Allen, Rick, and the three ponies carried Johan down the corridor. CD and Scootaloo had been located just fine, before Johan had collapsed from the poisoned wound in his shoulder. The deep rent in the suit wasn’t sealing properly, due to the sheer size of it. Johan’s labored breathing rasped through the air, his helmet retracted and a thick sheen of sweat across his features.

CD could see thick globules and streaks of red taking over the blue of his healthy body. That alone made him more terrified than the monsters they had practically mown over to get as far as they had. They were only a few hundred meters from the tram station, and they’d be able to set Johan down and help him as best as they could.

But as it was, well... it didn’t take a medical professional to read the two red bars left blinking slowly on his RIG.

They charged down the corridor, Sketch and CD firing into the hordes of dead flesh and rotting faces on every side. They didn’t have the ammo to keep that rate of fire, but they tried anyways, burning through ammo as quickly as possible in order to keep the beasts at bay.

Allen and Rick, carrying the makeshift stretcher, weren’t able to fire back, but they moved as quickly as they could. Sweetie and Scootaloo, each riding on the backs of one of the adult ponies, were acting similar to turrets, turning and firing at the oncoming hordes. They, as well, lacked the ammunition to fire as much as they were, but, again, there wasn’t much choice. Their only chance was to get him to an AutoStore, and hope he had enough in his account to pay for the expensive amounts of medigel they’d need to at least get him walking again. Stable would be better, but nobody in the group was going to hope for anything that miraculous.

“Please... d- don’t go to... to sleep, dad... don’t want...” Johan muttered in his sleep and shifted, face contorted with pain. Everyone in the group took it a little differently.

“You do realize, we’re probably going to have to off ‘im, right?” Allen called over his shoulder, pausing in his marching only to avoid a slashing arm striking at him from an angle.

“No, w- we can save him, right?” Sketch asked.

“If we can’t, there’s a possibility he won’t be totally dead, so we better hope that we can. Hope like never before.” CD said quickly.

Sweetie Belle, sitting on his back, pointedly said nothing, merely fired into the oncoming horde. Scoots had more vocal opinion to express. “I wish ‘Bloom was here. She’d know what to do, right?” the orange filly shot a look back towards Sweetie, who didn’t answer.

“Okay, I really don’t need a guilt trip right now.” CD said. “Even if you don’t blame me for that, I do...”

“How about we figure out who’s to blame for what and everythin’ else after we're all safe!” Allen shouted back.

Allen was met with near silence, as the creatures screeched and roared. Johan mumbled and shifted again in the stretcher. The tall pyro at the head of the group, barely three meters from last doorway they needed to get through, hit a slick patch of the necromorph’s gooey creep. As his feet went out from under him, the entire group more or less coming to a halt as the stretcher tipped. Johan, barely conscious, continued to mumble, his words growing both less coherent and more loud as he slipped further from reality.

“Shit, pick him up!” Scootaloo shouted, also tumbling from Sketch’s back as he, too, hit the slick patch.

“I’m working on it, now shut it and run, bitch!” Allen shouted, as he jumped back up and got Johan back on the stretcher and starting to march, double time, as he picked up the stretcher. Rick, grabbing the other side again, paused only to help Sketch back up. The four ponies continued to charge onwards, following the humans ‘half’ of the group.

The time they’d been stopped, though, gave time for a new creature to crawl down the wall. The thing looked like a torso with a long, whip-like tail. The creature’s face, broken and distended into a set of large, mandible-like jaws. It looked like it had once been a pony, but the blank, dead eyes stared soullessly from the creature’s perch on the door. It gave a gurgling roar, and leapt.

It flew through the air like a missile, and slammed, bodily, into CD. The creature’s weight was far more than something of its size, knocking him to his side and throwing Sweetie from his back with a cry. CD, now on his side and with the creature gnashing its teeth in his face. He tried to punch and buck at the creature, but to no avail, leading to it sinking its jaws into his shoulder and neck. As he swung furiously at the creature, he could feel several of its teeth break off against his collarbone, the sharp enamel grating against flesh and bone as he threw it from him.

CD, rolling to his hooves, brought one armored appendage down on the thing’s head, mashing it apart as it squealed and retreated. Sweetie threw an arm under his, and helped him to his back hooves, performing a flawless assisted carry, in spite of their difference in height.

The two of them, moving as fast as they could, shuffled in through the door, right as a bright, fluorescent light poured into their eyes

“Drop your weapons and step forward at once! This is the United Earths Marines and Space Forces. I repeat, drop your weapons and step forward at once!” The voice was both authoritative and feminine. It was, quite simply, an amazing voice, and one both Scootaloo and Allen knew rather well.

“I... cannot... believe this,” Allen said in awe Scootaloo nodded, saying breathily, “I know, right?”

“I’m not getting shot at again by security! Show some I.D.!” Sketch demanded

Scootaloo looked over at him, her faceplate flipping open to reveal a look of shock and horror as she looked at Sketch. “Dude, that’s Night Star!”

Sketch just stands there for a second, “Who the hell is that?! Is he-slash-she going to shoot at me? I don’t like sniper fire in my direction!”

Scootaloo had already dropped her cutter, and was motioning and gesturing wildly. “She’s the leader of the ShadowBolts!”

“I don’t know who or what they are, and I don’t want them shooting me, I need some I.D.!” Sketch retorted.

“Drop the weapons, or we’ll fire!”

Allen threw his weapons to the floor and held up his arms. “There they are. If you want the others, I’d get busted for Indecent Exposure; they’re attached.” And even though his plate was still in place, he gave as seductive a wink as he could manage anyways.

“I don’t know how to detach my weapons... shit...” Sketch said to Scootaloo, “A little help?”

The filly fiddled his weapons.

“I said to drop the weapons, this is your last warning!”

“We’re trying!”

Rick eventually placed his cutter and rivet gun on the ground at his feet, CD doing the same as he leaned against the wall.

Sweetie strode out into the main light, painted red and black from blood and gore. Her voice rang out clearly, the filter no longer seeming so silly as it projected more easily than her squeaky voice did. “We have wounded. Override code seven-eight-niner-niner-beta-niner-omega-five.” She turned to regard the light. “I have full security dispense for my retinue.”

The light flicked off, no longer shining too bright into their eyes. A large gunship, hovering outside the large window of the tram station, was flanked by a dozen pegasi-like forms, each in shining black and violet armor with a blue-and-violet insignia on their flanks in place of the cutie-marks below. The gunship had the same insignia across the front, a pair of bat-wings flanking a burst of stars with a sideways crescent in the center.

The mare at the front, standing inside the tram station, stepped forward, movements graceful as a hunting cat’s, and giving the same air of deadly capability. Her helmet was retracted fully, showing a pale, snow-white face and a shining blue mane, barely longer than her ears, and the twin Heavy Rifles sitting at her sides.

“Miss Belle, I didn’t realize this was your... retinue.” Mare looked left and right, at the assorted people. “Alright, then, get the injured into the gunship. Get Miss Belle into the holding cell, she’s too valuable to leave elsewhere. Miss Belle, choose two of your... retinue to bring with you. The rest will be in the main hold.”

Sweetie Belle looked back and forth at the members of the group. “Scootaloo and... the Engineer class four.” She said the last title pointing at CD.

The mare in charge nodded, looking suspiciously at CD when Sweetie didn’t use his name. CD, meanwhile, wasn’t going to question it as he assumed Sweetie had some reason for it, and he was glad for the free ticket out.

Allen looked around. “Hey, uh, can you fix my funds, while you’re in there? Just, uh, to fix it up?”

Sweetie looked back at him, as the ShadowBolts moved to surround them. “The case has not been resolved. However, it will be reviewed ASAP.”

Allen sighed. “Well, uh, can I get these two tickets for your show today refunded?” Allen asked of the two Shadowbolts flanking him.

Meanwhile, Scootaloo gave a hug to Sketch. “No hooking up with some beautiful sports star while I’m gone, unless we’re sharing, alright?”

“Don’t worry, after all, sharing is caring.”

Scootaloo donked her helmet to his affectionately. “Absolutely.”

Across the way, Rick was picking his two weapons up, thankful he hadn’t been asked to relinquish his trivolver. The two ShadowBolts stepping up towards him nodded politely. “Sir, you’re listed as the senior researcher for the SPS project. Please come with us, we have separate quarters available for you.” In the suits, they seemed perfectly identical, the specialized helms and plating coating them like an armored second skin.

Rick looked back and forth between them. “Hold on, me?”

The pony looked at a holographic list hovering over his vision. “Yes, Rick Fuoco, right?”

“Yes, but...” He stopped, seemingly thinking.

“Head developers Lyra Heartstrings and Onyx Synergy are either currently KIA or not connected to their RIGs. As such, it seems that control, and therefore leadership, of the project has passed to you.” The pony said. “I’m sorry, if that helps.”

Rick didn’t respond at first, but shook his head. “I... I just...”

“We’ve all lost friends today.” The pony in armor said. “C’mon, there’s food in the ship. You should get moving before the next wave shows up, they’ve been getting more and more aggressive. There’ll be clothes for you to change into as well. No offense, but that suit is fucked up.”

Rick glanced at his suit once again, noticing the crimped metal strips and the shredded outer sections of the suit. Sure it would’ve been spaceworthy, barely, but it was actually rather surprising that none of the pukers had managed to corrode their way through all the thin patches.

“Yeah... Do you happen to have a AutoStore inside as well?”

“No, but there’s one back at base. You can use that once we’ve arrived.”

Rick nodded. “Alright, lead the way.”

Inside the ship, red and gold carpeting and trim met the eyes of the three ponies stepping into it, Those being Scootaloo, CD, and Sweetie first. The two ShadowBolts guiding them, one being Night Star and the other still being in their armor.

“Miss Belle, please make yourself at home. These quarters are yours until we arrive at the base.” Night Star said, nodding politely to the smaller pony. As Sweetie nodded back, Night Star simply turned and left, affording no more courtesy to her young charge.

As the door slid shut, Scootaloo practically buzzed in her armor from the excitement.

CD, rather less enthusiastically, looked at the door. “She seemed a little... rude. And I very much did not expect carpeting. Where are we again?”

Sweetie Belle’s helmet retracted, revealing the filly’s face, her fur now matted with sweat. “We’re in the captain’s quarters. I don’t think Commander Star appreciates me pre-empting her gunship and her command.”

Scootaloo looked over at her. “Oh, come on! That was Commander Night Star! She’s been in over twenty different anti-piracy or anti-bandit actions, taking out the foul scum from between the stars!” Scootaloo said the words with a voice holding far more hero worship than such a tiny body should be able to hold. It also sounded like she was reciting from recruiting poster or something.

“Excuse me for being the universe’s biggest killjoy ever, but; Who?” CD asked the question with a flinch and a raised hoof, entirely sure he was going to be hit.

Scootaloo gave a frustrated groan, stomping her hoof and preparing to explain in detail, when Sweetie put a hoof in Scoots mouth, stopping her from talking.

“Commander Night Star has an exemplary service record, and is the leader of the ShadowBolts Special Combat and Tactical Reconnaissance Space Flight Squadron. She has been in the military for close to eighteen years, since she joined at the early age of fifteen. As the youngest Commander of the ShadowBolts to achieve that rank, she’s considered very much ‘new blood’ in the commonly heritage-based United Earths government’s military. As well, she was voted the ‘Sexiest Female in the Galaxy’ for four years running by both PlayColt Magazine and Armed Forces Monthly.” To CD’s surprise, she said it all in her normal, adorable, squeaky voice.

Scoots looked over at Sweetie, apparently unhappy that her friend had stolen her thunder. “Yeah, what she said.”

“Okay then, so what’s going on now? First off, why is this place carpeted? Isn’t that supposed to be for people who can burn money for fun?”

“Money burning is illegal. Also, the Shadowbolts are able to fund their own supplies as needed.” Sweetie cleared her throat and coughed, each of the coughs sounding like little squeaks. “They are given special dispensation to pick and choose armaments at will, as they are a specialist squadron. And, likely, their additional income as stunt fliers in times of peace allow them to purchase military-grade equipment with civilian design for comforts.” She finished simply, rummaging in her inventory. At last, she found what she was looking for; she brought the bottle of water to her lips and drank deeply, the mechanical fingers of her suit maintaining a firm grasp on the plastic container.

“Why is it that performers get paid insane amounts, while important jobs like teaching are usually somewhat above average pay?”

“Preference for attendance.” Scoots answered, opening what appeared to be a mini-fridge and looking through it. “Performers get paid more because people want to be there more.”

“Well, yeah, but... nevermind, I can’t complain as I’d probably have something like this if I had more money than the requirements for living.” CD said. “Seriously, this is like a magazine compared to what I used to have.”

Scootaloo shrugged, retreating from the mini-fridge with a bottle full of a clear fluid, a black-and-gold label on it. “Doesn’t matter much. Huh, Everclear. Gimme a sec, I need to find something actually drinkable.” She set the bottle aside and went back to looking through the cooler.

“As long as you don’t get drunk. Being inebriated in case of emergency involving space-zombies would be a bad career choice.” CD warned, half joking “Though we could use you as bait, not like you’d care at that point.”

Scootaloo, half in the fridge and half out, called out, “Oh please, I’m not a moron. Pegasi have fast metabolisms, and get a hangover before they get drunk.”

Sweetie shook her head. “That’s not entirely ac-u-rate. But mostly, yeah, that’s right.”

“Had something in your throat, or do you come with multiple audio settings?” CD asked jokingly, as Sweetie had suddenly switched from robot voice to an actual filly with high voice. “So is squeaky-toy another feature, or default?”

“I’m not a squeaky toy!” Sweetie squeaked. She covered her mouth as her voice cracked yet again. “Ahem... well, uh, I don’t really know how much I can actually say...”

“So you’re almost a toy? That’s adorable.” CD mussed Sweetie’s hair with his hoof. “Do you giggle too?”

Scootaloo, pulling out another bottle, this one unlabeled and full of a dark brown liquid, laughed at this.

“I’m not a toy! I’m a little filly, alright?” Sweetie said, looking highly indignant. It was almost unbearably cute.

“Hard to take you seriously when you’re pouting and all it does is make you look cuter.”

Scootaloo snickered as Sweetie tried her best not to pout, Sweetie’s expression wavering between adorably distressed and cutely angry.

“I may not be too up for being a dad, but I think I’d make a great crazy uncle.”

“Or cool older brother.” Scootaloo said. “Anyways,” she pulled the top off the bottle, “This smells like soda. Want some?”

“As far as I know, it’s been a year since I had soda. If that’s rootbeer, then hell yes.”

Scootaloo took another whiff. “Smells like rootbeer.” She took a swig, then smiled slyly. “Tastes like it, too. I should drink the rest, though, just to make sure.”

“You may also need a second opinion. For science’s sake.” CD grinned. “Man, is this still the same world where we get chased by giant dead things? This isn’t so bad, but how long d’you think before this is all over and it’s back to hell?”

The three ponies sat and thought as they drank the soda. Scootaloo got ready to say something, but stopped.

Sweetie thought hard, her face scrunched with concentration.

“Twenty minutes?” She suggested.

“Better than nothing I guess. Take what you can and all that. I don’t know how much Sci-Fi Horror I’ll be able to disbelieve after this.”

The two fillies chuckled, but neither really seemed like it was heartfelt.

Allen and Sketch had been relocated to the tiny dining room. It was fairly cramped, but the nice furnishings had continued into the room. There was a small booth with a table bolted to the floor. An armed guard, Nightwing, stood in the doorway, gun pointed to the ceiling.

“So... How ‘bout them necromorphs?” Sketch asked, never really ever having talked to Allen alone.

“Meh, fought tougher in high school.... before i got kicked out,” Allen said shrugging.

“I was just the quiet one, no one really bothered me.”

“I just kicked everyone’s ass who reminded me of my father.”

“So, any idea why there’s a guard with us?” Sketch asked quietly. The guard continued to stand stoically.

“Well I do have a flamethrower attached to my suit and we are in a military vessel... so that means there should be a store around here right?” Allen said as he turned to the guard, “Hey, do you know if there is a store around here?”

The guard stood stolidly, not budging in the slightest. The guard’s armored wing plates glowed a rhythmic, pulsing violet glow. No expression was visible through its helmet, the solid black plate reflective and emotionless.

“Well that helpful... Wanna go try and find it?” Sketch asked.

“Please remain in the cabin until we have landed and are ready for you to disembark.” The guard intoned, sounding an awful lot like Sweetie Belle.

“Oh so it can talk.... so can I take a shit, guard duty? Who you piss off to get this detail?” Allen asked sarcastically.

“Well can I at least leave? I’m not a walking fire hazard.”

“Oh, shut it,” Allen said as he glanced towards Sketch.

“There is a head on that wall.” The guard gestured towards the one other door. “Take no more than ten minutes.”

“Thank you mom,” Allen said as he headed towards the bathroom.

“So is there a store here or not? I need to restock.”

“There is no Autostore aboard. You may restock at the base.”

A clatter from the ‘head’ was accompanied by a yelp. A series of whirs and thumps echoed out from the small room.

A moment later, the door opened again, and Allen stumbled out. “By the marker’s good wishes, why would you have a bathroom like that?!” The expression on his face, while immensely pained, was thankfully hidden by his suit.

“What, was it disgusting or did the toilet seat give you herpes?”

“The toilet seat gave me head after I fucked the tp. You want to know go figure it out yourself,” Allen growled in a dead-serious voice.

“So, you... fucked... a toilet.”

“More accurately it held me down and had its way with me” Allen said.

“Did you squeal like a piggy?”

Even the guard face-hoofed, or the equivalent.

“I’ll cook you like a pork chop if you ever call me that again.... actually better that than what my boss called me.”

“Eh, don’t waste your time, ponies taste terrible.”

“I have found the females to taste quite delicious.”

“Touche.”

Meanwhile, in the Ops Center, Rick was looking over the casualty list for the project. He sighed wearily at all the names he recognized there.

Taking a minute of silence, he wiped away tears before they could form.

“So, as you can see, you’re now in charge of the project, as it is. I’m sorry, we can’t even find either of the ones who went missing.”

“If they went missing that is.”

The soldier shrugged and set the datapad with the names on it down, flapping gently to maintain his position. “Well, they didn’t die. And Lyra sent a message with something about a possible cure. She said she was going to the medical sector over on Osiris. I, personally, hope that she’s alright.” He looked away, sadly.

“Did you know her?”

“Yes.” His response was sharp, and he didn’t seem too keen to elaborate. After a moment, his expression softened. “Sorry, we met as kids, and we’ve stayed in touch. It was alway nice to hear from her.”

“I’ve known her for only about.” He paused to think. “Two years, ever since the project started up.”

“Ah. well... Still, I hope she’s alright, y’know? Anyways, did you have any questions? We’ll be arriving at the base in about fifteen minutes.”

Rick hummed in thought. “Well I was thinking about asking for some civilian clothing until I could find a AutoStore, but I guess I could deal with it until we get there.”

“Sorry, all we have onboard are-”

“Official ShadowBolts uniforms. Lieutenant Commander, why is there a civilian in my opscenter?” Commander Star had returned to the bridge, and was glaring at her underling.

The lieutenant, looking abashed, saluted. “Sorry, ma’am, I was given prior instruction to assist any surviving members of SPS project should they arrive at the checkpoint. Ma’am.”

“Indeed. Carry on, then. You there, what’s your name?”

“Rick Fuoco, class three engineer.”

The Commander nodded politely. “Well, then, welcome to my opscenter, Mr Fuoco. We’ll be arriving momentarily. Please stay out of the way, until then. You may not be in my chain of command, but I would ask that you act like it until we land, please.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Several minutes later, everyone aboard received the docking notice. With a mild thump and the sensation of deceleration, they felt the ship come to a halt.

Sweetie, Scoots, and CD all stepped from the captain’s cabin, each sharing a slight smile.

Sketch and Allen both left the dining room, arguing slightly about which of the ShadowBolts had the nicest looks, specifically in the flank region. Allen was vociferously arguing that Night Star had the best rear, period, while Sketch was adamant that Nebula Chaser’s flank was not only the best, but the biggest.

Rick, leaving with a friendly pat on the back from the Lieutenant Commander, stepped off the gunship’s docking ramp and looked about.

CD was nearly knocked flat moments later, however, as a pearlescent blur flew past him, latching onto Sweetie Belle and making her squeal. “Oh, my darling Sweetie! Oh, you’re alright!” Now that the blur had settled in, it resolved into the form of a white unicorn with a royal purple mane, wearing a white, fashionable lab coat and cream pants. The younger unicorn hugged her back, and nuzzled her back.

CD stood up, shaken briefly. “I’ll go out on a limb and assume you’re related? Or you like knocking random ponies over and hugging other random ponies.” He shook his head to clear it.

The mare smiled and brushed her mane out of the way with her right hoof. “Oh, deepest apologies, sir. I meant you no harm. I was just so worried for my sister, here. It’s been far too long since I saw her.” CD noticed, as she spoke, that something was off about her right foreleg. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about what he was seeing wasn’t settling right with him as he looked.

“Don’t worry, little marshmallow is safe and sound.” Sketch said, using Sweetie’s old nickname. Allen quickly slapped him on the back of the head for that.

“Uh, marshmallow? I’m not sure I- oh, because she’s got a white coat. I suppose it’s you I have to thank for returning my dearest sister to me?” She said sweetly.

CD responded quickly. “Actually, she’s saved us a few times, honestly. Although we all helped, she’s a lot more useful than she looks.”

The mare’s expression turned a tad darker as she looked to regard CD. “Are you trying to imply my sister looks useless?” The tone she used could’ve frozen helium, it was so cold.

CD stuttered, trying to find the right words. “Uh... actually I meant, er, given her age-”

The mare immediately thawed. “Oh! That’s what you meant, of course. S- sorry. Sweetie, are you alright?”

The filly nodded, then gave the older pony another hug. “I’m fine, but... ‘Bloom is- that is... she, uhm,” Sweetie stopped, and gulped. The older pony patted her on the back. “Speak how I taught you.”

“There was an allied force casualty several hours ago. Adjutant Applebloom is listed as deceased.” Sweetie spoke quietly, her voice inflectionless.

The pearl-white unicorn nodded somberly, and patted her sister on the back. “I’m sorry, Rarity, I couldn’t move fast enough...”

“It’s alright, it’s okay...”

CD and Sketch watched awkwardly as the two engaged in a fairly intimate and sad moment.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the docking area, Allen had managed to close in on Commander Star, and was going for the metaphorical kill. Getting closer, he prepared his weapons; a small pad of paper and a pen.

“Hey, uh, excuse me, Night Star?”

The mare turned around, her helmet still doffed. “That’s Commander Night Star. What do you need?”

“I’m sorry ma’am. I realize that this isn’t the best time but would I be able to get an autograph?”

The mare smiled thinly, her expression as warming as the grim reaper’s skull. “Yes, you are correct, this is not the best time. I am both stressed, and tired.” She held the terrifying look of utter impassiveness for several seconds before sighing and grinding a hoof to her temple.

“Gah, I apologize. As I said, I’m stressed and tired, and should’ve thought a little more before I spoke.” She sighed and took the pad and pen, holding the first with her wing and the second in her mouth. Signing rapidly, she handed the pad and pen back. “Again, sorry. Anyways, I need to go report in at command. I’m just glad I have a personal suite; I’ll get to rest peacefully for the first time in almost twenty hours.” She shook her head.

“Yeah, for the last fourteen hours I’ve been either running for my life outside or escorting some important lady’s little precious. I probably won’t get to relax for the Marker knows how long ‘cause until the security guy’s back on his feet, I’m probably the most heavily armed,” Allen said as he sighed heavily. “By the way, since I’ll probably never have the chance to say this ever again, you’re beautiful.”

“My my, so eloquent, and such a hero, too. Would you like to help me take care of the ‘stressed’ half of my problem, after my report?”

“Ok, I hope to see you again to... wait what?!”

“Wait! Wait! Stop, Allen, I’ve got something to tell you!” Sketch was running over, hollering at the top of his lungs. He stopped, huffing and panting, holding up a hoof to indicate he needed a breath. Allen, worried, looked around and asked, “Dude, what’s wrong? Is someone dying?”

Sketch wheezed a little more, then sucked in a huge breath. “I can help you de-stress. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!”

Night Star looked at him incredulously. “H- how did you hear me? You were nearly fifty meters away, and I was being quiet!”

“Pfft, I’m like supermare, I know when I’m needed.” Sketch said before walking back as the dust cloud he made running over there began to settle.

Night Star just watch with the grandest level of confusion possible, and Allen just looked over at her. “And that’s one of the two I can stand the easiest.”

And as all that was happening, Rick was checking his RIG for the location of the nearest AutoStore. Limping off towards it, he made good time, wincing as the crimped metal strips dug into his sides.

Stepping up to the E-Gov AutoStore, with its special-edition digital camo paintjob (which was absolutely superfluous, all things considered) he set it to check his suit’s damage. after stepping in for a few seconds, he frowned at all the damage reports. It’d take several hours to completely repair all the damage to the numerous matrices and technical components. He was lucky, really, to even have the data link still work properly enough to not lose all the stored data that represented his items and equipment.

“Alright... So what did I leave in storage...” He mumbled to himself. He looked at the only other suit he had available, one he hadn’t worn in literally years, only moderately updated. “Huh, never thought I’d wear this ever again.”

He quietly tapped the symbol, and the AutoStore began to move, stripping off the damaged armor and sending it off to be fixed, while preparing the other suit for application. As the armor plates and flexible cloth were applied, Rick sighing as the familiar sensation of the suit fell into place.

As the process completed, he waited for the helmet to dispense, it not being one that unfolded. Settling it onto his head, he stepped from the AutoStore. Looking around with his freshly mint-green tinted vision.

Shaking his head one more time, he began to walk towards the group once more.

Sweetie and her sister, who introduced herself as ‘Mademoiselle Rarity Belle’ to CD and Sketch (panting and wheezing after trotting back) had invited the three others to join them for dinner. According to Rarity, it was pretty secure at the base.

Before they left, another person, this one human, walked forward. The man wore a suit of armor with uncolored, rough metal segments forming the same general shape of a Security Suit. On the shoulder was a sigil, a green circle with some squiggly lines on on it. Around it were the words ‘Sera Security Task Force’, also in green.

He was carrying a heavy cutter, much like Rick had. Then, the human pulled the helmet off, revealing it was, in fact, Rick. “Ah, hello there. You were with this group?” Rarity asked.

“For quite some time, yes. Might I ask for your name?”

“Mademoiselle Rarity Belle, at your service. And yours, sir?”

“Rick Fuoco, a pleasure to meet you.”

Rarity tittered happily. “Why thank you, the pleasure is mine.” Rarity seemed quite happy with the response.

“So where have you been? I thought it was messed up everywhere.” CD questioned the mare. “What could have stopped those dead things from getting to you and anypony with you?”

“Well, superior firepower and general preparedness. This base is designed; partially by me, I’ll add, to be as self-sustaining as possible.” Rarity explained with pride, “As well, it’s made to be difficult to attack or infiltrate, in case of emergency.”

“Why do I keep meeting people who are, or know people who are, at least fairly impressive with what they do, and our group is a bunch of, let’s face it, morons who can hardly survive?”

Rarity looked at him oddly. “Morons? I’m sure you exaggerate, as no ‘morons’ would be able to survive out there in such a small group.”

“He’s the negative one of the group, if he insults the group or anyone else just ignore it, or slap some sense into him. I think he’d allow pretty mares to get away with that.”

Rarity smiled and huffed a laugh. “Well, either way it goes, we should get you fed. My treat, for the heroes who saved my darling sister.” The white pony beamed.

“Thanks for dinner, but may I also ask that someone helps me with my bandages? I think they need to be changed.”

“Ah, right, your eye.” Rarity said, nodding.

“How’d you know about that?”

Rarity stopped for a moment, a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face for just a brief instant before she regained her composure. “Oh, Sweetie told me.” She explained, “So, what would you all like for dinner? I’m afraid I’m not the best cook, but I can at least try for something good.”

“Soup, if you got it.” Sketch said.

Scootaloo piped up, shouting cheerfully, “Pasta! I love your spaghetti and wheatballs, it’s great!”

“I change my order to spaghetti.” Sketch adds.

Rick only shrugged. “Anything is perfectly fine.”

“I’ll have the wheatballs on the side, so you can join in. Does anybody want garlic bread as well?” Rarity asked.

“Yes, I’ll have anything, I need a proper meal, I literally can’t remember the last time I had one.” CD said. “Man, I’m hungry.”

“I will take extra garlic bread.”

Everyone’s orders in place, they began walking towards Rarity’s suite. The group was fairly quiet as they walked or trotted along.

Sketch walked close to Rarity and quietly asked, “Sweetie didn’t tell you did she?”

Rarity looked over at him. “Actually, she did.”

“Then why the panicked look back there?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” Sketch changed his pace to where he was walking next to Scoots. The orange filly Smiled up at him and leaned her head over, laying one of her burgeoning wings across him back.

Allen felt himself hit the bed, a grinning Commander Night Star standing above him, peeling off her flight uniform. With her teeth. Including the legs.

“Hot damn. If I’m dreaming please for the love of god don’t wake me up,” Allen said quietly. He yelped softly as he felt her begin to remove his under-suit with her teeth. He’d heard that ponies had flexible, often very talented tongues, but her managing to undo his belt and zipper with her tongue alone made him feel strangely... okay, not-so-strangely elated.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of time to go anyplace you want... and every place I want.” Night Star whispered, nipping him lightly with her sharp, shark-like teeth.

“I can hardly wait to see,” Allen said softly as he began to softly rub where her wings met her body. The soft, velvety fuzz along her bat-like wings was gloriously soft, and the motion drew a delighted gasp from the mare.

The nightwing mare nuzzled his neck, just barely grazing it with her teeth, before beginning to draw a line of soft, rough kisses down his body, heading straight for his-

“Commander Star! You’re needed in General Four-Star’s office, immediately!” the announcement came from a soldier standing resolutely at Night Star’s door, studiously avoiding staring at the human entangled beneath the colt’s commander across the kitchen floor.

Allen, upon hearing this, felt his eye twitch, violently. Commander Star sighed, and rubbed her face. “Luna damn it all... Fine, I’ll be there, on the double. You, help me get dressed, ASAP. We’ll try again later if we have time.”

Allen felt his eye twitch again, more violently than before. Taking a deep, calming breath, he held back every instinct he had, which were all telling him to just tackle her and take her then and there. Sighing, he helped her into her flightsuit, and left the apartment, as according to regulations. After she and the junior officer had left, grunted, once, in frustration.

Then, with a yell of utter fury, he punched a hole clean through one of the walls, only pausing because he had to patch it before it vented the hallway.

“...And when the patient woke up, his skeleton was missing, and the doctor was never seen again!” Rarity said, and the group laughed. “Anyways, that’s how my friend Heinrich lost his medical license.” The white mare giggled softly and wiped a tear from her eye. “Anyways, how’s the spaghetti?” The group was out of their suits, and now in civilian wear.

“It’s food, that’s good enough for me. But it is delicious.” CD said before going back to eating, trying hard not to literally stuff his face.

Sketch, his bandages freshly changed by Rarity (of all ponies) had been trying to get around the depth perception and messy foods issue, mostly thanks to Scootaloo’s attempts at being romantic. They were mostly, however, adorable.

“Thanks Scoots.” Sketch said, thankfully not making a mess of dinner.

“No problem.” She snuggled up close to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he ate some garlic bread.

Rarity, being not blind and not oblivious, picked up on the two rather quickly. “So, are you two going steady?” Her tone was light, and conversational, as Scootaloo choked on a piece of wheatball.

“Well, if not, her couples act would be quite deceiving.”

Scootaloo made neck-slicing motions to Sketch.

“So, when’s the marriage going to be?” Rarity asked, politely. “Would you like me to help design your gown and suit? I’m quite the dressmaker in my spare time.”

“I don’t know, but as of the moment I still don’t know... After all, how did you know about my eye again? Sweetie told you, right?”

“You’re going steady but haven’t thought of marriage yet? It’s a very important thing, you know. Especially if you’re planning on hav-”

“What I haven’t been able to think of is how you know about me, and why you panicked when I asked how you knew it. Hiding something, or were you watching us?”

“I told you Sweetie gave me the information. Now, back to the important inf-”

“Then why the scared look back there? You froze in place.” Sketch said as he stared at her. “I don’t appreciate it when people lie to me Ms. Belle.”

“She didn’t lie.” Sweetie said, looking down the table to glare at Sketch. “I did give her the information.”

“When, and why was my injury any of her concern? Do you go around announcing people’s medical problems?”

Sweetie was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t announce it. It was part of my after-action report. All allied force casualties and fatalities need to be reported at the end of any engagement. Okay?”

“Okay then, next time just say so, you make it seem so much worse by avoiding the topic. Also Scootaloo and I aren’t getting married, we’ve been together since the infection started, so cool your jets Rarity.”

“I never lied once. And besides, if you haven’t started thinking of marriage, then you’re not go-” Rarity was cut off by an irate Sketch.

“I’m not good enough for her, or something along those negative connotations? Why would I think about marrying her when I’ve only known her, let alone dated-”

“As I was saying, Mr. Mannerless, you’re not goi-” Rarity was cut off once more, this time by CD.

“Can we just eat? I’d like to take this as a time of reprieve from all the crap we’ve been running from for hours with little to-”

“Would you stop interrupting me?!” Rarity slammed a hoof onto the table with enough force to rattle the dishes, her face a mask of fury. “I was going to say that if you aren’t thinking of marriage, you’re not ‘going steady’, merely dating. If, in the future, you feel the need to presume my words before I can finish them, please make sure you have a fine enough guage of my character to finish them accurately.” Rarity paused for a moment, before putting an oddly large amount of venom into her next word; “Jerk.”

Sketch, however, ignored her after she stated what she meant by ‘going steady’ and didn’t even hear her insult.

Rick, looking around the table, cleared his throat. “So, uh, is there any more garlic bread?”

Rarity passed it to him without a word.

“Uhm, is there anything to drink?”

The pony’s silence was tougher than any wall of stone or steel.

“Guess not...”

Allen, now stuck in one of the main access corridors, was stuck pacing back and forth near Star’s cabin. He’d thankfully been able to acquire a lone cigarette from the numerous humans and ponies working in the constant, high-tension atmosphere who had one but couldn’t use it wherever they were going to be next.

Allen took a deep drag off his cig and blew the smoke out. “God fucking damn it! Every time!”

One of the pony soldiers walking nearby heard him. “Oh come on, it’s probably not that bad. I mean, it’s not like you got cock-blocked trying to get with one of the ess-bolts, right? Hah, that’d be ridiculous. Ridiculously awesome. ‘Cept the cock-blocked part.” The soldier laughed and walked away.

“That’s actually exactly what happened, dick,” Allen said as he took another deep drag. The soldier, however, had already marched away. “I hope everyone else is having a better time. I should find a store again and restock.”

Standing up with a sigh, he ground turned off the cigarette. His hand, still in a lot of pain after he’d punched through the wall into the partially-pressurized room. Stashing the electric cigarette away, he stood up, checking the civilian RIG’s guidance systems to help him find the nearest AutoStore.

Wandering through the crowds of busy-seeming governmental employees, Allen finally found the gloriously camo-clad AutoStore. Last time, when he’d been getting his suit removed while Night Star did the same, he’d done a diagnostic, and found fourteen minor punctures in the tanks.

“God damn it now I’m going to have to look like a yellow-bee... bumble-jacket... honey-wasp? Whateverthefucks. There. A stripey, yellow-and-black whateverthefuck.”

Sighing, he remembered the time it had given him for it to get repaired: around twelve hours. Mostly, this was due to the ‘not-quite-standard’ nature of the suit, but also because of the volatility of the tanks to be repaired.

“Altman’s beard... I forgot how long repairs take.”

Stepping into the booth, he sat back and let the machines work, stripping off his threadbare civilian clothes and slipping his undersuit on afterwards. The unsatisfied bulge at the waistline was quickly covered by the layers of ballistics cloth and alloys charged with minor enchantments to make them more resilient. The metal strips quickly covered him at key points, providing protection in the event of a crushing blow or sliding piece of free-floating debris.

Allen, stepping out of the booth, shrugged his shoulders to get it just right, picking at the metal like a scab, just to make sure it was securely attached. At last, the black and gold suit was fully on and comfortable, even the gold-colored finger braces on the left hand.

The first thing he did was refill on his stored ammunition, and reload his guns. In the midst of this, he had an epiphany, and not a pleasant one, at that.

He’d forgotten to give Night Star his RIG number, or get hers.

“Marker damnit, I’ve always hated wearing this-”

“Allen? What’re you doing here, son?”

“Aw... fuck.”

Author's Notes:

DUHN DUHN DUHN!

Don't you feel so bad for Allen? Sure, everyone else is getting maimed or having their friends die in their arms or finding the love of their life is a mental problem, but Allen... Holy Shit that was the worst time for that messenger to show up.

Anyways, please vote a character up and a character down in order to help them survive just a little better and a little longer.

Remember, it's you non-voters who killed Broker and Applebloom. Just remember that.