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.