...or Friendship
“...Let's rejoin our heroines four hooves and sometime later!”

Sun Shower was singing again. Iron Heart hadn’t minded that so much. It was Grey’s singing that made him cringe. It was so… happy. The fact that Sun Shower and Grey had become fast friends wasn’t helping his mood. The rest of the city reinforced it.

The same mist that had blotted out the sun maybe a day and a half earlier still blanketed Phovannah as they all made their way outside the city. There had been a number of ponies and even a few changelings near the center of town, but there was a point in the city when the populated buildings and streets stopped abruptly. Past that point the buildings were far worse off. Wear had caused some of the buildings to decay into doddering skeletons of their former selves; others had simply collapsed and died, forgotten. The atmosphere was oppressive, driving Iron Heart's mood from mildly uncomfortable to thoroughly unsettled.

At least there hadn’t been any deteriorating cloudscrapers. Massive deteriorating buildings like that would be disastrous in a city like this. In passing, Iron Heart wondered how he was familiar with such a concept. Instead of towering high, rotting buildings closed in as the streets narrowed. Ill repair, proximity, swirling mist whenever a soft breeze picked up, the configuration felt perfect for an ambush. Instead of knocking, the close, intimate creepiness had simply let itself inside, where it was content not to say anything to Iron Heart until he realized it had been silently staring at him from the corner the whole time.

Iron Heart almost panicked. The houses themselves seemed to exude a fog that hung close to the ground. He suddenly wanted to break away and fly up. He could rise higher and higher until he broke through fog bank and saw the sun. Doing that would leave most of his companions behind, though. An irrational fear whispered if that were to happen, he might never find them again. He didn’t want to risk that; as he remembered Sun Shower, he knew he couldn’t risk that.

Sun Shower and Grey apparently weren’t aware of their surroundings. As Iron Heart fought the flight reflex, those two had given into a sort of friendship reflex. They started to sing. They were actually singing. To Iron Heart, the whole scene was bizarre. “We’re swimming through a low cloud, and you two are singing?”

Grey perked up, cantering to Iron Heart’s side. “They’re hymns, Iron Heart! I haven’t been able to sing them with anypony else in years!”

“Right… well, quit it! It’ll give our position away… I can’t see if we’re spotted or concealed.”

“Nopony’d be able to see us in this, Iron Heart!”

“They wouldn’t have to, they’d hear us from a mile out… or smell us…”

“Oooohh, I guess you’re right! They could use infrared, thermal imaging, or even echolocation!”

“Look, just keep it down.”

“Well this section of the town’s kinda peaceful,” Bray broke in, “When we leave, now that's when we'll have to be careful.”

Sun Shower joined in, “Let’s keep singing Grey.” Iron Heart stopped for moment, cursing under his breath, as Grey started in again.

“Oh for one thousand ponies to sing,”

“The praises of our mare,” Sun Shower continued.

“Her sun brings life and warmth,”

“To Ponies everywhere!”

Both of their voices came together in unison to sing the chorus,

“And have you known her warmth,

And do you know her love?

For some ponies have never seen her face

Smiling down, smiling down from up above.”

As they continued, they sang the same words, but their voices suddenly split in perfect harmony.

“So sister, so my brother, hear my song,

Listen close to hear her love, and soon you’ll sing along!

Her love for us will never end,

The life she gives ‘s strong as the sun.

If your world is dark and sad turn the bend,

Join our voices in the happy throng!”

Iron Heart was stunned; it was beautiful. It didn't fit their surroundings at all... but that was good.

“What's the matter?” Grey asked. Iron Heart realized everypony had stopped and was looking at him.

“Nothing. Let's keep moving.”

Sun Shower looked at Grey, “That was wonderful Grey. The last time I heard a tenor sing that hymn was in the cathedral, and that was months ago.”

Grey blushed, pawing a little. “I wasn't that good.”

Sun Shower took offense. “Don't say that! You were wonderful.”

“I didn't mean... well, thanks.”

“Don't cut yourself short,” Sun Shower gave a small chuckle, “you're already small enough.” Whatever color gray and red make was the color Gray turned. “I think Iron Heart's right though, let's stay quiet for now.”

It wasn't until they reached the edge of the city that the fog subsided; even then a layer of mist blanketed what lay before them. What lay beside them, to Grey's secret glee, was the entrance to a carnival. It had been long abandoned, yet it still seemed to give off a stoic cheer that clashed with the crumbling city and the new terrain they had entered.

Grey was tugging on Iron Heart's hoof. When the stallion looked at him angrily, Grey put up a hoof and whispered into his ear, “Can we go to the carnival? I wanna see if any of the rides still work! Maybe there's even some old candy.” Iron Heart made to answer, but Bray did instead.

“Sorry partner, I really need to get back to my Julia. I promise I'll take you back once I know she's okay.” Grey's face fell. Iron Heart realized that Bray's hearing was exceptional. “Alright everypony, keep a keen eye. We should be able to avoid any trouble.” Bray's hooves sounded softly as he stepped off the concrete and onto the new terrain.

Where a regular swamp could be described as a low lying wetland, what sprawled before them was hilly, covered in long-dead trees, and made up of mostly solid ground. It wasn't that there weren't low lying areas that were wet, but that the whole area was suffering from some sort of effect (even the hillsides). What lay before them had the effect of a marsh that had been lifted up and spread around the terrain similar to the way one would spread field fertilizer on a field.

Iron Heart looked out. He might have even preferred swamplands; at least then he'd know what the countryside was trying to be.

“Now, it ain’t far, and if we stay low, we should be there in no time.” Bray's hind hooves followed the audible demeanor of his forehooves. The rest followed him into the strange half marsh. Silence and mist hung down on them.

It wasn’t long before Grey wanted to say something to Bray about his definition of “no time.” They left any semblance of a path and started scaling unforgiving hillside that alternated between wet marsh and solid ground. Although Grey wasn’t carrying all that much, he was already sore. Sun Shower and Iron Heart started to flap their wings, opting to fly low over the ground rather than climb the steep hill. Bray balked at them, again telling them to stay low.

Still they wound their way up a hill. Eventually, Grey stopped paying attention to everything but the dull ache in his hooves. Even when the hill softened into a slope, Grey felt like complaining. He sighed sweet relief when the slope died down into a tiny plateau.

He was so relieved, in fact, that he didn’t even notice Bray whispering his name or Sun Shower’s gasp. He did hear a gurgling sound and crackling fire, though. He also heard a brusque voice call out to him.

“Well now. What’s here?” Somehow, Bray had always been able to sound cheery despite his gravelly, harsh voice. This voice wasn’t like that at all. “Seems we have a pony that what’s lost hissway.” It was creaky and crooked.

Another voice added to the dark chorus. “Oui, look at his tiny body. And that mouth, look at that mouth.” A pregnant malignance burdened every word.

“Ay, heh he heeee. You in trouble now, hoo doggie, a colt too,” a final voice mocked. Three forms wound their way around a fire crackling strong in the light of the afternoon.

“He’s got to be hungry, isn’t he poor little colt?” went the first voice. Grey wasn’t at all relieved. Instead, he felt the danger he stumbled into multiply.

Grey swallowed. “I… uh, well… I’m actually a stallion.”

“Just as well, stallion’s got to eata bunch too, that way they grow big. And when they’re big, they’s a special treat for ponies, you know.” The speaker was massive. Grey noticed certain things that told him she was a mare. Some sort of disease seemed to have bloated and stretched any beauty away, though. Her left foreleg was particularly puffed. As she approached, Grey noticed she wore work jean coveralls with a broken strap. Something gleamed in her eye as she loomed over Grey.

“Oui. Hau Hau Hauu. An special treat. You know, we donnot have many visitors. We must roll out the red hospitalite`.” The second speaker didn’t seem to have any physical deformities, he was just particularly fat. Some sort of grease or oil reflected off his coat.

“That ain’t right ‘Mortis. That ain’t how it goes. I keep tellin’ ya!” the last speaker screeched. He was thin and wiry. While his body was quite fit, his head was a grotesquerie all its own. Fiery eyes darted around, always searching. The rest of his head was strangely pressed, almost like it had been partially smashed by something. It didn’t make any sense, though, there weren’t any visible signs of such a massive trauma. His mane showed in whispy patches. A few patches where mane should be that didn’t have any hair at all, not even any coat. “Let me wet my whistle there.” The large pony handed him a brown ceramic jug.

“So,” Grey clopped his fore hooves together and rubbed them, “when do we eat?”

“I must say… this is quite strange, is it not?” the fat one asked. All three shared a furtive glance as Grey walked close to the campfire and started to warm himself. “Well, you must see, we three… we have um, eaten too recently. Yes, we have and so we will eat later.”

“Ain’t ya scared of us stranger?” the thin one creaked.

“My feelings are irrelevant. Whenever anypony extends a hoof of hospitality, it is only proper to accept.”

“See? He’s a smart one,” added the big one, “yes he is, I’ll bet his head-”

“Augh no! His head must be tired. He must have had a long journey. Are you not weary, my friend?”

“Actually, my hooves were getting sore, but warming them by this fire does wonders!”

“Sure does, ain’t nothing like a warm fire. That’s what I’m always saying, heh he. It’s great for warmin, but even better for cookin!” The thin one tossed a piece of meat on a grate over the fire. It sizzled and popped.

“You’re not going to eat that, are you?”

“Oui, later. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Ponies can’t, not unless they...oh.” The fat one had hoofed over a bottle to Grey. He turned it over and noticed a poorly muzzle-written word on it. “D…i, ges, a, f, e!” Giving it a shake, there were a few small rattles. “That’s not enough for all of us. I just couldn’t take any, depriving you all of food. Well, I guess I should get going.”

“Come here pony, don’t pay mean old Clem any mind. I have food for you.” The mention of food all for him brought Grey galloping over to the large mare immediately. She cut a loaf of something in half and gave him one of the halves.

Taking it curiously, he gave a test nibble. It was spongy but still had substance. It was also still too hot for his mouth. He was suddenly huffing and puffing as pain seared his tongue. But the taste, the taste was like nothing he’d ever had before. There was a food he had been missing his entire life, and this was it.

“What is this?”

“Here.” The massive mare put a pat of something on it. Grey felt it had fat of some kind as it melted into the food. Even the smell was intoxicating.

“What is it? Ain’t your pappy ever give ya bread before?” Clem, the thin one, remarked.

“Augh, then you are in for a treat my friend,” Mortis remarked, “just like us. Au hau… hau hau.” He started scraping out the bottom of a pot.

“But this is amazing!” Grey managed between blowing on the loaf and stuffing his face once more. “It's even better with that stuff you put on it!”

“Poor pony, never heard of butter? I'm happy. I'm happy you're happy. It tastes better that way.”

“Huh,” Grey perked, “The bread?”

“Yeah,” creaked Clem, “That's what she said.”

Grey hadn't waited for the response, stuffing his face with the rest of the heavenly food. As soon as he finished eating and licking his hooves, he grimaced in pain and groaned. His stomach was so tiny that it started to ache as what he ate expanded inside him.

“An so, have you had enough my friend?”

“I'm stuffed, literally stuffed,” Grey replied. Mortis' eyes gleamed in the firelight. “I think I'll pop!” Clem leaned in close. “I could die right now and be happy. Well, you all are great, but I must be off.” There was a grunt behind Grey as he backed up into the large mare. She started a lumbering rhyme.

“This little pony got lost in the woods, this little pony couldn't find his way home, this little pony ate our bread and butter, and now we'll eat him to the bone.” Clem broke out in raking laughter. Mortis upturned the pot, bringing out the knife he'd been scraping it with.

“Now look here!” Grey protested. “This is no way to treat a guest!”

“But... you'll be with us forever in our stomachs, you don't have to get lost ever again,” she boomed back. Clem threw another piece of bloody meat on the fire. As it sputtered, the flames illuminated half of a smiling flower. The meat was a flank. The flower was a cutie mark. Grey recoiled. He staggered back, trying to keep all three in view.

“Let my friends and I pass. Promise me you'll never do this again, and I'll let you all live.” Grey spoke the words while his body was shaking as it anticipated some sudden violence.

“An why should we do that?” Mortis shrugged. Clem smiled a rotten, half-empty smile.

“It's time everypony,” Grey puffed up, looking fierce. The others slowed for a moment, half expecting a hidden trick, or perhaps reinforcements. Grey sickened. “...Anyopny?”

“Ain't nopony here, heh he. Just you, and us, and dinner,” whispered Clem.

“I-” Grey dove out of the way of the large knife Mortis hurled. It made a satisfying “thunk” as it sank into a tree. Grey rolled, trying to get up and see how he was situated. Mortis and Clem were grinning. Grey wondered how the large one disappeared. He realized where she was and panicked. He moved forward as fast as he could, but fell down hard. He hadn't felt anything, but he tasted dirt and heard himself groan.

“…still awake,” a far-off voice complained. Grey went limp.

“An how can I cook hem if you split his head? Wait on it.”

Grey felt a massive, squishy hoof nudge him. “He’s so small.” There wasn’t any response. “Maybe it was too hard?” The hoof pulled away. “Mortis? Is that you?”

“A? What is the matter Gertha?”

“I'm gonna kill him Mortis, but I don't feel I should.”

“Are you crazy? Has your head gone squishy? I change my mind, do him like the others. We get the meat we can an that is all. Even if he is shrimpy.”

“He's small Mortis, he's a colt.”

“Merde. Take the pot an scrape him down, Clem. I do this one. He is no colt. An besides, that makes no difference. We had the filly last week.”

There were heavy hoof falls and a squeak as the knife came free. “No Mortis." Protested the mare. "The swamp ghosts are sayin no.”

“You fixin to get into our dinner? I see! You just want him all to yourself! He's mine!” Clem's voice was dangerous. It gave no room for any other option.

“Scrawny shit!" She yelled back. "You can't talk to your sister like that!”

“I sure as hell can! You low life, scum sucking bitch!” A scuffle broke out inches from Grey's fallen form. Mortis was shouting as loud as he could, desperately trying to break up the fight. Somehow, he got pushed backwards into the pot. As he hit it, a solid metallic “ding” rang out. “Mortis? You make that?”

“I don know.” The pot turned over. Mortis scanned the surrounding area carefully. “Down! Ambush!” Three heavy thuds sounded quietly as the ponies hit the dirt.

“Where is she?” Clem asked.

“If I hadn't been stopping you two, I'd know! Now here's what we do...” Mortis started to explain how Clem and Gertha were going to ferret out their attacker. Gertha started to shake her head. She gave a low nicker. After a moment, her head came up. “The swamp ghosts,” she cried, “They coming!”

“An here we go again! Why do you do this?”

“Because they're talkin, can't you hear em? They're telling me we're bad ponies. I can hear them, even now.” Gertha's eyes were wide, convinced of what she was saying.

“Stupid bitch! Shut yer yap while we plan the trap.”

“Yeah Gertha, I want to hear!” Clem and Mortis looked at each other, trying to figure out what was going on. Gertha got to her hooves. Grey's head was twisted at a strange angle. His neck bent in strange ways. Clem and Mortis could only see his back, but Gertha saw his eyes open, a smile appearing on his face. He suddenly frowned, “After I was murdered, I can't hear how you're gonna murder my friends if you're not quiet.” His smile returned.

“YOU'RE THE SWAMP GHOST!” She whinnied madly. The sound was deafening, blocking cries from Clem to have Gertha stay down. She made to step on Grey's body.

The frown returned. “Gertha!” he scolded. “I could still hear if my head's mashed in, but how could I talk?” His expression became contemplative, as if the possibility gave him pause. Gertha reared with another whinny, deciding that was exactly what she wanted. Her hooves didn't reach the ground again.

Something blew the mare backwards. An air splitting crack sounded a moment later. Clem stayed low and reached for a harness of some kind near the fire. Mortis started hurling curses and knives into the darkening woods. “We have him, an we kill him, unless you give up now!”

“He's dead, he's already dead!” Gertha cried. She was on her back, sobbing.

Mortis gave an exasperated grunt. He had lost his patience “An if he is? They don know!” he explained angrily.

Clem gave a cackle. He stayed low, slinking away from the campfire. Gertha got to her hooves, staying low this time. A gaping hole in her swollen leg oozed something foul. “Now, Clem bring them here, you stay, I'll help.” Mortis started to move, but Gertha held him, shaking her head furiously. “Then go! Bring them close an I skewer them!” His sentence was cut short by a crack and a dull ringing as another bullet smacked into the pot. As soon as the shot rang out, Gertha bounded into the forest. Mortis addressed Grey's unmoving form, “Just us now, eh friend?”

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Mortis' stomach made a growl. Whatever had been on the fire was ruined. “I guess I take a small piece.” He licked his lips. “I guess a small piece means a big hunk of you, hau hau hau. I tell them, you were so small. Such is my luck.” Mortis drew up a knife magically, but the sound of pounding hooves stopped him. “Clem? Gertha? Is this you?” It couldn't be. The hooves were approaching from in front of him and there was no response to his call. A greedy smile crossed his face as he drew up to the pot. A form came into his view and he made to strike out. The ricochet of another bullet made him duck.

Mortis had enough. He turned and waited. The hooves got closer. When they were close enough, he roared and bucked the pot as hard as he could. The pot barreled forward. In response, a click was followed by four deep booms, and the pot reversed its course at break neck speed. Mortis was caught in the haunch and gave a howl. Two knives shot past the pot's former resting place and a pony rolled to avoid them. “Come here, you foul foal of a whore! I know you are there, soon you will not be!” Mortis levitated more knives. Bray got up, a long gun strapped to a battle saddle he was wearing.

“Mortis,” He started, “What happened to you?” Mortis was surprised. Bray stood firm, looking sad. Mortis smiled wickedly.

“Well, my friend,” two more knives finished the sentence with a quiet, graceful hiss. Bray rolled again, recovered, and kept galloping in a wide circle, weaving between trees. More knives flew through the air, some landed in trees, some in ricocheting off into the woods. Bray noticed Mortis' horn flare as a cupboard's worth (maybe even two) of knives rose into the air, all wrapped in a sickly blue.

Taking a moment to get a bead on the earth pony, he found the right distance to fire in front of Bray just as the earth pony found a tree. Mortis machinegunned the knives, firing them in bursts instead of all at once. Bray gave a wet grunt as one or two found his side.

Skidding to a halt, Bray let out a cry as he found the tree, stood directly behind it, and put his hooves on it to get as close as possible in preparation for the coming onslaught. Some knives whizzed past it, more sunk into it's bark, while two or three bounced off.

“You cannot hide there forever my friend!” Mortis noticed a hilt sticking directly out of the side of the tree. With a grin, he realized what he was looking at. None of the knives could have gotten stuck on the side of the tree with the way he was using them. One was stuck in something's side behind the tree. “I will bet you are even tired now!” A cry of pain followed another burst of knives. There was followed a soft “clink” as the knife that had been in Bray landed on the ground. A spot of dark red ichor oozed down the tree.

“Now where to,” Mortis continued. More knives peppered the tree. “Not hiding. You are out of spots.” Morits approached and flung a few more knives in Bray's direction. “Are you happy?” He stopped out of hoof's reach of the tree, giving it a few more knives to discourage any flight. Mortis stopped, steeling himself. He then burst the rest of his knives in quick succession, circling the tree at the same time. No pony was behind it.

Confusion showed on his face. He ducked his head to one side, then the other, looking like there was something magical about the tree. “You know what Mortis,” called a familiar voice, “You were always a great talker.” Mortis paled beneath his coat. “Always knew right where to find ya.” Mortis wheeled round, locking eyes with a smiling Bray, whose skin reflected and shined by the fire. Mortis roared, charging. Bray's gun roared for him.

Bray stifled a whinny, however, when the gun failed to produce the body-mangling gashes it usually did. Three, four, five shells made a hollow sound as they were ejected from the gun, still smoking. Mortis reared, Bray fired once more into his belly while almost touching it with the muzzle of his gun, Mortis came down on him with his full weight.

Bray writhed and twisted, struggling and suffocating. Mortis' weight wasn't causing the difficulty, and neither was the proximity of the ground. It was the fluids that he was trying to keep from inhaling. There were sounds of struggle and muffled coughing, and Bray made an attempt to drop low and wiggle his way out backwards. His hooves found no traction. His desperation turned to panic. The body was suddenly lighter, and he could feel something loosen around him. With one more fevered push, Bray started to slide out. Inch by inch he felt the gun harness slip off him and the body slip over him. The slime helped.

Bray gasped air, he savored breath, and for the first time in a long time, he was relieved. Grey still lay where he was, but his eyes were smiling as they met with Bray's. “Tha-”

“You do not ever need to thank me,” came the reply. “You all came back for me. I was so scared.” A number of shots rang out. “I thought you all might leave me, too. Especially just now.” Grey bit his lip.

“Nothing to be afraid of partner, we're with you one hundred percent.”

“Thank you.”

Bray chuckled. “You look ridiculous. What are you still doing like that?”

Grey managed to look offended in that position, “I thought I was doing a good job playing dead.” That made Bray burst out with a dry laughter. More gunfire echoed off the hillside. “You should see yourself! Well actually, you should not. You might get nightmares.” Bray came over.

“Now how do I get you up when you're like that?”

“Just come over and, oh! Owie, oh caref...yipe!” Grey's neck screamed in agony as Bray helped him up. He let out a small whimper. “I pulled... I pulled my neck! I've never done that beforeoooh!”

“How do I help?”

“Just, oh! I have to keep it immobile.” A sudden shifting from the ground brought both ponies' attention to Mortis. Grey actually did cry out, both from shock and the pain shooting through his neck. Mortis was still alive.

The ground was all that was holding his insides in, and it wasn't doing a good job. He tried to say something but only a strange sucking sound and blood made it out of his muzzle. Grey and Bray came into view. Looking between them, Mortis actually looked... happy? Without a second thought, Grey bucked Bray away and breathed heavy as a knife found its way between them. Grey picked up the knife with his magic, and pulled it deep in a half circle around Mortis' neck. A warm, red tide pooled in front of them. Grey looked worried. “That was good, right? I just,” Grey looked sad. “I'm trying so hard to do something good. Is this all I can manage?”

“What are you talking about, partner? You saved my life, you did what you had to, now that's all there is to it.” There was more gunfire in the distance. That caught Bray's attention. “Look, your friends have those two in hoof, I'm sure. But to be safe, we have to setup...Grey?”

Grey doubled over. He couldn't focus between the blood, his neck, the situation, the terrible mistake he made. All wanted his attention. Overwhelmed, he stretched and looked at his back, then at the ground. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears. He wavered and fell over with a soft “thump.”

Grey didn't lose consciousness, but he wasn't aware of the world around him. Vague sights and sounds swam around as he hovered somewhere in between being awake and asleep. Deeper, darker things stirred, realizing their chance to surface. “You can't! That's not me anymore, I'm a new pony. A new pony!” His world changed, though he didn't feel it. Instead, he was only aware of himself, and the blackness that loomed. He struggled and writhed, nothing stopped the blackness from taking over. He was blinded, but still aware... aware and powerless. “I have friends now! Friends that are not going to leave. So do what you want, it won't... change... anything.”

His eyes blinked open. The fire crackled near his head... very near. His face was warm and his neck felt good. He tried to get up, but the pain in his neck stabbed again. It hadn't been gone, only hiding. With a sharp breath, Grey tried a second time, slower. Mortis had long since stopped moving, but his corpse had been moved. Bray's large gun lay on it's side. Bray was on his side, too. Maybe he was taking a nap or... oh no.

Grey grunted with pain as he twisted his head to see Gertha facing him with a distant look. He got to his hooves slowly. Her swollen foreleg was now a bloody mess, but that didn't seem to phase her at all. “Like the swamp ghost said. Find a way. Now I have to kill you again, oh well.”

“No, wait I...” Grey backed up timidly. Gertha showed him her massive tail as she turned around and looked back, ready to buck in his head. Grey considered the size of Bray's gun. His weak levitation would never be able to hold the recoil. Grey reared and focused his magic. Instead of levitating it, Grey planted the gun's butt in the ground and angled it into Gertha's side. A flick of the trigger was all it took, the ground absorbing the recoil. The gun fired. Gertha bucked.

Gertha's hooves lifted Grey off of his own. He crumpled to the ground. Gertha, despite her size, was bodily thrown in the opposite direction. Grey couldn't breathe. His abdomen contorted painfully. With the wind knocked out of him, it wasn't long before he had trouble staying awake. He could feel his body failing. If that happened, if he lost consciousness, Grey probably wouldn't wake up at all. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, something came along to demand his attention and keep him awake... for the moment. Gertha got to her hooves. Grey's eyes went wide.

Part of her side was bleeding badly, the blood running down her hind leg. She just trotted over as if nothing was wrong. Gertha loomed over him. She didn't say anything. She simply lifted a hoof to bring down on Grey. Grey couldn't speak. Two cracks rang out. The first crack followed two holes that appeared on either side of Gertha's head. Her hoof came down. She fell to the side. The other crack was quieter and emanated deep within Grey's chest.

He got his breath back, reflexively breathing in deep. The original pain in his chest exploded. Breath started to come in shorter and shorter gasps. Iron Heart and Sun Shower flew down. Sun Shower went to check on Grey while Iron Heart checked on Bray. “He's out. Doesn't look to be too bad. How's-”

“Iron Heart? Get over here.” Iron Heart landed next to her, looking down at Grey. Grey's breaths came in fits and starts. “How can we help him? I don't know what to do.” Iron Heart rushed in close. He drew upon all the medical knowledge his head could muster and came to one conclusion: it was bad.

“His chest is partially collapsed. There are a lot of broken ribs. His breathing is coming in short gasps, collapsed lung, probably punctured.” Iron Heart looked at Sun Shower honestly. “That's what's wrong, but I don't know how to fix it.”

Grey gasped, “P-pp-p...”

“Pain?” Grey nodded furiously. Iron Heart searched his saddle bags. He dumped out Grey's. Iron Heart was searching desperately when Sun Shower gave him a syringe of Med-X. Iron Heart administered it quickly.

“M-mm-more.” Grey managed. Sun Shower muzzled over another syringe, which was added just as quickly. “Again.” Iron Heart and Sun Shower looked at each other, unsure. “Again!” the dying unicorn whispered. They complied. “You do know how to fix...”

“No. Buck no! I'll chalk this up to ya not knowing how I operate, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna medicate you to death.”

Grey bristled. “Stupid! Know how... in,” he wheezed heavily, “b-bag!” Iron Heart's mind raced. Bag? The only bag I...? Saddle bag! This time, Iron Heart dumped out his own saddle bag... and there it was- the small medical tray Grey had asked him to "defend with his life." He held it up to Grey, who nodded his head at it. There were four syringes. Iron Heart held each one up in turn and each time Grey shook his head furiously.

Iron Heart stopped for a moment. Grey levitated the tray, took the crimson cover off, and upturned the two halves. Five strange devices fell to the ground. Grey started shaking his head, trying to stay conscious. Iron Heart looked at a device. It was made of what looked like a small cylinder, out of which protruded a pin on one end. On the other end was a translucent bulb. There was some sort of mechanism with a few tubes running between the bulb and the cylinder. Reflecting in the firelight, Iron Heart saw a red magical glow faintly penetrating the bulb. Healing potion. The pointy end went in the gasping unicorn.

Grey sucked new life, but his body protested. Grey grimaced, not letting his jaw open lest his clenching chew off his tongue. His caved in stomach started to puff and suck outward. Magic glowed around the area as it healed, Grey performing coarse adjustments so that the flesh didn't mend askant.

When it was finished, however, things were still wrong; a jagged rib poked through his coat, for one. When he noticed it, Grey whimpered involuntarily. Even without feeling the pain, Grey knew his body was going into shock. His vision started going dark. “Wake up Bray, don't let him go back to sleep. I'll probably need more attention. He should know enough for what I need. Now, one more thing.” He smiled, “Dash?” Sun Shower produced a small inhaler. Iron Heart gave her a “where in the hell” look. “I can't see it to well, put it in my muzzle after I say this: when I spit out the inhaler, I'm done. When I'm done, administer another health potion injector.” Sun Shower put the inhaler in his muzzle carefully. With a flick of his magic, the inhaler depressed.

What elapsed in under a minute to Iron Heart and Sun Shower elapsed as a space of hours to Grey. In that time, he mapped out a detailed diagnosis of his flesh and bone. Piece by piece, he pulled and shifted the parts back in place. Even though the dash didn't make him operate faster, he was able to think faster. He had all the time he needed to think, plan, and do without wasting a single movement- magical or otherwise. He couldn't see, but he wouldn't have been able to physically see what was inside, anyway. Magic actually gave him a better picture.

Performing that kind of diagnosis had been his dad's legacy to him. "You can't try to fix anything until you know what's wrong," his dad had said, "that may be half the battle, but it's the first half." He remembered how it felt to watch his father's face when Grey's cutie mark appeared as something not medically related. He suddenly wanted to go and tell them what had happened. He wanted to make sure his parents knew they hadn't failed. He hoped they might even be proud.

Every “hour,” Grey depressed the inhaler again, trying to get every last bit of the drug it had to offer. Bone shifted. Impacted flesh unfolded without mending yet. Vessels were put in their general place where they still leaked.

The hardest part came next,though, came when Grey used his good lung to suck stale air through the inhaler. A combination of magic and air flowed through his body until it met with the blood, bile, and other fluids that had collected in places they shouldn't be. All of it was pushed to the hole in his side, where it started to spill out. Somewhere the sun broke through the clouds, bathing Grey in a warmth he could barely feel. But it was there.

My best Celestia. All I am. It's yours. Thank you for being here. My life is in your hooves. Grey spit out the inhaler. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Addendum III:

Attachment- Field Report- Red "Dead" Eye

AKA Somepony's a pouty puss with no sense of humor.

This kind of rhetoric? Shit. If command doesn't think we're miracle workers, I offer them what is probably the best intelligence job in recorded history. I'd offer to discuss our intelligence and plan with the Council directly, but some of this is so hot, just knowing about it would put any Council member in danger.

I feel it essential to reiterate all of our work has been discussed in detail with our liaison. Nothing has been left out, and I don't know what the hell he is trying to pull reporting up to the Council so negatively. I have no idea what agenda the misguided, willfully ignorant bucker is trying to push, but if there isn't one, that only proves he couldn't find his own ass if he had to take a shit. I am going to re submit my petition to speak with the council directly- perhaps then we could get some real representation.

My team is moving faster than this shitty dictation software can type, so I'll double down on what we've accomplished any day, any time. Some command staff don't know what it took for us to compile all this information and don't care what we're planning to do with it.

In Summary:

Yes my team is informal- we've pulled 123 hour weeks for the past month, and you don't know the half of what we've put together.

Recommendations- if you or any of the Council thinks they can do a better job, come down here, shoot my team, shoot me, and then do the damn job yourself. You're all sorts of piss and vinegar about results- well talk to me in a week.

To our immaculate goddess (aka the "liaison"): Join up or shut up- you can sit on your high horse and bark like an ass, or you can join our team, like I've said a thousand times. Then maybe you'd have one scintilla of value you could add. I don't think your "leadership" qualities are up to the job, however. You just seem capable of giving orders without getting a single damn thing done yourself. I swear to Celestia.

PA (Post Addendum)- Yes, I'm gonna pretty this up before it hits Council, but I'm not going to pretty it up for a single one of you. Either way, damn that felt good to write. Now see here, fillies and colts. In a few days we go live and the commander was right: the casualties we're seeing out there make the place where bad mares go look like Celestia's own bucking gala. I'm damn proud of each one of you and what we've accomplished, but there's still a long way to go; we haven't even implemented yet.

But I'm not worried. No, instead I'm excited. I'm excited because I know what's going to happen. Leading up to it, you're all gonna get squared away and have one helluva party. Come T minus Zero, you're all gonna kick ass and chew bubblegum. At T plus three weeks, you'll all be back here, getting drunk and getting laid- I'm seeing to that one personally. Squee and I are taking care of the arrangements as I speak (don't ask, I'm not telling).

I expect the best and I give the best, so get out there and be the best. Take your objectives and overcome any obstacle. Don't leave a single sky block standing. Each one of you is about to change the face of Equestria forever.

-Penelope

LEVEL UP
Medic Monster
When I shot her, I thought she was going to kill me. Instead, she beat me half to death and saved my life.

When your HP drops below 20%, your Endurance is raised to 10, you gain 25 to your Damage Resistance, and your Medicine skill is boosted by 10 points.

LEVEL UP
Sniper Pony
I never said it was clean, just efficient.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Practice is the father of skill. Your aimed shots are much more accurate (their spread is significantly reduced) with rifles. While this effects pony-packable arms of any variety (standard arms, magical energy rifles), it does not effect explosives or big guns.

Author's Note

• Ch. 11 Complete-o
  
• Rigor Mortis, Big Gertha, and Clem