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The Conversion Bureau: Setting Things Right

by kildeez

Chapter 28: Chapter XXVIII: Flutterheart

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Flutterheart was scared. She was scared a lot lately, especially since her mommy and daddy took her to this place. She’d had a bad feeling about it from the start, she’d said she didn’t want to go, and mommy had sounded like she was starting to agree. But daddy insisted. “Once-in-a-lifetime experience!” He’d announced. “We can see something nopony else has ever seen!”

Maybe that was it. Daddy had been “antsy” lately, which was a word mommy had taught her just a few weeks before, and said it meant he had ants in his pants. Flutterheart didn’t know what ants had to do with the constant stream of trips to museums and zoos he was always insisting on but figured it did seem to fit him here. Something about being “left out” he was talking about, something that made him look sad whenever he read in the paper about a royal wedding, or another monster attack in Ponyville, or about some heroic deed by some royal or by the Element Bearers. Mommy just looked at him when he looked sad in that way, shook her head, and mumbled something about a “midwife crisis”. Flutterheart didn’t know what that was either, but figured it was grown-up stuff she’d learn about when mommy and daddy told her.

Right now, Flutterheart could only think back to that awful morning almost a week ago. Daddy had been so excited hearing the crack, and the boom, and spotting the gray cloud from the kitchen window. “We’re on the front lines this time, Jessie!” He had shouted as he’d hurried them out the door, mommy still in her apron with crumbs of apple crumble dessert clinging to it. “No way to miss out now!”

Mommy had asked what they could possibly be missing out on, if a “blurb in the newspaper listing our names and injuries suffered and property damage incurred is really worth letting the crumble get cold,” or something like that. Flutterheart hadn’t really understood what that meant, and daddy probably hadn’t heard it by the excited way he’d pushed them all out the door, but she did know that mommy’s apple crumble was the best ever and letting it cool would be a shame. If she were older, she would have reflected on how funny it was that just a few hours could cause such a dramatic change in priorities. She would have reflected on how funny it was that the apple crumble would be all forgotten in the face of strange, black monsters with bulging, black eyes and oval mouths and weapons that spat fire, so powerful they could take away even the princesses.

Flutterheart’s name became all-too-true whenever she thought about the black monsters. The first night in the camp where the guard ponies had told them they had to stay, it had taken daddy sleeping in her cot with her to keep any thoughts of the black monsters at bay. Daddy had said it was just as well, since mommy wasn’t letting him sleep in their cot together for at least another two days for “getting them into this mess.” Flutterheart didn’t know what that meant either, but said it was okay, she didn’t think it was daddy’s fault that the black monsters came. Daddy just grunted and told her to go asleep with a quick “thanks.”

Only now, daddy couldn’t be here, only Mr. Bun. After the gray cloud had swallowed them up, Flutterheart had nearly lost mommy and daddy, and had spent the first few minutes in the cloud crying into their chests out of relief for tracking down their tent. At first, she was relieved that they were here, even amongst the screaming ponies and the guardsponies running around, shouting at each other in that deep, mean-sounding tone they all used. And then things had been calm for a while, at least until one pony started coughing really loudly. Nurse Redheart had looked him over and then a couple of the guards took him away. Then it happened again with another pony, and then again, and then Flutterheart had broken down in tears when her nose started running, and she just knew that some of mommy’s homemade noodle and onion soup wouldn’t be enough to keep the guards from taking her away too.

Mommy and daddy told her to be brave as the guards took her away and to this tent, but she couldn’t help it. She tried to stop the tears, but just couldn’t. She’d whimpered and blubbered like a baby as she’d waved goodbye (the guards wouldn’t let her hug them), but she’d kept from all-out sobbing at the least, which was good, because mommy and daddy had looked like crying themselves. After that, things had gotten calm. Redheart had taken her to this tent and given her Mr. Buns, and things got a little better, even if her nose kept getting stuffy and dribbling. She could hardly even sleep now because of it, it just kept getting worse and worse. But that was okay, Nurse Redheart had said she was okay, and Nurse Redheart had given her Mr. Buns, which made her a nice grownup. Nice grownups didn’t…

Her cot rustled. Something moved beneath her, something that knocked against the fabric and made slight lumps in her sleeping spot that vanished as soon as they appeared. Flutterheart’s namesake skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat. She could just imagine one of those black things sliding up under her, oozing its way in under her head, and just waiting for her to dangle her hooves over her bedside before springing out and wrapping those black, slimy tentacles around her and dragging her away. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t. And what good would that do, anyway? Grownups didn’t listen to you when you said there was something under your bed, even good grownups like mommy and daddy and Redheart. Flutterheart’s pulse quickened, tears gathering in her eyes as she considered the very real possibility of being taken away and eaten up, just like the princesses were. Sure, nopony wanted to talk about it, but she just knew that’s what had happened to them. Oh, if only somepony saw…if only somepony else were awake…

“Hey! Hey, kid!”

At first, Flutterheart thought the voice might have been a bit of canvas rustling in the wind, it was so low and growly. But then she remembered there hadn’t been any wind since the cloud had swallowed them up. She guessed the cloud had taken it away, though how that could be she didn’t…

“Kid, c’mon! Y’hear me!?”

Casting a glance to her side, Flutterheart made sure the pony in the cot next to her was still sound asleep. He was. “I hear you,” she whispered so low she almost couldn’t hear herself.

“Good, you know who I am?”

She had to stop for that one. Was she supposed to know the monster under her bed? Was it kinda like that movie mommy and daddy took her to where monsters had a whole business of scaring kids and used their screams to power stuff?

“A-are you the monster that lives under my bed sometimes?” She whispered back, praying that the movie she’d seen so long ago wasn’t just pretend.

“S-sure kid, sure,” the monster didn’t sound so sure himself, which struck Flutterheart as odd. Shouldn’t he know who he was assigned to be a “scarer” for? “Listen kid, I brought somethin’ for ya. Think of it as…a gift for letting me sleep here every now and again.”

“Whatdja bring?”

“Vitamins,” the voice replied. “They’ll make you better.”

“Vitey-mins?”

The voice said something that sounded like “ducking-hay,” and now that she was calming down, Flutterheart was starting to realize how totally normal the voice sounded. The more she listened, the more she thought it sounded like Johnny Alfalfaseed: a stallion they’d learned about in school who planted most of the great, big fields of hay that covered the farmland around Canterlot. Or at least, what she’d imagined Jonny would sound like if she ever met him. Certainly, the monster under her bed was a better Johnny than Trent Showoff in the Canterlot Elementary School play. Trent’s voice had even cracked halfway through his lines! Sure, the monster’s voice sounded a bit muffled, like he was talking through a plastic cup, but still, a very nice Johnny if she did say so herself.

“Listen, kid,” the monster continued. “Just trust me on this, alright? Take these and you’ll feel way better.”

“Mr. Monster?” She asked.

The creature shuffled under her bed. “Yeah?”

“What do you look like?”

There was a long pause, and at first, Flutterheart was almost afraid her monster had left her, but then he came back: “It’s better if you don’t know. Trust me, kid.”

“Well, I think you look like Johnny Alfalfaseed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! He’s a really nice pony and he wears blue pants that come up to his shoulders and he’s got freckles and he goes around, planting hay wherever he goes so nopony has t’go hungry!” She said, her voice rising enthusiastically.

To her surprise, he replied with a few chuckles. “Blimey, she thinks I’m a yank!” Came the semi-whispered response. Flutterheart didn’t know what that meant either, so she turned over on her side, and caught sight of the little package of red tablets on the grass beside her cot.

“Mr. Monster?” She asked.

“Mmh?”

“Are those the vitey-mins? There, on the ground?”

The monster coughed, as if it were reorienting itself. Fortunately, it was just one cough among many. “Yeah kid, those’re it.”

“You say they’ll make me better?”

“They’ll help.”

She eyed the small package curiously, picking it up and turning it over in her hooves. The back looked like it was made of some kind of paper with writing on it. She tried to read the writing, only to give up after trying to pronounce “pseudoephedrine” in her head. The front was clear plastic, with little red tabs which rattled as she shook them. They looked so small, how were they supposed to help?

“Just two of those, kid,” the monster said, bringing her out of her careful analysis. “Every four hours until the sniffles go ‘way.”

“Hmm,” she mumbled. Mommy and Daddy had warned her about taking candy from strangers. But then, this wasn’t a stranger, technically. Odds were, this guy had known her a lot longer than she was even capable of remembering! And on another point, this wasn’t candy either, now was it? Still, it was weird he was just offering this up… “Mr. Monster?”

“Yeah, kid?” The monster had been strangely quiet all during her contemplation.

“Why’re you helping me?”

There was a pause, and then a response: “monsters eat up fear, right?”

“R-right?”

“Well, how can we do that if kids are too sick to be afraid?”

“I…I guess you couldn’t,” Flutterheart admitted, her muzzle crinkling up in thought. “Mr. Monster?”

“Yeah?”

“D-does that mean you’ll protect me now?”

There was another pause, this one longer, and when the monster spoke again, she swore she could hear a lightness in his voice, only solidifying the image in her mind of the freckled pony lying on his back with a little bit of hayseed poking out of his mouth and corduroy overalls with the legs rolled up. “Yeah,” he said with a little chuckle. “I guess it does.”

“Especially from the bad monsters? The ones with the black heads.”

“Sure, kid.”

“Mr. Monster?”

A repetition of that weird phrase, “ducking hay, - yeah?”

“Since I know about you now, can I see you?”

No pause this time, none at all. “No. Can’t let that ‘appen, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” she sighed and huffed. Mr. Monster probably knew best, he was a grownup after all, or at least sounded like one…but…surely a little peek wouldn’t hurt? Perhaps as a way to reward herself when the vitey-mins were down her throat? Mommy and daddy usually awarded her with some alfalfa when she took her medicine when she got sick, it was only fair that she get a reward here too.

With that thought, Flutterheart hurriedly tore into the paper backing and scattered the little red tablets on her cot. She had the tabs in her mouth when it occurred to her: how was she supposed to swallow them whole? Even now, with them in her mouth, she had to stop herself from biting into either of them. And now her gag reflex kept them from slipping any further down.

“Didja take ‘em yet?” Came that gruff voice, sounding a bit like mommy or daddy when she was running behind while getting ready for school.

“I…I can’t swallow ‘em,” she finally admitted, disappointed in herself. Maybe she didn’t deserve that peek after all.

More grownup swears, and Mr. Monster shuffled around beneath her. Something clattered against the ground by her cot, and Flutterheart bolted upright and peered over the edge just in time to see something black rush back into the darkness, leaving behind a funny-looking bottle made out of dark-green plastic and covered in cloth that had a weird pattern, like a tiger’s stripes but all green and black instead of orange and black.

“It’s filled with water,” the monster under Flutterheart’s bed explained. “Unscrew the top and use that to swallow the pills. Wash ‘em down, y’see.”

“Oh,” she answered, scooping up the bottle. She dwelt for a second as she bent low, tempted to turn towards the darkness under her cot and squint just to get a good outline of Mr. Monster, at least confirm that he looked like Johnny Alfalfaseed. But she pushed the thought back and pulled up into her cot, swallowing the vitey-mins easily. Best not to do something like that now. She’d get a vague glimpse of Mr. Monster at best, and then he might slip away to Monster Land. No, if she was going to see him, she was going to see all of him, not just some vague shadow in the dark.

“You take ‘em yet?” He asked again.

“Mmh-hmm,” she replied.

Thank Kriste,” he mumbled, and she resisted the urge to ask him who Kriste was and why he needed to be thanked. Mr. Monster was almost ready to leave now, soon she’d know exactly what he was. The timing had to be perfect, but she’d know. Mr. Monster wouldn’t be able to help bumping along as he got out from under the cot. If she could catch him when he was still crawling out, but not yet free, she could look at him practically for as long as she needed, with decent lighting too.

“Am I gonna be okay now?” She asked innocently.

God, I hope so,” Mr. Monster whispered, probably thinking she couldn’t hear. “Sure thing kid, absolutely.”

Flutterheart snuggled up under her covers, grabbing Mr. Bun for good measure. She couldn’t help the contented smile that crossed her face. She’d always wanted to meet Johnny Alfalfaseed! “Thanks, Mr. Monster!”

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Mr. Monster replied. “Seriously, mum’s the word here.”

“Mum’s the…” her muzzle scrunched up.

“Just keep this quiet, you hear? The – uh – other monsters wouldn’t like knowing I did this for you.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, snuggling up tight, curling up in a ball as if she were going to sleep, all while inching towards the edge of her cot. “G’night, Mr. Monster.”

“Night, kid, see ya around.”

She grinned. If he only knew how true that was. But she had to stay still, perfectly still. She held her breath for a while, but then the mucus caught up with her and she launched into a coughing jag, one which ended pretty quickly, thankfully. Were the vitey-mins working already?

Suddenly, she felt the shift underneath her body: Mr. Monster getting ready to pull himself out from under her cot, edging towards her bedside (or cotside, she guessed, her bed was still at home and probably getting very cold and lonely without her to warm it). Just a few more seconds, though, a few more seconds of shuffling and rustling of cloth beneath her, and…

NOW!

She flashed a toothy smile as she grasped the edge of her cot and propelled herself over the metal, poking her head underneath. “Gotch-“

Her exclamation died in her throat, her voice stolen. Flutterheart’s toothy grin morphed into a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed expression of absolute shock. Black bulbous eyes, blank and staring, glared at her with all the hunger and evil of all the monsters in the world combined. Black tentacles covered in rough bumps reached to the edge of the cot, splayed out towards her, ready to grab her and drag her away with those powerful arms behind them.

Flutterheart heard only one thing: “Aww, fuck a cunt…”

If she hadn’t been screaming her head off, she might have mused over having learned two new swear words in a single half-finished sentence.

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Thompson was the deadest dead man to ever die in a dead world.

What had started as a well-intentioned, if unsanctioned and incredibly stupid, act of kindness had turned into a little pony screaming and crying her little head off while ponies all around in cots did the same, all adding to the screaming and carrying on as cartoonishly-large eyes became even larger and ponies started sitting up and doing the one thing all ponies were inherently good at, especially in herds: panicking.

“Is that…”

“Oh Celestia! They’re back!”

“AIIEEEEE, IT’S GOT A FILLY!”

“What’s all the…” and the nurse’s voice from before came right back, appearing at the opening to the tent. She was an earth pony, thank Christ: no magic to drag his ass around and throw him against a wall. She had a tramp stamp of that unmistakable symbol for the Red Cross. A nurse pony? He’d seen a few of those during his brief stint in the first Equestria, though not many. At least, they didn’t seem like many compared to the hordes of ponies with radiation burns and shrapnel in their faces and eyes blinded by the initial fireball that destroyed their hometowns. This pony had a pink mane done up in a little bun, one of those little hats nurses always wore (so good on the “nurse” theory) and an expression of dumbfounded shock that swiftly morphed into unbridled terror.

The pony was standing there, clipboard in hoof, the sun framing her in the tent’s flap, her mouth dropping open, readying for a scream. To his shock, he found the carbine’s stock against his shoulder, readying to take a shot. There was a wonderful future headline for him to be remembered by: “BRITISH OPERATION BUNGLED BY ONE FUCKHEAD SHOOTING A NURSE.” Subline: “Details on this atrocious, Geneva Convention-violating act of dumbfuckery on 4A.”

Hey, the politicians could debate the applications of the Geneva Conventions on non-human species all they wanted, as far as he was concerned, shooting a creature that was a mix between a plushie and a healer would be right up there with puppy-stomping and baby seal-head baseball.

“Okay…everyone!” He said hurriedly. “Let’s not do anything rash or silly here!”

Of course, he had to say this last sentence while dodging a clipboard thrown at him by Nurse pink-mane-in-bun, but whatever, he could still salvage this. Somehow.

“Look, I’m just tryin’…”

But she was already turning, hind legs tensing to take off at a dead gallop. In another moment, she’d be tearing ass down the streets, screaming her head off, bringing every able-bodied pony into this tent to utterly annihilate him. Even without magic, the guards would still have spears, and they would outnumber him. He was so, so dead…so dead…

There are moments that define us. Moments that decide who we are: men, or cowards. Moments that choose the path that correspond to our destinies, and decide our fate. In this moment, Thompson decided he would be someone who might live to see another sunrise, and so he turned and bolted, running towards the cut he’d made in the tent like a scared little girl. Unfortunately, that was when a couple of little ponies decided they weren’t as sick as they’d thought they were and bolted to their hooves, glaring as they wielded scalpels from the metal trays at their bedsides. Thompson froze in place. If he went for the jump anyway, they might get a lucky shot on his legs with those blades. And then what? He’d be a sitting fucking duck, that’s what.

His trained mind flashed through his options in a moment. Couldn’t just run outside, as originally planned. No time to cut another hole, and running out through the tent’s normal entrance would take him right in the middle of the fucking encampment. So running was out. But he was not helpless: he was a highly-trained member of Her Majesty’s Special Air Service. Maybe all he needed to do was remind all the little ponies of that.

Channeling his inner Stallone, Thompson whipped the rifle out again and let off a few shots into the canvas roof, ripping a couple small holes as the blasts echoed into the distance. The ponies froze. Under his mask, Thompson grinned. Regardless of who heard it, that sound’s terror-factor was universal. Even the stallions with scalpels froze. Still grinning despite himself, Thompson levelled the rifle on them.

“You li’l feckers move ‘fore I blow yer brains out!” He screamed through the mask. In an instant, the blades clattered to the ground, and the stallions practically climbed over each other trying to get out of the way. Perfect. Now, time to make his escape…except no, wait, shit. He’d just blasted into the air like an American redneck with a new shotgun. Every guardspony in this little slice of hell had to have heard it. If they were smart, they’d be keeping their distance, maybe even have the pegasi patrolling the skies, waiting to swoop down on the strange, black creature before it even made two steps out of the tent.

Thompson had to stop his boots from carrying him away again. Well, this was just super. Perfect. Way to completely bungle a recon mission before it even began.

“Okay!” He screamed. “I know one of you motherfuckers are out there! Lemme know now, or somepony gets hurt!”

Silence. Thompson’s heart pounded somewhere up in his throat. The rifle remained on the tent entrance while his eyes darted around insanely, trying to look everywhere at once. And then: “Surrender yourself now, monster!”

The relief on the ponies’ faces was immediate, especially Miss Pink Bun, just standing there a few feet from the entrance. A twinge of guilt filled Thompson. Someone only felt that relieved when they saw a glimmer of hope out of a terrible, frightening situation. He’d joined the army to be the reason for the relief, not the cause. He cursed himself for winding up in this situation in the first place, but kept his rifle trained over Miss Pink-Bun’s head.

“Right mate, dontcha come in here,” he shouted. “You just stay where you are, and things’ll work themselves out.”

“I can’t let that happen, creature,” came the reply. “Just surrender yourself now, and you won’t be hurt.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m the bloomin’ Queen of England.”

“I…don’t know what that is. And how are you a queen? A…are you a female?”

“Right…I meant…I’m not actually…bloody hell,” he mumbled, looking around. The dismay was growing on the ponies’ faces, each of them switching their gazes from him, to the canvas flap, and back again. The tension was spiraling upwards again. Sooner or later, someone was going to do something stupid. Time to run damage control.

“You there!” He moved his hand from the grip on the barrel, pointing at the pink-maned pony. She straightened up, her breath quickening, widening eyes looking at him, then behind her, as if somepony might be standing behind her that he was pointing at.

“No, nurse pony!” He repeated. “You’ve rounds to do, right?”

Still trembling on her hooves, she croaked something out that sounded like an attempt at speech, but was choked off. She settled for a simple nod.

“Alright, you can do ‘em,” he growled. “Don’t you get any smart ideas though. I’m bein’ real nice right now, but I can get real mean too.”

The pony’s shivering reached a fever pitch. She turned to the side of the tent, peering over her shoulder with tears in her eyes at whoever waited on the other side. Thompson’s heart sank into his boots, but he kept the rifle at the ready, especially as she received whatever affirmation she’d been waiting for. Nodding, the nurse pony stepped slowly into the room, visibly holding tears back. It felt like a lead fist clenching in Thompson’s chest, watching her walk around the room, robotically going through the motions of checking each fearful, shaking pony’s vitals, changing bedpans and IV bags, everything a nurse was supposed to do. She even offered up brave little smiles for some of the little ponies. It was enough to make a man’s heart melt.

It was while she changed Flutterheart’s IV bag and rearranged Mr. Bun’s position on the bed to something more comfortable that Thompson realized he could not leave things as they were. He could not leave these ponies with the threat of some evil, black creature hanging over their heads, not Flutterheart, not Miss Mane-in-bun, and not even those two stallions with scalpels. It was then he made a decision: to not allow such an image to remain in any of these little ponies’ heads.

It would prove to be one of the worst mistakes of his life.

As the nurse pony finished her rounds, he knelt beside her. She froze instantly. He could almost see her fur standing on end from where he knelt. The rifle rested against his shoulder, ready to rise again at a moment’s notice. All that fell away as tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Nurse?” He asked as gently as possible. “One more thing?”

“Wh-what’s…” she shivered, swallowed. “What’s that?”

He pulled her into a hug before anyone had a moment to think about what was happening. Flutterheart cried out. A few ponies screamed. The nurse went rock-still. Then, amazingly, she relaxed in his grasp. The tension faded. The cords on her neck receded. For bonus points, he even stroked her mane.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear, now perked over the mouth of his mask as his chin rested on her head.

“Wh-what?” She stammered.

“I said I’m…”

A flash of movement above him. Thompson’s training kicked in, and in an instant his arms released their grip on the mare as he kicked her away, falling back as a crossbow bolt thudded into the ground between them. With a grunt, Thompson rolled to his feet, the rifle starting its journey back to his shoulder, only to be knocked away by a powerful uppercut. Without even thinking, Thompson’s knife flew into his hands. He kept himself crouched low, center of gravity stable, still on his feet as he backed away. He finally got a good look at his assailant: at the determined look in their eyes, the glare levelled his way, the glint of the sword in the fading light as they moved themselves between the nurse pony and himself, the neat curve of their hips, the glare beneath their elongated lashes…

Waitaminute…

Damn.

Headline tomorrow: “BRITISH SAS OPERATIVE GETS INNOCENT MARE KILLED AFTER BOTCHING RECON MISSION,” Subline: “NO END TO HIS NEVERENDING TRAIN OF STUPIDITY?”

“Okay, look,” he shouted, almost unaware of the knife in his hands. “Could we just slow down and…”

With a cry, the guardsmare lunged, her sword slashing in a sideways arc aimed at his head. Thompson only barely managed to duck. On his back, the sword sang in the air as it came down on a path aimed for his crotch. Again, only barely managing to dodge, Thompson’s legs coiled up, only to come roaring back in a two-footed buck at the mare’s head, knocking her helmet askew. She stumbled back, lifted a hoof to her bleeding nose, snarled, and lunged again. He backed away, knife raised…

There was a sickening squelch.

Thompson looked down, certain he’d just been skewered. Much to his surprise, the mare tucked in close, looking up at him, eyes filled with hate as she trembled. Then the hate faded to surprise and she trembled. She fell to the side, hitting the dirt as one of her hooves wrapped over the growing red stain in her uniform, red liquid pouring out between a small gap in the plating.

Thompson laid very still for a while, the rest of the world nothing but shadows and muffled grunts, something wet coating his waist. He thought he pissed himself at first. It was only after he looked down that he realized he was coated in blood. The mare’s blood.

He looked up again, hoping to escape the massive, pain-filled eyes of the little pony. A gloved hand reached to her neck, feeling for a pulse. She cringed under his grasp. He closed his eyes and thanked God, Allah, and whoever else might be listening, even as he felt her short, pain-filled gasps for air in the moments before she was dragged away and those pain-filled, hateful eyes were replaced with gas masks and assault rifles and fearful shrieks.

Thanks to the masks, it was a solid minute before Thompson recognized his commander standing over him, and another ten seconds before he realized the old man was talking to him.

“What?” He asked.

“I said are you alright, mate?” The other man offered a hand. “You gave us a fright for a while, especially with that gunshot. Thought you were a goner there.”

Thompson sat up, looking over the terrified ponies, over at the unconscious bundle of feathers in the corner that just a few seconds ago had nearly run him through with a spear, and over the mare with the red cross on her flank. She had backed up into a corner and now buried her muzzle in her hooves, her shoulders rising and falling in the jagged motion of someone sobbing quietly. He sighed. So much for whatever goodwill that hug had earned him.

“Fine, ‘m fine,” Thompson grumbled, picking himself up.

“Alright,” the commander offered a hand, which Thompson took gratefully. “Good on you on probing things, though. If you’d just spotted the armor and run, lord knows we’d be sittin’ on our arses another half a year while command twiddled their thumbs. Things worked out though, yeah?”

Thompson peeked to the side, where two of his fellow marines had taken up positions to either side of the tent flap. Through the fluttering canvas, he caught a few glances at a whole line of guardsponies, being forced out of their armor at gunpoint and laying down their weapons in a massive pile. Mares and stallions were crowded together in a single line, twenty or thirty in all with their hooves behind their heads, lying flat on their stomachs under the watchful eyes of the gas mask-wearing marines with rifles trained on them.

“It was fuckin’ stupid, but it worked,” the captain squeezed Thompson’s shoulder. “You’re probably due for a huge reprimand for takin’ that kind of a risk, and then a medal. Thanks to your little distraction, they never even saw us coming. Took the whole camp with no casualties!”

Thompson looked over to the trail of bloody feathers leading to the mare in the corner, already being tended to by the shaking hooves of the mare with the hot-pink bun. “Yeah, no casualties,” he mumbled. “Just doin’ my duty, sir.”

With one last squeeze, the Captain turned to leave. “Report to the center of camp when you’re ready, we’re already settin’ up a command post,” he said over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the by, you can take your mask off now. Command’s reporting that the air’s totally breathable. No contagions to worry about or nothin’.”

As the captain stepped outside, Thompson took a moment to just stand there. His stomach twisted and rolled. He looked over the lines of ponies around him, the wide eyes, filled with fear that made him cringe, ignoring the inane questions of “Masks? They’re wearing masks?” Finally fed up, he pulled the gas mask off and clipped it to his belt, welcoming the cold sting of the air on his face. He looked over the stunned looks and gaping muzzles around him and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then he trudged out to rejoin the squad, not even minding the cooling blood on his waist, and not even recognizing the looks on the faces around him as he stepped out of the tent. He didn’t know the term for it, but some of the otaku in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces might have termed the look on the ponies’ faces as very desu-kawaii. Except for some of the stallions, who looked on in shock and surprise, and ultimately, anger.

One finally roared: “What!? How can they look like that!?

“Shouldn’t they have, I dunno, tentacles or somethin’?” Another chimed in.

“But…” Flutterheart looked up, now totally ignored by the roar of angry, arguing ponies in the chaos left by the black-colored monsters. “Cute? How can monsters like that be so…cute?”

Her question went unanswered as the arguments swelled to a fever pitch. Finally, she just sighed and laid back in her bed, trembling with fear as she realized mommy and daddy would probably be part of the line-up outside. She didn’t even notice that as she sniffled, she did so with clear nostrils and a voice that no longer quivered with blockage from mucus. She only curled up and had one of the most surprisingly deep naps she’d ever had.

Author's Notes:

Yeah, I know. It's weird, all these chapters in one day. But dang, they just didn't seem to go together very well, not without blowing up one chapter to about 11,000 words. So hey, triple update!

Next Chapter: Chapter XXIX: Jerusalem Estimated time remaining: 6 Hours, 13 Minutes
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