“Lord Solus, I have the report from Imperator Jack. Eight of our finest buggies are on escort. With them is these eighteen Lancers and these eighteen Revheads. Aboard the Rig we have five Lancers, just in case anything does go wrong. Fair weather is expected for today, however the Cloud-watchers suspect a large storm tonight. Imperator Rage has been informed, and made plans to bunk for the night at the Bullet-Farm. Couriers report that Lord Ash will be waiting with spare bunks for the colts.

“We have ninety-five war-buggies in ready condition, as well as fourteen war-trucks, two Rigs, and the Wub-Wagon in in running condition. Crew for all accounted for, both Revheads and Lancers. Six Polecats are also in running condition, though we only have five Skytrotters out of the butcher shop.

“The Artist reports that we have eighteen blood-bags ready for use, but only two universal Unicorn, Sir. Forty-three blood-bags are recovering in storage, and three are in use. Including the new Feral.”

“Thank you, Colossus. You may return to the watchtower my son.” Only sixty one blood-bags. He was starting to run short again. Perhaps the Bullet-Farmer had some useless bodies over there. He would have to send a courier, but it was too late in the day already. The Rig had been on the road for half a day already.
–
Ace flapped up onto the top of the tanker and curled his wings in, clomping up to the open sunroof in the Rig. In the back seat, two Lancers lounged, sipping Guzzoline from a large bottle. He spared them barely a glance, “Imperator, the sun is beginning to fall. Surely it must be time to refuel the buggies?”

Of course, he was right. A journey always cost at least two tanks of fuel for the buggies. Never more than one for the Rig though. Her talon extended and she gripped the horn, pulling a gentle three tones. The buggies began to slow around her, carefully moving out of the way as the Rig came to a gentle stop. In moments Ace was on the ground, War-colts surrounding him as he pulled the fueling nozzle off the spherical tank.

“My tank is empty!”
“Mine is more empty!”
“I've been spitting my Guzzo in the tank!”
“I'm older than you!”

The Pegasus sighed and stepped up onto the running board, presumably to open the spigot so the pump hose would work. The wheels turned slowly underhoof as the Rig began to move. Oh, he had no doubt they would catch up, especially the Pegasus Lancers. But as the Rig began to pick up speed, he snorted, watching the colts tire themselves out in pursuit. The Buggies quickly joined in the pursuit, only to sputter out without the precious fuel. He waved sarcastically to them, then hung the hose back up and crawled up to the cab where he saw the two colts still drunkenly sitting in the back seat.

They barely noticed when he opened the doors and shoved them out, watching them bounce on the sand. They would probably die, but he had a job to do, and it didn't allow for niceties. He looked through his spyglasses again, and his blood went as cold as the ice he was said to bleed. Solus was looking at them. He would no doubt see the shiny chrome buggies separated from the dark black tanker. “Rage, remember how I said I was certain we would be caught before we left the Triangle?”

The sound that came out of her beak was half snarl of rage, half Griffon swear words that he had no hope of understanding. Her talon pushed towards him, placing a single golden bit in his hoof, “Fine. You win the bet. How far out are we?”

He checked the distances in his head, based on the distance he knew they could travel, “Not more than half a day from each. If the Bullet-Farm and Gas-Town are informed soon, they will intercept at a half-night from the road. This may be the shortest lived escape in history.”

“If it is, I want my bit back.”
–
A pale grey stallion sat in the corridor to the garage, fiddling with the leather band around his hoof. It was holding a thin red hose in place, one that led up into a cage with the feral blood-bag in it. He wasn't about to let his half-life get him before he had a chance to die in a manner worthy of Solus' Valhalla, and this blood-bag was going to make sure he lived.

Until his Lancer passed by holding his wheel in hoof. “Mash, what are you doing?”

“Din'tcha hear? Immortal Solus is sending a rescue mission.”

“On who?”

“Imperator Rage. She abandoned her escort. Vision's not too good half a day away, but the other Imperator Jack thinks there might be some Buzzards that wandered in.”

The stallion stood and reached for the wheel, “My car. I drive.”

“Rumble, you're in terrible shape. Solus, you can't even stand.”

Stone scowled, “Don't need to stand to drive. Carry my blood-bag out.” Mash reached for the blood-bag with his dark brown hoof and slung him across his back, trotting out to the car, followed by his driver. Barely half-way there, he found himself stopped abruptly by the shouting of Imperator Jack.

“Load up Colts!” The absolutely enormous Earth pony bellowed as she charged down the stairs, “This rescue mission just turned. Solus' been Traitored!” She leaped from the overhead walkway down onto the top of one of the other Rigs, “My own SISTER! Imperator Rage! Has seen FIT to steal from SOLUS himself!”

The Rig roared to life, two immense tanks of fuel strapped to the back. It had been meant to go on a scavenger run into the badlands after the storm passed. Instead, it was to charge into battle adorned with Lancers.

Rumble just moved faster, sliding into the seat of his coupe as his Lancer strapped the muzzled blood-bag to the hood like some angry decoration. The car roared to life and tore into the sand, leading the Behemoth of a Rig out onto the sand. Behind the Rig came the elegant glory that was Solus' own personal vehicle. The Gigahorse. On monster tires, it ripped across the sand, keeping pace easily.

Author's Note

More characters!