Misadventure in the DMZ (dd.docx)


                                            >Once upon a time, in another layer of existence, in another universe, in a galaxy alike yet alien simultaneously, on an odd planet (I mean, the atmosphere is entirely composed of stolen oxygen), two absolutely MASSIVE inter-galactical entities fought their final battle.

                                            >The Alliance, standing for the liberty and prosperity of all its participants, and the Union standing for strength through uniformity and leadership, had been long embroiled in a bloody war, fought across unfathomable distances with technologies beyond comprehension.

                                            >Mighty battlefleets clashed in the eternal darkness of space, over desolate planets and distant stars, fighting for their ideals, for dominance and territory.

                                            >In the end, the power of the Alliance proved greater, having so many different species within them, so many different minds addressing the same problems yielded an amount of solutions the enemy could never hope to counter in any reasonable amount of time.

                                            >When the Alliance Forces encroached on the Union Mother-System, the high command of the Union made a last ditch effort to preserve their ideology, tunneling into distant planets all across the galaxy.

                                            >During the final battle, two human soldiers, some hillbilly and a nigger who's kind of short for his race, chased an enemy corvette through one of the portals with their fighters. They succeeded in shooting it down, but the portal sealed before they could return, leaving them marooned in a desert on a planet they had no clue the location of.

                                            >With no distress beacons, any allies nearby, or FTL capable spacecraft, they debated on a course of action. Deciding to refuel and plan face to face, they landed their small fightercrafts on a plateau, close to a set of dunes that wavered in the hot air.

                                            >Disembarking their crafts, they folded their helmets and breathed deeply of the alien oxygen, smelling the familiar scent of sand and heat. They shared a smile, for the war of six (Sol-Earth) years was finally over.

                                            >These two men, marooned in an unforgiving desert where none would ever think to look for them.

                                            >Two men with the training required to chew ass and kick it too.

                                            >Two men who instead of planning their next move, sat down to rest.

                                            >Two men who don't actually care about their predicament.

                                            >Two men who may or may not have some sexual tension betwe-

                                            >"Hey, you hear that, man?" The black man asks, resting against the landing gear of his fighter and sitting on the sand. His deep tone takes on an odd quality as the sound bounces around the landing gear's compartment above him.

                                            >In the midnoon sun, the fighters provide little shade, and the olive-green metal heats up, but it is better than sitting inside and wasting fuel on AC. Besides, they couldn't feel much of the heat through their similarly colored exosuits.

                                            >His ginger brother-in-arms, leaning against the same piece of hydraulic metal but perpendicular to him, sat with a comic book between his legs, yawns audibly. His voice is a far higher pitch than his friend. "Whut, that asthmatic ol' man voice?"

                                            >Already accustomed to dealing with many threats, the tired marine responds coolly. "Yeah. Where's it comin' from, man?"

                                            >"Tha's the Narrator. Don' look four him." His similarly experienced companion advices as he flips a page.

                                            >His friend is educated on anomalous threats and phenomena. Having consulted his advice twice before, he does it now again. "Can I tell 'em to shut up?"

                                            >The redneck scoffs, grinning through his goatee. "Nope!"

                                            >He narrows an eye and sneers. "Why the hell not?"

                                            >"Cause he only starts talkin' when some dookie's bout to happen."

                                            >"Dookie?" He scoffs. "Where the fuck's he been during the fight then?"

                                            >The ginger squints against the glaring sunlight beyond the shade of his friend's spacecraft. "No, I'm referring to some REAL shit, y'know?" He looks over his shoulder at him as he continues: "Not the mundane, fighting cyborg-zombies in space kinda shit."

                                            >His dark brow furrows. "Nigga, how the fuck is that mundane?"

                                            >The ginger licks his lips. "We've been doin' it for six years, tha's how."

                                            >"So the dookie is us being marooned in this fuckin' desert?" His tone carries a hint of disappointment.

                                            >The white man pauses and looks up from his comic book for a moment, furrowing his brow and looking around.

                                            >The desert is as barren as it was when they landed. The air is dry, there are no lifeforms around that can cost them an absurd fine to be spotted by, and the sky on the horizon is a beautiful, deep blue.

                                            >Another silent moment of tension passes before he lets the relief settle in. Knowing there are far worse scenarios, he smiles and shrugs. "Guess so!"

                                            >The black man scoffs and lets his head lean back against the hydraulic rod of his landing gear. Closing his eyes, he tries to think of something pleasant, something that isn't 'I'm gonna die in this desert or pay my entire bank account as a fine for establishing contact with aliens when I ain't supposed to.'

                                            >Hearing the soft thud, his friend looks over his shoulder. Never one to ignore misery, he licks his dry lips to talk. "Whu's the matter, fish-face?"

                                            >He sneers, eyes still close. "Man, go fuck yo'self, you Cheeto lookin' bitch!"

                                            >A cackle deafens his left ear in response, and he opens his eyes to look at his friend. "Fuck'chu want, bitch?"

                                            >The ginger no longer leans against the struts of the landing gear, instead laying on the sand in front of it, laughing. Still overwhelmed with glee, looks at him with the widest possible grin, repeating in a high-pitched tone: "Cheeto lookin' bitch!"

                                            >Peeved, he wears a flat expression. "Yeah, I'm just callin you whachu are."

                                            >He props himself up on an arm. "That's fuckin' great, dude! I'm writin' that down, soon as ah find m'self some paper."

                                            >He tsks, shakes his head, and lets it slump against the metal again.

                                            >Lifting the comic book off the sand and shaking it, he crawls back to the strut he was leaning against. He notices his friend's pose, and tries: "Hey man, y'know, if you're bored, I could just get you a comic book to read from my ship."

                                            >He tsks loudly. "I ain't readin' no kid's book nigga, get outta here with that shit."

                                            >Shaking his head, the ginger returns to his previous sitting position. "Well, if yer boredom overcomes yer pride, lemme know."

                                            >And so, they sit in silence for a long moment before the black man licks his dry lips and puffs. "Mothafucka," He starts quietly. "I swear, if you don't stop narratin' everything we're doin', I'mma whoop yo' ass into the corporeal realm and stick a missile up in it."

                                            >"Ey, don't threaten the Narrator, dawg." They share a look over each other's shoulders, a bored, tired expression on the black man's face and an alarmed expression on the other's. "I'm serious, he can do some mean shit."

                                            >He tsks, sneering incredulously. "Like what?"

                                            >"I ain't givin it no ideas!" He frowns.

                                            >He tsks again, frowning at the aggravating, incorporeal presence. "Dawg, I'm serious too. He's makin' me angry!"

                                            >Desperate to defuse the situation, the ginger attempts something new: "Okay, okay." He looks around at nothing in particular as he speaks: "Narrator, please, could you get to the point?"

                                            >"And tell us who you're narratin' to while you're at it." The black man adds, crossing his armor-clad arms.


                                            >While that's happening, a group of royal guardsponies are sent to investigate the ridiculously loud explosion that occurred over the desert about an hour ago.

                                            >Among them is an orange pegasus mare by the name of Westwind, who's just graduated as Private First Class and got assigned as a scouting pony at the Appeloosan Royal Guard regiment.

                                            >The prime suspect were illegal miners, prospectors seeking leftovers in the old, closed off mines around the nearby desert. The Sergeant explained to her earlier in the day that normally, this would be of no concern, but because they had explosives, and lots of them by the sound of it, they had to investigate.

                                            >Her role is simple: She must fly above and slightly ahead of the ground squad and warn them of any dangers. Primarily giant sandipedes, sand wyrms and other such unpleasant fauna that seek prey in the harsh desert.

                                            >She grunts at the burning sun as she glides evenly above the slowly advancing ground forces. 'What I wouldn't give to be able to just fly them there myself' she thinks.

                                            >Beside her flies her superior, an older purple pegasus by the name of Evening Dew. At least she wasn't alone in the boredom up here.

                                            >Normally flying wouldn't be boring, but when you're forced to keep a slow pace under the scorching sun, in a full set of GOLD armor no less, it can be less than enjoyable.

                                            >Her brow furrows, and she looks at her Corporal in confusion. "Uh, Corporal?"

                                            >Dew turns to face her evenly.

                                            >"I think I might be suffering heat stroke."

                                            >She cocks a brow at her subordinate. "Why is that private?"

                                            >"I'm hearing an old stallion's voice narrating everything we're doing."

                                            >The Corporal takes a deep breath and puffs. "Yeup, I hear it too."

                                            >She balks. "What?!"

                                            >"Calm down," She gestures with a hoof. "It's just something that happens sometimes."

                                            >The private is in total confusion. Her ear twitches, her eye follows, and soon her jaw slacks. "Stop!"

                                            >"Private, calm down! That's an order!" Shouts Dew. "It's an entity that's relatively harmless. Just let it be, we have a mission to accomplish."

                                            >"B- but-"

                                            >"No buts! I'll explain it when we get back to base, understood?"

                                            >Y- yes ma'am!" Westwind salutes.

                                            >"Good." Her superior looks both ways, noticing the ground team has passed them at this point, and waves the orange pegasus to follow as she dives for speed.

                                            >They fly some distance ahead of the group-

                                            >"So creepy." West holds her hooves to her chest.

                                            >Her superior keeps scanning the ground for threats as she reassures her. "Just ignore it, Private, it'll go away in a bit."

                                            >After a very long discussion over which generation of fightercraft was the best, the two marines nap where they sat before.

                                            >The black man argued that the previous gen, the X-05 was the best due to how innovative and reliable they were at the time, lasting 13 years before being widely replaced.

                                            >The white man argued that the current gen, the AV-8 is the far better due to how insanely over engineered they are. Indeed, the bird shaped craft seem like the stuff of fantasy, and yet they are very real and fully functional, capable of retaining their operational capacity even when half the craft is destroyed.

                                            >Perhaps the argument was more about aesthetics. The X-05 series had the appearance of classic fightercraft. Black canopy windows and angular edges gave them the distinct resemblance to fighter jets of old. The new AV-8 series boasted none of that, instead utilizing aerodynamic curves and 'feathers' instead of ailerons and winglets; The canopy is completely absent, replaced entirely by metallic panels. No longer do pilots look out of a fragile, expensive crystal-mesh screen, instead they see through the cockpit using the ship's own sensors. The lack of distinct engines didn't help either in his opinion, the large tail and lack of any rudder made the fighter look like, well, a bird in flight.

                                            >When it came to performance, however, the AV-8's engines, built entirely into the wings, gave the craft incomparable maneuverability, somehow at no cost to reliability.

                                            >Objectively, they concluded the AV-8 was in fact the superior platform, but the X-05 was perhaps just as phenomenal for its time, and still boasts the better aesthetics.

                                            >Concluding their discussion, they jumped into their respective fighters to check how much fuel they had left. One had a third, and the other even less.

                                            >The syphons which refiled the expended fuel cells were working slower in the planet's gravity curve, the nearest cosmic veins being too far for them to tap into. They conclude it will take until nightfall to fill a fifth of the tank.

                                            >Unable to actually fly, they sated the urge using basic telekinesis to play an impromptu game of dogfighting, levitating two pointed pebbles around each other in circles while trying their best to keep them pointed in the right way (which proved quite a challenge, as spells are weaker when cast through an exosuit). They eventually exhausted their concentration, and decided some rest was in order.

                                            >Westwind and Evening Dew scan the still, arid landscape below, looking for any threats or signs of where the explosion may have happened.

                                            >Westwind hesitantly opens her mouth. "U- uh, Corporal? It's back again."

                                            >The corporal sighs. "Just ignore it, West."

                                            >She gulps, and returns to scanning the desert below for any signs of a massive disturbance. Dust clouds, craters, smoke or dislocated terrain such as boulders or uneven dunes could all be caused by an explosion, and if she could spot the signs, she might find the source.

                                            >A chuckle escapes her. "Uh, thanks for the heads up?"

                                            >The corvette had detonated too high in the air however, the dark-matter core consuming all of the debris in a miniature black hole that rapidly decayed soon after. They had no chance of finding any signs, because even the smoke was torn asunder in the short-lived singularity.

                                            >They both stop, sharing a glace of a thousand words, and look down.

                                            >The ground team is still making steady progress into the desert in a futile search for their objective.

                                            >Westwind is the first to talk. "Should we tell them?"

                                            >"Tell them what?" Evening snaps. "That the desert ghosts told us there's nothing out there?"

                                            >She furrows her brow. "B-but, it's true!"

                                            >The corporal knows better than that. Sure, there may not be signs of the explosion, but perhaps whatever caused it is still out there, and that means there's a threat to be neutralized. With a smirk, she looks at the private. "You heard him, right?"

                                            >She sighs. "Yes, Corporal."

                                            >"Good. Now let's go."


                                            >The black soldier awakes from a short nap, unrested, and blinks a few times. He's unsure at first, but catches it again and again; A bright glint of something way off in the distance, against the background of the still blue sky.

                                            >He furrows his brow and squints. Fair enough, it repeats.

                                            >The ginger awakens to a weak punch in the shoulder, shaking his head and taking a deep breath as he's snapped out of his peaceful slumber. "Hey, fuck you Narrator." He mutters groggily before following with a chuckle, struggling to open his eyes.

                                            >"Bandit, over the dunes, closing in slow. Definitely saw us." The soldier says evenly.

                                            >"Shit, shit!" A hard sniff and rub of the eyes later, the ginger springs to all fours, scrambling out from under his friend's fighter and running toward his.

                                            >The other follows, quickly climbing the wing and jumping into the cockpit. The metal canopies seal above them, screens lighting up to display their surroundings.

                                            >A multitude of rounded metallic plates, 'feathers', flush across the wings of the fighters as their engines start. The displays indicate on both ends that all sixty-four 'feathers' of each wing are fully operational, and the pilots confirm this with each other over the comms.

                                            >A soft hum fills the air as their engines propel them upwards, the craft's wings adjusting their many plates to compensate for any breeze or turbulence, keeping them perfectly parallel to the horizon as they hover low over the ground.

                                            >The hydraulics hiss as the landing gear retracts, and then they begin gliding forwards. Once they're off the plateau and high over the sand, they engage their afterburners and take off, leaving a cloud of dust behind that would be easy to miss had their trackers not been so keen-eyed.


                                            >"Down there, two of them, dark green, heading south!" The corporal squints at the rigid forms below and adds: "Not ponies!"

                                            >West's pupils shrink at the sight of the two massive, olive-green birds rapidly accelerating away from them as they climb into the air. "What are those things?"

                                            >"No clue!" She raises a brow, noticing how they retain course. "Huh, they're flying towards the southern border, leaving Equestria." The corporal says with a hint of relief, and West watches as the two odd creatures fly over the sand.

                                            >"What kind of birds are those?" She asks.

                                            >"Dunno, but we might not have to worry about them at all." She says, looking at the two shapes shrinking into the horizon. "Anyway, we should advise the ground team."


                                            >The Black pilot locks on to one of the bogies behind him, recoiling in surprise when he discovers that the bandit is absolutely tiny and apparently made of gold. "One. Uh, are you seein' this?"

                                            >"Two. Yeup!" His friend responds. "Ah see gold. Ya don't reckon they're-" He stops to gulp in dread. "Imperial, do ya?"

                                            >The dark man's face goes slightly pale. "If they are, and this is Imperial territory, then It's been nice knowing you; cause we are SO dead."

                                            >While the Empire is on good terms with the Alliance, such trespassing would not be tolerated, and the marines knew that well. The Imperial Royal Guard would make short work of them if they are forced into an engagement.


                                            >The two guards watch their suspects fly away as they descend to warn the ground team. Halfway down, they notice a pillar of sand rise on the horizon.

                                            >West's jaw slacks as a colossal sandwyrm rises from beneath the orange mirage of the desert landscape. Even so far in the distance, the size of it is awestriking.


                                            >The marines saw it too, as it happened directly below them.

                                            >The black soldier, designated One, quickly repeated one word: "Break, break!"

                                            >"Two. Going left!" His friend announced, and so they broke the formation and turned, climbing higher, searching the ground for the wyrm that already dug its way beneath the sand again.

                                            >"Damn!" One starts. "I thought this was supposed to be a greenhouse planet, how the fuck are there desert-planet animals here?"

                                            >"Any planet with sufficient subterranean flora could subsist this kind of megafauna, really." Two answers. "Which makes me think, we should find a cave."

                                            >One is about to say something but is cut off by a blaring collision alert from behind. A moment later, the massive jaws of the sand wyrm lock on his fighter.

                                            >He lets out a string of expletives. "Fuck you Narrator, you should'a stayed gone!"

                                            >The wyrm, having launched itself to catch him at altitude, begins the dive back into the sand below.

                                            >"Use your afterburner," Two shouts in a panic as he turns in a wide arc, bringing his fighter to bear on the tremendous critter. "pull up!"

                                            >One does as his friend suggests. The engines, being mounted primarily on the wings, don't do much to loosen the sandwyrm's grip, but they are powerful enough to break its poise, causing it to land belly first, instead of head in the sand as it intended.

                                            >The result is a massive wyrm struggling to bring down an object only a fraction of its own size, while being assisted by gravity at that.


                                            >The pegasi freeze in shock, amazed at the capacity of the green objects. Their acceleration alone was impressive, but now seeing one resist the grip of that colossal creature, they truly felt alienated.


                                            >"Fox!" Two shouts as he pulls a trigger. From the fighter's belly, a missile drops and extends its fins, engaging its thruster a moment later and bounding towards the still struggling wyrm.

                                            >The missile, not being specialized in any way, fails to penetrate the scales of the creature, but it causes it to shriek as it impacts and explodes against it, and One dislodges his fighter, pulling up to rapidly climb away from the threat. "Good shot, Cheeto!"

                                            >Two laughs, murmuring: "Cheeto lookin' bitch!"

                                            >They climb up again, high into the air.


                                            >Beneath the pegasi, the ground team watches the absurd display from atop a sand dune.

                                            >The explosion cleared all of Corporal Dew's doubts, these two entities were the perpetrators they were searching for, and they were something never before seen in the region.

                                            >Her eyes widen as she sees the wyrm come up again, launching itself as high as the two green fliers. The giant pillar of sand in its wake gets carried by the wind.


                                            >Thankfully, they notice it too, and divert just in time to narrowly dodge its jaws.

                                            >One balks. "Nigga, what the fuck is this bullshit?! How fuckin' high can that thing jump?"

                                            >Two frowns. "It's probably magically assisting itself, so I'd say high!"

                                            >"Any ideas then, expert?" One asks, genuinely at a loss.

                                            >"Yeup!" The ginger responds. "We hit the deck and make it chase us around through the sand, it'll tire it out faster 'cause it won't have time to rest between leaps!"

                                            >The black man checks his fuel to see only a quarter tank remains. "You realize the higher air density will waste our fuel twice as fast, yeah?"

                                            >"Ain't that the honest, sad truth, brother." He responds with a sarcastic tone.

                                            >"Aight, don't get all bitchy on me now, jus' sayin'." He looks below, seeing no sign of the wyrm. "Wait for it to jump again. On my mark, we dive."

                                            >"Two."


                                            >The two birds had switched direction and were now flying towards them. Hesitantly, Westwind opens her mouth. "Uh, Corporal Dew, ma'am? Should we be staying here?"

                                            >The corporal takes a deep breath. "It's fine, private. We'll just move up or down if they get too close; they won't hit us."

                                            >She gulps.


                                            >Finally, they see the sand below ripple as the enormous creature leaps up at them.

                                            >One frowns. "Mark!" He turns inverted and pulls, diving towards the sand at a slight angle.

                                            >"Divin'!" Two mirrors his friend.

                                            >The wyrm overshoots them both and dives back into the sand a few hundred meters from where the golden bandits are hovering.

                                            >The black man scoffs with a smirk. "Forgot about them."

                                            >"Stay separated!" Two starts. "If it catches one of us, the other can break him out."

                                            >"One." They fly low to the ground, low enough that sand rises in a trail behind them as they bank, roll and maneuver around.


                                            >If the guards on the ridge were in awe before, now they are positively shocked. The speed and agility exhibited by these creatures is unmatched even by the best fliers in Equestria.

                                            >At least they were no longer flying toward them, instead flying in circles and wide arcs low to the sand.

                                            >At first, the Corporal raises a brow in confusion at this, trying to discern their intention, but soon she notices the wyrm rise, nip at the air and fall beneath the sand, crawling after them with all the speed it can muster. Her eyes widen with the realization: "They're trying to tire it out!"


                                            >The ginger grins wide, cutting through the curtain of sand risen in the wake of his friend's fighter. He jukes to one side, and narrowly avoids the teeth of the enormous predator bounding after them. Laughing wildly, he woops. "Yeah! Come and git it, dirt worm!"

                                            >His friend quietly shares his enthusiasm, maneuvering around a particular dune, he dives lower just in time to avoid the gaping maw bursting through its center. He narrowly misses the wyrm's body, almost scraping the sand below as he passes, and he gets a good look at its face. Rows of pearly white spears, the length of his fighter if not longer, line its enormous maw; two red eyes, small for its head but huge otherwise, glare death at him from each side of its face, amounting to four in total. He gulps as he resurfaces over the dune. "Well shit, I wasn't gonna sleep tonight anyway."


                                            >With the display gone behind a dune momentarily, the guards had a moment to collect themselves. The ground team debated the next course of action, which obviously included reporting back with the findings.

                                            >Corporal Dew and Private West went about watching the two with all the enthusiasm of fillies seeing their first Wonderbolts airshow.

                                            >The corporal blushes and pouts.

                                            >West tsks. "Does he have to narrate EVERY thing?"

                                            >Dew sighs. "Honestly, I don't know. The only accounts I heard of this happening were from veterans of the Appeloosan guard and a few P&W officers. I didn't know it can happen to lower ranking guards."

                                            >West is about to ask something more, but notices movement from the corner of her eye and turns her head to look.

                                            >Some distance to the left of the ground team, a huge, long, pitch black carapace with an uncountable amount of spider legs at each side crawls towards them. "SANDIPEDE!"


                                            >"Yo, Cheeto!" One starts.

                                            >"Two." He responds

                                            >One looks at the red 'Reserve' label under the fuel meter on the MFD. "I'm out of fuel, down to emergency reserve."

                                            >"Shit!" The ginger frowns, scanning the desert for their pursuer. He notices it behind him, some distance away. Its leaps are getting less calculated, more desperate, and less frequent. "It's definitely gettin' tired!"

                                            >Completing a sharp turn, One's eyes widen to see what looks like a giant, black house centipede crawling along the sand ridge towards where the bandits are hovering. "Yo, Cheeto."

                                            >"Yeah?"

                                            >"Look at this." He pings it on the HUD for his wingmate, and Two soon notices it too. "Hey, that's a meaty morsel, right? You think it might fall for that?"

                                            >One raises a brow. "I mean, we can try. But I was about to say, this planet sure got plenty'a oxygen in it, huh?"

                                            >"To support that thing? Maybe, or it could just be magical." Two concludes as the wyrm leaps some distance to his left. He chuckles. "Man, it's sure gettin' desperate. Le's try it out."

                                            >"One." He looks at the wyrm jumping occasionally and adds: "We gotta slow down, though, give it a chance to catch up."


                                            >The two pegasi dove as fast as they could to warn their squadmates, but even so, they couldn't possibly outrun the multi-legged horror. The only hope they had was to bury themselves under a layer of sand and hope it didn't spot them. Or so they thought.

                                            >West raises a brow as she stops mid-way through digging and looks at the valley where the two giant birds were flying before, that's when she notices them pass overhead, much slower than how they were flying before. Soon after, she fights to control her bowls as the enormous sandwyrm comes up and crashes down some distance behind the giant birds, a towering splash of sand rising beside its long, yellow-brown body as it follows its head like a spaghetti noodle being sucked into a feeding mouth. It takes her a moment, but she reckons that's where the sandipede would've been.

                                            >On that hunch, she spreads her wings, launching sand to each side of her, and takes off.

                                            >Sure enough, the sandipede is gone, leaving only a single, long and lanky leg slowly sliding down the sand to indicate it ever even existed.

                                            >The private grins wide. "Yes! We're saved!"

                                            >The corporal's eyes widen. "Oh no, no, no!"

                                            >West furrows her brow. "What's wrong?"

                                            >"They went towards Equestria!" She shouts, pointing a hoof at the valley behind them. "And that giant sandwyrm is AFTER them!"

                                            >Westwind gulps, feeling a bit silly for celebrating so soon.


                                            >While that was happening, the final battle of the war concluded with an overwhelming Alliance victory.

                                            >Among the many vessels participating in the fighting was a Battlebird type warship named Turaco, the only one of its kind to have only one tone of hull color. Much like the fighters it deployed, this enormous ship, almost the size of a small town, had the shape of a bird in flight. One carrier docked beneath each wing, using their engines to assist the warship in maneuverability. Wing-Claw and Forth-Toe, the carriers in question, were just completing their docking with the warship when the captain took her seat on the bridge and brought up the battle reports.

                                            >Amazingly, or perhaps not so considering they have the technology to respawn, they hadn't taken casualties.

                                            >Except two.

                                            >Two names under the caption MIA.

                                            >That caption only meant one thing: they went so far out of range that the ship's positional deduction system could not locate them, which is to say, out of the star system.

                                            >Then, much like a hen whose chicks strayed too far, she went down to the surface herself to find clues of their whereabouts. With an idea of what happened and co-ordinates to the most likely place to find them, she announced their departure and turned away, burning into space with all haste.

                                            >They journeyed for hours through Alliance space, finally meeting the border with the Amber Colonies. This is where her first mate and navigator suggested they 'go around'.

                                            >"Ma'am, will all due respect," The navigator starts. "I can't seriously advise crossing the border unannounced. We're a warship carrying enough fighters to form a fleet, we must use discretion where we thread."

                                            >"I agree." Chimed her first mate. "An action like this could have ramifications for the Alliance as a whole. A CMOA vessel can't just pass by like it's nothing, there's civilian traffic here! It'd be the equivalent of two allied countries sharing a border, and one day a tank from one just strolls through the other's cities because they felt like it!"

                                            >The captain leans back in her chair, crosses her legs and takes a deep breath. "Do you hear that, crew?" She asks in her deep, silk voice.

                                            >The navigator and first mate exchange a glance, then one speaks up. "That creepy old man voice?"

                                            >"Isn't this one of those anomalies that comes and goes?" Chimes the other.

                                            >The captain smirks. "Both of you are correct. He also only speaks when something really, fucking, odd is happening." Her eyes stay fixated on the galaxy map, eyeing the empty spot the coordinates specify.

                                            >They exchange another worried glance at the sight of their captain's stone-faced expression.

                                            >She concludes: "I'll leave none of my soldiers marooned on an alien planet, and if this anomaly is anything to go by, it's imperative we get there on time."

                                            >The navigator reaches out a hand. "But ma'am, going around would only extend our route by about a day-"

                                            >"Considering that if they die out of range, they stay dead, we can't afford that amount of time. I've made my decision, dear." She gives her an empathetic look, the motherly kind that says 'I understand your worry, but we're proceeding despite it.'

                                            >"Yeah, thanks, I got that." The navigator jabs to no one in particular. With a frustrated puff, she turns to the console and stops. "Can't you talk about someone else?"

                                            >After a long moment of silence, she begins to plot the course through colonial territories, taking care to minimize their exposure to high-traffic areas both to decrease the amount of time travelling and the chance of being taken for a threat.

                                            >The first mate gulps at the thought of being surrounded by a colonial war-fleet, hailed from all directions as every attempt at escaping to hyperspace is interdicted. The Battlebird warships are unmatched in maneuverability, but their firepower is lacking to take on even two colonial warships, let alone a fleet.

                                            >The captain puts a hand up. "It's going to be fine; we'll make it."

                                            >He nods uncertainly and regains his soldier mentality, taking his place beside the navigator and preparing for any possible scenario.


                                            >Private Westwind- "Ugh, he's back!"

                                            >Corporal Evening glides in front of her subordinate, making a slipstream for her to ride as they fly high over the desert. She lets out a nervous sigh. "You heard what the sergeant said."

                                            >In the distance, the sun is slowly sinking behind the mountains, painting the sky around it a magnificent amber.

                                            >The private gulps. "Ignore him and hope he's not telling a tragedy?"

                                            >The purple pegasus takes a deep breath to ease the dread. "Yeah."

                                            >A few hours ago, they reported back to the station, who immediately sent word to Canterlot. Quite simply, they did not have the power to deal with a wyrm of that size. With a quickly written report and minimal supplies, they sent a pegasus to get reinforcements. Unfortunately, that left the two mares as the only flight-capable ponies around.

                                            >Their solace was in that they had time. The sandipede it ate probably sated it, and after exerting itself in the way it did, it's quite likely it will take a nap. For a creature that size, a nap meant a full day, so that's how much they estimated they had before an attack could happen.

                                            >They spoke to every veteran in the area, and even a P&W officer who was passing by in an attempt to identify the creatures, but none had a clue what they were talking about. The regional regiment's captain, after much deliberation, decided to send them after the two 'Giant Birds' as they called them.

                                            >The orange mare frowns. "So, they're not giant birds? What are they then?"

                                            >He hoped that since they baited the creature into the territory, they could perhaps bait it back out. In the meantime, the settlements would be bolstered with unicorn and earth pony reinforcements, the latter to sense the attack coming, and the former to divert it somehow.

                                            >Hastily packing supplies and without even time to switch uniform, the pegasi took off. For a while now they have been flying west in a straight line, surveying the desert below for the creatures they saw fly this way.

                                            >The corporal knew to also look for caves, as birds, no matter the size, are known to make themselves cozy in any dry crevice they find.

                                            >Westwind blinks. "Oh so, they're in a cave."

                                            >A sigh escapes the Corporal. "They're MAYBE in a cave. Keep your eyes peeled."

                                            >"Yes, ma'am." She responds, scanning the gold-bathed terrain below for any indication of their objective.

                                            >As they continue their flight, the air around them gets colder and the equipment they carry makes its weight known. Despite it, the two soldier on. They are trained royal guards, and royal guards don't complain, wince, flinch, or break; especially not from such miniscule discomforts.

                                            >Westwind looks at her saddlebag. A trio of flares sit in their holsters on the middle, part of the plan. Once they find the creatures, they are to fly up to altitude and light a flare, indicating their position to the coming reinforcements. From there, they would all try to make them return south, hopefully taking the threat with them.

                                            >The private sighs. "Well, at least he's useful for something."


                                            >"…Neil Ellis Junior." The ginger concludes his full name, grinning at his friend from across the impromptu water pool in which they both sit.

                                            >Several hours before, close to running out of fuel, they decided on a cave at the side of a stone ridge to take shelter in. They landed, inspected it thoroughly, and planned some renovations. The cave had only one entrance at the side, big enough to allow one fighter to pass at a time with careful maneuvering.

                                            >The black man stares at him, mouth agape after hearing 34 names straight. "Man, fuck ALL those names, I'mma keep calling you Cheeto."

                                            >The ginger shrugs. "Okay."

                                            >Despite being close to the top of the ridge, it had no opening in the ceiling. After exchanging fuel cells to even out between them, they set about amending that. One melted the rock with his fighter's beam lasers while the other scooped the molten rock with his ship's kinesis net to levitate it out of the cave and discarded it on the sand outside. Eventually they had a nice, round hole in the ceiling that would let in some light and provide ventilation.

                                            >After that, one mentioned how a swimming pool would be nice, and so they set about cutting a recession into the floor of the cave with the same process.

                                            >Cheeto sniffs. "Ah still can't believe you'd switch out the beam laser for a coil gun."

                                            >He shrugs. "It breaks through armor faster."

                                            >"Yeah." The ginger scoffs. "Makes a pinprick in it."

                                            >"Better than just burnin' off the paint!" He retorts.

                                            >His friend throws his head back and sighs. "Whatever."

                                            >After that, they used the last of the fuel in their reserve tanks to haul a full cargo compartment of water each. They had enough to fill the pool five times if they wanted to, and still have some left to drink.

                                            >"So what do we do about this Narrator bitch?" He inquires.

                                            >With a nervous breath comes the response: "Just be yerself and hope he ain't tellin' no tragedy."

                                            >He tsks and looks to his left. The fighters rest side by side, cooling down after the long flight. Their reserve cells were spent, so even if they wanted to keep flying-

                                            >"Ah do." Says the ginger for no reason, then tsks, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt.

                                            >Occasionally a click or hiss would resonate around the cave from the fightercrafts as coolant reacted with the heat of their engines. Beside them stand both exosuits, ventilating after the long day. The two had stepped out of them to dunk in the pool, staying in their underclothes, which were effectively swimsuits.

                                            >"So what should ah call you?" Cheeto asks.

                                            >The black man leans back against the smooth stone and looks up through the hole at the dusk sky thoughtfully. "Well, how about Michael?"

                                            >Cheeto cocks a brow. "Like Michael Jackson?"

                                            >He blinks. "Shiet, that's actually bettah than what I had in mind." After another moment he sighs. "Damn I wish we had some music in here, fit the mood and shit."

                                            >His friend laughs. "Say no more, partner." With a click of his fingers, his fighter's cockpit lights up through the open canopy, and a menu appears before his eyes; subsisted by his neuro-processor implant. "Wha'chu want? Michael Jackson?"

                                            >He grins and tsks. "Later. Put on some peaceful shit, let's watch the sky turn dark."

                                            >"Aight." He scrolls to find a calm ambient soundtrack, eventually settling on one. "Here we go."

                                            https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=hB5gOxpzoYg&list=RDAMVMhB5gOxpzoYg

                                            >The fighter begins reproducing the music through the custom sound system he installed in it.

                                            >"Damn," Michael starts. "You really put some money into that thing, didn't you?"

                                            >He shrugs. "Ah just like to tinker with it."

                                            >"You know those get shot down all the time, what're you gon' do if you get blown up, and respawn with all that money gone; back to a stock fighter?"

                                            >He chuckles, using his telekinesis to stir a tiny whirlpool with his finger. "Think that hasn't happened before?"


                                            >As the sun finally disappears over the horizon, the two mares notice a peculiar stone ridge with a large cave maw at its center.

                                            >West jabs a hoof at it. "There!"

                                            >"I saw it, private." Evening responds. "Please Celestia, Narrator, whoever the buck, just please let them be there." She murmurs.

                                            >"Hey, Corporal?"

                                            >"Yes, West. What is it?"

                                            >She gulps before speaking. "What if they attack us?"

                                            >That gives her pause, but she shakes it off. "Then we retreat. We'll try and sneak up on them; if they look dangerous, we fall back and wait for reinforcements, if not, we try and make contact."

                                            >With a nervous sigh, Westwind follows her superior as they approach.

                                            >In the dying light, Evening Dew notices an opening at the top of the ridge, right over the cave and just the right size for a pony. "Over there, we'll peer in that hole and check before going inside."

                                            >West raises a brow. "What do you think made that?"

                                            >"Maybe a smaller wyrm, or it could be just rain."

                                            >Something black below catches her eye, and she blinks. "Uh, Corporal?"

                                            >"What?" She snaps.

                                            >"What's that black stuff on the sand down there?"

                                            >The corporal turns her head to see what appears like a huge puddle of black tar on the sand below. "I don't know," She admits. "But that's none of our concern right now."

                                            >"Got it." The private discards her curiosity as she follows her superior.

                                            >Their ears twitch as they approach the opening, and Dew furrows her brow. "Is that music?"


                                            >"Aw hell yeah, that's a classic!" Michael cheers as Beat It starts playing. He gets out of the water and uses a spell to dry off, the moisture streaking off his body and clothes in all directions. Looking at his friend, who already did the same thing before, he points a finger at him. "You know the dance?"

                                            >Cheeto stops rubbing his face and looks at him. "Hell yeah, I know the dance. What about it?"

                                            >"Wanna do it with me?"

                                            >"Aw." He sneers and looks away.

                                            >"Hey." He gets the ginger's attention back to him. "I'll say no-homo!"

                                            >"I'll say it too, we don't gotta dance for it!" He brings his hands up.

                                            >"Aw c'mon, live a little. Who're you afraid's gonna see you, the fuckin' narrator?"

                                            >He tsks and shrugs. "Aight, fuck it."

                                            >The fighter's floodlights, designed to illuminate asteroids from hundreds of meters away, come to life in their minimum brightness to light up the chamber in a soft white.

                                            >They stand side to side, then begin a routine. Spinning, wavering, throwing kicks, even cartwheels and flips at one point, all while mirroring each other.


                                            >The pegasi landed deftly at the opening, just as darkness flooded the desert and the sky above turned starry. They watched as the giant birds lit the whole room from spots on their wings, and as the odd bipedal creatures below began moving in erratic yet coordinated patterns, sitting through their whole routine with expressions ranging from shocked or disgusted to mildly amused.

                                            >In the end the two bipeds slid across the floor backwards towards each other as they appeared to walk forward, which was surreal to say the least, until they hit each other's backs and the music in the background faded.

                                            >Neither of them had any doubt that what they heard was music, but the lyrics were definitely not Ponish.

                                            >Evening's stomach sinks as she watches the creatures below verbally communicate in a foreign language. "What if they're infiltrators?"

                                            >West furrows her brow in worry. "But who would want to infiltrate Equestria?"

                                            >"Who wouldn't?" She snaps. "Equestria has the most magic of any nation on the planet. Pegasi control the weather, earth ponies can grow crops on unfertile soil and cultivate magical gems in boulders, unicorns are self-explanatory, and the sisters literally control the day and night!" She whisper-shouts.

                                            >The private recoils in sudden realization. It never dawned on her just how much power her home had compared to the rest of the world. "Bu- but, what about Saddle-Arabia? They have ponies too."

                                            >"They don't have the sisters, but otherwise, them too." She concludes, then looks back at the creatures below. One stands beside one of the green birds as his friend apparently digs around in its skull. She cringes. "What the hay are they doing?"


                                            >"…Comic books, sound system, a fuckin' guitar," Michael counts the items on his fingers as he looks at his friend. "Man, you packin' fo' a field trip, mothafucka."

                                            >"Know the sayin' 'plan for the worst, hope for the best'?" Cheeto asks as he digs around his cockpit for a particular item.

                                            >"Yeah, what of it?"

                                            >A grin spreads on his face as he finds what he was looking for takes it. "Well, I say plan for the best too, you know?"

                                            >He shakes his head and grins with a scoff. "Good one."

                                            >Disembarking the fighter, he shows a pair of round wooden shafts, about an arm's length each. "We can spar with these."

                                            >"Aw hell yeah, let's do that then." He takes one of the poles, twirling it in his hand. "What are we doin', swords, rapiers, or mean old clubs?"

                                            >The ginger grins. "Le's go with swords, throw some cuts n' shit."

                                            >"Aight," The black man takes a few steps back, standing beside the pool as his friend moves to stand in front of him. Pointing the tip at him, he lowers his chin. "En garde!"

                                            >"Wait."

                                            >His shoulders slump, and he straightens up. "Aw, what now?"

                                            >"Soundtrack." He says, browsing through the list to find something fitting for a spar. Satisfied, he assumes a stance. "Aight, le's do this."

                                            >They begin closing the distance slowly, maneuvering this way and that, testing each other's guards and poking at openings before they fully engage each other in fast paced, brutal conflict. The wooden clashes echo in the cave over the sound of the music as they chase, dodge, strafe, parry and charge at each other.


                                            >The two guards above watch them with a mixture of confusion and familiarity.

                                            >The corporal notices as one finally takes a hit on the arm and they stop for a moment, the brighter colored creature taps the spot where he was hit and they exchange a few words before returning to their starting positions. After a moment, they start over.

                                            >Her brow furrows. "I think they're sparring."

                                            >The private sighs nervously. "What do we do?"

                                            >She licks her lips, starring at them as they continue, displaying impressive speed, flexibility and agility. "They could be a hassle, but I doubt they can do much with just a couple of sticks."

                                            >Her eyes drift back up to the birds. "The real question is what those things actually are, because I'm pretty sure bird's heads don't open like that."

                                            >The private looks up at her superior attentively.

                                            >Squinting, the corporal makes out the chair in the 'bird's head. "I'm starting to think they aren't living things."

                                            >"S- so what are they?"

                                            >Before she can respond she hears something beneath crack. The rock remained weak after the sudden modification it underwent earlier in the day, and they had been standing right on the edge. The ground underhoof gives and sends them both plummeting into the pool below, disoriented and startled, they can't open their wings before landing in the water with a loud splash, the debris thankfully missing them or pinging off the armor.


                                            >The two froze the moment they heard the splash and snaped their attention to the water.

                                            >Cheeto swallows. "Y'know, it's good we passed by the woods before, because I would've shit myself right now if I still had any left."

                                            >Michael is about to say something but is stopped by something breaking surface in the pool.

                                            >They watch as a purple head gasps, trying to stay over the water.

                                            >"How much is the fine fo' establishing contact like this?" Michael asks.

                                            >It takes him a moment to think before responding. "However much you make in a year, double that."

                                            >"A hundred and thirty thousand credits?"

                                            >Cheeto furrows his brow. "Whut? Nah, more like two hundred thousand."

                                            >He balks. "Two hundred in two years? What rank are you, mothafucka?"

                                            >"Lieutenant."

                                            >"No shit." Michael slumps a bit. "You outrank me."

                                            >He furrows his brow. "Crap, so I guess all this is muh fault."

                                            >The head calls out, something like a stuttered whine. It sounds pitiful, almost pathetic, but the marines know better. Whatever that is could be their undoing if they make a mistake.

                                            >Reaching out a hand to take the stick from his friend's hand, Cheeto jogs over to his fighter and returns the sparring implements to the cockpit before standing into his exosuit, letting the servos lock him into it and the helmet seal over his head.

                                            >The HUD appears to notify him he is suffering from minor dehydration, and soon the injector remedies that. They both still have enough in their Hydration and Nutrition packets to subsist them a full week without needing to eat or drink, as long as they wear their suits.

                                            >Another splash from the pond resonates in the cave as another head breaks surface, this one an orange color. They stand and watch for a moment as the two in the water exchange verbalities, no doubt communicating, and begin to swim to shore, towards them.

                                            >They take a few steps forwards to stand beside each other, and Michael starts: "So what should we do, fight, run or just ignore them and hope they leave?"

                                            >"A bit late to ignore 'em, we're already in our suits."

                                            >Watching the two creatures reach shore and surface, they observe them as they exit the water. They aren't much smaller than them, perhaps the same size as a female soldier, if a little bulkier on account of their quadrupedal bodies and visibly toned physique.

                                            >"Yo, them some fluffy li'l shits." The ginger chimes. His eyes trace the golden apparel and the bags they carry on each side, noticing the wings. "Did you order chicken?"

                                            >"You jest, but I fuckin' wish we had some chicken; better yet, some Patai with that fish sauce." The black man's mouth waters.

                                            >"Yeah." His friend quietly agrees before reiterating: "They got six limbs."

                                            >Michael chuckles. "Think they might be insects?"

                                            >He shudders. "Nah man, fuck insects."

                                            >His friend chuckles.

                                            >The two creatures in front of them shake themselves, their wings ruffling and sending water all over the place.

                                            >Michael furrows his brow.  "Aw shit, they're makin' the floor all slippery."

                                            >"Yeah, they're all wet n' shit." Cheeto then notices the top right corner of his HUD: A crescent moon and three stars show with the time and temperature: 19:59 9°C/48.2°F. "Ah crap, it's gonna get cold. That won't be good for 'em, especially not in that gold fuckin' armor."

                                            >Michael chuckles and tsks. "Might as well be wearin' tinfoil for all the protection that gives."

                                            >He scoffs. "Yeah."

                                            >Surely enough, just as the ginger predicted, the two shiver, their teeth chattering through their muzzles as they look up at them.


                                            >"C- corporal?" West manages to keep her shivering to a minimum, despite both the cold and nerves.

                                            >Dew assumes a stance and prepares to draw her sword from the armor's scabbard. Upon noticing, the private mirrors her in this gesture, looking up at the bipeds with anticipation.

                                            >The creatures in front of them are different than how they saw them before. Previously their limbs were exposed, with only the torso, groin and half the thighs covered in white and black clothes; but now they wear green suits which cover them top to bottom, leaving not a bit exposed.

                                            >Dew knows, judging by the location of metal plates visible on the exterior, that those are probably suits of armor. She cannot ascertain the makeup of them however, as the color and flexible consistency of the material has her stumped.

                                            >Speaking between them for a long moment, the creatures begin backing up towards one of the bird-things, specifically the one with the open skull. At first, they just stand in front of it, but then one sits down on the floor, crossing his legs, and the other leans against the green body of the strange thing.

                                            >"C- corporal?" The private asks through clenched teeth, the most she can do to keep them from chattering.

                                            >"Follow me, slowly." Responding much in the same manner, Dew finally unsticks herself, slowly treading towards the other massive bird, which remains perfectly still.

                                            >The two creatures only watch them as they move. Their golden shoes clink against the floor of the cave, resonating off the walls, their hooves squelching with each step from the water trapped in them. The padding of the armor, soaked with sweat before, now has freezing water in it too, and it presses against their hides like a sheet of ice.

                                            >A thought crosses their both minds simultaneously, that the very uniform designed to protect them could be their undoing if they don't remove it. The irony bites something fierce, considering their potential opponents are not only dry and rested, but wearing dry armor which leaves no part unprotected.

                                            >West gulps, and Dew takes a deep breath. Finally, they reach the bird, noting it to be made of metal and feeling heat from under its wings. West immediately trots under the furthest one from the creatures and lets out a sigh as the expelled heat from its wing seeps through her wet uniform and warms her.

                                            >Dew's eyes widen and she approaches too, feeling the warmth ease the freezing discomfort, she allows herself to breathe a small sigh.

                                            >The creatures in front of them, visible from underneath the belly of the bird, communicate between them as she inspects it further. Multitudes of small gaps underneath the wing slowly release a steady stream of fading heat. It is significantly warmer than the air around it, but it's not hot enough to prevent hypothermia if they wanted to keep their armor on.

                                            >"Which we DO, creepy guy." West snaps at the air with a sharp whisper.

                                            >She looks at the legs next, they are all short relative to it, just under the height of a stallion, and there are three of them, a short one under the neck, and two longer ones before the wings at either side of the belly. What strikes her as most odd is that everything about the two birds is made of cold, thick, heavy, hard and inflexible metal.

                                            >She exhales and murmurs under her breath. "How can something this heavy fly so fast?"

                                            >West sniffles and adds: "How can it fly at all, even?"

                                            >They return their attention to the creatures that have been continuously speaking this whole time.


                                            >"…Ah mean, the siphons are on, that should make enough heat from the engines to keep em safe 'till we come back with firewood." Cheeto conclude- "Oh look, he's back to speakin' our language."

                                            >"About time." Michael looks up at the ceiling. "What were you telling 'em?"

                                            >For a time now they deliberated on what exactly to do, trying to determine what would worsen or alleviate their punishment. The choices varied from 'run away' to 'kill them', which were both immediately discarded for being ludicrous, to 'let them figure something out themselves' and 'go get firewood and start a fire to save them from hypothermia', which were both valid options.

                                            >"The longer we stand here talkin' the closer they are to dyin'." Cheeto looks at the maw of the cave scanning the dark landscape beyond. "And they can't leave at this point, it'll only get colder."

                                            >Michael looks at them then back at him. "What if they leave before we return?"

                                            >He crosses his arms. "Not our problem then. We can't be responsible for these dudes' suicidal decision makin'."

                                            >"Right." He nods. With one last look at the two colorful creatures, he walks around the fighter towards the maw of the cave.

                                            >The lieutenant pats the underside of his fighter's nose, and its cockpit closes with the soft hiss and chuck of a metal canopy sealing. With that he follows his friend out into the desert night, and they begin their journey to the nearest woods, a few clicks away. At first, they jog, but once they climb the ridge, they speed up to a run, then a sprint. For an untrained human, this would be exerting, but their training gave them excellent endurance. Several minutes into the run, they were skipping gaps in the rock and even throwing in some flips without so much as panting.


                                            >The two mares debate-

                                            >"There he is." West frowns with a little puff, looking at the darkness beyond the maw of the cave as she lies on the warm stone floor.

                                            >Dew pats the padding of her armor with a hoof, furrowing her brow at the wet squelch. It would take a while yet to dry, but at least their coats and wings were no longer wet, and they felt far less cold.

                                            >After a long debate over where the creatures had gone, and whether or not they were coming back, the two decided enough time had passed that it was safe enough to remove their gear and let it dry in the heat of the wing above their head. With the soaked padding removed, their bodies' natural magic evaporated the water in a matter of minutes, and the threat of hypothermia became nullified.

                                            >West's eyes scan the wing. The metal gaps almost resemble preened feathers, perfectly aligned and separated, yet close enough to prevent air pockets from creating drag. Dew joins her in observation, noting the number of gaps. The wing's shape and feather configuration don't resemble any she knows, but perhaps, she thinks, that's par for the course as this ISN'T a living being.

                                            >West looks at her superior and tilts her head. "What do you think it is?"

                                            >"An airship of some kind." She responds evenly. "A machine, no doubt."

                                            >West sniffs at the air for a moment. "Do you smell that?"

                                            >"Smell what, private?"

                                            >She sniffs again, then gets up and brings her nose closer to the wing's underside. Her nose is almost touching the metal gaps, close enough to feel the radiating heat when she speaks. "Smells a bit like apple pie, doesn't it?"

                                            >Dew furrows her brow and mirrors the gesture before returning to her previous stance. "Private, I don't know what apple pie you smelled, but I hope you didn't eat it."

                                            >She cocks a brow at her. "It was good pie!"

                                            >"Bleh." Dew makes a disgusted face, to her it smells like rotten figs. Turning around she walks out from under the wing and looks around the cave. The hole they fell in through shows the starry sky above, the ground is mostly smooth, no stalactites or stalagmites anywhere. Her eyes drift to the pool, which reflects the hole and sky above it, and she stops. "It hasn't rained recently, has it?"

                                            >Private West raises a brow. "Not that I know of, no."

                                            >"How is there so much water in such high elevation?" She looks further around the cave before letting out a puff. "Well, we still have our orders, and we delayed long enough. We should light up a flare and signal them."

                                            >West nods. "Yes, ma'am." With that she trots to the soaked saddlebags. Retrieving a wet flare, she rubs it between her wing and barrel until it's dry and takes it in her mouth.

                                            >Dew does the same, and together, they take off through the hole in the roof. Flying high above the ridge, they pull the caps off the flares.

                                            >Simultaneously, they drag the caps across the tips, igniting the flares. They release a cone of dim red flame and die almost immediately.

                                            >Dew groans. "Aw, no. Don't tell me they didn’t make them waterproof!"

                                            >West tries again to no avail. Turning it upside down, they both watch as the powder within slogs out like thin white mud, falling to the desert below.

                                            >The corporal throws hers in the air, then does a 180 and bucks it into the distance. "Buck this! Let's try again."

                                            >West salutes and they both dive to get more flares.

                                            >Again they try, and again the flares die almost immediately.

                                            >The last two flares, they decide to keep.

                                            >"Ugh, I can't believe I let this happen!" The corporal grunts as she walks back and forth between the bird-shaped airships. "How did I not think of this?" She frowns. "Wait a second, even more importantly, why, the buck, are these MILITARY grade flares not resistant to WATER?"

                                            >'Water' echoes in the cave as if it's mocking their predicament.

                                            >West hovers over one of the metal birds, deliberating with herself if it's safe to land on it.

                                            >"West, don't." The corporal commands.

                                            >"Sorry, Corporal." She lands back on the cave floor, looking up the head of it with a burning curiosity. "Do you remember how they made those massive trails in the sand?"

                                            >The corporal nods, even though the private is looking the other way.

                                            >"I was thinking, they must have really powerful wings to be able to fly that fast, right?"

                                            >She sighs. "Yes, West. Except those wings are rigid; they could only be used for gliding."

                                            >"But they clearly did more than that."

                                            >"I know." She narrows her eyes at the aircraft. "I'm trying to figure out how. They don't even have propellers, for Celestia's sake."

                                            >"Well, what if they use magic?"

                                            >She scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Equestria is the most advanced nation when it comes to magic. If that was magically possible, we would already have invented it."

                                            >West gulps, knowing her next words will sound absurd. "Equestria IS the most advanced."

                                            >The corporal cocks a brow, looking at her. "Yes?"

                                            >"On the planet." West concludes.

                                            >Dew's brow climbs higher. "Private, where are you going with this?"

                                            >She tsks and digs at the ground with a hoof. "W- what if,"

                                            >"If?" The corporal urges.

                                            >She licks her lips and take a deep breath. "What if they're not from this planet?" Her ears droop in both dread and uncertainty.

                                            >The corporal's eyes go wide and she recoils slightly, her ears perking and tail pressing between her legs. Suddenly, she frowns and looks at the pond again. "You wanna narrate what I had for breakfast too while you're at it?" She snaps at the water, before letting out steam from her nostrils and bowing her head.

                                            >"Corporal?" West looks up at her, uncertain.

                                            >She sighs. "Look, as crazy as it sounds, you might be right." Her ears droop, admitting it aloud makes the possibility so much more real. "But, if they really are, well, not of this earth, where could they have come from? We didn't discover any neighboring planets that can support life, and Saddle-Arabia, which has the most advanced telescope in the world, hasn't either."

                                            >West shrugs. "Maybe they're from a distant planet."

                                            >Her brow furrows in confusion. "But we know astronomical distances aren't traversable in any reasonable amount of time. Unless, they're" Her mouth goes dry as she says the word: "Immortal?"

                                            >West shudders at the thought of fighting an immortal being. "M- maybe, but that's not what I was thinking."

                                            >"Then what WERE you thinking, West?"

                                            >She swallows at her superior's impatient tone. "Well, y'know how unicorns can teleport?"

                                            >"Yes." It takes her a moment. "Oh. You think they teleported all that distance?"

                                            >"Maybe?"

                                            >Dew looks at the pond again, pondering if the water may have been brought here by magical means, and takes another deep breath. "I don't know which is worse; being surpassed by an infiltrating nation, or being invaded by creatures not of this earth."

                                            >"S- so what do we do now?" West asks.

                                            >The corporal sits on her haunches taking a long moment to think before responding. "I suppose we wait for them to come back. They won't abandon their vehicles here, that would be expensive- at least, if the prices of airships in Equestria are any indication."

                                            >The private runs a hoof across the underside of one ship's front end, feeling the cold metal against it. "These look way cooler than any airship I've ever seen."

                                            >Dew glances over her shoulder at her, and smirks. "Yeah, they do look slick."

                                            >A small grin spreads on West's lips. "Remember those awesome over-wing rolls they did while dodging that thing?"

                                            >The corporal blinks. "Crap, I almost forgot about the sand wyrm!"


                                            >Meanwhile, several miles away at the base of one of the mountains, the two marines found their way to the pond from which they drew water before, this time on foot.

                                            >"Oh shit, that lion-bat-scorpion bitch is fuckin' fast, boy!" Michael shouts as they sprint through the woods, a creature three times their size bounding after them.

                                            >"Run, run!" Is all the lieutenant can muster in the heat of the moment.

                                            >They break through branches, and slide through the undergrowth under a fallen pine tree.

                                            >That's when the ginger notices a cubby and points to it. "There, get in there!"

                                            >A marker appears on his HUD and he bounds to it, jumping and pivoting sideways in the air to fit through the narrow gap in the rocks. As he lands, he presses himself against the wall, giving his friend enough room to join him.

                                            >Finally safe, the two press themselves to the wall as the creature arrives, pushing a clawed paw through the entrance and trying to get at them. It growls and moans, scratching at the rock, but the marines know they're safe, and so take the moment to breathe.

                                            >"What the fuck is that bitch, man?" Michael asks through slow panting.

                                            >"Manticore." Cheeto answers flatly.

                                            >"Manticore?" He balks. "You're telling me they're real?"

                                            >There's a growl from the creature as the ginger gestures to it with a hand. "Apparently!"

                                            >"I thought that was some tabletop bullshit!"

                                            >"Me too." He admits. "But then again, so were griffins, and they turned out real."

                                            >He tsks. "Griffins are conjured, though. This thing" It growls again as he points at its face. "Evolved like this!"

                                            >The lieutenant shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time some magical made-up thing turned out real."

                                            >They spent a while collecting branches, storing them in their suits' metaphysical storage drive, or MPSD for short. Once they finally had enough for a good fire, they turned and started running back to their fighters, and the creatures that were probably awaiting their return. That's when they encountered the monster currently scratching the stone with its claws.

                                            >"Man, the poor bastards must be freezing their balls off." Michael chimes.

                                            >"Well, it's their mistake, not our problem." Cheeto cringes as the creature grinds its teeth on the jagged rock entrance, trying to bite through.

                                            >Ordinarily, they'd just kill it, but since this isn't an Alliance planet and they have no right to step on its soil, directly killing anything here would earn them another fine. As such, they abstained from even drawing their weapons, let alone shooting it.

                                            >"Hey, Cheeto."

                                            >"Yeah?"

                                            >"Lions are scared of fire, right?"

                                            >"Yeah, it's too bright n' shit, burns their retinas."

                                            >"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

                                            >He furrows his brow for a moment and nods. "Hell yeah."

                                            >In the cramped space, there is barely enough room, but Cheeto exits his exosuit while Michael restores a branch from the MPSD.

                                            >The lieutenant clicks his fingers, sparks flying as he fails to ignite his fire spell. "C'mon!"

                                            >Finally, he manages a fireball, and his friend runs the tip of the branch across it, the remains of sap catching flame and lighting up the branch like a torch.

                                            >With that done, he renters his suit as Michael waves the torch toward the beast. It growls in fear and backs away, and the marines step out.

                                            >Cheeto looks up behind him at the rock formation jutting from the grass and grabs Michael's shoulder. "Yo, we can climb here."

                                            >"Go, I got this."

                                            >With a nod, the ginger forms each hand into a claw shape, extending the climbing blades built into the suit's forearms, and begins climbing the rock. The blades make a pop as the hydraulic system shoots the blade forward with enough force to punch into the rock, pulverizing the material in its way and sending it out with a puff of dust and grey sand.

                                            >The creature paces back and forth, growing bolder as the flame on the branch slowly dies. With its last flicker, Michael sends it back into the MPSD and runs up the rock with the creature just an inch from his posterior, extending the blades and gaining a hold.

                                            >One after the other, they make their way up, all the while forgetting that the creature they're running from has wings.

                                            >"Aw, spit." Cheeto looks down to see it still trying to climb after them, growling and moaning as it leaves claw marks on the rock instead of making any progress. "Ah think it may have forgotten about its wings too."

                                            >Just as they near the top, the creature bounds over them in an arial maneuver and lands at the ledge right in front of Cheeto. It swipes at him, and in a desperate attempt to dodge, he disengages the blades from the rock, sliding all the way back down with a continuous groan. "Why the fuck did I talk."

                                            >Michael gets an idea suddenly and continues his climb. The creature moves to stop him, growling as he approaches, but then he swipes one of the blades across the rock, shooting sparks and making an ear-splitting grind. The manticore recoils, but resumes his stance after a moment.

                                            >Michael does it again, and again, and eventually the monster has enough, taking off and flying over the trees with a furious growl.

                                            >He looks down at the lieutenant with grin. "I think I gave it tinnitus!"

                                            >Cheeto gives him a thumbs up. "Now let's get back to those gold-clad fucks 'fore they freeze to death."


                                            >"And here we are, dearest." The voice of Atlas Cosmonautics' CEO, Bedef Eqllin-

                                            >"Edaeq names are fuckin' weird, dude." The navigator remarks, thankfully unheard by Bedef over the comms.

                                            >His muzzle bears a grin showing a group of carnivore teeth beside their omnivore counterparts. Pressing a pair of clawed hands together, he points them at the captain through the screen. "Now, I believe our agreed upon payment should be on your screen." He makes an innocent face and turns his head to the side. "Unless you've reconsidered my" he pauses to lean closer, resting his chin on his palms and ogling the captain through the screen two large yellow eyes. "Alternative payment method?"

                                            >The captain laughs heartedly. "Oh, Bedef." With a few strokes of the keyboard, she transmits several thousand Alliance Credits to his account. Leaning back in her chair, she eyes the creature with an easy smirk. "You really SHOULD keep it within your species, dear." She looks up at him. "I don't think these cravings are natural nor healthy for you."

                                            >The Edaeq shrugs, leaning away. "Nature, we've long surpassed, and health?" His long ears meet over his head, which is to say he 'furrowed his brow', so to speak. "What matter is health when we can restore our souls from the ether into new bodies?"

                                            >"A philosophical discussion we shall leave for a later opportunity." She responds.

                                            >"Very well." He gives a firm nod. "But I must warn you. Beyond this threshold, there is no law, no services, and no good Samaritans to stumble across, such as myself."

                                            >"M-hm." The captain looks at the map, counting the various constellations.

                                            >"You are entering cluster twenty-seven of the demilitarized zone, and while it's far from the worst, it is positively horrible." He looks away and then back at her. "Keep all your wits about you, there are more outlaws and monstrous creatures in the zone than even WE care to account for."

                                            >She shrugs, twirling a lock of her long, curly hair between her fingers much like a bored teenager. "I suppose we'll just have to do our duty."

                                            >He smiles, the colorful spines on his neck extending somewhat, and hisses. "Oh, captain."

                                            >She rolls her eyes. "Until we meet again, Bedef." Says calmly with a smirk.

                                            >"Oh- yes, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

                                            >With that, their call ends, the screen returning to the contact menu.

                                            >She turns to her first mate. "Sitrep."

                                            >He clears his throat. "All the hangars are sealed, fighters docked, carriers report the same thing, and most if not all the soldiers are either training in the holodeck or on their rec time."

                                            >"Is everyone present?" She urges.

                                            >The captain did not trust the fleet accompanying them, much less the CEO. Indeed, they helped avoid detection, and perhaps even prevent tensions from starting between the colonies and the allies, but his incessant requests for intimacy with a human female stirred dread in her stomach. If a soldier of hers went missing, she would burn the entire Amber Colonies down to an astronomical field of debris, starting with that very CEO.

                                            >"Yes ma'am. All crew besides the two missing are located and accounted for."

                                            >She raises her voice so the pilot can hear her: "Then off we go."

                                            >The navigator looks up at the ceiling with a brow raised. "And where was this narrator while Bedeq was eye-banging you through the screen for the last five hours?"

                                            >"I'm sorry," The captain starts calmly. "Would you like to repeat that?"

                                            >Despite her calm demeanor, her tone carries venom.

                                            >The navigator gulps. "I- I mean, where was this anomaly during our journey through the Colonies, ma'am."

                                            >She shifts slightly in her chair. "Probably telling the other side of the story." She aptly responds. "I doubt his audience would want to hear about a Colonial xenophile trying to get with a captain of the Centralized Military Organization of the Alliance for five hours. Let alone being escorted by a private military through empty space and abandoned jump gates in an effort to go unnoticed by the other corporations." She lifts a cup of coffee and takes a sip, setting it back down on the magnetic coaster. "We're entering the demilitarized zone, this is where things get interesting."

                                            >The ship enters the jump gate, and after a moment it is engulfed in the burning cyan mirage of the cosmic vein through which they travel. These veins, winding metaphysical passageways of infinite energy, are the catalysts from which all physical matter originates. In the darkness between galaxies, one will erupt on occasion and open a white rift from which innumerous stars will spawn, before collapsing into a singularity and sending all its matter into a swirl around itself; a ceaseless cycle of creation and destruction that forms the song of this existential plane. There is no end, and the beginning is still ongoing, with the furthest reaches of the cosmos slowly lighting up with new galaxies as the burning mass of matter seeks to eradicate the darkness that surrounds it. Life teems among the many vessels, to each their own history, aspirations and obstacles to overcome, to each their own beginning and, perhaps one day, end.

                                            >"Wow." The navigator utters. "That's the first time he actually explained something in depth."

                                            >Finally the mirage dissipates, and they are thrust into space around an enormous gas giant, somewhat reminiscent of Saturn with its multiple grey-white rings. In the distance a white star shines on it, igniting the top layer of atmosphere in a magnificent orange-blue and casting a spherical shadow over the rings.

                                            >At this distance, they cannot discern the makeup of them with the naked eye, but the navigator assumes them to be-

                                            >"Water, dust and rocks. There may be wrecks of colonial mining craft from before the war somewhere in there too." She says, looking out through the bridge's windows. She then turns her attention back to the map and bites her lip. In front of them is the vast cluster 27, one of 29 clusters between the Amber Colonies and the Covenant of Viridiana. After years of stalemate between the two, they signed a treaty, in which these clusters were designated as none's-land, and military presence in them from either side was prohibited. Consisting of dozens of constellations, the cluster itself is home to no small number of threats.

                                            >Much like war-torn environments and post-apocalyptic wastelands, the Demilitarized Zone is a breeding ground for all sorts of lawless and esoteric ideologies. From bandits and raiders, anarchists and rebels, to necromancers and slavers, the wide spectrums of occult, despicable, and evil all exist here. Extraplanetary lifeforms, from the meager Ore Leech to the truly colossal Asteroid Annelid, which makes even the biggest sand wyrms look like ants in comparison, teem among the wrecks of titanic warships and the rings of quiet planets.

                                            >If they are to make it to their destination, they'll need to exercise caution.


                                            >West, despite all her efforts to hold it in, finally yawns. "Oh, whatever." She wipes her eyes with a knee.

                                            >Her superior sighs. She went from pacing between the ships to sitting between them, and now it's everything she can do not to fall asleep.

                                            >Their day left the two mares exhausted, and being unable to accomplish their objective, they sit in wait for the creatures to return from wherever they went.

                                            >Dew presses her hoof against the padding of her armor. It's still damp, and quite cold, but soon enough it will be dry and she'll be able to wear it again.

                                            >West sighs. "I wish we had a fire."

                                            >Dew shrugs. "It's warm enough here." She looks up at the wing of the ship. "It'd be nice to have functioning flares so we could signal backup."

                                            >West furrows her brow as a notion strikes her.

                                            >The corporal looks at her subordinate. "A what struck you?"

                                            >"Well, I just thought, maybe bringing reinforcements here isn't the best idea?"

                                            >Dew looks at her, shocked. She blinks a couple of times before straightening her posture. "Are you questioning our orders, Private?"

                                            >"No! But-"

                                            >"But, what?" She snaps.

                                            >The private frowns. "We thought they were animals, they're not! What if we bring more ponies here, and they get scared and attack us?"

                                            >She pauses, her expression turning thoughtful for a moment. "Hm. I suppose you are right." The corporal admits. "Maybe it's better if we found a way to tell them what we want instead of trying to, um," She puts a hoof to her chin as she thinks of the right word. "Corral them southwards."

                                            >She nods. "Exactly! If they're smart enough to speak and make music, they'll probably understand we're trying to communicate!"

                                            >"Good thinking, Private." The corporal says sternly. Despite her limited experience being in command, she knows that being able to give credit is a mark of good leadership.

                                            >West blushes and smiles. "Thank you, ma'am."

                                            >She's about to say something else but is interrupted by the sound of something growling outside. It's feint, and in the cave it's hard to discern its origin, but regardless both mares spring to their hooves and rush to their uniforms, drawing their swords.

                                            >Right as West aligns the edge using the mouthpiece's grooves, two screaming masses fall from the hole in the ceiling, splashing water as they land in the pool. She snorts around the hilt, laughing at the irony. Her superior, despite her attempts not to, does the same.


                                            >Cheeto resurfaces first, looking up through the hole to see the starry sky above. "Ah think it passed over!"

                                            >The manticore had stalked them in the air. Once they were out of the forest, it resumed its pursuit with reverence.

                                            >Michael follows, but immediately swims toward the fighters. "Motherfukin' D&D nigga, how the fuck we gon' lose that bitch?"

                                            >"If it comes in here, we'll turn it blind with the lights."

                                            >They both get to shore and exit the pool, their water retardant suits near-instantly drying off.

                                            >Michael takes a few steps before noticing the creatures holding long silvery blades in their mouths. He slowly raises one hand. "Listen, I just spent an hour runnin' from a manticore just to save ya'll from freezing. If you so much as point that at me, I'll dip yo' ass in this water and kick you out the fuckin' ceiling, purple nigga."


                                            >The mares exchange a look, and corporal Dew tucks her sword under a wing before looking at the creature. "Do you speak ponish?"


                                            >Michael's neural implant runs its routine Universal Translation software, but instead of producing a subtitle, it only shows: [LANGUAGE NOT RECOGNIZED]

                                            >The marine blinks and his jaw slacks. "What the fuck."

                                            >The creature tries again, and this time: [LANGUAGE ABSENT FROM DATABASE – TRANSLATION UNAVAILABLE]

                                            >He turns to Cheeto, who's looking out of the maw of the cave to see if the manticore is still chasing or not. "Yo, Cheeto!"

                                            >He turns to him. "Yo."

                                            >Pointing a finger at the purple creature, he shakes his head. "He's tryn'a say something, I don't know what."

                                            >He jogs over and looks between them. "Wassup?"

                                            >The creature's ears twitch and it makes a few noises. The vowels sound more articulate if slightly less varied than most human languages, which is par for the course. What isn't par for the course, however, is the caption: [COULD NOT TRANSLATE] where the subtitles should be. He licks his lips. "Holy shit, this is like findin' a four-leafed clover."

                                            >"A language the universal translator doesn’t know." He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head incredulously. "We unlucky as hell."

                                            >Cheeto tsks and nods. "Guess we should jus' use symbols and drawings like with deaf people."

                                            >Michael nods, then the manticore makes its presence known with a roar that resonates in the cave as if it was taking its side in the conflict.

                                            >"Hey, fuck you, cave; Shut the fuck up!" Michael shouts through the helmet as they both turn to face the creature encroaching from the cave's maw.

                                            >In unison, they back away as it approaches.

                                            >The lieutenant raises an arm to signal the creatures not to pass him. "Wait for it."


                                            >"Corporal, that's a manticore!" Fear is clearly audible in West's voice, and rightfully so, this being her first encounter with such a creature.

                                            >She turns to her with a light frown. "I know what it is, private." She trots backwards, moving under the wing of the airship. "Get ready, we might have to flank it."

                                            >West gulps, her knees weak and legs shaky as she follows.

                                            >The corporal turns to her. "West," their eyes meet. "I know this is your first time engaging a hostile, let alone a manticore, but this is what we have to do, okay?"

                                            >West composes herself and nods.

                                            >"Good, get ready." With that, they position themselves under the belly of the ship, letting the giant predator walk past them.


                                            >The lieutenant clenches his fist and the fighter's lights intensify their brightness, evoking a startled retreat from the creature as its eyes are blinded. It stops after a couple of steps however, and squints at them, letting out a halfhearted growl.

                                            >"Yer shittin' me."

                                            >"What do we try now?" Michael asks. "Emotional damage?"

                                            >Cheeto reaches a hand behind his back, materializing his rifle from the MPSD and slowly bringing it to bear on the creatu-

                                            >"Is that a fuckin' AK-47?!" Michael's eyes peel as he looks at the ancient rifle in his friend's hands.

                                            >The creature pauses at the sudden outburst, giving the lieutenant enough time to respond. "Yeah. Wha's wrong with it?"

                                            >"Where in the shit did you get that, nigga?" Despite seeing it right in front of him, he can't believe his eyes. "D'you steal it from a museum?"

                                            >"No," He narrows an eye. "I got it at a fabricator, dude."

                                            >"Where's your standard issue? Who the fuck let you carry that shit around?" He asks, overcome with a feeling of surreal.

                                            >"What?!" He furrows his brow. "Bro, this is a perfectly decent rifle, it gets the job done!"

                                            >"That shit is older than this rock formation we're standin' in, nigga!" He looks at the iron sights and gas tube. "It don't even have gyroscopic compensation, attachment compatibility, flared magazine port- shit, it doesn't even have a sight mount!" He points a disapproving hand at it. "You need a fuckin' pipe wrench jus' to adjust the sights, and God help you if you forget to oil it, 'cause it sure won't."

                                            >The lieutenant frowns. "You done?"

                                            >"Nah! How you get permission to deploy with that shit?" He demands.

                                            >"You're allowed to bring your own guns to supplement your loadout, it's in the rules of deployment! Most guys take revolvers and grenade launchers, I take this!" He raises the rifle to punctuate the point.

                                            >"Why the fuck would you take a relic like this to a battle with railguns and laser beams? You try'na unlock an achievement or somethin'?"

                                            >"Yeah," He glares at him. "It's called Silence Is Golden and the requirement is to tell your subordinate to Shut Up!"

                                            >He tsks. "Got me there, nigga." Reaching a hand over his shoulder, he equips one of the standard issue assault rifles available to the marines. The magazine behind the grip helps balance the rifle's front weight due to the heat resistant barrel.

                                            >The ginger balks. "Bleh, bullpups."

                                            >"Eh, shut up, bitch." He sneers, bringing the confused, squinting predator into his sight. At the bottom left a number indicates the rounds left in the magazine, and on the right the fire mode. He clicks the selector, setting it from safe to auto. Clenching the foregrip, he suddenly gets an idea. The flashlight on the weapon's muzzle flickers at the creature's eyes, and it backs away, growling tiredly.

                                            >"Michael, you genius bastard!" The lieutenant exchanges the AK for his own standard issue, a centered-magazine configured counterpart, and does the same as his friend.

                                            >They advance as the creature slowly gives berth. Eventually they get it to the mouth of the cave where it stops retreating and just growls at them over and over.

                                            >"So, NOW do we try emotional damage?"


                                            >"Now!" The mares each push forward dozens of liters of water in the form of condensed clouds, bringing them to meet at speed over the predator. The imbalance of electrons causes lightning to erupt from between them like sparks from rock and metal, and it strikes the manticore directly on the flank.

                                            >The noise is tremendous, amplified by the hollow cave, the flash leaves its eyes truly blind for a long moment, and that's not mentioning the piercing pain of electricity coursing through its leg. With a startled yelp, the creature spreads its leathery wings and takes off, flying away to safety with all haste.

                                            >Initially, the mares planned to rush and retreat as engagement rules dictated, kiting the manticore until it gave up. They didn't expect the creatures to buy them so much time, but noticing the opportunity, Dew and West snuck around it and over to the pool. While the creatures were distracting it, they whirled the water up and weaponized it as they were taught in training. Ponies are perhaps small, but when they use their strengths, they are a force to be reckoned with; a lesson that manticore won't forget.

                                            >The act made the creatures jump, which West found odd on account of all the wind and noise they were making in the process. Perhaps it just felt more intense than it really was.

                                            >Dew shrugs, hovering over the two. "It makes sense, I don't think they can feel the wind through those suits."

                                            >West shrugs beside her, hovering much in the same manner.

                                            >They both watch as the creatures exchange a look beneath them before starting to yell at each other again, unable to decide whether or not its preferable to the ringing left by the crack of lightning.


                                            >The humans' ears weren’t affected on account of their helmets noise suppression capabilities, and as such, they kept arguin-

                                            >"Well, remember the flashbangs for next time then!"

                                            >"I will. Now, did you shoot it?"

                                            >"Naw man, YOU shot it!"

                                            >"The fuck I did!"

                                            >"Well what the fuck was that, then?"

                                            >"A bang and a flash- a gunshot." Michael scowls. "You shot it!"

                                            >"No, I did NOT." The lieutenant mirrors his expression through the helmet.

                                            >He shows him the weapon's sight and ammo counter. "Look, see? Sixty."

                                            >"So you had one in the chamber?"

                                            >"No, nigga!" He returns the rifle to its place in the MPSD. "I don't leave rounds chambered!"

                                            >Cheeto tsks and checks his own ammo counter. As expected, a round 60 appears at the bottom left of the sight. "Crap, it wasn't me either."

                                            >They furrow their brows and look around, quickly noticing the creatures hovering above them.

                                            >"Holy shit." Cheeto's jaw slacks. "Are these dudes holdin' clouds?!"

                                            >"That wasn't a shot," The black soldier's eyes trail the contours of the impossible water formations in front of them. "That shit was lightning!"

                                            >"Ho-holy shit, nice!" The lieutenant cheers. "That's some next level spellcastin'!"

                                            >The creatures exchange a look before pushing aside the clouds, which Cheeto watches hover for a short distance before they melt over the pool in the form of a localized shower. They flap their wings rhythmically to remain in the air as they try talking to them again, the caption [INDISCERNIBLE] appearing on their HUDs.

                                            >Michael's smile slowly fades as he sees the creature's undersides. "Hol' on a minute." his tone is low. "They ain't dudes."

                                            >Cheeto furrows his brow. "Whut in the hell you talkin' 'bout- oh."

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >After getting an unwanted eyeful, they avert their gazes and walk in the direction of the fighters.

                                            >Michael sighs. "At least we know for sure they ain't insects."

                                            >"Hey!" He snaps to him, pointing a hand in his direction. "FUCK insects."

                                            >"Whu's your problem with insects, man?"

                                            >"Just fuck 'em!"

                                            >"Alright, calm down!"

                                            >The lieutenant motions a hand for his fighter's lights to dim again. "It's nice they had the idea to take the soaked armor off, I just kinda wish they had some humility to go with it."

                                            >"These bitches have tails." Michael responds. "They probably don’t even wear clothes." After a moment he adds: "Besides, they saved our asses."

                                            >"That don't make seeing their tits any less awkward. But yeah, great, after this we'll be even."

                                            >With a flash-

                                            >"Really, nigga?" Michael asks the infallible ceiling.

                                            >They materialize the branches they collected, and set them up in a spot between the fighters and the pool.

                                            >The lieutenant tsks. "Forgot the rocks to form a circle."

                                            >"What's the fire gon' spread to? The wet fuckin' floor?"

                                            >He shrugs. "Naw, I mean for the aesthetics of it."


                                            >The mares hover closer to the two creatures who go between talking to yelling at each other.

                                            >"Are all of them this rude?" West's ears fold back in frustration. "They're just outright ignoring us!"

                                            >Dew raises a hoof in her direction. "At ease, private. They're probably just having a very heated discus-" She's cut off by a grind of metal on metal and snaps to look at them. Her eyes widen at the sight of the long blades extending from one's upper limbs, and the sparks reflect off them as it slashes them against each other.

                                            >West gulps. "They had those this whole time?"

                                            >The corporal's jaw slacks as she realizes the blades are fixed to the suits, yet articulate as if they were a part of the creatures themselves. Her mind races to think how that could be possible, but is left stumped. No magic in Equestria could enable a mechanical contraption to be controlled and manipulated like an extra limb. Between that and how they materialized objects from seemingly nowhere, she was absolutely certain whatever these creatures are have long surpassed Equestria in magical capability. She clenches her teeth. "Yes, I think we got that, thank you."

                                            >West tilts her head at the pile of branches they're kneeling over. "I think they're trying to start a fire."

                                            >Dew scoffs at first, but then looks around. "You know, it wouldn't be the worst idea. Between the hole up there and the giant entranceway, there's probably enough ventilation to make it safe, and it would make this much more comfortable." She gives her subordinate a smirk. "Guess your wish is coming true."

                                            >West smiles back.

                                            >The creatures exchange some more words in their foreign language and one of them walks over to one of the ships. Dew lands and walks up beside it, watching as it opens a compartment in the front and reaches its hands in. With a mechanical *chuck* noise, he unplugs what appears to be a belt of brass vials with pointed copper caps. Her head tilts in confusion at this, wondering what could possibly require such an expensive and impractical storage method.

                                            >The creature looks at her, and she looks at it. It says something in its deep voice, which by the tone she assumes is a question. Unable to comprehend the words, she just shrugs in response.

                                            >It must be satisfied with that, because it retrieves one vial and breaks off the part of the belt holding it before restoring it to its previous position and closing the compartment.

                                            >West lands beside the other creature, who just crosses its arms and looks at her as she does. She looks back at it with a slight frown. "You're not gonna say anything, are you?" She asks impatiently.


                                            >[NO IDEA] Cheeto reads the caption with utter bafflement. "How many error messages fer unrecognized languages did they give this thang?"

                                            >"Don't know, hope we don't find out." Michael responds as he returns with a 25mm bullet in his hand and the other winged weather-mage walking beside him. He crouches beside the fire and begins pulling the bullet to get to the powder inside the case. His fingers slip from it. "Crap, can't get this shit."

                                            >The creature besides him tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. She says something, and another caption appears: [NO REFERENCE – TRY A DICTIONARY]

                                            >Michael balks. "A dictionary, nigga?! How the fuck there gon' be a dictionary if we-" Finally the brass gives and the projectile is freed. "Oh shit." He throws the bullet at the water and it lands with a small splash.

                                            >The creature watches as he spills the gunpowder over the firewood, and a moment later Cheeto cuts the blades against each other, shooting sparks that ignite the powder and set the branches on fire. It recoils, but then comes a little closer, looking at the flames with must be confused amazement.


                                            >West grins and trots up to the fire, sitting beside the flames. She lets out a little sigh and lays down, letting the fire's heat seep through her coat. "This is so much better."

                                            >Dew furrows her brow in confusion. "Was that burning powder?"

                                            >The private cocks a brow. "Burning what?"

                                            >She straightens up and looks at her subordinate over the fire. "Like cannon powder, the kind the naval division uses."

                                            >"Oh." West looks at the fire and shrugs. "Maybe."

                                            >She looks at the creature beside her. "Can I see one of those?"


                                            >[POSSIBLE WEATHER RELATED QUESTION – FURTHER REFERENCE INFORMATION REQUIRED] Michael blinks at the caption. "I think it's just fuckin' with me now."

                                            >Cheeto pauses. "The translator or the alien?"

                                            >He looks between the purple creature and the fire. "Shit, both."

                                            >The orange creature says something too, and the caption [INSUFFICIENT DATA] appears for them. Despite this being a new species to them, the soldiers can easily discern their expressions, having past experience with other sapient and sub-sapient quadrupeds. Thus, it's easy for them both to see the hopeful suspense in the lowered posture of the purple one, and the frustration in the furled ears of the orange one.

                                            >Cheeto sighs heavily. "We've been puttin' this off long 'nuff. I don't know where they came from, but since they ain't goin' back, we might as well."

                                            >"Aw hell no." Michael raises a hand in his direction. "We are NOT establishin' contact with these things!"

                                            >"Oh ah'm sorry, you'd rather keep ignorin' 'em then?" He takes a few more steps to towards his fighter, his heart racing. Despite how decisive he appears, he's very much nervous. Establishing contact with newly discovered species is both out of their paygrade and beyond their authority. This act, if done wrongfully, could both have consequences for the Alliance in the future when dealing with this species, and earn them yet another fine.

                                            >Michael walks with him. "Cheeto, c'mon, man! Think about what you're doing!"

                                            >He raises a hand. "Look, whatever they want could be important."

                                            >"They prob'ly want water or some shit."

                                            >Cheeto cocks a brow and looks over to the two creatures who have moved all their gear closer to the fire, noticing one pulling a round object attached to a sling from her bag. Holding it between her forelegs, she bites a cap off of it before visibly drinking from it.

                                            >He looks back at Michael. "Y'were sayin'?"

                                            >"Aight, maybe food?"

                                            >Cheeto tsks. "Only one way to find out."

                                            >The marine lets out a heavy sigh. "This shit gon' cost me all my money."

                                            >With a click of his fingers, the ginger's fighter opens its cockpit. He climbs aboard and goes through his things, eventually finding the tablet computer under two bags of marshmallows.

                                            >Michael snaps in the direction of the lieutenant. "Fuckin' bags o' what now?!"

                                            >"Yeah, forgot I had these." He checks the expiration dates. "We still got a year 'fore they go bad."

                                            >"Lemme guess." Michael crosses his arms. "You got some skewers up there too?"

                                            >He furrows his brow and digs around a little more. "Yeup. Got a pack of wood skewers right here!" He grins and pulls it out.

                                            >"You're treatin' your fighter like your personal damn car, Cheeto. How the fuck you get this rank?"

                                            >He laughs. "Easy, ah just clean it before inspection. You can modify it an' everythang long as you keep it clean."

                                            >Michael tsks and raises his hands to catch a bag of marshmallows tossed by his superior. "Fuck we gon' do with this?"

                                            >His helmet folds into the suit to show his grinning face. "What better way to establish contact with an alien species than with something we probably have in common?"

                                            >Sugar, much like water, is a universal consumable. As such, most sapient species who discovered gelatinous ingredients have also invented sugary treats such as these, albeit under different names and production processes, and any such species would instantly recognize the soft, squishy treats for what they are.

                                            >"Yeah, Narrator, like you said, it's universal knowledge. Everyone knows it." Cheeto tells the pilot seat.

                                            >Michael folds his helmet and sighs nervously. "This shit is awkward as hell."

                                            >"Yeah, I don't get how ambassadors do this shit." He seals the canopy and jumps back down. "Thing is, they obviously wanna tell us something, otherwise they'd sit by the fire and shut up."

                                            >Michael shrugs. "Protocol dictates not to respond no matter what."

                                            >"It also dictates that if there's an immediate threat to any sapient creature's life, you have to neutralize it." He snaps. "Maybe they're tryna ask fer help."

                                            >He looks at him skeptically.

                                            >Cheeto frowns. "You saw what's out there! The giant wyrm, massive-ass bugs-" He shudders. "Come to think of it, they might even be tyrin'a warn US about sumthin'!"

                                            >With a deep breath, Michael finally relents. "Fine, but I still think this is a bad idea."

                                            >The lieutenant stops mid step and looks at him with a furrowed brow. "Y'think marshmallows over a fire is a bad idea for first contact?"

                                            >He tsks loudly. "Whatever man."


                                            >"Marshmallows?!" West balks at the absurdity of the situation as the brighter creature offers her the bag. She looks up at the ceiling with a frown. "Why can't you just translate between us instead of being so useless?"


                                            >Cheeto shakes his head. "He's not gonna answer you." He shakes the bag in front of her, urging her to take it, and she gingerly does so, biting down on the top and somehow opening it with a strong shake of her head. He blinks in surprise. "Quadruped bullshit never ceases to amaze."

                                            >With that, he sits between her and the purple one, who's sitting next to Michael.


                                            >Dew grabs a skewer and pins a marshmallow, holding it over the fire for a few seconds before flipping it and chowing down. It's a surprise they're sharing food with them, and even more so that they have marshmallows of all things, but it's a welcome one.

                                            >West shrugs and does the same, chewing as she watches the creature fumble with some type of black tablet. Suddenly, the face of it lights up in a stark blue, and soon more colors join the frame. Her pupils widen and she swallows before leaning in to see better.

                                            >"What's that thing?" Dew asks with a brow cocked.

                                            >The creature doesn't offer a response, instead putting a hand on its chest.


                                            >"Cheeto." The creature looks at him and tilts her head.

                                            >Michael cackles. "Ho- holy shit, you took this Cheeto thing f'real, huh? Is that gon' be your name from now on?"

                                            >"Nah, but shut up." He presses his fingertips against his chest plate. "Cheeto." He repeats.

                                            >She licks her lips, then tries to repeat after him. "Ss, sth, Theo?"

                                            >Michael laughs. "Close enough."

                                            >The lieutenant nods. "Cheeto." Then, pointing a hand at Michael, he tells her his name. "Michael."

                                            >She deflates.

                                            >The marine lets out a chuckle. "Right, she's not even gon' try and pronounce that."

                                            >"Mickle." The orange one says.

                                            >"Ha!" Michael laughs, pointing a finger at her and nodding. "She got it!"


                                            >"Good one, West." The corporal smirks.

                                            >She shrugs, chewing another treat. "I'm curious why they're laughing so much."

                                            >"Maybe it's just their way of expressing excitement?"

                                            >She shakes her head. "I think they're messing with us."

                                            >Dew furrows her brow at that, then looks at the brighter creature. "So, I suppose you want our names?"


                                            >Cheeto tilts his head and cocks a brow, using expressions he hopes she can read.

                                            >She presses her knee to her breast and utters a phrase he can't pronounce.

                                            >Michael throws his head back. "Now we're the clowns."

                                            >He shrugs. "Hei-yh, seeuh?"

                                            >She shows her teeth and nods.

                                            >Cheeto grins. "Hey look, they smile like us!"

                                            >Michael replies around a mouthful: "Mothafucka ev'ry oher 'peicies shmiles wike we hoo."

                                            >"Well yeah, the bipeds at least. But it's rare for quadrupeds."

                                            >He shrugs. "Every single hexaped nigga smiles like humans."

                                            >The lieutenant furrows his brow. "There's only ten species like that."

                                            >He shrugs. "Point still stands."

                                            >"Okay." He turns to the orange one. "So, what's your name?"

                                            >Like the previous, she says something a human should find difficult to pronounce.

                                            >Cheeto tries anyway: "Cellum feauh?"

                                            >She laughs and shakes her head.

                                            >Michael swallows and nods at her. "Cehllhumh Fih."

                                            >She grins and nods.


                                            >"This is fun!" The private chuckles.

                                            >Dew clears her throat points at the ships with her nose. "Airship?"


                                            >Michael looks from her to the ships. "The fighters?"

                                            >"Welp, this is where the tablet comes in." He brings up the screen and searches up the AV-8 introduction videos. It takes a while, as the connection to the omninet is weak here-

                                            >"Wah the hell is the omninet so slow?"

                                            >Michael's stops with a marshmallow an inch from his mouth and looks at the lieutenant. "We're not outside Alliance space, are we?"

                                            >Cheeto's stomach drops. He hadn't thought they could be THAT far from the territories, but suddenly the possibility is no longer far-fetched. "Ah sure hope not."

                                            >With the video loaded, he holds the tablet out so the creatures can watch. "I hope their pattern recognition is good enough to see the similarities."

                                            >Michael shrugs. "It's a sapient species, I doubt it won't be."


                                            >West furrows her brow at the moving image on the tablet and tilts her head at the sound it makes. The symbols that appear on it are unfamiliar, but she discerns them to be writing of some kind.

                                            >Dew watches as two large birds- "Ships." Appear on the screen, a completely different color than those in the cave, but the exact same shape. The plates on their wings articulate and they hover slightly off the ground. "Huh, their method of propulsion is on the wings."

                                            >"Cool." The private watches closer as the craft's capabilities are demonstrated. The light variant is shown flying through ravines, climbing into altitude at incredible speeds and firing a red beam, of what she assumes to be magic, from either side of its nose.

                                            >"They have magic cannons?!" Dew recoils, and the creature looks at her for a moment. She looks at the screen again.

                                            >The medium variant is shown next, a bigger craft with a similar shape is shown launching what Dew assumes are fireworks, albeit unusually bland and destructive ones, at rock formations and blasting them apart.

                                            >Finally, they both watch in confusion as the heavy variant is shown. A four-winged monster with terrifying maneuverability, capable of stopping at a heartbeat and using its large body to turn away from various beams shot towards it.

                                            >They are shown flying in formation as the screen fades back to black, then more unreadable text appears.


                                            >"Fighter-ships." He taps the screen, then points at his fighter.

                                            >She nods, but doesn't bother attempting to repeat his words. Instead, she skewers another treat.

                                            >Michael yawns. "How're we supposed to ask 'em what they want?"

                                            >Cheeto shrugs. "I just thought they wanted to know more about the fighters."


                                            >Dew swallows another sweet. "I feel so incompetent right now. Instead of following orders we're having marshmallows with potential invaders."

                                            >West stares at the fightercraft. "They have magic beams."

                                            >A pit of dread stirs in Dew's stomach, only stifled by the fact the creatures haven't demonstrated any hostility yet. "Please don't say Yet as if it's going to happen." She whispers.

                                            >The thought of signaling reinforcements only to provoke a violent response from the creatures makes her discard the thought of complying with the orders.

                                            >She bites her lip for a moment. "How do we ask what they're doing here? How do we tell them about the Sand Wyrm?"

                                            >The private taps her chin, something the creature beside her seems to find odd.


                                            >He tilts his head. "How c'n their ferlegs bend like that?" Sitting down on the floor, she is slightly taller than him and their heads are almost level with each other, So when her hoof touches her chin, it's about at the height of his nose.

                                            >Michael shrugs. "Aliens, dawg."

                                            >"Hoof? Wait." Cheeto narrows his eyes at the hoof of the orange one. "Huh, they're Equines."

                                            >Michael looks at him as he chews. "Kinda small to be any equine I know."

                                            >"Except ponies. They only get a bit bigger than this." The lieutenant suggests.

                                            >Michael looks from one to the other and shrugs. "They look nothing like horses, though."

                                            >"Yeah, and we look nothing like apes. Don't change the fact we evolved from 'em."

                                            >He shakes his head. "Ain't no way they evolved from ponies; not with those wings."

                                            >Cheeto eyes the feathered limbs at their sides for a moment and nods. "Yeah, true. But if they're equines, ah think we can call them by equine terms, right?"

                                            >Michael squints and shakes his head, clearly not following.

                                            >"Ah'm sayin' they're female equines, female equines are called mares, we c'n call 'em mares."

                                            >Michael shrugs. "Jus' as long as it makes the Narrator stop sayin' Creatures all the goddamn time."

                                            >He laughs. "I wish."

                                            >He feels something touch his arm, not directly, but the suit's haptic feedback notifies him of it. His head snaps to look up at the purple one, and she tries to ask him something.

                                            >The captions are useless as ever: [POSSIBILITY: WHERE'S THE LAMB SoƧ? PROBABILITY: 0% ADDITIONAL DEDUCTIVE REASONING REQUIRED]

                                            >Michael narrows an eye. "Now there's a reference I don't get."

                                            >He sighs heavily before bringing up the drawpad program on the tablet and pulling the pen from its holster. "Ah hope they know how to draw."


                                            >Purple- I mean, Dew's eye-

                                            >"Did you forget my name?!" She asks the smoke as if it could've known it in the first place, then hisses in frustration when it doesn’t respond.

                                            >The creature demonstrates how the device in his grasp can function like a chalkboard, allowing a mock pen to be dragged across the white screen to draw black lines and erased with a hand. It then demonstrates how to change the line's colors, make them broader or thinner, and use some kind of mode where the pen can be dragged diagonally to draw perfect geometric shapes. Kind of like MS paint, but more versatile and open source; I think.

                                            >West blinks. "What are you on about?" She asks the ceiling, that maintains its eternal silence on account of having no vocal instruments.

                                            >The creature places the tablet down and allows Dew to take the pen in her mouth. She holds it in one side as she speaks: "We can just draw what we want to tell them!"

                                            >West furrows her brow. "You think that'll work?"

                                            >"We have to try."

                                            >The private gets up and walks behind the creature, who moves to let her sit beside the corporal. She looks at it and nods. "Thanks."

                                            >Some concepts needed no more than basic action to be communicate-

                                            >"You ever shut the buck up?" She snaps at the quiet ceiling- "I'm snapping at you- ugh, nevermind."

                                            >The corporal attempts to draw the sandwyrm, but can't really make anything more detailed than a brown squiggly line.

                                            >"Hey, shut up, I'm trying!"

                                            >West nudges her with a smirk. "May I, Corporal?"

                                            >She gives her subordinate the pen, and West clears the screen before starting over. The creatures both watch as she draws a surprisingly detailed sandwyrm, face and all, and even gives it a background, with sand flying into the air as it bursts out from the desert floor.

                                            >Dew's visibly impressed. "Wow, where'd you learn to draw like that?"

                                            >She smiles around the pen in her mouth. "My mom taught me how to sketch when I was a filly. It's kinda weird with this thing, but it works."

                                            >The corporal returns the smile. "She sure did a good job of it."


                                            >The lieutenant narrows an eye. "Ain't that the giant wyrm from this mornin'?"

                                            >Michael nods. "Looks like it."

                                            >The mares look at them, and Cheeto points at the screen. "Desert wyrm."

                                            >"Show 'em the fighter's footage." Michael suggests.

                                            >The lieutenant grabs the tablet and swaps to another program, connecting to the fighter's interface and displaying the captured footage from the ship's sensors. He highlights the creature, repeating: "Desert wyrm."

                                            >The mares smile and nod, clearly making progress now.

                                            >He switches back to the drawpad and puts it back down. "Aight, so what about it?"


                                            >"Okay, they know we're talking about the sand wyrm, but how do we tell-"

                                            >West raises a hoof to stop her superior. "I'll just draw a comic showing them what happened, they'll probably get it." With that, she gets to work illustrating their ships flying across the desert with the wyrm chasing them, the settlements they drew it towards and the threat it poses to the ponies of the region.


                                            >"So that's about it," The bearded outlaw marauder concludes through the comms, looking at the captain with a sardonic grin. "There's no way out of this one."

                                            >The navigator rolls her eyes, whispering to herself: "And he's back again."

                                            >Leaning forward, he continues in his gravelly voice: "Since we're both humans, I'll cut you a deal. You submit to our demands, and we'll let you go."

                                            >The captain leans back, an easy smile on her lips. "M-hm." She takes a deep breath and looks at the command deck. The holographic display shows her fighters departing from the enemy base, the caption 'Mission Completed' above the three green arrows representing her soldiers' craft.

                                            >She looks at him evenly. "Here's the thing:" With an inhale, she-

                                            >"Allow me to stop you right there. If you so much as rotate a turret, we'll blast your entire ship to kingdom-come with the railgun I mentioned earlier." He looks up at her. "Please, Captain, don't allow that to happen."

                                            >She tsks. "I was about to say:" Her voice is deep and smooth as she informs him: "We don't negotiate with terrorists whose base we've already infiltrated and rigged with explosives."

                                            >"What?!"

                                            >She reaches for another cup of coffee, leans back, crosses her legs, looks at him, and shrugs. "Click!"

                                            >The outlaw base, situated in a large asteroid formation, erupts in flames and smoke, debris crashes into the enemy fleet, destroying a cruiser and damaging several more. In a moment, 592 outlaws, 32 exotic animals and 12 questionable accomplices are killed simultaneously, their remains turned to interstellar ash. The railgun, which threatened the Turaco a moment prior, floats away, the barrel sparking brightly as the energy is discharged in all directions.

                                            >Her forward scouts jump to the next destination to scan for more threats and determine the safest route. The carriers detach themselves and burn in opposite directions, trapping the enemies in a pincer maneuver as their fighters launch and engage.

                                            >Finishing her coffee she places the cup back down and rests her cheek against her hand, looking up at the marauder with a wry smirk. "You did plan for this, yes?"

                                            >His expression of shock soon turns to anger, but before he can respond, his ship takes a torpedo to the bridge and he is sucked out into space in view of the camera.

                                            >The Captain scoffs and chuckles. "I suppose not then."

                                            >The battle won't last very long, if the previous few are any indication. The Turaco is almost halfway to her destination, and she's leaving behind a trail of carnage. The CMOA is not well known in the zone, as the Alliance shares no border with the demilitarized clusters. As such, most outlaws fail to weigh the consequences of trifling with their forces, and pay dearly for it.

                                            >The navigator shrugs, looking at the data stream from the scouts. "Don't be so dramatic, they're just outlaw scrubs." She mumbles. "The repurposed mining equipment and improvised ordnance they have is no match for state-of-the-art military technology."

                                            >With a deep sigh, the captain turns to her first mate. "Des, be a dear and get me some more coffee, will you?"

                                            >He blinks tiredly, grabbing the cup. "With all haste, ma'am."

                                            >They've been at this for more than 24 hours straight, having had no rest since the before the final battle of the war. Most of the crew is perfectly fine, rotating shifts and allowing themselves time to rest in between battles, but the command team is slowly growing exhausted. For this reason, she has been drinking coffee non-stop, and has delegated several command roles to her higher-ranking marines; knowing not to trust her own judgement in such a state. Despite this, she is quite exhilarated.

                                            >For the first time since becoming captain, she is completely alone, with no backup or reinforcements. She actually has to take REAL risks, make REAL decisions, and prepare herself mentally and emotionally for REAL consequences should she make a bad call.

                                            >Fighters fly in echelons in front of the ship, survey around dust clouds and asteroids for outlaw ambushes and dangerous wildlife, and she even has an actual reason to deploy star-fighters, larger fightercraft with FTL and other specialized role capabilities, sent to possible jump destinations to scout ahead and help determine which route is safest.

                                            >Several times already they were surrounded, outnumbered, outgunned, but never outmatched. Forces of bigger clans and gangs of runners-up all faced their absurd prowess, turned to stardust in mere fractions of an hour. The humans of the Turaco proved to be the most formidable creatures in a place where they are but mere specks in size and presence. They are quite average by CMOA standards, but here they are the bane of all who dare to stand in their way.

                                            >There's a long journey yet ahead of them, but so far, the Turaco has smoothly sailed through the cluster despite the tribulations, only slowed by precautions taken to prevent any casualties; which often proved both effective and warranted.


                                            >"I can't fuckin' believe this." The lieutenant stares at the screen in his hands, mouth agape.

                                            >Michael stuffs another marshmallow in his mouth. "Whu't 'e hell you talkin' bout?"

                                            >The orange mare drew 4 panels: In the first, their fighters are seen luring the giant wyrm through the desert; In the second, what must be buildings are visible in the horizon, toward which they fly with the wyrm in tow; In the third, the giant wyrm is seen lurking under one settlement while its residents are oblivious to the threat; and in the last panel, the wyrm is seen rising from the sand, the debris of a building it destroyed in the process flying in all directions as terrified citizens look on in horror.

                                            >Michael swallows hard and almost chokes. "I see now."

                                            >The lieutenant places the tablet back down and stands up, beginning to pace back and forth. "We lured a giant deathworm to'rd their fuckin' settlements!"

                                            >Michael's eyes widen and he stands up too. "We should check how much fuel we got."

                                            >Cheeto doesn't seem to have heard, continuing his routine. "How could I be this fuckin' stupid? Why the hell did we even fly North?!"

                                            >Michael furrows his brow. "Now hol' on a minute, that was My idea."

                                            >"We should'a just kept goin' south!" The ginger facepalms. "We could've entered supercruise and leave it behind us. It would've stayed in the desert and those people would've been safe!"

                                            >Michael raises a hand. "Hey Cheeto! C'mon now, calm down."

                                            >Cheeto rubs his face with a hand before snapping to his peer with a glare. "How the fuck can I calm down? We just indirectly killed dozens of people of an undiscovered species!" He shouts.

                                            >Michael mirrors the glare at first, but soon composes himself, walking up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey now, you remember what our job is?"

                                            >He nods. "Preserve life, in all its forms, according to the moral code."

                                            >"Exactly." He holds him by both shoulders and locks eyes with him. "Now, can you tell me how losing your shit in this cave is going to help us do our job?"

                                            >He shakes his head and runs a hand down his face before taking a deep breath.


                                            >The mares watch with concern as the two creatures in front of them talk. This is the first time they've seen such physical contact between them, but it didn't take them any effort to discern that one was distraught, and the other was consoling him.

                                            >West puffs, the air escaping her lungs from the stress. "Do you think they got it?"

                                            >Her superior nods. "They wouldn't sound this worried otherwise." There's a hint of relief in her tone, as an invading force wouldn't mind a wild creature wiping out a settlement. She reckons that they aren't invading, but just lost or wandering aimlessly. Her brow furrows, and she raises a hoof to her chin. "Although they could be after something specific."

                                            >It took a while for West to finish her set of detailed drawings, and afterwards one of the creatures began drawing small lines at the top left corner of each, which she quickly realized was a request for her to number each one chronologically.

                                            >She blinks in a sudden realization. "Maybe I shouldn't have drawn the sandwyrm attacking a settlement as if it already happened?"

                                            >Dew shakes her head. "I think they understood it's a possibility rather than a past event."

                                            >She lets out a short, nervous sigh. "I hope you're right."


                                            >Michael releases his comrade. "They ain't all dead yet. What we need is a plan."

                                            >"Yer right," The lieutenant nods, placing his hands on his hips. "We c'n lure it back south with our fighters if we can find it again."

                                            >"Do we have enough fuel to draw it out AND fly south while it chases?"

                                            >The lieutenant shakes his head in uncertainty. "We'll have to be dodging it too." He nods toward the ships. "Let's check."

                                            >Michael gets to his fighter first. The cockpit hisses open and he presses a button under the left MFD, which lights up to show the status of the ship with the fuel at the bottom. "Bit over a third of the reserve tank." He announces.

                                            >Cheeto looks at his own MFD that shows 'Reserve: 39%' and sighs heavily. "That's maybe good for twenty minutes of flight."

                                            >Michael deflates. "That's not even enough to lure it a safe distance."

                                            >The lieutenant gulps and lets out another sigh. "Not if we intend to get away from it."

                                            >His brow furrows. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

                                            >"We can lure it south, but we won't have enough fuel to get away from it afterwards."

                                            >His mouth goes dry as he realizes his friend's proposal. "You- you suggest we sacrifice ourselves like some hero type bullshit?"

                                            >"Think about it, Michael." The lieutenant looks at his subordinate in the eyes, his voice quivering. "We lured that thing here. These people are in danger because of us!"

                                            >He looks at the mares and sighs. "Yeah, I guess we did bring this on ourselves. But that don't mean we gotta pay the ultimate price!" Sealing the cockpit, he jumps down from the fighter's wing and looks at his friend. "There might be another way."

                                            >Cheeto retains an attentive expression, but says nothing.

                                            >"This serpentine sand-nigga is reptilian, right? Like snakes and shit?"

                                            >He nods.

                                            >"So they don't go around at night?"

                                            >He nods again.

                                            >"Well, we got a few hours until daylight. We'll have more fuel by then."

                                            >Cheeto runs the numbers in his mind and shakes his head. "Won't be enough."

                                            >Michael furrows his brow in thought. His eyes drift to the mares, and an idea ignites in his mind. "They got wings n' shit. Maybe they can lure it out, then we can get its attention and lure it the rest of the way?"

                                            >"You kiddin'? They ain't Mach-Five capable fighter craft, they're just-" He looks at them, stumped to find the right word.

                                            >Michael assists him: "Mares?"

                                            >"Yeah! They can't outrun that thing, let alone dodge it when it leaps!" He looks at the orange one, who rests her chin on her forelegs with her eyes closed. "I'd be surprised if those wings can even carry them high enough to give 'em time to react."

                                            >"Well, shit." Michael deflates. "Guess we gonna have to do this, huh?"

                                            >Cheeto's heart accelerates as his limbs weaken. He hasn't felt this nervous since the first time he spoke to his now girlfriend. His eyes widen all of a sudden. "Aw, Jasmine."

                                            >Michael cocks a brow. "Who?"

                                            >He sighs, remorse overtaking him. "Muh girl."

                                            >"Aw hell," He mirrors his friend's expression. "shit's 'bout to get real tragic for her, huh?"

                                            >"Yeah." He replies somberly. Suddenly, he shakes his head hard. "Maybe there's something else we can do."

                                            >His friend shrugs. "If we had a way to make more fuel- wait."

                                            >"What?"

                                            >"What if we combined the fuel cells, and only one o' us lured the big bitch out and away?"

                                            >Cheeto thinks about it quietly for a long moment before responding. "It's too dangerous to depend on just one fighter like that. What if it gets caught and we're left entirely outta options?"

                                            >Michael furrows his brow. "Okay. What do you suggest then?"

                                            >He replays the event in his mind, remembering how it ended. "Maybe we can do something with its prey? I mean, it eats those giant centipede things; maybe if we can find one, we can draw it towards it." He grins as hope ignites in his chest. "It'll eat its fill, and give us enough time to land and refuel!"

                                            >He shrugs. "That's not terrible. But how in the hell we gon' get the centi-bitch where we want it to go? Hell, where do we even find one?"

                                            >Cheeto nods toward the mares, bringing up the tablet. "We should ask the natives."

                                            >Michael nods. "Right."

                                            >Jumping down from his fighter's wing, he sits on the ground and rests his back against the landing gear as he tries figuring out how to best illustrate the plan. "Crap, how do we explain the concept of fuel?"


                                            >"For fuck's sake!" the thud of a wooden desk resounds in the tunnel complex of the abandoned mines. The Karzak points all three fingers of his free hand at the screen. "How long does it take to level up in this game?!"

                                            >His eyes suddenly narrow and he removes his headset to look around. "Oh, you're back. Took you a while this time." Rising from his chair, he stretches his back and looks around.

                                            >After crashlanding on this planet due to a warp cruise interdicted by its stellar mass, the Karzak, Nehil Dee, spent a considerable amount of time doing nothing about his predicament. Realizing quite quickly that he could hide from any intelligent lifeforms in this mine complex, and that he could sustain himself on the underground reservoirs and bugs that littered it, he resigned himself to playing ancient videogames downloaded from his exceptionally high-speed (considering his location at least) Omninet connection.

                                            >He walks out of the small chamber that serves as his room, his two legs trembling from the lack of exercise in recent weeks, and looks at his spacecraft. The purple ship was damaged in the crash, and being quite a large vessel, finding a place to hide it was no small challenge. Thankfully, a massive cave had collapsed atop a ridge, and after clearing the rubble with the tractor beam, he had an underground landing pad perfect for the purpose.

                                            >Never to be caught ill-equipped, Nehil had all the necessary devices to make himself at home here, and put them to good use. He dug into the reservoir directly beneath him with the ship's drill and established a pump; he spent some time learning what attracts the local fauna, and used that knowledge to set up what soon became a farm; he even managed to grow plants down here, which sit beside the ship, quietly basking in the moonlight entering from the massive hole above.

                                            >His big, black eyes trace the edges of the opening in the ceiling, perceiving several large centipedes latched to the rock, resting after a hunt. He turns his attention to the floor, where a variety of worms and maggots indulge in the mildew and moss growing in certain corners of the chamber. All of which are livestock that make quite good meals, as he came to discover.

                                            >Originally, he only planned for this to last only until he finished an ancient human game, then he would fix his ship and depart. Such was not the reality of things however, as he instead completed not only the one game, but the whole series, its spinoffs, and some semi-related media as well. Afterwards, he sunk his teeth into more human media from times gone by.

                                            >He shrugs. "Say what you want about Humans, but they do make some quality entertainment." Frowning at past experiences, he looks at the ground and mutters: "That's pretty much the only good thing about them, really."

                                            >The natural fascination of the Karzak species is with alien cultures. As such, they evolved phenomenal capacity in understanding alien psychology, leaning new languages and bridging gaps between different cultures; with most of them serving as professional diplomats, ambassadors or more commonly, entertainers and performers. Their natural charisma and mostly non-violent nature make them among the most revered species in the Alliance.

                                            >Nehil lets out a heavy sigh. "Yes, remind me again of my specie's specialty and how dull it is, Narrator." He crosses his arms, speaking at his ship. "Better yet, why don't you tell me how you intend to end my blissful vacation here tonight?"

                                            >Turning back to his room, he looks around at his possessions strewn about. A pile of clothes sits on his couch that he dragged out of his ship; a coffee maker that he fried from overuse rests beside his laptop, uselessly gathering dust atop the desk he fashioned from planks and crates permeating the mine; the office chair, stained from sweat, faces him silently. He eyes it up and down, wondering if it's inviting him to sit back down, or begging for the abuse to end.

                                            >With a deep breath, he runs his hands down his face and puffs. "Sad to have to do this, but I better start packing."

                                            >Starting with his clothes, he organizes his belongings and prepares to take it all onto his ship. He groans at the laborious tasks yet ahead of him. "I have to fold all the clothes, dismantle the cables, fix the drill's pipes-" his gaze snaps to his ship. Somewhere in the middle, the drill's collection pipes steadily stream water down onto a number of growing beds, each raising a different edible plant in quantity.

                                            >He puffs. "I really made a glorified irrigator out of that thing."

                                            >With the clothes folded, he walks towards his ship, knowing to avoid the depression in the floor which he tripped over every night of his first week.

                                            >And then almost tripping over it anyway. "Thanks for the reminder, my incorporeal friend."

                                            >A sigh escapes him as he looks around what he's been calling home for the last several months. "Oh, I'm going to miss this place."


                                            >"Wow." Dew looks at the drawings of the creature with wide eyes. It didn't take her long to understand the ships require fuel, after all, she does know how airships work. What she wasn't expecting was for the creatures to draw up a plan on how to remove the threat from the region. In their own language, they gave her a long explanation of how they could lure it back south and keep it there, but they wouldn't have enough fuel to get away which meant it would cost them their lives.

                                            >The creatures both look at her expectantly as she shudders, hissing: "Yeah, got that."

                                            >She looks at West, who's fallen asleep momentarily, and nudges her awake.

                                            >"Hm?" She groggily lifts her head.

                                            >"Wake up private, I might need you to draw something again."

                                            >She sits up on her haunches and looks down at the tablet. On it is a multi-paneled drawing depicting the sandwyrm chasing the ships south, away from some scribbled buildings and towards what she assumes is a sandipede by its number of legs.

                                            >She blinks away sleep as her mind rationalizes the image in front of her, and it eventually clicks. "Is this a plan to draw the wyrm south?"

                                            >Dew nods. "They don't have enough fuel to lure it out and draw it south without crashing in the desert, but that won't be a problem if the wyrm isn't after them by that point."

                                            >West blinks slowly as her eyes scan the drawing again, but she can't make sense of it with the fog of fatigue. "What are we supposed to do?"

                                            >Dew looks at the creatures, one of whom reaches a hand out for the tablet again. It circles the sandipede and points to it, asking something in its language. She furrows her brow and shakes her head in confusion.

                                            >West blinks. "You want to find a sandipede?"

                                            >The creature blinks back, raising its hands and saying something in its unpronounceable language.

                                            >She sighs, wipes the tablet and draws a crude sandipede with a little square map next to it before showing it to the creature. With a tired face she asks: "Is this what you want?"

                                            >The creature nods, and she puts it down again before turning to her superior. "Where are we going to find a sandipede?"

                                            >The corporal scoffs. "Easy, any old mine around the southern ridges should have plenty."

                                            >West gulps, her increasingly lucid mind processing the implications. "W- we're going to have to lure one out, aren't we?"

                                            >Dew sighs. "Maybe they'll do it."

                                            >"What?!" West recoils, startling her superior. "Corporal, they can't possibly outrun a sandipede, they only have two legs!"

                                            >Dew looks at the creatures who aren't really much bigger than her, realizing quickly that her subordinate is right. A pony would have a hard time getting away from a chasing sandipede in the best case, so obviously these two don't have a chance in tartarus of making it even a short distance with the giant predator after them.

                                            >Dew shakes her head. "Alright, we Might have to lure the sandipede out and towards the southern valley." Her heart begins to thud in her chest at the realization of what they might be about to do, and the danger it involves.

                                            >West lets out a trembling sigh. For a moment, a thought crosses her mind that they could die out here, alone, so far from home, and her friends and parents would never know what happened. The air escapes her lungs. "You're a real tick, you know that?"

                                            >The corporal takes a deep breath to compose herself, the thought of making a bad call puts the weight of a boulder on her chest. "Don't listen to him, private. I have an idea." Tapping the tablet with a hoof, she looks at her subordinate. "Do you remember our orders?"

                                            >She nods. "Find them, fly up and deploy a flare so reinforcements can come find us."

                                            >"Draw it for them."

                                            >Her eyes widen. "But corporal, wha-"

                                            >"West, do what I tell you, please."

                                            >She pauses at her superior's stern tone and expression before nodding and complying with her order.

                                            >Dew procures the last flare from her saddlebag, feeling the compromised cardboard housing squish between her teeth. She drops it onto her hoof and sighs. "I hope they have a solution for this."

                                            >The private puts the pen down for a moment. "What if they don't want us to bring reinforcements?"

                                            >"We'll cross that bridge when we get there." She asserts.

                                            >West returns to her work, illustrating their conversation with the regional captain, their plan to find them and signal reinforcements with a flare. It takes some effort, but the result leaves her confident that the two creatures will understand. She takes a deep breath and presents it to the corporal. "Are you sure about this?"

                                            >She nods once and turns to the creatures.


                                            >Cheeto takes the tablet in one hand, and is given a silvery cylinder in the other. He twirls it between his fingers as he inspects the drawings.

                                            >The first panel shows what he assumes are the mares in front of him, speaking to a larger member behind a desk. By the shape of the head and size of it, he assumes it must be a male specimen. Above it, one panel shows a few cylinders, and beside it a group of their colleagues looking on at a bright shine in the distance. The last panel shows the group flying towards the beacon, with their fighters and the mares beneath it.

                                            >He looks at the silvery cylinder, twirling it between his fingers. "This a flare?" He notices a tin cap on one end and puts down the tablet to pop it off. Beneath it is a hard, white substance with a grainy texture. He drags the cap across it, and sure enough, it lets out a jet of red for a second before dying out. He laughs. "This is one shitty flare!"

                                            >Michael grins. "No shit." He stretches out a hand to receive it, and squishes it between his fingers, inspecting it. "This shit's made of cardboard!" He laughs. Putting it down on the floor, he turns to the lieutenant. "So, what'd they say?"

                                            >"Basically, they were going to light a flare to signal reinforcements once they found us."

                                            >Michael furrows his brow, looking at the time. 23:44 "Then why didn't they?"

                                            >"Duh, their flares got dunked in the water and compromised."

                                            >"Oh right." He yawns. "So, should We signal them instead?"

                                            >Cheeto shrugs. "Can't hurt, ah guess."

                                            >Michael chuckles. "Long as they don't try to arrest us or some shit."

                                            >He freezes at that. "Crap. If they do, we're going to have to fight our way out."

                                            >Michael breaks into a full on laugh. "Mothafucka, what are they gon' do? Scratch the paint on our armor?"

                                            >"How about shoot us with lightning?"

                                            >He waves an arm dismissively. "You paranoid, man."

                                            >Cheeto puffs and gets up, walking to his fighter. "Hope they help us find a centi-bitch then."


                                            >Dew lets a small smile creep on her lips. "I think it worked." She rises and follows the creature to his ship, where it climbs aboard and opens the front section again. She hovers in the air to see what it's doing, her wings meekly protesting from the day's exertion. It pulls something from under the seat, something like it had before when facing the manticore, except smaller.

                                            >The head of the ship closes again as it jumps down and walks out of the cave. She follows, landing beside it and watching as it adjusts something, a dim green light emanating from the back of the device in its hands.


                                            >Cheeto looks at the Flare gun's screen, reading the different variables. He sets the color to Red before adjusting the desired Altitude until the Visibility shows 360° and Surface Illumination shows only 50m2, then points it up. An electrical whine fills the air as the capacitors on the barrel charge up to the required voltage. Finally, the green display shows the caption: <SHOOT>

                                            >There's a loud bang as the projectile breaks the sound barrier, and the mare beside him gasps, watching as it quickly climbs to 300 meters before exploding into a ball of bright red, illuminating the night sky.

                                            >With that done, he looks at her. "Now, if you try something stupi-"

                                            >He's cut off by her rearing up and wrapping her forelegs around his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder with a whinny-like chuckle.

                                            >He freezes, as typically such a gesture from a quadruped means an instigation of a fight, but nothing about her demeanor hints that's her intention. Her ears remain perked, and while he can't see her muzzle, he assumes she's grinning. Before he can pat her back as a form to return the gesture, she breaks away, releasing her forelegs first and using her neck to hold herself up from his shoulder as she takes a step back before landing on all fours.

                                            >He looks at her flatly. "That better have been a hug and not some pathetic attempt at a takedown, girl."


                                            >Dew looks up at the creature apologetically, unsure whether its kind know what a hug is, or what it means. Thankfully, it doesn't seem antagonized, so she turns and trots back into the cave, toward her subordinate. "We did it! There's a flare up."

                                            >West gulps. "S- so what now?"

                                            >"Wait for reinforcements to come, and explain the plan to them."

                                            >The private looks at the two creatures, who come and sit beside the fire, seemingly with the same idea in mind. Maybe it was not a bad call after all.

                                            >She furrows her brow at the floor. "I don't like you, creepy guy."

                                            >"Don't worry." The corporal reassures. "I'm sure whoever they sent can help us lure the sandipede. Then they'll lure out the sandwyrm, it'll chase them south, eat it and they'll be able to land safely, far from Equestria." She takes a deep breath with an easy smile. "After that, Mission Complete."

                                            >West feels the stress intensify in her stomach and mutters: "I hope they sent pegasi, then."


                                            >"There!" The white stallion shouts, jabbing a hoof at the distant glow before furrowing his brow and looking around. "D'you hear that?"

                                            >The teal mare beside him looks around too, her eyes gradually widening as her head swivels to scan the night sky.

                                            >Spitfire, the cap-

                                            >"So the regional captain wasn't kidding." She scoffs with a grin. "There really is a narrator in this one!"

                                            >"Uh, captain?" Fleetfoot utters, her teal hide crawling- "Yeah, I know!" She shouts at the stars before turning to her superior, overcome suddenly with a feeling of surreal, as if all this is a dream. "We're All hearing him, right?"

                                            >Blaze, an orange mare who bears a striking resemblance to the team captain, nods with a grin as she scans her surroundings. "This is weird, dude."

                                            >Soarin furrows his brow. "Uh, captain? The flare?"

                                            >"Right." Spitfire spreads her wings with a sound and takes to the air, her team following behind. "Let's find those guards, ponies, move it!"

                                            >Earlier in the day, just after dusk, they received orders from Canterlot, from Celestia herself no less, to arrive at the Appeloosan guard station as there was some manner of emergency. In the briefing they received prior, they were told about the duo of guardsmares, and how they were meant to signal them with a flare once they found the creatures responsible for this predicament. They waited hours without a signal, and began to worry something may have gone wrong. As such, they find the sight of the burning flare in the distance somewhat relieving.

                                            >Blaze leads a team of three as they form up on the left, while Spitfire leads the remaining trio behind her on the right. In mirrored wingtip formations, the eight of them fly west towards the bright glow of the flare.

                                            >Misty Fly, a bright yellow mare with electric blue and white mane, squints at the brightness of it. "Didn't know they made flares That bright."

                                            >Spitfire suddenly furrows her brow. "They don't." The prospect that whatever they're flying towards may not be of pony nature gives her pause. Not that she slows down any; the Wonderbolts retain their course with increasing speed.

                                            >They all know the cost of hesitation, Spitfire best of all. Thus, despite their doubts, they remain committed to their objective.

                                            >The captain clenches her teeth, a discomfort growing in her stomach. She exhales and mutters to herself: "Just ignore it, and hope he's not telling a tragedy."

                                            >Her head perks up as an idea pops into her mind. Blaze looks at her, and she gestures for her to fly further south while she takes a course more to the north, then to climb up to altitude over the flare.

                                            >With a shared nod, they divert to fly at a new, advantageous formation. True, they might be flying towards a trap, but that doesn't mean they'll let it catch them.

                                            >Misty hisses, stress and frustration building up in equal amount. "I can't believe that instead of giving us an idea of what we're flying towards, this guy just narrates it! I mean, he clearly knows, right?"

                                            >The stallion behind her, Silver Zoom, tries to peek under the glaring brightness of the flare, noticing the ridge it hovers over and the gaping cave maw it illuminates. "Oh, so that IS a cave." He remarks. "I think whatever we need to watch out from must be in there. As long as we use caution on our approach, we should be able to avoid whatever it is they planned for us."

                                            >The captain looks at the ridge, the cave's maw, and then at the flare. Judging by its altitude, it's possible a pegasus deployed it, but its brightness and duration don't correlate to any military flare she knows of. She cocks a brow. "Unless it's a new one I don't know of?"

                                            >The freezing night air runs through Blaze's mane as she leads her squadron closer to the light below. Behind her, Soarin speaks up: "I didn't know flares could last this long."

                                            >She shrugs. "Must be a new patent."

                                            >Soarin smirks, imagining the implications. If flares can last for five whole minutes, maybe they could start using them in their shows! He imagines the very first nighttime airshow of the Wonderbolts, each flier trailing a glowing, colorful streak of magnificent light behind them as they execute sharp maneuvers and dangerous stunts. They wouldn't have to rely on grey smoke, or identical thundercloud trails, they could diversify their shows even more – maybe even throw in some fireworks! "Yeah! Wouldn't that be awesome?"

                                            >Blaze presses her lips together and snorts, daring a glimpse at the grinning stallion behind her. She quickly returns her gaze forwards however, as turning her muzzle either way at such high-speed causes drag that could destabilize her. "You should tell Spitfire about that later, Clipper!"

                                            >"Yeah!" He agrees excitedly, but then pauses. "Wait, what should I say?"

                                            >The mare ahead of him laughs. "I'll try and remember the Narrator's tangent and tell you later."

                                            >She looks at the flare below, now almost above it, then looks at her captain.

                                            >Spitfire signals for the team in front to pass further west from the flare, while she and her followers pass over it from the east, hopefully, they'll falsely spring whatever trap was laid for them, and if not, they'll make a few more attempts as they descend.

                                            >As they pass by the flare, they notice nothing is holding it up, instead it seems to just hover there as if on its own.

                                            >Fleetfoot suppresses a shudder as they pass by again, lower this time.

                                            >They'll be landing soon, and so far, no trap was sprung.

                                            >Another low pass, this time they smell smoke and see the light pouring from a hole above. Misty gulps, an involuntary thought of what that fire may be used for crossing her mind and making her sick.

                                            >Eventually they slow down and land some distance from the opening on opposite sides of it.

                                            >Spitfire signals Blaze to begin moving up the ridge towards it, then begins the climb herself with her subordinates in tow.

                                            >They approach deftly, the cover of night concealing them enough so whatever is in that cave may not see them first.

                                            >Blaze notices first the fire in the back of the cave, and the long, ominous shadows it casts upon the rock. In the light of it, she can see what looks like a purple silhouette. If she hadn't known they were looking for royal guards, she'd say it must be a pegasus, but the absence of golden armor makes her doubt her perception.

                                            >Spitfire squints at something large in the cave, unable to discern what on earth she's looking at. It's green, and ridiculously big, but also rigid as the rock. Could there be some ancient statue buried down here? She gulps. "Or some type of messed-up pre-unification ritual site?"

                                            >With a deep breath, they procced to the mouth of the cave. At this distance, Blaze can no longer deny what she sees, the silhouette near the fire is definitely a purple pegasus, laying on her side with her eyes closed. She watches her barrel with baited breath until she sees it rise and fall steadily, then lets out a sigh of relief. Whoever it is seems to be alright, although she wonders if she is some manner of deviant; after all, who'd live all the way out here in a cave?

                                            >Soarin shrugs and creeps a step closer, observing what seems to be a large, matte green statue of some kind of bird. While not an expert on interior decoration, it still strikes him as odd, perhaps even a bit redundant to have such a large space occupied by one huge, useless object like this one.

                                            >Spitfire and Blaze exchange a nod, and the Wondebolts creep forwards into the cave, taking care to check the ceiling for any dropping traps or hunting centipedes as they approach the warm flames.

                                            >As they pass the front leg of the statue, they notice the identical one beside it. If Soarin found the misuse of space redundant first, now it's downright frustrating. Who in their right mind would waste this much room on statues of birds?!


                                            >"D'you hear something?"

                                            >"Only the narrator speaking that mare-bird language."


                                            >They all freeze at the sound of unfamiliar voices speaking an otherworldly tongue. The unpronounceable words echo of the walls, disorienting the pegasi as they try to ascertain the source.

                                            >Suddenly, the purple pegasus beside the fire stirs, then groggily opens her eyes.

                                            >Her sleep-clouded mind can't process the sight in front of her, and so she blinks a few more times as she raises her head. Her tired legs protest as she rises to stand. "The Wonderbolts?"

                                            >Spitfire quickly recalls her briefing and the physical descriptions they were given, guessing the mare in front of her must be-

                                            >"Corporal Dew?"

                                            >She grins wide. "Ohmygosh!" Turning to her subordinate, who wasted no time in falling back asleep the moment they sat by the fire again, she wakes her up with a hoof.

                                            >"Hm?" The private groans.

                                            >"Get up, our reinforcements are here!"


                                            >Cheeto stretches and yawns before standing up. He then notices the blue-clad creature staring at him uncomfortably. "There's the reinforcements."

                                            >Michael gets up too and stretches. "Alright, let's get this done."


                                            >Spitfire narrows an eye at the peculiar creatures in front of her, unsu-

                                            >"You speak their language?" She asks the ceiling, oddly.

                                            >Corporal Dew raises a hoof. "Don't try to speak to him, he'll just annoy you."

                                            >West finally opens her eyes, instantly raising her head and blinking a few times at the sight in front of her. She barely finds her voice as she utters: "The Wonderbolts?"

                                            >The two creatures look on with what appears to be patient expectation as the rest of the team gathers behind their leader.

                                            >West jumps to her hooves, with a massive grin. "Ohmygosh! The Wonderbolts are our reinforcements!"

                                            >Dew almost mirrors her expression. "I know, this is amazing!"

                                            >Blaze shares none of the enthusiasm. "Why are you out of uniform corporal? I almost misidentified you!"

                                            >Dew recoils, quickly regaining her professional composure. She clears her throat. "Same reason we couldn't deploy flares ourselves, ma'am. We- uh," She pauses, recalling the ground giving beneath her so suddenly as they were both dropped into the water. Nothing about it appeared precarious when they landed, and it held for a whole five minutes while they observed the creatures below, she had no real reason to suspect it could be compromised in the way it turned out to be.

                                            >Blaze cocks a brow. "The ridge broke under you and you fell in water?"

                                            >Dew points her nose to the pool in the back. "We fell through the hole up there, and into this pool."

                                            >Her brow climbs even higher at the sight of it. "How did that water even get here?"

                                            >"No clue, but I suspect these creatures had something to do with it."

                                            >Blaze sighs. "So, your armor got soaked, I presume?"

                                            >She nods. "Yes, ma'am. We removed it to avoid hypothermia."

                                            >"What about the flares?"

                                            >Dew gives her a flat face. "They aren't waterproof."


                                            >"Yo Cheeto, check out the lightnin' on their uniforms." Michael points at them with a grin.

                                            >The lieutenant tsks and nods. He expected that a species with this kind of abilities would take advantage of them for some manner of military purpose. "That there must the lighnin' squadron or sum-such." Stress slowly builds in him as he prepares for the worst.

                                            >Michael laughs. "Chill the fuck out, man, it's good." He notices the larger specimens among the group and points at one. "So, what are the males called?"

                                            >"Stallions." Cheeto furrows his brow at the realization that they are slightly bigger than both him and his friend, the extra bulk allowing the possibility of them being stronger than them too. Thankfully, their ability to use spells and the capabilities of their exosuits reserve them the advantage.

                                            >Michael nudges him. "Hey, quit thinkin' like that, man. They ain't doin' shit."

                                            >The lieutenant sighs, his mind racing.


                                            >Mist narrows an eye at the conversing creatures. "What are those guys?"

                                            >West looks at them, then at her. "They're uh, not really from here."

                                            >Now it's Mist's turn to cock a brow. "As in not from Equestria?"

                                            >The Private shakes her head with a sigh, knowing this will sound ridiculous to any pony who hasn't witnessed the last few hours. "Not of this earth, I mean."

                                            >Mist blinks and subtly recoils as her head turns to look at the two. She combs her mind for the Bi-pedal creatures she's familiar with, noting they are usually much larger than these two. Whatever they are, they're not Minotaurs, not Abyssinians and sure as all not dragons. "How are they so," She sneers at what she's about to say, mostly because they're more or less the same size as ponies. "Small?"

                                            >West shrugs. "I dunno."

                                            >Soarin approaches, looking at the giant birds. Despite the odd color, they seem to be made of what is unmistakably metal. "What's up with the weird statues?"

                                            >She laughs. "Those are airships, actually."

                                            >He cocks a brow and looks at her. "Uh, what?"

                                            >"There's no way that's an airship." Mist chimes in. "Those things don't have masts- do you even know what an airship looks like?"

                                            >She puffs. "If you saw what we saw this morning, you'd believe me. They can fly ridiculously fast!"

                                            >Mist scoffs. "Those things look like they need a mast five times their size just to lift off the ground."

                                            >"They don't!" West frowns, suddenly recalling the demonstrational visuals they were shown before. "They also have magic beams and these really potent fireworks attached to them."

                                            >Mist is torn between bursting into laughter and gulping with dread, but does neither. Instead, she looks at the ships again with growing concern. "Those things can actually fly?"

                                            >"Like you don't even know." The private grins at the two bird-like craft with a strange fondness. "We saw them dodge a giant sandwyrm for like ten minutes straight. They were going so fast that they threw up giant trails of sand whenever they flew low enough!"

                                            >Mist shakes her head in disbelief. "That makes no sense."

                                            >"You'll see." West concludes confidently.

                                            >Spitfire clears her throat loudly. "Alright, team. Enough chit-chat!"

                                            >The whole cave has her attention, even the creatures, who can't understand a word she says, cease their conversation and turn to look at her as if attentive. "The wyrm is still out there. We need to come up with a plan to lure it out and away by noon, or something really bad might happen."

                                            >Dew nods. "Actually, we already have a plan."

                                            >"Well, out with it!" She demands.


                                            >The fat Sargal leans towards the screen with eyes narrowed, his deep, raspy voice booms from the speakers on the bridge of the Turaco: "That's the price for using the jump gate. I don't care if you're Alliance, Colonial, Empire, Crown-Trifecta or just one of the miserable, local shmucks; you pay the price!"

                                            >The navigator cringes at his ridiculously large maw. "Ugh, Sargals are disgusting."

                                            >While the captain can pay the exorbitant price of a trip through the gate, the prospect of where the money might end up makes her refuse.

                                            >She looks at her camera expressionlessly. "Surely there's something that can be arranged."

                                            >He leans away, bringing his comically fat body back into view. His three eyes independently trace the ceiling as he scratches his round belly with a clawed hand. "Blizzard have been attacking convoys outside the market hub near Abeldo. If you can remove their cancerous presence from the system, I'll put you on the whitelist and allow you to come and go as you please."

                                            >The first mate furrows his brow. "The Centralized Military are NOT mercenaries!"

                                            >The captain raises a hand to stop him. "No, but we are law enforcers and peacekeepers."

                                            >"Ma'am, you can't possibly be considerin-"

                                            >She raises her hand even higher, and he immediately stops. "Give me the details."

                                            >The Sargal lets out a deep rasp, sort of like a Diezel engine during an exhaust-brake, which serves as his species' equivalent of a smile. "I'm sending you a dossier with all the intel we have. Come back when you get it done; and get out of the line, you're delaying my paying customers!"

                                            >With that, the pilot turns the Turaco 90° to the left and burns forward, clearing the way for the long line behind them. Capital and sub-capital ships, from fuel freighters to private brigs, all stand waiting to use the jump gate. The Turaco dwarfs them all as it passes by, with the largest in line being barely bigger than a single one of her carriers.

                                            >The Captain goes through the files, her tired eyes skimming the walls of text with some degree of effort. She puffs and rubs her forehead. "Desmond, could you read some of this out to me?"

                                            >"Yes ma'am." The first mate responds as he makes his way to the console. Already with prior knowledge about the Blizzard faction, most of what he reads isn't new to him.

                                            >She furrows her brow and looks at him. "What is it you know about this faction?"

                                            >"Well, that's just it." He straightens up. "You see, Blizzard is not like other outlaw factions. They're composed primarily of ex-military, discharged CMOA, Colonial fleet deserters, even some Imperial exiles." He takes a deep breath, clearly nervous of what they're heading into. "They possess military equipment, training, and they're organized enough to function as a full-fledged military force."

                                            >The Captain's eyes widen and dart around the console. "I see." That gives her pause, and rightly so. While before they could charge in blind and come out unscathed, now they're up against a militarized force just as keen and perhaps as competent as they are. She looks at the system map and the various locations of the faction's pirate stations, wondering how many of them are decoys.

                                            >With a deep sigh, she marks the local Black-Market hub as their next destination. Not to commerce, but to get a lay of the territory and its inhabitants.

                                            >With a whirr and a bang, the ship enters hypercruise, bound towards her destination. At this lower speed, the real space around them is still fully visible, thus when the journey ends only a minute after, they see the distant, blue planet of Abeldo grow closer in front of them before the colossal black-market station comes into view and they abruptly slow to sub-light speed.

                                            >The navigator eyes the traffic with a growing pit in her stomach. Freighters, their hulls different colors and patterns pertaining to different factions, slowly maneuver around the lit hangar openings permeating the giant asteroid the station is built into. Smaller ships depart and dock across the surface, using landing pads more suitable for their size. She gulps at the bustling and busy nature of the station. In her mind, 'a black-market station' meant just that – a Black-Market, small, inconspicuous, with only the despicable few arriving or departing with things that have no right to be traded. The thought that such sinister places could appear so lively makes her sick.

                                            >The captain feels no different, but she knows better. Here in the zone, the black-market is the only market. That means most of the freighters mustn’t be carrying illicit cargo, but rather common goods of varying quality, attained or produced in methods of varying legitimacy.

                                            >"Bring her to a stop." She commands. The pilot engages the inertia dampeners and the ship begins decelerating slowly. The dampeners are a set of expulsion and suction systems, Independent from the thrusters, that slow the ship down using a heavy gas. The much lower temperature of this gas means the heat signature of the ship won't be detected during the process.

                                            >They gradually come to a complete halt, far enough from the hub as to not make their presence known.

                                            >The captain takes a deep breath and leans back, pouting in deep thought. If the faction she is up against is truly so capable, it would favor her to keep her involvement covert. CMOA vessels are rare in the zone, and an organized group tracking them down would have no trouble identifying them with just a physical description.

                                            >The first mate gulps.

                                            >The navigator does too.

                                            >A plan already begins taking form in her mind, and a fallback as well. If she can't engage the bases directly, perhaps she can mask her activity as that of another, competing faction – or better yet – a coalition of multiple of them. "This calls for a covert operation." She starts. "We will make a false identity, use the Colonial currency we secured prior to obtain non-CMOA ordnance from the hub, and make ourselves appear like a formidable, small-scale outlaw group bent on making a name for themselves by taking on the top dog in the system."

                                            >The navigator grins, the notion sparking a wave of ideas in her mind. The first mate blinks in surprise at the captain's creative solution and nods. "While you're working on creating an identity and obtaining ordnance, perhaps we could send out forward scouts to check which stations we should target?"

                                            >"My thoughts exactly." The captain rises from her chair. "I'll leave it to you, Desmond."

                                            >He nods, taking her place on the command seat and beginning his careful planning of the scouts' missions.

                                            >"Nadine," The captain approaches the navigator, who instantly snaps out of her stupor. "What sort of ideas do you have, dear?"

                                            >Her grin returns. "Well, if we're going to make our own gang, it's going to need a unique personality, right?"

                                            >"The further removed from anything Alliance affiliated, the better." The captain responds.

                                            >"Well, I got – like – a TON of ideas!"

                                            >The captain chuckles, hoping her soldiers would be equally as excited to play Outlaws for a change.


                                            >"C'mon, man, I thought these things were smart!" Michael shakes his head at the creatures from the seat of his fighter, which stare at them expectantly.

                                            >The lieutenant, seated in his own ship, scrambles to invent a drawing that will explain to them what happens when the engines start, and why they need to exit the cave before they can move. He suddenly puts down the pen and tablet and puffs. "Y'know, it's just heat."

                                            >"What?"

                                            >"Ah mean, it's just some hot air!" He looks at his friend sideways. "Nothing's gonna happen to 'em if we just start while they're here; they'll just get startled and back off."

                                            >Michael shrugs and seals the canopy, preparing to start.

                                            >Cheeto looks up at the gold-clad orange mare hovering above him and gives her a nod before doing the same. "Aight, I'll be One this time 'cause I'm close to the exit. Follow my lead."

                                            >Michael responds promptly: "Two."

                                            >With that, they start their engines.


                                            >A deep hum resonates in the cave as the metallic giants come to life. The ponies' eyes widen as they watch the plates on their wings articulate, flushing like a wave as a bright green glow emits from under them.

                                            >Next, the Wonderbolts are floored to see them actually lift off the ground, a hot breeze flooding the cave as they do.

                                            >"Get out, now!" Spitfire orders, signaling every pony to depart through the cave opening. They don't delay in obeying, and she follows after them as they watch the first metal giant carefully hover out from the cave's maw.

                                            >The other follows suit, and the pegasi climb to an altitude above them. Spitfire signals the group into formation. "Alright ponies, we have a half-hour flight south." She looks at Westwind and Evening Dew, both of which have been up since early the day before. "This is your last chance to back out of this, fillies. I know you want to see this through, but you won't do us any good being exhausted."

                                            >They had this conversation before of course, Spitfire thought it best to relieve the royal guards as soon as possible after their long day in the field, but they stubbornly refused, both because they want to see how this ends, and because this may be their only chance to run an operation with the Wonderbolts.

                                            >Corporal Dew shakes her head with a stoic expression. "We'll soldier through it, ma'am."

                                            >West nods sternly in agreement.

                                            >She stifles a scoff and smirks, their determination reminding her of her younger self. "Okay then, let's-" She turns to see both of their newfound allies rapidly accelerating and climbing into an altitude she isn't sure would be practical to fly at – if just for the effort required to climb that high.

                                            >West peeks around her. "Uh, the brighter one said they'd shoot a green flare when they found a mine that contained sandipedes, ma'am."

                                            >"Yeah, Private, I remember." She says quietly, still staring in shock at the green, glowing trails of the two, amazed by the sheer speed they are capable of.

                                            >Soarin's awe fades, and inspiration soon replaces it. "Hey captain, do you think We could make some light-trails like those?"

                                            >She shrugs. The idea is untraditional, but not inconsiderable. "Maybe." Shaking her head hard, she waves everyone on. "Let's get moving, ponies!"


                                            >"Think any of 'em got burned?"

                                            >Michael scoffs hard. "Why, was one of 'em standing under your wing?"

                                            >"No."

                                            >"Then of course not, man. If they can tolerate the desert sun, they can deal with thirty-degree exhaust breeze."

                                            >The lieutenant chuckles. "Right." Still, he can't help but check his radar, noting the fading formation of biological signatures flying a growing distance behind them.

                                            >"Hey, focus on the geo-scanner man. Let's find us a tunnel!"

                                            >"Yeah, right." His eyes trace the ridges and cliffs on the horizon, scanning for any blatant openings or surviving infrastructure from excavations.

                                            >The plan is to find a site with nesting centipedes large enough to bait the wyrm with, then signal the creatures with a green flare so they may bait it out into the desert come sunrise. After that, they will use their fighters to stir up the sand, luring out the wyrm and drawing it towards its prey. If all goes well, the only sacrifice they'll be making is one predatory insect's life.


                                            >After a while of quiet flying, Soarin gives in to his curiosity. "So uh, how did they make that flare stay up there for so long?"

                                            >Dew chuckles. "I'm not sure how it got it up there in the first place."

                                            >West looks at her from the side of her face. "What do you mean?"

                                            >"You didn't hear the bang?"

                                            >West furrows her brow, unsure if she knows what her superior is referring to.

                                            >She rolls her eyes. "It pulled some weird thing out of its ship, pointed it at the sky, then it launched a flare with one of the loudest bangs I've ever heard." She explains. "How could you not hear it?"

                                            >She shrugs. "Maybe I fell asleep."

                                            >Dew sighs.

                                            >"Wait, hold on." Soarin adjusts his elevation to fly beside her. "He launched it? Like a firework?"

                                            >She nods.

                                            >He blinks in surprise. "So, it wasn't a flare, but some kind of firework?"

                                            >She furrows her brow. "Um, you realize it's probably neither of those things, right?"

                                            >He narrows an eye. "What do you mean?"

                                            >"They're from another world! If they can make airships like those, they must've superseded both those things long ago."

                                            >He blinks as she continues: "What they're using probably doesn't even have a word in our language yet."

                                            >Realization slowly sinks in and he lets out a disappointed sigh, wondering how long it would take ponies to invent something like that. "Aw, mare. I really hoped we could have stuff like that for our shows."

                                            >West gasps. "Your airshows?" She asks excitedly. "You're going to throw in light trails like those?!" She points a hoof in the directions of the two distant craft, which make a turn as they scan the southern cliffs. Bright green, shining trails stretch a great distance behind them.

                                            >He smiles with a longing in his heart. "I wish, but I don't know if we can find a way to make them. Flares only last like one minute at most, and if you fly too fast, you can put them out by mistake." He sighs. "I don't know how long it will take ponies to make stuff like That." He jabs a hoof toward the glowing streaks in the distance.

                                            >Dew rolls her eyes. "Just put out a contract."

                                            >He furrows his brow and snaps to look at her, something he immediately regrets as the drag jerks him. Perhaps they aren't going as fast as they typically do, but it's still fast enough that any extra drag is easily felt.

                                            >Recovering quickly, he keeps his brow furrowed. "What do you mean a Contract?"

                                            >She blinks. "How do you not know what that is?"

                                            >He cocks a brow, and after a moment of silence she sighs. "A contract, put out a notice that you'll hire some pony who knows what they're doing!" She explains. "It's what the guard does when they need something made. For instance, when we needed new standard issue spears to replace the ceremonial garbage we used before-"

                                            >"What ceremonial garbage? When?" He asks.

                                            >West raises a brow as well, usure what the corporal is on about.

                                            >She grunts. "It was after the changeling invasion. Our spears were purely for ceremonial purposes and broke when we tried to use them in combat." She frowns at the memory. "They were either too dull, too flimsy or in some cases, too flexible to deal any significant damage." Another sigh escapes her at the memory of protecting a noble family with just her hooves for a whole day. "We were better off using our gold shoes, really."

                                            >West balks, impressed. "You held off those bug-ponies for a whole day using just your shoes?"

                                            >She chuckles. "Not exactly, we spent most of the time hiding and running. But yeah, I beat some of them down when I had to."

                                            >"Really?" West's smirk grows into a grin. "That's awesome! How did you do it?"

                                            >"Well, it wasn't easy, them being able to use magic and all. And I was just a private back then, scared out of my mind. But," She drags the word, reminiscing on her emotions during those moments. "When a foal is counting on you, it's just," She shakes her head, searching for the right word. "Different."

                                            >Soarin narrows an eye. "Different?"

                                            >She sighs. "It's like they're more important than you or your enemies. It feels like you HAVE to protect them, no matter what it costs." After a moment of silence, she concludes: "It gives you strength."

                                            >West voicelessly mouths "Wow" as she imagines her superior beating wave after wave of assailants. Some part of her is envious of the accomplishment, but another is terrified of being in a similar position.

                                            >Soarin looks up at a random star. "Mare, this guy really narrates everything, huh?"

                                            >Dew scoffs. "You have no idea."

                                            >He clears his throat. "So, about the contract?"

                                            >She blinks but quickly remembers. "Oh, yeah, just hire some independent ponies that know what they're doing and have them submit their designs for testing. You need to specify your exact needs, what it has to be and the purpose it has to fulfil, the required tolerances and all that. Somepony will probably make it within a few weeks."

                                            >Soarin beams. "A few weeks?"

                                            >Mist quickly dampens the spirits however: "Hold on now, trail-lights aren't spears, Clipper. Ponies have been making sharp sticks for centuries, but pyrotechnics are a bit more complicated."

                                            >He sighs.

                                            >West gives him a reassuring smirk. "Hey, have some faith! It won't take That long, especially if there's a military demand for it."

                                            >"Yeah, ponies have good ingenuity." Dew adds. "You'll probably have a few contenders in the first month or so."

                                            >That does seem to cheer him up a little. "Yeah, alright."

                                            >Back on the topic, West perks up. "So how are you going to use them when you get them?"

                                            >The stallion smiles. "I was thinking we could do a show during the night, mix in some fireworks – something new that we haven't done yet."

                                            >She grins. "A nighttime show?"

                                            >Dew chuckles. "We'll finally have somewhere good to go on a first date."

                                            >The private cocks a brow. "What's wrong with the daytime shows?"

                                            >"Oh nothing, just that I'm Working all those hours."

                                            >"Oh, right." She cringes. "Sorry."

                                            >With a long way yet to go, Mist decides to extend the conversation. "You royal guards don't have much free time, right? How do you see anyone when you're working like this?"

                                            >She shrugs. "When I find out, I'll tell you."

                                            >The private furrows her brow, the realization suddenly dawning on her that having a love-life in this line of work may prove far more difficult than any young mare should have it. It floods her with a terrible sense of missing out, wondering when exactly she'll get to experience- "Alright, that's enough out of you, creepy guy! Don't you have some pony else to narrate about?"


                                            >Meanwhile, the Turaco's crew successfully and discretely secured some ships of the models more common to the demilitarized zone, which they painted in bright colors, representing their mock outlaw faction. The captain then decided it would be wise to find allies with a similar goal in mind, as it would reduce the likelihood of being sniffed out even further. As such, she and her lieutenants boarded the newly painted ships, and made for the black-market hub disguised as-

                                            >"Gypsies?! Seriously, Nadine, what were you thinking?" Jasmine snaps at her superior as she adjusts the strap of her top, inspecting herself in the Brig's bathroom mirror.

                                            >She shakes her head, leaning on one shoulder against the metal wall of the room. "Don't blame me, it's the captain's fault for choosing that idea out of all of them."

                                            >Jasmine puffs. "It's still your fault for sharing it with her. Why couldn't you come up with something more – oh, I dunno, DIGNIFIED?" She snaps, gesturing to her attire.

                                            >"I did!" She scowls. "I tried to sell her on the idea of the Revenants. We were supposed to have these badass, black leather trench coats, skull masks, and these general caps like in the sixties."

                                            >Jasmine cocks a brow and narrows an eye, resting her hands on her hips as the navigator proceeds: "It was gonna be a badass faction with respawning and conjuring – Oh! We were even gonna have our own logo!"

                                            >She crosses her arms impatiently. "What logo?"

                                            >"A white circle with a black skull in the middle of it."

                                            >Lela stops admiring herself in the mirror for a moment and turns to face her. "What, like the Gothic Imperium?"

                                            >"Well, yeah." She furrows her brow. "Come to think of it, even the uniforms were inspired by them."

                                            >She snorts. "Wow, I really wonder why the captain turned down that idea."

                                            >"Ugh, so what if they were evil, the aesthetic was badass!"

                                            >Lela laughs. "They tried to remove and ban the use of magic worldwide and let their people die of diseases that could've been easily cured with spells, just because some loser's dad died from a botched ritual. Then, they picked on the smallest country they neighbored, and got their shit pushed in by their bigger ally. It was pathetic!"

                                            >"Hey, they invented advanced wards which we still use to this day!"

                                            >She shrugs. "Cause they were too scared to face an opponent who could teleport behind them." Turning back to the mirror, she adds: "They were pussies. There's a reason they only lasted for a year in a war that lasted ten."

                                            >Jasmine frowns, crossing her arms. "Couldn't you suggest something that wouldn't make us look like edgy magophobes or slutty fortune tellers?"

                                            >"I did, but the captain said it wasn't good enough." She puffs. "I even tried giving the Revenants a different attire, but she still turned it down."

                                            >"So you suggest spell-spamming belly-dancers as the next best thing?"

                                            >She frowns. "No! It was supposed to pale in comparison, so she'd realize the Revenant idea wasn't so bad!"

                                            >Lela chuckles. "To be honest, it was worse than this."

                                            >They both retort in unison: "No it wasn't!"

                                            >"Well the attire was." She grins at herself in the mirror, eyeing the pink and gold of her outfit. Unlike her humbler peers, she relishes a chance to show off her combatant physique.

                                            >Jasmine tsks with a sneer. "My boyfriend would hate this idea."

                                            >"Ooh, is he the jealous type?" Lela teases, but before Jasmine can retort, the captain walks in.

                                            >She takes a breath as she eyes her lieutenants. "Well, ladies?"

                                            >"Captain," Jasmine starts. "Not that I mean to question your judgement, but why This of all things?"

                                            >"Simple." She smirks. "It's easier to sell a lie to someone who wants to believe it. And who doesn't want to believe a bunch of hot mages have arrived to rid the system of a nefarious presence?"

                                            >Jasmine scoffs, Lela grins, and Nadine puffs.

                                            >The captain claps her hands twice. "Alright, enough with the sour faces, we'll be docking shortly. We need to make some allies while the scouts do their thing, so just stay close, look tough, and let me do the talking." She concludes by pulling a transparent capsule from her jean pocket and swallowing it. Methamphetamine won't restore her mana, but it works wonders for staving off exhaustion.

                                            >Jasmine retains an easy frown. "Weren't we going to buy new guns while we're at it?"

                                            >She laughs, the drug quickly kicking in and revitalizing her sleep-deprived body. "We're only going to be using magical weaponry and spells. I chose a company of battle-mages for a reason."

                                            >Lela flashes a wicked grin, setting her hand ablaze with a spell. "They're gonna burn!"

                                            >Jasmine cringes. "You're a fucking maniac, Lela."


                                            >"Yo Cheeto, notice something weird about the sky?"

                                            >The lieutenant furrows his brow and peels his eyes from the scanner to look up through his cockpit. He hadn't noticed it before, but there is indeed something off about it. Looking around, he notes how dark the desert around them is before gazing back up again. "There ain't no light pollution here. Where's the background luminosity o' the galaxy?"

                                            >Michael blinks. "No, not that, we could just be facing away from the center. I'm talking about the purple hue it has, see it?"

                                            >He looks up again. Indeed, the night sky has an unnaturally bright purple glow to it. The ambient light does not seem to reflect from the environment however, as only the pale, white moonlight breaks up the darkness below. "That don't look like a nebula."

                                            >"Nope. Not a cloud either."

                                            >"Well, what d'you reckon it is?" He asks, returning his gaze to the terrain scanner. There's a shrill beep, and the fuel bar flashes red, notifying him he's down to 30% of the reserve.

                                            >"Well, I'd say it must be coming from the bright side of the planet. Maybe some kind of atmospheric reflection of the sunlight?" He looks up at the moon, a pale white satellite much larger than the one orbiting mother Earth. Even so, he can't be convinced it is the sole cause for the odd coloration of the sky.

                                            >Cheeto looks up again, his eyes tracing the constellations of big, bright stars that dot it. He notes just how large they are, and his eye narrows. "Why're the stars so bright here?"

                                            >Michael notes it too. "Don't know, but it ain't natural."

                                            >Even in the further reaches of space, distant stars always appeared as small specks in the distance. Only the atmospheres of some inhospitable planets sometimes aggrandized their radius, but never to this extent, and never on a greenhouse planet.

                                            >The lieutenant sighs with the conclusion that the atmosphere is not to blame, and neither is the parent star. "Maybe we'll find out when we get out to orbit tomorrow or the day after."

                                            >Michael scoffs. "We'd need a full tank to escape gravity, and even then, you gotta take into account any satellites that'll fuck up our trajectory."

                                            >"So?"

                                            >"So we're better off staying planetside and not knowing, is what I'm sayin'."


                                            >Westwind yawns, looking at the green lights in the distance. "They're getting really far away."

                                            >Dew puffs, the exertion of flying at this speed beginning to make itself known. "We'll catch up. They haven't even landed yet."

                                            >They've been flying for fifteen minutes now, and the two green craft are far in the horizon. The ponies watch the two bright, long trails as they fly over the cliffs in the distance.

                                            >Mist looks on with a growing worry in her chest. "Their speed is ridiculous."

                                            >The private smirks. "Told you so!"

                                            >"Yeah, but I couldn't have imagined it'd be That fast. How are they doing that?"

                                            >She shrugs. "Magic, probably."

                                            >Her eye narrows. "What, like unicorns? Unicorn magic can't do that!"

                                            >Soarin chimes in: "Maybe it's Their kind of magic?"

                                            >They watch them race along the edge of the cliff as they turn before beginning a descent in wide circles, which narrow as they get lower to the ground.

                                            >Spitfire's voice comes from the front of the formation: "Don't divert yet, only if we see the flare go up!"

                                            >Dew sighs tiredly, but retains her speed and composure.

                                            >Mist tsks. "Whatever it is, it's unfair. How are we supposed to compete with that?"

                                            >The private furrows her brow. "Why would you want to compete with them?"

                                            >"Because we don't know if they might turn against us. Besides, the Wonderbolts are the best in Equestria, how are we supposed to retain that title with those guys around?"

                                            >The corporal smirks. "By driving them out."

                                            >Soarin furrows his brow. "Uh, I don't think they're scared of us."

                                            >"I didn't say you need to scare them away, just ask them to leave. They'll probably get it."

                                            >Mist narrows an eye at her. "You think they'll take kindly to being thrown out?"

                                            >"It doesn't matter. If they wanted us dead, they would've killed us by now."

                                            >Soarin gulps and Mist feels a pit in her stomach as the corporal continues: "It's obvious they don't want any of us to get hurt, between going ahead of us to make sure the coast is clear and helping us get rid of the sandwyrm, I'm pretty sure they're on our side. If we ask them to leave, at worst they'll argue a bit, but they'll relent if it's for the good of Equestria."

                                            >West furrows her brow. "Why would we want them to leave? They're awesome!"

                                            >Mist watches the bright, glowing trails sink lower towards the desert surface. "A better thing to ask is why did they come here in the first place."

                                            >"They might be looking for something specific." Dew responds. "But if they are, they haven't told us."

                                            >"Did you ask?"

                                            >West blinks, then blushes. "We were going to, but we kinda forgot."

                                            >Mist puffs. "It's alright, you two must've been exhausted."

                                            >"Yeah," Soarin offers an empathic glance. "We'll just ask them later."


                                            >Lela grins in awe at the scope of the market station. Sure, from outside she could already tell how large it is, but seeing it from the inside is a surreal experience. They arrived at the hangar, where they saw dozens of ships dock and depart as they disembarked from their humble vessel. After a brief pass through the airlock, they were greeted with the incredibly massive interior of the station. The layout is similar to a shopping mall, but spread across a vast, multi-acre asteroid. She approaches the railing of the platform on which they stand and looks down, seeing the tiny dots which must be people walking across the lower floors. Above her, the blinding white light of the parent star is scattered by the crystal skylight, forming a collection of god-rays that slowly shift as the asteroid makes its slow orbit. Innumerable storefronts line the walls of uncounted floors, and myriads of costumers of varying species traverse the platforms and catwalks as they make their way from one to another.

                                            >Jasmine catches her jaw slacking, and quickly shakes her head. "This place is like an interstellar tourist attraction."

                                            >The captain leans over the railing beside them, chiming in: "That's because it's exactly what it is."

                                            >They each look at her with a brow raised.

                                            >She rolls her eyes. "For the independent systems that persist here, for the people unlucky enough to have been caught in the crossfire, this is as close to a central hub as it gets." Her gaze lands on a family of alien creatures walking through the floor below them on the opposite side. "It's not a black-market as much as it is a mall in space."

                                            >Jasmine furrows her brow. "Who built all this?"

                                            >The captain shrugs. "Could've been the Colonials back when they had control of the region."

                                            >Nadine, returning from a store she fancied, approaches her squad. "Hey, boss?"

                                            >She turns to face her, leaning back against the railing.

                                            >"That store is way overpriced."

                                            >Lela throws a hand up. "Called it, stupid!"

                                            >She crosses her arms. "Well, you don't have to be a bitch about it."

                                            >The captain gestures for them to keep moving, and they resume their walk through the enormous mall, going up escalators, weaving through crowds of familiar and unfamiliar creatures and looking at the many different stores and their merchandise.

                                            >Lela looks at one pentapod as it casually strolls past, towering over her and her peers. She glances back at it, then rubs her shoulder and furrows her brow. "This place makes me feel small."

                                            >Jasmine glances around at some of the creatures occupying the space. While most are a similar size to humans, some are smaller, and a few are larger. She shrugs as a tall biped walks past them, scanning the ceiling with a confused expression. "At least they can't use magic."

                                            >"Yeah, but they can step on us."

                                            >The navigator laughs. "C'mon, they're not that big. Besides, you can just teleport."

                                            >"Still, hate feeling small." She pouts.

                                            >"You're not small, you're a HUGE nuisance." Jasmine jabs.

                                            >The captain pauses at the entrance to one store, eyeing the vitrine. "Let's have a look, girls."

                                            >Jasmine looks up at the store's sign, the alien caption reading: Ren and Co. Arcane Solutions.

                                            >She deflates. "Oh great, a Cykkar store. Can't wait to hear all the complaints about us 'mammals' and how bad we smell."

                                            >Nadine elbows her.

                                            >"Ow!"

                                            >"Quit bitching already!" She whisper-shouts as they enter the store, Lela chuckling behind them.


                                            >"Man, there ain't shit down there." Michael remarks as he watches the drone's video feed.

                                            >They landed outside what was clearly a condemned mine entrance, judging by the boarded-up entrance and still-intact rail system, and disembarked their fighters to inspect more closely. Knowing that the mine was probably sealed for a reason, they opted to send in a scouting drone, small, mobile quad-copters designed to hover over the battlefield and provide tactical information in real time, which every military exosuit has one of; instead of going in themselves and unnecessarily risking their lives.

                                            >The lieutenant maneuvers the buzzing camera through a tunnel only to find the end collapsed, leaving no way through for anything larger than a cockroach. With a sigh, he turns it around and retraces its path, taking a different tunnel. Eventually their options are exhausted, and he deflates. "Aight, we should check further south from here, s'where most of the tunnels were leading 'fore they caved in, anyway."

                                            >The buzzing noise from the cave loudens as the drone finally reaches the exit, and Cheeto catches it in his hand, folding the blades and returning it to the holster on his suit.

                                            >"We ain't gon' have any fuel left at this rate." Michael remarks. "Maybe it's better if we go on foot?"

                                            >Cheeto takes a moment to consider, looking from the precipice of the cliff to their fighters. They landed with only 28% of their reserves left. Taking off and making the climb to cruising altitude again means another 3% of their fuel will be gone. He puffs and nods. "Yer right, we'll make it better if we jus' sprint it."

                                            >With that, they both break into a run, the sand sliding beneath their soles as they make an effort to traverse around the rock-face and find another entrance. As they round the corner, they notice the dustbowl below. The decline leading down to it is sadly not steep enough to simply slide down.

                                            >Michael retains his pace when he suddenly perks up. "Yo Cheeto, I jus' thought of something."

                                            >"Shoot."

                                            >"What if the birds catch up to us, see the fighters, and we ain't nowhere to be found?"

                                            >He furrows his brow for a moment, the notion they might have to turn around now instills him with a sense of panic, but he shrugs it off. "They know to look for the flare, ah told em'- Err, showed them that we might land and take off a few times because not every cave is bound to have enough water for those bugs to wanna nest there."

                                            >"Sure hope they don't do nothing stupid, like goin' in themselves to check."

                                            >Cheeto slows his pace. "Ah mean, they're soldiers or whatever, right? They can handle themselves."

                                            >"Guess so, but it wouldn't be the first time competent people make a bad call."

                                            >He puffs and speeds up again. "Here's hoping those planks are sturdy enough to keep 'em out, then."

                                            >"Heh."

                                            >They retain a fast pace as the traces of excavation finally come into view in the distance. Displaced boulders, mine tracks, and even a large opening with a rotting, wooden booth beside it.

                                            >Michael frowns. "Now, how the fuck did we not see this from the air?"

                                            >Cheeto looks up at the unnaturally bright sky. Sure enough, there's no real reason they should've missed this from the air, aside from the fact they were more than a kilometer away, and their eyes were glued to the surface scanners on their MFDs, which at their altitude, have a limited range of-

                                            >"We know the range, Narrator, fer cryin' out loud, we get it." Cheeto groans randomly.

                                            >"Yeah, we'll keep our eyes peeled from now on, happy?" Michael adds, for no one in particular.


                                            >"Ten minutes out." Spitfire announces. "If we the flare isn't up by the time we get there, we'll find somewhere with a vantage to land."

                                            >West yawns. The thought of landing instantly brings on the urge to sleep. She imagines lying down on the sand for a nap, if just for a few minutes to reduce the tiredness. "Ugh, shut up already. I'm not gonna fall asleep on the sand, as if I need some venomous critter crawling on my armor."

                                            >Dew lets out another sigh of fatigue. Perhaps if they had more time to rest before the Wonderbolts arrived, they wouldn't be so tired right now.

                                            >Fleetfoot furrows her brow. "This guy is blaming us for this?"

                                            >Silver Zoom laughs. "Turns out there IS such a thing as Being Too Fast."

                                            >The team captain's eyes narrow at a trio of distant silhouettes contrasting against the night sky. At first, they look like they might be ponies, but as they get closer it becomes uncertain. With worry building up, she shouts out to the others: "Three flyers, eleven o'clock!"

                                            >Blaze is the first to look. "I see 'em. Those aren't ponies, are they?"

                                            >Mist and Soarin look too, neither able to discern their nature.

                                            >It takes the corporal a long moment to notice them, but when she does, a dread builds up in her. With the large, slow-flapping wings, their size, and the long limbs dangling below them as they fly, they look just like- "Gargoyles!"

                                            >West blinks as panic sets in. "Wait, those things are real?!"

                                            >Spitfire grimaces. "Apparently so." Despite what the creatures are or their intentions might be, Spitfire's orders in this kind of scenario are uniform: intercept and divert any foreign presence away from Equestria's territory. As such, she takes a deep breath and barks an order: "Break!"

                                            >"Stay with me, West." The corporal orders as she turns inverted and dives to a lower altitude, the weight of her armor and bags aiding her decent. The private does not delay in following, any semblance of fatigue escaping her as her heartrate spikes. Dread, panic, frustration and confusion all mix into a sickening sensation in her stomach that would make her vomit if she had anything to eat before.

                                            >Dew rolls back upright, fighting the inertia to even out again as the private behind her mimics the maneuver. She glances at the silhouettes, now much closer and clearly visible against the night sky. The three creatures are large and grotesque, seeming to have considerable difficulty flying at all. Their limbs are long and hang gracelessly from their gangly bodies, dragging in the air. She sneers as she glares up at them. "Those don't look like the gargoyles we were taught about. Where the hay did those things even come from?"

                                            >The private's mouth goes dry, and she focuses on regaining control of her breathing.

                                            >Furrowing her brow and slowing her pace, Dew looks at her subordinate. "What's got you so panicked, private? There's just three of them and they're not even carrying any weapons, we'll dispatch them nice and quick!"

                                            >Above them, the aerobatic team breaks into duos, four climbing over the creatures while the four others stay level with them. The Wonderbolts aren't subjected to combat situations often, but that doesn't mean they cannot handle one when it presents itself.

                                            >Blaze and Mist accelerate over the trio and pass shortly above them, using the wake turbulence to noticeably slow them down. They don't get a good look as they pass, though, and soon dive to increase the distance.

                                            >The monstrous creatures, over twice the size of a stallion, struggle to regain their airspeed as the next duo passes them, slowing them down even more. One shrieks as it begins to lose altitude, flapping its wings desperately to stay in the air.

                                            >Seeing the opportunity, Soarin closes in between them and tucks into a flip, causing extra turbulence that sends the faltering one spiraling to the sand below as he passes.

                                            >The two still in the air begin to glow a bright cyan from their wings before suddenly accelerating, flying with much more control than before. The captain balks as she watches one rapidly dive after its spiraling comrade and help it recover. "How?!"

                                            >The trio of creatures split, each chasing after a different duo. While they were slow before and seemed as if they had trouble even staying in the air, now they are effortlessly gliding at ever increasing speed towards the ponies.

                                            >Blaze and Spitfire, the only duo without a pursuer, quickly climb over the creatures as their targets dive to escape. Leading their attack with expert precision, they pass directly in front of the creature's glowing wings, instantly sending it rolling over its head down to the sand below. It fails to recover with all the speed it garnered in the chase, and lands with a big splash of sand.

                                            >Dew smiles. "See? They got it!"

                                            >Meanwhile, one of them catches up to Soarin, attempting to claw at his hindleg and missing by millimeters. He glances backwards and gets an uncomfortably close look at its disgustingly flat face. A feeling of disorientation strikes him at the unearthly sight of its eyes: A set of metal protrusions which glow orange from their tips. It reaches its long arm out for another swipe, and as he dodges, he notices the gleaming, metal claws grotesquely grafted to its long fingers, no doubt through some gruesome surgical procedure. He cringes in horror as he looks at its face again, this time noting the large, sharp, blacker-than-night teeth lining its maw as it furiously growls at him, its voice like the screeching of brakes on a train. Before it can throw another swipe, he moves under it, looking up at the visibly warped, grey flesh and hide, the tattered remains of a deep-blue uniform clinging to it. He and his crewmate go inverted and dive, turning sharply in a display superior maneuverability. With another growl, it attempts to follow them, slowly turning to chase.

                                            >The other one lags some distance away from Silver Zoom and High Winds, who occasionally glance over their shoulders. Sadly, it takes them a bit too long to notice the long, shimmering object in its arms.

                                            >"Hold on, what obj-" High Winds gasps as a green beam of energy flashes beside her with the loud blare of air being incinerated, nearly clipping her wing. The shine is so bright it leaves a temporary imprint in her vision. "DIVE!"

                                            >They break apart and dive, the creature above them pulling up into a half loop before leveling out to align another shot. With a shared nod, they begin to juke, hoping to throw off its aim. It works, thankfully, and when the next one flashes by, it only glasses the sand below with a puff of grey, foul-smelling smoke.

                                            >While it's trying to aim, it doesn't notice the pair of ponies rapidly encroaching on its wing, and they pass by mere inches from it, causing the creature to spiral uncontrollably and lose a great deal of altitude before recovering.

                                            >The two guards watch the display with growing concern.

                                            >The private's mouth goes even drier as she pants in terror. Her superior looks at her. "Calm down, private, they're handling it just fine."

                                            >The two creatures still in the air give up their pursuit and turn back in the direction from which they came, their crashed friend shaking off the sand on its hide before following them with visible difficulty.

                                            >The aerobatics team soon forms up again, and Soarin is the first to speak: "What the hay were those things?"

                                            >Spitfire racks her brain as she watches them glide away, the adrenaline still in full effect. "Not a clue, but let's hope they stay gone."

                                            >Blaze catches her breath before speaking: "Did you see how the one we crashed got back up?"

                                            >High Winds nods. "They shot at us with disintegration spells too. Who are those guys?"

                                            >Fleetfoot cocks a brow. "Maybe the two from before know something about them?"

                                            >Mist scoffs with a frown. "I'll bet the narrator knows plenty. Can't we just bait it out of him?" She asks, blatantly disregarding pacing and any other literary technique that might generate intrigue.

                                            >"What?! It's our lives on the line!" She shouts at the stars.

                                            >Blaze tsks. "Maybe we should hurry up and regroup with the creatures instead of waiting? Fleetfoot is right, they might have answers!"

                                            >"Maybe." Spitfire mumbles. She signals the armored mares below to rejoin them at altitude, hoping They might already know something on the matter.

                                            >Dew let's out a sigh of relief, but West remains tense. "What's got you so worried, private?"

                                            >She sighs nervously as they begin to climb. "You remember what the captain told us about the creepy old stallion voice?"

                                            >The Corporal nods.

                                            >"Well, it's just that…"


                                            >"…if he is telling a tragedy, and we're dressed like this, I don't want to know where it's going!" Jasmine quietly snaps at the navigator.

                                            >She chuckles. "Speak of the devil."

                                            >Jasmine shakes her head and takes a deep breath.

                                            >She puts a hand on her shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "Hey, we're together in this. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?"

                                            >She snorts and brushes her hand off. "Okay, dyke."

                                            >"Oh, fuck you." She crosses her arms. "I'm going to check out the lexicons."

                                            >Meanwhile, the captain asks the attendant at the counter for something with 'firepower'.

                                            >The reptilian biped scans the ceiling for a moment before returning to her customer. "Oh um, guns don't usually mix well with magic, what with how fragile crystals are and how violent recoil can be." She explains, bashfully intertwining her fingers.

                                            >She nods.

                                            >"That being said, there is one thing that might interest you." She retrieves a wooden box from under the counter. "This is the Enforcer M Ninety-nine. They are custom built for the elite law enforcement units in Viridiana."

                                            >The human's eyes widen as the reptile slides her fingers across the lid of the box. With a purple glow, the unshakeable magical seal releases and it opens. Inside, on a red velvet cushion, rests a heavy pistol loaded from a magazine in front of the grip. The chassis is a pearl white, with wooden furnishings on the grip, safety and controls. The trigger and barrel are both a dim silver, engrained with arcane runes which conduct mana to the internal crystals.

                                            >She smiles. "That's an impressive piece."

                                            >The reptile looks up at her. "Yes, but they're quite pricy."

                                            >"Money is not an issue. How much exactly?"

                                            >"The weapon costs um," She gulps, having been through this routine with many other customers. "Two and a half thousand credits."

                                            >The human simply shrugs. "You said they are custom made, right?"

                                            >"Um, yes, you can commission one if you'd like."

                                            >"May I try it out?"

                                            >The attendant nods. "There's a firing range in the back."

                                            >Carefully lifting the ornate firearm from its case, she cradles it as she walks into the range.

                                            >Just as she leaves, Lela approaches the counter with a green, glowing spear in her hand. "Hey, do you have these in a pyric variant?"

                                            >The reptile balks. "Why would you use a Stagnant Resonator in a Pyric weapon?"

                                            >She cocks a brow. "You wouldn’t, you'd use a Malignant Resonator. I'm asking if you got any pyric spears in stock."

                                            >"Oh." She croaks - or chuckles, rather. "Yes, follow me."

                                            >Nadine browses through a trio of runic books suspended in her telekinesis while Jasmine picks out an amulet beside her. "Find anything good?"

                                            >The navigator puffs. "All of these are like, gardening spells, wards against malignant energies, cures for mild ailments and super-basic combat or healing spells. I can't find anything that would actually give us an advantage against anyone using guns and armor." She shakes her head, closing the books and returning them to their spots on the shelves. "Magic is just so underpowered out here."

                                            >She chuckles, holding up a silver bracelet. "Well, this thing lets you survive in space without an exo-suit for a half hour."

                                            >"Those are nice."

                                            >"Yeah, and they're just twenty a pop. We should grab some."

                                            >The spacious range is freezing when the captain enters, and only the low hum of the lights is audible within the sound proofed walls. She picks a lane and takes aim at her target, sending a pyric spell through the internals of the gun before squeezing the trigger to no effect.

                                            >In her sleep-depri-

                                            >The slide racks smoothly, chambering a round. She takes aim again, and this time a loud bang follows the brightly burning bullet as it strikes the target, engulfing it in flames.

                                            >She smirks with satisfaction before infusing a different spell and shooting again, the fire dying as an ice spear embeds itself in the center of the target, then melts shortly after.

                                            >A dark purple glow engulfs the barrel as she infuses it with another spell, aims away from the target, and fires. The projectile curves, orbiting its destination before embedding itself within it. Truly, the weapon's versatility is only limited by the spells in her repertoire.

                                            >She fires again and again, enjoying the many sights her spells bestow. The targets burst into flames, freeze into crystals and melt into puddles of green goo with each bullet that curves, flies or tumbles its way home, until the hammer clicks on an empty chamber, and she sighs.

                                            >Nadine gasps as she finally finds something useful: A conjuration book. She flips through the pages, noting the many different creatures: wisps like phoenixes; chimeras like Griffins and Manticores; and even demons such as Minotaurs and Imps are all among the many. She quickly notes the casting requirements however, and her excitement diminishes. Each spell requires high amounts of resources, mostly in the forms of flesh, blood and bones, and some even require special sigils and rituals. While the book is intriguing, there's no way they could use this in the heat of battle. Despite the fact, she decides to buy it, if only for her personal intrigue.

                                            >Meanwhile, Jasmine has been having better luck, finding a variety of small items with protective effects. Rings of pyric resistance, amulets of kinetic absorption and a variety of other wards against lesser magic or common munitions.

                                            >The navigator inspects a group of medallions next. Each of them represents a sigil which appears in a radius around it when deployed. Any spells cast within the sigil will be given different effects depending on its properties.

                                            >Suddenly Lela- "Hey girls, check out this cool spear I bought!"

                                            >They both jump and turn to face her, eyeing the spear in her hand up and down. The shaft is black, probably made of some organic composite, and the obsidian blade glows a dull, iridescent orange from around its metallic housing.

                                            >Jasmine puffs. "Great, the pyromaniac got a flamethrower."

                                            >She laughs. "It can do way more just that! Wait and see."

                                            >She shakes her head and sneers, resuming her browsing. Nadine shrugs and does the same.

                                            >The human returns from the range, placing the ornate firearm back in its case.

                                            >The attendant looks up at her. "Well, what do you think?"

                                            >"I'd like to commission a matching pair of them, and I'll need them ready within the hour."

                                            >Her jaw slacks. "Uh, alright. Any specifics?"

                                            >"Mirror their controls, and if you could cast it from a lighter alloy that'd be appreciated."

                                            >"Appearance?"

                                            >She shrugs, leaning on the counter. "Make them match my outfit."


                                            >Finally arriving at the entrance, they both stop in surprise as they see it is entirely open. No wooden boards, barricades or even warning signs. The confusion rapidly dissipates however as they make it under the arch of the entranceway to see the tunnel beyond it entirely collapsed, with the rocks bearing markings which must mean warnings.

                                            >"Sonv'abitch!" Cheeto shouts as he comes to a stop before the wall of debris clogging the tunnel. "They must've blown the main entrance when they abandoned it."

                                            >Michael however, looks around and notices another opening further south, parallel to the one they just found, if a lot narrower. "Let's check that out."

                                            >The lieutenant just nods and follows his friend to the next entrance, which lies further down the dustbowl.

                                            >They reach it to find a wooden gate which rotted where it sits, the lock and hinges visibly rusted and the planks slowly crumbling with the wind.

                                            >Cheeto lights up, eyeing the black-rotten wood of the gate. "That's water damage! I think we jus' found our cave!"

                                            >Michael chuckles. "About fucking time!"

                                            >They try the gate, but it won't budge.

                                            >"Aight," Cheeto takes a stance before it. "Let's breech it."

                                            >Michael nods and takes place beside him.

                                            >On the count of three, they kick it together. Then again, and again. The gate only makes a splintering sound as the planks bend, but it doesn’t give at all.

                                            >The lieutenant lets out a sigh. "We gotta remove this obstruction somehow."

                                            >Michael grins. "Let's stand back a bit."

                                            >"Oh, mothafucka ye ain't gon' use explosives, damnit! What if you collapse the damn entrance?"

                                            >Michael starts walking back. "C'mon man, I ain't that stupid! I got something, trust me."

                                            >With a puff and shake of his head, Cheeto follows his darker companion. "Just what exactly do you have? You ain't gon' use magic, 'cause we don't have sigils; you ain't gon' use explosives, 'cause that'll collapse the tunnel; you ain't gon' use an axe, 'cause we ain't got one-"

                                            >Michael rolls his eyes and materializes a sizable, green ball in his hands, making his companion freeze in shock.

                                            >"Now hold on, where'd you get that?"

                                            >He smirks. "Union asshole dropped it when I landed for repairs. Thought I'd take it with me."

                                            >His superior balks and shakes his head, usure how to feel. "You can't have that." He points a finger at it. "Using that thing is a war crime!"

                                            >He shrugs. "Well yeah, against living creatures. We're using it to clear an obstruction."

                                            >He shakes his head, throws his hands up and turns away, letting them audibly fall against his thighs. "Why the fuck would you even take that-" He stops and takes a deep breath. "Y'know what, I'm going off the assumption that there's nothing living on the other side of that door, and that we're running out of time to find a better solution, and authorizing this." Gesturing at the door with an outstretched arm, he concludes: "Go ahead."

                                            >With a smirk, Michael presses down on three separate buttons, igniting the plasmatic core, then throws it at the gate. It quickly begins to glow a baleful green, intensifying before finally it explodes with a blinding flash superseded by a low roar, vaporizing all organic material in its radius, glassing the sand beneath it and turning the wooden gate into a cloud of grey smoke.

                                            >Michael cackles. "That was fuckin' sweet!"

                                            >Cheeto chuckles despite himself and shakes his head. "I'll admit, it does look pretty cool." He then lets out a sigh. "Seriously though, a diffusion grenade? What were you thinkin' pickin' that up?"

                                            >"That it might have practical uses!" He gestures at the small crater of glass and dust, the dark tunnel beyond beckoning them.

                                            >"Welp, no point waitin' out here any longer. Let's have a look inside to make sure the tunnel ain't collapsed."

                                            >Michael shrugs, and they both walk up to the entrance. The glassed sand crunches under their soles as they enter, the sound reverberating far down the tunnel. With their vision limited, their helmets automatically engage their low-light mode, but without ambient lighting it's only so effective.

                                            >In unison, they draw their rifles, the flashlights making their way far clearer. For some distance into the tunnel, the ground is carpeted with sand, but it soon gives way to hard stone.

                                            >Cheeto notices the absence of rails here. "What were they usin' this tunnel for?"

                                            >"Access, ventilation maybe? Hell, it could be just a cave they found and sealed up for no reason."

                                            >He licks his lips as the beam of his light traces the walls, which reflect it with a soft sheen.

                                            >"Moisture?" Michael asks, observing the phenomenon.

                                            >"Could be, but there's other causes for that kinda thing."

                                            >He smirks. "You think someone coated the walls with wax?"

                                            >"No, but there're other factors that could give the same effect. Like salt crystals, or uh," He feels a tension grow in his chest. "Organic compounds from subterranean creatures."

                                            >Michael shakes his head dismissively. "How do we check?"

                                            >"Dunno." He responds as they quietly make their way further into the earth, rifles facing forwards.

                                            >Michael gulps. "Man, this is some shit. What if we walk right into the motherfucker?"

                                            >Cheeto stops. "I still got the flare gun, and I reckon it'll scare them off. That bein' said, yer right, this ain't safe."

                                            >"Should we go back and deploy the drones?"

                                            >He shrugs. "Yeah, we could."

                                            >They turn around and freeze, suddenly noticing something peculiar. They have been so fixated on the walls to the right and left of them, that they haven't noticed the odd color of the ceiling. Unlike the bright brown of the stone walls, the ceiling is pitch black. It still reflects the light when they point at it, but there are arched lines crossing it that are brighter than the-

                                            >"That's a huge fucking centipede." Michael whispers despite the pit in his stomach.

                                            >Cheeto's mouth goes dry, the last few hours flash in front of him as he desperately tries to pinpoint what exactly compelled him to enter a pitch-black tunnel, fully aware of the likelihood it might house creatures like the one above him.

                                            >Thankfully, whether by fear or unconsciousness, this one seems inert. Perhaps if they don't panic and sneak past it, they'll make it out safely, and shoot the flare up for the ponies to find them.

                                            >Michael recoils and furrows his brow. "Ponies?"

                                            >There's a sudden cacophony of chattering legs behind them, and they whirl around to see another centipede, much smaller than the one above them but still bigger than a dog, rushing at them in full speed.

                                            >Without a moment to think, Cheeto pulls the trigger, the roar of gunfire filling the tunnel as he unloads a dozen armor-grade rounds into its face, turning it into a black, viscous mush. The creature slumps on the ground with a funny splat and violently twitches as the last of its soul departs from it.

                                            >They freeze for a long moment as the echo of gunfire roars at them from the depths of the tunnel ahead. Just as they unstick themselves from their position however, they're frozen again by the sounds of shifting carapace above them.


                                            >"Wonder what brought that wyrm so far north anyway." Dew muses.

                                            >The Wonderbolts exchange shrugs as they continue scanning below for the two aircraft.

                                            >West furrows her brow in thought. "Don't they stick to the badlands?"

                                            >"Yeah." Dew responds. "Their habitat is Way south of here, in the Bone-Dry Desert. It makes no sense one would just wonder up here for no reason."

                                            >Spitfire pauses from her search for a moment as the realization dawns on her that someone or something must've brought that wyrm here. She gulps before suggesting: "Maybe something happened to drive that thing out of its territory."

                                            >Dew and West exchange worried glances. "Like what?"

                                            >"Your guess is as good as mine."

                                            >West's eyes widen. "Maybe it's something to do with the creatures that just attacked us?"

                                            >The captain perks up. The notion that something out there, powerful enough to drive a sandwyrm that big out of its own home, is looking to expand towards Equestria opens a pit in her stomach.

                                            >"There!" Mist jabs a hoof at two silhouettes in the sand below.

                                            >The team looks down to where the two airships rest side by side, their dark shapes clearly discernable in the moonlight. Spitfire motions for them to begin descending, and they prepare to land.

                                            >The heat emanating from the two metal hulks immediately strikes the ponies' faces like an unwelcome breeze as they touch down beside them.

                                            >Dew recoils. "Ugh, that stench!"

                                            >West on the contrary, takes a deep whiff of it. "I love that smell." She murmurs.

                                            >Spitfire looks around, noticing the boarded-up cave entrance nearby. She narrows an eye at it. "There's no way they could've gone in there, right?"

                                            >Fleetfoot walks a bit closer, wrinkling her nose as she walks past the inert ships. She gauges the boards for a moment and points her ears in the direction of the cave beyond. There's a distant and intermittent rumble echoing from deep within.

                                            >Blaze cocks a brow. "What is that noise?"

                                            >"No clue." Fleetfoot responds. "But I'm pretty sure they didn't come through here. The boards haven't even been moved, and there's no signs of disturbance on the sand."

                                            >Soarin takes a break from tentatively sniffing the hot air around the crafts' wings. "But if they landed here, where could they have gone?"

                                            >Dew taps her chin for a moment. "They may have tried to find a different entrance."

                                            >Spitfire cocks a brow. "Where?"

                                            >The corporal gestures in one direction. "I've been in this area before. There's a closed-down mine here, the main entrance is further down the dustbowl that way."

                                            >With a stern nod she looks over at the rest of the team, only to freeze when she sees them all sniffing at the air around the ships like curious foals.

                                            >Silver Zoom puffs. "I've smelled rotten fruit less revolting than this."

                                            >High Winds scoffs. "What?! This isn't revolting at all, it's-" She sniffs again. "Kind of nice."

                                            >Before Lightning Streak can add his opinion, Spitfire intervenes. "Attention, team!"

                                            >They all quickly turn to face her.

                                            >"We're going around the mountain, down to the dustbowl. Keep your eyes peeled, those monsters from earlier might return with backup."

                                            >Winds gulps at the thought of facing another group armed with weaponry like the last.

                                            >Silver Zoom nudges her. "Hey, I got your back. It's gonna be fine."

                                            >She chuckles and nods, somewhat comforted.

                                            >Spitfire spreads her wings. "Corporal Dew, you lead the way."

                                            >She gives a stern nod and takes off, the rest following in formation behind her.

                                            >It doesn't take them long to see the remains of the mining operation below.

                                            >Blaze notes the wooden booth besides the seemingly wide-open entrance. "So that's where they went in."

                                            >Dew tsks. "No, that entrance is caved in."

                                            >Fleetfoot narrows her eyes at a patch of grey sand some distance from the entrance. "What's that?"

                                            >Dew looks at the odd coloration of sand, it reflects the moonlight with little twinkles like a unicorn's telekinesis spell. She racks her brain, but can't make sense of it.

                                            >Spitfire looks behind her. "Lightning Streak, go get a closer look."

                                            >He salutes, then dives at speed towards the anomaly below. After a high-speed pass, he circles around to brake and lands quietly besides the patch of glassed sand, noticing the dark, open tunnel right beside it.

                                            >His ears perk. "Glassed? What's that supposed to mean?" He asks no one in particular.

                                            >He tsks, pawing at the twinkly grains. The sound it makes is unmistakable. "Woah. It's actually glass!"

                                            >A rumble echoes from somewhere deep within the tunnel beside him. His ears swivel as he stands there for a moment watching the darkness intently. Based on the tracks in the sand lining the floor of the tunnel, there is hardly any doubt in his mind that those two creatures went in through this opening.

                                            >His wings spread with a rush of air and he takes off to regroup with his team.

                                            >Spitfire looks at him as he forms up again. "What did you find, Streak?"

                                            >"There's an entrance to a tunnel, ma'am. I think it leads deeper into the abandoned complex."

                                            >Dew furrows her brow. "Wait, and where are They?"

                                            >"I'm pretty sure they went in, tracks seem to indicate so, at least."

                                            >Dew balks, anger igniting in her chest. "Went in?! The plan was they'd wait for us out here! Weren't they supposed to light a flare?"

                                            >West nods. "That was the plan."

                                            >"What about the sand?" Spitfire asks.

                                            >He hesitates for a moment. "I- it's glass, ma'am. Something turned the sand into glass."

                                            >Her jaw slacks and her eyes widen. From her experience, the only thing that could turn sand to glass on the spot was the breath of a drag- "Shush!" She shouts.

                                            >West's voice quivers. "A d- dragon?"

                                            >The captain lets out a heavy sigh. "Why can't you shut up?" She asks a distant star. "Just for a few minutes, please!"

                                            >Mist exchanges glances with Streak. "Dragons weren't a part of this."

                                            >"We're not going in that cave, are we?" Soarin asks, feigning calm.

                                            >"Absolutely not." She replies immediately. "We'll find a spot some distance from the entrance and wait for them to come out."

                                            >The private furrows her brow. "Um, just a question."

                                            >Dew raises a brow at her, the others glancing too.

                                            >"What if they don’t?"

                                            >Spitfire narrows an eye behind her goggles. "Are you suggesting something, private?"

                                            >"N-no, but if there's a dragon in there, what are the odds of them coming back out?"

                                            >The team exchange glances behind them as Spitfire produces a retort: "Depends on how flammable they are."


                                            >The elevator slows down, the automated announcer quietly stating: "Substation Five"

                                            >Lela rolls her eyes impatiently in response, eager to step out of the small room.

                                            >The doors open and they exit into the under-station of Abeldo's market hub. Down here, claustrophobic tunnels replace the wide-open spaces. In a radical departure from the divine mirage of the skylight and plentiful lighting of the floors above, red lights lining the ceiling try hopelessly to dispel the darkness, only to be drowned out by the intermittent, colorful neon-signs and various screens of the stores and stands, that do the job far better while advertising various goods and services.

                                            >The commotion of travelers is gone, replaced by the rattling of rusty fans from the sparce vents, which echoes through the tunnels, producing an unsettling background ambiance that permeates the gritty environment.

                                            >Instead of unassuming people and the occasional family, the tunnels are populated by fit, armed individuals. Independent mercenaries and outlaws bearing the markings of their respective factions, sit huddled around tables or leaning against walls and speaking in hushed tones.

                                            >Some of the businesses have security guards, and the ones that don't are owned by individuals fearsome enough to hold their own.

                                            >Even a blind man could tell this is the black market, between the heavy air, the ambience of old ventilation and verbal arguments in every language; the rattling of chains and cages from subjugated creatures, and the taunts of their self-appointed masters; the distinct smells of illicit beverages and unwashed hides. The criminal underworld's atmosphere is universal, and it violates every sense.

                                            >They walk past a pair of larger creatures engaged in a brawl, viscous blood spurting on the ground with each savage blow. No one will stop them – that would be joining in – instead they watch. Everyone lingering by is there for the free show of bloodsport.

                                            >Lela steps over the legs of one man who sits on the floor, his back against the wall, his eyes so glazed over he might as well be dead if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. An addict, she thinks.

                                            >Nadine feels sick to her stomach surrounded by such filth. Her skin crawls with the looks she's getting from both humans and others. She curses herself internally for even thinking of this idea in the first place.

                                            >Jasmine retains a disinterested outside appearance, despite the blood boiling in her veins. She partially blames the Navigator, partially her captain, and partially herself for earning the promotion that landed her the responsibility of being here in the first place; but most of all, she blames the people who permeate this obscene underworld.

                                            >As they progress past a corner, they hear the muffled thumps of loud music emanating from behind a wide airlock door. Above it, a pink neon sign displays the name of the club they've been looking for.

                                            >A pair of bouncers, much larger than a human, address them as they approach. "No weapons are allowed inside. You'll need to deposit them at the airlock."

                                            >The leader shrugs. "That won't be a problem."

                                            >The airlock doors open with loud hissing and a hydraulic roar. Inside, they deposit their weapons through a slot in the wall while an Edaeq guard behind a glass panel jots something down. "Alright, four human females, arcane weaponry and a myriad of protective charms."

                                            >He sighs heavily before beginning to list a number of rules, and while her peers appear attentive, Lela doesn't hear a single one of them before he's done talking.

                                            >Finally at the end of it, he adds: "And keep the incorporeal asshole with you, if you can. The last thing I need is some disembodied voice narrating everything I do. Got that?"

                                            >They nod, barring Lela who just stares at the vents, wondering how it might look if they were filled with a flammable gas and she lit a match to it.

                                            >With a puff, the Edaeq cycles the airlock, and the other end opens to reveal the heart of the under-station. Loud music, a height-divided bar and enough people to make the rather large chamber feel cramped; all staples of interstellar clubs. Even here, the walls and ceiling are the grey stone of a dug-out cave. Colored strobe lights and low-power lasers cut through the darkness, illuminating a crowd of attendants. Behind the two-story tall stage, an enormous fan, spanning the entire wall, slowly spins behind a rebar grating, allowing much needed air into the crowded space. Not to be an eyesore, its blades and grate are equipped to serve an integral part of the lightshow.

                                            >The leader heads straight for the average-height bar.

                                            >Nadine puffs, the thuds of the bass discomforting her whole body.

                                            >Jasmine cringes at how cramped the bar they're approaching is.

                                            >Lela bobs with the beat of the music as she walks.

                                            >Jasmine notices and snorts. "What's the matter with you now, disco fever?"

                                            >Lela licks her lips. "You jest, but yeah. I'm in the groove!"

                                            >She narrows an eye. "Are you seri-"

                                            >"I'mma go dance, tell the boss!" With that, she strafes away onto the crowded floor.

                                            >Jasmine lingers for a moment, frozen in bafflement that a lieutenant can even fathom to just leave like that; then again, they are Outlaws. With a puff and a shake of her head, she hurries to catch up with her peers.

                                            >The navigator furrows her brow. "Where's Lela?"

                                            >She answers through clenched teeth. "Disco. Fever."

                                            >"I'm sorry, what?"

                                            >"She went to Dance." She clarifies with a gesture of her head.

                                            >"Is she serious?" Nadine glances at the crowd, unable to see her peer who must be somewhere within it. She gulps. "Boss?"

                                            >She raises a hand dismissively. "Let her, we'll be here for a while."


                                            >Nehil takes off his headset and furrows his brow, listening intently for what he thought he heard.

                                            >Sure enough, a distinct rumbling echoes from somewhere in the caves.

                                            >He narrows his eyes. "That's not rumbling, you harebrained incorporeal nuisance." He listens intently as it happens again, and his mouth goes dry. "That's-"

                                            >His prehensile fingers push a pair of buttons on his keyboard, changing the screen to display the view of his surveillance cameras instead of the game he was playing, and he audibly gasps at the sight. "Gunfire!"

                                            >Two humans, clad in combat armor, are tearing through the tunnel complex leading up to his den. Centipedes, worms and arachnids all try in vain to defend their territory, only to be mercilessly shot, stomped, stabbed or crushed; their blood puddling and carcasses covering the ground as the two savages continue their wrathful rampage.

                                            >He slams the table with an arm. "Why, you- ugh! Why?!" He demands of the ceiling, oddly.

                                            >Rising from his seat in a panic, he grabs his staff from beside his table, the crystal at its end instantly beginning to glow as his energy runs through it.

                                            >Before heading towards the humans, he takes another, closer look at the video feed, noting the symbols on their suits. His eyes widen, and one of them twitches. "The Alliance?! Here?! How?!" His shouts echo in the large, cavernous chamber as if it was sharing his disbelief.

                                            >"Who are these CMOA shmucks, and what are they doing he-" His shouting ceases as he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Oh forget it."

                                            >He looks up at the ceiling again. "You want me to intervene, don't you?" He asks it, as if it would have any say in the matter, had it been able to respond.

                                            >"You know I'm not asking the ceiling." He tells it.

                                            >"Not. It." He hisses.

                                            >Gritting his teeth, he makes for the tunnel leading deeper into the complex, casting an orb of light from his staff to assist him down the line.

                                            >Once the creature blocked off their escape, the marines pressed further into the tunnels. The fear wore off quickly when their training kicked in, but they both knew the signs of a hopeless situation well from their training sims, and this is looking like it might be their end.

                                            >Surrounded on all sides by encroaching hostile fauna, blocked off and in the darkness, their ammo rapidly dwindling, every factor of this fight is stacked against them.

                                            >Cheeto grunts as he skewers another worm with his climbing blades. "How the fuck are there this many of them?"

                                            >Michael shoots the last three rounds in his magazine at another bug the size of his whole body. "I dunno, smartass, you tell me!" He shouts.

                                            >"Fuck's that supposed to mean?" The lieutenant yells as he swaps back to his- um, Vintage rifle-

                                            >Michael cackles as he stabs his blades into another centipede. "Shit, even the narrator knows that thing's a relic!"

                                            >Cheeto doesn’t bother with a verbal response, instead, he lets a burst of rounds from the AK do the talking, the bangs resonating in the cave like a demand for respect. The bullets find home in an arachnid with mandibles bigger than the soldiers' heads, and put an untimely end to its life.

                                            >Right behind Michael, another, smaller arachnid prepares to leap. Just as it does, however, Michael spins and ejects his rifle's magazine at it, which propelled by the pneumatic ejection mechanism, launches directly into the creature's mandibles, breaking them and sending it to the floor with a splat.

                                            >He chuckles. "Thanks, Narrator! You alright." He says to a random stalactite as he loads his last magazine.

                                            >Cheeto notices a black mass crawl out from one of the tunnels near the ceiling of the chamber, clinging to it as it makes its way above them. He hurriedly equips the flare gun as Michael continues spending rounds into the others on the floor around them.

                                            >The massive centipede above detaches its front end to bear down on Cheeto, and just as its fangs show, a burning flare flashes a blinding light in the entire cave before embedding itself in its mouth, fusing its features together and melting its insides.

                                            >They clear the way just before it falls, impaling itself on a group of stalagmites that break through the carapace with an audible crunch, and send its blood pooling with the rest on the floor.

                                            >Michael watches a worm get stuck on the layer of viscous, green-yellow liquid, squirming uselessly as it tries to traverse it. "This shit is getting mighty slippery."

                                            >"No shit." Cheeto pauses, taking a long look around him. While the worms may no longer be able to get to them, the arachnids and centipedes find excellent purchase on the ceiling to descend on them from.

                                            >"Last thirty rounds!" Michael announces, switching to semi-auto mode.

                                            >"I ran out already, and I only have two AK mags." The lieutenant states as he scans the surroundings for an escape route. Suddenly, he notices an odd protrusion near the ceiling. "Is that a surveillance camera?"

                                            >Michael peels his gaze from the targets on the ceiling to look at the object his friend pinged for him. Sure enough, although an unfamiliar model, it's a camera. "It's pointed right at us."

                                            >"Y'don't reckon someone's been sending all these shits our way, do ya?" Cheeto asks, gesturing to the multitudes of dead bugs around them.

                                            >He shakes his head. "Doubt it." Before he can turn around, a centipede, longer than his leg, lands on his back, taking him to the ground. He can barely catch himself before the creature latches and stabs its fangs under the plates of armour on his suit, producing a loud cry of pain from the soldier as they pierce his skin.

                                            >Cheeto doesn't hesitate to put several rounds into the squirming centipede before running over, almost slipping on the blood, and pulling it off his friend. "You alright?"

                                            >He gets up, the caption [Black Centipede Venom Detected – Administering Antidote], flashing on his visor as the pain of the bite gradually fades. "Fucker scared the shit outta me, but I'm good." He licks his lips and glances at the ammo counter on his rifle before adding: "Out of ammo, though."

                                            >Cheeto scans for an opening they can traverse. "We gotta get out of here."

                                            >"That gon' be a challenge with no bullets and endless hordes of bugs in our way!" Michael states desperately, coughing a couple of times.

                                            >"How are there this fucking many?!" He ponders aloud, shooting the bigger ones dead before they can get to them.

                                            >Michael coughs again. "If you don't know, neither do I." He slashes one arachnid in half with his climbing blade as it descends from the ceiling. "Fuck do I do now? I'm out of ammo."

                                            >Cheeto ignites a fire spell through the glove of his suit and launches it at a group of arachnids, which promptly ignite and explode as the blood within them evaporates through their exoskeletons. "Ha! Fire spells work just fine; use those!"

                                            >"Uh, I can't."

                                            >Cheeto raises a brow. "Whaddyu mean you can't?"

                                            >Michael grunts. "I don't know any fire spells, aight?"

                                            >He balks. "Now that don't make a lick o' sense bro, that's like not bein' able to swim! How're you in the military?"

                                            >"Man, fuck you, cheddar nigga! I ain't the one who brought a fossil to a gunfight!"

                                            >"And I ain't the one who suggested Emotional Damage to fend off a Manticore!"

                                            >"Man fuck this!" In a last-ditch effort, he opens his MPSD inventory manager, and his eyes widen as he finds a solution to their predicament. It martializes in his hands with a bright flash of cyan.

                                            >Too busy shooting the approaching hostiles to turn back and see, the lieutenant asks: "What war crime did you pull outta your ass now?"

                                            >Michael ignites the flamethrower-

                                            >"Oh." He moves aside just as his magazine depletes, letting Michael face the bugs instead.

                                            >A plume of flame lights the cavern in yellow before as he points it at the swarm and unleashes inferno. The bugs pop and sizzle as the flames send thousands of miniature souls scattering about the ether, the pool of blood in the center growing blacker as the melted exoskeletons mix within it.

                                            >Cheeto reloads. "You had that this whole time?!"

                                            >Michael cackles. "Turns out, yeah!"

                                            >"Why the fuck didn't you use it earlier?"

                                            >"I forgot!" He exclaims with a wide grin.

                                            >Noticing a flat surface beside the pool, an idea pops into Cheeto's head. "Cover me, I got a plan!"

                                            >Michael shrugs, carefully controlling the flames as to not waste too much fuel.

                                            >He rips a leg from the fallen centipede and makes for the dry ground, beginning to draw a circle with the blood oozing from it.

                                            >"Doin' whut now?" Michael cocks a brow as he scans for any surviving hostiles. As if for his sake, another horde comes slowly skittering from the tunnel they ran through before.

                                            >"Just burn the fuckin' bugs and gimme a moment!" The lieutenant shouts as he dashes to the dead centipede again, ripping off another leg and dashing back to his circle. He adds lines and runes, gradually making a sigil.

                                            >"Fuck are you doing, summoning a demon to help us?"

                                            >"Better! Get those bugs in the circle!"

                                            >Michael is confused, but retreats to stand beside his partner regardless. He points the flame thrower at the encroaching horde of arachnids and centipedes, but Cheeto puts a hand on his weapon. "Wait."

                                            >The bugs clamber over the fallen carcass of their much larger peer, some stopping their advance entirely to gorge themselves on it instead.

                                            >"Wait."

                                            >A smaller centipede rapidly crosses the circle, bounding towards them with all haste, but the lieutenant's rifle stops it dead. Following it, a group of arachnids skitter into the circle, and right when they are mostly in it- "Now, burn those fuckers, Michael!"

                                            >The fire roars as its light engulfs the chamber, and soon the pops of exploding carapaces and exoskeletons joins its chorus.

                                            >"Aight, stop!" Cheeto orders, and the fire ceases.

                                            >To their surprise, where the remains of burnt bugs should be, lie bullets. Multitudes of them.

                                            >Cheeto woops. "It worked!"

                                            >"What the hell did you just do?" Michael asks baffled.

                                            >"Some battlemage bullshit muh girlfriend taught me!" He responds with a wide grin as his MPSD siphons the rounds into the spent magazines within it.

                                            >"Huh, guess magic runs in the family then!"

                                            >Cheeto pauses and looks at him with a furrowed brow. "Was that an incest joke?!"

                                            >He grins. "Shit, you smarter than you look, Redhead."

                                            >"Man, fuck you, I don't even have any siblings!"

                                            >"Now, who told you that?"

                                            >He grimaces and loads a fresh magazine into his standard issue rifle. "Man, fuck you, alright? Shut up!"

                                            >He laughs as he reloads his rifle as well, moving to stand back-to-back with his superior again.

                                            >They scan the chamber, but find no imminent threats. Most of the bugs stopped to eat the carcasses of their fallen brethren in a homogenous display of cannibalism, and the ones that haven't are skittering about aimlessly, having been temporarily blinded by the flames.

                                            >Michael puffs and lowers his weapon. "Looks like we bought ourselves a breather."

                                            >Before Cheeto can respond, the cavern echoes the sounds of a carapace shifting much, much louder than anything they've heard yet.

                                            >They shine their lights at the origin of the sound, the far end of the chamber, where a precarious, narrow precipice lies. Instead of standing there like idiots, they briskly back away as they watch an enormeous pair of fangs emerge from the darkness, followed by the mandibles and first pair of legs.

                                            >They both scream in horror as they make for the tunnel they crawled in from, careful not to slip on the viscous blood covering the ground.

                                            >"That thing's the size of a fucking cruiser!" Michael points out.

                                            >"It could skewer us both with one fang!" Cheeto cries as he clambers up the steep tunnel with Michael beside him. "How did it get that big living down here?! How could it ever get out?"

                                            >"You got some very rational questions there, Cheeto, but could you please Climb Faster!"

                                            >"I would, if there weren't so many fucking spiders in my way!" He latches to the wall with one arm as he sprays them the machinegun in his other.

                                            >The giant centipede behind them catches up, reaching its fangs towards Michael, who jumps over them, falling back to the chamber below and landing with a roll.

                                            >Cheeto's eyes widen as he sees a fang longer than his entire body almost skewer him from behind, and he too leaps off the incline back to the blood-pooled chamber. His landing is much less elegant than his companion, however, and he splashes the viscous liquid as he plants his ass in it.

                                            >Michael rushes over to help him up as the centipede stops in its tracks.

                                            >They both look at it for a long moment as it sits completely still, half wedged in the narrow tunnel they came in through earlier. Its long body takes up half of the chamber they stand in, but it seems as if it froze still; not one leg so much as jitters.

                                            >Michael swallows, his throat dry. "How are we getting out of here now?"

                                            >"Dunno, but at least we found one big enough for the fuckin' wyrm!" Cheeto chuckles.

                                            >Unsatisfied with that response, he shines the light of his gun on the ceiling of the chamber, scanning for a way out, but instead catching the attention of several large arachnids. With a loud tsk, he shoots one, then ano-

                                            >"ENOUGH OF THIS GRATUITOUS VIDEOGAME VIOLENCE!" a voice echoes from above, in their own language, no less.

                                            >Michael looks up to the origin, where the head of the centipede is lodged. "Come down here and fuck us like a man!"

                                            >Cheeto laughs. "You mean Fight?"

                                            >"That's what I said."

                                            >"No, you said fuck."

                                            >His face goes pale.

                                            >How could this happen to him? He made his mistakes, has nowhere to run, the night-

                                            >"AND ENOUGH OF THAT TWO-MILLION-YEAR-OLD REFERENTIAL HUMOR!" The creature shouts as he slides down the carapace of the massive bug to stand in front of the two humans.

                                            >Cheeto's jaw drops as he looks up at the tall, imposing, creature in front of them, dressed in casual clothes and wielding a magic staff. "A Karzak?!"

                                            >Michael coughs again. "Aw, hell."

                                            >Cheeto points an accusatory finger at him. "Were you the one sendin' all these little shits our way?"

                                            >"NO." He responds through gritted teeth. "Those would be your gunshot noises and flashlights drawing every group of eyes from each tunnel of this accursed complex!" He knocks the butt of his staff against ground for emphasis, which unleashes a small circle of bright energy in response. Taking a deep breath, he asks: "What are you idiots even doing here to begin with?"

                                            >Cheeto chuckles awkwardly. "Kind of a long story, actually. Y'see…"


                                            >Outside, High Winds and Silver Zoom scan the night sky.

                                            >"They're definitely not coming back out." High Winds states. "And those things from earlier could come back any minute!"

                                            >"Hey, don't give up hope yet. Their plan could still work if we baited out the centipede ourselves and lured the wyrm to it." Silver reassu-

                                            >"Maybe. But what about those creatures from before?" She asks with a furrowed br-

                                            >"We should really update the guard about that. Maybe they'll have an idea on what to do."

                                            >Her eye narrows. "How are they supposed to know what to do about something they know nothing of?"

                                            >Silver takes a long moment to process that question. "There's probably a contingency plan for a threat invading from this frontier. After all, the Bone-Dry Desert is home to enough threats for our country to worry about it."

                                            >She looks at the distant mountain ridge separating that desert from Equestria, and her eyes settle on the opening between them, where the wyrm must've crawled in from. "There's nopony even guarding that chokepoint, and it's not like they can set up there overnight."

                                            >He sighs. "Well, I doubt those two could've done us much good even if they did decide to help us."

                                            >She cocks a brow. "Why? With those ships they could probably wipe the whole trio of those monsters."

                                            >"Not without fuel."

                                            >"Oh." Realization dawns on her features. "Right."

                                            >Silver Zoom looks at the dark entrance to the tunnel, where the two guardsmares stand conversing.

                                            >West sighs shakily. "You know, maybe if we had a light source, it wouldn't be the worst idea. I mean, it's not like we can't dispatch a few bugs, right?"

                                            >Dew nods. "We'd just have to be careful, and keep the exit in sight."

                                            >"The dragon is the only thing I'm afraid of, though."

                                            >Dew puffs. "For the last time, there's no indication in the slightest that any kind of dragon is taking shelter here. The would've been smoke, or tracks, or ash piles-"

                                            >"What about that rumbling from earlier? What do you think that was?"

                                            >She scoffs. "Well, certainly not a dragon."

                                            >She repeats the question, urging her.

                                            >Dew sighs. "I haven't the slightest clue, but if they went in there, I'd wager it was them."

                                            >"Doing what?"

                                            >She frowns. "I don't know, Private!"

                                            >West looks away and lets out a sigh. "I really hope they're okay."

                                            >Dew mirrors her worried expression. "Me too. They might be our only shot at a clue about what those things were."

                                            >West furrows her brow for a moment and looks at her saddlebag, spotting the last flare they have. "You don't think that dried up enough by now, right?"

                                            >She scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, West. That flare is done for."

                                            >Pulling it out with her teeth, she takes it in her wing- s- somehow. "Then we've got nothing to lose by trying, right?"

                                            >Dew chuckles tiredly. "I swear, if this works, I must be dreaming."

                                            >She bites the cap off the drags it across the tip, the flare erupting with a bright red flame before promptly flickering out.

                                            >Still staring at the flare, she sighs heavily. Then, it erupts again as the dried, sunken powder defiantly rekindles from the heat and oxygen.

                                            >"HOW?" Dew balks.

                                            >West cackles. "Let's investigate before it dies out!"

                                            >Dew nods, spurring herself into action and grabbing the flare from her subordinate. "I'll take point." She states before pulling her sword out and plunging into the darkness.

                                            >The private follows her, mirth mixing with dread as she too draws her only line of defence: a short arming sword.

                                            >Zoom and Winds stare at the pair with wide eyes as they disappear into the foreboding darkness.

                                            >"What are they doing?"

                                            >"Should we follow them?"

                                            >The two guards charge into the darkness, not noticing the smoke clouding the ceiling above them, nor the smell of burnt insects rushing from the depths of the cave.

                                            >West's gaze rises to the ceiling as she follows behind her cantering superior. "Ugh, that stench is awful!" She exclaims around the hilt of her sword. Her eyes trace a thin cloud of smoke as it softly wisps its way to the exit, and her stomach drops as her heart catches in her throat, but she doesn't stop.


                                            >Nehil sighs as the human behind him concludes his recounting of the last day, the light of his staff guiding them back to his den as they traverse the bug-ridden tunnel. "Well, that explains just about everything, really."

                                            >Cheeto narrows an eye. "What did the Narrator call you?"

                                            >He sighs. "Neil, in your language. You should just call me that."

                                            >"Aight."

                                            >Michael looks at the bugs scuttering along the walls and clinging to the ceiling. "How come they're so calm now?"

                                            >Neil tsks. "Pacifying spell, it works in a radius. Something you grunts should learn to cast before diving into an overpopulated lair of hungry bugs."

                                            >Cheeto looks around at the multitude of worms, arachnids and centipedes. "Overpopulated? You don't say!"

                                            >"Uh, we don't exactly get taught any spells in training unless we sign up for it." Michael confides.

                                            >"Then you should've signed up for it." He hisses.

                                            >"Fuck do I know? I didn't think I'd get transported to the fucking bug-desert where I'd have to lure out a-" Michael stops and raises his gun at the sighs of a bright red light emanating from one of the tunnels. The sounds of something encroaching can be heard as the light becomes brighter.

                                            >Neil raises his staff, pointing it at source, and Cheeto doesn't delay in doing the same.

                                            >Suddenly, the two mares from before emerge, a bright red flare in the purple one's wing, somehow.

                                            >Cheeto is first to lower his weapon. "How are you holdin' that in your wing?"

                                            >They both look up at the Karzak, his intimidating stature making them backpedal a step, and the orange one raises her sword, pointing its tip at him.

                                            >He facepalms. "Ugh! As if one pair of idiots wasn't enough!"


                                            >"I think it speaks their language." Dew says around the hilt in her mouth.

                                            >Before West can formulate a sentence, the imposing biped narrows its onyx eyes at them. "I can speak yours too, featherbrain."

                                            >Their jaws slack and they drop their swords simultaneously, the clattering making several of the arachnids skitter away in fright.

                                            >The creature, almost twice the size of the other two behind him, sighs heavily. "I suppose your backup is waiting outside?"

                                            >The flare in Dew's wing suddenly dies. "Uh, yeah. How do you know about that?"

                                            >"Your friends told me." He gestures to the armored creatures behind him.

                                            >West picks up her sword and returns it to its scabbard. "I don't suppose you know anything about those other creatures, right?"

                                            >He shakes his elongated head. "What other creatures?"

                                            >Dew holsters her sword and sighs. "We were attacked on the way here by some big, gargoyle-looking things."

                                            >His eyes widen. "Gargoyles?" He tsks. "There must be more to the indigenous population than I've spectated."

                                            >Dew furrows her brow. "Spectated? You mean, Observed?"

                                            >The tall creatures shrugs. "Give me a break, it's my first time speaking Ponish."

                                            >They exchange a look. "What are you, anyway?"

                                            >He chuckles, letting out a hiss like a steam-train depressurizing its breaks. "Maybe we should invite your friends inside before we have this conversation? If there's something hunting you out there, it'd be wiser to take shelter."

                                            >They exchange another look and nod. "We don't have any light, though."

                                            >He rolls his eyes. "I'll come with you." He states, before murmuring: "Not that I want to."

                                            >They turn and walk back the way they came, the three bipeds in tow.


                                            >"…and you didn't think to stop them?" Spitfire snaps.

                                            >Zoom frowns. "We didn't even have any time, they just ran in!"

                                            >She grunts, glaring at the sky above. "This voice is makin' me real peeved right now."

                                            >"So, they're all lost in the caves now?" Soarin asks incredulously. "What are we supposed to do?"

                                            >Blaze clears her throat. "Guys?"

                                            >They look at her, and she points in the direction of the tunnel entrance where the two guards are emerging. Behind them follows a much taller biped, a bit bigger than an Abyssinian, and behind it, the two creatures from before.

                                            >They collectively make a sigh of relief as Private West calls out: "Found them!"

                                            >"Great." Blaze mutters. "But what the hay is That thing?"

                                            >"Uh, guys?" Lightning Streak points at the sky with his nose. "I think they brought backup!"

                                            >They look to see a chevron formation, glowing a dull cyan, advancing towards them from the distance. The edges shining brighter and trailing the light a short distance behind, noticeably emanating from larger objects.


                                            >"Ay Cheeto, look up!"

                                            >The lieutenant notices the familiar formation of a Union strike squadron approaching, and his mouth goes dry.

                                            >The Karzak furrows his brow. "The Union? HERE?!"


                                            >Before anyone can respond, the larger creature sounds off: "Everyone get the fuck inside, now!"

                                            >Soarin blushes. "Get the what inside?"

                                            >"I think it wants us to enter the tunnel." Blaze responds.

                                            >"That's a funny way of saying it."

                                            >Spitfire clenches her teeth as the formation approaches. "Go!"

                                            >They quickly run inside, hoping the fliers above didn't see them.

                                            >Fleetfoot is the last to enter, and the bipeds follow after her.

                                            >West looks at Nehil. "What were those things?"

                                            >He sneers, or frowns, rather- "The Union's atrocities! Those amalgams of flesh and metal that the malfunctioning artificial intelligence, waging its own war for last six years- I think it's six years in your planet's time- has been making from each new species it conquers."

                                            >The ponies exchange worried glances. "Amalgams of flesh and metal?"

                                            >He sighs heavily. "Look, there's a lot of explaining to do, or as the Narrator might call it-" He glares at the ceiling. "EXPOSITION. But I promise that this is a waste of all of our time. If the Union is invading, you're all dead, and if they aren't- well, that'd be a miracle considering their cyber-mechanical necro-soldiers are circling overhead."

                                            >The ponies, awash with dread, exchange more worried glances. Racked with questions and fear; the cold, claustrophobic tunnel suddenly feels hot and downright crushing.

                                            >Nehil lets out a sad sigh. Despite his approach, Karzaks are a very sympathetic species, and he can't help his instincts. The notion that all these people he barely met are doomed is disheartening to him. "Shut up, Narrator."

                                            >He casts a ball of light to assist them all in navigating the complex. "Follow the orb of light please, it will take us to my ship where I can hopefully explain all this better."

                                            >The ponies begin their march through the moist bowels of the earth, wondering how it could be that none of the denizens here seem at all hostile to them.

                                            >Spitfire rolls her eyes. "I'm not wondering, it's a pacification spell."

                                            >Nehil chuckles behind her. "How apt."

                                            >"How do you even pronounce that name?"

                                            >He shakes his head. "Just call me Nail. That's as close as your language gets to an equivalent, anyway."

                                            >She laughs. "Alright, Nail it is."


                                            >Lela-

                                            >"Yes?" She asks the crystal-mesh of her cockpit.

                                            >After a very long dancing session in the club, she was relieved to sit in her pilot seat for a change. The conversation of her leader with the other outlaw leaders had taken longer than expected, but just as long as she had hoped. She even had enough time to meet a fairly attractive merc while she was there.

                                            >She watches his fighter cruise in formation with her and the other outlaw coalition members. "You mean Philip over there? Yeah, he's cute."

                                            >Nearly two dozen different factions, banded together by the threat of the organized para-military organization, fly together in formation with ships in every color of the rainbow and then some. Usually, they can be seen fighting each other, but on this occasion, they are fighting as one.

                                            >Ahead of her echelon of fighters, two destroyers coast side by side towards the Blizzard outpost. Surprisingly, the outpost itself is a large enough structure to accommodate a fleet.

                                            >Thankfully, the coalition aren't just a fleet; they are practically an armada with the number of ships and combatants preparing to engage.

                                            >The destroyers reach weapons range and fire, two blinding white beams erupt from their bows and strike a number of turrets on the station's structure.

                                            >Almost immediately, Blizzard scrambles a number of ships, but it's too late. The forward echelons break formation and engage.

                                            >What follows is a space battle where fighters drift in wide arcs to avoid gunfire, while occasionally destroying an inbound missile or deploying countermeasures. All this while trying to land shots on the enemy.

                                            >Lela watches the display as she approaches the base, and picks herself an opponent. Her ship, an older model fighter of some ambiguous make, turns 180 degrees all at once as she begins slowing her momentum and changing direction with the thrusters. The boosters engage, sending her behind her opponent. She maintains a small angle as she gives chase, just in case the bastard decides to deploy a mine in her way.

                                            >Selecting Shock rounds, she sprays the enemy fighter with bullets until their shields are down, but before she can finish the job, Philip decides to launch a missile.

                                            >She grits her teeth. "Hey, that's my kill!"

                                            >The enemy she's chasing deploys a mine, which reflects the nearest star's light with a bright glint. Just then, the missile strikes, destroying the mine and fighter in a spectacular explosion of fire and plasma. "C'mon!"

                                            >Jasmine meanwhile is having a much better time in her dogfight. She grins widely as she maneuvers her, in her own terms, Slug of a fighter between a pair of enemies, launching a missile to distract one while drifting to bear down on the other. Her chain gun shreds the enemy's shield, and her deadly aim sends caustic bullets directly at their power distributor, causing them to lose control and drift helplessly until they crash against the station's wall.

                                            >She laughs as the explosion lights up her cockpit and glances at her radar for another target. It locks on to an enemy above her, who already began shotting. Her shield tanks the damage, and she evades the remaining shots as she forces an overshoot before they can launch a missile at her. "This Rocks!"

                                            >Nadine keeps an eye on her speedometer, careful not to be caught too slow. The enemy might bait a risky maneuver with the promise of opportunity, but she knows better. She keeps glancing at her radar screen every few seconds, never letting the enemy trap her as she exchanges shots with difficult targets. She doesn’t hit anything, but at least she's not being hit either.

                                            >That's in stark contrast to some of her allies that are being wiped out around her.

                                            >Eventually the enemy fighters become impatient and leave themselves open, and that's when her remaining allies take them out. She smiles as she watches one of them explode. "Long live the Coalition."

                                            >A voice is heard over the comms: "Phase two is initiating now."

                                            >Lela rolls her eyes and sighs. "Time to board the station, I guess. Damnit! I didn't even get Ten kills!" She laments.

                                            >Just then, another enemy crosses her sight, and she slows down to a dangerous speed as she changes direction to give chase. Her risk is rewarded by a position directly behind the bandit, which she finds easy enough to maintain. She opens fire, changing ammo types once their shields are down, and despite their attempts to turn, roll and drift away, she critically damages the hull, making the fighter explode in a cloud of decompressed gas and ejected fuel.

                                            >She sighs and shrugs. "Well, at least it's something."

                                            >With that, she turns to the station, watching as the destroyers launch their assault pods.

                                            >Her eyes widen with the realization she still has a couple of minutes, and she searches for another target, but it's of no use. By now nearly all of the enemy fighters are destroyed, and the ones that aren't are too far for her to get to in time.

                                            >Philip's voice rings through the comms: "Having fun?"

                                            >"No thanks to you, dude."

                                            >"Why's that?"

                                            >"You stole my kill!"

                                            >He tsks. "Oh c'mon, I didn't mean to. It was just an assist!"

                                            >"Assist my Ass!"

                                            >"W- would you like that?"

                                            >She pauses for a moment, processing that question. "You wish."

                                            >"You're right, I do."

                                            >"Keep wishing."

                                            >He chuckles. "Okay gypsy girl, so where are we boarding?"

                                            >The station's gates have been opened by the initial boarding team, leaving them with several entry points to choose from. She marks the one closest to them both. "There."


                                            >Michael wretches as his body protests the venom and antidote injected into it. His helmet folds into the suit and breathes deeply of the heavy air in Neil's chamber.

                                            >"Do me a favor," The Karzak says. "if you vomit, do it over the dirt-beds over there." He points to where a group of plants is growing. "It might serve as fertilizer."

                                            >Michael shrugs, then walks over to one and allows himself to vomit. What comes out is just water, mixed with toxins and minerals derived from the chemicals from before. Hardly good fertilizer, but better than nothing.


                                            >West looks at the vomiting creature with a worried expression. "Is he okay?"

                                            >The much taller creature shrugs. "He got bit by a centipede half his size, so maybe."

                                            >She gasps. "When? How is he still alive?"

                                            >He takes a deep breath, turning to the two creatures and saying something to them.

                                            >West walks over to the one vomiting, who has sat down on the floor. He stares up at the celling, taking deep breaths. "Are you alright?"

                                            >She reaches out a hoof only to be pushed back.


                                            >"Fuck off dawg, I'm dizzy as a motherfucker." Michael states, sparing a glance at the mare he just pushed away.

                                            >Cheeto looks at her and gestures for her to get back. "Give him some space, gurl. He'll be fine."


                                            >She looks at them, an ear off to one side in confusion, but relents and walks away. She looks at the taller creature instead. "What did they say?"

                                            >"That he needs some space but he'll be fine."

                                            >"But if he got bit, that makes zero sense. How can you just shrug off a venomous bite from a centipede half your size?"

                                            >He grunts. "Alliance medical technology, that's how. I'm not going to explain how it works, but suffice to say they have little machines in their blood, called Hemodrones, that are responsible for repairing damage and binding to hazardous proteins and viruses. They supplement the immune system." He points at himself. "I have them too, except mine aren't from the same company."

                                            >She scoffs. "Machines in their blood?"

                                            >Dew is less skeptical however. "What else do they have?"

                                            >He blinks. "What do you expect, an inventory list? I don't know and don't care. There are more pressing things you need to know, so all of you make a circle so I can explain your situation."

                                            >Spitfire is first to sit down. "What exactly are they? And while we're at it, what are you?"

                                            >The rest gather round, and Nail takes a deep breath before beginning. "I am a Karzak. My species originates from an equator world near the border between the Alliance and Empire's territories."

                                            >"What are those?" Spitfire asks.

                                            >"I won't elaborate too much, but suffice to say the two idiots behind me belong to the former, as in the Alliance."

                                            >"And where are those territories exactly?"

                                            >He takes a deep breath. "Outer-fucking-space."

                                            >She blushes. "There's a sex thing in outer space?"

                                            >He raises a brow. "No, it's in outer space; Fucking is just a rhetoric adjective!"

                                            >West shakes her head. "I'm pretty sure that's not how Ponish works."

                                            >He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I just picked up this language ten minutes ago, don't expect me to speak it perfectly."

                                            >"Hold on a minute." Winds raises a hoof. "You can't pick up an entirely new language just like that! You clearly leaned it a while ago if you speak at this level."

                                            >He sighs. "Well, no. For a Karzak, learning another language is like looking at a shape and telling what it is. Sure, it may not be perfect, but hearing the intonation and a few words is enough for me to pick it up."

                                            >She recoils. "How?!"

                                            >"I'm a Karzak, Winds, it's what we do." He looks over them. "Can we get to the important part now, or do you have more inane and pointless questions?"

                                            >West perks up. "How can you use magic?"

                                            >He grunts. "We're a super-sapient species, that means our souls are bigger, so we can inhabit bigger bodies and still have enough residual soul energy to cast spells with."

                                            >"But you don't have a horn!"

                                            >"How is that at all relevant?!"

                                            >"You can only cast spells with a horn!"

                                            >He sighs heavily. "I don't know why you think that, but you're wrong. The humans behind me can use spells just fine and I assure you they have no bony protrusions to enable that."

                                            >"Wait." Spitfire tilts her head. "Can we use spells too?"

                                            >"No, because your souls are completely incarnated into your bodies to facilitate all your overpowered innate abilities, like ridiculously fast flight, weather manipulation, cloud-walking and my personal favorite: Kinetic Shielding that scales with your flight speed. That's why crashes on your part are rarely fatal, and why your hide doesn't get torn off when you break the sonic barrier."

                                            >She furrows her brow as she processes his response.

                                            >West looks at the creatures, then back to him. "So, no spells?"

                                            >"If you really wanted to, you could rend your soul from your body to have some mana to use in spells, but the side effects include reduced cognitive function and motor skills, increased susceptibility to damage and fatigue, and a hindered immune system. You'll waste all that mana on restoration spells to keep your body from giving up on you, so I don't recommend it."

                                            >She suppresses a sigh of disappointment.

                                            >"Look on the bright side, West, at least you can fly indefinitely and walk on clouds."

                                            >She smirks. "Yeah!"

                                            >Dew shakes her head in confusion. "How do you know all that?"

                                            >He sighs. "I've taken to observing the nearest settlements for a bit using drones. As egregious as your abilities are, they're nothing compared to what unicorns can do. I mean, they bend mana directly! They can influence inert energy!" He shouts. "That's like being able to- I dunno, it has no equivalent! It's completely ridiculous, I've never seen anything like it outside of here!"

                                            >They give him a moment to calm from his rant before Spitfire perks up again. "You said those territories are in outer space? As in, the nearest planet or-"

                                            >He shakes his head. "The nearest planet to you is a barren wasteland of frozen flesh and bone; Nothing lives there."

                                            >Soarin recoils. "Flesh and bone?"

                                            >He rolls his eyes. "Forget it. Look, let me get a map for you."

                                            >They sit in wait while he goes to fetch a map from his ship, a giant, metallic, purple vessel almost the size of a commercial airship. After a minute, he returns with a disc shaped object, which has a sizable white marble in the middle. He places it down, and a holographic image of the galaxy appears with parts of it colored differently.

                                            >Some of the ponies recoil, while others stare mesmerized at the mirage before them.

                                            >He points at a grey stretch, just before the start of another, longer green stretch near the edge of the galaxy. "This green stretch here is the Covenant of Viridiana, or just Viridiana for short. You are outside of their territory, but just barely. I can't stretch how unfortunate that is for you, but no matter."

                                            >"So in who's territory are we?" Spitfire asks.

                                            >"No one's."

                                            >She raises a brow. "No one's?"

                                            >"Yes. You're in the demilitarized zone between Viridiana and the Amber Colonies. It's a precarious bunch of clusters riddled with hostile fauna and dangerous criminals from all over the galaxy."

                                            >Silver raises a hoof. "Fauna? There are animals in space?"

                                            >The Karzak laughs. "You wouldn't believe it, but life finds a way." He looks around at the centipedes on the ceiling with a smirk. "It always finds a way."

                                            >Some of the ponies look up, relieved to see the giant bugs are on the other side of the room. Still, they sit a bit more tensely now.

                                            >"What kind of animals?"

                                            >Nail sighs. "I'll be here all night telling you about Lightning Orchids and Plasma Jellyfish at this rate. Can we focus on the fact you're being invaded?"

                                            >His mouth goes dry, and he nods.

                                            >"Good, so look here." He points at a part of the blue colored territory. "This is the Alliance."

                                            >Spitfire looks closer. "They're the biggest country?"

                                            >"They are not a country, but an Alliance. A big group of friends, sort of."

                                            >She nods. "So, a bunch of different countries united under one banner?"

                                            >"Something like that, but on an interstellar scale, things work a bit differently. Politics don't matter. What does matter is that they've been fighting a war for the last six years, and the enemy they've been fighting against, the Union, are flying in Your airspace."

                                            >Dew furrows her brow. "So, we're being invaded by their enemies?"

                                            >"By the Union, yes. Moreover, the Alliance is here, past the colonial territories and the entirety of cluster twenty-seven. So, I very much doubt they're coming to help you."

                                            >Spitfire takes a deep breath. "So, we have to fight these guys alone?"

                                            >He sighs. "Oh, I'd laugh if it wasn't so tragic."

                                            >West's ears droop. "What d- do you mean?"

                                            >He swallows before responding: "You, even if you gathered all your army, even if you took every measure, you won't survive."

                                            >Spitfire looks at him skeptically. "What makes you so sure?"

                                            >He does a double take for a moment. "Wait, on the other hand, I'm not so sure at all! It completely depends on how many of them there are, come to think of it."

                                            >Dew chimes in. "Wait, so those gargoyle looking things, what are they?"

                                            >He shakes his head. "The reanimated remains of a species the Union conquered. You see, the Union isn't uh, alive?" He taps his chin. "I don't know how to explain this to you. It's run entirely by a machine that thinks it's saving its home planet, when in reality it's only wreaking havoc on the entire galaxy. It captures living creatures and turns them into soldiers by implanting them with a ton of machinery- cybernetics-"

                                            >"That's not a word." West interjects.

                                            >"I figured. Anyway, the conversion process usually kills them, leaving their corpses to fight for the union."

                                            >Soarin balks. "So, they're like zombies, basically?"

                                            >"Yes."

                                            >"Does that mean they don't feel pain?"

                                            >He nods. "They don't feel anything at all, Soarin. They are machines with joints instead of servos and skin instead of paint."

                                            >"What's a servo?"

                                            >West gulps. "S- so that's what they want to do to us?"

                                            >"Either that, or hunt you to extinction. You choose which is worse."

                                            >She shudders, a knot tying in her throat.

                                            >Dew feels a wave of shock wash over her. "Why are they doing this?"

                                            >"Like I said, it's a machine. It's just doing what it was designed to: usurp greenhouse planets to steal all the natural resources, and assimilate species into its army so it can continue the ruthless cycle of destruction."

                                            >The ponies all exchange looks. Incredulity, dread and confusion are all amongst their expressions, but most dominant is that of fear.

                                            >Finally, Lightning breaks the silence. "But if they are all the way over there, and we're over here, how did they get here?"

                                            >Nail doesn't know, so he turns to the two humans behind him.

                                            >West looks at the ceiling "Humans is not a word in Ponish, Narr-"


                                            >Neil sounds off: "Hey, how did the Union get here?"

                                            >Michael doesn't bother registering the question, his battle with the venom having left him exhausted. Instead, he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling and hoping the nausea will fade.

                                            >Cheeto walks over to where everyone else is sitting, leaving his brother-in-arms on his own for now. "Union tunneling technology. The same they used to invade every planet."

                                            >"And it really has such a long range?"

                                            >He scratches his head. "Ah mean, the eggheads say it has a practically unlimited range given enough energy. Why, where are we?"

                                            >"You don't even know where you are?!"

                                            >"No?" He looks at he holographic map.

                                            >"You're in Cluster twenty-seven of the DMZ, next to the Viridiana Covenant."

                                            >His eyes widen and his face goes pale. "What?! How did we get this far?"

                                            >"I have a better question: What do you think your chances of rescue are?"

                                            >He takes a deep breath as he considers it. "Well, that depends on whether or not the captain knows where we are, if she does, then she's on her way; if not, well, we better make ourselves at home 'cause we ain't getting off this rock."

                                            >"What chance would you give it?"

                                            >"Like a sixty percent."

                                            >"That you're getting rescued or that you're stuck?"

                                            >"Rescued."


                                            >Nail claps his hand- eh- "Okay, good news: There's a fairly decent chance that an Alliance warship is on its way here to help you."

                                            >They exchange hopeful glances.

                                            >"Sadly it's just one. So, depending on how the quantity of Union forces, it will either be the tide-turner you need, or a completely useless addition."

                                            >Spitfire nods. "So how do we ascertain how many of them there are?"

                                            >Nail looks up at the night sky through the absolutely gaping opening in the ceiling. "We need to get over the mountain ridge and look into the desert beyond." He looks at her again. "The Union aren't big on covert operations, so I'd say they've built a few monolithic structures to facilitate their tunneling generators. I recommend a pair of you fly up there, stealthily, and get a look. Even better if you could get a picture, actually."

                                            >Dew sighs in frustration. "With what camera?"

                                            >Nail turns to the human-

                                            >"Not a word."


                                            >"Do you have a camera?"

                                            >Cheeto pulls out the tablet from before and selects the Camera app. "Here."

                                            >Neil looks it over. "24 Mega-Pixels is hardly ideal for reconnaissance, but it will have to do."


                                            >He offers it to the ponies. "Use this thing."

                                            >West takes it in her hooves, pointing it all around in astonishment at how it loses and regains focus on its surroundings. "Cool! I didn't know it can take pictures too."

                                            >Spitfire takes a look at it, then her team. "Soarin and High Winds, you two are up. Get to the top of the ridge and take a few pictures."

                                            >Soarin walks over and takes the tablet from West. "How do you use this thing?"

                                            >Nail touches a white spot on the glass, and it flickers for a moment. "That's how you capture a picture. It's really all you have to know."

                                            >He nods, takes it in his mouth, spreads his wings and takes off with Winds after him.

                                            >West looks at Nail for a long moment. "I have another question."

                                            >"Well?"

                                            >"What are You doing here?"

                                            >"Ah, that's a long story. Suffice to say I'm not fond of society, and I've been searching for a place where I can avoid it. I still haven't found it, but this cave has been as good as it gets so far."

                                            >"Why not just stay out in space?"

                                            >"Because finding provisions in space is difficult, not to mention trying to avoid outlaws." He sighs. "Someone or something always finds me and ruins my peace. Every. Single. Time. I mean, look, it's happening again right now!"

                                            >She nods. "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for, someday."

                                            >His eyes widen in surprise. After dozens of times of having his opinion of society called into question and being told he should try to find his place among people, the Pony's response to his predicament is a breath of fresh air. He smirks. "Thank you, West. That's nice of you."

                                            >She smiles back. "You're welcome!"

                                            >Spitfire narrows an eye. "Why not just stay here?"

                                            >"Because this is trespassing."

                                            >She looks up at him. "I don't think any of us would mind a helpful creature residing in an abandoned mining complex this far out in the desert."

                                            >He smiles. "Well, that's thoughtful of you, but regardless, I'd rather not. I've wasted enough time here, and I'd like to move on. Besides, it's against the non-interference clause."

                                            >"What clause?"

                                            >He grunts. "Why did I mention it?" He asks the ceiling, then sighs. "It's a set of rules agreed upon across the four galaxies regarding species that haven't reached the space age yet; like you for instance. No spacecraft are allowed to land on your planet and establish contact with you, unless you somehow reach out first."

                                            >She raises a brow. "How would we go about doing that?"

                                            >He shrugs.

                                            >"You mean, you don't know?"

                                            >"Every species has their own way. Organizations like the Alliance thrive on this prospect, as it gives them such a variety of tools to use in every situation that it ensures there will always be an applicable solution to every problem."

                                            >Spitfire perks up in realization. "So that's why they don't want you contacting us? Because we might take inspiration and not devise an entirely new technology?"

                                            >He blinks in surprise. "You're smarter than you look."

                                            >She narrows an eye, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

                                            >"Whatever." His eyes settle on the ship he spent the better part of the night repairing. The drill has been restored, the hull re-sealed, and the navigation system restored to working order. All his belongings have been packed, and thanks to the farm he set up, he even has provisions.

                                            >Spitfire sighs. "So, I assume you won't be sticking around to help?"

                                            >"I'm one guy with a science vessel, I'll be useless in a fight. For now, I can translate between you and the Humans, but if things get heated, I'll have to leave."

                                            >She nods, understanding, but no less worried.


                                            >After clearing out a spot with machinegun fire, Lela and Philip land on ground of Dock 8.

                                            >Philip's starfighter, a MK-XII Colonial Interceptor, stops its engines with an elegant, fading whine. The boosters on the long wings and the large cylindrical thrusters between them diminishing their glow with a fast but gentle quality.

                                            >Lela's fighter on the other hand, kills its engine with a sudden sputter as its thrusters eject any fuel injected in the last moments all at once. Her pilot seat moves back to allow a hatch to open where it was prior, and a ladder deploys with it, allowing her to exit the cockpit.

                                            >Nifty enough, she thinks. "Yeah, I do think that." She tells nobody as she unfastens herself from the pilot seat and begins her decent. "The least they could do is add some proper landing gear."

                                            >Philip's fighter allows him to exit from its stern, lowering a ramp for him, and he hurries over to her.

                                            >She watches his ship deftly close its ramp and shakes her head. "I can't believe you bought that thing. How much did it cost?"

                                            >He laughs. "A year's worth of mercenary work. But hey, it's an investment! This ship can survive literally anything in the DMZ, I mean, I took down a Covenant Corvette with it the other day."

                                            >She furrows her brow. "Why would you do that?"

                                            >He raises his hands defensively. "Hey, they shot first, and they wouldn’t stop shooting. I only defended myself."

                                            >She licks her lips. "Whatever." Raising her pyric spear, she points to an airlock door. "That's our entry point. There's definitely a welcome party on the other side, so I'm going to need you to throw down a hard-light shield."

                                            >"Got it." He equips his rifle, checking it and turning the safety off.

                                            >"Not right away, though, wait for my mark."

                                            >He nods as they approach the airlock.

                                            >The heavy metal doors make a loud sound as they disengage their locking mechanism and open vertically, one half receding into the floor as the other rises into the ceiling. Beyond is a chamber with an identical door on the end of it. It closes behind them as they enter and there's the loud hiss of a compressor as the airlock cycles.

                                            >The opposite door unlocks and they freeze in anticipation before it starts slowly opening.

                                            >She puts a hand on his shoulder and prompts him to crouch. "Get that cover up, now."

                                            >He puts down a hard-light projector right at the base of the door, and it comes to life with a flash, projecting a semi-transparent blue wall of light in front of them.

                                            >Then a grenade bounces off of it, and Lela covers her ears before it explodes harmlessly outside the slowly opening door. A hail of bullets follows as the combatants beyond open fire.

                                            >She pulls a puck from her belt and runs her thumb along its rim, runes lining its circumference lighting up a bright orange as her mana charges it. She chuckles. "Speaking of fire," She rises up as the blue wall of light shifts its color to yellow, then red, indicating a loss of charge and impending failure.

                                            >"Catch!" Just as it gives out, she throws the puck, which comes to land at her enemies' feet and projects outwards in a wide radius, illuminating the corridor beyond with a circle of arcane light, runes dancing along its diameter.

                                            >"Fire sigil!" One of scrambles to get out of its reach only to be stopped short by Philip's retaliating fire.

                                            >The kinetic ward charm she wears deflects a few bullets for her as she points her spear at the center of the circle and discharges a bright orange fireball that turns blue upon entering the sigil and explodes with a baleful flash of light.

                                            >Despite the energy shields and exosuits, two of her enemies are charred instantly by the sudden inferno, and the rest stagger as the explosion leaves them discombobulated.

                                            >Philip finishes them off for her. "Shit, remind me not to get on your bad side."

                                            >She shakes her head. "If any of them used any pyric spells, that could've easily backfired."

                                            >They proceed into the station, side by side.


                                            >Soarin and Winds come back, landing deftly beside the dirt beds and bringing the tablet to Nail before sitting down and staring at the floor with dismayed expressions.

                                            >He narrows an eye at them before looking at the pictures.


                                            >Cheeto looks too. "What say?"

                                            >On the distant horizon, the red spires of tunnelling generators rise into the sky like needles glowing in the dark. Between them fly a myriad of lights, some white, some cyan, some green; all of them Union forces, be them gunships, choppers, drones or flying troops. Massive quadrupedal weapons platforms the height of 8 stories called Range Crossers, stride between them while using their floodlights to illuminate the desert; flying troops can be seen atop them, adjusting and preparing them for combat. Amidst the spires and in the light of the Crossers, formations of ground units can be seen organizing themselves for mobilization.

                                            >From the image quality and distance, it's hard to discern exactly what composes those ground units, but their shapes are distinct and varied enough to assume whatever was living in that desert prior is now mindlessly marching with ill intent.

                                            >"Shit!" Cheeto stares in disbelief at the images. "They must've been setting up there for months!" His stomach drops at the implications. In their final battle, their enemies fled to many an undiscovered planet. How many worlds such as this are out there? How many civilizations doomed to a fate at the monstrous grasp of the Union, with the only ones who could save them being completely oblivious?

                                            >He shakes his head hard. "Kinda dramatic, but yeah. My thoughts exactly."

                                            >Neil doesn't bother to hide his worry. "Any ideas?"

                                            >The lieutenant takes a deep breath and looks at the ponies. "We need to consolidate their resources. Maybe they can use some of that weather magic to conjure up a storm and drown those fuckers in quicksand."

                                            >He chuckles. "How original! That kind of ingenuity is quite refreshing, coming from a human."

                                            >Cheeto rolls his eyes. "Whatever-" He looks closer as another thought crosses his mind. "What the hell do they need that many spires for? How many places are they gon' attack at once?"

                                            >Neil's worry deepens with that question. "You think they might attempt a full-scale invasion?"

                                            >The lieutenant's eyes dart about the picture. "I doubt they won't, seeing how many units and spires they made." He clenches his teeth. "Must've covered the whole desert by now."

                                            >Neil crosses his arms. "So, we'll need more than a storm then?"

                                            >"Yeup." He sighs deeply, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes widen when he spots the centipedes, and he quickly looks away. "Damnit. We'll need a fuckin' nuclear bomb to even have a chance at surviving this shit." He looks at Michael, who's passed out on the floor, then at the Karzak's ship. "Say, what kind of fuel does your ship run on?"

                                            >Neil instantly picks up on the human's idea. "We are NOT converting MY SHIP into a BOMB, Lieutenant. With all due respect, I don't care enough for this pathetic last stand to jeopardize my only means of transportation, which is also my HOME of the last forty years!"

                                            >"That thang's forty years old?!" He points at the craft incredulously.

                                            >"YES." He hisses.

                                            >He tsks. "Damn, it's held up fine. I'd be reluctant to part with it too, Neil."

                                            >The commotion draws the ponies' attention, and they watch as the two converse.

                                            >"I'm not reluctant, Lieutenant, I am adamant."

                                            >He sighs. "Fine, that's off the table then."

                                            >"Thank you." He puffs with relief that the human didn't decide to commandeer it regardless of his protest, as he knows is in his power to do.

                                            >"Ey, shut up Narrator, don't make an asshole outta me." He snaps at the ceiling, eliciting a chuckle from one of the ponies.

                                            >He blinks suddenly, looking at the quadrupedal fliers. "Maybe we should warn their leadership?"

                                            >"Oh!" Neil laughs. "Let's just fly to the capital and tell the ruler of the land that they are about to be invaded by an army of zombie cyborgs! I'm sure they won't toss us in a dungeon or kill us on the spot- Oh, unless they decide to baptize us in molten gold and position our encrusted remains as statues to be worshiped." He laughs some more.

                                            >"Is that a reference to sumthin? C'mon, they seem more reasonable than that."

                                            >He scans the group of ponies and sighs deeply. "I suppose we could try to do something. How long do you suppose we have?"

                                            >Cheeto takes another long look at the image. The spires shine a dull red, and the creatures below are spaced out enough to assume their driving processors are still composing the algorithms required to affectively use them in combat. "A full day." Remembering the formation that flew overhead before, he adds: "But they're already scouting out locations to start with, so my estimate might be a little optimistic."

                                            >"That's not enough time for them to organize." He looks over the ponies. "I'd say this is all we're getting."

                                            >Cheeto sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "Narrator, if you could somehow get our captain to come over here, that'd be greatly appreciated. M'kay?"

                                            >The ceiling looks back at him, despite having no eyes, with a look that calls into question his faith in his captain.

                                            >"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" He asks as if the ceiling somehow insulted him, for not knowing that his captain has been on her way to them since the moment they went MIA.

                                            >He suddenly lights up for no reason, laughing incredulously as hope reignites in his chest.

                                            >Neil isn’t as optimistic however. He scoffs. "Who's to say they'll arrive on time?"

                                            >"Oh, yeah. Narrator," Cheeto looks back up at the ceiling. "How long before they get here?"

                                            >The ceiling above maintains its eternal silence, with only the shifting carapaces of the latching centipedes offering any response. If the ceiling could make such an estimate, and could voice a response, then perhaps it'd say to expect them by sunrise, or noon at the latest.

                                            >Neil crosses his arms. "That's as long as nothing stops them or slows them down, correct?" He asks, implying anything in the DMZ could ever hope to stop a CMOA warship.

                                            >"Well, even then, it's just one ship!" Neil points at the image. "What could they ever hope to do against this?"

                                            >Cheeto gulps. Indeed, for a battle such as this they'd need at least five, and if they were to intercept an invasion from other sources, such as other planets perhaps, they'd need even more.

                                            >"Wait a minute." Cheeto feels a wave of dread wash over him. "They're consolidating here from other planets?" He asks as though he forgot those spires can tunnel between constellations.

                                            >"Well yeah, but why here?" He ponders aloud, not realizing the Union would find this planet a prime target after they've taken the desert with such ease.

                                            >Neil frowns. "This is looking grimmer by the moment."

                                            >Cheeto grunts. "Well, our captain could contact the Bio-Diversity Preservation Initiative, and get their dedicated forces on board if she can get a mothership of theirs here."

                                            >Neil raises a brow. "What initiative?"

                                            >He rolls his eyes. "Formerly the Extinction Prevention Efforts."

                                            >"Oh! Right!" He laughs. "It got turned into a full-blown initiative now?"

                                            >"Yeup. With motherships, dedicated CMOA forces, and an absolute megaton of staff. I've been thinking of getting a transfer onto one, they get to have way more fun out there than we do."

                                            >He scoffs. "Playing covert-peacekeeper on primitive planets like this one?"

                                            >"I mean the Preservation Initiative Dedicated Forces. They do contingency response when that goes awry."

                                            >He shakes his head with a snicker. "Well, I'm glad something good is coming Out of the Alliance for a change, as opposed to staying In."

                                            >One of the ponies nudges him for the tablet, and he gives it to her. "How do you mean that?"

                                            >"Well…"


                                            >Meanwhile, the battle on Blizzard's station rages on.

                                            >Entering a narrow corridor, the Captain slides to avoid a burst of gunfire before shooting her offender with a bullet that lodges an ice-spear in his head, and using his corpse to block a barrage of rounds.

                                            >The Enforcers glow white, and she shoots the ceiling, releasing a flash that blinds her enemies long enough for her to drop the body and see them. There's an armored woman, and an unarmored Cykkar, who must be a mage.

                                            >She pushes herself against a wall to avoid a blind burst of rounds before retaliating with her twin Enforcers, disabling the woman's energy shield with shock imbued rounds and melting the armor with caustic ones, then filling her with ice spikes that punch through the other side. Before the mage can react, she kicks the woman hard enough into her that the spikes impale and she's pinned under her fallen ally.

                                            >Doing her best to suppress a satisfied snicker, she focuses on what might be past the next doorway, the dying mage helplessly watching her pass.

                                            >Two men, positioned at distance from each other within the large munitions bay, stand in wait for her. They shoot her the moment she enters the room, only for their bullets to make her flicker out of existence.

                                            >One of them tsks. "Decoy!"

                                            >"Find that bitch, she's here somewhere!"

                                            >Her invisibility spell gives out, and they notice her at the far corner of the room. Before they can fire, the plasma grenade she threw lands beside one of them and explodes, killing him and staggering the other. She uses the window of opportunity to shoot him, a few bullets are blocked by his suit's energy shield as he tries to evade and retaliate.

                                            >They exchange rounds while darting between cover, but her aim and movement prove better than his, and his shield falters before his visor is punched through by a spike of ice.

                                            >She pants for a moment, reloading her weapons as she mutters: "Should've just shot some seekers, would've ended this sooner."

                                            >She pulls a vial of mana salts from her belt and chugs it, sighing as it replenishes some of her expended energy. At this rate, if she doesn't sleep soon, her soul will de-incarnate from exertion. With strong a shake of her head and a deep breath, she presses on.


                                            >"…And there are huge creatures – Walking creatures with like, four forelegs, but they're like, as tall as the tallest building in Manehatten!" Soarin recounts to the others, High Winds nodding at his side.

                                            >West gulps, unmasked fear on her features. The image on the tablet opens a pit in her stomach, and she averts her eyes from it.

                                            >Spitfire and Evening Dew try to think of something they could use against such overwhelming odds.

                                            >Dew is the first to recall something. "Hey, the Elements of Harmony saved us plenty of times. Think they might be able to handle this?"

                                            >Spitfire shakes her head. "This isn't something six mares can solve on their own. Besides, it's been over a decade since the last time they were used."

                                            >"Over a decade?" Dew suddenly feels old, despite her young age. She lets out a grunt.

                                            >Soarin gulps. "Guys, shouldn't we stay on topic?"

                                            >"Yeah, sorry."

                                            >West perks up. "Shouldn't we warn the princesses?"

                                            >Fleetfoot nods. "That would be the ideal thing to do."

                                            >Spitfire tsks. "We won't make it to Canterlot in time."

                                            >High Winds points at the tall biped, who stands conversing with the shorter one. "What if he gave us a ride on his ship?"

                                            >She eyes the giant metal vessel up and down, unable to discern what the huge round cylinders are, or what the rectangular openings on the sides are for. "I doubt that thing can move faster than we can."

                                            >Dew gasps. "The sandwyrm! Maybe we could bait it towards them!"

                                            >West grins. "That could work!"

                                            >Spitfire shakes her head with a sorry expression. "Those things are probably why that wyrm is here to begin with. I don't think we could convince it to go back there if we tried."

                                            >They deflate.

                                            >Fleetfoot looks at her. "Not to be brash, captain, but since you're shutting down all our ideas, perhaps you could suggest something?"

                                            >She sighs heavily, looking at Nail who stands conversing with the other creature. "I think we should ask him."


                                            >Elsewhere on the station, Nadine waves a group of allied combatants onwards as she enters an occupied fighter bay, which serves as their next arena. On the catwalks above, enemy combatants open fire on the storming allies, killing a couple and forcing the others to get beneath the fighter itself for cover.

                                            >Nadine's breath catches in her throat as she realizes she's the slowest of her group, even in full sprint. A dozen rounds pang off of the kinetic ward projected around her as the enemies above focus fire on her, but she manages to teleport the remaining distance just before it dispels.

                                            >She grits her teeth as she catches her breath, having just avoided an untimely death.

                                            >One of her allies, a green-clad Edaeq from the Noxus Emeni group, puts a hand on her shoulder, speaking through his helmet: "Do some battlemage bullshit, distract 'em. We'll get up there and melt their faces off."

                                            >She nods. Her allies' tactics vary from group to group, and while she finds the excessive use of caustic and acidic weaponry by the Noxus Emeni distasteful, she isn't about to try taking on 8 Blizzard combatants entirely on her own.

                                            >She steels herself and throws down a sigil of haste, which lights the ground around them with a circle of glowing yellow runes as it boosts the reaction and movement speed of everyone in it.

                                            >Then a number of grenades land around them all at once, and if not for the improved reflexes of her peers granted by the sigil's effect, they'd probably all have died right then and there.

                                            >Just barely in time, they cast a kinetic ward around them, powerful enough to reflect the explosion and shrapnel, but still sending them all backing into each other.

                                            >The leader of their group grunts. "Come on, before they throw more grenades!"

                                            >She sends a decoy ahead of her to draw fire before emerging from under the fighter herself and teleporting atop a cart of missiles.

                                            >Her peers rush out next, beginning to scale the walls towards the catwalks, aided by the sigil's prolonged effect.

                                            >Edaeq climbing abilities always unnerved her, but she does her best to ignore them as she focuses on the hostiles above, which move seemingly in slow motion compared to her.

                                            >She summons a pair of phoenixes, which erupt from thin air with a blinding flash, and sends them upwards to pester the hostiles before the sigil's effect finally dissipates, and time resumes its normal flow.

                                            >While they aren't too impressed by the conjuration, it becomes hard to aim with the blindingly bright, fiery falcons flying around their heads. Caustic gas grenades land at their feet, exploding in clouds of green that blind them and erode their suits as the Noxus members finally reach the catwalk.

                                            >Nadine watches them fall, landing with sickening clatters and crunches as her allies begin exchanging fire with the others on the floor above.

                                            >Once the arcane gas dissipates, she joins them with a high leap and a teleportation spell to assist her in grabbing and climbing onto the catwalk.

                                            >She makes her way behind her allies as they clear a path forward, replacing her expended kinetic ward bracelet with a fresh one.

                                            >They pass by the door of the port's control room, and Nadine enters it while the others proceed without her.

                                            >The control room overlooks a spacious freighter bay, currently unoccupied, but still with plenty of cargo containers and munitions crates scattered about. Inside, two rather large teams exchange fire as the individuals move behind or atop containers.

                                            >Among them, She notices Jasmine traversing the space in an impressive display of acrobatics as she darts from one enemy to the next, chipping away at them and leaving them vulnerable for her allies to kill.

                                            >Sadly, those allies are becoming fewer as they are mowed down by a juggernaut with a chaingun.

                                            >Nadine feels a lump catch in her throat as she realizes her friend is in danger. She looks for anything she can do to help, but from her position she can only use a PA system, control a crane, or re-enable the automated security system which will kill her allies instead.

                                            >Her breaths become shorter as she panics, watching the Sargal juggernaut, four times her size, mow down the various outlaws she partnered with, getting ever closer to Jasmine. Then, a bright flash, coupled with a thunderous clap, snaps her out of it.

                                            >She looks for the source, noticing a Blizzard sniper atop the crane with a railgun. "How the FUCK did they get Railguns?!"

                                            >She grabs the crane controls and starts moving it as far away from Jasmine's position as she can while activating the PA system. "Sniper on the crane!"

                                            >Just then the window explodes as a railgun slug devastates it, pulverizing the glass and rending a hole in the wall behind her. She's knocked to the ground by the recoil, her ears ringing and dizzied. She makes no further attempt to operate the controls, lest the sniper make another attempt on her life.

                                            >Jasmine doesn't bother looking up, instead jumping down from the container she's on to use it as cover. It proves ineffective as another railgun slug makes a hole in the floor right beside her, having melted through the container and whatever's in it.

                                            >She puffs, hearing the footsteps of the chaingunner approaching her position. Her fingers pull a vial from her belt and she downs it, cringing at the salty taste as it restores her mana. She mutters under her breath as the vial clinks on the ground: "Bring it, you son of a bitch."

                                            >The steps get closer, shaking the ground beneath her, before stopping suddenly right around the edge of her cover.

                                            >It takes her no time to realize what is happening and she teleports atop the container again, before a grenade lands at its base and explodes. She sprints and slides, narrowly avoiding a railgun slug to the head as it flashes past her with a deafening slam.

                                            >Her ears ring as she jumps down on the sargal beneath her, landing on his head and somersaulting off of it, knocking him off balance and into the container.

                                            >Nadine watches the display from above with a half grin, then she notices one of the Edaeqs from before position herself to her left with an impressive-looking rifle.

                                            >She can't see the grin on her muzzle through the Edeaq's helmet. "Still as a statue."

                                            >Her gun rings out with a bang just before the Blizzard sniper has a chance to fire again, and the caustic bullet catches him in the face, turning it to black tar as he drops like a ragdoll from the crane.

                                            >The Eadeq rises from her perch. "Should've worn a suit, Longshot!"

                                            >Down below, Jasmine runs around another container as the sargal strafes her with rounds that bounce off her kinetic ward. His gravel voice rings out: "I'm not playing cat and mouse with you!"

                                            >He whistles loud, but his peers are either too preoccupied with other fights or dead, and don't answer his call. He grunts in frustration, searching for an easier target.

                                            >Sadly, his gun becomes impaled by a metallic strut, telekinetically launched by none other than Jasmine. She looks down at him from a container with a smug smirk.

                                            >He drops it, cracking his knuckles and neck. "Come down here!"

                                            >She shrugs. "Nah, I'm just gonna let those guys kill ya." She points to her right, and he looks only to see nothing there. When he looks back, she's gone.

                                            >He grunts and starts searching for another target again.

                                            >After rounding a corner, following the sound of gunfire, he finds what he was looking for. A member of the Razorbacks. He pushes her against her cover, disarming and turning her to face him before picking her up by the throat, but before he can kill her, the deafening slam and white flash of the railgun returns.

                                            >She falls down, landing on her butt, and when her eyes finally refocus, she sees the splattered remains of the sargal pasted along the floor in chunks and puddles. Only his massive, four-digit hand, severed and resting on her stomach, remains otherwise intact.

                                            >She pushes it off in disgust and looks to where the shot came from to see Jasmine giving her a mock salute, holding up the railgun.

                                            >She balks, wondering how a gypsy can operate that weapon with such precision, but she could well cry right now for being saved, so she doesn't question it, instead giving her a thumbs up.