“He’s not going to make it.”

“What? NO!”

“Harriet, I have no idea how he was even still alive when you brought him here. He’s been in a concussion coma for four days and he shows no signs of waking up. I made an x-ray, I opened him, and stitched up all I could. I don’t think I’ve seen resilience like that in a griffon and I’ve treated career soldiers but there’s a limit to what a body can do. His pulse has been steadily weakening since yesterday and his pupils stopped reacting to anything. I don’t have the equipment here for a brain scan but I’m sure his brain waves are fading.”

“Gem’s gonna kill me...”

“Can we help?”

“No, Thirteen, we can’t.”

“Three, you remember the plans of some super tech stuff from home, don’t you? Can’t you help the griffons build a machine that would help him? Miss Harriet’s dad might part with a few gold pieces for conductors and stuff, right?”

“If Miss Gem was here she might but I don’t. I remember some principles or bits and pieces I spent some time messing with. I wish we had Six here, he would know.”

“Even if you had some miracle machine, if he has a whole day left I’ll be shocked. We wouldn’t have anyone who could build it in time... or the materials, or the parts really. If I were you I’d say your goodbyes now because in the morning it might be too late.”

“Can you leave us alone for a minute, doc?”

“Sure.”

Silence.

“Damn… I never thought it would end like this. Not after the dragonslayers, after Zebrica, and even after the end of the universe. I should have killed the other Corrupted faster...”

“You couldn’t, Miss Harriet. I was the useless one. He was an ass but he did his best to get us here.”

“You weren’t. Thirteen. The truth is that all of us did our part.”

“The grumpiest of griffons...”

“He wasn’t-”

“He still isn’t dead!”

“Three?”

“I said he still isn’t dead.”

“We know, but-”

“Then stop talking about him in past tense. I know how incredibly strong he must be to have survived captivity by minotaur headhunters. None of you do! I went with Miss One and Miss Five when one tribe caught one of Eleven’s bodies a long time ago. I’ve seen what they did to their prisoners, mostly crystal ponies or other minotaurs. If he got through that, no silly thing like concussion or some minor internal bleeding will stop him!”

“Three...”

“I’ll stay with him. Unlike either of you, I don’t take up much space so the doctor might not mind too much.”

“I’ll talk to doctor Fairfeather. Come, Thirteen.”

“Okay.”

Well, boss, it’s been a while since my last message and holes, do I have news for you.

One - I know you sent Five to keep an eye on me which is exactly why she’s now the one bringing this message to you and who will also be walking to pay a visit to Two afterwards. I appreciate your concern but I’m fine. In the same way the deaths of millions of zebras weigh on your mind, they weigh on mine, that’s all. Don’t pretend you’re the only one to blame, it’s hypocritical and unbecoming of you. We are responsible. It might have been your idea but I was the one who did it.

Two - with the lesson in morality successfully behind us, we can get to business. Your portal idea was interesting and I worked on it for weeks before figuring out something amazing. Remember the metal arches in the “dead-end” tunnels in the Silversmith prison under Brauheim? We all thought they were just decorations, that the wiring and electronics inside were just part of the power grid of the city, and that the glyphs on them were street numbers. They weren’t.

The same arches are here and, if my theory is correct, Two’s expedition will find them as well. I compared some of the symbols here with the memories inside the hive mind and a good chunk of them match. Not all of them, though, which leads me to think they’re more… signposts than street numbers.

Signposts for what, I hear you ask?

Your own idea, at least Six thinks so. The wiring and electronics are incredibly complex even by dwarven standards and there's a specialized segment of the power grid specifically linked to the arches set up for some absolutely insane power source. The circuitry seems to be set up for an effect purely in a theoretical school of thought even for the dwarven theoretical physicists - energy and matter transfer.

The old dwarves must have beaten you to it millennia ago. Unless we’re all mistaken, they DID have teleporters between their cities. Non-magical, or partially magical ones. Six has been examining the wiring properly without all that dwarf nonsense about sanctity of ancient heritage and the need to discuss it forever and have it all looked at which they kept spouting back home whenever we wanted to disassemble anything of even remotely Silversmith origin. Here I just told them that we’ve uncovered this in the name of you and it belongs to us. If they have trouble with it, they can complain to Five’s laser gatling turret.

Now, there are several problems with the teleporter theory. One - we don’t have the power source. What we do have is an enormous cavern deep even under the city filled with melted and glassed mess of metals and traces of other materials. So yeah, whatever powered the presumed teleporters here is completely gone and I think it took most of the infrastructure around it with it. Two - even if we had the power source it seems to me that there’s also some kind of a key necessary to activate them. I tasked Five with taking a look around the city Two’s guys found. From the report it looked as if their city was in a way better shape than this. Besides, this is only an outpost while their site seems to be a full city.

My working theory is that during the war against the Twisted, old dwarves were afraid that they would somehow figure out how to use the teleporters and spread around all the cities instead of being systematically funneled to end up in the north. With that in mind, I won’t be working on creating our own fixed teleporters and figuring out a way to overcome the corrupted landscape’s magic dispersing effects like you wanted. Instead, Six and I will devote our efforts to analyzing the already existing teleporter technology because if we manage that, instead of reinventing the wheel, we might find a direct way to other dwarf cities around the globe.

Three - my expedition is over. There were some dwarves who went west with me at first but we came back and we won’t be heading that way anymore. The tunnels we discovered were all caved in or too narrow to get through without digging our way forward and rebuilding. When we returned, the dwarves declared that they’re going to turn the outpost into a city and leave the exploration of the west for once we have a working, self-sufficient settlement here.

Four - with the help of the Hundreds, we’ve dug our way to the surface while rebuilding the air vents around here and… well… we might have a slight problem down the line. It looks like there’s some sort of a city filled with Corrupted almost directly above us. The good news is that they’re not hostile and that they don’t seem inclined at all to follow us underground. The bad news is that we have no clue whether that’s a temporary state of affairs or whether we should be wary of random Corrupted heading down, especially if the temperature drops even further. We’ll just have to post guards and see.

Wishing you good luck,

Seven.

He cracks open his eyes a tiny bit. Dim light is coming from somewhere and there's the smell of disinfectant invading his nostrils in an attempt to cover the haze of sweat and other minor details he connects with any gathering of griffons in a small space.

Pounding headache assaults him as he tries to shift his position from his back to the side. The surface he’s lying on is soft so he sinks back in as the pain and a bout of nausea win over the discomfort in his back.

His left foreleg is wrapped around something hard and roughly round.

The best Magpie can do is turn his head a little and his still hazy mind takes in the round-ish, black object under his foreleg.

Gem?

No… too small.

Oh for crying out loud…

“...Three...” a weak breath escapes his beak.

The changeling curled up by his side doesn’t react at all. As Magpie slowly gathers what little is present of his wits and forces himself to rub his eyes, Three remains so still it’s impossible to tell if he’s even breathing. The only clue to his state is the fact that about every thirty seconds, with upsetting regularity, the pink runes on his fetlocks and neck light up a little before fading again.

“By the Emperor's talons!” Magpie’s movement draws a hasty and surprised yet quiet exclamation from Fairfeather keeping an eye on his patients who rushes over and immediately starts checking Magpie all over, “How are you feeling? Headache? Ribs? Should I put the bug away?”

“Don’t move… Three...” wheezes Magpie, “And stop… talking… my head… hurts.”

“Okay, so we have the expected headache,” whispers Fairfeather, “Now, you need water. You’ve been out for four days. I haven’t even read about a patient with such a serious concussion who has been unconscious for so long ever waking up.”

“Don’t move… the changeling...” is all Magpie repeats.

Great… now I’ll have to deal with Gem’s smirking and the inevitable ‘I told you so’. If she wants me to apologize to him, though, she’s sorely mistaken. That’s where I draw the line.

Magpie breathes out a sigh as he closes his eyes again under the frantic care of Fairfeather. With a small stab of horror he feels the bug loaf under his foreleg move and grab it with all four of his stubby legs.

The one time a Corrupted can’t kill a griffon properly...

When Magpie opens his eyes again, he’s not alone, even discounting Three once again curled up by his side.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” whispers Harriet sitting by his bedroll, “Too bad I can’t say the same about Three.”

“What…?” croaks Magpie through a parched throat. He pushes himself into a sitting position, noting to himself that other than the bout of nausea he actually feels physically okay. A little weak and dizzy but no shooting pain or anything.

Harriet points at Three.

“He’s been like that ever since doctor Fairfeather told us you wouldn’t make it,” she says, expecting some sort of complaint from Magpie who, however, only looks down at Three and then around the dimly lit room where the only bright light is fastened to a coat hanger with wheels currently hanging above Fairfeather examining a moaning and thrashing griffon.

“There are more griffons here than before,” comments Magpie instead, “And different ones.”

Harriet sighs.

“Another Corrupted encounter. Raymond said that most of the time they survive them by locking themselves at home but from the testimony of the wounded the griffon grew from the ground and attacked them.”

“So the territory is already here.”

“Definitely,” Harriet nods, “I talked it out with my dad and Raymond and the town council gave me one of the empty houses left behind so that I could keep an eye on things here and respond to Corrupted threats. It’s much better than having to send a griffon for me up to the cave every time someone thinks they spotted a Corrupted.”

“Can’t your dad protect the town? Is he here?”

“Dragons aren’t exactly known for precision work. There’s a groove between Windy and the main territory dad burned into the ground in an attempt to slow the spread but he had no idea how Corruption worked. I’ve been explaining what I learned in Equestria but this is just a small town, completely unprepared to deal with anything like corruption, dragon or not. Here, I’ll catch you up on what happened during the last week and a half.”

Magpie decides to slowly stretch his legs and do some basic motions to get his blood flowing after being bedridden for so long while Harriet recaps what happened with the corrupted griffons and during their stay in Windy afterwards.

Most things she says are just filler to Magpie. It’s good that Harriet’s reunion with her father went so well, after the short killing attempt period. It’s good that the changelings don’t seem to be in any danger from the locals. And it’s good that Windy doesn’t seem to be suffering the famine reported in Wilbur’s Pass. Despite all that, Magpie’s thoughts keep returning to one thing.

“Any newcomers in town?” he asks.

“Yes, actually,” Harriet nods, “An old griffon arrived from the south with a caravan that left east to Chineigha, says he used to live here a long time ago. Dark blue coat, green forelegs and feathers, black streaks all over, and glasses.

Magpie scowls as a dull headache assaults him again.

“Do you know his name?”

Harriet tilts her head questioningly.

“Someone familiar?”

“Harriet!” Magpie hisses.

“Toss, Touchy, Tasee-”

“Tasheed?”

Harriet nods immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it! Bad news?”

“No… not exactly,” Magpie shakes his head, “He used to be my-”

“Hey, HEY!” Fairfeather’s raised voice interrupts him, followed by the sounds of struggling going louder.

As Magpie and Harriet turn their heads, the previously thrashing griffon fastened to the only real hospital bed in Fairfeather’s house rips his leather bonds off with a powerful heave and screeches.

Fairfeather makes the mistake of trying to push him back down as the tainted griffon grabs both of the doctor’s forelegs and twists. Harriet pounces to help immediately but with a crunch and Fairfeather’s scream, the damage is already done as the doctor collapses on the floor in agony.

Magpie tries to stand up but his head spins and he drops on his knees again, gasping for breath. From the corner of his eye, however, he sees Harriet grab the hissing and screeching griffon’s head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and snaps his neck. Immediately horrified by what she did, she falls on her butt and repeats, “I’m so sorry...”

Magpie pushes himself up with a growl and through a haze of nausea and with vision swimming he starts walking around the room.

“Harriet, help me!” he snaps at the mare staring at her forelegs in horror.

“I just killed-”

“You killed a Corrupted, not a griffon. Don’t overthink it!” he orders sharply, “He would have killed or bred everyone else here and then we’d have a bunch more around, doing the same to everyone in the village.”

“I- I-” Harriet shakes her head.

“Alright, I just thought I’d get some help,” Magpie, having stopped in front of a locked medicine cabinet, punches the glass out, “You know, from someone who wouldn’t get cut.” with a hiss of pain, he pulls out a small bottle of morphine and a syringe, and limps over to Fairfeather, “Now, Harriet, I’m not in any shape to operate a syringe. I can barely see and my foreleg hurts like Tartarus. Do you want me to stab the doctor in the eye by accident?”

“I-” Harriet looks at him, clearly pleading with him to give her some time to gather herself.

“I will tell Three that you sat there like a total moron which left the village doctor crippled for life and he can’t help anyone else ever!”

That snaps Harriet out of it. She immediately looks at the motionless changeling on Magpie’s bedroll, stands up, and takes a deep breath. Thankfully, her Corrupted body isn’t shaking at all.

“Find a vein on the foreleg,” Magpie instructs her, “HIGHER UP ON THE FORELEG!” he corrects himself as Harriet reaches for Fairfeather’s obviously broken wrists, “Under the forearms. Squeeze it higher if you must- wait, no. You have those tentacles. Use them as a tourniquet, the vein will be easier to spot.”

“Got it!”

“Draw half of the syringe from the bottle and inject him.”

“How do you know the dosage?” asks Harriet, although she follows his instructions.

“You don’t spend months on the road with a heavy drug addict and a drug manufacturer without learning something. If there’s an illegal substance Pack Rat hasn’t tried then I don’t know about it. The first weeks after Gem picked him up in Canterlot were… educational to say the least.”

As Harriet injects Fairfeather with the painkillers, his twitching stops and his ragged breathing slows down.

“What now?” asks Harriet.

“Get him on my bedroll and leave Three by his side. I heard some serious nonsense about him from Gem...” Magpie pauses before saying, “You know... I heard Fairfeather telling you all that I had no chance of making it,” he glances Three’s way, “It might not be such nonsense after all. Idiot bug with healing hugs that can cure cancer,” he shakes his head and immediately regrets it as he has to brace himself for another bout of nausea.

Harriet carefully puts Fairfeather down next to Three. At this point she’s more than used to carrying wounded around without doing further harm to them.

“What now?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Magpie, you just woke up from a coma and you’re still thinking more clearly than I am,” she looks directly into his eyes, “You’re used to thinking quickly in a crisis, I’m not. You’re in charge, no matter if you like it or not.”

Magpie lets out a drawn out breath, closes his eyes, and takes another deep one.

“Do you know the way around this house?” he asks.

“I do. I’ve spent a lot of time here when I was little,” Harriet nods.

“Fairfeather must have a notepad on each of the patients here. Find it,” Magpie sits down and closes his eyes to fight off his headache.

Within moments, Harriet spots a pad under the bed with the now dead tainted griffon. A quick look reveals a list of names and medical notes with expressions which Harriet can only translate as ‘hurt’.

“Got it!”

“Anyone in a critical condition?”

“The only underlined word is corruption and there are prescriptions and timing for each griffon here.”

“That’s probably good. It means that Fairfeather is the worst one off here right now. Okay, we’ll stay here. You focus on sensing if there are any Corrupted around and if Fairfeather starts hurting again, give him a smaller dose of morphine - filled up to the first number on the syringe. We can deal with the situation better with an addicted trained doctor than an unconscious one.”

“Got it!” Harriet nods.

“Second, get the corpse out of here and clean up after him as soon as possible. Then go inform anyone who is in charge around here about what happened. Once you get back, keep an eye on things and give everyone their medicine,” he quickens the pace of his talking as he sees black spots dance in front of his eyes, “It’s in the cabinet I needed you to open...”

“I’m really sorry. What about your bleeding?”

“Oh yeah, and bandage... my freaking... foreleg...” he slowly flops on the floor, exhaustion taking him again.