The Gas Mask Brigade Saves Equestria

by Mr Anomalous

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, Crossover, Human, Twilight Sparkle, Lyra, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Comedy, Other
Length: 1567

There were five of them, at first: odd, masked aliens. No one knew what they were, but they claimed to be there to help. The ones that TALKED, anyway. . . .

(A crossovermainly with TF2, Killing Floor 2, The DC Universe, and Romantically Apocalyptic. However, if you have a suggestion: make it! You just might see a cameo of your favorite gas-masker. See below for future crossovers.)

A breach has been made in the walls of reality, creating a door to all of space and eternity. This, of course, could be problematic. The Princesses are doing the best they can to hold the hole shut, but the bigger, hungrier things are pushing back. And the smallest entities are managing to crawl through anyway, like bugs between atoms. Several of these things pop through intentionally, and with the—alleged—intention to help; masked aliens. And they all just might be stark raving mad.

Part crossover, part self-insert, part trollfic and part Lovecraft, this just may be the best—or worst—MLP fanfic ever written. Why not be a part of it?

Note(s): The name has nothing to do with the punk band. Though they're not bad, go check them out.

Future Crossovers Include:
Warhammer 40,000
Doctor Who
Metro
S.T.A.L.K.E.R

Published 2015-07-28 19:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-29 08:29:02 UTC

The Gas Mask Brigade Saves Equestria

Debugging the Cosmos, Part I

"There is no land beyond the law where tyrants rule with unshakable power!
'Tis but a dream from which the evil wake to face their fate; their terrifying hour!"
—The Sandman

Sometimes Twilight felt like there were faces in the woodwork and the stone around her. On particularly restless nights, she could see them—count them, even. Sometimes they even talked. Mostly, they were mean and nasty. Most likely to go alonside their ugliness, with their odd features, their asymmetrical eyes and nostrils. Many of them even were even missing bits.

Regardless, Twilight's most recent concoction—a sort of potion that not only helped her get to sleep, but practically knocked her out entirely—was appearing to be working well.

See, it was not only the faces on the walls and ceilings around her that kept her up at night: it was the shadows cast by the trees and buildings outside and the sounds they made; it was the tasks she was to complete tomorrow; it was the books she was reading and the ones she was planning to read; it was music, it was gardening, it was fictional beasts and entities; magic, science, math, history . . . yes, a very heavy "sleeping aid" was called for indeed. And now, the fact that she was Princess meant that she was developing a very deep connection with the ground beneath her and the world around her. She could . . . sense things she never was able to before.

Spike didn't understand all the fuss. He could fall asleep in seconds. Twilight, however, often was awak 'till two or three, regardless of what time she was going to wake up tomorrow.

Not anymore! With her estimations, Twilight thought that it would take a very heavy disturbance—be it physical or magical—to rouse her from her newly found deep sleep.

She was right.

It took a very, very severe break in the way that things should work to wake her. And it happened on her fourth night of the best sleep she got since she was a filly.

Well, half a good night.

It took place at twelve o'one—precisely—and Twilight discovered a flaw in her potion; the sort of tiredness brought about by an interruption wrought by it was a profound sort that lasted weeks.

But it didn't matter: she was a Princess, and no matter how tired she was, she had to investigate such disturbances.

And it didn't take place in the Everfree Forest, which was surprising.

"Coffee?" Spike muttered, more of a statement than a question. Twilight accepted gratefully; no sugar or cream, hot and fresh.

Soon, Twilight was levitating three or four mugs of caffeine in her aura. It was only then that she could muster the engergy to speak.

Between long, gaping yawns, she monotoned that something had broken. She wasn't sure exactly where, but it was a distance away, up near the Hollow Shades and the Foal Mountains. Spike sleepily wrote all this down as, naturally, it had to be sent to Princess Celestia.

But before the letter could be finished, one arrived.

"Ah. Of course, Celestia will have sensed this, too. How silly of me," Twilight said, grasping the scroll with her magic and opening it.

Then she frowned. The letter was not from Celestia: it was from Princess Luna.

Twilight had never received a letter from her before. . . .

But then she realized: Hollow Shades: the home of the bat ponies.

Twilight dove into the the letter. Luna, it turned out, was the first to sense the disruption. But neither she nor Princess Celestia could pinpoint what it was. All they knew was this: very little magic was involved—an infinitesimal amount, considering the rupture—and it had happened—mostly—from outside.

Some force inside Equestria had helped.

"Spike," Twilight said; "Make all the coffee we have."

The little dragon groaned, but waddled of to do his duty.

Twilight finished her fourth mug and selected a few select tomes from the shelves.

"'Long night ahead' doesn't even describe the beginning of it," she murmured.

"It is a 'category three' sort of portal, a mist-like degradation of the space between the entrance and ze exit. Whatever this ees, it took it's time with its forming. I, however, question how such an anomaly could occur in the grand domain of Zee Captein!"

"Well bloody hell, what's goin' on down there?"

"Well, most likely somesing from ze Centroid. Yes: The Centroid; that blasphemous place outside of normal space in times; ze center of chaos. Also known as: The Only Place Not In Captaina. It does not deserve to be part of zat glorious, multi-dimensional empire!"

"The Centroid? God damn it all; not those buggers again. . . ."

"Vell, zey are ze lords and masters of all that your tiny mortal minds can grasp, and far beyond zat, of course. Zee only reason ve are still alive after dealing vis zem before is because ve haven't gone up against the two big ones. And me, of course. It is fun to toy with them. Perhaps I should summon the painos. . . ."

"And those two aren't the masterminds behind this little 'portal?'" said a third voice.

"I don't sink so."

"Oh boy," said a fourth, "more of Nyarlathotep's buddies, hm?"

"Yes."

"Have we . . . ever been here before?"

"Ve have not. However, I know what it is. 'Tiz the grandest and most glorious and the most juiciest of places, especially for winter wrap-ups! Ze planet is called Equis!"

"'Equis,' is it? Interesting. This is rather far out, a long ways from home."

"Pah, you're tellin' me?"

"Ze breach is small, gentlemen. And zee inhabitants of ze nation around it have four very powerful rulers, deities, almost. But zey won't hold zeese things at bay forever. Which is why they need me."

"Us, Captian: us. Pah. How long do we have then, eh?"

"I don't know."

"Roight, well, I say we get some food in our bellies and then head on down there, guns a'blazing."

"That's probably not the best of ideas."

"Well, yeah, but . . . you know what I mean."

"Mmmmmph mmmmmmmph!"

"Vell zat settles it then," said The Captain, "We go in . . . two hours? After I go check on the sappy-chaps and make sure they are doing the jobs I so graciously assigned them."

"Yeah, sure."

"Mmph!"

"I'll make some tea."

Author's Note

If you want to see your favorite gas mask wearing hero (or anti-hero) make a cameo, please: tell me! I just chose these as a sort of leader group; they are not the only ones. . .

Debugging the Cosmos, Part II

You would never know that the entire complex was speeding through of all time and space. Never a quake, never a shudder; it was as stationary as any house should be. Except of course, this complex was not a normal house.

No windows, of course, as peering outside during a voidsail could very easily drive you mad.

Everything was brick and concrete as well, reinforced with metal from dwarf stars when it could be: you don't want the beasties of the æther to come a-knock knock knockin' at yer door—or walls or ceiling,—no siree bob.

Usually, all you'd have to do is wait for a while and then peek outside with a camera.

"So why the bloody hell are we sittin' here outside the breach?" Mr. Foster demanded.

"Something is . . . trying to stop us," responded the Sandman as he examined his gear.

"Vell, zat's never happened before. How dare they! I am Zee Captein; I bring naught but delicious and juicy joy wherever I venture!"

"Mmmph!"

"Indeed, mein fiery flaming compatriot, most certainly indeed."

"Mmmph. . . ."

"Well then," said the fifth man, the one who could never decide on a name, "I suppose we're going to have to . . . make a jump for it?"

"Do ve have ze graphene cables?"

"We do."

"Aw hell, not those things again," complained Mr. Foster.

"Yeah, yeah, I know: voidjumping is extremely dangerous and every time we do it we're lucky to not lose all of our lives and/or sanity, but hey: we'll get ta shoot things. Eh speaking of which: what's already snaked its way through?" said Zettachrome/Arcanus Scriptor/Mr. Anomalous.

The Sandman rose and checked the nearest terminal, leaving a trail of vapor. Then: "None of the queerer creatures; and none of the allies of Azathoth, it looks like, though I wouldn't swear to it."

"So what? Zombies, giant spiders, a deathly virus? . . ."

"Lightmongerers."

Everyone but the Sandman and the Captain—who was pondering—cocked their heads.

"Eh? W . . . what are they doing there?" said the fifth.

"The door appears to have opened here," the Sandman said, tapping a spot on a map on the screen, "and . . . the ponies that inhabit the area are a queer group. Nocturnal. The Lightmongerers may be there to convert them."

"Aw, but we can't shoot Lightmongerers!" complained the fifth.

"My thoughts exactly," said Mr. Foster beneath his breath.

"Ah, no matter," the Captain said in a mock comforting voice, "somesing shootable shall come soon enough, and zen all your barbaric dreams shall be realized. . . ."