The stench of rust, blood, and death lingered about the halls of the utility wing of the BioLab. There, machines designed to sustain a fully-fledged bio-genetic research operation still rumble on as if the Outbreak had never breached the automatic, metallic, blast-doors located in every passageway of the building. Only two types of occupants were around to acknowledge the technical wonders located in these halls.

The former, a horde of ravenous, hungry, vile creatures who only see the machines as obstacles to their next meal. The later, a single man, dressed in a familiar green army outfit. Along with this symbolic uniform, he wore a dirty gas mask upon his face and nothing else. The gas mask was so ragged that it was likely to have a story all it's own, with it's mangled straps and broken lenses.

The man bearing this costume made very little noise as he traversed the halls, even managing to lower his breathing to that of almost complete silence. Thankfully, the machines now had a new purpose, to mask the sound of their new "master", to aid him in his hunt. Not one room over, a group of mindless Clots stood, sitting about, waiting for another feeding. This man places himself under the window showing into the room, making sure not to reveal himself. The man checks his inventory one last time, he only holds a small, metal shiv, something he doesn't mind settling with at all.

He carefully pulls out an access card, given to him by an old friend, and quickly swipes it along the recognition scanner to open the door. The sound grabs the attention of nearly all the mindless, pale beings in the room. They seem to mutter about themselves and the one closest to the door slowly approaches it. It poked it's head out the door, looking to the right first. It saw nothing so it began to turn it's head to the left.

Before it could finish it's action, the masked man grabbed the Clot, putting his hand over it's mouth, not to silence it but rather to keep it still, and jammed the shiv into it's lower jaw. The Clot's eyes reared up in pain as the man ripped the shiv down into it's gullet. He then pulled the shiv out of the creature and threw it to the ground.

As soon as the man revealed himself, the other Clots screamed in rage of the sight of the man and sprinted at him. The man, surprised by the sheer numbers of the group, pressed the "release lock" button on the door's keypad and threw the door shut on a pair of one of the creatures' stretched out arms, successfully smashing all bone located in the limb.

Still screaming in rage, the Clots pried the door open and charged after the man. He made a few, good meters down the hall before turning back to the horde. He smiled a grisly grin; he had the advantage, they were in his domain now. The creatures marched upon the man normally, not making notice of the large bar propped up against the ceiling. It had gotten in the way of one of the Clots, causing it to knock the support away.

Only when it was too late had the Clot noticed that the bar was holding up a set of loosened pipes in the ceiling and had caused them to come crashing down, like a pendulum, onto the unit of Clots. The initial trap had removed at least half of the group from the engagement. The man took this precious moment to charge the group back.

He jumped to the first Clot in the group, almost throwing all his body weight onto it, and furiously jammed his weapon into the creature's left temple. The force of the attack crushed the creature's skull, sounding off that satisfying crunch. In one swift movement, the man threw the corpse to the closest living Clot to also throw it off balance. This time, the man took hold of one of the Clots' arm and threw it straight to the ground behind him.

Still holding on to the creature's arm, the man pulled its arm across creature's chest while throwing his entire body's weight onto the creature, successfully snapping its arm due to the sheer pressure. After a few moments of staring into the Clot's empty eyes, the man reared his fist back and pounded a haymaker-like punch directly into the creature's nose. With that punch so went yet another life, ended in the halls of the dreaded laboratory like so many others.

The man turned to the now-thinned out group of Clots with a bewildered look ripping through the eyes of his mask. The "group" only had three specimens left. Two had begun to charge him.

The man jumped to the charging pair in front of him. He quickly grabbed the head of both creatures and slammed them together, successfully indenting the skull of one Clot and heavily distorting the other. The man took the head of the still living Clot and threw it to the ground, right next to his steel-toed boot. He lifted his his foot up and brought it down upon the Clot's head, turning it into a rather thick sauce of blood and grey matter.

The final Clot had grabbed hold of the man just as he ended the life of it's brother and bit the man right in the back of his neck.

Without even screaming, the man jumped backwards and slammed the Clot between himself and the wall. The creature let go after the initial blow and fell to the ground. The man, whose adrenaline level seemed to be equal in ratio with it's blood, picked the Clot up off the ground by it's neck. The man made a motion as if he were laughing, yet made no noise. He then grabbed the Clot, who by this time had stopped moving, by it's arm and brought it down upon his knee, snapping it like a tree branch.

He then began to pull on it for some odd reason, as if to remove it. But before he could do anything of the such a loud, banging noise sounded through the halls, ripping the man's attention away from his prey. He threw the Clot against the wall, as it tried to regain it's footing to attack the man again, the man swiftly picked up his shiv and jabbed it into the Clot's eye. It fell back to the ground.

After staring at the mass of dead bodies for a few moments, a sort of... proud look in his eyes, the man then headed off towards the noise. He passed the room that was once filled with the clones, not even giving it a second glance, as if the supplies were not what the man was after at all, but rather the occupants...

===================

Silhouettes of the camp eventually came into sight above the horizone of the rising sun. Though Foster couldn't exactly prove it, he could swear that Chopper had purposely made them take the long way just to catch this sight. Though it wasn't exactly beautiful, it was an improvement to what the rest of the world was going through.

"Nice view, eh guys?" Chopper said to the men behind him.

"It is a calming sign, if that was the intention, brother." Alberts returned.

"No time to oogle over a pretty sunrise, we got work to do." Foster said insipidly. Chopper's brow indented as he looked back to the masked man, who had now pushed past Chopper and began towards the camp. The least he could do is let ME enjoy it, the heartless bastard. Alberts decided to pay no mind to the ordeal. He was nearly home. Though, not all thoughts that came to his mind on that point were of peace and safety.

"Something doesn't seem right," Foster continued in a similar monotone as before. Chopper focused past Foster, noticing the large, toppled fence in front of the camp.

"Somethin' heavy hit the camp while we were gone." Chopper said in response to the sight.

"No shit." Foster said sharply, "Let's get goin', might be a few survivors left." Foster marched onward to the field before the camp, now undoing his holster and readying for an ambush. Chopper followed closely behind. Something didn't seem right to him either. Foster took a quick glance back at Chopper, noticing his curious eyes. He then took another survey of the battered camp.

There was something tense in the air. He could faintly feel eyes upon him and barely hear the click of hammers. He slowly moved to a wrecked car in the field, hoping he would reach it before anything rash occurred. Just as he reached the hood of the car a single voice, most likely a boy just past his teens, yelled out "Die, die, DIE!" A volley of bullets flew towards the semi-exposed men.

All three jumped behind the metal obstacle, putting their hands on their heads as if their hands could stop bullets. Surprisingly, only a few bullets pinged off the car, the rest seemed to fly completely over their intended targets. After a few moments, the fire stopped. Foster could hear the click of a new magazine. He quickly pulled out his sidearm and fired a shot to the sky.

"Oh, shit." The young voice from before said quieter. "HOLD YOUR FIRE!" It yelled to the rest of the assumed guards of the camp. Foster heard a set of feet rushing through the grass and pulled himself up to meet the owner of the young voice. Foster was met with the sight of a man in a cheap, blue jacket, a gold chain around his neck, and a Union Jack bandana around his face.

"God damnit, Kevo! Who the flyin' fuck gave you a weapon?" Kevo's eyes furrowed as he looked upon the one he labeled 'Pompous Asshole' for he couldn't find his name at the time, he always did forget the important stuff when most needed.

"Listen here,uh... we just got sacked not even a few hours ago by the damn specimens. I just so happened to mistake you for one of 'em. My bad! But since you're here, Jenkins needed a word with all the higher-ups, your sort, somethin' about a bunker. Anyways, get to it. It seemed pretty damn urgent."

Foster nodded and continued to the center tent of the camp. Alberts also nodded at Kevo and Chopper patted him on the shoulder. They went to the camp to get their briefing.

On the way to the main tent, Foster was stopped by another masked man. He wore a simple gas mask and standard military fatigues, he didn't stand out much from the rest of the camp.

"Where are the others?" He asked, a slight hint of worry in his muffled voice.

"Uh... they're... gone, for the moment." He didn't quite know what to say, he didn't want to go around and say that the most valuable men in the camp had just been slaughtered without even completing a simple objective. He knew all along that nothing good was to come of that damned plan.

"They're dead, aren't they? We're screwed, aren't we." The sound of defeat had washed over the man's voice by now. Morale was suffering heavily even before this last-ditched attack. Something needed to change.

Foster and the other two had finally reached the main tent by now, they expected to see at least a small group of even slightly experienced men around the map, all they saw was a lone man in a battered grunt uniform and a tattered, red barrett, staring at a dirty map on a table in the center of the tent with his back to the entrance. He stared at the map as if it would give him some sort of new information, something to at least base some form of action on.

"We still waitin' for more... 'officers', to assemble?" Chopper asked Jenkins. Jenkins chuckled at the comment, as if it were an actual joke.

"My friends," He began in a calm and controlled voice, as usual, "This is all we got. Surprising, really. The fact that we are the only men here that have fought these demons more than once." He took a heavy, defeated breath, "More and more refugees swarm to this camp, and less and less have actually gotten by without any form of running or hiding."

There was an awkward silence after Jenkins comment, Foster was the only one who thought of breaking the silence. "So... about this bunker... what's so important about it?"

"Bunker, Wyre." Jenkins began, still staring at the map. "This may be our last chance of surviving... for at least another year. Even that is pushing it though." He took another heavy sigh, "Our scouts have reported of a large structure of the sort, well into the forest west of here."

"That's pretty general, Jenkins. Care to specify?" Foster interrupted.

"Remember that part about all the fresh 'recruits' swarmin' the camp? They can't even care to learn how to tell distance, even from a chopper. All we know is that it's west."

"Can we even trust these damn greens if they can't even tell distance?" Foster interrupted again.

"Can I get back to my bleedin' story? Or is the ability to finish a simple briefing gone with society as well? Christ! Anyways, we're packin' up and ditchin' this bleedin' Hell hole. There, happy? I shortened it so you can now go about your interesting story."

"Woah, woah, woah! We're leaving!? We can't leave yet." Chopper chimed in.

"Why not? Not enough dead refugees, eh? Not enough failed missions? We keep this up and we have NO chance! At least at the bunker we can have some sort of hope. Here, there's not even THAT!"

"But Lewis, Skully! Our best! They need our help!" Chopper continued.

"What about them!? They're dead!"

Chopper took a breath, but then hesitated for a moment. He turned to Foster, "You tell 'em." Foster scoffed at all the pressure being forced onto him.

"Alright," He turned back to Jenkins, "We found something, in the lab. Give me a couple of minutes to explain." Jenkins gave Foster a raised eyebrow as the writer began to spin his tale into a more charismatic sort, so as to better persuade Jenkins to his side. "The Patriarch has definitely been busy..."

=================

The entire corridor was pitch black, though, this factor didn't seem to faze the man at all. Interestingly enough though, the way the man was clutching to the walls ever so slightly for movement, one could guess that a small amount of insecurity could be found within the man's mind. Though, one could only really guess.

All sound seemed the disappear from existence at the moment, even the man's breathing seemed to stop producing any sound. He was well aware that he was in a jungle here, and also that he was at the very bottom of the food chain. One small mistake, as miniscule as it would seem, was all the specimens needed to lock the man down in one final 'check mate'. Though living in total fear, like this, may shatter the will of most men, the man still held a stern, brave face behind his broken mask.

Finally, a sound broke through the thick layer of silence. The deep inhale of a beast. The man recognised that noise. The glowing beast had found him. He closed his eyes in defeat, he made his simple mistake. The roar echoed through the halls, yet, the man saw no indication of the glowing beast's light. He wasn't found. But something was.

The man opened his eyes to see the faint glow shining from a corner just down the hallway. It was heading for the underground parking lot. The man seemed to excuse himself from the situation for a moment, he stared into the blankness as, one would guess, he constructed a plan.

He ran for a hallway parallel to the one with the glow. It seemed as though he was going to cut the glowing beast off, instead of chase after it. After a few intense moments of running through complete darkness, the man could view a glow of light that one could guess was from the parking lot.

A door came into view of the man. Only seconds afterwards, a banging sound was coming from the aforementioned passageway. The man sprinted to the doorway, he heard a hissing sound just on the other side. Whatever was behind that door needed help, the man wouldn't allow for another to die on his own accord.

He grabbed a fire axe by the door just as he ripped it open. A strange being fell right to his feet as he did so. His eyes widen at the caramel colored creature he had never seen before as it looked back at him, he quickly looked up to see the horde of Crawlers closing in. He brought the handle of the axe down on the caramel creature, successfully knocking it unconscious.

Just as the Crawlers had jumped at the two other beings, the man slammed the door shut in front of them. The Crawlers threw their bodies at the door in an attempt to throw it off it's very hinges. The man laid his body against the door, he searched frantically about the floor in front of him with his hands. Whatever sort of light that was present earlier was now gone, all that was left to accompany the man was bitter darkness. And, whatever that thing was, lying not even a few feet away.

The banging of the door continued for only a few moments more. Then, suddenly... it stopped. There was a moment of silence before the man decided to even breath. He carefully leaned forward, making sure to be ready to jump backwards if the Crawlers pounced once more.

The tearing silence ate away at the man's nerves. He was ready for another attack, he wanted another attack. He couldn't seem to tolerate the waiting.

Finally, he got up. He walked away from the door and towards where he threw the creature.

He felt around for the body before feeling its hair. He grabbed it and lifted the being to his shoulder. He was going to have a better look at it when he got back "home". This change of pace intrigued the man. All these new things...

The hallways of the facility were eerily quiet. The silence bothered the man more than the creatures waiting in it. His eyes twitched slightly.

Once he had finally reached a closet with a working fluorescent light bulb, he threw the creature to the ground, allowing it the bounce in its ragdoll form. The man chuckled to himself slightly, and silently. He then crouched beside it and began to examine the body. It had short fur, but the coloring of it was far too odd to go on unnoticed.

The caramel coat was very unnatural, though, something not made to benefit any real purpose. If this... thing was engineered by the Patriarch, it was definitely not for stealth purposes. And by the way it could barely handle a blow to the face, it wasn't some sort of damage sponge either. Also, the way other specimens were treating it, almost as if they were attacking it.

Maybe they were. If that was the case, then this creature wasn't manufactured in some jelly chamber. This thing was an alien, in every aspect of the meaning.

He grabbed its face, he opened an eyelid to see if it was still alive. As he looked into the creature's very mind, the man noticed a slight twitch of its pupils. He heard the creature take a breath in shock. Within a half-second the man threw the creature to the ground and reared back his axe.

The creature screamed, "Wait!" the man stopped in mid-swipe. This thing talked! The man brought his weapon back to his side and merely stared at the being, a stern yet emotionless look on his face. The creature stared at the man, the man stared at the creature. There was a heavy fog of disbelief in the air. Shock was surely quick to follow.

The man dropped the axe, his eyes filled with fear, astonishment, and all around curiosity. Caramel rolled to his stomach and jumped to his feet. He faced the man, staring at him, afraid that he might attack. Though, after a few moments of waiting, he lowered his guard, slightly.

"Um... I come in peace..." Caramel choked out. The man made a motion as if he were chuckling, but no sound came from him, still. "Can you talk? Can you understand me?" Caramel asked, almost already knowing the answer. The man shook his head "no" at first, then he shook his head "yes". A second later he pulled down the neck of his shirt to reveal a large scar across his neck. From this, Caramel could guess that, if it shared a similar anatomy to ponies, it's voice box might have been damaged by whatever caused that scar. Though it is usually unlikely that one could survive something like that, this thing's being here was proof enough that it had an immense amount of luck that fateful day.

"Can you tell-er, show, me where I am? Like on a map?" The man shook his head "no" again. "Do you know anything about those things that attacked me?" The man shook his head "no" again. "Can you give me any sort of information, at all?"

The man's eyes looked up. He then remembered something. He looked down at his chest. On it was a rusty, worn-out, metal pin. On that pin read "Sgt. Powers".

"So, your name's Powers?" He shook "yes". "Well, that's something. I'm Caramel, and I have no idea where the heck I am."

Powers nodded in acknowledgement, but in his eyes, one could see them say "I've been here so long, so do I, now."

===============

Lewis was hesitant to enter the room. He had a hope in his gut that if he stalled, he might not have to deal with the problems at hand. He had, after all, been trying to fix the world for the past two years. He needed at least one break from it all. He merely stood, facing the closed doors.

"Uh... you can go in, sir." The guard said quietly, not sure how to take the sight of an alien just staring blankly at a closed wooden door.

"Okay. Okay. I just... need a minute." He knew that exactly what news was going to be heard. Too many times before had he been called to a meeting for "urgent news" and too many times had he been forced to clean up a mess that didn't belong to him. He needed all the strength he could muster to deal with this all over again. He took one last breath and stepped through the doors.

The hall was painted an eloquent purple, with large windows that granted view of the entire gleaming city below. About the walls were large, decorative paintings of various scenes from pony history. A large, glossy wooden table sat in the middle of the room where both Celestia and Skully sat.

Lewis took a seat directly across from Skully, who had a plate of food served in front of him.

"Really Skully? Is now the best time?" Skully looked up from his meal.

"What? I'm hungry, I eat when I'm hungry."

"Whatever," he looked over to the princess, "so... what's the news?"

"You remember how you arrived, correct?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"A large, purple ball had engulfed you and you teleported here, correct?"

"Yes..." Lewis had no idea where this was going.

"It seems that not only does this teleporter you speak of bring humans here, it is taking my subjects."

"What!?" Lewis couldn't completely comprehend that statement. Skully, as well, looked up from his meal again, as confused as Lewis.

"I don't quite follow. Could you repeat that?" Skully chimed in.

"Recently, I have received reports of various ponies being surrounded by a large, purple ball and disappearing moments later. In this castle alone, four of my best guards have gone missing."

"Well... is there any pattern? Somethin' we can go on by?" Lewis asked.

"I'm afraid that there is no true pattern. It's not constricted to the castle alone. I have received a few reports that ponies in the town of Staliongrad have gone missing in a similar fashion, and I expect similar reports from other towns as well. I'm afraid it's pure luck that the ponies who have not gone, have not gone. There's no way to predict it unless it is too late."

"Can't you lock onto it or something, like a get a machine to copy its energy or behavior or somethin'?"

"We have tried something similar to that, having our best unicorns copy the energy that flows from the balls. But we would require tens of more 'teleports' to have even an idea of what form of energy these balls produce. And it appears that the fits of teleporting have ended for now. The only thing we can do is wait." Skully had lost his appetite; he now had a fear of what was going to happen next, if he was the next sorry sap to be sent back to that Hell called Earth. He thought for a moment as an awkward silence had passed between the three lone beings.

"We could prepare." He said. Celestia looked over to him.

"Prepare? How?" The princess straighten her back slightly more, interested in what solution this being named 'Skully' had.

"Well, you've got an army, right? We know one thing: that we know absolutely nothing about this damn machine. So, we prepare for the worst possible outcome, whether it be only a few specimens entering at a time or a full out bleedin' invasion, we'll at least be ready."

"So you expect me to send an army to every single town under my control? To guard against an enemy, who we have no idea of when they will arrive? That is not a task that can be completed easily or in such short notice." Skully slightly chuckled, if he didn't know any better, he could say that he was having a debate with a princess.

"The least you could do is send a few troops to every town, have them have the town’s folk prepare for the worst. It's better than just sittin' around waiting to be butchered." Celestia almost scoffed.

"So, you expect me to send a hoof full of troops to be sent to every town to train the residents who, might I add, have no clue what 'murder' is, to become a full on militia to face an enemy whose sole purpose is to kill and is designed to install a fear unlike anything any creature on this planet has ever witnessed before, all the while we have no idea when or where they will come, how many there will be, and whether or not we will even see an end to the attacks?"

"Well, when you put it that way," Skully picked up his glass of water, "wouldn't you at least want to be able to say you tried?" He tipped his glass to Celestia and took a sip, an almost... satisfied grin on his pale face.

=================

There was a sort of tense feeling in the air of the castle. Various guards were preparing to be sent off to towns to give slapdash training to unorganised militia to fight an unknown enemy. The clock seemed to be against them, even though there was no timer. All they knew was that something was happening soon.

Among this quaint chaos stood a single pane of stained glass in a dark hallway. A single, dragon-like figure stood in the center. It was positioned in a chair, its claws clasped together, staring out at everything that was happening at once.

If one looked closely, one could almost see it move. One could see its enjoyment of this disorder. If one were to look into the eyes, one could almost see a caged being. But this being would not be angry, no. One could almost sense a hint of happiness in its conniving eyes. Happiness that it would soon be free once again, free to play, once more. This happiness could almost be mistaken for excitement. But alas, it is only quaint happiness.

Through all the rushing about in the background, the hallway seems to go quiet, only the window pane can be noticed. The silence seems to grip at one's very throat... until a single, victorious chuckle breaks from the direction of the glass.