“Why was she ever created? What good did they think would come of that... nightmare?!”
Michael Becket, F.E.A.R. 3

ATC Headquarters was a large office complex near the Auburn district: big, modern and entirely unwelcoming in appearance. Predictably, there was a military presence nearby, as though the military expected there to be some sort of problem – that was interesting. Was ATC a target of the PER, or of Fettel and his Replica forces? Or both?

When the APC arrived, Elliot asked Sam, True Grit and Viola to accompany him. Errant Flight looked set to protest, but a look from Elliot silenced him.

“I need you keeping eyes on the situation,” he said quietly. “Somebody has to.”

Flight nodded, still not entirely convinced. With a slight smile of (attempted) reassurance, Elliot set off with the others.

Outside the building's main entrance, a vaguely mousey looking man in a suit was waiting for them.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “I’m Iain Hives. I’m one of Armacham’s supervisors, tasked to… well, let’s just say I’ve got a lot of things to work with right now, chief of which is…”

“Save the chat please, Mr Hives,” Elliot said, holding up a hand. “We’re from F.E.A.R. We’re here to talk about your… problem with the Replicas and Paxton Fettel.”

“Oh God,” Hives said, wiping his forehead nervously. “You’re with them.” He swallowed nervously. “You’ll… uh… want to talk to Harlan about that. He’s… he’s our expert.”

“Then by all means, Mr Hives, take us to him,” Elliot said with a strained smile.

He didn’t share the disdain some of his colleagues had for civilians, but he didn’t like bureaucrats, and Hives practically smelled of bureaucracy.

The nervous looking man walked off, leaving the group to follow him.

“Ever get the feeling he’s hiding something?” True Grit muttered.

“These corporate types are always hiding something, Grit,” Elliot scowled, looking around as though he'd see the thing that was being hidden. “The question is, is he hiding something that’ll fuck us over if he doesn’t tell us?”

“Almost certainly,” Sam murmured, looking around. There were more than a few lightly armoured Armacham security guards running around, armed with RPL sub-machine guns and Colt Quetzalcoatls, and generally looking nervous, if not downright unhappy. “I mean, look at this place.”

“What about it?” Viola asked, looking around with a slight frown.

“Guards?” True Grit said, looking at her with a slightly incredulous expression. “Lots of ‘em? You don’t get rent-a-cops in these numbers without some serious expected mojo. Besides... they've got Colt Quetzalcoatls. They’re scared of something."

“There is a PER presence,” Viola reasoned, frowning thoughtfully. “It’s only natural that they'd bring in extra security to help protect their workforce. And – well, the Quetzalcoatls are meant to be really good.”

“Extra security, yes,” Grit said, shaking his head, “but this is more than just ‘extra security’, this is ‘we’re going to war’.”

“Same thing,” Sam pointed out. “This is a warzone now, even if it's just the PER. If there starts being too much of an outbreak of Newfoals, they'll need to bring more forces in ASAP, never mind whatever's going on with the Replica forces.”

“We’ll find out what's going on soon enough,” Elliot said, cutting the conversation off. “Hopefully this ‘Harlan’ bloke has the answers we want.”

The potioneer that Blunt Instrument’s battalion commanded was called the Iridescence. She hasn’t always been a potioneer-zeppelin: a long time ago, she had served as a troop-transport in the wars against the changelings and Sombra. She was an old ship, but Instrument happened to think that brought a certain dignity with it.

“Sir,” Goodpenny said, bringing him out of his reverie. “We’ve made contact with Commander Cairn’s group.”

“Good,” Instrument said, smiling. “I’d best speak with him.”

He followed Goodpenny back to their operations tent, where his unit’s main crystal projector was situated. The image of a stern-looking grey stallion in Guardspony armour appeared, looking in Instrument’s direction with a neutral expression for a moment before he smiled.

“Blunty,” he said evenly.

“Cairnsy,” Instrument replied. “You got our message, then?”

“You mean the Lady Sparkle’s idea of a fun team outing with the colts?” Cairn said with a snort. “I swear, those Canterlot REMBs are all the darn same.”

“You’re telling me,” Instrument said, rubbing his forehead with his hoof. “Think I’m getting a migraine just thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Cairn said, wincing. “So let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? I can get my unit to your stated position in the next three days.”

Instrument grinned. “You can?”

“I’ll have to get permission from Cactus and that lunatic Shieldwall,” Cairn said. “But as much of a glorified magi-sci boffin as Shieldwall is, Cactus is a military stallion.”

Instrument nodded. If there was anypony they’d prefer to work with, they’d throw themselves at Cactus’ hooves and beg to be at his side. You could trust Cactus. He was like a boulder in the middle of a river, stern, stable, and unmoving.

Meanwhile, it often took Shieldwall ten minutes to turn something into an idiotic crime against nature.

“He knows his flank from his hooves, and he’ll recognise that your unit can’t be on your own out there.”

“You’ve no idea how pleased I am to hear that,” Instrument said, sighing in relief. “I’ve some good colts and fillies here, Cairn. I don’t want to lead them on a suicide mission unless I’ve no alternative.”

“Well, on the off chance Cactus says no, I’ve also taken the liberty of authorising our human friends in Fairport to help you out,” Cairn added. “Having a bunch of monkeys and Newfoals running interference isn’t exactly the same as trained Guardsponies…”

“Trust me, every little helps,” Blunt Instrument said with a nod. “Say what you will, but they know the land better than us. We’re boarding the Iridescence now. Contact me again if you get… when you have authorisation from Cactus.”

“I will do, old friend,” Cairn said, smiling. “Take care, Blunty.”

“And you, Cairnsy,” Instrument said.

The image of Warrior Cairn flickered and disappeared, and Blunt Instrument sighed.

“Sir,” Goodpenny said after a moment, “did Lady Sparkle not specify that we were to undertake this task alone?”

“No,” Blunt Instrument replied, scowling at the Newfoal. “Lady Sparkle specified that reinforcements would be provided when they were available. I’m just making sure they’re available.”

“I see,” Goodpenny said, nodding slowly. He frowned. “And, uh, the phrase ‘remb’, sir?”

He doesn’t know ‘Rear Echelon Mother Bucker’? Instrument thought, snorting. Not even whatever the human version is?

“Don’t worry yourself about it, Goodpenny,” he said. “Just get the Iridescence ready.”

“Yes, sir,” Goodpenny said, nodding.

He trotted off, leaving Instrument alone to consider his options.

Darn few, he thought, but getting better as we go. He smiled. Cairn’s a solid stallion – he won’t let me down.

Eventually, after a journey in an elevator and a somewhat arduous navigation of a maze of corridors and other offices, they reached a large office with the name Harlan Wade on the door. The door to this was locked, and Hives knocked on it nervously, looking around.

A moment later, an old man opened the office door, glaring out at the group from above a bushy moustache.

“Who are these people?” he asked, his voice gruff and weathered.

“They’re the team from the PHL,” Hives answered shakily, a slightly nervous smile on his face. “They came to speak with you about -”

“Fettel,” the man interrupted with a scowl. “Yes, I know. Come in, all of you. Thanks Iain.”

“No problem, Harlan,” the nervous man said quietly.

Elliot and his team entered the expansive office, and Elliot was struck at how spartan the whole place seemed. Apart from a picture of the man and a young girl on a shelf, there didn’t seem to be any personal effects.

“So,” the man – Harlan Wade – said grimly. “You’re who they sent to kill him.”

“That’s correct, sir,” Elliot said politely. “I’m David Elliot, Sergeant. This is Corporal Sam Lake, Corporal True Grit and Private Viola Heartswell.”

The tired looking man glanced briefly at the group, his gaze lingering a fraction of a second longer on Viola, who returned his gaze evenly.

“You think you’re up for killing him?” he asked simply.

“No,” Elliot replied at once, to Sam and Grit's surprise. “Because we don’t know anything about him.”

“At least you’re smart then,” Wade sighed, leaning back in his chair. “More than can be said for half the assholes I work with. They let this happen and now that the shit’s hit the fan they think they can contain this, somehow. Maybe they thought the Barrier would burn the evidence away. Maybe it would – but I doubt it.”

“What are you talking about?” True Grit asked.

“Let’s start from the top,” Wade said, looking at Elliot. “Tell me, how much do you know about the Replica project?”

“Clone soldiers answering to a psychic commander,” Viola said at once, reciting the mission briefing. “They’re commanded by this Paxton Fettel – you think he’s reacting to the presence of PER and Newfoals in the city.”

“Good,” Wade said, nodding and even smiling slightly, “but you’re wrong. I don’t think they’re reacting, I know they are.”

“What do you mean?” Elliot asked.

“Fettel isn’t acting alone,” Wade said quietly. “He’s acting under the influence of an event we call synchronicity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” True Grit asked.

“In effect, that he’s joined minds with another psionic,” Wade said quietly. “Through that joining, he’s learned what that psionic has learned – and that psionic is influencing him.”

“This is so above our pay grade,” Sam said quietly, looking really, really confused by all this.

“What do we need to do, then?” Elliot asked.

“Understand that killing him isn't going to be simple,” Wade said. “Quite apart from the presence of PER and the Replicas. He’s more than capable of inducing hallucinatory states, and a whole host of other things that would make the average idiot shit their pants.”

“Well... shit,” Sam commented, scowling at that.

“Hallucinatory states?” Elliot repeated, frowning. “That... is considerably beyond what my understanding of psionics’ abilities is.”

“And how much do you understand about psionics, Sergeant?” Wade asked with a humourless smile. “Have you spent your entire adult career studying them, learning about their genetic makeup, learning about what makes them tick, learning about the things that keep them up at night?”

“No sir, I have not,” Elliot replied slowly, narrowing his eyes. There was something to what Wade had said – some sense of... guilt?

“Then don't tell me what psionics can and can't do,” Wade said. “Because I have made that study my business in a way you could never imagine, and believe me, you would never want to imagine the lengths to which I have gone.”

There was a momentary pause as Elliot and his team digested this.

“Sir,” Viola said after a moment, “surely if Fettel is acting under the influence of this other psionic, we should make an effort to -”

“Deal with h – with the psionic in question,” Wade cut in, correcting himself as he did so. Elliot frowned: what did he mean? “No, that is out of the question. That psionic is a known quantity, and that known quantity is far beyond the current capacity of the PHL, the PER, the HLF, the Boy Scouts of America and any fucker else you care to name’s capacity to deal with adequately.”

“The PHL has some fairly impressive gear, Mr Wade,” True Grit said with a slight smirk, only for that smirk to wither at the glare Wade sent him.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice deceptively calms, “among all those fancy new guns you've made, is there anything that can kill something that's basically a god?”

True Grit swallowed, but remained resolute. “I'd like to think R&D have something up their sleeve, sir.”

“I know the people from R&D, son,” Wade said with a snort. “They have stuff that can kill little ponies, big ponies, anomalous Newfoals and maybe, just maybe, even Alicorns one day, at a pinch – but a real life God on Earth? That’s an entirely different question.”

There was a shocked silence at Harlan Wade’s pronouncement.

“Is… is that what we’re dealing with?” Elliot asked, eyes wide.

Wade met his gaze. “We are dealing with the potential mother of the apocalypse. A psionic that is, right now, only contained by advanced technology that is keeping – at best – seventy percent of her power at bay, leaving thirty percent free to extend out into the city and control Fettel, among other things. The only hope we are currently in possession of is that we can keep her physical presence contained enough that the sphere of influence her mind has is limited to this city.”

“Then… I guess we’re back to Fettel,” Sam said uneasily. “How do you propose we kill him?”

“We installed a tracker in him that should work to help you get to him in time to prevent a catastrophe,” Wade said with a tired grimace. “But if it doesn’t, I can probably give you a list of his targets – and this place would likely be one of them.”

Elliot nodded. “Right – hence the security.”

“Hence the security,” Wade confirmed with a nod, his contemptful expression showing that he didn’t think much of them. “We’re taking no chances.” He paused. “Another point – Fettel might try to get to the psionic in question, but he wouldn’t be able to get an exact fix from them. He’d need someone who knows where the facility is – they are kept in… he’d need someone who knows where they are.”

His hesitation wasn’t lost on Elliot, who shared a quick glance with Sam, who was frowning thoughtfully.

“And who would those people be?” Elliot asked.

“Most obvious would be myself and Genevieve Aristide,” Wade said, folding his arms thoughtfully. “But Aristide is in behind enough private security that it’d probably take the Barrier itself to kill her. No, Fettel’s best bet is me.”

He seemed remarkably unconcerned about this fact, but Elliot didn’t question it – there was so much to question that singling one point out was practically impossible.

Elliot turned to Viola. “I want you to wait here and keep Mr Wade safe. I’ll send Errant up to join you.”

“You can count on me, sir,” Viola said, saluting. Wade threw her a glance.

“You sure she’s up for this, Sergeant?” the old scientist asked.

“I trust my people, sir,” was all Elliot said in reply, before walking out, Sam and Grit in tow.

Warrior Cairn has a more prominent role in Map of the Problematique.