Funky Spider”
>>>Subroutine “DADDY FUCKING HATES SPIDERS!” Initiated
>>>>IF {NumLegs>4} THEN {Eliminate}

>>Targeting
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Target Acquired: Funky Spider

Protective covers slid back from his pincers’ razor sharp edges, the sound of blade on whetstone slashed through the silence. The spider began a slow turn as Junior shrieked and charged. His pincers scissored through three twiglike legs before gravity added its say in the battle. Unbalanced by the loss of three limbs, the heavy spider collapsed on Junior, sending the pair tumbling down the airshaft.

The tangled freefall soon terminated in a wet slap as the pair struck bottom. Junior rolled to his legs and hissed. Ichor dripped from him. The shattered, gooey husk lay motionless beneath him. He bellowed a high-pitched squeal of victory. He moved forward and gleefully drove his tail probe down repeatedly into one of the meatier bits of squashed spider.

>>Danger!
>>>Carapace Breach!

Junior dove away, rolling across the vent’s floor. He twisted and scraped himself across any clean surface he could reach. The viscous ichor coalesced into thin vines the pushed and prodded against the seams in his metal plating. He continued to writhe as the mutilated spider twitched and spasmed. The thing’s five upturned legs scythed through the air. The thrashing limbs collided, then calmed. The legs’ tips meshed together. With a series of sickening cracks the five legged abomination freed itself of its prior form. With deliberate slowness it lowered itself onto the broken arachnoid body and began assimilating the remains. It thickened around the joining of its five legs, new velvety tentacles sprouted and unfurled from its bulging underside.

>>Analyzing Target
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Target most likely failed experiment observed In Stable 48 records
>>>Tagging: Hederaceous Horror
>>>Recordings suggest organism is flammable
>>Subroutine “Daddy Needs A Light” Initiated

It’s cannibalism complete, the five-legged horror trudged toward him. Junior's mouth parts struck against themselves repeatedly until a spark ignited the concentrated flow of butane, the thin tongue of blue flame illuminating the tight vent. His vision blued out for a moment before he toggled it back to VisLight. His tail darted into the flame, the ichor coating it catching fire instantly with a scream. Thick burning globules dripped onto his back, lighting the mutating plant matter ablaze.

The five-legged horror recoiled from him. It pitched backward, staggering away. Junior easily overtook it, his bladed pincers making easy work of its rearmost limbs. Several underslung vines lashed out toward him, entangling him. A few quick jabs of the flaming brand at the end of his tail set the beast to burning. It pitched and writhed trying to pull itself apart and free of the flames. What bits escaped the pyre met a quick end to Junior’s butane-fueled breath.

>>Target Incinerated
>>>Saving Subroutine “Kill It With Fire”
>>Prioritizing
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Primary Objective: Protect Asset Alpha

Junior skittered through the vent, leaving the smouldering carcass of the thing behind. A blip showed Tink’s position above him, he continued down, a plan forming in his mind.

She hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps she was too preoccupied with the Stable’s logs, or escaping from malevolent plant doppelgangers of long dead ponies, but the whole level stank. The sticky sweet smell of rot permeated the stale air. It may have been a trick of her mind, but she could swear she could taste the decay if she breathed through her mouth.

A loud clang reverberated through the halls. She froze, the echo fading. It sounded close, but it was impossible to tell distance or direction. She stood motionless, barely daring to breathe. The frantic movements of her ears trying to catch and pinpoint the source of the noise were the only visible sign of her mounting anxiety. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she poured every ounce of concentration into her hearing. Long moments passed, nothing. A few moments more, still nothing. An involuntary sigh stole past her lips as her shoulders slumped in relief.

Clack, clack, scrape.

She wheeled, the telltale sound of Fuckedface’s sinister gait echoed toward her. She stared a moment down the path she had come, there was no sign of it in the darkness. The red emergency light shone above her, she backed away a few steps and turned to look down the long unexplored hallway. Too long. The emergency lighting in this section had fared better, the hall stretched out in crimson-hued brilliance. Her hooves carried her down the hall as quietly as she was able while her mind churned. It will see me, the hall’s too long, it’s too close.

Clack, clack, scrape.

It was closer this time. She couldn’t bring herself to glance back, instead throwing herself into the nearest room. Red light spilled into the darkened room from the hall, illuminating the glowing panel near the door. Digits unfolded from her mechanical hoof and she grasped the panel tightly. With a wrenching twist the panel cover pulled away. She dove into the tangle of wires. C’mon Tink, this is foal’s play. Find it, find it, FIND IT!

She pushed another mass of entwined wires away to reveal a thick green cable. She buried her muzzle in the panel and took hold of it. She strained against it, bracing herself against the wall and pulling with all of her strength. The tension suddenly lessened and the cable pulled free. Locking the cable in a knuckle of a cybernetic finger, she bit down hard on its end and pulled. Her tongue tingled as she stripped away the insulation with her teeth.

Clack, clack, scrape.

She could hear it again, tracking her with the same doggedness as before. A steady, plodding hunt. She threaded the exposed cable into a port on her PipBuck. Metal fingers danced over the device as she hacked the system. With a muted hiss the door slid closed, leaving her in the dark. The PipBuck’s screen cast a sickly green hue across her features, it’s light giving the room some semblance of form. She sat in the dim light, trying to listen for any sounds in the hallway. She strained futilely to hear the rustle of its bulk, the scrape of its shriveled limbs on steel. She settled to her haunches, the silence in the room both comforting and worrisome. The thick retractable door proved to be too well insulated to allow her to hear the beast. For all she knew, Fuckedface could be lurking right outside the door, or he could have passed by. Nothing to do but wait it out a while and hope it moved on.

She faced the interior of the room. Surely if there was something lurking in here it would have attacked by now, right? She navigated a few menus on her still tethered PipBuck and managed to bring up the lights.

She was standing in somepony’s living quarters, although she expected that much from the residential section. The charred metal skeleton of a small sofa sat in the middle of the room. No indestructible couch for you, I guess. Ash thickly coated every exposed surface. She walked the perimeter of the room, rectangular protrusions on the far wall drawing her attention. She ran a hoof over one such protrusion, wiping away the concealing layer of ash. It was a picture of a deep chestnut stallion, several shades darker than her own coat, standing in an orchard. A vibrant green mane and bushy beard wrapped his head. The muscular stallion was dressed in some oddly patterned red and black shirt. The crisscrossing stripes formed a simple tartan plaid. If it wasn’t for a few ponies milling about in Stable 48 jumpsuits in the background, the photo could have been from a time before the war.

She stared at the pony in the photo, his warm, genuine smile pulling at something inside her. She pulled out a scrap of fabric and moved on to the next frame. It wasn’t a picture, but a framed certificate. “This Certificate of Accomplishment is hereby awarded to Prof. Crosscut for his contributions to the betterment of Stable life.” Overmare Bureau Carrot’s signature was scrawled at the bottom. Mounted in the frame below was a newsclipping. Its headline read “Prof. Crosscut Receives Award for Development of Extruderboard.” She skimmed the article. Apparently, he had invented a method of producing fully synthetic, fireproof wood through the combination of several manufacturable chemicals. Individually the chemicals were inert, but combined they reacted to form a kind of hard foam with the basic characteristics of natural wood. According to the article, the invention would allow for a more relaxed recycling policy on paper and more orchard space devoted to food production.

She cleaned off several more awards and articles, her original sense of curiosity waning. Sure, she needed to kill time before venturing back out into the halls, but how many awards could one pony get? She glanced down the wall of frames, at the far end was a far larger case. Curiosity reignited, she sauntered over to the glass enclosure. She tapped lightly on the glass. Seems intact.

She wiped off the small plaque affixed to the front of the case. "Awarded to Crosscut. 1st Place. 179th Annual Lumberpony Competition" She ran her rag over the large decorative frame beside the case. It contained another article, this one detailing his victory. Scrawled over the newsprint in heavy letters was a short note. “Congratulations, Uncle. You better get that shirt sized for me, cause I’m gonna win our bet next year. XOXO, Cider.”

She blinked her suddenly moist eyes a few times and with a quick exhalation turned to the case. She wiped it down and peered inside. Nestled on a large, folded piece of plaid fabric sat a single-bit ax. The head shone in the dim room, the well-used blade worked meticulously into a mirror finish. She rose on her hind legs and stared at it. “Ooo. What’s your name?”

She popped out her fingers and worked them into a seam. “That’s a good name.”

She jerked once, then pulled the reinforced glass free of the front of the case. The glass, discarded, clattered to the floor. Gently she removed the axe and folded shirt. She nosed open her saddlebag and gently placed the shirt within. She wrapped a bionic fist around the axe’s haft and swung it experimentally in a tight arc. She reared up and rained blows upon an imaginary opponent, getting a feel for the well balanced blade and comfortable weight.

“Enough fooling around, Uncle Hew. We have work to do.”

Junior landed on the fire-darkened floor of the lower residential level with a hushed clang. The main lifts were just ahead, and beside them stood the reinforced bulkhead to the armory. The massive reinforced door loomed ahead of him. He skittered toward it, ash of a dozen unidentifiable things kicked up in his trail. His legs found purchase on the wall as he climbed up, marring a fire-blackened shadow of a pony who died beating on this very door. The control panel gave off a muted glow. He slotted his tail into the panel and forced the lock. A few moments later the door obediently open.

His sensors took in the far room. Rows of weapons lined the walls. Or what had been weapons. Scorchmarks along the ventilation ducts proved the Overmare’s cleansing had bypassed the imposing armory door. Junior made his way past the racks of slag and heat-mangled metal.

>>Scanning
>>...
>>..
>>.
>>Scanning Complete
>>>Contents Destroyed
>>>Secondary Storage Area Detected.

Junior picked his way through the debris to a warped metal desk. The nameplate was dusted over, but the relief of the lettering kept it discernable. It read, “Security Chief Heads Up.” He shifted some debris under the desk and laid a pincer beside the safe’s large dial. With his other pincer he slowly advanced the tumbler forward until he picked up an inaudible click deep within the mechanism. A few minutes later the safe yielded its contents.

The contents sat immaculately, untouched by the firestorm or the horrors shambling about the Stable. Documents and photographs flew as he rifled through the contents. At the center of the paper maelstrom sat a small holdout laser pistol and a few small energy cells. The pistol’s finish was a riot of colors swirling around. Etched into the slide were the simple words, “Tie-Die.”

Junior dove ravenously on the energy cells. With quick, efficient motions he drained two of the small cells. He was reaching for a third when a voice called down to him from above.

“Bad toy! You shouldn’t be stealing other pony’s things!”

Junior lept from the shallow safe and searched the ceiling. Protruding from a vent hung the inverted head of Gizmo. It slithered out of the vent, a tangled body of vines suspending him in the air. Thin ichor oozed from innumerable small cuts and abrasions caused by forcing its way through the vents. With a wet slap it dropped, landing in a heap. A discordant chorus of screams, grunts, and whimpers pushed its way through Gizmo’s throat as he withdrew his snake’s tail and pushed out his colt legs.

Junior raised his tail probe threateningly and clicked his pincers. He hissed and hooted at the shuddering mass as it slowly reformed itself into a simile of the little green colt.

>>Subroutine “Kill It With Fire” Initiated

A blue tongue of flame lanced out of his mouth, for a moment. Junior struck his mouth parts together frantically, spilling a stream of sparks across the floor.

>>Butane Canister: 0%
>>Formulating Alternate Tactics
>>...

>>Initiate Program “He That Fights And Runs Away”

Junior backpedaled under the desk before slinking into the debris. The metallic scorpion hoped to lose himself in the twisted wreckage.

Gizmo watched him disappear under the desk. “I’ll play with you, little toy. I’ma super good hider and seeker.”

Damn persistent. Tink hunkered behind a small planter filled with artificial flowers. She had wandered into some kinda communal room. Benches littered the space. Multihued plants were covered in ash, but otherwise unscathed by the firestorm that had been Overmare Bureau Carrot’s solution to the spreading infection.

On the far side of the room skulked the massive form of Fuckedface. Her seemingly unshakable pursuer. The juggernaut continued to trudge after her, always managing to stumble back on her trail whenever she managed to lose him.

She grabbed a fistful of flowers and dirt from the nearest planter. Persistent, but stupid. She tossed the clump down a far corridor.

Fuckedface turned toward the noise.

Clack, clack, scrape.

He trudged down the hall after the thud.

Tink quietly crept down the corridor nearest her, hoping to lose it. The lifts! She’d stumbled back to them. She considered them a moment. She could probably climb up, but it wouldn’t be a quiet ascent. Fuckedface was too close. If he found her while she was climbing, there would be no running. She needed to handle him first.

She glanced around. A set of double doors stood across from the shaft, ‘Stores’ written across them. That looks promising.

She pushed on the heavy doors and they slowly creaked open. The sprawling room stretched out. Pallets of charred goods stood in neat little rows. Parked amongst the rows sat a soot-blackened machine. She trotted up and ran her hoof over it. Her gaze darted between it and the lift doors beyond. I can fix this. I can use this. She smiled. I have a plan.

A long white labcoat grazed the floor as the lanky stallion walked into the burned out quarters. A comfortable looking couch sat in the middle of the room. Hoofprints and other, less identifiable, tracks stood out on the grimy floor. The room reeked of panic and struggle.

The stallion paused, looking past the entryway into the oppressive gloom. Something stirred in the shadows, a shadow weaving within the shadows. A wicked grin split his face.

“My, my. What do we have here?” He sauntered up to the dark recess. With a hiss the camouflaged, mossy spider charged. With a leap it landed on the stallion’s exposed leg, quickly driving its fangs and legs into his flesh.

The stallion lifted his leg and observed the thing trying to assimilate his flesh. “Hmm... where did you come from?” A splintery lance erupted from the stallion’s cannon and impaled the struggling spider. It thrashed on its skewer. “More importantly, little thing, what have you seen? What have you heard? What do you know?”

The spider lashed out with flailing appendages. Thin fronds bursted from his leg, entangling the spider’s flailing limbs and pulling it, struggling, within him. He pointed his muzzle toward the ceiling and screwed his eyes tight. A moan verging on pleasure escaped his taut lips as he sifted through the lower form’s memories.

An intruder. More importantly, a way out.

“Exquisite.”

An outsider to pony society might think the earth ponies drew the short straw. After all, the pegasi had power over the weather, their inherent magic letting them fly and manipulate clouds in amazing ways. Unicorns had magic that let them alter the very fabric of reality with proper study and application.

Earth ponies grew things.

Not a particularly useful magical gift in a barren wasteland.

But there was an often overlooked aspect embodied by earth ponies: ingenuity. Long before balefire scoured all but the hardiest life from the surface of the planet, before the ministries, before even the Princesses, earth ponies survived on their ingenuity. Earth ponies grew the food for all Equestria. They were the unsung savants of labor. The plow, the train, the assembly line, all inventions of practicality imagined in the minds of earth ponies.

Sure, it was a unicorn who first stored energy in a crystal matrix to be used later. Portable power sources opened a new age of technological innovation. And, yes, it was a pegasus who first observed that spent gems regained their charge when struck with lightning. But it was an earth pony who invented the first electric generator.

A technological revolution was spurred on from that first generator. Coal-fired power plants, an energy grid, robotics, cybernetics, a hundred fields and thousands of innovations stemmed from that one stroke of earth pony ingenuity.

Tink lay buried in the innards of the machine, checking connections and ensuring a sufficient charge. This machine was another stroke of earth pony ingenuity. Before it was designed, ponies had to move heavy loads around Equestria’s warehouses by the strength of their backs. Grueling, tiring, inefficient work. Then a clever earth pony thought, “what if we put the merchandise on wooden frames, then we could make some kind of cart that could slip in and let us push them around easier.” Thus the pallet came to be, and with it the pallet jack. A forked cart that could be easily slipped under the pallet, then used to lift the weight. But the work was still tough. Then another clever earth pony thought, “what if we took a motorized cart and put forks on the front of it? Anypony, even the old and weak, could move things around then.”

And so the forklift was invented. A peculiar sight to those unfamiliar with them. A pony would walk in from behind, straddling a bench that supported their barrel and stomach. After bracing their hind legs in place, their front legs were free to manipulate the pedals that controlled the right and left front wheels. The independent drive wheels made it nimble enough to navigate tight aisles. A simple yoke system, similar to a battlesaddle, allowed the operator to move the forks up and down, and side to side.

Checks complete, Tink turned the key in the ignition. The display lit up. 24. Twenty four percent power is enough for what I need. She pulled a spool of thin wire from her saddlebag and tied it to a sturdy shelf mounted on the wall.

A skittering sound from deeper in the storeroom caused her to wheel around. She swept her PipLight over the ruined goods. “Just my imaginati...” She scowled, “Fuck that, I’m not that lucky.” She turned her head over her shoulder and adjusted Uncle Hew’s position on her back. Satisfied the ax would be ready if needed, she struck off deeper into the black.

Shoulda cleared the room first. She wound through the ruined rows of destroyed goods, shining her light on an conspicuous patch of darkness. She continued working her way down the row, eyes darting from void to void. Whatever made the noise was being coy, or didn’t exist. The aisle ended, running into a wall with a few stacked barrels. Curious, she pushed on the barrel. Damn that’s heavy. She ran her real hoof over it, the fur on her fetlock turned sooty as she revealed its blue color and label. The stamped plate read, “XTRDR-BRD B.” Six barrels in all; three blue, three red. She reached toward a red barrel.

Crash.

She whirled again at the sound. Definitely not my imagination. She started following the wall, it was only a short way before she found herself in a corner. A bristleless metal broom sat on the floor, the dust around its handle fanned out, disturbed by its falling. With a scowl she shone her light along the wall. Some kind of workstation was up ahead. Multiple different molds were scattered about. The machine itself consisted of a series of tubes and nozzles. Tracking the hoses back to their source brought her two a pair of metal barrels. One sat overturned, its contents long spilt and burned. She gave the other a solid push, still full. The red barrel read “XTRDR-BRD A”

Hmm... I wonder...

Scrape.

Frustrated, she turned again toward the sound. Again she pushed through the black, searching for the noise’s origin. She was sweeping her light down another aisle when a thought hit her like a freight train. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t want to find anything in here. She started backing away, back the way she came, back to the forklift, to her plan. The beam reflected off a bright metallic surface. Squinting, she stared at the oddly shiny metal bit amongst the grime.

It moved toward her. Unconsciously her PipLight tracked up, revealing a dark brown, almost black, foreleg. The heavyset mare stepped fully into the light, glinting prosthetic hoof a counterpoint to her dark, earthy coloring. The mare raised her foreleg and pointed straight at Tink.

“Dumb question: you aren’t friendly, are you?”

The prosthetic clattered to the ground as the mare began to violently shake. Skin grew taut as a rippling mass seemed to be trying to push its way through her skin.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” She grabbed Uncle Hew and weighed her options. The mare seemed to bloat, swelling past her already substantial size. With a wet pop her stomach split, dropping a trio of long, writhing masses on the floor. Shrill screeches echoed off the walls from the cruel mouths quickly forming on the beastly things. Her skin began to run like hot wax, the viscous fluid coalescing into a multitude of varying abominations. The small horde skittered, slithered, and slunk toward her, leaving the shiny metal hoof behind.

Tink’s eyes darted quickly between the approaching swarm and her poor Uncle Hew. “Plan?” Uncle Hew stayed silent. “No? Well, shit.” She bit down on his haft and galloped back the way she’d come, the mass of genetically engineered, malevolent death keeping pace. She passed the massive extruder, sparing it a quick glance as she fled. A small smirk twisted the corners of her lips around Uncle Hew’s handle. “Ah hava ghlan!”

She poured on extra speed as she neared the corner. The menagerie lost ground, but gained it back as she skidded around the end of the aisle. Ahead of her was her goal, six barrels; three red, three blue, standing in two stacks. She twisted her neck back and buried Hew’s head in the top quarter of the middle red barrel. A little of the contents burbled out as she wrenched the ax head back out. The pursuing things slowed, massing for the attack. She reared up and swung Uncle Hew as high as she could, putting a good sized hole in the top of the highest barrel. A high pitch scream rang out from behind her. A strike low on the top barrel released a gout of chemicals, the stream jetting out and forming a pool behind her. A quick strike near the bottom of the middle barrel sent a second stream to join the first. Some of the charging things were pushed back but the majority pushed through the gunk. Tink quickly backpedaled. Another swing connected with the top of a blue barrel. She released the ax and focused her attention on the group of sticky enemies closing in. Fingers popped out of her metal hoof and were buried in the lower third of the barrel with a powerful punch. She tightened her grip and twisted, releasing the sweet-smelling XTRDR-BRD B. It splattered harmlessly against her foreleg, but reacted violently when it struck the closest pursuer. When A met B they reacted, expanding dramatically and quickly hardening. A couple more punches and the horde was encased in the synthetic lumber.

“Wood-aya think of that, Bitches!” she yelled at the motionless mass of synthetic wood encasing the beasties. “Get it, Uncle Hew? WOOD-aya... wood... extruderboard...”

He didn’t reply.

“You’re no fun.” She looked up at the ax buried in the top of the barrel, stuck fast when the chemical on the blade had first met the contents of the blue barrel. “Oh, you probably want out. Don’t you.”

He didn’t reply

The Overmare’s office was just as he remembered it, for quantities of “he.” The stallion looked around, eyes taking in several heavily charred areas. The remains of Bureau Carrot’s chair sat in a corner behind the desk, ash was scattered heavily around. Smaller scorch marks were scattered around. A monitor built into the far side of the desk cast a sickly greenish hue on the back wall.

He walked up to the desk, rearing up he placed his forelegs on the sturdy metal workspace. He traced his hoof across the smooth surface, delighting in the coolness of it. The hole in it’s center called to him, he prodded the smooth edges. A heavy impact from above with a wedgelike implement, an ax perhaps?

He walked around the desk, scrutinizing the area behind. He’d always suspected there was a passage out of the Overmare’s office, but again he found no sign. Nothing but to wait.

The wrecked chair squealed as it was pulled across the floor on melted wheels. The stallion sat, sending up a cloud of ash. He scooted up and placed his forelegs on the desk. A smile of anticipation split his face and he folded his hooves up under his chin.

I’ve waited ten years, what’s a bit more?

It turned out extruderboard was rather hard to get off an ax head. The difficulty getting Uncle Hew clean did, however, put Tink’s mind at ease. Confident the frozen horde would stay trapped, she made her way quickly but quietly back to the forklift. On her way she spotted a short length of pipe. Perfect.

She nearly pranced the rest of the distance back. Her spool of wire still sat on the short shelf she’d tied it to. All she needed now was...

Clack, clack, scrape.

“You don’t give up, do you? Couldn’t give me five more minutes...” she whispered to herself. She quickly grabbed her length of pipe and moved back to the waiting forklift. Cybernetic fingers splayed out from her hoof and wrapped around one of the pillars holding up the protective grating above the vehicle operator’s couch. She gritted her teeth and wrenched her body to the right. With a pop and a wet squelch her cybernetic hoof separated from her fetlock. Lubricating fluids dripped from the now exposed flange. A small green indicator light on the abandoned prosthetic lit, matching a similar light buried deep in the inner workings of the interface still attached to her leg. She focused her thoughts on moving her phantom hoof, a digit twitched.

Clack, clack, scrape.

She grabbed a finger with her teeth and focused on opening her fist. It obediently loosened its grip on the crossmember and dropped. Placing the pipe across the pedals, she slipped the crab-like cybernetic on top. She quickly threw a bit of wire around it and shifted her grip on the pipe to get her fingers around an exposed section of frame. She gave an experimental squeeze and nodded in satisfaction.

The lumbering monster would be on her soon. It was time to put her plan into action. She staggered out of the storeroom, trying to regain her familiarity with a three-legged gait. Alone in the dim corridor she swiveled her ears. The moments stretched out endlessly, the only sound the ever increasing thudding of blood in her ears. I know I heard it. Panic started to seep in. Where is it? It does not need to learn new tricks now. Maybe I should...

Clack, clack, scrape.

Her head nearly beat her ears as she whipped her neck around to track the sound. Down the corridor stood her pursuer in a pool of red emergency lighting. The harsh light muddied the greens and blues of the beast. The splotches of House Call’s white coat shone blood red.

“Hey, Fuckedface!”

It turned, neck twisting at an unnatural angle. A low growl rumbled out of it as it moved toward her, readying itself to pounce. Any thought of stealth was quickly defeated by the scraping if the short, shriveled legs dangling from its chest. Long vines unwound from its back as it trudged forward, a long trail of drool hanging from the lips gorily smeared across its face.

“Come on! What ya waitin’ for, ya overgrown daisy!” She took a few steps back as she pulled Uncle Hew off her back. She loosed an unintelligible string of curses around Uncle Hew’s handle, goading Fuckedface closer.

Its lips curled back revealing wicked triangular teeth. With a snarl it leapt forward, a flurry of lashing tentacles and gnashing teeth. Tink backpedaled quickly, batting aside a viney appendage that got too close for comfort. She ducked a wide slash and rolled to the right as another vine slapped whiplike against her previous location. It roared its frustration and charged.

She had barely recovered her hooves as it barreled toward her. It bore down on her, a stiff tentacle held out lancelike before it. She threw herself to the right again, raising her right foreleg defensively in desperation. It reacted instantly to the impact, tiny thorns sprouting from the site seeking to pierce and absorb. The stinging barbs failed to pierce the metal flange cupping the hoofless limb.

Fuckedface rammed into the frame of the lift door, tentacles bracing it above the shaft. It twisted back toward her, the greater mouth in its chest spreading with a wet rip.

She made a fist.

In the storeroom, her cyberhoof closed. The tightening grip forced the pipe to press down on both pedals sending the five ton machine rocketing forward. Fuckedface bellowed as it was impaled by one of the forks before the massive machine pushed him, wailing, into the black.

Tink opened her fist as the forklift disappeared over the ledge. She cautiously staggered up to the lift doors and peered into the shaft she had descended what felt like years ago. She grabbed at the thin dangling wire. She fished up her hoof, luckily the knot had held. She splayed out the fingers for a firm base and lined up her truncated limb. Taking a deep, soothing breath she pushed against it with all her weight. The splined shaft slotted into the receiver. There was a brief moment when nothing happened, then her leg caught fire. Magically charged crystal matrices flared to life, their thaumic fields attuning to her ambient magical pulse, and in the process overstimulating all the nerves in her lower leg. She screamed through clenched teeth.

The pain dulled to a throb and she rolled the newly reconnected device through a series of stretches designed to check her full range of motion. Satisfied, she trotted back to the lift door and pulled open the panel. The door slid obediently closed.

A shape in the darkness twitched. The split-faced monstrosity lay stunned in the wreckage of a lift, pinned under the forklift. Awareness trickled through its mangled form, disparate bits of consciousness weaving back together. A unifying thought echoed through its disjointed mind, hunger.

Sinewy vines struggled to free themselves from the crushing weight of the machine. With a violent burst it strained against the weight. The lift wobbled slightly. Spent, the beast relented allowing the lift to settle. Surge. Slack. Surge. Slack. With each repetition the machine swayed a little more. Surge. Slack. Surge. Slack. With a thunderous crash that rang through the shaft the forklift teetered and fell, freeing the pulverized plant-beast.

Fuckedface crawled through the twisted scrap, reabsorbing and dominating those bits of himself that had been severed. It gorged itself, revelling in the carnal pleasure of eating. Fueled by its grisly feast, its broken body knitted back together. Similar, but not the same. It maintained its grim visage, the marred faces of its first two victims. Behind a serpentine neck lay a bulbous, bulging abdomen. Eight legs again sprouted from the spiderlike body, each terminating not in a hoof, but a mass of velvety fronds.

Whole, it looked up and loosed an angry bellow. It placed a limb against the wall, the seeking tendrils finding purchase on the vertical surface. It roared again and chased the echo upwards.

With remarkable swiftness it scaled the walls. It clung suspended beside the closed door to the upper residential section. Holding tight with six legs, it reared back and pummeled the sealed door. The heavy strikes thudded futilely. Frustrated, the beast climbed down a level. Clinging to the ceiling, Fuckedface skittered inverted into D level.

Junior hung motionless from the underside of a desk drawer. Gizmo continued to hurl wreckage haphazardly as he tore through the room. The colt’s earlier bravado evaporated as the search continued, quickly descending to the level of a juvenile tantrum.

“Come OUT! I’m tired of this game!” Gizmo flipped a damaged end table. “It won’t hurt, I promise!”

Junior stayed motionless.

“Darnit! You’re making me mad you mean... stupid... meaney stupidhead!” Gizmo stomped angrily, hoof catching the lip of some debris and causing it to rebound into his face. “GAH!” He gently rubbed his snout, tears welling in his eyes.

He sniffled, a tear streaking down his face. “I don’t wanna be here anymore. It’s scary and I’m lonely. The ones that can’t talk wanna eat me, and the ones who can wanna do worse!” With a huff he crumpled to the floor. He shook with sobs for several long moments. Spent, he looked up through misted eyes. His gaze locked on the shiny metallic scorpion clinging to the desk’s bottom.

Slowly, cautiously he crept closer. “It’s okay,” he cooed, “I won’t hurt you.”

Junior scanned around him, searching for a convenient place to lose himself.

Gizmo stopped a few steps away and settled to the floor. “I didn’t wanna be a monster. We were in class, and Tune asked me to sneak out with her. I followed her. She wanted to show me something. Then... she...” He wiped at his eyes. “I don’t wanna be afraid anymore. I don’t wanna hurt ponies. I just wanna be free!”

Junior skittered a hairsbreadth forward coming half out of the shadow of the desk. The emergency lights glinted off his metallic skin. He made another tentative move forward scanning the surroundings.

“You... you’re gonna help me? Really? Thank you!” Gizmo rose and started to step forward. Junior quickly backpedaled, hiding mostly under the desk while gazing upward.

“Where ya going? We need to get ou...” A lance of plant matter impaled colt through the neck, green ichor splattered across the desk and floor. His little body contorted and writhed as he was hauled upward.

Fuckedface clung to the ceiling, a thick corded vine protruding from its back. Viscous fluid dribbled down as the skin of its back grew taut and split. Its bloated abdomen peeled back revealing rows and rows of thornlike teeth. Slowly the vine reeled green foal up toward the slavering maw.

Gizmo kicked and struggled. Keening wails bursted past his lips. Thin fronds enwrapped the thick vine, scrabbling and scratching at it. He looked up to see the beast’s mismatched face descending toward him. Its crooked mouth unhinged and spread impossibly wide. The damp, rotten stink of its breath washed over the struggling colt. He screamed in defiance as the jaws clamped around his head. A multitude of tentacles erupted from Fuckedface’s back, engulfing the smaller abomination’s convulsing form. With a ripping tear Gizmo’s head was wrenched from his body.

Below, Junior scurried through the wreckage. With a laser rifle energy cell on his back, he disappeared back into the vents.

The door to the Overmare’s office loomed in front of her. Her dash through the atrium had been uneventful. There was no telling how long Fuckedface would be out, she needed to escape while she had the chance. This whole trip was a wash. She looked over her shoulder at Uncle Hew as she neared the door. Well... not a total wash...

She stopped at the door. Didn’t I leave this open? The panel by the door glowed green, she raised a hoof and hoped that meant it hadn’t locked. A relieved sigh escaped her lips as the door slid obediently open.

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you.” The reclining stallion behind the desk sat up. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Princess fuck my asshole,” she swore, “you can’t be serious.”

“Well... errr... Princess Asshole was it?” He gave a smug grin. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You have something I want.”

Tink glared at him as he steepled his hooves below his chin. The stallion radiated smugness. Her mind raced, trying to absorb the implications of the stallion’s appearance. No other options springing to the forefront of her mind, she decided to stall. “Oh?” She looked him over. A name tag hung from his lab coat. Professor Tentation.

“Indeed. The fact you’re in here proves it.” He tapped meaningfully on the recessed monitor. “I’ve been watching. You’re a smart pony, so why don’t we get down to business. How did you get in?”

“Magic?”

A scowl broke his previously jovial mask. “Let’s not make jokes little lady.”

“Awww... but I’m really funny.”

“How did you get past the security lockout?”

“Secret password.”

The stallion’s scowl deepened, a low growl bubbling up from his throat.

“It’s ‘fuck you you stupid plant bastard’ all lowercase, no spaces.”

With a bellow of rage he stomped heavily on the metal desk, the ringing clash reverberating off the walls. “I grow tired of your insolence!”

“I get that a lot.” She reached over her shoulder and grabbed hold of Uncle Hew. “It turns out I’m pretty tired of running and hiding, so let’s cut the bullshit.” With an unexpected burst she charged the short distance between them and buried the ax in his shoulder. Blue-green ichor seeped from the wound. The stallion looked calmly down at the wound and back to her. She wrenched the weapon free.

The seeping fluid congealed into a wispy hanging moss that soon covered his leg. “A shame, it would have been so much easier for you if you had just told me. But I will pull it from you memories soon enough.” He grunted as cruel thorns pushed their way through the skin on his legs and neck. His face remained disturbingly the same, his confident smirk still twisting at the corners of his mouth.

Fighting was a losing proposition, and she knew it. It was also her only option. One way in, one way out. Luck wouldn’t stay on her side, and undoubtedly it was luck that she had gone so far in this deathtrap without waking too many of the forgotten monstrosities that lurked within. She steeled herself against the certainty that this was her last chance for freedom. For life.

Tentation leapt over the desk, murder in his eyes.

Tink reared up and brought Uncle Hew around in a sweeping arc. The flat of the blade impacted the stallion’s body with a dull thud, sending him careening into the wall. She pressed the attack, raining more cleaving blows on his back and neck. She screamed as she wailed away. He stilled.

Fire. She needed fire. She bucked her saddlebag off, spilling the contents across the floor. Won’t stay stunned long, need fire! Scrap electronics, a coffee mug, a decent stash of caps, a flannel shirt, a precious few potions, a bottle of Wild Pegasus... She darted over to the shirt and quickly secured it around Uncle Hew’s head. She looked to chase the bottle of booze when a rush of movement blurred in her peripheral vision. She twisted and brought up her ax defensively. The hacked and twisted bulk of the stallion-thing crashed into the upraised weapon, sending her rolling across the room.

“Nopony stands between me and what I want! Nopony!” Spittle trailed from his lips as a riot of writhing vines and fronds knitted his hide back together. “You will suffer, I would have made it quick before, but not now.”

She tried to move, to flee, but her body wouldn’t respond. All she could manage were a few strained gasps to try get air back in her lungs. He stalked toward her, eyes full of menace. His jaw distended impossibly, tongue lolling out the side.

She opened her mouth. A scream pierced the air, high and angry.

Tentation turned away from her, toward the door. Toward a tiny, battered mechanical scorpion in the doorway. It screeched again, pincers open wide, tail upright. Junior stabbed down, tail probe piercing the hard plastic shell of the energy cartridge on his back. Current coursed out of the cell, arcing over his body and between his scissoring pincers. In a burst of unexpected speed, Junior crossed the gap and leapt upon the confused monstrosity. Electricity surged over him, singeing Tentation’s thorny hide. Tentation bucked wildly trying to dislodge his attacker. Razor sharp blades flayed the velvety fronds knitting together his ax wounds. Ichor and viscera popped and sizzled as it dribbled on the robot’s crackling carapace. With a sucking pop and a wailing scream from the flailing abomination, Junior pulled himself into the wound.

Air in her lungs again, Tink pulled herself to her hooves. She grabbed the extruderboard shaft of her ax in her teeth and scooped up the whiskey bottle in her cybernetic claw. She turned back to the now thrashing and smoking beast. With two metal fingers around the base, she squeezed with the other two. The top of the bottle shattered, splashing the shirt-wrapped ax head in high proof alcohol. Whipping her neck down, she brought the weapon down on Tentation’s back where smoke poured out from beneath the surface. The hidden flames licked up the whiskey-soaked fabric. She brought the flaming ax down thrice more before the thrashing stilled completely, fire slowly spreading.

She let the flames scour Uncle Hew clean of any lingering infected bits. Her eyes were wet, either from the acrid smoke or something else. She turned to leave.

The smoldering remains twitched.

She scowled and raised her ax again.

Out from the corpse crawled a metallic, smoking form. It made it a short distance away from the growing pyre before collapsing. A simple, melodic two notes trilled from it. “Ta-daa!”

She stepped out into the cavern, never before had a damp, dark cave felt so welcoming. The heavy door closed behind her, locking in whatever horrors still roamed the depths of Stable 48.

She turned, Junior’s mangled form shifting on her withers. The thick stable door had kept 48 sealed for ten years. It would hold them in again. Wouldn’t it? She struggled through the cave, the wet chill sucking her reserves. A shaft of light pierced the darkness in front of her.

“Hold on, buddy. Almost out,” she whispered. Junior remained immobile as she scrabbled up an incline at the mouth of the cave. With a final heave she pulled herself out and into the diffuse sunlight. She sprawled out on her belly and stared up at the overcast sky, drinking in the bigness of it. She heaved a tired sigh. Couldn’t you spare a shaft of light through the clouds, you stingy bastard. I’ve had a rough day.

“Junior?” A weak trill answered her. “Plug in and get me an uplink, then you can take a nice rest. You’ve earned it.”

She lifted her foreleg behind her as best she could. He dragged himself across her back and onto her cybernetic hoof. She stood frozen as he pulled himself up her cannon. The legs that still worked struggled to move his light frame. He slotted his tail into her prosthetic and embraced her limb, for all the world looking like an eclectic piece of jewelry again. She looked to her PipBuck and watched as several screens flashed by, the result of Junior’s wireless manipulation. Finally the screen she needed appeared on the screen. “Rest easy, now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

A single line of text materialized on the screen

>>>Prism Technologies. Blazing a Brighter Trail.

Clawed digits danced across her PipBuck, navigating menus until she reached her intended destination.

>>>LEO A-1/A-12: Error: Access Denied
>>>LEO B-1/B-12: Limited Access Granted
>>>LEO C-1/C-12: Error: Access Denied
>>>LEO D-1/D-12: Error: Access Denied
>>>L1: Error: No Response
>>>L3: Error: Access Denied
>>>L4: Error: No Response
>>>L5: Error: Access Denied
>>>LUNASTN: Error: No Response
>>>PRISMHQ: Error: Access Denied

>>>Prism GeoSatNet: Access Granted

>>>Make A Selection
>>>>GeoSynch
>>>>Communications

She pursed her lips and entered a command.

>>Starfall

>>>Command Not Recognized

She muttered a moment, then tried again.

>>Starfall: Passphrase: MISERERE NOBIS

>>>Access granted
>>>Starfall Error: Insufficient Assets
>>>The following assets are available:
>>>>LEO B-8 (Error: Loading Malfunction)
>>>>LEO B-11 (Error: Targeting Offline)

>>LEO B-8

>>>LEO B8a: Expended
>>>LEO B8b: Available
>>>LEO B8c: Malfunction
>>>LEO B8d: Unavailable
>>>LEO B8e: Unavailable
>>>LEO B8f: Expended

>>LEO B8b

>>>Coordinates?

>>41.51, 87.39

>>>Confirm Coordinates

>>41.51, 87.39

>>>Confirm: Independent Bombardment - Coordinates 41.51, 87.39.
>>>Volley: 1(B8b) (Y/N)

>>Y

>>>Confirmed: Payload Delivery in 14:57
>>>Thank You for using Prism Technologies. Have a nice day.
>>>Connection Terminated

Tink sat on a hill a goodly distance away from her father’s childhood home. Junior clung to her leg; he remained jacked in, but he refused to rest. She looked down at him and he gave a feeble wave and a light-hearted whistle. The counter on her PipBuck reached zero, and a silver streak parted the clouds.

“Take a letter.”

Dear Daddy,

It’s just like they always say in this town: if he pulls a knife, you pull a gun. If he pulls some kind of genetic horror plant monster, you pull an orbital kinetic penetrator. Even if it’s the only one you’ve got... That’s the Buckago way!

I reopened your old mess, Dad, but I cleaned it up. Set me back years on my other project, but it was the only way to be sure. I’ve got some more loose ends to tie up, and I’ve got a plan. I’m going to set it right, fix things for good this time. I miss you Daddy, I’ll be home soon.

Love,
Tink

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes:

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I could go into detail on how life conspired to delay this chapter repeatedly, but I won’t inflict that on you. Instead I will just thank those of you who have stayed on board. That out of the way, time for thank yous!

All hail Kkat for creating the sandbox we play in.

I always want to thank Mysecsha for being there as a sounding board and for keeping up my spirits when life happened.

I want to thank the FoE community for being generally awesome. Seriously, you guys rock.

I guess that’s all for now. Stay tuned for the start of the second arc! And again, thank you for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy, and I love comments.