I never thought I'd have to worry about that damn story again, I thought I could just leave it as a cringy little footnote in the story of my life. Now though? Well, not only am I forced to recall what the hell I was even attempting to write about all those years ago, I'm now in charge of the characters that I wrote myself. I haven't played Gears of War, or watched My Little Pony in years, and now I'm forced to command my sorry excuse for a horde through this new world? Maybe I'm just over reacting, because as long as I can BS my way through this life, maybe, just maybe, I can find a way back home. That is, if I don't get myself killed first.

(This story is much less a sequel to the original found up above and more of an offshoot that's loosely based on it that I want to work on in my free time. You can go back and read it, but I highly discourage that since A.) It was my first story ever, and B.) Prior knowledge of that story is not really needed to understand this one. If I won't even go back and read it, then I won't expect you to either. Knowledge of the Gears of war series needed is minimal to none.)