As everyone grabbed a couple of bars and began to move out, Johan and Rick now leading the way.

“Alright, we have to go through the depressurized zone again. It’s the only way to the tram station.” Johan said.

“Hey Sketch, here’s so you don’t end up in a respirator unit if you’re lucky after another.” CD said, as he tossed an air tank toward the white pony.

Sketch caught it and added it to his own inventory. Sketch continued to think about the things Scoots had said, including mentioning exactly where to go for when he did get around to being with her. He’d steered the conversation away from that quickly, and was now trying to find something to torment her with in return. Finally, his mind settled on the magazine, which he remembered that CD had given back to her.

“From what I saw in your magazine you like colts quite a bit.”

“Oh, you saw that, too? I had been wondering where it went... And yeah, I like colts, meat’s always good, but sometimes you want fish, not sausage. I even have one of the entire wonderbolts team, and one for the shadowbolts, too. You know, the famous EVA team? Their captain, Night Star, has one nice flank... and her lieutenant looks like he’d be nice to sandwich with her...”

“And you’re still a virgin how?”

“Age of consent. Nobody want to get in trouble for picking the fruit too early.”

“Alright, just seems that you’re a bit too into sex for your age. Being interested is normal, but on this level is a bit off putting.”

“Sorry, watching Mom come home with a different stallion or, ahem, man each night, on a schedule so they each get their time each week, kinda inures you to it. And besides, I got some fantastic pointers from them. No practicals of course, but theory is still good. Especially since I was, what, seven or eight back then? Mom’s kinda slowed down on that, and settled on just Vincent and Caramel Apple.” She seemed awfully blase about the whole thing.

“ ... I don’t know how to respond to that. At least I have some experience.”

“I mostly have experience in the seduction department, but that’s mostly because I had to initiate most of the time. Still, there’s no time like the near future for changing my status. If you know what I mean.” The orange filly winked at her coltfriend from behind her helmet.

“ I’m almost tempted to just get it over with so we can have a normal conversation. It isn’t that life changing.”

“Heh. Anyways, We should get going. The way things have been going, we’re going to get eaten... and not by each other.” Scoots smacked him on the flank with her tail to emphasize her point, and moved faster.

“You’re the horniest mare I’ve ever seen, where were you when I was in art school?”

“Being taught how to lick a mare or girl just right by one of the other gals in school? Either that or beating the living shit out of the bullies, one of the two.”

“First one I should’ve seen coming, second one, nice.”

“Thanks.”

Once the two had caught up, the group took less than two minutes to reach the airlock. As they clustered outside, Johan gestured to them. “Alright, let’s get ready to head out. Sketch, you have an air tank this time, right?”

“Yup, unless someone wants to give me mouth to mouth and risk me turning into a carrot.”

“Idunno, I could find a use for you then...” Scootaloo said, teasingly.

“Okay, stop it, you guys. Seriously.” Johan facepalmed, holding his faceplate in his hand. “Holy shit... alright, let’s get going, I’m opening the door.”

“Scoots, I am not to be stuffed and mounted in death, specifically the mounted part.”

Scootaloo just chuckled as the door opened. The whoosh of air accompanied it, followed by near-silence in the vacuum. The whole group of people began to thread their way into the wrecked section of the habitat, this time turning away from where they’d come from previously.

As they floated along, Rick tapped some sort of control on his wrist unit. A small, rectangular thing popped off, a series of tiny microthrusters pushing it along. He continued along his path, following Johan.

CD stopped long enough to wonder what it was. Not lingering long, however, he continued to follow, resolving to ask later about it. Sweetie, nearby him, hadn’t even paused.

Scootaloo continued to tow Sketch along. It wasn’t particularly difficult, all she had to do was hold him and use the thrusters on her wings. In all, the flight was almost remarkably unremarkable.

Until they got to the airlock.

Sighting out in front of it, Johan and Rick could see a pair of small shapes moving swiftly in the poor lighting near the door. Johan, over the radios, asked Rick if he knew what they were.

“Not entirely sure... They almost look like small child... ren...-”

One of the small shapes stopped moving, a trio of long, skinny shapes suddenly sprouting from it.

“Lurkers! Move!”

“Wait, whats?” Johan tried to keep an eye on the scientist/engineer, as he boosted away from the group. Johan was interrupted as something sharp suddenly hit him in the gut, partially piercing his suit.

As he cried out in pain, CD and Sweetie saw Johan making a throwing gesture at the thing, a bolt of blue flying out and enveloping it in a stasis field.

The other shape extended a trio of tentacles.

CD wondered if it was possible to get a shot in, but he was not so sure of his combat skills when he couldn’t see the targets very easily.

As he pondered, he saw Sweetie raise her tesla gun while jetting towards the things. As she drifted closer, CD saw both of them reorient on her. A sudden flashback to the brute sped through his mind, and he prepared to tackle her, as a trio of barbs, trailing some sort of vapor, went zooming past him.

Sketch, not too far behind CD, shouted in pain as one of the projectiles that had missed the engineer instead buried itself into his leg.

Everyone with limbs free drew or raised their weapons, aiming at the alien monstrosities. Bolts of plasma and pulse rounds screamed through space at the creatures, blowing off limbs and shredding their small bodies.

Once they stopped firing back, Johan and Rick drifted forward. CD looked them over, and knew they were dead again, as they held no traces of the faint red pulse he’d seen of them just before they’d attacked. He couldn’t deny its usefulness, but knowing the necromorphs had some relation, it unnerved him.

Johan got closer, poking one of the now-drifting bodies with his Pulse Rifle. It was the remains of a toddler, with only a few, relatively minor changes to to its physiology. In all, it was just heartbreaking, that even the children weren’t somehow immune to the corrupting influence.

As the group clustered at the door, Sketch having had to use his air tank due to the puncture his suit had received, they went inside without further incident. Sketch was sitting down as the atmosphere continued to pour into the room, re-pressurizing it, that the suits were self-sealing.

Johan jerked out the barb that had been embedded in his stomach. “Fuck, what is it with today and me getting gut-shot? Holy hell, this is messed up...”

He trailed off as he looked around. The area had used to have dozens of lit candles, and the walls were painted heavily with graffiti. The gust of wind had put out the candles, but the legions of symbols scrawled along the walls and floor remained.

While most of the group couldn’t read it, CD could read it perfectly, as if the entire thing had been written in perfect standard, though he could see the ephemeral forms of the actual symbols superimposed over them.

The message, repeated ad nauseum, was singular.

Holy creatures, transform me into your servant, show me the path to enlightenment,

as you alter my flesh and free my soul.

CD felt his flesh seem to crawl as he read the words over and over, each written in a dark brownish-red. The letters seemed to glisten in the dull red light from the emergency lamps. Everything in the hallway was flushed with red, strangely causing the words to be highlighted in his vision.

“What the fuck...” Johan started, “... is this shit?”

“From what I can tell, which is basic layman’s terms, it’s Necromorph language.” CD shrugged, half of not knowing a better term and half to try and shake the odd feeling. “I... uh, wish I couldn’t read it, pretty disturbing if you ask me...”

“Affirmative...” Sweetie rumbled, “this is in Unitology script, and the message is very... disturbing.”

“Just, lets go. I can’t stand here reading this.” Rick mumbled, shaking his head.

The other members of the group nodded, and they quickly moved down the hall. Looking to one side, they saw they were on a balcony, looking down on the lower floor. A massive statue of a marker, the base surrounded by the extremely prevalent candles, stood nearly to the ceiling.

In alcoves in the walls on the same floor they were on, were smaller marker statues. However, each of these were lit, as if from within, and covered in a tight spiral of the Unitology script. As CD noticed them, he felt a slight spike of a headache stab into his brain, and he looked away. He could hear a faint whispering, like a thousand quiet voices speaking softly.

“Okay, what are those things, and why do they make my head hurt. More importantly, why do they talk to me?” CD questioned, looking at the rest of the team. “Any ideas, or am I just more messed up than usual?”

Johan started to speak, taking a nervous step towards CD. “Uh, those are Marker replicas, but I have no idea-”

“Shut it off! Shut it off shut it off shut it off!” Rick’s helmet had retracted while nobody had been looking, and he was on his knees, hands clasped over his ears. He was growling the words with a combination of anger and utter terror.

“Did we just mess up something else?”

“I- I don’t know, Sketch. Scoots, Sweetie, did either of you see what’s causing this?”

Before either filly could respond, Rick slammed his fists to the sides of his head, beginning to mutter under his breath. “Not again. Not again. Not again...” Tears glistened in the corners of the man’s eyes.

“The statue-things you idiots!” CD yelled, assuming that was the cause of the problem, but thinking was hard while dealing with the pain and the voices.

As Johan went to aim at one, Sweetie grabbed his arm, dragging his aim away. “Don’t! They’re impervious to most weapons, the shots will just ricochet!” Her voice was, again, demonic and commanding, the flat, robotic tone getting her point across quite well. Johan was more than a little shocked to find her putting as much force into holding his arm down as she was, too. He couldn’t raise his arm, and he had lifted her in the past.

“Just smash them or something. Get rid of them!” CD was really not enjoying his situation, and it seemed Rick was affected by it much more than he was.

The filly again shouted for them to stop. “Contact increases affliction in 98.7% of all cases. The remaining 1.3% suffer immediately lethal mass organ failure.”

“Easy to say when your brain isn’t being assaulted! I don’t care how, but stop them, it might kill me anyway!”

“Proximity is not lethal until subjects self-terminate. Suggestion: remove subjects from immediate vicinity for enhanced chances of survival and prolonged exposure results. End of Test 9407.83-” Sweetie’s voice began to glitch and sputter electronically. Scootaloo was already trying to drag her away, towards the nearest elevator.

“Sure, tell us how to solve the problem, then do nothing to help us.” CD complained. “Yeah, fuck you too!”

As the colt shouted hoarsely at the fillies, he was unable to see the white-suited filly twitching and spasming. Johan, meanwhile, had grabbed both CD and Rick by an armpit each and was dragging them as quickly as he could across the trash-strewn floor.

CD could hear the whispers receding as soon as they were just a few meters from the statues, and Rick had simply curled up, weeping into his armored hands. Sweetie was twitching fiercely, and Scootaloo was holding her, keeping her head straight, and muttering soothingly at her. Sketch was sitting next to them both, unsure of what to do.

“Yeah, thanks for all the help, Sketch, way to help out the team.” CD felt really uneasy and needed to take it out on something. “What’s your next plan, do nothing while we get shot at?”

“Excuse me for not doing anything when she warned of a 98.7% chance of getting fucked up, and a 1.3% chance of instant death.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make much sense when me and Rick were being almost literally mindfucked without even hardly looking at it, dick.”

“Not like we have a goddamn telepathic link, not to mention I still don’t know exactly what the fuck just happened.”

“Neither do I, but I think I made it pretty clear Rick and I needed help. If you want us dead, just say so, don’t just sit there and watch, it would save you a lot of trouble.” CD was staring harshly at the so-far-useless pony.

“Would both of you children shut the hell up?! Sketch, you goofed. Next time, help haul folks, neither the pony nor the grown man were particularly light. Copy, you need to chill. I understand that something is trying to eat your brain from the inside out, but you need to keep it together. Or else we all die, and every death so far will be-”

“Completely pointless, I know, I said so earlier. But keeping it together is what I’m trying to do. I know I should calm down, and I agree that I should, but it’s hard to when all this stuff is happening and I have no idea why. I probably wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t... oh forget it.” CD was tired of complaining. He still needed to vent, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“How about we stop this pissing match early and do something productive!” Sketch shouted.

“I agree, better yet, take your own advice!” CD retorted. He knew he should stop, but Sketch just wouldn’t stop getting on his nerves. “Seriously, what did you do?”

“I stopped adding to this pointless argu-”

“SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY!” Johan yelled at the top of his lungs, leaving everyone cringing away. He’d yelled into his loudspeakers, which were meant in case he, as a medic, needed to make an important announcement.

And, as he stood in front of the door, breathing hard and pointing his gun, the grenade launcher prepped, into the center of the elevator.

“I am sick, and tired, of these damned arguments. We will not have another, or I will personally put a grenade up the ass of the one who starts it, and the one who feeds it. Is that understood?” Johan’s voice was dark and gravelly.

CD said nothing, he never really planned on agreeing with someone who resorts to threats, and he wasn’t going to make a habit of it.

“Now we can finally move on.” Sketch added.

“You’re no better, so stuff the holier-than-thou attitude, Sketch! “

Sketch was going to respond, but just shut his mouth as soon as he opened it, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.

CD wasn't quite finished yet, he still had one question. "Sketch, why did you let Applebloom die?"

“What the fuck?!.”

CD sighed before responding "Fine then, I'll explain why Applebloom is dead." CD turned to address the group. "I shoot at the giant monster and keep it from finishing off Johan. The monster is now charging at me. Sketch has an armed weapon, and the monster is too big to miss. The shot doesn't need to hurt the beast, distract it. If Sketch could draw it's attention, Johan and I might have had time to finish it off." CD looked towards Sketch. "If you had done something, anything, Applebloom wouldn't have had to sacrifice herself to save me. Why? Why did you do nothing and let her die?" CD's voice was no longer angry. It was sad and confused.

“I don’t fucking know! My brain just froze for a moment, I couldn’t do anything! If it ran at me I probably would have been the one who died.”

“What? So you, you wouldn’t help unless you were directly involved?”

“No, I’m saying I just blacked out for a moment, whether I was involved or not I just had a mental lapse. If it came at me I don’t think I would’ve been able to do anything.”

“Alright, so you have blackouts, great. Any idea how we can predict when you’re going to shut down?”

“No, just don’t do anything stupid to save me, if I blackout in the middle of a mob, use me as bait and run, I fucked up once, not doing it again.”

“The issue isn’t that you are in trouble, it’s the fact that people get injured or die because one of our teammates can’t help. You are not the issue, the results are, they affect others more than yourself.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I haven’t seen a doctor in three years, no money. Just hit me in the head or something, try anything.”

Johan sighed, and put an armored gauntlet to his faceplate. “Sketch, I doubt you have anything worse than some autism. CD, stop pestering him, Sketch, stop being so gloomy. Stop the argument right here. Please.” He looked back up at the group, the intimidating ‘evil smiley’ of his helmet’s plating glaring at the group.

“Okay.” Sketch said, shutting his trap.

CD sighed “Sketch, if we are in a fight, dealing with you may not be an option. We need to focus on what’s attacking us. We can’t just fix you on the spot. So, how do we deal with this, if you keep doing this, then the likelihood of other’s dying is rather high... at this point, I’d actually consider you a danger.” CD paused. “Not that I want to, but it’s true.”

CD turned to Johan. “Johan, stop micromanaging everything we do. I’m not arguing anymore, I’m addressing a serious issue that got one filly killed, and a few others injured. I don’t like it either, but just because he’s your friend doesn’t allow you to ignore the fact that as of now, he’s causing serious problems.”

“You’re both causing issues. But, I’m sorry for the micromanaging. You all volunteered, but I’ll try to-” Johan’s apology was cut short as the elevator ‘ding’d. He turned towards the door, which was opening. “Uh... who hit the button?”

Nobody in the elevator spoke up, each of them looking either to each other or over at the door.

A low hissing gurgle met their ears, and Scootaloo screamed as the puker blasted a frothy, caustic bile across the entire elevator.

Johan reacted in the span of the intervening second, throwing himself over Sweetie Belle protectively. CD tried his best the get out of the way, wishing he had been lucky enough to dodge the blast entirely, as the bile drenched his back and legs.

Scootaloo, under Johan’s bulk with Sweetie, was spared much of the acidic spray, but got a good look as it began to eat into the red-and-cream plates of Johan’s armor, and CD also shouting in pain as it cut into the joints of the suit he wore.

Remembering his encounter with this type of necromorph, Sketch aimed his divot and began firing rapidly at the creatures limbs through the acid spray, hoping this acid bath would end as fast as possible.

Between yelps of pain, CD managed to speak up. “Don’t stand there, owowow, shoot it, ow-.”

Taking his own advice, CD shot a few horizontal shots from his Cutter, aiming at the creature’s legs. “Fall down, stay down, come on.” The shots hit the thing in the head and one leg, each limb’s removal followed by a further gout of boiling acid pouring from the wound. Each of the splashes washed across the survivors once more, eliciting screams from the awake filly as they were splashed, thankfully lightly, by the caustic bile.

Rick, through all of that, remained curled up on the far side of the elevator, more or less ignoring the splashes of bile and the screams of pain and fear. Still muttering and clutching his helmet, he had fully blocked out the world around him.

Scootaloo, taking some initiative, fired a few blasts from her own Cutter, striking the thing across the back and cleaving it open with a flurry of shots. The thing began crawling towards her, even minus its head, spewing further sprays of caustic fluid across the elevator.

Sketch began to fire at the now crawling monstrosity, aiming for the arms and shoulders. CD assisted, switching back to vertical blasts, trying to aim mainly at where the shoulder meets the arm.

The creature’s left arm blew off in another spray of caustic gore. The spray hit the walls and floor, droplets splattering across the the people huddled in the elevator. Then, the creature was still, just a low gurgle marking its passage back into death.

“Well, that was eventful, didn’t know they were smart enough to use elevators.” CD said, a bit confused. “I thought they were all running on instinct.”

While CD analyzed the creatures actions, Sketch went to check on Johan and the girls, medigel at the ready. The large human groaned as he stood up, the caustic gunk hissing and crackling as it ate at his armor. The fillies, thankfully were largely safe, just spots and specks of damaged enamel and metal plating.

“So, now what? I still want to know where they got the intelligence to access basic machinery.” CD wondered. “Unless they are getting smarter, what do we do if they are?”

Johan shook his head. “We hope they aren’t, because that’s pretty much the only major advantage we have. That and our long-range attacks.” He paused for a moment, thinking it over. “Oh, wait, the baby-things with the barb shooting. Shit, intelligence is our only remaining advantage over them!”

“And that isn’t saying much, more importantly, do any of you need medigel? Are you okay girls?” Sketch asked.

“I’m going to need a bit.” CD said, his legs still hurting. “But if they can use elevators, then can’t they open doors? We’d have to set up blockades, and that would only stop the smaller ones.” CD sounded rather worried.

“I- I’m fine.”Johan said, brushing a few of the lingering acid patches off his armor. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle both said the same, and Johan activated two of his medigel, the gentle tone accompanied by his status bars refilling. Johan waved a hand towards CD and Rick, and told Sketch to check on them. “And it looks like I’m on point.” he muttered as he stepped out, sweeping around the one corner of the area.

Back in the elevator, Sketch and CD were checking over Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, both of whom insisted they were fine. In the back of the elevator, the screaming in Rick’s mind faded back to more rational levels.

“Man, you okay Rick? I got messed up too, but I think I got it easier. What’s with those statues anyway? Why didn’t it hurt you guys?” CD questioned. “How does a statue even do that? Rick and I were nowhere near its range, according to Sweetie.” the aforementioned filly was still laying, apparently unconscious, on the floor of the elevator.

Rick only shook his head in response, not wanting to talk at the moment.

“Okay, uh, so anyway, why do those statues only mess with our heads?” He turned to Sketch. “Did you feel anything when Johan dragged us out?”

“No, might’ve still been blacking out.”

CD shook his head, and went to ask Johan his experience during the ordeal. As CD stepped out of the elevator, he looked around the dark, cramped hallway. The pan of his cutter’s flashlight swept across the dirty, debris-strewn hall, thick layers of necromorph tissue growing on the walls. A sweep of light from around a corner indicated where Johan had gone, the jerking motion of the light indicating he was moving quickly.

Expecting the worst, CD prepared himself to run, and shoot backwards in case it was rather quick. From around the corner came Johan, sprinting forward and sliding as he went around the corner. Scrambling up, he turned to look back down the hall before more or less collapsing to his knees. Even CD, through the intervening helmets and space, could hear Johan’s labored breaths.

“You okay? Why did you get so far away from the group?” CD walked forward, listening for anything that might pop out of the floor or whatever. As if to confirm his paranoia (which isn’t paranoia if you’re right) a small bundle-like shape flew down the hall, like a baby in swaddling cloths. As it landed, Johan immediately leveled his gun at it, and a single tentacle sprouted from the top of the creature. A low, pained wail echoed down the hall in grotesque counterpoint to the wet schlick of the tendril’s erupture. As Johan began firing at it, he also began to back towards the elevator.

Although rather disgusted by the sight and sounds, CD wasted no time before shooting at it, resolving to wonder what the heck it was, or used to be, at a later, less important moment.

The pod-thing gave a high-pitched screech that rivaled the volume of Johan’s chattering pulse rifle. The tendril whipped, and a lone barb flew out and slammed into Johan’s shoulder-plate, jerking his aim away, nearly drawing a line across CD with the automatic rifle.

“Damn tiny targets!” CD complained as he kept trying to shoot the pod-creature. The horizontal shots blasted through and into the tendril, severing it cleanly near the base. The little beast shrieked thinly again, then was still. After a moment, it popped like a balloon.

Johan sat down again, this time fully around the corner. “B- by the way, they explode if you’re too close.” He gestured at his legs, which were covered in a semi-fluid material that was gray-white and stank horribly, like rotten meat and molding vegetables, even through the suit filters. There was also some serious denting of the metal plates around there, showing a pretty good idea of the effects of the blast.

“Ugh, no shit.” CD said, trying to ignore the mess. “So why did you decide leaving the group to go off alone with no backup was a good idea?”

“Because all of you needed to rest, and the group needed to get a good idea of what was up ahead. That said, there’s a big... uhm, person, stuck to the wall. Looked like they were... still alive. And right next to the door we need to take.”

“And you didn’t even bother to... oh nevermind, come on Mr. ‘I can be fine all by myself with nobody watching my back.”

“No, no I can’t. But you all need to rest a hell of a lot more than I need backup for looking around a corner. Still, do you think these things are a response to us going this way? Or maybe just it was there and we’re just happening to go by it?”

“I don’t think that’s the problem, I think the problem is that you were too impatient to wait for us and almost got killed.”

“I did not almost get killed, if you check, my health is just fine. I am well prepared. If I hadn’t gone for medic, I could’ve been on long patrol. Now, if you want to keep complaining, I can exclude you from the meeting when I show everyone else what’s coming up next. Or, you can stop complaining. What option do you want?”

“I’m not complaining at all, and I choose the option where you stop acting like a commanding officer and start acting like a team member.” CD said calmly, before turning to go back the the rest of the group.

“Maybe you didn’t notice, being a crazy, half-amnesiac twit, that I happen to actually be the commanding officer. Oh, wait, you’re just maintenance, not an actual officer. I have earned my place in life, and am going to tell you right now-”

“That you have the right to act superior and be a dick? Good for you. When you’re ready to accept that others help you just as much as you help them, I’ll like you more. Or I could-”

“I don’t need you to like me! Just listen! If you keep ignoring what I say, me, the guy with the training for combat at least, then everyone is going to die! I’ve already got the deaths of my friend and that young filly to deal with! I have the experience, and being nice did nothing!” Johan was shouting again, and had taken several steps towards the earth pony engineer. Deep in CD’s mind, two parts of him were at war, his ancient instincts and his will to stand up for himself. Instinct was saying to back down, as the large predator was stepping closer, while his will was telling him to stand his ground.

“I know it doesn’t.” CD turned and walked back, heading for the group. “But I wouldn’t suggest threatening me, doing so is different than threatening someone else, so should we get back now?”

“Fine. But you need to pay attention. I’m not just giving orders to hear my own voice; I’ve been training for a military command for literally six years now. And you dividing the group will get us all killed.” Johan sighed, “Let’s just get back, yeah.”

The two looked about as they got back to the elevator, Johan breathing deeply behind his helmet. “Alright, guys, there’s something new up ahead. Big thing, stuck to a wall. Throws big pod-things, each of which explodes if you’re nearby, or just sits there and shoots you.” Johan reached up to his shoulder and ripped out the barb that had been stuck there. “They don’t have a lot of force, compared to the baby-things, the lurkers. But, they are ranged. And I think that the person stuck to the wall is still alive in there.”

Johan stopped his explanation, calling up his holographic recording to display what he’d seen.

“That’s pretty.” CD said sarcastically. “And it throws living explosives that shoot? Okay, what’s the plan after everyone’s rested?”

“Well, I think that once we’re all up, I think Sketch should use that line gun of his to drop another mine below it, then we retreat, while everyone else is firing at the pods to keep us from being overwhelmed. Sound good?” Everyone able to, nodded in agreement.

“Alright, next order of business, at least for me. How’s Sweetie Belle doing? And what was with that thing she did earlier? I need answers, Scootaloo, and I need them sooner, rather than later.” His voice was softer than it had been in a while, and sounded a bit scratchy from all the yelling he’d done.

Scootaloo looked left and right, obviously not wanting to say anything.

“What’s up?” CD asked. “Is something wrong with Sweetie?”

Scootaloo looked over to Sketch. “Uhm, I- I’d rather not- that is, we kinda promised... me and Applebloom, that is...” She looked up again, face still hidden behind her mask.

“Well if he says it’ll help, you might want to say it now, please Scoots? Also, I think I can land a mine in front of that thing, just be sure no one is nearby, we don’t need another accident.”

“Anyway, Scootaloo, if it is important information that could help, then everyone knowing would be more beneficial than ignorance of possible options.” CD started. “And why is it such a big secret? We’ve already seen plenty of crazy stuff.”

“Because... because we promised. Both of us did. Me an’...” Scootaloo sniffled. “Me an’ Ap- Applebloom...” Scootaloo sniffled again and began to whimper slightly. The helmet covering her head began to retract, and she wiped at her streaming eyes. “We promised... t- together...”

“Alright, fine, whatever.” CD sighed. “We have a plan, we know what we need to do, and there’s nothing stopping us except everyone being ready. So, when do we go, since there’s no other plan of action at this moment.” CD turned to Johan. “So are we ready?”

“Yeah... I kinda want to know what’s going on, but we can wait until we’re in a more secure area, there’s far too many places for these things to flank us from.” Johan turned to regard Sketch from behind his helmet. “Remember, Sketch, plant the mine and get back. When you fire the mine, yell ‘fire in the hole’, just like in the movies.” The man turned away from Sketch, towards the rest of the group. “When he does, we all back the hell away.”

“Really?” CD snarked. “I had no idea explosives were dangerous. Thanks for the incredible foresight.”

“I was more saying to pay attention to when we yell, and what to listen for, exactly. I don’t want any more deaths than absolutely, 100%, strictly necessary.”

“I know, calm down, but really, I think it’s pretty obvious what we have to do, we’re not as stupid as a bunch of rookies.” CD stated, “We understand the gravity of the situation.”

“Alright. Scootaloo, since you don’t want to say anything, can you at least give us an ETA for when Sweetie will wake up? You seem to know what’s going on.” Johan looked over at the red-eyed orange filly.

“So wait, are the fillies coming with us? Or are they going to stay here?” CD questioned. “Neither situation is at all safe for them.”

Johan cleared his throat, then clarified. “I was going to have them stay near the back of the group. I don’t want to leave them alone, but I want them as far from the fight as possible without losing track of them.”

“Alright, Sketch, you’re ready and you know what to do, right?” CD asked, looking towards the pony. “We absolutely can not have you blackout during this, we need you to focus, alright?”

“Focus is... conducive to... proper aiming of... ranged weaponry. And tools.” Sweetie’s voice was both unexpected, and weaker than normal.

“Yeah, thanks marshmallow, and don’t worry, I’m fine, and I’m a pretty good shot with the mine.”

“Previous evidence... concurs. Oww...” The filly sounded more like her normal self with the last part, like a child with a skinned knee. “I think I hit my head back there.”

As she spoke, Scootaloo was helping her to her hooves.

“You remember anything that happened?” CD asked, hoping she didn’t have any damage that wasn’t visible. “Anything at all?”

“Just- just a loud tone, and too many... whispers. Like- like b- back at the th-” The young white unicorn’s voice began to tremble, and she leaned into Scootaloo as the other pony held her close. The pegasus made quiet shushing noises, completely out of place in the morbid atmosphere of the area, muttering something to the bone-colored unicorn filly.

CD looked rather confused and worried. “So, uh, did plans change? Is she okay? What happened to her?”

“She was born. End of story, alright? She’ll be fine. Just-” Scootaloo sighed. “Try not to-”

“Just drop it, I understand.” CD said somewhat quietly. “Yeah, so what happens now?” He turned to Johan.

Instead, Sweetie spoke up, back in her metallic voice. “Continue with the proscribed plan. It has the highest chance of succeeding out of fifty-eight projected possibilities.” Scootaloo just nodded in agreement. speaking quietly, she said, “Yeah, what she said. She’ll be fine.”

“Will be, or is?” CD needed a bit of clarification. “What I want to know-”

“She’ll be fine! I can help her if need be, just- just help get to safety. I owe ‘Bloom that much, at least.” Scoots’ helmet slid back into place over her scowling, angry expression as she spoke. “Let’s just get out of here, alright?”

Johan shook his head exasperatedly. “If everyone else is ready, then I suppose we will. Any objections?” He spoke as if he already knew the answer.

“No.” CD stated. “Just questions, but they can wait.”

“One last thing, run in, fire, run out? Just making sure that is the entirety of our plan.” Sketch looked around as he spoke.

“You shoot and announce that you shot, that way we get a heads up.” CD reminded. “We need everyone aware of what’s happening if explosions are involved.”

“Yeah. That’s the plan. So if everyone’s ready, let’s get going.” Johan said.

Johan gave Rick a hand up, and everyone began filing out of the elevator. Peering around the corner, the group saw the creature attached to the wall in full, across the common area. The massive, dark marker statue stood like a silent watcher, and the creature across the wide open room began to moan in pain as they came into view. The creature, its human face still very recognizable, looked like it was in incredible agony. A group of pad-ended tentacles burst forth from its chest in a small explosion of gore as they tore free.

The creature screamed in pain, and a wide hole in its belly rippled, spasmed, and a thick pod shot from the cavity. The pod, looking like a massive, malformed fetus, immediately extruded a tendril from its back. The creature on the wall moaned again in agony.

“Sketch, what are you waiting for?” CD hissed. “Is it too far away?” CD hoped it wasn’t, because getting closer was probably not a good idea.

“Yeah, we need to get about ten meters closer before I can make the shot.”

Another batch of the tentacles burst from the creature’s distended chest, anchoring it firmly as it fired another pod into the room to protect itself. The low rumbling of other necromorphs rolled into the room as well, and the first pod threw one of its barbs at the group.

“Good luck with that.” CD said hurriedly, trying to avoid getting hit. “I’m not going near any of those things.”

Johan tilted his pulse rifle and launched a grenade at the nearer pod. “Can you at least take off the tentacles of the pods, then? Severing the things seems to kill them pretty fast. Sketch, we’ll cover you.”

“Says you, what if I get mindfucked by the giant statue thing? I’m staying back for my own good, so I can shoot from here.” CD said, hoping he really could hit something from this distance.

“That’s alright, but still try to cover him as you go. And it isn’t glowing, unlike the others, so it’s probably still off.” Johan quipped

“I- Alright, but if I start having a seizure-”

“I’ll make sure you don’t swallow your tongue! Just make sure that Sketch makes it to the firing point in one piece, and can make it back, alright?” Johan shouted back.

“Okay, come on Sketch, we gotta make this quick.” CD said.

“Lets get this over with, just get ready to run, from the mine and that thing with the tentacles.” Sketch said.

Johan just began firing at the other pod, more or less ignoring Sketch’s statement. Another pair of the gross creatures had been launched onto the floor nearby, and CD could see faint, but fading, pulses of the necromorph’s red energy coursing through the pods, in tandem to the mingled blue and red in the creature on the wall.

The one thing CD could definitely tell about the creature was that it was definitely still alive, and still conscious.

“Okay, I guess that proves it, the tentacled wall-hugger is still human... ish.” CD muttered. “How much further until you can fire?”

Sketch checked the minuscule readout indicating distance attached to his tool, wondering how miners were supposed to read them in the mines, and shook his head. “Little further.”

“Alright, we gotta make this quick.” CD said, worried that he might not be able to hit anything, hoping that the red glowy bits would be decent targets..

Continuing to fire at the targets, the group continued to shred the pods as Sketch advanced. Finally finding himself in range he thought was about right, he fired the mine, the bottom part of it clamping tightly to the metallic strut just barely peeking out of the tangled mess of flesh clinging to the wall next to the guardian-thing.

As it began to pulse, Sketch yelled out that he’d fired, and began to run. A lone pod, dropped in the far corner of the room, finally had its chance to take a shot at the group, and fired a barb at the lone being so far from the protection of its fellows. The eight-inch-long bone spike flew through the air and slammed into Sketch’s faceplate, chancing on the narrow gap meant for his eyes.

With a scream, he fell to the ground, the bone spur jutting from his helmet. About this time, the mine detonated, the white-hot cutting lasers slicing apart the guardian’s tentacles and obliterating the few pods near the creature’s base.

Sketch, now laying on the floor with blood seeping from the underside of his helmet as he screamed in agony. The room now clear of hostiles, as far as everyone could tell, the group crept into room, his agonized cries being echoed by the dying thing on the wall. As CD looked in, he could see the red lights in the guardian’s form flickering and fading. With a relieved-sounding sigh, the blue lines in the person’s body fading as well.

Sketch’s arterial lines still glowed a strong blue, and, in spite of the spike through his faceplate, was definitely still alive. Johan, racing over to the injured pony, knelt by his side. Reaching down, Johan made a jerking motion with his hand, drawing another agonized scream from Sketch, followed by gasping breaths. A quick touch to the helmet release revealed the damage the earth pony artist had received.

A large, bloody, shredded hole was all that remained of his right eye, gore streaming from the wound. The smell of blood rose quickly into the air, clean and unpleasant, making everyone gag, and CD lose what little he still had in his stomach. Johan, being trained as he was, simply pulled out his manual medkit, and began to dress the wound, a large amount of medigel filling the gaping hole before a gauze bandage covered the torn eyelid to keep the gel in.

“Well, Sketch, you can now speak in argh. Want a parrot?” Johan’s joke fell kind of flat, but he was trying to turn around his attitude around.

“I can d- do what I want c-’cause a p- pirate is free, I- I am a p- pirate.” Sketch said in a cheery tune.

CD would have facehoofed if all four of his knees weren’t really weak from his stomach’s incredible disagreement with his eyes. “Urrrgh, that’s nasty...”

Scootaloo tried to joke, “At least you’ve still got your looks, heh heh...” but her pained laughter didn’t sound natural.

“D- don’t feel bad Scoots, I’m fine, but c- could you move a little to t- the left? I can’t see you very well.”

The filly shuffled a little to her left, then moved in the other direction when she realized he meant the other direction.

“Thanks, s- stop being sad, I- I’m fine.”

“Oh, I’m, uh, not sad. You’ve got a battle scar now! Chicks totally dig battle scars, y’know.” Her words, while obviously meant to be comforting, they still sounded hollow.

“Be honest, h- how bad was it?”

“I don’t want to know, let’s leave it at that.” CD said, still a bit queasy.

“Eh, nothing a prosthetic can’t fix. Y’know, if you can get the money. And we survive.” Johan said, patting the eye-shot pony on the shoulder.

“Hmm, nah, unless it becomes necessary, I’m alright with one eye and a few chunks.”

“That’s disgusting!” CD said.

“Alright, conversation over.” Scootaloo said, making grossed-out gagging noises from behind her helmet. “Even I think that’s gross.”

“Sorry, making jokes is how I deal with things, sometimes they get a bit bad, mind helping me around for a bit? Anyone?”

“Yeah, I’ll help you get around.” Scoots said, pressing against his armored shoulder and laying a suited wing across his back, gently.

The group’s respite was interrupted by the low rumble of necromorphs encroaching on their location.

“Move! Everybody, go for the door, keep going!” Johan shouted, turning as the first slasher landed nearby, having simply toppled from a balcony above.

“Man, this is not a good day for anyone.” CD said, trying to remove the creature’s legs as it stood up.

“Just go! I can take care of Sweetie!” Johan shouted as he began to unload his clip into the monsters pouring in behind the first. “You’ve all got the coordinates and the journey route! Just use your objective trackers to get your bearings if you need it. Go!”

“Alright, good luck!” CD shouted back, as he ran off, taking advantage of Johan’s offer. He was closely followed by Sweetie Belle, who was helping Scootaloo guide the injured Sketch to the door. Rick wasn’t far behind

Johan covered their retreat as they went, backing up until they had the chance to shut the door behind them. As he turned, he saw that the group was backing towards him again, a trio of brutes smashing their way towards them down the relatively narrow corridor, their armored plates scraping the synthetic quartz windows as they entered.

Barely four seconds until the things would slam into them, a voice burst over their suit radios, yelling, “Grab onto something, I’m opening a window!”

The people inside barely had a moment to register the voice before a resounding crack echoed through the corridor, before the whoosh of air exiting the station caught their attention. Each of the brutes, lacking grasping appendages, were sucked from the corridor into space. Everyone’s suit’s immediately registered the pressure change, and locked down the seals, their internal air supplies activating instantly.

A human shape, clad in a fire-red suit with a glassy faceplate, bronze finish on the glass, burst through the shattered window. A pair of large, heavy coverings across the sides of the spine had some sort of gauges on them, and piping leading to the suit’s wrists, were some sort of nozzles near tiny blue flames had been attached. The person landed dramatically, one hand bracing them as they hit with one knee on the deck and one up, in the classic ‘hero’ landing pose. It looked up at the necromorphs... and then began to flail slightly as the rushing air unbalanced them, and they fell backwards, clutching a chunk of decking as the emergency covers for the window slammed into place.

“O- okay, maybe not the smoothest landing I’ve ever managed...” The figure spoke aloud as he rose, the voice definitely masculine. Brushing a few chunks of debris and necromorph bits from his suit, the figure looked over at the rest of the group. “You guys look like you got fucked up. Got any hydrazine tanks?”

The group stared in mild shock for a moment, before CD spoke up. “I’m not the only one seeing this one, right?”

“If you are seeing a bright red human male bust in through the window, or is the pain making me hallucinate with you?”

“Pretty sure it’s just a group hallucination, nobody does stupid shit like that.” Johan said.

“...I don’t know, it was pretty awesome. I’d do it if I could.” CD said

“Sure you could, and I can regrow organs, like eyes, yeargh.”

Scootaloo looked up at him. “... you’re gonna milk the pirate thing for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“For today at least.”

“Why, Scootaloo? You wish it was you instead?” CD asked with a goofy grin on his face.

“Not really.”

For the entirety of the conversation, the newcomer was standing mostly still. “Uh, you guys do realize I’m still standing here, right? And, seriously, do you guys have any hydrazine?”

Johan looked over. “How much do you have?”

The new guy held up his arms, and a brief puff of orange-yellow flame burst out, then died away. “... aaand I’m out.” From the guy’s suit, a female voice, very attractive and obviously trying sound even more so, and succeeding, spoke up. “Hydrazine levels are oh so low... like my top would be if I were real.”

“Goddamnit dude, just... why?” Sketch asked, facehoofing.

“Oh, shit, my speakers are on, sorry.”

“What the hell man?” CD asked. “Can you do that for mine?”

“Uh... sure? I’d need to transfer the files via an AutoStore... I kinda got this ‘cuz I’m stuck outside so much...” The guy shrugged.

“Please no, also why does your EVA suit have flamethrowers built in?”

“It’s a Pyro EVA suit, duh. They’re made for the welding crews that’re stuck out in space. I’ve been trying to get clearance for one for a year now, but they won’t let Junior folks get them.” Scootaloo was looking up at the newcomer and speaking in the sort of voice video game fans use when explaining their favorite game’s backstory to a completely new person.

“Heh, you’d be an adorable little pyro.” Sketch said, cooing at Scoots.

“Anyway guys.” CD cut in. “I think I have a few Tanks in storage. Oh wait, I chucked ‘em when I ran out of room.”

“Well... fuck.” The newcomer said, sighing. “Anyhow, my name’s Allan Richart, and I was heading towards my dad’s place, he’s got plenty of supplies. You guys wanna come with? S’not too far.”

“Yes.” CD replied quickly. “If it’s absolutely safe, and we can stay there for more than an hour, I’ll take the offer.”

Johan held up a hand for silence. “That actually does sound like a good idea. My friend here took a hit to the eye, and I’d like to get a look at it in good light. And, well, everyone needs some time to rest so far.”

Allan nodded. “Security suit, medical classification, triage. You’ve probably heard from my dad at some point. Looks kinda beaten up.”

Johan shook his head sadly. “Pukers blow. Chunks.”

“The... things with the claws and they spit? With, uh, usually boobs, for some reason?”

Johan just stared for a moment. “What the hell are you smoking?”

“Nothing right now, but if you’ve got some cigarettes, I’d love one.”

“As entertaining as this conversation is...” CD started. “How about we get to a safe area while we chat.”

“Good idea. Can you lead us towards the place, then?”

Allan nodded. “Yeah, it’s just a few hallways down. Whoo, everything’s so heavy in here. Anyhow, I’ll probably have to kick in the door, but whatever.”

“Why? Emergency lockdown system or something?” CD asked.

“What? No, the fucker changed the locks.”

CD paused for a moment. “Well, okay then... so you work mainly uh, outside?”

“... for the last seven years, yeah. How’d you guess? The comment about everything being heavy? Or do I have an actual reputation with someone other than the sanitation workers now?” Allan said the words with almost as much caustic bite to their tone as the bile pukers spew. As he began to walk towards their new destination, the light caught on one shoulder plate, and CD half-caught a glimpse of a symbol on it, though he couldn’t tell what it was.

Something else CD noticed was that, while the man had the normal blue of a living person, the lines of his arteries turned to the violent red of marker-influenced matter near his head, though the effect wasn’t homogenous or strong.

“So uh, Allan. You ever had any rather... interesting experiences with those monsters?” CD asked tentatively.

“They’ve tried to kill me. So far, they’ve failed, but the big bat-winged ones almost got me that one time.”

“Not exactly what I meant. Other than the loud screams, did they ever do anything to hurt your head?” CD clarified.

“Screams? What? And of course they tried to mess with my head, that’s what they do.” Allan shook his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world..

“I hear that, but yeah, they scream. Well, some of them do. But man I’ve had some interesting experiences-”

“Woah, woah, woah! - did you try to bone one of them?!” Allan yelled, backing away from CD slightly.

CD looked up at the guy. “No...” CD paused. “I meant the voices in my head.”

“Oh, by Altman’s holy goatee, you did, didn’t you?” He paused to take in what the pony had said. “Oh, voices? Nevermind. And no, nothing like that. And I’ve never heard them do anything but squeal, that sounds like what one of the bat-ponies turn into. I’m talking about the bat-winged thingies.”

“Okay, haven’t seen anything like that...” CD thought. “How many kinds of these things are there?”

“Anyways, this is the apartment.” Allan said, “Gimme a sec to do a manual override.” With that, he reach for his storage, and pulled out a small but thick, gray package with a small antenna coming out of it. “Might get a bit technical.” He slapped the package onto the wall, smearing it as he went. He pushed the group back, and thumbed a small cylinder. A muffled thump and a cloud of dust later, there was a new doorway next to the original. “Last of my octocellulose, but totally worth it. Hey dad, I’m ho~ome!” Allan stepped into the apartment, gun pointed in.

“Dude, quiet down.” CD hissed. “I know it’s boring, but we don’t want those things finding us and tearing us into little bite-sized pieces.”

“Don’t worry, I surveyed the area before I came in. Most of those things were heading towards the other end of this station, looked like they were being drawn there by something.” The man shrugged. “We should be good for at least half an hour, maybe more if we’re really lucky.” He then began to look around the apartment, moving like a looter.

“Any amount of break time we can get is good enough, thanks for the help.”

“Yeah, sure, just make yourselves at home. He should have some stuff in the top shelves. You guys don’t mind MREs, do you? And where did he leave that gun, he never takes it out of the bedroom...”

“I would eat anything at this point. MREs are perfect.”

Allan had moved into what was likely the bedroom. “Perfect, I think they’re from World War two. From earth. Don’t worry, they’re still good.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About five or six hundred years.” Rick said, and Sweetie looked up, immediately spouting off, “Five-hundred seventy-six years, four months, two weeks, four days prior to this date.”

“Hey, at least it’s not as old as SPAM.” CD reassured.

“I’ve eaten that stuff. So, what’s got you talking now, Rick?”

Vague mutters of ‘holy shit, the fuck was that’ came from the back room Allan was in as Sweetie spoke.

“I have a mild headache and I’m hungry, can someone hand me some meds or food?” Sketch asked, still using Scoots for support.

Johan knelt over next to him. “Okay, I’m taking your helmet off again, try not to blink if you can avoid it.”

As the medic was looking over his friend’s wounds, Scootaloo had wandered towards the bedroom where Allan was. CD followed her.

“So, this is your dad’s place?” Scoots said, peeking into the bedroom, which Allan was in the process of ransacking.

“Well, at least it doesn’t look like a barricade like our last resting place, hard to relax when everything is in full combat armor... oh wait.” CD stopped, realizing he was wearing armor too. “Forget my rather hypocritical statement.”

“Yeah, I hear that. Sorry if I’m acting a little weird, I’m not used to being around, y’know...” Allan looked under the pillow, shouting happily as he uncovered a quarter-full bottle of amber liquid.

“Ponies? Or people in general?” CD asked.

“Yeah, that. Want some? You might wanna drink first, you might lose your appetite after seeing my face.”

“I somewhat doubt that, and I don’t know how much alcohol I can take before... yeah.” CD said. “Never had anything too strong in the first place anyway.”

“An earth pony that can’t handle his booze? Heh, I call bullshit.”

Scootaloo looked up and nodded in agreement with the statement.

“I never said I couldn’t handle it, I just said I don’t know how much it takes to get me hammered, there’s a difference.” CD stated.

“Fair enough. But I meant what I said about my face, fair warning and all.” Allan then reached up and tapped the side of his helmet, resulting in a hissing noise as the seals disengaged. The mirrored faceplate flipped up and out of the way, revealing a rugged face, like someone had practiced drawing scars on it. One was a thick stripe of ropey scar tissue over his left eye, dividing the eyebrow itself with the tail end of it. A dip in the end of his nose marked where something, a long time ago, had torn off a ragged chunk of it, and a pile of pitted burn scars traveled up his right cheek. His other cheek had a mass of tiny scars disrupting the growth of a fairly epic beard of almost ursine appearance. His eyes were a stormy blue, like the ocean right after a harsh storm. Faint flecks of gold shimmered in their depths, a faint scar only barely visible on the white of the otherwise uninjured right eye.

Totally unconcerned with the effects of his visage, he raised the bottle to his cracked lips and took a swig.

“Eesh.” CD replied. “Never really seen anything that odd since I let my imagination off its leash.”

“What happened to your face? It’s fuckin’ epic!” Scootaloo squealed as she bounced up and down.

“More like what hasn’t happened to it. This one,” he pointed at the scar over his eye, “was from a fight when I was younger. I lost the fight, but I got better in time. This one,” the gesture was towards his cheek-burn, “Was from when I was still getting used to hydrazine. Lost the end of my nose the same time. It was then I started working on making this thing.” He waved a hand to indicate his suit.

Scootaloo’s gasp of hero-worship-wonder was audible. “You made the Pyro EVA suit class? Oh, man, that’s so cool, I’ve been wanting one of those forever! I can’t get the design for them anywhere, I keep getting told I don’t have the clearance for them.” Scootaloo’s voice was cracking almost as much as Sweetie’s did normally.

“Wait... don’t I know you?Your voice... It sounds kinda like the woman who bought those three plasma cutters...”

Scootaloo suddenly began backing out of the room. “Uh, no reason. I just have one of those voices, y’know? I, uh, totally wouldn’t do anything illegal like that. It would, uhm, be immoral?”

“Yeah, Stellar Void, you said. Needed some replacements so you wouldn’t get in trouble with your boss.”

“Oh, uhm, n- no... and you can’t prove I did! Uh... Hey, this is totally not a topic change, but that’s a really cool rendition of the Shadowbolts team logo! You’re a fan, aren’t you?” Scootaloo smiled hugely before realized they couldn’t see it through her own mirrored facemask.

“So, how bad’s the pain in your eye, Sketch?” Johan asked, calmly. He was kneeling next to his friend, and getting a better look at the damage to the white pony’s face and eye.

Rick was sitting in an armchair nearby, the one next to it looking nearly collapsed from use. He had what looked like an antique chemical pistol or revolver out, and was cleaning it.

“I stopped being able to feel my face a while ago, is that bad?”

“That’s probably just the medigel. Does it itch, or feel like something’s loose?” Johan asked in utter seriousness.

“I can’t feel anything, my face feels funny, kinda tingly.”

“Yeah, probably the medigel. Probably. Jeez... well, at least if you get a prosthetic, you won’t have to tear anything out to get it implanted. In fact, you might need to get some stuff added to make sure it doesn’t fall out.”

“Any chance you can set up some mirrors so I can see the damage myself?”

“Ah, that might not be a good idea... the red and pale green are not the colors for you. Seriously, whoever thought medigel should look like runny snot was probably very high.”

“Eh, so how bad will it scar? Will I look like a block of ground beef?”

“Don’t worry, you already have a girlfriend, so you don’t have to worry about being rejected.”

“Meh, anything is possible.”

Johan just shook his head in response. His helmet retracted, and he wiped the sweat from his own heavily scarred face. “So, Rick, what’s up with you? You mentioned having a partner at the lab?”

“Yeah, her name was Lyra. Unicorn, mint-green, she was great to work with. She had multiple PhDs for human physiology, biology, and human history.” Rick said, still cleaning the weapon in hand.

“Nice, she a genius or something?”

Rick shook his head slightly. “She was just dedicated, above average intelligence.”

“Still more than I managed, good on her for doing so much.”

As they were sitting there chatting amiably, a light beeping noise met everyone’s ears. Trying to find the source, Johan and Sketch looked around. Rick just looked towards the ‘door’.

A small, glowing shape, with multiple legs, skittered rapidly into the room, moving fast on around a dozen tiny legs. It sped past Johan and Sketch, causing them both to shout in surprise as it passed them. The tiny thing, about the size of a composition notebook, crawled rapidly up the chair and clamped itself onto Rick’s left forearm, where it was immediately tapped at by the person whose arm it had apparently claimed.

The lights on it dimmed, giving the other two a better look at the thing. It was the little bot that Rick had deployed earlier. “Lets see what you got this time... Scrap, Somatic gel, oooh, a bronze Semiconductor plate...” He mumbled on as he read the list of materials.

Johan stepped closer. “Is... is that the one of the old Condor III scavenger drones? I got a broken one to mess around with a year or two ago, but I could never get it working.” The medic stepped closer to the wrist-mounted deployable scavenging bot than before, looking like a nerd who’d seen the one card he needed to finish his collection in someone else’s binder.

“Yeah, got to keep it properly maintained, else it just stops working one day.”

“Yeah, and it was replaced by the Raven series, and those cheap plastic frames just weren’t durable enough, no matter how sleek they looked.” Johan shook his head sadly.

“The whole reason I never traded this in, couldn’t part with it.” Rick replied returning his attention to finishing what he was doing with the old weapon. “That and the fact that had a tendency to explode if they found too many sources of salvage in the same area of the same grade, as they tried to prioritize them at the same place on their objective list.” Rick said with a wave of his left hand.

“I never could understand why they wouldn’t just prioritize based on distance in that case...” Johan said.

“Even with medigel numbing my face this conversation is almost painful.”

“Yeah, I’m a fan. Now, I’m not going to tattle or something, but seriously, were you one of my customers? I want to know, I don’t like when people lie to me, and I want to know.”

Scootaloo had backed herself into the corner of the room. “I- I don’t wanna incriminate myself!”

CD was sitting on the bed at this point, watching the proceedings from the very comfortable location. It had been ages since he’d had the opportunity to lay on real synthetic silk.

“So, uh, is your dad rich? What does he do?” CD asked.

“In order, no, mom was, and he’s a consultant for the security forces and for the military. Now c’mon, filly, speak up.” Allan was quirking an eyebrow and had crossed his arms. Scootaloo gulped audibly.

“Yeah, I kinda... lied. Applebloom needed one to make the clubhouse, and I knew a few people, and they pointed me in your direction, and I didn’t want to get connected with it, in case it was a sting operation, and then all this happened...” Scootaloo’s ears were down.

“Well, sorry all this happened. Not sure who this ‘Applebloom’ guy is, but we should go give a few gulps of liquid pain relief. C’mon.” As he went to leave the room, he patted the little filly on the shoulder, taking the bottle with him and leaving Scoots and CD in the room, more or less in private.

“Although, if you ask me, it shouldn’t be illegal for you to have a Cutter, really.” CD stated after thinking about it.

“Thanks. Hey, could you ask Sketch to come in here, I want to chat with him ‘bout something important.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” CD turned and left to go get Sketch.

He walked out in time for Allen to give Sketch a swig of the whiskey. Tapping his fellow earth pony on the shoulder, CD motioned for him to go to the room for the chat. Then, CD stepped back out into the main room to talk with everyone else.

Out there was Rick and Johan, more or less geeking out over the various scavenger bot series, spouting names like the Vulture, Coyote, and Lhurgoyf series. CD walked up, a snarky grin on his face. “They all look more like robots to me.”

Johan shot him a look so icey it could have frozen helium. CD backed up a few steps. “Jeez man, learn to take a joke.”

“This is a serious discussion. It’s not some simple hobby, these bots are-” Johan sounded very upset, but Rick mostly looked like he was finding it entertaining.

“I know, I get it. I’ve seen my fair share of mechanical devices and robotics. I’m not a engineer for no reason, after all.”

“Dude, we’re all engineers, and yet only you two give a fuck.” Allan said.

“Yeah, cheer up.” CD said.

“Hey Sketch. Uhm, how’re you doing?” Scoots said, looking away.

“Besides the obvious, I can’t complain too much, you?”

“I- I’m alright.”

The filly was sitting on the plush bed, far better than anything Sketch could afford. She was reclining to one side, and didn’t seem to be able to meet Sketch’s eye, even through their respective faceplates.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? What are y- no... I can’t lie. I- I don’t know if we’re going to survive this.” Scootaloo’s eyes filled with tears under her helmet, forcing her to flip it open to wipe her eyes.

“Don’t be so negative, I’m sure we’ll survive.” Sketch said, getting on the bed, hugging her.

“I’m not so sure... F- first Broker dies after you guys come back from getting the princess, and she died, too. An- and she was always so nice to me, too. She was the only one at that school on the staff who actually believed I was something other that just a trouble maker. And on the way here... we’re barely a quarter of the way, and ‘Bloom’s all gone, and-” Her words were choked off by a sob, and she leaned into Sketch’s shoulder.

“It’s okay Scoots, let it all out, and I’m sorry about Applebloom.”

“S’not your fault. ‘S CD’s fault. If he hadn’t been there...”

“Well she died in a heroic way, saving someone.”

“She shouldn’t have died at all... CD should’ve died.” Scootaloo sniffled, her voice growing tired as she lay against Sketch’s side.

“Blaming others won’t bring her back Scootaloo, all we can do now is remember her as the pony she was, she was a good friend of yours and a sweet girl.”

“She should’ve made it...” Scootaloo said muzzly, a tired yawn getting loose. It had been nearly two hours of constant fighting and running since they’d last caught a half hour of sleep. As she curled up in his embrace, Sketch found himself growing tired as well.

“A lot of people should have, but for now how about we just rest.” The yawn was contagious, and he felt exhausted. Nuzzling Scoots as he curled around her, felt himself drift into an almost oddly peaceful slumber, his eyes practically dragging themselves down.

Author's Notes:

And now we have one of my friends, goes by Soulwatch around here, as Allen! I hope you enjoy your Necromorph Soup well-done.

Please remember to vote for your favorite and least favorite characters of the chapter. Every vote counts!