Following a shuttle… no a dropship ride from the Manitoba to the Galactica captain Charlotte and I made our way to Galactica's green deck. The large park like section of the ship was vast, with grass, fake trees, streams and pools of water that were really reservoirs for the ships spare water supply used as lakes. And topping it all off was a vast panoramic view screen arching over head that was currently displaying a view of space showing the battered fleet, the stars beyond, with the vast cloud of the galaxy backdropping the stunning view.

Under normal circumstances I would have sat with my Suiter on this deck, either on one of the many benches or on the grass and stared up at the stars. We would spend hours trying to pick out individual celestial bodies that we knew, or claimed to know.

Instead my closest friend second only to Durge who had stayed by my side since my time as a chambermaid to dragon Princess Zarkir. The zaltule the warrior cast of the already formidable kleese breed for war and the taking of life, had been a trophy gifted to the princess by a neo changeling who was a potential candidates to become one of the drakes suiters. He had taken to me, at what point I do not remember and had acted as my guardian. Filling the role of bodyguard when ever I entered my seasons not many wanted to tangle with a nine foot red eyed spider, and continuing the training and care given to my by my brother Bra'tac.

Our PDPs guided us to a beach its synth sand surface meant to filter whatever particulates entered the water. There beside the gently and synthetically created gentle waves stood several other people, most of which I knew and several of which I had only a passing knowledge of.

My brother Bra'tac in his repurposed and repainted prime guard armor stood with his arms crossed behind his back, blazer staff planted blade first into the ground beside him. At his side stood a pony, I had to hiss at this I knew this pony as she had been placed on the 26RTI's command squad. She PFC Gutsy allegedly was cursed by some demon lord of Tartarus to never die, cursed to regenerate from grievous injury and feel the pain of watching ones loved ones wither and die forever more.

The unicorn stood in a tan variant of the space born infantry fatigues. Talking quietly with my brother about something or another and giving pointers while they watched specalist Michel Trombley, a young spaceborne infantry trooper I have known since bagmare practicing his knife work against Durge.

For his he was putting up a commendable effort for a human, soaking in the knowledge I myself had tried teaching him during our drills together. He fought dirty something taught to him by my Suiter, kicking sand into Durge's eyes and slashing at his sensitive abdomen with the training stun knife.

They paused to greet the two of us as we entered the clearing, however this caused the lance corporal to hesitate creating an opening for the zaltule to scuttle in grab Trombley and hurl him boldly into the "lake". We all shared a laugh when the brown furred male resurfaced with a well spirited "Im okay!".

Charlotte giggled as she watched the display. While the more ancient practice of selective breeding had come into practice, arranged breeding pairs like Charlotte and Avery's for example. They had paired in their youth but being from seperate nations their relationship had not gotten much farther than what it was now. His grandmother having been given the medal of honor and her parents being key corporate figures in the Nordic empire.

A new voice cut in as my corporal instructor from NAC boot camp made himself known. Veteran Sugar Watkins seemed to peel himself from his spot on a bench to berate the specialist for his lack of discipline, questioning his intelligence and whether or not his mother had birthed him with a pair of eyes.

It felt odd seeing the buck sergeant here, usually the man worked as squad snow viper's second in command, being the only other person to hold the title of veteran in the unit besides my Love. He like wore a his fatigue pants and a dark tan Homeworld defence shirt.

His dark skinned head was shaved bald and around his scared neck he wore a severed unicorn horn as a trophy. From my studies into human history I know that normally in days past, such as before what the humans call the Lanky Siege waring such things would be frowned upon, if not outright forbidden. But in these times after the siege humanity's military became more lax about such things, as long as your accessory didn't hinder your performance, or that of the troopers around you it was generally allowed.

This was the reason I still wore the necklace my lover had gifted to me on my hatching day on bagmare. He didn't know the significance of the gift at the time, not knowing that the necklace he had undoubtedly liberated from a corpse. It usually was a testament to the never ending love between the giver and the recipient, meant to be something unique to the couple. Something that bound them together and spoke volumes more than mere words could. Similar to the human's engagement rings, or perhaps a wedding ring would be a closer analogy.

The necklace was originally a fine gold depicting two roughly humanoid shapes, which what appear to holding hands coming together to form a heart shape, in the center of the heart was a brilliant ruby. After our relationship had continued further and when he eventually had learned about the piece of jewelry significance however.

He stole it, and must have had worked some kind of magic, or pulled some tailes. Because when he returned it to me after I had gifted him my heart scale. On the peer as we watched the Galactica launch from her drydock for the first time together. It was immaculate, utterly Avery, and to me at least utterly beautiful.

Now not only gone were the scratches and wearing it had no doubt accumulated from its previous owner. But its gold surface was a brilliant shined and restored to a pristine condition. Its' pendant modified with one of the humanoid features replaced by a coiled ruby accented serpent, the two figures still formed a heart but at its center was a second heart in the rough shape if a scale, allegedly forged of a fragment lanky seed ship. He said it was taken from a piece of the late Burbanjack's own L-blade. I wear the necklace even now, under my tunick entwined with my dog tags.

I had to smile at the memory of my Love's late team leader. The man had always seemed like a parental figure to her Suitor whenever she had spoken to or seen him. Avery looked up to him, put him on a pedestal as something to aspire to. The old Veteran had cared deeply for the men under his command taking their safety and well being, not only on the battlefield but off as his own personal responsibility. It was he who encouraged me to first engage my Suitors romantically, and for that I will always be thankful.

I ran a claw over the pendant as I laughed with my friends. Laughed until heads turned as a new group drew near. Four human in grey or black Liegonare battle armor sans helmets closed on our group. Their mood was serious, drawing our revelry to a close and causing tensions to rise. The mood toward special forces troopers or pod heads among the rank and file like myself was cool at best, dangerous at worst, when at times of rest. Their need to call any non pod head "Basics" or "crunchies" didn't help much either.

Big Dog wore his armor's lower half and a tight black short sleeved tunic with an atlas moth displayed on its left pectoral. I have not spent much time getting to know him do to his standoffish attitude. But he looked out for Avery, and the two of them had helped one another escape Rarity's capture and that made him an ally. He like Watkins for Durge and myself, was Avery's instructor corporal when he went through boot camp.

Beside him was Wraith, dressed in full kit he painted an imposing picture, especially with the long barreled blaster strapped over one shoulder. Another person I haven't known, but yet another member of my suitors team. Avery had told me stories, and that he, Wraith was the best sniper he had ever known. Telling me that he had once, before the reformation of the COG he had seen the man shoot an SRA pilot out of his fighter in mid strafing run, while under fire.

Beside him was X, the legendary Helldiver. I had a passing relationship with the middle aged human. But the stories about him, shrouded him with an aura of reverence. Before I had met X I had been under the impression that Helldiver survival rates were abysmal. Many of them only surviving to their fifteenth jump. That number had staggered me when I had read it, the idea that the duel purpose, recovery shock troopers would be so willing to join a brotherhood such as theirs. Their missions usually saw them dropped onto lanky controlled planets to recover records and technology with no support.

Fifteen drops, was the expectation, but with over one hundred missions under his belt, X was the exception. He wore Legionnaire armor instead of his usual Helldiver HEBA bug suit. Instead of being completely blood red its plates were a dull matt black, with a single red chevron so deep it was almost black rested over his chest plate.

Finally my eyes fell on my suitor as he spoke with the venerable Helldiver at his side. He wore Legionnaire armor as well, unlike whenever he did drills with our squad. Then he wore standard battle armor with the MOTH attachments, like the jump pack. He like the others wore that jump pack now, with his helmet clipped to his hip. And at his hip was a new addition, the cross guard of a sword with a glimmering green peridot in the pommel. 'A gift from crux? It would make some sense, he has seemed to take avery under his wing after the Burbanjack.'

Avery's mocha skin seemed to highlight the dull glowing red rings of his activated ocular implants. They stood around for several minutes ignoring the nervous tension in the air as several more humans and formers arrived. Levoy the synthetic human apothecar...medic, was the only one of the group of four that I knew.

"Thank you all for coming…" X began running a gauntleted hand across his face. "We have news, and a mission. Veteran Fallon, explain the situation."

"Move your ass!" Veteran Fallon shouted into my ear as I crawled through blood soaked mud. His helmets speaker amplifying his voice to unreasonable levels making my ears ring.

Red stained mud clung to my half naked body almost drowning me as my back was sliced by razor wire whenever I rose my self up slightly to breath. Around me the others "chosen" for this assignment were in similar position. Prone on their stomachs with mud cracking almost every surface of their bodys. All with the acception of Durge who physically couldn't get into the position.

After being selected he had informed us of just how fucked we were unless drastic action was taken. And how each of us would be used to see to the survival of the fleet by taking out the Defiant, and scouting ahead of the fleet for anything and everything that might be of use. As well as partaking in any clandestine actions that arose during the mission, be it taking out a high value target, starting a civil war, or aiding any ACM outposts we run into out here on the galaxy's edge.

And that's exactly where we were, after the first day when we had meet the rest of the team, and gon over the plan. News had come down, that the astro navigation people had finally decided where we were. Our fleet and by extension this part of the UEC rested only about ten eight thousand light years from the very edge of the galaxy, leaving only a thin veneer of stars between us and the void between galaxies. Unfortunately just because knew where we were, didn't mean we knew where Sol or COG space in general was in relation to us.

Anyway, after the first two days of introduction and some general testing X and Fallon decided that the lot of us weren't up to the task at hand. And so they and the other two MOTHs with them decided to give the lot of us a "crash course". That meant an extremely shortened version of MOTH school for most everyone who would participate in ground operations. Or and if you were lucky or unlucky depending on who you asked, Helldiver training.

"This sucks." Trombley grunted from behind Miiora who was getting the "Special treatment" from her own boyfriend.

"1169, I don't give a fuck! Either you crawl or I will put your ass through the recycler myself. And make you run this bitch again fresh off a revive, trust me!" He yelled before throwing a ball of mud into the young man's face. "It's not fun!"

"And you!" The gunnery Sergeant yelled, turning his attention to the prone forms of Captain Dunois and Miiora. He must have seen something particularly distasteful because he bent a knee and kicked something in the mud earning a pained growne. "What the fuck is that! You think your funny!"

Without skipping a beat he rose from his crouch over the two prone forms and drew his side arm. There was a mechanical whur as the weapon game online before he fired it into the mud. There was a scream before the two forms "shot" past him. "Not so funny now is it!

What felt like hours past before we made it to the end of what X and Iceman had so wrongly named an obstacle course. We all exited the course some helping others and as one we crashed onto the sandy beach in one large Multispecies heap.

"Not bad!" The Gunnery sergeant yelled walking up to us with his cronie Big dog in tow. "I'll tell you what, I think you've earned a brake." As he said those words the group let out a collective sigh of relief.

Fallon got a far off look in his eye as he glanced in Miiora's direction, his implant flickering to life as he pressed a the fingertips of his metallic hand to his head. He stood there for several moments eyes squeezed shut before turning and walking away.

"What was that about?" I asked the tymerian. Her body language oozed concern and a want to go to check on her fiancee.

She turned a slitted eye to regard me for a second before returning her gaze to the retreating form of the Gunny. "I don't know."

From my cradle I watched my placenta slide on his back feet. Across from him was the human Crux, his silver battle plate glistened slightly in the chamber. The two held archaic bladed weapons in their small hands as they circled one another, before Mister Fallon dashed forward swinging his sword in the ridged way a neophyte would. "Stop using standard attacks, use the unorthodox."

Across from me Miss Mii'ora worked on her machine, diligently and elegantly flipping in the zero gravity environment. She switched between her machine and Armor. Alternatively running maintenance on Habu and cleaning Armor.

Did they know their machines were at least partly formed of the enemy of the whole, the Cybar? Did they know that if the Cybar, if those infernal bio machines had their way they all would either be dead or enslaved? The Cybar were a prime enemy of the Whole, like the ape like humans, the Tabrin scarabs, the Zelephlur molluscs, the Brikel foxes, they survived the great test.

They thrived on the chaos the whole had become. And when The One had first been formed and used it had pushed them out. Eradicating their vial non forms, and scattering their fleets to the stars never to he seen again. Did they not know that the machines they so easily used were truly masterpieces of design? Many had tried to tame at least some portion of the Cybar's need to kill. But all had failed, and when they failed they did so spectacularly.

My attention fell back to my placenta as he back stepped drawing his blade across his chest in an attempt to parry the older humans blow. He would have failed had it not been for the enhanced reflexes attributed to the nanites in his body. "How often must I tell you boy, control my central line."

Some philosophers in the whole, long dead and forgotten, but not quite so. Had theorized that the Cybar and the creators were two sides of the same coin. One working in the macro scale, and the other in the nano. But both sought the same the base building blocks, the quantum. The Cybar seek to understand The Quantum, to defend themselves from it, while the creators used it, as easily as the humans breath, and sought to teach others.

The day the Cybar warriors clashed with The Creators. the Creators cast them aside with mighty sweeps of force, and displays of their will. But they in their Indomitable might were still mortal. The Cybar in the end, laid the creators low. Destroying their worlds, and scattering their allies to the edges of the galaxy in exile.

Mister Fallon sidestepped a sword thrust from Crux, raising his sword he was denied his victory with a swift elbow to the side of the head. My placenta's mate hissed as she witnessed this but was waved off. Crux dashed in low, his armors thin red cape billowing out behind him as he shifted his weight and kicked Mister Fallon's legs out from under him.

My placenta crashed hard to the deck, splitting his shoulder on an errant screw and spilling blood onto the deck. This didn't stop him however, and in an blur of motion he dashed forward resuming his assault on the older man with a renewed fever. "Faster, destroy my focus!"

Mister fallon swiped once more his blade colliding with his opponents before he leaned back, planting a bionic hand on the deck and rotating into a savage back kick that Crux stopped with the flat of his blade. Sensing the follow up, the caped man used the microgravity to his advantage and back flipped over a follow up backhanded slash from his protege.

He came down and delivered a power armor kick to Mister Fallons unarmored chest before firing a concussive blast of compressed air from his gauntlets, forcing Avery back and to the ground. My Placenta tried to rise but a sword tip at his neck ceased his attempt. "You have gotten better boy, worthy of the blade you cary. But you are to easily excited, to quick to attack and not quick enough to step back and think."

"Noted." Mister Fallon said as the blade was lifted to his feet by his mate, who fussed over the deep bone colored gashes that lined his body. I could feel it through our connection, his nanites boiling and working to stitch the wounds back together. He would need another injection, something I would see to when next he entered me.

His mate used her tail to kick off into the air and back to her machine as he lit a cigarette. "Wish you were coming with Crux, it sure would make the job a lot easier on me."

"Mm… So do I, but someone has to stay behind and show these new recruits what end of a rifle fires the flechettes."

"I know that's right, those boots are terrible, especially the ones that came in from the ACM. At Least the turncoats from the UEC have some knowledge of small unit tactics. The fresh people are going to be the easiest for you to teach I think."

"I agree, I won't have to get them to unlearn bad habits."

Tideman stood at his office window at the top of the repurposed mile high atmosphere exchanger. He watched the clouds pass below and the light of the city below them. He watched the blood red iron rich ocean waves at the edges of that city. And the glittering of the impervisteel rings, life blood of the COG navy's industrial war machine hanging around the moon.

"Director, with the fall of Orion, and the dropping number of candidates for the other special forces branches the defences corps is severely limited. I fear at this point whatever assets we have now and whatever comes through in the next cycle will be all of the pod heads we get for the rest of the war. Unless we can buy ourselves more time." The Director Tideman's adjutant a veteran and colonel by the name of Miles Kaydor said.

"I fear that won't be enough to deal with the current political situation." Tideman remarked as he zoomed in the view on his smart window to get a better look at the newest Galactica class battleship being built in orbit over the city.

"I agree, the Coalition's representative governments are growing tired, war weariness has started to set in and they have begun to make mistakes."

"I know what you mean. If the council… have started trying to strike deals with the enemy then this has gotten worse than we thought. And with the loss of ninety percent of the Onyx Guard and their training base we have lost a key strategic asset."

"The people are in shock Director. I feel they might have lost faith. Besides Rea… Sandalphon, Orion was our best hope of survival should earth fall. And now… now Steel world is our last fortress among the stars. Our last hope."

The Director let out a long sigh before turning to face his adjutant. "... Kaydor, if we don't do something soon the COG will fall. Either by the Lankys, the UEC, or by the hands of our own leaders incompetence and cowardice. Did you know during the siege, the upper class, the political elite, and their families tried to abandon earth? They cut their ties to our home and they and those troops loyal to them left us behind to fend for ourselves."

"I was aware. It's because of them that we lost Saturn. Their ships were not in position and we were over run. We sent a strikeforce to the colony they ran to, and took back the ships and personnel they stole. We arrested them, president Maxwell was tried for treason. That was the first time the COG formed. The Council tries to hide that right from us. And actively work to subvert our authority and yank our leashes when we get too close to something they don't like. Just look at the Onyx Guard at first they were the best, respectable. But after years of political appointments backroom dealings, and ineptitude they were neutered, turned from the best we had to offer into the Council's personal attack dogs."

A chime rung and he began the task of descending the spire and taking a repulser cab to the local delegation house for yet another round of senseless meeting. It went on for hours before finally coming to a close.

When Tideman finally extricated himself from another useless question and answer session with Council house committee tasked integrating alien minority species into the defences corps special operations bridades. The committee had all kinds of studies that justified their reasons. But Tideman had suspected that this session was really just a probe to see what the COG were up to in lew of the problem at Orion.

Tideman had gone into the meeting with his usual poker face and had given his usual common sense reasons why the special forces, MOTHS in particular had to remain human only. At least the house wasn't asking once again for special exceptions for non-males.

'Not after what had happened the last time.'

For the COG generals and NCO corps the backbone of the MOTHs this issue was never up for negotiation. They saw it as a ploy to once again lower fitness and training standards in another attempt to weaken the Coalition. It already showed in the casualty reports. The troopers to come out of the training depots in the time since the Coalition started allowing Formers into the military were of noticeably lower quality. This was really the goal. To the Council and the house the Coalition was the real threat. And for good reason.

The distinguished delegate from Baru had even had even wanted to allocate funds to develop a new non-drill sergeant based boot camp. Replacing the fundamental training overseer since time immemorial with a new kind of instructor called a "Military lifestyle and career coach."

Tideman, who never laughed in public actually guffawed and quickly covered it up with a cough. The colonel who served as his adjutant Kaydor may have actually sworn audibly within the holographic council chambers. Because of course the council could never be seen on steel worlds. After that things got real quiet and the focus group was quickly ended and rushed out of the door.

It was these people who had taken the backbone of the coalition away. And if they had just cut the Coalition's leash at the start of the war it could have at least been better by now with less filled body bags. They had forbidden the deployment of war bots they had forbidden the tactics necessary to win the war, instead seeking a solution that best suited them and only themselves.

'They were nervous.' Tideman thought to himself as he walked out of the citadel. They had reason to be because the Coalition had the constitutional right to end the Council, the house, and the Senate if it choose to. In an emergency the Coalition the military arm of the COG could invoke the 19th article known as the champion clause or simply "Artical 19" contained within the Coalition Of Governments' constitution.

This allowed them to assume control of the government for up to ten months. Most of the generals had said for years that such a maneuver was nearing execution. But ten months didn't buy a lot of time to do what needed to be done. Every House, and Council, member had to captured and tried legally. And then new elections had to be held so the Big Two could be restored and free of corrupt influence. The senate was a bit easier it could simply be dissolved and then it was up to the individual worlds to elect new senators according to local customs.

But all of this was politics, not something the Coalition wanted to participate in. And the coalition no the galaxy needed something where that wasn't something it was designed to participate in.

As he and his adjutant stood inside of a beautifully expansive boarding lounge. He noticed quickly that it had grown quiet. Taking a glance around, carefully, as to not show he had noticed he saw that the place had been vacated save for himself and Kaydor. As he locked down his notes and sealed them with a code an old man, and a young woman entered the entered the lounge.

He, the old man was a scrawny steep shoulders burber type in a suit that looked so expensive the price of it alone could feed the population of one those new type six residence blocks for a month. Long broken nose, whispy white hare.

He made straight for the Director of the Coalition with long strides that made it clear his intention was to engage the director in conversation. He had come seeking an audience come hell or high water, whatever that meant.

At his side the young woman, though young was a relative term for her kind stayed silent. Though her chitanus black hide reflected light slightly and her wings fluttered every now and then. She was a changeling, one of the old breed, a shifter, the line troops called them to distinguish them from their new breed cousins.

"Excuse me Coalition Director Tideman…" started the man. But the adjutant Colonel, a short Iron grey bulldog of a man cut the berber off five steps out. Tideman knew Kaydor could kill the man in about two point four seconds with his bare hands alone.

He was even a little faster than Tideman who did PT with any SI, TA, or SF team he could find every day. He took took pride in running young troopers into the ground as he dragged them through sixteen miles of the most grueling terrain he could find, In formation at the double. It was pleasing to see them throwing up, it was displeasing to know that at his age he could make them do that.

There was a time not long ago where that would have been an impossibility. The young troopers were to strong for that, but not now the effect of constant meddling by the house and council had taken a toll. Tideman especially liked runs that landed on pay day because the NCOs and battalion commanders practically begged him to ruin their troops for the weekend before they ruined themselves in the bars. It was not uncommon to have troopers passout in their racks for upwards if twenty four standard after Director Tideman had finished one of his little runs.

"The Director has another appointment to keep, and we're already late." Kaydor said in his usual don't make me kill you stecado bark.

"I was just wondering if he had a moment for an old martian from Zealand." Tideman heard that and so did Kaydor. Zealand was a bad conflict. It had been a little bit before Tideman's time but the Veteran who had been his first NCOs had been there and they told him some pretty crazy stories about that brutal conflict.

Stories from one of these men stood out to him now. He had spoken about a group of people who were organized to be an experimental unit, something that was meant to be something like a mixture of a modern day MOTH and Helldiver. A shock trooper and a special operator rolled into one. As he thought back racking his mind about what he remembered about the organization he recalled a paper presented to him by one of the members of the first graduating MOTH class.

The MOTH had written his theses in the MOTH academy on this now defunct batch of soldiers. The Martian's had formed it after Mars was seeded by the Lankys. Formed by a man who's men had called the T-rex.

The Legion they called themselves, it was the Legion that had fought back the Lankys on Mars, the Legion who served aboard the Leathy when she took Zeus Hope, and again at Souls End. It was the Legion who had landed on earth after the Lankys invaded. It was them who engaged them first.

And it was the Legion who had died to a man when they had made their stand rather poetically at San Antonio Texas, in the blasted out ruins of some run down ancient fortress. As the story went in 2082 the T-rex, and a hundred other Leiges held off almost four hundred Lankys for three days. They were wiped out to a man, but they never did find the T-rex's body. That was back in the days before we had weapons that could kill lankys effectively. They did it with original mark one M-90s and M-80s, war bots and the first prototype ATL mechs.

The good mechs not the ATLAS-3's the moths use now, but the real shit kickers the House didn't allow us to pursue. The stuff the RnD people are only now figuring out how to surpasses and should match with the newest iteration of the ATLAS-4. And if the rumor mill was accurate, it was whispered that the people at Wayland have already completed the designs for the next generation after the 4s.

As the old man talked, talked about things Tideman hated to hear, things the House, and Council were plotting behind his back he. Things that if it ever got out would spell the end of the coalition and the Cog as a hole he knew what he had to do. The COGs people needed hope, they needed something to rally behind. A rock that wouldn't waver in the face of whatever was thrown its way, they needed the Legion.

The one percent of the one percent, what was that old term for them? The heartbreakers and life takers.

“There you are. Have you thought about my proposal?”

Coco looked toward the Bipedal Goat and shook her head, “What would I get out of this?”

The goat laughed, “The best kind of reward, revenge. You would get to pay them all back, and I would help.”

Finally she held out her hand and he gripped it,”Good, let the humans make the connections. Allow them to discover true immortality, and they will be our means toward the vengeance we both crave.”

With that she awoke, her skin and coat looking brand new, and around her ashes from everything else lay about her.

“Test thirty-seven, napalm, complete regeneration. You're due a break, feel like some Oriental food?”

She looked toward the mirror, the human tester at least let her know what was happening, and he didn't wipe her mind and keep her as a sex doll. She nodded, “Some of the vegetarian noodles please.”

As she walked across the floor to the room to.change she considered what Grogar allowed her to remember. She wanted the humans to become immortal. They could become eternal Peacekeepers, and somehow she believed they would be good at the job. What needed to die would die, what needed to live would live, and all of her kind would taste sweet fire as it engulfed their flesh. Stepping out she gave a slight smile to some of the other scientists that were working with the overseeing her tests. Of course they had been kind enough to let her design some clothes, something she remembered enjoying quite some time ago, but even as she designed memories of Rarity would sneak into her mind.

She wanted Rarity to suffer the same fate she was cursed to suffer. To never taste the relief of death, to always feel every once of pain of dying, only to be brought back to life to feel it again. She could think of some interesting deaths for her former mistress to experience. One of which was having a long shaft inserted in her nethers and then rammed forward until it exited her mouth. Only to have it removed, and while everything repaired do it again. To keep her on the brink of death, at the moment, never to feel an ounce of relief.

“Yesss.” a voice hissed.

She looked around trying to find the voice.

“Our masssster was right. You are certainly one of ussss,” the voice hissed seductively.

“Who are you?”

Just beyond her vision she caught a view of something moving in the shadows. Slowly, as if the very shadows themselves were pulling together, the being formed. She watched as it took shape, and surprisingly it was shaped more like a human than a pony. She could see two ram’s horns on either side of its head, but it looked female. She watched as the creature walked toward her. She couldn’t help but look down and she noticed that her lower half was more equine like. Her feet had a single toe which a large hoof covered.

“I am my masssster’sssss ssssservant, but you may call me Lilith, or if you want a pony name I did go by Bagatelle Addolorato.”

The name struck a cord with Coco. It was a name she could barely remember, but it was one that came with a warning. Slowly she looked at the being once more and realized what she was. Bagatelle Addolorato had been a cousin to the Sirens. The old story of the Sirens was fairly well known among fisher ponies, and Mainhattan had been something of a fishing city at one time. The story had stuck around the docks, and she had done her best to make some friends in that area. Both because it made buying some of their goods cheaper, but also because there had been a colt she was interested when she was much younger.

One of the stories she had heard included the Sirens’ cousin, a succubus known as Bagatelle Addoloratio.

“You know the Sirens?”

Bagatelle smiled, “Ssssssomeone remembersssss, that pleassssessss usssss. Yessss, I remember the Sssssirensssss, they were far too greedy for their own good.”

Coco noticed that everyone else was passing her, not seeing, or paying Bagatelle any notice.

“Why can’t they see you?”

Bagatelle touched one, causing the woman to shiver, moan softly, and then leave the room.

“They haven’t been touched by my massster, but you have. You can sssssee me, where they cannot.”

"So you've tried everything?" I asked Gutsy as I longed on one of Shiraui's hanging tentacles like a hammock.

"Yes." Was the unicorn's only response as she and the other members of my ragtag team filled out mountains of paperwork.

"Chainsaw."

"Yep."

"Shotgun to the face."

"Tried it."

"Vat of acid?"

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Grenade down the throat?"

"Yep."

"Wow."

"I've been at this for almost two thousand of your years. I even jumped into a volcano once." Gutsy said tiredly as she leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

That was an interesting one. I leaned forward almost falling off of Shiraui's tentacle as she swayed while listening to music. "Woah, you survived a dip in lava?"

"Yeah, it was a rough six months."

"Soooo what can you feel it when you regenerate?"

"Well I can feel something. I am aware of what's happening I guess it depends on what caused the death."

"So what if I cut you in half will there be two of you or…"

"No one half will regenerate and the other stays dead. It's like a."

"So like wolverine rules?"

"Umm, actually mister Fallon, I think she would be closer to that one super hero… what was his name?"

"Deadpool?" Trombley chimed in not looking up from his improvised desk.

"Yeah that's it." I said turning the page of the book I was reading on my PDP.

“Hey! Anyone seen veteran fallon? Got something for him from up top!”

Shiraui stopped her little dance so I could turn and face the guy talking. Taking a hold of the large tentacle I vaulted to the deck. "What do you need?"

“We got some new toys you will love veteran! You and your team”

"Well what are you basics waiting for? Bring it in."

“Aye aye veteran! Bring it in boys!”

The entrance to the loading bay turned "wreck room" slid open to allow a group of six basics wheeling in carts with several containers on them."

“And don’t ask me to explain it sir, all i know is that this shit will make you like death inself”

Kicking off the deck I glided to the box marked with my name and punched in my credentials on the panel on the side. Immediately the box slide open to reveal what was inside and I had to stop myself from screaming like a kid on Christmas. The bag inside had the triple inverted chevrons of Misriah Armory embossed on its face.

"An Nk-6! Dude this thing is amazing!" I said pulling the blaster battle rifle from the box and unwrapping it from its teflon bag. The weapon was jet black, not like the dark grey of the N-4.

"I don't get it what's so special about it?" Charlotte asked as she put her code into her own container.

"You don't understand. These have twice the stopping power of an N-4 and twice the range." Taking the weapon I composed myself and took a step back. And with a satisfied smile I watched my team, open their containers.

Several hours later I stood bucket on, on the ramp leading into Defiants hanger. At my side stood Harris, and Wrechs, glossy black of their armor matching the finish of my own Dark Ops armor.

"Think their ready?" Wraith asked as we watched the crews loading the last of the supplies we will need onto the ship.

"We trained them the best we could." Harris said as Shiraui and our mechs stomped up the ramp past us, the former stopping to wave at me as she passed.

"I wish we could have had more time. I just don't know if i'm ready to lead a team, even if X is here..." I said as the pilots past us by with their fighters and dropships. I nodded to Charlotte as she passed, fussing over her PDP.

"They'll have to be Fallon, you'll just have to hope you trained them to the best of your abilities." X said, through the secure S-com suits in our armor.

I was about to respond when my team entered the bay dressed in their shiny new armor and carrying their bags, blaster rifles and flechette guns slung across their backs.

The aliens had modified versions obviously but if one were to cut tthm out of the picture. One could he forgiven for thinking they had just stepped back in time. Or for that they were watching some historical reenactors getting ready to relive the battle of Rex's last stand.

Each of them wore the same color my armor took depending on the mission. Their armor like mine and that of my brothers, was a throwback, an honest to god blast from the past. Some of their armor was greyish green, and two among them wore the black. But everyone on my team, everyone here wore the armor, and the colors, of the Legion.

"Veteran Fallon." A black armored man said walking up to the front of the group. His new ID logged him as DO-26. But I knew from the sound of excitement in his voice, and the roster on by buckets HUD that it was Trombley. "We are ready to go."

"Alright then. Kill Team Viper…. Time to KTF."