Chapters The corridor was just like any other in a moderately upscale hotel. Four figures walked quietly along the hallway, looking dead ahead, saying nothing, not even daring to step heavily. They walked in lockstep like mechanical devices, more like windup drones than living, breathing individuals. They all wore the same thing, a charcoal grey-black suit, black shoes, and white button shirts. The leader at the head of them darted his eyes back and forth, taking note of the room numbers as she passed them.
The first two walked to the far side of a door and halted, the leader holding up a fist, prompting the last two to stop.
The first and last looked around, and upon having seen nobody else in view, they gave a thumbs up. The second in the stack listened intently, pressing his ear up against the door. Then he deftly knelt to the floor to look under the threshold. He stood back up. “Light,” he whispered. “Noise, too; she’s watching some shitty sitcom.”
“Is she sleeping?” the leader asked.
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
A second later, a brief burst of real, not canned laughter, dispelled the doubts.
The leader said, “Can’t argue with that.” A couple chuckles. Nobody’s smiles reached their cheeks. One of them, a weedy male young enough to be mistaken for a child looked like he was going to crush his teeth with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “Relax, Private Armor.”
He stood up straight instantly, turning about face to answer. “Yes, ma’am.” he said in that stark, clipped way they taught royal guards in training. He still had that awful flat top soup bowl haircut. He went immediately into parade rest. He stared forwards, instead digging into his wrist hard enough with his nails to make marks.
The leader gave a grim smile. “Excellent bearing. Are you ready to complete your objective, Private Armor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you love your country?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What will you do for your country?”
“Whatever is asked of me, ma’am.”
“How dear is the command of our princess?”
“Dearer than the cries of my sons, the kisses of my lovers, and the words of my mother, ma’am.”
The officer pointed to the door. “Good, Private Armor. And what of those who threaten our princess and her peace?”
“They shall know her wrath, ma’am.”
“Assuredly they shall, Private Armor.” She ignored his eyes dancing around his skull, darting back and forth along the hallway. She surveyed him up and down like an x-ray scanner. She ordered him, “Dagger.”
The nubile stallion drew a long, triangular blade from a hidden sheath. “For Celestia,” he said.
The officer gestured at the door. “Breach and kill.”
Shining Armor buck kicked the door with everything he had in his right leg.
Hoof met door. The latch gave way.
He was in immediately.
There was his victim, nearly nude on the bed, her legs spread as she boredly was watching the TV. In a split second, he reacted, first acting to hide her private parts. Shining Armor saw pure fear in her eyes. He lowered his gaze to her chest and sprinted forwards, keeping his dagger held low at his side. He crossed the room in a second like a bolt of lightning.
The thestral’s leathery wings burst open in an instinctual display associated with fear. Her mouth opened, but it was garbled. She lifted her hands in supplication, a quiet plea for mercy. There was a naked gold wedding bank on her hand. Before she could say anything, Shining Armor had leapt upon her, seizing her by the throat, throttling her. Eyes bulged wide, then bulged even wider as the unicorn rammed his knife up to the hilt into her lower thorax. Her face strained in a silent scream and he pushed against the unicorn’s chest.
The monster ignored her, instead stabbing her over and over. Shining felt some warmth come over his hand. The flesh and muscle yielded to the cruel steel, the nasty steel. As he punched in with his metal fang, his victim was breathing out, bleeding out.
The thestral gave a choke like a hose clogged by gurgling mud. She didn’t know it yet, but she was dead already.
Her heart pounded frantic. Shining felt it in his vice grip clamp on his throat, the vitality straining against his uncaring fingers. He was going to squeeze, squeeze, and squeeze until he felt the life leave and the body go cold as his dagger. Shining’s fingers slipped with his victim’s struggling and sweat. Just a tiny slip, but it was enough for the scream to go from silent to searing.
He plunged his full weight onto the throat, throttling the screams again as they fell to the floor.
Wet flecks hit his face. The thestral choked and sputtered.
Shining didn’t stop. He kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing.
His instructors had warned him. Some ponies just did not want to die. This one did not want to die.
The impact on the ground hurt his fingers. His grip slipped. The chest inflated against his knife. The eyes bulged again in agony, shock, and horror. Tears and snot were running like snowmelt. The air of life entered the shredded chest.
Something struck him. Shining tried to ignore the pain as a fist with the wedding band slammed into the side of his head. Then the thestral’s arms came up and started strangling him. Shining choked, stabbing still. His blade went in in in in in in in. Into the guts. Against the ribs. Into the diagphragm. Into the arms. Into the lungs, into the thighs as they thrusted upwards, into between where her legs met. But still his victim did not die. He saw the pain and terror, but yet she did not die.
A blast of air and a blow hit him and he was dislodged. It must have been just a second, but he saw the glint of something in the thestral’s hand and coming his way.
Shining Armor did not even need to think.
A descending stab in the icepick grip was the most stupid, amateur way to try to stab someone who wasn't already pinned and helpless. It wasn’t what trained killers did. It wasn’t something soldiers did. It was some stupid, scared civilians did. It was something ponies just did on instinct. A fighter who tried it was sure to be brutally murdered by the first enemy with half a clue.
He juked his shoulders back, twisting in the direction of the stab. Then, he cut the forearm’s underside, slashing the tendon. The something fell uselessly. Shining Armor slashed again lengthwise, cutting deep as a pulsing spurt of blood flew from the artery underneath.
The victim tried to get away with a burst of speed from his wings, dashing to door, unaware she was an animal in the abattoir. The murderer’s hand seized the wing bone and clamped shut. The dagger slashed upwards, tearing the thing membrane. A second strike came down, landing right on the joint. CRACK! One wing was broken, its owner screaming in pain, trying to flap it but to no avail. He seized the struggling thestral’s other wing with broke hands. He pulled with one hand and twisted with the other. The joint gave way and his stomach lurched as something popped, contorting sickly. It had been in effect ripped off.
But Shining wasn’t done. He put his leg behind his victim’s and pushed from behind his neck.
The thestral fell face first to the ground, still in Shining’s grapple. Shining was atop her, she being completely in the hands of his non-existant mercy. He put pressure on the bleeding, already ruined arm. There was resistant, the victim struggling in pain, but it was useless in the slaughter. Shining just put his shin on it and leaned forward. For a second, his victim tried to reach and kick around, anything to stop him, anything to get out of this bind. But it was all in vain. There was no hope. And the adrenaline was starting to show its limitations as a dark mark began to show from under her. Air hissed and wheezed through her thoroughly shredded lungs. She was weakening. Dead already, but not yet.
With a horrifying, sickening crack that made the murderer grimace, the scapula and shoulder gave way. The arm bent in a way it was never meant to. The victim shrieked in agony. Warm liquid seeped out from under with a distinct reek of ammonia. Shining felt it seep through his pants and onto his knee. He ignored it, instead leaning forward to yank back the thestral’s head by his long mane, exposing the throat.
He brought his dagger forwards. The cruel steel was hungry. The prey was squirming.
“Nnonononono! Please! No! Don’t kill me! I don’t want to die! I have a husband! Children! You can’t kill me! Please! Stop! I’ll do anything! For the love of Celestia, please stop! I’m begging you! CELESTIA! CELESTIA! CELESTIIIAAAAAA!!!!”
Shining Armor hesitated. His grip on the dagger felt numb. But he could not betray his training. Against his own volition, the dagger went forward.
“NONONO! STOP! In the name of Celestia, stop -- FOR THE LOVE OF HER GODDESSSHIP!”
He stabbed deep into the throat. The victim was thrashing. The chest heaved, sobbing. She tried to turn his throat aside, but she was trapped. The meat gave way as metal bit into it like a great fang. Blood bubbled sickly with the failing wind.
Shining Armor sawed back and forth like cutting a tough loaf of bread. He was deep in the neck. He felt the hideous scraping against the spinal column jangle through his fingers. He shivered. He cut back and forth as if working at a steak, carving through the carcass of some animal.
There was twitching, gurgling, wheezing, nameless horror and pleading without words.
He shoved the dagger outward with every push and pull. His hand became slick with blood, snot, and tears. He tasted bile. The throat’s tendons hung on stubbornly, resisting until they snapped like rubber bands pulled a bit too hard by a child’s fingers. Then they gave way.
The resistance was fading, the chest rising shallower, slower, the gurgling’s pitch rising from low to high.
With a few more strokes, the skin tried to stop him, but with a final burst of effort, the dagger burst forth with a tide of blood onto the carpet. The struggling stopped with a final gurgle, even as tears and snot continued to stream down. The breathing was weakening. Weakening. Weakening. The gurgling stopped, no more air bubbled in the rich, dark blood. The piss continued to spread along with the blood. Shining Armor kept the victim pinned, feeling her fade.
But it wasn’t fast enough. She did not want to die. Shining reached up with his dagger and stabbed backward. The blade rammed through the jelly of the eyeball and embedded inches deep in the skull with a sickening sensation.
The breathing weakened. The wheezing through the holes in the chest came less and less. And less and less. And less and less. The arms and legs were still trying to move. But soon that all stopped.
Shining Armor held onto the head, the dagger until it was silent. He got off the slaughtered meat and flipped it over with his foot. He knelt forwards, hit stomach’s content spilling outwards. Acid scolded his tongue.
Like a true hero.
The victim didn’t look like a pony, more like one of those frogs they had to dissect back in school. It was more gaping wounds and viscera than intact flesh. Shining had lost track of how many times he had stabbed. It had been time after time. He didn’t dare count now.
The victim’s torso was home to innumerable stab wounds. It was horrific beyond his expectations. He had seen images in training of the recipients of their craft. He had seen films of operatives in the murder. He had slain so many times in simulation. But… But… But… that hadn’t been… real… Seeing it himself, done for real by his own hands was so different. He saw muscles under the skin. He saw white fat smeared and yanked outside the skin. He smelled the bile and shit stench of intestines torn open. Her breasts looked like torn sacks of pink butter. He felt a stab of pity for the coroner.
He looked into the eyes. They were glassy, unfocused forever until the worms ate them. The tongue was hanging out from between the lips he’d slashed up bad. He could see it lower down through the gash in the throat. All those sights, decades of life, to expire staring six inches from a faux wood cabinet in a hotel room while clogged with tears.
The lips and tongue… their last words had been pleading like a child faced with something bad. Her last words had been begging for her life as she squirmed and pissed herself. No, crying not for her family or husband, but for Celestia…
The goddess whose signature Shining Armor had seen on the death warrant just hours before with the ink still wet.
The arms were a special mess. They’d been opened twice. The cut arm was painted scarlet with blood, but that was now drying into an ugly brown color. It hung unnaturally. He’d snapped it unfeeling as if trying to get the meat off a rotisserie chicken. He saw the muscles and artery underneath. Now he looked at where the hand had dropped that something he’d deflected.
It was a pen, the cap not even removed.
Shining Armor winced as he reached out and held the corpse by the cheeks. He reached further, wrapping his fingers around the back of the head. He tensed up. It was cold. No more pulse. No more panic. It would be silent and still forever. Meat and bone, just brute meat and bone. There were just two more things left to do.
He put away his dagger.
Shining gripped it hard and sucked in air. He winced, screwed his eyes shut, then yanked up and to the side with his legs and shoulders.
There was a crack that made him taste bile and acid in his tongue. He shut his eyes and tried not to retch.
He dropped the head like a burning hot stone and it fell at an unnatural angle. He looked at his specimen before him. Laying in a pool of blood, piss, bile, snot and tears…
Dead. Definitely dead.
Good fucking job.
He produced a small camera from the soaked pocket of his suit jacket. He took a picture, capturing the whole thing. He hoped whoever looked at it too would buckle over and expel their last meal.
And that was it. He stood up straight, readjusted his suit, and walked to the door. He checked his bearing. He stepped out the door. He turned about face and told the officer, “Target eliminated, ma’am. Long reign Celestia.”
“Good job, Private Armor. May you slay a thousand more.”
He saluted.
He felt proud.
He wanted to scream.
Author's Note
Thanks for reading. I've wanted to do a military story for a while now. Would ya'll believe my last proper war story was about 5 years ago? Seriously. I wanted to do something properly dark, gritty, and violent. As for what's in the next two chapters, you'll just have to wait and find out.
Anyway, new Velvet coming next weekend. Sorry again for the delay. I'm really serious about getting it right.
Editing thanks to Sparky Brony.
Shining Armor sighed on the couch. He was watching some bullshit movie. Whatever it was didn't matter. He was clearly not a happy stallion. He was slouched low, arms crossed, a distinct frown on his face. Princess Cadance was just on the far side of the room, doing the dishes after their dinner. His marefriend... Oblivous. She'd even worn an apron and just an apron. The hard cushions of the crummy couch were irritating him. He was still wearing his uniform cammies that he had needed to change into for evening formation. There was no sense in getting fully out of uniform. Fuck him, he had firewatch right in the middle of the night, too. One more thing to make him happy to serve.
Shining Armor just kept scowling and staring straight ahead. He was trying to keep his funk somewhat hidden; he hated bringing down Cadance's sweet, chipper demeanor.
Unfortunately, the sound of running water stopped. Then came the sound of hoofsteps and humming. The one time he didn't want attention, and it had to be the one night she didn't coincidentally have a headache?
She alit on the couch and threw her arm around him, planting a big kiss on his cheek
He tried to reciprocate, but found he didn't have the heart. He instead just murmured noncomitally and nuzzled her soft cheek back. She leaned against him, crossing her legs to better get at him. He felt her rub against him. He should have felt her warmth and softness, but instead he perceived nothing but an annoying pressure on his side. Her soft chest pressed against him. He felt like a cat flicking its tail deliberately before stalking off.
"What's on your mind?"
"Nothing."
"Are you sure, Shiny?" She pressed her chest harder onto him. She lowered her tone. "What are you thinking about now ?"
"I'm an asshole."
"No, you aren't," Cadance soothed, "you're just a grumpy colt in need of some love and sympathy." Her breath was heavy on his face and neck. Hot and wet, it teased at him, promising him much more if he just said the word. She smelled good. Lavender perfume, cardamon and allspice from cooking. He really was not in the mood. She felt him bristle. With a coquettish grin bordering on diabolical, she sat across his lap with both her legs perpendicular to his, one hand on his chest and the other hanging off his shoulder. She kissed him, then frowned when he barely responded.
He grumbled, "It's work and I don't want to talk about it."
Cadance immediately stopped flirting. "You okay, Shiny? You can tell me anything, you know."
What was he going to tell her? That just a few hours ago he'd brutally murdered a mare in cold blood because he was told to? He had to tell her something. But he first needed to know how what angle he could play. He asked gingerly, "Cadance, do you ever feel unworthy of serving Equestria?"
"I uh... sometimes, yes," she answered, hanging back from him, ears flattened ever so slightly.
"What makes you feel that way?"
"Serving Equestria is a big responsibility," Cadance said, "I sometimes just don't know if I as a barely twenty something years old mare like me is up to the task."
"Like in it's too hard and you wouldn't be able to handle the pressure, or more like it's just something you don't know you could cope with doing?"
Cadance flipped her mane. "Princess Celestia is a wise mare; she wouldn't choose me... or you without being positive it was the right choice. She's never been wrong in a thousand years." She noticed his frown had not turned upside down. "Shiny, what's wrong?" She stopped flirting.
The stallion froze and then sighed. Cadance felt his hand on her outer thigh tense up. Without relieving it, he sighed slowly, "Say I have this friend... and he's not sure he can deal with what he has to do in the guard, and he doesn't know who to turn to..."
"A friend, huh?"
"Yes, a friend."
"Well, I'm no princess of friendship, but I'll try."
"Thanks, Cadance, I don't know who else to ask."
She smiled at him. "A friend of yours is a friend of mine."
He smiled a bit and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Thanks, Cadance."
"So, anything you want to ask in particular for him?"
"What assurance is there that Celestia is right? How can he be sure that she isn't mistaken or that he's doing the right thing?"
Cadance straightened herself up. She yawned then said, "Princess Celestia is the wisest mare in Equestria and has reigned for more than a thousand years. I'm sure she's just so good at it all by now that she can't be wrong. She's got the guard, she has the nobles, she has the sages, and she's a brilliant mare. If there's anymare who can't be wrong, it's her."
"But what if even she is right, she's ordering somepony to do something awful?"
Cadance's eyes widened. "No, no, Celestia would never make somepony do something bad. She's a benevolent mare and rules with gentle grace and harmony. She wouldn't make anypony do something wrong. She didn't kill even Nightmare Moon, Discord, King Sombra, or Tirek." Her smile was a little too serene. She gripped his hand.
"But say that my friend just had to do something that didn't sit right with him, that he didn't really want to do and he felt bad about, for her? What then?"
Cadance answered, "He should take solace in doing something assuredly for the greater good; she wouldn't just order something heinous, let alone for some petty reason. I'm sure whatever it is, it's for the best. He's a lucky stallion; not many ponies get the honor of doing her majesty's bidding on a direct order."
Shining wheedled, no longer holding Cadance, "But say he really doesn't feel good about it, like maybe it goes against what he was raised to believe, or he knows that if he did it not in the service he'd be in jail for it?"
"Shiny, Celestia does not order crimes, she doesn't do injustice." She was steely. "Besides, he's doing the greater good, so I'm sure whatever's been done couldn't be that bad, and even if it was somehow bad, the end good outweighs the bad. Say there was a thestral separatist group that wanted to break away from Equestria and bring back Nightmare Moon. Imagine to do this, they had killed civilians and guards. If you had to kill them, it wouldn't be a bad thing, because you'd be saving more than you hurt by stopping them from killing again."
"Okay okay..."
"That help?"
"A little." He didn't meet her gaze, instead staring under her eyes, past her breasts, and at his knees still clad in that guard camo and some almost imperceptible dark spots. "Anyway, he also needs his royal guard career to work out. If it doesn't he and his family are going to be very disappointed. What should he do?"
"What he swore to do for princess and country. Whatever that may be. Stallion up. Put up with it."
"What would you do for your country, Cadance?"
"Anything."
"Do you really mean that? Do you know what anything could be?"
"I don't need to know, and neither does he. In the service of the princess, you do as you're told for the greater good. Just repeat that whenever it gets to be too much."
Shining looked at her. "I understand now; I'll belay that instruction."
Cadance chuckled, lightening immediately again. "You're so military. I'm so lucky to have a good stallion like you protecting me."
"I'm no hero."
"Hero or not, you're mine and you put your life on the line not just for me, but for everypony."
He scratched the back of his neck. "I guess..."
She stood up and proffered a hand. He took it. She pulled him to his feet and towards the bedroom. "Come to bed, hero." He smiled a little bit. He could put business out of his mind for the moment. So long as he wasn't late for his shift on watch.
Author's Note
Thanks for reading. One more chapter left.
Shining Armor was there on firewatch. He was guarding his barracks. He was hungry; hours until the mess hall opened. He got off just in time for reveille, then PT , then finally breakfast. It had started in the days back when things were made of wood and they had stores of highly inflammable black powder and all illumination was by fire. In these days of stonecrete construction, electric lights, and nitrocelulose propellants, it was mostly to make sure no shady shit went down, and to make sure discipline was maintained while in garrison. Some other service's they done away with this for a duty desk and some poor guy stuck on shift all day or night, but in the Royal Operations Concern, they still stuck to the old way. Firewatch had been weirdly enough his favorite thing back during basic training. It was the only time he got anything resembling solitude or quiet. Sure, he was tired and would be getting less sleep, but it was worth it for the hour or two not in a mob of other guys, and for the possibility of being awake without being growled at by their Formation Corporals.
He could not say he was enjoying it now. He wished to be asleep, to have his brain turned off for some hours. Instead, he was pacing back and forth uneasily, drilling rifle to himself and calling out the commands in his head. Attention! Shoulder arms! Right port arms! Left face! Present arms! Left port arms! Right port arms! Mark time! Forward march! Halt! Inspect arms! Secure arms!
Moving was easier than sitting still. Movement meant he was too preoccupied to think.
He heard something, a door opening at the end of the barracks. He about faced and marched up to it with his rifle held at right port, stock in his right hand. He saw who it was and halted. "Good evening, ma'am!" he puffed out in cadence, giving a rifle salute and then standing at attention.
She returning the salute, saying, "Good evening, Private armor." She did not tell him at ease. He had to stand there as long as she made him. And so he stood at attention for what felt like ages. He did not twitch or cough, nor smile or shake, nor complain or falter. He stood there like a statue of a stallion. She stood still, inspecting his poise, watching him, investigating his uniform and bearing. The quiet rang in his ears. He started counting breaths. He reached one hundred, then two, then three. She belted, "Order... arms!" He complied. "Port... arms!" He complied. Left shoulder... arms!" He complied. "Present... arms!" He complied. Inspect... arms!" He complied. "Secure... arms!" He complied. "Order... arms!" He complied. "Uncover... two!" He reached up to remove his hat. His hand met empty air for a second, and then he completed the motion. "Parade rest!" Shining spread his feet and let the rifle lean forward.
He saw the glint in the captain's eye. She was going to grill him, perhaps smoke. Surely she began, "Private Armor, your military bearing depends upon executing commands precisely as instructed when instructed in the manner instructed. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did you remove your cover as instructed when instructed in the manner instructed upon my command?"
"No, ma'am, bu-"
"No excuses, private! excuses are unmilitary! You do or you do not! We do not make excuses in the guard, let alone in her majesty's ROC! We have yes, no, and report. A guard does not whine or wheedle. Excuses do not matter and nobody will care." She got up in his face. "You did not have a cover, but you should have obeyed the order as given anyway as if you had!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
She ordered, "Now, attention!" He snapped to attention. "Uncover... two!" Shining Armor reached up and made the motion to grab his hat by the brim and remove it from his head. "Cover... two!" Shining armor did the practiced motion of returning his hat to his head. "At ease." He stood easy. "Better, Private Armor, but it should have never been a problem to begin with. Work on it."
"Yes, thank you, ma'am."
The captain relaxed to match his body language. She studied his face. "Was today your first time operating for real, Private Armor"
"Yes, ma'am."
She sighed, "I suspected as such. I could see it in your eyes when you came out."
"How so, ma'am?" he asked.
She caught him "That's it! The kill did not last more than twenty-two seconds, I timed with a stopwatch, but it took you thirty seconds to reappear after. By chance, Private Armor, did you find it distasteful to murder a half naked mare in her hotel room?"
"No, ma'am, not by Celestia's command."
The captain said, "You did. You inspected the body, did you not? You wanted to see what you had done?"
He faltered, stumbling back, "Yes, ma'am."
She nodded. "That is normal, Private Armor. Do not do it again."
"Ma'am, why?"
"It will not help you, Private Armor. You think you can make yourself okay with it by finding it justifiable, by seeing something on them that tells you they deserved to die. Maybe they have a tattoo on their chest that reads Evil McBadhoof. Maybe you're hoping to see a Cult of Nightmare Moon ritual scar. Maybe you're just hoping they're ugly."
"No, ma'am."
She continued, ignoring him, "You are searching for something to make bloodshed palatable. You are hoping for something to explain it, make it justified. You want to imagine yourself as the good guy, a hero, do you not, Private Armor?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Stop it. Put it out of your mind. You will only become a hero at the grace of her majesty. Tell me, Private Armor, why did you join?"
"To protect Equestria and her princess from her enemies, ma'am."
The captain nodded in understanding. "I see, Private. I was an idealist like you once. I thought I would be fighting insurrectionists, dragons, monsters, and more. When I first went on operation, I did not think I would be killing an old stallion in his bed. I was troubled by that for a long time."
"My condolences, ma'am."
"Don't. Regardless, the years since then have only brought bloodshed and very little of it heroic. Killing is not a heroic deed. Killing is ugly. Killing is messy. Killing is horror. The sooner you accept that and just do your duty, the better for all involved."
"Yes, ma'am. Why did she have to die? What about her family?"
"I don't know either; all I was given was a signed warrant and a command to get it done. Does it matter? Would it help? You think me harsh, but this is the most merciful thing I can do for you. Stop asking for explanations. You aren't going to get any and they don't matter. What matters are your orders and objectives. The guard does not care about your feelings. Do or leave. You are not owed an explanation and you won't get one; you are not important enough, and even if you were, you would rarely like the few you got. If you're going to worry about if you're doing right or wrong, you're wasting your time. How you feel about something does not matter. What matters is that you did your duty and protected your country, understood?"
"Yes, ma'am." He felt pressure behind his eyes.
"Good. One final thing, Private Armor, we all have moments like this. I didn't like what I had you do today, nor did the other two with me, but we did it. Polish and maintain your military bearing. No matter what else, you can never be a good soldier without a strong military bearing. That is what makes us unique, that we can restrain ourselves no matter the turmoil or pressure. Work on that bearing, Private Armor, it will let you be who you must be to do what you must, even if you wish with all your heart otherwise."
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
"Good." She hardened and commanded, "Attention!" He complied. "Port arms! Left shoulder arms! Right shoulder arms! Secure arms! Hold from now until reveille." And with that, the captain walked away, leaving Shining Armor bound there. "For goddess and country."
Author's Note
Thanks for reading. I've been wanting to try something like this for quite a while. Anyway, new NIPV next week and editing credit to Sparky Brony.
As always, comments are appreciated.
