---

“You still don’t know, do you? What you are? Why you’re here?”
Paxton Fettel, F.E.A.R.

---

London was burning.

Skyscrapers had turned into metal skeletons, incinerated by magical attacks fired by Convies and true-born Equestrians alike. All across the skyline of the city, turrets firing streams of tracer round out into the burnt-orange night sky. Rain fell, splattering on the ground and yet not strong enough to diminish the flames of war or wash away the splatters of blood that covered the city. Yells - orders, pain, death - filled the sky, almost - but not quite - drowning out the bloody, brutal sounds of battle. The gunfire was distant, but all too close as well.

He slammed into a wall, not certain how he had gotten here, but it didn't matter. He caught sight of his reflection in a shattered window - the battered jacket, shirt and trousers, the tired, lined face, scruffy hair and stubble. He sighed: how had he gotten here? He didn't know, and it didn't matter. He was here now. He racked the VK-12 shotgun in his hands and set off down an alleyway, ears pricked for the sound of battle.

“Commander?” a voice went off in his ear. He crouched and tapped the earpiece as the speaker continued. “This is True Grit.”

“Here,” Elliot said quietly. “Sitrep?”

Commander? But that's not…

“There's a squadron of Guard inbound, sir,” the voice of his pony compatriot spoke. “Might be twenty or thirty of them.”

“Bollocks,” Elliot swore. “What's your strength?”

“John's with the Doctor somewhere else,” Grit said. “I'm here with about ten guys, but we're low on ammo.”

“No Lyra?” Elliot asked.

“Nope,” Grit said. “She ran off with half the team twenty minutes ago on a counter-offensive.”

“Gotcha,” Elliot said, nodding to himself with a slight smirk - nothing stopped Lyra on a good day. Except how would he know that? He had never met her. “Where are you now?”

“Corner of intersection four alpha?” Grit said, using the codes that the BDF had insisted upon having.

“Think I'm about five minutes from you,” Elliot said. “Inbound to your location.”

“Waiting for you,” Grit said.

A moment later, all was silence. Something felt off, but he didn't know what.

This isn't right. This isn't your life.

He set off, passing into a high street as he did so, but then he stopped. Barring his way was a Unicorn mare, sad grey eyes staring at him from a sky-blue face. She wore a battered green camouflage shirt and had a scar on her cheek.

Don't I know you?

“Do you see?” she asked quietly.

“See what?” Elliot asked, frowning at her. He wasn't familiar with her, but she was wearing a Resistance uniform. Her gaze went to something behind him and he frowned - there was nothing there. When he turned back to look at her, though, she was gone - no sign of her.

“What the hell?” he murmured. He turned back to look behind him at whatever she might have been looking at...

... only to find himself staring into two cold, yellow irises, boring into his soul.

Do you see?

---

Elliot woke up, eyes wide, gasping for breath. His body was slick with sweat and he felt almost physically sick.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “What the hell was that?”

He slowly got to his feet. He sighed, before turning his gaze to the picture of himself, Grit, Hoof and Sam on their last leave. He caught sight of his reflection - slight stubble, cropped hair and a face with less lines that the dream-him had sported greeted him.

“What was that dream about?” he wondered to himself. He shook his head. This wasn't the first odd dream he'd had: for the last few months, he'd dreamed of fighting in Britain, but they were battles he knew had never really taken place. He couldn't explain the dreams, and with the hectic nature of the conflict he hadn't really had time to try.

“Get a hold of yourself, Dave,” he said to himself quietly. “We’ve a lot to do.”

---

A man stood in a back alley of the city of Fairport, smoking a cigarette. He wore a long tan trenchcoat over a white shirt, red tie and battered suit trousers, the sleeves of his coat partially rolled up. The city was on fire: people were screaming, somewhere off in the distance, and from his cost spot in the alleyway he must have seen a dozen people pass him by. He didn’t know what to make of it, except that he was pretty sure it was bad.

Makes sense, though, he thought, stubbing the cigarette on his palm and wincing. He pulled his sleeves up a bit more, frowning at the tattoos on his arm. Portents all said something fucking big was gonna go down. Otherwise Jim wouldn’t have asked me to come here.

There was gunfire in the distance, getting closer to where he was, but John Constantine ignored it. He lit up another cigarette, took a drag, and sighed. Whatever was going on, it sounded pretty dangerous.

“Jim, you old cunt,” he said quietly. “I am so getting you back for this.”

---

The APC was a sturdy, 6X6 wheel gig with a turret and armour plating, built to act as crowd control as well as troop transportation. There was enough space in the thing for Elliot, Sam, True Grit, Steady Hoof, Errant Flight and Viola. Their driver was a rather taciturn woman named Elise McGuiness, who was pretty quiet - turned out, she was British too, though they’d only known it from her terse introduction.

Sam was reading a book, looked like a copy of the old J-Horror book Ring - his ability to read while being driven around made Elliot slightly jealous: the Sergeant always got travel sick when he tried that. Steady Hoof was sat near the driver’s seat, watching the world go by. The scarred and mute stallion was apparently always something of an introspective sort according to True Grit, but it was especially apparent now. Grit himself was sat next to Elliot, whistling: he always got bored on long journeys.

Errant Flight was talking to Viola quietly - the conversation was quiet, but judging from Viola’s blushes and smiling and Errant’s cocky grin, it wasn’t one Elliot wanted to be privy to anyway. He sighed: fraternisation in the team wasn't something anybody (or anypony) seemed to give a shit about anymore. He personally didn't see how it would lead to anything other than mistakes being made, but then he was a man who liked putting the job ahead of personal matters anyway.

Look where that's gotten you, he thought to himself. Dying and alone, the last hope for the last of…

He frowned and shook his head. No, that had been a dream. As far as he knew, he wasn't dying at all.

Elliot himself was also dressed in the black and white D12 armour, similar to the stuff given to Sam (and apparently standard F.E.A.R equipment), and he had a Seegert ACM46 pistol in a holster at his side. Stowed beneath his seat was the SHO Shotgun he had been given for this mission to replace his beloved VK-12, as well as an Andra FD-99 SMG.

Most of the others had a mix - Hoof’s preferred weapon was a P221 Minigun, developed in Britain before it had burned, that required True Grit to act as a “steadier“ due to the recoil - there were far better pony weapons available, but Hoof was apparently a ‘traditionalist’, at least according to True Grit. Sam, meanwhile, had brought out a piece of specialised equipment in the form of an HV Penetrator - similar in concept to the Armacham Hammerhead, but slightly less bulky. He liked the idea of being able to pin Newfoals to a wall.

They were, in short, equipped for anything. Elliot just hooped they’d have little to deal with save some PER. The PER had never really required the massive arsenals of the PHL's best, though Elliot knew better than to take them less than seriously.

Fucking bastards, he thought. What they did to Plymouth…

He shook his head, frowning again. That was another thing from his dreams. Why am I letting dreams get to me this much?

It wasn't like he was a stranger to bad dreams: this war had made them all-too common, in fact. However, these dreams were different - there was something about them that almost made him think that they might be...

Be what? Be real?

He sighed and sat back, before turning his head to his left.

“Hey Grit,” he said quietly to the Unicorn, who was sat in silence next to him. “How’re you doing?”

“How am I doing?” True Grit asked, raising an eyebrow at the rather odd question. “I’m fine. Why?”

“No reason,” Elliot said with a shrug. “Just fancied a talk.”

“What about?” True Grit said, smirking. “Don’t tell me you’re getting all sentimental. Or is this where you’d confess your love for me and ask to have my babies?”

“Har de har,” Elliot said in a sarcastic tone, grinning. “No, you plonker, I just wanted to chat.”

“Something bothering you?” Grit asked, frowning slightly as he realised that Elliot actually wanted him to take this one seriously.

“Dunno,” Elliot said with a smirk. “You mean apart from this frankly fucked-up-sounding mission?”

“Yes, I mean apart from that,” Grit said with a slight chuckle. “Luna knows, I think everyone’s a bit thrown by that.”

The mission briefing had introduced those who hadn’t met with Colonel Munro to their mission. Their reactions had been… interesting. If by “interesting“ one meant that Errant Flight had laughed until someone told him it wasn't a joke, then swore five times, and Steady Hoof had thrown repeated looks Grit's way as though expecting him to roll out the real mission briefing. Viola, meanwhile, had paled as much as a pony could.

“Well,” Elliot said, frowning as he stared off into space slightly, “I have been having these odd dreams…“

He trailed off, and True Grit stared at him, suddenly concerned.

“Mate?” he asked, the word sounding odd in his pseudo-American pony accent. Elliot smiled.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m fine. I just… I’m remembering.”

Battle in the sky - him on one side, a tall mare with horn and wings in golden armour on the other. She wielded a glaive, and a snarl was on her face as she streaked toward him. He raised a -

“David!” Grit said, and Elliot shook his head before looking at his friend. He sighed.

“I’ve been having these weird dreams for the past few months,” he said quietly. “But they feel real. Almost like I’m… living another life.”

“Another life?” True Grit asked, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of other life?”

“True Grit!” Elliot said, rushing to his friend's side. The unicorn was bleeding badly, and he was burnt from Shining Armour's spell. “Hang on!”

“Did...” Grit coughed weakly, eyes opening to look at Elliot. “Did we win?”

“Yeah,” Elliot said softly, as he tried to staunch Grit's wound. “Yeah, we won. Hold on mate.”

“Yay for us,” True Grit smiled. His eyes closed and he slumped where he lay, the life leaving him suddenly.

“Not a nice one,” Elliot replied, frowning. “I dreamed of fighting. In Britain, but it wasn’t like any of the battles there. You were there.”

“I wasn’t fighting with you in Britain,” Grit pointed out, frowning in confusion.

“I know,” Elliot said, “that’s what I mean. But you and I were there. So was…“ He frowned, stopping. “We never knew Lyra Heartstrings, did we?”

“Ha!” Grit laughed slightly. “I wish. Why?”

“She was there,” Elliot said softly, frowning thoughtfully as he tried to remember “I remember, in the dreams. She fought alongside us.”

“Any other impossible shit happen?” True Grit asked with a wry look in his eyes.

Elliot looked down at him and smiled slightly. “Yeah - I fought Celestia and didn’t die in five seconds.”

“Now I know these are dreams,” True Grit snorted, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t think there’s anyone we have that could do that. Maybe, at a pinch, one of the guys in a powered armour. Or Mifune.”

“Ah, but could Mifune fly?” Elliot grinned.

“...you were flying?”

“Yeah,” Elliot said with a chuckle. “It was fun. And by fun I mean it was terrifying because the Tyrant was coming right at me.”

“Now I know you're crazy,” True Grit said with a laugh.

“Maybe,” Elliot said, his chuckling fading slightly. “Maybe they’re just dreams. But maybe…“

“Maybe what?” True Grit asked, frowning.

“Last night I had a dream about being in London,” Elliot said slowly. “Except it felt like the others. Real. And there was Viola there,” he added, nodding subtly at the new pony, who was still flirting with Errant Flight.

“Smitten are you?” Grit asked with a smirk.

“Fuck off you berk, you know I’m not into ponies,” Elliot said with a scowl. “It was weird - like she was talking right to me. Me-me, not dream-me. And there was something else, like a…“

He trailed off.

“I think you’re taking these dreams too seriously,” True Grit said, without waiting for Elliot to continue. “And I think you need to focus on the mission.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said quietly. “The mission. Of course.”

“Well, I think you're cuckoo crazy, boss,” a new voice put in. Suddenly, Elliot found Errant Flight hovering in front of him, smirking and winking, having left Viola to some reading. The Sergeant frowned.

“Do you make a habit of eavesdropping?” he asked.

“He was always a bit of a cocky bastard,” True Grit put in, frowning at his friend in irritation. “Got him in trouble more than once.”

“Getting in trouble, that's me,” Flight said, saluting mockingly.

“Do you make a habit of hovering in front of people and being a pain in the ass, too?” Elliot asked.

“Sure he does,” True Grit said. “It's what he's best at.”

Elliot sighed and looked down at the uniform. Still felt weird, but then this whole thing felt weird.

Do you see?

He frowned: a harsh whisper had rang through the APC. His eyes flicked around the small space, looking for the source of the voice. He couldn’t see anything though - until he noticed that Viola was looking at him, a slightly odd expression on her face, as though she were watching him for something. Before he could say anything, she had turned back to what she was doing.

Losing it, Dave, he thought to himself. Get a fucking grip on yourself.

It was a long way to Fairport. He decided that, under the circumstances, he needed to have a nap himself. He closed his eyes and settled down to sleep.

---

The armoured figure pushed open the doors with his gauntleted hands, stepping over the corpses of Eclipse Guards who had been foolish enough to stand in his way. His sword was girt over his back, ready for him to remove it at a moment’s notice.

Up ahead of him was the throne of Canterlot itself, and sat upon it was the Empress - Astra Solamina Maxima. Almost immediately, her remaining Guards, Royal and Eclipse alike, charged at him, and almost without thinking he drew Excalibur, sweeping the blade across throats and through necks, slicing his enemies apart until he was stood in a room full of corpses, and all the while the Sun Tyrant sat and watched.

“Interesting,” she said quietly, her eyes watching the fight with interest, apparently not at all concerned with the deaths of her servants.

“Sun Tyrant,” he said, ignoring her comment and marching toward her, blade still in hand. “I have come for your head.”

---

He slammed into the wall, Lance rifle in hand. His armour was scored and pitted, but he wasn't done yet. This line had to hold.

“Cover me!” he yelled out to no one in particular. He ducked and charged, weapon out, firing at the oncoming bullrush of warriors. He saw one of his men fall to a miraculously well-placed shot. “Dammit, keep your heads down!”

He slammed into one enemy, knocking the man over. Another charged at him, but a quick burst of fire shot through the man, killing him instantly.

“More inbound!” he heard someone yell. He turned, to see three more of the loonies charging.

“Nutters inbound!” he yelled, firing and taking the three down. He saw Elise and Stein fighting nearby, but most of the troops they had come with were gone. He tapped his comm. “This is Elliot in sector seventeen - these loons are overrunning us! We need support!”

“None to be had,” came the mournful voice of command. “The attack's coming on multiple fronts: it's all we can do to hold anything!”

“Dammit!” he swore, before turning to Stein and Elise. “Hold the line as best you can - we're it!”

“Fuck!” Elise swore, sweeping her short sword through one of the crazies as the pony charged at her. “We have to pull back or they'll tear us apart!”

“Stein, use your Hellfire and suppress the next rush,” Elliot said, ignoring the comment from the woman. “These bastards are coming thick and fast!”

“Commander Elliot,” a serene voice suddenly sparked in his comm.

“Elliot here,” he replied, holding up his hand to the comm.

“This is Avatar One: I am inbound to your location,” the voice said, the very epitome of calm and collectedness.

Elliot whooped - he didn't care if it was unprofessional: they were saved.

“Stein, lay down that suppressing fire!” he yelled. “And prepare to receive a guest!”

“Sir?!” Stein said, confused.

“Fire, now!” Elliot yelled.

Stein did as ordered, his heavy weapon tearing through the crazies as they charged, but there were a good twenty or thirty of them, more than enough to overrun even an Iron Clad. Elliot dropped his Lance, unsheathed his sword and activated a flame-rune, intending on taking as many of them with him as he could.

Suddenly, a bolt of golden light impacted near the charging crazies. Dozens of them were vaporised, and more still found themselves thrown about like ragdolls. From the sky, she came: a white Alicorn, horn blazing with energy as she fired spell after spell. Held in her telekinetic grip was an elegant long sword, and it swept through necks and bodies effortlessly.

She turned to look at him and he grinned. The Avatar was here.

“Commander Celestia!” he yelled with a grin. “Good to have you around!”

“My rank is officially Guard-General,” she replied her blade sweeping through loons even as she corrected him. “But under the circumstances, I will stick with Commander.”

“Good choice,” Elliot grinned. “Better ring to it.”

Celestia smiled too, before finishing off the remaining, retreating crazies with a massive fireball spell. She turned to look at Elliot, and then she frowned slightly.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

---

He spat blood into the bowl provided.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I'm fine.”

His body ached in ten places and he felt like he was going to fall over, but this was apparently normal. The process was never going to be painless.

“If there are any pains unlike the standard ones we discussed,” the scientist said, eyes flicking from the clipboard she was holding to him then back again, “you have to keep me informed.”

“Dull aching is normal,” he replied. “If I get sharp pains, you'll be the first to know.”

“Good,” she said, smiling slightly. “It's brave of you.”

“To what?” Elliot asked, smirking. “Volunteer for this damn Iron Clad project? That ain't brave. That's sense. We need the best we can get.”

“Still,” she said. “It must have been painful.”

Surgery: no anaesthetic - no way to make the required connections that way. Pain: oh yeah, pain. Blood. Screaming. And then that feeling - power…

“Less painful than Solamina will find my fist through her face one day,” he said with a slight growl.

The scientist frowned slightly, before jotting something down on her clipboard.

“What?” he asked, frowning at the action.

“Just a note,” she said, before turning to leave. “You'd best get some rest.”

She turned to go, leaving him alone in the room. Then he frowned - no, he wasn't alone. A girl was standing in the doorway of the little hospital room, staring at him.

“Hello?” he asked her, frowning in confusion. “Who are...?”

“Do you see?”

---

He frowned, reaching out a hand to steady himself, before looking around in confusion. Something was up here. This was some sort of nightmare.

He found himself in a corridor, long, beige and thin and filled with beige doors. He wore the D12 armour he had been given by F.E.A.R, and checking himself he found that he still had his Seegert. Frowning, he took the weapon out, cocked it and started walking down the corridor. Something about this entire thing felt… off. This dream wasn't like his normal dream.

He tried some of the doors, but by and large they seemed to be locked. He sighed as he continued, heading toward the end of the corridor.

Except there was no end to the corridor. It seemed to stretch on into infinity.

Do you see?

The whisper took him off guard and he span around, staring back the way he had come.

“Hello?!” he called. “Is someone there?!”

Do you see?

“I see some fucking locked doors, if that counts,” Elliot muttered. He sighed, before turning back the way he had been heading previously.

Suddenly, up ahead, one of the doors opened. A little girl ran out - long black hair, red dress, barefoot.

“Hey!” he called out.

She looked over at him, but he couldn’t really see her features because her hair was in the way. A moment later, she darted into another door.

“Hey wait!” he called, jogging after her. The door had closed by the time he got there, and he found it was locked. “Bollocks.”

He tried knocking, but there was no answer. He sighed, before moving on.

A moment later, he passed a door with a strange red marking on it. He frowned at it. There was something off about it… and yet, something enticing…

“Dave?”

He shook his head, and tried to move on, but a few moments later he passed the same door. He frowned.

Do you see?!

The whispering again. He frowned at the door - there was something behind it. Something… important. He could tell. If he could only…

“Dave, wake up!”

He walked onward again, but again, he passed another door - the same door, with the exact same marking. This time, the urge to try the door was overwhelming.

Do you see?!

“Yes,” Elliot murmured, though he wasn’t even sure who he was speaking to. “I see.”

He reached out to open the door…

“Dave, wake the fuck up!”

---

Next Chapter: Interval 3: Intervention Estimated time remaining: 21 Minutes