The Conversion Bureau: Setting Things Right

by kildeez

First published 7th of March, 2014

When a portal to another world appears outside Canterlot, the ponies' initial reaction is of enthusiasm, hoping to greet these strange aliens with open hooves. Too bad this world was already visited by another Equestria...

The Earth is still reeling from the effects of the Collision Wars against Xenolestia and her hordes of Newfoals, humanity having emerged victorious but a few million citizens fewer. Then yet another Equestria appears, but this time the humans are quick to cut off the head of the snake, capturing the evil Princess Celestia and imprisoning her. But something seems different about this Celestia...something almost friendly.

Can the Harmony and Friendship that Celestia has treasured all her life heal some of the scars left by her wicked counterpart, or do some wounds just run too deep?

Cover modified with permission from: KP-Shadowsquirrel

Also, because people have been asking for it, the original WW2 poster can be found here

Pre reading done by DJK. So go give him some wuv.

Chapter I: Old Wounds

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0945 HOURS
UNITED NATIONS COMBINED DEFENSE INITIATIVE: WESTERN EUROPEAN REGIONAL HEADQUARTERS
LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM
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As the American liaison to the UNCDI regional headquarters for all of Western Europe, one would think David Preston's life would be a little more exciting. Well, maybe that was a poor choice of words. He knew when he got the job he'd probably never get to use the firearms training provided to him by his dear old Uncle Sam, and that more likely than not, he would wind up sitting at a desk in a non-descript office building somewhere with a decent view of the Thames. And he'd been mostly right: if he leaned his chair back far enough and craned his neck a little, he could see the Thames flowing in the bay window at the end of the little row of cubicles he called home. Not only that, but if he did a one-eighty in his seat, he could see the Eagle’s Eye through the massive bay window on the front of the building, along with an eagle’s eye view of a couple piers sticking out into the Thames. So he got the view part right, at least. The thing was, he just thought there'd be more to do.

Oh sure, he'd been asked to do all the right things to maintain appearances for the good ol' U-S-of-A. He was still considered a diplomat, after all, even though the US embassy was technically a couple of blocks over. He'd gone to all the right parties, dressed in the fancy-ass threads that cost more than some people's mortgage payments back home, even got to say a few words to the press (all pre-scripted for him, of course), but that was it. That was the extent of his responsibilities! The parties and the statements to the press and the occasional appearance at Parliament or Buckingham Palace were the most work he ever got. Other than that, there was just sitting at his desk, googling his own name, practicing his dart-throwing skills with the target tacked to the south wall (the one with the eagle’s eye view), and this: standing at the urinal, trying desperately to tell his body it had to pee.

He grimaced as he zipped himself up and headed over to the sinks, the automatic sensor flushing the urinal, despite its water still being as clear as it had been when he'd walked in. Too much time on his hands: that was the problem. Not any of that "overactive bladder" shit the drug companies kept trying to make people believe they needed pills for. Just too much time sitting in his high-end office chair, staring at his computer, being perfectly aware of every one of his body's needs because there simply wasn't anything else going on to distract him. Oh sure, it was nice that the vast majority of the diplomat stuff was still handled back at the Embassy, but couldn't they throw something his way!? Surely, they didn't think he was too incompetent to handle an Excel spreadsheet!

Running the water and working up a good lather of suds, he thought back to the small two-bedroom house in Michigan he'd left for this job. It wasn't much, but it'd had enough space in the living room for both a decent-sized TV cabinet and an office desk with chair. The kitchen would never have been featured in Better Homes and Gardening either, but it had been everything he’d needed. A stove, a fridge, even a breakfast nook! Not much by anyone's standards all told, but more than enough for a bachelor straight out of college with a degree in world history. Sure, the apartment in Westminster was nice, and even came with a 62" plasma-screen TV that put the 32" analog he'd left in the States to shame, but there was something about owning your own land, having an entire building you could call "mine," that had always appealed to him, even if said building could comfortably fit in his new apartment.

Snapping back to reality, he looked down and realized he'd had the water running over his hands the entire time he'd been lost in thought. The lather was long gone, the skin on his hands now a deep red from the heat. Sighing, he pulled out some paper towel and used it to switch the faucet off. The heels of his well-polished Italian shoes tapping on the tiled floor, he waltzed back into the main office, where he and his fellow "diplomats" did all of their nothing. There were eight cubes in all, just sitting in the middle of the room. One each for the permanent member states of the new United Nations Security Council, including the UK for reasons that were beyond him. Not that he was complaining: Ms. Townshend, like everyone else in their little group, was young, perky, and if she didn’t mind him saying, not too bad on the eyes either. Not that he’d ever go after her, hell no! The scandal of two diplomats in a newly-formed global organization having romantic interests? The Chinese and the Russkies would have a field day! Hell, they might even pull their diplomats out, which would be a damn shame. Anton and Liu were two of the best drinking buddies he’d ever had.

As David walked out of the bathroom and turned the corner, he fully expected the usual setting to greet him as he walked back to his desk. Francis would have his feet kicked up, the heels carefully placed as far away from the German flag decal posted to one wall of his cubicle as he could manage. He would be arguing with Andre about some niggling thing, the Frenchman switching between French, German, and English with a fluidity to make David’s head spin, the passion in his voice such that a few blonde curls might drop over his sky-blue eyes.

Next to them would be lovely little Lisa Townshend (shit, alliteration? He should’ve been a writer). She’d be occupied with her smart phone, her fantastic legs folded to serve as a platform for her hands as they tapped away on her knees, her gaze only looking up to encourage the German and the Frenchman to “kiss and make up already,” a statement that would make both men turn to her and stammer hopelessly, their faces growing deeper and deeper shades of red as they talked and blubbered where mere minutes ago they had been switching between three languages with the kind of ease that only came with a lifetime of practice. Again, why she was here in the Brits’ own embassy was anyone’s guess, but he wasn’t gonna complain. If the Limeys wanted to pay a diplomat to serve on their own soil, then hey, good for her for landing the best job ever, and good for them for snagging a girl that looked like she belonged in a Revlon commercial, sans a few gallons of makeup.

Felipe would be typing away at his desk, trying his level best to ignore the arguing and smart-assed quips while working on whatever he thought would make his homeland proud. The poor thing: he probably believed he could do anything for his beloved Brazil from his forgotten little desk half a planet away. At least, that’s what everyone assumed. Nobody spoke Portuguese, so for all they knew the documents he spent hours quietly typing up could be spy reports on NATO military positions in Northern Europe. They probably weren't, but the way he worked on them you'd think they held the cure for cancer, only decipherable after a few dozen pages of Portuguese had been typed up, zipped up, and sent to his home in Brasilia.

Next came Anton, the senior member of the group, though he was barely out of his thirties. The Russian would have his tattered old Orioles baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, snoring away, his lips pursing out above the fuzz of his thick goatee with each exhale. That is, if he wasn’t heartily debating the virtues of Vodka against Sake with Liu, the Chinese diplomat who was almost as young as Felipe, yet had drunken each and every one of the group under the table at some point during their stay here. David had tried his level best to keep up with the kid at a few points, but in the end Anton was the only one who ever managed to remain conscious with him through an entire night. A fact that had immediately forged a deep camaraderie between the men only surpassed by soldiers in war.

That just left Akshat: the Sikh Indian who David could always – always - tell was coming in. Thanks to the angle he sat at and the wall divider that only served to cut off his view of the doorway, the tip of the Indian’s turban was just barely visible as he walked in, allowing the American to shoot a pre-emptive greeting Akshat’s way. Everyone else, meanwhile, was completely covered and only visible in the split second after they opened the door to walk in, and so received a generic "Morning" when he saw the plain oak door open and slowly shut. David probably could have gotten away with this little secret for a few more months, if it wasn’t for the day Andre came in a few minutes early and wound up walking in right next to his Indian counterpart. If David had just looked – if he’d just gotten off his lazy ass and prairie-dogged over the divider like every other office man on the face of the planet – he might have noticed the racial faux pas coming and been able to dodge. Instead he looked up, saw the upper knot of that turban bobbing up and down, and as was custom muttered “Hey, Akshat,” without even acknowledging the Frenchman.

Now that he thought about it, part of it was Andre’s fault too. If the guy had just shrugged his shoulders and trotted to his desk, the entire incident would have passed like any other day at the office. Instead, he just had to crack a grin and say something along the lines of: “What? No greeting for the froggy?” That inevitably led to a bit of back and forth which, in turn, led to David being forced to confess his little trick for knowing when the Indian was walking in ahead of time, and that led to David being accused of being a typical, racist-ass American by everyone present.

“But it’s true! He’s the only one you can see over my wall!” He’d cried defensively.

“You sure we towel-heads don’t just all look alike to you, you fucking prick!?” Akshat had cried, his teeth bared, his jaw clenched in rage.

“Okay, goddammit, before you go ripping on the big, evil American, why don’t we just let someone else see if I’m right?”

Either out of good luck or bad, Lisa had been out that day with the sniffles, and when she showed up to work bright and early the next morning, she found Dave in her usual spot. After he'd told her he just wanted to switch spots for the day to “mix things up,” she’d shrugged her shoulders and slumped into his desk, too exhausted from her still-visible cold symptoms to argue. Then, seeing her in the right position, Akshat and Andre had walked in, side-by-side, just as they had the day before. Her reaction, served while digging into the pockets of her suit jacket for another wad of tissues, was both the absolutely perfect and the absolutely worst possible thing she could have said:

“Oh, hey Akshat, did I miss anything?”

Akshat didn’t say much for a few weeks after that. It took a very nice chocolate cake emblazoned with the words “From the racist shitheads you put up with” in pink frosting letters for him to even start talking to them again, and even then it was another week before he started responding to Dave’s bored attempts at conversation.

Other than that bit of drama, life in the nondescript office building proceeded without any ceremony. It didn’t help that all the budget sunken into the building seemed to have gone to the cubicles, with a bit leftover for the bathrooms. The “lounge” consisted of a Coke machine and a few beat up chairs in one corner, and the walls were devoid of even that cheap wall art or those inspirational posters which lined the walls of every other office building in the northern hemisphere. Then you had the cubes: high-end office chairs, oak desks, and a top-of-the-line desktop with an Outlook account they never used, constantly whirring away next to a big red phone that never rang. The phone, in turn, had the name of their nation’s respective capitol printed on it in big, white lettering. Besides that, there was the bathrooms, the dartboard they had tacked up on the rear wall, and the view.

David fully expected to spend his few remaining hours of the day staring at his computer screen, the map of the world he used as his wallpaper staring back at him until it was seared into his retinas, his eyes occasionally drifting to the big, white “WASHINGTON” stenciled to the phone near his elbow. So imagine his surprise when he found his seven counterparts gathered in front of one screen, their eyes transfixed on the glowing image before them.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” He asked snidely, taking note that it was Akshat’s desk they were all gathered in front of, the Indian himself sitting in the one swivel chair there was room for. “Somebody post another cat video on…”

“SHH!” Lisa turned around just long enough to shush him, immediately turning back to the screen.

David arched an eyebrow at that. In the half-second he’d had to study Lisa’s features, he could have sworn he saw fear in her eyes. Not just fear like you might feel walking past that one darkened alleyway on your way home at the end of the day, either. This was the kind of terror you saw confronting an old, childhood fear, like the dog that but a few bite marks in your arm at age five or the tone your Dad used when he was a few whiskeys past caring about whether or not you went to school with a black eye. “Lisa,” he repeated, desperate to see her face again, just to confirm what he saw.

She turned on him, brow hunched in frustration. “What, David, what do you want!?” She barked. Her tone was impatient, but behind that was the same fear he thought had been there, and his stomach clenched at the sight.

“Oh my God, Lisa, what’s wrong?” He asked, his mind racing through a few of the things online that could have confident Miss Lisa Townshend so scared: a huge terrorist attack in Trafalgar Square, or an outbreak of Ebola in Shropshire. Or wait. Oh God, there was also that, but that was impossible! That couldn’t possibly happen again in…

“It’s happening again, David,” Anton grumbled, his voice like a four-by-four pickup going over loose gravel. “You’re not going to fucking believe this, but E-Day is happening again.”

David felt the tips of his fingers go cold as his fists clenched. The color drained from his face, and the cautious apprehension he’d felt on seeing Lisa’s expression threatened to explode into full-blown terror. “God, no…” he mumbled. “Where?”

"The North Sea! Just south of the Shetland coast!" Liu barked, waving his hand dismissively for the American to quiet down.

"The North Sea..." he trailed off. His legs quivered, and for a second he thought his knees would buckle and send him crashing to the linoleum, but by sheer luck and that old belief that fainting was unmanly, he managed to stay on his feet. His mind wondered back to the glowing map on his screen. He could point to the spot if he wanted to, but somewhere behind the panic and disbelief just starting to settle in his mind, he knew the most that would accomplish would be a nice, greasy fingerprint in the middle of his monitor. "Jesus H - that's in our backyard!"

“Who’s handling this?” Liu asked, tearing his eyes away from the screen long enough to look at the people around him. A bunch of blank stares answered him. “Well, c’mon! It’s on the news! Someone must be handling this!”

“They are,” Lisa again, except now she was back at her own desk, staring at a few open browser windows. Apparently, while the men had all remained staring at the single computer screen like a bunch of slack-jawed idiots, she had returned to her desk to actually ‘handle this.’

Behold: humanity’s best defense in Western Europe, tasked with keeping one of the most industrialized and heavily-populated regions on the planet from falling to the enemy, Dave mused with a grimace.

“The SAS has a platoon in the area on maneuvers,” she continued. “They’re diverting to the emergence zone now. ETA ten minutes.”

Anton was the first to finally shake off his shock and return to being the highly-paid professional they were all supposed to be. “That’s good, but we’re supposed to be monitoring the international response. We need the support of NATO, and we need the rest of the Security Council convening now.”

“I’ll…check on the American response,” David added, his voice shaky and timid, and he honestly couldn’t say if or when it would be cool or confident or even just normal again. “I’m sure we’ve got something in the North Atlantic we can send over.”

“Good, that’s good,” Anton grimaced, and David could swear there was a touch more gray in his beard than there had been that morning. “Monitoring is all we can do right now, at least until…”

No sooner did he say this when a loud, shrill noise filled the office. Every eye went to the big, red phone on the next desk over, labeled “BERLIN” as it buzzed again, the shrill chime acting as an alarm to announce an end to the slow, safe, boring world they had all come to know and love. Moving slowly, like a man ordering his own execution, Francis returned to his desk, picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear. "Jawohl?" He asked, somehow keeping the nervous shaking that racked the rest of his body from entering his voice.

What followed could only be called an auditory bombardment, courtesy of some politician in the Bundstag back home. The fact that a few, encrypted satellite transmitters were capable of delivering such an absolute onslaught directly into the German's ear was a testament to modern technology. Through it all, Francis just kept nodding, eventually sinking into his chair with the look of shock on his face anyone gets when they've just seen a school shooting announced on the local news.

Then the ringing filled the air again. NEW DELHI this time, the little phone sitting in the middle of the impromptu gathering now sounding in everyone's ears. Akshat blanched white, his beard drooping to his chest as he slowly scooped up the receiver. A half-second later, LONDON joined in, then MOSCOW, WASHINGTON, BRASILIA...

The calls came in rapid-fire, people all over the world needing to know what other nations were doing, how they were doing it, did they need any extra manpower, were the Tachyon Inhibitors ready for a counterattack, and on, and on, and on. David finally snapped out of his trance with the others, turning on one heel and nearly tripping over his own feet to get moving. He had to resist the urge to throw Liu out of the way, the young diplomat nearly knocking him over in the rush to get back to his own desk. Then David rounded the corner, twisting himself to aim back towards his desk, once again almost tripping over a few chair legs before hitting his desk like an all-star baseball player sliding into home.

"Yes!?" He gasped, followed quickly by: "Yes sir...no sir...no, sir, so far there haven't been any incursions made by the anomaly...what was that?...yes sir, that would probably be..."

"Da, da, everyone!" Anton yelled over the clamor erupting in the office. "The Mudderland has a few fleets readying in the Karelian Peninsula! They should be at sea by the end of the day, along with the Finns! They’re gonna blockade Scandinavia!"

"We've got German reinforcements setting sail for Scotland!" Francis yelled. "They say the Spanish are right behind them!"

"Merde, the French are militarizing ze English Channel! They're letting immigrants and refugees over for now, but they're already stretched to ze limit! They might close the border!"

"We should setup a map...we gotta keep track of all this..." Lisa said absently, distracted with the entire council of ministers screaming into her earpiece.

"No time! The Brazilian President just asked if he should declare a state of emergency, and I have no idea what to tell him!" Felipe groaned.

"US Air Force units are in the air over Wales!" David screamed over the growing chaos, a finger plugged into one ear, the other wishing it was plugged against the screaming politician on the other end of the line. "Every single one of their bases in Europe is going on Full-Alert status, and I’ve got cross-chatter debating whether or not to shut down commercial flights over North America!"

"Jesus, it's the Collision Wars all over again!"

"Stay strong, people," Anton barked, somehow writing down orders from the Russian President at the same time, his free hand still cradling the phone. "This is what we're here for! This is the whole reason the UN trusted us with this job!"

"Hey, who the hell isn't answering their phone!? Dat ringing is driving me nuts!"

A loud thump punched through the room, shocking everything into stillness. Seven sets of eyes turned to the dartboard, where the gang spent many a drunken, merry old time "mocking the old bitch." Liu, the quiet little diplomat from China with the uncanny ability to swallow any kind of alcohol with hardly a buzz to show for it, grasped the dart where he had plunged it into the picture, tearing it out of the plaster so hard one of the thumbtacks holding the picture up popped out. Now, the picture sat askew on the wall, supported only by the dart pinning it in place, which in turn was supported by the diplomat’s ironclad grip. He clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white. "Never again," he hissed, then he finally took a few steps back, looking at his handiwork. He surveyed the picture tacked up on the wall, the one covered in pockmarks from a thousand nights’ worth of drunken attempts at making the exact shot he’d just landed, then turned back to the group. "Never again."

The stunned quiet continued for only a few more minutes, and then Lisa nodded in agreement. "Never again."

"Never again," David heard himself say.

"Never again," Anton.

"Never again," Francis.

"Never again," Felipe.

"On my life and honor as a Frenchman, never again," Andre.

"Show-off dick," Francis muttered, and then everyone returned to their duties, Liu jogging back to his desk to gasp a few scattered apologies in Chinese to his phone. The office fell right back into the strange, organized chaos that would almost certainly be the norm from this point forward, all except for David, who stole a quick look over his shoulder at the picture tacked to the wall, now only held in place by the dart embedded into the wall. Princess Celestia's smiling visage greeted him, a picture downloaded off Deviantart in the days before the Collision Wars. Her one eye, once filled with that little sparkle it always seemed to have in the cartoon, now only filled with a few inches of metal from where his colleague had stabbed her. The background behind her sparkled a neat pink, as if she were charging up some pretty little spell on behalf of her pretty little ponies. Her mane drifted in some unseen wind, suspended by more of that whimsical magic which had seemed so pretty and wonderful just a few years ago, but now summoned a wave of mild nausea from the pit of the American’s stomach.

"Never again, you evil cunt," he hissed under his breath before hitting the button to respond to the next caller waiting in line.

Chapter II: Understanding

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1100 HOURS
FARMLAND OUTSIDE CANTERLOT CASTLE
CANTERLOT, EQUESTRIA
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Ask any soldier in the Royal Guard's garrison at Canterlot for a story, and odds are they'll come up with six right off the bat. From the reemergence of Discord to the changeling invasion, these guards were forced to confront more nightmares, demons, and talking toasters in a single day than most ponies might face in their lives. Whether this was a blessing or a burden to shoulder really depended on who you asked, but personally, Shining Armor always felt lucky to even be a Guard. Where else did somepony get the chance to defend his loved ones from evil, resurrected kings, love-sucking monsters, and love spells running amok (although that last one was more his sister's fault, a fact he was never going to let her live down)? So being named the Captain of every guardspony in Canterlot was just a huge bonus to him. He got to command more ponies, play a more active role in the defense of his nation, and hey, by the end of it all, maybe he'd have a few more stories for his foals when it was time to retire.

Or...even my grandfoals, if Cadence has her way and we start popping them out like no other. A shiver raced down his spine as he trotted along, and immediately the pony walking alongside him took notice.

"Big brother?" She asked, an eyebrow arched. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, uh..." he cracked a grin for her. "Just remembering...uh...something scary that crossed my mind the other day."

"Cadence on you about having foals again?" She asked with a sly half-smile, a wing flexing towards him predatorily.

Another shiver raced up his spine, this time making him shake so hard his armor clinked. "You girls know me way too well," he grumbled.

"Maybe that's because I'm your sister?" She replied with a cute little nuzzle to his chin. "C'mon: we don't want to keep the Princess waiting!"

The Guard Captain nodded and trotted to keep up with the little Alicorn, the pair galloping along the dirt path leading through the farmlands outside Canterlot, kicking up a decent amount of dust. Despite being within Canterlot's shadow, this little rural haven was still underdeveloped, partially out of a few nobles' reluctance to fund a public works project in someplace that didn't have easy access to five-star accommodations, but mostly from the local Earth Ponies' love of the feel of dirt under their hooves. Still, Shining Armor enjoyed the rustic charm of it all: the friendliness and openness of the ponies and the smell of fresh farm air could really appeal to a guy who had to spend most of his time in the frozen tundra of the North. Not that he could ever complain about his job as Prince of the Crystal Empire: he loved his wife dearly, and the work was hard but rewarding, but still, a guy started to miss the feeling of a warm breeze on a cool spring night after a while.

But I wouldn’t trade any of it for all the gold in the world, he thought, a smile cracking his muzzle.

"Shining?"

"Hmm?" He turned to his sister, the reassuring smile reappearing on his face. "What's up, Twi? Did I shiver again?"

"No, you just looked like you were thinking about something really nice," she replied. "Care to share what it was?"

"Oh," his cheeks flushed a deep, crimson red. "It's...nothing. Just nothing." His sister didn't need to know her big brother was such a sentimental sap, reflecting on how lucky he was to have a loving wife, an awesome job, and the best family anypony could wish for. She'd never let him live it down!

"Hmm - well, since I know you so well, let's see if I can guess it," the Princess stared him down, brows furrowing in that cute little way she'd done since childhood. A hoof went to her chin and she started hobbling along without missing a beat in her step. The recently-crowned prince started sweating, and not just from the heat building under his armor. He knew his sister, and he loved her dearly, but still, he sometimes wondered if some of those Alicorn powers might have added to her already-impressive analytical abilities. Did he think she had the ability to read thoughts now? No, that was ridiculous. But darned if she wasn't close.

"Hmm...I think..." she trailed off, and then her eyes lit up and she nodded satisfactorily. He gulped. If she seriously guessed this, he was calling for an exorcist and moving someplace where the scary, mind-reading sister could never find him. Acapulcolt, probably. Oh sweet Celestia if I just thought that then doesn't she know... "I think you were thinking about Cadence just now!"

He visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumping. "Close," he smiled. "You got a part of it, at least."

"Oh, Shiny," the mare tsked, shaking her head. "You really need to get your mind out of the gutter. I mean, how can a Princess be seen with somepony when he's thinking about that all the time?"

"What!?" He gasped, instantly straightening up. "I wasn't - that wasn't what I..."

He calmed down and snorted a few times once he saw the mischievous grin on her face. "You really shouldn't tease your older brother like that," he grumbled.

"Oh, but it's so much fun!" She laughed, galloping ahead of him. “Pick up the pace, slowpoke!”

He just smiled and upped his pace a tiny bit, the armor clattering like a set of pots and pans in a tumble dryer. He felt something warm and cozy blossom inside him every time she started acting like a little filly around him: like his little Twily again. Nopony was prouder of her ascension into royalty, of course, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded that the filly he grew up with was still in there.

Still clattering along, he sighed as he turned a corner and found her twirling in circles, wings spread out and face raised to the sky in victory. “YES! The winner, and still champion: Twilight Sparkle!” She gasped, letting her breath out in hot gasps to imitate a crowd’s cheer.

“Aww, you guys were havin’ a race?” Rainbow asked, appearing right next to the young Alicorn. Twilight let out a surprised, Fluttershy-esque squeal and leapt back a few paces.

“Well shoot, y’all should know better than to have any sorta physical contest without invitin’ us.” Applejack added, trotting right on the pegasus’s hooves.

“Ohhhh, and that means I missed the chance to referee again!” Pinkie sighed despondently as she skipped up to the rapidly-growing gathering.

“Aheh,” Twilight said, her cheeks turning bright red beneath the perfectly-tended locks of her mane. “How much of that did you girls see?”

“All of it, dahling,” Rarity said, trotting up to the violet mare and immediately running a hoof through her royal mane. “And I must say; you really should be treating these curls better! Not every mare is so lucky to be born with hair as malleable as yours. Think of somepony less fortunate, somepony stuck with one manestyle her entire life!”

“You’re making it sound like I’m flaunting a purse full of bits in front of somepony who sleeps in a cardboard box,” Twilight grumbled, allowing her friend to fret over the violet curls to her generous little heart’s content.

“She’s just complimenting your mane in her own special way, Twilight,” Fluttershy said in her usual, quiet little voice, completing the group as she brought up the rear. “It is a very nice style, even I can see that.”

Shining Armor just smiled and shook his head at the group’s behavior. Who knew such a varied bunch of mares could wind up being the ultimate paragons of harmony; a group whose bond was so strong that it represented the spirit of friendship itself, powerful enough to defend Equestria from tyrant gods and cleanse an evil as vile as Nightmare Moon. But, such was his life. The Elements of Harmony had to choose new Bearers to save Equestria from Nightmare Moon’s return, and his sister just happened to be one of them. On top of being a unicorn so talented she was chosen to be Celestia’s protégé. And the embodiment of the spirit of magic itself. And slated to become part of the ruling elite, meant to guide Equestria under her wise hoof alongside other immortals such as…

Wow. Throw in all the stuff he had going for him, and he had one crazy, bucking life! What was with his family and attracting so much insanity? Just standing there, he watched Pinkie pull a cupcake out of her mane and divide it amongst the rest of the group without any questions asked whatsoever! And he thought Discord’s rule was nuts!

Thankfully, before he could start getting really in-depth into the craziness that was his existence, a familiar silhouette fell on the ground before him. He smiled. He didn’t need to be a veteran of the Royal Guard to recognize that shape: just about everypony in Equestria knew the Princess's silhouette against her beloved sun. Reacting immediately, he sank to his knees, head bowed in submission, making sure to remain as quiet as a mouse in a pillow factory as he did. Then he waited to see how long it would take every other pony to follow suit. Turned out, the answer was “however long it takes Princess Celestia to land right in the middle of everypony so they could see her right in front of all their faces.”

“Princess!” The mares screamed, instantly bowing, their eyes on the ground, though Twilight did have time to hiss out the corner of her mouth: “Why didn’t you tell me you saw her coming!?”

To which Shining Armor could only reply: “Because it’s funnier this way.”

“My dearest, most loyal subjects: please rise,” Celestia said, that always-constant, never-condescending smile on her face, her eyes (well, the one that was visible beside her mane, at least) lit up with that sparkle of love and caring. Everypony obeyed, immediately looking up to the elder Alicorn expectantly, with the exception of Twilight, who somehow managed to shoot the dirtiest glare she could muster Shining Armor’s way in the split-second it took her to raise her head.

“Princess,” Shining Armor said, hoof rising in salute, his voice reeking all the authority of a military man. “Element Bearers retrieved, Former Captain of the Royal Guard and Crown Prince of the Crystal Empire Shining Armor, reporting for duty, ma’am!”

“You can drop the formalities, Captain,” Celestia replied, waving for him to relax. “As the mare who married you to your wife and attended your little sister’s coronation, I thought we were past that.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he replied, his shoulders dropping half a micron at her order to relax. “Old habits die hard, ma’am.”

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head with a tiny smile, the Princess of the Sun turned to the smaller Alicorn at her hooves. “And hello again, Twilight Sparkle. You look even more radiant than when last we met.”

“Heh…thank you, Princess,” Twilight replied, her eyes darting away bashfully. “Shall we…uh…get going?”

“But of course, Princess,” Celestia replied with a little wink Twilight’s way, making the younger mare flush an even deeper shade of red.

"Okay," Shining Armor sighed to himself, letting his breath out in a slow, drawn-out wheeze as he trailed behind the other mares. He patted the fetlock on one of his hind hooves, ensuring his dagger was still in place. He wondered what the Princess would say to him smuggling a weapon around at all times. She would probably frown upon it, saying something about entrusting others to uphold the virtues of Peace and Harmony, but that was just because she didn't understand. He was a former Guardstallion, trained to always be ready to retaliate no matter the situation. Part of that training involved drilling into his head that he needed a weapon on him at all times. It was why his wedding tux had a concealed pouch for a throwing dagger sewn on the inside of the left sleeve (not that he’d had the chance to use it: by the time he snapped out of his trance, that wicked Queen was charged up enough on his own love that any physical attack would have been suicide), it was why he'd had the ceremonial sword meant for the crown prince of the Crystal Empire sharpened and rebalanced to serve as an actual weapon, and it was why he now tightened the strap securing the holster to his hind leg before galloping to catch up with the rest of the group.

"Okay," he breathed again as he fell in step behind the mares, listening to them chat amicably for a while before falling into his own thoughts, his eyes glazing over as he reviewed the process for drawing the dagger: Breathe, relax, flick the clasp open with edge of hoof, draw it out with levitation, keeping blade down to prevent self-castration, because that's the last thing you need to do in a combat situation. And imagine Cadence finding out! Good sweet Celestia, 'Shiny! How are you gonna give me babies now!? You need to march back out there and find your balls again so we can...WHAT...

His highly-distracted thought process came to a screeching halt as he walked head-first into something smooth, yet firm and well-toned, bouncing off and landing on his haunches with a loud clamor. Coming to his senses, he blinked a few times until the little birdies flying around in his vision went away, and immediately his face dropped. Rainbow Dash stared back at him, her face visible just over her flank, her eyes wide with surprise.

Quick, say something to keep this from exploding into a marriage-destroying incident! His brain gasped.

"Uhh..." he stammered.

Nice one, retard.

Rainbow just shot him a cocky half-smile. "Dinner and a movie first, bub," she said.

"Wha-wha-wha-what!?" He gasped defensively, kicking up a massive cloud of dust in a frantic attempt to back as far away from her flank as he could. "I'm married!"

"As if that ever stopped a stallion," she laughed, her wings spreading out as she took to the air, swooping over the crowd of ponies that had stopped her in the first place. Shining blinked a few times and snickered to himself. He loved his wife more than any mare he'd ever know, and would rather slice off his own stallionhood than violate her trust, but if he wasn't married...

A sudden crack of lightning put a stopper in any lecherous thoughts, as if Faust herself were slapping him across the face and telling him to not even think about it. "Okay, almighty Faust, I got it," he mumbled fearfully, taking his place alongside the rest of the crowd admiring the sight: the very reason he had been asked to gather the Elements of Harmony. A strange, multicolored cloud boiled and flashed in front of them, occupying a good half of a cornfield and preventing Hayseed the farmhand from harvesting a good half of his produce (which was of much more concern to him than "whate'er magical nonsense those Canterlot city folk're up to now," as he so eloquently put it). The cloud raged like a thunderhead, little jets of smoke puffing off its surface as if it were just barely containing something inside, struggling to remain the same shape. Every now and again, a lightning bolt lashed out and cracked through the air, thunder booming off in the distance.

Yep. Looked like another story for the grandfoals brewing right here. Half of Canterlot had to be gathered in Hayseed’s field, just to watch this one weird cloud, and if something was weird enough to attract attention from the city that had seen the resurrection of Discord and the changeling invasion, you knew something had to be up. Even now, ponies streamed from the castle proper, stamping the firm dirt paths leading around the field into even more compact surfaces.

“I say,” Rarity muttered breathlessly, eyes transfixed on the spectacle. “I know Twilight briefed us on this, but it’s still something to see up close.”

“Have the royal mages made any progress on just what it is?” Twilight asked, and Shining noticed how she remained staring at the cloud the entire time, so shocked that she’d forgotten the royal courtesy of giving the Princess eye contact while talking to her.

She’ll probably give herself a heart attack worrying about it later, he mused as Celestia nodded sagely. “They have, and it’s why I’ve called you all here. I thought the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony should be witness to a truly historic moment in Equestrian history.”

The ponies, Shining included, all turned to the Princess, their eyes still wide in shock from the sight. She beamed warmly and fanned her wings out, giving her already-impressive appearance a boost into near-intimidating levels of size. “The royal mages have determined that this is a portal to another world, populated with beings of intelligence comparable to our own, and almost certainly possessing a level of civilization we might find familiar!”

The small group of ponies fell silent. A few onlookers who had noticed the Princess walking up (hard not to notice a six-foot tall, white, winged horse in a world of multicolored ponies) started murmuring to each other, mostly inane things like “An entire, alien world!?” or “What if they’re dangerous?”

Pinkie was the first to break the silence, of course. “WOOH!” She gasped, back-flipping into the air with an enthusiastic bounce. “An entire planet!? I’m gonna need to throw the mother of all welcome parties!”

“Oh…my…” Fluttershy whispered, shrinking behind her mane and shivering, her frozen eyes locked on the cloud.

“Well, so long as they’re gonna act all civilized…” Applejack muttered thoughtfully.

“…and they don’t try anything.” Rainbow Dash added with a defiant snort.

“What would creatures on another world consider beautiful?” Rarity mused in a surprising burst of philosophic thought. “Do they even have clothes and fashions?”

For the most part, Shining remained mute, his brow joining his sister’s in furrowing: his in concern and determination, hers in thought. As he checked the dagger on his hind leg for the hundredth time that day, Celestia noticed the look on her student’s face and took the moment of distraction her announcement had caused to lean in closer to the smaller Alicorn. “Twilight?” She asked. “I know that look. What’s on your mind?”

The lavender mare sighed and turned back to the cloud, another bolt of lightning cracking off its surface as she watched. “What if that one pony was right?” She asked quietly, keeping her voice low to avoid attention. “What if they’re dangerous?”

“Oh Twilght,” Celestia smiled and shook her head. “They may very well be. In fact, it’s quite likely they are dangerous.”

Twilight turned to her mentor, eyebrows raised. “That’s not very comforting.”

“I know, but look at it this way: what would you say is the most dangerous creature in the Everfree forest?” Celestia asked, a knowing glint growing her eye, as it did whenever she was about to lead Twilight right into a lesson.

“Well…probably a manticore,” Twilight replied with a confident nod.

“Now, if manticores are so dangerous, why don’t they eat ponies regularly? Why aren’t they freely roaming the streets of our cities and villages, just gobbling up anypony that crosses their path?”

“Because they would never get far, and they know it,” Twilight said with another confident nod, as if every assertion needed to be punctuated with a bob of her head. “If local unicorn magic wasn’t enough, just about every town has a trained militia or Royal Guard outpost for dealing with a wild animal incursion. And even unarmed, a pegasus attack from the air or an earth pony’s kick is nothing to sneeze at. The only reason manticores do eat the occasional pony is if that pony is alone or frightened and caught off-guard.”

“So knowing all this, knowing that a manticore is so easily fought off by a pony settlement that only the most isolated of communities ever see attacks, wouldn’t it be easy to say that ponies are far more dangerous than manticores?” Celestia asked innocently, a knowing smile lighting up her face.

Twilight’s confident grin dissolved, returning to an unsure look of shock. “Well…I…uh…”

Celestia arched an eyebrow, and Twilight sighed, resigning herself to the fact that the Princess had beaten her with her own logic. “Yes, Princess. It would be perfectly fair to say that ponies as a whole pose more of a threat than the manticores ever could.”

Celestia smiled brightly and nuzzled her student, glowing as Twilight returned the nuzzle. “Just because something’s dangerous doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be given a chance,” she whispered.

That sentence right there did it for Shining Armor. Despite his Princess’s reassurances, he realized he absolutely needed to be ready for anything to come tearing out of that cloud. A civilian might be able to “give something dangerous a chance,” but as a soldier, it was his duty to be prepared for the possibility that this chance wasn’t deserved. He reached out, a magical hue going to the dagger, intending to levitate it ever-so-subtly to his forehoof and hide it in his fur.

To his surprise, the weapon shook as he drew it from the holster. Grimacing, he focused a bit more magic into it, but the only result was a slightly faster, still shaky draw that ended with the weapon tumbling out of its place and embedding in the dirt. This time he clenched his teeth, focusing all his considerable power in getting that stupid dagger to do what he wanted. Instead, its hilt poked up out of the ground, the blade dragging through the mud before it leaned weakly against his foreleg, as if saying it was too tired and needed a rest.

“What the…” he mumbled.

“Hey, guys? Anypony else having trouble with their magic?” Twilight asked. The former Guardstallion looked up in surprise, watching his sister, the Element of Magic itself, trying to wrench a gate open. Eventually, she snorted in frustration and just bucked the thing open.

“Hmm,” the group watched as Rarity turned to a rock and attempted to make it hover, a simple little trick that even foals could do. They watched the rock as it glowed with her magic, shook a bit, and did absolutely nothing else.

“What in the world…Princess?” Twilight asked, turning to her mentor.

Eyebrows hunched in a rare display of concern, the Princess of Day turned to Rarity’s rock and focused all her incredible might into it. The rock promptly lifted off the ground and performed a few shaky orbits around her, nearly dropping back down several times. Panting with effort, the Princess dropped the thing again, sweat visible on her face from what obviously should have been a simple task.

“What is going on?” Twilight asked.

“I…I don’t know,” Celestia admitted.

An instant look of panic overwhelmed the younger Alicorn, her ears folding back, her jaw dropping, her pupils shrinking to little pinpricks. At that, Celestia let out a little chuckle, the kind you used when the ship was going down in shark-infested waters and you had to tell the captain about your impending doom while a four year old kid stood within earshot. “Bu-but I’m sure it’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m rather certain our magic will return soon, and we’ll greet this other world with…”

No sooner did the Princess speak when the cloud gave them new and unexpected gifts. Four metal canisters sailed out of it, clattering to the ground near the group just as the rest of the unicorns in the line started to notice the same magic drain affecting them as well. Immediately, Shining sprang into action, throwing himself in between the canisters and the seven mares.

“B-big brother?” Twilight asked fearfully. “Wha-what is it?”

“I have no idea,” he replied, his back arching in a battle-ready stance. He studied the objects, his piercing gaze scanning them for any threats. They were each dark-green, and covered in white lettering that looked familiar but remained indecipherable. Other than that, the only remarkable features on the canisters was a pair of handles sticking off their top, as if they were meant to be clenched in teeth, perhaps?

“I’m…sure it’s nothing to be worried about,” Celestia replied, her voice starting at a nervous quiver, then adopting its usual confidence as she talked. “Perhaps even a gift from the other side! Still, we should have our experts keep them quarantined until…”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence before the canisters exploded. Light as bright as her sun at midday flashed in their eyes, followed by a bang that put the worst thunderstorms to shame. Shining dropped from his stance, totally stunned. He shook his head a few times and opened his eyes, not realizing he’d shut them. Darkness greeted him. For an instant, his mind flew into panic mode, fear of blindness nearly making him cry out. Then the training kicked in and he took a few breaths, letting each out slowly through his nose. His vision returned in time, as he’d hoped it would, though that didn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief when it did.

Something was standing over him. He could only make out a silhouette right then, but he could tell it had to be rather tall, maybe even taller than the Princess (not including the horn). His hearing returned a bit after his vision, and he heard voices from somewhere far off.

”Get bloody goin’! MOVE!”

“None of you little shits move a fuckin’ muscle! None of ya!”

“What’s the ruddin’ time!? We need to be movin’ now!”

“Princess secured!”

Princess! That last one made an icy knot of fear clench in the unicorn’s stomach. Focusing what little of his magic remained, he managed to force the rest of the darkness out of his vision. What he saw made his blood turn to ice in his veins. Celestia was being scooped up by a pair of…things. They stood on two legs like Diamond Dogs, but their arms were much shorter, and they wore strange clothes in patterns that reminded him of the trees back in the Everfree Forest. Their faces were totally alien, covered in more of the strangely-patterned cloth, with blank, pitch-dark eyes that bulged from their heads, right beneath shiny, smooth helmets made from some material he knew he’d never be able to place. They each wore black vests and carried strange, black sticks that they waved around threateningly, pointing them at anypony who so much as looked at them funny. Finally, they each had two patches on their arms. One was a pair of red crosses outlined in white on a sea of blue, red bands reaching out to the corners of the patch. The other was a light-blue patch with a sphere pictured on it, strange continents and shapes stitched into its surface.

He watched in horror as the creatures clamped a ring around Celestia’s horn, and she winced in pain, dropping into unconsciousness with a quiet gasp. A pair of them locked another ring around the Princess’s forelegs while another pair lifted her up onto their shoulders, carrying her back to the cloud. “No!” He gasped, starting towards the group, but the creature standing over him stamped its boot into the back of his head. The blackness returned immediately, his mind reeling as he watched the Princess, his sovereign to whom he had pledged his life, carried off by a pair of strange, alien creatures.

“NONE OF YOU LI’L FECKERS MOVE, Y’HEAR!?” One of the creatures barked. Still hovering on the brink of consciousness, Shining watched some other pony make a charge for the group carrying Celestia off, only for one of the creatures to turn its black stick on him in a single, fluid motion. The stick barked once or twice (it was hard to tell which echoes were real and which were in his head) and the pony instantly dropped, body skidding across the ground like a sack of potatoes dropped from a speeding cart. The crowd screamed in horror.

“Nobody follows! You gits follow, you die!” Another creature screamed as it backed away into the cloud, tactically sweeping the ponies with that terrible weapon.

“Princess…” Shining gasped as he laid there, his mind finally making the final plunge into unconsciousness. However, before unconsciousness claimed him entirely, he heard a few more words in the creatures’ strange, terrible accents; words he hoped were just figments of his own imagination.

”Hey, who the bloody ‘ell’s this?”

“I dunno, but you see the wings and horn? She’s royalty! Bag her like the other one!”

"Funny, I didn't know princesses came in normal pony size."

Author's Notes:

Unlike my other stories this one is gonna update somewhat more sporadically. Sorry :)

Chapter III: Turbulence

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1215 HOURS
30,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL
NORTH SEA, OFF THE COAST OF SCOTLAND
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The mushroom cloud bloomed like the fist of a vengeful god, terrible and foreboding even at this distance. Something inside it glowed with the heat of a thousand suns, a terrible energy being unleashed upon the unsuspecting world below. A deep rumble filled the air, humming with the explosion’s power. To David, it appeared as if the cloud was growing as slow as molasses, except he knew it had to be expanding at hundreds of miles an hour just for the motion he was seeing, punching into the sky at the speed of a rocket.

He wished he could tear his eyes away. He wished he could just turn around, close his eyes, and maybe even wake up from this nightmare. If only. As it stood, he couldn’t move a muscle, not even to crack that little kink developing in his upper back, he could only stand, transfixed by the incredible display of power before him. His eyelids seemed to be fused open as well, his pupils forever locked on the image blooming in his sight.

“God above…Christ alive…don’t tell me that’s her! Please, Jesus Christ almighty…” his radio garbled, clouding with static. David’s only response was to drop to his knees, a metallic clang coming from the ground as his legs hit. Somewhere nearby, someone started crying the Lord’s Prayer in between choked sobs, crying it out over and over again. Finally, as if a spell had been lifted, his eyes fell away from the massive, glowing column of smoke.

David fell to all fours, dry-heaving. The Dramamine in his bloodstream was the only thing keeping him from puking his guts out all over the flight deck. The water on the other side of the railing suddenly looked too glassy as it undulated beneath him, the world sliding in and out of focus as his mind reeled with each buck of the ship.

Just as something resembling coherent thought started to reappear in his mind, a deep whoosh sounded off to his right. He looked up, clutching his stomach as something burst out of the water and rocketed up into the sky, trailing smoke behind it. Then another whoosh and a splash, and another object punched up into the sky, and another, and another…

“This is it,” he gasped, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be sitting in his tiny living room again, a beer in one hand and a cheesy 90s action flick on his cheap television screen. That living room was so far away now, so very far away from the atomic detonations and the nuclear warheads sailing into the sky; but that’s where he wanted to be, as far as possible from this terror, from that mushroom cloud punching so high up that it might be destined to reach out and touch God, from the contrails of the missiles screaming into the air, and from the voices howling out his radio in panicked fright. This is how it all ends. Oh God, I’m sorry, this is it…this is it…this is…

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Dave jolted awake as the plane bumped in a spot of turbulence, a scream of terror lodged in his throat. His mind spun, but quickly settled when he remembered he was on an airplane in 2025, not…back there, back on that horrible day when the world changed forever, looking so much like it was going to end.

Something cold dribbled through his fingers, and he remembered the drink he’d made for himself before drifting off. “At least my arms didn’t spaz out or anything, thank God,” he mumbled, wiping the sweat from the glass off on his dress shirt.

Somewhere up ahead, the television screen glowed with flickering images, remote clenched firmly in the hands of David’s German counterpart. “A refugee crisis of unprecedented proportions,” a BBC newscaster announced, and on screen a massive column of people flowed into ferries waiting along the English Channel, just outside Dover, according to the caption along the bottom of the screen. Each of these people wore the worried, downtrodden look of the refugee as they packed themselves in tighter and tighter, trying to cram as many people on board each ship before they could set out. “Thousands of Britons fleeing the isles into France upon the emergence of a new Equestria! That’s right, you heard it here, a new-”

The screen flickered, Francis switching the channel to ABC, where a man with far too much hair gel picked right up where his British counterpart had left off from the safety of his broadcaster’s desk. “…and this with the reappearance of the asteroid Ceres V has some groups claiming this to be a sign of the end of…”

Another flicker, another channel, another announcer with fantastic cheekbones and enough botox in their face to kill an elephant. “…sources have confirmed that the anomaly is, in fact, yet another Equestria! The UN is already rushing a bill through to aid the beleaguered French and British as they prepare for what could be a repeat of the attack on-”

Another flicker. “…despite the panic gripping the British countryside, these men just south of Glasgow have decided to ride out the crisis in a local pub!”

For some reason, the screen dwelt on this one, the controller’s finger hovering over the power button. The view turned to a large man with a pint of Guinness in one hand and a Red Sox baseball cap perched high on his head. When he opened his mouth, it revealed his heavy Scottish accent, the massive gaps in his smile (a true testament to countryside dentistry, for sure) and his opinions on the apparent reemergence of one of the greatest threats mankind had ever faced: “I jus’ wanna git one thing straight, lads: this is oor home, and no pastel-colored freaks’re gonna fook it up! They wanna try, let ‘em! We’ll kill ‘em all!”

This announcement was met with whoops and hollers from behind him as the camera zoomed out to reveal two more things: 1) The man was in a pub of sorts, the kind of place in the countryside where Guinness was always on tap and where the picture of the owner looked like it’d been hanging there since Thatcher was Prime Minister, and 2) The man wasn’t wearing a shirt, a fact made all the more obvious by the suds clinging to his sparse, blonde chest hair as he immediately set to chugging the ale clenched in his hand.

“It’s not going to be anything else, you know,” Andre mused, his legs crossed in his seat as he leafed through a copy of TIME magazine, not even bothering to look up.

“Ja, I know,” Franz sighed as he flicked the plasma screen off. “Still, it’s nice to remind myself that there are people out there with far less intelligence than me.”

“Careful, Franny,” Dave said, the scotch sloshing about in his hand. “That’s the same line of thinking that gave us Cops and Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo.”

“Plus, those guys are staying on land at least,” Lisa was quick to point out. “We’re the ones flying straight at the damn thing. How much smarter can we be?”

Dave snickered and brought the drink to his lips, starting to tilt it down, but then he lowered it back to the armrest. For some reason, the thought of this next drink joining the three beers and the rum and coke already sitting in his stomach sent a jet of acid oozing up his throat.

The plane bumped in yet another air current, sending another surge of acid up from his stomach. At least he was faring better than Akshat. The poor guy had locked himself in the bathroom a few minutes after takeoff and hadn’t emerged since, only replying with a ragged “Yes” whenever Lisa knocked on the door to see if he was still breathing.

It’s not like they’d had a choice in the matter, though. After less than an hour of being screamed at by politicians and bureaucrats alike through their big, red phones, a convoy of limousines and police cars had shown up in front of their building and a few dozen men in suits and sunglasses had filed into the office, bundling the group into the limos and rushing them to Heathrow, right up to a private jet waiting on the tarmac. Dave could remember the crowded terminal building as they shot past, the limo’s engine straining to pull them along at top speed. All those faces, filled with fear as they waited for a plane going somewhere, anywhere but England, anywhere but the place that might soon be a large crater on the surface of the Earth…

“Some guys just can’t handle their own stomachs, eh?” Liu mused, raising his fifth rum and coke in the air before downing it in a single gulp.

“Yeah,” Dave replied nervously, swallowing his bile and forcing a smile to his face, even as his stomach did backflips in his body. He managed to choke down another sip of scotch, mostly to keep anyone from wondering why the infamous David Preston suddenly couldn’t handle his liquor, because the most obvious answer to that question would be right on the money: because he was scared shitless. They all were, probably. The way Andre’s hands shook with every bump in the ride, a shake he unsuccessfully tried to disguise by turning to a new page in his magazine. The way Francis kept fondling the damned remote like a baby hunting for a special spot on its security blanket. The way Felipe kept typing away at his laptop, occasionally hammering the backspace down so hard the whole plane could hear it click. They all had their little idiosyncrasies, and not a single one of them had the guts to bring it up with anyone else, as if they were afraid that simply talking about their fears might make the bitch herself appear in the cabin, eyes blazing with xenophobic hatred and vials of that cursed serum in her magical grasp.

David took another swig of his drink, and this time he didn’t find it so hard to swallow.

“So, do you remember?” Liu asked suddenly.

Dave whipped his head around in surprise, as if he’d momentarily forgotten there were other people on the plane with him. Which, judging from the alcohol sloshing into his bloodstream, might not have been too far from the truth. “Re-remember what?” He stammered, immediately promising himself to ease up on the sauce until he at least had solid ground beneath his feet again.

“What do you think I mean?” The younger man replied, punctuating his sentence with a sip from his drink. “When Equestria first popped up, what were you doing?”

The American only needed a half-second to come up with the exact answer. Something like that was burnt into his mind, like the fact that he had been pulling his assignment book out of his backpack and trying to remember whether or not he’d done his math homework that one fateful Tuesday morning in September, or how his grandfather could recall weeding the small window garden they’d had in the old house, just starting to search through the tomato plants for any hidden trespassers when his brother had come running outside, bare feet smacking against the pavement, screaming over and over again that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor.

He had been seated in the library at the U of M, head in his hands, trying to commit Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion to memory. He could still see the picture on that specific page as clear as day, but for the life of him, the laws themselves still eluded him. Funny how that worked: everything else about that moment from the cheap, plastic wood grain of the table to the musty smell of the books lining the shelves around him still rang clear in his mind, but the laws which would have actually helped him pass the midterm he’d had coming up were still as murky and questionable as the water in the Detroit River.

He had been maybe a couple hours into his study session, and was seriously considering just tossing the book off the table, bolting for the door, hopping on the 5:15 to Cincinnati, and becoming a hobo for the rest of his life when he’d heard a few hushed whispers from the librarian’s desk. The librarian, a stereotypically mousy woman in her early forties who only needed a little chain to hang her glasses on to complete her ensemble, was loudly chatting with a student about something nearly-indecipherable, something about “cartoons” and “make-believe” and “can’t fucking believe it.”

Considering this was the first time in his life David had heard the small mouse of a woman utter a phrase worse than “Oh, shoot,” his curiosity piqued instantly. Not wanting to alert her to his eavesdropping, he had simply whipped out his smartphone and hopped on the local WXYZ station’s website, hoping whatever had made the bashful librarian swear for the first time in his memory had been newsworthy enough for the 5:00 local report.

The screen on the little phone had loaded up the site. David had blinked, then his jaw had dropped. “No fucking way,” he had reported, voicing his agreement with the librarian’s assessment.

There, splashed across the main page, just below the red bar announcing “BREAKING NEWS: More on the situation developing in East China Sea,” was a picture of six characters from a certain TV show for little girls, all in the same pose they showed on their entry in Netflix, with the six gathered together for an apparent photograph. Six ponies, all waving and winking for the camera, in a stock photo almost certainly downloaded right off the Internet in a rush. That, of course, wasn’t the incredible part. Rather it was the headline along the side of the page, in big, black, all-capital text: “LAND OF PONIES REAL!” with the subhead “Mysterious anomaly appearing in the Pacific Ocean, apparently populated by characters from the popular children’s TV show ‘My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic’.”

Slipping out of the memory, he tried to condense everything about that moment into words, tried to capture all the emotion and disbelief and impossibility of seeing a talking cartoon horse princess on the six-o-clock news, standing next to Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon, both with massive smiles on their faces in an apparent show of friendship and understanding, as was expected of the Equestrians. Of course, those days would soon end, settling into general fear and disbelief as things went south and culminated in a few more “flashbulb” moments in David’s life, moments he would probably remember until the day he died.

Eventually, he realized there was no conveying that emotion. Not in a conversation being held over scotch at 30,000 feet over the North Sea. So he sighed, crossed his legs, and turned to his companion. “I was studying for a physics exam when I overheard the librarian cuss like a sailor.”

Liu nodded, copying David’s motion with his legs and peering into his drink with a little sigh of his own. “I was just getting ready for bed when the tsunami warning sirens started up. A lot of people don’t remember that of those first few days: the tidal waves you’d get from just plopping an island in the middle of the ocean, but I remember just fine. Of course, there was plenty of horror afterwards for everybody else to remember, so I guess it balanced out.”

David sat up. “Liu, my man, that was surprisingly deep,” he said, honestly surprised.

“Not bad for a drunk Chinaman, eh?” Liu grinned and tilted his head back, downing a few more sips of his drink. The grin didn’t last long, though, fading with another soft sigh and a sad glance to David. “I had a great aunt in Shanghai. When the Barrier hit, I mean.”

“Really?”

“Really. She was just too stubborn to leave when the evacuation orders came down,” he sat up in his seat and twisted the corners of his mouth downwards in an imitation of an old lady’s scowl, then he faced Dave and said in a high-pitched, aged, warbling voice: “’There has been a member of the family in Shanghai since this city was built, and there will be a member of the family here when this city is destroyed.’ That’s what she said to my mom when she tried to get her to join the rest of us in Xian.

“And you know what?” The grin returned, though much weaker and more resigned than it had been before. “She was right. She was absolutely right. Thanks to her, there was a member of the family in Shanghai, right until the last moment.”

David nodded, his brows hunched in thought. Unsure of what else to do, he raised his glass and smiled to his companion. “To great-auntie Liu,” he announced.

The Chinese man smiled, raising his drink alongside David’s. “To great-aunt-”

He never got to finish the toast as the entire plane shuddered and wrenched violently to the right in a sharp turn, the floor tilting at an insane 30-degree angle.

“Jesus!” David gasped, his drink clattering to the floor as he gripped his armrest. The rest of the group threw in their own swears and exclamations in their native languages, the cabin filling with the clatter of foreign words and discarded objects being turned into missiles, each member of the team throwing their nation’s own special blend of vulgarity into the mix. Except for Akshat, who simply let loose with another wretch from the bathroom. When it was over, everyone who hadn’t gripped their seat for dear life was on the floor, desperately scrambling for a handhold.

“What the…” Lisa gasped in surprise, picking herself off the floor as the surprise quickly morphed into rage. “Who the bloody hell’s piloting us!? Lemmy fuckin’ Killmeister!?”

The intercom blinked on, and the cabin fell silent, as if it were the word of God speaking to them. “Folks, we apologize for that rough patch we hit back there,” the pilot announced as one of the men in a pressed suit and sunglasses strode out of the cockpit and stood at the front of the cabin, hands folded in front of his body in that way every government man seemed to have practiced to an art. “We just got orders for a rapid diversion to an airstrip on Shetland, the gentleman in the suit will explain.”

“He damn well better,” Lisa muttered, sinking back into her seat with her arms folded across her chest as she glared at the man.

The man in the suit nodded towards her in a rare act of acknowledgement, then raised his head to address the entire cabin. “We will be catching a helicopter from the airstrip on Shetland, which will take us to the HMS Illustrious, bound for Norway.”

“Wait, what!?” Dave stood up, his shoes squishing in the scotch-soaked carpeting beneath him. “Why aren’t we going to the Emergence Zone!?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information at this time, sir,” the man replied, also in that tone G-men practiced as much as the businesslike hand-fold.

“No, of course you can’t,” he sighed, sinking back into his seat.

“You will be briefed after the helicopter lands aboard the Illustrious,” the man in the suit said, stepping back into the cockpit. “That is all.”

“Typical,” Liu muttered, rising from his seat and heading towards the bar, stepping past the bathrooms where Akshat gave another violent wretch while he passed by. “Ta ma de typical.”

“You said it,” David grumbled as the cabin settled right back into business as usual. He was just starting to consider grabbing a fresh glass from the bar (Merlot this time, perhaps) when he noticed Anton’s flask lying on the carpet. An eyebrow cocked, he picked the tiny container up and held it out to the Russian.

Anton, for his part, had been oddly quiet since their rapid takeoff from Heathrow, nursing a pearl flask from his jacket pocket. David knew better than to interrupt a man when they were thinking through things this big, especially things that could mean the end of human civilization as they all knew it. So they had sat in their large, padded seats, David occasionally joining in with the others’ attempts at staying in good humor and Anton lost in his own little world. Still, a part of him wished he could see just what the cogs and wheels behind the Russian’s eyes were really turning around. Anton might not have been any more than a decade older than any of them, but he was still the most experienced, the de facto leader when shit hit the fan.

Even with the flask practically in front of his face, Anton kept staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed, both hands gripping the armrests as if they were still in the middle of that violent turn, his knuckles turning white with effort and blending in with the pleather. David had to clear his throat for attention.

“Hm? Oh,” Anton whipped the flask out of David’s hand and stored it in his pocket in a single, fluid motion. “Thanks.”

Figuring this was his best time to ask, the American prodded his Russian counterpart. “What’re you thinking about so hard, anyway?”

There was a brief moment when he thought Anton must not have heard him, but then the Russian turned and tilted his head up into David’s face, smiling tiredly. He looked so old right then, as if just the effort of looking up into the younger (but not that much younger) man’s eyes had added a couple decades to his life. “Just things, my little Amerikanets, just things.”

“Ah,” David said, nodding as if that answered anything. “What kind of things?”

The tired smile faded. “Just…how badly this complicates things, and not just for us,” he replied, his hand starting towards his jacket for the flask, pausing, and falling back to the armrest.

Guess I’m not the only one who could use a drink on dry land, David thought with a small twinge of relief. Knowing that the aging Russian couldn’t swallow a drop either didn’t make him feel better, per se, but the twinge of sympathy he felt did distract him from his own fear. “I know it’s not just for us. I mean, you saw those people heading south! For all they know, their homes won’t be there tomorrow!”

“No, no, not just us,” he motioned to himself and to the rest of the plane. “I mean…not just…people…”

David’s eyes widened. “The ponies,” he realized.

“Da,” finally, Anton whipped out the flask, flicked the cap off, and upended a single swallow down his throat, grimacing as the alcohol slid to his stomach. “Damned heights…messing with my tolerance for this stuff…”

“Right, right,” David sighed, collapsing into the seat next to him. “Shit, I forgot about the Equestrians…God…how do you suppose the Prince will react to this?”

Anton grimaced, whipping out the flask again and swallowing another gulp with a wince. “After everything that evil bitch took from him, how do you think he’s going to react?”

Author's Notes:

Sorry this one took a little longer than planned. A few days, I know, hope y'all ain't upset

Chapter IV: Scars

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1325 HOURS
NEW CANTERLOT PALACE
NEW CANTERLOT, CENTRAL EQUESTRIAN UNCDI-ADMINISTRATED ZONE, EAST CHINA SEA
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Mi Amore Cadenza’s eyelids slowly drifted shut, her head lolling forward and the buzz from the blinking fluorescents overhead becoming a soft, soothing lullaby as she sat there with a form labeled “176-T” before her. Apparently, it was to grant permission for the local German command to use one of the empty warehouses in Baltimare for storing weaponry and…

UGH! So boring! Why did the entire Baltimare council of elders have to face down the nuclear hellfire ‘like true stallions would’!? Couldn’t just one pony have wussied out at the last moment and cowered in the shelters with the rest of the town’s populace!? It’s not like there hadn’t been enough death on that terrible day!

Cadenza peeled her face off her desk and sat with her chin resting on its surface. She knew the petty problems she faced after that dark moment in time paled in comparison to the millions of ponies vaporized by hellfire, and to the landmarks that had stood for thousands of years only to be reduced to rubble within minutes, but right now, it was six-o-clock and she still had a half-dozen petty bureaucratic issues to settle before she could go home. She figured she was entitled to a selfish thought or two.

“Rough day, my little pony?” Someone said from the other side of her desk. She grimaced and pulled her face up, looking up at a pretty little human in an MP’s uniform with the Chinese flag on a shoulder standing there, her black hair tied back in a knot, a sheepish smile on her face, and another accursed stack of papers in her hands.

Cadenza cringed and smiled weakly. “Yeah, hello Tian, how are you?” She asked, automatically slipping into the human's simplified Han Chinese with the ease everypony had possessed since Equestria's emergence on Earth.

The smile on Tian’s face faded instantly. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I forgot she used to call you…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Cadence waved her off with a hoof, grabbing the pile of papers and laying them on the desk manually, her magic being firmly secured by the small metal band around her horn. “A slip of the tongue, Tian, think nothing of it.”

“I just wish I could make things easier,” the human said with a sigh, eyeing the impressive stacks growing on the pony’s desk.

“Yeah, looks like another all-nighter for me.”

The human gave a sympathetic nod and propped her hands on the desk, fingers spread. “Listen, I know it’s technically against the rules, but if you want a hand…”

“Stop right there,” Cadenza raised a hoof to stop the human. “You know that would be against the treaty. A human working in a purely Equestrian bureaucracy? Both sides would throw a tiff-fit!”

“Shit-fit,” the human corrected with a tired smile.

“That too,” Cadenza said, returning the smile as best as she could. “The point is, they’d have your uniform Tian, and I don’t want to lose you. You’re one of the only soldiers in Canterlot not off to take their anger out on some Celestial cultists.”

“Oh, that?” Tian waved her off. “That’s just boys being boys. You should be grateful for the cultists. Without something to fight, those guys would be daring each other to see who could get a unicorn pissed enough to take off their magic suppressor and blast them.”

“I could never be grateful for anything that might remind me of that evil bitch,” Cadence replied flatly, a sudden surge of anger rising in her chest.

Tian took a few steps back at the rage that suddenly appeared on the little pink unicorn’s face. Why, if she had them, the little thing would be flaring her wings! The human immediately bowed her head apologetically, chastising herself for two social faux pas in as many minutes. “Gosh, sorry Cady, I didn’t mean…”

“God, I know,” Cadence slumped in her chair, her rage abating to a point where she could at least keep it buried. “I’m sorry, it’s just been such a long day, and it doesn’t look like it’s getting any shorter. And anything that reminds me of her just gets me so…so…”

Suddenly, Tian leaned across the desk and wrapped the pony in a hug, her uniformed arms cradling Cadence close to her chest. “I know,” she whispered. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

Despite her first instinct to pull back, Cadence couldn’t help but sink into the hug. She didn’t cry, she’d wept enough tears in the past half-decade to be beyond that, but she wasn’t beyond the pain, or beyond accepting a hug when it was obviously needed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” Tian replied before pulling back. “I know how much even thinking about her must hurt, but just hang in there. In a few weeks, the first ponies will be graduating from that special training course, and you’ll get all the help you’ll ever need here.”

“A room full of bureaucrats, whoopee,” Cadence replied with a dry smile, looking up at Tian with eyes that glistened. “You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“That’s what you say, but your tears say different,” the human pointed out.

“Wha…” Cadence reached a hoof to her face, just under an eye, and felt a few trickles run over the keratin. “D-darn it…I thought I was…past this…”

Tian just shook her head. “I don’t think anyone on this planet is ever going to be past what she did. We all suffered at that tyrant’s hooves,” she looked down at Cadence with all the sympathy she could muster. “Some just suffered more than others.”

“Yeah,” Cadence sighed, shaking her head. “Tian, how is it your species produced those Jackass movies and is still capable of saying stuff so wise?”

At that, Tian just tossed her head back and laughed, her warm laughter bursting from her chest and echoing throughout the room. “There’s a question for the ages, hon! Hey, if I ever figure it out I’ll let you know, alright?”

“Sounds like a deal.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? If not for help, at least for moral support?”

“No, no, go on,” Cadence waved her off. “We ponies have to stand on our own some time. Besides, you’ve been here almost as long as I have, judging from the bags under your eyes.”

The human scowled playfully. “Ah, me and my lack of makeup. Oh well,” she shrugged, turning to leave. “You have a good night Cadence.”

“You too, and hey, don’t be so afraid to try makeup! You might get one of those testosterone-addicts outside to finally notice you!” Cadence called after her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!” Tian laughed before she walked out the door, letting it slam behind her. With the boom from the door echoing in the chamber, Cadence sighed and sank deeper into her seat.

“Alright, let’s see what we have here,” she sighed, sorting through the documents with her bare hooves. It might have been easier with her magic, sure, but the suppressor was such a pain to yank off, and even then, if one of those “testosterone addicts” happened to peek in, she’d have to explain why she was using magic to help with paperwork when it was only to be released in the most extreme circumstances. “Either at the behest of a neutral United Nations observer or in situations where massive loss of property or loss of life would be at risk,” as the treaty so eloquently put it. Besides, she’d grown used to working with her hooves. It felt nice to feel the paper as it travelled over her skin, rather than robotically sorting through a page kept in the air with her magic.

“Request for more funds to Manehattan reconstruction effort…pass…ten pages requesting a new filter for Ponyville aquifer…pass…” she muttered, the minutes ticking by as she sorted through the pages. “Request for expansion to the Crystal Palace…”

She paused, her eyes widening. Leaving the sheet on her desk, she immediately circled the room, checking and double-checking that every door and every window had been sealed and locked shut. She then returned to the desk, her eyes darting over every corner of the room. Thing was, the Crystal Palace had been renamed the Solar Hold after Prin - she had vaporized the wicked King Sombra in battle following his attempted insurrection against her (though looking back, it’s hard to tell if that had been a true victory for good or just one evil destroying another). Which meant this document was…

…a coded transmission from one of the embassies! She thought, practically bouncing in her seat with glee. Finally, she got to put the crash course in code-breaking she’d taken at the Prince’s request to use! And a message directly to Canterlot, meant for the Prince? It had to be huge! Oooohh, I’m just like Daring Do! Or that James Pawned guy the humans are always going on about!

Settling herself with a few deep breaths, she took her seat and set to work decoding the message. Judging by the stationary, it was from Equestria’s London office, wherever that was. She kept promising herself to learn Earth Geography when she had the time. “Let’s see…setting at 0800 hours…that means new…request funds in summation of 1200 bits, that’s…materialize? Odd word, but it’s used in this context here…and the message is…E…Q…U…E…”

Her smile faded, her earlier excitement replaced with a wave of dread, washing over her like a cold tide. “No…” she gasped. It had to be a mistake, it had to be! It was impossible!

She finished decoding the entire message. Then, when she had it, she decoded it again, and again, and again. Around the fifth attempt at decoding, she finally surrendered and accepted what she was seeing. A lump rose in her throat as she slumped in her chair in shock, her pen dropping from her hoof. This time, she did feel herself start to cry, the tears rolling down her cheeks, fat and heavy this time instead of the little trickles she’d held earlier. She managed to stifle a sob by stuffing a hoof in her mouth, albeit just barely.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please. Not again. God no, not again…”

When she had collected herself just a bit, it dawned on her that the Prince would need to hear this. He was the only pony with any sort of power to do something about it. She allowed herself a few more sobs and choked-off gasps before she settled again, smoothing out her mane, standing, collecting the transmission, and walking to the ornate oaken doors along the back wall.

She took a few deep breaths, steadying herself, using a technique that another version of her had spent years teaching a little lavender unicorn for relaxation. Then, keeping her head low, she pushed the doors aside and stepped in.

As usual, the shades were drawn and the lights turned off. That had always seemed like such a waste to her: for the humans to go through all the trouble of installing electric lights in this room, one of the first in Equestria they had done so in, and the Prince never even used them. Not that she would ever bring it up to his face, hell no!

She scanned the room, finding the small, dark lump perched on the large oaken desk, the gold-plated ink quill and pen next to his hoof, as it usually was. “Um, s-sir?” She asked, trying and failing to keep the fearful quiver out of her voice.

“Wha-buh!?” The shape stirred and jolted up, the gleam of a rapier suddenly appearing in the dim light. “Oh, Miss Cadenza, you startled me.”

“S-sorry, sir,” she replied, only relaxing after the weapon was safely back in its hiding place.

“Well, what is it? You didn’t come in here for no reason,” the large pony behind the desk stated.

“R-right,” calming her nerves again, she lifted her face to look right at him with as much confidence as she could find in her little, pink, unicorn’s body. “Sir, our London office is reporting an…occurrence in the North Sea.”

“Well? Out with it.” The Prince stated calmly, yet firmly.

She squeaked, wringing her hooves over the paper in her grip. The Prince let out an audible sigh as he motioned to her. “Please?”

“Sir…I, just don’t know how to put this…” she sighed, running her hooves through her mane. “Th-this was never considered a possibility in any of our contingency meetings, with the humans or otherwise.”

“What’s that, Miss Cadenza?” The Prince asked, obviously growing tired.

She sighed again and took a deep breath, deciding it would probably be best to just get it out in one go and be done with it. “Another Equestria has appeared, with another…ruler.”

The Prince gave pause at that, his silhouette becoming a frozen statue sitting there for a moment. Eventually, he leaned forward and switched on the small lamp he kept on his desk, the eyepatch concealing most of the scar that ran down his face now plainly visible as his marred, grizzled visage entered the light. The magic suppressor around his horn, bejeweled and gold-leaved but still there at the request of the United Nations, glimmered in the faint glow. “I’m sorry, what was that, Miss Cadenza?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

She quivered and squeaked again, all pretense of confidence vanishing as the words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush, like rats from a sinking ship. “Another Equestria has appeared in the North Sea and the humans have already launched a raid into it and they captured Cel…the Solar Princess and they’re holding her and now the whole UN is mobilizing for war and…and that’s all.”

The Prince remained in place, apparently frozen again. His features remained unreadable. Then he leaned back in his seat, crossing his forelegs over his broad chest. “Thank you, Miss Cadenza, will that be all?” He asked.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good, now, why don’t you go home?” He asked, waving her off. “I’m sure whatever work you have left can wait until the morning, yes?”

“Um…” Most of it really couldn’t, but at this point, she was willing to say just about anything to get out of that room. “Yes, sir, I’ll just be taking my leave for the night.”

“You do that,” he replied, still waving her off. “Good night, Miss Mi Amore Cadenza.”

“G-good night, sir,” she replied, realizing that was the first time he’d said something even remotely outside of “business talk” in her presence since…well…since that day. Since the day he’d lost the last thing in the world that held any meaning for him at the hooves of the one pony in the universe whose name Cadence still couldn’t say out loud. Bowing respectfully, Cadence turned and strode out the door, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

The moment the door closed and the Prince was alone, he visibly shrank, his head resting in his hooves. In a heartbeat, he yanked the suppressor off his horn with practiced ease and tossed it aside, watching it clatter off into the darkness. He reached into one of his desk drawers with a faint, pink glow, pulling out two objects: a tin flask filled with the strongest whiskey he could find in the humans’ lands, and a framed photograph of a little lavender unicorn with pink streaks in her mane and a face lit up with the sort of happiness that only a filly could know.

Taking a swig from the flask, the Prince ran a hoof over the picture, the filly perched on the back of a younger, less-scarred version of himself with a cardboard sword and shield. He smiled. She always had liked playing the savior knight, not the poor, stranded princess when they’d played together. A few drops landed on the photo, and the Prince scowled, gingerly laying the photo back in its place before slumping in his chair again. He took a few more swallows from the flask and wiped the tears from his face on the back of a hoof.

“One way or another, either at my hooves or their hands, you’re going to pay for what you did to my sister, Celestia,” he growled under his voice, keeping it low to prevent any curious ears from hearing. He leaned forward in his chair, a blue curl falling from his mane and dangling over his one good eye in the dim lamplight, his alabaster coat shimmering in the flickering candle. “You’re gonna pay for killing my Twily.”

Author's Notes:

Edit: OH SHI...and special thanks goes out to Lackrome for editing and for putting up with my temper!

Just so you all know, speech in italics is in a language other than English. Yeah, I know, short update. I hope the twist near the end there makes up for it. And if not, then I pray the comedic stylings of Christopher Titus can do the trick.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tz-kd4WHbS4

Chapter V: The Masks We Wear

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
1500 HOURS
ROYAL INFIRMARY
CANTERLOT PALACE, CANTERLOT, EQUESTRIA
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shining Armor’s eyes slowly cracked open. Wincing with pain, he squeezed them shut again. Voices echoed in his ears, unfamiliar and garbled, like his ears had been stuffed with cotton. Calm yourself, some inner part of him urged. Take stock of the situation and reorient yourself based on what you know.

Something soft and cottony was at his back, something else cool keeping his head supported. A military cot, definitely, with one of those cheap pillows from the stockroom. He’d lain in enough of these during Basic to recognize the feel almost instantly. Now, what else did he know? The echo-like quality of the voices in his ears probably indicated hearing damage, and the extreme pain upon seeing light almost certainly pointed to a long amount of time knocked out, with the added bonus of possible damage to the occipital lobe.

Thank you, battlefield triage, he thought. Okay, that was all fine and dandy, but what else did he know? How did he get here from…wherever it was he had been? Let’s see…he remembered walking with Twily…he was in full guard regalia, was there some battle going on? No, he remembered talking candidly with her, that’s not something you did in a battlefield situation. A security operation, then? Maybe, some sort of anomaly appearing in Equestria…

Anomaly…

That was it! He could remember everything now! Walking with Twilight, meeting with her friends, accidentally bumping into Rainbow Dash (which he made a mental note to vehemently deny for the rest of his days), and most importantly of all, meeting with the Princess and…

“PRINCESS! TWILIGHT!” He gasped, bolting upright in his cot, allowing his eyes to bug wide open. Bad idea: the sudden sting of light assaulting his eyes combined with the blood rushing from his head knocked him right back down again, cradling his head in his hooves and moaning. At the very least, the sudden rush of emotions seemed to help in discerning the voices from the barely-audible static in his ears, allowing him to hear the ponies around him.

“Has anypony seen my son!? My little Richie, has anypony seen him!?” Distraught mother. No surprises there, considering what happened.

“Oh Celestia above, I can’t see! Why can’t I see!?” Panicking civvies. Again, no surprises there.

“Consarn it, first you city folk mess up one a’ my fields with your dag-blasted magic portals, then y’all tell me I can’t even leave to harvest m’other fields!?” Old stallion Jenkins? What was he doing here?

“Captain Armor, ‘tis good to see you again.” Princess Luna.

“PRINCESS LUNA!” Shining Armor gasped, a hoof automatically flying to his forehead in salute. Unfortunately, with his mind still fuzzy and his body still uncoordinated, all he managed to accomplish was a good, firm punch to his own forehead. “Gyah, sorry,” he grumbled, rubbing at the red hoofmark growing on his face.

“At ease, Captain,” the Princess said, and he felt a reassuring hoof press on his shoulder. “You were among the worst injured, though I suspect we should be grateful for that, all things considered.”

“Yeah, at least I’m still breathing,” Shining guffawed, then he felt a sharp intake of breath on the Princess’s part. His smile faded. “Oh, Celestia above, please don’t tell me there were…”

“We are…sorry, Captain. T’was not your fault, you must realize that.”

Despite her reassurances, Shining pushed himself up until he was leaning on his elbows, ignoring the pounding growing steadily louder in his head. Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes, remaining patient on opening them despite the urge to just bolt upright in the cot and jolt them wide open. At first, the pain remained, but then it slowly dulled and his vision focused, allowing indistinct blobs and colors to coalesce and form into shapes he could recognize. First came the tent, military-standard canvas he would recognize from any battlefield triage center. Then came the ponies, groups of terrified civilians either resting on cots or gathered around them, all looking around in shock and confusion as medics and nurses trotted amongst them, all of which he also recognized from most battlefield situations. Finally, the area outside the tent started to slide into focus, the still-shining sun beating down on warm blades of grass, the fence they’d all been leaning on not even a day before, and…and a group of guards with grim looks on their faces, setting yellow caution tape up around a tarp-covered bundle that had a single bloody hoof sticking out.

“Oh Celestia,” Shining gasped. He dropped back onto the cot, his hooves pressing into his eyes. “Oh, Celestia and Luna!”

“Yon fool rushed against the attackers on his own,” Luna said, replacing the comforting hoof on his shoulder. “Again, ‘twas not your fault.”

“I’m a royal guard. My job is to keep the Princesses safe, my own sister included,” Shining replied, not bothering to open his eyes. “If I hadn’t failed on that end, would that idiot have even thought to try and attack those things on his own?”

Luna didn’t say anything, though the fact that a Princess known for her use of old-timey wordiness was at a loss for words didn’t encourage him any. Still, the hoof on his shoulder was a decent comfort, all things considered. Between the civilian casualties and missing princesses, he could use a bit of comfort just then.

“Gosh, there’s so many,” he mumbled, head turning on the pillow to the cots alongside him.

“Actually, most of these ponies are just stunned,” Luna replied. “We are merely holding them at the moment to ensure word about this does not leak out.”

“We’re holding them prisoner!? Why?”

“An alien world with abilities we can’t even fathom has kidnapped two of Equestria’s royal elite,” Luna sighed, shaking her head. “If word gets out, there will be panic in the streets. All things considered, with Tia – with my sister and the Element of Magic missing, I just didn’t want to chance having to deal with yet another crisis.”

Shining Armor’s nose wrinkled at that, but he said nothing. Though he found the idea of holding a bunch of frightened civilians hostage for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time just repulsive, he could see the logic in the Princess’s words. Besides, he had always seen himself as a soldier first and a leader in the Crystal Empire second. It was hard to beat the mindset that he was meant to follow orders without question, only relaying the best way of carrying them out to the few ponies under his command. Back in the Crystal Empire, his wife handled all the real administration, writing up edicts and following up with him on how they were being carried out. He was really just there to hang out and look pretty. And yes, stand in defiance against any horrors from the ancient past threatening his home, that was just a given.

“We share your distaste, Captain,” the Princess remarked, reading his features in an instant. “But ‘tis the situation we find ourselves in, and we must adapt to pull through as best we can. Is that not one of the mantras of thine Royal Guard training?”

Despite himself, a tiny grin crossed Shining’s face, earning a look of surprise from the Princess. “Y’know, Cadence does that to me all the time,” he said. “Turn my own guard instincts against me and all. I’ve always admired that about her.”

Luna nodded and returned the smile. “The mark of a clever mare.”

“Oh, speaking of,” he tried to sit up again, failed, and resigned himself to just laying on the bed and tilting his head in her general direction. “We need to call her in. We’ll need all the firepower we can get.”

“Actually, she teleported in the moment she received my letter,” Luna replied. “She’s waiting just outside. She understands we needed this debriefing beforehoof.”

“Ah. Alright then, we’re gonna need reserve units…”

“To be called up, yes, we know. Every reserve garrison from here to Baltimare just received orders for an increased regimen of ‘training exercises’.”

“G-good…oh! And if Cadence is here, we’ll need…”

“Your plants in the Crystal Gardens are being watered, Captain!” Luna said, her wings flaring in exasperation. “The Empire is being managed by the emergency protocols you and your wife laid in place, we have trains inbound from every territory with supplies to support either a long, drawn-out siege or a massive battle, and we’ve cancelled your reservation at this Saturday’s Comic-Con in Trottingham! Everything is resolved, now will you please relax!?”

“Alright, alright,” he said, somewhat surprised at her outburst. He turned over on his cot again.

“Do you wish to know anything else?”

“Yeah, how are the girls taking it?”

“They’re positively distraught,” Luna replied, her eyes glistening. “Or, at least, Fluttershy and Rarity are. Pinkie Pie only just stopped crying, and Rainbow Dash and Applejack had to be restrained to keep them from single-hoofedly attempting an attack on the other world.”

“Yeah, that sounds like them,” Shining Armor attempted another smile, but it came off flat, feeling alien on his face. He gave up on it after a moment. “Can I see my wife now?”

“Of course, Captain,” Luna nodded before trotting back out, leaving Shining with perhaps five milliseconds of alone time to process what had happened before a pink blur sailed in through the tent flap and body-slammed him.

“SHINING!” Cadence cried, her hooves wrapping around his midsection while she showered him with kisses. “HOW BADLY ARE YOU HURT!? ARE YOU FEELING OKAY!? DO YOU SEE A BRIGHT LIGHT!? OH MY DEAR SWEET CELESTIA, STAY OUT OF THE LIGHT SHINING! PLEEEASE! STAY OUT OF…”

He grimaced, teeth clenching in pain as she rocked him back and forth. “My…legs…” he managed to grunt.

“What, your legs!? Oh Maker above, you can’t feel your legs!? Don’t worry Shining!” She held him close, tears pouring down her cheeks. “We’ll get through this as husband and wife! I won’t leave you! We’ll get you a physical therapist, and we’ll find the best wheelchair in Equestria for you, and…”

“No…you’re standing on them…my legs…” he mumbled.

“Wha-oh,” she gave a quick flap of her wings, lifting off his body and landing gracefully at his bedside. He let out a sigh of instant relief, blood rushing back to his legs. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine, really!” He smiled at her, ignoring the pain as he held out a hoof to stroke her chin. His eyes locked with hers and she sniffled. “I’m fine, Cady. I’m just fine.”

“I’m sorry, Shiny,” she whimpered, her hoof clenching his as he stroked the side of her muzzle reassuringly. “For a second, I thought I might be losing you too, and with Auntie Tia gone and Twi…Twi…” she couldn’t even make it through Twilight’s name, the tears now welling up and wetting both their hooves as he continued to stroke her.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled her in close, careful to avoid her horn as her head nuzzled into his chest. “It’ll be alright, okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

“How can they be fine, Shiny? Two of the most important ponies in the world have been foalnapped by monsters from another dimension, who’ve already killed one of our own!” Her tear-filled eyes lifted to face the blood-covered bundle outside the tent flap, which was being loaded onto a stretcher, the bloody hoof hurriedly tucked in. “The things that did that have our Twily, how could they possibly be alright?”

Instead of talking, he pulled her face away from the tent flap and kissed her, long and hard, passionately locking lips while stroking her shoulders reassuringly. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out,” he whispered. “I promise. Wherever Twilight is, nothing is gonna stop us from getting her back.”

She sniffled, bit her lip, and leaned in on top of him again. He continued stroking her long into the night, as Princess Luna lowered the sun and her moon rose high into the sky. Then, and only then, with an exhausted Cadence passed out next to him on the cot, did he allow the tears he'd been suppressing the entire day to start flowing. I-I promise, he repeated to himself, over and over again. We’ll get you back, Twily, no matter what. Oh Celestia above, please be alright.

Chapter VI: The Descent

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0550 HOURS
THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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David turned over restlessly in his seat. It was obvious that the AW101 he was flying in had not been built with comfort in mind, but then, what did he honestly expect from a military chopper? Gold plated armrests and a tuxedoed man with a French accent to wait on him?

"I swear, this wouldn't be so bad if they’d allowed us to hold on to our damned luggage," Andre grumbled, brushing a few locks of blonde hair out of his eyes. “They didn’t have to take freakin’ everything!”

Well, okay, they had Andre. He was French: that was something! Maybe he could ask the guy to deck himself out in a tux and serve them all drinks at some point, Lord knows the others would gladly approve of the old stereotype of a French waiter. Hell, Andre might even agree to it as a favor of sorts!

Yeah, sure, right after he finished punching him in the face and asking if that "goddamn Kraut" had put him up to this. Maybe that was one idea he could just let pass.

As David wondered around in his thoughts, Anton grinned and reached into his flight jacket, adjusting the shoulder harness holding him to his seat just enough to reach in and pull out the flask he'd been drinking out of during the flight. He held it up like a gold trophy at a sporting event, a grin of victory plastered across his face. “They did not take everything, little ones.”

"Oh my God," David gasped, Anton's grin spreading to his face. "Don't tell me you seriously did the stereotypical Russian thing and worked like hell to save your booze!?"

"Some stereotypes are there for good reason, mine yankee-doodle tovaricsh," The Russian replied, taking a swig from the flask before handing it to Felipe. "Drink up, everyone. I have a feeling we'll need it."

Though it was obvious the young Brazilian wanted nothing to do with it, Felipe uncapped the small, silver flask and tilted it down his throat, wincing and coughing violently, but managing to keep it all down as he passed the flask on with a painful smile plastered on his face.

Yeah kid, I'm not feeling it either, Dave thought even as he took a swig himself. As expected, the drink burnt the entire way down, feeling more like acid than anything alcoholic, but a second later the familiar tingle of being warmed from the inside out washed over his body, radiating out from his chest. His face morphed from a distasteful grimace to a contented sigh, and he passed the flask on to the next person waiting for a drink.

He turned his head, peeking out the round window built into the chopper’s side. The Illustrious, once a long blip on the horizon, now dominated the view. He could even make out the rows of fighters parked on deck, all with little, ant-like dots racing around them, working furiously. “Nothing like a threat to all humanity to get the military’s collective rear in gear,” he muttered, and it wasn’t just the British. Off in the distance, he could make out at least half a dozen more black dots representing warships, probably American, Norwegian and Russian, all hanging out just over the horizon. No doubt a couple dozen other nations would be joining them soon.

“Davey?” He turned to see his Russian counterpart standing there, having slipped out of his harness, holding his flask out to Dave’s face. “There’s still a little left. The others thought you should have it.”

David did a quick scan of the faces around him. Every one of them shared a variation of the same puckered lips and scrunched-up noses, as if they’d all just had to watch a toddler eat one of its own boogers. Even Liu, the only man ever to drink him under a table, had the corners of his mouth turned down in distaste. The American smiled and accepted the final few sips gladly, this time releasing only a contented sigh aimed in the Chinese diplomat’s direction, much to the man’s obvious chagrin. He handed the flask back and kept that smile up until the helicopter touched down, when he used the sudden bump to let loose with a massive gag capped off with a cough.

“Pussy,” Anton snickered, apparently having kept his eyes on David the entire time, just gripping the overhead support struts to stay on his feet.

“No, just not used to drinking turpentine, is all,” Dave spat back, feeling a surprising amount of satisfaction at the grimace that earned from the Russian.

The rear hatch dropped open and a pair of men in flight uniforms with the Union Jack stitched to the arm ducked inside. One of them took a quick look around, then turned to Anton.

“You guys are the diplomats?”

“Who wants to know?” The Russian replied, keeping a steely glare on the pair.

“Who wants…Her Majesty’s Navy, that’s who!”

Anton gave him a look as if to say Is that supposed to impress me? But he followed up with a quick, curt nod, which the soldier was more than happy to accept as a yes.

“Follow us,” the other soldier said, and the pair jogged out of the chopper and waited on the tarmac, turning back to the group as the blades whipped the wind up all around them. The diplomats quickly shrugged off their harnesses and went after them, thudding down the ramp and onto the deck of the Illustrious as one, marching together in perfect step without a second thought.

The men in camo led the group away from the helipad and back towards the bridge, jogging past men loading up weapons, performing systems tests, and rushing equipment from one part of the landing strip to the next. A civilian might have been impressed by the sheer effort being expended for a war that hadn’t even occurred yet, but Dave kept his mind focused, his eyes on the massive tower jutting out from the otherwise flat landing strip. He hadn’t always been a civilian, after all, and it was easy to fall right back into that old line of thinking from his days as a marine, back during a time when he’d stood on the deck of a carrier not too unlike this, when…when…

God above…Christ alive…don’t tell me that’s her! Please, Jesus Christ almighty…

He shook the memory off, shoving it right back down to the furthest reaches of his mind, as far from the light of day as he could bury it. There was a time and a place to deal with shit like that, and now wasn’t one of them. Problem was, as a psychiatrist might have found, it had been neither that time nor that place for the past five years.

He had just about finished shoving the memory back into the hellish pit from which it came when the group reached the tower. A large, steel door was opened for them, and they all ducked inside, panting with the quick jog they’d been treated to, though not as heavily as one might think a bunch of diplomats would pant. The soldiers stood at attention next to a door at the far side of the small, metal room the diplomats found themselves in, standing ramrod straight and in complete silence.

“Well, nothing like a brisk jog to get the old heart movin’,” Lisa joked once she’d caught her breath. Which was just before I did, David noticed, she must jog. Well, I guess, duh, with a body like that.

“Speak for…yourself…Limey…” Anton huffed, his hand reaching for his coat out of habit, then pausing when he remembered the pair of men watching them. “Cripes…haven’t done that in a while.”

“Yeah, and it shows, tovarisch,” Liu joked.

“Shove it up your ass.”

“Atten-SHUN!” The soldiers cried, somehow standing even straighter than they had been. David had to force the urge to follow suit back down, not wanting to explain why he was standing in the perfect posture drilled into him by the Marine Corps to the rest of the group. In a few moments, the door between the soldiers squeaked open, and through it stepped a large man in the pure-white uniform of an admiral, and again David had to suppress the urge to salute. Foreign navy or not, the uniform of an admiral, especially one as highly-maintained and decorated as this guy’s, was an impressive sight.

The Admiral surveyed the group with a pair of weathered, old eyes, set beneath a cap that only revealed a few strands of red hair that had escaped beneath its brim. He would be the perfect stereotype of an old sea commander if he just had a massive set of whiskers, but nope: his broad chin was as clean as a baby’s bottom, to David’s semi-disappointment. When he spoke, it was with an old, gravelly rasp combined with his British accent, making him sound like the sort of guy who sat alone in the corner of a pub, just daring someone to start something.

“Hello, and I am Admiral Peters,” the gravelly rasp said. “You lot are the UNCDI reps for the Isles?”

“That’s correct, sir,” Lisa said in a timid little tone that, to Dave at least, fit her about as well as clogs on a duck. She offered her hand, which the Admiral took with a firm shake, causing everyone in the room to release a collective breath they didn’t know they’d been holding. “I’m Lisa Townshend, for London, and these are my associates from each of the other Security Council nations.”

Those weathered eyes scanned them, seeming to pierce right into each person’s soul as they passed over. They dwelt on Anton for a moment, the Russian returning the look, each man just looking at one another. Not glaring, per se, but more like sizing the other up. Then the Admiral moved on to David. “You the Yank?” He asked.

“Uh…yes sir,” Dave said, a bit taken aback that he’d been pointed out so quickly and with such ease. In a flash, he had the image of the Admiral having him thrown overboard because of some deep-seated grudge with Americans that nobody dared question. But the Admiral simply nodded, a quick thank you for offering up a simple fact, nothing more. Then he turned to step back through the door he’d walked in through, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

“Try t’keep up,” the old navy man said. He didn’t have to repeat himself. The group was practically on top of him, remaining at his back as they walked at a pace just barely slower than the jog they’d just been put through. Their heels all tapped on the metal plating, the Admiral keeping the pace up as they rushed past rows of closed doors with muffled voices coming from inside, some jovial, some argumentative, a few obviously drunk.

“Sir,” Lisa said, remaining at the Admiral’s side. “If I may be so bold…”

“No questions.” The Admiral said briskly. “I’ll tell you when you can ask, but not here. Too many ears.”

Lisa looked a bit surprised at his quick admonition, but nodded and kept pace with him, keeping her eyes locked straight ahead and her mouth shut, all the while allowing the men a decent look of her behind as it swayed in front of them all, like a carrot at the end of a string. Even Dave couldn’t help but chance a couple quick glances from the bottoms of his eyes while keeping his chin raised.

The Admiral led them to a large freight elevator and swiped a keycard, produced from one of his many pockets. Then he removed his hat and leaned in as a retinal scanner worked over his eyeball, which revealed a numeric keypad from a small slot in the wall, into which he entered a long, impossible-to-follow code. At last, a section of the wall next to the freight elevator opened up with a pneumatic hiss, revealing yet another elevator.

“Clever,” Franz remarked. The Admiral didn’t even look over his shoulder, only stepping into the elevator with the full expectation that the group would be right behind him. He wasn’t disappointed. Once they had all crowded together, the Admiral pressed a large, red button on the far wall and the door slid shut. The elevator jerked once and began the long descent into the deeper underbelly of the ship, machinery humming away somewhere beneath them.

“I apologize for my brashness,” the Admiral said. “Time is of the essence, however, and military protocol strictly prohibits me from discussing this matter someplace where there could be even a chance of eavesdroppers.”

“And this elevator qualifies because…” Dave said.

“Of the amount of money we poured into making this entire part of the ship just that sort of place,” the Admiral replied, a knowing smile on his face. “I’d go into details, but then I would have to kill you.”

“Sir,” Lisa interrupted, again in the uncharacteristic, mousy tone. David couldn’t say he cared for it, deciding right then and there to bring it up with her at some point. “If I may be so bold, what is this all about? We were taken from our headquarters rather abruptly, and nobody seems willing to divulge any answers, especially in the face of the…uh…the anomaly.”

Sure. Anomaly. That was a fair enough name for it. Dave might have gone with “harbinger of man’s doom,” but that was just him.

“The anomaly is exactly why we’re here,” the Admiral explained. “As I’m sure you lot have already been made aware, an SAS platoon was on maneuvers off the Isle of Man when the new portal appeared.”

Anton nodded once again, as curtly as he had before, and the Englishman took this as a sign to continue. “Well, that platoon managed to get their hands on some Tachyon Inhibitors and subsequently launched a top-secret raid into the other side.”

“Oh my God…” David gasped, along with the rest of the group. “What did they find!?”

The Admiral sighed, peeling off his hat and running his fingers through his thinning hair. “There is no simple way to put this,” he explained. “So I’ll keep it brief: the SAS managed to capture this other Equestria’s version of Target Alpha.”

The elevator fell into stunned silence. “The Princess of Day…” Chen muttered in a tiny, childish voice. Everyone recognized the Princess’s old codename on the International Court’s most wanted list. Chen followed up with a long, mumbled string of curses in his native Han.

“Y-you’re serious,” Anton stammered, his eyes wide.

The Admiral nodded, this time throwing in a smile that lit up his whole face. “I am.”

A loud thump filled the room as Franz’s eyes rolled back in his skull and his body slammed into the floor. Felipe stooped to help him up, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Thank you…” an uncharacteristically small voice said. Lisa again, keeping herself supported with one of the rails lining the elevator’s walls. “Thank Jesus…Thank Christ! Oh, thank you, thank you,” she cried out in relief, sinking to her knees, sobbing the words over and over again.

Anton was the first to reach her, patting her back as she bawled into the stainless steel floor. Everybody understood. It was one thing to know the evil bitch was scheming thousands of miles away from your home, but when your entire country was under threat? Especially considering what she had done the last time, just when humanity thought they had been on the verge of beating her? That was something else altogether. Lisa had just gone from wondering if her home would be a radioactive wasteland tomorrow to knowing it would be safe for another day in less than twenty-four hours.

“Oh my God,” Andre gasped, looking up at the Admiral. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? This is where you’re keeping her.”

“For the time being,” the Admiral shrugged.

“Mother FUCK!” David yelled, suddenly snapping out of his stupor. “She’s here!? On this ship!? Why aren’t we evacuating and nuking her from orbit, then!?”

“Relax, kid. We have enough Tachyon Inhibitors on her to fight the Collision Wars all over again. We could keep both her and the original Celestia locked up here, and they’d still be about as powerful as a gnat. In fact, we are sort of doing that right now.”

The whole group exchanged looks. “What do you mean by that?” Anton asked, ever the fearless leader.

“There was something else,” the Admiral sighed, twirling his cap on one finger. “The SAS squad that captured the Princess captured another Alicorn.”

“Jesus…” Andre moaned. “That can happen? There can be more than one at a time?”

The Admiral nodded. “It seems as though our Celestia wasn’t entirely honest with us, or with her own people. Big surprise there.”

“That’s where we’re going,” Andre mused, his face suddenly growing pale. An inane look crossed his face, a sudden smile that David found all too unsettling. When he spoke again, his accent became almost stereotypically thick, as if what he had learned had turned him into a cartoon version of himself. “We’re going to see ze pretty pony pwincess.”

The Admiral nodded. “You lot are supposed to be the experts on international relations and how these four-legged bastards are supposed to react to us. You’re probably the only people in the entire European sphere even remotely qualified to deal with this.”

“That’s an utterly terrifying thought,” Dave muttered dryly. “So, who gets to chat up the evil, genocidal, bitch?”

“We’ve decided on that, actually: the Princess appears to possess the capability of English-speaking, much like the ponies of the first Equestria could speak Mandarin immediately upon entering our world.”

“Actually, it was simplified Han,” Liu put in.

The Admiral waved him off and continued. “It’s obvious that whatever magic voodoo bullshit was in play at the start of the Collision Wars are in play here, just like it’s obvious that whoever goes in now should be able to speak the language.”

“That’s everybody in this elevator,” Andre quickly pointed out.

“Well, maybe ‘speak’ isn’t the right word,” the Admiral turned to Lisa. “We were thinkin’ it might be best if a native speaker, someone who spent their whole life around the language, went in there first.”

She stood on a pair of shaking legs, pressing herself to her feet with Anton’s help. “I-I dunno,” she said, still supporting herself on the rail. “I-I can try…”

“Lis, you just learned your country isn’t going to be a crater tomorrow morning, when everything in the last twelve hours said it would,” Dave pointed out, stepping up. “You could use a breather. I’ll do it.”

On the outside, he made sure to spend every effort he could on appearing cool and calm. On the inside, every one of his instincts screamed to him how bad of an idea this was. How absolutely he was signing his own death warrant. How completely this would be painting a target on his back for one of the most powerful creatures in the universe to hone in on. But he just had to take one look at Lisa to know he was doing the right thing. She was just regaining the ability to stand; Lord knows she was in no shape to face down Hitler reincarnated as a talking horse princess.

The Admiral scowled, evidently not keen on switching out one of his countrymen for an American, but relented easily. “Just so you know, we’ll be right in the next room while you talk to her. She’s restrained, but that doesn’t mean you should approach her or try to pet her or any shit like that.”

David’s heart dropped into his stomach, had a nibble of the donut he’d eaten for breakfast, and catapulted itself right up into his throat. “Wait, you’re saying I’m gonna be in the same room!?”

“We want this first meeting to be face to face,” the Admiral replied. “We’ll record everything and hopefully, from her reaction to you, we’ll be able to gauge how much she shares with her counterpart. That’s the deal. That won’t be a problem, now, will it?”

Yes, it will be a big fuckin’ problem! Dave almost screamed, but one more look at the way Lisa still trembled allowed him to hammer his jaw shut at the last moment. “No. It. Won’t.” He managed to squeak with a little smile. Sure. Who wants to see their 30th birthday anyway?

“Excellent, then it’s settled,” the Admiral said just as the elevator came to a halt. “And just in time, too. Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re going into the lair of the beast.”

The doors whined open onto a long, stainless steel hallway that looked like it hadn’t been touched until recently, and even then in passing. Dave took a whiff of the air, and his nose wrinkled with the scent of engine oil. “Huh. The lair of the beast smells kinda like my grandma’s house.”

The entire group turned on him, their looks telling him they were honestly questioning his sanity. “What?” He asked. “Grandma was a bit of a car freak.”

“Way to kill the mood, yankee-doodle,” Anton smirked, though his tone suggested that he wasn’t joking.

The group set out along the empty hallways, passing vacant bunks and empty cantinas with darkened vending machines that hummed in an atmosphere that otherwise would have been eerily quiet. “Where are the guards?” Lisa asked aloud, breaking the silence for a blessed moment.

“On the floor above us, behind a few layers of heat-proofed metal and sitting upon a pile of inhibitors,” the Admiral replied. “Trust me, if they are ever needed, that’s where they need to be to even begin containment. Everything down here, from the doorways to the prisoners’ water supply, is controlled from up there. If this Princess is even a fraction as powerful as the first, she would just slaughter any man we have down here before the guys upstairs had a chance to react.”

“Good enough for us diplomats though, right?” Andre smirked. The Admiral said nothing, only leading them to the next set of metal doors.

“This is where we part ways,” he announced, pulling a keypad out of a hidden slot in the wall and punching in yet another long, overly-complex code. He stood to the side, shouting over the pneumatic hiss and grind of another hidden door sliding open, a flashing warning light casting his face in a strange, orange glow. “We will be watching everything from upstairs. A few guards will be sent down later to help you all settle in. Are there any questions?”

There wasn’t.

The Admiral nodded, and saluted once, standing perfectly straight. “Godspeed to you all,” he said, then dropped his hand and strode back to the elevator, his back still as straight as could be.

The group eyed one another, standing in silence until the door opened fully and the warning light stopped blinking. Anton was the first to step forward, a determined look in his eyes while he ducked through the entrance and into the dim light beyond. The rest of the group still stood there, nobody wanting to be the next ones through, and then Anton’s hand appeared from the other side. Swallowing his fear, David took it, grasping the aging Russian harshly, and then he held out his hand. Lisa followed suit, laying her hand in his and offering hers out to the next person, and so they continued until everybody held a hand in a long, unbroken chain. Then, holding their breaths, the group ducked through the portal and into the unknown, some praying, some hoping for the best, all holding onto the hand in their grip for dear life, hoping that the next person in line maybe had a bit more courage than they did.

Author's Notes:

I am SO sorry for the long wait on this one! Had to graduate, had some stuff go on...but you're not interested in this, you should know though that we're FINALLY going to see Canonlestia in her containment next chapter, which will most definitely be up soon. Like, within the next couple weeks. So you all have that to look forward to. That makes up for things, right? Right?

Chapter VII: Interview with a Princess (REVISED AT LAST)

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0610 HOURS
ABOARD THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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Princess Celestia of Equestria was used to being held prisoner. Surprisingly so, for an ultra-powerful princess ruling over a nation of harmony and light, which in turn was known all over the world for its power and magical prowess. There was the changeling invasion, Tirek’s attack on Equestria, Prince Umbra’s Rebellion of 349. Yes, there had been a whole mess of different scenarios that she could have gone on about for hours, detailing the different accommodations she had received in each (changeling cocoon, the summit of a dark mountain in Tartarus, and a leather BDSM outfit with spreader bars, in that order), but this was the first time she had been held in a land as strange as this.

From the moment she had woken, she hadn't been able to sense even a scrap of magic anywhere around her, although that could have been the restraints. Some weird metal tube was clamped around her horn, locked in place in such a way that no matter how hard she tried to scrape it off, it never even budged. It almost seemed made for an alicorn’s horn, feeling it. So did these creatures have experience with alicorns? Or more accurately, with restraining alicorns? There was a scary thought: these creatures had experience with ponies, and yet she hadn’t even seen a single pony since being bought to this place. She prayed this was just because she hadn’t seen much of anything of this land or its people. She’d only woken up while being dragged along a hallway by two of the creatures wearing cloth masks, her hooves bound and the ring locked around her horn. She hadn’t attempted conversation. The way her captors carried themselves just screamed “soldiers." Probably under orders not to talk with her, too, and based on the sheer ferocity of the attack, there was a good chance any attempt at conversation would have ended in a blow someplace where it would hurt.

She pulled at the metal casts locked around her legs that kept her bolted to the floor, and as with the previous attempts, she got nothing. Whatever metal this was, it had to be incredibly powerful. Ugh, if she could only stretch out her wings, they desperately needed a good crack! But the chains binding them didn’t have an ounce of give in them, probably made of the same metal as the casts. These creatures were thorough, she would give them that much. It might take even one such as her years to escape, if it was possible at all. At the very least, they could have allowed her some mobility to clamp her hooves into her ears. The beeping from the collar around her neck was driving her nuts!

She scanned deeper into the room, at the clear box surrounding her on all sides that looked like glass, but was too strong to be glass. At the strange, whirring and beeping doodads and lights that seemed to be watching her somehow, as if a few beams of light could track her. At the miles of tiny, little cables that seemed to hold it all together, but at some points came loose, so that wasn’t right…what were all these little cables for, then? And why did they run to every little gadget in the room, to the corners of her box, up from slots in the floor and in the shadows, just everywhere she looked? At least the gadgets supplied some light: otherwise she’d be standing in total darkness with nothing but that infernal beeping!

Keeping herself occupied, her mind wondered back to the initial attack that saw her imprisoned. She remembered the objects rolling out of the portal, then white light, and then pain, but that was all. Just what had been the motivation for such a brutal raid? The precursor for an all-out invasion? She shivered at that thought. If that was these creatures’ intent, they were off to a great start. Technology that could nullify magic and the kidnapping of their targets’ leader: she couldn’t even think of a better way to begin a war. Why, she wouldn’t be surprised if Canterlot had been overrun by now. Horrified, of course, but not surprised.

Something shifted in the darkness beyond the circle of lights and beeping. She braced herself for what was to come. What tortures would she be subjected to in this prison? What would these creatures want? In fact, what would they even look like? She only knew that they were bipedal and possessed fingers. Like diamond dogs, but much less bulky. Whatever was hiding under that armor was still a complete mystery. What was under there? Hideous, tentacle-covered faces? Insect-like mandibles? What horror-movie looks would be staring at her in mere moments?

Whatever it might be, she could not afford to recoil, could not afford to show any sign of disgust whatsoever, no matter how hideous they might look to her. There might still be a chance to salvage the situation, and helpless as she was, she needed every diplomatic advantage she could get her hooves on. No matter the situation, she still needed to play the game of diplomacy for her little ponies. She would meet her enemy’s eyes as equals, even if those eyes were compound or at the end of slug-like stalks. Surely they would understand that, these creatures still had to have some good in them.

A tapping noise echoed throughout the chamber, growing closer. She held her breath, her heart beating in her chest, only slowed by a conscious effort she’d perfected through centuries of meditation. A figure stepped into the dim light, clad in a tan shirt, black pants, and impeccably shiny black shoes. Okay, so they had a sense for fashion. That would be great news for Miss Rarity. If she ever saw her again.

The creature stepped lightly, the heels on its handsome shoes tapping away as its head ducked into the light. For a second, she saw the monstrosities in her mind made real, tentacles writhing out of a misshapen head, surveying her with beady, predatory eyes. But then her mind adjusted to what she was seeing and revealed…

Actually, it was rather cute.

Now, it wasn’t as adorable as, say, one of those parasprite pests, but it had these colorful eyes that were small without being beady, much like a newborn foal’s, and there was a little tuft of hair on its head. Aww, and there was even some fuzz on its hands, and a teeny, weeny, button nose!

Recomposing herself, Celestia met the creatures widdle...little eyes and cleared her throat. "I am Princess Celestia of Equestria," she announced. "You have attacked a sovereign nation without declaration of war and without provocation."

Suddenly, the creature's eyes ignited with rage unlike any she had ever seen. For a second, it was not the cute, bipedal monkey that had walked into the room. It was some horrible predator from the dawn of time created for nothing more than destroying anything that got in its way, aimed at nothing short of total destruction. Then the cute little monkey was back, as if nothing had happened to it.

"You're one to talk," it muttered.

”Keep it together,” a tiny, buzz-filled voice said, so small she could barely hear it. The creature nodded once and held one hand over its head, its thumb and forefinger closed in a circle. She didn’t know what that symbol could mean, but knew it had to be a signal to more of its kind.

We’re being watched, she realized. Still, that just distracted from a massive revelation: despite being a completely alien species, she had understood this creature perfectly well. "You speak?" She asked.

"It's some magic voodoo horseshit," the creature replied, pulling a small chair out of the darkness and setting it up right in front of her. It crossed its legs as it sat, eyeing her coldly with its fleshy hands folded in its lap. "Whatever magic created the portal between our worlds also allows you to speak in the most commonly-spoken tongue of wherever it is you appear. Hence, English."

"English," she said, playing with the way the word rolled off her tongue. It did have a catchy sort of cadence to it, even if it was utterly meaningless to her. "Alright, I can understand you, and you can understand me, does your species have a name?"

The creature looked at her, its eyebrows hunching. "Humans," it replied, as if her question had revealed something extraordinary.

"Humans..." she said, again playing with the word. "Now, may I assume you humans all have names?"

"You may."

"May I know your name?"

"No."

Something was wrong. This creature was being overtly hostile. Was it biased against quadrupeds, perhaps? Or it could be the magic thing. She sensed no magic within it, while even Earth ponies from her home held at least some residual traces of magic absorbed from the environment around them. Did this world have no magic? That could explain some of the reactions she had received here. Magic could be quite frightening to a species that had none, and she knew how powerful a weapon it could be in the wrong hooves. Perhaps these humans knew that too, hence the fear. "I can assure you that, no matter your assumptions, we wish no harm upon your species."

"So you say," the creature replied, its arms crossing in front of its chest.

Hold on, she was going about this all wrong. There was something else going on here: that was obvious now that she focused on the human. Her eyebrows furrowed as she faced the creature down, her confusion growing as her keen senses drank in every motion and every little twitch of muscle on the human’s face. "Why are you so afraid of me?" She asked.

The creature looked taken aback, nearly falling out of its chair. "Who says I'm afraid of you?" It spat, though the quivering in its voice told her all she needed to know.

"You do: the narrowed pupils, the reserved speech, the way you were sitting so far back in your chair that you almost fell out of it just now," she continued by trying to meet his gaze, only to watch his pupils dart away almost imperceptibly, just enough to avoid making direct eye contact. "You're doing your best to avoid eye contact...combine that with the fact that these restraints were obviously made specifically for alicorns, and I can only conclude that there has been some traumatic encounter between our species in the past."

The creature stared at her, eyes nearly bugging out of his skull. She had to fight to suppress a smile. She didn't get to show off the intellect she'd built up over the centuries often, but when she did, it always left everyone reeling. “Or perhaps you would like to tell me your name?” She asked, knowing what the answer would have to be.

”Holy motherfuck,” the buzzy little voice whispered.

“D-Dave,” he replied, sitting back up in his chair. He was very good at hiding his fear. Supremely good, in fact, keeping his emotions buried with the kind of skill it would take years of training to attain. Assuming, of course, these humans lived for years, like her little ponies. Either way, there was no hiding it from a being that had needed to read the ponies hiding behind titles and lordships that she had dealt with for the past millennium. “My name is…David.”

“David,” she played with the word on her tongue again. “Odd, seemingly meaningless, but then, meaning can always be disguised.”

He said nothing, making it a point to keep staring at her through the glass that wasn’t glass with those cold, fierce eyes, (though never directly into her eyes, she noticed). “Does this place have a name, David? Can you tell me the name of your lands?”

”Go ahead,” the buzzy little voice said.

“You’re on Earth,” he replied. “And as for where on Earth, well, I’m afraid that’s privileged information.”

She frowned, not even bothering to play with that word. Her language already possessed a word just like it for a certain race of ponies: a link she would have to investigate at some other time. She watched patiently as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, light-blue notebook. She squinted at it, seeing a logo that consisted of landmasses and forms she didn't recognize, as well as lettering that was, at once, both totally alien and recognizable. UNCDI? She thought. What in Equestria could that be?

“We have some questions for you, and you are gonna answer them,” he said, his voice stern, but still wavering with that slight tinge of fear amplified by the metal walls.

She shrugged and motioned with a nod for him to continue. “Ask away.”

“What are your intentions with Earth and its populace?”

She furrowed her eyebrows at that, honestly confused. “None. We didn’t even know this place existed until a few hours ago! Or…however long ago it was since you 'procured’ me.”

The human nodded, marking down her choice of words in his notebook. She took the time to evaluate her surroundings. If this human was here, there had to be more, perhaps standing in the shadows, evaluating her every move. She made sure to stand as tall as her bindings would allow, her wings stretching as far as possible to make her already imposing frame appear even larger. She could only hope this would help her.

“Next question,” he said as his pen ceased movement on the little pad of paper. “What do you know about the presence of other alicorns in your Equestria?”

Her teeth clenched, her jawline visibly tightening for only a moment. The names of three of the most important ponies in the world to her rushed through her mind, before she shoved them away. They couldn’t know. She wouldn’t allow them to target the ones she loved. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Other alicorns, you say?”

“Oh?” The human arched an eyebrow, a smug smile crossing his face. Not a mean smile, mind you, but the sort of look one gets that just screams "checkmate."

“And what of the other alicorn we captured? The smaller, purple one?” He asked, that smug smile never leaving his features.

For the first time in over three centuries, Celestia’s heart skipped a beat. A cold finger of dread washed through her body, and she trembled. Whether it was this, or the stress of the past day, or the knock to the head she’d taken when she was first kidnapped, her entire façade came crashing down as her head bowed and she shrieked, “DON’T HURT HER! PLEASE!”

Once again, the human nearly fell out of his chair, his arms and legs splaying out comically in his surprise. He blinked at her a few times as she fought to regain her composure, struggling to retain her stance, then he sat up again, leaning a bit more forward in his chair than he had been. Celestia, for her part, rapidly regained the confident posture and air she had held and switched into damage control as swiftly as possible.

“That pony…is…responsible for quite a few administrative affairs back in the palace,” she said. “I’m just not sure what I’d do without her.” There. Usually, a lie sprinkled with the truth was the most believable. Hopefully, her outburst wouldn’t seal Twilight’s fate as a way for the humans to get to Celestia, because if it had and she’d just doomed her student to Heaven-knows-what torture, that would be it. She would be finished. She wouldn’t be able to stand Twilight’s screams if they were piped into the room, she would give in, she would crack, she couldn’t stand…

Celestia shoved the thought into the back of her mind as the creature nodded. “We will do our best to make sure her internment here is as comfortable as possible,” he said. “And just so you know, that same courtesy will be extended to you.”

Though I have no idea why… he so obviously wanted to say. Oh sure, the fear was still there, but hatred was welling up now. Each moment that passed where she didn’t do anything was, apparently, helping to abate his fear, only for hate to rush right into its place. The way he looked at her now, she felt like the slimiest, most disgusting insect ever seen, crawling across someone’s dinner plate.

Maker above, she thought. As far as she was concerned, this human apparently had two settings: nearly cowering with fear, and visibly trying to imagine how many times he could stab her with his pen before being stopped by the other humans waiting nearby. But why!? What could ponies have done that might be so terrible!?

“Next question,” the human continued, keeping his eyes on the paper as much as possible, if only to remain focused on the task at hand. “What do you know about the process used to force a human to turn into a pony and its negative effects upon the psyche of the affected individual?”

Her frame nearly shrank at that, her façade of power dropping for a heartbeat just in sheer surprise. “What was that?”

His eyes darted to her, then back to the paper. “I said…”

“No, no, I have it,” she replied, studying him closely. “You said you had a way to transform a totally alien creature into a pony?”

His eyes widened, his lips pulling in over his teeth. He looked up at her, then back at the notepad, then back at her, before he all but threw himself out of his chair. “We’re…uh…we’re done here, good day.” He said quickly before heading for the door.

“No, wait, WAIT!” She called after his retreating form, a thousand years’ worth of political wisdom and maneuvering flying out the window as her head spun with questions. “What was that about forcing a human to turn into a pony!?” He didn’t even turn, still barreling for the door.

“What about the other alicorn!? The purple one!? Her name is Twilight Sparkle!” She called, hoping that some small detail would not only satisfy the human’s need for information, but also endear her beloved student to her captors. But still, the human stormed away.

Finally, practically out of cards to play, Celestia desperately screamed: “What did we do that was so terrible!?”

The human stopped abruptly. His hand clenched the pad of paper until his knuckles turned white. That tiny, buzzing voice returned, only now it was just a faint hum from where she stood. After a few minutes of standing there, his back to her, his entire body tensing and relaxing repeatedly, the human spoke, its voice faintly shaking, but with an iron beneath the surface that spoke of a placid ocean surface moments before a predatory shark broke the surface.

“Nothing much,” he said. “Just betrayed our trust, promised us a new era of peace, and then immediately tried to use your incredible powers to wipe us out, except that didn’t work, see? We were smarter than you. So you had to settle for the booby prize.”

“Booby prize?” She asked, unable to keep the tense shake from her own voice. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t respond, just strode right out into the darkness, his shoes tapping against the ground until they faded behind the pneumatic whine of a door somewhere whirring open and slamming shut again. Once again, Celestia was left alone with her thoughts, only now even more questions buzzed through her mind. What did these humans want? What did they mean by a “process” for turning them into ponies? How was that even possible? If she were to be really honest with herself, though, she would know these questions were only there to distract her from the one she needed answered, the one she knew would drive her mad if she wandered about it too long:

What are they doing to Twilight? Oh Maker above…what in Equestria could they possibly want with her?

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David stepped through the door, listened to the pneumatic whirr and hiss of twelve-hundred pounds of titanium steel slide into place, and nearly collapsed onto the floor. As it was, he just barely managed to keep himself supported on his hands and knees, panting like a dog onto the white tile. "Oh God," he gasped as the second door to the airlock whirred open. "Oh Jesus Christ..."

"You did good, kid," Anton said, stepping into the lock and offering his hand, which Dave gladly accepted. "A lot better than most would have."

"I think I'm gonna puke," Dave replied.

"You’re not gonna puke, just sit,” Anton said, motioning for him to enter. As Dave pressed himself back to his feet, consciously reminding himself how to walk, the Russian added, “Oh, before you go in…” he motioned to his ear.

“Right,” Dave reached behind his ear and handed over the little plastic bud. “And thanks for the advice. Probably helped keep my sanity in there.”

The Russian nodded and stood aside to let him pass. Dave walked in on legs that quaked like the San Andreas fault during a meteor shower, but still managed to cross the threshold and reach the plush carpeting of the control room. Once again, he felt oddly comforted by the room, set up more like a living area than some ultra-secret military containment facility. Most of the others were seated in the leather armchairs gathered in a circle around an oak coffee table, arranged before a massive flatscreen TV (which only received CSPAN, CNN, and FOX, he'd checked). Honestly, between the stainless steel fridge stocked with water bottles and fresh fruit, the mahogany conference table that dominated the floor, and the fake wooden paneling along the walls, the only thing that felt out of place was the massive airlock leading into the cell he'd just left and the control panel set in the wall next to it, both of which looked like they'd be more at home at Cape Canaveral than here.

As his stomach settled, the American made a beeline for one of the recliners, ignoring the young Latino man who stood at the control panel, as most in the office were accustomed to doing. He might have noticed the intensity with which the young man glared at nothing in particular, gazing over the dials and knobs and gauges with a look of hatred so intense it would have made Dave do a double-take, but at that moment, Felipe was just another part of the background noise, not even worth looking at until the American could get something soft and expensive between him and the ground.

He collapsed into an empty recliner, sticking a leg up on an armrest as he was so accustomed to doing on his own couch at home. He let his breath out in a long sigh, his eyes closing, his fingers pressing into them. As he sat, Lisa reached over and flicked a little switch on a small speaker box sitting on the table. Dave grimaced. “Didja guys get all that?”

“Every word,” Lisa replied. “As I’m sure the men upstairs did as well.”

“Great,” he groaned, sitting up and letting out another sigh. “I know Anton tried to doll it up a little, so how did I do? Really?”

“You…did not piss yourself. That’s something!” Liu said encouragingly.

“That bad, huh?”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” Anton said, striding over to join the group. “We all heard her reaction to that last question, right?”

“Of course,” Akshat said, his arms and legs crossed as he sat up straight in his armchair. His brow was furrowed with either worry, concentration, or a combination of both. “If we are to believe what we all just heard, this version of Celestia has no knowledge of the crimes of her predecessor.”

“That is a big ‘if’,” Franz put in. “We all know how damned smart she is. She could just as easily be faking.”

Dave closed his eyes again, steadying himself, controlling his breath the way he’d been trained in Basic. His mind circled back to the final moments of the interrogation, highlighting every tiny detail from the blinking of the thermal scanners locked on the prisoner to the way her shoulders rose and fell with each breath. Most of all, he recalled the look of surprise in her widened eyes at the moment he informed her of The Potion, the way her breath paused for a moment, the questions she had asked immediately after. “I don’t know,” he said. “Her reaction seemed genuine.”

“For once, I must agree with my German counterpart,” Andre said, his legs crossed, his chin held thoughtfully in his hand. “Loathe as I am to admit it, the Princess has had over a thousand years to perfect her ability to lie right to our faces. Surely, she could feign surprise well enough to fool us.”

“I still don’t…”

A deep thud, followed by the shattering of glass, cut the conversation short. David’s heart leapt into his chest as, for a terrible moment, he believed that thud had been one of the restraints around the prisoner’s cell giving way, or one of the Tachyon Inhibitors keeping her magic suppressed shorting out. Instead, he turned and found Felipe standing at the control panel, his fist knuckles-deep in one of the glass gauges. Even from where he sat, Dave could see blood sprouting out in tiny streams and dribbles where the shattered glass had broken through skin.

“Oh Felipe, honey, here,” Lisa gasped, springing to her feet and heading for the console.

“Let me take a look at that,” Anton said, striding up next to her as she reached under the panel for the first aid kit. Of course, David didn’t question this. It was standard practice in all NATO ships to have a first aid kit underneath every control panel large enough to hide it, and that Lisa knew this never struck him as odd. He did think it a bit odd to watch Anton gingerly remove Felipe’s closed fist from the shattered display and begin analyzing it with the placid, analytical eye of a combat medic, but he quickly shoved this back as one of those things the Russian was just good at.

“Here,” Anton said flatly, reaching into the kit as Lisa held it open in her arms. “We’re lucky. You didn’t open any veins or tear any muscle tissue. Looks like you just cut open skin over fatty deposits. The damage shouldn’t be that bad.”

For a few moments, Felipe didn’t respond. He just kept studying an empty patch of carpet somewhere off to the side with a tired, vacant look, even as the first painful drops of iodine were squeezed onto his hand. Eventually, he half-mumbled, half-whispered: “The damage is already done.”

The pair kept working as the others fell strangely silent, David included, watching as the last few layers of gauze were wrapped around Felipe's fist. "There we go," Lisa said, giving the wrapping a final pat. "Is that better?"

"Better..." Felipe gazed off into space, his rich, dark eyes locking on to nothing in particular. Lisa's smile faded as the moments crawled by before he finally spoke up again. "She was supposed to be better."

"Who?" Lisa cocked an eyebrow at him, then her gaze drifted to the airlock door. "Oh...you mean...oh, honey."

She smiled and leaned in to wrap her arms around his shoulders, immediately making Dave feel grateful that there was at least one woman in the group. Sexist or not, there was a marked difference between a comforting hug from a woman and the awkward pats on the back from a male friend trying his best to console you in the least homoerotic way possible. “I think we all expected something a bit different from a pretty pony princess from another dimension. Or, at least, something other than genocidal rage.”

Felipe just shook his head, his entire body tensing. "No, she was supposed to be the paragon of light! She was supposed to be the wise ruler of all Equestria! She was supposed to be better than everything and everyone, this wonderful, awesome…this…”

He trailed off, his vacant eyes finally wondering over the airlock, as if trying to memorize every rivet, every ding, the way the light shone off the gray metal, everything he could about the door. "We shouldn’t be standing here, debating whether or not she’s lying to us. None of this should have ever happened. This isn't right...this wasn't..."

Seeing a lull in his tirade, Anton circled around to meet the Brazilian's eyes with what he hoped look like a comforting smile. "My friend, perhaps I should inspect your hand?" Anton pointed at his closed fist. "You're clenching it rather tightly. Perhaps you still feel some pain there?”

Felipe's eyes darted wide open as he cradled the clenched fist to his chest like an infant. He pursed his lips, shaking his head.

“My friend, if you are cut, then we must close the wound,” Anton insisted, reaching for the closed fingers again.

“Not this wound!” Felipe gasped, taking a step back. Everyone in the room gawked at him, and his lips pursed again. “I mean…no, just not now. It’s fine. Really, nothing to be concerned with.”

Anton looked the younger man over, trying to lock eyes with Felipe even as the Brazilian looked side to side, always averting his gaze. He was hiding something; it couldn’t have been more obvious if a question mark tattoo lit with LEDs had appeared in the center of his forehead. Before the Russian could press on, however, the speaker phone in the center of the control panel crackled to life.

Anton kept his gaze on the younger man, still glaring even as the electronic ringing cried out in all their ears. Still keeping his eyes on Felipe, he slowly reached over and pressed the button to activate the speaker. This isn’t over. Far from it. Those eyes said.

Felipe just smiled at him, the death grip on the mysterious object in his hands relaxing. For him, it was.

“Da?” Anton asked.

“I don’t care what the hell happened,” the voice of the Admiral crackled from the other side, distorted by some of the most sophisticated encryption methods on the planet but still easily identifiable to every man and woman in the room. “Somebody talked, and I wanna know who, and I want his or her balls served to me on a silver feckin’ platter come dinner!...Whazzat? Girls don’t have balls? Congratu-fuckin’-lations, Einstein, you want a fuckin’ gold star?”

“Um…hello?” Anton repeated, visibly trying to stifle laughter.

“Fuckin’ hell, almost forgot I called you lot!” The Admiral returned. “Yeah, you got a nice, big surprise headin’ your way, thought I’d give ya a heads up! You’re gonna hafta deal with ‘im, I’ve gotta figure out how in the fuck he found out we’ve got the Solar Princess onboard!”

“He?” Dave stepped away from Felipe, walking up to the speaker. “Sir? Who’s he?”

“Izzat the Yank? Aw hell, it don’t matter: it’s Shining Armor! The fuckin’ Prince of Equestria is headin’ your way right now, and he looks like he’s got a bone to pick with you-know-who! Take a guess as to why! Good luck, you lot!” And then the intercom clicked off.

A stunned silence fell over the room, lasting a solid five minutes. No one talked. No one moved. David felt weird just breathing.

“Well, shit,” Felipe said eventually.

Author's Notes:

At last, I know.

Sorry for the wait on this, guys. It took a while to figure out what I needed here, and then commit it to paper. Hopefully, the next chapters should come more easily

Thank my prereader, DJK, for this :) Without them, I'm not sure if I would have gotten this right.

Chapter VIII: A Royal Arrival

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0615 HOURS
ONBOARD THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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Shining Armor pressed his forehead against the porthole, feeling the hum of the chopper blades through the glass, taking in the view of the Illustrious from above and trying to keep his jaw from going slack. Here they were, a species with no magic and no unified ruler, and still they had managed to build the massive supercarrier now filling his view: a floating city capable of housing thousands of them and launching dozens of their fighter aircraft at a moment’s notice! Why, imagine what they might have accomplished if she had allowed them…

Shaking off the encroaching thoughts, Shining Armor returned his attention to the cockpit. “Pilot, how long until landing?” He asked, his Chinese accent thick, though his voice carried a calm, sure tone to it that ensured anyone around him would be instantly intimidated.

“Uh…about five minutes, your highness,” the Royal Navy pilot replied. “We…uh…weren’t expecting such an impromptu visit. Mind me askin’ what it’s about?”

“Yes, in fact, I mind,” Shining replied curtly, his face never leaving that steely neutral.

“Ah. Yes, sir,” the human replied, quickly returning his eyes to the windshield and firmly closing his lips.

Shining Armor returned his gaze to the view, looking out over the water, trying not to think about her, about the past, about the wars fought and the lives lost…so many lives…Flash Sentry…Thunderlane…Cloudchaser...

Twilight…

NO! It was me! It should’ve been me!

Shiney, we have to go! She’ll only be distracted for so long!

It wasn’t enough for you to ruin her life, you had to take it too you evil motherbucking…

Shining! Oh Maker above, your face! She got your…

“Prince Armor?”

Shining awoke from the memory with a grunt and a placid stare back into the cockpit.

“We’ve landed, sir,” the pilot said with a half-hearted, obviously-faked smile. “If you need help reaching the bridge, we can have…”

“No, thank you,” the unicorn replied, shrugging off his harness and stepping out onto the tarmac. “I have it now.”

The pilot nodded as he began the rotor’s shutdown sequence, the whine of the chopper’s engines slowing filled Shining’s ears as he trotted towards the massive structure rising out of the otherwise flat surface of the ship’s flight deck. He cast a final, passive glance over his shoulder and caught an obvious look of relief in the pilot’s face as he trotted away. Welp, looked like he had that "special" effect on someone yet again. The kind that left everyone just waiting for him to leave, begging whoever might be listening that the scary unicorn would go be someone else’s problem. Oh well.

His passing earned a few curious stares from the men still working feverishly on deck, most of them morphing from curiosity to sudden recognition and avoidance. Sure, there was the odd human that would meet his gaze with a smile, but they always saw something, something that made their gazes break off suddenly, the smiles fading. Not that the unicorn royal ever noticed or cared.

He was greeted just outside the bridge’s entrance by a tall man in a uniform, which he recognized as symbolizing the human rank of admiralty. Being former military himself, it was no surprise that he’d taken to learning the customs and hierarchy of human military structure like a fish to water, even if such learning had earned him quite a few black marks back when she was in charge. He made it a point to pause, stand ramrod straight, and salute the Admiral as he approached. “Admiral,” he said curtly.

The Admiral paused, seemed mildly unsure of himself for a split-second, then apparently settled on just a short bow, bending slightly at the hips with his head low. “Your majesty,” he said. “This is…quite the surprise.”

“I am aware,” the Prince replied, stepping past the human and into the hallway, his hooves tapping against metal.

The Admiral could only sigh and follow at Shining Armor’s side. Surprisingly enough, he actually attempted to keep the conversation up. Usually, most people took one look in Shining Armor's eyes and all talk came screeching to a halt. That he kept talking had to be a testament to the old man’s ability to think on his feet. “Might I compliment you on your lingual skills, your majesty? I hear you only started learning English a couple years ago. It has come along quite well.”

“If I am to represent the new Equestria to Earth, I will need to in her multitudes of languages,” the unicorn replied curtly. “Am also learning Spanish, German, French, and Japanese.”

The Admiral froze at the Prince’s words. “Your highness…that last one…it’s kind of…”

“I am aware,” Shining Armor interrupted, still not looking at the Admiral as they walked along, his hooves clacking against the metal in time with the Admiral’s heels. “But we all have a duty to remember what was lost, and as one who took up royalty after…the last one…that duty is mine more than others, bùshì ma?”

The Admiral looked like he was about to say something for a second, but then decided against it. Probably for the better. At any rate, his desire for conversation was apparently slaked, as the pair continued the rest of the trip in silence, the only sound being the occasional spillover from one of the dozens of control rooms and bunkers spaced throughout the structure, and the tapping of their heels on the metal floor. All this left Shining in a place he knew only far too well: with his own thoughts. It wasn’t so bad there. At least, not as bad as it used to be, back in the days after the war’s end…

His secretary, Cadence, looked up at him, her eyebrows raised, her jaw agape. He panted, his heart racing, hooves shaking, yet he didn’t know why. Around him, his senators and governors all stared, the less brave ones suddenly focusing on the salads before them. He looked down at his quivering hooves and noticed indentations where they had hit, a blackened scorch mark tracing the entire table’s length, leading to the vacant spot at its head.

“I…I just wanted to know how you were coping with your sister’s loss…” the pony next to him said quietly, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Shining Armor grimaced as he forced yet another memory back down. That had been a full-fledged image this time, not just a snippet of dialogue! Ugh, he was not going to do this now, he hadn’t gone through all that therapy on top of his royal duties just to slide back now, at a moment as important as this!

“Your Highness?” The Admiral asked, an eyebrow arched questioningly.

“Headache,” Shining replied, lowering his hoof back to the ground as he continued walking.

“Ah,” the Admiral nodded, picking up the pace now that the pony had all four hooves on the ground again. “Stress of the job, I understand.”

No, Shining Armor thought. No, you really don’t. “We almost there?”

“Almost,” the Admiral led him to the elevator and began the process of opening the secret lift, tapping in the absurdly-long code without even looking, his fingers working on muscle memory. “We have a UNCDI team with Target Alpha already. They should be interrogating her as we speak.”

Shining Armor’s hooves quaked, though not from fear. This was the same quake that his hooves had held all those years ago. Something deep, dark, and primeval rose up in his chest, filling his very being, awakening parts of his soul most ponies (and even some humans) had forgotten they’d possessed. “I guess I arrive at right time?” He asked, his accent coming through thicker than ever.

The Admiral said nothing, but spared a tiny smile for the young royal. “I guess you did.”

“UNCDI, so one Chinese?” Shining Armor asked.

“Yes, so he should be able to act as a translator should you grow tired of practicing your English,” the Admiral stepped aside as the wall slid open. He waved a hand, ushering the unicorn in. “They should be able to let you in, at any rate.”

“Thank you,” Shining replied as he stepped into the car. “I thank you for your hospitality, Admiral. I understand my visit a bit…unexpected.”

“Not at all, your majesty,” the Admiral said, a small ounce of pride entering his smile. “We’re military men! We adapt to the situation, isn’t that right?”

Shining, she’s gone! You’re just gonna have to accept that! Just put down the knife, please, put down …

“Very true, Admiral. Have a good day,” Shining said, only somewhat aware of the ice that had entered his voice.

The Admiral’s smile flickered. “Yes, um…you too, sir.”

Nodding, Shining entered the elevator alone, sighing with relief the moment the doors whisked shut behind him. He took a moment to rub at his scar, massaging his eye with a hoof. The damn thing always hurt when the past started popping up in his mind. Fortunately, that’s why he’d grown used to forcing those memories back down, forgetting them for at least a little while until…yep, there we go. The pain was gone already.

A few minutes later, the doors whirred open. Two men stood in the doorway to greet him, one a thinner man of the Asian race with narrow-framed glasses, the other a somewhat more stout Caucasian man with just a bit of gray appearing in the hair at his temples.

“Your majesty,” the older man said in an accent so obviously Russian it might as well have been swilling vodka and calling everyone “comrade.” Both men bowed at the waist, keeping their heads high.

”{Your majesty,}” the Asian replied in his familiar Han Chinese. ”{I am Liu Guo with the People’s Republic of China. This is my associate, Anton Beloglazov of the Russian Federation}.”

“{It’s a pleasure,}” Shining Armor replied simply. Now was the time to utilize his skills as a diplomat, another thing he’d developed out of necessity. ”{I believe I shall stick with Chinese for the rest of this trip. I know most of you speak the language of the nation you are based in, but I’m more comfortable with this tongue. If your associates don’t mind, of course.}”

“{Oh, of course not, sir, whatever makes you more comfortable,}” Liu replied. {“Do tell us, though: to what do we owe the honor of this visit?}”

“{I am here to take part in the interrogation of Target Alpha,}” he replied simply and curtly, making note of the quick flickers of dread that momentarily washed over the human’s face. Anton saw the look and immediately grimaced. They must have known this was why he was here, but still, hearing it spoken with such affirmation obviously hit them like a slap in the face. Oh well.

“{Sir, with all due respect, this is…}”

“{Just another part of our attempts to build relations with humanity,}” Shining replied, stepping right past the pair. “{Of course, as a foreign dignitary, you could get action from the UN General Assembly to stop me. That should only take, what, six months?}”

Though he didn’t show it, Shining Armor was beaming on the inside. He might never acquire the level of political skills his predecessor had, loathe as he was to admit, but damned if he didn’t like to think of himself as a quick study.

Both humans were visibly struggling to maintain their grins. “{Of course, sir, we’ll look into that. In the meantime, I take it you wish to see her?}” The Chinese man said through gritted teeth.

“{Of course,}” Shining replied, motioning for him to lead the way.

The Chinese man mechanically pulled an about-face and walked down the hallway, his light stride suggesting an internal grace that Shining couldn’t quite place, but admired nonetheless. It didn’t take long for him to reach a small room that he might have confused for a living room had it not been for the massive control panel and the airlock along one wall. Keep your back to that wall, and you might just forget what was being contained here. Four other humans lounged in high-end recliners until he walked in, when they all promptly leapt to their feet and bowed. Shining nodded his acknowledgement, but it was obvious his mind was going to the window long before his body actually reached it.

The Prince gazed at the glass on one of the readout gauges, ignoring the one with the shattered face. His partial reflection was just visible enough to show the line of scar tissue running down the side of his face and the glimmer of the bejeweled magic suppressor on his horn. He glanced at it, smiling knowingly as the humans chatted behind him:

“You sure about this?” One voice whispered. Male. American. Mid-to-late twenties.

“Well, he does have his suppressor on, what’s the worse he could do?” Female. British. Twenties as well.

The knowing smile spread across his face into a savage grin. You’d be surprised, he thought as his focus left his reflection and went to the airlock. What would she look like, he thought? Like her counterpart under lock and key in that Russian hellhole? Or perhaps she would be a little bit roughed up? He certainly hoped it was the latter. He wasn't sure if he could control his temper if she looked at him with that same disgustingly haughty stare, the one she had used so often when addressing her little ponies (a nickname that sent shivers up his spine), or when...

You dare question your Princess!?

I do when her actions reveal what an evil, genocidal pile of horse-apples she is!

Traitor! Trait…

“Your majesty?”

Shining Armor blinked, instantly banishing the memory from his mind. He could see the reflection of the Russian standing just behind him, again just barely visible. The older man looked down at him with a mixture of concern and deep fear. “Are you alright?”

Shining Armor looked at the bound Princess before him, drinking in the despondent, worried look in her vermillion eyes. “Yes,” he replied, a tiny smile playing at his lips. “Yes, I am.”

The human smiled, and though there was warmth to it, Shining could sense the growing unease buried underneath it. The human didn’t like him being here, and he really didn’t like that he was about to walk into the holding cell practically unsupervised. Oh well.

“As you may have already learned, the Princess arrived with prior knowledge of the English language,” the Russian said. “Just like with you, it appears as though the magical anomaly that produced the initial bridge between worlds allows the ponies on the other side to communicate in the most commonly-spoken language in the region where the portal appears. I’m afraid this means you will not be able to communicate in your native human tongue.”

“My English has improved,” Shining Armor said.

“As I noticed, sir. Now,” rather suddenly, one of the Russian’s large hands landed on Shining Armor’s shoulder and gave a good, firm squeeze, catching the unicorn completely off-guard. To say he wasn’t expecting such a heartfelt gesture during his time here would be an understatement. He would have found it more likely to arrive on-deck in the midst of an alien invasion being led by his secretary than to receive any sort of emotional support during his stay. And yet here it was. And that bitch wanted to wipe them out...God damn her...

“Are you sure about doing this?” The human asked.

Shining shrugged his hand off in a heartbeat. “Very. Open the door.”

The Russian looked down at the Prince sadly, dejectedly reaching over and pressing the small, red button to open the hatch leading into the cell. As the cell door slid open, titanium bars and Tachyon containment fields sliding out of place, it hit Shining that the Russian’s sadness was probably the only genuine emotion he had seen on anyone all day, pony or human. Hell, if he looked back, he might be able to extend that to all week! A week without genuine, emotional contact, and he hadn’t even noticed!

Oh well.

Author's Notes:

From this point on, dialogue in brackets {} are in a language other than English. The italics was getting a little confusing.

The just normal stuff in italics: big blocks of text like this, are Shining's memories. So there.

Chapter IX: A Royal Assault

Celestia released her breath in a long, drawn-out exhale through her nostrils. There had been much to absorb and consider, but she figured she had the main points nailed down.

#1: She had been kidnapped by a bipedal alien race known as “humans,” which while lacking in magic, appeared to possess an incredibly high level of scientific technology and an emotional spectrum similar to her ponies’, albeit one a bit more darker and angrier than she was used to.

#2: These “humans” had encountered another version of Equestria, perhaps even containing another version of her (though that was pure speculations), at some point in the recent past, and the results were so traumatizing that it had led them to attack her version of Equestria immediately upon first contact.

#3: She was being held on the basis of these horrific events, which might somehow involve turning them into more ponies, which may not have been so bad, but if done on a large enough scale…

She frowned behind her closed eyelids. Her observational skills had allowed her to gather much more than most other ponies would have during her brief encounter with the humans, but it still wasn’t enough, not even close. She still had no idea of the nature of this “other” Equestria’s crimes or how bad they were, much less how to even begin convincing the humans that her intentions were peaceful. Of course, she also didn’t know the status of Twilight, Shining Armor, or any of the other ponies that had been gathered at that field around the portal to the human world, or if there had been further attacks, but she kept her mind away from those possibilities. There was no possible way to glean any information about those topics as it stood now, and thinking about it would just have her worrying about what could have happened to the ponies who meant most to her in the world. Thank the Maker Luna wasn’t at the field, thank everything that might be listening she hadn’t been there, because if she had been then having her and Twilight possibly in danger might just be enough to break her, and she couldn’t bear that, she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she..

Celestia bit her lip, fighting back a few stray tears. No matter how much it pained her, she couldn’t concern herself with the others now. That knowledge was simply out of her grasp, no matter how hard she tried to reach for it. She had to remain relaxed, focus on what she did know, and try to formulate a plan of action from there. That was all she could do now.

“Alligator tears, Princess?” A wonderfully familiar voice said.

“Captain Armor!” She gasped, her eyes bolting wide open, hope swelling in her heart. “What are…you…”

She trailed off as she got a good look at the little, alabaster unicorn standing before her in a handsome suit coat covered in brass buttons, and with a bejeweled ring adorning his horn. At first glance, it was her beloved former captain-turned-prince of the Crystal Empire, but a moment’s inspection allowed her to process the jagged scar running over one of his eyes, turned milky-white by its presence. And there was more. Centuries of politics had sharpened her ability to read ponies even further than her observational skills, and what she saw in this unicorn was nothing short of pain beyond any sort of measure. Here was a stallion who had spent many a sleepless night wailing into his pillow, screaming for what had been lost. Here was a stallion who, at some point, had longed for death. Here was a stallion who had visited the deepest chasms of suffering that any sapient being could endure, and still wasn’t quite all the way back.

“Dearest Maker above, Captain, what happened to you?” She gasped, completely forgetting all manner of decorum and political maneuvering in the shock of finding this shattered shell of a stallion in her little glass cell, having apparently sneaked in without her noticing.

The unicorn allowed the smallest grin to perk up one corner of his mouth. He exhaled shakily in a way that she might have confused with a snicker if she’d been sleep deprived or not really paying attention. “You of all ponies should know, Princess,” he said in an accent she couldn’t quite place and a tone that she could, but wished she couldn’t. “After all, you’re the one who did it.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. “Wh-wh-what?”

“Oh, come, you always enjoyed looking at what you did,” Shining replied, stalking up to her with that creepy non-smile on his face. “Remember those stained glass windows you had in palace? Smiting Discord? Crushing last changeling hive? The crusades into Gryphon territories? All such great achievements you had immortalized in those damn windows.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes over to her, his head cocked at a crazy angle. “Of course, they’re gone now. Shattered when the bombs fell. So I guess all you have left now is me,” he closed the distance between them, teeth bared, nostrils flaring, thrusting his face into her eyes. A single, sweaty lock of blue hair dangled over his face, swinging between them as he took her face in his hooves and forced her to look at him. “Take a good look, Princess! Aren’t you proud? Do I get a window too!?”

“I…Shining, I…” there was no keeping the tears back now. They welled up in her eyes, dribbled down her cheeks. She tried to back away, but the metal cuffs encasing her legs barely allowed her even an inch of movement. All she could do was stand there and whimper.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Not as pretty as your windows?” The unicorn tsked, shaking his head in mock sadness. "Too bad, because you're stuck here."

Suddenly, his hooves squeezed together, pressing into her cheeks. "Where you fucking belong!" Then one of his hooves reared back and delivered a blow to the side of her face. Celestia cried out in pain and surprise. She wanted to sink to her knees, but of course the metal restraints kept her standing upright. She could only stand there and take it as the unicorn whaled on her, over and over again, earning a new cry of pain with each hit.

"Now, I know what you thinking, the humans help, right? They will help soon, Geneva Convention, all that, but bad news," he cradled her chin in a hoof, running the other hoof over the jeweled band on his horn. "This not my suppressor. Is a cheap replica I made."

He stepped to the side, gesturing to the door, which glowed with the obvious, pink hue of his magic. She would know it anywhere, just like she could take one look at the sick way that hue crackled unstably and popped along the edges with barely-controlled power and know that the pony behind it was not right with himself. Voices boomed from the other side, the humans probably throwing themselves at the door, but she knew what the unicorn was capable of. It would take an army throwing itself against the steel for a month to get through that.

Her eyes drifted back to him, at the bags under his eyes and the way he grit his teeth when he looked at her, and she wanted to burst into tears, disregarding the pain rippling down the side of her face. "Maker above, Shining, Maker above."

"Yes, cry! Cry for god!" His hoof lashed out again, catching her on the chin. "Cry out just like I did when you finished with me!" Another blow, this time across the bridge of her nose, stars appearing in her eyes. And again, he held her face to scream right into it: "Cry to some nonexistent thing just like I did every night after you killed my Twily!"

That hit her harder than anything he possibly could have done. Her swollen, stiff jaw dropped, her throat seizing. Despite her best efforts, her eyes filled with tears, turning into shimmering, vermillion pools locking with his. "Wh-what?" She managed to squeak.

That threw him for a loop. Shining Armor looked confused, uncertain for the briefest moment. He looked around, as if all the answers might be on an inspirational poster tacked up someplace in the room, then his gaze fell back to her. It hardened again, and he advanced, glaring at her with every single fiber of hatred he could gather up from the deepest, darkest places within himself. He held the point of his horn against her throat.

"I could do it right now," he said simply, keeping his horn pressed to her throat. "It would be easy. Wouldn’t kill you, we know, but it would be fun watching you choke on your own blood for a while, gasping for air while your throat healed, trying to grasp at the injuries in agony, begging for some way to breathe again as you drowned on your own blood."

It was no surprise to anyone that the Prince was suddenly so eloquent. He had probably spent months on end daydreaming about this moment, planning out what he would say down to the last syllable. And now, here it was, the moment he had been waiting for. The humans might as well have been on the other side of the planet for all they mattered. To him, they were barely even a light tapping coming from someplace far off. To him, all that existed was the princess, his horn, and the steady crackle of magic building up within himself. Celestia knew how right he was: it would be easy. She could feel the magical energies building up, he was just holding them back now, working up the courage to simply let it go.

She couldn’t help it. The pain she saw in one of her closest friends, the implication of what she had done to her beloved student, it was too much. A choked-off sob filled the room, echoing off the plate metal. The walls finally broke down, and tears flowed from Celestia’s eyes, dribbling down her chin, rolling onto Shining’s horn. She hated herself for a moment then, showing so much weakness, but the pain inside the unicorn was palpable. She could actually taste it in the room, almost feel it radiate from his every motion, every single word he spoke. It was enough to make most who could feel it break down, but then, there was the implication of why that pain was there.

Twilight. Dear Maker above, Twilight…

“I-I’m so sorry, Shining,” she sobbed, hating herself for sounding like a little filly after being scolded but unable to stop herself. The words came dribbling from her mouth almost as fast as the tears rolled down her cheeks, squeezing out her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“You fucking aren’t!” He screamed, his voice cracking mid-sentence. Steeling himself again, he pressed the horn even deeper into her throat. When he spoke again, it was with an eerie calm: “At least, not yet…”

They stood like that for a solid minute, though it might as well have been an eternity. Just the Prince and the Princess, one absolutely ready to kill the other. Who knows how long they might have stayed like that, or what course Shining Armor might have chosen, if it hadn’t been for one, good thud from the other side of the door.

Shining dispersed his magic and looked over his shoulder. Then, with a sinister little half-smile, he turned back to her. “I wish to continue this…line of discussion Princess, I really do,” he nodded to the door. “But then, I doubt they let me see you again after, even with my status. So just let me leave you with this…”

The unicorn took her cheeks in his hooves and squeezed, tears soaking into the keratin as he gripped her face and stared sadistically into her eyes. This time when he spoke, his words were garbled by his own emotion, though their meaning was still as clear as ever:

“You. Ours. Now.”

And then he left. Just like that, he turned around and trotted back out the door, which finally swung open. Immediately, one of the humans rushed in, this one with another tuft of fuzz on its chin, though she couldn’t even see through the tears blocking her vision. She barely even watched as the human tackled the unicorn and dragged him back out, screaming ”Chyort,” over and over again as he rushed the little white body out of the cell. Somehow, she still sensed the maniacal smile Shining kept on her the entire time he was being dragged away.

“Maker above, Shining,” she whispered. “What happened here!?”

Chapter X: The Bureaucracy

Anton burst through the door, the limp, white form in his arms not even moving as he stumbled across the plush carpeting. Everyone immediately leapt into action, the others moving with the sort of precision usually reserved for military maneuvers.

“Get him to the couch! Get him to the couch!” Lisa screamed as she slammed the door behind the large Russian man holding the unicorn in a bear hug.

In a flash, Anton darted across the room and threw the unicorn over one of the sofas, where Akshat and Franz swiftly pinned his hooves down. “His suppressor! Somebody get a real one!”

David reached under the control panel on reflex, pulling out an emergency kit. Thank God that’s the same on British ships as it is American, he thought, actually grateful as he rushed the kit over to the couch, sliding on his knees next to Shining like a kid sliding into third base. He flipped the metal clasps on the kit as he went. By the time he reached the couch, his hand was already darting into a pile of gauze and assorted bandages and retrieving the small, round tube that had become standard in emergency kits on every military ship since the days of the Collision Wars.

“Put it on! Put it on!” Akshat screamed, never minding the fact that Shining was just lying there, not even struggling, always looking up with that placid neutral look on his face. With a cry of victory, David slammed the tube down on Shining’s horn, right over the fake piece of jewelry. Finally, the humans backed off, standing away from the Equestrian Prince.

They all watched and waited, their breaths all stopping in their throats when Shining sat up. He looked up at the new horn accessory and gave it a good tap, then he looked at the humans all staring down at him. Finally, he did the creepiest thing he could think of at that moment: he smiled. “Yep. It on their good. Well done, everyone. You took care of big, dangerous pony.”

Somehow, that little smile and light tone of voice was even worse than if he'd leapt at them, teeth gnashing and hooves flailing. The group eyed one another warily. Despite Shining's attempts at a reassuring smile, nobody made any moves to close the distance between them, leaving a nice, wide circle around the unicorn. At one point, Akshat looked over to his Chinese counterpart and motioned with a nod quick of his head. Liu replied with a quick glance over at the Prince, followed by a glare back at Akshat while mouthing the words "fuck that shit." Akshat glared right back. The two kept it up until Liu inevitably realized they simply couldn't leave things as they were and stepped up.

"{Well, your highness,}" he said, still with that winning, political smile. "{This has been an...interesting experience for us all, don't you think?}"

"{It has,}" Shining Armor replied, climbing down off the couch. "{Now, may we go see the other prisoner?}"

The grin froze on Liu's face, his shock at the Prince even knowing about the other prisoner transforming into instant dismay. Though they didn't understand what had been said, the others' collective mood plummeted. Despite his political face, they could all tell when Liu was trying to digest something less than appetizing, be it Lisa's attempt at a birthday cake (in her defense, the eggs hadn’t looked spoiled when she’d used them for the batter) or some terrible news. It took a collective effort worthy of a WWI-era sapper squad going up against an enemy machine gunner, but the group somehow managed to keep up their smiles for the Prince, even if they were about as transparent as a well-polished pane of glass. "{A respectable wish, sir, though I'm not sure it would be terribly appropriate for...}"

"{Come now, I am a visiting dignitary, one with special UN status,}" Shining Armor said placidly, finally rising to his hooves. Still smiling that wretched, pale smile, he surveyed the group as he spoke. "{Surely you are not going to hold visiting royalty responsible because a door got stuck? Unless, of course, you have proof that it was somehow being held in place by my actions?}"

Liu grinned, every single one of his teeth becoming visible all at once. "{Actually, your majesty, I was more concerned with the way you assaulted a prisoner of the UNCDI in front of a half-dozen witnesses from an assortment of different countries, all of whom are UN-certified diplomats, and all of whom are starting to grow a little bit tired of your behavior since boarding this ship,}” he hissed, and in an instant, Shining saw something new in the young Chinese man. He saw a fire in his eyes that had been missing before, something that took the proper provocation to ignite. Chen clenched his teeth, and all at once, Shining took a step back, a hint of fear rising in his features as a brand new fire flared up in the human’s features, only tempered by an incredible willpower the small pony had rarely seen before. All of a sudden, they were not diplomat and royal, but human and little pony, staring one another down, and much to Shining’s own surprise, the unicorn blinked.

Then his initial shock faded and Shining returned the step. The fear in his eyes was replaced with something nobody in the room could have expected: happiness. Finally, here, right here in front of him, was the species that destroyed the Solar Tyrant! He grinned at the sight, nearly shedding a tear. It’s incredible, he thought, allowing an extra moment to admire the rage just oozing off Chen’s slender form before making his reply.

"{Ah,}" Shining Armor said, meeting the human’s eyes. ”{I see. Then I take it you already have a subpoena from the global courts asking me to answer for my actions? You know that is the only thing that can stop someone of UN-Special-Administrative status from…}”

“{I am aware of the UN doctrine!}” Chen spat, his breath heaving. Suddenly, he paused, rubbed his eyes, took a few steps back, and when he looked up again, he had some semblance of normalcy back on his face. Sure, his teeth still ground audibly together in frustration, and his eyes practically bugged out of his skull, but still, he managed to keep something on his face that one might confuse for a smile, if they turned their head and squinted hard enough. “{No, in fact, we do not.}”

Once again, the mood fell amongst the group. The Prince had taken to learning politics like a fish took to water, it seemed. To them, the little pony left devastated, alone, and requiring a twenty-four hour suicide watch was long gone. In his place stood a coldly intelligent royal that had just backed a half-dozen UN-certified diplomats into a corner with little more than a bit of knowledge of UN protocols and a title as an international VIP. “{While we wait for that subpoena, why don’t we pay our other guest a visit?}” He asked, a malicious smile spreading across his lips.

“{Do we have any say in this?}”

“{No.}”

“{Then she is right this way, your highness,}” the Chinese man spat, those last couple words practically shooting out of his mouth with all the venom he could muster. He gestured to the open doorway leading back out to the hall.

”{I will lead the way, I think,}” Shining Armor said as he pushed his way past the human, ushering him out of the way gently, but with a firm touch. “{While I was walking down here, I took the opportunity to memorize the layout of this place as best as I could. I would rather like to put that knowledge to the test.}”

“{Of course,}” Liu replied, dismay obvious in his tone. “{Because who are we to refuse such a simple request from a visiting royal of our allies in Equestria?}”

As the pair left with Shining walking ahead of Chen, the humans remaining in the control room assumed expressions ranging from dismay to utter frustration. With the prince in the lead, their last hope of guiding him in circles until the UN General Assembly could be reached had been crushed.

“Can’t we stop him?” Someone whispered once they thought Shining was out of earshot (they thought wrong, of course. Humans always did underestimate pony hearing). “There must be something!”

“Special Equestrian national status,” another whisper replied. “As a UN-administrated disaster zone, their officials have every right to be here that we do. Y’know, like what the Japs got?”

“Who the hell would approve that!?”

“The general assembly looking to alleviate their guilty consciences, that’s who.”

Liu watched and felt a small knot in his stomach twist as Shining’s victorious little smile morphed into a victorious little grin. Though he could still be glad that he and the manipulative little quadruped weren’t enemies just yet, he could see how this unicorn had stood in open defiance against Celestia’s reign for so long, even after his army had been crushed and he’d been forced to flee into the wilderness with the Solar Tyrant herself at his hooves and his sister’s death weighing on his heart.

Knowing this, it took an exceeding amount of courage and more than a few minutes of walking for Liu to speak. ”{You should know, your highness, that I will most definitely be able to protect you should this prisoner prove more violent than the last.}”

“{Oh?}”

“{Yes. In fact, I would like to say that I am more capable unarmed than even my Russian counterpart who seized you back in the cell, and should another…’incident’ arise…}” he trailed off, searching for something, and spying a loose tuft of hair drifting off the back of the Prince’s mane. Without another word, his hand darted out, seized the stray hair, tore it loose with a flick of his wrist, and presented it in front of the royal pony’s face, all in the same span of time most people took to blink. “{Let’s just say I will not only be able to handle myself, but you as well. Especially now that I know your magic is restrained. Do you understand?}”

“{Of course,}” Shining Armor regarded the human with a cocky little smile. ”{However, with my Royal Guard training and experience in the Equestrian underground, I doubt you will have to worry much about me.}”

Liu scowled, flicking the hair over his shoulder. ”{Five years is a long time to be away from combat.}”

Burn them! Burn the rebels, my beautiful Newfoals! Crush them beneath your hooves! Spare none and…

Shining Armor forced the memory back down, disguising his grimace of displeasure with a cough and a grunt to clear his throat. “{Not as long as you might think,}” he rasped, thumping his chest a few times to add to the show. "{Now, what's so special about this other prisoner?}"

"{She's another alicorn, your majesty.}"

Shining paused mid-step and gazed up at the human incredulously, his eyes wide, his jaw agape. For a second, Liu saw the pony that had grown up with a little lavender unicorn, pretending to be her mount as they rushed off to save some generic fantasy princess from the clutches of an evil monster. Then his initial shock wore off and Shining's ice-cold facade returned at full force. "{Damn her,}" he mumbled. "{And she said she was the only one in existence. God damn her.}"

Liu smiled tiredly at him. "{Is lying about her origins and telling everyone she is the only alicorn to have ever existed really her worst crime?}"

"{No, far from it,}" Shining conceded. "{It's just that every time we think we've seen the depths of her evil, every time we think we've uncovered all her wicked machinations, she discovers a new low to which she can plummet. May I have a pad of paper? I would like to know about this new alicorn.}”

Thanking God for a way to change the subject, Liu reached into his back pocket and handed the prince a pencil and pad of paper, both stamped with the UN’s logo. "{So, here's what we know: she is another alicorn, princess status, only recently ascended into her role.}"

"Mmh-hmm," Shining said, absentmindedly jotting things down on the pad with the weak flicker of magic the suppressor allowed him.

"{Female, of course. Aptitude for magic, resident of Ponyville, though she was apparently raised under the Princess's tutelage as a filly.}"

"{Big surprise there,}" Shining snorted. "{The bitch probably saw her power and had her brought in to be turned into her own little toy.}"

"{That would make sense,}" Liu said. "{However, from what I've gathered from the transcripts of our interviews with her, she at least appears to be a bright, happy little pony with an appetite for learning. She asked us for a book of human history the moment she first saw one of our faces!}"

Suddenly, Shining Armor did something so utterly unexpected, Liu wouldn’t have been more shocked if the Prince had pulled off his face and revealed that he was a robot clone sent from the future: he gave a loud snort of laughter. "{Really!?}" He gasped.

"{Y-yes,}" Liu said, staring at the Prince warily, as if the snort was an indication that the Prince's head was about to crack open and reveal a flying saucer.

"{Sorry, sorry, my apologies,}" Shining snorted, an odd spark in his eye and a lightness to his tone that Liu would have said was pleasant if it had come from anyone else. The unicorn looked up at his human companion, that smile still teasing at the corners of his eyes as the pair stepped through a final set of double doors and into another control room. "{What you just described to me sounds so much like something my...}"

"BBBFF?" A little voice called from inside the room.

Shining Armor looked up. The pencil dropped from his grasp. He didn't pick it up.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
0620 HOURS
TOP SECRET UNITED NATIONS MAXIMUM SECURITY FACILITY
{CLASSIFIED}, {CLASSIFIED}, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
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Corporal Bessonov was not a happy man. But then, who would be after being pulled out of bed right after a twelve-hour night shift? He had literally just stepped out of the shower and was about to turn in when the call came in. He had to go down to the “Brickhouse,” as the men under him affectionately referred to their station, not even an hour after leaving for the day shift to take over!

I swear, if that damn yank blew up firecrackers in the men’s room again, I’ll tear his balls off and mail them to his mother, he thought, a small flicker of anger burning away at the bottom of his sleep-deprived mind. Oh sure, PFC Kowalski meant well enough. Lord knows they all needed a break from the pressing knowledge of what they were guarding every now and again, and his antics served as a much-needed release for the men. Even that super-strict Chinese guy they had with them cracked a smile whenever Kowalski was around. That didn’t do much for an aging Russian military man who had gone the last thirty-six hours without sleep, though. Right then, he was wondering if Kowalski's balls should be sautéed or fried.

He stepped into the control room, making the final adjustments to his uniform coat. As expected, the room was packed to the brim with computer equipment and rows of desks, each one seating some desk jockey from Intelligence hunched over his keyboard. Also as expected, the oak conference table dominating the rear of the room was surrounded with each of the UNCDI reps: a soldier from every nation on the new permanent Security Council. What wasn't expected, however, was the horrible unease that filled the air as he stepped in. Instead of talking jovially, the group gathered around the table was busy staring grimly at one another, some with mugs of barely-touched lukewarm coffee in their hands. Instead of working diligently on personal projects or, more commonly, playing Starcraft at their desks, the Intelligence people were all pouring over reams of data scrolling across their screens. When they weren't yelling barely-decipherable jargon across the room at each other, that is.

Bessonov grimaced. He had heard of the terrible events of the past twenty-four hours, and knew they might have some impact on his duties here eventually, but he had still hoped that his little slice of the world might carry on as always for yet a little while longer. Let the Brits and the Norwegians spend their nights worrying, Bessonov was just an old man looking forward to retirement.

Adjusting his cap out of habit, the Colonel strode up to the oak table, noting that each and every man there was in full uniform: an odd sight for such a usually laid-back group, and not one he was sure he particularly liked. "{Tennn-SHUN!}" He barked, and despite the shocked, trance-like look on all their faces, each man stood up from the table as a single unit, one standing so fast that his chair upended itself and clattered to the floor. Again, as nice as this newfound dedication was, there was still something positively wretched about it, something too Children of the Corn for Bessonov's tastes.

“{At ease!}” He announced, and the group sat back in their chairs, all sitting bolt-upright, all staring back at him with the wide-eyed, shocked look of children just learning that there was no Santa Clause. Bessonov’s grimace deepened. He had seen that look on men before, both on the battlefield and off, and each time he had wanted to slap it right off their faces. ”{Does anybody wish to explain to me why I am standing here, tolerating your faces when I should be at home in bed?}”

“{Sir,}” Kowalski rasped. ”{Don’t you hear it?}”

Bessonov turned to the American, and his heart sank. For the first time in memory, a look other than stupid cheerfulness filled the American’s eyes. This look was haunted, wretched-looking, the sort of thing you would see on a man when the enemy had him surrounded and all hope for reinforcements was miles away. ”{Hear what, Private?}” He asked, more gently this time.

Kowalski’s only response was to hold a finger to his lips and gaze upwards. The Russian sealed his lips and closed his eyes, trying to listen past the general bedlam of the computer room behind them. He rested his hands on the table, and that was when he felt it. An unsteady, halting sort of pulse, like a diseased heart going into palpitations. Once he knew what he was listening for, he finally heard it in the air, something coming from the long, metal hallway at the head of the room, marked off with yellow and black stripes. He felt it more than heard it, but it was still there, hanging in the air like gas.

”{What is it?}” He asked, dreading the answer.

”{It’s her, sir,}” Chen this time, his hands massaging his temples. Without another word, he reached over to the wood-paneled intercom box on the table and pressed the little red button on its front grill.

A light blinked on, and the room filled with the most terrifying laughter Bessonov had ever heard in his life. The haunting chortle flooded their ears, sounding like a combination of some evil queen in a kid’s movie and a madwoman locked in the deepest bowls of an asylum. The Russian stood ramrod-straight, held erect by the fear lighting up his entire spine. One of the techs collapsed at their computer screen, hammering their fists into their ears.

After a few minutes with the wicked laughter drowning out all other noise in the room, Bessonov raised his voice, hoping it sounded braver than he felt. “{Princess?}” He called, leaning over the intercom. “{Princess, what’s so funny?}”

All at once, the laughter stopped, dying down into an occasional giggle. The Russian bit the inside of his cheek until he felt blood seep into his mouth. The silence between chortles fell as a deafening pulse on every man’s ears as they all waited, their breaths held, their bodies remaining firm as every muscle in them tensed.

"{He sees her!}" The ragged, maniacal voice on the other end of the line exclaimed with barely-contained glee. For a horrible moment, the Russian believed he might be hearing an enthusiastic school girl talk about some new celebrity pairing. Then he remembered what was down there and that thought sent shivers racing up his spine, coupled with a wave of nausea through his stomach. "{He sees what he can never have again, and it's killing him!}"

Bessonov hammered a finger into the call button, allowing those tinny, humming sounds to echo back up the halls without the monitoring system to clarify them. He really preferred it when he hadn't known what they were. "{Sir?}" Mui asked, visibly shaken by the sounds. "{What did she mean by all that? Who's he?}"

"{For the sake of your sanity, Lieutenant,}" the Russian replied, working like hell to keep the fearful quiver from his voice. "{I pray that we never find out.}”

Author's Notes:

And we finally see Xenolestia in her natural habitat. Scaring the piss out of everyone around her. WOOT!

Chapter XI: Twilight's Armor

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0615 HOURS
ONBOARD THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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Until the cell door had swung open and her entire world had come crashing down in a nigh-apocalyptic moment of revelation, Twilight Sparkle had been perfectly content with reading about the discovery of the steam-powered locomotive and its impact on the history of these “humans.” While she had found the book she had been granted to be a tad lacking, she did find the history of an entirely alien race completely fascinating, especially the differing reactions they had to new technologies.

“Amazing,” she muttered to herself. “Without the power of the princesses, they seem to have flourished, but at the expense of their environment! My word, what price might they have paid for progress? And was it worth it?”

She turned the next page, and pulled her head back as a cardboard cutout shot out at her, this one being of a man the book described as “Andrew Carnegie,” whatever that name could mean. She sighed. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been complaining: she was just a prisoner, after all, and the humans could very well have just laughed at her request for more information about their world and history. Still, she was having difficulty deciding if her being granted such obviously child-oriented literature was an attempt to withhold information, or just a dig at her intelligence. Honestly, she hoped it was the former. At least that would mean the humans had some respect for her as a thinking individual, whereas the latter would just piss her off.

She tossed the book in with the small stack she had been granted and gave the small ring around her horn another frustrated scratch. Was it just her, or was it honestly beginning to itch? Her horn had never itched before, but right now, she could swear it felt like an entire colony of ants was marching through it, their little legs scratching along its…

Pausing, Twilight stood on all four hooves, rearing up as far as the metal chains wrapped around her waist and her wings would allow her. She breathed in, holding her hoof to her chest, and out again, cleansing her mind as Cadence had shown her…except that brought Cadence to mind…which in turn brought her brother to mind…and then her parents and her friends and Celestia and dear sweet Celestia was she ever gonna see anypony again would she just die down here in this…

In… she breathed. And out.

All in all, Twilight didn’t think she had much to complain about. Her room was well-lit and comfortable, especially now that she’d been given a throw-pillow to lie on instead of the cold, tile floor. She just wished the buzzing from the light panels above her wasn’t so obvious. They were marvels of technological advancement, surely, but in the silence of her cell, that buzzing was driving her nuts!

She gritted her teeth against it, trying to remember her breathing, only to snort in frustration and wind up starting over a few seconds later. She had repeated the cycle at least a couple dozen times when she heard footsteps approach her cell door. This time, she stood as tall as the chains would allow, glowering at the door, trying to display as fierce a look as she could. Last time, when her captors first arrived to check on her, they had found a pony quivering in fear, barely able to stand from being unconscious for so long. This time though, she would be sure they would find a Princess.

Chin up, she thought. Keep your chin up, your wings flared out, and glare. Look scary! Ooh, but not too scary, that might send the wrong message. Wait, is scary the same as intimidating? Oh no! I need to look that up, where are my…notes…

Her thoughts came crashing to a halt like Celestia's carriage after a few dozen Appletinis. The door rushed open with a pneumatic hiss, and a lighter-skinned human stepped through, first drawing her attention before her eye was drawn to the white blur at his side. He was speaking with it in a tongue she didn’t recognize as her view slowly shifted to the blur, slowly revealing blue highlights and a voice that spoke strange words but in a tone she knew better than the back of her own hoof. Her eyes widened, her throat constricting. The tall, intimidating princess disappeared as she shrank in her own shock and wonder, her wings sinking until the feathers touched the ground.

For a few seconds, her throat locked up, unable to voice anything but a barely-audible squeak. She gazed at the white blur as it kept jabbering away with its incomprehensible language and familiar speech, trying to force the words out through the stunned, blubbering idiot she felt ready to become, until she finally squeaked his old nickname: “BBBFF?”

He looked up at her from the clipboard in his grip. His eyes widened. The pencil he had been holding fell from his grasp, clattering to the tiled floor. His jaw hung agape, closed, then opened again as if to say something, except nothing came out.

Finally, her own pure joy overwhelmed her shock like a tsunami over a beaver dam. ”Big brother!” She gasped, skipping towards him in joy. She had to stretch the chains out as far as they would go, and even then she could only get within a foot of him, that was enough. Tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks as she drank in the first familiar sight she’d seen since being locked in this awful place. The alien creature at his side moved to block her, but she still managed to peek around him, poking her head around human’s torso and grinning at her brother.

“Shining!” She gasped, still craning her neck around the body in her way. “Sweet Celestia, Shining! I’m so glad it’s you! Oh gosh, what are you even doing here, did they catch you too!?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he looked at her with the gaze of a pony that has been trotting along in the sands of some desert wasteland for days on end and just saw their first drop of water on the blade of a leaf. He reached around the human, shoving him to the side to look at her. His hoof reached out, touching her cheek.

“Shining?” She asked, eyeing him queerly. That look was really starting to weird her out now. “A-are you okay?”

“Shuōhuǎng zhě…”* he rasped, his hoof remaining on her face.

“I’m sorry, what was that? You’re not making any sense big…” she finally noticed the scar on his cheek, and a few things rapidly clicked into place. “…brother…”

“Shuōhuǎng zhe!” He repeated, his touch leaving her face only to backhoof her across the cheek. She fell to the tile as he reared over her, motioning to repeat the strike. “Shuōhuǎng zhě!”

“Shining!? What’s happened to you!? What’s going on!?” She cried desperately, hoping to reach the pony she knew somewhere inside this one.

“Shuōhuǎng zhě! Shuōhuǎng zhě!” He repeated the phrase over and over again, moving to strike, but quick as a flash, the human responded. His limbs (‘They call them hands,’ some rational part of her that was somehow still functioning informed her) lashed out against the white unicorn, faster than she could even believe. One moment, the human was just recovering from being brushed aside by Shining Armor, and the next, he was on top of the unicorn. He shrugged, and Shining Armor fell to one knee. The human shrugged again, and this time she could just barely make out the blur that was his hand, delivering another blow to Shining’s head. It didn’t knock out the unicorn entirely, but from the way it moved, Twilight figured knocking Shining out wouldn’t have been much of a challenge for the human. All it did was stun him, allowing the human to wrap his arms around Shining’s neck in a choker hold and drag him back out the door, still screaming those words over and over again.

“Shuōhuǎng zhě! Shuōhuǎng zhě!” His cries echoed off into the hallway like accusations handed down from the judge’s podium as he was forcibly carried off in the grip of the human, the man’s arms locked around him like a vice, the extensions on his hands (‘Fingers!’ that little rational part cheerfully reminded her again) digging into his flesh. She privately thanked whoever might be listening once the door slid shut again and the accusing cries were finally cut off, leaving her with her thoughts and that phrase echoing over and over again in her mind.

“Shining Armor,” she said quietly, looking at the door in utter terror. “What happened to you? What’s going on? What’s…oh Celestia above…what’s happened here!?”

The door and the empty room offered no answers, so after a few minutes curled up in a little ball of feathers on the tile, she finally trotted back over to her throw pillow and grabbed another picture book off the pile. A few minutes into her reading, she noticed a few drops cascading down onto the pages, but dismissed them as some sort of fluid from the ceiling, perhaps fuelling the light panels. It took her a few more minutes to realize they were her tears.

Author's Notes:

*Liar, in Han

Chapter XII: War Room

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0630 HOURS
WAR ROOM
CANTERLOT CASTLE, CANTERLOT, EQUESTRIA
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Shining Armor bolted upright in his seat, his ears raised while shivers raced up and down his spine. Old instincts, hardened by his time as a guardspony, kicked into overdrive. For a second, the urge to grit his teeth and growl like a rabid schnauzer welled up within his chest until he forced it back down. Somewhere, something terrible was happening. He knew it, could feel it in his gut.

“Captain Shining Armor?” Somepony asked. The unicorn turned to face Luna, the Night Princess looking at him with her brow furrowed in concern.

“Perfectly fine, Princess,” he said, placating her with an easygoing smile and a nod. “But it’s ‘Prince’ Armor now, remember?”

“Ah yes, my apologies,” Luna said, returning both the nod and the smile. “Old habits die hard, and can even find new life during times of stress.”

Shining smoothed his fur down in the places where it was standing on end and breathed a soft sigh through his nostrils. “Couldn’t agree more, Princess.”

He didn’t turn as his wife slid into the seat next to him, though he did stick his hoof out for her without even thinking about it. She smiled thinly on seeing it, accepting it into her grasp. His grip tightened, just as automatically as offering his hoof had been. Around them, each of the remaining Element Bearers took their seats at the massive table. Once everypony was seated, the glow off the magical torch sconces lighting the room dimmed, casting them all in darkness. The lack of natural lighting did feel rather stifling, but he could understand why it would be so. After all, not a lot of chances to put in a window when one is opening up pocket dimensions with massive bursts of Alicorn magic. The room was a marvel of Equestrian engineering: a tiny pocket folded over in the rift of spacetime, created with humongous amounts of magic built up over half a decade from the most powerful unicorns in Equestria, himself and all four princesses included. Still, it was hard to feel proud of himself when he couldn’t even protect the ones he loved…

For what felt like hours, but could only have been a few minutes, nopony spoke. Those who didn’t have their eyes cast on the floor were holding them shut to try and hold back the flood of tears still threatening to break through. Shining grimaced at the sight. To see such ordinarily cheerful faces holding such terrible sadness felt wrong, like a peaceful-looking field before it exploded with enemy fire, or a nasty-looking thunderhead just before it spawned a killer tornado, or Pinkie Pie a split-second before downing a chocolate bar and a few bags of raw sugar (though that last one, at least, had led to the most exciting post-wedding banquet in Canterlot’s long history). Either way, this feeling was a sign that something needed fixing, and as a high-ranking official in both the Royal Guard and the Equestrian royal hierarchy, he was used to fixing these things. Or, at least, relaying them to the Princesses if he couldn’t handle them himself.

But what if it’s even bigger than the Princess? He wondered. What if she’s part of it, and in need of our help? There, he drew a blank. Something bigger than her was so far beyond his pay grade it made him want to gag. Simply put, he didn’t know what to do, and that scared him worse than a Tirek/Discord/Chrysalis/Nightmare Moon team-up. He scoured the faces around him, as if searching desperately for some sort of answer, but only found worried glances, hooves on shoulders, and half-hearted attempts to meet his eye that ended as quickly as they began.

At long last, Luna stood and cleared her throat. “We all know why this meeting has been called,” she announced (though not at Royal Canterlot Voice levels, thank Celestia). “I doubt there is any reason to discuss the dire circumstances we find ourselves in, is there?”

One glance around the room with her steely, blue eyes gave her the answer. “Verily well,” she nodded, taking her seat again. “Now, the reason for this meeting is to discuss how this government is to deal with certain…recent developments.”

“I’ll tell ya how,” Rainbow Dash said, her voice cracking as she suddenly stood and slammed her hooves into the table. “We head into that portal, beat down the freaks that took our friends, and get our ponies back!”

“Rainbow,” Shining sighed. “I get that your heart’s in the right place, but…”

“But what!?” She screeched, pointing a hoof in the direction of the field that, until yesterday, had only known excitement during last year’s pumpkin celebration, when a misplaced goop of pumpkin innards had wound up in Miss O’Bannon’s mane, which she’d mistaken for a bat and nearly caused a riot with her panicked shrieks. “Every moment we sit here is another moment those things could be doing who-knows-what to our friends! Why the hay are we even sitting here when we should be…should be…”

Applejack’s firm hoof on her shoulder caught the pegasus off-guard. Rainbow whipped around, glaring at her friend. AJ just met her gaze with sad, tear-streaked eyes, only breaking eye contact to give a slow shake of her head. It took a few moments, but Rainbow’s glare eventually broke into a defeated sigh as she sank back down into her chair, burying her muzzle in her hooves.

Shining stood, and though his voice was proud and strong, he kept his hooves on the table, like an old man leaning for support. “We don’t know anything about these creatures or their world. For all we know, the air they breathe is poison to us. Add that with the fact that before their attack, they were able to drain our magic, and it’s obvious that a full-on assault could only end in disaster. We all saw their weapons. We all know what these things are capable of.”

Fluttershy gave a frightened squeak. All around him, ponies’ eyes widened with the memories of what they had seen in that field. Yes, the group was all too aware of what the things that had stolen their friends were capable of. Most of them had at least been coherent enough to watch that stallion fall dead without even being touched, from a weapon that made a massive noise and was brought to bear in a single, fluid gesture. Shining thought it sounded a little like one of those cannons the Royal Guard would shoot off during ceremonial events, or perhaps the black powder weapons a few of the Griffon fiefdoms used in their armies. Except the Griffons’ weapons were big, cumbersome, wildly-inaccurate things that took ages to load and luck to keep them from just blowing up in your hand. They probably had nothing to do with the long, elegant weapons the attackers had carried, right?

“Well,” Applejack said, breaking Equestria’s newest prince from his thoughts. “Is there anythin’ we do know?”

For the first time in over twenty-four hours, a genuine smile crossed Shining Armor’s face. Applejack always had been the practical one. “Actually, that’s part of the reason we called you all here,” he said. He turned to the night-blue princess at his side and smiled, a tiny piece of his heart soaring with hope when she smiled back. There’s still hope, he realized as she stood once again, her gaze passing over the ponies around her.

“Over the past night, we have spent a massive amount of energy throwing our subconscious through the anomaly and into the world on the other side,” Luna said, a flicker of hope dancing in her eyes. “We are happy to report that we have discovered a dreamscape similar to what exists in Equestria, allowing us to explore the collective subconscious of the beings on the other side.”

Everypony sat up in their seats, scooting right towards the edges, nopony more so than Shining Armor. Before the meeting, Luna had in fact told him she had some discoveries to announce, but nothing as incredible as this. “Oh my gosh,” Pinkie said, speaking for the first time since walking in, her deflated, straightened mane regaining just a single bit of poofiness at the end of one lock. “Didja figure out how to get Twily and the Princess back!?”

“Sadly, no,” Luna said with a defeated sigh, and the tiny flicker of hope at the table dimmed a little bit. “Whatever these creatures are, they apparently have nopony to guide their dreams. As a result, what I encountered was a level of chaos to make Discord’s head spin.”

“Hold on,” AJ held up a hoof. “There’s an idea! Discord! He might be able t’help!”

But Luna just shook her head. “Even if we wanted to contact that creature – and I personally don’t think we do – he appears to be unavailable at the moment. At least, to my magic.”

All eyes settled on Fluttershy, who simply shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered with sadly. “I haven’t seen him since our last tea party.”

“’Tis not like we ever thought Discord would be a reliable way to handle major crises,” Luna shrugged. “Though it was worth a try.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Cadence mumbled. “Great, now the only thing we know is that these things have brains so messed up we can’t even learn anything from their dreams.” Shining gave her hoof an extra squeeze.

“Actually, we did determine a basic body structure,” Luna said, and as she spoke, a few wisps of her magic entered the air. Her horn glowing, she directed the wisps of night-blue dust with an expertise that could only come with a thousand years’ experience. As they all watched, eyes wide in wonder, the tiny wisps of dust coalesced into a strange form, starting with a pair of feet, a set of stout legs, an elongated torso, a pair of strong arms, and finally, a head with a single, small bulge in the middle dividing a pair of tiny, oval-shaped spots of light blue, supposedly representing eyes.

“This is what took our friends, huh?” Rainbow Dash said, a hoof still on her muzzle, her eyes rolled up to look at the magical construct.

“Yes, and while there is a female variant, this creation is a good basis for what took my sister and your friend.”

The group fell silent for a while as everypony paused to look the figure over, analyzing it, perhaps hoping they could see some gaping weakness to exploit. The minutes ticked by, Shining’s own search growing desperate. “Perhaps,” he put forth cautiously. “It can’t see very well? Those eyes seem awfully small.”

“Um…that’s not actually true,” Fluttershy said. “Owls and tigers have smaller eyes too, but they have some of the best vision of any creature.”

“Oh,” Shining sighed, slumping in his chair, defeated. After a while, the rest of the ponies joined him, realizing that the vague outline of some creature just didn’t give them enough data to work with. The sense of malaise and hopelessness began to descend on the room once again. Snorting in frustration, Shining turned back to the lunar princess. “Luna? Is there any way you think you could head back into those creature’s dreams and perhaps learn more?”

A shiver passed up the princess’s spine. “Apologies, Prince Armor, but we highly doubt such an endeavor would bear any fruit. Besides, I really do not wish to revisit that chaos. The last attempt was rather like a roller coaster without brakes or seatbelts, made up of nothing but hairpin turns and loops for hours on end.”

Shining Armor cringed at the description, but was grateful that it at least explained the hours of retching he’d heard from the Princess’s bedroom a few hours before. And he had been worried it might have been morning sickness, oh Celestia above forbid.

“Just what kind of creatures are we dealing with here?” Rarity asked aloud, her voice shaking throughout the room. “If their dreams are that chaotic, what are we really up against!?”

“Well, this has been productive,” Luna sighed, dropping to her hooves. “As it stands, it doesn’t appear as though we can do anything but maintain a heavy Royal Guard garrison around the anomaly and pray it will be enough.”

“I’m iffy even about that,” Shining Armor replied. “If those things launch an attack coupled with those weapons and their ability to drain our magic, we might as well offer those guards up to a feral hydra.”

“It’s all we can do, Prince Armor,” Luna sighed, her breath coming out in shaky sighs. “We have to protect our little ponies from another attack, it’s what…what Tia would want…” her lower lip trembled, and for a moment she wasn’t the Princess of Night, but instead a mare terrified for somepony she loved. Shining could relate. Except for the mare part, of course. Then, all at once, the mare was gone and the all-powerful Lunar Princess was right back. “That’s all we can do. At least, until we can learn more about what we’re up against or come up with another plan.”

“In that case,” Cadence said, hopping down alongside her aunt as the group strode out of the room. “I believe the only thing we can do for now is try to keep the populace calm.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Luna snorted as the group filed out into the hallway. To drive her point home, the Alicorn promptly seized one of the windows in her magical grasp and shoved the curtains aside with a loud rustle. A massive crowd of ponies greeted them, their voices coalescing into a dull roar that shook the glass in its pane. The rest of the group stared, their jaws on their chests, before Cadence spoke.

“Blueblood?” She asked.

“Apparently, he wasn’t too thrilled about my ‘forgetting’ to invite him, and has spread a rumor of Celestia’s disappearance amongst the aristocracy,” Luna sighed, shaking her head. “We love and cherish our nephew, really we do, but sometimes he can be so…”

“Boorish?” Rarity said, a tiny smile on her face. “Pig-headed? An irritating dolt?”

“All of the above,” she said, a smile on her face. “I swear, between this and the ongoing hunt for the Changeling Hive and the economic stimulus going to the Diamond Dogs…”

“We’re good at keepin’ ponies calm, Princess,” Applejack winked. “Dontcha worry none. We got this, right girls?”

“YEAH!” The other Element Bearers shouted, but there was something missing in their tone. Some small hint of listlessness in their shout. It was easy to know why: somepony was missing from their number, and until she was there again, it wouldn’t quite be the same.

“Captain Armor!” Luna called, and the Prince looked up, his eyebrow arched. Luna sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. A word, please?”

“Of course, Princess,” he replied, giving Cadence a quick peck on the cheek before trotting to join with the Princess. She motioned for him to follow, and he obeyed, keeping pace at her side as the voices of the other ponies faded away behind them.

Shining Armor looked uneasily over his shoulder, then back at the Princess. “Princess Luna? What…”

“That’s just Luna to you now, Prince Armor,” she said with a weak smile tugging at one of the corners of her mouth. “We are of the same status now, are we not?”

“Right, right,” he said, returning the smile as best he could. “What did you need, Luna?”

The smile disappeared from her face, though in all fairness, it hadn’t really been there in the first place. Luna sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with a trembling breath. “It’s the anomaly, or portal, or whatever you wish to call it,” she replied, shaking her head sadly. “It’s growing.”

Shining Armor’s stomach dropped into his hooves, hooked up with the gum stuck to his keratin, got a few numbers, dropped some E, then slammed right back into its old home to crash. “Oh dear sweet Celestia, what?”

Luna sighed again. “This morning, when those things…took our sister,” her voice shivered, but she took a deep breath and recomposed herself with a technique learned through centuries of practice before her imprisonment. “…the southern flank of yon anomaly reached to just within twenty yards to the southern fence of the field it occupies. Now, it’s within hoof’s reach of the fence, if one leans out enough. We haven’t made any accurate measurements yet, but the portal is obviously expanding, and doing so at a high rate.”

“Celestia and Luna above…”

“Yes?” Luna said with another half-hearted smile.

Shining tried to return the smile again, failed, and settled for shaking his head. “How big is it gonna get?”

“By our estimates, it will encompass the entirety of the farmland it resides in sometime tomorrow evening,” she replied, and then shrugged helplessly. “After that, there’s no telling how far it will go. All of Canterlot may well be encompassed and become directly accessible to the creatures on the other side. I don’t think I have to tell you how bad that would be.”

“Does Cadence know?”

“Cadence was the one who recommended we tell you next,” Luna said. “Take no offense to the fact that I went to her first, if you please. She is a fellow alicorn, after all.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, still shaking his head. “We can’t let this out. Just Celestia being gone was more than enough to stir up a near-riot. If Equestria learns that its capitol will soon be vulnerable to enemy attack…”

As if to emphasize his point, the sound of glass breaking followed by high-pitched shrieking echoed from outside. Shining shivered at the thought of what might happen if this got out.

“If anything, this makes the rescue of our friends even more of a top priority,” Luna said, her tone still holding at that cold, political low. “We need the power of both my sister and the Elements if we are going to stand a chance.”

“Whatever you need, Princess,” he said, rearing up, the soldier he once was standing at attention in his eyes. “Anything at all.”

“Anything?” She asked, and all at once she arched an eyebrow coldly at him. “Tell me, Prince Shining Armor of the Crystal Empire, how far would you be willing to go to save your nation and get our ponies back?”

The image of those mares back there, smiling but not really, passed through his mind again. The most cheerful, loving mares he knew, approaching tears because of what they did. Took his sister. Took his princess. Now, they were about to take his country as well. His jaw clenched. “As far as is needed,” he replied.

“Good,” Luna said with a curt nod. “Because we have a plan, but it will require some time to prepare, and when it’s ready, you will be asked to place your life on the line. You will need to go behind enemy lines, allow yourself to be captured, be taken to the heart of whatever constructs the enemy may have built to contain our kind. It’s dangerous, nigh-suicidal, we know, but if it works, our ponies might just have a chance to escape back to us.”

Shining let a large breath in through his nose, and exhaled it slowly. Then he bowed at Luna’s hooves, a mask of stoic determination on his face which hopefully hid the way his shoulders wanted to quiver with his every movement. “Whatever is needed, I will provide,” he said.

Luna smiled back, a weak little smile, then reached out, squeezing his shoulder like an old friend. He didn’t raise his head, instead leaving it where it was as images of wretched, black creatures on two legs simply bashing his brains in the moment he appeared with his hooves up danced in his head. “That is good to know, Captain Armor.”

This time, he didn’t correct her.

Author's Notes:

I figured it had been a while since we checked on the ponies.

Chapter XIII: The Newfoals Activate

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0530 HOURS (2230 LOCAL)
AMBASSADOR BRIDGE
DETROIT, MI, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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Doug Robertson was not a happy man. Granted, he wasn’t a particularly sad man: he wasn’t poppin’ pills like “those inner-city faggots who can’t deal when their dyke bosses raise their voices at ‘em,” in his own eloquent words. But still, there were times when he just wanted to pull his eighteen-wheeler off to the side, hop on out, give his atrophying legs (and subsequently, his sizable beer gut) a good shake, and just walk away without looking back. Just leave the big, metal bastard he was forced to drive, oftentimes on seventy-hour shifts, parked their on the side of the road for his employers to pick up. Or leave it to rust, he wouldn’t care. He’d just keep walking, probably find some small town like the one he’d grown up in, where the kids still ran after each other on bikes and built forts over creeks and ate those freezer pops that came in plastic tubes you had to freeze yourself until the cheap syrup coated their faces in reds, oranges, greens, and purples.

He didn’t know what he’d do for work once he found this town. Maybe fix up trucks, God knows he’d spent enough time around them in the last few years. He could start off small in the local garage and work his way up. Or hell, maybe he’d wind up washing dishes at the local greasy spoon, he didn’t care, just so long as he didn’t have to sit behind the wheel of a goddamned truck and wait for the fucking traffic on overcrowded-as-shit bridges anymore.

The beige, rusted-out Taurus in front of him scooted forward a couple feet, and Doug hit the accelerator, the big rig roaring victoriously as it greedily sucked down the precious few inches its patience had earned. Doug’s pulse climbed a few beats as a bit of bile rose up from his stomach in the form of indigestion, though he didn’t reach for the bottle of softchews on the dash just yet, still holding out hope that it would settle itself soon enough. God above. All this pain, all the traffic and the truck stops with filthy rooms and filthier whores and the kids who didn’t know him and the wife who divorced his ass because of the kids, all for what? So a party store in Windsor could stock up on paper plates and cheap, Chinese-made toys that wouldn’t last a week outside of their packages? This was what his life had come to?

He sighed and reached for the bottle of softchews on the dash. Looked like he’d be needing them after all. In reality, he didn’t usually much mind the job. It had sort of grown on him, become part of his definition of himself, like the trademark scruff that constantly coated his face, and the flannel shirt that just barely concealed his belly, and the Scooby-Doo bobblehead that constantly nodded at him as he drove, like it was saying: “You got this, big bud. Just keep it on going.” Except Scooby never talked like that, not that Doug particularly cared at that moment.

He grimaced as he swallowed the pasty chalk the softchew left in his mouth. Naw, he didn’t mind the job much; it’s just that being so close to one of their colonies always made him skittish, made him think he didn’t have much longer to be himself anymore. He snuck a peek in his rearview mirror at the gray, concrete walls erected around the nondescript, hospital-like building behind him, parked right on the shore of the Detroit side of the river. It looked so much like a prison, except that wasn’t quite right. Actually, it looked more like an asylum. An asylum for the incurable madness the ponies’ “magical” potion had triggered in the poor idiots dumb enough to walk into one of their bureaus.

Doug shook his head. If it had been up to him, every one of those little freaks would have been put up against a wall and gunned down. Let them smile and bellow that evil cunt’s praises right up until a 5.56 round to the back of the head shut them up, pow pow, and be done with it. Heartless? Not to him. He’d seen the emptiness in those smiles, the blankness in those eyes. His father-in-law had gone and had that done to himself, and the sight of the resulting “Newfoal” still sent shivers down Doug’s spine. He could still remember seeing the old man’s bifocals perched upon that snout as those cartoonisly-large, completely blank eyes had smiled up at him with their cold dullness. It was those eyes. Those eyes that would always be burnt away into his memories, their depthless emptiness forever gazing at him, usually in the moments right before he slipped into sleep. “Shoulda just killed ‘em all,” he muttered as he revved up the engine again to gobble down another foot of space. “Woulda been a mercy.”

In truth, Doug had been considering conversion at one point. Just an odd fantasy he’d entertained from time to time back when the world of ponies and the world of men had first met and the Bureaus had started popping up everywhere like Starbucks. He had dreamt of swooping through the clouds as a pegasus, or of lifting objects with a thought with unicorn magic. Though he might have settled for an earth pony’s strength, that particular race of pony just didn’t hold the same magic for him as flight and unicorn magic did. Of course, this was back before the reports came out of Newfoals earning lower and lower scores on intelligence tests, of their sudden fascinations with the Solar Princess that had granted them this “gift,” of their growing inability to recall even basic details of their lives before transformation, but for Doug, the linchpin had been when he looked into the eyes of the small, four-legged creature that had once been his father-in-law, and saw nothing he recognized. In fact, he saw little to nothing at all going on up there, except perhaps for that undying devotion to that evil princess bitch. In a way, he could be grateful to the old man for helping him dodge that bullet.

But dodged it for what? He thought gloomily, looking ahead into the filtered haze of the glow off the streetlamps lining the bridge, seeing nothing but a river of traffic stretching into the darkness for miles. For this?

He thought for a moment, and eventually nodded to himself. Yes, for this, he decided, because for all the pain and suffering, all the long lonely nights in motel beds that squeaked under his weight and behind the wheel of this God-forsaken machine, at least he was still Doug Robertson, and not one of those empty shells back there. Not one of those empty, multicolored things. He spared another glance in his rearview mirror at the concrete walls, lined every few yards with searchlights. He peered at the windows where one of the Newfoals would usually spend their days looking outside, smiling that goddamned empty smile down to…

What was that flash he just saw? What in the fuck was that flash he just saw!? There! Right there! Sleep-deprived hallucination, his fat ass! That was definitely a purple flash there in one of the upper-floor windows, and…just for a second…did he see the outline of somebody in them? Somebody in a doctor’s lab coat, their arms suddenly flying up in pain, a clipboard still gripped in their hands? No, no, that was ridiculous! Without their Queen (or wait, he meant Princess), Newfoals didn’t do anything but sit there in their empty little heads with their empty little thoughts, smiling their empty little smiles at the occasional passerby so…

A powerful explosion rocked the Newfoal holding building, and that same upper floor window he’d just seen flash disappeared in a shower of glass and concrete. In that instant, nothing else mattered to him, not the ex-wife, not the kids, not the idyllic little town out in the country somewhere, not even the driver behind him leaning on his Accord’s horn. Doug’s eyes were locked on his rearview mirror in stunned horror, as if it were showing one of those slasher films and the curvy little blonde teenager was about to head down into the dark basement. His stomach twisted again, not from indigestion, but from a deep, primal fear that every man feels when they realize something has just gone horribly wrong.

The feeling climbed as a bright yellow streak shot into the night sky, rising from the still-dissipating cloud of debris like a rocket, spitting off little bursts of magic as it arced overhead. Doug’s mind reeled with the sheer height and speed of the thing, his eyes rolling in his skull to try and stay on the little object. It’s one of them, he realized. Christ alive, those little four-legged cunts are turning on! Something activated ‘em!

The streak shot towards the river and levelled off, water shooting off to the sides in little, v-shaped jets as it focused on the bridge. Suddenly, inanely, Doug remembered his buddy talking to him one night. He couldn’t remember who or where, just that the guy was drunk and ranting about this governor fucking up the school system, and that mayor digging the city into a deeper hole, and most of all, about the bridge. How it was the ultimate testament to the rich owning America. How some millionaire owned it and kept killing bills to fund other bridges across the river to Windsor. How he never allowed city workers to inspect it since it was his private property.

How nobody had any idea if it would stand against a terrorist attack.

He had laughed then, chortled something about a terrorist attack probably being an improvement, the way things were in the city. He laughed now as he watched that little streak shoot towards the bridge, just as he was sure the Newfoal was laughing and smiling its empty little smile right up until it slammed into a piece of supporting strut just a dozen yards above the roadway. Doug’s laughter became panicked, hyperventilating chortles as he leaned out his cab to watch a magical explosion bloom over the bridge, sending the cars and screaming drivers that it hadn’t incinerated flying into the river hundreds of feet below, blinding him with cascading yellows, reds, purples, and greens. The driver behind him had stopped honking.

Everything happened in slow-motion after that, like in that shitty Keanu Reeves movie a few years back: Doug couldn’t remember the name of it. All that was in his mind was the multicolored ball of fire reaching up one of the towering support struts and out over the river, charred and blackened corpses dropping from beneath it to be cooled by the water far below. Something hit the top of his cab, bounced off, and landed on the rig’s engine compartment, still on fire. It took him a few moments after before he realized it was a human hand, the skin charred and blackened like a piece of chicken that had stayed on the grill for too long. He thought he saw the glint of a wedding ring somewhere amongst the burnt flesh. Then the streetlamps went out and the bridge was plunged into total darkness.

Doug heard the twang of supporting cables giving out on his right, and twisted in his cab again. The crippled supporting tower behind him leaned at an insane angle, slowly dipping towards the river with repeated shrieks of twisting metal, the roadway dipping with it. It’s gonna give, he realized, unaware of the crowd of shrieking people running by him, abandoning their cars in a desperate, futile rush for safety, both the drivers of the Accord and the Taurus among them. The whole fucking tower’s gonna give, and when it does...

He didn’t even have time to complete his thought before there was a final, defining screech of metal and the entire roadway tilted insanely. Most of the people around him were thrown over the guardrail, their screams drowned out by the continuous shrieking of the metal warping and twisting in ways it was never designed for. The driver of the Accord was among this unfortunate group, the back of his head striking the guardrail with a sickening, wet smack. The truck skidded sideways and hung itself precariously on the guardrail for a moment. Doug peered at the dark water far below, at how placid it looked. That surprised him; with the number of people he could see dropping to their deaths on either side. It reminded him of the times his parents would take him to the beach when he was young. Of days spent with sand wedged into every corner of his body, grinding against his skin with every flex of his toes, every motion of his feet, and not even caring. That’s not so bad, some small part of him remarked. That’s not so bad, as far as last thoughts go.

And then the guardrail snapped free. The rest of the roadway followed soon after.

Author's Notes:

Is it morbid that this came to me while crossing a suspension bridge just south of the Ohio border? Because seriously, I was just thinking about how to spice things up a bit while things build back on the Illustrious, saw the bridge coming up, and this entire chapter hit me in a flash. Weird, huh? And not concerning at all? Guys?

Hoboy...

Chapter XIV: Little Filly

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0625 HOURS
ONBOARD THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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“Bodies continue to be pulled from the water here in Detroit, with conservative estimates already putting deaths into the hundreds. The apparent culprit: a local Newfoal endowed with magic from one of his fellow unicorns! That’s right, you heard it here first, folks, a Newfoal from the nearby colony apparently escaped his cell after assaulting staff and…”

*CLICK*

“…recent events in the American mainland, combined with yesterday’s suicide bombing at UNCDI headquarters here at the Newfoal colony outside Hamburg, has some wondering if the terrorist groups so prolific during the Collision Wars have made a return to…”

*CLICK*

“…between pro- and anti-conversion groups broke out into riots that continue to burn through downtown Los Angeles. Already, two people have died and upwards of fifty homes and businesses have been destroyed, with damage estimated to be in the hundreds of…”

*CLICK*

“…before the security lockdown, we interviewed a Newfoal amidst the recent rash of jubilation and celebration appearing in each of their colonies, who said quote: ‘She has returned in a new form to deliver us all into the new world, one free of anger, one free of hate, one free of anything but the joy we all find in…’”

*CLICK*

“…with an additional 10,000 on their way, the British Isles are seeing the largest buildup of American military personnel since the Second World War, though some back in the states criticize spreading their armed forces out, especially given recent events back…”

One final *CLICK*, and the TV went quiet. Felipe sighed and leaned back on the cafeteria bench he’d cleared for himself, the sigh quickly devolving into a groan of frustration that rebounded off the walls, adding to the resonant hum from the vending machines in the corner. Any other time, he might have been creeped out by the empty cafeteria, but right now, he just needed a big empty space with hard tile floors and flickering fluorescent lighting. Just someplace big where he could be alone.

Felipe ran his hands through his dark hair, now greasy with day-old sweat. His untrimmed nails scratched into his scalp, his breath coming in ragged gasps. This again. He really had to go through all this again. He thought he had left this behind in the months after the Collision Wars: that he had forgotten about the riots, the lynchings, the whole fandom going underground.

That he had forgotten about her.

With fingers that trembled like an old, arthritic man’s, he reached into his pocket for the object he had been clenching when Anton had dressed his wounds. His bandaged fingers clenched it, tightening as if he wanted to crush it, but at the last minute they loosened. They always loosened. No matter the pain, no matter the terror, no matter the anger and frustration, he never could bring himself to destroy it. After all, they were his last memories of her…

”{Filly, lookit what I got!}”

Felipe turned, raising his head from the tech specs on some of the new weapons the squad was getting to the little girl jumping up and down next to his chair. He smiled, brushing the book aside and tossing his legs over the armrest to look right into her grinning face. She started to bring her hands out to show him, but he raised his hand to stop her. “Ut, ut!” He said sharply, and she paused with a knowing smile on her face. “{I haven’t seen you all day, so what do we do first?}”

Still grinning, the little girl leaned forward and pressed her tiny lips to his cheek, giving him a hug. “{I missed you, big brother!}”

“{There we go,}” he said, nodding satisfactorily, like a teacher after one of their students answered a question from the previous day’s reading correctly. “{So, which one did you get this time?}”

Still hopping up and down with glee, the little girl presented her prize to the older man: a plastic Princess Celestia figurine with brushable mane, already splayed out crazily thanks to its journey from the store in her pocket. Felipe smiled at the sight. “{Now, this one is…Luna, right?}”

“{You know who it is!}” She giggled, shoving his shoulder playfully.

“{Oh, maybe you need to refresh my memory?}”

The girl, grinning with triumph now, sang: “{It’s Princess Celestia! Twilight’s mentor!}”

“{That’s right!}” He gasped, eyes lighting up as if he really were remembering. “{Thank you for reminding me, my little dreamer!}”

That earned him a salute and a cheeky grin from the little girl. “{No problem, big…}”

The memory ended as he held the figurine in between two of his fingers. Princess Celestia had seen better days: her nose was mashed up, and one of her forelegs was missing below the knee. The little sticker making one of her eyes was almost completely gone, and her mane, once only tangled and bedraggled, was now clumpy with dirt and sweat, its rainbow color almost completely gone. The white coat still carried a bit of soot from when he had first scooped it up from the cold, lifeless hand, crushed to death by a beam when the worst of the riots had rocked his beloved Rio, all because…

“{Because you were supposed to be better!}” He screamed, whipping the tiny figurine at the wall with the force of an MLB fastball pitcher. The figure hit the wall and bounced off with a new dent in its hide.

“{Why!? Why couldn’t you be what you were supposed to be!? Why couldn’t you be what I needed you to be!?}“ He bellowed, following up with a stomp that added another treadmark to the growing collection on its side. His mind lost to his rage, Felipe followed that stomp up with another, and another, the empty cafeteria echoing with his mostly-incoherent cries, his stomach growing sick with his own anger.

When the worst of it had abated, he raised his face to the ceiling, screaming at no one in particular: “{FUUUUUUCK YOOOUUUUU…}”

His shoulders rose and fell as his pulse beat heavily in his ears. He moved his foot a little. One more good stomp would probably do it. One more hit, and the little reminder of what was lost could be gone forever. Another stomp could finally end this pain.

Except it wouldn’t, and he knew it. He would always remember the little girl who would never shove her tiny hand in his again. Nor would she bound back into the house that didn’t exist anymore, beyond excitement to tell him about the new toy she had scrimped and saved to buy. She wouldn’t even sit on his lap in their father’s study with their beat-up old Lenovo, streaming episodes of their favorite show on one tab while he had that night’s article on team tactics or squad-building exercises open in another. So he hesitated, and in that hesitation, his phone went off, a rubber-ducky squeak telling him he had a new text.

His foot still hovering over the figure, Felipe pulled the phone out of his back pocket and scanned it. “Code Red: Target Beta cell,” from Chen. He let out his breath in a long, shaky sigh, then leaned down to scoop up the figure. He added a derisive snort and a muttered “{Fucking bitch…}” for good measure before taking off at a dead run, out the cafeteria, towards the hallway, his dress shoes thudding against the tile…

Until he stopped, right in the hallway outside the door. A thought had occurred to him. A Code Red would have everyone swarming into Beta’s cell, Alpha would be relatively unguarded. At most, Lisa or Anton would be there, and he could probably just walk past them. Who would question it?

He looked down the hall towards the little purple Alicorn’s cell, then turned and began walking in the opposite direction. An odd little smile crossed his face. It was a bit like his own private joke. All this time he’d been demanding answers from a little plastic toy, but now, the real deal was just down the hallway.

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Anton Beloglazov didn’t sleep well these days. Maybe nobody did once they reached their forties, and anybody who said they did was just lying through their damned teeth. Either way, it didn’t matter. To him, his bed was mostly a place where he spent nights staring at his ceiling, counting planks in the wood paneling and trying very hard not to succumb to the voices of the past echoing in his head, whispering, echoing, and sometimes, screaming at the top of their lungs for him to make that final leap and dive into the swirling, chaotic pool that was his memories. In the beginning, it had been difficult to repeatedly whisper “no” to those voices until they calmed again, but these days, he found he was able to tune them out most of the time.

Most of the time.

Thankfully for this little afternoon nap, this was one of those times. He was able to prop his leather-soled shoes up in his Lay-Z-Boy (he always hated that name, as if a man ever taking a moment to put his feet up automatically qualified as lazy), entwine his fingers across his chest, and ignore the faint humming of the fluorescent lights, pretending that it didn’t remind him of the whine of a T-90’s engine as it crushed some dark-skinned boy’s skull…

He grimaced. Welp, so much for that plan, he sighed, his face relaxing again as he turned over to face the door, the pleather cooling his cheek. His eyes remained closed, and he felt them strain as they rolled back in his sockets. For some reason, this position felt natural to him, as if it were able to completely shut out the flurry of activity in the darkness behind his eyelids. It signaled the beginning of a sort of meditative state, probably not much like whatever voodoo the Eastern philosophers had come up with, but something he had developed over the years as a sort of substitute for sleep. It certainly resembled sleep, at the very least, and for the Russian, this was often enough.

The door rushed open with a pneumatic hiss, like every door on this goddamned ship, but instead of sitting up to see who it was, Anton felt himself seized by a sort of childish playfulness. People always seemed to take a sleeping man as an invitation to act as if they were alone, as if the sleeper was nothing more than a noise detector, like in that one godawful Tom Cruise film the Americans loved so much. Another thing Anton had learned over the years was how much you could learn about a person if they thought they were alone, as he had learned much about the people who mistook his “meditation” for real sleep. His wife, for instance. Or wait, that was ex-wife now…

The newcomer took two steps into the room before apparently seeing Anton in the Lay-Z-Boy, and immediately froze. That twisted something in Anton’s gut. People who were trying to be courteous to a sleeper might tiptoe, or move with a sort of slow, clumsy gait, but they did not freeze. The only people who froze were the ones trying to hide something. Either way, Anton slipped into his meditative state, his whole body relaxing in a way almost identical to sleep, his mind emptying of everything except for an awareness of every sound entering his ear, cataloguing it to be analyzed when full functionality returned to his brain. The newcomer stepped lightly, though to Anton, this was not the step of a courteous man, but of a suspicious one. Something in the way they carried themselves as they crossed the room, perhaps. There was something too professional about it, too much like a sniper gliding through the bush with a rifle in hand and a target in mind. This was the walk of a man behind enemy lines, and the moment he heard it, Anton almost lost his composure and the meditative state he had achieved. Almost.

He listened on as the nearly-inaudible footsteps tapped across the tile, bound for the airlock door. Then came the familiar pneumatic rush of the lock disengaging, the door shooting open, and a pause. Anton made very sure to remain still during this pause: whoever was over there would be watching him like a hawk, looking for any signs of him stirring. After a few moments of silence, the Russian threw in a yawn and a quick jerk as if his sleep had been disturbed, then he immediately laid back down without opening his eyes, turning over on his side away from the door.

The ploy worked. A few moments later, a couple more taps sounded, and then the door rushed shut. Anton opened his eyes in time to watch the retreating back of a young man’s head through the porthole in the airlock, the man bending over the keypad, no doubt to activate his lockout code.

The Russian smiled knowingly. “Good luck with that,” he whispered, patting his pocket before standing up, still out of sight of the porthole.

Chapter XV: Setting Things Up

No matter how optimistic the conscious mind might be, there is always some part of us that knows how bad things are about to get. The conscious mind can hope and believe in a better tomorrow, but a deeper, darker part of the mind always knows what is really about to happen. The man waiting in the clinic on the test results for the strange lump he’d found behind his testicles during his morning shower. The woman walking through the dark alleyway in the nasty part of town in the middle of the night when she hears a rapid set of footsteps behind her. And now, the pony princess waiting in a Plexiglas tube surrounded by enough wiring to make Starswirl the Bearded himself fall into conniptions. As she stood there, locked in place with nothing but the beeping from the device around her neck to occupy her, she looked at the armored door leading into her cell and dreamt of the moment when it would burst open and Twilight and Luna would fly through, brushing the machinery aside to hug her and tell her everything had been a huge misunderstanding. All this even as the black pit twisting in her stomach told her it was far more likely to end with her learning of Canterlot’s destruction through another slip of a human’s tongue.

Though she kept a brave façade, the Solar Princess felt tears burning just behind her eyes. For all she knew, Twilight was currently being tortured for information and human armies were sweeping across her lands, killing everything that got in their way. And could she blame them? Based on her brief encounters with both them and the ponies of some…dark…twisted version of her beloved Equestria had suffered greatly at the hooves of some…other…

How? How could this have happened? Was this other world like that land she and Starswirl had journeyed to so long ago? No. Based on what she knew, based on the trauma she had seen, it was far worse. Maker above. She had to get out of this cell and find out what that might have been!

The door opened again, and this time her head rose to watch it. She had learned her lesson. There would not be a repeat of Shining Armor’s surprise appearance at her side. There was a few soft beeps and a mechanical clunk, and then another human strode out of the darkness to stand there, his breath coming in heavy gasps, sweat dripping off his darker complexion, and a look of hatred so pure in his eyes that if she didn’t know better, she might have assumed he had been possessed by Sombra himself.

She met his anger-filled eyes with her own, tired vermillion pools, and the pair began one of the most intense staring contests in history. Though it felt like centuries passed, it took Celestia less than five minutes to realize she would have to be the one who ended this infernal silence. “Well?”

The man with the dark complexion halted his breath. For a second, she thought he might have died standing like that, his hands clenched into fists, that dark glare forever imprinted into his gaze, as if the sheer force of his rage had simply stopped his heart. Then, his breath came out in a long, drawn-out sigh as he reached into his pocket. She cringed, shying further away from the glass, her eyes squinting as she braced herself for whatever blow might come next. Instead, she found herself looking at a tiny version of herself, suspended on a tiny chain.

Her eyes widened, and she drew closer to the glass, peering at it curiously. Honestly, with the little chain and the beaten, worn look it held, she couldn’t help but feel it to be an apt metaphor for her situation. Though compared to this thing, she might as well have been spending the day at the spa. It looked like somepony had been stomping on it, and she could swear there was a scorch mark where the cutie mark should have been. Still, despite the tangled mass of mane and the marks where the humans’ strange, rubber soles had met with the tiny, glossy figure, it was impossible to mistake a face that she had seen in the mirror every morning for over a thousand years. Even if it was small and a little bit mashed in.

The human pressed the figurine up to the glass, his breath coming in heaving sighs again. His glare alone spoke murder, spoke pain and hatred, but it also spoke something else…desperation? She didn’t have time to think about that one: the human’s hand had gone to a keypad set into the base of her glass prison, tapping wildly, growing more and more frustrated with each keystroke.

“No, NO!” He screamed, slamming a fist against the glass. She felt like telling him not to bother. That if she couldn’t even scratch it, he didn’t stand a chance, but any words she might have had were caught in her throat as he began beating the glass, over and over again, attacking with a level of savagery she hadn’t even seen during the darkest hours of Equestria’s formation. Discord had never shown anything like this. Tirek or Sombra perhaps, but even those had been magic attacks. She had never seen someone attacking something with any kind of zeal until she saw this human slam his fist into that glass until his knuckles bled, a bandaged wound reopening.

Finally, he stopped. Not because of the pain, that much was obvious. A creature with a look like that in his eyes was beyond feeling pain. Instead, she could tell it was because of exhaustion. Sweat drained off his brow, funneling down his face in torrents. She thought some of that might have been tears, but between the blood smeared over the glass and the sweat mixing in all over his face, it was hard to tell.

The human kept himself braced against the glass, one hand still clutching the figurine, pressing it to the glass. Suddenly, Celestia felt the strangest urge overwhelm her better judgment. Her instincts screamed for her to draw away, to avoid the angry predator before her at all costs, but a thousand years of healing wounds and bringing ponies together told her otherwise.

Before she knew what she was doing, she slowly leaned forward until her muzzle touched the glass, the motion happening so quickly her nose nearly smeared against the clear surface. With that complete, it was far easier to press her lips to the glass in front of the bleeding hand and close her eyes, falling into a kiss, letting this single act of compassion sweep her up until her fears were forgotten. She drew back and opened her eyes again. The human’s hands were off the glass again, his eyes narrow with suspicion, the bleeding hand cradled in its brother like it had just been burnt. Or perhaps he had realized what he had just done to his hand once the anger had left him and his senses had returned. Ever the optimist, Celestia hoped for the latter. Ever the pragmatist, her body braced itself for the former.

“Better?” She asked, offering a smile barely strong enough to lift the corners of her mouth.

He didn’t respond, he just stood there. His breath still heaved, though not as badly as it had before. Where before, it rushed in and out of him as if the mere act of drawing it into and out of his lungs was meant to be some sort of blow against her, he at least had calmed to the point where every noise coming from his body didn’t sound like an attempt to phase through the glass and wrap his hands around her throat.

“Where did you get that?” She posited.

Once again, his breath stopped. Once again, she thought he might simply have died of sheer rage where he stood. Then he exhaled sharply. “From someone worth more to me than the whole world put together.”

There it was. There was her way in. Celestia swallowed her distaste at what she was about to do: it seemed so very manipulative to use her intellect this way, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed three things: to escape, to find out what made this species’ previous collisions with…someone else’s little ponies so traumatic, and to ensure Twilight was safe, not necessarily in that order. If everything went perfectly, if the little plan still forming at the back of her mind worked out, she might get all three of those things in one fell swoop.

“Someone I love like that is in trouble,” she said, hoping her eyes showed every scrap of emotion she felt. Her voice trembled as she spoke, and that hateful, manipulative part of her noted how this could only serve her purposes. For a moment, she hated herself for thinking that. “Someone I value more than all the gold in the world might be in danger, and I need to know she’s safe.”

The human kept that even glare on her, then snorted and walked away, stomping towards the cell door. “Please,” she said, first at a whisper, then at a desperate cry: “PLEASE!”

The door slammed shut, and once again, Celestia was alone. However, for the first time since being locked in this awful place with nothing but the beeping of the machinery and the occasional beating/interrogation to keep her company, a small bit of hope bloomed in her heart. Just be okay, Twilight, she thought to herself. Everything will work out if you’re okay…

And if she isn’t? That small knot in her stomach asked. She didn’t respond. She just kept whispering to herself: “Just please be okay, Twilight. Oh Maker above, please be okay.”

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Felipe walked out of the airlock looking like a man after a week in a warzone. He slumped against the metal door as it rushed shut behind him and locked into place with a series of grinding clicks, his face a map of utter exhaustion. He let his breath out in a long, drawn-out sigh.

Anton was standing over him.

“Enjoy your chat with the pretty pony Princess, tovarisch?”

Felipe didn’t even have the energy to raise his head.

Anton just sighed and offered his hand, which Felipe accepted gratefully. Then, with a powerful jerk of his arm, the Russian yanked him to his feet. Stumbling, Felipe was totally unprepared for when Anton gripped his injured hand, forcing the fingers open and grabbing the Celestia figurine. In his surprise, the only thing Felipe could do about it was give a strangled “Uh…no…”

Anton regarded the figurine with cold, analytical precision, turning it over in his hands. Felipe reached for it, but allowed his hands to drop. There was no point. The secret was out now, for better or for worse. His gaze sank to the floor, his hands hanging loosely like cold, wet noodles at his sides.

Anton held the figurine up by one leg, pinching it between his fingers. Felipe sighed once. “What was their name?” Anton asked suddenly, and with a tone so gentle the only thing that would have surprised Felipe more would be for the Russian to peel his face aside and reveal Twilight Sparkle herself.

Felipe’s eyes drifted up, widening. “Wh-who?” He asked, the only words he could manage in his utterly, completely, emotionally drained state of mind.

Anton’s eyes softened. “The person who used to own this doll,” he replied quietly.

Still with nothing more than that exhausted look on his face, Felipe locked right with Anton’s eyes. The Russian arched an eyebrow. A man as young as the one before him shouldn’t have held such a tired look. These were the eyes of an old man after a lifetime of hardship, perhaps living on the streets or with the memories of past horrors. These were not the eyes of a man barely out of boyhood.

“Marta,” Felipe rasped, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a long, hard swallow as he met the Russian’s eyes. “The best maninha a guy could ask for.”

“The riots in Rio…” Anton said, nodding his understanding.

“The mob got to the family home before I did,” Felipe explained. He couldn’t quite figure out why he was explaining. Maybe he had finally grown tired of holding it in. Maybe it was all finally coming out, whether he liked it or not. But here it was. “Someone threw a Molotov through the kitchen window. She was doing her homework there, she…”

He gasped, took a few shaky breaths. “…she was in too much pain from the flames to move, and then the roof gave…she…she was still holding that,” he said, motioning to the Russian’s closed hand. “Her favorite show to watch with her Filly.”

“And the man who did this?” Anton asked.

Suddenly, the old steel entered Felipe’s eyes, his gaze rising from the floor. He tacked off what happened to the man who burnt down his home and killed his sister like he was listing off a supermarket checklist. “Tracked him down, found out where he slept, put a pillow over his face, put a .45 against the pillow, and squeezed the trigger until it clicked dry.”

Anton nodded again, presenting the figurine to his coworker, keeping it standing on his palm as he held it out. Without a word, Felipe grasped the tiny bit of plastic and shoved it in his pocket, his gaze sinking to the floor again. The Russian clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. “C’mon,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I just got a message on my mobile. Apparently, the others are dragging the Prince over to the Admiral; let the old man chew his ass out for a while.”

Felipe’s eyes lifted at that, the beginnings of a smile actually starting to tug at the corners of his lips. “Think he’ll leave enough ass to boot off his ship?”

“One can only hope,” the Russian laughed as he led his counterpart out into the hallway.

“By the way,” Felipe said, his voice still low, but a lightness to his tone, as if something had been lifted from it. “Weren’t you concerned about leaving me alone in there with her?”

“I figured if the Yank could handle it, you could,” Anton shrugged. “Prince Shining Armor’s attack has proven that we can do damn near anything to her as she is now. If anything, we are more a danger to her.”

Felipe nodded with that, listening to their footsteps echo down the hallway behind them. “I see that, but that’s not what I meant. I must have looked…bad, walking in there. Weren’t you concerned for the prisoner?”

“Not particularly,” Anton snorted, winking as he held up a small handful of nuts, bolts, and wires. “Besides, I’m not sure that keypad lock works so well without these.”

Felipe just smiled back, shaking his head.

“What, can you blame me for taking precautions after the last visitor?” Anton muttered, shoving the fistful of junk back into his pocket. “I used to be mechanic of sorts, will be easy to put it all back together. Trust me, this is what I used to do for a living.”

Felipe did trust the older man, now more than ever, which is why it would be so heartbreaking when later on, he would be walking through the hallways and discover a single misplaced bolt lying in the middle of the tile, standing on its head, as it had been ever since it was placed there.

Chapter XVI: Shining Gets The Boot

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0650 HOURS
CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS OF THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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If looks could kill, Shining Armor would have died on the spot a thousand times over. Not that he would have noticed: the death glare the Admiral was currently shooting his way was completely eclipsed by the purple visage playing over and over again in his head. Couldn’t be… he thought over and over again. She’s gone! She’s gone forever! That cunt killed her, she never would’ve spared her life…right?

Growing tired of the Prince’s vacant stare, the Admiral shook his head and folded his hands over his desk, covering the forty-second expense report he’d needed to sign that day, ignoring the cramp folding his hands like this had triggered in his wrist. “We both know why you’re here, your highness.”

Shining Armor didn’t respond, instead opting to keep mumbling to himself, rocking back and forth unsteadily in his chair. How was it possible? How could his sister be back!? How how how…how different was this other Equestria?

“Needless to say, your behavior since heading downstairs has been completely unacceptable, especially as a foreign dignitary,” the Admiral replied. He sighed, rolling his eyes. “If you must know, I always knew granting special status to officials from UN-administered disaster zones was a friggin’ mistake, though I always figured it’d be the Japanese who’d abuse it first. Nobody ever imagined one of you ponies would be the first to fuck it all up.”

Shining Armor finally met the Admiral’s gaze, his vacant, shell-shocked eyes locking with that piercing, hawk-like gaze.

“But now that the trigger’s been pulled, you should know the General Assembly’s already voted to revoke your special status,” the Admiral stood, circling his desk like a lioness stalking its prey, his eyes never leaving the little unicorn. “In addition, they’ll soon be voting to alter the guidelines for everyone else’s status. They’ll be wrapping the rest of your little ponies up in so much red tape they won’t be able to find their own ass-pictures without a form filled out in triplicate.”

Shining Armor met the Admiral’s gaze without a hint of hesitation, his muzzle remaining firmly shut.

“That being said, even this never should’ve happened. I should’ve personally thrown you out the moment your hoof first met that prisoner’s face. I should’ve booted your ass off my ship the moment your bird landed. But the past is in the past, all we can do is learn from it,” the Admiral shrugged, his arms folded across the front of his impeccably pressed uniform. “But I have learned from this little experiment, so if you ever set hoof on my ship again…”

Suddenly, he darted across the polished tile floor, closing the distance between himself and the pony royal and seizing his throat before Shining could even think to react. Their noses practically touching, the Admiral seized the unicorn’s throat in an iron grip not meant to harm, but certainly more than enough to show off the strength those wrinkled, calloused hands still possessed. His other hand reached around and grabbed some mane off the back of Shining’s head, again not tugging, not trying to hurt, but certainly demonstrating strength. The old man looked the young prince right in the eyes and hissed: “…I will personally crack your horn over my knee, throw you overboard, and laugh my ass off while the propellers drag you under; interspecies relations be goddamned. Is that clear?”

Finally, Shining snapped out of his fugue long enough to regard the Admiral with a funny little smile. At another time, he might have shrunk back in fear to see the truth in the Admiral’s eyes, to know this creature absolutely meant to carry out his threat with little care for the consequences. He might have made up something quick to try and placate this creature, anything to make him release his grip and back off. Instead, the only thing that passed through his mind was one word: Magnificent.

“Crystal clear, Admiral.”

The Admiral kept his grip and glare locked a while longer, then all at once released both, his hands still trembling with the anger burning through his guts. He turned away to hide the tremble. If Shining Armor had pointed it out, there would have been very little keeping the older man from lunging at him, grabbing his throat again, and squeezing until those sky-blue eyes rolled back to their whites. “Get the hell off my ship,” the Admiral grumbled.

With a curt little bow and without another word, Shining hopped off his chair and trotted out the door, his head held high. The Admiral sighed, his clasped hands relaxing. It was okay to let the image drop a little now, he knew. It’s not like he was putting on a show for someone important anymore.

He took a seat at his desk, opening one of the oak-paneled drawers on his right, gripping it in the same place where a set of little grooves had been worked into the wood by his fingers. He reached in and bought out a bottle of Hennessy and a pair of shot glasses, then thought better and put one of the glasses back. He filled his glass and threw it down his throat in a single gulp, not spilling a single drop on the front of that impeccable uniform. He repeated the action a couple more times, then unbuttoned his uniform and laid his cap on the desk in front of him. He filled the glass one more time, drained it halfway, and put his feet up on the desk just as another knock sounded.

“Come in,” he said with a small slur to his words as he raked his hands through his thinning hair one last time. The door creaked open, and in stepped the eight. Eight diplomats from the most powerful nations on the face of the planet. He had to suppress a smirk at that. Diplomats…

The group trudged in with their heads held high and the air of recently-sentenced convicts. It was obvious they knew they’d failed, knew how badly they’d fucked up, yet they held themselves with a certain air of pride, ready for any punishment lain upon them. In fact, in any other context, the Admiral himself would be ripping them a whole new set of assholes. He’d be screaming, pounding on the desk about the Geneva Convention, rambling on about the amount of shit they could get into if this ever got out, about the number of armed maniacs who would love to use this to stop running around in the woods shooting at cardboard cutouts with blue helmets and start shooting at the real deal.

But he said and did none of these things, instead opting to grin slovenly at the group and raise his glass, as if in toast. “Here’s to you,” he slurred. “For settin’ up the best show this boat’s seen in years!”

The group paused, eyeing each other in concern. This was most definitely not what they had been expecting. Yelling perhaps, pounding on the table perhaps, but not this.

Always the leader, Anton was the first to step forward. “Sir,” the Russian said to the Englishman. “I just want to apologize for the appalling way we’ve been acting, I…”

“Apologize?” The Admiral chuckled, shaking his head as if Anton had just told an off-color joke. “What for?”

Anton’s eyes widened, but he continued unabated. “W-we are aware that our actions – or lack thereof – led directly to the assault of two prisoners in direct violation of the protocols set forth by the Geneva Convention, and as such…”

“Son, I’m gonna stop you right there,” the Admiral said, raising his hand as he took another sip off his Cognac. Anton bristled, obviously not used to people calling him ‘son’ at his age (though the Admiral did look old enough to get away with it). The Admiral just smiled right back. “Barring the ongoing debate on whether or not the Convention applies to ponies, if I gave a single flyin’ fuck about it as far as the bitch is concerned, I would’ve already thrown you off my fuckin’ boat.”

The group stared, absolutely stunned by what they had just heard. “Sir,” David said, stepping up next to Anton. “With all due respect, what you just said violates a few dozen UN protocols, including one of the most highly…”

“Yankee, you might as well quit talkin’ there, I stopped listenin’ a while ago,” the Brit slurred. “Listen, the way I see it, it’s kinda like the legal system: stuff’s only illegal if ya get your arse caught. Besides, ask any lawyer and he’ll tell you that shit’s up for debate.”

The group continued staring. The Admiral noticed the way Anton glared at him, and felt a bit of pride pop up in his heart for the Russian, pride which he quickly crushed, getting soft would only doom him now. “You lot should really learn to relax!” He snickered. “After everything that bitch was probably gonna do, it only makes sense that we get a li’l payback.”

“But sir, we…”

“And if any a’ ya don’t agree, well, that’s okay,” the Admiral leaned back, the friendly, drunken smile vanishing off his lips. “You can just go to the Security Council with what you know, it’s pretty easy. A’ course, just like you can let loose with a few secrets, so can I. Like, say, a few points in somebody’s past that they aren’t supposed to talk about? Knowledge a’ which could violate the contracts they signed with the UN when they took this job?”

David’s eyes widened in sudden terror, as did the eyes of the rest of the group, with the exception of Anton, who just glared holes into the Admiral’s face. The older Englishman felt a bit of bile rise in his throat, not from the alcohol, but from what he was doing here. A man’s past was a man’s past as far as he was concerned. Barring some terrible crime or repeated history of fuck-ups, it should have no bearing on the present. But this was the card he had been given to play, and this was how he was going to play it.

“So,” he said, sitting forward, his elbows perched on the desk. One elbow slipped for a second, but he quickly replaced it. “If that’s all, I take it you’ll be gettin’ back to work?”

It was obvious in the Russian’s eyes that he wanted to do some desk pounding of his own. Maybe do it with the Admiral’s face. The old man always found it hard to read those vodka-swilling commie bastards. Instead, he watched the Russian take a deep breath, let it out through his nose, and shoot him a glare he could swear was killing the petunias in the glass vase on his desk. “Yes…sir…” he grumbled.

The old Brit nodded and leaned back in his chair again, swiveling it around to face away from the group as he grabbed the Cognac again. “Don’t forget t’close the door on yer way out,” he slurred as he listened to the shuffling footsteps walk out the room.

The door slammed after a bit of mumbling from the peanut gallery. The Admiral was still not alone, every battle instinct sharpened by decades devoted to the military life and dulled only slightly by the alcohol and the years he’d spent behind this desk told him that. Not wanting to give away how truly aware he was, the old man tried to push himself up, only to fall to a knee, twisting as he fell on his back.

The Latino man still stood there, regarding the old man with a look reeking of disgust and pity. Young man, if you only knew how aware I really was…if you knew I could snap your spine with my thumb right now if the urge took me… the old man grumbled internally. Smiling shakily up at the Brazilian, the Admiral slurred: “Yes?”

Rather suddenly, the Latino man’s features shifted from disgust to actual bashfulness, like a kid being asked to read a book report for the class. Now, that was interesting. He only ever got this reaction from full-grown adults when they were about to ask for something they weren’t absolutely sure they wanted, and didn’t even want to throw on a brave face for it. In this situation, at this time, in light of everything going on, just what could that possibly be?

“Well son, you went to all the trouble of staying behind, might as well spit it out,” the old Englishman rasped.

“I, sir, I…” the Latino rubbed the back of his head, then adapted a laid-back stance, leaning against the wall. “It’s nothing, really, not even worth your attention.”

“Son, there are three things in this life I value above all else: a good glass of Cognac, jolly ol’ England, and what little time I have left on this Earth. By babbling on, you are wasting two of those,” the Admiral said, allowing just a little bit of that old edge to reenter his voice as he held up the glass and swirled it in front of the Brazilian’s face.

The Latino sighed and stood away from the wall, meeting the Admiral’s eyes for the first time, still holding that aloof look, his shoulders slumped like a poor man begging on the streets of Rio. Nice try, the Admiral thought. But there’s only one play-actor in this room, and it ain’t you.

“Sir, it’s Prin…Target Alpha. She…uh…she requested to see Beta. I know we’re strict on visitation privileges…” or we’re supposed to be, his tone added. “…But I just don’t see much harm in…”

“Oh bleedin’ hell son, is that all?” The Admiral asked before breaking out into jovial laughter. “Come now, after the show you lot just put on, you think I’m gonna turn down the chance for a sequel?”

The Latino’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull. He had not been expecting this reaction. “Sir, I just wanted to shoot it up the chain of command, I didn’t think we should really…”

“Then whydja bring it to my attention?” The Admiral shrugged. “Maybe the purple one is looking for a spot of vengeance on the ol’ bitch herself, eh? Could be a good show!”

“S-sir, I…”

“Or maybe you’re not so good at following orders,” the Admiral said, that sober edge making an appearance in his voice again. “Just remember, young man, what I said earlier was meant for you. Or does that little caveat in your contract need to be activated so the Brazilians can replace you with someone who knows how to follow orders?”

The Latino’s eyes flared for the quickest moment, a fire igniting in them that honestly surprised the old man. Had this one pegged wrong, he thought. Thought he might just be a shy little biddy, but that fire…that’s no shy little biddy in there!

The flames were gone almost as quickly as they had appeared, and the Latino’s eyes sank to the floor again. “Yes sir, I understand, it will be done,” he said, allowing a quick bow before heading out the door.

“Don’t forget to close the door on your way out!” The Admiral called, raising his Cognac. The Latino paused on his way out, then gripped the door and slammed it into its frame until it rattled.

The Admiral raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yep, definitely a fire in that one,” he muttered before setting the glass of Cognac back down. He ran his gloved hands through his thinning hair. It was ironic, really: he wanted that drink now more than ever, but now he needed to be stone-cold sober, when minutes ago he had to be a loutish drunkard!

Sighing, he reached for the black, rotary-dial telephone on the desk. Might as well get this over with. He dialed his number in and sat back, listening to the static on the other side.

After some static, there was a click, signaling him to start. He spoke clearly, enunciating every syllable as slowly as he could. “Uncle Kramer has a message for us newcomers.”

There were a few more clicks, and then a voice, distorted by the best encoding and electronic encryption on the planet, came on: “Report.”

“First round of experiments complete,” he said, still trying to speak clearly. “Results transmitting now.”

“Excellent. Status of round two?”

The Admiral paused, then reached over to his desktop, clicking through a few screens to find a constant video loop of the Russian and the Latino walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the hallway, grinning to themselves about some private joke as the Russian stuffed a handful of knick-knacks, bolts, and wires in his pocket. He breathed in, and then out again, his breath quivering. “Commencing shortly,” he said.

“Excellent. I take it the Prince was allowed to see the Princess?”

“He was. And the lavender one as well, even after his predicted assault.”

A cold, dry laugh cackled on the other end of the line. It took all of the Admiral’s strength not to slam the receiver down right then and there. “Unsurprising,” the voice whispered. “I must congratulate the Prince on his political skills. We knew he’d be able to outmaneuver them, of course, but this is something! Really something!”

Yeah, it was something alright. And if the old man had half the spine he pretended to have, he’d tell the voice just what he thought that something was.

“Is that all?” The speaker asked.

Again, the Admiral wanted to rant and rave, to scream, to call the voice on the other end of the line every name under the sun until his voice ran out and he was still trying to yell with a few, raspy squeaks. And again, he denied himself. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Another click, and then dial tone.

“And a good day to you, you pencil-pushin’ piece of shit,” the Admiral snarled as he replaced the phone in its cradle. With that done, he buttoned his shirt back up, replaced his cap on his head, poured himself another glass of Cognac, and leaned back as he tried to remember when, exactly, he’d signed a deal with the devil himself.

Chapter XVII: Escape

“Unprofessional!” Anton screamed, kicking one of the Lay-Z-Boys hard enough to tip it over on its side. “Unprofessional, discourteous, old Limey drunk!”

“Oh, you are so lucky Lisa isn’t here to hear you say that,” Andre grumbled, trying to keep his focus on the CNN special report on the Ambassador Bridge attack.

“{That’s a good point, actually, where is she?}” Franz asked in his native German, knowing the Frenchman could speak it. Andre turned in his seat while Anton continued to rant and rave behind them.

“{‘UN-mandated break time,’ she and the Yank are up on the deck,}” he replied, raising his fingers and making quotation marks in the air to show just what he thought about that particular protocol. “{Which is really just a wonderful way to get a couple of us out of the killzone, so the Limeys can say they have two survivors if…how they say…’the shit hits the fan.’ Felipe should be checking the seals on the elevator to make sure that she can only kill us if that does happen, and Akshat and Liu are getting the purple one ready for her visit.}”

“Ah,” the German replied before returning his attention to the magazine in his lap.

“It’s simply unbelievable!” Anton continued behind them. “The man commanding a fleet responsible for containing one of greatest threats humanity has ever known, and he’s drunk off his ass! Un-fucking-believable!”

“{He’s got a point there,}” Andre said, turning to his German counterpart. “{This bitch is really dangerous. Should we be crossing things off our bucket lists?}”

“{Depends, was one of your things being on an Aircraft Carrier? I think we can cross that one off right here, right now.}”

The Frenchman grinned at his counterpart, the two still doing their best to drown out the Russian’s rant. Of course, they shared Anton’s anger, but what could be done? They had orders, and they had a reason to follow them. As far as the pair was concerned, it was best to just put their feet up and enjoy what little time they had before the purple one showed up and they all had to go on full-alert. Still, Andre couldn’t help but notice the wistfulness in the German’s eyes.

“{And what’s wrong now?}” He mused.

“{We should tell him,}” the German replied. “{There should be no more secrets between us all, not now.}”

“{Oh, come now, is it really that big a deal?}” Andre asked, his eyes never even leaving the television screen. “{You only want to tell him because the contracts specifically told us not to tell.}”

“{Well, c’mon! Don’t you want to!? Don’t you want everyone to know what we can do!?}” Franz asked, his voice rising, but still not loud enough for Anton to hear over his own yelling. The German slumped in his chair and stared down at his own hands. “{Everywhere else, veterans get to walk with pride. Everywhere else, they get parades thrown for them and they buy hats telling everyone about the wars they fought in and they get to brag about being able to hit a target from fifty yards and break spines with their bare hands. But here?}”

He shook his head. “{Here, we have to hide it, as if it’s something to be ashamed of.}”

“{It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you damned well know it,}” Andre said, his eyes narrowing but still locked on the television. “{What about after, hmm? What if nothing happens today and word reaches our home countries that we broke our silence about our veteran’s status? We will be fired, and you know what that means.}”

Franz nodded, his head only able to move slightly with the back of his neck pressed into the chair. His arms hung limply off the armrests, dangling off the sides of the chair. Then, he felt his French counterpart’s hand slide into his own. He looked over, seeing that the other man’s eyes were still locked on the television, but that a small, contented smile curved the corners of his lips upwards. A similar smile crossed Franz’s face, and he squeezed the hand in his. Oh, if only that was the only secret they had to keep…

The door slid open behind them. Anton’s ranting fell silent. Franz gave the hand a final squeeze and sat up, standing with his partner as Akshat and Liu walked in, two soldiers directly behind them in full camo, carrying rifles. L85A2’s with ACOG scopes, just at a glance. One could tell from the bullpup configuration. One could also see how ineffective the standard Multi-Terrain Design camo was at keeping the soldiers hidden on a state-of-the-art aircraft carrier, but no one said anything. Between the pair, the purple Alicorn trotted in with her head held high, her wings pinned to her sides with a powerful metal band. She looked so regal it was almost easy for anybody in the room to confuse the bulky ring around her horn for a crown.

She was bought to a stop just outside the huge metal door, staring straight ahead. Akshat and Liu remained at her side as Anton went to the control panel. A few hits of some buttons, and the locks holding the metal barrier shut began to slide out of place.

“Just so you know,” Akshat said, keeping his voice loud enough for everyone to hear as he turned to the little princess. “If you so much as sneeze suspiciously, the men behind us have been instructed to shoot to kill.”

The purple pony said nothing, continuing to stare straight ahead. To illustrate his point, Akshat nodded to one of the soldiers, who promptly chambered a round with a telltale “K-chunk.” If anyone asked him, the Sikh wouldn’t have been ashamed to admit that it warmed his heart to see the fearful flinch in the little Alicorn’s back. It was comforting to know how universally threatening that sound could be.

A tiny smile alight on his lips, Akshat returned his gaze straight ahead, leaning in to work the massive wheel to disengage the last of the locking mechanisms. The door hissed open, and Akshat resumed his place next to the others. He and Liu nodded to each other, and then stepped forward into the cell. The Princess followed after, and finally the guards.

Anton was quick to seal the door once again, breathing an audible sigh of relief when the pneumatic locks whined back into place. “Done,” he whispered, his attention immediately going to the window. He watched as the group approached the holding cell in the center of the room, and his breath caught in his throat. Beside him, he could hear the same from Andre and Franz as they took spots right next to him.

He heard something rattling, only to look down and see his hands trembling against the window pane. Stilling himself, he sighed. Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t even have needed to focus to steady his body. Getting up there, old-timer, he mused, his eyes locked on the backs of the small group as they came to a stop. And it looks like today is gonna add to that.

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Admiral Peters still had the glass of Cognac in his hand. Like the others, he watched the small drama unfold in the cell through the monitor on his desk. Unlike the others, however, his screen showed a few statistics of interest, like heart rates, respiration, security status, but all of that was superfluous as far as he was concerned. No, what he was focused in on was the little label in the corner that read “CELL STATUS: LOCKED.”

He refilled his glass and took another sip. The alcohol was finally burning its way through his brain now, finally taking that stabbing pain of conscience away, easing the feel of the bile rising up from the back of his throat. This was his bed now. He would just have to lie in it.

The screen flickered. A heartbeat later, the little label changed to “CELL STATUS: UNLOCKED.”

“Forgive me,” the old man whispered. “Please.”

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When the door squeaked open and her beloved student stepped through, it took nearly all of Celestia’s strength just to stay on her hooves and not sob with relief. The mere fact that she was able to keep the tears out of her eyes and merely smile and nod when the little purple Alicorn stepped in was a true testament to her willpower. Twilight, on the other hoof, was a younger Princess and a different story. While she managed to keep putting one hoof in front of the other, her legs trembled with the near-overwhelming desire to rush across the room and bash her skull against the glass until she could wrap her forelegs around her princess once more. She did, however, start crying almost immediately, her neutral expression melting away like an ice cream sundae beneath the Saddle Arabian sun at high noon, replaced with a quivering lip and tears that cascaded down her face.

“My beloved student,” Celestia said, her voice wavering.

Twilight let out a choked-off sob. It was obvious that some part of her had never thought she’d hear those words again. “P-Princess…”

“H-how are you?” Celestia asked with a shaky smile, instantly cursing herself for the stammer. “I trust you’ve been t-treated well?”

“The humans, they…gave me some reading material,” Twilight said, taking a step towards the holding cell.

“Oi!” One of the soldiers behind her shouted, his rifle rising to his shoulder.

The dark-skinned man stepped into her path. “That’s far enough,” he hissed.

Twilight looked up at him, her massive eyes pleading. “Please…”

Suddenly, the soldiers’ radios crackled. “Sir? I…yes, sir,” one of the soldiers said, then he lowered his rifle and turned to Akshat. “Let her through.”

“What!?” Both diplomats screamed.

“I’m sorry, but why the hell would we do that!? Especially after last time!?” Akshat bellowed.

“Orders from the top, sir,” the soldier to Twilight’s right shrugged. “Let her through.”

The pair stared at him in wide-eyed shock, then Liu’s gaze darkened. “I see,” he said placidly. “The Admiral wants another show, does he?”

The men in camo said nothing, even as Akshat’s lips twisted into a disgusted grimace. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palm until little, crescent-moon shapes were embedded in the palm. “Fine, and may he die a thousand deaths for it,” the Sikh said, stepping to the side, his arms sweeping dramatically, his tone dripping with venom. “This way, your highness.”

Twilight took a few, tentative steps forward, her unsure gaze resting on him, as if she half-expected him to lunge at her with his fingers outstretched the moment she drew too close. He glared back, but did nothing as she slowly passed. Once she had passed under his raised arm, still angled out behind him, and it became clear that wasn’t going to leap at her like a feral dog, her lip quivered and she took off for Celestia’s containment chamber at a dead gallop. “Princess!” She cried, tears utterly soaking her facial fur as she pressed her hooves against the hardened glass.

This time, Celestia did let out a choked gasp, immediately pressing the side of her head to the glass, as if she were nuzzling the hoof. She closed her eyes, pretending the cold, hard surface of her containment was the keratin of her beloved student’s hoof. Celestia could have stayed like that with that dream for an eternity, but she only allowed herself a few minutes before her eyes opened and she turned to lock eyes with the smaller princess. “Twilight, do you remember that one time last year in the library?” She whispered. “We were studying the spell that allowed Shining and Cadance to repel the changelings? Remember what our magic did?”

Twilight looked at her mentor, and then understanding dawned on her, her eyes widening. “We have to be quick,” she whispered, her voice still quivering.

“Of course,” then, before anybody could react, both mares touched their horns to the glass, the tips as close as the transparent surface would allow.

“Hey, what’re they doing!?” Liu asked.

By the time the words left his mouth, a spark had leapt between the two, fresh waves of magic passing down each mare’s coat, only stopping at the suppressors wrapped around their horns.

“Focus, Twilight,” Celestia whispered. “Meld your magic with mine, like we did in the library. Picture that library, picture that moment…” The lavender mare nodded, her eyes closing as the memory filled her. The reams of musty books, the smell of decaying paper, the small headache the day of studying had earned her. Her eyebrows hunched in frustration as more sparks leapt down the horns, Twilight’s turning a golden yellow while Celestia’s gained a deep magenta.

“Okay, what the fuck are they doing!? Hey!” Liu took a step forward. “Hey!”

“Focus…” Celestia grumbled.

“It’s…so strong…it’s like a brick wall…” Twilight whispered, the pressure in her forehead building.

“Right, that’s it then!” One of the soldiers screamed, stepping forward with his rifle’s butt pressed to his shoulder, his finger sliding around the guard and touching the trigger itself. “You’ve got three seconds before I blast that thing right off your head!”

“Princess…” Twilight whimpered fearfully, her eyes still closed.

“Pay them no mind, Twilight, just focus…”

“Three!” The soldier screamed, not even bothering with one and two. A shot rang out, and Twilight shrieked, but she kept her eyes closed, her emotions now calmed by the presence of Celestia’s magic, like an old childhood blanket. The flow of magic between the two horns continued to build, the tiny sparks growing into powerful, arcing lightning bolts.

“The…hell?” Liu gasped, stepping past the soldier after a couple moments. A few yards from the purple unicorn, he spied a tiny, black dot hovering in the air by her head. Taking another step towards her and squinting, his jaw dropped when he realized he was looking at a 5.56 round hovering in mid-air, spinning sideways around its point like a top. “Oh, shit.”

“Pull the plug!” The other soldier screamed as his comrade let off a few more rounds, all to no effect. He screamed as he smacked his palm against the metal door over and over again. “Lemme outta here!”

“Keep that door shut! If anything happens, we have to keep it contained!” Akshat bellowed as the man in camo pounded on the hatchway.

“Almost…almost…” Celestia whispered.

“Princess! I feel…I think it’s…” Twilight gasped, and suddenly, the wall disintegrated. There was a blinding flash and a sudden release of the pressure in her head. The humans’ hands all rose to shield their eyes, both Akshat and Liu falling to a seated position on the floor. Once the stars left their eyes, they opened them, blinking against the light. Then, both sets of eyes widened.

Celestia was standing just outside her cell without a suppressor, a collar, or anything else required to keep her contained. She blinked in surprise at the humans.

“Oh…shitfuck…” Liu gasped.

The olive-skinned man leapt to his feet, throwing himself at the Princess without a single word, his body sailing through the air with all the sound of an assassin’s blade. Celestia rapidly side-stepped and slammed a hoof into the man’s back, right in between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling over the ground and giving her an opening. She turned, a glint of silver appearing in the corner of her eye. She raised a shield just in time, catching a throwing dagger in her magic’s shimmering, sunset-yellow glow.

The darker-skinned man screamed a curse in some other language, his hand still primed out from where it had released the dagger. In the blink of an eye, it darted back to his belt, returning with another blade. Meanwhile the man who had attempted to use his weapon against her beloved student now unloaded, the weapon spitting fire until it sounded like hailstones against a metal roof on her shield.

Cringing, the Princess dashed across the room, a sideways buck dispatching the man with the daggers before she flying tackled the man with the long, black weapon, smashing a hoof across his face. She had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, only now feeling the sting across her shoulder. A long, thin trail of blood oozed down her leg, though she could tell from a quick glance that it was just a shallow cut, probably from the black weapon. So those things can penetrate a shield if they lob enough of those little metal slugs, she mused. Good to know.

A few more of the shots echoed from her side. She turned, seeing the other man in camo with a smaller weapon in his hands, smoke drifting off the little hole in its end. “Oh please,” he whimpered, firing again, the report reverberating throughout the metal room. “Please, please, please…”

Darn, practically forgot about him, she scolded herself as she strode over to the man and gently scooped the weapon out of his hands with her magic, simultaneously sending her magic to hold the metal door shut. You’re getting old, Tia, that never would have happened a few centuries ago.

“P-please…” the man gasped as she promptly tossed his weapon to a corner and plucked him off the ground in her magical hold. She grimaced. For some reason, her magic was having difficulty saturating the door, as if something were draining it much more quickly than it should have been. Still, she maintained both her hold on it and the human with little effort. “I…please!”

Before she could reply, her ear twitched at the sound of footsteps pattering against the floor, silent to most anybody else, but not to ears sharpened by centuries of practice. She ducked, and a fist sailed right through the space where her head had been. She replied with a rear buck, and felt her hooves connect with something soft, followed by a sudden cry of pain.

She turned, facing the olive-skinned man with the short, black hair, doubled-over in pain on the floor. She nodded to him, giving a slight bow with one forehoof behind the other. “You have fought well, young warrior,” she said. “Though you have tasted defeat on this day, know that you and your allies fought with honor and with great ability.”

A whimper off to her side gave her pause. Well, most of your allies, anyway, she almost added. Stifling a giggle, she reared up on the human clenched firmly in her magic, pinning him to a wall. The man trembled. “I-I have a wife…a-and two daughters…” he whimpered.

Family-structured society…not so different after all… she mused. She gazed down at the human. Gone was the strange, brutal, black-clad creature that had terrorized her world, and in its place was…something only too familiar. Something far too like one of her little ponies when she had swooped to the rescue after some terrible disaster, or after her guards had pulled them out of some perilous situation. She had to force down the waves of compassion threatening her heart, now was neither the time nor the place for them.

This idea was reinforced when the man’s arm reached behind him, pulling at something on his belt. Celestia immediately clamped a hoof down on the arm, forcing his hand back while the other hoof reached around in a sort of hug, plucking the object right from the man’s hand. She gazed down at it, frowning as it lay flat against her hoof. To her, it appeared to be nothing but a small, flat brick, but to him, it was obviously something more. She gave it a light shake, and the screen lit up, flashing a set of numbers and the current time before lighting up with a set of dots.

She held it up to his face. “What is this?” She barked.

“Don’t tell her,” the olive-skinned man on the floor screamed, pressing himself onto all fours with one arm still around his stomach. “Don’t tell her shit!”

Cocking an eyebrow, Celestia scooped this other man up in her magic, and bought him back down again, slamming him into the ground. Of course, in reality, she cushioned his fall and pressed him to the floor with her magic, ensuring his lips were sealed and his face turned away to give the impression of unconsciousness, but the effect on the human in her grasp was exactly as desired.

“I’ll tell you everything, please!” The human sobbed. A sharp pain twisted in Celestia’s heart, watching as the human’s boots skidded futilely against the metal floor. It broke her heart to inspire that sort of fear, but then, this was what she was trying to solve. She couldn’t possibly cure anyone of any fear if she didn’t even know the cause.

“The dots!” She ordered. “Tell me about the dots!”

With shaking fingers, the human reached up, tapping one. Celestia reared up on him warningly, the threat clear in her eyes, even if it was just a bluff. Fingers still shaking, the human traced a quick pattern in the dots, Celestia watching in amazement as a tiny light danced around his fingers. This is magic of a new sort… she thought.

“Th-there…it’s just a password screen,” the man whimpered. “Once you’re past it, you’re in.”

Nodding, Celestia waited for the dots to reappear again, then imitated the man’s motions, quickly zipping through the dots. It took her only moments to get a few tries in, and then, the tiny device was hers. “I thank you for your cooperation,” she said, snorting in a way she hoped sounded derisive. She turned to her faithful student, still standing by the transparent cell.

“Princess…that was…impressive,” Twilight said, totally awestruck.

“A Princess must know how to defend herself, Twilight, especially without her magic,” the Solar Princess replied, then leaned in close to whisper. “I didn’t know what effect magical attacks might have on them. I knew from their attack that they could probably withstand physical assaults, but for all we know, even the most basic magical blasts could be fatal to them.”

“That would explain their apparent fear of magic, and their wish to drain all magic from us before their attack on Equestria,” Twilight pointed out.

“A well thought-out conclusion as always, my faithful student,” Celestia allowed Twilight a quick nuzzle as she slammed a bolt of magic into the band around her horn, cracking it.

Twilight smiled and promptly split the ring with a quick flare of magic, then freed her wings and gave them a good stretch, quivering gratefully as the joints popped. “So, what do we do now?” She asked.

“Now,” Celestia smiled, turning to the metal hatchway. “Now we fly.”

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Admiral Peterson sighed, a knot twisting in his stomach. The little cell beneath his feet was still on his television screen. He wanted nothing more than to look away, to pretend it wasn’t happening: to hit the power button, kick his feet up, and sip his cognac, with maybe a nap later on. Once again, he denied himself. This was too important to look away from. Besides, he owed it to the men beneath him to watch.

At least I saved two, he thought, watching the little ponies creep across the floor, heading towards the hatchway, the bodies of their victims scattered around the useless containment chamber. That has to count for something, right? I can’t be all that bad.

He remembered a little tidbit from his history class that even Hitler had been nice to his dogs, and he wondered if Der Fuhrer had thought about them in the moments before squeezing the trigger, offering them up, saying something along the same lines the Admiral just had as he looked down upon the destruction of his Empire. The Admiral poured himself another glass of cognac.

The knot twisted again as Celestia approached the door, creeping up to it. He switched views to the control room right outside. There, the men watching were arguing with one another about some thing or another. The beaner and the froggy stood on one side while the kraut and the commie stood on the other. Just minutes ago, they had been doing everything in their power to pry that door open and somehow save the people inside. The Russkie had been ramming it bodily with his shoulder, while that little Latino had worked the controls furiously and the Frenchman and the German attacked the hinges with a prybar. Now, it seemed as though they couldn’t agree on whether or not to even try, or if the risk was just too great.

Inside the cell, Princess Celestia stuck a hoof against the door, and it creaked open. The argument outside stopped. The ponies stood in the doorway, their mouths formed into surprised little “O’s.” The humans looked back at the ponies, their jaws dropping to their chests. The Russian’s fist was still raised against the Frenchman’s face. Their respective allies in their argument still clung to their shoulders, trying to keep them back.

Peterson’s eyes closed involuntarily, a few trickles crawling down his cheeks. With a quick snort, he opened his eyes again and locked them on the screen. “I owe them this much,” he whispered. “I owe them to watch.”

All at once, the Princess’s horn glowed. The Admiral fought back a tidal wave of nervous vomit, swallowing to keep it down. Celestia reared up on her hind hooves…and promptly levitated the little, purple Alicorn onto her back and took off, the wind off her wings knocking the humans off their feet.

The Admiral watched the screen, now distinctly lacking in pony princesses. The urge to vomit was forgotten. The nervous little bundle in his stomach was forgotten. In a heartbeat, he became stone-cold sober. “What?” He asked, still watching the screen. “What was…what!?”

That was not supposed to go that way. The Celestia he knew from the newspapers and reports wouldn’t have hesitated to engulf the entire room in flame, watching as the men before her writhed in agony, their skin charring and blackening. If she didn’t have access to her damned potion that was, in which case everybody in that room could look forward to spending the rest of their lives staring at walls with their big, wide, pony eyes, sitting on their pony butts, thinking absolutely nothing in their empty pony heads. But this Celestia…she just ran! Grabbed her little buddy and flew off like a bitch! This was…not how things were supposed to go…

Thinking fast, the Admiral’s hand darted to the console, his finger hammering a little glowing button labeled “View Switch.” Scrolling rapidly through the screens, he sneered at what he couldn’t see. A flash of white there, a dash of ethereal, rainbow-colored mane there, but nothing significant, not even a scorch mark that used to be a guard’s face or even a dented door! That would be something, but as it was, he could barely find any trace of her passing at all…as if…she was purposefully doing her best not to hurt anything…

For the first time, a new thought regarding his prisoner crossed his mind. Could it be?

Finally, he caught them. The pair were now standing in front of the lift, now just a featureless metal wall. He laid back in his seat, letting his breath out in a long sigh. “Sorry girls,” he whispered. “End of the line.”

It was obvious; they must have known it too. There were enough Tachyon Inhibitors built into the walls of that level to fight the Collision Wars all over again. Escape never was an option, even if they somehow managed to break their bonds and escape their cells, because this final line of defense could not be penetrated. Period. Of this he was certain.

So why did his stomach clench into an icy knot all over again when he saw the pair kneel and touch their horns together?

The Admiral watched the screen, completely transfixed. No need to force his eyes open now, he couldn’t even blink if he wanted to. As seconds ticked by and that same glow began to build on their horns, he watched shadows approaching from the bottom edge of the screen: the diplomats running from their little cell. He could hear the frantic beats of their feet now, drawing closer and closer to the ponies, desperately trying to reach them and try something, anything, to prevent them escaping.

And then a flash of light. The camera phased out for a moment, completely overwhelmed. When the view came back, the Admiral was staring at an empty, metal wall, the warped reflections of four men just barely visible in the gritty footage.

He darted halfway out of his seat, arms locking up against the rests. “Where…” he started.

Then the alarms started sounding. There was shouting after that, and red lights, of course. Sailors running around, panicking, and though he didn’t have the alarms all memorized just yet (he was halfway through the technical guide: page 31, he thought) he knew that one all too well. The Tachyon Inhibitors could no longer detect any sources of magic within their range, which meant either their little prisoners had just committed suicide by vaporization, or…or they simply weren’t contained within the Inhibitors’ boundaries anymore.

“You’ve done it now, Peterson,” he whispered, his arms giving beneath him as he collapsed into the seat. “You and your cowardice.”

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Princess Celestia often spent her days signing papers, listening to nobles complain about the downtrodden wretch who had the audacity to be lying by the path they took for their morning walks, and praying for some excitement. Well, before the return of her sister, that was. Since then, it seemed as though some elder god with a sick sense of humor was paying up for all those prayers as quickly as possible. A thousand years of peace, harmony, and boredom, and then in the last five years, Discord breaks out, Tirek returns, and the changelings pop up again. Not to mention all the smaller things that occupied her student’s time in Ponyville.

And now she was in an alien world, split from her magic and hunted as if she’d been single-hoofedly hunting down its inhabitant’s children. Which, based on what little she knew, might not have been far from the truth. Suddenly, those stacks of papers and whiny nobles weren’t looking so bad after all. I swear to you, whoever you are, she prayed silently. I will stop complaining about how boring those nobles are, I will happily sign all those papers with a smile on my lips, I will even go on that diet I’ve been telling myself I’ll go on for the last six-hundred years and swear off cake forever, just please: let us get out of this alive.

“Princess!” Twilight screeched. Right in her ear, too. Celestia grimaced. She and Twilight would need to have a chat about remaining calm in high-stress situations, but that would be later. Right now, there was an army between them and freedom.

Reacting immediately, Celestia turned and bucked another of the humans running after them, a knife in his hand. Her student’s shield fell for a second to allow the blow through before rising just in time to block another hail of bullets from behind. “I saw him Twilight, no need to shout,” Celestia said calmly as she galloped down the hallway.

Even as they moved, the wheels in Celestia’s head spun wildly. The humans’ reaction to their escape had been incredibly fast. They had descended upon the pair almost immediately after they’d torn through the doors at the top of the shaft, wielding more of those long, black weapons and the smaller versions, as well as cups, chairs, and in at least one case, a red canister with markings upon it indicating that it could be used to extinguish small fires. Only quick reflexes and enough shielding to hold off the changeling army had kept the pair alive.

Now, having swooped right over the heads of every human she could see, Celestia could see a hatch coming up. A door opened along her path, and acting on reflex, she slammed a hoof into it as she passed, knocking the human on the other side off his feet.

“Princess!” Twilight gasped, though notably with less high-pitched conviction than before. Celestia couldn’t help but smile at that. Even in such a dire situation, her beloved student took her words to heart.

“Brace yourself, Twilight,” she hissed, before charging the metal hatchway at the other end of the hall, her horn charging with another force spell. Nothing flashy, more like a simple push with a very, very large amount of force behind it. Her magic slammed into the door, tearing it off its hinges and sending it sailing into the clear air behind it. Celestia blinked in surprise and made a quick note to show more restraint. It appeared as though the further she got from her prison, the more her power grew. She would need to show restraint from this point forward.

Curling her wings inward, Celestia darted through the hatchway and out into the sun, her coat glistening as she gleefully absorbed the light pouring onto her from above. Except…it wasn’t her sun. The rejuvenating effects of its rays were different. Not worse or better, just different. So she had been right after all: the anomaly in Hayseed’s field had led to a completely different world. She doubted if the star she had raised and lowered for her little ponies for so long was even in the same galaxy as she was anymore.

Unfurling her wings to their fullest length, Celestia leapt into the air, more of those little bullets whizzing off her shield. Her student gave a sudden cry of pain, and the grip on her neck tightened, and rather suddenly Celestia had to resist the urge to turn back around, hunt down the human that had dared to harm her student and turn them into a scorch mark on the ground. Of course, she instead swooped into the sky, soaring higher and higher, keeping an eye on the ground beneath her for any strange motion. She spotted more humans flooding on deck, some of them still using those weapons against her, though at this distance they were even less effective against the shield. Some of the humans started scurrying into strange vehicles with stubby little wings parked along the edge of…the edge of what now?

Her eyes widened. A ship. Maker above, they had been holding her on a ship! As she flapped in place, her eyes drank in the sheer, absurd size of the thing. It was a city. It was an entire skyscraper from her Canterlot, turned sideways and made to float! Equestria and its Maker! For what purpose could something that big possibly be needed!?

She blinked, shoving those thoughts back down. There was a time and a place for such idle wonderings, this was neither. “Twilight?” She asked quickly.

“I-it’s okay Princess! Just a scratch!”

Celestia craned her neck to see her student. Twilight smiled back at her with an expression that was part brave grin, part pained grimace: one eye closed and her teeth clenched as one of her hooves clenched at her flank, a trail of blood oozing around it from the center of her cutie mark. Thank you, Celestia prayed to whoever might have been listening. Who knows what I would have done if she’d been hurt worse, thank you.

“Come, we must find shelter,” Celestia said, swooping through the sky towards some unseen, new destination. Before her, miles of pale, featureless blue stretched out endlessly, and once again she had to fight the urge to stand back in awe at the realization that the massive, impossibly complex structure she had been held on was a bucking ship.

Chapter XVIII: Five Years Ago

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0745 HOURS
DECK OF THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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David leaned over the railing, gripping the metal until he could feel the cold off the steel under the pads of his hands. It had only been a few minutes since Felipe had shown up with news that they were to allow Subject Beta a visit with Alpha, and he was already wondering if jumping overboard and making a swim for the Norwegian coast might be the safer option here.

He sighed, wishing desperately that the meeting going on below decks was the only thing on his mind. Unfortunately, there was also the little fact about his time in the Corps. He had no idea how the old Englishman had found out, but David did know the contract he’d had to sign, and in there was a big stipulation telling him that speaking about his past in the Corps was a big no-no. It had been right in between accepting bribes and delivering packages from strangers. He could probably guess why: if the other nations knew America had sent a former soldier to what was supposed to be the ultimate act of international cooperation, accusations of spying and infiltration would fly like the nukes on the last day of the Collision Wars.

God above, there had been a shit day for the record books. Even now, just thinking about it made a knot twist in his stomach. Wishing he’d never given up smoking, the American just peered out over the railing, only to draw his head back on seeing the churning, broiling sea below. “Christ,” he grumbled. Christ almighty God, why did he give up smoking!?

“Afternoon, Dave,” Lisa said, walking up to the railing and leaning out as David had. The American nodded in return, envying her stomach as she pulled a package of Mayfairs from her blouse. She offered him one, and he held up a hand.

“No thanks,” he said. The last thing he needed was for lovely little Lisa Townshend to watch him hack and cough like a middle-schooler caught sneaking daddy’s Marlboros in the backyard.

“Don’t smoke?” She nodded, sticking the cigarette between her lips and flicking a Bic lighter out to light it up. “Good. Shit will kill ya.”

He watched her drag a few puffs off the cigarette before pulling it out of her lips, flicking her hair over her shoulders as she leaned against the railing. David had to resist the urge to lick his lips while her mouth puffed out with the smoke. “So, what do you think?” She asked.

“Hmm?”

“About…what we’re doin’ here, the Admiral,” she gestured out across the deck of the Carrier. “All of this.”

He thought about telling a lie, but looking at her now, like this, he realized she was a big girl. She didn’t need any lies, and would probably punch him for trying to tell her one anyway. “I think we’re in way over our heads,” he sighed.

Lisa had to grin at that. “Glad I’m not the only one.”

God above, that little smile…David realized in that moment how much he loved that smile. The way her face genuinely lit up with it, the way her eyes glittered, even the way her lips pursed around the cigarette as they tightened stirred something within him. Funny thing, a week ago David never would have even entertained this thought. Lisa was a coworker, and in his experience, work and romance went together about as well as drinking and driving, or drinking and firearms, or gunpowder and chain-smoking. While drinking. Thing was, last week they were all office workers trying to survive the boredom until five-o-clock, and now they were standing atop the only thing which could undo all the work and progress of the last five years and plunge the world into utter chaos, if not destroy the planet outright.

Stilling his quickening heart (a task much harder than he remembered it being), David took a few deep breaths. “Say, Lisa…” he started.

“Hmm?”

“You know, that asteroid is supposed to be visible in the sky starting tonight: Ceres, I think it’s called,” he said, remembering some report on CNN about another big space rock passing close to Earth. It was almost like destiny. Him, her, the stars above, maybe a few beers between them (one of the flyboys had to have some booze smuggled aboard). It was just about the closest thing to an actual date he could think possible on an aircraft carrier holding the doom of all mankind. “I was hoping that…”

“David,” the Englishwoman smiled, pulling her cigarette out from between her lips. “Is it my imagination, or are you trying to ask me out?”

“Well,” he smiled. “That depends, are you saying…”

Before he could deliver the final one-liner, something caught his attention. A deep rumbling echoed from the bowels of the ship, undetectable to anyone who hadn’t spent enough time at sea: a sudden shift in the usual rhythm beating from the miles of cabling, ducts, and machinery keeping the carrier alive. It wasn’t enough to alarm him, but it was more than enough to break the delicate balance he needed to keep up that confident façade. Like a presenter in front of a class of fifty when he notices a clown just barely poking his head into one of the windows behind the audience.

Unfortunately, Lisa noticed the rapid shift in David’s attention, and her ears actually perked up. “David?” She asked, her hand dropping to her side, her cigarette forgotten. “David, what’s…”

“Nothing!” He gasped, shaking his head with a quick cough. Dammit, that response was too fast, too curt! He was losing it! And still, there had been that shift, that weird break in the ship’s heartbeat…

Nothing! He berated himself. Absolutely nothing, that’s all it was! Your nerves, most likely, or a hiccup in the ventilation. Either way, who cares!? That’s not who you are anymore, all that matters is the girl in front of you getting ready to…

And then it started. The shouts from the direction of the captain’s bridge, the people on deck all making a beeline for the bridge, some of them clambering out of cockpits in heavy gear, others setting down heavy equipment before drawing their sidearms. A couple dozen possible scenarios for why this would be happening went through David’s mind, but…

But you’re just kidding yourself, he realized. You know damn well what it is, and you’re either too stubborn or too scared to admit it.

But it can’t be! Another voice cried out. A child’s voice, he realized, probably still a college freshman holding a physics textbook in his arms. We saw the restraints! We saw the cell! And we trust everybody downstairs to not screw this up! Maybe other things, but not this! Never this…

Once again, his thoughts were interrupted, this time by the massive, steel door leading into the bridge flying open. There was a burst of rainbow, and a hurricane force gale came roaring out, knocking the men closest to the door off their feet while the others’ hands flew up instinctively to protect their faces, even the ones still wearing helmets with visors. And then, David saw something he had prayed every night for two years never to see again. He hadn’t even been a terribly religious man until it happened, but there it was, right in front of him: a burst of white light, thrusting into the sky…

…with magically-induced speed, arcing up high overhead. Fast. Too fast to watch…

“Oh my God, is that…” Lisa started, but she was in a whole other world as far as David was concerned. His thoughts were already flying back to that wretched memory, to standing on a carrier a lot like this: on the bridge, this time. To watching everything come together, and then fall apart in a moment.

He stumbled, the heel of his shoe absentmindedly catching on a rivet that perhaps needed a couple more turns with the wrench to be perfectly in line with the rest of the deck. He fell backwards, something struck the back of his head, and between that and the horribly memory, darkness descended over his vision.

“David!?” Lisa had time to shout before that black fuzziness fell over him, like a limb after you laid on it for too long, except the feeling was inside his skull. He blacked out with the memory in his mind and his lips forming a terrified “oh,” instantly falling away from the world of the present and back into the world of that day, that horrible day five years ago, when he had been so sure he had just bought himself a front row ticket to the end of the world.

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0845 HOURS
NORTH VIDOY ISLAND
FAROE ISLANDS, KINGDOM OF DENMARK, NORTH SEA
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By the time blessed land was finally in sight, Princess Celestia had pledged that she would go on that diet she’d been promising herself for the last five centuries, would happily sign papers and listen to nobles complain about the poor street urchins who had the audacity to cross their path during a morning stroll without a single complaint of boredom, and would even swear off chocolate cake for the rest of eternity. That last one was the important one. For centuries, she had never thought it to be that big of a problem: it was easy to still think of herself as that mare of legend, who had defeated Nightmare Moon in close aerial combat, and who could do pushups one-hoofed with the entire Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra practicing on a stage balanced on her shoulder blades. Sure, it had been a while since she’d done so (mostly due to the lack of drunken minotaur kings dumb enough to bet against her), but she was still that mare, right?

After a few hours of giving her student a ponyback ride, however, she had come to the conclusion that whatever was left of that mare had long since been buried under layers of cake, her muscles having grown soft from years of an increasingly sedentary lifestyle. With Luna as my witness, she thought, I will never tease my sister for her workout schedule ever again.

The beach had been a godsend. Sure, the day was dreary and cold and just about the opposite of anything anypony could consider decent beach weather, and the tufts of grass and sharp rocks jutting randomly out of the sand told her this was far from any tourist beach, but just then, it could have been Acapulcolt in the middle of summer with buff stallions serving complimentary martinis to everypony.

Celestia fanned her wings out and swooped down, still managing a dainty landing in the sand, her hooves sinking immediately. Panting heavily, she tilted her wings, allowing Twilight to slide safely off her back before collapsing on her side.

“That was great, princess,” Twilight said reassuringly, the first words she had spoken in the last half-hour, when she’d cut herself off after Celestia’s breathing became too quick and too ragged to continue conversation. “I’ll look around for someplace where we can get out of the open; you stay here and rest, okay?”

Celestia nodded through her panting, her eyes closing as Twilight wrapped her in a quick hug before taking off. She watched her student go, noting the scratch on her flank for any signs of infection or scarring, and sighing with relief when she spotted none. She turned over on her back, wings splaying out under her body, feeling the cool sand on every feather. Honestly, nothing would have given her more pleasure than to follow her student’s advice and just lie there, maybe even catching a quick nap before slinking off to whatever hole Twilight managed to find. They could lie together in there, as they had so many times during Twilight’s years at the Academy for Gifted Unicorns. Perhaps the little princess would still fit in the crook of her forehooves as she had during those long, wonderful nights, but probably not, and even just finding out would still be okay.

But no. There was still too much to do, too much at stake. With a sigh and a moan that “A princess’s work is never done,” Celestia reached under her wing for the tiny device she’d stolen from the human back in her cell. The device lit up immediately, again with the strange symbols that she somehow knew meant “Slide To Unlock.” A quick swipe with her hoof, and the array of dots from before appeared. For a second, her exhausted mind couldn’t quite recall the exact pattern the human had shown her. Her heart leapt into her throat. To have come all this way, have covered all this distance, only for the answers to elude her? To have them sitting here in her hoof, locked away in this device? It was almost too much to bear. But then she fought back the little, skittering sound of panic rising in her head, taking a few deep breaths. She closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, emptying her mind. A few minutes later, the memory came back to her.

The device unlocked with the same, little click she remembered, and a triumphant grin spread across her face. But now what? There were symbols and names that she didn’t recognize, hovering amidst the glow off the small, soft screen, and not much else. She would simply have to try them all.

The first icon was of a small, blocky face (she couldn’t have known that the proper term was “pixelated”) with the name “Ainsley.” With nothing more for it, Celestia tapped the edge of her hoof against the little icon. The icon glowed, then the screen went dark. Celestia’s heart leapt into her throat again with the idea that this “Ainsley” had just destroyed the device and any hope she had of finding any answers, but then a single, red button appeared, with a symbol kind of like the microphones ponies without magic would use sometimes to amplify their voices. Before she could react, a couple tones sounded, and a warm, female voice announced:

“Hello! I am Ainsley!”

Startled by the sudden reply, Celestia sat up in the sand, rising to her haunches. “What sort of magic…” she started, but there was no magic in this device. In fact, feeling it, there was barely even any warmth from it. “Faust above,” she whispered. The more she learned of what these humans had accomplished, and without any apparent use of magic, the more she understood what they were, and the better she felt that such a marvelous species had conquered her so quickly.

Once again pressing the edge of her hoof to the screen, she watched the button glow and heard a click, as if it were an actual button on some strange machine back home. “H-hello Ainsley, I am Celestia,” she whispered to the device before releasing the fake button. A circle appeared over the button, a little ring that slowly arced around it until her words replaced Ainsley’s. Then, the same two tones sounded again.

“I just heard you refer to yourself by a new name: ‘Celestia.’ Would you like me to call you by this name from now on?”

Smiling, Celestia pressed the button again. “Yes please, if you would, Ainsley.”

The circle of light appeared again, then her words appeared onscreen. But when Ainsley spoke again, she or it or whatever it was filled Celestia’s heart with dismay: “I’m sorry, but the name you have chosen for yourself is on a list of banned words and phrases on my hard drive. While you may proceed to make this your username, I must inform you that it will be blocked or censored on certain websites. Would you still like to make ‘Celestia’ your username?”

“My name is a profanity here?” Celestia gasped, realizing what the small device was implying. Dear Maker above, she knew things had to be bad for what had happened to her so far, but for her very name to be a profanity…

“Nevermind, Ainsley, just call me Princess,” Celestia sighed, then under her breath added, “Maker knows everypony else does.”

Ding, ding! “I just heard you refer to yourself by a new…”

“Yes, yes, please do and let’s move along.”

Ding, ding! “Alright! From now on, I’ll refer to you as ‘Princess!’ What can I do for you today, Princess?”

Celestia thought a few moments about her request. She knew she would probably have to word it carefully: if her very name was a profanity, what kind of warning flags might she send up with the wrong kind of search? Finally, a phrase one of the humans had uttered came to mind, and she smiled. “Ainsley, search for ‘human into pony.’”

After a few minutes of fumbling with something called a “Google Search” (she was a bit beyond caring what a “Google” was), Celestia’s smile faded. Then it disappeared, like her sun at the end of a long day. By the time her student returned with news of a small cave just up the beach, the first tears of many were rolling down Celestia’s ivory cheeks.

“Princess, what’s wrong?” Twilight would ask.

Without replying, Celestia took her student’s hoof and followed her to the small cave, Ainsley trailing behind in her magic’s glow. Twilight’s tears would join hers soon, as together in that small cave, they discovered the terrors of what had come before them.

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FIVE YEARS AGO
ONBOARD THE USS BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA
EAST CHINA SEA, NEAR HONG KONG
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If one had asked the college freshman sitting in the library and reading about magical talking ponies appearing off the Chinese coast where events in the next few years would lead him, he would have almost certainly replied with a shrug and a statement somewhere along the lines of “Maybe work for one of my dad’s buddies, I dunno.” He most certainly never would have said anything that would lead him to the deck of a monstrous aircraft carrier, wearing a Marine’s uniform and anticipating the results of the largest effort of the combined nations of the world since World War Two.

Oh, but God, was he glad to be here. Six months of fear, of terror, of watching cities that had stood for centuries disappear, and it was all ending right here. Humans may not have had magic, but they were clever, so very clever. A few Newfoal prisoners (which had been a bitch to contain) and some studies later, and magic was discovered to be nothing more than a new form of energy. One that might well tap into the impossible levels of energy contained within all matter, perhaps, but energy nonetheless. Humans could understand energy very well, and if it could be understood, it could be controlled.

David glanced up at the massive clock ticking down just over the window overlooking the flight deck. He let in a deep breath. Outside, he could see The Barrier glimmering in the distance, watched the strange, shimmering hue it gave off, like a soap bubble the size of Rhode Island. And we’re coming, bitch, he thought with no small amount of restrained glee. We’re coming to pop your bubble, and when we do…I just hope I get to see the look on your face when we waltz right into your throne room and wipe our asses with your flag.

“Admiral?” An important-looking man in a full-length, pure-white naval coat turned just as a sailor walked up to him and saluted. “Our men with the People’s Army say they’re all ready to go. The Inhibitor stations are all running just outside The Barrier’s perimeter. The rest of the Security Council has already given the go-ahead, they’re just waitin’ on us.”

The Admiral grinned at that, his bushy mustache curving upwards as he flashed his perfectly-white teeth. “Savin’ the best for last, eh?” He asked, giving a light chuckle. The rest of the room joined him, mostly to relieve tension, partially because as far as a man as important as the Admiral was concerned, all his jokes were funny. “Fine, fine, tell them the good ol’ U-S of A is standing by to pull their asses out of the fire if things get too scary for them.”

Grinning, the sailor lowered his arm. “Sir!” He announced, marching over to the nearest radio console. Pulling on a headset, he held a microphone to his lips, announcing loudly for everyone in the room to hear. “Shenzhen-One, this is Eagle-Six, you are go to bring down Sasha the Old White Dog, I repeat, you are go to bring down Sasha the Old Dog.”

“Sasha the Old Dog?” One of the Marines next to David whispered.

“Sasha’s a girl’s name, and what’s a female dog called?” He whispered back.

The other marine arched an eyebrow, then realization dawned on his face and he stifled a guffaw. David rolled his eyes. Greenhorns…

“This is Shenzhen-One,” a heavily-accented voice buzzed back to them. “Activation acknowledged, Eagle-Six. Stand by.”

A few moments of breath-holding passed, and then the voice returned: “And we heard that ‘pull their asses out of the fire’ comment, and would like to remind you who fought who to a stalemate in the fifties!”

David let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in a sudden chortle, the absurdity of someone cracking a joke at a time like this relieving nearly all the tension gathered in the room. The Admiral glanced over at him and snorted. “Eh, them Reds get lucky once, and think they can lord it over us for the rest of time.” The man’s tone was good-natured, however. This was a day of triumph, of humanity’s victory over an alien force the likes of which had never been encountered before. Of science standing before magic and sending it careening into the dark abyss once and for all. Technology over superstition! A species’ right to exist over the xenophobic hordes! For now, at least, all national boundaries had been erased, replaced with only one nation: the nation of humanity, as exemplified by the massive, international effort that was the new world, the new…

“Eagle-Six, this is Shenzhen-One,” the crackling, accented voice announced. “The Inhibitors are charged up now; you should be seeing the effects any moment.”

Once again, David’s breath caught in his throat. The candid talk and laughter which had been so much white noise before all came to a screeching halt, and his ears rang with its absence. He gazed out the window at that shimmering barricade, and for a few minutes, saw no change. Oh God… he realized. It’s not gonna work. She’s too powerful: it’s not gonna work and we’re all screwed, we’re all…

Just then, right along where the dome of magic met the seawater, he thought he saw a flicker, like an old analog TV with a burnt fuse somewhere. For a moment, The Mighty and Unstoppable Barrier had winked in and out of existence. David smiled; as did the marines and sailors who’d also noticed it. The same patch of magic flickered again, only this time, it reached a little bit out of the water, and it remained flickering for a full minute. Then another patch near the apex winked out, followed by another right in the middle of the dome, right where everybody could see it. Bit by bit, and to the cheers of the thousands in the armada, The Barrier vanished, leaving behind nothing but the destruction it had wrought.

It took most of David’s strength to remain standing. For the first time since high school, he needed a smoke. He felt he deserved it after a display like that. Maybe later he could bum one off one of the flyboys on the deck, but for now, he settled for collapsing into the swivel chair to his right, looking up and just smiling at the suspended ceiling.

“Shenzhen-One, we are confirming success of Tachyon Inhibition, repeat, the operation was a success!” The sailor at the console said joyfully. David’s ear pricked up, wanted to hear the euphoric cries of the men and women on the other end of the line, but only picking up static.

“Shenzhen-One, reporting mission success, do you copy?” The radio man continued.

David slouched further in his chair. Surely, the people on the other end of the line were just caught up in the celebrations, having witnessed The Barrier’s disintegration themselves. This was too joyous a moment to be otherwise, this was…

“Y…t…o…”

David’s eyes opened. For a moment there, he could have sworn he heard the bitch’s voice on the horn, the one he recognized from the press conferences and the announcements and the hacked television feeds. But surely, that was just his imagination! Surely, this moment was not going to end with…

“Y…u…too…”

David sat up slowly in his chair. His smile faded. He still didn’t want to believe it, but the pale, drawn look on the sailor’s face told him he’d heard it too, along with the sailor next to him, who was now staring at the speaker with his jaw on his chest. “N…no…” the second sailor said.

All at once, a bright, white streak took off into the sky, arcing high over the ocean, and the radio flickered to life with the voice of none other than Princess Celestia herself: “You too…you too…you too…you too…”

The celebration came to a sudden, screeching halt. All eyes widened and looked out the window, watching the bright streak as it lifted off at impossible speeds, darting across the sky and streaking off to the North. And meanwhile, the voice continued on the radio: “You too…You too…You too…”

“Wha-what was that?” David found himself saying. “Was that…was that her!? What the fuck was that!?”

Just then, the radio crackled, a new voice appearing over the princess’s, her voice continuing to play in the background. “Eagle-Six, this is Tokyo Command, what’s the SITREP?”

With shaking hands, the Admiral himself stepped down to the radio and pressed it to his lips. “I-Inhibitors deployed successfully, Tokyo Command,” he whispered.

“You sure?” The voice barked. “We have an unidentified object heading in at an indeterminate velocity, and we’re spying some Lithium Deuteride and high radiation signatures coming off it, did anybody over there call for tactical nukes!?”

David’s stomach plummeted into his combat boots. The Admiral paused for a moment, then leapt into action. “Somebody get me a satellite view of Tokyo, stat!”

“Coming online, sir!” One of the tech geeks in uniform screamed, tapping furiously at his keyboard.

“Bring it up on the main screen!”

“Yes, sir!” After a few moments, a large projection screen at the front of the room flickered into life, showing the sprawl of downtown Tokyo in its view. In the streets, tiny little white dots milled around, pausing at street corners, waving to friends, walking briskly with suitcases: just people going about their day, unaware of the drama unfolding a few hundred miles to their south.

“Zoom out…” The Admiral grunted hoarsely. The view changed until the city was nothing more than a gray dot, surrounded by a patchwork of suburbs, nestled along a coast of rolling gray mountains amidst sprawling green farmland and forest. Then, the image winked in and out, and an intense white light appeared in one of the lower corners of the screen, rocketing towards the city’s center.

“Oh God…” David mumbled.

“Eagle-Six, we’re also experiencing some radio interference on our end, are you experiencing something similar?” The voice crackled, once again atop the feminine voice of the bitch.

His hands now barely even able to hold onto the transceiver, the Admiral replied: “S-something like that. The Princess saying ‘You too’?”

“Uhh…” some shuffling from the other side, broken up only with that damnable voice, repeating those two words over and over again. “Actually sir, she’s saying ‘Die’ on our end. Why? Is that what she’s saying on yours?”

The Admiral made to reply, when the little white dot reached the center of the screen. In an instant, a bright flash dominated the entire view, the screen flickering with blacks and whites as the intensity of it overwhelmed the camera. “EAGLE-SIX, WHAT…” the voice on the other end managed to get out before disappearing beneath a sea of static.

The bridge fell silent. Everyone stood in fear, gazing out the front windows. Then, the Admiral pressed the radio to his lips again: “Tokyo Command, come in!” He ordered, not quite keeping the desperate quiver out of his voice. No response. “Tokyo Command, come…”

A low rumble from the north cut him off. The radio dropped from the Admiral’s hand and hit the console. He didn’t try to pick it up. Then the shockwave echoed over them, passing over the water before rumbling the windows in their panes. Alarms flashed on every console, lights blaring. Nobody paid them any mind, just keeping their eyes locked on the north in wide, stark horror. The radio buzzed back to life, voices in other languages, but others perfectly clear to David’s ears.

“Oh my God, oh my God! What was that!?”

“Christ alive, don’t tell me that was her! Don’t tell me…”

“Our Father…who art in Heaven…hallowed be thy name…”

Finally, David could see the cloud. On such an overcast day, it was easy to think it was just a weird formation. Surely something that big, that impossibly huge, could only be a curious twist of wind somewhere high above them. Except the shape was wrong. Except Dave could tell the distinct, mushroom-shape was totally unnatural. Except this cloud kept flickering and glowing with arcane magics. The voices on the radio became so much background noise. His feet working on their own accord, the Marine stepped off the bridge, onto the catwalk outside, not even registering the change from boots on tile to boots on metal as he walked onto the deck of the carrier.

It was still there. The mushroom cloud was still there. He had hoped it was just some trick of the glass, some weird way the sun was shining off through a funny cloud formation, and that outside he would see it was nothing more than his overactive imagination. But it was still there. Oh Jesus Christ Almighty God, it was still fucking there.

The deck of the ship reeled beneath his boots, though whether that was just in his mind or not was honestly a crap-shoot at this point. Something clanged to the deck next to him. He turned to find a license plate, charred black and covered in Japanese characters. A splash sounded to his left: the blackened remnants of a Prius smacking into the sea with a pile of ash in the driver’s seat. He craned his neck in time to watch a container ship, its once-red hull now bubbling and scorched, smack into the ocean surface on its stern, metal screeching in agony as it flipped up and over like a lever. It hovered on its tip like that, towering above him, the few containers remaining on its deck spilling out of their moorings, tumbling over and over in their long drop to the ocean below. In that split second, he could swear he could look into the ship’s bridge, could see the charnel house that might have once been a crew of eight or nine, all before the ship overturned and splashed down on its deck, swiftly disappearing below the waves with a final, agonized squeal.

David returned his attention to the mushroom cloud blooming in the distance. Behind him, the radio still clicked away with panicked cries and desperate shouts and prayers interspersed with choked-off sobs, and all at once, there was a whoosh and a splash to his right. He dropped to his knees, dry-heaving while a missile streaked into the skies off to his right. Then there was another whoosh-splash, and another, and another…

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back home, cheap beer in hand, a cheesy 90s action flick on the TV, his small house warmed to just the right temperature to beat off the Michigan autumn. Or hell, just anywhere, anywhere but here. At this point, he would take fucking Siberia if there was beer, because here was madness. Here was the beginning of the end. Here was the destruction of all things. The flight deck burst into activity around him, people scurrying about, running in a near-panic, prepping jets for take-off, undoubtedly arming each plane with nuclear warheads, which the ponies would respond to with whatever they hit Tokyo with, which they would respond to with more nukes…

“This is it,” he gasped, then his voice was buried beneath a series of dry heaves and panicked hyperventilating. This is how it all ends. Oh God, I’m sorry…this is it…this is it…this is-

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0850 HOURS
ONBOARD THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, BOUND FOR KARELIA
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David just wanted to stay in the dark. Was that too much to ask? Just stay here, in the nice, quiet dark, where everything was peaceful and nobody was screaming and the dreadful knot in his stomach telling him that his actions, or lack thereof, were putting millions of people at risk stayed quiet. Of course, he knew he’d have to open up his eyes eventually. The fact that he was aware enough to know this meant he couldn’t feign unconsciousness for much longer. Already, snippets of voices and blurry shapes from the outside world were starting to return to him, so without further ado and without ceremony, David slowly started to open his eyes and focus his mind on the sounds.

“…and you can tell that sonofabitch he can take that ‘placing of responsibility’ bullshitand shove it up his wrinkly old ass!” Anton’s voice, obviously angry. Hoboy, what had David been missing?

“You hear me!?” The Russian continued. “You tell him who’s really responsible for this fucking mess, and you tell him if he wants a hope of cleaning it up, he’d better shut his big, goddamned mouth and start cooperating, or we’ll leave him here to explain why he sent away the only people with any clue to that cunt’s thinking and the only chance he has of stopping her before she pulls a repeat of the Collision Wars!”

A pause, during which the American could hear the frustrated breathing wheezing in and out of his coworker’s nose. “Okay, you shoot that up the chain,” Anton returned, his dress shoes clopping against metal as he paced back and forth, somewhere in the dark blurriness in David’s vision. “And while we sit here, waiting for you pencil-pushing synov'ya shlyukh to pull your heads out your asses, we’ll be watching CNN for when London goes up in a nice, big fucking mushroom cloud! Or Oslo! Or Berlin! Is that what it’ll take!? Is that what it’ll take to get this shit moving!?”

Another pause. “Uh-huh, okay, you have a nice day too, you stupid motherfucker.” A slam of a phone into a cradle, followed by a long, deep breath. David’s vision returned just in time to watch Anton smack the control console with the palm of his hand, beating it over and over again, as if the world’s most annoying swarm of flies had just appeared on it. “Chyort!” He screamed over and over again, long after the point of pain, long after David knew the older man had to be feeling it. Watching the usually-stoic Anton in such a state might have been funny, if it weren’t for the wretched graveness of the situation they were in, or the memory of…

Arcing overhead, a pure white light punching into the sky, faster than a jet, faster than anything has a right to be, pure magical power and hatred of the purest form descending upon…

David laid back, his head swimming again. This time, he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood oozing around his teeth, the pain forcing back the dark spots that had reappeared in his eyes. I am not going to do this again, that grim, determined voice from somewhere deep inside of him said. I am not going to keep fainting like some weak, little biddy. I am fine. Just fine. Just like the shrinks back at base said: I. Am. Going. To. Be. Fine.

He repeated those last five words until he was sure he wasn’t going to faint anymore, and kept repeating them a few times even after that. For lack of a better word, he had swooned, but he was okay now. He was going. To. Be. Fine.

Straining, David pushed himself onto his elbows, feeling the give of the pleather off one of the Lay-Z-Boys he’d grown familiar with. So he was back downstairs again, that was nice to know. He raised one of his hands to tap the back of his head, and winced at the sudden flare of pain that blossomed from his fingers and radiated throughout his entire skull.

“David, honey, don’t,” Lisa’s voice urged him, her bony yet powerful hands gently pushing on his chest, forcing him back into the recliner. He sighed, surrendering immediately. Based on the way his head had just nearly flown off his shoulders, he probably did need a bit more rest. Besides, the way Anton was, he probably needed a few minutes to cool down before people started asking what the next step would be.

Ever tactful, Lisa saw this too, and so the pair waited nearly a full minute before Anton’s breathing finally settled and his fists stopped shaking, the knuckles returning to their normal slightly-tanned. A grin grew on David’s face. “Have a nice little chat?” He asked.

A chuckle rumbled up from Anton’s chest. “Little, pencil-pushing cunts trying to blame great military defeat on the soldiers, instead of idiot commanders giving idiot orders,” he replied without turning around, still glaring at the phone on the control panel as if it had just killed his mother. “Nothing we Russians are not used to,” he added as David released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“So…what now?” Lisa asked, finally giving voice to the question on everybody’s minds.

Anton finally turned, and for a moment, the youth David had once ascribed to him was completely gone. He didn’t even look like a man his age: in that moment, he looked like a man in his sixties, trudging along day by day, praying for the moment his retirement benefits would kick in and he could finally leave some godforsaken job behind. Then the moment ended, and Anton was just another tired mook, like the rest of them. “I’ve just beaten back the first threat: the wolves hoping to make a career out of blaming others for mistakes,” he rasped. “They won’t be the only ones, but the first pack is always the hardest. Next, we need to make good on the promises I have made. We need to find Alpha again.”

“The Admiral?” David asked.

Hidden in his pocket, Anton’s fist clenched until it shook again, though it was a poor disguise to anyone paying attention. It quickly relaxed after a moment of squeezing the life out of thin air. “No longer a factor. He may be our superior and he may have his status to lord over us, but we know everything he’s said. We know everything he’s done. Everyone in the British Armed Forces is keeping quiet, heaven knows why. If I were them, I would want his head on a stick. But the Admiral knows if we go public with the orders he gave us, there’ll be cries for his blood in the streets of every major city on the planet.”

“Ours too,” Dave pointed out. “Normal people on the street usually don’t give two shits about who gave the fucked-up orders and who followed them. We’ll be lumped in with him.”

“Yes, but we don’t have as much to lose as he does, it doesn’t matter so much if we lose our pensions and wind up flipping burgers for next twenty years,” at this, Anton smiled grimly. “Top commander in the British Armed Forces or no, he doesn’t have twenty years to spare. Not the way he drinks. He knows this.”

“We should still report him,” Lisa said darkly, her hand going stiff on David’s shoulder. He didn’t notice, even as her nails dug into the flesh beneath his shirt. “Any man who would risk the safety of the world for a few minutes of entertainment should be locked up, or at least be dismissed from his position.”

“The Admiral is in a weakened state right now, and he knows it. We can bend him; get what we need to track down Alpha. This might not be true with whoever replaces him. If someone else comes in to command this fleet, we’ll be on our way back to London, and then to the media shitstorm brewing.”

“Alright, so with the Admiral, we’ve got the resources and willpower to track the bitch down,” David said, sitting up in the chair with his elbows resting on his knees. “The only question is: where do we start?”

Anton took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He looked lost for a moment. David grimaced: he’d been afraid of this. They had the power and resources, sure, but what the hell were they supposed to do with it? Start going door to door? Put up some posters like you would with a lost cat?

Ever the voice of reason, it was Lisa who hit the nail on the head: “Well, what do we think she wants?”

“Oh please, we all know what she wants,” David snorted. “Fire. Destruction. The end of humanity as we know it…”

“Yes, but what does she need to do that? Her army?”

“She could return to her Equestria,” Anton said, leaning back against the panel with his arms crossed over his chest. “In that case, she’d have everything she needs, and she’d be out of our reach. We’d have to wait for the UNCDI assault.”

“Alright, but where else would she go?” Lisa said. “Returning to her Equestria would be just what she’s expected to do, but we know she’s smarter than that. She probably already knows about the UNCDI blockade around the portal, if only because she’d be expecting her enemies to throw everything they had between her and home.”

“So the question becomes where else she could go to find resources for a new round of attacks,” Anton muttered. “Where else could she go to gather the strength she’d need to start up her own war?”

The answer hit them all simultaneously as their eyes all wondered the room, inevitably drawn to the flatscreen television mounted on the wall. On-screen, a CNN special report was interviewing one of the divers plunging into the Detroit River, hunting for survivors (at least, that’s how they worded it: at this point everyone knew they were just pulling out bodies). It was all too clear at that point.

“The Newfoals!” They all gasped at the same time.

“Okay, that’s gotta be her next move,” David said. “Where’s the nearest Newfoal compound? Dusseldorf?”

“That’s just the one everyone knows,” Lisa said, shaking her head as she pulled out her smart phone. “There’s another one, much closer and not nearly as well-known.”

Anton nodded. “Bedlam,” he said without thinking.

“Now how did you…” Lisa started, but when he cocked a knowing half-smile at her, she just rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the little screen. “But yes, Bedlam hospital. Plenty of Newfoals, heavily populated area: perfect for adding to her body count if things go south on her while she’s rallying the troops.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” Anton said. “I still think a team in Dusseldorf would be a good idea, but we need to hit Bedlam ASAP.”

David grinned, a flutter of hope rising in his chest, one he didn’t dare indulge, but was okay with just letting it sit there and carry some of the weight that had been pressing down on his heart. We got you now, you bitch, he thought. What’re you gonna do now?

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0930 HOURS
NORTH VIDOY ISLAND
FAROE ISLANDS, KINGDOM OF DENMARK, NORTH SEA
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Celestia shivered, tears soaked into the fur on her face. The lump in her throat felt like a basketball as she tried to swallow past it, her sobs continuously interrupting her voice, but still she read: “Wh-while Search and Rescue efforts continue in the ruins of downtown Tokyo, most officials agree that anybody who might be saved must have been found already. C-c-continuing from the front, a m-morbid discovery was made at the T-Tokyo Institute of Technology, wh-wh-where the charred remains of the entire gwa-graduating class of 2018 was discovered in the main auditorium, most having long died of injuries suffered in the initial blast, pl-placing the official death toll at the ten million m-m-m-m-…” she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Stop,” Twilight sobbed. “Princess, please, stop.”

“Okay,” Celestia whispered, slowly closing the tiny device with hooves that trembled like Jell-O and setting it aside. “Okay, I think I’ve said enough.”

“An-an entire nation, Princess,” Twilight gasped, tears cascading down her cheeks and into the sand. “They lost an entire nation, millions dead…oh, no wonder they reacted like they did! Princess, they must hate us!”

“They don’t just hate us,” Celestia replied grimly. “Th-They fear us, Twilight, and based on what little I have learned from their history, that is a highly volatile combination for them.”

“W-what are we going to do?” The little lavender alicorn moaned. “H-how could we ever set this right? What could possibly ease the loss of millions?”

“I don’t know, my dearest student,” Celestia replied. “But we have to try. After all they’ve been through, we have to. They deserve that much.”

As she cuddled her student, Celestia’s eyes happened upon the little device, the “mobile,” as the human had called it. It had scrolled through the pages to yet another article, one that froze her heart upon seeing it. “NEWFOAL TERRORIST ATTACK,” with the subline: “A sign of things to come?”

Words passed through her mind from previous articles, words like “falling intelligence”, “forced conversion”, and “failing IQ tests”. Her brow furrowed, her gaze hardening into one of pure determination. “And I think I know where we can start.”

Author's Notes:

Woot! Been waiting for this one! And yes, I named a ship after President Obama. Regardless of how you feel about him, he's still the prez, and he's still probably gonna get a ship named after him. Which still isn't an awesome retirement present, if you ask me. I mean, I think it would be fantastic for me, but for a guy who once ruled the free world..."Hey, thanks for leading the most powerful nation on the planet and giving up years of your life to the stress of trying to keep everyone from blowing everyone else up. Here's a boat that you'll probably never see."

Eh, that's just my opinion tho.

Chapter XIX: Change

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1200 HOURS
BETHLEM ROYAL HOSPITAL (AKA BEDLAM)
LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM
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Twilight Sparkle was not an unstoppable badass, she knew that. She was not the type of pony who leapt into the midst of a battle, single-hoofedly changing the odds with a few well-placed bolts of magic. Sure, she could hold her own in a fight, years of magical study; her ascension into her role as the Element of Magic, and her rise to princesshood had seen to that. However, at the end of the day, she was quite comfortable with putting her hooves up for an evening with a good book and perhaps a friend to chat with. Let other ponies go off on adventures to the deepest parts of the Everfree on quests for artifacts of horrifying power: if she wasn’t needed, Twilight Sparkle was perfectly fine with staying in her own little village in her own little room in her massive and all-too-large palace.

Of course, Twilight wasn’t trying to think about any of this. Right then, she was trying to think about everything she and the Princess had learned about this place. Ever since Ainsley had told them about it, they had studied everything they could, gathering books and newspaper articles from a library that made the Canterlot Archives look like her old treehouse library in Ponyville. Though she had drooled over the prospect of spending an entire night among those shelves, the Princess had insisted they could only take what they needed, spending as little time as possible in the city proper before retreating to the tiny cave dwelling they had found on the outskirts of town. And again, Twilight didn’t focus on that, and instead focused on what she had learned.

Bethlem Royal Hospital: one of the oldest mental health establishments in the world. Formed some 800 years ago, when its time as a prison for the insane earned it another, less savory nickname with the locals, the place’s name had become a word synonymous with chaos, confusion, and general discordance (for lack of a better word, she thought with a roll of her eyes, imagining what Discord might have to say about such a place). The hospital itself had actually moved sites and held many names in its long history, and though its early methods of treatment for the mentally ill would have made even the witch doctors of ancient Equestria shiver in their grass skirts and voodoo necklaces, it had come a long way to becoming a home, a place where the mentally ill could find some form of actual treatment and perhaps even a way back to sanity.

Then the Newfoals had arrived. Suddenly, humanity was inundated with drooling idiots, barely capable of lifting their own heads out of their pillows or sitting upright, good for little more than staring out windows with blank, empty gazes, their minds shells of what they once were. Most families just weren’t equipped for handling that, but who was? Mental hospitals. And so, many of the planet’s asylums had become dumping grounds for these poor souls, these former humans turned into something so, so much less. Twilight had shivered at the newspaper clipping proclaiming the first batch of Newfoals to be mentally deficient, back in the days when a bright future of pony-human cooperation had appeared actually possible. The worst part had been the caption showing a “Newfoal,” a former human that had once been a renowned mathematician, now sitting on a chair, staring at the camera with the most hauntingly empty gaze Twilight had ever seen on a pony. Those eyes had been more like doll’s eyes; that smile practically sewn on. If it hadn’t been for the text explaining that it was, in fact, an actual pony, she might have thought it some creepy stuffed toy.

These thoughts went through her head as she crawled through the ducts of Bethlem Hospital, formerly St. Mary’s, most well-known for being the inspiration for an entire new synonym to chaos. Her every step was muffled by the little booties she and the princess had crafted and imbued with as many noise-cancellation spells as possible, which were effective despite being an ugly brown that probably would have sent Rarity into palpitations. As she crawled along, it occurred to her how curious it was that an institute meant to contain ponies would have such a nice, pony-sized ventilation system, but then she remembered those eyes and realized this place was less of a prison and more of a dumping ground, a spot where Newfoals got loaded off and probably forgotten. More a permanent daycare center than an asylum or a prison

Well, there was an uplifting thought.

Twilight? Her teacher’s voice hummed from her horn, the spell allowing them to communicate crackling to life. Twilight winced and decreased the flow of magic going into the spell.

Right here, Princess, she sent back. But please put less magic into the messages you send. It’s like having another voice screaming in my head, and that’s very disorienting.

A few seconds later, Celestia’s reply came back, but at a much more tolerable volume: Apologies, my faithful student. I am still getting used to this method of communication.

Yeah, Ainsley was good for one more thing. This spell we found will probably throw Equestria ahead by decades! It’s a shame we had to dump her, she was very useful.

And almost certainly being tracked, if those electric pulses were some indication.

I know but stiiiiIIIIIIILLLLLL… Twilight’s mind froze as the ground suddenly vanished beneath her and she tumbled, head over hooves, down a nearly-vertical vent, slamming face-first into an aluminum wall. She groaned as the sound of her muzzle colliding with the thin metal reverberated through both the vent and her skull.

Twilight!? Celestia gasped, her message somehow transferring every single bit of the panic she felt. Twilight would have smiled at the thought of the regal pony dancing on her hooves like a filly waiting for the bathroom were it not for the pain shooting through her snout.

I’m alright, Princess, she sent back, even as she picked herself up and spotted little flecks of blood on the steel. She moaned, turned over on her back, and ran a quick healing spell. Not enough to repair all the damage, but enough where she could crack a grin without nearly gasping with pain. She would need to focus on that later.

I’m okay, she reasserted. Just got distracted and forgot about that 70-degree angle in the building layout.

Ah. Celestia replied, and again, Twilight could just picture her nearly dropping to the ground in relief. Perhaps we should refrain from communicating while you’re in those vents.

Agreed. It’s absurdly distracting. Twilight groaned as she slowly pressed herself back to her hooves. Celestia above, while the spell was fantastic, she could just imagine dozens of idiotic ponies crashing into each other both on the streets and in the air, their thoughts distracted. She chuckled at the sheer absurdity of the idea. As if ponies would be that stupid; walking around, so distracted by conversations with somepony who wasn’t there that they slammed into each other. Fortunately, further communication probably wouldn’t be necessary. If the plans they’d found were at all accurate, the opening she was looking for was perhaps fifty yards away. She could only hope that her stupid little trip hadn’t alerted any of the humans in the building. Noise-cancelling booties could only do so much when you played drums on the walls with your face.

Fifty yards later, and still no signs of a human alert, Twilight peeked through the grating. She nearly sank to the floor with relief. She could just glimpse a colorful shape sitting up on a bed with plain white sheets. With a thought, she teleported down to the bed, a hoof primed and ready to cover the Newfoal’s muzzle. To her surprise, it wasn’t needed. No, because the moment she landed, the only thing the Newfoal did was smile…and stare…with those…empty eyes…

Twilight?

Shaking off the chills going down her spine, Twilight turned away, realized that having those empty little eyes staring into the back of her head was way worse, and opted to pull the Newfoal’s blanket over its head. It didn’t react. This time, she allowed the shiver to pass up her spine, dancing away as if the Newfoal had just become radioactive. I’m here, Princess. Go ahead and teleport on my magical signature.

Thank you, incoming, and in a flash, Celestia was standing right at the head of the Newfoal’s bed. The sheets promptly fell away, revealing those empty little eyes again, and Twilight suppressed another shiver at the Newfoal’s widening grin. She had read the reports of failing IQ tests and lost memories, but to actually be here, standing with one of them, knowing what they had once been…well, it made her grateful to still have the capacity to shiver, to look into those eyes and have the capacity to know something was wrong.

“Princess…” the fake pony started, but Celestia clenched a hoof around its muzzle.

“You need to stay quiet,” she whispered quickly, holding her other hoof to her lips and speaking as she would with a foal. “Your princess requires it, understand?”

The Newfoal nodded, its massive eyes lighting up with a hollow semblance that might vaguely be called joy. Twilight turned away. To think somepony thought this thing was a preferable alternative to the intelligent beings she had interacted with on the ship…

Celestia pulled her hooves back, and the Newfoal remained silent. Just as planned, though it bounced in its bed and made the old springs squeak. Both princesses exchanged sighs of relief. So far, so good, now they just had to get out of here before those “Tacky-one Inhibitors” picked up the magical spike and alerted the humans. Celestia touched her horn to the Newfoal’s forehead. “Remember, quiet,” she whispered again, diverting her attention to her magic. Twilight held her breath. In a few minutes, they would know if these creatures could be saved, or if they were lost forever.

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Mrs. Bradford was not an extraordinary woman. She had grown up just south of Essex in a little cottage outside of town, having lived a completely unremarkable childhood before moving to Sandford Village. There, she had staked out a small slice of life for herself in the form of a used bookstore, which had become something of a local landmark over the years, and had provided more than enough income for her to survive in the two-bedroom flat she lived in upstairs. In addition, it was where she had met a young man named Jonas Bradford on a rainy day, when he had ducked in using his briefcase to shield himself from the rain. After discovering a shared passion for books and reading (though he was more a lover of fanfiction, to her endless dismay), the two were wed that same year at a perfectly standard ceremony at the Parish Church of St. James. They had embarked on a honeymoon to one of the Scottish Isles, where they had not only consummated their love, but she had talked him into wearing a kilt for her camera.

The next thirty-five years had been the exact same standard fare, not to say that it was always boring. The pair had their ups, their downs, their days when some stupid little quarrel over who’s turn it was to empty the garbage devolved into night-spanning arguments (though never shouting matches that would alert the neighbors), and their days when they might just sit in their reading room, books in their laps and hands wrapped tightly around one another. Life had been perfectly standard for Mrs. Bradford. Just about the only thing that was odd about her now could be that she was legally considered a widow, though her husband was still very much alive. Even if the legal system claimed that he was as gone as the dodo.

No, Mrs. Bradford would have none of that legal jazz, and had even fought tooth and nail to keep her marital status as “married.” She’d lost, of course. Too many “conversion bureau widows” that just wanted to move on with their lives when their loved one had gone out one night and come back as an empty shells with four legs. Not her. There was no way she could ever leave her Jonesy. So after checking him into the infamous Bethlem Hospital, she had made it her weekly duty to see him at least once. Always with a bouquet of daisies, and always with the framed picture of that one glorious weekend in the Scottish highlands where he had worn a kilt.

Currently, Mrs. Bradford was walking past the receptionist’s desks, towards the comfort-care sectors of the hospital. A hospital which, when she had first approached it, had filled her with both relief and disappointment. Relief that it wasn’t the massive, gothic structure she had seen in her mind’s eye since a child reading about it, but disappointment that the structure looked closer to a high school built in the 1950s than a world-famous medical facility. Sure, it was nice that her Jonesy had such a quaint setting in which to live out his life with his “condition,” but still…

She was babbling in her own mind now, filling herself with meaningless chatter to keep her thoughts off the task at hand. She sighed, straightened out her sun hat, “taking a breather” as her Jonesy would have called it. She didn’t cry. Not any more, at least. At her age there just wasn’t any more room for tears. No, she just kept her attention on the here and now, looking around at the receptionist’s area.

A child sat in one of the seats next to his solemn-looking mother, holding a balloon declaring “MISS YOU DADDY” in big, block letters. At the desk next to her, two men chatted amiably, yet frantically with the receptionist. As if something was wrong, but nothing her fault. Like a couple professionals trying to work with somebody towards a common goal. It struck her oddly: a Sikh Indian with one of those turban things wrapped around his head working with a nice-looking young man in a coat much too bulky for the weather. Who was that other young man, a yank? Accent sounded like it. She tried to listen in, but could only overhear so much gibberish about “Tachyon Inhibitors” and “fluxes in the particle field” before she tuned out again. Much too technical for her, thank you very much. Leave jargon like that to the youngsters.

“Emily Bradford?”

She perked at her name, staring up at the slender man in the doctor’s coat standing next to her, peering down at her through thick, bottle-rim glasses perched on a massive nose. She sighed.

“Just Mrs. Bradford would do, Jerry,” she said. “You know that by now.”

His lips curled into a thin smile that faded almost immediately. “Follow me, please.”

“I know the way.”

“Standard procedure. You know that by now.” He replied, turning to walk through the nearest door. She sighed, gathering up her tiny bundle and following him. She couldn’t blame the young doctor for being so curt. There was no way this was the highlight of his day. Still, a bit more courtesy would certainly be nice.

The usual bustle of activity that apparently filled every hospital dropped off as soon as they stepped into the comfort care unit. Despite the bright colors on the walls and the natural lighting pouring in through the windows, she couldn’t help but feel her heart sink with each step that echoed off the long, lonely hallways. Her nose gained a few more wrinkles at the stench of antiseptic heavy in the air. Around her, the only sounds were the beeps of the EKG monitors and clicks of whirring machinery. No shuffling about or snoring for the patients here. In a way, that was so much worse. Knowing that there were people (sort of) here and still being so quiet…

She shook her head again as the doctor led her to the receptionist’s desk, where a nurse that had obviously been playing solitaire scanned them with alert, hazel eyes.

“Badge?” The young guy asked.

“No need,” the doctor said, waving his hand.

The nurse smiled sheepishly, a smile that seemed to light up his entire face. He’s so young, Mrs. Bradford mused. I wonder how long he’ll stay that way, working in this place?

“Sorry Doctor, new security measures,” the nurse said. “After Detroit, the UN’s not takin’ any chances.”

“Of course,” the doctor grumbled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small piece of laminated plastic, which the nurse happily scanned before waving them along. The pair nodded their thanks before continuing down the corridor, a walk Mrs. Bradford was becoming only too familiar with. They completed it in silence: everything that needed to be said between the young doctor and the old woman had been said long ago. Now, there was just the same farewell.

The Doctor nodded to her as he held the door open, and she nodded her thanks back as she shuffled inside, the fresh bouquet of daisies in one hand and the framed picture in the other.

“I’m going to try and give you the usual full hour,” he said. “But with the UN coming down on all the Newfoal colonies like this, I might not be able to bend the half-hour limit this time.”

“I understand,” she said. “Thank you.”

He nodded, starting to close the door to leave her alone for her weekly ritual, when a loud thump sounded from the end of the hallway.

The Doctor lifted his eyes as they widened with surprise at the sound of the male nurse’s voice: “Hey, you can’t go in…”

“UNCDI, bullshit we can’t!” Came the reply, followed by the heavy thudding of shoes on tile.

“Wha…” the good Doctor managed to say before nearly being knocked right off his feet by the large man in the turban she’d seen in the lobby. Nearly falling back in fear, she almost didn’t notice the American when he bustled in behind him, his hands wrapped around…was that a gun!? Saints preserve her, she didn’t know he was that much of an American!

The pair shuffled into the room, their eyes darting around every corner, scanning every surface. She steadied herself against the wall, watching them circle the room methodically. Then, that old British stiff upper lip kicked in, and she glared.

“Is there a reason you two gentlemen have just barged into my husband’s room unannounced!?” She barked, standing up to her full height, which only came to the turban-wearing man’s chest.

Both men paused, then looked to her, as if seeing her for the first time. They both blinked, then the American hid his gun away (and thank goodness, bloody things always made her nervous) and the turban-wearer’s fingers shifted strangely, as if shoving something into his sleeves.

“Er…sorry for the intrusion, ma’am,” the American said calmly, raising his hands. “We just detected a magical fluctuation originating from this room, and…er…”

“…after Detroit, the UN doesn’t want to take chances,” the turban-wearer said with a million-dollar smile.

Unimpressed, she cocked an eyebrow at them. “And did it occur to either of you fine gentlemen that this could be because this room contains a Newfoal unicorn?” She asked dryly.

Both men noted the little teal body curled up in the sheets, staring with eyes half-closed at the blank television screen at the foot of the bed. They each shared a quick glance. “Er…right ma’am, but if you’ll recall, it was a Newfoal unicorn that aided the pegasus behind Detroit.”

“Does my Jonesy look like he’s about to attack anyone?” She asked, still politely.

Both men sighed, the American rubbing the back of his head. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I’m quite sure that unicorn in Detroit didn’t look like it was going to attack anybody.”

“Well, I’ll give a shout if my husband does anything untoward,” she said dryly. “Until then, I would appreciate it if we could have our weekly meetup in peace.”

“Er…of course, ma’am,” the American said. “Sorry.”

“Our deepest apologies, madam,” the man in the turban bowed, then followed his partner back into the hallway, the pair closing the door behind them. Mrs. Bradford was alone with her Jonesy at last.

She sighed as she returned to her weekly ritual. That had been quite enough excitement for her that week, and now hopefully she could finish things here in peace. She noted the empty vase on the bedside table and felt momentarily grateful that somebody had had the courtesy to throw away last week’s daisies at some point during the week. Perhaps this generation hadn’t completely forgotten its manners after all, or so she thought as she arranged the flowers in their place.

“What do you think, Jonesy?” She sighed as she set the framed picture on the table, freeing up both her hands so she could make the final arrangements for the flowers. “Do you suppose this generation might be completely hopeless?”

She was so absorbed with the flowers that she didn’t notice his head turn to the side and cock slightly, his cartoonishly-large eyes gazing up at her. Then they traveled down her body to the picture frame on the table, and the Newfoal grimaced. “Well, I don’t know about the current generation,” he said, a hoof extending towards the picture. “But bloody hell, Emmy, do you have to bring that damned picture everywhere you go? You know how I hate it.”

The vase tipped and bounced off the floor, spewing water and scattering the flowers. Mrs. Bradford didn’t pick it up.

Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIPS4LyveJs

I was so tempted to call this chapter something stupid, like "Jonesing for a change."

Also, Mrs. Bradford does reflect my views on Bethlem. Place does look like a school from the fifties. That's nice and all, but dammit, is anyone else disappointed that it ISN'T a castle perched atop a cliff with a constant thunderstorm flashing behind it?

Chapter XX: "A Couple Of Harmless Diplomats"

David settled into the driver’s seat, still a little freaked out that it was on the right side of the car. Even after nearly a year in Europe, that part still hadn’t quite sunk in. Akshat was right behind him, sliding into the passenger’s seat with his phone pressed to his ear while David started them up. “Well,” Dave sighed. “That was a complete waste of time.”

“Speaking of,” Akshat put in, hanging up the call. “That was Anton. That cell phone trace for that Marine’s phone dead-ended. Whole damn military showing up in the arse-end of nowhere just to find a dead phone in a cave.”

“Heh. It’d be funnier if the fate of the world wasn’t in the balance,” David snickered, settling behind the wheel as they pulled away from the curb. He could just imagine a full platoon of dudes in complete combat gear, rifles at the ready, thermal vision probably on as they descended into the darkness of some forgotten cave, weapons trained on a little hunk of flickering plastic on the ground. “Well, at least it got us off the boat. I dunno about you, but any time I can spend away from Admiral Peterson and his UN-jackboots is good time.”

“Careful, you are talking to one of those UN jackboots,” Akshat snickered.

“Oh, shut up, if you’re a UN goon, I’m the King of England,” David guffawed. Akshat grinned back. The guy wouldn’t have been Dave’s first choice for a travelling buddy back in their old hometown (that honor still belonged to lovely little Lisa), but he was friendly enough, even after the little turban incident.

Dear God, had that been just a couple months ago? Seemed so much longer, in a different world perhaps. One where Equestria was a neutralized threat and magic remained under heavy restraints to dull its edge. Now, that world was gone, and a very different one had taken its place.

In hindsight, maybe sitting bored in an office eight hours a day hadn’t been so bad.

Ugh, he needed to get his mind off this, to think of anything but this crazy shit. His mind went to his partner, and figured hey, even small talk with a friend had to be better than imagining what kind of crazy shit could be going on in Dusseldorf or back on that fucking alcoholic’s ship. “Hey, Akshat?”

“Yes?” The Sikh was curled up, apparently intent on taking a nap. Well, too bad. It was a forty-five minute drive back to Heathrow, and then another long flight to catch a chopper back to the Illustrious, David was not spending that time alone with his thoughts.

“What was it like? Back home, I mean? What’s home to you?” An odd question, considering all the time he’d had to ask, but after the infamous “turban” incident, David had always found ways to avoid asking. Or, perhaps more accurately, to avoid Akshat

“Hmm…nice,” Akshat said, turning over in his seat. He’d obviously resigned himself to the realization that he would not be spending the journey back in blissful slumber. “Just…nice. Not what you’d call first-class, yankee-doodle, but not like those mud huts I am sure you have seen on CNN.”

David smiled at that. “Nice. Sounds…nice,” he said awkwardly, suddenly recalling a glaring moment from Cele…Target Alpha’s escape. A moment when the Sikh had moved with his blades using the kind of skill that only came from years of practice. “I take it some of that time involved knife-throwing?”

He heard Akshat shift uncomfortably in his seat. “A little,” he said. “When I was a boy, the village elders decreed that we all learn the proper handling of the Kirpan. They personally supervised our development with them, so don’t go forming the image of us just hacking away at each other like barbarians from age twelve.”

“Ah,” David said, a little hurt that Akshat would even think that image would cross his mind as anything more than a stupid subconscious joke. “So, you kids only threw knives at targets and not at each other, right?”

There was a long pause, and then, a tiny, stupid smile alit on Akshat’s face. “Usually. When the Elders were standing right there.”

David had to copy that smile. Apparently, boys would be boys no matter where you went. Which, of course, was just a nice way of saying: “the entire generation would have probably wiped itself out if it wasn’t for the older generation standing right behind them at all times.”

He was going to ask something else, really he was. And maybe then Akshat would have asked him a question and before he knew it, the miracle of male bonding would be well underway. Unfortunately, his cell phone rang, and as a man directly on the UNCDI’s payroll, he was obligated to answer it. He didn’t even look at the screen as he pressed the phone to his ear, though if he had he would have seen the “Unknown Caller” flashing there, and would have prepared himself for a speedy hang-up for what was almost certainly a telemarketer or a recording promising him the cruise of a lifetime.

“Hello?” He asked.

Instead of a woman asking if he knew about the miracle cure that could take ten inches off his waistline and add them to his penis, David got a sudden and garbled voice screaming into his ear: “Hit the brakes, now! That’s an order, soldier!”

In a split-second, David the eager diplomat slid out of the little driver’s seat in his mind, and David the Marine slipped right back in, grabbing the wheel as if he hadn’t been on a five-year siesta. That Marine heard the voice of a superior officer commanding him (nevermind that it could have been a practical joker at a payphone with incredible luck) and immediately slammed his foot onto the brakes. Tires screeched, the car swayed. Akshat only just managed to remain in his seat by bracing himself against the dashboard, both men’s seatbelts digging into their shoulders. “David, what the fu-“

He never got the chance to finish his sentence. A black SUV came roaring out of the nearest alleyway, obviously intent on smashing into the little sedan’s side using the UNCDI logo on David’s door as a bullseye. Fortunately, with the brakes applied, the SUV’s aim was thrown off and only managed to slam into the driver’s side wheel well, still exerting enough force to spin the sedan around a full one-eighty.

David thought he screamed. Or perhaps it was Akshat, who could possibly have told amidst the chaos of those interminable milliseconds? Shattered glass filled the air as the driver’s side windows shattered, the sickening crunch of metal on metal blasting David’s thoughts out of his head with its sheer volume. The car reared up on two wheels before crashing back down, leaving the dazed diplomats spinning in their seats. Still, it could have been worse. Another second’s hesitation on those brakes, and David’s brains would probably be a red and gray smear all over the driver’s side window.

With the car settled, David the diplomat took a quick peek outside, inspecting the caved-in hood and twisted body where the engine block had been, which now oozed oil like blood out of roadkill. His stomach twisted at the thought of explaining that to his superiors, what little of his mind that wasn’t dazed or spinning already dreading the conversation. Another part flared with anger at the driver of the SUV. What kind of asshole just burst out of an alleyway like that without looking both ways!? What kind of damned idiot driver did that!? What, was he trying to reenact his favorite alleyway chase scenes!? David oughta…

All those thoughts froze as David looked in the rearview mirror at the SUV, and the diplomat slid back out of the driver’s seat to let the Marine back in. Why? Simply because innocent drivers in accidents came stumbling out of their cars, cell phones in hands, babbling about how they ‘didn’t see them.’ Innocent drivers did not walk out of their cars with three of their friends, all dressed with Kevlar vests, mismatched army camo, and black balaclavas, carrying aging but still serviceable Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifles. But that’s just what this fine group of gentlemen did.

David the Marine was quick to gather his wits again, but not quick enough. Before he even realized what was happening, one of the men had bashed in Akshat’s window and dragged the delirious Sikh out. David watched Akshat vanish through a cloud of shattered safety glass in awe, but not enough awe to keep him from reaching down his side, his hand trailing down his leg to the tiny little gift his father had given him before seeing him off to his new life as a UN diplomat.

The Colt M1911 was a damn-near masterpiece. More a work of art than a weapon, in David’s opinion. Genuine sandalwood grip, customized for his hand, with a nickel-plated slide embossed with the words “The Preston Express” on the side. David had found it corny at the time, though that didn’t stop him from taking the weapon to the range every Saturday evening to keep his skills sharp. It even came with interchangeable barrels to allow it to shoot .45 caliber or 9mm rounds, though Dave usually kept the .45 barrel in place, with a magazine full of hollow-point rounds just waiting to be unleashed. Sure, convincing the British government to allow someone to just walk around as they would with a CCW back in the states had been a bitch, but totally worth it in Dave’s humble opinion. Besides, what was the point of UNCDI clout if one didn’t use it for a few little concessions?

Now, his opinion that the effort it took to keep the pistol on him whenever he felt like was well worth it only solidified. The fact that the hospital hadn’t had a metal detector, which could have led to all sorts of awkward questions from Akshat, also crossed his mind. He thanked God Almighty, or whoever was listening, for every tiny coincidence that let him keep his favorite weapon as he drew it and waited. He didn’t have to wait long for the sound of scraping glass: the gunman using the butt of his rifle to clear away the rest of the safety glass while using one hand to tug at Dave’s arm. That tug was Dave’s signal. It would be now, or winding up on Youtube with his head cut off.

The Colt was barely a flash of silver in the late-day sun, David lashing out like a coiled spring to sit up in his seat and press the barrel of the weapon against the gunman’s forehead. The man didn’t even have time to realize what was about to happen before a hollow-point slammed through his skull, his brains exploding out the back of his head through the peach-sized hole the round left. Grabbing the man’s body by the collar of the Kevlar vest, David hauled him up, keeping the dead man in place as a shield as he surveyed the street behind him.

The man’s buddy stared back at him, eyes wide. His mouth dropped open, a scream dying on his lips as he bought the rifle up in a panicked attempt to save his own sorry skin. Of course, in his panic, he only managed a spray of bullets in the already mortally-wounded engine, earning a few more spurts of oil for his trouble as Dave emptied four rounds in a close grouping in the man’s chest. The second gunman pulled off a half-circle as he fell, sending a couple 7.62 rounds into the backs of his friend’s legs, not that he minded at that point.

That was two men down in under five seconds. Yes, Dave the Marine was back in business, but that still left two men with something near and dear to him hauling ass to wherever-the-fuck, probably a small, windowless basement to spew their anti-UN hate while decapitating their prize. That was not going to happen, not if the Marine had anything to say about it. He released his grip on the man with a hole in his head, allowing him to slump to the pavement while Dave slipped through the hole the dead man had so graciously cleared for him.

He peered up in time to watch a van, an Econoline by the looks of it, screech into the street, once again driven by some asshole in a balaclava. He primed himself and managed a few hurried shots at the newcomer, but all that accomplished was a broken rear window, which did nothing to stop the gunmen as they bundled Akshat up, tossing him roughly into the back before diving in themselves. Then, David had to leap for cover behind the ruined SUV as one of the attackers took a few potshots out the shattered rear window, bullets pinging off the metal.

Gasping for air, Dave wasted no time rising to his feet, pistol at the ready. Then, with a loud groan, he realized just how miserable his situation was. He’d never been the target of those last few potshots, the holes of steam pouring out the SUV’s engine block told him that much. He looked up and down the empty street, taking stock of his situation. He had two cars: one riddled with more bullets than a Kentucky firing range, the other ready only for the scrapyard. He couldn’t hotwire a vehicle, and he was absolutely alone in the street. The wail of sirens met his ear, but they were at least five minutes away, if the time it had taken to drive from the hospital was any indication.

With no other options left to him, David Preston, aka David the Marine, sighed and started down the road at a dead sprint, barely aware of the way his dress shoes slipped and stumbled awkwardly over the pavement, eyes set straight forward.

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Thomas Cavanaugh didn’t think he was a bad man. People rarely did, even those responsible for car bombings that had left mothers and their babies fused together, their skin nearly melted away by the sheer heat of a massive fireball. But hey, that woman had to have known the risks; you didn’t just go around, pushing your stroller right by a viable UN target like a freakin’ embassy! And after all, it was all for a good cause, right? Freeing the world of UN tyranny was what it was all about, or at least, that’s what he told the new recruits, along with all the other thunder and lightning about ridding the world of those that had nearly doomed it five years before.

Of course, in those speeches he always left out the part about his joining the Human Liberation Front the day after the UN signed that damned treaty with those monsters, those fucking animals, those things that had threatened his entire species and were now being allowed to rebuild when the UN should have been working on a way to close up whatever mistake in the fabric of space-time had allowed them to stay in the first place! Or better yet, maybe the UN could have finished the job. That’s what humanity did with smallpox, after all. When something from nature threatened all of humanity, you killed it! You didn’t console the rabid dog or the feral wolf to help them through their issues; you put a bullet in their fucking heads! End of discussion!

Okay, Thomas was an angry person, he would freely admit to that. Still, it was hard not to be in times like these. Especially now, after they’d lost so much. Two more of his brothers had fallen, one of them his best friend since primary school, and for what? Some sand-nigger the UN would probably be glad to get rid of!? The other one, the Yank, had been the big fluffy bunny at the top of the prize wall, and here they were, driving away with a water bottle from the bottom row.

“Aww shit,” Brian was freaking out. Of course he was. He was the rookie after all, the recruit given an easy assignment to test his nerve. The kid peeled off his balaclava and slammed his Kalashnikov against the ground, peering back through the shattered rear window. “Aww shit…what the fuck was that!?”

“That was your first assignment, kid,” Thomas grumbled, wishing for a cigarette.

“No, what the fuck was all that!?” He gasped, his breath coming in near-hyperventilating wheezes. “For fuck’s sake! They were a couple of unguarded diplomats! What the fuck, huh!? What the fuck!?”

“Kid, calm the fuck down, you’re acting like a right ponce,” Thomas said, still clenching his own Kalashnikov just in case the raghead on the floor between them tried anything.

“And we left them!” The kid shrieked, turning an accusing glare on Thomas that immediately made the older man want to pound his face in. “We left Bob and Jacob back there to die! What the fuck, man!? Why didn’t you even try!? Why didn’t you…”

At that, Thomas’s hand darted forward and locked around Brian’s nose, crushing the bridge between the knuckles of his middle and ring finger. The kid gasped in surprise and pain, but remained still, just as he was trained.

“Robert and Jacob knew what they were getting into when they joined the cause,” Thomas said evenly, relieving just a tiny bit of pressure just as felt the cartilage in his grip start to give. “Soldiers lay down their lives every day. This is a war, young one, I thought you understood that.”

“Ah! I do! Ah!” Brian gasped, arms tensing and releasing, caught between trying to claw away at Thomas and knowing the terrible consequences which would follow such defiance.

“Hmph, see that you remember it,” Thomas kept the pressure up until a couple trickles of blood leaked from the kid’s nostrils, then finally released him, allowing him to fall to the floor and cradle his injured nose. “Robert and Jacob were dead by the time we realized anything had happened anyway. Their families will give them funerals, you know that. The only thing we could have done was collect their bodies.”

Brian was still clenching his nose. He was still in too much pain to take the words to heart, Tom knew that, but later he would. Just like his mentor had made him understand how that woman and her baby were just collateral damage. Happened with every war, just like soldiers died in every war. The victors were the ones who could keep fighting despite the losses. Everyone in the group eventually figured that out, or they wound up at the bottom of the Thames with a brick of cement around their feet and a stiletto in their backs. Right now, Brian was looking like he might be one of the latter group, but Thomas couldn’t be sure. You just didn’t know: the kid might turn it around at some point, who could really tell?

The raghead stirred, and Thomas was quick to draw the .38 revolver from his hip holster and jam it against the back of his head. “You just sit tight, sand-nigger,” he hissed. “We’ll get where we’re goin’, but you so much as fuckin’ move and I’ll spray your brains all over the bloody wall.”

“Yeah, w-what he said!” Brian put in, trying to earn a little bit of his pride back despite still clenching his bleeding nose. For a little extra credit, he threw in a kick to the brown one’s ribs, earning a grunt of pain. He looked up at Thomas with a big smile on his face, like a puppy looking for approval. Thomas threw him a little smile. Sure, no harm in that, right?

And then a quick, confused grimace crossed his face as his gun hand went numb. Thomas looked down, rather shocked to see a small stick of metal growing from the middle of his hand. The brown man now glared at him fiercely, his piercing eyes locked on him.

“What the fu-“ Brian started, but the raghead rolled to his stomach and his hand darted to his belt, faster than anything Thomas had seen, faster than should’ve been possible, or maybe that was just the shock from the pain in his hand messing with his mind. And then a handle just like the one in his own hand sprouted from Brian’s throat. The kid fell back, clutching at the knife as blood gushed down the front of his neck. Thomas started to tell him not to touch it, to leave it in so that some of the blood would remain, but it was all for naught. The kid’s hand slumped to the side and his eyes glazed over, his shirt now absolutely soaked in blood.

“WHAT THE FUCKING SHI-“ the driver started. In the rush that had come after snatching this brown one, this demon now slicing his way through them with practiced ease, Thomas had almost forgotten him. One hand on the steering wheel, the driver lunged back with a Glock in his free hand, letting off a couple of wild shots that only perforated the van’s roof before the raghead grabbed the arm, worked the pistol into Thomas’s direction, and forced the trigger a couple times.

The last thing Thomas ever saw was the brown-skinned demon slicing through the artery in the driver’s gun arm before the knife twirled in his hand, opening his throat. Then the van slammed into something, a parked car by the sounds of metal on metal, and the flesh binding the bullet wounds in Thomas’s chest came undone. He died as the man threw him aside to crawl out the side door. Wha-what were we up against!? He thought: he’d lost the ability to speak aloud, even to himself. What the hell did those bastards send us against!?

They were the last thoughts he would ever have before he slid into a dark place where a baby cried constantly from its mother’s limp arms for the rest of time.

Author's Notes:

Yeah, sorry these two took so long people. Work. Life. A half-dozen stupid one-shots and assorted other projects distracting me. All the usual BS.

Chapter XXI: Stirrings

In a tiny village outside New Delhi, the former matriarch of the Bhat family, now a Newfoal, suddenly darts out of bed. She spends the next five minutes ramming her head against the oaken table while frothing at the mouth. By the time family members are able to restrain her, she has caused irreversible brain damage to herself courtesy of the bit of skull knocked back into her brain.

On the infamous Route 66, the driver of a gas tanker finally loses a battle with sleep deprivation and closes his eyes for a solid twenty seconds. His truck slams into the guardrail and annihilates five lanes of traffic, triggering a chain reaction pile-up which ignites his cargo. By the time rescuers arrive, most bodies are charred beyond all possible recognition, and some never to be identified in what will become the worst multi-car accident to take place in the nation in the past twenty years.

In the specially-administered Equestrian zone, King Shining Armor is awoken from a restless sleep to the news that a British peacekeeper has gone insane, killing three of his comrades and twelve Equestrian citizens before blowing himself up with a hand grenade.

And deep in her cell far beneath the Russian wastes, the princess worked. The disgusting little insects above thought she was restrained, they thought she was totally under their control. Of course, they didn’t know about the ripples, the subtle changes in the magical ambience which allowed her some influence. It took so much time to build up, oh yes, but she had nothing but time down here. Down here, she had all the time she needed to gather some trickle of magic, to make herself at one with the sea of it which flowed through all of creation. Sure, she was but a buoy in a turbulent sea that encompassed reality itself, but if she used her meager influence just so, if she applied just the right pressure where it was needed, the ripples she made could be seen all over the world.

The princess flexed her wings as high as the chains allowed it to go, and a Newfoal at an asylum in the heart of Paris bit the finger off one of its caretakers, chewing gleefully and still smiling despite the blood squeezing out through its teeth.

The princess inhaled, and exhaled, puffing her cheeks out with her breath, and in an office building in Buenos Aires, a man with an Uzi in his briefcase and an undiagnosed case of paranoid schizophrenia whispering in his head decided that today would be the day he gave in to the voices.

The princess smiled and trembled, shaking the forefeathers in her wings just so, and managed one last ripple for the night. Not far away, in Moscow, the children awoke screaming in their beds, tortured by nightmares of burning alive, some developing a deeply-rooted arsonphobia which would last the rest of their lives. The princess sighed. All small stuff, piddling things. Not bad considering her meager powers, but still not her best. No, that had been just a few hours ago, when she’d used nearly all the power she’d built up in the last five years to send a single message to the Newfoals of Dusseldorf.

She smiled and sank to her haunches, breathing heavily. She imagined that other, that imposter, that silly little cunt who had dared raise a hoof in defiance of her wishes, sitting across from her. No, better yet, kneeling across from her, horn shattered, body covered in cuts and gashes, maybe even an eye poked out, all while sobbing and begging for mercy.

The princess smiled at that thought. “This will teach you to steal one from me, you bitch,” she muttered, then she curled up in a ball for her night’s rest, satisfied in her hard day’s work.

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2350 HOURS
A SMALL CAVE IN SOUTHERN ENGLAND
OUTSKIRTS OF LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM
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“So it was true,” Twilight said breathlessly. “The human mind was just being suppressed, not destroyed.”

“Just as we theorized,” Celestia said, gauging her student’s responses from across the flickering embers of their campfire. “The soul cannot be destroyed, merely eclipsed. This was true for my sister during her time as Nightmare Moon: she too had a far more dominant mind consuming her thoughts while the pony I knew remained underneath. It’s a form of mind control on a mass scale, far more sophisticated than any mind control spell I’ve ever encountered before, but still, it can be understood, broken down, and reversed.”

Twilight nodded, her large eyes suddenly watering.

“Twilight,” Celestia said, reverting from teacher to mother as easily as flicking a switch. “What’s wrong?”

“All those articles, all those deaths,” she whimpered. “That monster used them as living shields, throwing them into suicide charges without another thought. And all this time, all this time they’ve been kept from their families, they could’ve been saved…”

Celestia circled the fire to embrace her former student. “The past is in the past,” she whispered, a wing splaying out over Twilight’s shoulders. “We can mourn the dead when things have been put to rights, and we will do so alongside the humans. Right now, though, they do not require aid in dealing with their grief. Right now, they need somepony to recover what can be saved.”

Twilight nodded, wiping at her nose with the back of her hoof like a little filly. “I know, but is it even worth it in the end? It took you so long and so much power just to save one, what’s that one compared to the multitudes that have been lost?”

Celestia’s wing tightened around Twilight. “Oh Twilight, how can you say that?”

“I know…every life is something special, and we have to cherish them all, but after everything that’s been lost…” she couldn’t even bring herself to finish her sentence, even as Celestia leaned in close to nuzzle the top of her head.

“Twilight, dear, that one is so much more,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Think about it: just that one we saved today is probably someone’s best friend, and possibly a father, and/or a grandfather, an uncle, a co-worker, a…”

“Okay, I see your point,” Twilight said, a tiny smile crossing her face.

Celestia nodded. “Everyone we save is so much more than a tally mark. Remember that, Twilight.”

“I will, Princess, I will,” Twilight said, embracing for a final hug before Celestia pulled away, trotting to the mouth of the cave. She gazed out over the human city, this “London.” It was so alien, so lit up, and so loud, yet the people here spoke in an accent that was unmistakably of Trottingham. At the same time, she couldn’t help but notice other little similarities during the short time she had journeyed through the city with Twilight: the daughters and sons pulling at parent’s hands, the obnoxious drivers dominating the roads (albeit in horseless chariots), and every now and again, young lovers meeting on street corners or chatting in cafes beside older couples sharing a quiet evening meal.

“Not so different,” she muttered. “Why? Why had she wanted to destroy them?”

“Perhaps she was evil?” Twilight Sparkle alerted Celestia to her existence, leaning down for a mouthful of the foul-tasting grass at their hooves, cringing as she tried to stomach their dinner. “Ugh, whatever seasoning they’re using on this grass is just awful.”

“Evil,” Celestia muttered breathlessly, her eyes still locked on the cityscape towering in the distance. “Could you elaborate, my dearest student?”

“Well, Luna had Nightmare Moon, right?” Twilight pointed out. “What if, in her universe, that version of you was overwhelmed with a similar evil? A dark presence similar to the Nightmare, like…Scorching Sun?”

Celestia let out a sort of half-chortle. “While I commend the creativity in naming, I doubt the theory. What little we know about the ‘other’ Equestria is that until it’s collision with Earth, it was much like our own land, though I did find alarmingly few references to any other princesses,” her gaze fell into the sputtering flame between them, her eyes looking ancient and wistful. She let out a long, belabored sigh, the fire’s light dancing over her ivory coat. “No, I’m afraid whatever created this monstrous other occurred more naturally, perhaps gradually and over time.”

Twilight paused in her labored chewing for a while to look up at her mentor with eyes the size of dinner plates. “But Princess, how could you naturally become like that…evil creature? That monster? How could that even be possible?”

“I have lived a very long time, Twilight, and one thing I have learned is that ponies can change, for better and for worse,” Celestia sighed, curling up in the grass. “The thousands of years I have lived would leave plenty of time for me to evolve into something else.”

“I-I don’t believe it,” Twilight said, rising to her hooves. “I can’t believe it’s even possible you might become that monster!”

Celestia would have gone on, would have reaffirmed that believe it or not, some things were simply there, and you could choose to accept them or live in ignorant denial, but now was not the time for a lesson. “Get some rest, Twilight. We have a lot of flying to do tomorrow.”

Twilight looked a bit startled at the insistence she go to sleep, as if she were a small filly again, but then being in the presence of Princess Celestia had a tendency to make any mare feel like a filly no matter what. “Okay Princess,” she said, curling up on the grass next to her.

Celestia smiled reassuringly. “I shall be right behind you in the world of dreams, I just have another few things to check on,” she said.

Twilight nodded, Celestia’s disarming smile going far towards making her relax into the grass, smoothing it out into a makeshift bed. She stretched out and curled her wings around herself, relaxing immediately. “Good night, Princess.”

“Good night, Twilight,” Celestia said, sharing a quick nuzzle and curling in beside her. She waited there for a few hours, only moving after she heard Twilight’s breathing even out into the slow pace that could only be sleep. She sighed, letting out all her frustration into the cool night’s air. Twilight, like the rest of her kingdom, didn’t know just how close the path of darkness always was. Perhaps, in another world, the changeling invasion had ended with the genocide of the entire changeling race, or perhaps Discord’s statue was shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he was immobilized, or…

Cry to some nonexistent thing just like I did every night after you killed my Twily!

She shuddered, and reached into her pack. She knew what she was looking for the moment her hoof ran over its surface. Reaching in, she pulled out a wadded bundle, which she gently unfolded into the magazine article she’d torn out of a magazine called “Time” while Twilight’s back was turned in their hunt through the library. “Interview with a Prince: How One Stallion went from Captain of the Guard to Rebel Leader to Rebuilder of a Devastated Nation.” She raised an eyebrow. Certainly not the most well-written title she’d ever seen for an article, but at least it had caught her eye. And it alerted her to the possible answers it might hold.

Celestia, of course, was no fool. She knew the answers this article might provide would most certainly not be all that pleasant. Especially if this “other” had committed the unspeakable. Did she really need to know this? The other version of her was locked away, would the answers this article provided really help her and Twilight?

Before she could make up her mind, something massive moved inside her skull, as if she were standing just inside the surf at a beach and had been caught by a rogue wave. Her head rose and fell with it, and she came out gasping for air, barely staying on her hooves.

Twilight darted up next to her, stumbling to her hooves with her head cocked weirdly. “Wh-what was that!?”

“I…I don’t know…magic on such a level…” Celestia could barely even speak, though she did manage to stuff the wad of glossy papers into her pack again. She was so overwhelmed by the onslaught of information that it was hard to channel what she had just experienced into any sort of thought process, much less start breaking it down. Something very fundamental had just shifted in the magical plane, and its effects were spreading. But to where? For what purpose?

She knew a moment later, after shifting her focus from her mind to her heart.

“Twilight, I’m sorry but rest will have to wait,” she stated, her eyes blazing with determination as she turned southward.

“P-princess?”

“We’re needed Twilight,” Celestia grimaced. “Something has just shifted in the magical plane. I can only guess what, but we have a direction and an obligation to fulfill.”

“O-of course, Princess,” Twilight fanned her wings, and the two lifted off into the evening sky, swooping towards the English Channel for parts unknown.

Author's Notes:

Next chapter should be up in a few minutes, and a couple more after that should be incoming pretty soon :)

Chapter XXII: "A Couple More Harmless Diplomats"

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0800 HOURS
UNCDI-RUN NEWFOAL COLONY, NEWFOAL POPULATION: ~12,000
DUSSELDORF, NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA, GERMANY
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Francis stepped out of the Humvee into the brisk, morning air, letting out a contented sigh. ”{Home sweet home,}” he muttered in his native tongue, delighting in the hard-packed dirt crunching beneath his shoes and knowing that for once, it was German dirt, with a German driver that he had been chatting amiably with during the drive into the compound. He was no frothing nationalist as some foreigners like to think of his people, his ongoing relationship with his coworker was a testament to that, but when one was away from home for so long, one yearned for certain things one took for granted before.

By contrast, Andre immediately clambered out and squinted in the sun, donning a set of designer shades and sighing. “{Let’s get this over with,}” he whispered. “{I do not wish to stay in this place for longer than we have to.}”

“{Oh, come now, Andy! I would be more supportive if this was a trip to your homeland!}”

At that, Andre smiled, took a quick look behind to make sure nobody was watching, then gave the German a quick peck on the cheek. “{It’s not that,}” he whispered harshly. “{It’s where we are, what we’re surrounded by.}”

The German’s face fell. He did a quick scan of their surroundings and drank in the rows of tiny apartment complexes surrounding the concrete UN compound. If this were anywhere else, it would be easy to think this was just another low-income part of the Dusseldorf suburbs, if one ignored the eerie quiet and the heavily-guarded concrete fortress at its center. One would have to know that this was, in fact, the largest Newfoal colony in Europe to understand the sheer scale of it, and to understand why the only vehicles on the streets were APC’s and Humvee’s piloted by men in blue helmets.

Far more than usual, I would imagine, Francis guessed, spotting the numerous dust trails rising over the city, his eyes eventually falling on the scorch marks at the gate they had just passed through, the concrete blackened in the pattern of an explosion. But can you blame them?

Making one more pass to make sure they weren’t being watched, Francis put an arm around the Frenchman’s shoulders. “{How about we get in, check for any magical pony princesses, and get out, ja}?” He asked. “{And then, you and I can partake in some of the finest bratwurst Germany has to offer. I know just the place!}”

“{German cooking,]” Andre scoffed. “{You certainly know how to make a guy feel special.}”

Francis just laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “{Come now, it’s not so bad. In and out, real quick, promise.}”

“{Don’t jinx it, sweetheart,}” Andre said, though a thin smile crossed his lips as they approached the double-doors leading in to a two-story building at the heart of the fortress. Francis gave him a final squeeze before they passed through into a towering lobby obviously designed to intimidate any visitors with its sheer size, their heels echoing off the vaulted ceiling while they walked up to the only person in the room, manning an oak desk which dominated an entire side of the lobby. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the pair pasted on their best smiles and walked right up to the man in the camo uniform, clicking away at his desktop with the apparent interest of a football player in a museum for tabletop gaming.

“{Pardon me,]” Andre said, leading off with his warmest smile while pulling his identification badge out of his pocket.

The receptionist took one look, and immediately stood at attention. “{Sir!}” He gasped, though notably without saluting. He took a quick scan of the badge and nodded. “{I take it you are the personnel here for the inspection?}”

“{Yes, of course,}” Andre replied, still with the warm smile and sparkling, blue eyes that Francis had fallen in love with. “{We are terribly sorry to inconvenience you, good sir, but after Detroit…}”

“{Say no more, sir,}” the soldier nodded before jamming his finger into a button at his side, allowing a small, waist-high gate built into the desk to open. “{We understand the security council’s concerns, but I think you’ll find we run a very tight ship here.}”

“{We’ll be the judge of that,}” Francis said darkly, sliding into the role of the bad cop as naturally as he slid into his dress coat every day.

The soldier just nodded to them both as they passed by, standing ramrod straight until they walked past and entered through a white, metal door, and immediately paused just inside.

When one walked into a UN head office, one expected rows of cubicles with phones and desks and people, some in uniform and some not, ducking and weaving around with stacks of paper. Instead, they found a row of hospital beds setup across a narrow aisle from enough computers, printers, beakers, and assorted science equipment to make Twilight Sparkle collapse from sheer euphoria.

“Huh,” Andre said intelligently.

“{You were expecting a bunch of guys behind desks too, right?}” Francis whispered to him. The blonde nodded. “{Oh, good, glad I wasn’t the only one.}”

“{Sirs!}” A squat, balding, powerfully-built man in a white labcoat strode up to the pair, his shoulders relaxed, but his spine still perfectly straight. This was probably his relaxed stance, from what Francis gathered. Or, as close to relaxed as he probably ever got, anyway.

“{Commander,}” Francis said, just barely keeping himself from saluting. “{Thank you for having us.}”

“{Oh please, this is the UNCDI’s main base in Europe! You two probably have more right to be here than half the people in this room!}” The squat man chuckled, and Francis and Andre feigned little snickers themselves. “{You’re both probably wondering about…all this…}”

Andre peeked around the man’s shoulders at the rows of hospital beds and the vacant-eyed Newfoals surrounded by enough lab technicians to discover the Tachyon Inhibitor all over again. “{Oh, we had gotten a bit curious about that, yeah,}” he said almost absentmindedly, his mind falling away as it usually did when people stared into those blank eyes for too long.

“{I trust you gentlemen have been updated on the events in London?}” The man asked.

Instantly, a cold fist clenched tight in Francis’s guts, though he didn’t show even a modicum of discomfort at the thought of the Sikh Indian and the American popping up on CNN. “{I-I’m sorry commander, it took us a while to catch a flight out of Norway, what happened in London}?”

The man paused, taking a deep breath, apparently picking up on the concern despite the pair’s best efforts. “{Nothing dangerous, if it’s friends and family you’re worried about,}” he said, and this time Francis allowed himself an actual sigh of relief. “{However, it is no less groundbreaking. Sometime in the last twelve hours, a Newfoal recovered its memories.}”

Andre blinked. Francis blinked. Andre’s mouth opened as if he were about to say something, then apparently thought better and closed it. Finally, ever the efficient German, Francis summarized their feelings in a single breath: “{Holy shit.}”

“{Our feelings exactly, but see for yourself,}” he reached up to a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, powering it up. It was already tuned to CNN, showing a Newfoal sitting up in his bed, his hoof clenched firmly in the hands of an elderly woman, as if she were afraid he would simply up and float away like a loose balloon.

“Look, I haven’t the foggiest clue for what happened to me,” he said clearly behind the German translator. “I just know that I’m back with my wife, and after five years of soiling myself, I’m quite happy to be back to…”

“{Wow,}” Andre rasped, both men tuning out the long biography of the Englishman kidnapped by Equestrian commandos late one British night and who, up until yesterday, had been quite happy staring off into space with a blank little smile on his face.

“{Exactly,}” the smaller man said with a smile beaming across his face. “{We’ve gathered an assortment of Newfoals from the major races out of our colony here for closer monitoring. If it happens again, we might have a trigger to bring them back!}”

“{Holy shit,}” Francis said. The man before them might as well have told them he’d just found the cure for death while somebody crawled out of their grave on national TV. For so long, the Newfoals had just been a burden, a reminder of some of the darkest days humanity had faced. For so long, they were just corpses that breathed and unsettled visitors. Now, to think they might be brought back…

“{Commander!}” All three looked up at a male nurse jogging up to them, sweat pouring down his face despite the mild temperature. “{We’ve got something! Increased brain activity on Number 23!}”

Francis and Andre blinked as the Commander grinned ear to ear. “{It’s happening,}” he gasped, turning to the newcomers. “{You see!? It’s happening! They’re coming back to us all on their own!}”

He galloped away without another word, Francis and Andre trailing close behind. They approached a bed with a purple unicorn mare resting in it, swaying upright. Men and women in labcoats clustered close, a few standing ready with respirators and defibrillators as the EKG raced.

“{Status!}” The commander barked.

“{Marie Wouters,}” the nurse said quickly, flipping through a stack of papers cradled to his chest. “{Age 23, taken November of 2019 and converted by commandoes of the Equestrian Royal…}”

“{I said status, not life’s story!}” The commander screamed, watching as a nurse leaned in to shine a light in the mare’s eyes, her massive pupils dilating.

“{High-level Alpha Wave activity spiking in the pre-frontal lobe},” an elderly doctor barked right back. “{We’re not sure what it is, but something is happening in that weird, little head!}”

A couple of the nurses stepped forward with respirators, only to be waved back. “{No, you fools! Let it come on its own time!}”

“{Something’s happening, something’s happening!}” Somebody cried out, impossible to tell who. On the bed, the Newfoal’s ears folded down. Her spine slumped as she looked around, confused. The group held its collective breath. Nobody dared to even breathe.

“{Ms. Wouters?}” The Commander asked. “{Ms. Wouters, are you in there?}”

The Newfoal turned her massive, round eyes on the man, and she smiled thinly, a spark of life dancing back into her eyes. The group gasped and oohed and ahhed, gathering themselves, all leaning forward. Only the veterans from the Collision Wars recognized the look in the unicorn’s eyes. They had seen it before, that gleeful smile right when a Newfoal was about to tear out a human’s throat. Francis was among these unlucky few, and so was one of the few to notice the hint of magic sparking up the unicorn’s horn, and to follow it to the scalpel dancing out of the elderly doctor’s pocket.

“Jesus look out…” he started, defaulting to English as he reached for the blade. Too late. All too late. A flash of silver darted across the bed, slicing through the palm of his hand. A sudden burst of pain stung, but did nothing to dull the horror of watching the scalpel slice right through the Commander’s throat.

“Bullseye,” the mare giggled as the Commander’s curious, child-like delight faded, his body slumping backwards while blood gushed down the front of his labcoat.

Francis clenched his palm as time slowed around him. A hand wrapped his shoulder. Reacting on instinct, he ducked and curled up into a ball on the tiled floor, tumbling away as a shot ran out. He spun in time to see Andre fire the last in a trio of shots into the mare’s forehead, his free hand still on the German’s shoulder, his other hand clenching a Sig Sauer Pro.

The mare died with that smile on her face, the last of her giggles on her lips, and her brains coating the headboard. The nurse standing closest to the Commander was the first to scream, the front of his smock covered in the man’s blood. It was as if the scream were a trigger, as if the sound of human suffering was enough to awaken something horrible in the Newfoals around them. The Earth pony to the left jumped on the back of the closest soldier, snapping his spine with a powerful buck before attacking his carotid with his teeth, grinning all the while. The pegasus to the right rose from her bed, swooping over the group’s heads to come down as hard as she could on a stunned nurse’s face.

Francis was first to react, grabbing Andre’s shoulder. That was all he needed to stir the Frenchman into action, the pair slipping over the tiled floor in their leather-soled shoes as ponies darted out of their beds and attacked. Their jackets billowed behind them, Francis ditching his in the mad scramble to get away, not knowing where the door at the end of the aisleway led but knowing it had to be better than the pure chaos exploding in the makeshift ward.

He paused, narrowly dodging a bed that had just been bucked into his path by an Earth pony stallion the size of a VW Beetle, and finally drew his H&K and pumped a pair of .45 ACP rounds into the stallion’s chest. Not even pausing to make sure the stallion stayed down, he vaulted the bed, glad for the blonde curl of hair in his peripheral, though less so for the Sig Sauer firing wildly next to him, like a group of American rednecks during some celebration they might partake in, like a NASCAR win. Whatever. They could discuss it later, when they weren’t squeezed between battling guards and ravenous ponies.

Finally, Francis grabbed the doorknob, wrenching it open. For a second, he turned to make sure Andre was right behind him. In that second, he wanted to wretch. Men in military camouflage had joined the battle playing out behind him, firing wildly. Bulletholes riddled the far wall and the windows, along with at least a couple dozen Newfoal bodies on the floor. Even in death, they still looked at him, still watching him with those wretched eyes, their fur matted with blood, those smiles somehow even wider. A handful of humans laid next to them, their eyes wide in shock, bodies covered in burns and bruises. One man had his throat crushed; the adam’s apple caved in to an unnatural crater. A Newfoal laid nearby with a smile on his face despite the blood and missing teeth. Francis gagged, then paused, his breath catching in his throat at the Newfoal unicorn gleefully galloping his way.

Hauling Andre in with one hand, Francis threw the door shut, though not in time to keep the creature from jamming its muzzle into the doorjamb with a sickening crunch.

“For Celestia!” The cursed thing chanted despite a shattered jaw. “For Eque…”

Francis bought the butt of his pistol down on its muzzle, feeling a shudder pass through his body as another gut-wrenching squish rippled through the thing’s snout and forced it back. He yanked the door shut and slammed the deadbolt home, breathing heavily.

He turned, slumping to the floor with the continuing cries and near-continuous stream of automatic gunfire from the other side. The pistol hung loosely in his hand. Andre grimaced across from him, still gasping. “{In and out, real quick, promise,}” He scoffed, propping himself up on his hands. “{You had to go and jinx it, didn’t you?}”

“{Don’t blame this on me,}” Francis grimaced, and the Frenchman winced.

“{Honey, I didn’t…}” Andre trailed off at the look on his boyfriend’s face, the sudden look of overwhelming horror that filled his eyes, and turned around. His jaw dropped. The room they had stumbled into opened up with a series of bay windows, partially blocked by dust-covered equipment and long-dead monitors, but not enough to cover the war outside. And that was what it was: a battle reminiscent of the darkest days of the Collision Wars, before the Tachyon Inhibitor was even a thought in some scientist’s head. Smoke columns reached into the sky as the sounds of more automatic gunfire echoed back to them, only partially blocked out by the gunfire in the other room. Another explosion rocked the little village, an entire row of houses bursting into violet, orange, and purple flames from another magical attack, to be answered with an artillery shell pulverizing an empty playground slide just at the head of a cul-de-sac, sending it flying in a gray plume of dust and smoke, adding to the gray and black scorch marks that marred every building in sight.

“{D-dearest,}” Andre said, his voice quivering uncharacteristically. “{P-please tell me I’m not looking at an outbreak of the s-second Collision Wars, because I barely survived the first one with my sanity intact.}”

“{I-I’m sorry, sweetheart,}” Francis whimpered, a faint smile crossing his face. “{Do me a favor though: reload your sidearm. I saw you shooting like an American hillbilly out there.}”

Andre snorted at the German’s dry attempt at humor, but reached for a fresh magazine anyway. “{It’s called covering fire, dearest.}”

“{No, it’s called a repulsive waste of ammunition, don’t do it again.}”

“{Had to make sure we could both made it through okay. I knew I could make it to the door, but you…}”

Suddenly, Francis rounded on the Frenchman, clambering atop him in a sudden roll. Blonde curls touched short-cropped stubble as their foreheads met, their lips touching tenderly, gently, then parting. They sat there, breathing heavily. “{I know, and that’s what scares me,}” Francis whispered. “{Don’t do it again. Like I said, it’s a repulsive waste of ammo.}”

Andre’s eyes widened, drinking in the German’s baby blues, and then he scowled. “{How noble,}” he scoffed. “{You know I’m not gonna change a damn thing, right? Just you asking me isn’t going to do it.}”

“{I know,}” Francis cradled Andre’s chin in one, powerful hand. “{Thought it couldn’t hurt to ask, even if it would be like trying to stop a tsunami with a drinking straw.}”

Andre smiled, then his eyes darted past the German to the bay window and widened. Francis didn’t even have time to react before Andre threw him aside, a wordless scream catching in his throat as he bought the Sig up to bear. Francis only had time to twist in mid-air before his shoulder collided with the tile, drinking in the view of the teal-colored pegasus barreling towards the window, hooves stretched out, that maniacal grin slicing its face right in half. He went for his P9, but already knew he would be too late. In the split-second it took him to draw his weapon, the pony would smash through the window, cross the room, and break Andre’s perfect teeth right down his neck. Worse yet, when the Frenchman levelled his own weapon and squeezed the trigger, the only response was an empty little click, reminding them both of the fresh magazine still in his hand. Not even a bullet had been left in the chamber, meaning he’d shot himself empty back in the medical ward, oh the fool, oh the poor beautiful wonderful fool who wouldn’t have done that if Francis had just been quicker on his feet or maybe…

A shot rang out. The glass broke as predicted, but instead of crossing the room and destroying the only reason Francis had for getting up in the morning, the pegasus crashed into the tile, smearing a trail of blood behind its body before coming to a stop with its grin frozen permanently in Andre’s direction, just a few feet from his leather soles, blood streaming through its mane. Francis had to double-check to make sure smoke wasn’t drifting off the barrel of his own pistol, but it wasn’t. He most assuredly had not squeezed off a round in a final, adrenaline-fuelled attempt to save his lover. So what was that, then!? Just what in the fuck had they-

Francis’s pocket vibrated. His hand reflexively pressed against it, giving him enough time to question what in the fuck he was doing. Even if it was that American phenomenon, the Publisher’s Clearing House David had told him about, telling him that he’d just won $5000 a week for life, was he honestly in any sort of position to answer it?

In the space between the second and third buzz, it hit him: this was his work phone. This was not the personal cell phone he’d left charging in his room on the Illustrious. This was an urgent message. His hand darted into his pocket, returned with the phone, raised it to his ear, and swiped to answer.

Andre looked at him as if he’d gone crazy, and why not? The Newfoals were raising hell, a ton of people had died on this exact spot, and his boyfriend had almost had his skull smashed in by a colorful flying pony. If ever there was time for a German to allow a bit of craziness into his thoughts, this was it.

“Hello?” He asked.

“Good Afternoon, Feldwebel,” a highly-distorted, warbling voice on the other side of the line said in English. “I trust you and your companion are well? All things considered, of course.”

“Of course,” he parroted. It was the only thing he could do, such was the shock of being referred to by such a title for the first time in nearly five years. “Things have been better, but…”

“I’m afraid our time is short, Feldwebel, and while I would normally enjoy an exchange of pleasantries, I must be brief,” the voice worked quickly now, lighting off a rapid-fire bombardment of information that the few, intact thinking processes in Francis’s mind reeled beneath. “As you might have noticed, we have just saved the life of both you and your companion.”

The pool of blood from the broken body at Andre’s feet crept towards his soles, and he quickly bent his knees, earning some extra space. “Yes, thank you,” Francis said.

“Don’t thank us yet, ol’ chum,” and yes, there was most definitely a British accent in that voice. “We can cover your escape, but you two will still have a lot of legwork to do, savvy?”

Arching an eyebrow, Francis slunk over to the nearest bit of cover, a wheeled monstrosity of an EKG machine that would have looked more at home on the set of a black-and-white Frankenstein rip-off than in any hospital. “Pardon me for not trusting mysterious voices on phones, but who is ‘we’ exactly?”

A long pause followed, and then the voice said: “Brickwork building to your southwest.” Francis pushed himself to his feet, scanning the squat, five-story structure the voice had indicated, eyes narrowed. It was a simple thing, with sloped German roofs to allow snow to slide off in the winters and shuttered windows, maybe 600 – no, 700 yards away. As he watched, one of the fourth floor windows opened. Francis squinted to no avail: it was just too dark inside the room and too far away. All he could see was a featureless, black rectangle. Then the tell-tale spark of a muzzle flash rang out from inside. Francis only had time to flinch in the beginning of a duck before the screen of an ancient desktop monitor exploded a few meters to his right.

He never took his eyes off the window, glaring. After a few moments, a figure stepped into the light, clad in all-black camo, a balaclava with matching combat helmet on its head, and an L118 sniper rifle smoking in its gloved hands.

“Tell me, Feldwebel, how big was that target? I cannot tell from here.”

Francis took his eyes off the figure for only a second to glance at the shattered monitor, now lying on the floor amidst a pile of smoking plastic and shattered glass, then returned his gaze as quickly as possible. The figure was still standing there, the rifle resting on its shoulder.

“Old computer monitor,” he replied. “Maybe a foot and a half across.”

“Just slightly smaller than your torso, would you agree?” The voice said. “And don’t give me that bullshit about surviving chest shots, those are NATO 7.62 hollowpoints we’re using, doesn’t matter where you’d get shot and you know it.”

“Yes, I know,” Francis said cautiously.

“Then you understand: if we wanted you and your boyfriend dead, it would be a simple squeeze of a trigger. Or, better yet, we could have let the Newfoal freak pound his skull into the tile, then give you a couple seconds to mourn before ending your life,” the voice grew a cold edge at last, audible even through the audio distortion. “Enough games, Feldwebel. Get moving.”

Andre was already beside him, studying the figure even while Francis hung up the phone. The Frenchman looked over at him with the sort of cold, analytical look one used when one knew they were stepping into possible death. “{So, what happens now?}” He asked in his native French, those piercing eyes turning back the figure in black even as it melted back with the shadows, the glint off the barrel of the rifle the last to disappear before the figure became completely invisible. “{Do we trust them?}”

Francis tried to crack a smile, but his face refused to obey, so he let it remain at simple, numb concern. “{Do we have a choice?}”

Andre regarded the empty black square a while longer, as if the answer to getting out of this place alive was etched into the brickwork around the window. “ {No, we do not,}” he finally admitted.

Finally managing the smile he’d been searching for, Francis pulled out his pistol and used its butt to smash out the glass left by the pony, pulling off his jacket and using it to clear as much of the shattered remains as he could. Then, he stood back and splayed his arms out in a melodramatic fashion. “{Ladies first.}”

“{A gentleman!}” Andre gushed mockingly before accepting Francis’s hand and stepping through the portal, out onto the roof. Francis took note of the utter, crushing silence on the other side of the door to the makeshift infirmary as he also crawled through the shattered glass. For a moment, he had an image of two dozen ponies coated in blood, none of it their own, watching the door with those empty little smiles, waiting for signs of life from the other side to pounce…

Francis shivered, then stepped through, keeping his head low to avoid detection. Andre kept his pistol on the sky the entire time, scanning around. Francis could only hope it would do some good. “There’s a heliport nearby,” Andre hissed. “We can make it, and I can fly us out of here.”

Looking around at the shattered windows, the smoking craters pitting the concrete, the blood-spattered brickwork and bullet-riddled stone, Francis couldn’t say for sure he wanted to make it. Not if it meant this again. Not again.

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

Across the courtyard, the sniper watched the pair through her scope, a finger resting on the trigger guard, admiring the way the two moved with precision. The entire time along the rooftops, there was never a moment when either man was without cover, at least one pistol scanning the skies for the telltale flap of wings.

“Had you boys pegged from the beginning,” she whispered, smiling to herself and lowering the rifle only after she was absolutely, 100% certain they were out of sight. “’Course, that was just the gay thing, military thing definitely caught me off-guard. Probably should’ve taken you to the range at some point just to make sure.”

Sighing as she worked the bolt on her weapon to eject the round in the chamber, the sniper reached with one hand into a pocket in her armored vest, pulling out a pack of Mayfairs. She stuck one between her lips and lit it, watching the window the entire time. “Somebody’s got some explaining to do, especially you, Admiral,” Lisa Townshend whispered, puffing a while on the cigarette, exhaling gently to keep the smoke contained in the room.

Author's Notes:

Expect another chapter or two over the next couple of days! :)

Chapter XXIII: The Heretic Princess

Twilight Sparkle was not an unstoppable badass. She had already established this firmly. She did not swoop onto the battlefield with a last minute charge to save the day, that wasn’t her, that wasn’t her, for the love of Celestia above, that wasn’t her! She was supposed to be a hoity-toity pony princess who just gained an even better excuse for spending her Friday nights reading in her library! So why, oh why, did the universe see fit to thrust her into these situations?

She swooped alongside her long-time friend and mentor. They’d made landfall hours before, but Celestia had never even slowed down. And good Sun and Moon above, could anypony blame her? If her intuition was right, what waited for them would be a straight-up warzone, if not a massacre. Still, the ache which had started between her shoulder blades just an hour before had grown into a pretty persistent pain, which was now steadily evolving from “muscle cramp” to “white hot needles.”

“P-princess…” she gasped, reaching out. That was all she needed to do. Celestia cut her speed in half and soared next to her former student, looking her over.

“We can rest if you wish, Twilight,” she said after a single glance, which probably told Twilight all she needed to know about how she looked.

Cursing herself over and over again for blowing off Rainbow Dash every time she offered flight training, Twilight pasted a smile on her face and pushed just an ounce more speed out of her aching wings. “That’s alright…princess…” she managed with only a couple faint pants. “Maybe we could just…slow down a little?”

Instead, Celestia arrowed downwards, settling in an empty hayfield. Thanking anypony that might be listening, Twilight followed suit. “We can rest and make up the distance when we take to the air,” Celestia insisted, trotting over to a hay bale. “In the meantime, let us hope this hay is more satisfying than that accursed grass from last night.”

Twilight furrowed her brow at the hoofful of wispy, dried, yellow stuff in Celestia’s hoof. “Isn’t this stealing?”

“Desperate times, Twilight,” she looked at her former student with a weak, little smile. “We will be of no good to anypony – or anybody – if we are doubled over in hunger by the time we reach our destination. For now, we will simply have to hope to come across this place again in better times, when we are more able to reimburse the owner.”

Twilight nodded, grateful for the Princess’s justification, and immediately feeling ashamed for such gratitude. Still, the last decent meal the pair had eaten had been on that megaship, since then it had been just scraps such as this. There was no way…

Twilight bit into her clump of hay, and heaven itself exploded in her mouth. Woody, yet not like woodchips, more like a breath somewhere deep in the Everfree just after a spring rainstorm, when the forest was still coming to life and that scent of moisture still hung in the air. Without even thinking, she bobbed forward and stuck her entire head into the bale, her jaw hanging slack to fill with the hay. It was even better, now it was reliving a summer picnic with her friends, yet with a sweet aftertaste: not candy sweet, more like a really ripe piece of fruit.

She was gently lifted up and placed on her hooves beside the bale, Celestia standing over her with a mouthful of that sweet, wonderful, succulent hay. She was still chewing, apparently unable to stop, and was only able to talk after swallowing every stalk in her mouth.

“When we improve relations with the humans,” she said. “I know the very first thing we’re going to negotiate a trade deal for.”

“Absolutely.”

They allowed themselves a couple more mouthfuls each before sinking to the grass, finally content for the first time in days. Twilight perked up an ear, listening to the peaceful tweeting of birds that seemed to exist on every farm, even Sweet Apple Acres. Two radically different worlds, yet so alike.

Sitting up and clearing her throat, she returned to business mode with the sort of professionalism one would expect from royalty. “Do you have any idea what could be waiting for us, Princess?”

Celestia just shook her head, content with remaining where she was. “I only know the size and direction of the magical pulse, dearest Twilight,” she said, the content smile and closed eyes never leaving her face. “We crossed the border into a land called ‘Germany’ a while ago, but for all I know, we could still be hundreds of miles from our destination.”

Twilight was about to say something, when a deep thud resounded through the air. The sort of deep thumping sound that actually seemed to bounce your body with it, rattling the ribs as it passed by. Celestia was on her hooves in an instant, eyes scanning wildly. It didn’t take long for either of them to find the columns of thick, black smoke rising steadily into the air, and once they had that direction, they were able to make out the distant ‘ack-ack’ sounds of the humans’ weapons.

“Or we could be standing right on the precipice,” Celestia murmured before fanning her wings and taking off at a speed that would have impressed Rainbow Dash. Twilight nearly lost her then, but keeping track of a white streak trailing rainbows turned out to be an even easier task than she’d imagined. They darted just over the branches of trees across miles of farmland, approaching a small city in the distance.

Twilight could make out more details in the city as they approached. A few minutes after discovering that amazing hay, she could see quaint, brick cottages that made her heart ache for Ponyville, despite the pillars of smoke rising from their midst. After that came the massive, gray fortress with little curls of wire running along the top of its fencing, and where more explosions and gunfire were erupting. Finally, she could see the smaller details: the scorch marks on rooftops, the faint pops and whistles of something exploding someplace nearby, the houses with rooftops that were totally caved-in or had perfectly round holes pounded into them.

“If that’s not it, I’m Discord’s mother,” she whispered to herself, the pain flaring between her shoulder blades long forgotten as she squeezed as much speed out of her wings as she could muster. She arrived on the outskirts of the village to find Celestia perched atop a human ‘automobile’ with a small crowd of Newfoals gathering around her. Her powerful figure was framed by the flames licking out of the storefront behind her. Many of the Newfoals at her hooves had their fur matted and bloodied noses, some even covered in blood, though judging by the way they walked without any difficulty, the blood probably wasn’t their own. She noticed one balanced precariously on three legs, his third just a charred stump of foreleg, and she had to suppress the urge to vomit.

“My dearest ponies,” Celestia said, her voice booming at Royal Canterlot Voice levels. “Your princess has arrived!”

Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. As Twilight settled on the nose of the automobile, she pieced it together: the Newfoals were just standing there. The stallion they’d cured in Bethlem had practically knelt at Celestia’s hooves, and had needed to be ordered directly to keep from proclaiming his eternal love and loyalty at the top of his lungs. These ponies were just…staring. Like they were confused. Was that all? Confusion that their Princess would show herself here and now? Twilight could only hope so.

“This…” Celestia spread her hoof out, motioning to the shattered glass and the flaming rubble around them. “This is not what we are meant to stand for, my little ponies. We are meant to be beacons of hope and friendship to those around us, not harbingers of destruction! I ask and appeal to the intelligent, loving minds that I know are in there: stand down, and join me in extending the hoof of friendship to humanity before it is too late!”

Celestia smiled reassuringly at the Newfoals around her, confident in their abilities to make the right decision. Except these weren’t her little ponies. Dear Sun above, these were something else! One look in those big, blank eyes told Twilight that much. Now, as one mare stepped forward with unbridled fury burning in her gaze, the lavender princess realized just how vastly removed from the ponies she knew these Newfoals were.

“This is not the Solar Lord,” the mare proclaimed, levelling a hateful glare at the Alicorns perched atop the ruined sedan. “This is the imposter we were warned about!”

“The Impostor!” A stallion slurred around a shattered muzzle, leaping down from a roof and clipping a small camera hooked to a utility pole, snarling like an animal. “It’s the Impostor! The Heretic of all!”

“Destroy her! Destroy the Impostor! Destroy the Heretics! Let them burn!” The crowd chanted as one, each pony flinging themselves against the car, gnashing their teeth, bashing at the sedan’s side with their foreheads.

Celestia barely had time to react, throwing a shield around herself and Twilight just in time to block the first attacking pony: a pegasus stallion who’s forehead bounced off the solid wall of pure magic and who’s neck snapped back unnaturally. He turned away as the tide of Newfoals broke out around him, stumbling away impossibly as his body tried to understand that he’d just broken his own neck.

“Destroy her! Destroy the Heretic!” The first mare repeated, a makeshift general for a ragtag army of shambling, blank-eyed, hateful cretins. Twilight had a flash of a movie Rainbow had forced her to watch, Night of the Living Dead, and she forced the memory back upon recalling the ending. No time for memories, no time for recollection. She scurried up the sedan’s side, safe within her teacher’s bubble, but for how long?

She turned, saw the way Celestia strained with each physical blow and shuddering blast, and realized that despite all of Celestia’s power, she wouldn’t last a few more minutes. They couldn’t stay here, anyway. The humans would be along soon. They would have to be. What else could they be doing? “Princess!” Twilight gasped.

Celestia didn’t respond, and Twilight was about to repeat herself when she saw the way Celestia’s ear flicked. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard. It’s just that she didn’t want to hear. The strain of maintaining the shield against the blood-soaked, slavering faces was plain on her face, and despite that, despite the beating hooves and the cries for her blood and the shattering bone as the Newfoals literally threw themselves against the shield, she didn’t want to accept that they might have to fight their way out. Twilight’s eyes widened in realization as she turned to the horde outside. Deep down inside those evil, stupid heads were mothers, fathers, grandsons, nieces, and uncles. How many would have to die for them? How many would the Princesses have to kill, extinguishing any hope of ever reuniting them with their loved ones?

Twilight’s mind raced, weighing her options. Stun spells might work. Might. Of course, with this bunch all riled up, it could take three or four hits to get each mare and stallion down, and in that time they could be overwhelmed. Or, even worse, forced to open fire with spells that did more permanent damage. Her wide, fear-filled eyes watched the horde outside, the tide of stupid, angry faces glaring back at her, yet still the rational side of her brain worked away, approaching the problem from every angle. The solution was on her at once.

We don’t have to incapacitate them, she realized, her horn already charging with the spell. She would kick herself later for not seeing the way out immediately, but one could forgive her that if one took into account that terrible horde of awful, yelling faces. We just have to get away…

She finished the spell, there was a blinding flash, and both princesses disappeared, along with the top half of a VW Jetta compact.

There was the rush of magic, the same light-headedness she’d always know, and then reality hit the pair like a speeding semi. Twilight’s head reeled as she snapped back into existence, standing atop a single-story apartment building a couple hundred yards down the street. The horde still gathered around the remains of the sedan, pushing and shoving and jostling each other, apparently unable to believe their prey had just escaped. The former unicorn collapsed out of relief, a few shingles peeling away under her. “Thank Celestia that worked,” she whispered.

Celestia, finally snapping out of her daze, ran a hoof along her former student’s shoulders. “I had nothing to do with that,” she said, wrapping her wings around Twilight’s withers. “That was all you, my dearest former student.”

Twilight was about to say something else, or at least point out they should probably start running, when the roof creaked and groaned. It occurred to both mares that these decrepit structures probably weren’t designed to support the weight of two pony princesses and half a family four-door sedan, especially after having a good portion of their load-bearing walls blown out. Before either could react, there was a loud crash, a creak of splintering wood, and they smashed through into a bedroom.

Twilight coughed, pushing herself to her hooves, ignoring the filth caked into her coat. “Princess!?” She gasped, unable to disguise the raw panic in her voice.

Celestia’s unmistakable silhouette rose to its hooves somewhere amidst the dust, her filth-covered muzzle contrasting with her bright, magenta eyes. “Please don’t mention this to Luna,” she said between hacking coughs. “She’s been trying to put me on a diet ever since she got back, and this might be the final straw.”

Unable to help herself, Twilight wrapped her forelegs around Celestia’s shoulders, squeezing tight, her chest heaving. But she wasn’t in tears. Not yet, anyway. Celestia, for her part, wrapped a foreleg around Twilight’s shoulders, knowing that sometimes the best support to offer was just a shoulder to cry on, even if the other pony was fighting it with all the strength in their little body. One thing they had in common: in that moment, both wished to stay that way forever. Both wished for this moment to remain as it was, because Twilight hadn’t felt so safe in days, and Celestia had never felt closer to simpler times, when the most pressing matter on her mind was what book she would read with her dearest student after they’d finished up their current one.

“Come, Twilight,” she whispered, motioning to the stairs. “We can’t stay here.”

“Yeah, though that’d be nice,” Twilight sighed, following the princess out the door and into the hallway. They both gawped as the door creaked open. The building had been hit by something large and explosive, the large, charred hole in the ceiling made that much obvious. Where the apartment had been untouched, however, the hall was littered with fallen timbers, burnt plaster, and chunks of assorted rubble charred beyond recognition. Just outside the door, a blood-stained pants leg poked out from under a large timber, and Twilight gasped as she realized someone was under there.

“Oh my…” she gasped, a hoof going to her mouth. Her wide eyes scanned the apartment, finding the cold bowl of soup on the kitchen table. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “He barely even made it past his door…”

“Oh Maker above,” Celestia murmured, shaking her head. “What are we even doing here?”

“Princess?”

“T-Twilight…” Celestia turned to her former student, and to her horror Twilight saw fear in those eyes, the same sort of fear as a filly lost in the dark. “I don’t think we should have come here.” She whispered, her voice small and terrified.

And then someone shifted around in the rubble just outside. Twilight thought for a moment it might have been her imagination, and then a few coughs added themselves to the noise.

There was a single moment of processing what was going on, of not understanding, and then both ponies leapt to the air and bounded past the body in the hallway, leaping upon the shattered piles of wood and discarded shingles left by a scorched, gaping hole in the roof. They searched frantically for whoever might be trapped, throwing wood and plaster aside without a moment’s consideration. They found him under a plank of plywood, pinned down by the remains of a support beam: a man in the camouflage clothing they knew all too well, wearing the flag of the human nation they had sneaked into. He stirred and groaned as they lifted the wood off, coughing up a spurt of blood from a mouth covered in filth and dirt.

“Oh no,” Twilight gasped, her shoulders already tensing for hyperventilation.

Celestia eased herself down alongside the man, resting her face gently against his while studying his body. “Burn marks. He was attacked by a unicorn,” she sighed, looking up at the scorched hole in the ceiling. “Just one. Please, after all that’s happened today, let me save one.”

“Wha-wha-wha…” Twilight stammered and swallowed, unable to contain her shaking. Her wings, now frazzled and unkempt, tensed and flexed against her body. “What do we do?”

“First thing’s first, we remain calm,” Celestia said, eyeing her student. All traces of shock and horror were gone from that eye. Twilight visibly paused, then held a hoof to her chest, breathing in and then out, just as Cadence had shown her so long ago. Nodding her approval, Celestia studied the man, her horn igniting. “I will most likely require your aid with this, Twilight.”

Nodding, Twilight leapt to the man’s side. “Do you suppose our healing spells function the same with humans as they do with ponies?”

“We can only try, and hope,” Celestia replied, her horn humming with power. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” Twilight whispered, their magic humming and coalescing as a small, white orb over the human’s chest. The orb hummed over the human’s body, little arcs of light reaching out across his wounds, sealing them over through the burnt holes in his clothing as he winced in pain. Once or twice, his back arched and he let out a quick gasp, only to settle again.

When it was done, the pair settled back. “Not quite the perfect process we know with most ponies, but manageable for now,” Celestia remarked, rising to her hooves. “Stay with him, Twilight, I wish to poke my head out, see if there are some human forces we can drop him off near.”

“Of course, Princess,” Twilight watched Celestia soar over her head, smiling to herself. Perhaps finally, things were going to start working out for them. Perhaps today they were going to take a step towards convincing humanity that not all ponies were like the wicked demon that had attacked them.

Her gaze drifted back down to the human. His eyes were open wide. “H-hi,” she offered with a little smile and a wave of her hoof.

The man’s boot lashed out, catching her upside the chin and sending her sprawling on her back. Her gaze wavered in and out for only a second, more than enough time for the man to jump to his feet and sprint to the door, screaming the entire way in the strange language of the land. He already had his hand on the doorknob by the time Twilight regained her marbles enough to hop back on her hooves and realize what was happening.

“No, wait!” She cried, running after him and wrapping her hooves around his pants leg. “They’re out there!”

Still screaming frantically, his eyes wide and his teeth bared, the man kicked her off and threw the door open. Twilight still reached for him despite the pain in her forelegs. Too little. Too slow. Too late. No matter what it was, her efforts weren’t enough to stop the panicked human. It only occurred to her to use her magic when he was already halfway out the door, and she reached out, grasping his ankle tripping him up.

The human fell to his hands on the sidewalk just outside the door. A split-second later, his head vanished in a cyan blur and a sudden explosion of gore, bits of skull and droplets of blood blanketing the cheap throw rug proclaiming “welcome” to anyone on the doorstep. His body twitched for a second on the doorstep, then fell limp. Twilight’s mouth gaped open in abject horror, her magic still holding the human’s rapidly-stiffening ankle. She backed away, accidentally dragging the body back into the house, the arms catching on the doorframe and splaying out behind it, soaking the uniform’s sleeves in the blood trail left on the sidewalk. Finally regaining some presence of mind, Twilight released the human, letting the boot drop to the floor with a loud thud.

“That didn’t happen,” she mumbled in a voice that sounded like a timid filly on the verge of breaking down, perhaps like Fluttershy sounded on that first day of Flight School when she was told she would have to learn to step off the clouds and fly under her own power. “That couldn’t have just happened.”

She reached up, a hoof covering her mouth to hold back a scream, only to draw her hoof back at the moisture she felt. Red. It was covered in red. She wondered if she’d scratched herself while plummeting through the roof. Then she realized the blood wasn’t hers.

This time, she did scream. It rose from her throat unbidden, totally out of control, reaching a high-pitched shriek that strained her vocal chords and hurt her ears but she couldn’t stop because if she stopped she might have to look at herself and maybe find a mirror and maybe find a chunk of brain in her hair and oh Celestia oh Luna she didn’t want to see she didn’t want to see that so she just kept screaming, even as a pegasus covered in blood with bits of grey matter in her feathers poked her cyan head in and glared at Twilight.

“Death to the heretics,” she whispered before rushing in, trampling the human’s body. Twilight stood there, still screaming, still paralyzed even as the pegasus rushed her. Her only saving grace was the powerful stun spell that lanced into the back of the mare’s head, dropping her on the run to crash at Twilight’s hooves and now she could feel the blood in her mane oh Celestia it was in her bucking mane…

Twilight didn’t remember much afterwards, and for that she would always be grateful.

Chapter XXIV: The Continuing Show

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0900 HOURS
CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS OF THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, DESTINATION UNDETERMINED
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A thousand miles away, a man sat staring at his monitor, watching a small side-street in London where two figures ran up to one another, both shoving something away in their belts just before meeting up and running down a back alleyway, all out of view of the van filled with bodies and the burning SUV. The man smiled and shook his head, putting down the satellite phone in his hands and replacing it with another glass of Cognac.

“And still, neither one knows what the other is capable of,” Admiral Peterson snickered, tilting the glass in the direction of the monitor. “Good show, lads.”

He took a sip, then switched the monitor until it showed a small hallway in his own ship. This time, the view displayed the young Brazilian boy from earlier, stooping to pick up something in the hallways outside Target Alpha’s old cell. He watched as the kid’s hand squeezed around the tiny object, his teeth clenching, his shoulders rising and falling with every ragged breath. The Admiral sighed and refilled his glass. “And now for the next show to start,” he mumbled.

The Admiral wished to be a better man, and for the thousandth time in a row, his wish went unanswered. So instead, he resolved to be a drunker man. A drunk man could at least meet his own gaze in a mirror, which was a whole helluva lot more than he could say for himself since that day when the UNCDI helicopter had landed on the deck of his ship and he’d gotten a call on the big, important phone on his desk.

He refilled his glass and drained it. He could lie to himself, sure. Say what he’d just done made up for it, that the lives he’d just saved more than made up for selling his soul and his honor in exchange for a tiny sliver of peace, but even drunk he didn’t believe it. Even when he was at the point where he was on the ground, unable to support his own head like an oversized baby in a military uniform, he still knew nothing he did could ever make up for that betrayal. But at least at that point he didn’t care anymore.

He was raising the glass to his lips when the big, important telephone rang once more. The noise of the bell pierced into his skull like an arrow, aggravating the headache pulsing behind his eyes and adding another millimeter to the growing welt in his stomach lining destined to become an ulcer. He made another wish, this time for the strength and courage to not pick it up. To ignore it. He didn’t know what would happen then, but it had to be better than…

He picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“You delayed.”

“I was napping.”

“We both know that isn’t true, Admiral,” there was clicking on the line, a popping sound, and then the voice continued. “I trust you’re aware of the situation on the mainland?”

“Of course,” the Admiral didn’t even try to suppress his grin. What was the harm in that much? “Quite the setback for you.”

“For us.”

“Of course, for us.”

“They are far more tenacious than we took them for, Admiral,” the voice continued as the Admiral kicked his feet up on his desk. “We’d hoped the Newfoals would handle them, hence why our team was refocused from their original direction to aiding in containment efforts. Obviously, this was an underestimation. A repetition of our mistake in London. We will not make that mistake again.”

The voice sounded more like it was talking to itself than to him. The Admiral smiled. “Of course.”

“Regardless, we have decided this could be something of a boon,” the voice continued. “Perhaps all the team requires is a bit more…oversight in order to reach our common goal.”

The Admiral’s stomach twisted. “Oversight?”

“We already have someone picked out. You may call him Mister M. I trust you’ll make him feel at home?”

Yep, there was that new ulcer forming, right on cue. “Of course.”

“Excellent! And don’t think of this as replacement or further oversight, Admiral, think of this as an opportunity to demonstrate your loyalty before a first-hand witness,” the voice said enthusiastically before taking on a darker edge. “Don’t disappoint us.”

Wow, that new ulcer was really going to work. “Of course not, sir.”

“Very good,” the voice said, and with a click, it was gone, allowing the Admiral to slowly replace the phone in its cradle.

He gripped the metal receiver until he felt its edges dig into his palm. “You goddamned sonofabitch cock-sucking pencil-pushing pile of…”

His tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door. Releasing his grip on the phone, he replaced the receiver with the utmost care, making sure it appeared totally undisturbed and unused before hurriedly unbuttoning his collar and slouching in his chair. “Come in,” he slurred.

The Russian stepped in, his nose wrinkling for a moment upon seeing the Admiral before settling back to neutral. “Hard at work tracking down our little runaway, I see,” he said.

“Work is for younger, lower-ranked men,” the Admiral said with a slanted half-grin, kicking his feet up before taking another sip. “Besides, I might say the same for you, Ivan.”

Bristling at the nickname, Anton took the seat across from him. “I have been hard at work, actually,” he shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Yes, a few things I’ve been noticing,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Mostly with Alpha’s behavior since she boarded this ship.”

Intrigued, but unable to show it, the Admiral raised his glass. “Well, spit it out and be done with it!”

“It’s just the way she worked from the moment she got on ship: not at all like monster we know,” Anton shook his head. “Every interaction, every conversation, the fact that King Shining Armor seemed to recognize her companion…”

He looked up at the Admiral as he arched an eyebrow in confusion. “One doesn’t react the way the King did unless it’s upon seeing someone important,” Anton explained, leaning back in his seat. The Admiral nodded his understanding, then immediately chastised himself for letting that slip. Luckily, the Russian didn’t notice. “I don’t know who she was, someone from his past? Someone who resembled a pony killed in nuclear strikes? Either way, she was a princess, another princess, when the creature we both know would’ve died before she shared power with another.”

“Maybe,” the Admiral shrugged. “Or maybe all those interactions were her way of getting our trust? And maybe that other princess is just another pony this bitch found to be as powerful and corrupt as she was? I mean, they managed t’go through a Tachyon Inhibitor like it was nothing! Fuck knows what the purple one might’ve been able to do on her own!”

“Maybe,” Anton frowned, a hand going to his chin. “Of course, there is matter of escape, and that they did it with minimal casualties despite every opportunity to…”

“Bluffing!” The Admiral scoffed, even as his stomach twisted and his head swirled with possibilities. “Neither really had their full power at the time, the threats they made in their cell were so much bravado, what with them being caught in a Tachyon Inhibition field capable of neutralizing their whole damn island! They knew to conserve what power they did have to punch through the field and make a run for it, or didntcha notice they only used magic twice during the whole escape?”

Anton sat back, head still swimming with thought. Truth be told, the Admiral’s mind was alight with possibility. He might be powerless to do anything about it, but what if? What if this Equestria was…different?

“You’re putting too much thought into this,” he mumbled as he raised the glass to his lips, unsure who he was speaking to. “They probably didn’t have time to do anything back then, if they could have been more secure in their escape plan, then I’m sure you’d have seen something to keep you up at night!”

He didn’t even believe his own words as they left his lips. He tried to convince himself, but still: What if?

“Besides, what’re you coming to me with this for?” He asked, setting the glass down. “You still got the beaner, shouldn’t you be talking with him?”

“Can’t find him,” Anton grumbled, sitting forward with his elbows pressing into his knees.

“Then have a drink!” The Admiral laughed, nudging an empty shot glass across the desk towards the Russian. “Do it while you can!”

Anton’s nose wrinkled for a moment, but was replaced with an arched eyebrow. “While I can?”

“We’re getting a new babysitter,” the Admiral replied, his eyes on the glass as he filled it. “Thought you should know. Some UN pencil pusher, I wouldn’t be too worried about him,” especially since it’s me he’s keeping an eye on, not you, he thought, moving to replace the bottle on the desk but changing his mind and going for a sip straight from its neck.

Anton eyed the small glass in front of him, then eyed the Admiral, and finally, smiled halfway as he pulled his flask out of its hidden pocket.

The Admiral guffawed. “Beat me to it, ‘ey Ivan?”

“The name is Anton,” he replied, dropping a few swigs of his personal stash in with the glass and giving it a few swirls. “And of course I did, you didn’t believe a limey could ever outdrink a true Russian, did you?”

The Admiral’s smile faltered. “In the words of your Yankee friend: ‘them’s fightin’ words’.”

“Simply name a time and a place,” Anton replied with a smart little smile as he raised the glass to his lips. All of this would turn out to be one of the worst moments of terrible timing in either man’s long life.

The door burst open, and in stomped a young Brazilian, his fists clenched, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He scanned the room, looked around for a moment, and when his eyes took in Anton with a shot glass at his lips, his fists clenched harder. One could almost feel the hate-filled anger rolling off the younger man. Completely taken aback, Anton lowered his glass. “Felipe? What’s wrong, my…”

“Don’t,” Felipe hissed. “Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence and use that fucking name!”

“Young man,” the Admiral put in, sitting up in his chair. “What’s this all about?”

Felipe turned that hate-filled glare on him, then back to Anton. “‘I used to be mechanic of sorts, will be easy to put it all back together,’ you said. ‘Trust me, this is what I used to do for a living’, you said.” He shook his head, his entire face scrunched in, as if his whole head was invested in keeping his eyes closed. “You stupid, stupid, old drunk!”

“I don’t…”

“What’s this then!?” Felipe screamed, opening his hand and dangling the contents out, squeezed between his thumb and forefinger. It took a moment to recognize what it was, and put the pieces together, but Anton did it all at his best speed.

It was a tiny bolt, one that Anton recognized from his brief time disassembling the security lock on Alpha’s cell. One look at the horror breaking across his face was enough to tell the Admiral just what it might be. “C-can’t be…” Anton gasped.

“Oh? Well I guess I must be imagining it, then,” Felipe hissed, walking up to Anton and holding the bolt right in his face. “I also must be imagining holding it up to the housing on that little keypad you took apart and matching them up exactly. Am I imagining that, you drunken old fuck? Hmm? Does it look like I cooked this up in my head?”

The Admiral realized what they had to be getting at almost immediately. “Aw hell, Ivan,” he slurred. “Don’t tell me ya…” He trailed off for effect, but also to disguise his own surprise at how easy it was to lie to a man once you figured out how to look him in the eye and make yourself believe it, at least long enough to maintain sufficient eye contact.

“Care to explain this, Ivan!?” Felipe screamed, still squeezing the bolt in front of his face. “Care to explain how your flawless mechanical abilities nearly got us all killed!?”

Anton couldn’t even meet his gaze. Pursing the corners of his lips, Felipe flicked the bolt at Anton’s feet, letting it clatter and roll to a stop by his foot. Then he stood there, his jawline visibly clenching and unclenching over and over again, a small vein in his temple popping into sight at each clench. Finally, he stopped, took a deep breath, and glared.

“I’m going to walk away now,” Felipe whispered. “If you know what is good for you, you won’t follow.”

And then he turned and did just that. The two men sat across from each other for a few minutes, during which time the Admiral kept a vacant, drunken glaze in his eyes while secretly wondering what was going through Anton’s head. How did a man think when he realized his mistakes might have cost hundreds of people who trusted him their lives? Then he had to physically restrain himself from smacking his own cheek. He already knew.

Eventually, Anton drained his glass in a single gulp and set it back on the desk with some muttered thanks, getting up to walk slowly out the door. The Admiral took a final sip from his bottle and set it next to the glass. Though he’d never been thirstier in his life, he thought he’d done enough drinking now. The Russkie had had some interesting ideas; it was just too bad he was in such a precarious position that they might have gotten him killed. Yes, that was it, he’d just saved the Russkie’s life! It was a good thing he’d just done, playing the game like this, he was keeping them all alive, that was it!

Nodding to himself, he scooped up the bottle and resumed his drinking. If he wasn’t going to be an honest man, he could at least be a drunk one.

Author's Notes:

Hold on, a wee bit more coming today!

Chapter XXV: Shining's Scars

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0900 HOURS
A CAVE IN THE ALPS
NEAR GERMAN BORDER, NORTH OF ST. GALLEN, SWITZERLAND
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It had all gone so wrong, and it was all her fault. Coming here was a mistake. Had she really thought it would be so easy? Did she honestly believe that she could swoop down with her precious student in tow and just…make things better?

Celestia could defend herself. There’d been no time to think or plan, they’d barely arrived in time as it was. But in time to do what? Nearly die at the hooves of a ravenous mob and permanently traumatize her own precious student, a mare being groomed for a position of power and leadership in Equestria? No, these excuses could have been made by a young stallion wrecking his father’s produce cart, but not by a centuries-old princess with the fate of two worlds on her shoulders.

Two worlds she was failing. Miserably.

Celestia lay with her muzzle in her forehooves, still watching Twilight on the other side of the small cavern. It had been a few hours since the debacle in the “Newfoal Colony,” and at the very least, she had managed to wash the blood out of Twilight’s coat. It had been awful, like cleaning up a doll: Twilight allowing herself to be positioned in the creek, only moving to raise her hooves when asked, or splay out her wings so each and every feather could be scoured. She kept her eyes forward, staring off into the distance at something Celestia could only guess at. If anything, the princess thanked her lucky stars that Twilight had dropped off immediately after her bath in the cave’s narrow stream. At least then, she didn’t have to look into that vacant stare again, wondering if the old Twilight’s warm brightness would ever return.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered with a quiet sniffle. The only reply was a dribble off one of the cave’s numerous stalactites, little drops echoing along the walls of the tiny cavern.

This couldn’t be allowed to happen again. There was already too much blood spilt in this world, too many sacrifices. She would have to get better, figure things out. She would have to learn all she could about what she was up against.

All at once, Celestia knew what she had to do. And it wasn’t laying here, crying until things got better. This “other,” this enemy, who or whatever she was, obviously still held some power in this world despite her imprisonment, and she possessed more than enough prowess to wield that power to devastating effect. Celestia needed to know everything she could find on her doppelganger.

Turning to her pack, she pulled out the Time magazine article she’d torn out back in their hunt through the library, clenching it between her teeth. “Interview with a Prince: How One Stallion went from Captain of the Guard to Rebel Leader to Rebuilder of a Devastated Nation.” She raised an eyebrow. Certainly not the most well-written title she’d ever seen for an article, but at least it had caught her eye. And it alerted her to the possible answers it might hold.

Celestia, of course, was no fool. She knew the answers this article might provide would most certainly not be all that pleasant, but she knew they would almost certainly be necessary for what she needed to accomplish. Still, she shivered at the full-page close-up of Shining Armor spread out before her. Though he had his trademark blue-streaked mane and pristine white coat, this Shining Armor lacked her own captain’s sureness and confident smile, instead glaring up at her from the page as if accusing her personally for the destruction wrought in his land. And that scar…that awful, deep, jagged scar running along his muzzle…

Sighing, she quickly turned her attention to the next page and, still breathing heavily to counter her rising pulse, she began to read.

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SEVEN YEARS AGO
NATION OF NEW EQUESTRIA, SOUTH CHINA SEA
CANTERLOT, EQUESTRIA, SPECIAL UN-EXCEPTION ZONE
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Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard tried very hard not to tremble as he approached the Solar Throne, his head bowed the entire time. He only partially succeeded. The Solar Princess radiated power, her wings flared out so that her massive size filled her throne, seemingly an entire side of the throne room. And yet, for all this, her eyes were still open and kind as she gazed down at him. He didn’t buy it. Not even for a second.

“Your Highness,” he enthused, bowing.

“Ah, Captain Armor,” she replied with that warm lilt in her voice, like a mother embracing their foal after a day at Kindergarten. “How very good to see you again.”

“And you, your highness,” he lied, trying to ignore the sweat gathering under his helmet as though he were working the engineer’s compartment of a steam engine. In truth, it was never ‘good’ to see her again. Not since he found the documents telling him what really happened to those subjected to ponification, and what a Newfoal truly was. Since then, seeing the princess had felt like playing a game their “enemies” called “Russian Roulette.”

“I am so glad to hear you say that, my little pony,” she hummed as she circled around, and suddenly, Shining Armor felt like a zebra being backed into a corner by a manticore. Alarm bells went off. Oh hell, was this the day? Had he finally played this game one too many times? “You know, it can be so hard to find good, loyal ponies these days. Since we opened up our first Conversion Bureau, there have been so many ponies that have lost sight of the truth, and of the guiding light. It can be so exhausting, all the double-talk, the backroom deals, the assassination attempts…”

Most of it carried out by you, he thought bitterly, remembering the freak accident that had destroyed a caravan of picnicking nobles the previous year, wiping out the entire Blueblood line just hours after Vladimir Blueblood had demanded the princess make her secret military research programs regarding the defense of Equestria from any “cross-dimensional incursions” public.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, your majesty,” he said, rising in a way that he could only hope looked natural, and not all shivery and janky as though his legs were going to give out from under him at any moment. “I like to think we all have our burdens to shoulder, no matter our occupation, though I’m sure the burdens of royalty are heavier than most.”

“Hmm…I suppose they are,” she mused, and for a second, Shining allowed a glimmer of hope into his thoughts. Was he just being paranoid again? It was easy enough to let his imagination run away with him, especially as he laid in his bed at night, all alone, wondering if today he had made the mistake that would finally get him killed. “There are also the decisions we must make. You see, Captain, ruling requires that we make difficult choices at times. Choices that overall are for the benefit of the country, but might be to the detriment of a few.”

“O-of course, your highness,” what was this? Had she invited him in for some small talk? If so, why hadn’t she put out some tea and coffee cake as was her tradition?

Her gaze drifted over him, and suddenly he felt the stare of a thousand suns looming over him, a creature with infinite power and little to no restraint regarding him like a magnifying glass over an anthill. Shining’s head bowed once more, ears fanning against his skull.

“And if those few happen to be ponies the royal knows, well, that can’t be helped. If a royal were to make exceptions there and put anything above her country, that just wouldn’t be fair.” She paused right in front of him, and he just knew that she was gazing holes into the back of his head with those eyes, those awful, blazing eyes, her mane billowing out to the side without impeding that damnable gaze in the slightest. He swore he could feel the heat of her glare on the back of his head. “Do you agree, Captain? That is fair, is it not?”

Oh dear sweet Celestial goddess above, he was so dead. “Yes princess, I suppose that is very fair.”

Nodding her approval, she turned away, and he felt that horrible gaze leave the back of his head. His relief was short-lived as the doors to the throne room creaked open behind him.

Shining Armor of the Royal Guard turned to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, as was ingrained in him by years of training, and Shining Armor the terrified foal immediately focused back on the tile, his vision blurred by tears, his heart beating in his throat. She wouldn’t… he thought to himself, even as another voice roared back that she so would. Still, he didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, knew he had to believe it but wanted to refute it with all his will.

He remained like that until a pair of hooves clad in the gold-plated armor shoes of the royal guard halted next to his ear, a pair of loud clacking sounds that echoed in the hallway like an executioner’s gunshot. This was followed by a loud squelch, something fleshy hitting the tile. Something fleshy, purple and covered in blood.

Shining slowly craned his neck around, a drop of blood leaving a trail down the side of his ivory cheek. Twilight Sparkle’s one remaining eye focused in and out on him, the other a bloody hole in her face. A spurt of blood cascaded from her mouth, trailing from the streak her impact with the tile left. Her jaw pressed into the floor at a strange, haphazard angle that told him it had been broken, along with the upper part of her muzzle leading to her snout. Her only eye gave him a half-asleep, thousand-yard stare from the middle of a network of swollen, red cuts, beneath the shattered remnants of her horn.

He looked at her, his back heaving, his breath coming in wretching gasps despite his best efforts. The gasps became longer and higher-pitched as his wide, horrified eyes drank in his sister, his stomach twisting in knots. He wanted to puke. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to reach out and strangle the fuckers who did this. In the end, all he could do was reach feebly for her, wheezing pitifully as the first wails broke from his throat.

His sister, the precious little filly that had become so withdrawn since her admittance to Celestia’s – no, no, even now he couldn’t think that name – to Her School for Gifted Magickers, laid as a broken mare before him. The guard closest to him at least allowed for the embrace, letting Shining cradle the tattered pile of mattered fur until that evil fucking bitch cleared her throat. Without a moment’s hesitation, the guardstallion cracked a hoof up the side of Shining’s face, sending him sprawling, still clutching his sister.

“Did you think I was stupid, Captain Armor?” Celestia asked calmly, retaking her place on her throne. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the backroom meetings and the missing lab documents?”

He didn’t respond, still clutching his sister, still wailing.

The Princess shook her head. “Such a shame…so much potential from both of you, but then you had to go and lose your spine, Captain.”

At that, Shining Armor turned on her, tears still streaming down his face, teeth bared. “You’re kidnapping sapient creatures for your own twisted experiments in turning them into mindless zombies! What the fuck else could I have done!?”

The Princess just shook her head again. “Such an utter and complete waste,” she sighed. “Oh well, one more rabble-rouser down.”

“God damn you!” He screamed, the guardstallions all gasping at the use of the forbidden expression: the ‘God’ their enemy was so used to invoking. “God damn you all straight to hell!”

“Very well,” the Princess’s horn warmed and Shining Armor knew what would come next. A flash of searing pain, certainly, a couple theatrical peals of flame, and then, the cold eternity of nothingness. He closed his eyes, still gasping, hugging his sister close to him. At least she wouldn’t be in agony much longer.

“Shuh-Shining?” The mare in his grasp asked. He looked at her to see her eye open, trying to focus on him.

“Shhhh…” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “It’ll all be over soon, okay? The pain will be gone soon.”

He felt tears gathering against his legs as they embraced her. He cringed and clenched his teeth, awaiting the final blow. Then the throne room doors opened once more.

“Your highness?” Shining opened his eyes, blinking away the tears as a familiar pink form stepped through. Cadenza. Cadence for short. The Princess’s personal secretary. What was she doing in here?

The Princess turned that burning glare on the smaller unicorn. By some incredible force of will Shining would admire until his dying day, Cadence didn’t shrink back, only kept her head bowed. “What is it, my dear assistant?” The Princess asked tersely, her jaw visibly clenching and unclenching.

“I-It’s an official from the occupied territories in New Manehattan, madam,” Cadence said, keeping her eyes on the floor. “You said to let you know the moment we…”

“I did…” the Princess paused, the magic draining from her horn, and the temperature dropping in the room considerably. Shining noticed sweat dripping down the other guards’ foreheads, though whether that was from the heat or the tension was anypony’s guess. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Something…about…” Cadence glanced around quickly. “Nutmeg?”

The Princess glared at her. Shining had detected the lie instantly, but why was Cadence lying?

Unless…

Oh, that impossibly brave mare. If Shining had had any suspicions before about who had been feeding him documents to supply to the growing rebel army, they were all confirmed right here, in that sideways glance, the pieces coming together in his mind at once. In that moment, he could have rushed over to that scared little unicorn and swept her up in his hooves. As it stood, he could only wait, and pray to an entity that didn’t even have a religion.

Cadence stood there, waiting for some sort of reaction. The room held its collective breath. The Princess regarded her secretary for five of the most terrifying moments in anypony’s lives. Then, one of the royal alicorn’s eyebrows arched.

“Ah yes, Griffonian nutmeg,” the princess enthused, a light smile touching her lips. “Delicious stuff, I was hoping to step up our trade relations to favor its import.”

Of course, by “trade relations” she meant “tribute,” but Shining Armor was a bit too deep in the throes of shock to bring that point up. Instead, his focus strayed to the pink unicorn, letting out a relieved sigh as the Princess stepped around her, barely giving a passing glance as she trotted out the throne room’s doors.

Instantly, they slammed shut, the lock clicking into place. “What’s…” the guardspony at Shining’s side started before the unicorns standing on either side of the throne darted forward, blasting spells that knocked Twilight’s “escorts” to the floor before they could even get a spell off. Cadence fell too, breathing long, heavy gasps of relief. After a few moments, she turned to Shining.

“Captain Armor?” She asked.

He nodded.

“We’re here to extract you, sir,” she said with a wan smile, tears rolling out her eyes as she gazed over Twilight’s broken form. “Both of you.”

Shining nodded, holding the unicorn in his grasp a little tighter.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Cadence continued, galloping to his side even as the undercover guardstallions from Celestia’s side rushed to bind the fallen guards. “We have healing mages, we can help her…though I wouldn’t hold out too much hope for her eye…”

“That’s okay,” Shining sniffled, relieved tears rolling down his cheeks as he kissed Twilight’s shattered muzzle. “So long as she’s alive, that’s okay…”

“You should get moving, sir,” one of the undercover guards shouted. “We know she designed those doors herself, but we don’t know how long they’ll hold against her!”

“Thank you,” Shining repeated over and over again. “Thank you so much, thank you…”

He trailed off while Cadence went to work taking out one of the windows, the guards keeping an eye on the door. It struck Shining as odd how no sound had come through the door since it had been locked. One would think they would hear the sounds of the buckling hinges, the Princess ranting from the other side, something. It didn’t even occur to him that she might know of another way in, not until the sound of granite grinding on granite filled his ears. He looked up to see the keystone at the height of the archway around the door shift, and by then it was already too late.

“She’s coming through…” he started, and then the stone popped out of place and crashed to the tile, smashing itself to pieces with a deafening thud. His eyes widened in horror as the winged figure of the Princess strode through the hole, framed in her sun’s light, shadows trailing in the dust.

“Cadence,” she said in a tone just above a low whisper, her rage flowing off her body in the form of peals of flickering, white-hot flame, fire dancing along the walls around her. “You too? Even you dare to question your Princess?”

After a few moments finding her voice, Cadence replied: “I do when her actions reveal what an evil, genocidal pile of horse-apples she is!”

“TRAITOR!” The Princess cried, diving out of the hole and charging, her rage clouding her mind. One of the guardstallions leapt back at her. She trampled him beneath her hooves, not even slowing down. The next stallion proved quicker in his charge, dodging to the side at the last minute to bring his spear around in a stab at the Princess’s side.

“Traitors!” She repeated, the blow still not enough to pierce her magically-endowed coat, but enough to throw off her charge.

“Move!” The guard screamed, turning to face the trio by the window. “Before she-“ his sentence ended in a choked-off gurgle as the Princess’s horn jabbed into his throat, piercing right through until the tip emerged out the other side. He still let out a couple strangled, clicking sounds as she hoisted him up and catapulted him over her shoulder, throwing him against a wall with enough force to leave cracks.

Her murderous glare turned on the three remaining ponies, blood streaking down her face, her eyes filled with the sort of murderous rage reserved for the worst of tyrants. “Traitors.” She whispered again, stepping forward, kicking one of her own unconscious guards to the side.

Tears stung Shining’s face from the sheer heat. He hugged Twilight closer, like a foal with his teddy. He didn’t notice the way Twilight’s eyes fluttered open as he set her aside, standing, his head bowed.

“Come on, then,” he said quietly, his eyes closing dejectedly as he faced the Princess. “Finish it.”

With a snarl, the Princess reared back for an earth-shattering blow, the light pouring off her body almost too much for Shining, even with his eyes closed. He heard Cadence gasp behind him, assumed it was in horror, and whispered: “I love you, Twily.”

There was a last cry, the snap of a massive spell being unleashed, and then pain seared up the side of his face. Shining Armor collapsed, knowing he was mortally wounded, knowing there was no way he could still be alive. At least, not for long.

To his surprise and amazement, he breathed in, and then breathed out. He was alive. The pain in his face was indescribable, but he was alive. He opened his eyes - or eye, as it was – and focused. It took nearly all his will to climb back to his hooves, and when he did, he wished he hadn’t.

A scorched, charred corpse lay before him, a little pony burnt beyond recognition. The tortured flesh of the face was twisted into a mask of immense pain, the mouth open in a choked-off scream of agony. He might never have recognized it were it not for the mostly-intact flesh of the flank.

Twilight’s cutie mark winked back at him, the only recognizable part left of her.

“No!” He screamed, turning to the surprised Princess in horror and rage. “It was me! It should’ve been me!”

“Shiney!” Somepony far off screeched as hooves grasped at his shoulders. “We have to go! She’ll only be distracted for so long!”

He paid no heed, instead locking eyes with the loathsome, evil creature before him. “It wasn’t enough for you to ruin her life, you had to take it too you evil motherbucking…”

“Shining! Oh Maker above, your face! She got your…”

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

Twilight came back like one waking up from a deep, restful sleep, clinging to unconsciousness with the greed of someone forced to wake up to an alarm. It had been so peaceful here. Peaceful and quiet. The exact opposite of the last few days, where she'd been kidnapped, held, accused of the most wretched crimes, sent on the lam with nothing in her stomach, and...

...his head vanished in a cyan blur and a sudden explosion of gore, bits of skull and droplets of blood blanketing the cheap throw rug proclaiming “welcome” to anyone on the doorstep...

Twilight bolted upright, sleep fleeing her body. A hoof flew across her mouth, stifling the scream threatening to rise from her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest. Tears gathered in her eyes. Darkness crept in along the edges of her vision, and she squeezed her eyelids shut. She was going to faint. And would that be so bad? Sleep had been peaceful. Sleep had been refreshing. Out here, all that existed was the image playing constantly in her mind, hammering her skull just like...just like that pegasus had...enjoying it...oh yes, they had enjoyed it, that pegasus had stomped that human's brains out and looked back at her with the sort of ecstasy you only saw in foals discovering chocolate for the first time. No, no wait, that was wrong. It had been more like Dashie whenever she pushed some new limit in her flying, or Applejack at the end of an especially hard day when she came over to just relax over a movie with the rest of her friends. As if that pegasus had been meant for this, meant to kill and kill again the same way Fluttershy was meant to take care of her animals.

That somepony could be wired to believe killing was their natural talent forced a bit of bile up Twilight's throat. She swallowed it back and tried to will herself back to sleep again.

Except that would accomplish nothing.

Except sleep meant laying here - wherever here was - like a useless log while Celestia did all the work.

Except sleep would be hard to return now that the image of that man's head exploding kept playing over and over on the inside of her eyelids.

Tears stung at Twilight’s eyes as they opened tentatively. Her lower lip quivered, but she forced the tears back down as she had with the bile. She was a princess, specially selected from an entire generation of promising foals to be Celestia's personal student, and someday, perhaps even her substitute. The mare worthy of these things would not cry in the face of such hardship. The mare worthy of these things would do whatever it took to make sure they didn't happen again.

Twilight laid there until her heart slowed down, her hoof forcing her breathing to remain steady. Eventually, she felt confident enough to lower her hoof without fear of a scream breaking out. She knew if she screamed, she probably wouldn't be able to stop, and a mare screaming and jabbering herself hoarse was the last thing a pair of fugitives needed.

Even with her confidence growing, she laid there awhile, not yet able to roll over onto her hooves. Her mind needed time to analyze the situation, to appraise it. Except it couldn't. It was all too big, too completely overwhelming for one pony to process and deal with. This world had seen so much death and destruction at the hooves of another world like her own, yet not. And in trying to set things right and improve that image, all she had accomplished was a near-death experience at the hooves of an utterly ravenous horde of ponies straight out of a horror story: one of those cheap post-apocalyptic things the griffons were so fond of. On top of that, her sole attempt at saving just one life and sparing this world any more misery had ended in total failure, as well as an image that she just knew would be haunting her nightmares for the rest of her life.

A few years before, Twilight would have been so totally paralyzed by all this she probably would have just rolled over and gone back to sleep. Now though, she knew exactly what she needed: a friend to help her.

Finally pushing herself to her hooves, Twilight gave herself a quick preening. The habit had been surprisingly easy to get into once she had started, and now even a brief nap usually resulted in a small preening. Just another ritual to hold to, like brushing her teeth or running a comb through her mane. Amazing the things one got used to.

If she ever got used to mornings like this, she would slit her own throat.

She sat up, and her eyes fell on a beautifully white form watching her from deeper in the cave. She locked eyes with Celestia, the older princess lying prostrate at the other side of a tiny, stagnant pond. By her hooves were the folded, laminated pages of a discarded magazine article. She looked so tired and old just then that Twilight had to take a step back. She had been old when Starswirl the Bearded was just another promising young unicorn in Canterlot, when the Crystal Empire had first been banished from existence by Sombra’s power, and even when Luna’s rage had first welcomed the power of the Nightmare into Equestria. And finally, it looked like all of those long centuries were starting to weigh on her.

Twilight had to blink at her former mentor. Had those bags under her eyes always been there? Did her muzzle always sag with loose skin? And weren’t those eyes a vibrant, lively magenta before she’d gone to sleep? Or had they always been a sort of dull lavender, the kind you saw on the wallpaper of an elderly pony’s home who was just too old and too tired to change it?

Without really thinking about it, Twilight trotted over to Celestia and tucked in at her side, nuzzling against her, not even realizing this had been the exact position she’d assumed years ago as a filly, whenever she was feeling down about the other unicorns teasing her in class or because she was feeling a little homesick. This was enough for Celestia to pull her muzzle out of her hooves, slightly damp from lapping at the very edge of the stagnant water for who-knows how long, but not much else.

Also without realizing it, Celestia completed the old ritual by fanning a wing over Twilight’s body. Though she missed covering a few errant feathers Twilight had missed in her preening, a contented smile rose on both mares’ faces, one that died almost as soon as it was born.

“A mistake,” Celestia muttered. Her voice was quiet and wavering, as though on the verge of tears. Hearing her princess speak in that voice made Twilight’s heart leap into her throat. “I have made so many mistakes…”

“Princess?” Twilight asked, hoping to snap Celestia out of whatever spell this was and see that old, lively, self-assured confidence return.

“Twilight, I realize now how foolish this was,” she said, her voice still at that eerie quiet. “You are…young…young and inexperienced, and…you should…”

“Princess, no,” Twilight insisted, still ignorant of the way Celestia kept her head down, the shadow of her mane covering her eyes. “I’m here to help…”

“And I can’t lose you!” At that, Celestia finally looked up, and Twilight took a few shocked steps back. Celestia, the Princess of Day, ruler of the sun, the mother figure for everypony in Equestria and abroad, had tears streaking down her muzzle, soaking the dirt beneath her barrel. Twilight had seen her cry before, of course, she’d cried just the other day when Ainsley had called up all those horrid articles about the crimes of her doppelganger. This time, however, Celestia was not crying on behalf of a species or under the weight of the crown. This time, Twilight just saw a pony scared to tears of losing someone she loved.

“I-I can’t do it, Twilight,” she whispered, her voice kept low by a barely-contained bout of sobs. “I will fight hatred and death in this world with my dying breath, I will stretch my magic past its limits curing the Newfoals, I’ll even die fighting that bitch…but if I had to bury you here, if I had to lower your body into a grave, I think I’d just lay down next to it and cry forever and ever until I couldn’t cry anymore and…and…”

Twilight rushed to embrace her teacher, nuzzling deep against her barrel, hooves around her slender neck. She emulated the many long evenings Celestia would spend in this exact position, their roles reversed from those old days when Celestia had to nuzzle away the bullies’ words or the homesickness or the other hundreds of things a pubescent pony might suffer through.

They stayed like that until the sobs finally abated, calming into a series of quivering, hyperventilated breaths. “I can’t…” Celestia whispered as she finally calmed. “I can’t lose you.”

Rubbing her cheek into her ivory coat, Twilight whispered back: “Now you know why I can’t leave.”

There was a pause in the jagged breaths. Celestia’s breathing increased again, and for a second, Twilight was worried she might lose her to another crying fit. But it calmed after a few minutes, and at last, the pair were able to just enjoy one another’s embrace.

“Please, Twilight,” Celestia whispered. “Please go. I’d rather die than lose you.”

“Out of the question,” Twilight whispered back, wiping the tears out of her mentor’s eyes with the tips of her wings, even as tears of her own started wetting her muzzle. “I’m not leaving here without you, and without helping put something right. That would be abandoning a job and leaving things half-finished. I have never done that in my life, and I refuse to start now.”

A few moments of silence passed between them. “You’re a wonderful pony,” Celestia finally said between sniffles and hiccups.

Twilight settled in to stroke the near-pristine ivory coat next to her. “Let it all out, Princess,” she whispered. “And then tell me what the next step is.”

“The next step?” Celestia looked away, biting her lip to control her sobs. “The next step…”

Twilight’s heart sank at the blank look in Celestia’s eyes behind the tears. Perhaps that had been another reason to send her off: she didn’t even know what the next move would be. Not that Twilight could blame her. The situation had looked so simple before the Newfoal colony, but now, after the death and destruction there, what would they do? What could they do?

After a while, Celestia looked over at her, eyes still glistening with tears but her muzzle holding that gentle smile Twilight knew from years under her tutelage. “What is the most important thing for somepony who is just learning something new, and fails?” She asked politely, voice still quivering.

Twilight blinked, her mind shifting into another gear with an almost audible thud, but when it finished the answer was on her lips almost immediately: “To try again, no matter how long it takes?”

The smile on Celestia’s face widened, tears still standing in her eyes. “Precisely.”

Author's Notes:

Not gonna lie, getting back into this story was one of the more difficult things I've done as a writer. However, I do have some extra material besides just this all ready to go. I know, it's just a flashback, but hopefully a good setup for what comes next.

So sorry for the long delay, as I said, getting back into the swing of things has been terribly difficult, and just figuring out how to move forward, much less put it on paper, felt like trying to push a boulder uphill at points, but hopefully the amount I've gotten down is a sign of steadier times ahead :) If not, and I do take another pause, feel free to send throat-punches through the Internet.

One thing to add: thank you for hanging in there, I know it's been a long, tedious journey with quite a few missteps, but thanks for sticking around, I know I appreciate the hell out of you :)