The Dark Horse Initative

Chapters

Prologue, Part 1
Prologue, Part 2
Chapter 1

Prologue, Part 1

\ Hours since Op 3 start: 168

// Days since Canterlot Incident: 107

|| the Everfree Forest

The crosshairs of my rifle's scope were centered on the back of the changeling captain's neck, specifically that one thick, meaty section right below the skull and right above where the spinal column begins when the third digit in the ever-growing number on the mission clock rolled around to eight.

168 hours. One week. One entire week of reconnaissance, a week of lying in the prone position on a thin bedroll perched on a rock behind a flimsy blind loaded full of sharp sticks with leaves still attached. One week of staring at changelings through a scope, lining up imaginary kill shots with my hoof on the trigger, rifle unloaded, safety on. One week of having to repress the ever-present thought in the back of my brain that asks, simply, what if they've seen me? One week living in an improvised camp in a small, thick outcropping of trees twenty feet from a cliff with no campfire, no hot food, and no lights. One week without even being able to levitate out a pebble lodged in my tactical webbing any time after sundown for fear of a changeling seeing the light emanating from my horn.

Of course, when hour 168 rolled around, that pebble had been digging into my side for nearly four hours. I hate that pebble.

I don't mean to make it sound like I don't like my job. No, in fact, I love my job, and that one week is the second best part of it, besides the successful execution of a mission. When I know, for a fact, that I have assigned names to every single target in a five-mile vicinity, without any of the targets ever having been aware of my existence, I think to myself how much I love my job. And I know my spotter feels exactly the same way.

Speaking of my spotter, she was in the same situation I was. She had been lying right next to me in a nearly identical blind staring down her spotter's scope for the greater part of three hours, having returned from what she called "aerial reconnaissance" and what I called "an excuse to stretch her wings" to find me back in the blind behind the scope.

"Hey. Starlight." I whispered, reticle still fixed on the changeling captain's brain stem.

She didn't look away from the spotter's scope as she replied, "What?"

"You ever see a changeling with a urinary tract infection?"

That got her to peel her piercing eyes away from the changelings in her scope. I shot a quick glance over at them. Her neon, luminescent yellow irises were thin rings around her pitch-black pupils, enlarged and reflecting even the dull moonlight. She didn't need night vision, she had her own.

She stared at me for several seconds before a toothy grin appeared in the darkness below her eyes. Her canines were looking particularly pointy. "No." another pause. "Why?"

"You see Head Honcho down there?"

"Yeah."

"He's pissed six times in the past two hours."

She stifled a laugh, re-aiming her scope to the entrance of the changeling garrison. "One-Eye and Moony are in position."

"And Head Honcho's moving back from the latrine to his tent," I added.

Somewhere along the line, the naming procedure had evaporated from the official REA method of assigning numbers and letters and had turned into the sole form of entertainment we had during the reconnaissance phase of operations.

"Where's Bitch?" Starlight asked, swiveling the spotter's scope into the center of the camp.

"Head Honcho's tent, as usual."

"Figures. That leaves the other six. Any idea where they are?"

"Twitch, Scar and Pudge landed patrol duty tonight. Clown, Wasp and What's-His-Face are asleep in the long tent."

"Perfect. Patrol began at 2300, and it's 2330. They won't be back until 0200. That leaves us with seven targets and one-and-a-half hours to take care of any intel they've managed to gather. What's the mission clock look like?" Starlight asked, once again glancing my way.

I gently let the stock of the rifle rest on the rock, removed my hoof from the trigger and activated the small computer resting next to the rifle's loaded magazines beside my bedroll. "I've got 168 and-a-half hours."

"So, do we have a greenlight?" Starlight questioned, whispering, instantly becoming more excited.

"At any point after 168 hours, we have a greenlight." I quietly replied, quoting the rule book nearly verbatim.

"Conditions won't get any better than this. We need to move."

I nodded. "Call it in."

Her toothy grin returned. A shiver went down my spine. She silently lifted herself from her bedroll, moving off into our campsite to gather some of her gear. She returned several seconds later, her tactical gear hanging from her mouth. She spat it onto the ground, moving her hoof to her ear to turn on her headset and adjust her microphone.

"Darkstar to Dragonsbreath," She said into her mic. Her voice echoed over my headset, which I had just activated as well.

After several seconds of static, a gruff voice emanated from the other end. "Dragsonbreath here."

"Confirming Operation Three is moving from reconnaissance to execution."

Static. "Darkstar, Operation Three is in execution. Proceed at will. Keep it quiet out there, and good luck."

"Copy." She flicked the dial on the radio with her hoof. "Ischys, copy our last?"

The radio emitted only static for several seconds. "Darkstar, this is Ischys. Message received. Moving to overwatch position. Does Battlemage need an assist on any targets?"

I nonchalantly shook my head at Starlight, who immediately responded with a curtly whispered, "No."

The calm voice on the radio responded, "Copy. Ischys and Blade moving to overwatch, will hold until further update. Any details?"

Starlight thought for a moment. "Yes. 3 changelings are patrolling the target area. Generally circular movement, half mile radius from camp. Report if they deviate from that pattern, eliminate if necessary.

"Copy that. Not a problem, Darkstar. See you on the other side."

"That's a firm, Ischys."

Another voice popped in. It was Blade. "Oh, and Darkstar? Tell Battlemage to shoot straight." The voice in my ear chuckled.

I piped in. "Shut up, Blade. At least I can shoot."

Another chuckle on the other end, before the headset's speaker popped gently. Blade had turned the frequency, likely now talking to Dragonsbreath for more intel.

Starlight slung her saddlebags over her back. "You know, I have to wonder what the point is with all the callsigns. The changelings don't monitor radio frequencies." She whispered candidly as she adjusted her gear, making sure her SMG and combat knife were secure on either flank.

She was right. Nopony had ever recovered any radio monitoring equipment from the changelings. "Well, Star, it's a possibility. You know as well as I do that they are getting smarter. And besides, you need to remember that testosterone tells us members of the opposite sex that callsigns are awesome."

"Oh, you colts, still playing pretend." She jokingly chided, stretching her wings.

"We can't help it." I noted.

I could tell she was about to launch into a diatribe. "Dragonsbreath. Just say lieutenant or intel or home base…something. And Blade. His name's Sawtooth, for Celestia's sake. The two are practically interchangeable. And Ischys...where did Crow find that one?" She complained.

This was becoming a habit, Starlight getting chatty before an operation. Not that I minded. "Well, you wound up with Darkstar for a callsign. You could have just said 'no thanks' or something." I replied. I locked a loaded magazine into my rifle, cycling the bolt; the action smooth as butter. I slung it over my shoulder, the sniper rifle now resting comfortably against my back.

"Good point. I am kind of getting attached, though. I mean, it fits."

"Darkstar? Yeah, it fits. You are, after all, practically invisible any time after sundown," I replied, rolling my eyes with not a faint trace of envy.

"You've got that right." She quickly responded. It was true. Her coat was a deep charcoal, and her mane was an absolute black, although a small shimmer was visible where the moon reflected off it, which fluttered in the darkness as she flicked her mane over her back as she shot me yet another grin. I swear, any more of those and I’d be led to believe she was flirting. "Yours, on the other hoof, is as ridiculous as Sawtooth or Crow's."

"Star, I'm a unicorn. With magic. Battlemage fits."

"Yeah, okay, Battlemage. What's the mission clock say?" She abruptly ended that conversation, restlessly stretching her wings.

"168.2. We need to move."

"Copy that," She replied. "To position one?"

"After you," I curtly responded.

Position one was a short hike down the mountain, about a klick away from our camp. We had to head further into the box valley, closer to the changeling garrison. We had strategically set up our camp with a straight line of sight to the target area, but in order to use the camp as a fallback position, we would have to snipe from a different location in case we were spotted. We actually had three locations, each progressively further down the mountain and further into the valley, until we were practically right on top of the garrison, each scouted and ready for our use. We had two targets lined up at position one.

I tripped once again, my left hind hoof caught between two entwined roots jutting into the path we had cut into the forest less than a week previous, tendrils of vines and thin, whiplike sapling limbs already taking back their territory. The rate of growth in the Everfree was like nothing I had ever seen, and the sheer density of the plant life was astounding. While the impenetrability of the forest made for ample cover, it made for slow progress through its harsh grasp. While the forest was a problem in and of itself, the issue was compounded by that of elevation: navigating only hooves-wide gaps in unforgivingly thick and often thorned foliage while being able to see nearly straight down distances I could only estimate at 40 to 50 meters was downright treacherous.

There was a significant chance that this part of the Everfree had never been scouted beyond much more than aerial reconnaissance. How the 31st Winged Scout Division had spotted the nigh-on-invisible changeling garrison was still a mystery, as was the fact that a changeling garrison had been established as far north as this one. Although this was the absolute southeastern tip of the Everfree, the part of the forest closest to the changeling-dominated lands, the fact that they had an advance camp located further into Equestrian-held territory than a decent number of well-established Equestrian bases was beyond unsettling. And thus, we had been called in to eliminate it. Not by the 31st, however. They weren't privy to our existence. No, the 31st had merely done a fly-by and called it in as soon as they got back to base. This call had come straight from the top: the Royal Equestrian Council, Celestia's own cabinet of movers and shakers.

So, a little more than a week later, there we were, high in the northern side of the southernmost ridge of unnamed mountains that marked the edge of the Everfree running from east to west, hiking down into a narrow box valley. The changeling garrison was as far in to the boxed end of the valley as possible before running up the mountain. While a strategically intelligent choice of location by the changelings in terms of concealability, the garrison's position was a tactical nightmare, being surrounded by mountains on three sides. That left one avenue of escape, and three avenues of attack.

"Less than half a klick," Starlight breathed as we passed the stick we had placed conspicuously in a tree as a marker during preliminary reconnaissance about six days ago.

She hadn't made a sound the entire hike, and she hadn't been using her wings as an assist. Compared to her, I made the noise of a "lumbering bear" according to what she had told me back in training. Even still, I was all but undetectable to even the most trained listener. Which is to say, I barely knew at any given point during the hike if she was ahead of me or not. Apparently, she was.

"Good. This forest is starting to piss me off." I replied as I untangled my rifle's silencer from a particularly low-hanging tree branch, the owner of which was literally growing out of the cliff side.

About three minutes later, we had reached position one, albeit with difficulty (on my part alone). Position one was little more than a patch of fairly dry dirt with a line of sight through the trees, but it was ample room to take out the two changelings guarding the entrance, the ones we had christened One-Eye and Moony. They stood in almost the exact same positions every night while the patrol (always three changelings) moved about their appointed rounds, hiking up a short way in the mountains on the northern side of the valley first before hiking back down and repeating the process on the southern range.

After awkwardly grabbing the rifle off my back using little more than inertia and teeth (not using my magic was beginning to grate on my nerves) I deftly switched on the infrared sensor on the top of the scope, adjusting the reticle before looking down it. The valley was instantly bathed in black flecked with small patches of green and blue. The garrison was a square of yellows and oranges, although it was barely visible through the trees. The entrance, however, was fully exposed; two bright red and white spots shaped exactly like the two changeling targets standing at almost full alert. "Clear to fire?" I asked Starlight, who was prone on the ground, staring down her spotter's scope.

"Fire when ready. I've got a distance of 308.5 meters." She looked away for a few seconds, gauging the conditions. "And no wind. Easy shot."

I unfolded the rifle's bipod, dropping onto the ground to steady my shot. The changeling's glowing head was magnified 24 times in the infrared scope, bobbing slightly and turning towards his fellow guard. I took a deep breath. To insure a kill, I aimed slightly above the changeling's head, carefully accounting for distance and bullet drop.

crack.

White-hot infrared flecks erupted from the changeling's head before the rest of the creature fell into an undefinable white heap.

"One-Eye down." I barely heard her. The blood rushing in my head made sure of that.

Moony froze for a split second before recoiling instinctively at the sight of his fallen comrade. Without moving my eye out of the sight picture, I cycled the rifle's bolt, a single shell tinkling musically off small rocks before falling off the cliff.

crack.

Moony spun with the bullet's momentum, having been caught slightly left of the base of his neck.

I let my breath out, heart pounding. A faint technicolor haze overlaid my vision for several seconds.

"Kill confirmed. Chalk yourself up two more," Starlight commented.

"Any more movement in the camp?"

"Negative."

I nodded. Plan A was still in action. I could see Starlight becoming giddier by the second. I, on the other hand, was becoming more nervous on the same time scale. Plan A meant that engagement ranges moved from distances measurable in meters to ranges better assessed by measurements like hooves and inches. Ranges like the latter were Starlight's strong suit, her mastery of stealth practically insuring success. I was proficient at close range stealth, but nothing like her. And that made me nervous. Detection was exponentially more likely at closer ranges.

"Great. So much for position two and three." I flatly stated. I hadn't cycled the bolt on the rifle since downing the second guard, so I did so while staring glumly at Starlight. The shell flew soundlessly into the tree line. She smiled and shook her head.

"I'll make this easy on you. You get Bitch and Head Honcho in their tent. You can practically take both of them at once. I have to confirm three kills in a space no wider than this path without any of them waking up, without magic," She gloated, leering. "Urgh--CQC is sooo hard," she added in a purposefully terrible impersonation of my voice before turning to continue down the mountain.

I closed my eyes for several seconds before slinging the rifle on my back once again, cinching the strap as tightly as I could. A tingle went down my spine before I ran to catch up to the midnight black pegasus.

"Ischys, confirm standby?" Starlight whispered into her headset.

"Sniper support ready, Darkstar," Crow's perpetually calm voice intoned over the radio.

"And the patrol?" She questioned.

"Spotted, not eliminated. Moving down the northern side of the mountain, about half a mile from your position."

"Good. Designate as secondary targets until we've reached fallback or until the patrol comes back."

Static. "Copy that. Good luck. Blade says to break a leg."

Starlight informed Crow exactly where Sawtooth could stick his machetes.

We were positioned in the treeline before the garrison. All was quiet. I could make out the cold bodies of the fallen guards from where I stood, as well as the gate they had failed to defend. The four meter-tall wall they lay outside was a mixture of rusted corrugated steel, tree limbs and mud. Without closer inspection, it blended in seamlessly with the rest of the forest. The only giveaway was the thin expanse of treelessness that traced the wall's path.

Starlight bobbed her head to get my attention. She motioned for me to follow her to the wall, and almost simultaneously, began silently trotting to the fence, much too fast for me to be reliably stealthy. I followed nonetheless, careful not to make excessive noise. I glanced up. The silent pegasus was already at the gate, staring at me with disdain. I hurried to catch up, making more than my fair share of noise.

"No really, take your time," Starlight sarcastically chided. I grimaced. The chill in my spine was now almost a constant.

"Starlight, I know this is pathetic, but my spine has been freaking out since we left position one." I whispered.

"Yeah, and?" Starlight hissed.

"Well, I don't know. It probably isn't good."

"You unicorns and your 'bad feelings', I swear." She unfolded her wings, gently lifting herself above the wall briefly before letting herself drop back to earth. "Entire camp's clean. Nothing moving. You've got nothing to worry about." She paused, glaring at me expectantly. "Time's wasting. Are you ready?"

I nodded, exhaling quietly. I checked my combat knife, my last line of defense. It was in place.

"Good. You know the drill. We hit our targets simultaneously, move quickly. Light discipline won't be a factor; you can use all the magic you want." She peered around the gate, into the garrison. "Move on three."

"One."

"Two." I breathed reluctantly.

"Three." We whispered in unison, both quietly throwing ourselves around the gate.

My targets were to the right, Starlight's the left. I hurriedly advanced to the main tent, which was faintly illuminated in a soft yellow light, keeping myself as low to the ground as possible. I paused behind a particularly large shadow cast within the tent, which was certainly a fairly tall crate. Starlight had positioned herself adjacent to the barracks tent flap. She was frozen, glancing at me.

She raised one hoof, slowly drawing it higher. At once, she dropped it. Go.

I didn't have time to see her burst through the tent door. At that instant, the familiar feeling of complete control by a combination pure training and pure instinct took over, and I threw myself into the tent, closing the ten hoof gap between the crate I was positioned behind and the tent door nearly instantaneously. My body flew through the tent flap, and I immediately took survey of the situation.

Bitch was standing close on my right, rifling through an open crate. Honcho, the changeling captain, was seated in the far left corner, poring over a stack of papers.

Easy.

Bitch was first. A blue, pulsating wave of magic enveloped his scrawny, ebony form, simultaneously breaking his neck with a dull click and hurling his corpse headlong at Head Honcho, who stood and turned to face me immediately before being struck with the dead, 90 pound missile directly in the chest, which threw his considerably larger mass onto the table, his impact causing an eruption of papers off his desk and throwing the solitary light source, a thick candle, to the floor, where it sputtered and died. Before a single sheet of paper could flutter to the ground, I had drawn my combat knife and was on top of the muscular changeling. I held him, my hoof planted firmly on his neck. I could clearly see the hexagonal latticework making up his sky-blue compound eyes, the electric blue magical form surrounding my knife reflecting in them. His insect-like wings beat furiously, and his brilliant white fangs made every effort to reach my face.

Starlight exhaled sharply behind me as she entered the main tent, just as I plunged the knife into the changeling captain's neck.

Instinctively, a small ball of pure light emitted from my horn. I withdrew my blade, flicking off blood before sheathing it.

"Sweet Celestia, turn that off." Starlight growled. Her pupils were slits, catlike and piercing as they turned away from the light.

"Sorry," I lamely said as I withdrew the orb of light. Instantly, the room was almost pitch black.

Almost.

A dull, greenish glow emitted from further right in the tent, having been hidden from view by the candle and my magic.

"What the hell...?" Starlight intoned.

I was shaking from pure adrenaline, mind numb. My spine felt as if it had been dipped in dry ice. Without any thought, I trotted shakily towards the glow. It was emanating from behind a group of strategically placed crates, which were easily moved.

"Oh, fuck," I breathed.

It was the entrance to a changeling hive.

***

“Dragonsbreath, this is Darkstar, come in.” Starlight exhaled into the mic. While she anxiously waited for an answer on the other end, she quickly folded and unfolded her wings, apparently a nervous habit.

A burst of static erupted over both of our mics, startling us both. “This is Dragonsbreath. Is mission condition green?”

“That’s a negative. The original objective has been completed, but we’ve encountered serious complications, copy?”

“Copy your last, Darkstar. Any intel?”

Starlight paused for several seconds. “Sir, we’ve encountered a hidden changeling hive.”

The sound of a mass of papers shuffling and chairs scooting was enough to activate Dragonsbreath’s sound-sensitive mic-on switch, after which were several seconds of radio silence. “Repeat your last, Darkstar,” came Dragonsbreath’s gruff voice over the radio, sounding shaken.

“Dragonsbreath, we’ve found an entrance to a changeling hive.” She sounded like she could barely believe it herself.

“Battlemage, can you confirm?”

I raised a hoof to press the mic on switch on the headset. “Affirmative, Dragonsbreath. Can you advise on a new course of action?”

“Copy that. The team’s working on it right now,” He paused, before asking, “Any intel on the size of the hive?”

“There’s really no way to tell, sir,” I replied.

“That’s a firm. Can you and Darkstar hold position for five minutes? The team needs more time to reevaluate the situation.”

“Roger that, Dragonsbreath.” With that, I switched off my mic.

I turned to Starlight. “What do we do now?”

“Hell if I know,” She replied.

A long pause. The wildlife of the Everfree was composing its cacophonous symphony, blissfully unaware of the abrupt tenseness the events of the past ten minutes had affected upon its equestrian intruders.

“What if they know we’re here?” I asked, yet another chill climbing my spine.

“How could they know? We weren’t seen or anything,” She asked in return.

I wasn’t so sure of her statement. “Starlight, you know just how much changelings are connected. It’s like they know when something’s going on.”

I regretted what I had said. I knew it was true, but I just really, really didn’t want to believe it at that moment.

A transmission of static interrupted my mental denial. “Team One, this is Ischys. We just received word from Dragonsbreath that the mission is compromised, and we do have all the details. We’re moving to terminate that patrol and then we’ll rendezvous outside the garrison’s main gate. ETA is approximately seven minutes, copy?”

Starlight flicked on her radio. “Copy, Ischys. Any attempts to get here faster would be greatly appreciated, over.”

“Copy that, we’re moving as fast as we can.”

As soon as that exchange was over, Dragonsbreath chimed back in. “Team One, do you copy?”

“Yes, full copy, Dragonsbreath.” Starlight whispered. She motioned to me to get out of the tent. She would be right behind me.

I hastily made my way out of the garrison, careful to check every corner and shadow for hidden changelings. They had a particularly nasty habit of appearing even after having cleared an entire area of hostiles, and an even worse habit of cloaking themselves with an invisibility spell that they had only recently begun using. While this new tactic was limited to only the more powerful changelings, which in and of itself is a problem, it still put me on edge. Of course, being within 50 hooves of any changeling was enough to make my spine tingle.

Dragonsbreath continued while we moved. “Ok, we’ve determined a course of action. We’re not pulling you out.”

Starlight froze in place, suddenly seeming unnaturally calm. “Copy.”

On the other hoof, I instantly began to panic.

“As you know, standard procedure here would be to pull you out and bomb the area, but the location of the hive here makes the situation incredibly delicate. We can’t risk any knowledge getting out to the public about how far north the changelings have come.”

“Copy your last.” Starlight flatly responded.

“We have no further intel on the area, so how you complete the objective is up to you. All apologies, Darkstar, but we can’t help any further. We’re giving you a mission clock of 4 hours, after which we’ll consider the mission a failure and we’ll call in the big guns, the 501st Airborne. May Celestia guide you.”

“Many thanks, Dragonsbreath.” Starlight responded. She exhaled deeply and shut off her mic.

I was beginning to panic. A combination of the steadily dropping temperature, my spine, which by now had to be cold enough to have begun the process of freezing the blood that passed around it, pure nerves and the lingering effects of the adrenaline shot were all working together to make me feel as if I was drowning in a pool of ice.

Starlight, cool as any cucumber, waited patiently, having reared up on her hind legs to rest her back against the changeling’s gate.

I had to say something. The ice in my veins felt like it was hardening. “How do you do it?”

She glanced over at me nonchalantly. I was standing awkwardly, flanks to the wall, staring off into the forest for a sign of Crow and Sawtooth, half expecting to see a horde of changelings burst from the treeline at any second. “Do what?”

“How can you be so calm right now?”

“Please, Cobalt, I haven’t gotten excited since my third birthday. And you know I haven’t been scared since I shipped out. This is just an unexpected turn, and we can handle it.”

“Yeah, Starlight. An unexpected turn. An unexpected turn directly into the heart of an entire changeling hive. Did you know that nopony has ever come out of a hive? Not even in pieces. You have to have at least an inkling of a thought that tells you this is a suicide mission.”

“No, I don’t. This isn’t suicide. This is an opportunity. And the only reason nopony has ever left a changeling hive is because the standard forces warhorses who are dumb enough to go into one always go in alone and without any knowledge of anything more than ‘changeling bad, kill changeling.’”

I couldn’t stifle a nervous laugh. “An opportunity. You are the craziest mare I have ever met. You know there’s a significant chance we don’t have half the ammo we need to make it more than 500 hooves in the door, right?”

“Yes, an opportunity. We’ll be in the history books one day as the first soldiers to return from a changeling hive. And I certainly hope I get to stay at the top of your “crazy mare” list.” She commented, throwing me a canned seductive grin.

I tried to ignore that last part. “Seriously, Starlight. You seriously want to go in? You realize there isn’t a single word written on how to handle a changeling hive, don’t you?”

“We get to write the book, then,” She laughed softly. “It’s not like we can’t get creative. Some of the best tactical decisions in all of Equestrian history have been improvised. And you know as well as I do that you’re just being pessimistic.” She knew she had me.

I didn’t bother with a response. She knew she was right before she had ever started.

A faint rustling in the trees about fifteen meters out from the wall abruptly ended what was left of the conversation. Starlight’s head snapped directly to where the noises had emanated from, eyes darting about the area. I did the same, seeing absolutely nothing. I naturally assumed it was changelings. I quickly drew my combat knife with my teeth. I was fully capable of chucking it using my jaws, and I was preparing to do so.

Starlight looked over at me. “It’s team two. You can put that away.”

I resolved to bring night vision goggles on the next mission. If there was a next mission. All I knew was I simply couldn’t keep up with Starlight at night.

At once, Starlight called, “Luna!”

This was the all clear call. Team two was to reply with “Celestia,”, and within ten seconds. If it took any longer, we had been informed that something was amiss.

The seconds ticked by. “Celestia!” came the reply. It was Sawtooth’s gravelly voice.

“Fifteen meters dead east,” Starlight informed.

“Got it, thanks.” I grimaced.

Two shapes emerged from the treeline. One was tall and incredibly skinny, his shape fragmented from the tactical gear he was wearing, the other was shorter and incredibly stocky, two glinting projections from his form jutting out laterally on his back.

“Ok, so, where’s this hidey-hole?” Sawtooth asked, cantering up to us. Crow, the tall figure, slowly ambled up behind him.

“Inside the main tent.” Starlight flatly replied. She had unfastened the SMG from her flank, fitting her hoof inside the grip as she checked its chamber and tightened its silencer.

“So, how are we going to do this? I mean, we’ve gotta blow it up, right?” Sawtooth continued.

“I have the C4 charges to destroy the camp,” Crow calmly noted, unbuttoning a pouch on his bag to check. “We could just repurpose them and blow the whole group somewhere down there.”

“Perfect.” Starlight said.

“We’ll just look for something that looks important.” Sawtooth commented.

“As for changelings?” I asked.

“Sawtooth and I’ll take point.” Starlight responded quickly. “I’ll take long range targets, and Sawtooth, try not to cut us to ribbons with those damn machetes.”

Sawtooth grinned. “Maybe I should be out front?”

“That’ll work.” She replied.

I looked over at Crow, who nodded to say hello. “Crow and I’ll cover the rear and flanks. We’ll have pistols ready.” I said. If I was going in, I may as well be useful.

“Got it.” Starlight replied. “I’ve got no idea what it’ll be like in there, but I’ll try to keep radio contact with Dragonsbreath.”

I felt like a reality check was in order. “We’ve got a four hour mission clock, no intel and the potential for high numbers of hostiles in close quarters, possibly deep underground. We may not make it out of here.” I said, spine still tingling. Despite the absolutely lopsided situation, and judging the disappointed looking faces staring at me, I knew I had to at least give some kind of indicator that there was hope, which I did reluctantly and not without dropping my tone a fair amount. “But if we do, we’ll know that nothing we’ll face after this can get much worse.”

Everypony present nodded solemnly, even Sawtooth’s standard issue evil grin disappearing for a brief instant.

I dug the small computer from its pouch on my tactical vest. “Well, ok,” I sighed. “Mission clock reset to zero at 0200 hours. We’ve got until sunrise to get this done.”

“Keep your grouping tight. Tactical spread distance should be about six hooves between each pony. Silencers on all firearms and make sure all your gear is cinched and quiet. We still might have the element of surprise here, and we can’t afford to blow it.” Starlight ordered. She was fully ready, her wings flapping silently to keep her inches off the ground. Her SMG was ready, strap secured across her back and weapon resting beside her front right hoof. Despite every indication stating she shouldn’t, she was clearly looking forward to this.

***

We had gotten back into contact with Dragonsbreath, who said he’d keep quiet on his end of the line and monitor and record Starlight’s transmissions and video feed for a debriefing (which would be viewed by the Royal Equestrian Council alone, then fully and permanently classified.)

“Ok, so, now what?” Sawtooth deadpanned as all four of us peered into the hole.

“You’re on first,” Starlight replied with an equally flat tone, glancing up at him as though he had revealed he had only two brain cells to rub together.

“Well, good,” he stuttered, temporarily looking nervous as he tilted his head in an attempt to see further into the glowing cavern. “I’m glad I signed up for pointpony tonight. Those two dead freaks over in the corner smell like ass.” He dropped one end of a rope into the hole, cracking his neck and exhaling deeply in an attempt to psyche himself up, which apparently worked as his trademark grin reappeared.

I glanced into the chasm (which looked to be about ten meters straight down) with a subconscious gulp, yet another paralyzing jolt running down my spine. I looked away in attempt to calm myself, clumsily glancing around the roof of the tent while fumbling with my magic for my dump bag, which I eventually found and slung off of my shoulder, having become entranced with the far corner tent post for fear of looking back down the hole.

“Which one of you two took these guys out, anyway?” Crow asked as he absentmindedly glanced over at the piled bodies, taking the other end of the rope, to which was fastened a grappling hook. He stuck it into the side of a particularly heavy crate, one of many stacked in the tent as he waited for a response.

“I did,” I answered quickly as I screwed the silencer onto my pistol. I preferred to keep the compact gun tucked in my dump bag. To me, it had always been a last-ditch weapon, a sort of failsafe if my knife or my magic wasn’t sufficient. Despite my apprehension of close-range combat, I preferred to make sure kills were completely silent at minimal range with my knife over having to prepare for follow-up-shots should the pistol fail to do the job. In my book, however, this counted as a situation dire enough to call for its use.

“How’d you manage that, anyway? That guy’s friggin’ huge.” Sawtooth questioned as he stared down the hole, now sitting on its edge, hindlegs dangling over.

I smiled faintly. “I picked up the little one and threw him at the big one. Knocked him off balance, and used that time to get on him.”

“Very nice,” Sawtooth replied. “You know, sometimes I wish I was one of you little horned bitches. I think I could stand being a little bitch if I could throw stuff around like you can.” He laughed. He was fully in his element. “Ok, someone who weighs more than sixteen pounds get on the rope and make sure it doesn’t drop once I start down.” He was directing the slight at Crow, whose thin frame couldn’t support more than fifty pounds of gear. Based on the amount of tactical bags he had dangling from his tactical webbing and his sniper rifle strapped to his back, I was willing to bet he was close to that limit.

“Got it,” I replied, choosing not to comment on his inane ramblings about my horn, grimacing slightly at the fact that he knew me as “one of the little horned bitches”. I picked up the rope with my magic. I had tested my magic’s strength at up to 3000 pounds, far more than sufficient for the cocky, stocky earth pony that weighed in at 190. The line was taut from the combination of being secured on the heavy crate and my holding it as a failsafe.

He tossed himself off the edge, front and hind legs wrapped around the rope, holding himself in place. “Ok, foals, see you at the bottom! Last one down gets full access to the Sawtooth when we get back to bunk, if you know what I mean,” He said, wiggling his eyebrows furiously. “Oh, and Starlight, why don’t you let us stallions make sure it’s safe down there first?”

Crow stifled a laugh, whacking him in the shoulder with his hoof, causing him to lose his balance for a brief second before regaining his composure.

“You just don’t stop, do you?” Starlight replied, eyes narrowed, a look of intense disgruntlement crossing her face.

“For you, baby? Never,” he said with a huge grin, dropping out of sight into the sickly green abyss.

Starlight turned to me. “I hope he knows that you’ll be the last one up here, what with you being the only one who can hold the rope for him,” She noted as she flapped her wings to gently descend into the hole.

“Oh, Celestia,” I muttered.

“That’s what you will be saying,” Crow sniggered as he followed suit down the hole.

I clinched my eyes shut, and not just because of the horrific joke that Crow had just dealt. This was the point of no return. What am I doing? I asked myself. For lack of a better response, I continued the joke with myself in an attempt to calm my overwrought nerves. Well, getting screwed by Sawtooth is better than getting screwed by the whole Everfree.

I looked over my shoulder, hearing the cacophonous noise of the dense forest outside the tent. With a deep sigh and a glance towards the heavens, my magic wrapped around the rope and my form to slow my descent.

“Shit, deal’s off.” Sawtooth exhorted when I reached the bottom. I was entirely unsure whether he was talking about his offer or the surroundings inside the hive. Everything glowed in shades of toxic green to sickly blue, as if the rocks themselves were luminescent. Damp, greenish stalactites and stalagmites protruded at random, most growing at seemingly arbitrary angles. The sound of dripping water echoed from every corner, and, most frighteningly, in every crevice large enough was a sort of phosphorescent honeycomb latticework, each cell five hooves across. Only a few had been breached, most of the cells remained closed, black blobs floating ominously within each. The ceiling of the entry chamber was high, and itself nearly covered in honeycomb.

“Are those…” Crow gaped.

“Yes.” Starlight responded. She was beginning to look nervous herself.

Sawtooth looked distinctly confused, glancing back and forth at Crow and Starlight. “Should we plant the explosives here?” He asked, uncertain.

I glanced about the room, searching for something that would allow me to say yes to his question. As it would figure—there wasn’t.

I sighed. I hated the answer I was about to give, but nonetheless, it was truth. “No, there’s nothing structurally supportive here. The only way we can confirm that this cave never gets used again is to find whatever it is that holds this place up and blow it.”

“Well, that’s not in here,” Starlight said, an air of frustration in her voice. “Everypony stick close. There’s a hall over there,” She pointed to a jagged hole along the northern wall, leading further into the mountain. She raised her SMG, snapping the bolt release forward, safety off. She cocked her head towards the doorway to Sawtooth, who grimaced, taking point. She then lowered her mic boom, updating the now silent Dragonsbreath on the other end. “Heading north into cavern hallway.”

The ragged hole led both down at a steep angle and into pitch blackness, only illuminated by a small number of phosphorescently green and quite wispy mushrooms. Starlight was once again proving useful with her night eyes. In contrast, I could see almost nothing, including her directly in front of me, much less Sawtooth further ahead. Crow’s rhythmic wingbeats behind me was somewhat reassuring, however, and the pistol resting in its holster on my flank had the same effect.

“Video feed still active, area has low light. Switching to night vision filter.” Starlight whispered into her mic, as she clicked a small button on the video camera resting in its compact rig on her tactical vest, located just above and beside her right wing.

We were still heading downhill, and rather rapidly. I nearly tripped over a sharp rock, the dipping motion causing me to see more light several meters further down the corridor. We were approaching another room.

Without warning, Sawtooth stopped. In response, Starlight whipped her right wing up, motioning for Crow and I to stop.

“I count three changelings in there,” He whispered.

“Three?” Crow whispered back.

“Two in back, one standing by the entrance.”

I let out a quiet sigh, drawing my pistol from its holster and fitting its trigger guard around my hoof as I braced my other hoof on the jagged corridor wall to stand on my hind legs.

“Maybe more than three,” Starlight added. “Room looks fairly big. I see bed mounds just like the ones in the tent outside, it’s probably a barracks.”

“Sheeeiit.” Sawtooth enunciated through his teeth. “Any hope for a simultaneous drop?”

“Possible. Assuming there’s only three.”

At that moment, two more changelings trotted past the entry.

“Perfect,” Sawtooth seethed.

The one standing by the entrance was replaced by one of the changelings that had walked in. The one he replaced sat down on one of the bed mounds, and the other changeling who had walked in joined him on the one next to it, flopping onto its flank with a faint puff of dust from the bedding.

“Still feasible. I’ll take the two along the back wall. Sawtooth gets the one by the door, and Crow and Cobalt each get one of the ones on the bed mounds,” Starlight quietly described, entirely unfazed. I shook my head, still in a state of semi-disbelief over what we were doing. “Good?”

“Got it.” Sawtooth whispered. Crow and I nodded emphatically so as to be seen in the low light. I took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Crow craned his neck, glancing at me worriedly. I quickly returned it with an annoyed glare.

“Sawtooth kills the one by the entrance, then I go, then you two,” she said, finishing by looking at Crow and I. She paused, restating the situation into her mic. “Five changelings, possibly more, in a barracks room. Mission clock at approximately 15 minutes.”

“Ready,” Sawtooth stated quietly. All of us look at him tensely. “On my go.” He bobbed his head in time, counting to three. Without further warning, he burst into the room, rearing onto his hindlegs and simultaneously drawing both machetes, sticking his hooves into the grips of each. In one deft motion, the four-hoof long tanto blades swung together like scissors, the apex being the unsuspecting changeling’s neck, the owner of which fell, its impact making two distinct thuds. Before both parts of the first target could hit the ground, Starlight had levitated herself high enough in the air to easily ready her SMG, flicking the stock forward with her wing and catching the trigger hole with her dominant hoof. She braced the other in the weapon’s foregrip, quickly firing two short bursts of three rounds each into the pair of changelings standing along the wall. Crow and I launched ourselves into the room, Crow flapping a hoof off the ground and deftly drawing his pistol. After less than a second’s aim, we fired at each changeling in perfect unison, the cycling pistol slides beating a staccato duet of clackclackclackclack, the four rounds each impacting the startled changelings before they could rise.

Only five seconds after it had begun, the room became intensely quiet, the only sound being the omnipresent sound of dripping water. A brief stirring brought everypony’s eyes to bear at one of the changelings Crow and I had downed on its bed mound. The ebon form, dotted with a pair of growing red wounds on its upper leg and chest, attempted to rise shakily. On instinct, I grabbed the creature with my magic, throwing it headlong into a nearby stalagmite with a sickening thwack. The issue was resolved as the stalagmite cracked loudly and visibly, falling in the direction it had been impacted and landing directly on top of the changeling.

“Room cleared, mission clock at 16 minutes. Five targets eliminated, area clear and no signs of movement,” Starlight tersely stated into her mic.

All four of us paused for a second, glancing around the room for any indication of where to go next as Starlight’s words echoed faintly around the massive cathedral hall. What used to be a giant natural pillar dominated the center of the room, large rocks from its collapse resting in the indentations they had made from their fall. The pillar’s base had been carved into niches for the glowing hexagonal latticework, and a collection of makeshift beds and hastily constructed tents stood along the eastern side of the room, near where we had entered. The room had the highest ceiling yet, once again covered in stalactites and more of the changeling’s deeply perverted honeycomb. To make matters worse, this apparent barracks was much colder than the others, a damp draft emanating from a multitude of small, jagged passageways in the roof and high on the walls, far too small for a pony to fit through. The chill the wind generated was enough to send a chill down even Starlight’s spine, and the audible moaning of the air rushing against the crags and projections of the rocky shafts was enough to send yet another down mine.

A faint rustling echoed deeper within the cave.

“What in Celestia’s name is that?” Crow asked, having quickly assumed an attack stance, pistol raised and aim flitting between some of the small passageways.

No one knew, but one thing was certain: it wasn’t the moaning wind.

The rustling continued, slowly growing from the faintest pianissimo. Each of us were utterly silent and still in an attempt to discern its origin over the ambient sounds of dripping water and falling pebbles from deeper within the cave.

The tense pause was broken by Sawtooth, his harsh tone in juxtaposition to the steadily rising racket enough to jolt me. “Whatever it is, I bet we’re going to find out.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is. We need to get moving,” Starlight replied. “The largest passageway is over there,” She continued, pointing a hoof at the western wall. The gap was narrow and barely tall enough for me to walk through. “And it looks like it’s going to be a fun one to get through.”

“Just great,” Crow noted, considering his abnormal amount of gear.

At once, the rustling ceased.

“Was it something I said?” Crow nervously joked.

“If it was, keep talking,” I replied quietly, eyes flitting around the massive room for any movement.

Starlight impatiently nudged Sawtooth to get moving, to which he begrudgingly caved, glancing back at her as though hurt. Crow and I brought up the rear as the other two started off towards the thin gap ahead.

“So, what is this shit anyway?” Sawtooth asked as he approached the honeycomb glued into the base of the fallen pillar.

“No idea what it’s made out of, but—it’s like an egg for unborn changelings.” I paused, momentarily considering. “It’s really quite strange, how much they’re like insects with the compound eyes, insect-like wings and this honeycomb stuff.” I replied absentmindedly, still eyeing all entrances to the room nervously.

He looked over at me, his face distinctly dubious. I paused my constant checks to return his look. “So that means this black thing in here is…” He had abruptly stopped walking, much to the chagrin of Starlight. He stared into one of the hexagonal cells, eyes narrowing. In one deft motion, he pulled one of his machetes and had it poised to slash into the cell. Everypony else’s eyes widened.

“Sawtooth, I wouldn’t—” Starlight began, but before she could finish the earth pony had made a thin, small incision in the apparently gelatinous cell covering just by poking it gently. At once, a steady trickle of the clear fluid held inside began leaking from it.

Everypony was taken aback. “Uhh…” Sawtooth intoned lamely as the trickle increased in intensity. “I barely poked it.” All four of us stared at the cell, and watched in horror as the black blob within began to twitch. The changeling’s shape began to become apparent, a head beginning to bob sporadically, legs unfolding.

“Damn it, Sawtooth,” I whispered. He glared at me, expression confused.

“What do we do?!” Crow questioned loudly, pistol drawn. He looked to the rest of us for information. All three of us were transfixed by what was literally unfolding before us. “Guys?” He questioned pleadingly.

“I—don’t—” Sawtooth began.

At once, the cell covering failed, the movement from within and the growing incision in its structure causing it to split cleanly from top to bottom. A burst of water and a slow ooze of thicker, yet still transparent liquid came with the changeling, fully formed and now writhing on the cave floor. At that moment, all of us were frozen, staring at the ebony form that, dripping and extremely angry, rose to its hooves, lungs greedily sucking in air through its open jaws. The creature’s eyes were frighteningly vivid pearlescent blue and green, flicking open and shut, staring, emotionless, back at us.

It bared its fangs, gleaming white, and let out a bloodcurdling noise, a scream in multiple distinct tones that played havoc with my eardrums and caused all four of us to recoil immediately in pain. After it had ended its war cry, it slowly lowered itself into an attack stance, eyes narrowing and a sickening grin spreading across its dripping maw. At once, the rustling from earlier started again, this time rising in a startlingly rapid crescendo, sounding in time with the changeling’s now buzzing wings.

“Oh, shit,” Sawtooth barked, backpedaling quickly as the coiled spring of a changeling burst into motion, leaping forward, its aim set on tackling the stocky earth pony that had bunched himself against Starlight, who stood stunned behind him. Weapon raised, Crow had the creature beat, a single, muted thut puffing from his pistol. The bullet hit home in its cranium, almost dead center, before the beast could hit the ground. It’s beating wings ceased motion immediately, and the changeling fell into a heap directly in front of Sawtooth with a dull impact.

The rustling ceased. A brief pause, just enough for each of us to look uneasily at each other, eyes wide and breathing staccato. Then, a roar unlike anything I had ever heard; fully deafening and coming from every and all directions, much the same as the noise the now bloody heap of a changeling before Sawtooth had made, but intensified exponentially, a piercing blend of about ten separate, cacophonous pitches, each grating with equal keenness on my ears. My head immediately began pounding, and my knees started to wobble. Crow fell to his knees beside me, apparently affected the same way. The duration of the roar seemed to stretch into forever without any degradation. I glanced around slowly with my heavy head, Sawtooth stumbling about drunkenly, attempting to remain upright while Starlight leaned against a rock, gritting her teeth. My vision began to dim, when as abruptly as it had started, the unearthly howl stopped.

When my vision cleared, every jagged passageway into the room was seemingly glowing, not of its own accord, but by the blue-ish light of what looked like a thousand bulbs, each flickering intermittently. They were eyes.

My head was on fire, and my spine must have become a cryogen for the rest of my body, a constant chill residing deep within it. I felt drunk, ill and slow from the effects of the roar, and I could tell the others were in the same condition. At once, the eyes were no longer just eyes, but thousands of changelings, which began buzzing forward, rendering us completely encircled.

I gasped, a new and utterly overwhelming pain in my head making my brain feel as if a nail was being driven deep into it. Surrender. A voice, belonging to nopony in the room. Surrender, and we will bring peace.

A changeling hissed menacingly, having drawn closer, now within a dozen hooves. Through the glass shards that pierced my vision, I began counting the black forms immediately before us. I quickly reached twenty, but the pain quickly made me lose count.

We will not bring harm upon those who surrender. Only peace.

As I turned my head, it felt like I was turning a battleship. Once I had brought my eyes around, I glanced at Starlight, who was shaking violently, night eyes drawn into sharp slits. She was still leaning against the rock. A changeling stood almost immediately in front of her, fangs dripping with saliva. She looked at me helplessly, the changeling drawing ever closer to her and hissing softly. The circle had been closed long ago, there was no escape. The room was awash in blue, glowing eyes.

Surrender.

I had made up my mind. An electric blue glow encircled the changeling that had been standing near Starlight. It had drawn within inches of her, mouth open wide, poised to end her. Before it knew what was happening, it was flying through the air, and not of its own accord. The magic required to lift the beast was enough to cause my vision to black out almost completely, and the act of swinging it like a flail into the horde before us was enough to cause my vision to withdraw into two pinpricks, everything I could see now seemingly far off in the distance. The instant I launched my target, thrashing like a ragdoll around the room, the entire horde before us accelerated into immediate and violent motion. The unwillingly flying changeling alighted into the changeling nearest to me, launching it into a group of others; Starlight had lifted herself off the rock, her combat knife in her teeth glinting maliciously as she swung it back to throw. Sawtooth indiscriminately swung his twin machetes, drunkenly traipsing forward on his back hooves, threshing the rushing changelings. Crow bucked, sending a pair of changelings to the ground before throwing himself into the air to snipe from above with his pistol.

For nearly thirty seconds, the mass of hot black forms rushed towards the four of us, the continuous wave of compound-eyed beasts waning in impossibly small amounts. I reared onto my hindlegs, directing the fire from my pistol at each oncoming creature, all of which fell. Starlight had followed suit with Crow and was firing into the mass with her SMG, several changelings at a time buzzing towards her, intent on sinking their fangs into her, only to be cut down by the muffled bursts from the gun. As my pistol’s slide locked open, I rocketed a 50 pound stone into the changeling before me, t-boning its cranium just as it got within inches of my face, the inertia throwing its instantly dead form into me at such an angle to knock me directly onto my back. My magic closed around a fresh pistol magazine within my dump pouch, and I directed it into its slot as the empty one fell from it, landing beside me only to be hurled magically at another oncoming changeling, which took the lightweight plastic stick in the eye before collapsing and sliding to a stop beside me, roaring in pain. I threw myself to my hooves, the slide catch popping out of lock, slide slamming shut, having loaded a new round. The next five rounds downed three changelings; two rounds hitting one, one round ricocheting off a rock one of my targets threw itself around, the other two both landing as fatal shots on two more. Starlight had positioned herself on top of the remains of the pillar, firing haphazardly into the horde below her. Thin lines of blood flung from Sawtooth’s blades as he threw his weight into the oncoming changelings, each unsuccessfully attempting to end him. Crow vaulted himself around the room, momentarily lighting on rocks to pop off a few rounds from his pistol into the changelings flying behind him, several black forms falling into their brethren below with each fusillade.

Then everything went wrong. I glanced up for only a second at Starlight while I lifted a rock to throw into the crowd, watching as she patted around her tactical webbing in horror as she determined that she was out of magazines for her SMG. She checked the scabbard for her knife, which I knew protruded from the eye socket of a changeling somewhere in the midst of the growing number of dead changelings littering the ground around her. Crow saw her distress and started for an aerial pass to clear some of the assailants from her hard point, making a wide banked turn. Sensing an opportunity, a changeling cut to the inside apex of Crow’s turn, throwing itself at Crow and wrapping its limbs around him, tearing at his gear with its fangs. Seconds later, the pegasus and changeling dug into the horde below, a cloud of black dust erupting where they impacted. Sawtooth turned for a mere second to watch Crow’s impact, during which time the mass of changelings around him overwhelmed him, covering him and bringing him to the ground. Any glimmer of hope for victory had been eliminated. Starlight was being held down, bucking and throwing her hooves wildly as her wings furiously fought to take flight against the toothy grasps of the wave of changelings that had scaled the remains of the pillar. I was the last pony standing. I fired my pistol wildly, expelling every round the magazine held in far too rapid a pace. Within seconds, the magazine was empty, and I was left holding the empty gun and chucking the few remaining rocks around me at my foes. I turned, and seeing no ammunition for my magic, simply threw my pistol at the changeling that charged at me. It struck the creature, breaking his jagged horn. It let out the familiar agonizing roar before collapsing in pain. I turned again, seeing for a brief instant the bright blue compound eyes of a changeling in in mid-air only inches in front of mine.

Immediately after the brutal, breathtaking impact of the creature, the next sensation I felt was my head smashing against the stone floor of the cave, the rest of my body slamming, sliding over the razor-sharp rock shards before crunching sidelong into a boulder, the sensation of my spine hyperextending in the wrong direction forcing every ounce of air from my battered lungs.

I could still see, barely, vision fading rapidly, and I could hear as well, albeit in little more than dull, pounding echoes. My body was completely limp, and all that I could feel was pain. My attempts to refill my lungs with air were unsuccessful, not to mention stabbingly painful. The cacophonous noise of the battle had ceased, replaced by the sounds of dripping water, incessant hissing the nearly deafening sound of my ringing ears, and the hoofsteps of changelings that milled about in the aftermath of the battle. My view was that of the rock-strewn ground in my left eye, and a dead changeling staring back in my right, a deep gash running through its torso from what must have been Sawtooth’s machetes. The top part of a jagged horn, belonging to the changeling I had thrown my pistol at, lay in the foreground, leaking blood. I head the whimpers of the creature it belonged to as it writhed about on the ground in pain just out of my line of sight, churning up a cloud of dust that only served to choke my ruined lungs further. I turned my head tortuously and watched as the changeling that had effortlessly removed me from the fight traipsed up to the injured black beast and, without hesitation, clamped its jaws around the writhing changeling’s neck, fangs piercing effortlessly, killing almost instantly. Fangs dripping blood, it glanced up, seeing my open eyes staring back at him. A cruel grin played across its face, and it began walking towards me, hissing menacingly, every ounce of malice in the creature’s entire body glowing forth from its nightmarish eyes.

At once, I noticed a wet spot growing around where I lay on the ground, slowly feeling jagged tendrils of cold enveloping me. The pool was spreading. I attempted to move my head, but to no avail. I had lost any reserve of strength, and the agony of my body being thrown across the jagged floor was too much to bear, combined with the daggers of pain that coursed through my frame when I moved. I opened my mouth to breathe, having to consciously insure I kept doing so. What little air my lungs could hold was laced with the taste of copper; the spreading stain was blood. Immediately, I felt weaker than I ever had before, and my vision duplicated once again, receding to two points in the distance. I was shaking from the cold, and felt my lungs deplete themselves fully. My next attempt for breath was unsuccessful, vision dimming further as my brain starved for air. I saw a pair of changelings—maybe only one—standing over me, fangs bared and ready to end me like it had its injured brethren before my vision gave out entirely, my whole world black and cold.

I felt as if I was receding into myself, like my conscious was falling away from my body. As I fell through myself, one thought, the voice, spoke with a satisfied inflection.

Only peace.

Prologue, Part 2

\ Hours since Op 3 start: ???

// Days since Canterlot Incident: 107

|| the Everfree Forest

The ubiquitous dripping had increased its frequency, now a steady beat against the ground, somewhere far away. A shaky breath jolted my battered frame, uncalculated pain pounding dully within me. I felt a twinge deep within my brain.

“Did you think we would let you die that easily? What—you get to walk into our home, kill us in extraordinary numbers, and die quickly and painlessly when you become overwhelmed? All…is not so, little fly. We are amused, truly, that we did not even have to invite you here…to draw you into our web. No, being what you…are, we were expecting little else.”

The voice was harsh, stabbing, as it pulsated through my brain. I couldn’t see, or feel, beyond the blunted pain that slammed into me in waves.

“Ah, yes. You are wondering, now, how much time you have left, and you are wrong. It is not hours, or minutes, or seconds. It is years. In our service, of course.”

A jolt passed through my body, its origin unknown.

"Awaken. Your time…of assistance…has begun. You…and the others…hold much information. Have many capabilities. Hold great power…and yet nopony knows of your existence, save for yourselves. Perhaps we…are similar, in this way.”

The voice ceased for a moment, the stabbing sensation dulling in my brain briefly.

“Why have you not yet awoken? Perhaps we have damaged you more than we had intended, perhaps even more than we have already repaired.”

It paused again briefly. I began to feel again, my eyes opened a crack. I couldn’t see much, but it quickly became apparent that I was upside down, my equilibrium kicking in as soon as I saw the ground below.

“Ah, yes. Now that we have finally seen you—you…are not so different from us. But in your actions…that is where we diverge. We, ourself, is one. You…believe…you are…separate. And that is where ourself becomes superior. We act, think…even breathe…as one. All is planned, all is…deliberate. You, as one, is little more than a seething ball of unnecessary action…all manifestations of you moving at once in separate directions…you are chaos.”

I opened my eyes fully. The ground was at least 5 meters away. A burst of adrenaline coursed through me as I saw the green cocoon that enveloped my lower half, doubling the already increasing blood pressure building in my head. My vision blurred and brain pounded as the voice began again.

“Good. You are not damaged. We suppose this method of communication is no longer necessary. Perhaps it will be…interesting…to make this conversation two-sided.”

My throat felt like fire as I attempted speech, the pain in my head subsiding as my vision returned.

“Please…stop.” It came out sounding like a combined word spoken through a mouthful of glass.

“Your intentions are clear. We…rather…I, as I believe you prefer, shall cease.” The voice, much the same as the one in my head, was distinctly feminine, slow and calm, almost sultry, but with a distinct edge.

I raised a hoof to my head, feeling the gash on the side of my head, feeling deep cuts stretching across my left eye and down the side of my neck. My hoof came away sticky with drying blood. The wounds were pulsing from the excess blood flowing into my head. A glance up at the rest of my body confirmed the horrifying pain of the deep, bloodied wounds that marred my entire left side. The room became dim for several seconds, my efforts to keep my head upright failing, my neck popping as it fell into a dangling position. I glanced at the ground, glimpsing what had apparently been speaking to me. It, or she, was staring up at me through eyes which apparently had no pupils, but rather ice blue irises spanned by compound hexagonal latticework, which were incased in a form very much unlike a changeling, being tall and thin. She possessed both a horn, jagged, jutting and divergent as well as wings, opaque and insect-like. Her entire body was seemingly coated in a black pearlescent shell like a junebug, her forelegs, chest, and long, angular neck dotted in faint specs of a lighter shade of gray. What appeared to be her hair was short, jaggedly cut and a sickly shade of greenish blue. A number of small bulbs projected on stalks from the top of her head, taking on the appearance of a deeply perverted crown. She smiled, revealing a pair of sharp, almost serrated fangs.

“You…as well as I…are very fortunate. These cuts you feel were injurious, yes, but not fatal, and what internal damage was done we…rather, I…have already repaired. Your life, as well as that of your…team, I believe is the word…was spared. Perhaps a little worse for wear, yes, but alas, you are alive.” She stated. Her voice was punctuated by intermittent pauses.

“Where…are they?” I groaned.

“Why would you need to know?” Her voice quickened. “They will remain unharmed, at least for now.” She paused as I grimaced at her. My brain was hot, my hind hooves asleep, the blood having left them entirely. “You glare at me as if I am the enemy. Beyond stopping you from murdering more of my brethren, what have I done to you? What is the cause of your animosity? Of course, my…our… superiority may lie at cause, but can’t this be put aside?”

“What…you did…in Canterlot—to all the innocent ponies you killed—Chrysalis.”

“Chrysalis?!” The voice, both hers and the one in my head, echoed as she screamed, fangs bared and glinting in the green light. My brain felt on the verge of explosion. “Chrysalis. You believe…me…to be her. I see.” She paused, smiling sickeningly. “No, not Chrysalis. Chrysalis is…like you. A shining example of the same foolish hubris so many of your kind display. While her actions in Canterlot were…useful…in displaying exactly how weak you truly are, it was an exercise in futility, an example of what occurs when One forgets All and chooses One. You see, I have already made this decision, and unlike her, I have chosen correctly. I am far removed from the pretentious machinations of a singular mind, and far beyond the likes of Queen Chrysalis. I am Imago. I am not a queen, nor a leader. If it is a title your…limited mind seeks, I am what you may call…an ambassador. However, outside of your narrow definitions, I am a singular manifestation of…a collective mind.”

I stared at her in disbelief, head bobbing as the cocoon swayed gently from my inertia. “Your kind… the changelings…are a hive…mind.”

She tilted her head, a small grin painting her expression as she pondered the word. “Hivemind. I rather like that word.” She giggled, a brief, jagged laugh. “I shall remember it. But, I suppose, yes. A hivemind.” She stopped briefly. “But enough about us. You are the subject of this meeting, after all, it is you who shall feed us, despite others within us wishing the same in…much an opposite sense,” her smile turned into a bloodthirsty sneer.

“Feed…you?” I was losing vision fast.

“Yes, did you not hear me? Surely, if you know about Chrysalis, you must know what she has said about our need for love. It is all true. As we are ever growing in number, our…supplies…grow ever less sufficient. But you...we do not seek only you, much less your…team. You are a gift, a gift given for the use in beginning the Collection.”

“The…Collection?” My voice grew weaker. I knew I was about to black out.

She grinned wistfully, her wings buzzing momentarily as she slowly trotted in circles below me. “The fulfillment of the needs of One, of All. The great Collection will grant us all the love we will ever require, it will pave the way for our dominion over all lands. It is the beginning of our time, the end of that of those who currently control. And…with your weaknesses discovered and our…provisions…already in place, it shall begin.”

My vision became blackness, my body went limp.

“Our conversation is not yet finished,” She intoned darkly. I heard her wings buzz menacingly below as I began to fade back into consciousness. “Such insolence. A brethren would have been extradited, if not executed, for such transgressions. I suppose I shall be gracious and assume this is a mere limitation manifested by your physical condition.”

I felt a burst of cold as she enveloped me in her magic, pulling me out of the cocoon. The sticky green substance that it was made from resisted, holding onto my legs as she gently pulled. Once free, she righted me in midair, letting me fall at around 4 hooves off the ground. The impact brought me back to full consciousness, pain erupting from my points of impact. The sensation of the collected blood running from my head made me extremely dizzy. I stared about the room, attempting to stand, and managing to do so, but only shakily, by leaning against a tall rock that stood off center in the circular room, which was apparently a sort of prison cell. The only entrance was a strange membrane-like door like that of the changeling’s honeycomb, but this one looked far more durable.

“That seems to have worked. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the beginning of the Collection. You stumbling into this particular…what was the word you used? Hive? It has proven your ability to fight. You have progressed so far, and have proven your readiness. As such, you and your…team…” she shook her head. “My, what an absurd word that is…shall be the catalysts.”

“What are you talking about?” I grunted, still lying feebly across the rock. “What makes you think we’ll do anything you tell us to?” I said. My throat still felt like it was filled with razor blades, and the side of my face and neck was pounding.

Imago lowered her head, unleashing a dramatically wicked grin. “We’re talking about your mission, Cobalt Dusk. Your true purpose,” She smiled, glancing at the door with a peculiar look of expectance.

“How do you know my name?” I asked, utterly incredulous.

She laughed once more. “Oh, Cobalt. I have known of you for a very long time.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Imago,” I stated, seeing a brief flash of fury erupt behind her insect-like eyes which disappeared as quickly as it arrived. “How do you know me?”

She tilted her head back, smiling through an open mouth and letting out another faint chuckle. “Oh, you are fun,” She commented. “Suffice it to say that I have my ways. And before you scold me for not answering your other question allow me to answer it as well. This isn’t a…contract,” She snorted with derision at the mention of the word. “No, what you’ll be doing,” she began, drawing herself closer to me, steadily closing the gap until she stood within inches of me, her face almost touching mine. “What you’ll be doing, Cobalt, you’ll be doing out of love,” she quietly articulated, her warm breath intoxicating.

“Fuck you,” I growled, pulling as far away from her as I could, head pressed firmly against the rock I was leaning on for support. “What the fuck makes you think I’ll ever love something like you?!”

She smiled with confidence. “Don’t worry, Cobalt. You will.”

I snorted painfully, still somehow hiding my intimidation well. “That…means nothing.”

An explosion, heavily muted, but present nonetheless, sounded somewhere outside the prison cell. A faint vibration shook, not from above, but from deep within the mountain. Small rocks fell from the ceiling, cracking rhythmically off the walls and the stone floor below. Imago was temporarily thrown off balance before glancing calmly at the door.

Despite the pain, a small grin now spread across my wounded face. “Imago, tell me, how many ponies did your, what—brethren—capture?” I asked, fairly certain of what was taking place. She looked at me, eyes bright and sneering with derision. “Because I think your guys forgot the pegasus with all the high explosives.”

Her eyes sparkled, practically glowing, her sneer returning to her calm smile. Her horn suddenly bursting with magic, she manipulated its power to pick me back up and throw me against the rock I had been leaning against, pinning me in place spread-eagled. The pain was intense, my back cracking loudly on impact. I let out a small shout of pain, all the while a new wave of small rocks and dust fluttered down from the ceiling. A faint rumbling emanated from outside the cell, and as my body was smashed with a pressing force against the rock, I could feel it vibrating almost imperceptibly. “No, Cobalt. THIS means nothing.” The voice was once again emanating from my brain, the spikes that had ebbed now driven even deeper into my skull. “You see, you weak little creature, this,” she paused, glancing at the falling rocks around her before drawing herself as close as she had come before. “This is only the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?” I replied in the most forceful tone I could muster. Despite the fact that she was pushing me as hard into the rock as she could, her calm grin still painted her face.

“My, you truly are dense, aren’t you? If only you weren’t who you are…you would be lying in pieces by now.” Her voice now echoed both in my brain and from her lips, still within inches of mine. “Remember this, insolent little fool. It might help you on the mission which you have seemingly already forgotten. When you look into the eyes of those around you, those who control you, what do you see? Do you see trust, compassion…” She shuddered briefly before continuing. “…friendship?” She then smiled, one of her fangs dripping. The droplet hissed as it melted into the stone floor. “Or…do you see…something else?”

The sound of the mountain groaning was steadily rising, the intensity of the falling rocks increasing with every second, and I could see my horrified reflection in Imago’s eyes as they darted rapidly in their sockets, closely examining my face. Her icy pupils grew and toothy grin widened as she took note of my alarm, stemming from the still-smoking crater left by her venom. If it was possible, the malevolence in her gaze continued to grow in response to my abhorrence as she slowly withdrew herself from me, giggling cruelly to herself, but before the visibly violent machinations within her could show, a stalactite fell from the ceiling and stabbed into the ground hooves away from her. On instinct, she recoiled swiftly to avoid its impact, dropping me from my position against the rock onto my haunches. I gasped for air in relief from Imago’s magical constraint. She leered at me once more, smile still firmly in place, the membrane door opening as if by her will, her opaque wings buzzing loudly as she lifted herself into the air. “Until we meet again, my love,” She mouthed and the voice in my brain stabbed as she took one last look at the falling rocks and steadily growing cracks forming on the walls of the dungeon before hastily buzzing out of the cell, the membrane door quickly closing behind her.

The floor was shaking, and dust was gathering within the cell as the rocks falling from the high ceiling launched it into the air in choking plumes. As I sat, paralyzed with confusion and pain against the vibrating rock, a faint ray of clarity erupted out of my intensely muddled mind against the rising cacophony echoing through the corridors outside, causing me to realize I had no idea how to escape. I had no indication of how deep I was in the cave system, and much less of a clue if the explosion deeper within the system had been sufficient to bring it down. Furthermore, I had no idea how long the mission clock had been running; whether the Air Force pegasi were inbound with their payload of magic-infused explosives, or whether the explosions heralded a mission success from Crow’s explosive charges or signaled the beginning of the Air Force’s bombing run. I had no idea where the rest of my team was, or if they were still alive. I was entirely disoriented, noting with panic that I didn’t even have a direction to run.

I looked around the room for anything to open the door. To my dismay, my dump bag was lying on a natural rocky shelf carved into the side of the wall. Inside was my mic system, as well as my knife and other miscellaneous items, like spent magazines and bags of bullet casings for my sniper rifle, which was itself unfortunately missing. Somehow, the knife had either remained hidden or had been deemed as useless during my bag’s search, as all the loaded magazines and ammunition were missing. I picked up the mic, levitating it into position and flicking the switch.

Before I could begin an SOS call, there was a loud burst of static, followed by the sweetest sound I could have ever heard. “… is Sawtooth, I’ve got Starlight with me. She’s busted up pretty bad…”

A voice in the background weakly but adamantly interjected, “I’m fine.”

“…but we’re still mobile and heading for the exit. Crow and Cobalt, come in, are either of you still there?” Sawtooth was panting heavily, the sound of hooves loud in the speaker. He was clearly running, but despite his panicked tone, I still felt a faint smile form and a wave of relief course through me as his gruff shouting continued on the other end. “Dragonsbreath, cancel flyby, the mission clock is busted, objective is potentially complete and we are still alive, repeat, cancel flyby.”

Rocks began to fall with a new found intensity, and the floor began to shake more violently. I interjected Sawtooth’s transmission over the mic. “Sawtooth! This is Cobalt! I don’t know where, but I’m stuck in one of these holding pens. I’m in pretty bad shape, but I think I’m mobile and ready to go. Any intel as to where the hell I am?” I rasped, throat still burning ferociously as I choked on the steadily rising cloud of dust.

A burst of static before more noise came over the speaker, the sound of a blade being drawn, wet splatters and vicious grunting from Sawtooth. “Shit! He’s back in the holding pens!”

“I told you we should have checked the other ones!” said Starlight’s small voice in the background.

I spoke up again, beginning to anxiously envision the whole mountain collapsing while I tried to escape. “How in the hell am I supposed to get through this weird-ass door?” I shouted into the mic. At once, a rock, probably ten hooves across, crashed down from the ceiling, landing only hooves away from where I stood.

I heard more slicing coming from Sawtooth’s end. “I don’t know, I hacked my way through it. Throw something heavy?”

The rock that fell only seconds before looked like an able projectile. It took a huge amount of strength, my shakily levitated missile weighing at least 500 pounds. With all of my remaining power, I threw the rock at the door, watching it travel in a short arc as it flew lazily towards the target. It struck square in the middle of the door, ripping a sizeable hole in its thick center, crashing against the wall on the other side. The two halves of the door sagged, dripping the same thick, gelatinous fluid as the egg sac from before.

“Holy shit, it worked!” I shouted into the mic, running as quickly as my exhausted legs would take me towards the hole, using a bit of levitation magic to throw myself through it, landing clumsily on the other side of the threshold.

A loud burst of static from the radio jarred me as I picked myself up before Sawtooth’s growl responded. “We’re waiting for you about 200 meters up the path to your right. You’d better hurry the fuck up; I think the whole mountain is coming down!” It was becoming apparent that he wasn’t kidding. As I skidded out into the hall, a massive fissure split all the way up the wall, spreading with an eruption of sharp cracks. I started running as quickly as I could. The walls were literally crumbling, each new spider-webbing fracture ejecting rocks into the hall. I was literally being pummeled by rocks of all sizes as I galloped to the best of my ability towards where Starlight and Sawtooth were waiting, throwing myself around corners and bends haphazardly. As I vaulted over a particularly large stone that had planted itself firmly in my path, a dark blur flew by overhead, not slowing by a fraction as it dived into a narrow and low-ceilinged portion of the cave, into which I quickly followed. A gigantic rock fell just as I cleared the entrance to the low section, forever sealing the prison that lay behind. There was no time to look back, only time to keep running as I was now heading steeply uphill, winding my way through the narrow and twisting hall. It was as if the weight of the whole mountain was sitting on those cave walls; the pressure causing the walls to groan and split, shooting out small, sharp shards of rock as it collapsed under its own weight. I was beginning to fatigue as even the supply of adrenaline powering me began to wane. My lungs ached from pain and fatigue, and stone dust and shards covered me, their sharp edges chafing and stabbing as I ran. I stumbled on a rock I had not anticipated, stumbling to regain my balance before catching it and continuing, briefly looking far ahead up the path. Three pony forms were standing at the top, two of which took hovered in the air in anticipation of me catching up.

“Come on, Cobalt, keep coming!” Sawtooth roared as he spotted me. With a small surge of renewed strength, I accelerated, reaching the three far quicker than I had anticipated. I stopped for a brief second, panting heavily as the pain in my legs and lungs pulsated before I continued onwards as the other three launched forward, now satisfied as I was with them.

The mountain’s rumbling was growing ever louder, having begun at little more than a low drone but now almost a constant roar. Doorways carved into the cavern crumbled, stalactites falling like daggers from where they had formed. Slowing only slightly to regain our bearings, we burst out into a large room which other than the dust-obscured floor was fully coated in the phosphorescent honeycomb, literally peeling out of place along the walls from the constant motion, the egg sacs encased within crashing against the ground and popping on impact. Most of what few mature changelings could escape from their sacs were quickly killed by falling debris, some lucky enough to survive somehow able to begin running behind us, hissing and roaring furiously.

“Sweet—Celestia—is it good to—see you—guys again!” Crow shouted between wingbeats as he flew along beside us.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Sawtooth yelled in reply. A changeling yelped behind us as it was impaled by a falling stalactite.

We reached the end of the large room, faced by yet another roadblock. There was at least five passages, each branching off in a different directions. We ground to a halt, weaving erratically to avoid falling rocks. About ten changelings remained, charging to close the small gap we had made on them.

“Now what?” Sawtooth asked as he ground to a halt, dodging falling debris.

Starlight perked up, sidestepping a falling rock with ease as her eyes darted across the pathways presented before us. “Air currents!” She yelled in response. “Find which one has an air current!”

Her and Crow immediately went to work sprinting to the entrance of each passage to see if any of them carried air. Meanwhile, the first charging changeling that had been sprinting behind us in pursuit had reached the line Sawtooth and I had created as the others looked for a way out. My first instinct was to do what I had been: The changeling leapt into midair to pounce on me, but was intercepted by a rock that clobbered it, hitting midway between its shoulder blades and head. It flipped over its point of impact, landing like a rag doll at Sawtooth’s feet, already dead. I levitated as many rocks of equal size as I could find, numbering about seven, launching them one-by-one at the changelings as they attacked.

“I…” thwack. “…am getting…” thwack. “…so sick…” thwack. “…of throwing rocks…” thwack. “…at you…” thwack. “…ugly…” thwack. “…mother…” thwack. “…fuckers—”

“Found it! This way!” Starlight shouted. I turned from the now-halted onslaught of the charging changelings, now either dead or immobilized; to see her standing, wings flapping in the entrance to one of the passages, her mane blowing violently as the wind from the depressurizing vacuum of the collapsing cave and the entering air current formed a vortex where the two met.

Sawtooth was cleaning up the remaining two changelings, hacking and slashing and deflecting as they launched themselves at him, only to be either viciously cut or shunted by the flat of his twin machetes. He finished one with a brutal cut to the belly, and the other with his off-hoof blade by using the weapon’s spiked hoof surround as an effective bludgeon, slamming it directly into the side of the changeling’s head. He stood on his hindlegs momentarily, lungs heaving as he gasped for more air, dripping blades resting at his sides.

We all watched as another massive rock, at least 10 meters across and five wide and deep dislodged itself from the ceiling, bringing with it about 30 cells of changeling honeycomb which were crushed immediately as it landed with a deafening thud. A huge cloud of dust shot up from where it impacted. The loss of that rock seemed as if it was the last straw for the entire system, cracks spreading immediately as the cave ceiling literally began to buckle, showering us with rocks. The room’s vibrations reached a crescendo, and the mountain itself sounded like it was roaring, the reverberating sound of a million impacts from rocks collapsing deeper within. We stood, stunned, staring in awe and horror at the spider web of fissures that was crawling across the ceiling, as well as the rolling cloud of dust that was billowing in from the other entrance to the room, all four of us seemingly immobilized by the oscillations of an entire mountain collapsing with us inside.

“We don’t have time for this, guys!” Starlight screamed over the roaring mountain, still standing in the entrance to the passageway as the rest of us looked back in response. “Come on!”

With that, we took off running into the passageway, with Starlight in the lead. The path was practically a maze of left and right hand bends, narrowing and widening at its own will, all angled steeply uphill. Every ten or fifteen meters, the path would branch off into a series of rooms, visibly collapsing as we passed. Rocks, each easily capable of crushing a pony skull were falling behind us as we sprinted up the path sending more rocks and chips ricocheting from their points of impact, glancing off the backs and rumps of Crow and I.

Left. Right. Left. Left again. Jump up a steep embankment, right. Left. Shimmy through an impossibly narrow gap, all the while deflecting razor sharp rock chips from jumping and biting into my eyes, and another left. If it wasn’t for Sawtooth in front of me, and Starlight in front of him to guide me through this hellish underground trail, I surely would have been pulverized by the rocks falling incessantly behind me, having already lost my way once more, relying now only on the galloping ponies in front of me. How Starlight knew where she was going was beyond me. My ears popped from such rapid elevation change, and my legs and lungs were on fire from sprinting so far uphill and from my still-bleeding injuries. I couldn’t stop, stopping was a guarantee of death.

But, ahead, barely visible, through the bobbing and heaving shapes of the ponies in front of me, was a thin shaft of light, the same sickly blue-green glow I had begun to take for granted for the hours we had been inside the system. Even its languid, oppressive presence began to look inviting as compared to the almost nonexistent lighting within the passageway. After another few seconds of galloping at full tilt, we burst forth into a room which looked very familiar: it was littered with the corpses of dead changelings, dominated in the center by a rock fallen from the remains of a massive column. Starlight took flight in the high-ceilinged room, launching herself ahead of us further while splitting off from the direct path ahead to the entry into the final passageway to the exit. As we sprinted ahead, I watched her dive before almost immediately pulling back up, a black object firmly planted between her teeth—her combat knife, somehow seen and now grabbed from one of the dust-sifted changeling corpses littering the floor. I looked behind us, watching as the inexorably gliding wave of dust broke forth into the room from the passageway, quickly enveloping its features, covering the bodies of the changelings that lie on the floor. I looked ahead once more. The entryway was growing. Starlight had landed at its beginning, slowing so we could catch up and so she could sheathe her knife.

We quickly reached her, tiredly throwing ourselves uphill once more, through the pitch blackness, lit again only faintly by the phosphorescent green mushrooms, which were soon to be buried alongside everything else the mountain contained. My breathing had long ago become labored, my legs on the verge of giving out as we made it into the cave’s antechamber, which was still covered in the grotesque honeycomb, in which the disgusting and unaware unborn changelings twitched lazily. In no time, we had all reached the end of the tight room, where the thick rope dangled, the only tenuous thread separating us from this nightmare, a symbol of the reality outside. The cave roared behind me, and I knew Sawtooth couldn’t climb his way out in time although he was the first and only to throw himself up the rope, hooves wrapped around it and awkwardly shuffling up its vertical distance. My horn glowed, telekinetically enveloping him as well as myself, throwing us up the shaft. Sawtooth hadn’t been prepared for the boost, and as we burst out into the safe, muted and un-glowing colors of the inside of the tent, he landed on his rump, yelping as he flopped onto his flank.

Head Honcho’s corpse still lay on its desk, dripping blood, the body vibrating eerily as the ground shook beneath it. “Keep going!” Starlight shouted as she launched out of the tent flap. We quickly followed. The ground was vibrating, even on the surface, which was, I noted as the tent flap rolled off my back as I exited, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The night sky was cloudless, millions of stars and the almost full moon illuminating the night in their cool light. Thank Luna being the only thought that I could muster. Starlight continued forward, barely visible in the darkness, quickly crossing the 10 meter gap between the changeling garrison and the treeline (Celestia, how I missed even trees!) as Crow flew alongside her and Sawtooth and I struggled to keep up.

The next several minutes were little more than dodging around trees, and uphill once more, heading up the path we had carved to take down to the garrison before the whole ordeal had begun. The mountain’s vibrations waned, and then faded entirely as we reached position one in record time, once again coming to rest at the dirt outcropping along the path where I had sniped One-Eye and Moony. We had done enough running. We were all entirely out of breath, Sawtooth’s legs buckling beneath him as he fell to his knees. I panted, my lungs burning and blood pulsating through my brain as I turned to look at the mountain across the valley and the garrison below.

The noises the mountain was making were fantastic, a constant, grinding, thundering drumroll. It sounded like Armageddon and looked just as bad, the entire mountain slowly consuming itself, sinking into the cave system it once contained. Trees toppled and slid down the mountain as it broke itself jaggedly, rocks easily the size of large buildings crashing down its constantly heaving face, rockslides whooshing down alongside them, growing in size with each impact. The rising dust cloud shot up as the mountain ground itself into miniature pieces. The ground beneath the garrison itself gave way, drawing into it at once the group of tents, all of which folded immediately into its hungry maw.

And just as quickly as it had started, it stopped, leaving a slowly drifting cloud of dust and an expansive field of protruding rocks in its wake, with the odd tree jutting out at a random angle here and there in the debris. The noise had ceased, the world seemingly silent as the constant din had died out, slowly replaced only by the sound of the Everfree and the noise of the four ponies who had survived its collapse trying not to die from exhaustion.

“Crow,” I puffed, “What…the…fuck…did you…blow up down there?”

He laughed, laying spread-eagled on the ground and wheezing heavily before replying. “Big friggin’ column—it looked pretty important.” He laughed, or possibly wheezed, shaking his mane, a puff of dust exploding from it. “I’ll…tell you more when I can breathe.”

Sawtooth was breathing deeply and shaking, legs still buckled and his hooves splayed out from under him, his face firmly planted in the dirt, forehead down. He was whispering repetitively, “Oh, please, Celestia, don’t let me puke.”

Starlight was staring at where a mountain once stood, at the slowly rising dust cloud. She was utterly silent, unmoving beyond the faint motion of her panting. She now had her spot in the history books, if our actions here were ever unclassified. Despite all the odds, she had right all along. We had survived; we had made it through, even if vastly unprepared. We had even somehow survived capture by the changelings entirely intact. I watched her briefly, standing there, eyes wide, face expressionless, possibly wincing slightly. At once, her eyes flew away from the scene below as she turned to stare at me instead.

“What?” She asked. Her eyes flashed as she quickly flicked them away and then back again, her night eyes shining. I flinched when I noticed that she now wore a number of bloodied wounds from the changelings that had mauled her during their attack, several looking just as bad as the ones that I had gained. It was a miracle that she hadn’t been killed.

I chose to avoid talking about her wounds, she was well aware of them. Instead I focused on what we had just survived. “You were right. We made it. That was one hell of a good call.”

She snorted softly. “Yeah,” was her only reply. She was clearly somewhere else.

“Well, you did good. We could have just as easily let the RAF bomb the mountain.”

“It would have been for the better.” Her voice was surprisingly sullen.

“No it wouldn’t have,” I quickly replied, stunned slightly by her dampened tone. “The REA and the Royal Council would have riots on their hands if word got out about this. Mass panic, Starlight. Do you think that would have been for the better? We chose correctly, you were right about going in.” I firmly stated.

“Cobalt, we’re only alive because the changelings wanted us to be. They could have killed us so quickly—but they didn’t, Cobalt. They wanted us to leave alive.” She looked deeply into my eyes, as if searching for something. My mood sank, the temporary ecstasy of being out of the caves fading immediately. Yet again, she was right. Imago herself had mentioned that she had “repaired” me.

The changeling ambassador’s words swirled around my mind for several seconds, bringing themselves back to the forefront of my mind, reinvigorating the sense of horror and confusion they had unleashed upon me when they were first spoken. I sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, looking up at the stars for an unknown answer.

“I know.” I replied flatly. “I get the feeling we’ve found a rabbit hole.”

There was a prolonged pause.

“I believe we may have,” she noted quietly, still looking into the distance. “So, then. Now what?” She replied, wandering eyes snapping back to me as she spoke. Judging from her sudden interest, she may have heard the same vague words I had from the changeling ambassador.

“We see how deep it goes.”

She nodded in reply, looking back out over the wreckage. The cloud of smoke was finally setting over the newly made field of rocks, barely visible in the predawn morning.

Static popped from Starlight’s radio, which Sawtooth had appropriated, causing him to leap into the air. “Dragonsbreath here. Team 1? Please respond.”

Sawtooth tried to regain his composure, shaking visibly despite his attempts to the contrary. “Blade here. Mission objectives completed, and then some. Awaiting exfil.”

“Copy that, Blade. Good to see you’re still kicking. What’s the team’s status? As for the mission, let’s just say we’re well aware and we have exfil now en route.”

“Good to hear, Dragonsbreath. All team members accounted for and hoof mobile, Dragonsbreath.”

“Tell all of them congratulations. Copy?”

“Copy that. ETA on that exfil?”

“Approximately one hour, and we’ve already scheduled a debriefing at 0900. You’ll never guess who’s going to be in attendance—a big group from the Royal Council. You ponies had better clean up nice.”

His headset was once again filled with static. He pushed the headset off of his ears, it now resting around his neck. “Dragonsbreath says congratulations, everypony,” he said, trademark grin again flashing broadly at us, despite him still shaking slightly.

My spine shivered. I got the feeling that this mission was only beginning.

Chapter 1

\ Minutes until end of shift: -42

// Days since Canterlot Incident: 16

|| Fillydelphia

“Hey, Cobalt, have you heard about what happened in Canterlot?”

I sucked in a deep breath, my brows falling as I prepared my standard issue response: "No."

It was, of course, sarcasm in the highest degree. Everypony knew what happened in Canterlot. Ponies in Stalliongrad knew what happened in Canterlot. So did 95 percent of the population of Neighpon. Hell, the Neighponese Head Consulate had ordered an aid armada sent from Horseshima directly to Canterlot. So yes, I knew what happened in Canterlot. What happened in Canterlot hadn’t been news for almost a week, and the media as a whole apparently hadn’t received the message. Neither had Russ.

"You don't know what happened? How have you not heard?"

"I live under a rock. In the ocean.” I paused for a split second. “At the bottom of the ocean. I know a spell that lets me breathe underwater, and that's where my secret lair is. You didn't know all this?" I replied, glaring only partially in jest at the blithering rust-colored moron I called my friend. More accurately, he was my protégé, destined for the illustrious position I held: Chief Dishwasher at Backburner's Haymarket Grill.

He gave me a look full of nothing but repugnance. “Ok, I get it. You don’t have to be like that. Just keep washing, I don’t want to be here all night.”

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. We were already close enough, it was 12:42. I was supposed to have been done by midnight, but here I was.

Russ levitated another dish from the industrial-sized sink, which was still practically full. This was the third load Backburner had brought in. At this point, I was inclined to believe he was sitting in the kitchen splattering plates with leftover food from tonight’s dinner service and throwing them in the microwave to dry just so we could clean them. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“What is this crap, anyway?” Russ said as he vigorously rubbed the plate, which was coated with a dark purple sauce. The sponge he was using was doing literally nothing but slowly becoming the same shade of purple as the sauce on the plate. He looked at it, sighing. “What, is the main ingredient in this glue?”

Probably, yes. “It’s the plum sauce for the Hoofbiter sandwich. It tastes great, but I think it coats your intestines the same way it does those plates.”

He dropped his sponge and began scratching on the plate with his hoof. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that that wouldn’t work either. Nothing short of a pressure washer was going to get that stuff off.

He set the plate back down into the sink, and began pacing around the tight little washroom looking for anything to get the stain off. As he did so, he tried to start up the conversation again. “So, the changelings are back,” He said, apparently to a bucket that he was rummaging through. He clearly had nothing better to talk about.

I took it like he was actually trying to talk to me. “So I’ve heard.” I said, rolling my eyes as I placed another dish in the slowly growing pile of clean plates.

“You know there hasn’t been a single changeling sighting since the Zebra Uprising almost 200 years ago, don’t you?” He asked, having given up rummaging through the bucket, now trotting back over to the sink. “It’s a serious issue,” he stated emphatically. “And I read that the pack they saw back then was only like fifteen or so. Do you know how many were in Canterlot?”

“Over five-hundred.” We said in unison. Of course, the tone I used was much less excited than his. In fact, you could say my recitation was in a complete monotone. I had heard that figure well over a dozen times this week alone, be it in the newspaper, the radio or in the streets. Russ shot me another dirty look.

He continued giving me the look, standing at the sink, before continuing unfazed. “Plus they say there was a Hive Queen there or something like that. And they managed to sneak in during a royal wedding!” At this point he was almost shouting.

“I imagine it’s not too difficult to sneak into places when you can disguise yourself as literally anypony,” I commented flatly.

Russ ignored me, once again beginning his search for something to clean the dish off with.

I could tell that he had read the Fillydelphia Hoofbeat that morning, as he had been literally quoting it word-for-word. I had read it that morning as well, which didn't do much to increase my already low interest in the conversation. Still, it was better than washing dishes, so out of a distinct desire to take my mind off of them as much as possible, I let Russ continue uninhibited.

“So, have you seen the pictures that they’ve released of the changelings?” He asked. He had found a pumice stone under the sink.

“Yep, saw ‘em in the Hoofbeat this morning.”

“Hey, so did I!”

What a miracle. “Isn’t that something,” I dug. “Yeah, they’re pretty weird looking.” I had cleaned four plates in the time it had taken Russ to find something to clean one. I had begun making a stack of plates that would require advanced cleaning countermeasures, being sure to put them as far away from Russ’s side of the sink as possible.

“More like freakin’ scary. You see those fangs? Those huge, evil, blue eyes? Horns? Wings like a bug? None of that gets you at all?” He resumed work on the dish, scraping away at it with the pumice stone. The plum sauce was actually lifting, along with large portions of the dish’s clear coat and color. He looked over at me intensely, as if studying my face for any signs of fear. There were none. Then, he looked back at the dish he had been cleaning, wincing at what he had done, and carefully set it aside.

“Well, not really. I mean, if those six mares from Ponyville can take care of the whole lot without much trouble, I’m not too worried.” I said, trying to recall their names.

“You do know that the whole deal has been censored by the RBI, right? What happened was a lot worse than what we’re hearing on the news.” He glanced up at me from the sink, where he had been sifting through the pile of dishes for one not covered in the practically epoxy-like purple sauce. He knew that he would have piqued almost anyone’s attention by mentioning political intrigue, particularly me.

I looked over at him from the dish I was working on, still trying to feign disinterest. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” I commented. The Royal Bureau of Investigation was apt to downplay issues in their public reports, and especially so if the issue in question took place on their home turf.

“Yeah, well—it was actually pretty bad, apparently. I’ve got some relatives up in Canterlot who said casualties were up around two hundred or so ponies, and apparently one of those mares from Ponyville actually got hurt pretty bad.”

I couldn’t hold my guise of disinterest any longer. “Really?” I asked, absentmindedly putting down my plate and washrag.

“Uh-huh. Thing is, the day after all the crap went down, they re-did the wedding and reception and everything. And guess what? The one of the Ponyville Six that got injured, she showed up and played a set with DJ PON-3 after the toasts at the reception like it was no big deal.”

“Damn. Which one was it?”

“The pink one…uhh…Pinkie Pie?” He paused for a moment. “Yeah, that’s it,” He added, nodding to himself. “Apparently she had to get a bunch of stitches, but she just covered them up with her dress.”

“Wow.” I commented. The Ponyville Six were apparently a lot tougher than they looked. Another thought popped into my head. “But you’re saying ponies actually got killed? I thought it was more of just a hostage situation.”

He looked exasperated as he replied. “That’s what all the news has been saying, I know. But no, I remember hearing that out of the total number of casualties, there was about fifty or sixty ponies actually killed, I think mostly Royal Guard and Lunar Guard, maybe ten or fifteen civilians. A bunch more are still in the hospital—there’s no telling how many are critical.” He shook his head, sighing. “They’re bad business, these changelings. And all the reports have been saying that all the changelings are out for is love or something ridiculous like that—I don’t know how all that works, seeing as how they’ve been running around killing ponies in Canterlot.”

“Yeah, you got that right. Me neither.” I stopped. This exchange was dealing more information than I had anticipated. “So, you’re telling me that after a bunch of ponies get killed, they just go on having a wedding the next day? That doesn’t seem right.”

Russ nodded, grimacing. “No, there was a small memorial inside the palace for all of them before the wedding. But the RBI pulled a media blackout on that—there wasn’t a single camera in the room. I don’t understand that, either, though—why not just come out and say what happened?”

“Beats me,” I said. We both stood there silently for a second. “So, how do you know all this? I mean, if there was a media blackout, even your relatives in Canterlot wouldn’t know about all this stuff, right?”

“Yeah. Well, look…” His voice trailed off as he looked shiftily around the room. “Can I trust you?”

“As far as I can throw you,” I growled, only half-joking.

He chuckled. “Ok, ok. Well, a certain one of those relatives of mine works in the RBI. He’s not high-tier or anything, but he hears enough and he tends to get a little loose-lipped when he has a few pints of cider in him.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. Well…I guess now that that cat’s out of the bag, I’ll tell you what else he’s heard.” He looked at me very seriously, temporarily dropping all friendly pretenses. “And if I hear a word about this from anyone other than you—I’ll…be very upset.” He warned to the best of his ability.

I nodded. “Gotcha.”

“Well, he’s heard that the REA sent a whole bunch of expeditionary forces down south of Las Pegasus, pretty much the whole area around the San Palomino Desert, and they say they’ve found a lot more signs of changelings down there…he says they’ve found them as far east as the area south of Appaloosa. Basically…they’re massing along the border of the Frontier Line.” He shivered visibly, pausing to take a glance at my reaction, which was registering blank confusion. “It’s got the RBI and REA both pretty spooked—and I can see why. If 500 of those damn things can take Canterlot, I’d hate to see what a thousand times that could do.”

I exhaled sharply. “Me too.”

“That’s not all,” He continued. This conversation had passed from idle conversation into something far more serious all too quickly; my head was already beginning to spin. “There’s word that the REA is going to put a draft into effect pretty soon if the changelings keep coming—I mean, what, we’ve been at peacetime military levels for about fifty years now?”

“Sounds about right,” I said.

“That oughta tell you that this is serious stuff. And the last time there was a draft—well, you know. That was 200 years ago, during the Zebra Uprising.”

I sighed again. “Here I was, thinking that what happened in Canterlot was just a freak event.”

“You and me both,” He replied. “And everypony else in Equestria, too. Well, it’s better to be informed than not—”

He froze as the sound of hooves quickly drawing closer made its way into the room from the double doors that led into the kitchen. Just as we both looked over at them, they flew open, both slamming against their separate walls, a thick, white stallion throwing himself through them, sweating profusely. He wore a heavily stained apron bearing the logo of the restaurant he owned, the Haymarket Grill, and he looked distinctly pissed. He was gritting his exposed teeth, eyes bulging slightly and a single vein extremely visible on his neck from strain. In tow, he had a cart piled high with dishes, easily double the number we had done thus far. He glared at us for several seconds, clearly seeing that neither of us was even holding a dish.

“Oh, crap…” Russ whispered softly.

“Cobalt Dusk and Russet-freaking-Furlong, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?! Are you two cobs over here playing hoovsies again? Did you forget how to wash dishes and need me to remind you?” He shouted. “Sweet Celestia, you two must really love washing dishes, ‘cause at the rate you’re going, you’re going to be here all night cleaning this crap up! I’ve got two more carts lined up for you outside, and you’re both getting docked an hour’s pay since I just got docked an hour’s worth of dish-washing.” He leered at us both in turn. “What? You think I can’t hear you two loudmouths in here jabbering like a pair of hens?”

I piped up. “But sir, we were discussing how to get this plum sauce off of these plates—Ru—I mean, I already ruined one of them trying to get it off,” I said, levitating the plate that Russ had ruined so Backburner could see. As I glanced over at the dish, Russ gave me a worried sidelong look. The dark purple stain was still visible on the green dish where gigantic scratches deep into the porcelain were not.

“Well, guess who’ll be paying for that dish, then, Cobalt? You know, you’re lucky I know your father so well, otherwise you’d be sitting outside on your plot right about now.” He paused, giving me a sardonic grin. “First of all, I know you’re lying about dishwashing techniques seeing as how all the ones I know don’t involve changelings or the RBI, and, secondly, you’re supposed to be the grand-high-dishwasher around here, I’ll bet you can figure out how to get plum sauce off a freaking plate. This ain’t yearling school anymore.” He glared at Russ for a second, who practically tried to climb into the sink to hide. “Oh, and Russ, please don’t ruin any more of my dishes. I know for a fact that Cobalt knows better than to use a pumice stone on porcelain.” He looked back at me. “Now, both of you get your sad crap together and get washing. The quicker you go, the less I have to pay you.”

A brief silence ensued, Backburner standing menacingly in front of us. He was either expecting us to start apologizing profusely or start working, or, knowing him, probably both simultaneously.

“Yes sir, sorry about the plate, sir, I didn’t know.” Russ quailed. I took up the other end of the bargain and picked up a washrag and began furiously scrubbing a plate.

Appeased, Backburner snorted, head shaking, and turned and loudly traipsed out of the room.

“Well, I tried,” I said to Russ, grimacing as the double doors into our dingy little back room swung freely.

He let out a short laugh, nodding his head softly and smiling. “Thanks for trying, it was worth a shot, right?”

“Guess so,” I replied. “Looks like we get wash dishes all night just like you said.”

“Whoohoo.”

***

\ Hours since sunrise: 3

// Days since Canterlot Incident: 47

Sweet Celestia, I don’t want to go to school today. That was my first thought of the morning, as usual. And then I remembered: I didn’t have school. It was summer. Better yet, it was the summer of my senior year of high school; I had graduated the fairly prestigious private school, The Haute École, only a week or so prior. My newfound freedom from education had clearly not set in yet—although my hours of business had certainly changed—the effects of which were all too apparent. Once again, I had forgotten to close the blinds of my bedroom’s bay window, otherwise I would have almost certainly slept until noon, since my alarm clock lay in pieces five stories below, in the alley between my apartment building and the one next door—my first action after being freed from high school was to chuck the wretched thing out the window.

I slowly raised my head from the crevice between two pillows, staring bleary-eyed and still technically asleep, out the window. It hurt. I flopped back down, horn stabbing one of the pillows. That hurt, too. It was becoming apparent that I hurt all over—all thanks to my downright pathetic job as an after-dinner-service dishwasher and its downright pathetic hours. While having the whole day to myself was certainly nice, going to work at 8 and coming home usually after midnight had begun to take its toll, and the night before had been even worse: not only had I been forced to stay about an hour late to clean a particularly hefty load of dishes again, I had also promised one of the waitstaff (a particularly cute pegasus mare) I’d go with her for coffee after my shift, and she had been interested enough to still want to go even after I told her my stupid shift was going to end at about 2. So, I figured I was lucky to have got about 5 hours of sleep, seeing as how I remembered getting home by about 4. It had been worth it, though, not only had she agreed to a second date, she also was positive that I was one of the most entertaining unicorns she had ever met.

After several minutes and several more failed attempts to get out of bed, I finally managed to launch myself into a semi-upright position, resting my front hooves on my back legs. I slowly and creakily turned my head towards my mirror in the corner, and realized what a mess I was. It looked as though a very quiet and very efficient team of parasprites (thankfully, the majority of those little freaks had been wiped from the city) had decided to take every single strand of hair in my mane and make sure they all either stood on end or were clumped in an awkward and nigh-on-unreachable part of my head. After about five minutes of untangling and smoothing my mane with my magic while trying not to fall back asleep, my light-blue mane was back to normal, the one random streak of dark blue back in its usual position of being parted and curled up in the front. I was aware that I needed a manecut, as the hair below my ears was beginning to curl back around my neck. My eyes were most decidedly sticking on “half-open”, my pupils almost creepily small and my cyan irises huge as my poor, abused eyes still tried to adjust to the light. Going along with my still-freaking-out eyes were the fairly impressive dark circles under them, seeing them at all was impressive in its own right, as my mane was already a dark shade of charcoal. To make the package complete, I had succeeded in growing at least a week’s worth of stubble on my face without having taken the time to shave. I finally threw myself off of the bed, and back onto all fours, lifting one hoof to straighten my ruffled coat. At that point, I noticed I needed a fetlock trimming, too. How the pegasus the night before had ever accepted my invitation to go out was beyond me.

To make matters worse, my room was in just as bad of shape as I was. I hadn’t vacuumed the large rug that dominated the center of the room, much less swept the wood floor under it, in at least a month. Every article of clothing I owned was draped over whatever wasn’t my bed, and empty junk food wrappers littered the dusty floor. Empty cans of soda were just as common, and in order to insure that I could still walk, I had moved the majority of them into stacks in three out of the four corners of the room (the bed being caddy-cornered in the fourth.) My desk, along the far wall, looked less like a location to neatly place things, and was more identifiable as a dumping ground for at least a dozen fully disheveled stacks of paper that I “just hadn’t gotten to yet,” each about three hooves high, as well as ground zero for the piles of random books from school, all with the possibility of something wooden beneath it holding all of it up. And of course, my Wonderbolts poster was once again down a tack, one corner of my beloved shrine to awesomeness (and Spitfire, the perpetually hot Wonderbolts Acrobatic Squadron Leader we all know and (I) love) hanging awkwardly, covering her (perfect) midair “come hither” stare. Unfortunately, I just didn’t have the willpower to find the tack and straighten the poster, even though I could have done it within seconds using my magic. After a minute of deliberation on that topic, I stiff-leggedly trotted out of the room, trying (but failing) to not knock over any empty cans of soda on the way out.

If the light in my room was bad, the light was even worse in the hall, as all the windows were open. The noise of the city was amplified as well. I could distinctly hear hacks down at the market two blocks away shouting to be heard as they tried to sell their wares.

"Morning, Cobie," my mom greeted as I ambled into the kitchen, where she was placing another batch of apple fritters into the oven. She kicked the oven door closed, and a brief flash of orange magic twisted the temperature dial. The sunlight reflecting off her almost white coat wasn’t exactly helping my poor, abused eyes, and neither was her bright orange and yellow mane, but she was in her element, after all, her name was Sunrise. While on the subject of nomenclature, I still had no idea how she had agreed to get hitched to my father at all on the basic principle that, upon marriage to my dad, her name would be Sunrise Dusk. But if that hadn't happened, I suppose I wouldn't be here, so there really was no cause for complaint.

"Mornin', mom. You making breakfast?" I replied, still trying to blink my eyes into a semi-permanent state of focus.

"Yes I am, hon. Sorry, but I’m making apple fritters again; I really shouldn't have taken that pony down at the market for her word to sell me 5 bushels of apples for 15 bits," she noted. She had me haul all five bushels up the stairs the Friday previous. Needless to say, apples had been worked into the menu at every meal since in a ceaseless stream of new and exciting ways, and that morning was no exception.

"Doesn't bother me," I stated, throwing myself into a chair at the table and flopping my face onto its cool surface.

"Just how late were you out last night? I think I heard you come in, but I didn't see what time," she asked, glancing up from a bowl of applesauce.

"'Bout 4."

"Cobie, does Backburner have you working that late again?"

"No...'till about two. Then I got coffee with one of the waitresses who stayed to help clean the place." My face was still flat on the table.

"Well, that's fine, but couldn't you have just scheduled a date for this afternoon? It's not smart to stay up that late, even if it is summer."

"Yeah, prob'ly." I was leaving a condensation mark on the table's wooden surface.

"Speaking of time, what happened to the alarm clock in your room?" she asked, walking over to my spot at the table with a bowl of freshly made applesauce.

"It...broke."

At that point, my father turned his head from his newspaper as he sat on the couch. I hadn’t noticed him at all in my paraconscious state. He rustled his newspaper absentmindedly as he spoke. “You know, I thought I saw a strange little pile of parts outside your window the other day. Was that your clock?” I directed my eyes away from the table, finding it difficult to peer through the top of my mane at my father. He was wearing a sly smile.

“Mighta’ been,” I replied, knowing he was on to me. Also, my cheek was going numb.

“Uh-huh. Well, you can pay for a new one.”

“Did you throw your alarm clock out the window?” My mom interjected, laughing.

“Mmmph,” I replied. A rather energetic little headache was quickly brewing in my general brainstem area.

“So, how was your date last night?” My dad asked in a low voice, sly smile turning into a broad grin, with one eyebrow raised. He paused momentarily, likely hoping for a response which I was not prepared to give. “Was she another pegasus?” He paused again, still waiting for anything. He was clearly getting a kick out of digging into my personal life. He laughed slightly before continuing. “Was she cute?”

I had had enough. “Uhhhggghhh,” I exhaled as I slammed my head on the table. It definitely didn’t help my headache.

The oven timer went off, stabbing the little invisible needles further into the back of my brain. Mom quickly turned it off and levitated the steaming baking sheet of fritters from the oven and onto a cooling rack by the kitchen window. I pulled my face from the table and let my head roll back and rest on the back of the chair. My dad hopped up, newspaper flying, eager to grab some apple fritters. He was an apple fanatic, and that fact had led to her purchasing the inordinate amount of apples from the salespony at the market. As far as my father was concerned, the last several days had been practically heaven as far as the menu went. It didn’t help that my mom was an excellent cook, either, although both her and I had considered it apple overload. Within seconds, he had filled a plate with the pastries and was snarfing them with vigor, ignoring his likely burning tongue.

Through a mouthful, he said, “Your mom and I are going down to the market again today, probably right after breakfast. Right hon?” My mom nodded, smiling. “You’re welcome to come, if you want.” He looked over at me from his spot at the table. My eye was twitching. “We could help you pick out a new alarm clock,” He noted, chuckling.

Taking my condition into consideration, I replied with an eloquent “’Stooearly. And my head hurts. Mebbe next time.”

“Your decision, Cobie,” My mom kindly said.

After my parents ate breakfast which was, as my father put it, “The best apple fritters I’ve ever eaten,” they set off to the market. On the way out, dad was sure to comment that “We really need to have apple fritters more often,” To which I let out a very audible groan. Now I was home alone on a Tuesday morning with literally nothing to do, and I was dead tired and had become an incubation chamber for Equestria’s most mobile and pulsating headache. I could tell the day was going to be productive. Yeah, right.

Once I had become bored with finding patterns in the texturing on the ceiling, I decided to move my veritable circus of activity to the couch, which I did with the vigor of a pregnant Ursa Major. The Fillydelphia Hoofbeat that my father had been reading blared in gigantic font: “DRAFT PLANNED” beneath which it read: “600,000 to be sent to the Frontier Line by August.”

Old news, at least for me, thanks to Russ’s family connections. I had actually heard about the draft coming to fruition about a week before, of course, the numbers of the draft hadn’t been revealed yet. The ones that had been revealed were, to say the least, startlingly high, especially since I had been signed up for the draft right after graduating, landing me directly in its path. What made me even more likely to be drafted was my lineage—my father, like myself, had an abnormally dark coat, pointing towards my father’s relations to the Lunar Guard. His grandfather had been an actual member of the Guard, making me only a 4th generation descendant, something the REA would be very excited to see, especially since I was a unicorn rather than a pegasus like most other descendants. This situation had turned my lineage from a blessing into a curse. While anypony would typically be envious of my heightened sense of night vision from the Guard’s selective breeding for nighttime movement and ability to blend in better at night thanks to my dark coat, this also made me a much better soldier in the eyes of the REA.

Needless to say, all this had me very worried—and the news of it getting to the paper even more so. I wasn’t a soldier—the closest I had ever come to combat was a number of fights in grade school (which, firstly, were practically all about teasing me over my coat color in that being the one pony in the whole school that wasn’t a bright pastel color had a tendency to single me out, and, secondly, all of these fights were solved quite quickly by my telekinesis—after all, most ponies don’t respond well to being thrown into lockers or shoved through the ceiling from fifteen hooves away.) Nonetheless, the thought of being thrown into a war without any control over what would happen to me was nothing less than terrifying, but yet, somewhere down inside it was almost exciting. Even though every time I was privy to a rumor about it or heard somepony talking about it down on the street it sent a shiver down my spine, I thought of it less as a potential death sentence and more as some sort of an uncalled for opportunity. I had long ago realized how sheltered and easy my life truly was—I had been born into an affluent family in an affluent region of Fillydelphia, and had never faced any real adversity beyond a few bullies and bad grades. In a perverse way, becoming a soldier could be an adventure, an escape from my boring, albeit safe and comfortable life. Beyond the standard and extremely unexciting plans of going to college once the summer was out (I had already been accepted to Canterlot Hold University) and majoring in something along the lines of law or business, I really didn’t have much else planned. I mean, ultimately, work for me was less of a fact of life and more of an option, considering my family’s financial situation. Sure, if I felt like it I could work with my father to continue the family business of doubling the family funds through the stock markets or I could ask him for a loan of startup bits for whatever harebrained project I could come up with, but where was the adventure, much less the risk, in any of that? But then again, the point would come up—I was no soldier. Going south to the Frontier Line, facing the changelings, what would the point be if I were to come home in a box?

My feelings on the subject could be defined as nothing less than internal conflict, no doubt—but in recent days, after coming to the conclusion that I couldn’t come to a conclusion—the topic had been shuffled to the back of my mind, having been replaced by much more important content, namely dating and my job at the Haymarket Grill. The thought of both my date coming up in less than a week and the reminder of my constantly looming job was enough to make my head pulse even more, at which I did the most sensible thing possible: attempted to stop thinking altogether. The next logical step was to flop over on the couch, which I did promptly, albeit somewhat painfully.

I was awakened to the sound of the apartment’s buzzer, my consciousness greeting me with the horrible stabbing pain the annoyingly high-pitched, loud noise created in my poor, abused brain. My headache had not subsided in the least—in fact, I was almost certain it had somehow managed to get worse. The ceiling tiles above me were once again out of focus. And what’s more, Luna had once again forgotten to visit me in my dream. I was sure to eke out a chuckle to that one. Celestia knows I could have used her guidance. In any case, whatever genius was standing outside wasn’t even beginning to think about letting up on the buzzer, so it looked like ignoring the intruder was entirely out of the question. In a feeble attempt to throw myself off the couch, I rolled over, hoping to land on my hooves. Of course, rather than actually succeeding in this attempt, I wound up over-rotating and landing squarely on my flank, fortunately landing in the space between the couch and the coffee table without whacking anything important on the bizarrely out of place modern glass-and-steel table itself. However, I did manage to make an impact with the wood floor that would both assure that the neighbors downstairs would poke their ceiling a few times with a broom as their passive-aggressive method of annoying me back, as well as likely leave a bruise on my rump.

I quickly righted myself and launched into a standing position, the blood draining from my head causing me to lose vision for several seconds. After the rainbow-colored haze that had replaced the living room faded, I stumbled over to the door, wincing at the pain in my flank and the ever increasing rate at which my head was pulsating. After awkwardly stumbling towards the door for what felt like about five minutes, I reached it, the sound of the buzzer still relentlessly buzzing growing with each step. I hoisted myself up to eye level with the peephole on the door and was nothing if not taken aback to find a massive, smiling face peering back through the peephole, belonging to a gently floating pegasus who, through the fisheye lens, was holding her hoof on the buzzer button as she hovered. She was toting a bulging duffel bag, which was hanging over her shoulder—she was having to counterbalance for the bag’s immense weight by literally rolling her entire weight until it’s mass was somewhat centered. The image was somewhat hilarious—a pegasus in mid-barrel roll, one hoof pressing a buzzer while still somehow managing to continue practically beaming. All the same, however, it was confusing, what exactly was a mailmare doing at the apartment door? Even packages of any size less than five by five hooves was delivered to the apartment building’s mail room, and considering that she had both wings and about half the stature required to hide a box of any real size, I was willing to bet she was either woefully lost or simply in the wrong place.

I thought to myself, maybe dad’s ordered me a new alarm clock. Chances were slim that he knew that I had thrown mine out in enough time to buy me a new one. Oh well, there was a chance. Not like I really wanted a new one, anyway. In any case, opening the door meant killing the evil beast that was the droning sound of the buzzer. Using what little magic I had, I unbolted all three of the locks on the door simultaneously and hopefully with enough force to make the mailmare realize I had got the hint. Apparently, it worked, as just when I began to inch the door open, she relented on the buzzer, leaving a dull, hollow and empty ringing where the buzzer once was, somehow not ameliorating the pain in the frontal region of my brain one bit.

I attempted to give off an air that I was in no mood or condition to be trifled with, but based on the mailmare’s continuing bucktoothed grin, I got the feeling she saw it more as me just being sleepy. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t look mean if I had tried. I dropped any guise of rudeness with a surprisingly non-painful yawn.

She drew a clipboard from somewhere deep within the duffel bag, slowly searching through the crumpled and bent sheets of lists it held, flipping pages at random until she apparently found her target, then shoving it carelessly deep back into the bag. At this point, she stopped flapping her wings, falling the 4 hooves she was hovering to the carpet below, misjudging her landing and having to take several crab steps to the side to make sure her heavy bag didn’t make her flop over onto her side. She looked up at me after fully regaining her balance, smiling once more, but this time as a sort of apology. She once again began to dig through her bag, this time coming out with a thick manila envelope. Perhaps it was for one of my parents.

She looked quickly down at the address on the letter, and then back up at me, before she began lisping excitedly. “'Thcuthe me for the delay, thir, today'th actually my firtht day on the job," she said, smiling and glancing at me embarrassedly. "Are you Mithter Cobalt Duthk?"

"Uh, yeah, Cobalt Dusk." I said, instantly regretting having repeated my name, as if to correct her lisp.

“Well, mithter Duthk, I do believe you’ve got yourthelf a letter!”

My head low, I glanced up at her, rather than trying wholeheartedly to pop my neck in a clearly vain effort to relieve the pressure in my head. “I’m sorry, but was our mailbox locked or something? We usually get our letters there. I mean, sometimes the landlord can be a pain and not hand out the master key to anypony, you’ve just got to be insistent with him…” I said, letting my voice trail off awkwardly.

“Oh, no thir. I was ethpethially athined to to deliver the contenths of thith bag perthonally to the each letter's rethipient." She checked the large envelope again, insuring it was indeed for one Cobalt Dusk. “Here you go, thir—I’ll tell you, I’ve been delivering letterth like theeth all morning long. Thith bag here’th full of them.” She grasped the letter in the wrist joint of her forehoof, outstretching it to me.

I levitated it from her, gently floating it over to me so I could take a better look at it. It was quite heavy, actually, much more so than I had expected. There was no return address, no markings on it whatsoever apart from my address. It was, however, specifically addressed to me. I glanced up from the envelope at the cream-colored, freckled mailmare, “So, do you have any idea who this is from?”

She looked up from her clipboard, which she had once again withdrawn from the bag, and shook her head. “No, thir. No idea. All I know ith I’ve got about a hundred of theeth thingths left to deliver.” She looked up at me, clearly exasperated. I couldn’t help but empathize with the poor little mare. Hoof-delivering that many letters on somepony’s first day couldn’t exactly be an easy task.

“I’m sorry—you know, I bet everypony you’ve delivered these to have asked that, haven’t they?”

She sighed and nodded, grin becoming a temporary grimace before spreading back to its original position. “ Yetthir, they have, and I’m real thorry I can’t be of more help to you about who itht’s from, but you have a nith day today, ok?”

I smiled in return, ignoring the pain in my head. “You too. And tell your boss you got at least one commendation on your first day—you’re doing great.”

It took her a second, but she started beaming even brighter than before. “Thankth, thir! I’ll be thure to tell her, I really apprethiate it.” She unwrapped her wing from the duffel bag and readjusted it so it sat more comfortably in the small of her back, tipping her cap with her hoof. She smiled my way one more time before gently taking flight and hovering off down the hall.

Sure, the little mailmare was adorable, but the letter she had delivered was of more concern. There were two options as to what it could be: A letter from Canterlot Hold University (possibly scholarship money?) or a very elaborate sales pitch from a particularly well-funded corporation. The lack of advertising on the package made the latter somewhat less likely. Perhaps it wasn’t addressed correctly? That made three options. After a moment of deliberation, I determined that standing in the hallway staring at the envelope wasn’t going to tell me much about its contents. I turned on my hoof and trotted back inside, hooves clopping on the worn wood floor.

I briefly considered waiting for my parents to come home before I opened the letter. Of course, I struck that one fairly quickly. I moved my poor body—head still pounding, I’d most certainly have to find some medicine after I opened the letter—over to the kitchen, walking by it and telekinetically drawing a blade out of the knife block on the counter on my way back to the couch. Once I made it there, I flopped over on the couch once again. I turned to face my magical task, carefully slipping the knife under the envelope’s sealed flap and popping it open easily. Whatever was in the envelope had shifted completely to one side, and when I tilted the envelope over to dump it out, it fell to the surface of the coffee table with a thick slap. It was another envelope—regularly sized albeit stuffed full, and a light blue. It had fallen onto its front, addressed to one Cobalt Dusk in Apartment 395 of the North Hoof Cliffs Building, Fillydelphia. All of that was correct— however, my confusion ended abruptly when I saw the addressee. In the upper left of that innocuous blue envelope was stamped a single line in all caps: ROYAL EQUESTRIAN ARMED FORCES RECRUITMENT CENTER 231, PALOMINO’S FERRY, FILLYDELPHIA.

My heart jumped into my throat, pounding furiously. Any pain in my head had been forgotten entirely, and I could almost immediately feel myself begin to sweat, despite the balmy indoor temperature. I closed my eyes for a second, entirely unsure what to feel, much less what to think. It had finally arrived—I had every notion to believe it would come, why was it so difficult to sort out what to do when it came? I took a deep breath, letting it out shakily. A shiver passed through my whole body. Everything had just changed.

I must have sat, staring at the unopened letter for nearly five minutes. Once I realized what I had been doing, I snapped to action, grabbing the letter with my magic and flipping it over. The letter was sealed with a red wax seal, imprinted in which was the REA seal—a quartered shield displaying a horseshoe, a bundle of arrows, a pair of wings, and several magical stars in front of the Celestial Mark with a background of a pair of crossed olive branches. I popped it open hastily despite already knowing the contents. Of the thick stack of neatly folded papers inside the envelope, the first one was the only one strictly addressed me.

NOTICE OF DRAFT, ROYAL DECREE #7261

Dear Recipient,

On behalf of the Royal Equestrian Army, I, Princess Celestia, wish to inform you that, after careful examination, you have been deemed worthy of service in defense of your nation against a clear and present threat to our nation’s safety: the changeling horde. As you may know, after recent events in Canterlot, significant Changeling activity along the Frontier Line has arisen, necessitating an immediate response by the REA. Unfortunately, reconnaissance conducted by the Royal Bureau of Intelligence has estimated that the current number of armed forces may not be enough to successfully repel the enemy in the event of an attack, and as such, a preliminary draft, effective immediately, has been issued to approximately 80,000 hoof-selected ponies.

This fact is directly correlated to our examination of your file, and means that you have been deemed particularly capable in your ability to serve. As a result, special parameters may have been put in place for your future position within the Forces. More information on this subject has been made available, if the situation permits, within the summary sheet enclosed in this letter (PAGE 7).

Please note that this letter is acting as sufficient notice that your help has been requested for service in the Royal Equestrian Army, also included is an official document which is to be presented to the REA Military Police Activation Officers on the date selected for your activation as an acting defender of our nation. As your princess, I sincerely wish you the best of luck, and a speedy victory to all of our armed forces.

With warmest regards,

Princess Celestia

NOTICE: FAILURE TO RESPOND TO THIS CALL OF DUTY ON THE DATE LISTED WILL BE PENALIZED BY FINES EXCEEDING 200,000 BITS AND UP TO TEN YEARS IN PRISON UNLESS SIGNIFICANT EVIDENCE CLAIMING INELIGIBILITY IS PRESENTED UP TO TWO (2) WEEKS AFTER THE DATE LISTED FOR ACTIVATION.

The next six pages were instructions: from proper procedure on the day I shipped out (including directions and a map to the docks, where apparently I was to board a ship) to a suggestion sheet on getting ready for basic training, including even a mental and physical exercise sheet. Page 7, as mentioned in the first letter, was placed in the bundle of papers right before a section that had been sealed, on which was printed, once again in block letters: NOTICE: THIS SECTION IS TO REMAIN SEALED UNDER EQUESTRIAN LAW, AND IS FOR THE EYES OF REA OFFICIALS ONLY. IF THIS SECTION’S SEAL IS FOUND TO BE BREACHED UPON DELIVERY TO YOUR ACTIVATION OFFICER, PENALTIES INCLUDING DISHONORABLE DISCHARGE AND FINES UP TO 500,000 BITS SHALL BE INCURRED. I tossed it aside, instead focusing on page 7.

SUMMARY SHEET FOR DRAFTEE #45219

NAME: Cobalt Dusk

SPECIES: Equine (Unicorn)

GENDER: Stallion

FEATURES:

EYES: Blue

COAT/MANE: Charcoal/Blue

BUILD: Draft Horse

HEIGHT: 9h 6in

WEIGHT: 110lb

CUTIE MARK: Light blue sun, black rays

AGE: 18 (Birthday: November 14)

BLOOD TYPE: AB+

EDUCATION: High School Graduate (Haute École High, Fillydelphia)

COMMENTS: Cobalt Dusk is a very capable pony, graduating well within the top 20% of his class and having telekinetical skills far surpassing those of his peers. Placed in the 86th percentile among participants in the Equus International Common Knowledge and Reasoning Test. Coat color (underlined above) shows signs of Lunar Guard ancestry (NOTE TO ACTIVATION OFFICER: Possible eligibility for Sec. 41 Program, Detailed on Pg. 14, Sealed Section).

I paused for a moment. Section 41 Program? I shook my head. While I had no idea what that meant, it definitely sounded important. I wanted to read on about it, but I wasn’t about to risk opening the sealed section. I withdrew myself from the documents, realizing what I had been reading. I had been drafted. I was going to war. There I was, the old mental argument surfacing again: was this a blessing or a curse?