(And before you even ask: No, not that one.)

***

“Look to your battle gear, and it will protect you.
Servitor, Warhammer 40,000: Ultramarines.

“Last of all, as to one born abnormally, he appeared to me. For I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am…”
Corinthians 15:8-10.

***

BDF Liaison Office, John F. Kennedy Airport, New York. November 23rd, 2023 - 'Spectrum' Earth.

David Elliot absolutely despised paperwork.

He was sat at his temporary office in New York (I have an office in New York now. Jesus), clad in a simple shirt and trousers, his now slightly battered military coat hung over the chair, and despairing at the sheer amount of forms he had to fill in.

One of the handy things about his position in the BDF was that, for the longest time, most of the more dull aspects of military life were essentially gone. Sure, there were still things like rotations, shifts, the occasional requisition form, but mostly it had been more about the actual fighting, especially after he had become the Avatar. Somehow, going through lists of troops, orders, supplies and the like just… wasn’t him. There’d always been someone willing to take it off his hands.

Sometimes, the burden seemed to crush him. And sometimes, it had perks.

This is why I wanted to run a bookshop, not join the bloody army, he thought to himself, smirking slightly. I mean come on - ordering books, minding books and selling books… all sounds much calmer. ‘Elliot’s Bookhaven’ - ah, the dream will never die.

The logistics of these preparations were… troubling. Sure, they had plenty of PHL troops on hand and he’d seen to it that the BDF contingent was large as well - a good few Iron Clads, a bunch of the regular troops… basically, as many forces as could be spared for such a contingent.

And yet…

He’d seen these Newfoals in action. Their tactic - the swarming, the overwhelming numbers backed up by unicorn marksmages or air support - was simplistic, but damn effective. Elliot had to admit: it was the kind of thing one had to be prepared for, or else one would simply die. And worse, it was the kind of thing one couldn’t be prepared for, unless one saw it for one’s self.

Catch 22, he thought grimly. You have to see it to believe it, but you have to believe it to survive seeing it.

“Bit for your thoughts?” Lyra’s voice asked, and he looked up to see her leaning into his office, a wry little smirk on her face.

“Just thinking that we’ll need more people,” he said quietly. “This world’s Tyrant doesn’t do small scale, tactical or clever. She’s got one setting - ‘overwhelming force’.”

“Yay,” Lyra said with a sigh. “Any ideas?”

“Apart from just getting as many troops as we can here as soon as possible?” Elliot asked. “I’ve got one idea, but I can’t even begin to think of how to use it.”

“Well then,” Lyra said, cocking her head slightly in what might have been something similar to a shrug. “Hit me.”

“Well,” Elliot said, “My best idea is that if you can’t guard against overwhelming force, then you redirect it.”

“Alright,” Lyra said, nodding slightly. “I think I see the potential. But how…”

“And there’s the problem,” Elliot sighed. “I get the horrible feeling I’ll have to go to the Council and ask them to send more troops.”

Lyra nodded, her expression grim. “You think they’ll agree?”

“They’ll see the reasoning, maybe, but Anderson’ll probably worry about leaving us defenceless if Solamina makes a move,” Elliot said quietly. “And to be honest, I can see why he would. I’d hate to take everything and leave no one guarding the home front.”

“I know what you mean,” Lyra said. “but these guys are our allies. If we can’t help with everything we’ve got…”

“Why should they help us?” Elliot finished, smiling. “Took the words right out of my mouth, Lyra.”

She smiled at that. “Technically, you took the words out of mine.”

“Technically,” Elliot chuckled.

There was a pause as both of them let the laughter die off, and the seriousness of their situation (and, indeed, their lives reasserted itself).

“So,” he said, sighing. “I’d hate to leave you with all the paperwork -”

“Again.”

“Again,” he smiled sheepishly. “But the sooner I go the sooner I can be back.”

“Alright,” she said quietly, nodding once. “Just come back soon. I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen if you don’t get back here before they do. God only knows what those bastards are going to drop on us next.”

Elliot nodded, before standing up and heading out of the room. Lyra closed her eyes for a moment, sending a quick prayer to Epona or whoever else was listening that he would be safe.

***

Unspecified Location, ‘Spectrum’ Earth.

They say that idle hands are the devil’s workshop. Whether the same could be said for hooves is a different question, but the general consensus was that the two were interchangeable.

Vinyl Scratch didn't know why that phrase had come to mind.

“Lieutenant Scratch,” one of the shadowy men said. It looked as if they’d been… ‘scrambled,’ somehow. Vinyl couldn’t term it any better than that. There was something like an inverted Want-It-Need-It spell surrounding them, though it was weak enough Vinyl could discern that facial features existed. It was just as if her mind kept imperceptibly sliding whenever she tried to understand them. “Apologies for bringing you here in quite such a melodramatic manner.”

“It's fine,” Vinyl replied. “Your clearance was clearly high enough to get me sent here.”

“Quite,” another shadowy figure said. “We have a mission for you, Lieutenant.”

Vinyl stiffened. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

“You're being assigned to an upcoming group of PHL and UN personnel being dispatched to the ‘Avatar’ Earth,” the first man said. “There, you are simply to take note of everything you encounter and report back to us when you return.”

Vinyl nodded. “If I may, sir, is there any reason I’d be doing this?”

“Forward thinking, Lieutenant,” the man said shortly.

“You are to make particular enquiries about the Avatar, on an informal basis,” the second man said. “We need to know more about him and his abilities.”

Vinyl frowned. “Sir? Any…”

“Our reasons are classified, Lieutenant,” the second man said quietly. “Just do as you're ordered.”

Vinyl nodded. “Yes sir.”

Should this worry me? she thought.

***

Main Hangar, John F. Kennedy Airport, New York. November 23rd, 2023 - 'Spectrum' Earth.

The Doctor - Doctor Bowman, that is - was speaking with Colonel Munro when Elliot found him.

“No, no, this still doesn’t count,” the red-headed man was saying. He paused to look at Elliot. “Ah, hello!”

“What doesn’t count?” Elliot asked, frowning slightly. He could have sworn the Doctor’s hair had been longer yesterday.

“Oh, the good Colonel had a concern about some multiversal issue,” the Doctor said with a shrug. “Honestly, they shouldn’t worry about it so much in my opinion. It’s going to give someone a hernia. Stars know Hex had one.”

“Or several,” Munro said quietly. “Guess we’ll never know now.”

He looked at Elliot and nodded. “Brigadier Elliot. Thanks again for helping my associates out.”

“Not to worry,” Elliot said with a smile. “It was my pleasure.”

“I’m sorry about Sergeant Elliot,” Munro said quietly. “If it’s any consolation to you, he was a good man. I trusted him a great deal.”

“If it’s any consolation to you,” Elliot said quietly, “I think he would have been proud to give his life in service.”

“Just a pity he’s not dead yet,” Munro said grimly. “It troubles me that these new Anomalous Newfoals are roaming about. We’ve had a lot of trouble with those things in the past.”

Elliot frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

Munro looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Okay. I think you’ve picked up on this, but the Solar Empire is… quantity. Above all else. ‘Where one is weak, a herd has strength in numbers.’ At least, that’s what some propaganda said. And that applies to the Potion.”

“Okay,” Elliot said, nodding slightly. Munro was clearly leading up to something.

“Some of us wondered - why do you need Bureaus if you can just get Converted, anywhere?” Munro asked. “The answer seems to be, the Bureaus are meant to be magically sterile environments. So, something about our Earth, the stray magic floating around in battles, or just regular Earth bacteria - we don’t know, nobody’s in a mood to analyze this - makes Newfoals not quite come out as mindless little zombie-dolls. Sometimes, they’re just deformed, unable to function, or actually thank us when we kill them.”

Elliot shuddered a little. “Christ.”

“Those don’t tend to last long, fortunately,” Munro said. “The ones that do last are the ones we should worry about. They can be smart. I don’t mean ‘mistaken for functional people’ like your Convies, I mean that their IQ can be seemingly immeasurable, like… like Imperial Creed. Or sometimes, they come with… with abilities… Freakishly powerful ones at that.”

“Wait,” Elliot said. “So. I just need to get this straight. Sometimes, your newfoals come out either half-baked, or just… well...”

“The bakery analogy doesn’t really work at this point, does it?” Bowman asked. “Maybe, it’s more like a place that mass-produces unremarkable cookies suddenly and inexplicably makes the perfect cookie.”

“That’s a good way to put it,” Munro said, nodding.

“So then,” Elliot said, “If a newfoal comes out…”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to use Bowman’s simile.

“...like that, then what happens?” Elliot asked. “Are they all like Caliburn? She was a challenge, but...”

“Well, here’s the thing: There is no baseline for anomalous newfoals. All we know is that they’re inevitably terrifying. We have one recorded newfoal that could raise the dead,” Munro said. “Kraber killed it. There was Imperial Creed, who was… I suppose you’d call him a tactical savant. And apparently, one that could switch back to human form at will… no idea what happened to that one. There were a few more involved in an incident in Vermont - again, Kraber was there, and beat one to death with a sledgehammer …”

“He seems to get everywhere,” the Doctor commented.

“And then there's rumors of six of them in a group up in Canada,” Munro continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, “which hasn’t happened since we imprisoned Shieldwall-”

“I don’t know who that is,” Elliot said.

“Sorry,” Munro said. “I get caught up in this sometimes. Shieldwall was a PER potion-expert who somehow figured out how to create anomalous newfoals, among other things. Field reports say he’d deliberately screw with the potioning process to see what came out.”

“And,” Elliot said. “You had a pony who would deliberately screw with the process.’

“He’d create monsters,” Munro said, shivering. “Whatever this Caliburn newfoal is, we need it out of the way. And fast.”

“We certainly haven’t seen the last of her,” Elliot said.

“Or this ‘Morgause’, either,” Munro added. He sighed. “In any case, thanks again. And thanks for your time, Bowman - Doctor.”

He nodded to them both, and walked off in the opposite direction. The Doctor sighed.

“Hard to believe I invite that man to my wake,” he said with a bemused expression.

“Your what now?” Elliot asked.

The Doctor waved a hand. “Long story, David. It's good to see you.”

“And you,” Elliot replied. “You cut your hair?”

“Oh, I’ve been pottering around,” the Doctor said, waving a hand. “I’ve actually spent some time on the other Equus, chatted with my learned counterparts about things. Nothing major.” He clapped, smiling. “So - what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could take me back to my world,” Elliot asked quietly. “I need to speak with the Council about getting more troops here.”

The Doctor nodded once. “I know Doctor Whooves on this world is acting something as a taxi service, but he doesn’t have access to your world via a quantum signature lock yet - or at least I don’t think he’s gotten around to doing it yet. I’ll have a word with Cheerilee - that is, Lieutenant Colonel Cheerilee - and see if she wants anyone or anypony else to go over to your world while we’re at it.”

“Good idea,” Elliot said with a nod. “Don’t be too long though. I get the feeling we’re going to need those troops sooner rather than later.”

“No doubt,” the Doctor said grimly. “Still -”

“Dave!” a familiar voice called, interrupting the Doctor.

The Doctor blinked in surprise, and Elliot turned and smiled.

“Speak of the devil,” he said. “Hello, John.”

His mane ruffled and his tie even looser than normal, Hell Blazer looked - for once - less than irritated. More like… excited?

“Dave, I need your permission for like - a day’s leave,” he said, speaking quickly.

“A - say what now?” Elliot said, frowning. “Leave? How come?”

“I've had a b-b-fucking legendary idea,” Hell Blazer replied. “I just need to find a guy, then summon another guy. No bigger, really, but I need time off to do it.”

Elliot paused for a moment, and then chuckled. John Constantine, pony or human, would never change.

“I'm leaving Lyra in charge for a day or so while I’m seeing to stuff back home,” he told the Converted. “Ask her, tell her I said yes.”

Hell Blazer nodded. “Cheers, mate. Promise ya, you'll love this.”

He trotted off, leaving Elliot alone with the Doctor.

“I'd better get going,” the redhead said. “The sooner you have those troops here, the better. I remember how tenacious the Solaminan Empire was, and believe me, what it lacks in finesse the Solar Empire makes up for in sheer doggedness. We’ll have a hard time, no question.”

Elliot sighed. “You know, I was afraid of that. Still, I've got faith in my people.”

***

Cheerilee’s office. John F. Kennedy Airport, New York.

Lieutenant Colonel Cheerilee, as it happened, had a few names she wanted on the list of people to go over to Elliot’s Earth.

“I know Vinyl Scratch put in a request as soon as the option became available,” she said quietly. “And Moondancer and Princess Cadance have both put petitions to visit the other Earth too - something about wanting to meet ponies over there.”

“Anyone else, while we’re at it?” the Doctor asked.

“There’s a few officials who might want the chance to go over, strengthen diplomatic ties,” Cheerilee said thoughtfully. “Think I’ll send Richter and White, though.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows went up. “What, Paul ‘half the drinks cabinet by midday’ Richter and ‘come on’ Eileen White?”

“What?” Cheerilee asked. “Richter expressed interest in going over to the other Earth for diplomatic purposes, and he’s highly qualified. And he always has White with him. God knows why.”

The Doctor sighed. “Fine, just tell him to bring his own booze. That Earth won’t be able to sustain his alcoholism - God knows it barely sustains anyone else’s - and Gods save us if he ever tries Ol’ Trotspur.”

“Old what now?”

“Ol’ Trotspur,” the Doctor repeated. “You have to pronounce the apostrophe or the magic property of the beer doesn't work.”

Cheerilee sighed and shook her head. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask.” She looked at her list. “Also, I’m having First Lieutenant Winston’s group assigned to go to that world to accompany BDF forces in action.”

The Doctor frowned slightly. “Winston… not sure I’m familiar.”

“R&D weapon tester, him and his whole team,” Cheerilee replied. “I had them on active duty at Boston - their group supported Kraber’s during the fighting.”

The Doctor nodded. “Any particular reason they're going?”

“Intel purposes,” Cheerilee replied. “I need more info on the Solaminan Empire. Sending troops to recon, engage and generally see the situation first hand is my first step to achieving that. Plus it's a nice tacit show of support without committing a full force.”

“A fair point,” the Doctor said.

“Glad you agree, Bowman,” Cheerilee said irritably, “since they'd have been going whether you did or not. I’ll have the entire group going to Elliot’s world meet you in room 72b. Know which one that is?”

“Eeyup,” the Doctor grinned. “Don’t look so stressed, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Why not?” Cheerilee asked irritably. “I’m worrying about an incoming attack, two Tyrants, my partner being in another dimension - and God only knows what’s happening to him - and now I’m sending some of our best people off to another other dimension that I’ve never seen and I’ve only the word of people from that dimension that it’s even safe. You’ll forgive me if I’m a little stressed.”

The Doctor shrugged. “These things will be true whether you’re stressed or not, and being not stressed guarantees less heart attacks. Besides, have a little faith. Things might be finally looking up for both your worlds.”

“You’ll forgive me if my enthusiasm is curbed, Doctor Bowman,” Cheerilee muttered as the Doctor walked out of the room.

***

Canterlot Labs, ‘Tyrant’ Equus.

Queen Celestia gazed at the hulking mass in the stasis tube with a neutral expression. The thing was vaguely pony shaped, but had no discernible features, save for visible veins at certain intervals.

“It doesn’t look that impressive,” she said after a moment. “When I asked for a weapon to end all resistance at Boston entirely, one… deformed Newfoal wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Twilight Sparkle winced slightly at her mistresses less-than-enthusiastic response to the creature she had made for her.

“I'm here to create harmony,” Queen Celestia said. “I despise creatures such as these. They're not perfect newfoals. Individualistic, unreliable, and… sometimes taking their own initiative. It's simply too chaotic and human to be relied upon.”

“And yet,” Twilight said, withering slightly under Queen Celestia’s glare.

“Yes?” Celestia asked.

“It's just… anomalous newfoals have inordinately high success rates,” Twilight said, “and we have enough newfoals that the protocols should be well in place. Shieldwall’s work held promise, but-”

“Shieldwall was a fool who thought he knew my will. Perhaps he would have received a second chance, had he lived,” Celestia said.

“Actually, he's still alive,” Twilight said.

“Variable definitions - In his current state, he's as good as dead to me,” Celestia said coldly. “In any case. Can you assure me that this thing will succeed?”

“I assure you, your majesty,” she said quietly. “The creature in this glass container is a bioweapon the likes of which the humans have only heard about in their horror stories.”

Celestia glanced down at Twilight with a raised eyebrow. “You are certain?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the purple mare said with a bow. “I promise you, this creature will rain terror upon the humans and their corrupt allies. I dare say it will even kill that Avatar…”

She trailed off at Celestia’s unimpressed expression.

“I tried to kill that thing in battle,” Celestia said quietly. “I tried to have it killed by one of my top agents via dream-manipulation. I let you have autonomy in creating new Newfoal types - which I note have still not reported back…”

“I… am trying to ascertain Morgause’s present location, my lady,” Twilight said.

“All this we have done,” Celestia continued, as though Twilight had not spoken. “And yet so far, the human creature still seems to be alive. Forgive me, dear Twilight, if your proficiency in this matter is not entirely apparent to me at this present moment.”

Twilight gulped. “Your majesty, this thing is unlike anything we have previously encountered, but it is still only one human. Surely…”

“Surely, nothing,” Celestia cut her off. “I am done with taking things for granted, done with letting the ineptitude of others ruin my plans and threaten our work.” She took a breath. “I have reconsidered my plan of attack further.”

“Further?” Twilight asked. “My lady, we have already altered our initial plans to include the storm-front cover and hold back significant forces as reserves -”

“Do you question me, Twilight?” Celestia snapped.

“N-no, your majesty,” Twilight stammered.

“Good,” Celestia said with narrowed eyes. “You can still be… replaced. Or convinced otherwise.”

Twilight swallowed nervously, her eyes widening in fear.

Celestia smirked. “I will not be joining our forces upon the field in this battle.”

Twilight nodded. “I… I thought that was to be your final triumph - personally appearing to break their resolve.”

“It is imprudent, given the current circumstances,” Celestia replied, frowning at Twilight’s question. “Instead, I will commission another mirror clone and send it in my place. It may not prove able to overcome the forces they send, but it will not be a trifle.”

“Very… very good, your majesty,” Twilight bowed. “Though it is only a pale reflection of your might, it -”

“Furthermore,” Celestia added, cutting her off. “I will not be visiting the mirror pool alone.”

Twilight blinked, looking up. “Your majesty?”

Celestia grinned viciously. “Twilight - have the 19th and 20th Newfoal Militia, together with a contingent of Rainbow’s Wonderbolts, join me in the Everfree. It is time, I think, to make full use of the magic our realm truly possesses.”

“But…” Twilight said. “The pool erodes so many things, eventually. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“It is a queen’s duty to serve her people,” Celestia said imperiously. “And the clone served admirably.” She smirked. “Besides, can you imagine their distress if more than one of me attacks?”

***

A bar in Boston, ‘Spectrum’ Earth.

“To Dave!” Sam Lake said, holding up his glass. “Best damn friend a guy could f’ckin’ ask for.”

Sam’s voice was slurred, and all of his friends could tell he was utterly intoxicated, but it didn't matter. They were intoxicated too. Losing a good friend tended to do that to you. John Constantine knew that better than most. Most of the people he had been known to call his ‘friends’ had died off in various unpleasant or downright gruesome ways over the years.

“Damn,” he heard Sam mutter as he leaned over the bar. “God… fucking… damn.”

Their little group - True Grit, Steady Hoof, Errant Flight, John and Sam - had been joined, this time, by a few people they'd known over the years. One was Angus Reid, a ex-HLF Scotsman who had joined the PHL after speaking with the group on Christmas, last year. There were also a couple of Reavers with them: Erin Hansen, the young tattoo artist, was sitting near Sam, leaning her head on his shoulder, and with her were a few other people - one was a man named Peter McReady, who seemed permanently on edge. Another was a blonde woman who seemed permanently sad, her long hair tied back in a bun. She'd said her name was ‘Yarrow’. Finally, at the edge of the group, sat the Reavers’ John Idle, his favourite sniper rifle (an ancient Mauser) slung over his shoulder still.

“Yarrow, as in Maxi Yarrow?” Reid asked.

“Yeah,” the woman had said quietly. “My Dad.”

“Huh,” Reid said with a nod. “So, you weren't… y’know, with his group?”

“No,” she said. “I was PHL, actually.”

This had surprised Reid. “You left?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Don't want to talk about it.”

Reid had looked as though he wanted to press the matter, but hadn't. Personally, John thought that was a very wise move - any woman who was the daughter of Maximilian Yarrow and had been in the PHL was likely in possession of enough proverbial balls to kick his arse twice over if he happened to say the wrong thing.

“And you?” Reid asked McReady.

“I was one of Yarrow’s men,” the man said stiffly.

Reid narrowed his eyes. “HLF?”

McReady sighed. “Don't start.”

“You're ex-HLF now, right?” Reid asked, throwing a look at Sam, who was still drinking, Erin still leaning against him. “You and - and that one?”

“No ‘ex’ here, thank you,” Erin said, giving Reid the finger.

“The fuck are you doing in Boston, then?” Reid asked. “You HLF bastards should be locked the fuck u-”

And in a flash, John Idle had moved, standing up and grabbing Reid by the shirt in one smooth motion.

“First,” he said, his voice deadly calm, “we're drinking. You wanna start shit, I’ll be happy to lug your sorry little Scots arse outside, but not in my favourite fuckin’ bar in Boston.”

“Let go of me you fuckin’ prick!” Reid swore. He struggled, but Idle’s grip was strong and the man was tougher than he appeared.

“Second,” Idle continued, as though Reid wasn't even speaking. “You were with Taskforce Paris on the Purity when Maxi told the lot of you that the HLF needed to prioritise. But you, like most of the rest of your pricks, decided to keep doin’ what you were doin’. You could have left then, but you didn't. You could have seen the sense in not fucking with the PHL then, but you didn't. Took Vikki Kraber making a fancy speech for you to realise that you'd fucked up. Christ, how screwed up do you have to be for that bastard to have more of a conscience in his head?”

Reid struggled a little more.

“And finally,” Idle continued, “Maxi Yarrow was the best fucking man in the HLF. He fought his damndest for all of you, and all you lot did was spit in his face and pretend he didn't exist, even after you left the HLF to join the PHL. So if you wanna talk ‘all yammer and no hammer’, Angus, you speak for your fuckin’ self, but you don't dare speak for the Reavers, don't you dare speak for the people sitting here, and don't you dare ruin drinking time.”

He let Reid go, and the Scottish man blinked, before straightening.

“Why the fuck did you keep the HLF name, then, huh?” he asked. “The HLF is -”

“Who the fuck decided arseholes like Janvier, Lovikov and Galt spoke for the rest of us?” McReady asked. “Huh? Who the fuck asked the rest of the fucking HLF what we thought of those pricks? No one. You just decided to lump us all together without bothering to ask. Why the fuck did they get to define the HLF, and not - I dunno, Kevin?”

“Sit the fuck down, you lot,” Sam cut in, waving a hand. “That shit’s over now. The Reavers are doing… whatever the fuck they're doing now with those sods from that other Earth, and Dave’s still dead.”

“And I’m drinking with HLF,” Reid muttered. “Christ, I thought I was away from you bastards.”

“Yup,” True Grit said, speaking up for the first time in a while, his expression equally as morose as Sam’s. “Cheer up, though, Angie. If they knock you out for mouthing off, me and Steady Hoof’ll carry you home.”

“You're a real comfort,” Reid said shortly.

John Constantine had simply sat and listened to the exchange without comment. Reid was… well, he had issues with the HLF. Time was, John would have agreed. But John was old now. He didn't look it, to his own eternal bemusement, but he was definitely the wrong side of forty. He'd been born long before any of these idiots (except maybe Idle, because God knew how old that prick was). Besides, John and his friends had fought alongside the Reavers, in the day. Took all sorts.

“Here, mate,” a familiar voice asked John. He turned, and blinked.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” he said tonelessly.

He was looking at a yellow Earth Pony, smoking a cigarette with a vaguely irritated expression on his face. He was wearing a pony-sized shirt and tie, and had an oversized - very familiar - trenchcoat on over this.

“How goes it,” the pony asked, taking a drag from his cig.

“You’re fucking joking,” John replied, blinking. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“Nope,” the pony said with a sigh. “Trust me, mate, I wish I b-fucking was. I happened to like my hair back in the day.”

“You're…” John began, motioning at the pony.

“A pastel pissin’ pony,” the pony said with a humourless smile. “Well done, ten out of ten for b-b-fuckin’ observation, dickwad.”

John sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”

The pony grinned, before holding up one hoof. “I've come to teach you the ultimate secret of magic.”

John snorted. “Which is what?”

A flash of fire appeared in the pony’s hoof, and John blinked.

“Any cunt could do it.”

***

Outside Doctor Bowman’s TARDIS, PHL HQ, New York.

Elliot was waiting patiently as the various PHL reps coming to his world arrived at the TARDIS. First came Vinyl Scratch, Moondancer and Cadance, all of whom seemed rather familiar with travel by TARDIS. Vinyl was short and to the point, entering the TARDIS quickly. The other two, however, stayed a moment to talk with Elliot.

“Seeing another world should be quite the experience,” Moondancer said to him with a smile.

“Agreed,” Cadance added. “Thank you for giving us the opportunity, Brigadier Elliot.”

“I’m just a messenger boy, ladies,” Elliot said with a slight bow. “Other people get to do the heavy lifting.”

“‘Heavy lifting’,” Moondancer chuckled. “That's an interesting metaphor.”

Elliot shrugged. “An accurate one, I’d say. I'm not the driver.”

“Whether you're the one doing the heavy lifting or not,” Cadance said with a small smile, “you're the facilitator of this particular little miracle of… high technology?”

“Whatever one calls these ‘TARDIS’s’,” Moondancer said with a shrug. “Or should the plural of that be TARDES? Regardless, there is that old phrase about ‘any sufficiently advanced technology’...”

“Quite,” Cadance said with a smile. “In any case, Brigadier Elliot, I'm hoping to learn a lot from your world: a whole new history, and whole new ponies to speak to about it.”

“We can definitely provide that, your highness,” Elliot smiled.

The diplomatic crew arrived next, if you could call one slightly dishevelled looking man with stubble and a surly looking woman in combat fatigues ‘a crew’.

“Paul Richter,” the man introduced himself. “This is Eileen White, my bodyguard. I'll be liaising with your government in the days to come.”

Elliot shook the man’s hand, noting a surprisingly firm grip. “Good to meet you, Mr Richter.”

“Likewise,” Richter said with a smile. “Come on, Eileen.”

The woman grumbled something under her breath as the two entered the TARDIS. Elliot chuckled - they sounded like quite a pair. It would be interesting to see what they managed to accomplish on his Earth.

Behind the two-person diplomatic team came a group of human and pony soldiers Elliot was quite familiar with. He smiled as they approached.

“First Lieutenant Winston,” he said warmly. “Good to see you've managed to stay alive.”

“Eh, would’ve been better if I had gotten to finish my meet with that Applejack horse,” the First Lieutenant said, still sporting some bruises it seems. He looked Elliot over, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Speakin’ of alive, I thought you got potioned at some point.”

Elliot’s expression fell somewhat. “Wasn't me - it was my counterpart, the one from your world.”

“Ah, so that’s why Kraber stole my shine,” Winston drawled, motioning to the rest of his unit. “I’m sure you remember everyone else.”

“Of course I do,” Elliot responded, nodding to the group. However, he then noticed an odd figure out - they seemed to be wearing some kind of full body suit. “Winston, who’s that?”

“That’d be Bea, my Sergeant Major,” Winston answered. “She’s able to join us this time around seeing how she was healed up enough for it.”

Elliot nodded. “Good to meet you, Sergeant Major.”

Said Sergeant Major looked at him silently, the only noise being the sound of her breathing through the mask’s ventilation.

“Don’t mind her,” Carmichael spoke up, “she hasn’t said a word for a while. I think she’s still getting used to the fact that you really are from some other Earth.”

“Yeah, well maybe she just don’t feel like talkin’,” Winston said coldly, eyeing his subordinate who fell silent. He turned back to Elliot. “So, any real important details you wanna share with us Elliot?”

Elliot shrugged. “Your presence was requested by your superiors, not mine. My guess is someone will have instructions for you upon your arrival.”

Winston snorted. “And here I thought you liked us.”

Elliot chuckled. “I do. Unfortunately, even an Avatar of Albion has a boss.”

“Don’t we all?” Sharp Horn muttered

“Mr Elliot,” Air Blitz spoke up, “are we really going to your world?”

“Yup,” Elliot replied. “Seems that way.”

“Shouldn’t doing this be a lot more difficult?” Steel Forge wondered.

“What d’you mean Forge?” Jenston asked the Earth Pony mare, who shrugged slightly.

“We’re going from your Earth to his Earth, I thought doing something like this would be really complicated and have a bunch of eggheads running around with some big and fancy device,” she said. “I mean, I know that the Doc’s box can go from Equestria to our Earth but this one’s able to just… jump from one world to another.”

“What’s your point?” Snart asked.

“I’m just sayin’, this seems too easy,” Steel Forge said simply. “I’m half expecting that there’s supposed to be some catch like with how the potion was.”

“No catch here,” a cheerful voice said, as Doctor Bowman popped his head out of the TARDIS door. “It's a little bit of a cheat, but I don't expect many people are counting.”

“Who though?” Steel Forged asked. “Who would be counting?”

The Doctor shrugged. “You'd be very surprised: there's always something watching, even if you don't think there is.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence that dragged on from that.

“Elliot, your friend is kinda weird,” Winston said bluntly.

“His friend is also still present,” the Doctor winked. “Anyway - all aboard, next stop Scotland, all kilts on deck, no underpants allowed on pain of forced Haggis ingestion.”

He walked back into the TARDIS, and Elliot sighed.

“You're right,” he told Winston.

“Never a good thing,” the First Lieutenant responded, before walking into the box. The rest of his unit followed in after him, except for the Sergeant Major and Elliot.

“...Who are you?” Bea suddenly asked, though it was slightly muffled by the gas mask.

Elliot laughed. “David Elliot, Brigadier, British Defence Force. Nobody that special.”

Bea stood silently, before lifting up and removing her mask. To Elliot’s surprise, the face under seemed no older than eighteen despite the hardened expression and the fact it was partially burned. One eye even seemed possibly blind.

“Then I suppose you should be careful Brigadier,” she said cooly, “nobodies don’t tend to last, unless they manage to become a somebody.”

Elliot shrugged. “I've lasted long enough.”

He turned and walked into the TARDIS, leaving Bea to follow. The Doctor was at his console, inputting commands.

“Ready for a trip?” he asked.

“Yep,” Elliot smiled. “It'll be good to be home.”

“I’m sure it will be,” the Doctor said. “Actually, there might be something I can show you that you'll find interesting.”

“Oh?” Elliot asked.

“Yup,” the Doctor said with a wink. “Show you when we get there.”

***

Doctor Bowman’s TARDIS, No Time.

This TARDIS was smaller than Doctor Whooves’, darker and more homely, a warm light glowing from the centre of the console and the lights above their heads. The man himself was sitting in a chair, occasionally glancing up from a tablet he was holding while sipping a Diet Coke.

Vinyl was looking up at the dark ceiling with a frown beneath her glasses, wondering just what the hell she’d gotten herself involved with.

“A bitty for your thoughts, Vinyl?”

Vinyl turned, to see Moondancer smiling at her.

“Dunno, where should I start?” Vinyl asked. “Even for a week in the PHL, these last few days have been batshit, and I say that working for a place that has official protocol for dealing with zombies!”

“It happened twice,” Moondancer reminded her. “I think that’s enough for us to have emergency protocol.”

“Anyway, magic man appears. Magic man kills clone of Queen Bitch with literal Excalibur. Magic man reveals that he’s from our world’s bad ending, more or less, regrows woman’s arm on live television. Magic man’s friends send us the Brotherhood of Steel, mages, and a live-and-bucking Lyra, complete with cybernetics, which drives the cults insane.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And now we’re going to that world. Would ‘shit be wack, yo’ cover this?”

“More like this is stuff such as you can barely dream of,” Moondancer commented. “But then, what has, since the world of Equus first met Earth… or should that be the other way around?”

“Hell, I don’t think the best drugs I ever tried could gimme a trip this wild,” Vinyl snorted. “Tell me straight, ‘Dancer. How in the name of Faust’s spare stockings are you not shitting bricks right now?”

“I could give you an elaborate, well-reasoned response,” Moondancer replied. “But the simple truth is, when you’ve grown up together with Lyra Heartstrings, you learn to expected the unexpected.”

“I never really got that saying,” Vinyl said. “I mean, if it’s unexpected, how are you really meant to expect it in the first place?”

“That’s the part where you learn to stop thinking of time as a straight line,” Moondancer explained sagely, “and accept that what happened will happen, and so on and so forth.” She patted the wall of the ship fondly. “Look where we are, the best place to be talking about such things.”

“First one to say ‘wibbly wobbley, timey wimey’,” the red-headed Doctor commented from his chair, “gets to sit in the naughty corner and think about what they’ve done. It’s just so overexposed at this point!”

“Funny,” Moondancer told Vinyl under her breath, “I think the Headmaster of Celestia’s School said the same thing to me, once. See what I mean about causality, or cause and effect?”

“Still, gotta wonder,” Vinyl said quietly. “Another Tyrant. What the hell, y’know? Though at least ours didn’t go for the stupid name.” She snorted. “What the hell is ‘Solamina’ supposed to mean, anyway? It sounds like something you get from Google Translate.”

Moondancer shrugged. “Perhaps it’s be taken as a sign this unknown Celestia, at heart, does not quite believe that she is the real Celestia.”

“It’s Adamantine tradition, older than her,” the red-headed Doctor put in. “Change of name signalling change of direction in one’s guiding principle as a ruler.”

“I… have absolutely no idea what ‘Adamantine Tradition’ is,” Vinyl said.

“She was born eleven millennia ago to the heir of the Adamantine dynasty, a Unicorn noble house,” the Doctor clarified. “Which you’ve also never heard of. One thing you’ll both learn fast - that world is very unlike your own.”

For some reason, these remarks got Moondancer to look ponderous.

“You ok?” Vinyl asked her.

“Yes… I suppose,” Moondancer assured her in turn, looking away from the console she’d been staring at. “Scholar, remember. This is, ultimately, an inordinate amount of information to absorb in one sitting.”

“Does make you wonder how different we all are,” Vinyl said quietly. “I mean… the Queen Bitch isn’t that old - hell, eleven millennia is ancient compared to other things from our world. Maybe we’re both guys or something. Or maybe Aegis has a bad goatee. Or maybe he’s not as big.”

“Or there’s a world where we assume human shape,” Moondancer pointed out. “Though I almost hope that isn’t the case. Down that path leads all kind of new madness and complication. Can we change the subject, please?”

“Sure,” Vinyl said, smiling. “So - what are you lookin’ forward to?”

Moondancer sat herself down on the floor by the wall. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s sometimes hard for me to tell whether we’ve idealized the Equestria from before the war, or, conversely, forgotten what was truly good about it. It isn’t as if we were lacking for potentially world-shattering threats back then, either, and I guess something had to give, eventually.” She paused for thought. “But I’m probably just happy to know there’s a world where so many of us who died are still alive…”

“You mean like their Lyra,” Vinyl stated, rather than asked.

“Amongst others,” Moondancer acknowledged. “That’s the personal aspect. What would I be to this Lyra? She’d know nothing about me. Just some familiar-looking stranger who’s been through hell and shouldn’t be bringing that to her doorstep. Have you thought about what it’d be, to see Octavia again? Or, meeting yourself?”

“Yes and yes,” Vinyl admitted immediately. She paused. “And it will be… fucking weird. Like… like the uncanny valley, times fifty. Hell, even seeing that other Lyra was weird…” She paused. “It was a constant effort not to hug her, lay myself at her forehooves, or start sobbing. Haven’t even spoken to her, yet. Goodness knows what she must be feeling.”

Moondancer laughed softly. “‘Lay myself at her forehooves’? I do still feel surprise, at times, that you of all ponies would eagerly embrace the myth of the Golden Lyre.”

“It’s not a myth, though,” Vinyl said softly. “Whatever the exaggerations, there’d be no PHL without Lyra. There might not even be any of us, still alive without her. Then what would we have? Different HLF factions trying to kill each other, no magic weapons, nothing. She saved us all, didn’t she? That’s pretty much the definition of ‘messiah’.”

“You raise a good argument,” Moondancer conceded. “Messiah… I spent my first few months on Earth in Israel, you know. Unlike the Christians, the Jews are not awaiting the Second Coming but the act of arrival itself for their Savior, which, to be honest, knowing the state of Earth for centuries, strikes me as a more plausible expectation.” She let that sink in. “But when I moved to America, what caught my attention were the stories they’ve built around the Antichrist, a figure, I should clarify, who appears nowhere in either Biblical Testaments; completely the invention from a latter date. And I’ve wondered, many times. Would the Messiah’s antithesis know they’re the enemy of Messiah… or truly believe themselves to be the Savior?”

“I’m still hung up on the idea of there being an anti-Lyra,” Vinyl said. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. There’ve been plenty of candidates.”

“Vinyl…” Moondancer said, not quite sighing.

“To answer your question? Honestly, I think the answer might not be either,” Vinyl said. “Nobody really says they’re evil as they do bad things, and I don’t think they’d say they’re the savior either. As somepony who’s seen many a questionable PHL decision, we don’t say it’s totally good. We just say it’s ‘necessary,’ whatever that means.”

“Speaking from a cosmic perspective,” the Doctor interjected once more, “the greatest evils are committed from a position of wanting to do good, one way or another. Anyone who consciously wants to do harm likely will not have the mindset for long-term planning. Some of the servants of both Queen Celestia and Astra Solamina Maxima -”

“Is that her full name?” Vinyl asked. “Fuckin’ weird.”

“- believe they are acting in the service of a greater good,” the Doctor finished. “And watch your language in here. I’ve turned the swear filters off, but I can rescind that privilege.”

“How do you know so much about Sola-wiener, anyway?” Vinyl asked.

“Because I was there when her Empire fell, in another life,” the Doctor replied. “Different universe, of course. But I saw some of the things she’s done.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “You think you know evil, but she could still surprise you, Ms Scratch.”

Vinyl snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m tempted to ask,” Moondancer said. “But why compound our troubles? You’ve confirmed that this Solamina can be defeated, Doctor. How long until we arrive?”

The Doctor sighed and stood up, pressing a switch and looking up at the scanner. “Barring catastrophic navigational spack-up or worm-sign the likes of which even God has never seen, we should be there… soon?” He sighed. “I should probably go warn Cadance not to expect the warmest welcome.”

“Poor Cadance,” Moondancer said sadly. “Sometimes, I feel like she’ll never forgive herself simply for being here, when her husband is not.”

“Well at least he's not -” the Doctor began, but he cut himself off as David Elliot walked past.

“I think we’re all happier if you don’t finish that sentence,” Vinyl whispered.

“What sentence?” Elliot asked, glancing among the passengers, a slight frown on his face.

“We were… discussing some individuals who've had different fortunes in different worlds,” the Doctor said tactfully. “Best, perhaps, not to mention those fates to certain other individuals.”

Elliot blinked, and then nodded slowly. “Gotcha. Just wanted to check if we were nearly there.”

“Just told these ladies that it should be ‘soon’,” the Doctor assured him.

“Whatever ‘soon’ means in wibbly wobbley, timey wimey speak,” Vinyl snorted.

The Doctor gave her a look. “Naughty corner.”

“You're joking.”

“No.” He pointed to a corner. “Naughty corner. Mush.”

“Why does the TARDIS even have a naughty corner?” Vinyl grumbled.

“It was installed for when Colonel Hex came to visit,” the Doctor replied with a snort. “Usually he'd sit there with a dunce’s cap until he shut up about making me craft guns or meddling in playing with fire.”

Moondancer actually had to suppress a grin at the ridiculous exchange. “Did he really-”

“It sounds funny until the moment you have a PHL colonel on his bended knee, practically begging for information on forces beyond the understanding of most sentient life,” the Doctor sighed. “‘Oh look at me, I’m Colonel Hex, and I want to save us from an evil Empire, so I’ll ask anything for help! Hello, Mr. Devil, do you have 50% off?’ Half surprised he never asked Cthulhu.”

“‘Forces beyond the -’” Elliot began, before cutting himself off. “I don't want to know.”

“No, you don't,” the Doctor replied. “Honestly, Cthulhu isn't even that scary in person. Plays a mean game of bridge. Me, him and Maxi Yarrow once…”

“Hey, why do you need to warn Cadance, anyway?” Vinyl asked, cutting him off before he went into a tangent. “She's still on our side in the other world, right?”

The Doctor gave her a sad look. “No. She's a supporter of Solamina. The Empress is her distant aunt, after all. Family ties run very deep.”

Vinyl blinked. “She… I can't even… you're kidding, right?”

“She's not alone,” the Doctor said. “A great many of the ponies whose friendship you value on your Earth are supporters of the Solaminan Empire.”

“I… I’m not, am I?” Vinyl asked.

“Oh, no,” the Doctor reassured her.

The previous humor in Moondancer’s face turned somewhat cynical. “Family,” she muttered. “Loyalty, duty, all good things in principle, which more than once have driven people to do wrong for the only ‘greater good’ they recognize, their own lot’s.”

“We’re all guilty of that,” Elliot said quietly. “Even me.”

“Indeed,” the Doctor said. “In any case, Ms Scratch, you're on the same side, roughly speaking, as your counterpart.”

“Thank fuck,” Vinyl said.

“Swearing,” the Doctor commented. He turned to Moondancer. “As for your counterpart - well, I’m not sure you'd want to know, would you?” He gave a soft smile. “We each weave our own destinies, after all, each one unique. I don't know what value you'd find in knowing hers.”

“Consider it just curiosity,” Moondancer said. “But I’ve got a good enough idea about where I was at this point in our history.”

“Curiosity is hazardous to cats,” the Doctor replied with a wink.

“And yet apparently, satisfaction brings them back,” Moondancer counted.

“How many times have you seen satisfaction do that? And it isn't the same history, necessarily, and certainly not for you.” He looked to Elliot. “Could you go fetch Princess Cadance and the diplomats, please? And that other lot, too, if you like, though they'd better not have made a mess of my TARDIS.”

Elliot nodded. “I can do that.”

He walked off, leaving the Doctor alone with the two mares, a thoughtful expression on his face. He flicked a switch on the console, before pausing.

“Is your father alive, Ms Moondancer?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes, why?” Moondancer asked, blinking. “So’s my mother. They’re both a lot like me, though, just content to try and live out their little lives, weathering whatever storms the world throws our way. Morning Roast was the truly proactive one in the family…”

The Doctor sniffed, before flicking a switch. On the scanner, the image of a mare both like and unlike Moondancer appeared, wearing what looked like a Royal Guard officer’s uniform minus the helmet.

“Captain Moondancer,” he said stiffly. “Solaminan Guard, Iron Wall guard detachment, outpost 21-omega.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a small vial of orange liquid from it, eyeing it wearily. “And eventual volunteer for project False God. The first, in either case I've known.”

“She's a Guardspony?” Vinyl asked.

“Was,” the Doctor said quietly.

“Huh,” Vinyl said, looking to Moondancer. “There but for the grace of God, huh?”

Moondancer frowned. “What’s any of this got to do with my parentage, Doctor?”

The Doctor smiled wanly. “Her father was a Royal Guard. I don't have perfect records, but when she was young she lived with him in a remote colony, disputed by the Griffon Empire. The Dukes of the Empire are given a lot of leeway, so their personal armies dispute those territories… quite vigorously. The Captain’s mother was already dead when her father was killed in action.”

Moondancer rubbed the back of her neck. “Please don’t let’s talk about this now, Doctor. The idea of Lyra still being alive somewhere is difficult enough to process. This just brings back painful memories of Morning… I’ve never truly had a taste for the endless, cyclical nature of war.”

“Take it as a lesson,” the Doctor said quietly. “Where you're both going, what you assume to be true is not guaranteed to be so. Those you assume to be one way may be another. You'd be surprised how many times such mistakes can be made.”

“Some lesson,” Vinyl said quietly.

“This new Empire is one thing,” Moondancer said, “but if we’re bringing war to this new, untouched Equestria,” she added melancholically, “I might feel my curiosity already begin to slip away, replaced by a whole different set of fears for the future…”

“That's why we've got to win,” Vinyl said with a smirk. “So that the new Equestria Marcus found doesn’t have to suffer the worst.”

Moondancer gave a sad smile. “I’m afraid I can’t think that way, Vinyl.”

“Well, let me do it for you, then,” Vinyl said with a shrug. “I've always had confidence enough for the world.”

“You've acted like it, at least,” the Doctor said. “I'm curious - what do you expect to find?”

Vinyl shrugged. “New types of alcohol?”

***

The Scottish Archives, March 3rd, 2030.

It was good to be home.

“Commander!” one of the troops called out to him, waving. Elliot waved back, smiling almost automatically at the simple pleasure of having a friendly face wave to him.

“Brigadier Elliot,” another soldier saluted, standing to attention by a crate he'd been pushing.

He saluted back. “At ease, trooper. What you got there?”

“Lance and Javelin rifle ammo,” the soldier said eagerly. “Some of the newest stuff I've seen!”

“That's for the Clad rifles, right?” Elliot asked.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier said. He paused, looking up at Elliot with a concerned expression. “Hey, sir…”

Elliot smiled. “What?”

“Is it true what they're saying?” the soldier asked. “About the other world - that there's another Tyrant?”

Elliot’s expression fell slightly. “I'm afraid so, trooper.” His smile came back. “But don't you worry about it. We’re not alone in this, not anymore.”

The trooper nodded. “If you say so, sir.”

Elliot nodded back, his smile widening. “Hey, you need a hand pushing this?”

“Nah, should have it, sir,” the soldier said with a smile. “But it is really good to have you back.”

“It's nice to be back,” Elliot replied, as the soldier walked off, pushing the crate. “Really nice to be back.”

And it was. He hadn't quite realised it, but here, people smiled at him like they were glad to see him. Here, people saluted without being confused at his ragged attire. Here, people waved, smiled, didn’t whisper behind his back where they thought he couldn’t hear them.

“Never thought you’d miss it this much, right?” came the Doctor’s voice from behind him. Elliot turned, to see the red headed man smiling at him, hands firmly entrenched in his pockets.

“No,” he admitted.

“So, what’s this thing that you wanted to talk to me about?” Elliot asked him.

The Doctor smirked. “Come on - I’ll show you.”

***

First Lieutenant Winston and his team were asked to wait in one of the atriums in the Archives, leaving them to marvel at the extensive underground complex. Troopers in a variety of rag-tag equipment were being moved at various times to different sections, directed by officers in beaten-up uniforms and fatigues, and more than once a handful of soldiers in what could only be described as bulky power armour passed by, carrying heavy weaponry the likes of which even the First Lieutenant’s team had never seen.

There was some murmuring from Winston’s unit, Bea seemed to be looking at said handful with a raised eyebrow (the eyebrow she had anyway). For the First Lieutenant though, he had a more vocal response.

“What’re those supposed to be?” He asked dryly.

“Looks like power armor to me,” Carmichael said. “Big, bulky power armor with huge guns, like from some kind of video game.”

“I can see that,” Winston replied making sure to take note of said armor and guns.

“So, why the confusion?”

“You’d think fancy armor from this place’s top R&D would be a bit more polished,” Winston argued.

“Sir, have you seen these guys?” Jetson spoke up. “They look pretty stripped of resources as is; the fact that they managed to make power armor in the first place is amazing in and of itself.”

“Maybe we could do an exchange,” Snart suggested. “I think we got the resources to make ‘em better.”

“Maybe you do,” came a new voice, American and filled with authority, “but that's not why you’re here, Mister.”

A new man, dark skinned and grim-faced, had strode up to the group. He wore dark fatigues, and the name Redmond was printed on his shirt.

“Major Alexander Redmond, BDF,” the man introduced himself smartly. “I’ll be your handler for the duration of your deployment.”

Winston almost frowned, but remembered his manners as it were.

“I’m First Lieutenant Winston, UN/PHL Task Force,” he introduced himself before gesturing to the Bea. “Sergeant Major Bea here is my second command.”

“Alright,” Redmond said, crossing his arms. “You know much about why you're here?”

“All I know is that we’re here to work with your Defensive Force, sir,” Winston answered. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got the other details handy and are gonna share them with us.

Redmond smirked. “You'd be right, Lieutenant. Come with me.”

He turned and began walking off towards the elevator, leaving Winston’s team to follow. They did, albeit slowly, still rife with uncertainty.

Once inside the elevator, Redmond pressed the button for level U14.

“How much are you aware of our tactical situation?” he asked, throwing a glance Winston’s way.

“From what I can tell, you’re left stripped down without much and are what’s left of Earth,” Winton answered. “Why’d you ask?”

Redmond frowned. “Alright. So: we’re basically surrounded on all sides. Normally there's a combination of raids and major attacks to deal with, but these ceased when the Avatar - Brigadier Elliot - disappeared. We now know that this must have had something to do with him finding your world.”

“Okay, so what?” Winston asked. “Your world’s tyrant horse might be aware of our world now?”

“That's a possibility we’ve been worrying about, but that's not my point,” Redmond said with a slight frown. The elevator came to a halt, and he stepped out, leading the squad down a corridor. “For the last few months we've been experiencing a ‘lull’, but two days ago, one of our smaller towns in England ceased replying to all messages. We’re used to the pattern of small towns disappearing, but this one was even quieter than usual.”

He led the group to a room, where a man in a scruffy tweed jacket with a receding hairline and glasses stood waiting, alongside a fair-haired woman in a black bodysuit with a lean, muscular frame.

“Major,” the woman said, saluting.

“Major Redmond,” the man greeted. He looked to Winston and his team. “I take it these are the PHL team you mentioned?”

“Correct, Rupert,” Redmond said. “First Lieutenant Winston, meet Rupert Giles of the Watcher’s Council, and Gail Lightfoot, Iron Clad 144.”

“Nice to meet you.” Winston said simply, “So, I’m assuming you want us to go out to the village and do some digging?”

Giles sighed. “What you're going to do is Major Redmond’s business. I’m just here to advise.”

“The village of Arnside went silent at zero seven fourteen two days ago,” Lightfoot said crisply, her tongue confident. “I’m assuming you'll be deployed with my team.”

“That's correct,” Redmond said. “Lieutenant Lightfoot is the leader of Valiant Team, a fireteam of Iron Clads we have assigned to homeland missions at the present time. Their task is to go in, assess the situation, and engage enemy forces. Your team, Lieutenant Winston, will be acting as backup for them, as well as taking note of potential Solaminan tactics that you may need to report back to your superiors.”

Winston stood silent for a moment, while it was a bit troubling that they were stuck with just recon he remembered the fact that Elliot was actually a bit bewildered when he was first exposed to their way of things. For all he knew, this ‘Solamina’ horse could have her newfoals (or whatever the fuck they were called) be self destructive and bleed potion.

Getting some up front study wouldn’t hurt.

“Alright.” Winston said, “anything else we should know about?”

“Deployment will be in several days, after our requisite flyovers to ascertain the tactical situation,” Redmond said. “In that time, Mr Giles will be giving you as much intel as he can.”

“Lucky me,” Giles said with a slightly strained smile.

***

When Vinyl had gotten off of the TARDIS, the Doctor had caught up to her, a knowing expression on his face.

“You could,” he said quietly, “have just spoken to Elliot directly.”

Vinyl snorted, not caring how he guessed her purpose. “Excuse me if talking to the guy who killed a clone of the Queen Bitch and asking, ‘excuse me, Brig, can you just tell me the answer to a bunch of my dumbass questions that my mysterious new bosses gave me really vague instructions to get?’ doesn't appeal to me!”

The Doctor had sighed. “Just remember what I said. This isn't your world.”

He had walked off, leaving Vinyl alone. Now, however, she had her first ‘target’ in sight.

“Add this to my list of things I never thought I'd do,” Vinyl said to herself, looking at her scarred counterpart.

She was talking to a human in a grey jumpsuit with a blue tattoo across his face, a tired expression on her face but still trying to smile. The human jotted something down on a clipboard and then jogged off, leaving this other Vinyl - the "Avatar" Vinyl, if the designations people were coming up with - to turn and look at Vinyl.

“Hmmmm?” the scarred Vinyl - they really should come up with a better distinction - asked. “Hey, you're the - whadda they call it? 'Spectrum' me?”

“Yeah,” Vinyl replied. “Why do they call it that?”

The scarred Vinyl shrugged. “Hell if I know - maybe it's cool sounding. Maybe there's a weird technobabbly reason. Maybe they got bored. Or got their hands on a hallucinogen - which, by the way, I'm totally jealous about. Haven't had a decent hallucinogen in… four years? The most mind-altering stuff we've got is a bunch of rotgut.”

“We haven't had many either,” Vinyl sighed. “Can I… Can I call you Scratch? It's not because of the scar, it's just…”

“Because this is super confusing as all hell and we're probably both hungover?” ‘Scratch’ finished with a wry smirk. “Sure. There are worse things.”

“I'm afraid to ask what,” Vinyl sighed.

“Good,” Scratch said. “That means you're not stupid. It'd be really embarrassing if you were.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that was a bit pissier than I wanted it to be… I just… this whole thing's kinda weird.”

“What, you mean meeting alternate versions of yourself from a world that got so much worse? What's weird about that?” Vinyl asked sarcastically. “Seriously, though, we at the PHL deal with mind-blowing weirdness all the time.”

“Yeah…” Scratch said, sighing. “Rather have weird than…l She trailed off. Her left hoof absently came up and scratched at her scars. She chuckled half-heartedly. “Rather have that than horrible.”

Vinyl frowned. “Dare I ask…?”

Scratch looked her in the eye. “What, you mean…” She chuckled. “You wanna know how I got these scars?”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. “Really. Really?”

Scratch chuckled. “Well, see…”

“No,” Vinyl said. “No Daddy anecdotes, no mobsters, and no Hans Zimmer.”

Scratch laughed. “But I've been working on my Heath impression for years, and I did this bitchin' remix of 'Is She With You' the other week.” She sobered slightly. “Seriously - nobody ever asks. Most people know. Kinda a novelty.”

“It was a decent impression,” Vinyl admitted.

Scratch twitched slightly, a grin on her face, and she leaned in close.

“Who says I'm acting?” she asked. “Maybe I'm really this crazy.”

She burst out laughing, ruining the illusion immediately.

“Anyway,” she said. “Maybe I'll tell you about it later. You want to talk anything specific?”

Okay, Vinyl, here we go, Vinyl thought.

“Only what's been on everyone PHL's mind in the past couple days,” she said. “Elliot. I'm just… pretty curious about him, honestly.”

Scratch's smile faded slightly. “I ain't the best pony to ask. I met him a coupla times before the whole 'Avatar' thing, but mostly I've met him since, which means I don’t know him very well at all. Lyra would…” She trailed off, frowning slightly. “But then, she's not here and she's a little touchy on that one… so ask what you can.”

“Just wanted to know what the deal was, really,” Vinyl asked, smiling. She didn't really feel altogether comfortable even being slightly misleading, but it was for a good cause. There were now worse things than the Tyrant, and one of them - something that could be one of them was standing with them.

“‘The deal’?” Scratch asked. “How d'you mean?”

“Just… tell me about what he's done,” Vinyl shrugged. “Most of it'll probably be full of rumors later, and you've been around for a lot of it, so…”

Scratch nodded. “K. What have you heard already?”

“Well, I saw him in Boston,” Vinyl said. “Well… I saw part of it. I heard that he's immune to potion -”

“That’s true.”

“That he can summon golden armor, that he can fly, heal people…”

"Silver armour," Scratch corrected. "And the flying and healing people thing? That's a new one on us. Think he pulled those out while he was in your world, first time he’s used them. Fighting a clone of Celestia's… probably up there with Cornwall."

"Cornwall?" Vinyl asked.

"Yeah," Scratch said. "He blasted most of an invading army away by himself. Way I heard Eric tell it, that's also how the Knights of Albion started.”

“How'd he do that?!” Vinyl gasped.

“The hurricane or the Knights?” Scratch asked. “Either way, fucked if I know. Eric told some story about picking up Excalibur and then the Avatar knighting him for being 'worthy'. The hurricane… was kinda more showy.”

“He does tend to be dramatic,” Vinyl said. “Funny. Our David Elliot's so… unassuming.” She paused, her brow furrowing in a frown. “Or he was. I still…”

Scratch put a hoof on her shoulder. “We’ve all lost people.”

“Yeah,” Vinyl said. “Still - he never seemed like the kind of guy who’d be showy.”

“David Elliot is unassuming,” Scratch said with a smirk. “Have you actually spoken to the guy, much? Did you know yours well?”

“Not all that often,” Vinyl said. “He's just… when some of your friends are a half-crystallized genderfluid unicorn made from the souls of crystal ponies and human memories, a psychotic afrikaner, a German knight, a colonel with magic tattoos who's apparently descended from a woman that visited Equestria, a pegasus that turns invisible for laughs, and a giant stallion, well…”

“A guy who wanted to run a bookshop is pretty boring by comparison?” Scratch guessed.

“Kind of. Yeah,” Vinyl said.

“I think he would prefer that,” Scratch said softly. “Hell, I could see him and Lyra shacking up in a bookshop for their retirement -” She paused, her eyes widening. “Ah shit - you didn't hear that.”

“Well, it's nothing out of the ordinary where I’m from,” Vinyl said. “I mean, Aegis and Kraber-”

“And I certainly didn't hear that,” Scratch added. “Look - I don't care how things are where you're from, it is weird here. The kind of weird that people don't always like, and yes, I mean don't always like as in ‘prejudice’.”

“Seriously?” Vinyl asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, from my perspective, your world’s sudden spate of xenophilia is weird. Chalk it up to parallel universes,” Scratch shrugged. “‘Sides, Lyra would totally kill me if I told anypony about…” She sighed. “Just… you didn't. Hear. That. Kay?”

“Alright,” Vinyl said. “It'll be like none of it ever - what were we talking about?”

“You were asking about Elliot,” Scratch said, looking relieved to be off the previous subject.

“Oh yeah,” Vinyl said. She frowned. “That's one thing I don't get - those Knights of Albion, or whatever they're called.”

“What about 'em?”

“What's the deal with the kneeling?”

Scratch raised an eyebrow. “Whaddya mean 'what's the deal with the kneeling'?”

“I mean, 'what's the deal with the fucking kneeling'?” Vinyl said. “It's… look, it was weird enough when thirty fucking Space Marines walked through the portal. To see 'em kneeling was…” She paused, trying to find the right word. “Kinda… scary.”

Scratch shrugged. “They do it all the time. It's kinda their thing. 'Cult militant' and all.”

“He has cults?!”

“A cult,” Scratch corrected absently. “The others aren't about him. Though they do respect him.”

“But… isn't that… weird?” Vinyl asked.

“Well, what would you do if someone had that kind of power and he was probably the savior of the last free place in two universes?” Scratch asked. “People… and ponies… needed something to believe in again. There's only so long that playing happy techno on the radio cheers them up. What I wouldn't give for some Injustrial or Scattle...”

“I guess that makes sense,” Vinyl conceded. “It's a lot worse in your world, so…”

“So that belief gives people hope,” Scratch said, giving her counterpart a wry grin. “Hope’s probably a fragile commodity for you, but for us? You’re talking ‘take whatever sticks its ugly head high enough to look like a false hope, run with it, score a try with it, run around the pitch screaming blue murder and then hope to God it sticks around for the afterparty’!”

“Yeah, I get it,” Vinyl said quietly. Scary. He's their hope. So much is riding on him… what if he's not up to it?

“You ok?” Scratch asked.

“Yeah, just processing,” Vinyl replied. “It's… y’know, ‘whole ‘nother world, demigod with cults’, takes a bit to sink in.”

Scratch nodded. “I guess.”

‘I guess’. Jesus H Christ. She doesn’t get how weird it is, she really doesn’t.

Now, Vinyl had a sense of why she was here. As deceptively normal as people like David Elliot or these BDF people made themselves seem, there was… something. Like a madness. These people were standing on the edge of a cliff…

What would happen if… no, when… they fell?

“Doesn’t your world have anything like that?” Scratch asked.

Vinyl shifted uncomfortably. Truth be told, there was one thing that sounded familiar, but she didn’t want to discuss it. After all - she was one of those who believed in the Golden Lyre...

“Not really,” she said after a moment. “I mean, a couple of the big religions have gotten some seismic shifts, but other than that…”

Scratch nodded, apparently missing her counterpart’s discomfort. “I hear ya.” She looked around. “I’d better get goin’, anyway. Got a meeting with the Council in a bit, don’t wanna be late.”

“Yeah,” Vinyl said. “Hey, thanks, though.”

“Any time,” Scratch replied, and then she walked off.

Well, Vinyl thought, that was easy. Now to ask some other people.

***

Deep in the Archives.

Further in the archives was a laboratory full of experimental gear, accessible only through a series of corridors, access hatches and other, similar passageways. Elliot found himself wondering just what sort of things were being worked on down here, what secret projects had been hidden down here, out of sight of the rest of the British Isles.

“Used to be just a bunch of generic stuff down here,” the red-headed Doctor said chirpily. “You know we had the original PEV they used to model the Paladin I down here?”

“Really?” Elliot said, sounding perhaps less interested than that particular bit of historical information than it strictly warranted.

“Yup,” the Doctor said with a smile. “When I was down here, back in the day, we had that and the first three Paladin I suits all stored down here. I remember, there was such a jump from PEV to Paladin I that one of the people I was working with said it felt like… oh, what did he say? ‘Leaping from muzzle-loader to M1 Garand’.”

“Right,” Elliot said with a frown. “So… what’s this surprise?”

“Right, sorry,” the Doctor said, before they approached a final doorway. The Doctor inputted a code, and the door hissed open, allowing the two men to enter.

There were various men, women, stallions and mares working on various suits of armour, all of them dressed in labcoats and looking various shades of harried. There was the PEV set the Doctor had mentioned - a bulky set of armour with an Armacham symbol stamped on it, clearly based on the suits worn by other ATC forces (and modelled by the Reavers, Elliot noted with a raised eyebrow), but bulkier. There were also a pair of Paladin I suits, one in various states of dismantlement, the other pristine (or as pristine as Paladin armour could get). There was also another suit of Paladin armour, this one similar to the Paladin I, but sleeker in places, more refined.

“Paladin IV?” Elliot guessed.

“Right on the money,” one of the scientists said. “Still haven’t quite worked out how to make it perfect for regular joes instead of just Clads - there’s something about the actual power of the powered section that makes it tricky, but the parts are interchangeable with Paladin I, so we can replace bits here and there, and it’s a much more efficient bit of kit overall. We’ll be able to start phasing the old I’s out soon.”

“Remarkable work,” Elliot congratulated, smiling at the impassive looking suit. “Considering it’s only been a few months since you started mass producing Paladin…”

“We’ve had these suits for years,” the scientist said, pointing at the disassembled Paladin I. “We could mass produce them, once the materials came through, very easily. But we already had drawing board designs for improvements. Just needed to run them through the wringer.”

Elliot glanced at the Doctor, who was standing by another display case. “I take it this isn’t what you wanted to show me, Doc?”

“Don’t call me ‘Doc’,” the Doctor said with a good natured snort. “And no. This is what I wanted to show you.”

Elliot walked over to him, and frowned at the suit of armour he saw in the display case.

It was sleek, a black undersuit layered with thin black plates, all looking as though it was designed for maximum mobility and freedom of movement.

“Driver armour,” the Doctor said with a small smile. “Nanotechnological suit - the whole thing is uber light and flexible, and with the nanotech laced through from the plates to the bodysuit, it’s designed to repair itself in the event of catastrophic damage. You’re looking at the most advanced bit of kit on either world.”

Elliot blinked, frowning at it. “Why don’t we have all our people wearing it?”

“Same reason we didn’t make the Iron Clads until now,” one of the scientists put in. “Only just got the resources together. These things are excessively resource intensive.”

“Plus there's a case of it being less effective in some ways,” another scientist added. “It's not got the power-boost of a set of Paladin, for example, it's just built for protection and self-repair.”

“As it is,” the first scientist said, “we've only got maybe a handful of suits, one for Operative Gleeson, some for the GG3…”

“And… this suit’s for me?” Elliot asked, looking at the Doctor.

He nodded. “Designed for you. We had some final touches we wanted to add, both functionally and cosmetically, but it should be ready for your return to the other Earth.”

Elliot sighed. “Just… don't make it too ridiculous, ok?”

“I promise nothing,” the Doctor grinned.

“You know,” Elliot said tiredly, “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.” He sighed. “Well, I’d better go big the Council for more troops. Here's hoping I can convince them.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to,” the Doctor reassured him.

“I have to,” Elliot replied quietly. “If I don’t, then we’ll have a hell of a time in Boston.”