The drive into the countryside of New Jersey was rather pleasant, unlike going through central Dallas or taking the scenic route around it. Civil snorted to himself over the concept of New Jersey even having a countryside, but no kidding, it was there, and his uncle had a nice plot of land and a house in the wooded area. The ride was hilly and went through a lot of tall trees, but it was developed, like the outskirts of a city that had thinned out with large neighborhood type houses within walking distances of their next door neighbors. The large land surrounding the house was also beneficial to large parties one might hold, for instance, if there was the regular wine bottling party Joey held every year, or the pig roasting party he occasionally did...or both, which were apparently being held at Joey's house right this minute, if all the cars were to be an obvious clue.

"Uncle Joey?" Civil squeaked, somewhat shocked. He tried to count the cars while his family stared out the windows. Well, not his mother. She was used to these big gatherings. People were milling about in front of the house, to the sides, everywhere. Most of them he knew as his human relatives from before, when he was Jason.

"Yes boss? What's on your mind?" His normal jovial tone hadn't switched since...forever.

"Please tell me that is not the whole family!?!"

"Naw, that's not the whole family. A bunch of friends are mixed in there, too. But you know them already, so no sweat!" He got out of the car and stretched. "Aw, shit. I still have to make the sausage. Hey, Jason." He snapped his fingers. "No wait, you have another name now, wasn't that right, Renee?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Uncle Joey," she replied quickly. Joey oh yeah'd and made a zipping motion with his mouth.

Civil had no idea what they were talking about, either. He was too busy staring at all the vehicles crowding the lawn, and a portion of the people that were now staring back at him as his family piled out of the car. There were easily 60 to 80 people, if you averaged a few per car.

Joey's face drifted into his view, making him blink. "Yo, space cadet. What's your new name, anyway? God forbid my daughter runs into you and then it's 'Daddy screwed up his nephew's name and made me screw it up.' She really wants to meet you and doesn't want to ruin her first impression. Second impression. Wait, you're still you, right? Anyway, the conniption she would have, my dead mother would hear it from here, God rest her soul."

"Eh, Civ..Civil Patrol," he stammered out, staring at his uncle.

After scrunching his mouth around for a bit, Joey shrugged, "Otay, Civil it is. Oi, who's hungry!?" A round of me's chimed in from Civil's family while he just stumbled along behind them. The pegasus recognized many of the relatives outside the house, who were watching him with a fair amount of interest. Not shock, or surprise, but plain curiosity. They all knew about him. His keen hearing caught some of the whispers, such as 'That's Jason? I thought he'd be, bigger, ya know?' Or, 'Is he a baby horse? Pony, right? They call them ponies now?' or the tamer, 'St. Mary mother of God, he's got wings! They do exist! Honey, get a picture of him, my neighbors will have kittens.' Civil flattened his ears and pressed on, doing his best to ignore them. He knew they didn't mean anything by it, but still. It wasn't until he made it inside the house that he encountered the real threat to his existence at this party. Cousins.

They ranged from the grabby toddlers all the way up to the pervy/grabby teenagers. Maybe not most of them. A few had that look...others were adults and knew enough to give him his space, but the rest seemed to edge forward from the groups of adults like they were drawn to fresh candy. He liked candy, too. He didn't like BEING candy. His nostrils flared, wings rustling just shy of aggressive display. However, most of the children stayed back a bit, their eyes watching someone behind him.

While his parents moved further into the house toward the kitchen following his uncle, it wasn't until he felt a hand on his withers that he realized Renee had moved to his side and was keeping pace. And, she was giving all the children the chilliest look and shaking her head 'no'. It had been a long time since he felt grateful for her presence. This moment had reset that long running clock. He didn't get long to think about it because he smelled, and saw, the most amazing spectacle ever when he entered the kitchen.

There, two of his other uncles, along with Joey joining them, were working a mountain of sausage meat piled up on the island countertop. The mound of red and white material was easily two feet high, four feet long and three feet wide. A large manually cranked sausage grinder stood at the end of the countertop, awaiting the meat. Several canisters of spices were nearby, their contents liberally mixed into the pile and the uncles were working it through to get a thorough consistency.

"Soon as we stuff this into the intestines, we'll start grilling," Joey told Civil, digging right in and taking handfuls of the stuff to put into the metal hopper on the grinder. Another uncle, Nick, grabbed some pig casings and put it over the spigot and nodded to Steve, who began grinding. The meat pushed out and filled the casing, with Nick wrapping butcher string every few inches to make links. They were very efficient, having worked in their father's butcher shop before he sold it back in the day. It was the family tradition back then to work in the family shop until you went to college, and even then come back during summer to work there.

Despite their skill, this was going to take a while before the links were grilled, so Civil hopped up on a stool and sat. Finally getting a chance to look around, he noticed a lot of Christmas decorations were out. Garland everywhere, Santas and elves here and there. He could just make out a Christmas tree in the living room, with colored lights blinking slowly in a syncopated manner.

With Renee standing guard and shooing away the children every so often while adults looked at him with curiosity, Civil accepted the fact that he would be introducing himself anew as the day wore on. Already the first relatives were coming over and shaking his hoof. Aunts, uncles and adult cousins asked if he remembered them. 'How was it as a pony', 'how horrible some ponies had been treated', 'if he could eat meat'. He supposed he could have paid more attention, but his mind just wasn't into a full blown family reunion. Despite all the complaining his uncle would do every now and then about the tasks left to do that day and how he vowed never to do another party, Joey lived for these things, so Civil put on a smile and nodded politely, hugging just about everyone that came over, because that's what Italians did. Not so much kissing the cheeks today...pony fur could be disconcerting. He did allow pats on the head, because let's face it, it felt good as a pony.

While he was engrossed in getting reacquainted with some of the older cousins that had been in his age group as a human, the younger crowd of kids were desperately trying to call Renee over. When she was sure Civil wouldn't be hassled, she wandered over to them and they all began having a very serious conversation with her. Serious for juveniles, at any rate. The oldest one, their leader, was Joey's daughter Vanessa. She was a very spirited fifteen year old and an avid animal lover, with her own flock of ducks in the backyard she had been raising since they were hatched. She also had an extensive collection of MLP merchandise upstairs. Her father never let he attend any of the conventions, only saying when she was an adult she could do whatever she wanted.

Which meant, having seen that her cousin was an actual pony after all the rumors, and a pegasus at that, Vanessa was determined to interact with him. She just had to go through Renee. Civil glanced up to another cousin of his that came close to him, Christopher, after having watched his sister talk in private with the other kids. And he got a full rundown on the 'Vanessa situation'. "How extensive a collection?" Civil asked.

Chris eyed her and murmured quietly, "Generations 1, 2, 3....3.5, and 4. She loves to talk about all their names and personalities. Their cutie-marks too."

Civil opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at him awry, "How do you know about all this? That stuff isn't common knowledge yet."

He smirked at the pegasus and shrugged, "When I was younger, I would look after her at some of the parties your grandfather held, remember? She and I would play ponies together." A raised eyebrow and Chris gave Civil a nonchalant shrug, "I don't care. I wasn't into robots and tanks back then. And I don't give a shit now what people think, I'm married to a beautiful wife, aren't I?" He leaned over to kiss Jill, the woman standing next to him. In a way, he kind of reminded Civil of a pony named Fancy Pants. A little prissy in mannerism, but seriously class A all the way and very confident in himself. When they were younger, Jason didn't really hang out with Chris, more that Chris just wasn't interested in the things Jason was. Kids being kids, he simply didn't think about Chris' effeminate nature.

Back then some of the other cousins acted more masculine and were into things like wall ball or stick ball, shooting off fireworks down the street to set off car alarms (just bottle rockets, nothing M80-like!). Jason used to love all that stuff. Later on, he connected big time with Chris on the cruise his grandparents had taken them all on. They would stay up late, playing various card games like Asshole and Truth or Dare in one of the open air lounges overlooking the vast atrium at the center of the ship. They explored the various stops the ship made, like Jamaica and Cozumel, while hanging out with Jason's grandmother. Those were fun times, and Chris showed him that you didn't have to have gender issues to be in touch with your feelings. Chris had an easy going and emotionally expressive personality. In retrospect, quite a few anime's frequently presented effeminate guys as incredible chick magnets. And as a pony remembering how Equestrian society was, he would have easily hung out with Chris if they were younger. What a turnaround.

Discord had really done a number on his race, Civil thought to himself.

Jill blushed and whispered back, "Staaaawp! You're such a schmooz!" She kissed him back.

Civil shuddered and shook his head, "Please, don't mention schmooz. Bad memories." They laughed at him, grinning.

Jill tittered, "Was that really a thing, that blob ruining the royal ball? Vanessa showed us the episode yesterday! It's so unreal to think that stuff exists."

He nodded, but corrected her, "It was a gala, and yes, it's a thing." He held his hoof up when her face brightened, "No, I wasn't there for that event, but for other stuff. Please don't ask-" He cut himself off and asked, "Wait, she showed you pony episodes yesterday?" They nodded to him. "Um, why?"

Before they could answer, Renee returned and sighed heavily, "Okay, I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want?" Just then Joey slid an open bottle of Heineken with a straw in front of Civil.

"Here you go, champ. Looks like you are going to need it." He grinned, glancing between us and the gaggle of cousins moving off to the backyard area, his daughter lingering behind as she watched Civil. He waved to her and got back to the meat packing. He didn't get long to work it because she psst at him to get his attention and waved him over to her in the living room. Wiping off his hands, he attended to his daughter. "This should be interesting," he mumbled to himself.

Civil pointedly quipped to Renee, "Neither," and started drinking from the straw. Chris and Jill gave Renee beaming smiles and hugged her, saying hello. She in turn congratulated them on their marriage and asked when they would be due, because, fuck it, Renee was just going to get into everypony's business today, Civil groused to himself. They said 'nope' about being pregnant, insisting they needed a better place before they could start raising a family.

All through the exchange Civil steadily drank down his beer. His metabolism was different now, so beers shouldn't have any effect on him. Renee, for her part, was skilled enough to divide her attention between their cousins, and watching him. She wrinkled her nose and grinned at the same time when her brother began slurping out the last drops out of the bottle with his straw, occasionally smiling to Chris and Jill while responding to their questions about her schooling and life in general. At length they figured she wanted to talk to her brother and made comments about moving to the porch outside.

Some of the cooking smells were drifting in, which also helped speed things along. Renee smiled and waved to them as they headed out. Finally she said, "So, the good news. I convinced all the younger kids to ask you individually if they can pet you when you are not speaking to other people, and if you say 'no', they are to leave you alone."

His response was a very loud belch. All three of his uncles cheered, Joey having returned from his 'secret meeting' with his daughter a few minutes ago. Nick yelled, "Oh hey! Who let the lion in the house!?!" Joey walked by, clapping Civil on the back.

His mother, from across the house where she was chatting with some friends she went to college with, somehow knew it was him and yelled, "JASON! Where are your manners!"" Other guys yelled 'Salute!' and drank whatever spirits they had in hand, or better yet, drank from their wives' drinks, earning smacks on shoulders for stealing said drinks.

Renee sniffed and said flatly, "Niiiiice, Jason. You aren't fit for public consumption." He stuck his tongue out at her and pulled a bowl of chips over to him. Grabbing another bowl filled with salsa, he began eating as though he didn't have a care in the world, because he didn't at this point. She watched him with some disgust before continuing, "And then there's the bad news." He paused on a chip, eyeing her. She smiled sweetly and held up a hand, "Now don't get upset. I was trying to keep the more belligerent tykes off of you. I said if any of them insisted on having one-on-one time with you, they needed to pay five hundred dollars. Cash. They'd have a death wish if they broke my rules, otherwise. I got the idea from a fanfic online." He choked on the half eaten chip, spluttering into the bowl. Renee clapped his back a few times.

When he could finally speak, he exclaimed, "Dammit, Renee, what's wrong with you!?! Charging them five hundred bucks to see me, like some sideshow freak?" To her credit, she put on a very hurt expression. Not one the great drama queen of Guilford County High School would put on, mind you. It was real hurt.

This wasn't the first time she'd had ridiculous ideas regarding money. As a kid she had found a garden snake in the backyard, stuck it in an old fish tank and put up a sign that read 'See the snake 10 sents an awr.' Not only did their father NOT correct the sign, he even paid her a Celestia-damned dime! He didn't spend an hour in the garage, though. Civil snorted at the memory. Renee mistook Civil's reaction to that memory as a reply to her current idea. Then again, might as well have been.

"I was trying to protect you from them! I thought five hundred would be too high for any child to have in their pockets. And I didn't want it sounding so ridiculous that they'd dismiss it out of hand and bother you anyway! Haven't you noticed, none of them have been running up to grab your wings or yank your hair or tail!?" A verbal correction from him that it was a mane and not hair earned him a glower from her.

"Come on, Jason! I'm not amoral." True, most of the older cousins had drifted out to the back yard where the fun and games were. Sure, a real pegasus is rad, but grilling, cotton candy machine (Joey goes all out at these parties), and volleyball was more fun than a grumpy pegasus you couldn't get near. Still, a few young ones were lingering behind, lurking around the corners in the hallway and living room. They watched and waited for their opportunity. To strike like jackals, Civil thought to himself.

A few of the adults nearby shook their heads solemnly at him. Yeah, fine, he felt like shit now. He sighed and nodded, "Okay, okay. It's actually a good idea...just, I dunno. I'm tired of having to deal with outrageous bullshit, you know?" She smiled and nodded.

"I get it. I'm here for you, alright?" She ruffled his mane atop his head, the ears twitching out of the way. He smiled gratefully and resumed eating. His quasi-acceptance of the arrangement must have been like some telepathic signal. Right away the first cousin of the pack came up to him, and with forced acceptance, he greeted the child. After that, it was a random procession of hello's, this time with the younger generations. Occasionally a younger cousin would find their way to him, ask if they could pet him. He agreed, but for only a minute, and then there would be the petting. Random pictures were taken by parents and non-parents, and he forced a grin through it all while Renee was always nearby, making sure 'the deal' was kept. Never a group, and never a pushy child. A few no's were given, such as 'can so-and-so ride him?' No. 'Can they tickle him?' No. 'But they had never tickled a pegasus before and-' NO. 'Oh those wings look lovely can I tou-' 'I will buck you into the next-' (gasp from a very excitable parent), sigh...'no.'

Once sausage links started getting delivered back into the kitchen from the grill outside, Civil was forgotten. Food was food, and Italians rated a good party on its food. Which meant he was left alone. And Renee being Renee, a force of nature in the socializing department, she nipped off to get some sausages from outside, promising she would bring a few back for him. He would have gotten some from the batch that was just brought into the kitchen, but the crowd around the countertop island was too thick for even a starving pegasus to get a wing in edgewise.

As for her promise to return, yeah right. He could see her laughing and social butterflying around from one person to another out on the porch. The house was built on a hill, so the first floor ended at the back a good story above the ground, the basement accessible through a doorway under the porch. Before he could find something else just as boring to stare at, the door underneath the staircase behind him opened up and Joey poked his head out, "Oi, Pat, come down here, I want to show you something."

Civil twisted around, wrinkling his nose. " 'Pat', seriously?" His uncle shrugged and disappeared into the...closet? Oh yeah, that door was a second stairwell going down into the basement, whereas the one at his parents' house was just the coat closet. Texas wasn't into basements that much, on account of the weather and soil. He jumped off the stool and followed his uncle down the wooden steps and into the cool basement. It was fairly large, part of it converted to a catering hall where large tables were set up with prepared food on it. Some of the aunts and second and third cousins had made there way to the tables and were noshing on items like fresh mozzarella on tomato slices, olives, good hard crust breads, other cheeses, mostly antipasto. One wall was lined with wooden wine barrels. When his uncles made wine, they went all out. There were some wine racks, though only a few bottles were actually on them. His uncles also drank or gave away a lot of that wine. He grinned while Joey led him over to those racks in the back and pulled out a case hidden in the shadows. Opening it, he saw that it was a handgun. He raised his brow at his uncle.

"Yeah, I know, it's not like the military, but now they're letting us carry these in case terrorists force their way into the cockpit. I had to go to a special course. You know we have to use a certain kind of ammo in the plane?" Joey picked it up. It was a revolver. Low on ammo, nearly impossible to jam. Opening the cylinder, Joey pulled out a bullet and showed his nephew while placing the gun back into the case.

Civil nodded, "Yep, don't want to depressurize the plane while trying to take down a terrorist, in case you miss." He stood on his hind legs and went to pick up the gun, only to paw at it with his hoof. It had been a few years since he'd picked up a handgun, like the Beretta 9mm Air Force officers were issued when going overseas. He'd forgotten he was unable to pick up and use a gun, among other things, now that he had hooves. There weren't a lot of human items on the Equestrian side. Doubting they made prosthetics for ponies just to shoot weapons (because that shit would be insane, ponies flying around with guns!), he made an audible sigh and sat back down on all fours.

Joey winced and said, "Oh hell, sorry bud, forgot. That's a real bummer...But hey!" He lit up, patting Civil on the head. "You have killer wings now. Actually, hold that thought!" He put the gun case away and sat down at a nearby large barrel that had been crafted into a quaint wine drinking table. He took a bottle of red wine from a wooden crate and opened it, filling a glass and slid it to Civil, "Here try this. It's a Cabernet blend. I think it came out well this year." Looking down at the wineglass, Civil tilted his head with a sardonic smile. Joey tapped his own head, "Oh, shit, right. Straw." He wandered over to the shelves, rustled through some packages, and pulled out a large bag of straws. Pulling one out, he stuck it into the glass.

After taking a long sip, Civil nodded, "Nice, very sweet..." He thought to himself, then took another sip. He blinked at the glass, then squinted at Joey, "These aren't normal grapes, are they?"

His uncle laughed and shook his head, "I was wondering if you'd notice! Everyone else just thinks it was a good crop, what with the weather we've had. 'Another' benefit to pony weather in the region..." He trailed off, watching Civil with a twinkle in his eyes.

Civil took another sip, then nodded with amazement. "Vintage earth pony vineyard. Local?"

Joey grinned and took a sip for himself, then answered, "Nope, had to ship them from Pennsylvania. Well, I suppose local if you consider it from Earth. Hey, you can taste that brightness, with the undertones of currant. That was so tough to pull out from the other grapes we were using. This stuff is exploding with flavor compared to last year's. Here." He grabbed another bottle off the small bar nearby and poured that one into Civil's empty glass. One swig and the pegasus was grimacing.

"Oh, that one's horrid." He looked apologetically to his uncle, but then he frowned, glancing at the bottle. "No. I had that one before. It wasn't bad then, or even now...except, it only tastes bad AFTER you drink the previous one." Huh, a vineyard out in Pennsylvania. That and the weather in this area, his people must have been making a decent dent in human society. Good for them.

"Yeah, exactly." His uncle drank the rest of Civil's glass and made a small grimace of his own, then filled it back up with the good stuff. Civil knew good when he tasted it, so he happily put the straw back in and sipped to his heart's content. Joey got another glass and filled his own, took another drink, then stared at his nephew for a while.

"Look at you!" He exclaimed, finally grinning.

Smiling lopsidedly, Civil smiled back, "Yeah look at me. You always wanted me to earn my pilot's license. Now that will never happen." He felt down all of a sudden. His head swam a little, too. He knew ponies didn't get too slammed on the alcohol here...oh wait, this was pony stuff. He looked back at his glass. It was empty again.

"Oh come on! LOOK, AT, YOU!" For emphasis, Joey waved his hand over all of Civil. "You're beautiful! Look at those wings. You are the envy of every pilot I know. And I made sure they knew MY nephew was a pegasus! Oh god, those are some jealous bastards. Every one of them can never experience what I bet you take for granted. You just hop up and fly wherever. Damn, even I'm jealous!" He drank the rest of his wine. Then he looked over at the older bottle from last year. He muttered, "Yeah, that stuff is shit." Moving over to a sink, he poured the bottle out. For an Italian...forget that, for JOEY to pour out wine that was not really all that bad in taste, this new stuff had to be so much more palatable to humans, prompting the waste. Civil understood his taste buds would be different as a pony, and having imbibed pony spirits as a pony in the past, he understood.

"So tell me," his uncle asked while tossing the empty bottle in a plastic tub to be cleaned with the growing pile empty bottles in it, "how did you get your wings?"

Wince. The pegasus looked down at his glass. He glanced up, remarking, "You would ask that. You are aware I was a pony before I was human, right?"

"Yep." Joey sat down and sighed, then shrugged. "Vanessa told me all about it. She loves those toys, all over her room, stuff is everywhere. Went bananas when she found out about you."

"Really? So...who doesn't know, I guess I should ask? The whole friggin family is here!"

A wave was all he got for his efforts. "At this point, kiddo, I wouldn't worry about it anymore." Joey offered him some more wine.

"Gee, thanks." Pushing his glass away in refusal, knowing he probably had enough already, he saw some of his cousins playing outside in the backyard through the window. A few were throwing a frisbee. Some were playing volleyball or badminton. Joey had set out all those games more to keep the hellions busy and off his ass than anything else. When the weather is nicer, he goes upstream and dumps everybody there with inner tubes and drives back to work on the next meal while they spend hours floating back. Dude could run an amusement park if he wanted.

As another quiet pause settled in, they stared at each other. After a minute, Joey said softly, "I knew there was something special about you when Karen brought you to our house, all wrapped up in that small blanket hospitals give babies. I was still in high school. I told my mother, 'keep an eye on that one.' The oddest thing was, she said, 'yes, I know.' She always did favor you. Even over some of us, back then." He mused over the memories. Both Joey's parents had passed years ago. Civil sometimes remembered them in his dreams. Before he could ask about his human grandmother's favoritism, Joey asked, "About those wings...eh?" He grinned, looking like Bud Costello from the old black and white comedy movies.

Civil couldn't say no to his uncle, who had treated him like his little brother since pretty much before he could remember. Every summer and Christmas his family would visit Brooklyn, and Joey was there living across the street back then. He'd take Jason into ride bikes to the park, cooking in the kitchen, would give him rides on his motorcycle. One summer Joey gave a very young Jason a whole bag of fireworks and told him 'Don't blow yourself up, and don't tell your mother.' If Joey's father was the greatest fun relative in Jason's lifetime, then Joey was the runner up.

He finally gave in."Fine, why not? Mom doesn't know much about it, and she'll have a heart attack if she finds out what really happened." He paused, glancing around to make sure nobody was nearby. In a lowered voice, he said, "I lied to my parents, told them I was stateside at the time I changed up in Oklahoma. I was actually overseas, TDY for an exercise."

Joey sat back, stunned. "No shit? She mentioned...." He wasn't sure what he was allowed to say now. The curse of having a good heart led to being a terrible spy in the gossip realm.

"Yeah." Civil didn't feel good, remembering it now. Remembering WHY he lied. And it wasn't just about the experiments that he narrowly avoided.

"Okay. She told me about the dissection part. Is that part of why you lied?" Civil nodded, chuckling that they were both thinking the same thing. Joey smirked and reached over to clap Civil on the shoulder. "Fuck it, yer safe now. For her sake, mum's the word. Alright?" His uncle poured the rest of the wine went into his own glass. This story was going to need some liquid courage. Glancing at the pegasus across the table, he pushed his glass over to him, Civil eyed it warily, then looked up at Joey.

With an encouraging nod from the older man, Civil picked up the drink and stared into its contents, the movement of the blood red liquid mesmerizing in the dim light. His favorite color has always been blue, like his eyes...but red, the dark color of ruby, like hair with an inner fire.... "Conveniently enough, it all started WHILE I was flying, at least the important shit, anyway."

***

I knew I could fly because I was scouting ahead and behind in the air, just in case any monsters were around. At least, I think that was my state of mind. Dreams can be tricky like that. I was also looking for their parents. Those two tiny unicorns, now helpless, and barely able to control their magic. It was odd what ideas played themselves out in your brain while you were dreaming, that you could know deep into your core that you were not human, and it was okay. That magic existed, and it was okay. That a multi-species sack of shit had been hounding you for a week now. No, that garbage was not okay, but there wasn't much you could do except run, and protect these two fillies. And yet, all of that HAD to be a dream. Right? When you were in the dream, no matter how bizarre the reality, it was reality. I can typically remember dreams, and always in color, too. Some dreams fade as soon as you wake up. This one, I remembered well. I also remembered the fear, like a timberwolf's splintered canines getting ever closer to my neck...

A wolf, made out of wood timbers!?! I swear if there wasn't always the threat of being piss tested in the military, I would have asked around if anybody saw me take drugs the night prior, or if anybody had drugs to make my dreams less weird.

The shuddering sound along with the rattling vibration throughout the flight deck wakes me up from my deep thinking, whacked out thinking that I should probably put behind me. As a navigator on the AWACS, I am part of the flight crew tasked with keeping this plane from crashing or getting off course, after all. Dozing wasn't exactly an Air Force sanctioned thing up front, even if you have another set of eyes keeping tabs on the instruments and radios. But with the lengthy hours we fly, it is more of a gentleman's agreement not to fuck it up for everyone else.

I barely crack my eyes open to watch both the aircraft commander and the copilot stare out into the sky, searching. The guest flyer in the jump seat just behind the left pilot's seat and directly in front of my sitting position is looking, too. Is he that gullible?

"Did you see any tracers?" That is Captain Keith Oberman, in the copilot's seat, because he is the copilot, ya know.

"Nada. Guess the ground crew skimped on us again. Flight Eng, make a note. 'Mix in tracers when we have visitors' and pass that to the munitions guys, kay?" That is Colonel Sam Hoffman, aircraft commander as well as our squadron commanding officer. He is pretty solid with all his subordinates, stern but fair. I suppose those qualities are what keep me sane and alive in the near future, now that I think back on it.

In any case I glance to the flight engineer and roll my eyes. He shrugs and clicks on his mic. "Yessir, will pass that onto the maintainers."

After another minute passes of looking around at the sky, the guest gets up. I think he is some attache' with England's military. I usually don't pay attention to crap like that.

"Thankyou for the view. I'm going to the back now to get something to eat." He takes off his headset, hangs it on the jump seat hook just behind the pilot and picks his way past me and the engineer. Once he passes the bulkhead separating the flight deck from the rest of the plane, I key up on the flight deck net, the local comms that only the pilots, myself and the engineer can hear.

"That has to be the stupidest prank we do. With respect, sir." He is a colonel, after all.

Col. Hoffman chuckles and stretches his arms, glancing back up at the panel above his head and the stick shaker button he had pushed a minute ago. All it does is test the shaking mechanism that provides tactile feedback through the yoke to warn pilots of imminent stall. "Oh, ye of little faith, Nav. You'd be surprised how many people fall for that one. Hell, when you first arrived, we got you to hand spin the rotors in the engine, you know, to alleviate metal fatigue on startup?" That is followed up by raucous laughter from the copilot and engineer.

I smirk. "Hah hah. Whatever. It was just the one time. We'll ignore the grease they put on the mouthpiece while I was on the flightline and that weird bug I know one of you assholes stuck in my coke last week. If hand spinning an engine is the only stupid thing I didn't catch on to, hell, I'm doing spectacular compared to what I've seen this crew pull already."

In response, Hoffman turns back to me. "Don't sit pretty just yet, we have tons of-" His words drop off and he squints his eyes. Then he glances at his copilot and back at me, asking, "Nav, please tell me you put on a wig sometime while we've been in orbit, because I don't remember your hair being that long when we got here. I went to take a piss not too long ago and it wasn't like that, either."

Thinking we are still pranking, I run my fingers through my hair and say, "Wow, you people are desperate. I had a fucking haircut like two...weeks...ago?" I pause, my hand continuing to go through hair far longer than it should be. I frown. "Okay, that's bullshit. You mess with another dude's hair and it's open season." I'm actually annoyed now, glaring at the two guys sitting up front, fuck their ranks.

What is really bothering me is, the hair isn't exactly bothering me. Normally I hate long hair. Ever since I started cutting it short in high school, I preferred short hair. Now, it is comfortable, like an old ball cap you hold onto over the years. I feel someone yank my locks from behind and I pull away from the overly curious engineer's hand.

"Holy shit, that wig is on there. How did you sneak that on?"

"I have no idea what this is. Yay, you guys got me again. But this is a new low. I will seek revenge." Not too upset for some reason, I sweep the bangs out of the way, tucking it behind an ear. I always liked it tucked back there, over the right ear.

...where the fuck did that come from?!

The aircraft commander watches me for a few seconds and then looks forward. He keys up the mission net and asks for the mission crew commander to get on headset in the back. Next he clicks the flightdeck comms. "Hey nav, mind getting me a bottle of water from the cooler?"

I shrug and respond, "Sure thing, sir. Anybody else?" Noting a round of negatives from everypony else, I shrug and extract myself out of the cramped flight deck and stretch behind the bulkhead, next to the exit door of the plane. Muscles and joints all over give nice satisfying pops. Especially my hips. They were starting to cramp up on me while in that uncomfortable seat. The radio techs sitting behind their panel are watching me and talking to each other about me, but I ignore them. I've gotten used to ignoring a lot of things about others when attention is directed at me.

I walk past the radio section and venture further back into the plane. As I pass mission crew members, weapons officers and equipment techs, they all give me odd looks. Some are openly staring while others try to make like they are not, but I raise my eyebrow at them and they return to what they are doing.

When I pass the weapons pit, the section where the weapons guys are behind monitors directing fighters and strike packages, I see the mission crew commander, a Major William Powell, murmuring into his headset mic. The odd thing is, despite the drone of the engines, the airwash over the fuselage and even that keening sound of the rotodome spinning directly overhead on top of the plane, I can still hear his words if I turn my head just so and direct my left ear at him. Normally I could give a rat's ass what he's saying. Except, this time when I catch a snippet of his conversation, it causes me to pause.

"I see the lad, hair and all. Appreciate it if we discussed this off net, avoid exciting the crew."

Whatever. I'll go bald if I have to, just to fuck with everyone.

Once I reach the kitchen galley, I decide to forego the cooler and head into the lavatory where there is a mirror. With the door closed, a light comes on automatically, a stark contrast to the dim lighting back in the rest of the plane to help everyone's eyes acclimate to their monitors.

I stare at the long black hair on my head. Initially I'm not sure what to make of it. It's not the usual dark brown, and it is longer than I have ever had it before, military regulations aside. Pulling on it, inspecting the roots, yanking a strand out, while slightly painful, all show it to be real.

Now I'm starting to get worried. I sit down on the lid of the toilet to go over my options. Panic. Stay in the lavatory, or shrug it off and cut the hair when we land. Not much of a choice, considering the first two have no good ending. I get up and open the door, not bothering to unlock the loud latch since I didn't lock it to begin with. I suppose that is what allows me to witness Col. Hoffman and Maj. Powell's conversation since they were not alerted to me.

"Why wasn't this caught earlier? He's twenty-five! He had an examination yesterday! He shouldn't be flying." They were near the bunks, talking in low voices. I should think it is odd that I can hear them from here over all the ambient noise, but their exchange is too interesting for me to think of anything else.

Hoffman replies, "I don't know. The hair is the second symptom and we only just noticed it a few minutes ago. He's not acting any different other than he thinks we played a joke on him."

Powell frowns back at the aircraft commander, "Well this is no joke. I've already cancelled our activity for the rest of the day due to a 'physiological emergency'. We need to leave orbit and R.T.B. before he kicks a hole in the side of the plane, or God forbid grows a horn and blows us up."

Sighing, the AC shakes his head, "I doubt that will happen, he's a good kid. Whatever this is, we'll weather it. Just reassure your people everything is going to be alright. A panic is the last thing we need up here."

"No shit." The major notices I'm standing partway out of the lavatory, turns back to Hoffman and says, "I have to call this in. If we break seal without following quarantine, it's all our asses. You know that."

The AC glances my way with a deeply concerned look. He asides to Powell, "Yeah, I know. I also know that whole contamination story is bullshit, but you do what you need to. Tell the Co to make his way out of the orbit and get us headed back. I'll have a chat with Berringer." The major nods and goes forward. With a heavy look at me, Hoffman moves to one of the spare seats near the bunks and sits down, motioning for me to sit next to him. Still not knowing what is going on and why everypony...everyone is treating me like I'm a leper, I sit. Did I just think the term 'everypony'? He begins speaking, breaking my train of thought.

"First, I have to ask you something. I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?" I nod, not knowing what the hell he is going to ask. The last time I had a sit down with a commanding officer, it was not pretty. My throat starts to go dry. "Alright. For the last few evenings, what have your dreams been like?"

I can't help but laugh at the seemingly innocuous question. "My dreams? I thought you were informing me of some disciplinary measure for messing up the route again or stepping on somepony's toes because I said something."
Despite my sense of relief, my superior is still watching me cautiously. In fact, his expression gets a little stonier, if that is possible.

"Just humor me. Have you had anything distressing, unusual, confusing?" He pauses, gauging his next words. "Any monsters or animals involved?"

Now it's my turn to frown. I can feel a sliver of ice run down my spine. He asked a very broad question and stated a couple of very specific details. Details I had in fact been dreaming about.

I look over at the ice chest near the lavatory. Oh yeah, the water bottles. I point to it and he nods. Getting two bottles, I sit back down and offer him one.

He gives it an odd look, not immediately taking it. Just past awkward and shy of rude, he finally reaches over and grabs the bottle from me.

Drinking from my bottle, I feel better about talking. "It's weird you should mention monsters. Two nights ago, I dreamt about running from monsters. Fought some, too. I was protecting a couple of mares. Guess it's my subconscious side flexing hero muscles I don't use while in the waking world. Hah." I drink some more.

He asks quietly, "Protecting mares?"

"Yeah, well, they weren't full grown mares. More like fillies, young ones."

"Mares, as in horses." It isn't a question, but I miss the odd tone in his voice.

"Actually, ponies, not horses." I blink, finally realizing what I have been talking about. Mares and fillies? Seriously, am I that tired?

"Why not humans?" He's nearly mirroring my thoughts, now.

"...I don't know. They were so vulnerable...." I gulp down some water, if nothing else but to shut myself up. Celestia knows, a lot of others have tried to do that.

"Were you human?" He hasn't shown any reaction to my answers since I gave him his water. He hasn't opened the bottle yet, either.

"What kind of question is that, sir?" Looking at him sidelong, I'm trying to figure out if I'm starting to lose it. I could be getting hypoxic. That would mean the cabin pressure was causing the oxygen in the air to thin out. Strangely enough, air thinness doesn't alarm me. It should. We've trained in the altitude chamber to recognize the signs.

Now he shows some kind of reaction. A hardening of his eyes, as well as a subtle change to his voice tells me rank has not been cast aside in this conversation. He replies sternly, "The kind that has a 'yes' or a 'no' answer to it, son. I need to know. Were you human?"

"....no." For some reason, I feel that small word has locked in whatever chain of events is about to unfold. Later on, once things had settled down, I contemplated what might have been if I had lied and said 'yes'. I came to the conclusion that I would be dead. But here and now, I am alive, and really really confused.

"Okay." He sighs and looks around the cabin, assessing the mood of the crew in visual range. Still not visibly upset, it appears to me. Looking at me, he says, "I'm going to need you to stay seated back here when we leave orbit and RTB. You are still an officer and are expected to act as such, am I clear?"

"Yessir, crystal!" Now I am completely scared. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they see me as a threat.
An airman walks up to us and whispers in the colonel's ear. He nods back and grimaces. The airman returns to his console and my boss eyes the bottle he has yet to open. The plane shifts and banks, an indication we are leaving the orbit area and proceeding to base. The colonel knows this, and per policy he should be up front talking to Air Traffic Control while making sure his copilot is handling things.

Yet he is still sitting next to me.

"There have been a lot of rumors going around this past week. All over the world, a phenomenon is occurring. Transformations. Are you aware of it?"

I shook my head. "Nothing on the news, online or TV. Youtube is full of garbage so I usually stay away from that." Being deployed, newsfeed is relegated to whatever internet options are available on base, via smart phone or public use computers. Of course there is CNN, but fuck those political bastards. I pause for a moment and reach up to touch my hair. Is it a little longer now? "Sir," I start tentatively. "Are you suggesting I'm...changing?"

His reply is a somber one. "A very strong possibility, Jason."

He's using my first name, a common tactic to build a rapport with someone having mental issues. I drop my hand and stare at him intently, hoping to see some glimmer of a smile. "No bullshit, this isn't some elaborate prank? Because I'm not feeling all that comfortable right now."

"No bullshit. We can be assholes to each other from time to time, but there are limits." He has been watching me, measuring. He's concerned I will flip out and cause an inflight emergency. I look away for a minute. Then I take the seat belt and firmly secure it across my waist, tightening out the slack. But I don't look at him now.

While I'm staring off at some spot to the rear of the plane, I feel his hand on my shoulder. I had always heard about the thousand yard stare, that look a foot soldier gets when he has seen too much of the world, things he'd just as soon forget, but can't. Now I imagine that is what my superior is witnessing me do. I have never been in a gun fight or such horrible experiences as some of our blessed ground troops, a common reason why Air Force gets dumped on by other branches of service. Already I have a sneaking suspicion I am going to witness more than I can stomach.

However, I am a soldier. Air or ground, I swore an oath to protect my country and my military companions from all enemies, and I will keep it. Even if it's from myself. "Okay, sir." I turn my head to him, focusing on his face. "Lay it all out. What is happening to me, how long, what happens when we land?"

He takes a minute and glances down at his bottle in hand, forgotten until now. He uncaps it and chugs half the bottle. Once he has wet his throat, now comes the information dump.

"It appears to be a four day process. First day starts when you reach the age of twenty five, with markings appearing on your outer thighs or hips." He points to my lower side, "That area."

Before he can continue, I loosen the lap belt, unzip the front of my flightsuit and twist around my lower body, pulling down each side of my boxers to inspect myself. Nothing.

He watches me quietly. When I zip back up, he shrugs. "Hence the physical on your birthday. Not sure why you don't have the mark, but it is a dead giveaway. That and the bizarre dreams."

I smirk at him, trying to inject some levity into this surreal situation. "I thought it was weird getting an impromptu physical out of the blue. And here I thought you higher ups were getting suspicious that I wasn't boozing it up at the O-club every night."

He chuckles. "Nothing like that. Honestly it's refreshing to have an officer not acting like a shithead every once in a while." The moment of light humor passes, so he continues. "Day two seems to show more indications, changes in hair length, hair color, eye color...by the way what is your normal coloration, the eyes?"

I frown, not really liking all these things. I belatedly answer, "Brown...why?"

"They're blue now."

"God dammit!" I look away. I don't remember seeing them different in the mirror. Although I wasn't exactly looking at my eyes then. I groan out, "And then?"

He smiles apologetically, "This next stuff gets weird for you. Your body tends to start changing into, well, a horse-type creature. You called them ponies in your dreams. Third day produces a lot of fur, everywhere. Don't ask, it was embarrassing enough when I saw it myself."

Now that's interesting. I calm myself down, regarding him suspiciously. "You saw it yourself. Who was it?"

That stony look again. "Privileged information, Nav." Figures.

I shift my position, the seat becoming uncomfortable. A discussion about losing one's humanity can do that. "Alright, so when does all this wrap up? When do I become...something else?"

"On or about the fourth day. Like I said, this thing has only just started a week ago all over the place, and there's no rhyme or reason to who it hits...except, well the twenty-fifth birthday mark, but no other links."

Sighing, I sit back in my seat and stare ahead of me. The AC doesn't move, spending the next few minutes to quietly watch me, for crew safety more than anything. We are interrupted in our earth-shattering silence when a large, dark skinned radio operator walks up to us. Hoffman glances up and asks, "Can I help you, RO?"

"Yes, sir." He has a low heavy voice. Think Green Mile. "MCC thought you might be needed up front soon. I'm to watch...him." Normally he is unflappable. Guess being this close to a mutant is throwing off his cool game.

The colonel gives me one last look, gets up and squeezes my shoulder. "Hang in there. It'll work out." He makes his way to the front of the plane. The Radio Operator, on the other hoof, sits down next to me, taking the colonel's seat, securing his own lap belt. Without so much as a glance my way, he pulls out his cell phone and starts playing Angry Birds.

I'm almost amused at his casual nature. He has to know there's something going on with me, what with my now very long black hair (I've given up trying to figure out when it went from brown to black) and blue eyes. Although him not noticing my eyes might be a good thing. Any dude that big staring into another dude's eyes...yah, not my style.

"I suppose you aren't afraid of contracting the mutant disease?" I mutter to him.

He pauses briefly, the yellow bird held back in the slingshot. "Nope. Sir." Zip goes the yellow bird plowing into pig buildings. He adds, "We've been buttoned up together for the last few hours. If we got it, we got it." Hm, simple enough.

I shrug and settle back again. "Well, don't worry about me. Anything I do at this point will just make things worse for me."

Without pausing, he replies, "Things are always at their worst before they get better, sir." He flicks his eyes at me and shows me a shadow of a grin. "The brass is worried about you. Not me. I'm here to make them feel better as much as anything else." He goes back to his game.

Shaking my head, I sigh. "Yeah, gotcha." After all that had gone on, including the colonel's prediction of what I am to expect in the coming days, I let the pause in conversation become a reflective quiet. The RO is content to focus on his game and I have one more hour before we land. I swear I close my eyes and in an instant, we are already down, done with taxiing and most of the crew is packed up, ready to go.

The RO is gone, replaced by another tech I don't know, but my attention is not on him. It is on the crew members standing near the rear door, waiting. They occasionally glance through the port window and then at me, as though an alien is going to pop out of my chest before they can escape.

There is movement outside. One of the techs looks back at us and says, "You're not going to believe this. They have a plastic tunnel and they're extending it out to us." This is met with several of the crew swearing.

"What the fuck, it's not like he's E.T or something!" one of them said.

When the door finally opens up I find myself in that very scene where several medical persons walk in, encased in hazard suits looking like spacemen. The upside is they don't have rifles, but I know how this is going to go. I just sit there and wait until everyone else deplanes. Colonel Hoffman is last. He looks down at me and says, "It'll be alright, Berringer. They'll want to give you another examination. After that, we'll figure things out." After he leaves, the spacesuits cautiously move in and help me stand, their movement deliberate, as though I'm going to zombie out in front of them. Morons.

Walking down the airstairs to the tarmac, I notice more soldiers standing a distance with rifles. Everything outside the tunnel is slightly blurry due to the plastic, so I don't recognize anypony. The colonel is up ahead, talking loudly through the wall of the tunnel to one man on the outside. He seems out of place wearing a black suit and blue tie. Doesn't look military. Must be a bureaucrat. He's holding a silk handkerchief over his mouth, eyeing me like the plague.

"Colonel, we don't have much time. I shouldn't even be out here, but it was thought you'd need more than just emails to get all of you to stick to established protocols. My boss was correct, wasn't he?" I hate him already.

We continue past them, my boss sparing a look of confidence my direction before addressing the suit. I don't see the rest of the exchange as I'm escorted into an ambulance at the end of the tunnel. Finally I get to sit down, if only to be strapped into a gurney. My feet, legs and hips were hurting to the point I had to walk on the balls of my feet the last several yards. Once the doors are locked and they secure the buckles on my straps, med techs outside detach the tunnel and off we go to the hospital. I will just skip over that part. Aside from it being mostly degrading, all they did was conduct medical examinations, poke and prod me, take blood samples until I had more holes than a crack whore. The worst part was the stupid question-and-answer sessions (one more question about my mother and I am going to buck them. Hard).

Next I find myself in a room with a bed, table, two chairs, and a large mirror on one wall. I'm no idiot, I know exactly what that mirror is all about. The entire time they've had a security forces airman on my ass. You know, 'to make sure I'm protected.' At some point earlier, everypony removed their suits and masks. I think they explained it wasn't an airborne or fluid vector, whatever. Something about spontaneous mutation, along with bizarre theories of the X-men movies being a warning to soften the impact of just such a societal upheaval. When they were discussing other possible transmission sources, I stopped listening. Like I said, morons. This didn't feel like a disease, I kept telling them. Naturally I was not in a position to carry much weight with the scientific community.

In any case, this room of white walls, furniture, and the large mirror is to be my place of residence for the unforeseeable future. Alone. I approach the glass and tap on it, noting a slightly delayed sound echoing behind it. Yeah, there's a room behind this thing. They fear me, because I am changing into something else, thus I must be watched. The strange thing is I know there is more than one person in there.

Not that I can see through the glass. But I can hear them, in that room. Actually, not at the moment, I'm too close to the mirror. I walk away from the glass, wandering about the room until I'm in just the right spot. Ah, there. Voices, barely audible. The sound waves seem to bounce just the right way. Walking upright is really getting to me. I drag the bed over just enough so I can sit down in this spot and still hear.

Earlier I hadn't noticed the acoustics here until I was moving around the room, examining my confines, and frequently sitting down to relieve the pain in my lower half. That's when my ears started picking up snippets of conversation. Earlier was two guards, chatting about the weirdness of all this 'animal mutation' going on. It got to the point I moved out of the spot so I didn't have to hear them. Now, one of the guards is still there, along with Col. Hoffman and that asshole in the business suit. I guess it's a suit since I still can't see through the glass.

The bureaucrat is talking. He mentions something about a science company, but I doubt this guy contibutes anything remotely useful to science. Way too slimy. He seems to be openly biased against me, too, from the tone of his voice, like he stepped in dogshit and can't wait to scrape it off his shoe.

He and Hoffman are having a nice little exchange. I act like I can't hear a thing. On a sidenote, my feet are getting very uncomfortable, along with some weird tick in both my wrists. I take my boots off, noticing my toes are in the middle of their own changes. I close my eyes, not wanting to see this shit. I continue to move my hands, working out the kinks. I also start flexing my scalp, a little trick my dad showed me to make it look like his ears were moving. It reminds me of my folks back in the states.

"...promised direct and unobstructed assistance in this matter. That INCLUDES immediate transport of it." Yah, still an asshole.

"That IT is a person and a member of the United States armed forces. You will give HIM due courtesy!" The colonel.

"Simply a matter of opinion. You can already see the mutation is getting worse....what is he doing?"

I stop flexing my wrists, and the flapping of my ears.

...flapping?!?

My subsequent staring into the mirror shows a nice pair of devilishly handsome stallion ears atop my head. Wait, am I actually complimenting myself...how do I even know they belong to a stallion??? So stunning is this particular change, I hardly notice the bottom of the chair getting uncomfortable, as well as the ongoing conversation in the other room.

"-has already texted me to explain why your 'airman' is not on a plane bound for the United States this minute!"

"You can tell him there is no point in shipping Berringer back since the end result is inevitable. We have medical facilities here and we don't intend to toss him out on his proverbial tail just because we have a contract with some two-bit science company."

"Colonel, Spectrum and your military might not be the best of bedfellows, but we provide necessary goods and services, as well as military advantage to the most powerful nation on earth," he replies in a belabored manner, the soft clicking indicating he is typing away Hoffman's response to the person on the other end.

The suit mutters in a lower voice, "Wouldn't want to lose top position in the world's pecking order. That would bode ill for everyone involved." He pauses. There is a ping. Then the suit reads back the reply on his phone. "I am aware of your capabilities at your base. However, Colonel, they are simply inadequate with what we are trying to do."

Naturally, the colonel's reply is much quicker, "And what IS it you are trying to do?" The other man sighs in exasperation, more likely from his thumbs getting worn out.

"This is ridiculous," the suit mutters, not bothering to type anymore. "Maybe...perhaps we can move him to a local hospital, provide a more controlled environment to explore possibilities for a cure?" His change in tone indicates he's trying a different tactic. Interrogation rooms aren't the only places one can break down another's will.

"Like I said, I know for a fact the changes are inevitable." Hoffman is silent for a moment. I can hear him start pacing. He does that when considering important things. Then he states slowly, "However, the base commander is nervous about having him here, despite the docs proving he's not contagious." I can tell my supervisor is mulling it over. Say no, please say no!

"It would be easier for his family to visit him offsite, rather than getting base clearances." That suit is really pouring on the charm.

"Alright, if you think that is the best course of action." You rat motherbucker son of a-

I slam my hands down on the table in fury. There is a pause in conversation on the other side of the mirror. Crap. I do my best not to look at the mirror. Instead, I find a particularly interesting scratch in the table and I pick at it.

"Can he hear us in here?" the suit asks. Nobody answers.

Minutes tick away. I figure if I don't do something, there goes my intelligence gathering mission. Getting up, I wander stare at my reflection. Hope this works....

"My God, he's completely lost it," remarks the suit. Naturally that is the response of someone who is witnessing a mutation and assuming the brain is also being affected. But that is why I am flicking my wrists at my mirror image, occasionally pointing my hands at the upper corners of the room, and then leaping about like an idiot. At one point I stop and press my hands against the walls, moving my feet in similar motion as though I am mountain climbing.

I can hear Hoffman chuckling to himself. Glad there is someone with a clue.

"Colonel, there is very little that is funny about this situation. That could be personality degeneration, or a psychotic break, or-"

"OR, he's merely testing his power to climb walls."

"...what? That's absurd."

"Is it? Look." For emphasis, I throw both arms down to either side and tense my neck muscles. Looking down, I frown. Damn, no Wolverine claws. "He thinks he's turning into a superhero. Lord knows we could use a few these days."

"That is the most ridiculous thing ANY sane person would conclude if they were going through this...whatever this is."

Now Hoffman's voice is gruff. His patience with the other man is wearing thin. I know I've experienced that voice in the past. "Two weeks ago you scientists would have considered 'this' a ridiculous possibility. Now you tell him he's mutating. Of course he is going to rely on cultural similarities. Two centuries ago it was witches, the devil, demon possession. Before that it was God's wrath. This century, Marvel."

Condescendingly, the suit retorts, "It is still a ridiculous leap of thought to conclude this phenomenon is a natural progression of humanity's evolution. And I'm not a scientist."

Cautiously, Hoffman replies, "What are you exactly, then? I never got the memo on that."

"You could say I am a facilitator. My superior is the true scientist-" A cell phone rings its annoying default chime. Man doesn't even have the decency to customize his ringtone. "Speak of the devil, heh, no pun intended. Do you mind? He likes these talks private, and I can only assume he wants me to observe the subject while he asks questions. HEPA laws being what they are."

There are a few seconds of silence before I hear a chair scrape on the floor, presumably the guard getting up and immediately stepping out. Hoffman lingers and responds with, "Certainly." His tone becomes slightly sarcastic. "Wouldn't want to obstruct our assistance." I can hear him almost hastening his walk to the door when the caller starts berating the suit over the phone.

Before Hoffman can make his escape, the other man calls to him, "Hold up! He wants to know when the transport is going to be ready?"

"Transport? You said he would be best served moving to a hospital. Like I said, his change is inevitable. Sending him back now is not in his best interests."

The suit's reply is more hushed, probably speaking into the phone. "He has no idea about the transfer initiative." Pause. "No sir, still hasn't scheduled a transport." Pause, then, "Yes sir, I will do that."

After a few seconds, a voice comes through the phone, much louder now that the holder of the phone has enabled the speaker setting. "Hello, Colonel Hoffman. It was my understanding that we would have full cooperation from the military as we handled these cases, to include relocation of a given subject to more accommodating facilities."

"Hello sir. And you are?"

"This is an unsecure line overseas. You will forgive my reluctance to toss around identities so openly, but we are both aware of the originator of these protocols. The Pentagon, if you've forgotten?"

Hoffman seems to like this new guy even less, given his deadpan reply. "Yes. I am aware. That subject in there is my navigator, and I'll be damned if I'm shipping him off to-"

"We are trying to cure him, Colonel! We've already missed the first day of assessment to test for variables in this particular case versus others. While you and I waste time arguing, the window of observation is closing. If he can be delivered here before his change is complete, we might be able to arrest the process, even reverse it! But we need him here, now!"

"Are you saying you actually have a cure?" Hoffman sounds hopeful. Thank God somepony is on my side in all this.

The voice calms down and continues more slowly, as if speaking to a layman. "We believe if we can get him to one of our more technically advanced facilities before he has changed completely, we can halt the changes through a barrage of medicines and blood transfusions. We know their entire body chemistry changes at a fairly consistent rate. Maintaining human internal processes of the body may actually lead to a cessation of external transformation. But we can't do anything if he finishes his change before treatment."

There is no response from my commander. As if to push him over the edge, the man on the phone adds, "Getting him here before we get to Day Four is crucial, otherwise there is nothing human left. I cannot speak more simply than that. And, you have direct orders to do so."

The reply is very resigned, "I see. I will do what I can to expedite a plane out of here." Damn. I just got sold out.

"Thankyou. If you can go do that now, I would appreciate it. In the meantime I must confer with my liaison and his observations of your navigator."

"Understood, I will leave you to it." The door opens, then closes.

Almost as resigned, I sit back down, still not comfortable with the sleazeball watching me.

"Is he gone?" The phone voice is still there. As for me, something new is there...sticking out just above my ass! No wonder the seat was becoming uncomfortable. I slowly reach back and feel through my flight suit. It is an appendage extending past where my tail bone would have been. I stop and replay that thought. Tail bone. I sigh heavily.

I have a fucking actual pony tail. Like, not on my head ponytail, but...yeah, you get the picture. I'm not even going to look at it. The ears are already doing a number on me right now. How worse can this day get?

"Yes, finally." Ah, the suit continues to talk to his master. What stupid crap are they going to say about me now?

"The mutation has to be in the air as fast as possible. You will take the company jet back as well to receive him once they touch down. Do not let an intermediary handle it."

"I get we have to transfer, but why the urgency? I thought a cure was still on the drawing boards."

This next part makes me shiver, and regret thinking about days getting worse.

"It IS, literally. But if we can see the changes in person, crack his chest open to observe the organs as they shift, we'd witness something never recorded in medical or science history. Most of the equipment here is all but useless once they are completely turned. I need to have every corner of his body probed and recorded during the final stages, with transfusions to keep him alive until we can glean everything we can. This is more than just a disease, I know that. We just need to see it in motion."

"Sounds squishy. Likelihood of survival?"

"Low. You can keep a body open only so long, and I intend to get several days out of it before hemodynamic collapse. While the occurrence is rare in a delayed sternal closure, we'll have so many probes in there that crashing is an expected result. And I do not plan on closing it up."

"So, no sightseeing for me here, then?" Okay, NOW I want to buck this guy. Both of them.

"Not this time. It's too good of an opportunity to pass up. Get that thing on a plane ASAP. And make sure it's in a kennel. I don't trust the colonel, or the mutant's state of mind to behave before we have him securely in our hands."

"Me neither. I will take care of it, soon as he gets back to me with outbound flight info."

"See that you do." >click<

Fear is an odd thing at times. It can spur you to do extraordinary things, or freeze you to your core, holding you hostage more readily than any fanatic ever can. I don't have long to sit frozen. I hear the door open and close in the observation room.

"We have a tail prepping to launch in six hours, best I can do. With theaters heating up all over the world, flight time anywhere is being rationed to high priority tasks, but seeing as how he could be cured, that DOES take priority. He will have to go out with some cargo pallets in a C-17. That suffice?" My colonel, the rock of my surreal existence, has become a lapdog.

The suit's reply is smooth, like a snake savoring its future meal in front of it. "That will do nicely. He will have a guard with him, of course?"

"I fail to see why he needs a security detail. He still hasn't shown any aggression of any sort."

"He is going through severe physical changes. You want him having a psychotic episode, kicking a hole in the fuselage of that plane?"

"I see your point. I will make arrangements for a detail to escort him. Anything else?"

"No, that concludes my business here for now. I have to ready my own plane since my boss has made this a personal matter. For your navigator's sake, you see."

Hoffman doesn't reply with any words this time. He merely makes an acknowledgement in his throat. The door opens and closes. I can hear another person walking in as that slimeball walks out. These ears are really good. The steps are the same as before. Must be that guard.

"Sergeant, I'll need you to stick with Berringer just a few more days. For safety concerns, you will be flying with him back CONUS. Sorry for the short notice. Launch is in six hours. Before you leave, I'll hand you your orders in writing. They'll include a couple weeks leave if you wish."

For the first time, I hear the guard respond. He has a good solid voice. "No problem, sir. I was going to put in for leave anyway. Getting too weird around here."

"You mean with him changing?"

"No, sir. Mankind can use a kick in the pants like that once in a while, puts things into perspective. I'm thinking about the political spectrum this side of the pond. I'm not saying I'll run from a fight. Just that..."

A solemn reply from the colonel, "Get to see your folks one more time, before all hell breaks loose."

"Something like that, sir."

I don't hear any more conversation from them. Frankly I don't want to. It's the simpler things that realign your sense of being. Family, home. Not running from a fight. I have always stood up to the bully, and sometimes I punched first, which usually got me into trouble in school because they only punished those who threw the first punch. Bullies always knew the rules better than the good guys. Easier for them to skirt the rules, or sucker you into traps.

So lost am I in my musings, I fail to notice Col. Hoffman enter the room. He sits down in the spare chair, watching me. At length, I blink and look at him. He smiles at me, warm and supportive. "I like the ears."

Scowling, I shake my head, trying to get those same ears to stop moving, "I can't seem to control them. You'd think if they were part of my body, I could control them." He sits back, grinning.

"Sometimes control is exactly the wrong thing." I give him an odd look. He eyes my ears again. "Holding on too tight, so focused on doing a thing blinds you to other things around you." I have no idea what he is talking about. He shrugs.

"In anycase, we are all trying to help you with this. There is a possibility of a cure, if that makes you feel better."

Dejectedly, I wave my hand at the mirror, "I heard. Six hours, gotta get me shipped off before all this," I wave at my body, "is complete."

Stunned, he looks at the mirror, then at me, "You heard all that?" Silently I point at my ears. He considers something, then nods, leaning forward and producing a folder onto the table. "Then this should make you feel better, if only to see what we are up against." He opens the folder and spreads out gloss pictures, with heavily blacked out medical records underneath.

It appears to be another patient, female, in a medical lab. She is sitting on an examination table in a patient's gown. The first few shots are of her with pony ears, legs covered in fur, and hooves for feet. The next few are definitely more equine. The last one is of a full grown mare, staring forlornly at the camera. This time the background is somewhere outside, with trees and clouded sky in the distance. What really strikes me is...not just the fact she has pegasus wings, but I know her!

I bark out a laugh, surprising both of us. A feeling of warmth sweeps through me, like seeing an old friend, "Hah! That's Sky Dancer, holy shit!" I look at the colonel as though to get confirmation. He does not share my joyful sentiment, staring at me sternly.

"That was the name she gave," nodding. "She said some other strange things, as though they were of a previous lifetime. I am not a believer of Hindu reincarnation, being a Christian, but I can't shake the fact that this isn't random. You know her name. How is that even possible?"

Now I shake my head in confusion. I'm pretty sure I've never seen her before, at least, her human form. And yet, a single memory springs to mind. I reply, "Eh, she and I got into a fight one time." At his dour expression, I raise my hands, "Look, I didn't know she felt so strongly about her dancing. It was at flight school, I had failed a written exam, saw her prancing by and spinning about like she always does." I stare off into the distance. "I commented that a sack of potatoes had better rhythm. Then pow, a hoof to the nose and we were off to the races."

I chuckle to myself. "In fact, that's how I ended up getting a first date with her. She said I wasn't like most stallions." I stop smiling. "Didn't last. Her career had her doing...something...like stunt flying or performing. I can't remember. I miss her mane and tail, the rainbow colors. And the seagulls on her flanks." I snort, rubbing my side. "She called them glossy starlings. They reminded me of seagulls from back home, so that earned me a shot to the ribs, and a second date. Heh." Noticing I had been rambling, I pause. I shake my head in dismay. "I have no idea how I know all that...or why I am about to ask this question, yet part of me needs to know, how is she?"

"She's gone." I stare at him while feeling VERY conflicted inside. What the hell is going on here? He clears his throat, looking down at the pictures, then back up at me. "You said her mane was rainbow colored. Are you positive?" I nod my head, eyes on the pictures. Random moments are flooding my mind, strange instances. A touch, a shared milkshake. A race. The smell of her luxuriant colored mane. The photos are black and white. I should NOT know what she looks like, and yet, I do. He continues. "She also loved to dance, but she was NEVER in any flight school. When did you see her?"

I stare at the pictures, especially the last one. You can just make out the birds on her side. They were green, metallic, in my memories. My fragmented memories from another time. Looking around, I start to realize something else. I have memories from another place. A more vibrant, more energetic place. I remember what the colonel said about control. Instead of forcing the memories to the surface, I simply let go, relaxing my thoughts.

Now I can feel what has been bothering me for the last few days. This place has no energy. Colors are bland. No magic. I don't know why I would think of magic, since it goes against all things logical and scientific. I know any advanced technology would appear as magic to somepony not understanding how it works, and yet when I think of magic, I think of a manipulation of energy that is at once explainable by science AND...is still considered magic. Like the magic imbued in the wings of a pegasus, in hooves. I suppose in a horn, if you were to address a unicorn's magical core, but I don't know much on unicorn magic.

So how do I know anything about winged horses AND unicorns?

He is still waiting for an answer. I respond, "I saw her...before me." His confusion prompts more elaboration on my part. "Before, well, all of this." I wave my hands around my body. Now I know what I should be feeling. Magic. I snort to myself as thoughts of the Force flit through my mind. I will not start snarking out a Yoda voice. I need Hoffman on my side.

However, there is an honest yearning inside me now. To feel the magic flow through you, to harmonize with your soul, THAT is Harmony. And THAT is what is missing in this world. No wonder there are so many conflicts. All these things are clicking into place and I sound like a mental idiot in front of this powerful man that holds my future in his hands.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know how else to explain it. I know her, I have memories of her, and I'm realizing other things that would take longer than six hours to explain."

He pats my arm and starts to gather up the photos. "Not to worry son, from what I hear, you may not have to deal with this any longer. As you obviously overheard then, you'll be on a plane back to the states and getting treatment to reverse this thing."

Now I glare at him, showing my contempt for the first time since I've ever met him. "Yeah, whatever that's worth. I also heard you sending me off to be ripped open and probed so they can watch as my guts change. They've already figured on me dying on the table, several days later while delivering blood transfusions. They want to 'record and observe'."

I'm not sure, thinking back, if I could have delivered that in a nicer way. The horror on his face was something I have never seen before on him. The emotion that follows it is rage. Yeah, I have seen it from him, once. I am NOT relating that story.

"They told me...they said they could cure you." He is murmuring to himself, getting quieter. His fingers are touching the first photo, where the patient is mostly human. "They lied." His next words are practically hissed while he crinkles that photo, hands shaking in anger. "They lied...again."

I sit back, now honestly afraid of him. He notices and tries to relax. Tries. "I'm sorry, Jason. This is not what I meant for you." He glances at the mirror and motions for the guard sharply. A few seconds later, the sergeant steps into our room.

"Yes, sir?"

The colonel stands, gathering the photos into the folder. He spreads out the last photo, the one he damaged. "Nobody is to have contact with Captain Berringer. No doctors, no scientists, not even that smug shit I was talking to earlier. Only you. Keep him here. Give him whatever he asks for, if possible, but do not let him leave or let anybody else in, is that understood?" The guard nods, frowning slightly. This room was never supposed to be an interrogation room, which meant there is no microphone or sound system, so he has no idea what was said so far. Hoffman realizes that and adds, "There is reason to believe his life is in danger."

The sergeant straightens and nods, "Not surprised. Didn't much care for that man, or his boss. Too detached, mannerisms were off."

Hoffman nods in agreement, then turns to me. "Just hang tight, Jason."

I shake my head incredulously, "Sir, in six hours time, if they get me on that plane, I'm screwed. You know that."

He quirks a brow, smiling grimly, "In six hours time, that plane is going to experience engine problems. Then it is going to experience a lost tool incident. Then, we'll play it by ear." He grins, eyeing my ears. They flick reflexively.

He heads out of the room, leaving the guard and my changing self. He tries to offer up entertainment options, television, a computer, a popular smart pad. I decline them all, only asking for a salad. I was never a big vegetable guy in the past. Now, I want large leafy baby spinach salad. With cheese. And bacon.

Sleep comes to me, along with dreams of various flavors. Images of a lighthouse, rolling waves on a beach, racing a friend through the storm clouds, getting scolded by a very concerned and tired mother, strapped down on a cold metal table with human doctors reaching toward me with bone saws and spreaders. I think that last one was made up, but it still seemed real.

In the morning I have to deal with more changes. The guard, Sergeant Gaines is his name, brings me clean clothes. I put on the new shirt, though my fingers are now harder to use. I can't wear boots anymore, on account of my feet having turned into hooves sometime during the night. The snow white fur starting to progress up my legs is interesting. I also add flowers to my meal requests, much to the sergeant's worried look, but he actually comes through with a nice assortment from the base florist.

By midday, the lower half of my body is very advanced. Structurally, my legs and hips almost cannot walk in an upright manner. To top it off, my voice changes too, taking on a slightly higher pitch. I don't notice it until Colonel Hoffman points it out on one of his visits to let me know what is happening outside of the room. Seems natural to me. As for events outside, apparently things are progressing in a more harried fashion with my 'travel arrangements'.

"They want you on the plane before the day is done. Base commander is sending armed guards if I don't move you now. Fuckers got to him."

My ears swivel with undivided attention. I tongue my new teeth. Flat, like a horse, with a few sharp ones in there. Horses have been known to eat meat on occasion, I suppose. "They? I'm guessing that science company has deep ties in deeper places? Or the general wants Patient Zero out of his mane?"

The colonel paces slowly, responding, "Mmm. The general's personal feelings on the matter is small potatoes compared to the flare ups in this theater alone. It's not just that. There is someone in Washington D.C. pushing very hard for all military persons in your situation to be sent to this Spectrum lab. I've never seen anything like it. Talk about deep state bullshit."

He stops pacing and looks at me directly. "I would happily give up my commission if it meant keeping you out of harm's way, but they are moving other resources into place, resources beyond my position's control. I may not physically be able to stop them from taking you. Even if I pick up a gun...it may not make a difference." He resumes his pacing and scratches his chin, thinking. I notice my fingers starting to fuse together. I can still feel the individual bones, but, they line up weird.

I stand up unsteadily. Leaning forward onto the table seems to take some of the pressure off my hips and legs. "Sir, you don't have to kill yourself to save me. Or throw away your career, for that matter. If it means..." I swallow, not wanting to think about the near future. "If it means giving up on me. It's alright."

He stops pacing to give me an angry look, "Stow that shit, captain. I've never quit on anybody or anything, and up until now, neither have you." I shake my head in denial, only to take a step back when he gets right in my personal space. "I've read your folder, all the way back to Pensacola. I've read about every demerit, downgrade, disciplinary measure and negative comment you've gotten from there to here."

Gee, way to throw that in my face. I sit down and tilt my head, looking up at him. "And that's supposed to make me feel better about this?" I hold up my hands, the middle three fingers already starting to become one. He ignores it, staring into my eyes.

"No, but this next part is. You've never quit. They told you that you were not a Type A personality. You shrugged it off." I shrug. He smirks and continues, "They handed you a bomber package, acknowledged their mistake and took it away, giving you heavies, and you told them to bring it. They ignored your request for tankers at the end of your San Antonio training when you got your nav wings and they put you in AWACS, a deadend position for any navigator. And as a nice kick in the face to start off your Air Force career, from the moment they started training you, they kept telling you they were phasing out the role of navigators without any other flying opportunities that would be available to you later on. You said-"

"-bring it," I reply.

Hoffman straightens, crossing his arms. "I believe the term was 'bring it, you assholes.' One of the more colorful demerits in your jacket."

I wrinkle my brow and ask, "They actually put all that crap in there?" He nods, waiting.

Looking back over my lackluster and painful career trying to cut it in the Air Force, I realize that despite never reaching the top of my classes or scoring high enough to have any kind of control over where I went, I never did quit. At any time. Not getting a pilot slot right out of college was the hardest blow I had taken, with lesser ones since. After that, it had been a struggle, not the least of which was getting any kind of mentorship from the more influential of the officer cadre, which is a guaranteed shoe-in for advancement. And here was this man, moving heaven and earth to protect me. Seeing it from his perspective, it would be an insult to give up.

"Alright." I hold my head up and take a deep breath. "Then we go all the way...whichever that way is. The plan?"

He starts off by handing the sergeant a sealed envelope. "Those are your orders, officially. What we discussed earlier, the escort, approved leave. Unofficially, you know what to do, as discussed. Time table has simply moved up." The guard nods and steps out of the room. Hoffman turns to me. "When he returns shortly, you both will head over to the flightline and board the C-17. I couldn't delay it any longer. The base commander was forced to bring in a special maintenance crew to verify it was geen for launch. Before wheels up, I'll give you some options."

Before I can go back over the 'if I get on the plane I'm screwed' part, he leaves. I don't have time to contemplate because only after a few minutes, Sgt. Gaines is back and leading me to an awaiting pickup truck outside. I am really starting to appreciate, and miss, things I used to take for granted, like walking upright.

I get that I'm turning into some version of a horse and eventually I will be on all fours, but this halfway shit is really annoying. It's like when I used to wear small rubber bands to straighten my top and bottom molars so they ground together properly. The start and finish part is not so bad. The halfway point, pain. Gaines helps me from the building to the vehicle. It's night out, I note gloomily. Bad things happen at night.

The ride is far shorter than I want it to be. Passing through multiple checkpoints, the C-17 starts to become the one object taking up my view as I stare out the window. It looms like a fortress the closer we get, muted gray under glaring floodlights that were hastily erected around it, though now they are being dismantled since the maintainers are done with inspections.

Hoffman is at the top of the cargo ramp, waiting in the plane's hold. We get out of the pickup and proceed to the colossal jet on hoof, me leaning heavily on the sergeant. Hm, I thought 'hoof.' I am starting to pick up on the fact my brain is changing. The voice alteration I can attribute to my physiology in flux, voice box getting smaller, I suppose. The food cravings, I think are more a combination of stomach needs and maybe some brain stuff, which leads me to my word use, swapping some out with others.

Sigh. If I think too much, I will be too slow when I miss whatever opportunity my commander is to provide for my daring escape. Have to let go of control, like he suggested. That will get me from point A to point B a lot quicker. I have a strange feeling I will need that speed soon, so I try to clear my head.

All my survival thinking stops short when we crest the top of the ramp and I see a kennel loaded up on a pallet. In alarm I turn to Hoffman, but he raises a hand. "Not yet, son. If everything goes the way it should, you'll never have to touch it."

Sgt. Gaines directs me to a seat along the fuselage of the plane, just aft of the kennel. He sits opposite of me on the other side of the cargo hold.

Noticing my hands seem too inadequate to manipulate the belt buckle, Hoffman kneels and helps strap me in.

"Remember your SERE training," he says softly. "Survive, evade, resist, escape." He cinches the belt tight for emphasis.

"How am I supposed to escape this?!" I hold up both hands, now nearly fused completely. Yah I know, I used the hands thing earlier, but this part is really bothering me. I used to love playing piano....

He pushes both arms down, "You don't. You embrace it. Use it." I give him a dejected look. He reaches behind me, gently prodding my back. Then he tugs on what feels like my shoulder blades, if you had shoulder blades stuck to your shoulder blades. "You are growing wings already, good. I figured the dreams would be a giveaway, but I was hoping against...anyway, this is a good sign. Don't forget your dreams, you can fly in them. Remember?"

He is way more confident than I am. "Sir, how do you know all this stuff? Were you with Sky Dancer during her change? Did...did you help her, too?"

That strikes a chord with him. Anger passes over his face, followed by grim determination. "Not exactly. She-" He notices the Spectrum lackey get out of a jeep and approach the plane. He looks back to me and says quickly, "Just be ready when it's time."

"When it's time? We'll be up in the air soon. If I don't change then...and how am I supposed to know if these wings will even work?! And what time will that be?!?"

"You'll just know."

"I'll just know.....great." Then I grow cold inside. I search his eyes. No, can't be. "Sir, are...are you expecting me to escape...in the air!?!" I squeak out that last bit.

He notices the man is almost to them, so he says quickly, "Look, they are sure you will stay humanoid during this trip." He pauses, glancing at the suited man at the bottom of the ramp. The colonel lowers his voice and says, "Their timing is off by several hours because they think you were born stateside."

Ignoring my questioning look, he continues. "I checked the PLACE you were born, not just the date. You were born in Germany. That's seven hours difference from the states. When you change, it will be mid flight, near the east coast. That is your best chance to make your move. Your wings will be in fully." He puts a hand on top of my head. "I was hoping to be there, help you get through this. Unfortunately, you'll have to learn to leave the nest without me. Sorry for the pun."

"Best chance? Wait...how do you even know what's going to happen to me? Those medical records under the photos, they were mostly blacked out-" I stop short, noticing something in his eyes, other than anger. I swallow and ask, "You...you knew her, personally. Didn't you?"

Before Hoffman can answer, the man finally tromps up the ramp. And he's not in a good mood. "What the hell is this, colonel!? He is supposed to be secured in that kennel." Before Hoffman can respond, the loadmaster makes his way toward us, squeezing past the pallets of cargo. "Sir, we're just about ready to go."

The colonel shakes his head and flicks his eyes at the cargo door hinges, "Not quite. I noticed those hydraulics were a little jerky when you opened her hold. Might want to run through a sequence before buttoning up, just to show everyone present that things work correctly." He turns his head back to me and says, "Make sure you are slow and visible when you use the panel switches, or you will stress the hydraulics." He tilts his head at the panel, just forward of the jump seats where I am sitting.

The airman eyes both of us, then the panel, then nods slowly. "Yes sir. Crew safety is paramount." He stands next to the panel and waits.

"That's garbage! There's nothing wrong with the doors! You are just delaying the takeoff-" The man splutters before Hoffman wheels around on him.

"Do you want to be responsible for a midair catastrophe, loss of life AND go to prison for interfering with aircraft safety measures!?" He pokes the man several times in the chest, who is now backing down the ramp. "Not to mention, your 'boss' gets charged with a three-hundred million dollar bill!"

"But..the plane is only worth a little over two-hundred-"

"Add the payload, genius!"

Instead of relenting, though, the suit steps around the colonel and points to me, "He still needs to be secured. Crew safety, remember?" Before the colonel can respond, the man pulls out a pair of metal cuffs with a specialized lock, and a piece of paper. "Written orders. Secure the patient until delivery to our lab. Any deviation will be met with severe consequences." He shoves the paper into the colonel's chest and approaches me. Sgt. Gaines stands up, readying his rifle, which he has quietly removed from its carrybag. Hoffman holds up one hand to stay the sergeant as he reads the paper.

"More bullshit," mutters the colonel.

Smiling in an evil way, the company man latches one cuff onto the seat railing and closes the other cuff around my wrist, tightly. I hiss as it binds against my skin. As the man stands, the colonel says, "What happened to care and comfort for the patient? Or is he to be treated like a laboratory experiment, probed and prodded until his corpse is no longer useful?"

The man turns white, then crosses his arms. "That's not what is going to happen to him." His incensed demeanor is almost believable. IF he hadn't blabbed on the other side of that mirror the day prior.

"Prove it. His cuffs are too tight and will cut off circulation to his hands. It's a long flight. A finger's width isn't too much to ask, is it? Wouldn't want to damage the goods before arrival..."

The man narrows his eyes. Hoffman glances at his own watch and raises an eyebrow. Exhaling in frustration, the man replies, "Have it your way, a smidge of room." He takes out a special key and loosens the cuff just enough so my wrist isn't constricted, yet there is no way I can get them past the widening part of my hands.

The man storms down the ramp, yelling over the engines spooling up, "Wheels up after cycling the doors, colonel! Or it's a court martial!" He makes his way to the jeep, pointing at a small business jet nearby for the benefit of the driver.

Hoffman returns his gaze to me and says quickly, "She is a family member. I was in the loop the whole change, but unable to get to her in time. Her escape a few days ago prompted some of these...protocols you are experiencing." I see the flames of anger in him again, his face turning red. He growls, "This is not some virus or plague. That much is known, but I'm limited on what I can do about it. If you see her," he is able to get out before his emotions make him pause.

The suited man yells from his jeep, "Alright Colonel, enough with the goodbyes!" He is already waving over a separate unit of SF's, armed with more rifles. Yay.

The colonel returns a plastic smile to him and waves. Starting down the ramp, he quickly yells back to me, "If you see her, let her know her family loves her! Observe everything, take every advantage!"

The loadmaster uses that opportunity to speak up, "Here comes the fun part sir."

I turn my head to the aircrew, clenching my jaw, "So far I'm looking at getting dissected. You've got something more fun than that?"

"Yes. HALO jumping, apparently." Despite the sick feeling inside, I try to watch what he does. Standing next to the panel, he hits the red-guarded switch on the far left for electrical power. Then he hits the second and fourth switch to apply hydraulics, then the third switch in between them for the transfer pump.

Barely glancing at me from the corner of his eye, he holds the 'DOOR/RAMP' switch down, just to the right of the guarded backup switch. The upper door lowers while the lower ramp comes up. Once they shut, he merely pushes the switch up where it is marked 'OPEN' and the doors swing back to their open positions. I nod, acknowledging what I saw.

There is not much else to do but wait until the doors close for takeoff configuration. The loadmaster finishes up preflight and seals the plane. The roll down the runway and rotation are uneventful. Tugging one last time on the cuffs tells me I'm in for a very uncomfortable flight while sitting up. Thankfully, the loadmaster gave me a headset to use while running his preflight checks. It is now precariously balanced high on my head to accommodate my ears.

Fumbling with the mic switch while trying to get the boom near my slightly elongated muzzle, I say, "Sergeant, not to sound defeatist here, but do you have a hacksaw?" I give him my best smile. I swear someone is thinking 'look a gift horse in the mouth' somewhere, and I want to buck them. I might also be going insane at this point, which makes these cuffs perfectly valid.

He opens one eye, his body slouched in a standard sleep-in-a-crappy-seat position. He replies, "Colonel texted me right before we took off. Won't need it. Also texted me to tell you to take a nap. Your window of opportunity will be in several hours." He closes his eye as if to go back to sleep.

I shake my head and lean back, trying to get comfortable. I must be more stressed out than I think, because I find myself drifting in a matter of minutes.

I don't know if I have a fever, or if it's my brain continuing to change, but I know I am sleeping. Just no dreams. There is sound, and vibration, and a low level of light coming through my eyelids. I also feel more comfortable than I have a right to be, given this metal seat and-

CLANG.

I jump awake, ears swiveling, eyes wide and scanning. The lighting in the hold is set low, for night time flying. We aren't banking anymore so we are set on the final course, westbound at twenty-nine thousand feet. Hm, either the payload is not that heavy or she's burned off enough fuel to make it up that high.

I stop myself.

How do I know what the exact altitude is!?

I adjust the headset with my front hooves so I can speak to the sergeant to find out how much time we have left.

I notice I'm not cuffed anymore. I look down and see the cuff, one end still anchored to the seat. The other end, still a closed oval. Empty. I inspect my hand. No, it's not a hand anymore. It's a hoof. Both my arms are now slender equine forelegs ending in hooves. The circlet of metal must have slipped off the end of my leg when I lost my hands.

I bend my neck around to inspect the rest of me. Similar to the photo of Sky Dancer. I notice some more...stuff. Well, maybe not so similar. Something very close moves and I twist around halfway to see what it is. In a second I completely corkscrew bodily off the seat and splat onto the metal deck of the hold. Mmm, pain. In different places. Not trusting my legs now since they've all just betrayed me, I look around and spot the sergeant across the way, eyes open, hand out to the side on his rifle. Yet he's not making any other moves.

I tap around with my left leg until I find my headset again and push it to the side of my head, activating the mic. "After all this shit is done, please don't mention that last part. I have enough bad rumors to my name as it is."

He smiles and lets go of his rifle, keying up his own mic, "Wouldn't think of it, captain. We all hit bottom in our lives now and again. Question is, do you get up?"

To answer his question, I put all four legs under me and press up. The higher I hold my body, the more I feel like I'm going to topple over. I note how my legs are, acknowledging my stance looks nothing like how a typical horse would stand, so I pick up onc hoof at a time and create the most stable trapezoid pyramid I can. It works.

Now I look like an Imperial AT-AT about to deploy stormtroopers in the field. Small victories. Next I test my walking ability.

Having already spread out my legs fore and aft a bit too much, trying to walk forward has me doing some weird dragging with my back legs, which transitions into what some would call Upward-Facing Dog. I hate myself for even knowing that. I lower myself, drag in all my legs, god I have four legs now, and push up again, this time planting my hooves a little more accurately underneath me. I sway a little when the plane hits turbulence.

The sergeant makes like he's about to unbuckle and get up, but I hold a wing out. Surprising both of us with my ability to use my wing in body language, I spread out the other one, which helps me learn to walk over the next several minutes.

When I feel I'm about to lose my balance, even with wings out like a balancing pole, a quick flex of the wings lightens me just enough to regain my footing. I don't know if it is instinct or something else, but wings seem second nature to me. Hooves, no nature.

Still, I eventually work it out and I'm finally able to trot up and down the hold. On one of my laps, I see the loadmaster is still napping, though he has an oxygen mask velcroed to his hand. Guess he knows what's coming. I make my way back to the other human. We hold each other's gaze for a few seconds before he glances at the panel of switches behind me. I refuse to move.

"Sergeant, if I leave now, you'll get punished for dereliction of duty. If I escape after we land, they will at least see you held me as long as you could."

He shakes his head. "They will have their own guards, probably with some kill order should you get out of hand. This is the colonel's plan. Always has been."

"Then he'll get in trouble!" I plead back to him. "That Spectrum asshole said he had command level authority, out of the Pentagon."

The man shrugs. "Colonel said he was going to recommend a formal reprimand for my record, sleeping on a plane or something, and then he'll tell my CO to piss on that record. You're covered. All you have to do is fly, little bird."

Something jolts my memory. I stand there, mouth hanging low. He asks, "What?"

I shake my head, "Nothing. For a second I thought-"

"If you don't move your ass I'll make you wish your mother was here to put a boot in that ass! And yes, that's a mother wears combat boots joke, now MOVE IT, SIR!" He surges forward to stand up, rifle in hand now.

It's like two blows to my head. I clear my mind, remembering time is of the essence. I spin around, scramble to the panel and stand up on my rear hooves. I still can't believe I have rear hooves. Third panel down, second red safeguarded switch counting from the left, the first silver switch to it's right. "Do you remember the sequence?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply over my shoulder.

"Do it!" With alacrity I never knew I had, I go through the switches. Immediately the upper door rises while the bottom ramp starts lowering. The cabin pressure is dumped, along with the thick oxygenated air-

Oh shit! I need a mask! I look around, vaguely noting the sergeant has already put on his. There are no masks near me, so I move around the kennel and the large bundles tied to it. A quick glance up and down either side of the hold reveals no masks at all. I barely hear a muffled yell from the sergeant. "What the hell are you doing!?!"

Whipping my head around in panic, I yell back at him, "I need a mask, I can't breath!" We stare at each other.

I chew the inside of my cheek and tentatively take a deep breath. Then I let it out.

"Oh."

He has both hands wrapped around the webbing of the cargo loaded on the pallet just fore of the kennel, knuckles white. I glance out the gaping hole, noting we are VERY very high. Did I mention twenty-nine thousand feet? I look back at him and say, "This is one of those other moments I'd like to not have mentioned. Ever."

He jabs one hand at the opening.

Each step I take gives me more confidence in my footing, like even if the plane did bank sharply, I would stick to the deck, strange as that sounds even saying it out loud. And yet, each step instills another shot of fear in me, until I am at the top of the ramp. Standing there, it is so surreal. It slopes into nothingness, and yet, I see the freedom of the sky. Freedom, which will last until I slam into the ocean at terminal velocity.

I had thought, for some reason, that these changes would supply me with knowledge of how this new body worked. I mean, come on, since I was a little boy I have been dreaming of flight all my life. Thinking back to the ten minute session of scrabbling around on the floor of the plane before I got my legs figured out, it dawns on me...I don't know how to fly!

Sure I can wave my wings around, but how are these little things supposed to lift a proportionally larger body?! I turn around, looking for where they store parachutes. Nothing. No troops jumping this morning. Well...maybe-

The sergeant, wearing his oxygen mask, waves his arms to mimic flying. I shake my head and yell, "I can't remember how!" It's true. All those dreams, they were of me using my HUMAN arms. Somehow my body was light enough that it just happened. Here, my 'arms' were holding up my front half, and there were appendages I have NEVER felt sticking out of my back!

Looking out into the void again, the wind strips away moisture that is building up in my eyes. Moisture brought on by fear, frustration, and defeat. Limited options now, Colonel, I think bitterly. Fall to my death, or land to my death later.

I hear a short yell behind me, faint over the roar of the wind.

The man that has been by my side as much as Hoffman has back at base is now standing away from the cargo, rifle slung on his back. He is unsecured, no safety straps attached to him. If the plane were to hit turbulence or angle up, he could tumble out.

Yet there he is, standing despite the danger, arms down at his sides at attention. He raises his right arm and performs a perfect salute. Movement from the front of the hold shows the load master is on his feet too, saluting.

The fear fades, like a dark fog dissipating before the burning honor of a rising sun. I square up to him and render a similarly perfect wing salute, one that would do the Royal Guard back home justice. My eyes go wide. I'm out on an open ramp in blustery winds waving a wing full of feathers.

I only get a split second to see the sergeant's eyes widen before I'm sucked out the back of that nice safe plane.

In the night sky, moon shining bright, I see the plane getting smaller and smaller as I plummet, belly side up. Another thing goes out the back of the plane too. It is the kennel, with the bundles strapped on there that were not there when we first took off. Why did they dump that out?

First things first, stabilize my descent. I twist around and spread out my legs like a skydiver. Kind of awkward as a small horse since my legs are not nearly as bendy to the sides as a human's would be, yet they are a little bendier than a horse, at least I think so. Never seen pictures of this position before. Never seen a horse doing this before, either. Panic starts to set in. I've seen a whale doing this before. Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy.

No. I stop that thinking. Okay, next, wings. I spread out the wings and immediately catch all kinds of air, like I've opened up a parachute, or a glider.

Glider. I grin and try tilting left, then right. YES! Even up here in darkness, I can sense where I am going and now I'm dropping so much slower. A woosh nearly takes my tail off as the kennel shoots by. I look down and smirk. You don't got no wings, bitch! I laugh to myself as I watch it go all the way down, and down, and down. I start to lose my mirth and slowly circle, watching it.

Why would he have kicked that thing out of the plane? Surely...yes don't call me surely Airplane meme get it out of your system, surely he would get in trouble for that. Unless....

I look away from the falling kennel and stare out in every direction. Water. No, ocean. Dammit. The bundles! Survival supplies! Fuck fuck fuck.

I race down, not knowing how I'm doing it (let go of control, ty Hoffman), but I'm speeding up to try and catch it. A delayed chute opens, slowing it enough so it won't slam into the water too hard.

It still takes me several minutes to speed down toward it. The opening rafts and chute are bright yellow and orange, making it easier to spot in the moving waves. Coming in on top of it, I spread out my wings again, flapping like a mad loon. I just miss slamming into the metal cage as I plunge into the freezing water.

Thrusting my wings downward, I push myself up, breaching the surface and spitting out salted liquid. Wheeling about in the darkness, I spot yellow rafts, one on either side of the cage. They must have had water-sensing squibs ready to blow once they hit the surface. I doggy-paddle...meh pony-paddle my way over, grab onto the side of the nearest raft and scramble up and over, slumping into the middle of the raft while trying to catch my breath.

The rolling waves are quiet, except for the occasional sizzling froth of the water. The experience is calming to me, as if remembering a long lost dream on the edge of my memory. I don't know how long I stay that way. After a time, I clamber up and assess the situation.

There is a survival pack tied to each raft via paracord lanyard, as well as some smaller packages in the kennel. I spend the next several minutes pulling the nearest onto my raft, then I scramble up and over the cage to drag the other kit in. Then I get back on top of the kennel, work the latches, open the door, and flip myself inside. It is halfway into the water, reminiscent of a certain Jaws film I'd just as soon not think about right now.

Grabbing the first floating package with my wings, I hoof at the wax paper until I am able to work it open. The cardboard box is even easier. Inside is a bunch of pork jerky, marinated in soy sauce, salted, peppered, and then dried out to endure this hellish trip. A note in a ziplock bag reads:

Dear Jason,

Hopefully these items taste better than those MRE's in the survival kits. Drink the water first, like you were taught in SERE. Get some food in you. No matter how you feel, you are going to need that energy. Next I have listed a few things that have been reported regarding pegasus capabilities. Granted, this information is classified, but these days, nobody gets prosecuted for leaking anymore. In any event, when you are done reading this letter, destroy it. Chances are, I'll be one of the few assholes that does get sent to Leavenworth if they find out.

I continue reading and my hopes start to rise when I see the rest of the stuff winged horses can do. Or at least, those spotted by intel sources. When I'm sure I can remember it all, I shred it up using my hooves and teeth and throw the pieces out between the bars of the cage. Sitting in the kennel, the rafts lashed to either side just barely keeping it afloat, a thought crosses my mind. If this was the extent of Hoffman's plan, it sucks balls.

Because I ended up touching this fucking kennel anyway.

***

"That's it, nothing else?! You sat on a steel cage like a king in the middle of the fucking ocean and floated home?!?" Joey stared at his nephew in dismay.

"No, I did other stuff." He didn't meet his uncle's eyes, though. "I used my wings to push my way east. Food was no problem, since pegasi eat fish when ocean traveling, in addition to the supplies they gave me. It was boring, really. Was also slow going, trying to move that flotilla with just these things." I rustled my wings.

"There was a moment when some sharks thought the rafts were seals and attacked them, sank the U.S.S. Fukyu Spectrum. That's when I discovered I could fly! After that..." Civil relished in the feeling, recalling that moment of discovery. "Uncle Joey, I can't tell you how it felt rediscovering flight, but it was good! Then I made my way to the east coast, stayed hidden most of the time since I figured I was being hunted. It got to be rather pleasant, if a bit lonely. Fed on fish, sometimes scraps from garbage bins, lots of flowers and plants from all over. They really are good, by the way. Not the garbage, but, nevermind."

He paused, staring off into the distance. Continuing quietly, "I never came across another pony. Then Dash sent out that rainboom and I knew the Elements were fighting for Equestria. That was the call to arms, so to speak. Not too long after, one of our princesses visited me in a dream, told me to head to a small town in Iowa. Went through a magical portal, fought chaos spawn, and won back our homeland. A lot of others helped, I'm not going to glory hound this story."

The glossover of the worst weeks of his life, he chased down with another full glass of wine. He wasn't sure how many glasses he'd gone through. Finally, he had enough liquid courage to look Joey in the eye. "Spent two and a half years helping to rebuild our home...and...then...I'm here on Earth." He waved his hoof around as if to signify that Joey knew all the rest.

His uncle eyed him for a minute.

"And he says 'it was boring'," Joey quipped, rolling his neck to work out some kinks. He'd been captivated by the adventure. Granted there were movies with better plots, but there was something special about war stories. The reality of them, perhaps, despite reality being turned on its head by an invasion of cute ponies. He eventually smirked and said, "I'm going to assume you'll eventually tell your mother what you left out, which means I'll hear it later on." He drained the last of his wine, smacking his lips. Then he grinned at his nephew, waiting.

A slight chill passed through Civil. Joey knew bullshit when he heard it, and Civil's large eyes, mirrors to his soul, had been giving him away since he started this story. They both knew things were left unsaid, things he could not allow another soul to know, like going feral before Luna visited him in a dream to help guide him back. The part where he confessed the horrible thing he had done, and where she helped center his soul after...after he'd....

Civil spotted an empty crate nearby which must have held the imported grapes. A heart with flames was on the label. Some familiar feeling regarding that picture tickled his memories. The less darker memories.

Joey sat back, nodding. "I knew it, there it is. I've been bullshitting people for years." Civil snorted to himself, having just thought that. "Easy enough to know when you are leaving out the juicy bits. But I can see it bothers you, so I won't press. Anyway, you're back, right? Back on Earth to stay?" And just like that, jovial Uncle Joey let him off the hook.

He gave Joey an embarrassed look. "Right."

"Where is what?! What are you not telling him!?!" came a female voice.

To the shock of both uncle and nephew, Renee wheeled around the stairwell and stormed up to them. She looked as though she was about to have kittens. "What happened to you after you got to land?" She demanded, crossing her arms.

The stony look that took over Civil's face was a sure indicator that this conversation was going nowhere good. Joey sat back and reached around blindly behind him for another bottle, riveted as he was to the showdown between his niece and nephew, like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He needed more refreshments.

A flutter of green caught Civil's attention. "Is that five hundred dollars?!" Civil jabbed accusingly towards Renee's hand. She looked down, remembering she had a wad of bills in her fist. "The money that is 'supposed' to scare off the kids from harassing me?"

She uncrossed her arms and put them behind her back, frowning. "Hey, he might be the bullshitter in the family, but you don't get to change subjects on the subject changer of the family!"

Civil glowered at her, slipping off his seat to stand on all fours. He slowly moved around her, though she kept her front to him. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Renee!"

"I dunno," she mumbled back. "I'd bet you've heard stupider." The money shifted from one hand to the other and she moved it back to her front when he slipped around behind her. Sighing at the immaturity of it all, he slowly stepped back near his seat and stopped facing away from her.

He twisted his own neck a few times, trying to destress himself, as well as pausing to reign in his anger (that's not a pun dammit!) before he really said something scathing. She mistakenly took it as an invitation to continue. "So what was Uncle Joey talking about, with the 'there it is' part?"

Now he was working his jaw, at a loss for words. Joey saw his face and gladly chimed in with, "That depends. When did you start eavesdropping?"

She gave him a thoughtfully offended look, the kind you knew was purely theatrical. "I wasn't eavesdropping on you. I didn't see Civil upstairs and I came looking for him. That's when...you know." She waved at them.

Joey smirked, asking, "And the part you did start hearing was, when?"

"The 'look at you, you're beautiful' part-"

Civil spun around, clicking his teeth in frustration to cut her off. "That's the whole damn thing! And that's called eavesdropping, idiot!" He paused, looking down at her hand since she hadn't bothered to put it behind her again. "Whose money is that, anyway?" Her eyes followed his gaze down. Fuck, she thought. She was still holding several bills out in the open.

"It's money. Yours now, I guess..."

"You guess? I bet it's Venessa's, right!?" the pegasus said accusingly.

Joey glanced up in thought, then made a small 'o' with his mouth. "Huh, that's why she needed the cash." He raised his hands in an innocent shrug at Civil's quick glare.

Renee got angry and lit into her brother. "You jackass! I was worried that someone pulled you away when I wasn't looking. I searched the whole damn house to find you! And THEN Vanessa practically cornered me and shoved THIS," while holding the money out in front of her, "into my hand and begged me to set up some personal speaking time with you! In fact, you want it? Here!" She thrust her hand right to his muzzle, and waited, waving it back and forth like a jerky treat to a dog as it tickled his nose.

He bared his teeth and grabbed at the money. In his anger, he miscalculated and caught a bit of her hand, too. Quickly retracting her hurt appendage, she rubbed the meaty part of her palm.

"OW! You fucker!"

"Serves you right, selfish woman," he mumbled around the cash. Yes, he did feel a twinge of regret, but his sourness left no room for apologies at the moment. Stomping over to Joey, he spit the bills out onto the table. "Here, buy Vanessa something decent. I'm going to go settle this crap with the cousins right now." Giving his sister one last glare, he growled, "Then I'm talking to Vanessa." He went out the back door.

Hurt and irritated by what he'd said, she made to follow him, but Joey reached out and gently grabbed her arm. "Hold up, Renee. This is one of those sibling things that should cool off without further intervention." She thought about pulling away from him, but eventually decided against it. Sitting down in Civil's seat, she examined her hand. Joey peered at it. "Anything more will just be kerosene on the fire right now. How bad?"

Shrugging, she gingerly felt the surface. "Didn't break the skin." After a moment of inspection, she muttered, "I can't believe that little shit bit me." Renee continued to rub her hand, though she wasn't very concerned about any possible damage to her flesh. She'd done worse to herself running around as a kid, holding a glass mug with some grasshopper drink inside, while...Jason, of all people, was chasing her. And had pushed her down, onto said glass.

They were children, and she wasn't sharing like she was told to, and, well, a hospital visit and some stitches later had solved that dicey little problem. It had been nearly fourteen years later when he finally came around and apologized to her for that. The kicker was, everybody, including Renee, had thought she had tripped while he was the only one who knew the truth. He'd held it in for a very long time, at least until he spoke to her that one Christmas. Of course since it was an event back in their childhood, it was easier for her to forgive him. And yet, he'd never forgiven himself enough to let go of that memory.

This wasn't nearly so horrible an outcome, and yet, in some ways it hurt more.

Joey sat back and poured another glass for himself. Mulling the wine around, he looked up from his glass. "I don't think he meant to do that. Looked like he was just trying to get the money, what with his limitations in grabbing things." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

She scoffed at him and reached over to get the bottle and pour herself a drink in Civil's glass. "I wasn't even trying to scam any money from anyone. He acts like I'm some selfish money grubber. Yes I have had some silly schemes before, but who doesn't want to make cash now and then? I swear, this time it was strictly to scare everyone away from bothering him." She shook her head and wiped one eye. "I was looking out for him, for fuck's sake." She noticed the straw in the glass, took it out and flicked it away angrily.

"Yeesh, language, Renee." After receiving her apology, he patted her hand. "Don't worry about it. I had to live with two brothers and a sister growing up. You want to talk about sibling rivalry? My family wrote the book on it." Glancing out the window, he could see Civil talking to the cousins that were outside playing. He eyed Renee and grinned.

"Stupid question. Did you plan it so his good conscience would kick in and he'd interact with them on his own? Sans the bite, of course."

Renee gave him a wistful smile. "I'll neither confirm nor deny anything regarding pony manipulation."

Joey closed his eyes, shaking his head. "God he's gullible." Opening them, he continued, "And yer evil. Remind me not to get on your bad side, missy."

She lightened up a little, watching her brother with a sad look. "Yes, a bit. To both." Her uncle snorted. She looked back at him and got up. "Sorry about Vanessa. I'll go warn her about not getting that one-on-one time with him."

He held up a hand, "Eh, hold off on that. He said he'd go speak to her, right? I'll bet he's gonna do it for free. He might have a temper, but he's got a good heart."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"It's true!" Joey exclaimed. He hummed to himself for a moment. Then he took a big breath, "In any case, he needs to learn to interact with family as a pony now." He drained his glass and contemplated something. "Sorry I got you in trouble with him, the whole Vanessa thing. She said it was a matter of life and death."

Renee shook her head incredulously, "That's NOT what I told them," but Joey waved it off.

"Mm, figured there was a loss in translation. I did lend her the money, though. My bad on getting you bit." Renee shrugged as if it were nothing. He chuckled, thinking. "Wouldn't it be wild if Vanessa turned into a pony after all this?"

That had Renee laughing nervously. "Oh come on, Uncle Joey! Not every person turning twenty-five is going to be a pony. Besides...we already did the math." That last part she said in a somber tone.

"Still. Oh that reminds me. Your birthday AND Christmas are just around the corner." He watched her warily, concern on his face. "Aren't you turning twenty-five in two weeks?" He wasn't sure he should be happy or concerned. With Civil, it was a done deal. He knew Vanessa would welcome it. With Renee...?

She shrugged at the question, "Yeah, so what. Like I said, statistics are against me changing. My twenty-fifth will come and go, joy." She grinned while eyeing her brother now. He was flying in the air and flipping head over hooves to hit a volleyball back over the net to his cousins. It was his one versus their six and they were still diving just to keep up with his returns. "I'm more interested in him getting the stick out of his ass." With a quick glance to her uncle, she mumbled, "Sorry."

"Naw, he's a pony thingy. Ass is appropriate, and funny." He smiled, watching them outside. His eyes slid back over to her. "Renee, you aren't, uh, hoping to become...one, are you?" She acted like she hadn't heard him and continued watching her brother's antics.

The silence stretched out for quite a while, long enough to see Civil outside actually starting to enjoy himself, until she saw Vanessa approach the game. He caught the ball mid air and handed it off to a young girl, Angela, before landing next to Joey's daughter. The two had a very somber looking discussion, ending with him shrugging and Vanessa grabbing Civil in a very strong and pegasus-protested hug. He did take the scratching on his head better when his cousin offered it. Then they started strolling back to the house and the stairs outside that led up to the patio. Renee blinked and turned back to Joey, "whuh?"

He quirked a brow at her and replied, "Yeah, you heard me. You want to be one?"

The rolling of her eyes wasn't enough to shake her uncle off the trail, so she gave in. "Sort of." His look of shock prompted her to answer more directly. "Well, yes. I mean, I don't want to think about what all I'd lose, but, aside from being able to do magic, or talk to animals or fly...it'd-" The clopping up the stairs outside distracted her slightly. Once they made it inside and she could hear the progression across the ceiling above them, she continued, "-it'd help him."

Now Joey was impressed. He sat up and gathered the used glasses together, more as a cover to his opinion. "Um, you'd turn into a different species, an alien species, for your brother? For God's sakes, why??"

Why indeed? She had spent a lot of time contemplating Jason's, well, Civil's situation, all that he must have gone through to get to this point. Knowing what he was like as a human by growing up with him, and now with the stigma of sharing traits with domesticated livestock in this world, she could see how lonely he was. Getting kicked out of your homeworld was just salt on the wound. All of it hadn't really hit her until she had observed him during their plane flight, his willingness to go out on a limb, or a wing for that matter, to help that little girl.

He had spent that time, time meant flying near his family on their side of the plane, to instead protect that child from her fears. Civil was always willing to give, and he never asked anything in return. And yet she knew, he silently asked. He needed. Like any creature capable of expressing emotions, he needed to relate to someone and be appreciated for what he was, as much as WHO he was. He needed such a basic thing that humans couldn't give. Sameness.

Zoology classes, if nothing else, pointed out like species held to their own. Intelligent species moreso. As a pony, she could provide that companionship and familiarity. Buy you know...as a sister, of course. We're not getting freaky up in here, check the damn story tags.

"He's lonely," she repeated her thoughts vocally. Looking her uncle in the eye, she said, "According to the TV show, ponies are herd creatures, just like horses here. Our parents and I can be there for him, but he'll still feel alone, different. Having another pony around would help, and having grown up with him, it would be ideal, if..." She didn't finish what she wanted to say. She felt that saying it out loud was like volunteering, even though she knew deep down this whole species changing business was outside her control.

Slowly, Joey nodded. He stood up, holding the empty glasses and smiled to his niece, "He has no idea how lucky he is. You are the best sister he could have right now, or ever."

She smiled sardonically, waving her hand, "Yep, bestest sister."

He grinned, "Strokin that ego?"

She replied, laughing, "Damn straight!"

***

Civil, being that ever giving person that he was, found himself upstairs in a very frilly girl's bedroom. A teenager's bedroom. Naturally, he was uncomfortable. All the walls had posters of the typical crushes, pop bands, Twilight actors, idol singers....

...and Hello Kitty, and My Little Pony. Lots, of both. Surprisingly, the first thing she showed him wasn't pony related. It was a large framed felt textured art piece of Hello Kitty waving. There was a signature scrawled in small kanji down the raised arm.

"Yuko Shimizu, the creator, signed that," Vanessa provided for him.

Civil nodded, taking in the artwork with practiced politeness. He glanced around, noting all the other Hello Kitty products, from dolls, to posters, to stationary on the desk. He shook his head and asked, "What is the big deal? I mean, yeah, it's a cute little cat girl, person, but...she has no mouth. What's up with that?"

His cousin regarded him with a slightly miffed look, "It's like any other toy that a company markets to children. The company makes lots of money, the children make lots of memories!" She smiled and waved at the items, as if that's all the explanation needed. He shrugged, not partaking in her enjoyment. Her mouth quirked and she added, "I'm sure you've played with similar toys. Transformers, maybe?" Civil took that moment to look away, embarrassed. "Also, she was originally designed without a mouth so that you can project your own emotions onto her. She's there for you, for whatever, whenever."

He turned back to her, complete surprise on his face. Then he looked up at the art. After a time, he nodded. "Okay, I can get on board with that. My bad." He rubbed one foreleg with the other.

She smiled down at him, "You know, even if it's just a fictional character, maybe you could use one of these Hello Kitty products to help you?" He raised his brow in question. She clarified, "I mean, to help with your cutie-mark." A shadow swept over his face and he shook his head, turning to leave.

She scooted in front of him and raised her hands, pleading, "I'm sorry! Renee said not to talk about your cutie-mark because you were sensitive with that. But, I can't help it, seeing you without one. It reminds me of the CMCs." She waved her hand at a poster on the wall depicting Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle, all waving out of the poster.

This didn't do much to alleviate is simmering thoughts. He groused, "Oh she did, did she?" He sat back, thinking. Then he shook his head. "You know what, screw her. She needs to quit poking her nose where it's not needed, nor wanted."

Vanessa, a hurt expression at hearing him talk that way about her other cousin, his sister, exclaimed, "How can you think that? She cares about you!"

"Oh yeah? She is pompous, prideful, bossy, nosy, runs around exerting her own agenda onto the world the way she sees fit, and she constantly tries to insert her opinion in my life."

His cousin retorted quietly, "I see a strong woman who cares deeply about her brother and uses all those 'negative things' you so eloquently described as a means to help you."

"Please," he muttered, hunching up defensively. He wasn't so completely daft as to flare his wings, but he felt like he was under attack. He growled softly, "She only does it to make herself feel good. If it's her business, she butts you out. If it's not, she butts INTO everypony else's. Tartarus, she's probably at the door right now, waiting to burst in and 'it's all about me' her way into this conversation."

Renee's face turned red as her hand hovered just shy of knocking on the door outside of the room. She would have gladly burst in, acknowledging the fact that yes, she did in fact butt into HIS business...just so she could smother him in love with this delectable plate she was holding, piled high with sausage links, buttered croissants, cheeses (including Joey's homemade mozzarella), and all manner of finger foods he didn't get to partake in from earlier.

Except his comments heard clearly through the door made her pause. Still...he hadn't eaten. She could go in, drop off the plate and smile, leave, not say a word. Let him think about what she might or might not have heard-

"What a lousy sister," she overheard him say.

She quietly backed away from the door, the plate left outside on the floor. In a few seconds she was far enough not to hear anything anymore. She would have been proud of her teenage cousin her she had stayed, otherwise.

Vanessa tapped him on the nose sharply. It didn't hurt so much as it shocked him that she did it in the first place. "Jason! That's a nasty thing to say about her, after everything she's done for you! Did you know I had to beg her to take my money? She wouldn't even consider it at first because she didn't think any of us had enough to begin with! She was looking out for you."

Rubbing his nose, he mumbled, "She was looking out for me? How?"

She shook her head, almost laughing at his ignorance. "What do you mean, how? The speech she gave us, the way she moved around on the porch while she talked to everybody else, always keeping an eye on you at the same time. Even when I begged her to take my money, all she thought about was how it would affect you, what you would think."

He stopped rubbing his nose and scrunched it up to see if it there was a mark on it. Hey, pony noses are sensitive, don't judge. "Look, she wasn't even supposed to make that deal in the first place. And...about the money...I gave it back to your father. You shouldn't have to spend money just to talk to a blank flank freak."

She knelt down in front of him and gently grabbed his head in her hands, "Civil. I have an idea what the CMC went through. Even if the show is not accurate, I can imagine not fitting in. Look at me. There are things about me that...might not fit in with everyday society, but I don't care what others think. I care what I think, and those who love me think. Isn't that what SHOULD be important?"

He nodded his head, starting to get a feeling for where this was going.

"And, shouldn't it also be important that your sister is looking out for you?" He pulled his head out of her hands, his jaw set.

"I don't hate her, Vanessa. It's just that, she's too much!" She stood up with a questioning look. He shrugged and slowly walked over to the walls containing the MLP stuff. Screw hello kitty. "It's like, she figures out what bothers you and then," he sits back, raising one front hoof to hit the other, "bam bam bam hammers that button like a spastic kid playing Dan in Street Fighter. Seriously, nopony can do anything about my mark."

Vanessa grinned at him, shaking her head. "Renee doesn't know that." That earned her a pair of ears turning toward her with interest. "She quizzed me on the subject like I'm some kind of expert. I only watched the TV shows, but she treated me like one of her professors. And no matter what we talked about, it was always about how she could find a way to help you. Enough so that now I want to help you, too."

He mumbled at her, "Great, you too now."

She reached out and rubbed his nose, mindful that not too long ago she paid painful homage to it. "You should be nicer to her, not let things get to you so much. And you should use newer references. Street Fighter, really? So last two decades."

He snorted at her softly and turned back to admire some of the Royal Guard posters, "Whatever. I like Street Fighter." He adds, a little more quietly, "And I hate her butting in."

"You need to actually thank her. She loves you. We all do, and we want to help you."

One large equine eye rolled back to meet hers. "With my cutie-mark."

"Yes."

He turned around, now a good deal more in control with himself. This is family, and love hurts, but they will always be family, no matter how many legs they walked on. "Look, Vanessa. There's not much you can do. I've lived with this all my life before the curse, and now it looks like after as well. There's no fixing this. It's blank and that's that."

Vanessa tilted her head, "You sound like you've given up."

He shrugged. "At this stage of the game, I don't have the luxury of 'discovering myself'. I stopped worrying about finding my special talent years ago.

"Years ago? When did you stop? WHY, for that matter?"

He sighed heavily, not particularly happy where this conversation went. "Before I entered the Guard. It was a bad time for me." He rustled his wings, curling his body inward a little. "I don't want to talk about it."

Vanessa had seen this behavior in her birds before. A combination of looking bigger to scare off predators coupled with a kind of turtle effect to brace against an attack. She knew to tread lightly. "Is it so bad to not have a mark? I mean, once you get past elementary school bullying, like with the CMCs, adults just ignore it, right?"

He peered up at her, smiling slightly at her naivety. He murmured softly, "You have no idea, Vaness. Our entire society is based on finding your place, your special talent. To have no affirmation of that, it's like you are listless, a ship without sails AND rudder. Not just you knowing you have no talents, but EVERYPONY knows it, too. The nobles sneer at you, the commoners pity you. And every damn first comment a stranger has for you is, 'oh wow, um, no cutie mark?'...followed by suggestions on how to get one. THAT really ticks me off."

He realized he was glowering at her and dropped the look, smiling apologetically. Trying to come up with a better way to explain the shame, he said, "Like Reepicheep always hearing 'You are a mouse.' Can you imagine being highly intelligent, a very gifted poet AND a sword fighter, and society's response to you most of your life is.....'you are a mouse'?"

She giggled softly, remembering the Narnia films. She shook her head, "No, I guess I can't." Petting him on the head, she asked, "So, how does one normally find their talent?"

He shrugged, "A lot of times, your herd helps you. They know you best, so they usually have the intuition to steer you toward it."

She stopped her scratching and remarked, "Huh, the TV show never really showed that part."

He pressed his head against her hand, the glutton for scratching that all ponies were, "Subtleties lost in translation, I imagine."

She looked over the things in her room. "Maybe you need inspiration, a fresh perspective. Like a helping hand."

He raised a concerned brow and replied warily, "I am a tad more aware of the CMC antics than Hasbro has intimated-"

She held up a hand, "Now, just hear me out on some thoughts. Promise me you'll let me help? We're cousins, Jas...ugh. I told my dad to use your correct name and here I am using the old one." She paused and whispered 'Civil' to herself. He muttered 'thanks' to her.

"We're cousins, Civil, and even though this is the coolest thing ever, I mean not to get all Dashy, but I have a real live My Little Pony pony in my room!" She paused again, letting it soak in. He gave her a pass, considering she was young, female, and had been keeping her enthusiasm bottled up mostly until now. "Sorry. It's just really cool having you here." He smirked. "AND being a pony." He nodded.

"It's okay. I guess if I had my own Bumblebee car, I'd geek out too. I do like the flying stuff." He looked down at his hooves and waved one, "No hands though. You could say we got spoiled until we changed back. Didn't know what we were missing until we were cursed. Celestia forbid the one good thing that came out of that curse, hands."

Vanessa giggled and sat down on her bed. "Wow, I hadn't even thought of that." She patted the bed at her side. He rolled his eyes and wandered over to hop up. He turned around, situated himself and laid down, making sure his wings weren't smooshed under him. She began to pet him.

"Sooo...about that promise?"

He gave her a belabored look. "The cutie-mark thing?" Damn she was persistent.

She nodded.

The last of his will crumbled and he was left open to the invading horde that was a teenage girl wanting to help him find his destiny, her devilish hands turning his muscles to putty. "Sure. What harm could it-" She squealed and gently hugged him.

He let it happen, knowing it'd just muss up his feathers if he fought back. He got out, "Just some ground rules. No crusaders bullshit. It's not like the cartoons where you can rebuild this house." He paused, frowning. She sat up, head tilted. He shrugged, "Unless we had a unicorn, but we don't. So no blowing up...anything." She nodded.

He thought some more. "No destruction of any kind." She nodded again. While he was at it, he might as well have tossed in something else, the most vital of things, "And no matter what it is, absolutely, positively, NOTHING, to do with anything sticky. Like pine sap. ESPECIALLY pine sap. Deal?" She grinned back and gently took the wingtip he had proffered to her, shaking it.

"Deal."

He smiled. That wasn't so bad, he guessed.

"I wonder if we should make a list of things you've already tried over the years. Like sudoku, squeeze out the answer through logic."

He groaned, burying his head under his hooves, "I swear to Celestia, List Making better NOT be my special talent, or so help me I'll strangle myself with my own mane mfmff-"

A hand clamped around his muzzle to shut him up. "Oh hush, I'm not going to Sparkle you out. It was just a suggestion. Hm." She thought to herself for a minute. His eyes tracked her facial movements, thoughts telegraphing themselves there.

"I think I should get a rule as well, to make it all square. You game?"

It would be fair, he mused to himself. Shrugging, he pulled his muzzle out of her hand. "Sure, name it."

"Apologize to your sister."

"...."

Damn kids, he swore inwardly.

***

After an exhaustive couple of hours, the whole sudoku approach fell on its face. Civil felt no closer to getting his mark, which was par for the course in his mind, and his cousin looked a tad frazzled for the effort.

He also had a headache, having missed out on food earlier. Alcohol on an empty stomach was a poor meal, for any species.

Rolling up dozens of long lists, Vanessa placed them in a paper bag and offered them to him. He smiled painfully, "What are these for?"

"You know, to add to them as you try new things." After suffering through his groans, she added, "And for future generations. You never know when another needy foal might come along and require some help in their journey." They both stepped out into the hallway.

He reluctantly accepted the bag, but held out his other wing, "Oh Tartarus, no! I am not thinking about having foals right now. Hopefully not for a long time." He glanced at his own flank, then up at her. "Too many things to figure out first."

Her cheeks took on a rosy tinge. She said in a slightly higher pitch, "Oh! I didn't mean dating...stuff. I meant if you run into other ponies and they have problems with their kids."

Civil raised a hoof and dragged it down his face. "Sorry, I'm tired, and hungry, and going back through all that...history was a bit draining. Yes, if I run into other ponies, I can-"

Placing his hoof back down, he tapped a plate full of food sitting next to the door. "Where did this come from?"

Vanessa regarded the plate thoughtfully. "I might have a suspicion..."

Civil shrugged and picked it up with one hoof and immediately grabbed the sausages with his wingtip to eat. Careful to keep any escaping bits over the plate, he stated between mouthfulls, "Probably the kids, some kind of Nightmare Night custom they're trying to pull off." She stared at him. He huffed and explained, "They leave candy at the base of a Nightmare Moon statue as an offering...?"

She scoffed at him, shaking her head. "I know the ritual. But I doubt any of them came up with that, or would sub in actual food for candy. Looks like an adult stacked it. Too precise."

He shrugged, balancing the plate on one hoof while going to the stairs. "Then probably my mother."

Vanessa followed him, frowning slightly, but decided not to argue with the tired pony. "Just remember your promise."

He nodded weakly, "I always keep my promises." He stopped at the top of the stairs. Mortal enemy of all ponies. And Po the kungfu panda. Vanessa took up the plate so he could apply maximum effort to not spilling himself AND food down her parents' staircase. He smiled, "Thankyou, Van."

Once downstairs, he resumed eating. He cleared the plate and went to look for leftovers in the kitchen. The party had wound down and it was later in the evening now. Most of the food had been consumed, but Joey had kept a large supply of sausages to freeze longterm. He prepped another plate for him before turning back to talk to Karen.

"Thanks for that plate earlier, mom." He said.

She raised a brow at him. "Dear, I didn't make any plates for you today. That was someone else's doing."

He stopped chewing and swallowed what he had before asking, "Not you?" She shook her head no. He thought about it, then remembered Renee was supposed to bring back a plate, before he had followed his uncle into the basement.

Quickly finishing the second plate and putting it in the sink, he set off to find his sister. He checked every room inside, checked the basement, then checked the porch outside and the backyard. Nothing. Spotting his father, he asked Daniel if he had seen her.

"Yeah, actually. She went for a walk, down by the stream."

Civil thought that was odd. She never went for walks. At least, the Renee he knew from before college. He thanked his father and trotted toward the line of trees at the edge of the property.

His eyesight at night wasn't very good. Thestrals were better at this low light stuff. He was wondering how he would find her when something acrid tickled his nose.

It was cigarette smoke.

Slowly, he crept past a couple trees and was about to round a third when he spotted a glowing red ember a couple of feet above the ground. Focusing on the light, he was able to make out the outline of her hand, arm, then the rest of her. She was leaning against a tree, smoking.

Smoking!?!

The last time this topic had come up, she was in high school. Her best friend had mentioned to Civil, Jason then, how she had seen Renee smoking once. When he asked his sister about it then, she had gone ballistic, didn't speak to him for three weeks, AND had disowned her best friend, forever.

Suffice to say she kept her habit an excruciatingly tight secret.

And here he was about to blow up said secret, on accident. Just as slowly, he started backing up. One, step, at, a, time >SNAP<.

Fuck, he thought.

"FUCK!" She yelled. Flicking the cigarette away, she came forward quickly. "WHO IS THERE! SHOW YOURSELF!"

He spun around and ran as fast as he could back to the house. He wasn't sure if he had kept from being seen, but that last stretch from the treeline to the house was out in the open.

He muzzled his way through the door just in time for his aunt, Joey's wife Jannet, to hand him a bundle of sheets. "Here you are, Civil. The couch in the living room is available for you. All the beds are taken, and we figured a pony kicking in his sleep would work best solo. Is that okay?"

So innocent in intent. So painful in practice. He gave her a crooked smile and accepted the sheets, walked into the living room and began to make his bed on the couch.

He dared not turn to look when Renee eventually came inside. She paused at the archway between the kitchen and the living room for a minute before going back in and wishing her parents and other relatives good night. Karen asked her why she smelled like smoke and she said she was near the grill most of the night.

Civil took that opportunity to climb in under the sheets and cover himself up. He was really hoping this day would end soon.

***

It was an odd dream. Sure he frequently had the usual struggle-for-survival themes, like trying to fly in a hurricane or fighting aliens in a hive, but this one had a really weird romantic quality to it. Of all things, his dream was of him side by side with Hello Kitty. They were in the elevator and he tapped on the button. It didn't work. They both tapped on it again. The doors began to close.

A xenomorph got halfway through the doors when Civil blew it away. It's acid doused Hello Kitty and she screamed while they stripped her armor off her. She ended up getting burned but he and Bishop stabilized her in the dropship. They exchanged first names and he kissed her on the cheek before he hopped out of the ship to go find Newt.

The dream was interrupted by noise in the kitchen of the waking world. Sunlight was starting to brighten the room. Breakfast type smells drifted in, eggs, pork, toast. While he lied there, listening to his relatives eat loud and talk louder, he grew uncomfortable. Something wasn't right.

He felt cold from the chest down, as in his sheets were cold. Dread rushed to his core. The lights were still off in the living room where he was sleeping on the couch, the Christmas tree lights blinking periodically in the corner.

Civil couldn't believe he had urinated. There was no way! How...wait. He felt about his lower waist and brought his hoof up to his eyes. It wasn't wet so much as it was smeared with a greasy looking substance. An off-white substance.

Dear Celestia's fat ass, Civil thought to himself. His ears immediately swiveled to the kitchen. Please let nopony come out of there...

Trying to extract himself from the sheets was a chore all its own. Pulling up the corners off the cushions, he inspected their fabric. Dry. Miracle. Next task was to bundle all this up and get to the garage where the washing machine was-

In his haste to get to that next part of his plan, Civil failed to scoop up all the corners of BOTH the top sheet and bottom sheet with his wings, resulting in his rear hooves getting entangled in the sheets, again. His first step sprawled him out quite loudly on the wooden floor.

For a second he was reliving that moment in the C-17 again.

Karen stepped into the living room from the kitchen and turned on the lights. She spotted her son and exclaimed, "Civil, are you okay!? Did you hurt yourself? That was a very loud....oh my God, Civil...your...you...!" She pointed low as he sat up.

In horrible shame, he squinted his eyes shut. "Mom, I know. Granted you've never caught me masturbating and sooner or later it was bound to happen, but this," he pointed down with his hoof, "was really not my fault. I-"

"What are you talking about!?! Look at you backside! You have, a mark, you know, a cutie-pie something!"

In stunned surprise he twisted his neck around to stare at his outer thigh. There, in blazing glory, was a picture. A picture of Hello Kitty with a paw in the air, waving.

The pegasus sat there, in a pile of soiled sheets, staring at a very twisted turn of fate.

"How did you get it?" His mother asked, awe in her voice.

Without thinking, he replied numbly, "I was dreaming of that cartoon character Vanessa was showing me yesterday. In the dream Hello Kitty was injured. I saved her, we kissed, and then...then...."

He looked up to Karen, then down at the mess on him. His mother's eyes widened, finally putting his earlier confession together with what she was seeing now.

Karen covered her mouth with her hand, then spoke softly behind it, "Is, um, is that a normal...amount?"

"What!?! None of THIS," he jabbed his front hooves at, well, all of himself, "is normal, mom!"

"Shhh, the others will hear!" She said, trying to save him from embarrassment. Yeah right.

"Hear what?"

Vanessa stood in the archway leading to the kitchen, a piece of dry toast in her mouth. Several other cousins, his aunt, and Renee peered past her to see what the fuss was about.

"Well, you see, Civil got his cutie picture." His mother pointed out, trying to divert attention. From the mess not three inches near said mark. Bless her errant soul.

"Cutie-mark, mom!" He corrected.

"Yes, that," she replied.

"Oh killer!" That was his ten year old cousin, Danny. Great. "How did you get it Civil? WHEN did you get it!?"

"I uh got it...when, um I..."

"During a dream," his mother helped.

"Yeah!" Nice save, mom!

"Doing what?" Renee asked. He glared at her.

"None of your business, sis," he replied snappishly.

"He was kissing," his mom said. Godammit mom!

"Ew, girly stuff. Thank god I'm not a pony, I never would have thought to dream about that to get my special talent," Danny replied and started to turn away when a smaller girl, his little cousin named Angela, tugged on his sleeve.

She asked him, "Danny, what is that white stuff all over the pony?"

There was silence in the room. The tree continued to blink its lights in the corner.

Civil couldn't feel any lower than he did right then.

"What the hell, I had a whole stick of butter at room temperature out last night."

Joey stepped from the kitchen and pushed his way through everyone to see what all the hubbub was in the living room. "Oi, did one of you vultures steal my butter-" He stopped talking when he spotted Civil lying in the heap of bed sheets and the substance smeared all over his lower abdomen and thighs.

"Huh," Joey remarked to himself. "That's where it went." He shrugged and walked back into the kitchen. "Meh, I've seen weirder shit before. You know, I have heavy whipping cream and salt. I can make some more. Now where did you kids put the mixer..."

Fanfic reference: Your Human and You by MadMaxtheBlack

Excellent story there.

Sorry this took a while. All events were imagined prior to any real world events so try not to read anything into it.