Mission 1 - Strange Phenomenon
“Get a move on, you bastards! Those Clanks won't move themselves!” The day started like it always had. Our Clanks were starting up as slowly as they always did, the old hardware protesting as the others got them to move. Most of them were Mech Marines, the main frontline Clank of the Independents' Coalition. Two 50-calibre chainguns, one on each arm, and an anti-aircraft gun for the main head-mounted weapon, they were a fairly good choice for the less distinguished soldiers on the field.
“Colonel, we know! Thor and Odin are being stubborn, as is Helios. Their firmware is taking a bit to boot up, so don't get your panties in a bunch!” Michael 'Jigsaw' Finnigan, my second in command, he was always complaining about something. Sometimes it was weapon jams when we tested the motors on the chainguns, other times it was Thor refusing to do what we asked of it. Did I mention the Clanks have a limited Artificial Intelligence? Jigsaw named his Thor. His loadout was always a chaingun loaded with HEAP rounds for a right arm, his left arm a powerful Shock Fist, useful for taking on those pesky Vanguard tanks the World Trade Organization always fielded. Vanguards were the bane of most infantry, and Mech Marines, with their heavy assault cannons blasting HVAP rounds into our arms and blasting off our weaponry.
“Jigsaw, the Colonel doesn't have time to deal with your excuses! Just get the mainframe up and they'll play along.” Hugo 'Reaper' Smith, our weapons specialist. That man could build anything, from anything. I swear, this one time, he built an entire chaingun from nothing but a tank motor and spare pipes. His loadout was a Missile Pod for a left arm, a Battle Cannon for a right arm, armed with 145mm shells. His Clank was Helios, the most well-behaved of the three.
“Just make sure that Odin behaves. I don't like it when it decides its time to go exploring.” My name? To most, I am the Colonel, though my men know me as Colonel Jacob 'Long Haul' Miller. I prefer the standard loadout for the Mech Marines, simply because why should I fix what was never broken? I preferred the explosive HEAP rounds to the more readily available HVAP rounds, which my Clank, Odin, preferred as well.
As soldiers of the Coalition, we were always under orders to protect the interests of the ruling party, even though there was only one party anyways, since we were always under attack, be it either by the WTO, or by the Shogunate. Jigsaw preferred fighting the WTO, while Reaper preferred fighting the Shogunate. I preferred not fighting at all. They were both insane, but I guess that is what made us so good at our jobs.
The mission, for the day, though, was to investigate some strange phenomenon that had flared up on the Wide-spectrum array for the local outpost. As Mechies – that would be the nickname for us Mech Marine pilots – we were the scouts, as Mech Marines could cover a grand amount of distance much quicker than most of the other types we could use.
“Command gave us a special mission today. Some strange signal popped up, around fifteen clicks from here, and we're supposed to check it out. Reaper, Jigsaw! They said we could get some better Clank equipment, and maybe a few new recruits if we don't flub it up!” Reaper said nothing, while Jigsaw laughed. No matter what I said, that crazy laugh always came.
“And they expect us to just walk in there? That's almost on the border to the WTO's territory, and while they are a hoot to fight, we're not all that well-equipped for fighting any of their three-man Clanks.” Yeah, a three-man Clank. The three-men types were nefarious as they had a pilot who also controlled the head-mount, and one gunner on each arm. They got them to work, though, and that was the frightening part.
“Jigs, no one's expecting us to just walk in. They're probably expecting a larger Clank, like one of the Atlas four-man types. You know, the massive one's that are like, I don't know, four stories high?” Reaper held his hands apart, trying to emphasize the enormity of the Atlas type. He was always exaggerating, but the Atlas was certainly tall. It had to be to incorporate four Clank pilots.
“Reaper, just get yourself clicked in. Worry about that later.” What Jigs meant by clicked in was, well, something quite different than what most people would assume. Clicking in was interfacing with the Clank, making sure that you were communicating effectively. To increase our interface factor, engineers had replaced our legs with cybernetic versions. They could come off, however, and the Clank would wire directly to the cybernetic sockets on the pelvis. Thor and Helios bent down, their cockpits opening and revealing mechanical arms to remove their prostheses and link them in. I could see them flipping their switches to warm up the servomotors, the lights inside blinking as they warmed up. Odin knelt down, his cockpit opening up to allow me inside. The mechanical arms disconnected my legs, pulling me into the cybernetic socket where I would be connected to the legs of the mech itself, the nerve endings being the command to move.
“All right. Thor's online.”
“Helios, locked and loaded. Oh, online.” They checked their weapons, missiles from Helios' missile pod arming with blinking red warheads, and bullet belts for Thor's HEAP chaingun snaking out from behind it.
“Remember, ladies. Limited ammunition for the bigger battery. That means one reload for your missile pod, Reaper. Be careful with your HEAP rounds. Wouldn't want to shred Jigsaw now, right?” Jigsaw and Reaper chuckled as their Clanks finished the startup. As Odin finished its startup, a holographic screen lit up in front of me, as if I was actually viewing the outside. New pilots would think it was a part of the software of the Clank, but in reality, it was a part of the cybernetics they put into the pilots. It helped immensely, and our Clanks were customized to fit our individual talents as well.
“All right, Long Haul. Yo, Jigsaw! You get in between me and the colonel! I'm better for long range!” The clanking of the metal 'shoes' of the Mech Marines was muffled only slightly by the insulated cockpits we all sat in. Reaper had various trinkets taken from defeated Clanks, a nut, a bolt, or a nameplate from the Clank's core. Jigsaw had various pictures taped to the free areas of his Clank. I had small action figures from the various towns we had visited. Sometimes we would get a memento from the locals wherever we fought, and it really did not matter what side you were on. Many people were used to the daily life of war, and they did not care if it was WTO, or Coalition, or Shogunate. Battles were fought on open fields, usually far from civilian settlements. Even during engagements, soldiers were respectful of one another, even though the Shogunate was quite... barbaric in how it dealt with enemy Clank pilots.
We marched as we always did, myself in the front, Jigs in the middle keeping his chaingun ready for anything, and Reaper taking up the rear, making sure we were not attacked from behind. While the larger forces – the Coalition, WTO, and Shogunate – were respectful, bandits had plied the area between towns and bases, often attacking Clanks purely for sport, even though they almost always had no chance of winning. Outdated non-cybernetic Clanks, dilapidated Guardian tanks, the predecessor to the Vanguard, and faulty anti-Clank launchers, it added up to a problem that they caused for themselves.
“Coming up on the target location, starting sensor- whoa! Colonel, you getting this?” Reaper had begun his scanning sweep, and I saw the blips too. Something incredibly powerful was creating a major disturbance nearby, along with a few minor disturbances on a lower band. I was about to investigate when something tripped my proximity sensors, the beeping going nuts until I looked down. At my feet was what appeared to be a lost pet – locals always seemed to lose them. That one had a hat like a magician, and a cape, which glittered with stars. It was like it was a stage performer of some sort. That was... until it decided it could speak.
“Who dares disturb that which is Great and Powerful?” Gingerly, I stepped around it, trying not to plaster it on the ground in a red smear. I was about to continue on when it appeared again, right in front of me. A bright flash had occurred, or at least, that's what the visual sensors were blaring at me.
“Do not ignore Trixie, monster! I shall-” I stepped over it that time, completely ignoring it. Jigsaw looked in my general direction, moving closer to investigate.
“Sir, what on Earth is that thing?”
“Looks like a pony. You know, petting zoo thing?” Odin knelt down, reattaching my legs as I was lifted out. Reaper and Jigsaw quickly followed suit, their Clanks moving to take up defensive positions. The pony – Trixie, it called itself – glared at us as if we had mocked it somehow.
“So, let me get this straight. This thing is the strange phenomenon? I don't buy it. I mean, a nuclear weapon could have set it-”
“Reaper, there's no uranium left on Earth, remember? All used up in building reactors?” Reaper sighed. Jigsaw was indeed correct. I interjected before they could start arguing about who was right.
“Reaper, Jigsaw, quit the banter. We've got a lost pet-”
“Pet?! The Great And Powerful Trixie is no ape's pet!” I feigned being wounded, eliciting a chuckle from Jigsaw, while Reaper took a keen interest in why it was sky blue.
“I'm so hurt. Quickly, fetch me a fainting couch!” Odin stood behind me, standing at attention. “Odin, pick me up. Reaper, you're on point. Whatever that phenomenon was, it cannot have gotten far.” I was quickly reinserted into Odin, the screen coming online again. “Jigsaw, you're looking after little Miss Prissy Pants here. I have to call this in-” Almost as soon as the final sentence began to leave my mouth, shells rained down on the area we were in. Thor had already picked Jigsaw up, plugging him in quickly.
“We've got contacts! Enemy Clanks, ten o'clock!” Reaper was already on top of it, his Battle Cannon blazing while his Missile Pod locked onto the leg joints of the Clank. My view zoomed in, revealing a Ceres-type, one of the three-man Clanks the WTO fielded. “They must have seen the disturbances too!” Jigsaw was standing in defence of the little blue pony, keeping himself in between the pony and the enemy Clanks.
“Come on, you bastards! This Mech Marine's tougher than your grandmother! Ow! Okay, not that tough!” Reaper was hard pressed to keep them at bay, while I could not even get a clear shot.
“Jigsaw, pick up the pony and put it inside your cockpit!”
“Sir?”
“Just do it!” Jigsaw knelt down, his Shock Fist unfurling so he could lift the pony into his cockpit. Odin was hurting bad enough that I could feel it. His movements were becoming more sluggish as the skirmish wore on. Jigsaw was about to point out something to me when the pony, Trixie, commandeered his radio.
“Just what is going on?! Who are you, and why am I with this crazy ape?! And what- oh, sweet Celestia!” She must have noticed the two other Ceres-types exiting the forest, as the noises I heard meant she was hiding somewhere in Jigsaw's cockpit.
“I don't know, but we've got bigger problems! We've got three WTO Clanks! And they've got anti-Clank launcher infantry in support!” Anti-Clank launchers. They were the bane of any good Clank pilot, the special warhead designed to superheat and melt joints, toppling a Clank so that others could strip it apart and murder the pilot.
“Come on, you apes, you wanna live forever?” With that, I began to speed away as fast as the Mech Marine would take me, which was faster than the Ceres-types could run. Reaper was on my left, his Battle Cannon destroyed and his Missile Pod smoking. Jigsaw was not fairing much better. He had lost his main offensive weapon, his chaingun, and he could not use his head-mount without dropping his anchors – anchors being metal rods to absorb recoil, in the form of rigging a Clank into its terrain, preventing the recoil from throwing it backwards.
“You boys see that ridge?” A new voice had come over the radio, sending chills down my spine. I swallowed before responding.
“The one a click and a half away?” The voice cleared its throat, the glee evident in its voice.
“Then get ready for the party, because-” I shut off my radio to stem the verbal tirade of the local division leader, Elizabeth 'Big Bertha' Jones. Her Clank, the eponymous 'Big Bertha,' stood proudly, its twin rail cannons primed and ready. Although it was a Mech Marine, Bertha had modified it to fire much more powerful shells than it had originally been designed for. Flicking back on my radio, I sighed.
“You quite done, Bertha? Mind taking these nuisances off our backs?” A long laugh filled the radio as twin beams of light rocketed away from the ridge, slamming into the Ceres-types. Even though it did not penetrate, it did topple them, stunning them for a short bit.
“Nice shot!”
“Big Bertha never misses.” Trixie once more hopped on the radio, irritating me and Jigsaw with her high-blown attitude.
“Listen here, you hussie! The Great And Powerful Trixie, while not thankful to many, is thankful to you!” That stunned Bertha into being quiet, a feat I myself had never accomplished. I was about to start applauding when Bertha piped in.
“Pack it up boys. You've got some explaining to do.”
The long trek through our own territory was somewhat relaxing, to be perfectly honest. Even though we had taken several hits, Bertha had arrived – God only knows how that woman knew when we were in trouble – and kept us alive long enough for us to retreat before she shredded the Ceres-types. Looking back on it, our problems had seemed to stem from that mission. Sometimes, I wonder if we had actually done the right thing at that point, saving Trixie. She certainly was not very gracious, and seemed to only show her gratitude towards Bertha. It was a strange turn of events, to be perfectly honest.
Odin was the last of our four Mech Marines to enter our base, disconnecting me before it returned to its cargo container, waiting for the next mission. Up near a door marked 'Command', Bertha leaned against the wall, smoking her usual cigar. An open window above Command was occupied by Jigsaw. He always sat up there, staring out. Reaper was already inside with our new charge, and I could hear raised voices. Bertha jerked her thumb towards the door, frowning even as she puffed on her cigar.
“Whatever is going on in there, better get to it, Miller. Reaper's a good guy.” Sighing, I pushed the door open, the main communications monitor open. The regional commander was glaring at me as I entered, the previous conversation having ended.
“Ike, whatever you want, I assume it's not anything good?” I could feel the anger flowing off of him as he continued to glare. Reaper was seated in a chair, lifting a small flask to his lips.
“I tolerate a lot, Colonel Miller, but you fired upon WTO Clanks withour-”
“Let me stop you there, Ike.” Bertha walked up behind me, staring at the screen. While most of the pilots I knew were male skinheads – the term for pilots that most used, simply because we were all shaved bald to allow for easier augmentation – she was the only female who had ever gotten to be the local division leader. She had never shaved her head either, brown hair cut extremely short. I looked away, my mind fighting itself for a minute. I had never noticed her in such a fashion before. I never saw gender, nor race, nor anything else besides the ability to fight. I mean, Reaper had a mechanical arm, and Jigsaw had an artificial heart ever since his natural one took a piece of shrapnel and was shredded.
“Ah, Big Bertha, the divison leader-”
“That's Bertha to you, bub. Ain't no commander alive that knows different, 'sides you.” Bertha puffed again on the stub of cigar she had left, dropping the small amount and crushing it underneath her heel. Her hand had gone up and pointed accusingly at Ike, or Brigadier General Dwight Eisenhower,
himself following in the footsteps of a former American president from a while before.
“Bertha, put your hand down. I can handle this.” I looked around the room. Trixie was huddled in a corner, quivering in what I assumed was fear. I shook my head, looking at Ike. “Well?”
“Your quick action rectified the situation, and you brought to our attention something new as well. Unfortunately, the Traders are losing their minds over this fiasco. They're claiming that we disobeyed the laws of engagement, and that it was in their territory.” Reaper set down his flask, sighing as he stretched his arms.
“Ike, you of all people should know that what you just said is absolute bull. That was within our territory, and anything the WTO says is just them wanting to take more territory! I say we-” Bertha punched Reaper in the face, knocking him from his chair and onto his back.
“Reaper, don't give 'em a reason to take offensive action. Those Traders are itching to wipe us out. Especially when they've got better Clanks than we do.” Bertha retrieved another cigar from her pocket, lighting it with her small metal lighter she always carried with her. I could hear swearing as something hit the ground outside Command, signifying that Jigsaw had falled off and slammed into the ground.
“Ike, what's our situation then?” A large map showed on the screen, highlighting various points of interest, including the structure we stood in. More red markers were shown beyond the boundary twenty clicks away, whereas we had only been fifteen.
“They've begun to invade, unfortunately. It's a strange circumstance, but they believe that they own that land now. However, there are more Mech Marines on their way to your position. The Fourth, the Seventh, and the Twelfth. Be warned, though. The Fourth is known to be rather... rambunctious.” I sighed. The Fourth Clank Fireteam, also known as the 'Roughnecks', was notorious for their... strange tactics. Sometimes, if their Clank's arm was damaged, they'd rip the arm off and attempt to beat the enemy Clank to pieces with it.
“Understood. We'll work with the... target on this. Last Chance Brigade out.” The display shut down, leaving all of us who were not Jigsaw – he was probably unconscious from his fall – standing like lemmings in the middle of Command. Out of all of us, it was Trixie who spoke first.
“Who are you creatures?! What are you?!” I held up my hands. I was not the best at diplomacy – that was Jigsaw's job, and he was unconscious out in the middle of the floor. Reaper was still drinking, and he had begun to sway. The vote fell to Bertha, who sighed as she took Trixie on a short tour. Short being another word for-
“This is the base. This concludes the tour.” She tossed an empty cigar box into the nearby trash can, heading off to her quarters in another building a few meters from the large structure. Her grey jacket was loose on her shoulders as she pulled it off, revealing her- I stopped watching her, as it was starting to cause me some issues.
“Reaper!” Reaper came barreling out of Command, stumbling from whatever he had in that flask.
“Yessir! Wasn't drinkin' all 'at much...” His voice was slurring. I could smell the alcohol from where I stood. I sighed in exasperation. Reaper was in no condition to actually give our charge any tour or information that might at least ease her arrival into our world, the world of war.
“Reaper, just go back to your quarters. Sleep off your alcohol.” Reaper stumbled away, tripping over Jigsaw as he staggered. I turned to Trixie, who seemed scared of what was going on.
“Okay, Trixie. I guess I should introduce myself.” I squatted down in front of her, making sure I was at eye level. Though most of my perception was in identifying Clanks from a distance, she was somewhat shorter than me... and she also had impossibly large eyes. “My name is Colonel Jacob Miller. You can refer to my call-sign 'Long Haul' if you forget my name.” She relaxed somewhat, the apprehension visible in her body disappearing somewhat.
“Long Haul... sounds like an Earth Pony name.” I stood up, looking around. I thought I had heard the slamming of five-ton metal shoes on the ground, the main identifier that a small Clank was around. Not perceiving anything, I knelt down again, removing her hat before putting my hand on her head. I scratched slowly behind her ears, stopping when she raised her head to rub against my hand.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Her only response was to look up at me with the most innocent smile I had ever seen. No one who had fully experienced the terrors of a full on skirmish with Clanks, especially with the Fourth Fireteam backing you up, had ever smiled since. Jigsaw was one exception, but he was clinically insane, although that was a fact that made him an even more effective Clank pilot. Her smile was of something untouched by the horrors of war. She breathed in sharply as I resumed petting her, scratching the nape of her neck slowly.
“T-That's... wonderful.” I stopped, standing up and looking around. I had definitely heard the sound of a Clank walking, and it was not a small one, either. That sounded more like a three-man one. He was beginning to worry. The footfalls were much heavier than any Ceres-type, and there were not many types active in North America. Trixie looked at my eyes, noticing my worry as I glanced around. “What's wrong?”
“Be quiet.”
“You do not tell the Great and Powerful-”
“I don't know if that was clear enough. Be quiet.” There was a large Clank outside, one I remembered from reconnaissance photographs stolen from the WTO. It was a Shogunate Clank, one of their rarest ones as well. It appeared to be slower than normal, the footfalls heavy and irregular. As it got closer, I could hear sparking and various grinding noises. “It sounds like it's damaged. That's good. A damaged Shogunate Clank is a vulnerable one. But what could have caused-” The Clank then slammed into the ground, shaking the entire building. I looked down at Jigsaw, who woke up suddenly, rolling around as he scrambled for the nearby weapons locker. Pulling out a small box, he entered a combination on the side, the box unfolding into a variable assault rifle.
“What on Earth was that?”
“Jigsaw, check it out! It looked like a damaged Shogunate Clank!” Jigsaw was already out the rear entrance of the main floor, metal clattering against metal as he scrambled up the side.
“Sir! You have to check this out!” I jumped down from the doorway near Command, grabbing another assault rifle as I sprinted outside. The Clank was a type I had seen only twice, and the weapons... they were true death dealers, lethal to armour and flesh alike. Large laser cannons, easily fifty gigabytes of power each, and they were still glowing. The head-mount was even worse, a heavy plasma cannon sparking and creaking as the motors for its rotation protested.
“Jigs, what is it?”
“Sir! There's just leg sockets! Whoever the pilot was, he met quite a messy end.” I clambered up, training my assault rifle to the inside of the cockpit. He had been correct. The inside was caked red with blood, the only sign a pilot had been inside the leg sockets that denoted a pilot. Even the gunner seats – where the gunners would control the arms – were covered in blood. There were screens all over the inside, and each one was cracked and full of static.
“That's impossible. It's like they-”
“Exploded from the inside. Yeah. Long Haul, Jigsaw, everything just got a whole lot more complicated.” Bertha was standing beside me, kneeling down before sliding into the cockpit. The machine recognized her as a pilot, disengaging the previous leg sockets and locking her in.
“Bertha! What are you doing?!” In a moment the Shogunate Clank I recognized – it was a Falcon-type, their special weapons platform Clank – stood up, still limping.
“This whole thing is a mess. I'm taking it inside. I'll see what Reaper can pull from the drives.”
Bertha had been right. The electronics were a mess, the drives were almost completely unrecoverable. She had been able to get the Falcon-type into the Clank bay of our little base, but the system shut down, forcing us to remove her manually. Her Clank – Athena by designation – had assisted in the dismantling of the Falcon-type, Oni by designation. The previous pilot and gunners had definitely died by spontaneous detonation, but the sockets of the pilot had remained. I gripped the edge of the chair I had taken as I watched the surveillance records taken from inside the cockpit of the Clank before the unfortunate incident. My stomach was threatening to empty its contents all over the console in front of me, but I continued to watch the exact same moment over and over, attempting to see if it was some kind of experimental WTO weapon that we had not seen before. Something clinked behind me, a hand reaching past my shoulder with a hot cup of coffee.
“Colonel, you've been at this all night. Drink some damn coffee.” I could hear the clopping of hooves against the metal of the platform where I sat, just a flight of stairs above our makeshift Clank bay. Trixie stood beside me, watching the moment. Without even an inkling, she stopped the recording, right at the moment of death. There was some kind of bright flash, with a tinge of purple inside.
“Trixie? You know what that is?” She sighed, sitting down as a horse or pony would. She had dropped the cape and hat, Bertha working on modifying an old Coalition uniform for her to wear. Jigsaw had set up a cot in his quarters, taking it upon himself to care for her.
“Trixie does-” I held up my hand, taking a large gulp of coffee.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Don't talk in the third person. Makes you sound like you're out of your mind. Jigsaw does it occasionally.” I finished off the coffee in a few more gulps, coughing as the worst coffee I had ever had up to that point. I turned around, facing Reaper. “Reaper, your coffee's getting worse.”
“Just using the last of the rations for the coffee. You know how 'last dregs' are.” I sighed, turning back to Trixie.
“That energy, it's from my home.” I sat up straight, setting the cup onto the console and staring closely. The computer had begun to analyze the energy readings, although the power levels were off the charts, and the phenomenon Trixie had been in did not even come close to the same amount of power.
“Trixie, just what am I looking at?” She turned to me, her pupils mere pinpoints as shock displayed on her face.
“That's magic! Oh, sorry. You don't understand. It's all right for a monkey like yourself-” I could feel Reaper's glare as he stared at Trixie. His glare was like a heat laser, and would make you feel extremely uncomfortable.
“You're skating on thin ice now.”
“Yeah, Trixie? Don't insult the one guy on this base who could turn you into molten slag in every way possible.” She swallowed, my statement having the intended effect.
“A-All right. M-my world... it is permeated entirely by a magical force. It can be used by all three groups of ponies-” I could see Jigsaw as he sprinted up the stairs, standing beside me.
“Three groups of ponies?”
“Earth Ponies, Pegasus Ponies, and Unicorn Ponies. Earth Ponies are extremely resilient, and have a natural affinity with the soil and the Earth. Pegasus Ponies have a natural affinity for the air and the weather, especially clouds – they made cities out of them. Unicorn Ponies, like myself, are able to focus the magic easier than the others – the other two can use their energy in different ways, but not as effectively. We can use different spells to channel the natural magic within ourselves and the world, and create various effects, from teleportation, to magic beams, the applications are enormous.” I looked over at her, awe clearly showing as my mouth hung open.
“I didn't peg you for a pony that was all that intelligent. Thanks for proving me wrong.” Trixie did a small curtsy – apparently, that was no small feat, either.
“I also did a travelling show... until I bit off more than I could chew.” Reaper seemed to gain interest. Everyone knew his habit of taking on projects that we all knew he would never be able to complete, yet time and time again, he always astounded us.
“How exactly did you do that?” Everyone turned to Reaper, silently wondering what he was trying to get at. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I'm a nose hair in somebody's Spanish omelette.” He sighed, sliding a chair over to listen to Trixie's tales. “I've done that before. It's easy to do when you misjudge the situation.” Trixie sighed, hoping to continue with her tale.
“I was inside of a small town, known as Ponyville. Many of the locals had never seen me before, so it felt great to boast of my abilities.” I could see Reaper cringe as she mentioned that. Making a mental note to ask him later, I continued to listen, watching as Trixie recounted a tale that included magical duels, a stage performance that caused problems for the townsponies until another unicorn set her straight. A large mystical bear – an Ursa Minor, according to Trixie – was the kicker, causing her ruses to be revealed as nothing more than what they were, simple illusions. Reaper had his head in his hands. I could tell his heart was going out to that unicorn.
“I can relate quite well.” Trixie did not respond, but simply trotted over to Reaper, letting him scratch her head, pushing against his hand with a sad smile. It was similar to when the orphans in the ruined city of Nashville would crowd around Jigsaw whenever he brought them a gift. He was born there, amongst the debris and rubble, just like those orphans. Many pilots were recruited from there, their lifestyles giving them some rather extraordinary talents in the cockpit of a Clank.
“You know, Trixie, he was an orphan. You do understand what that is, right?” Trixie stared right at me. Most of the stares I had always ended up on the receiving end of were cold stares of ice, but Trixie's? Hers seemed to pierce my very soul. It was very unsettling.
“I'm an orphan.” All of us stopped and stared in absolute shock at her. Reaper was much more similar to her than he had ever known, the both of them having done something similar that was revealed as nothing more than an illusion – I was more and more curious about what Reaper had done in that respect – and they were both orphans.
“So, you and Reaper are parallels?” Bertha stood looking down at Trixie. Reaper jumped a little, not having seen Bertha walk up. To be honest, Bertha was incredible at stealthy sneaking whenever she wanted to be.
“Bertha! Don't do that!” Bertha merely shrugged, looking down at Trixie.
“I've got that uniform all ready, although there's something else I wanted to talk to you about, Trixie.” She held out the uniform, which was wrapped in a light blue glow, corresponding with the glow that surrounded Trixie's horn.
“What exactly did you want to talk to her about, Bertha?” Bertha grabbed an empty chair, sitting down and clasping her hands. Reaper and I instinctively stood up. Whenever Bertha became serious, it was always time for the rest of us to leave so she could talk in private. She motioned for us to sit. Whatever it was, it was something important for us all to discuss.
“Ike sent us a priority message. I don't understand why, but he wants us to do something with Trixie.” Bertha's face was a mask of worry, which meant that whatever she had been told was bothering her immensely. I leaned forward, staring at her intensely.
“Bertha, what does Ike want us to do?” Bertha swallowed, looking at me with fearful eyes. Something had been said to her that was beyond scary for her.
“Ike wants to have Trixie augmented... he wants to turn her into a pilot. That also means testing her combat abilities once augmented to discover what weapons she could handle on her Clank.” Trixie stared at us with confusion in her eyes. The poor thing. In some ways, I envied her, her innocence to our world of war, including augmentation.
“What's 'augmented?'” I pointed at my metal legs, shrugging.
“They'd choose what limbs to replace, but you'd be sort of like us, except a pony-” Wherever he came from, I never understood, but Jigsaw was standing with us, a gigantic smile on his face.
“A pony that will pilot a Clank! This is going to be awesome!” I rubbed my temples, sighing.
“Jigsaw, we need to let her decide. Becoming a pilot means sacrifice. You can't just say 'lop off her legs, let's get this over with.'” I turned back to Trixie, who seemed on the verge of evacuating her stomach of whatever contents it had inside. Her face was a deep green, meaning she was close. “Uh, Trixie? Please don't feel like that. It's more humbling than anything. It reminds you that you sacrificed something to be able to fight, a sacrifice you pay back on the battlefield-” She stared at me, her eyes intently fixed on boring holes into my head.
“I'll do it.” All of us, including Jigsaw – he had been bouncing around, but he almost froze in mid-air when she agreed to the augmentation. “I'll become a 'Clank pilot.'” Bertha stood, approaching close. Placing her hands on Trixie's shoulders, she stared deeply into her eyes, her expression never breaking from its serious demeanour.
“Trixie, to become a pilot, you will lose much, including whichever limbs they decide need to come off so you can link up with the legs of the Clank you will be issued. Various implants will also be put in your head so you are able to use the head-mounted weapon of your one-man Clank, along with the camera mounts. The Clank you're issued will most likely be a Mech Marine, similar to ours.” Trixie looked down at the ground, her eyes partially closed as she contemplated what Bertha had explained. I had never seen a more determined expression. She looked up with fire in her eyes, a fire I knew well. It was the fire I saw in the eyes of my fireteam, and in the eyes of the division commander. It was the fire of pure determination, the will to go through any obstacle to fight against a threat.
“I want to fight! My home... Equestria... there's a war going on. I want to fight, and defend my home!” I raised my fist to the air, shouting in acknowledgement. Trixie quickly slipped into the uniform, testing it out as she trotted around. Bertha smiled, Jigsaw giggling like a schoolgirl. I stopped her twirling to point at our Clank bay, the excitement in my voice as I declared what I felt was right to say.
“Welcome to the Fifth Clank Fireteam, the 'Last Chance Brigade!' We are honoured to have you as our newest pilot! Bertha, get on the comms and let Ike know that our newest member is ready for augmentation.” Reaper stood beside me, looking down at Trixie as she began to trot around the Clank bay, twirling and laughing.
“Did you notice she mentioned a war that was going on where she's from?” I nodded, frowning.
“Somehow, I doubt that whatever it is will stay there. Remember, everything is theory at the beginning.” Reaper turned to leave, leaving me to stare out at our Clank bay. Whatever they decided she needed, she would get. Training, weapons, and the Clank that acknowledges her as its pilot, she would have all of that. However, nagging in my brain continued to make me question one thing.
What exactly was the 'war' Trixie spoke of?
