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,