Clockwork

by That 1 Guy

First published 4th of April, 2012

The story of a pegasus with one wing, a brilliant yet humble mind, & the determination to survive the first war Equestria has experienced in over a millenia.

Crippled by smog since the day he was born, a genius inventor is ripped from his home and cast into a world of backroom politics and the dangerous games of immortals. A war with the ruthless Griffon Empire and its equally twisted allies looms on the horizon. Good ponies will die before the threat has subsided, but love conquers all. . . doesn't it?

A steampunk/war fic set in an alternate universe designed to fit the story as well as possible. Some stuff will be different from the canon universe, but hey, this is fanfiction. Rated T for language, war violence, and the aftereffects.

Many thanks to BTedge116 for the title image. Proofread.edited by Pokonic. Charger is based off of Thanqol's OC.

A Day In The Life

Clockwork dozed in peace, blissfully trapped in that silent realm between sleeping and waking. The machinations of a vast engine hovered before him, infinite in its complexity but finite in its practice. A smile hovered on his lips as he dissected it, pulling each component apart as he studied their inner workings, and reassembling them into a much more efficient whole. He could almost see it, the innovation which would change his world forever and-

Ring!

-Clockwork panicked as the fragile engine shook and began to splinter. Desperately he wrapped his psyche around it and struggled to keep it from falling apart as the dreadful ringing rocked the universe. In despair, he cried out as he gripped too tightly and his dream shattered in his grasp. Bright gems and broken cogs fell about him in a dreadful rain of failure, the delicate machinery crushed beyond endurance by the outside world and the indelicate hooves of its creator. A wail of frightful longing issued forth from the young colt’s mouth as he was pulled away, up and out into the waking world.

Clockwork’s eyes snapped open, blinking in the watery winter sunlight before settling to glare at the dancing clock beside his bed. With an irritable hoof, he smashed the thing away, sending it careening across space and time to shatter against the bronze-paneled walls into hundreds of pieces. The damage didn’t bother him, he’d designed it to do that, and the device could be repaired in a matter of minutes, but the engine was an entirely diferent story. Try though he might, he could not recall the million intricate details of the great machine he had so vividly grasped in his dreams. The secrets of his greatest work, perhaps the greatest in all Equestria, was forever lost to him. At least, until the next time he lay his head down to sleep and let the world slip away.

Still cursing the dreadful need for the clock which had awoken him, the pegasus colt rose from the tangle of silk sheets and began to make himself pony again. Winter break was over, though he still could not believe how fast time had gone by, and to be late on his first day back was unacceptable. His father would never allow it, and more importantly, he didn't want to experience one more day away from his best friend. His gaze drifted to the cheap wooden desk he’d managed to wedge into one corner of the overstuffed room.

Somepony uneducated in the working of the device might claim the rickety thing was shabby, even downright ugly, and even Clockwork had to admit that it did not match the rest of the decor. But the old, patched wooden desk with sap leaking out the sides and glue stains on every surface counted itself among the most prized of his possessions. It had been one of his first gifts from his best friend in the world, and stood as a monument to how far the two had come these past four years. On his way to the washroom, he stopped for a moment to run a hoof carefully across its varnished surface. With a small click, a secret compartment popped open along the edge. A small, cheap picture of two ponies appeared, a memento of their first outing together to the Ponyville carnival.

The colt in the photo was a cream brown, his chocolate mane and tail unkempt, but his ruby eyes sparkling with open joy and adoration for his companion as he looked straight into the lens. Standing at his right side, his single and only wing draped gently across her back, stood the object of his affection and the source of his overwhelming happiness. A dark yellow earth pony mare with breathtaking blue eyes and a messy orange mane. Her name was Charger, and she was perfect.

A deep, baritone note smashed the pegasus’ awed silence like an overripe fruit fly. With a startled yelp, Clockwork leaped several feet into the air, turning as he did to face his dresser drawers. The furniture itself, though of high quality mahogany, was nothing of note. Five drawers across, seven high, with the middle section cut out to hold a large mirror and small shelf. The noise was issuing forth from drawer number three-two, three drawers from the left, two high.

Clockwork glared at the supposedly innocent furnishing while he willed his beating heart to still. A heart attack on the first day back would hardly be the best start to a new term that he could imagine. Sufficiently calm, the pegasus strode over and unlatched the drawer, pulling it out to reveal a complex little device nestled amongst his unmentionables. The auxiliary alarm clock, unlike its predecessor, had been built to endure even the harshest of punishments in pursuit of its duty. A survivability Clockwork had taken great pleasure in testing with the largest hammer he could find. Repeatedly.

A silvery horn sat on a base of plain bronze, the instrument twisted and turned about itself, presenting an aesthetically pleasing puzzle. Numerous dials, switches, and buttons sprouted along its surface, ticking and clicking deftly beneath the all-encompassing baritone. Clockwork smiled despite himself as he picked at the device deftly with his wing, performing the hundred different minute adjustments necessary to shut it off. Blissful silence followed, and he allowed himself to close his eyes and bask in the quiet peace.

Still smiling, Clockwork ducked into the washroom. A tiled chamber fully the size of a poorer house’s master bedroom, it was filled with complex machinery. A glass case sat in the center, its only adornment a bronze handle on one side and the stainless steel nozzle at the top. Steaming water shot forth in a blaze of glory with the flick of a switch, fed by a series of innumerable pipes hidden in the ceiling and the walls, leading down to one of three oversized boilers. Clockwork grabbed a bar of transparent, faintly orange-scented soap and a bottle of Manescrub off a nearby shelf before heading inside.

The water was hot, almost scalding, but he liked it like that. Lathering the soap with his hooves, the colt scrubbed the mixture into his fur, cleaning it of the night’s sweat. When he judged himself to be sufficiently cleansed, he stretched out his wing and began the delicate, all-important task of preening his feathers. A pegasus’ pride was their wings, and although he might be only half a pegasus, he could still take pride in being presentable. After all, he had somepony to impress.

Loose feathers and cottony down fell to the floor, were caught in the tide, and swept down the drain to the incinerator. Gearbox, the master of the house, was a firm believer that waste was want, and nopony should ever want. Therefore he had made the house entirely self-sustainable. Loose water was converted to steam, which powered the house, until it cooled and was turned to water, which was then placed in the boiler to be cleansed and used again. Very efficient, though privately most of the house’s residents found it to be a little bit gross.

Clockwork chuckled to himself at the thought and began washing his mane. Few ponies could appreciate that good science was often the result of mess and grime.

Minutes later, he stepped out of the steam-filled case and out onto the relatively dry tiles of the washroom proper. Grabbing a thick, soft towel off the rack, he made his way to the sink. As he always did, Clockwork carefully inspected himself to make sure he was presentable enough to be seen in public. Finding himself to be far from satisfactory, the colt grabbed a brush off the shelf and set to work. The tangles of his coat were worried until all that was left was glossy sheen, his mane carefully styled until it hung flat, and his jaw cleared of unwanted stubble.

Satisfied with his appearance, Clockwork set to making sure the inside of his head was as spotless at the outside. A thorough brushing, a generous dose of mouthwash, and a meticulous flossing later, he judged himself to be ready to face the day. Whistling a jaunty tune, Clockwork trotted back into his bedroom and stopped. He was forgetting something, but what?

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, the pegasus mentally retraced his steps throughout that morning, carefully analyzing every move and stray thought for irregularity. He could see nothing, but he knew from experience that did not mean there was nothing. The realization came like a crack of lightning, swift and terrible.

Clockwork rolled his eyes and bonked himself on the head, how could he have been so stupid?

Resuming his merry tune, the pegasus turned to his desk and scooped up the gold necklace which lay there. A simple golden chain, expensive but plain, held home to his real treasure. A priceless fire ruby, one of the rarest and most beautiful gemstones in all Equestria, hung from the chain’s end, encased in platinum so that its hook would not mar the gem’s flawlessness.

He hung the jewelry about his neck and wrapped a checkerboard pattern scarf around it. Satisfied, Clockwork departed his fortress of solitude, pausing only long enough to grab his grandfather’s military greatcoat from its hook on the wall. Hearth’s Warming Eve might be behind him, but winter’s chill had not yet departed the air and the extra protection would be welcome.

Clockwork’s heavy bronze door opened with a soft click as he approached, swinging out on well-greased hinges into the broad hallway beyond. The halls of the Gearbox household were paneled with bronze and floored by hardwood, the walls hung with various paintings and framed diagrams. A long line of Clockwork’s ancestors stretched to either side of his door, depicting a grand history of innovation and dedication to the betterment of Equestria and her ponies.

The pegasus stopped for a moment to offer a crisp salute to the image of his late-grandfather, a grizzled, grey-bearded pegasus stallion renowned for his prodigious flight skills and bravery. Clockwork would never forget the day, eight years ago, when the news had arrived that Major Clock Work of the Fifth Aircavalry had perished in a border skirmish with the Griffon Empire. He would also never forget the last words the grizzled veteran had spoken to him.

“What makes a pegasus a pegasus isn’t the strength of his wings or the height of his flight, but the courage in his heart and the wonder of his imagination.”

Suppressing a sniffle and wiping a solitary tear from his eye, the pegasus turned away and continued on. Down the hallway, to the left, and down a broad, winding staircase led him to the main hall. A vast chamber with marble floors, expensive banisters, and gilded railways. Expensive amber drapes were pulled open to allow natural light in, the expensive gas lamps unlit in favor of the sun, the fine glass windows polished clear to display the city skyline.

Used to the view, Clockwork turned to the right and headed into the estate’s kitchen, where he knew an ample breakfast awaited him. The room he walked into was as long as it was tall and filled with the delectable smell of a hundred different delicious dishes cooking. Along one side stretched several stoves, a massive fridge, a trough that might have once resembled a sink, and an unburnished steel door which led to the pantry. Along the other was a full buffet, spanning the length of the room and covered in a thousand and one delicacies.

Clockwork loaded a plate high with lettuce, celery, and a generous helping of apple sauce. Satisfied that he had effectively adhered to the Wheel of Good Eating, the pegasus turned to find a place at the oaken table set in the room’s center. He was halfway through his plate when his father walked in, his snout buried in a newspaper.

“Morning, Dad,” Clockwork greeted him around a mouthful of kale. Gearbox grunted noncommittally as he set about making his own breakfast, two slices of buttered toast and a mug of black coffee.

The pegasus, knowing well his father’s hatred of mornings, went back to his feasting. As Gearbox took a seat opposite his son, the newspaper’s headline caught his eye.

Raids On The Border! Is War Imminent?

“Hey, Dad?”

Gearbox looked over the top of his paper at his son’s questioning tone. His storm grey eyes were bloodshot and hung with heavy bags, yet somehow managed to retain their customary sparkle of innate mirth. When he was a little colt, Clockwork remembered spending hours staring into his father’s eyes, something about the warm gaze made him feel so very safe.

“Something the matter, son?” The stallion’s voice was a smooth baritone, rich and cultured.

Clockwork gestured at the front page.

“Things aren’t really that bad, are they?” His voice was quiet, as if he spoke too loud it would bring his fears to life. “I mean, we’re not gonna have a war, are we?”

Gearbox blinked, and shuffled the paper around to see the object of Clockwork’s nervousness. When his eyes alighted upon the headline, his weathered brown face cracked a smile and he burst out laughing.

“No, no, son,” he chortled when his mirth had subsided. “Those newsponies just like to make everypony think things are worse than they are so that they sell more papers. Believe you me, there’s no danger of an actual war.”

Clockwork’s mind flashed back to his grandfather, who’d said the exact same thing before going off on that fateful patrol. He’d believed the griffons would never actually attack Equestria, and look where it got him.

“But how can you be so sure?” He asked.

Gearbox, noticing his son’s anxiety, took a moment before answering.

“Well,” he said at last, “if the Empire really was going to attack, would Ambassador Bellum still be in Canterlot? Surely you don’t think the griffons would be so foolish as to leave somepony as valuable as him in our territory if they truly intended to fight?”

Clockwork thought over his father’s words, they seemed reasonable. Logical. But Grandfather Clock had always said that war was the opposite of reason, it was chaos, the realm of Discord.

“I guess,” the colt said slowly, still not entirely convinced.

Gearbox sighed and set down his paper. His hooves, expensively shod with high-quality steel, click-clacked loudly on the tile. Moments later, a warm fetlock was draping itself across the younger pony’s withers.

“Look, son,” Gearbox’s voice was quiet, calming. The voice of a patient father soothing a frightened foal. “What happened to your grandfather was an accident, you know that, and we have the word of the Emperor himself that nothing like it will ever happen again. More importantly, we have the word of Celestia and the full might of Equestria’s military between us and the griffons. You really think there’s any danger? Here, in Ponyville, where the Elements themselves made their home? I should sooner think that the very gates of Tartarus would crumble then we would be in any danger here.”

Clockwork smiled up at his father, thinking of the many miles between him and the nearest griffon settlement. Factoring in the dozens of military outposts, towns, and cities in the area, not to mention the hazardous wildlife and patrolling airships of the Equestrian Navy, the very idea of an attack on Ponyville was preposterous, even insane.

“Yeah,” Clockwork said, then, with greater conviction. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just letting the newsponies get to me,” his lips quirked in a wry grin. “Next thing you know I’ll be like Lyra and expecting ‘humans’ to jump out of every corner and attack me.”

Gearbox laughed, a great belly laugh that said everything was going to be alright.

“That’s the spirit, kiddo!” He gave the much smaller colt a hearty slap on the back, “You just concentrate on being the best student in the world, and leave the worrying to old ponies like me and your mother!”

“Did somepony just call me old?” A musically familiar voice called out.

Gearbox froze in mid-chuckle, his face going through a variety of expressions from surprise, to nervous anxiety, to embarrassment, until finally settling on sheer terror. Clockwork laughed at his father’s antics, then turned to face the newcomer.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, sweetie.” Quick Fix smiled at him, waltzing into the room with an air of unassuming nonchalance. The pegasus recognized that walk, and mentally prepared himself for a storm. “Now,” the chocolate-coated unicorn mare sauntered over to her husband, “what was that I heard about ‘old ponies’?”

Gearbox gulped audibly, a visible sweat drop beginning to form on his brow. “W-Well,” he stammered, “not old exactly, more like. . . past your prime?”

Clockwork’s mother raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, while his father continued to visibly restrain himself from bolting out the nearest window. Privately, the pegasus was consumed with laughter.

“So now I’m ‘past my prime’?” Quick Fix circled her husband, flicking the burly stallion menacingly with her tail. “I’m ‘aging’, am I?” she paused to tap a hoof to her chin thoughtfully, “I seem to recall a certain stallion saying that I would be ‘forever young’ in his eyes, or am I thinking of somepony different? Maybe I should give him a call? I’m sure he’d love to sweet talk me.”

“Well, you see, I -” Gearbox trailed off, unable to find a way to save himself from the pit he’d dug.

Quick Fix allowed her husband to stew in his own misery for a few moments more, before she burst out laughing and draped her forelegs about him in a hug.

“Oh, Gearbox, I do love you!” She winked conspiratorially at Clockwork, “Even if you are getting a little soft around the middle.”

Clockwork laughed and downed the remainder of his breakfast. Eager to depart the increasingly cloying romance his parents were setting up, the pegasus dumped his dirty dish into the sink and headed for the door.

“Son,” Gearbox’s tone halted him in his tracks, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

The pegasus sighed, he’d been hoping he could avoid this situation if he got out while his parents were distracted. He craned his neck over his shoulder to look at his father, “Do I really have to?” he asked, “It’s not like I can fly with it, anyway.”

His father gave him a sympathetic look, but there was no yielding in his gaze. “That’s not how the therapy works, son. You know that.”

Clockwork sighed again, “Yeah. I know. I’ll go get it.”

Gearbox tried to give his youngest and only son a reassuring smile, but his heart wasn’t quite in it. How could he assure somepony something would help when he himself was convinced it wouldn’t?

Clockwork returned the smile, equally listless, before turning away and trotting out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and back to his room. The door clicked open, and the pegasus trotted inside. He cast a cursory glance about the room as he walked, focusing on anywhere but his destination. The long table filling up the back wall, covered in half-finished inventions and blueprints. The over-sized dresser he was physically incapable of using half of. The round table and chairs where he’d invited Charger to tea. The double glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the whole of Ponyville, where he’d realized his feelings for his best friend were a bit less than pure. The ugly bronze wing and its steel stand, hidden beneath a pile of dirty clothes and old sheets.

Clockwork stopped just before this, his gaze roaming over the offending thing and its empty promises. Made of intricate bronze machinery even he had yet to decipher entirely, the “wing” was meant to be a marvel of Equestrian engineering and ingenuity. The height of cybernetic augmentation, meant to make the world a better place for ponies everywhere who’d been injured. To him, it was a horrible reminder of the life fate had stolen from him, of the life he could never have. Of the pony he could never be.

With deft, lifeless hooves he unhooked the apparatus from its charging station. First came the coping mechanism, a series of black straps and bronze buckles designed to counterbalance the actual weight of the wing. He adhered these around all four limbs, forming a series of X-patterns across his withers and barrel. Next came the actual wing attachment, a roughly spherical device meant to mimic the joint of an actual wing, giving the apparatus all the range and motion of flesh and blood. At least, that was how it was marketed. The wing itself came last, the mesh of wires and hooks at its base resembling a prawn’s mouth. Gripping the body of the thing in his mouth, Clockwork awkwardly began the process of adhering it to the rest of the mechanism.

It was horrible, painstaking work and the pegasus mentally cursed the unicorns who’d designed the thing. Ponies who spent their lives moving objects with their minds never seemed to grasp how difficult it was to perform complex motions with nothing but big, unwieldy hooves. With a soft click the final wire connected and Clockwork heaved a relieved sigh, allowing himself to relax on all fours. With a soft thrum, the artificial wing activated itself and began the process of integrating its core matrix with his body’s nervous system.

The pegasus turned his head to watch, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to actually see anything. The only indication that anything was happening at all, aside from the noise only he could hear, was the way the tiny sapphires set around the base of the thing began to glow. Inside that bronze shell, though, he knew that something wondrous was taking place. The magic contained within the gems trickled into him, a sensation not unlike being slowly lowered into ice water, bringing with them the innumerable spells and incantations worked into the metal by unicorn smiths. The sensation faded after a few more seconds, leaving the pegasus feeling somewhat. . . emptier in the absence of the magic.

Clockwork shook the feeling off and glanced up at the large clock he’d set above his balcony door. Five minutes, fourteen seconds. He was getting faster.

Rolling his shoulders a bit to settle the straps more comfortably, he began his exercises. Fist he spread his left wing to its full extent, feeling the muscles unlimber and the joints pop. Next, he raised the prosthetic. Gears whirred, metal creaked, and his balance shifted ever so slightly, but otherwise there was no indication anything had happened at all. Clockwork did a few more individual wing stretches, before folding both to his sides. No sooner had the tips touched his flanks then he shot them out full force. His flesh and blood snapped to immediately, but the bronze and steel was almost a full second slower to react. Clockwork growled, the ratio was still off.

Before he could remove the wing and get it on his work table, a silvery chime peeled off the half-hour mark. The pegasus started and glanced at the clock, it now read seven-thirty. He was going to be late!

Cursing himself for allowing the ugly prosthetic to consume his attention, Clockwork shot off like a bullet. Pausing only long enough to grab his grandfather’s coat from where he’d left it in the kitchen, and to issue his kissing parents a hasty goodbye, he was out the door and into the snow before his room’s automatic door had quite registered that he’d left.

The moment his hooves touched the frozen walkway, Clockwork realized the folly of his haste. With a startled yelp, the pegasus lost his footing and slid the length of his family’s property on his belly until finally coming to a painful halt against the wrought iron gate.

“Ow,” he muttered, carefully picking himself up. “Note to self; don’t do that again.”

Shivering in the winter chill, Clockwork quickly donned his coat. Without his body heat to warm it up, the covering was just as cold as the outside air, yet it provided overwhelming protection from the biting wind. The pegasus sighed and settled the garment more comfortably across his back, making sure the straps of his prosthetic were well covered. He carefully folded his wings beneath the coat’s embrace, protecting the fragile appendages from the falling snow. The jacket having been built for a pegasus, Clockwork could have easily fit his wings into the appropriate holes, thus freeing them for flight. Yet, with no acclimation to the sky’s frigid temperatures, and no way to depart the ground, the obvious choice was to depart convenience for comfort.

Dusting the snow from his shoulders with an idle hoof, Clockwork carefully unlatched the gate’s lock and stepped out onto the streets of Ponyville’s Cloud District. The irony of the name had always struck him as morbid, there were no cloud houses in Equestria anymore, the smog had made certain of that. Making sure the gate was well locked behind him -- Grandfather Clock had been a stickler for security -- Clockwork turned round and came face to face with a familiar mare.

“Gah!” The gentlecoltly stallion yelped, stumbling back and promptly falling flat on his rump.

His oldest and best friend, Charger, smirked at him. “Scared?”

Clockwork blushed. “I wasn’t scared,” he protested, “you just startled me. It was a defensive move, I jumped back so I could have more room to maneuver.”

Charger nodded, still smirking. Without another word, she turned around and began walking away. Clockwork nervously readjusted his coat and followed. “So how was your Hearth’s Warming Eve? Did you have fun in Stalliongrad?”

Charger shrugged, “It was satisfactory.”

“So did Father H.W. leave you anything good under your tree?”

“New tools.”

Clockwork wracked his brain for a follow-up to that, but was left wanting. Charger had received nothing but tools for birthdays, holidays, and apologies for as long as he had known her. He’d assumed at one point that this was because she kept losing or breaking them in her experiments. That train of thought had shattered the moment he witnessed the inside of her workshop. Rows and rows of every tool a pony could ever want had lined every wall, all in pristine condition and obviously well-loved by their owner. Oh what technological marvels he could create with just a few of them!

Before he could formulate a new question, the pair had rounded a bend in the road and the city of Ponyville came into existence below them. The Cloud District, whether by design or accident, rested on a small hill at the city’s south end, opposite Canterlot in the far distance. Grandfather Clock had always liked to say that if an enemy took the hill, they could rain fire on the city below unimpeded. In his words, it was “a damn stupid place for rich ponies to live”. To Clockwork, however, it was one of the few places where he could truly feel like a pegasus, high in the sky with the world spread out below him.

Ponyville was not a large city by modern standards. Home to just over a quarter million ponies, the former frontier town had been among the last to embrace the new wave of industry. Spots of green could still be seen among the bronze and glass, gardens and parks lovingly maintained by talented ponies, and paid for quite handsomely out of the taxpayer’s pocket. Mayor Mare, the city’s beloved leader of twenty years, had been quite strict with just how many factories were allowed to pollute the sky at any one time. Nevertheless, a dismal cloud of smog hung over the city like a rotten blanket, made all the more bleak by the presence of heavy winter clouds.

Towering structures of bronze, steel, and glass rose from the earth as if to pierce the very heavens with their arrogance. Winding, elevated walkways stretched between them, providing a skyway of sorts for the myriad ponies whose jobs it was to maintain and direct the veritable armada of aircraft which drifted lazily through the atmosphere. A no-fly zone had long been established over the Cloud District itself, but poorer ponies often found themselves perpetually shaded by the mammoth bulk of a heavy freighter or armored destroyer floating overhead. It had become a running joke among laborers and craftsponies over what would kill them first, the smoke from the factories choking them or the overburdened airships crashing down in a fiery death ball. Clockwork himself knew the folly of the arguments, Equestria had abandoned hydrogen for its heavier yet unignitable cousin helium long ago. Still, the fear persisted, and even somepony as well versed in the intricacies of mechanics as he could not entirely dismiss their concerns out of hoof.

Ponyville Clock Tower, a needle-like skyscraper rising a full story above any other building in the city, let loose with a series of rolling brass notes. Eight o’clock, the alicorn-shaped hands read. Time for good fillies and colts to be in school.

Charger cursed and took off at a dead gallop, Clockwork hot on her fetlocks. Ponyville Private High was just outside the Cloud District’s gates, so they did not have far to go. Even with the short journey, however, the morning bell had well rung by the time they arrived. Sheepishly, the two filed into the lecture hall and took their seats at the front row, where everypony could see (and mock) them.

Professor Strange gave them a look as they settled down, but otherwise did not comment on their lateness. The beige stallion stroked his mustache-less beard with an idle hoof while he leafed through an intimidatingly large folder on his lectern.

“Settle down, class.” his smooth, silky voice cut through the idle chatter with all the gentleness of a rabid manticore. “I know we are still recovering from our holiday antics, but I see no reason why the festivities should lessen our ability to learn. Rubix Cube,” he snapped suddenly, “what year did the Industrial Revolution begin in Equestria?”

A black unicorn colt with an oddly patterned mane almost leaped out of his seat. “Year nine hundred and eighty-eight, professor.”

“No credit for partial answers, youngling. You would be well advised to remember that.”

The unicorn blushed, “Sorry, sir. I mean ‘Nine hundred and eighty-eight, Reign of Celestia’.”

Strange gave a curt nod of satisfaction, his attention already diverted elsewhere. “Charger, who invented the weapons now known as ‘firearms’?”

Charger answered smoothly, undaunted by the sudden question. “Griffon hunters living in the relatively untamed wilds of the Empire invented the rifle using an explosive powder developed by the Diamond Dog Consortium. These weapons were unwieldy, slow to reload, and highly inaccurate. The griffons used them largely as a symbol of wealth and status, much like how Equestrians view clothing.”

“Very good,” the professor nodded. “Now perhaps you would like to tell me why her royal highness, Princess Celestia, saw fit to introduce these clumsy inventions to the Equestrian military?”

“When the Griffon Emperor realized the martial power these rifles possessed, shortly after their creation, he immediately set his top scientists and engineers into perfecting them. What resulted was a weapon of carnage quite unseen in the world since the rule of Discord. Princess Celestia wisely chose to barter directly with the independent hunters, rather than the Emperor himself, for possession of these weapons. She then had them adapted for equine use, in a move to discourage the Empire from challenging Equestrian borders. This event is believed to be the start of the infamous Arms Race, which I believe still exists today as-”

“That is enough, Miss Charger,” Professor Strange interrupted effortlessly. “We do not need to hear again your unfounded theories that the griffons are preparing themselves for war.”

The young mare’s only outward indication of displeasure was a very small frown, unnoticeable to the average pony. To Clockwork, however, she may as well have been screaming.

Clockwork sighed as he set his tray down. Professor Strange had lectured them for almost an hour on the delicate political situation between the Griffon Empire, Equestria, and each nation’s allies. In all that time, Charger had simply glared at the professor with a carefully neutral expression, belying the seething rage hidden behind her eyes. His musings were interrupted by said mare plopping down next to him with slightly more force than necessary. Still not speaking, she picked up a fork and started stabbing at her salad.

The pegasus sighed again and poked at his own meal. A hayburger and fries. Ponyville High imported exotic spices from around the world, the finest ingredients from across Equestria, and still cafeteria food tasted like boiled cabbage. Leaving the unappetizing plate to its own devices, he turned away and scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Unfortunately, he found them.

Pushing their way unceremoniously through the crowded auditorium was a trio of colts. Their leader, the biggest and dumbest of the three, was storm grey with a black mane and tail. His cutie mark was an almost predictable barbel, though he claimed his special talent was leadership. The other two were a set of twins, their albino coats rippling with enough muscle to make them look almost deformed. What little blonde hair remained on their heads had been shaved to an angry stubble. Clockwork might have found their undersized wings hilarious, but his own deformity was like a splash of cold water every time he tried. At least they could fly.

Clockwork tensed as they approached. When the trio passed him, the leader sniffed loudly and lifted his nose in the air. The twins chuckled stupidly and followed along. Clockwork glared after them but kept his mouth shut. Smokestack was a bully and a brute, but he was smart enough not to get into a fight on school grounds. Which meant if Clockwork threw the first buck he’d be the one in trouble, no matter how much Smoke goaded him. Fun to think about, though.

“You shouldn’t let him get to you,” Charger said suddenly. The pegasus blinked at her, to which the mare shrugged. “Smoke is an elitist moron, but his father is powerful. It’s better to let him live in his selfish little delusions than risk an incident pounding his muzzle in.”

Clockwork sighed and let his anger drain out of him. As always, Charger was right. Besides, he could at least be content in the knowledge that he was much, much smarter than any of those so-called “pure ponies”. They finished their respective meals in silence and departed the cafeteria, heading for the next class.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Charger was still brooding over Professor Strange’s attitude, and made no response to Clockwork’s attempts at conversation. The next time she spoke wasn’t until the two were out the gates and heading into the city.

“I have to go.”

The blunt statement stopped Clockwork in his tracks. His friend continued on for several paces before realizing he no longer accompanied her. The yellow mare turned back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Is something wrong?” She asked. It took a few moments for Clockwork to properly respond.

“N-No,” he stammered. “Just a little. . . surprised, is all. I thought we were going into the city today?”

Charger shook her head, “No. Father made an appointment for me with a headhunter, I have to get to the interview after school.”

Clockwork blinked, “Headhunter? For what?”

“Some big company Father is convinced would secure my future. I’m not so certain.”

The two drew even with one another and continued on their way.

“What do you mean?” The colt asked, finally.

Charger shrugged, “Father wants me to be like him, sitting at a desk or in a shop all day. He says he only wants me to be financially secure in case something happens to him. To be able to provide for myself in the event of calamity.”

“And that’s. . . bad?”

The mare’s eyes practically glowed with inner fire. “I don’t want to be safe,” she didn’t raise her voice but authority rang in every word. “I don’t want to hide in my house while the bombs drop and soldiers die. I want to be there, holding the line against the enemy, fighting like a hero until my final breath.”

Clockwork gulped. “That’s, uh. . . very patriotic of you.”

Charger glared at him, “You agree with Father, don’t you?”

The pegasus broke out in a cold sweat. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re sweating and you’re not looking at me.”

Clockwork tore his gaze from the passing buildings and refocused on the mare in front of him. He gave her a nervous smile which was met with a raised eyebrow. Accepting defeat with a sigh, the pegasus hung his head.

“Alright, so I don’t like the idea of you going into combat. Can you blame me? Ponies die in wars!”

“Ponies die at home, too, Clockwork. At least in a battle you see it coming. The only exception to that rule is snipers.”

The pegasus didn’t have an answer to that, and the pair continued on in silence. They were just entering the Artisan District when Charger turned away, departing with a wave and a muttered “See you later”. Clockwork heaved a sigh and headed towards the Industrial District, he needed somepony to talk to and there was only one colt in the city he knew who would be willing to listen.

Gilda hated Ponyville. She hated the crowds, the noise, and the pollution. But most of all she hated the streets. Griffon streets were made of hard packed dirt or layered with fluffy clouds. Pony streets were cobblestones and pavement. Indifferent to hard hooves, they forced her to walk on her fists lest she inadvertently slip a talon into the cracks. The wrenching, tearing pain was not an experience she wished to repeat. So the griffon walked stoically along the streets, hating every moment of it behind a mask of icy calm. Her companion did not share her discomfort.

The griffon’s eyes darted to her companion for the fourteenth time since they had departed the private sleeper car the Ambassador had arranged for them. An unnecessary luxury considering the short distance between their destination and Canterlot, but considering what they were carrying, Gilda had been glad of the extra security. Ponies couldn’t get curious about what they couldn’t see, and a griffon and diamond dog traveling together in these troubled times was about as curious as it got. If her companion noticed her gaze, he did not show it, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hood.

Gilda sighed and mentally reviewed the directions they’d been given. Go east from the train station to the statue of victory. Check. Turn left until you see the sign labeled “Earth District”. Check. Run around in circles because the next landmark was destroyed by a drunk dragon? Double check. The griffon growled to herself and rubbed her temples. A futile effort considering the armor covering her talons and head, but the habitual gesture brought her some comfort.

A metal paw on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. The griffon looked up at her companion curiously, and when he made no move to acknowledge her, followed his gaze. There, standing right before them in all its glory, was their destination. A seedy little hole in the wall with a sign reading “The Grey Mare” and a picture of what could only be described as an abused prostitute. Gilda felt a little of herself die at the sight of it.

“You’re joking,” she said, “You’re joking, right? Our contact is in this dump?” Her incredulousness was met only by an indifferent shrug as her companion strode forward. Gilda took the time to faceclaw before following him. Whatever they were here to buy had better be damned well worth it. She already felt like she needed a bath from walking through the scummy streets of pony utopia, and looking at this place now she’d need two. . . and a priest.

An overweight, earth pony bouncer stood just outside the rusting iron door. He leaned casually against moldy stone, trying to look dangerous while an oversized spiked club rested next to him. Gilda was not particularly impressed at his display of casual danger. A quick jab to the belly, a slash to his eyes, and he’d be begging for mercy before he drew his next breath. Ponies, she sneered, they have no idea what real combat is like.

The bouncer let them pass without incident. Likely he had been paid well to know they were coming and to keep his mouth shut. With what they were paying their contact, he had damn well better.

The inside of the bar was no better than the outside. Smoke from a dozen brands of cheap cigars filled the air. Half-rotted tables groaned beneath the weight of greasy food and stale beer. The entire place stunk of unwashed pony flesh and fornication. Gilda had to forcibly stop herself from vomiting the light lunch she’d eaten on the train. Moving through the small crowd of patrons, the two made their way to a backroom.

A solitary lantern sitting on a small table provided the only illumination. Sitting on the other side, his face half-hidden in shadow, was a greasy unicorn stallion. Gilda looked him over in a glance. Taller than average, well built, and lightly armored. He sat with an air of casual lethality and strength. Lack of personal hygiene aside, he was clearly not to be trifled with in battle. Or at least, he was by pony standards.

“Payment?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

“Information first.” Gilda responded.

“Same time?” the pony asked with a smirk.

“Not a chance.”

The unicorn glared at her, then gestured with his horn. A previously unseen, hulking mass of an earth pony stepped from the shadows and laid a vanilla hued folder on the table. Gilda eyed the spit and teeth marks with distaste and reached for the folder. When nopony made a move to stop her, she scooped it up and leafed through the contents. Troop movements, base locations, supply depots, etc. Valuable information but nothing they didn’t already know.

She handed the folder silently to her companion and nodded. The pony traitor wasn’t lying to them, that was the important part. The diamond dog took it and laid his suitcase on the table. Grey light surrounded it briefly and the latches unclicked. Undisguised greed contorting his features, the pony flipped the lid to expose piles of high denomination bits. A small fortune.

Gilda and her commander turned silently and departed the bar, leaving the ponies to their giggling. A hundred thousand bits for outdated information? Stupid and pointless. A fortune for the knowledge of yet another traitor in the pony’s ranks? Perfect.

“Let’s get something to eat before we head back to Canterlot, Echo,” she said. “I need to wash the taste of pony filth out of my beak.”

Author's Notes:

Well guys, here it is! The first redone chapter of a fully redone story! I promise that this time around, the epic tale of Clockwork & Co. will be better than ever. Better pacing, better realism, better characterization, better everything! Stick around, for the fun has yet to begin.

Live Life For The Moment

Clockwork would’ve sighed, were it not for the unpleasant (to put it very lightly) scent of the world that surrounded him. In times of mental strife, the pegasus would always fiddle with technology or let his body wander while his mind went somewhere else. He had no trinkets on him at the moment, so he ended up doing the latter. His legs had ended up taking him to the Industrial District, the part of Ponyville where machines made machines. The Industrial District was also referred to as the “Slums” by some of Ponyville’s denizens, taking note of the grime and dirt that covered just about everything, including the poor mares and stallions unable to afford a home anywhere else. Unlike back home, there were no friendly neighbors or clean roads, and equal amounts of scrap metal and criminal activity were present throughout.

Those traits, among many others, were just a few of the reasons Charger once ventured down here to get her cutie mark. No matter how ill planned, badly executed, or both, Clockwork would always tag along in support of the plan.

“Today is the day. I am sure of it.” she would recite. Clockwork would always nod and shrug, knowing that somepony would need to be there to bandage her up afterwards. They had come down to the district a few times before, but like always, no success.

“Third time's the charm.” Charger had told him. The mare’s intent was to build a monolithic robot from the scrap (it still made Clockwork blush to know that she had that much faith in him), which could only be destroyed by Charger. In a worst case scenario, Clockwork would just hit the kill switch. In was a daring idea, filled with more holes than a cheese grater, but it sounded like another adventure worth having.

The two set out in the early hours of the weekend, running nearly the entire way. A good portion of the day was devoted to scavenging for almost everything they would need. The list ranged from wires and rebar to a concrete mixer and a defunct cider maker. The duo had managed to find a relatively secluded alleyway to set up shop, and began gathering and construction. The entire process was actually going over well, all things considered. Unfortunately, there’s always a kink in the problem, or five, in that day’s case.

That number referred to the number of thugs that appeared just before Charger was ready to inset the “brain” of the machine. Thinking back on it, who wouldn’t have tried to jump two foals given the circumstance? The crooks didn’t look too different from everypony else that occupied the District, except their eyes glimmered with an intent Clockwork would rather not remember. Even if Charger had set her gloves to “Self Defense”, it was a gamble to think that they could take down even one of them. So, they did what foals their age did best. They ran.

And run they did. Clockwork couldn’t remember how long they went for, only that his legs were on fire by the time they stopped to rest. The crooks still hadn’t given up the chase, and Clockwork, at the time, would’ve discussed terms of surrender had it not been for a group of new, younger ponies grabbing them and pulling them into a hidey hole of sorts. Said hole was big enough only for himself and his friend, and before either occupant could figure out what the Tartarus was going on, the strangers, whom Charger would later identify as foals at the least, took off to give the thugs a different lead to chase after.

Just as the two were beginning to leave, Charger acknowledged a fact that Clockwork hoped she wouldn’t discover that his cheeks had turned a bright red from being so close. The pegasus hastily shrugged it off and began to leave, only to be stopped by another colt. He looked the same as the foals from before, but he was a bit older, and the first words to leave his mouth made Clockwork blush harder.

“Well, don’t ye two make a cute couple?” he asked.

Just as they did a thousand times before, the duo responded with a synchronous “we’re not together”, which was dismissed with a wave of the stranger’s hoof. He offered them shelter, a place to rest for a while, and some food “worthy of even the snobbiest of snobs in Canterlot”.

To any other pony, that offer would’ve been immediately declined, followed by the sound of hooves slamming against packed dirt as the duo would run in the opposite directing. Yet, there was something different about this urchin, in addition to his young age, a certain light behind his eyes showed that he meant only good intentions. After a bit of argument, the duo agreed to go with him, and after some time snaking through surprisingly clean back alleys, climbing a few ladders, and even jumping a rooftop, the three finally arrived at-

“HALT!”

Clockwork jumped at the sudden, booming voice. After he had made sure that the fur on the back of his neck lay flat, the stallion looked about. He and Charger were brought here. Before the pegasus was an unassuming pile of scrap metal, old sanding belts, and other various pieces of salvage were all centered on a few large dumpsters. With a practiced eye, Clockwork looked at a certain point in the junk pile and found a pair of eyes staring back at him.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

Clockwork took a deep breath, raised his right hoof, and recited the sacred oath of passage. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” he lowered his hoof and smiled. “It’s good to see you’ve still got that voice, Gavroche. I swear you’ll end up being a singer one day.”

“It is good to see you as well, sir!” replied the colt in a much higher pitched tone. The near-invisible pony tapped on the dumpster nearest him with what Clockwork knew was a makeshift, yet effective, spear. “He’s back!” he cried out.

Anypony else would’ve probably jumped out of their fur at the sight of the dumpster opening in a way it wasn’t meant to. The hole underneath the garbage container was large enough for three ponies to go down all at once, shoulder to shoulder. However, it was a rule of the Lost Foals that they always enter Lost Foal Fortress single-file. After Clockwork descended the ladder within the hole, he was treated to the sight of clean light, no smog to turn it a faded yellow brown.

Colts and mares no older than himself were skittering about, partaking in dozens of different tasks. As he made his way down the main underground hallway, he took note of how little the place had changed, yet it somehow looked bigger and better than before. The walls were lined with scrap beams to prevent cave ins, and long wires tipped with light bulbs. Dirt was almost non-existent on anything but the fillies and colts that occupied that tunnel, old posters of all sorts plastered the walls to make a beautiful yet gritty collage, and the hum of the base’s steam generator was almost inaudible. It was amazing what a group of young ponies could do whenever-

“Ah! It’s great to see ye again, Clockwork! What brin’s ye here today?” A familiar voice cried out. At the sound of it the pegasus turned towards its source, and found exactly who he was looking for. Before him stood what most would consider the apex of charming orphan foals. His coat was a light brown, his eyes bluer than the sky, and his mane and tail as grey as gravel, through which poked two floppy ears. Atop his head sat a worn driver’s cap. His jacket wasn’t in any better condition; crude patches salvaged from other various articles of clothing dotted it like the pony pox. The mule’s name was Moppet, he was about twelve years old, wise beyond his years, Clockwork’s rescuer, and his only other best friend.

The pegasus smiled, glad to know his friend was alive and well. “Just thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah. My legs brought me back here. My mind’s been all over some stuff lately.”

“I see. Where’s yer yellow lass?”

Clockwork shrugged. “She couldn’t come, something about a ‘headhunter’ to help secure her financial future.”

Moppet’s eyes went wide. “'Headhunters? Finance? What the hay kind of job was she bein’ interviewed for?! Ye best not drag me into any of this!”

“Not that kind of headhunter.” Clockwork batted his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a slang term for a pony that seeks out potential employees. Unfortunately though, Charger’s got her eyes set on a. . . different career.”

Moppet said not a single word, but only snickered. “What job’s she lookin’ for, then?”

Clockwork sighed once more. “She wants to have some sort of position in the military. She didn’t say much else, only that she wanted to fight. I’m guessing she’d probably want to be a squad leader or something similar. She’s one to take charge.”

Moppet coughed several times at the revelation. He glared at the salad before him before turning to look at his companion once again. “T’aint right for a mare young as her to prepare for a war that may never happen. She still thinks it’s o’er the horizon?”

“Don’t we all? I mean, this “Cold War” has been going on since Discord was dethroned.”

The room took on an eerie silence, the younger ponies that occupied the room having heard the god of chaos’ name and gone silent. It was only after a gentle reassurance from Moppet that they were safe did the children continue eating. “Lad, ye know what that damned Draconequus did to the world a few years back. Don’t mention him around the younger ones. The creature got into the minds of ponies that caught nary an eye of the beast. Somnolent is still havin’ nightmares. Poor colt.”

Clockwork only nodded.

“Yer really down. If I can’t help to cheer ye up, why did ye come down here?”

“Look around.” Clockwork flared out his real wing and swept it around him. “You’ve been caring after some twenty-odd parentless foals since before I knew you, and you lead them with such efficiency and charisma that they don’t want to head to an orphanage. I’m pretty sure a few of them are older than you. How difficult is it to do something like this on a day to day basis?”

“I hold no authority o’er the Lost Foals; I am only the group’s senior member. They’re free to leave whenever they wish. I can’t really say how difficult it is to keep control o’er ‘em since I’ve been doin’ this for as long as I remember.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Lad, don’t tell me ye actually believe in all yer girlfriend’s war suspicions? Ambassador Bellum, one of the highest rankin’ members of the Griffon species, is smack dab in the middle of Canterlot surrounded by the Royal Guard, the changelin’s have been gone since the weddin’, and the Consortium’s been keepin’ to themselves!”

“One, you sound like my dad. Two, she’s not my girlfriend; she’s just the only female friend I have!”

“Then why’re ye turnin’ redder than that fire ruby ‘round yer neck? As I recall, she gave that to ye a long time back. Does it hold some sort of sentimental meanin’ to ye?” The urchin couldn’t stop himself from laughing at his friend’s obvious embarrassment.

Clockwork slammed his head into the table. Instead of yelling though, he sighed. “What am I going to do, Mop? She’s the most wonderful mare out there, and I don’t have the guts to make any sort of move. Before I know it, she’ll be snatched up by some meathead or scientist and that’ll be the last I ever see of her.”

Moppet downed the last of his hay shake and readjusted his hat. “Clocky, I’m goin’ on thirteen in a few months, and I know next to nothin’ ‘bout mares. Why not just talk to her? Take her out for a day away from the hustle and bustle of the city? Ye don’t need to confess nothin’ to her, just make sure the mare knows that somepony cares ‘bout her.”

Clockwork strained a laugh. “Ever the romantic.”

“I’m an optimist, nothin’ more. Sure, war may be on the horizon or it may not. Either way, I choose to live life in the moment, without too many worries or cares. Speakin’ of worries, if there are destined to be tragedies in our lifetimes, well, there’s next to Jenny we can do ‘bout it! Worry not when somethin’ bad may happen! Live life to the fullest, and worry not for tomorrow, for it may never come. Hug yer family and friends, kiss yer lover, eat yer favorite food, and dance like nopony’s watchin’!”

The unicorn suddenly jumped onto the table and raised his voice at the already attentive crowd of foals. “Life is a precious gift that none should squander. With the bad comes a greater amount of good. For too long, Equestria has focused on the former, what with suspicions of war and violence and death plastered on everythin’! Me though, I’m not gonna let a war that may or may not happen get my spirits down! I’m sure as Tartarus gonna take a few precautions, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna live my life to the fullest! Can all ye fillies and colts say the same?” Moppet removed his hat and held it out to the audience that now surrounded the table. Said audience erupted into joyous cheering, and Clockwork couldn’t help but smile.

The cheering was suddenly cut off as the hollow metallic boom of Ponyville Clock Tower echoed through the tunnels. The lights overhead flickered with each chime. Some fillies covered their ears and a few others grabbed onto each other out of fear.

Somehow, Moppet managed to speak over the noise. “Worry not, Lost Foals! ‘Tis only the Tower tellin’ us the time!”

Said time turned out to be five o’clock. Clockwork’s eyes widened as he asked himself how he could’ve already spent two hours away from home. “Gah! I’m really sorry guys, but I have to get home!”

“Cheval! Peu!” Show our fine friend a safe way out an’ back to the Cloud District!”

Two fillies of equal height and similar appearance popped up from the crowd and nodded before coming up on either side of the older pegasus. As they tugged on his jacket, leading him in the direction of the exit, Clockwork couldn’t help but wonder how such young ponies had matured so quickly. Perhaps a life of poverty, dirty air, and a good leader had a much more profound impact than he originally believed. As he climbed up the ladder to exit the fortress, he heard his friend call out to him once last time. “Live life for the moment, everythin’ else is uncertain!”

Victoria Urbem would've been alive with activity any other day of the year. Any other day, soldiers would've patrolled the streets; scribes would've been copying down historical texts, and musicians practicing their instruments. However, this was not the case in the great capital city of the Griffons, resembling a massive red and golden flower halfway in bloom, each massive stone petal a district to itself, and the center palace the heart and center of its activity.

Today, all that was known by the common people was that representatives from the deer nation of Prance, a powerful and magical country that was a fair-weather ally of Equestria from across the sea, were meeting for talks of an unspecified nature.

At least, that's what the most foolish of griffons would know. Of course, the informed majority of the Empire knew full well that that was the cover story, but no one said a word. Even non-military citizens knew it was a ruse to cause distrust between allies, let alone creatures as magical as the deer and their cousins. Divide and Conquer, an old, yet well tested and successful strategy, was in full force, and most were satisfied with this.

However, a select few griffons knew the truth, certain portions of it anyway. Those nobles who pressed, for example, were told that the arriving deer were in fact the eternal high queen and her personal guard, and that her father was an old ally of the Griffons. No one dared question the Emperor’s word. Those in the military knew that the queen was interested in containing the threat of the lands overseas, and that the ever present threat of Boardor and its rogue dragons were the talk of the day. Those of the Red Order, the Priest-Warriors of the Empire, knew that the queen was connected to very old powers, including that of the Fey and perhaps even that of the spirit world.

Despite the general air of unease as the streets were cleared and the skies emptied, those few that occupied the streets stood with silent respect. It only took about an hour or so before the Prench transport reached its destination; the Griffon Capitol Building.

It didn't look so much like a building of governmental progress as it did a hybrid of a palace and a military fortress. Just a few of its features included great looping sides and an ornate base, it’s squat bulk majestically decorated and it’s dozens of outcrops flying welcoming banners. To many, it was the secondary symbol of the Empire, the first being its flag. Many would’ve commented on the lack of a musical ensemble to welcome the queen, but salutes were much more respectful.

To the robed representatives that exited the vehicle though, it didn't even look remotely like the structures that dotted their homeland. It seemed as alien as they were.

The figure that emerged first from the transporter acquired some amazed looks from griffons that had yet to enlist in the military, albeit for understandable reasons. The slender yet powerfully built cream brown doe was sparsely decorated, with only a light shade of orange makeup ringing her eyes and the ornate robe she wore showing her royalty, but she was large. Each slender leg was taller than some junior members of the guard, and her sleek figure and barrel-like body made some believe that someone in her bloodline was a giraffe.

After she exited her transport with grace that bordered on the unnatural, she quickly made her way into the building, flanked on all sides by her own hoof-picked guard, great horned bucks with shaggy fur and wide almond eyes. Each soldier held a spear at the ready, silver armor gleaming in the orange light of the midday sun. They moved in perfect unison, something that made even nearby members of the Red Order pause for thought.

The walk into the inner sanctum was a brief affair, great golden carpet-lined walls draped with pictures detailing griffon history and lore. At one point, to the unnerve of the guards down the hall, she paused at one rather bloody scene detailing the slaying of a stag, hummed slightly as if in amused approval, and continued to walk down the almost sacred halls.

Eventually, the queen made her way into the central chamber of the castle-fortress, and the heart of the Empire. The room was rather scarce in regards to furniture, with only a single massive table set dead center in the room, one chair at each end of it. A few important looking pieces of parchment framed on the walls, and a single large stained glass window replaced the wall opposite the entrance. It was elegantly crafted, depicting a griffon's claw holding a yellow sunburst within its talons. It was the flag of the Empire, and it was the same one that the Empire had flown since its founding countless millennia ago.

"I doubt you came all this way simply to admire the artwork, Ninn-Aras." an echoing voice grabbed the doe's attention. It sounded like a hundred griffons harmonizing into a single god-like voice, a baritone concert of a sentence. At the chair opposite her and her guards sat a griffon. It was not just any griffon though, it was the immortal Emperor of Griffonia. ”Or perhaps it is Aranel-Del?”

"Enough," the doe responded, slowly making her way across the room, her guards standing near the Emperors own. “This is no time for games, my fellow royal,” the large doe said, gazing at the massive griffon seated in his chair. “Would it be so rude as to ask for your own name? For all my own knowledge, I have been excluded to know his eternal majesty’s personal birth-title. Surely, it is not a state secret, as I know most of them already,” she said, her voice, once deep and matronly, now dripping with sarcasm. One of the guards stifled a gasp at the blatant insult. No one in their right mind would insult the Emperor in a safely secured bunker underground, let alone in his own chambers.

The Griffon Emperor wore a mask of platinum, sculpted to a dragon’s likeness that adorned his head like it was forged on it. His own reaction was never more than that of cool analysis mixed with trace amounts of fury tempered to a point as sharp as a single ray of sunlight. Nevertheless, his voice was light and almost amused.

“I doubt you would understand the deep connections my name has in the old language of the Empire, knowing your youth. In your own, it would translate to something akin to Dagor-Del.”

The great queen of the deer hissed, and her guards all but charged, only to stop when their queen raised a hoof off the ground and bowed lightly.

“Oh, how could I forget why I am here,” she said with faux-despair, “After all, I am before a great and powerful tyrant who fought the armies of Discord himself, raised the great god of griffondom to power, and slayed the first dragon-king! Oh, woe is me!”

The Emperor’s guards were taken aback by the deer queen's mocking of their eternal leader, but the great griffon merely folded his arms and leaned into his throne.

“Enough with the game you are playing. In the Empire of the griffons, we have images to uphold, actual reputations we must cultivate and keep unsoiled. Remember why you are here,” he said amiably, simply staring at the massive creature lying prostrate at his throne’s steps, bawling fake tears.

At that, the doe all but flew onto her slender hooves, a move so fluid that the other griffons in the room could only believe was assisted by magic. She smiled widely, great slanted blood-orange eyes sparkling with something that made the veins of even the most hardened griffon freeze, and trotted over to the left of the room, where an abstract painting of the world itself graced the walls in minute detail. She looked hungrily at it, and pawed roughly at the spot where Equestria was with her dainty leg. Peering closer at it, she circled the Canterlot mount between the two points of her raised hoof, and after a few moments turned to the great griffon sitting on the throne, eyes twinkling with a sort of bottomless, carefree malevolence.

“Ah yes, of course, the issue of. . . Oh, how did it go? Feeding our subjects?”

Research & Development

Another day, another round of classes for which Clockwork had already completed the assignments. The school year was down to just a few weeks. Nothing of particular interest had occured, sans the occasional border skirmish that filled the papers (Bear Shot by Unknown Sniper! Family Seeks Justice!) or important essays (The History of griffon-pegasi Relations and Donkeys in Early Equestria, to name a select few.). Clockwork took it all in stride, as he had done for the past four years. Sure, he wasn't the best at every subject he took (he still regretted taking Biology), but he kept his grades up. That went thrice for Charger, who raised her hoof to answer every question regardless of the topic. She seemed a bit more straightforward in her speech recently, clipping her sentences and paying attention to every military speaker who came to their school. Clockwork was worried that this wasn't just a relapse of the whole "hero" phase.

When the pegasus was worried, he would always sketch. He couldn't draw to save his life, but he always succeeded in creating understandable blueprints on a paper where notes should've been. Recently, he had been trying to draw the peculiar engine his mind had - quite literally- dreamt up.

He hadn't even begun the inner workings of the machine, and it had already become the strangest thing he had ever thought of. Gems dotted its surface in an almost random pattern, a few vents here and there allowed for excess heat within the machine to escape. Yet, those vents fed back into the machine to give it an extra boost of energy. Was this thing self-sustained? Was it plausible? How big would it have to be to-

Clockwork slammed his pencil into his desk and looked straight ahead. His attention hadn't been grabbed by a harsh shout from his History teacher, but from a simple announcement made by said mare.

Clockwork waited for the usual "this wasn't on the school calendar" comment that Charger would always make during unexpected educational occurrences, but it was then that he remembered that the mare of his dreams was absent. This was the third time this month. That was bad. There were only so many places she would be, and almost none of them were good.

Clockwork's attention was brought back to the front of the room as a new voice addressed the crowd. Said announcer wasn't some "dumb grunt" like the last few that had come by, shifty eyed and resembling dazed drones. He was much less gruff in appearance, his eyes shining with a mixture of loyalty and intellect.

Clockwork tilted his head as the stallion explained that he was from the “Research and Development” branch of the Equestrian Military. The what?

“It’s a team of highly trained individuals selected specifically for their intellect and prowess in various fields,” the stallion explained, seeing the confusion in the face of many of his attendees, “I’m from pollution control and eradication.”

A rock settled in Clockwork’s stomach as he was once again reminded of why he was a cripple. He looked at his artificial wing with cold hatred. Why couldn’t someone make a decent prosthetic for once?!

Clockwork sighed as his memories floated back to the examination of his own medical records. Back during the nation's first mass mechanization, Equestria was putting out smog faster than it could contain. For a long time, nopony even knew the full risk the putrid smoke imposed on the population, despite it being an airborne mix of both magical and toxic substances. It was only after the first stillborn pony in over a decade was delivered were preventive measures taken. The pegasi did their best to contain it, but even they can only do so much. Despite Equestria’s shift of focus from industry to pollution control, dubbed the Second Revolution, thousands of foals across the kingdom were born with problems ranging from missing limbs to being so mangled that the stillborn fetus looked more like a small Lovecraftian deity than an equine. From what Clockwork had heard, recovery was beginning to wind down, but the damage has been done. If the pegasus remembered correctly, Cloudsdale now resembled an airborne Detrot, Windsoar was outright gone, and Los Pegasus had to stay over Applewood in order to avoid serious pollution. Individual cloud houses, once a piece of prime real estate, were all but nonexistent.

Clockwork was shaken from his musings of the past as he watched the R&D pony leave the classroom. Was he done that early? What did he miss? Everything?! Celestia damn him for daydreaming!

Clockwork’s thoughts were once again interrupted by the sound of the final bell of the day. It came early, as did all release bells on Wednesday. Couldn’t they have just moved early release to Friday or something?

The stallion groaned as he packed up his saddle bags and set out the door. He stopped when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A rather pleasant looking combination of dark blue and bronze adorned a small pile of pamphlets on a desk by the entrance. He grabbed at least three of each, stuffed them into his bags, and headed down the hallway. He had some research to do.

We need you! Join today! Report for duty! so said the cheery earth pony on the flier, mane clean and teeth sparkling.

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Clockwork shouted at the voiceless recruitment posters that practically made up the wall. The Arms Race was at its height, and the pegasus could’ve sworn that there were a few new posters. His favorite ones though were two posters depicting the legendary Admiral Spitfire herself. She was a former Wonderbolt, now leader of the Loyal Fleet. It must’ve taken a ridiculous amount of courage to pose that way.

Returning back to the present, the stallion grabbed what he needed to from his locker and continued onwards. The sheer amount of patriotism present in every hallway of the school was almost sickening. Sure, patriotism was healthy, but this amount of it gave Clockwork a small headache solely from the ridiculous amounts of encouraging slogans, let alone the amount of reds, bronzes, blues, and grays. It made it seem like Equestria was populated entirely by shining examples of good old ponyfolk, despite the Buffalo, and zebras all beginning to trickle into the Equestrian mainland. The stallion stopped to rub his head with his real wing for a moment before heading out the building and through the school’s gates. He could read over the pamphlets during lunch.

Seastone was a happy hound to say the least, something rarely glimpsed in the bowels of the Consortium’s higher places of learning. Dogs twice his age in clean white lab vests looked down at him, sneering as he passed. Opposite them, younger pups, students, protégés and interns, looked on in mild wonder. After all, it was a rare sight to see a dog wearing the badge of a high gemsmith. Even the most stuck-up dog in the room let him pass by without hesitation, and he smiled as he passed former teachers of his, some even returning his faint grin with almost parental fondness, as he made his way to the main testing area.

The room was large, clean, and filled with branching chambers. Said chambers were in turn filled with their own secondary chambers, each headed by a pawful of scientists of varying fields and ranks, all prepared to deal with the issues that the Consortium faced. One hall for food production and improvement, another for boosting moral, and a dozen other hallways for even more tasks. Each was a little haven of science and advancement unique to their world and beyond.

However, the hall he was heading for was easy to spot, as it was guarded by griffons clad in armor not seen on the average winged grunt.

The two soldiers stuck out like errant rubies in the hustle and bustle in the center of advancement, their armor relics of a foregone era. Red sashes graced their sides, and going from the way their armor was ornamented, Seastone could only guess they were part of the Red Order, very high ranking members at that.

“Excuse me,” he flippantly said to one of the griffon guards. He quickly found a glaive pressed to his nose, and suppressed a yelp.

“Identify” commanded the guard. Seastone raised an eyebrow when he noticed the griffon was quite different from what he was used to, physiologically anyway. He was quite slim, yet toned as though they were expertly chiseled from marble. He seemed to be getting by on the minimal caloric intake necessary for the griffon body to perform at peak efficiency. His comrade was the same, almost like a clone sans a slight deviation in the color of head feathers and eyes.

“Seastone. Son of Greystone and secondary heir to the throne. Let me pass,” he announced somewhat bombastically, catching the attention of many of the other dogs in the hall. The glaive quickly returned to the griffon’s side, and the chimeric creature gestured him to continue into the Hall of Warfare.

Inside, it was clear that the place half-jokingly referred to as the “Griffon’s Wing” was living up to its name. Inside were more griffon guards, some less decorated than others, but it was clear that they were guarding something, rather, someone. The Red Order weren’t the average bodyguards. From what little he knew, they were bred to fight and nothing else. They had names like “Bishops” and “Templars”, and while they were an odd group of hypereligous fanatics, they were a well-armed and well trained group of hypereligous fanatics, given very special treatment under the griffon government.

Further down his own hall, Seastone found that the entity he was looking for was seated near the observation deck, consuming some sort of elegantly prepared fish for a meal. It looked much more like art rather than food, almost as if the Hall of Culinary Creation had a lovechild with the Hall of Art. It actually made the simple glass of water beside it look slightly out of place.

“The Emperor of the griffons, I presume?” Seastone asked heerfully to the large figure seated in the plush chair. Nearly twice the size of his guards, his reddish brown feathers and blinding white crest were a dead give-away to his identity. Then again, the ornate platinum mask sculpted to a dragon’s likeness that adorned his head also helped. While Seastone did not believe the rumors that he was a demigod, he could understand why they continued to circle. He looked like he was bored, something that Seastone hoped he could relieve with a combination of showmanship and destruction. It worked in theory, anyway.

The Emperor set down his glass of water and raised his huge head. His bronze hued beak, nearly untouched by the mask, was impossible to read for emotion.

“Seastone. Head of chemical weapons development and son of Greystone,” the griffon spoke low and carefully, like his words were meant to be inscribed on a stone tablet and regarded as law. From Seastone's perspective, it was entirely possible.

“Alas, at the moment I am simply chief of this lab, more specifically all developments regarding our new weapon. But let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he said, rubbing paws together furiously in an attempt to lighten the mood. From the Emperor’s distinct lack of cheer, a twinge of fear ran up the dog's spine regarding his chances of being stabbed repeatedly in the back by the multitude of griffons that flanked him on every side. He was most worried about the Emperor though, whom he knew was fully capable of turning every dog to mulch on a whim.

Hurrying to the control panels, the diamond dog flipped a few switches, pushed a few buttons, and turned a few knobs. A few moments later, the light in the controlled experimental area burst into existence, revealing two figures in isolated containment chambers on opposing sides of the room. They were blocked off from the outside world by transparent yet bulletproof glass. Seastone knew every available piece of knowledge about the corundum infused substance. After all, he created the material when he was just a pup.

The first subject was a goat, but no goat that was native to the continent. While it was true that it had all the physical qualities associated with goats, goats did not have scaly torsos. Nor did they have several rows of sharp teeth. The live snake that replaced its tail also baffled the scientists in the Hall of Taxonomy. It was eventually identified as a rare creature from the land of Fleece, known only as a Bromophis. It was a creature that was in fact closer to dragons than any of the split-hooves linage. While such a rare specimen would normally be saved, there were more than enough of them prowling the nation’s rocky slopes, and the creature’s naturally high resistance to poison would make it an excellent test subject.

The beast snarled in the direction of the scientists and muttered something in its native language. It was unnerving to listen to, as its voice sounded like a goat’s bleat and a viper’s hiss perfectly synchronized. With little flourish and slight mortification, Seastone pressed the needed buttons, and a yellow-green gas began to flow from the wall opposite the glass.

Screaming, the monster began to ram it’s head into the corundum enforced glass with little success, and after a few moments it simply stopped and laid down on its side. Its scaly flesh was warped and slightly drooping, and little rivulets of yellow liquid were seeping through its natural armor. After making sure the Emperor had seen the beast's state, he dimmed the lights to the chamber and turned around to him. “What did you think of our first test of Battlefright, Emperor?”

Silent, the griffon continued to gaze at the darkened tank. Seastone wondered if it was true that griffon sight was as good as they said, that he could see the beast writhe in pain in the darkness.

“Brutal. Effective. Put the creature out of its misery immediately. It sought death in combat long before you made it suffer through what you just did, which makes it more worthy of camaraderie than you are at the moment,” he said before taking another sip of water. “Suffering is pointless in war should it carry on for too long. If the kill can be achieved faster, then do so. Now, explain why we are testing a gas meant for beings of flesh on a piece of vegetation.”

It wasn’t stated as a question. Seastone nodded lightly, hind paws trembling. “It is, in fact, a plant. A natural specimen of living Ironoak, carefully kept alive here, several hundred meters underground.” with the flick of a switch, the tree was revealed. A specimen carefully taken from the Everfree Forest, its growth had been accelerated far beyond the typical rate with the assistance of a cocktail of plant growth hormones and pure magic. Nevertheless, the grey-green tree, with its coppery leaves and golden roots, was a sight to behold.

Flicking another switch, a burst of gas larger than the one preceding it descended from the ceiling, bathing the tree in a heavy coat of yellow green. Seastone nearly broke out into a grin when he noticed the leaves slowly curl and the bark, as metallic as its name implied, distort and wrinkle, the roots turning a metalic blue green. By the time the gas had settled on the bottom and faded away as was designed, the tree was a ruined husk of what it was before.

Turning around, he faced the griffon, smiling earnestly. “I suppose you trust us to deliver now, Emperor?” the dog asked, his mind searching for another name to call him. As far as he knew, Emperor was his name.

“You have proven your point. The gas shall do what it is designed for. It shall be modified to make those afflicted suffer and die quickly and nothing more. Am I understood?”

While Seastone could tell that was a question, it felt more like a demand. “Clearer than the finest diamonds, Sir,” the dog bowed.

“I hereby declare that this “Battlefright” is now under the complete and total control of the Diamond Dog Consortium and no one else. However, allies must be alerted before any detonations are to occur. Use of this gas must be very limited, for we wish to conquer and colonize, not raze. We will speak again.” the Emperor stood from his makeshift throne and headed towards the door. He was flanked on either side by highly decirated guards, but Seastone had the feeling that they were there for more of a symbolic purpose than a practical one.

When the Emperor had gone, every scientist in the room let loose a breath of air none of them were aware they had been holding. Seastone sighed and took to a chair, beckoning for a rag for his brow and a glass of water.

"OOF!"

Clockwork fell flat on his flanks as he rammed skull-first into something he couldn’t see. He had been so absorbed in those damned pamphlets that he had forgotten to look up!

“Oh jeez! Sorry!” he hastily apologized as he tried to gather the now scattered pamphlets he had been reading. “I just think I might’ve figured out something I’ve been having trouble with for a while now and when that happens I get so absorbed in it that I just-”

“I know how yer thought processes work, Clocky, but this is crazy. . . ” a familiar voice cut of Clockwork’s own, sounding almost upset.

The pegasus’ now wide eyes met with his friend’s. “Moppet? What’re you doing here? You rarely come this far out of the Industrial District!”

A smug grin adorned Moppet’s face, followed soon after by rolling eyes. “Thank ye, genius. What I don’t know is why yer readin’ ‘bout the. . . Research an’ Development branch of Equestria’s Navy! I thought you were better than this!” he said, frowning as he spotted one of the little papers on the ground.

Clockwork finished organizing said papers and stood up, helping his smaller friend to his hooves with his wing. “Like I said, I think I’ve figured out what I’m going to do with my future.”

“Military?” the young mule asked with a noticable amount of dread. “Ye sure yer not just doin’ this for the yellow lass?”

Clockwork’s cheeks began to redden, again. “Erm. . . this isn’t a discussion we can have in the middle of the city. Wanna grab a bite to eat?”

Moppet shrugged, his face was still dark. “Sure. ‘Tis been awhile since I’ve had a professionally cooked meal.”

The duo set out to find a decent restaurant, and the search seemed almost pointless until Clockwork noticed a familiar color out of the corner of his eye. Squinting, the pegasus looked towards said color and almost yelped in delight when he realized he was looking at his other best friend. Both equines silently agreed on their destination and hastily approached. Charger would want to hear about this as well.

In no time at all, the duo had entered the restaurant and seated themselves opposite the yellow earth pony. Only after she had finished reading through a small stack of papers did she look up. She had small yet noticeable bags under her eyes, and her mane was a bit more bedraggled than normal.

“Clockwork, Moppet. Good to see you two.” she nodded before turning back to her stack of papers.

Moppet tilted his head, concern furrowing his brow. “Ye alright, lass? Ye seem a bit. . . off.”

The mare shrugged after pulling a rather thick, almost book-like object out from the stack. “I’ve been busy.”

“Define busy,” Clockwork replied.

Charger set down her papers and looked her friend square in the eye. “I believe I’ve finally determined the appropriate strategy for my future.”

Clockwork and Moppet shared a look of concern.

“An’ that would be. . . ?” Moppet waved his hoof in circles, urging Charger to explain.

The yellow mare shifted focus from Clockwork to the mule. “I’ve decided that my skills best prepare me for a job in engineering. Since my father and I are not the most connected of family members, I have decided that I will go into the Navy.”

“How does that have anything to do with engineering?” Clockwork asked, taking a bite of his daisy sandwich. Moppet, to his surprise, snickered.

“I intend to become a Commanding Officer, perhaps a Lieutenant or higher rank. After my required service time is up, I will use my allotted salary to pay for my college years,” she spoke as if her words were set in stone.

“Couldn’t you just get a scholarship?” Clockwork all but pleaded.

Charger flipped through a few more of her papers. “It’s two weeks until the end of senior year. Ergo, it is far too late for either of us to seek out scholarship opportunities if we haven’t already acquired them. Furthermore, my time in the military will help to enhance what skills I already have. Leadership, endurance, discipline, efficiency-”

Moppet groaned. “Alright, we get it, lass. So ye want to be in the Navy. Ye sure ‘bout that? You know what they say ‘bout the Navy.”

“Why would you question my judgment?” she tilted her head slightly at the mule's words.

“Well, Clocky’s got the idea in his head to join the Navy too. I thought it was just the propaganda finally gettin’ to- OI!” The mule yelped in surprise as Charger snatched the few papers he had in his hooves away from him as well as those under his friend’s. Charger immediately scanned the pamphlets with a trained eye, not looking up for several moments.

“Research and Development Branch. Seems appropriate, given your special talent for machinery.” Charger looked up at the pegasus opposite her. “Though, you’d still have to go through basic training with. . . Clockwork, are you joining just so you can stay with me for ten more weeks?”

The pegasus smacked his hooves onto the table, cracking the wood. “No! I mean, not exactly. I mean, sure, we'd be able to stick together a bit longer, but there’s more to it than that!”

The earth pony raised an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”

“From what I’ve gleaned from these things, Research and Development is the military equivalent of any experimental technology development firm out somewhere else in Equestria. With R and D though, I’d be able to tinker with some of the newest, most advanced machinery Equestria has! Not only that, but the pay seems good and-”

“It’s not just about tinkering, Clockwork. You’ll be working with tools of war, and ponies’ lives will hang on whether or not you’ve successfully managed to detect any flaws that could have an impact on the machine’s user. I understand that you don’t want to fight a war, but this is just a different way of fighting it.”

“There is no war though!” the pegasus shouted. “Sure, I’m scared of what’s happening on the border right now, but skirmishes don’t escalate into full blown wars overnight. Look, I’m no soldier, but I want to help the kingdom and I’ve apparently got the brains to back me up. Besides, it’s not like I could fight anyway, I am a cripple after all!” he flared out his single wing to full breadth, covering Moppet in a patch of shade. Clockwork could tell by the startled looks on the other patrons’ faces that the sight of a pony with a missing limb was still a disturbing image. Without thinking, he folded the appendage back into his side.

It took Charger took a full 5 seconds to come up with her reply, but she didn’t seem too upset at his outburst. “I was not trying to dissuade you, only trying to provide you with the necessary facts. Much of those pamphlets’ content is propaganda anyway.” the mare stood, placed several bits on the table and turned to leave. “I suggest you do some real digging before you cement your decision. It could save your life.”

Before Charger could get too far, Clockwork scooped up the change and tossed it towards his friend, who immediately spun and caught it all in one gloved hoof. She was about to question Clockwork’s actions when she found him placing his own bits on the table, plus a bit extra to repair the crack in the wood. The corners of her mouth upturned slightly, and with that, she was gone.

Moppet whistled. “I can see why ye like that lass. Smart, good reflexes, nice figure all around, now if only she-”

Clockwork batted the mule with his wing. “I thought you said you knew next to nothing about mares?.”

Moppet shrugged, a wry smile present on his muzzle. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know a pretty gal when I see one. She does have a good head on her, but I can’t say I agree with what she’s doin'.” he paused, looking at Clockwork with a light frown, only for it to invert itself. “Anyway, I didn’t get to tell her my Navy joke.”

Clockwork tilted his head to the side. “What joke?”

Moppet raised a hoof and gestured across the restaurant. It was only now that Clockwork realized the mule’s point; nearly all of the couples sitting at the tables were of the same gender.

“Well, if you spend too much time in the Navy, you might go straight. The horror, the horror!” the mule answered with heavy sarcasm.

Clockwork grinned, knowing full well that his friend was making a joke at his expense. The two left the restaurant with haste. The sun was still high in the sky, but the duo had more than a bit of searching to do.

Clockwork groaned, slamming his head into his desk as he did. They had been to Golden Oaks, the single largest library in the entire city, and had found nothing! Not one single book with information regarding the Research and Development Branch! The best they had found was only about half a page’s worth of information in The Compendium of Military Knowledge: Volume 3! Was he really just-

“Found it!” Moppet cried out.

Clockwork jumped at least 5 feet into the air and darted over to where his friend stood. He held a small book in the air, which was promptly snatched away and looked over.

Officially Declassified: R&D

“How they hay did you find this thing so fast? My house’s library is like 3 rooms tall and wide!

The mule shrugged. “Just my thin’ I guess. There’s a section on numbers in the back, too.”

Clockwork groaned. “Well, anyway, let’s see what we’ve got.” he set the book down on a nearby table and began scanning through it like his life depended on it. In a way, it kind of did.

“Ah-ha! Historical summary! Let’s see here. . . "

Created just after the acquisition of firearms from the Griffon Empire circa 988 R.C., the Research and Development Branch (often abbreviated as R&D) acts as the Equestrian Armed Forces’ technological development center. Everything from weapons to generators to pollution con-

Clockwork tore out a small piece of the page and flicked it aside. After a few deep breaths, he continued reading.

Unlike other branches of the Navy, R&D focuses on the development of new beneficial technologies of every category, rather than a single type of warfare or specialized troops. However, this does not mean that members of R&D are inferior to other soldiers. Basic training at any military training camp is required to join R&D. As special training for the appropriate field varies, training for operation within R&D is an additional 4 weeks. There are no special training courses. The specialists come to R&D, not the other way around.

As with all military occupations, there is a 1 year minimum service requirement before discharge is permitted.

“Well then. . . ” Clockwork trailed off, flipping through the rest of the pages in seconds. He’d read the rest later. For now, he had gotten the information he needed. His curious smile turned to a frown in record time, and Moppet took notice.

“Somethin’ the matter, Lad? As much as I hate to admit it, ye’ve got the info ye wanted.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I like what I’m reading. Mom and Dad aren't gonna like me wanting to join, even if it’s with a branch that doesn’t focus on combat.”

“‘Tis what ye really want, though?”

The pegasus nodded. While his frown was still noticeable, a determined fire burned in his eyes. “I’ve thought it over a few times now. The pros definitely outweigh the cons. I may not enjoy parts of training, but progress has never been made without some suffering.”

“That’s the pegasus I know.” Moppet patted his friend on the shoulder, a thin line that could pass for a smile across his muzzle. “Tell ye what. I’ll stick with ye when ye break the news to yer parents. But, ye have to make me one promise.”

“Name it.”

“Ye’ll come back alive in the end.” the mule’s voice took on a tone highly uncharacteristic of him; somber.

“I promise.” Clockwork nodded.

Unfortunately, Gearbox and Quick Fix’s first response to Clockwork’s desired career was not received as positively. When given the news, they exclaimed a single word in perfect unison.

“WHAT?!”

Author's Notes:

My apolgies for the possibly sloppy structure of this chapter. If you find anything out of whack, please don't hesitate to let me know.

Exams & Promises

Clockwork gulped, unsure of how to respond. What was he supposed to say? “Oh, yeah, I want to join the Navy and skip out on a decent life as a mechanical engineer because the one female friend I have is doing it and peer pressure is all the rage?”

Moppet said nothing, doing his best to blend into the background, which he was clearly failing to accomplish.

Gearbox looked at his wife for a moment, then at the small mule attempting to hide near the window blinds, and then back at Clockwork. He took a careful look at his son for a few seconds, eyes set in that expression that was best accompanied with a pipe and fez; he took a step closer and spoke.

“Clockwork, I can understand why you would wish to join the Navy, but there are flaws that we all know exist. Your mother and I have stored a lot of money for college and Mr. Blackberry Fudge, the dean of M.I.T. (Maresachusetts Institute of Technology) is a friend of ours. There is no need to obtain a ride to college, and we both know that your. . . ” he spared a look at his son’s prosthetic, “handicap would not get you very far in the Armed Forces.”

Quick Fix looked at her husband with something akin to exasperation, and then to her son in a way that could pass for anger.

“What has gotten into you? What on Celestia's green earth would make you consider such a radical idea? Clockwork, honey, please, tell me why you would want to go. . . fight!”

Clockwork took a single, deep breath. His response here would either give him a decent hoof hold, or send him plummeting into the abyss. Wait. . . what?

“I have no single reason for why I want to join. I have several. Firstly, the branch I want to join puts minimal focus on combat. Instead, they make machines, tools, and as much as I hate to admit it, weapons for others to use. The most we would ever carry is a pistol, and not a very powerful one at that.”

Gearbox had a rebuttal ready as soon as his son finished speaking. “You’d still have to go through boot camp like everyone else that wants to join, regardless of where you want to end up. We both know you don’t have the physical requirements necessary to join.”

“So I’ll start working out. My health’s pretty good in all areas except flight,” Clockwork continued, employing the dreadful weapon known as logic.

“Clockwork, if you are really set on this, you’ll have to start immediately. You will only get the chance to join if we get explicit approval from coach or another school councillor. Do you understand me? ” Quick Fix asked, voice still firm.

“Done.”

“You’d have to take the general knowledge exam to get in.” Gearbox added, sounding almost distant.

“I’m a good test taker, dad.”

“You’ll undoubtedly have to operate firearms, crawl through mud, and. . . and. . .” Quick Fix trailed off. “Gah! My son isn’t going to join the military!”

“But I can do it!” Clockwork half-shouted through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to get into a screaming match with his parents. “For one thing, serving will give me peace of mind and-”

Quick Fix stomped a hoof firmly on the ground. “Peace of mind? Ponyville is the third safest city in Equestria! Don’t you dare claim that going out and fighting. . . griffons would make you happy!”

Clockwork winced but continued. ”Killing doesn’t make me happy, but helping keep Equestria safe doing what I do best will. Mom, I don’t want there to be a war happening with me on the sidelines suffering from the guilt of knowing that I could’ve done something but didn’t! Second, I wouldn’t be stuck in the Navy forever; the needed service time is only a couple of years! Third, I could still go to college after that, since I would be nineteen by the time my commission is up! Lastly, to not join would be a dishonor to my grandfather!”

Quick Fix snorted in disbelief. “War? You think there is going to be a war, is that it? Clockwork, let me tell you something. Have you ever heard of the Everfree Forest?”

He shrugged. “Yes Mom, I know you grew up be-”

Her glare made him close his mouth, and finally she continued.

“When I was younger, the Forest was always a thing that scared everyone. It was filled to the brim with monsters and the trees were as thick as houses! I mean yes, it still is, but back then we had to live knowing that, at any time, an Ursa Major or even a Dragon could wander out and rampage throughout the town! But we lived through it, and we can live through this. No one in my family is going to go and risk their lives for nothing!”

“But mom, there’s that wall around the forest now, there’s no chance that anything can get past it. And what about Grandfather? He was part of the family, and he fought for something!” Clockwork exclaimed weakly.

Both of Clockwork’s parents’ eyes looked on with a mixture of rage and sorrow.

Gearbox looked at his wife, sighed, and then to Clockwork with something like regret. “Son, we understand you looked up to your grandfather, but you must understand what he did was so that he could get by in life. He joined so that I could get an education, so I could raise an educated family. And so, with his sacrifice, I did. I don’t want you to die.”

“Yes Dad, I understand that Grandfather died during his time in the military. However, he was killed after his commission was up, and he was serving volunteer hours! He was a hero, and while I don’t want to be some fancy warrior that gets his own story written about him, it sure as Tartarus wouldn’t hurt to make some real friends for once!” The pegasus looked at a certain nearby mule. “No offense, Mop.”

The street hrchin shrugged. “Some taken. To be honest, Miss Fix, Mr. Box, I agree with Clock on one or two points. He just wants to tinker around with some fancy new gadgets in a clean little white lab coat under Canterlot, and he would get there anyway the way he's doin'. Not only that, but I share yer beliefs in that there most likely never will be a war! The Empire has been starin’ us down ever since the Draconequus was turned into a fancy paperweight, and it’s not like other nations like us that much. We used to fight with the bison a bit and the zebras once didn’t let us trade with them. Yet, those days are gone now. I don’t see how two more years of angry glaring would further along both nations down the path of war.”

Gearbox turned his paternal gaze on Moppet, smiling lightly. “I always took you for a staunch anti-war individual, Moppet. Was I wrong in my judgment?”

The mule bowed as low as he could while still able to project his voice. “No no no, Mr. Box. Ye were completely correct in yer assumptions of my feelings on the war. While I may not like Clocky’s idea of followin’ his lass into the Armed Forces, I have no right to shy him away from his desired future. I highly doubt that there will be fighting in the next few years, but I’m absolutely sure that ten years from now everything will be sunshine and rainbows.”

A tense bout of silence followed. It seemed like nopony breathed for a full fifteen or twenty seconds. Just as Clockwork was about to defend himself against the accusation that he was throwing himself into the front lines, again, his father spoke two words.

“One chance.”

Clockwork replied with one word. “What?”

Quick Fix and Moppet shared a look of mild surprise.

“I’ll give you one chance, son. If I remember correctly, the exam to get into Camp Currahoof is coming up in a couple of weeks. Run every morning and night, study for what you think the test may be on, and hope for the best. You’ve got one chance. You fail this, and I won’t let you take this again until after you’ve gone through college. Sound fair?”

“Yessir.”

Gearbox placed a hoof on his son’s shoulder, the one to which his real wing was connected. “Eat some dinner, take Moppet home, and get to bed a bit early tonight. You’ve still got a few days of school left. Right?”

The pegasus nodded.

“A large enemy force is advancing towards your current position. A majority of allied forces have evacuated to a more defendable location and are holding steady. However, a soldier was injured and left behind in the rush. You have been tasked with recovering the data he had on his person at the time of his reported absence. After some searching you find that the soldier is alive, but badly wounded and may not survive the dangerous journey back to base. What do you do?” Charger read through the hypothetical scenario like it was her only purpose in life.

Clockwork hesitated gnawing on the end of his pencil. “Well, if I take him with me, I have a chance of both saving his life and the data. If he dies, I would still have the data to bring back. It wouldn’t be much different if I found him dead in the first place. Either option would work, right?”

“Not exactly. The problem would be that since you tried to rescue him, enemy soldiers would have become much more entrenched. Sneaking would not be viable, and a head on gunfight would be suicidal.”

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many enemy soldiers are there? Does the wounded ally have a weapon? Is he still even conscious? Gah!” The pegasus rolled over on his bed, his eyes now focused on the ceiling of his room. “These questions are way too generic to make an educated answer! I try one thing and a new problem comes to take the old one’s place!”

Charger nodded. “That is one of the lessons it was trying to teach. Decisions in war are often made with little information. Not only that, but new problems arise almost every day if not more frequently than that. If it helps, this situation is completely hypothetical.”

“Yeah, but if a war actually happens, it may very well become a reality. Next question, please.”

“You are located on the border between an allied nation and a non-allied nation to oversee trade operations when a large group from the non-allied nation come into sight and appear antagonistic. This country has no ties with Equestria, but has a history of antagonistic relations with the country you are stationed in. Most of its population consists of grazing nomads, and is not tied to the government of the country. The allied nation you are stationed in has poor relations with nomads, but not the country itself, and would prefer it if you made first contact. What do you do?”

“Dear Celestia, that’s worded badly.” Clockwork groaned. Charger just shrugged.

Eventually, the pegasus had managed to wrap his head around the question, and he determined a response. “Just because citizens of a non-allied nation appear antagonistic doesn’t signal that they mean harm. They’re probably just on edge given the fact that their semi-enemies are so close by. Who’s to say that they won’t shoot? After all, they may as well be there to trade.”

“Exactly. One should never judge another’s actions as hostile based solely on their location, past, or any other factor. However, while this question does take place during peacetime. Were it to happen in the middle of a war, the circumstances would be very different.”

Clockwork sat upright, eyebrows raised in confusion. “How so? I mean, aside from the usual.”

“If a group of griffons were to meet a group of equestrians in a neutral area to trade, it is highly likely that the trade offer would not be accepted. It could be a trap, or even a-”

“An actual attempt to help? It makes sense, trade some saddle oil for humaneitarian aid or something else like that. The griffons may be suffering from an outbreak or serious lack of resources.” Clockwork suddenly reared up in triumph. “Wait a second! Charger, do you know what this question is based off of?”

She looked over the question again, brow furrowing. “A border dispute?”

He shook his head. “The trade part is the key to this. This isn’t about griffons or the buffalo, but that incident in the east with those Zebra mercenaries in Saddle Arabia.”

It took Charger a moment to realize what Clockwork was talking about. When she did, she groaned and placed a hoof on her forehead. “The skirmish with those markhors from Iram and that trading base in Ungui? The one where the zebras killed half a herd of them before they escaped, and it turned out the base was in the middle of their traditional migration routes?”

Clockwork nodded. She sighed.

“Well, Clockwork, what would you do if you were ordered by our oil suppliers into combat against the goats?”

The stallion shrugged. “I wouldn’t do it until I was told why I was to assault a populace that wasn’t committing hostile acts against us.”

“You’d refuse an order like that?”

“You wouldn’t?”

Silence followed. Clockwork stared at Charger, eyebrow raised, while Charger simply looked at him expectantly. Rather than adding anything to what she said, Charger made her way to the door that lead out of Clockwork room. “It’s getting late. We should go for one last run and call it a night.”

Clockwork stretched his legs, causing them to emit small cracking noises. “This’ll be the third one today.”

“Boot camp will have us doing five or more on a daily basis, and they will work you harder than I ever could. There’s no precedent for a pony with the body type of a pegasus being restricted to ground work like you, so you're going to have to run like an earth pony. Besides, increased heart rate will increase blood flow to our heads. We’ll be able to think better.”

“Alright.” the pegasus removed his clothing and followed his friend.

Clockwork skidded to a halt alongside his friend. He noticed that while both he and Charger were absolutely drenched, the yellow mare showed no signs of slowing her brisk trot.

“Sorry, Ch. . . Charger. I’m not. . . gonna be able. . . to stick with you the. . . rest of the way. Sheesh!” Clockwork panted.

“It’s alright. You’re relatively new to this sort of physical rigor,” she said, letting something that might have been a smile grace her muzzle. “I have no doubt you’ll improve, but know that superior officers will crack down on you like a whip if you should so much as trip. I’m no drill sergeant, so you can head home now if you want. I’m going to finish the last mile and then head home myself.”

“See you. . . tomorrow then?”

As Charger nodded and turned to continue her jog, Clockwork’s mind took hold on an idea and would simply not leave it.

“Do you think. . . after the exam is done. . . you wanna take a walk around?”

Charger stopped and looked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. “I thought we were already going to do that?”

Clockwork hesitated for a few seconds, shrugged, then nodded. His best friend took on a look of concentration before providing her answer. “You said after the exam?”

“Yeah.”

“I have no other events planned for that day. What did you have in mind?”

“Lunch, memory lane, maybe a bit of walking on the outskirts of the city. It’d be nice to get away from the evening smog.”

“Alright.”

Before Clockwork could think up a response, his friend was gone, having made a quick turn in the direction of her house. Unsure what to do next, Clockwork simply spun around and returned home, his mind in an indescribable half-daze.

Clockwork had to admit, given the right lighting, anywhere could look as dreary as the classroom he had just entered. He recognized it as his social studies classroom from sophomare year. Posters displaying maps of ancient cities, famous figures, and motivational quotations littered the walls. They were supposed to be a comforting touch to the otherwise plain room, but the pegasus found them more of a nuisance than anything else. In the grey light of the evening sun penetrating through clean clouds, they seemed more like examination charts for future prisoners. The room itself felt like a cell isolated from society.

The occupants were somewhat of an equalizer, though.

They all seemed like reasonable people. There were a few stallions, a couple of mares, most of which had a certain fire in their eyes that Clockwork admired. There was a few that stood out, like one massive earth pony that looked like he had pillars for legs, and one little blue mare who, while calm and friendly, had what looked like an ominous splash of red for a cutie mark.

Of course, Charger was an exception. As opposed to the somewhat dreading looks some of the other ponies gave, she looked towards the military instructor with warm confidence. There were actually a few-

Oh come on!

Everything had gone so well. Clockwork had studied what he could, trained himself until his legs had collapsed from underneath him, and had consumed liquid fruits and vegetables for the first time since foalhood. Despite all that, he wasn’t prepared for three certain stallions that sat near the back of the testing room. It was Smokestack and his two friends, Bulkhead and Lugnut, cracking jokes and laughing amiably. All three turned and started to laugh a little more when Clockwork entered the room. Why the stallion didn’t expect them to join the Army as grunts, he could only guess; Celestia knows that the twins were built like winged bison, and Smokestack could get a commission if his dad wanted him to.

Clockwork hurried and took his seat next to a familiar yellow mare. He hoped that her vibrancy would keep the bullies’ attention off of him.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Caisson?” Smokestack asked the instructor.

The military official sitting at the head of the room looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, and the coffee at his side didn’t seem to help. Even so, he looked up with attention. ”What is it?”

Before Smokestack could say another word, Bulkhead blurted out “That cripple sitting in front of us has no right to be here. I think he got lost on the way to his physical therapist appointment this morning.”

The soldier’s placid look turned to one of annoyance. “His forms were properly filled out and he meets the physical requirements necessary to attend Boot Camp. He will be given a fair chance on this exam and if you should so much as breath on him in an attempt to lower his chances of success, I will personally kick you out of this room. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir!” Bulkhead shouted before sitting back down, and was followed by his friends. The Lieutenant gave the trio of overly muscled stallion a harsh stare before turning back to the rest of the room’s population. After making sure that none of the other occupants wanted to insult the only crippled pony in the room, he got up from his desk, folded his newspaper under one leg, and began passing out sheets of paper.

“Alright. Fillies and colts, this ain't one of them four hour long tests to get you into some fancy college or another. Twenty multiple choice questions, three free response. One hour and thirty minutes. When you’re done, place your test on my desk and get the hay back to your lives. You’ll all receive your scores by tonight. Got that?”

Everypony gave one sign of “yes” or another.

After a few moments of general silence, aside from a few back and forth conversations between weary ponies, the muscle head trio, much to Clockwork’s general dismay, continued to chatter amongst themselves, albeit far quieter.

“You know, I heard that there’s a bunch of unicorns up in Canterlot that are getting free passes for spots in the Navy. You think your dad could get us somewhere nice, Smoke?” Lugnut asked.

The darker pegasus just grinned lazily and spared a look around the room. Clockwork noticed that said smile widened when Smoke’s eyes rested on him.

“Nah, I told you this already. The Air Force is nice and cozy, all cloud cushions and offices. Don’t worry about it, guys; you’ll probably never even touch the ground the entire time.”

Bulkhead somehow turned his massive head around to look about the room, and when he glanced at his twin, he had a nasty grin on his face as well.

“Hey bro, check out mare three rows left.”

Clockwork turned around to see what the brutish pegasus was talking about. Sure enough, there was a large brown mare with a short cropped mane and tail. She was essentially a bison with wings.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you're going for mares buffer than you, Lug,” the other twin said playfully, prodding the other’s chest with a hoof. All three pegasi started laughing to themselves.

Clockwork tried to tune the colts out, but Charger was intent on staring down Caisson’s general area and the mare next to him was chatting with another pony nearby. He really had nothing to distract himself with, sans the test.

“Oh, come on, guys, she’s clearly not into pegasi,” Smokestack said suddenly, getting confused looks from the twins. “I mean, look at her, she’s built like a freak-”

Lugnut coughed, and his brother just gave Smokestack a withering glare. Clockwork took some satisfaction from watching the smaller pegasi backtrack his words.

“Sorry fellas, but really, look at her, she’s clearly not into ponies. I mean, by Celestia, she’s as ugly as a mule, so it’s clear that she’s open for one species only.”

Clockwork didn’t find a joke in what he said, and even Smokestack’s alleged friends looked peeved, but several stallions nearby did catch wind of what he said and snickered. In fact, to Clockworks general dismay, it seemed that most of the males in the room found Smokestacks words funny, sans one.

That one grey stallion got up from his desk and made his way over to the trio.

“Excuse me, what did you say? I didn’t hear it,” he said calmly, voice like a controlled storm. Clockwork knew the sound of somepony who was trying to not scream, and nudged Charger to get her attention.

Smokestack, for his part, looked moderately perturbed. “Hey, man, I didn’t really mean that. I mean, if that’s your marefriend, I-”

The stallion raised a hoof, not as a threat, but as a matter of silencing the smaller stallion.

“My name is Iron Bar, and no, she is not.”

Smokestack sighed in relief.

“I’m engaged to a donkey, you pompous little shit.”

Clockwork was surprised at how much Smokestack’s eyes bulged when the larger stallion bucked him right in the chest, as well as by how little his companions reacted when the Lieutenant came and got the dark colt off the ground. Smokestack and Iron Bar left the room, their tests not even half-finished.

Clockwork sank into his seat, just a little more at peace. Charger stared at the scene with interest, but said nothing, as the testing rules stated in the first place.

After making sure that nopony else wanted to kill anyone over a joke, the Lieutenant finished passing out the exams, sat down back at his desk, and continued to read his newspaper.

With the shrill ring of a bell nearby, Clockwork immediately set to work, looking through and answering every question set forth. In retrospect, they actually seemed much easier than the pegasus had expected. They were more concerned with basic math, probability, and ally-to-enemy ratios. A few of them dealt with common sense.

It was when Clockwork got to the three free response questions that he blanked out.

1: Should respect be earned in battle, strategy, or some other field?

2: You discover that one of your most trusted allies is in fact a double agent working for the very enemy you are trying to defeat. You discover this fact during a high-risk operation. This operation’s success or failure could mean turning the tide of the larger battle it is a part of. He has taken bullets for you, even going so far as to kill members of his own side in order to achieve success in missions for yours. The traitor is unaware that his cover has been blown. Should you let the soldier continue to assist you during the operation, or rid yourself of him? Explain.

3: You are in charge of a large artillery position. In the distance is an equally large enemy encampment, housing thousands of hostile soldiers. To destroy this base would guarantee victory for your side. However, you do not know exactly where to hit the enemy to inflict the most casualties. You receive two sets of data.

The first set is from a trusted ally. He has stuck with you through the thick and thin of a years-long war. However, he is notorious for unintentionally providing false or outdated information. He claims that a majority of the enemy are housed in the east wing of the base.

The second set is from a relatively new soldier in your group. To put it lightly, you two hold a severe grudge towards one another. However, this soldier has a flawless record, reporting back precise information every time. He claims that a majority of soldiers are in the west wing.

Of course, the circumstances of battle can change one’s performance in an instant. Who would you choose and why?

Clockwork had managed to answer the first question in only a few minutes. Yet, the last two questions were what made him truly confused. The only thing military about them was that they were placed during high stakes wartime moments. These were questions about morality and nothing else. From previous experience, Clockwork knew that there were generally no wrong answers regarding these types of questions. Yet, if he answered the opposite of what was usually expected, he might never get admitted. Then again, some of the greatest heroes in wartime history did the opposite of the expected and were rewarded for it.

But, Clockwork didn’t want to join to be a highly publicized soldier. He wanted to contribute in a way other than killing faceless enemies.

After some significant time and thought, Clockwork wrote down his answers, deposited his exam on the Lieutenant's desk, left the room, and the building soon after. He was glad to find Charger waiting outside for him, leaning on a wall.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Clockwork shrugged. “I won’t know until the scores come back. Yet, I think I did alright. You?”

“I would believe that my answers were satisfactory. In any case, you most likely did great.”

Clockwork felt his cheeks begin to redden, but he stopped them before they became too noticeable.

The two stood there for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. They made some trivial conversation, but next to nothing worth noting. They used a bit of their time to watch the other test takers leave the building.

Some left with looks of fear, some with brash confidence, and others with pride. Clockwork was unsure where he fell amongst the three, or anywhere in between. He had to get his mind off of the damned test.

“How about just a walk? You know, through one of the parks or on the outskirts of the city?”

Charger nodded. “Sounds great.”

Some time later, the duo was at the edges of Ponyville’s city limits. There was a small cafe nearby, but the friends continued to walk. They had no real direction, just. . . go. It was nice, to say the least.

Clockwork noticed something out of the corner of his eye and turned to look towards it. What he saw was a ray of sunlight glinting off of Ponyville’s Clock Tower. The pegasus continued to gaze over the city as a whole, stopping and sitting down as he did.

“Is something the matter, Clockwork?” Charger asked as she sat down next to her friend.

The spegasus sighed. While polluted, the city seemed like it was made of silver. “That’s been our entire world. A few hundred miles, a quarter million equines. From in there, depending on where you’re at, everything looks so chaotic. Yet from out here, it seems so peaceful.”

“I share your admiration, but Ponyville isn’t my first home,” she stated mildly.

“Oh yeah, Bridal Shores. How is that little city?”

Charger edged herself a bit closer to her friend. “The last time I visited, everything seemed to be going quite well. It’s clean, beautiful, and most of all, peaceful.”

The pegasus was a bit confused by that last word. “Most of Equestria is peaceful. I mean sure, some places are not the best for bringing up a family, but the country’s wonderful in itself.”

Charger gestured towards the city. “That is another reason I chose to join the Armed Forces. To preserve this image in the event that it is ever placed in danger.”

“I knew there was more to it than just paying for college and that hero thing. Remember that whole “Doomsday Device” plan?”

She kept her eyes locked on the skyline. “Very much so. I regret having to put both of us through such danger, it was ridiculous.”

“Hey, I stayed at your side then. I’ll be here if you need me even if fate kicks us to opposite ends of the planet and then some. You got that?”

Charger would’ve answered, were it not for both her and Clockwork’s stomachs grumbling at the same time. It occurred to both ponies that they had skipped breakfast in an effort to reach the testing center on time.

“Looks like we’ll have to head back into Ponyville to eat. I forgot to bring some bits with me.” Charger got up and began to walk off in the direction of the metropolis, but stopped when she heard a very distinct jingling behind her. She turned around to find Clockwork holding a bag of bits in his real wing.

“I’ve got both of us covered. What’re you in the mood for?” Clockwork asked. While it may have seemed like just a way to get his friend’s attention, Clockwork continued to jingle the bag in an effort to draw the attention off his rapidly beating heart. Deep breaths, dammit. Deep breaths!

“Well, it may be some time before we have a decent meal again. Would it be too much to ask for some Ambrosia?”

“Not at all.”

As luck would have it, the nearby cafe had Ambrosia Apples, and at a decent price too. Charger ordered and downed three of them in short order, as well as some lilies and bluebells on the side. However, Clockwork’s daisy sandwich sat untouched. The pegasus’ eyes were focused on something off in the distance, something nopony else could see but him.

Charger looked up from the scraps of her third apple. ‘Is something the matter, Clockwork? You’re not one to leave your favorite dish untouched.”

Clockwork’s eyes focused back on his friend. “Hmm? What? Oh, yeah I’m fine.”

“Please donot lie to me or yourself. What is wrong?”

Clockwork sighed. “I’ve been thinking, and I’m scared.”

The yellow earth pony seemed taken aback. “I know I can be intimidating sometimes but I-”

“No, not of you, of what we’re getting into.”

Charger took a bite out of one of the last of her bluebells. “Care to explain?”

“You and I are eighteen and seventeen respectively, and we just took a test to get into an area that trains us to be killers.”

“Defenders of those who cannot.” Charger almost snarled.

For just a few moments, Clockwork wondered how Charger’s brain even worked. “Okay, but it still bothers me. It seems like yesterday we were still in school.”

“So you’re worried about change?” she inquired, her head tilted to one side.

“I’m worried that we’re going to change. I once read that the strongest bonds are formed during the worst of times. However, said bonds can also be broken faster than they were formed. Not only that, but the stuff that happens during war can turn even the strongest willed creature into a husk of its former self. Call me clingy, but I don’t want to lose you to-”

“Clockwork, I’m going to become a Commanding Officer and you’re going to be a scientist for R&D. Should war arise, we will be on separate fronts. Contact will be difficult and that is something we cannot escape, if that is your primary concern.”

Clockwork nodded, finally taking a bite of his meal.

“But, you have forgotten to remember that we will go through basic training together. Even after that, it is not stated in any rule book I’ve read that military personnel are prohibited from sending letters to one another so long as said letters do not contain classified information.”

“That’ll work, I guess.” the pegasus felt a chill run up his spine as he heard Ponyville Clock Tower's distinct gong echo throughout the city. “It’s getting late.”

Charger stood and turned to leave, but stopped to look over her shoulder before she got too far. “Today has been memorable to say the least. Unfortunately, I have to get home and make preparations for the trip to Camp Currahoof. I look forward to seeing you on the train out.” the mare began to walk off towards the city.

Clockwork’s heart skipped a beat. “You what?”

The yellow earth pony stopped in her tracks, an inquisitive look across her brow. “Yes. We would make an excellent team. Our time spent together as close friends would give us an advantage over most of the other trainees. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The pegasus nodded. “Yeah, I guess it would.” Clockwork was unsure if his legs were working themselves, but the pegasus found himself suddenly very close to Charger, his forelegs having wrapped around the mare.

What the actual buck did I just-

The stallion was even more shocked when he felt the action reciprocated. He had just hugged the mare he loved and she had hugged him back. In what felt like seconds, Charger was gone, and Clockwork was left alone to watch the sun begin to set. As soon as he regained control of his senses, the pegasus bolted in the direction of his home. He even flapped his real wing for a bit of extra speed.

Clockwork rushed into his house, breathing heavily as he did. He almost slammed the door behind him as he began calling out to his family. Normally, Gearbox would have been reading the evening paper in his seat next to the fireplace, and a pleasant aroma would have been coming from the kitchen as Quick Fix created some sort of delicious meal. Sure, she was a mechanic, but she was a magnificent chef as well.

However, neither phenomenon was present. Instead, there was only a dark mumbling coming from the dining room. Clockwork unfurled his prosthetic, ready for a fight. Sure, the thing was unwieldy, a pain in the flank to put on, and not to mention heavy, but that went double for whoever had the displeasure of being hit with it.

Luckily, Clockwork found nopony to hit with his wing. In the dining room, Gearbox and Quick Fix stood over a small pile of papers, looking up only when they finished reading. Much to the pegasus’ terror, their eyes were glistening with anger.

“Do you know what these are, son?” Gearbox asked. His tone was calm yet finely laced with fury.

Clockwork gulped. “Umm. . . my exam scores?”

“Yes honey, and your scores are. . . not what we expected, to say the least,” Quick Fix replied.

“Do you have any idea what you got?”

“Umm. . .” Clockwork felt like he was about to melt under the gaze of both parents. “decent?”

“I wouldn't say that. . .’ Quick Fix replied. “More like-”

“Outstanding!” Gearbox roared before scooping his son into a hug. “You beat out all but one applicant for your testing center! Excellent job, kiddo!”

“Wait. What?!” Clockwork asked, gasping for air.

“Honey, release him before you break his ribs or something,” Quick Fix chided before walking over to her son and tousled his mane. “You got only a few multiple choice wrong, and the answers to the free response were considered ‘unexpected yet exemplary amongst initiates’.”

“They said that had you signed up for a C.O. position, you would’ve been placed on the ‘preferred individuals’ roster.” Gearbox added.

Clockwork felt his jaw hit the floor, which he then proceeded to set back in place. “That’s great, but I’m not one for leading soldiers. I prefer machinery.”

“We know, son. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?” Quick fix asked, hugging her son tightly. “We’ll be proud of you no matter what.”

“Mom, Dad. I appreciate your concern to help me out with my future, but while I may not like it a hundred percent, this is what I want to do. It’s two years of service, and then I’m home. Like you both said, there’s little chance of war, so what’s to worry about? The worst that can happen is I get kicked out early. I can still go to college.” the pegasus wiped the water from his mother’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve still got a week or two left with you, so let’s make the best of it. Sound good?”

Gearbox hugged his son again. “Sounds like an excellent plan, son. Got any ideas what to do first?”

Clockwork’s stomach grumbled again, much louder than a few hours ago. “Dinner would be a good start.”

Clockwork looked over his room one last time. Nothing was out of place, and everything that seemed to be was to be given to the Lost Foals at the first available opportunity. The pegasus’ duffle bag was packed with the required items, his infernal prosthetic was hanging neatly on its rack, and his bed was made as finely as he could. It pained him to know that he wouldn’t see this room for the next ten weeks. It only seemed like a few days. . .

The stallion’s thoughts were cut off as his parents called for him to be ready to leave. The train to Camp Currahoof left earlier than most. The sun had yet to come into full view. It wasn’t really the biggest concern to Clockwork; he was always an early riser. He slung his bag over his shoulder, made his way downstairs, and was immediately greeted by both the scent of breakfast and his parents. He ate, chatted, and agreed to meet them at the train station before he departed. Just as he made his way out the door, he was stopped by a certain street urchin.

“Ye forgot to tell me ye got accepted, Clocky,” Moppet remarked.

“Then how the hay did you find out?” Clockwork asked.

“I assumed that since we hadn’t met each other in almost a week, ye were either dead, busy preparin’ for somethin’, or had left the city.”

The pegasus shrugged and nodded. “Looks like your intuition served you well. Again.”

Moppet grinned. “As it has for the past thirteen years. Mind if I walk ya out?”

Clockwork realized that he wouldn’t be seeing his only other best friend for a long while. “Not at all.”

The duo began their trek through the city, Clockwork taking in every detail he found memorable. The ivory-white spires, bronze and steel pipework, and the ever-present sight of gears and springs. When looked at in the right way, industry looked much more like art.

“Ye alright, Lad? Got some soot in yer eye?”

The pegasus wiped the water from his eyes. “Just a bit homesick and I haven’t even left the city yet!” he laughed. “I guess when you live in a single place for your entire life, you end up taking it for granted even when you mean not to.”

“Such is the way of someone who knows their world is about to change. Ye sure ye want to do this? Ye can still back out if ye really want to.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ve invested too much time and effort into this thing to let it go to waste. Besides, the recruiters sent a letter home with the exam saying that I had better chances than most of the meatheads that apply.”

“Did they actually say meatheads?”

“They said ‘heavily athletic inclined individuals’. So yes.”

Moppet laughed, followed by a sigh. “To be honest, ‘tis gonna be a bit boring with ye gone. The Lost Foals need someone else besides me to look up to.”

Clockwork was genuinely confused at that statement. “I thought they just admired me?”

“Some do, others basically make ya out to be a patron saint. Will I be able to tell ‘em that you left, keeping them in yer mind as ye did?”

“You can tell them that and this. I’ll make sure to come back the same as before. I’ll just be better overall, I hope.”

“Can ye keep yer word on that?”

“When have I not?”

“True. I need ye to make one more promise for me.”

“Name it.”

“I’ll need Charger to make it to.” he paused for a moment, and his brow furrowed. “‘bout that, Clocky. . . ” Moppet looked almost ashamed, and Clockwork had no idea why.

“What’s the matter, Moppet?”

“Well, ‘tis about her,” he said, shuffling his hooves a bit. “She’s a bit off kilter, an' she talks like a robot sometimes. I don’t think you, well. . .”

He looked away from Clockwork for a few moments, then downward, almost as if he was talking to the ground.

“You really need to, well, consider branchin' out when it comes to friends, that’s all,” he said, fumbling slightly. “Meet some new folk.”

Clockwork looked at the mule for a few moments. He wasn’t trying to be mean, but it was clear that Moppet saw Charger as, as some in school put it, “weird”. Admittedly, her flaws were coming out in full force over the past few days, but. . .

The duo continued on in relative silence. It was rare that the city seemed so drowsy. Then again, it was quite early for a train ride.

“ALL ABOARD! The train to Camp Currahoof is leaving in five minutes. I repeat, FIVE MINUTES!”

Both stallions had to rub their ears to get rid of the ringing caused by the conductor’s remarkably loud voice. Gavroche could take lessons from him. Even the princess of the night might’ve learnt a few things.

“Oi! Lass!” Moppet called out over the hustle and bustle. After some searching, Clockwork found the mare in question halfway inside the train. After getting his ticket punched, Clockwork hurried after Charger and was lucky enough to find a booth solely for the two of them. They placed their bags under their seats before sitting across from one another. They unhooked their window and looked outside. While Clockwork found both his parents and Moppet near said window, there was no sign of Charger’s father anywhere. When asked about it, she didn’t seem to mind.

“You two take care of each other out there, alright?” Gearbox said over the dull roar of the station.

Both ponies nodded.

“Don’t do anything foolish out there, either! All those films that have the main star playing hero are as fake as Fleur Dis Lee’s horn!” Quick Fix called out.

“I’ll make sure Charger doesn’t try anything like that!”

“I’ll keep Clockwork from doing anything foolish as well! You have our word on it!”

“Speakin’ of which, I need yer word, both of yers, on one promise,” Moppet called out. The world seemed to go impossibly quiet as Moppet made his way to just under the train window. The mule removed his hat, something Clockwork had only seen him do three times before. “Do all three of us swear on our lives that, no matter what, we will always be there for one another?”

Clockwork raised his hoof. “I swear.”

Charger did the same. “As do I.”

Moppet raised his free forehoof and raised his hat to his friends to touch. It was only now that Clockwork realized that the thing had been washed until no dirt was visible. The thing practically glowed. “And I as well.”

The train began to roll away from the station. Shouts of love and pride from nopony in particular poured into the train as quickly as it emitted smoke. Moppet somehow kept pace with the locomotive until he ran out of ground. Even then, his voice, as well as that of Clockwork’s parents, reached the stallion’s ears for another few wonderful moments. When the city was out of sight, Clockwork turned back around to face Charger. Their eyes met, and they silently agreed to get some early rest. Something told them that they weren’t going to have much of it for a long time.

Ten Hut!

Clockwork knew that military life would be difficult, especially during basic training. Yet he had not expected it to start with the intercom blasting full volume almost directly into his ear, which sounded like a brass band’s attempt to mimic an avalanche. After the infernal speaker had finished its call, Clockwork fell out of bed and scrambled to the center of the large room, followed shortly thereafter by the other thirty nine recruits he had been assigned to share the room with. Lucky for him, Charger managed to stand at attention to his right, sparing him the trauma of being flanked by half-asleep jocks and jockettes; the latter of which he was sure was a word.

Clockwork would’ve turned and greeted her, asked her if she had slept well, if she was hungry, and all those other pleasantries. However, he was stopped as the harsh voice of the superior officer in charge of them filled his ears. The pegasus stood ramrod stiff, more than he had in a long time, and stared straight ahead at the wall across from him. No sooner had he done so before he heard the insults begin. It was almost comical to listen to, but he kept himself silent, somehow knowing the punishment that would have befallen him if he had let himself laugh.

The Sergeant was big, even for a workhorse. He seemed older than his voice let on, and his buzz cut grey mane did little to hide that fact. His most distinct wrinkles were at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and the collar he wore was decorated with more ribbons that Clockwork believed existed in the military. Perhaps the most unexpected thing about him was the massive bronze prosthetic that replaced his right foreleg. It moved as smoothly as any of his other limbs, and the great coppery plate that replaced his actual hoof turned and rolled in its socket flawlessly. The pegasus thought he saw the mark of his father’s company branded near the machine’s mechanical knee joint, and blinked when he saw what he could only assume to be a signature burnt under it.

“Eighteen years I’ve been a Drill Sergeant, eighteen Celestia-damned years! In all that time, I have trained with mules, goats, and even a deer but I have never seen a sorrier bunch of recruits! Tartarus, my bunkmates during my basic training days were better looking than you sons of broodmares! In fact, I have SEEN broodmares that look better than you sorry lot! I am Drill Sergeant Brass Hoof, and every single one of you will refer to me as Sir! That will be the first and last words out of your mouth when you address me or any other superior officer!”

A momentary silence followed before he shouted again, somehow harsher and louder than before. “DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF?!”

The halls were momentarily filled with a resounding “Sir no Sir!”

“Well alright then!”

Clockwork dared not move, but he could tell that his superior had cracked a small grin. “As your Sergeant from this day until you stupid foals get thrown out of my beloved Corps., I must learn each of your names! You first!”

The next twenty minutes or so were followed by questions, answers, and insults. Nearly all of which were shouted. At the end of each conversation, the recruit was assigned to some task that Clockwork cared not to remember. Most of them were sent to run some mountain, a full six miles. All of it was to be done after the morning “initiation.”

“And what about you? Private-”

“Sir Private Nursery Rhyme Sir!” The lithe mare shouted back, voice warbling slightly.

“WAS. I. FINISHED. SPEAKING?!” The workhorse screamed.

Clockwork found it a small miracle that the elderly stallion hadn't lost his voice after nearly two decades of doing this. He flicked his eyes to his right for only a second, but he was able to determine that Rhyme was on the verge of wetting herself. “Sir you were not! Sir!” she shouted back, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Well, Private Nursery Grime, you are hereby assigned to clean the sick bay’s grout with your toothbrush and yours only! I hear that there are already some recruits vomiting up a STORM WORTHY OF THE WONDERBOLTS THEMSELVES. Report back to me and only me when you’ve completed your assignment. Do you UNDER-FUCKIN’-STAND?!”

With a barely audible whimper, Rhyme weakly saluted. It was then that Brass Hoof turned on his hind hoof and seemed to stare directly into Charger’s soul. Much to Clockwork’s surprise, she did not flinch. The pegasus looked down for an instant and found the mare with her gloves on and wires braided into her tail. The silence in the room as Brass Hoof studied the electronics for any sign of their meaning was palpable.

“Private, would you kindly tell me why the fuck you’re wearing those gloves?" The workhorse asked in a shockingly calm tone. Yet, the supposed indifference did nothing to quell the confident answer that rang from Charger, something that made other ponies in the room look on in confusion.

“No Sir! While these gloves are capable of temporary paralysis and even death if enough voltage is applied, I do not intend to cause harm to any superior officers nor fellow recruits! I wear them solely for self-defense!”

The workhorse smirked. “Take 'em off. I will not have anypony under my authority to have an unfair advantage. If you feel a need to be protected from these sorry little shits, well, you don’t really belong here.”

Without a moment's hesitance, Charger removed her gloves, unbraided the wires from her tail, and placed them neatly on her bunk.

“So could you please tell us all why you joined the military?”

“I will be perfectly honest with you, Sir,” Charger answered. “While I believe it is my duty to protect my allies at the possible expense of my own life, I also joined to pay for college.”

The Sergeant did not shriek, yell, or hit Charger, to Clockwork’s surprise. Rather, He simply raised his brow, intrigued by the mare’s answer. “You joined the military to pay for school, maggot?”

“Partly so, Sir. While my father is a successful scientist, he has always been disconnected from his family. I could not guarantee my going to college as financially safe. After studying what options I had, I chose the military.”

A good ten seconds of silence followed, everypony hoping that Charger wouldn’t be killed right then and there for her seemingly unpatriotic answer. Finally, the Sergeant spoke.

“You, maggot, are the first honest recruit I’ve been impressed by in a very long time. Honesty, the GREATEST virtue in the world! You have won my mercy for this day, so I’m granting you a three minute rest. IS THAT CLEAR?!”

Charger saluted as though she had practiced for years. “Sir! Yes and thank you Sir!” The mare turned around and headed back to her bunk. Clockwork didn’t have the pleasure of watching Charger’s gentle stride, as he was too preoccupied with Brass Hoof.

The stallion circled him twice before stopping directly in front of him and looking about the room. “Well well well, look who we have here. I already know your name, but I think ‘cripple’ will be much easier to remember. Let's go with that. So why in the name of the Elements of Harmony and ALL THE OTHER DECENT BEINGS IN EXISTENCE did you think it was a good idea to join my military when you could’ve easily stayed at home and made Exo-Wings for lazy nobles just like your dad?" he asked, putting his weight on his real forehoof as he leaned forward. Clockwork was mortified at his almost calm tone.

"Sir! I believe that I can help my nation better this way Sir!”

Brass Hoof actually seemed shocked. “How the fuck did that ridiculous idea get wedged into your cranium, maggot?” Clockwork felt like he was staring into the depths of Tartarus when the workhorse locked eyes with him, but if he was going to get thrown out, he would do so while kicking and screaming.

“My grandfather was part of the Fifth Aircavalry, as was his father and his father before him. He was killed eight years ago in a border skirmish with the Empire. Old and unused military blood runs through my veins, and it would be a waste to not put it to use now. Furthermore-”

The workhorse cut him off with a thundering stomp of his metal hoof.

“I served with your grandfather, and it was thanks to him that I have a prosthetic leg! Don’t think for even a single second that you will receive special treatment because your granddaddy saved a couple of asses, mine included, and got a medal because of it!”

Clockwork took a single breath, then quoted his father’s father. Grandfather Clock had once been asked by the young pegasus on why he had to leave to put his life on the line when he didn’t need to anymore. His answer rang clear in his grandson’s ears as though the war hero was right alongside him. “I don’t want special treatment. The world stands on the edge of Armageddon, and I must keep it safe to the best of my ability.”

Again, there was a short bout of silence, but the outcome was very different. Instead, Brass Hoof began laughing, and a few of the recruits joined in. It wasn’t a laugh of joy, but of mockery. Clockwork felt stones drop in his stomach, and his muzzle lost its stoic expression for a good second or two. After the Sergeant wiped a tear from his eye, his look returned to that of before. “A shitty poet just like your granddad. Let’s hope you can be less of a JOKE. I’ll be impressed if you make it even halfway through your first run. I’ll be damned if you make it through the ten weeks.”

Brass Hoof turned and made his way towards the next recruit. The insults continued until the Sergeant suddenly yelled. "Alright, you pathetic excuses for ponies! Fall in line and follow me if you want to live. It's time to break a few necks, crack a few skulls, and get your first taste of Tartarus!"

All forty hopeful soldiers-to-be immediately slipped into a semi-jagged line. After the first recruit had been punched in the gut by Brass Hoof's brass hoof, the rest of the trainees got the message and formed up. After another bout of shouting, the equines marched out the door and into the grey, early morning light.

As the ponies followed their superior officer to Celestia-knows-where, Clockwork took a deep breath and spared a few glances around the premises. The first thing he noticed was how clean and warm the air was. With no major pollution to cloud the skies and summer near its peak, the area was bathed in a warm greyish aura.

The second thing Clockwork noticed was the sheer amount of activity already going on. An uneven mixture of what the pegasus assumed to be seasoned trainees and completely new recruits dotted the campsite, if it was could even be called a campsite. This place seemed big enough to hold a few hydras! Wait a second, was that a rhyming minotaur?

WHAM!

Clockwork fell muzzle-first into the dirt as every atom of oxygen left his body in a less than a second. His vision went black around the edges, and when he turned over he found himself nose to nose with Brass Hoof.

"Cripple, why the fuck did you join my beloved Corps?" The sergeant asked, his voice lower than before.

"Sir. . . to defend those. . . who cannot. . .Sir!"

"Well then why in the name of Celestia’s royal plot do you think STARING AT THE FUCKING SCENERY HELPS?! GET UP, DIPSHIT!"

Clockwork stumbled to his hooves, even balancing on his real wing for a moment. His vision had returned, though he wished it hadn't. His other thirty-nine bunkmates were all staring at him with different expressions. Only one of which was comforting.

"You may have qualified for R&D, but that means jack shit in Basic. MARCH!"

Clockwork didn't object. He didn't try to defend himself or reason with the workhorse. The pegasus simply fell back in line. He couldn't see Charger. He was really scared now.

After what felt like hours, the forty arrived at a wide, off-white building similar to their own.

One stallion, near the front of the line, blurted out a question that almost cost him his life. "What is this place, sir?"

After Brass Hoof was finished kicking the recruit into next week, he turned to the rest of his subordinates and answered.

"Since you WORTHLESS STAINS don't know SHIT, I'll have to waste precious oxygen explaining your current situation! Inside!"

The line of ponies gradually slithered inside of the structure. Clockwork was confused to find a few barber chairs as well as several stacks of familiar looking duffel bags nearby.

"This structure is both a barber shop and personal effects storage facility," Brass Hoof explained as the first few ponies in line made their way to awaiting chairs. "A strange combination, but I've learned to appreciate it. In here, not only do we get to restyle your manes and tails for the military, but we also get to go through your stuff and determine if there's anything you brought that'll end up in the furnace!"

One by one, everypony had their manes and tails shaved to a little under an inch and their luggage searched. Various items, ranging from simple dolls to rather. . . questionable magazines were pulled and either burned or stored away on the answer of a single question.

"Assemble in the clearing directly outside of the exit immediately afterwards! Hope you maggots like crew cuts. You'll be keeping them for the next ten weeks!"

Eventually, it was Clockwork's turn. The pegasus sat down in the padded chair without a fuss; he was still trying to replenish the oxygen he had lost minutes before. Before he knew it, a small vibrating blade was running harshly across every inch of his mane. While he felt the blades work their way through his hair, his attention was called to the elderly mare behind a desk. A certain necklace hung from her left forehoof.

"Is this item irreplaceable?" She asked in monotone.

Clockwork glanced around and breathed a small sigh of relief when he realized Charger was out of earshot. He nodded. "It's a gift from the mare I love. It's priceless."

The wrinkly equine smiled before walking over and giving the jewelry back to its owner. "Then wear it underneath your uniform and you should be fine. Brassy won't kill ya over it."

Before the weary pegasus could respond, he was given the necklace and ordered to move along. After standing, he clipped the necklace on and ran a forehoof over his mane and tail. He was actually half surprised to find them cut short. He felt like he had just lost five pounds.

The stallion made his way out the exit and found himself part of a small crowd composed of his bunkmates. After some shoving, the pegasus found himself at the front of the crowd, right alongside Charger, who was even less amused with just how little of her formerly shoulder-length mane remained.

"Hey Charger."

"Good morning, Clockwork."

"You alright?"

"All things considered, yes. I have all four of my limbs, most of my tail, and they all function without error. What about yourself?"

"I'm glad my ribs aren't gravel. That artificial leg has to be loaded with high-strength springs or pistons or something. There’s no way the hoof is made solely of brass."

"Good to know. If you are distressed by your loss of hair, don't be. To be quite honest, you do not look quite as bad with a crew cut as some other stallions here do."

Clockwork's cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink at what passed as a complement from Charger. "Same goes for you."

Sniffing, Charger looked back at the middle of the line, near the building proper. "If I may inquire, what did you say to that mare the convinced her to give back your necklace?"

The pegasus felt the hair on his neck, or what was left of it, stand on edge. "I uhh. . . well, I told her that-"

"Welcome to Camp Currahoof, cadets! Ain't she a beauty?" Brass Hoof asked in an almost friendly manner. It scared Clockwork half to death.

Nevertheless, the stallion had to admit the area was somewhat easy on the eyes. The rising sun cast the military installation in a soft orange light, turning the dozens of off-white structures a light cream. Soldiers were running laps, obstacle courses, training with their rifles, it was well-organized chaos. Unfortunately, Clockwork knew everypony was trained make it look less chaotic.

"Almost brings a tear to my eye. Almost." the workhorse turned back to his subordinates, the hostility in his eyes replaced by determination strong enough to crack boulders. "This will be your own little slice of frosted Hell for the next ten weeks! Get used to it. All of you that I've given chores, get to 'em! The rest of you, start jogging towards that beast!" He pointed in the direction of a mountain just outside the camp's barbed wire fence. "That there's Currahoof. Three miles up, three miles down. MOVE!"

Charger was right. The military wasn't nearly as lenient with resting as she was. Four ponies had been, quite literally, kicked out of the camp after they had refused to keep up with the rest of their bunkmates on the three mile run up the mountain. Clockwork believed them to be somewhat lucky in a morbid way, as they didn't have to endure the painful jog down.

The large dirt road through Mt. Currahoof was slanted just enough to be noticeable, and that was all it took. The only two ponies that didn't seem to be affected were a certain yellow mare and the workhorse barking insults near her.

As opposed to most of the other recruits. Clockwork's lungs were only slightly strained. His hooves were what really ached though. Everypony except Brass Hoof was running the trail half-asleep, semi-traumatized, and without any sort of hoof protection. The occasional piece of gravel did a number on a few of the trainees, but they pressed on.

Of course, all of it paled in comparison to the run down. Rather than using their legs to pull themselves up the mountain, the bunkmates were using them to constantly halt their descent. Clockwork was sure his legs weren’t designed to bend that way. They were beginning to cramp up, his ears rang, but he kept at it. He was going to prove everypony wrong; he wasn't going to be a one-day washout.

A certain chant began to ring out in the back of Clockwork's mind. It was an old song that Grandfather Clock occasionally sung to himself. Other times, he simply hummed one bar. This was different though. This time, the pegasus could hear half a hundred soldiers chanting in time. While the original language had been lost to the annals of history, the translation was still well known, even if it didn't sound right when sung the way it was intended.

Fear not for the golden banner that proudly ripples as glorious dawn, for it shall never fade,

Before the last fiery hearth that is ablaze within my homeland is extinguished!

For that is the star of ponykind, and it will forever shine;

It is ours; and solely belongs to our valiant nation!

Frown not, I beseech you, oh thou coy enemy,

Smile upon our heroic nation! Why the hatred, why the hostility?

Our tears which we shed might not be worthy otherwise;

For freedom is the absolute right of Equestria!

The chant continued, as did the group's progress down the mountain. Clockwork could barely hear anything over the din of the crowd. Before he knew it, the pegasus had come to a grinding halt at the entrance back into the military base. He was soon joined by the rest of the recruits, all of which looked at him with something between exasperation and admiration. He couldn’t tell whether he liked those looks or not.

Charger stopped next to Clockwork mere seconds later. She didn’t even seem to be sweating. “That was an impressive last mile.”

“It was?” Clockwork rubbed the back of his neck.

The yellow earth pony nodded. “You took off like Ibexian fireworks. Adrenaline?”

The pegasus shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well whatever it was, I-”

“You bastards done already? Tartarus, ya’ll barely broke a sweat! To the obstacle course! MARCH DAMMIT!”

Like a group of startled sheep, Clockwork, Charger, and the rest of their group formed up and began marching through the camp. Even as their superior screamed at the soldiers, telling them how to improve their march, Clockwork was able to keep up. Most of the time, anyway.

“INTO THE MUD!”

Clockwork’s head whipped towards the source of the shout. Instead of finding the sergeant screaming, he was busy throwing a cadet by the mane into a large pool of mud. A glittering wire net was laid tight over the mud what looked like a mere foot or two above it.

The sergeant threw another squirming cadet into the mud, and then another. “In the war that is undoubtedly soon to occur, you will encounter conditions you would rather leave to the worms! Well, you haybrains ARE worms! Today, tomorrow, and forever on until I say otherwise! You are to CRAWL through this mud and to the other side!”

“Sir! What is the purpose of this exercise sir?!” A brawny stallion asked.

After the sergeant had finished throwing the stallion into the mud, he answered. “Those wires are enchanted with a paralysis spell! Should you so much as brush past them, even for the slightest moment, you will be shocked before being rendered immobile as a DEAD BISON until the proper counterspell can be administered! Now, I know what you’re all asking in those pathetic excuses of minds of yours; ‘why would I try to stand up?’ Well this is why!” A bronze plated pistol extended from the Sergeant’s artificial leg and fired.

At the sound of the gunshot, everypony either jumped into the air or hugged the ground. The sergeant continued. “I will be firing my pistol the entire time you maggots are wiggling through the filth! Ponies, like GOATS, have a natural fear of sudden bursts of noises that measure above a certain decibel range! I will beat that fear out of you! I will not be training a bunch of goats, but I MIGHT AS WELL BE TRAINING A BARNYARD FULL OF SHEEP!”

Clockwork hesitated for a split second, shuddering at the thought of having to preen the mud out of his wing later. Once he saw Charger dive in though, he followed her without so much as a second thought.

It was cold, it was wet, it was clingy, and Clockwork could've sworn he felt warmer patches while crawling. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he continued on, determined to match his bunkmates as an equal. He pressed himself flat to the floor when he heard another gunshot ring out above him. Shortly after, he heard what sounded like Charger's gloves going off, followed immediately by a pale violet flash of light. Out of the corner of his eye, the pegasus saw a paralyzed earth pony not too far from him. Only the cadet's eyes could move, and they flicked about in terror.

Shaking his head, Clockwork rose an inch or two out of the mud and continued to crawl. The way his body was moving didn't feel. . . right. The mud had effectively coated his front half, and the pegasus' legs again felt bent in ways he believed they weren't meant to be. His one wing ached to be properly flexed, but the stallion resisted his bodily urges. Just when he thought it was never going to end, Clockwork found himself on dry ground, no wires over his head. The only thing he could hear was the sound of marching soldiers, still carrying the tune from the hills.

The lands around us are surrounded by darkness and armored with walls of steel,

But I have borders guarded by the mighty chests of ponies.

Let it howl, do not be afraid! And think: how can this fiery land ever be killed,

By that battered, single-fanged monster called chaos!

My friend! Leave not my homeland to the hooves of villainous beasts!

Render your chest as armor and your body as trench!

Stop this disgraceful rush of suffering!

For soon shall come the joyous days of peaceful times!

Who knows? Perhaps tomorrow? Perhaps even sooner!

Nevertheless, it shall come again!

Clockwork managed to find his friend nearby, just as slathered with mud as the rest of the group. The Sergeant gave the group one minute of rest before sending them to their next trial: a ring step course constructed of old, massive generator cogs. "Designed to test your eye-hoof coordination", was his explanation for it.

Other exercises followed, pushups, pushups with weights strapped to one's legs, and then another mile run with said weight. By the end of the run, Clockwork's lungs were working overtime and his legs felt like toothpicks. The mud had dried, and the stallion's coat felt like a dry, month-old cake. His wing felt stiff, and the very thought of getting the crusty earth out almost gave him a headache. Even after all that, the crew still had to race through two sets of rope bridges and jump a mesh barrier enchanted with the same paralysis spell as before.

The stallion had no idea when the first day’s physical torture would end, nor did he truly believe it would ever end. Much to his surprise, it did. At least, for today.

“That wasn’t nearly enough hell for one day, but you sorry pieces of shit look like you’re going to disintegrate if I put you through anything more today. You all look like the SORRIEST LITTLE GOATS I HAVE EVER SEEN. Back to your bunks. Wash up, then bed. YOU GOT THAT?!”

Next to everypony believed he was making a cruel joke. When Brass Hoof had made it quite clear that he was serious with a heavy wave of his real forehoof, the group exhaled a weary, unified “Yessir.”

It felt like a ten second march back to their bunker, but even after they arrived, almost everything felt like another test of strength. The shower knobs were difficult to turn one way or the other, and the water was lukewarm at best. There were no separate shower rooms for mares and stallions, but it wasn’t like anypony could gather the power to do anything about it. Clockwork, bleary-eyed and cloudy of mind, was barely aware of his surroundings as he scrubbed off the layer of mud he was caked with.

After drying off, Clockwork hurried over to his bed and struggled to climb to the top bunk. As he fell on the hard mattress, the pegasus realized that by now it felt more like a cloud. His legs and lungs ached, his hooves hurt thanks to bits of still stuck gravel, small clumps of mud still clung his wing, and his head, neck, and tail were all still itchy from the harsh haircut of that morning. The tired stallion couldn’t see Charger, which only furthered along his exhaustion. She would’ve been a welcome last sight for the day, or any day for that matter.

The stallion forgot that he hadn’t eaten that whole day, and he was out before his head hit the pillow.

Combat Training

Three weeks.

Two thousand calories per day.

Thirty two bunkmates left.

Fifty seven usages of the word “shit”, eighty percent of which were muttered by the trainees.

Clockwork groaned as he rubbed away the faint headache that had pestered him for the past hour. It had been three weeks since his entry into camp. Four more recruits had been kicked out officially because of “physical inadequacy”, but Sergeant Brass Hoof’s reason was much more direct. And louder.

“They were fucking PATHETIC excuses for trainees and they would’ve been dead the moment they laid eyes upon a griffon! The rest of you gonna meet the same fate?!”

“SIR NO SIR!”

The pegasus looked down at the now familiar thing he had been forced to eat for the past three weeks. It was a healthy mixture of vegetable soup, lightly salted crackers, and a alleged milkshake made of a blend of several different fruits. All together, it contained the nutritional value of a Hearth’s Warming Eve dinner, two thousand calories with none of the taste. He laughed when he recalled his reaction to the fact that the military did not feed their recruits the remains of wash outs. Just their clothes.

The stallion ate his meal in silence, as all the recruits were trained to do so. He was surrounded on all sides by more than a hundred ponies, all of which were silent, sitting up straight, and dressed in matching uniforms. Furthermore, everypony at camp looked a bit leaner, more well toned. Clockwork was no exception. He could run farther, carry more weight, and his eye-hoof coordination had improved beyond his already exceptional levels.

Pity it was all for nothing, he thought, as he did not plan on becoming a soldier.

That mindset was a heavy contrast to Charger’s. The mare sitting next to Clockwork didn’t seem to have changed much since her entry into Camp Currahoof, but that was all phenotypically. Under those blue eyes and vibrant coat, Charger was an improved mare. The pegasus gulped, even if she seemed a bit scary to the other recruits, she had only become more attractive to him. She looked amazing with a short mane, even better when it was wet. He had always been a sucker for wet manes, and eyes. Especially eyes.

Clockwork suddenly realised that he was ogling her and stopped. “Hey Charger?”

The mare looked up from her own bowl. She was smiling, something she hadn’t done in a while. She was really stunning when she smiled. “Yes?”

Clockwork blushed. “We uhh. . we make a good team. Right?’ he asked.

The mare nodded. “Of course. What would make you suggest otherwise?”

“Well. . .” Clockwork rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno why I asked. Would it be alright if, I mean, after we graduated, we could maybe-”

“All shit-for-brains on your hooves!” a familiar voice yelled out.

Thirty two bunkmates stood as one.

“GET SWEATING!”

“YES SIR!” they shouted as one voice before making their way to the courtyard specifically designated for exercise. Despite their relatively short stay at Currahoof, the crew knew full well that “get sweating” was Sergeant Brass Hoof’s own way of saying “go exercise until further orders.” It was all routine now, push ups, sit ups, speed runs, and jump training. It didn’t take long before their Superior Officer arrived.

“Now that y'all slugs have worked up a nice sweat, get over to the range. We’ve got a special day ahead of us!”

Everypony hesitated for a few seconds. Firearms training wasn’t until after Currahoof and the obstacle course.

“Did I stutter?! MARCH!”

They didn’t need to be reminded again, immediately falling in line. There were still a few kinks here and there, but everypony was getting better. With an untempered rhythmic stomping of hooves, the trainees marched to the firing range. It was on the other side of camp, far away from where any misfired shot could harm somepony. However, given all of the leg torture they’d experienced in the past several days, it might as well had had been a lap around the pool. They found their way to the front door and awaited orders. They had learned early on not to go anywhere unless it was with the superior officer’s word.

“Everypony inside. I’m feelin’ a little merciful today, so once you’re all sat down at your respective work stations, I’ll grab the guns. Sound good?”

“Yes and thank you sir!” the crew shouted. They made their way inside, sat down, and waited. And waited. And waited.

Clockwork took advantage of the unexpected free time and looked around. Nothing was different from the last few days, sans the absence of a rifle on the table in front of him. Recruits in other rooms were separated by magically enhanced, bullet-resistant glass. On either side of the room, trainees were busy fiddling with their weapons. Slowly disassembling and reassembling, frantically looking for a missing piece, all of which were done with dull looks. Sure, it was a menial task to field strip, account for, clean, and put back every single piece the same way you found it, but couldn’t they just appreciate the break from rigor for a second?

While Clockwork hated what rifles, revolvers, and all other manner of firearms were designed for, he had to appreciate the mechanics of the things. Springs, cogs, and levers designed to withstand the worst that Equestria had to offer, but all so intricately placed to create an overarching mechanism designed to deliver a small lead projectile with deadly force. What the hay were the dogs thinking when they invented gunpowder, anyway?

“Alright you uneducated PLEBES!” Brass Hoof shouted as he entered the room, a cart containing thirty two rifles, all colored the same dull brown like always, trailing behind him. He threw one at the recruit in the far back of the room and continued to make his way up the line. “I’ve got your weapons. You all know what to do! Disassemble, clean, reassemble, and test! YOU ALL GOT THAT?!”

“Yessir!”

For the faintest of moments, Clockwork thought he saw the workhorse actually smile in a positive manner. The veteran finished passing out the weapons, unhinged himself from the now empty cart, and spun around. He held a stopwatch in one hoof. “Well then GET TO IT!”

Without a word, the cadets set to work. Clockwork looked the weapon over and determined in was an E-1 Grand semi-auto. He knew this one a little better than all of the other weapons he had taken apart, which was probably because it was the standard infantry weapon for the Equestrian Military. He wouldn't need this where he was going. With a short sigh, the stallion broke apart the weapon in seconds, then began taking account for and cleaning every piece. He practically had the thing committed to muscle memory, so he let his mind wander a bit.

Basic training didn’t make much sense to him. Why train somepony who so obviously wasn’t going to fight on the front lines how to do just that? He knew how to fight in trenches, ration food, and climb over seemingly impassable rock outcropping without his boots, and knew that, in a pinch, next to every plant was edible. In hindsight, a lot of what was expected of the basic troops could be found in the average goat: low intellect, high stamina, and the willingness to be directed by someone who’s taller than yourself, all of which were traits he really didn’t have. He still did not yet know how to take apart the engine used to power airship propellers nor understand the inner workings of a holograms generator. Sure, those were tall orders and this was Basic Training, but couldn’t the military give him at least an inkling of knowledge that he would use in his future career?

“Done, Drill Sergeant!” Clockwork shouted, eyes straight ahead. A chill ran up his spine when he remembered, again, that his special talent for machines extended all the way down to include those designed to kill. Then again, that chill may have just been a reaction to Brass Hoof yelling in his ear.

“CRIPPLE! WHY DID YOU COMPLETE MY ORDERS SO FAST?!”

“Because you like orders to be completed quickly and without any problems, Drill Sergeant,” Clockwork replied, sparing a look at his commanding officer.

The stallion nodded, checked the rifle to make sure it functioned properly, then looked to his pocket watch. His eyes went wide. Clockwork couldn’t tell what emotion that it was filled with, but it was one that had yet to appear on Brass Hoof’s face since the pegasus had entered camp. “BY CELESTIA, COLT! This is a new record! Something tells me you might make it after all, Private Cripple! You will never be a soldier, but you’ve certainly proven yourself in the world of rifle maintenance! PERHAPS I SHALL KEEP YOU AROUND. You may WALK to Currahoof starting NOW!”

Clockwork, saluted, rose from his seat, and made his way out of the building. He was too focused on staying on the Sergeant's good side for the moment to notice the looks of surprise on his fellow trainees' faces. Even Charger's ever stoic expression became tinged with interest.

The stallion made sure to break his form only when he reached the base of Currahoof. Looking back on it, the monolith of earth and stone didn't seem nearly as intimidating as it had been when Clockwork had first jogged it.

He followed Brass Hoof's instructions to the letter, moving no faster than the speed that a brisk walk could provide. He finally had time to focus on the actual topography of the mountain rather than trying to survive the run up and down.

The peace was eerie, but it was a much needed break from the turmoil of training. Clockwork took a deep breath, noting the almost ice cold freshness of the pine. Such a phenomena was almost impossible to detect when one's olfactory sensors were drenched with the musk of sweating pony. The other, perhaps most noticeable difference was the near silence. It was almost uncomfortably quiet without the constant stomp stomp stomp of sixty-four pairs of hooves on packed dirt.

The stallion was wrenched from his thoughts by a voice. It was not harshly exclaimed; it sounded more like somepony with a rather deep voice was speaking into a megaphone, only much clearer.

"Excuse me! Are one of Brass Hoof's troops?"

Clockwork looked to his right and noticed two ponies in the distance. They stood in front of a large chain link gate. Some crates were off to the side, probably foodstuff and cloth.

"Yessir!" he shouted back.

"Then you're needed over here."

Without a word, the pegasus trotted over to the duo. While Clockwork certainly wasn't one to judge, he had to admit that he stood before probably the strangest pair of ponies he had ever seen.

The one that had called Clockwork over was an immediately recognizable, if not startling sight: a “batpony” or, as Clockwork preferred using official titles, a Nocturni. To his slight confusion, rather than a pair of wings, the stallion sported a sharp, slightly curved horn. He was a very dark grey, and his mane as black as night. His eyes were a deep golden yellow, and his pupils were slitted in a similar manner to that of the dragons that guarded said gold. He was clad in the standard armor of the Lunar Royal Guard, though the eye-looking centerpiece was missing. A silver-hued long rifle hung over his shoulder.

Clockwork extended his forehoof. "Its an honor to meet you, umm..."

The night guard returned the hoofshake, adding a warm but toothy smile. "The honor's all mine. The name's Long Shot. I'm the chief long ranged combat specialist for Luna's Royal Guard."

Clockwork withdrew his forehoof and looked to his left. A tan pegasus sporting a dirty blonde mane and aquamarine eyes glanced about the area in fast but short intervals as if he was anxiously waiting for something to arrive. He was wearing a shiny off-grey fedora and vest, making him look extremely out of place. Clockwork noticed that he had a oddly oily smell coming off him, like someone had dunk a glob of wet grass in a vat of petrol.

"I don't mean to sound rude, sir, but-"

Long Shot kept his smile, though his fangs were much more noticeable at this point. "First, don't call me sir. I technically have no rank anyway. Second, ignore my friend," the sniper cut him off. "The only thing you need to know is that his presence is required here."

"Alright then." Clockwork nodded, if only because he knew nothing else he could do. "If I may ask, what are you two doing here?"

"I'll explain when the rest of your group gets here, which should be about now by the looks of it."

Clockwork turned around to find the rest of his bunkmates gradually making their way up the slope. After a while, he was standing among the crowd, watching as Brass Hoof talked to the Nocturni just out of earshot. After a couple of seconds, the Sergeant turned back to and silenced the crowd with a stomp from his prosthetic.

“Alright shitheads, listen up! I know it will be sad to hear these words escape my lips, but I will NOT be training you today. Instead, Commander Long Shot will be in charge of you. Mark my words though, any of you so much as sneeze without his approval, and I’ll have your flanks hanging on my mantlepiece before nightfall. Do you all fathom what I am saying?”

“YESSIR!”

With a nod, the Drill Sergeant continued his jog up Currahoof, making a slight creaking noise as he walked. Before long, he was over the hill and out of sight.

“Sheesh.” Long Shot looked up from inspecting his strange looking rifle. “Looks like he needs some oil in more than a couple of spots, eh?”

The crowd emitted a small collective laugh, one that was silenced when the pegasus besides him waved a hoof in his direction.

“I’m in charge of you today. So listen up. That gate behind me is one of several that allow entrance into this military installation’s combat simulation zone. Both them and the fence connecting them is enchanted with the same paralysis spell I’m sure you’ve all encountered during your mud runs.”

Some of the recruits shuddered, others nodded. Clockwork did both.

“Needless to say, the only way out of there is on a stretcher, but I have an explanation for that.” the soldier hopped off the crate he was sitting on and kicked the lid away. “Everypony grab a gun and three clips.”

The crowd lined up and retrieved the necessary supplies in short order. Clockwork was busy checking over the surprisingly lightweight weapon when Long Shot spoke again. “I’m sure you’ve all realized by now that, due to you all being here, you’re gonna be involved in a combat simulation somehow. You are all correct on that presumption. My partner here will explain the technicalities.”

The tan pegasus at Long Shot’s side stood, cleared his throat, and explained the situation. “It is regrettable that we must train for war at any day, but as my teammate has said time and time again that the Griffons are planning something. I wholeheartedly agree. The weapons you have been provided are sixty-percent of the weight of the military standard E-1 Grand. The ammunition you are to use in this simulation is all enchanted to have only a third of impact force and resulting recoil. No permanent damage shall be sustained unless a round is fired directly into the eye, and anyone who shoots one of their comrades there today will be talked to, with vigor, by a military tribunal. These rounds are enhanced with the same paralysis spell as the fence behind me, meaning that should you take a direct hit to any part of your body, that portion will be rendered immobile. If you are shot in the center of mass, your entire body will be rendered immobile. All the unicorns here today should know that this sort of spell can only fade with time, not with willpower or magic. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir.”

Clockwork was mildly concerned that the brown pony had yet to take a breath.

The pegasus looked towards the ground, then began to draw in the dirt. “The objective of your first simulation is very simple; survive. You will be divided into two equal teams of sixteen soldiers, and everyone shall have a gun, a radio, and three magazines of ammo.”

The pegasus coughed and continued.

"You shall each have a head commander, a secondary, and the rest shall be organized however the commanders wish. From there, you have two methods of mission success. The first is offensive, hunt and kill, eliminate the enemy team before they eliminate you. The secondary method is defensive. Hold off the enemy and survive until time is called. This simulation will last a maximum of five hours. If neither team has been eliminated, the side with the most soldiers shall be declared the winner. Are there any questions?"

Nopony raised their hooves, and it was then that Long Shot spoke. "Alright then. I'll divide up the teams according to Brass Hoof's orders. From there, you are to report to the specific gates I assign you to. We good?"

"Yessir!"

Clockwork kept his rifle ready as he crept through the forest. He fiddled with the red patch on his fatigues, making sure it was visible to his allies. Unfortunately, that also meant anypony on the enemy team would know his allegiance as well. He was alone, and while that may have seemed like a stupid idea, it was exactly how Charger's plan was supposed to go.

It wasn't much of a surprise when Charger was named commander of Red Team. He was also pleased to find that he was one of ponies on her side. However, what he was really impressed with at the moment was her plan.

The commanders would stay at a fortified "bunker" of sorts, really just a well defendable position, which would be guarded by six soldiers. The other six would be dispatched to patrol the team's borders at random intervals to intercept and eliminate the enemy.

The remaining two soldiers, one of which was Clockwork, were assigned to act as long range scouts. They would report back any enemy activity too large to handle individually and deal with anything they could. With luck, they could lure enemies into traps they had set up.

The stallion had to admit, for a mare whose plans usually ended with her, and often Clockwork, in bandages, this plan was remarkably well thought out for being made up in only a few minutes. The entire thing had gone off without a hitch and nopony had been downed by enemy fire yet.

Keyword: Yet.

It wasn't long before Clockwork had dug himself in by a small clearing. No major foliage to block line of sight, some tall nearby trees would make for excellent vantage points, and the-

POW! POW!

Clockwork flattened himself to the ground, breathing a quick sigh of relief as he saw the incoming rounds impact the tree in front of him. He waited for a moment then made a mad dash for said tree, narrowly avoiding the last three rounds in his enemy's clip.

Wasting no time, the pegasus raised his weapon and turned around.

"I thought I smelt pollution over this way."

Clockwork straightened out his aim. "I've got everything you have and more, Smokestack."

The brutish, dark grey stallion shrugged, a cocky smile plastered across his muzzle. "I can fly."

"I don't care." Clockwork gritted his teeth, he actually considered aiming for the grunt's head. "You haven't shot me yet, so what do you want?"

"Just wanted to know why a cripple like you would want to go through all the shit that the military is just to get kicked out."

Clockwork pulled the trigger halfway. "You aren't a very smart pony, you know that? I wouldn't be telling a griffon to burn in Tartarus if I had a sword to my throat."

"So shut up!"

POW!

Clockwork felt his body begin to go numb, but not as quickly as he had expected. Smokestack's aim was still off, having hit the pegasus in the shoulder rather than the chest. He still had a couple of seconds to take him down.

And so he did.

One of the things he had learned in biology was that most winged creatures have a lot of core muscles in or very close to their chest, most importantly, the one’s that controlled the wings.

POW!

POW!

POW!

Clockwork's last memories of that day were of Smokestack's paralyzed body hitting the floor moments before his, wings stuck outwards and unable to be closed. Clockwork would’ve laughed, his expression was priceless.

At the base of the sharply spired and seaside Dragonspine Mountain Range, in the Southeast portion of the territory Griffon Empire, there is an immense fortress of red stone and white marble set that houses the Red Order, the servants of Carniferous, the god of all griffonkind.

It is called the Red Palace.

Inside the structure are the spoils of centuries of existence; trophies, weapons, and ancient tomes detailing their people’s bloody and glorious history. Just outside the fortress’ grounds is an immense colosseum constructed of the same material as the Red Palace. The arena was neatly packed with griffons, many of which were warriors of the organization housed in the building nearby.

The minute whispers that had enveloped the colosseum like a thick blanket immediately disappeared as the leather-clad beastmaster rose from his seat and raised his talon in a call for silence. No one would speak from this moment until the conclusion of the battle, not even if the exclamation might save the warrior's life.

The battle in question was the last trial in the right of passage that all Acolytes of the Red Order must complete in order to advance to the rank of Templar.

The Acolyte stood in the center of the arena's sandy floor. Like every Acolyte before him, his only weapons were his claws, wits, and the six-inch blade he grasped in his right talon. Like all the Acolytes before him, he wore no armor. Like all Acolytes before him, he was to fight a fully grown monster. What made this Acolyte unnerved was that while most Acolytes in the Order tended to take down a wolf, or even a bear if it was needed, the upcoming war made the upper ranks desire new blood that was already proven by combat, and as such gave the beastmaster free reign over the arena.

The only sound that occupied the arena was the steady clanking of chains as the gate rose into the ceiling. That sound was quickly replaced by a sharp, malicious hissing. The source of the sound soon revealed itself as its dark grey body evacuated the stone-walled cell it had occupied for the past three days without so much as a shred of flesh.

The creature was a basilisk, a demonic serpent that seemed to be a cross between a dragon and a cobra. Twelve feet in length, fangs three inches long, and an acidic saliva that could dissolve one in seconds.

The Acolyte shivered, as did the occupants of the coliseum that were not a part of the Red Order. He whispered a short prayer to Carniferous to lend him her blessing, then launched himself at the creature.

The battle that followed was an intricate, semi-practiced dance of sharp knives, venomous fangs, and twisting figures.

The Acolyte was winning, having made several successful strikes on areas of the great serpent's body that were in constant contact with the sand. This led to the basilisk having to position itself rather awkwardly in order to avoid the abrasive sea of tiny rocks. The Acolyte's plan was working well. The griffon warrior waited for what he believed to be the right moment, leapt for the kill and-!

HISSSSSSS!

WUMP!

The Acolyte missed his mark, hitting the sand with all the force that a statue could muster before crumbling to nothing but large chunks of rock. The warrior had failed.

The highest ranking member of the Red Order overseeing the fight, an individual known as the Warfather, was impressed at the crowd's reaction: almost pure silence sans a few nervous murmurs. They had a right to such a worried reaction, for a basilisk of any age had the power to turn its enemies to stone with only a direct stare. The Acolyte, like the three before him that day, must have forgotten that fact during his final adrenaline rush. No matter, a soldier such as him would not have been effective. He would not be mourned.

After a silent prayer to the goddess of the griffons, Warfather drew his sword and leaped from his balcony, soundlessly landing in the sand a few seconds later. He let his beak upturn slightly as he spied his target.

The basilisk was not known for its hearing, and that was an advantage Warfather exploited. He quickly made his way closer to the grey serpent, which was swallowing a choice lump of rock that used to be a talon. When he was just a short distance away, he readied his wings and tapped his sword against his shoulder pauldron.

The basilisk sluggishly turned around, signifying that its previous opponent's strikes actually had some effect to them. The warrior-priest jumped, flapped his wings once, and landed on the other side of the reptile. With perfect precision, he made a clean, deep, nonlethal slice into the creature's scaly hide.

Again, the basilisk spun around, but its combatant was already opposite his previous position. Again, another nonlethal cut was made. Then another, and another.

The one-sided game continued for only a short time, as the senior warrior knew better than to play with a creature such as a basilisk. Divine intervention would do little when one was a stone statue. He knew better than to kill the monster, considering that the beastmaster spent years trying to get a rooster to lay an egg, let alone convincing a toad to lay on it, and even he had to admit that he held his respect for his dedication to work with such beasts. With one last strike, the serpent collapsed on its stomach. Its eyes darted around rapidly in an attempt to find it’s attacker, but closed them seconds later due to sheer exhaustion.

Warfather sheathed his blade as the beastmaster and his young assistant rushed forward with a heavy blindfold and several medicinal wraps. They would be glad to know that their pet would not die today. Such a rare creature would be needed to train new Acolytes for the eventual retaking of what was rightfully theirs.

The griffon turned around and took to the sky, knowing full well that today's matches were concluded. He had other business to attend to, and to keep the His Majesty waiting was akin to playing with death.

Free For All

9 weeks. 6 days.

30 recruits left.

"Alright maggots. This is IT!"

Clockwork did not flinch at Brass Hoof's insults anymore. Nor did he react to his sudden increases in volume. It sure as hay wasn't normal for a pony to talk like that, but the one winged pegasus had gotten used to it.

He, Charger, and the remaining twenty eight bunkmates stood at the entrance into "hell's forest", the large, fenced off section of forest that Camp Currahoof used for combat simulation. Clockwork knew this place well, and he hated it with a passion.

As the pegasus tuned out his Drill Sergeant's yelling, he realized that there were a few differences. There were no practice rifles, no red or blue tags to indicate the wearer's allegiance, and no familiar warning labels on the ammunition crates. The stallion looked back towards his Superior Officer.

"Free for all! That's right, assholes, ya'll are going to be shooting everyone you meet! That's an ORDER!"

Clockwork's brow raised with confusion. Shooting former allies? No team work? What was this simulation supposed to test?

As if by telepathy, Brass Hoof answered Clockwork's unspoken question. "This simulation will be the last one you good for nothing shits take part in! The purpose of it is to test two major factors. Specifically, it will test your survival skills as well as your resolve. There may come a day when you are forced to fire on former friends. You must be able to end the lives of formerly trusted personnel without so much as a second thought!"

Clockwork felt a chill run up his spine. He prayed that day would never come.

"There's a few things different about this last simulation. I've found that you bastards are getting a little too cozy with your E-1's, so I've gone and procured some specially designed E-17 revolvers! Do NOT make me regret my actions! These little suckers fire stun rounds alright, but these rounds contain seventy fucking five percent of a real bullet's speed and strength. If you get SHOT, it will HURT. The only risk of getting hurt so bad that you actually have to go to a medical tent is what you bring upon yourselves! Get your gear and get to your gates! It's showtime!"

Without a word, the soldiers-to-be broke formation and gathered what they believed necessary to succeed. Clockwork took a revolver, three reloads, a flashlight, and a few flares. He began to make his way to his gate, but stopped when he found Charger already standing at hers.

The mare stood as straight as an arrow, her forehooves fitting snugly into her gloves. Tiny arcs of blue light jumped over her garments and tail. She only relaxed her stance when she realized her best friend was at her side. "Hello, Clockwork."

The pegasus gulped. Ten weeks of near-torture did little to ruin her being. Her body was still as lithe as ever, but evenly toned muscles were clearly visible. Her voice was still as smooth as silk.

"Is everything alright?"

The pegasus looked up. He had been staring again. He wondered if she ever noticed, or if she cared. "Oh, uhh. . . Ahem. I just wanted to say good luck." he held out a forehoof and smiled.

Charger returned the hoofshake. Even though her smile was less noticeable than her friend's it was still beautiful. "The same to you."

With only a nod, Clockwork turned and continued on his way. He looked over his shoulder to find the earth pony had returned to her previous stance.

The pegasus groaned. Ten whole weeks he had been with the mare of his dreams and he had yet to express his feelings!

What the buck? he mentally chided himself. She's right there! Just tell her how you feel before some admiral takes her away forever!

But she deserves an admiral! She's the most amazing mare ever! Why the buck would she want a cripple?

Because you're smart, healthy, not bad looking-

You’ve also been acting like a creeper for a while. Not to mention that you lie to yourself a lot. What about that promise you made to Moppet? How many friends have you made in ten weeks?

Something snapped in the pegasus, causing him to focus solely on the gate in front of him. He hated fighting, he hated the fear of war, he hated failure. He had to succeed, show the military that he was still an equal to everyone else here.

A shrill alarm went off in the distance, and the chain-linked gate swung open. Clockwork darted inside, his plan already forming.

Clockwork's eyes fluttered open as he felt something tickle his nose. A monarch butterfly had landed on him. The pegasus smiled, perfectly happy with escaping from reality for a moment.

"Hey there," he addressed the insect. He wondered if it could understand him; a lot of the creatures of Equestria seemed like they could. "What're your thoughts on all of this? The fear of war, the worry, the disharmony?"

The butterfly flew over to and landed on a nearby branch.

Clockwork sat up. "Yeah, I don't like it either. You best be on your way. Stun rounds do just that to ponies, but I get the sense they'll do a lot worse to you. I won't give away your position, honest."

The monarch took off and soon disappeared from sight. Clockwork laughed as he looked to the horizon. Maybe Moppet would consider butterflies as friends.

The pegasus was situated in the higher branches of one of the forest's many trees. It was from here that he had the best field of view, and it also gave him an excellent view of the sunset.

Clockwork sighed. This simulation had lasted far longer than any he had been previously involved in. He had only stunned one of his bunkmates and had narrowly avoided several others. He didn't care if he got thrown out of Basic Training before the night was out, he wasn't going to fire on his friends. Unfortunately, he had to find a way to defend himself from those that would. So, he had set up a little bait and hook of sorts.

The stallion looked down at the small pile of paralyzed ponies some distance below him. The flares he had acquired at the start of the exercise lasted for up to two hours each, or three given "ideal conditions."

As Clockwork readied his last flare, he realized just how much his plan depended on luck. It was up to his "prey" to find the flare. If they remembered anything from their training, it was the ability to recognize an easily defendable position. A bunkmate would take up the spot and wait. Eventually, another bunkmate would cross the previous one's path. If Clockwork was lucky, they would down each other.

Clockwork dropped the flare a little ways away from the bodies. His plan got difficult as the hours dragged on. The stallion he had stunned himself, the one smart enough to look up, had been the last recruit to stop by in two hours. In all that time, he hadn't seen Charger, not like he wanted to shoot her anyway.

The pegasus stretched his limbs, checked his equipment, and jumped from the tree. Any other species of pony might have acquired broken a leg from that high of a jump, but pegasi were gifted with enhanced. . . it seemed like almost everything, really. Clockwork unfurled his wing, slowing his descent, and landed with a soft thud.

He didn't want to risk somepony possibly shining their flashlight upwards and finding him, he had to get moving. The stallion ditched his flashlight the second the full moon came over the horizon. Luna's orb provided more than enough light to see. Clockwork groaned, concealment would be relatively difficult.

As Clockwork made his way through the nighttime forest, he concentrated his senses solely on sight and hearing. A passing shadow here, wind blowing through the leaves there, it was enough to keep him alert.

SNAP!

"GAH!" Clockwork immediately covered his mouth as he spun around towards the source of the snapping branch. His revolver was set to fire, but he held back when he realized who he was aiming at.

It was Charger, and it was clear that she wasn't sure who she was aiming at. It didn't matter though, and Clockwork ducked just before she fired.

The pegasus flattened himself to the ground and stayed absolutely still, praying that Luna's moonlight and the forest's loose foliage would be enough to hide his body. Charger wasn't like Smokestack, she fired only when she had a clear target.

There was no movement for a full minute. No shots, no chirping of night birds or croaks of frogs, not even the soft crunch of trampled leaves. Charger was stealthier than most of her bunkmates, perhaps she had left? Maybe Clockwork's desperate attempt at camouflage had actually worked?

Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe she still had her revolver trained on the area directly above the pegasus. Clockwork wasn't going to take chances, nor was he going to shoot his best friend.

Sparing a glance upward, the pegasus noticed that Charger had her back to him. He quickly grabbed a few rocks and threw them toward a nearby tree. As expected, the mare snapped towards the sound and fired. He threw a few more farther away to simulate a retreat and the earth pony's response was similar with each successive rock.

The mare must have scavenged ammunition from her downed opponents. She fired a full six rounds into the tree the pegasus had thrown his last rock at. It was only now that Clockwork realized that he and she were probably the only two "survivors" left. The ruckus hadn't attracted any curious trainees.

The pegasus readied himself for a dead sprint away from the mare, but paused when she called him out.

"Running away from a fight is the last thing a Federation soldier will do when in battle! You have countless offensive possibilities to utilize, and you run like the coward you are! You're a disgrace to the uniform!"

Clockwork felt a chill run up his spine. Charger had never said anything like that before tonight. Would she have said it had she known it was him? He shrugged, choosing to risk it rather than play it safe. "There's a big difference between cowardice and trying to make peace! The latter is extremely difficult when you're being shot at!"

The stun rounds stopped coming. "Clockwork?"

"The one and only!"

There was a long period of quiet. No hoofsteps, no wind, only the faintest buzzing of electricity. The pegasus gulped, then rose from his position, revolver primed. He felt a bullet graze his ear.

"What the hay was that?! I thought we were friends!"

Charger did not lower her weapon. "We are."

"Friends don't aim for their each other's heads!"

"My actions are in accordance with the exercise," she responded as calmly as she always had.

"The exercise is bullshit!" Clockwork holstered his revolver. "We'll never have to fight one another because there won't be a war! This simulation's justifications are a fallacy!"

Charger's aim dropped, revolver now pointing at the center of mass. "Explain."

Clockwork hesitated for a moment. Even in the moonlight, the earth pony’s eyes still outshone the purest of sapphires. "This simulation is supposed to test our devotion to one another, to determine if we are willing to kill those we've trusted for so long! In my opinion, every recruit who has stunned another has failed!"

There was another bout of silence as Charger thought over her friend's theory. Her eyes glimmered with regret. She holstered her pistol a few seconds later. "Your logic is sound, Clockwork. I'm sorry that I-"

As the bugle call for lights out echoed in the distance, Clockwork looked to the mare he still loved and smiled. He knew what was about to happen. "Good game?"

Charger nodded. "Great game."

The sound of electricity filled Clockwork's ears. Both ponies suddenly went stiff as wooden boards. The moonlight faded, the simulation was finally over.

Clockwork’s eyes shot open as he sat upright in his chair. Looking to his right, he found Charger in her dress blues, the same as everyone else on the platform, a gloved forehoof pressed into his side. She had jolted him awake, again.

Then again, how could anypony successfully sit through the flank-kissing speech to the supporters of the camp masked as thank-yous and long lists of quasi-noteworthy accomplishments? Without dozing off? Sheesh, why not just read the dictionary from start to finish?

The pegasus looked around for a moment and found everyone exactly where they had been before his dream began. Every chair in the audience was filled with relatives, wives and husbands, and even a few of the higher-ranking officers. All of them looked as sleepy eyed as him. There were far too many recruits to graduate one at a time, listing their honors and such. Instead, they went by bunks, and while there was a bit of personality lost to mass-ceremonies like this, it certainly was convenient.

Clockwork’s eyes became trained on the horizon as he heard Smokestack shout to stand at attention. A certain Drill Sergeant made his way to the microphone, a small pile of papers under his prosthetic leg. The olive green workhorse cleared his throat, made sure everything was in order, then threw the papers aside. “I never liked pre-prepared speeches anyway, sound’s like I’m a twenty something corporate executive in a board meeting,” he muttered, receiving a laugh from everypony around him. “Instead, I’m just gonna speak my heart, as cheesy as it sounds.”

“Ten weeks ago, I walked into Bunk 2217 and found before me the most sorry bunch of recruits I had ever seen in my entire time in the military. Now, I know I say that about every group of recruits I get, but I was serious about these guys. I could’ve done better with a herd of deaf-mute sheep. No offence to the people of Fleece, of course, wonderful hummus all around.”

Even if he was sounding a bit lighthearted, all of this sounded customary of the Sergeant, and then he said something that nopony could have ever expected. “I was wrong.”

“The mares and stallions directly behind me went from inexperienced civilians to well-trained infantry in ten weeks flat. While not all of them have completed the necessary requirements to move on to their individual professions, they’ll have more than enough time here to work on that. Anyway, I want to keep this short so I’ll just give my final points.” the stallion actually looked a little sad. “I’m damned proud of each and every one of them. I’d gladly die if it meant the survival of one of these guys. Tartarus, I’d suffer if it meant the survival of all of them. I doubt I’ll ever get another group as good as them.” he paused again, but after a few moments simply shrugged. “Eh, that’s all I’ve got. See y’all at the punch table.”

The workhorse stayed not a moment longer, garnering a cheer from the crowd and a salute from his trainees. Clockwork didn’t know that Brass Hoof had functioning tear ducts. He assumed that he had sealed them with molten lead at birth.

The rest of the ceremony felt a bit more uplifting after that, and it was only a few more minutes before the trainees were ordered to stand and raise their right forehoof. Time to take the oath.

I, as a citizen of Equestria, swear to protect the kingdom through all reasonable means within my power until my final breath.

There was a short bout of applause before everypony was dismissed. They still had twelve more bunks to enlist. Clockwork soon found himself at the snack table, scanning for something to bring back to his-

“There you are, kiddo!” Clockwork felt his body lift upwards as his father gave him a massive bear hug. “Lemme tell ya, you look great in uniform! Almost didn’t recognize ya!”

“Very sharp, too,” Quick Fix added, sounding like she had eaten something sour recently. “That stallion up there had an interesting speech. I expected a member of the military to be more prepared when it came to speaking. And that language.”

Clockwork checked to make sure none of his ribs were broken before turning to see his parents for the first time in what felt like years. Much to his shock, their eyes were filled with more fear and sorrow than happiness. A small handkerchief magically hung near his mother’s eye. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re happy for you, Clockwork. We really are.” Gearbox looked away for a moment. “It’s just that I doubt either of us thought you would make it as far as you did. I’m both glad and horrified that we were wrong.”

Clockwork sighed, knowing what was to come. “I’m not going to get dragged into a war. I’m going to create devices that will benefit every inhabitant of Equestria and then some, including the both of you.” he pointed to his parents. “That’s a promise.”

“But can ye keep that promise, laddy?” Clockwork froze as he heard a very familiar voice nearby.

Moppet appeared from behind the pegasus’ parents, looking like he had been put through the most intensive spa treatment in recorded history. If Clockwork didn’t know better, he would have thought that one of his parents was a crystal pony. “How goes yer quest to make friends? How many have ye made so far?” an eager smile crossed his muzzle.

“Umm. . .” Clockwork pulled his collar a bit to get some air. He ran through the list of recruits he had met over the past several days. Stoneback, Glimmerhorn, Sea Breeze, Thankless Task. . . “How well do I have to know them?” Clockwork asked through gritted teeth twisted into a smile.

“You there, yes you!”

Clockwork looked to over Moppet’s shoulder and noticed a certain tan pegasus approaching. He seemed even more out of place than before, not seemingly here for the party or even comprehending that it was going on around him. Long Shot was nowhere to be found.

“Something the matter, sir?” the stallion saluted.

“You are Clockwork, correct?”

He nodded.

“Your presence is requested in Canterlot immediately. We require all ponies with good marks regarding mechanical expertise to assist in a pressing matter.”

Clockwork’s brow furrowed, his head tilted to one side. “Is there an emergency?” he asked, not sure if he heard correctly.

“I cannot speak with you regarding the situation in a public area such as this. All I am authorized to do is emphasize the importance of your presence.”

“When do I have to leave?”

“As stated before, as soon as possible. In the Commander’s words: ‘preferably yesterday’.”

“What about my five weeks of specialized training?” Clockwork asked weakly, eager to get out of this new issue as quickly as he could.

“Those at Research and Development have been studying your progress at this Camp attentively. They believe that you do not need to complete the necessary five weeks.”

Clockwork sighed. “Could I at least say goodbye to those I care about first?”

The pegasus nodded. “Of course, personal attachments are necessary for a mind of any type to remain healthy. I shall wait nearby.”

As soon as the strange pony had left, Clockwork turned back to his friend and family. They all had mixed looks of confusion, sadness, and anger at the interruption. “I’m really sorry, guys. Duty calls, I guess?” he shrugged.

Moppet suddenly enveloped Clockwork in a warm hug. “Just make sure to make at least one friend by the next time I see ye. Got it?”

Clockwork looked the mule dead in the eyes. “Or die trying.” he made his way over to his father and gave him a firm hoofshake. “I’ll try to come home as often as I can. I’ll help you finish up any projects you might get stuck on. If it’s really bad, just send me a letter or two and I’ll do my best to help. Okay?”

“Sounds like an excellent plan, son. Just be careful though, alright?”

With a nod, the pegasus turned his attention to his mother. He wiped away one of her tears with his real wing. “Hey mom. I’m gonna be safe where I’m working. We have protocols in place so that there’s no way anypony can get burned, cut, or crushed.”

Quick Fix sniffled. “What about pinches?”

Clockwork hugged his mother for what would be the last time in a long while. “Especially pinches.”

Clockwork withdrew, said his final goodbyes, and began to make his way towards where the tan pegasus was standing far outside of the crowd. However, he changed course when he caught a glimpse of the most beautiful mare he had ever seen.

Charger was out of earshot, speaking to a stallion that bore a striking resemblance to herself. The mare turned, noticed her friend, and likely ended her conversation with the older stallion with her customary “pardon me for a moment.”

The mare didn't even wait for Clockwork to finish walking before she asked her first question. “You are sad. What’s wrong?”

“Gotta go. Some sort of secret thing I can’t be told about.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“I still have my five weeks to complete in order to become a fully qualified Commanding Officer.”

“Alright.” Clockwork hung his head for a moment. “Try to keep in touch?”

“I’ll send letters whenever I can.”

The pegasus nodded before pulling his best friend into a hug. There was no hesitation this time around; for all he knew, this probably would be the last time he ever saw the mare the way she currently was. “Ditto.”

Charger pulled away and locked eyes with her best friend. There was no sorrow, no fear, no regret in those blue orbs Clockwork had fallen for at first sight. There was only a very familiar fire composed of equal parts determination, courage, and friendship. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

Clockwork only nodded again as he rubbed the water from his eyes. Dammit, he couldn’t cry in front of these people! He chuckled, turned, and made his way over to the tan pegasus from before. He only muttered a single word and they were off. “Ready.”

There was a small airship waiting nearby, most likely a heavy frigate, with a few dozen other ponies either boarding or waiting outside. He could make out the words Even Odds stenciled in white on its side. As he prepared to board the dirigible bound for Canterlot, he heard a familiar saying off in the distance.

‘Live life for the moment, everythin’ else is uncertain!”

Clockwork waved goodbye to his friends and family the entire time they were in sight. A chill ran up his spine when they finally disappeared from view and he took his seat. It was only now that he realized something.

He had just left behind everyone and everything he had known for the majority of his life, and he had just done so without another thought.

Friends, Old & New

Hey Charger,

I know it seems weird, sending you a letter so soon after our assignments, but I just wanted to make sure to send you at least something before we both get swamped with whatever gets thrown our way. It's ridiculous, what I can and can't say to anypony regarding R&D. The most I can really say is that there's a whole lot of sketching, soldering, and we get to test out whatever we build. No better shield than hundreds of feet of stone, eh?

I'm sorry I don't have much to write about, except that everypony here isn't some heartless brainiac like we thought. We're all rooting for you and the rest of the soldiers out there.

Moppet says hello and good luck. Write back when you can.

- Clock

Clockwork,

Every day they put us in a room full of smoke and burning meat and make us go through our drills so we get over the smell of electrocuted pony. Please don’t ask me how they got it. Getting over the smell of blood seems to be a large part of military training.

The rest is running. Commander has a saying - amateurs do tactics, professionals do logistics. We have to carry a kit larger than we are at full gallop over miles of rough terrain and set up fortified base camps in extreme weather. We haven't even started combat training yet. Just running, formations, blood and smoke.

This is how earth ponies do war, I guess. Glory is for pegasi and the dead.

- Charger.

Hey Charger,

I got your letter. What they're putting you through sounds more like torture than field training. Here we are thinking getting over the sound of bullets and the smell of blood was tough. All I can really say is that I'm sorry and that I hope you make it through. You've got a group of like-minded allies to fall back on and two good friends you can always come back to.

R&D's been heating up as well. Just about everything that the military uses is getting thrown our way. Generators, airship propellers, cots, you name it. Mechanics division is where I'm stationed, along with a few other scientists who've only talked to me about data and such. I've already made some advances, mostly increases in efficiency coupled with compacting the size of whatever we can. I've even drawn up a few prototype devices which I can't really talk about. All I can say about those is that they're neat, but it bothers me that whatever I make here will be used for fighting in some way.

Enclosed are some fresh bluebells and lilies just for you. I've gotta get back to work. How are the gloves holding up?

- Clock

Clockwork,

Eighty miles today, in full kit. You have no idea.

It occurs to me that 'you have no idea' is an accurate summary of this entire process. You're sitting at home on a comfortable chair thinking hard about mathematics and writing on paper. How could you understand? You're vaguely bothered by the idea that your inventions will be used for war. How could you understand? It's only been a month but my experiences have transcended verbal description.

How are the gloves doing? They are caked onto my body by a layer of sweat, grime and mud. I have not taken them off for six days. They are ready for action, tested and checked four times a day, but right now I do not hope that my gear will not fail me. All I hope for is that my opponent will be half as exhausted as I.

- Charger.

Charger,

My apologies for not sending you a letter for a while now. Apparently my intellect-to-age ratio makes me a sort of celebrity down here. Everypony wants me to check over their schematics for the slightest problem before sending them to Stalliongrad for manufacturing. It's exhausting on both mind and body, and I swear to Celestia I have some minor form of Carpal Tunnel. Unfortunately, life down here isn't as safe as you'd think. I've lost some hair thanks to accidental explosions caused by careless scientists three rooms over. We've begun testing wartime technology, and I'm pretty damn sure that I'm the last one in here working on anything besides that kind of stuff. I don't see the point of testing guns. You don't use them (not that I know of, anyway), our rifles are the best they can be, grenades are still just as explosive, and our more exotic devices are working like a charm. Still, if these things will keep the common populace safe, I'll gladly help out wherever I can.

While my hardships aren't nearly as bad as yours, they're still hardships. I don't want to sound arrogant, but everypony involved is suffering somehow. Either way, I've sent you some stuff to help take your mind of of whatever hasn't been permanently drilled into it yet. Snacks for when the bland taste of MREs is too much, some hoof made music boxes, a little bit of air freshener, and even a custom made repair kit for your gloves, should they ever fail (which I pray they won't).

Keep pushing forward like you always do and I'm sure you'll make it. I haven't heard much from Moppet recently, but the last time I saw him he told me to tell you good luck.

Your friend till the end,

- Clock

Clockwork,

Sergeant Hickory died in a friendly fire incident. Three others were wounded. Doc says I might have some mild brain damage. It's been raining. War weather. Visibility is low, accidents happen. Still haven't seen the enemy.

Not sure if I'm calm or if that's just the head injury.

- Charger

Charger,

I'm sorry to hear about Hickory & Co. I assume you've been given some leave due to the head injury?

You're not alone, though. We lost two good minds a few days ago due to something I can't discuss (not that I really want to anyway). Furthermore, it looks like the place is being converted into a full on wartime research station instead of what it once was. Judging by the rest of the crew's performances, I'm probably one of the only scientists here with any real combat training, and that's not saying much. Pistols are all we get down here and they're not that high caliber anyway. Anything bigger than a .45 "poses a damage threat to sensitive machinery". It's complete bullshit; if the enemy manages to get down here, we're screwed anyway. We might as well go out with a gatling in one hoof and an elephant gun in the other.

Leave it to the youngest person in R&D to forget something. Isn't CO training supposed to last only about an extra month? Judging from your past letters, you've been at it much longer than that. Have you moved onto some other specialization or was something extended?

Anyway, I have to get back to a project I'm working on. Apparently the higher ups want me to design a new sidearm for the Aircavalry.

Stay strong. Stay alive.

- Clock

Clockwork,

Not supposed to discuss current assignments and postings. I move around a lot. Still do. Doc said I was combat ready. Then, Doc says any pony capable of forwards momentum is combat ready.

I saw a griffon yesterday. In the distance.

- Charger

Charger,

Your inability to discuss your current activities is understandable. Good to know that you're okay. We're not at war with anyone yet (though it seems like it), and we never will be unless the Empire takes the first shot. Hopefully, that's the case. I can't say anything else about the gun except it's based off of some old experimental revolvers, and the new prototypes are too fragile to be used in the near future. Overall activity at R&D has slowed considerably so that we can all actually get some shut eye, but it hasn't stopped. I've sent a few more lilies and bluebells your way to keep your spirits up. I haven't heard from Moppet in a while now, but if anypony can make it in Equestria, it's him.

Visit when you can. If you can't, I will. We must have ridiculous amounts of shore leave time saved up.

- Clock

Clockwork,

Your last letter was ruined by the rain. It shows <illegible> I hope this one will make it through.
<remainder of the letter is illegible>

Clockwork sighed as he looked back over the letters he and his best friend had sent back and forth. The pegasus had sent a letter in response to Charger’s most previous, but a reply was never received. There was not a single date inscribed to indicate when each message had been written, but the pegasus knew that what he had just reread constituted roughly half a year of strained communication, plus about another six months of eerie silence. Above all else, he hoped she was okay.

The pegasus spun around in his chair and looked over his personal barracks. A single bed lay in the corner of the room, much unlike every other worker’s personal quarters. Scientists preferred to bunk together for increased capacity, productivity, and various other benefits that Clockwork had never believed in. The only other thing of note was the clutter; cabinets lined the wall opposite the stallion’s bed and even the sole desk he now sat at was piled high with blueprints and documents. It wasn’t disorganized, certainly not, but it was just. . . lots of neatly packed stuff, really. Schematics, notes, and even a few science fiction novels lay hidden somewhere in the figurative forest of literally dead trees.

The pegasus frowned as he made his way out of the room, all that stuff represented not only progress, but isolation as well. He had lost all contact with Moppet for some time now, and he was allowed to see his parents only if specifically asked, in writing, to visit. He could go outside from time to time, but only after his quota had been filled. Even then he couldn't be out for more than an hour, and under direct supervision no less! As he made his way down the hall, Clockwork didn’t bother glancing at the other scientists that passed him by. He had memorized all their names, appearances, and even their fields of expertise, but he rarely spoke to them lest the matter was urgent. His first letter seemed inaccurate at this point, for the scientists had only been patriotic for the first few weeks, and patriotic vigor had disappeared as soon as the the real testing began. They were almost like wind-up robots now, running mostly on coffee, and in times of distinct desperation, old textbooks.

As his mind wandered on the subject of machines, the stallion looked back on what he had achieved. Increased energy output and efficiency as well as a decrease in necessary size for many types of generators was his favorite example. He had always tried to avoid testing machines meant for conflict, but given the current situation, that hope seemed nigh-impossible. He had tested different variations of firing mechanisms, slides, safety locks, and even accuracy at one point, The worst, and ironically his seemingly most important, project was the development of a new firearm to be used by Their Majesty’s Aircavalry. It had already gone through two distinct variations, and Clockwork felt as though he was going nowhere with it.

“Hey! Well if it isn’t my favorite scientist!” a light, cheerful voice rang out as he was about to enter his assigned workstation.

Clockwork’s head and heart immediately lifted at the lighthearted exclamation of his name. As he made his way inside of a large room, he was greeted by the sight of one of the mares whom he had been assigned to work with on the firearm project.

She was an earth pony by the name of Haywire, and she lived up to her name. The reddish-brown coated, dark-yellow maned pony was quite possibly the happiest scientist that Clockwork had seen in Research and Development, if not the happiest pony in general. She had been the one to greet him on his first day, gave him a guided tour of the facilities, and even provided him with a few tips on interacting with the edgier scientists.

She was a friend to everybody in A Wing, especially to him, though she was not without her flaws. She sometimes got too involved with her work to notice that other’s were around her and, to his general despair, she had taken one look at his left shoulder and started asking him if he wanted help the same day she met him.

Clockwork smiled then nodded. “Afternoon, Haywire. How are you doing?”

Haywire beamed at him. “Great! Everything’s in order as far as I can tell.”

After a few moments of smiling blankly, she went back to what she was doing, humming some jaunty show tune as she fiddled with a pair of wire cutters nearby. Clockwork rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but crack a little smile.

As the metal door swung shut behind him, the pegasus took notice of the room. Clean white just like the rest of them, though this one was much longer than the others. There was a large workbench at the opposite end, lined with tools designed for precision rather than force. Leaning on said table was the other member of the team.

Wetwork was a unicorn, a little older than Clockwork was. She had a grey coat, a nice dark green mane, and while Clockwork wasn’t a big fan of piercings of any kind, she made the silver ring on her lip work without it making her look unclassy. The pegasus was at first a bit worried at first when he had been told that Wetwork had been placed in charge of the project. Apparently, she had extensive experience with the inner workings of Equestrian's weaponry and then some. The mare wasn't hostile towards her teammates though, quite the contrary. Rather, she just didn’t seem comfortable around him.

"Hello," Clockwork greeted the mare, to which her only response was to give a little half-smirk and nod.

The pegasus made his way over to the workbench and looked at the cursed item that was occupying it. It was a pistol, the same one Clockwork had mentioned in his letters, though it was a bit different now. Seven shots, all .44 magnum, and a 16 gauge shotgun round set in the center of the cylinder to be fired out of a secondary barrel that had yet to install. It was called the LeMane, and while it was based off ancient schematics somepony had dug up in Neigh Orleans this prototype it was now in its second and a half incarnation. The first version was too unwieldy and inaccurate while this variant seemed too delicate. He shrugged, time to go to work.

As Clockwork and his two colleagues fiddled with the weapon in various ways, he reminisced about how he had been assigned to such a project. Apparently, that mission of “vital importance” involved another border skirmish with the Griffon Empire. Shots had been fired, and they had hit their mark this time. The primary concern of the Aircavalry stationed there was that griffon wings are too hard to hit when they’re working. The inability to hit a rapidly moving target wasn't the only problem though.

The magical border-poles denoting where griffon territory ended and equestrian began had shorted out earlier in the day, thus causing some major confusion between the two nations. The griffons had believed the ponies were giving up their position and, when they did not leave as expected, opened fire. The shield generators protecting the primary living quarters had failed after a single artillery strike. Ten ponies died that day, another eight were seriously injured. One had to have his wings and a leg amputated, the same stallion that had first requested the new firearms.

"YOW!" Haywire jumped back from the desk, rubbing her forehoof as she did. "Be careful where you rest that soldering gun, Double-U!"

Wetwork turned away, her dark mane covering her face. "Sorry."

"Are you hurt?" Clockwork asked, mildly alarmed at the perky mare being injured.

"Not really sure." Haywire looked over the bright red spot on her forehoof, then shrugged. "It’ probably just a burn. I'll head over to the infirmary for a second to check, though. Don’t wait up!" she said, practically skipping out of the room to the medical bay.

Clockwork couldn't fathom how she kept such a high spirit even when potentially harmed. He shrugged, then turned back around relucently when he heard a familiar sound: Wetwork feeling guilty about something.

"Stupid stupid stupid!" Wetwork muttered herself, holding the soldering gun in her magical grip and seemingly considering to throw it somewhere. "Forgetting to look where you place the most dangerous tool in the room and putting it in front of the one pony in the room who can’t handle it! Tally up another accident and-"

"Hey, Double-U." Clockwork placed his wing on Wetwork's shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Accidents happen all the time."

"I hate that nickname," Wetwork responded without looking at him.

"So do I, but Haywire doesn't."

Wetwork groaned. "I don’t like to see her unhappy."

"What makes you think she won't like to stop calling you by your nickname?"

Wetwork finally turned around, her teal eyes locked with Clockwork's red. The pegasus had to admit, teal looked great on her. "I don't know, I just don't like the risk of it, okay? I've been friends with her for a while now and I don't want to lose her. She’s my one friend, not excluding you but still. She’s a little odd but I like her, you know?"

Clockwork felt a pang of sorrow run up his spine. He had an inkling of what the unicorn was talking about. He sighed and walked back over to the workbench and looked over the fruits of the trio's labor. The secondary barrel had finally been installed, making the revolver look bulkier and slightly less graceful than before. However, that also meant it could possibly endure more stress. Picking it up, the pegasus found it to be heavier than before. Good, less recoil to deal with. He looked over at his companion. "Progress has never been made without taking risks," he quoted some scientist he couldn't remember the name of at the moment, "care to help test it out?"

Wetwork nodded, wiped her nose, and hurried to stand at Clockwork's side. After applying ear and eye protection to the both of them, the stallion flipped out the weapon's cylinder and proceeded to load it appropriately. The shotgun round needed a bit of force to get in, but it was nothing Clockwork found troublesome. He set the cylinder back in place, spun it, then pulled the hammer back to half-cock. Smooth workings so far. He pulled the hammer back to full and, after declaring the weapon hot, pulled the trigger.

There was a good half-second of sheer-silence before the round fired. Dammit, another stall. The pegasus tried it again, producing the same result. He ejected the spent shells and gave the weapon to his unicorn companion. Perhaps she would have a better time with it, she was the gun expert after all.

With a practiced grace, the mare brought the revolver to aim and pulled the hammer back all the way. With a gentle squeeze, the firing mechanism clicked, but no round left the barrel.

It wasn’t until Haywire jogged in several seconds later, humming happily, that Wetwork deemed the weapon safe and deconstructed it. After inspecting the components for a short period of time, she gave a small piece of the weapon to Clockwork. Unfortunately, it was also probably the most important. “Looks like the firing pin’s bent to the point that it missed the bullet entirely. I’ll work on it.”

Haywire kicked the wall with her now-bandaged forehoof, thus causing her to wince. “Grrr, that’s the eighth failure and it’s halfway through the month! We have to get this to work or else our records will be trash because of this thing!”

Wetwork just nodded, which didn’t surprise Clockwork much. He had never heard her even mention their records, let alone her own. He wondered if she cared about hers at all.

“I’ll work on it. Haywire, go get fifteen replacement firing pins from Supply Train. Make sure they’re each made of a different metal, too. Look into if we can get a few of the experimental ones with the little teardrop-shaped enchanted gems on them, just pick out the one’s you think would work best,” Wetwork ordered.

The earth pony gave her own lighthearted version of a salute and rushed back out the door. “Aye aye, boss!”

Clockwork groaned and made his way out of the testing room. He didn’t get very far before he heard a familiar voice ask about his wellbeing. “I am and will be fine, Wetwork.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t think you were one to take failure well.”

Clockwork sighed a little. “I’m not. The weapon’s failure wasn’t your fault in any way, though. I’ll take full responsibility; I’m just glad you and Haywire weren’t injured.”

Wetwork blushed. “That’s awfully kind of you, but I really-”

“I reiterate my last point,” Clockwork cut the mare off. “I was so eager to test the contraption again that I disregarded a majority of the necessary precautions. Had I put the revolver through its paces first, we would’ve discovered the firing pin’s fragility before firing a single shot!” The stallion slammed a forehoof into the wall and gritted his teeth, both of which he did with more force than necessary. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, and tired, and hungry. I never had breakfast this morning.”

Wetwork smiled. “I’ll get back to you by dinner. Sound good?”

Clockwork gave a concise nod. “Yeah. That’ll work.”

Wetwork paused for a moment, and for a second Clockwork swore she looked mildly embarrassed. “I have one last question, if you’re willing to listen, of course.”

The pegasus raised his brow. “Go ahead.”

“Do you want to head into Canterlot later? ” Wetwork asked, a little too slowly for Clockwork to believe that this was completely spontaneous.

“Together?”

Wetwork nodded. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine. At least have your quota met first and everything. I haven’t gotten out of here in weeks. Best to go with a friend, right?”

“I filled it three hours ago.” Clockwork smirked. “Put me down for a ‘maybe,’ alright?” he asked as he turned and hurried down the hallway, partly because he wanted to get a decent bite to eat as well as hide the blush starting to show in his cheeks.

“Yeah.” Wetwork almost whispered once the stallion was out of sight. “Maybe.”

She’s nice, quiet, and kind of hot!

Shut up.

You know she’s smart, and she looks like she’s out of some sort of gothic romance novel! Come on, you know you want to know what that lip piercing feels like from the other side!

I said shut up. Besides, I love one mare and one mare only.

Who is currently Celestia-knows where and hasn't contacted you for the past six months. Not to mention that she could be replaced by brick wrapped in electrical wire and nopony would notice.

She’s also my best friend and more beautiful than Celestia and Luna combined. She's likely changed alot since I last saw her.

It’s not even that she has no feminity, it’s that she has nothing at all! When was the last time you saw her smile?

When I left.

A full year ago. You're nice looking, but not that much. Look where you are now though. In the last six months, you've gotten to know not one, not two, but three mares! One of which who is not only interested in you, but she just asked you out! There are quite a few nightclubs in Canterlot and Luna bless her if she doesn’t look fine.

Be quiet.

While the first thing you noticed about her wasn't her cutie mark, you sure did take in the whole package. Boy, what a heart-shaped package it was!

I hate you. I hate myself. I hate my incompetence and the fact that I'm still talking to myself. Go away.

Besides, that's a beautiful northern accent she's got.

"I said SHUT! UP!" Clockwork slammed his head into the table as which he was sitting, causing the mare directly across from him to almost fall out of her seat.

"Who're you talking to, silly?"

Clockwork sighed as he looked to the third pony he had been assigned to work with. Her name was Saltwater Taffy (though she preferred to only be addressed by the latter portion), and she was pegasus like himself, though she had both wings, fully formed and functional. She was a pale blue, both her mane and tail wispy and colored a light grayish-pink. Her eyes were a bright pink hue, always slightly wide and a little droopy. At the moment they were looking at him with something akin to concern.

"Just. . . talking to myself. Don't worry about it."

"You must've been a meanie to yell like that. What were you and. . . you talking about?”

The stallion shrugged, taking a bite of the nameless gruel the laboratory called lunch. He couldn’t believe the food tasted worse here than it did in Basic. “Work, the future, friends I haven’t seen in a while, that kind of stuff,” he semi-lied.

Taffy just shrugged a little and took a nibble of her own lunch, something cheesy that looked like it was actually cooked. “Oh, ‘kay. Have you met your quota yet?”

Clockwork tried to smile, but considering the slop that was in his mouth, he couldn’t. He struggled to swallow it before replying. “Yeah, I did this morning.”

Taffy smiled in a slightly dazed manner and took another bite of her meal. “Oh, that’s good. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You know that cloud-computing unit some genius sent over from Cloudsdale, with the funky frost crystals replacing the- oh, of course you do. Anyway, somepony left the heater on and now it’s nasty.”

Clockwork tipped his head to one side. “That’s odd. Were you the last one in the room?”

Saltwater Taffy simply frowned. “Well, yeah, I am a late-night worker and all. Got to keep up, so, yeah, I did.”

Clockwork just sighed a little. “Well, there’s your problem. You let an expensive machine break.”

Taffy just snorted and all but inhaled the rest of her meal. “Oh, well, can’t do anything about it now. How’s your stuff doing?”

Clockwork blinked. “Good, thanks for asking.”

Taffy put a hoof under her chin. “Wait, did you mention a Charger earlier? Earth pony, yellow?”

“Kinda?” Clockwork was unsure where the mare was going with this.

“She’s a bit of a weirdo, isn’t she? I mean, she acts like a robot and she wears those weird gloves all the time and doesn’t talk to anyone! She’s totally a robot, and not one of those funny beep-hoop making ones either; like really emotionless and stuff.”

Something snapped inside of the pegasus. He gritted his teeth, but did not scream, yell, or hurl insult. Instead, he began to chuckle.

“Huh? Did I make a joke? Ooh, repeat it back to me! I wanna laugh too!”

“No, you didn’t make a joke, but I still found what you said laughable.”

Taffy tilted her head to one side, obviously confused.

“You haven’t lived alongside her for the majority of your life. You haven’t had to go through all the scrapes and burns that you acquire in your various adventures with her. She is a dark mystery with a happy ending, a demon that returns to her previous form of an angel. She is beautiful, smart, funny, kind and while she may be robotic at times, I love her all the same.” Clockwork tilted his head to match Taffy's looked her dead in the eye, and grinned. “How could you possibly understand?”

The look on the mare’s face as she quickly left the table puzzled Clockwork. She looked like she had just seen a murder take place. He shrugged it off though, as she had always been one to look at things kind of funny. As the stallion got up to leave as well, he never took notice of the creeped-out looks that his fellow scientists gave him.

Clockwork couldn’t believe that the day could’ve gotten any worse. First, he makes next to no progress whatsoever on the LeMane. Now, he had made absolutely zero progress on his secondary project as well! Dammit, he preferred this project over the pistol, too!

In all essentiality, Clockwork was in charge of the development of an ambidextrous artificial wing that could work just as well as the real thing. Weight was relatively negligible, as the strength of a pegasus’ wing muscles could move a multitude of metals appendages with little difficulty. However, neither of those factors were what Clockwork considered the most challenging. It was the demand that the prosthetic be affordable enough to be mass produced.

Iron, Bronze, even Brass was too expensive to use as the base material for the amount of prosthetics needed! He had figured out the exact pattern of appropriate straps to place on an pegasus’ body in order to keep the artificial limb in place, determined the exact muscles to replicate with synthetic cord and others with pistons for movement, but he just couldn’t get it right! Who cares about cost when you can save the life of a loved one?!

“Gah!” Clockwork ripped the schematic in front of him to shreds. It didn’t matter anymore. The thing was obsolete now and, in a pinch, he could recall the entire thing from memory. He performed the same action on several more blueprints. They were all obsolete now, as were his efforts for the past. . . Clockwork didn’t know how long he had been working on the project. Taffy had never shown up to help, and the fact that dinner wasn’t being served anymore only heightened his stress.

Yeah. Let the ideas simmer and the stress bleed off. You’ve exhausted yourself for the day, Clock. Just get to bed early tonight and work twice as hard tomorrow. You’ll get it right then.

Clockwork smashed his head against the hallway wall. It hurt, but Clockwork did not wince or cry out in pain. In fact, he began to laugh again. The pegasus stayed there for what felt like hours, wondering what the hell he was really doing here. These walls were too cramped, the food tasted like shit, and the-

“Clockwork? Are you okay?”

The pegasus glanced to his left and found none other than Wetwork trotting towards him. She had a look of concern on her face. “Clockwork?”

He let out one last chuckle before wiping his nose and looking up. “Heh. Sorry about that. Are you asking about my physical or mental well being?”

“Both.”

The stallion shrugged, struggling to contain his laughter. “I don’t know. Honestly, I think I’m going a little bit stir crazy, being cooped up in here and all. Mix that in with my hunger and string of failures recently and you get one anxious pegasus. Ha!”

“I wouldn’t know.” Wetwork gestured to her horn.

There was a moment of silence before something clicked in Clockwork’s brain. “Forgive me for asking but. . . ahem, is your offer still open?”

Wetwork’s cheeks suddenly went red. “The night out?”

Clockwork nodded.

“Umm. . . I think so. Why?”

The pegasus' stomach grumbled. “I haven’t had dinner yet and I need to get out for a while. Mind if I take you up on your offer?”

“Okay!” The unicorn answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Uh, I mean I’ll have to get ready first! We can’t just head into the city wearing this, give me a little while to get changed.”

Clockwork nodded. “Take your time. Just meet me at the gate when you're ready.”

Wetwork nodded, and the two scientists hurried off to prepare themselves for a friendly night out. It totally wasn’t a date or anything like that whatsoever. No siree.

Citizens of Equestria! Recent events within the coastal city of Baltimare have resulted in the discovery and arrest of yet another griffon sympathizer. While there is zero cause for alarm, the Office of Internal Affairs would like to take a moment to remind you all of the possible dangers of spies.

If trained correctly, spies can cause immeasurable amounts of chaos within our ranks! Vital information could possibly be revealed to the enemy, entire month’s worth of planning could be all for nought!

So, if you notice somepony, anypony, engaging in suspicious activity, the best course of action is as follows. Do not engage them! Instead of direct contact, please take note their current location and report them to the closest policemare or royal guard. They will handle the situation from there.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming,

Totally Not A Date

Clockwork stood just outside the entrance to the elevator used to transport scientists into the depths of the caves used to house the R&D. He felt more than a little unsure that the mare standing next to him (who was now wearing a studded choker, dark eyeliner, and semi-casual dress) really was his co-worker, and furthermore, if she really was the same mare who had asked him out on their sort-of-not-really-but-it-is-date.

"So. . ." Clockwork rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with the mare at his side.

"Umm. . ." Wetwork pawed at the ground just in front of her, desperately trying to hide the blush in her cheeks.

"Where. . . ahem," the pegasus coughed, trying to find a shred of resolve. "where would you like to go? I'm buying, so choose wherever you'd like."

The mare giggled and gestured towards the crowded streets as if to show him all the places they could go. "Oh, that's not needed, I have more than enough bits for the both of us and-"

"No, really, I could pay." Clockwork protested, shifting his weight back and forth to make the bag of bits under his real wing jingle loudly.

Wetwork gave a little smirk. “If we were really going out somewhere fancy, would we have dressed like this? Please, keep your money.”

Clockwork looked over both himself and his friend and saw that she was right. The vest he wore to hide his only wing and necklace made him look positively overdressed next to her. "I remember seeing a nice-looking café a few nights back. Maybe it's still open?"

Wetwork shrugged. "It's a better heading than just wandering aimlessly through the city. Know the way?" She paused for a moment, and after looking over the skyline, she grinned. “How about this; you pay at the cafe, but when we head downtown, I pay for everything. You can drink, right?”

Clockwork started to feel a little unnerved about lying. “Well, I-”

Wetwork waved her forehoof, laughing a little as she did. “Oh, I know you can’t; you're not old enough. You look like you probably could, though.”

Clockwork didn’t know what to make of that, so he just pointed the way to the little cafe he spotted during one of his few journeys outside.

The unicorn nodded, trotting a little ahead of him the whole way. Clockwork followed close behind, and before long the two were sitting down at a softly lit outdoor table for two. It was late summer, so the afternoon warmth was a much welcomed deviation from the mandatory 68 degrees Fahrenheit of the labs at R&D.

Much unlike the other occupants of the restaurant, the ponies did not speak much as they scanned their menus for something to eat. "See anything you like?"

"Can't say," Wetwork replied. "You know that weird feeling you get when you're hungry for something but you're not sure what?"

Clockwork laughed under his breath. "I'm feeling the same thing. Umm. . ." he hastily scanned the menu once again but was interrupted by a slightly high-pitched masculine voice. There was a barely noticeable prench accent in there as well.

"Have you determined what you wish to eat, this fine evening?"

Clockwork looked towards the voice, which turned out to be coming from a dark brown colored waiter who was staring at them expectantly. The earth pony brandished a notepad and pencil. "Sir and madam, if you wish, we have couple’s special today."

Both scientists' muzzles practically glowed red at the statement. "We're not together," they replied in unison.

"Right," the stallion said, pointedly frowning. "So, what will the two of you be having?”

"We don't really know, to be honest. What do you recommend?" Wetwork asked.

"Hmm. . ." the waiter licked the tip of his writing instrument. "I had the lily sandwich with bluebell sauce a few hours ago and it was simply divine."

Clockwork went catatonic, thus making his unicorn companion have to confirm the order before the stallion scurried off.

"Clockwork? Is something the matter?"

"Hmm? What?" The pegasus looked around like a paranoid squirrel. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Wetwork's voice weighed heavily with concern.

"Yeah. I'm probably just going stir crazy. It isn't right for a pegasus to reside in such a cramped space for so much time. It makes sense why every room in the royal sisters' castle has ridiculously high ceilings."

Wetwork blinked. "But you can't fly."

The pegasus sighed. "That may be, but I still have all the spatial awareness and such that comes with being a member of my species."

Wetwork paused for a moment, pursed her lips, and spoke very quietly. "If you don't mind talking about it, why do you have only one wing?"

Clockwork looked to the sky for a moment. The light pollution here was so bad he could only see the brightest of Luna's stars, and not very well either. "It's alright. Just try not to fall asleep on me, alright?"

Wetwork nodded, and the pegasus began his tale. "My mom and dad met during the height of the first revolution, the time when we were putting out smog faster than we realized and before we knew how harmful it was. My mom was an engineer, she still is. Guess where she worked."

The unicorn shrugged. "No idea."

"She worked a lot of jobs, mostly maintenance on a lot of the factories' really big machines. She didn't keep working on the behemoth engine for long once I became a visible bulge."

"Did she stop working?"

"Only on the really big stuff, yeah. By then my parents were happily married and settling into a house in Ponyville’s old quarter. She primarily performed a lot of minute maintenance tasks after it got hard for her to move around. A few weeks later, I was born, my mom was rendered sterile, and you know what happened next."

"The second revolution?" she hesitated before asking.

"Bingo."

Wetwork laughed, and Clockwork was surprised at how much he liked the sound. "I hate to admit it, but I've known you for a little under a year and I have next to zero knowledge of you folks beyond work. What's your story?"

The unicorn appeared shocked at the inquiry. After taking a hefty gulp of water, she replied. "I'm nopony special, really."

"Everypony's got a unique story behind 'em."

Wetwork shrugged. "I was born in Stalliongrad, but I was in my house on the far northern edge of the city a week later. My family survived by keeping the local railway station up and running, sometimes replacing old things that gave out from the cold. My family had been living like that for generations, imagine how they reacted when I got my cutie mark and it had to do with something other than railroad maintenance."

The mare stopped talking for a moment, giggled, and continued. "I was sent to Marenobyl to live with my grandparents when I was old enough. I joined the military just after my first year of college ended. Guns were practically the only thing I was good with. I should be up on the front lines, trudging through the mud and such.”

“So how’d you end up in Research and Development?”

“My grandad had some connections with the higher ups in Equestria’s brass. He pulled a few strings to keep his little girl out of harms way and I ended up here. See? I told you I was boring."

Clockwork forgot what he was going to say as the waiter returned with the couple's food.

We're not a couple, dammit!

Whatever.

The duo ate their meal in near-silence, their efforts focused more on digesting both their food and the new information they had garnered from one another rather than attempting to make further conversation. Needless to say, it was kind of awkward.

“The food’s good,” Wetwork remarked.

Clockwork nodded. “Very.”

“So, really, do you want to go to a club? I should've asked you before we left, sorry,” the unicorn asked with a bit of hesitation.

Clockwork swallowed the last bite of his dinner. “I’ll go if you want.”

Wetwork looked at her friend for a few moments, her lips upturned slightly. “There’s a really nice place with a great crowd not too far from here. It’s called Nightcore, have you heard of it?”

Clockwork nodded. “I’ve heard about it in passing. Some kind of high-quality jazz club or something, right?”

“That’s the place. I know a guy who knows a guy and I could get us both in there. If you don’t want to dance, they have, er. . . rooms?”

Clockwork couldn’t help but feel a little flustered even as she backtracked. As soon as Wetwork noticed a certain spot on her friend’s jacket bulge, she burst out laughing. “Like, private rooms to get away from the noise if it gets too loud” she explained. “What the hay were you thinking?!”

Clockwork let out a laugh himself. “Oh, nothing. You brought up the rooms, so you must be the one who’s thinking about it.”

At that, Wetwork’s face turned a deep shade of purple and, after a few moments of looking at Clockwork with wide teal eyes, she started to laugh again, though slightly less controlled this time. “Does one of those traits of being a pegasus include having a dirty mind?” she all but squeaked, getting up from the table and punched him lightheartedly on the shoulder.

Clockwork chuckled nervously to the mare who was standing in front of him. She was wearing nice looking clothes and actually laughing at something he had said. The pegasus began to wonder what he did to get into such a situation. “So where is this club you were talking about?”

Nightcore was busy, very busy in fact. The area outside of the building grew darker as the light from the outside of the club became much more prominent. By the time the duo had arrived, Clockwork noticed the bright amber sky lights that signified the building’s existence to all of Canterlot. Being further down the mountain than most of the older buildings in the city, it proclaimed itself as a place where one could enjoy the benefits of living like Canterlot elite without having to be one.

The building was large and seemed to be composed primarily of redwood, a very rare material these days. The outer walls were dark brown; each little silver star inlaid along the charred black stripe that bordered the roof glimmered for a few moments out of sync with each other, giving it the appearance of a piece of the sky that had fallen and become host to numerous, surprisingly well dressed strangers that appeared no younger than twenty. However, Clockwork was more concerned about the line, and how it seemed to stretch into the horizon.

“How are we supposed to get in here?” Clockwork half-shouted when they got close enough to the club to where they could see the entrance. “We could never get in and be back in time for curfew!”

Wetwork rolled her eyes at the stallions words and walked to the side of the line, over to where a bison bouncer was looking over the crowd as they slowly trickled into the structure.

“Hey Hoss, care to let an old friend plus one through?” Wetwork asked the big lug at the front of the line. Much to Clockwork’s and more than a few of the ponies in the line’s surprise, he stepped to the side.

“C’mon!” the mare shouted over the dull roar of the crowd of ponies behind her.

Clockwork quickly passed through the small gap between the herd of complaining ponies and into the building.

The music suddenly became much clearer, and in turn a bit louder. Clockwork felt like he had been simultaneously transported backwards and forwards in time. The large central room felt much like something out of the history books, amber lights and dark red booths were more than plentiful. It smelt rather pleasantly of expensive tobacco mixed with a slight hint of wine. A well-dressed band was on stage, and while the song they were playing was somewhat enjoyable, it did little to settle Clockwork’s uneasy stomach. He had never been surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces in his life, some even looked at him with hostility as he looked to his companion.

“Wetwork, how do you know that buffalo if you lived in Marenobyl?” Clockwork asked the mare in an attempt to take his focus off of the intoxicating combination of loud music and total strangers.

“You want to dance?” Wetwork replied almost immediately, which signalled Clockwork that she most likely didn’t hear him.

“I can hardly put one hoof in front of the other, let alone-”

The mare cut him off with a wave of her hoof the pointed towards a counter devoid of drinks of any kind. “I know him from school. Say, you want that room?” Wetwork asked, seemingly unfazed by the noise.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’m really sorry, I can’t dance.”

Nodding wordlessly, a grin spread over Wetwork’s muzzle as she trotted over to the counter. After a few moments of conversation and a quick exchange of bits, the grey mare came back with two keys in her magical grip and a gleam in her eye. Said gleam quickly faded when she saw her friend looking mildly dejected while practically clinging to a wall near an exit.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” she asked, leaning close enough to him so she didn’t have to raise her voice.

“I. . .” Clockwork was embarrassed to admit it. “I’ve never been to one of these before. I don’t think I like it.”

Wetwork winced. “Sorry about that. Look, I got us a private room for a while. Let’s just chill out for a few hours.”

Clockwork nodded, let a smile through, and followed Wetwork as she made her way through the crowd. After a while, the duo arrived at their destination.

The rooms that seemed to be for rent were almost sectioned off from the rest of the building; the one Wetwork had acquired could only be accessed by heading down two surprisingly sparse hallways and then entering through the door at the end of the second hallway. After Wetwork swiped both keys through the dual-slotted lock and the door opened, Clockwork realized something.

Wetwork had connections.

The interior resembled a very fancy hotel room, or something like a guest room in a royal palace. The walls were colored a soft cream and lined with something that felt like silk. The dark marble countertops were sprinkled with tiny silver flakes. The pool in the center of the room (oh sweet Celestia, there was a pool) was something akin to a shallow hot tub. . . built for only two or three ponies.

There was also the bed. It was huge, set against the wall, and was covered in white sheets that seemed to be made of silk. The bed posts were constructed of the same redwood that composed the club’s outer walls, and they extended all the way into the ceiling. A thin white veil bacted as a semi-opaque curtain to each of the bed’s three sides. Despite there being several dozen rose petals scattered about the bed, the scent of lavender was easily detectable.

“I did well, didn’t I?” Wetwork whisper the question teasingly into Clockwork’s ear.

The stallion’s only reaction was to yelp, followed by feebly flapping his one wing under his vest in an attempt to leave this place with his sanity intact.

“Heh, gotcha good!” the mare chimed happily as she undid the studded choker on her neck and let it fall to the floor. “Ugh, I don’t know why I even wear that thing.” she mumbled as she walked towards a padded section of the floor surprisingly close to the hot tub.

Clockwork was quite unsure of what to do other than to follow the mare. Luckily for him, there were two of the padded things, each on opposite sides of the pool. He took a seat on the plushy ground and stretched a little.

“Wetwork, how much did this cost?” Clockwork breathed as he took in the entirety of the room. He wasn’t sure if that silver lining on the pool’s edge was really silver or platinum, but the gold inlay was definitely gold.

“Oh, only a couple dozen bits. I know the mare who owns the place.” she replied, trailing off on her last words.

Clockwork did a double take. “Really? Who?”

The unicorn shrugged. “A mare called Nightcore, duh. We used to hang out in college, but she dropped out and started this a few months later with her trust fund money. I called her crazy, but we made up.”

After a brief struggle, Clockwork managed to remove his vest while sitting down. He was almost ashamed that he did it right then and there, but it was getting too warm in the room to have it on and not sweat like a boar.

“I didn’t know that. Just how many ponies do you know, anyway?”

Wetwork, for whatever reason, blushed. “Oh, a few here, a few there. . .”

Clockwork, noticing that the mare looked nervous, chose not to press the question any further. Instead, he dropped his gaze from her lying on the padding to the pool. The music, while faint, had melted into a much slower tune.

“You know, I understand. You not wanting to be out in that crowd. Don’t feel bad, I can barely stand the ponies in there either, no matter how cultured they are,” Wetwork suddenly spoke up, sounding both understanding and a little concerned for her pegasus friend.

“Thank you, really; I know you were probably planning on dancing,” Clockwork responded. “This is some not-date, huh?”

Wetwork shook her head and bit her lip lightly. Clockwork couldn’t help but notice the way her teeth touched the ring on her mouth, a little bit of white on a little bit of silver.

“Clockwork, you might be one of the sweetest colt’s I have ever met. You. . . well, you can tell this room is not really. . .” she stopped for a moment and Clockwork realized that she was probably as unsure of what was going to happen next as he was. “We’ve known each other for a while, right?”

He could only nod.

“We are both decent ponies. We are both reasonably intelligent and neither of us are as caught up in this. . . cold war as most of the other ponies we know, and we respect each other for that. We have supported each other for a while and, well, have gotten to know each other a bit. We have also checked each other out, don’t try to deny it.”

Clockwork gulped, but Wetwork just waved a her hoof to cut out any retort the pegasus could’ve made. “That’s not a bad thing at all, Clockwork. It’s. . . nice to know some ponies think I’m pretty, you know? I know my hair fits my eyes and I look good with that choker over there because I have tried to get noticed and people say that what I wear works. But you. . . ”

Wetwork shifted her weight on the cushions, almost like a cat settling in a spot. “You’re different. It’s not. . . that your vulnerable, really. I know that wing. . . it’s caused you a lot of hurt, right? You’ve probably had to deal with a lot of bullies. I had to deal with a lot of punks when I was in high school, and they barely let up when I joined the things that have led me here. Even here at our work, I never got much attention from anyone, positive attention anyway.”

Clockwork realised he hadn’t breathed in a while.

“But there was you, and Haywire. You two are, really, my only real friends in this city. I don’t have many friends, but you two are wonderful ponies. I like Haywire, but you, Clockwork?” Wetwork took a breath deep enough that it made her shake a little. “You are really the only stallion who’s ever been kind to me without any real motive for a long time. I know it was just work, but you never were unkind to me, ever. This isn’t about you just being nice, though. You really are smart, you know?”

Clockwork nodded. “I’ve been told that, though I don’t believe it.”

The mare emitted a tense giggle. “You are a little funny, and you are really nice, and it’s not that your lean, but you. . . look great. I noticed you looking at me before I was looking at you and. . . ” she stopped for a moment to inhale. “At first, I didn’t know what to do, but we worked together for a while and I now know that I can say that I really respect you.”

Clockwork felt as though his brain had melted and trickled out of his ears. “So. . . what do you want to do?” he asked very slowly and very quietly.

The gray mare bit her lip again, much harder this time. She stood and began walking to the far end of the room, past the pool. Much to Clockworks surprise, shock and perhaps enjoyment, to the bed.

“Wetwork, what are you doing?” the pegasus asked, voice barely hiding the varied array of emotions he was experiencing.

The unicorn pulled one veil aside, placed both forehooves on the bed, stretched her back a little, and climbed up on it with little fanfare, besides Clockwork’s heartbeat drumming along.

“Clockwork, words are failing me right now. I know you like me the same way I like you, and I know this is sudden.” she looked to her right for a moment and quickly ended up on her back, legs crossed and her forehooves the same, head resting on one of the big pillows behind her. “Please, I am not a vulgar mare, but I know you want this too.”

Clockwork understood what was happening on a functional level. A very attractive mare was on a bed and wanted him to join her. Very logical, very easy to understand. However, the thing that was making him dizzy was what he was considering.

“Wetwork, I. . . I really would, but-”

“I am not doing this because of anything else, you know. This isn’t because I pity you, this is because I really appreciate you. It’s sudden, I know, but we are both consenting adults here.”

Clockwork felt himself brushing up against the bed, finding it softer than the most well prepared cloud. The pegasus could only help but notice the sight before him; Wetwork’s mane lay flat on the bed, making it seem like it had more volume than it really did; her large teal eyes, framed by small but thick black lines, were wide and full of something like hope, the little smile she had was completely and utterly honest. She had a gently curving body, from the base of her neck to her slim shoulders to the little curve of her belly to the blue-green spark icon on her flanks.

Wetwork was, in essence, wanting Clockwork to sleep with her. There weren’t really any other words for it. Actually, that wasn’t correct, as there were plenty other words for what the unicorn wanted him to do to her. Really though, Clockwork wasn’t a vulgar stallion. So, he laid down next to Wetwork, feeling a few of the rose petals moving under him. He wasn’t sure what to say, until he suddenly was. “Wetwork, I can’t.”

The mare blinked, but gave him a reassuring smile. “If it’s your. . . first time, don’t worry too much. It's mine too and I’m not in heat.”

Clockwork shook his head. “It’s not that.”

A great pause hung in the air.

“Oh,” Wetwork finally responded, sniffling as she did. “I would’ve-, I. . . oh.”

The pegasus could clearly detect the pain in Wetwork’s voice. After a moment of thought, he brought a hoof to meet her shoulder. “I am sorry, but I can’t do this, Wetwork. I don’t know you that well, I don’t. But I do want to know you better, especially after today.” he smirked.

As Wetwork sniffled again, Clockwork realized he just turned down one of the nicest mares he ever knew for a little romp in the hay on his own terms. He wrapped both forelegs around her and pulled her close, feeling warm water drip onto his neck.

Wetwork returned the gesture without hesitation, both ecstatic and sorrowful that she had managed to get this close to the pegasus in one go, but no further.

“It’s alright.” Clockwork stroked the unicorn’s mane, then brought his muzzle to her ear for a moment. “Maybe when we know each other a little better, and when I’m paying for the room.”

Wetwork gave one last gentle laugh before falling asleep. Clockwork wasn’t sure when he followed suit.

Clockwork woke up a few hours later. He quickly realized that he was alone in his bed.

However, when he looked across the room, he found Wetwork near the pool lying on the cold marble, soaking wet, and much more alarming to Clockwork, with what seemed to be the collection of the mini-bar in the back of the room next to drained of all contents.

After making sure that Wetwork was still alive, though she was almost unable to walk, Clockwork gathered his things and began the task of lifting a moderately sized, drunken pony out of a room and getting home. Luckily, there were plenty of wagons and small carriages outside for ponies who needed quick lifts, and while he did get several strange looks from passersby who saw that the mare next to him was out cold, such was the night life of Canterlot and none bothered him about it.

The trip to the small grey building that was the entrance to their current residence and workplace was short but memorable, considering that it was the first, and possibly only time where Clockwork was seated next to a drunken, half-awake mare on a public transportation unit who tried to have sex with him.

It wasn’t much longer before the scientists stood in front of a large metallic shack. Well, one was leaning on the other, both ponies knowing that an elevator awaited them.

“Thanks for. . . taking me out tonight,” Wetwork mumbled, still a little out of it.

“Hey, you made the offer.” the pegasus at her side chuckled. “I only accepted.”

“I’m glad that you did.”

Clockwork would’ve responded had it not been for the gentle hum of the elevator grabbing his attention instead. As the door swung open, he turned back to Wetwork, only to feel her lips press against his nose. It lasted no longer than a second or two, but it was more than enough to render the pegasus near-catatonic as he helped the mare into the elevator, and later to the infirmary.

The stallion smiled in a half-daze, legs prepared to give out, as he descended back down into the depths of the caves. Maybe now he could finally tell Moppet he had made a new friend.

The week afterwards, Clockwork hadn’t gotten the chance for more time with Wetwork even if he had the spare time to do so. Taffy was currently going nuts over a new shipment of something as Clockwork toiled away on another prototype artificial wing.

“Ooh! Mithril?! Seriously?! I can’t believe we actually got that much to work with!” Saltwater Taffy bounced up and down as she looked over the new supplies they were allotted for the week.

Clockwork looked up from where he was working at the moment. “Myth-real?”

Taffy broke from her joyous inspection of wooden crate to lock eyes with her pegasus co-worker for a moment or two. “Not myth-real, silly. Mithril! You mean to tell me that a genius of your caliber doesn’t know what this stuff is?”

Clockwork shrugged. “I don’t consider myself to be a gen-”

“Whatever!” Taffy interjected. “It’s super strong, super light, and super cool!” The mare pried the lid off of the container and peered inside, grinning from ear to ear. Clockwork trotted over to her side and looked over the crate’s contents as well. The metal inside didn’t seem to fit the bouncing scientist’s description at all. It seemed like regular iron with hints of steel mixed in for good measure. He shrugged before lifting one of the sheets out. He immediately recoiled at the material’s lightness, causing the sheet to be flung across the room and violently come to a halt in a pile of spare parts that promptly collapsed.

Clockwork hurried over to the sheet of metal and frantically dug it out. He laid it under a desk light, inspecting it for dents, scratches, or nicks. Much to his shock, there was no damage whatsoever. When he went back to inspect a few of the spare parts, he found them completely deformed.

“Super durable, remember?” Taffy reminded her partner. “The only thing that can damage the stuff is a direct hit from an airship cannon projectile!"

The pegasus spun around and looked his teammate dead in the eye. “Where did we get this stuff?”

“Somepony high up in the chain of command put in a special order for this stuff, direct from Stalliongrad!”

“How difficult is it to manufacture? How expensive?”

Taffy scratched at her mane for a second. “Umm. . . I’m not too sure of the specifics, but all I know for sure is that it takes time to prepare, and it ain’t cheap. I think they mine it, actually. Something about a underground city called Mareia. I hear the chamber they mine this stuff from is really big and really deep. Dunno why they can’t get pegasi to do it. ”

“Dammit.” Clockwork slammed his hoof into the sheet currently in front of him, ignoring the pony’s quip about their species. “So which other projects got this stuff? How much?”

“Can’t remember off the top of my head, but this stuff is pretty exclusive. Just us and some ponies testing its use in airship hulls over in D Wing.”

Clockwork inspected the metal once more before turning to rummage through a drawer for something. “Care to give me a little while alone? I think I have an idea.”

“Sure! Just don’t go crazy again!”

With that, the mare skipped out the door to whereabouts unknown. Clockwork found the schematic he was looking for, rolled it out onto the floor, and began to work.

“Clockwork? You’re not usually this late for project meetings unless you’re-”

“On the verge of a breakthrough?!” The pegasus interrupted. He took a gulp from a nearby glass of water. “Sorry. I’m just really excited over this new stuff I got earlier today. It’s called Mithril and if I can just figure out which spots on the artificial wing work best with the metal, I could create a prosthetic that might actually work for once! Actual flight instead of just dead weight! Can you imagine it?!”

“Are you alright?” Haywire was both concerned and scared as she noticed the look in her friend’s eyes.

“I’m better than alright! I’m great! I’m wonderful! I’m fantastic!”

“Using this metal for the artificial wing would make it far too expensive to mass produce for wounded soldiers.”

“I know. If I can just figure out the best places to use the metal selectively, I could revolutionize this realm of science! Better yet, the prosthetic could be interchangeable for both military and civilian use! Heheh. . . if only I could just-”

Haywire rushed to catch the pegasus as he briefly lost consciousness. “When was the last time you ate?”

The stallion returned to the world of the awake. “Ate?”

Haywire sighed as she began dragging Clockwork out of the room. “You need to sleep, eat, and-”

Clockwork struggled weakly. “I’m on the verge of a breakthrough! Now is the absolute worst time to stop!”

“You need to take a break!”

Without warning, Clockwork wrenched himself from the mare’s grasp and stood ramrod stiff. Memories suddenly flooded his mind. Through all of them though, a single word shone brightest.

Home.

“I want to go home.” Clockwork repeated the phrase as he was hauled into the infirmary. He didn’t notice the elderly nurse measuring different aspects of his health and such, nor the questions she asked him. It was only when the mare slapped him lightly across the muzzle that he returned to the current world.

“Severe sleep deprivation, mild malnourishment, no signs of self-harm though. Mental stress is evident enough.” she listed the pegasus’ symptoms with a practiced grace.

Clockwork laughed under his breath as he hung his head. “What the hay is wrong with me, doc?”

“The most basic description is two words, really. You’re homesick. Do you have a home to head back to? Family? Friends?”

The pegasus nodded. “Ponyville.”

“I see. Haywire, could you retrieve a copy of the next dozen airship and locomotive departures to Ponyville?”

“What?” Clockwork looked up as Haywire hurried out of the room. “R&D doesn’t permit extended leave out of Canterlot, even if it is to treat a medical condition!”

“Actually, it does.” the nurse retrieved a small but thick book. She flipped it open to a certain page and gave the item to the pegasus. “Article eighty-seven, section sixteen.”

Clockwork scanned the page. If any active member of the Research and Development branch of the Equestrian Armed Forces is deemed temporarily unfit to perform necessary tasks, they are allowed access to extended leave in order to recover.

“Hah. I know more than a few ponies around here that need this more than I do.” Clockwork gave the little book back to its owner. “How long do I need to be out for?”

“I’d say two weeks tops.”

Clockwork nodded. “Fourteen days of rest and relaxation? Sounds too good to be true.”

“Trust me, you’ve earned it.” Haywire returned with several sheets of paper in her grasp. “The earliest train to Ponyville leaves just after breakfast.”

“Then that’s the one you’ll be taking. Sound good?”

Clockwork laughed under his breath. “Sounds great.”

The Emperor's eyes opened. Behind the platinum mask that adorned his head, his eyes glowed with the combined fires of a hundred lifetimes. Experience, anticipation, and calm fury present all at once. He looked to his left and placed an armored talon on a button connected to a small radio nearby.

"Warfather," the Emperor spoke. Despite his relatively quiet tone of voice, the single word echoed into the deepest reaches of the castle he called home. “Respond.”

“My Lord.” the warrior on the other end responded.

“How were the most recent bout of negotiations?”

A sigh was clearly detectable from the other end. “Laughable. The Federation has promised us a large section of land to the south of the Spine. The Consortium’s scientists have already been there and have tested the soil. We could grow nothing but the most hardy vegetation. There is very little vegetation there as well.”

“What about the other nations?”

“Thunderhooves is still as stubborn as before, Mfalme is still silent but no less hostile. The dogs are still clawing at our legs to signify their undying support. The royal sisters are becoming more suspicious of us with every passing day.”

“Hmm. . .” the Griffon Emperor interwove his talons and rested his beak on the combined fists. He closed his eyes, determined the best course of action, and opened his eyes once more.”

“Orders, my lord?”

“Call for a peace conference. Ready the seventh and tenth legions.”

“As you wish.”

Both griffons ended the transmission with a single phrase, uttered ever since their species had been gifted with the ability to speak.

Imperii gloria, gloria Carniferous.

Author's Notes:

My Co-Author/Editor Pokonic specifically requested that I tell you all that he wrote 90% of the club scene. I say 90% because I have edited it slightly (perhaps more than he wanted). He wanted to know your reaction towards it. Oh, and P? Sorry again for having to put up with my shit.

Reunion

Clockwork couldn’t believe it. Despite him being on a train bound for home and his luggage at his side, the pegasus just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was heading back to Ponyville. Home, he was going home for the first time in almost a year. It felt like it was all too good to be true, like a medically induced dream. Wasn’t he supposed to fill out paperwork or something?

The stallion’s thoughts were brought back to the present as the conductor shouted that familiar All Aboard! Clockwork laughed, it sounded like the same guy that had worked the train that brought him to Camp Currahoof.

At the subconscious mention of the military installation, Clockwork was swept back into a sea of old memories. Old training drills, arguments, push ups, the works. He wondered how Brass Hoof was doing these days, and about the fate of his other bunkmates, Smokestack and Charger especially.

His memories skipped backwards a bit, back to before he had even begun to consider the military, farther back than senior year. His mind floated off to his days helping ridiculous fantasies and quests for a cutie mark come true, all with the most beautiful mare in the world leading him. Every adventure was unique, each one a learning experience, all ended in failure except one or two. Even then she didn’t get her cutie mark, ah well, she got it in time. Pity he wasn’t there to see it.

Where was she now? That vibrant yellow mare with a mane of fire, sapphire eyes and gloves of lightning? Manehatten? Trottingham? Maybe even Tauronto? Eh, it didn’t matter too much; he’d see her again soon, he hoped.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you okay?”

Clockwork looked up and around, ears flickering for the source of the voice. It was much closer than he originally believed, as he ended up bumping his nose against a concessions cart with much more force than he wanted.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, I’ve always hated how big these things are.” Clockwork’s bleeding nose was met with a soft tissue as the female voice continued on. “They’re not even half full at all times, can you believe it?”

Clockwork nodded, his eyes and ears finally being able to trace the source of the voice. It was just one of those locomotive attendants. No discernable features, as they were all covered by either her copious amounts of makeup or her ridiculous uniform. “I probably can. What do you have to drink?”

The attendant waved a hoof in the air. “Just the regular sodas and such.”

“I’ll just have water.”

In seconds, Clockwork had his drink and the attendant was gone. The pegasus looked around one last time and laughed under his breath. He had never seen a train car this empty before. It was a welcome feeling of semi-privacy, and it lasted the entire ride home. However, something didn’t feel right. His stress from a year’s worth of work was bleeding off at a remarkable speed; the morning sunrise colored the sky a soft gold, and the train’s heavy yet steady engine all combined to create an almost nursery-like atmosphere. Yet, the scant few ponies who also occupied the same train cart as Clockwork bore no smiles, no friendly attitudes as stranger passed by stranger.

Everypony was keeping to themselves, and Clockwork had no idea why. “Attendant?” the pegasus asked in the faint hope that the mare hadn’t left the cart just yet.

“Hmm?” the mare poked her head around the corner. It only occurred to Clockwork now that the earth pony’s voice was laden with forced cheer.

“I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but the behavior of the other occupants of this train car is a little. . . off.” Clockwork tried his best not to sound offensive, but he couldn’t help that he had failed in his task.

The attendant sighed. “I’ll see if I can find a fresh newspaper. That’ll clear things up.”

Clockwork nodded, and the attendant left with haste. However, she never returned. Not when Clockwork fell asleep, not when the train arrived in Ponyville, and not when the pegasus disembarked.

For a moment, Clockwork felt legitimately confused as he stepped back into his hometown. Nopony was there to greet him, then again there was next to nopony at the station at all. It wasn’t even past ten in the morning. As the stallion checked to make sure he still had all of his luggage and ticket for the ride back to Canterlot, he was reminded of the fact that he had failed to notify anypony of his arrival. He wanted this to be a surprise return, and so far everything seemed to be going according to plan.

As the pegasus trotted along familiar paths through the city, he came to realize how little the city had changed in his time away from home. All of the skyscrapers were still there, all of the light smog and cobblestone roads and fruit stands and such. Yet, there were a few key differences. Nopony seemed to be in a good mood. Then again, it was still in the morning on a weekend, anypony up this early had a right to be grumpy. Still, none of the vendors shouted out the prices and quality of their products, citizens who bumped into each other bickered for a moment before heading their separate ways instead of apologizing and chatting for a few minutes. There were considerably more guards than normal, and even a few anti-aircraft emplacements! Much to Clockwork’s annoyance, there were no newspaper stands in sight. What the hay was going on?!

The stallion took several deep breaths and let his mind drift off to focus on other things. He continued on his way, making sure not to lose his pace. Every so often, he got a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. He wondered how the Lost Foals were doing now, and what Quick Fix was making for breakfast. He smirked, he would find out soon enough.

It wasn’t much longer before Clockwork stood at the entrance to a very familiar structure. It looked almost unchanged, sans a fresh coat of paint and polished brass piping. After taking a deep breath, he knocked thrice on the immense redwood door.

It was almost a full minute before the sound of undoing locks filled the air. Clockwork was confused, as it was only during the air-raid drills that his family would need to use those locks. However, said confusion faded as the pegasus locked eyes with the individual who opened the door. He was an older-looking stallion. A cream coat much darker than his own, chocolate brown eyes, a a mane and tail that were beginning to gray. The earth pony’s name was Gearbox, and he was Clockwork’s father.

“Hey Dad,” the pegasus began. “How’s the water heater running?” Much to his surprise, Clockwork was not swept up in the customary bear hug that his father gave. Rather, the earth pony feebly wrapped his forelegs around his son and pulled him close. Clockwork felt tears land on his shoulder.

“It’s working just fine, son,” Gearbox finally answered.

Clockwork returned his father’s gesture. “Is something wrong?”

If Gearbox answered his son’s question, the pegasus couldn’t hear him. He was too preoccupied trying to breath as his mother appeared, rushed forward, and nearly toppled him over in a hug of her own.

“You’re back.” was all Clockwork could make out between Quick Fix’s sobs. Sheesh, he didn’t think his parents missed him this much. “Yeah, it’s been a while, mom.”

It took some prying, but Quick Fix eventually managed to stand at Gearbox’s side as she let her son finally enter the house. Clockwork smiled as he took in the familiar morning scent of pancakes and strawberries. He turned around for a moment. “Where should I drop my stuff?”

“In your room,” Gearbox sniffled.

“Thanks.” Clockwork nodded and made his way upstairs. Everything seemed a bit smaller now, cleaner, less wear and tear. He never could’ve imagined that a single year of no use would result in such a visual difference. The feeling was only reinforced as the pegasus entered his room, occupied by nopony for the past year. In truth, he was a little shocked at how much his room had changed in his year of absence. A few of the cabinets were gone now, the papers that would’ve been covering his floor had been stacked neatly on one corner of his now larger desk. His bed had been replaced by a larger version as well, though it looked almost exactly the same in every other way.

“I hope you don’t mind us altering a few things while you were away.” Quick Fix poked her head into the room. “We knew you might be bigger and need a little more space, so we upped everything a few sizes. Seeing you here now, I’m glad we did.”

Clockwork placed his duffel bag on his bed and moved to his closet. “What about clothing? Is the thing empty now?”

The unicorn shook her head. “We donated a few sets to the Lost Foals just as you had asked, we’ve replaced a few of your vests and such with the same brand and everything, just a size or two larger.”

Clockwork opened his closet and looked over its contents. He was surprised to find it roomier than when he had left it. He turned to his mother for a moment. “Mind if I get changed? I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Quick Fix nodded and shut the door, and Clockwork was left alone to his thoughts. The pegasus quickly changed from his Research and Development Greaves into a black vest, white undershirt, his burgundy bandanna (partly to hide his necklace from view), and-

Wow.

Clockwork stood awestruck for a moment. His goggles were resting in a new container at the back of the closet. It was made of some dark wood, lined with purple felt, and the goggles within had been polished to an immaculate gleam. After setting the eyewear firmly around his head, Clockwork quickly rinsed his face and hurried back downstairs. His parents sat at the dining room table like always, though their eyes hinted at their semi-shock to having their son home without so much as a warning.

“You look good as new,” Quick Fix chimed as her son sat down at his respective spot. There was already a fresh plate piled high with pancakes, strawberries, and a bit of whipped cream off to the side.

“Certainly feels like it.” Clockwork smiled, though he did not dig in. Instead he looked to his father.

Gearbox seemed confused at first, but got the point soon enough. He quickly downed a bite of his meal. “Even a year away from home has failed to dull your manners. Nor has it damaged your mother’s reputation as a fantastic chef!”

“Oh you liar you.” Quick Fix nibbled at her own food.. “We both know I’m terrible when it comes to making brunch.”

“Nonsense!”

Clockwork let his mind drift as his parents’ conversation melted into the background. It felt like he was back home again, before he even contemplated joining the military whatsoever. He was dressed like the semi-normal pony he was again, eating the same food, surrounded (sorta) by the same company. It was nice, really nice. The pegasus moved to take his first bite of-

Ding Dong

Huh, it had been a while since Clockwork had heard a doorbell ring. “I’ll get it.” he stood and hurried to the door. When he opened it, time stood still for just a moment.

“I could ‘ardly believe the scouts when they told me ‘bout yer arrival ‘ome.” the now 14 year old mule removed his hat, bowed, and placed the item back on his head. He then extended the same forehoof. “Tis good to have ye back, Clocky.”

“Likewise, buddy.” Clockwork took Moppet’s hoof and shook it firmly. “How’ve you been?”

“Is that Moppet?” Gearbox asked from the dining room.

“Tis!”

“Well come on in, then. You’re practically family now anyways!” the stallion said chipperly.

“Thank ye kindly, Mr. Box.” Moppet stepped inside and seated himself at the spare chair at the end of table. Clockwork followed suit, and the four equines ate together for the first time in a little over a year.

They ate in silence for a several minutes, nothing beyond the occasional quip about something escaped their mouths. It was only when Quick Fix finished her meal that she spoke first. “You’ve gotten taller, honey.”

“Me?” both Clockwork and Moppet asked.

The mare acknowledged both their increases in height, but focused on Clockwork.

The pegasus’ ears flickered at the remark. “Really?” he asked after swallowing his final bite. “I thought about the possibility, but I don’t think I grew more than an inch or two.”

“Well yev definitely changed, laddy,” Moppet interjected. “Yev gotten taller, leaner, y’even sprouted a coupl’a gray ‘airs!”

Clockwork excused himself for a moment and hurried to the nearest restroom. Moppet was right, both Clockwork’s mane & tail were sporting very thin but prominent silver streaks. He returned to the table laughing.

“Don’t worry too much about it, boy.” Gearbox comforted the pegasus. “While gray hair may be a sign of aging, it is also a sign of experience, wisdom, and effort!”

“Then why do you insist on getting yours dyed?” Quick FIx chided her husband, to which the earth pony let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Well gray doesn’t look good on everypony!”

The unicorn giggled before turning back to her son. “So what’s it like up in Research and Development? I mean, are you even allowed to talk about what’s underneath Canterlot?”

Clockwork shook his head. “I can’t say specifically what we’re working on, but I can tell you about some other stuff. It’s not as nice as you would think. They keep it permanently set at a specific temperature. If you find it too cold, you just have to get more blankets. To be honest, they have the consistency of tissue paper! I don’t mind though. It’s offset by the stuff I get to work on and the people I get to work with.”

“Ohoho!” Moppet punched his friend in the shoulder. “Ye mean to tell me that yev made some friends?”

Again, Clockwork nodded. “Three, in fact.”

Moppet burst out laughing. “Good onya, mate!”

“What are your coworkers like, son?” Gearbox asked.

“To be honest, most of them seem interested solely in their work. Others aren’t interested enough, and then there are a few good people. Luckily, I was assigned to work with three of the final category. I can’t give any names, but I’m working with two on one project and then another on my preferred.” Clockwork shot a sideways glance to his friend. “It’s weird being the only guy sometimes.”

All three equines appeared both surprised and joyous at the seemingly harmless news. “Well, looks like my friend is startin’ an ‘arem of ‘is own like a Saddle prince!” Moppet punched his friend a bit harder this time. While Quick Fix objected to Moppet’s remark, she turned her attention to her husband, who was laughing gently.

After a few more seconds of laughter, Moppet managed to regain his composure long enough to ask a question. “Eheheh. . . if it’s alright with you, Mr. Box and Mrs. Fix. I’d like to take Clockwork out to meet up with some old friends. Would that be alright?”

Gearbox shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Just please be careful.” Quick Fix added.

Clockwork froze when he heard the tone of the unicorn’s voice. There was no happiness, no motherly concern, only true and unbridled fear. He was suddenly reminded of the tension of the outside world. “Dad, got the paper?”

Gearbox hurried into the living room and returned holding a stack of newspapers in his mouth. He gave them to his son without a moment’s hesitation. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

Clockwork didn't respond as he read the headline.

Empire & Consortium call for peace! Tension at its highest!

Clockwork almost reeled back after he reread the title of the main story. “How in the name of the royal sisters did I not know about this before now?”

Gearbox shook his head. “I don’t know, but what is known is as follows. Ambassador Bellum called for actual peace talks late last night. He even used the word ‘peace’.”

Clockwork slammed his hoof into the table. “But we’re not at war!”

Quick Fix sighed. “We know that, dear, but that’s not concerning everypony. What we don’t know is why the Eternal High Queen of Prance is joining.”

If Moppet was drinking something, he most likely would’ve spat it out. “What’s the leader of the deer doin’ up in Canterlot? I may not know much ‘bout politics but what the hay is the ‘Eternal ‘igh Queen’ doin’ at a peace council that ‘as nothin’ to do with ‘er soil? I thought the Prench just gave out fancy cheese and wine?”

“We don’t know that, either,” Gearbox explained. “Tensions are high and everypony is trying to stay low until the council talks end. No one seems to really care beyond that.”

“Thanks for the information.” Clockwork hugged his parents again. “We’ll be careful, I promise.”

With that, the duo left the house. It wasn’t much longer before they had begun to chat. Just like old times.

“Tell you what; if the Lost Foals are up for it, I can set up a night quest.”

Moppet’s brow raised, and the fear in his eyes disappeared for a moment. “Scavenger hunt or capture the flag?”

“You already know the answer.”

Moppet grinned. “They’ll definitely be up for it.”

Clockwork nodded. “How've they been? A lot can change in a year.”

Moppet shrugged. “A lot ‘asn’t, really. We got two new members early last month, twin unicorn sisters. They’ve been treated just as well as the rest of us. We even added a new room to give everypony a little more space. We’ve got enough food and water to go around, and the generator’s workin’ fine. Thanks for sending instructions on ‘ow to repair it, by the way.”

Clockwork stopped for a moment to raise his forehoof. “It was no trouble at all.”

The duo gradually fell silent, neither equine knowing exactly why as their journey slowed its pace. After a while longer, Moppet came to a halt and turned to look Clockwork dead in the eye. “Yer worried about what’s ‘appenin’ in Canterlot right now, aren’t ye?”

The pegasus eyed his friend. “You aren’t?”

Moppet sighed. “The ‘ole kingdom’s bunkerin’ down over suspicion. I don’t see any airships raining balefire on our doorstep, and it would take days for a sole griffon dreadnought to get this far into our territory. I mean, ‘ave you seen the size of a griffon airship? It’s practically a little floating city!”

Clockwork nodded along, but he could easily detect the fear in his companion’s voice. It was almost alien coming from him.

“Everypony’s expecting the worst, while I’m hoping for the best!” the mule gave a his trademark smirk. “Anyway, ‘tis best that we focus on getting-”

KRAK-KOOOOOM!

“DOWN!” Clockwork’s training suddenly kicked in. He grabbed Moppet by the mane and brought his body to the floor. They both hugged the soil until the earth-shattering explosions had passed.

“What in the name of Luna’s flank was that?!” Moppet screamed.

Printed Word, the council’s official scribe, had been working furiously to take down absolutely everything uttered by the members of the peace council. Unfortunately, he had already gone through six scrolls, four quills, and at least a dozen wells of ink.

Taking advantage of a lull in the debates, Printed Word glanced about at the gathered entities in the room and was immediately reminded that he was very much out of his league. To be exact, he was seated next to Princess Celestia, who was in turn seated on the throne just to the side of Princess Luna. Even though Printed had worked alongside them for several years, their presence still felt dizzying. Shaking his head, the unicorn looked to each of the other national leaders.

On the left-ish side of the massive circular marble table were several individuals of note whom he knew were the Federation’s strongest supporters. Mfalme, Patriarch of the United Zebra Clans, was a tall and stout figure who expertly wielded both a soothing voice and a commanding presence. He was known amongst the circles of Canterlot to be a strict traditionalist regarding who and what the zebra’s dealt with, and while it was true he had allied with several of the more savage clans before his ascension to patriarchy, he only had his people’s best interests at heart.

To Mfalme’s right sat what would be considered his wife in Equestrian terms. While Printed Word wasn’t aware of the exact status female zebras held in their culture, he knew that she was just as influential as her “husband,” if not more so. As it was, Zecora was a very intelligent individual who happened to know the Elements of Harmony, and even had a dwelling in Ponyville itself. All in all, she was both a shaman and a diplomat rolled into a rather fetching package.

To the zebras’ left sat two gargantuan bison. Printed Word almost snickered when he remembered the look on Chief Thunderhooves’ face when his first chair had collapsed underneath him as well as when he needed to request a larger chair to support him, the end result being that he was sitting on a stone throne that was made for a small dragon. The Chief of the Bison Tribes was an immense figure, and even with his fur starting to grey, his voice was still deep, commanding, and exuded an aura of power. Beside him however, sat a smaller though similar figure; one that was different enough from her father to make Printed Word pause.

Strongheart was an interesting individual to find in Canterlot. Recently, there had been some amount of buffalo immigration into Federation territory, either for jobs suited to their strength or to gain a more formal education. However, the young bison did not seem to be like much of her kin, in that while it was true she was somewhat leaner and less bulky than most of her kind, having defined leg muscles without her calves overtaking them in shape, her eyes possessed a sort of gleam that Printed Word knew quite well from his days working alongside nobility. It was the gleam of one who was carefully observing everything she saw and cataloging it for later. Of course she seemed hot headed, but she was clearly far more collected than she let on. Printed Word believed she would make for a far more political figure than her father, much more cunning as well.

Speaking of cunning, Printed Word now looked to the right-ish side of the table to take note of the individuals that he had seen on only two occasions prior. High Chairman Greystone was a tall, thin diamond dog who, while mostly skin, bones and lean muscle, looked like he could hold more than his own in a fight. He was adorned in a deep violet jacket studded with several dozen gems of all sorts. Despite the cologne he was wearing, he positively reeked of political manipulation. Under that well-built frame of his was a mind that was both devious and exceptionally intelligent. His bodyguards were an interesting sight as well, one was squat, beige, and had eyes that shone with determination, the second was tall and grey with large arms, while the final was a blue behemoth of a diamond dog. All three wore matching grey vests, large sapphires embedded in their clothing directly over where their heart would be.

Beside Greystone was a figure that seemed like a mixture between warrior, politician and, if Word's tastes be brought to light, a male griffon supermodel. Despite his unique exterior, composed of black feathers, off-white head feathers, and golden-brown claws that were all covered to some extent by golden and red armor that seemed more like an art piece than actual protection, Ambassador Bellum seemed to be a rather simple individual from what he had learned of him. He had been in Canterlot enough times that she didn’t seem to be too worried about the topic at hand. He maintained a look of stoic attention across his beak, but Printed Word couldn’t help but feel that the griffon was waiting for something.

To each side of Bellum was a bodyguard as unique as him. To his left was a griffon somewhat smaller than him, though no less impressive in appearance. She looked much like a female version of Bellum, though the tips of her highest headfeathers were dipped dyed a pale violet and her eyes were colored a bright gold rather than emerald. She wore an armor unlike anything Printed Word had seen before. It looked like she was wearing some sort of golden chain/plate mail hybrid, the heaviest armor, colored red, covered only her left shoulder and chest. To say she seemed bored with the council talks would’ve been the understatement of the decade.

The character to Ambassador Bellum’s right was much more exotic in appearance. He, at least Word presumed the guard was a he, wore a red cloak that covered almost the entirety of his form. Even his species was an unknown, though he could only be either a diamond dog or another griffon given his low-slung posture. The only visible parts of him were a pair of golden gauntlets that covered the entirety of his large claws or paws. They seemed harmless enough, but Printed Word had come to learn that the Griffon Empire could use just about anything as a weapon, those strange claw/paw-gloves included.

The scribe turned to the final figure in the room who was sitting at the far end of the table. To be perfectly honest, it was she who made Word the most uneasy,

Printed Word knew what a deer was, he enjoyed his wines and cheeses as much as any unicorn worth his salt. However, the “Eternal High Queen” of the deer, as well as their respective nation, made the scribe’s head hurt a little. She was magnificent to look at, coming close to his own Princesses appearance. She was slightly shorter than Celestia, with what seemed to be the same basic body type all the seemingly divine royalty tended to have; her figure was slim overall and her cream brown coat gleamed in the evening sun.

Yet, her eyes were rimmed with the most curious shade of orange eyeshadow that, while fetching, framed her own orange eyes rather oddly. The fact that she was participating in talks that would have little impact on her nation made Word slightly confused. If going by the occasional odd look his majesties spared the doe, his curiosity was not unfounded. Supposedly, the doe at the other end of the table was an old friend of the sisters, but she seemed to be very detached at the moment, not wishing to strike up a conversation or anything similar to one.

Printed Word’s musings were brought to a sudden end as Thunderhooves slammed one of his massive forehooves into the marble table. He could’ve sworn he saw a tiny crack appear, but he was far too occupied with writing.

“How dare you continue to demand territory from my allies! We have provided you with mile upon mile of fertile land beyond your already unnecessarily large borders! I have yet to see one shred of proof that your population is so large that you must expand outwards to prevent a societal collapse!”

“Thunderhooves. Please, that is enough.” Celestia raised her voice only a few decibels, but it was far more than enough to silence the massive creature. The princess turned to look towards Ambassador Bellum, the individual who had made the request for more land. “Despite Thunderhooves’ unnecessary shouting, my ally does have a fair point. Why must we continue to provide you with land that you do not seem to be using?”

“Though grateful my allies and I are for your generosity, the land you have given unto us is actually quite incapable of growing anything. There is very little vegetation already present, and attempts to grow even the hardiest of our foodstuffs there have been met with little success.” Greystone explained. “To be quite frank, your majesty, you have provided us with nothing but no mare’s land.”

“Her majesty’s question was not addressed to you, dog.” Mfalme interjected. While his voice was calm and collected, it was finely laced with venom. Printed Word was reminded that, despite the fact that two entire nations stood between them, the Diamond Dog Consortium and United Zebra Clans maintained perhaps the most violent relationship of all the nations in the peace council.

“Nor was my response addressed to you, striped one.” Greystone’s response was calm as well but much more hateful. Had Mfalme not felt the gentle touch of his wife’s foreleg on his, it is quite likely he would’ve harpooned the diamond dog leader with his ceremonial spear without so much as a second thought.

“Let us disregard petty rivalries for a few precious moments.” Ambassador Bellum’s voice echoed through the room like an orchestra through a concert hall. “Your majesties, I must digress from the current subject. On behalf of both the Diamond Dog Consortium and the Griffon Empire, Greystone and I have a proposition that could quite likely end several of the problems facing our respective nations. I regret to inform you though that neither you nor your allies will find the idea favorable.”

“And what is this ‘proposition’ of yours, Ambassador?” Princess Luna asked.

“You must grant us custody the statue of the Draconequus.”

A tense silence fell upon the room that was only broken when Printed Word’s quill snapped. He rushed out of the room to acquire a new one. When the door had swung shut, Princess Luna was the first to respond.

“Absolutely not!” the alicorn’s voice seemed to shake the room to its very foundations. Before she could bring the full brunt of the Royal Canterlot Voice to bear though, she was hushed by her eldest sister.

“Ambassador Bellum, I will make it very clear why we cannot allow that,” Celestia began. “Both of our nation’s fought a war to dethrone that monster. Do you remember the suffering he inflicted upon our fledgling kingdoms?”

Ambassador Bellum nodded. “While I was not there to experience it, I have a very clear idea of the strife our nations endured during that war. I am also familiar with the incident in which Discord escaped from his stone prison not five years ago. Do you remember the pain he unleashed on every nation at this table?”

“Prance is an ocean away! Unaffected whatsoever!” Thunderhooves shouted.

Ninn-Aras, the Eternal High Queen, brought a hoof to her mouth as if to stifle a dainty laugh.

Bellum waved a claw in the air. “That is true, forgive my slip of tongue. However, if I remember correctly, yours was the nation least affected, something involving ballerinas and what not. Am I correct in that statement, Thunderhooves?”

The only thing that kept Chief Thunderhooves from charging the griffon was Princess Luna speaking once more. “It matters not how little they felt of Discord’s wrath. What matters is that we have all felt it and there is no guarantee whatsoever that you or your allies can contain him!”

“Bellum, what could you possibly achieve by having joint custody of Discord?” Celestia asked.

“My top scientists believe that we can harness the Draconequus’ power and repurpose it for several different beneficiary causes,” Greystone explained. “Just a few possibilities include a new source of power, possible advances in medicine, maybe even the way we look at our world!”

There was another long pause, broken only by a sigh from Celestia as she shook her head. “I am sorry, High Chairman Greystone, Ambassador Bellum. I believe that I speak for all of us when I say that attempting to harness Discord’s power would do far more harm than good. We cannot allow you to take custody of Discord, not until we are absolutely certain that you can contain him.”

Both Greystone and Bellum began to voice their acceptance and apologies, but they were quickly drowned out by a harsh scream. Everyone in the room turned to look towards the source and found the Eternal High Queen twitching furiously.

“I am SICK and TIRED of you filthy ponies keeping my people away from WHAT WE NEED to survive!”

No one moved, no one reacted, it seemed like no one even breathed as the Eternal High Queen stood and continued to shout directly at the royal sisters. The doe’s voice began to reverberate, sounding as though three or four voices were speaking at once.

“You failed to defeat my own mother when she invaded years ago, and she was WEAK! She fed off love of all things, too! Defeated by junk food! However, I am not my mother!”

In an instant, the Eternal High Queen became engulfed in a massive pillar of orange flame. After what felt like an eternity of both immense heat and deafening screams, a new creature emerged as the fire suddenly vanished. Princess Celestia immediately recognized a changeling queen, but this was not the one she had fought years earlier. No, this one’s body was as black as night, her eyes, mane, tail and wings were as orange as the fire that had blanketed her moments earlier. There were no holes anywhere on her body, and her teeth seemed to be solely fangs, each as white as the purest marble and very large.

“I am Empress Carapace, queen of the true changeling hive!”

Printed Word rushed inside the room, eyes filled with concern. “Is everything alright? I heard screaming and. . . oh goodness. . .”

Printed Word’s pupils widened when he realized that, where a beautiful doe had been few moments ago, a monster from the deepest pits of Tartarus had replaced her.

KRAK-KOOOOOM!

All at once, there was an earth-shattering explosion as the room felt like it was turned upside down and quickly reinverted. Every window in the room, stained-glass and all, shattered in an instant. It was only seconds later that everypony had their respective weapons at the ready. Mflame and Zecora had their spears pointed at Greystone, and The High Chairman had one paw raised at Malme, a massive emerald embedded in his palm. His guards were already aiming several large pistols at Zecora’s forehead. Chief Thunderhooves was not three feet away from the tip of Ambassador Bellum’s sword, while his daughter was ready to charge Bellum’s guards. Princesses Celestia and Luna were readying a simple spell teleportation spell used to send things into the core of the sun, both horns aimed at Carapace.

“Tell us, Bellum. How long have you waited for the chance to take our lives?!” Thunderhooves roared.

“First, you are to address me as Warfather from now until the moment I end you life and beyond. Second, this is not how it was supposed to happen at all. Third, if you wish to live, back away.”

“Greystone, what is the meaning of this?!” Strongheart asked, giving the tall dog a baleful look. ”I thought you had your people’s best interests at heart! This is madness! The griffon’s will use you and then abandon you the moment they no longer view you as an asset!”

Greystone gave the smaller buffalo a thoughtful, almost kind look. “The Empire and Consortium have been allies for centuries, and that is not about to change. I suggest you take a good look around for it is not the Federation that holds power in this room.”

“How dare you speak to her in such a way, inbred mutt!” Mfalme retorted.

“SILENCE!”

In the blink of Printed Word’s eyes, Carapace somehow had pinned Mfalme to the floor, impaled under her left foreleg. Despite the zebra’s valiant efforts to get up and fight back, the Patriarch collapsed as red liquid began to pool rapidly around him. As Zecora screamed something in her native language, Carapace detached her leg from her body as a branch would snap from a tree, dry and bloodless. After struggling for a moment to regain her balance on three legs, she screamed once more. “Meet our demands immediately or I shall grant you all much slower death than any of you can imagine!”

Something in Printed Word forced him to try to hear what words the zebra king spoke with his final breath. Even if he had though, the unicorn could not have heard them over the sound of his own screams.

In an instant, not only had Chief Thunderhooves launched Greystone into the table and slammed his guards into the floor, but he had made a massive leaping charge and successfully pinned Carapace to a nearby pillar. The massive warrior was in the process of slowly squishing her as a sadist would do to a bug. “And if you do not meet our demands, I will grant you a long and tortuous death the likes of which can only be achieved by a buffalo!”

Carapace’s response was to laugh, even as her namesake slowly buckled under the buffalo’s weight. It was an eerie laugh, one that reverberated through every atom in the room and then some. The changeling suddenly dissolved into a thick black ash that engulfed the entire room, one that left a foul stench in the air for hours on end.

To Printed Word’s own personal horror, he was quickly approached by Ambassador Bellum himself.

“I am truly sorry. It was not supposed to happen like this.”

The unicorn managed to look to his princesses one last time before feeling a sharp pain overcome his neck, and then nothing.

Loss

Several plumes of thick, black smoke were rising from Canterlot. A massive airship, definitely a griffon dreadnought given the size and shape if its silhouette, continued to fire upon the marble city and didn't look like it would ever stop. As Clockwork squinted, he noticed several tiny objects heading for Ponyville.

“Get to cover!” the pegasus screamed to no one in particular. Without any conscious thought, he darted towards one of the city’s many towers and crouched behind it. He looked to see that Moppet was present, told him to cover his ears, and then did the same. It felt like eternity before he heard the rounds impact, each one feeling like a separate earthquake as each serrated metal wedge violently make contact with the earth.

After a full minute without any explosions, Clockwork and Moppet emerged from their hiding place to inspect the damage. One round had impacted several yards away, and while debris practically blanketed the area, what was most noticeable were the bodies. It felt like a mixture of surreality and terror. Many of the bodies were missing a limb, their intestines, their heads. Only a scant few were intact, though they had mostly likely died due to severe gashes or peppering from shrapnel. Blood was everywhere.

Clockwork went catatonic, his breathing turned ragged. At Camp Currahoof, the pegasus had seen detailed photos, videos, even practiced basic medicine on actual wounds (with the supervision of a qualified medic, of course), but he still couldn’t fathom that ponies could die so suddenly. Entire lives had been cut short in the blink of an eye; mothers and daughters, fathers, brothers and sons. Unique stories of innocent ponies had ended with a single, red page.

Clockwork collapsed to his knees and vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach to expel. He hoped the entrance to R&D was sealed off, if Haywire. . . or Wetwork. . .

The pegasus got up and shakily turned to his friend who was also motionless. After grasping his shoulders and a weak jostling, the mule came around.

“We’ve got to get back to my house.”

“What?!” Moppet asked. “We’ve got to make sure the Lost Foals are safe!”

“I don’t see any smoke rising from there, so I’m sure they’ll be fine for a little while longer. We’re closer to my house, I need to make sure my parents are safe, and from there we can get a better view of what’s going on!”

Moppet looked over his shoulder then back to the pegasus in front of him. “Fine!”

The duo took off without a second thought. Clockwork would’ve stayed to help, would’ve stayed to comfort the dying. If only he knew how. There were more than enough royal guards to treat them, or at least he hoped. The two equines made it back to the house in record time. Clockwork knocked furiously until he almost ended up hitting his father in the head.

“Dad! Are you hurt? Is Mom?!”

“We’re both fine, honey!” Quick Fix rushed forward, shoved her husband aside, and looked over the two equines before her. “What about you?”

“We’re alright.” Clockwork reassured his mother as he hurried inside, Moppet following close behind. “Is the house damaged at all?”

“Nothing we can’t replace.” Gearbox gestured towards several broken plates nearby. After the earth pony shut the door behind him, Clockwork objected.

“Why?”

“Because we’re goin’ back out!” Moppet said quickly.

“WHAT?!” both parents half-shrieked.

“The Lost Foals are still out there and we need to bring them to a safe place!” Clockwork explained.

“Absolutely not!” Quick Fix yelled, actually yelled, back. ”I’m not having my child and his friend run back out into the middle of a disaster zone! Aren’t the Foals holed up in a bunker underground?”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t get buried alive! Even with all the support beams we ‘ave in place! One building collapses and fwip! I’ll ‘ave thirty-two little corpses to find and give proper burials!”

As Moppet went on to argue with Clockwork’s parent’s, the pegasus began rummaging around the lower floor. When Quick Fix asked her son what he was looking for, his only response was a question of his own.

“Dad, where’s the safe?”

Gearbox sighed. “Under our bed, seventeen thirty-eight.”

“Thanks.” Clockwork disappeared into his parent’s bedroom, returning less than a minute later with a large, and fully loaded, revolver.

“No!” Quick Fix objected. “I’m not letting my son go outside until this has all blown over!

“War doesn’t blow over in a day!” Clockwork snapped.

Only after a tense silence did Gearbox sigh again and speak. “He does have a point, honey. If there’s anypony that can get the Foals to safety, it’s him and Moppet.”

“And I’ve never fired a gun in my life!” the mule added.

Quick Fix began to break down, managing to get out one last question. “Where will you take them?”

Clockwork shrugged. “Here. This place is essentially a fortress anyway.”

Gearbox looked grim. “It’s a better plan than any. Just please be careful, son. Don’t fire that thing unless absolutely necessary.”

“You got it. Get to the basement and stay there until you hear three knocks.”

After a nod from his father, Clockwork departed his home, followed closely by Moppet.

For once in his life though, he couldn’t remember a time when he was more scared. The hill on which his house was built certainly provided a vantage point, but said vantage point allowed him to see everything. Smoke and rubble were practically everywhere now, and several buildings had impressive chunks taken out of them. From this distance, the pegasus could make out tiny figures below, lying on their side and surrounded by red. There were no columns of smoke rising from the Industrial District, and that granted the pegasus a moment of relief. However, said relief vanished when he looked to the east.

Off in the distance, brightly lit by the now red light of the sun, were two moderately sized airships. They too were obviously griffon in allegiance and closing fast, but that wasn’t what really scared him.

Something was spilling out of both ships like a swarm of furious wasps. One word came to mind, and it seemed more terrifying now than it ever had been before.

Griffons.

Had Clockwork not vomited earlier, he would’ve done so now.

“Clocky?

“Yeah?”

“What in the name of Tartarus are we lookin' at?” Moppet asked, his voice trembling the entire time.

The pegasus ran through a mental list of documented griffon assault strategies. Let’s see, long distance artillery, no hits on major industrial hubs yet, heavy focus on living areas, and a moderately sized invasion force.

Clockwork’s eyes widened as he brought his bandanna up to his muzzle to block out the inevitable smoke he would have to run through, covering his eyes with his goggles moments later. “Looks like a textbook heavy raid. They’ll want to inflict as many casualties as possible in the time they’re here.”

Moppet removed his hat for a moment, muttered something, and placed the item back on his head. Clockwork felt his neck to make sure his fire ruby necklace was still there. The friends looked at each other, nodded, and galloped into the fray.

The situation was even worse up close. Dirt, shattered glass, chunks of metal and flesh were all too common in the now chaotic streets. Some ponies just stood there in a daze, others shouted in a panic for lost loved ones or an explanation as to what was going on. A few royal guards were present, trying desperately to maintain control and failing somewhat. Nopony seemed to notice Clockwork or Moppet as they continued to gallop through the thick brown haze that had been thrown up by the bombardment. The pegasus was glad that they didn't, as he realized only now that he looked like a bandit.

The chaos seemed to die down a little as the duo made their way farther and farther into the Industrial District. The air began to clear, replaced by the slight haze of the noon smog. Clockwork let Moppet take the lead, for he knew this part of the city far better than him. After several dozen twists, turns, three ladders and a jump from one roof to the next, they made it to their destination.

To the untrained eye, the secret entrance into Lost Foal Fortress seemed like nothing more than a pile of random trash. Clockwork was half-surprised to see that said pile of trash appeared almost unchanged since the last time he had seen it. Even the dumpster’s chipping paint looked the same as it did a year ago.

Moppet darted forward and looked about for something that obviously wasn’t there. He spun around for a moment and spoke. “Gavroche’s not at 'is post, neither are any of the other scouts. What’s worse, the emergency lever’s busted!”

Clockwork didn’t know how to react. Nothing like this had happened before. The attack, the death, the fear in Moppet’s eyes, it was all alien and all terrifying.

“Well don’t just stand there like a statue! Elp me move this thin'!” the mule shouted as he grabbed a nearby piece of scrap metal and jammed it into the nearly invisible seam that ran down the center of the trash receptacle. Clockwork grabbed his own makeshift crowbar and did the same.

It felt like forever before the seam became large enough to be recognized as a very slim black line. It was only after Moppet’s piece of scrap metal broke that he verbally exploded. “Faustdammit!” he shouted as he threw the broken thing aside. He slammed his hooves into the large container’s and futilely punched it.

Clockwork’s ears flickered as he heard something similar to marching not too far away. He couldn’t tell where the sound was coming, given the sound echoing off of the several dozen building, but the griffons were coming. He almost jumped when an idea entered his head. “Moppet, get behind something.”

“What?”

Clockwork withdrew his father’s revolver from inside his vest. “These hinges are the problem, and I see only one guaranteed way to break them. The rounds might ricochet, make sure to cover your ears.”

Without a word, the mule turned the corner of the building and did not reappear. Clockwork brought the hammer back, aimed the pistol barrel not three inches from one hinge, and fired.

The brass hinge shattered instantly, and it wasn’t much longer before the pegasus and his friend were putting all their might into pushing the massive blocks of metal aside. Clockwork considered giving up, and not moment later the dumpster fell in half.

“Ello? Lost Foals! Clocky and I are 'ere to get ye to safety!” Moppet shouted into the hole. “We’re coming down now!”

The mule descended first, followed soon after by his friend. Clockwork was shocked to find that the lights were out, even the backup emergency lights were flickering unsteadily. It didn’t help that they glowed blood red either. The only sound he could pick up was that of his and Moppet’s hooves on the packed dirt floor. He kept his weapon at the ready, though he was now down to only four rounds.

“Ello?” Moppet repeated, his voice echoing through the small cave system. “Lost Foals? Any of ye in ‘ere? Tis Moppet and Clockwork! Yer safe now!”

Again, no answer.

“Moppet, maybe they left or never made it?”

“They couldn’t ‘ave!” Moppet snapped. “The sole plan we ‘ad in place for something like this was to get inside and seal the entrance! So I see only two outcomes. One, they’re in ‘ere somewhere and too scared to speak, or two, they’ve all passed on to a better place. I think we both know which outcome I prefer.”

“Actually, we don’t,” a small voice echoed from somewhere nearby.

Moppet and Clockwork shared the effort in swinging open the slightly ajar, and surprisingly heavy doors to the mess hall. Upon further inspection, it was revealed that the doors had been barricaded by several of the room’s benches. However, this discovery was quickly overshadowed when it was found that the rest of the tables were now arranged near the far corner of the room. All thirty-two Lost Foals were there, every young filly and colt ready to unleash a barrage of makeshift projectiles on their intruders. Gavroche, who was at the front of the crowd, was the first to lower his weapon and rush forward to hug Moppet’s leg.

Clockwork’s ears twitched as he heard the marching from before, though it was much closer now. The sounds of bullets firing and metal clashing against metal were now present as well. “I hate to cut the reunions short but we need to leave now!”

“Who’s the bandit pony?” a unicorn filly asked.

Clockwork rolled his eyes. Called it.

“That there’s Clockwork, and 'e’s right.” Moppet gently nuzzled a few young ponies off his legs and exited the small crowd. He clambered onto the makeshift desk fortress and held his hat outwards. “I won’t lie to any of ye, my Lost Foals. War 'as finally reached our doorstep. As rude as it may sound, there’s next to Jenny we can do about it. The only thin' to do is run, but where to? Clocky?” the mule gestured to his friend.

The pegasus briefly removed his bandanna and goggles to give the Lost Foals a clear view of his face. “My house is heavily fortified and not too far away. When we all get inside it, we’ll be safe from the griffons until they leave!”

“Tis a sad day for us.” Moppet placed his hat over his heart. “We must leave what 'as been our 'ome for years in the pursuit of safety. 'Owever, we will not fall victim to the dumb birds now, will we?!”

The Lost Foals gave a collective “No.”

“I need ye all to be the bravest yev ever been. I need ye to run as fast as ye can and don’t look back until yer inside our new fortress! I must ask ye one last time, can ye do that?”

“Yeah!”

Moppet placed his hat firmly back on his head. “Then grab yer most favorite item an' 'ead to the surface!”

Clockwork had to admit, the thirty-two Lost Foals moved as a unit better than some of the teams he had trained with at Camp Currahoof. However, the pegasus’ memories couldn’t drift back to more peaceful times even if he wanted to. It wasn’t because of the light brown overcast, it wasn’t because of the blood-red sunlight or ponies screaming for mercy or missing family, and it certainly wasn’t because of the occasional bullet that grazed his body. No, it was because, through all of the chaos, Moppet continued to shout all thirty-two names, in order, and every Lost Foal continued to respond.

“Gavroche!”

“Aye!”

“Somnolent!”

“Here, sir!”

“Big gap coming up! Jump!” Clockwork interrupted.

After the ponies and mule had jumped from one roof to the next, Moppet continued to name his followers.

“Faible!”

“Still kickin’!”

“Chanter!”

“Yep!”

“I can see my house from here!” Clockwork shouted from the front of the line. “It’ll be easier to get there by ground from here! Take this fire escape down!”

The pegasus slid down the metal platforms first, made sure that every filly and colt was accounted for, then pointed towards his home. It was clearly visible in the distance. “The big house on top of that hill!”

“That’s not a house! That’s a bomb shelter!’ one colt shouted.

“Which is why we’ll be safe in there! Keep runnin’, don’t stop for anythin’!” Moppet shouted.

Clockwork took his place in front of the long chain of equines and went into a dead sprint. He even had to fire a few times to draw the attention off the younger ponies. It felt like more than just the actual few minutes before they arrived at the entrance to Clockwork’s house.

WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.

It felt like even longer before Gearbox came to the door and the Lost Foals rushed inside.

“Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two. . .” Clockwork counted out loud, the Foals were all accounted for, but somepony was-.

Oh no.

“Wait! Moppet! Where are you?!” he looked around in search of the mule, only to find him nowhere in sight. Did he trip and fall? Did he take a wrong turn? Did he. . . No! There’s no way he could’ve just-

“Dad!” the stallion looked towards his father. “Is there any spare ammunition for this thing?!” he waved the revolver away from them, though he made sure to keep it visible.

Gearbox shook his head. “I’ve never fired that thing in my life, son, you know that.”

Clockwork gritted his teeth, swore internally, and checked his remaining rounds. One left, he would have to make it count.

Clockwork ejected the spent casings and practically screamed above the turmoil. “Dad! Moppet’s still down there somewhere and I’m not leaving him behind!”

“Then go get him! I’ll stay by the door!”

Clockwork took off without a word, and wished for the slightest moment that he had gone inside. After all, Moppet could handle himself in even the worst of situations.

However, this was not just a situation. This was pure, unadulterated hell. The sheer number of hostile griffons was dizzying, or maybe that was the scent blood both freshly shed and otherwise. Bodies of both species lay motionless on the gradually moistening dirt. It gave Clockwork very slight relief that none of the corpses he had seen so far wore a familiar hat or jacket.

“Moppet! Where are you?!”

Clockwork had little faith that his friend had heard him. Given the proximity of his ears to clanging metal and the explosive propulsion of bullets, the pegasus could barely hear himself.

The guardsponies were putting up a valiant effort against their winged enemies, at range, they excelled as bloodied feathers exploded outwards from their dead griffon owners. However, if even a single griffon came too close, another equine body would hit the floor. Then another, and another, and another!

“Moppet!” Clockwork’s voice cracked as he continued to deftly gallop through the chaos. He could barely see where he was going now, as both tears and dirt clouded his goggle’s lenses. He waited for a lull in the sounds of war before removing his goggles to wipe them off, and it was only then that he saw himself.

Wait, himself?

THWUNK!

Clockwork felt something flat, hard, and slightly wet broadside him like a baseball bat. He felt his body go soaring through the air before-

WUMP!

SSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!

. . . Ow.

Clockwork’s vision flickered to black several times before his mind fully committed itself back to the current world (though he sincerely wished that it hadn’t). The pegasus found that he had skidded through the dirt and ended up in an area where the sights and sounds of war had died down just enough to no longer be deafening. The air had cleared significantly, though the red sunlight had yet to vanish. His revolver was no longer in his hoof, flung somewhere amongst the bodies and fighting. His bandanna was now down around his neck, covering his necklace once more, and his goggles were no longer on his head-

Clockwork suddenly felt a sharp pain in his. . . everywhere, really. He would've immediately placed a hoof to his head had it not been for the sheer number of griffons nearby. Any noticeable motion would've resulted in a quick death by slit throat. He felt a thin, warm stream course down his muzzle as he lay motionless. As he blinked away the blood, the stallion noticed a faint glimmer not too far away and saw the unmistakable silhouette of his goggles. . . just to the right of a griffon's paws. Suddenly, the griffon stood at attention. Clockwork turned his head just enough to see what the soldier was looking at, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

A large griffon stood at the center of a small circle of his smaller brethren, barking orders all the while.

“We’ve got heavy resistance from the west. Head there and mass at rally point bravo. Imperii gloria!”

“Gloria Carniferous!”

After the griffons had departed, the turmoil of war, the screams, the gunshots, it all seemed to quiet down despite it being right there. Clockwork felt like he was staring at death incarnate, and it was staring back in annoyance.

As the behemoth made its way ever closer to Clockwork’s body, the pegasus was able to get a horrifyingly clear view of the monster that had sent him flying minutes earlier.

It wasn’t a normal griffon though, or what Clockwork would consider normal. He was too thickly built for a flying creature, with muscles covering just about every inch of him. His body feathers were a deep brownish red, his head feathers a dark gold, and his claws a golden brown much like that of a freshly baked loaf of bred. The size and shape of the greatsword that the griffon carried over his shoulder only confirmed Clockwork’s fears. This was the guy that had swatted him like a moth.

Clockwork tried to move, tried to stand and fight, tried to run. He could only breath as the demon drew closer, and it was then that he noticed the griffon’s scant armor. All he seemed to be wearing was a deep red cloak with a single golden plate over each shoulder. Judging by the large silver talon pinned above his heart, the pegasus realized that, if he remembered correctly, this brute was the griffon equivalent of a commander.

Clockwork closed his eyes as he saw the beast raise his sword. For a moment, he swore that he could see Charger’s smiling face.

KRUNG!

Clockwork’s eyes shot back open as he watched the griffon before him remove his claws from his sword, now impaled in the dirt. The beast looked around, found Clockwork’s goggles and picked them up. He looked at the eyewear, then to the tiny shaking body before him. “These yours?”

Somehow, Clockwork managed to nod his head.

The griffon threw the goggles at the pegasus, causing them to land in the dirt mere inches from the stallion’s muzzle. The right lens had cracked in three and the left lens frame was severely misshapen. As Clockwork weakly placed them around his neck, he heard the griffon speak. “Get up.”

It took some major effort, but Clockwork managed to stand on shaking hooves. His vest had been torn just over his single wing, and the pegasus slipped the appendage through and folded it into his side. If he was going to die, best he die comfortable, relatively speaking anyway.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” the griffon let out an impressed whistle. “You’re the first pony, a smog breather at that, I’ve seen get up from that in a very long time. What’s your name, or should I just call you Cripplewing? Yeah, that has a nice ring to it,” the griffon mused in an impossibly dark voice, one dripping with sadism.

“You first,” the pegasus choked up. Why wasn’t he moving?!

“Axel Goldclaw, Commander of the Seventh Imperial Legion.” he answered in a way that made Clockwork nearly recoil at how casual the griffon was acting. Then again, going by the red stains on his feathers and sword, he wasn’t the first pony he had met today.

“Clockwork. Just. . . Clockwork”

“Well, Cripplewing, your life really has gone to shit now, hasn’t it? I’ll admit that I don’t like being here either, weather’s too muggy for me. So, I'll just off you now and we can both go our separate ways. I'll even do it quick this time.” laughing darkly, the beast withdrew his sword and raised it over his head. Clockwork noticed a faint glimmer not too far off, closed his eyes, and pushed himself as hard as he could into a roll. He felt some of his mane separate from the rest of it as he continued the desperate maneuver. After a few more rolls, the stallion got to his dizzy, bloodied hooves and found his body still in once piece. What’s more, he now had his revolver in hoof, and moments later pointed at Axel’s unarmored head.

The pegasus looked over his shoulder for a split second to ensure that no one was aiming at him, and all the bodies he saw were dead or very close to it. Good, now he could focus entirely on the beast in front of him. “Alright you sack of shit, I don’t care who you are or what your rank but nothing can keep me from putting a .44 magnum round through your damned skull and turning your already tiny brain to mulch!” Clockwork screamed, trying to sound as threatening as he could despite his voice cracking significantly on the last few words.

“Ouch.” Axel struck a pose as though he had been punched in the chest. “You little things really are adorable, thinking you can stop us.” he leaned forward, only to back up ever so slightly when he heard Clockwork pull back the revolver's hammer to full-cock. “Alright, I guess I feel a little sorry for you. So, I’m going to let you ask a question if you want, and I’ll answer it.”

“I want answers!” the pegasus squeaked. “Why invade Ponyville? Why now? Why focus on the population when you could’ve easily crippled our factories instead?!”

Axel’s voice took on an almost impossible baritone, as though he were reciting a speech he had rehearsed for days. “We’re going to take back every inch of what was rightfully ours when the abomination was dethroned. This pest control operation is only the first step. We attacked this pathetic excuse for a city to show the world that the Griffon Empire has not grown weak from a thousand years of false peace. We’ve attacked three population centers at the heart of your so called Federation without so much as a single hitch, and we will not stop until there is nothing left to kill. We shall use your bones as the foundation on which our empire will continue to prosper into eternity!”

CLACK!

Clockwork pulled the trigger, but no bullet left the weapon. No boom, no dead griffon.

Axel blinked, sword already primed to block the bullet, and let his grip slacken. He shrugged, laughed, and started to lift the blade once more.

The pegasus checked the cylinder to find the bullet casing spent. He must’ve fired it when he had been broadsided. In a last ditch effort, he threw the empty revolver at his enemy with all his might, but it was quickly divided into two pieces by a lazy turn of a sword. Clockwork slowly backed up, single wing futilely beating until his legs gave out. He crumpled to his knees and looked up with tears in his eyes. Axel pounced for the killing blow, then brought his oversized weapon down. Clockwork would become one more body in the field of corpses he now sat amongst.

However, the sword never hit its intended target.

Clockwork blinked, but the horrific image did not change. His eyes widened, tears streamed down his face, his throat ached as his mouth hung open, but no sound left it.

A very familiar figure stood on his hind legs, forelegs spread out wide to protect his best friend. He had taken the full force of the attack, and an all too familiar red fluid began to flow from the gash in his chest that Clockwork could not see but knew was there.

Moppet looked over his shoulder the best he could. In his eyes shown no fear, no sadness, no worry. There was only a perfect, beautiful light that Clockwork could not name, nor would he be able to for the rest of his days. Moppet’s all but trademarked smile graced his lips for the last time, and his body collapsed to the ground.

Clockwork’s vision turned red, and a horrible, anguished wail filled his ears, much like the tormented screams of the inmates of the deepest pits of Tartarus. Only later would the pegasus come to realize that it was the sound of his own screaming. In an instant, he saw every detail, every move, every second of what was about to happen. He charged.

Axel, the brutish, sadistic commander of the Seventh Imperial Legion, grinned. There was no kindness in his smile, no heart or warmth, only the bloody glee of a killer about to take his next life. With deliberate ease, he lifted his prized, bloodied blade, testing its edge with his talon while he watched the insane pony charge towards certain death.

Clockwork saw the griffon get ready, and he did not slow. Acting of their own accord, his forehooves scooped up the E-1 Grand of a fallen town guard, its previous owner staring up at the battle raging overhead with unseeing eyes. With sure, practiced motions, Clockwork checked that the weapon was primed and loaded. Miraculously, it was.

Axel’s grin turned absolutely vicious as the pegasus pony approached. He was almost in range, almost at the end of the line.

Right. . .

About . . .

NOW!

The giant griffon stepped forward, and his paw slipped in Moppet's rapidly pooling blood. The swing went wide and missed the pegasus by a hair’s margin.

With a scream fit to shake the heavens, Clockwork charged beneath the gleaming, scarlet dripping steel of the griffon’s deadly sword, heedless of how very close he had come to death. Furious strength burst through his limbs, liquid power coursed through every vein, and with an almighty heave, he plunged the sharpened end of the equestrian bayonet straight into the demon’s black heart. Tempered steel plunged through cloth and flesh like a scalding knife through butter.

Blood pooled in the back of Axel’s mouth, its sharp, metallic tang coating his tongue. He stared down at the pony who had killed him, not quite comprehending what it was he saw. Coughing blood and bile, his legendary strength already beginning to fade, he raised his blade for a final strike. With the last of his power he stabbed at his enemy, at the enemy of all griffonkind. That was when Clockwork found the trigger, and emptied the clip.

Crimson mist, bone, and organ repeatedly sprayed from the monster’s back, and with a final gasp of air, he slid backwards, off of the instrument of his undoing, to topple to the blood-soaked dirt below. It felt like almost a thousand years before he landed. The earth seemed to shatter under the weight of the fallen beast.

Clockwork went numb, the now-empty rifle slid from his grasp as he fell to his knees. Above and around him the battle raged, the sound returning to its deafeningly full and merciless volume. Pony fought against griffon, foals screamed for their mothers, mothers screamed for their husbands, and the dead remained silent amidst the groans of the dying. Far in the background, a massive airship fell in slow motion, wreathed in orange flames and singing its death cry. Clockwork never bothered to learn whether it was one of the Federation’s or the Empire’s, all he could see were the lifeless eyes of his friend staring back at him.

Without realizing that he was moving, the pegasus rose to his hooves and staggered to the mule’s side. He tried to lower himself gently, but he lost the strength and landed hard on his backside. He didn’t feel the pain of the fall, nor the hardness of the dirt, nor the warm blood in which he sat or the bruises on his flanks. He pulled Moppet close to him, clutching the colt’s head tightly to his chest. He thought if he just held on tight enough, he could feel a heartbeat, faint and distant but present all the same, just enough to let him know that his friend was still alive. Only silence greeted him. Silence and the cold of the grave as life spilt uncaring out into the street.

Clockwork wept. Angry, bitter tears at how the world had been robbed of its innocence. Of how the griffons could be so cruel as to wage a war in which foals died and friends lost each other. He wept for all the harshness of reality and the finality of death, and most of all, he wept for Charger, who did not yet know that a familiar, wonderful face would not be waiting to welcome her home.

Clockwork’s last memories of that day were of a vaguely familiar dark colored stallion as he reassured the pegasus that he was safe, that we would be alright, that all would be well.

He did not believe him.

Bad Fall

Clockwork’s eyes shot open, his body coated with sweat and his breathing ragged. He did not wrench himself from where he currently lay, as that behavior had been quite literally beaten out of his system during Basic Training. Instead, he focused on slowing his racing heart and determining where he currently was. The roof looked familiar and, after one last deep breath, the pegasus sat upright. He was both confused and relieved by what he saw.

He was in his undamaged bed, in his undamaged room, in his undamaged house. There were no signs of battle, no blood-red sunlight. No screams of the dying.

Clockwork sighed. He stretched his limbs and wings. It had all been a nightmare. Clockwork hadn’t killed anyone, the griffons weren’t at war with Equestria, and Moppet was still-

YOW!

Clockwork fell out of his bed when he felt a searing pain rocket through his only wing. After picking himself up, Clockwork froze up as he looked over his shoulder to find the appendage wrapped heavily in bandages.

No, there must’ve just been something wrong with the pancakes he ate earlier! He fell over and hurt his wing, his parents patched it up, and had brought him upstairs to his bed to rest! Yeah! The sun wasn’t too much lower in the sky then it had originally been! He had just had a bad fall!

Clockwork brought a forehoof to his head in relief, but felt pain engulf his skull at the touch. After the pain subsided, Clockwork rubbed the back of his head and found it heavily bandaged as well. The pegasus laughed nervously. He had just had a really bad fall.

Clockwork looked over the rest of his body, his back legs were bandaged, as well as his chest. The stallion began to sweat again. A really really bad fall.

He hastily opened his closet and got dressed. Yeah, his vest was clean, so was his bandanna! His goggles and fire ruby necklace were sitting side by side in mint condition! Everything was perfectly fine!

Still, Clockwork had to be sure.

The pegasus threw open the door and rushed downstairs. His parents were in the kitchen making what seemed to be an early dinner. Even better! They were perfectly safe!

Clockwork burst out laughing, but was quickly silenced when he noticed that neither his parents were smiling. “Mom? Dad? Guys, I’m okay!”

The pegasus didn’t wait for his parents’ response as he rushed outside. The city was as busy as ever. Nothing had happened! Oh, he had to tell Moppet this ridiculous story!

And so the stallion trotted through the streets of Ponyville, bobbing and weaving through the heavier than normal traffic. Clockwork hummed some indescribable toon, desperately trying to stave off the memories of the dream until later. He was so busy that he didn’t notice his legs take him in the almost direct opposite of where he wanted to until he had already arrived.

This was the exact spot where. . . yes, he was sure of it. But, how could he have known the way if it was a dream? Surely it was by random chance? Surely this was just. . .

Clockwork fell to his knees, disregarding the pain that he experienced by doing so. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as his mouth hung open. All at once, the signals of recent experiences came rushing back. Several of the larger skyscrapers had large pieces ripped from them like an immense creature had bitten them. Most of the citizens were hauling away rubble or dangerous debris in large wheelbarrows. Ponies were still asking about their loved ones' whereabouts. The earth directly in front of Clockwork was still stained a dark reddish-brown. The dirt and almost empty street a little off to the side was still cracked by the weight of a fallen enemy.

Clockwork looked to the sky as his tears fell anew. He screamed.

The pegasus never did determine when he stopped screaming for his friend to return to him, or when he collapsed in the slightly moist dirt, or when his parents finally found him.

“Where is he?!” Clockwork sobbed through gritted teeth. “Where. Is. HE?!”

“Come along, son. There’s a few ponies that you need to see,” Gearbox replied, his voice as grim as it was yesterday. Clockwork did not object as his parents helped him to his hooves. He silently limped alongside them for some time, not stopping until they reached an unfamiliar building. The pegasus looked over the black metal gate, his heart skipped a beat when he read the thin wiry letters welded to the top.

Ponyville Orphanage. A home for those without.

Clockwork did not voice his confusion as his parents helped him to limp inside and sit down. The stallion looked up to watch as his father spoke to the receptionist who had bandages of her own wrapped around her head. He couldn’t hear what either of them were saying, but he got up when his father gestured for him.

“Upstairs, room twenty eight,” Gearbox told his offspring. With a small nod, the pegasus trotted up the wooden stairs to the second floor. After some walking, he found room twenty at the end of the hallway. The doors were doubled, but he only knocked on one of them.

“Hello? I was told to go to this room,” Clockwork spoke bluntly, his mind too frayed to form more complex sentences. “I’m coming in now.”

Again, the pegasus did not expect what he saw as the old door creaked open.

Thirty-two young foals, all clean and unharmed, stared at Clockwork with wide, surprised eyes. Clockwork made his way a little farther inside. “Where’s Moppet?” he asked, the faintest glimmer of hope still present in his heart. Said glimmer finally died out as he watched the Lost Foals’ answer.

In perfect unison, thirty of the foals lined up in two parallel lines of fifteen. Somnolent stood at the end of the line, and alongside him stood Gavroche, something clutched in one hoof. With a deliberate slowness, the two young colts walked down the makeshift hallway, stopping every few seconds to allow each Lost Foal to touch the item. After a minute or so, the two young ponies stood at Clockwork’s hooves. The pegasus sat down and took the item from a now sobbing Gavroche. After removing the cloth in which the item was wrapped, the world seemed to grind to a halt.

It was Moppet’s hat, perfectly intact. There were no signs of wear or tear, not even the tiniest speck of blood tarnished its surface. “Did you clean this?”

Gavroche was too overcome with sorrow to answer. Somnolent looked towards the hat, then to Clockwork. “We asked the pony who gave it to us the same question. He said that he found it that way. I could tell he wasn’t lying. They have that little glimmer in their eye when they do, you know?”

“Yeah.” Clockwork looked over the item once more. He gently placed it on the hardwood floor and pulled Gavroche close, letting the foal cry on him for what must’ve been hours. Clockwork shed a few tears of his own. “I know.”

The pegasus gave a hug to every filly and colt the needed one, which meant all of them. After the pegasus made sure that nopony was crying any longer, he picked up Moppet’s hat and sat down on one of the room’s many bunks. He looked over the item in his hooves, smiled, and looked up at the small crowd of equally small ponies. “I guess you all expect me to give you some sort of riveting speech?”

The Foals nodded as one.

Clockwork chuckled under his breath. Even after all the hell they’d experienced, these children were faring better than a colt trained by the military. “I’m sorry to say that, while I do have a few words, they aren’t that impressive.”

After witnessing the pleading looks from the young ponies, Clockwork relented and spoke. “All I can really say is this. Moppet was the most wonderful mule that I’ve ever met and ever will meet. He was both pure and admirable, and I’ll cherish every moment I ever spent with him. He will be more than missed, he’ll be a legend.” the stallion held out Moppet’s hat to the Lost Foals as its previous owner would’ve done. “Can I trust you to carry on his legend with me?”

The crowd nodded, and for the faintest moment, Clockwork thought he saw Moppet at the back of the crowd, flashing his ever-familiar grin.

The pegasus rose from the bed and made his way to the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Lost Foals as a whole for the last time. In that moment, his smile was devoid of sorrow. Clockwork left the room, and shortly thereafter, the orphanage.

The pegasus gave a long sigh as he recognized the next destination on his and his family’s walk through the city. Before long, they stood in front of the already opened gates to Ponyville Cemetery. Clockwork gulped, he had accepted his friend’s death, but the tombstone he practically gravitated towards seemed almost unreal.

The pegasus reached the marker and knelt before it, his eyes barely focusing on anything else. The headstone was almost featureless, really. It was no taller than three feet, no wider than two. Whatever rock the thing was made of was both monotone gray and smooth. Along its top half was a single name, followed by a date Clockwork recognized as yesterday.

“Hey, Moptop,” Clockwork called his late friend by an old nickname.

Ello, Clocky.

Clockwork laughed under his breath as he heard the mule’s voice echo in his head. The two had been friends for so long that Clockwork practically knew what he was going to say! Even his accent was still there. “Sorry about, uh. . .”

My death? Missin’ my funeral?

The pegasus nodded, his smile fading for a moment as he looked away to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “Yeah.”

I don’t mind that ye missed my burial. In fact, I’m glad ye did. I wasn’t impressed, next to nopony came anyway. As for my death, stop worryin’ about it! It didn’t 'urt much, I ‘ad no regrets when I left this world, and I saved yer life! Ye even killed that ugly 'eap of feathers afterwards! Ain’t that worth bein' 'appy about?

“Kinda. I still killed someone. Even if it was in self defense.”

Ye practically saved the city!

Clockwork smiled. “You still look to the positive, even in death.” the stallion noticed something out of the corner of his eye and looked towards it. Not too far off was a member of the Equestrian military, pretty high ranking by the looks of it. The pegasus considered running over to him, saluting, and explaining his late friend’s situation. He would describe how the mule’s selfless actions and bravery in the face of certain death should be commended. He would ask that Moppet be recommended for a posthumous Medal of some kind, maybe even the Military Medal for Valorous Action. Clockwork sighed, for Moppet would never get the recognition he truly deserved. Moppet was never a fully registered citizen of the Federation, hay, he probably didn’t even have an official birth certificate!

“It was great talking to ya. Maybe we can do it again sometime?” when Clockwork didn’t hear an answer in his head, he stood to leave. It was then that he heard his friend once more.

Sounds like a plan to me. I just gotta ask ye two thin’s before ye leave.

Clockwork sat back down. “Go ahead.”

One, could I please ‘ave my ‘at back?

Clockwork would’ve laughed had it not been for the sobs choking his voice. He gently placed the faded brown flat cap on the top of the tombstone, turning it ever so slightly to the right. “You look as good as always. How the hay did you keep this thing from getting dirty?”

Luck, probably. Second question, I tripped before I could get inside yer place. How many of the Lost Foals survived?

Clockwork finally let his tears fall in full, a smile on his face the whole time. “All of them. Gavroche, Somnolent, Chanter, every single one. They’ve all agreed to carry on your legend.”

Excellent job, laddy. See ye around?

“Yeah. See ya around.” Clockwork turned and left the graveyard. However, he turned around just before he passed the gate. The sun was setting, making it difficult to see, but Clockwork thought he could see the faintest outline of a pony by Moppet’s grave. It was waving the late mule’s hat over its head, and the pegasus couldn’t help but feel that it was smiling. As if by reflex, he waved back.

Clockwork groaned as he continued to twist and turn in his bed. According to his parents, he had only been unconscious for less than a day since the raid. As a result of such little rest, he should’ve been tired beyond explanation and passed out before his head hit the pillow. Gah! So why in the name of Luna’s royal flank wasn’t he out like a rock?!

Clockwork found a slightly comfier spot on his mattress and ceased next to all motion, letting his breathing and heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm. The worst thing he could do was injure himself further on top of his already harsh injuries. When asked about how much he had endured, the pegasus was only given a list by his mother, left for him to read. It contained a surprisingly short but impressive list of injuries and the appropriate treatment. The only treatment for all of them was several painkillers and a week’s worth of rest. The pegasus had yet to feel anything aside from bothersome aching in his joints.

Groaning, the pegasus rose from his bed and walked to the radio on his desk. Maybe some music would help. He flicked the switch to on, twiddled with the dual knobs to remove any major static, and froze when he heard the silken voice of the alicorn of the sun.

“Citizens of Equestria, this is Princess Celestia speaking.

The now hostile nations of the Griffon Empire and Diamond Dog Consortium have attempted to cripple our beloved kingdom. Less than twenty-four hours ago, a simultaneous assault took place on the cities of Ponyville and Cloudsdale. Several hours before these invasions began, Ambassador Bellum of the Griffon Empire, now known as Warfather, and High Chairman Greystone of the Diamond Dog Consortium, sent for supposed peace talks. During yesterday’s meeting, they attempted to bring an untimely end to the lives of myself, my sister, Chief Thunderhooves of the Bison Clans and Patriarch Mfalme of the United Zebra Tribes.

Sadly, they almost succeeded. Patriarch Mfalme of the Zebra Clans was killed by a changeling queen disguised as the Eternal High Queen of Prance. My head scribe for fifteen years, Printed Word, was killed as well.

However, I must stress that the Empire and Consortium almost succeeded. The invasion of Ponyville was crushed a few hours after it had begun, nearly all of the leaders of the Alliance are still alive, and current military forces are putting up heavy resistance in Cloudsdale.

It is a dark day for all the allied lands, but we shall not falter. As I speak, the rest of the leaders are preparing their forces for complete and total counterattack on all fronts.

Ponies of Equestria, we are now at war with the Griffons, Diamond Dogs, and quite possibly an entire Changeling Hive. It is now known that these three nations are unified under the name of 'The Supremacy.' Their only common goal appears to be the extermination of both the Federation and its allies. While the situation seems grim, the Alliance will not fail.

Thank you for listening, and my deepest condolences to anypony who has been affected by recent events.”

The radio cut to static, followed shortly thereafter by some tune Clockwork cared not to remember. He was too focused on getting dressed. He didn’t know for what, but he felt like it was the right thing to do. As he was making sure that his necklace was secure and all major bandages had been covered, he heard muffled yelling from downstairs. The pegasus waited for a moment to hear if the noise would fade, but it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of hurried hoofsteps and exasperated shouting. Clockwork readied himself for a fight and reached for the doorknob, only for the door to open from the other side.

“Sir.” Clockwork stood at attention, saluting with some difficulty given his bandages. Before him was somepony military, a captain of the Navy judging by the four stripes and single star on each sleeve. Behind him was Quick Fix, a look of fury plastered on her muzzle.

“I’m not letting you take him back after he’s barely had a day’s rest!” the unicorn mare screamed. “Not to mention that you practically barged in here, flashed those stripes of yours, and ran upstairs! How do I know you’re even a real naval officer?!”

The Captain retrieved a set of documents from within his jacket and gave them to the angry mother. While she was busy looking over the parchment, the officer turned back to the scientist in front of him. “At ease, erm. . .”

Clockwork relaxed, wincing as he set his hoof back on the ground. “It’s alright, sir. We don’t really have ranks in Research and Development anyway.”

“Alright. Care to come downstairs and sit? There’s some information you need to know and I think it’s best that the whole family hears it.”

With only a few curt nods, the stallions and mare made their way downstairs and over to the living area. Gearbox was already sitting in his chair, a look of equal parts confusion and anger on his muzzle. His gaze softened when he noticed his son. The ponies all sat down, Clockwork trying his best to sit up straight. After some assurance from the Captain, Clockwork relaxed. “So what’s this all about?”

The Captain removed his hat, exposing his horn and closely shaved mane. He sighed. “No doubt you’ve all heard by now that we’re at war with the griffons and diamond dogs; maybe even the changelings.”

The family nodded.

“We need everypony that can possibly help to do just that, help. None of you may like it, but you’ve all been assigned to places where your experience will be most beneficial.” the unicorn removed three scrolls from within his jacket and levitated each to its intended recipient. All three were sealed with the personal night blue stamp of Princess Luna herself. “Mr. Box and Mrs. Fix, you are both hereby ordered, under personal request from the princess of the night herself, to pack your things and be ready to leave for Stalliongrad in three day’s time.”

“What?!” husband and wife looked up from their scrolls and asked in unison.

The captain nodded, his green eyes falling to the floor for a moment as he let out a deep sigh. “It’s all lawful, and your home shall remain in your possession. Stalliongrad’s machinery hubs need the best civilian engineers available. That’s you two. Don’t pretend you aren’t, either, Gearbox, I’ve read your work; and Mrs. Fix, you taught more than half of the ponies you've assigned to oversee.”

“What about our son?” Gearbox asked, his voice baritone.

“Clockwork is hereby reported to return to Research and Development Headquarters in Canterlot effective immediately. The city’s been cleared of any and all possible threats and security’s been increased tenfold. He’ll be safe.”

Quick Fix began to tear up. “So soon after all the trauma he’s had to suffer through?”

The officer looked towards the heavily bandaged pegasus, still reading over his scroll. Something in his eyes didn’t seem like it belonged there for a pony of his age. “Clockwork is one of best minds we’ve had in decades. His mind is still intact, and that’s all we need.”

“You’re heartless.” Quick Fix spat.

“I’m a member of the Navy, Mrs. Fix, and a Trottinghamite. That means I only have a heart for three things: my hounds, my ship, and the Federation,” the stallion replied.

“I’m a member of the Research and Development Branch of the Federation military.” Clockwork finally looked up from the scroll. “I’ll go, but can I at least eat a late meal with my parents first?”

The officer nodded, stood, and made his way over to the door. “I’ll be outside. There’s a transport leaving for the city in an hour or so. I’ll take you there. Sound good?”

Clockwork shakily got to his hooves, finally beginning to feel pain seep into the ends of his limbs. He tried to salute, but felt a jolt of pain run up his shoulder. “Sounds good, sir.”

With that, the light blue unicorn left the abode. Shortly thereafter, the mother, father, and son were sitting at their dinner table once again. Three plates of ambrosia salad sat before them; only Clockwork ate.

“I can’t believe this!” Quick Fix stabbed at her salad. “You’ve been back home for less than two days, gone through Tartarus and back, and now the military just wants to whisk you away to back underground?! This can’t be legal!”

“At least he’ll be safe there, honey.” Gearbox tried to reassure his wife, keyword "tried."

“Canterlot was nearly destroyed by a so called civilian ship yesterday! They’re going to put my son underneath it? Is anypony sure Stalliongrad won’t be next?”

“Mom.”

“Who says we have to go anyway? I’m not too sure that signature was even real ink!”

“Mom.”

“Oh, it’s going to be so cold. They might as well bury us alive and save the Supremacy the trouble!”

“Mom!” Clockwork slammed his forehooves into the table and stood up. It took a lot of effort to keep his grimace to a minimum. “I don’t like it either, but we’ve gotta do what we can to help out! Who knows? I might have a breakthrough up in R&D that could shorten this war from twenty years to two! You and Dad are great mechanics, you’ll both be able to increase the efficiency of those old factories by a factor of two hundred in a month!”

Quick Fix paused at her sons outburst and finally took a bite of her salad. “You over exaggerate our capabilities, honey.”

Clockwork sighed. “Dinner was as good as ever. I’ll go get my things and head out.”

Without another word, Clockwork rushed upstairs, opened his still-packed duffel bag, and tossed an entire bottle of painkillers inside. The Clockwork tied his bag shut, made his way back downstairs, and hurried over to the redwood entrance to his home. Before he could completely open the door though, he felt something pull on jacket. He turned around to find his father with tears in his eyes. “Just be careful, son. Don’t do anything too dangerous out there, okay?”

Clockwork wasted no time in wrapping his forelegs around his father and pulling him close. “Okay.” after giving his mother a hug as well, the pegasus left his home and entered the nighttime city. He continued to look over his shoulder to see his parents standing in the doorway until he could no longer distinguish his house from the rest of the city.

It took Clockwork some time to realize that he was still in Ponyville as he trotted down the street alongside the officer that had come to collect him. The night sky was cloudless, causing it to glow a dark blackish blue. The city itself was surprisingly dark, colored a mixture of faint amber and yellow. There wasn’t as much activity as Clockwork had seen earlier in the day, was there a curfew now or something?

“Here we are.”

Clockwork’s attention was brought back to the current situation, and was half-surprised to find himself standing at the edge of the train station. Out in the distance, lights were setting down and taking off. A faint but powerful roar reached the pegasus’ ears moments later and didn’t leave. Clockwork almost had to shout as they drew closer. “Those don’t look like any trains I’ve ever seen,” the pegasus joked.

“Ponyville Station’s courtyard has been converted into a military transport landing and takeoff zone.” the officer gave Clockwork a small ticket, the destination listed as Canterlot. “Just head to the gate, give this to the guy at the front, and when he lets you through, head to transport 305. Got it?”

Clockwork tilted his head to one side. “You’re not coming with, sir?”

The Captain nodded, adjusting his hat ever so slightly. “No, I’m not. I’ve still got a few more ponies to find and reassign. May Celestia smile upon your future endeavors.”

Without another word, the unicorn spun on his hind legs and trotted back into the night. Clockwork stood there for a moment and watched him go, but hurried to the entrance to the courtyard when he heard a far off engine begin to roar to life. The pegasus got his ticket punched, entered the courtyard, and made his way to Military Transport 305.

The dropship didn’t seem that much different from all the others Clockwork had seen. It looked like a rectangle that sloped gently downwards, two large wings in the front and two smaller ones in the back. All four overhead wings had propellers inside of them to provide lift in addition to the steam vents along the bottom of the vehicle. Like all Federation military dropships, the hull was painted a dark bronze color with golden highlights. From this distance, the only thing that seemed different about the thing was the large 305 stenciled in chipping white paint on both sides of its hull.

As Clockwork drew closer to the vehicle, the pegasus realized that it didn’t seem like a standard transport. It was much wider around the middle, and all four wings were larger than a normal trooper carrier's. As Clockwork moved to enter the ship, he came to a realization. Judging by the larger than normal amount of dropship passengers, this was a converted cargo ship. Things must've been worse than he originally believed.

“Name?”

Clockwork stopped just short of the ramp. He turned to look at the soldier guarding the entrance to the transport. “Clockwork. No official rank, Research and Development branch.”

After a few turned pages and the occasional mumble, the soldier snapped the small list closed and looked up. “You’ve been reassigned.”

“Reassigned, sir?”

“That’s right. Originally, you were to return to Canterlot to continue your work ASAP, but somepony put in a transfer request for you to stay on the ship while it continues onto its current final destination.”

Clockwork’s eyebrow raised a bit. “Where would that be?”

“Cloudsdale. The recommendation says that, should 305 experience any major damage during the conflict, your mechanical expertise would be of great use in repairing her. This is just a recommendation, so you can either accept or disregard it.”

“If I may ask, Sergeant, who put in the recommendation?”

The older stallion shrugged. “There’s no name, only the rank of Lieutenant.”

Clockwork took a moment to consider his options. On one hoof, he could head back to the safe, dark, crowded caves underneath Canterlot. Away from nearly all of society and unaware of the world above, working on projects that may never bear fruit. On the other, he could head back into the fray, risking injury and possible death to do what he did best: fixing things.

“I’ll go with the recommendation.”

“Then get inside and strap in. I hear there’s a major thunderstorm going on over Cloudsdale. I’d tell you to be ready for turbulence, but with you being a pegasus and all. . .” the Sergeant only shrugged.

Clockwork nodded and made his way inside. As he sat down near the front of the aircraft, only a few seats from the cockpit, it dawned on him that he was probably one of the only ponies in here that wasn’t wearing battle fatigues. After taking a few painkillers, he looked to his right and found a workhorse gazing solemnly at the dropship’s slowly closing ramp. “No turning back now.”

Clockwork nodded, made sure his luggage was secure underneath his seat, and laid as far back in his semi-padded chair as he could. He might finally be able to catch a few hours on the ride to one of the last populated cloud cities in the Federation.

Just as the pegasus felt like he was genuinely beginning to nod off, he heard somepony shout for everypony to wake up, stand up, and listen to them. The pegasus sat upright, eyes open and concentrated on the dark coated, light cyan maned pegasus in the center of the bay. After everypony had risen and taken a firm hold of their individual hoof-rails, the Sergeant Major spoke again.

“Alright everypony, this is it! The first real battle Equestria’s had to fight in over a thousand years! You ready?”

There was an enthusiastic “Haru!” from the ensemble of soldiers. Clockwork remained silent; how could anypony respond positively to war and all it entailed? Was he the only pony here who had killed before?

“A large portion of the city is still under enemy control, and so far we’ve only gotten reports of griffon opposition. None of them bugs to deal with. Keep your guard up, though! The largest area of griffon resistance is none other than the only place we can’t shoot. Specifically, the Rainbow Factory.”

After a tense murmuring from the crowd, the pegasus continued. “I know, I know. How the hay did the griffons get a hold of the Rainbow Factory? One, we don’t know. Two, we aren’t getting paid to find out. Rather, we’re getting paid to take it back! This dropship will set down at the Cloudosseum. From there, you’ll meet in the center encampment, get further details, and be assigned to your respective jobs from there. Sound good?!”

“Yes sir, Thunderlane sir!”

Clockwork almost choked on his own saliva. Thunderlane? That Thunderlane?!

Before Clockwork could react, there was a massive boom and the world suddenly fell silent. A gaping hole appeared in the side of the dropship, violently removing ponies from the dropship and replacing them with rain, flashes of lightning, and furious winds. Clockwork ditched the fabric hoof-rail and lunged for and barely managed to grab onto one of the steel beams welding the chairs to the floor.

Clockwork did not hear the pilots scream into their mics that they had been hit by an anti-aircraft cannon. He didn’t hear as soldiers he had never met before scream for help before being sucked out of the falling transport. He did not hear himself scream, nor his heartbeat quicken, and he never heard the dropship crash.

Now a rainbow's tale isn't quite as nice

As the story we knew of sugar and spice

But a rainbow's easy once you get to know it

With the help of the magic of a pegasus device

A Simple Facility

Let's delve deeper into rainbow philosophy

Far beyond that of Cloudsdale's mythology

It's easy to misjudge that floating city

With it's alluring decor and social psychology

Clockwork's vision, memory, and hearing had all been heavily impaired. He was in Cloudsdale and he was lying on something that felt like lightly padded concrete. His everything hurt, and to put it lightly, he was surrounded by chaos. Despite having only faint glimpses of the current situation to go by, the pegasus could tell whatever the hay he had been part of hadn't gone well. Silent lightning flashed without end, dark clouds blotted out the moon, and-

"Hey! Is the. . . nypony. . . ive out here?"

Clockwork struggled to turn his head to find the source of the voice. His sight cleared just enough to tell that the only moving figure in the general direction of the sound was a darkly colored equine. The pegasus raised his right forehoof into the sky and waved it weakly, trying to signal that he was alive. It seemed like days or longer before he felt somepony hoist him from the ground. He was brought almost nose-to-nose with his rescuer.

Clockwork's vision came back in full, it was Thunderlane. "Kid. . . re real. . . mn luck. . . ou know that?"

The pegasus could only nod. Something warm dripped from his nose, the taste of iron drenched his tongue. He felt Thunderlane hoist him upwards until he felt his own four hooves make contact with the floor of the cloud. At the Sergeant's urging, the engineer did his best to gallop in the general direction he was being pulled. He could see where he was going now, towards some kind of massive structure, but that didn't stop him from being confused at the current situation. Wreckage was everywhere, though only one or two bodies could be seen as he continued to run. No bullets grazed his body, no cannon blasts shook his skeleton, no nearby explosions ruptured his internal organs. Even if Clockwork had his full senses back, he could easily tell that this was a much quieter battleground than-

KRUM!

Thunderlane bucked in the door, causing it to dissolve into a thick, white mist. The Sergeant Major tossed Clockwork inside, looked around outside for something Clockwork couldn't see and rushed fully inside the building. Much to the engineer's surprise, the door was suddenly replaced by a massive column of some kind of shiny, dark gray column.

Clockwork watched in confusion as two new pegasi helped him to rest against a wall. A white-coated mare lifted each limb, tapped a few pressure points, and wiped his bloody nose. He could catch audible snippets of what she was continually asking him, and after piecing them together, gave the hoof-sign for "Hearing-half." This meant that while his auditory senses where present, they weren't functioning at peak efficiency.

The mare made some kind of frustrated gesture and stood, hurrying over to a familiar grey unicorn and a slightly less familiar tan pegasus. The unicorn trotted over to Clockwork and looked him over. The engineer was surprised to find that his pupils were slit like a dragon's.

WHAP!

Clockwork saw stars as the unicorn smacked him. Somehow, his hearing, and memory, came back simultaneously. He was in the entrance to the Rainbow Factory, surrounded by the remnants of some kind of invasion force. Several ponies were heavily bandaged, others seemed untouched. Everypony was mumbling something, probably questions about their chances of survival and whatnot. It was only seconds before his view was filled by a very serious stallion.

"Hey kid, been a while. You alright?"

Clockwork laughed under his breath. "Depends on the current situation."

Long Shot looked over his shoulder, then knelt down and spoke in a hushed tone. "I'm not gonna lie to you. We're in pretty bad shape here. Low on ammunition, morale, and outnumbered. I've got twelve pegasi here from eight different units, none of 'em special forces either."

"What about your squad?" Clockwork interjected. "Don't all Nocturni have those?"

The unicorn shook his head. "As ironic as it sounds, Meteor Squad's more of a ground based team; mostly earth ponies and such. The only guys I have that can fight in the clouds are either scared of heights or my buddy over there." he gestured over his shoulder to the fedora-clad pegasus at the far end of the room. "Can you fight?"

Clockwork shakily got to his hooves. "If I have to fight, I will."

Long Shot stood and gave a toothy smile. He levitated a nearby shotgun into Clockwork's hooves. "Then grab some ammo and get ready. I've got a plan."

Clockwork nodded and hurried over to collect two spare reloads. Twenty-four 12-gauge rounds would have to be enough.

"Alright everypony, listen up!"

KRA-KRUUUM!

"Down!"

The fifteen soldiers dropped to the ground and hugged the cloud like it was their sole purpose in life. After a heavy bout of rumbling and some falling pieces of cieling, the shaking stopped. A fine mist had coated the floor, the room now glowing a dull orange due to emergency lighting. Long Shot stood first.

"That didn't sound too good. Switcher, check the door."

"Yes, sir." the tan pegasus withdrew a vial of something bright orange, popped the cork, and tossed its contents onto the grey, chitinous mass that acted as their improvised door. As if by reflex, the monolith shrank at an alarming rate until there was nothing left. Instead of being greeted by a rectangular hole leading to the outside world, all the soldiers saw was rubble.

"Well, that changes things. Alright folks, group up!"

At Long Shot's urging, Clockwork hurried to join the circle of warriors surrounding the two elite.

"This is where we're at. Last confirmed reports said the griffon ship was parked behind this facility. Given how only two of those things carried enough scuzzy bastards to invade Ponyville, it's more than likely we're heavily outnumbered in here."

"What about reinforcements?" one soldier asked.

"We will be unable to request or receive reinforcements due to five major setbacks," Switcher explained. "One, the heavy storms are interfering with any kind of long range radio communication. Two, even if we could contact our allies for support, is would be pointless. Reason three is that the Empire has embedded heavy anti-aircraft emplacements at highly defensible points throughout the city. Any reinforcements delivered by air would meet a fate similar to Sergeant Major Thunderlane's troops. No offense is meant, sir."

"None taken."

"Reason four is that current troops are spread thin enough that, even with the lighter than expected ground resistance, reinforcements on hoof could be hours away. However, it would not matter, as reason five, the debris, has blocked the only direct entrance into the Alliance occupied portion of the Rainbow Factory."

"In short, we're on our own until either we're dead or we've retaken this factory." Long Shot took over. "I've been around long enough to know how the griffons operate. Given their current situation, I have the feeling they're getting ready to light up every barrel of rainbow extract in here."

Clockwork felt a harsh chill run up his spine. "That much high explosives will vaporize the city!"

Long Shot nodded. "And then some, all the more reason to get moving. I'll be quick from here. If I remember right, the interior of the Rainbow Factory is one of the most well kept secrets of the pegasi. If it’s like any factory out there, then there’ll be several different corridors leading to the main manufacturing and storage area. We’ll need to clean out those hallways first."

The commander knelt down and etched several rough diagrams into the floor. "All in all, we're going in blind until we can find a map. We’ve got fifteen guys here; I say we go in five trios. Switcher, Clockwork and I will form one group; the rest of you will make up the other four. Each group will go a separate way, then rendezvous at a specific point after we have a map or one group finds a way inside. Earlier groups reported ambushes at every turn, so watch for those and keep your trigger hoof steady. We have limited ammo so fire only when you have a guaranteed shot. We don’t want to make the scuzzy bastards’ jobs easy now, would we?”

The pegasi let out a synchronized “No, sir!”

“Alrighty then. Let’s move!”

But with all great things comes a great responsibility

That of Cloudsdale's being weather stability

How, you ask, are they up to the task

To which the answer is in a simple facility

Clockwork, Long Shot, and Switcher crept down the narrow hallway, doing their best to stay as quiet as possible. The griffons must have determined how to cut the power, for the dull orange emergency lights had long given way to darkness worse than a starless night. This wasn’t much of a problem though, as the constant, muffled lightning strikes kept the windowed hallway lit several seconds at a time. The trek so far felt strange, despite Long Shot’s earlier warnings, there was no resistance. Clockwork kept his shotgun at the ready, just in case.

Long Shot signaled for his team to halt. “All teams, report in.”

Thunderlane’s voice answered first. “Team One, still here. Nothing to report, continuing forward.”

“Team Two here.” an unfamiliar voice added. “Nothing here either. No bodies of either side. No signs of any kind of struggle at all. It’s like a tomb in here.”

“Team Three, nothing on our end. My granddad worked in the Rainbow Factory, even gave me a guided tour of this place every year for my birthday. I don’t remember this place at all.”

“Team Four, no activity. We’ll keep in touch.”

“We get this done tonight, and you'll all have a fresh bottle of Applejack Daniels in your hooves before the week’s out.” the nocturni shut off his transponder and looked upwards only to see that the hallway now had several doors leading to Celestia-knows-where. The three stallions kicked in each door, only to find them empty or leading down another passageway. As they came up on the final door, a question popped into Clockwork’s head that he was surprised he hadn’t asked before now.

“Commander, there’s something I don’t get. Why Cloudsdale? Why not Stalliongrad or Trottingham where it’s more populated or non-replaceable?”

“They don’t have the forces to take down Stalliongrad or Trottingham. Four civilian passenger ships plus one attempted assassination equals only one good surprise assault. The scuzzies are taking a big risk with attacking Cloudsdale, and it looks like it’s paying off for ‘em.”

As Clockwork stacked up on the final door, his eyes went wide. “Well no wonder the sisters turned to them during The Uprisings. Griffons have war down to a science.”

“Thank you, captain obvious.” Long Shot pressed his shoulder to the wall next to the door as Switcher poured some kind of greenish substance on it. Just as they were about to breach, an unfamiliar female voice crackled over Long Shot’s radio.

“Commander, come in.”

Long Shot halted for his team to stop the breach. “What’s up?

“We just busted into a storage room but the thing’s filled to brim with rainbow extract. All the other rooms had been ransacked or filled with useless junk. Orders?”

Before Long Shot could respond, a massive blast shook the room. Clockwork didn’t have to wonder what had just happened. Thunderlane’s panicked voice came over the radio. “Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me! Dust Devil?! Dust Devil, come in!”

“She’s gone.” Long Shot’s voice sounded as cold as ice. “The room was a trap. Team Three has been incapacitated. I say again, Team Three has been incapacitated. . .”

Silence overtook the room, even the lightning seemed to pause to mourn the lost. Long Shot signaled for his team to continue the previous operation and began to mumble something in a language Clockwork couldn’t understand. Before he could complete it, the door turned to mist. A small cylindrical object rolled through the doorway.

Before everything cut to white, Clockwork saw Long Shot’s face twist into an expression of fear and shock. He screamed three words.

“Oh shit! Flashbang!”

In the Rainbow Factory, where your fears and horrors come true

In the Rainbow Factory, where not a single soul gets through

All Clockwork could see was blinding white, all he could hear was a constant ringing. Instinctively, he threw up his shotgun and prepared to fire, but without sight he couldn’t be sure where he was aiming. The thought of hitting Long Shot or Switcher stayed his aim.

Instead, the young pegasus started running, he didn’t know where, but he just ran. He felt something hit his back right leg. It hurt, but not as much as he thought he would. By instinct, he dropped his weapon to increase his speed.

Grazing shot, just a grazing shot! The pegasus kept running until his vision finally began to clear. The image of the flashbang was still imprinted in his mind, a strange, cylindrical iron object with a few holes in it. It had a lever at one end, which was probably brass. The image and remaining white finally faded away, and Clockwork realized that he was now standing in complete and total darkness. He stopped, half out of common sense, half out of exhaustion.

The pegasus felt for and tried his radio. Whoever had thrown the flashbang was probably dead by now. “Long Shot, Switcher, anypony out there?”

No response.

Clockwork cursed to himself before stumbling and crashing against a wall with a soft clang. After a grunt of pain, something dawned on the pegasus.

Clouds don’t clang.

The pegasus tapped his hoof against the wall, producing another metallic response. Whatever the hay the walls were made out of might be blocking his radio signal. That meant that Long Shot and Switcher could still be alive.

Clockwork struggled to stand upright, leaning on the wall for support. As the adrenaline faded from his body, Clockwork felt the pain in his back right leg grow at a horrific rate. He reached downwards and felt were the bullet hit, eliciting a sting of pain. Clockwork lifted his hoof upwards, noticing that it was now felt covered in some sort of wet, warm substance. A harsh chill shot up the engineer’s spine.

Blood.

Clockwork shook his head and stumbled down the pitch black hallway, determination replaced the adrenaline fueling his exhausted and aching body. After some time, he navigated solely by feeling for the wall and following it. It seemed that the darkness would continue forever when something caught his eye. At first, the stallion thought he was hallucinating, but as he neared it, he realized that what he was looking at was very, very real.

An amber glow was emanating from somewhere up ahead. Judging by the way the light was spread out along the floor; the source was hidden behind a door or some similar kind of barrier.

Before long, Clockwork arrived at the door blocking the light source. With a heavy strain, the pegasus bashed in the door with shoulder. To say he was surprised by what he saw inside would’ve been a severe understatement. There was a large glass tube set in the back wall, an equally large keyboard set in front of it. The walls were lined with supplies of all kinds, from water to medical equipment to ammunition for every sort of weapon available to ponykind and then some.

It took a few moments before Clockwork realized what he was looking at: a panic room, probably set to withstand the explosion of every drop of rainbow extract in the entire factory by the looks of it. As the pegasus stumbled inside, he felt another wave of pain come over his leg. He instinctively fell and landed against a shelf full of water bottles. Said water bottles tumbled downwards, coming to rest around the wounded stallion.

Clockwork immediately grabbed one and cracked it open, pouring the ice cold liquid over his leg, quelling the pain somewhat. As he adjusted himself to take the pressure off of his leg, Clockwork looked down at the appendage and nearly expelled the contents of his stomach.

His back right leg had a moderate chunk of flesh taken out of it, probably about a bit or so in diameter. It was bleeding heavily, though a clot was just beginning to form. The pegasus reached out for and grabbed another bottle of water, repeating his previous action with the intent to clean the wound as thoroughly as possible. After another bottle’s worth of water, Clockwork stretched out his wing to grab several pieces of medical equipment off of the wall: some anesthetic, bandage wraps, gauze pads, and a couple other items.

After a few minutes of pain and a bout of heavy breathing, Clockwork tightened the last piece of bandage wrap on his leg. He was pretty sure that he had treated his wound properly, but he’d let a qualified medic have a look at it if he made it out of this hell alive. It was only now that the pegasus felt his exhaustion kick in to its fullest extent. The pegasus felt too tired to even move his tail or fold in his wings, so he just sat there, wet, bloodied, and weary.

As his vision slowly began to fade, Clockwork saw the face of last pony he would expect to see in this sort of situation burst into the room.

“Freeze you Celestia-damned son of a-! Clockwork! What in the name of Tartarus are you doing here?!”

Clockwork barely managed to readjust his head to get a better look. “Sergeant Major Thunderlane, I would salute, but. . . I’m afraid I can't feel my hooves.”

“Oh forget it, kid!” Thunderlane slung his shotgun over his shoulder and knelt down next to his comrade. He began improving on his attempted injury fix. “Dear Sweet Celestia, how long have you been like this?”

“No clue, sir,” Clockwork drowsily replied. “If you don’t mind me asking. . . where’s the rest of your team?”

“Gone, but they died valiantly, as all soldiers of the Federation should.” If there was any sorrow in the soldier’s voice, he was doing an exceptional job at hiding it. “Where’s the rest of yours?”

“Alive, I hope,” the pegasus groaned as he strained to stay awake.

“Hey, don’t you go dying on me, colt! I’ve lost way too many friends today!” The pegasus looked around and found an adrenaline needle resting on a shelf. He grabbed it and prepared it for use. “Sorry kid if this stings a little, but we need everypony at a hundred and ten percent.”

“Wait, what’s going to- GYAAAAA!” Clockwork screamed as he felt the needle enter his flesh. After feeling a cold liquid rush through his veins, Clockwork suddenly felt much more energetic. His vision cleared and he managed to stand upright with some help from Thunderlane. After a quick “thanks,” Clockwork set to work. He limped to the massive console at the other side of the room and began typing on the hoof-sized keys.

“Clockwork, what’re you doing?” Thunderlane asked, eyebrow raised in slight confusion.

“I’m not too good with holograms, but I think I have a basic idea. This is a panic room, a capsule meant to survive a large amount of stress and keep anypony inside of it alive the entire time. These things usually have a separate power source, along with countless other things that we can use to our advantage. If we’re lucky, then maybe I can just- huh, I didn’t think that would work.”

Clockwork leaned against the nearest wall after he had hit a few last keys. About a minute or so later, the room, along with the hallway outside, began to brighten with artificial light. A jet of steam began to rise through the glass tube, and before long, a slightly trembling, 3D map of the factory appeared within. After fumbling with his radio, he spoke into it. “Hey Long Shot, Switcher, anypony out there?”

“Good to hear your voice, kid. How’re you holding up?”

“Barely. Sergeant Major Thunderlane patched me up. I’m sorry to say, but Team One has been incapacitated.”

Long Shot let out a heavy sigh. “Nopony said this would be easy. Hey Thunderlane, I do have a bit of good news for ya.”

Thunderlane spoke into his own radio. “And that would be what, Commander?”

“I’m still alive, Thunder.” the female voice from before came over the radio. Thunderlane’s eyes began to water and his voice had a noticeable tremble as he responded. “It’s good to hear your voice, Dee. I thought you were dead.”

“So did I. Unfortunately, Jungle Jape’s took the full force of the rainbow extract, there’s nothing left of him. Sleet Flare died valiantly, as-”

“All soldiers of the Federation should. . .” they finished in unison.

A long silence followed, broken only by Switcher's voice. “I sincerely apologize for interrupting, but could you report your location? We must all regroup at a single point if we are to devise an effective solution for retaking this factory before the griffons vaporize the city.”

“Right.” Clockwork turned to face the hologram projector once more and began typing away. “It says here that we’re located at coordinates thirty-two, twenty-seven, forty-nine. Got it?”

“Got it, kid. See you in a few.”

Long Shot was right. It took only a few minutes for the five soldiers to regroup in the panic room. Clockwork had managed to find a couple of nutrient bars to hold him over. Luckily, Dust Devil was a trained medic, so Clockwork didn’t have to feel like death warmed over for as long as he originally expected. He still felt terrible though, so he just sat down. The warriors had fully restocked on everything they would need; the only thing missing was a plan. The panic room had a map, so they took full advantage of it.

“Let’s see. . . ” Long Shot was trained on the hologram’s miniaturized version of the Rainbow Factory, the panic room at its center.

“There are eighteen separate corridors that all converge on the primary storage room, which is probably where the scuzzies are trying to blow the factory from. The map says there’s been a 'structural collapse' on the one farthest to the right. I’m guessing that’s where Team Three was.”

“Are there any other ways of reaching the storage room?” Thunderlane asked. “Maybe a service hatch or something like that?”

“I don’t see any." Clockwork squinted at the hologram. "A room like this would have just about everything listed, wouldn’t it?”

“Gimme a sec.” Long Shot looked over the keyboard once more and began typing away. The hologram changed into a list of corridors, inventories, and a dozen other things that a factory like this would keep track of. Despite his best efforts, the Nocturni couldn’t find any alternate route to the primary storage room.

“Sorry folks,” He hung his head slightly. “it looks like we’re gonna have to go through one of the main passageways. Which one, though?”

“I believe that hallway one would be the safest, relatively speaking.” Switcher pointed towards the corridor farthest left. “The last confirmed sighting of the griffon zeppelin's position was behind and to the right of this facility. If the griffons believed that they had the defensive advantage from there, they likely would not have moved. Hallway eighteen has been compromised, and any other hallway harbors a significant risk of being overrun from several points.”

“The plan makes sense to me," Clockwork struggled to say. "Switcher, how many vials of that barricade. . . stuff do you have left?”

The pegasus adjusted his fedora and replied with one word. “Eight.”

Long Shot let out a relieved breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. “That’s just enough to do the job. See, each hallway is connected by four separate hallways, forming a grid pattern. We block off each door as we pass them, the scuzzies have one less direction of assault. Hey love birds,” the nocturni looked to the Sergeant Major and his female companion. “you two get all that?”

Thunderlane and Dust Devil both looked up from whatever it was they were doing, their faces tinted a reddish-pink. Clockwork let out a tiny laugh, he may be half-dead, but only a featherbrain wouldn’t have been able to figure out that Thunderlane and Dust Devil where. . . close. His eyes suddenly lit up with realization. He had been so drowned in his own thoughts that something extremely obvious had slipped by like a greased eel.

“Oh no. . .” Clockwork felt an immense dizzy spell hit him like a brick. “Guys, Teams Two and Four. . . didn’t respond to my hail.”

A shocked silence overtook the room. Clockwork thought he saw Long Shot mumble something, but he couldn’t make it out. Suddenly, Dust Devil bolted upwards and took a few steps towards the door, readying her newly procured E-1 Grand. “Just because they didn’t respond doesn’t mean they’re dead! For all we know, the griffons probably took their radios and are holding them prisoner!”

Long Shot’s eyes burned with determined fire as he readied his own rifle. “If she’s right, then they won’t be alive for much longer. Move!”

The five soldiers sprinted down the hallway, pure determination coursing through them. Or was that adrenaline? Clockwork didn’t care. His Grand was raised and ready to shoot anything that didn’t have four hooves. Occasionally, they would run into a group of griffons trying to understand just what the Tartarus was going on. They would promptly be shot dead and the soldiers would continue onward. As they neared the final side door, Switcher readied his last vial of what he called barricade resin. Suddenly, something occured that they expected the least.

Clockwork glanced out a window to find that the griffon airship had moved. It looked like its guns had guns.

Each soldier saw the same thing, and their resolves strengthened as one. Their pace quickened, knowing that if they didn’t hurry, Cloudsdale may very well end up as vapor. Unfortunately, the remaining distance to the storage room wasn’t going to be closed so easily. The zeppelin was already firing serrated metal wedges at the five soldiers, intent on tearing them apart before they reached their destination. As the soldiers neared the door, a single projectile tore through the cloud, hitting the ground below Clockwork’s hooves and sending him flying.

His body crashed through the door as it turned to dust, clearing the way for his comrades. Clockwork felt dizzy, but was quickly raised to his hooves by Long Shot, who helped him shake it off. The five soldiers raised their weapons to a bitterweet sight.

The six remaining soldiers, though badly beaten, were still alive, huddled in the center of the room with a number of other ponies wearing white coats, the factory workers. Arranged around them were ten hooded griffons, dressed in scarlet cloaks and golden armor decorated with familiar, swirling red patterns. They were all the very same pattern that had adorned Axel’s chest plate. The griffons were chanting something, and after Clockwork noticed the detonators spaced evenly about the warehouse, he realized they were making peace with their god.

Clockwork didn’t know who shot first, as all he could focus on was the sheer rage that burst forth from his person. He aimed his rifle at the nearest griffon’s head and squeezed.

The only thing that echoed through the room was the loud CLACK! of the trigger. After hurriedly checking his weapon, Clockwork realized that the thing had jammed badly. One bullet was stuck, unfired in the chamber. Two more were jammed in the loading platform.

Even if Clockwork could’ve cleared the jam, he didn’t have the time he needed. Looking up, the pegasus found one griffon, sword drawn, rushing towards him as fast as the wind. Clockwork did not gulp, he did not run away, he did not scream. Instead, the pegasus roared and charged to meet his adversary head on.

The griffon smirked as he brought his sword down for a swift killing blow, but never hit his mark. At the last second, Clockwork changed his grip on his rifle so that he was holding it by the barrel. He shifted his body weight to spin around on his good hind leg, flared his wing out for a sharper turn, and swung the weapon upwards as an improvised club.

KRAK!

The griffon was sent spiraling upwards, bloodied bits of his beak flying off in all directions. When he violently came to rest on the warehouse floor, Clockwork was there to greet him. The warrior’s last moments of life were staring with pure, unbridled terror at the pegasus’ sadistic grin.

As the short battle all around him came to an end, Clockwork’s only goal was to punch the griffon’s skull in. Even then, he would punch the bones into dust, and the dust into nothing. Even when the room was declared secure and the announcement was given that support was en route, nopony approached the enraged pegasus at the far end of the room until he was finished. It seemed like hours before Clockwork’s fury receded, and the stallion promptly vomited when he regained his sanity to discover that the body he was on top of was now without a head or any resemblance of one.

The pegasus needed help getting up, and getting to the medical drop ship that arrived soon after. He was almost catatonic as he sat in the seat closest to the dropship ramp. His last words before the trip back to base composed a simple request to leave the bay door open for some air.

Clockwork could hardly believe it. He had killed again, and in perhaps a more brutal way than the last. He looked down at his stained red hooves and held them outside of the ship to wash them. It didn’t really matter though; that griffon might’ve been a husband, a brother, or even a father. The pegasus wouldn’t be able to shake for some time the fact that there may be a griffon chick back home who wasn’t going to see her daddy ever again.

“Attention everypony! This is Captain Rainbow Dash of the E.F.R.S. Loyalty. Cloudsdale’s back in our hooves. Excellent job!”

Clockwork did not smile as he watched the griffon ship fall to the ground far below in flames. Nor did he grin when he heard a low but powerful cheer erupt over the rain and thunder. Cloudsdale had been retaken, but not without a cost. Where there should’ve been buildings, there was only a thick mist; the buildings that continued to stand had been damaged to some degree. This applied more so to the Cloudosseum that the dropship landed at minutes later.

“Hey kid, you okay?”

The pegasus was jolted out of his dream-like state when he noticed the genuine concern in Long Shot’s voice. He slowly shook his head. “No, Commander. No, I don’t think I’m okay. Frankly, I believe I’m in need of a mental evaluation and regular meetings with a psychiatrist.”

Long Shot nodded as he helped his fellow soldier out of the dropship. “Understood. I just have to check up on a few things and I’ll make sure you get out of here safe and sound, alright? Clockwork? Hey buddy, you still with me?”

Clockwork didn’t hear Long Shot’s voice as the world fell silent. Something had come over him, an overwhelming desire to search for somepony that wasn’t even here. He took off, the last of his adrenaline filling his veins. It was less than a minute before Clockwork was inside the makeshift hospital, frantically searching for somepony part of the staff.

The pegasus eventually found a nurse, tugged at her uniform, and asked her a question that he never thought would leave his lips. “Excuse me, ma’am. Is there anypony in here by the name of Charger? She’s about yea high, yellow coat, orange mane and-"

“Hey. I know that name. I know you!”

Clockwork slowly turned around as a vaguely familiar voice filled his ears. He rushed to the cot’s side. No, it couldn’t be. “Smokestack? Is that really you? What the hay are you doing here? Where’s Lugnut and Bulkhead?

After a severe bout of coughing and a wiping away of some blood, the burly stallion answered. Bulk, Lug, and I were on shore leave here when the griffons attacked. Lug, he took a direct hit from a cannon round. There’s nothing left of him now. Bulk. . . he just dropped. The pressure wave ruptured his internal organs. All of them. He’s just a pony shaped sack of blood and guts now.”

“How’d you survive?”

“I got lucky, some shrapnel fucked up my wings pretty badly. They’re gone now, see?” the stallion rolled on his side to expose two bandaged stumps. “I’m never going to be able to fly again! How shitty is that?!”

The stallion broke down in tears, unable to wipe away the salty drops as his forelegs were bandaged at the joints. Clockwork suddenly reached forward, grabbed Smokestack’s forehoof, and held it tight. He looked the burly creature right in the eyes. “I’ll avenge them.”

“What?”

Clockwork was unsure how much truth was in his words, but at least he could comfort the former bully. “I’ll kill ten griffons for Lugnut, another ten for Bulkhead.”

Smokestack grinned. His tears stopped. “Make it twenty per and you’ve got a deal.”

“Thirty each, you have my word on that.”

“For what it’s worth. The only things that’ll get a point across now are bullets and gunpowder.” Smokestack sighed, let go of Clockwork’s hoof, and rolled so he faced away from the stallion. “If your marefriend’s anywhere on this damned cloud, it’s in the command tent. Opposite side of the cloudosseum.”

Clockwork nodded and turned to exit the hospital. Before he could leave though, his attention was brought back to Smokestack.

“Clockwork. One last thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for what I put you through back in high school. I. . . I had no right to do that kind of shit. I’m sure Lugnut and Bulkhead would say the same. My little brother, Willy, was born without his hind legs because of the smog.”

“I’ll make sure he never sees a hostile griffon in his life.”

With that, Clockwork left the hospital and never saw Smokestack again. The rain had softened, but it didn’t stop Clockwork’s vision from blurring as he sprinted across the bare floor of the cloudosseum. He could see a tent in the distance, the only one in the immediate area. He burst through the flaps and immediately froze where he stood. It wasn’t because of the exhaustion, or the mental trauma, or even the blood leaking through the bandages wrapped around his back right leg.

Clockwork stopped dead in his tracks because he it had been nearly two years since he’d last seen a mare so beautiful.

Where Were You?!

Clockwork could've done almost anything, said nearly anything in that brief moment of silence. Instead, he stood there dumbfounded at the sight before him.

It was Charger. Aside from her rain-soaked form and the dark circles under her eyes, she was otherwise untouched. "Long time no see, huh?" Clockwork asked.

Charger nodded as she turned back to the charts she had been looking at before he rushed in. After several papers had been folded, stored, and said storage bins readied for travel, she turned back around and spoke. "It is good to see you again, Clockwork."

Clockwork would've rushed to embrace his friend. He would've cried on her shoulder for hours just because he was happy to be alive, but something kept him silent and still. He wasn't sure if it was his training, his exhaustion, or that unfamiliar look in his mare's eye.

Regret? Sorrow? Actual pain?

"Likewise, er. . ." Clockwork choked on his last few words.

Charger sighed. "First Lieutenant, Federation Navy. However, I would prefer that we disregard official designations for now. If I recall correctly, the members of Research and Development have no official rank."

What the actual-

Clockwork stumbled over to Charger's side. He looked her dead in the eyes, causing her to stop what she was doing and stare back.

"Something's different about you," the pegasus remarked.

The yellow earth pony took a step back. "It has been more than a year since we last spoke face to face. It is a reasonable assumption that both of us would've-"

"I want to reiterate my last point." he lightly stomped. He didn't care about the pain right now.

For a split second, water gathered at the corners of Charger's eyes. After a few deep breaths, the mare trotted over to the table at the center of the room and laid out several different maps and charts. Every single one of them had red X's and green O's scattered about. "By technicality, I've been the highest ranking equestrian in this city for the past forty-eight hours. Proper command structure, tactics, communication, I utilized every last ounce of training I had acquired. Do you know how many soldiers and civilians died today, Clockwork?"

The pegasus slowly shook his head.

"Due to the battle having just concluded, we don't have any true casualty list just yet. Every red X on these maps marks a failed operation; civilian evacuation, ambush, and defensive fire, you name it. The green circles represent successes. Every operation needed my approval, and I gave it only when I believed the odds were in our favor."

Clockwork scanned the maps for only moment, but it was all he needed. Judging by the heavily imbalance proportion of red to green, mixed with the fact that griffons didn't take prisoners. . .

"It’s been predicted that for every griffon dead, two soldiers and one civilian died as well. My actions have left my hooves stained with the blood of thousands of good people."

Clockwork stood dumbstruck, his eyes wide and legs trembling. He tried to comfort the mare of his dreams, tried to reach out and pull her close, but he couldn't. His body wasn't responding, he wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.

Thousands. . .

"Clockwork! Charger!" a new voice echoed through the room. "You two in here?"

The pegasus recognized the voice. He managed to turn his head just enough to see that Longshot had entered the tent. The nocturni spoke. "We're leaving, all of us. Fresh troops are pouring in and the Even Odds is ready to depart. I'm getting you two out of this hell. You. . . hey Clockwork? Are you still with us?"

Clockwork's senses suddeny gave out. In an instant, he was enveloped in complete darkness.

Official reports later classified the attacks on both Ponyville and Cloudsdale as military successes in the Alliance's favor. Combined Alliance casualties are listed at 1500 with 3000 more sustaining various injuries. Out of the estimated 20,000 Supremacy troops to take part in the dual conflicts, none survived.

Clockwork stood alone in one of the Even Odds' soldier quarters. The pegasus didn't want company right now, he needed to calm down, let off the stress acquired from journeying into Tartarus twice within five days.

Desperately trying to remove his focus from previous events, the pegasus looked around the room in which he was now situated.

The living quarters were nothing special. A few bunks lined one wall, pinup posters of mares in skimpy uniforms lined the other. An empty gun rack laid against a coffee table set in the middle of the small, dark room. The whole thing was painted a dull gray with bronze accents, illuminated only by the scant flash of lightning and dull thunder that followed. The rain was almost noiseless as it drizzled down the window that made up a large portion of the quarters’ outer wall, coating the room in darker flecks.

Clockwork's ears twitched as he heard the door behind him slide open. He was half-surprised at the voice that followed.

"Hello, Clockwork."

". . . Hey."

"I remember reading somewhere that talking about your experiences is one of the best methods to removing stress. Are you willing you talk?"

“Sure.”

For a long while, the only sound that echoed through the room was distant thunder. After clearing her throat, Charger started the conversation, just like old times. “How has your time with Research and Development been?”

Clockwork shrugged. “I’ve barely made progress in recent months. Didn't you get my last letter?”

“No.” Charger shook her head. “It was ruined by the rain, and the day after I was transferred to a different post.”

“Alright.”

“Have you made any friends?”

Clockwork froze up as he remembered Wetwork, HAywire, and Saltwater Taffy. Hopefully, they were all still alive; Wetwork especially. At least she held feelings for. . .

Something snapped.

"Where were you?"

"What?"

Clockwork looked over his shoulder. "Where were you when Ponyville got hit?"

Charger sighed. "It’s classified, but I was based in Mustangia. From there, I was ordered directly to Cloudsdale to take the place of several deceased officers simultaneously. Even if I had the abilities, I wouldn't have been able to make it back to Ponyville to help aid in the-"

Clockwork slammed his wing into the coffee table, causing the glass to shatter and red to drip from his appendage. "You weren't there. You weren't there! You weren't there to WATCH. MOPPET. DIE."

Charger was visibly shocked at the pegasus' sudden, violent outburst. She stepped back.

"You were off in some hick village pulling weeds while my home, our home, was razed! You weren't there to see all the pain and suffering, loss and hopelessness. The blood and screaming and bodies. YOU WEREN'T THERE TO WATCH THE LIGHT FADE FROM MOPPET'S EYES!"

"Clockwork, calm down. Please." For the first time, fear was easily noticeable in Charger's voice.

"No, I will not calm down!" Clockwork stomped his heavily bandaged hooves into the metal floor, causing the wraps to gradually redden. ”Before you and I joined the military, Moppet, You, and I made a promise that no matter what, we would be there for each other! I even promised Smokestack that I would keep his little brother safe! I've taken more than a few bullets for you! Moppet died for us! We sure as Tartarus tried to uphold our side of the deal! WE TRIED! WHY. NOT. YOU?!”

Charger crouched into a familiar stance and readied her gloves. Her hooves and tail arced with blue lightning. "Stand down, soldier."

Clockwork seemed to relax, though anger was still visible in his eyes. He trotted to stand at Charger's side, though he was facing opposite her. "Oh, but I thought glory was for the pegasi and the dead, First Lieutenant? Is that all I am now? A subordinate? A grunt? A one winged freak with a lost cause and a clingy persona? An egghead tech junkie that sits around waiting to fix your shit? What am I to you, Charger?"

Clockwork left the room before Charger could answer. However, the mare waited until her friend was out of earshot before she whispered her answer. "You're the stallion I care about most in the world."

Despite his years of training, the Acolyte couldn't help but crack a smile as he marveled over the success of the mission.

The world surrounding him seemed like something out of a horror story. The earth beneath his claws and paws was a monotone gray and moist with Carniferous-knows-what. The only thing more common than the billowing, black smoke was the rubble from which it was born.

The ponies had a base at Valor Point. Key word: Had.

Aside from the scorched ruins of the Alliance base, the no-griffon's-land had barely enough to keep one's attention for more than a few seconds. However, this place had great meaning, both historical and sentimental.

It was here, millennia ago, that the abomination had been defeated. Thousands of soldiers died just to give their majesties the chance to bring it down, and the griffons had yet to forget the names of those that perished. The demon's magic tainted the world, extending so deeply into the earth that it had been reduced to gray mud for eternity. Oh how he wished to have been born then, to take part in such a glorious conflict!

"Hey! Watch where you stick those tin wands, you feathered piece of shit!"

The Acolyte's relatively positive mood was torn from him by the violent outburst of a nearby prisoner. The griffon rolled his eyes. Why had his lordship demanded that they kill only what they couldn't capture? Political leverage? A display of strength? Spite? He quickly banished the speculation from his mind, for he knew he could never truly comprehend the immaculate mind that belonged to the Griffon Emperor.

"Pffft. For a soldier, you sure daydream a lot. Whatcha thinkin' about, bird?"

The Acolyte glared at the stallion kneeling before him, another griffon's blade pointed at the back of his head. He was slathered with mud, mane shredded, and patches of skin ripped away to expose red muscles. A fire unlike any the griffon had seen before now burned in his eyes. The griffon withdrew his own sword and pressed it to the pony's throat. "I wouldn't slur my superiors if I were you."

The earth pony grinned, revealing that he was missing a fair amount of his teeth. "The only superior thing you birds have over us is your casualty list. You best crawl back to your nest and bunker down, 'cuz you guys pissed off the motherbucking hurricane."

The stallion's final act of life was to spit in the Acolyte's face.

As the griffon wiped the saliva from his eye and the fresh blood from his sword, a curiosity arose within him. Even when looking death in the eye and then spitting in it, he never once seemed to be afraid. His vermin comrades had been slaughtered before him, and many more would come later if they acted in a similar manner. His base had been reduced almost entirely to rubble, and he had sustained multiple debilitating injuries; yet through it all, his eyes never housed the slightest glimmer of fear.

How?

The Acolyte shifted his focus back to the situation at large, perhaps Equestria would put up slightly more resistance than expected.

For a moment, he lets himself relax, resting on his hind legs and looking to the horizon. It was a interesting view, truly.

“Acolyte Tawnyfeather.” a raspy, commanding voice declared a good distance away from him.

Turning, the young griffon’s beak formed a hard, thin line. “Yes, Chaplain?”

The Chaplain was a grim individual, battle scarred and filled to the brim with quiet, seething ambition, one of those priests who had stayed in his rank for too many years, eager to rise up in the chain of command and not be forced to command Acolytes like himself.

However, ranks tended to change quickly during wartime.

“I expected you to keep your sword to yourself,” the elder griffon said, looking at the cooling pony corpse on the ground. “That was an earth pony, you daft fool! You have access to the files about the real reason we are capturing ponies, and I would expect you to know that what you just did could cost us our quota!”

The Acolyte winced. “I assumed it was a mule by it’s appearance, sir. Look at it’s knobbly legs and filthy pelt.”

The Chaplain gave the younger griffon’s words some thought, seemingly taking the blatant fallacy as truth. “So it seems. I would warn you that if you keep this up, chick, you will never even become a Templar.”

“Of course,” the Acolyte answered robotically.

“We are leaving for Victoria Urbem very soon, chick,” the Chaplain stated with little effort, causing the much younger griffon to blink. “A meeting for all the generals and the priesthood. One of the Bishops asked that I should accompany him, and that I was to bring another with me as an arms-bearer.”

The Acolyte blinked. “It would be a great honor, Chap-”

The Chaplain raised a gnarled talon and clicked his claws together. “Hush. Walk with me.”

The Acolyte, though taken aback, said nothing and did as he was told. The Chaplain said nothing as he strolled across the battlefield, walking over corpses and pieces of hot metal. The younger of the two was still slightly unnerved by such things, but he remained silent. Soon, they were at the rim of the plain, a great expanse that showed the many miles of gray landscape that dominated the area. It had a sort of stark glory to it.

“You see this?” the Chaplain asked, waving a talon in the air, “This is not what we are fighting for, chick.”

The Acolyte did not respond.

“Yes, we fought long and hard to take this place, and this is what the citizens of our great cities are being told that we are doing, but this is not what we are taking.”

The Acolyte was confused. “Sir, what are we doing here, then? Is this not the place where the Abomination was slain?”

The Chaplain rolled his one eye. “It is; though perhaps you are not understanding what I am saying. Who am I, young Acolyte?”

“Chaplain of the Fifteenth Templar squad, sir?” the younger griffon asked.

“I am Gazot Brightwing, young Tawn.” the elder replied smoothly.

The Acolyte was even more confused now. He was straying from church matters into. . . civilian ones. Only the higher ranking priests knew and called each other by name.

“We are not fighting for these lands. We are fighting for the soft, fertile green lands of Equestria. Not zebra or buffalo or camel or horse, but pony lands. Soft rolling hills, clean air and clear water. A place for our people to grow.” He stopped abruptly, looking at the Acolyte with his single watery, judging eye. “You have read the documents regarding our spies, yes?”

The Acolyte shuddered. “Sir, what is this about?”

“Once, when I was young, I flew across the border of the Empire to a tiny pony settlement.” Gazot began his story..

The Acolyte’s eyes widened with shock and a little bit of fear. Something like this was unheard of among the priesthood!

“As this was before the conscription for the priesthood began, you will gain access to those texts as you advance, I even lived there for a time. I had a pegasus mare as a companion as well, Tongue Twister was her name.” the griffon sighed, looking older and more tired than the Acolyte had ever seen him before. “She was a wonderful person, young one. Those times there were the happiest in my long life, but I had to leave.”

“Sir, what. . . what are you trying to tell me?”

“You must understand, young one, that while they are our enemies today, it was not alway so and it will not be so in a few years. If it be by blood or peace, one day, ponies and griffons will not be enemies, and it will be within your lifetime as well.”

The Acolyte thought that over. He knew that, if the older griffon was telling the truth, it would be in his own best interests, both for advancement and his allies, to alert a higher power and have Gazot taken in by the Inquisition and slain. He could easily become a Templar or even a Knight Templar! Or, perhaps, as he had once heard, the rumors that one who kills another priest can take their place, and that he could become a Chaplain to an entire Legion!

In the end, Tawnyfeather thought against committing such an act.

“I see, sir.”

The older griffon appeared stiff, old, dried up. Not nearly as dignified as any other griffon his rank should have been, but old and withered. Grandfatherly.

“I see. I expect to see you before midnight, we are taking my personal shuttle.”

The older griffon stood there for a few moments then slowly began to walk away, to the heart of the wreckage, no doubt.

Acolyte Tawnyfeather said nothing, looking at the setting sun in front of him, wondering about the red crust that was still on his sword and what it said about himself.

Pegasus Device

Clockwork awoke with a start. A quick check of his surroundings confirmed his suspicions. The bandages were gone from his legs and wing, he was already dressed, and his body was devoid of aches and pains. He was dreaming, but of what? He sat up, finding himself in his room back home, again. There were no sights or sounds of war. . . actually, there wasn’t any sound at all.

Even as the pegasus set himself on the floor and carefully made his way to the door, he couldn’t make out the sounds of his hoofsteps on the wood. His breathing and heartbeat were inaudible as well, he could only barely hear himself think. The stallion held his breath as he made his way downstairs, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to check to make sure some kind of eldritch horror wasn’t going to eat him. He had always wondered if the belief that death in a dream was equivalent to death in real life.

“Allow me to get that for ye, laddy.”

The pegasus froze as he reached for the handle that would open the door to the outside world. A cold, grey hoof rested on his. He slowly looked to his left. That voice, no, it couldn’t be. “Moppet?”

Much to Clockwork’s horror, the figure next to him resembled his late friend in almost everyway sans a key few. The mule’s hat was gone, and his eyes were now nothing but empty black holes. His supposedly friendly grin was too perfect to be natural, and the gash in his chest dripped with a black tar instead of blood. “The one an’ only.”

“No.” Clockwork shook his head furiously as he tried his best to wrench his hoof away from the creature’s death-grip. “You’re not real. You’re not him! The real you is dead!”

“Now now now, don’t be rude to the only real friend yev got! C’mon, let’s go fer a walk. My treat.”

Clockwork felt his mind scream in protest as his body complied with the demon-Moppet’s suggestions. Like water, the corpse-mule opened the door and led the engineer outside. Clockwork was both confused and horrified by what he bore witness to.

It was the Invasion of Ponyville, in all its violence and horror. Yet, it was all so very quiet, and still. Everything seemed to be either frozen perfectly in time or moving slower than a snail’s crawl. The corpse still firmly grasping Clockwork’s hoof led him through the carnage like it was a trip through the park. Dear sweet Celestia, was he humming?!

The duo stopped at a part of the invasion Clockwork didn’t recognize; no, he hadn’t been here when it actually happened. So, why the hay was it so well detailed?! The bloody scene was of Axel, the brutish griffon in charge of the battle, though he didn’t appear to be killing anyone at the moment. Instead, he was standing over. . .

Goddamit Clockwork, wake up wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP!

The guillotine-wielding beat stood over the headless corpse of a city guard, said guard’s head occupied the griffon’s right claw as he held the cranium to be exposed to the lowering sun. His broadsword, covered in a fresh coat of red, occupied his other claw as it stood impaled in the red earth. He was shouting something to a small gathering of troops, many of which were whooping and hollering, others raising their own bloody swords to the heavens. Clockwork noticed that the guard’s eyes and mouth were closed and devoid of terror, as though the owner of the head had been asleep at the time of his death. The stallion prayed that he had died painlessly and without fear, for it was all he could really do now.

“An admirable scene, ain’t it?”

Clockwork slowly looked towards the source of the voice. Something in his body began to replace the ever-present horror as gradually as melting ice. He gritted his teeth.

“The blood, the violence, the lightin’, that look of victory in the soldiers’ eyes! Beautiful, eh?”

The pegasus shrugged lightly. “Beauty. . . beauty is only within the eye of the beholder.”

“That don’t apply to me.” the corpse-mule pointed to his empty, bottomless sockets. “Ye wanna know the best part ‘bout it all though?”

Clockwork didn’t respond, he wasn’t going to play this demon’s little mind games. Unfortunately, his silence did little to keep the mule-shaped thing from answering anyway. “Tis thanks to ye that this is all ‘appenin’!”

Clockwork's eyes widened, though he remained silent.

"’ad we not been lollygaggin' around at yer place, we might've been able to stop all this early! Yer ‘ouse is a fortress anyway, yer folks would’ve been just fine even if we 'adn’t went to check up on ‘em! We could've saved the Lost Foals earlier an' kept more ponies from dying if we ‘ad followed my plan from the start!"

"Be quiet. . . please," the pegasus hissed.

"You could 'ave been ‘ere before this all ‘appened if you knew where ta look."

"I said. Be. Quiet."

“Ye would still ‘ave a real friend! Oh, an' speaking of which, ye never really kept yer promises to me, did ye? Yah blew it, Clocky. Yah blew it 'ard, an' now there’s a mare who wanted you around her who’s probably dead in Canterlot, but the only one you’ve thought about since yah left the city was that bullheaded mare who couldn’t friendship her way out of a wet pa-"

“SHUT! UP!”

CRACK!

Clockwork spun around and punched the not-Moppet with enough force to crack its skull. The body soared through the air, over the still carnage as the world began to darken. It impacted, limp in the dust a considerable distance away. It continued to repeat a few choice words in a sing-song voice until Clockwork finally returned to the world of the conscious.

Ye didn't keep yer promises.
Ye didn't keep yer promises. . .

Clockwork looked up from his desk. He had fallen asleep working, again. His barracks had changed little in the week he had been back, and his knowledge of the war at large was almost non-existent. "Knowledge of wartime events may cause severe hampering of mental capability,” the memos had said. “The average Equestrian citizen is not mentally prepared for such violence at such a young age, often times never,” they had told him.

The pegasus groaned as he lifted his right forehoof from his desk to expose the fresh, and surprisingly large, crack in the dark wood. He still couldn't believe that the nerve endings were still fully functional. Ignoring the pain that was already becoming far too noticeable, the stallion hurried out of his room and limped towards the infirmary. He laughed under his breath, realizing that he probably had achieved the record for most visits.

The pegasus wandered through the corridors for some time. Despite the facility's well lit passageways, he knew that it couldn't have been past midnight by now. The lights were probably the one thing that-

The stallion slowed to a halt as he noticed a grey figure walking down the hall some ways behind him. Her mane was a matted mess, her teal eyes were slightly watery and had dark circles under them. She was wearing a small robe that matched her eyes, and her lip piercing seemed to have been taken out recently. She looked only half-awake, even with the coffee cup hovering next to her in a veil of dark pink magic.

Her eye’s widened as soon as she spotted him, and Clockwork did the same.

“Oh, hey,” she mumbled, sounding startled but too tired to express it properly. “Something the matter?”

Clockwork smiled at her, knowing that she looked like she needed some cheer. "Hey Wetwork. Just heading to the infirmary, again. You alright?."

"I guess,” the mare replied in a way that signified that she was telling a bold faced lie, exhaustion in her voice. “What about you?”

Clockwork rubbed at his leg. “I think I need some pain medication.”

"Would you like me to help you there? I was getting some sleeping pills myself."

The pegasus smiled. "You would even if I refused."

With only a nod and a soft sigh, Wetwork trotted over to where he was.

It took about five minutes before either of them spoke again, and sweet Luna it was an odd five minutes.

Neither expected to see the other, and the two of them were torn between what they should say. Wetwork kept looking at the bruises he sported, while, to Clockworks mild dismay, he kept finding himself trailing a little behind Wetwork to get a better side-view of her. The robe she was wearing pretty much hugged her, and something twinged in him when he snoticed the way she moved.

“So, uh, what are you doing up this late?” Wetwork asked, sounding a little lost regarding where to start off from.

“I had a bad dream, and I punched my desk,” he replied, a little dazed.

“Oh.” the mare looked to the floor for a second before taking a swig of her drink. Clockwork was never a fan of coffee, but he couldn’t fathom how she could drink straight-black like it was nothing. “Well I’m glad that you got out of there alive. I hear it was awful.”

Clockwork’s brow raised in confusion. Hadn’t he already told this story to practically everypony in Research and Development? “That’s putting it lightly, but yeah, it was awful. I’m glad that you didn’t have to go through it yourself.”

She nodded and gave him a small smile. “Thank you. Honestly, I was scared when they put the entire cave system on lockdown. A lot of us thought the floor would come down on top of us with how it sounded.”

“Good thing it didn’t,” Clockwork said, a little perturbed.

The unicorn looked away, trying to hide the light blush that colored her muzzle. However, said blush was quickly replaced by a look made of pure concern mixed with a little anger. “I’m sorry to jar the mood, but what were you doing in Cloudsdale? You should have been in Canterlot as soon as you saw the airship.”

Clockwork sighed. “I was there on an assignment to do what I do best, fix stuff.”

“All R&D staff are supposed to head back to Canterlot immediately under any sort of attack,” she countered, more for the sake of doing so than anything else.

The pegasus shrugged, stopping for a moment to rub his aching hoof. “Yeah, but I got some kind of recommendation thing. It said I could go to Cloudsdale if I wanted.”

“And you accepted,” she replied flatly.

“Yes.”

“I don’t mean to be frank, but repairing dropships doesn’t give you injuries as bad as yours were without something going horribly wrong.”

It took some time, but Clockwork managed to tell his fellow scientist of his unintentional role in helping save Cloudsdale from complete and total atomization. “So after all that, I met somepony I at first didn't believe was there.”

“. . .Charger, that friend of yours that Taffy talks about?” Wetwork asked, voice dubious.

Clockwork would’ve nodded and smiled at the mention of the mare he loved, but. . . something kept him from doing so. Was it how the yellow mare had acted when they reunited? How he had acted? Or was it maybe that. . . yep, it was because of the look in Wetwork's eyes.

“Umm. . . hey, I was wondering if-”

‘We’re here,” Wetwork interrupted the stallion as she pointed upward. Sure enough, they stood at the entrance to the infirmary.

Clockwork’s only words spoken during the treatment of his light sprain were of how he acquired said wound. He had been here far too many times to care for the surroundings any longer. It was all so dull now, so. . .

Wait.

The pegasus’ brow furrowed in concentration as a select few synapses fired together for the first time. It almost felt like fireworks going off in his brain. He got to his hooves faster than lightning as his thoughts spiraled downward into the thralls of a possible idea. He barely had the mental power to thank the nurse for her efforts and to beckon Wetwork to come with him; he was on the verge of something. Something good.

“Wait! Clockwork, what about Haywire?!” the mare asked as she sprinted after her companion.

“Go wake her up and both of you meet me at the firearm testing lab in half an hour!” the pegasus shouted over his shoulder.

‘You know how she is when she doesn’t have her coffee!”

“Then make it a full hour!” Clockwork went from a sprint into a dead-gallop as his mind continued to work away at the idea. Mental flashes of blueprints and failed experiments whizzed by, the pain in his hoof was nonexistent.

It just might work.

The pegasus practically kicked in the door to the testing range. After a quick look over of the various storage bins that lined one wall, Clockwork retrieved an old friend of his and its respective box of ammunition. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tossed the weapon onto the nearby modification table, scavenged some random metal sheets from the scrap bin, and acquired a few choice tools. After he had everything he needed, Clockwork set to work, even though Wetwork and Haywire had yet to arrive.

The stallion couldn’t believe why he hadn’t thought of this before. Such a thinly framed weapon couldn’t be made out of something like iron or brass and expect to hold up under the duress of war! Further, a firing pin designed to fire two shots based solely on how far back the hammer is pulled? Good goddesses, no wonder why this thing had never got past the prototype stages!

It wasn’t much longer before Clockwork was practically tearing the LeMane apart until there was nothing left but it’s surprisingly thin skeletal framework. After replacing said framework with a thicker, Mithril variant, he began to carefully tack on specific bits and pieces with a speed he had never accomplished before. Something was driving him, something wonderful. The subconscious promise of success.

“Clocky, there better be a really good reason why I was awoken to the absence of a pot 100% freshly ground Saddle Arabian coffee or so help me I’m gonna-!”

“QUIET!” Clockwork roared. “Eh, sorry. I just need to get this one piece in and it’s really difficult if I have distractions and-”

“You’re trying to put this in backwards, dumb-bum.”

Clockwork froze solid. “. . . What?”

“This one piece.” Haywire hobbled over to and shoved Clockwork away as she removed a few pieces from the weapon and rearranged them. The end result was the parts fitting seamlessly. The pegasus forgot to breathe for a moment as he looked over the weapon.

Haywire beemed at his befuddled expression.

Even then, it now seemed more like a work of art now rather than a weapon designed to permanently cripple and/or end life. It gleamed like pure silver, and everything looked. . . well, right.

Clockwork took the weapon in one hoof and spun out the cylinder. In addition to the weapon having become incredibly light, it was also working much smoother than before. Now, the only thing left to do was test it. "Goggles? Ear protection?"

“Already had them~," Haywire chimed as she held out a pair of each to the stallion, taking a heavy slug of coffee from the mug that now occupied her spare forehoof. As Clockwork set the items over his eyes and ears, he remembered that Haywire's taste in coffee was almost the polar opposite of Wetwork's. To be honest, there could've been more sugar in there than there was liquid, considering it had the consistency of carmel and almost as likely to turn a flirt with diabetes into a full blown relationship.

Shaking the thoughts of a drink he didn't even like from his mind, the pegasus turned his attention to loading his firearm. Seven rounds of .44 magnum were set in the outer ring of the cylinder, each bullet forming a part of the circle that surrounded the single 12 gauge shotgun round at the cylinder's center. With a single, long breath, Clockwork brought the weapon to bear and pulled the hammer back to its fullest extent. Everything fell into place with a soft clink!

After another deep breath, Clockwork pulled the trigger.

Please, let this work.

Bang!

One round left its casing and impacted the target dummy not a second later. One, two, three more rounds followed without so much as a moment's error! Clockwork almost leaped in celebration when he had successfully fired all seven rounds, but there was one last thing to test.

Gulping, he aimed the weapon forwards one last time, flicking its hammer to strike the secondary cartridge.

BOOM!

It didn't matter that the firing of the round was amplified by the room's tights walls, or that there was a faint ringing left in everypony's ears after that; Clockwork, Wetwork, and Haywire had finally done it.

"YYYYYES!" Haywire beat her companions to the punch and almost hit her head on the ceiling as she continued to jump around. Then again, it may have just been her coffee finally taking effect, but it didn't matter. Clockwork smiled.

"Ooh! Wait!" Haywire suddenly planted all four hooves on the floor and appeared rooted there. After a few seconds, she relaxed. "We need to go tell the higher ups about this NOW! I'll do it! Great work, everypony. See ya!" The earth pony practically rocketed out of the room before either scientist could react. After she had gone, Clockwork gently placed the LeMane back on the table and ejected the spent shells, dropping them into his coat pocket. He'd be keeping these for a while.

"Hey. . . Clockwork?"

The pegasus looked up and over his shoulder, finding Wetwork looking past the gun and directly into his eyes. "Yeah?"

“You wanted to ask me something earlier?”

Clockwork thought for a moment about what the unicorn was referring to. When the memories did come back, his muzzle almost glowed red. "Oh, that. Well, um, yes; I did want to ask you something earlier but. . .” his voice trailed off.

“Hey,” she said, tone firm, “say it if you want.”

Clockwork sighed. "Alright. “I thought over what I said and did that night in Canterlot, and I've come to regret it. It may sound really stupid, and it's completely up to you and I won't be hurt if you say no, but-"

"Just say it."

"I wanted to know if you would like to start dating. Me, I mean." The words left his mouth like it was wind going through a canyon.

Wetwork blinked, mouth slightly agape.

“And I really am sorry about, well, it wasn’t really. . . I'm really sorry. I just thought we could try and connect more. . . and you do look great in that robe.” Clockwork stopped talking then, embarrassed at his own words. He rubbed his neck and broke eye contact with the unicorn. Dammit. She probably thought he was a jerk, an idiot, a complete fool. She probably-

In a blur, he noticed Wetwork move from her previous spot a short distance away from him. His brain suddenly registered that he. . . tasted something bitter. There was a extra tongue poking around in his mouth, and goodness, there was a wonderful mare with a mane that smelled faintly of bubblegum shampoo and coffee, sweet and bitter at once with just a hint of something he couldn’t place; her head lined up under his just enough that her horn grazed his forehead.

It hurt a little, but it was that good kind of pain.

After a few thousand years had passed by in Clockwork’s mind, Wetwork breathed something into Clockwork's ear that he might had noticed if it wasn’t for the small implosion occurring within his head. The only thing he could comprehend was that, as she walked away, she swayed her hips as she took the longest possible path she could before turning for the doorway, sashaying the entire way.

Clockwork stood there for a while, one wing struggling to unfurl under his coat. He wasn’t sure if he knew what was happening in his life anymore, but he had the slightest feeling that he was beginning to enjoy it.

“Saltwater Taffy to prosthetics development. Saltwater Taffy, your presence is requested in prosthetics development.”

Clockwork waited a full three minutes after the announcer spoke over the intercom. Even after she had called out the same address again two more times, the pegasus mare failed to appear. Clockwork sighed, rolled his eyes, and set back to work.

To be perfectly blunt, the stallion’s mind was on a roll. Even after he had submitted his LeMane to project analysis to determine whether the weapon’s benefits outweighed its costs or not, his ideas had yet to stop flowing out. If this was all because of him punching a desk, he needed to take up boxing. Somehow, everything about the prosthetic research he had been taking part in clicked, and he found that they had been working on it backwards. Rather than create a semi-rigid outer shell and attempting to fit all of the components inside, they had to work on the artificial bone structure first, then the muscle strands, and then to the feathers.

Well, when Clockwork meant they, he actually meant himself, mostly. Taffy had certainly contributed to the project during the early and middle stages, but had been out sick a lot during this month. Weren’t all pegasi vaccinated for feather flu when they joined R&D?

Clockwork shuddered, for he hated needles more than almost anything else. He shook his head and set his mind back on the task at hoof. Before him lay a seemingly random mish-mash of parts, all surrounding a metallic endoskeleton. To the untrained eye, it would’ve seemed like junk, but to Clockwork, it was his masterpiece.

Again, he had to utilize mithril to get the weight ratio right. Even with all the artificial muscle strains and minute gears needed to simulate realistic movement and reaction times, it still was relatively heavy overall. Had he not used the miracle metal, this prototype would’ve been discarded hours ago due to its weight alone. Clockwork sighed, everything seemed to be going without problem, and then he had to get to the final, and most important, part of the machine: its power source.

The pegasus instinctively moved a forehoof to his fire ruby necklace. He didn’t know why, but he had always taken comfort in the gesture. Maybe it was the luster of the gem, its sheer size, or maybe what it represent-

Wait a minute.

Clockwork sprinted out the door and down several hallways. He had another idea.

Eventually, the scientist made it to the facility’s library. While nowhere near as big as the one he had been to in Canterlot (dear sweet Celestia, he wanted to stay there for hours), it still harbored immense stockpiles of knowledge for those who needed it. If he was lucky, this place might have the book he was looking for. Thankfully, there was a holographic terminal that contained a complete list of all books, both checked in and out, that the library had access to. This fact alone probably saved Clockwork twenty minutes of darting around like a humming bird.

“Let’s see. . .” Clockwork mused to himself. “G. . .g. . . gems! Yes!” after a few more seconds of furious scrolling, he found his target. Luckily, it was still checked in, and not too far away from where he currently was. After a quick bout of searching, he successfully retrieved the book, checked it out, and made his way back down the hallways of Research and Development. Clockwork almost forgot to look where he was going as he studied the book he had retrieved. Its title was inscribed in large, emotionless letter across the top half of the cover.

Gems & Their Effects on the Magical World

Clockwork stopped for a moment to flick through several pages before continuing on his way. Moonstones could be ground up for healing purposes, sunstone for light, and Sphalerite to fuel generators on par with those of the behemoths in Stalliongrad. The fuel section was where he needed to be, and after searching for a little while longer, he found his desired page. On said page was a black and white technical diagram of a fire ruby in its natural, heart-shaped form.

According to tests and studies conducted as far back as 400 R.C. (Reign of Celestia), Fire Rubies have displayed exemplary performance in the powering of small to medium-scale machines for extended periods of time (though the time varies depending on the exact dimensions of the machine it powers). To this day, it is still not entirely understood how this gem, often given as a gift of affection (and considered a delicacy by dragons), contains so much inherent magical energy. Talks have taken place regarding what enchantments Fire Rubies are best suited for powering, though no definitive answer has been given.

Clockwork grinned from ear to ear as he reentered the room he had left minutes ago. Everything was still here, though Saltwater Taffy was still nowhere to be found. Faustdammit, where was that mare?

The pegasus didn’t bother speculating as he set the book down on the same table as the almost complete prosthetic wing and gently removed his necklace. The scientist gazed at it with a smile that displayed mixed portions sorrow and happiness. If what he was about to do worked, it would be an amazing step forward in the realm of scientific rehabilitation, but his most prized possession would likely never return to its true, and most beautiful, form. The stallion gulped as he removed the jewelry's chain and procured a hammer from a nearby toolbox. With bated breath, he lined the tool’s sharper end with the gem’s platinum lining. After mentally reassuring himself that he wouldn’t damage the ruby, Clockwork brought the hammer down.

Shink!

Clockwork breathed a sigh of relief as he opened his eyes to the result of his efforts. The blade had pried away the lining like a hot knife through butter. He laughed to himself as he examined the red crystal, seeming almost naked, finding it free from damage. He carefully set the gem in place at the wing’s carpal joint. With a bit of effort, he secured it with three metal prongs, then went about assembling the artificial wing in its entirety.

It took some time, and even if it looked like just a loose collection of metal bits at the moment, Clockwork knew he was on the edge of success. After all, this was just a prototype. Even if it didn’t perform admirably at everything, all it had to do was succeed in accomplishing the basic movements. After that, he could refine it to perfection. Almost without thinking, the pegasus successfully hooked the prosthetic several buckles around his chest and pull the straps snug. Huh, it looked like that crudely wing-shaped dead weight he wore for sixteen years had actually been good for something.

The stallion’s thoughts were ripped from his body at the speed of light has he experienced perhaps the most terrible and wonderful feeling the mortal realm could create. Fire and ice shot through his body simultaneously, starting at his left shoulder. Lightning coursed through every muscle strand, fireworks exploded in his skull. He cried, screamed, roared, and laughed in agony.

Everything went black.

Flight

Clockwork looked around in a half-daze. His senses had been dulled significantly, but he had enough feeling left in his body to tell that he was falling. Yet, there was no significant wind, or light. He could still see himself though.

Weird.

He shook his head and flared out his wings to both stabilize and slow his descent, he needed to-

Wait. . . Wings?!

The pegasus looked over each shoulder, finding a fully formed wing just where it should be! What the hay?!

The stallion’s attention was brought back to the surrounding environment. The wind was picking up now, and he could faintly make out the ground far below. He had to get himself flying now!

Clockwork frantically beat his feathery appendages in a desperate attempt to gain lift. While he did have moderate success in slowing down, he hadn’t stopped falling. He had to calm down and focus, or he would die before he could actually experience flight. Taking a few deep breaths, the pegasus stretched each wing as best he could and folded both back into his sides. In an instant, he unfurled both and flapped hard. For a moment, he felt the sensation of falling disappear from his body.

And then he looked down and realized he was about 5 inches from the floor.

“GYAAAH!” Clockwork would’ve catapulted upright from where he lay, but his body failed to accomplish the task due to several pairs of legs holding him against something. He struggled for several seconds, not bothering to take note of his surroundings before he heard the last voice he ever expected to hear in his life.

“Clockwork, please calm down. You are safe here.”

Clockwork practically froze solid at the calming voice, he could almost hear the soft smile in her tone. His eyes fluttered to the foot of what he realized was a medical cot. There was Haywire, Wetwork, Saltwater Taffy, and. . . and. . .

“Princess Luna?” Clockwork breathed, his mind almost completely devoid of belief.

The alicorn of the night nodded, eyes closed and smile gentle. “At last, you awaken. How are you feeling?”

“I guess I’m okay.” after sitting up, Clockwork ceased all motion to check for any aches or pains. Amazingly, there were none. He looked back to his friends, and most importantly, his ruler. “What happened?”

“You did something nopony ever has ever done before and succeeded! Yippee!” Taffy bounced up and down as high as she could without bumping into the princess next to her.

“I did. . . what?”

“Look to your left, silly!”

At Taffy’s word, Clockwork did in fact look to his left. His heart skipped a beat.

Clockwork had a left wing, though it looked very different now. Where there used to be jagged edges, gears, and springs, there was only a silver hued metal. It looked like and moved as fluently as the real thing with only a thought from Clockwork’s mind. Just beyond where mithril had bonded to flesh, his fire ruby glowed a brilliant red, sealed in place by the metal. He looked back to his comrades in total exasperation. “What the hay did I do?”

“We don’t know,” Luna explained. “Mithril has always been a substance of remarkable potential, though in all my years I had never once seen it do something like this,” she paused. “It is magical in nature, and all magical things have life to them in some fashion. Perhaps it guided you. Stranger things have happened with metals from the world’s core.”

Clockwork laughed under his breath.. “Forgive me, princess, but this didn’t just attach itself as easily as you expect.”

“Ooh!” Taffy ran up to Clockwork’s bedside and appeared to vibrate where she stood, causing the night princess to give her a short-lived look of concern. “Tell us everything! How’d you do it? What did it feel like? Can you do it with all of us now?”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow at the mare’s questioning. “I wrote down everything. What happened to my records?”

Taffy shrugged “Records? What records? I found you unconscious on the floor, but no blueprints or notes or anything!”

Clockwork gritted his teeth for a moment and sighed. “Well then that’s it then. My memory's shot, and without records, I can’t do it again.”

“Awww. . . please?” Saltwater Taffy gazed at Clockwork like a lovesick puppy, to which the stallion only shook his head. With a whimper, the mare returned to her previous spot.

“What else can you tell me about it?” Clockwork asked to nopony in particular.

“Ahem.” Luna cleared her throat. “The primary and secondary feathers’ tips are unimaginably sharp, one of the doctors accidentally cut himself on one, actually. As you already know, the metal is also incredibly resistant to damage. We went through three bonesaws without so much as a-”

“Excuse me for interrupting, your majesty. Did you saw bonesaw?”

The alicorn nodded. “You were unconscious, and there was no real concern that the attempt to separate the prosthetic would’ve worked. Furthermore, a scientist like you doesn’t need artificial limbs as powerful as yours to function at peak capacity, only your mind.”

Despite the princess’ gentle voice, Clockwork couldn’t help but feel like they had tried to steal from him. He decided to change the subject. “How long was I out?”

“You were asleep for the whole week!” Taffy squeaked.

The pegasus stallion turned back to his ruler, eyes wide with concern. “Your majesty, I am fully lucid and understand that I am in no position to make demands, but I request that I be given all updates on the war’s current state or I shall refuse to part unto anypony what knowledge I still have to myself.” he took a deep breath, he didn’t think he could articulate that well. He was about to apologize for his brash statement when he heard the princess’ reply.

“Very well, though I believe you will not find joy in what I have to say. The Griffon Empire has pushed farther inland than we anticipated, and they’ve already taken three of our border outposts. We have reports coming in that the changelings are attacking Appleloosa in full force, though our Bison allies are holding fast. However, the changelings appear to be a different species from the ones defeated at the royal wedding. Finally, the zebra clans are reporting poison gas attacks by Diamond Dog soldiers. The situation seems grim, but as my sister has said before, we will prevail.”

A long period of silence followed the princesses’ words. It was Taffy who broke the silence first. “Hey Clocky, you okay?”

Clockwork looked up, fear clearly present in his eyes. “Which outposts?”

“Huh?”

“Princess Luna,” Clockwork ignored the confused pegasus mare. “which outposts were taken?”

Luna sighed, hanging her head slightly to mourn the lost. “We lost Forts Courage and Reverence simultaneously, and Valor Point days later. Do those names mean anything to you?”

Clockwork’s vision focused on something far off in the distance, and his attention was not brought back to the real world until Wetwork had placed her forehoof on his real wing. “Clockwork, are you okay?”

“Hmm? What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

In truth, Clockwork was far from fine. Charger had sent him a letter not too long ago, saying that she had been assigned to Valor Point until further notice. The last words in that letter were “write back soon.” The pegasus’ attention turned back to the occupants of the room. “Well, I’m awake and able to control my body to its fullest extent, and I doubt many tests could be run on this thing without me being conscious. So what do we test first?”

“Umm. . .” Wetwork began. “its endurance is without question, and there’s no way we can get the thing off, so. . . how about performance?”

Clockwork shrugged, managing to get out of his cot with a little help from the mare he was now in a relationship with. “Sounds good a plan as any.”

Clockwork stood in a large testing room, brass walls lined with lead for extra protection in case something unthinkable occurred. Two inch thick, high endurance glass, made up the only window into the unnervingly quiet room. The pegasus shifted about uncomfortably; sure, he was finally out of that extremely-difficult-to-keep-clean lab coat and back into his vest and undershirt, but familiar clothing didn’t help to calm him as he continued to fidget. Something about this room just didn’t feel right to him. He sighed as he waited for the scientist on the other side of the glass to give him the first of many orders to test out his new appendage. Sheesh, it certainly wasn't going to start acting up on its own or anything. What the hay were they so afraid of?

. . . him?

"Alright, let's start out simple," the researcher spoke over the intercom. "unfurl and a few flaps to test reaction time. Whenever you’re ready."

Clockwork nodded and unfurled his wings without a moment's hesitation. He flapped them thrice, noting the strange feeling in his left wing. It felt. . . well, normal really. However, when he had accidentally hit it a few times on his way to the testing room, the most noticeable sensation he had experienced was a numb pressure. That might come in hoofy one day.

"Okay, reaction times appear perfectly synced between both wings. You sure you can't remember how you made this thing?"

Clockwork shrugged, then shook his head "no."

"Ah well, what's lost is lost. Try a few more beats, faster this time."

"Got it." Clockwork beat his wings in rapid succession, creating a downdraft strong enough to lift him off the ground for the briefest of moments. It didn't matter though, for it produced the same exhilarating effect. The pegasus grinned from ear to ear. It may have been for just a second or two, but he had achieved lift.

"Performance seems nominal, range of motion matches up with natural limitations. Bring in the rods!"

To Clockwork's mild surprise, several panels from the wall rotated until their reverse sides were exposed to the interior of the room. On each panel, mounted on small, twin poles, was a rod of a different substance. "Mind telling me what these are made of?"

"High quality metals used by both the Supremacy and Alliance for militaristic purposes. We want to know just how sharp those primaries and secondaries are, so chop away until you hit something you can't cut."

Clockwork unfurled his left wing only and angled it perpendicular to the first rod. It felt a little odd using his wing like a blade, but he would probably get used to it by day's end. With little effort, he brought the prosthetic downward, its outermost feathers cleaving the rod perfectly in two. Every rod in the room met the same fate, and upon further inspection, Clockwork found that his wing had taken no damage whatsoever. "Like a hot knife through butter, eh?"

The scientist only nodded before pressing the intercom button once again. "Very much like one, yes. This next test will involve live fire, do you want to keep it up or take a break?"

"It depends on what you're gonna use those guns for."

"While your wing's endurance is unquestionable, the higher ups want to see just how much it can take. We'll start with .22 rimfire, and from there we'll work our way up until we reach a full on three second burst of airship turret fire. We can stop whenever you want, sound good?"

Clockwork almost felt like laughing at how ridiculous that sounded, but only nodded. Seconds later, a pair of heavily armored ponies entered the room, one carrying a large sack of weapons over his shoulder, the other carrying a disassembled turret. Before any kind of tests could take place, a thick, padded wall rose from the floor. The pegasus got the hint, put on his own eye and ear protection, and made his way to stand on the other side of the wall. He unfurled his metal wing to full breadth and gave the signal that he was ready.

It wasn't much longer before Clockwork heard, but didn't feel, the .22 rimfire hit his wing. The same results occurred for the rest of the pistol rounds, though he did feel like somepony had softly thrown a tennis ball at it when they fired the .44 magnum.

He certainly felt the shotgun and assault rifle rounds a bit more, though they didn't hurt in the slightest. Before the soldiers moved on to the turret, they stopped to inspect the wing for damage. Miraculously, they reported back the only difference being a dull spot which returned to its original gleam after a quick rub. Clockwork felt like giggling, this thing was kind of awesome.

Ch-CHINK!

The pegasus gulped as he heard the turret's action prime to fire. He didn't have to wonder what a stream of 7.62x39mm rounds would feel like much longer afterwards.

The bullets came in what felt like a solid stream of immense, accurate presure. Clockwork had to struggle to keep his wing still against the barrage, but still felt no pain. He theorized that if this didn't damage it, then the only thing that could would be a point-blank cannon round, and he certainly wasn't up to trying that.

Just like that, the pressure vanished and the bullet's echoes faded away. After the all-clear was given, Clockwork removed his protection and checked his wing. Much to his surprise, several of the feathers had become misaligned, and many more scuffed, but not even the tiniest dent presented itself. After a minute or so of maintenance, the prosthetic was good as new. The stallion wondered what kind of effort it would take to preen this thing, but dropped the thought when he remembered that metal didn't replace broken bits of itself and regrow. The sickly sweet aroma of knockout gas also drew away his-

Wait, knockout gas?!

Clockwork hurriedly set his goggles over his eyes and his bandanna around his muzzle. He looked behind him to find that the barrier had dropped, revealing that the two stallions were now sporting gas masks. It was only then that the engineer realized that the armor they wore wasn't to protect from ricocheting bullets, it was riot gear.

"Hey! What the Tartarus is this for?!" Clockwork screamed as he pounded away at the glass with his forehooves.

The scientist on the other side let out a long sigh while he readjusted his spectacles. "Orders from the higher ups. While that wing of yours is certainly useful, it will help little in your line of work. Guards, restrain him."

"What?!" Clockwork struggled furiously as he was immobilized by the two workhorses. Sweet Luna, were these guys wrestlers in their spare time?! The pegasus suddenly felt light-headed and stopped all struggle. His training kicked in, and he took three rapid breaths before gulping in as much air as he could. He went limp in the guards' hooves, making them drop their defense for the scant few moments Clockwork needed. With a mighty heave, the stallion unfurled his artificial wing and swung it around, removing both guards from him and the masks from their muzzles. They began to panic as their eyes started to water and began felt for their masks, and Clockwork considered taking one of them before he realized it would've been a pointless action. There was already too much gas in the air for the filtration systems to work properly. He turned his attention back to the scientist behind the glass, who was now yelling frantically for something.

The engineer began slamming his mithril prosthetic against the window with as much force as he could muster. He hit the window again, and again, and again. He wasn't going to let them take away his greatest creation, not while he still had air in his lungs. The pegasus halted for a moment when he noticed a long crack appear in the glass, then proceeded to focus his efforts on that single area. After the crack had widened, Clockwork noticed his vision darken significantly. He had to act fast or else he would be forced to return to the life of a one-winged outcast from society. Backing up as far as he could, the stallion brought his wing to bear and charged forward, simultaneously leaping towards and swinging at the glass at the last available moment.

CRASH!

Clockwork felt the window's resistance give away before tumbling to the floor opposite the barrier. The pegasus got to his hooves and checked to make sure he didn't have any shards of glass impaled in him before hurrying out of the room. He didn't even bother to notice the researcher from before's feeble attempts to restrain him.

The stallion continued to run, unsure of where he was going and not entirely caring. His only goal was to get away, get out, or both. Yes, he had to escape the cave system. While it seemed like a ridiculous plan, Clockwork reasoned that there was no alternative, and that he'd make it up as he went.

The pegasus deliberately slowed his pace enough not to arouse suspicion as he continued in the direction of the exit (thank Faust for directories). He brushed himself off, placed his eyewear around his forehead and muzzle-wear down around his neck; he even stopped to get a drink of water before quickening his pace. He hadn't heard the chemical hazard alarm go off yet, nor had there been any announcement that he had just taken out three allied ponies. Giving silent thanks to the royal sisters, Clockwork broke into a healthy jog, even managing to chat idly with a few familiar faces as he passed. It wouldn't be much longer before-

Clockwork reeled as he heard a shrill ring blast his eardrums. Dammit, they were on to him. He broke into a dead gallop, desperately trying to avoid running into others as he struggled to get by.

"Alert to all Research and Development personnel. A traitor pegasus is present within this facility and is in the possession of experimental weapons technology. Physical description is as follows: Male, dark cream coat with brown mane and tail with thin gray streaks, red eyes. He was last seen in A Wing, and is considered armed and dangerous. Avoid contact if possible."

Clockwork scowled at the unknown voice. Had he been there when the pegasus was almost gassed and amputated? No! The stallion cleared his mind, making one final turned and running as fast as his legs could carry him. All that was left was the elevator, and if worse came to worse, he could-

"HALT!"

Clockwork stabbed his metal wing into the ground, causing his body to swing back around and graze the wall before he removed his appendage from the floor and turned to face his attackers. Three soldiers blocked his only route to freedom, and they were all dressed in full battle gear.

"Engineer Clockwork, you are to surrender immediately or face termination on the grounds of attacking three of your allies and attempting to escape a military facility with a top secret weapon."

Clockwork looked over his shoulder to find no soldiers blocking the opposite end of the hallway. It wouldn't have mattered though, there were probably guards swarming his position. He turned back around and faced his accusers. "Three things wrong with your claim. One, they tried to knock me unconscious so I retaliated in self defense. Two, it is not a weapon! I designed this prosthetic as a tool to help winged creatures recover from losing a significant part of themselves. Three, I can't get it off, so likely the only way to remove it is from my corpse!"

"Then so it shall be," the head guard replied as he and his comrades prepared their weapons.

"Dammit!" by instinct, Clockwork flared out his artificial wing and crouched knelt behind it, putting as much strength as he could into keeping the appendage steady. Seconds later, the barrage of lead arrived in full force. The pegasus was surprised he wasn't blown off his hooves in the first second, and completely amazed when he was still alive to hear the roar of gunfire come to an abrupt halt. He peeked out from behind his (somehow still intact) makeshift barrier to find all three soldiers preparing to reload their weapons. They weren't even going to wait until the barrels cooled off? The rifles would melt in their hooves!

Clockwork knew he had only a few good seconds at best to make his escape, and then it was probably over for him. He readied his prosthetic for a wide swing. "My turn."

The stallion bolted forwards, covering the remaining space just as the center soldier brought his rifle to bear once again. With little effort, he swatted all three ponies out of his way and into the wall. He didn't bother checking to see if they were alright, for their groans of pain signalled they were still alive. Clockwork mashed the "Up" button on the elevator for a good 5 seconds, though it never lit up a dull yellow to show that the request had been acknowledged. The engineer cursed under his breath as he looked behind him to the sound of at least a dozen pairs of frantic hoofsteps.

He turned back to the double-panelled entrance and immediately shoved his artificial wing into the tiny fissure. In a manner similar to a crowbar, Clockwork pressed his weight against the door until the security lock gave in. After that, it was just a quick scramble inside and frantic flapping of wings.

Up the pegasus went, and though the shaft had enough space to fit four ponies comfortably, the stallion couldn't help but feel seriously cramped as he continued to aerially stumble towards the surface. Maybe it was the fact that there was almost no lighting to speak of. However, this soon turned out to be a goddessend, for the bright sliver of light that came into view after a while acted as the perfect beacon for him to follow. After grabbing onto the elevator's cables and stabilizing, Clockwork repeated the same action he used to enter the shaft, only this time with the purpose to exit.

He practically fell outside into the mid-morning air, relishing in the natural sunlight and soft breeze before his attention focused on something far more life threatening.

"Freeze!"

Guards blocked his path once more, though they weren't nearly as well equipped as the previous bunch. They were the duo that guarded the only official entrance into the cave system. They weren't aiming their weapons at Clockwork just yet, though the way they stood gave the pegasus plenty of cause for concern. With a roll of his eyes and a bout of adrenaline, Clockwork ran.

The pegasus flapped his wings in a desperate attempt to achieve flight, or at the very least get a little extra speed in his step. He was a fugitive now, a rogue scientist with a fancy wing, he was-

Falling?

Clockwork looked down, and sure enough, he was met with immense wind resistance. His legs felt no ground beneath them, and his wings flapped in a fruitless attempt to stabilize. Yep, he had just run off the side of the damn city. How the hay did he manage to pull that off?!

He shook his head to clear it of irrelevant thoughts. All that mattered now was that he keep himself from hitting the world below with the force necessary to convert him to mulch. He tried to stay calm, tried to remember his training. In the end though, he found both acts pointless, as it was extremely difficult to stay calm when death was imminent, and his training never covered falling out of the sky.

Dammit, Clockwork. Think!

The pegasus struggled to remember those old flight instruction videos he had watched as a colt, before he had his heart broken when he was told he might never be able to fly. Simple diagrams came back to his eyes, an annoying teacher’s voice filled his ears, taking the place of the roaring wind. His panicked grimace became a tiny smirk as he angled his wings and body appropriately. He had thirty seconds left at best before he became a puddle.

Just a little more. . .

The earth was the only thing left in Clockwork’s field of view. It was now or never, and he suddenly felt gravity take its hold on him once again as he turned his muzzle and body slightly upwards. He outspread his wings, and beat them with as much energy as he could muster.

Much to Clockwork’s surprise and sheer joy, he did not become a puddle. Rather, he was now flying just inches above the ground. He would’ve wiped the sweat from his brow out of relief, but had no time to do so, for he was too busy dodging trees or large rocks or any sort of thing that stuck up from the soil. Taking a gamble, he flared out his wings to dump his speed, and as soon as he felt his hooves touch the ground, he pushed off as hard as he could. After a few more seconds, he was truly airborne, soaring above the forest that covered the world below like a green blanket. He climbed almost straight upwards for what felt like hours, basking in the warm sunlight and the feeling of finally being able to leave the earth of his own power. After charging through a barrier of thin clouds, he let himself fall before attempting to hold his altitude.

He was clumsy, his wings were beginning to cramp up, he was winded, and he had even somehow managed to turn himself upside down a few times, but he was flying! He was actually FLYING!

“Yes!” the pegasus screamed at the top of his lungs before coming to rest on a cloud not too far off. He panted like an exhausted dog, but he didn’t care, he had finally achieved something that every pegasus believed a simple part of life, something they took for granted. To him though, it was an extraordinary feat in which the memories would never fade from his mind. He had always hoped that it would feel wonderful, but it passed that expectation immediately. Clockwork struggled to get in enough air to laugh, the view was just. . . amazing from up here!

“I can see my house from here! What about you?”

Clockwork nodded at the question, then spun around to face the voice’s owner. He must’ve been too tired to recognize it immediately, for his heart skipped a beat when he noticed Saltwater Taffy on the opposite end of the cloud, smiling at him.

The pale blue mare giggle-snorted, gazing at Canterlot for a moment before turning her attention back to Clockwork. “It’s an awesome feeling, right? The wind in your mane and feathers, the sense of freedom and all that?”

Clockwork remained silent. He knew his fun was over, of course somepony would’ve come after him. Maybe he could outfly her. . . or not, if she was inside the building when the alarm sounded.

“What’s the matter, Clocky? Tongue tied up?”

“What’re you doing here, Taffy?”

“I heard over the speakers that a traitor was in the base, and when their description matched you, I couldn’t believe it! I just had to go figure out the truth before you got hurt or something!”

Clockwork nodded, even if Taffy wasn’t the smartest pony he knew, her word was likely the most truthful. “So you didn't come to haul me off to jail by my ear?”

The mare rubbed her ears, imagining the pain for a moment and not liking it one bit. “Ouch, and no. I just wanted to talk with you for a little while!”

Clockwork sat down and finally wiped his forehead. “About what?”

“About why you chose to escape. I’m pretty sure something fishy’s about.”

“Forgive me for sounding rude, Taffy, but I don’t find anything ‘fishy’ about ‘the higher ups’ wanting to amputate my prosthetic, the device that I put my time and hard work into, just for them to modify it for their own intent. It’s wrong. It wasn’t designed as a weapon, and-”

“The signature was fake, you dummy!”

“What?”

Taffy’s voice took on a disturbingly serious tone. “Just before I went after you, I checked our military records for anypony by the name of Rote Learning, the researcher in the testing room. I couldn’t find any note of him or his guard buddies at all! The ‘higher ups’ Rote referred to was princess Luna or her sister, and while it isn’t my specialty, I can tell when a signature is faked. Not just that, but I think that the three are griffon sympathizers. They must’ve sent word back to the Empire when your wing became common knowledge in R&D, and they wanted it for the griffons. I think you can fill in the rest.”

Clockwork whistled in amazement. “That’s a pretty serious accusation to make, but I won’t object. Heck, I’ll probably get up on the witness stand if you need me to. So. . .” the stallion pawed at the cloud. “what happens now? Am I under arrest or something?”

The mare laughed as she stood and made her way over to Clockwork. She held out a forehoof and helped the stallion to his hooves. “Nope! I saw you recover from your fall, and I have to say that it was awesome for your first time trying to fly! I don’t want to be a meanie, but your form was kinda bad and you looked silly when you tried to turn. Do you want lessons?”

Clockwork screamed internally for several seconds before he fully registered what his friend had just asked. He nodded, and a little while later, they were off.

Trust

A revelation dawned on Clockwork that day. There were very few feelings that could compare to taking a hot shower after nearly three hours of nonstop flight training. He couldn’t help but laugh while he washed himself off, for he was still too far gone in the high of his first flight. It took a long while before his senses returned in full, but he wasn’t too worried about how much water he was using, the facility recycled nearly all of it anyway.

Like shattering glass, Clockwork’s happiness turned to curiosity as Taffy’s words came surging back. Three personnel within R&D had been exposed as traitors after trying to sedate Clockwork so they could either remove his wing or send him to the Griffon Empire for Celestia-knows-what. Their level of clearance was far beyond his level, and to be set in such a position required them to have either infiltrated the branch long before the war's beginning, or they had snuck in fairly recently with the help of a friend.

But who could’ve let them in? From what Clockwork understood, he had three good friends that had earned his trust, two mares he was friends with, and one whom he was in a relationship with. Specifically, Haywire, Saltwater Taffy, and-

Clockwork noticed something out of the corner of his eye and spun around, bringing his prosthetic wing into full view to act as a shield. It felt like eternity before the steam cleared, and Clockwork practically yelped at who he saw.

“Wetwork? What the hay are you doing here?!”

The mare’s muzzle glowed red as she tried to stutter out a response. “Oh! I. . . uh, I was just- I, umm. . .”

CLACK!

Something fell from Wetwork’s grasp as she fumbled for a proper response. Before she could react, Clockwork darted towards the object and scooped it up in one hoof. Much to his shock and fury, it was none other than a LeMane revolver.

“What the-?! Wetwork, it’s you?!”

“Of course it’s me, and what the hay are you talking about? I was just trying to find you so I could show you the first model that rolled off the production line! Besides, I thought I left something in here and didn’t expect you to be pondering life’s greatest mysteries!”

“Why would you leave something in the stallion’s locker room?!”

Wetwork didn’t reply, instead collapsing to the floor in a sobbing heap. In seconds, Clockwork was dried off, clothed, and desperately trying to ease the crying unicorn. “Hey hey, I’m sorry. I’m just on edge is all and I wasn’t expecting anypony else to come in, especially you. I know how you aren’t good with shouting and stuff and I‘m really sorry, okay?”

After Clockwork wiped her eyes, Wetwork finally looked up. She planted a tiny kiss on the stallion’s forehead. “It’s okay, I was sudden and all.”

“Are you free right now?”

“What?”

Clockwork helped the mare to her hooves before rubbing his neck. “I just thought that um, well, if you were free for a while, we could head back to my room and look over what you brought. It’s kind of weird to discuss a weapon’s production status in front of the entrance to a bathroom.”

Wetwork giggled weakly. “Sounds fine to me.”

It wasn’t much longer before the two were off, and later situated in Clockwork’s quarters. The pegasus cursed under his breath as he went about trying to make the place look presentable, stuffing heaps of papers into already crowded bins and swiping clutter off of the thing he eventually realized was his long-missing coffee table. He struggled to pull a few chairs out from a storage space, but stopped at Wetwork’s urging.

“Um, I don’t think we need chairs since the rug is soft.”

With a sigh, Clockwork retrieved his LeMane, set it on the coffee table, and took his seat next to Wetwork. The unicorn gently levitated her pistol to rest alongside Clockwork’s original. With a deliberate slowness, Clockwork examined each one in fine detail, glad to be back in his natural element. “The factory model works just as well as mine, but it feels a little loose. How many of these did you say we're going to be produced?”

Wetwork shrugged. “I think there'll be about three hundred built for now, and maybe a few more later on. Not everypony out there is going to get one. I hear that the more elite pegasi are getting one as a sidearm, and most ship captains will get one too.”

“A shame, it’s a good first model though.” the stallion nodded as he went back to work. The hammers worked in a similar fashion, though the firing pin was much smaller on the mass-produced variant. It also seemed to have been painted with some kind of substance that dulled the metal’s brilliant shine. Overall, it appeared cheaper, but Clockwork believed it would perform its task without error. His attention was ripped from the weapons as he heard a sniffle, and looked to find Wetwork struggling to hold back tears.

“Wetwork, is something wrong?”

Wetwork practically collapsed into Clockwork’s lap and laid there, her tears finally beginning to fall. “. . . Are you okay?”

The pegasus brushed his marefriend's mane out of her eyes. “I’m fine, what’s the matter?”

“I'm worried about you.”

“Why? We’re both alive and out of harm’s way.”

“I’m not too sure about that. Everyone’s scared that there’s still somepony in Research and Development working for the enemy. Everypony’s been triple-checked by now, but I just can’t shake this weird feeling.”

Clockwork held the unicorn close, holding her head to his chest. She always liked the sound of a strong heartbeat. “Go on?”

“Just. . . promise that you won’t tell anypony what I’m about to say to you now, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Alright. I went to go get Haywire to have us both reevaluated, and I found her rummaging through some experimental medical equipment.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with-”

“Clockwork, she and I are both in weapons development. We’d need five more levels of clearance and a noble title to access that kind of stuff. I don’t know how she got in, but when I confronted her about it later, all she told me was that she was getting impatient waiting for somepony else to give her access to get the things she needed and decided she would get them herself. I just. . . I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Clockwork helped the mare right herself before kissing her just below the base of her horn, and later, her lips. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll keep an eye out, for the both of us, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Excuse me, Haywire?”

The earth pony looked over her shoulder, a wrench still in her mouth. Uoh, hai Clohcky. Shup?”

“Would you mind going for a walk with me?”

The mare spat out her implement like it was a piece of bad fruit. “Huh?”

Clockwork shrugged. “I need some fresh air, and I get the feeling R&D isn’t just going to let me roam freely after everything that’s happened.”

Haywire placed a forehoof to her chin for a moment. She mumbled something to herself about schedules for a moment before looking up. “I’ll have to shift one or two things around depending on how long we’re out, but I think I can manage. Anywhere in particular you wanted to go?”

“Just. . . around, really.”

The earth pony raised her eyebrow, shrugged, and then made her way out of the room only to stop at the doorway. “I can’t just go walking around Canterlot in my science coat. Meet you on the surface in ten?”

“Yeah, sounds great.”

“You feel hungry at all?”

Haywire shook her head, and the two ponies continued on their walk through the capital city of Equestria. Clockwork was amazed at how little the city seemed to have been affected by the attempted assassination. Aside from a greater than normal amount of guards at each cobblestone street corner, the metropolis still glowed with its characteristic marble white and bronze hues. Ponies of all shapes and sizes politely shifted past each other in the mid-day sunlight. Not too far in the distance, the pegasus could see the royal sister’s castle. It was a place of residence, a symbol of political and economic progression, and so long as one sister still had breath in their lungs, it would remain an impenetrable fortress.

“Hey, Clocky. You seem kinda out of it. You alright?”

Clockwork’s attention was brought back to the mare who he had asked to take a walk with. "Not entirely."

"What's on your mind? C'mon, we're friends, and friends help each other out, right?"

Clockwork sighed, gesturing for the mare to follow him as they made their way towards some cafe or another. With a scant few words, the two found a seat near the back of the restaurant, away from any curious ears. Neither pony consumed what they ordered.

"Clockwork," Haywire addressed her friend with a voice devoid of cheer, replaced entirely by concern. "please tell me what's going on."

The pegasus contemplated what he was about to do, eventually coming to the realization that it would be better to get it out here and now. "Wetwork brought my attention to something you did some time ago and made me promise not to talk to you about it. However, in the name of both her safety and mine, I'm breaking that promise."

The earth pony rolled her eyes. "This is about that thing with the medical equipment, ain't it?"

Clockwork felt a little taken aback by the mare's casual response, but he also felt a little safer. He relaxed his artificial wing, hidden below several layers of bandages to dissuade curious eyes, and nodded. "Yes. You broke-"

"I busted seventeen rules and regulations just by entering that storage room, another ten after I went rummaging through the drawers. I know."

Clockwork didn't respond. He didn't think Haywire even acknowledged that anything she could do was wrong.

"I knew the risks going in, and it just sucks to know that Wetwork saw me. I knew the risks."

"So why did you go in?"

"For the same reason I told your marefriend. I'm working on a project in my spare time that I don't feel inclined to tell you about."

"Haywire. I was just targeted by three traitors smack dab in the middle of Research and Development for the one thing that makes me special. I have full justification to be concerned. Please, tell me what it is you're working on."

The earth pony mare looked away for several seconds. "If that's what I gotta do to earn your trust then so be it. Look, I have a big sister, living overseas in Germaney. She's a toymaker, and I try to send her knick-knacks I make myself to help give her new ideas and stuff. The thing I was working on is relatively complicated and requires very minute components, ones that could only be useful in medical tools. It’s a little wind up robot pony, but I still haven't gotten everything right. I took what I thought I would need. So there you go, that's my big criminal secret. I just wanted to make a toy."

Clockwork raised his brow. "That's it?"

"Yep."

"Why keep something so trivial a secret?"

"Because I'm a mare working in weapons development. My job is to help design objects that destroy, not entertain! Do you know how much the other scientists would ridicule me if they found out?!"

Clockwork placed his real wing on the sniffling pony's shoulder and met her wet eyes' gaze with his own. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. I'm sorry that I made you spill a secret just to null my own paranoia. If you want, I can help you finish up your little project."

"Really?"

"Of course. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold."

Haywire gave him a calculating, measured look, one that reminded Clockwork of why she was good at her job. "Thank you."

The two engineers worked in silent unity. A hoof signal there, a slight application of force there, and the minute adjustment of springs and gears were all the components needed to complete Haywire's little project.

Thanks to the stallion's mechanical prowess, he was able to both slightly improve the motor as well as incorporate a simple music box into the top of its back. When wound up, it would move in time to an old show tune.

"EEHEEHEE!" Haywire couldn't keep herself from grinning like a newborn foal as she watched the little brass pony go. While its movements were a bit rickety, the music box played on without a hitch. As Clockwork readjusted his goggles, he figured that even if the little machine wasn't his best work, it would still help two mares, one of which was a friend. The paranoia was still there, a tiny feeling gnawing at the back of his psyche, but the pegasus determined that the feeling likely wasn't meant for Haywire. Then again-

Clockwork's thoughts were abruptly cut off as somepony came over the intercom. Both scientists knew almost exactly what was going to be said before the announcer spoke, but her words only confirmed their previous hopes. They licked their lips in unison.

Pizza night.

Clockwork groaned as he tried once more to take a bite of his dinner before its contents slipped off. Pizza was a relatively new cuisine in Equestria, as political and militaristic relations with Itaily had only improved a scant year or two ago. Still, Equestria had taken a liking to the food, and that included a majority of R&D personnel.

"Pass the ranch sauce please?"

At Taffy's request, the stallion passed her a few bright green packets. Much to his amazement, the mare practically doused her meal with the condiment and sent them down her gullet like they were nothing.

The pegasus suddenly froze solid as he felt a now familiar, though no less pleasant, pressure against his cheek. The kiss was followed by a soft nuzzle, and Wetwork took her seat at her coltfriend's right side as she wrapped his slightly stiff real wing around her for warmth. "It seems a bit colder now, doesn't it?"

"Tell me about it, as if the chill wasn't enough already!" Haywire remarked from the opposite end of the gable, keeping a hoof in the air as though she were pointing at something. "I keep meaning to go get my jacket but I keep forgetting!"

Clockwork shrugged, indifferent to the temperature change thanks to his downy appendages. "At least the food's warm."

"And delicious!" Saltwater Taffy added, propping her forelegs up on the table as she gestured over to Clockwork. "The chef really knows what he's doing, eh?”

"Anyway!" Clockwork sat up straight and looked to his three companions. "How's progress been on everypony's latest projects?"

Before anypony could respond, a shrill tone blared over the speaker system. Much to Clockwork's dismay, the announcer requested his immediate presence in a specific section of E(xperimental Technology) Wing. With a groan, the pegasus stood and flexed his wings and rolled his eyes.

"The day Research and Development stops testing this thing's limits won't come soon enough. Thanks for dinner, and I'll see you all at breakfast."

After a few departing words from two friends and a slightly tongue-laden kiss from the third, Clockwork was on his way. He knew he was safe here. Security had been stepped up, it was now mandatory for all scientists to undergo psyche reevaluation at the end of each week, and it seemed like an armed guard was present at every doorway. Yet, Clockwork still couldn't shake this unnerving feeling that he was being watched. This watching wasn't a friendly gaze or slightly friendlier ogling, the pegasus knew he was being watched by a single pair of eyes filled to the brim with something far worse than malice.

However, to whom did those eyes belong?

It had been a long, paranoid day. In addition to a psyche evaluation, a light interrogation, and even more tests to determine the limits of his artificial wing, the pegasus had almost lost the trust of the only friends he had in the facility. Of course, he had passed them all, and even demanded that he try and recover his lost work by rewriting it from what little memory he had. He had fallen asleep at his desk, and the rest he had acquired felt like no more than a few seconds before his eyes showed he had been brought back to the real world.

But it was why he had awoken that scared him.

His eyes shot open at the sound of his room's door being opened. The pegasus knew full well that nopony, not even the royal sisters, had a "master key" in Research and Development. While highly inconvenient in times of emergency, it guaranteed that the enemy would never have full access to the entire base.

Remembering his training, the stallion remained in the slumped over position he had fallen asleep in. There was no slam of the door, screaming, or the feeling of a gun being pressed to his head. Clockwork had to strain to hear the muffled sound of slightly forced entry. Whoever this was was a professional, and likely the traitor everypony was so scared of.
Clockwork’s eyes darted around his immediate area. He breathed the tiniest sigh of relief when he noticed his LeMane within reach. Even better, it was fully loaded.

"This really is a nice place you've got here. It's a bit cramped, but it's still nice. Hope you liked supper, because if you don't comply, it'll probably be your last," the intruder taunted, voice lined with ice.

Clockwork remained motionless, desperately trying to simulate the even breathing of deep sleep. To say he was terrified would’ve been a serious understatement. That voice. . .

Oh no.

Revelation

"You don't have to act like you're sleeping. You aren't very good at faking, and what with the recent string of events I'm surprised you're not still testing out that new wing of yours."

The pegasus readied himself for a fight. He almost jumped out of his seat as he felt a warm burst of moist air flow across his neck as the assassin looked over his shoulder. "A remarkable weapon you've created. Does it work?"

Not in complete control of his body, Clockwork kicked his chair out from under him, followed by a quick head-butt to the intruder's throat. After said intruder had stumbled back a bit, Clockwork flared out his artificial wing, grabbed his gun, and met the intruder's sword with his prosthetic appendage. The fire ruby glowed a brillient crimson, causing the room to turn a similar shade, but the light wasn't enough to expose the assailant's face.

The pegasus had no training in sword fighting, let alone when the blade was connected to him at the shoulder, and especially when he could barely see who he was fighting. After making sure that his firearm was primed, Clockwork pushed hard enough that his assailant stepped out of striking range.

"I don't know, should we test it out?" the stallion asked as he aimed his revolver at the attacker’s center of mass.

"Your voiced cracked," the pony replied in an eerily distinct tone. “You sound funny when you do that.”

"So what?" the stallion asked, his aim shaking.

"You're scared, Clockwork, but of the dark or of me? Both? Allow me to eliminate one of those factors." the pony flicked the light switch with the tip of her sword before sheathing it. "You already know who I am, or at least, who I was. I wish to keep this as bloodless as possible."

Clockwork felt his throat ache. “You?! You’re the traitor?!”

Saltwater Taffy dipped into a low, practiced bow.

“So it was you after all. The trio that tried to put me under, the forged signature, the rampant questioning and multiple days off, even my missing notes. What’d you do with them, anyway?”

“Reduced them to ash. What else did you expect?”

“Why? Why?! Why turn against your own species?!”

The pegasus rolled her eyes. “Ugh, there’s no need to scream. No one will hear you anyway.

“Answer the question, you piece of shit.”

The mare giggled. “You know, I thought the disabled were supposed to be lovable, but you’ve blown the presumption right out of the water.”

Clockwork growled. “Answer the question!”

“Does the name 'Fluff Valley' mean anything to you?"

Clockwork frowned.

“I thought as much. That was my home, or at least, I thought it was before I was shown the truth. I care not to remember how long ago it was, but it was a beautiful cloud city, situated near the border. It felt like days as the Empire reduced the city to mist, one block at a time. I alone was spared by a soldier called Gazot. He took me in and raised me as his own.” she paused. “I’m not doing this solely for the Empire, you know. It is for the best for everypony involved. Do you really think the Alliance will survive when we bring the hammer down? I’m not doing this for my own sake, but because I have to.”

"Coming from you, that seems awfully hard to believe." with the lights on, the pegasus was finally able to get a good view of his attacker. Taffy seemed almost completely unchanged, but also an entirely different mare. Her voice was now different in tone, her eyes radiated with a calm malice, and her speech was much more refined. She wore a set of griffon armor, designed to fit her equestrian form. He didn’t bother to call for help. He was completely on his own now.

"Your suspicion is understandable, what with me being someone you trusted as recently as a few hours ago and Equestria's propaganda trying to drill itself into your very being. Why wouldn't you be scared of me?"

"What the hell do you want with me? My wing? My mind?"

"Your mind is what the Empire originally desired, but that prosthetic of yours is an unexpected bonus," she answered mildly.

"I’ll keep both on my person, thanks."

"You misunderstand. You are young, and even with your experience, you have yet to reach your full potential. You’ve voiced your disdain of the Federation's propaganda, and your intellect is laudable. You're not too bad of a flyer as well."

The stallion was completely mortified about how causal Taffy seemed, like this was just any other day between the two of them. "So what? There are a thousand other ponies out there like me. What do I have that they don't?"

"You haven't been turned completely towards blind devotion."

"So everything from day one, the talks over lunch, the projects we worked on together, all of it was a lie?!"

"It was annoying to wake up and act like such a stupid creature day after day after day just to keep your trust, but it worked. I even studied Haywire for inspiration, couldn't you tell?" she frowned. “I do respect you. Honestly, I was half-hoping that you would've defected by now of your own free will."

"I'm not coming with you. Why should I?"

"Equestria is the cause of your suffering."

"What?"

"The smog from the industrial revolution made you what you are. Born early, weak, and crippled. You know what’s really funny, though?"

Clockwork narrowed his eyes.

“In the grand old days of Pegasopolis, mares and stallions like you were culled. If you had been born just a few hundred years ago, you would have been flown over to the Everfree Forest and dropped over a hydra nest.”

Clockwork felt a stone settle in his heart. "I know how I was born. No need to rub it in."

She frowned. "Equestria gave mercy on a demon that wished for the end of light. Had she succeeded, which she almost did, the world would be nothing but darkness and ice. Trusting Princess Luna was and is a severe folly. How could you be so foolish?"

“She was reformed." Clockwork gritted his teeth.

"How can you be so sure?"

Clockwork gave no reply.

"Furthermore, after the Draconequus unleashed Tartarus across all our nations, he was spared as well! That beast has the power to terrorize the world once more should he go free. Who says he won't use it?"

"I heard one of the Mane Six was going to try to convince him to use his powers for good, and then you stole him."

"We know that. Yet, how permanent is the influence of a single friend when you're cursed with immortality?"

Clockwork's brow furrowed.

Taffy paused for a moment, sporting a a grin that was horribly recognizable to the engineer opposite her. It was the same ditzy half-smile she usually wore. She wasn’t faking this. "Ah yes, you haven't heard from the mare you've loved for so long now. You know, she's become very friendly with some of your top brass, no doubt trying to get a commission. It’s surprising, the stories we get of her. Logs of her being in the passion with one, or five, stallions. A few mares as well. I think there was even a bull mentioned in one report. I wonder if they did it cowpony st-"

"YOU. FUCKING. LIAR!" the enraged pegasus fired off all seven shots in a matter of seconds. In response, Taffy drew her sword and actually deflected each one. She sheathed her undamaged blade when he saw her adversary lower his weapon, water visibly pooling at the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t much longer before tears were streaming down his cheeks. "You're lying. She's alive, and she's not that kind of mare. She still remembers me."

"But she doesn't love you. She’s a registered sociopath, actually. It's on file. Don’t feel bad, because she physically can’t."

"SHUT UP!" the pegasus screamed. "We're still friends!"

"That word, you keep using it like it means anything! Besides, you have that airhead earth pony and the lazy unicorn that just wants your dick and a desk job."

Realization sparked in the back of Clockwork's mind. Taffy had let her guard down. She didn't know about the shotgun round in his LeMane. "I don't care what lies you spit. I'm not going with you, and you can't take me by force."

"Oh, I think I can." the traitor drew her sword.

"Try it." Clockwork flicked the hammer on his pistol to fire its secondary ammunition.

"An empty gun will do you no good." she smirked.

Clockwork smirked back. "It's not empty."

BOOM!

Saltwater Taffy collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain as she clasped at the bloody stump where her left wing used to be while tears streamed from her hatred-filled eyes. Clockwork couldn’t decide what horrified him more; the fact that he had just willingly shot somepony he had trusted and possibly crippled her for life, or that he wasn’t reacting at all in the way he expected to. He did not vomit, felt no cold spike run up his back, he didn’t even bat an eyelid as he walked over to and knocked the mare unconscious with the butt of his weapon. He didn’t say anything when the “hostile persons” alarm sounded, nor when his two best friends arrived and Haywire dissolved into a panicked mess at the sight of her injured friend. His only words for a long time after that were nothing more than a minimalist description of previous events.

The Griffon Emperor's eyes opened. Behind the platinum mask that adorned his head, his eyes glowed with the fire of a hundred lifetimes. Experience, disappointment, and calm fury present all at once. He looked to his left and placed an armored talon on a button connected to a small radio nearby.

"Warfather," the Emperor spoke. Despite his relatively quiet tone of voice, the single word echoed into the deepest reaches of the castle. “Respond.”

“My Lord,” the warrior on the other end responded.

“Acquisition of the pegasus has failed. The plan is unaffected.”

“Saltwater Taffy was brash, untrained, and far too talkative. She will be mourned by none,” the ruler of all griffons bellowed.

“She was expendable and a good first test. Gazot will not be pleased to learn of her demise.”

There was a pause.

“Orders, my liege?”

“How goes the war so far?"

“We are gaining a foothold but the Alliance's resistance is stronger than previously expected. Valor Point is still ours, and we have taken two minor cities. Several locations are currently contested, and the zebras are faltering.”

"Continue with the current. I want an update on the conflict at Appleloosa in three hours’ time. Head there with your colleagues afterwards.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Both griffons ended the transmission with a single phrase, uttered ever since their species had been gifted with the ability to speak.

Imperii gloria, gloria Carniferous.

At a passing glance, Clockwork could've easily been mistaken for a statue where he sat. Even though his vital signs all read green, the fact that he had barely responded to outside stimuli for the past hour bothered not just the nurse, but the pegasus’ two closest friends in the facility.

“Clocky? Are you okay? Are you even in there?”

“I am lucid, Haywire.”

“Umm. . . if you’re worried about Taffy, she won’t be able to fly anymore, but she’ll live.”

“I missed.”

“What?” Wetwork asked.

“I should’ve aimed for her head; I should’ve put an end to her suffering, her confusion, her hatred. I didn’t, death would’ve been the greatest mercy, instead I caused her great pain and have condemned a creature meant for flight to walk the earth for the rest of her mortal life.”

“I still can’t believe that she was the traitor,” Haywire mused. “I mean, who would’ve suspected the cute, kinda dumb one to be the big baddy?”

Wetwork blinked. “I certainly didn’t."

"Her cover was flawless,” Clockwork added listlessly.

“Clockwork. Are you sure you’re alright? Wetwork placed a gently hoof on Clockwork’s real wing. “You just shot somepony we all trusted. Maybe you should lie down or-”

“I appreciate your concern, Wetwork, but I am fine.” the pegasus brushed the mare’s hoof from his shoulder. “As much as it pains me to say it, I have seen enough death to become used to the sight of certain things. The fact that Taffy herself confirmed she was the traitor also eases my psyche. Please, just leave me alone for some time. I will be-”

“Ooh! How about a walk through the city? We’ll probably be allowed to go since all of the traitors have been dealt with. Canterlot’s pretty at night and the fresh air will definitely do you some good!” Haywire squeaked.

Clockwork silently considered the idea. The corners of his lips upturned slightly. “I would like that, but are you both free and willing to accompany me?”

Wetwork lightly kissed her coltfriend’s forehead and smiled. “Always.”

Clockwork felt a myriad of unpleasant feelings run across his body, forcing him to stop and lean against the wall of a nearby building. It wasn't long before Wetwork and Haywire were at his side, practically barraging him with questions. "I'm fine, really." Clockwork reassured them. "Just give me a minute. . . why is the city so dark?"

At first, Clockwork believed that his vision had left him, but Haywire’s explanation told him otherwise. "It's a mandatory blackout for when a military airship departs. The only major light sources right now are spotlights."

Clockwork looked upwards to the vessel that hovered far overhead. Even in the scant light, it was magnificent to behold. It was also familiar, and it took a spotlight shining over the dirigible’s name for Clockwork to fully recall what the ship was.

Even Odds

"What is Meteor Squad's personal frigate doing in the middle of Canterlot? Shouldn't they be out doing night raids or something similar?"

"I think that's where they're headed, actually," Haywire mused. "It's just rumors, but I hear they're gonna try and retake an outpost we lost a few days ago. I think it's called Valor Point?"

Even as his heart skipped a beat at the mention of the outpost, Clockwork tried his best to keep a straight face. He looked at Wetwork, but said nothing. He just looked at her, letting his mouth dip into a barely noticeable frown. Something didn’t feel. . . good about right now. He fumbled for the right words, but ended up withdrawing a single word from his memory: Charger. The mare’s figure suddenly appeared and flickered over Wetwork’s, even going so far as to completely replace her for a couple of seconds at a time. He shook his head furiously to clear himself of the strange visual phenomenon. Before either mare could voice their concerns, he suggested that they head to the Even Odds’ departure gate for a better view.

Traveled closer the three ponies did, stopping at the chain-link fence that blocked unauthorized access to the dropship landing pad. The trio watched the smaller ships arrive and depart, always returning to their point of origin in the frigate’s hangar bay. While relatively small, the zeppelin was a marvel of equestrian innovation. While a large majority of the paint had been scraped or burned off thanks to countless engagements, the ship glimmered silver with speckles of bronze here and there. Its four propellers, each controlled by a separate motor, spun as one just fast enough to keep the ship in the air. Spotlights illuminated the underside of the behemoth like tiny dots of light on a painting, leaving it up to the viewer’s imagination to determine the full picture. Clockwork smiled, not just because of the machine’s magnificence, but also its purpose. Those on board were the best of the best, fighting to preserve the wellbeing of Equestria and all those who inhabited it. He wasn’t one for ending life, but he believed it would be a great honor if he ever got the chance to serve aboard that ship, or any ship.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?”

All three scientists nodded without a word, then promptly whipped around in shock as they recognized the voice, and more importantly, who it belonged to. “Sir!” Clockwork snapped to attention, followed closely by his companions. “She is indeed an exceptional vessel, sir!”

“Oh for Luna’s sake, I told you to quit it with the whole ‘sir’ shit back in basic. We’re technically the same rank, but I’m not too sure that applies to your friends.” Long Shot continued forward, stopping a short distance from the two mares. He stepped into a graceful bow. “To whom do I have the pleasure of being introduced?”

Even in the dim light, Clockwork noticed a faint blush on both mares’ cheeks. He couldn’t help but laugh as they stumbled over their words to introduce themselves. Haywire practically melted when the Commander kissed her hoof.

“Well, now that’s cleared up, what are you three doing out this late?”

“It’s a long, unpleasant story.” Clockwork replied in near monotone. “I needed to get some fresh air and stretch my wings.”

The nocturni nodded, an impressed look in his faintly glowing eyes. “I had heard about what you pulled off. Congratulations on that, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I’m no good with small talk so I’ll get straight to the point. A few of my mechanics are out sick and, in addition to them being highly valuable; we can’t risk a ship-wide outbreak of pony-pox. You three want to come aboard and help out for this mission?”

“What?!” all three responded.

“I’ve heard good things about you all, and from what we know, this mission should be relatively safe. I can get you the necessary clearance to come aboard as temporary crew if you’d like, and I believe you all to be more than qualified. We’ll bring you straight back after we retake Valor Point. Sound good?”

Clockwork hardly believed what he was hearing. An offer to help where he could put his skills to the most use? Was he joking?

“We leave in ten minutes. You guys coming or not?”

All three ponies nodded, and before long, they were off.

Long Shot sighed as he trotted down one of the frigate's many hallways. While the war had taken next to no toll on him or any other members of his species, just about everything else had endured some level of stress. When he had first been given command of the frigate he had come to recognize as his home, the ship was intentionally made to look battered and beaten to dissuade suspicion and keep enemy attention off of the vessel. However, the false wear and tear had by now become very real. The Nocturni halted long enough to press his hoof to one wall and grin solemnly as the ship's distant engines purred like a kitten. Neigh Orleans had been the worst, but she had still pulled through, and the same went for every member of his crew.

Relatively speaking, the frigate was staffed by a just a little more than the mandatory skeleton crew. Numbers didn't matter though; three of the right people easily outmatched ten or twelve average personnel. Still, they were all weary at this point, but it wasn't much longer until the team's mandatory rest period.

Long Shot straightened his posture as well as the rifle slung over his shoulder. He started his trot anew, knowing full well that they would make it through this.

It wasn't much longer before the commander was greeted by the ever familiar "TEN-HUT! Commander on deck!"

The commander saluted along with the personnel that occupied the briefing room. Unlike a majority of other High Risk Operation teams, Long Shot's was composed primarily of non-Nocturni, ground based combat specialists. There were zebras, earth ponies, a few unicorns, a pair of bison and a single pegasus. They all shared two very special traits; the will to fight to the death for what they knew was right, and the fire in their eyes that came with that belief. "Strike hard!"

"STRIKE FAST! SHINE BRIGHT!" the warriors finished the squad motto in perfect, bellowing unison.

"Glad to see your spirits are still high. At ease and please be seated."

After the warriors had taken their seats, Long Shot made his way to the side of a large holographic display while his second in command stood opposite him. With a few tapped keys, the display flickered to life as the lights dimmed.

"Alright Meteor, our mission is as follows." the Nocturni pointed at the holographic image of a set of buildings and the surrounding landscape. "Approximately seventy-two hours ago, one of our key border outposts was attacked and eventually overtaken by a joint force of scuzzy bastards and inbred mutts."

"How did they manage to pull that off?" Clockwork asked.

Switcher readjusted his hat, which seemed to have faded somewhat. "The scouting party reported back the following information. Textbook forward siege, a high number of soldiers alongside several warships mounted a large scale assault with the intent to inflict mass casualties while keeping the base relatively intact for their own uses."

The image faded to the current condition of the outpost: a torched skeleton of its former self. "By taking Valor Point, the Supremacy has acquired relatively unhampered access to Equestria proper. Furthermore, the base has been converted to serve as a prison. Estimates put the prisoner count between two and four hundred."

"In other words, there are likely three prisoners for every bird." Long Shot took over as Switcher entered a new command into the interface. The image changed to that of a top-down map. Several shapes and marks denoted the presence of a collapsed structure, enemy emplacements, and other such tactical information. "This mission will be a little different than the standard jailbreak. There's no cover for miles in every direction, so we'll have to be quick. The Even Odds will provide distraction artillery while myself and seven more soldiers will infiltrate the base from the ground via two dropships each containing a single squad of four. The primary objective is to incite a prison riot so the Supremacy forces there will be taken down from the inside. Radio silence will have to be maintained, but you definitely won't need a silencer. Sound good?"

The crew responded with an enthusiastic "Hooah!"

"Those are the basics and I'll provide more information on the way down. Anyone who wants to sit this one out or have any burning questions?"

No one raised their hooves.

"Any volunteers?"

As expected, the exact opposite response to the previous question occurred. Long Shot grinned. "I'll have the official roster prepared by the time we drop. Everyone, prepare your equipment for conflict and strap down the rest. Dismissed!"

"YES SIR!"

Long Shot watched them go, one by one, to prepare for war once again. He realized that it had been a surprisingly long time since he had lost a teammate, and an equally long time since he'd had a team so ready to fight and die for the cause. The Nocturni laughed under his breath as he followed them out of the room. Another day, another fight. “Nimbus, activate blink engine!”

Clockwork continued to fidget about where he stood, almost completely unable to take comfort in the presence of his friends. He was completely lucid when he said he would be perfectly content with observing the operation, but had no idea how uneasy the suspense would make him. The pegasus, his two companions, Switcher (who had been ordered to stay behind to keep the three new additions safe), and a few other crew members occupied the Even Odds’ bridge. Situated at the front of the zeppelin and almost entirely composed of magically enhanced glass (sans certain portions of the floor), it provided a perfect viewpoint of the surrounding, or in this case, the battle far below and ahead of them. Every few seconds, the room would shake lightly as the echo of cannon fire rolled through it like a sudden yet gentle wave.

Clockwork flexed his wings, taking care not to rip the bandages under which his prosthetic was concealed, for his technological achievement had yet to become knowledge to the common soldier. It all seemed so gray and dreary, as though the earth and sky were deathly sick. Why would a place like this be called “Valor Point” anyway?

“Clockwork, you appear ill. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?” Switcher inquired.

Clockwork looked at the pegasus standing next to him. "I’m fine. It’s just. . . something doesn’t feel right about all of this. Shouldn’t a place of such strategic importance be under heavy guard? I mean, why aren't there more enemy soldiers on the ground or any warships in the sky? I'm not complaing, but where is everyone?"

Clockwork's unease only increased as he watched Switcher's muzzle scrunch up in deep consideration. When the pegasus didn't return with an answer after nearly a full minute, Clockwork gave up waiting and tried to focus on something else. As he rolled his head to loosen the tension in his neck, the stallion thought he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. "Does anypony have a spare set of binoculars I can borrow?"

After receiving a pair from an elderly mare, Clockwork hurried to the far forward end of the room and practically pressed his binoculars against it. After some meticulous focusing, he felt a large stone come to rest in the pit of his stomach. Almost without thinking, he darted towards the nearest radio set he could find, nearly tore the transponder from its housing, and screamed into it. "Long Shot! Commander! It's a trap!"

"Hold!" Long Shot raised his forehoof and took cover, soon joined by his teammates. "Clockwork, I told you to keep radio silence unless it's an emergency! What's going on? Is the Even Odds in trouble?"

"No, but we'll all be if you don't free those prisoners or get back to the ship immediately!"

"Mind giving some clarification, kid?"

"I just sighted one- make that two, no. . . three! There are three enemy dreadnoughts heading towards the prison and they're coming in fast."

"Well why the Tartarus are they doing that? We maintained as much stealth as we could! No one could've gotten word of-"

"No one needed to spy on us for this! Common sense was more than enough! The Supremacy knew that we'd eventually come to liberate this place, and we walked nose first into the bait! They'll vaporize this place, everyone in it, and the Even Odds if you don't-!"

The radio transmission abruptly cut off as an explosion only an airship round could achieve tore through the area just in front of Long Shot's team. The resulting pressure wave turned the group's cover to dust, and all it took were a few choice words from the Nocturni to get them moving.

As Long Shot sprinted for the entrance to the facility, he couldn't fathom how such an obvious trap had managed to fool him, those under his command, or the intelligence operatives that gave him the mission in the first place. If he and those three engineers made it through this, he would owe them all an Applejack Daniels.

When the elite soldiers of Meteor Squad made it inside and locked the door behind them, they were greeted by two unnerving sights. The first was that of a line of dead griffons, killed by their own swords in an act of militaristic, quite possibly religious, sacrifice. Long Shot sighed, Clockwork was right; the enemy soldiers within the base knew they weren’t coming home.

“Sir. Where’s Bishop? The other squad isn’t responding to my hails either.”

It was then that Long Shot came upon the second sight, or a lack thereof. Bishop, a soldier specializing in rear guard and supporting fire, was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t the kind of soldier to go wandering off on his own, and the three remaining soldiers came to the silent realization that their comrades, their friends, were gone from the mortal realm. The Nocturni knelt down and whispered a dual prayer to the alicorn of the night, that the soldiers’ deaths had been quick and painless, and that she would give his allies the strength to avenge them. “They’re in a better place now, and this just got really damn personal. I want three scuzzies dead for every member they've killed. Think you can handle that?”

“HOOAH!”

"Clockwork! Such brash action may have cost unnecessary lives!"

The pegasus spun around in both confusion and horror at Switcher's statement. "What?!"

"With the correct instruments, radio communications can easily be tracked. While your intentions were good natured and powers of observation impressive, you did not consult any superior officers before contacting forces on the ground! Furthermore, in responding, the enemy has an almost exact location on Long Shot and his teammates!"

A massive explosion shook the bridge, managing to knock a few ponies from their seats. "Situation report!" Switcher exclaimed.

"Direct hit to starboard side! Unsure of how bad the damage is but that was a serious hit! The Even Odds can't take more than another two hits like that!"

"Where is the enemy vessel?"

"Two ships are still bombarding the prison, but one broke formation to attack us." one stallion technician yelled.

"Standard dreadnought and she's just barely out of optimum range!" a mare with binoculars and a sextant added.

"Accelerate towards Valor Point, adjust for distance and return fire! Meteor Squad will not fall without a struggle!" the tan soldier ordered.

Long Shot came to a grinding halt, desperately trying to refill his lungs with oxygen. He cursed multiple times in between breaths; this whole operation had been a disaster. For all he knew, he was the sole survivor of the infiltration team, but he wasn't going to just give up and wait for death to take him to his rightful place in Tartarus. No, he was going to get this mission done.

The Nocturni bucked in several sets of doors to rooms overlooking empty, barbed wire cells. The fruitless process continued on for some time before he reached a bittersweet sight. After kicking in one of the past unopened doors, he found (judging from the decorations on the armor) a dead, high ranking griffon soldier, killed by ritual suicide similar to the ones he had seen at the entrance. The cell he had likely been assigned to oversee was filled to the brim with prisoners of war. Some were dirty and injured, others still wore tattered remnants of their uniforms. All of them seemed healthy enough to escape, but judging by the fear in their eyes where hope should've been, they didn't have the will to make a run for it.

"Hey! Everypony, up here!" Long shot desperately waved his hooves in an attempt to get the prisoners' attention. "The griffons are closing in and dropping bombs everywhere, but there's an armory not too far from here, fully stocked!" the commander pulled a what appeared to bd a "master lever" which unlocked every cell. “You all need to get going, fight back, hurry!"

It took a few seconds, but the mares and stallions below began to move, but not in the way Long Shot hoped. They were like scared lambs, and they were all going to the slaughter. He felt the urge to slam his head into a nearby wall. Dammit! That little speech wasn't worded well at all! The way he said it made it sound like-

A high-pitched whistle echoed throughout the prison complex. For the briefest moment, all turmoil appeared to cease existence. The voice of a mare replaced the whistle. It was commanding, hopeful, and beautiful. It was that same mare Long Shot had worked with back in Cloudsdale; a yellow mare with an orange mane and tail and brilliant sapphire eyes.

"SOLDIERS! ATTENTION!"

Like sheep, everyone saluted the mare that had somehow managed to gain an elevated position in the crowd. "The situation appears grim, but there is a chance that we shall live through this day. Tomorrow, we shall have returned home or to the frontlines, somewhere far better than this torture facility called a prison! The commander, who has risked the lives of both himself and his men, has given us a method to not only escape but to fight back against those that held us captive! Escape! Take up arms against the enemy! Fight back! WIN!"

Clockwork dry heaved as he felt another powerful blast shake the bridge. A large majority of non-essential staff had evacuated the ship, leaving only the bridge crew to remotely guide the Even Odds to victory or a fiery demise. Were it not for the discipline Clockwork had endured in Basic, he would've been crying his eyes out right then and there. This was all his fault, the blood of good mares and stallions was on his hooves, all because of his damned-

"Clockwork! I regret to say that the ship is lost! We must leave immediately if we are to survive!"

Without much struggle, the engineer’s focus shifted from his self-hatred to his tan, feathered companion. "I know it is not the optimum time, but I realize that what I said to you earlier was far too harsh and sincerely apologize! You have every right to be angry, but now is not the time! I have heard of your accomplishments and beg you to use your genius to salvage the situation before more good people perish!"

“Yeah Clocky! Use that big brain of yours!” Haywire added.

“I can’t fix a problem I caused! I’ll only make it worse!”

“You have to try, please!” Wetwork pleaded.

Clockwork's eyes grew wide. "Wait a second, why didn't we just teleport out of here at the first sign of trouble? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right?!"

"Technological limitations!" one pilot cried out as he rapidly altered the positions of different levers, switches, and pulleys. "Our blink engine is just a prototype. It needs at least three hours to safely recharge, otherwise we could potentially end up teleporting ourselves and a good portion of our surroundings into oblivion!"

Synapses lit up in Clockwork's brain in a manner akin to that of fireworks. He had an idea. It was stupid, risky, and would likely result in his own death and the guaranteed destruction of the Even Odds. However, since the ship was doomed already and he didn't care much for his own wellbeing at the moment, he decided to give it a try. "Is it possible to ram the griffon ship? Or to overload the blink engine?"

"What?!" everypony replied in panicked unison.

"Just answer me dammit!"

The elderly chief pilot looked to the only other pony left on the bridge. "Specialist?"

"Umm. . ." the mare slammed her hoof into her desk. "Given the current direction and speed of the enemy ship, plus the time we have left on the blink engine's recharge. . . yes! We can do both!"

"Reroute all power to propulsion turbines and evacuate immediately!" Switcher commanded.

Without the slightest hesitation, the pilot pulled several levers and slammed some kind of pedal to the floor before weighing it down with a nearby piece of debris. After some desperate pleading, four ponies exited the bridge. Now, it was likely that Clockwork and Switcher were the last two soldiers left on the zeppelin.

"Which way to the blink engine?"

"Follow closely!" Switcher took off down the passageway behind him, with Clockwork only inches behind. The engineer was shocked to find the frigate in an even worse condition than when he had boarded. Entire hallways had been blocked off by rubble, some of the walls and floors had given under the duress, exposing large sections of the ship to the gray sky and earth outside. While Clockwork let out more than one pained yelp as he rushed through several geysers of boiling steam, Switcher appeared unaffected. It felt like an eternity before the duo reached their destination. With some effort, the heavy doors gave way to what Clockwork found to be a beautiful sight.

In a way, the machine seemed like a crude amalgamation of a Federation steam technology and Consortium gemtech. The machine itself was colored a mixture of bronze and dark purplish-black. Large gems poked out at odd angles and a intricate web of pipes connected to the top of the engine. Despite its physical and no doubt interior complexity, it seemed untouched by the war going on outside. "Switcher, do you have any idea what we're going to do?"

The pegasus nodded, uncorking several vials as he did. "I believe so. I shall compromise the engine's hull while you sabotage its inner workings. Agreed?"

"Sounds good to me, but how do I pull off my end of the plan?"

"Turn every dial, flip every switch, and press every button!"

Both pegasi were nearly swept off their hooves as the Even Odds lurched forward but kept going. They had rammed the enemy ship and were carrying it with them, but now they were living on borrowed time. With only a few nods, the stallions attacked the blink engine like it was their only purpose in life.

By the time Clockwork and Switcher had completed their tasks, a high-pitched warning siren had overtaken the room. Rather than simply let death take them, Clockwork practically threw Switcher over his shoulder and charged towards the nearest wall. He extended his artificial wing to full breadth (causing the bandages to shred like ribbon) and swung forward. The wing cut through the wall like butter and gave way to open sky. Both pegasi took to the air, coming to a safe rest seconds later near Valor Point's recently liberated courtyard. They quietly watched the Even Odds, griffon dreadnought pinned to its nose, rocket forward into close proximity of the other two enemy ships. Suddenly, the entirety of the sky was bathed in a searing pink glow. Only a sharp PING! reached the obervers' ears as they continued to watch time and space around the Even Odds extend outwards, almost completely engulf every ship, and then suddenly implode. The only wreckage that fell from the sky that day was that of two halves of separate enemy dreadnoughts.

However, the spectacular display of falling, flaming husks of enemy zeppelins was not what caught Clockwork's attention. Nor was it the whooping and hollering of freed prisoners of war who had successfully retaken their base. No, the thing that currently occupied Clockwork's mind was the fact that he was busy pinning a struggling changeling to the gray mud below, the razor sharp primary feathers of his artificial wing hovering just barely above the insectoid-equine's throat.

Reconciliation & Recognition

The victorious cheers came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a curious struggle happening near the middle of the base's gray, muddy courtyard. Two stallions, one a pegasus with a wing of nearlyindestructible metal, and the other, a changeling with eyes as blue-green as the purest ocean waters, were desperately trying to pin one another to the ground.

The only goal in Clockwork's mind was to kill or capture the insect-demon before him. He remained quiet, the most visually aggressive thing he allowed himself to do was clench his teeth. Any other sort of action like yelling or grunting would waste valuable energy, nevertheless, his eyes had glazed over with hatred. Whatever the hell this thing was that Switcher had become, he was much better trained in hoof-to-hoof combat. Neither equine drew their respective firearm, for the ring of confused, tired soldiers that had formed around them severely heightened the risk of unintended casualties.

And so the duo wrestled, one managing to get the upper hoof over the other, but never managing to hold it for more than a few seconds at a time. Clockwork's natural strength had long since vanished, replaced entirely by adrenaline. At a sideways glance, the engineer could have easily been mistaken for a demon or some equivalent, as a majority of the left side of his body glowed blood red from the light of his fire ruby.

The changeling appeared hesitate at the unnerving sight. His adversary's appearance horrifically calm, his breath ragged, and the way his wing appeared more like a heavily warped blade than an appendage designed for flight. If the changeling had ceased its defensive tactics in fear, Clockwork could not tell. The trauma he had endured in recent hours practically eliminated all but his most basic senses.

In seconds, the younger stallion had pinned the older insect beneath his hoof. Without hesitation, he drew his LeMane and pressed it to the violently struggling monster's cranium. No words were spoken, no taunts or one-liners. The only sound that echoed through the dead silence was the Click! of the revolver's hammer being pulled back.

"Clockwork, stop. Your senses are clouded. Switcher is not your enemy."

Clockwork froze solid at the angelic, commanding voice. His malice left him in an instant, replaced by some cacophony of emotion no mortal creature could describe. He set his weapon to safe, threw it aside, and made his way to an empty portion of courtyard some ways away. He sat down, back straight and to the one he had attacked. His head remained hung, his eyes losing the ability to focus as they stared into the dirt.

"Switcher, you alright?" Long Shot's voice reached Clockwork's ears.

After a short bout of coughing and some rustling, Switcher responded, his voice different from before, like two more voices were backing up the primary. "All systems functional, sir. The feedback from the improvised teleportation bomb neutralized my ability to change appearance."

"For how long?"

"It is most likely temporary, but frankly sir, that is of my least concern."

Clockwork felt as though every pair of eyes in the facility were trained on his slightly trembling figure. He did not react, did not shudder or whine, he continued to remain seated.

"Clockwork, are you alright?"

The pegasus didn't respond, not even bothering to turn around and look the mare in the eyes.

"Clockwork, please answer me."

The pegasus remained silent until the mare came around his front and placed a gloved hoof underneath his chin. Her eyes met his. Clockwork blinked. "Good to see you alive, Lieutenant."

Charger's response caused some kind of warmth to surge through Clockwork's veins. She had hugged him, she had hugged him first. "Likewise, Clockwork. Likewise."

Both ponies finally let a few tears fall, smiling the whole time. Given the current situation, they broke away after only a few seconds, but neither friend minded.

The pegasus suddenly stood and hurried to stand near Long Shot and Switcher. "Switcher? Is that really you?"

The changeling nodded, removing the silvery helm that had replaced his hat. "Switcher-7 at your service. Seventh most experienced infiltration and unorthodox warfare expert in the pure changeling hive."

"The what?"

The changeling dismissed the question with a wave of his hoof. "I will explain later."

"I'm sorry about-"

"Worry not, for I believe your previous actions to be fully understandable. It is actually more of my fault than yours, as I rarely show my true appearance to anyone."

Clockwork looked at Long Shot and then Switcher, feeling both silly and stupid. "So, we're good?"

"As long as you do not try to kill me again, yes." the soldier emitted a wet buzzing sound that Clockwork eventually determined was likely his species' version of laughing. He turned to Long Shot, who was busy issuing commands to a few newly freed prisoners not too far off.

"Sir, I'm sorry that I warped your personal zeppelin into oblivion."

The nocturni burst out laughing at the ridiculous statement. "You and your apologies, kid. Don't worry about it. From what I've been told, everypony evacuated safely before you set her off, and you managed to take three griffon dreadnoughts with her! That's a good trade in my book, and she was practically held together with red tape and string anyway; she was due for replacing. It was a good end to her run."

"Is there any way I can be of assistance?"

"That improvised bomb's magical feedback overloaded every electronic system in this base. See if you can make us a new radio to call for help, and maybe a few generators if you've got the right parts. Take Charger and your buddies from Research and Development with ya."

"I'll report back when I've made progress."

It would've been a lie to say that Clockwork hadn't seen worse, but it was the absolute truth that the situation was still remarkably bad.

Thanks to the chaos that had ceased only minutes before, the entirety of the base had been almost completely reduced to gray rubble, the same dull color as the wet earth below. Skeletons of buildings remained standing like tombstones, and whatever machines that had survived the bombardment lacked nearly any semblance of their previous form.

Oddly enough, it didn't take long for Clockwork and his allies to find a relatively intact radio. As expected, however, the machine's inner workings were shot. The pegasus sighed, his already long day was only going to painfully lengthen from here.

"See if you can find some intact gems, maybe some untainted coal. No energy, no working radio. I'm also going to need some fresh wires and definitely a new antenna. Don't look for anything pristine though, we don't need finesse. For now, I'll try to make the best of what I've got and see what I can do with what I have.

"Wetwork and I will find the energy stuff! C'mon!" Haywire darted out of the room, her familiar cheer having returned the moment the fighting had ended. After a gentle kiss on the forehead from Wetwork, the unicorn trotted after her friend. Charger, however, did not leave.

"I see that you've made friends."

"A few, yes."

"And that you have grown affectionate towards the unicorn."

"Wetwork’s my marefriend, yeah."

"You've changed," the yellow mare remarked "both mentally and physically."

Clockwork looked up from ripping out the scorched contents of a broken generator nearby, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Is that a good thing?"

"Truthfully, I am unsure."

Clockwork sighed, after all this time away from her, the pegasus finally had begun to notice why she came off as a robot to some. Still. . . there was something behind that lithe, seemingly emotionless form of hers. Was she crying?

"Charger? Are you okay?"

The mare turned around, revealing water visibly pooling at the corners of her eyes. Her breathing was ragged as she shook her head "no."

At first, Clockwork was unsure of how to proceed. The previously strong-willed Naval Lieutenant with an eloquent, concise vocabulary and electric gloves that could paralyze a manticore was breaking down in front of him for no apparent reason. What the heck?

"Is there something wrong? Anything I can do to help?"

"Unless you can bring back the dead, then no."

Clockwork immediately dropped what he was doing and made his way to stand at the mare's side. He felt a stone settle in his heart as he recognized the look in her eyes. It was the same one the pegasus had when he watched Moppet sacrifice himself. "I heard once that talking it out helps. I'm all ears if you want."

Charger regained her composure just enough to sit down and lay her head on her friend's shoulder. After the stallion had wrapped his real wing around her, she began her story. "I was in maintenance when the first rounds fell, just tweaking my gloves with one of those little repair kits you sent me. After the first lull, I ran back to my quarters to take account of those under my command."

". . .They were dead when you found them."

"The room had taken a direct hit from cannon round, turned to rubble in seconds along with everything and everypony inside. All I could do was hope that their deaths were quick."

Clockwork felt a pang of sorrow as he remembered Smokestack's similar tale. "Yet you survived to fight another day. Isn't that a good thing?"

"I am unsure but am leaning highly towards the negative." Charger's breathing evened as she finally began to calm down. "I have to live with those terrible memories burnt into my mind. I watched those under my command struggle and die against an enemy who had the clear advantage. It was like Cloudsdale, but the enemy won this time. I don't know whether or not my position as a leader is valid any longer."

Clockwork was unsure how to proceed. The love of his life was resting on his shoulder and professing her doubts about her command, but how the hell was he supposed to respond? He couldn't just kiss her, and his wordplay was shit. After a bit of thought, the stallion settled on gently stroking her mane. "You can take or leave what I say, Charger, but know this. If I got through the near destruction of Ponyville, Cloudsdale, and here without losing too much of my sanity, then you can definitely do the same. You still have one friend in this world, and I shall come to your aid whenever you wish."

Charger sat up and turned to look her best friend in the eye. Clockwork was essentially paralyzed, for in that moment, the earth pony's smile was more genuine now than he had ever seen before. "It is an honor to call you my friend, Clockwork. Thank you for listening, it feels good to get things like that off of my chest. I really am glad I know you."

After a warm hug, the mare left the room to gather her respective materials, unaware that a certain pair of teal eyes watched her go.

And so the tasks continued. Whenever Clockwork reached an impasse that couldn't be defeated through the repurposing of currently available parts, he sent out his three friends to acquire the necessary items. The circular process went on for some time, and it appeared as though progress was minimal at best, nonexistent at all other times. Eventually, though, a gentle, caring voice crackled through the makeshift transceiver.

"Say again, this is Captain Fluttershy of the Alliance Medical Frigate Kindness. Is there, umm. . . is there anypony out there? Anypony at all?"

“How’re you holding up, kid?”

Clockwork repositioned his gaze from the large window in front of him to Long Shot, who now stood by his side. “I don’t mean to sound like a snark, but you already know the answer, Commander.”

“Alright, Clockwork.” the Nocturni took a seat. “Listen to me and listen good, and sit down for Luna’s sake. After all you’ve been through, you deserve a rest more than anything.”

After the pegasus had taken his seat next to the commander, the unicorn of the night continued. “You made the right call, and you can’t convince me otherwise. I’ll admit that I’m pissed that the griffons took out a few of my buddies, but had you stayed silent? We’d all be dead. You said it yourself that the prison was bait and was going to be destroyed anyway.”

“We lost eight good soldiers.”

“But saved over three hundred allied personnel as a result! Those numbers don’t even include the crew of the Even Odds! ”

Clockwork nodded, though no laughter left his system. He still found no joy in the deaths of others, even if they were the enemy.

“Had you remained silent, a lot more good people would’ve died today. It’s thanks to you that we won today, Clockwork.” the stallion rose and saluted the pegasus before turning and walking off. Clockwork was left alone in one of the Kindness’ many observation rooms, unsure of whether or not his accomplishments were truly worthy of such praise.

"SOLDIERS! ATTENTION!"

Given his close proximity to the commander, Clockwork almost fell over as Long Shot magically projected his voice over the throne room. The pegasus quickly righted himself and saluted as best he could, for the mare that took her seat as she sorted through a large set of documents was one whom none wished to disappoint.

The freed POWs and remaining members of Meteor Squad along with the crew of the late Even Odds had been spoken with and dismissed for the remainder of the week. However, she had requested that four certain equines speak with her in private.

Before Clockwork, Charger, Long Shot, and Switcher-7, was the elder of the royal sisters, the ruler of the day, Princess Celestia herself.

"At ease, my subjects." the alicorn's motherly voice eased everypony's spirits, though it was laced with both authority and over a thousand years of experience. She set the papers down on a nearby pedestal and turned her full attention to the ponies before her. "It is good that you answered my request so quickly."

"It is unwise to keep the ruler of any nation waiting when one's presence is requested, especially if that ruler is you." the local changeling said, something between caution and admeration tinging his voice.

"You are too kind, Switcher-7. How is Chrysalis?" Celestia asked, a faint smile gracing her muzzle.

Clockwork thought he saw the changeling tremble lightly. "I cannot say more than that she is doing well."

"Of course. I assume that you four are the ones responsible for the success of the recent mission?"

"You are partially correct, ma'am," Long Shot answered. "We didn't do it alone. We had help on the inside of the base, and definitely from above."

Celestia nodded before looking towards Clockwork. "I believe you are the one whom Long Shot refers to when he mentions 'above'?"

The stallion stood there awestruck for a moment. He should've bowed, should've shown some sign of his unworthiness to be in her presence, but all he did was nod.

"I see. So you are the stallion that sabotaged a special forces zeppelin, destroyed an experimental propulsion system and the ship it was on, and disobeyed a direct order from your superiors in breaking radio silence, which alerted the enemy to your exact location, risking the lives of everypony involved in the process?”

Clockwork felt ice run through his veins. Despite his overwhelming fear and shaking legs, he looked the ruler of his nation straight in the eyes. "Yes ma'am, and I take full responsibility for my actions."

"Your sense of responsibility is admirable, young one, but do not be afraid. Through your ingenuity, you saved hundreds of lives while dealing a serious blow to the enemy."

"B-but your majesty, I- I destroyed experimental-" the pegasus fell silent when the alicorn raised her hoof.

"What is destroyed can be rebuilt. Furthermore, it is thanks to your quick thinking that several hundred Alliance personnel returned home today. If my memory serves me correctly, you also participated in the attacks on Ponyville as well as Cloudsdale. You are also productive in the scientific fields you have chosen as your specialties."

"Umm. . . thank you, your highness. Really though, I'm just an engineer that's been in the wrong places at the wrong times."

Celestia gave the pegasus a warm smile, one that made Clockwork a little worried; if it were anypony else, he would only expect this sort of almost motherly attention to be given to him because of his wing.

"I shall add 'humble' to the list. However, do you truly experience a sensation of importance given your current line of work?"

Clockwork was caught off guard by that, and contemplated backing away before deciding against it. He glanced to his left, finding a similar look of confusion on his allies' faces, even Charger seemed curious. He looked back at his ruler and took a deep breath. "While my special talent is engineering, mainly steam technology, and Research and Development is the best place to exhibit those talents, I do not feel as though my efforts there are the place where I can help most."

"Do you want to assist in combat?"

There was a long pause. Lesser pauses would have bowed to the regality of this pause.

"I do not take pleasure in the deaths of others, even the enemy. If the situation calls for it, I will gladly take up arms to defend my friends and family," Clockwork said, finally.

"Commander," Princess Celestia looked at Long Shot, frowning. "how many warriors remain in Meteor Squad's service?"

Long Shot glanced at his insectoid companion. "Given recent events, just the two of us, ma'am. Why?"

Celestia sat up, looking a bit unnerved. If it was the talk of fighting or the Nocturni’s presence, Clockwork couldn’t say.

"It is clear that Clockwork wishes to fight for and defend his nation, and nopony can deny him that. I believe him qualified to be able to join your squad, but I shall leave the final decision up to him."

Again, there was a long pause. Clockwork almost forgot to breath a few times.

Long Shot sighed, looking to the pegasus for a moment before whispering to the changeling on his left. After a short but tense silence, the commander announced his decision. "He's rough around the edges, and isn't the best at sticking to orders, but he's capable. I think, with time, he could become a valued member of the squad."

Celestia nodded. "If there are no objections, Clockwork, would you please step-"

"Princess Celestia," Charger interjected. "I sincerely apologize for interrupting, but I do not believe Clockwork to be of the caliber Meteor Squad requires to succeed."

The princess raised an eyebrow at the seemingly hostile remark. "Would you care to explain, Lieutenant?"

"While Clockwork certainly has the spirit and endurance to serve alongside Equestria's best, he hardly has enough combat experience."

Clockwork sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hate to admit it, but she's right."

"Hmm. . . Charger, if my memory serves me right, you have acquired numerous accolades during your time in the Navy. Colonel Charnel has given me quite the interesting report regarding your service in the northernmost battle we have suffered so far. With the unfortunate destruction of your most recent command structure, you are currently in between roles, correct?"

Charger nodded briefly. "You are correct on all counts, your highness."

"You have displayed exemplary proficiency in hoof-to-hoof combat, as well as graduated advanced training near the top of your class. "

"And the squad needs somepony to counteract my naivety," Clockwork added.

Switcher blinked.

"Lieutenant, would you be willing to join Meteor Squad as well?" Long Shot asked.

For the first time Clockwork had seen her do so, Charger blushed, followed by rampant stuttering. "Y-your majesty, I. . . I- I am not worthy of such a position!"

The alicorn shook her head. "I can think of more than three hundred mares and stallions that would say otherwise," she said, telekinetically passing the large stack of papers to Charger and placed them at her hooves. Only later would Clockwork learn that every page was a separate testimony of one of the freed POWs, whom all of which had recommended Charger for a promotion, a medal, though most often both.

“Very well then.” Charger looked to the princess and nodded. “I shall accept this commission with dignity and honor, your majesty.”

“So will I.” Clockwork added.

Celestia rose and made her way to stand at the base of the staircase. “It is settled, then. Commander, would you do the honors?”

“Always.” the nocturni removed two small patches from a pouch on his belt before handing one to each new squad member. Clockwork marvelled at the fine stitching, the threads sewn together to depict a comet streaking through the night sky. The words “Strike Hard, Strike Fast, Shine Bright.” glistened in silver at the top.

“Clockwork, Charger, as per induction into a High Risk Operations Team, you are both hereby stripped of your ranks.” the princess looked out a nearby stained glass window for a moment, taking note of the setting sun. “I have no doubt that you both have experienced the horrors of warfare. Will you take up arms against those that threaten myself, my sister, the elements of Harmony, and all those that inhabit the kingdom of Equestria?”

Clockwork and Charger looked each other in the eye for a split second and nodded before turning back to the alicorn of the sun. “Until our dying breath and beyond,” they replied in unison.

“Then by the power invested in me as co-ruler of Equestria, I hereby assign you both to High Risk Operations force seventeen, designation Meteor Squad, effective immediately. Each of you shall operate as specialists of your respective fields. Congratulations,” Celestia declared, looking at Long Shot for a moment, who only bowed respectably.

“Given recent events, I am authorizing the construction of a new vessel to both house and assist Meteor Squad in any and all operations you shall participate in. Furthermore, I am granting you a mandatory rest period until the construction of your new zeppelin is complete.”

The princess paused, and a grim, sad look overtook her face. The room seemed to darken.

“My little ponies,” she began, sounding remarkably forceful. “I wish to make it apparent to all present that what you are doing should not be seen as good.”

Clockwork paused, a shiver started around the base of mechanical wing and made it up his spine. He saw Charger’s expression turn into one of pure, base fear, and even Long Shot looked uneasy. Curiously, Switcher looked slightly calmed by the Princesses change in tone. Perhaps it reminded him of home?

“It is important what you do, yes. Is it true that there are threats to Equestria that can only be solved by the might of arms? Yes, that is true. Has peace failed Equestria?”

She adopted a look of longing, and Clockwork couldn't help but notice that she looked regretful.

“No. Time and time again, Equestria has avoided attacks from foes, both eter-”

Celestia paused, and a look of mild mortification passed over her face. Clockwork could feel the blood pumping in his chest.

“Foes both internal and external have been repelled from Equestria through simple good will, but there have been times when that has not been enough. Equestrians have fought battles with the southernmost zebra tribes, who believe me to be the cause of the harshness of their land. The horses of Saddle Arabia launched a campaign of hostility when they learned that I became the sole ruler of Equestria, and that, when the sun stood still over there lands for a day, believed I was attempting to obliterate them. The buffalo have suffered both attacks from ponies and ponies have suffered attacks from them in turn. The donkeys of the northern steppe, who suffered under unicorns all those years ago, sometimes still attempt to take revenge for their people’s losses, and the unicorns sometimes retaliate in kind.”

She paused, looking at Switcher. “But every time those battles ended, Equestria survived, and obtained an ally. Equestria, Zebrica, Saddle Arabia, the Mild West, the Dossacks of the Donk River, all are now allies and friends.”

Looking at Long Shot, she tilted her head downwards in recognition. “And even if one cannot truly say for all of his people, that does not mean that they will not be accepted in due time.”

Long Shot lowered his head, seemingly in shame.

Clockwork's mind drew a blank. What did that mean?

“Do not hate the Supremacy. Do not fear them, either. Do not take pride in this war, in your accomplishments and your actions.

"Take pride in knowing that you are defending Equestria, that you are protecting peace. In time, the griffons and their Empire will be calmed and, while the leaders will be held accountable and their allies will be tried and sentenced. The griffons have ways that are not entirely different from that of ponies, and in nature they are not inherently different than ponies. The only difference that I see in this conflict and the ones before is the scale and the lines in battle.”

Celestia narrowed her eyes, just enough for Clockwork to realize that they appeared watery.

“I will not have bigots in my service,” she finished, sighing as she leaned back into her throne. “You may leave now, Meteor Squad. Dismissed.”

Three ponies and the one changeling left the room in haste.

Hit The Ground Flying

"OOF!"

Clockwork fell to the ground in a heap as what every last scrap of air left him in an instant. He lay there for some time, desperately struggling to return oxygen to his lungs before being rolled over and looking to the combatant responsible.

Charger looked over the stallion, checking for basic medical problems but finding none. She looked him in his winded eyes. "Clockwork, don't struggle. As much as it hurts, let your body-”

The mare stepped back as Clockwork flared out his wings in an attempt to get some space. He grimaced, attempting to get a hold of himself. After a few painful seconds, his body gave one tremendous shudder before he got to his trembling hooves. Despite his pain, he laughed. “Nice hit, really nice. Had any charge in those gloves of yours?”

"No, and I don't believe this was fully my responsibility," she responded, eyeing Clockwork with caution. "You just froze, I took the opportunity, but you weren't ready for that strike at all. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault." the pegasus waved her off. "I got distracted and suffered the consequences. That'll teach me."

Charger looked on with both concern and curiosity. "We were in the middle of a sparring match, even with no current in my gloves you shouldn't have gone down so easily. What could've-"

"Nothing," he replied flatly. "I got distracted when I should’ve stayed focused. I’m good."

Charger's brow furrowed.

"I'm good,” he emphasized. “Add some electricity and continue sparring, it'll keep me on my hooves."

Charger sighed. As she contemplated whether or not to follow through with her teammate's request, a familiar voice made itself present through two small radios at the opposite end of the training room.

"Clockwork, Charger, either of you there?"

Charger grabbed her radio and spoke first. "We're both present, Commander. Is something wrong?"

"Negative. The ship's done, our month's up, and our presence is requested in the royal castle immediately. Sixth hallway, door thirty-three. We've got a new mission."

"We'll be there as soon as we can." Clockwork ended the transmission. He didn't need to ask why Charger had that look in her eye. "I'm scared, yes, but I'll be fine. C'mon."

Without another word, the duo made their way out of the training center and back through the cobblestone streets of Canterlot. Both ponies noticed that, despite Long Shot's claim that their new ship had been completed, there were no zeppelins of any kind in the skies overhead. Disregarding the strange absence, Clockwork let his mind wander as his muscle memory took over.

Everypony in Meteor had been training with each other for nearly the entirety of the month, and it was helping. Clockwork knew how to escape chokeholds, successfully fight off multiple armed enemies with both his wings tied, and even if a limb was crippled. Clockwork slowed for a moment and looked at his back right leg to find it healing well. He smiled, for aside from an impressive scar, there was almost no sign that a bullet had passed through it, and it certainly felt that way, too. He could balance almost his entire weight on it, and could run full speed if the situation demanded it.

The duo came to a quiet, gradual halt as they approached the immense dual bronze doors that marked the entrance into the royal sister's castle. The comrades looked at each other for a moment.

"How do I look?" the winged one asked.

Charger hurriedly straightened out her uniform before moving to tweak Clockwork's. As members of a High Risk Operations team, the two equestrians had been given access to a long list of different types of armor, uniforms, and hybrids of the two. In the end, both ponies settled on simple grey armored vests. Each modified to the respective owner's preferences, Clockwork's being filled with spare ammunition and a few tools and Charger's containing extra padding and a repair kit, but nothing more. The only other things she wore were her gloves and wires, and Clockwork his holster, goggles, white undershirt, and burgundy bandanna.

They weren't used to their new looks yet, and presentability was vital. Charger stepped back, admiring her hoofiwork with a tiny nod and look of admiration. "No worse than usual."

Even if it wasn't the best joke, it was still told by Charger, and such was enough to make her companion giggle. Over the past month, she had grown slightly less uptight than before she had joined Meteor. Clockwork nodded before turning back to the palace's immense entryway. After showing his patch to one of the nearby guards, the unicorn's horn glowed a bright blue.

A heavy, mechanical groan echoed in the immediate vicinity. To most, it would've been recognized as a bellowing, annoying creaking. To a certain pegasus, it was like music, though more than a little oil wouldn't hurt.

As soon as the bronze monoliths had opened enough to allow passage, Clockwork and Charger hurried inside. It took a great deal of effort from both ponies not to stop and admire the luxurious, industrial, and heavily defendable (all at once) furnishings. The craftsmareship was nothing short of heavenly, and the rug almost felt like a cloud. For the briefest moment, both ponies dropped their guard. It wasn’t long before the two arrived at an unexpected sight.

Only a single guard stood before an ornate, though otherwise unimportant looking door. The number 33 rested just above the entrance. Aside from the royal guardspony being heavily armed and armored, the area appeared to hold very little tactical value sans some moderate cover. With one final flash of their badges, the unicorn let them through into an even further unexpected sight.

Clockwork expected the entry to open up into a large room, maps plastered across every viewable surface and then some, a hologram projector set in the back wall maybe, anything that would signify the importance of the room. In reality though, the room was almost uncomfortably small, with room for no more than ten ponies at the most and that was pushing it. A single table sat in the dead center of the room, brightly lit by the only lantern in the room Clockwork suspected to be a modified crawlspace. The only thing on the table was a parchment map of a landmass Clockwork recognized from his studies as Zebrica. However, the most noteworthy thing was the room’s occupants. Long Shot and Switcher were both present, as were-

“Sirs!” Charger snapped to attention, almost bloodying her companion’s nose in the process. The pegasus mimicked his friend’s actions, his heart skipping a beat as he did. Directly across from them were three individuals, each legendary in their own right. Captain Twilight Sparkle, the bearer of the element of Magic and the the greatest spellcaster since Starswirl the Bearded, and Captain Fluttershy, bearer of the element of Kindness and head of the entire Federation Medical Corps. Both mares had achieved incredible feats both military and otherwise, all benefitting more than just Equestria. A younger mare stood by the latter’s side that took another second to recognize; Machinery Sergeant Applebloom, younger sister of Chief Machinist Applejack. Both of their technological advancements during the initial industrial revolution rocketed equestria’s capabilities forward more than a century.

“At ease,” Captain Twilight ordered. Like robots, the duo dropped their hooves and made their way to stand at the table, the doors shutting behind them as they did.

Twilight spoke first. “I hope that you all ate a hearty meal, because today's lunch was likely the last plate of normal pony food you'll have for some time.”

“Explanation, ma’am?” Charger asked.

“Something has come up in the heartland of Zebrica, near the capital of Mji Mkuu.” Twilight’s voice took on a shockingly grim tone. “Earlier this morning, Tribe Queen Zecora contacted us personally. Diamond Dogs have been found deep their borders, and they aren’t bothering to try and make peace.”

“What do you mean?” Clockwork asked this time, still slightly shocked at being in the same room as the Element bearers.

“They’ve been making raids in the dead of night, just. . . killing everything that gets in their way. They haven’t even tried to make contact with the zebras. Judging by the reports, this has been happening for a while now.”

“Zebrica’s two whole countries away from the Empire, why bother sending an enemy that operates best under dry ground so far into enemy territory? And how?” Long Shot asked.

“Commander. You have not been briefed?” Charger interrupted.

The nocturni slowly shook his head. “Not yet, no. I only got here a few minutes before you two. Same with Switcher.” he gestured to his currently undisguised ally.

“That’s exactly why we’re sending you,” Twilight added. “We need to find out the enemy’s motives before this gets any worse.”

“To my knowledge, ma’am, every zebra is trained in combat techniques to various extents,” Switcher pondered. “Why request assistance now, if the attacks have been going on for as long as you believe?”

“In a hoof-ta-paw fight, they can hold their own pretty well,” Applebloom answered. “But those darn dogs have all that fancy machinery on their side. Bows and arrows and blowguns and staffs ain’t gonna do nothin’ against tanks and noxious gas. The Cap’n fergot ta mention that not all the zebras think they need our help.”

“What?” Long Shot asked. “What noxious gas?”

“Umm. . . The medicine mare of the first village exposed sent back a. . . report.” Fluttershy finally spoke. She retrieved a scroll from her coat and unrolled it onto the table. The scroll was dirty, burnt and torn in multiple places, but the writing was completely legible Equestrian. The members of Meteor Squad gathered around the scroll and each read it silently to themselves as Fluttershy read aloud

“Severe blurring of vision, painful and reduced movement caused by tightening of skin, and the worsening of existing wounds. One case of unintentional sustained exposure to a high concentration of the gas resulted in death to the tissue both surrounding and inside the area of exposure, causing symptoms similar to lung inflammation, blood poisoning, and an intensified form of. . . oh, dear, Intensified h-hoof rot.” the pegasus shivered, a gesture that everypony else mimiced in kind. “The substance has proven to be more difficult to deal with once it has gathered in pockets or come into contact with nearby water sources, in which it becomes much like a strong acid. Gas pockets, such as the one that caused the blood poisoning, can form in any area not exposed to moderate winds. No definite cure has been found, no cases of effects wearing off have turned up as of this report’s creation.”

Clockwork felt the urge to vomit, but stopped himself when he saw Long Shot stumble back from the table. He had a look that he had never seen him display before: pure, absolute terror.

“Oh no, oh no no no. . . No!” the nocturni muttered, sweat began to bead down his forehead.

“What’s the matter?” Clockwork asked.

“I thought that it was gone. I thought that it had been destroyed, eradicated, neutralized, gone. . .”

“Commander, what the hay is it?”

Long Shot walked back to the table and almost collapsed on top of it. “Battlefright. . .” at this point, most of the ponies in the room where preparing for a mental breakdown.

Fluttershy finally acquired the nerve to respond to the sudden, uncharacteristic action. “Umm... Long Shot? If you have any information on this weapon, it would be nice if you told us. . . that is, if you were comfortable doing so. . .”

“Sorry ma’am,” the nocturni straightened upright, looking as if he had just woke up in a bathtub filled with a liquid that used to be his family. “Just remembering the last time this stuff was used.”

“When was that?”

“Before Luna was banished.”

Clockwork blinked, he’d never heard any mention of this gas in the history books, and had forgotten for a brief moment that his boss was technically over a millennia old.

Long Shot cleared his throat before continuing. “It was just after the Lunar Royal Guard had been established, hell, I was only twenty seven. Equestria was under attack by a race of fey creatures that lived in what’s now part of dragon country. They were made of branches, trees, and a number of other types plant-life, sometimes looking like a pony and other times more like trees themselves. Led by a cabal of peryton sorcerors, they came into towns and turned ponies into mulch so that their master could grow more of their kind. Normal weapons were utterly useless, so the high mages at the time created a deadly gas with assistance from. . . some darker magical sources. It was designed to kill off the creatures faster than they could regenerate while poisoning the soil.” he paused as haunting memories came flooding back. “It. . . succeeded. The substance destroyed the armies in a matter of days, thousands of lives were lost, on both sides. The gas, then called Necrotizing Battlefright, devastated not only the fey but the very land around it, killing the soil. Its effects on flesh were even worse, as we’ve all read. By order of Princess Celestia herself we destroyed all known traces of the substance, then sealed the formula away so that it could never be used again.”

If changelings had eyebrows, Switcher would’ve raised one of his with both curiosity and some semblance of fear. “Why not destroy the formula rather then just sealing it away?”

Long Shot coughed apologetically. “We thought of that, but Princess Luna was of the mind that even a dangerous weapon could be potentially valuable. She thought that it might be needed in the future, and that to deprive ourselves of any resource would prove to be a mistake in the long run.”

Clockwork tasted sour bile in his throat. He couldn’t decide what was worse, the fact that ponykind had created such a demonic weapon, or that they had refused to destroy it. After gagging for a moment, he managed to ask “Then how did the Consortium manage to get its paws on it? How are they actually making it, anyway?”

“That’s not important right now. What is important is that we need to go in, kill any dog that won’t surrender, destroy every last trace of Battlefright they have, and leave.”

Clockwork was still impressed that the commander could sum up such a large amount of time and information into a few sentences. However, he had to find out all of the details. “What support or supplies will we have?”

“You’ll have whatever weapons you bring with you, but you won't need to worry about sustenance,” Twilight answered. “Ponies can survive off of Zebrican flora and fauna, and the zebras have preparing that nailed down to a science. As for equipment, we’ll provide each of you with two hazmat suits, along with two pairs of gas masks for short exposure. Standard protocol for dealing with poisonous substances. The zebras aren’t the most advanced species, so we’re sending relief supplies with you to help them cope with the increased hostility of the situation. As for support, I’m sorry, but you won’t be getting much of it.”

Clockwork only raised an eyebrow.

“Umm. . . Zebrica is so heavily forested that airships are next to useless for zeppelin support fire,” Fluttershy explained. “We’d just. . . burn holes in the jungle, and that wouldn’t help anypony. Twilight, Applebloom and I will be accompanying you on this mission.”

“Why is that?” Charger inquired. “Soldiers as valuable as yourselves should not be needlessly placing your lives in harm’s way.”

“We’re goin’ ‘cause we know Zecora best!” Applebloom exclaimed. “Us bein’ there will help comfert her, an' show that we genuinely care 'bout her people.”

“Sorry to be blunt, ma’ams,” Clockwork stammered. “but we don’t have a ship.”

Long Shot laughed under his breath, still a little shocked from the announcement of Battlefright’s resurgence. “She’s waiting for us downstairs. C’mon.”

Clockwork and Charger tilted their heads to separate sides. “Downstairs, sir?” they asked.

As soon as the elevator's glass wall opened up into the cave system, Clockwork felt his jaw hit the floor. He could only think of one sight more beautiful, and she was standing right next to him with a similar expression. “Commander?” he asked as he desperately tried to reset his jaw. “Is that. . . ours?”

“Yep.”

It finally made sense why there had been no zeppelins in the sky despite the squad’s ship supposedly being completed. It was because the airship had been entirely assembled within the mountain.

As Clockwork looked over the immense, floating vehicle before his rapidly descending elevator, Long Shot laughed. “The looks on your muzzles are priceless, but they’re appropriate given Szary’s abilities.”

“Szary?”

Switcher-7 cleared his throat, Clockwork could tell by his voice that he had altered his appearance. “One of the best of its class. Modified scout and swift strike frigate. Three inch thick mithril hull, buoyancy maintained solely by helium cells. Equipped with a miniaturized version of the prototype teleportation drive we detonated over Valor Point some time ago. A fully functioning hologram projector, four independently operated propellers, though it can maintain course on as little as two. The only offensive emplacement our new ship has is quite powerful, a javelin cannon powered by bleed off steam many other ships simply vent. Crewed by the standard skeleton of twenty five with as little as ten needed to keep it in the air and fighting.”

Long Shot laughed through his nose. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

Both of the new members nodded. The zeppelin’s hull gleamed silver as small yet powerful spotlights illuminated it in various portions. Relatively sleek and small given its eventual passengers and likely risky missions, a single, large turret hung near the center of its underside.

“Such few engineers heightens the risk for a quickened loss of full functionality.” Charger finally responded.

“Missy, ya fergot that mithril is really darn strong! Ah mean, have ya seen what that stuff can hold up against?” Applebloom squeaked with enthusiasm. “It’s light too, and it takes helium an especially long time ta ‘scape from it! Besides, if this ship is goin’ down, then what the hay is it doing there in the first place?”

Clockwork shrugged. “it all sounds too good to be true.”

“The best deserve the best,” Twilight replied firmly.

Clockwork looked at his hooves, then to his artificial wing. “I really don’t consider myself-”

The elevator came to a jolting halt, nearly causing the pegasus to bite his tongue. Without a word, the seven equines trotted across the cave’s stone floor before reaching an oddly colored dropship. At Long Shot’s urging, the pegasus got inside and strapped in. “Aside from the paint job, what’s so special about this thing?”

Switcher once again prepared for a technological rant as he sat down. “This is the Vikare, Meteor Squad’s personal dropship. What it lacks in firepower, quite literally having no firearms whatsoever mounted onboard, it more than makes up for in increased speed and mid-flight agility. Otherwise, it is no different from any other rapid response craft in the Federation’s arsenal.The commander preferred its unpainted finish.”

“And I get the sense a lot of other ponies do too.”

Clockwork remained dumbly silent as they arrived onboard Szary and were given a surprisingly quick tour of the squad’s new home/base of operations/flying fortress. He exchanged only a few words and a kiss with a bemused Wetwork after discovering her already onboard and briefed on the mission in full, having spent the last two weeks working on the ship. Haywire was with her too, tinkering with some machinery or another he had yet to determine the purpose of. In what felt like seconds, the pegasus was on the bridge, listening as the ship’s pilot (the Even Odd’s former pilot, actually), an elderly steel-blue, silver-grey maned pegasus called Nimbus went over how the mission would proceed from the sky. Clockwork finally let five words escape his lips in the form of a question.

“How long till we’re off?”

Nimbus eyed the younger pegasus with an experienced smile. “We’ll teleport over the primary landing zone in one hour, then Meteor will head down in the Vikare with the first batch of relief supplies. After that, we’ll teleport back to Canterlot but and maintain radio contact. The dogs most likely have anti-air defenses, and from what I've seen, they're damned powerful. You’ll be on our own for most of the mission unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

Long Shot turned to his comrades. “We can get the rest of the details on the trip there. Now come on, Meteor Squad. We’ve got a job to do!”

The three warriors let out a combined ‘Yes sir!” before trotting out the door of the bridge. Everypony went their separate ways, some to gather belongings, others to grab a quick bite to eat, or to take one last hot shower.

Clockwork immediately went to the squad quarters and started packing. From what he had read about Zebrica, it was a land of constantly changing environmental condition, to an extent. He had read that the place was either hot year round or muggy or both. He wouldn’t need any insulation, heck, he probably wouldn’t even wear his undershirt or bandanna half the time he was down there. He packed a few dozen rounds of ammunition, a hoofheld glass cleaning and polishing kit, a couple extra batteries for his radio, and a few other items.

“Soo. . .”

“Hey, Wetwork.” the pegasus didn’t turn around just yet.

“Zebrica, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Poison gas, flesh eating bacteria, carnivorous plants. . .” the unicorn trailed off.

Clockwork laughed for a moment as he slung his duffel bag, fully packed and ready to go, over his shoulder. “If you’re trying to convince me to op out, it isn’t working.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, and the fact that your first mission involves getting dropped into an unfamiliar area where the enemy has the clear technological advantage sounds more like suicide to me. You know what happened to the last crew your commander had? They all died.”

"And it was my stupidity that got them killed, not Long Shot's inability to lead." the pegasus finally looked his marefriend in the eyes, and found them filled with equal parts fear, worry, and compassion. “I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing, and I’m totally scared, but it’s what I've chosen to do and I have to roll with it. I’ll be fine as long as you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

The two gently butted heads. Clockwork felt horrible. Less then a few hours with Wetwork only told him that he should spend more time with her. “Stay alive so I’ll have something to come back to. Promise?”

The mare nodded, holding back tears all the while. “Promise.”

Clockwork made it to Szary’s hangar bay before the rest of the squad. He spent a good five minutes mentally running over the mission basics and his checklist of materials before Long Shot and Switcher showed up, and another three before Charger joined them as well. Captain Twilight, Fluttershy, and Applebloom hadn’t arrived yet, so Clockwork realized that he had the opportunity to look his squad over, ready to throw themselves into the fire for the first time since Valor Point.

Charger was as attractive as she had ever been. Her mane was still messy, as it always was, and her gloves were a snug fit. Occasionally a single electrical spark would jump over one of them. Clockwork had to avert his eyes in case she caught him staring. Long Shot seemed to have had the same idea as him, his armor sparsely covering his body, but he had some sort of mesh underlay snug below the primary plating and covering his legs. Once again, the Commander wasn't taking his helmet. Switcher-7’s uniform hadn’t changed in the slightest. Changeling probably didn't react to heat in the same way as their mamallian bretheren.

Clockwork’s train of thought was broken by Long Shot shouting “Attention! Superiors on deck!”

The squad saluted as one when Twilight, Fluttershy, and Applebloom entered together. Twilight’s heavily decorated navy-blue uniform hadn’t changed much, except for a few brass armor plates now protecting her knees, shoulders, elbows, and had a single LeMane revolver strapped to her left side. Fluttershy wore a medic’s uniform, with armor in the same places as Twilight, and she had the same mesh as Long Shot’s covering her body. Surprisingly, she had alshotgun of all things slung over her shoulder. Applebloom carried no weapon and had almost no armor at all, save for brass horseshoes and some plates covering her forelegs. Her tail was styled as a single long braid, while her mane flowed freely. Her trademark red bow had been replaced by a black bandanna, the symbol of the E.F.R.S.N. stained on it in white. All three of the mares had large duffle bags at their hooves.

“At ease, Meteor Squad,” Twilight addressed them. After they had relaxed a bit, she asked, “Do you all have everything you wish to bring with you? We don’t know how long we will be in Zebrica.”

“We all got here within the hour, so I think my squad is ready to kick some dogs in their furry hindquarters. If we do this right, we’ll be out of her within the week,” Long shot answered, fiery determination easily noticeable in his voice.

Twilight's only response was to press her muzzle to her shoulder radio. “All hooves, brace for long range teleportation to Zebrica. Nimbus, take us out.”

Applebloom picked up her duffle bag and trotted into the open bay of Meteor Squad’s personal dropship. She was soon followed by the rest of the team. As they took their seats, a familiar purple fog enveloped everything in sight. After a few somewhat horrendous moments of being covered in the semi-sticky and sweet smelling magical substance, it faded. A low rumble began to course through the zeppelin as its hangar door slid open, letting in a rush of warm, moist air that hit the dropship, and its occupants, like a wall.

Clockwork watched as the Vikare lifted off and depart as fluidly as water itself. Every so often, he would switch his view from the jungle just outside to his crewmates within. Despite everypony appearing calm, cool, and collected, he could almost feel the tension and fear in the air. No matter how many missions were under one’s belt, there was always the chance that something unexpected, something one wasn’t prepared to deal with, would occur. The pegasus’ attention turned to his commander, who was whispering some kind of chant in the language of his species as he tapped the butt of his rifle against the Vikare’s floor. All anypony could do now until they landed was try to get into a comfortable position amongst the several large crates that occupied the majority of the transport’s hold.

The tense mood suddenly vanished as the dropship came to a gentle halt on the moist dirt of the designated landing zone, replaced entirely by an eerie silence, fear, and indecision as to how to proceed. No more than twenty feet from the dropship was a single zebra mare, crouched down on three hooves like a cat.

Her dark violet eyes didn’t greet the newcomers with joy, or amusement, or anything, really. She had a full head of hair, something that Clockwork hadn’t seen on a zebra before, one that was styled in the fashion of simple, tight dreadlocks alternatively dyed black and gold, giving her a undeniably exotic appearance. She looked surprisingly thin, but Clockwork didn’t know if that was from a lack of food or her metabolism. The zebra held a spear in her free hoof, an ornate weapon from which several small charms and trophies dangled near the blade.

Clockwork couldn’t see the tip of the spear, given that it had been driven up into the neck of a diamond dog, one that greatly resembling the seven other rapidly cooling corpses around the mare. Without showing even the tiniest amount of strain, the warrior made two clean cuts, one causing blood to erupt from the beast’s neck, the other from its gut. It was dead long before it hit the ground.

After slaying the creature, she swung her weapon close to the ground as she met the gaze of the Equestrians; a low arc of blood spattered the yellow dirt like paint from an artist’s brush. Clockwork realized that, even with with the knowledge of the mare in front of him most likely being the ally the squad had been told they would meet, he was horrified at the sight before him.

“Ah,” the mare spoke, voice low and commanding as she rose from her crouched position, paying no attention to the fact that her coat was now both equal parts red and white. “At last, the noble cavalry arrives. Welcome to Zebrica, slaves of the Burning Sun. My name is Mganga.”

Welcome To Zebrica

While any other seasoned warrior would’ve approached the blood-soaked stranger with caution or even light hostility, Long Shot trotted up to the striped mare and held out a hoof. “The name’s Long Shot, and the ones behind me are my comrades in arms."

Clockwork couldn’t put his hoof exactly on it, but he recognized the look in his commander’s eyes and found it strangely familiar.

Mganga hastily wiped her free hoof on the ground before taking Long Shot‘s and shaking firmly. “My people are in serious danger. Please follow me.” she spun around and started to walk off into the jungle.

“W-wait!” Clockwork stammered, still unnerved by the zebra’s previous actions. “What about the dropship?”

Mganga slowed her pace, but only just. “Nothing is safe until we rid the area surrounding Mji Mkuu of the dogs. Your transport would likely become ash before it reached its destination.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Charger cut in, “but we were lead to believe that this area was secure of any threat caused by the Supremacy or otherwise.” her voice had a slight stammer to it, probably because she was talking to an individual who had fresh bits of dog in her dreadlocks.

“Is that what these abominations call themselves now?” the zebra gestured for her new allies to follow her.

“It’s what they call their alliance with the Griffons and possibly a rogue changeling hive.”

Mganga stopped dead in her tracks, and for a moment, all was silent. “We have yet to see any griffons since the attacks started. However, we have seen many of the fey-kin that have attempted to infiltrate our lands.”

“Fey-kin? What can you tell us about them?” Switcher pressed.

Mganga took note of the disguised changeling’s curiosity. “Very little, for they dissolve like ash when killed. We have yet to take a live specimen, furthermore I do not know yours or any other pony here’s name. Commander, if you would?” she looked to Long Shot.

“You already know me. These are Clockwork, Charger, Switcher-7, Captains Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy, and Machinery Sergeant Applebloom.” the commander pointed to each of his friends in quick succession.

Mganga dipped into a low bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you all, especially the last three. Tribe Queen Zecora has told us much about you.”

“Oh. . . we’re not really that amazing.” Fluttershy cooed.

“Nonsense. From what I have heard, Miss Sparkle stopped a Star-Beast on her own, you befriended a manticore and quelled a dragon's rage, and you both helped to defeat Nightmare Moon and the draconequus. You two are of the greatest warriors we have ever sang of. There has not been a day so far in which she has not told tales of her life in your lands.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Applebloom jumped up and down. “What ‘bout me? What’s Zecora told ya’ll ‘bout me?”

“Oh, she has told us most of you, young Applebloom. She says that you are the daughter that she never could have.”

“Whadda ya mean by that?”

“You did not know?” Mganga looked utterly baffled. "The Queen is barren.”

“Oh. . .” the rest of the walk through the humid jungle was in near silence, save for the buzzing cicadas, chirping birds, the screaming of unholy carnivores waiting for the ponies to drop dead, and other sounds exclusive to Zebrica.

Suddenly, the eight soldiers stopped when Mganga raised her hoof. She dropped to the ground, as did the others. Mganga motioned for the others to stay still, and she crawled forward to rest underneath the exposed, gnarled roots of a large tree. Past her, the squad could distinguish grey paws against the brown-black muck. After the last one had passed, Mganga stood and trotted behind the last Diamond Dog without so much as a sound. She dropped them all in a manner of seconds, cutting out their throats so they could never once call for help or plead for mercy.

Clockwork stopped at the body of one of the dead dogs and took a closer look at what it carried. The strange, silver hued spear had a blue gem at the tip in between twin blades that glowed faintly as he touched it. He managed to wrench the weapon out of the body’s still warm paw, and it collapsed unto his hoof, much shorter than before. He shoved it into one of his vest pockets and moved on, picking up each spear. After he had finished, he rejoined his fellow soldiers, and they continued onwards.

After several minutes of trudging through warm mud, under hot foliage, and over the cold bodies of bodies both zebra and dog, the group finally made their way to a clearing; half-destroyed huts and tired-looking zebras bordered the edges in equal amounts. Despite this being the supposed capital city of Zebrica, it felt and appeared surprisingly minute in comparison to Canterlot.

As the team arrived at the base of the only hut in the settlement that did not appear to be made entirely of organic substances, Mganga spoke. "My apologies, Meteor, but it is here that I must depart."

"Why's that?" Applebloom inquired. "Ya just got here!"

The zebra mare sighed, looking over her spear for any imperfections that might have hindered its performance. "You arrived in the aftermath of a moderate siege. I must look for any possible survivors, rescue those that are striped, and kill those that are not."

Like that, the mare was gone. The squad mused over her possible fate for the scantest of moments before entering what Clockwork realized was the zebra equivalent of a capital building. They were immediately greeted by the somewhat familiar face of Zecora, seated on a single mat in the center of the room. This residence, unlike her own in Equestria, was barren of masks and bottles and instead had maps hanging from wires and spears and antique firearms lining the walls. Around her were seven other zebras, five of which were aged and giving hard glances to the new arrivals, one that seemed almost unrealistically large, and a rather lanky one that stayed close by Zecora’s side. After whispering something to one of them, she stood up and trotted over to the squad.

“Ah, the squad commanded by the stallion who serves the moon, it warms my heart to know that the Federation answered my call for help so soon.” the zebra held out her right forehoof.

Long Shot took her hoof and shook. “It’s good to see you're doing well, ma’am. How’re the tribes holding?”

“I am sorry to say, but not very well, given the last few days. The dogs continue to attack, day and night. They are filling each of my brother and sister soldiers with fright.”

“Not all of us, sis.” the biggest zebra of the seven stood up and trotted over to Zecora’s side. He was huge, almost as though he were an oxen painted black and white. Not only that, but he had an equally massive bo staff slung over his back. “Why won’t you let me go back out there and kill more of the pawed freaks already?”

“Because, Askari, after the dogs started to use the gas in their attacks, we agreed that we would fall back!”

Before the large zebra could respond, an immense BOOM! rocked the structure, causing parchments and weapons to jangle and shift. Despite a few fallen miscellaneous items, the hut remained undamaged.

“I am unfamiliar as to what sort of machine or force can accomplish such an explosion! Stay on guard!” Switcher exclaimed.

“Beware, tan pegasus, you must watch your flank. That sound you heard was the echoing boom of a tank!”

“A what, ma’am?”

Clockwork shook his head to clear away the shock. He stammered the first few times, but eventually got it right. "I-I’m familiar with the idea, but from what I know, only the Consortium has managed to pull it off. It’s kind of like an automated stagecoach with all-terrain capability and an airship cannon at one end.” the pegasus turned to Zecora. “How many of those have you seen?”

“Despite the continuing attacks day and night, there have only been reports of one tank crossing my subjects’ sight.”

Askari started towards the door. “Then let’s get out there and kill that son of a-”

"Hold on!” Long Shot stopped him. “I don't care who or how experienced you are, but you won't survive ten seconds against something with that kind of firepower. My squad will handle it, you keep the city intact. Meteor!"

"Strike hard! Strike fast! Shine bright!"

Clockwork and Charger stayed low to the ground, their stomachs occasionally brushing a piece of loose foliage. Long Shot had ordered them to break up into two teams of two as to avoid detection. Twilight, Fluttershy, and Applebloom had stayed behind at the request of Zecora. Following the tank was easy (just follow the booms), but bearing witness to the extent of its carnage wasn't.

More than once, they would come upon a group of dead zebras utterly ravaged by the doggish weapon. Long Shot always checked the bodies, but he never explained why. However, he would always breathe a small sigh when he had finished the inspection. After killing a few dog patrols and avoiding the rest, the squad finally found what they were looking for.

A short distance away from the team was a massive vessel. Its hull was a color somewhere between alabaster and silver, and large sapphires littered its surface. A massive cannon rested at one end, which occasionally fired a projectile of some unholy material into the jungle with a deafening BOOM! It had only two, though impressively sized, windows located to either side of the cannon.

“Commander," Clockwork whispered into his radio. "How do you suppose we deal with this thing?”

“Well-” the nocturni was cut off as tank launched another volley. “We'd need high explosives to blow through that armor, let alone those sapphires."

"Something we severely lack, sir," Switcher added. "I do not believe your rifle carries enough force to achieve the same effect."

“I know that.” Annoyed sarcasm clearly detectable in Long Shot’s voice. "Trying to think here!”

A full ten seconds passed, though given the circumstances it felt much more like ten hours. "They'll likely fire on anything that isn't part of their alliance, but how can they check for identities from in there?"

"Commander, are you suggesting. . ." Switcher trailed off.

"Do it."

"Yessir!"

Before Clockwork or Charger could question the suddenly determined new strategy, their eyes fell upon an odd sight.

A changeling stumbled out from the foliage, clutching at its side and grimacing in pain. Despite realizing that it was Switcher in another alternate form, both ponies still felt disturbed.

Switcher's new disguise was completely alien. In place of forehooves, there were claws akin to that of a crab. His horn and already prominent fangs and had extended and darkened in color. His eyes practically glowed a dark orange, a stark contrast to his now pitch-black coat. He didn't look like a hostile subspecies of changeling, more like an inmate of Tartarus.

A previously unseen hatch popped open, revealing a lightly armored dog, a iron plate on his breast and elbow and arm guards that looked like they were of cloth. He crawled out of the tank, made his way over to Switcher, and the hatch shut once more.

Long Shot signaled for Clockwork and Charger to move. Staying low to the ground, the two ponies managed to creep a good distance towards the tank. The plan would’ve gone off without a hitch, were it not for Clockwork stepping on a miraculously dry branch.

CRACK!

Clockwork instinctively flared out his wings and pulled Charger to the ground with him. The two were literally out in the open, the only thing keeping them hidden was Switcher continuous distraction of the dog tank pilot.

“What was that?!” the red-brown dog shouted, rapidly sniffing the air. “I smell hooved freaks.”

“The sstriped basstardss are everywhere,” Switcher replied between gritted fangs.

“No, not the stupid striped ones,” the dog replied, taking a deep breath through his nose. “Ponies. One with wings, and a disgusting normal one,” the dog cursed as he looked around. He spotted something glimmering a ways away. He started towards it, and it was only in his last moments of life that he realized it was a wing.

Switcher changed back to his original form and bolted forward, gripping the dog's arms and head into a full nelson. Moments later, the beast's head turned to red mush as a bullet from Long Shot's rifle entered it.

Before anypony could react, a shrill, high-pitched sound blasted over some unseen speaker located on the tank. It didn’t take a genius intellect to know that it was a call to arms. The tank’s cannon swerved to focus on Switcher, the changeling cursed as he rolled to the side, serpentining away from the vehicle.

Clockwork and Charger made a mad dash for the tank. The duo made it about halfway before its cannon finally gave up its chase and instead focused on the more immediate threat, them. Charger froze in terror when she found herself staring down the tank’s barrel. Clockwork hesitated for a moment, but when he saw the tank’s shield spark for a moment, he pushed Charger out of the way and flared out his artificial wing, taking the entire cannon blast in one fluid motion. The force of the round sent Clockwork spiraling backwards into a tree, turning it to splinters as he continued to sail through the air. He hit a rock a good distance farther away and fell to the ground, slumped over and barely conscious. He could taste iron in his mouth among other unpleasant things, and could hear next to nothing, save for a high pitched ringing that drowned out everything else. His vision had blurred, but he could still make out Long Shot and Charger running towards him.

“Ki... we gotta ge... ving! Now!” he half-heard Long Shot yell. He swung his head to his right, and was suddenly staring into Charger’s eyes. He heard her mutter something. “Sorr. . . work. . . but thi. . . as to b. . . one.”

The pegasus suddenly rocketed into the air as he felt a bolt of lightning course through him, when he came back to earth he noticed that his vision and hearing had improved dramatically. Shaking his head vigorously, he looked towards Charger and found her gloves sparking. The pegasus flashed her a grin and started towards the tank once more, but stumbled and fell when a sharp pain lanced through his left shoulder.

He looked towards it and saw nothing wrong (even his prosthetic was intact, though severely disfigured), but the pain clearly indicated otherwise. He stood up again, albeit with some difficulty and assistance from his female teammate. He looked towards Long Shot, who was yelling at Switcher, who was now trying to draw the tank’s attention.

“Switcher!” the commander screamed. “Get a smokescreen on that thing! We’re sitting ducks out here!”

“Right away!” the now redisguised changeling took a small vial from his vest and threw it towards the tank. It impacted the vessel’s shield, shattering the vial and smothering the tank in a thick grey smoke. Clockwork continued to stumble towards it with some help from Charger, the two managing to get within a few meters before blue light flickered across their vision and they slammed face first into a wall of energy. Wincing and rubbing at the spot on his head, the pegasus teetered back. How were they supposed to get through this thing?

No sooner had this thought entered his brain that a flash of genius shot through him like the electricity from Charger’s gauntlets. The shield had sparked just before the cannon fired, perhaps it had. . . a tiny light bulb lit up in the pegasus’ head.

“It makes sense!” he shouted. “The shield has to drop to let the cannon round through, then closes back up! Charger,” he looked towards the mare on his right, “Let me go.”

“What?!”

“Get ready to jump on that tank. I draw its fire, you get on it while its shields are down. Those gloves of yours should be more than enough to bust the hatch open.”

“I won’t do that, there are still dogs in there and I'm not leaving you in your state!”

“Well I don’t see any other way to bring this thing down without one of us getting hurt more than we already are, and I'd highly prefer it be me.”

Charger was silent for a moment. “Fine.” she let go of the pegasus and sprinted to the side of the vehicle, where the occupants couldn't see, crouching low to the ground, ready to jump. She gave Clockwork a small nod.

Clockwork nodded back, and fired a few rounds at the tank. As planned, its attention turned from Switcher to the pegasus, and Clockwork found himself staring down the massive vehicle’s cannon. He ducked as low as he possibly could, but still found himself gazing into the gaping hole of death.

He closed his eyes, knowing that his end was imminent. However, he never felt the life ebb away. Instead, he opened his eyes and found that Long Shot had fired a sniper round straight down the barrel. The tank eventually did fire, but not without serious consequence. It’s barrel expanded unevenly in several different places, and the tip of it simply exploded outwards, turning a charred black as it did. Clockwork’s hearing disappeared as he realized that the cannon had only been a few meters from his face. He looked up. Charger had jumped, landing square on the top of the enemy vehicle, and her gloves were crackling. She slammed her forehooves into the top of the tank in several places until she managed to hit the the perfect spot. The hatch swung open and Charger jumped inside. Clockwork couldn’t hear it, but knew that whoever was inside that tank was getting the literal shock of a lifetime.

After another few seconds, Clockwork’s hearing returned, but whatever was going on inside of the vessel had died down. The pegasus stumbled around the tank, shoulder screaming in protest as he tried to climb it. After a moment of struggling, he realized that his fellow squad mates were helping him up. He thanked them with a silent nod before drawing his LeMane and checking its cylinder. There was one unfired round left, and Clockwork had no time to reload. He didn’t want to wait to find out if the dog inside had killed the mare he loved. He edged towards the tank’s hatch, peering over its edge, and saw nothing. With a deep breath, he jumped inside and raised his pistol, wanting to know what happened, and not wanting to at the same time.

The pegasus blinked, he’d had no idea what to expect but whatever it had been, it wasn’t. . . this. Charger was sitting in a large, leather chair pressing buttons and mumbling something to herself. A short distance away were three singed diamond dogs stacked one atop the other, the smell of burning hair from the smoking hoof prints on their sides suffusing the cabin.

Tucking his weapon away, Clockwork moved over to the pile and poked the top one with a hoof. The creature groaned but otherwise made no move. The tanks pilots were alive, and for some reason that relieved the pegasus.

Moving slowly, he made his way over to his now frustratedly groaning friend, glancing around the cabin as he did. The room was fairly small, only about ten or eleven feet in diameter and filled with all manner of complicated machinery. What looked like a launching tube for the cannon filled up one wall, opposite what appeared to be a radio, the entire area softly lit by orange-white sunstone crystals.

“So, uh,” Clockwork mumbled, poking his head around what he assumed was the pilot’s chair to watch Charger work, “having any trouble?”

The mare looked up at him for a moment before returning her attention to the console before her. “This machine's level of technological complexity makes the Federation seem like it's still in the stone age. Do you have possibly even the most remote idea as to what half of these buttons do?”

“Lemme take a look at this.” Clockwork knelt down, staring at the seemingly featureless panel that sat underneath the primary controls. “Charger, I need a good shock along this seam right here.” the pegasus lightly etched a square into the metal with his prosthetic before moving out of the way.

“Of course.” Charger pressed her gloved hooves to the line in two places, causing sparks to coat the plate in a split second wave of white-blue light. She pulled back and let Clockwork return to his work.

“Much appreciated.” the pegasus thanked his friend as he fitted his metal wing behind the weakened plate similar to a crowbar. “Now if I can just get this to move I can-” the stallion was abruptly cut off when he heaved with more force than expected, sending him rolling backwards. He quickly found himself staring up at Charger from a very. . . compromising position. He felt his cheeks grow hot as he righted himself and knelt back down, leaning in towards where the sheet of alabaster-white steel (at least it seemed like steel) had just been. Clockwork was shocked, for the interior of the tank wall was composed of some sort of blackish-grey, clay-like substance; there were gems of all sorts embedded within it.

“Huh, that’s unexpected,” Clockwork mused.

“What is?” Charger asked, kneeling down to look.

“The way this entire tank is set up. Look here, there are sapphires, emeralds, and even a few topaz. No physical connections between the two, unless this black stuff is some sort of dual substance. That would provide both a physical connection for any energy running through this vehicle as well as offering a last line of defense and insulation.” The pegasus broke a piece of the black material off, stood up, and poked his head and forehoof out of the hatch. “Switcher!”

“Sir!” the now redisguised changeling exclaimed. He was still standing at the base of the tank, a vial of a some sort of neon green substance ready to be thrown.

“I need you to take a look at this stuff.” Clockwork tossed the material to his companion. “I don't know what it is, but I get the sense it doesn't belong to the Consortium.”

The changeling caught the black chunk with one hoof and turned it over a few times. “I have an idea as to what this may be, but I must run tests when we return to Mji Mkuu in order to prove my suspicions.”

“Thanks.” the pegasus looked around his immediate vicinity. “Where'd Long Shot go?”

“Currently maintaining a perimeter around the vehicle. The commander is making sure that no dogs get through to here. He also said that he would return within the hour at maximum. Are you alright?”

“A little shaken, my shoulder hurts, my ears are ringing, and my wing is jacked up but other than that I'm fine.” with that, Clockwork slipped back inside of the tank. He looked towards Charger. “Long Shot is out but he'll be back before the hour's past. Plenty of time for us to figure out how this thing works, don't ya think?”

By now, Clockwork had practically torn the tank apart and still had yet to make any noticeable progress. Aside from the exterior, the whole vehicle contained next to no moving parts. The cannon was the only thing that was definitively broken, everything else simply inactive due to the pilots being unconscious. Clockwork had discovered that the cannon was powered by a myriad of different gems, and used polished quartz crystals (nearly the size of his head) somehow enhanced to almost a supernatural degree of hardness for ammunition. The pegasus had shuddered several times at the fact that something so beautiful could be converted into a weapon of war. After a bit more time, the pegasus decided that he would learn how the vehicle worked in detail back at the capital, but for now, he had to actually get to the city.

After helping Charger weld next to all removed panels back into place, Clockwork snuck a few glances at the pile of dogs nearby while he worked. They had regained full consciousness a long time ago, but didn’t move out of fear of being shocked into submission once again. He laughed as he knelt down, pressing the last panel back into place. With a simple nod, Charger walked over and pressed her hooves to the panel, emitting a shower of sparks from her gloves that burnt the metal back into place.

Clockwork began pressing the various buttons located in front of the pilot’s chair while Charger went to check on the dogs. They were still in a pile, but they now appeared more like they were asleep, at which Charger gave a little hum. Charger looked back at Clockwork, and with only a silent nod, Clockwork smacked his hoof against one last button.

Nothing happened, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, Clockwork kicked out a hoof, smacking the underside of the controls. Suddenly, a shrill ring emanated from the tank, and Clockwork realized that the sound from earlier wasn’t a call to arms, but the tank starting up. Clockwork began to reach upward to open the tank hatch and tell Switcher, but the changeling beat him to it. “Sir! The call to arms rang out once more! We must prepare for hostile combatants!”

“Don’t worry Switcher. It’s just the tank turning on.”

“That does not mean that nearby enemies will not have heard it.”

“Actually,” to the surprise of the three equines, one of the dogs, a great shaggy one with a single floppy ear, half-drowsily stood from the literal dog pile he was a member of and continued to speak in broken Equestrian with a voice that sounded like two stones rubbing together. “does. Tank designed so troop’s ears won’t hurt when turned on. Your friend hunting ghosts."

“So you’re telling me that I just spent the last hour guarding against an enemy that wasn’t actually coming?” the nocturni suddenly appeared, nudged Switcher aside, and poked his head inside the hatch.

“Y-yes.” the dog was visibly shaking, absolutely horrified of the situation he had gotten himself into.

“For Luna’s sake, calm down. We’re not going to kill you ‘cause you’re a prisoner of war. It doesn’t matter who you are, mostly. How many people can this thing hold?”

“Tank only has room for six,” the dog explained.

“Switcher and I will ride on top and I’ll radio ahead to let Zecora know we’re inbound. Clockwork, Charger, you two seem to know how to work this thing well enough, so you and the dogs can stay in here and pilot it back to the capital. Got it?”

“We have names,” the dog replied.

“Well you’ll have to wait before we learn them.” the commander turned a very dangerous-looking glare on the captives. “But let me just say this: if you even try to hurt these two ponies, I will personally hoof-mail you to Tartarus or whatever your Consortium’s equivalent is. Got it?” He didn’t stick around for an answer.

Clockwork and Charger stayed behind the dogs after they motioned them to take their seats. They immediately set to work, flipping switches, pressing buttons, and a dozen other tasks that no one engineer could perform all at one time. Clockwork studied them intently, taking in as much of their procedures as possible. If he ever had the chance to drive one of these things with a working cannon, he wanted to make sure that he could use it to the best of his abilities. He looked at Charger and noticed that her gloves were sparking. With a few barely noticeable gestures, she got the message and the sparks faded. After a few moments of quiet, the head dog spoke again.

“Clockwork, right? Don’t know what you did, but all power from cannon equally diverted to other places. How?” he asked the last part with a growl.

“Special talent.” Clockwork boasted a minute smirk on his face as he answered. “Since the cannon’s useless now, I figured I might as well put the power somewhere else where it’ll matter.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen, I think. Why?”

The dog performed a double take at the stallion’s answer. “Ponies are sending young to fight war!” with a bitter laugh, he added “I thought griffons were crazy.”

“Umm. . . sorry?” Clockwork couldn’t decide if he heard sorrow or amazement in the dog’s voice.

“Meant as compliment, pony.” a smile crept over the dog’s snout.

“Thanks.”

“Name is Diesel. These are Sod and Grumbler, don’t talk much.” the dog extended a shaggy paw.

Clockwork extended his hoof and the two soldiers shook. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about your friend. . .”

Diesel gave a snort and spoke. “Granite? Nah, always pain in ass. Think everyone in Consortium will be glad he gone. Probably sent here so lucky dog in Stontarioa get his desk. Polished redwood, very pretty to look at.”

“Well. . .” Clockwork glanced over Diesel’s shoulder to find both Sod and Grumbler nodding at their leader’s statement. The pegasus was a bit shocked to see that these dogs took the death of a fellow soldier as a positive thing.

The stallion was cut off from his train of thought as the tank finally began to move. He looked back towards Diesel, who now had both paws working the controls. He turned to look at the pegasus for a split second before going back to his work. “Clockwork, consider this official surrender, tank is collateral.”

The journey back to the city of Mji Mkuu felt surprisingly short. Even more surprising, however, was how quickly the sun had descended below the horizon. As the tank rolled into the village, Clockwork popped his head out of the hatch only to find that the sky had turned an inky blue-black, and a large number of stars had filled it. However, the most surprising thing of all was the fact that the zebras seemed rather calm about an enemy tank rolling into their village. The tank stopped a healthy distance from the hut that Zecora stood in front of, and the three dogs crawled out, placing their paws behind their heads when they reached the ground. After they were led away by a small team of zebras, Askari brought Meteor Squad inside, the members being immediately approached by Zecora after the door had shut behind them.

“I see that you brought us a vehicle of the dogs’ military might, is this why you have returned so late this night?”

“That is correct, ma’am,” Long Shot replied. “How goes the round up of survivors?”

“Better than I had hoped. When it comes to war, these dogs, they do not joke.”

“How many?” Long Shot asked as Zecora led the squad into the main hut.

“Many we have gathered here, the young, the old, and loved ones dear.” the zebra sat down on a mat next to the fire in the center of the hut and motioned for the squad to do the same.

“I was led to believe that there had been a multitude of attacks?” Charger cocked her head to one side in confusion.

“That is correct, pony of yellow, but the dogs make for curious fellows. There are many villages with great advantages than ours, some not so near, so why would they attack here?”

“I see one reason.” the squad didn’t even need to think to know that Long Shot was talking about Zecora.

“Why kill the leader of the zebras first? Surely they could kill us more effectively with hunger or thirst.”

“The situation does contain a level or merit.” Switcher readjusted his hat and spoke up as a previously unseen zebra passed each of the warriors a wooden bowl filled to the brim with some sort of thick green liquid. Clockwork tried to stay still (and not grunt in pain) as the same zebra began bandaging his shoulder with some roughness. He set his bowl on the ground in front of him for now as he brought his artificial wing around and began struggling to realign it properly. He sighed as he pondered how much time the activity would consume.

“Kill the leader of the enemy faction first, and the lower ranks will descend into chaos for some time until they find a new leader." the changeling continued. "Depending on several factors, the enemy may very well destroy all opposition before they can retaliate with any significant effect.”

“Zebrica is in no short supply of possible leaders, mister strategist.” Askari looked up from his bowl. “Every clan has a leader, and each one of those clans can survive without help from the main city. No, the dogs want to get the best warriors out of their way first. That’s how a coward fights. I would assume that, like the leaders of your country, they think Zecora is some incredibly powerful fighter or somesuch. She's a damned good shaman though.”

“I agree.” Long Shot gulped down a spoonful of the soup. “I like your way of thinking. . . err. . .”

“The name’s Askari, I don’t suppose we’ve really had time for proper introductions, have we?”

The nocturni shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Well,” Askari continued as he downed the last of his meal. “now’s a better time than in the field. You already know me, I’m Zecora’s big brother and personal bodyguard.” the massive warrior pointed a hoof in the general direction of the zebra finishing up his treatment of Clockwork’s most serious injuries (luckily, there were few to speak of). Where there should have been white, his stripes were instead a strong cyan, as though they had been freshly dyed. “That there is Samibe. He’ll help you guys get settled in.”

“Charmed.” Samibe didn’t even look up from his work, and his urban-sounding voice was almost smug as he placed a warm rag on a cut Clockwork didn't even realize he had obtained.

“The little one over next to Zecora is Penyelamat. If, creators forbid, Zecora’s killed in action, then she’ll be taking over.”

The lanky creature’s only response was her eyes widening and a squeak escaping her lips. Askari only laughed. Clockwork looked at the her a bit more closely and noticed that she only had stripes running from her shoulders to her head. The rest of her body was covered in dusty brown hair, except for her legs, which were an off-white. He’d ask her about that later.

“Hah! Forgot that she doesn’t talk much, but she’s really nice once she gets to know you.” the large zebra sat back down and took another bowl of soup that was sitting by the fire.

The allies ate in silence for a few minutes. Samibe finished wrapping the final bandages around Clockwork’s shoulder and sat down next to Askari, while Penyelamat glanced at Charger, an action she returned them in kind. Clockwork fiddled with his wing for some time after that, eventually managing to get it in order. He tested the prosthetic's dexterity as he ate, and figured that it would have to be enough for now. It wasn’t much longer before Long Shot questioned an absence that the pegasus was surprised he hadn't even thought of before now.

“So, anyone seen Mganga recently?”

Greystone gulped nervously and shared a nervous glance with Empress Carapace, the queen of the Corrupted Changeling hive who currently sat at his right. As powerful as she was, her intimidating presence did little to comfort the leader of the Diamond Dog Consortium. Although not possessing sweat glands, nor any visible skin tissue, the old dog could tell she was as nervous as he was by the way her luminescent red-orange eyes flickered continuously to their host.

Across from them, at the far end of the immense gilded table, the Emperor of all Griffon-kind sat half in shadow, his talons interlaced before him and his eyes cold beneath his mask. The formidable warrior had not spoken since his fellow rulers had entered the council chamber, a spacious room decorated with oversized weapons, banners of defeated foes, and the taxidermied corpses of hundreds of different creatures. Greystone had received the summons a week and a day after he had begun his offensive into zebra territory and had departed for the griffon capitol immediately. He had hoped that by now his soldiers would have taken Zebrica, but the reports trickling in were far from satisfactory; the zebras were holding fast, even with Battlefright’s continued use.

The diamond dog gulped as quietly as he could, well aware of what would happen if his unauthorized attack did not produce the results he’d hoped it would. The memory of the terrible zealot the Emperor kept on a leash sending a shiver down his spine, he prayed to whatever gods who were currently listening that the crimson warrior would never turn his eye toward the dogs.

“You seem nervous, Greystone,” the Emperor’s cold voice cut through the air like a knife. “I can smell your fear even at this distance.”

The Consortium leader made a visible effort to still his beating heart, before plastering his most charming smile on his lips.

“Apologies, Emperor,” he said, his politician’s voice coming out smooth despite the constant licking of his lips. “I am merely concerned about being away from my people for too long, itching to ensure their wellbeing, you see.”

The Emperor nodded as if accepting this, though fully aware that it was a blatant lie. He turned and spoke to the Empress.

“And what do you, dear Carapace, think of the war so far?”

Caught off guard by the sudden address, the bug creature visibly flinched and started stammering.

“Truthfully, I am unsure though no less confident. Despite my subject’s limited deployment on the front, Appleloosa fell and I believe that the zebras will follow suit within the week.”

“Of course,” the griffon did not stop nodding, “the zebras are pitifully ill-prepared in terms of armaments. Divided and weak. It is surely a matter of time before the guillotine falls.”

As if on cue, a harsh scream echoed throughout the chamber, followed by a sickening thud and the sound of metal cleaving through flesh. The Emperor’s council chambers were situated next to the prison tower, and overlooked the execution fields, where the punishment of the failed regiments from the attempted assassination were still ongoing.

“It is surely. . .”

The Emperor’s eyes bored into his fellow monarchs’ souls with a quiet fury,

“a matter. . .”

A series of cracks issued through the air as a firing squad let loose.

“of time. . .”

Greystone felt something warm begin to trickle down his leg at this point, matting his fur and staining his robes.

“. . . before the guillotine falls.”

Stars & Stripes

Clockwork’s eyes went wide as he struggled to keep the contents of his meal within his mouth. Unfortunately, his struggles were all for nought, and the shocked pegasus ended up spitting it out into the fire, sending thin wisps of steam upwards through the air. He coughed a few more times, thumping his chest as he did. When he finally regained his composure, he noticed that the rest of his friends had equally questioning looks on their faces.

Long Shot sighed. “She never reported back, did she?”

“Well,” Askari responded as he got up, adjusting his bow staff as he did. “she got herself caught, again. Want me to go get sis, sis?”

“Wait,” Clockwork tried to wave his forehooves, but his left shoulder, recently wrapped, screamed in protest. After a short grunt of pain, he asked “Mganga’s your sister? Wouldn’t that make her. . .” the pegasus trailed off as he looked to Zecora, raising an eyebrow as he did.

“Yeah, she’s Zecora’s sibling too. She also tends to forget that she’s a much better medic than a soldier. You get your leg blown off and she’ll stitch it back on and get you back on your hooves before you fall unconscious.”

“She seemed to be able to take care of herself when we first met her.” Long Shot pressed a hoof to his chin.

“Half a dozen grunts is foal's play, but any more than that and thins start to get difficult. Anyway, can we please go save my little sister?" Askari half-shouted.

“It’s going to be difficult finding her, since we have no idea where she is.” that trademark sarcasm in the commander’s voice had returned.

“Actually,” a grumbling voice said. Clockwork looked over his shoulder to find the dogs from earlier standing in the doorway, “We know where zebra is, maybe.”

The six soldiers were all either inside or on top of the diamond dog tank. According to Diesel, the current tank pilot who had ordered his companions to stay at the village for further questioning, the Consortium had a forward operating base set up not ten miles northwest. If Mganga or any other living zebra was anywhere this deep into enemy jungle, it was there. The group had been traveling for about an hour now, and they didn’t seem to be going anywhere. That is, if one’s vehicle didn’t have night vision capabilities. Since the tank’s windows were composed of a dozen or so tourmaline prisms, the vessel’s canine driver was able to see exactly where he was going. Despite the tank having room for six, it was still somehow crowded. The pegasus had to share the cabin with an attractive mare and a massive zebra who had to crouch down so his head didn’t hit the ceiling. After another few endless minutes, the tank came to an abrupt halt that nearly sent its occupants sprawling. Before they could ask just what the hay had happened, Diesel announced that they had arrived.

“What?” Askari maneuvered his way around the other occupants of the tank and peered out its dual viewports. Even in the enhanced light, there was nothing that looked remotely like a base. “I don’t see anything.”

“That’s because I have map. This farthest we can go without detection.”

“How can they see us?” Askari asked.

“Depends on definition. Bigger installations use sound waves to paint map of area.” Diesel explained. “Tank big enough to detect, but we behind large amount of plants, enough to hide, maybe.”

Askari rolled his eyes. “That’s comforting.”

“Commander, how do you suggest we proceed?” Charger asked.

“Well we’re not assaulting them head-on. A bullet in the head would be a much easier method of suicide.”

“Do you have a plan at all, night pony?” the massive zebra asked.

Long Shot readjusted his armor, which made a barely audible rustling through the squad's radios. “Not really. I enjoy making it up as I go along. It’s worked so far.”

With only a grunt, Askari pushed open the tank’s hatch, and the three equines inside shimmied out with some help from their comrades above. After they had all filed out, they grouped together at the side of the tank. Clockwork was a bit surprised; never before had he seen a night so dark. To make matters worse, it was a new moon, so Luna’s heavenly sphere wouldn’t be of any assistance tonight. He could barely see his teammates, which were only a short distance away. In fact, the only thing he could see clearly were his commander’s draconic, glowing yellow eyes.

“Alright, here’s where we’re at.” the Nocturni knelt down, illuminating his horn as he did. Using a dpare sniper round, he quickly sketched a crude diagram of a large rectangle with six little X's to one side. “We’re a force of six going up against a base that’s likely got over a hundred dogs inside. Not to mention whatever these “fey” are. The odds are heavily in the enemy’s favor, but that doesn’t mean we can’t win. If we stay quiet and careful, then we should be able to get inside, grab Mganga, and get out before anyone notices us. Silent takedowns and melee weapons only. Guns are a last resort. If we do have to go loud, make each shot count. Got it?”

“The plan is sound, but what if the base is too large, and we must use firearms before we find my sister?” Askari asked.

“Base not big at all. Still under construction last I heard,” the dog exclaimed from within his makeshift fortress.

“Regardless, we shouldn’t take our sweet time,” Long Shot added. “Once we’re inside, we split so we can cover more ground in less time. Askari, you seem like you can handle yourself, so you’ll go in alone. Radio if you need any help, which I doubt you will. Charger and Clockwork will stick together. Switcher, you’re with me. We’ll stay in constant radio contact, but kept the conversations short. We clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Charger replied.

“Then let’s move, we’ve got prisoners to liberate.”

Clockwork was a bit shocked at how quickly his eyes had adjusted to the night time environment. In what seemed like no time at all, he could see as though it were day, sort of. He would still trip on fallen logs or rotten stumps, and when he fell on his left shoulder he had to cover his mouth so any nearby dog patrols wouldn’t hear his cries of pain. However, those incidents were few and far between, and the team was making progress as a whole. They knew they were getting close, as they had to hide more and more often whenever a group of dogs appeared unexpectedly. Despite Askari’s immense size, Clockwork was amazed at how well his stripes helped him to blend in with his native environment.

Within minutes of the team beginning their journey on hoof, it had begun to rain. The water droplets were huge and fell rather slowly. So large in fact, that Clockwork often flinched when one hit him square on the nose. The rest of the team didn’t seem phased by the rain, but Charger was a different story altogether, for she had ceased all movement. Out of concern, the pegasus placed a hoof on her shoulder, lightly bringing her back to the situation at hand..

“Hey Charger, you alright?” he asked.

“To be perfectly honest with you, no.” the mare hung her head, rain pouring off of her drenched mane and tail.

“How come?” Clockwork tilted his head slightly.

Charger let out a short sigh. “Until we get inside of the base, I will be unable to provide assistance of any kind. Even then I may not be able to help.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ve thought about it for some time now, since we departed Mji Mkuu in fact. I cannot use my gloves against enemies at anywhere past close range. Furthermore, my aim is substandard for a High Risk Operations team and my abilities would only be hampered further by the rain."

“Quit putting yourself down like that.” Clockwork reached out a forehoof and touched it to her chin, lifting her head to look her in the eyes. “To be perfectly honest with you, I think you’re the most valuable asset this team has. Never think otherwise. If you do, then I’ll make sure to change your mind. You got that?”

Charger nodded. Her brilliant sapphire eyes still looked as beautiful as the day he had first seen them.

Clockwork smiled. He considered kissing her then, but he quickly realized that it most likely wouldn’t have felt right for either of them. They were in the middle of a war zone, in the dark, and most importantly, the mugginess of their surroundings made them both feel vaguely itchy. Well, that and the pegasus already had a marefriend. Instead, he settled on complimenting her. “You know, umm. . . ahem. You look great when your mane’s wet.”

The corners of Charger’s mouth turned upwards and she let out a small laugh. “Liar.”

Clockwork gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder with his real wing, and the duo hurried to rejoin the group.

Eventually, the soldiers reached the top of a ridge. Long Shot ordered them all to drop to their stomachs, continuing the journey at a crawl until they managed to peek over the hill. Diesel didn’t lie, relatively speaking, the base appeared rather small, but it was nevertheless impressive to look at even if it wasn’t finished. The building was constructed of the same off-white steel as Diesel’s tank, and even at this distance, large turrets were clearly visible on the floor just below the roof. Clockwork silently cursed to himself, how the hay were they going to infiltrate that?

“Let’s see what we’ve got here. . .” Long Shot unfolded the bipod from his long rifle and set it on the ground just in front of him. “We’ve got dogs posted at major vantage points around the base’s perimeter. Snipers on the roof, heavy turrets on the next level down. Take a look.” he quickly removed a scope from one of his armor's pockets and moved away from the rifle after he had attached it, allowing Clockwork to look through the scope, which allowed for his comrades to see as he did.

Long Shot was right. It looked as though there were dogs posted every five or six meters away from each other. Snipers (if the length of those spears and the sights attached were anything to go by) that looked eager to use their weapons paced back and forth along the rooftop, gazing off into the distance every now and then. The turrets the dogs just below them occupied looked as though they could fire blasts the size of a pony’s torso, and probably turn anything smaller than a buffalo to ash. Clockwork relinquished control of the rifle and let Long Shot take it back.

“You know,” the pegasus said, “if we can get up against that wall, then the guards wouldn’t be able to fire even grazing shots. Getting to that wall will be the biggest problem. Wait . . .” Clockwork gazed across the base and noticed a few scant trees near the installion’s rear. “If we can get to that treeline, then we’ll have a straight shot, I think.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Long Shot chimed. “We ready to move?”

The group of soldiers nodded.

“Then let’s go.” the commander shimmied back down the hill until he was at its base, the rest of the team following suit. It wasn’t much longer before they had circumnavigated the area, staying as far back behind the treeline as they could without losing sight of the doggish structure before them. They gradually crept up until the only thing standing between them and the base were a few trees and a lot of guns.

With only a few silent hoof gestures and nods, the team crouched down as far as they could while still on their respective appendages and hurried towards the base. Each soldier had to deliberately slow themselves to a crawl to avoid drawing attention, the slow pace rendering them undetectable to its sensors as well as helping them conceal their forms in the wet darkness. After about a minute of quite possibly the most tense atmosphere Clockwork had ever experienced, the group had made it to a back door. As they stacked up, Clockwork realized something.

“Commander, your rifle won’t be very wieldly inside a base this size, not to mention loud. We are on a stealth mission, after all.”

“Way ahead of you, kid.” the Nocturni unscrewed a portion of the rifle’s barrel, replaced it with a silencer, and stuck the bipod in one of his armor’s pockets. “Boom, now it’s a silent carbine that fires sniper rounds.” a smirk spread across the stallion’s face. “Commence standard breach maneuver.”

Clockwork let out a small laugh through his nose. “That’s cheating, commander.” with some discomfort, he smashed in the door with his wing. Switcher threw a vial through the entryway that emitted an extremely bright light before the team hurried inside, weapons at the ready.

A few dogs were inside, rubbing their eyes. One was barking something in doggish, so Clockwork had no idea what they were saying. Luckily, none were touching their radios. Long Shot went ahead of the team and, without so much as a breath, got the last dog on the ground before the first one was fully dead. After a half-hearted attempt to get some blood out of his mane, he gestured for the team to advance further.

After several dead dogs, Long shot had ordered the team to split up. Each group had gone their separate ways, and Clockwork believed that he and Charger had made very little progress, if any at all. They had breached over a dozen doors by now, and there was no sign of Mganga or any other zebra for that matter. They probably would’ve found her by now, were it not for Clockwork being unable to understand the doggish language. He’d get Diesel to teach him the basics when he returned, if he returned.

Clockwork was busy closing the terrified eyes of a recently slain diamond dog when his radio emitted a small ping! He pressed a forehoof to it. “Yes, commander?”

“Kid. We just got a tip from some now dead dogs that confirms Diesel’s earlier information. They’ve got more than just Mganga locked up here. If you find them, give ‘em your radio for a sec and Askari will talk to ‘em.”

“Did they know where the prison block is?”

“They were just grunts, so no.”

“Understood. We’ll keep at it until we-” the pegasus was cut off as his ears twitched. He heard pawsteps rapidly growing in volume as the dog that those paws belonged to ran down the hallway. With a few small nods, Charger shorted out the lights, and the two ponies were plunged into darkness. They retreated as far as they could into a small storage room, barely managing to keep their muzzles out of the hallway's emergency lighting. The dog came around the corner and looked into the room, his chocolate brown eyes widening as he did. Instead of screaming, which he should’ve done, he began rapidly sniffing the air. He barked at the shadows, and without a moment's hesitation leapt at Clockwork. The two struggled against each other without so much as making a sound, but the enemy quickly took the upper hoof by playing dirty. The dog pinned Clockwork to the floor and bit through his bandages and into his sprained shoulder.

The pegasus gave up his struggle almost immediately, instead focusing all of his energy on trying not to scream as he experienced the second most painful sensation he had ever felt.

His efforts were all for nought.

Clockwork screamed, not holding anything back. His throat went sore in moments and closed his eyes soon after, waiting for death to take him. Strangely enough, he never felt cold fangs slice into his throat. His eyes bolted open to both the sight and sound of his attacker screaming as Charger pressed both of her now glowing forehooves in between the dog’s shoulder blades. After a few seconds, the dog rolled off of Clockwork and huddled up in a corner.

"Clockwork, are you alright?!" Charger knelt at her friend's side, helping him to his hooves and letting him lean on her.

"Which answer do you want, the comforting lie or the really painful truth?"

Before Charger could answer, her radio emitted a few sharp beeps.

"What the hell was that?!” Askari asked

"That was Clockwork. He's been injured."

"He's got a good set of lungs, I'll give him that." Long Shot's voice came over the device. "How bad is his injury? Can he still fight?"

"I was bitten by a dog," Charger held the radio in front of Clockwork's muzzle, "and in my sprained shoulder of all places. I'm not using this leg for a while.”

“When we find Mganga, she’ll fix you up,” Askari cut in.

"Damn. . . I wouldn't want to see the dog," Long Shot replied.

"It's actually still alive, probably scared out of its mind though."

"Seriously? Huh. . . see if he speaks equestrian. If he does, figure out where the prisoner block is."

"How do you want me to do that?" Clockwork asked.

"Interrogation. How else? One last thing; the rest of the base knows we're here. Go loud." the commander's transmission ended with a gunshot. After taking a moment to collect their thoughts, the duo gradually made their way over to the whimpering pile of fur still huddled in the corner.

Clockwork set his radio to full sensitivity. Everything that his microphone picked up would be transmitted to his allies. "Do you speak equestrian?" Clockwork asked in a deadpan tone of voice.

The dog looked up, some of his fur (or at least the strands that hadn't been burnt off yet) still standing on edge from the jolt earlier. The canine's eyes were glazed over with fear, and was so scared that he was visibly shaken. It nodded.

"Then say so!" Clockwork shouted, his throat hurting as he did. The pegasus drew his pistol and aimed it directly between the dog's eyes, all while still leaning on Charger.

"I s-speak p-p-pony," the dog stuttered.

"Where do you keep your prisoners?" Clockwork said each word with a slight pause in between them so the dog would understand.

The dog nodded. "Close by. Only one prison block in base."

"Where is it?!" Clockwork shouted, pulling back his weapon's hammer to the halfway point.

"N-next hallway over, take right at first chance! H-has big red glowing sign over door! Can't miss!” the dog let out a few nervous laughs, but quieted down when he realized Clockwork hadn’t lowered his weapon.

“You’re right, I can’t miss at this range.”

CLICK!

“P-please don't kill me!”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’ve already given me the information I need and you tried to end my life not a minute ago!” the pegasus spat through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry! Just following orders!” the dog covered his face with his arms. “Have family back home, mate and three pups!"

Clockwork raised an eyebrow. He thought the dog may have been lying, but those beliefs were cast aside when he saw the dogs facial fur become matted with his own tears.

“Name. Now,” Clockwork demanded.

“Roughly translates in your language as Seastone,” the dog answered between ragged breaths.

Clockwork sighed and holstered his weapon. "Alright, Seastone, I won't kill you."

"Th-thank you, a thousand times thank you!" the dog’s voice was shaking, with more than a little pathetic whimper behind it, at which Charger gave a look to Clockwork normally reserved for puppy-punters. "You not regret decision to spare me, pony. I take you to prison block, I live. Yes?"

Long Shot's voice came over the pegasus' radio. "Let him lead you there. Worst case scenario is you end up inside of the prison. We’ll find it either way."

"Got it." Clockwork motioned for the dog to stand. "Lead the way."

Clockwork had apologized to Charger several times already for needing to lean on her, but she continued to say that she didn't mind. The other dogs that occupied the base were scurrying to and fro, and didn't seem to mind the duo's presence, but that was probably because they looked to have taken a major beating and were being led by a fellow soldier. Well, either that or the fact that there were four well trained hostiles carving through their base.

“We here,” Seastone announced. He definitely hadn’t lied about the entrance’s description. “Beyond door is prison block. Your friend likely in there. Never had access myself. Shouldn’t be problem for you.”

Clockwork tried to respond, but was cut off as he heard a loud combination of gunshots, dying screams, and Askari emitting zebrish battle cries. Clockwork motioned for Charger to lean him against the wall, and after doing so, drew his pistol. Charger nodded and brought her file to bear, a few sparks jumping over it from her gloves. Without another word, the earth pony mare approached a group of dogs that had their back turned to her and let loose.

Despite the situation he was in, Clockwork couldn’t help but think about how graceful Charger was. Sure, she had her clumsy moments, had being the key term there. Her concerns about not being useful to the team were humbling, as she moved like water when she fought. Diamond Dogs fell in twos and threes, sometimes they would run in fear, only to be shot dead moments later by either her rifle or Clockwork's LeMane. Even during the middle of a heated battle, she was beautiful.

After what seemed like hours, but was in reality only a minute, the team finally regrouped. Charger was sweating, Long Shot’s armor had a few dents; Askari's only noticable injury was a scrape across the bridge of his nose while Switcher-7 looked completely untouched.

“Who’s this?” Askari asked.

“Name Seastone. Am friend,” the dog explained, the tone of his voice also saying “please don’t kill me.”

“Beat it. You’ve done what you need. We won’t kill you, but I can't say the same for my brothers and sisters locked up in here.”

Seastone nodded, shook Clockwork’s hoof, apologized again for the bite, and sprinted away. The pegasus watched him go, silently wondering how many families he’d ruined over the short amount of time he had been involved in the war and taking solace that he’d saved at least one.

“Askari, if you would you do the honors?”

“With pleasure.” at the nocturni’s asking, the zebra behemoth holstered his bow staff and loosened up his hind legs before turning around and bucking the door. It bent inwards and was sent flying backwards a good distance, its journey stopping only when it crashed into the bars of a prison cell. The team entered expecting heavy resistance, but were greeted only by the sound of cheering as dozens of zebras applauded their rescuers. It wasn't long before every cell was opened, the zebras inside instructed by Askari to head for the armory, take the base by whatever means necessary, and head to Mji Mkuu as soon as they could.

“Something’s not right, where’s Mganga?” Long Shot asked.

The team wandered through the surprisingly massive prison block, passing cell after empty cell. Just as the team was about to turn and head the opposite direction, they at last discovered a single occupied cell. Inside was a dirty beaten mass of striped fur, some of the white tainted faint red. Askari literally wrenched apart the cell’s bars to get inside.

“Sis! Sis! You alright?!” Askari lifted Mganga’s head and cradled it in his forehooves.

“Switcher!” Long Shot yelled. The disguised changeling rushed over, removed his hat, and placed his head to Mganga’s chest. After a tense silence, he raised his head.

“She is alive but her vitals are extremely weak. We must return at once!”

The team didn’t even need to speak, their silent looks agreement enough. Askari gently placed his little sister on his back and the group began to run. It felt like fire ants were crawling through his shoulder as Clockwork raced after his comrades, but he wouldn’t let something as trivial as a bite wound keep him down, at least for now anyway..

Eventually, the team made it back outside and to the tank. They didn’t encounter any plasma rain, suggesting that the freed zebras had already overtaken much of the enemy installation. Clockwork and Charger jumped inside of the cabin and helped Diesel reawaken the vehicle. Askari slipped inside shortly afterwards. He laid Mganga on the floor, keeping her steady as the tank roared to life. In seconds, they were on their way.

Greystone was not having a good day.

It certainly wasn’t because of the reports; he knew quite well that the Zebrican front was going to be difficult to obtain. He decided to promote a few good political enemies of his into a sub committee to oversee the actual arms distribution and war effort. If anything else went wrong, and surely something would, it wouldn't be a complete loss.

The source of his discontent wasn’t the condition of his personal dwellings, either. Admittedly, the high council meeting chamber was bare of anything that could be damaged by the average intruder, being mostly smooth stone and granite seats. There were no domestic issues on the metaphorical table here. All the maids were well compensated and his butlers bribed, as tradition demanded.

His problems were actually coming from his guest.

Empress Carapace sat one seat over from Greystone's personal chair, tapping her black chitinous hooves against the rock.

Those who listened for long enough would find that the changeling queen's voice was rather annoying.

“His barbarity! He talks of being a predator but knows not of what he speaks! He talks of culling the weak but attacks the strong! I can hardly believe we willingly agreed to take his side!”

Her voice, already a bit whiny, raised an octave more than it normally was, which made the dog’s head spin.

“I assure you, Empress, he is far more capable than he appears.”

She let out something between a hiss and a squeal, giving the dog a toothy look of mild fear. “What is he, anyway? He doesn’t even breath.”

Greystone crossed his arms, looking the changeling in the eye.

“Don’t give me that, Carapace, you know I don’t know. He's the most closely guarded secret in that damned feathered kingdom of his. Unless you can manage to spawn a drone who can change into griffon shape, we're both in the dark.”

She huffed at that. “I was told he was partly phoenix, but that can’t be true,” she muttered, “He’s not fey, undead, or mortal, but he’s certainly not divine.”

He groaned at the obviousness of that statement. “Enough of this, we need to focus.”

"Then I ask again, why do you insist on limiting the number of my subjects deployed to Zebrica? We have taken Appleloosa and are in the process of converting it. We could strip the jungle to the bone within weeks! So, why hold us back?"

"The zebras know the land, which matches them against our machine superiorty, and while my soldiers are having a dificult time terminating that stupid illicit operations team, we are gaining the high ground nonetheless. I intend to go forth with larger scale deployments of Battlefright."

"I distinctly remember the masked crone telling us not to poison the land we conquer."

"Sacrifices must be made for the good of the Supremacy. It cannot be avoided. Back to the topic at paw, the sheer number of carnivores alone would consume at least a tenth of your forces before they reach our base of operations, and we are still having trouble with the swamp demons."

Carapace let out a shriek as she slammed her hooves on the table, cracking it without even damaging herself in the process. "Do not speak of my people's damned waterkin."

Both leaders were silent for a long while, and then Carapace spoke once more.

"Perhaps I have an idea that would benefit us both."

". . . You have my attention, for the time being."

Fever Dreams

Diesel nearly forgot to slam on the tank's breaks, forcing the massive vehicle to come to a screeching halt near the center of the village, moderately far from any non-decrepit homes. Despite pain coursing through his left shoulder and foreleg, Clockwork assisted in shutting down the tank just befoe turning around to see a striped figure literally kick out the roof of the vehicle. The warrior then pulled a behavioral 180 and lifted his unconscious sister out of the mobile death machine with the gentleness and care of a mother handling her newborn. After giving her to several awaiting zebras whom Clockwork took for trained healers, Askari jumped to the ground below with a low thud. He was soon followed by his five comrades in arms and one doggish tank pilot.

As Clockwork regained his footing in the soft dirt, he noticed Zecora along with several familiar elderly zebras coming his team’s way. He did his best to stand at attention, but winced and nearly collapsed as another lance of pain decided to ruin his day. Much to his surprise though, Zecora wasn’t paying attention whatsoever to him, but rather to Long Shot and Askari.

“In time, the Consortium will receive a punishment like no other! Through what did they make my beloved sister suffer?” Zecora rhymed with equal parts fury and shock.

“A majority of her injuries involve severe blunt force trauma. The wounds were intended to inflict maximum pain and break her will with the intention of her giving up any information she possesed. Judging by the bruising, however, it appears she spoke of little. It also signifies that her interrogators went too far in their efforts.” Switcher-7 readjusted his hat and gave a quick glance at the gathered elder zebra.

“The second they touched her was when they went too far!” Askari yelled, breathing heavily through his nostrils. “If we had hurried, she wouldn’t have had to go through all that!”

“We don’t have enough information to make those kinds of assumptions,” Long Shot replied. “But believe me when I say that Meteor will make sure they pay dearly.”

Zecora raised a hoof. “I am furious at them too, but their punishment will come when it is due. Let us not allow our heads to grow hot, for you should have time to recover, should you not?” she took a moment to look at the gathered troops, her gaze coming to rest on a certain pegasus.

As if on cue, Clockwork felt a demonic wave of pain course over the entire left side of his body. He went numb, barely managing to lean against the tank’s side to keep from falling face-first into the now wet muck. He struggled to take in air as he realized the source of moisture was his own blood. Dammit, it hadn’t hurt this bad for a while now. He tasted something foul in his throat.

“The wound didn’t look like this earlier,” Charger said, concern filling her voice as she gently turned her friend over to have a better look at his wound. After removing his tattered and soaked bandages, she had to excuse herself for a moment.

“How long’s he had this?” Askari asked.

“No clue.” Clockwork struggled to articulate. “Time gets funny when you’re in a metal box.”

Askari hurried over to Clockwork’s prone form, lowering his head to give the wound an experimental sniff. His muzzle crinkled and he recoiled away from him. “Ugh, that’s infected alright.”

“What?!” Clockwork shouted before dissolving into a coughing fit. “It couldn’t have gotten infected this quickly!” his teammates had looks of equal parts shock and worry.

Zecora took the same action as Askari, but with one slight difference. Instead of a reaction of disgust, her eyes widened with concern and urgency. “The cause of this infection is neither natural nor superstitial. Instead, it is wholly artificial!” at least one of the older mares beside her stepped away from him in fear.

“What?!” Clockwork asked again. “I haven’t come into contact with any hazardous-” the pegasus was cut off as his memories flashed back to what seemed like mere seconds ago. Seastone was acting like anything else would in his position, but he did seem rather. . . skittish.

He was torn from his thoughts as Zecora spoke once more. “The beast that bit you was infected from tooth to gum, it is imperative that we take you to. . uh. . . mum. . .” she looked towards Askari, who nodded and gave a knowing look before gently lifting Clockwork onto his back.

Clockwork didn’t bother to ask what the hay was going on, as he was too busy trying to stay conscious while another ripple of pain tore through him. His vision swam and he tasted the same sourness from before, though much stronger this time.

“Where are you taking him?” Long Shot asked, calm despite recent events.

Askari made sure his cargo was as comfortable as he could get given his current situation, “The best healer in all of Zebrica.”

At that, as if a foul stench rose in the air, many of the older zebras spat and cursed at his words and had to be pulled back by their companions.

“Should we accompany you, sir?" Switcher inquired.

“No. We’ll be fine.”

“What about Mganga?” Long Shot asked.

Askari sighed. “We hate to leave her, but her injuries can be treated by any professional here. This pegasus though, he needs some serious care.”

“What about Captain Fluttershy? Surely she-”

“I don’t care how good that mare is, she isn’t trained to handle this kind of shit.”

Before anypony could respond, Zecora took off into the jungle, followed closely by her brother.

Clockwork could barely stay conscious as Askari sprinted through the jungle. His vision was already bad enough as is, and it being the middle of the night certainly wasn’t helping. Occasionally, he would recoil as the tip of some plant or another flicked his nose, snapping him back to painfully complete alertness. The trio of equines hurried farther into the jungle for some time before Clockwork managed to make out a very distant light source. It certainly wasn’t natural, that much was for sure.

The jungle slowly became enveloped more and more in the soft orange light until it was as though Celestia had just risen the sun, giving the eerily twisted black trees an almost unholy appearance. Clockwork shivered and knew that, if anything, he somehow had been carried to the darkest part of the jungle, closer to where the Everfree started to form on the Zebrican end of its expanse, for there was no other explanation for the unnatural paranoia he was experiencing. Unlike what he remembered from his few trips inside the forest when he was younger (and always accompanied by several armed guards), he could not recognize the sound of a single animal or insect since the appearance of the thorny black trees. As if immune to the pegasus’ discomfort, Askari slowed to a halt and removed Clockwork from his back, passing him off for Zecora to support. It was only now that the half-awake pegasus could get a good look at what was lighting up the entire area.

Before them stood an immense, withered tree the color of pure onyx, large enough in height and width to make even the Everfree’s mightiest oaks seem like saplings by comparison. Oddly shaped windows of stained glass and exotic masks dotted its bark, and bottles of various sizes and colors hung from its many branches. He craned his neck as much as he could, noticing that each mangled branch had strange orange markings engraved deep into the lightning-blasted bark. As he looked down at the gnarled roots that were exposed to the orange light, it finally clicked in his mind that, to his astonishment, the light was coming from within the tree.

Strange, moss-like growths adorned the highest of the tree’s branches, creating an unearthly half-light. Even stranger, the pegasus noticed in his daze, was what looked like a thick pool of glowing sludge surrounding the tree’s roots, shifting in color like an indecisive chameleon. It was a bit difficult to believe that this was inhabited by anything less than some horrible monster, let alone the best healer in Zebrica. Then again, this was Zebrica, next everything he had learned about it in school had been dead-wrong.

Clockwork’s hazy thoughts were cut off as he saw Askari run over to the blackened tree’s front door and pound on it several times with a large forehoof.

“Mom! Open up!” he shouted.

Much to Clockwork’s surprise, a seemingly normal zebra mare opened the door just a few seconds after Askari assaulted it. He couldn’t get a good look at her from this angle, but he was sure that she wasn’t wearing her mane in the standard zebrish mohawk.

“Ah, Askari,” her voice was equal parts mother and sage, “your voice I could recognize as no other, tell me, why is it that you shout at your mother?”

Askari pointed behind him as Zecora and Clockwork stumbled over to his side. With only a few silent nods, the zebra, whom Clockwork finally realized was Zecora and Askari’s mother, trotted over to his other side and helped him into the literal tree house. Askari stayed outside, drawing his bo-staff as his eyes scanned the perimeter, wary for threats only he could perceive.

Clockwork was gently set on something plantlike that vaguely resembled a couch and let his eyes adjust to the organic orange light that illuminated the insides of the treehouse. Zecora carefully let the pegasus’ left foreleg hang over the supposed furniture's side before returning to her mother.

The older zebra spoke first. “It is good to see you again, daughter of mine, you look the same as the last time we met, very fine!”

“Thank you mother Uchawi, but Askari and I did not come here out of spite, for this pegasus is suffering from a dog's poisoned bite!”

The elder zebra’s voice took on a much more serious tone. “Zecora, retrieve my book of healing, I must determine how this pegasus is feeling.”

“I feel like shit,” Clockwork groaned, rolling his eyes as another wave of pain hit him. He didn’t care for politeness much at this point as he did for some form of painkillers.

Zecora gave the pegasus a final look of motherly concern before trotting off to a different part of the home. After she had disappeared from view, the elder zebra finally replied. “I meant that I must determine how to heal you, child. Even with all my experience, having a guide tends to help more then you would believe.”

“Wait,” Clockwork raised a wobbly limb in the air.. “You uh, you didn’t rhyme there.”

The zebra waved a forehoof in the air as she approached Clockwork. “Psh, that?. It’s just a silly old family tradition that Zecora's taken to heart.”

“. . . Okay?” Clockwork let Uchawi looked him over, in turn allowing the pegasus to finally get a good look at the mare. Her mane and tail, while striped, looked like they were made of twine. Clockwork’s eyes widened as he looked at her mane, were those rea-? Wait, no, they were fake spiders, but incredibly realistic ones nevertheless. A beaded necklace that held a mask was hanging around her thin neck, the mask looking like an epileptic cow had tried to paint an angry dragon’s face with its head.

Uchawi’s hooves were broken in several places, but they didn’t seem infected nor did they affect her remarkably gentle touch. Her teeth had several chips out of them as well, but the rest of her didn’t seem too strange, aside from the fact that her coat looked like she hadn’t cleaned it in a month. Underneath the grime, Clockwork could make out a faint pattern on her flank, the same one as Askari, Mganga, and Zecora.

“Wow, that’s nigh septic.” Uchawi stood up and hurried around her room, snatching bottles hanging from the ceiling and tossing them into the massive black cauldron set in the middle of the room. Clockwork didn’t bother to wonder why she didn’t even open the bottles or discard the string attached.

“How could it have gotten this bad so fast?” the pegasus asked. “I was only bitten like, an hour ago at most.”

Uchawi didn’t look up from her work. “Zecora was right, you've been poisoned, boy. I've seen worse, but it stinks of dark enchantments and other foul things.” she glanced over her shoulder. “Speaking of things, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my long life, but nothing ever came close to this.” Uchawi darted over to Clockwork’s side and tapped his artificial wing a few times. “What is this, anyway? Some sort of crazy newfangled pony creation? Some golem-thing?” she wiggled one of the feathers in curiosity, furrowing her wiry eyebrows.

Clockwork groaned. He needed to make some sort of recording that explained his artificial appendage. “I made it, I didn’t know it would do this, and don’t try to take it off unless you want me dead.”

Uchawi looked up from sniffing the appendage. “Hmm. . . mithril? Huh, that’s something I haven’t seen in some time, some time. Weird metal, really, doesn’t usually do what you tell it to do. Quite sytubborn, actually.”

“Umm. . . what?” Clockwork asked, baffled.

He didn’t get a response. Instead, Uchawi hurried back over to her cauldron, swinging her tail from side to side as she stirred whatever the hay was inside of the massive black pot, whistling a vaguely familiar tune as she did. Clockwork desperately struggled to remain conscious, but even after all of his efforts, he couldn’t help but welcome the open arms of sleep.

Clockwork’s head felt like somepony had taken a mallet to it. He groaned as he slowly opened his eyes and immediately wished he had not.

Ponies boiled in an ocean of their own tears while laughing centaurs poked and prodded them with thorny branches.

Crudely formed beings danced around an idol vaguely in the shape of Luna while the sun slowly grew bloated and red.

Tiny ponies with the wings of butterflies cried out as their bodies warped into blackened husks as the seaponies sang a song of total agony.

Wetwork looked at him, smiling, eyes like green orbs framed with smoky purple magic. She slowly rubbed Haywire's severed head in her lap like it was a purring cat.

Spiders with the heads of serpents wove webs of thickened blood across a dead city that looked like Canterlot.

The Everfree’s hordes hooted and howled as they rampaged across Equestria and beyond.

Celestia scorched Princess Mi Amore Cadenza's flesh from her bones in a burst of pure light and adorned her bleached skull as a helmet.

Blasts of green fire ravaged Equestria and beyond, rending soul from corpse and causing everything to live a half-death for eons, forever burning and screeching in a dead world.

Something like a goat, but more like a pony, in some respects, black as night and sitting in front of an hillside thicket, watched with detached amusement as another shackled pony was brought over to the stone circle by muscular minotaurs and giggling griffons to be added to the corpse pile.

The Draconequi in their chaotic splendor danced and sang to the hole in reality from whence they were born as the true original race obliterated themselves with blasts of pure chaos.

Something old and long dead sat in a corner of a frosty cave, muttering to itself as it traced arcane glyphs into the wall in front of him.

A sea of purple sloshed in a vast nothing, mumbling a single maddening phrase.

Great skyships powered by boiling blood and the screams of the fallen waged war with an army clad under a banner of gold and green.

A great silver-scaled thing, hunched over a hoard of blood-stained gold, howled out her commands as the world was bathed in red.

Charger laughed as she held out an amalgamated lump of tarnished metal and flesh and called Clockwork a father.

Clockwork screamed.

Clockwork did not wake up in a start. No sweating, no fits, no rapid breathing. Rather, he opened his eyes as slowly as he could physically manage. After he had made sure nothing notably horrific and insane was in his immediate area, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“What in the name of all that is decent did that dog put in me?”

“Oh good, you’re finally awake.” Clockwork looked over to find Uchawi trotting towards him, carrying a small black bowl of something. Whatever the hay it was, it was constantly transitioning between pink and green. Clockwork swore it blinked.

“Sleep well?” the zebra asked as she set the bowl on a small tray that had been placed by his - wait, his bed?!

“No, no I didn't.” Clockwork looked at the strange liquid once more before looking around his new room. It didn’t look any different from the rest of the home, except for no cauldron in the center and some framed photos dotting the walls.

“Now why's that?” she gestured towards the concoction that she had prepared. Clockwork reached for it, but met resistance. It didn’t hurt, much, but it felt more like. . .

The pegasus looked at his shoulder, it was thickly wrapped in some sort of green leaves. He shrugged, albeit with difficulty, and instead reached for the soup-esque thing with his unhindered foreleg. He took a large swig of the liquid, and was met with a surprising sensation.

“This stuff is delicious!” Clockwork exclaimed, his mouth half-full. “What is this?”

“A special recipe that's been passed down my family's line for generations.”

“Is this supposed to help with my injuries?”

“I already took care of those. This is just to get something in your belly.” she paused, frowning. “Are you normally this lean or have you just not eaten in some time?”

“Kinda both, really.” Clockwork smiled before he took another spoonful of the delicious fluid.

“You know what? Forget about telling me about your restless night, I’d like to know more about that.” Uchawi prodded at Clockwork’s metal wing. “I’ve seen some unbelievable things in my time, but that right there takes the talking cake.”

“Is that a compliment?” the pegasus raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps.”

Clockwork gulped down another mouthful of his meal. “I assume you want to know all about it?”

Uchawi nodded.

“This may take awhile.”

Clockwork laughed several times during his story. The sight of the elder witch doctor in front of him, her mouth agape, was simply too much. “So. . . yeah.” he finished his story. “That’s about it. Any questions?”

She looked almost amused. “No, your explanation was quite informative.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t get bored and leave.”

“It is good to listen to a story every once in awhile. You should tell that to the others, especially the young ones. I have little doubt they would enjoy it. Speaking of your departure,” Uchawi looked over her shoulder, “it is time that we return you to your friends.”

“Sure.” Clockwork got to his hooves. Surprisingly, he could actually put pressure on his leg again. He couldn’t put his full weight on it, but it was definitely progress. “Thanks for the food, healing, and company.”

“Of course, of course.” Uchawi led him out the door and began walking with him back to the village. “It is not everyday that a zebra meets the Chuma Mrengo.”

Clockwork stopped dead in his tracks. “The what now?”

“Oh, I assumed that you had heard by now?” Uchawi raised a thin eyebrow as she reduced her pace to stay alongside a certain limping pegasus. “You do not know the legend? What are they teaching young colts in Equestria these days?”

“Completely inaccurate information if my experiences count. Again, the legend of the chewy mango what?”

“Now, I must admit I thought it would have been a griffon, or perhaps a young dragon, but I suppose things like that get lost over time. . .”

“Could you please explain?”

The enchantress grinned, her chipped teeth resembled fangs. “Well, it’s rather simple. Legends say that when the creature with a wing of magic metal appears before the tribes in a time of severe hardship, it spells great change for all of the tribes. I doubt many of the elders would enjoy such change, but they will eventually have to face the reality of the situation.”

Clockwork thought on this more, and simply stated, “So there’s no chance that it can’t be metaphorical? Like, could our airship be it?”

The elder zebra simply gave a wide grin and said “No. To be fair, just last week we had five fabled warriors rise up, go out, and fight, and before you ask, one colt born in the mountain tribes two years ago can talk to plants, and no one believed me when I said that was going to happen fifteen years ago; his birth is considered fabled-in-hindsight now.” she took a moment to step over what seemed to be a rather bloated shrub that pulsed oddly in the half-light. “We have a lot of fabled things, actually.” she stopped for a moment, as if to ponder her own words. “I suppose the average shaman truly does have nothing better to do then ask the spirits for things. It’s practically a desk job with air conditioning.”

Clockwork said nothing as the duo kept going. As the silence stretched on, he decided to approach a subject that had been bothering him for a while now.

“I don’t mean to sound like an eager tourist or a clueless filly, but I know next to nothing regarding zebras. Until the start of the war, I had never even seen a zebra in the flesh. Judging by what I've seen, you guys don't seem too happy to be under the same flag. What’s the history about the current alliance between the tribes?”

The enchantress gave a little frown and thought for a moment. “Perhaps it would be best to put it into a tale. You’re a bit older than those who would normally enjoy such things, but considering the length of our walk. . .”

Clockwork shrugged. “Eh, why not?”

“Well, in the lands of Zebrica, long after the reign of the Elephants and such-”

“The who?”

“They’re a great band, but that’s beside the point,” Uchawi muttered half to herself. “Do they actually teach young mares and colts anything in their designated places of learning? I would assume you don't know what a Dromidian is, either?”

“No, I don’t. What are they?”

She scowled, kicking up a bit of dust. “Bah! Never mind, their story is best left forgotten, but I digress. Once, there was a young zebra of great strength who inherited his father’s place as ruler of his tribe, but with a young ruler comes lack of experience, and the tribes formerly under his family’s reign broke away with ease. The warrior was eager to prove his worth to impress the veteran fighters and lesser chieftains his father once kept in place, so he travelled the land and made other tribes submit to his glory.”

Clockwork spoke up. “That sounds more like he openly waged war with other groups and forced them to give him land and supplies.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well yes, but that would scare the foals.”

After Clockwork muttered his agreement, Uchawi started again.

“After many years, the ruler had every tribe of his father’s old lands and more under his control. He had the swift runners of the rolling hills to the north, the hardy nomads of the southern desert and their trained hyenas, the cunning forest-dwellers of his own home, and the savvy ocean-goers and their camel trade partners from across the sea. With more than half the Zebrican tribes under his hoof, the warrior’s tribe became very rich indeed, perhaps greater than the older kingdoms of Rhinos, Karkadens, and perhaps even that of the Hippos-”

“What the hay are Hippos?” Clockwork swore he recognized those names from somewhere, but Equestria had shockingly little historical information on other lands, aside from a bit on Germaney. Prance’s deer were too closed-minded to share their records, and the camels preferred to trade material goods with the zebras rather than history with anypony else. The Griffons were hostile at the best of times, so they weren’t cooperative in the slightest.

“Old creatures, now as rare as the Okapi, not like you would know what they were,” Uchawi answered, almost indulgently at this point.

Clockwork hung his head. He missed the feeling of knowing what his conversation partner was talking about. It came to Clockwork's attention that, even though he regarded himself as mildly intelligent, he knew almost nothing about the lands outside of Equestria’s borders. Ignoring the young colt’s mental battle, the striped mare continued.

“After several years of living in this new kingdom, the young king heard tales from distant travellers that a great jungle tribe, wise in the ways of hexes and curses, grew corrupt after learning old and forbidden magic from a shadow spirit. In response, he rallied all of his allies, from the lowliest potter to the grandest warrior, and had them march north into the darkest parts of the jungle to find and slay these wielders of sorcery and black magic. He lost many fine allies, but soon he had killed all but a single known individual. The seventh daughter of the tribe’s king and his second wife.”

Clockwork knew where this was heading, and he wasn’t sure what to think about it. “That was you?”

The enchantress rolled her eyes once more. “Yes, you impatient colt. Anyway, he was captivated by her charms. Some claim it was true love, others whisper that he was put under a dark trance, but nevertheless, he took her as his only wife.” she gave a wink at Clockwork that made him feel on edge, even with the playful look she had on her face.

“So was your tribe actually, er. . . evil? Or-”

She gave Clockwork a hard stare, but quickly softened her gaze. “No, we were not, but our ways scared other tribes, calling us a group of witches and spirit-callers. Our use of polygamy and our survival inside lands all others considered cursed scared them, and so they eagerly attacked us when united.”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow. “But Zecora rhymes, and she’s well known in Equestria as a shaman. How can she rule if she’s openly using your tribe’s ways?”

The mare sighed, rolling her shoulders as she did. ”She is the ruler of a loose group of tribal nations, each able to survive more or less on their own without the support of a central figure. I suppose many of the elders think there is a dark irony in the barren scion of a dead tribe leading a nation bound by war.” before Clockwork could open his mouth, she quickly added, “Potion accident. Harmless, but very unfortunate.”

The duo did not travel for much longer before Clockwork decided to get a final question responded to. “Excuse me for asking, but why is Zecora so different from her siblings?”

Uchawi gave a whooping laugh. “I was wondering when you were going to ask that. My husband wanted a fighter for a son, so he sent Askari overseas to an academy in Iram to train as a Cataphract there. He might not have like the armor, but fifteen years of running around in plated mail certainly did him good.”

Clockwork laughed and nodded.

“My dear Mganga was never one for spirits or magic, despite all my efforts, so when she came of age she travelled to the southern fringes of the desert to become a healer of spear-wounds and desert poisons, and unfortunately seemed to take in some of their values. Zecora however, she took in every word I said and more! I once caught her attempting to sneak a book away from my collection and read ahead of where we were in her studies!”

Clockwork took that in, and realized he had yet to inquire about something that had been on his mind for some time.

“Mganga called us something when we arrived, and I-”

Before the wounded stallion could inquire any further, Uchawi said “Please, if you have any more questions, ask Zecora’s adorable little helper, Penyelamat. She enjoys telling others about Zebrica, and the poor thing needs to be talked to more.”

After the conversation had faded to simple chatter, the jungle gradually changed back to the lusciously green, semi-friendly environment Clockwork had seen earlier on. The familiar sounds from before returned as well, and in less than an hour, the duo arrived in a small clearing on the outskirts of the village..

The duo hadn’t even made it halfway to the city’s primary hut before they were gradually swarmed by curious zebras, mostly mares and foals. They chattered away to one another in a language that Clockwork recognized but did not understand. However, he did catch the occasional whisper of “Chuma Mrengo” or “Pepo Mke”. Eventually, the duo reached the capital hut of Mji Mkuu/Zecora’s hut/war room. Almost immediately, Clockwork was enveloped in a surprisingly fierce hug from a certain mare.

She was silent for a long time. “Promise me that you will never get bitten again." she broke away, making the mistake of looking over her friend's shoulder. "If you do, so help me I will- GAH!” the yellow earth pony jumped back a good distance. “Are those. . . spiders?”

Uchawi laughed. “Do not worry, young one. These eight-legged accessories are merely detailed models, hoof-crafted by yours truly.”

“I see, and you are?” Charger trailed off, giving the older mare an uncertain look.

“I am Uchawi. Witch doctor, healer, enchantress, and mother of Zecora, Mganga, and Askari. If you have a problem that requires advanced medical expertise, then I am the mare that you should see.”

“If I may inquire, what is the purpose of wearing that mask around your neck?”

“It is a gift from a good friend long gone. . .” Clockwork thought he saw Uchawi’s eyes water, “but those memories should stay in the past. I am here to return Clockwork. He requires two days to fully heal and should not take part in the fighting during that time if he can avoid it. He has already endured much pain, there is no reason to needlessly expose him to more.”

“Understood.” Long Shot looked up from fine tuning his rifle, which had by now been reset to its original configuration.

“We appreciate your assistance, Madam Uchawi.” Switcher, who was still in disguise, nodded towards the witch-doctor. A smile crossed his face.

Clockwork was sure he saw the zebra’s brow furrow even as she nodded at the changeling’s words. Was that suspicion in her eyes? he shrugged. Nah, it’s probably nothing.

After a few minutes with her family, Uchawi left to check on Mganga. The rest of the day passed as normal as it could get while in the middle of a warzone in a foreign jungle. Clockwork relayed his tales of his time with Uchawi and the dream he had and some other information. After a while, Long Shot suggested that they go check on Mganga, though Charger excused herself to take care of some things. They made their way over to a small secluded hut not too far from the center of the village. The zebra standing guard waved them inside, and Clockwork was a bit relieved by what he saw.

Mganga lay on a comfortable looking bed easily twice her size. She was wrapped in bandages, but not nearly as many as Clockwork had expected. She showed no signs of discomfort while she slept, a certain pink-maned pegasus sat by her side, lids half-closed as she murmured some lullaby or another.

“O-oh. Commander!” Fluttershy looked up from her daze, saluting all the while. “Her injuries were severe, but not as life-threatening as we first believed. Umm. . . the doctors say she’ll be up and running by the end of tomorrow..”

Clockwork breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s impressive, and good to hear.”

“Yeah. . .” Long Shot chimed in. “It’s hard watching everypony you meet either die of old age or from some sort of injury sustained in battle. I’m glad she’s safe.”

“To be honest, sir, I believe it is your health that should concern you,” Switcher replied. “Your heart rate increased by a full thirteen percent after we first arrived, and then another ten whenever you are in close proximity to Mganga. Is there something wrong?”

Clockwork blinked several times. The muted shade of pink he thought he saw appear on the commander’s cheeks had disappeared as fast as it had come.

“I appreciate the concern, Switcher, but I’m fine.” the Nocturni smiled. “C’mon. We gotta show Clockwork where he’ll be staying for now.”

“Of course, sir.” Switcher left the hut first, followed closely by the commander and Fluttershy. Clockwork stayed behind. The pegasus looked around the hut and found no sign of Mganga’s staff. A small lightbulb went off in his head. Her weapons had most likely been destroyed, so why not give her a new one? Better yet, what better way to fight the Consortium than with their own supplies? The pegasus reached in one of his jacket’s pockets. He retrieved a golden rod tipped by a blue-white gem set between twin blades and placed it at the striped mare’s bedside, quickly leaving after that.

“Get well, Mganga. Your family and friends need you.”

The trio, after weaving their way through a large number of zebras, eventually made it to a different portion of the village. The area was bordered by a small ring of moderately sized huts, a large fireplace set in the clearing’s dusty center. Unlike the rest of the village, there wasn’t a zebra to be found here.

“Tribe Queen Zecora was kind enough to grant us temporary residence in her village,” Switcher-7 announced. “This is one of the smaller variants of the many living areas spaced around the village. Each hut is large enough to accommodate two equines, but due to recent events, this particular section is empty. Each member of Meteor Squad has been granted their own hut. This one is yours.” the disguised changeling pointed towards a hut that didn’t seem any different from the dozens of other around the village besides a slightly different mosaic decorating its walls.

The pegasus raised an eyebrow. “What about our supplies from the Vikare?”

“We sent her back to Szary after we had unloaded everything the Alliance intended for us to deliver.” Long Shot explained. “Charger dropped your stuff inside.”

“I’ll make sure to thank her later.”

“You’ve got free reign while you’re here. Heal up quick, kid.” the Nocturni began to walk off, followed by his changeling companion. The commander turned back to look at the pegasus one last time. “and that’s an order.”

Clockwork saluted his commander, who returned the gesture of respect. The pegasus limped inside without a second thought after that. The living space was humble and could definitely use a thorough sweeping, but he wasn’t picky. There was a single empty bed located at the back of the room, which seemed a bit out of place, since it appeared far cleaner than the rest of the home. Clockwork recognized his duffle bag laying on said bed, and walked over to it to find a small sheet of parchment resting atop of it. A single elegant C graced its surface. The pegasus flipped it over and read it to himself.

Clockwork,

Get well soon. We all need you in good shape.

That goes double for me.

-C

You Think They Would've Gotten The Memo

The rest of the day passed as normal. Well, as normal as a day could get spent in the middle of a warzone in a foreign jungle where half of everything that lived in it wanted to kill you and the other half would do something beyond horrible to your corpse. As Clockwork busied himself with making sure that all of his belongings were in order, he found himself occasionally saying hello to a steady trickle of young zebras who poked their heads inside his temporary residence, only to run away giggling the moment he noticed them. One young filly had managed to work up the courage to actually touch a primary feather. I mean, with puppy eyes like that, how could he have denied her?

“Clockwork.” a familiar mare's voice called from just outside. "Uchawi has requested the team's presence at Nyumbani. Given recent events, the elders wish to discuss something with us."

The pegasus nodded and straightened out his vest, glad to finally know that place's official name. “Best not keep ‘em waiting.”

After a brief walk, Clockwork entered Nyumbani, having visited there so often in the past few days that he could likely do it with his eyes closed. Charger followed close behind him, and the duo was somewhat surprised by what they saw. Seven zebras, two of which were Askari and Uchawi, sat opposite the fire pit. The building's interior was unnaturally dark, as if the afternoon sun had no effect on the shadowy atmosphere. The only source of light was a small yet powerful flame in the room’s center. Both ponies found their seats, but could hardly see the figures who had summoned them. Clockwork couldn’t decide if he was glad that he had taken his pistol.

A short time later the rest of the squad arrived. Long Shot garnered a vague leer from the almost toothless mare besides Uchawi. An aged stallion with a pepper-grey mohawk next to Askari locked his one blue eye on Clockwork’s wing, which gave the pegasus chills. The last time he had seen a look like that was when he was fighting Axel. Switcher made his presence known not a minute later, weary of the heat. Nevertheless, Uchawi had a smile on her face and spoke with the same rich quality as she always did.

“I am sorry that my daughter will not be dining with us tonight,” Uchawi apologized. “She’s off visiting an eastern village and offering some words of encouragement and advice to a newly appointed chief.”

“I don’t see any problem with it.” Long Shot levitated a small grilled leaf towards himself before passing one to each of his squadmates. “A good leader must keep up the moral of his or her troops.”

Askari gave a quick nod. “I think a few more introductions are in order. Everyone on the council has already been informed about Meteor Squad, but I think it would only be right to introduce you to our gathered leaders.” Askari motioned to the imposing one-eyed stallion to his right. “This is Sallaq, an old friend and former mentor of mine. He cannot speak the language common to either of our groups well, and Kamalish is hard to translate correctly. However, he knows full well what is going on, and he has taken time to travel away from the coast to be here.”

The stallion looked almost bored as both Long Shot and Switcher extended their hooves in greeting, and after he ignored Charger's offer altogether, Clockwork didn’t bother to even think of welcoming the new arrival. After a snort of disapproval from Uchawi, Sallaq went from actively antagonizing the younger members of the squad to focusing his attention to the Nocturni, which was followed up by the two nodding their heads in general respect.

The oldest mare at the table gave a rasp, which was quickly followed by a scratchy voice that sounded like rough stones being scraped against each other. Her accent was nearly untranslatable as she fully opened her orange eyes to glare at the gathered warriors. “I am the eldest of the Mchanga Kidunia, the lords of the Samara. No names needed, no greetings asked for, I sit here only to see if it is true that ponykind demands our help.” she twisted her lips into a cruel grin, “It seems that they are asking help from every living creature under the burning sun.”

The silence could be cut with a knife, but was quickly ended by a cough that came from the last zebra, who sat next to Uchawi. She was a small, plump mare, small enough that the gathered squad could see she was barely a head higher than Switcher’s natural form. She moved a bit closer to the fire and into its soft orange light and spoke in an equally miniscule voice. Clockwork was reminded of a certain butter-colored pegasus as she spoke.

“I-I am Ndogo. I am not truly a leader, but I am a niece of Uchawi from her husband’s side and as such is most fit to stand beside her today in this meeting. As one of the few dwellers of the deep jungle tribes willing to join in this conflict, I am the head of the local medical groups.” the mare received several nods of approval from everyone gathered in the room, and Charger went a bit farther and made a deep bow that caused the little mare to blush like mad. She quickly scooted away from the fire, and what little spark in the room's atmosphere died right then. In the strangely quiet, almost gloomy fire-lit hut, the fact that Uchawi was still smiling at the squad with enthusiasm put Clockwork on edge. Finally, Askari decided to speak up.

“Speaking of teams and the like,” Askari straightened up, taking a leaf of his own. “We were wondering about your operation a couple nights back.”

“What about it?” Clockwork asked.

“Were there any complications?”

“Aside from my injury, I don’t think anything impeded the mission.”

“Are you sure?”

The pegasus raised an eyebrow as Ndogo rose from her position to pass small cups of clear liquid to him and his squadmates. “Utterly,” responded Charger. ”is something troubling you?”

“We just wanted to make sure that everything was alright. One cannot be too careful in times like these.” Uchawi smiled wider, flashing several of her chipped teeth in the process. She raised her glass. “A toast to the dawn of an age without terror and conflict, hopefully very soon to come.”

Clockwork nodded and raised his cup. The squad followed suit, and they all drank as one. The pegasus licked his lips, for whatever he had just drunk tasted like rancid oranges. Before he could ask what was in his drink, his eyes widened as he heard a foul gagging sound emanate from Switcher-7.

The disguised insect-pony coughed several times before spewing the drink into the fire, causing the fire to soar in height thanks to new, green-speckled fuel. Clockwork watched in horror by the harsh orange light of the fire as Switcher continued to cough, his disguise dropping in short bursts of blue smoke. It wasn’t long before his altered form had faded altogether, his hat making a clatter as it fell to the floor, changing back into a silver helm. His eyes were fearful and wide halfway into the transformation, which was not nearly as smooth as it usually was, with bursts of smoke heralding parts of the soldier's tan fur becoming black and hard. Switcher made a few scant gasps for air before falling sideways onto the floor with a dull thud.

Before Clockwork could react, the gathered leaders, sans Uchawi and Ndogo, rushed around the pit towards Switcher, hidden weapons drawn. They halted their assault when the whole of Meteor Squad, minus the vomiting changeling, drew their own weapons and pointed them at the oncoming zebras. The two groups shouted at one another, but what meaning behind the yelling was lost in the clattering of blades and the thump of hooves. Whatever the hay either group was saying, Clockwork didn’t know. Instead of trying to yell over the group, he fired a round through the ceiling, the echoing boom giving way to a silence the pegasus only half-expected to come about as a result.

“What in the name of Tartarus just happened?!” he yelled.

“You betrayed us, that’s what!” Askari yelled back.

“Care to explain?” Long Shot asked, his voice dripping with venom as his rifle’s barrel almost touching Askari’s skull.

“Your have a fey spy among you! The equivalent of a commander, if that hue of its armor is to be taken at face value!” the nameless elder mare growled, a kukri balanced in one hoof.

Switcher, for his part, buzzed softly as he tried to look as small as possible as he curled into a ball behind Long Shot. His attempt failed as he coughed again, spitting up even more of the clear poison onto the dusty floor.

“I thought you all knew?” Clockwork asked. He honestly thought the Alliance communicated better than this.

“Apparently not,” Sallaq replied in perfect Equish. “Were we to ask?”

“Somebody tell me exactly what you striped bastards gave Switcher or I will slit all of your throats before you can even blink!” Long Shot's pupils narrowed to black slits and bared his fangs. The one-eyed stallion and the old mare both kept their hard glares, but Ndogo stepped farther back behind Uchawi, shaking like a leaf.

“We gave him a potion of little power, nothing that would harm him. Just enough to rid the fey of its disguise.” Uchawi said, still keeping a calm tone even with the chaos around her.

“His name, is Switcher-7! Little my flank, you poisoned him!” Charger exclaimed, adjusting her Grand ever so slightly with a tiny click.

“It is an emotion-eater, no different than the ones that attempted to infiltrate us during the start of this war and in years past. Even if it bears different colors than the swarm that came before, you are still protecting a threat. I dearly hope that you are all under a trance for the very idea that our allies are harboring that thing is a betrayal of which is only spoken in the darkest of tales.”

Clockwork watched in horror as the mare who treated him a night ago effectively sentenced a good friend to death with a smile. The gathered zebras were prepared to throw down their lives right then and there to slay the quivering changeling.

“Stop.”

The zebras hesitated a moment as Uchawi looked towards Clockwork. She raised an eyebrow.

“You heard me. Quit trying to kill Switcher.”

“Kid, what’s stopping us?” Askari asked. He wiggled a huge forehoof for emphasis, a gesture that Clockwork now found dismissive.

“The entire Equestrian population, along with the Bison. If they believe that a single changeling can be treated as an ally, then by Celestia we’ll treat him as a brother. You claim that we are under a trance, but what you probably don’t know is that Princesses Celestia and Luna themselves decided to allow Switcher into allied territory. If they think he’s a friend, then so should you. Unless, of course, your leaders are not willing to go through with this alliance and would rather fend for yourselves as the Consortium slowly burns and poisons your home until there's nothing left but ash and corpses.”

A long, tense silence followed, neither group of warriors moving from their present stance. If somepony had walked in, they could’ve mistaken either side for a group of statues if they ignored their breathing. Suddenly, Uchawi spoke, her smile disappearing as she did, replaced with acute distaste.

“Clockwork is right, let the changeling live.”

Askari gave his mother a questioning glance, and the look on Sallaq’s face gave the impression that he was a few words away from a stroke. Ndogo was still doing her best Switcher impression, and most of Meteor Squad was leaning in the general direction of the zebra with their weapons pointed at their choice of striped equines. Suddenly, the leathery, seemingly nameless mare snapped.

“Betrayers and carrion-lovers the lot of you!” she screamed, her broken voice reaching decibels that would be impressive for a trained singer, "First this, and next we shall all be bowing before some glittering prancing pink pony princess or another! Bah, to seize up at the threat of a far away ruler who has no say in our lands. . . I will not have a single warrior die for the cause of foalish ponies who wish to become involved with the affairs of vultures and jackals! The Mchanga Kidunia fight for the strongest side!”

“Do all sounds pass through your ears as though they were sieves? My mother ordered you to let Switcher live!”

Every occupant in the room turned towards the source of the new voice. Zecora, a frown of both anger and concern on her muzzle, entered Nyumbani through its only door. Before she could speak another word, the unnamed elder yelled again.

"By the spirits Zecora, could you stop with that damned rhyming?! What would your father think?! He would kill himself in shame to hear you continue to honor the most wretched tribe of Zebrica!" At this point, Uchawi’s mask somehow now shared the same look of disgust as her son. Before the elder shaman could unleash another verbal assault, Zecora spoke first.

"Stooping to your level is that last thing I shall do. You all act as though you've tasted the worst of a gypsy's brew!"

“Are you not aware that the squad that you asked to come here brought a fey spy in their midst?! They are nothing but traitors! Why, what would Mfalme think about this foolishness?!“ most of Meteor Squad knew the name of Zecora’s former love, and Askari was sputtering with rage at the elder's insulting words.

Switcher twitched again, this time in reflex.

Zecora, on the other hoof, seemed to ignore the elder mare with grace as she made her way over to Ndogo. After a bit of coaxing, the smaller of the two mares uncurled herself and managed to look into her step sister’s eyes.

“My dear Ndogo, are you alright? You seem to have endured the worst of fright. . .”

Even in the shadows, Clockwork could tell that Ndogo had tears in her eyes from the way they glimmered in the light of the fire. “I just. . . I knew that you told us that the changeling was here, but you never said anything about attacking it. All life is sacred and we must kill only when needed, right? He helped me earlier today to reach some herbs I couldn't get on my own. I haven't seen him do anything wrong at all.”

Zecora looked up from her step-sister and at the four zebras still gathered around Meteor Squad. “For shame, all of you! Is what my step sister said true?!”

The old mare pointed a hoof at Zecora, now enraged in every sense of the word. “So now this. . . pygmy and the heir of the dead places turn against us? To the most dreaded lands of Kuzimu with the lot of you! May your hearts end up in Tirek’s bag!” the eldest mare screamed to nopony in particular as she barged out of the hut, nearly knocking over Charger as she did so.

Sallaq gave long glances at both Askari and Long Shot, but followed close behind the raving mare in a stride, but not before apologising profusely. For his part, Askari hesitantly smiled at Zecora, but quickly attempted to follow Switcher’s example of making himself look as small as possible, which was limited to putting his huge head at an angle that just made him take up more space.

“Hey Ndogo, you going with ‘em?” Askari looked over at his tiny step sister.

“N-no, I’m not. I do not like the way the Mchanga Kidunia or those like them live. They fight monsters day in and day out, and they normally just leave their wounded to die. I don’t want to be associated with them. I’m staying.”

“That’s good to hear. You always were my favorite step sister.” Askari holstered his staff before walking over to Ndogo and placing a comforting hoof on the plump mare’s shoulder, which in turn caused him to place a hoof on most of her back.

Ndogo rolled her eyes. “I’m your only step sister.”

“Exactly.”

“Excuse me for interrupting this tender family moment,” Long Shot called out from behind Clockwork's prosthetic, “but I’d like to figure out why my squadmate was almost killed by our own allies, in a pre-planned attack no less ?”

“My apologies, stallion of grey, zebrakind is rightly wary of fey.”

“Yeah, I figured that before I went into a millenia-long hibernation. What I’d like to know is who gave the order to kill him? The only way they could have given such an order is if they already knew Switcher was a changeling.”

“I know I didn’t, and all my little sisters are too kind to kill something that has no way of defending itself, so I guess. . .” Askari’s eyes widened as he looked towards Uchawi. “Mom, you didn’t-”

“Of course not! I only followed Zecora’s instructions to reveal the fe- Switcher.” Uchawi corrected herself. “I never intended to kill him, just prod him a little. Now, my son, why were you so eager to kill another living creature? I thought I raised you better than that. You know you’re supposed to cripple such invaders so that they can be interrogated and humiliated in front of others.”

Meteor was suddenly reminded that Zebrica was generally more brutal in it’s most touching moments than anything to the northwest toff it, which was mostly everything else.

“Sorry.” Askari scratched the back of his head.

“Askari, I will never understand you, but know this, for your mistake, I forgive you.” Zecora hugged her brother before turning to Meteor Squad. “And to you, dear soldiers, I must apologize, for I never told the elders about Switcher’s allegiance or allies. For a lack of a better rhyme, it never was a topic at the time.” it was then her turn to give a wide, apologetic smile.

“You are forgiven. . . Tribe Queen Zecora,” Switcher finally spoke, coughing mid sentence. “An ally such as I is certainly a unique case. It is understandable that my eradication would be the priority of an uninformed stranger.”

“On that topic, the mare you had the misfortune of meeting was the leader of a small tribe known as the Mchanga Kidunia,” Uchawi interrupted. “They are a vile group, one that kills monsters for sport and leaves behind their wounded as food for the creatures that roam the Samara. We only turn to them in desperation, which I now know we should not have done.” the elder zebra hung her head.

Askari took a stand, however. “They still fight nearly every day against wild beasts and worst, and to have them on the front lines would have been fantastic. When we gather for the yearly tests of skill, Mother,” he looked almost happy that he could correct the shaman, ”they almost always turn out on top in spear-throwing and such. And Sallaq’s from the east coast. Only reason he’s like that is that he was a weapons merchant in camel lands until he came back here to settle down with the Saddle sultans’ gifts and one of his daughters. He probably only went with that old sandy crone to amuse himself with her whining. It's probably possible to patch things up with him.”

“I say good riddance to the both of ‘em,” Long Shot hissed. “An untrained, undisciplined soldier, no matter how good, isn’t worth the risk.”

“Now that I can agree with,” Askari noted, “But a lot of the southern tribes have ties with them, and respect them even more. Hells, Mganga spent a half a year wandering with them, and she thinks that was one of the best training trips she ever took.” both Long Shot and Clockwork winced at that, both for wholly different reasons. “Even worse, until we find another clan brave or crazy enough to go on deep-strike missions or get rid of the Consortium presence here, the Equestrian front is going to be clear of zebras. ”

“How long do you believe this will last?” Charger asked.

“Not short enough,” Askari grimly replied.

“I am sorry, my allies with coats of all hues, unfortunately I must bid thee adieu. I must report these events to my personal scribe, however, I suggest that Switcher reveal himself to the rest of the tribe.”

Switcher, who had finally managed to take in deep breaths again and stand, spoke out, his voice carrying the familiar buzzing undertone of his natural form. “I do not question your methods, Tribe Queen Zecora, however it is highly likely that if I reveal my true form to your tribe, similar events to before will result. To be frank, I would prefer to keep wish all of my organs intact and functioning at peak efficiency.”

“You would be surprised, my little fey, for only the most brutal treat outsiders that way. My tribe’s methods of thought are kind and pure; they will welcome you, I am sure.”

Switcher looked to his nocturni superior. “Commander, I will certainly not question her judgement. What say you?”

Long Shot put a forehoof to his chin as his brow furrowed with thought. After a few seconds, he finally asked “Zecora, are you absolutely certain that your villagers won’t respond with violence? I don’t want to have to kill anything besides Dogs and whatever they’ve teamed up with today.”

Ndogo spoke up. “My step-sister’s word is more than good enough. If any of the villager’s even stare at Switcher the wrong way, I’ll. . . convince them not to.”

“Thank you.” Switcher reached for his helm, quickly setting it back onto his head. Zecora left first, followed closely by the intentionally undisguised changeling. Clockwork waited a moment before leaving as well, intent on finding three certain ponies whom he hadn’t seen for a while.

Much to Clockwork’s surprise, Switcher’s revelation as a changeling was treated far more positively than he’d expected. While some of the older colts and fillies were at first apprehensive of the changeling’s presence, they along with many of the smaller ones quickly warmed up to him. In a display of rare showmanship, Switcher successfully imitated several zebras. Several younger zebras had hugged the changeling’s legs at random moments, and only now did Clockwork discover that changelings could blush. The pegasus smiled as he continued on through the village, determined to find three certain ponies.

After a brief while of searching, the colt found two of the mares he was looking for. Captain Fluttershy was busy telling a circle of young zebras a story about something involving a cockatrice. He didn’t bother listening though; he had to speak to the purple unicorn reading a book a short distance away.

“Captain.” Clockwork saluted Twilight.

Twilight returned the gesture of respectas she looked up from her novel. “I’d refer to you by your rank, but members of High Risk Operation teams don’t technically have those. So, hello, Clockwork.”

The pegasus lowered his forehoof. “The commander does.”

Twilight pondered this, but quickly replied, “All leaders of illicit operations teams are automatically referred to as ‘commander’. Besides, he’s part of Luna’s Royal Guard, so he already had a rank beforehoof. Hmm, I wonder how they will integrate the existing royal guards into the army? The princess has not said anything about it, and Shining hasn’t spoken to me since last week. . .”

Clockwork waved a forehoof in front of his face as he watched the unicorn’s mind go off the beaten path. “We’re getting off-track. I need to know why I haven’t seen you, Fluttershy, or Applebloom in the past few days.”

She shrugged, and quickly glanced at her novel. “Same reason as you. We’ve been busy trying to help the village recover in whatever way possible. It’s an unfortunate coincidence that we haven’t seen each other in that time. We just have different duties.”

“What’ve you been doing?” Clockwork could care less that he sounded forceful, he needed briefing, by Celestia!

Twilight glanced around her immediate area. “Cataloging the jungle’s flora and fauna, sending reports back to the sisters at regular intervals, and helping with reconstruction.”

“Might I suggest something, Captain?”

“I’m listening.”

“I think it might be a good idea to send a letter to the sisters about Switcher. I don’t want another incident like the one with the leaders of the Mchanga Kidunia.”

“Already sent. The sisters are sending messages to each allied leader that Meteor Squad has a changeling with them, and to remind their own leaders that, yes, he is quite friendly. Of course, it would really be up to Switcher to do his part in explaining himself.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Twilight glanced back at her book. “Don’t mention it, anything else?”

“Why haven’t I seen Lieutenant Fluttershy recently? Is she as busy as you?” Clockwork motioned towards the pegasus mare, who was blushing slightly as a zebra filly complemented her mane.

“She’s been keeping the foals occupied with Penyelamat and treating the wounded.”

Clockwork thought for a moment. “I haven’t seen many injured zebras recently.”

Twilight looked back at her novel with a smug, almost proud look on her face. “Exactly.”

Clockwork had the urge to smile, but fought against it. “And Apple Bloom?”

“Chatting it up with Zecora, fixing structures and building new ones. I’ve heard that you’re out of the fight until the day after tomorrow; I think she could use your expertise.”

Clockwork nodded. “Understood, where is she?”

“Over by the medical supplies depot a little ways south of where we’re standing. Grey roof with yellow stripes on the outer walls, can’t miss it.”

“Yes ma’am.” the pegasus turned around and started towards his destination. Time metaphorically flew by, and before he could even see his fellow soldier, she called out to him.

“Hey, Clocky! Good tah see ya out n’ about!” Apple Bloom poked her head out from where she was working on the roof and waved at the pegasus below. Her brass horseshoes glistened in the setting sunlight, causing Clockwork to wince slightly as he was blinded by the shine.

“Thanks!” the pegasus called back. “Twilight said you wanted some help?”

“Sure do! Ah left a bag o’ nails in the room below me, could you get ‘em?”

“Sure.” Clockwork trotted inside and was greeted by the pungent smell of various herbs and medicinal concoctions. He was greeted by an even more surprising sight; Mganga, several of her bandages now gone, was looking over a scrap of parchment laid out on a small wooden table with thoughtful determination. “Umm. . . Mganga? Should you be out of bed?”

Clockwork’s sudden greeting caused the zebra mare to jump an impressive height. She spun around midair in a move that would make the Wonderbolts pause for thought, and drew her new staff from a small holster on her left shoulder. The weapon extended to full length in less than a second, and the gem between the tip’s twin blades glowed with a blue-white light. Clockwork took a few steps back, for the deadly gem was a scant few inches from his right eye. “Whoa whoa whoa, did you lose your memory?”

“Ah, it is you, Chuma Mrengo. I apologize, when the dogs captured me I began to doubt my skills. I’ve been on edge for a while now.” the zebra holstered her staff. “I see that your recovery is going well?”

“As is yours.” Clockwork nodded. “Are you back in the fight?”

“Not yet,” Mganga replied. “Though I am fit for combat, my mother believes that I require additional time to heal. How long do you have?”

“The day after tomorrow is when I head back into the fray.”

“You must keep your skills sharp at all times, lest a foe attempt to slay you at your weakest. Constant vigilance is the only way to survive a conflict, for the slightest flaw could mean your end.”

Clockwork gave a nervous laugh. “Noted. Apple Bloom said there were some nails in here?”

“Give me a moment.” Mganga looked around her immediate vicinity before taking a small bag and throwing it towards Clockwork. As the stallion turned to leave, he heard Mganga speak again.

“That wing of yours is impressive. Perhaps you could tell the village as a whole how you brought about its creation? I am sure we would enjoy the tale.”

“I’ll think it over.” Clockwork left the hut and quickly flew onto the roof, half to spread his wings and half to get away from the zebra inside. “Got the nails.”

“Thank ya kindly.” Apple Bloom took the small bag and dumped its contents onto the thatched surface before her. She quickly started pounding them into the hut’s roof with her horseshoes.

“Erm. . . if you have the time and resources, you may want to space them out more evenly. Two rows per strip of thatch and the roof should be more stable, less likelihood of collapse during stressful times.”

Apple Bloom gave the pegasus before her a look of interest before nodding. “Yah know what? I may just have enough stuff to pull that off. Anything else?”

“Would you be offended if I made a few more suggestions?”

“‘Course not.”

Clockwork opened his mouth to begin the rant to end all rants. Applebloom cursed her lack of foresight, for by the time Clockwork was finished, she could have knocked down the hut and built another. Deciding to distract him, she told him of a local gathering that was supposed to happen later, and that it was in the center of the village, so Clockwork should probably head there now.

By the time Clockwork had been tricked by the youngest member of the apple family to leave her be, the sun had set and the fire pit in the center of Mji Mkuu had been lit. Several zebras had already gathered by the time Meteor Squad and their superiors found their seats. The night went by at a steady pace, songs were sung, tales were told, even Clockwork had been encouraged to stand up and show off his wing. Through it all, several things continued to hold his attention; Mganga had dozed off on Long Shot’s shoulder several times, and even after reawakening, she never moved and Clockwork’s own questioning glance at his commander was met with a wink. Another was Switcher, who even now hadn’t changed back from his natural form, gathered near the younger members of the tribe and was actually smiling as he performed small feats of magic and transformation to entertain the youngest tribe members. As for other highlights, Charger had the most awkward dance Clockwork had ever seen with a mildly brave young stallion while the pegasus nearby glared at him. The last thing though, was Samibe. The zebra whose white stripes were instead blue and whom Clockwork realised was probably his age, perhaps younger, seemed completely disinterested in the cheer and festivities that were going on. In fact, he actually seemed sorrowful and, for a lack of a better word, brooding. As the night began to wind down, Clockwork found a spot next to the zebra and leaned a bit in his direction.

“Something wrong?”

“You could say that.” Samibe responded in a near deadpan tone of voice.

“Mind if I ask why?”

The zebra sighed. “It’s just that. . . this war’s only been going on for a short amount of time, and yet so much has already changed.”

“Care to explain?”

“I never wanted to be a soldier; I’d much prefer to go back to making pottery.”

“You’re a craftspony?”

“Apprentice to one. Until this war started.”

“What happened?”

“Look around.” Samibe gestured to the gathered crowd. “See any other zebras with dyed stripes?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Colored stripes are the symbol of what used to be my clan, the Ufinyanzi. We were the best crafts makers in all of Zebrica. We were close to a beautiful lake and a supply of the purest clay within two day’s travel from the biggest ports. Then one day the village proper was attacked. Now I’m here.”

“Did anypony else make it?”

“I doubt it; we were the first village to get hit. I’m probably all that’s left. Fact is, no one believed the war was as bad as it is until a couple other villages got hit hours after mine.”

Despite the heat of the bonfire, Clockwork felt a harsh chill run up his spine as he remembered the report delivered to Szary. “How’d you survive?”

“I was out gathering clay for my master when I saw the nearby river run yellowish-green. I followed it back to the village and I. . . I couldn’t even see it through the green fog, but I could hear the choking, coughing, and breathless cries for help. . .”

To say Clockwork was shocked would’ve been an understatement. “I’m. . . sorry.” he winced at his own words.

“Don’t be,” Samibe grinned ever so slightly “it wasn’t your fault.”

“Something similar happened back in Equestria.”

“Really?” Samibe appeared genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, the Griffon Empire attacked my home and Canterlot simultaneously, though a lot of it was focused on where I lived. We were getting torn apart, I couldn’t do anything, and if it wasn’t for that grey stallion over there,” Clockwork pointed at Long Shot, “I’d probably be dead.”

“You are talking about the invasion of Ponyville?”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you know about it?”

Samibe frowned. “Long before you landed, for news travels quickly in these lands. But you are mistaken in comparing your loss. Your home was attacked, defended, retaken. My home was gassed like an exterminator trying to rid it of insectoid pests. I doubt I will ever see it again.”

Clockwork sighed. “If thats true, what do you plan on doing after all. . . this?”

Samibe acquired a grim smile. “The richest merchant boats often make trips to camel lands, and I know for a fact that the sheik of Istanbull personally values my clan's crafts. If I go and tell my tale, I would never have to look at a speck of Zebrican soil ever again.”

Clockwork was saddened by someone as young, if not younger, than him talking about simply cutting all ties with his homeland. Against his own ideals, though, he nodded at the unfortunate colt’s words.

“I must thank you for talking to me, Chuma Mrengo. It has been quite some time since I was able to discuss the loss of my home.” Samibe stood and helped Clockwork to his hooves, and both took note of the tiring villagers and the rapidly setting sun. “The gathering is ending. I suggest we rest now.”

Still surprised at how fast time went by, Clockwork responded with a tired yawn, “Good idea. It was nice finally getting to know you, Samibe. Oh, and thanks for patching me up after I first got here.”

“It was the least I could do.”

The colts went their separate ways, and Clockwork made it back to his hut without incident. He quickly stripped off his gear before falling muzzle-first into his bed. He was asleep before he hit the mattress, and his last thought was of how Equestria was the creator of a substance that wiped whole villages off the face of the map.

The sun was up, the village was alive with movement, and Clockwork was out again. To the pegasus, the second day of his recovery couldn’t pass quickly enough. He had already helped Applebloom repair several more damaged huts, talked a bit more with Samibe, and had wished Mganga good luck as she headed off with Meteor Squad on their latest mission. He had even managed to scrape together a few contraptions from the leftover supplies that the Squad had brought with them, but the midday Zebrican sun continued to sluggishly make its way across the sky. He had just put the finishing touches on another steam engine when he heard the last voice he would’ve expected to that day.

“Hello pony, need help?”

The pegasus looked over his shoulder to find Diesel, the dog from a few nights ago, in crude chains with a weight at one end but with a toothy smile on his face.

“Hey Diesel, what’re you doing out?”

“Zebras said I free to roam around village after building a hut. Finished questioning me last night. Gave as much information as possible, and zebras let me go.”

“What about Sod and Grumbler?”

The dog shrugged, unconcerned. “They still sleeping, lazy pups. Zebras gave us herbs to sleep, but I didn’t swallow.” he raised a shaggy paw to scratch his single ear. “Err, does pony need help?”

“Machine-wise, no. However, I did want to ask you about something.” Clockwork sat down, as did Diesel. “How’s your doggish?”

He raised a fluffy eyebrow. “Fluent. First degree in linguistics, no need to learn about machinery, all dogs good at it. Like asking seapony to swim.”

“Do you think you could teach me how to speak and write it? It’s a mystery in Equestria.”

“Impossible.”

“I could learn it quickly, I think.” Clockwork knew that, at the very least, was supported by what others told him

“No; it impossible because ponies don’t have right organs to make dog sounds. If pony try and speak it, they end up with broken voice box and PTSD. Testing long ago, probably in pony archives as well as dog. Only other species that can do it are dragons and wolves; dragons are rude and wolves mostly dead.”

“That’s. . . unfortunate.” Clockwork hung his head.

“I still teach language. You learn what dogs say, even though you can’t speak it.”

Clockwork nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

Diesel flashed a toothy grin. “Anything to get back at Consortium.”

The pegasus continued to wander around Mji Mkuu, reviewing what he had learned in his head. As he did though, he failed to notice the lanky, striped body of Penyelamat, walking head-first into her with a soft wump.

“EEEP!” Penyelamat jumped a good distance off of the ground, sprung, really, before realizing who had bumped into her side. After a few moments, she let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, you are Clockwork, the pegasus. I’m am deeply sorry about that, for I did not hear you. I truly am sorr-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clockwork rubbed the back of his neck, blushing lightly. “it was my fault, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. Did you need something?” she asked quickly, looking at him carefully to see if he had any wounds or marks.

“Would it be alright if I asked you a few things?” he asked.

“Of course!” Penyelamat smiled as she led Clockwork to a small, rather lush patch of grass suitable for sitting on. “You must have many questions, I understand, being from Equestria.”

He bit his lip. “Forgive me if I sound too impersonal or anything, but I wanted to know, what exactly. . . are you?”

Much to Clockwork’s surprise, the lanky mare did not cry or run off. Instead, she giggled, ears flicking rapidly.

“Oh, okay, that is understandable, I suppose, if you didn’t know before.” Penyelamat leaned a bit closer to the colt in front of her which allowed him to get a good look at her long, almost royal legs, her smooth, delicate fur that looked oh so- Clockwork cursed at himself in his head. How could he give a mare he just met a look over?!

“Tell me, Clockwork, do you know what a Quagga is?”

“Can’t say that I do.” Clockwork vowed to track down a book about the world’s many species when he crossed back into Equestria, and do something with Charger. Possibly involving toying with sensitive machinery. That’s what good friends did together when nopony else was around, right? Work on weapons of war!

“Well, that is what I am,” she replied, raising a slim hoof. “We are few, but we are a proud race. The Quagga are kin of all the equines in Zebrica, and a majority of my kind live on the grassy plains. I guess you could compare us to your winged and horned royalty. We don’t do much, but we are seen as important. It’s kind of nice, really.”

Clockwork’s mind stopped momentarily. Great, he was eyeballing the zebra version of a princess! Oh, sweet Celestia, how his mind hurt. Clockwork’s brain suddenly kicked itself back into working order. “So, do Quagga have any special traits or anything?”

She let out a delicate laugh. “We are farmers, medicine mares, mothers, fathers, and a great many other peaceful things. We can and will fight when necessary, but we try our hardest not to. When the clans wish for our help, they ask for it. We are small, less than a few score, but we produce the finest sages and shamans in the lands, and our lifespan is such that we can master many trades.”

Clockwork took that in. So, not truly all-powerful, but skilled and wise in the ways of nature. He could see why they were seen as so powerful, but something was missing. “I see. So if your kind live on the plains, what’re you doing here?”

Penyelamat giggled. “To be honest, I do not know. Zecora tells me that she found me whilst traveling through the jungle to gather some herbs one day. At first, she thought I was an Okapi, but they’ve been extinct for spirits know how long. I believe that in Equestrian terms I am her adopted daughter, and heir apparent.”

“Huh,” he brilliantly said. So, almost a princess.

She looked at his expression and giggled. Again. “It’s not as impressive as it sounds, I hope you do not get the wrong image. But what about you?”

Clockwork blinked. “I’m an engineer.”

“Oh.” she said mildly, and it took a few moments for him to realize she didn’t know what that meant.

“I work on machines,” he stated.

“Like your wing?” she inquired, sparing a glance at his left appendage.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Did it get. . . cut off?” she asked reluctantly, waving a hoof in it’s general direction, face fearful. “Or bitten off?”

Clockwork shook his head. “No, no, I was born with only one wing.”

She took a few seconds to process what he was saying, and when she realized what he meant, she bit her lip and averted her gaze. “Oh, I am sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I can tell you all about it later if you want." Clockwork decided that asking about half the races he knew existed in Zebrica was something best left for his own studies. Finally, he came up with a reasonable question. “If you don't mind me asking, what exactly does ‘Slaves of the Burning Sun’ mean?”

Suddenly, a hard look passed over her face, and for a moment Clockwork swore he could feel some amount of magic gathering around in the air.

“Who said that?” she asked sharply, voice even but tainted with barely-hidden anger, “Who said that to you?”

“The. . . desert zebra leader and Mganga,” he half-stuttered in mild shock. “What does it mean?”

“Zecora’s sister and the emissary of the Mchanga Kidunia said those exact words to you?”

“Yes,” he half-breathed, now worrying for his own sake. “It doesn’t sound good, but what does it mean? Is it an insult?”

Penyelamat’s mildly indignant expression faded into a almost embarrassed one.

“It is the worst possible thing a zebra could call a pony, I would think. It means that you are slaves to Celestia.”

Clockwork blinked. “Why would they think we're slaves? Ponies have never been- the princesses are the pure embodiment of good! Celestia never kept slaves!”

Penyelamat coughed. “That may be true, but. . ." a sudden flash of acute embarrassment came over her face. “A long time ago, your princesses called for a general meeting for all the peoples of the worlds, and asked them to acknowledge them as the movers of the sun and moon.”

Clockwork nodded, signaling for her to go on.

“The reaction from some zebras, that ponies lived and died under what they saw as the living incarnation of the heartless ball of fire above, was not a good one. They believed that ponies had it in there power to control the sun and moon, like how all the unicorns did before the arrival of your princesses, but because they submitted to what they could only see as a immortal tyrant, they were little better than slaves.”

“That’s horrible!”

“It is also true,” Penyelamat said slowly, “Or at the very least, that is how many zebras see it. Personally, I see it as rubbish, but it is just a fact. Not many zebras like Celestia because, according to legend, she was the one who then scorched the southern plains into desert with her magic.”

Clockwork was stunned. “But that. . . can’t be true, could it?”

To his dismay, she just shrugged.

“The desert used to be fertile, a long time ago. There are ruins of cities and such, but I couldn’t say if your Princess did it. Admittedly, she is a rather intimidating figure, is she not? Bone white fur, a horn like a spear, and with wide wings like a Roc. How could you say no to a mare who pushes back nature itself with her magic and can cause the sun to rise and fall at will? She’s more like a spirit than anything else, and one that isn’t very nice at that. If she was truly benevolent, wouldn’t the sun be slightly dimmer and the moon brighter? With titles like the Dawnstar and She Of The Burning Sun, how else is one supposed to see her as besides a creature that burns what is left under her flaming gaze and brings thirst to those who need sustenance the most?”

“Celestia is like a watchful mother over every pony, though. I'ce met her, even. She's definitely scary when upset, but that’s something she shares with everyone.”

“Well, to be fair, she also banished her sister to the moon.”

“Luna was corrupted by an outside force, she was imprisoned as a last resort,” Clockwork said monotonously.

“Yet most ponies still fear her, correct?”

“No! She’s just. . . respected in a different way then Celestia is,” he replied weakly.

“You do know that most outside Equestria prefered Luna over Celestia?”

Clockwork didn’t say anything, fearing that he would say something that would just dig him deeper.

“For instance, Luna traveled a lot more, and unlike Equestria, the night was seen as more peaceful than the day. In Zebrica, it is a time of rest. I even believe that in Saddle Arabia, there was a general celebration when the sun did not rise the day when Nightmare Moon returned. Surely you must have wondered why they sent diplomats the year after Luna returned to her station?”

“I. . . never thought about it like that. Could we please talk about something else, though? This is getting a little heavy.”

Nodding, a bashful look overtook Penyelamat's face. “Of course!”

After a bit more conversation and a warm goodbye, Clockwork decided to head back to his personal hut with his pride intact. Perhaps a nap would help the day go by quicker?

The stallion made it back to his hut and, upon discovery that he wasn’t tired in the slightest, decided to go through his materials and make sure that everything was in order.

Condition of both shotgun and pistol ammunition optimum. Survival kit currently unused, thank Celestia. Weapon maintenance kit still right where I left it. Novels seem fine, might read one late-

Clockwork’s thoughts fell silent as his eyes came to rest on an unopened letter. He took it from the shelf that he had set it on and sat on his bed as he opened it. he sat on as well. He carefully removed the package's single leaf of parchment and was greeted by the scent of dust. The pegasus smiled as he read what was inscribed.

Clockwork,

We're doing fine. Stalliongrad's safe, and from what I hear, Ponyville’s almost back to normal.

Keep up the good work, son. We're proud of you.

-Mom & Dad

Before Clockwork could put the letter in a safe place, none other than Charger bursted into his makeshift abode. She was covered in bloody scrapes from head to hoof, but her eyes still shone with that familiar fire he had grown to love. The pegasus stallion felt a chill run through him as he saw something else in the mare’s eyes: fear.

“Clockwork, I hope you can tolerate what injuries you still have, because we need you, now.”

Breaking Point

Before Clockwork could open his mouth to ask Charger what was wrong, the earth pony had already whipped around and exited the hut. Clockwork glanced at his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and took off after his friend. In no time at all, he was at her side.

“Charger, what the hay is going on?!” Clockwork yelled, eyes flicking over the numerous cuts, bruises, and scrapes adorning his friend’s hide.

“You’ll find out in about thirty seconds. Come on!” she quickened her pace, to which Clockwork followed suit. Her injuries couldn't have been as bad as they seemed if she was running as fast as she was. The pegasus stayed by her side the whole time, lightly flapping his wings to both exercise them as well as gain a little speed. The duo soon found themselves standing at the base of Nyumbani, Mji Mkuu’s capitol building of sorts. However, they did not go inside, for what Charger had brought Clockwork to see was at the base of the small staircase that led into the hut.

Uchawi sat on the dirt floor, another zebra mare shaking violently in her forelegs. The unnamed mare had heavy cloth bandages wrapped around her eyes. The rest of Uchawi’s family, and Meteor Squad, were gathered around them. Clockwork made his way a bit closer to the group before being greeted by Long Shot, who himself was adorned with light injuries sustained from heavy fighting.

“Clockwork, good to see you again, though I wish it wasn’t for this reason.”

“Same here.” the pegasus nodded before taking a few cautious steps towards Uchawi, “What the hay did I miss?”

“Those sons of bitches hit another village with that Battlefright shit, that’s what!” Askari shouted.

“What?” Clockwork asked in deadpan. Whether out of confusion or terror, he couldn’t decide.

“Askari and Meteor were making a supply drop at a village not too far from here,” Long Shot explained. “Next thing we know, dogs are attacking from every angle and green gas is spreading like wildfire. Thank Faust we got out alive.”

Clockwork’s eyes went wide. He knelt down in front of the mare with bandaged eyes, “Who’s this?”

“A resident of the village we were with just before the Consortium soldiers deployed Battlefright. She fell quickly, but I carried her here,” Switcher replied.

Clockwork lightly placed a hoof on the mare’s jaw line and gently traced it, “Good job getting her out alive, Switcher. Injuries?”

“She is suffering from severe direct ocular exposure to the gas, and any phenotypical damage she has sustained has been touched by the gas as well.”

“She is displaying symptoms that fall in line with mild shock as well. I know her somewhat. Her name is Safi, and she is- was an apprentice to the local shaman,” Mganga interrupted.

Clockwork frowned as he looked over the bandaged zebra. Her eye wraps were clean, a stark contrast to the rest of her. Her coat was caked with mud in several places and her mane was disheveled. Her bandages failed to hide that she was crying. Small blisters had appeared on her skin, which caused grotesque patches of missing fur to be replaced with painful-looking sores. She was muttering something too feebily for Clockwork to understand.

Clockwork’s eyes locked with Uchawi’s. “Can you save her?”

“She is lucky to have only had her eyes fully touched by the gas, and to have garnered only slight injuries to her skin. I will be able to treat her, but it will take some time.” Uchawi pulled Safi a bit closer, carefully stroking her mane to calm her.

“We’ll make ‘em pay. I swear it.” Long Shot gritted his teeth, acquiring glances from both a teary-eyed Zecora and a crazed Askari. “Meteor Squad, get your hazard suits on. We’re taking those dogs out before they can do anymore damage.”

“Yes sir!”

Clockwork shifted uncomfortably in his hazmat suit, gained from one of the crates the squad had brought with them. The faded yellow rubber restricted his wings and caught his fur in several places, some of which he’d rather not think about. Equestria had never developed hazmat suits for use during heavy combat, and he could tell. Despite his gas mask covering it up, Clockwork could still detect a smell not unlike that of his infected wound from earlier, only stronger and with a sickening hint of blood. The pegasus looked around and saw the rest of his squad, and Mganga, wearing the same suits as him. He began to wonder how they were successfully going to push back an invasion party that had the clear advantage over them before hearing a branch snap, followed by a bark. He and the rest of his team instinctively dropped to the jungle floor.

“See anything?” Long Shot’s voice buzzed quietly over Clockwork’s radio.

“Three dogs not a leap’s distance away. They too are wearing masks, though unlike us, their weapons are relaxed. Fools,” Mganga reported.

“Drop ‘em.”

Clockwork heard the sound of beating hooves, the yip of a scared dog, and three soft wumps.

The squad rose from where their position and circled the tree to find Mganga wiping off her now bloodied staff on the fur of one dog. Three large grey bodies laid before her, now missing their heads.

Without a word, the squad hurried to finish their mission as quickly as possible, and after a short time, the unholy smell grew worse. Clockwork fought the urge to vomit. After he gagged a few times, he knelt before Charger rushed to his side.

“Clockwork, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just a bit out of practice is all. Guh. ” Clockwork regained his footing.

“Well, you either practice or die trying, and I would prefer the latter,” Long Shot remarked, a short chuckle ending his sentence.

“Ahem.” Mganga coughed. “We must not make jokes during times of war.” the zebra killed what little joy was left in the situation. Long Shot retook the lead, the group continuing in near-silence for a while before Mganga spoke again. “Do you believe there will be any survivors?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. We’re here.”

The soldiers strained their eyes to see what was in front of them, or more appropriately, the thing that wasn’t in front of them. Before the squad was a cloud of greenish gas, eerily motionless and massive in scale. Clockwork silently thanked the royal sisters that the stench hadn’t gotten any worse.

“It wasn’t nearly this bad when we retreated,” Charger mused.

“Doesn’t mean we aren’t going in. We sure as Luna can’t go around, under, or over it.”

Clockwork wished for a moment that the commander’s words didn’t apply to him as he struggled to keep his wings from cramping up underneath his suit. After checking to make sure everypony was ready, the group readied their respective weapons and crept into the waiting jaws of Tartarus.

Clockwork was wholeheartedly surprised that he hadn’t puked by now. The squad had passed at least a dozen corpses that bore very little similarity to the zebras they once were. Some stripes were gone, replaced by a single shade of brown, others were missing strips of flesh. All were dead, and noone was more horrified by this than Mganga.

“Those. . . monsters!” she screamed, falling to her knees before the remains of some zebra or another. Long Shot quickly trotted to her side, helping her to her hooves. He looked down at the corpse. “Someone you used to know?”

Mganga half-ignored the Nocturni’s words and continued to rave. “No, it is just that I have never seen this destruction in such detail before now! How could anyone use such a demonic creation?! This is not war! This is. . . slaughter!!”

“We’ll make ‘em pay, Mganga. I won’t rest until then.” the Nocturni gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

“How sweet.”

The squad whirled around and pointed their various weapons at the source of the voice. A single dog, clad in a shimmering green energy field and wearing a gem-studded mask over his muzzle, appeared before them. “Even in the most horrific of circumstance, you pathetic equines still manage to be friendly to one another. I can’t decide if that’s adorable or sickly. Likely both.”

“Teamwork is the only guaranteed method to winning any sort of conflict,” Long Shot retorted. “What are you doing, complaining about pack mentality? You better start talking, dog, before I have to put you down.”

The dog ignored his imminent death with grace. “I ask that you surrender peacefully. There is no need to add further blood to this already pointless struggle.”

“You sadists want everything in your way dead and gone,” Clockwork spat. “We’re as much use to you as the dirt beneath you paws.”

The dog shook his head. “Alas, you confuse us with our less savory allies. We wish to continue our advances and leaps in the realms of science, and if that means we must commit unsavory acts. . . then so be it.” the dog raised a paw, and moved it a disinterested tilting motion. “The ends justify the means in my book.”

Clockwork winced, for the twisted logic in those words hurt. He knew now why the dogs kept pushing on into Zebrica, for they saw themselves as minor heros who could sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Nevertheless, he refuted the dogs offer. “You’re wrong, every last one of you!”

“Is that a refusal of our offer?” the dog asked, plainly amused.

“No,” Long Shot replied ominously. He had managed to sneak his way up behind the dog and press the barrel to to the back of his cranium. The nocturni pulled the trigger. His target’s body fell to the floor, minus a head. “But that was.”

A moment of dead silence blanketed everything, though it was quickly replaced by the sounds of diamond dog energy staffs firing almost all at once. Somehow, Clockwork managed to hear Long Shot scream “Ambush!”

Meteor scattered, and Clockwork quickly lost sight of his squad, their forms disappearing into the dense green fog. He continued to run, barely avoiding dogs as he did. He found shelter in a seemingly sturdy hut, the former occupant curled up in its bed. Clockwork found nothing of note inside, and collapsed against the back wall. He checked his pistol, reloaded, and only when he looked up did he see a massive dog, easily twice his height and cloaked in ink-hued shaggy fur, standing over him with an open paw above his head.

Before the pegasus could react, he was lifted by his neck and thrown against the hut’s wall, feeling something crack as he did. The pegasus rocketed through it, the entire structure collapsing as he landed in a puddle that was a most vivid shade of green. He struggled back to his hooves and felt for his radio, only to find a crushed metal pancake in its place.

Clockwork cursed as he threw the now defunct machine aside. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the behemoth dog sprinting towards him. The pegasus shakily fired four rounds before his LeMane was swatted from his hoof and he was tossed once more into the ground. His vision swam before he realized that a crack had appeared in his mask. He looked up to find the dog standing over him. It growled something that soundedly roughly like “Too easy!” as it brought down a huge paw near Clockwork’s head.

The pegasus could only gasp for air as the dog picked him up by his throat once more. The dog brought Clockwork’s masked face mere inches from his.

Clockwork’s memories flashed back to those of Ponyville’s invasion, and Axel. That monstrous griffon’s face briefly replaced the dogs before it threw him again. This time, Clockwork felt his muzzle hit the green muck without any protection. He placed a forehoof to his face, not only finding that his nose was now bleeding heavily, but that his mask was gone. He looked over at the dog and found him holding the pegasus’ mask in one massive paw before crushing it and throwing it aside in a similar manner to an empty soda can.

Clockwork’s eyes began to burn, his lungs felt like somepony had shoved burning coals down his throat, and he coughed continuously, unable to find air. He gasped when he found that the dog had lost it’s skin, and black ichor dribbled from the holes that used to be its eyes onto its naked pink flesh.

Clockwork would’ve screamed again were it not for the Battlefright that had taken up residence in his mouth, nose, and lungs. His eyes burned as they tried to purge the gas from them with acidic tears. Even with his vision significantly blurred, Clockwork could still see the horror that used to be the dog now standing over him. Much to the pegasus’ terror, the behemoth fell to its knees as another oily creature sprouted from its back and jumped directly in front of Clockwork.

To say it was the embodiment of a nightmare would’ve been an insult against Luna’s biggest mistake. It had no skin to speak of, its body being composed of the same black fluid that flowed from the former dog’s eye sockets. Its head was nothing but an equine skull, with jagged fangs in place of normal teeth. It raised its right appendage and produced some sort of knife, fitted perfectly for Clockwork’ neck. The pegasus would’ve struggled, but by now the Battlefright had taken its toll. The colt greatly preferred death to this howling nightmare and closed his eyes, waiting for mortality to take him.

“Clockwork!”

The pegasus must’ve been dead, for he heard the voice of an angel.

“Clockwork!”

He wasn't sure whether or not he should open his eyes. For all he knew, this was just another nightmare waiting for him to take the bait.

“Clockwork, wake up! You can’t die! Please, not now!”

Clockwork’s eyes shot open as his hearing fully returned. He breathed in a lungful of clean air before his vision returned as well. A new mask now covered his face, granting him a clear view of his surroundings. The dog that had once been his attacker was collapsed on the ground, smoke pouring from its bullet-hole riddled neck. Charger was in front of the pegasus, holding the mask in place. When she realized that the pegasus had reawakened, she hugged him.

“Clockwork! I told you not to get yourself hurt or I would-!”

Clockwork interrupted by raising his pistol and firing. The round hit a dog that was sneaking up behind Charger square in the chest, keeping the yellow mare and the stallion safe for another brief moment. The duo was quickly joined by Long Shot, who helped the pegasus to his hooves.

“Good to see your aim’s still good, kid. Speaking of aim, these dogs are terrible shots. I watched four or five of them kill each other already!”

“Make that six, sir.”

“Switcher, that you?”

“Yes.”

Long Shot sighed. “This counterattack was one big screw up. We’re leaving. The dogs’ll kill themselves for us!”

“Where would you like us to regroup, commander?” Mganga’s voice crackled over the radio.

“We make our way back to Mji Mkuu, understood?”

The squad answered as one, “Yessir!”

The team quickly made their way outside of the village and regrouped at a nearby tree. The sounds of weapon discharge had faded, replaced now by heavy panting. By now the warriors had all discarded their suits, and every member had sustained wounds to a certain degree. Even Switcher had bruises. Charger’s cuts hadn’t gotten any better from being in a rubber suit, and Clockwork had actually taken Battlefright full on. Long Shot had sustained an impressive gash across his side, and he had to get the wound washed out with healing potions several times by Switcher.

“Before anyone asks, by technicality this mission is a success,” Mganga explained. “We went in to kill dogs, and they did that for us. We were unprepared, something that we should not let happen to us again.”

“Agreed,” Charger added as she looked over her gloves and Clockwork for damage.

“I mean no offense, Clockwork, but it is hard to believe that you are still alive.” the zebra warrior commented. “I have met none as unaffected as you with the amount of poison you’ve been exposed to. Have you received special training to resist toxins?”

“Nah. I guess I got lucky.” Clockwork smirked.

“Lucky or not, you will have to see Uchawi again when we return to Mji Mkuu.”

“Sounds good to me.” Clockwork was helped to his hooves by Charger before stretching his wings. They ached, but it was offset by the sensation of finally managing to spread his feathered appendages to full breadth. With only a few nods, the squad set off once more.

The squad gradually made their way back to the village. When they arrived, they were greeted by another horrific sight.

“This day just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Long Shot asked, fury and sarcasm equally detectable in his voice. “Ah, Zebrica, first she taketh away, then she pops a cap in you knees and runs off with your marefriend.”

Mji Mkuu laid in ruins. Several huts in the village had been reduced to piles of rubble. Zebras were scattered about, some wrapped in bandages, others without a scratch on them. All of them had an exasperated look in their eyes, and that didn’t change after they noticed Meteor Squad had returned. The squad made their way back to Nyumbani, only to find it not there at all. Askari, Uchawi, Captains Twilight, Fluttershy, and Sergeant Applebloom were all shouting orders to separate groups of zebras. Askari noticed the returning squad and trotted towards Long Shot, stopping a short distance away.

He was as grim as ever, his former rage turned into a far more alarming “just a few degrees from boiling over”, and his voice reflected that. “Glad you could make it back, I suppose you have nothing good to say about the village?”

Long Shot shook his head. “What in the name of Luna’s flank happened here?”

“The attack on the village, Safi called it ‘Mtego’, was just a lure. The dogs somehow knew you’d head over to Safi’s village, and when you did, they attacked us.”

“Casualties?”

“Surprisingly, none. The worst injury sustained was a broken leg, but Uchawi and your pegasus friend fixed that real quick.”

“Askari, where is Zecora?!” Mganga asked.

The stallion’s ears drooped. “That’s why the dogs came. She’s gone, sis.”

Mganga’s pupils widened in shock. “What?!”

Uchawi, noticing the newly arrived squad, ran up to them and stopped beside her son. “My goodness, child, what happened to you?”

Mganga, however, had her own topic in mind.“Never mind that! Where. Is. Zecora?!”

Uchawi’s voice held surprisingly little pain. “She is gone, Mganga. The dogs took her, and we have no idea where.”

Clockwork slammed his forehooves into the mud. “This is insane! The dogs know where we are left and right, and they took the only tribal leader worth their salt to do who knows what with her! What next, they’ll just kill us with artillery strikes?! Oh no, that’d be too ‘unscientific’, they’d rather experiment on us first and play Discord with our bodies and minds. They’d cut us open, yank out our guts and spell out our names with ‘em after pumping us full of adrenaline so we could watch ‘em do it!”

Charger spoke out, confusion apparent in her voice. “Clockwork?”

“What else? They murder countless villages without so much as a second thought?! They’ve killed foals for all we know! This is bullshit!”

“Clockwork?”

“I say we head straight for their main base of operations, kick in the door, and cut open every dog we find until they beg for-”

“Clockwork!”

The pegasus looked towards the source of the voice. He must’ve looked like a mad-stallion, for the entire ensemble, especially Charger, appeared as though they were staring at a murder as it took place. The pegasus quickly looked into a shattered mirror nearby and found not only his reflection split into several faces at once, but his eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were the size of pinheads.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no. . . what’s happening to me what's happening to me what’s happeniiinngnngngn. . .” Clockwork's voice devolved into rambling, often switching between languages mid-sentence, some of which were not among what he already knew. The pegasus curled up into a ball and fell to the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. His vision faded to where there was only a pinprick of light in the distance, and the last image that crossed Clockwork’s mind before he fell unconscious was Charger’s face, horror clearly present in her eyes.

Clockwork opened his eyes, and noticed a somewhat familiar figure at the end of a table. A simple meal was in front of him in a wooden bowl, a salad if he was right. But he hardly paid attention to his surroundings, because he was more worried with his lack of wings. he avoided making eye contact with the thing at the end of the table, and before he could be tempted to do otherwise, he closed his eyes once more.

It seemed like eternity until Clockwork detected the stench of Mtego. He fought against his rational mind and spared a peek at his salad once more. The fact it was black and bubbling, along with the almost leathery texture of the bowl and table, made him recoil. Exhausted, and wishing to truly get this over with, he looked up to see some griffon or another munching on a bloody apple that was colored the same, to his horror, as Charger’s coat. Clockwork dreaded what could come next, and then it hit him that he never looked to see what he was sitting in.

As the seat under Clockwork gave away, he sped past green clouds in a red sky, a parody of Ponyville’s skyline. Finally, after a horrid freefall, Clockwork landed surprisingly without injury in a warm, sticky-

Clockwork groaned, and was almost pleased to see that, in sans of blood, he landed in a vast plane of tar like sludge. But before he could bother with attempting to wiggle himself out of the thick mass, it began to shift and contract around him, which he figured was the beginning of some horrific grand finale to scar him for the next decade or so.

Alas, he was right.

It began as a protrusion in the vast black sea, a thin, long object that, going by the distance between it and Clockwork, it was probably more than a mile long. Next came a massive displacement of the thick goo, which heralded the rise of a single, monolithic shape that Clockwork dared not think about. It was easily as wide as Canterlot Castle, and that was merely the largest thing he could think of at the time. While it was seemingly there for ages and eons, with oceans of sludge sloughing off in sick, red-illuminated waves, he noticed a bright crescent of green-gold. While at first happy at the appearance of color, his joy quickly dissolved into horror at the widening of the crescent, and at the beginning of another such one a good distance away from the one in existence, for he saw what they were.

They were eyes, made of zebras.

Great green-gold orbs of pure hate, with a thousand writhing zebras silently creating the Battlefright-colored mockery of a pony face. Before he could scream and drown in the ichor of his own mind, the crude head gained a mouth.

The tiny puke-colored opening under the two great globes of sin quickly grew wide enough to cause the huge head to double into itself, splitting itself in twain like a bloated, rotted pumpkin crushed with a spade. What happened next, Clockwork simply could not fathom. After all, how could one see the whole of a thing so big?

Clockwork’s vision faded to a oily mix of red and gold with a shifting core of silver.

Clockwork’s eyes opened slowly rather than bolting open, the pegasus using what little strength he had to keep his body prone in bed. He would’ve screamed, were it not for the burning in his throat. He looked around to find himself in a semi-destroyed hut which he recognized as his own. Nothing mentally scarring was present, and Clockwork breathed a sigh of relief.

“I really need a therapist.”

“More than that.”

Clockwork looked over his shoulder to find Mganga, who had spoken, along with Charger and Switcher-7. He quickly turned away, gritting his teeth as he did. “What in the name of Tartarus is happening to me?”

“Mganga and I examined you while you were unconscious,” Switcher explained. “While you may not agree, you are very, very lucky. Mtego’s gas was different than what was used in previous attacks. Some sort of jungle herb had been added by the dogs for a experimental kick, it appeared to lessen the effects.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Three hours, sir.”

“Then what the hay was that three hours ago? I totally flipped!”

“Do not degrade yourself, pegasus.” Mganga spoke, “Safi had a reaction not unlike yours an hour ago.”

“So not only does Battlefright end life in the most demonic way possible, but it also screws with your mind even if you can get away from it?”

Mganga nodded, “It appears so.”

“Just one more reason to get rid of the dogs.” Clockwork turned over and began to exit his bed, but stopped when he saw his back left leg wrapped in bandages. “What’s this?”

“You sprained your ankle during your fight with that large dog,” Charger finally spoke.

“The same one you shot and shocked to death?”

Charger nodded.

“Thanks for, well, saving my life.” a smile appeared at the corner of Clockwork’s mouth, but it quickly disappeared. “How long am I gonna be out of the fight with this?”

“One day minimum, sir,” Switcher reported.

Clockwork didn’t respond. Instead, he placed all four legs on the ground. His back left leg stung, but it didn’t stop him from limping over to the drawer where his clothes lay. Even as he put on his vest, which had by now sported several healthy dents, he could tell that the other three occupants of the room had their jaws hanging open. As he set his goggles over his forehead, he turned around, confirming his suspicions.

“I’m not staying bedridden for another day. I’ve had it with the dogs beating us at every turn, and it’s time to take the fight to them. I’m heading to what’s left of Nyumbani, tag along if you want.”

Clockwork started out the door, not looking behind him to see if his squadmates had chosen to follow him or not.

“Seriously?!” Askari smashed a forehoof into the dirt. “You really want us to assault the dogs’ main base of operations even after all we’ve been through?”

Clockwork sighed as he adjusted himself on his mat. “Exactly.”

“I’m one for crazy plans, kid, but would you mind telling us why we should assault a base, which is likely protected by state of the art security systems, not to mention we don’t even know where it is?” Long Shot asked, “Not only that, but you’d be asking a devastated people to get up and fight after they just got hit.”

Clockwork took a sip of the healing potion Uchawi had provided. He glanced about the space where Meteor Squad, the dogs, and Uchawi’s family, had gathered. “First off, the dogs are probably thinking exactly like you are right now. They wouldn’t dream of us attacking so soon after a crushing defeat. They would believe us to be completely demoralized over the capture of our “leader”. If we attack them now, they’d be taken completely by surprise. Better yet, if we win, then it’ll show the Consortium that the United Zebra Clans are not a threat to be taken lightly. Next, the gathered warriors here would be more than enough to take the base if Mganga’s rescue was any indicator.”

“You are bold, Clockwork,” Mganga commented, “but you still have not explained how we can assault a base when we don’t know where it is with an army we do not have.”

“Actually, I think I may know exactly where it is.” Clockwork stumbled to his hooves, thanks to some assistance from Charger. The pegasus limped over to Diesel and whispered something in his ear. The dog nodded before quickly turning to Sod and Grumbler. Before anypony could react, the dog lifted both of his comrades by their throats and threw them a good distance. The dogs landed in a small dirty puddle, and only turned around in time to see their leader place a massive paw over each of their chests.

Diesel yelled something in doggish, and Sod and Grumbler whimpered in reply. Clockwork could roughly make out what they were saying.

“Which one of you is traitor?!” Diesel yelled.

Neither dog replied.

Diesel lifted his paws before slamming them into his comrade’s chests once more. He bared his teeth. “Answer or I tear out throats!”

After a few seconds of dead silence, Sod finally growled “Fine, I am spy. You happy?”

Diesel lifted the dog once more and slammed him muzzle first into the mud. “Traitor! Where is base?!” the dog lifted Sod’s head out of the muck. “Speak!”

Sod coughed a few times before whimpering “In sea of gold leaves. Cannot miss it.”

“Exact location! NOW!”

“I-In fog! Near singing pools! Truth!”

Diesel growled before dropping Sod. The smaller dog turned around just in time to see his superior’s paw ball up into a fist and punch him directly between the eyes. Sod fell back to the floor, his nose dripping blood that slowly mixed with the mud below, and did not stir.

“By Celestia, did you. . . kill him?” Charger asked, horrified at the defector’s ferocity.

Diesel laughed a bit through his nose. “No. Clockwork told me no killing. Sod lucky.”

Charger turned to Clockwork. She didn’t need to say anything, for her look spoke volumes.

“I had figured it out earlier. The dogs knew where we were at every turn, and that couldn’t have been accomplished without eyes on us the entire time. Since the Consortium doesn’t trust ponies, they must’ve decided that a dog spy would be easier to use. Their biggest problem was how to get a dog into an enemy camp under the guise as a friend. I guess having Sod taken as prisoner wasn’t a total loss for them, considering he was loyal to the core.”

Long Shot decided to play Grogar’s advocate. “How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“Well, Diesel hates the Consortium, and Grumbler doesn’t have a communication chip in his ear, see?” Clockwork walked over to the unconscious form of Sod and removed a small trinket from his ear. “Diesel, could you explain what this is? I’m no good with gemtech.”

“Covert communication device. Slip inside ear and near invisible to others. Don’t know how long Sod had. Broken now.” Diesel shrugged.

Clockwork gave a tiny sigh. “Thanks for the help, Diesel.”

“Anything to get back at Consortium.” Diesel shook Clockwork’s real wing carefully before he and Grumbler dragged Sod’s body away, presumably for more “paws on” questioning . The pegasus turned back to the ensemble, and found each member with some varying look of surprise on their face.

“Mganga,” Long Shot placed a forehoof on the zebra’s shoulder. “You alright?”

It was only now that Clockwork realized that Mganga’s expression was not one of surprise, but of fear. “We cannot go to that base.”

“Why not? We know exactly where it is now.”

“Yes,” Uchawi interrupted, “and that is why we cannot go.”

“Would you care to explain, Madam Uchawi?” Switcher asked.

“Come.” the shaman motioned for the group to sit around a nearby fireplace. She withdrew a bottle of green powder from a pouch and tossed it into the flames. A massive column of green smoke rose up, and it quickly separated into vague, pony-esque figures.

“In the plains of the Samara, the land of the golden grass, there is a region where zebras dare not tread. Seven large lakes dot the landscape, and within those lakes live a demonic sea creature.” the figures transformed into the basic shape of a creature Clockwork easily recognized from a few childhood stories, a seapony.

“I am assured you all know the foalhood tales, yes?”

The gathered soldiers expressed their basic knowledge of the subject.

Uchawi continued. “At the end of your tales, they say that they mysteriously disappeared from the seas of the world after some great event caused them to flee.” to Clockwork’s curiosity, Switcher gave a small shiver at the mare’s words.

Long Shot raised his eyebrows and asked, “What’re you getting at, Ma’am?”

Most of the gathered ponies were shocked at the next words out of the mare’s mouth. “The seaponies fled to Zebrica by a great network of rivers that have long dried up, and they changed.”

The smoke figures slowly distorted further and further until all signs that they were seaponies had disappeared. The fins had vanished, leaving long, crooked legs in their place, each knobbly webbed finger bedecked with a horrible claw. Their entire bodies had become far more elongated and scaly, and their manes changed from the smooth flowing ones Clockwork was familiar with into rigid, almost fleshy seaweed-like strands.

“Something happened to the seaponies, no zebra alive knows what, but they changed from the adorable, fun-loving creatures all the land used to know into disgusting monsters that lure the curious to their deaths. They call themselves Kelpies."

Uchawi gave the green haze a swipe with a hoof. A smoke figure of a simple equine soon appeared, as did one of a glittering lake. The vague stallion slowly made its way closer to the lake, apparently to get a drink. “They draw the unlucky nearer and nearer to their homes, and wait for them to get close enough. Then. . . they strike.”

The figure of the earth pony jumped back a bit before being grabbed by a serpentine tail and pulled into the lake. The smoke illusion vanished.

“That, my friends, is why we cannot go to the base. If we do, than many would die from the Kelpies long before we managed to even reach the dogs.”

“So why not try a different route of attack?” Charger asked.

“Think about it,” Clockwork responded, “the Consortium probably knows about the Kelpies and would have massive defenses anywhere the Kelpies aren’t already present. It’s a free defense system.”

“Perhaps we could request precision strikes from Szary?” Charger added.

“U-um. . . that wouldn’t work,” Ndogo, who had stayed quiet for so long, finally spoke up. “I’ve seen the fog myself. I accidentally stumbled into it for a second and I coudn’t see the sun, and it was a perfectly clear day. Besides, the lakes themselves are magical in nature, and have resisted our own attempts at removing them. No doubt they could. . . interfere with magical devices like your airships.”

Long Shot lowered his head in half-defeat. “So airstrikes are useless. The dogs have it all thought out, don’t they?”

“It seems that way, sir,” Switcher replied.

The group was silent for a long moment, each individual trying to determine a safer way in. Eventually, Clockwork spoke. “How thick is the mud there?”

Ndogo thought for a moment. “N-not that thick, why?”

“Can Kelpies get through armor plating?”

Askari spoke up. “Hardly matters if you're drowning. What’re you getting at?”

Clockwork smirked. “We take the tank.”

A thundering “What?” was the reply from all but a slightly quivering Ndogo.

“You heard me. It’s all hermetically sealed gemtech, which means that it can function inside the swamp. Otherwise, there’s no way the dogs would bother setting up camp so deep in. We take the tank, drive straight through the swamp, shoot everything that pops out of the water, and if we’re lucky, the dogs might even mistake us for one of their own and let us into the base with no struggle!”

“The plan’s awfully risky.” Long shot placed a forehoof to his chin. “I love it.”

Uchawi sighed after a moment’s consideration. “Very well then. How many warriors will you need to go with you?”

“A small prison’s worth of unarmed zebras took out a Consortium F.O.B. using only what they scavenged from dead enemies. Unfortunately, I can tell that you can’t spare that kind of marepower right now.” the commander looked to two certain zebras. “Askari, Mganga, you two willing to risk death to save you sister?”

Askari chuckled. “I’d cut your tongue out for asking such a pointless question had I a blade.”

“I would prefer you didn’t, brother.” Mganga chimed in. “Mother, what say you?”

Uchawi sighed. “As long as you two promise to come back alive, I have no objections.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Long Shot nodded. “Meteor Squad, get your supplies ready to go. You all have the remainder of the day to rest. We leave in the morning. Understood?”

“Yessir!”

All In A Day's Work

Clockwork hastily finished off the last of Uchawi’s healing potion before returning to his work. His revolver had been cleaned and oiled, his vest now held as much ammunition as tactically allowed, and somewhat beyond that, and his leg felt a bit better. The pegasus gazed through a hole in his hut’s roof and noticed that it was still overcast, the soft grey light adding to the cryptic atmosphere.

He had helped Diesel and Grumbler fix up their tank. Twilight, Fluttershy, and Applebloom had already sent notes to Szary and the royal sisters regarding the present situation. If he remembered correctly, Twilight had said that even if the squad’s personal airship was ready to teleport at the push of a button and rain pain, it wouldn’t help much, considering that the fog dense fog of the Kelpie Swamp blocked all radio communications as well as hindered any sort of view for air-to-ground strikes. Switcher had restocked on chemicals (as it turns out, a half-hour trip into the Amarezonian Rainforest could restock any chemistry lab in Equestria), Long Shot and Charger’s rifles had been cleaned and oiled, the latter’s gloves tweaked to perfection, and Mganga’s staff had been decorated with personally hoof-crafted charms to supposedly help her in battle. Not that she needed it, but the pegasus wasn’t going to object to a zebra’s mindset, especially hers.

Clockwork’s ears flickered as he heard hoofsteps come from behind them. He looked over his shoulder to find Charger standing in the entryway.

“Hey, Charger.” Clockwork greeted his friend as he returned his attention back to organizing his things.

“Hello, Clockwork.”

“You tired of waiting too?”

“Very.”

“Hmph. . . same here.”

It wasn’t much longer before Charger was looking over her companion’s shoulder. “Would it be correct to assume that you are nervous?”

“What makes you say that?” the pegasus asked without looking at the mare.

“I’ve known you since first grade. I can tell when you’re nervous.”

The stallion nodded. “Fair enough.”

“I must admit that I am a bit confused, though. You devised the plan, you’re the reason we’re going to save Zecora and end the dogs’ campaign in these lands. Why are you so nervous?”

The pegasus sighed. “There’s just so much riding on this operation. If even the slightest thing goes wrong, if anything unexpected happens, the entire mission could be compromised. What’s worse is that-”

Clockwork’s next sentence never left his throat. He felt pressure around his entire midsection. The pegasus looked to find Charger’s forelegs wrapped around him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“We’ll survive this, I’m sure of it,” Charger said, her hot breath tickling Clockwork’s ear. “You said yourself that we have several advantages in this fight, and I see no reason to feel doubt. Neither should you, understand?”

It took Clockwork a few moments to formulate a single word in response. “Okay.” the stallion felt the pressure lessen and turned to see Charger trot out the door.

The rest of the day passed by in a flash, and before Clockwork knew it, he and the rest of the strike force were standing in front of Diesel’s tank. Long Shot had just finished his rousing speech, and the crew were all either loading into the tank or situating themselves on top of it. As Clockwork turned to find a spot on the tank, he felt somepony grab him by his artificial wing.

Before he could ask what the hay was going on, the stallion was spun around and pulled into a kiss by none other than Penyelamat. As quickly as it began, the quaggan mare pulled away, a small blush easily noticeable in her cheeks.

“I - Uhh. . . wait, what?” Clockwork stammered, his mind still attempting to piece together what had just happened.

She only giggled. “A common tradition amongst my people. A kiss is a way to wish one good luck.”

“Umm. . . thanks.” Clockwork's brain still had trouble processing the fact that he had just kissed the zebrican equivalent of a royal sister, a mare he barely knew, and in the middle of a war zone no less. He could taste something on his lips that tasted like a halfway point between mint and blueberries. His general thoughts ranged from “Oh Sweet Celestia, help me” to “Oh Sweet Celestia, I liked it!”

“Hey, Clockwork! You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna help us kick the dogs out of Zebrica?” Long Shot shouted, snapping him back to the present.

“Oh, uh. . .right.” Clockwork made his way onto the top of the tank and took a seat next to Charger, who seemed a bit tense. He looked over his shoulder as the tank started on its journey. The entirety of the village stood there, looks of respect plastered on their faces. To his mild horror, Uchawi gave an all too knowing wink.

Clockwork, in a half-hearted attempt to distract himself from the other soldiers’ banter, thought over the current situation. Himself, Charger, and Long Shot were all perched on what was left the tank’s roof. By contrast, the rest of the squad was inside the tank, with the others either using the hatch or their radios to talk.

Long Shot came down from a short bout of laughter. “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, how long will it take us to reach these Kelpie swamp-whatsits?”

Mganga cleared her throat. “We will enter the accursed plains soon, it not be much longer until we enter the fog from there.”

“Works for me.”

The team continued in relative silence for some time, the sun slowly crossing the horizon as the tank made its way across the plane. They eventually made their way into a flowing sea of golden grass, which earned, in Clockwork’s opinion, an adorable coo from Charger.

The enjoyment of the sea of golden grass was stopped due to a sickeningly wet sound coming from the tank treads, followed by the seemingly magical appearance of a thick fog bank that blotted out everything within a fifteen foot radius

For the first time since joining Meteor Squad, Clockwork heard what sounded like Switcher utterly panicking. “When did this fog appear? How come we had not been made aware of its presence beforehoof?”

“That is another trait of this swamp,” Askari replied. “You don’t notice you’ve entered it until you are far into its depths. A lure of sorts, for this is a beast that only lets you know it has eaten you when you look behind you.”

“I-I assume the cold is a side effect?” Charger asked. Clockwork wrapped his real wing around her. He pulled her a bit closer, earning a tiny squeak.

Mganga responded on the radio, in a far more hushed tone than before. “The swamps are not cold to make one’s teeth chatter, but to instill a sense of unfamiliarity and the need to look over your shoulder. Remember, young one, it is not paranoia if something truly is out to get you!”

Before Clockwork could ask how long they were going to be in the swamp, he felt a harsh chill run down his spine as something grotesque reached his ears.

It was terrible in how calm it was, how simple and wonderful it sounded with just the most horrid undercurrent of foulness that made Clockworks ears feel soiled. Even obscured by the thick fog, they still could hear the singing, warped and twisted it might have been, of creatures long thought dead and gone. In general, he expected to be forced to talk about this whole mission in a few years to his assigned therapist.

Long Shot checked his radio, jiggling it violently before tossing it into the tank through its new sunroof. “Radios are busted, we’re on our own now. Anypony else hearing that?”

“That is the. . . call of the Sea Ponies, sir,” Switcher responded. “It is quite distorted, but I still recognize it. They know we are here. . .”

“How did the Consortium build a base in this?” Charger asked.

“No idea, lightning mare,” Diesel replied. “It possible they have sound-neutralization equipment. Walls of base very thick to block out sound. Could’ve dug around or under lakes, but zebra shaman say swamp-lakes like beehive, all tunnels with openings for seaponies.”

Before anypony could respond, the tank suddenly tipped forward, landing broken cannon-first in a small lagoon. Those on top of the vehicle were thrown into the body of water. However, they quickly resurfaced and helped eachother onto the slightly less wet shore.

“Ack! Diesel, how the hay did you qualify to drive this damn thing?!” Long Shot yelled.

“Not fault! Saw no lake where I was going! Window few paws above ground!”

Long Shot groaned. “Everypony out! Now!”

The teammates quickly regrouped at the side of the tank. The whole vessel was almost standing vertical.

“Fantastic driving, Dog,” Askari muttered through gritted teeth as he whipped around every few seconds, staff drawn.

“Like you could’ve done better, zebra giant. What good your eyes if cannot see better than dog’s?”

“Shh!” Long Shot hushed his allies. The singing/gurgling had gotten. . . closer, all around them.

Shoo Shoo Be Doo. . .

“Weapons at the ready!” Askari yelled. The team eagerly followed the zebra’s command. Clockwork tried several times to shake the black water from his fur and feathers as well, but it never moved. It had actually transformed, turning from flowing water to gelatinous goo. Long Shot was practically clawing at the sludge with little success, and Charger was trying her best to remove it from her gloves.

Shoo Shoo Be Doo. . .

“Stay alert!” Long Shot yelled. “No legend says these things are immune to good old fashioned lead slugs.”

Switcher spoke up. “Actually sir, they-”

The changeling never finished his sentence. A tall, thin black thing suddenly burst from the fog, grabbing Switcher by his neck and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The changeling's helm hung in the air for a moment before impaling itself in the moist ground.

To say that chaos followed would’ve been the greatest understatement Clockwork had ever known. Discord himself would have wept tears of joy.

Several more of the creatures burst from the fog, trying to take more soldiers. One tried to take Mganga, but met a swift end when a blue energy bolt passed clean through its head with a sound akin to something hitting water at high speeds. Before Clockwork could get a good look at the thing, its body turned to black sludge and sank into the marsh. Another one was slammed back into the mist by Askari’s staff, Long Shot downed a few more with careful shots to what might have been heads, and Charger shocked a few to death while shooting a few others. However, Clockwork froze when he turned around and found himself staring into the eyes of a Kelpie.

At first, he was reminded of a pair of ponies from Germaney he knew who had set up a spa just a few miles away from his school. But any sort of comparison to those two admittedly attractive mares ended there. While the thing’s eyes were wide and beckoning, they were not truly pony eyes. No, they were akin to a fish, glossy and with an alien mind behind it. He then noticed her greenish-grey skin, for it was exactly that: furless and inlaid with miniscule scales that glittered unnaturally. He, unfortunately, then noticed her mouth, lipless and perhaps a little too wide to be that of a pony’s, or a mammal's, for that matter. Its teeth were most certainly the Kelpie’s most horrific feature, not because of their jagged shape or their menacing gleam, but because of their color. Its fangs were the purest white Clockwork had ever seen, a terrifying contrast to the rest of it. Looking down, he saw that the creature was easily longer than a pony, giving it a almost eel-like look in the black muck. He doubted it had a back pair of legs, for it moved a bit like a snake. Before he could further examine the horror before him, the creature struck.

Clockwork was suddenly hit so hard on his right side by something that was certainly not a hoof that he was sent spiraling through the air, eventually landing in swamp muck and found himself nearly covered in the black stuff. However, the mud in his mane was quite the least of his worries. He couldn't see anything ten hooves from his own muzzle, and his team was nowhere in sight. The only sound he could hear was the same eerie chant as before, and the quiet sloshing of water.

Shoo Shoo Be Doo. . .

Clockwork found his pistol a short distance away and grabbed it, turning around just in time to point the weapon between an oncoming Kelpie’s eyes and pull the trigger. The creature’s vistage was obliterated in an explosion of black goo, as did the other six that came after it. After a moment of relative peace, the pegasus moved to reload his weapon, only to find that he couldn’t move. His eyes darted to his hooves, and found that some of the black goo that was once the Kelpies had covered him. It had solidified, and he couldn’t move.

He was paralyzed.

Just as the thought entered his mind, Clockwork found another Kelpie on the edge of the midst. It gradually made its way towards the immobile pegasus, and after a few short moments Clockwork realized that not only was it more feminine looking than he had first noticed, but it was the same one that separated him from his teammates. He tried to move, do anything that would prolong his existence amongst the living. But no matter how hard he tried, the stallion couldn’t move, and to his own mild annoyance it seemed like the muck was clinging to his metal wing more than anything, which probably marked the first time it proved to be a liability.

The Kelpie was now standing over the paralyzed pegasus, something akin to a grin on her face, showing an array of perfectly white teeth that Clockwork swore could not have fit in her mouth. Clockwork couldn’t even scream as the Kelpie bent down and began examining the pegasus’ form, likely trying to figure out exactly which part she should eat first or which part, when missing, would cause him to emit the loudest shriek. Eventually, it seemed like the beast came to its decision as the Kelpie decided to just go for the throat.

However, just as Clockwork felt his attacker’s fangs brush against his neck, the vaguely pony-shaped monster recoiled, emitting a shriek somewhere between hatred, fear, and disgust. It scampered off not a moment later but stayed in his view, appearing as those it were trying to wipe its tongue of something.

Clockwork tipped his head to one side, and suddenly realized to his joy that he could move again. He violently shook himself to get rid of as much of the slimy black goo as he could before he flicked his pistol’s hammer, somehow still dry, to fire the shotgun shell. It let out a resounding click!, and the Kelpie spun around.

The two stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the Kelpie suddenly rushed forward, its mouthful of needle-teeth glimmering in the half-light. However, it wasn’t charging with the intent to eat him, but rather to completely annihilate him from the face of the world.

Before Clockwork could fire, he heard an ear splitting shriek that he knew couldn’t have been made by a Kelpie. His opponent stopped in its tracks and looked towards the source of the noise. It actually had a discernable expression on its face: surprise. Not of horror, but of. . . joy?

Clockwork shielded his eyes with one wing as he saw the fog suddenly begin to break apart, the sunlight shining through much harsher than he had remembered. As the fog continued to fade away, Clockwork noticed that he wasn’t that far from the tank, nor were the rest of the team. was dead yet. The pegasus looked upwards to find Switch-7 perched on the tank. He was panting, and only now did Clockwork realize that it was the changeling who had screamed.

Long Shot was still aiming at a Kelpie as he spoke. “Switcher, what in the name of Tartarus was that?!”

“I believe I may have a way of ending this conflict without bloodshed, sir.”

“Seriously?!” Askari asked, trying to wipe the black sludge from his bo staff. “Well, I would love to hear it!”

Switcher nodded to the zebra before letting out a short series of clicks and buzzing sounds. The Kelpie that had attacked Clockwork slithered its way through the muck over to where Switcher stood, reared up to an impressive height, and returned a series of buzzes and hums. Whatever the hay they were saying, Clockwork couldn’t figure it out, nor did anyone else present in the general area. After a while, the two stopped clicking at one another and Switcher turned to Long Shot. “Commander, this is Shle’wikal. She is the leader of these Kelpies, and she believes that we are allies with the Consortium. ”

Long Shot had a look of mild surprise on his face. After a moment of thought, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and trotted up to the Kelpie now identified as Shle’wikal, who then looked down at the, by comparison, little night pony with a look of confusion. “Switcher, how the hay do you know how to communicate with these guys?”

“The ancestry of Kelpies and Changelings is well documented in the hive. It seems so with the Kelpies as well. Our languages are similar as well. We recognize each other even though our previous forms have been distorted significantly.”

“Are you allies?”

Switcher shrugged. “On again off again, though we’ve never gone to war with one another.”

“Alright.” Long Shot nodded. “Ask her why she thinks we’re allies with the dogs.”

Switcher made a short series of clicks and hums. Shle’wikal responded in kind.

“She says that we travel aboard a dog vehicle and have a dog with us.”

“Tell her that they agreed to help us, and we hate the dogs just as much as them.”

“Oi! I thought you said we allies!” Diesel interjected.

“If we have to make one lie to keep this entire operation from going to Tartarus, then by Luna I’m gonna lie.”

“His logic is reasonable, Diesel,” Charger added.

“Hmmph.” the dog crossed his arms and leaned up against his tank.

Switcher and Shle’wikal chattered back and forth for some time. Suddenly, Switcher said something completely unexpected. “She wishes to provide assistance.”

“WHAT?!” everypony who wasn’t a Kelpie shouted in unison. In response, the queen Kelpie looked at Switcher-7, who made another short series of chirps before the large Kelpie’s gaze softened.

“She is. . . surprised, sir,” Switcher explained. “She does not understand why somepony would not accept an offer of assistance.”

“Did she already forget that her subjects tried to kill us less than five minutes ago?!” Long Shot shouted. “I’m all for crazy plans, Tartarus I’ve made most of my career out of them, but I’m not comfortable with the idea of joining up with a species that just tried to eat my flesh.” at that, the seapony queen licked her lips in a rather. . . odd fashion with a thin tongue.

“Sir?” Clockwork asked. The pegasus straightened up a bit, He had never gone against a superior’s orders before. “I think we should accept their offer.”

Long Shot looked towards his comrade. “And why’s that?”

“Well, think about it.” Clockwork began walking to Shle’wikal. “They know this swamp better than anypony else in the world. The dogs invaded their home, likely killed a few in the process, and set up a massive eyesore smack dab in the middle of their swamp! They aren’t hostile towards us, and to be honest, I don’t believe there’s any way in this realm of existence that we can succeed in an all-out assault against the Consortium’s primary base of operations with only seven soldiers, no matter how good we are.” the pegasus now stood directly in front of the Kelpie queen. He held out his hoof. “I plan on living to see the end of the first war Equestria has experienced in over a millenia. Do you?”

After a short burst of hums from Switcher, the Kelpie queen lifted her not-hoof as well. Clockwork gently took it in his and shook.

There was a moment of silence before Long Shot sighed. Clockwork found him slowly nodding his head. “Okay, Clockwork. I’ll take your word on this one. Anypony disagree with genius brain over here?”

“I support him,” Charger replied.

“As do I. Clockwork’s logic and reasoning are sound,” added Switcher.

“What about the rest of you?”

Both Askari and Mganga nodded simultaneously.

“Alright then.” Long Shot made his way over to Shle’wikal and shook her hoof as well. “We’ll join forces, take down the Consortium’s base, and see where it goes from there.

The Kelpies had helped the team in more ways than one. First, they had actually flipped the tank back over on its treads, cleaned it until Clockwork could see his reflection in the armor, and then apologized for the incident before. Next, they had parted a large portion of the fog, enough for the team to see where they were going, but just enough was left alone so the Consortium base wouldn’t see the tank coming. Clockwork never saw another Kelpie, only the swishing of there long tails and there omipresent singing giving away there existance, and as such never saw just how many were around the tank. The trek was quiet though, as everypony knew what was about to happen. Charger decided to try and lighten the immediate atmosphere, as the fact that she was on a metal box surrounded by flesh-eating mythical pony beasts creeped her out more than a little bit..

“Clockwork?”

The pegasus’ ears flickered at the mention of his name before looking at the source of the voice. “Yes?”

“That was a rather. . . impressive little speech you pulled of, standing up to the commander and all.”

The colts eyes widened a bit in disbelief. “You think so?”

Charger nodded, a smile dawning on her muzzle.

“Heh. Thanks,” Clockwork replied. “I guess I’m alright with on the spot persuasive arguments, eh?”

“That you are.”

“By Luna’s mile-wide purple plot! If you two are trying to build up to a kiss then do it already!” Long Shot exclaimed from the other side of the tank. The added sounds of laughter and eerie chanting could be heard off into the mist.

Both ponies blushed red enough that their cheeks could’ve been mistaken for tomatoes. “Well pardon me for trying to make friendly conversation!” Charger replied. “We all know what’s about to happen! Don’t you think it would be best if we experienced at least some lightheartedness before we went on what’s practically a suicide mission?!”

"I get the sense that isn’t what you really wanted to experience."

“Did you say something, commander?” Switcher asked.

“Nah. Anyway, speaking of suicide missions, take a look at our twelve.”

Everyone, including the nearby Kelpies, followed the commander’s suggestion. They all had the same look on their faces: disbelief. It was then that Clockwork learned just how far a Kelpie could open its mouth.

At first, the stallion thought it was a massive castle, but upon further inspection, he realized that the base was in fact made of the same alabaster white steel as the other doggish constructions he had seen. It wasn’t as big as he expected, but it was still massive nonetheless.

“Well, it looks like the Dogs have a thing for nostalgia,” Long Shot chimed, his voice equal parts sarcasm and disbelief.

“How did the dog’s build that?” Charger asked.

“We fast builders,” Diesel replied. “That not entire base. If Consortium still one I defected from, tunnels everywhere underneath.”

“Do you have any idea how deep these tunnels may be?” Mganga asked, looking so high upwards that she was practically craning her neck at this point.

“Not stationed here. Sod, Grumbler, and I based at F.O.B.”

“I see.”

“However,” Diesel added, “tunnels likely not very far or deep in swamp. Dig too deep, dogs get wet. Dig too far, dogs get wet and eaten.”

“So we shouldn’t have too much of a problem,” Long Shot replied. “How big will these tunnels be?”

“Depends. Consortium been here less than two months. Likely tunnels big enough to fit fat cow. Dogs like elbow room. And paw room. Tank room to.”

“Alright everypony, this is it!” the commander shouted. “We ready?”

Askari let out a burst of air through his nose. “Today’s a good day to save a tribe queen!”

“And an even better day to save a sister,” Mganga added.

The Kelpies as a whole emitted something between a wet buzzing and a whooping cheering. Diesel quickly shushed them. “Alright, let’s see if dogs fall for it.” the canine’s voice echoed over the tank’s speakers. A few growls were sent out, and a few in a new voice returned. The fortress’ massive gate swung open with a industrial hiss, and the tank gradually made its way inside. The fog followed in kind. Nopony spoke as they entered the base. The thick fog kept them hidden, but not for long. The tank stopped in its tracks, and everypony silently slid off. Clockwork slid his goggles over his eyes, knowing what was to come.

The fog lifted just a bit, and Clockwork could see dogs literally disappearing into the mist. There were howls, barks, grunts, whimpers, shrieks, but it was all shut out by the firing of the squad’s weapons and the wet tearing sound of feasting Kelpies. Shle’wikal raised a great fog bank inside the walls, the rescue had begun.

After a brief sprint, Clockwork and his teammates arrived in front of a massive door, constructed out of the same white steel as everything else the dogs had. Most notably, however, was the gang of Kelpies that had already made their way past the silent dead and were currently attempting to tear it down with their hoof-things and fangs.

At long last, Clockwork was finally able to get a look at the pony-eating creatures in whole. Most were rather small, only reaching up to just past Clockwork’s head, but Shle’wikal was massive. Her head was only a bit longer than a pony’s, but she was easily three times longer than him and probably as wide around as a cider barrel at her widest. It was only now that Clockwork realized how serpentine the species was, with her fishlike tail and her hide of tiny scales. Clockwork couldn’t help but wonder how quickly her kind could swim in water and how much danger he was in when he was in their lake. Her coiling around him alone could have popped his midsection like a balloon, and he knew her mouth was wide enough to fit an entire pony's head without much issue. Clockwork was more than happy that they had chosen to be allies, lest his mortal form be reduced to a shiny metal wing sunken into the swamp’s peat.

As Clockwork was thinking about how the watery creatures could render him dead in seconds, the huge queen of said watery creatures turned her head in Switcher’s general direction and buzzed wetly.Switcher responded in kind and, after a few such exchanges, spoke to Long Shot without turning his head away from the giant kelpie queen.

"Sir, Madam Shle’wikal claims that she and her sisters may have found where the Consortium is holding Zecora," he announced, sounding slightly down-put.

"Are they sure?” the Nocturni asked. “They don’t even know what Zecora looks like."

"Madam Shle'wikal says that she and her sisters smell 'dead smoke and many striped ponies' behind this wall. I can only assume that means yes.”

"The dogs have more than one of our kind behind that?" Mganga asked, her eyes wide with shock.

"All Consortium bases have big prisons. Consortium like gloating," Diesel explained. Mganga looked at Grumbler, and the silent dog nodded.

"Well, it looks like we're gonna have to go find something that can punch through this door," Askari noted through gritted teeth.

"Diesel, where would the closest armory be?" Clockwork asked.

"Base bigger underneath, armory likely there," the dog replied, a grim undertone easily detectable in his voice.

"Hmmm. . ." Clockwork tapped his chin with one hoof. The rest of the strike team, even the zebras, started throwing out ideas. After a few seconds, Clockwork spoke.

"Let's hope my shoulder holds up.Everypony please stand back."

It seemed like everyone knew exactly what Clockwork was about to attempt, and as one took a few steps back. Shle'wikal and her underlings followed suit.

Clockwork rolled his shoulders and flared out his prosthetic. With a mighty heave, he rushed forward and stabbed at the door. Much to his surprise, there was remarkably little resistance. After peeling out a hole in the steel large enough for Askari to fit through, the group found themselves staring into an eerie blackness that even the Kelpies shied away from.

“Doesn’t seem too welcoming a place,” Long Shot stated matter-of-factly. “Are our fishy allies sure Zecora’s down there?”

“Positive.” Switcher nodded.

Clockwork shrugged as he stepped inside the improvised doorway and fumbled around for a bit. Dog eyesight wasn’t nearly as good as their sense of smell, so surely this place had to have some sort of-

“Ah-ha!” Clockwork felt his hoof come to rest on what he hoped to be a light switch. Taking a gamble, he flicked it, hoping that he hadn’t activated some sort of self-destruct or alarm.

Luckily, Clockwork’s fears were for naught at a few lights flickered on and the almost comforting sounds of steam blowing and gears turning filled the room. As the rest of his team entered the base, the lights gradually flickered on.

“Nice work, kid.” Long Shot gave Clockwork’s undamaged shoulder a light punch. “Now, where the hay are we?”

Clockwork turned around and felt boulders come to rest in his stomach. Before the strike team was a massive staircase, far too big for practical uses and more likely just for show. It was marble-white, as was much of the surrounding area. Clockwork detected a familiar scent and instinctively took several steps in the opposite direction.

Much to the team’s surprise, Switcher hurried down several steps, taking in gulps of air as he did. His insectoid brow furrowed in concentration, and said concentration quickly dissolved into fear as he turned back to his comrades. “Sir, Zecora is somewhere in here, but I also detect corruption and. . . there is. . . something else here.”

“Something else?” Long Shot asked.

“It is difficult to explain. A mix of things, none of which are pleasant.” Switcher took in one last gasp of air. “I taste brass, steam, oil, fear. . . death that. . . isn’t truly dead.”

“Zombies or not, we’re going down there to get my sister back.” Askari took a broad stance, quickly checking his bo staff for any possible damage that may hinder its perfromance. “Now who’s with me?!” Askari half-yelled.

The team descended the massive staircase, followed closely by Shle'wikal and a choice few of her Kelpies. All were afraid of what may lay below the surface.

And rightly so.

Despite active sunstone fixtures placed evenly amongst the immense hallways, they did little to calm the strike team as they continued through the underground portion of the base. Diesel was right when he had said that dog bases were bigger underground. They had already breached at least two dozen different entryways, only to be greeted by angry dogs, which in turn would be greeted with bullets.

Clockwork wiped a bit of debris off his jacket, and decided to finally ask the obvious. “Switcher, why haven’t we found Zecora yet? You and the Kelpies said there were zebras down here.”

Switcher turned around, gripping his head in pain. He shuddered and spoke through gritted teeth. “The smells of anger, fear, lost hope, death, such powerful and disgusting emotions, they are all around us. My sincerest apologies, sir, but my sensory abilities are useless now until we leave this tunnel network.”

“Sorry, sorry, always with the apologies. So we can’t find my sister just because you can’t smell?!” Askari shoved past his comrades before stopping in front of Switcher, muzzles inches apart. “I swear, if she dies, you’re gonna learn what zebras do to captured Fey.”

“Cease your drivelling complaints!” the changeling exclaimed in reply. “All you have done since we embarked on this mission is complain, yell, and direct your frustration towards me! Stow your hatred or I will be forced to do what is necessary!”

Askari let out a hot breath through his nose with a heavy grunt. “You not only forget your place, bug, but you size and strength in comparison to mine.”

Mganga bared her teeth, coming nose-to-nose with her sibling. “And you forget that I am currently capable of ending your life seventeen different ways without so much as-”

“Both of you! SHUT. UP!” Clockwork leveled his artificial wing, now resembling a warped blade straight out of Tartarus, and swung it at both warriors. Both blocked his attack at once, but neither side could make any further move. Clockwork had put them in a deadlock. “If I have to listen to either one of you bicker at each other for five more seconds, I will personally carve out both of your throats and hang them over the next mantlepiece I find!”

Clockwork gritted his teeth as the fire ruby embedded in his shoulder glowed a much harsher red than normal. With a single heave, he pushed his new opponents. All three combatants now had their weapons pointed at one another. Clockwork grinned menacingly and spoke again. “Neither of you will win this little skirmish. My wing’s far stronger than your puny exoskeleton, Switcher. I hit you at high enough speeds and you’ll shatter like glass.. And you,” Clockwork turned to Askari. “like that pathetic excuse for a staff could even touch me! My wing would cleave through you and that stick in one go! Now, who wants to try and fight me first!?”

The only reply Clockwork heard was the steady rumbling of steam blowing and gears turning. The pegasus giggled, a small, creepy sound that carried over the machinery. “Well then, if you two don’t understand, perhaps I’ll have to show you!” Clockwork charged forward.

Switcher and Askari’s eyes widened in fear. So did Shle’wikal’s, but not at his charge. Surprised, Clockworked stopped short and looked at her. The wicked grin faded from his muzzle when he realized that her look of terror wasn’t meant for him, but something off in the distance.

The Kelpie queen was staring down a tunnel. Clockwork could read sorrow on her narrow face. She chattered something that Switcher translated with a grim undertone. “She senses agony, sorrow, fear. Other kelpies are there. Dogs, griffons, and zebras as well.”

“What?” asked everypony but Clockwork. The pegasus immediately started down the tunnel at full gallop. He wanted to find Zecora, but he also needed to escape the terrified looks of his allies. His head hurt again, and he swore he saw green at the edge of his vision. Was the Battlefright still—

Clockwork flared out his wings as an improvised airbrake and came to a dead halt when he noticed the last thing he expected that day: his own reflection. The pegasus looked around, saw a light switch nearby, flicked it on, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The room lit up with a much more sterile white light similar to a hospital operating room. It was much larger than anywhere else the strike team had explored in the base so far, and the area was structurally different as well. It wasn’t a collection of tunnels, but one massive, white-paneled room. The wall where Clockwork had seen his reflection was lined from top to bottom with mirrored cells of some sort. It smelled more like Battlefright here than anywhere else. Clockwork tasted bile in his throat. He started slowly toward the cells, but before he could get close, he heard the rest of the squad plus three enter the room. They all had similar looks of fear and confusion on their faces.

“Wait, so where the hay are we now?” Long Shot asked.

Diesel grimly replied “Best pony translation something between ‘prison’ and ‘experiment center’.” the dog bolted inside and began looking around, sniffing the air. “Place recently abandoned. Dogs know they losing, but—” the hound cut himself off as he darted around the room. “They leave prisoners behind. . . distraction maybe? Keep us busy freeing prisoners?”

“Well I guess they didn’t expect us to come here on a rescue mission. Thanks a lot for leaving my sister where I could find her, you inbred sons of—”

Askari never finished his sentence. A low but noticeable moan echoed throughout the room. Everypony turned and raised their weapons at the source of the sound. One of the cells at the end of the room was creaking open, and there was a. . . thing crawling out. It looked vaguely like a donkey, but it crawled on two legs. Its jaw was gone, and its red tongue lolled down its neck. One eye glowed bright purple. The other was sewn shut. Clockwork didn’t bother trying to figure out what it was, and fired a round between its eyes before anypony else could, hoping to end its life painlessly. He felt no remorse in the act.

Nopony moved or made a noise for a good five seconds after that. Finally, Charger shakily aimed her Grand at the twitching corpse. “What. . . was that?”

Clockwork hurried over to a blinking light by the abomination’s cell and began smashing the console’s keyboard, desperately trying to make it work. Thank Faust that a diamond dog’s finger was just as large as a pony’s hoof. He cried out in frustration when further mashing didn’t tell him what had just happened. “Gah! Diesel, what the hay does this say?”

The dog loped over to the pegasus’ side. “I thought you said you fast learner?”

“You never taught me more than basic stuff! I can only get something about an experiment and extensive surgery! I’m an engineer, dammit, not a hacker!”

“Then why you try hacking?”

“Just translate it!”

The dog did so immediately. “Experimentation chamber, cell 001. Subject: Donkey trader found starving at end of Zebrican borders. Legs lost due to Kelpie interference. Eyes removed, one currently replaced with C-23 enhancement. Implantation first prototype translators scheduled. Lower jaw removed for easier access to vocal cords. Will update progress when-”

The dog couldn’t finish his translation, as the screen’s symbols quickly began to reconfigure into a new pattern. Only one line remained, and this one Clockwork could understand.

Your mercy is your downfall.

Before Clockwork could really wrap his mind around that, the low moaning had returned, much louder this time. There were more cells sliding open, and more cybernetic things dropping to the floor. Clockwork thought he recognized dogs, griffons, and zebras. Fortunately, they had no weapons, and their deaths were quick. Long Shot nudged one of the dead griffons with his hoof, and looked up to see another few cells open above them, the machinery and the prisoners moaning together.

“Kid, Diesel. . ?”

“Sir?”

“FIND ZECORA NOW!”

It was obvious that the order didn’t apply just to the two soldiers Long Shot had mentioned. Everyone set to work bashing down cells doors and killing whatever cybernetic creatures appeared long before they could threaten the team. After more than a dozen cells, Clockwork had to stop. He felt like giving up. Zecora had probably been converted into one of these weird glowy zombie things by now. For all he knew, she had already been shot!

Clockwork fired his LeMane’s shotgun round and reloaded. The weapon’s cylinder clicked back into place like it always had, but he heard something else too. It was coming from the cells. He turned around and pressed his ear to the glass.

It was weak, but somepony was knocking!

Clockwork tried to break the glass, but it wouldn’t shatter. Surprised, the pegasus called Diesel over and the two began to furiously work at the cell’s console. The glass acted like a mirror, so Clockwork couldn’t see who was knocking, but by Celestia he was going to try and save the only snetient captive they’d found in this room!

Despite the constant moaning and gunfire in the background, the two soldiers made some progress, eventually reaching the “subject identity” screen. Diesel’s eyes went wide as he read through it.

“Cell 029. Subject believed to be predominant zebra clan leader. No experimentation yet, may change in future. Resistant to all interrogation techniques currently implemented. Injecting weakened gas strain of Battlefright into cell at gradual yet steady rate to see if resolve weakens. Will report when-”

“CHARGER!” Clockwork yelled.

The mare shocked one more zombie thing and shot two more before running over to her allies and pressing her gloved forehooves to the console’s screen. After a brief yet impressive burst of electricity, the door rapidly slid open and Switcher tossed a beaker of luminescent green liquid into the pitch-black room. It shattered against the floor, bathing the cell in its artificial light. Clockwork found Zecora leaning against the back wall, gently lifted her with both wings, and placed her on Askari’s back. In what seemed like mere moments, they were back on the surface.

“Is this mission. . . accomplished?” Mganga asked in between heavy pants.

“Technically. It really depends on whether she’s alive or not,” Long Shot responded, not even displaying the mildest sign of fatigue.

Askari laid Zecora on the ground and pressed an ear to her chest. Clockwork thought he saw the warrior’s eyes water. “She’s alive. . oh thank the spirits she’s alive. . .”

“Thank Switcher,” Long Shot chimed.

Askari raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Switcher, would do the honors?”

“Of course, sir.” the changeling trotted over to Zecora and pulled a small vial of golden fluid out of his vest. He removed the top and let the liquid trickle into Zecora’s open mouth. After a few seconds, the mare bolted upright and spat out some greenish-yellow fluid.

“Whatever that was, it was not Colgate’s toothpaste! What in the name of decency was the bitterness I have just taste?!”

“Apologies, Tribe Queen Zecora, but awakening solution is extremely bitter,” Switcher explained. “I will try to change that the next time I have access to the proper chemical modification equipment.”

Before Zecora could respond, she was swept into a hug by her brother and sister as a few nearby Kelpies let out a cheerful whooping. Zecora and her family were crying, but Clockwork couldn’t help but smile. For a moment. As quickly as it had appeared, he wiped the smile from his face, and stood up.

“Chuma Mrengo, your blood is still flowing, why is it back to the base that you are going?” Zecora asked.

Clockwork started walking. “I’m gonna get rid of this base and see if we missed anyone.”

“What?” everypony asked in almost perfect unison.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Clockwork continued.

“Sir, Zecora has a valid point,” Switcher said. “As a unified force, we narrowly escaped with our lives trying to save a single individual. You will not survive assaulting the base alone in an attempt to destroy it.”

“I know what I’m up against now. I should have an easier time, I think I know exactly where the power sources that keep this base functional are, and I have to talk to somepony.”

“Kid, listen to yourself.” Long Shot hurried forward and grabbed Clockwork by his real wing. “If you want to commit suicide, just shoot yourself in the head. It’ll be much easier and way less painful.”

“Not only that,” Switcher interrupted, “but we could learn so much about the Consortium from this single base! We could advance the Alliance’s technology further, perhaps even fight the dogs with their own weapons on a significantly larger scale!”

Clockwork ceased all motion for a good ten seconds before speaking again. “The information in that base is corrupted, poisoned, tarnished and stained with the bloods of hundred of innocents, maybe thousands. No matter what we could do with it, we’d be degrading ourselves to let it continue to exist. Most, if not all, of the dogs here are dead thanks to the Kelpies. If you don’t want to help me, then that’s okay. But if you try to stop me, you will regret it.” The pegasus smelled Battlefright again, but couldn’t trace it. Again, nopony spoke.

As Clockwork was about to start forward again, he heard another pony come up beside him. He didn’t need to look to tell that it was Charger.

“I’ll go with you,” she half-whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Good friends never leave each other out in the open.”

“Agreed.” the pegasus turned around. “Long Shot, you have a back up plan?”

The Nocturni grinned. “Oh do I ever.” Long Shot turned around himself and addressed the team. “Switcher, take a team and salvage anything from the top of the base only. Take nothing that involves the experiments we saw. Switcher, tell Shle’wikal to clear out her family and help her as needed. Clockwork and Charger will need clear lines of sight. Diesel, Grumbler, stay here and get any refugees that come this way back to Mji Mkuu.”

“What about you, Commander?” Mganga asked.

“I’m no good with advanced magic. never have been. I’ll take Zecora with me and teleport to Nyumbani. I’ll get her treated and have the Elements call in Szary for precision strikes. We clear?”

‘Yessir!”

Clockwork wiped the sweat from his forehead as he continued back down into the base. Shle’wikal had said that her sisters had found something grumbling and humming near the experimentation chamber, as well as copious amounts of those demonic zombie things

The pegasus held his breath as another group of the hellish creatures passed mere meters away from where he hid. They were much more plentiful now, and Clockwork and Charger had killed more than a few on their trek. Any second now they would open another door and- wait a sec, is that. . . knocking?

Clockwork tilted his head as he heard a series of rapidly paced knocks, followed by a short bout of silence before some more knocks. The sound distracted the local group of mechanical demons long enough for Clockwork and Charger to take them down and approach the door. Clockwork reloaded his pistol, and after a nod from Charger, he knocked on the door.

The last voice Clockwork expected to hear that day answered. “H-Hello? Is there anyone out there? Anyone friendly, perhaps?”

Charger’s look of surprise rivaled her ally’s. “Is that. . ?”

“Shhh,” Clockwork whispered. He gestured towards a small console next to the door. With only nod, Charger snuck over to it, tapped a few keys, and doggish symbols began running across the glowing screen. After a few seconds, and some translation from Clockwork, the dup reached a screen with recent command entries. Clockwork felt a surge of anger rise in his chest when he discovered that the order to open the cell doors, as well as that cryptic message, had been sent from this console.

Clockwork felt something click in his mind and everything fell into place. Seastone had sent the order. He knew where the squad was. The pegasus ran a hoof down his shoulder, feeling the scarred tissue that had replaced the bite shaped wound. Seastone had done something to him. He knew that the bite would get infected, but what he didn’t count on was Uchawi.

After another few moments of thought, Clockwork made his way back to the door and knocked again. “Seastone, is that you?”

“Pony?!” How did- Never mind, I unlock door now.”

The metal door slid open, and a small light flickered on inside of the room. It was a storage shed, though almost entirely empty. The only item of interest was Seastone himself, who was now huddling against a wall. “Clockwork! You not dead! Huzzah!”

The pegasus tilted his head and smirked. “Should I be?”

“Ehh, never mind.” Seastone raised a paw and waved it in front of his face. Clockwork made his way inside, followed closely by Charger, and helped the dog to his shaking paws. “Consortium found out I helped you, thrown in here. No food or water for days. Must leave now!”

“Not without Zecora.” Clockwork shook his head. “The squad came here looking for her, and we’re not leaving without her,” the pegasus lied.

“Zebra leader? Oh!” the dog’s eyes lit up. "I take you to her now! Come!”

The blue-grey dog started forward, but Clockwork pulled him back.

“Clockwork? What are you-”

“Shut up, mutt!” Clockwork yelled as he punched the dog square in the muzzle. The dog stumbled back a small distance before being punched again. He fell against a wall and slid down it to the floor, a look of terror plastered across his muzzle. “Wh-what you doing?”

“Getting answers, that’s what!” Clockwork screamed. In response, Seastone drew a hidden pistol from somewhere, but Clockwork saw it, grabbed it, and crushed it with his artificial wing. “Do you see this?!” the pegasus pointed at his left shoulder, the scars from the dog’s teeth clearly visible. “What the hay did you do to me?!”

“Only bit in self defen—” Clockwork struck him again.

“Liar!” Clockwork yelled. “There was attlefright in that wound, and I hadn't encountered it before then! What the hay did you do?!”

Much to the duo’s surprise, Seastone began laughing. Loudly, at that. It was as if somepony took away the skittish, half-neurotic mutt from before and replaced him with a much more confident canine. “Alright, I may as well be straight with you, since you obviously aren’t going to let up. Yes, I bit you and hoped you would die. I certainly didn’t expect you to survive, but I guess that’s my fault for not biting harder. I guess I should’ve just—”

Charger punched the dog this time, and with an electrified glove as well. "Tell him what he wants."

Seastone rubbed his muzzle. "Alright, alright." he cleared his throat. “I am not a simple soldier within the Consortium, but a scientist. My greatest invention was a Battlefright capsule, small enough to implant in my own teeth. There was enough in each tooth for a lethal dose, and yet you, Clockwork, somehow survived. There’s something special about-” Clockwork punched him again, resulting in the dog’s nose running with blood. “Jeez, you ever gonna stop with that?”

Clockwork drew his pistol, flicked the hammer, and pressed the barrel to the dog’s head. “Listen to me, mutt,” The pegasus said through gritted teeth, “you’re going to explain yourself, and if you make one more sarcastic remark, I’m gonna learn a new way to paint a wall red faster than you can scream for help. Understand?”

“Huh,” Seastone chuckled, wiping a small drop of blood from his mouth,” “looks like the special batch really messed with you. I’m surprised that you haven’t broken down completely yet.”

Instead of firing, Clockwork raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“I don’t know the specifics, heck, almost no dog really does, but Battlefright doesn’t just ruin your body, it ruins your mind. I guess it hasn’t really screwed with you too much, considering your mental capacity.”

Clockwork tightened his grip and pressed the barrel a bit harder against Seastone’s head. “How do you know that?” the pegasus asked.

“Common sense, silly filly. You’re the first pegasus I’ve ever seen with a wing like that. You’re not even twenty and yet you’re somehow part a special forces unit. You were able to figure out that I wasn’t all that friendly during our first meeting. Finally, you managed to fight through, how many people to get to me? Ten? twenty? ”

“Thirty seven,” Clockwork corrected the dog.

“Anyways, you’re going insane, but only at a much slower rate than the average single-minded striped-” Clockwork’s whipped the dog with the butt of his pistol. After rubbing his head for a moment, he commented “Jeez, you really like kicking the dog, don’t ya?”

“Who are you?” Clockwork and Charger asked simultaneously.

“So now you want to know who I am? Took you two long enough.” Seastone shook his head for a moment. “Alright. My name is still Seastone, but I’m not just some soldier. I was one of the top scientists at this facility until you sons of bitches showed up and started tearing this place apart.”

“What did you work on?” Charger asked, her gloves and tail sparking as she did.

Seastone smirked. “Nice gloves you got there, wonder what you look like without ‘em on.”

Clockwork hit Seastone, much harder this time. “You disrespect her one more time, and the last thing you’ll hear is this trigger being pulled.” Clockwork waved his pistol in front of Seastone’s nose, then pressed the barrel back against the dog’s cranium. “Answer the damned question.”

“Sheesh. You two are a piece of work. I know members of the Red Order who would have died by now, yet you kids seem to be some special snowflakes your princesses have whipped up.” Seastone looked back at Charger, who was now gritting her teeth. “I was in charge of modifying strains of Battlefright a bit to see what would happen. Nothing special, really. I added a pinch of gem dust in one batch, some native poisonous herbs in the other, I didn’t work on the Discordants or anything.”

Charger jumped on his words. “The what?”

“Some fancy science project Dad started a few days before the war. It’s similar to Project Rebirth, but there are more than a few key diff—oop!” Seastone put a finger over his lips like he was about to accidentally give away what was inside a foal’s birthday present. “Can’t tell you everything now, can I?”

“You can start with who your dad is,” Clockwork said. “Maybe we can find him later and—”

Seastone let out a wheezy laugh. “Oh please, like you could get to Dad even if I told you who he is!”

“You’d be surprised at what Meteor Squad has accomplished thus far,” Charger added. “Tell us the name.”

“Fine, fine. He’s a rather popular figure in the Consortium, to say the least. Perhaps you’ve heard of a Diamond Dog called—” the next sound the the dog made was a pained shriek as a massive black spike pierced his side. The spike had appeared out of the wall behind the dog and had gone clean through the left side of his torso, impaling itself in the opposite wall. It pinned Seastone’s liver to the wall, along with his left kidney and a few other organs. His lungs mustn't have been too damaged, as he managed to continue speaking.

“That bitch!” the dog yelped, trying to look over his left shoulder. “We had. . . an agreement!”

Clockwork looked at the spike. He didn’t recognized it, but knew whatever was the owner of it meant trouble. "Charger, back up!”

The mare did so, electricity jumping more frequently now along her gloves and tail. Clockwork removed his pistol from Seastone’s head and aimed it at the wall from which the black spike had emerged. “Tell me the names.”

“Which. . . ones?” Seastone asked, blood pouring from his mouth.

“Family.”

“Gravelbeard’s the. . . youngest of us, Fido is half-brother. Rex is biggest brother. . . next in line for throne, he’s the only one allowed to. . . have pups.”

“On whose authority?”

“Papa’s. . . Greystone’s!” the dog let out one last panicked yelp before the wall behind him literally collapsed on top of him. A good distance away from the new hole stood a thing that currently held the award for most horrifying thing Clockwork had ever laid eyes on.

The beast looked like something out of a foal’s sugar-induced nightmare times a thousand. It vaguely resembled a changeling queen, though it sported two extra pairs of legs, each with a demonic hoof-pincer hybrid at the base. Though, its foremost legs were instead a pair of massive claws akin to that of a a great crustacean. One leg was missing its makeshift javelin though, leading the duo to realize that the spear that ended Seastone had been forcefully launched. It wielded a massive curled tail similar to that of a scorpion’s, complete with a venom-dripping barb. Its eyes glowed a vicious shade of orange as it bared its yellow-white fangs. A second later, it let out an ear-splitting shriek.

Without thinking, Clockwork unfurled his prosthetic and set it it front of him like Not a moment later, a chitinous, black spike almost pierced Clockwork's wing.

The pegasus was sweating, not from the absurd amount of heat that had just entered the room, but because for the first time in a while, he was scared beyond the capacity for rational thought. Except. . . wait a second, heat?

Clockwork opened a tiny sliver in his barrier and peered through. He felt his eye grow hot almost instantly, but that wasn’t all he noticed. The steady rhythm of grinding gears a steam had increased a dozen times over. Was the scorpion-thing really. . . was it actually as simple as—

Clockwork was wrenched back into the world of the present as a now familar projectile impacted his makeshift shield. Just as the words "Oh come on!" finished leaving his mouth, the stallion was propelled into what seemed to be the Consortium’s engine room. After righting himself and trying in vain to remove the blinding pain in his head, Clockwork took a quick glance around the room and noticed something; this base was far too large for ground as weak and wet as the swamp’s to support it, and the engine keeping the entire base from sinking into the swamp was massive. Pipes runned the length of what Clockwork assumed was the monster’s personal chambers. What’s more was that there were only a few gems scattered about the room, probably as back ups. The pegasus would’ve laughed to himself about how the dogs were using a supposedly “inferior” technology to their own were it not for the demonic scorpion-like monster charging straight for him.

Clockwork’s first thought was to take to the skies, but that plan was grounded, quite literally, by the fact that he was in a cave, and, well, his wing was severely bent out of shape now. Even if he did take flight, touching even a single one of those pipes would likely burn him severely enough to take him out of the fight, permanently if the scorpion-changeling managed to get to him. Instead, the soldier darted to the right, narrowly avoiding the screeching monster. It skidded to a halt mere inches from a steam pipe, and judging from its reaction, those pipes were much hotter than Clockwork had expected.

The pegasus looked around once more and noticed Charger standing on the opposite side of the room. She was clearly horrified by what she was seeing, but she didn’t seem too out of it. Clockwork took a gamble and shouted his comrade’s name. She responded in kind.

“Time to put those gloves of yours to work!”

“What?!” The mare yelled.

Clockwork smirked. “I’m gonna get this thing as riled up as I can. When I give the word, you light up those gloves with as much power as you can. Got it?”

Charger nodded.

“Excellent. You might wanna leave the room, it’s going to get really hot in here.”

Before Charger could respond, Clockwork bolted off and towards the Corrupted queen. This time though, he was on the offensive.

“Woohee!” the pegasus let out a strained laugh. “I can tell why they put you so far underground. There’s no way mental images of your messed up excuse for a face will pass through all this crystal, brass, and dirt!”

The Tartarus escappe screeched again, raising a third leg. Clockwork’s eyes lit up a bit as he splayed himself out to create as large a target as possible. “Ooh, that make you mad? Well, why not go ahead and shoot me?! C’mon, I’m right here!”

The queen shrieked again, and fired off another spike. Clockwork effortlessly rolled to the side and dodged it, the projectile embedding itself in the brass pipe directly behind where the pegasus used to be. A harsh blast of steam shot out and hit the queen square in the face. It screamed not in anger this time, but in pain. It flailed wildly, ripping another pipe. It finally managed to shield itself from the burning water with its tail and massive claws, but only barely. It glared at Clockwork again, this time baring its twisted, saliva dripping fangs.

“Daaang!” Clockwork yelled while still buzzing around the queen like a hummingbird. “Looks like that steam actually helped out with your look!”

The pegasus continued with his barrage of insults until the room was just about boiling. Clockwork narrowly avoided the queen's sixth and final spike, then bolted towards Charger. He took to the air for just a moment, stumbling his landing but not falling.

“Charger, zap this bug!”

Both ponies sprinted out of the room and a good distance down the hall. Just as Charger cleared the hot, heavy mist, she sent a spark down the tip of her tail.

The electricity made contact with the steam, and the scorpion demon let out the most horrific sound the duo had ever heard. Clockwork felt like he would shatter from the force of the scream, and he pressed his wings to his ears to try and block out the sound. Charger pressed her forehooves to her ears, stopping as she did. After what seemed like an eternity of pure Tartarus for the ears, the screaming stopped, and both ponies turned around. Clockwork could hear Charger’s hooves on the metal floor. It was a miracle they hadn’t gone deaf. They crept back the way they came, and looked around the corner of the small accessway to the enemy’s chambers.

A single, massive black claw was lying in the entryway. It wasn’t the same black as before though. It was charred black and smoking. The smell was indescribable, and both ponies held their noses.

“Clockwork?”

The pegasus suppressed the urge to laugh. Charger certainly sounded funny with her nose pinched shut. “Yes, Charger?”

“We killed it, but how exactly are we going to collapse the base? ”

“Oh, I had a plan, a double header kind of.” Clockwork gestured towards the dead queen’s claw. “That steam engine was the only thing keeping this whole place from becoming a bog. The engine itself was steam based, and the queen took care of the pipes. The massive amount of electricity you just let loose overloaded whatever gems were that engine’s back up.”

Both ponies’ eyes went wide as they felt the surrounding area rumble. Neither pony spoke, knowing that they would’ve just shouted the same word: RUN!

And run they did. The duo passed feral zombie-things, horrified dog stragglers, and all sorts of rubble as the base literally came crashing down around their shoulders. Clockwork thought they weren’t going to make it and was about to tell Charger of his feelings for her in that stereotypical “final moments” kind of way before the mare beside him pointed out something ahead of them. It wasn’t another sunstone. No, it was more grey and dull than that. It was the sunlight above the base. They were about to make it!

Clockwork spread his wings and took hold of Charger, then flapped his wings as fast and as hard as he could. The pegasus dodged a few falling boulders and white tiles before being enveloped in a dense brown dust. He flapped his wings once more, and he and the mare he loved rocketed out of the tunnel, back into the sunlight, and unfortunately, landed in the mud outside of the base’s walls.

“Blegh!” Charger spat the mud out of her mouth. She wiped her tongue, then turned around at the long awaited sound of a mass teleportation spell. Both ponies watched in awe as their personal zeppelin, Szary, appeared out of a heavy purple fog and immediately opened fire on the crumbling Consortium base. The duo could hear what could only be Kelpies screaming in victory over the sounds of the airship’s turret. If the dogs and zombies were screaming, they certainly couldn’t hear it.

Clockwork felt Charger lay her head on his shoulder. The pegasus silently thanked the royal sisters that Charger wasn’t looking at him, or she would’ve noticed his massive blush. He silently began stroking her mane, trying to get the mud out as the dog base continued to crumble under the combined might of the airship’s sustained bombardment and the structure’s own weight.

“It’s over now, isn’t it?” Charger half-asked.

“I guess so.” Clockwork took a much needed unstressed breath of fresh air. “Zecora’s saved, the base is destroyed, we destroyed all the Consortium’s data and we killed one of their higher-ups, not to mention another queen. Even better, we have an alliance with the Kelpies now, and there might be more in the oceans that we could contact. Lastly, I proved you wrong.”

Charger shifted slightly. “About what?”

“When we first got here, you told me you were worried that you wouldn’t be of any use to the team with just your gloves and rifle.” Clockwork raised his wing and pointed towards the Consortium base, which was now more a pile of rubble than a military installation. “You helped accomplish all of this with just your gloves.”

“Only once before in my life have I been happy to have been proven wrong. Thank you.” Charger smiled as she snuggled herself a bit closer to her squadmate. “All in a day’s work for Meteor Squad?”

“Yeah. . .” Clockwork looked upwards to find the Vikare descending towards them. “All in a day’s work.”

Departure

The emperor of all griffonkind let out a short sigh as he interlocked his gilded claws and rested his beak atop them. “So, Greystone, I am correct in summarizing that your report amounts to the failure of your troops’ efforts in Zebrica, as well as destruction of all assets there?”

The high chairman of the Consortium nodded, but then remembered that he was speaking over a radio. “Yes, my lord, the zebra lands are currently untouchable. I once more sincerely apologize for being unable to convey this news to you in person as well as the failure of my soldiers. Rest assured that my people put forth their best efforts then, and will continue to-”

“Unnecessary,” the emperor interrupted his wartime colleague. “While your failure is unfortunate, it was not unexpected and will not harm the campaign in the long run. You are hereby prohibited from deploying further soldiers to any theater of war unless my personal blessing is given. Should my warriors find Diamond Dogs on their battlefield without prior knowledge, they will not hesitate to cut them down where they stand. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, your highness.”

“Good. Place all remaining Consortium forces on standby until further notice.”

The Emperor ended the communication without waiting for an answer. He clicked another few buttons and spoke once more. “Warfather, do you require a transcript of that?”

“I greatly appreciate your generosity, my lord, but that will not be necessary. Orders?”

“How goes the repurposing of Appleloosa?”

“Approximately thirty to forty percent complete, your highness. The Corrupted are maintaining good behavior and are working at the predetermined rate. The queen has not attempted to rebel yet. The Railgun is performing as expected and will be installed aboard the Fury as scheduled.”

“Excellent. Maintain a defensive position around the city and keep alert for counterattacks. The bison are powerful, but not invincible. Continue testing the device’s systems.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Imperii Gloria.”

“Gloria Carniferous.”

After hanging up, Warfather set down his receiver and turned around in his chair. His office was barren of all but the necessities, as it should be. The only two immediate things of note were his twin warriors, personally trained by his claws to near-immaculate prowess.

“So we’re just to sit around and wait, boss?” Gilda asked, shifting in her stance.

Warfather nodded. “You have been working hard, Gilda, and as such I believe you deserve a slight reprieve. You are free to go about the city until tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna check to see if the saloon has anymore Applejack Daniels left over.”

With that, the griffoness quickly left the room. Warfather turned to his other subordinate. “Echo.”

The figure removed his green hood, revealing the face of a light-brown diamond dog with grey eyes. His ears perked up as he straightened his posture, revealing a faint scar across his throat, a sign of his status as a mute. Such a condition rendered him worthless to the Consortium and, were it not for his griffon superior; he would’ve likely starved to death a long time ago.

“Accompany the Railgun until further notice.”

The dog nodded, leaving the office soon after.

Clockwork gradually made his way down the dropship’s ramp and into the zebra village of Mji Mkuu. Given the situation, one would expect frivolous celebrations to be underway, but it seemed to be quite the opposite. As the pegasus limped off the Vikare, he found himself and his team flanked on either side by a single column of zebras. They were all stamping their hooves into the dirt, creating a steady rhythm. His Zebrican wasn’t the best by far, but he could discern two distinct phrases, repeated over and over and over again in time.

Chuma Mrengo, the legend is real. . .

Chuma Mrengo, he shall lead us to change. . .

Clockwork couldn’t help but feel a bit creeped out by that. Sure, he had a fancy wing and had to admit that he was above average in intellect, but that didn’t make him fit to fulfil a prophecy. . . did it?

“You okay, kid?” Long Shot came up alongside his ally. “That was a hell of a thing you did back there. Honestly, I’m surprised that you came out all in one peace..” the Nocturni glanced over the young soldier, noting his various scrapes, cuts, bruises, and the mud covering his mane, tail, and pelt. “Well, more or less.”

Clockwork chuckled. “Guess I got lucky.”

“In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck, only skill. You have it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clockwork was only able to pull off half a salute, thanks to his fresh wounds. He soon turned his attention to Charger. Neither pony spoke, but they both understood the other’s need to know that they were okay. Charger nodded, and Clockwork tried to relax as he and his team continued onwards to Nyumbani.

“Well, there ain’t no rest for the wicked now, is there?” Long Shot chimed in his familiar sarcastic tone.

Clockwork tried to scratch his head, only to have Mganga and Fluttershy tell him to hold still as they inspected and treated his various injuries. “So. . . we really did lose Appleloosa.”

Captain Twilight Sparkle, flanked on her left by Apple Bloom and on her right by Askari, straightened her little commander’s hat and launched into her explanation. “But not without making it extremely difficult for the Supremacy. On their own, the bison held out for five days against several hundred changelings and forced the Supremacy’s occupation to classify as a textbook pyrrhic victory. It was only when the bison ran out of ammunition for their turrets that Chief Thunderhooves ordered a retreat.”

“May I inquire as to why you are sending Meteor Squad to Dodge Junction then, ma’am?” Switcher asked. “If the buffalo require only ammunition to fight as effectively as they have, then why not make limited supply drops rather than deploying an Illicit Operations team?”

“Both questions have a single answer with many smaller components,” Twilight replied grimly. “We’ve had reports steadily coming in that the Supremacy has taken over a large majority of the local railway lines and are using them to ferry a prototype weapon to points of conflict. It’s already claimed two relief cruisers and then some when we tried to get supplies to the bison.”

“I am still unable to reason why sending us will-”

“Long story short, the bison can’t find the train because it has some sort of cloaking device on it and three certain individuals are guarding it that cannot be killed by the standard soldier, even a bison,” the captain responded in frustration.

For some time, there was silence, and then, a sigh from Long Shot. “So, lemme get this straight.” he ran a dark hoof through his even darker mane. “You’re sending us into the middle of a desert, very little cover, with our only mission parameters to bring down an invisible train with a gun capable of annihilating entire airships with a single blast. Furthermore, guarding this train are a griffon, a slightly smaller griffon, and a cloak-wearing thing that never leaves the former’s side. Am I right?”

Twilight seemed almost taken aback at the elder warrior’s foresight. “As ridiculous as it sounds, yes. Commander, how did you know that the soldiers guarding the train were-”

“Call it a hunch, ma’am. I’ve dealt with them before, and we’ll need every advantage we can get against them.”

“Sir.” Clockwork shifted from where he sat, now wrapped in bandages making him appear similar to a B-movie mummy. “Who are we dealing with?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” the commander gazed longingly at Mganga, who shared the look. “Madam Uchawi, Tribe Queen Zecora, on behalf of my team, I sincerely thank you for all the support that you have provided for us. Before we leave, I have one question to ask of you.”

“Long Shot, belay any of your fears, for my mother and I are listening. We are all ears,” Zecora responded.

“I humbly request that Mganga be made an active member of Meteor Squad.”

Almost immediately, Uchawi had a response. “That is a significant request, commander. Why do you believe she is fit to serve amongst the Alliance’s finest?”

“I’d hardly call ourselves the finest,” the nocturni remarked humbly. “Ahem. I have had the pleasure of seeing her in action firsthoof. She is remarkably resilient, agile, and excellent in the fields of medicine and close combat as well as medium-range limited engagements. Furthermore, I can tell that she is highly adaptable to a number of situations, and is well familiarized with military grade discipline.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Captain, do you have any objections?”

Twilight shook her head. “I do not believe I do. What does the rest of Meteor Squad make of Long Shot’s request?”

“The commander’s logic is sound.” Switcher answered. “I believe she would make an impressive addition to the squad. While her brother would be a preferable choice, combat-wise, his presence in Zebrica is understandable. I will second this idea.”

“Third,” Clockwork replied, still trying to adjust to the new bandages wrapped around his body. “She’s certainly got the medical experience to help us. If we brought her along, we wouldn't have to risk Captain Fluttershy.”

“Which is everywhere we go,” Long Shot added.

Askari stood up next to Twilight. He dwarfed her by at least a head, but Clockwork could tell that she was the one in charge. Word gets around when you defeat gods, after all. “If you take my sister with you on your crazy world saving missions, can you promise she’ll come back?”

“I’ll make sure of it personally.” the unicorn looked at Mganga, who was now sitting next to her mother and sister. “What about you, Zecora, Uchawi. Would you allow Mganga to join Meteor Squad, knowing the horrors of war that she will face?”

“Mganga has seen zebras broken and mauled. When it comes to war’s horrors, she has seen nearly all,” Zecora answered with confidence.

Uchawi looked over her daughter. “I’d be glad to let her fight where her talents will best suit her. She’s always said that she wanted to see the world.”

“And what of you, Mganga? What say you?” Twilight asked.

“To be perfectly honest, I do not believe myself worthy of such and honor. But I will do my best.”

“Very well then. Mganga, please step forward.”

The zebra did so. She tried to stand proud, but her own bandages prevented it. Nevertheless, her eyes shown with the same fiery determination that Charger’s had during her induction. As he had then, Long Shot stood in front of Mganga. The Nocturni removed a small patch from his belt and held it over her outstretched hoof with his magic.

“Mganga,” the Nocturni said, his voice much more deep and commanding than it had been moments ago. “This isn’t a war we can win through conventional methods, that’s why you’re here. The Alliance needs soldiers like you if we’re to have any hope. I ask you, Mganga, will you fight for the Alliance? Will you brave the dangers no one else can face? Will you fight alongside Meteor Squad, knowing full well that terrors lie ahead?”

“To my last breath and beyond,” answered Mganga, with a proud smile.

“Well alrighty then.” Long Shot ceased his magic and the patch fell into Mganga’s hoof. She put it in a pouch on her bandolier. “You’re now a part of the brightest star in Equestria’s sky.”

Mganga nodded before turning to Twilight. “Captain, what is our next course of action?”

“Pack your things, we leave in an hour. After that, you’ll have until the morning’s rising sun to set up. Dismissed!”

Clockwork sat at the edge of his bed, a full duffle bag at his side. He glanced around the room again, taking note of how bare everything seemed now that the hut had been emptied out. Clockwork found the event bittersweet. It had been. . . what, a week? Yet, he felt as though he’d known the zebras of Mji Mkuu for far longer. He had learned quite a bit during his time in the jungle village, but he still felt as though he had only scratched the surface of Zebrica and its culture.

He never got to say goodbye, truly, to most of his new friends. Sure, Penyelamat would probably come around again, considering that she was Zecora’s heir and all, but Ndogo was almost certainly bound to Zebrica and Sallaq had apparently jumped ship long before the Squad had last returned to the village. Still, it felt good to finally be leaving behind the hell that was jungle warfare, what with the mosquitos, ridiculous humidity levels, and the-

Clockwork shuddered as the memory of Battlefright hit him like a train. How the hay could his own kind create something so demonic? How did the Dogs make such a horrid thing even worse? Clockwork felt a stone in his stomach as he remembered Safi. She was recovering, slowly, but it pained him to know that if what Mganga had said was true, then the mare’s psyche would never fully recover. The pegasus took some comfort in knowing that he had helped ensure that the village would never experience such unholy products of science again.

The stallion rose from his cot and slung his pack over his shoulder. Before he could get halfway to the door, a familiar black chitin hoof pulled open the entryway. “Sir, the rest of the squad is packed and currently awaiting your arrival on the Vikare. We must make haste.”

“Got it. Lemme just-”

“C’mon featherbrain, on your hooves!” Askari shoved his way past Switcher and into the hut, barely squeezing through the narrow entryway. “You gotta get back out there and finish the- Oh hey, you’re up.”

Clockwork shook his head furiously to get the ringing out of his ears. He gulped. “Look, before I go, there’s something I gotta tell the both of you.”

“Oh?” both soldiers had the same look of confusion on their face.

Clockwork’s eyes immediately looked to the dirt floor as he pawed at it with his hoof. “About. . . yesterday. . .”

“What about it?” Askari knelt down so he could see the pegasus better.

“I was. . . way out of line,” Clockwork groaned. “I just about tried to kill you two, and if I don’t apologize now I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You won’t need to,” Askari replied with a smile.

“What?”

“Earlier, Askari and I discussed the events you are referring to,” Switcher explained, stepping inside the hut. “and we came to the conclusion that, in the end, you were correct.”

Clockwork almost fell over in shock. “But. . . I went nuts! I lashed out at you! For all we know, if I hadn’t seen Shle’wikal, you would both be dead!”

“What? Just because of your wing?” Askari tapped it with his staff. “Doesn’t matter how sharp that metal is, this staff and I have got more than a few tricks in our arsenal. It wouldn’t have broken had you hit it full force, and I could have broken any bone in your body with just a swing. You were never a threat to me.”

“The same goes for me, somewhat,” Switcher added. “This helm was specially forged to protect against most forms of damage, and my exoskeleton is substantial in comparison to my more common brethren. While it is likely that either of us could have been injured, said injuries would never have been life-threatening.”

“Well, that’s. . . comforting?” Clockwork shrugged as he failed to find an appropriate word.

“Besides,” Askari shifted from where he knelt. “I’ve had my own kin spit worse at me, and that was just from a botched herb gathering trip. We’ve all seen some messed up shit recently, so neither I nor the bug guy here blames ya for going a little cuckoo. Everyone, zebra, pony, griffon, dog, or bug, goes a little crazy sometimes.”

Clockwork was quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, he mumbled “Okay, thanks” and began to walk off. He nearly made it out of the hut, but Askari stopped him with a comforting, and massive, hoof on the pegasus’ shoulder. His eyes now shown with the fire of a warrior.

“Let me tell you something though, kid.” his words were like a command. “You, Switcher, and the rest of your little suicide squad are probably gonna see a lot more screwed up stuff out there, but don’t lose your head. Instead, use all that horror and anger and prove that the only thing the Supremacy is better at then us is dying! You got that!?”

Clockwork saluted both soldiers. “Every word.”

“Alright.” Askari stood up, instantly towering over his allies. “If you ever need me to beat down a dog, griffon, fey, or all three at once, I’ll always be on call. I might bring friends, too!”

“We will make note of that promise, Askari. Clockwork?

The pegasus nodded, and the two squadmates turned around and trotted off towards the squad dropship. Askari watched them go, leaning on his staff as he did, grinning.

Oh, the things he could tease Penyelamat about now.

Clockwork and Switcher stepped aboard the massive brass and iron dropship. They took their seats, expecting the vehicle to immediately roar to life. They looked at each other, then around, confused when it did not. Outside they could see the zebras of Mji Mkuu expressing their thanks and waving goodbye, but the pilot wouldn’t have waited just to give them a treat.

The members of Meteor Squad began to mutter, confused and impatient, when they heard a familiar clinking on the gangway. It was the sound of hooves on the metal ramp. They all turned to see who was coming aboard, and Clockwork’s eyes widened at the sight of Uchawi, escorted by Zecora, in the dropship. Mganga got up out of her seat and went to say one last goodbye, but stopped when she saw the grim look on her mother’s face. Clockwork thought he saw the enchantress’ eyes glow a golden yellow for just a moment, then she spoke. Her voice couldn’t have been above a whisper, but Clockwork could hear her as though she were whispering in his ear.

“Should Meteor Squad lack compassion or glee, doom shall rise from the heart of
Everfree. . .”

As quickly as she had come, she was gone, and the dropship left the ground as soon as Uchawi and Zecora were back on the ground. As the squad rocketed through the sky back to the silver zeppelin overhead, they were left to silently wonder what the elder zebra had meant. . .

Clockwork wandered down one of the corridors that made up Szary’s interior, not bothering to acknowledge the few crew members that passed him by. The squad had returned safely, debriefed the royal sisters on what was now being referred to as the “Zebrican Campaign”, and had gone their separate ways for now.

Mganga was in the process of situating herself in one of the empty quarters. Switcher was somewhere stocking up on his various chemicals, and Long Shot and Charger had hit the showers. Much to everypony else’s surprise, Clockwork did none of those things. Instead, he walked. Everything had gone well, but to his surprise, it seemed like he was the only one concerned over Uchawi’s prophecy.

Clockwork shuddered as the words echoed through his mind. It was as if Uchawi was standing right next to him. What could she have meant? he thought. Why the Everfree Forest? That place is a deathtrap with almost no tactical value. Not even the Griffons would risk it! Besides, why the hay would somepony need glee if you were fighting through- Oof!

Preoccupied, Clockwork had bumped muzzle first into Long Shot’s chest plate. Out of all the ponies to bump into. . .

“Sorry kid.” Long Shot apologized as he rubbed his mane vigorously with a damp towel with the tell-tale pale green glow of his magic. “Guess I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the unicorn smiled ruefully.

Clockwork sighed. “Nah Commander. It’s my fault. I always forget to look where I’m going when I’m thinking.”

“At least you weren’t flying,” he teased. Looking at Clockwork’s expression, he frowned slightly. “What’re ya thinking about?”

“Eh,” Clockwork rubbed the back of his neck with his real wing. “What Uchawi said back on the ground, something about it is kinda creeping me out. You have any idea what it could mean, sir?”

Long Shot shrugged as he tossed his towel into a nearby laundry chute. His jet black mane still glistened with some residual water. “I’ve never been one for figuring out creepy omens like that. If it’s as important as you fear it is, she’ll probably send us a memo or something. And if it comes true, we’ll be ready for it. Anything else?”

“Two things, actually.” Clockwork glanced around to make sure nopony was nearby. “First, back at the debriefing, you mentioned that the Kelpies helped us out, but Celestia never mentioned anything about calling on them for help. Did I miss something?”

A serious look shone in Long Shot’s eyes. “Walk with me, kid.” Clockwork kept pace with Long Shot until he answered. “Kelpies, like other sentient monsters, are considered immediate enemies by all nations of the world except for Equestria, and that’s only because we keep clear from where they live. Every major government but ours tells its soldiers to kill them on sight. Only the dragons are spared, and that’s because any country that would want to wage war against them wouldn’t be around long if they tried to. Most have long since fallen into myth, like the Gorgons or the Windigoes, but others like the Changelings and the Kelpies still pose a global threat.”

Clockwork only nodded, hoping the Commander would continue. 276 years of service certainly seemed to help one’s knowledge of foreign customs. “So, long story short, we’re not getting any more help from them?”

“Not unless the griffons somehow manage to push the entire Alliance all the way back to those same swamps.”

“That’s a shame, they were good fighters.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement, but I agree with ya. But hey, we have the Changelings. Well, one. ”

Clockwork’s ears flickered. “As for my second question-” he looked to his left and recognized the door to his barracks. ‘Mind if we talk in my room? I’m bound to run into something if we keep this up.”

“No problem.”

After the duo had taken their seats and gotten comfortable, Clockwork continued. “You told me you’d explain your previous experience with the three mystery soldiers guarding the Supremacy’s new weapon, sir?”

“Oh yeah, those guys.” the nocturni lightly gritted his teeth. “The head honcho is a griffon known only by his military rank: Warfather. The best way to describe it in Equestrian terms is that he’s a one-eyed priest mixed with an elite warrior. Normally, he’d be just a target like anyone else on the enemy team, but. . . he’s got an advantage no one else in the world has that I know of.”

“What kind of advantage would that be, sir?”

“Well, priests worship gods, and in the Griffon Empire there is only one god, a sort of dragon-griffon hybrid they’ve taken to calling Carniferous. Legend has it that, if she’s watching, she’ll bestow a fraction of her power unto the warrior on the field who excels in both skill and purpose.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that this guy can’t be injured?”

“Quite the contrary. Who do you think took away one of his eyes?”

Clockwork was silent for a while. “How’d you pull that off?”

“It kinda ties in to how I met Switcher, actually. Remember the changeling invasion?”

“Back during the royal wedding, yeah.”

“Well, that love-energy-pulse thing must've changed 'em a bit, because a few years later they sent a diplomatic envoy to the capital. The meeting went surprisingly well, and I was assigned to track said envoy back to where they came from. Unfortunately, the griffons had the same idea."

"They sent Warfather after Switcher too?"

"Bingo, no clue why they did though. Ran into him just outside of the main Changeling hive. One thing led to another, and I took his eye with a little help from methods I'd rather not discuss at this time."

Clockwork nodded. "So what happened after all that? Who're Warfather's two cronies?"

"He did the smart thing and retreated, but I've kept tabs on him ever since. Switcher and I talked some stuff out and I offered him a place in the squad. Anyway," the nocturni waved a hoof in the air. "the smaller griffon is called Gilda, apparently she was a friend of Captain Rainbow Dash back when they were still in Junior Speedster's and their relationship went sour from there. From what I hear, she's a damned good swordsmare and a force to be reckoned with."

Clock gulped, one sword wielding priest warrior using only one sword was bad enough. "So who's the cloaked guy?"

Long Shot tousled his mane. "I don't really know much about that one, actually. He's quiet, always hides under his hood, and never leaves Warfather's side unless ordered to. Still, he must be treated as a threat until properly assessed. They're all members of the Red Order, so that makes them all the more dangerous."

"The Red Order, sir?"

"A super-cult of warriors, priests, basically a place where griffons are bred solely to worship their god and end hostile life. Griffon Special Ops, and no one knows exactly how many of them there are. I believe we've fought a few members, actually, remember Cloudsdale?"

Clockwork nodded as his memory flickered back to the battle for Cloudsdale. The griffon soldiers, clad in armor of scarlet and gold, made themselves prominent.

"Anything else?" the nocturni asked.

"No sir, I just need to be left alone with my thoughts for a while. Square everything away physically and mentally, ya know?"

The commander nodded, stood, and went for the door. "No prob. Thanks for the talk. Try to get some rest and a shower, okay?"

"Will do, commander."

And just like that, Clockwork was alone once more. He stripped off his equipment, tossed it on his cot, and sat on the couch in front of the room’s single large window. The pegasus started sifting through all that had happened over the past few days. He had trouble believing some of it, despite having experienced it himself.

As the recollection continued, Clockwork’s tired smile lowered itself more and more until it became a small frown. Despite what Askari and Switcher had said, Clockwork still felt terrible over what had happened after his exposure to Battlefright. Forgiveness for attempted murder? Yeah right.

Clockwork could feel a headache coming on, and pressed his forehooves to his temples to try and stave it off. He really had to take a shower, eat, and rest. Maybe take a few painkillers; yeah, that would-

The stallion’s ears flicked as he heard the barracks’ door slide open. He didn’t speak, already knowing who it probably was. He just stared out the window, rubbing his temples. The intruder, however, crossed the room and sat down next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Clockwork saw a familiar orange mane.

“Hello, Clockwork,” Charger said, tossing her still-damp mane.

Why, hello indeed. “Hey.” Clockwork replied, not taking his eyes off of the window.

“You’re upset about something. What is it?”

“You already know.”

“We’ve already agreed as a squad that your actions while on the rescue mission were perfectly-”

“Not just that!” Clockwork shouted, surprising himself with the strength of the outburst. “Before the mission, back when I was first exposed to that ghastly stuff. I started -gah, what’s a good word that describes breathlessly contemplating how to mercilessly slaughter Diamond Dogs?”

“Clockwork, we already agreed that it was alright.”

“It wasn’t alright! Dammit, nothing about it was alright! I only had an inkling of common sense smacked back into me when I saw that look in your eyes, and then I devolved into a sniveling wreck!” Clockwork glanced over and felt ice in his veins when he saw the same look he was referring to. He immediately turned away and tried to hide the terror in his own eyes. “You always look at me like that when I become. . . not me.” the pegasus’ voice trembled on those last two words.

After a good five seconds of silence, Charger sighed. “I admit, it shocks me to see you like that; but you always come back after-”

“Something else terrible happens that distracts me long enough to get a grip,” Clockwork interrupted, his breath catching in his throat. “Something’s wrong with me, Charger. I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.” it was a miracle that Clockwork hadn’t collapsed into a crying pile of feathers yet.

Charger did not say a word. Not like he expected her too, but-

Clockwork took a breath, and felt that Charger had wrapped her forelegs around his body. She laid her head on his shoulder, and after a moment of hesitation, the pegasus wrapped his wings around her.

“We’re all going to stay with you until the end. Okay?”

Clockwork only nodded, knowing that he didn’t have to speak to convey his answer.

They stayed that way for a while, Clockwork managing to regain some semblance of happiness as he felt Charger’s heart beating in tandem with his own. Suddenly, the mare removed herself and made a beeline for the door. Clockwork thought she saw her blush. “Make sure to get some rest. We’ll be heading into an entirely different theater of war, so we need everypony at the top off their game. Okay?”

“I promise.”

After she had gone, Clockwork got up as well and almost managed to exit his room before his body collided with Wetwork's, and their lips not a moment later.

“Oh. . . hey there,” the pegasus replied dumbly, not expecting to see his marefriend again so soon.

The unicorn giggled in response, planting a light kiss on her companion’s nose. “Hi.”

“Umm. . .” Clockwork stammered. “Would you like to sit down? It’s kinda weird to be making out in the middle of a zeppelin hallway.”

Without another word, the duo came to rest on the same couch Clockwork had been sitting in not a minute ago. Almost instinctively, the stallion began running his hoof through Wetwork’s mane, to which she sighed lovingly as she rested her head on his chest. “I’ve heard snippets of what you went through down there. It all sounded awful.”

“Believe me, it was. At least we won in the end, and now we’re going to get thrown into a different hell in about twenty four hours,” Clockwork responded with a tired laugh.

“I’m glad you’re safe. The thought of losing you kept me up at night; it was unbearable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You made your choice in joining this team and I made my choice in sticking with you through it. Is there anything you want to talk about? I’ve heard that just talking about past experiences in the field can get rid of a lot of stress.”

“You sure you want to hear it? A lot of it’s not that pleasant.”

“Well I would believe so, nothing ever is in war.”

“True. So where do you want me to start? I really need to take a shower or I’m gonna-”

“We could shower together if you’d like.”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing. . .” Wetwork mused. “Just start with what sticks with you the most and go from there. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Clockwork bolted upright, his eyes snapping open and his breath coming in gasps. He was soaked in his own sweat. With a quick glance around the room, Clockwork realized that he was laying back in his own bed, back in Ponyville.

The pegasus groaned. “Not this shit again.” this had happened too many times for him to wonder what was real or not. He shrugged, wondering what messed up sight his psyche had conjured for him tonight. After stretching, the pegasus got out of his bed and made his way downstairs, alert for any weird eldritch abominations or demented versions of those that he loved. He was surprised to notice that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for his parents not being present in the dream house. Finally, having inspected the rest of the home, the pegasus slowly opened the brass door separating him from the outside dream world.

Clockwork was shocked, not because there was anything wrong, but it was the exact opposite of everything he had expected. Ponyville looked exactly the way it had before the Griffons had made the mistake of invading. Birds chirped. Animals were having adorable little conversations with each other. Even better, Clockwork still had his artificial wing. Since he could, he stretched his wings and took to the sky.

Clockwork smiled as he made his way through the open air above Dream-Ponyville. He could get used to having regular dreams again. Just as he prepared to make a steep dive, something made him flick his ears.

It wasn’t a whisper so much as it was a weird mechanical buzz. Despite the faintness, Clockwork could still recognize a single word out of the eerie static.

“Clockwooorkkk. . .” a serene voice called to the pegasus from somewhere behind and below him. The pegasus prepared himself for the sight of some demonically twisted entity, but found nothing out of the ordinary as he landed back on the street. The stallion cautiously made his way through the town, trying to find the slightest out-of-place looking thing. Still, that sweet voice called to him, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he continued on.

As he did, Clockwork started to notice something. The ponies of the town were moving with more difficulty than normal. A limp there, a robotic turn of the head there. Fillies and colts having issues shifting there stubby legs across the ground. One or two pegasi had to try twice to take off, only to snap back into place. Something was up.

And then everything was suddenly bathed in an abyssal blood-red light.

Clockwork bumped nose first into something that he instantly recognized as metal. It certainly wasn’t brass, but he could tell it wasn’t iron either. Before Clockwork could determine exactly what metal it was, or why he had the sudden need to determine what metal it was, he made the mistake of looking up, and immediately felt the need to vomit.

Clockwork backed up to get a better look at the monstrosity, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Before him stood the ever recognizable form of Moppet, but a large portion of his chest had been replaced by a series of mechanical pipes that made up some sort of demented version of a torso. A good portion of the front of his body had been replaced by metal as well, stopping just short of his shoulders and forelegs. However, his head was perfectly normal, with not even a single hair out of place on his greasy gray mane. What was probably most terrifying was that he acted like nothing was wrong, even his voice sounded unaltered.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ye, Clocky! Lon’ time no see, eh?” After looking himself over, the urchin let out an eerily peaceful laugh. “Oh, these’re me new upgrades. They’re workin’ great! Do ye like ‘em?”

Clockwork could only stare, slack-jawed and horrified.

“What? Ye’ve never seen me upgrades before?” Moppet asked. “Everypony’s got ‘em,” the mule waved his coppery hoof at the other ponies on the street. “An’ it’s all thanks to ye an’ yer brilliance!”

Clockwork turned around and was greeted by the sight of over a dozen ponies, all with varying degrees of mechanical replacements. Some had metal jaws, others’ entire legs or wings replaced by the strange demented metal. Worst of all, everypony acted like it was normal!

Clockwork immediately bolted, running towards the source of that strangely sweet voice. Perhaps that was the way out? Maybe if he found the source he could wake up from this nightmare?

The pegasus continued to run as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t bother trying to take to the sky, knowing that if he did, he’d probably just see something more demented. He bobbed and weaved through growing crowds of mares and colts, all of them gradually becoming more mechanical than organic. After a while, Clockwork realized that he was running past full on robots instead of ponies, and their eyes glowed with an unfortunately familiar purple light.

Clockwork skidded to a halt when he laid eyes on the source of the sweet voice. Of course, it all made sense now, without the mechanical background noise, the sweet voice took on the recognizable tone of-

“Oh, there you are, Clockwork.” the faux pony looked over her shoulder from where she sat and greeted Clockwork with a friendly smile of pure white teeth.

Clockwork was so scared he could barely fathom what the hell was going on. The thing was completely mechanical, save for three horrible features. Its eyes, one most beautiful shade of blue, the other teal, were organic and full of thought; its mane and tail were slightly messy and some horrid amalgamated color of orange and dark green that heavily contrasted with its brass frame, and it’s voice was still enchanting.

Clockwork tried to run, tried to fly, tried to escape from the demonic creature that was slowly walking towards him, a machination of his own psyche and the two mares he had feelings for, but realized he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even scream as the robot-mare made its way over to him and wrapped its forelegs around the paralyzed and traumatized pegasus and gave his neck a quick lick with the blade-like edge that was her tongue, and then pushed him down by his shoulders to do unspeakable things to him.

“We’re all going to stay with you for as long as you need, and it’s all thanks to you. . .”

Where The Buffalo Roam

Clockwork stood before the Vikare, him and the rest of the team fully equipped to deal with the threats of the desert as well as the enemy. Clockwork, Charger and Mganga, the newest member of the team, were almost unrecognizable, for they were all wrapped from head to hoof in loose, grey robes. Switcher though, looked no different than when Clockwork had seen him last, though he had likely taken a shower and restocked on chemicals. His armor, years of advanced training, and surprisingly durable exoskeleton granted him several extra layers of layer of protection from the inevitable hot sands they would soon encounter. For now, they had said their goodbyes to their teammates onboard Szary, Clockwork had kissed his marefriend goodbye and Haywire had hugged him so tightly he felt as though his ribs may have cracked from the pressure. He would’ve laughed at the shocking levels of affection, but now wasn’t the time nor place. Now was the time to focus on the adventure ahead, but for that they’d need a leader. Luckily, he had just shown up, fully armored this time sans his helmet as always.

“Alright everypony, here’s where we stand. On my signal, Nimbus will teleport Szary to an area of the midland desert approximately four or five clicks away from Dodge Junction. Like Zebrica, we’ll be providing relief supplies to help our wounded bison allies recover from the invasion of Appleloosa. Now, I’d just like to remind everypony what we’re up against, and why we are to take the opposition very seriously. Switcher, if you would.”

“Ahem.” the undisguised changeling took his place at the commander’s side. “I understand that I should have made you all aware of this the day you joined Meteor, but I must place the safety of my home before everything else. However, the situation calls for the declassification of this information. Several years after the failed invasion of Canterlot, my people were forcefully expelled from the Capital city to lands unknown. Tired and hungry, we wandered the wastes for many months before coming upon the birthplace of our ancestors, the original changeling hive. The best translation in Equuish is Tir Na Bog, and the sight ignited something within my people that saved them from extinction. Specifically, we no longer required other lifeforms’ love to feed off of; we became a self-sustaining society, and gained individual sentience shortly afterwards.”

Clockwork almost took a step back at this revelation, but knew that the changeling wasn’t finished.

“However, this transition did not go smoothly, and a rogue faction quickly developed within the hive. My people, The Pure, deemed them the Corrupted. The Corrupted desperately clung to the old ways of sustaining themselves through the theft of others' feelings, namely the strongest such as fear and anger, and became warped shells of their former people’s glory as a result. There was no civil war, no bloodshed, merely begrudging understanding. Out of mercy, Mother Chrysalis allowed them to leave, but they did not do so without inflicting a single casualty. As they left, the Corrupted stole Chrysalis’ first daughter egg, the one destined to be the next queen. My people believe it is this queen that is controlling the Corrupted through a hive mentality, and is able to birth miniature queens similar to the one Clockwork and Charger fought underneath the Consortium base in Zebrica.”

Clockwork and Charger looked to each other in understanding. So that’s what that. . . thing was.

“I can say no more, but I am telling you all this because the Corrupted have been confirmed assisting the Supremacy, and have made their presence quite known on this front. They prefer numbers to strength, and it is through said numbers that they succeeded in helping a large griffon force push all allied soldiers out of Appleloosa.”

“So we are to fight both elitist winged abominations as well as the demented shadows of your people. Is that correct?” Mganga asked.

“Bingo.” Long Shot retook the helm. “They can convert a city into a hive in a matter of weeks and can also reproduce at a much faster rate than the Pure, so expect to keep your weapon barrels hot. We’re being sent instead of a large counter offensive force because numbers are pointless here, it’s about spray and pray as well as unconventional warfare. Meteor Squad’s two primary objectives are to take out what we believe is a prototype Railgun under the control of the Supremacy and to assist in the retaking of Appleloosa by any means possible. The apple orchards there are some of the largest in the kingdom, so securing them will help get badly needed foodstuffs to soldiers out fighting on the front lines. Any questions?”

“No sir!”

“Anyone feel like sitting this one out?” the Nocturni asked with a smirk.

“SIR NO SIR!”

“That’s what I like to hear. Everyone load up!”

Without another word, the five soldiers entered the Vikare and struggled to get comfortable amongst the multiple large crates of food and ammunition. From what Clockwork had heard, the Bison, while large and seemingly unwieldy, were some of the best when it came to warfare. They had probably packed up everything and retreated in an orderly fashion without losing more than a few soldiers at most. The pegasus smiled as he pressed himself farther back into his seat, a familiar spike of adrenaline running up his spine as he heard Long Shot call out to Nimbus to send them in. He felt a little more comfortable fighting now, knowing all too well that he was defending his home, and was looking forward to seeing the immense beasts in action. Quite frankly, he was glad they were on his side.

“Hey,” Charger’s sweet voice rang in Clockwork’s left ear. “you’re shivering. You okay?”

Clockwork nodded, wiping his brow when he felt sweat accumulating on it. “Yeah, it’s just always a little nerve-wracking, the moments before getting dropped into another battle, you know?”

The earth pony mare nodded, removing one of her gloves and holding out her right hoof as she did. “You can hold on if you want. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

Clockwork sat there for a moment, dumbfounded. He must’ve looked ridiculous, for Charger only giggled and turned away as he grasped for a response.

The pegasus hesitated for a moment before he took the mare’s hoof, and almost gasped when he realized that it was easily the softest thing he had felt in his entire life. His nervousness disappeared completely as Charger tightened her grip ever so slightly, to which Clockwork responded in kind. Was this legal if he was already in a relationship?

Clockwork turned his efforts towards taking slow, deep breaths as a familiar purple fog enveloped everything. After a few long moments of his nostrils being filled with that familiar sickly sweet smell, it vanished in an instant and the Vikare roared to life. Szary’s bay door parted as the dropship’s bay door closed itself tight. Clockwork felt the momentum of the ship lifting itself from the floor and propelling forward. In moments, the ship was clear of its parent vessel. Said zeppelin was wrapped in the purple fog of teleportation magic and disappeared once more

Clockwork raised an eyebrow at the sudden departure before looking to his commander. “Long Shot, have there been any estimates as to this Railgun's effective range or accuracy?”

Long Shot shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. If that thing can take out a frigate with one round at close range, then it could probably cause some serious damage at real artillery ranges. It makes sense for Szary to stay as far away from wherever that thing is as it can. I doubt that thing can lock onto, track, and take out a single dropship no matter the range.”

The pegasus, after looking over his team, sighed. “What are our numbers in terms of force?”

“I looked over the personnel documents earlier,” Mganga explained, “approximately three hundred bison were in or around Appleloosa at the time of the Supremacy invasion. Very few casualties on the buffalo’s part were sustained, though many of them were injured in their evacuation to Dodge Junction.”

“How are three hundred bison able to fit in Dodge Junction? From what I remember, that city isn’t very large; the cherry orchards actually take up most of its area,” Charger mused.

“The Bison Clans have their own areas of residence, teepees and such. Three hundred could easily set up residence outside of either Dodge Junction or Appleloosa. Such a form of shelter would also allow the buffalo to form a protective wall around the city, almost certainly ensuring no successful ground assault,” Switcher answered.

Clockwork chuckled through his nose. “You guys think we’ll pull it off? Three hundred and six soldiers against Celestia knows how many griffon soldiers, Corrupted drones plus their super fancy new weapon, three supposedly invincible warriors, and their no surrender, no prisoners policy?”

“You make it sound like they have a fair chance.” Long Shot laughed, that familiar, determined smile present at the edge of his mouth. “I fought with bison before, and they're tough sons of broodmares. We fix up the bison, destroy that Railgun, and take back Appleloosa before tomorrow’s dinner!”

Before anypony could respond to the Commander’s shouts, a shrill alarm broke out from the cockpit. The pilot’s voice followed not a second later. “Nonononono! Projectile fired and heading towards us! Banking right!”

Nopony could react before the gravity inside the ship caused the squad to be pressed farther into their seat cushions than originally believed possible. After what seemed like hours of the unrelenting pressure, Clockwork noticed the edges of his vision darken. He wanted to ask what the hay was going on, what had fired at them, if they were going to make it.

The pilot emitted a strained, “Clever. . . bastards!”

And then all Tartarus broke loose.

A loud metallic ripping sound blasted through the ship as the cockpit literally disappeared before the squad’s eyes. Said eyes instinctively shut as a sandly blast of hot desert air shot through the bay. Shreds of metal were flushed out of the ship, and one by one the crates followed. Clockwork wanted to puke as he felt his stomach rise, courtesy of the plummeting dropship in which he was still sitting.

“EVERYPONY BAIL!” Long Shot yelled as he tore himself from his seat and was subsequently sucked out of the ship. His voice could still be heard clearly in the squad’s ears thanks to their radios. “Well, you guys wanna become pony pancakes or earn your skydiving licenses in the field?! MOVE!”

The squad members quickly ripped themselves from their seats and were sucked out of the ship with little effort. After a few seconds, Clockwork was the only pony left inside. His seatbelt was jammed, and the damned thing showed no sign of giving up its struggle. Clockwork tasted bile in his throat, dear Celestia was the ship’s hull spinning now?!

“Kid! No matter how strong your wing is it can’t shield you from an impact at this speed! Switcher’s got Charger, but my magic can’t keep myself, Mganga, and these crates from crashing! GET OUT HERE, SOLDIER! NOW!”

Clockwork shook his head for a moment, desperately trying to clear away the black that was engulfing his field of view. He wrenched his body forward just enough for his left wing to free itself and slice through his restraints like they were butter. Clockwork felt his wing take the impact of something meant for his head as he was pulled out of the dropship by the sheer force of the wind. He struggled to breathe a sigh of relief as he felt his wings unfurl and slow his descent, but moments later he saw his Commander and half a dozen crates of relief supplies fall past him.

“Kid? You want a pancake for a Commander?”

Long Shot’s slightly panicked voice snapped the pegasus out of his state of relief. Clockwork pressed his wings to his body and waited until he was alongside his commander before taking hold of him and unfurling his wings to full length. He felt his wings strain to hold both himself and his heavily armored Commander, but dared not loosen his grip. Long Shot grabbed each crate and Mganga with a light green field of magic and set them on the ground moments before he did the same to himself and his comrade.

Clockwork must’ve bounced at least twice as the semi-solid field of magic neutralized his descent and actually sent him back upwards for a moment.

After making sure that he was firmly on the warm sand that composed the desert ground, the stallion looked behind him and confirmed that his squadmates had landed safely as well. He began to make his way over to them, but his path was cut off as the hull of the ship impacted inches from his nose.

It was a good thing, because Clockwork would’ve hated for his teammates to see him eject his breakfast from his stomach in short order. The stallion panted as he spit out whatever the hay was left in his mouth, and wiped his mouth before standing dumbstruck on shivering legs. He had just cheated death twice. He actually managed to laugh before his team came rushing around to his side.

“Guys, I’m fine. Really.” Clockwork lied as Mganga examined him. “Ya know, I just almost died twice, but who hasn’t these days?”

“He’s fine.” Long Shot glanced inside the Vikare's broken hull. “Can’t say the same for our pilot, though. Dammit.”

“Speaking of which, what the hay hit us?!” Clockwork asked with a shaky voice. “Nopony could see the round until after it was fired, and even though we banked hard it still hit us!”

“Whoever was at the controls of the gun was clever enough to predict our movements and adjust accordingly,” Switcher noted.

Everypony cringed at the cruel irony of almost being killed by the very thing they were sent to destroy. “Commander, how are we to destroy something we cannot see that can shoot us out of the sky from long range with precision accuracy?" Mganga asked.

“I dunno yet, but we’re damn well gonna give it our best,” Long Shot answered as he floated to the top of the downed vessel. He retrieved his long rifle and looked in every direction but towards the sun. “Good news, there’s no signs of life nearby, bad news, that means nopony’s gonna find us for a while.”

Just as Long Shot finished his sentence, a rumbling akin to a single unbroken crack of thunder reached the squad’s ears. When he had looked in the direction of the sound, Clockwork’s eyes went wide at the sight of a massive dust cloud that the stallion had only seen in old historical texts.

Long Shot eyed the growing cloud. “Sandstorm. Big, fast, and heading this way. Everypony inside, the storm will shred us if we stay exposed.”

Nopony even thought of arguing as they filed their way back inside the ship. No sooner had they managed to block off the hole in the ship with the relief crates before the thunder reached its loudest. Clockwork covered his ears to block out what he could, and feared for a moment that he had gone deaf when the thunder came to an abrupt end, leaving only an eerie silence.

The silent question of what had happened went unanswered until a soft yet commanding voice broke the quiet. “Hello! Is anyone alive in there?”

“To be frank, Strongheart,” a second, far gruffer voice replied,“if anything survived that crash, I’m a lamb.”

On Long Shot’s orders, Clockwork pried open a small hole in the crates.

“Then you’re a damned fat lamb!” Long Shot called back after looking through the hole. The commander disassembled the crate wall and was greeted by the battle hardened faces of over a dozen bison. They seemed to be led by a smaller, though no less threatening, female.

“Who are you? How did you survive?” she asked.

“We’re Meteor Squad, the reinforcements you were told to expect. It's an honor to meet the second in command of the United Bison Tribes.” if Long Shot was intimidated by Strongheart, he showed no signs of it. The Nocturni moved to shake the buffalo’s hoof.

The massive bison standing next to Strongheart nearly headbutted Long Shot. Steam essentially poured from his nose. “You didn’t answer her second question. I suggest you do so.”

“Correction, you’re the fattest lambs I’ve ever seen.” Long Shot laughed. “I already answered the second question. We’re Meteor Squad, hit hard hit fast shine bright. Getting shot out of the sky isn't gonna kill us.”

Much to the squad’s surprise, the behemoth unleashed a hearty laugh before patting one of Long Shot’s shoulders. The unicorn’s knees buckled a little with every gentle pat. “As fearless as the stories from the battlefield claim he is!”

“Wait, seriously?” Clockwork asked as he raised his unconsciously conjured wing shield. A few gears clicked into place in the stallion’s head, and something made sense. “How’d you guys respond to our crash so fast?”

“Even bison must patrol their borders. We may be among the most durable creatures in the world, but that doesn’t mean we’re invincible,” Strongheart explained.

Clockwork shrugged, still too tired to formulate any real response. Getting shot at with something bigger than him was a new feeling.

The five bison immediately behind Strongheart knelt down. “You are lucky to have been shot down so close to Dodge Junction, for given the current situation, sandstorms are the least of your worries.”

Strongheart took a moment to look at Switcher, a disquietingly long look at that. “You do deserve to rest. We are more than willing to carry you and the supplies that you brought along.”

“Appreciate it, ma’am.” Long Shot thanked the buffalo before teleporting himself to the top of one of the bison, carefully making sure he was not stepping on its eyes or horns, and promptly settling in on his huge back.

The rest of the squad followed suit, and Clockwork almost passed out as he laid down on the bison that had confronted Long Shot. This guy’s coat felt like a luxury mattress!

As the warriors began their journey to Dodge Junction with their relief supplies in tow, Clockwork feigned sleep when he heard the bison carrying him ask a question.

“Hey, you awake up there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve heard a lot about your squad, but I don’t remember any mention of names beyond Long Shot. Yours?”

“I’ll trade the squad names for yours, deal?”

“Deal.”

“My name’s Clockwork. The mare with the gloves is Charger. The Changeling is called Switcher; don’t worry though, he’s not hostile. The zebra with the staff and no-nonsense attitude is Mganga. Got all that?”

“Indeed, pony, I can remember names. My own is Bull Rush, by the way. You can just call me Rush if you want.”

Clockwork nodded before dozing off on his back, a small smile on his muzzle. He could get used to this.

Several miles from the crash site, a griffon cannoneer lowered his spyglass. With calm, deliberate motions he scratched another tally mark into his pauldron. That was his fifth kill today.

“My lord.”

The dog turned, its green cloak billowing behind it in the hot wind, revealing the black and gold armor which lay beneath. A solitary Templar stood at attention, its eyes carefully downcast to avoid offending its master. The dog motioned him to speak with a flick of its wrist.

The griffon bowed again, almost touching the ground with his beak.

“My lord,” he repeated, “the scouts have returned. They report that Meteor survived the crash, and are enroute to Dodge Junction. We suspect that-”

He was cut off by the weight of a metal paw pressing down upon his bowed head as his master passed. The gesture was meant to be affectionate, a pat on the head for a job well done, but still he felt the cold trickle of fear run down his spine.

When he was well and truly sure that the master had left, the Templar straightened up, dislodging a scrap of expensive vellum that had somehow found its way into his armor. Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it, revealing the neat, spidery script which lay within.

Alliance counteroffensive imminent. Make all necessary preparations.

~ Echo Ghostclaws

Clockwork was removed from his surprisingly terror-free nap by the sudden halt of Bull Rush’s progress. It was a miracle he didn’t get launched off into the building in front of him. After wearily getting to his hooves and looking around, he realized just how bad the situation was.

Dodge Junction had always been a small town. Even after the industrial revolution, the wild-west looking town had remained a quiet backwater known mostly for its vast orchards and the high-quality cherries said orchards would produce. Very few buildings were present, and even fewer bore the common resemblance of an industrialized nation. To every five bison was a single pony, and all the smaller equines were preoccupied with tending the wounded. Very few guns were visible to Clockwork's passing glances, though that characteristic bronze armor was present on every bison who wasn't being tended to. Other than all that, the desert village appeared untouched by the horrors of war.

"Clockwork, you done sightseeing yet?" Long Shot asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Help me with these crates when you are."

With only a nod, the pegasus helped to lift several of the containers before his commander transported them to the necessary locations. "Sorry again," the Nocturni apologized. "In all my years, I've never been able to progress past basic spells. Everypony has their flaws, I guess."

"It's no trouble at all, commander."

After the duo returned to their original location, they were quickly approached by Strongheart. “I am glad that you all managed to survive that crash unscathed, but I am afraid that you will have to face death twice more if we are to succeed in taking back Appleloosa.”

“Could you explain, ma'am?” Charger asked.

“Follow me. Everything shall be explained soon enough." the female made her way inside what Clockwork had realized was the Town Hall, and the squad plus Bull Rush followed close behind. Clockwork was surprised at how large the structure was, the hallways could’ve held three buffalo shoulder to shoulder. The entire building felt like a relic straight out of a history book, for much like the town's exterior, there were no signs of the steam technology that made up modern Equestria’s inner workings.

The group soon entered a room with large circular table with an equally large map at its center. Opposite the arriving warriors was a massive creature that Clockwork immediately recognized. That headdress and custom made bronze armor was unmistakable. Chief Thunderhooves was present at the other side of the table.

Without even thinking, every member of Meteor Squad saluted the elderly warrior. He returned the gesture in kind with a healthy grunt. Thunderhooves raised an eyebrow when he noticed Switcher. "Hmmph. I've read the reports, but I still find it difficult to believe that a changeling can form complete sentences. My sincerest apologies if any of my brothers attempt to harm you, for the news of your existence is still new to many."

Switcher was a bit. . . something, for Clockwork was unsure whether or not his insectoid companion could even feel anger as he understood it. “In times of war it is necessary to convey information quickly and without fault.”

“Well whaddya know, a changeling that isn’t a mindless flesh eating savage!” Bull Rush cried out as he playfully shoved the changeling. “I like him, boss.”

Thunderhooves gave the bison a look like one would view a puppy with a malformed head, and sighed. “As do I. Now, enough with the pleasantries. I know all of your names and you all know mine, so let’s get straight to it!”

Thunderhooves, Strongheart, and Bull Rush flattened the map so that it lay uncreased. It wasn’t a map of the entirety of Equestria though, just the desert portion of the land. The pegasus was surprised at how barren everything seemed, even with Equestria’s tendency to make things seem just a bit more wonderful than they really were.

“Appleloosa was lost, but not without struggle; we fought valiantly, but no one escaped injury before we evacuated to Dodge Junction.” Thunderhooves explained. “If it weren’t for that new magnetic cannon of theirs and their seemingly endless supply of insect cannon fodder, the Supremacy wouldn’t have taken the city.”

“Speaking of which, do you have any information on said weapon?” Charger asked. “The pre-mission briefing was scarce on details.”

“We know the Supremacy uses the railways scattered across the desert to transport it. That much is clear. In an effort to limit its movement, we destroyed any railways nearby to grant the Supremacy no clean entrance to Dodge Junction.”

Mganga rolled her eyes. “Chieftain, the squad has already received a large majority of this information. Do you have anything new, such as its size, speed, reload time or clear capabilities?”

“That’s the problem. The way the Railgun operates, we have no way to detect it, well, not without following the trail of bodies it leaves behind.” Strongheart’s tone had become disturbingly grim.

Long Shot raised an eyebrow. “We were informed that the bison had suffered minimal casualties during the exodus of Appleloosa. Did we miss something?”

Bull Rush sighed as he made his way to stand alongside his comrades. “The last thing a buffalo wants to do is acknowledge the death of a teammate, especially if it wasn’t a struggle.”

“Chief, what happened?” Clockwork asked, half-dreading the possible answer.

“We patrol our borders to ensure the safety of the city. It should be harmless work. Unfortunately, when a patrol goes out, sometimes it never returns.”

“Chief Thunderhooves, I understand that the topic at hoof may be difficult to discuss, but Meteor Squad needs every piece of information relevant to the current situation if we are to succeed,” Switcher added.

“The railways we did not destroy in our evacuation have been the weapon's primary method of transportation. However, the only indication that it's even present is a single patch of land where my brothers enter but never leave. There are no signs of struggle, no indications of a missed shot. All that is left of the bison is red mist. Hence, the patch of land has been unofficially dubbed Red Sand Stretch.”

“You’re telling me this thing shows up, turns your warriors to nothing, and leaves before anypony can react?” Clockwork inquired.

“I’ve lost far too many warriors to an enemy that is too cowardly to show itself!” Thunderhooves snorted.

“Hmm. . .” Clockwork pressed a forehoof to his chin. Something didn’t make sense. Even if the Railgun could render itself invisible, the sound of a single blast would attracted anypony nearby, and when they showed up, such a massive machine was flat out gone? The pegasus’ eyes lit up as a theory hit him. As crazy as it sounded, it must’ve had some truth to it.

“Gems, I think,” he muttered.

“What?” everypony else asked.

“Whatever this thing is, I think the Supremacy is using gems to power a majority of its functions. Something this big and powerful couldn’t be moving as fast as it does using steam as a propulsion source. So, it's either using some sort of gem to power itself, or it’s using onyx to cloak itself while it trudges along.”

“What does a black rock have to do with this?” Strongheart asked.

“Before Valor Point, Meteor Squad had a run in with a griffon stealth team," Long Shot explained. "They went down easily, but it took some effort to find them. They used suits dotted with onyx to cloak themselves and attack unseen. Maybe that’s what the Supremacy’s using to cloak their new toy?”

The room took on an eerie silence as the individuals inside contemplated the stallions' words. Eventually, Switcher broke the silence. “The commander's memory serves him well. Yes, while I am not an expert on gems and their specific functions, onyx’s sole militaristic use is to hide that which it is attached to from any and all sight and sound through the application if electricity. That is why you have never heard the cannon’s echoing boom or its engines roaring.”

“Even Nocturni night vision can’t pick it up,” Long Shot added. “So if the thing’s completely cloaked and we know its routes. . . why not put a tracer on it? We can follow it where it goes and destroy it when we have a clean shot.” the Commander’s pupils shrunk. “Except, we wouldn’t be able to put a tracer on it if we can’t find it.”

“Wait a second.” Clockwork raised a robed hoof. “What’s the nightly temperature in the desert this time of year?”

“Warm, very warm, why?” Bull Rush asked.

“My plan’s a stretch, but why the hell not? Long Shot, Bull Rush and I head out to Red Sand Stretch, look for any major distortion in the heat waves, and plant a tracer in front of where they come from. I don’t know of any gems used for locomotive propulsion, so the cannon would likely need to use steam to move itself, and steam gives off a lot of heat.”

“. . .How old are you?” Chief Thunderhooves asked.

“Going on nineteen or twenty I think. I haven't really been able to keep track of stuff like that lately,” Clockwork replied with a small, embarrassed grin.

“It seems the next generation of warriors will keep our land safe when we leave it.” the massive bison grinned. He turned to his comrade beside him. “Rush, prepare your equipment and ready for a battle. As soon as the sun sets, you go with Clockwork. Protect him and his comrade with your life.”

“On it, boss.”

Clockwork took another peek through Long Shot’s scope before handing it back to his Commander. They had been out here for hours, maybe. Bull Rush made no attempt to hide his frustration, while Long Shot stayed absolutely silent.

“Red Sand Stretch” certainly lived up to its name. Even in the near perfect darkness, Clockwork could still notice the crimson hue the local sand had been colored. He shivered, wondering how many buffalo had lost their lives here. Ten? Twenty? Fifty or more?”

“Look alive. We’ve got company.” Long Shot’s voice jolted Clockwork back to the present.

“What? Where?” I don’t see any distortion changes, and I’ve lived in this desert my entire life!” Rush half-shouted.

“Shhhh!” Clockwork pressed his metal wing over the bison’s mouth. “Just because we can’t see or hear them doesn’t mean they can’t see or hear us!”

After some grumbling, Bull Rush settled down, an unimpressed frown across his muzzle. Suddenly, the entire world lit up with purple and gold, and a thin wisp far off in the distance turned a bright yellow, standing out from the purple backdrop of the midland desert.

“What in the spirits’ name is this?” Rush asked.

“I cast my night vision over the both of ya so you could see what the hay we’re looking for. Clock, how far up should I aim? For all we know this thing could be flat sans the cannon.”

“I'd say a few meters is a safe bet. If those distortions are anything to go by, this thing’s engines are massive."

"Got it." Long Shot retrieved a single, surprisingly small, bullet from a pouch on his armor. Under his night vision, the tip glowed a brilliant orange. "Tracer round, hits, sticks, and glows for days on end. Now, let's see what we're dealing with."

Long Shot held his breath for just a moment, squeezed the trigger, and breathed out. The tracer round hit precisely where he seemed, and seemed to be flying through the air of its own accord. It had stuck and was glowing almost as bright as a full moon. "Now we follow it, let's move."

Clockwork and Long Shot climbed aboard Bull Rush, knowing full well that the bison was the only one of them that had the strength and stamina to carry two full armored comrades and keep pace with the train. And kept pace he did, staying a safe distance from the tracer as the followed the train for what seemed like days on end.

"Rush, hold up. We can't go any farther."

The bison skidded to a halt much more graceful than Clockwork would've believed possible. "Why not? I don't see nothin' but sand and cacti!"

"That's 'cause you don't have enhanced night vision courtesy of the alicorn of the night herself. Top of that hill. I think we found where this train stops for refueling."

"And where would that be?" Rush asked as he came to the top of the raised patch of earth.

"Heh, Aaaaaaapleloosa." the Commander replied.

Sure enough, the city the Nocturni had addressed glowed almost as brightly as the sun under his night vision. It was all too clear that the Supremacy had set up some serious shop. However, the city looked next to nothing like the pictures Clockwork had seen. A strange, black chitin was slathered over many of the buildings, and tiny figures could be seen swarming above.

"The Supremacy sure knows how to make use of the time they have."

"It sickens me," Rush growled. "There is more than enough land in Equestria available for settlement. They could've just asked for some of it."

"Let's get back to Dodge. We've got enough info, and Clockwork and I can figure out the rest back at base."

No sooner had Long Shot finished his sentence did Bull Rush take off at top speed. A combination of anger and determination fueled him, and before they knew it, they were home.

3:10 to Appleloosa

“Hey Chief, I’ve got a plan.” Long Shot announced as he made his way back into the town hall’s main room. The rest of his team followed close behind.

The leader of all bison looked up from the multitude of charts and other such things he had been perusing, a look of severe interest on his face. “You have my attention, commander.”

“It’s not entirely worked out, but it’s a good basic idea. Clockwork?”

“Right.” the pegasus took a seat at one of the table’s many chairs. “Steam is the gaseous form of water, and in order to achieve its gas form, it must be heated past the boiling point, which is done through heat. Now, I’ve deduced that the locomotive the Supremacy's new Railgun is being transported on is likely propelled using good old steam power, and as such must utilize one of two major heating methods. The first is good old fashioned coal, and the other is some kind of gem the dogs have been using. Unless the Consortium discovered infinite energy, then that thing has to stop to refuel somewhere. So, what is the only inhabited area with a large supply of fuel for a few dozen miles in every direction?”

“Appleloosa!” Strongheart called out from her father’s side.

“Excuse me, winged pony,” Bull Rush interrupted from his seat. “but I don’t get how that’s supposed to help us. One field trip, and at night no less, doesn’t give us the needed information to determine exactly when the Railgun's ammunition supply needs to be restocked or the locomotive refueled.”

Clockwork grinned. “We don’t need to.”

“Young one.” Thunderhooves’ voice gently boomed through the pegasus’ head. “I appreciate your knowledge of the subject but it is urgent that you get to the point. Another moment wasted is another the Supremacy and their bugs will use to plot our demise.”

“I’ll take back the helm.” Long Shot cleared his throat. “myself, Clockwork, and Bull Rush weren’t detected by the enemy crew despite following it at close range. We wait at Red Sand Stretch for the infernal contraption to pass by, board it, and wreak havoc from the inside.”

“And what of the rest of my soldiers? They are all itching to dirty their armor.”

“You guys, all of you, will amass just outside of Dodge Junction and wait for my signal.”

“Which would be?” Strongheart asked.

Long Shot smirked. “A huge boom, with a lot of fire and smoke.”

“You intend to destroy the cannon?” Charger finally spoke out. “Surely we could learn something from it.”

“You are correct, lightning mare,” Mganga responded. “Unfortunately though, I highly doubt that the Supremacy would allow us to take their fancy new toy intact.”

“So, in summation,” Chief Thunderhooves gathered a large number of red triangles and blue squares and placed them on the map before him. “You three take over the locomotive and destroy it as it enters Appleloosa. During that commotion, my soldiers shall rush the city and take it back by sheer force?”

“Bingo.”

“It is a good a plan as any, but what of the rest of your squad, Commander? I believe they wish to assist in the assault some way.”

“Well, I can’t be sure whether or not our successful avoidance of detection was a fluke or not, so I won’t risk any more lives than necessary by taking more soldiers. If Meteor Squad approves, I will assign them to assist the bison in their primary charge. After that, you will rendezvous with us at what remains of the town’s train station.” The Nocturni leaned back in his chair and breathed a deep sigh. “That’s all I’ve got. What do you think?”

Switcher was the first to voice his thoughts. “While I regret that I will be unable to assist you personally in the destruction of the Supremacy’s newest asset, your plan accounts for no discernable Supremacy recovery. If all goes well, the city will be under Alliance control before the sun sets.”

“I will follow with this plan as well, Commander. Simply assign me a task and I shall perform to the best of my ability.” Mganga nodded.

“Same here,” Charger added.

“Well alrighty then.” Long Shout chuckled under his breath. “Chief, we’re ready when you and your soldiers are. When will the attack commence?”

“Hmph!” The huge bison let out a confident snort, steam powering from his nostrils. “No more hiding, no more defensive action! I shall assemble and inform my troops at once! Meteor squad, I sincerely thank you for your assistance in this manner, and give you all leave for the rest of the night. We attack at dawn!”

Clockwork breathed deeply, glad that clean, dry heat was much more forgiving than the smog-tasting air of the large Equestrian cities, or the jungles from whence he had just been relieved. He smiled as he looked downward, the confident war cries of bison and the steady beating of drums signalled that every buffalo within Dodge Junction was ready to take back their city. The sea of lights below him, mixing with the sweet-smelling wisps of smoke rising from the many teepees, made it appear as a gently refracting sea of golden stars that well mimicked the dark blue ocean of true stars above. The pegasus had never been one for crowded areas, and Ponyville had been about just as much as he could take. Hmph, must’ve come with being a pegasus and all, what with their heightened sense of awareness and the-

“Hello, Clockwork. Do you mind if I join you?” a familiar, angelic voice reached Clockwork’s ears.

The stallion turned around to find none other than Charger, the robes around her head removed for the time being, walking towards him. He smiled, hoping that it wouldn’t be too apparent in the night light. “Not at all. I think this town’s big enough for the two of us.”

Charger giggled as she took a seat next to her squadmate. “You’re not going to start making bad western movie references, are you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. I have far too much to worry about right now.”

“What do you mean?”

Charger was silent for a long while. “A large number of things depend on this assault’s success. The control of two entire cities and their orchards, the Supremacy’s combat capabilities and whether or not they will improve, as well as the moral of our own troops, to name just a select few.”

Clockwork sighed and nodded. “I know, but I figured something out a while back. If I keep worrying about what might happen, something equally as bad and completely unexpected will occur instead. I’m not saying I don’t care, far from it. It’s just that-”

“Your safety is at the top of my list of concerns.”

What.

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Charger blushed red enough to be seen even in the moonlight. “I didn’t mean it like that, it is just that I care deeply for the safety of all my teammates. Umm. . . are you absolutely certain that the rest of the squad cannot accompany you and the Commander?”

Clockwork shook his head. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t like you to come with me. If our small number was the reason the enemy didn’t detect us, then we’ll exploit that. Long Shot told me once that there’s no such thing as luck, so he and I aren’t going to depend on it. Long story short, I’m not going to take you with me even if I could.”

“Then. . . at least take this with you.”

Before the pegasus could even begin to fathom a response to the odd statement, his mind was suddenly focused on something else entirely. There was a distinct pressure against his lips, specifically, Charger’s own. It was sudden, unexpected, inexperienced.

It was the best kiss of his life so far.

After Charger had pulled back, Clockwork was left without any sense whatsoever for several moments. “Umm. . . what was that?”

“My first kiss.” Charger answered as she enveloped her head in her robes, concealing all but her perfect blue eyes. “Take it as a wish of good fortune. I believe Penyelamat did something similar before the assault on the Consortium base in Zebrica?”

Clockwork had no idea who or what she was talking about, and by the time his mind had pulled itself together enough to remember what Charger was referring to, she was long gone.

Clockwork looked back to the heavens, for everything seemed to twinkle just a bit stronger now. He licked his lips; they tasted like mint, lilies, and bluebells.

“Hey kid. Look alive, significant heat distortion waves at my eleven.”

Clockwork looked in the direction his commander had signified, squinting to make out anything through the blistering heat and scorching sun. It was difficult to notice, but the steady heat waves were suddenly warped one way or the other by the addition of another source of heat. The pegasus took a moment to unwrap his wings and reappropriate the robes further around his head. The last thing he needed was sand in his eyes with bullets flying at him. It was finally time to go.

“Rush.”

“Got it.” the large warrior scooped up his brothers in arms and took off in whichever direction his comrades pointed him. However, no plan survives contact with the enemy, and within moments, the trio had come under sustained heavy fire from an unknown source.

“Shit!” Long Shot exclaimed as a round glanced off his armor. He immediately drew his rifle and began to return fire.

For a brief moment, Clockwork went stiff. Dammit, so it was all just a fluke. Of course, what with the low levels of light in the evenings mixed with long patrols and the noise-dampening sand, it was no wonder the train’s crew hadn’t-

“Rush! Take us in as close as you can. We’ll find a way onboard and get you inside! Kid! Snap out of your daze and get crackin’ we’ve got a train to rob!”

Clockwork shook his head to rapidly clear it of any stray thoughts. This was it. Now or never. “Yessir!”

Even as he fell under heavy fire, Bull Rush steadily made his way over to the train tracks until he reported that his fur was brushing against something metallic. After a few quick maneuvers, Clockwork had successfully carved a hole in the side of the car and Long Shot had dropped its occupants. They jumped inside.

“Rush!” Long Shot called out. “Fall back as far as you can without burning yourself or getting shot. Anti-air cannons can’t fire horizontally so you should be okay until we find you way inside!”

“Sir!”

Like that, the bison kicked up an immense cloud of dust to cover his retreat. With only a nod, the equine duo began carving their way through the locomotive’s rear cars. Many of them allowed for very little room to move through, all being crammed full of either boxes of gems, horrifically massive rounds of ammunition, or griffon sword wielders unknowingly awaiting their fate. Clockwork almost felt sorry for his opponents as they fell like saplings in a hurricane. They were all just doing their duty, but a simple conflict of interests led them to war. The pegasus steeled his nerve, reminding himself that he wasn’t a killer. He was not a murderer nor a maniac. No, he was a soldier of the Alliance, and he was going to do everything in his power to destroy this infernal machine and help the Alliance regain control of the midland desert.

Five box cars and two dozen or so enemies later, the duo reached the caboose, finding it surprisingly roomy and equipped with a ramp likely used for loading supplies onboard. After a quick bout of tinkering, Clockwork dropped the loading ramp, letting in hot air, sand, and blinding white light. After his eyes had acclimatized to the sudden change in brightness, the pegasus found himself watching as Long Shot beckoned for a seemingly wounded Bull Rush to hurry onboard.

The stallion’s focus was drawn away from his allies as a heavily armored griffon barged inside and drew his sword. However, not all the training in the world could’ve prepared the eagle-lion hybrid for a twelve gram shotgun slug to the chest at point blank range as well as a sniper round to the beak from a little ways off. However, a third, much louder, explosive discharged accompanied the two. It was unlike anything Clockwork had heard in his life up until that point, and when he looked over his shoulder to see if his bison ally was aboard, he found in Bull Rush’s place a rapidly dissipating cloud of red mist.

“NO!” the stallion cried out as he collapsed to his nears. His eyes tearing up in equal parts due to the loss of a capable ally as well as the scorching wind.

“His death won’t have been in vain, kid. We’ll make sure of that. Come on! We’re nearing Appleloosa!”

After being wrenched to his hooves, the pegasus hastily wiped his eyes and followed close behind his squad leader. He gritted his teeth as rage began to flow through him, the stallion not bothering to control it as it blanketed his sense in adrenaline. He was going to make every single last creature aboard this train pay!

And pay they did, for the walls gradually grew stronger shades of red with each passing car. Utilizing his wing as an impromptu shield, it protected both Clockwork and his nocturni comrade from harm as well as acting as a stable and mobile platform for the commander's rifle. It almost wasn't fair, but then again, all's fair in love and war.

The two soldiers kicked in another door and were stunned by harsh sunlight. When their eyes adjusted, they were met with by an unusual sight.

Clockwork realized three things in those few moments.

One: that the Onyx did not cover every available surface of the train, rather projecting a field of warped light to render the locomotive invisible.

Two: the Railgun the Supremacy had been testing ruthlessly was, in fact, a cannon capable of magnetically propelling large projectile to supersonic speeds with deadly accuracy with next to no recoil.

Three: Clockwork was staring straight at the third warrior Long Shot had told him about. The warrior's arms revealed themselves from behind his emerald green cloak, revealing a pair of massive, golden-hued gauntlets that enveloped his paws entirely. The warrior carefully removed his hood, revealing the head of a light-brown Diamond Dog. A light scar was easily visible across his throat, but it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

Nopony spoke for long time. No questions were asked nor answered. The Dog suddenly dropped into a position that signaled he was preparing to leap. His gauntlets suddenly emitted a metallic shink! as large blades extended from the tip of each digit. Clockwork brought his wing to bear as Long Shot took aim.

The Dog pounced.

Much to Clockwork's surprise, the force behind the dog's attack was far more than anticipated. The pegasus was suddenly launched upwards and onto the top of a box car before rolling for a significant distance, his doggish adversary trying all the while to rip him to shreds.

"Kid! I can't get a clear shot! Pin him for just a second!"

The grappling match went on for some time, both soldiers stabbing and carving away at the top of the car until one of them hit something important. A sharp ping ran the length of the entire train, followed soon after by a low electrical buzz as the invisibility field dropped. Clockwork took advantage of the dog's momentary hesitation to tackle him to the ground, finally giving Long Shot the opportunity he needed to-

A sound unlike any other tore through the entirety of reality, and the source was just above Appleloosa, which had grown ever nearer. Clockwork squinted as he gazed skyward. An immense, pure white sphere of fire appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and from within it an airship began to materialize. Clockwork felt his knees begin to buckle out of fear. The zeppelin was massive, a textbook griffon dreadnought at its finest. Its hull was painted in equal amounts crimson and gold, and a familiar symbol was inscribed on its surface, it was the very same one his Diamond Dog foe had on both his gauntlets. The word "Fury" was etched below the symbol.

It was relatively simple in design, a griffon talon grasping at an orb which was likely the sun. However, unlike the standard flag of the Empire, four wings lay in the background. Clockwork's memory flashed back to Cloudsdale. It was the symbol of the Red Order.

It all made sense as several gears fell in place.

This train didn't need steam to power itself. It didn't need refueling or repairs. It was all testing and calibration of a prototype, and this was a delivery run.

The destination being the Fury.

The Dog warrior took the opportunity to exploit Clockwork's fear and wrestled him to the ground faster than he could blink. He pinned the stallion's throat with one gauntlet and raised the other high, covering the sun for a moment. Clockwork struggled against his fate, but it was no use.

Until something shook the train nearly off its tracks.

The sudden shift in momentum destabilized the Dog, causing his attack to go wide and embed his claws in the roof of the car. He wrenched his limbs in an attempt to secure freedom, but to no avail.

As soon as Clockwork had wiggled out from under him, Long Shot readjusted his aim and fired.

The dog finally managed to get his paw free, raising both of his gauntlets to block the incoming round. Without a sound, the dog was launched off the car and into the unforgiving desert below.

Clockwork, struggling to gather his breath, wiggled towards the edge of the car to see if his enemy was, in fact, dead. However, he felt a tugging force on his shoulder as Long Shot helped him to his hooves.

"Thanks for the help, sir, but we need to confirm the kill. We don't want him popping up at a later time and causing any more trouble."

"No need to, shot at this close of a range, with such a high caliber bullet, as well as falling from this height at this speed all add up to instantaneous death before he even hit the ground. Now come on and help me lift the guy who saved your life on board!"

Clockwork didn't have time to form a response as he made his way back to the flatbed car housing the railgun. Much to his shock and joy, an ever familiar bison was running alongside them at top speed.

"Hey! I can't keep this up forever, you know!"

Bull Rush was alive and. . . not necessarily well. A large chunk of flesh was missing from his shoulder, and his remarkable speed and endurance were starting to fail him. With only a nod, the pegasus reached over and strained to lift the behemoth onto the platform. With some help from Long Shot, Bull Rush was lifted onboard and rested on his uninjured side.

The behemoth was without armor and panting heavily as Long Shot looked him over for any further injuries. When he found none, he knelt down to look the desert warrior in the eye. "Hey Rush, you okay?"

"I took a damned cannon round in the shoulder. What do you think?" the bison asked through gritted teeth.

Long Shot groaned. "You're fine. Clockwork," the commander looked towards his able-bodied comrade. "Move up and deal with any remaining hostiles. I'll have to hang back and fix up our friend here. We're getting close so make sure to blow this thing quick!"

"Hey!" Bull Rush struggled weakly to get up. "You said I was fine!"

"I was being sarcastic. There's more adrenaline in your veins than there is blood, and in about thirty seconds you're going to go into severe shock. Just breath and I'll keep you alive. Clockwork, go!"

The pegasus nodded before kicking in the door at the far end of the railgun. He hurried inside, glad to find it without hostile occupants, and reloaded his pistol. The cabin grew dark as the Fury cast its shadow over the transport. He had five minutes tops before this whole plan went to Tatarus.

Surprisingly, there was very little in the way of opposition as Clockwork hurried towards the locomotive's engine. In fact, the only griffon the pegasus encountered was the operator, dead by a self inflicted sword through his gut. The stallion stopped for a moment to contemplate who the operator was before steeling his nerve. No mourning, no remembrance, only action.

If there was a lever, Clockwork pulled it as far as he could until it broke. If there was a button, it was pressed, if there was a gem to be broken, Clockwork made it so. It would've pained him to destroy such intricate machinery, but the fact that he could clearly make out the individual faces of griffon soldiers now meant that there was no time for emotion. After a shrill metallic groaning overtook the room, Clockwork felt his job had been accomplished, about-faced, and sprinted as fast as he could. Just as Clockwork reached his comrades, a bright flash engulfed the corners of his vision. No sooner had he shielded his comrades with his artificial wing , when a searing wave of heat passed over everything.

Charger gazed forlornly off into the distance, her eyes coming to rest on the blurred, waverly image of Appleloosa. As the train the Supremacy's prototype Railgun was on was capable of rendering itself invisible to the naked eye, she had no way to tell if her allies were successful in their mission. Well, there was the theorized explo-

A blinding sphere of pure fire engulfed the sky just above Appleloosa, an immense griffon dreadnought with a hull of scarlet and gold slowly materializing out of it. The amassed bison, as well as Switcher and Mganga, were noticeably disturbed by the sudden appearance of an unexpected factor. Charger took several deep breaths to calm herself, but still couldn't rid herself of concern.

"Worry not, my bretheren!" Chief Thunderhooves shouted. "A single airship does not turn the battle in the enemy's favor, no matter how large! Prepare to stampede!"

Charger struggled to stay atop Strongheart, who had been assigned as her mount until they reached the city. After the bison readjusted her stance, she glanced upwards and spoke. "You are nervous, and I believe I may know why. The way you look at that pegasus, I haven't seen that kind of gaze in a very long time. Tell me, mare of lightning, what is he to you?"

The yellow earth pony sighed before checking her rifle for even the slightest hint of damage. “He is a teammate and a good friend.”

“Do you harbor feelings for him?”

Before Charger could respond, a resounding explosion followed by an equally impressive pressure wave engulfed the sea of warriors. The resulting cloud of smoke and multi-colored fire slathered the underside of the griffon dreadnought and then some, resulting in the airship teleporting away and several of the city’s rear buildings simple ceasing to exist.

“That is the signal!” Chief Thunderhooves roared. “STAMPEDE!”

The Thunder of War

Warfather sighed as he checked to make sure that every last piece of his armor remained snug against his form. He had expected a counterattack, and most certainly a forward charge from the bison. Such brutes would never learn proper strategy as long as a single method proved effective no matter the cost. No, the one thing the warrior-priest of the Red Order did not expect was for the opposition to destroy such a valuable piece of machinery just underneath another. Surely they had contemplated taking it for themselves? Such a lucky move could've only been the result of either a genius that the Alliance did not have, or pure, unadulterated luck.

Warfather drew his sword, the feather of Carniferous, and checked it over. The moment his personal ship, the Fury, had teleported overhead, he had sent Gilda aboard to ensure her safety. Pity the warship had to leave so soon. Despite his youngest apprentice's excellence, she was not ready for mass bloodshed just yet. He wondered what had become of Echo for a moment, then shrugged it off when he realized that he would be seeing him again very soon no matter the outcome.

The griffon sheathed his blade, finding it without damage, and made his way out of his office. The commotion of battle had already reached his doorstep. Maybe, just maybe, he would find an opponent or two worthy of combat.

Clockwork lay amongst the scorching remains of the superweapon in a half-daze. His robes had been incinerated, his fur burnt, and his body beaten by rubble, but his allies, protected beneath his wing of mithril, remained unharmed. Without a word, the trio got to their hooves and hurried towards the east end of the city.

The sounds of chaos were all too apparent to the exhausted pegasus. Insectoid screeching filled his ears along with gunshots, the clashing of steel on bronze, and the unshakable war cries of charging bison. The scent of blood was positively overwhelming, made tolerable only by the dryness of the sand on which it lay. From out of the corner of his eye, Clockwork glanced a massive apple orchard he had only seen in postcards and old history books. Appleloosa Acres, thought it lay relatively undamaged, had nevertheless been touched by the unforgiving hands of war.

For some unfathomable reason, Clockwork felt like laughing. He actually giggled a bit for every corrupted changeling that detonated in a cloud of orange goo due to his aim.

“Kid! Don’t you dare go insane on me just yet! As hard as it may be, I need you to remain clear-headed until this whole thing blows over! You got that? Hey, Clockwork! Can you hear me in there?!”

Clockwork looked to his side, finding himself staring at a worried Long Shot. He clenched his teeth as he nodded, his neck screaming in protest. “I’m fine, sir. Just need a medic is all. . .”

“Lucky for you there’s one right here. Hey! Mganga! Get this stallion patched up and back in the fight ASAP! We need everyone at a hundred and ten!” he commanded.

Clockwork was passed from the Nocturni to the zebra as she helped him inside a building. He was soon laid down on a cot, formerly occupied by a griffon soldier long dead. He watched as Bull Rush was guided to some other location to be treated elsewhere. If anything could recover from such a remarkable injury, it was him.

"Sir!" Switcher came running to the pegasus' side, doing what he could to help Mganga wrap the stallion's bandages. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do to assist you for the time being?"

"Where's- gah. . . where's Charger?"

"Safe. Likely on the front lines assisting Strongheart in the offensive-"

"Okay. What’s up with the changelings here? They don't look like. . . you."

"You are correct in your observation, Clockwork." the changeling readjusted his helm. “They are the Corrupted after all, and as such have altered phenotypic traits in addition to genetic.”

The pegasus shifted to get a bit more comfortable then lay still. "Why?"

"I believe the saying 'You are what you eat' is remarkably appropriate here. Their way of living, their food source, mentality, all helped to warp the Corrupted into a form unworthy of the name 'changeling'. Their more sharp-edged legs help to slice flesh, and their fangs and horns to tear. Their eyes help them see better at night, and their chitin hides them in the dark."

"Do we have a chance?"

"Of course. The Corrupted rely on a quickened breeding pace than the Pure, resulting in more, though less experienced, offspring. We shall return Appleloosa to its rightful owners before the day's end."

"Good to hear."

"Clockwork!" a familiar earth pony shouted. She rushed over and enveloped the wounded pegasus into a sort of half-hug, though the recipient didn't find it any less comfortable. It was by now that Switcher and Mganga decided it was best to return to where they were most effective.

“Hey Charger,” he replied dumbly.

“How in the name of sanity did you survive that explosion? Not that I am complaining, but I was able to clearly see that detonation from the city’s outskirts!”

“Well I got cooked, that much is certain.” the pegasus smirked, albeit with some difficulty. “I guess your kiss may have been lucky after all.”

For the first time since Clockwork could remember, Charger fell completely silent, grasping for some semblance of a response. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but he didn’t have much time to contemplate it.

“WARFATHER!”

A voice that couldn’t have belonged to any other besides Chief Thunderhooves roared throughout the entirety of the desert. Everything appeared to stop for the briefest of moments as every living thing that heard that sound attempted to understand just what the hell was going on.

With some struggling and help from Charger, the weary stallion removed himself from his makeshift hospital bed and hobbled outside, pistol loaded and ready. However, he never drew it when he and his ally finally made it outside.

All fighting had ceased, both bison and griffons formerly attempting to kill each other looked off towards something in the center of the town. The corrupted had taken to the air, forming an immense, screeching swarm of black chitin. Without a word, the two ponies soon found Long Shot and Switcher-7, who helped them to get a better view of the situation.

Chief Thunderhooves stood at the far end of the circle of warrior, steam pouring from his nose as his teeth grinded against one another in fury. Opposite him was a griffon unlike any other Clockwork had yet seen. His head feathers were as white as the purest ivory, his body feathers a golden brown, his claws just golden, and his single eye a soft olive green. The armor he wore was remarkable to look at, as though its forger had determined the perfect unification of form and function. Like other members of the Red Order, the wearer’s armor was equal parts scarlet and gold, and the pauldron on his left shoulder bore the same mark as he had seen sprawled across the hull of the Fury. He held a beautifully crafted sword at the ready, though his eyes lacked any sort of enthusiasm unlike his opponent.

Clockwork finally realized who this griffon was, and a steady drum beat began to echo through the desert as every bison began stamping their hooves in time.

In the future, when anyone wished for a textbook wartime example of organized chaos, they would find the ongoing battle for Appleloosa to be more than exemplary.

Warfather continued straight ahead, doing his best to avoid conflict but not hesitating to cut down anything that got in his way, did not need to look around to determine the present situation. His forces were losing ground quickly and without struggle. Griffons were dying on all sides as bloodthirsty desert bison ended their lives through an almost endless list of applications of brute strength. The local Corrupted queen had hidden herself away in an attempt to prolong her own life, and in doing so had begun to lose control of her children. The average citizen could be driven to madness in the face of such unrestrained horror.

The loss of the Consortium’s prized super weapon was unfortunate but not entirely unexpected. The griffon had known from the beginning that such a war as this could be won only through blood, not the intricate machines of this day and age.

“WARFATHER!”

The booming call shook the griffon from his musings. A small frown creasing the upper ends of his beak, the warrior priest turned a single telescopic eye to the eastern end of the small town, the setting sun glimmered off of the bronze armor of bison more than two hundred strong.
While any other Supremacy soldier would’ve found the sight terrifying, Warfather found it beautiful. Said buffalo were marching through the city, rebuffing griffon retaliatory efforts through a mix of incredible fortitude and sheer presence. Bemused, Warfather quietly ordered his soldiers to stand down as he made his way towards the source of that war cry.

Warfather had met the leader of the bison tribes only once before what seemed like eons ago, but time did little to weaken his ability to identify the impressive beast. Chief Thunderhooves towered over even the largest of his brethren by a full head, and the feathered headdress he wore did not help his anonymity. The rest of the chieftain’s substantial bulk was covered by surprisingly beautiful tribal armor, hung with what looked like pieces of bone and horn.

Warfather alighted upon the blood-caked dusts with hardly a sound, the clanking of his armor and the swish of his wings oddly loud in the stillness. For the moment, the battle was halted as every eye rested upon their respective leaders. Nopony moved, few dared to breathe, and those who did found the air thick with tension.

“You requested my presence,” Warfather spoke dryly, quirking an eyebrow at the buffalo chieftain. He had stopped his trek some twenty paces from the herbivore, more than enough distance to take wing and draw steel should he charge.

Chief Thunderhooves stamped a hoof, and snorted loudly.

“I have been told that you have some semblance of honor,” the chieftain rumbled. “I would seek to end needless bloodshed by facing you in single combat. Hoof to talon, horn to beak, till one falls, never to rise again.”

“An odd request,” Warfather murmured, buffing a talon idly against his lacquered chestplate as he considered his options.

A significantly smaller, obviously younger buffalo angrily stepped forward.

“You have no right to refuse us!” the pitch of its voice pronouncing it as female. “Look around you,” she shouted, waving an angry hoof at the corpse-strewn battlefield. “Your weapon is shattered, your soldiers fighting for their lives. Even you cannot be blind to the hopelessness of your cause.”

Warfather glanced around, his demeanor relaxed, “It truly is a mess, isn’t it?”

The she-bison opened her mouth for an angry retort, but fell silent as Thunderhooves put his hoof in front of her.

“Now is not the time, Little Strongheart,” he murmured. “Your battle will come.”

For a moment, it seemed as if she would reject her leader’s command, but then her eyes turned downcast and she backed off a step.

“Yes, Father,” she murmured.

The chieftain nodded, and redirected his attention back to Warfather, who had watched the exchange with little amusement, in fact, seeming almost sorrowful. His expression hardened.

“What say you?” the massive bison’s step forward shook the earth, “Will you meet me on even ground? Will you fight as an equal? Or will you cower behind your lines and allow your subordinates to die needlessly?”

A visible shudder ran through the griffon lines, no one and nothing ever having dared to accuse Warfather of cowardice. There were rumors of rumors of those who had, and not one was a happy tale. Warfather, for his part, merely gazed at the bison, letting his eyes run over every muscle, every hair, and then he smiled.

“I humbly accept.” the griffon lowered himself into a practiced bow. “It will be a great honor to do battle against a worthy opponent such as yourself. His declaration, soft as it was, unleashed a torrent of frenzied howls from his subordinates. The winged soldiers began beating the stocks of their weapons into the ground in rhythmic unison. The bison quickly followed. The Corrupted, painfully stupid, took to the air in a blood-crazed frenzy.

Thunderhooves nodded, his expression grim. With a wave, he dismissed his entourage, glancing back only to accept a feathered cudgel from the one called Little Strongheart. The weapon was peaceful in its appearance, but to a warrior’s trained eye the blood stains and dents spoke all too well of a history of violence.

In moments, a circular arena was cleared. Encompassing nearly a hundred feet in diameter, it was walled tightly by the press of bodies. Spectators squabbled and jockeyed for position, griffons rubbing shoulders with buffalo as everyone tried to get the best position to watch their leaders.

When the commotion finally died down, the two combatants walked with slow, deliberate steps until they stood roughly three meters apart in the center of the arena. Thunderhooves carried his cudgel in the crook of his right foreleg, Warfather drew the feather of Carniferous with deliberate passion, letting the sound of immaculate metal brush against its immaculate sheath.

“Do you truly believe that you can defeat me with a simple blade?” Thunderhooves asked, his experienced gaze concentrating on Warfather’s chest, rather than his eyes.

“This is no ordinary blade. It has been quite some time since someone with real power asked me to battle,” Warfather replied. “If you do not mind, I wish to savor this experience for as long as possible.”

“Have you not already slaughtered hundreds?”

“Not without disdain. Do you remember the failed assassination? The one where the zebra male was killed by Empress Carapace?”

The Corrupted above screeched in protest at the mention of their former ruler. Chief Thunderhooves remained silent.

“While it is true that every griffon is born with an innate desire for bloodshed, not every warrior wishes for that lust to be satiated. I was born a slave rather than a warrior, and would gladly take peace over the death of the innocent.”

Thunderhooves gritted his teeth. “You lie, devil.”

“Truth is only a perception invented by the mind to clear one’s conscience. In the end, we are all guilty of some crime or another. Do you have anything left to say?”

With greater speed than his bulk suggested, the bison whirled and charged; away from his opponent.

The griffons booed and jeered, thinking the powerful chieftain was running from his own challenge. Warfather saw differently; there was no fear in Thunderhooves’ eyes, only a staunch determination to win.

As if responding to the war-priest’s thoughts, the bison’s trajectory veered sharply, mere inches from the buffalo lines. His momentum carried him around the circumference of the arena once, twice, his speed gaining all the while. Warfather briefly entertained the idea that the chieftain was attempting to perform a land-based Sonic Rainboom, hoping the explosion of quasi-magical energies would be enough to break through the Blessing of Carniferous. He abandoned these idle fantasies when the bison turned at an impossible angle to head straight for the center of the field, and the griffon still standing there.

“Carniferous. . . FREE. MY. SOUL!”

Warfather felt time slow down as the power of the Dragon God awoke within him. Fire seared through his veins, the red of the setting sun and the blood became sharply pronounced, and his mind achieved a clarity not unlike that of a glacial spring. In an instant he saw every move of the battle, every thrust and parry, and the final blow fell as he smiled.

Casually, the griffon raised himself on his hind legs, right paw slightly back for balance. He sheathed his blade and his talons draped down his sides, hanging like a dog’s arms. He had not used this stance since training Echo, as it was unfit for aerial combat and exceedingly difficult to utilize in actual battle.

At the last possible increment of measurable time, Warfather thrust out his arms to either side of Thunderhooves’ lowered skull, catching his horns in a viselike grip. The buffalo’s speed drove him back, his paws digging into the turf for purchase, muscles straining against the force of impact. He slid three feet, twelve, twenty-five, and stopped.

Thunderhooves’ pawed at the ground, hooves digging deep, but he could not budge his adversary an inch. He, for the first time in his adult life, had matched his unstoppable force against an immovable object.

“Impressive,” Warfather panted. “If I had been a lesser griffon that blow would have disintegrated my body,” he leaned in close to the trapped bison’s ear. “But I am beyond anything you have faced before.”

In a rare display of humility, Thunderhooves tore himself away and backpedaled, snatching up his club from the dust as he did. Warfather was surprised to find he did not know when the chieftain had dropped it, assuming it had been just before the start of his charge. Thunderhooves, panting slightly from his exertion, gave the weapon a few experimental swings. In a different setting, Warfather would have found the image hilarious. As it was, he knew that even with the chieftain’s stubby legs he could swing hard enough to shatter granite.

Banishing his emotions to the back of his mind, Warfather drew his blade once more, remaining for the moment in his bipedal stance. Responding to the roars of approval from his soldiers, he flourished the blade in an elaborate, but ultimately meaningless, display of skill. The cheering doubled.

The combatants circled each other slowly, sizing up their opponent for the first sign of weakness. Precious seconds passed, the air between them deathly still. With the next step, Warfather’s eyes snapped open to their fullest extent, and he covered the distance with a single bound. Time slowed to a crawl as the griffon closed, his blade swinging in a deadly arc, the polished white cudgel rising to meet him.

Blue light exploded as sword met wood, and a very surprised Warfather was thrown like a ragdoll. The griffon snarled a curse, his mind remaining clear despite his initial shock. His instincts guided his flight into a controlled roll, and he slid to a halt some forty feet from his starting point. The crowds fell silent in mystified awe.

Warfather blinked the stars from his eyes and stared at his opponent, not quite comprehending what he saw. Chief Thunderhooves, for his part, looked equally perplexed for a moment, before his expression settled into a warm, almost tender smile.

The buffalo chieftain was wreathed in an ethereal blue glow, surrounding him in a halo of warm light. The faint sound of stampeding hooves and pounding drums could be heard all around, though not a soul was moving.

Warfather slid to his feet, discarding the ghostly sounds as the result of his recent head trauma, his single eye focused intently on the glowing bison.

“What is this?” he asked, genuinely intrigued for the first time in a long while.

Thunderhooves chuckled, a deep-throated laugh that carried with it the joy of a father embracing his son.

“It is the Endless Stampede,” he explained. “The spirits of my ancestors, of my ancestors’ ancestors, and their ancestors before them, stand with me this day. Your god holds no power here any longer.”

Warfather’s eye narrowed at the blasphemous claim.

“War is all around us,” he responded. “Carniferous reigns supreme when the fields are soaked with blood.”

Thunderhooves gestured with his cudgel, “Then look around you, I see no blood here.”

There was an immediate shuffling of hooves, talons, and paws as the surrounding armies attempted to look everywhere at once. Thunderhooves had spoken truly, for there was indeed no blood of any kind to be found anywhere. Even the desiccated orchards had been restored to lush and bountiful life. The only evidence of battle to be found were the bloodless corpses of the fallen, their wounds miraculously healed, leading many to wonder why they did not simply rise up. There was a series of surprised squawks and rumbling voices as those who had been injured in the fray found themselves suddenly well and whole.

“Impressive,” Warfather admitted. “Most impressive.”

“Then you see now why your fight is pointless,” Thunderhooves proclaimed. “Surrender now, and I promise to ensure the safety of you and your underlings while you carry out your sentences. I am told Equestrian prisons are most accommodating.”

There were a few grumbles from the buffalo at this, as many had lost good friends this day and were not entirely eager to accept their chieftain’s generous terms.

Warfather frowned and scanned the crowd. While his own soldiers appeared as stoic as ever, there were nervous glances and shuffling amongst the lower ranks. The display of healing power had shaken them, and it was only their respect for their commander that held them in place. Respect, or fear.

The griffon commander kicked himself mentally, as it was not the time to debate the finer ethics of leadership. He needed to do something, and do it fast if he wanted to keep the majority of his forces from bolting at the next light show.

“Generous terms,” he said, speaking slowly to buy time. “But one wonders if your fellow leaders would be so willing to abide by them.”

Thunderhooves snorted without amusement. “It was their idea,” he stated bluntly, “if it had been my choice I would have trampled all of you into the dirt for what you have done. To me, to Equestria, and to Mfalme.”

“I do not recognize that name,” Warfather said, his mind drawing a blank. Zebrica had so many sub-leaders of separate tribes that one would pause to wonder as to exactly how they had managed to maintain any semblance of a centralized government.

The buffalo’s eyes snapped wide in rage, and he gave a tremendous snort.

“You,” his voice shook with pent up rage, “you do not even know the name of the first casualty of your war? You do not even bother to learn of the first good being who fell to your evil?”

Warfather sighed, using his ignorance to his advantage. Rage was a power learned to wield quickly, lest it consume you and create foolish errors. It would seem Thunderhooves had neglected his training. Excellent.

“I did not kill whoever you speak of, only the scribe to cover my allies’ escape, and even then I regret it. It was never supposed to be this way.”

An earth-shattering roar, fit to rival the dragon kings of old, exploded from the buffalo as he charged. Even at his speed, it took precious seconds to traverse the distance, more than a sufficient opening for the blood-drenched warrior. Ribbons of crimson hate flashed through the buffalo’s blue aura, visible only to the eyes of those blessed by Carniferous. Warfather breathed deep, feeding off the chieftain’s burning rage, using his bloodlust and desire for violence to fuel his own power.

The Blessing of Carniferous exploded in all its burning fury, and the world erupted in sapphire and ruby light as the wills of gods clashed. Thunder rumbled from a cloudless sky, earth cracked, and a furious gale billowed across the land for miles around as a metal bestowed upon mortals by a god clashed against an indestructible, ancient timber.

Buffalo stamped their hooves and griffons let loose raucous cheers as the combatants danced across the battlefield. Metal met wood, hoof met talon, all in a furious display of untempered violence. Chief Thunderhooves, first and greatest among the buffalo, pitted the might and spirit of his ancestors against the chaotic, blood-soaked power of Carniferous’ own champion. War clashed against peace, love against hatred, courage against fear.

Years later, the survivng onlookers would swear that the tempest lasted for days, perhaps even weeks, though in reality it lasted less than minutes. The combatants separated, both breathing heavily.

Shocked gasps echoed through the crowd as the dust settled, allowing the spectators their first good look at what had been wrought. Warfather stood on his hind legs, his sword held at an angle out to his side. His armor was all but shattered, and his feathers matted down with sweat, but what drew the eyes of his followers was his left arm. The elbow had been bent at an unnatural angle, the white of bone just barely showing through, but in his talon he clutched a black, curved object.

Chief Thunderhooves seemed equally worse for wear. His armor was gouged by deep slashes, his hooves cracked, and the right side of his face was covered in blood.

Silence reigned for seconds more, both sides unable to comprehend how such damage could be sustained without death.

Warfather chuckled wetly, bloody froth present at the corners of his beak.

“Impressive,” he laughed. “Most impressive. It has been many years since the last time someone has hurt me like this. I had almost forgotten what true pain felt like.”

Thunderhooves breathed heavily in what might have been a snort. He had managed to calm down during the exchange of blows, realizing that his overwhelming hatred was exactly what the griffon wanted. The loss of his horn had been evidence enough of that.

“I do not believe you have ever felt pain,” he rumbled. “Nothing, griffon or otherwise could suffer torment and then willingly inflict it upon others. Not even one as blackhearted as you.”

A genuine snarl curved Warfather’s beak, rage and pain flashing in his eyes for the briefest of moments, before being smothered in a sea of calm. It happened so fast, Thunderhooves was not entirely certain it had happened at all.

“You know nothing of me.” Warfather’s voice could have frozen an open flame.

Thunderhooves hefted his cudgel, its feathers gone and wood cracked.

“I know that I must end you,” he said tiredly. “If Equestria is to have any hope of peace.”

Warfather readied for a death blow, both to himself and his opponent. Truly, he had not encountered someone as difficult to defeat as the Chieftain in all his life, and rightly so. If he had, then the griffon likely would’ve died long ago.

Chief Thunderhooves of the bison clans threw his club aside and angled his skull so that his single, now significantly lengthened horn, sat level with his adversary’s chest. He gritted his teeth and breathed deeply, revealing to all that he had lost more than a few teeth, replaced now by bleeding holes.

He charged.

Warfather stepped back as the bison rushed him, angling his blade as he did so that he would end the beast’s life without pain. He did not deserve a slow, dishonorable death after what had occurred this fateful day.

However, as the two warrior met in what would be their final clash, something occurred that neither one of them would have ever foreseen.

Both the Eternal Stampede and the Blessing of Carniferous exploded as they made contact, bathing all that was visible in an indescribable white light and loud, piercing noise.

When the light had faded, it gave away to another unexpected seen. Both Warfather and Chief Thunderhooves stood opposite one another, neither warrior facing the other. Warfather felt as chill run up his spine as he turned around, his eyes finding that his swung had gone wide, missing its intended mark and leaving a horrendous gash in the buffalo’s side. Amazingly however, no blood flowed, as there was none left. Yet, the bison still stood, fueled by something even the chieftain himself could not comprehend.

The bison slowly turned around, wheezing, tired, and inches from death.

Suddenly, an unholy scream pierced the heavens as the local Corrupted queen emerged from deep underground, spraying sand in every direction. It didn’t look the same anymore, though. This queen must have undergone some kind of metamorphosis, as it now bore a striking resemblance to its mother, Empress Carapace.

A moment of silence followed, broken by the single most indescribable roar ever heard by any creature to have taken form. It had come from Chief Thunderhooves, who was now charging with every last ounce of energy left in his body.

Warfather tried to respond, tried to finish what had started, but found himself incapable of any motion whatsoever as the bison charged towards him. Thunderhooves impacted the warrior priest, sending him hurtling through the air and sprinkling bits of armor the last of his blood in every direction. When he impacted the scorching ground, he had lost all semblance of consciousness. His last words were for his warriors to end their own lives so they would not be executed when they returned home, and they did just that, piercing their bodies with blade after blade until all but one feathered creature lay dead on the sand. Throughout the entire ordeal, Warfather never let go of his sword.

However, the griffon was not Chief Thunderhooves’ final target.

It was the Corrupted Queen.

With the last of his life force, Chief Thunderhooves ran straight through the unholy offspring of a stolen Empress, leaving nothing but dark ash in its wake. The Corrupted overhead simply plummeted to the earth, their bodies quickly dissolving into nothing as they were overtaken by the desert sand.

The Chieftain came to a grinding halt and turned around, his face bearing a smile devoid of anger, bloodlust, or sorrow. There was only fulfillment. He uttered two final words.

“For. . . Mfalme!”

The leader and greatest of all bison came crashing down, the very earth shaking as he did. Chief Thunderhooves’ legs long and prosperous life finally came to an end in the only way he could ever see fit.

Victorious.

As was tradition within the clans, the body of a fallen warrior, no matter their faction, was to be incinerated in a funeral pyre the night of their death. The bison that had fallen today were granted their own pyre, and the griffons their own as well. However, if a bison leader were to perish, they would be granted their own pyre, the largest possible, and their successor would remain at its side until the embers died from lack of fuel. Specifically, the fuel being the shattered remains of any buildings unfortunate enough to have been destroyed or damaged beyond repair in the battle.

The sun had set, and the night felt unusually cold as every warrior, injured or otherwise, paid their respects to the fallen. There was no singing or dancing, or even the faintest tearful sob. There was only quiet, and the occasional crackling of the fire.

Clockwork stood at attention as he went from one pyre to the next and saluted. Sure, the griffons that died today likely wanted nothing more than his death along with every Alliance soldier, but they desired it because they felt it was for the good of their home more so that an insatiable bloodlust. They were soldiers too.

The pyre for the fallen bison was remarkably smaller, as only a few had actually been killed, though the impact was no less noticeable as a result. Death was death no matter how glorious or well deserved, and it affected everyone involved.

Clockwork stopped when he reached Chief Thunderhooves’ funeral pyre, taking a moment to muse upon its immense size. He smirked, hoping that the former leader of the bison would’ve found it of appropriate size for him. Then again, why would he have cared? So long as his people were victorious and safe from harm, he probably wouldn’t have cared how big or small his flames were, and Celestia, were they large.

Clockwork tried to stay by the pyre as best he could, but the rapidly increasing flame size and heat given off proved too much for the stallion soon enough, and he retreated a ways back before standing at Strongheart’s side, who in turn had a heavily bandaged Bull Rush standing at her other side. They all remained silent for some time,

“Should we say anything?” Clockwork asked. “Any parting words or some such?”

“Hmph. No.” Strongheart shook her head, a sad smile on her muzzle. “There is nothing to say that hasn’t already been said about him. Besides, I don’t think Dad would like us wallowing in our sorrow over his passing. Alas, we are only mortal and thus susceptible to our feelings.”

Clockwork nodded slowly. “So. . . what happens now?”

“Well, when the fire has died and I have scattered Father’s ashes, I am to undertake the rite of passage to become the next chieftain, or chieftess actually. Heh. I’ll be granted the power of the Eternal Stampede, and from there I must help my people and allies rebuild before sending my brothers to the front lines en masse.”

“They’ll do great, I’m sure of it.” Clockwork tried his best to reassure her.

“As am I. If you’ll excuse me, I must say my final goodbyes.” with that, the soon to be chieftess made her way a bit closer to the fire and knelt down. She began muttering something too faintly for Clockwork to make any meaning of it, and it was then that he decided to turn his attention to Bull Rush.

“How are you holding up?”

“What? This?” the injured warrior scoffed at the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. “Sure, it hurts like hell but that won’t stop me from helping where I’m needed.”

“We could use your help in Meteor Squad, actually," Clockwork mused. “You’d make for an excellent special forces soldier, and I think Long Shot’s had some experience working with bison before.”

Bull Rush contemplated the offer in his head, but quickly reached a decision. He knelt down as best he could. “I am honored to have been given the offer, but I must humbly refuse. To be honest, I’m actually terrified of heights.”

“Oh.”

“Not just that, though. My people need me right here, here right now, on our home turf. I can’t do much in the lines of offensive actions, but I’ll still do my best. Lastly, I’ve made a promise to my betrothed to stick by her side no matter the circumstances so that she may stay safe in even the most trying of times.”

Both pairs of equine eyes fell on Strongheart. Clockwork didn’t need to ask. “Well, the only things I’ve got left to say are thanks for all the help, and that I wish you two a safe and happy life.”

“The same to you, my friend.”

Clockwork was a little confused by that answer, but he felt no less honored. Both warriors saluted and went their separate ways soon after.

“What do you mean they couldn’t find his body?” Clockwork asked, something between horror and confusion filling his mind.

“I don’t get it much either, kid.” Long Shot ran a hoof through his mane, still a bit damp with sweat. “I’ve looked or Warfather’s body myself and all I found was this damned hole.”

Clockwork looked intently at the black circle once more. Something didn’t add up. The only thing that could dig a hole that deep that quickly was-

“Either way, he’s either dead and buried or heavily wounded and missing in action, both of which are favorable circumstances for us. Never mind that, though.” the commander’s voice took on a much more serious tone. “We’ve got a new set of orders, and they come straight from the royal sisters themselves.”

Clockwork instinctively stood at attention at the mention of his dual rulers.

“They’ve read my report on this battle and know that Meteor’s tired, but we can’t afford to just take a break in the middle of a war. We’re being assigned to a more defensive position for the time being.”

“Where are we headed next, sir?”

“Stalliongrad.”

Stalliongrad

Clockwork reclined on the couch in his quarters, taking a deep breath as he did. He stretched his limbs and whistled.

“So, Stalliongrad, huh?” he asked himself.

The pegasus had more than enough time to contemplate his squad’s next location of deployment. The teleportation drive had been experiencing a few minor bugs lately, and the crew certainly didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances with such a valuable (and unstable) piece of experimental technology. Long story short, Szary and her occupants were taking the old fashioned way to Stalliongrad, by steam-powered propellers.

From what Clockwork understood, Stalliongrad was essentially a second Canterlot, but with a lot more dirt and grime. Well, there was also the fact that Stalliongrad wasn’t built into the side of an extinct volcano but that was somewhat besides the point. The “Fortress City” was home to the Behemoth Engine, an immense energy producing facility large enough to occupy the space of a standard munitions factory, times five. For a long time, the formerly crude wonder of engineering and its counterparts were largely responsible for the pollution that had plagued Equestria during the first Industrial Revolution. Only after the cleansing, when all but one was shut down, did it become refined to the point where its waste outpoint was almost zero. Despite having such a massive power source at their command, the mares and stallions in charge of the city had determined that it was best to direct a majority of the Engine’s energy output to the city’s war factories, facilities where everything from bullets to the guns that fired them all the way up to the zeppelins that housed the soldiers that carried those guns were made.

Clockwork chuckled as he realized that he may have been romanticizing the engines, for it was due to them that he even existed at all. His mother, Quick Fix, (just one of hundreds of ponies) had made a living out of caring for the engine. Due to a booking mix up, she and a foreigner from Ponyville by the name of Gearbox had met in the same place with the intent of achieving the same goal. One thing led to another, and the rest was history. In a way, Stalliongrad was Clockwork’s second home.

“EEEEE!” a familiar, excited pony barreled through the room and directly into Clockwork, almost knocking him out of his resting place. “Ican’tbelievewe’regoingtoStalliongradI’vealwayswantedtogothereandohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” Haywire’s speech dissolved into excited drabble as a panting Wetwork followed her into the room and politely shut the door behind her.

“Sorry. We just got the news about our next assignment and you know how she gets when-”

“I know.” Clockwork interrupted his marefriend as he wrenched himself from the giggling, wiggling mass atop him. “I just never thought you two would be so excited about going to such a heavily industrialized city. I always thought something more along the lines of Trottingham or Hoofington. You know, someplace with better scenery-”

“What? Just because we’re mares?!” Haywire instantly regained her composure. “We’re engineers! Why in Equestria wouldn’t we be excited to visit the industrial capital of the world, even if it’s on military business?”

“I’ve heard that Stalliongrad is a beautiful place to visit nonetheless.” Wetwork added. “Surely there is something there that can placate us for the time being.”

Clockwork shrugged then nodded. Stalliongrad had its fair share of interesting architecture, a few museums, those kinds of things. "If I get some free time, I'll take the both of you wherever you want."

"Really?!"

"Sure."

"Alright Meteor," Long Shot addressed his team. "we'll be arriving in Stalliongrad shortly, and our mission here is gonna be a bit different from what you're all used to. You up for it?"

"Yes sir!"

Long Shot smirked, proud to have such dauntless companions. "This war hasn't been on for that long, but we've seen some of the worst of it nonetheless. The upper brass knows this, and since we can't just go on shore leave in the middle of this damned conflict, we're being reassigned to defensive duties within Stalliongrad until further notice."

"No suicide missions or one-chance attacks?" Mganga inquired.

"Unless the entire griffon fleet shows up, we're doomed to a somewhat relaxing mission."

Mganga pouted, albeit lightheartedly. "Pity."

"Commander." Charger addressed her superior. "High command wouldn't just send us to one of Equestria's valuable cities for simple guard duty. Why Stalliongrad? Why not a city at higher risk?"

"Because Stalliongrad is arguably the highest priority Supremacy target." Switcher answered. "This city's tactical importance is second only to Canterlot's , symbolically and politically."

Long Shot shrugged. "Doesn't mean they won't succeed even if they try something as stupid as attacking. They don't call Stalliongrad the Fortress City for nothing. That's all I've got. Any questions?"

Clockwork raised a hoof. "Why such a short brief? Did we miss anything by accident?"

"I highly doubt that. The briefing I got from the sisters was even shorter. We should be nearing the docks; load up!"

Without another word, the five soldiers made their way onto the squad's personal dropship, a freshly built Vikare, took their seats, and strapped in.

Clockwork went through the standard, last minute procedures before any combat drop. His weapon was loaded and he had several reloads to spare. His armor was not an inch out of place and his wing was in prime condition. No dents, no misshapen feathers, no-

"Clockwork. Is something troubling you?" Charger asked.

The pegasus looked over from adjusting his goggles. Wait a second, this wasn't a combat drop, was it? "Erm. . . no, I'm fine." he waited for the mare to call him on his bullshit, but she never did.

It wasn't much longer before a series of thunderous, metallic clanks signalled to all aboard Szary that she had docked. The zeppelin bay doors parted, allowing the Vikare to descend to the metropolis below.

The Vikare's new pilot deemed it unnecessary to close the dropship's ramp, and so the squad was treated to a constant gush of chilled morning air and the rising sun as it reflected off of the city's many structures. Almost at once, the hues of bronze, steel, and copper reminded Clockwork of Ponyville, and in turn, his parents.

Last he heard, Quick Fix and Gearbox were living comfortably in one of Stalliongrad's larger apartment blocks. Clockwork determined that he'd make a surprise visit later, and maybe even bring Wetwork with him to see if his mom approved of her.

"Clockwork, your teeth are chattering. Please be honest with me, are you okay?" Charger asked once again.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. Just wondering if I should've brought a jacket or not." he lied. When Charger had turned her attention elsewhere, Clockwork decided that he had had enough of the scenery for a while and refocused his efforts on trying to get comfortable. Something didn't feel right about all this. Their descent was too smooth, too uninhibited, too easy. Where were the enemy anti-air defenses? Where was-

Clockwork smacked himself with a hoof. Dammit, Stalliongrad was under Alliance control and as such he didn't need to worry about getting shot out of the sky.

The pegasus steeled his nerve for the rest of the ride down, hoping that it would be enough.

Clockwork tilted his head to one side. "Shore leave, sir?"

Long Shot nodded. "Yep. Apparently this city and everyone in it knows the risk of invasion, and as such has a surplus of both civilian militia and trained soldiers. Meteor, I hereby relieve the squad of duty until tomorrow, where we shall reconvene aboard Szary. Dismissed!"

Clockwork stood there dumbfounded as his teammates left him to attend to various other tasks, be they sightseeing, restocking supplies, or some other thing.

Even after a rejected offer from Charger to tour the city beside her, Clockwork remained still, eventually mustering enough willpower to make his way to the top of the wall that surrounded the city.

The fortification was magnificent from an engineer's standpoint. Fifty feet of steel and concrete, a perfect vertical barricade against any and all fathomable land invasions. In the unfortunate case of air attack, coaxial anti-air/personnel cannons were spaced evenly around the wall and the floor below, capable of reducing even the most well armored vehicles to flaming rubble with sustained fire. Of course, this would all only be put to use if anyone stupid enough to attempt a head-on assault actually managed to break through the city's shields.

It was barely visible, the only sign the magical barricade existed at all being a faint blue glimmer. It was a heavily improved version of the shield spell created by Rear Admiral Prince Shining Armor, and was sustained by none other than the Behemoth Engine, needing only a fraction of its energy output to do so.

As Clockwork descended the barrier, he determined that now might be a good time to call his friends down, and after a short bout of radio conversation, three ponies met at the agreed upon destination.

Almost immediately, Haywire bolted away from her friends with a large map in tow. Upon further examination, Clockwork found the chart to be absolutely slathered with markings that made clear the location of next to every landmark in the city. It took some serious convincing before the earth pony relented on her fervent desires, agreeing to visiting the three most famous, and closest, landmarks.

First stop: The Behemoth Engine.

While it was good to feel his marefriend next to him as to hold off a bit of the chill, Clockwork found more comfort in the strange familiarity of the industrial haven. Cobblestone streets, somewhat dirty skies, familiar metals and their resulting shades of brown and grey, it all reminded him of Ponyville to an extent. Stalliongrad was by technicality the largest city under Equestrian control, surpassing even Canterlot in terms of land area and population. Still, Clockwork couldn’t help but feel like something was very off.

“YES!” Haywire squealed. “There it is!”

Clockwork didn’t need to strain his eyes in the slightest to see what Haywire was referring to. A good way’s off in the distance, Stalliongrad’s last Behemoth Engine was visible and functioning at what appeared to be peak capacity. The next several minutes were spent listening to Haywire practically drool over how magnificent the machine was, from its history and inner workings to the surprisingly minimal number of workplace deaths that occurred within the massive facility. It appeared reasonable to assume that, had she not accepted Clockwork’s invitation to join Szary’s crew, she may have ended up working on the Engine in some way.

Clockwork strained a smile, still unable to rid himself of unease. Said smile changed little when he noticed a familiar stallion off in the distance. The pegasus gradually made his way up to him without saying a word, stood before him, and held out a hoof in greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Dad.”

Gearbox raised an eyebrow at his son’s sudden appearance and gesture. “My apologies, soldier, but you seem to have mistaken me for- CLOCKWORK!” he scooped his offspring into a bear hug. “How much you’ve grown son!. Dear Celestia, you look so different now!”

“I. . . do?’ Clockwork was unsure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Why else would I have hardly recognized you at first glance?”

Clockwork shrugged, trying not to focus on the aching in his ribs.

“Is something wrong, kiddo?”

“Not at all.” Clockwork lied and gestured to his two companions. “I’d like you to meet my friends from Research and Development, the one that I told you about way back in Ponyville. Wetwork, Haywire, this is Gearbox. He’s my Dad, if that wasn’t already apparent enough.”

“Charmed.” Wetwork shook the stallion’s hoof firmly, but what caught slightly off guard when Gearbox raised her hoof to kiss it gently.

“The honor is all mine, madam.”

“Hiya!” Haywire nudged her blushing friend aside and shook the elder pony’s hoof fervently. “I’ve heard a whole lot about you, Mr. Box! Your papers on self perpetuating motion machines and redirection of waste thermal energy were remarkably thorough! Your exo-wings are the best out there! I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“I can see that.” the stallion chuckled. “I didn’t think I had a fanbase of my own. I thought that was reserved for my son.”

“Oh he kinda does, actually! What with slaying of bug monsters and weeding out traitors and all that sort of stuff, who wouldn’t have-”

“Perhaps, it would be better if we continued this discussion somewhere not out in the open.” Clockwork struggled to keep his wing over his companion’s still running mouth.

“Why not my apartment?’ Gearbox asked. “It’s quite roomy, actually, and if my watch is correct , I suspect dear Quick Fix already has supper on the boil.”

Clockwork’s stomach grumbled. “I’ll admit that I skipped breakfast today and had a light lunch. I could use some sustenance right around now.”

Like that, the four were trotting off to a location only one of them knew by heart. “So how have you been, kiddo?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“You got taller.”

“I did?”

“I wouldn’t say more than a few inches, but it’s noticeable. You’ve sprouted a few more grey hairs, too.”

“Damn.” the pegasus chuckled under his breath as he remembered a certain conversation long ago regarding grey hair. “So what have you been doing in Stalliongrad all this time?”

“Well, we’re certainly not soldiers, and we’re far too old to be effective members of the local militia. Mother and I have many jobs, but almost all of them cycle back to maintenance on the Behemoth back there. Did I ever tell you how she led to your mother and I meeting long before you were conceived?”

Clockwork blew a stray piece of his mane out of his face as he nodded. “Only about a hundred times over.”

“I haven’t!” Haywire exclaimed. “I love stories!”

“Truthfully, I am interested in this tale as well.” Wetwork added.

“It’s nothing special, really,” Gearbox began. “I was assigned to oversee the replacement of a few key parts within the Engine’s deeper mechanisms. Due to a booking error, two ponies had actually been assigned, neither one realizing the mistake until it was far too late. I met Clockwork’s mother, argued with her for a while, lost, took her out to dinner, and I think you two are a little young to hear the rest for now.”

“Dad!” Clockwork’s cheeks went flush.

“What?” the stallion laughed. “I’m a very straightforward man!”

“DAD!”

After a bout of laughter all around, the two males were left to their own devices, as were the two females until. . .

“We’re here.” Gearbox proclaimed as he retrieved a small key from within his coat. Before the four was a building, no more than three stories high and stretching on for a considerable distance. It was an almost demoralizing shade of grey. “Room 31, first floor.” the stallion added as the group made their way to the appropriate door. “Apparently we were considered ‘high priority individuals’, hence the short walk.”

“I wouldn’t call it short.” Haywire chided herself as she relaxed her joints.

The door creaked open, and Clockwork was treated to a surprising view. It wasn’t the luxurious, familiar tapestries and smells that interested him the most, nor the sight of his mother, almost completely unchanged despite all this time. No, it was the reason why she was sitting at the table in the center of room. She was speaking with somepony.

Charger.

“I am honored to know that I have your approval, let us not speak of this to anypony sans your husband until-”

“SON!” Quick Fix rushed to her son faster than lightning, enveloping him in a warm, slightly uncomfortable embrace as she relished in the presence of her only child. “I. . . I missed you so much. . . I. . .” she struggled to formulate sentences amidst gratuitous sobbing, but ultimately failed.

Clockwork laughed as he returned the hug, consistently reassuring his mother that he was safe (for the time being, anyway). After Quick Fix had finished her tearful reunion, she hesitantly withdrew from her son. “It’s wonderful to have you back. Oh!” she exclaimed. “I was just finishing up dinner, but I may be able to add a little something extra on for some unexpected though lovely guests!”

Clockwork wasn’t sure exactly who she was referring to, but didn’t ponder for too long as he found his place at the table and remained standing. He looked over to his best friend, finding her forehooves free of her gloves. “Hey, Charger.”

“Hello.”

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed.” she took a sip of whatever she was drinking. “Why don’t you sit down? Surely you are tired from the long walk over.”

“I’m not the man of the house, and as such my father is the civilian equivalent of this household’s commanding officer, I will only be seated when he has done so first.”

“Clocky, we’re off duty, remember?” Haywire cooed as she took her seat opposite him with Wetwork at her side.

“I wouldn’t consider you the most astute at following military regulation when off duty.” Wetwork added as she adjusted in her seat to ensure that she was comfortable. “After all you’ve been through, I’m a bit concerned at your lack of rest.”

“I was not aware of this.” Charger turned to her ally, concern present in her sapphire eyes. “Since when have you been losing sleep?”

Clockwork shrugged but remained standing. “Since Mtego.”

“Ah.”

“Since what?” both of Clockwork’s parents asked as they took their seats. Clockwork did the same, followed by his mother once again expressing her concerns over her offspring’s well being.

“Unless Celestia smiles upon you the entire time, every soldier that takes part in warfare will be harmed in some way or another.” Clockwork replied gloomily. “Either physically or mentally, in my case, both.”

Oddly enough, it was Gearbox who asked the obvious first. “What on Earth have you been through, son?”

Clockwork tensed up, gazing at the heavily distorted reflection of his face in his soup bowl. The image flashed to one of horror, something Clockwork had yet to find a word to describe. It took all his willpower to look up from the sudden hallucination and answer with a straight face. “I’ve been through a lot, actually. I’d say the first really big thing to happen to me was-”

“Clockwork, please.” Charger placed a gentle hoof on hiss left shoulder, brushing it carefully across the fire ruby and noticing that the once beautiful gem had dulled in both color and clarity. “If you do not feel comfortable speaking about such matters, I would suggest you hold off.”

Clockwork thought over her recommendation for a long time. “Well, what do you two think?’ he asked his parents. “If you guys really want to hear this stuff, I won’t argue, but-”

“To be perfectly honest with you, son,” Gearbox interrupted. “I believe your mother and I would rather not hear of your ventures for now. Perhaps later?”

Clockwork nodded, finally consuming a spoonful of his dinner. It was delicious in every sense of the word, but it did little to comfort him. “Yeah, maybe.”

The dinner continued in semi-silence, with all at the table exchanging bits and bobbles of conversation and even a few lighthearted laughs. All the while though, Clockwork continued to glance out of the large window by the door. The curtains were light, incapable of preventing curious eyes from seeing the shadows of those that occupied the room. A trained sniper could hit each shadow in a matter of seconds, and his targets would have zero time to react before at least two of them went down. The first to become casualties would likely be Wetwork and Haywire, seeing as they were the most exposed. The other four would be easy pickings after that.

“Son, are you alright?” Gearbox’s voice broke Clockwork out of his trance. “You’ve been looking at that window for a while now. Do you need me to close the heavier curtains?”

Clockwork looked to his father. From a tactical standpoint, that would be best. “No, I’ll. . . I’ll be alright.”

In truth, Clockwork was not alright. He had to get somewhere sa-. . . somewhere where he could clear his head. “I. . . need to go for a walk.”

“Shall I accompany you?’ Wetwork asked.

“No.” Clockwork replied harshly. “I need to be alone for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

“I would prefer it if you stayed, but if you would feel more comfortable on your own, I will not object.” Charger replied.

Like that, Clockwork was out the door. As soon as he made sure that the entryway was secure, he checked his pistol. Nine rounds plus shotgun shell. Good, if he got into a firefight he could at least-

The stallion punched himself in the jaw, hard. What the hell was getting into him? He was safe, but was he?

Clockwork! At ease!

The pegasus refused his own orders and took off at a brisk trot, but soon found the cobblestone loud enough to give away his position and took flight.

Dammit Clock, get a grip!

The pegasus forced himself to land, albeit out of the way of any major intersections or streetlamps. It was then that he had an idea. He reached for his radio. “Commander Long Shot, are you there?”

“I’m here, kid. You sound troubled.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Anything wrong?”

“I’d prefer it if we spoke face to face.”

“Alright. I’m at this little bar, I think it’s called Marelotov? On the corner of. . . eh, I can’t remember off the top of my head. Just look for the flaming beer bottle. I’m in the back.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll meet you shortly.” Clockwork ended the transmission and took flight once more. He finally let his fears and concerns into his mind full throttle. Something was seriously wrong. Why send an High Risk Operations Team to guard one of, if not the, most heavily fortified population center under Equestrian control? It was a complete and total waste of a valuable resource The odds of attack where high, supposedly, but the chances of sucess were impossibly small. Yet, no matter how powerful a shield is, if enough damage is sustained, it will fail. The forcefield around Stalliongrad was no exception, and even the Behemoth Engine had a limit to its energy output before “catastrophic deactivation” as it was called.

Clockwork sighed and decreased his altitude to get a better view of his surroundings. He’d bring all of his concerns to his commanding officer in due time, and hopefully he would be able to put his fears to rest.

“It has been some time, Warfather.” the Emperor’s voice boomed. “tell me, how do you feel?”

The warrior priest raised himself from a kneeling position to display the full functionality of his rapidly healed, and upgraded, limbs and joints. The moves were almost robotic, uncharacteristic of the griffon’s expertise. He hated them, and wished for nothing more than to have them removed, even if it meant a severely lengthened recovery time. He knew the emperor would not allow such a thing and have him euthanized on the spot. Warfather was a superb combatant, but he was replaceable. “These implants, though unnecessary, will do little to inhibit my combat abilities.” he looked to his right and found Echo, his only noticeable injury being his heavily bandaged paws. Underneath his cloak, however, Warfather was well aware of the seemingly endless bruises he had sustained during the conflict for control of Appleloosa. “We are fit for deployment the moment you deem us worthy.” he returned to his kneeling position.

“Good.” the Emperor’s talons intertwined. “I have set aside the eighth legion for a sole purpose, a single invasion. I believe the time is now to commence this attack, and you and your dog friend are to lead said assault.”

“My lord. The attack of which you speak. . . it is unlikely that even a single ship will return home.”

“I fully understand the costs and benefits and have placed them under heavy consideration. You shall commence the attack at dawn. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Report back to me when all that the sun shines on has been reduced to ash. It is time that the Alliance learns exactly what the Supremacy is capable of.”

Clockwork gently landed a good distance away from the club he was directed to. Despite his best efforts, his hooves made a sharp CLOP! as he touched down. He flinched at the giving away of his position, but steeled his resolved and trotted toward the bar.

Just as the commander had described, a brightly glowing sign, depicting a bottle of alcohol, a cloth stuffed in the top and set aflame, hung above the doors. The pegasus gulped and looked around one last time before finally heading inside.

A myriad of sensations overtook the off-duty soldier. Low, soft jazz mixed evenly with the hushed laughter of several groups of patrons. The scents of both cheap and exotic alcohols, cigars, and even a few perfumes blended together in a somewhat pleasant aroma, far better tailored to adults rather than adolescents.

The drinking laws must have been relaxed in Stalliongrad, as nopony approached Clockwork, asking whether or not he had proof of age or similar identification as he made his way to the far back of the room. After searching a few booths, the pegasus found his commander in the last, two drinks before him, one of which was half-empty. "Commander." Clockwork snapped to attention.

Long Shot returned the gesture before relaxing his posture. "At ease, Clockwork. Have a seat and a drink. I figured you might like something simple though refined, so I got you some scotch. How's that sound?"

Clockwork took his seat and eyed the alcohol with slight distaste, though he did find the aged color pleasant. "Thank you, sir, but I must refuse. I'm not one for alcohol of any sort, really."

"One can't dislike something they've never tried."

"Actually," Clockwork added. "I accidentally drank some vodka straight out of the bottle when I was eight. Kinda scarred me for life." he ended with a light laugh.

"Damn." Long Shot straightened up, downing the rest of his drink in a heartbeat. "I'm sorry to hear that. Anyway, what did you want to speak with me about?"

"Before I get to that, sir; pardon me, but are you drunk?"

"I wish." Long Shot sighed. "Nocturni such as myself are blessed and cursed with the inability to become inebriated. Blessed because we can never lose our edge in battle no matter how much we drink, but cursed because no matter how much we drink, we can never rid our minds of the horrors we have witnessed."

"I see." Clockwork was unsure of what else to say.

"Anyway!" Long Shot exclaimed. "Enough musings for tonight. What did you want to discuss? We've got plenty of time."

Clockwork sighed before launching into his multitude of fears and concerns, ranging from the high risk of invasion and the surprisingly relaxed citizens within, to the clear view any decently trained sniper would have on his family’s abode and everything in between. Clockwork rarely paused for breath, and only when he had finished did Long Shot speak.

"I'm impressed at your extent of concern, and it may seem like I haven't payed attention, but I really think that you should relax, get back to your family, and get a good night's rest."

Clockwork stood up. "But sir! I-"

"I acknowledge your worries and will take them up with the appropriate personnel at the rising sun." Long Shot cut off his subordinate. "If that is all, then you have permission to be dismissed."

". . . Understood, Commander. Thank you." Clockwork turned to leave, but didn't get very far before an unexpected question stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, I haven’t told you much about myself, have I?”

“No, Sir.”

“We’ve been a team for a while. I figured it would be appropriate to tell you while we have some time off. Care to listen?”

Clockwork thought over the odd request for a moment. Unsure of how to respond appropriately, he simply took his seat once again.

"I think it'd be best to start at my beginning, eh?"

Clockwork nodded. "Every story should."

"Too true." Long Shot nodded before signalling a nearby waiter to refill his drink, but didn't take a sip after that. "I was born around twenty years before Discord showed up. Good parents, I'd say they raised me damned well."

Clockwork nodded, remembering only now that his squad leader was, by technicality, over a millenia in age.

"A thousand years ago was a very different time. Canterlot wasn't actually built yet, and a majority of civilization was centered around what would become the Everfree. Overall, it was a wonderful time to be alive."

Clockwork got the sense that he would be here for some time.

Long Shot's tone suddenly grew dark. "Unfortunately, every reneighssance painting has a little blood in it. When I was young, I broke down in a serious coughing fit, a lot of blood, too. I was diagnosed with Rege Mortuo."

Clockwork tilted his head to one side. "I'm unfamiliar with Rege Mortuo, sir."

Long Shot chuckled under his breath. "Well of course you are, it's a dead language. From what I know, only the Red Order still actively uses it. Rege Mortuo roughly translates to 'Dead Lung'." He took a long swig of his drink, relishing in the aged taste. "I was given thirty years to live, max. Each year, my lung capacity would diminish until I would flat out die from an inability to breath."

Clockwork was mortified to say the least. If he absolutely had to pick a way to die, he would much prefer a fast demise to a slow one. "But sir, you're still here."

Long Shot nodded dismissively, his eyes focusing on something off in the distance. "I'll get to that in a little bit. After my diagnosis, I ended up developing an extreme fear of death to the point that I was willing to let every doctor I could find try whatever they could to cure me. When I learned that the trait was genetically recessive and thereby uncurable, I became a hedonistic slob to the point that all I cared about was the taste of the next shot glass."

Clockwork felt unsure of whether or not this story was actually true. He had never taken the commander for an excessive hedonist.

Long Shot began to reach for his drink, but thought against it and instead consumed a large glass of water next to it. "If it weren't for a certain god of chaos, I wouldn't be here today."

Clockwork thought he heard that last bit wrong. "How on Celestia's green earth did Discord help you?"

"Indirectly. I was in some small town or another when the first of his creations attacked, just a blatant display of power really. Guns weren't around just yet, so I held my own with a shitty bow, a few arrows, and actually ended up saving a few lives."

"You have my belated congratulations, commander."

"Heh, thanks. Anyway, I had this epiphany that, if I was going to die anyway, I may as well make what's left of my life useful. So, I ended up heading for the nearest military outpost,signed up on the spot, and they made me a marksman. It's a good thing I did, since our military wasn't even remotely ready for a god’s invasion. One battle led to the next and my breathing got worse and worse as time went on. Discord actually succeeded in ousting the princesses from the capital, our last major stronghold in a long line of defensive actions, and flooded the area with his own version of Timberwolves.”

“Sir.” Clockwork interjected. “I believe the entire squad knows this part.”

Long Shot nodded, but continued. “Yeah. Our last scientists brewed up Tearcloud, a primordial form of Battlefright, and used all of it it in a desperate attempt to gain the elbow room needed for a single push against Dissy. My dad died in the assault."

Both warriors shivered at the mention of the dreaded gas.

"After that shitstorm, the best warriors Equestria had left were to escort the royal sisters to take him out. We were basically meat shields, but I sure as Tartarus didn't object when I was assigned to guard Luna. I think it's kind of apparent that they succeeded."

"That still doesn't explain how you became a nocturni."

"One of the first nocturni, actually." Long Shot corrected his subordinate. “Since Equestria was nearly lost in a matter of days, Luna suggested that she acquire a Royal Guard of her own. They would act as special forces soldiers, tasked with completing military operations impossible through normal means. Celestia granted her request, and the soldiers that escorted Luna specifically were given the chance to join the L.R.G. The worst thing though, was that I originally joined so that I wouldn’t die. Can you really believe that? Me, one of the first ponies to be converted, chose to do so out of fear.” the commander seemed like he would break down for a moment, but he suddenly regained his composure. “Anyway, the L.R.G. was formed, we acclimatized to our new role, and then wouldn’t ya know it, Luna went insane.”

Clockwork knew the next part of this story all too well. Everypony did.

"The L.R.G. willingly turned on Nightmare Moon, ‘cause since she wasn’t really Luna during that whole fiasco, we weren’t bound to protect her. It was actually thanks to us that Celestia had any chance of a shot at her."

Okay, Clockwork admittedly didn't know that part of the story, or what followed immediately after.

"With Luna banished, the nocturni had no purpose, and we almost fell apart, but then a certain somepony contacted us, telling us to head for Tramplevania and wait."

"Tramplevania, sir?"

"A sort of semi-capital for our race. She used the last of her own power to telepathically contact us, explaining that we were to head to Tramplevania and wait. We followed our master's last command and, when everyone had arrived and been accounted for, the princess stuck us all in a millennia-long hibernation, promising that we'd awaken when she returned."

Clockwork laughed. "Must've been one hell of a culture shock."

Long Shot shrugged. "Kinda. Some of us were surprised at how much our world had changed in a single millennia. Most of us just wanted to find Luna again and get back to work."

"You guys don't screw around."

"If that wasn't already apparent enough. After I got used to rifles, I formed Meteor. Some shit happened, and now I'm here finally telling you my life story."

"I'd say Meteor Squad's operations amount to a little more than just 'some shit'."

Long Shot raised an eyebrow. "Only a little?"

Clockwork shrugged. "The modern squad's only been involved in a few major military operations."

"True. That’s enough about me, though. What's your story?"

Before Clockwork could begin his own life's tale, an indescribably loud explosion rocketed through every fiber of his being and then some. A few moments of eerie silence followed, and in those long seconds, the two soldiers' eyes met and expressed their equally large amounts of dread.

Oh. . . shit.

The commander leapt from his seat and readied his long rifle. After chambering a round, his pegasus ally readied his pistol to fire. Concentrating for a brief moment, the nocturni activated a teleportation spell. In an instant, the duo were atop the city's wall, weapons at the ready.

However, their eyes and minds could never be adequately prepared for the sight they beheld.

Stalliongrad was under siege.

Planning

Given the current situation of the war, more specifically, his nation’s short list of military victories as opposed to a long string of failures, Greystone had very little reason to be a happy dog. Today however, he had a single, most impressive reason to smile, and it currently occupied the glass-roofed pit he stood upon.

Despite the depth at which the testing facility had been constructed, the low booms of cannon fire was easily detectable. The Siege of Stalliongrad was fully underway, and given the fact that he was at a near zero risk of death, he had plenty of time to focus on the task at paw.

Fifteen paw-picked scientists had slaved over this project ever since the failed changeling invasion of Canterlot. In all that time, the brilliant minds he had selected had succeeded in creating only a single functioning specimen. Oh, but what a specimen it was. It had been tested mercilessly, but today would be the day that it could finally exhibit its full potential.

“Lassie, dear, come over here for a moment.”

In moments, a young dog of light bespeckled fur was at Greystone’s side, desperately trying to keep a hefty stack of papers from falling out of her grasp. Regardless, she stood at attention.

“How may I be of use, High Chairman?” she asked swiftly, her voice a bit like tin.

Greystone smiled. “Intelligence report, if you will.”

Lassie coughed as she shuffled through her papers, pushing up her glasses while doing so. Greystone preferred the young one’s company to many of the other scientists he had under his command. She never tried to impress him, not actively anyway. The moment Lassie had joined the Consortium’s branch of Science, she had caught the High Chairman’s attention with her tenacity and devotion to whatever project she was assigned to. Her dissertation on the usage of Amethyst as an emergency replacement for channeling low to moderate amounts of magical energy was both passionate and thorough.

She was one of his favorites, all the more reason for her to do better.

“Well, my lord, word is beginning to trickle in from our soldiers taking part in the siege. The city’s shield is close to failure, though opposition has been heavy. Permafrost has made gaining ground difficult, and because of the uncert-”

“Internal intelligence, please. I do believe Rex can handle the fighting outside.” Greystone interrupted her, gently waving a paw in her direction.

The blonde dog looked at Greystone quizzically before fishing out the files on the intelligence gathered from ‘internal investigators’.

“We still don’t how the buffalo crippled the griffon’s Warfather.” Lassie replied, sounding uncertain about presenting bad news. “The only survivors of the battle were Alliance personnel, and all we have to go off of is an old paleo-pony text about flying bu-”

Greystone raised his paw again, snapping his fingers. “What about our contacts inside the pony military.”

“Oh!” Lassie exhaled, sounding relieved. “The General sends her regards, and has assured both us and our allies that she has foreseen no issues in making sure that the current distribution of spies is stable.”

Greystone laughed lightly. “Of course she has! She is stationed in the northern half of the country, is she not?”

“She is.” Lassie replied swiftly. “As is the Vice-Admiral, for he is currently asking how much of the crystal he has obtained from the mines in the so-called Empire is to be ‘lost’ near the border.”

“Then she can afford it. That mare is worse than griffon nobility when it comes to talking of great things from high roosts. But she is a good ally. Send her my congratulations for managing to snag that promotion.” He paused, looking up at the various catwalks above him. They too was made of glass, though constructed with a hefty amount of steel garters to ensure that none traversing the clear walkways risked death by uncontrolled rapid descent. “As for what that idiot pegasus is asking, alert the griffons to shoot him down when he gets close enough. He’s been spying on us as well, under orders from the Crystal Empire no less. Now, what of our friend below?”

“We’ve already planted enough beacons within the city to direct it to tunnel close to the center, closely followed by our own soldiers. Luckily, this specimen is controllable, to an extent.” Lassie replied, almost automatically, after jotting down Greystone’s orders. “It is ready to be unleashed at you command..”

Greystone, looking down at the thing in the pit, sighed. “My own son, Seastone, brought the idea for this monstrosity to me for approval. I am unsure whether or not his passion, as well as the approval of this project, was a good idea. It will be interesting to see how well it does in battle, hmm?”

Lassie tensed at the hint of sadness in her leader’s words. “If it is any consolation, sir, I believe that this unit will perform exceptionally well.”

“It is a very special specimen. Took us a year to determine the proper armor configuration, another month to bond it to the creature itself. Extreme tolerance to sustained small arms fire and sudden variations in temperatures beyond our own survivable range. Not even considering the importance of the compounds in the geo-occultic systems that make up the armor. But of course, it’s all under control. We wouldn’t want it attacking our own troops now, would we? ”

“Uh, sir?” Lassie coughed lightly, “I am honored by your appreciation, but you need not remind me of its capabilities. I assisted your son in sketching out the blueprints for the cooling arrays myself.”

Greystone, looking at Lassie, let out a wheezing sort of sigh. “Ah, forgive me. It is my age, you understand. Perhaps I have one lost one son too many. The question is, dear, who is to rule after me?”

The blonde dog didn’t have a proper answer prepared for that question, hell, she probably couldn’t get an answered prepared if she had a day or so to make one up for a peer review. Then again, her undergrad was politics, here’s hoping that it paid off. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“Your youngest, Seastone, was a prime example of loyalty and dedication of the cause, but he was too violent-minded. Your eldest, Rex, seems better suited for leading the nation’s military rather than the nation itself, and your middle son, Gravelbeard, is a pariah amongst the community, so I wouldn’t recommend him for the position either. Your three nephews were delinquents, and I can’t imagine them rising past being your personal bodyguards which they already are. If I had to choose, sir, I would eliminate the powers the shareholders hold over the government itself and create a separate series of positions regarding the actual governing of the people, as opposed to leaving it to elders, who know nothing beyond warm meals and carts full of gems at their doorstep.”

Greystone blinked. Lassie was a little half his own age, though nearly as smart. Sometimes he forgot that.

“Oh, is that all? I was under the impression that it would have been as simple as killing everyone who has ever looked at a political rag and going back to the age of stone tools and packs.” Pausing, he waved a paw mockingly across the room, voice tinged with humor. “I could spend a few moments looking over a classless Consortium, smiling fondly at the destruction of all I have accomplished in my fifty years of being a stabilizing influence of my nation before being skinned by a lynch mob and watch the statues of our greatest be toppled over by a horde of unwashed brutes in search for pocketfuls of jewels.”

Lassie shook her head, a bit of a smile on her face now. “The current way we do things is somewhat pony-influenced, sir. I have walked the streets of Manehatten; I have seen the places where stocks are traded. When the current government was founded, it was under the impression that pony interaction would give us bounty. We believed it was better than the old days of pack lords and lone stalkers in the great underground. We were wrong, though. We sacrificed so much to do that, and we can do better.”

Greystone sighed lightly, turning away from the younger dog to look at the thing in the pit. “In the old days, Lassie, you would already have a few children and bound to some savage’s control, unless you were the savage yourself.” Greystone replied. “I never took you for a romanticist, especially given your eyesight. You understand what happened to dogs with poor sight in the old days, right?”

Lassie shivered but continued to speak clearly. ”I simply believe that we could look elsewhere for inspiration. As opposed to a system ruled by the rich, I would suggest a system that promotes the power of the individual. The old Hoovite nation held a similar stance, and it worked well until it was absorbed into the Equestrian nation. While both examples are indeed pony founded, the Hoovites of old employed thousands of hard-working diamond dogs in high positions because of our adaptability to their regime, and at one point half of the ruling party controlling it was doggish. All ancient history of course, but I believe that history is the best source for the future at this point in time.”

Greystone looked evenly at the young scientist at his left and rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps, after this, would you be interested in having dinner with me in the capital? Or, if all goes well, in the Red Square of the very city we are sieging? I can remove the Director of Sociology’s little ditty from the schedule for you to have some time to prop up your soapbox.”

Lassie blinked before looking once more into the pit, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I would be honored, sir.”

With Celestia’s rising of the dawn sun, the city of Stalliongrad was under siege. From Clockwork’s current point of view atop the city wall, all was horrifically clear.

The city’s shield was holding, but only just. It flickered between existence and non multiple times in a matter of seconds, allowing the scant hostile projectile to land with explosive force somewhere within the city. Outside the shield, it looked like an ocean of zeppelins, all serving under the griffon flag, were roaring towards the city.

“Scuzzy bastards.” Long Shot chided his enemy. “Didn’t think they’d actually try it.” after looking around his immediate enemy and finding no signs of enemies that he could snipe or allies he could assist, the nocturni pressed a hoof to his radio. “Crew of the Szary, Meteor, anypony report!”

“Sir!” an elderly voice cried through the device. “Nimbus here.”

“And Switcher-7 as well!” a different voice added. “It is good to hear that you are alive and well, sir!”

“Likewise, though I’m not sure how long it’ll stay that way. What’s the situation up there?”

“Szary’s fully stocked and ready to go. Her shield’s at maximum and hull integrity at a hundred percent. All vital crew accounted for and then some.” Nimbus reported. “Looks like twenty or more enemy zeppelins heading towards the city. We’re ready for action, just give us the word”

“Not yet, but you’ll get your chance. Stalliongrad’s shields are the second strongest in the entire Alliance. What could’ve weakened ‘em so quickly?” Long Shot inquired calmly but with devoted intent.

“A few of the crew saw the whole thing. A ship, defunct griffon dreadnaught probably, teleported in somehow and rammed the barrier top speed. It must’ve been filled with explosives or something because the second it hit, the thing went off like a stick of dynamite and nearly overloaded the shield. We barely had time to register what was going on, let alone react. Seems like the Empire learned a little something from what you pulled back at Valor Point, eh Clock?”

Clockwork froze at the mention of his actions. To think that the enemy had used his own improvised tactic against his allies was-

“Irrelevant.” Long Shot retook the helm. “What matters now is keeping the city up and running. Switcher, what’s the city got that the Supremacy doesn’t?”

“This two most notable installations this city has are the Behemoth Engine and Mithril Factory. They are nearly irreplaceable, and the damage to the war effort will be catastrophic should either one fall to the enemy. We must act quickly. From our viewpoint, it appears that the city has yet to organize any sort of cohesive defensive effort. I would give no less than thirty minutes before the enemy is upon us.”

“Understood. Switcher, call an emergency war council, drop the phrase ‘Tartarus is open’ if they want to know who they’re speaking to. I want every last high ranking officer in the city assembled in the Behemoth Engine’s boardroom in five minutes. Get Meteor in there too.”

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Send out a radio broadcast telling all available forces to mass at the Behemoth Engine, and all civilians to return to their homes and barricade every possible entrance. Once everypony’s where they’re supposed to be, we’ll be able organize a proper resistance. Sound good?”

“Yes sir!”

It was often said that, when several great minds were brought together under sudden and desperate circumstances, they could think of and accomplish anything. The reasons for this meeting were indeed desperate, the call had been sent out suddenly, but in Clockwork’s eyes, the officers that had answered the call, two generals, an admiral, and a dozen or so equines of various ranks, were not great minds

They were pathetic, elderly cowards who had rested far too long on soft cushions and in warm showers, never knowing the kick of a rifle round or the overwhelming scent of gunpowder. Only a few looked like they were even familiar with the room they were sitting in. Their panicked chattering only further confirmed Clockwork’s displeasure, and the only calm officers in the room were Long Shot and the pair of donkeys. The pegasus let a tiny smirk briefly escape his downturned lips out of respect, but unfortunately, as opposed to the nearly all-unicorn high command, said donkeys wore tags that identified them as the folks in charge of the behemoth engine in its entirety, hardly a position worthy of note to those that held a high military rank.

“What are we going to do? What are we going to do?!” clearly the oldest of the high command present, a general by the name of Frosted Night, half-wailed, pausing every few moments to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. It clearly wasn’t working, and if he tried any harder he would likely pass out. “A bunch of. . . savages, with wings and beaks! Consorters with chimeras and minotaurs and walking dogs!” the general silenced himself by taking a sip of the tea set in front of him, apparently attempting to drown himself with a few ounces of hot water.

Clockwork was astonished by the things he was hearing. Some of the ponies at the table weren’t even bothering with the pretences of pretending to think that they had a chance, and were discussing how to flee the city.

“Our shields can’t repel firepower of that magnitude!” the other general, a slightly younger officer by the name of Iron Wind, continued to drivel about for far too long. “The city guard only has a proper rifle for every three defenders, and half of them are donkeys! There’s no way we could beat the Supremacy down with such worthless creatures no matter how many!”

Clockwork, eyes widening, spared a glance at the two donkeys at the other side of the table. Their stance reminded him of the royal guard at Canterlot, standing still and unflappable.

“Why, there’s only so many good ponies to go around, and there’s not nearly enough to command their lessers on the front, and with so many of th-”

It was then that Clockwork remember that next to anything could be silenced with a hearty punch to the general face area, and that’s exactly what he performed on the sniveling general before being called out on it.

“CLOCKWORK! STAND DOWN!” Long Shot utilized his magic to project his voice so that his orders echoed over the sound of artillery shells impacting the city’s shield and into every fiber of his being. After watching the defeated officer stand and retreat as far away from the pegasus as he could, Clockwork made his way to the far back of the room.

“While my teammate is out of line in displaying his dissatisfaction, I must say that I agree with him wholeheartedly.” Long Shot took the helm of the conversation, slamming his hooves on the small conference table in the center of the room. “I honestly can’t believe you people! Two generals, an admiral, and a dozen other enlisted, and all you can do is whine! While we certainly don’t have the leeway to relax right now, we’re behind a shield guarding the second most heavily defended city in Equestria! Pull yourselves together for ten fucking minutes and maybe we can push back the enemy before they lay a talon on the behemoth engine!”

“Pfft!” Iron Wind spat reddish, doing an impressive job at looking offended with half his face blood-spattered. “Even for a pony of your stature, you are still naive! We don’t have ten minutes! The shield won’t hold for half that long!”

“I’m over a thousand years old. What do you know that I don’t?”

“Hmph!” the general spoke no more, his efforts focused on wiping the blood from his mouth. “Basic logistics, apparently!”

One of the donkeys stepped forward. “Stalliongrad’s shield, while strong indeed, was never meant to protect its citizens from external assault. This is a city that has suffered it’s fair amount of battle, but the walls are credited for being truly unbreakable. The shield though, that’s a different story entirely. It exists to protect outsiders from suffering the aftereffects of the behemoth engine’s meltdown should it ever occur, to avoid the complete devastation of northwestern Equestria.”

“What?!” all members of the squad exclaimed.

“It’s true nature is meant to be classified, but it seems that the secret needs to be let out. At the assault’s current rate, we have roughly half an hour at best before the shield completely falls to the Supremacy’s barrage. That’s not nearly enough time to organize any sort of proper resistance, evacuate civilians, or even-”

“No!” Clockwork screamed. “Shut up! Just SHUT! UP!” the fire ruby embedded in his prosthetic burned with a terrible crimson glow. “My squad’s known for taking impossible odds and making them our personal bitches! I want to hear nothing out of ANY of you lest it be a plan to help defend this city or completely annihilate every last enemy assaulting us!”

Suddenly, one of the officers spoke up, a colonel judging by the emblem pinned to each of her sleeves’ shoulders. Her dark mane contrasted almost painfully so with her bright hued coat, and she looked almost too young for her status. Clockwork suddenly realized that, from her nametag, she was the pony who granted Charger permission to join Meteor: Colonel Charnel

“Your squad is just that, a small team of soldiers! This isn’t one of your comic books where a plucky little band of heroes saves the world! You may supposedly be the best and brightest of Equestria, able to slay a dozen griffons left and right, but guess what? In the long run, what you do barely matters. If you go outside right now, you may very well be shot and killed, and the same goes with every other soldier in this city. I assure you, I knew ponies who have been killed within the hour of battle that I trusted with my life. But you, you little one-winged smog breather? I wouldn’t trust you to guard a box of rocks.”

Clockwork heard Charger make a small noise in the back of her throat. It sounded like a whimper. It took Clockwork a few moments to realize he was making the same noise, but he quickly drowned himself out. “ Listen up bitch. If you have a death wish, I will be pleased to grant it.”

The Colonel continued, voice cutting the air like a knife. To Clockwork’s surprise, she actually smiled at his threat. “On the grand scale of things, you’re only here because the princess took pity on you, a little birdy whose mommy got caught in the smoke and thus born with only one wing.”

The mare laughed at him, and it felt like a slap to the face.

“I mean look at you! You’re not even twenty, and here you are, standing before your betters and spewing the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard come from the mouth of a sapient being! Do you want to know something? Nothing you have done will matter in two months maximum, because you are not an army. You are a single pony. You cannot instigate a wave of troops to charge or the entire crew of an airship to surrender, because you are a pony, not a Celestia-damned regiment nor the leader of one! Fuck, the last time I heard some twit your age talk about how he was the best of the best and could kill anyone in his way? He was a little griffon drake, one who wore the red sash. Guess what? He didn’t feel so hot after I froze his talons until they turned black! I wonder how well you could say stupid things if you had nails jammed up through your hooves!”

“I wonder the same about YOU!” Clockwork leapt forward with all his might, but was caught in a field of arcane energy as he was rendered incapable of forward propulsion. He quickly realized that it was none other than Long Shot’s magic that held him aloft.

Charnel slammed a hoof on the table, getting the attention of the few in the room who weren't already watching or listening. Clockwork noticed what looked like, morbidly, to be small indent on the top of her hoof, like a scar. “If you think you have the ability to tell your superiors what to do because you’ve managed to survive a few suicide missions, you are wrong. Now, sit down and shut up and comprehend that this is where your orders come from. If I really fuckin’ wanted to, I could have you discharged from the military this instant. I could make you a civilian right here and now and conscript you five seconds later and send you to the front like any other solder, where you would die and bleed like any other pony, because you are not special. Your commander couldn’t stop me from doing it, your father couldn’t stop me either. Tartarus, Shining Armor himself would have to take his sweet time to reverse the order, and by then all that would be left of you is memories and an unmarked grave. But I won’t do that. Because I know what I’m doing, unlike you, and I don’t have the time to fill out the paperwork, because I have a kingdom to protect.”

The room took on an eerie silence, unbroken by the faint twinkling of Long Shot’s magic restraining his subordinate, the echoes of rounds impacting the shield, or even the slightest breath. The colonel exited the room in a huff, taking her papers and leaving behind both stunned officials and Meteor Squad members alike. Clockwork felt a bit of dread regarding where she could be heading, and Charger just watched her former leader go.

Unfazed, one of the donkey’s stood a little bit straighter and cleared his throat. “I see no method to properly defend the city without significant allied casualties, but perhaps there is one thing that can be done to accomplish the latter.”

Long Shot spoke up, throat sounding dry. “I’m listening. Intently.”

“We deliberately overload the behemoth, and then run, likely screaming.” the donkey deadpanned.

Again, an exclamation of equal parts terror, confusion, and sorrow tore through the air, this time emanating from a single pony; Haywire. “How on Celestia’s green earth could the most powerful machine known to exist be intentionally triggered to cause a meltdown!?”

“Simple.” the second donkey in the room interjected, a jenny. “We let the shield fall, and that alone would put a significant amount of stress on the behemoth. Given the aggression and size of the force that the Supremacy has procured for this invasion, it is likely that they intend to detonate the engine rather than capture it, but that is also a likely course that they may want to take this city for themselves. Either way, they will rain down pain and destruction on the city at large, undoubtedly hitting some mechanical weak points, which would trigger the behemoth to outright shut down as a safety precaution. The two generals here and the three top ponies in charge of the behemoth have parts of the code that would cause it to do so. From there, it’s a mad dash to whatever bunkers are left standing, locking the doors, and praying for survival. There are underground bunkers scattered around the city that are shielded to prevent magical fallout getting through.”

Clockwork hated to admit it, but the desperate net zero scorched earth plan made sense to him. Destroy the city and all of its assets, and the supremacy loses a massive amount of personnel, aircraft, and fail to acquire the very thing they were sent for. Then again, the lack of a shield, which would atomize the rest of the enemy fleet, would undoubtedly cause some negative repercussions for the kingdom at large. What kind of smoke would that level of explosion emit? Heat? Arcane radiation? Did the pros really outweigh the cons?

“. . .no.”

Every head in the room came to focus on Long Shot, who stood tall, proud, and with quiet fury. “It won’t come to that.” he looked to the female donkey. “Ma’am, you said that the scuzzies may wish to actually take this city rather than destroy it?”

The officer nodded. “In my mind it is one of only three possible major outcomes to this invasion. Either the invasion force is repelled, the city is destroyed by us in a suicide defense or by a remote griffon team, or the griffons captures the city, resulting in them obtaining both the factories and the most potent engine in the known world.”

“Well then that’s the chance occurrence I’ll bet on.” the nocturni took a deep breath. “Under Equestrian Military Code section eight article fifty three, I hereby utilize my position as head of Meteor Squad and chief long range combat specialist of the lunar royal guard, to force the emergency temporary resignation of generals Iron Wing and Frosted Night due to emotional compromise and reassign their command to the two donkeys that stand before me. Henceforth, they are allowed to reorganize the enlisted officers as they see fit.”

Frosted Night stammered out a bewildered response, greasy grey fur catching the light harshly. “Canterlot will hear from this! I will have you standing before the high command to explain this. . . idiotic farce! You will be sent back to your lightless hovel in Tramplelvania in chains, nightspawn! If you have lived for a thousand years in armor, may you live another thousand in shame!”

Slowly but surely, the other enlisted officers in the room raised their opinions as well, for once all on the same side; against Long Shot. Several were talking about contacting other’s in the military to have ‘words’ about this, while a few others were quietly whispering ‘traitor’.

Then, Long Shot shot a blast of magic across the room.

The room became quiet yet again. Fifteen equines looked to the nocturni in shock. Two donkeys looked at him with approval.

“Meteor Squad, dismissed.”

The squad did so, Clockwork failing to notice that his teammates deliberately kept their distance from him. Their commander spoke once more. “Clockwork, Haywire, Wetwork. You three are assigned to ensure that any and all civilians you can bodily reach are safely barricaded in their homes or evacuated to zeppelin pad seven, the same one Szary’s docked at. I hardly expect you three to be able to reach every civilian in this city in under twenty minutes, but I know you’ll do you best. Got it?”

“Yessir!”

"Charger, Mganga, Switcher. You two try to organize what militia we've got. I'll meet you after escorting these folks to a secure bunker." Long Shot began to gather the remaining officers, signalling for the two donkeys to stay where they were.

"B-but-but-" Iron Wind stammered, looking at him with honest despair tinging his voice. "What about the mithril facility? And all the factories in this city?"

"If we lose those, it won't end up in the total incineration of this city and everything in it. What's broken can be fixed. We all have our orders, now move!"

In all his time with the military, albeit short, Clockwork thought that he had seen the absolute worst war had to offer. Yet again, he had been proven wrong as he and his companions rushed through the streets of Stalliongrad. It was an unnerving situation to say the least, and most likely outright disturbing others.

Even as Clockwork, Wetwork, and Haywire did their best to scream at the various dazed citizens of the city to get inside or run as fast as they could to pad seven, it all seemed to be swallowed up in a panicking sea of quiet. As volley after horrible volley crashed upon the city’s rapidly crumbling shield, it was made apparent by a river worried mutterings that none of the civilians, even those in the militia, had imagined that the supremacy would actually try to invade the city.

Clockwork was torn from his musings by the sound of an explosion, followed by a wave of crackling. The pegasus and all those scattered around him gazed skyward to watch as Stalliongrad’s shield, its most fantastic defense, fall with one last barrage. Dirt and dust from outside the city walls rocketed skyward, turning the sky a brownish red, almost like the scarlet water of life mixed with wet earth.

Clockwork’s radio emitted a short burst of static, followed by Wyatt’s voice.

“Nimbus! You alright?”

“Yes, Commander. Requesting permission to engage any and all targets.”

“You have my permission to royally fuck up every last scuzzy’s shit.”

“Sweeter words never rang so clear.”

Clockwork directed his attention to Szary, a large oval of gleaming silver against a matte field of brown. With an audible rocket of steam and the sharp unhinging of cables, the zeppelin took to the sky of its own power. Moments later, the vessel began firing thin slabs of metal towards enemies unseen, Clockwork knowing that, with each javelin that hit its intended target, said target would plummet to the ground in a fantastic ball of flames and warped scrap metal. The words of a red unicorn rang heavily in his ears, and he couldn’t help but shiver when he saw a broken pastel body fall out of the sky.

The pegasus removed his focus from his squad’s ship and placed it back on the task at hoof. Luckily for him and his allies, there were no citizens within their fields of view. Hopefully they had scattered and either found a suitable improvised shelter or were making their way to pad seven. The trio hurried onwards, towards the same apartment block Gearbox and Quick Fix lived in, stopping for a few seconds to inform errant individuals of their two best options for survival and then directing them to whichever one suited them best. As they reached a familiar section of the apartment complex, Haywire mentioned something regarding making actual progress in the safety of citizens, but whatever it was she specifically said was lost of history as Clockwork’s attention was brought back skyward. Nimbus had shouted five words nopony ever wanted to here when in the middle of an airship battle.

“Incoming rounds! All hooves brace!”

Were it not for Szary’s hull being constructed almost entirely of mithril, it was quite likely that she would've fell from the sky right then and there. An impossibly accurate streak of light appeared out of nowhere and impacted the ship in a devastating broadside, the only thing keeping Szary aloft with a hole that big being a countless number of arcane redundancies.

“Holy shit!” Long Shot’s voice screamed over Clockwork’s radio. “Nimbus! You still there?!”

“Alive and pissed off!" the elderly voice replied. “What the hell just hit us?! Szary’s tough but I don’t think she can take another one of those!”

A terrible pause followed, ended by two words that none wished to here. “Oh no.”

“Commander?” every member of Meteor asked at once.

“Nimbus! Relocate and engage at will but do not take any unnecessary risks! We might have a familiar face!”

“What?!” Clockwork exclaimed. For a moment, the pegasus was glad that he couldn’t see what had the commander so scared.

“The Fury’s here, and by the looks of it, she’s got a fancy new gun. Looks kinda like the one we blew up back in Appleloosa.”

Clockwork’s heart skipped several beats at the mention of Warfather’s personal dreadnaught. “Sir, it may be his ship but that doesn’t mean that monster's alive.”

“Never underestimate a one-eyed griffon with the power of a god at his disposal.”

“But it is just an airship, commander.” Mganga cut in. “Who is to say that the Fury does not have a new commander, a non unkillable one?”

“No chances with that scuzzy bastard. Everyone, maintain current mission objectives. Keep an eye out for Warfather, his cronies, or anything else we can’t handle on our own. No telling what the Supremacy will try.”

The radio cut to static, followed by the sounds of iron horseshoes on cobblestone as Clockwork and his companions furiously rushed to every door to check for civilians. They were just about to knock on Gearbox’s door when something caught Clockwork’s eye.

A civilian, a male unicorn judging by the silhouette, was standing out in the open like he wasn’t aware that a war was going on around him. Clockwork made his way closer, enough to get within earshot. “Hey! Get out of the open and somewhere sa-!”

A large storage house behind the unicorn turned to splinters as some kind of unholy creature appeared from within it, something like a diamond dog but more wolf then hound, let out a deathly metallic screech as it snatched up the pony in its grasp. The unicorn didn’t get the chance to scream or cry out, as in an instant flesh was made stone, and then stone to gravel, and then gravel to dust.

Clockwork’s jaw dropped as he fumbled for his pistol. In an instant, rubble from beneath the monsters hiding place fell upon him, and blackness engulfed all.

Retaliation

Author's Notes:

Sorry for the wait. He's chapter 33 in all it's glory and all it's horror. Enjoy.

Despite the chaos of the ongoing battle a short distance above the heads of Warfather and his two apprentices, it did little to weaken their resolve as they made their way forward. There were few soldiers to deal with on the way to the bunker; it was likely that all non-vital forces had been reassigned to positions somewhere else in the city. Underneath flickering lights and falling dirt, the trio did not kill any who surrendered, and quickly executed all others. Time was of the essence. The emperor had not expected Long Shot and his subordinates to be present within the city, each of his soldiers tactically worth at least a hundred of the standard infantry at the bare minimum. Had they not been within the city when the Supremacy attacked, Stalliongrad would’ve already fallen. With the squad’s zeppelin wreaking havoc above, the already small eighth legion would not survive much longer than an hour, and that was rounding up.

“Hey, Boss.” Gilda addressed her master in her customary way, her voice shaking just enough for Warfather to recognize that she was unsure of the battle’s outcome. Then again, that may have just been her claustrophobia, poor girl. “I think that’s everyone. The door’s just up ahead.”

Without another word, the trio progressed as one until they came upon a large steel door that seemed more at home guarding a bank’s fortune rather than a hastily assembled group of cowards that called themselves officers of the Federation. The griffon was quite capable of slicing through the door with little effort, but he decided against such brash entry methods. Instead, he turned to his doggish ally. “Echo, how are your paws?”

The mute canine flashed his gauntlets, them being repaired long before the assault. Underneath the golden hued metal lay a blanket of cloth wraps dipped in various medicinal concoctions to help quicken the process of healing bullet wounds. Each metal claw bent in every which way to its fullest extent, though not without a small grimace crossing their owner’s snout. The fire in the dog’s eyes was more than enough to signal that he did not mind the pain and wished to serve.

With the slightest brush of a talon, Warfather signaled for his companion to slice the door’s operation’s panel. He did so with speed and efficiency, and not a moment later, the door to the bunker groaned open.

Inside was the trio’s prey, two generals and an admiral they had been ordered to capture or assassinate the moment this invasion had been conceived in the mind of the Emperor.

“Greetings, officers of the Alliance.” Warfather dipped into a graceful bow as his apprentices flanked their prey. “I am Warfather, a warrior priest of the Red Order, Supremacy, and-”

The griffon was rudely interrupted as a flurry of lead erupted from the pistol one of the generals shakily held in his forehooves. His profile, sans the bloody nose and the wounded expression, fit the description of an officer called Iron Wind. In an instant, Warfather deflected every round before separating the general’s head from his body. After wiping his sword on the corpse, Warfather sheathed his blade and turned his attention to the remaining two officers, their necks ready to be snapped by the assassins that now held their heads in expertly trained grasps. “Now then,” the griffon picked up where he left off. “I was sent here to give you all a swift death much like your friend over there, but I was also given permission to capture you three if you would cooperate with myself and my friends here.”

He paused, motioning first to Gilda and then to Echo, who both bowed briskly.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to-”

The griffon was once more interrupted as the remaining general, the one that fit the description of a stallion called Frosted Night, lit up his horn and, to Warfather’s mild surprise, wiggled halfway out of Gilda’s grasp and launched a ball of magic in his direction. Warfather expertly ducked beneath the remarkably swift blast of icy frost before signalling for Gilda to end the old one’s life. With the snap of a neck, Warfather turned to his final prisoner. He knelt before the admiral, a mare of relatively little note, though her appearance matched the files with an admiral by the name of Charnel. The griffon looked dead in the eye, his beak not five inches from the pony’s muzzle. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it rang clearer than the most expertly crafted bell. “If you wish to remain alive, I suggest you do not interrupt me. Contrary to most of my more simple minded brethren, I do not wish for you dead on the floor. May I have you cooperation?”

The admiral remained still for a long time, the only sign that he was alive being her ragged breathing and grimace of anger. “I’d sooner die than-”

Echo snapped the mare’s neck with but a flick of his wrist. “As you wish” was all his master said to the body. All three targets lay dead on the floor. Their mission complete, the trio left the bunker, Warfather trailing slightly behind. Pity that his prey was too stupid to accept mercy when given the chance. No matter, the Supremacy already knew what they likely did, and as such their deaths were not a blow to the campaign. Warfather signalled for his apprentices to halt before issuing them a brief set of orders.

“Clear a path to the Mithril Factory and await my arrival. Kill only those you must, leave the rest to the mutts. I’m going to take a walk around the city while the streets are still traversable. Understood?”

With three nods, the trio of trained killers went their separate ways.

A terrified shriek, followed by a storm of wild gunshots, tore Clockwork’s mind from the hellish bliss of half-death. His vision cleared somewhat, though still ringed with black, and the pegasus found himself trapped. His prosthetic wing had been caught and pinned underneath a large chunk of what used to be a house, and try as he might, Clockwork could not free himself. Sadly, the boulder did little to block his view of the surrounding torment.

All around him, it was chaotic, bloody, and filled with the screams of warriors and the dying. No matter what words Clockwork’s mind brought forward, they all fell short of the exuberant hell. Screams of fury and death slathered the field as commonly as the rubble and blood shared by the two major factions that fought over said rubble.

Clockwork regretted not bringing his concerns to his superiors earlier. Had he done so, perhaps his uneasy feelings might have gone without merit. Instead, diamond dogs were pouring through some faustforsaken hole in the ground and their griffon allies rained death from above. Small groups of unprepared city militia, caught between two hostile forces, were barely surviving as they gradually retreated back to the Behemoth Engine. In the middle of it all, innocent, harmless civilians were perishing like thoughtless lambs forced to the slaughter.

For a brief moment, Clockwork prayed to the royal sisters that his parents were safe behind some makeshift barricade or wall of tempered steel, and if not, he wished that their deaths had been painless.

Another shriek tore through the air, judging by its pitch it had likely come from Quick Fix. This time though, it was followed by a hollow, eerie groan. The stallion’s desperately tried to wrench himself around to get a better view of the most immediate situation. For a moment or two, Clockwork wished that he had been born blind or not at all.

Wetwork, Haywire, Gearbox, and Quick Fix were all scattered and cowering against various portions of the same wall. It was what they were cowering from that truly scared Clockwork. It was some kind of amalgamation of rippling flesh and wheezing, coppery metal. The. . . thing was horribly disfigured to the point where its silhouette was barely recognizable as doggish. It was immense in size, almost to the point where it seemed to defy the square cube law. Old history lessons passed through Clockwork’s memory in a heartbeat, and he recognized the profile as belonging to an ancestor of its creators, a rock wolf. In all of Clockwork’s life, it was by far the most unholy perturbation of science he had ever witnessed.

Haywire and Wetwork continued to fire their pitifully small concealed-carry revolvers at the beast, but to no avail. Round after round after round, the mechanical rock wolf thing did not slow as it crept in for the kill. What it did next terrified Clockwork beyond a point he thought impossible to surpass.

The beast did not kill Haywire or Wetwork, instead choosing to lazily swat the two scientists aside like they were overgrown flies. The fact that the monster did not outright kill the mares, and that it quickly turned its attention on Clockwork’s unarmed parents, led Clockwork to a horrid conclusion.

The beast was sentient, and it was going for the easiest kills first.

Clockwork screamed as he tried once more to remove himself from his makeshift prison. Even if it meant a blown artery or the loss of the prosthetic he far too often took for granted, the pegasus struggled to free himself. Alas, it was all for naught and, after conceding defeat, he felt for his radio. Maybe somepony nearby would be able to help. No matter how many times the pegasus clicked the transceiver, there was never a reply to be heard.

Clockwork cursed himself as he pounded a hoof into the ground. Time slowed as he watched the mechanical dog monster thing lift its right leg with the intent of crushing both ponies with a single step. Clockwork quickly found a moderately sized rock, took careful aim, and threw the chunk of rubble as hard and precisely as he could. If the sisters smiled upon him, maybe he could buy his parents a few vital seconds to escape.

The makeshift projectile fell just short of its target, the beasts head, instead glancing its exposed spine and ricocheting to hit the ground with a sharp clank!

As Clockwork prayed that his parents would experience a swift and painless journey to the infinite pastures of the afterlife, he was shocked to see the doggish beast stall in its execution, actually glancing behind itself to determine from where the attack had originated.

That was all the time Gearbox and Quick Fix needed to make their escape. They did not escape death, at least, not without the sacrifice of another.

Wetwork had recovered enough to break into a dead gallop. She catapulted herself into the path of the rock wolf, knocking both of Clockwork’s parents aside with the intent to take the blow herself. Clockwork’s heart stopped.

Alas, Wetwork did not die that day. A minute mare, one that Clockwork would never learn the name of, came soaring out of the sky, the pegasus’ rifle firing continuously as its owner spat insults of every fathomable kind at the mechanical monstrosity. The beast lowered its foot to the ground as gently as it could, the tree-trunk like appendage setting itself down far from its intended mark. As Wetwork scurried away with the help of a heavily bleeding Haywire, Clockwork had an unhindered view of the painfully one-sided conflict.

The militia soldier was barreling toward her target far too quickly to avoid a head on collision, but it appeared that she already knew that. There was blood streaming from several wounds across her body, and if anything this was her one last great act of defiance, Clockwork would’ve considered saluting her had it not been for subsequent events staying his hoof.

The soldier impacted the mechanical beast with enough force to actually send it hurtling to the ground, but where there should’ve been blood and bone, there was only bits of stone as the minute mare was petrified upon contact with the beasts’ head. One stray piece of rock had the audacity to actually impact the imprisoned stallion right in the head, but that was all it took.

Clockwork heard his heart restart with a single beat, and the world turned red.

It was both deathly quiet and painfully loud at the same time. Clockwork couldn’t help but laugh as he finally tore himself from the rock, looking to find that his wing was bent out of shape but otherwise undamaged. The arcane metal had even protected Clockwork’s pistol from utter annihilation, and the pegasus chose to abuse this revelation to this fullest extent. As he brought his weapon to bear, Clockwork let loose something from deep within his vocal chords. Be it a cowardly shriek or a hellish roar, it mattered little, for it did the job. The monstrous rock wolf stood and turned its attention to the pegasus, and Clockwork had nine rounds of .44 magnum waiting to greet the beast.

The alchemical dog yelped in excruciating pain as all nine rounds from its adversary’s pistol impacted its face at various points, one even going so far as to forcefully plant itself in the monster's left, glowing violet eye. After firing his shotgun round just to piss the beast off even more, Clockwork utilized what little sanity he had left and holstered his weapon. Once again, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing, which devolved into a frenzied roar that mixed with the beast’s furious own.

The pegasus charged.

The monster before him was ready for the apparently suicidal attack, or so it believed. With the loss of an eye, the demon lost its depth perception as well. It swung long before Clockwork was close enough, leading the beast to embed one of its massive fists in the street whilst it swung wildly with the other. Clockwork continued forward, not daring to slow as this was likely his only chance to kill it. Just as he closed within striking range, the rock wolf freed itself, but it had very little time to relish in its escape.

Clockwork took one final step, angled himself, and leapt.

Like a knife through water, Clockwork’s wing shot upwards through its monstrous target with zero difficulty, splitting it in two from groin to skull. As the division became complete, vast amounts of thick fluid sprayed forth from the immense wound, the liquids turned a painful red from the searing light of Clockwork’s gem. The screams heard at the sight of the demonic conflict were not the beast’s own, but Clockwork’s as he set himself on the floor with a soft thud. The screaming continued until Clockwork’s throat ran hoarse, and only then did he flick the horrid sludge that he could reach off himself and turn to his companions.

Everypony looked horrified by what Clockwork had done, Wetwork especially. Their faces were priceless, but this was no time to laugh or thank them for his saving of their lives. He had a second objective, one that called to him. “Stay here.” he ordered. “get somewhere safe if you can. I’ve gotta make sure a certain somewhere doesn’t fall to the enemy.”

Without another word, Clockwork was off, rocketing across the rubble-strewn roads that crisscrossed the city like the mesh nets he was forced to crawl under during basic training.

The chaos of the invasion had grown significantly. Diamond Dogs were almost as common as the ponies who desperately fought to hold them at bay, though this effort was hampered by griffon air superiority. Szary had certainly made a noticeable dent in the enemy fleet, but it was a long way from eradication. Clockwork did his best to kill or dodge everything blocking his path, and it felt like the desperate race was going to last forever. When the pegasus saw the trail of bodies though, he realized the journey had been much shorter than expected, and what lay within was far more dangerous than anticipated.

A rough column of equine bodies lay upon the blood-soaked earth, the deathly pathway leading up and into Clockwork’s destination, the Mithril Factory. Upon brief but close inspection, the pegasus found many of the dead to have sustained precise wounds to vital areas, leading to a quick and hopefully pain-free death. He reloaded his pistol, ensured that his wing would not fail him in his time of need, and galloped inside.

The inside of the Mithril Factory was anything but comfortable. The factory’s base production lines were filed to the brim with molten metal, boiling jets of steam, and massive flames that occasionally licked the ceiling. Clockwork’s brow was practically drowning in perspiration. Whether or not these severe inconveniences were the result of the war going on outside was a debate the stallion forced to the back of his mind; he had a far more pressing matter to attend to. The hellish conditions did little to sway the practiced eye of a pony whose special talent happened to be engineering, and those eyes noticed a long string of remarkably precise sabotage throughout the facility. They looked to have been made with blades with the likely intent to disable the various machines used to harvest, purify, and temper mithril. However, the strikes were not used to outright destroy. Rather, they had been inflicted where no individual would be put in extreme danger, and they looked easy to repair if given the correct tools. Whoever Clockwork was pursuing (or vice versa), they knew what they were doing and had come equipped for the job. Clockwork suddenly realized that this confirmed Long Shot’s suspicions. The enemy was here to capture the city, not atomize it. He reached for his radio to report his findings, but was interrupted by three certain individuals.

Warfather stood near a small clearing in the carnage, a smaller female griffon at his left and an emerald-cloaked dog, the one Clockwork thought dead at Appleloosa, at his right. Realization hit the pegasus like a sack of bricks, nothing but a diamond dog could’ve made a hole that deep that quickly. Given the canine’s obvious loyalty to his master, he had taken the griffon with him. “It is quite obvious that this war has dulled your senses, more specifically this battle in particular. Tell me, how many talons am I holding up?” the head griffon asked

“I see two talons you’ll be without in about that many seconds!” Clockwork drew his pistol and charged forward, firing all nine rounds in quick succession. Unfortunately, he did not have enough time to down the leader with the shotgun round. He barely had enough time to block the griffon’s own disarming sword strike. Through gritted teeth, the pegasus realized that he was completely open to attack from Warfather’s cronies. “So why haven’t you finished me off yet?” he spat.

Warfather smirked, not a single hint of effort on his beak as he kept the stallion trapped in blade lock. “You have survived this long in the war at such a young age. You also have that wing of yours, which would make for a most excellent trophy if the Emperor’s cravings will not be satiated by this city I believe you are an opponent worth my time.”

The griffon signalled for his underlings to leave the area, and they did so with haste. In an instant, Warfather shoved Clockwork far enough away that the griffon was able to backflip and sheathed his blade. Great, he was going to toy with his prey before chopping it into tiny pieces, or so he believed.

Clockwork scoffed at the eagle-lion. “Flamboyance will get you nowhere. Nor will the strength of a god or that fancy sword of yours.”

Warfather chuckled in amusement at the insane pony’s words. “You know nothing of my god, the true god that deserves the worship of an entire world and more.”

Clockwork shook his head. “There are only two gods I’m sure that exist and they happen to rule my country.”

“Au contraire, young one. Carniferous is not a pony granted the abilities of all three species. She is in herself not a being, but a sapient force. There is a very specific reason your people turned to mine during the Uprisings. We were bred to make war, and the Emperor is the pinnacle of our species, and so she granted him his mask so that he may walk amongst the living to ensure that we shall not stray from the path of greatness. She created my kind, gave us the strength to prevail in the cruel world we had been born into, survive, and conquer it. She even granted me my blade.”

The griffon drew his sword and swung it about as though he were displaying it to every pair of eyes in the world. Admittedly, the weapon was of expert craftsmanship. Its blade was a pure ivory-white, and from this distance it did not seem to bear any sort of flaw in the metal. Its hilt was a powerful shade of red, and a small chain of feathers hung from the end of it. “Tell me, do you truly know what this sword is?”

“Just that, a sword and nothing else.”

"Far more than that, young one. It is called the Feather of Carniferous, fittingly named for its was forged from one of her own. It has slain many an enemy and has yet to dull. You will not be an exception, even with that wing of yours. Tell me before I end you, for it has drawn the curiosity of many in the Empire, myself and our many spies included. What exactly is that admittedly magnificent creation?"

"Mithril, a metal only present in the world’s core. Hoof-forged and bonded to my flesh. Powered by my mind, cast through this fire ruby. Near incapable of being damaged, and no god-sword is going to change that."

“Hmph. We shall see if your boasting proves true, for only so much can happen when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Tell me, do you have any last words?”

“Actually, yes. I’m no good with cooking, so mind telling me the serving temperature for a turkey dinner?”

Warfather actually seemed genuinely pissed off by that, and his rage only increased as he shouted four painfully familiar words. “Carniferous! FREE. MY. SOUL!”

Where there should’ve been great waves of crimson and fury, there was nothing but silence as the griffon stood there, practically naked without his mythical armor. Even after repeating the call twice more, nothing happened. Warfather took several steps back from the pegasus, a look of utter bewilderment across his beak. “But. . . how?” he asked.

Clockwork couldn’t help but laugh at the pitiful sight. “Oh this is priceless. Where is your god now?!” he screamed.

Warfather looked at his adversary in slight terror. “But. . . Carniferous only bestows her blessing upon the warrior she deems greatest on the battlefield!”

Clockwork couldn’t help but laugh at this explanation. “Heh. Looks like she doesn’t think so highly of you anymore.”

Warfather angled himself for the first strike. “No matter. I shall end your life so I may regain her favor.”

Clockwork took a deep breath and readied himself for the most difficult fight of his short life. “Good luck, scuzzy.”

The sound of metal crashing against metal drowned the sounds of all else, as though each strike of the blade was an individual crack of heavenly thunder. The damaged machines loudly struggling to function, rounds after round of cannonfire falling upon the torn streets, and the painful groaning of flaming griffon zeppelin, it was all but a whisper in comparison to the battle of metal from above the sky versus metal from the earth’s heart. Neither blade gave way, nor did their wielders’ energy drain as they continued on in the furious duel. Clockwork spat insult after insult in an effort to distract his opponent and vent his careless rage. Even with most of his sanity gone, Clockwork remembered that, if he let his anger get the better of him for more than a second, he would-

The pegasus’ train of thought was jarred from its tracks as Clockwork was struck in the head by the hilt of Warfather’s sword. After a brief moment in free-fall, the pegasus readjusted and regained lost altitude, barely succeeding in parrying another of the griffon’s many attacks. He shook his head to clear it of stars and quickly glanced about his surroundings.

The duo had taken to the air during the conflict, both warriors now a significant distance above the ground. Despite both species’ enhanced durability and hollow bones, a fall from this height would undoubtedly kill them. However, it did next to nothing to lessen the sheer amount of machinery. Truly, the factory was huge in every sense of the word. Machines of every kind were present in the facility, and by circumstance a large amount of coal was required to power them. Coal produced heat, heat produced steam, and it was his steam that made Clockwork feel like he was slowly being cooked alive. Undoubtedly, Warfather must've had it worse after relying on his spiritual trump card for so long. Clockwork couldn’t help but giggle as he searched for his adversary, seemingly retreated for the time being. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to learn the correct temperature at which to cook a turkey, The factory would do it for him!

The faint rustling of feathers caught Clockwork’s attention, allowing him just enough time to turn around mid-air and send his attacker hurtling through the air with a single great sweep of his prosthetic. “Whew. Seems like Carniferous’ chosen is losing touch! Need a breather, gramps?”

“With age comes wisdom, experience, and the knowledge of how far to push yourself.” the griffon panted. “You have yet to age, and so you must rely on blind stupidity and your bountiful energy reserves to succeed. I can tell you were not trained for such encounters as this. Perhaps it is you who needs the break?”

Clockwork smirked. “The best way to learn is through experience, and thanks to you I may have my own fighting style in about ten minutes.”

Warfather paused. “It seems we can agree on one thing. However, if you truly expect to last that long-” the griffon winced and placed a telon to his chest. A thin, red streak was present on his matted chest, and for a moment Clockwork noticed a powerful violet light glimmer from beneath the wound before it sealed itself shut in an eerily short period of time. The only other time he’d seen a light like that one, the very same color as the rock wolf’s eyes, was. . .

“Shit.” the pegasus cursed. “So that’s how you survived. Before you die, mind telling me what you monsters intend to achieve through those perversions of science?”

Aside from a remark about Clockwork’s powers of observation, the griffon said nothing as he launched into a relentless stream of fluid blade strikes. Clockwork had no time to react, and by the time he was able to dodge or deflect incoming blows, his flesh had been criss-crossed every which way by lacerations that went no deeper than the uppermost layers of skin. The steam that poured into the various wounds made Clockwork feel like he was being bitten a hundred times over by a thousand fire ants, and the sheer pain alone was enough to knock the pegasus from the sky.

The stallion only had enough will left to angle his descent so that he didn’t break his neck on impact, leading him to come crashing down on an immense, scorching cauldron of what he believed was molten mithril.

Only two desires remained in Clockwork's mind at this point. He wanted to travel to the realm of the unconscious and stay there for a good long while. The second desire, which in turn stayed his accomplishment of the first, was that he wished to halt Warfather's existence. As the warrior approached, Clockwork barely had the energy to notice that his vision did not fade to crimson as it so often did in these situations.

The pegasus was lifted by his throat without struggle, his adversary keeping him just above the sea of liquid metal. "Well. . . go ahead!" Clockwork choked. "DO IT!"

"No. Not yet."

Warfather's voice had become a whisper amongst the sounds of war, though is tore through the air like it was the strongest of gales. Needless to say that Clockwork was terrified. "You would welcome a quick death. I can tell that you have witnessed terrors of war a pony like you couldn't even fathom. You wish for the sweet embrace of death, the truest escape from this hell called reality, but. . ." the griffon trailed off. "There is still a reason you wish to live. Still a reason you want to leave this place with your life. Before you die, I wish to know the reason behind such tenacity uncharacteristic of your kind."

Clockwork hung motionless. Truth nor lies would spare him his fate, so his last words could be anything he wished to say. He could lament over his unrequited love for a certain mare, the love he felt for his kingdom, his homeland, or even his most base desire of simply wishing to see tomorrow's sun rise. He reached his decision quickly.

"Ndingng. . . rrs."

Warfather tilted his head to one side, his grasp trembling. "What?"

"Nding. . . Rrrrs."

Warfather pulled the pegasus a bit closer and loosened his grip. "One more time."

"I said. . ." Clockwork took a single gasp of breath. "I wish to keep my life, so that I may end yours!"

The pegasus wrenched himself around, bringing his prosthetic to bear and sending the impromptu blade clean through Warfather's right arm, sending the talon careening into the molten sea below and instantly freeing Clockwork from his grasp, allowing him to land once more upon a solid floor. He struggled to gain his footing, screamed as he stood and charged, but something occurred to him just as he lunged in for the kill.

Warfather was not right handed.

Warfather, his wound cauterized by the immense heat, deflected the blow, knocking the stallion far enough off his balance for him to fall a great distance to some machine below with a heavy thud.

Clockwork shook his head, finding it much cooler here and detecting the sound of running water below him. He gazed upward, waiting for Warfather to finish him off, but that moment never came.

The griffon's figure appeared over the ledge, Clockwork barely able to make out some kind of device held in his remaining talon. With the press of a button, a great hole was torn through the roof of the roof of the facility, accompanied by equal parts rubble and metal fragments from a cannon round. Without another word, the griffon clumsily took to the air and disappeared out of sight.

"That 's right. Run away you scuzzy bastard." Clockwork exhaustedly taunted his opponent. "Give up and flee, only to be killed another day. . . Hehehe. . ."

Clockwork felt himself begin to nod off, but something kept him awake as his ears flicked at the sound.

"Kid? KID! Do you read me? I still haven't given you permission to die!"

Clockwork fumbled for his radio, clicking the switch to remain on. "I'm here, commander. I read you."

"Sweet Faust, colt. You sound like death incarnate!"

"You should see other guy."

"What's your position. Wetwork and Haywire said you just left 'em."

"I'm in the mithril factory, on top of some cooling plant I think. It sounds quiet out there. . ."

"Yeah. The enemy fleet's nothing but rubble and the city's safe. The Fury got away though."

"About that, commander. I had a little skirmish with its captain. Three guesses as to who it was."

"Son of a broodmare. . ." the commander trailed off. "We've got a medical shuttle inbound to get you back to Szary."

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted."

"You sound troubled, like, really troubled. Aside from the obvious, what's got you scared? The city's still ours and the fleet's gone. Warfather's running scared minus a limb-"

"Just sit tight." the commander interrupted. "Conserve your energy. I'll tell you everything once you get back to the ship. This day just keeps getting better and fuckin' better."

Consequence

Within the nation of Equestria, Stalliongrad lay but a stubborn husk of its former glory. For the first time in a thousand years, its defenses had failed the engineering metropolis. A fleet of zeppelins under the flag of the Griffon Empire and led by Warfather, had succeeded in damaging the city and disabling its mithril refining plant, but not without significant cost.

The entire fleet had been converted to flaming wrecks through the combined effort of several hundred thousand bullets and the tactical genius housed within Meteor Squad’s personal airship, known as Szary.

The frigate was barely maintaining lift of its own power, repair ponies of every conceivable relevant profession scurried across the heavily damaged aircraft to wherever their skills would be most valuable. Next to everything had been damaged, the outer hull especially, along with piping, guidance systems, various living quarters, but the morale of the crew was in the most disarray.
However, morale was something that Clockwork was in no short supply of. The pegasus was smirking with an almost vehement malice. The sheer ratio of allied lives lost versus enemies instantly placed the conflict in Equestria’s favor. Even Warfather and his lackeys had been sent scurrying, the one-eyed commander now missing his right talon in its entirely.

All in all, Stalliongrad remained under Alliance control, as did the behemoth Engine and all that it powered.

Clockwork had provided every last detail of his harrowing brushes with death to his commander while being wrapped from head to hoof in bandages by Szary’s paramedics, and now Clockwork stood amongst his comrades in arms, awaiting Long Shot’s return from a summoning by none other than Rear Admiral Shining Armor, the most powerful and influential mortal military official behind Twilight Sparkle.

Before Clockwork’s mind could go off on a tangent regarding the horned ponies of almost mythical magical prowess and endurance (it made no sense why either sibling had been made an alicorn yet), the stallion’s attention was brought to the door leading into Szary’s war room. Long Shot entered, his form blanketed in lacerations that he quite likely refused to have treated. If the pegasus remembered correctly, a nocturni’s healing factor was almost unreal. However, the millenia old warrior's true signs of exhaustion sat within his eyes. The twin golden orbs appeared to have dulled as their owner made his way to the war room’s table and practically collapsed into a chair. He motioned for the rest of his squad to do the same. Clockwork hesitated for a moment; the commander never sat down unless-

“Stalliongrad’s still under Alliance control, Meteor, and I have you all to thank for your valorous actions today. Truly, if we hadn’t been here when the scuzzies made the mistake of attacking, only Faust knows what could’ve happened.”

Clockwork shuddered at the lack of hope in Long Shot’s voice, replaced by something that he could only describe as cold and ruthless. Something was very wrong.

“I’m sorry to say, but there’s no time to celebrate facing down the impossible and making it our bitch. Reports are finally coming in and we've got a decent idea of what happened. The scuzzies' strategy wasn't all that well planned. Given this city's close position to enemy borders, the enemy fleet just gunned it until we were in range. Salvage teams are reporting that the fleet was minimally crewed, crew replaced by explosives and the like. As such, we’re recalculating our losses versus the enemy to see if this whole thing really was a net win for the Alliance. Not only that, but while we were working our flanks off to keep this city in one piece, two other cities have fallen in its place.”

It seemed like the whole world fell silent upon Long Shot’s words. There were no rampant hoofsteps outside, no faint mumblings from the team, not even the slightest hint that any one of them were still breathing.

“I’ve just received word from Rear Admiral Shining Armor that Marenobyl, Stalliongrad’s sister city, has fallen.”

Clockwork almost titled his head to one side. He didn’t recognize the name.

“Around the same time the assault on Stalliongrad began, several explosions went off within Marenobyl, and large amounts of the city’s foundation weakened to the point of structural collapse. Details are currently sketchy, but we’re damned sure that some odd hundred dogs led a suicide charge on the city, and the end result was the city’s main power plant becoming the centerpiece of a mass Tearcloud detonation. The gas has since faded, but the city is now nothing more than a bleached skeleton. Marenobyl provided large reserves of arcane energy for Stalliongrad, and with its loss, so went all that power. The Behemoth Engine may be powerful, but it isn’t a source of eternal energy. Without Marenobyl, Stalliongrad is now rationing power to the most important installations. Water treatment, keeping residential establishments heated, the usual.”

Clockwork’s heart skipped a beat. As far as he knew, this was Tearcloud’s first use in the war at large. He felt his sense of victory quickly fade.

“I’m sorry to say that the bad news doesn’t stop there. During the invasion of Stalliongrad and destruction of Marenobyl, the Alliance lost all communication with the coastal town of Bridal Shores. "

Clockwork glanced at Charger. At the moment, she appeared unfazed by the news regarding her birthplace and home of many years. He looked back at his commander. “If I might, Commander. Why attack Bridal Shores?"

Long Shot emitted a frustrated sigh. “The only tactical value that city held was a small research facility that prioritized in medicine. The place was a coastal town, a vacation city. Circumstances have our top strategists thinking that this is all part of some kind of shock and awe campaign. Worst part? We don't know if it's over or if the scuzzies are just getting started. Our last confirmed transmissions with forces on the ground said the Supremacy was determined to take the city, but they had yet to succeed."
Clockwork’s brow furrowed. “So what’s kept them at bay?”

"A couple hundred soldiers are still dug in deep. Spirit and familiarity with the terrain can do wonders."

"H-How long are they expected to last, commander?" Mganga inquired, her voice shaking.

"With luck, two days. Honestly, I’m amazed a city that small didn’t fall immediately."

“Is there any chance of reinforcements being provided?” Switcher-7 inquired as he twirled a small vial in one hoof.

"Negative. We've got enough problems as is. Sending them reinforcements is a fool's gamble."

"Meteor Squad is nothing but fools.” Clockwork chimed. “Why don't we go?"

"If the diagnostics I've been provided are accurate, we aren't going anywhere. Szary's taken enough of a beating to keep her out of the fight for two weeks minimum. Even so, a single frigate won’t last long against Celestia-knows-how-many zeppelins the griffons have parked above the city. We wouldn't have the benefit of dozens of anti-air emplacements to keep the pressure of her. Lastly, we're not gods, kid, we're just soldiers much like the rest the military. On our own, and in our current state, we can't turn the tide when the enemy numbers in the several hundreds."

Clockwork’s memories flashed back to Charnel, as well as his desires to acquaint her with a bloody end, and that was the last straw. He slammed his hooves into the table, eliciting a strained grimace from the pegasus and causing the table to tremble as though in fear. "So let me get this straight, commander. You're telling me, telling your squad, that the Alliance is going to let soldiers who can barely defend themselves die?! Are you serious?!"

"Reinforcements are unavailable and futile, the griffons have the advantage."

"Bull! Shit!" the winged stallion spat. "Long Shot, do you even remember what we've accomplished in a few short months?! What we managed to pull off just an hour ago?!"

"I have a perfect memory and I'm sorry. There's no way we can keep that city."

"Did the admiral even have the courtesy to tell the soldiers there of their eventual fate? Have you already told their families?!" the pegasus asked through gritted teeth.

"This conversation is over."

An tense, eerie silence followed, but it was quickly broken as sobbing was heard near the back of the room. Tears were streaming down Charger's face.

“Charger, are you alright?” Long Shot asked.

Amidst violent sobbing, Charger barely managed to provide an answer. “Bridal Shores. . . was my home, Commander. I. . . I was born and lived there for many years before moving to Ponyville. Last I heard. . . my father was stationed in. . . the medical facility you spoke of. I’m truly sorry, but I. . . I. . . I need to be alone!”

Charger sprinted out of the room, tears marking her path of retreat. The only thing that kept Clockwork from following was a stern command from his squad leader.

“I’m sorry, Clockwork. I can’t let you go to her. Not while we still have one last issue to discuss.”

Clockwork sat up a bit straighter. “And that issue would pertain to what, Commander?”

“Your conduct during the Siege.” With a brief flash of magic, Long Shot locked every door leading in or out of the War Room. “Even in the heat of battle, there are just some things that you don’t do. Ever.”

Clockwork remained silent, doing his best not to let his rage get the better of him. “And those things would be?”

“Plainly speaking, you mouthed off to Colonel-”

“She had it coming, sir.” Clockwork retorted.

“She was a bitch, but she had a point.” Long Shot growled. “Like I already said, we’re not all that different from the general rabble; we’re all mortal.”

“Including Charnel,” Clockwork added defiantly. “and she seemed to have forgotten that fact.”

“Speaking of which, in addition to mouthing off to her, and me, you also assaulted her and another officer, which is punishable by firing squad if the mares and stallions in charge of determining your actions just or unjust finds them the latter.” Long Shot explained in a hollow tone devoid of mercy.

Clockwork looked to the table for a moment. “So this is a tribunal then?”

“That is correct.” Mganga answered.

“So you three are my judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Though the wording is not exact, you are again correct in your observation.” Switcher replied, moving his seat so that he sat at Long Shot’s left. Mganga did the same, taking her place at Long Shot’s right side.

Clockwork grit his teeth behind closed lips. “What about-”

“Since Charger’s been emotionally compromised, as well as her bias towards you, she’d likely find in your favor regardless.” Long Shot interrupted.

“Hmph. You’d be damned surprised, Commander.”

“Enough.” the nocturni declared. “You’ve verbally disrespected several superior officers, attacked two, and if I remember from Wetwork and Haywire’s report, you went AWOL after killing a cybernetic rock wolf. Not only that, but you fought against Warfather, not even bothering to call for backup, thus risking your mind, life, the lives of others and the functionality of the mithril factory. Which, might I remind you, is the only damned one Equestria has. So, Clockwork, how do you stand?”

Clockwork thought long and hard, his memories of previous events flashing before him as he considered his options and possible fate. He glanced at each of his teammates. All three wore signs of war. Switcher’s carapace was cracked in several places, his silvery help dented and one of his fangs broken. Mganga seemed just as bad, her heavily bandaged body resting at an uneven angle. Long Shot was by far the worst, with countless cuts and bruises present across every inch of his figure. All three warriors all looked at the pegasus before them with quiet malice mixed with the faintest trace of fear.

In time, Clockwork answered. “What you say is correct, Commander, but circumstance alters situations drastically.”

Long Shot raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Charnel behaved with severe disorderly conduct, as did many of the other officers in the room. It is likely that overwhelming stress succeeded in distorting my moral compass, and when the rock wolf appeared, it all fell apart right then and there. In good faith, I hurried to the next most threatened area with the sole intention to protect our assets. I had no idea that Warfather would be present, and I tried my radio several times on the way to and inside the factory, garnering no response from anypony. Lastly, I forced Warfather to retreat by first denying him Carniferous’ favor as well as freeing his right talon from his body. After this, I responded to your summoning and hurried aboard without a moment’s hesitation.”

“How in Luna’s name did you keep Warfather from triggering Carniferous’ blessing?” Long Shot asked in disbelief.

“Truth be told, sir, I haven’t the slightest idea. Warfather said something about how Carniferous gives her blessing to whoever she considers the greatest warrior on the field. When the scuzzy cyclops tried to call on her power, nothing happened. I took advantage of his weakened state, and you know the rest.”

“Is there anything else you wish to add?”

“Nothing more, sir.”

“Very well.” Long Shot unlocked one of the room’s doors and gestured to it. “You are free to go, but are hereby confined to the ship until further notice. We’ll come find you when we reach a verdict.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clockwork rose and made his way out of the room, but left the door open the slightest bit and stayed within earshot. The voices were indistinguishable, but it didn’t matter.”

“So. . . what do you two think?”

“While drastic, his actions did result partially so in the defense of the city.”

“He is dangerous, but effective. Had his actions not lead you to demote everyone in the room, we would have lost the city. Warfather’s defeat is impressive as well. Imagine the damage that could’ve been done to this city if he was left without injury."

“The city’s already damaged enough as is. Who knows how long it’ll take this place to recover?”

“Irrelevant.”

The arguing went on for some time, and after realizing that the discussion was going nowhere fast, Clockwork decided to head to Charger’s room. He had to do something to comfort her, even if-

“OOF!”

Clockwork’s body violently met that of another, and then the floor. He was about to apologize before realizing who he had run into. Haywire scrambled to hide a large sack of trinkets, papers, and tools, while Wetwork remained on the floor in a daze.

“Oh. . . umm. . . hello, Wetwork. Haywire.” Clockwork replied dumbly as he got to his hooves. Much to his surprise, Wetwork declined his offer of assistance. Haywire did her best to hide behind her coworker.

“Is something the matter?”

The unicorn looked to her earth pony ally, then back at her coltfriend with a heavy sigh. “Haywire and I have agreed that it would be best if we left Szary.”

“. . . say again?”

“We’re leaving, Clock.” Haywire confirmed.

“Oh. . . well, okay. . . I won’t try to stop you. Where. . . where are you heading?”

“About a hundred feet below us.” Wetwork answered.

“Wet and I want to help rebuild what was destroyed.” Haywire added.

“Okay then. When should I expect a letter?”

Wetwork replied with a single word, one of the most powerful. “Never.”

Clockwork replied with another word, again, one of the most powerful questions known to ponykind. “. . .What?”

Wetwork looked to the floor and pawed at the metal, resulting in the emission of small tapping sounds. “I thought it best if we ended the relationship.”

“. . . Why?”

“Sweet Celestia, are you really that stupid?! This, right here right now, is why!” the unicorn snapped. “I can’t take this anymore! We’re supposed to be together, but we barely see each other! Not only that, but you clearly have eyes for Charger and Charger only!”

Clockwork remained silent.

“I can’t take the stress of front-line combat! I’m paranoid every other fifteen minutes thinking that something’s going to shoot us out of the sky, or worse, that I’ll survive long enough to see you return home in a body bag!” the unicorn screamed with tears at the corner of her eyes. “I cared about you, Clockwork.”

“. . . Explain.”

“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about!” she exclaimed. “You’ve become less and less like yourself! You used to to be a charmingly awkward dork who cared for the lives of everypony and fired his gun only as a last resort! Now. . . now you’re just something else, something so terrible that even I can’t find the right word to describe it. Remember when you asked me once about my bloodshot eyes?”

“. . . No.”

Wetwork continued. “Well, you did ask once, and I said it was nothing. In truth, I was staying awake at night, dreading what was happening to the stallion I had grown to love, but only after what I saw today do I realize that he died.”

“After today?”

“Yes! You cut that damned rock wolf thing in half, while laughing!! You were laughing, at death caused by your hooves!”

“By my wing.” Clockwork flared out his appendage to correct the mare. It was still encrusted with tiny dried specks of sludge, and the ruby lacked any semblance of its original, breathtaking purity. “To save your lives.”

“No, you weren’t trying to save us. You cut that thing in half to satiate your morbid cravings, and then practically showered in whatever it had for blood! I’m sorry, but the Clockwork I know is dead, and without him I have no reason to stay. Goodbye.”

Clockwork stood paralyzed as both mares passed him, making their way out of his sight and out of his life for the rest of it. He wanted to cry, wondered if he should turn and try to convince them to stay. In the end though, the pegasus thought against it and continued on to his original destination.

Clockwork stood before the brass door that lead to Charger’s private quarters. Despite all his time aboard Meteor Squad’s vessel, he never once passed through this door. Where there should have been fear or anxiety (or both), there was only an emptiness as the stallion reached out to knock lightly on the intricately carved brass.

Tap. . . Tap. . . Tap. . .

“Hey. . . Charger.” Clockwork hollowly called. “You in there? Can I talk with you?”

Knock knock knock

“Charger? Hello?”

Knock Knock Kno-

Creeeeeeeak. . .

Reflexively, the pegasus stepped back at the entryway grinded open, leading into an unlit chamber. Upon closer inspection, the door had been left slightly ajar. Clockwork mused over whether or not he should shut the door and come back, but something made him decide otherwise. With a deep breath, he slowly made his way inside and flicked a nearby switch.

The room lit up in an instant, allowing Clockwork to finally have a look inside the forbidden palace. Much to his surprise, however, the room was even more plain than his. A simple mattress lay at the far end of the room, perpendicular to the window that replaced the cabin’s outermost wall. At the wall opposite to Charger’s bed, a workbench was bolted to the floor, flanked on one side by a moderately sized set of shelves. No posters hung in the room, no decorations of any kind to assert that this room actually belonged to anyone. Perhaps this was just a storage room?

. . . No. Clockwork was absolutely sure that these quarters belonged to Charger. He had watched her enter here dozens of times.

The pegasus jumped as a flash of lightning colored the room a blinding white, followed shortly thereafter by a harsh clap of thunder and the barely audible drizzle of rain. Clockwork found himself aiming his pistol at where the lightning had been a second before, his wing familiarly angled to act as a shield. After forcing himself to relax, something caught his eye. An ink well had spilt on the workbench, every few seconds another drip of black ichor would hit the lightly carpeted floor. Opposite the overturned inkwell, resting on Charger’s bed, was a scroll of parchment wrapped with a ribbon of scarlet. Every cell in Clockwork’s body screamed at him not to open the letter, not to invade her privacy and risk losing another friend. Yet his mind forced him to unfurl the message, and as his eyes flickered over the hastily scribbled calligraphic, he realized why his body did not wish to comply.

Hello Clockwork, if you are reading this, than I have left the ship and have been gone for some time. I could not just sit idly by and hope that my father is alive. I must discover his fate for myself. Do not worry about me, my weapons, reflexes, and training will keep me safe. It is likely that, given the odds, I will not return alive, so I must tell you this, what I wanted to tell you if we got a private moment alone in Stalliongrad. I know that you love me. I mean no offense, but you are not very good at hiding your feelings about me from me. You must know that I hid the truth from you too, once. The fire ruby I gave you, the one that channels your thoughts and allows you to control your prosthetic wing; I lied about its meaning. It was not a symbol of lasting friendship, but of affection. On her death bed, my mother told me to give it to the pony that I would love, and that pony is you. I love you Clockwork, with all of my heart and I always will. I am sorry that I could not tell you personally, but it appears I will be unable to do so given the circumstances. I must know what has happened to my father. Goodbye, my love.

There was no signature, no elegant golden C. In the signature’s place, there as only the stain of tears on parchment.

With another flash of lightning, something indescribably terrible happened inside of the young stallion. Whether it was the breaking of his heart of the complete and total shredding of his psyche, something tore.

Clockwork folded the letter with unnatural precision and shakily placed it inside one of his coat’s inner pockets. His bodily suddenly devolved into a violently shuddering mass, though he continued to stand. The fire ruby flashed red once. . . twice. . . three times. With the third flash, the thunder came, and Clockwork’s body snapped to attention, a cruel and sacrilegious grin twisted into being upon his muzzle. He started to giggle to himself, lightly at first, and then it quickly melted into the laugh of a half-dead psychopath with nothing left to lose.

Clockwork about-faced and made his way out of the room, quickening his pace until he went from an almost motionless stroll into a merciless gallop. It mattered not who blocked his path, as the stallion knocked them all aside with a vicious broadside from his prosthetic. Clockwork giggled again as he continued onwards. They were the bullets.

It wasn’t much longer before he reached the armory, and after fully stocking up and swatting aside a pair of guards sent to detain him, the pegasus bolted out of the room towards his second destination, the teleportation drive.

Admittedly, the room housing the arcane engine was never a pretty one, but to Clockwork, right at this moment, it was the beautiful key to achieving his goal. Thanks to the previous battle, the engine room had been cleared out to allow the machine to recharge without outside influence, and such a process would normally take two to three hours without any hiccups. However, Clockwork did not have three hours, much more like three minutes. On his first tour of the zeppelin, since he was technologically qualified, Clockwork had been instructed by the engineer in charge on how to operate the system in a last-ditch scenario. In his mind (or what was left of it), this scenario was quite last ditch, and given his updated knowledge of Equestria's geography, he knew exactly what button to press and which levers to pull.

In no time at all, Clockwork completed his task and rushed out of the room. He was met by three nuisances, more guards sent to detain him. Ammunition conservation was key, so Clockwork remained silent in an effort to bide him the time he needed. It seemed like forever before a familiar voice, Long Shot’s, came over the intercom.

“Clockwork. I know you’re listening to me, but I haven’t the slightest fucking clue of what’s gotten into you. If you have any sense left in-”

There was a pause, followed by a short muttering.

“Sir!” the voice sounded like it belonged to Nimbus. “Teleportation drive’s online and charging!”

“What?! Try the emergency shutdown!”

“I already did! It’s not responding to my commands!”

“Clockwork.” Long Shot’s voice returned to full volume. “I think I know what you’re planning, but if your actions cause the death of even a single member of this crew, I will personally put the bullet in your head.”

Clockwork scoffed at the windless threat. The commander knew of the militaristic value the pegasus held in both mind and body, and would not dare kill such an asset without both sisters’ permission. Even then, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to kill one of-

The stallion’s rampant musings were cut off as a sickly sweet scent filled his nostrils and a violet fog filled his vision. Clockwork grinned. Time to go.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the pegasus leapt over the armed trio and flared out his wing, tearing through the floor and landing on Szary’s third level. In an instant, Clockwork regained his footing and broke into a dead gallop, relying on muscle memory instead of sight in order to get to the hangar bay.

Sure enough, just as the fog began to disperse, Clockwork finally made it to his third destination, and judging by the sounds of lightning, thunder, and a torrential downpour, Szary had reached her intended destination as well.

Bridal Shores.

Nopony reacted as Clockwork tore the override lever from it’s housing and the bay doors parted, revealing a deathly gray sky scarred by lightning bolts and occasional upwards gunfire. Breathing deep, Clockwork pushed his legs to their limits and ran for the sky as the purplish fog began to cover him again. Just as the floor began to disappear from underneath Clockwork’s hooves, the stallion tensed his muscles and jumped out of the departing aircraft. After making sure that he was indeed out of the airship, Clockwork turned around to make sure that Szary had departed safely. Just as expected, there wasn’t even the slightest sign that the dirigible had been present at all. Good, they were safe.

A flash of lighting and roar of thunder and wind brought Clockwork’s attention back to the present, and the winged stallion expertly shifted himself until he was gliding to the muddy floor below. He spied his first nest of prey and, after encasing himself in his wing the best he could, he fell.

It didn’t take long before the sounds of gunfire replaced that of rain, and it was only a moment longer before Clockwork crashed upon the ground in a manner similar to a mortar shell, sending a tidal wave of mud and gruel over his targets. After making sure nothing was broken (he couldn’t kill as quickly with a broken rib cage), the pegasus rose and looked about his immediate surroundings.

Eight griffons, all covered in wet earth, were hastily trying to wipe the muck out of their eyes.

With a smirk, Clockwork drew his pistol, but decided against the action and quickly holstered it again. He didn’t want to waste ammo if he could kill his enemies in a much better fashion. With lightning speed (though not nearly such precision), Clockwork cut through each griffon like a freshly sharpened blade through dirty chicken, though in reality he was doing just that. After rinsing the blood from his appendage and a few droplets from his muzzle, the soldier turned to face the city proper.

It was raining, hard, and thus Clockwork’s vision was obscured severely. It didn’t matter much, as the lightning illuminated every last centimeter of the city just enough for Clockwork to get a decent picture in his mind. It was a small city, barely worthy of the title, only a few tall buildings dotted its otherwise homely though desolated landscape. Any semblance of paradise was long gone, and the sound of a furious ocean was easily detectable, far off to the west. The sounds of gunfire came in a slow but constant stream, and all Clockwork had to do was follow the sound.

Truthfully, the scene was pathetic at best. Griffons stood idly by as Clockwork appeared before them and slaughtered them all without firing a single shot. There were no equines to speak of, and certainly none with a yellow coat and orangish mane. There wasn’t even a single hooven body amidst the muddy chaos of nature’s fury. Though in a short time, the land instead became ridden with the corpses of those that possessed talons, beaks, and swords. Clockwork laughed as he stopped to catch his breath. This many notches wouldn't fit on his gun. Not that it would matter, after all, mithril-

The pegasus spun around as something caught his eye. The glint of the barrel of rifle or the blade of a sword? No, it was the slamming of a door. A door that held griffon cowards. A door that Clockwork promptly reduced to splinters.

However, the pegasus froze as he looked over the inside of the building. It was a warehouse, but the primary thing it was housing was Alliance personnel. At first glance, there seemed to be multitudes of each kind of pony, at least two dozen zebras, there were even a few bison in the back of the room. Everyone had bandages of some sort wrapped around them, and many of them were still sporting untreated wounds.

Every mare and stallion that seemed capable of holding a gun was pointing theirs at him, but Clockwork could see the fear in their eyes. They were prepared to fire out of instinctual fear, but as what remained of their senses kicked in, they lowered their weapons. Clockwork remained in the doorway, his body wet and muddy, his mind half dumbstruck and half murderously insane.

The pegasus felt something hit his cheek, and he was readying to slit the assailant's throat before something in his mind told him not to. That slap must've allowed his common sense to recompose itself, and when the stallion recognized the insignia of Colonel present on the earth pony's shoulder, Clockwork snapped to attention. "Sir!"

The earth pony did not respond with the same gesture, whether out of contempt or physical inability, Clockwork never got the chance to find out. "You have sixty seconds to explain who you the fuck you are and what the fuck you're doing here before I render you a lifeless sack of organs."

"Clockwork. Technical specialist of High Risk Operations Team Meteor. I'm here to rescue you."

The Colonel remained silent for a long time, and only after wiping a stream of blood from his nose did he respond. "Follow me."

Bridal Shores

Author's Notes:

Sorry for the wait and relatively short length of the chapter. I WILL get this story done. I promise.

Clockwork and Colonel Bright Side stood across from one another in the resistance's makeshift war room. In truth, it was nothing more than a hastily refurbished supply closet, but it did the job. A single flickering light bulb desperately clung to the ceiling by a scant few wires, illuminating a dirty and damaged map of the city known as Bridal Shores. The ocean lay off to the west, the rest of Equestria far inland to the east. Various markings denoted where certain buildings no longer stood, which ones were occupied by hostiles, where pockets of friendly resistance were entrenched, and a hundred other situations. Bright Side ran a hoof through his mane, the appendage coming away with sweat, dirt, and blood. "Well, mister special forces, no doubt you know how bad the situation is."

Clockwork’s eyes remained focused on the map. "Something tells me I don't know the half of it. Tell me Colonel, how bad is it? Really?"

Bright Side fell into a violent coughing fit, some red fleeing his mouth before he could regain his composure. "It was bad right from the start. This morning, crack o' dawn, two griffon battleships and one dreadnaught plowed through the city’s perimeter defenses. One fell to our anti-air emplacements. The second took them out before falling itself. The third one, the dreadnaught, it reduced our tallest buildings to rubble and parked itself over the hospital before-"

"Excuse me for interrupting, Colonel, but when I got here I didn't see any zeppelins sans my own."

Bright Side seemed to focus on something in the distance. Clockwork recognized the look. "It disappeared a little while ago, just after destroying our radio tower. Speaking of which. How in Tartarus did you get here? I thought this city’s communication array was destroyed?"

"It was, but that doesn't mean we didn't know what was going on before then. I took it upon myself to come here and help." Clockwork explained. "I'm sorry, but I'm your reinforcements. Everyone else figured it a lost cause, especially my C.O."

". . . Fuck." Bright Side cursed. "We're not even putting up a fight anymore, just a. . . a death struggle. That’s what it’s called, right?"

"Have you told the soldiers downstairs?"

"No.” Bright Side laughed weakly. “I have to live up to my namesake."

"Hmm. . ." Clockwork pressed a hoof to his chin. "Colonel, have you recently seen a mare with a yellow coat, orange mane, and blue eyes?"

Bright Side tilted his head in confusion. "Nopony by that description. Why?"

"Never mind." Clockwork dismissed the inquiry with a flap of his wings. "What can you tell me about our current forces?"

"We've got two hundred soldiers left, give or take. All of ‘em wounded and none willing to fight."

"What about the griffons? Did they have any support on the ground during the invasion?"

Bright Side shook his head. "I've only had to deal with the feathered fuckers, no diamond dogs or changelings to speak of. Our best estimates place the current enemy force at around five hundred give or take another hundred. Celestia knows how many are still on board that dreadnaught."

“Does the enemy have a base of operations?”

"The only place I can think of is the hospital. It also functions as a medicinal and mechanical research facility. The beaked bastards seemed damned intent on keeping it intact and under their control."

"Does the place have an exterior PA system?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"What about the city proper?"

"Definitely. How do you think the guys farther inside the city were alerted to the invasion?"

Clockwork straightened his posture and began to make his way out of the room. "Colonel. Ready every able bodied soldier you can and gather them in the biggest room you've got. If you have a megaphone, chalk board, and chalk, I'll need it all."

"Why?"

"Because," Clockwork looked behind him, that terrible glint in his eye returned in full force. "We're taking back the city."

While waiting for Bright Side’s confirmation, the pegasus let his mind drift back to a little while earlier. It was just after he had explained the basic plan to the masses. As it was, the zebra and buffalo squads had their own leadership, and both were less than pleased with Clockwork’s plan.

Hardly any of the zebras Clockwork had picked were of the jungle and plains tribes the pegasus was more familiar with. Many of them claimed they were from the more stable coastal villages, and judging by the richly-hued colors of their stripes, their claims were not entirely lies. Many of them were large enough to lead Clockwork to wonder if Zebrican traders had given more to the Saddle Arabians than just golden trinkets and pottery. Their supposed leader reminded the engineer of Sallaq, that desert zebra from long ago. Judging by the response Clockwork got when he openly questioned if any of the striped stallions knew the equine cyclops, he was no better off than when Clockwork last saw him.

All in all, the striped leader had said, they were just awaiting orders. Unfortunately, it was his troops’ general belief that the war in general was not theirs to fight. However, he had also said that if what they were about to do got them on a zeppelin home, he and his team would support the operation in full.. Clockwork accepted this, if reluctantly.

The bison who were now under Clockwork’s hastily established command were proving to be difficult to deal with as well, because next to all of them were unfamiliar with equuish. Apparently, the dozen members of the ragtag team were part of the Stonehorn tribe. Raised farther south towards the badland mountain range than any other officially recognized tribe. The team’s general lack of intelligence was more than enough to reflect the tribe’s namesake tenfold. Sturdy, stubborn, and a pain in the flank.

The head bison trudged forward until he was in full view of the pegasus. “My people are brave, hardy, but we do not harbor fools. You? You are a fool. I will not, nor will any of my brothers, die for a fool.”

Clockwork smirked. “You wouldn’t be dying for me. Who’s your chief?”

“Hmmph?”

“I said.” Clockwork repeated. “Who. Is your. Chieftain?”

“Chieftess.” the bison corrected his adversary.

“Who is she?”

“Chieftess Strongheart, that’s who!”

“Who was her predecessor?”

“Her father, Chief Thunderhooves.”

“Were you there the day he died?”

“No. Honestly, I don’t think he’s dead.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, fatso, but the big guy’s dead, burnt, and buried. I watched it happen.”

The bison stood there awestruck, as did the eleven others behind him.

“That means I was there when he fought, and what a fight it was. You know what it took to bring that magnificent bastard down?!”

The bison shook their heads “no” in unison.

“It took the power of a god just to tear half of his face off! And you know what happened next? The chief kept fighting! He ran his opponent over and hurled him through the sky, then he trampled over two hundred feet of enemy bodies to take out the local changeling queen! He killed hundreds of monsters that day, and died of his own free will after sustaining the loss of half his face, swords were stuck in him until he was a walking pincushion, and bullets had riddled him until he looked like swiss cheese!”

The bison, and the zebras, looked at Clockwork with some disbelief, but mostly awe.

Clockwork laughed in respect at the old bison’s sacrifice. “He fought and died for every bison that has lived, died, and will ever be born! It took the combined might of a thousand soldiers and a god to bring down one buffalo! Are you seriously worried about getting put down by a few bullets?!”

The buffalo slowly turned around to look at his brethren. “Dunno, are we?”

Every bison gave the same reply, repeated one last time by their de facto spokestallion in equuish. “HELL NO!”

A crack of lightning tore Clockwork from his recollections and dropped him face first into the present. Clockwork lay on his stomach at the top of a gentle hill. The rain stung, the mud in his coat made the pegasus’ insides turn, but Clockwork ignored the unease. He’d been through far worse than this.

“Everyone’s in position.” Bright Side’s voice rang from Clockwork’s shoulder. “Waiting on your go.”

Clockwork let out a sigh and focused on his target. In the distance, partially obscured by the rain, was Bridal Shores Medical Center. Even with his vision impaired by the weather, Clockwork could make out a few griffon soldiers patrolling the roof, no heavy weapons as far as he could tell. There were no forces on the ground, and that would work to his advantage.

The plan was a 3 stage effort, and gaining access to the hospital was stage 1. On Clockwork’s signal, his bison team would charge forward, turrets strapped to their backs and fired remotely from a bit they would bite down on. No matter the soldier, a direct frontal assault was suicide, so this would act as a distraction while a his zebra team, carrying every last explosive the local alliance had minus grenades, would sneak over to whichever side of the base was least defended and plant a charge on the wall. At the moment, it seemed like the east side would be his makeshift point of entry. After detonation, both teams would retreat and regroup with the resistance proper. From there, well. . . he'd improvise until stage 3.

Clockwork had dwelled on the plan for long enough, and after making sure he had everything on him that he would need, he withdrew a bulky pistol from his jacket and aimed skyward. With little effort, the trigger was pulled and a scarlet flare rocketed into the cloudy grey yonder. As expected, a war cry over the radio signalled the bison beginning their assault, and the sound of .50 caliber turrets practically melting their barrels followed.

As expected, the apparently suicidal action caught the scuzzies’ attention, and as soon as they began to return fire, the zebras confirmed that they were in fact going for the east wall. After a solid copy from Clockwork, the pegasus watched his plan unfold. Albeit, it was hastily thought out and likely filled with more holes than a cheese grater, but he had no doubt it would work.

Sure enough, a burst of static came over the stallion’s radio, informing him that the charge was set and ready to detonate at his command. Clockwork almost gave the order from afar, but thought against the action and stretched his wings. In an instant, the pegasus was aloft, trying not to make himself too easy a target as he darted for his soon to be entryway into the hospital. The constant lightning, thunder, and gunfire drowned out his malicious giggling, but the pegasus succeeded in regaining his composure once he reached the zebra team.

“Thought I’d do it myself.” he explained. “No need to risk your lives any more than necessary.” the pegasus checked his radio. “Bison team. Zebra team has achieved primary objectives, thus so have you. Both teams regroup at the city center. I’ll take it from here.”

After a brief “yessir!” from all those involved in the assault, both teams made themselves scarce. The griffons appeared to be running themselves mad after failing to kill even a single enemy, but Clockwork stifled his laughter. He took shelter behind his prosthetic and readied the detonator.

Time for stage 2.

A single, metallic click screamed through time and space, simultaneously ringing in the ears of everyone and no one. In an immeasurably scant moment, the click was lost to the ages, replaced by a powerful explosion.

Clockwork waited for the rubble to settle before inspecting his underlings' hoofiwork. A large hole, big enough for three bison to enter shoulder to shoulder, had been made for his convenient entry. On the far end of the improvised door were several dead griffons, even more soon-to-be dead ones, all of them present in what appeared to be the boiler room.

Perfect.

Without hesitation, the stallion picked his way through the chaos until he made it inside. The griffons that hadn't been outright liquefied by the explosion had managed to regain their bearings, but they wouldn't be around long enough to celebrate it. Clockwork cut them all down as a lawnmower would do to a patch of grass, until their was almost nothing left. Heheheheheeeeee!

Truly, Clockwork had been expecting a little more resistance from the Empire after all its boasting. At this rate, Clockwork would easily make it to where he needed to be in no time!

The pegasus ceased his advance as he felt a bullet graze his ear, followed by several desperate sword strikes that barely reached his chest. Two griffons blocked the way to his objective, a set of twin doors that likely led to a room of significant importance. These two winged freaks had managed to touch him; their deaths would be special.

Clockwork drew his pistol and fired at a nearby bronze pipe, causing a jet of steam to burst forth and raze both enemies' faces with boiling water vapor. Both failed warriors shrieked in pain and fell to the ground. Emergency systems kicked in, diverting the steam to an undamaged pathway. This left the pipe scalding hot, something the griffon stupid enough to get back up would soon learn.

Without even thinking, the stallion wrenched a section of the pipe from the wall with his bare hoof. The new weapon in his grasp and ignoring the pain, he refocused on the griffon in front of him and charged forward.

Joyous memories burst forth of Clockwork's second confirmed kill so long ago. The pegasus' muzzle contracted into a toothy grin as he swung the pipe around and hit the griffon square in the chest, undoubtedly crushing his ribs and stopping his heart. The griffon fell to his knees as blood spilt from his beak. Still, Clockwork had to be sure.

The stallion lifted the pipe above himself as though it were an executioner's blade, aimed it at the griffon's neck, and let it come down. In an instant, the griffon collapsed to the floor, body limp and neck shattered. With his target undeniably dead, the stallion tossed his bloodied pipe aside and continued on his way.

It wasn't much longer before Clockwork had reduced the twin doors to splinters. Though he certainly wasn't expecting what lay within.

Normally, when an entrance is barred in wartime, there is something of value behind it. Those things can include gold, medical equipment, wounded personnel, and weapons.

However, behind those two doors was nothing of the sort. Clockwork could see no gold, all medical equipment appeared to have been ripped from the walls, there were no wounded griffons, and all available weapons were pointed directly at him. Yet, the most surprising thing in the room was what the griffons seemed to be guarding. At least a hundred equines, quite likely more, rested on the floor in various states of consciousness. Since when did the Supremacy start taking prisoners?!

Clockwork had little time to ponder the question as his focus was brought back to the guns that were beginning to fire at him. Almost by instinct, the pegasus dipped into a low crouch and angled his prosthetic outward. The bullets stopped coming as fast as they had started, and Clockwork looked out from behind his impromptu shield to find every griffon dead from their own ricocheted bullets and not a single pony harmed.

Strangely enough, Clockwork did not shout at the masses if everypony was alright, if anyone needed medical care or that they needed to leave immediately. Instead, he called out for a certain mare, one he had shoved to the back of his mind without even realizing it.

"Charger! Are you in here?!"

Nopony responded, the only sounds being the steady drumming of rain and occasional thunder. Nopony mumbled or questioned the pegasus for what felt like hours, and then one stood up.

Clockwork's heart skipped a beat. At first, he thought it was Charger, but as the earth pony drew closer, Clockwork realized that it was somepony else entirely. Distant memories flashed before Clockwork's eyes, which widened as the stallion realized that he'd seen this pony before.

It was long ago, back when Clockwork had just graduated from basic and was needed for an important matter in Canterlot. The pegasus had gone to tell the mare he loved goodbye and good luck, and moments before she had seen him, Charger was conversing with this stallion.

He bore a striking resemblance to the mare, though noticeably damaged by age and war. His coat was a faded yellow, his mane a bland orange, but his eyes glowed with a familiar blue flame. A shredded white lab coat was draped over his tall form, and his cutie mark was an image of a cracked light bulb.

He spoke.

"You're looking for my daughter?"

Monster

If there was a physical manifestation of the word "intimidating," Eureka was the exact opposite. His coat was matted with sweat and grime, his lab coat ripped to almost unrecognizable shreds. His eyes, while still burning with a fire Clockwork hypothesized was customary of Charger's bloodline, did not burn as bright as the mare he had sired. Still, Clockwork felt on edge as the stallion before him repeated his question.

"I don't have time for dramatic pauses. You called out my daughter's name. Are you here to find her or are you just that insane?"

"The, uh, the first one." Clockwork choked. “I want to save her.”

"Right. Well, you just killed our captors so I guess I can trust you. You got a minute to talk?"

"I'm on a tight schedule."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

"Colonel." Clockwork announced into the audio-piece on his shoulder. "How're you holding up?"

"Like the Great Wall of Ibexia, kid. Something wrong?"

"Found something unexpected. Stage 3 might be late. Can you wait a little longer?"

"Sure. Something tells me the grifs aren't in a hurry to leave. Watch your back, okay?"

"Got it." Clockwork flicked his transponder to off and looked back at Eureka. "So what is it you wanted to discuss?"

"Who are you?"

Clockwork snapped to attention. "Clockwork. Chief Machinery Specialist for High Risk Operations Team Meteor."

Eureka relaxed. "So how in Tartarus do you know my daughter?"

The pegasus tilted his head to one side. "She's Chief Saboteur for the squad. You don't know?"

Eureka grinned, looking to the floor. "We don’t keep in touch. I wasn't the best father I could've been and I still pay for it."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

The earth pony noticed something behind Clockwork and off to the side, doing his best not to make himself noticeable. "Next question.” he spoke in a hushed tone. “How good are your reflexes?"

Clockwork got the hint, turning around and flaring out his prosthetic to shield Eureka. He trained his LeMane on the unlikely aggressor.

It was the soldier from before, his talons shakily grasping some kind of pistol. Half of the griffon's face was missing, skin and feather replaced by steaming red flesh. In another moment, half of the eagle-lion’s face was replaced with nothing, the matter having been forcefully relocated to the wall behind it with a well-placed bullet.

Clockwork reloaded his revolver before holstering it. He turned back to face Eureka. "Any other questions?"

Eureka tore his gaze from his ally's mithril wing. "I'd love to ask you all sorts of thing about that, but something tells me we're out of time."

Clockwork nodded. "We can talk more after the city's ours again. In the meantime, we’ve gotta get these people out of here. Do any of them need help?”

Eureka shook his head. “The griffons seemed intent on keeping everyone alive and relatively unharmed. Anypony crippled they just dragged off to sisters-knows-where.”

“Okay. It sounds barbaric, but follow the trail of bodies and you should find your way to a large hole in the eastern wall. From there, head back into the city proper and you’ll eventually find a warehouse on 29th. All of its second story windows are boarded up except for the one farthest to the left. A few resistance soldiers will take you in and keep you safe until this blows over. Got all that?”

The earth pony nodded. “Every word. Before you leave, though, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Just. . .” Eureka teared up. “find her. Keep her safe, alive.”

The pegasus nodded and hurried out the door. "I promise."

As the pegasus continued his trek through the cannibalized interior of Bridal Shores' Medical Facility, he was met with heavier resistance at every corner. The locals knew he was here, what he was capable of, but knowledge doesn't kill. Bullets kill, a fact the stallion made sure to remind those who opposed him. Thankfully, more enemies meant the engineer was nearing his target. Here's hoping the PA system still worked.

It wasn't much longer before Clockwork arrived at a heavily barricaded set of doors with the guards to match. In no time at all, he had butchered them all and reduced the entrance to splinters. A single griffon occupied the room within, frantically chattering something into a transceiver before whipping around to face his attacker.

His head fell to the floor long before the rest of his body did the same.

As Clockwork shook the blood from his prosthetic, he was granted a rare moment of quiet whilst he gazed about. . . the. . . control room?

This was definitely the room he wanted to reach, a hospital-spanning intercom mic was present near the dead griffon, a panoramic set of windows allowed those inside to look out over the hospital's recreational courtyard, Bridal Shores barely noticeable in the stormy haze. However, what Clockwork hadn't expect to find was. . . this.

"Bright Side? You read me?"

"Loud and clear. What's wrong?"

"What?" Clockwork asked in exasperation.

"You sound like you just watched a murder take place, and you don't seem like a squeamish stallion. What's gotcha spooked?"

The hoof with which Clockwork gripped the radio began to tremble. "I- I'm looking at maps. Lots of 'em. . . hang on." the pegasus barricaded the door with loose debris so that nothing would hinder his investigation. "Basic siege layouts of Equestria, the mild west, Zebrica. . . even the badlands! Baltimare, Hoofington. . . sisters. . . they even have detailed maps of Canterlot! I . . . I think-"

"They're gonna launch a full scale invasion, holding nothing back in the next wave?" Bright Side finished Clockwork's hypothesis.

"Yeah. . ." was all the pegasus said in reply.

"Then we'd better hurry up and finish the job here so we can get back to defending Equestria as a whole. Call it!"

Clockwork hardened his resolve, ended the transmission, and trotted over to the microphone. After a brief check of the late griffon's identification and remembrance of his voice, the one-winged engineer clicked on the device and set it to transmit to every receiver in range. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice.

"Attention. All loyal soldiers of the Supremacy, all warriors of the Eternal Griffon Empire, this is Lord Martial Válka. The intruder has been dealt with, and I have just received word that this city is now free of opposition. Gentlemen, this backwater city is ours. I have also received word that reinforcements are on their way, and that we are relieved of duty until the sun has risen and set thrice over. All soldiers, amass at the city center and hold position until further orders. Imperii Gloria!"

An almost ghostly "Gloria Carniferous!" reached Clockwork's ears as he tore the cord from the rest of the radio. Dropping the dead wiring to the floor, the pegasus tried his own radio. "What’d ya think?"

"Very convincing. I would've hated those words had they come from an actual griffon."

"You ready to take back the city?"

"Ever since these scuzzy bastards set foot in Equestria. I can already hear marching. Everypony, lock and load!"

Clockwork let out a tired sigh. It was all down to one little word. The pegasus wanted to go back downstairs, to check on Eureka, to find his daughter and keep his promise. He couldn't, not just yet. He still had to say the magic word.

The soldier looked outside to watch a thick column of griffon soldiers march toward the city. He drew his LeMane and fired at the window. In an instant, the glass gave way to a torrential downpour and furious winds. Good, he needed to test his flying abilities.

The pegasus broke into a dead gallop. He spread both wings to their fullest extent, flapped them twice, and launched out the window.

No sooner had Clockwork taken to the air was he knocked off balance, tumbling amidst the rain and wind. The engineer had flown through worse, and after a moment of struggle he was flying steady. The pegasus made sure he flew high enough above the marching crowd so that he wouldn’t be spotted, but low enough that he could keep an eye on those below. It would take some time before they neared the city center, but it didn't matter. He was too busy revelling in the enactment of stage 3.

It was remarkably simple, really. A group of soldiers were assigned to stay at the warehouse as a fallback point, and to accept any refugees as would be Eureka and Co.’s case. The rest of the alliance resistance, meaning everyone who could still properly load and fire a rifle, had been assigned to clear out and occupy the tallest remaining structures in Bridal Shores' city center. They had the remaining grenades, guns, and every last bullet they could get their hooves on. Everything from turrets to target pistols, they would use them all to great effect very soon.

A bolt of lightning, followed a second later by a clap of thunder, shook Clockwork from his musings. The griffons had reached their destination, and in turn, their grave. The pegasus rocketed high into the air, high enough so that he would have a clear signal and a perfect view of the carnage. He set his radio to transmit to all allied soldiers, cranking the volume to maximum so that they would hear him without difficulty.

Another bolt of lightning tore the sky in half, but Clockwork’s voice drowned out the thunder.

“FIRE!”

Hundreds of soldiers fired thousands of bullets into the defenseless enemy mass. The griffons fell in droves, dozens at a time if not more. Clockwork cared not for how long the slaughter lasted, or the families he had broken or the pain the enemy felt in death. The good guys had won, and such was the only thing that mattered.

. . . wait.

As the extermination drew to a gradual end, something caught Clockwork’s attention.

“Colonel?”

“Hey Clock. Your plan went off without a hitch. My guys are picking off the stragglers now.”

“Nice work. There’s something I wanna check. I won’t be long.”

The pegasus took off without waiting for a response. As Clockwork pursued the seemingly unimportant speck of light, most would assume the pegasus mad. However, Clockwork recognized, of all things, the speck’s color. That particular shade of bronze could only be emitted on a certain occasion: when light reflected off of the Vikare’s hull in just the right way. Sure enough, as Clockwork drew closer he could make out the distinct silhouette of the Vikare, Meteor Squad’s personal dropship. It rested peacefully on the front lawn of a small house. The abode’s walls were composed of soft-white bricks, and the roof was gently sloped to allow all forms of water to slide off without difficulty. A few windows dotted its exterior, but other than that the house remained charmingly simple in design. Its front door was crafted of a redwood that, as Clockwork landed before it and inspected it, was similar to his house’s own back in Ponyville. The winged engineer made sure his revolver was fully loaded and carefully opened the door. He called out with a single word.

“Charger?”

No response.

Clockwork made his way further inside, making sure as not to disturb anything, not that there was much to disturb anyway. The interior of the house was scarcely decorated, it all being caked in a thin layer of dust. In all likelihood, nopony had been here in several days. So then why was the Vikare parked outside?

For now, Clockwork chose not to dwell on the curiously placed troop transport. Instead, he decided to take a look around. The steady drumming of rain added to the tranquil atmosphere; it felt like Clockwork had stumbled into a dream.

The house’s interior was unremarkable to say the least. The walls were colored the same as the exterior, the kitchen’s only noteworthy feature was a long granite countertop, and even what Clockwork believed was the primary bedroom lacked any sort of extravagant furnishings.

And then he reached the stairs.

Dozens of pictures lined the left of the stairwell like a mosaic. At the base were sepiatone pictures, detailing the faces of colonists who, Clockwork realized, must’ve been the first settlers of Bridal Shores. Above those were more colorful photographs of mares and stallions gathered in the center of a developing town for a family photo of sorts, and above those photos were more and more of similar photos. They all depicted a happy family history to some degree or another. A family dinner here, a birthday there, even a photo of a mother with her newborn foal just after it had been brought into the world.

And then, at the top of the stairs, the mosaic ended with a single picture, one of the simplest yet most delicately beautiful of the assortment.

It was of two earth ponies, one Clockwork recognized immediately as a younger Eureka, the other. . . had a baby bump. The mare’s mane was silk-white, her body a soft shade of brown, and her eyes golden. Her cutie mark wasn’t visible, but it didn’t matter. She was Charger’s mother, and judging by what Charger had written in her farewell letter, she no longer occupied the mortal realm.

As if on cue, an impossibly loud noise bellowed through the air. The decibel level was so great that Clockwork could not recognize the noise, likening it to a roar from Tirek more than anything else. The house began to shake violently, as though the earth itself was intent on reducing it to rubble. The pegasus lost his balance and fell to the floor before he had a chance to get aloft. The moment the shaking ceased, the winged stallion tore through the house’ roof and took to the air, hoping to get a good view of what had made the horrendous noise.

The pegasus got a lot more than that.

The zeppelin couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet away from the wanton psychopath. He could easily make out the war vessel's command deck, and through its forward windows he could make out two distinct figures amidst the crimson mush. One was yellow and struggling. The other was holding the former figure’s mane in a tight grasp, shaking the head of orange hair violently. He must've been the captain of the ship. He would die first.

Captain Venor of the dreadnaught Triumph rubbed his temples with his free talon. He always hated being out of the loop, but this was just ridiculous.

Griffon zeppelins were the outright fastest vessels to ever exist. A standard Imperial craft of any military classification could outrun its Halidom counterpart even after giving it a head start; that wasn’t hyperbole, just a simple fact. Imperial zeppelins were made for war and solely for war, while the ponies seemed to be currently relying on converted civilian models. For the most part, scout ships were the fastest, whose primary wartime function was to establish a foothold and clear the way for the dreadnaughts.

This mission, though? Venor’s dreadnaught was the scout ship. They were launched simultaneously with those bound for Stalliongrad, but their target was in the opposite direction. This backwater port town. . . Bridal Shores, was it? The griffon captain knew of the western theater of war, and that the most strategically valuable Equestrian city was hours away, far to the south if he remembered his geography correctly. However, this mission wasn't about occupying an enemy city. It wasn't about taking what resources this town had. If it was, then Venor would not have brought along a dreadnaught and two suicide ships.

Venor got his order to attack the town from an agent of the Red Order, who handed him his objectives mere hours before the Siege was to commence. Venor had worked his way up the meritocracy over his career, and he was high enough in rank to vaguely question the question the orders of the lowest of the Rainbow Bishops. Yet, the small though noticeable bloodstain in the document’s corner was enough to hold his tongue. There was also the list of griffons who would be “removed” from Victoria Urbem if he refused to go through with the operation. Among the signatures were his wife, his two eldest sons and his six year old daughter. The largest signature belonged to a noble liege, the one who would do the “removing,” who was also his first cousin.

Ah, family.

The mare kneeling at Venor's side was intent on putting up a violent struggle, breaking his train of thought. She was injured in every sense of the word; every bit of her coat was stained or burnt in some way, and Venor knew that the scratches on her sides came from more than griffon talons. He had found her in the custody of two of his Red Order guards, who were pretty intent on culling the mare after she broke one member’s arm in some kind of sneak attack, but Venor stepped in and allowed the two brutes to continue their little impromptu interrogation, on the condition that she live. The end result was a battered little pony who looked more orange than yellow and was likely to die without medical help.

Despite her injuries, she seemed to have forgotten that Venor had her filthy mane tightly coiled in one talon, a fact he reminded her of without hesitation. She cursed at everyone on the bridge, even having the audacity to spit on a nearby ensign’s boot. That disrespectful action earned her another stern shaking, and from her throat came a grating scream.

There was a rumor going around in the upper circles that, after the pony lands were all distributed and everyone got their little parcels, the surviving ponies would be reduced to a status similar to cattle in many parts of the world, bound to lands and griffon families by law. Some were joking about keeping little pony pets for their children to play with. If that was the case, Venor was going to stay home, because the more he spent around ponies the more they seemed less like helpless chubby pastel equines and more like chubby pastel equines who could use guns and kicked too hard for it to be worth breaking them. At the very least, someone would have to make muzzles or something.

Venor’s attention was ripped from his own thoughts once again, coming to focus on something off in the distance. An infinitesimal metallic glint, almost too easy to miss, was nonetheless strange to see in a lightning storm. Perhaps it was some chipped paint, a piece of debris or-

Oh. Wait. Nope.

Venor squinted, and when he saw the glint again, a little bit of beige had appeared near it. He grinned; their true mission objective had arrived.

Truthfully, Venor didn’t think this plan had any actual merit until his entire ground force had been annihilated a little while ago. He was aware of the problematic Meteor Squad. They were not the only specialty force that Equestria had managed to round up to fight, not by far; there was talk of some sort of ‘Viper Squad’ being created by the zebras and apparently the so-called ‘Sons of Stalliongrad’ were making a name for themselves holding out against entire battalions on their own in the snowy bombed out ruins of long abandoned cities, but Meteor Squad was the one that seemed the most confounding to the priesthood and the government itself.

Not a day before the Siege of Stalliongrad, an informant had reported that the Squad was stationed in the city. In the unlikely event that the team survived, which they apparently did, Venor was to attack Bridal Shores. He wasn't told the exact reasoning behind the attack, only to raze the city and the mare with lightning gloves would come, and in turn the pegasus with a wing of mithril. Really, he was under the impression that sending three airships to deal with two ponies was just a bit excessive, but who was he to contemplate a superior officer’s reasoning? Apparently, someone more important than he really wanted them barely alive at his or her feet.

Venor sighed when he saw that the pegasus wasn’t going to stop his pursuit. He rose from his chair, taking the mare with him. He drew his sidearm and aimed it in the pegasus’ general direction. Venor cleared his throat; he wasn’t paid enough for crap like this.

“You want her?!” he lifted the yellow earth pony part-way off the floor by the mane, jostling her limp form like a rag doll and eliciting another scream of pain. “Come and get her!”

Clockwork heard not the captain’s taunting, nor the firing of the ship’s cannons. The only thing he heard was the unmistakably awful sound of Charger screaming in pain, and then nothing.

Clockwork put every last ounce of his strength into his wings, disregarding the serrated metal wedges that glanced his body or the powerful concussion waves that followed. He didn't care about pain anymore, he couldn't feel it, but he knew what damage his body could withstand. He made a beeline for the command deck, and at the last possible moment, ceased flight and let momentum carry him forward. He brought his prosthetic to bear, shielding the rest of his body behind it as he smashed through the command deck’s corundum enforced windows like they were wet tissue paper.

The living cannon ball ricocheted around the cabin before coming to a dead halt in front of Charger and the griffon that held her captive. Wasting no time, he stood with wings outspread and pistol already drawn. Once, twice, three times he fired at the griffon before him, and three times the captain dodged the rounds. In another moment, the griffon forcefully planted a talon in the stallion's muzzle. Clockwork’s vision cut out as his brain registered a flash of brass and then the punch. It was enough to floor him, but not for long.

The stallion's eyes began to work again, and after making sure no one in the immediate vicinity wanted to kill him, he got to his hooves. He felt his muzzle, finding a trickle of blood but no broken bone. The rain and wind had calmed down somewhat, and the only way in or out of the bridge had been sealed, but it mattered little. The damage had been done. Water coated the floor, the smooth surface cracked by shards of glass tainted crimson by the blood of the bridge’s occupants. The pegasus had no time to ponder the identity of those he had just killed. He had to find Charger.

Clockwork watched his step as he made his made his way to the armored door, the steel peeling away like butter when mithril was forced against it. Through the hole, Clockwork could barely see anything. A siren blared as red warning lights flickered at a steady rate, plunging the hallway into darkness, then crimson, then darkness again. There weren't any soldiers to greet his intrusion with a hail of bullets; Clockwork remained on guard as he crept through the dreadnaught, his pistol at the ready.

“You’ve never been aboard a ship like this, have you?” a voice called over the intercom.

Clockwork remained silent.

“You answer me or she dies.” the voice yelled, a pained scream following shortly after.

Clockwork gritted his teeth as he kicked in a door, finding the room practically barren. “First time I’ve been aboard an imperial dreadnaught. Badly designed to say the least. Who the hell are you?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Clockwork kicked in another door. Empty. “So I can know what to write on your tombstone.”

The griffon snorted.

“You first.”

“Clockwork. Meteor Squad’s tech specialist. Your captive is my partner.” he kicked in another door. Empty.

. . . wait.

“I am Captain Venor of the Imperial Dreadnaught Triumph.”

Clockwork tore the local speaker from its foundation, checking the exposed wires to find a single cable running out of the room. “Let the mare go and I’ll leave the ship intact.”

Venor let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious?”

Clockwork followed the wire. It soon joined up with several other wires, and more and more until a single bundle traversed the roof. “Very.”

Venor’s voice took on a furious tone. “You destroy my government’s operation, force a group of straggling inbreds to do your dirty work for you, slaughter my people and desecrate their remains, invade my ship, and insult me. You have no right to make demands of me!”

Clockwork’s trek concluded at a single door. It seemed unimportant, but the bundle of wires leading inside signalled otherwise. With a single heave, he forced the door inwards, training his pistol on the captain’s head. Clockwork noticed that the brownish-colored griffon was relatively small, but his eye’s held a distinct intelligence.

“What right do I have?!” he screamed. "Your people go back on an agreement you made over a thousand years ago! You invade a peaceful nation and slaughter its people just because you can! One of your thugs kills my best friend and dozens of ponies I knew! I have EVERY RIGHT TO MAKE DEMANDS!"

Venor was silent for a long while. One talon held Charger's throat in a tight grasp, the other held a sword not a foot from Clockwork's nose. His grip on the both of them were tight and unwavering. “Who was he?"

Clockwork steadied his aim. He wasn't going to play his games.

"Your best friend." Venor looked to the floor. "Who was he?"

". . . His name was Moppet. Fourteen year old orphan mule. One of the greatest people I’ve ever known. He gave other orphans a home in Ponyville, before it was attacked.”

Again, the griffon captain was silent. Eventually, he rolled his eyes. "My dearest apologies. A damn shame he wasn’t born a hippogriff. There’s no such thing as vagrant children in the Empire. The nobles adopt them and raise them as their own. Help’s keep the family strong. Any vagrants not picked up by nobles are picked by the Order. You’re unicorn aristocracy probably spat on your friend for having ears that were too long, right?”

Clockwork flicked his LeMane's hammer to strike the 12 gauge. If this bastard kept stalling for another-

"You want to make a deal, pegasus?"

Clockwork didn't budge.

"Pegasus. I am offering that we make a deal." Venor repeated, sounding like he was counseling a small child.

"I'll give you one minute to detail your terms."

Something exploded far away in the ship, tilting the dirigible several degrees and causing the hull to groan like a whale’s death song.

Captain Venor looked about his surroundings, but did not lower his sword. "I get the sense we barely have that much time anyway."

"What in Tartarus was that?" Clockwork asked.

Venor took a deep breath and sheathed his sword, but his grip on Charger’s neck didn’t let up. "The ship's going thermal; self destruct protocol. I could just sit here and talk long enough for us all to go up in flame, but I don’t think any of us want that. Let’s make it simple; you let me and my soldiers evacuate, and I'll give your girlfriend back."

"Why aren't your soldiers already evacuated?"

Venor looked to the battered, barely conscious pony he held by the throat. "Some probably have already, but there’s twenty five medical staff on board who are sworn to keep doing their trade, regardless of the situation around them. There are also fifty Red Order aboard, all of whom are not to diverge from their most recent order until I give them a new one. They are here to kill as many ponies as possible until they themselves are killed, and if I fail to acknowledge that I am alive every twenty four hours they are authorized to act on their own. Do you want fifty well armed religious fanatics roaming around your countryside?"

Clockwork thought over the offer and its implications. "You know I can't let your people return to the fight."

The griffon shrugged with surprising casualness. "They won't. I'll give an order for total and unconditional surrender at a location of your choosing. No one else has to die today. Consider yourself the owner of around three hundred prisoners of war."

Clockwork lowered his aim, focusing now on the center of mass. It would be so easy just to kill Venor now, to condemn every remaining griffon on the ship to an instantaneous and fiery death. Charger looked like she was barely breathing, and the more he looked at her the more he realized that she probably would have already killed the griffon with his own sword. With silence alone he would guarantee absolute victory for the Alliance.

“Fine.”

Aftermath

The roar of dropship engines spinning up for takeoff filled the air. Clockwork sat alone on one side of the unfamiliar transport, his body bound by restraints in such a way that he could do little more than walk. Charger sat opposite him, flanked on both sides by heavily equipped security personnel. The pegasus’ memory flashed to only an hour ago.

Captain Venor had given the order for everyone under his command to head to Bridal Shores Medical Center’s courtyard and await alliance personnel. At that point, Venor and his crew would become the first griffon prisoners of war in recorded history. Clockwork and Charger had gone on ahead, radioed Colonel Bright Side to bring him up to date on the situation, and secured a position on the hospital roof to watch the fireworks.

Neither pony spoke as dozens of tiny ships pour out of the Triumph, fire spewing from multiple places along the zeppelin’s hull as its fuel cells grew more and more unstable. As the crowd in the courtyard grew, so did the condition of the zeppelin worsen. Clockwork had turned to Charger, barely having the energy to form a smile. They had won, just the two of them against an entire invasion force.

However, the fire in Chargers eyes had long since gone out. Those twin sapphires no longer conveyed a sense of pride or bravery. No, the only thing they shone with was fear that he rescuer would also be her executioner.

The was what really shut Clockwork up, the stallion barely saying anything as an entire flotilla’s worth of Alliance airships arrived to secure the city, survey the damage, and take him into custody.

A resounding explosion shook Clockwork from his recollection of past events. The engineer looked out of the drop ramp just in time to see the Triumph engulf itself in a powerful flame bright enough to rival the sun. It bathed the entirety of Bridal Shores in a light that made perfectly clear to the pegasus just how dire the situation was. Nothing was completely intact, even the remaining skyscrapers looked to be on their last legs. The streets were nothing but grey lines in the mud, and bodies still littered many of them. Most of them downed by Clockwork’s own-

“You know. . . I thought you created that thing to help families. Not break them.”

Clockwork turned to Charger. His blinked.

“I can see the blood on your prosthetic. Some old, most of it new. None of it yours.”

Clockwork’s mouth hung agape. “It was made for flying.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that you want this war to stop. It’s like. . . like you don’t care who you cut down anymore.”

The stallion with a wing of metal became the definition of catatonic. The only signs that he was alive were the tears that rolled down his cheeks and the constant mumbling of a boy who had just killed so many with such little thought. The memories came rushing back without mercy. Ponyville, Valor Point, Zebrica, Appleloosa, Stalliongrad. Moppet, Axel, Warfather, Seastone, all those griffons, dogs, and changelings. They were all dead because of him. So many families broken. So many children who would ask when daddy would come home. So many mothers who would remain silent. So many funerals. . .

“Oh sisters oh Celestia oh Luna please my gods my queens my lords forgive me what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done. . .”

Charger seemed terrified at what she had just triggered. “Clockwork, I didn’t mean-”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Clockwork roared. “What have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done. . .”

Charger remained silent from then on, and Clockwork continued mumbling in terror. They both felt the vessel land clunkily in the unfamiliar bay of what seemed to be an Alliance troop transport. “Excuse me, sir?” Charger asked.

“Yes, lieutenant?” one guard answered.

“Allied Forces Military Protocol 159-7F dictates that all personnel currently assigned to special forces teams are to be judged by their comrades in arms aboard a ship of their choosing if charged of any illegal wartime acton. This isn’t the Szary, what’s changed?”

“You’re right.” the other guard answered. “This ain’t no HIRO ship. Nah, it’s the Justice. Only political prisoner ship flying Alliance colors. Also, Protocol 159-9B. If a squad member is believed to be a danger to his or her fellow comrades in arms, they are to be taken into custody aboard this ship and tried here.”

Charger departed first, in stunned silence no less, rushed away by equines wearing uniforms that signified them to be medics. Clockwork’s escort, however, was far more heavily armed.

Clockwork kept his eyes on the floor as he was shoved through the drab halls of the prison ship. He recognized nopony here, but his lack of familiarity did little to lessen the sting of cold stares that everypony gave him in passing. He caught a few choice whispered words here and there, none of them decipherable and all of them filled with malice and fear. Had news of his actions really spread-

“Clockwork! ATTENTION!”

The pegasus suddenly found himself in another unfamiliar room. He knew by now that tis was most certainly not Szary, but the room reminded him of the impromptu tribunal chambers. Three ponies sat on one side of the long table, their faces hidden in shadow yet their eyes judging his every move. Clockwork did not meet their gaze as he was chained to the far side of the table, nor did he stand when instructed.

“Clockwork.” One voice rang out. “You are accused of, among numerous other charges, desertion, insubordination, attacking and severely injuring allied personnel, illegally taking command of Bridal Shores’ local resistance force, unnecessarily risking the lives of all those involved in said resistance force. How do you plead?”

“. . .guilty to all, sir.”

“Do you wish to give your interpretation of events that occurred in Bridal Shores?” another voice, female, asked.

“No, ma’am.”

Silence blanketed the room. Perhaps they didn’t expect him to remain so complacent. “If found guilty of more than half of these charges, your punishment will likely be dishonorable discharge, long term military incarceration, or execution by firing squad. Are you aware of these facts?” the female voice asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Report to the male showers for cleansing. After that, you are to remain in solitary confinement until a verdict is reached. Dismissed.”

Several guards entered the small courtroom, freeing Clockwork from the table and escorting him to the male showers as instructed. He was allowed inside on his own, and there he remained alone for some time. Clockwork made sure to scrub himself of every last impurity, preening his wings for the first time since Stalliongrad. He practically had clogged the drain with dead feathers and such before he was done. Even as he toweled himself dry and redressed in a fresh prisoner uniform, he could feel a different kind of filth cling to him.

Clockwork made his way into solitary confinement, not bothering to flinch as he was fitted with a restraining belt so that he could not use his wings, not even batting an eye as the door’s noisy lock system signalled that he could no longer leave. Clockwork almost smiled as a few choice memories flashed before him. He remembered working on these kinds of doors in Research and Development. He suggested that, instead of more locks, the smaller components of each sealing mechanism be replaced with something stronger than brass so they wouldn’t give out as early under duress. He wondered if his ideas had been taken into consideration. Given that the door had six locks instead of, say, four, they probably hadn’t.

A knock on the door shook Clockwork from his thoughts, followed shortly thereafter by a muffled voice.

“Umm, hello? Clockwork? I was told I can’t see you in person but I can still talk through the door. Can you hear me? It’s Eureka!”

Clockwork honestly didn’t believe he would ever again hear the voice of Charger’s father. It seemed like he was wrong about a lot of things today. “What are you doing aboard a prison zeppelin?”

Eureka’s voice faded as he spoke to somepony on the same side of the door as him. “Oh, umm, am I allowed to tell him? Okay. I wanted to come aboard and thank you personally for what you accomplished back in the city. Also, someone called Long Shot called me up, asked me to come aboard and provide testimony about how you save me and my friends.”

“Yeah. How are they? You’re friends, I mean.”

“Well, nopony else is dead if that’s what you mean. We all got to the warehouse safe and sound just like you instructed. What? Oh, okay. Clockwork?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go.”

“Can I tell you something first?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t lie for my sake.”

“Umm, okay? Dunno why I’d need to lie about how you saved nearly the entire hospital staff and my daughter, but I’ll try not to contradict myself.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Eureka’s voice disappeared, and Clockwork was alone once more. Clockwork gazed out the window that made up his room's back wall. Outside, the world was as dreary as it could get, coming close to Valor Point but not quite all the way. Grey clouds darkened the sky. Raindrops the size of bullets fell over every inch of visible land, even the lightning was a dull white and subsequent thunder was muffled. Inside wasn’t much better.

The painfully simple room was no different from any other prison cell that Clockwork had seen. It was relatively spacious; a bed with an actual mattress (though lacking blankets) was bolted to one wall. A bench with a small, damaged mirror was attached to the other wall. The entire room looked even worse for wear in the grey half light, darker patches flecking the room thanks to the rain on the window.

Clockwork turned back around and drew his pistol. It was unloaded of course, but it was customary to allow soldiers to keep their sidearm during wartime no matter the situation. The thing was caked with mud, gravel, and rainwater much like his physical self a short while ago.

With dead hooves, the pegasus righted his workbench and disassembled his pistol in a matter of seconds. He didn’t need a maintenance kit anymore. After all, he practically built the damn thing from scratch.

Clockwork looked up from his work as he heard a knock on the wall next to him. Figuring that he had all the time in the world to clean his gun, he plodded over to the wall and returned the pattern of knocks.

“Hey Clockwork.” an unexpected voice called out, only slightly muffled by the cell’s thing walls. “How does it feel, being thrown into a cage because you were doing the right thing? How does it feel. . . to have you wings clipped?”

Clockwork’s blood ran cold. He punched the wall without hesitation, leaving a sizable dent in the sheet metal and a throbbing pain in his hoof.

“Whoa now!” the voice cried out in mock surprise. “No need to try and kill me again. You’d just fail like last time.”

“I wanted to kill you, Taffy. Believe me, I really did.” Clockwork let himself lean against the wall and fell on his haunches. “I’m sorry I failed. I’m sorry I didn’t just end your life and spare you the misery of having to live like me.”

“War really has changed you. Last time I checked, you were just some timid little patriot in the land of mechanical science. What have you suffered out there? What have you experienced out in the great big world of war?”

Clockwork scoffed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised. After watching your home burn to the ground and you family become mulch for the Empire’s beasts, you’re willing believe anything.”

Clockwork nodded along, and there was a long pause.

“Don’t you wish. . . sometimes. . . that you could just end it all?”

Clockwork’s ears flickered at the strange inquiry.

“Like you said. You wanted to end my life. I would in a heartbeat if I had the means, but I’m getting used to the prison life. I found a reason or two to struggle on, but judging by why you’re here, you don’t have anymore reasons, do you?”

A tiny hole in the wall appeared, no more than an inch in circumference. However, it was more than enough to allow passage for a 12 gauge shotgun shell, followed by a pair of .44 magnum rounds. Clockwork picked it up and knew in an instant that they were genuine. “How did you get these?”

“Same way I heard about why you’re on this ship. This kind of jail’s full of people I can relate to. Familiar stories, familiar histories, familiar reasonings behind what they did. I sympathize with them and vice versa. Some of these folks still have some pull with the outside world. Thus, they can get people things in return for favors and the like.”

“Hmmph.” Clockwork looked over his shoulder sorrow and malice equally present in his eyes. “What kind of favors can a crippled pegasus provide her prison-mates, I wonder?”

Saltwater Taffy said nothing more, shutting the tiny smuggling hole with a sharp CLANG!

Clockwork waited for some time after that. For what? He didn’t know, only that it did not come. The pegasus returned to cleaning his LeMane, and it wasn’t long before he could see his grisly reflection in the Mithril.

If physical appearance was anything to go by, Clockwork looked like death incarnate. His eyes, while calm, were sunken and ringed with black. His fur was still somewhat wet and clung to his body. His mane was streaked with more grey hairs than any previous time, and his now skeletal build was unnerving to look at. The fire ruby in his artificial wing had turned a shade of black most commonly seen on corpses entering the advanced stages of decomposition.

However, the inside was what counted most. In this case, that meant the actions taken by the individual.

Disregard of orders, illegal taking of command, insubordination, reckless endangerment, over a thousand counts of murder.

He was guilty of every accusation, and the only suitable punishment was death. For once, Taffy was on the right side.

Clockwork gazed at the bullets. They would be more than enough to do the job, but he had one chance. What if he missed?

.44 magnum rounds had been around practically since the first equine sidearms had been created. They could pierce through walls to a certain degree and blow a hole clean through armor and flesh on the other side. Yet pegasus bone, though hollow, was an astonishingly resilient substance.

It was then that the stallion's eyes fell on the shotgun shell. His eyes lit up with a dull fire. 12 gauge would definitely work. If every pellet hit the right spot, bone would turn to dust. Even if it didn't, the sheer kinetic force of the would kill next to anything at close range. If it wasn’t instantaneous, it would be painful and prolonged. Perfect.

To him, it took years to load the round and ready the hammer. In reality, it took less than five seconds. A small grin adorned Clockwork's face. Justice would finally be served.

His ears flickered as he heard the door to his room unlock. He quickly set the hammer to safe and holstered his revolver.

A few moments later, the pegasus felt a faint rush of wind followed by the sound of hoofsteps. He didn’t get the chance to see who had entered his cell, as a heavy burlap sack enveloped his head as he was lead out of the room. Clockwork didn’t put up a fight; he knew what was coming. When executed by firing squad, the guy on the receiving end of those seven muzzles needed to wear something that hid their face. He’d probably be asked for a smoke to, and the stallion would probably accept.

However, Clockwork never felt the abrasive ropes encircle and fasten him to a wooden stake. He never heard the sound of A1 Valiant Rifles loading full magazines. He never heard a captain give the order to fire, nor did he feel the sudden and blissful release of death.

Instead, he felt himself sit down on a familiar sounding dropship as it flew him to sisters-know where. He felt himself being marched down corridors filled to the brim with crew. He felt himself sit on a bed, an actual bed, and heard the door lock behind him.

The sack was quickly removed and tossed aside, and Clockwork found himself inside his personal quarters aboard Szary. Charger sat at the opposite end of his mattress. Clockwork made sure he didn’t look in her general direction whatsoever.

“What the hell am I doing here?” he accidentally asked aloud.

“Allied military forces protocol 159-9B has three addendums\. The second one is what allowed us to bring you back. Addendum two explicitly states that, if the commander of the squad understands what he or she is dealing with, they are capable of taking custody of those under their leadership.”

“Hmph. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’d be the one to scour the rule book for loopholes.”

"Are you alright?"

The pegasus didn't move. “You’re not supposed to be in here. You were practically dead when I found you.”

“After the medical staff treated my injuries, the Commander gave me clearance to retrieve you. These cuts and bruises are actually far more severe in appearance than effect. Are you willing to talk?”

"I'm tired. Leave."

"Clockwork, could you please stay awake for a while?"

". . . Fine."

Clockwork turned around somewhat, and could easily sense Charger’s uneasiness in being so close to him. Silence followed for what seemed like eternity. After working up the courage, Clockwork asked the first question. “Your dad was onboard the Justice. Talk with him yet?”

“Yes.” Charger coughed. “He told me how you saved him and his coworkers on the ground. He said that he was glad someone like you worried for my safety.”

“Hmm.” Clockwork groaned. He glanced over Charger’s body for just a moment, but it was all he needed. Many of the injuries he had seen her boasting previously were either already healing or bandaged accordingly. That fire in her eyes had returned. Hopefully the same could be said for Eureka. Her mane and coat were clean, and Clockwork shifted his gaze when he noticed Charger was still without her gloves. Without them, she might as well have been naked. They were probably destroyed when she was captured by-

“Clockwork? Are you still with me?”

Clockwork blinked away the thousand yard stare. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. And thinking.”

“About what?”

"Only I can open that door without using a crowbar. How’d you get inside?"

"I helped design it. I should know how to operate my own machinery.”

Clockwork strained a laugh. "Clever.”

"Please, for the love of Celestia, stop stalling. I know that you'll feel better if just get out why you're in shambles.

Clockwork let out a tired sigh. "I'm a war criminal. No other way to say it. I went AWOL. I nearly killed my own allies in a desperate bid to get to you. Which, by the way, resulted in risking the lives of everyone on board. I illegally took command of a ragtag bunch of soldiers that were in no condition to fight, and slaughtered dozens as I tore through a hospital. I practically blew up an airship on my own just because I was pissed. You believe that my actions were just? I. Committed. Murder.”

"All to save my life."

"I disobeyed your clear instructions not to pursue you."

"No, it was good that you disregarded my advice. Because of you, an entire city's worth of people were saved, and every enemy in the city was either killed or captured. You almost singlehoofedly won a battle, and in doing so you acquired history’s first griffon prisoners of war.

"Still, I wasn't. . . me. After months of strain, I just. . . broke. Something else took over. I killed people without mercy. I don’t care what they did nor does it matter to me. Nopony deserves to bleed to death like that."

"While your methods of fighting were savage, they more than deserved what they had coming. They killed civilians, non-combatants, people who could in no way defend themselves. They attacked Bridal Shores of their own free will and in agreement with their superiors’ orders."

"But they were people too! They had families, lives, children to hug when they got home! What they did, what they tried to do, they believed it was for the benefit of their friends and family and nation! I slaughtered them all without care in the world! Now, hundreds of sons and hundreds of daughters will live with the eternal agony of knowing that their father was killed by a BLOODTHIRSTY TEENAGE PSYCHOPATH WITH A MISSING LIMB!"

The pegasus broke down after that. His throat ached, his eyes burned, and his entire body felt like it had been hit with a thousand and one bursts of concentrated Tearcloud. He covered his face with his forehooves, and in seconds, they were drenched.

"Just. . . leave me be, Charger.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone. . . please."

“No!”

“I said. . . LEAVE! ME! ALONE!”

Charger shook her head furiously. "NO! Not now! Not while you're like this!"

Without waiting for a response, the mare wrapped her forelegs around her companion and pulled him close, laying her head on his shoulder. Clockwork froze solid and, in another second, was reduced from a murderous pegasus to a sobbing colt. Charger rocked him back and forth as tears fell from his eyes. She wanted him to cry as long as he needed to. She wasn’t going to let anything like this happen again so long as she could draw breath. After Clockwork’s breathing had steadied, the mare spoke.

"Everything will be okay. Everything is going to be alright." she repeated. "Thanks to you, hundreds of families will be able to see their own mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters again. Bridal Shores is safe. My home is safe, and so is my father. Most of all though, we’re both still breathing. We’re right here, alive, together. I would have it no other way, Clockwork."

The pegasus looked up. He struggled for a moment to blink his eyes. ". . . Really? You’re serious? After everything I've done?"

"Of course. I love you, I always have. I’ll stay by you, be there for you through this war and until the end of our days."

For the first time in a long while, Clockwork smiled out of happiness. "Thank you, Charger. I. . . I love you too."

Both ponies smiled and held each other closer. That night, they finally found solace in one another's embrace. That night, they found happiness.