Soldier of Equestria

Chapters

Chapter One: Equestrian hospitality.
Chapter Two: Ponyville
Chapter three: A second wind
Chapter four: Canterlot Tower Blues
Chapter five: Heartache number one
Chapter six: Flutter forth, Fluttershy.
Chapter seven: The story ended on that day. The rest is an epilogue.
Chapter eight: heartache number two
Chapter nine: The man who sold his world
Chapter ten: Boots on the ground
Chapter Eleven: A new allegiance

Chapter One: Equestrian hospitality.

Author's Note

I haven't yet decided when in the MLP FiM timeline this is set.
This FanFic is what remains of an old project of mine, a Metal Gear Solid/ MLP crossover.

Chapter One: Equestrian hospitality.

Very early on Sunday morning

The soldier was lying, unconscious, in the middle of a field. Pistol in one hand, knife in the other. He was wearing a tiger stripe camouflaged uniform, a SPIE harness, and a gas mask, which covered his face.
A pair of circular dog tags were dangling from his neck, which read:

"O NEG
365281
HAVELOCK
BO
CE"

"Good Jesus." Brian Havelock opened his eyes. "Am I dead?" The sound of guns and explosions had died out, and he could hear crickets singing in the moonlight.

The operative tried moving his arms. With his gun arm, he straightened himself up to a sitting position and looked around. He was in the middle of an orchard, at the foot of a gargantuan apple tree. He holstered his sidearm, sheathed his dagger, and pulled himself up, using the trunk of the tree for support. But as he got up, Brian felt the entire world spin under his feet. He lost his balance, and slumped down on the tree, giving in to sharp pain in his right foreleg.

As he did so, an apple fell to the ground next to him. He followed the apple down to the ground along the tree, trying to gently rest himself.
He ripped the mask off his face, revealing his dark-brown mullet haircut, the front of which was restrained by a black bandanna. A scar went through his right eye, which he had covered by an eye-patch. He inhaled and exhaled rapidly, trying to fight the pain in his limb. Once it had calmed down a bit, he reached an arm towards the fallen apple. He grabbed it and took a huge bite out of it.

It must have been the most delicious one he'd ever tasted.

As his teeth dug deep into the fruit, he tasted the juicy flesh, with its majestic sweet flavor.
Once he'd eaten the fruit, Brian threw away the core, and decided he'd better contact his handlers and give them an update. He pushed a switch on his radio. Then, he started talking in his gravelly voice, which had been given to him by his years of smoking, shouting orders over gunfire, and laughing on nights out at the pub with his mates.

“Husky, this is Foxhound. I've just woken up in the middle of an orchard, I don't know where. Over."

No answer.

“Husky, this is Foxhound. Do you read me? Over."

Still no answer. He got up as best as he could and limped around, looking for someone to help. His thinking was that the very orchard he was standing around in belonged to someone. Up ahead he saw a big farmhouse, alongside a barn.

“Score,” he thought. As he moved toward the farmhouse, the human tripped over a root or something, and fell over, landing shoulder first on another tree.

He yelled as he crashed, and was rather embarrassed with himself, laying there in the dirt. He heard a voice. It sounded southern, and girly, yet a bit tomboyish. It was coming from the house.

“Y'all hear that?” the owner of the voice asked. A light in the house flicked on.

“Yup,” went another, more masculine one.

“Sure I did,” said yet another, younger sounding one.

“We got us a problem!” shouted the first voice.

The man heard what seemed to be twelve hooves galloping down a flight of stairs, but he didn't stay put long enough to see the three horsemen crash the front door. He tried running the best he could, clutching his limp arm and pressing as much weight as he could on his good leg. He hid behind a tree to catch his breath, and witnessed three different flashes of torchlight scanning the orchard. The hooves could be heard getting closer to him.
To be acting so boldly, these three horse-riding rednecks probably had the second amendment firmly wrapped around their hunting shotguns , loaded with everything-proof bullets made of castle doctrine. That meant that he had to act fast to avoid these people, and seek medical attention as soon as possible. He quickly reached inside his butt pack, and extracted an empty rifle mag from it.

With all the might that was left in his right arm, he threw it somewhere away from him. The tactic had worked, as the three horsemen rushed to where the mag had landed.The human used that quick distraction to make his escape. He limped in the opposite direction, and soon broke into a silent run, until he was safely out of the orchard, over a fence and onto a mud path.
Whatever part of Dixie land he had spontaneously materialized in, they probably had some sort of hospital somewhere. He looked right. Then left. After a period of hesitation, he decided to go left.

The human had traveled for what felt like miles. For a long time, he hadn't seen anything but grass and dirt. At one point, he had arrived at the edge of a high, menacing forest, and had elected to go around it.
After what seemed like forever of limping around, the man crossed another dirt path, and saw a small cottage up the road. Hoping that whoever inhabited that house would be kinder than the horse-riding farmers, the man limped towards it.

It was no easy task. He had been walking, or rather limping for hours on end, and the fatigue was coming down on him, wearing him senseless. To make matters worse, as he slowly limped towards the cottage, and crossed a small bridge that went over a stream, he fell sideways, and landed shoulder first in the stream. His already aching shoulder dislocated, and the momentum sent his head to the riverbed, knocking him semi-unconscious. As he tried breathing, he felt water filling his lungs, causing him to choke like mad. He crawled out of the stream, and made his way to the front door of the cottage. He hoisted himself up, and tried limping the last few yards to the door. He stumbled over once again, and banged his head a second time, this time on the front door itself.

From inside the house, he heard some hooves making their way towards him. Then, he felt the door against which his head was pressed open, and slumped down onto the floor. He then heard a high-pitched, yet soothing female voice.

“Oh, no... Wh-what are you? Never mind, I'll get you inside and help you.”

The last thing he felt before blacking out completely was what seemed to be two arms difficultly pulling him upwards, and dragging him across the soil.

When he woke up, the soldier found himself laying on a double bed, in the middle of a bedroom. He delicately opened his eyes, and looked around with his single working one.

To the left he saw a stone fireplace, bordered on both sides by circular windows, as well as a third rectangular one, which was right next to his bed.
To his right, he noticed a wooden shelf on which his clothes were neatly folded and piled, his sidearm and rifle resting on top of the garments.

In front of him was a single straight staircase, which went down to the ground floor.The soldier could hear birds chirping, and hens clucking. For a second, he thought he was back where he'd started, in the orchard. But he heard the nice, soothing voice from downstairs, and he relaxed. Hearing footsteps, he decided to lay down and close his eyes. That woman would surely know what to do.

"Um- Hello?" The voice asked. The soldier didn't answer.

"What do you guys eat? Or drink?" The girl inquired.

Given the situation, place, and going by the woman's soft voice and demeanor, Brian could only write off his environment as non-hostile, and that girl was probably nothing more than a recluse who lives in the countryside, far from everything. But he had to buy himself some extra time, if he wanted to assess the situation further.

"Tea. Please."

Tea or coffee generally takes five or six minutes to make, five minutes of which the soldier only needed one.He heard the woman leave the room, closing the door behind her. The soldier opened his eyes once more, and took a look at his limbs. His arm was in a sling, and a bandage was wrapped around his leg.

"Seen worse..." The man thought. The woman had kindly relocated his arm.
His leg, however, was another problem. He didn't know where the closest hospital was, so he'd have to make-do with the limited quantity of morphine he had.

He looked around the room once more. It was rather large. If he remembered the exterior of the cottage correctly, it wasn't very big. Therefore, it most certainly took up most of the floor he was on, if not all of it.
The fact that he could only hear one voice from downstairs, and that the room was completely devoid of pictures, let alone couple photos, indicated that the owner of this house was single, or at the very least, lived a lonely lifestyle.

The soldier breathed a sigh of relief. His environment wasn't hostile. Now that assessing the situation was finished, he had to decide what the best course of action would be. The lady downstairs was making tea, while he was basically lying in a bed making a nuisance of himself, so he elected to go downstairs and politely introduce himself to his newfound hostess.

"Here goes..." He thought, getting rid of his sling, and sitting upright. He suddenly (yet quietly) got up, but as he did so, that spinning sensation got back to him, and he fell to the floor, with a force that shook the entire structure. He groaned, once again feeling the pain in his leg, plus the extra pain that now engulfed his entire body. He started crawling towards the shelf with his gear on it, but as he did so, the only door flung open, revealing something so shocking that he could only gape at it.

It was... Some sort of small horse... In midair, a cup of tea balanced on its right hoof. It was yellow, with a bubblegum-pink mane, and moderate cyan eyes. It had two wings, which were the same colour as its coat.

The operative flipped himself onto his back, and moved backwards along the floor using his elbow. Once he reached the bed, he pulled himself up, and pressed all of his weight onto his good leg.

"What the hell ?" he muttered, very softly.

The pegasus, to the soldier's surprise, set herself down on the floor, and started approaching, a smile on her lips.

"Don't worry, big one," it said, soothingly, in the same voice as the one Brian had heard just minutes before. "It's all fine, you're safe."

The soldier was shocked. Was he going mad? Was this an elaborate hallucination, or did an actual bubblegum-maned flying pony just talk to him? Whichever, the human decided to roll with it.

"Please, " said the soldier, "Could you keep your distance? I- I'm not, erm-" he didn't really know what to say.

"Oh, that's okay," said the filly, looking down at her hooves. "Oh, I understand. I was just trying to help, but it's okay if you don't want me to, erm..." She looked up at the soldier, expectantly.
There was a long and agonizingly awkward pause. Brian just looked into the filly's eyes, who looked back at his only one.

"Erm... You could help by telling me your name," suggested Brian, getting a hold of himself.

"I'm Flu- Fluttersh- Fluttershy." The pegasus said, in a barely audible whisper. She looked down at her hooves.

"I didn't catch that," the human said.

"I'm... Flutter-" She took a deep breath, and looked up at the human. Her penetrating blue eyes were watering up. "I'm Fluttershy," she asserted, finally.

Seeing the innocence in the equine's eyes, the soldier felt himself softening up. He started rubbing his neck, somewhat embarrassed.

"My name-" he started, but stopped half way. "-isn't important."

A second, even more awkward silence followed. The two stared into each other's eyes, in a way that was uncomfortable for both parties. After a while, the operator heard the metallic noise of his sidearm's internal system. Looking down, he realized that a white bunny rabbit was playing with his pistol, which had fallen off the shelf onto the floor. The bunny was looking down the barrel, ignorant of the danger that this could pose.

Fearing more for the safety of the rabbit than anything else, Brian stumbled over, and snatched the sidearm away, in a more violent way than he had intended. In the process, he had sent the critter flying, and said critter ended up on the floor, against the wall.

"ANGEL!" gasped Fluttershy, immediately flinging herself towards the critter at such a speed that it seemed impossible. She bent down, and inspected her pet. Fortunately, no real damage had been done.

"Miss, I'm very sorry about that," Brian said, very calmy, still clutching his sidearm. "He's lucky the safety was on, or he could have-"

"How... DARE YOU!" The pegasus shouted, flying upwards and dangerously approaching the soldier, who took a step back.

"How dare you attack my innocent Angel bunny?" She repeated, looking down at the human like some sort of Angel of Death. She took a deep breath once again, and after a few seconds, opened her eyes wide, and stared at the human, straight in the eyes.

Exectly what had happened at that precise moment, the operative would never be able to explain. It was as if Fluttershy's cyan eyes were drilling into the human's light-blue one. She was boring a hole through his iris, digging away at his retina, chilling his very soul, until his entire mind was a colour to match the eyes looking at him. Through this haze of blue, the operative saw a man appear. A perverted grin on his lips. Two black eyes, in which one could see a void, where this man's soul used to be.

"Cut out his eyes. I don't like these blue eyes of his... These Nordic eyes."

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

Enraged, frenzied, the human reached out at Fluttershy, grabbed her by the mane, and pulled her backwards. She crashed into the wall behind. Instinctively, he aimed his sidearm at the filly.

Through his ironsights, he saw that the pony was lying in a heap on the ground, just next to the bed. Carefully keeping his finger outside of the trigger guard, he approached, just to make sure she wasn't a threat anymore.
She was much smaller than him, and than any other pony, at that. When standing up, she came to roughly the human's waist.

As he got close, the man carefully placed the pistol on the floor as he knelt down to evaluate the damage.

The filly was sobbing, curled up on the floor.

"I'm really sorry, miss." The human said, remorsefully. He tried reaching out to her and comfort her, but she saw that, and flattened herself against the wall, trying as best as she could to stay out of reach of the soldier.

"Just-just leave, okay?" she said, not even looking at the soldier.

The operator got up, picked up the discarded pistol, and limped towards the shelf. There, he looked through the pouches of his belt, and found what he was looking for: a metal case. He opened it, and extracted a syrette, on which the words "SOLUTION OF MORPHINE TARTRATE, 1/2 grain in 1 5cc" were stamped. He haphazardly injected the needle into his leg, and felt the pain slowly leaving his body.

He got dressed: compression shirt, trousers, jacket, pistol belt, harness, and finally his bandana.

"Way to screw things up, mate," he thought, as he went downstairs and left the house.

Chapter Two: Ponyville

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter three: A second wind

Sunday afternoon

When he woke up, the operative couldn't recognize his surroundings. He was on a bed, inside a prison cell. The floor and walls were made of the same featureless stone. There was a window with metal bars going vertically, through which he could see the blue, cloudless sky.

Brian got up and tried moving towards the window to get a view. But as he did so he felt a tug on his left wrist. Looking down at it he found that he was shackled to the wall. A familiar predicament, though the operative had hoped he'd never have to be in such a situation again.

Brian's torso was in bandages, and he could breathe properly again; At least his captors had done a good job fixing him.

"Hello?" the soldier called. No one answered.

"Hello?" he repeated. "Anybody?"

He heard some hoofsteps, and the metal door opened. A white pony wearing what seemed to be a golden Roman Praetorian Guard uniform peaked his head inside the cell, looked the man, and left.

"Very bloody helpful," muttered the human, sitting back down on the bed and leaning his spine against the wall.

With his right hand he went through his pockets, checking whether or not his captors had left his tobacco pouch. Unfortunately for him, they hadn't.

After a couple of minutes of idly waiting, the soldier heard the approach of hoofsteps. The door opened, and two guards, just like the one who'd peaked his head in earlier, made their entrance. They stood on either side of the door, as a third pony entered.

She was a pearly-white mare, much bigger than the guards protecting her, with a green, blue, light pink and green mane and tail. Around her neck was a heavy-looking piece of jewelry, and a crown was perched atop her head. She, just like the lavender-coloured pony back in Ponyville, had a pair of wings and a horn. The mark on her flank depicted a sun.

Of all the ponies the operative had seen until then, this one was surely the funniest. In his mind, she was just a red nose away from looking like a clown. Brian might even have laughed when first seeing her, had he not been shackled to a wall. Instead, he looked up at his captor, who had an eyebrow raised, a stoic expression on her face.

"Leave us," said the huge mare, prompting the two guards to depart instantly.

"Who are you?" she asked, sitting down in front of the soldier.

"Maybe you could answer a couple of my questions first," he retorted. "Why am I tied up? Was a cell not enough? Also, where am I?"

"When my faithful student Twilight Sparkle sent me a letter, saying she and her friends had found and captured a human in Ponyville, I sent the guard over immediately to recover you," she said. "I'm sorry for the ill treatment, but I dare say you've deserved it."

The soldier groaned. "Not that again," he thought.

"I was pretty worried when I heard the news," she explained. "I know very well what your species is capable of. And these reports that Twilight, her friends, and the rest of Ponyville gave me didn't help matters. As to where you are, you are currently being held in the eastern tower of Canterlot Castle."

"I see," said the soldier.

"Now, maybe you can answer my question, human. Who are you?"

Brian took a few seconds to think; there he was, in a world he didn't know. He needed more answers as to where he was, answers that he'd probably get if he played nice. With his free hand, he touched his neck, but he couldn't feel his dog tags. They had obviously taken them away. So there was no point whatsoever in lying about his name, or they would discover soon enough.

"Captain Brian Havelock, 22nd Special Air Service Regiment," answered Brian. "And you are?"

"I am Princess Celestia, co-ruler of Equestria."

The soldier instantly bowed his head to the princess. He was addressing royalty, after all.

Celestia stared back at the Captain with her violet eyes. She considered him for a few seconds.

"He is respectful," she thought.

"Pray tell, Captain: what is your purpose in Equestria?" she asked.

Brian hesitated. For all he knew, maybe he'd been sent on a mission to this place, and he just couldn't remember being sent. But that didn't make any sense. Before being transported here, he was already on a mission. He could remember the sound of guns, clearly dropping from existence in a split second. He could remember the details of that mission he was on, he could even remember breaking his shin just before appearing in this world.

"I am terribly sorry, ma'am, but I cannot tell you that." Brian said, smiling.

Princess Celestia chuckled, and smiled at her captive. She took in his uniform trousers and his eyepatch.

"Very well, Captain," she said. "Let's see if I can guess." She cleared her throat, and continued. "If the uniform you wear, and your rank are anything to go by, you are a soldier."

Brian snorted. "You don't say, Your Majesty."

Celestia chuckled. "Just call me Princess of the obvious," she answered. "But I think there's more to it than that. Your rank and your skills denote a certain seniority."

"Seniority?" snorted the officer. "Please, you're making me feel old."

"Oh, but I did not want to offend you, Captain," the princess said. "But I stand by what I said. You have several battle scars on your body." She looked at the scar going through the soldier's eye and the ones on his chest that weren't covered with bandages. "They go to show that you have experience."

Brian had to admit that the Princess had her charm. Her coat, her demeanor, and that mane that seemed to wave in the wind, even when there was no gust to be heard of. All of these traits gave the diarch a certain elegance. And that was why Brian was on his guard. She had gone from reproachful to flattering in mere seconds. Maybe she was just trying to butter the soldier up, in order to get the information she needed. An effective technique when used on certain people, although obvious to one who was trained to resist it.

But Brian decided to play along.

"There is something else," said the Princess. "For a soldier, you aren't wearing much protective gear. So I'd say you weren't planning to fight. No, you were on a reconnaissance mission. Now, if your handlers are planning to invade Equestria, I'd like to know, immediately."

"As much as I would like to answer your question, Your Majesty," replied the human, "I'm afraid I don't know. And even if I did, I wouldn't be at liberty to answer that question."

"I see," said Celestia. "Then, maybe you could answer another question. How did you get here?"

"Look," sighed Brian. "I don't know about that either. I was sort of... transported here. And trust me, I'd really like to know how. But all I want, right now, is to go home."

"Alright, Captain," the Princess said. "This is what I'll do. I will not question you further on reasons for your presence in Equestria. But you will stay detained in this cell until my student, Princess Twilight, confirms that you mean no harm to us. She is actually looking forward to seeing you. Until then, I would like you to rest and recuperate. If you need anything, please call one of the guards."

The sovereign bowed her head towards the shackles around the captive's wrist, a yellow beam shot out of her horn, and the chains magically disappeared.

"Thank you," Brian said. He lay down on his bed, just as Celestia left the room.

Chapter four: Canterlot Tower Blues

Monday, around twelve o'clock

"Honestly, Doctor!" shouted the Princess, outraged. "The Royal household pays you a rump-load every month to sniff out a cold from three miles away, and you're telling me that you didn't see his leg was broken?"

"Fractured, Your Highness." Doctor Splint re-ajusted his glasses and bow-tie, beads of sweat dripping down his face.

"Whichever!" Celestia retorted.

"He was under the effect of some sort of sedative, Your Highness. Therefore, I wasn't able to-"

"Dismissed!" shouted Celestia.

"But I-"

"Dismissed, Doctor!"

"Very well, your Majesty." The doctor bowed his head, and left the study.

The Princess of Friendship entered, along with Fluttershy, who was looking even more anxious than usual.

"Good afternoon, Twilight, Fluttershy," said Celestia, levitating a tea set and placing it on the coffee table.

"Your Highness," answered Twilight and Fluttershy in unison. They both curtsied so low that their muzzles touched the floor.

Celestia chuckled. "There's no need for that anymore, Princess Twilight. And I wouldn't mind it if you didn't curtsy either, Fluttershy."

"How is he holding up?" asked Twilight.

"Surprisingly well," answered the sovereign, an expression of mild puzzlement on her face. "The guards told me that he politely asked whether or not he could be escorted to a doctor. They asked him what was wrong, and he casually told them his leg was hurting. He refused to be hauled to the infirmary by the guard, saying that he 'didn't deserve' to be assisted. Doctor Splint discovered that one of his leg bones was 'fractured', and he started mending it. I think a lesser man or stallion would have screamed in pain, or at least shouted out for help, but this one, he stayed polite; calm."

"A real trooper," commented Twilight, being reminded of her brother.

"Anyway, on the way back, he asked for a guitar to be brought to his cell. So that's what the guards gave him. Listen, he's very good!"

The three ponies went quiet. From across the courtyard, they could hear a guitar, and a baritone voice singing along.

"When I was just a baby, my momma told me 'son,
always be a good boy, don't ever hit a foal',
But I hit a poor, shy filly; just to watch her cry...
When I hear that filly crying,
It makes me wanna die..."

"He's remorseful," remarked Fluttershy. "And, um, I don't think he wanted to hurt me..."

"Maybe not," said Twilight, "but remorseful ponies often feel more guilty than they really are."

Fluttershy could identify with that. Whenever she got metaphorically trampled on by other ponies abusing her kindness, she often felt guilty when it wasn't her fault.

Celestia nodded, wisely. "I've put his equipment on the desk, over there." She jerked her head towards a desk at the back of the room, where a mess of olive drab items lay. "I had a look. I'm sure he'll understand." She blushed.

Twilight and Fluttershy sat down at the desk and took a look at the soldier's gear. The harness, jacket, and pouches had been spread on the desk. They had been organized by resemblance.

On the left hand side, Twilight saw the rifle and the pistol, with some spare magazines for both. "I heard about these when I was in their world," she commented. "I even saw some pictures. I hoped I'd never have to see a real one." She gingerly levitated the pistol, and rotated it around, looking at every detail. On the barrel, some writing could be seen, carved into the metal, during its assembly.

"COLT'S MK IV/ SERIES 70
GOVERNMENT MODEL
45 AUTOMATIC CALIBER."

Fluttershy wanted to ask her friend what these items were used for. But she feared the answer.

Twilight carefully put the guns back in their place, and looked at the other objects on display. There was his jacket, with its strange camouflage pattern. It consisted of green, black, and brown stripes, in shapes that looked like a tiger's fur. It was strange, but the lavender princess assumed the pattern had a reason for looking like that. Then there were the olive drab pouches, and the butt pack which she emptied on the desk. The most striking of the bag's contents were the medals. About ten of them.

Twilight picked one of them up and looked at it. It was made of bronze. It had the shape of a cross, but... its arms were narrow near the centre, and flared towards their extremities.
At the centre, was a crown, with a lion on top of it. The words "For Valour" were inscribed underneath it. The medal itself was suspended from a crimson ribbon.

"For valour," read Fluttershy aloud.

Once again, these words stirred up Shining Armor's image in Twilight's mind. She put the medal down, and looked at the rest of the bag's contents.
Next, there was a small black-covered journal. It looked heavy enough, and it had about the same amount of wear and tear on it than any of the books in Twilight's library, which was virtually none. The human had gone to great lengths to preserve it. She was tempted to take a peek, but decided against it; the human would be less likely to cooperate if they violated his privacy.

Finally, there were the last three items of interest: the man's cigar box, his tobacco pouch, and his lighter.

"I've been wondering what these three things are," remarked Celestia, who appeared at Twilight's shoulder.

Twilight didn't answer. She opened the cigar box, took one of the brown tubes out, and examined it. She knew she'd seen something similar when she was in the human world, but where? She put it back in the box, which she replaced on the table. Then she opened the tobacco pouch, and looked inside. There was a considerable amount of shredded tobacco, complete with some paper to roll it in. Once again, she knew she'd seen something similar, but she didn't recall it. It was only when she picked up the petrol lighter, flicked it open, struck the wheel, and saw the flame that she remembered.

"Ah, yes!" she exclaimed. "The humans hold these in their mouths with one end ignited and puff the smoke. I saw some people at Canterlot High do it, but it was all pretty hush-hush, like a taboo."

"Why would they do that?" asked Celestia, frowning. "Why would anypony willingly breathe smoke?"

"I don't know," answered Twilight. "But judging by how secretive they are about it, they aren't supposed to."

Fluttershy had remained silent the entire time. She didn't even know what in Equestria the two sovereigns were talking about.

"Um... Twilight?" timidly interjected Fluttershy. "Maybe we can ask him when we see him. I mean, I really don't like to keep people waiting."

Twilight Sparkle levitated the cigar, lighter, and tobacco pouch in front of her, while Fluttershy took the diary in her mouth, and they both proceeded to the Eastern tower. They were greeted by a couple of royal guards, who stepped aside to let the princess of friendship and her companion enter.

But as Fluttershy was about to enter the cell, she froze, not finding the strength to enter. Twilight looked around.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Oh, um, nothing, Twilight." The yellow Pegasus took a step back. "Just- Go ahead, I'll join you."

Twilight shrugged, and proceeded into the cell. There was the human, back to her, staring longingly out of the window. His frame was so big that he blocked almost all the light coming through the window.

"Hello!" beamed Twilight, as the guards shut the door behind her.

"Hey." The human didn't move.

"How do you do?" asked Twilight, placing the items on the cell's table.

The human turned around, and moved away from the light, dazzling Twilight in doing so. He sat down on the bed, and looked at the Princess. He was surprised to see that she was the winged unicorn he'd seen back at the village. But as he did with almost all of his emotions, he concealed his astonishment, and only displayed his usual stoic expression.

"Why is she here?" he asked, jerking his head towards the door. "Am I to be forgiven for what I've done?"

"I don't know anything about whether she intends to forgive you or not," Twilight said. "But I am here to study you further."

Brian didn't answer.

"Maybe I'll introduce myself," Twilight said. "I am Princess Twilight Sparkle, princess of Friendship. But please, just call me Twilight."

"I see," retorted Brian. "I'm Captain Brian Havelock. Call me Captain." His eyes drifted towards the cigar and lighter on the table.

"Can I smoke?" he asked. Twilight looked confused.

"Well, I don't know, can you?" she asked. "I mean, are you asking me whether you can turn to smoke, or burn? Or are you asking me permission to turn to ash? I mean, if you really need to, but is it something that's absolutely necessary? Are you guys just like phoenixes, and you turn to ash to regenerate or-"

"No, just, can I stick this tube of tobacco in my mouth and puff on the smoke that's produced by igniting the non-curved part?" he clarified.

"Oh, right!" exclaimed Twilight. She levitated the cigar and lighter towards Brian, who took the items from her magical grasp. He ripped the cigar's cape off with his teeth, and held it between his lips. Flicking his lighter open, he tried to light it. Nothing. He tried, and tried again, but couldn't manage.

"No petrol..." he thought.

But suddenly, the cigar ignited, just like magic. He looked at Twilight, who smiled.

"Thanks," he said, taking a drag. "So, I guess you're gonna ask me why I'm here. Or something like that."

"No," answered Twilight. "I'm here to ask you about... well, about you."

Brian chuckled. "I advise you not to," he cautioned. "I'm really boring."

"Come on, don't be like that." Twilight smiled at the Captain and sat down. "Here's what we'll do: I'll ask you some questions, and in return, I can answer all of yours."

"Fair enough." Brian blew some smoke out of his mouth, and leaned forward, resting his cigar arm's elbow on his knee. At least he'd have something to report when (or rather if) he made it back to his world.

"Where were you born?" asked Twilight.

"A country called Rhodesia," answered Brian. "Or at least, that's what it was called when I was born. About forty years ago, I'd say. The country's called Zimbabwe, now. Or at least I think that's what it's called..."

"That's where you grew up?" asked Twilight.

"Not really." Brian took another drag on his cigar. "When I was about five, I had to flee. Long story short, I ended up in another country called the United Kingdom. That's where I stayed."

"I see," said Twilight, writing all of that down on her parchment. "You said that you were born about forty years ago, is that it?"

"Yes."

"You don't know exactly when?"

"No. Never have."

Twilight looked at Brian with sympathy. "That's sad", she thought. "Poor guy doesn't know when he was born."

"Something else," started the Princess. "You said you had to flee your homeland?"

"Rhodesia was never really my homeland," answered the Captain. "But yeah. I had to leave."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

"Come on!" she insisted. "Pretty please?" She smiled an encouraging smile at the captive.

The soldier sighed. "Please, Twilight. I don't feel like exchanging life stories, today. But I'll give you a summary, if you want."

"Go ahead." The Princess put her quill back to the parchment.

"In brief," said the human, "People of my..." He lifted a hand and moved it up and down in front of his face, "... skin type arrived in Rhodesia over a hundred years ago. And after decades of colonial rule and exploitation, we'd outstayed our welcome."

"And?"

"That's it. Basically, anyway."

Twilight had just discovered a depraved side of humanity's nature. Some ponies in Equestria did hate others just for being different. But they were a rarity to come by.

"Okay." Twilight wrote it all down, and continued her interrogation. "That other country you mentioned, the United Kingdom. Tell me about it."

"What do you want to know?" asked Brian.

"You serve that country?" questioned Twilight.

"Yes. In the British Army," answered Brian, proudly.

"Do you report to a King?"

"A Queen, actually." The Captain flicked the ash off his cigar into his empty drinking glass. "Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth The Second. Well, I don't know her personally. I just met her when I was awarded a medal."

"You must've been proud," remarked Twilight.

"I was," retorted Brian. "And before I knew it, all the newspapers in the country wanted to know whose shirts I wear."

It was then that he realized that he was doing exactly what he had told the Princess he didn't want to do. He was telling her about his life. He felt defeated, somewhat.

"But enough about me," he said. "I want to know more about your people."

"Very well," answered Twilight. "Shoot."

"So, how does your society work?" asked Brian. "I mean, you've got unicorns, regular old ponies, pegasuses, and-"

"Pegasi," corrected the Princess, smiling comprehensively. It was a common mistake among foals.

"Pegasi, sorry," said Brian. "Is racism a big problem here?"

"Not really," answered Twilight.

Almost immediately, she launched into an explanation of what they ponies called Hearth's Warming. According to the legend, Unicorns, Earth Ponies, and Pegasi lived a "precarious peace": The three species lived divided, and only pursued their selfish needs: Earth Ponies would harvest food for the Unicorns and Pegasi- Pegasi would regulate the weather so as to achieve a balanced climate; and the Unicorns would raise the sun and moon for the others. To Brian, it all seemed very similar to a feudal system. But as creatures called the Windigos brought about an eternal winter, the three races had to band together, and make friends if they wanted to survive. And that was how Equestria was founded.

"That's... a pretty nice story," said Brian. By then, his cigar was almost finished. He took one last drag, and delicately placed it in the drinking glass. Rule of thumb was to let the cigar die with dignity.

"Any more questions?" The Princess asked.

"Yes." The captain once more leaned forward. "You said that Unicorns raised the sun and moon. How does that work?"

Twilight then explained that Celestia and Luna raised the sun and moon on a daily basis.

"Interesting," remarked Brian. "So without them, you're essentially screwed."

"That's... one way to put it," retorted Twilight.

"That brings me to the the next question," continued Brian. "How many princesses are there in Equestria? Do you all rule the country as a council, or do you report to a queen?"

"Only four of us," answered Twilight. "Celestia, Luna, Cadance, and... Me. Celestia and Luna rule Equestria in a general sense, Cadance is the ruler of the Crystal Empire, and me, well... I don't really rule anything. I'm not really a leader."

"Don't put yourself down, Twilight," advised Brian. "You're the Princess of Friendship. And if anything in life is true, it's that friends can lead you to a better path whenever you need guidance. That makes them the best leaders."

The lavender Alicorn looked up at the human, a hint of a tear in her eye. "Thank you, Captain."

"I've got another question," said Brian. "Celestia said that she knew what 'my species' could be like. Do you people know of our existence?"

"She, I, and a select few do," answered the Princess. "But I'm the only pony I know of who's ever been to your world."

"So you mean to say there's a way I can return to my world?" asked Brian, eagerly.

"There is, but I wouldn't get your hopes up," retorted Twilight. "The gateway opens every thirty moons."

"Oh." Brian's hopes fell flat. "And there's no way to, erm... jumpstart the gateway?"

Twilight shook her head. "Not that I know of," she said. The princess wore a sympathetic expression on her face. The human was in the same situation she would have been in, had the portal closed before she could leave their world. Well, almost the same, if you remove the prison cell and the fact that Brian hadn't become a pony on entering Equestria.

Brian looked down at his knees. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, and rolled down his cheek into his beard. Then, it unceremoniously fell onto the stone floor. Twilight mistook it for a tear.

"Are you okay?" asked Twilight.

"Could you leave me alone for a moment?" asked Brian in return.

"Certainly." Twilight left the room. As one of the guards opened the door to let the royal out, Fluttershy caught a glimpse of Brian's face. He was doing a good job at hiding his sadness, but Fluttershy could see through his mask.

Chapter five: Heartache number one

Author's Note

Disclaimer and trigger warning: The term 'nigger' (among others) is going to be present in this chapter, as well as a certain level of racism. Please note that these words are used here to get a message across, therefore they are not representative of my opinions.

1 Afrikaans for 'moon'.

Chapter five: Heartache number one

"Brian?" said a soft voice

The operative woke up, and scanned the cell. But no-one was there.

"Hello?" he called. There was no answer. Brian got up, and went towards the window. Shining down on him, was the moon, in all of its night-time splendor. Looking up at it, the trooper could almost feel it looking back at him.

Like many a person before him, Brian had once imagined the moon and the sun as sentient beings, with their own feelings and emotions.

"Lady Maan1 must be feeling lonely," mumbled Brian, in an innocent way.

The operative stayed there, looking at the moon for a few seconds, before making his way towards the table and reaching out for his tobacco pouch. But it wasn't there. He looked under the table, besides it, but couldn't find his pouch. He also checked his bed. It wasn't there either.

Feeling a cold breeze, Brian looked around to find that the door was open. Light was shining in from outside. It wasn't the sort of light produced by a lamp or by sunlight. Rather, it was the kind of light that you see shining through a window at night.

Deciding he had to check it, he went towards the doorway, and stepped outside.

Brian found himself standing on a paved road. He looked up, and saw the towering figure of the Elizabeth Tower, Big Ben.

For a moment, Brian rejoiced. He was home.

The immense tower's bell chimed twelve times; it was midnight.

Brian looked around. He could faintly remember being here before, but he couldn't remember when. At a corner of the street, there was a man, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, bent over the pavement. He seemed to be vomiting. The operative walked towards the man, to see if he was fine. It was then that the sick person straightened up, and turned around.

There, looking back at him, was... himself.

About thirty years younger, no scar on his face and two perfectly working eyes. His mullet was already there, it still not having outstayed its welcome in this world back then.

The younger version of Brian wiped his mouth on his sleeve, sat down on the pavement, and took a swig from a bottle of whiskey in his right hand.

Older Brian suddenly remembered what had happened on that fateful night. He didn't want to remember it, yet here he was. He closed his eyes, and tried very hard to change the scenery with his mind, but it was no use.

"Why am I here?" he thought. "I don't want to see this. I don't, I don't I fucking don't!"

Older Brian opened his eyes just in time to see himself toss the bottle into the air.

What was this? A dream? And if it was, how come everything wasn't... surreal, as dreams often were?

"FUCKING CHRIST, MAKE IT STOP!" he yelled. A river of tears was flowing from his only eye.

Younger Brian froze in place. Older Brian reached out, and tried touching his younger self. But his hand just went straight through the figure.

All of a sudden, a dark and winged horse-like figure appeared in the sky. Though from Brian's perspective it could have been a light shade of pink and he wouldn't have seen the difference. It soared down, and touched down in front of Older Brian, next to Younger Brian. It raised its head, and looked at Brian.

The mare was entirely blue. Her coat was midnight blue, and her mane resembled a star-spangled night. It, just like Celestia's, seemed to sway in the wind, even if there was none. She had a penetrating light-blue gaze, and that smile on her face...

That smile was the kind of smile that you rarely come across in your life. It was the kind of smile that seems to understand your pain the way you'd want others to understand it. The kind of smile that hands you a cigar and a glass of vintage port, invites you into the sitting room, and asks you to talk about your problems, in such a way that you cannot possibly refuse. A smile that will soothe you in every possible way. A smile so rare that every single fake friend and opportunist tries to emulate. THE smile.

Brian's tears stopped flowing. He was going to ask "who are you?" But he realized that the mare had wings and a horn, just like Princesses Twilight and Celestia. By process of elimination, that left only Cadance and Luna. So it all came down to an educated guess. Well, educated guesses weren't always that complicated.

"Princess Luna?" asked Brian, finally. He bowed his head while trying and failing to hold back more tears.

The mare nodded, and spoke. Her voice was just as soothing and nice to hear as her smile was nice to see. "Captain Brian Havelock," said the Princess. "Your dream called me."

"So this is a dream," thought Brian.

"Although," started Luna, "I think it is more of a nightmare. Is that right?"

"I suppose it is," sniffed Brian.

"If I was called to your dream, it means that you need help, Captain."

"It's okay," said Brian, finally getting a hold of himself. "I'm sure I can manage." He was trying to get the conversation over and done with quickly, just in case Younger Brian started moving again.

Princess Luna considered Younger Brian, before looking at the real thing.

"Is there something about this memory that you find traumatic, Captain?"

Brian didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at the pavement.

"I can tell that you have regrets tied to this memory."

Still, Brian didn't answer.

"You should show it to me," said Luna, bluntly. Brian was trying very hard not to look at the smile he couldn't say no to.

She trotted over to Older Brian, and rubbed her cheek on his arm.

"I've made my own mistakes in the past, Captain." She put a hoof in his hand, and soothingly said "I won't judge you."

As it turned out, the Princess's smile wasn't the only thing you couldn't say no to. Something in her voice told Brian that she wasn't lying. He nodded. They both took a step back, and Brian said "Go on."

The scene continued. The bottle that Younger Brian had thrown into the air suddenly fell to the ground, and broke into a million bits. At that moment, a man walked by. He was wearing a white shirt, some combat trousers, and had a black duffel bag hanging on his shoulder. His skin tone was black.

Younger Brian looked up, saw the black man, and in a fit of alcohol-induced rage, sprung up.

"What do you want, ye fuckin' tossah?" Brian's Rhodesian accent was much more pronounced, then.

The soldier stopped, and looked at Brian.

"You're drunk, lad," said the soldier in a deep, booming voice. "You should go home." And he continued walking.

"Less than- you! Tossah!" shouted Younger Brian. "Hey! I'm talking to you, you... You fucking Nigger!"

At these words, the man stopped, and turned around. "What's with the insult, mate?" asked the soldier.

Brian, taking the latter quip as an insult, drunkenly approached the serviceman.

"Yeah, you heard me right!" he shouted. "Ye bloody kaffir!"

"Please don't say that," the soldier answered.

"Ye negro bastards killed me fathah!" Younger Brian shouted. "And now ye think that ye bastards can walk around free? You... YOU..."

Whatever Younger Brian was about to say, he didn't say it. Which was probably for the best, come to think of it.

"Do you see me walkin' around and calling white boys crackers?" the serviceman asked, justifiably angry.

Brian laughed. "Ye know why ye negroes call us crackers? 'Cuz we used to have the whips crack over your backs!"

The serviceman started breathing very heavily. And when he spoke, his voice seemed to be made of ice-cold venom. "You're treading on thin ice, you little shit..."

Younger Brian reached for something in his pocket, and extracted a switchblade. The blade came out, and Brian started running towards the soldier, holding the knife like a sword. He tried stabbing the soldier in the abdomen, but the latter blocked Brian's attack, and judo-threw him over his shoulder. As Younger Brian hit the ground, the scene became black, and both Luna and Older Brian seemed to be standing above a black void.

The pair stayed silent for a while.

"So this is your painful memory?" asked Luna, after a while. She didn't really know what else to say.

"You don't know the half of it," answered Brian. "That guy. I insulted him. I tried to kill him. I tried to punish him for something he didn't do. You know what the worse part of this is?"

"I don't," said the Princess. "But maybe you could show me."

"Very well." Brian thought very hard of what had happened, just about an hour later. And just like that, the scene changed again. Younger Brian was in a prison cell, lying on the bed. His shoes, jacket and necklaces had been taken away from him.

A constable walked into the custody suite, and went up to Brian's holding cell.

"Hey," he said. "You've got a visitor."

Brian straightened up, and said "I'm not in the mood."

"He's paid your bail. Maybe you should show 'im some respect," retorted the police officer.

"Alright," answered Brian, bitterly.

The black serviceman entered, and went up to Brian's cell, gripping the bars. He was wearing a sand-coloured beret, with a winged dagger patch. Though Younger Brian was a degenerate and generally an idiot, he could still recognize that flaming excalibur anywhere. His father had worn the same, back in the day.

The soldier was looking slightly amused, although he had a hint of sadness in his eyes. He was about the same age as Older Brian. When the soldier spoke, he had the same voice as earlier, albeit more croaky. What surprised Brian the most was that he spoke Afrikaans.

"Afrikaner?" he asked.

"Half," said Brian.

"I'm very sorry about your father."

"I am too, in case you missed that fact," answered Brian.

"You do realize that what you said was wrong?"

"Maybe." Brian hated every single feature of that man. From his skin, to his camouflaged trousers, and even to his beret, which, in Brian's mind, the soldier didn't have the right to wear.

"I'm from Rhodesia," said Brian. "Do you know what it's like to be forced to leave your country?"

"I do," said the serviceman. "I'm also from Rhodesia."

Younger Brian stayed silent and looked down at his knees, defeated. He heard the soldier's boots walk down towards the door, and stop there. Then, as if the soldier had changed his mind about something, he turned around, and approached Brian once more.

"I decided not to press charges," the serviceman said, in English this time. "Because I know what you're feeling. I know that you hate my guts, and I know that you resent people of my kind for what happened to your dad. You know why? Because I've been down that road before. I don't call white people names, but I've done it before. And I'm telling you, I got more than a measly hour in a prison for what I said. And no-one came to pay my bail. Bails didn't exist for my people. Because of that, I learned that hating people who look vaguely similar to my friends' and family's killers was never going to bring them back. Once you're out, I want you to think of what you've said and what you've done."

Brian nodded. "I will," he said.

"But I promise," said the soldier. "That if I ever hear about you doing this again, and that means to anyone at all, I'll come looking for you."

There was a long silence.

"Understood," said Younger Brian, finally.

The scene went black. Brian and Luna seemed to be standing above a void of black. Brian sat down.

"I'm sorry, Captain," said Princess Luna. "As much as I'd like to see more, it so happens that immersing myself in others' dreams is physically taxing. For the dreamer and for me."

She came towards Brian and sat down next to him. "Do you want my take on the situation?" she asked.

"Yeah," answered Brian.

"Very well. You have regrets over this memory. Did this person... inspire you to enlist?"

"Yes."

"So that ordeal set you on a better path," commented the Princess.

"Yes," said Brian. Before Luna could comment further, Brian continued. "I see where you're going," he said, carefully avoiding Luna's gaze. "I suppose my regret comes from the fact that I used to be such a horrible person."

At that moment, all of the danger and fear that the ponies of Ponyville had associated with Brian wasn't understandable. Indeed, Brian didn't seem very dangerous, now. He seemed somewhat pathetic. Somewhat harmless. A sad, broken man. But to Luna, there was more to it. It became clear to Luna that this memory wasn't in of itself what Brian regretted. But rather, this memory was tied to his regret, somehow. Not directly responsible for it.

Chapter six: Flutter forth, Fluttershy.

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter seven: The story ended on that day. The rest is an epilogue.

Wednesday afternoon

"Do you have a special somepony, Brian?" asked Fluttershy, prompting Twilight to roll her eyes.

Brian snorted. Even the ponies' terms for a lover were so sickeningly sweet that Brian could almost feel himself slipping into hyperglycemia as the words made their way past his ears.

"A lover?" he asked. "Not anymore."

"What happened?" asked Fluttershy.

"She's gone."

"Where?"

"Nowhere. She's not there anymore. She isn't anywhere, she's just... gone."

Fluttershy gasped. "I'm so sorry, Brian, I- I didn't realize..."

"It's okay," said Brian. "Shit happens."

"What do you mean?" asked Fluttershy.

Brian thought carefully about what he was going to say. "Do you guys believe in destiny?" he asked. "Fate, Providence, and all of that?"

"It'd be hard to find a pony who doesn't believe in fate," said Twilight. "You'll find the absurdist oddballs, like Albert Camargue or Jean-Paul Saddle, but other than that, I think most of us believe in destiny."

"Alright," replied Brian. "Do you believe that you make choices, which will then seal your destiny?"

"In a way," said Fluttershy. "See these marks on our flanks? They're called cutie marks. A pony gets his or her cutie mark when he or she decides what they want to do with their life."

"Then you probably know that life has a way of... punishing you for the mistakes you make." Brian grabbed his tobacco pouch, got a piece of rolling paper, and evenly spread the tobacco over it. He then started rolling.

Neither Fluttershy nor Twilight said anything to say.

"And with what I've done... That punishment won't end until I'm dead. Taking away my loved ones was only the start of it."

Twilight chose her words very carefully. "Let's suppose, ad argumentum, that what you're saying is true. How do you know your punishment's not over?"

"Because I'm still alive."

There was a long pause. After a while, Fluttershy spoke. "Maybe we'd understand what you're saying better if you told us your story."

Nineteen years prior

Brian's story truly started with his first job for British Intelligence, almost two decades ago. He had been in the military for five years, and had ended up passing selection for the Special Air Service. One day, he'd been summoned to the MI6 headquarters and been given the assignment that could make or break his career.

"Havelock," said Jennings, the handler, as Brian entered the office.

"Good evening, sir," retorted Brian.

"Do sit down, Lieutenant," said Jennings, indicating a chair in front of his desk. "Whisky?" he asked, grabbing his Steuben decanter, full of the oak-coloured substance.

"I would quite like that," said Brian. "Dry," he added, seeing the handler reaching for ice.

The spymaster handed Brian his tumbler, and the two sat in silence for a few seconds. Brian examined the spymaster closely. Undercut hair slicked backwards, without a single lock of hair protruding from the oily formation. A double-breasted black suit, with a neatly folded hanky sticking out of the breast pocket. A caterpillar moustache, and a pair of small circular spectacles, which were so perfectly placed on the bridge of his nose that they could probably sit there all day. To complete his look, Jennings had tied his tie in a windsor knot. The formal look of a perfectionist.

"You do realize that if I came here this morning, it wasn't to exchange pleasantries and whisky," said Brian.

To his surprise, the spymaster chuckled. "They told me that you weren't exactly tame," retorted the handler, reaching for a dossier on his desk. "Unsubmissive," he read aloud. "Reckless, malcompliant, the list goes on, Lieutenant. You know what that tells me?"

"That I like to take the piss?"

"That you don't like following orders."

"If you summoned me here to berate me on my past actions, sir, maybe I should leave."

"Oh, but no!" said the handler. "These were just preludes to what follows." He read Brian's medals and decorations from the dossier. "The one that piqued my interest the most was the story of your Victoria Cross. A US Army Ranger sniper-spotter team gets captured by the enemy. Instead of at least waiting for directives, you disobey a direct order from your superior, grab a motorcycle, and track the assailants down. By yourself. You. Against a platoon of Iraqis. That takes some guts. And, if I'm reading this properly, you also got awarded the Army Distinguished Service Cross by the US."

"Well, the Yankees' DSC isn't exactly the MOH, but I can settle with that," smirked Brian.

"Yes, they also told me you were arrogant, Lieutenant. But the facts are there: two men get captured by the enemy, so you track them down and rescue the two operatives? You didn't have to, but you did it anyway. When you set your mind to something, you get results. I like that."

Brian hadn't told anyone about this, but he'd only decided to rescue the two operators because he'd learnt of the spotter's name: Doug Sheffield. By sheer coincidence, Brian had stumbled upon his father's military record a few months prior. Whilst in the Rhodesian SAS, his father had served alongside one Douglas S. Sheffield. An American expatriate who had joined the Rhodesian Security Forces. One of the Crippled Eagles.

"I did what anyone else would have done," lied Brian.

"What anyone else would have done is get killed. You, on the other hand, proved yourself capable of self-sacrifice and irreproachable courage. They planned to court martial you, you know."

"I know," said Brian. "And I assume you..."

"Yes," said Jennings. "How's the whisky?" he asked.

"Cheap," responded Brian, flatly. "Bottom shelf Bourbon?"

"Rebel Yell." The spymaster sniggered. "The name reminded me of you."

"Very funny," said Brian. "I'm offended that I'm not worth your best drinks, sir."

The two finished their drinks, and Brian asked, "But let's get down to business. What do you want me to do?"

Jennings reached into his desk, extracted another dossier, and placed it in front of Brian.

"These are your targets," explained Jennings. There were two pictures attached to the file with paper clips. "José Bachmeyer, and his son, Salvador Bachmeyer. José is the kingpin of an international drug cartel. He's been keeping a big part of Latin America knee-deep in coke since Escobar died, and recently he's been giving the Mexico-US border some funny looks. No need to tell you why that's a problem."

"But why is the UK getting involved?" asked Brian.

"Just the other day, a ship sank off the coast of Bermuda. It was transporting said coke under the cover of canned fish. Its next supposed stop, just after Bermuda, was Liverpool."

"That explains it," said Brian. "How am I getting him?"

"We've teamed up with the DEA for this op. Unfortunately, though, the US and basically all of Latin America aren't in a talking mood right now. That and the fact that Bachmeyer essentially owns the local government means that we won't have any support on this one. You and your transatlantic friend will meet up on the northern side of the border. You will drive into the area of operations and continue on foot if needed. The rest is on your dossier. Any questions?"

"Why are we taking out his son too?" asked Brian."

"With José gone, Salvador will most certainly take over his father's trade. The cartel itself has a pretty flat hierarchy, so with the two heads gone, the cartel itself will most certainly succumb to infighting and probably dissolve after two or three months. If you have any qualms about terminating the boy, bear in mind that Salvador has been profiled by the Americans as a complete loon. Well, it's more complicated than that, but I'm sure that someone who still practices decimatio1 with his troops isn't exactly sane. But just because he's mad, doesn't mean he's stupid. He's cunning, well-educated, and has a head for business. If he's allowed to take over, it'll be worse. Trust me, it's better with him gone. Any further questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Your codename for this operation will be 'Foxhound'. When in the field, you will be referred to and possibly addressed as such. But remember, Havelock... succeed, and you might just have a chance to shine. Fail, and I'll have you behind a desk, pushing pencils for the rest of your career. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," said Brian.

"Good. Dismissed."

Harare, Zimbabwe

Wrapped in his overcoat that shielded him from the bitter Southern-African winter, one gloved hand holding his fiancée's, the other tightly holding a small urn, Brian walked along the gravelly path that separated a never-ending field of identical white headstones from another never-ending field of white headstones.

Eventually, after endless minutes of walking, Brian found what he was looking for: a simple headstone that resembled all of the others. On it, the name of his father was carved:

'432 Major
Oliver Havelock BCR GSM
Rhodesian SAS
7th December,1978
"Loyal to the end."
'

Brian's fiancée stayed back, while Brian grabbed the urn with two hands, and placed it next to the grave.

"Hello, dad," said Brian. "It's been a while. I brought mum. I thought you'd like to be together. I'm in the SAS, now. Used to be marines. I hope you're proud, dad. 'Cause I know that mum isn't. But hey, let's be honest, when was mum ever proud of anything? So, I would promise you that I'll come back, but, you know... Old Blighty's a long way away. Besides, I don't know if I'll be alive in a week's time, much less a year... or ten... or twenty, but you get the point, I'm sure. Well... goodbye, dad. Bye, mum." And without further ado, Brian went back to his girl.

"Are you okay, fluff?" she asked, putting her hands in Brian's, and pulling them towards her chest.

"It's okay, Grace. It's okay." Brian put his hands on Grace's belly, which had been growing for the past month or so. "Promise me one thing, though." He put his hand under Grace's blond hair, and stroked her freckly cheek, looking into her blue eyes.

"Anything," said Grace, smiling.

"If ever I die," said Brian. "I want you to find someone else. Don't let the kid be fatherless. Not... not like..."

"Shh." Grace wrapped her arms around Brian, and they embraced. Brian hugged Grace's modest body, which to him, was more attractive than any bikini model you could ever find anywhere in the world.

Two lovers, in the middle of a graveyard, where names were written, but rarely remembered. At that moment, the graves were all looking at them, in silent admiration. They had a true warrior in front of them. One who puts his life at risk, not because he hates the ones in front of him, but because he loves what lies behind.

Latin America, a few days later

Brian exited the airport, and found himself in the middle of the crowded street. Cargo shorts, walking shoes, Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses and an olive drab boonie hat perched atop his mullet, Brian looked like any other run-of-the mill tourist. Save for the leather briefcase that he carried in his right hand. His duffel bag, which was as cliché tourist attire as it gets, was slung over his shoulder, full of his field clothes and calorie mates. He looked for his contact. Soon enough, he saw a man, wearing almost exactly the same clothes as Brian, save for the hat, reading a book and leaning his back on a tourist-ish jeep. That was who he was looking for.

"Pegasus," said Brian, approaching the man.

"Unicorn," answered the other.

"Bri."

"Doug."

The two men exchanged a short hug, and got into the car. They both exchanged a bit of banter, before driving out of the town.

"So how have you been?" asked Brian. "Still with the Rangers?"

"Nope," answered Doug. "I'm Delta, now."

"So you've finally joined the big boys?" joked Brian.

"I don't think you give us enough credit," retorted Doug. "Who are your rangers?"

"Basically the British Army," said Brian.

"Har, har."

Doug drove on for quite a while. Doug smoked about three of cigarettes along the way, each time offering one to Brian, who refused.

On the fourth one, Brian gave in. "Alright, but just one."

"Are you trying to quit or something?" asked Doug.

"Yup," responded Brian. "I've gotta stop before the baby gets here."

"Oh," said Doug. "Erm... Congratulations?"

"I've still got half a year to go, so it's not urgent. But I'd rather it be sooner rather than later."

"Quitting smoking or the baby?" asked Doug, confused.

"The smoke."

"Oh, yeah, that makes more sense..."

Both laughed. The sun was almost down by then, and Brian could already feel the mosquito bites on his bare legs before they were even there.

"How are we getting over the border?" asked Brian, as he saw a sign that roughly translated to 'Border- one kilometer'.

"Don't worry about that," answered Doug. "I went on a stakeout the other day. Their security's full of holes."

"Good."

Once they'd arrived at the end of the road, Douglas parked the car in a nondescript space between some strategically-placed branches, and they both got out of the car.

"I thought you limey spooks get handed Walthers," said Doug, noticing Brian's M1911.

"I prefer the old 1911," Brian explained. "Sturdy, reliable. It's been produced for eighty years, give or take, so it not having completely disappeared means it's got something to it that other pistols don't have.

"How'd you get that piece into the country?" asked Doug.

"Diplomatic bag, my boy," said Brian, indicating the leather briefcase. He put his black turtleneck on, followed by his tiger-stripe fatigues, and his boots. He tied a belt around his waist, and slipped his pistol in its holster.

"Ready to roll?" asked Doug.

"Ready."

The rain was pouring down on the two ghillie-suited operatives, who were laying stock still, invisible like snakes in the grass. A large spider was descending from one of the high branches thanks to its web, like a Navy SEAL fast-roping down from the helicopter. It landed on the spotter's hand, who swatted it instantly.

"Fucking hell, Bri," he said in his Midwestern drawl. "Shithole's full of insects and snakes. Fuckin' Kuwait was better than this."

"At least we're the ones shooting, this time." Brian wiped something off his nose, readjusted his bandanna, and brought his elbow back to its muddy anchor point.

"True." The Midwesterner looked through his spotting scope for the billionth time, and announced the distance between them and the target's supposed location. Which hadn't changed, but as he said, "Better safe than sorry."

"I'd kill for a fuckin' smoke, right now," said Brian. As per the rules of engagement, the two operatives had to maintain complete deniability. No leaving waste behind, even bodily fluids, which would travel back home with them. So, obviously, to remain unseen, no smoking. And to remain efficient, no drinking either. So it was just Brian, Doug the spotter, and their bags, which were bulging with calorie mates and cans of spam.

The team of two had been lying in the same spot for days on end, waiting for their target, José Bachmeyer, who was known as Bronco, one of the most powerful narcotics bosses in the world. A snitch had informed the DEA on his location. With extradition requests from sixty different countries, a red notice from INTERPOL, and roughly fifty million dollars worth of bounties on his head from rival drug cartels, Bronco's power had also made him one of the most wanted heads on Earth, let alone Latin America. And also his son, Salvador Bachmeyer, who was just as dangerous as his father, if not more.

Bachmeyer and son were considered by everyone, including their men, to be savages. The father was always high on some powder, and often tortured people to death for his own entertainment. Salvador was of a similar taste in entertainment, but the major difference was that Salvador tortured his enemies to near death, and then cut his victims loose so they could spread the word of his atrocities. And that was when his paramilitaries, the 'Commando Sombra' weren't doing it for him. That was how many bounty hunters, federal agents, and enemy gangsters had been admitted into mental institutions.

"Look alive, Brian," said Doug, following a Jeep with his scope. "Our fox is returning to his den."

Brian looked through the scope of his rifle and found Bronco's car. The kingpin's ride was going up a dirt road to a wooden house. As the car turned around to park in reverse, Brian caught a glimpse of the man driving the car. Doug compared the moustached fat head in the photograph to the one behind the wheel.

"That's him alright," he said.

In the front passenger seat, was the teenage boy from the other photograph

"Arrogant, as always," remarked Brian, noticing the complete absence of bodyguards around the flowery-shirted kingpin and his son. "This is gonna be easy." He pulled the bolt on his AWP rifle.

Brian waited for the car to come to a complete halt. Once it had, he brought the fat head into his crosshairs, held his breath, and wrapped his finger around the trigger. But as he was about to squeeze it, he heard the car's horn honk twice. A woman and a little girl had appeared at the door of the chalet.

Any other upstart bounty-hunter spotter would have at least tried to pressure Brian into shooting the boss and his son there and at that moment. But Doug and Brian were both thinking the same thing. If they were going to kill that man, at least they wouldn't do it in front of relatively innocent wife and daughter.

"Fuck!" whispered Doug. "Brian, we need to wait for-"

"I know," retorted Brian, calmly. The family entered the car, and Brian found himself in a dilemma. He could shoot now, and he'd most certainly be MI-6's new golden boy, or he could spare the family the sight of their cherished Pater familias dying, and simultaneously lose all chances of ever working for British Intelligence.

But as it turned out, he didn't even have to make the choice. The daughter had apparently forgotten something, because she and her mother left the car in a hurry, and rushed into the house.

"This is it," Brian thought. He fired a single shot into the kingpin. The windscreen broke, and only blood could be seen through the cracks. During training, Brian had been taught that there was an inverted "T" that went through the target's eyes, and up their skull. Shoot anywhere along that line, the target would die instantly.

The skinny boy instantly left the car and tried running to the house, unholstering a pistol and shooting in the team's general direction. But Brian, in one expert move, pulled the bolt, and shot the boy in his gun shoulder.

"They dead?" asked Doug.

"Probably," said Brian. "But we should check anyway."

Better safe than sorry after all.

Brian picked up the casings from the two shots, and shoved them into one of his pockets. Then, both he and Doug ran down the hill, and went to examine the father's body. They took up positions on the left-hand side of the car, clenching their sidearms, and Brian wrenched the door open.

The operative stepped aside as the body fell out of the seat and onto the ground. The bullet had gone into Bronco's head, between his eyes. He was dead.

Then the two operatives went around the car, and found Salvador, curled up on the ground, clutching his left arm and silently crying. As the two operators approached him, the boy saw them, and tried reaching for the gun that was lying discarded, a few feet away.

"Oh, no, you don't," said Doug, stomping onto Salvador's hand, making him yell in pain. When Brian had picked up the pistol, ejected the magazine and pulled the slide backwards, Doug removed his foot, making space for Brian to carry out the execution.

Brian grabbed his sidearm, and pointed it squarely at the kid's face, aiming for the bridge of his nose. Doug, meanwhile, was slowly stepping away from the scene, as if he wanted to dissociate himself from the events unfolding in front of his very eyes. The American turned around, and squatted down, using 'I'll guard the perimeter' as an excuse not to look at the scene.

The kid had decided to sit rather than lie down, and he was looking straight into Brian's eyes with his brown teary ones.

Brian took a last look at the kid, closed his eyes tight, and pulled the trigger.

A gunshot.

A body falls to the ground.

Only echo. And then, nothing.

"Outstanding," said Jennings. "Both of them, confirmed dead. Simply outstanding, Captain. That's right, I'm having you promoted."

"What can I say?" said Brian. "Just did my job."

"Of course you did, of course. Now, you're worth my best liquor." Jennings reached for his decanter, which was full of presumably better whisky than last time.

"So, what's next for me?" asked Brian.

"You've got a bright future ahead of you, Captain," said Jennings. "But for now, I think you should leave. I believe that you have a wedding to attend."

As he left the spymaster's office, Brian saw the scene play out in his head. He remembered the teary eyes. The noise. The echo. It all seemed so surreal. The whisky still burning his trachea, Brian decided to move on from the memory. At that time of his life, thinking nothing of consequences and moving on was so easy. Self-righteous and arrogant, the Captain forgave himself, and left the building with a broad grin on his face. A grin that seemed to say "I took down a drug kingpin. I'm great."

"And that was the beginning of the end, for me," said Brian.

"So, you... you killed them?" asked Twilight, aghast.

"I only doomed myself on that day," retorted Brian, as if that response was something he'd always wanted to say but never actually said it. Even now that he'd said it, he still didn't feel different.

"But you didn't try to... reason with them?" asked Twilight. "Tell them that what they did was wrong, or-"

"How do I put this?" said Brian, sardonically. "You see, when someone routinely kills people, sells product to make people nasty, and uses it himself, inhibiting all reason, a bullet to the brain is the best solution."

"So you describe this as 'putting someone out of their misery'?" asked Twilight, visibly offended.

"I tell myself that it's more like ending other people's misery," retorted Brian. "I tell myself a lot of things. All of it bullshit."

Twilight pursed her lips, but didn't speak. She couldn't find a comeback to that.

"You know," said Fluttershy, "well, erm, as surprising as it may sound, I can understand your thinking."

"You can?" asked Brian, mildly surprised. Twilight didn't say anything, but she seemed to think the same as Brian.

"Well, erm," said Fluttershy, shying up now that she was in the spotlight, "it's something I've seen in animals before. Sometimes, I have critters come to me, without saying a word, but I can see by their scars and the expressions on their faces, telling me that they've had to fight. Maybe kill. Sometimes, a whole pack comes to me, but only one of them bears the scars. That's when I see that they've defended their pack. It's a bit like... like what you told us. Except that you weren't defending one single pack, and you were following the orders of an alpha male, and, well, erm, er..."

"Maybe you're right," said Brian, agreeably. His eyes and spirit weren't following the words that had left his mouth. At what the little pegasus had just said, he looked at it intently. He was having an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu. The 'person who loves animals who is also adorable and shy' shtick seemed oddly familiar.

"So what happened next?" asked the Princess.

"My mistakes caught up with me, is what happened," answered Brian.

"Care to elaborate?" asked Twilight.

"No," answered Brian.

"Are you sure?" asked Twilight Sparkle. She really wanted to hear more.

"All you need to know is that Grace is gone. That's it. And her leaving my life was the last chapter of my life. The rest is an epilogue."

Author's Note

1: Decimatio was a group punishment for insubordinaton or cowardice in ancient Rome, where the malcompliant cohort was divided into groups of ten, and every tenth soldier was beaten to death by his nine mates.

Chapter eight: heartache number two

Thursday.

"It's frustrating," said Twilight. "I really wanted to hear it all."

"I understand," responded Celestia. "But these things need time. He'll open up eventually."

"Being alone can be good for someone," said Luna. "Or it can break them. And judging by what he's shown of his mental state thus far, I think that leaving him be isn't going to be very healthy."

"You're the shrink..." remarked Celestia. "So you probably know what's best."

"Yeah," said Twilight. "You have all the degrees. What do you make of this?"

"Hard to say," answered Luna, looking at the roll of parchment on which the report was written. "If I'm right about his dream, his regrets come from his time in the Army. Maybe he regrets killing the child... but he said he moved on. I'm thinking that he repressed his remorse, and it all came flowing back one day."

Twilight frowned. "So if I understand what you're saying, when his trauma surfaced, it lead him to do things out of his control."

"That's a possibility," said Luna. "A more simple explanation is that his regret led him to think less of himself. I've seen a lot of ponies devastated by a loss of self-esteem."

"And his wife?"

"Maybe she left him when he told her about it."

Twilight, Fluttershy, Celestia and Luna all frowned.

"Maybe we should just let him be," said Fluttershy. "Even if it is unhealthy to be alone... I don't think he'll open up if we keep prying. I know I wouldn't like it..."

"I take your point," said Luna. "However, I do have something worth considering. If you'll excuse me..." The Princess left the study, and came back a few minutes later, hovering an old book in front of her. "I was catching up on all of the good reads I missed during my exile," she explained. "Have you ever heard of Stickmund Fenil?"

"The psychoanalyst?" asked Fluttershy. Everypony present turned to her, surprised. "Well, um, it is common knowledge..."

"Yes, him," said Luna. "About a century ago, he published a lot of theses. Many of them were flawed, and most were more detrimental than good, but in more ways than one, he paved the way for modern psychology and psychiatry. One thesis that caught my eye was his work with hypnosis. Ah, here it is." She looked through the book, and found the page she was looking for.

"Walk us through it, then..." said Celestia.

"Briefly put," said Luna, "if one is to be put into a state of hypnosis, he can be ordered to tell things. Well- it's much, much more complicated, but that's it. Anyhow, Fenil mentioned me in his book- yes, it was an honour- he said that putting someone in a state of hypnosis, coupled with my dream-immersion powers, had I still been around, could have been a much more efficient way of exploring one's mind."

"Fascinating," said Twilight. "So you could hypnotise Brian and jump into his mind?"

"I could," answered Luna. "But a lot of things could go wrong with this. First of all, as the exploration will present itself as a dream to him, he could discover me prying. Or worse, if he becomes resistant to the hypnosis, he could forcefully will me out of his mind, and be stuck inside his own mind for a long time. He'd be comatose, and if he wakes up... sorry, when he wakes up, he'll probably never trust us again."

"That sounds like a lot of risk," said Twilight. "Where's Rainbow Dash when you need her, right?" she thought.

"It is a gamble," reasoned Celestia. "Besides, jumping into one’s mind and seeing every single one of their thoughts sounds somewhat intrusive.”

“And if we just hypnotise him and just ask him questions?” asked Twilight.

“The same dangers are there,” answered Luna. “Although, not in the same way. He will still remember what happened during the hypnosis, and that means he’ll remember the questions. If we’re too intrusive, I doubt he’ll be very happy with us.”

There was a long pause. After a while, Twilight suggested something else. “You can put ponies to sleep, right?” she asked.

“Yes…” answered Luna, in an uncertain fashion.

“What if we have him consent to being put to sleep?” asked Twilight. “And have him consent to the idea of someone poking around his mind? I mean, if he agrees to the idea...”

Celestia looked at Luna. “Would that work?”

“I suppose it would,” answered the dark mare. “I could adjust my control over his mind, just enough to be able to guide his thoughts through suggestion, but leaving him some control. That way, if he disagrees with something we do, he can just shove us out. I’ll lift the spell, and that’ll be it.”

“Problem solved,” said Twilight.

“However,” cautioned Luna, “I don’t think I should directly enter his mind. Maybe I should send somepony he likes. Somepony he trusts, and whom he’s bonded with.”

Everypony looked at Fluttershy.

"Just remember," said Luna. "If he discovers you inside his mind, try and convince him that you're just a part of his imagination.

"O- okay," said Fluttershy uncertainly.

"Alright," said Luna. "Here goes..."

Luna opened the door to Brian's cell, and entered along with Fluttershy. The captain was doing some stomach crunches on the floor. Soon enough, he noticed the two ponies who'd just walked in, so he sprung up, and bowed. "Your Highness," he said.

"Captain Brian Havelock," responded Luna, smiling her trademark smile. "How are you feeling?"

"As good as I can be," answered Brian, sitting down on the bed and getting his tobacco pouch. He coughed a few times, loudly, and started rolling a cigarette.

"Glad to hear it," said Luna. "But I think you can do much better."

"Is that so?" asked Brian, looking up from his half-rolled cigarette. "How?"

"Well, have you ever heard of dream therapy?" asked Luna.

"No, I haven’t," said Brian. To him, the term ‘dream therapy’ sounded like something that white people with dreadlocks did. "What is it?"

“It’s basically hypnotherapy, but better,” said Luna. “Simply put, I will magically put you asleep, and steer your mind to focus on your problems. That way, I’ll be able to find solutions.”

"Why would you want to help me?" asked Brian.

"Because you're unhappy," answered Luna. "You are burdened by trauma, guilt, and doubt. This therapy can work wonders. But you have to consent to it."

Brian was once again confronted with the look he just couldn't say 'no' to. He sighed, and said, "If it means that much to you, alright."

Luna beamed.

Fluttershy, who had stayed silent the whole time, watched as Luna sat down in front of the human.

"Now," said Luna, in a slow and reassuring voice. "First of all, I would like you to fix the tip of my horn with your eyes."

Brian half-heartedly obliged. "Alright."

"Good," said Luna, her voice not leaving the sweet, soothing tone. "Before we start, I want you to know that you can pull out of this at any time you like. If we become too intrusive, or if you become uncomfortable with any of this, you can stop.”

“Duly noted.”

“Good. Now, close your eyes, and think of a place where you feel secure. A happy place.”

Brian instantly closed his eyes, and thought of his favourite pub. He then answered "I'm there."

"Very good," said Luna. "Now, if you’re ready, I will cast my spell. Are you ready?"

"Yes," answered the officer.

Luna produced a tiny beam from her horn, which hit Brian on the forehead. "Now, keep focus on that place, while you start to fall asleep. Remember it. Fixate it. It is where you wish to be."

Brian froze completely. As if drunk and tired, he simply said "Okay," in a long, moany voice.

"Lay down on the bed, please," said Luna.

Brian slowly curled up into fetal position, taking very deep breaths.

"This is our shot," whispered Luna to Fluttershy. "Are you ready?"

Fluttershy nodded. She lay down on the stone, and Luna shot a beam at her forehead. Then, Luna shut her eyes, and entered her realm of dreams.

A roll of Thunder woke Fluttershy up. She was on a cobbled footpath, in a dark street. Rain was pouring, Her coat was soaking wet. The filly got up, pushed her mane out of her eyes, and looked up. There were so many clouds in the sky that she could barely see the moon. She looked around, scared. Everything seemed over-sized. It was dark, and someone could have been lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on Fluttershy while she wasn't looking.

"Hello?" she said. But no-one came. She called out once more, in a louder voice, but still, nopony came to the rescue.

But, as if Brian's mind had reluctantly decided to help her out, a light flicked on at the other end of the street. They were dim, and they seemed to be designed to shine on a sign, that simply read 'The Garrison'.

Fluttershy ran towards the building, and jumped towards the door to get out of the rain. They opened without resistance, and she found herself skidding on the wooden floorboards.

It was unmistakably a pub. On Fluttershy's right there was the counter, behind which there were bottles upon bottles of liquor. To her right there were booth-like tables, just underneath the tinted windows. The building felt cozy, secure, but that was probably because just about any building would feel that way after being out in the rain.

Looking back at the counter, Fluttershy saw that there was a man sitting in front of it. He was wearing a combat uniform. Maybe she'd understand more about where she was if she asked someone.

"Hello?" she said uncertainly, approaching the man.

The man turned his head around, and saw Fluttershy. "Hi." He didn't seem very surprised to see a talking pony. Then again, this was all inside Brian's head, so maybe he'd gotten used to seeing them by now.

"Sorry if this seems rude, but, erm... what's your name?" asked the Pegasus.

"Douglas," answered the man. "Douglas Sheffield."

"Oh," said Fluttershy. "I'm Fl-"

"I know who you are."

"Oh," said Fluttershy. "How did you meet Brian?"

"He saved my life."

"So you're his best friend?" asked Fluttershy.

"I like to think that I was," said Doug. "Let's say that we haven't been on the best of terms since his wife left us..."

"Why not?"

"His wife and I didn't see eye-to-eye," answered Doug. "So when she left, Brian accused me of, well, ya know..."

"How so?"

"Well, there's the thing," said Doug. "After Bri left the army, I told him that he could maybe come to America, in my town. So he, Grace, and their daughter came to the States, and they decided to live in a small house, near the edge of town. And Brian didn't mind how big the house was, as long as he was with his family. And he was happy. But there was his wife, who was too good for it all. She longed for the big cities of the coast. So there she was, trying to pull my friend away from me. Yeah, I didn't see eye-to-eye with the bitch."

"Such language..." thought Fluttershy. "And how was Brian before, you know... before his wife left?"

"He was a barrel of laughs," answered Doug. "He was a joker. He joked a lot. Laughed a lot too. He was happy."

"And why did his wife leave?" asked Fluttershy.

"I really want to tell you," said Doug. "But Brian doesn't want me to."

Fluttershy didn't really want to argue with the man, or with Brian's will for that matter, so she left Doug alone. Turning her head, she noticed that a bartender had appeared on the other side of the bar, at the other end of the counter. She decided to approach him.

The big, bald bartender looked up, and saw Fluttershy. "What can I get ya, Darling?" he asked, a broad smile on his face.

"Can I have a lemonade?" asked Fluttershy in return.

"Comin' up," answered the Bartender. A glass of lemonade magically appeared in his right hand, which he placed in front of Fluttershy.

"How much do I owe you?" asked Fluttershy.

"Nothing," answered the barman. "It's for free."

"Why thank you!" said Fluttershy.

"Don't thank me," said the Bartender. "Thank Brian. He likes you."

Fluttershy turned scarlet. "Oh," she said. "Well that's... nice..." She started drinking the ice-cold lemonade through the straw. "Can I ask you something?" she asked, when she'd finished her drink.

"Sure," answered the bartender.

"What is this place?" asked Fluttershy.

"It's the Garrison Pub," answered the bartender.

"Does Brian come here often?"

"Outside of his mind, you mean?" asked the bartender. "Not anymore. He used to hang around here with the lads, quite a lot." He jerked his head to the side, where there seemed to be five men, frozen, raising their pints. And there was Brian, cigar firmly lodged between his teeth, a broad smile on his face. The group disappeared.

"Do you get a lot of military people here?" asked Fluttershy.

"It ain't called the Garrison for nothing, Darling," he answered. "We mainly get some SAS boys in here. Their base is just next door, after all."

"Oh, okay," said Fluttershy. It made sense why Brian's mind was centered around this bar. "Do you know Grace?" she asked.

"Yeah," answered the bartender. "They were best pals since Brian cleaned up his act."

"How did they meet?" asked Fluttershy, dreamily. She liked romantic novels, and she often fantasized about them when she didn't have anything else to do.

"Why don't you ask her?" suggested the bartender, jerking his head towards somewhere behind Fluttershy.

Fluttershy turned around, and saw that a woman was sitting at a table, underneath one of the windows, dipping a teabag into a mug of hot water: Grace. But she looked different from the other people, in such a way that she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was wearing a white dress, and there were two white eagle-like wings protruding from her back. She seemed to be wearing some sort of golden crown. Curious, and somewhat attracted by Grace's beauty, Fluttershy went to sit down facing her.

"Um... hello?" said Fluttershy.

"Yes?" asked Grace, in a tender voice.

"Are you... Grace?" asked Fluttershy.

"That's me," answered the woman, beaming.

"I... I had a few, erm... some questions?"

"Of course," said Grace. "Ask them."

Something told Fluttershy that Brian's subconscious senses would become extremely alert if she asked 'why did you leave Brian?' straight away. So instead, she decided to ease into the subject slowly. "So, how long have you known Brian?" she asked.

"As of now?" asked Grace. "About thirty years."

"And how long were you married?"

"About seventeen years. Time flies, doesn't it?" She took a sip from her tea.

"And how did you two... meet?" asked Fluttershy.

"It's a nice story," said Grace. "After Brian's, er... encounter with the soldier, he decided to clean up his act; find a job. As it happened,my parents needed someone to look after the horses. Brian liked horses, so he took the job. Day after day, after school, he came over to my house to clean our horses, feed them, and occasionally take one out for a ride. He knew his place, and he was beyond committing more crimes, so he never tried anything funny. We liked him very much. So, one day, I went to the stables, maybe to take one for a walk. There was Brian, slaving away over my filly. He was so humble and polite when I asked him to prepare my filly for a ride. I told him to come with me for a ride around the pastures, and he happily agreed. as we rode around the field, I fell off and broke my arm. He was so kind. He made a sling from his bandanna, and carried me to the house."

"And what happened?" asked Fluttershy.

"A bond was created on that day," answered Grace. "So we started meeting, in secret. We loved each other, and that was it. One day, Brian told me that he was to join the Royal Marines. And, well... he said that we'd have to announce it to my parents before he left. Well, we didn't 'have' to, but we both agreed that it was something we both wanted very much. So we announced it to them. They were very reluctant, at first. A posh girl, and some poor Rhodesian boy; it didn't seem very right to them. But in the end, they saw that our love was real, so we came to an agreement: they would sign him up for officers' training and they'd teach him the manners of high society to make him presentable. So that was what they did. Everyone was happy with it. And, soon enough, we got married."

"Did you have any children?" asked Fluttershy.

"A daughter," said Grace. "I'd let you see her, but Brian wouldn't want me too." She turned around, and looked at a steel door, with several locks on it.

"Oh," said Fluttershy. "She's in there, then?"

"Yes," said Grace.

"And how did, erm, you know... how did your marriage end?"

Grace turned back around, and looked at Fluttershy, squarely in her eyes. But when she delivered her answer, she wasn't speaking in her own voice. It had been replaced by Brian's, gruff and gravelly. "He killed me." And without another word, Grace's angelic figure disappeared into thin air.

The entire pub seemed to spin. Fluttershy tried to scream, but she couldn't. It all became a big blur, before the entire scene turned to black.

"Hello?" called Fluttershy. She tried looking at her hooves, but she couldn't see them. "Hello?" she called again. "Anyone? Please?" She whimpered as she felt her way around. She was on a surface, which was about as much as she could tell. "Please, let me out!" she started sobbing.

"And I can tell you that because of you, everyone in the troop is gonna get punished!" said a gruff voice.

Fluttershy was standing in a line. To her right, was Brian. Facing the line were two uniformed men. One was standing stock still, the other was visibly reprimanding the former for something he'd done. It was very dark, so Fluttershy could barely make out the two servicemen's faces. But she could recognize the gruff man as Sergeant-Major Marshall from what Brian had told her about the training. The other, she didn't know.

"W-what's happening?" Fluttershy asked Younger Brian.

"Jenkins forgot his weapon in the forest," whispered Brian.

Fluttershy looked at the ground, where she noticed the glimmer of a metal contraption, similar to Brian's.

"What the fuck is this?" yelled the instructor, pointing at the weapon.

"It's- it's my rifle, sir," answered Jenkins. He was visibly on the brink of tears.

"IT AIN'T A NORMAL FUCKIN' RIFLE!" shouted Marshall. "IT'S A FUCKIN' L1A1! IT'S AN ASSAULT RIFLE, YOU IDIOT!"

"Yes, sir!"

"And you treat it like a piece of shit? Well you know what? YOU'RE GONNA LIVE WITH THAT PIECE OF SHIT!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Imagine what'd happen if one of them IRA dickheads found it in the woods!" shouted Marshall. "I consider this to be a massive faux-pas, and I’d just love to go over to the Boss and ask him to FIRE you! Pick it up!" Jenkins bent down, and picked the weapon up. Marshall started walking away, but he abruptly turned around and shouted, "AND HOLD BACK YOUR TEARS OR I'LL KNOCK YOU OUT!" with his fist raised.

Fluttershy would have hated to be in Jenkins' place. She hated being shouted at, and she hated being looked at by everyone. A few tears of compassion rolled down her cheek, before her view became black again.

"So you were there when... it happened," said a man, who was sitting behind a desk. He was pretty old and had graying hair.

"Yes, Captain," answered Brian.

Fluttershy wanted to ask what had happened, but she also didn't wish to disrupt the conversation.

"And what did you see?" asked the officer, concerned. Looking to her left, Fluttershy saw that the sergeant-major was sitting in a chair in front of the desk, while Brian was standing up.

"Jenkins was in the head. He was... he had a gun."

"And what were you doing in the head?" asked the officer.

"I went to take care of my biological needs, sir," answered Brian.

"What did Jenkins do with the gun?"

"He had it to his temple," said Brian. "I wanted to reason with him, but I... I..." His voice broke.

"You didn't manage," said the captain.

Brian buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, sir," said Brian, his voice shaking.

Fluttershy looked at Brian. She'd only seen him in that state once, and it was when she'd given him a cuddle. From what she could gather, Jenkins had killed himself with a weapon, and Brian had seen it all.

"Sit down, recruit," said Marshall.

Brian obliged.

"I am very sorry for what you had to see, Brian," said the captain. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah," said the instructor. "No-one should have to go through that. Let alone do that." He patted Brian on the back.

"So..." said Brian, "what's going to happen to me?"

"Well," said the captain. "Jenkins had been depressed- and suicidal- in the past. He was mentally unstable. So Sergeant-Major Marshall isn't to blame, and you are even less. I'll give you an appointment with our psychiatrist, and you'll be able to resume your training after that."

"Alright," said Brian.

"Just bear in mind that you weren't responsible for what happened," said Marshall. "In my years, I've never had to face that sort of thing, and-" Marshall's monologue seemed to blur more and more, until the entire room seemed to be full of white noise. The scene became black once more.

It was a graveyard. It seemed to be the same as the one that Brian had described. The man was there, wearing his overcoat and leather gloves, standing in front of his father's grave. He looked unkempt and neglected, just as he was in Equestria. The urn that he had placed next to his father's final resting place had been shattered, and the ashed that had probably been there at some point had been swept away by the wind.

"It's been a while, dad," said Brian, in a croaky voice. He got a cigar from his inside pocket, chewed the end off, and lit it. He took a long drag, before continuing. "Mum never stopped loving you. Even though she said that you were the reason she had to leave this place. She used to say that you disagreed with Rhodesia's policies against blacks. Yet you stayed loyal to this country, because you saw what she could become. And still, despite your virtue and your ideas, you were killed by them. By the revolution." He took another long drag on his cigar. "Grace is dead, by the way. She died because of me. I suppose that makes us kind of the same, doesn't it? You were killed because of your mission. And Grace was killed because of mine."

Fluttershy just looked at the newest iteration of Brian. She felt sad for him. She finally understood what Brian meant when he said that Grace was 'gone'.

"So that brings me here," said Brian. "Grace is dead because of me. I've cut ties with Mattie because she's in danger as long as she's with me. I have nothing to live for anymore, and it's all because of me." At that point, Brian's voice broke. "She never deserved this, dad. She didn't deserve to die because of her idiot husband. I never got the opportunity to say goodbye to her..."

Fluttershy's eyes started watering. What she saw in front of her was truly tragic.

"You know," said Brian, "sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been better if that soldier hadn't given me a way out. It would have been better for everyone if I'd just continued living on the streets, and got shanked one day by someone bigger than me. I wouldn't have hurt anyone then."

Fluttershy's view had become black and featureless once again. The void hadn't become any less scary, but she reassured herself by thinking that it would give way to another scene soon enough.

But the scene that she was hoping for didn't come. In its place, some sounds made themselves known. They seemed shrill and distant, before becoming louder. They were voices, explosions, and diverse sounds that didn't sound very reassuring.

"We're losing him!" said an unknown voice.

"He's a tough bastard, he'll make it!" retorted Brian's.

"Three, two, one, clear!"

The voice repeated these words multiple times.

"Time of death: eleven past nine. I'm sorry, sir."

Fluttershy jumped in shock as an explosion sounded right next to her. The incessant drumming of guns was incredibly close. From the darkness, came Brian's voice again.

"Baseplate, this is FOXHOUND actual! Requesting airstrikes on several Serbian assets south of our position, over!" shouted Brian, audibly desperate.

"FOXHOUND, this is Baseplate. Request for air support acknowledged. Over," replied a voice that sounded like it had gone through a speaker.

"Jesus Christ, there's so many!" cried a third voice.

"FOXHOUND, this is Baseplate," said the distorted voice. "The brass says no can do on that request. Your orders are to retreat from the town to the green line, over."

As Brian gave his reply, he spoke more and more desperately. "Baseplate, there are eight thousand refugees in this town, we will not be able to evacuate, over!"

"This is Baseplate. Your orders are to retreat from the town immediately."

"Negative, we can't leave them there!"

"FOXHOUND, your orders are to leave the town and retreat to the green line," repeated 'Baseplate'.

Brian didn't answer.

"FOXHOUND, I say again, your orders are to retreat immediately."

Still no answer.

"FOXHOUND, do you copy?"

Brian sighed, before answering, "Fine..."

Even without much context, the words that Fluttershy had heard were grim. Very grim. As the sounds died down once again, the filly decided to make sense of what she'd heard and seen. It had started with Jenkins committing Suicide. Then, another person losing their life. And then, a whole eight thousand people, if she understood the last scene correctly. And all of these visions had come, just after Grace had told Fluttershy that Brian had 'killed her'.

"There has to be an explanation," thought the pegasus. "But what is it?"

Had Brian really killed his wife? Or did he simply blame himself for her death? And how had she died anyway? She was about to tell herself that she'd seen enough, but a new scene came into focus, once more. This one seemed normal at first. It was a graveyard, at daybreak. There were the crosses and headstones, the gravel and dirt, the crows and the blackbirds.

As nothing happened, Fluttershy decided to explore the graveyard. The only sounds to break the silence were Fluttershy's hooves gingerly tapping the ground, and the blackbirds' sweet song. Fluttershy started feeling drowsy as she set off, as if she'd just woken up. Which fit pretty well with the rising sun and the blackbirds. She felt strange. Despite the fact that she was walking between rows of graves, part of her felt content. A smile of sorts appeared at the corners of her mouth, and she began to forget why she was even there. Strangely enough, contemplating these graves filled the pegasus with some sort of solace.

Looking to her right, Fluttershy noticed that someone was kneeling in front of a grave. Intrigued, the pegasus decided to go and see them. It was a girl. She was brunette, with a fringe, and freckles that ornated her face. She was wearing some kind of uniform, which consisted of a skirt and a blazer.

"Hello," said the girl, smiling as she saw Fluttershy.

"Hi," answered Fluttershy. "Who are you? If you don't mind telling me."

"I'm Rose," said the girl. "Rose Havelock."

"Rose Havelock?" asked Fluttershy. "Are you Brian's daughter?"

"Yes," answered Rose. "And you're Fluttershy."

"That's me," answered Fluttershy, beaming. That mysterious energy that made her feel content was also making her outgoing and serene, by the looks of things.

"So why are you here?" asked Rose.

"Just exploring Brian's mind, really," answered Fluttershy, pretty carelessly now. "What about you?"

"I'm waiting for my dad," said Rose.

"In a graveyard?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Fluttershy looked at the grave. The words 'Grace Mary Bonneville Havelock' were carved on it. "So what does this all mean?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Rose.

"This place," answered Fluttershy. "The graves, the trees... you..."

"Glad you asked," said Rose. "I mean, it's complicated. I suppose the author of this place intended for its symbolism to speak for itself, but I'll explain all of it for you. Brian's mind can be pretentious, after all. This graveyard? It's full of people that Brian has 'killed'." Rose lifted her hands and designated some airquotes with her fingers. "He doesn't know how many he has 'killed', so this place is eternal and infinite. You can walk down this path, but you won't go anywhere. That's the whole point, I suppose. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you've been feeling... how to put this... You feel satisfied, don't you? Accomplished?"

Fluttershy yawned again. "I suppose you could say that."

"Well," said Rose. "This graveyard, this solace you feel... They represent what I want for my dad."

"How so?"

"I want dad to see what I see. To lay his eyes on this graveyard. You see, every person that he's 'killed' rests here in his mind. But I want him to take a step back, and realize that he didn't cause all of this. He has killed, but he's got to realize that he didn't mindlessly kill. It was for a purpose. You see, that's his ego speaking again. This graveyard is packed with thousands of souls, not victims of his, but victims of events that he thinks he is responsible for. The ones he has really killed, like Bronco... and the ones he thinks he has, like mum."

"Wow," said Fluttershy, impressed. "But if you're saying that... and you're in his mind... doesn't he already know that?"

"Subconsciously, yes," said Rose. "He just needs to see these graves once, feel this solace that you feel, and move on. And maybe he can see me again, one day. Somewhere else than in his dreams. That's why I'm waiting for him."

"I see," said Fluttershy. "But if he isn't here... if he hasn't reached this realization... what is his finality? What is his goal?"

"Do you remember what he said to you, yesterday?" asked Rose. "He said that when Grace left him, it was the end of his story. That the rest was a mere epilogue."

"Um... yes?"

"In fact... When she died, he considered himself as dead. He decided that everything else, from there on out... was just an extra. So, trying to find something to guide him through his epilogue, he decided to reenlist in his Army. He seeks one last mission. He wants to ride out a last time, and die in combat. He decided that he wouldn't take his own life, but he'd lose it, defending Queen and Country. Defending the only thing that he truly loves, now that his wife is gone."

Fluttershy pondered that last statement. It was sad, if not downright depressing. But it made sense. "All of this brings a question," she said. "I just wanted to know... if he didn't really kill Grace, who did?"

At this question, Rose snorted. "I... well, I don't... I don't think I can tell you."

"Pretty please?" asked Fluttershy.

"I want to," said Rose. "But I... can't."

"Are you sure you can't?" pleaded Fluttershy.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Rose disappeared. The graves disappeared. The grass died and transformed gave way to featureless rock. Fluttershy felt the angst flow back.

Out of the darkness came a man. Tall, grizzled, and scarred. Brian had come to take control of his mind.

"I’m not ready for this," said Brian. “I’m sorry.”

"Brian?" asked Fluttershy, scared. "Please, listen to..."

"Go home," said Brian, calmly.

Fluttershy's vision became dark once more. But it wasn't the same darkness as before. That one seemed to grow, and grow, until Fluttershy couldn't feel her hooves anymore. She fell into an abyss. She was falling, falling...

The two mares woke up with a gasp. They looked at each other, then at Brian, who was still lying on his bed, curled up in a ball.

"Brian!" shouted Luna, leaping towards the soldier, and shaking him. "BRIAN!"

But it was no use. The soldier simply didn't wake up.

The scene had changed. Brian was no longer in the graveyard. Instead, he was in a house. A house he hadn't seen in a long time. And he could remember what had happened there only too well. The house was dead silent. Brian saw his likeness appear. Slightly Younger Brian was wearing an all-blue business suit, and holding a briefcase in his right hand. He looked cleaner and more civilized than he did now. He had traded his mullet for a regular haircut, and his beard was clean shaven, as had been expected when he'd started working at the British Consulate in Chicago.

"Gracie?" called Younger Brian. "I'm home!"

Initially, there was no answer. Just the gentle sound of leaves rustling outside. For a moment, Younger Brian looked around his house, satisfied. Almost pretentious.

Regular Old Brian remembered exactly what he had thought at that moment. "This is what they call 'The Dream'." And, as much as he hated his younger self, Brian still thought that Brian had done well for himself. A house, a car, a family... But what Younger Brian didn't know was that dreams often become nightmares when you get complacent with them.

"B-Brian?" asked Grace's soft voice. She sounded scared.

"What's wrong?" answered Brian.

"Come here."

Younger Brian, expecting the worst, got his sidearm from its holster. Holding it at shoulder level, the operative climbed upstairs, and soon arrived at the door to the single bedroom. He could hear Grace breathing uneasily on the other side, as well as the soft grunting of someone else. Brian instantly knew that someone else was in the room. And whoever they were, they weren't here to throw him a surprise party and give him a slice of cake.

Brian took a deep breath, slightly bent his knees, and placed his hand on the doorknob. And without further ado, he pushed the door open.

There was Grace. Standing in front of Brian, an expression of the utmost terror on her face. Behind her, holding a gun to her head, was a man. Bald, white, and tattoos going up his neck.

"Let her go!" yelled Brian instinctively, moving inside the room, wrapping his finger around the trigger and pointing the gun at the man's forehead.

Older Brian, who had followed his younger self upstairs, buried his head in his hands, and let the band play on.

One shot. The sound of a body falling to the floor. Another shot. Another body. More shots, more meaningless shots. And then, crying. Screaming. And then, nothing.

Brian felt heat. He opened his eyes, and saw that he was back in the cell. Feeling a familiar vibration in his left ear, Brian found his radio, strapped to his chest. He pushed the switch.

From the emitting end, Brian could hear a voice, which he recognized as his own. "It's time to hide from the bandanna in the mind. It sounds like a tangerine dog, mirroring the constellation on his shaved skull. He looked like a silver pony mashing his cats in while they relentlessly bow down to the recognizable tangent while Bobby's making happy accidents on a blank canvas in a dark room."

It was some insane babble, Brian couldn't make any sense of it. It turned to white noise, before the sounds faded from existence. Looking up, Brian saw that the featureless rock had somehow caught fire. But there was no smoke coming from anywhere, just fire.

But, spared by the flames, a piece of paper lay on the floor in front of him. Brian picked it up, and read the line that was written on it. There was something disturbingly familiar about the writing on the paper before him. It comprised of these pretty curves that only girls seemed to make.

"It's all just like TV," read the piece of paper.

The truth seemed to boil Brian alive. Cartoonish, pastel-coloured ponies, living together in a world run by a benevolent princess, so sweet that you could get diabetes from living in it. He was in a children's TV show. And that was the worst thing he could think of.

There came another voice in Brian's earpiece. "It's all just a bad dream, Brian, wake up!"

But if this was a TV show, where did Brian fit in with all of this? He certainly wasn't fit to feature in one. What with the profane language, the people he'd killed, his backstory... Brian realized that he wasn't anything more than one big cliché: the smoking, the gravelly voice, and that hate he constantly carried around for no reason like a French person carries his baguettes... He didn't belong there. But there was something else: the trite dialogue, his sudden appearance in a world that wasn't his own, and that paranoid feeling that someone was controlling his every step... he was in some sort of poorly-written fanfiction.

Brian gave up. He just didn't want to move anymore. So he lay down on the bed, and waited for the writer of his adventure to give him something else to do.

Brian woke up. Peering over him were Luna and Fluttershy. "Hello," he said, as if absolutely nothing had happened.

"Are- are you alright?" asked Fluttershy.

"I'm fine," said Brian sternly, getting up from his bed and going towards his tobacco pouch.

"But-" started Luna.

"I said I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

Chapter nine: The man who sold his world

The hounds of Camp Gamma knew that this newcomer was nothing like the marines who escorted him. And he wasn't anything like the captives either. This one did not smell of fear and dread, like most captives did, and his dark-blue uniform didn't look like one that the camp's personnel would be wearing. He was a mystery to the hounds. And they did not tolerate mystery. They barked and barked relentlessly as they heard the jeeps approach their installation.

"Don't let them scare you," said the driver to his guest, as he stopped the car in front of the gate . "They won't bite unless we tell 'em to." Behind the fence stood the menacing building of Camp Gamma, with its concrete guard towers and walls. And next to the gate, there stood a sign, which had brought dread to the hearts of many.

CAMP GAMMA 1- MAXIMUM SECURITY
JTF 180- Ad Excelsum Conamur
Authorized Personnel Only

The driver showed his ID to the sentry, who nodded, and opened the gate for him. The car drove on into the complex. The marines looked at the man wearing a foreign naval uniform. Usually, only detainees with orange uniforms, blindfolds and ear protectors came in escorted through that gate, never to come out.

The naval officer dismounted the car, and headed towards the door, where a US marine was waiting.

"Commander Jennings, Secret Intelligence Service," said the officer.

"We've set up an office for ya," answered the marine, as he led the way into the administrative building. "Your boy's already waiting for ya."

The pair went up some stairs, and entered a corner office. There was Brian, sitting on a chair, wearing a tracksuit, drinking a can of Tango.

"I'll just leave you to it," said the marine, before leaving the room.

Jennings sat down behind the desk, and placed his briefcase on it. Then, he took a deep breath, and said "I've been trying to think of words to express my sorrow. You have my deepest condolences."

"How kind," answered Brian carelessly, before taking a sip from his can. "Of all the places we could meet, why didn't you just come round my place for a cuppa tea?"

"High security, limited traffic, and it was close to the both of us." answered Jennings. "What's not to love?"

"Fair enough," sighed Brian. "So what do you want?"

"I think that letter of mine was very clear," said Jennings.

"Well, a man I killed almost twenty years ago is alive, and he's the one who ordered my wife's death," stated Brian. "And if I remember well, the first time we met, you told me that if I fucked it up, you'd have me 'behind a desk, pushing pencils'. Is this my new desk? An American black site in the arsehole of the world?"

"Basically, we're in the same boat." Trying to relieve the tension, Jennings reached into his tunic, and produced a pack of Benson & Hedges. "Smoke?"

Brian nodded, and took one from the pack.

"So," said Brian, as his former handler lit his cigarette, "thanks- what's gonna happen to us?"

"Difficult to tell," said Jennings. "As you were the shooter during that mission, the US government is holding you responsible for Salvador Bachmeyer still being alive. I mean, you can probably imagine my shock when I got a call at three in the morning from the my contact at the CIA, telling me that he was alive and at the head of the biggest cartel in South America. Right under our noses, too. Everyone's feeling pretty embarrassed about it."

"So, does that mean we're going to be charged with treason or something?" asked Brian.

"Not quite," responded Jennings. "Let's just say that... neither one of us is going to be made a national hero out of this."

"I see," said Brian. "And where does that place you?"

"In the same boat as you," answered Jennings. "Suffice to say that the government is finally going to get a reason to get rid of me."

Brian smirked. "But I'm guessing you've got a plan. Probably seven different countries already headhunted you, right?"

"Well I'd be lying if the thought of letting everything go hasn't crossed my mind," said Jennings.

"And if you've brought me here, it's because you need me."

"Well, I was informed of the whole affair straight after the link between the shooter and Bachmeyer was established. I had you informed, as you have a right to know, and I set about analysing the facts. And the facts are that Bachmeyer left a lot of breadcrumbs right to his doorsteps. He wants us to find him. And after reading more into his mental state and interrogating a few of his associates, it seems that he's been obsessing over you. And you're what I want to deliver to him."

Brian burst into a fit of laughter. "That's your plan?" he snorted. "Sending your favourite savage to his wife's murderer, and calm him down?"

"I was planning to send you to kill Bachmeyer," said Jennings.

"No deal," said Brian, drily.

"Trust me, I could have chosen any number of trained killers," retorted Jennings. "But... the government wants proof of your loyalty. This mission will be that proof. They've made it part of the deal. I need you to do this for me. Besides, I'm guessing you want some retribution?"

"What's the bloody point?" snorted Brian, taking another drag. "You know what they say about revenge..." he said. "You'd better be ready to dig two graves..."

"We dug one for Bronco, and we dug one for that whinging little shit. Now's the time to fill it."

"But why?" asked Brian, getting pretty annoyed. "I enlisted in Her Majesty's Forces to fight the good fight. To fight for Queen and Country. I'm not interested in a life of political assassinations... or revenge, for that matter"

"You're talking shit, Brian," retorted Jennings. "An international drug lord, smart enough to fake his own death, convince British and American Intelligence, disappear without a trace and come back into view almost twenty years later, having rebuilt his father's empire and essentially bought South America. You honestly think this job has anything political or personal to it?"

"If it's to help some naval-pansy-turned-bureaucrat regain his position and help the government save face, it's political."

Jennings stayed silent for a good twenty seconds. He genuinely liked Brian, and the last thing he'd ever want to do to the man was bargain with him or threaten him. But the handler had just run out of options. "Don't give me that," he said. "I saved your sorry arse when I pulled you from Court Martial to work for us. I think it's your turn to-"

"Oh yeah?" interrupted Brian, through gritted teeth. "You sent me on one of your jobs and I angered some psycho who killed my wife. If I could, I'd go back and beg the court to discharge me with disgrace!"

"Speaking of family," said Jennings. "Let's talk about your daughter."

"Don't you dare!" warned Brian.

"I will dare if I damn well please," said Jennings. "As I've told you, my arse is on the line too. Because I learned that your wife had been assassinated, I decided to place your daughter in a... protective custody of sorts, run by my friends at MI-5. She is in danger, after all."

"What's your point?" asked Brian.

"What I'm trying to say is that I can't ask them to keep her indefinitely, despite the fact that she's in danger of death. And trust me, the next guy in the line-up for my position is more interested in making deals with foreign armed groups and criminals than fighting them. He'll probably use her as a bargaining chip. And you too, for that matter."

"Rose is a smart girl," retorted Brian. "She can outsmart any of your lumps of men." He said that last sentence almost shakily, as if it was an ill-rehearsed lie. The truth was that, even if Brian had no doubts about his daughter's intelligence, even he knew that a college girl couldn't outrun or outsmart spooks. Especially if Jennings or one of his friends was bossing them around.

"Alright," sighed Jennings, getting up from his chair and picking up his briefcase. "I'm offering you a way to clear your name. A way to bring justice. A way to send that heathen back to the hell he came from. You want to put a wrench in the government's plans, while Bachmeyer masses political power? Go right ahead. But remember the answer you gave me when Bachmeyer dissolves Rose in a vat of acid before your very eyes. Goodbye, Brian."

"Oh, alright," said Brian. "Fine. I'll do it. But I'm not doing this for you."

Jennings sat back down behind his desk. "Your motives don't matter to me," he said. He pulled out a stack of paper from his briefcase, and placed it in front of Brian. "As long as you do it, it doesn't matter. Sign these."

Brian was walking down the streets of Canterlot City. It was his last day in suburbia before he went off to set the records straight. It had taken weeks of preparation, careful planning by the top brass, and the entire thing was finally ready. Cigarette in one hand, an enormous shopping bag in the other, Brian contemplated the calm houses of the American neighbourhood for one last time.

The city had always had a certain charm to visitors, but to Brian's eyes, it had lost all of it when Grace had been assassinated. All of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw a football come in his direction. He agilely kicked it back to where it had come from.

"Sweet kick, bro!" shouted a tomboyish girl who was exercising on the football pitch across the street.

Brian looked up, saw the girl, smiled, and lifted his hand in a "don't mention it" kind of way. The girl'd had her hair dyed in a rainbow colours, which was an uncommon sight, to Brian anyway. "Kids these days..." he thought.

The operative looked down at his Rhodesian Ridgeback, Tavish. There he was, calmly walking alongside his master. The two had reunited a week ago, and Tavish couldn't have been happier. Little did he know that he was about to be left at a shelter, his master never to return. It saddened Brian dearly, as he had raised Tavish from a pup and there was a great bond between the two. Brian'd had to wrench him away from the grave at Grace's funeral.

As he walked down Rockefeller Street, Brian saw a makeshift market stall, the three owners of which seemed to be packing up. Brian saw the stetson hat that the girl was wearing, and immediately recognised them. They were the son and two daughters of the local apple farmers, who had died a while ago in some tragic accident. Brian had offered his condolences to the three remaining children, though he doubted they'd remember it. He smiled compassionately as he passed, and stopped in front of the stall.

"Hello," he said.

The oldest sister turned around, and saw Brian. "Howdy, Mister H," she said. "We were just packin' up."

"I can see," said Brian. "But still, you got anything left?"

"Only fritters," she answered. "They're usually popular, so we baked s'more. We got leftovers."

"I'll have three," said Brian. "Actually, I'll have four. Oh, damn it, five."

The girl put five of the fritters in a paper bag, and handed them to Brian, who extended a one-hundred dollar bill.

"Keep the change," said Brian.

The girl looked perplexed. "But that's a lot of money."

"Family's always more important than money," smiled Brian.

Applejack nodded, and pocketed the bill.

A few minutes later, Brian arrived at his next programmed spot: the animal shelter. He looked down at his dog, sighed a long sigh, and entered. As he entered, the operative was surprised to find that the shelter was very silent. There was a great deal of cages behind the front desk, with cats and dogs, but they weren't barking or yowling, they stayed calm. Intrigued, but at the same time too caught up in his emotions to care, Brian nudged his dog over to the front desk.

"Oh, hello," said the girl behind the desk. She was asian, with bright pink hair (kids these days...), blue eyes and she was wearing a white tank top. The young volunteer, who was much shorter than Brian, seemed daunted by the soldier's gruff appearance.

"Hi," responded Brian. "I'm here to leave my dog."

The girl peered over the desk, and looked at Tavish, who stared straight back. He seemed mesmerised by the girl for some reason. "Oh, isn't he cute?" she asked, sweetly. "What's his name?"

"Tavish," answered Brian, promptly. "Do I have to fill in a form or something?"

"Here you go," said the volunteer, handing a piece of paper and a pen to the man.

Brian filled in the blanks of the form, trying to hold back his tears as he did so.

"So, um... why are you leaving him?" asked the volunteer.

"Let's just say I can't take care of him anymore," said Brian. "I'm leaving."

"I'm very sorry to hear that..."

"Done," said Brian, once he'd finished completing the form. "He's all yours."

"Alright. Do you want to... say goodbye?" asked the girl.

Brian kneeled down in front of his dog, and gave him a hug. "Goodbye, mate," he said, softly. Tavish whimpered back.

As Brian left the shelter, he felt the urge to go back in and get his dog back, but there was just no point in doing so anymore...

There were only two things left for Brian to do. Tightly holding his shopping bag, he went down the street, and stopped in front of a charity shop. He entered. The volunteer behind the desk was a brunette, who looked hard-at-work mending a shirt with a thread and needle.

"Good evening, sir," said the girl, in a mid-transatlatic accent that almost gave Brian goosebumps by how annoying it was. "Do you want to buy anything?"

"No, thanks," answered Brian, squarely walking up to the counter and placing his massive bag onto the surface. "I'm here to give these old suits."

Intrigued, the volunteer looked into the bag, and gasped as she pulled out an all-black Ted Baker suit from it. "These are anything but old, darling!" she said. "I mean, sir."

"Do with them what you like," said Brian turning around and making for the door. "Have a good evening."

Brian stopped in front of his old friend's house. He looked at the suburban house that had nothing different from all of the others in town. The operative knocked on the door.

Doug opened the door, and gazed at his friend. "Hi, Bri," he said.

"Hello," said Brian. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah."

Doug lead his friend inside the house, and the two sat down in the living room. Knowing Brian's old habits, the former Ranger and Delta Force operative placed an ashtray on the coffee table.

"So, why did you come?" asked Doug.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," answered Brian. "I suppose the feds've come by."

"You betcha," said Doug. "But I don't have it anywhere near as hard as you."

"Tell me about it," responded Brian, as if the death of his beloved wife was nothing more than an annoying tax return.

"So what's next for you?" asked Doug. "I heard you was going back to kill the guy we missed. What was his name? Salvador?"

"Yeah," responded Brian, lighting a cigarette. "It's funny. We've always got a bit of innocence to lose."

"What do you mean?"

"I was born in Rhodesia, in the middle of a battlefield. I saw my dad get stabbed to death by five men. I joined the Marines, saw some of my boys get car-bombed by the IRA. I've killed a lot of people. And here I am, about to go and kill a man as a revenge for killing my wife."

"I guess you're right," said Doug. "Sounds like you don't want to kill him."

"Trust me, I do," said Brian. "I want to make him suffer. I want to give him a slow and painful death. And at the same time, I know I'm not gonna get any closure. I know I'm not gonna be satisfied with anything."

"I guess you're right," repeated Doug. "And what'll you be doing after that?"

"You mean if I don't die?" asked Brian. "Probably retire," he lied. In fact, Brian didn't have any plan at all.

"Okay," responded Doug, getting up and walking Brian to the door. "Look," he said, as Brian was about to cross the threshold for the last time. "When Grace died... I was the first person you came to see. And as this is probably the last time I ever see you, so I'll tell you now: I never liked her. I just wanted her to leave."

Brian took a deep breath, turned towards his friend, and said, "I'd tell you to go to hell, Doug, but... God's honest truth? I don't really believe in that crap anymore."

Brian was back at the old house, sitting on his sofa, drinking some yuppy-level uselessly expensive whisky, and smoking a dictator-level uselessly expensive cigar. He was waiting for the person who was supposed to buy his house. The money he'd get from it was going to go to Jennings, who had promised to get it to Rose.

"Fuck me," he said aloud. "Fuck this. Fuck it all." The doorbell rang. Brian sighed, and got up. "Fuck me dead."

Brian went to open the door. Out on the pavement was a tan girl with flaming red hair, although locks of it seemed to have been dyed yellow, and pale blue eyes. She was wearing a black leather perfecto, under which she had a purple T-shirt, which had a sun printed on it. To complete her look, she was wearing an orange skirt, and some knee-high boots that were very fashionable among the girls of the city. All in all, she was conventionally very pretty, and the smile on her lips was very sweet. But Brian wasn't one to care for prettiness. She had a large sports bag slung on her shoulder, and a guitar case on the other.

"Hello," said the girl. "I'm Sunset."

"I figured," answered Brian, eyeing her shirt. "Please, come in."

Brian gave her a tour of the house. There wasn't much to see: a kitchen, a living room and a bathroom on the ground floor, a large bedroom on the first floor.

"So, what d'you say?" asked Brian, when they'd finished looking around the house, sitting on the sofa and picking up his cigar.

"It's very nice," answered Sunset. "I think I'll take it."

"Well I'll set up a meeting with the agency, and you can get..."

"Can I buy it now?" asked the girl. "Please?"

Brian snorted. "How? I'm betting you don't have a..."

Sunset dumped her duffel bag onto the coffee table. Intrigued, Brian looked inside. It was cash. Loads of it. "That's all of it. A quarter of a million."

Brian reached to the bottom of the bag, and pulled out a bundle. He examined the notes closely. They were real. "I don't want to seem impolite," he said, "but I'd like to know where you got all of this."

"Where I come from, there are some gemstones so common that the locals throw them away for a dime," answered the girl. "They fetch a high price, here."

"Alright," said Brian, partly because he didn't want to dispute her claims (as unlikely as they seemed), and partly because he wanted to sell the house quickly. "I'll get the papers."

Friday, in the other world

"Letter for you, sir," said Jennings' secretary, placing an envelope on his superior's desk.

"Thank you, Jane," answered the spymaster, before taking a sip of his gin and tonic, and replacing his glass. "What have I got planned for tonight?" he asked.

"Just dinner at seven."

"With whom?" asked Jennings. "Foreign Secretary? An MP? The Queen?"

"No, sir," answered Jane. "Your wife."

"Oh," said Jennings. "Where?"

"Your house, sir. And before you ask, it's your anniversary."

Jennings hadn't slept for a few days, and he had gone to great lengths to hide it. But on that day, he was at breaking point. "Thank you, Jane," he said. "Continue."

"Yes, sir." Jane left the room.

As soon as his secretary had left the room, Jennings reached for the envelope, and tore it open, displaying a rather grumpy look. "What is it about this time?" he thought.

It was another letter about the MI6 potluck that was set to take place later that month. Jennings didn't care in the slightest for social gatherings, and he was infuriated by his subordinates' use of office paper for anything else than memos. He crumpled up the letter, and tossed it into the bin.

"A call on line two," said Jane over the intercom.

Jennings picked up the phone. "Jennings," he said, automatically.

"FOXHOUND has gone astray," said the person on the other side of the line. "What should we do?"

"I see," answered Jennings. "I'll notify the right people. In the meantime, make sure FOXHOUND can't be linked to us."

"Will do. And his daughter?"

"I'll break it to her." Jennings slammed the phone back, and took a deep breath. "Bollocks," he thought.

Back in Equestria

Brian was sitting in his cell, reflecting on what he'd seen and heard in his mind the day before. Luna had promised to make things better, but they seemed worse than ever. He took a long drag on his cigarette, flicked the ash into his glass, and rolled over onto his sheets. "Maybe they can't be trusted," he thought. "Maybe they're just as bad as I am."

The soldier lay back and started thinking of a long-term plan. His chances of returning to his world anytime soon seemed pretty remote, and Celestia had told him that he'd be let free when they'd proven that he wasn't a threat. But the operative's thoughts about the future were soon crushed by the ones he'd had mere seconds before. If the ponies were indeed just as bad as he was, he could be on death row and not even know it. Soon enough, Brian realized how futile it all was, so he just rolled another cigarette.

There was a loud knock on the door. It was time for dinner. The door opened, and a unicorn guard levitating a tray entered. "Your dinner, sir."

Brian, who was bored, had made a game out of trying to scare the meal pony as much as possible without doing anything. He simply gave the pony an extremely filthy look. At that, the pony gulped, placed the tray on the floor, and left the room as quickly as possible.

"What's on the menu?" thought Brian, picking up the tray. By the smell of things, he was having French onion soup.

"Well that's nice," said Brian to himself, trying to forget his thoughts about death row. He started eating his dinner, trying very hard to forget about his worries. The soup was good, albeit a bit hot. Once he'd finished, Brian picked up the small napkin that sat next to his bowl, and was going to wipe his face with it, when a small piece of paper and a key fell out of the folds.

Intrigued, Brian looked at the paper. Some words had hurriedly been written on it.

"Human.

They plan to execute you at dawn. This is the key to your cell. We've indicated the access to the river. Escape down the stream."

Brian's heart somersaulted. At that moment, he realized that the ponies of Equestria were indeed just as bad as him. He turned the paper over, and saw that a small map of the castle had been drawn, and the access to the river had been indicated.

"I need a plan," thought the operative.

Indeed, he couldn't just kick the door down and make a bee-line for the docks. He'd need a reliable plan. If the castle guard operated similarly to other guard units he knew, the guard rotated at sunset. Those sort of rotations created holes in the placement of sentries, so Brian figured that such a time was the best to escape. Looking at his watch, Brian saw that it was half-past seven, and the sentries would theoretically change in a half hour or so. The questions of when he'd escape and where he'd go were sorted, so Brian just needed to figure out the finer details of his plan. Surely he couldn't leave his equipment in the castle, and having his gear on him would give him a tactical advantage. But where was his gear?

Given that these items of his were almost certainly inexistant in the ponies' world (and as such, potentially dangerous), they were probably being kept under close surveillance by the guard. Or given how down-to-earth and implicated their leader was, Princess Celestia was probably studying his belongings herself. So the Princess's "work station" was Brian's best bet. But once again, where could it be?

Brian walked over to his window, and looked across the courtyard. On the other side of it, was a very high tower, that corresponded to Brian's idea of where a Princess would work. Brian's heart started thumping with excitement, and the operative grinned at himself. The idea of breaking out of a jail and escaping through a dock was his idea of fun.

All he needed now was to eliminate the sentry in front of his cell's door. And he knew exactly how to do just that.

The captain took a deep breath, opened his mouth wide, and violently shoved his middle finger into it. He slid it down his tongue, and brought it as far into his throat as he possibly could. Brian felt the acid climb up his throat and into his mouth, and he threw up onto the floor. He forced a few whines and moans as he did so, and fell to his knees. The more noise he made, the better it would work.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Brian heard the scraping of a lock, and the door opened, revealing the sentry, wearing his metal uniform. He rushed over to the human, and tried helping him up.

"Sir, are you alright?" asked the guard.

Brian put his hand onto the pony's back, and used it as support to help himself up. And after he'd done so, he quickly brought his arm around the guarspony's neck, and held him in a chokehold. Then, Brian grabbed the soldier's helmet by the crest, ripped it off the guard's head, and whacked his head with it twice, to knock him unconscious. Once that was done, Brian placed the unconscious pony onto his bed, and covered the body with sheets, so as to confuse potential viewers into thinking that was Brian sleeping. Then, the operative gathered his tobacco, cigars, and journal, and rushed out of the door, closing and locking it behind him.

The operative crouched down, looked at his map, saw that some stairs were indicated, and went in their direction. He constantly checked corners as he moved forwards, making sure he wasn't being watched or followed. When he arrived at the top of the aforementioned stairs, he checked for some more precise indications of where the Princess's office was. But all of a sudden, he heard some hoofsteps from the floor above. Two sets of them. They were getting closer, and their echo indicated that they were using the same staircase as him. Preferring to avoid any confrontation with the guard, Brian hid behind a conveniently-placed stone pillar.

"What about the... thing in the western tower?" a voice asked.

"It's being kept under control," answered another. "I told Her Highness that it was better to have it sent somewhere else, like the Crystal Palace, but she didn't want to hear it."

"As long as it's under control..."

Brian peeked his head around the corner, saw two white rumps making their way downstairs, and he took his chance. Silent like a ghost, he crept up the stairs, and followed the signs to the princess's office.

Brian made his way up a very tall tower, at the top of which was a door, behind which he could hear two voices arguing. The operative crouched down again, and looked through the keyhole. From what he could see, the study was empty.

The operative bent his knees, and pushed the door open. As soon as he was inside, he scanned the room, looking to see if anyone was there. He saw that his gear had been placed on a table in the corner of the room, so he rushed over to it and did a quick inventory check. Everything was there.

Quickly and quietly, Brian donned his fatigue jacket, harness, and belt. He carefully picked up his Colt 1911, checked to see if the ponies had damaged it, and holstered it. Then, he grabbed his M16, checked it in the same way, and slung it over his shoulder. He was ready to roll.

"Your Highness, you wanted to see me?" asked Rainbow Dash, as she cantered into the Captain's office. There were Celestia and the newest captain of the guard, whose name no-one really knew.

"Ah, Rainbow Dash, I'm glad you could make it," said Celestia. "We wanted to talk about your encounter with Brian back in Ponyville."

Rainbow's smile dropped. The pounding he'd given her was clearly still on her mind. "What about it?" she asked, bitterly.

"Well, you are the only pony to have had a close-up, physical encounter with him," explained the Captain. "We wanted to know if you saw any, erm..."

"Any what?"

"Weaknesses."

"Weaknesses?"

"Yes."

Rainbow Dash was about to answer, but a unicorn guard stormed into the room. "Your Highness," he panted. "It's the human. He's escaped!"

"What?" bellowed the captain. "How could we let this happen?"

"I don't know, sir," said the guardspony. "He knocked out the sentry who was posted next to his cell. We've checked the study, his gear's gone!"

"DAMN!" shouted Celestia.

The captain went to the intercom station at the corner of the office, and spoke into the microphone. "All stations, be advised, there has been a breakout in sector Whiskers-Four, block all exits and prepare to engage the enemy." Then, he pressed a big red button, which activated the alarm.

"Where can he be?" asked Rainbow Dash.

"Even someone with passing tactical knowledge would know that it's suicide to break out through the main doors. That means that he'll be escaping through..."

"The waterfall..." said Rainbow Dash.

Brian inserted his lockpick and torque wrench into the keyhole of the metal river access door, and applied pressure to the left. The lock moved slightly. Then, he applied it to the right. It moved slightly more. "Bingo," he thought.

The operative applied pressure on the different pins of the lock, trying to find the one that resisted more. He eventually found it, and pushed it upwards. Once that was done, he repeated the process of looking for the most resistant one and pushing it. He did that about six times, when the lock became loose, and Brian turned it fully.

Not wasting any time, the operative held his sidearm over his shoulder, and opened the door, slowly making his way into the next room.

It was a sort of tunnel. Brian was standing on a stone walkway, and in front of him was the large river that the castle was built upon. He looked at the flow of the water, and quickly discerned where the water was flowing to. He looked downstream, and saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Dozens of hoofsteps could be heard approaching Brian's position at an alarming pace. Not wasting any more time, Brian started sprinting towards the light.

He had run about fifty meters, when he heard a voice behind him, over his echoing footsteps.

"He's there!" shouted Rainbow Dash.

Brian upped his pace, and ran as fast as he possibly could. The light was getting closer, but so were the dozens of guards that followed him.

"Come on! Come on!" he thought to himself, his heart beating impossibly fast, his teeth gritted.

"Brian!" shouted Rainbow Dash.

The operative ran and ran, but as he neared the end, he saw what awaited him: a waterfall. There was a sort of bridge that stood in front of the fall, with security railings. Brian elected to stand on it. He turned around to face his assailants.

The guard detachment, with the rainbow mare at its head, ground to a halt, about ten metres away from Brian. Rainbow Dash fluttered in front of them, over the water, facing Brian. She had a broad, determined grin on her face. "I've been waiting so long for this!" she exclaimed.

Brian grabbed his rifle, and pointed it at her. "Stay back!" he ordered. "All of you! Stay back or I'll truss you all up like fucking rabbits!"

The guards froze completely. But Rainbow Dash fluttered her ground. Brian looked behind him, and saw that the waterfall was big. And he didn't know the depth of the basin, but he probably wouldn't survive the fall anyway. But a probable death, jumping into the water, was preferable to a certain death at the hooves of the ponies. He probably didn't have enough bullets to fend off the entire Castle guard, not to mention however many ponies were in their army.

Brian grabbed the railing firmly, and without further hesitation, he thrust himself over it, shouting "See you all in hell!" as he did so.

"BRIAN!" shouted Rainbow Dash, leaping after him. She caught up to the falling human pretty fast, and stuck her forelegs under his arms, flapping as fast as she could to bring them upwards, but Brian was heavier than she'd expected. "NGGGGGGGGGH!" And just as they were about to hit the water, she managed to bring them to an almost horizontal flight path, but her best efforts weren't enough. They both went heads-first into the murky water below.

Rainbow Dash felt her lungs fill with water, and her limbs were sore. She lost consciousness.

Chapter ten: Boots on the ground

Listen up, Brian," said Jennings, walking into the room, and placing a dossier on the table amidst the neatly organised equipment. But Brian was nowhere to be seen. He looked around the room. "Brian?" Then, he laid his eyes on a cardboard box, which was sitting in the corner of the room. "Found you," he said, bemused.

Brian emerged from under the box, and sat down on his chair, trying hard not to laugh at his own joke. "Oldest trick in the book," he sniggered.

"Uh-huh," said Jennings, sitting in front of Brian. "Right. We're finalising the preparations for this op, and we'll be ready to go in about a week. So I'm gonna brief you."

"Go ahead," said Brian, picking up his Colt 1911 and practising his reload technique.

"Alright. This op is going to be a bit like Operation Toccata, back in '05. You remember?"

"Yeah," said Brian, ejecting an empty mag and quickly inserting another. "Five of us jumping into the AO to recover a VIP before extracting via helicopter." He pulled back the slide.

"Precisely," responded Jennings. "The only catch is that you're going in solo. The politically sensitive nature of this mission means that backup isn't an option. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"So we'll be dropping you into the AO, about five miles south of Bachmeyer's base. You'll be getting in, killing him, and heading out. Understood?"

"Yeah," said Brian.

"The finer details are in this dossier," said Jennings. "The broad strokes are as follows: first off, Bachmeyer is more connected, armed and dangerous than his father ever was, so security will be tight. Impossibly tight. Secondly, he knows we're coming, he's expecting you, and he's probably studied you. Your strengths, weaknesses, everything. Don't underestimate him. Thirdly, I can't stress how important this mission is. My fate, yours, the director of the CIA's fate... maybe even the Queen is relying on you."

"No pressure, eh?" asked Brian.

"You know what they say... pressure can turn coal into diamonds," retorted Jennings.

"Really?" asked Brian, surprised.

Jennings was about to crack a disdainful remark at Brian, but remembered that the man had barely been to school in his life. "Well at least, I think so... but anyway, about your request."

"I'm all ears," responded Brian, expectantly.

"I worked a few favors, and we were able to fulfil it. She's waiting outside. Whenever you're ready..."

"Alright," said Brian.

Jennings opened the office door, and stepped aside as Rose Havelock entered, before leaving the room..

The girl looked at her father. "Hi, dad," she smiled.

"Hi, Rose," answered Brian. He got up from the chair, and went to embrace his daughter. "How are you?"

"Fine, I guess."

"That's good."

"Look," said Rose. "That man- the one who just left. He told me what happened, before he sent me to the place. He told me about mum."

"I didn't want to hide it from you," said Brian. "So I told him to tell you."

At that point, Rose sat down in the extra chair. "I know we haven't talked much, recently. And, I mean... you know how it is."

"I know it all too well," said Brian. As he did whenever he didn't have anything else to add, he got a cigarette out from his pack.

"Can I have one?" asked Rose.

"Sure."

Brian's daughter took a cigarette from the pack and had her father light it. "So anyway- thanks- who is that guy? Friend of yours?"

"Not really," said Brian. "I used to work for him. I guess I'm working for him again."

"You hate each other, huh?"

"Nah." Brian flicked the ash into the ashtray. "He's a good man. He's just... into his job, if that makes sense."

Rose nodded. She stayed silent for about ten seconds, taking short drags on her cigarette. "You know, I'm surprised that you decided to see me yourself," she said. "Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, it's just that as far as I can remember, I was almost always the one to initiate the dialogue. I mean, I'd have asked to see you myself, if I'd known who to speak to."

"I'm very sorry about that," said Brian,casually.

"There's something I've always wanted to ask you, dad," she said, finally. "What did it feel like? Leaving us, knowing every time that you might never come back?"

"Horrible," answered Brian. "But at the same time, I wouldn't trade these times for the world. I suppose that I was comforted by the fact that your mum might find someone else if ever I kicked the bucket."

"Not that you'd be together in heaven?" asked Rose.

"It's more like hell, for me, with the things I've done," retorted Brian. "Heaven was never my kinda place anyway."

"Mum always said you were melodramatic, dad," remarked Rose, somewhat amused. That was something that had always shocked everyone about the Havelock family: they could be talking about anything horrible, even about the most horrible thing ever, and one of them would still find a way to poke fun at something.

"Oh, shut up," sniggered Brian. The father and his daughter laughed together for a few seconds before regaining their serious faces.

"There's something else I wanted to bring up with you," said Rose.

"Yeah?"

"You know, whenever you headed out. On one of your... assignments? You know, the kind that..."

"Yeah."

"Sometimes, you'd just leave for a day or two. Sometimes, you'd leave for weeks. Sometimes, for months. Once, you left for... for a long time."

"I remember that," said Brian. He sniggered. "Yeah. I spent most of that year sleeping in a ditch on the road between Kabul and Helmand. Fun times..."

"Anyway," resumed Rose. "Whenever you'd come back, you'd hide somewhere inside the house. Upstairs, under my bed, or inside a cardboard box... And when I'd be there, unsuspecting, you'd creep up behind me, hug me from behind and say..."

"And say what?"

"You'd always say 'Kept you waiting, huh?' And then you'd take us out to eat. Or we'd play something together. You remember?"

"Yeah."

"Well... can you say it again?"

"What?"

"Can you say these words again? One last time?"

Brian took a deep breath, and said "Kept you waiting, huh?"

Rose smiled, and shed a few tears. She leaned over, and hugged her father. She hugged him, as if she knew that this would be her last chance to do so. "I'm going to miss you, dad."

"I'm going to miss you too, kiddo."

"Altitude, thirty-thousand feet. Approaching enemy airspace."

"Solid copy, Flyfish. Equipment check. Arming main parachute. Ten minutes to drop-off. Commencing interior depressurisation."

"Drop zone is still showing high-pressure mass... CAVOK! We've got high visibility."

"Roger that. Opening rear hatch."

"Solid copy. Operation LUNA is a go."

"FOXHOUND, move to the rear."

"Ten seconds to drop off. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Status all green. Jump!"

"Godspeed, FOXHOUND."

Brian fell through the clouds. He could feel the wind brush past his skin, almost slapping him in the face, in spite of his heavy mask.

Falling.

Brian saw the basin approach at an alarming pace. He placed himself in a diving position and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact. But all of a sudden, he felt himself glide upwards. He opened his eyes. He was still going at break-neck speed, but almost horizontally. He could feel two arms holding him under his own, and realised that the rainbow mare had chased him down and was holding him.

The pair hit the water. Brian tried making for the surface, but the mare seemed to have fallen unconscious, creating a dead weight on his back. He finally managed to wrestle himself to the surface. Ggrabbing the pony's hoof, he dragged her towards the shore. He hoisted the unconscious mare onto it before pulling himself up.

He looked at the soaking wet and lifeless pegasus. He couldn't just leave her there to die. He placed her on her back, and gently turned her head to the side. A great deal of water spilled from her muzzle out onto the grass. Then, Brian brought her head back to its original position, and firmly clasped it between his hands. He held her mouth open, and after a short moment of realisation that he was about to use mouth-to-mouth resurrection on an equine, he placed his mouth on hers. He breathed into her mouth for a second, pulled out to spit fur out of his mouth, and did it again, three times. Then, he placed both hands on her heart, and gently thrusted them. He counted thirty times, and repeated the cycle.

Brian didn't lose his calm, even though the more he did that, the more he started thinking that the mare wouldn't make it.

But after a few repetitions, the mare gargled, spluttered, and coughed. With a mighty heave, she opened her eyes and mouth wide, apparently shocked. She breathed heavily for a few seconds.

"Are you alright?" asked Brian.

Rainbow Dash took one look at the operative who had just saved her life, jumped to her hooves, and readied herself to pounce. Instinctively, Brian adopted his close quarters stance, knees bent and hands guarding his face. The mare's eyes twitched a few times, looking at the soldier's smile that seemed to be daring her to come at him. She yelled, and jumped onto the soldier.

In a split second, Brian grabbed the mare, and forced her to the ground. Then, he climbed onto her, restraining her hooves. "You lose," he said, clamping her to the ground.

"What the-" spluttered Rainbow Dash. "Get off."

"If I get off, you're just going to pounce on me again, aren't you?" asked Brian.

"No!" responded Rainbow Dash, defensively. "I promise."

Brian grinned. "Pinkie promise?"

Rainbow Dash said the chant. Brian let go of her, not leaving his stance. "Thanks," she said, facing the captain.

"Anyone can use their fists. Or hooves," said Brian. "What you've got to learn is how to use your head."

"I guess you're right," said Rainbow Dash, sitting down and massaging her back. "I'm Rainbow Dash."

Brian didn't answer. For all he knew, she was supposed to be his executioner.

"Why did you escape?" asked Rainbow Dash.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't have?" asked Brian. "I was headed for the chopping block anyway... or however you execute your convicts."

The blue mare looked confused. "What?" Brian pulled out the note from his butt pack, and threw it to Rainbow Dash. She looked at it, even more confused. "I don't know who sent ya this," she said. "But I don't think it's true."

"Yeah, right," said Brian. He didn't trust her, but she seemed sincere.

"You don't believe me?" she asked.

"I suppose it's more convenient if I do," said Brian. "But you're on a short leash."

"And maybe one day I'll be on a long one?" joked Rainbow Dash. "A gal can dream, I guess."

Brian sniggered. "Fluttershy told me about you," he responded.

"So what are you, exactly?"

"A man," answered Brian. "A soldier."

"No hay," retorted Rainbow Dash, eyeing Brian's Tiger Stripe uniform. "Well I'm an airpony," she said, proudly. "A Wonderbolt," to be precise.

"A reserve one?" asked Brian.

"Yeah. How did ya guess?"

"Oh, I don't know..." said Brian. "Fragile ego, thinks she's better than anyone because she's got a fancy title... you just fit the type."

"What!" exclaimed Rainbow Dash, feeling herself getting very hot in the face. "I don't have a fragile ego!"

Brian just chuckled. "Of course you don't."

"Anyway, why d'you save me?" asked the mare.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't have?" responded Brian.

"Well..." Rainbow Dash hesitated. "No offense, but you struck me as kinda... savage."

Brian chuckled again. "Don't worry about offending me. To answer your question... you're in the military, right?"

"Yeah."

"And is the role of a servicepony to protect, to help, and to put the life of others before theirs? Or is it to mindlessly kill, destroy, and let die for a tactical advantage?"

"To... help..."

"Then you have your answer."

"But... what about in Ponyville? You didn't seem very helpful then."

Brian sighed. "I was thrust into a world that isn't my own, I'm alone and confused, and Fluttershy rekindled a traumatic experience. I lost control, thus making your folk hostile to me. Simply put, I made a mistake. You make mistakes too, right?"

"Yeah," chuckled the mare. "Yeah, it makes more sense, now. I'm sorry if I misjudged you. That does bring the question though: why are ya here?"

"That is something I'd like to know myself," said Brian. "I guess I just... appeared. Without a reason."

"Huh... well maybe there is a reason."

Brian laughed sardonically. "And what would that be?" He sat down at the root of a tree, and grabbed his canteen.

"Well... maybe you didn't just appear," said Rainbow Dash. "Maybe you have a purpose in Equestria. Maybe it was your destiny to turn up here."

The operative took a moment to think about what Rainbow Dash had just said. Given what he'd said to Fluttershy and Twilight just a few days prior about his destiny, which he considered to be something along the lines of "No goal, no point, just go forward until you die", maybe he was to do so in this world. Maybe that this world would give him purpose. But that last suggestion quickly disappeared from his irrational mind. He thought that his purpose... was to have no purpose.

"But, whatever your destiny is," said Rainbow Dash, "I don't think it's my business to worry about it. You came here with a reason, and you probably escaped with one too. Now, maybe you should go and look for it."

"Well good thing her job isn't guarding POW's," he thought. "Maybe it's their destiny to escape too," he joked internally. "So you're just going to leave me alone?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Rainbow Dash. "You saved me when you didn't have to, I guess I owe you a favour."

"If that's what you think," said Brian. "Can I just ask you for directions?"

"Sure," smiled Rainbow Dash. "Where d'you wanna go?"

"I dunno," answered Brian. "Somewhere far away. Where I can't be bothered."

"In that case, just go South," said Rainbow Dash. "Follow the river downstream, and eventually you'll end up in the Everfree Forest. It's wild, but you look like you can handle yourself."

"Thanks," said Brian, still eyeing her suspiciously. "Well, I guess we'll be parting ways, now."

"Yeah," said Rainbow Dash. But she approached Brian, and extended her right hoof. "Brohoof?" she asked.

Brian bent down, and fist-bumped the mare. "Brohoof," he repeated.

Doctor Splint wrapped one last bandage around the guard's head. "That's a severe concussion he's given you," said the doctor. "I'd say at least two weeks of bed rest." He levitated a fountain pen and a piece of paper, and wrote down a prescription. "I'm also prescribing some painkillers."

"Thanks, Doc," mumbled the guardspony, before lying back on the bedsheets.

"I think we'd better discuss this outside," said the doctor to Princess Celestia, the Guard Captain and Mayor Cole Slaw, who were standing behind him.

The trio went outside, and Doctor Splint closed the door behind them.

"So, Spearhead was the only casualty?" asked the mayor.

"Apparently so," said the captain. "Well, I can't see any other wounded serviceponies in the infirmary."

Cole Slaw looked confused. "A bloodthirsty savage, let loose among us, you'd have thought he'd kill us all!"

"You sound disappointed," said Luna, coldly. She had just arrived.

"Well, no!" spluttered the mayor. "But I-"

"I don't think we need to hear anymore of what you have to say, Lord Mayor," interrupted Luna, coldly. "Have a little respect for the human. There is more to him than meets the eye."

"Either way," said Celestia, "I don't think we can leave him on the loose. He is armed and dangerous. Also, Doctor, I think this means we'll have to cancel tomorrow's fundraiser. If we cannot provide sufficient security..."

"What?" exclaimed Splint, aghast. "But, we can't cancel it!"

"I have to take the doctor's defense, here," said the mayor. "We cannot postpone the event again. All of the guests are in town, and we-"

All of a sudden, Fluttershy and Twilight Sparkle made their appearance from behind a corner. "What happened?" asked Twilight."Brian's escaped," answered Celestia.

"What?"

"He's escaped. Gone."

Twilight couldn't believe it. Why had he escaped? "We have to find him!"

But at that precise moment, Rainbow Dash came zooming into the hall. She skidded to a halt in front of the group. "I'm back," she panted.

"What happened?" asked Twilight.

"It's Brian, he's, erm..."

"He's what?"

"He's... dead."

Everypony fell into silence. Fluttershy's eyes and mouth were wide in shock. "But... H-how?"

"He just..." started Rainbow Dash. She hadn't really thought all of her cover story through. "... burst into flames."

There was an awkward pause. After a few seconds, Fluttershy started to slowly walk away, trying to hide the fact that she was about to burst into tears. Rainbow Dash felt guilty about lying to her friends. "Well," said the mayor. "I think this clears that up. We'll be hosting your fundraiser, Doctor."

Celestia silently acquiesced, and the group dispersed.

The Lord Mayor disappeared into a hall, and cantered to the broom cupboard he knew was empty. He entered, closed the door behind him, and shot a spell at his pocket watch. Soon enough, the quadrant became black, and he spoke. "My Liege," he said. "It is done."

"The human won't bother us?" asked the voice coming from the watch. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, he has been set free."

"Good. Good. And the guests?"

"Assembled at an inn, just outside town. Your moment has finally arrived, My Liege. You will finally be able to dominate this land."

"Excellent. Simply Excellent."

The two paramilitary men were walking through the jungle. As a roll of thunder made itself known, the point man extended his hand to feel the rain. A few droplets hit his hand. "I hate this weather," he said in Serbian.

"Tell me about it," responded the other. "Hey, why don't we just sit here, and then call it a day?"

"Oh, God, yes," said the former, relishing in an opportunity to slack off.

The pair sat down at the foot of a tall tree, overlooking the massive valley they were patrolling. "Cigarette?"

"Yeah."

The two patrolmen sat there, smoking for a few minutes.

"So who is this guy anyway?" said the first one, pulling a picture out of his pocket. It was a picture of a grizzled man, in his late thirties or early forties, with a beard and a mullet, wearing a sand-coloured beret.

"Fucked if I know. And that's the guy we're supposed to look out for?"

"Yeah. I don't know about you, but his face seems... familiar."

"Now that you say it... wasn't he in like... Bosnia?"

"I have no idea... maybe he was one of the Scorpions? Or... no... no, I think he was one of the peacekeepers."

"And did the boss say why we should be looking for this guy? Why would he be here in the first place?"

"I don't think he did." The patrolman took a drag on his cigarette, and sniggered. "Then again, the boss is a bit of a loon."

"You've got that right. But he pays well."

"Heh. Bosnia was more fun, though, wasn't it?" he asked, a perverted smile on his lips.

The pair laughed.

All of a sudden, the first guard keeled over. The other got up, and scanned the woods, looking for the attacker. He was about to reach for his radio, when he felt an hand grab his arm, and send him flying onto the tree trunk. Stars dancing in his eyes, the patrolman looked up, and saw a tall, menacing figure: it was the man from the picture, holding a dagger. The man knelt down, and held the guard's throat. Terrified, the sentry could not do anything else than look into his aggressor's mad eyes.

The man brought his face ever so close to the guard's ear, and whispered three Serb words: "Setite se Srebrenice."1

And then, without warning, the demon that had manifested himself before the sentry jammed a dagger into the guard's ribs, several times. The last things that the guard saw before dying were his blood spilling onto the mud and the massive aggressor standing over the dead body of his comrade like an avenging angel. with a last, hopeless gasp, the mercenary's head lulled back, his eyes staring and his mouth wide.

It had been a long time since Brian had taken another person's life. But he just didn't care. He simply wiped his blade, and re-sheathed his dagger. Then, he crouched down, and pushed the switch on his radio.

"Husky, this is FOXHOUND," he said, in his gravelly tone. "I've made contact with an enemy patrol. They're down. Over."

"Excellent, FOXHOUND," answered Jennings, on the other end of the line. "Satellite imagery indicates that there should be several guardposts, heading North. Remember, this is bandit country. Shoot everything that moves. Out."

Brian firmly grabbed his M16 rifle, and moved forwards. He constantly stayed behind cover, checking his six o'clock every so often, just to make sure no-one was around. The operation's dossier stated that Bachmeyer was holed up in a manor house, at the highest point of the valley. Past a river and a waterfall.

The easiest and most obvious way to the manor was from the west. There was an winding uphill dirt road going all the way up to the manor. That road was naturally the most covered by the Commando Sombra. They had several AFV's on constant patrol, a few jeeps, and a platoon-sized unit covering the road at all times. If someone was making their way up to the manor, Bachmeyer and the paramilitary commanders were convinced that the intruder would make his way up there.

The other way to access the manor was from the South, through the valley. The valley and the manor itself had once been the last bastion of Spanish control during the country's war of independence. The local general and his men had resisted for a long time against the separatist rebels, before eventually losing control of the area. And as soon as control of the region was lost, some wild rumours circulated amongst the locals. The two-hundred-year-old legend stated that the general who had fought and died during the final assault- and his men- were still haunting the vicinity. These rumours, plus the fact that the place had no real strategic value, caused the independent government to vacate the place. But during the Cold War, after a CIA-sponsored coup, the new military dictatorship leased the manor to the American intelligence agency, who ran it as a black site. Then,after the end of the conflict, the manor had once again lost its value. it had changed owners several times, before falling into Bachmeyer's lap. He considered the rumours to be guarding the place against the locals, and the dense jungle was more than enough to prevent anyone from accessing it that way. However, he had deployed several guardposts in the valley, just to be safe. Even so, security from that angle was relatively light, and that was because he wanted Brian to reach the manor. He wanted a little chat with the British operative.

After a few minutes of walking, evading several booby traps, and constantly checking all angles, Brian heard some rushing water. This was one of the natural barriers that kept the Comando Sombra complacent about defending the valley. That branch of the river was situated in some sort of miniature ravine, large enough for the average man to be unable to jump across, and deep enough for someone to break their legs if they fell down it. That branch joined the main one downstream, creating a moat of sorts. There was a bridge down stream, to allow patrols to move between the two areas. But Brian wasn't stupid enough to risk going through a chokepoint. Instead, he elected to attempt the jump. He stepped back for some clearance, and ran towards the river. He jumped across, and caught himself on the other side, just barely. He pulled himself up, and ran to the cover of the trees.

Soon enough, the waterfall came into view. And on Brian's side, a field tent had been put up. The operative brought his binoculars to his eyes and examined the three guards who were stationed there.

From what Brian could see, and from what he had read in the dossier, the Comando Sombra had come a long ways since Bronco's days. Salvador Bachmeyer's enforcers now truly resembled a paramilitary group as opposed to the mishmash of gangsters that it had been under Bronco. They now wore woodland camouflage fatigues, boonie hats, and chest-rigs. They also carried M16A1's and FN FAL'S. More than a simple protection unit, the Comando Sombra had also become a venture of sorts for Bachmeyer: they were deployed all over Latin America to assist local police and military units. And the paramilitary force didn't just look the part; they had skills to match. The core of the group had cut their teeth in special operations groups from armies all over Latin America. Quite often, they were hand-picked by Bachmeyer and his henchmen, who had enough weight inside governments to be able to pick and choose soldiers. They had also been supplemented by elements from Brazilian anti-gang task forces, the French Foreign Legion (which Brian often jokingly referred to as 'French people who don't surrender'), and even some ex-Yugoslavian soldiers.

But what truly united the Comando Sombra wasn't their experience or even their lust for money (although there was plenty of that involved). It was their record. Their reputation. For behind these professional-looking uniforms lay the hearts and souls of callous, merciless thugs. They were no soldiers, in Brian's eyes. They were simply murderous fiends, working for a man who promised to satisfy their violent hard-ons.

Brian thought of what to do. Of course, he could just ignore the guard post and go onwards. But if he was to dispose of the guards, it would be a problem less to think about. Besides, the Comando Sombra were nothing but bloodthirsty criminals. Brian killing them would only be bringing justice. He grabbed his suppressed M16 rifle, brought the sights to his eye, and aligned them with one of the guards, who was standing at the edge of the cliff, looking at the river below. Brian pulled the trigger, and watched the sentry's body collapse and fall over into the abyss. The second guard that Brian aligned his sights on was peaceably maintaining his rifle, sitting on a portable chair. Brian shot him once in the head, and watched him keel over. The third sentry violently turned around at the sound of his comrade falling on the ground, and was going to start looking for an intruder, when a bullet whizzed straight into his temple.

Brian vaulted over his cover, and rushed towards his three victims. He dragged each one over to the edge, and threw them down, to make sure they wouldn't be found. That way, instead of causing immediate alert within the Comando Sombra, he'd cause confusion.Once he was done disposing of the bodies, Brian turned to face north, and saw the opulent villa, towering over him, just a few hundred yards away. He had an almost undisturbed view of it.

"This is where it really begins," thought Brian. Out of his pack, he produced his long, black bandanna. It was old. It was the one that his mother had bought for him when he'd started tending to Grace's family's horses, so that he could see clearly while he scrubbed hooves. It had served as a sling for Grace's broken arm on the fateful night they had fallen for each other. He'd worn it all the way through his Special Air Service and MI-6 field days. The operative placed it around his head, and tied a knot at the back. He hesitated before pulling on both ends to finish the knot, as if pulling them was going to somehow seal his fate. But he did so, an expression of utter determination on his face.

"Husky, this is FOXHOUND," he repeated into the radio. "I'm in front of the target's residence, I am about to head in, over."

"Brilliant, FOXHOUND," answered Jennings. "Age hasn't slown you down one bit. God be with you. Out."

From where he was, Brian observed the house with his binoculars. He was looking at the mansion at an upwards angle, so he couldn't take in the security that they had on the ground. There were some stairs that connected the stone terraces found at every level, and they seemed relatively unguarded. So the plan was fairly simple: go upstairs, and then...

"You're just making this up as you go along!" said a voice in the operative's mind, clearly disappointed.

"Oh, but I do it brilliantly..." Brian mumbled back.

The single guard was standing in front of the painting, looking at it with a 'I wonder if someone would miss it' kind of way. As far as oil paintings went, it sure was a masterpiece: it was a portrait of the Spanish General who had held out against the hordes of separatists during the country's war of independence. He looked majestic, with his dark blue tunic, gray hair, and bi coloured sash. The brush strokes looked as though they had been aggressively slapped onto the canvas, revealed an almost savage energy. In truth, everyone would miss the painting. It had been there for two centuries, and it had never changed place. As a mark of respect, neither the independent government, the CIA, or Bachmeyer had moved it.

The sentry was almost jealous of the painting. For he too had dreams of power and conquest. He too wanted to make a mark on history. He was mesmerised by it. But all of a sudden, he felt something tighten around his neck, and saw his patrol cap fall off his head. He tried clawing at his throat and shouting for help, but only low, desperate gasps came out of his mouth, as he felt the wire dig into his flesh. His eyes were popping, and he heard his breathing stop. And soon, he was nothing but a lifeless corpse.

Brian dropped the body onto the ground, and folded his garrotte before putting it back into his pouch. The operative dragged the corpse over to a nearby broom cupboard, and shut himself in with it. About a minute later, Brian had disguised himself as his downed foe. The disguise would most certainly let him get around the place unmolested. Because of the blood, maybe snap his neck instead. He donned the patrol cap, and lowered the brim to cover his eyes. As a last precaution, Brian got a toothpick out of one of his pouches, and placed it between his teeth. He also stuck his chin out, to give his whole jawline a different shape.

Holding his rifle, Brian exited the closet, and made his way to where he knew the staircase was. According to the dossier, the room that had been the commander's office was on the floor below, and that was where he was most likely to find Salvador Bachmeyer. He was fluent in several languages, including Spanish (even some of the South-American dialects), so he'd be able to maintain a decent cover. He found a discarded clipboard on the shelf on a table next to the door, and elected to take it with him. The Comando Sombra had been noted to be a very organised and deadly organisation, comparable to a professional army. And if one thing was true, it was that in the army, if you carry a clipboard around, people won't fuck with you.

The operative made his way down the stairs and into a corridor, maintaining a brisk pace, and nodding at the guards that he saw. Clearly the disguise was working. At the very end, there was a door, with sentries placed on either side. Brian approached, and lifted his clipboard to show it to the guards, without uttering a word. Both acquiesced, and nodded at him. Brian pushed the door open, and entered the wolf's den.

The guns were all pointed squarely at Brian, who was rooted to the spot. Seven guards, forming a half-circle around the operative. The door to the office opened a second time, and Brian felt the cold barrel of a Browning Hi-Power press against the back of his skull. Brian dropped his clipboard, and raised his hands.

"You fell right into the trap," said someone from behind the formation of guards. Grinning, pompous, and about a head shorter than all of his cronies, a skinny, white-suited man appeared: Bachmeyer.

Brian didn't utter a word. Defeated, he stared at his captor with an expression of utter loathing on his face.

"Captain Brian Havelock," said Salvador Bachmeyer, grinning. Triumphant. He came close to Brian, and looked up at the operative's face. "I've been waiting for you."

Brian, arrogant and defiant as always, spat in Bachmeyer's face. The guards tightened their grips on their guns, ready to shoot. But the leader raised his hand in a 'hold your fire' motion, and the sentries relented. Instead, he just said "I'm going to have my fun with you..." and without warning, one of the guards pistol-whipped Brian, who fell to his knees. Half-conscious, he felt himself be dragged across the hall, and down the stairs to the unknown.

"Wake up!" shouted Bachmeyer.

Brian couldn't see anything, and had some difficulty breathing. A bag had been put over his head. He could feel a rope tied around his wrists, and he couldn't move his arms, which had presumably been tied to the ceiling. The operative tried standing up straight, but someone hit his leg, and he thought better of it.

"You've got a nice body," said Salvador sadistically, running a hand across Brian's pectorals, giving the operative goosebumps. "Nice scars, too." He punched Brian hard in the armpit, causing him to wince.

A guard ripped the bag off, revealing Brian's face. The operative looked around the room. The walls were made of concrete, and there were no windows. Only splats of coagulated blood broke the grey monotony of the walls, and the dampness of the room suggested that they were underground.

Two sentries were standing besides the door. And in front of him, there was Bachmeyer, staring at Brian with his black eyes, a perverted grin on his lips. Another man was standing in front of a table, where several 'tools' were placed: knives, hammers, and what looked a lot like a car battery.

Brian spat in his captor's face again, who blinked. "I'm warning you," he said. "Once I get out of here, I'm gonna fucking gut you!"

"Petty threats aren't going to save you," answered Bachmeyer, coolly. His English was superb. He kicked Brian's shin, but Brian didn't give in to the pain.

The operative just looked into Bachmeyer's eyes, as if daring him to hit him. "Go on, kill me," he ordered.

"Oh, but I don't want to," answered Bachmeyer. "Not yet, anyway. I just thought we might have a little chat."

"What do you want from me?" asked Brian.

"Well I thought it would be obvious," answered the druglord. "You killed my father. I would have killed yours, but you don't have one. So I had to settle for your wife..."

"Bastard."

"Aren't we both?" asked Bachmeyer. "I mean, your father... died by some revolutionary's hand. Killed, like a dog. Mine was killed by an MI-6 operative. I know it seems somewhat... 'cliché' to say something along the lines of 'we're not so different, you and I'... but let's be honest. It just fits, doesn't it? We're like a reflection of each other. Same in many different ways, but fundamentally opposed."

Brian didn't answer.

"I mean, when you think about it," continued Bachmeyer, "your mother. How did she die? Cancer, wasn't it? Breast cancer, brought on by years of drinking to drown her sorrow. The doctors told me that you were there, almost every single week, to guide her through her agony. My mother... my mother died in exactly the same way. After my father died, she was distraught. We moved, far away, and... well, she died from alcohol poisoning. Not exactly the same, but, well... the last thing she ever said to me, was... 'kill them. Kill them all.'"

"Your father was a criminal," retorted Brian.

"Oh, spare me your sense of righteousness," answered Bachmeyer. "Call him what you will, at least my father understood capitalism. You pay for a product, and you get exactly what you pay for. And, come to think of it... yes, my father killed. I kill too. And you know who else kills? You. Your government."

"You're delusional."

Bachmeyer laughed. "It's funny, isn't it... you know how my father got to where he was?"

"He just replaced Escobar," answered Brian. "He just took the place of the leading druglord. He was an opportunist."

Bachmeyer slapped Brian. "Don't you talk about my father like that!" he spat, holding Brian's throat, looking at his captive like a madman. He let go of the operative's throat, and went back to his smug face, as if nothing had happened. "Well, actually, I guess you might be right. He saw an opportunity, and he seized it. You see, when he heard that the Americans were looking for Pablo, he saw it as his time to shine. He helped the Americans track Escobar, through one of his friends in MI-6. And that friend's name... was Jennings."

Brian, though surprised by this revelation, didn't display a face of shock. In the end, it was just the thing that he'd expect Jennings to do.

"Not surprised?" asked Salvador, expectantly.

"Nope," answered Brian.

Bachmeyer punched the operative in the abdomen, enraged by Brian's lack of surprise, as if he was a spoilt kid who hadn't received a Playstation for Christmas. And, as that didn't provoke a reaction, he punched again. And again. Even the sentry in the corner of the room looked shocked.The kingpin straightened his jacket and regained his sneery expression. He reached into his pocket, and from it he produced a Walkman, which was loaded with a cassette tape.

"So what's in there?" asked Brian. "Your dance mix?"

"That's for me to know, and you to... earn. If you behave, you can listen to it."

"Don't really care, at this point," said Brian. "And if you don't want to kill me, what do you want?"

"Well, I am a man of simple taste," said Bachmeyer. "And after a long day riding a desk... I just want to be entertained." He pulled a chair, and sat down in front of Brian. He looked at the sentry, and nodded.

The guard, who had been preparing his tools for the past three minutes or so, approached Brian, and slapped him across the face once.

"Again," said Bachmeyer.

The guard slapped Brian again.

"Again."

The cycle repeated four or five times. Brian couldn't really feel his right cheek. "Do it again," he said, turning the other cheek towards the torturer. "I like tough guys."

The guard grabbed Brian's face, twisted it towards him, and punched him in the nose.

Brian could taste the blood run down his throat and into his mouth. He spat it out, and grinned at his torturer. He laughed. "Go on. Do it again. I dare you."

The sentry punched Brian in the abdomen, and then, he grabbed the operative's thighs, and tried to spread his legs apart. Brian, who realised what the torturer was trying to do, swung back, raised his legs, and kicked the man back.

"You know, you're tough," said Bachmeyer, visibly impressed. "And contrary to what you may think, I have no illusion as to who really killed my papa. Before killing you, I was planning on getting Rose over here. Maybe show her a bit of what I could do, and then... kill her. And then, it'd be Jennings. I know that he was the only man who could know where my dad was, and I know that he was the one who gave you the mission. And... when you come to think about it, whose fault is it if you're here now? I'm just punishing you because you took the mission. And you're not a madman. You knew fully well what you were doing. Here, as a sweetener to the deal, I'm not even gonna go after your daughter. So what d'ya say? Do you want some real revenge?"

Brian didn't buy into what his captor was saying. "It was my fault," he answered, through a mouthful of blood and saliva. "It's my fault. I shoulda killed you properly. I should have killed you like the dog you are!"

"Shame," answered Bachmeyer. Then, he turned towards his sentry, and nodded again.

The man grabbed the crocodile pincers, turned on the car battery, and walked towards Brian. Grinning in a vindictive and sadistic fashion, he sparked the shockers. Brian closed his eyes, and...

The operative yelled. The shock went on for a good ten seconds before the sentry relented. The agonising process repeated about five or six times, under the happy eyes of Salvador Bachmeyer. He laughed as he saw Brian convulse, and heard him pant whenever a shock ended.

"Enough," sighed Bachmeyer, once the novelty of seeing someone get electrified had worn off.

Brian looked at his captor murderously. But just a few seconds later, he regretted that decision.

"Cut out his eyes," said Bachmeyer to the guard. "I don't like those blue eyes of his... those nordic eyes."

The torturer nodded, and went to pick up a knife from the table, and took his time advancing towards Brian. "I'm gonna love this," said the paramilitary man, raising the knife, and placing it mere millimetres away from Brian's right eye. The operative didn't move, and just stared at the guard's knife, which was ever so close.

And then, in an 'all things considered' kind of way, he raised it, placed it on Brian's forehead, just above his eyebrow, and begun slowly pulling it downwards.

"ARRRRGH!"

The knife cut through Brian's right eye like a spoon would cut through Jell-O.

The druglord's lapdog was about to raise the knife a second time, when Bachmeyer simply said, "enough. Leave the other... for another time..." and, laughing like a maniac, he left the room with his sentry.

Author's Note

1 Remember Srebrenica

Chapter Eleven: A new allegiance

Brian didn't know how long he stayed strung. All he wanted to do was get out. Minutes snailed by as a half-conscious Brian started considering escape tactics. Right now, he had only one objective, and that was to escape from his predicament and kill Bachmeyer. And after minutes of thinking, something happened, that was so miraculous and well-timed that even an atheist would have written it off as an act of God.

The door opened. Brian fell limp and played unconscious, in case it was a guard who'd come to liberate his frustrations on the captive. Motionless and dead silent, the operative heard light footsteps approach him, and a soft voice say, "hello?"

Brian opened his eyes. It wasn't one of the sentries. It was a girl. She was young. Older than Rose, but younger than Salvador Bachmeyer. Her skin was olive-coloured, and her eyes were almost pitch black. The operative knew that he'd seen her before, but he couldn't quite remember where. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Maria," answered the woman. "His... sister."

Brian suddenly remembered who the girl was. She was Salvador's sister, whom he'd seen during the initial operation, many years ago.

"You don't look too good," said Maria. "Are you okay?"

Brian was about to let out a snide remark about him having a broken nose, missing an eye and generally not looking too good right about now, but he refrained from it. At that moment, Maria was a potential way for him to get out of his situation, so alienating her wasn't a very good idea. "I've been better," he answered. "Why are you here?"

"Look. I want to leave this place," said Maria. "I can't stand it. And you want to kill my brother. Maybe we can help each other." She talked about her brother's life as if it was a mere commodity that she was ready to exchange. "He's a monster."

"Alright," said Brian. "How do you want to do this?"

"I'll bring him here, and you can do... whatever it is you want to do."

"Alright," said Brian. "Just one thing."

"Yes?"

"I left my stuff in a broom closet near the trophy room. Could you bring it to me?"

"Sure." Maria went over to the table, picked a knife, and came back to Brian. She slightly cut the ropes that were restraining Brian, and placed the knife in Brian's back pocket. "They should come loose if you pull a bit."

"Thanks," answered Brian.

Maria left the room. Brian waited with baited breath. After a few minutes, Brian heard some renewed footsteps. The door opened, admitting Bachmeyer and the torturer.

"My sister told me that you had something to say," said Salvador. "Are you about to apologise? Beg for your life, maybe?"

"I have a question," said Brian.

"I'm listening."

"Why did you wait all this time before coming for me?"

Bachmeyer looked surprised. He smirked, and answered, "I guess everything I heard about you was right. You're a good warrior, Havelock. You've got skill, brawn, guile. You carry out every mission you have with deadly precision. You don't ask for fame, money, or any form of recognition. In the end, you're just gonna end up another unknown soldier. Some said you were hot-headed, unpredictable and reckless. And I believe them. In the end, I guess it's why Jennings liked you. He just had to press your beserker button, and you went off to kill someone. He harnessed that arrogance of yours. Because, in the end, you're nothing but a thick-skulled primate. Gullible and dim to the end."

"Your point being?"

"Well, you see... you went off on your little tasks, crossing names of your list, and they gave you medals for every bullet in the heart, for every knife in the throat. And you went off and lived your happy-go-lucky life, never thinking of the consequences. Your handler is the same..." Bachmeyer sat down on the chair, and leaned backwards. "I just want to give you consequences. Maybe once. You see, I thought that... the longer you went on thinking that you were immune to them, the higher you climbed... the harder you'd fall. You had just retired from your life of killing, you had taken that nice, cushy job at the consulate. Working a desk from nine to five. I saw it as the best moment to make you fall. And fall, you did..."

"So basically just to make me suffer," retorted Brian.

"Yes."

"I have something else to tell you," said Brian. "For your ears only."

Bachmeyer came closer to Brian, and brought his ear close to Brian's mouth.

Brian took a deep breath, and said "Fuck you." Without warning, he gave a mighty tug, freeing his arms. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and threw it at the guard. The knife lodged itself in the guard's throat before he could move. Then, Brian pounced on Bachmeyer, held him down, and strangled him until he fell unconscious. The guard gave one last shocked look at Brian, before crumbling to the floor, hopelessly clutching his neck.

Brian was about to rip the druglord's throat out and kill him then and there, but he suddenly had a different idea. At that moment, Maria returned, holding a duffel bag. She didn't seem surprised by the sight of the sentry laying dead in a pool of his own blood, and she seemed somewhat satisfied with seeing her brother, unconscious on the floor. "It's all in there," said Maria, dumping the bag on the floor.

Brian quickly got dressed. "Thanks," he said, as he finished buttoning his Tiger-Stripe fatigue jacket.

"I also got you this," said Maria, handing an eyepatch to Brian. "I thought it'd be useful, for, you know..."

"Thanks." Brian donned the eyepatch, and lifted an unconscious Bachmeyer onto his shoulder.

Maria looked surprised to see that Brian hadn't yet killed him, but she didn't say anything about it. "So how do you want to do this?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to go down the valley," answered Brian. "I've left a car there. Once I'm done using it, you can have it."

"Deal," said Maria. "Whenever you're ready..."

Brian grabbed Salvador by the lapels, and hoisted him over his shoulder. "If you know of a good way to leave this place unseen, now's the time to use it."

"There's a chute and ladder that leads to the river," said Maria. "We can use it. Let's go."

Before leaving the room, Brian saw the cassette tape and walkman that Bachmeyer had left on the table. After a moment of hesitation, he took it.

Canterlot Castle, Saturday morning

The fundraiser was going relatively well. The guests had arrived at eleven o'clock, and although they had been somewhat alarmed by the abnormally high security, they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Octavia and her band, as per usual, were playing their instruments on a small stage, and the notables were taking turns chatting with the stallion of the hour, Doctor Splint. His smile widened every time he saw a noble slipping a cheque into the golden donation box, and he smirked every time he was asked about his ground-breaking research.

But good times weren't being had by all. In fact, there was a group of ponies that looked grim. Or at least they were feeling grim, and some just covered their moods with rehearsed glassy smiles.

"Cheer up, Fluttershy," said Twilight, soothingly. "Here, have some cake."

"Oh, erm... no thanks, Twilight," answered Fluttershy. She was hiding behind her mane again, and she looked worried and grief-stricken.

"I miss him too," said Twilight. "But I'm sure he's in a better place now."

"I hope you're right."

Twilight looked over at Princess Celestia, who was standing at the top of the stairs that dominated the ballroom. She was smiling a serene smile, and chatting with the Prime Minister, along with Princess Luna. "How does she do that?" she asked.

"How does she do... what?" asked Fluttershy.

"How can she just smile when she clearly isn't well?"

"I... I don't know..."

At that moment, Applejack and Rainbow Dash came along. They took one look at Fluttershy, and knew exactly what she was thinking about.

"You're still thinkin' of him, ain't ya?" asked Applejack. "You want my advice? Forget 'im. He was nothin' but a filthy varmint. Good riddance."

Fluttershy's eyes began to water.

"Applejack..." said Twilight, cross.

"Just sayin' mah honest opinion!"

"Haven't you ever heard of subtlety?" hissed Twilight, through gritted teeth.

Rainbow Dash hadn't yet said anything. She really wanted to tell them the truth, but decided that it was best if she didn't. She didn't want to betray Brian.

The main doors opened, and Princess Cadance and her consort made their appearance. Princess Twilight ran towards her sister-in-law, and they recited their chant in full view of everypony.

"They're annoying," said Applejack, under her breath.

"Huh. Tell me about it," answered Rainbow Dash, more audibly.

Twilight hugged her brother, and the two princesses started talking while a bored Shining Armor went over to the buffet table.

"Erm, Dashie?" asked Fluttershy, timidly. "Can we have a word?"

Rainbow Dash, who knew what this was going to be about, rolled her eyes. "Sure."

Rainbow and Fluttershy went towards a corner of the room, and huddled together.

"I... just want to ask you something," said Fluttershy.

"Is this about Brian?" asked Rainbow Dash in return.

"Did he... did he suffer? When he died?"

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes again. "Really? Is that what you wanted to ask me about?"

"I've got to know!"

"Look..."

"Please," implored Fluttershy. "Please, tell me."

Rainbow Dash sighed, and looked down at the floor. "I- I don't know, okay?"

"What do you mean, 'you don't know'? You were there!"

Rainbow Dash was lost for words. "I-I..."

"Oh my gosh," said Fluttershy. "He's alive, isn't he?"

"I-"

"He is! He's alive!"

"Look, whether he's alive or not, it's none of your business. Either way, he won't be coming back. Forget about him." And with no further ado, Rainbow Dash turned away in a huff.

Rarity was talking to a pair of nobles at the buffet table, who seemed to be fascinated by the hat she was wearing. "Oh, yes, I made it myself. I used a-"

But whatever Rarity had used to make her hat, no-one would ever know. Because at that moment, the double doors swung open with a bang, and a whole platoon of Royal Guards marched into the room, and took positions next to the massive glass windows.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Celestia, loudly. "Return to your stations at once!"

But the guards didn't move. They just stood by the glass panes, all wearing an identical smirk.

"Didn't you hear your Commander-In-Chief?" bellowed Shining Armour. "Desist!"

Mayor Cole Slaw waltzed into the room, and sniggered softly. "You have no authority here, Captain," he said.

And without warning, there was an eruption of green light all around the room, and the sentries changed.

Transparent wings, pale, lifeless eyes, and black exoskeletons. The coup was lead by changelings.

About half of the guests also revealed their true form. One of the aristocrats who had been chatting with Rarity mere seconds before changed, and hissed at the Element of Generosity.

"ALL HAIL OUR NEW QUEEN!" shouted Cole Slaw, climbing on one of the tables. "QUEEN CHRYSALIS!"

And with a move that surprised pretty much no-one at that point, the queen herself arrived through the front door. Instantly, all of the changelings simultaneously fired beams of light at Celestia, who was thrust against the wall. And when they were done with Celestia, they did the same to Luna. Twilight tried making for outside, but several of the queen's troops surrounded her, and pinned her to the ground.

"Funny, isn't it?" said Chrysalis, once the crowd had been daunted, walking towards Celestia. "A thousand years of deceit, lies, and treason, and you never learn, do you? Well I did." She kicked the motionless princess in the belly. "Where is it?"

"Where's... what?" asked Celestia, groggily.

"A few days ago, my scouts sensed a powerful source of LOVE in this very castle!" announced Chrysalis. "Enough to feed an empire. What is it?"

Everypony looked confused. What was she talking about?

"I- I don't..."

The queen turned around, and looked at one of her minions. "Search," she said, ruthlessly. The changeling took off, and zoomed outside.

Rainbow Dash looked out of the window at the city below. A legion of changelings had already descended upon the capital, and there were flashes of light everywhere. Soldiers were putting up a fight, but everyone knew that they wouldn't win. She bit her lip. "If only there was somepony who was somepony brave enough to challenge them..."

And suddenly, it clicked. The pegasus checked that no-one was looking, and made for a side door. Stealthily, she flew down the hall, and found an open window to fly out of. If there was someone who could help, it was Brian.

"It's there," said Brian, dumping the still unconscious druglord on the ground and displacing some branches, revealing the Jeep Wrangler that he'd stashed there for his getaway.

Maria sighed in relief. "Finally," she said.

"Could you give me some space?" asked Brian. "There's something I need to take care of."

Maria looked at her unconscious brother, then at Brian, and knew exactly what was about to happen. Despite her knowing that her brother was a despicable human being, she didn't want Brian to make him suffer. She saw him more as a dog that had to be put down. But at the same time, she knew what her brother had done to the operative, and she didn't want to oppose him. She simply nodded, and went down a hill to wait it out.

Brian got a zip-tie from his pouch, and tied Bachmeyer's hands together. Then, he kicked his captive in the stomach. "Wake up!"

Salvador grunted. Brian kicked again. Salvador shouted, and woke up with a start. "Ah!"

The operative stared at his victim, and smiled a devilish grin. "I am so going to enjoy this." He unsheathed his knife, and bent down towards the terrified druglord.

Bachmeyer tried to scarper, crawling along the ground with his legs. But Brian stomped onto Bachmeyer's kneecap, snapping it clean.

Meanwhile, Maria listened to the gasps, the kicks, and the yells of pain with apathy. She'd heard the same noises before at the house. Those ones that she heard at that moment were just louder than usual. She sat there, trying her best to ignore the litany of excessive violence that was unfolding in the world behind her. In the end, waiting for Brian to be finished was just like waiting for her father to come and pick her up after soccer practice.

And finally, after minutes of waiting, she heard the her brother plead for his life, before the coup de grâce.

"It's done," said Brian, climbing into the car's front passenger seat.

Maria climbed in next to him, and started the car. "Thank you," she said, grateful that the operative had given her a way out of her brother's den.

Brian didn't answer. He simply pressed the PTT switch on his radio, and contacted Jennings. "Husky, this is FOXHOUND. It's done. Currently heading to the extraction point. Over."

"Acknowledged, FOXHOUND," answered Jennings. "A chopper is en route to the LZ from over the border. ETA one hour. Husky out."

As Maria revved up the car, Brian sat back in his seat, and grunted in an almost orgasmic fashion, bringing more questions about his sanity. He had completed his objective. He had brought suffering and death upon the man who had murdered his wife. The twisted child who had cheated death almost twenty years prior was dead, and Brian finally had his revenge. He felt good. And for once, he was happy.

But those feelings of accomplishment and self-satisfaction quickly disappeared, as a realisation came to his mind. It dawned on him that at the moment at which he'd stood above Bachmeyer like a tiger-striped Angel of Death, about to make a man, as twisted as he was, suffer for his enjoyment, Brian had become exactly what many people thought that he was, what the left-wing media said that he was, and what many of the suits in the cabinet office saw him as: a killer.

Grace's voice rung in Brian's head.

"You can kill Bachmeyer. Murder his cronies, and burn the whole world down. It won't bring me back. Nothing will, Brian..."

That was probably the last twist in Brian's mind, which lead him to the reckless, nihilistic, almost suicidal mess he was to this day. And after a few minutes of thinking, Brian came to a conclusion.

Grace had been everything to him. And Rose, in his mind, was better off never seeing him again. The only things that still mattered to him were the very things that had lead him to this moment: his duty to his country, and the thrill of the chase. The rest didn't matter to him anymore.

"I brought it all onto myself," he thought. "I killed Grace. And Rose doesn't have a mother anymore because of me. It's all my fault."

At that moment, Brian took a decision. He sentenced himself to hard labour. He'd go out on missions for Jennings until someone killed him. He wouldn't take his own life. He'd die in battle before being sent to hell.

Brian lit a cigar to celebrate that mad decision of his.

After a few minutes, Maria halted the car in front of a river. She and Brian got out. "Thanks for freeing me," said Maria.

"Likewise," answered Brian. "You can have the car. Someone's coming to pick me up. You'd better get out of here."

"Yes," answered Maria. "Adios, friend."

Brian answered with a dismissive hand gesture, and sat down at the root of a tree. He reached into his pouch to get his lighter, but he felt the walkman, and remembered that he still hadn't listened to the contents of the cassette tape.

The operative unplugged the jack cord from his radio, and plugged his earpiece into the device. He checked that the tape was rewinded, and pressed 'Play'.

After a few seconds of crackling, Brian heard the beeping sounds of a phone.

"Bachmeyer?" asked a voice, which was unmistakably Jennings'.

"Señor Johnson," said a gruff voice. It wasn't Salvador's, so Brian assumed it belonged to José, Salvador's father. "I've just seen the news. Escobar is finished."

"Yes, I heard. I was going to call you myself, but I was sidetracked. You've completed your part of the deal, and I intend to keep my word. The Americans won't bother you, and I won't either. Thanks to this whole operation, I've been promoted. I now have enough influence to throw them of your scent, and I have enough weight with the British Government to keep them away from South America."

"Excellent," answered Bachmeyer. "Simply excellent."

"A word of warning, though," said 'Señor Johnson'.

"Yes?"

"I'd advise you and your son to stay away from America and Europe," cautioned Jennings. "Lest I be obliged to take you two down. Loose ends, and all of that."

"I'll take your advice... for now," said Bachmeyer. "But I can't keep my son's ambition under control eternally."

"Very well," sighed Jennings. "I'm guessing that means that one day, we'll be pitted against each other. And make no mistake, I won't hesitate to kill you if I have to."

"But of course..."

"Until then," said Jennings, "I bid you farewell, and good luck in your future endeavours."

There was no sound for the next ten seconds or so, before Brian heard the same beeping.

"Who is this?" asked Jennings' voice.

Brian heard Salvador Bachmeyer laugh softly.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Señor Jennings."

"How did you get this number?"

"Just... picked up the phonebook."

There was a long pause. "Salvador Bachmeyer?" asked Jennings, uncertainly. "How?"

"Your pawn got careless... that or, he didn't check me after shooting."

"What do you want?" asked Jennings.

"Me? Oh, nothing, really... this is just a fair warning. Or a proposition, depending on your way of looking at it."

"I won't negotiate with criminals or thugs."

"And my father? Was he something else to you?"

Jennings didn't answer.

"Just what I thought," said Bachmeyer. "But anyway, I know better than to try and negotiate with you. So I'm going to jump through the hoops, and get to you. And one day, I will kill you. And your wife. And that lovely ginger tabby you have at home. Mavis, she's called, your cat, isn't she..."

"How did you..."

"But for now, I'm going to satisfy myself with your lapdog. And trust me, what I'm going to do to him... that'll just be tickles, compared to what I have in store for you."

"Don't you dare touch him. Don't you dare go after him. You have a score to settle with me, not with him."

"There's no changing my mind about it," retorted Bachmeyer. "My man is already on his way. And Brian is on his way back from work. You can't contact him."

"If you back off now, nothing will come of this," said Jennings. "You can have me, just don't..."

"You don't negotiate with criminals, or thugs."

"Son of a..."

"Goodbye."

The tape stopped, and Brian didn't really know what to think. If anything, that cassette only demonstrated that José Bachmeyer and Jennings had collaborated at some point. Purely out of interest, of course, but then again, that was what Brian expected from Jennings. But it also showed that Jennings, in the end, had tried to protect Brian, and had willingly offered himself to save Brian. The soldier felt satisfied, in a way. He extracted the cassette from the walkman, broke it open, and pulled out the tape itself. He set it alight with his cigar, and watched it burn. He didn't want anyone else to find it.

Brian was sitting on the bank of the river, looking at the water flow past, smoking a cigar. He was wondering about what Rainbow Dash had said. Was there truly a destiny that he could find, in this world? Or were the ponies just deluded into thinking that Providence actually had a plan for them? Head spinning around the same unanswerable questions, Brian moved to sit down at the foot of an oak tree. He closed his eyes, and let himself dream, if only for a few seconds.

They used to drink there.
They sang old songs, arm in arm,
Drinking to their health...
But it was another era.

Jennings walked on the tiles,
Mindful to only step on each one,
Only once.
That thought obsesses him.

A cable, stretched across a chasm.
A river of blood runs underneath.
Brian kills, and the river rises,
Brian curses his existence.

A girl called Grace,
Charming as a dove
Against the afternoon sky.
Dead.

A girl called Rose is to be wed.
No-one to walk her down the aisle.
She refused that it be someone else,
It saddens her.

Brian woke up with a start. He heard a noise from behind him. Instinctively, he grabbed his rifle, and aimed at where it had come from.

"Oh, it's you," he said, lowering the rifle as he saw the blue pegasus skid to a halt and pant.

"It's... changelings... they're... here!" she panted.

"Beg your pardon?"

"You've gotta help me!"

"Erm..."

"I-"

"Calm down," commanded Brian. "Take a breath. What's wrong."

"It's Canterlot! We're being invaded!"

"By whom?"

"Changelings!"

"What?"

Rainbow Dash explained the entire situation to Brian, who was still confused as to why she'd come to him with that information. "And why should I care? You guys wanted to execute me."

Dashie rolled her eyes. "It's the mayor. He was working for them. I'd bet ya anything that it was him who sent you that note."

Brian wasn't thoroughly convinced. "And how do I know this isn't a ploy to get me back to the castle?"

"If it was, would I have come alone?" asked Rainbow Dash. "Besides, I told everyone you were dead. They won't be expecting you to come along."

Brian thought hard. On the one hand, Rainbow Dash seemed sincere. She had a desperate look in her eyes, and Brian had grown to like her. On the other, she could be wanting to lead him into a trap. But he'd escaped once, and he was ready to do it again. Whatever it could take. And then it dawned on him.

"This is it. It's the battle I was expecting."

Maybe this was his date with destiny. Maybe this was his opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory, one last fight. And then he'd serve his penitence in hell, or whatever.

"Fine," said Brian. "I'll help you."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"To tell the truth..." said Brian, "I think this is what I've been waiting for all along."

Meanwhile, in the other world

"Miss Havelock," said Jennings, as Brian's daughter entered his office.

"Mister Jennings," answered Rose, coldly. "Is this about my father?"

"Yes," said Jennings. "Please, have a seat."

Rose sat down, and crossed her arms and legs. She looked apprehensive. "I'm listening."

"Brian has gone missing." Jennings expected Rose to have a surprised reaction, but it was just stoic.

" 'Missing' missing or 'dead' missing?" she asked.

"Just missing, for now," answered the spymaster. "I got the news yesterday evening."

"And how did you respond?" asked Rose.

"We've prepared a disinformation campaign," replied Jennings, casually. "We've preemptively prepared a cover story of sorts. Cut all ties with him, burned all evidence of contact going back a few years, and created some false evidence of his discharge from the Armed Forces. When- I mean, if the time comes, the government will issue a statement claiming that Brian went freelance, and was not acting on our behalf. A mercenary, if you prefer."

Rose chuckled almost sardonically. "Still top of your game, aren't you?"

"Anything but," answered Jennings. "Truth be told, your father was my most reliable operative. Whatever you might think, I did not consider him expendable. Who knows how long it'll be before I can find someone who even comes close to Brian in terms of skill."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" asked Rose.

"Very simply," said Jennings, "I owe him that. Long ago, he saved my career. And I want to repay him as I can. I've elected to keep this information from the government as long as I can, and I will take the fall if your father defects."

"Sounds like a lot of risk," remarked Rose.

"More than you can imagine, trust me," responded Jennings. "But I'm confident that wherever Brian is, he's just decided to retire. Taken his money and walked. He's left behind a small fortune for you, which I've placed on a savings account in Jersey. If you want me to turn it over to you, you know where to find me."

"Very well," said Rose. "But don't take my agreement as a sign of me owing anything to you."

"Yes, I don't expect you to bury the hatchet between us, after what I put Brian through. Some things just won't happen... Even I can appreciate that."

Rose didn't respond, and instead looked at her knees.

"So what's next in the life of Rose Havelock?" asked Jennings.

"I'm joining the forces," answered Rose. "I want to be a battlefield surgeon. My granddad was a soldier, my dad was a soldier. I guess I'll continue the tradition..."

Equestria

"So what exactly are those... changelings, you called them?" asked Brian, as he and Rainbow Dash made their way upstream.

"They're horrible creatures that change into ponies and feed on the love of others. It's how they get their strength. They took control of an entire platoon of guards, and some of the guests, too." Rainbow Dash explained everything about the fundraiser.

"So a lot of love for science going around, then?"

"I guess..."

"And if they changed into guards, they must have fed on the others' patriotism."

"Huh," said Rainbow Dash. "I guess you're right. But their queen said something about a huge source of love that had been in the castle for a time. That's why they decided to attack."

"Your world is weird," said Brian. "Do your cars run on love too?" he sniggered.

"Cars?" repeated the pegasus, confused.

"Never mind."

"So, do you have a plan?" asked Rainbow Dash.

"Not really," answered Brian, sounding somewhat bored. "I just make things up as I go along."

"I guess you do it brilliantly, huh?"

"It's what I do best."

At that moment, Brian and Rainbow Dash heard some hoofsteps from up ahead. "It may be them!" whispered Rainbow Dash. "Hide!"

Brian darted behind a bush, and held his rifle at the ready. He saw some dark grey legs make their appearance. Brian aligned his sights with the figure, and held his breath. "Is that them?" he breathed.

Rainbow Dash hesitated, before saying, "I don't know. They could be..."

A whole platoon of knackered-looking guards in armour came around the corner. They seemed to have marched a long way. Brian wrapped his finger around the trigger, and got ready to fire in case they revealed their true forms.

"I'll throw the password," said Rainbow Dash. "If they throw the countersight, it'll be our guys. If not... you know what to do." And without further ado, at the top of her lungs, Rainbow Dash shouted, "What colour is the night?"

"Star-spangled Nocturnal!" the commander shouted back.

"It's them."

Brian and the pegasus got up from their positions, and went to meet the detachment.

"We retreated when Sunset Boulevard fell," explained the commander. "We're heading south to regroup with the Southern barracks and plan a counter-offensive from there. Colonel Beachhead and his boys are still holding the Eastern post. But I don't think they'll be able to hold on for much longer. I think-"

"What do you mean by 'counter-offensive'?" asked Brian.

"Charge in through the gate," said the commander, surprised, as if no-one had ever dared question his tactics before. "I mean, that's standard procedure."

"Amateurs," thought Brian. "Listen here, I think I can come up with something better."

"Why would I take advice from you?" asked the commander, in an icy tone.

"Trust me, he's an expert," said Rainbow Dash.

"Do you have a map?" asked Brian.

The commander looked at his adjudant, who rushed over and unravelled a map of the city, with all the important buildings highlighted on it.

The guards huddled around Havelock, looking intently at what the Captain was doing. After a few minutes, he'd devised a plan for a much better strategy: with reinforcements from the Southern barracks, the Earth Ponies and the Unicorns would regroup with Colonel Beachhead's troops in their fortified position, using the city's sewers to remain covered. In the meantime, the Pegasi would fly over the walls of the capital, regain air superiority, and encircle the changelings.

"This is all well and good," said the platoon's commander. "But where do you come in?"

"I'll be going after the Queen," answered Brian, determined. "Without leadership, they might disperse and retreat."

"I cannot and will not let a foreign agent be responsible for saving our Royals!" protested the commander, indignantly.

"Very well," retorted Brian. "I will assist Rainbow Dash in rescuing them."

The commander pursed his lips, but no sound came out. Instead, he turned towards his colts, and shouted, "You heard him. Let's go!"

The two groups separated, and Brian was left with Rainbow Dash. "Do you think you could carry me?" asked Brian.

"Sure," said Rainbow Dash. "As long as you're not falling through the air at terminal velocity, we should be fine. What do you want me to do?"

"If you can just pull me to somewhere I can have a clear view of where they are, I'll be able to see everything and plan accordingly."

Rainbow Dash nodded. She placed her forelegs under Brian's sturdy SPIE harness, and lifted him off the ground. Brian was somewhat scared at the idea of falling, but he was confident that Rainbow Dash would be quick enough to catch him. They rose above the trees, and headed straight for the walls of Canterlot. From what they could see, the pegasus guards had already started engaging the airborne changelings, which let Brian see the enemy for the first time. Parasitic, insect-like creatures, but shaped like ponies.

"My God, they're ugly," the soldier heard himself say.

While the changelings were busy with their assailants, Rainbow Dash zoomed upwards, and dropped Brian on top of a very tall tower, which he recognised as Celestia's study.

"Alright," said Rainbow Dash, as Brian got his binos, and looked through them. "What can you see?"

"A whole bunch of them," said Brian, looking through the windows of the ball room. "I imagine the big one is their queen?" he asked, spotting Queen Chrysalis. "Ugly. Very ugly."

"Have you made up your plan yet?" asked Dash.

"I think I have," answered Brian. There was a glass window upon the roof. It looked fragile enough, and Brian was ready to put on a show for his hosts. If this was his last battle, he might as well fight it in style. "Alright, bring us to the roof."

"For the last time..." said Chrysalis, "WHERE! IS! IT!"

"I've told you," said Celestia. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Alright," said Chrysalis, walking towards Luna, who was lying in a heap on the floor next to Celestia. "If you won't tell the truth to help yourself, maybe you'll tell it for your sister!"

"No..."

Mayor Cole Slaw was watching the scene with amusement. But all of a sudden, he heard glass break. Every single head turned just in time to see glass shatters litter the centre of the ball room. And mere milliseconds later, a small, cylindrical object landed on the floor. It rolled a few feet.

"What the..."

With a loud bang, everypony saw white. The changelings, irritated by the noise, were hissing harder than ever, but no-one could hear them.

Princess Twilight opened her eyes, just in time to see a black rope smack the floor, and a figure slide down it, as if it was a pole. "Brian!" she shouted, recognising the man.

"Kept you waiting, huh?" asked Brian, as he landed on the floor, and aimed his weapon at the evil queen.

The Queen and her minions all looked at Brian, shocked. They were hissing at him, for some reason that Brian didn't really understand. But then, the Queen's eyes widened, giving her an even uglier look. "THIS!" she shouted. "THIS IS IT!"

Brian tightened his grip on the rifle.

"Can you feel it, my minions?" she asked. "Can you sense it too?"

The changelings started looking pleased with Brian's presence. "Am I a star to them in this world?" thought the soldier.

Chrysalis licked her lips. "The ape... the ape is the source!"

Everypony who wasn't a changeling looked at Brian, surprised. Could this hateful, empty shell be a vessel of unlimited love? It didn't make sense.

"Don't you dare try to feed on anyone in this room!" shouted Brian. "Or I'll fucking kill you!"

"Oh?" said Chrysalis. "Me and all of my people?" she swept her hoof (if you could call it that) across the room, indicating her changelings.

"I'll take them all with me if I have to," stated the soldier.

The queen looked at the man's guns. From what she'd heard, they could wreak massive destruction on anything. "Very well," said the queen, descending the steps, and standing a few feet in front of Brian. "Then I propose a duel."

Brian thought hard about that. He would take as many of them as he could if it came to that, but even assuming that he hit all of his targets, he didn't have enough ammunition to kill them all. "Let's hear the rules," said Brian.

"No magic. And no... whatever this is," said Chrysalis, pointing at Brian's rifle.

Brian let the rifle fall back into its sling. "Alright," he said. "If you win, you can have me all for yourself. If I win, you go back to wherever, and leave this place alone."

Chrysalis approached Brian, and they stood ever so close. Everyone was observing them, dead quiet. "All of you," said the Queen. "No intervening." Then, she looked straight into Brian's eye, with her big, snake-like ones. "I hate to disappoint my hive," she said, "but you're mine, now."

Brian looked at the six friends, who were standing behind Chrysalis. They looked like they wanted to intervene too, but Brian warned them not too with his gaze.

"You see, we changelings are communal creatures," said the Queen. "We prefer to hunt in swarms."

"You got this, Brian!" shouted Rainbow Dash.

Brian raised his hands to guard his face, and bent his knees slightly. "Come on," he said, smiling defiantly.

Immediately, the Queen jumped into the air, fluttered for a few seconds, and whooshed towards Brian. The human dodged, grabbed the Queen around the middle, and used her speed to propel her into a wall.

Humiliated, the monarch got up, and tried to attack Brian a second time. Brian punched her in the muzzle, causing her to writhe in pain, holding her nose. Then, Brian kicked he back, and climbed onto her. Holding her muzzle firmly, and feeling the queen's wings flapping against his backside, Brian raised the queen's entire head, and pulled his dagger from its sheath. He raised it into the air, and for a moment, he hesitated, seeing his pony friends, and the princesses, look at the pair with shocked eyes. That moment of hesitation proved almost decisive. For all of a sudden, one of the changeling minions flew at Brian, and knocked him over onto the floor. It held Brian down, and hissed in Brian's face, spitting drool all over him.

Brian punched the creature in the face and got up. And with a flash of green light The operative was propelled against the wall. His head banged hard against the stone, and he felt concussed. Brian tried moving, but he was pinned to the spot by the Queen's spell.

"I thought we said... no magic!" shouted Brian, struggling.

"Did you expect me to fight fair?" asked the queen.

Everypony looked at them, defeated and scared.

"Piece of shit!" he shouted, either at himself or at the Queen. No-one could really tell, at that point.

"Well, it seems that I've won," said Queen Chrysalis. She swung Brian to the centre of the room with her force. Brian, pained and at breaking point, tried to scramble to his feet. But he saw the monarch's hoof stamp onto his wrist as he tried to push himself up.

"And now," said the Queen, loudly, "We shall feed on your spirit!"

Brian saw the changeling Queen cast a green light, that shrouded Brian, and lifted him of the floor. He heard her maniacal laughter, as he felt everything he cared about melt away.

"What's the point?" he thought. "What is the point of anything? I've failed before, I'm failing again. I've killed people. Maybe her killing me is just keeping the balance in check..."

Brian felt the love in him fade away. There was nothing left inside of him. No grief. No sorrow. No bliss, no patriotism or pride. Just pain.

He flumped to the ground, lifelessly. She'd broken him. And Brian didn't feel a thing, except exhaustion like he'd never felt before. He looked at the world around him, with his dim, uncomprehending gaze. He felt tired.

Brian raised his head a little, and saw the Queen, delighted by her victory, delighted by what she'd just absorbed.

What exactly happened at that moment, Brian would never be able to explain. It was as if the void that Chrysalis had created within him was quickly being filled. With no love inside of him, with none of its byproducts that made him who he was, without his love of duty, his grief, his phantom pain from the comrades he'd lost... there subsisted only hate. Hate for everything. Hate for his late wife, for himself, for these walls around him and for that creature in front of him.

"Fuck. Her."

Brian, in a fit of rage, kicked himself up, and stood behind the Queen. She turned around, surprised, to see that her prey was still standing. Whenever a changeling absorbed a pony's love, the equine would be left without a will to live. An empty shell. But what she'd created at that moment wasn't an empty pony. She'd created a hateful human.

Brian stood straight, ran towards Chrysalis, jumped up, and drop-kicked her. She fell backwards as Brian got up once again, got his pistol, and shot a bullet into Chrysalis's leg. And another. The shots echoed all across Canterlot, and seemed to freeze everypony.

She let out a loud, ear-piercing scream, that could be heard across the capital. "But... HOW?"

Brian didn't answer. Instead, he slowly advanced, and aimed squarely for the Queen's head.

The six ponies, and the two princesses all looked at the scene, terrified. "Cadance, do something!" shouted Twilight. "We can't let him be this way!"

Cadance pulled her hooves out of the gooey green stuff that restrained her, and thought of what could make him regain his emotions.

"You're a soldier!" she thought. "The queen is defeated! Let her leave, and serve as a message to others. You don't need to kill a defenseless creature." And she cast the spell.

The heart-shaped light flew through the air, and entered Brian, in the middle of his back.

Brian was about to pull the trigger, when everything came flooding back. The reason he was here. His memories of Grace, and the fun times he'd had with her. The agony he'd been through. The thought of Rose, and wherever she could be now. He looked at the Queen, and lowered the gun.

And with a voice, that was so cold and venomous that it could stop the Devil dead in his tracks, Brian gave a warning to the monarch. "Leave," he said. "Leave, and never come back. And tell everyone you meet, that if they want to poison and destroy this kingdom... it is defended. And if you come back... I'll strangle you until you see the face of Hell."

The love that Queen Chrysalis had absorbed seemed to dissolve. As she slowly got up, Princess Celestia seemed to find her strength.

Chrysalis zoomed out through the front door.As if they feared that Brian might come after them next, the changeling swarm unanimously and chaotically flew up, and crashed through the windows into the sky. Everywhere in the city, the changelings were taking off and rushing back home. Mayor Cole Slaw had taken this opportunity to scarper. Brian saw him and thought of running after him, but he wouldn't be coming back.

There were a few seconds of silence, before someone started clapping. Brian turned around, to see Rainbow Dash, fluttering over the ground and clapping at him.

Everyone started to join in, and soon enough, the ballroom was a mess of cheers. Brian liked the feeling. It was gratifying. Fluttershy came towards him, and jumped onto him in a tight embrace.

"You saved us," beamed Luna. "I don't think I have the words to express how grateful we are."

EPILOGUE

Trying to find a place where he could be of use, Brian worked a time with the Royal Guard, training them in the art of defending Princesses and Country. But when the Guard eventually had integrated the concepts of counter-espionage, Brian, who was ashamed of getting paid for not working, found himself working with Twilight Sparkle and her friends. When there was an adventure to be had, he went on it. Whenever there was a problem, he'd help solve it. Whenever AppleJack was short-hooved with her orchard, Brian would lend a helping hand. Eventually, it occurred to him that maybe he'd been wrong all along. Maybe there was more to his life and to his destiny than just dying on a mission, once the fates didn't have anything left for him. Thanks to Twilight and her magic, Brian returned to his world, for a short time. He handed in his resignation letter to Jennings, spent some time with his daughter, and got knighted for his services to the United Kingdom. And when he left the human world for the last time, he became a pony. The Soldier took it as a sign that his duties in the human world were complete. His daughter followed him, and lived her life in Equestria. She never got used to her equine form, but at least she could see her father. Brian lived for another thirty years. And when he eventually died, he was buried in the Canterlot National Cemetery. The day after his funeral, Celestia commissioned an engraving in his honour, set in the floor of Canterlot Castle's throne room. "Dedicated to Brian Havelock. Soldier, Husband, Father, and Defender of Equestria. 'If you seek his monument, look around.'"

Queen Chrysalis returned many times, in spite of Brian's warning. She never succeeded in her schemes. Sometimes, she were foiled by Brian, other times by the ponies he'd trained. Through time, and because Brian had pity for the queen, a bond developed between the two, mainly out of rivalry. Eventually Brian became friendly enough to help her change her ways. But he didn't do it alone.

There are many deeds that the Princesses of Equestria can forgive. Even treason, if the culprit was ready to forgive themselves. To this day we know not what happened to Mayor Cole Slaw. Some say that he escaped Equestria, and went as far away as he could, reinventing himself someplace else. Some say that he helped with the Storm King's invasion. Some say that he is still on the run, haunted by his past.

So Brian Havelock, the man who had cheated death several times in his own world, had come to Equestria, and the country was forever changed by his passage. And the legend that he created lives on to this day, and will continue doing so, in the far horizons of the future.

THE END