The Five Year Struggle...

Two Weeks Later...

I failed them...

I couldn't protect them...

They're gone...

You Failed Us.

Terrified screams tear through a black void. Sounds of a struggle, a fist meeting face, a body slumping to the floor in a defeated grunt. The cocking of a handgun.

'BACK OFF!"

"Civilian is acting hostile. Attempting to protect targets. How shall we proceed?"

A radio crackles.

"Eliminate the civilian."

A single shot is heard being fired. Screams are heard in the aftermath of the shot.

"Civilian eliminated. Apprehending targets for extract now.

You. Failed. Us.

The black void now turns red, like blood.

Four Years Later...

I wake up from the nightmare, a scream tearing from my throat. Sweat coats my forehead as my good eye scans the darkness around me. Familiar silhouettes of a dresser, desk, and other items begin to fade in. The neon green lights from the motel sign begin to fade in also, illuminating the room in a green glow. My breathing starts to slow down as my death grip on the sheets releases slowly.

It was that damn dream again.

Well, I shouldn't say dream, more like a lucid memory. For some reason, my mind wouldn't generate the images, just the sounds.

Maybe my mind was sparing me the images, figuring I was already broken enough when the damn SWAT team broke down my door and...

I sub-consciously brushed a hand over the patch of skin that now covered my right eye, a result of the SWAT members' terrible accuracy at point-blank.

I mean, the guy had a SWAT-556. A triple burst rifle, and he still fails to kill me at point-blank with the rifle on single shot.

I wish he had killed me, so I don't have to endure the memory of that day...

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I stood up and shuffled over to the bathroom. While I went, I grabbed a look at the digital clock on my night stand. The angry red numbers read back:

5:37 AM

Well, early bird gets the worm, right?

After the incident, I had to, more like forced to, relocate to a new place to live. The Army was currently using my old apartment building as Close Quarters Combat training. The troops needed an area with a lot of room and such, and an apartment building was the perfect place. The city was now a military hub. New troops coming in, old troops being re-deployed, intel being exchanged, the works. Checkpoints were put at every entrance to the city, while outposts were put in areas like residential and minor businesses.

It doesn't help that I live two states away from my old place now. I honestly couldn't tell you what was going on back there.

After relieving my self, I shuffled into the living room, then to the kitchen. I opened the fridge for some breakfast, and nothing was there. Literally, nothing. I haven't had enough money to even by two weeks worth of groceries. I didn't mind though. Grabbing some bread from a cabinet, I took out a few slices and decided that was going to be my breakfast. Sitting down at the island bar, I turned on the crappy little TV and it flickered to life, colorless. The news was on, like usual, and giving the list of forsaken regions; like usual. Forsaken regions usually meant that the military couldn't save the state or that the Changeling presence was too much to handle.

On today's list was: Missouri, Tennessee, and South Carolina.

Damn.

There goes a good chunk of the Southern Resistance Army. This just goes to prove that we're going to be choked in the next year or so. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. We'll have no choice but to surrender and become part of the Hive.

See, fighting the Changelings has gotten more and more difficult. The more intelligence they have on us, the easier for them to infiltrate and eradicate our forces from the inside out. This made paranoia at an all-time high, and riots were common. No one trusted each other at all. We all lived in fear of being captured and stuck into either a chrysalis pod to be fed on, or made into a Changeling warrior through magic and fight.

A commotion outside my room caught my attention, and I stood up to go and investigate. I looked through the peep-hole to see a pair of ponies picking up some split groceries and muttering apologies to each other.

About half a year ago, there was a massive strike on a Changeling prison by the Americans. One of the few victories we have against them. Intel said that there were a mix of human and pony prisoners, all being mistreated and near the brink of death. Satellite surveillance showed that the prison was huge, with at least five thousand prisoners. The strike took about two days, and when the prisoners were freed, the new President abolished the prior statement set by the old President of no ponies behind human lines.

I was part of that strike.

Yeah, that's right. I said I was part of that strike on the prison. I may have been blind, using the word lightly, in one eye; but that didn't stop me from being drafted after the loss at Houston. Over half a million troops were killed, and the military was getting desperate. So, one day, a pair of recruits came by, door-to-door, asking for recruits. I reluctantly said yes, and was given ten minutes to pack. I didn't have much to pack, so I was done in five, and met the two outside. Unfortunately, I  was the only recruit, and the motel was the last stop. I hopped up into the truck and sat in silence for the ride.

At that moment, I made a vow to try and find my six girls and get them behind human lines safely.

Three hours later, I wake up at Camp New Hope in Massachusetts and I'm sent into training.

Four months later, I graduate top of the class in weapons training, despite the one eye, and made a Lieutenant.

Seven missions, one VIP Escort, and one prison raid later, I was given a two week shore leave.

And I wasn't one step closer to finding the girls. At the prison, I found a clump of rainbow colored hair; it was an obvious sign that they were there at one point. Right now, that clump of hair is tied to the ACOG scope of my M27 assault rifle. I get made fun of for having it there, but I ignore the jeers and jokes.

The two ponies outside had finished cleaning the mess, gave soft, sad smiles, and went on their separate ways. I turned away from the door and returned to the island bar and continued eating my meager breakfast.

About twenty minutes later, my phone began to ring. The Make It Special (Season Rebirth Mix)* ringtone played happily as the screen light up with the faces of my girls, all smiling at the camera on Christmas day.

Work was calling me.

This couldn't be good.

I picked up the phone and put in the password. Immediately, I was transferred to a video call. My tired face showed up in a tiny box while the rest of the screen showed up with the face of Commander Richard Bruno, my commander.

"Sir." I said with a grunt.

"Lieutenant. Glad to see you're awake." Bruno said with a serious tone.

"Well, if it wasn't for a nightmare I had, I'd still be asleep right now and missing your call." I said with a small smirk. Bruno's serious face broke and he laughed.

"Alright Tetreault, you got me. Listen, I need you to come down to command. Something big is being planned." Bruno said as he actually got a look at me. "And you might want to clean up. You look awful." He added. "Are the nightmares getting worse?"

"Worse? They're exactly the same. The screams, the gunshots, everything." I said sadly.

"Is it just noise or are there images now?" He asks.

"Just the sounds still. I think my mind is holding back the images to spare me." I said with a sad laugh.

"Well...if it gets worse, I know a guy who can help ya' out. But right now, you need to come down here." Bruno said with a slightly sympathetic tone.

"Alright. I'll be there in thirty. Should I be geared up?" I asked getting up.

"Most likely. If everything is set, we're shipping out right after." Bruno said.

"Alright, I'm out." I said about to hang up.

"Oh wait! I almost forgot." Bruno said as he held up a pair of Captain bars to the camera. "You've been promoted."

"Alright, who was it?" I asked. Usually when something like this occurred, it meant the person in that rank was killed.

"Jones. Right outside of a small town in Arkansas."

Damn, I knew Jones. He was a hardcore Brony and had a deep hatred for the Changelings, even before the war.

"Alright, thanks Bruno. See you soon." And with that, I ended the call.