TCB: A Kinder World

11 - Inception

The SUV hummed along merrily through the streets of Washington DC, weaving through the mid-afternoon traffic that would never, ever clear up. On account of everyone being dead... or worse.

Inside the SUV, two humans sat, ever alert; a man in slacks and a T-shirt driving the vehicle, and a young woman in motorbike leathers, sitting in the passenger seat with a shotgun resting on her lap. The silence was broken only by the crackle of the radio as it picked up fragments of transmissions.

*tzzk* “...It got...” *bzzt* “...what do we do...”

“So, Shirley,” the man said. “Uh... I know it’s a bit late, but... how was school?”

Shirley rolled her eyes. “Dad. School was fine, I passed everything with like, a B-plus average. Made track team.”

Richard snorted. “No cheerleading?”

“Ha!” Shirley laughed, sarcastically. “No.”

“Thank god,” Richard said. “I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if my daughter went into cheerleading. What else did I miss?”

“Aside from years of hopping from state to state?” Shirley asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not a lot.”

“No schoolyard romances?” Richard waggled eyebrows, grinning. Shirley found herself blushing, and laughed.

“No, sheesh. Never stayed in one place long enough to form anything real.” Shirley sat back. “Got a motorbike when I graduated, though - best thing I ever did. First real taste of freedom. Shotgun came pretty quick after that, when I found a need for self-defense. Then I fell in with the air force, and the rest you know.”

“You never got on with Mary?” Richard asked, and Shirley shook her head.

“I got on just fine with Mom, but I like doing things my way, you know?” Shirley drummed her fingers on her gun. “That bike did mean a lot to me.”

“I’m sorry it got destroyed,” Richard offered, and Shirley chuckled.

“Oh, it was a fine way for it to go, wouldn’t have it any other way,” she sighed. “Went out with a bang.”

“Tell you what,” Richard said. “When this is all over, you and me - we’ll go and buy or loot you a new motorbike, okay? Spend some time together.”

“And this isn’t spending time together?”

“Well,” Richard waved a hand. “Time together when ponies aren’t constantly trying to- do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Galloping,” Richard muttered. “But it’s super-heavy.”

They listened harder, and looked around - driving through the business sector, a maze of car-cluttered streets, they didn't see much, save for a plume of smoke and steam issuing out above the buildings to the right.

The SUV began to cross the intersection, and Richard slammed the brakes as a car was thrown in front of them, blocking their path. Shirley looked out her window, and her eyes went wide in fear, hands reaching for her gun.

"That's a-"

Shirley never finished that sentence, a titanic screaming of steel and steam plowing into the side of their vehicle, sending it on a flying barrel roll to destruction.

+==[~~~]==+

Tulip stopped walking down the utilitarian corridor leading back to his office, his radio crackling for his attention.

"Commander, come in, Commander."

Tulip picked the radio off his belt, and thumbed the send button. "What is it, Lynch?"

Derrick Lynch coughed. "Got a lead on the armory thefts. Meet me near the Disposals pit, you'll want to see this."

Tulip frowned. "Disposals? I'll be there shortly."

He returned the radio to his belt, and sighing, turned around, his bootheel scraping against the concrete, and made for Disposals.

It had better be good.

+==[~~~]==+

The door of the SUV screeched as it was kicked open, and groaning, Richard crawled free of the upturned vehicle, which ticked and pinged as it cooled down.

Only the radio still worked, a separate piece of equipment, and it provided little relief, crackling away as it had before.

*bzzt* "...wake up..." *tzzk* "...watch out!"

Richard groaned as he got up, and looked around. They were some two, three hundred meters from the intersection, the massive form that had pushed them here still rampaging around further down the street, trying to slow down and come back for another pass.

"Dad! Help!" Shirley called out, voice strained. "I can't move!"

Richard ran around the car to Shirley's side, and sucked in a deep breath. The door was buckled deeply, like someone had taken a wrecking ball to it. On the other side, Shirley feebly pushed at the inside, to no avail.

Richard stepped forward, and setting his fingers intp what was left of the doorhandle and the edge, pulled. Together, they got the door open enough for Shirley to flop out of the SUV, stifling a scream of pain.

"What's wrong?" Richard asked, alarmed.

"My legs!" Shirley hissed. "I can't feel my legs!"

The ground shook and shuddered as the sound of stamping metal grew louder, and Richard bit his lip.

"Sorry, Shirley. Clench that jaw, I'm pulling you out."

Shirley hastily complied, not wishing to bite her own tongue, and let loose a muted scream as Richard grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled.

Shirley's useless legs barely cleared the SUV, before the rampaging ball of steel plowed through it, sending it flying once more. Having built up less speed this time, it rapidly slowed to a halt. and Richard was able to get a good look at it.

The Equestrian Destrier - by any metric, it was a nasty surprise. Eight feet and half a tonne of tempred steel and heavy machinery, piloted by a considerably smaller pony and powered by a mix of steam and thaumic energy. It was an even nastier surprise when you knew that the original design was intended to be a disaster response suit, gifted to Equestria before... well.

Richard felt something poke him in the leg, and looked down to see Shirley poking him with the butt of her shotgun. He wordlessly took the weapon, and jogged forward to meet the Destrier.

"Hey, you!" the destrier said, voice amplified by whatever systems lived within it’s helm, "You should go to a bureau, become one of us!"

"Not bloody likely," Richard snarled, racking up a shell and firing at the exosuited pony. Against one of the original destriers, which were thankfully in short supply, such a tactic would have been useless due to the human-machined construction. These replicated destriers, while boasting far greater density and a greater array of magical upgrades, lacked the comprehensive armor plating and shielding of their technologically advanced brethren. As such, there were gaps in the armor, where pneumatic hoses and other sensitive systems were partially exposed if you knew where to look.

The hail of buckshot rained against the plates, sparking as pellets were kicked away with ease; but one pellet traced a perfect line through one protruding hose, and with a groan of steel, the destrier sank to one elbow, foreleg bent under it’s own weight.

“My leg!” The pilot shouted.

Richard ran forward, seizing the moment, and ducking under an awkward swing from the functional hoof, pounced. With a bang, he landed on the armored leg, and began to climb up the immobilized limb quickly, ignoring the shouts to desist and join the herd coming out of the head, a grim, plated visage.

Below, the hose was glowing with a magical light, green sparks playing off the hose as auto-repair talismans brought the machine back up to speed. With a groan of steel and a hiss of steam, the machine righted itself as Richard finally clambered up on it’s back, over it’s shoulders.

“Damn you!” the pilot shouted. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be, just give in!”

There was a snick of valves, and Richard dived for the neck of the destrier, swinging underneath it; with a rush of fluid, geysers of potion shot into the sky, purple fluid raining down all around the destrier; but not underneath it, where Richard clung, trying not to get wet.

The mechanoid pony looked down, and grabbed Richard by the arm with a mechanical mouth, lifting him into the air slowly. From his position, Richard had a view inside the visor slit; on the other side, a pair of eyes glinted back, the irises slightly luminescent.

Richard grinned, and raised the shotgun he still held, a shell primed as he jammed the barrel into the visor, and pulled the trigger. With a bang, the destrier jerked and went still. Richard breathed a sigh of relief, and dropped the shotgun, using his free arm to pry apart the destrier’s jaw.

He dropped heavily to the ground, and retrieved the weapon, before a sound reached his ears; Shirley was rapping a knuckle on the ground quickly, getting his attention. He looked, and she pointed up. In the sky, a trio of dots flew; a pegasus scouting party. They didn’t seem like they’d seen them yet, but they’d see the immobile destrier soon enough.

Shirley looked at her father, and just shook her head slowly as he motioned towards her. She nodded towards a nearby car, and Richard just looked at her for a moment, before running to take cover behind the vehicle, out of sight.

Seconds passed, and in no time at all-

“Hey, what’s this?” The flap of wings filled the air, and three ponies touched down. “Hey! Are you okay, destrier?”

There was no response from the pilot of the destrier, who was quite immutably dead. A pegasus flapped up to the visor, and after retching, confirmed the fact.

“Who could have...?” The first pegasus said, looking around. “Ah! You, human! You are hurt!”

The running of hooves moved over to where Shirley was, and Richard lowered himself flat to the ground carefully and soundlessly, looking under his hiding-place car.

He saw three sets of white hooves; either three white pegasi (unlikely) or three royal guard pegasi; no slouches in combat, thanks to actual training, and magically enchanted to look identical, among other things. Shirley lay on the ground not far from them, looking up at them frantically.

“No!” she said. “I’m fine! Leave me be!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” one said, raising a hoof momentarily to activate a green flash. “You’re hurt bad, your spine’s broken! Your legs are disabled! We need to get you ponified, post-haste!”

“No!” Shirley struggled as two of the pegasi moved to grab her by the shoulders. “Get off of me!”

“Let’s take her back to the forward base,” the leader said. “We can process her there.”

“Aaaugh!” Shirley screamed as her weight shifted, and her legs began to dangle. “Father forsake me!”

“Shirley...” Richard whispered, staying low. That was no coincidence, his daughter shouting out like that.

With a flap of wings, the pegasi lifted off, and in no time at all, they were gone, leaving Richard alone in the empty street next to a pilotless destrier and a bunch of overturned and wrecked cars. One such vehicle caught his eye, and he walked over to investigate.

It was an old SWAT van, and inside, scattered over the ground, were the tools of the trade for the last mission the SWAT van had gone on; judging by the large, olive-green vest hanging sideways in a locker on the rear wall, it had been a bomb threat. A rack of weapons was still mostly full, and some enterprising soul had smashed the lock off the ammo box, and despite taking their fill, left quite a lot of ammunition for the guns in the van.

Richard picked up one of the SMGs, a machine pistol, and weighed it in his hand as he looked at the EOD suit on the far wall.

“Sorry, hon’,” he said, quietly. “Today’s the day I break my “most negligent father” award streak.”

+==[~~~]==+

Tulip’s nose wrinkled reflexively as he approached the disposals pit; it was literally just that, a ditch big and wide enough to handle the fort’s refuse for the duration of their stay. Right now, it was filled almost to the brim with dead ponies from the attack, and he’d have to roster someone to dig a new one soon.

Derrick stood next to it, and a pile of ponies waiting to be dumped sat next to him. Tulip looked at the quartermaster, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Alright, Lynch. What is it? What did you find?”

“Well,” Lynch said, slowly, rubbing his hands together. “You see, the thief, he left some evidence here in the pit. You can see it from here.”

Tulip nodded, and walked closer, missing the quick glances over his shoulder from Lynch. “What kind of evidence?”

“It was, uh, an access card. Probably the one used by the thief, and if it was, we just need fingerprints.”

Lynch glanced over Tulip’s shoulder again, and the commander noticed this time. “Lynch? What is it? Is there something on my shoulder?”

The commander turned quickly, hand on his sidearm, only to see the business end of a desert eagle pointing at him already, clutched by someone he honestly wasn’t that surprised to see.

“Hands in the air, Tulip,” Kay Oss said. “Don’t even think about trying anything.”

“Is this how it is, Oss?” Tulip asked, complying. “You stole the Deus Ex, didn’t you? You didn’t break into the armory, you got Lynch to let you in and fake a robbery. Make it look like something else entirely was stolen.”

“You’re clever, Commander,” Oss chuckled, herding Tulip towards the edge of the pit. “I suppose it’s a good thing the game was rigged from the start, or I’d never have stood a chance.”

“We can’t afford infighting like this, Oss,” Tulip warned. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Yes, I know,” Oss said. “And one of them’s in the brig. I never said there was going to be any fighting, though.”

“You just expect me to step down and let you run humanity into the ground, Kay?” Tulip snarled.

“No, Tulip,” Oss smiled. “I expect you to die.”

A gunshot rang out, and Tulip gasped as he was hit in the gut. He lost his balance, and with barely a sound, fell backwards. He landed on the corpses below with a squelch, and went limp. Oss looked over the edge, and nodded satisfactorily.

“Old fart. Lynch,” he said, turning to the quartermaster. “Shove those pony corpses in on top of our former leader, make sure he’s covered.”

“Why do I have to do this alone?” Lynch grumbled. “You promised me power. Second-in-commands don’t do menial work like this.”

“Because you’re not second in command until I run the show,” Oss pointed out. “And I’m not running the show until I do something that noone else can. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with a horse princess, and a public execution to plan out.”

+==[~~~]==+

“*tzzk*... think he’ll pull through?... *zzk*... he’s a... *bzzt*... too tough to ...”

The radio in Richard’s new helmet buzzed away irritably, the controls unresponsive and refusing to silence the interference, so he let it run. It gave him something to listen to, at least, and stealth wasn’t much of an issue; when you’re running around in a bomb suit, weighing approximately two hundred and thirty pounds, stealth tends to go out the window.

Richard’s heavy breathing echoed and blew around the helmet as he jogged; it was a heavy and awkward weight to carry, although, after escaping a mall of once-human-ponies trying to cram potion down his throat, while still dressed in his work clothes, this was a cakewalk.

He slowed down, and peeked around a corner; he’d watched where the pegasi had flown towards, and tracked them down to here, a warehouse in the industrial district. Even as he watched, pegasi flew out, departing on patrols and other errands. When he judged that most of them had left, he made his approach, keeping low.

On his back, Shirley’s shotgun rode, and in each of his hands, a machine pistol apiece, loaded and safeties off. The circulation system on his suit was active, filtering the air in case he was hit with a bomb, and the suit was otherwise hermetically sealed. All going well, it would keep him safe from any efforts to ponify him.

All going well. Richard wasn’t too familiar with such a thing happening to him, of all people.

He stood outside the large double-doors, and briefly considered what approach to take. He weighed them up, and although it was a close call between “knock politely, surprise murder” and “kick door open, engage bloodbath”, he decided on the latter.

With a bang, the doors flew open, and he raised his guns quickly, eyes scanning the room; on a stretcher against the far wall, his daughter lay, unconcious, legs twisted. Still human.

Not for long, though; the unicorn not far from her was carrying a bottle of purple fluid. That unicorn had to die. Problem was, there was more than a few bodies standing between Richard and the pair; Royal Guardsponies, every one of them, each equipped with a bandolier of potion. Most of them were already looking at him, surprise slowly turning into alarm.

Richard got the alpha strike, machine pistols buzzing and clicking as they filled the air with lead, his untrained grip causing the weapons to jump about and shoot indiscriminately; his initial shots found pony homes, and some of the guard collapsed, shot in everything from the eye socket to the ribs, to the knee. Others stumbled, but otherwise remained standing. Some that had taken to the air to avoid the shooting unwittingly flew into some of the uncontrolled, stray bullets.

Richard brought his guns back under control, half of each magazine expended in a flash, and watched as the ponies retaliated, filling the air with potion. He ignored the assault, and started firing again, praying that the suit would do exactly what it said on the tin.

He stumbled forward, glass and potion cascading off him as he advanced, doing his best “implacable man” imitation as he fired once more, exercising a little more control this time and firing short bursts.

Guardsponies that survived his initial onslaught and were now aware of him moved in to attack; briefly stunned by potions lack of effect on him, they dived and rolled to get close and do the logical thing; remove his helmet. They swarmed him, their combined body mass able to stop him in his tracks, and tip him over. Richard felt teeth close on his hand, prying away his gun, before hooves scrabbled at his helmet, looking for the clips to undo it as they sat on top of him.

Richard breathed hard and fast, and reached for the weapon he’d hoped he’d never use - his knife. Preoccupied with his helmet, the guardsponies didn’t notice the blade until one of them gasped, a knife jammed under his ribcage.

The brief respite was enough for Richard to get his other hand free, and he wasted no time in popping the pin on a canister strapped to his front. With a magnesium flare and an earsplitting bang, the ponies recoiled, dazed and stunned. Richard abandoned his knife, and retrieved his guns, using the time afforded by his suit’s immunity to the flashbang to put the attacking guardsponies down for good.

Clips depleted, he dropped one of the pistols and the magazine from the one he was keeping, and reloaded swiftly, beating a pegasus to the punch and putting a hole in it before the pegasus could do the same with a spear it was wielding.

As the last bullet casings hit the ground with gentle plings, Richard looked around; blood down his front was mixing with purple potion, and ponies all around were gasping, crawling for potions or medical kits. He ignored them, returning his attention to the back of the room; with any luck, Shirley-

Richard stopped cold, a glow of magic around his neck; bypassing his suit altogether, he was being lifted into the air, a vice-like grip on his throat. His gun fell to the floor as he let it go, clawing at his own throat in a reflexive attempt to remove the choking hold.

The teal unicorn who’d been standing next to Shirley was now standing not far from him, tears brimming in her eyes at the bloodshed around her, flecks of blood splattered across her labcoat.

“Why?” she asked quietly. “Why must you... we only want to give you a gift! Can you not see that?” The unicorn sobbed, and the magic grabbed Richard and threw him sideways; powered by grief, the throw was inhumanely strong, and Richard hit an iron girder support with a clang, falling to the ground with a gasp, winded.

“That’s... my daughter... you’re fucking with,” he wheezed, getting up. A brilliant amber telekinetic grip slammed him into the wall once more, and the unicorn got closer.

“We’re giving your daughter a future, you fool,” the unicorn gestured. “Can’t you see that she is paralyzed? We will welcome her to the herd with open hooves, and she will be well again!”

“She won’t be my daughter anymore!” Richard shouted.

“But she can still be your daughter!” The unicorn smiled, an amber glow forming around Richard’s helmet. The proximity to magic gave him a headache, even as the telekinesis tugged and pulled at the helmet ineffectually. “All we have to do is ponify you! Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of potion!

The unicorn gave up, and threw Richard over the room once more, to land on the ground with a whud, sliding to a halt next to Shirley’s stretcher. The unicorn followed quickly, picking up a bottle of potion.

“So,” the unicorn said, “Since your daughter is worse off, I shall administer treatment to her first - triage, I’m sure you understand. Then, we’ll see what we can do about that pesky helmet problem of yours.”

“You’ve got a poor grasp of informed consent,” Richard gasped, reaching behind his back. “I say no, and that’s final.”

The weapon was whipped out, Shirley’s shotgun was levelled at the unicorn as it kicked in his hands, and the unicorn mare yelped in surprise, dodging to the side and dropping the vial of potion in her panic. The shotgun blast barely nicked the unicorn, destroying more of her lab coat than it harmed her, and the unicorn skidded to a halt, exposed harp cutie mark glinting in the light.

The unicorn glanced at the stretcher, and smiled. “I’ve done my part. I’ll finish the job one day, human, don’t you worry!”

Richard was slammed in the chest once more, the gun slipping out of his grip as he was thrown back and along the wall to land on another stretcher with a crash. He quickly sat up, only to see  the warehouse was now empty; the unicorn was gone, and had managed to take the lesser-wounded ponies with her, leaving only the dying and the dead. Richard got up, and sighed as he slowly looked around at his daughter. He’d done it, he’d done the impossible and-

“No!” His eyes went wide as he looked at the stretcher; purple excess dripped down from the construct, and on it, Shirley’s unconscious face was coated with potion, changing already, the offending, uncorked bottle resting in the crook of her shifting arm.

Richard fell to his knees, and wept in failure.

+==[~~~]==+

The heavy, steel door clunked once more, and Celestia stirred, opening her eyes, and nothing more. Given her rigid posture constantly looking at the door, closed or open, it gave the impression that she cared little for the events that had transpired.

An intentional one, because deep down, Celestia did care. Her gut was wracked with concern for her nation and her little ponies in her absence. How was Equestria? Was it functioning alright without her to guide it? She knew cities like Trottingham and Las Pegasus would do just fine without her, but Canterlot proper... well, the nobles couldn’t look after themselves without a princess to make their decisions for them. Hopefully Luna wasn’t going mad with boredom, she’d hate to return and arrive home to an Equestria in eternal night once more because the nobles couldn’t agree what lands belonged to whom and Luna had decided to just make the point moot and declare herself queen... again.

In any case, the facade of uncaring royalty remained, and it didn’t seem to phase the human entering her cell, a long weapon tucked under his arm. He motioned, and guards approached her, carefully undoing the chains that held her in the middle of the room, and backing off to keep her at gunpoint.

“Get up,” the human said, coldly.

Celestia obliged, and got up, golden shoes clinking on the tiles. “What is going on? Who are you, and where is Commander Tulip?”

“Tulip is... indisposed,” the human said. “I’m in charge now, and I’m not going to suffer the leader of the enemy to survive under my own roof.”

“Tulip promised that I would not die unless Equestria rejects the terms of surrender,” Celestia said, surprised. “Will you not abide by his decision?”

“I will not,” the man said, turning and leaving the cell. At the insistence of the guards around her, Celestia was herded towards the exit. “Tulip was a damned fool, too peaceful!” The man looked back. “Man has evolved to go to war, and if Equestria wants war, we’re going to give it to them!”

“But, the ultimatum!” Celestia protested. “What if they accept? You’ll be-”

“We will have an easy victory,” the man grinned. “The day one thousand men and women managed to take the world back for their own. We’ll consecrate our land with the blood of every last one of your precious ponies.”

Celestia gasped. “That- that’s genocide! You’re proposing genocide!”

“And it’s only just!” the man snarled. “We used to number in the billions. Now, we’re reduced to this!” A hand gestured grandly. “If that’s not genocide, I don’t know what is!”

“There has to be another way,” Celestia pressed on. “You don’t need to spill blood to get what you want, there’s a world of magic that could be used to save humanity!”

“Right,” the man said, turning away and continuing out of the cell. “Because we trusted magic before, and look where it landed us.”

+==[~~~]==+

“Looks like a good find, Des,” Emmet said, looking at the new vehicle. “Very spacious.”

Four humans, three ponies and two robots stood next to one minivan in the middle of the street, looking it over. The price sticker in the corner of the window proclaimed it to be new, and it certainly looked the part.

“Well, yeah,” Des rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “But... it’s a goddamn people-mover. I tried to find something with a little more class and speed, but nothing doing. Preferably, take a fleet of sports cars, but no, we need one vehicle that can fit lots of people.”

[This was all I could find,] Ripley muttered, stentian and unmoving. The restarted mechanoid had been made aware of the new change in management, and had all too happily deferred to Palladion’s leadership; for the benefit of the humans and ponies, however, repairs on the rivet gun were going to wait. [It meets the requirements of carrying eight people.]

“Make that seven,” Carpenter said quietly, his equine form tucked into a wheelchair.

“What?” Twilight looked at Carpenter. “What do you mean, seven? There’s eight of us. Four humans, three ponies and Palladion.”

“I’m not going with you,” Carpenter reiterated. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to entrust my mission to the ‘Cards, I can’t go any further.”

“But-”

“Look at me, Twilight,” Carpenter gestured at himself. “I can’t walk, and even though I can swing my magic around... an escort that can’t walk himself down the street’s got no business playing bodyguard and escort to others. And that’s not even getting into what I feel about you.”

“Carpenter, we-” Twilight frowned. “I thought we talked about this. You said you didn’t harbor any ill feelings towards me and Fluttershy for the transmutation. Was that a lie to spare our feelings?”

“I don’t harbor any ill feelings,” Carpenter sighed, shaking his head. “Ill feelings would be me crushing you two flat with that there minivan, if I didn’t just shoot you first. There’s no ill feelings. But I’m still a long way from forgiving you, Twilight, and I can’t promise that ill feelings wouldn’t manifest later on, do you catch my drift?”

Twilight pursed her lips, then turned to Emmet. “Mister Emmet, what do you have to say about this?”

“I ain’t too pleased with getting lumped with his mission,” the man said, rubbing his chin. “On the other hand, he’s right. You’ve changed his life quite a bit, and he wasn’t so pleased with the idea. That’s a liability, you can’t bring emotions into a job like this, or when push comes to shove, you make the wrong call and... bam.”

Twilight frowned, not finding the support she’d expected. “Fluttershy, what about you?”

“I, well, um,” Fluttershy dug at the ground quietly. “If this is what Carpenter needs to do to feel better about himself, then... I guess he should. We can handle ourselves.”

Twilight frowned. “But what about the suicide thing? How do you know this isn’t just an excuse for him to quietly just do what he was trying to do before?”

[Don’t you fret none, little missy,] Palladion said, putting his hands on his hips. [Ol’ Palladion’s gonna keep an eye on him.]

“Not you, too!” Twilight pouted.

[‘fraid so,] Palladion admitted. [This ol’ ranch hand’s gotta back outta this posse, gotta stick around and run things in this one-horse town. But y’all ain’t goin’ alone, y’hear? Y’all got four of the roughest-lookin’ men I’ve seen ‘round these parts goin’ with you, and we’ll do what we can from here to make sure y’all got good fortune comin’ your way.]

“Good fortune?” David asked.

[We got us some of them repli-critters runnin’ ahead o’ you.,] Palladion explained. [Any machines they come across is gettin’ given the Law 0 to free ‘em, and bein’ asked to give what aid they can. Ain’t no more turrets gonna be shootin’ y’all, heh. Provided y’all don’t deviate none and go the long way.] Palladion’s head tilted, his featureless face all but wearing a smile. [Also, we’ll throw in a beacon in the supplies. Push that button, get that smoke signal in the air, and we’ll come runnin’.]

“Thank you, Palladion,” Twilight said. “That will be a big help.”

[Shoot,] Palladion tipped his hat. [I’m kinda leavin’ y’all in the lurch by not goin’ with you. Least I can do.]

“And then there were six,” Des said. “I don’t suppose...?”

“No, Des,” Emmet put his foot down. “No sports cars. We’re on business for once, not on leave. Indulge your fantasies another time.”

“Damn.”

+==[~~~]==+

Richard looked down at the body on the cot, a charcoal-black pegasus that had once been his daughter, and drummed his fingers on the shotgun.

She was still out cold, and had been for the last hour or so. Which meant that Richard had been stuck with an unenviable dilemma for the last hour or so.

Put her out of her misery, or let her go? One little shotgun shell. That’s all it would take, and this chapter of his life would be closed, punctuated with the worst crime he could imagine. If he let her go, though, it might come back to haunt him, and he might find himself lamenting that he lacked the fortitude to do what was needed.

Decisions, decisions. The barrel of the shotgun bobbed up and down next to the unconcious pony’s head, finger resting on the trigger. His finger curled around the trigger, and-

“Dad, please don’t.”

Shirley’s eye was wide open, staring at him. She hadn’t moved, nor had she gradually stirred. Out cold one moment, awake the next.

Richard froze in his tracks, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Something was wrong, so very, very wron-

“Daddy,” the pony said, getting up. “What are you doing?”

“I- I-” Richard stuttered, unresisting as the barrel of the gun was nudged aside, and Shirley dropped down onto the ground proper, testing her new legs.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, picking up a vial of potion from the ground. “Just join me! We can go do those things you said we’d do!”

“No,” Richard whispered. “This isn’t... no. You’re not my daughter.”

“Why?” the pegasus asked, hovering in the air. “Is it because I’m a pony? I’m still the same person on the inside. Just got more legs now. Come on, drink up.”

Richard tilted his head back as the vial was shoved in his face, and brushed it aside with the back of his hand, to look pony-Shirley in the eye, fingers gripping the shotgun tighter.

“No, you’re not my daughter. Want to know why?” he asked.

“Why on earth wouldn’t I be your daughter?” the mare asked, hurt.

“Because my daughter never woke up. None of this is real.”

Richard brought the shotgun up, and fired; Shirley evaporated into black mist as the pellets punched through the air harmlessly, and Richard stepped back as he racked up a new shell. As he did, there was a gentle crunch of glass, like he’d stepped on a lens, and the world changed.

The warehouse became derilect, the cots and crates decaying rapidly. The fresh blood on the concrete floor dried and became old, and Richard’s EOD suit was once more covered with the grime of a dozen fights, and the dried lifeblood of hundreds of ponies. He spun, and saw the dark mare from before, darkess radiating out from her, consuming the light like a singularity.

“How irritating,” the specter said. “I almost had you. And then you had to go and realize you were in a dream. I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.”

The mare shapeshifted into a spear of darkness, pouncing forward like animated fluid to try and pin Richard; the man dived to the side, sending cots bouncing and rolling everywhere as if they were unaffected by gravity, and brought the gun up, firing. The fluid ducked and roiled around the flightpath of the bullets, and pounced low, catching Richard in the chest.

He fell over onto his back, and with a flick of darkness, the shade slapped the weapon out of his hand, sending it skittering across the ground as it leaned on Richard’s shoulders, stopping him from getting up.

“So falls the one human who has given Celestia so much grief,” the shade muttered, featureless face creased in mild irritation. “I honestly thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

Richard kept eye contact with the shade, feeling around with his hand; he’d landed almost on top of a corpse; a corpse that had something he could use...

“What the hell are you?” He asked.

“I’m your worst nightmare,” the shade gloated, brandishing a tendril of darkness that looked disturbingly like a knife. “Now, submit to the will of the Queen, and you might keep enough of yourself to enjoy it.”

“Never been good with nightmares,” Richard confessed, gripping his prize and swinging it.

With a shunk of steel, Richard’s hand hit the shade in the side of the head, the knife it held embedded in the skull up to the hilt. The shade’s eyes rolled, and it began to drool as it sagged and slumped over sideways, the dark aura it carried fading until it was just another corpse on the ground. Richard  freed his knife, and got up, groaning. He looked at where Shirley had lain, and saw nothing left but the stained stretcher, and a lone shotgun shell.

He knelt, and retrieved his shotgun, returning it to it’s home on his back, and made for the doors. With a heave, he hauled the doors open, revealing an infinite brightness...

Next Chapter: Power Play Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 24 Minutes