***

“You gonna lay there, with all that blood in your mouth? Or are you gonna spit it out and spill theirs?”
Hardcore Henry

“And soon this whole town will be as this station is now. Not without struggle, not without loss. Not without grave injury and a lifetime of what-ifs. But we will do it.
We may be controlled by the City Council, and the Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency, and chemtrails, and the Secret Order of Reptile Kings, and the mysterious lights that hover above us, but we will not be controlled by a Smiling God! We are Night Vale! And we are, in our own way, free!
We must continue to fight, and resist. We must be the heroes we look for in others. We must no longer speak in code, but in action.
Return to your homes, if you can. But do not lock your doors tonight. Do not hide yourselves away from danger. Be brave. Be truly brave.
I mean, don’t get carried away. Stay out of the Dog Park. And don’t run with knives. And, for crying out loud, don’t cry out loud. You’ll upset the bears, which are emotionally fragile animals that are already very uncomfortable with themselves.”
Welcome To Night Vale.

***

Canterlot Palace, Canterlot, ‘Tyrant’ Equus. November 21st, 2023 (Human calendar).

“And you're sure he’s the one you want?” Twilight Sparkle said with a raised eyebrow.

The purple mare was speaking to a dark-maned Unicorn, whose eyes stared out at the sky of Equus with an unknowable expression. The dark-maned mare turned to look at the Element of Harmony with a grin.

“I am sure, my lady,” she said. “It is, after all, what I was made for.”

Twilight Sparkle was full of uncertainty. This new Newfoal, this ‘Morgause’, had described a list of resources she would need almost as soon as she had been ‘born’. Her demands had not only included two companies of Newfoal levy - three hundred in total - but the help of a detachment of Wonderbolts and, to Twilight’s consternation, the help of one of many ‘deviants’, or anomalous Newfoals, namely the officer Imperial Creed. Creed was dangerous in his own right - while he seemed simple, he was a devastatingly brilliant tactician. Reports of his actions on Earth indicated that in the one critical engagement he had fought in, the only reason he had been defeated was because overwhelming force had been brought against him and he'd had no reserves. He was on his way now, and would soon be joining Morgause in an attack on Earth.

Anomalous newfoals were frowned upon, just the slightest bit. Firstly, they were unpredictable in the extreme, and experiments to reproduce this sort of thing went almost uniformly poorly. Secondly, the whispers went that they hadn’t quite discarded enough of their humanity. Still, no Royal Guard platoon that’d found themselves with an anomalous newfoal that actually helped (as opposed to making half-coherent pleas for the sweet mercy of death, simply shutting down, being comatose, or banging their skull against the wall till it got runny) would dare give it up.

There were too many unknowns, they were too resource-intensive, and there were enough atmospheric and thaumic factors on Earth where they were born that replicating the process was nigh-impossible.

They had learned from their spies that the being called the Avatar would be isolated, temporarily at least, in a small convoy en route to an unknown location. Tracking him was a simple matter of finding two of their armoured vehicles traveling alone on a lonely road.

“I'm taking a pretty big risk, doing this,” Twilight cautioned Morgause. “This had better work.”

“Imperial Creed is a tactical genius,” Morgause said with a shrug. “If you expect me to battle a creature more powerful than any save our beloved monarch, I must have all the advantages I can gain.”

“Indeed,” Twilight said, frowning. “And the other request?”

Morgause grinned, an almost predatory thing at odds with her otherwise beautiful face. “I only wish to be a herald of new birth, as my potion-brothers and sisters have been in the past. Is that so wrong?”

“I don't know how comfortable I am with it,” Twilight said with a frown, moving to stand next to her. “We’ve had… poor results from allowing new stock to try independent potion-shaping in the past.”

“If we expect to win, my lady, then we must use all at our disposal,” Morgause said with a smirk as she looked up at the sky of Equus. “I will. Will you?”

Twilight snorted. “Unlike you, Newfoal, I am the first in her majesty’s confidences. Don't forget your place.”

“I mean no disrespect, my lady,” Morgause said with a bow that, despite the perfect form, seemed almost a little… too on-point to be truly sincere. “I merely wished to express my desire to triumph in the coming battles.”

“There, you and I are agreed,” Twilight said shortly. “And if I have to grant you these rights… so be it. Just do not disappoint me.”

“Be assured, Lady Sparkle,” Morgause said with a grin. “Nopony will be… disappointed.”

***

Temporary stop. En route to Bastion. November 21st, 2023.

The first stop was at an old gas station halfway to Bastion. The two APC’s had rolled up, and right now their drivers were refuelling them. Elliot was surprised to see the driver of the FEAR APC looked a lot like Sir Elise of the Knights of Albion.

Small world, ain’t it, he found himself thinking, and the thought made him chuckle. The surly but still somehow regal woman he knew was entirely different to the simply surly woman in fatigues who was with them now.

What surprised him more was the little group of FEAR troops - pony and human alike - that were standing near the APC, throwing him looks. He recognised almost all of them - there was the grinning mug of Errant Flight, that was definitely the scowling face of John Constantine, and with pangs of sadness, he recognised True Grit and Sam Lake - old friends, long gone.

Sorry. So sorry.

All of them wore F.E.A.R issue D12 armour, and carried fairly standard looking gear: SMGs, Assault Rifles, and - in Constantine’s case - a shotgun that looked like a SHO Series 3, quite different from Elliot’s beloved Vollmer VK-12.

Oh yeah, and then there was the other him, dressed in the same D12 and carrying an Andra SMG. That was weird.

He didn't truthfully know whether he wanted to go talk to them or not. He didn't know what he would have to say, if he'd have anything to say to them. They were, after all, not his friends.

“Penny for your thoughts, sir?” a voice asked from behind him. He turned to find himself faced with the scarred face of Yael Ze’ev.

“Tell you what,” he said, “you can have my thoughts. God knows I don't want ‘em.”

She smirked. “Yeah, that kinda makes sense. I wouldn’t want to be you either.”

Elliot chuckled. “Am I that obvious?”

“Little bit,” Ze’ev said with a shrug. “It’s the ‘fuck my everything’ face you’ve got. Makes you look like you’d rather be anywhere but anywhere you are.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said quietly. “I wanted to run a bookshop , y’know. Not fight a war.”

“I wanted to be a dancer,” Ze’ev shrugged. “Then go to podiatry.”

“...Huh,” Elliot said. “Somehow, it doesn’t quite…”

“I get that a lot,” Yael said offhandedly. “But Cousin Nny always said it was a good racket before he exploded. Guess the world is hell, huh?”

“I guess it is,” Elliot agreed, sighing. “But we’ve still got to fight for it.”

“Maybe it won't be hell, if we win,” Ze’ev said with a shrug. “Maybe that's something we can look forward to.”

“Winning,” Elliot said with a sigh. “Let you in on a secret, Captain Ze'ev.”

She leaned forward, a frown on her face. “Sure, sir.”

“I wasn't sure we could, until I came here,” Elliot said with a grin. “London was enough of a shitstorm that I was desperate to do anything to end it.”

“Rumour had it Hell Blazer tossed you through a portal,” Ze'ev said with a nod.

“Something like that, Captain,” Elliot smirked. “Plan was I’d rush up to Solamina, cut her head off.”

“Didn’t they try that here?” Ze’ev asked.

“Actually, nobody knows how their colonel got transported over,” Elliot said. “All they’ve worked out is that something was transferred here while he left, but…” he shrugged. “Nobody knows. According to Kraber, he got sent to an Equestria that wasn’t offended by our very existence.”

“Think that could’ve happened to you?” Ze’ev asked.

“He tried to murder their Elements and Celestia,” Elliot said. “Almost glad I didn’t. I... “ he shrugged. “How could I not act the same?”

“If Grandma Jitka had been transported to another world and saw someone that looked for all the world like Hitler, she would have ripped him apart,” Ze’ev said. “With her teeth, possibly. I’m glad for our new allies, but… some things are just unavoidable. What happened after the portal?”

“Then I ended up here, wandered around confused for a couple minutes, and within a few hours I’d punched a Celestia’s face off.”

“Ha,” Ze'ev chuckled. “Wish I’d seen it.” Her face became more morose. “Funny old world. The whole thing. Isn't it?”

“It's certainly becoming more and more interesting, let's put it that way,” Elliot chuckle. “Kinda reminds me of Professor X. All the weird shit that used to go on in that.”

“That's that weird old TV show, right?” Ze'ev said with a chuckle. “With what's his face - the Professor, got played by that guy from Alien once, right?”

“Yup,” Elliot said with a chuckle. “Got to hand it to ‘em - I was only a kid when ‘Hour of The Professor’ played in cinemas, but it was still awesome. Can't believe they got Ian Holm of all people!” He sobered. “Man, the things you miss. You know, I spent a whole three years back in the good old days wishing I could get to play Professor X, zipping about in the SATNA.” At Ze'ev’s amused expression, he raised an eyebrow. “What? I was a kid once.”

“Hard to believe any of us were,” Ze'ev said with a chuckle. “There’s… there’s so much I wish I could tell the younger me. Still, life’s not quite like that.”

“No, you're right,” Elliot said with a chuckle. “Like’s an entirely different clusterfuck, and we don't get to be saved by heroes. We just get me.”

“I dunno,” Ze'ev said with a shrug. “A lot of people think you're a hero.”

Elliot shook his head. “No. I’m not a hero. Heroes usually don't…”

He trailed off.

“Don't what?” Ze'ev asked with a frown.

Elliot smirked slightly. “Don't fuck up quite as much as I do.”

“Eh,” Ze'ev shrugged. “You should read up on Jason and the Argonauts. Greek heroes always fuck up. And me…” she gestured vaguely to herself. “Me, I’ve plenty of mistakes under my belt. Me and all my friends. Elliot, the two of us…. both twos of us... we’ve lived through the apocalypse. If there was a time to fuck up, it’s then - the time where everything goes wrong. So: as Cousin Nny says-”

“Didn’t you say he was dead?” Elliot asked.

“Well, he’s alive here,” Yael said.

“That must be… odd,” Elliot said.

“Not really,” Yael said. “Two things he used to… well, does say. First, ‘Don’t think about it, Morty-’”

“Hmm?” Mortimer asked from nearby. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Second,” Yael finished, ignoring her colleague, “‘No need to soak’. You did what you could.”

Elliot nodded, chuckled to himself. “No, true. Yeah, I should probably stop wallowing. People to save and all.”

Ze'ev chuckled as well, before standing up and walking over to where Ducane was stood, arms folded, staring at the landscape. Elliot found himself looking at the dusty ground.

Buck up, matey, he thought. Lots to do yet.

***

“Haven't been this far out in a while,” John said with a groan as he stretched. “Air’s nice.”

David shrugged as his eyes glanced at the… other him. He was trying not to be too weirded out by the whole thing, he had to admit.

“He looks older than you,” Sam commented from behind him.

“He is older than me,” David said quietly. “So he bloody well ought to.”

Sam nodded. “You going to talk to him?”

David pursed his lips. “No.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “You agreed - he needs -”

“I know,” David said, trying not to snap. He turned to look his best friend in the eye. “I dunno. I don't feel… right, being here, with him.”

Sam sighed. “I get that. I’m trying to imagine how I’d be if I saw another me. Let alone one who can grow limbs back on live TV.”

“So if he could grow limbs back, just not on TV, that’d be different?” True Grit asked, stepping up to them, his own look of curiosity on his face as he glanced over at the other Elliot.

David chuckled. “Yeah. Where I couldn't see him.”

Grit shrugged. “Hey, I’m not one to complain about ‘out of sight, out of mind’ - that's basically my reaction to Equestria these days.”

David smiled at that, but he knew from Sam’s expression that his old friend could see through him. He’d always been able to. As the others wandered off, Sam walked up to him.

“You're not fooling me,” his old friend said with a sad smile.

David sighed. “This is all bollocks. Like an old episode of Doctor Who or summat.”

“Hey, could be worse,” Sam said. “We’re not standing on Arcadia, and the Solar Empire aren't quite the Daleks.”

“Yeah,” David grinned. “Remember when we went to go see ‘Day of the Doctor’?”

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “Awesome stuff. ‘Course, that's when we were younger.”

“Wasn’t so long ago,” David said with a sad smile. He looked up. “Maybe things’ll be better once this war shite’s over.”

“Maybe,” Sam said with a smirk. “Have to get there first.”

“Yeah,” David said with a smirk. “If we do.”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. But hey - we’ll do it. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

“Unstoppable,” David repeated with a smile. “Yeah.”

***

En route to Bastion. November 21st, 2023.

PHL, PER, and HLF alike called a place like this “the badlands.” Areas that’d been evacuated from the Barrier, small towns where people simply hadn’t felt safe. Wastelands full of scavengers, lost newfoals, and abandoned machinery anyone could just up and take.

The mare looked from left to right around the area as the Newfoals marched into position around her. Imperial Creed didn't know who this commander was - it wasn't his business to - but he knew she was a Newfoal like him. So far, however, she had seemed surprisingly unlike most of his other brothers and sisters. Her smile seemed… strange.

Imperial Creed was a crimson Unicorn, his dark red mane shorn to a close-cropped style. He was well-built enough for the business of conflict, without being overly muscled. He wore standard-issue Guard armour: tough, dependable stuff, marked with little scratches - his own kill-count.

They had materialised near a road - the hideous concrete construct marring otherwise beautiful land. More proof that their cause was righteous.

“Commander Creed,” she said quietly. Obediently, he trotted up beside her. “I want your impression of the immediate terrain.”

Looking around, Creed took in everything, a smile on his face. It might not have been Equestria, but he had to admit, this was lovely landscape.

“It's lovely,” he said simply.

His commanding officer glanced at him, a look of what might have been - what was that word? Disdain? What did that feel like again? - in her eyes. “I want your tactical impression of the immediate terrain.”

Nodding in comprehension, Creed looked again. “Crags, rocks. Plenty of space for an ambush. Plenty of cover.” He glanced back at her. “What did you have in mind, ma’am?”

“An ambush for a group of humans coming this way,” Morgause said quietly, a smile gracing her features once more. “I leave the details to you. Use the resources at your disposal to create the perfect ambush at this point.”

Imperial Creed nodded, before moving to look around some more.

“Ok, guys!” he called to his fellow Newfoals. “This is what I want you to do!”

***

En route to Bastion. November 21st, 2023.

“So what are we actually gonna do when we get to these HLF guys?” Mortimer asked with a frown as he sat against the APC bench with a lazy expression. “I hear the HLF ‘round these parts were nine parts crazy, one part dead.”

“The way this Colonel Munro tells it, that’s only half the story,” Elliot said quietly. “The other half being that these guys are basically ‘good guys’, kinda like our version of the Reavers.”

“The guys from the USS Enterprise, right?” Ze’ev asked. “One of the last escapees from Gilead?”

“The one and the same,” Elliot said with a nod. “Way command sees it, if these guys want asylum and are even half the people that the last escapees were, we need them.”

“I think I met Yarrow once,” Horowitz said blandly. “He was good. Strong.”

“He wasn't quite real HLF,” Ze’ev said softly, “but he was the best kind. He saved people - a lot of people.”

Elliot listened to them, before nodding. “If these people follow those kind of ideals, they’ll be good to have.”

“Personally, if anyone was gonna ask my opinion,” Ducane said quietly, a smirk on his face, “which, I note, no one is -”

“I wonder why,” Abboudi commented dryly.

“I still think it's a fuckin’ waste,” Ducane finished, ignoring him. “Why don't we just get that Discord guy to zap glow stick and a hundred dudes with rocket launchers to Canterlot?”

“Apart from being a stupid idea?” Horowitz asked. “How about because fuck you.”

“Well how about fuck you, too?” Ducane snapped. “Asshole.”

Elliot frowned. “Alright, enough. You lot don't have to like each other to work together.”

“We don't always work together,” Ze’ev said tiredly. “Lots of Blackbands do independent work. Ducane there tends to do solos.”

“Wish I was doing solo now,” Ducane muttered. “Had a good gig sniping PER in Plymouth before this shit.”

Elliot snorted. “Well, I’ll be sure to -”

And then there was a screech of tires, and a slamming sound.

***

Five Minutes Earlier.

Imperial Creed looked over the rise he had been ordered to position himself on. He was glad that whoever was in command of his group had enough foresight to pick an elevated area instead of sticking him and his subordinates somewhere on the flat, open terrain that surrounded them.

They were currently perched on a rise that looked over the furrowed road the humans had made. It was little more than a slightly rocky dirt path, likely formed from regular traffic. The rutts looked like those formed by the human vehicles. Scouts had of course reported to him that the human group they had been ordered to intercept was coming this way.

Hs infiltration group had managed to take position without any incidents at least and now waited for their targets in silence. The Newfoals were all adorned in the finest Royal Guard armour the empire could provide and were surprisingly well disciplined compared to what he had grown accustomed to leading.

Now all they were waiting for was their target, and the mare that had been placed in charge of them.

“Well?” a quiet voice asked him.

He turned to look at her. She was stood, gazing down at the battlefield with eyes full of… something.

“Everything’s prepared, ma’am,” Creed said with a smile.

“Indeed?” his CO said with a wry grin. “You find it so easy to prepare?”

Creed shrugged. “Anypony could do it if they looked enough, ma’am. It's obvious stuff, isn't it?”

Morgause looked at the arrayed forces and gave a half smile. “Perhaps to you, Creed. You have my permission to carry on.”

Creed shrugged, before turning back to his troops.

“Sir,” one of the Newfoals said with a hint of excitement in their voice.

“What is it?” Creed asked, turning away from Morgause to address the soldier that had called him.

“We’ve got movement,” the Newfoal reported. “It’s the convoy we were ordered to look out for.”

Creed pushed past the Newfoal and saw that he was correct. Two squat armoured machines were rolling onto the road that passed through their position. They bore the emblems that the report said would identify their target and had no additional protection.

This was their chance.

“Everypony, take position,” Creed ordered, making sure to keep hidden so he didn’t give himself away. “Unicorns aim for the wheels of those machines, stop them in their tracks. Then we move in to finish them off.”

With thankfully efficient speed the Newfoal soldiers ran to the areas Creed had marked out for them. They were all waiting for the signal to attack, an eager energy evident in the way they crouched in preparation. Unicorns charged spell on their horns, taking care not to make them too bright as he had commanded.

The two vehicles came ever closer, the sound of their engines and wheels surprisingly loud to Creed’s ears. He couldn’t help but feel as eager as his soldiers. He was in his element and about to execute another good plan, just like always.

The vehicles were now in the kill-zone, vulnerable and waiting.

“Now!” Creed shouted, firing off a flare from his horn.

As one the Unicorns of his detachments fired their spells. Concentrated thaumic energy shot out towards the vehicles and struck the large oversized wheels. Rubber bubbled and burned as the heat of the spellwork struck it. As the tyres melted and the first few spells dissipated, the second volley struck in an instant, deforming the metal of the exposed rims and warping the wheels in their entirety. A few spells missed their mark and struck the armour panelling, leaving nothing but slight scorches but the wheels of the first vehicle were now completely ruined, bringing it to a halt. The second vehicle screeched to a halt but not quickly enough to prevent it crashing into the side of the one in front as it spun out of control. Both armoured cars were thrown off course and slid to the side before coming to a stop.

***

The jolt of the wheels going out threw Sam into the side of the APC, slamming his shoulder. There was a horrible, tortured screeching sound, and then there was a loud crash as something heavy rammed into the side of the APC, jolting John and David opposite Sam. There was a moment’s silence as the troops took in what had just happened. David groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Think I’ve got fuckin’ whiplash,” John said with a growl. Errant Flight - who had been thrown into a wall - winced slightly in sympathy.

“Did something hit us?” True Grit asked, shaking his head. Next to him, Steady Hoof grabbed his P230.

David went over to the driver’s cab to check on McGuiness - only to see her lying back in her chair, her neck twisted at an impossible angle.

“Shit,” he swore. He turned to look back at everyone else. “We need to get outside - Sam, man the turret, Grit and Hoof, defensive position, cover us while we get out there!”

“What do you want me to do?” Errant asked, limping slightly.

“Can you still fly?” David asked.

“Think so,” the Pegasus said. “Whaddya want?”

“Air cover,” David said. “We need to keep their Pegasi off us!”

“My kinda job,” Errant grinned, saddling up his own pony SMG and heading out.

John sighed. “This day just got ‘fun’.”

***

“Charge!” Imperial Creed shouted. With cries of joy and excitement, the Newfoals charged out in two groups, one on either side of the crashed convoy.

“Newfoals!” an enemy Pegasus shouted as he took off from within the human vehicle, climbing high into the sky.

The wave of Newfoals didn’t slow for a moment as they converged on the APCs. The turrets of both vehicles swivelled to face the oncoming horde of enemies, their trackers locking on to the foremost ponies.

On the hill overlooking the gully the fight was taking place, Morgause smirked as she charged her own horn with power. As she gathered energy she targeted the two turret that were preparing to fire on her forces. With a savage grin she fired her spell. Two beams of light shot out, separating and wrapping around the barrels of both turret’s guns. The superheated thaumic energy began to melt the weapons of the APC turrets. With barely any effort, she forced the energy to push the weakened metal of the gun barrels out of shape, rendering them inoperable before releasing her control on the spell.

Pulling back into the shadows, Morgause kept her eyes on the battlefield, waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

***

“Turret’s out!” Sam shouted as he ducked away from several other spell shots the Unicorns had fired at him.

“Shit,” David exclaimed in response. “We won’t be getting any cover here.”

A quick glance showed him that two groups of ponies,both of equal size were bearing down on them from both sides. Hiding behind the APC wouldn’t work. They had to eliminate one of the groups.

He immediately turned to the group behind him and unloaded. A hail of bullets shot out and impacted into the front of the grinning Newfoal group. Several collapsed as their legs were reduced to mashed gore but they kept on moving, the disturbing grins they all wore never fading.

David prepared to fire off another burst when suddenly a spray of fire washed over the horde from above. Pones collapsed as bullets ripped into their backs. Several fell completely as the shots severed spines and destroyed shoulders. David looked up just in time to see Errant Flight climb back into the air, the barrels of his own SMG smoking slightly.

The Newfoal group in front of him had stalled because of Errant Flight’s attack and a few of them were now completely immobilized or dead. However, the majority of them either kept limping forward or pulled themselves up on whatever mangled limbs they could still move and ambled in his direction, their grins never once fading.

Grimacing, he turned to Sam who was trying to lay down suppressing fire on the other side of the APC. He was dodging spellfire, only ever able to let out short bursts before the enemy retaliated with their own shots, forcing him to duck.

“We need to clear one of these sides!” David shouted up at his friend.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Sam shouted back before looking back over the top of the APC and letting out a short burst of fire again.

“Where’s Errant?” David asked, wondering why the Pegasus hadn’t done another strafing run.

Suddenly an auburn blur crashed down into the ground in front of them. David jumped back as he saw Errant Flight twitching on the ground in front of him. He was badly cut on one side of his barrel and had a large gash down one side of his face. With a grunt of exertion he tried to lift himself back to his hooves but collapsed again with a cry of pain and lay on the ground panting.

“Fuck!” David heard Sam shout. “We’ve got them above us!”

David glanced up at the sky and saw a small swarm of Wonderbolts flying overhead, the familiar blue uniforms slightly hidden against the sky but for the yellow stripe.

“Shit,” he seethed quietly. “How are we supposed to deal with them and this?!”

“You deal with the Wonderfucks,” John Constantine suddenly said as he sprinted around the APC to David’s position and smashed his body next to him with a wince. “We’ve got these wankers!”

To reinforce his claim he pointed his shotgun at the group of Newfoal infantry that were still coming at them and fired. A spray of shrapnel hammered into the nearest Newfoals, sending two flying and dropping the others as their already ruined lmbs were shredded.

David spared a moment to see True Grit and Steady join them and begin laying into the remains of the Newfoal force with their own weapons. The P230 didn't require a steadier the same way Hoof’s old P220 had, so Grit was able to lay into the enemy with his own attacks.

Trusting his friends to watch his back, David turned and pointed his own SMG at the Wonderbolts that had decided to stop wheeling overhead and dive down at them instead. David immediately let loose with his own weapon, vaguely aiming for heads and wings. Bullets shot up, ripping apart wings, piercing skulls and tearing apart flesh with ease.

It quickly began raining feathery bodies as the spandex wearing Pegasi crashed down into the ground around them. A few tried to get back up but quickly fell back down again as their injuries overwhelmed them. David and Sam didn’t let up as they picked off one Pegasus after another and soon the skies were clear, the remaining Wonderbolts having retreated for the moment.

“How we doing?!” David shouted again once he was sure there were no more enemies overhead.

“About same as always!” True Grit shouted back between gasps for breath. David looked back at his friends to see that they had succeeded in killing or incapacitating large swathes of the enemy’s infantry.

“We’re clear on this side,” he said. “Sam, how do things on the other look?”

Sam risked a glance to see that there were, in fact, still Newfoals on the other side of the APC. He then turned back to David with an odd look.

“I think our friends back there are handling it,” Sam said with surprising assurance.

***

Elliot shook his head, trying to clear it. His head was aching from the force of the impact, but it could have been worse: he'd certainly been through worse. He looked around the interior of the APC: Horowitz was grabbing a standard PHL M16A4, and Ze'ev was checking her own SMG with a grimace, a cut above her left eye.

“Everyone alright?” Elliot called out.

“Yeah!” O’Riley called back from the driver’s seat.

“Fine,” Horowitz said grimly. Next to him, Abboudi was shaking his head to clear it, before hefting a LMG he had brought.

“Just peachy,” Ducane added with a chuckle. “How about you, glowstick?”

Elliot sighed. “What's the sitrep, O’Riley?”

“Lots of those mad Convies we got told about!” the Blackband said grimly. “We’re talking full on Zerg-rush here!”

“Sounds about right,” Elliot said grimly. With a slightly familiar feeling, he slung his shotgun over his shoulder, gripped his new, PHL-augmented hand-cannon of a revolver in one hand and ‘speed-killer’ in another.

“Orders, Brigadier?” Ze'ev asked.

Elliot smiled. “Simple.” He raised his pistol. “Follow my lead.”

***

Morgause was less than satisfied with the performance of her subordinates. Whilst Creed’s plan was an effective one, their forces had successfully isolated their opponents and she had played her part brilliantly, they were still losing too many soldiers. Once again experience was proving that Newfoals were, though easy to find and easy to replace, fundamentally useless creations.

We shall have better soldiers soon, she thought to herself.

Already one group of humans had succeeded in cutting their forces down, easily slaughtering fifty or more ponies, and the other group - the target group - hadn’t even entered the fray yet.

A shout from her own forces indicated that Creed had decided enough was enough and that it was time to commit the reserves. More Newfoals charged forward, coordinated spellfire allowing them to advance unmolested. She felt much more confident that her forces would succeed if they not only listened to Creed’s orders but were directly led by him.

And then, something new happened.

He stepped into the fray.

***

David raced to join Sam, to see what his friend was. There were at least a hundred more Newfoals coming towards the convoy from the other side, and for a moment David wondered just how the hell they were supposed to survive this…

… and then out stepped the other him.

He held a dagger in one hand, his other hand raised and aiming a massive revolver at the Newfoals. He fired, and one of the things fell back, its brain splattered all over its immediate neighbours. They paused, if only momentarily, and then with a cry from one of their number they charged forward.

And then he started moving.

David couldn't believe what he was seeing: his older self moved with a preternatural speed, crossing the distance between himself and the enemy in seconds. His left hand, the one that held the dagger, struck out and the blade buried itself into a Newfoal’s temple. With barely any exertion his threw the Newfoal back and pulled the dagger out of its destroyed head.

The hand-cannon fired again, obliterating the face of another Newfoal that fell backward into the nearest of its comrades. With some space cleared for himself and the enemy now around him, he whipped the hand-cannon back into his coat and, in the same fluid move, he pulled out another dagger.

Then he really started moving.

He leapt forward, his blade raking across a Newfoal’s throat. He spun around, slicing through two more, before kicking a third, moving with a fluidity David had never imagined himself being capable of. He stabbed a fourth in the throat, left his dagger in the corpse for a moment, pulled the hand-cannon back out, blasted another Newfoal and then holstered the pistol again. He blocked a Newfoal who tried rushing him, punched it across the face, stabbed that one in the throat with a quick motion, and then grabbed his other dagger again, before slicing another Newfoal across the face with two quick slashes, stunning it, and then kicking it in the head, snapping its head back at an ugly angle.

“Shit,” David whispered as the other him proceeded to demolish any Newfoal that came too close to him. Every move he made felled a Newfoal. His daggers flying out and slitting throats, gouging eyes and piercing temples and windpipes.

By this point the majority of the attacking ponies had abandoned their charge on the rest of the convoy and had instead turned their attention to dagger-wielding warrior.

It seemed the other him had also noticed as he put his daggers away, forcing the Newfoals away with surprisingly agile kicks, and held out his hand.

There was a blinding flash of light and suddenly he held a massive, ornate blade, almost as large as he was.

Suddenly any pretense of speed was abandoned and instead he began to swing the blade in massive heavy arcs. The sword cleaved through Newfoals with barely any effort, still moving with speed and grace that should be impossible for a massive and heavy weapon. The Newfoals continued to come at him but now, with dozens of their comrades fallen, their numbers were beginning to thin.

“Don't stand there gawking,” a voice suddenly shouted, snapping David out of his shocked stupor.

He turned to see John pulling Grit and Hoof over the APC, Grit helping to hold Errant Flight up with his telekinesis. David shook his head and, with a grimace, brought his gun to bear and fired, the bullets slamming into more of the things.

“This is nuts!” one of the other Elliot’s troops yelled. “How fucking many are there?!”

“This isn't even the half of it!” Sam called over. “Hell, this is -”

A spell slammed into the APC behind them. Sam brought his SMG up and shot at the target, but another spell impacted in the ground near him. The Newfoals seemed to have adjusted their strategy - their Unicorns were standing back, throwing any and all spells they could at them. David narrowly dodged a spell that nearly caught him, before ending up - somehow - standing next to his counterpart. One of the BDF troopers wasn’t so lucky, taking a hit straight in the chest that threw him back, the charred hole in his kevlar and his still form enough indication that he wouldn’t be getting up again.

“Haven’t had the chance to say ‘hello’!” the older Elliot said.

David didn't answer for a moment, firing at another advancing Newfoal, before dodging another spell.

“Can you do anything about those spells?!” he asked.

The older Elliot frowned, before holding up a hand.

“Everyone behind me!” he called. “I won't be able to extend this very far!”

A golden shield materialised between the Newfoal Unicorns and the BDF and PHL soldiers, the Unicorn spells impacting against it with odd cracking sounds, not unlike the sound of bricks hitting a wall.

“So,” John asked, breathing heavily. “Anyone got a plan for how we get out of this one?”

“Nope,” True Grit said, his grim expression belying his light tone. “The APC got totalled, so that’s out, and we’d never get the other one far enough.”

“Fuck it - let’s just shoot them!” one of the BDF troops said with a snort. He fired another few rounds, before his gun clicked on empty. Growling, he moved to reload - only to find out he was out of ammo.

“Yeah, and now you see why that plan doesn’t usually work,” Sam said with a smirk, though it faded quickly. “Seriously, ‘other Dave’ -”

“Is that what we’re going with?” the older Elliot asked.

“Hey, mine was here first,” Sam defended. “Seriously though - if you’ve got another miracle stuffed in your box of miracles, now would be the time to use it.”

“If I had another miracle stuffed in my box of miracles, I’d have already used it,” the older Elliot said quietly. He grimaced slightly - the Newfoals were concentrating on the shield now, the cracking and slamming sounds intensifying. “As it is, this miracle is taking it out of me a bit more than I’d like.”

A woman who looked like Yael Ze’ev checked her rifle, a grim expression on her face. “Right then. I guess we should get ready for this one.”

The pony with the BDF troops snorted. “‘Ready’ for our imminent death?”

“Story of my life,” the older Elliot said grimly. “I do have one idea…”

“Long as we’re not at the stage of ‘barely even a concept,’ then I think we’re good,” Sam said.

The older Elliot smirked. “Well, it isn’t quite that bad.”

He raised his hands higher, his grimace getting more pronounced, as though he were straining. A moment later, the golden shield exploded outwards, knocking over a good chunk of the Newfoals, though it didn’t seem to do much else. Immediately, the older Elliot swept out his revolver and fired, and the others fired as well - but they were still outnumbered...

And then, impossibly, a loud wheezing, groaning sound began blaring out onto the battlefield. A blue box began to materialise in front of the group, a lamp flashing on top of it, and then it finally solidified with a solid-sounding thunk.

A man stuck his head out of the box, eyes wide, a mop of red hair atop his head. “Alright, you lot, everyone in - NOW!”

***

“No,” Imperial Creed hissed under his breath. “I didn’t account for this!”

“Then ACCOUNT FOR IT!” Morgause snapped. But Creed was already working on it.

New variable, he thought at once. Limited time for response before target escape. Only one option.

“Intensify forward firepower!” he yelled. “Hit them with everything!”

***

Not wasting any time, David motioned for the squad to move. Even as he did so, though, the Unicorn spell barrage increased. One of the other Elliot’s troops was grazed, Sam narrowly missed a spell, and True Grit was forced to raise a shield to block a spell from striking him across the barrell.

“I said in!” the red-headed man yelled. “Come on!”

David fired every shot in his rifle’s clip, trying to cover everyone else’s retreat. A few spells impacted around him, but he managed to dodge a few more.

“Dave!” he heard Sam yell. He glanced over at the box, and saw his friend standing in the doorway. “Everyone’s in, get in, get in!”

David moved at once, sprinting for the box - and then a spell slammed into the back of his shoulder, sending him spinning and pitching into the ground, hard. He yelled in pain.

“David!” he heard Sam yell. Grimacing in pain, David looked up, and held up a hand. The Newfoals were advancing on him - there wasn’t any time.

“Go!” he yelled. “Get out of here!”

“No!” Sam yelled.

“I said go!” David screamed, pulling his sidearm out and firing at the Newfoals as they approached. He heard something that sounded like a scuffle, and then the sound of the wheezing, groaning returned, fading slowly away, and he knew his friend had managed to get out.

Good, he thought to himself, grinning despite his predicament. Come on then, you wankers. Come on th-!

A stunning spell struck him in the face, and the world went black.

***

The TARDIS. No time.

The TARDIS was not the one David Elliot remembered, from the handful of times he had been inside his old friend’s box. Instead of the gleaming white walls and scrappy control console, he saw a dark, concrete-walled construct with chairs and a hatstand. Instead of a burgundy stallion at the controls, a tall human, or someone who looked human, dressed in a tweed coat and corduroy trousers, was stood there, swiping at a plasma-globe esque arrangement on a panel. He glanced up at the soldiers as they entered the room, the door closing behind them.

“Hello all,” he said, a slight smile on his face. “How are we?”

“You!” Sam - this world’s Sam - said with wide eyes. “You're back!”

“Of course I’m back!” the man said with a mock scowl, flicking a switch. “How could I just leave? You lot would get it all wrong without me!”

“Sorry,” Elliot said, holding up a hand. “Who the hell are you?!”

The man chuckled. “It's been a long time since I met you, Major, and I've changed a lot since then.”

“It's Brigadier,” Elliot said quietly. “And… Doctor? Is that you?”

The man waved a hand. “Tada!”

Elliot blinked in surprise. “You… you…”

“It’s good to see you,” the Doctor said with a chuckle. “Good to have friends around again.”

“Forget the happy reunion! We need to get Dave!” Sam yelled, interrupting their conversation. “Those Newfoal bastards -”

“There's no time,” the Doctor said sadly, looking Sam in the eye.

“This is a time machine!” Sam snapped.

“Yes, that can’t go back and change history two seconds after becoming part of it,” the Doctor said sternly. He fixed Sam with a serious expression. “Not to mention: If I could, I already would have. You know as well as I do - there are things you want to change, but you can’t.”

“But they’ll kill him, or worse!” Sam yelled. “We can’t -!”

“We can’t do anything,” the Doctor said softly. “I’m sorry. Really. But it’s already too late.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he lashed out - only for Elliot to catch his fist.

“Sam,” he said quietly. “Don’t -”

“FUCK OFF!” Sam yelled. “You… you fucking imposter!”

Elliot flinched as though struck. “Sam -”

“I thought you were meant to be able to do fucking miracles!” Sam yelled. “Or do you just do that when you’ve got a fucking camera pointed at you?!”

Without waiting for a reply, he shoved past Elliot and the Doctor and went to sit down, leaving the Brigadier alone, eyes wide with shock. The Doctor glanced at him, a mournful expression on his face, and then returned to his console.

Elliot simply stood, his eyes closing as he tried not to simply stop. With a deep breath, he turned to his own squad, who were busy checking themselves over. Horowitz had take a spell to the arm, and was grimacing.

“Are you ok?” he asked the man.

“It’s not too bad, sir,” Horowitz replied. He winced. “Stings a bit.”

The rest of the squad was quiet. Abboudi and Ze’ev were talking quietly, though Elliot couldn’t hear what they were saying. Ducane was simply standing, looking shell-shocked.

Mortimer summed up the mood with a single sentence.

“Well. That all went horribly.”

***

When he woke up, David could feel himself being dragged. To his great surprise, he was still human, still himself. Unfortunately, all that meant was that he had that to look forward to.

Somebody up there must hate me, he thought with a sigh.

David struggled slightly as the Newfoals dragging him shoved him to the ground. He growled at the two of them, before looking at the mare they'd dragged him to. She was haughty, glaring down at him with a vaguely regal air - like she thought she was something. Almost certainly the one in charge. She was glancing at him with a dismissive expression.

“Not the right one,” she said. “You're not the Avatar.”

“Nope,” he said with a snort. “But hey, I could fight you anyway if you like. Would probably beat sitting here on my arse.”

She chuckled. “Spirited at least. That's something worth remembering, if it's even vaguely true of your counterpart.”

“Look,” David said with a sigh. “We both know how this shit ends. Can we skip to it please? I’m a busy fella.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So eager to surrender to the Empire?”

“Just eager to dodge the inevitable ‘bwahaha, puny human, how awesome are we’ speech,” David retorted. “You heard one, you've heard ‘em all. Ponification can’t be as painful.”

The mare nodded. “If you seek an end to this discussion, you shall have it.”

She motioned, and another Newfoal stepped up, a vial of potion held in hoof. A moment later, the liquid was splashing, and -

***

This wasn’t right.

“No,” Elliot heard himself saying, unable to believe the calm - no, the emptiness - in his voice. He’d heard of people who’d carried on calm, clinical conversations over the phone while being mauled by bears or while having a halfway ponified limb sawed off, sometimes without anesthetic.

Was this what it was like then?

No, he realized. The potion is warping my buck…

His mind.

It was in his head

“Just relax,” a calm voice was saying from somewhere. “It will all be over so-”

There was a sudden flash of light from somewhere.

“Who are you?” the voice asked, sounding less calm. “What's going on-”

***

And suddenly he was sat on a beach.

He blinked, looking around in confusion. He was sat on a beach. How did that work? Why was he here? He had been…

… potioned.

“My name is David Elliot,” he said grimly. “I'm human. I’m human!”

There was a chuckle at that. “For the moment at least.”

David looked to his left, to see a bearded man in a white, hooded cloak sitting next to him, a grey beard poking out from underneath the hood. David blinked.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I go by a lot of names,” the bearded man said simply. “Not all of them necessarily nice names. Slave 421 of section 741 was one of the less nice ones, a long time ago. Then there were more normal ones - Christopher, Richard, Lyra -”

“Lyra?” David repeated. “Lyra Heartstrings?”

“Would Lyra be a better face to wear?” a nearly familiar voice said from David’s right. Elliot turned to look at the owner of the voice, and found Lyra Heartstrings smiling faintly at him. The bearded man was gone from his left.

“But you're not, are you?” he asked. “You're… some deception of that fucking Tyrant.”

“No,” she said honestly. “I’m Lyra Heartstrings. Amongst others.”

“What are you then?” David asked. “You're not… just Lyra.”

“Oh no,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m many things.”

“But you're not some…” he said, trailing off.

“Some?”

“I dunno. Some fucking magic thing Celestia put in the potion?”

“Ah. You're referring to something like that,” the figure of Lyra said, and suddenly a doll of Twilight Sparkle was dangling in front of her, a nasty expression on the ragdoll face. “Configuration daemon. Nasty business. Didn't want to go, but I… convinced it.”

David narrowed his eyes at the little doll. “That’s the thing that converts people?”

“It is in charge of making you - or bits of you - into what you are needed to be by the Empire, so yes,” the figure of Lyra said.

“It isn't pleasant,” a new voice added. David looked to his left again, and this time an albino mare sat watching the beach with a mournful expression. Red eyes glinted, and that alabaster mane and fur was only added to by the white robe she wore, concealing her cutie mark. “As I said though - I convinced it to stand down. Not that it had a choice - there was no way it could have stopped me.”

“If you're not that…” he asked, still staring at the doll, “then what are you?”

She paused, looking up at him. “I’m my father’s firstborn. The first child. I was the one that was meant to be… and the other was the one who was not. But now we both exist, and we both must face up to that, one day.”

“When you say your father,” David said, frowning in confusion, “you don't mean…”

“It's probably best for your sanity that you don't ask that question,” the Albino said with a wry smile.

There was a long moment’s pause between the two of the, as David processed that comment. Finally, he decided to ignore it, and focus on other things. Seemed, as she had suggested, to be the best way to go if he wanted to remain sane.

“So… I’m not going to be ponified?” he asked, hoping against hope.

The Albino glanced at him. “Oh, I’m afraid that is inevitable. The transformative magic has already begun its work. There's nothing you can do to stop it.”

“But…” he said, frowning. “But I'm here. I’m human.”

“This is an illusion,” the Albino said. “You might call it a temporary lotus eater the Tyrant’s Magic sets up to allow the mind to…. acclimatise to its fate. I’ve co-opted it, but the transformative potion will do its work.”

David’s eyes widened. “No - no, why would you… why would you get rid of that thing if there wasn't some way to save me?”

“Saving you was always impossible,” the Albino said quietly. “The person you were is destined to cease to exist, and was from the moment that vile purple… stuff touched you. The only question now is what you will leave behind.”

David slumped, before lying back on the beach. He stared up at the blue sky he knew was fake.

“What is there to leave behind?” he asked blandly. “I’m gonna be a slave to the Tyrant, aren't I?”

“You don't have to be here at all,” the Albino said. He glanced at her, and she was wearing an inscrutable smile.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked.

“If you'd like, we can simply leave here,” the Albino said. “The ponified body would have no soul, no driving force.”

“And then it'd be dead?” David asked.

“Yes,” the Albino said with a smile.

David looked back at the sky. He thought of his friends, the people he was leaving behind.

“But I won't be able to do anything to help my friends,” he said quietly.

The Albino chuckled. “Thinking of them even at your lowest moment. I can see why she likes your counterpart.” David frowned in confusion, but the Albino waved it off. “In any case, we can leave something. A new soul.”

“A new soul?” David repeated. “What - how does that work?”

“I couldn't quite explain how a soul comes to be, because not even I understand all of it,” the Albino said quietly. “But… roughly speaking… it’s a product of two other souls coming into union, even if only briefly. That soul is then shaped by what surrounds it, as well as what birthed it.”

“So… you can just… make a new soul?” David asked.

“We can,” the Albino corrected. “You and me.”

“And…” David said, still not feeling certain. “And what would that make?”

The Albino grinned. “I don't know. That's the most wonderful thing of all. There's no way of knowing what we’d create - just like any other child.”

David nodded slowly. “I… guess it's better than being a Newfoal.”

“Yeah, I guess,” the voice of Lyra Heartstrings said, a smile on the mare’s face. Somehow the transition from the Albino to Lyra was less surprising than he’d expected.

She held out a hoof to him, a smile on her face. Hesitantly, an eyebrow raised at how absurd this all felt, he took the hoof in his hand.

“So what do we do now?” he asked, feeling foolish.

“Hope for our friends,” she replied quietly. “And we hope the soul we leave behind makes the right choices.”

***

Brand new eyes opened slowly, feeling… strange. Her entire body felt like it was tingling with energy, like it was meeting air for the first time and reacting to it. She couldn’t remember anything.

She? Am I a she?

There was a momentary exploration of her own mind - an unusual sensation, in and of itself. She (yeah, going with that) pulled herself to her hooves. Hooves? Is that right?

Yes, of course it was. What a silly question.

She looked at the ground first, frowning slightly as she tried to acclimatise to her body. Her hooves were She didn’t know why she couldn’t remember anything.

Maybe I was just born, she thought to herself. That didn’t make sense, though - she didn’t remember much, but she remembered that if you were just born you shouldn’t really feel like this…

… should you? How should you feel?

She looked around, and suddenly found herself locking eyes with a dark-eyed mare, a long black mane wrapped around her head and a serious expression on her face.

“Greetings, sister,” she said quietly.

Sister? Sister? I have a sister? Is that what you are?

“I…” she said, and she realised she sounded completely differently to how she expected. But what did I expect? “I don’t recognise… I don’t…”

“Your confusion is understandable,” the mare said quietly. “But don’t worry. All will become clear, soon enough.”

Will it? That’s a relief, she found herself thinking.

The dark-maned mare smiled. “My name is Morgause. What is yours?”

I have one of those? Wait -

“Caliburn,” she said suddenly. “My name is Caliburn.”

Morgause raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Not quite what I had expected - but fitting. And what are you?”

Warrior - loyalty, forbearance, hardiness, generosity, honour…

“A knight,” Caliburn said at once, realising the word that she was trying to find. “I am a knight. A fighter.”

Morgause nodded again. “Interesting - you seem to have been created as a direct opposite of another, a challenger to him. I suppose that makes sense.”

Caliburn frowned, feeling more than a little confused. “Another knight?”

“Of a sort,” Morgause said quietly, her smile returning. “Now tell me, do you remember where the humans were heading?”

Caliburn frowned. “I -”

Bastion. Home of the Reavers. Small shanty town. Heavy defences, mostly top of the range pre-war.

“- yes, I think I do.”

Morgause’s smile became even more pronounced. “Then can you show us the way?”

Caliburn nodded slowly. “And there is going to be a knight there for me to face in single combat?”

“That’s correct,” Morgause said quietly. “And when you face him, you shall triumph.”

“Yes, of course,” Caliburn said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean…”

She trailed off, her thoughts finishing the sentence for her. It’s what I was made for.

Isn’t it?

***

BDF Liaison office, New York.

Operative Lyra Heartstrings was finding herself wishing that David hadn’t run off - or at the very least, that he’d taken her with him. She wasn’t cut out for dealing with R&D people wanting access to Paladin specs, or with dealing with religious nutcases wanting to touch her fur - and she’d had both.

And then, there was the gentleman she was speaking to now.

He was wearing a pristine, sharp suit, his shirt crisp and clean, his tie neat and flat against the soft material, his suit impeccable, buttoned just so, and his waistcoat done up all the way save for the bottom button, left open as was proper for any dignified gentleman. He had a receding hairline, and his face was haughty in a way that suggested one who was used to being listened to when he spoke.

He was also intelligent - Lyra hadn’t known many humans who worked in the circles of government, but most of them, Sato aside, had come across as idiots in nice suits. This man’s eyes, though, burned with keen wit, as though every word spoken, every movement made, was carefully analysed and dissected for anything he could glean from it.

Let him glean, she thought. I’ve got nothing to hide.

“Good afternoon,” she said, as politely as she could (given that she hated offices and desks, that was perhaps a shade less polite than she should have been). “Can I help you at all?”

“I cannot say for sure, Madam Heartstrings,” he responded politely. “But as it stands, I only require a certain measure of background knowledge, on your end.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me - ‘Madam Heartstrings’? I take it you knew my counterpart?”

The man nodded slowly.

“Ambassador Heartstrings was a valuable ally against the Tyrant,” he said accordingly. “I had corresponded with her in the past, mainly regarding the… relations her PHL had with our Government. Her ties with the Crown was the deciding factor behind my support, at the time. Her death was a terrible loss.”

He regarded Lyra with a quizzical look.

“I must say, your uncanny resemblance to her is… rather familiar, and unsettling, in a way.”

“I guess it’d be more so if I didn’t have the cybernetics,” Lyra said dryly. “At least you’re not trying to bow at my hooves. That’s… weird.”

He sighed.

“Of all the ways Ambassador Heartstrings has been remembered, none has baffled me quite as much as this…” He paused momentarily. “...worship, of a sort. No, Madam, I can assure you groveling upon your hooves is not the response I would muster.”

Lyra smiled. “For which, I’m grateful.” She sighed as she checked her desk for something of use. “We can probably have an archivist deliver a summary of key events to your office within the next day, and a more full history… maybe could be collated in a week? It’s all a little fragmentary on our end, I’m sure you understand.”

“I am sincerely grateful for your cooperation, Madam,” the man nodded respectfully. “I only hope the information gathered will suffice for closer relations between our… worlds, as it seems.”

“I can hope so as well, Mr…?” Lyra said, giving him a prompting expression.

“I would prefer if my name is stated off-records, Madam,” he said sternly. “As I have learned in the past, anonymity is the safest route in troubled times, and I can assure you King William has been supportive of my request.”

Lyra nodded, feeling slightly bemused. “Alright. In that case, where am I having the information delivered to? I doubt if you want your name off-records that you’ll give me your forwarding address.”

“My assistant,” he said simply. “She shall be awaiting the delivery, and from there it will be directed towards my office.”

Lyra nodded and made a note. “Alright then, sir, I can definitely have that sent as soon as possible.” She paused, and glanced up at him. “While we’re on the subject of information, however, I was wondering if you might be able to help me in turn.”

“Very well, then,” he replied. “I suppose it’s only fair, in return.”

“Alright,” Lyra said with a slight smile. “I suspect - and stop me if I’ve got the wrong impression here - that you’re the sort of guy who has, shall we say, some influence.”

The man gave a slight nod in response, but nothing else.

“In that case, I was wondering if you could arrange for certain supplies to be transferred,” Lyra said with a slight smile. “I’ve been trying through more regular channels - so has David, er, Brigadier Elliot, but we’ve been stonewalled by red tape.”

“What kind of supplies?” the man asked with a slight frown.

“Mainly circuitry and the tech to build circuitry - gold, wiring, that sort of thing,” Lyra explained. “Oh - and copious amounts of titanium, steel and other metals.”

“I take it you're building something?” the man asked.

“Of a sort,” Lyra replied with a knowing grin. “I suspect you understand the need for discretion.”

The man nodded slowly.

“It can be arranged easily enough,” the man replied shortly, and affirmatively. “Colonel Renee, among others, has been obstructive to some of the more sensitive of my prior dealings, but I can assure you I have enough pull to ensure safe transfer, without prying eyes.”

Lyra smiled. “Sir, I believe I shall come to appreciate working with you.”

Before either of them could say anything else, the door to the office burst open, and the harried looking form of Colonel Munro stormed in, looking troubled.

“Operative, I -” he began, but he stopped short, seeing the suited gentleman. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

“It is quite alright, Colonel Munro,” the man said with a slight, uncanny smirk. “I’m certain you have nothing to say that would be so sensitive that I was not aware of it.”

Lyra glanced from the suited man to Munro, and shrugged. “Go ahead, Colonel.”

“Er… very well,” Munro said, frowning, apparently thinking of how best to put this given the suited man’s presence. “The teams we sent out have gone missing.”

There was a momentary pause, during which the temperature of the room seemed to rapidly drop.

“Sorry, could you say that again?!” Lyra yelled.

Colonel Munro winced - he had always heard about how Lyra was a peacemaker, a mare dedicated to making friends with just about everyone and everypony she could. This Lyra was, to put it bluntly, much more… combative.

“We lost contact with the APCs en route to their destination,” he explained quickly. “We sent teams to investigate, but all they found was one dead BDF trooper, two wrecked APCs, and a host of Newfoal bodies.”

Lyra groaned: this was all she needed. “So you’re telling me they were attacked?”

“Seems plausible,” Munro said quietly. “As of yet, we have no way of knowing what happened to the rest of them, though it’s likely the humans were ponified and the ponies taken prisoner.”

“No,” Lyra said at once. “David couldn’t have been converted, even if the rest of them were.” She frowned, thinking things over. “Were there any other unusual signs present? Any idea of what could have happened?”

“Well, there was a slight imprint on the ground,” Munro said, frowning as he brought the reports out. “But none of our forensic teams could explain it.”

Lyra looked over the reports - sure enough, it was a faint imprint on the ground - square, large… but what could it be?

“If I may?” the suited gentleman asked, holding out a hand. “A third pair of eyes may discover something new.”

Shrugging, Lyra handed him the report. He wasn’t wrong that more eyes could shed light on a problem.

He scrutinised it, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, before he smiled. “The imprint is... familiar, Madam Heartstrings. I believe I have met the, shall we say, person who owns it.”

“Is it a device, though?” Munro asked.

“I am certain of it,” the man firmly said. “A device for travelling, at that. I suspect, wherever your team was going, they are already there.”

Lyra and Munro exchanged glances. Munro’s eyes widened.

“I am a goddamn idiot,” he said. “Of course it’d be him.”

“Him who?” Lyra asked.

“A special attache of mine,” Munro said simply. “He used to do stuff like that all the time.”

Lyra frowned. “Ok - so they’re… at their destination.”

“If I may,” the suited man put in, “a helicopter could get you and a small group of those power-armoured troops of yours to Bastion in the next hour and a half, if you so chose. Conveniently enough, I have a chopper on standby for just such occasions”

Munro looked at the man in surprise, and the suited man chuckled.

“As I said,” he pointed out, “there are few secrets I do not know. You needn’t worry, Colonel Munro. Your secrets, at least, are safe with me.”

With a short bow, he turned to leave, leaving the other two occupants of the room stunned. Lyra shook it off first.

“Right then,” she said quickly, moving from her desk. “I’ve got a chopper to catch. Get Sir Eric and a few of his troops to meet me there.”

“But… if they got there safe, why would you need to go?” Munro asked, following her as she stormed out of the office.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lyra threw over her shoulder as she trotted. “They were attacked but they aren’t dead yet - that means they’re still in danger!”

***

HLF Settlement 'Bastion', Secure Location.

The TARDIS materialised with a slow, methodical groaning that ended in a pronounced thunk, leaving the blue box stood before the walls of Bastion. With a slow creak, the door opened, and the passengers began filing out, one by one. Abboudi and Ducane, Sam Lake and John Constantine, True Grit and Steady Hoof supporting Errant Flight between them, Ze’ev, Mortimer, and finally David Elliot and the Doctor. Elliot tried his best to not feel too downhearted - he was here on a diplomatic mission after all - but he had just left a version of himself to a fate worse than death…

… and been shouted at and cursed by the spitting image of one of his best friends in the world.

He shook his head and concentrated on Bastion itself, a frown on his face as he looked over the entrance to the town.

“This it?” he asked the Doctor.

“Oh, yes,” the man replied with a wry smile. “Only a few hours after your little altercation on the road here, too. I think we made good time.”

There were a combination of wooden palisade walls and a couple of wood and metal towers surrounding the place, giving it the image of one of those old-west forts one used to see in movies. There were also a couple of concrete mixers outside these, men in tank tops and hard-wearing jeans hard at work building what looked to be concrete walls. There were already a few metres of concrete walls in progress, though nothing overly defensible yet.

At the dirt track entrance were two emplacements, both of them packing big turrets that looked surprisingly modern given what Elliot had heard about the HLF. That said, these were soldiers using Armacham tech, according to Munro, so… something must have been going right for them.

“Halt!” an armed man said, approaching them from the town. “Who are -?!”

He paused as he saw the Doctor. “Oh, hey Doc. These guys with you?”

“Yup,” the Doctor said with a small smile. “I believe Brigadier Elliot is expected.”

The soldier looked at Elliot with a frown, then his eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the Avatar, right?”

“That’s right,” Elliot said with a smile of his own. “I’m here to speak to your commander.”

“Old Joe’s inside,” the soldier said. “Come with me. He’ll want to see you right away.”

He immediately turned and headed towards the palisade gate, waving to a couple of the guards as he did so. They waved back, and the gate creaked open. Elliot raised an eyebrow as he followed the soldier, the other members of the team behind him.

Inside the gates, there was a small town. The buildings, such as they were, were simple log cabins, only adding to the image of the old west fortress. Armed men were walking about - dozens of them, in fact - but there were civilians too. Elliot could see women and children running around, looking for all the world like normal kids, even as they ducked and weaved between armoured legs.

“So!” a strident voice called out, and Elliot turned to find himself faced with a grey-haired man striding towards him, armoured and carrying a shotgun. The man looked at Elliot with a stern expression. “You’re the Avatar.”

“That’s correct,” Elliot said quietly. “I’m Brigadier Elliot. And you are…?”

“Joseph Rither, leader of the Reavers,” the man replied. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t have a rank. We’ve no need of them here, anymore. Not enought of us since Montreal.”

Elliot nodded slowly. “Alright. I… I guess I should start by asking why you asked me here.”

Rither nodded slowly. “If you’ll come with me.”

He turned and headed for one of the shacks. With no other option, Elliot followed.

Time to do what he had come for.

***