---

Best,
You've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And you use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Muse, Butterflies and Hurricanes.

---

To Harrison Munro, Colonel, First Encounter Assault Recon, PHL R&D attaché.

Subject: Reavers & Other HLF Units

Dear Col. Munro.

I’m going to put this in as plain and simple English as I physically can. I want to be sure that there is absolutely no room for miscommunication between us on this matter.

As you know, it is under my remit to prepare a contingency for any and all potential threats to national and international security. The presence of HLF militias and other questionable groups constitutes that sort of threat. We have allowed tiny little pockets of lawlessness to flourish in places like Defiance or Bastion, and that is an unacceptable destabilizing influence. It’s given the crazy sovcits of my hometown carte blanche. Either these places submit to authority, or we make them.

I want the information about the Reavers, the 1st Skirmishers, Ex Astris Victoria, and all the other HLF that you work with. Their numbers, equipment, locations. And need I remind you, I am perfectly capable of taking this to a higher authority if you choose to be… uncooperative.

In short, asshole, you can’t blow me off anymore. Give me the intel I want or I will end you.

With regards,
Robert Gardner, Colonel, UNAC taskforce.

---

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor“.

Interview subject: Earnest Star (E.S)
Interviewer notes: Earnest Star is officially listed as a civilian witness to events concerning file “Limiting Factor“.

E.S: Colonel. Hello.

H.M: Hello, Earnest Star. I wish this was a social call.

E.S: Me too.

(There is a pause)

H.M: Look. Bowman wouldn’t want me to ask this. Lord knows that he’s already reamed Amber a new one time and time again for trying. But I have to know. Did you see anything strange before the attack?

E.S: What do you mean?

H.M: Someone with sudden changes in behavior, outbursts… keeping to themselves, that sort of thing.

E.S: Doesn’t sound like how a spy would act.

H.M: Because I’m not looking for a spy. I’m looking for… well. There was some kind of Presence in that town. The Reavers have corroborated, Hope has, Kraber has… and you’re the only survivor of the original event.

(There is a pause.)

H.M: …the only cognisant one, anyway.

E.S: Alright. I’ll tell you what I can.

(There is a pause)

E.S: When I left, it was normal. Well… normal for a ponification camp. I assume, anyway, I’ve not exactly been to many… sorry, rambling.

H.M: It’s alright. Take your time.

E.S: There… there was just a feeling. A feeling among the prisoners, a feeling among the people waiting to be ‘processed’. A feeling like… like…

H.M: Like what?

E.S: I want to say like we were being watched, but… not quite. It was more like something was… with us. There was one time the six of us were walking through a hallway, and five came out - but nobody knew who the sixth one was. And it wasn’t the last time, either. You’d be in a room with five people and keep thinking there were six, you’d hear a sixth voice – or you’d swear you did. Everyone would say there couldn’t have been, but… they all knew. They all knew it was there. It was whispering in my ear, all the time. ‘Get out. Now. Before it’s too late. Run. Run. Run. Run! Run! RUN…!’

(At this point, Earnest Star has some kind of anxiety attack and the interview recording is halted.)

---

The town of Hadley’s Hope was abuzz with energy: its people – Newfoal, Human, and natural-born pony all alike – moving with singular purpose towards their assigned duties. Soldiers – human and pony – stood guard, armour and flesh daubed in bloody runes. Civilians moved pieces, heading to their assigned tasks. It was all going so perfectly. So perfectly.

“We keep getting messages, you know,” Dr Horse said evenly from where he was standing. One of his eyes was newly ruptured, bleeding across his face, but his tone was perfectly calm.

“Do we really?” Cairn said, smiling. “Who from?”

“Shieldwall’s group,” Horse said. “I had Sun Dere read them all out for me. Basically he’s wondering what our productivity rate is. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a tad concerned about us.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be very pleased,” Cairn said, grinning wider. “I mean, we’ve done so very much in this town!”

Even as he spoke, a hulking thing that might have been a Newcalf passed him. It was moaning as it walked, its hooves even more misshapen than a normal Newcalf’s giant cloven hooves tended to be. Cairn glanced at it, his smile widening still further at the multitude of runes carved into its body.

“Are you sure?” Horse said, frowning slightly. “What if he’s… resistant? Y’know, like the Commissar was?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Cairn said, still smiling. “I know Shieldwall. Pony of vision. Pony of great vision! So much cleverer than our late Commissar, Oh Darkness take him into its bosom!”

“Darkness take us all!” every pony, Newfoal and human in a fifty metre radius yelled in reply, even Horse, who was still frowning as he said it.

“He’ll understand all of it, I know he will!” Cairn finished.

Horse tilted his head. “But… suppose he doesn’t, though? Couldn’t he be… a problem?”

“Oh, well,” Cairn said, his smile not fading, “then we’ll have to show him! Can’t be a problem if we show him, can he?”

“Show him, yes, that makes sense,” Horse said. His head tilted still further, and something vile and viscous spilled from his eye, creeping along his fur rather uncomfortably less like a liquid and rather more like something cruel, crawling and alive. “How?”

In response, Cairn whistled loudly, and like a flash, one of the Newfoals was there.

“We need to make something special for Shieldwall!” he said eagerly. “Something we can send him, something to make him… understand.”

“Yes,” Horse said, nodding in agreement, “can we do that?”

The Newfoal smiled, wide enough that it’s flesh began tearing around the lips.

“Yesh…“ it said, it’s voice slurred to the point of being unintelligible. “Yesh, weeee can do dat, sirsh. Mossht definitely.”

“How wonderful,” Cairn said, still grinning in turn. “Please see to it that it is sent with all due haste.”

The Newfoal smiled, blood dripping from its lips as it turned and sauntered off. Cairn looked around, seeing if anything else required his attention.

“In the meantime…“ he murmured, looking at his colleague. “Horse, how are our preparations going?”

“They’re going, Cairn, yes,” Horse said, smiling again. The liquid that had spilled across his fur had turned hard, forming a kind of crusty, hard material on his face that looked like a rotten driftwood starfish. His other eye was bloodshot, and tears of reddened water began leaking from it. “Going well, well indeed, most so.”

“Oh,” Cairn said, his grin widening. His own skin began tearing, mirroring the Newfoal (which had wandered over to a few others, including a markedly pristine Sun Dere, who was smiling gently at the ruined thing). “That is wonderful. So wonderful.”

Everything was going so, so well.

---

Not again.

The thought rang through the mind of one who watched the town of Hadley’s Hope from a distance. It was a pony, or you might have thought so. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was nothing at all. Sometimes, when you blinked, it was taller, sometimes longer, and sometimes it wasn’t even a pony. But that was only when it didn’t focus. And now…

… now it was impossible to focus.

Within its mind, voices raced, speaking with one another. Busy. Busy, so busy. So much to think about, so much beyond this little world and its little problems. And yet, this little world kept drawing it back, pulling at its attention.

For a moment, the figure seemed truly indistinct. Blurred, even.

We cannot allow this, one voice said. We fixed this! We saved this! Why can it not stay fixed?!

We are not here for this, another thought. We did not come into this world just to fix the same things over and over. That is not why we exist, not the only priority we have.

Why, then, if not this? another voice argued. We saved this world because it did not deserve to end in madness and misery, not if we had anything to say about it.

Then what? the first voice said, sounding increasingly vexed. We just keep coming back every time these people destroy themselves? Keep putting aside what we need to do for them, no matter how many times they screw it up? Is that what we do?

The third voice seemed almost to sigh. If we must. Because we don’t give up. We can’t. It isn’t in our nature.

Some things are worth giving up, the first voice said.

There was a momentary pause, and then the figure stilled, no longer indistinct. It was a hooded, Albino Unicorn mare, a sword girt at her side. There was silence, if only for a moment. And then a soft, female voice spoke.

“Perhaps they are,” she said quietly. “And yet only when there is no hope. And we are not there, not yet.”

---

Luke was profoundly grateful for being sat in a chapel. It was a relaxing space, and after the events of the last day or so, ‘relaxing’ was exactly what was needed. And while she hadn’t said as much, the young Unicorn who he had brought with him certainly look like she agreed.

“Thank you,” the Unicorn – Earnest Star? – said, taking a sip of the flask of water he had gotten for her. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be such a bother.”

“You’re not being a bother at all,” Preacher said, smiling. He looked tired, and Luke couldn’t say he blamed him. “We’re happy to help.”

Luke glanced at him, wondering how an HLF man could be so kind to a pony. He had heard so much hatred coming from the ‘Fraktion men he’d worked with that this was… unprecedented by comparison.

“So, new guy,” the other pony – what was her name? Lucky Strike? – said, smiling at him. “How’s you end up with these misfits?”

“That’s… not a very nice word to use,” Earnest Star admonished gently.

Lucky Strike stuck her tongue out. “They’re my friends, I get to rib ‘em. That’s the deal.”

“How lucky we are, indeed,” Preacher said gently, smiling good naturedly at Strike.

Luke swallowed, his mind suddenly returning to the events of a few days ago. “I was at Nipville.”

There was a moment of silence as this hit the room, like the proverbial cannon.

“With the ‘Fraktion,” Lucky Strike said after a moment. To her credit, she didn’t sound too accusatory.

“My militia unit got called up,” Luke said. He showed Strike his armband. “We weren’t very big. Didn’t know what the heck was going on, and then…“

“And then the UNAC decided to burn you,” Lucky Strike said, her voice hollow. “Yeah, we read the reports.”

Luke nodded, looking down.

“The ‘Fraktion?” Earnest Star repeated, frowning. “As in the Menschabwehrfraktion?”

Luke sighed. “Yes. The Menschabwehrfraktion. We were… recruited, I guess you’d say.”

Earnest Star nodded. “I’ve… heard things.” She paused. “But then, I’ve heard things about all sorts of people, that doesn’t make them true.”

“The ‘Fraktion, regrettably, is usually as bad as they are made out to be,” Preacher said quietly. “We have only very occasionally worked alongside them. For a given value of ‘alongside’, of course.”

“Captain Romero doesn’t think very highly of them,” Lucky Strike said evenly. “By which I mean, he doesn’t think of them. They’re useless at best.”

“Captain who?” Earnest Star asked, frowning.

Before Lucky Strike could answer, the door to the chapel opened and a man in heavy armour entered, carrying a shotgun.

“Preacher,” he said, his voice blunt. “Suit up. We’re moving out and we need you.”

Preacher sighed. “I’ve not been on active combat missions for a few years, Fred.”

“You’re needed for our blessing at least,” the man said. He looked at the ponies, who stared blankly back at him, and he frowned almost imperceptibly. “You can, uh, leave your friends here.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room.

“Well,” Preacher said after a moment, “that settles that it would seem.” He looked at Earnest Star. “I apologise for him. It is very hard for some of us.”

“I… I guess I understand,” Earnest Star said, smiling. “Well, uh… well, no, not really. But it’s alright.”

“It makes sense,” Lucky Strike said with a soft, thoughtful frown. “Loads of people are a little bit… y’know. Uneasy. S’to be expected. Ponies wiped out some of these people’s homes, stole some of their families.” She scowled. “A glare is the least unpleasant thing we could get. With the number of people ponified… families torn apart… honestly, I sometimes think we’re lucky there aren’t more Krabers in the world.”

Luke winced, and Earnest Star closed her eyes, clearly distressed.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “What was happening in Hadley’s Hope…“ She swallowed. “I couldn’t forgive the people that did that either.”

“Anyway,” Lucky Strike continued. “They’ll probably call us up soon.”

“They will?” Luke asked, blinking in surprise.

“Well, me, anyway,” she clarified, smiling. “But they might want Earnest there to give us some directions.”

Earnest Star took a deep breath. “I’ll… I’ll help any way I can, Miss Strike.”

“Good mare,” Strike said, winking at her. “Just stick with me and we’ll get through this.”

---

“I don’t have any intel about Commander Cairn,” Daniel Romero said evenly. “And I have no idea what’s going on in Hadley’s Hope.”

Sam smiled sadly. Calling Daniel Romero was a long shot at best: the Captain of the HLS Columbia always seemed to know more than anyone else, and yet, still not enough. Never enough.

Romero was talking to her through comsat, Sam not trusting Skype anymore, not since a particularly vexing mission when she had organised a raid on PER through Skype only to find UNAC and PHL troops already finishing up when they had gotten there. She remembered some stuck-up prig of an officer – one of Striker’s old colleagues, Turner or Price or Mendoza or something – looking particularly smug as he told her that her troops weren’t needed.

Still, they’d all gone back to Bastion and gotten blind drunk, happy that at least the PER were dealt with. That had to count for something.

“I figured as much, Dan,” she said quietly, bringing her attention back to the here and now. “But we need every advantage we can find for this job. I don’t like taking my people in blind.”

“No good Commander does, Sam,” Romero said, nodding. “We’ll do our best to get you the intel. In the meantime, though,” he added, “there’s Lovikov to consider.”

Sam shook her head dismissively. “For you, maybe, Dan. I can’t get my people to him in time, and Hadley’s Hope – and the PER – take precedence.”

“As they should,” Romero said quietly. He nodded. “Alright. We’ll keep you posted.” He paused, his expression uncertain for a moment, which for Daniel Romero was tantamount to a fit of emotion. “Good luck, Sam.”

“Thanks, Dan,” she said. “You, too.”

The vidcom shut off, and Sam let out a sigh. She sat heavily in her chair her father’s chair. He is not dead. Not yet. Not ever.

That was about the only good news they had. Hadley’s Hope was a dead zone. Nothing was coming out, nothing was going in. Not even any PER. Whatever was happening there, it was silent as the grave.

That is a really fucking terrible metaphor to use for right now, Sam thought, grimacing.

Sighing, she reached for her pistol and slotted it into its holster.

It was time to go to war.

---

“Get those jeeps loaded! Go, go, go!”

Luke watched the soldiers preparing to go with something resembling awe. His little militia group had never been this well equipped, had never been this thorough or this organised. The group that would be going to Hadley’s Hope had already split into fireteams of four or five; there were eight jeeps that looked like modified Humvees, as well as a large 6x6 APC with a cannot turret. The troops, meanwhile, were clad in bulky urban-camo body armour. There were two or three troopers in powered armour as well: even bigger and broader than the regular Reaver armour.

Luke frowned when he noticed numerous members of the group walking over to join an ever-growing circle. The troops in that circle were all in heavy armour, many of them covered in a variety of Norse runes. They were looking at each other.

Luke recognised Preacher, who looked odd in battle armour. On one shoulder plate was a stylised Christian cross, on another was a norse rune. As Luke looked, in fact, he saw religious symbols from across the variety of religions on the planet – even wiccan symbols – all over the man’s armour. It was like he had been trying to fit every God’s personal symbol onto the plate all at once.

“Do we have time for the full version, Mr Idle?” he asked someone quietly.

“Sure we do,” the man he had asked – Luke vaguely remembered John Idle – replied. “We’re gonna want to do this right.”

“Very well,” Preacher said.

Before they could do anything else, Idle held up a hand and made a circling motion to the assembling group of soldiers. At once, all eight of them moved into a circle, standing almost solemnly.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked.

“Quiet, new boy!” Idle snapped. He turned back to the circle of troops. “Don't profane this.”

“Profane?” Luke repeated, frowning. “Profane what? I don’t get it.”

“Please,” Preacher said, raising both hands. At once, Idle sighed turning back to the priest as he lowered his arms, a smile on his face. “We are all of us here for a reason. Whether we know it or not. Now, brothers and sisters, let us pray.”

He lowered his head, and all around the circle this motion was echoed. Feeling awkward, Luke did the same.

“We are all human,” Preacher’s voice intoned. “All given the gift of life, the gift of free will, the gift of potential. This gift is ours, whether from some God, or from the universe, or merely from chance. Whichever we believe, we believe we are human.”

“We are human,” the voices of the soldiers around him murmured.

The silver haired man sighed, nodded, and pulled out a small flask. He closed his eyes, opened the flask, took a sip and grimaced.

“I am Tom Richardson,” he said softly. “And I am human.”

He passed the drink clockwise to Idle, who took a swig, grimacing as well.

“I'm John Idle,” he said gruffly, his voice hoarse. “And I'm human.”

The next man along took the swig and coughed slightly. When he spoke, his voice was young.

“I am Dan Green, and I am human.”

The next in line was a woman. She almost gagged when she drank.

“I'm Ellie Sykes. I am human.”

The next man took the sip quickly, and spoke with a thick German accent. “I am Heinrich Brennen. I am human.”

The next was French, and sniffed the flask with disgust before his sip. “I am Jacques Dupont. I am human.”

Another woman, American, who took the sip with ease. “Jenny Jameson. I'm human.”

A man, quiet, with a soft British accent. “I am David Thames. I'm human.”

Next, the man next to Idle, a quiet man with a brown beard and a heavily receding hairline. “I am Samuel Ellis, and I am human.”

Voices continued in this way, passing around the group of soldiers. More and more walked up to the congregation – there really was no word for it other than that – and took a sip, intoning their names with the finality of a dirge.

And then, suddenly, the flask was in Luke’s hands, and he felt the eyes of every Reaver there on him. He blinked, uncertain how to feel.

“You with us, newbie?” Idle asked him.

Luke looked down at the flask, before looking at the expectant faces. He hadn’t expected this: he’d heard so much about the ritual stuff, and of course everybody knew about Yorke the rapist who’d been blood-eagled and left at a roadside, but…

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” Preacher said quietly, smiling at him. “But you are welcome among us, Luke. Don’t be afraid.”

Luke nodded, before taking a deep breath. “My name is Luke Scott. And I’m human.”

He took a sip, the liquid burning his throat as it went down. He coughed, barely managing to swallow the vile concoction. As he did so, every Reaver around him laughed, Idle coming up and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Newbie’s first taste of our medicine!” he said, grinning. He looked around. “We’ve got a human here, troops!”

A cheer went up, and Idle gently took the flask from Luke’s hand, winking at him as he did so. The flask was passed back to Preacher, who put it back in his belt. He looked at every member of the group in turn.

“We are human,” he said softly. “And we will make them remember us.”

There was a collective nod from the group, and then they broke apart, moving to their respective trucks and humvees.

Luke took a deep breath. The vile taste was still in his mouth.

“You alright?” a voice asked from behind him. He turned to see Sam standing behind him, her arms folded across her armoured chest.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just…”

He motioned to his mouth. Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, that stuff is vile,” she said.

“What’s it even made out of?!” Luke asked.

“That would be one of those questions no one wants the answer to,” Sam chuckled, though her expression soured. “So, you’re with us, then.”

Luke nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you.” He smiled. “Wherever this ends up going.”

Sam nodded, her expression becoming more pensive. “Yeah, wherever it ends up.” She swallowed. “Luke…”

There was a sudden clamour from the trucks, and Sam, distracted, turned away from Luke, heading towards one of the bigger APCs. Before Luke could follow, he saw a handful of troops in black combat gear jog past, including Lucky Strike.

“Hey!” the mare said, waving at him. “C’mon, Scott!

Luke winced, before moving over to her. The APC she was going in wasn’t any of the Reavers’ ones, but it was the same model, just painted in a deep midnight black, a symbol Luke didn’t recognise on the side. She entered through the back ramp, and Luke followed.

There were troops in here, most in the same black regalia as Strike. On one side sat a man with a bristling moustache and a red beret, a woman with a fauxhawk and a Norse symbol painted on her Hardball armour, a man with a shaven head and a small scar under his right eye, and another shaven headed man with no particular distinctive marks. Across from them sat a woman with short black hair who was putting her helmet on, and another man in a full set of what Luke presumed was Hardball-X armour - a kind of heavier model of the Hardball suits that was meant to be for ‘tankier’ troops. The fact that he was carrying a large LMG sealed the deal. Next to this man was another pony, an Earth Pony with what must have been one of the later P-220 models of LMG. And then, of course, there was Earnest Star, clad in a basic set of armour with conspicuous holes for a Pegasus that marked it out as a spare set of Strike’s.

I’ve never seen one of those in person, Luke thought, taking a deep breath.

“You alright, mate?” the beret-wearing man said.

“No,” Luke replied honestly. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

“You’ll be fine, kid,” Lucky Strike said, smiling. “We’ve got your back. I’ll grab you some spare kit.”

Luke nodded, and tried to believe her. He looked at Earnest Star, who looked tired and… scared?

“You alright?” He asked her quietly.

She shook her head dolefully. “I don’t want to go back there. But…” Sighing, she gave him a smile. “I can help. So I have to.”

Luke nodded. “I know that feel.”

He really did, and he comforted himself with that as Strike passed him a rifle.

It was time to do some good.

---

Sam took a breath as she got onto the Humvee.

She shouldn’t have been nervous. After all, she’d gone on missions without her father before. More missions than she’d gone on with him, actually: he’d taken a backseat from missions a couple of years ago, and ever since, she’d gotten used to taking the lead.

But this is different, she thought. Because this time he’s not here.

There was something ridiculously comforting about having your father on the other

“Boss, Comm Check,” Idle’s voice came through her helmet comms.

Sighing, Sam tapped her headset. “This is Odinson Zero, acknowledging. Please try to stick to comm protocol. I say again, stick to protocol, over.”

“Gotcha,” Idle said. “Uh, over.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Right.” Dad, you hired an army of half-professionals, wannabe gunslingers and cowboys, then you had to mold the passable ones and weed out the dumb ones. “You settled in, over?”

“All squads ready to go, over,” Idle said.

Better, Sam thought.

“How many do we have, over?” she asked, speaking quietly.

“Eight Humvees, one of our APCs, and Strike’s team,” Idle said. “Sixty-man team all-told, over.”

“What about Big Bob and Little Bertie, over?” Sam asked.

“Little Bertie’s in reserve, Valk Four is ready to deploy him,” Idle replied. “Big Bob’s got issues. We’ve got him in maintenance now, over.”

“Acknowledged,” Sam said. Disappointing, but she could live with it. She took a deep breath. “They… they expect me to do it, don’t they.”

Idle didn’t comment on her breach of protocol. Instead, she heard him sigh.

“You don’t have to,” he finally said. “It was his philosophy. You don’t -”

“I’m just filling his chair, John,” Sam cut him off. “And that means I do this for him. Not just for me.”

With a grunt, she pulled herself to the top of the Humvee. There was a moment before the assembled troops - those going to Hadley’s Hope and otherwise - turned to look at her. After a minute, there was dead silence.

Sam swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

For Dad.

She unholstered her pistol and raised it up, pointed at the sky.

“What are we?!” she called, loud and clear. Her voice reverberated along the courtyard of Bastion.

And the cry went up, from men, women, and even the few children who had come to watch.

“Reavers!”

“What do we do?!” she asked.

“Ride the road!” they answered.

“Where do we ride the road?!”

“To the road's ending!”

“And where does it end?!”

“VALHALLA!”

“WHAT?!”

“VALHALLA!”

“What do we do when Death greets us!”

“We meet him! We greet him! We punch him in the dick!”

Sam grinned. “We go now into battle! We go now to kill the PER, and avenge those taken from us! And if we die, we die human!”

“Yarrow for the HLF!” came a cry from one of the nearby Humvees. Sam turned, to see John Idle standing atp his own jeep, pointing at her. “Yarrow for Valhalla!”

“Yarrow for Valhalla!” the cry went up across the courtyard. “Yarrow for Valhalla!”

Sam took a breath. ‘Yarrow for Valhalla’. Have I taken command of an army or a cult?

When the world’s ending, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her father’s seemed to say to her, the difference sometimes becomes arbitrary. People need something to believe in when everything they know is about to die.

Sam smiled. “Ain’t that the bloody truth.” She lowered her pistol and holstered it, before bringing a hand to her comms. “All Reavers, this is Odinson Zero. Move out.”

And like a trigger had been pulled, the jeeps began moving, heading out of the gate of Bastion and down the dirt track that would take them onto the main road. And from there…

… from there, Hadley’s Hope.

---

Next Chapter: Guiding Light Estimated time remaining: 16 Minutes