Prologue: The Work of the Devil
***
The Conversion Bureau: Gilead.
Prologue: The Work of the Devil.
Written by:
Jed R.
Editors and Pre-Readers:
RoyalPsycho,
The Void,
Doctor Fluffy,
TheIdiot.
***
“As you come into this world, something else is also born. You begin your life, and it begins a journey towards you. It moves slowly, but it never stops. Wherever you go, whatever path you take, it will follow. Never faster, never slower, always coming. You will run. It will walk. You will rest. It will not. One day, you will linger in the same place too long. You will sit too still or sleep too deep, and when, too late, you rise to go, you will notice a second shadow next to yours. Your life will then be over.”
The Doctor, Doctor Who: Heaven Sent.
“As the world fell… each of us, in our own way, was broken.”
Max Rockatansky, Mad Max Fury Road.
***
One day in 2020, an island appeared in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. This island was the origin point of a portal to a magical realm populated by pastel-coloured ponies, an entirely new race. This portal was deadly for humans, and so a method was devised of converting human beings into ponies to allow safe passage and the beginning of a diplomatic relationship.
And then this portal became the source of a Barrier - an expanding force of destruction that incinerated the works of humanity… and the people of humanity as well. Given two choices, death or conversion, many humans chose to convert, despite the risk of the process removing some core, fundamental part of themselves that even they did not realise they were losing. Many others, however, chose to die.
You may know how this story ends - the siege of Britain, desperate plans, battles in the sky, blood and fire and the promise of worse to come… but before then, there were the PER and the HLF. Before then were the brutal Sanctified Republic of Gilead, neither sanctified nor a republic. Before then was Jack Waller the tinpot dictator of Fortress New York, and the greatest voyage of the USS Enterprise. Before then were a thousand stories, of which this is just one.
And it begins like this…
***
Washington D.C. Conversion Bureau, March 4th, 2023.
“Now hold still,” the pale grey Earth Pony said, a frown of concentration on his face as he held the vial to the man’s mouth. “Best you be as still as possible. Don't want to get this on your skin.”
The man in question was lying on a medical bed in a room. He stayed as still as he could, even holding his breath, as the Earth Pony poured the contents of the vial down his throat. He coughed slightly as the liquid went down .
“Crap, that's nasty shit!” he swore, before blinking woozily. “Oh…”
“Just relax,” the Earth Pony said quietly. “Let it happen, don’t strain yourself…”
The man nodded, eyes heavy lidded. A moment later he slumped against the medical bed, unconscious, and a moment later his skin began bubbling, before it began sloughing off, the liquidising skin falling to the floor with a wet-sounding splodge. The Earth Pony grimaced slightly, before pressing a buzzer on his desk.
“Nurse, more residue to clean up,” he said quietly. He turned as the process finished, a mauve Pegasus lying in the bed amongst the remains of his old body. He was slowly opening his eyes, looking at the ceiling with surprise.
“Huh,” he said. “That… feels weird. But… not a bad weird. If that makes sense?”
The Earth Pony doctor chuckled. “A lot of our patients have the same reaction, I assure you. It's quite normal.”
“Yeah, I don't reckon ‘normal’ works anymore,” the new Pegasus said, slowly getting up and flexing his new wings. “It all feels… kinda… weird.”
“But ‘good weird’, yes?” the Earth Pony said with a nod. “In any case - if you step into the next room, you can shower down, get some of the residue off.”
“Yeah,” the Pegasus Converted said, glancing at the red and white organic material that was still clinging to him. “What is this stuff anyway?”
“Leftover biological matter,” the doctor said dryly. “Always a side effect of the biological metamorphosis. The mass has to go somewhere.”
“Pretty f - f - buckin’ grotty side effect,” the Pegasus commented with a raised eyebrow, stammering over the curse-word slightly. He looked at the doctor with a frown. “Hey doc, speaking of side effects -”
“A leaflet detailing any and all known and possible side effects is available at the front desk,” the doctor cut him off, giving the new Converted a reassuring smile. “You can pick it up when you pay.”
“Oh yeah,” the Pegasus said, shrugging. “Plum forgot I had to pay for this. New head, I guess. Heck, I was almost thinking it was a rip off, but I guess I won't need it in Equestria, will I? Ain’t like dollars are worth… diddly.”
“I imagine not,” the doctor said with a shrug. “In any case, if you don't mind…”
He gestured at the door to the shower and the Pegasus nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hey, thanks doc.”
“You're welcome,” the doctor replied with a smile. “And I hope this goes swimmingly for you.”
“I’m sure it will,” the Converted said with a grin. “Thanks again.”
He walked out through the door, leaving the doctor on his own in the room, staring at the residue with mild disgust. He tapped his intercom again.
“Nurse,” he said. “Residue.”
“I’ll have someone in to see to it in a moment, Dr Met,” the Nurse’s voice came back.
“Thank you,” Dr Well Met said, sighing. “Can you have Dr Fenwick come meet me as soon as you can, please?”
“Yes, Doctor,” the Nurse said.
“Thanks again,” Well Met said. He switched the intercom off and slumped against his desk. “Celestia save me.”
Dr Well Met didn't like his job. The residue was disgusting, some of the humans were uncouth slobs or crass idiots, and there was something entirely unnerving about working in a country where the human’s idea of military grade weaponry was available to the ordinary public was… disconcerting, albeit useful for certain other reasons. Still, there were days when Well Met just wanted to say ‘buck this’, leave the Bureau and go somewhere else for a bit. Maybe visit his parents in the East Zebrafrican Colonies.
Quite how he'd gone from being a respected medical professional to being the administrator and chief Doctor of the Washington Conversion Bureau was beyond him. One day, he and a few other doctors from across Equestria had been invited to speak with Luna and Celestia about the potion and consult with them about it, including discussion about making the reverse potion (though that discussion had long since petered out). Most of those medical officials had since gone on to run their own Conversion Bureaus. Well Met himself was initially thrilled with the idea - up until he'd met humans themselves, walked around their squalid cities, breathed their strange air and generally decided that it was all a bit too much.
Not that it would matter for very much longer.
As he sat there, contemplating the strange turns his life had taken over the years, he heard a knock at his office door.
“Come in,” he called out.
After a moment, the balding, bespectacled figure of Dr Lance Fenwick entered, wearing his customary striped shirt, tie, plaid trousers and labcoat. He smiled as he sat down.
“Hey there, Walmart,” he said with a chuckle. He glanced at the residue on the bed. “Busy day?”
“Five patients worked on in my office alone, Wick,” Well Met said with a shrug. “And forty one all day for the Bureau. So yes.” He chuckled. “I’d say ‘busy’ was a fair description.”
“Good numbers, at least,” Fenwick shrugged. “Still not enough. People aren't moving fast enough.”
Well Met’s eyes softened slightly. “There's news then?”
“It made landfall on the west coast,” Fenwick said quietly. “Two companies of US Army and over three thousand National Guard tried firing at it. No effect.”
Well Met snorted. “Almost all of Australia's army wiped out trying the same thing and people still think they can shoot it?”
“Apparently,” Fenwick shrugged. “It's making its way across the country now, slowly but surely.”
Well Met sighed. He stood up and picked up a pencil, before making a note.
“The patient I just had is probably going to be a donor,” he said quietly. “I trust your… associates are still active?”
“Oh yes, very,” Fenwick said with a nod, a slight smile gracing his features. “They're making another few raids in the next few days, actually, so more donations are very much appreciated from our happy Newfoal friends.”
Well Met nodded, though he frowned at the term. “Do you have to use that ridiculous term?”
“What's wrong with it?” Fenwick asked. “This conversion business is, in a sense, being ‘reborn’.”
“Oh please.” Well Met rolled his eyes in disgust. “Just because some of those idiots want to talk about this potion business in religious terms doesn't mean they're literally being ‘born again’, they're just genetically and magically altering their existing lives and bodies. If I have to hear one more person referring to a forty year old Convie as a ‘Newfoal' I'll buck something so hard I’ll probably crack my hooves, to say nothing of the state of whatever I bucking kick. Even the HLF agree with us - we’re not making them children.”
Fenwick chuckled at that. “God, this is why I love working with you. You're a lot more refreshing than most of your colleagues are - much more blunt.”
Well Met scowled. “Just try to keep our noses as clean as you can, eh? I'd hate for some irritated man with a rifle to burst in and shoot the place up because he's traced your friends back to us.”
Fenwick chuckled. “Oh, I doubt that would happen. We’ve hired the best security short of actual soldiers to guard us.”
“Maybe,” Well Met replied. The Earth Pony sighed. “I just can't help feeling that, what with the Barrier making landfall, things will get more tense. You've heard the stories of riots further west, I trust?”
“That's a long way away,” Fenwick reassured him. “This is D.C! There's enough security and army ‘round here to fight WWIII!”
Well Met raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Sure,” Fenwick said. “Their job is to keep order, so they'll keep order.”
Well Met sighed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright - I’ll take your word for it. Might be an idea to have a projector ready in case we need to request an evacuation though.”
Fenwick shrugged. “Alright then. But I keep telling you - this is America! No safer place on Earth right now.”
***
The White House, March 4th, 2023.
A squad of soldiers marched down the hall, their leader feeling tense. They wore standard Royal Marine fatigues, complete with Kevlar body armour, and each of them had a small symbol painted onto their chests - the symbol of a Norse rune. These men were unofficially called “the Reavers”, a name their Captain had given troops under his command for years (one of many of his, as one of his superiors put it, ‘tawdry quirks’).
The atmosphere in what had once been, in many ways, the centre of the Western World was tense as all hell. Staff ran hither and thither, security officers in suits had rifles out and seemed to be itching to use them, and actual US army personnel were everywhere too.
To Maximilian Yarrow, recently reactivated Royal Marine Captain, this was not a place he wanted to be. Still, the soldier didn't have much of a choice - his orders had been to assist in the evacuation of the UK embassy and then aid US forces on the ground in anti-PER operations, and while he didn't think the soldiers on the ground needed his help - or wanted it, judging by some of the hostile glares he’d had - he was duty bound to obey.
Being summoned to the Oval Office was a strange feeling, though. He didn't know why President Whitman had asked for his presence, but it wasn't like he had a choice.
When they reached the office, a soldier in US Marine fatigues was standing there, a frown on his face. He held up a hand, the other resting on his MP5 in an obviously threatening manner.
“Name and business?” he asked.
“Captain Yarrow, Royal Marines,” Maxi said quietly. “Got summoned by your President.”
The U.S. Marine frowned slightly, before knocking on the door.
“Yes?” a voice called from inside.
“A Captain Yarrow to see you, sir,” the Marine said.
“Thank you, Marcus,” the voice said. “Send him in!”
The Marine nodded, before gesturing for Yarrow to enter.
“Your squad’ll have to stay here,” he said.
Yarrow nodded and turned to his squad. “Joe, stay out here and try not to antagonise anyone.”
“I’m the soul of bloody peacekeeping, me,” Joe replied with a chuckle. “I've got this, Maxi, go on.”
Yarrow nodded, before turning and entering the Oval Office, ignoring the Marine’s glare. It was hardly the first time someone had been unfriendly to him in this country - there were a lot of tensions these days.
Imminent extinction would do that to you.
Still, President Andrew Whitman was a cheerful type. A Democrat in his politics, he had been elected by a landslide majority on the back of an unpopular predecessor and an equally unpopular Republican candidate. He had thin grey hair - which had been a lot thicker and darker two months ago when Yarrow had arrived and been greeted by him - and there were lines of stress all along his forehead and around his eyes. Nonetheless, he greeted Maxi with a tired smile.
“Hello, Captain,” he said, standing and holding out a hand, which Yarrow took and shook firmly. “How goes it?”
“PER are slippery buggers, sir,” Yarrow replied neutrally, “but between your lads and mine we’ll uproot the sods.”
“If we’re granted time,” Whitman said, nodding. He sat down and motioned for Maxi to do the same. “Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Sir?” Yarrow said, sitting.
“Captain Yarrow, I won't lie,” the President said grimly, his smile gone. “The situation has become exceedingly grim, and I’m afraid time is running low for us.”
Yarrow frowned. “How d’you mean, sir?”
“The Barrier made landfall two days ago,” Whitman told him, his voice quiet and his tone low, full of emotions Yarrow couldn't quite place. “I… I ordered the army and the National Guard to try and slow it down, but that met with as much success as you'd expect.”
Yarrow frowned. “The Aussies tried that already - most of their army got fried.”
“I didn't have the luxury of not trying something,” Whitman said grimly. “Senator Argyle and Senator Goleman have been riling up anti-government vitriol, trying to get a vote of no-confidence in me. Not acting would have only strengthened their case.”
Yarrow laughed aloud. “They're playing politics while their country’s burnin’?”
“Unfortunately, ‘while their country’s burning’ is in many ways the best time for them to make that play,” Whitman said grimly, a slight smirk reaching the corner of his mouth but giving up after that. “They're intent on making it seem like I'm not doing enough to prevent this disaster, and that they will.”
“What's there to bloody do?” Yarrow asked with a grin chuckle. “The thing’s a bloody wall o’ death, and short of some kind of a miracle, nothin’ we have’ll stop it. What do they have to lose? Or gain?”
“Try telling that to desperate people,” Whitman said with his own sad smile. “The American public are scared shitless, pardon my language, and Argyle’s promising them that he’ll ‘do something’, even if he's suitably vague on what that something may be.”
Yarrow sighed. “So what is it you want me to do? Assassinate him?”
Whitman laughed out loud. “God, no. First off, I have departments for that.” He sobered. “Secondly - it's like you said. Choosing now to play politics is stupid. I'm focusing on what I can make better.”
Right then, right there, Maxi Yarrow decided he liked Whitman.
“…which is why I’ve asked you to be here,” Whitman concluded. He fixed Yarrow with a stern, sad gaze. “I realise I have no real authority over you - you're here to help on your government’s authority, not mine - but with the Barrier having made landfall, I need you to help with the evacuation.”
“Evacuation?” Yarrow repeated. “To where?”
Whitman brought out an iPad and showed Yarrow a list of ships.
“As you can see from this, the USS Enterprise and a small collection of ocean liners and refitted cruise ships are being prepared to receive refugees in New York,” Whitman said. “Colonel Waller and his men are holding a line there for the moment - in case something happens, they'll be your point of contact.”
“‘Something happens’?” Yarrow repeated, noting that Whitman had not answered the question.
“There's a lot of unrest as the Barrier gets closer,” Whitman explained quietly. “Order and communication are already breaking down nearer the west coast. I suspect it’ll only get worse.”
Yarrow nodded slowly. “Alright - I take it people have already been getting the evacuees together around this area?”
Whitman nodded. “The main refugee gathering is about eighty miles away from here, between us and New York, but there's a small group led by the Red Cross and HLF who came into Washington a couple of days ago. I had Colonel Friedrichson and his platoon join up with them. I think your men should probably go with them too.”
Yarrow nodded again. “Alright. I’ll take my people that way now.”
Whitman nodded. “Good luck, Captain.”
“And you, sir,” Yarrow replied quietly. And with that, he left the Oval Office, feeling a strange sense of foreboding.
***
Equestrian Embassy Building, Washington D.C. March 4th, 2023.
Princess Mi Amore Cadenza (or Cadence when she wasn't forced to use that ridiculously overlong name), her pink coat brushed to perfection, her mane raised and arranged in the traditional imperial style and her ceremonial dress looking elegant and perfectly arranged, sighed as she and her Crystal Guards marched through the street towards the Equestrian Embassy building. The armoured Crystal Ponies looked tense, surrounded as they were by humans, many of whom were protesting the presence of the ponies. As they walked towards the Embassy, a few of the humans threw rocks in their direction, and though none of them made contact, Cadence’s guard surrounded her and moved to a tighter formation.
“Are you alright, Princess?” one of the guards asked.
“Yes,” she replied quickly. “I’m fine.”
She wasn't. The protesters were screaming blue murder, and she could feel the hatred coming off them like a wave of nausea hitting her in the stomach, stronger almost than any emotion she had felt. As Princess of Love, she could naturally ‘sense’ feelings, primarily love and its opposite - and its opposite was in abundance here, all directed at her and her kind.
Still, it wasn't like she could blame them - there were so many people who believed Equestria, Princess Celestia, and ponies in general were responsible for the Barrier that was consuming their world and had already claimed millions of lives. To such people, a lack of action from Princess Celestia could only be taken as a sign that she was, if not actively responsible, then certainly not helping humanity come up with a solution at all. The worst part was, Cadence wasn't sure what she could say to assuage their doubts… since her aunt wasn't doing anything to help.
If only I knew why she isn’t doing anything, Cadence thought. I might be able to reassure them. There must be a reason…
Mustn’t there?
Pushing such thoughts from her mind for the moment, Cadence and her guards reached the Equestrian Embassy. A dark-skinned man in uniform fatigues was waiting at the gate, a scowl on his face as he looked at the crowd. He had a few dozen soldiers with him, all of them equipped with riot gear to try and stave off the angry crowd.
“Princess,” he said to Cadence as she approached, a slight frown on his face. “I wasn't expecting you.”
“Surprise visit to Ambassador Fancy Pants, Lieutenant,” Cadence said quietly, a slightly sheepish smile on her face. “Admittedly… not the best time.”
“You might say that,” he said. “Have trouble landing your Zep?”
“Not as much as we’ve had with the crowd,” Cadence admitted. “Still, we got here well enough - the landing pad isn’t so far away.”
“If you’d let me know…” the officer said, almost admonishing her. Cadence laughed.
“Alexander, you know as well as I do that communication between Equestrian radio and its human equivalent is near impossible,” she said, giving him an almost amused expression. “And since it’s a surprise visit…”
“The Ambassador wouldn’t have known either,” the officer said, nodding. “Yeah.”
Cadence glanced back at them. “I’ve never seen it this bad.”
“It made landfall,” Alexander said simply.
“So I saw, flying over,” Cadence said quietly. “It was…”
There were no words, and so she trailed off lightly. Alexander scowled slightly.
“You guys finally come up with something to stop that thing?” he asked.
Cadence’s face fell. “We’re… working on it.”
The man said nothing at that, though his sceptical scowl spoke volumes. Cadence and Alexander had known each other since the Embassy had been founded in 2021, but even he didn’t entirely believe that it was an accidental, unstoppable phenomenon. Cadence wished she could assuage his feelings.
With perhaps a shade more force than was required, Alexander pressed an intercom button near the gate.
“This is Redmond,” he said sharply. “Princess Cadence here on a ‘surprise visit’ for the Ambassador.”
“Gotcha,” came a new voice. There was a buzzing, and suddenly the gate opened.
At once, the crowd of protesters tried to surge forward, but Redmond and his men stepped forward too, and began shoving the angry crowd back. He didn’t say another word to Cadence, and she sighed.
“Come on,” she said.
Cadence and her group entered the grounds of the Embassy as quickly as they could, trying to avoid getting more caught up. At once they found themselves greeted by several ponies in glittering golden Guard armour, their presence reassuring to the embattled group. Although she was grateful to see them, there was only one Guard that Cadence wanted to see, and she found her worries melting away as she saw his blue-maned, alabaster form dash down the stairs from the Embassy building.
“Cady!” Shining Armour yelled as he raced to hug his wife. “Oh, thank goodness you're here!” He paused, breaking the hug and fixing her with a frown. “Why are you here?”
“Officially, a visit to Fancy,” Cadence said with a slight smile. “Unofficially… well…”
Shining Armour smiled despite himself. “Darn, Cadence.” His smile faded. “Seriously, though. You shouldn't have come - the situation’s incredibly tense, ever since the Barrier made landfall…”
“We saw,” Cadence said quietly. “The Sunrider passed over the U.S. Army’s retreat. The Barrier’s… it's horrible, Shining.”
Shining Armour’s face fell. “She's still not…?”
Cadence shook her head. “No. She isn't. Worse still, when I tried asking Twilight why she isn't doing anything, Twilight said the potion was the solution.”
Shining frowned. “That doesn't sound like her.”
“No, it doesn't,” Cadence said with a sigh. “Anyway, we’d best go inside. Fancy will want to speak with me. Chances are we’ll be taking all of the Embassy staff home on the Sunrider.”
“It's gotten to that stage?” Shining asked, frowning.
Cadence glanced behind her at the closing gate. She could still hear the crowds screaming, the sound of rocks being thrown at the Embassy’s walls and, dimly, the shouts of Redmond and his men trying to keep order.
“It's past that stage,” she replied. “It passed that stage a long time ago.”
***
Author's Note
Welcome to Gilead, a prequel to The Avatar of Albion, the first - and still undoubtedly the best - story i ever wrote on FimFiction.
When I first wrote The Avatar of Albion, I always knew there were more stories to tell than just the one I was telling. That's one of the reasons I told some of the stories that have found their way into the Tales of the War Anthology. However, those tales have always focused on the period of 2024-2030, the war itself.
With Gilead, I am finally telling a story of the days before the Barrier had consumed most of Earth, and the events that happened therein. I'm able to expand on the HLF and PER of the original AOA Earth, and lend some well-deserved context to some of AOA's characters. As well as that, this story will be my opportunity to finally tell a true "Conversion Bureau" story, with a significant presence of the eponymous Bureaus themselves.
I hope you enjoy this story.
Jed.
Chapter One: The Clouds Gather.
Written by:
Jed R.
Editors and Pre-Readers:
RoyalPsycho,
The Void,
Doctor Fluffy,
TheIdiot.
***
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Han Solo, Star Wars: The Force Awakens.
***
En route to HLF/Red Cross temporary HQ, Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.
Yarrow and his squad were driving up in the direction of the Red Cross and HLF camp in their APC, the ride more than a little bumpy thanks to the somewhat less-than-stellar condition of roads recently. Looting had become common, and so had the propensity for the roads to become covered in debris. That wasn’t even counting the abandoned cars left to rust in the street by panicking owners who had Converted and fled now that the Barrier had made landfall. The APC driver, Thomason, had even pointed out the massive queue for the local Conversion Bureau.
“Makes you sick, don’t it,” the driver had mused. “People so quick to jump ship and go somewhere else.”
“They’re just scared,” Joe had pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“‘Scared’, huh?” Thomason had said with a snort. “Fear makes people do some damn crazy shit, then.”
The way to the Red Cross camp had been relatively easy to find, with makeshift signs pointing them in the direction of the camp everywhere, something for which Yarrow found himself grateful. He supposed a lot of people would be going in through the camp.
“So,” Joe said quietly from behind him. “We’re helping evacuate a bunch of people, right?”
“That's right,” Yarrow said quietly. “Personally, I'm still not sure where we’re supposed to be evacuating them to. The President was pretty vague on that.”
“I guess ‘anywhere we can’,” Joe said with a shrug. “It’s not like we’ve got many places left. Europe’ll be the last to go.”
“So it will,” Yarrow said quietly. “And Britain with it.”
Joe’s face fell. “Didn't think the world would end like this, I've got to admit. When I ever bothered imagining the apocalypse, there were less ponies.”
Yarrow nodded. “I hear ya.” He glanced at two other members of their squad. “How are they?”
Joe glanced back at the two Yarrow was staring at.
Not too far away were two younger marines with the Reaver symbol on their shoulders. One of them was a young man with a cropped dark brown hair and a grim face. To Yarrow, who had known his friend for a long time, the young man looked surprisingly like a younger Joe. Next to the man was a slightly smaller woman with the same hair cut to shoulder length. Her face was softer but no less dour than the young man beside her.
Yarrow had only recently met Andrew and Elizabeth Rither, Joe’s kids, but he could see their father’s influence. Both of them were consummate professionals when the need came for it, and surprisingly florid speakers at other times. He had seen the two of them in combat and they seemed to have done a brilliant job of copying Joe’s ability to exhibit cold mechanical skill whilst screaming the most fierce and unusual war-cries at the same time.
It was at times like this, when he saw his friend’s own son and daughter bearings arms, that he wondered what things would have been like if he had encouraged Sam to sign up like he had.
Joe looked back at Yarrow with a guilty expression. “Look, I know it wasn't professional of me to have them in our team, sir, but -”
Yarrow held up a hand. “It’s ok, Joe. We’ve known each other too long to piss about with formality at a time like this. They followed you. You wanted to have an eye on them, make sure they were safe. If my Sam was a Marine, don't you think I’d be the same?”
Joe smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Maxi. Good to know I can trust you to understand.”
“You're me mate,” Yarrow said with a chuckle. “‘S what I'm here for.”
***
They got to the camp a few minutes later, the squad disembarking smartly.
Yarrow frowned slightly as he looked around - it was an odd setup to be sure. A few armoured soldiers - though they didn't exactly look like professionals - were wandering around, armed with a mixture of AK’s, shotguns and other things, some of them wielding older gear still. A few of them glanced at the British soldiers, but only one came up to them. He threw a crisp, British style salute.
“Sergeant John Idle, HLF unit 1041,” he said smartly.
“HLF?” Joe said from behind Yarrow. “What are you lot doing guarding a camp?”
“We’re the folks helping guard the Red Cross here, sirs,” Idle replied without dropping the salute. “Got to say, though, it’ll be good to have proper squaddies on hand.”
Yarrow saluted back. “Captain Maximilian Yarrow, Royal Marines.” He dropped the hand and Idle did the same. “What's the situation?”
Idle shrugged. “Would ‘utter shite’ be concise enough, sir?”
Yarrow chuckled. “Just possibly. Though I’d prefer a more detailed report.”
“Understandable,” Idle said quietly, looking thoughtful. “I'd say talk to Captain Jennings, but he got hit by a nasty one a few days ago and he's still under. I guess Lieutenant Packer is somewhere, but she’s with the Rock Riders, so she's a bit… y’know. Psychopathic.”
“Who’s in charge of the Red Cross?” Yarrow asked.
“That’d be Miss French, over at tent six,” Idle said, pointing into the camp. “I’ll take you there now if you’d like, sir.”
“Thanks,” Yarrow said quietly. “That’d be much appreciated.”
“If you'll come with me then, sir,” Idle said, before heading off, leading the group into the camp itself. Yarrow threw Joe a look, then followed the HLF man.
***
Equestrian Embassy. Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.
Shining Armour was staring out of the canteen window at the crowds beyond. They were still protesting fiercely, but they had died down a tad, for which he supposed he should be grateful.
“Fancy should be down soon, Sergeant Hoof says,” Cadence said from behind him. Shining waved a good airily in response, not really listening.his eyes were still fixed on the crowds.
“How did we get this bad?” he asked with a sigh.
“Hm?” Cadence asked, as she poured a cup of coffee from a rather battered old coffee machine. “What do you mean?”
Shining Armour shook his head, turning away from the window. “Five times the PER have attacked people in this city. Fourteen dead. Eighty three forcibly converted.” He growled almost unconsciously. “Five attacks. I've asked the Princess a dozen times if I can do something - lead a Guard contingent, speak with the local Conversion Bureau, something!”
“And she hasn't replied,” Cadence replied quietly, sitting opposite him with her coffee. “I guess that's to be expected.”
“It wouldn't have been ‘to be expected’ before,” Shining growled. “It just wouldn't. There's something - something wrong, something we’re missing. I’m sure of it.”
As he spoke, a stallion in a collar and tie entered, his blank flank revealing him to be a Converted - a ‘Convie’, as Shining’s troops occasionally (derogatorily) referred to them. He smiled in greeting as he got himself a cup of coffee from the machine.
“Prince-Captain,” he said. “Milady Princess.”
“Mr Greaves,” Shining said wearily. “How are you adjusting?”
“Not so badly, sir, not so badly,” the Converted said with a broad smile. “Been… well, adjusting. I guess life in Equestria won't be so bad after all. Lots of opportunities, brand new land…”
“Did you convert long ago, Mr Greaves?” Cadence asked politely.
“Oh, I was caught by the PER, ma’am,” he said with a slight sigh. “Very distressing at the time. I recall being a little… unhappy, shall we say. Not so much now that I’m used to four hooves. I guess you sort of acclimatise to it.”
“I guess you do,” Shining said with a slight frown. “Last time we spoke you were set on staying here.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve been rethinking,” Greaves shrugged. “Being a pony and all, my life here’s going to be different anyway. Might as well go the whole hog and move to where things aren't gonna disintegrate in a few months. Been half thinkin’ about changing my name too.”
“Don't,” Shining said, perhaps a tad harsher than he intended. “Your name is yours. You're still you, even if you've - changed a bit.”
“Yeah, that's true,” Greaves said, frowning slightly. “I just… I guess ‘John Greaves’ doesn't feel like it fits anymore.”
He sighed, before finishing his coffee and bowing slightly. As he left the room, Shining gave Cadence a pointed look.
“What?” she asked with a frown.
“You saw that, right?” he asked.
“I saw that he was clearly a cheerful person - well, pony,” Cadence replied. “What did you see?”
“When he came here, he swore and shouted and demanded we find him a cure,” Shining said, scowling. “He only came here for his own protection - Whitman’s idea, mainly because of the anti-pony violence.”
“So he's, what, reconsidered?” Cadence asked, frowning in turn. “Strange, I admit, but he has a right to change his mind.”
“Change it to the point of not being the same person, basically?” Shining asked. “There's something off about the PER’s potion. There has to be.”
“You think they've tampered with it?” Cadence asked. “Can they?”
“It's either that,” Shining Armour said grimly, “or the Princess did something to the main potion - but strange as she’s been acting recently, I find it difficult to believe our Princess of all ponies would condone… that. She's finding times hard - we all are - but she's still Celestia.”
“True,” Cadence said with a nod. “Who’s in charge of the Bureau in Washington?”
“Pony called ‘Well Met’,” Shining said with a slight smirk. “Fussy sort. Don't think he actually likes the job. Still, the Convies - sorry, Converted-”
“Convies?” Cadence repeated, scandalised. “Where did you pick that up?”
“The Guards,” Shining shrugged. “It does the rounds. Anyway, the Converted Well Met’s sent my way seem universally well-treated and well-balanced, so I've ruled him helping the PER out. He's just not the type to do that.”
“Could the potion be being made without pony help?” Cadence asked. “Maybe Aunty Celestia thinks it's an internal matter, humans attacking themselves.”
“Impossible,” Shining replied, shaking his head. “I even asked Twily this - she said something about ‘needing a magical element added’, how the magia of the brewer is a catalysing element that .”
Cadence nodded. “Sounds like a suitably dry Twilight response.”
“Yeah, which makes her ‘the potion is the solution’ response more worrying,” Shining said quietly, a even bigger frown on his face. “She's never been the kind to accept an imperfect solution when she can do better, and she can always do better.”
“You're right,” Cadence said quietly. “Do you think there's an explanation?”
“I do,” a new voice said with a somewhat upper-class air. Cadence and Shining looked up to see Ambassador Fancy Pants enter, a smile on his face. He had a similar coloration to Shining, but he was a thinner, altogether less sturdy-looking stallion, a this moustache under his nose. “Hello, Cadence, my dear, how are you?”
“I'm well, Fancy,” Cadence replied with a smile. “How's Fleur?”
Fancy’s face fell. “She's not well. Last message I got from her sounded… anxious. I think she’s worried I’ll be hurt out here.”
“Given the crowd out there, can't say I blame her,” Shining said with a dry smile. “You said you had a theory?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Fancy said quietly. “I suspect there's some great threat in the works.”
“Great… threat?” Cadence said, frowning.
“Indeed,” Fancy said. “Remember, when Nightmare Moon was coming back, the Princess did not appear to be preparing - but we know she was. We know the results of that preparation.”
“The Elements of Harmony,” Shining said quietly. “So you think there's another threat that needs her to… what, lie?”
“Of course,” Fancy said with wide eyes. “It makes sense - she's lulling her enemy into a false sense of security. When the time is right, she'll strike and defeat this enemy, and we’ll be able to… to save what's left of humanity.” His face became downcast. “If only this were less of a bally wait.”
“Surely we’d know something,” Cadence said quietly.
“We didn't know about the Elements before the Nightmare Moon crisis,” Shining pointed out. “Why would we know about this?”
“Because we’re her family, and more importantly we’re representatives of Equestria to these humans, and this is the kind of thing we need to know!” Cadence snapped. She took a calming breath. “We need to be kept in the loop.”
“Regrettably, Princess, we only want to be kept in the loop,” Fancy Pants said quietly, a morose look on his face. “There isn't a matter of ‘need’.”
Cadence looked to Shining, but his expression had become grimly resigned.
“It makes a kind of sense,” he said quietly. “If there's some threat that requires this.”
Cadence scowled. “But if there is, why not -”
“Think about it,” Fancy Pants said. “She's lived for eleven thousand years, ruled for very nearly all of them. This all might seem horrible - but if anypony knows how to play long games, she does.”
Cadence sighed. “I guess that makes sense. I just wish we weren't the long game she was playing.”
***
Opposite the White House, Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.
A suited figure stood among protesters and complainers, hands folded behind his back. A small smile graced his features. He pulled a small cellphone from his pocket, tapped in a number on the keypad, and waited. After a moment, the other line answered.
“Hello,” the suited man said. “I'm where I need to be. Yourself?”
“Where you need me, sir,” the voice on the other end said quietly. “Our men are moving into position - they should be ready for tomorrow.”
“And there prepared to do what needs to be done?” the suited man asked.
“They're aware of the sacrifices we need to make, and they're prepared,” the voice said grimly. “We’ve convinced most of the more reluctant ones - and those we couldn't convince won't be a problem.”
“I’m so glad,” the suited man said quietly, that soft smile still gracing his features. “It is a shame that it won't be possible to do this on a more symbolic date, but…”
“We’re with you, sir,” the other voice said. “We’ll make March 6th a symbolic date all its own.”
“Yes,” the suited man said, sounding slightly happier. “Yes, I suppose we will. Thank you Colonel. You may begin final preparations.”
With that, he ended the call. He put the phone back in his pocket, and folded his hands behind his back again. His smile stayed on his face.
Tomorrow would be the dawn of a new era.
Tomorrow would bring their salvation.
***
Washington D.C. Conversion Bureau, March 5th, 2023.
Dr Well Met looked up as Fenwick entered his office again. The human scientist looked… troubled, and Well Met frowned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
“My ‘friends’ want to stage a raid on the Bureau,” Fenwick said with a frown. “Apparently one of their friends in the military is convinced that something bad’s about to go down.”
“‘Something bad’?” Well Met repeated with a derisive snort. “Please tell me you're joking. They want to stage a raid, steal our stock, because ‘something bad is going down’?!”
“Their man is with a military unit on its way to D.C,” Fenwick said grimly. “He says they're planning on instigating some kind of martial law, but beyond that he doesn't know the details.”
Well Met paled slightly. “Martial law? You're certain?”
“He suggested that we get as many of our… friends together as we can,” Fenwick continued quietly, “and hope we can continue do our work. My friends want to stage the raid in order to replenish stock but leave us as legitimate -”
“No,” Well Met said, suddenly turning around. “Tell your friends… tell your friends that I’m seeking sanctuary with the embassy. Today. I’ll take the rest of the pony staff with me. You go with them when they come, and we’ll… I don't know. Hopefully meet up on the other side.”
Fenwick looked troubled for a moment, and then nodded.
“If you think that's the best course of action,” he said. He paused. “Good luck, Walmart.”
“You too, Wick,” Well Met said quietly. He turned away as his friend exited the room, feeling a sense of foreboding creeping up on him.
Martial law? He'd known things were getting bad, but not that bad.
I just want to go home, he thought miserably. I wish I’d never come to this miserable world.
***
HLF/Red Cross temporary HQ, Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.
The first thing the Royal Marines noticed about the camp was the smell. There was blood in the air, and the smell of chemicals and cleaning fluid.
"So, Idle," Joe asked conversationally. "How did HLF come to be guarding a Red Cross camp?"
The HLF - or Human Liberation Front - had been formed as a loose coalition of mercenaries, ex-soldiers and volunteers from across the world. The Front's stated goals were to liberate human beings from areas where the Barrier was overtaking civilisation, as well as protecting them from PER terrorists, looters, raiders and bandits.
Unfortunately, due to the ad hoc nature of the organisation, a lot of HLF units were notoriously under-regulated. This had led to more than one situation when HLF had forgotten that they were there to evacuate civilians and focused too much on fighting PER, or worse, to situations when rogue HLF soldiers had acted no better than bandits themselves. There had been moments where men and women under the HLF banner had raided camps, killed or extorted refugees, and even murdered Converted ponies or even trueborn Equestrians who had simply been visiting Earth, or even helping humans. There were more than a few anti-pony undertones to the HLF - an unfortunate side effect of their mission and the events that had caused them to be created.
Because of that, and instances of criminal activity, the organisation had a somewhat mixed reputation. That being said, most people were usually happy to see HLF when they showed up. The UN had been notoriously slow to respond to the Barrier and the subsequent refugee crisis, and they were still being far too slow (at least in Yarrow's opinion) to act against PER terrorists or other threats.
"Well, that one is easy," Idle said, smiling at the question. "A bunch of HLF got together around Portland and met up with the Red Cross people helping evacuate people. There were some of the Kraken Grenadiers -"
"I thought those guys were in the Middle East still," Joe put in. "Last I heard they were up with the Hounds of Hades in Israel."
"They were," Idle said. "The guys we've got with us are a small offshoot. There's also Neptune's children - they're a bunch of sailors and ex-Marines from various places - the Rock Riders of course, buncha loons, and there were a few people under some crazy guy called Birch, claimed to have known some secret about the town of Fairport that needed to be said." He shrugged. "Birch's lot went off to try and get to Fairport and kill some PER while they were at it - no idea what's happened to them, but with Barrierfall comin’ they're probably screwed - and the rest of us came with the Red Cross here. Wasn't all that easy, either."
"Oh?" Yarrow asked.
"We've got a few Convies and Trueborns with us," Idle explained, sounding irritated. "On the way we ran into some guys - called 'emselves the Redmanes - old HLF ‘buddies’ of mine. Bastards had a habit of scalping any ponies they found."
"'Had'?" Yarrow repeated.
"Yeah, 'had'," Idle grinned. "Not so much anymore, on account of 'em being dead. We lost some good folks though, and that's how Jennings got laid up."
Yarrow nodded. "Sounds like you guys have been doing well, though."
“Hopefully we have,” Idle said quietly. “Miss French’s tent is just down here.”
‘Miss French’, when they finally reached her tent a few moments later, turned out to be a calm, polite woman with long hair tied behind her in a ponytail. She had a quiet smile on her face, though it was more than a little strained.
“Hello,” she said as Yarrow entered. She looked at John. “More of your friends?”
“These guys are the real deal,” Idle replied with a slight shake of the head. “Royal Marines. Whole squad of ‘em.”
“I’m sure they'll be a great help,” Miss French said tiredly. “I am Miss Stella French, currently the person left trying to organise this… mess.”
“Captain Maximilian Yarrow,” Yarrow replied, nodding respectfully. “We’re here to talk evacuation of this group.”
“Moving again?” she said, a sigh escaping her lips. “I don't know that we’ll be able to.”
“Is there some problem?” Yarrow asked. “Can we help?”
“I don't know if anyone can,” French said with a wry smile. “We’ve been under-resourced, under-equipped, and there's been so much…” She stopped, shaking her head. “I’m not even supposed to be in charge here - I was a High School principal before this nonsense. Then the PER decided to attack my school.”
“And the Redmanes and Birch’s lot decided to attack them,” Idle said with a low growl. “Bit of a cluster-”
“In any case,” French said sharply. “What little of the faculty and student population we could save are part of our little group.” She paused. “Too few.”
Yarrow nodded slowly. “You volunteered to help the Red Cross group out.”
“A Mr Paris was in charge of this group,” Miss French said quietly. “He was killed by PER on our way here. I have some experience of organisation, so I was put in charge. Only Samantha was really left of the main body of the original volunteers, and she was content to let me be the one calling the shots, though Captain Jennings and Lieutenant Packer seemed able to deal with our… ‘security’ issues..”
As she spoke, a girl with red hair streaked with blonde entered, a frown on her face as she passed French a clipboard. Miss French looked over the clipboard with a sigh, before putting it down.
“And now it seems I am the one in charge properly,” she said. “I'm afraid Captain Jennings is dead.”
Idle cursed. “Dammit, I liked Jennings. Where's Packer?”
“The Rock Riders left this morning,” the girl said quietly. “Packer said something about ‘following Birch’.”
“Psycho bitch,” Idle swore. “I guess you really are in charge then, Stells.”
French frowned at the nickname. “I'm hardly a fit person to be in charge of the HLF guard contingent. You -”
“No way!” Idle said, holding up a hand. “I’m not leadin’ this mess. I’m not -”
French held up a hand and sighed. She looked at Yarrow. “Perhaps that’s how you can help, then, Mr Yarrow. If you could take care of our security, organise our forces, we might all feel a bit safer…”
Yarrow frowned. “I'm not really here to lead anyone. I’m here to help, but -”
“Then you can help by organising our security,” French said simply. “I trust that isn't beyond your skills?”
“It's not,” Yarrow replied, “but it's also not what I came here to do.”
“I don't believe any of us are doing ‘what we came here to do’ anymore, Captain,” French said with a sad smile. “Perhaps you should settle yourself for what you can do.”
Yarrow sighed. “Alright. If that's what you need from us.” He glanced at Idle. “Mr Idle - I’d like a full count of what we’ve got, and I want estimates on how quickly we can pack up and move out. There's an evac ship waiting for us in New York.”
French frowned. “It might take time to get people ready to move - and there are a lot of critically ill people amongst our wounded.”
“Yes,” Yarrow said quietly. “But we’re going to have to be quick. We don't know how long we have.”
Idle and French nodded, and the HLF man headed off to start organising his troops. French began speaking with the girl.
Yarrow sighed, frustrated. This was becoming far more complicated than he would have liked.
Author's Note
Apologies that it's taken this long to get out :-) Real life's made writing something of a crawl at the moment :-)
Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Jed.
