Fallout Equestria: Chivalry

The night’s sky shone down on the world, the stars scattered about the sky. The night’s peaceful aura enhanced by the sound of high class orchestral music that floated in the breeze. Finally, the sight of the Canterlot Palace dominated the darkened landscape around them.

“Here we’re your majesty.” A strong, feminine voice broke the calming atmosphere.

Westwood found himself once more in a suit jacket, white undershirt and a bowtie, “Thanks.”. Slowly he shifted in his seat as though recently waking up. His index claw pulling at his collar to try and get airflow back to his lungs. Around him were the confining walls of a carriage, apparently high class and made for ponies more than likely. Westwood reached through the window instead of waiting for another to open his door then popped the door open to let himself out. His claw continued to pull on his collar without tearing into the cloth of his shirt, “Remind me, why I put this ridiculous monkey suit on again?” Westwood asked seemingly to himself.

An aged, male voice came up behind him, “Because you promised Celestia and Luna that you would make yourself presentable in front of the noble class.” The older voice spoke. The voice came from a visibly aged, white scaled dragon. This other dragon stood slightly taller than Westwood and wore his age with pride. Much like how Westwood was dressed, this elder dragon was dressed in high class manner only on his hip held the sheath of a silver blade rapier decorated with a serpentine design for the hand guard. A sophisticated weapon of a more sophisticated time.

Westwood groaned at the response, “Right. Nearly forgot about that.” He took in a deep breath before letting go of his collar to try and make himself look presentable. The lack of spines on his back made dressing like he was slightly easier. Slightly. “Alabaster?” He started while making his way up the stairway, “How do you handle these things? I swear this thing is trying to strangle me.” Westwood asked trying not to grab at his collar again.

The aged dragon, Alabaster, gave a knowledgeable chuckle, “I don’t wait until the last second to have myself sized properly.” The older of the two took the lead with his claws linked behind his back to give himself a more regal air about him.

Westwood tried not to make a sound and restrained himself from raising his voice as he walked his way behind the elder dragon, “Don’t remind me.”

Alabaster chuckled as he looked back at Westwood, “I’ll try not to.” Alabaster spoke in a sarcastic tone.

Westwood’s eye twitched hearing those words, “I thought you eventually grew out of being a smart ass.” Were words unheard by the elder or any other eavesdroppers in the area.

Before either of the two could enter, two guard ponies dressed in ceremonial solar armor halted both Westwood and Alabaster, “I’m sorry. But you will have to relinquish your weapons before you may enter. No offense, just following orders.” The gruff and experienced tone of the unicorn commanded authority. The table next to the guard had containers for relinquished items to be safely stored for transport.

Alabaster gave a nod before unlatching a buckle on his belt and slipping the leather sheath with the silver rapier, “Of course good sir.” Alabaster gave a slight bow before resting the sophisticated blade onto the table, "I do not hold any offense."

Westwood sighed before opening his coat. One by one, silver and black knives were pulled from the confines of the suit he wore until a small stack of four foot long blades were placed up on the table. The guard gave a worried look as each of the king’s weapons were stacked onto the table.

“Um. Your highness?” The guard started, a worried shake in his voice became evident from seeing the stack of blades, “Are you expecting trouble?” He asked right before two heavy looking pistols were set down next to the knives.

Westwood spread the jacket out to show he was completely unarmed from the empty holsters and sheaths that were exposed, “No. If I was expecting something I would have brought a rifle.” A grin spread on Westwood snout before finally closing his jacket again, “Don’t lose them.”

The guard then nodded before opening the doors, “Of course sir. I wouldn’t think of losing them sir.” The guard then gave a salute to both Alabaster and Westwood, “Enjoy the gala.”

Westwood returned the salute and Alabaster gave a bow to the guard before walking inside the doors.

Westwood looked about the room around him. The small group of sharply dressed aristocrats made him uncomfortable, “Is it too late to get out of here?” Westwood asked nearly having to hold one arm down in order to keep himself from yanking on his collar again.

Alabaster glanced back at Westwood, “Yes. Yes it is. Now at least try to enjoy yourself.”

Westwood finally pulled his arm up to keep himself from being strangled by the choice of clothing that seemed required by this place, “Enjoying myself is not exactly what I see myself doing here.” He stated. He wanted to go back to the stronghold, go to a bar. Hell, even getting on the battlefield was more enjoyable than the froufrou surroundings around him.

“Is that so?” A familiar, female voice seemed to spring up from the mass of voices, “I could always chase you out like how the ponies did the first time you were invited to a gala.”

Westwood turned in surprise, the look on his face showing that she wasn’t meant to hear what he said, “Oh, Luna. What a-” He wanted to say surprise, but seeing as she was one of Equestria’s princesses that wasn’t the case, “How’s it been?” He tried to recompose himself even if it was too late.

Luna gave Westwood a look then shook her head with an amused smile, “It has been difficult, but we will survive.” She spoke looking to the main ballroom a short ways from the hall the gala’s entrance had been, “Care to dance dear king?" She asked before extending a wing, "A little bird has been telling me that you have been practicing."

Westwood scratched the scales on his neck nervously. In his thoughts he was strangling Alabaster with his jacket, "Yeah. Should be -um- fun." He was hiding every ounce of fury he was currently feeling for the elder of the party.

Luna could see how flustered Westwood had become by the mention of the anonymous individual, "I doubt you could be worse off than Twilight during a party with the nobles."

Westwood was sure that Twilight's ears were burning wherever she was, "Yeah. Too bad she couldn't be here to take the heat for me." Westwood grumbled with mild irritation.

Luna perked up one ear, "Come again?"

Westwood twitched at the two word question, "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

Luna however just let a small, yet dignified laugh loose as they reached the ballroom. Westwood's claw took a gentle hold of Luna's wing as they moved. Well missed contact with the lunar princess.

The ballroom was as it should be, more of a social meeting place rather than purely for dancing. The orchestral melody was more clearly heard now as the soft and calming notes offered relief to the excitable drake. Westwood's eyes were scanning the ballroom looking for anything to postpone the eventual dance.

The buffet table was sparsely populated with a few snobby looking mares and stallions, strictly a vegetarian menu spread across the table. After all, why put out a spread that only a couple or few were going to eat no matter the appetite. Wine was present as well, only it was not the type of drink Westwood liked. If only there was some Applejack Daniels or something with a high enough alcohol content to use as lighter fluid.

The band, ensemble, group, or whatever it was called were the usual. Octavia on cello with the others accompanying her. Never could remember any of the rest of their names.

That was when Westwood noted, 'these parties are dull'.

"Well then," Luna's voice broke Westwood's train of thought, "care to demonstrate those skills I have heard all about?" Alabaster's life was getting shorter and shorter.

"Right. Just give a second." Westwood answered while continuing to find a real reason to not dance. That was right until he heard the sound of snapping claws from the stage.

Westwood slowly turned his head to see that the snapping was coming from one of his squad. A much younger white scaled drake wearing a suit the same color down to the shine of his scales and a pure white fedora style hat gracing his head. Westwood grimaced to see Lucian now on the stage, microphone in claw, 'Heads on a pike, all of them.'

The music had stopped for a moment only to shift with the tempo. The music now took the guise of slow jazz than the orchestra it had been before.

Lucian had his back turned to the crowd. His unoccupied claw was keeping the tempo, "This one goes out to a special pair on the floor. I'm sure you know them." The now sensual tone of the younger reptile giving a clue on how this song was going to go. His voice echoing front the device in his claw, "This one's called, 'My heart to her'."

Westwood could have jumped on the stage and pummeled Lucian and Alabaster both into submission after this stunt. Especially so when a spotlight happened to follow his squad mate's words and light up the floor with Luna and Westwood dead center on the spotlight.

This embarrassment was not what Westwood felt like he needed even if it actually was. He was railroaded, some bizarre conspiracy to get him to dance. A dance he realized was just him and Luna. The lights were blinding him just enough so that he didn't even see the others around him, "You would make a great dictator with these ideas of yours." Westwood joked with Luna.

Luna pressed herself to the drake, the position she took was awkward to her as she shifted from standing on four legs to standing on two, "Alabaster, Lucian and I have been planning this for weeks. I'm surprised those sharp eyes of yours never noticed your advisor’s sudden need to make multiple emergency contacts with Equestria."

Westwood let a small laugh spring up as he moved with the tempo of the music that was floating around them. The lyrics were lost as they danced in that spot of light that was just him and her. One claw helped Luna balance in the standing posture she took while the other held one of her hooves, "This is going to be our song." Westwood spoke quietly through the song. This feeling warmed his would, a feeling he never wanted to end.

That atmosphere was broken by a voice that shattered the dream like glass.

"WAKE UP LIZARD!"

Westwood suddenly felt like he was falling into an endless black. His claw extended to try and reach for the moment he wanted back.

Westwood jumped awake after what felt like an eternity of freefall. He attempted to move his arms only to find that his arms were bound up in heavy chains behind his back and connecting him to the wall. He was also stripped of his power armor. The scars he bore were in plain view of whoever was in the room with him.

The source of the voice was in front of him. A power armored pony, and judging by the voice a stallion, that bore the Steel Ranger emblem, “What is your rank and file?” The muffled tone of the power armored stallion spoke to Westwood.

Westwood tilted his head when the the ranger spoke, “Rank?” He started while his mind was trying to keep up with his body, “And file?” He asked somewhat confused if only because he was still reeling from the impact of the rocket, the heavy impact from his fall then the dream of way back when.

The ranger face hoofed when he heard the question as Westwood’s answer, “Alright. Apparently we broke it.” He spoke under his breath even if the voice emitter in the helmet he wore made it audible. Then he started speaking slowly, “Who. Do. You. Work. For?” Each word was held longer than it really should have.

Westwood shook the remaining fuzz out of his head then looked at the armored ranger, “Give me a sec. I think I might have a concussion.” Westwood spoke wanting to grab at his head even if the restraints kept him from doing so.

The ranger huffed at Westwood, “So you can think.” The stallion sure wasn’t winning any points on Westwood’s books, “Now tell me. What were you doing with that Enclave recon team?”

Westwood angled his head enough to keep a good view of the stallion, “A team got stuck in the stable after the door closed and I helped the Enclave get them back out.” He stated then gave a sigh of relief, “Oh good. Not a concussion.”

The stallion stepped forward at Westwood. Iron bars kept him from advancing too far. Wait, Iron bars. This was a cell, a cell where? A question to be answered later, “Why was the Enclave here?” He asked.

Westwood tilted his head trying to understand the term ‘here’ as though it was a foreign language, “What do you mean by ‘here’?” Westwood asked. His spine started to tingle at the possibility.

The stallion groaned, “Alright then. Let me clarify so a cave pony could understand. Why was the Enclave,” He paused condescendingly then tapped a hoof on the metal floor, “in Stable 44?” He asked.

Westwood had a bad feeling something would happen if he answered that question, “The hell if I know. They needed help, so I helped. I help. Sort of what I do. Outside of fight.” It was then that it hit him. Here was Stable 44. Yet the lights were on. The power was back on. If the power was back on then. His expression instantly shifted to panic, “Listen to me. You have to get everypony and everyone with you and get the hell out of here!” He shouted at the armor clad ranger as he struggled to get himself loose from his bonds.

The ranger growled and slammed one armored hoof onto the bars, “You are not the one giving orders here lizard. Now. You will tell us everything you know and you will do it now!” He shouted at Westwood as the bars shook, “Tell me exactly what the Enclave was doing in this stable!” He shouted once more.

Westwood grunted at the ranger then shouted back, “I don’t know what they did in here. Now get out of here. This place is dangerous!”

The stallion was silent for a moment then he started laughing, “That danger was gone when we locked you in that cell. You must have had the a demon in you to slaughter all of those other lizards and the ponies that they accompanied.” He stated placing the blame for the skeletons on the locked up lizard.

Westwood snarled, “I was never in this stable until today. I was planned to, but shit happened and I got locked out. And shit is going to happen again if you don’t untie me and get your team out of here.”

The ranger just shook his head, “I don’t know where these stories of yours come from, but they are beginning to wear on my nerves.” His head then twitched. In his ear was a radio message from another of his unit.

“Paladin Night. You sure drinking that water was safe?” A second male voice echoed in the room, this Paladin Night must have left the radio on speakerphone or something, “I’m starting to see some really weird shit up here.”

Paladin Night then lifted a hoof to where his ear was, “Yes. We drew that water from a fresh talisman. The food was clean too so you didn’t eat anything contaminated. Pull yourself together initiate” Paladin Night spoke over the radio.

The voice on the other end didn't sound any more comforted, "I'm checking the cameras in here sir, but I could have sworn I saw a pony in here with a suit and no face. Thing looked at me too."

Paladin Night grumbled in his helmet, "For the last damned time. Slendermane is a story pre-war ponies told to scare each other." The irritation was evident in his voice, "Get Scribe Coffee Cake in there. He can take over security while you get some sleep."

The shaky tone on the other end didn't seem to show what he said helped, "Understood sir."

Paladin Night looked like he was about to murder something. The fact his look could be seen through his helmet spoke volumes on the subject, "Give me the details on what this stable is lizard." The paladin ordered Westwood with less than stellar results.

"Don't pull rank on me paladin." Westwood spoke as he attempted to subtly shift the leverage on the chains, "I don't take orders from you." He was quiet with a tension between the two that could nearly smother a pony, "But." He pulled himself forward to get as close to the bars as he could, "As a friendly word of warning. The power generator has some strange sphere talisman or something like that. It projects some sort of field that makes you lucid dream. And I guess that it projects nightmares too." His tone was adding emphasis on the nightmare part since the initiate on the other end was seeing a creature intended to scare.

Paladin Night looked like he was thinking for a minute, "Why in Tartarus would Stable-Tec come up with a hair brained idea like that?" The Paladin stomped a hoof on the steel floor, "That ranks up there with a stable that does mind control with subsonic waves."

Westwood chuckled at the fact, "Who knows what Scoots was thinking? Can't very much answer that now can she?"

Westwood  found the perfect spot to get the right leverage to free himself from the bondage he was in. Now he just needed to get free, find the generator and try to blow it up. Slashing it didn't seem to do much after all. Of course the Paladin was making it hard to get out without getting blown full of holes, "Why don't you check on the kid? If he's seeing Slendermane he might start needing therapy soon enough."

Paladin Night huffed at the fact a lizard was giving him suggestions, "Fine. Don't move."

"Can't move much with these chains on me." Westwood replied. His astonishment came when the stallion actually walked off, "I can't believe that actually worked."

The initiate was a milky white buck with an almost nonexistent mane. Probably necessary for the power armor he may get later on. He had found the security barracks and bunked down in one of the double stacked bunks. The mattress had surprisingly weathered the two centuries we'll even with the possibility of decaying flesh hanging in the air for Celestia knew how long.

The initiate had finally managed to get himself to sleep only for a sudden noise to spring the young buck back to life. Almost immediately, he sprung from the bunk with a low caliber pistol wrapped in a shining white aura. His horn glowed with the same aura while his head swept from side to side. A bead of sweat rolled down the space between his eyes while he searched the room, his legs unable to move further as he shook.

In the opening of the room something gave the initiate a chill. The pistol in the telekinetic field shook with the initiate. Soft tapping of hoofsteps followed not long after. The initiate was close to screaming when the source of the noise began showing itself.

A pale earth pony with no identifiable facial features slipped inside the barracks. The black suit and red tie abruptly contrasted the white, emotionless face the pony possessed. Black tendrils sprouted from the monster's back.

The initiate stood unblinking at the monster as it now remained motionless aside from the writhing tendrils from the monster's back.

"It can't move if you keep staring. It can't move if you keep staring. It can't move if you keep staring." The mantra echoed in the room. Soon the initiate's eyes grew heavy while his eyes started to dry. Every ounce of his strength was kept on keeping the pistol held in his telekinetic field and keeping his eyes open to keep the creature still.

He couldn't handle it any longer and blinked. Slendermane seemed to teleport several feet closer from the split second that it took to blink. The shock caused the initiate to open fire with his pistol. Each of the weaker bullets penetrated, but did not damage the creature. The magazine ran dry before he could think. A fresh mag was slammed into the firearm. However, the several blinks he had to take in the stream of bullets had brought the monster nearly an inch from the initiate's face.

There was one last pop throughout the stable before the sound of a body hitting the ground. Slendermane was no longer there, only the buck. Blood streaming from two bullet holes in the bottom and the top of his skull. The pistol followed and repeatedly cracked on the ground.

Paladin Night rushed in, nearly skidding metal on metal, as his hooves ground on the floor in the abrupt stop. He was motionless as he took in the sight of the dead initiate. Bullet casings littered the tight space next to the corpse. The final look on the initiate's face showed absolute horror in his last moment.

It was several more minutes before Paladin Night got himself back together. Once more he triggered the communication line, "Elder. Ma'am. We have a situation with Stable 44. And you are not going to like it."

Westwood had managed to pull the chains out from the welds in the wall. The chains gathered on the ground. The bars were now the only thing in his way between him and freedom.

The lighting around him gave him enough of a shadow to use for something small. The shadow jumped from the ground. Instead of forming a weapon it wrapped around Westwood's claw. The drake slashed at the bars with his shadow amplified claws which fell apart after several swings.

Now Westwood was free.

Westwood quickly and silently looked at the screen imbedded in the softer part of his forearm. The shadow was no longer glued to his digits which made pipbuck navigation easier.

The screen lit up with a small map of where he was in the stable. His current location read, 'BRIG' in large, capital, bold lettering. And right next to that was a room labeled 'Armory' this one not having any bold to somehow say that the brig was less substantial that a room full of guns and hopefully armor.

"Alright. Armory first. Then try and full on blow up the generator." Westwood thought out loud. He then clicked one last button on the pipbuck to plant a marker on the generator room, "Should be a piece of cake."

Westwood braced himself against the exit of the prison, his head slowly exposing itself as he looked around the corner. The last thing he needed was to rush out into a full platoon of Steel Rangers and have each part of his body spread on the walls like jelly.

After seeing the hall was clear, he slowly moved through the empty and silent hallway. Only a few more feet to the armory. If luck had its way it would probably be guarded, but then again there weren't that many rangers when he was being shot. Maybe he could finally have some luck.

Only luck seriously hated his guts. The armory was locked, the steel door was only accessible through a hoof/claw print analyzer, "Really? No lock? No hole? " He was refraining from shouting.

Westwood slowly hit his head into the door for a few seconds hoping that either it would open from sheer pity or maybe he could get any thoughts straightened out by beating his thick skull on the steel. Then it hit him, if he was supposed to be in the stable, then maybe there was a chance that his claw print would already be imprinted in the system, "Here goes nothing." He thought out loud again.

Westwood pressed his claw into the scanner. Bright lines shot to and fro on the scanner right until something chimed.

After the chime there was an aged voice, "Welcome to the armory sir." The door then opened when the locking bars pulled from the center.

Westwood swore he was dreaming again. Firearms lined one wall, older styled pre-power armor type combat armor covered the other, both pony and dragon. Westwood looked up and muttered, "Thank you." dramatically looking at the armory like a colt in a candy store.

Immediately Westwood went to the guns. There were three rows of weapons. The top row consisted of assault carbines, model BA-AC6. Each one immaculate, unused and unmodified version of his carbine. A fix that he could make if he ever found the parts to modify it or if his old rifle wasn't completely destroyed. And right next to each rifle was presented with a full box of 5.56mm ammunition. Score.

The second row was composed of pump action shotguns labeled BA-SG3. An old favorite of Westwood’s for close quarters. Once more, each weapon was offered with a full box of ammo. This time twelve gauge magnum buckshot shells. Fire power enough to blow a bear off its feet.

The third row had a series of unsuppressed pistols, labeled BA-P4 crossed with collapsed batons. Nothing ultimately substantial looking on the exterior, but in Westwood's line of work nothing was as it seemed.

On the other side of the room we're the armor cased. Each one sealed off and named. Many of the names listed were unknown to Westwood. Probably replacements for when the Shadow STG never made it back. Couldn’t blame them, can’t leave a spot open for someone that’ll never take the spot

Westwood stopped when he saw his name in a gold plated engraving. Inside was his old combat armor, two flaps that covered his front and back with two buckles keeping them together. Plenty of space to keep his wings mobile with the back flap in place. Underneath was a belt intended for carrying extra equipment: pouches for ammunition, extra space to put a holster, canteen holder or whatever. Next to everything was what stood out from the rest of the weapons and armor cases.

Next to his old combat armor was a single edged sword with the sheath still on it. Having caught his attention, Westwood took the blade before anything else. The drake drew the sword out to inspect it. The blade had an elegant curve and design to it. Swirls of black and white from the different metals layered over and over again gave it a charm that made one almost sorry to use as a weapon. Small runes were etched just over the six point star handguard,  the purpose behind them was lost with the last of the residents in the stable.

That was when Westwood spotted the sheet of paper in the case.

Dear King Westwood of the fallen nation of Dracous,

I am sorry that I could not help as I wished I could have. I wish that I could have saved you, saved you from your desire to fight. Saved you from that last mission that you promised you would retire from. I should have seen the look in your eyes, that you knew this was the last mission you would ever do. You knew you would pass on.

I wished that I could have said this to you in person, but if you’re seeing this letter then you know what happened. I had always hoped that I would not lose someone dear to me that was so young. I had always wanted to see our home return to the glory it had been before the one that you succeeded. And in this one moment of lucidity before I rectify my mistake, I want to admit something.

I want to admit to you if you are reading this. If by some miracle you’re still alive and reading this, I had always thought of you as a son. Even if you never saw it, I thought of you as my own flesh and blood.

Now that I admitted this, I feel it is time that I rectify my mistake. I will take a place upon the throne my insanity had created and I will bleed myself out by the throat. Let my blood soak the floor that I soaked in the blood of 399 innocents. Perhaps I shall find peace after this. If my past has anything to say, I will suffer in Tartarus for the rest of eternity. What is to say, I will never forget those innocent faces.

My last gift to you Westwood. I had commissioned this blade many years prior. It is formed from our Dracous steel as well as a small amount of the unknown metal that was found in the Hoofington region. I wanted to grant you this beautiful weapon as a gift to the anniversary of your coronation. If you are finding this now, take it. It has no place being locked away in a box forever.

From a damned soul to our last survivor,

Alabaster, the last White Knight.

Westwood was fighting back tears by the time he reached the end. Alabaster was a close, if old, friend. Plenty of times they were found sparring, laughing over a drink, engaging in unusual contests of skill and accuracy. Despite their rocky start when Westwood originally took the throne, they warmed up and befriended each other quickly despite the age barrier.

Westwood shook his head to try and be rid of the memories, “You can reminisce late. Right now, you need to get out of here.” He spoke to himself in a hushed tone before grabbing the contents of the case.

The plate carrier slipped on like a glove and two clicks announced that it was secured on his back and chest. The belt came next, one more click and the belt was secured tightly to his frame. A holster was attached to the belt, spots for rifle and pistol magazines were on the front of his vest, a water carrier and secondary long gun scabbard on the back and finally a spot to sling a rifle was attached as a small ring on one of the top straps of his armor.

Next up was the combat helmet. A visor flipped down as soon as it was clipped into place to give Westwood his familiar HUD readout with all of the benefits that it offered. Thankfully his helmet still kept his communications suite from before the armor upgrade, “Thank you once again you old fart.” He joked before slipping his new blade into the combat belt.

By the time he was finished suiting up in the older armor, he looked like a proper soldier from before the advent of power armor. It was a feeling he missed terribly.

His thoughts however were broken by the sounds of gunfire. And judging from the lack of a proper gap between follow up shots this was somepony that was scared out of his gourd. That being said, he didn’t have a lot of time before the other ponies possibly went insane. If the wasteland was as harsh as it had been just the first couple days of his arrival, years must have been near torture. And this place amplified dreams and nightmares alike. Thankfully whatever he did previously was more or less making him immune to the effects, or he wasn’t immune he wasn’t feeling it at the moment.

“Hey Woody!” And there it was, “Been a long time hasn’t it? What two hundred some odd years?” Westwood slowly turned his head, a creak could almost be heard from his neck as the living cloud of smoke came into view. The living cloud of smoke only Westwood could ever see.

“Oh great. It’s the nuclear apocalypse and I have to be stuck with you.” Westwood spoke to the living cloud of smoke with the same piercing yellow eyes that he had.

The living cloud of black smoke chuckled, “Oh come on Woody. You hurt my feelings when you talk like that.” One arm like appendage moved and traced what could be described as a tear down his cheek. Or something like a cheek.

Westwood crossed his arms over the armor now on his chest, “Look Nox. I’m stuck in a stable that’s driving ponies crazy, if you don’t leave my sight by the time we’re out of here I’m going to have Doc check my head for brain damage.” Westwood stated before letting out a huff, “Out of all the things I could see. It had to be you.”

Westwood moved to the weapons and loaded himself up, to carry the extra ammunition he’d have to find a backpack or something to help him out. The weapons though could be stowed away in the scabbard, holster and the sling loop. He begrudgingly grabbed one of the carbines that were mounted up on the wall first, the magazines currently full of ammunition were placed in the eight pouches meant for the small rifle magazines. The pistol in the holster with three of the twenty round magazines in their appropriate spots on the top of his vest. Then the shotgun, ammunition he would have to load onto his belt due to the short notice he had.

“Hey Woody. Something I need to tell ya.” Nox started as he hovered behind Westwood.

Westwood groaned, “What do you want?!” He shouted at Nox as he turned.

Nox pointed one arm appendage to where the door was. In the doorway was the paladin he had been talking to before, or at least he could guess it was.

“How long have you been standing there?” Westwood asked wondering what kind of look was behind that stoic visor.

Paladin Night was motionless and speechless for a few seconds, “Too long.” He quickly took a battle stance and readied his targeting spell to fill Westwood with enough holes to strain pasta.

Westwood let a nervous grin cross his face, “Any way you’ll just let me walk out without a problem?” He asked really not wanting to try and fight a Steel Ranger fully decked out in power armor.

The light machine guns on the ranger’s battle saddles let out a clinking sound that made it clear that they were ready to fire, “Not on your life lizard.” That was when the bullets started flying.

Westwood’s shadow jumped from the ground once more and attached to the thick natural armor on Westwood’s forearms. The dragon crouched down as the shape of a medieval style shield covered Westwood from getting lit up like the Fourth of July. Bullets pinged off the shield nearly endlessly. Small cracks formed in the translucent shield and threatened to break through. At least they would have if light machine guns hadn’t run out of ammunition or maybe that was a jam. Wasn’t uncommon with how dirty the weapons looked on the sides of the paladin’s armor.

Westwood quickly drew out the pistol from the holster on his hip then fired several bullets at Paladin Night. More specifically, just trying to get him to back up a bit. Thankfully it worked enough to get the buck to flinch. That was all he needed.

Westwood charged forward and sent an upper cut directly into Paladin Night’s jaw. The impact lifted the paladin off his hooves and landed on his back with a heavy crash of metal on metal. Westwood then pinning the armored buck down with the sword now positioned at his opponent’s throat. Now that Westwood’s eyes were behind a visor that was see through, Paladin Night could see the dead look in the dragon’s eyes. The look of a cold and ruthless killer.

“Finish me then.” Night spoke no waiver in his voice as he spoke, “Kill me and show that you’re just a monster like the other lizards.” Paladin Night was almost too willing to accept his death.

Westwood slowly pulled the edge back, “No.” The dragon’s voice, while not hindered by a mask, had an almost machine-like tone.

Paladin Night watched the blade slowly inch away from his throat, “What’s the matter monster?” He started, some of his breathing turned heavy as though expecting the return to involve a mass of blood, mostly his, “Not going to finish the job?”

Westwood let out a small growl as the blade went back to place near the Steel Ranger’s throat, “I am not a monster.” He spoke. His eyes glaring into the twin orbs for the visor, “I don’t kill for enjoyment. I never did.” His fangs became more visible as a snarl grew from his throat, “But if you follow me with the intent to kill again. I will leave nothing left than a smear on the wall.” The blade the moved away once more, “If you want to survive this stable, destroy the generator. It will keep your other rangers from going insane.” Westwood then took off running through the hallway, soon going out of sight and EFS range.

Paladin Night quickly got back onto his hooves and swung his head back around. Westwood was long gone in a matter of just a few seconds. Even out of range of his EFS, “Paladin Night to Elder Cherry Pie. The captive is on the loose.” Paladin Night spoke calmly over the radio in his helmet, “He also seems to be under the effect of the stable. What are your orders ma’am?” The paladin asked.

There was a few seconds pause before a second voice called in, “Shoot to kill. No telling what that thing will do.” The voice on the other side was a firm feminine voice that commanded authority.

Paladin Night nodded, “Understood.” With that he reloaded his heavy guns before taking off down the hall the last direction he saw the dragon go.

Nox snickered in Westwood’s ear as he floated beside the drake, “What? Not going to give him a smooch Woody?” The shadow floating next to Westwood looked like he was about to drop on the ground and laugh from the way it’s eyes moved.

Westwood growled at Nox, “Not the time.” Was the short reply Westwood gave before seeing two other rangers just about skidding to a stop. Westwood grabbed the nearest door that he could and used the momentum to swing himself into the nearby room, avoiding the bullets that were sent down the hall and into the corner Westwood had just turned. The sound of metal being penetrated by bullets with stomping hooves dulled in the background.

“So. What’s the plan now Woody?” Nox asked while Westwood was pressed into the steel wall nearest the door.

Westwood looked around the room seeing if there was anything that he could use, “I’m working on it.” He spoke while he thought.

Nox chuckled, “Well you might want to hurry. Sounds like they’ve got some some back up one the way.” The living shadow spoke as the sound of armored hooves once again filled the halls. No bullets fired, just sprinting.

Westwood took himself off the wall right as the first ranger rushed in. Out of instinct, the drake used his unarmed claw to grab the blade on his hip. One quick draw of the sword went straight through the dense armor on the Steel Ranger. The top of its head separated from the rest of its body with the momentum of the swing.

“Cherry!” A scream of anguish ignited the air as the second ranger charged in. Westwood’s emotionless eyes shifted to the second attacker. Westwood’s blade switched to the forward grip into his dominant claw. Adrenaline powered every motion as the second strike pierced straight through the ranger’s chest and out through its back.

Westwood pulled his sword back from the Steel Ranger's body. His eyes were cold and emotionless when he took his first lives in the wasteland. His breathing was steady and deep while still in the adrenaline rush. The stance he now took was that of a cold hearted killer, something that he very much was at this point.

Westwood’s trace was broken by the sound of radio static, “Hey Commander. Are you alive down there?” The feminine, yet tough voice of Aria played out.

Westwood placed a pair of claws and pressed a segment on his older helmet to activate the radio, “Aria?” He asked, the scene he was a part of not a minute prior fleeing from the forefront of his mind like it was nothing, “Not that I hate to hear that voice of yours, but I thought I gave you an order to not come back here.” Westwood’s elated voice betrayed that act of murder he committed.

Aria laughed on the other end, “If I remember right. You aren’t officially Enclave and you certainly aren’t my official commander.” Aria’s tone carried an act of rebellion against her orders from the drake.

Westwood snickered, “Well then. I hope that you went through with getting permission from the Major. Otherwise you’re in for a shit storm.” Westwood listened outside of the radio to see if there was any other sounds. Oddly enough, most were of steel hooves storming ‘away’ from the room he was in.

“Who do you think authorized the use of a vertibuck?” This time it was a male voice.

“Major?” Westwood asked before sliding his blade into his sheath, “When does an officer of your rank ever join the front lines?” He asked as he picked readied his rifle with his dominate claw, the other with his claws at his helmet.

His question was matched with a retort, “When does a ruler fight on the front lines?” Summer Storm asked back with the sounds of rapid fire dulled by what could be a cargo cell.

Westwood was stunned after what sounded like a minigun firing, “Got me there, but I’m a special case.” Westwood joked then he took in a breath to get back on topic, “Stay outside until I give you the all clear sir. The stable is still hostile, I’m suffering the effects of it.” He spoke in a more monotonous voice.

“Acknowledged. We’ll sweep up any rangers that make their way out here until you give the all clear. Over and out.” Summer Storm disconnected the frequency just after.

Westwood shouldered the carbine as he approached the doorway. If his luck had it, there were probably a small group still out waiting for him to poke his head out to get shot.

“God I’m going to hate doing this.” He looked at the pipbuck that was now at eye level with him, “SATS online!” He called out hoping that the system worked with his visor as much as the powered suit of armor he originally had. Thankfully the system worked.

As the world slowed to a crawl, Westwood shot around the corner with his carbine up and ready to fire. The quick scan of the room showed that two more rangers had stayed behind to deal with the dragon. Once the tactical position was returned time returned to normal. Westwood pulled himself back into the room just in time for several larger projectiles shot past where he was and exploded on the wall near the room. The shaking from the detonations with fragmentation that ricocheted off the walls triggered another adrenaline rush.

Westwood pulled himself back out and braced the forend of the carbine against the doorframe. Five shots rang out from the weapon and directly impacted one of the rangers directly to the chest plate before either ranger could react. The sixth bullet fired got lucky and punched through the first ranger’s visor while the other shots heavily dented the heavy chest plate. The ranger’s head shot back with the reaction before dropping to the ground with the heavy clang of metal on metal. Westwood immediately took cover behind the wall once more.

The boom of automatic shotgun fire roared through the hallway. Westwood mentally counted each of the shots fired until the shotgun clicked. What else there was were the sound of rapid hoofsteps. The sound of the shotgun roaring had covered the fact that the ranger was attempting to flank Westwood, “Fuck!” The sound of a mare echoed through the haze of a voice emitter almost right on top of the doorway.

Westwood’s shadow shot from the ground and formed that blade of a combat knife in his claws again. Westwood swung the blade upward just as he rounded the corner again. The blade cut like a heated knife through butter as the knife shot straight up through the helmet of the last ranger in the hall. The blood coated edge shot through the top of the ranger’s helmet.

Westwood pulled down on the shadow crafted blade to release the ranger. The blade then vanished back into the non-concrete matter his shadow was composed of. Once more, the adrenaline passed, “Right. Generator here I come.” Ignoring the newly deceased armored ponies and speeding back along his route.

The vertibuck outside touched down. The cargo doors opened seconds later to the scene of a small group of Steel Rangers not perforated with high caliber holes from the veribuck’s minigun.

“Alright scum. Ironsides here to rip you a new-” His speech was interrupted with Aria swinging a hoof at the back of the buck’s head.

“They’re already dead nit wit.” Aria spoke through her helmet at the trigger happy buck.

Ironsides shot his armored head to Aria, “Way to kill the mood.” Ironsides rubbed the back of his head as though the impact was more than just a love tap.

Summer Storm looked at the two then rolled his eyes, “Alright. You know what Black Knight said. Stay out until he gives the go ahead. Celestia only knows what kind of brahmin excrement is going on down there.”

Aria and Ironsides both looked at each other as a few other enclave soldiers left the cargo port to the vertibuck. The looks they had on their faces were hidden by the heavy armor.

“Sir, you can swear. It’s not like Celestia or Luna is going to drop from the sky and punish you with righteous indignation.” Aria stated as she watched her subordinate soldiers get into position around the stable opening.

Major Storm just chuckled, “You never know. We do call them the goddesses for a reason now.” The major was not cloaked in the heavier armor the others were wearing. Instead it was a traditional officer’s uniform with two holsters for pistols on his forelegs. His eyes shifted to Ironsides, “What are you waiting for Corporal? Get on the line with the rest of the soldiers.” His eyes shifted to Aria. Evidently he flipped a switch and went straight to officer mode, “Aria, you’re on overwatch. You fly up and see if any reinforcements are on their way.”

Aria and Ironsides both snapped their legs together before raising up one hoof to their foreheads, “Yes sir!” Both called out as Aria went skyward and Ironsides rushed to the line with his heavy guns ready to rain magical death on any that exited the stable. The big gaping hole where the stable was helped with identification.

“Rangers!” A voice called from the line. Seconds later the massive weapons mounted to Ironsides’s armor hummed and began spraying hot death into the entryway. The screams that followed afterwards signaled that they were at least hit. The glow that illuminated the length of the hall ignited with pink as the targets were disintegrated or reduced to goo.

“That’s it?” Ironsides asked looking into the opening, “Westwood having all the fun in there or something?” He asked as he tilted his head to try and get a better angle.

“Give me a fucking break!” Westwood shouted as dropped to the floor and fired a concentrated burst at the shooters in front of him before they could readjust their fire. The armor piercing bullets shot into one of their legs and a second dead center into his forehead. The way that they had been increasing in density seemed to prove that he was getting close to something that they thought was important.

“Maybe if you just stop and say hello?” Nox spoke over Westwood’s shoulder before a bullet from Westwood’s carbine punched a hole into the last ranger’s skull.

Westwood grabbed the pistol on his leg then fired five bullets up through the living shadow and into the ceiling. The hollow point bullets flattening on impact, “Would you shut up already?” Westwood asked with a degree of annoyance in his tone, “I didn’t like listening to you two hundred years ago. I don’t like talking to you now. I swear that you and Discord would have been the worst duo in the history of mankind.” Westwood spoke as he picked himself up from the ground.

Nox chuckled before passing through Westwood, “Oh, there you go using words that shouldn’t exist in this world again. I swear.” Nox shook his head, “You spent more time going through that magic mirror than you did hanging out with your best friend in the world.”

Westwood’s eye twitched, “You are lucky you can’t be killed.”

“I know I am. You’d never kill me because I’m your best friend in the world.” His voice became more elongated and grew in sarcasm.

Five more bullets rang out from Westwood’s pistol and through the shadow only he could see. Instead of speaking he holstered the pistol and reloaded his carbine with a fresh thirty round magazine, “Just.” He shook to contain himself, “Stay in the back of my head or something. It’s not a good time.”

Nox then made a mock salute, “Okie Dokie mister dragon sir.” Nox then faded away for the moment.

Westwood slowed his pace when he heard voiced a short way up. Could either be more lucid dreams from this place or they could actually be more rangers. Either way, approach with caution.

“I told you leaving the lizard alive was a bad idea.” A masculine voice spoke from a nearby room, “Now he’s going to wipe out this stable again. All because you let him live.”

Westwood approached the entryway, his talons lifted up from the floor in order to keep himself from being heard.

“We kept him alive because we needed him to break open the armory.” A second voice, this time feminine with a strong authoritative tone, “It wasn’t my fault that this stable has nothing worth recovering.” She spoke.

Westwood switched the stock of his carbine to the other shoulder so when he rounded the corner he could keep himself from taking too many risks. Without a flash or stun grenade he could end up walking into a massive fire fight outnumbered ten to one. Any advantage was better taken than avoided.

“We’ve already lost twelve of our rangers to that thing.” In his tone was a mass of anger that could almost be physically felt, “And now we’ve got the Enclave outside ready to tear us apart. Taking this stable was out doom.” The male voice paused with a sound of frustration, “Muriel. Shut that stupid dog up!” He shouted on a completely different tangent.

Whoever was on the other side, at least one of them was feeling the effects of the stable’s generator core.

“Calm yourself Paladin.” The female voice was raised to break the male from whatever fit he was going through, “We cannot have you losing your focus at a time like this.” There was a brief pause, “Especially since we have company.”

Westwood flinched hearing those last words then spun himself around the corner with his carbine at the ready. He was back in the overdrake office. His power armor, while having a charred circle from the rocket impact, was pretty much intact. Right next to the armor was his personal carbine and the pistol he was sent on the last mission with. Only the pistol was in seven pieces and scattered a bit. Right in front of his gear were two unicorns in expensive looking robes. One was a mare who had an aged crimson coat matched with a dirty blonde mane. The other was a straight blue stallion, much younger than the mare he was originally talking to.

“I’m rather surprised that you didn’t just outright shoot us after you wiped out half a platoon.” The older looking mare started as she stared at the dragon. She didn’t look scared or nervous about the dragon pointing a carbine at her.

Westwood kept his carbine up and aimed at the mare, “They were shooting at me and didn’t exactly give me a chance to say hi. Then again, I’m sure you gave them the kill on sight order.” His eyes glanced back and forth between the buck and the mare. He wasn’t going to focus on one and have the other pull some sort of weapon against him.

The mare gave a sigh, “I apologize for that. When we heard the report that you were under the effect of the stable. Something that so far only one,” Her eyes glanced to the stallion adjacent to her then corrected herself, “Two of us have experienced. A now deceased initiate, you didn’t kill him, and Senior Scribe Blueberry Jam.”

Westwood’s face contorted as he fought himself from laughing at the name, “I am-” His voice started to crack. He bit his tongue enough for there be enough pain to distract him from the food based name, “I am under the effect.” Seeing how things have been starting to grow more civil than before he wanted to lower his weapon. He wanted to, but common sense kept him from doing so.

A glow covered the stallion’s horn only to be interrupted with the sound of Westwood’s carbine firing and a burning pain in the stallion’s right ear. He dropped down and grabbed at his ear with the pain now becoming audible, “Why in Tartarus did you shoot me?” He asked.

Westwood kept his calm now that his giggles were expunged, “Glowing horn after I say I’m under the stable’s effect. I’ve found out fast that you guys don’t exactly give a lot of chance for explanation.” His eyes then turned to the elder, “And besides. If I was aiming to kill your brain would have been splattered all over that wall.”

The elder’s stoic appearance didn’t change even after the scribe was reduced to a blubbering heap with his hooves pressed against a wound that wasn’t even bleeding, “You are more sane than I would expect. And a lot more, “her hoof shifted to her chin in an attempt to find the appropriate word, “reasonable for a lizard.”

Westwood chuckled lightly after hearing what he assumed was an insult, “My little lucid dreams are a little more stable. Based on past experiences.” Westwood’s tone was once more growing conversational “When I asked a doctor before the war about dream problems, he explained I had some sort of chemical imbalance that keeps me from having anything more than flashbacks or alterations of such.” The sounds of a blubbering scribe made it somewhat difficult to keep a straight face while talking with an elder, “Rather annoying really.”

There was silence between the dragon and the elder, the only sounds being the crying from the scribe that had gotten shot through the ear. The heat of the bullet kept the clean hole from bleeding. Both the elder and Westwood keeping eye contact with one another.

“Westwood.” The dragon spoke slowly lowering his weapon.

The elder gave a somewhat confused look from what Westwood said, “Come again?” The elder asked.

“That’s my name. Westwood.” Westwood clarified as the weapon lowered enough to not be a threat. It was clear that the elder wasn’t affected by the stable at the moment if at all.

“Elder Cherry Pie.” She replied in the same manner. Westwood’s face contorted once again at the second food based name, “And I am sure that you find our names humorous.”

Westwood cleared his throat after a second, “Sorry. I’ve got a different sense of humor than most.” The last few giggles worked their way out of his system. That was when Cherry Pie saw the pipbuck and the medical scars surrounding the device on his scales.

“How?” She started, the one word question confused Westwood, “How do you have a pipbuck? And is it-” She gulped thinking about the scars, “Is it in your arm?” She finished. Her voice giving more shock that a dragon of all creatures had a pipbuck not on his arm, but in his arm.

Westwood looked at the metal box in his arm, “Yeah. MAS and MOT helped me out with this one. The downside was that I couldn’t have it just attached.” He grimaced before seeing the stallion finally picking himself up and stop crying, “Out for about two days after. Something about letting it fuse with my nervous system. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up.”

The stallion rubbed the newly pierced ear, “What is an MOT?” He asked trying to just about pull his eyes out of his sockets with how hard he was trying to look at his ear. His eyes were red and puffy from the whining and crying he made shortly before.

Westwood paused then slapped his claw onto his face, “Ministry of Tech. Never liked the whole ‘wartime’ part of it. Made it seem like war was all it was good for.” Westwood answered looking at the stallion between claw digits.

Westwood’s radio buzzed, “Sir. Are you done in there?” Aria called in on the other side, “Some of the bucks down here are getting restless and we haven’t had any more rangers poke their heads out for some time.”

Westwood glanced to the two robed unicorns then he shook his head, “Just doing a sweep. I’ll be out of here in a bit. Just hang tight out there.” Westwood spoke to the pegasi outside, “Sorry about that. So wrapped up in our little conversation I forgot what I was supposed to do.”

Scribe Blueberry Jam flinched then dropped back down on the ground, “Please mister dragon. Don’t kill us. I’m just a humble scribe. I don’t want to die!” He went back into a screaming and crying fit.

Westwood and Cherry Pie both stared at Blueberry Jam only for Westwood to break in, “He always cry like this?” He asked pointing a claw at the stallion. He then walked past the two and began unbuckling his old world combat armor, “I’m just getting my stuff. After this, I’m going to try and blow up the generator.” He then picked up each segment of the specially shaped armor pieces, “Give about a half hour after the blackout before you try and take off. There should still be a paladin wandering around. He’ll light the way for you.”

This all seemed confusing to Elder Cherry Pie, “Why are you helping us like this? You slaughter a good portion of our troops and now you’re going to hide us from Enclave? What is your angle?” Her voice showing both concern and seemed to be expecting some sort of betrayal.

Westwood looked back as the armor was strapped back onto his body, but not before the elder could see the massive scar in his back, “I’m not Enclave.” He started as he grabbed the devilish looking helmet with the single long visor, “And I owed the rangers for saving my skin a long time ago.” He flipped the helmet in his claws to stare into that lifeless visor, “I’m cashing that in now. What you say to your people is up to you.”

Cherry Pie watched as Westwood finished suiting up in his power armor. The yellow light that flashed on didn’t exactly help him look friendly. Despite the fact, the hostile air in the room was long forgotten, “You’re that dragon from the war aren’t you? Kin Killer.”

Westwood flinched hearing one of his old nicknames, one he wasn’t very proud of, “That was me.” He spoke with emphasis on ‘was’. The way he spoke showed little to no pride in the title. The dragon looked at the pipbuck in his arm and reset the navigation marker for the generator to hopefully destroy it for real.

Westwood then silently buckled the combat belt onto his armor before slipping the sheath of his mentor and adviser’s last gift to him. His claw then gripped the shotgun from its place on the ground, “Remember. Half an hour after the lights go dark.” His eyes shifted to the stallion.

Blueberry Jam seemed to be muttering things to himself. Maybe something next to him, but it was hard to tell, “Understood Westwood.” Cherry Pie spoke before attending to the scribe.

Blueberry was cradling his head between his hooves, “She’s coming. I know she is. She haunts me. Makes me suffer. Make it stop.” His ramblings were barely audible while his curled up, “She’s coming. She’ll destroy us all.”

Westwood stopped himself from moving when he heard what he was actually saying, “Elder. What does he mean by ‘she’?” He asked with his claw slowly reaching for the pistol on his leg.

Elder Cherry Pie kept her eyes focused on the scribe, “We encountered a family of hellhounds a few weeks before. Blueberry has been having trouble sleeping after one of our rangers angered the mother. She wiped out half our traveling party.” A worried look covered the elder mare’s features as she backed up, “Westwood.” Her voice was finding trouble, “What did you say this stable did?” She asked trying to keep her distance from the stallion.

Westwood’s shadow looked like it was bubbling off of the ground, “I don’t know for sure, but by experience it amplifies dreams to appear real. And nightmares count as dreams.”

Westwood’s shotgun was suddenly wrenched from his grasp as a glow covered both the pump action weapon and Blueberry’s horn, “You won’t fucking get me. No. You won’t get me.” The shotgun pumped and clicked as the barrel was shoved into Westwood’s face. Again and again the shotgun repeated the action as though Blueberry was seeing the weapon spraying gore from the unloaded weapon.

Westwood pulled the shotgun back with his recessive claw and a white magic circle formed around the palm of the other claw. There wasn’t even an impact before Blueberry was shot backwards into the wall behind him. Westwood let out a couple of breaths, a chuckle following after, “Good thing I forgot to load that thing.” He stated as his chuckle started evolving into a laugh.

Blueberry started to stir again, this time with an emerald glow surrounding a large caliber pistol, “I’m sorry it’s come to this scribe. You will b-” Cherry Pie was interrupted as Westwood gripped and near effortlessly dismantled the weapon.

“Cool it.” Westwood started as he tossed the pistol magazine and the top slide to opposite sides of the room, “My purge spell helps dispel others. The stable’s effect might have been lifted.” He spoke with his eyes jolting between the stallion and the elder.

Blueberry moaned as he pulled himself up to his hooves, “What in Tartarus just happened? I feel like I got hit by a sledgehammer.” Blueberry stated while he rubbed his forehead with one hoof, the other three were trying way too hard to keep him standing, “When did the lizard get here?” The scribe asked as though he had been absent for the last hour, “I thought he was locked u-” He paused for a second then realized that the dragon was armored and armed, “Who gave the Luna damned lizard his equipment!” He shouted and looked for his pistol.

Westwood rubbed where his eyes would be if his helmet wasn’t on, “Elder. Give him the update. I’ve got a generator to destroy.” With that Westwood scooped his shotgun off the ground and took off running. The navigation tag on his EFS guiding him to the generator once again.

Blueberry Jam shot his gaze from the empty doorway to the elder, “What in Celestia’s green Equestria did I miss?”

Elder Cherry Pie sighed and shook her head, “It’s a long story.”

Westwood’s breathing picked up as soon as he went on his way, “Damn it AJ. Couldn’t have at least made this thing easier to breath in?” He ranted at himself. Each corner he passed was scanned for potential hostiles, primarily the other ranges. He was more than likely known as a nightmare at this point, Celestia only knew what they would see them as now.

It was oddly quiet at this point, the only sounds being his talons clicking across the steel floor with each rushed step he made. There was no radio, no voices, no Luna and certainly no Nox. The quiet was actually starting to become unnerving.

That was when it finally happened. He made one turn and he was no longer in the halls. This time it was a jungle. This wasn’t anything found in Equestria, but it was still familiar.

“No.” He started before shooting his  along the walls of trees around him, “No. No. No. No.” He then heard voices behind him.

“Yo Sammie!” A voice called out. The source was not from a pony, a dragon or anything else like was found in Equestria. The source was from a human, “Let the rest of us keep up. I know you want this sonofabitch dead, but not everyone has your stamina.” The human was completely covered from head to toe in present day combat gear and rifles that looked like slightly longer versions of the BA-AC6.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Westwood's lips moved on their own. Westwood pulled his fingers to his mouth and realized he wasn't a dragon in this dream. He was human as well. The EFS system was no longer present, no high tech magical armor, no sword, and no claws ,"I've just got some bizarre burst of energy from nowhere." The voice continued before more steps were heard with the sound of moving brush.

Two other humans pulled themselves out from the brush, one looked like he was panting, “Jesus Christ Staff Sergeant. Were you born in the fucking Amazon or something?” The voice of a more gruff male came from the covered face of the next human, “No man should be able to move like that.” He spoke again as he placed his hands on his knees and let the rifle dangle on its sling.

“Yeah yeah. I got it, I got it.” Westwood’s voice sounded exactly the same as the dragon.

Westwood then pulled out a map from the armor he wore that looked much like the armor he wore in war-time Equestria. The map was spread out to show a view of the area, “I’m sure you all know the drill.” Westwood’s gloved finger pointed to a space off center, “The area’s well guarded. The target ended up getting a major security boost.” His finger traced the brown looking square with a marker labeling that there was a bunker, “So you know the drill. Stay low, stay hidden and shoot only when you have to.”

The other three humans nodded, “Understood.” The spoke quietly before they simultaneously pulled back on their charging handles to pull the weapons into loaded status.

It wasn’t even thirty seconds before a spotlight shone down on them with an assortment of yelling in in brush. Weapons fire began ringing out into the brush. The first and second human dropped as blood sprayed off of their bodies and to the trees and brush behind them. Westwood in turn received a bullet in the shoulder and leg before dropping to the ground. The other two were dead. Yet one of the humans remained standing. Unscathed and not even fighting back.

“Martinez you fucking traitor!” Westwood shouted. He wanted to stand, but the bullet in his leg had cut into a tendon. He couldn’t stand.

The human labeled ‘Martinez’ chuckled before picking up the other’s rifles, “You should usually ask where your troops go when they have to take a leak.” He spoke with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

Three more humans walked out of the brush. In their arms were older looking rifles, “Good to finally meet you Mister John.” One of the more casual looking humans started, “We still have one more of them to interrogate correct?” He continued before seeing Westwood attempt to grab something from his vest.

Martinez stomped on Westwood’s arm before he could do anything, leading to the human Westwood screaming as something snapped, “Don’t worry. He’s pretty banged up, but he’ll live.” With that, one of the more casual looking humans flipped Westwood onto his back before the back of his rifle impacted Westwood’s skull.

With that Westwood snapped out of his dreaming state. His head shook as he quickly tried to make sure everything was back in order. His claws patted around and his eyes jotted back and forth, “Claws, tail, scales, armor, EFS.” He spoke out trying to get a grip on his surroundings, “Good. Everything’s here.” He then gave a sigh of relief as he checked the load on the shotgun he had dropped in his dreaming stupor. Still loaded.

“Is that the best you got stable?!” He shouted at the structure, “Bringing up that old memory? I’ve got news for you!” He then took a deep breath, “I’m over it!” He shouted again.

“Maybe you should see a doctor.” Nox stated as he hovered up right in front of Westwood’s eyes, “You’re yelling at things that can’t answer back.”

Westwood’s eye twitched, “Fuck you Nox.” His claw passed straight through the cloud of black.

Nox chuckled at Westwood’s frustration, “Oh. Weren’t we doing something? You sort of spaced out and now you’re on a tangent. You do that a lot.” Nox spoke.

Westwood went rigid for a few seconds before passing a fist through Nox, “It’s not my fault I have so many distractions in the way.” With that, Westwood took off. The distance counter his prototype equipment had was quickly shrinking down from a triple digit number in meters down to a double digit. Then it went to a single digit. Then it read ‘0m’

Westwood could see the generator now, there was a large mark where it looked like it had been slashed through and it had recently been jury rigged to start working again. Westwood aimed his shotgun at the device then pulled the trigger. The first shot of twelve gauge hit the generator only for the pellets to vaporize as it hit some sort of shield, “That wasn’t there before.” Westwood spoke as he lowered the shotgun.

Next came the last few bullets from the pistol. The same reaction occurred as the nine millimeter bullets vaporized. Then Westwood’s carbine, the corner of his read out now labeled the firearm as ‘Requiem’. Three of the smaller rifle bullets impacted the shield with sparks of lightning now shooting from the generator. The armor piercing bullets offered more resistance to the previously invisible shield.

Westwood watched the bullets vaporize once again before dropping his carbine. Where was this shield before? He hadn’t remembered seeing or passing through a shield when his shadow crafted blade had went through it before and there didn’t look like there was any sort of shield talisman on it. What was making this shield?

Westwood’s eyes then shifted to the sword. He had nothing else to try and Dracous steel was some of the strongest metal anyone could find, “Sorry if this goes south Alabaster.” He spoke to himself before drawing his new weapon. The runes on the blade glowed in the presence of the shield. There was suddenly a gust in the room as wisps of black fire covered the blade of his sword. Westwood lifted the blade over his head before swinging down in a slant.

The gust changed as the blade swung down. The path the blade followed left a trail of flame and wind that left a melted scar throughout the blade’s travel, even in the places the blade had not yet reached. The shield sparked only once before it shattered like glass. The trail of black fire melted through the generator and left a scar on the wall behind it. For the few seconds that the room remained lighted, Westwood could see a melted scar on the steel wall behind the generator, the ceiling overhead and the floor that the blade’s arch had traveled. Once again, the room went dark.

Ironsides was pacing back and forth in front of the entrance. The weapons on his armor remained energized while waiting for some kind of clue to know if he could take out more steel rangers. Those few that came out were either full of holes after magical beam weapons tore through their armor or were piles of ash or goo on the ground in front of the stable entrance, “Come on Westwood.” He spoke wanting to either do more or get moving, “It’s been an hour already.”

Aria groaned and pressed an armored hoof to her helmet, “Would you shut up?” Aria spoke. Ironsides ended up leaving his receiver on in his communications and she was receiving every word that the buck below spoke, “Ironsides!” She shouted into her radio, “If you’re going to bitch and complain, turn off your damn radio!” She called down from her place overhead to Ironsides.

If his helmet wasn’t covering his face, the entire squad taken would have seen the look on his face, “Sorry Aria. Must of forgot to turn it off.” He called out over the radio before he finally shut off his end.

When he did, there was the sound of Westwood’s voice, “Black Knight to Hardhead and Songbird. Come in.”

Aria shot down to the ground then she called back, “Good to hear your voice commander.” There was a slight pause, “And what’s this about songbird? Hardhead I get, but songbird?” She asked with a slightly laugh.

Westwood chuckled back on the other end, “Best thing I could come up with using your name.” Westwood answered her question before clearing his throat, “Objective complete, but there’s nothing worth taking out of here.” He spoke before clacking sounds could be heard coming from the entrance, “Tell your bucks to stand down. I’m on my way out.” He spoke.

Aria then shouted, forgetting to turn off the radio receiver, “Friendly coming out of the stable! Hold your fire!” She shouted to the other Enclave pegasi.

Westwood walked out of the darkness looking like he quickly took the helmet off his head, “Aria. Turn your receiver off before you shout like that.” Westwood spoke with one claw in his ear.

Ironsides would have given a smug grin at Westwood’s comment, but the helmet kept his face hidden, “Good to see you back command.” He spoke lifting a hoof up, “Tin cans didn’t happen to get any probes in you did they? I bet capturing something like you would have made them into aliens.”

Westwood smirked before tapping his bare fist into Ironside’s hoof, “Nah. They tried, but they ended up getting their probes shoved so far up their ass they’ll be tasting metal for a week.” Now that the former ruler was completely exposed,  the Enclave could see some of the add-ons to his powered armor. Mostly the backpack, sword, wartime battle belt belt and the shotgun that was hastily shoved into the opening of the shotgun. The backpack looked weighed down by things of varying shapes and sizes.

“Nothin’ in there eh?” The other masculine sound of another armored buck, “You managed to pull a whole lotta somethin’ for nothin’ in there.” The tone he gave made it look like he was looking to storm the place anyway.

Westwood chuckled at the other buck, “Nothing good on your side. It’s all dragon armors and weapons. Can’t mount it to a battle saddle, parts aren’t compatible.” Westwood rolled his free wrist as he tried thinking of more reasons, “Long story short. Too much crap for me, none of it is good for you.” He spoke then pressing a claw tip against the other buck and pushing his head back.

Westwood walked past the buck then stood in front of Summer Storm, he being the only real identifiable of the bunch, and offered the major a salute, “The Steel Rangers have been wiped out sir. Requesting permission to remain and dig graves for the dead.” His words came out robotic while asking to dig.

Summer Storm arched an eyebrow at the dragon before returning the salute, “No need for permission. As what Aria stated, you officially aren’t Enclave.” He replied to Westwood’s request, “I suppose that you’ll want to do this alone?” He asked seeing the look in Westwood’s eyes.

Westwood nodded, “I had history with the rangers in the war. Since I killed more than a dozen myself I feel it would only be right to make amends by giving them a proper burial.”

Summer Storm was silent for a moment before looking at the his Enclave unit, “Understood. You have our location tag when you’re done in there?” He asked tapping his foreleg meaning Westwood’s pipbuck.

Westwood looked at the device implanted in his arm then clicked a few buttons on the screen. The map screen had only a handful of locations, most of them were locations that may or may not exist after the war was done, “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

Summer Storm gave a nod, “Alright bucks!” He called out to the armored group, “Mission accomplished. Westwood’s going to meet us back at base. Unless the rest of you want to start digging graves for Steel Rangers.” The expected sounds of rejection started to ring out amongst the crowd, “Then it’s decided. Get on the vertibuck and the dragon will follow us when he’s done." He then turned and offered another salute which was returned, “Get back safe sir. And try not to get hit by any missiles on the way up.” He joked. The sentiment was returned by Westwood’s grin.

With that, the Enclave boarded the aircraft once again and left Westwood behind. Only this time, the conditions were a lot better on both sides. Westwood watched the vertibuck lift off and almost hesitate for a second before it finally took off.

When the vehicle was out of view, Westwood extended his arm with his shadow forming a shovel in his claw, “Well. Time to get to work.” With that he tossed his new gear to the ground before starting to dig.

It was nearly an hour of digging before Westwood had heard movement behind him. With the sounds he stuck the shadow crafted shovel into the ground, "Little late, but late is better than never." He spoke to the ones behind him. In front of him were ten holes suitable as graves for the fallen rangers. Still plenty more needed.

"I didn't think a lizard would keep his word and actually let us go." The muffled voice of Paladin Night spoke to the armored drake.

Westwood slowly turned his head then sighed before going back to digging. The act somehow confused the buck, "A black knight's word is truth. I made the agreement that I would give you a chance to escape and I did as I said." With that the eleventh hole was half done.

Two more sets of hoofsteps followed behind to see the mostly armored Westwood digging the rectangular holes in the dirt. There was silence between the entire party present aside from the sound of shoveling dirt. Several minute passed as Westwood finished the current grave, “Take what you can and go.” The dragon spoke before spearing his shovel into the ground, “Tell your superiors whatever you want. My end of the bargain is satisfied.” He spoke not bothering to look back at his wartime allies.

Elder Cherry Pie slowly approached Westwood and pressed a hoof to his back, “I do not blame you for your actions dragon.” She spoke then made her way in front of him to see the graves, “It was my responsibility. My order to shoot on sight, my call to attack a hazardous creature.” Her tone was showed that she wasn’t just blowing smoke up Westwood’s ass.

Westwood huffed at the elder even if his back wasn’t turned, “You gave the order, but I pulled the trigger.” The shovel was then pulled out from the ground once more , “Now do as I said and go. I still have more graves to dig for your dead.”

There was no longer a word to be spoken between them, only the softer sounds of hooves on dirt as the three survivors of Stable 44 left. That silence lasted another hour as the last graves were dug out. Graves not just for the rangers he had shot and killed, but for the residents of Stable 44 that had fallen victim to the negative effects of the stable.

Metal and wood crosses were formed at the head of each of the graves now filled with dirt. Each one had a set of identification tags hung up on them. The grave for the residents of Stable 44 however were marked by a silver rapier jutting out blade down into the dirt, Alabaster’s prized blade that even now retained the elegance and beauty it held before the war.

Westwood stood in front of the newly buried dead and formed a cross on his chest with motions from his claws before uttering a few words. Words that he uttered at any burial, “Requiescat In Pace.” His claws folded as though deep in prayer, “I hope to see you at the gates of heaven.” His head bowed softly to give the dead their piece.

After a solitary moment of silence, Westwood picked up the equipment from the ground and looked to the silver rapier, “Alabaster.” He started everything in his face showed he was trying not to cry, “If you see Luna. Tell her that I still care. I never meant any of what I said.” His left claw gripped the handle of the sword on his hip, “And that I’ll live for her. Since it is my fault that everything is gone.”

With that, Westwood spread his wings before putting his helmet back on. A few solid flaps of his large leathery wings lifted him off the ground. A white circle formed at his talons before being sent skyward. Back to his new home in Camp Pendlecolt and the new life he had to live..

Update Authorized:

Level Up

Combat Perk Authorized: Commando

Your expertise with two handed firearms is beyond recognition, you do have over fifty years combat experience.

Hit chance in S.A.T.S is increased by fifteen percent and overall accuracy with all two handed firearms is increased.

Quest Perk Authorized: Dream Walker

Your time in Stable 44 has a permanent effect on your mind and body. At times you will see thing that others cannot and can even converse with these images. Whether they're a ghost or a hallucination is anyone's guess.

Faction status updated

Grand Pegasus Enclave faction set to Liked

Steel Ranger faction set to Mixed

Unique Weapon found:

Harmony and Dissonance: A katana type sword forged from Dracous steel and a currently unknown second metal.

Runes etched into the black and white swirled blade give the weapon magical enhancements. The conditions for the enhancements to activate are not known at current.

Rare Armor reacquired:Knight's Order Power Armor- Designation Specter.

Armor only issued to members of the Shadow STG. Outfitted for stealth and mobility above defense. While not offering the same benefits of standard power armor, one can move easier and quieter when used. Also comes standard with stealth based hardware and software.

Weapons compatible with armor: Sniper rifles, assault carbine, automatic pistols, light pistol, heavy pistol.

Restrictions with armor only allow two weapons to be equipable.

Additional effects: Strength+1, carry capacity+50, Charisma- 1

Uncommon armor acquired: Draconian Combat Armor: Dragon Skin

A standard issue combat armor for the Black Knights Division  before the advent of powered armor. Modular and customizable to user preferences. Helmet offers a visor for EFS usage and eye protection as well as a communication suite. Panel armor can be used as supplemental armor to powered armor for additional customization options.

Weapons compatible with armor: No limitations.

Additional Effects: Carry capacity +50, Agility+1.