The RED Cataclysm

Chapters

1: Action Chapter!
2: Well, Here We Are Again
3: Medic vs. Ponyville
4: Got a Light?
5: First Contact
6: Fiery Passion
8: Magic : Music :: Music : Me
9: Bludgeoning The Hay
7: The Savant's Scheme

1: Action Chapter!

The RED Cataclysm

Chapter One: Action Chapter!

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be.

“There. It’s physically impossible to slip out of these bonds, so don’t waste your energy trying,” I say to my captive. I smirk as I slink over to the chair she used to be sitting in and settle in in front of my brand new collection of monitors. The light from these monitors is the only thing lighting this room. Good thing they take up literally an entire wall.

I try to get comfortable in the chair for a while. My smirk eventually turns into a dopey grin. I can’t get over how easy this was. It’s a good thing I kept those psychic links, otherwise I’d never have found this place. That reminds me… I start examining the gigantic switchboard in front of me, reading as many of the tiny labels as I can. “Hey,” I casually ask, “which one of these connects me to the Discipline Room?”

“You know, you’re not going to get away with this,” my captive says instead of replying. I glance over to my immediate left just in time to catch the elderly woman roll her eyes with no more than annoyance.

“I already have!” I reply, stifling a giggle. “I never get tired of saying that.”

“I sincerely hope you weren’t expecting me to be afraid of you,” the woman says scornfully. “I don’t know what you are, exactly, but I’ve seen more intimidating monsters at the DMV.”

“I don’t want to scare you, I just want your job!” I reply, grinning at her and standing up. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep you on board as a consultant, at least until I figure out what I’m doing. Since we’re going to be working together, I might as well introduce myself.” I reach out to her, stretching my arm a few times its normal length in the process. “I’m Discord, god of chaos and disharmony by trade. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Helen.”

And it really is, I realize. I mean, here’s a woman who basically controls the entire world, and nopony even knows she’s doing it. I could never do that. I admire her stealth. On top of that, I admire how cautious she is. She plans for every potential outcome of a situation, running contingencies upon contingencies. She plans for everything. And you can’t defeat a woman who plans for everything. Hay, she even has a ‘the control room has been taken over by an all-powerful entity’ protocol. Good thing I was able to tie her up before she could sound the alarm.

“The same cannot be said for you,” Helen replies.

“I thought you’d say that,” I sigh, retracting my arm. “Nopony likes being replaced, after all.” I snap my fingers and sit down again. This time, my tail easily slips through the hole I’ve just willed into existence. Much better.

“You will not get away with this, Discord,” Helen snarls. “My men will be upon our position any moment now, and then they’ll knock you out of my throne and put me back in charge.”

“This is a throne?” I wonder aloud. I bounce up and down in the chair a few times. “Hm. Not really my style. Anyway, I think the Overseers are due for a change in leadership. After all, your family’s been ruling them for almost a century and a half now.” I grin and turn back to Helen. “Which reminds me, thanks for setting all this up. I’ve always wanted to run my own secret society, but I never had the patience to get started.”

“Something tells me you wouldn’t be very subtle, either,” Helen scoffs.

“Guilty as charged!” I say, placing my talons on my chest and grinning.

“In fact, I’m simply shocked that you managed to remain in existence for as long as you have undetected,” Helen continues.

I smile, and for some strange reason, I feel my cheeks heating up. “Gee, thanks,” I say, turning back to my monitors. “I’ve only been on Earth-VC8-Prime for a few hours now, though. Before that, I lived on Equus-HOA1-Prime. I was imprisoned in stone, in fact. It wasn’t until earlier today that I was able to escape.” I turn back to Helen, a beaming grin on my face. “You wanna hear how I did it?”

“Certainly,” Helen sneers.

“You only said yes to stall me until your men arrive, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Well, yes,” Helen replies, “but you would have told me the story even if I’d said no.”

“Touché,” I muse, stroking my beard. “Well, let’s take care of that, then, shall we?” I lean back and glance at the double doors on the wall to my left, the only exit to the room. I snap my fingers and they slam shut of their own accord. After a few moments, they start glowing a soft white. “There. Those men of yours won’t be getting past that with anything less powerful than a megaspell.”

“I’m sorry?” Helen asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting I’m not at home anymore,” I chuckle, turning back to my switchboard. “What I meant to say is, they won’t be getting past that with anything less powerful than a nuke.”

I sigh and shift my weight, getting more comfortable in my new throne as I pore over the switchboard. “How did this all go down, anyway?” I muse, stroking my beard again. “It’s so hard to remember how it all started sometimes. Well, I started off as the deformed hellspawn of a primordial entity who shape-shifted too much during the pregnancy…”

“I can’t possibly imagine that being relevant,” Helen interjects. “Why not find a logical point at which to begin your story instead?”

“Awww…” I cross my arms and stick out my lower lip. “You’re no fun, Helen.” Suddenly, I spot something on the switchboard. “Oh, here’s the switch!” I say. I snap my fingers, and a gag suddenly wraps itself around Helen’s mouth. At the same time, with my other hand, I flick the switch I’ve been looking for. One of the monitors in front of me switches on. It shows what looks like an operating room. A human in a red rubber jumpsuit and gas mask is strapped to the table, and a man in a brown trench coat and hat is standing over it, holding a hacksaw over its right knee.

I pull the microphone that’s mounted to the switchboard a little closer to me. “Your att—” I clear my throat and start over. This time, after I rub my throat a bit, my voice sounds exactly like that of my hostage. “Your attention please, minion.” The man in the trenchcoat looks up. “Disregard that disciplinary order I gave earlier. Release the Pyro. We’ll deal with it later.” The rubber-suited human visibly relaxes and begins shaking. There’s no audio feed into the Disciplinary room, but I’m pretty sure the Pyro’s laughing. I flick the switch back and the monitor just shuts off.

I lean back and sigh. “Well, I’m glad that’s out of the way,” I say. I snap my fingers again, and the gag vanishes in a puff of smoke.

“Why did you do that?” Helen asks not a second later.

“It’s not the Pyro’s fault it breached its contract,” I reply. “And unlike you, I care about employee morale. Now, then, our story begins on Earth-VC8-Prime, just outside of Teufort, New Mexico on the summit of Black Mesa. As I recall, it was just after midnight, so it had just become the 26th of June.”

“How do you know the story begins there?” Helen interjects. “You said you were a native of Equus-HOA1-Prime, and you didn’t arrive here until today. So, logically, how could you have known about anything that happened in this universe before then?”

“Well, that’s the beauty of psychic links,” I say, waving my arm dismissively and smirking. “I gained access to all the memories of our tale’s… heroes? For lack of a better term, sure. I gained access to all their memories when I established some psychic links with them. So I learned about a few things that happened before I knew they existed. Including the beginning of this story I’m about to tell. Now please, Helen, don’t interrupt me. It’s rude.”

“Stop calling me Helen,” Helen demands acidly.

I look back at Helen. She’s got the most adorable scowl on her face. “No,” I reply, flashing her what I hope is a charming grin. “Now, then. A short, moderately muscular man in a pair of workman’s overalls, a hard hat, a single, yellow rubber glove and a pair of goggles clawed his way up the mountain.”

He had a name, but no one had called him by it for years now. He was paid to die. Technically, he was paid to kill, but dying was an equally necessary part of the job. After all, you can’t fight a war without dying a few times. He was employed by Reliable Excavation and Demolition (RED) for the final five years of the Gravel Wars between said company and Builders’ League United (BLU). Then he worked for Mann Co. for a bit, and then he went back to working for RED. He was the RED Engineer, arguably the smartest man on his nine-man team, and he was getting a bit sick of this.

With one last mighty heave, he hauled himself onto the summit of the plateau. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air, he got to his feet and looked up. In front of him loomed a gargantuan stone castle, the likes of which wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a low-budget horror movie’s stock footage. It lacked the pointed towers and arched windows of the classic Gothic manor, but what it was missing in style it made up for in atmosphere. The stones making up its walls were cracked and weather-worn, making it seem as though it had existed atop this mesa for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The mere sight of the fortress sent a shiver down his spine. He could tell that its unmistakably eldritch atmosphere would have been enough to compel lesser men to enter, inevitably fall victim to the horrors contained within, and never resurface—that, or run away screaming in terror.

And on top of all that, it shouldn’t have been there. This was a New Mexico mountaintop, after all, not a Transylvanian one. Ha, I love looking at it. I’m gonna build myself one just like it one day. Anyway…

A second mercenary was quick to haul himself onto the mesa after the Soldier, but not nearly as quickly. Now, bear with me for a second here. The title of the “brawn” of the RED Team is split between the Heavy, who routinely carries around gatling guns that weigh around 150 kilograms apiece, and the Soldier, who holds the position of field commander despite—or maybe because of—his belief that he can perceive multiple planes of reality at once. Keeping with that metaphor, today’s party was occupied by the brains: the Engineer, who has eleven hard science degrees in fields such as physics, chemistry and arcane studies, and the man crawling up the mountain now, the Medic. The Medic’s uniform consisted of the standard medical attire. You know, white lab coat, glasses, red rubber gloves, backpack full of healing juice… the whole nine yards. He was allegedly on the team to support his teammates and keep them alive on the battlefield, hence his title. Allegedly. There’s plenty of evidence to the contrary, but we’ll discuss it later.

Of course, I really don’t know why I’m telling you all that, since it used to be your job to know everything about them. But… oh well. I’ve got a lot of pent-up energy right now, and dammit, I’m gonna use every last ounce!

The Medic got to his feet, adjusted his glasses and brushed off his lab coat. “Remind me, Engineer, vat’s ze cue again?” he asked.

“How many times did I already tell ya?” the Engineer sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t remember,” the Medic replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Fine. The cue is, ‘I hear the locals can get violent,’” the Engineer answered. “You can remember that for the five minutes it’ll take t’ get in there, can’tcha?”

“Jawohl,” the Medic replied.

“So where’s the little firebrand?” the Engineer asked, crossing his arms. “The cue doesn’t mean anything if he ain’t here.”

“Vere do you zink he is?” the Medic replied, gesturing to the cliff.

A third voice suddenly injected itself into the conversation. “Rrnjrrnrr? Hrrlp, Rrrm shtrrk,” it said.

The Engineer took a quick glance behind him and scoffed. He quickly took a knee and extended his hand to the third mercenary to scale Black Mesa. “Ya know, ya’d think ya’d know how to climb a mountain by now, Pyro,” he chuckled.

The Engineer, after a few moments of exertion, was able to drag the Pyro up the mountain. Honestly, I’m surprised he was able to do that. I’m surprised the Pyro’s even able to move under the weight of that red rubber jumpsuit it wears, not to mention the asbestos it’s lined with. The Pyro took a deep breath which, like everything else it said, was severely muffled through the filter of its gas mask and adjusted the toilet plunger— excuse me, “Handyman’s Handle”— it wore on its head. “Rrr brrd thrr thrrnksh, grrd shrr grrlrrmrrsht,” it said, tipping its “hat” to the Engineer and giving him an over-the-top bow.

The Engineer chuckled. “Forsooth, ‘twas my pleasure, citizen,” he said, returning the Pyro’s bow.

The Medic rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Ven you two are qvite finished…” he grumbled, tapping his foot.

The Pyro placed its fists on its hips and leaned forward, tilting its head to the side. “Shtrry thrry trrng, rrprrthrrkrrrry,” it said simply.

“Ve’re not here to haff fun. Ve haff a job to do,” the Medic countered.

“By the Incomprehensible Nether Regions a’ the Ruinous Shoggoth, ya’re right,” the Engineer agreed, nodding and crossing his arms. The Pyro giggled and the Medic rolled his eyes. “Okay, seriously, though, we do have a job to do. An’ the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can go home. Y’all know the plan.”

The Engineer set off across the mesa purposefully without another word. His teammates moved after him with little to no delay. “You know,” the Medic remarked, “I still don’t know vhy you haff to be here. I mean, vouldn’t ze Soldier be a better pick for zis mission? He’s ze von who has a history vis Merasmus. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be helpink break ze siege at ze Rainbow Factory?” Heh, Rainbow Factory. I just love that codename. I’ll tell you why later.

“Ya need six mercs t’ fight the robots. We went over this ‘fore we left.” The Engineer began counting on his fingers. “Scout lost another bet, Sniper’s usin’ sanctioned immunity, Heavy, Spy an’ Demoman volunteered, an’ Soldier’s still grounded after Earth-HOLA5-Prime. Six. That leaves us.”

“I know zat,” the Medic said, nodding. “It just seems a bit… vell, unjust. It’s not ze Soldier’s fault he kidnapped ze President, and besides, you all had fun, didn’t you?”

The Engineer chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about the Soldier,” he said. “But Earth-HOLA5-Prime was a lotta fun for me, at least. I never did thank that MC Bat Commander feller for givin’ me an excuse t’ break out my guitar.”

The Pyro giggled softly. “Rrr wrrsh Rrrd brrn thrr trr shrr thrrt, Mrrshtrr Jrrkbrrksh Hrrrrrw,” it said, clapping the Engineer on the back.

“I wish ya’d been there too,” the Engineer said. “I bet you an’ the MC woulda gotten along. But as fun as it was, the Soldier still kidnapped the President. The Administrator had to give ‘im some kinda punishment, so ‘e’s grounded. Ya wouldn’t think a’ defyin’ the Administrator, wouldja, Doc?”

The question may have been directed at the Medic, but it sent a shiver down all their spines. The concept of defying the Administrator was the only thing that could still scare them. After all, who knew what the Administrator would do to them if they defied her orders? Assign them to defend or capture that hydroelectric dam that no one likes fighting over for some reason? Deactivate their capability to respawn, allowing them to finally die for good? Kidnap the surviving members of their families, where applicable, and use them as leverage? Force them to respawn in her dreaded Disciplinary Room? Cut their salaries?

The Engineer stepped as confidently as he could up to the large double doors of the castle, his team close behind him. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. “Brace yourselves,” he said. His team was quick to brace for impact. He knocked three times on the big ol’ doors, leaving him just enough time to secure his hard hat and brace for impact before the doors burst open.

“Who dares disturb MERASMUS THE MAGICIAN?! This is an eldritch castle of dark magic!Not a pancake house!” The team had been wise to brace themselves; the sheer power of the voice was enough to blow lesser and/or unprepared men backward. No mean feat, considering that he had no physical lungs from which to bellow.

“Howdy, mister! We’re sellin’ Girl Scout cookies,” the Engineer deadpanned, straightening his spine again. The spectral sorcerer hovering in the doorway glowered at the Engineer, clenching his nearly six-foot, completely corporeal staff tightly in one mildly transparent hand.

“Oh, not you again,” he chuckled.

“Nice to see you again, too, Merasmus,” the Engineer replied, smiling amiably.

“Somezink’s different about you tonight,” the Medic observed, trying to make himself sound like he was trying to be friendly but failing and coming off as sinister instead, a skill which he’d grown remarkably good at over the years.

“Oh, you noticed?” Merasmus smirked. “I have made some lifestyle changes, on account of my new location. Tell me, what do you think?” The team gave Merasmus a quick once-over. Of course, he was a ghost. Barring the occasional possession, he’d been a ghost since 1972. He was one of those ghosts that preferred to look kinda/sorta human, instead of like a phantasmal sheet draped over a floating man. Therefore, he still wore the ratty black cape he’d draped over his scrawny shoulders in life, and he still wore the skull of a demonic ram-like monster on his head. Surprisingly, though, instead of his normal black, tattered robes, he wore a tattered black wife beater and exercise shorts.

“Ya look like a really bad supervillain,” the Engineer observed. Couldn’t have put it better myself. Merasmus chuckled brightly.

“Well, that’s one hell of a way to greet an old friend, isn’t it?” he slurred, with a light, teasing tone to his voice. The Medic had heard that voice far too much in the past, and instinctively clenched his fists.

“Ve are not your friends, Merasmus,” he said sternly. “Friends do not sic giant floatink eyeball monsters or hordes of zombies on friends. Nor do zey attempt to slaughter friends vis magical explosives, for zat matter. Or send zem back in time, or banish zem to alternate universes, or force zem to trade bodies vis each ozzer… In fact, you’re more like our nemesis zan our friend.”

“Sure,” Merasmus chuckled, a familiar and disturbing grin crossing his face. “Then again, if I am not your friend, why do you continually return? Unless…”

“Merasmus,” the Engineer said sternly but kindly, “even if we wanted to, which we don’t, you’re incorporeal.”

Merasmus chuckled. “True,” he sneered, slowly raising and lowering his grip on his staff, “but I have been dabbling in necromancy lately.”

The Pyro covered its eye holes with its hand. “Wrry rrsh rrt rrlwrrysh yrr, Rrnjrry?” it asked.

“I wish I could tell ya,” the Engineer sighed.

Suddenly, a fifth voice forced its way into the conversation at roughly Mach 1. “I wouldn’t bodder tryna’ reason wit’ ‘im right now. ‘Ee’s really freekin’ drunk.”

The Medic only now noticed that there was a book strapped to Merasmus’s waist with a length of rope. Its cover looked kinda like a demonic face, complete with glowing red eyes and a gaping, fang-studded mouth with a giant bomb stuffed in it. “Oh hey, if it isn’t Ze Bombinomicon!” the Medic said cheerfully, waving to the forgotten tome of eldritch lore. You know, I want to meet that book someday. He’s a real barrel of laughs.

“Hey dere, Medic!” The Bombinomicon responded. “I ‘aven’t seen you seense last Smeesmas, mann!”

“You’re in a good mood, aren’t you!” the Medic chuckled. “Ze vife’s been good to you, zen?”

“Actually, ees funny you should ask,” The Bombinomicon replied. “I jus’ found out last week… we’re esspecteen’ second edeeshons!”

The Medic flinched and leaned back a little. “Vat?” he blurted out. “You… But you’re books! How in ze holy hell does zat even vork?”

The Bombinomicon just chuckled. “I tink dat’s too keenky even for you,” he said.

“Hey, vat’s zat supposed to mean?” the Medic asked, indignantly pointing at the book.

Before they could get any farther with that, the Engineer forced his way into the conversation. “Medic, Medic, we gotta situation ‘ere!” he said frantically.

The faint light in Merasmus’s eyes had gotten brighter, and began to give off faint smoke. The Engineer’s gaze somehow found their way up to them, and became locked there. Two white orbs, glinting with faint yellow light, in the pools of darkness that were the ghost’s eye sockets. Oh yeah, and two jets of green light issuing from them.

“Merasmus, you stop zat zis instant,” the Medic snapped, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything,” Merasmus assured the RED Team. “I’m certainly not using magic to hypnotize your teammate. Because that would be wrong.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Merasmus, not dees again!” The Bombinomicon blurted out.

The Engineer’s body went limp, and his limbs locked themselves in place. “Help me! MEDIC, HELP ME!” he screamed. The Pyro clapped its hands over the filter on its gas mask (read: its mouth) in horror. “Get ‘im outta my head! GET ‘IM OUTTA MY HEAD!”

“I’m vorkink on it! God, calm down!” the Medic snapped, his eyes already glowing yellow. A comically large mallet made of pure red, sparkling energy materialized in his hand, and he promptly clocked the Engineer in the head with it as hard as he could.

His knees buckled from the impact. Woozy and disoriented, he swayed back and forth, feebly raised his arm, and moaned “Thank you…” before collapsing to the ground.

“Oh, now what was that for?” Merasmus groaned. “Just because I’m a ghost doesn’t mean I don’t—”

“Take control of your mind!” the Medic interrupted in a loud, powerful voice, letting his mallet fall to the ground and fade into nothingness before it landed. “Destroy ze intruder in your dreams! Snap out of it, you veak-minded coward!”

The Engineer gasped and bolted upright. After panting for a few moments, wide-eyed with shock, he slowly stood up again. “Dammit, do ya hafta use Intentionmancy on me every time we meet?” he groaned, adjusting his hard hat. “Y’know how much I hate it…”

“Ja,” the Medic added, indignantly jabbing a finger at Merasmus, “no von does zat to my team except me!”

“Rry, krrrrmbrr…” the Pyro mumbled.

“Okaaay, da creepy part’s outta da way!” The Bombinomicon said quickly. “Less’ move on to why you’re ‘ere now, okay? Okay.”

The Engineer took his hand off his face. “Ahem… W-We heard ya’d built yourself a castle out in the middle a’ the desert. We came out t’ welcome ya t’ the neighborhood.”

The Medic rolled his eyes. “And ve’re not leavink until you give us ze tour,” he added, “so you may as vell just let us in now.”

Merasmus chuckled. “Very well, mortals. You may enter.”

So with that, the wizard turned and staggered back into his castle, quickly followed by the three REDs. As the team followed him across the foyer toward the grand staircase on the opposite wall, they began to observe their surroundings. The foyer had a wooden floor with a large, square, once-green carpet in its center, above which hung a decrepit chandelier. To their left was what looked like a dining area, and to the right was the grand library. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, every ornate fixture was tarnished and splintered, and the floorboards creaked as though they would give out at any moment. The place looked every inch like a haunted mansion, which surprised me since it looked so much like a castle from the outside.

“So. You built yourself a castle, did you?” the Medic began, stopping in the precise center of the carpet along with the rest of his team. Almost immediately after it stopped, the Pyro began twitching and fidgeting like the little ball of energy it was.

“Indeed,” Merasmus answered, coming to a slow, staggering stop a few moments after the mercenaries did and turning around to face them.

“An’ it only took ya…?” the Engineer prompted, cocking his neck slightly.

“Five hours,” Merasmus replied, crossing his arms and smirking. “Five hours to construct it, but much longer than that to collect the ritual implements.”

“Eet wasn’t easy, lemme tell ya,” The Bombinomicon put in. “But, you know, we ‘ad to beeld a new castle at some point. We can’t exactly keep slummeen’ eet wit’ de abreedged publeecashuns on de way, yanno?”

The Medic scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ja, about zat…” he snarled.

“Wait, what?” The Bombinomicon asked.

“…Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Merasmus growled, gripping his staff tighter.

“Well… yeah, now for the bad news,” the Engineer said, rubbing his hands together. “Ya know, this desert—the land ya built your castle on? It’s RED’s property. In fact, our team’s base is five miles that way.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, back toward the door.

“Ze boss doesn’t like ze location,” the Medic continued, crossing his arms. “By ze decree of ze Administrator, you can’t stay here. Sorry. Ve don’t make ze rules.” Merasmus was silent for a moment.

“You… mean to drive me out?” he said softly, voice quivering with rage. “Again? Can’t I just build a damn castle without you mercenaries coming in and forcing me out? I could sue you all for discrimination against a passive spirit…”

The Medic snorted. “Passive, my ass,” he sneered.

“Honestly, it’s for your own good,” Engineer said, shaking his head. “This can be a pretty bad neighborhood sometimes. I hear the locals can get violent.”

“You guys do remember Halloween ‘72, right?” The Bombinomicon pointed out. “Unless da tree a’ ya brought bows an’ arrows, I teenk we can take ya.”

“Say, Merasmus,” the Medic interjected, smirking maniacally and rubbing his gloved hands together. “Do you believe in magic?”

The Engineer cringed. Even though he knew this part was coming, it was still never easy to have to sit through it. In the same way that it’s not easy to get stabbed in the back or shot in the head or set on fire.

Merasmus blinked. “It comes with the territory, in case you haven’t noticed,” he answered.

The Medic let out one of those sadistic chuckles he was ever so good at. “Zat’s not ze kind of magic I meant.”

The Pyro took instant notice of its cue. It reached into a small satchel strapped to its waist and pulled out a Walkman. It quickly pressed a button, and tinny music began playing from its speakers. One of those good old oldies from back when the team was first hired. I love that song. The instant the Engineer heard the first drumbeat, he grit his teeth and tried to not make it obvious that he was panting like a marathon runner.

“I meant ze kind of magic in a young girl’s heart,” the Medic sneered. “You know, how ze music can free her venever it starts?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Merasmus murmured.

The Engineer was supposed to say something here, but he decided not to open his mouth so as to not risk screaming.

“…Not on purpose,” the Medic answered after a moment, his hideous grin getting wider. “But you know, sometimes ze Pyro forgets to take his meds…”

The Pyro laughed a soft, genuinely happy-sounding laugh, and began to whistle along to the song. The Engineer wiped his brow.

“We are not leaving,” Merasmus growled, gripping his staff tighter still.

The Engineer cleared his throat before replying. “I-I’m afraid you’re gonna have to. A-After all… this place ain’t yours. No one i-invited ya here, Merasmus.”

“DO NOT ANGER MERASMUS! A wizard invites HIMSELF!” The mercenaries had no time to brace themselves against the power of the wizard’s voice and were blown off their feet. They tumbled backwards through the air in perfect synchronicity and landed on their backs. The force of Merasmus’s voice continued to slide them back several feet after they hit the ground. After a few moments, they skidded to a stop. The Walkman slammed against the wall and shattered into a million pieces. Ignoring that completely, the team leapt to their feet with varying degrees of speed.

Nervous adrenaline coursed through the Engineer’s veins as he grabbed his hard hat off the floor, scrambled to his feet and growled like a rabid dog. “Okay, Merasmus! You started it!” he snapped. He reached down to his hip, pulled out an ornate pump-action shotgun and cocked it. The Medic also reached down and came back up with a truly menacing-looking black syringe gun. The Pyro, similarly, reached down to a small holster strapped to its waist and pulled out an orangish-reddish flare gun. “Let’s do this the hard way!” the Engineer shouted, aiming his shotgun right at Merasmus’s chest.

Merasmus hurled his staff aside and reached for his waist. “Forbidden book…” He yanked the Bombinomicon out and held it above his head. “I UNCHAIN THEE!”

“Oh yeah, I get to trow some bombs!” The Bombinomicon shouted gleefully.

“SCATTER!” the Medic shouted… and I think you can probably guess how things went after that. Thirteen minutes, 695 syringes, 114 shotgun shells, 1,742 metal, seven bomb-heads, a few thousand dollars’ worth of miscellaneous property damage, and one flare later—it missed—the mercenaries were… well, no, they weren’t dead. If Merasmus’d killed them, they would’ve gone for reinforcements, and I probably wouldn’t be here. Instead, he just caught them with his telekinesis and dragged them back into the foyer.

That is… surprisingly specific.

Thank you. I’ve been trying to be more combat-oriented lately. Anyway… “Well, that didn’t go as well as you planned, did it?” Merasmus sneered, stomping across the foyer.

“Damn you, Merasmus!” the Engineer shouted, shaking his fist at the ghost wizard.

“Wrrrrry!” the Pyro observed.

“We ween, suckas! Yer not gonna drive us out dat easy!” cheered The Bombinomicon with all the ferocity of the Soldier.

“Okay, it ain’t too late t’ talk about this, right?” the Engineer said frantically. “Yeah! We can just talk about this like calm, rational, sober adults!” He tried to backpedal away from Merasmus, but he was still suspended in midair, and his feet found no purchase. He only succeeded in making himself look silly, prompting a giggle from the Pyro.

“You’ve already attacked me. It’s a bit too late for diplomacy,” Merasmus sneered. “Oh, and I hope you weren’t hoping for the Wheel of Fate, either. I have something much better in mind.”

“You’re going to send us to anozzer universe again, aren’t you?!” the Medic spat. Merasmus let out a sinister chuckle.

“Oh-ho-ho, no! Dey figgered you out, Merasmus!” The Bombinomicon cackled. “You better do dis teeng, queeck!”

“Indeed, Bombinomicon!” Merasmus agreed. He floated backwards up the wooden staircase, still pointing his staff directly at the team. Never breaking eye contact, he reached back and pulled down on a concealed lever in the wall behind him, despite being incorporeal. I don’t know how that works, but… anyway. There was a loud, metallic clank which drew the suspended service-Manns’ eyes to the floor. With a mighty mechanical whir, the hardwood floor sunk down and retracted into the walls. There was a deep pit beneath the floor, lined with sturdy-looking metal, that stretched down for a surprisingly shallow twenty feet.

“You can’t haff zis kind of technology in a castle! You’re a vizard, not a Jacques Bond villain!” the Medic pointed out.

“Oh, grow up. We’re not all floating stereotypes, you know,” Merasmus responded. He then thrusted his staff into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs, “BRIDGE BETWEEN WORLDS!”

After a few seconds, a ball of swirling white light appeared in the center of the pit, several yards deep. It began to grow steadily larger and brighter, changing from the size of a pinhead to a golf ball to a human head in mere seconds. As it grew, the sound of swirling winds reached the mercenaries’ ears. After about fifteen seconds, the sphere of light was too bright for them to look at directly, and the winds completely deafened them. The Engineer shielded his eyes with his arms. The rest of the mercenaries followed his lead. They remained in that position, blind, for what felt like a small eternity.

Then there was a monstrous blast of magic, and everything was still.

The mercenaries opened their eyes again and blinked, temporarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Below them, the pit now contained one of the most sinister-looking portals they’d ever seen. Now, portals can be any number of colors, but what color they are tends to reflect what’ll be in the dimension. For example, portals into the Underworld tend to be light purple, like the toxic mist that covers that land. This portal, however, was black. And that’s rarely a good sign. The team glanced up at Merasmus, who was grinning maniacally at the them and balancing his staff over his right shoulder, much like a hunter would a shotgun.

“Merasmus, think about this,” the Engineer said as calmly as he could, rubbing his hands together. “If ya banish us again, you’ll have committed an injustice against the RED Team. There’s still six of us left, y’know. They’ll come for us if we don’t come back to base.”

“No, they won’t,” Merasmus sneered. “They’re too busy fighting the BLU Team, the mechanical hordes and the alien invasion du jour to care about you.”

“Don’t do it, schweinhund!” the Medic shouted, dramatically pointing at Merasmus. “Zink about it! You don’t even know vere zis portal goes, do you? Ze air could be nitrogen, methane, or hell, everybody’s head could be inside-out!”

“I know it leads to another dimension,” Merasmus replied. “Beyond that, who knows? Certainly not me.”

“Wrrt,” the Pyro said. “Yrr rrprrnd thrr prrtrrl, rrnd yrr drrnt nrrr wrrr rrt grrsh?”

“Yanno, you really need to do someteen’ about dat mask. I don’t understand a teeng he’s blabbin’ about,” The Bombinomicon groaned.

“‘E said, ya opened the portal! How in the hell can ya not know where it goes?!” the Engineer translated frantically.

Merasmus cackled maniacally and thrust his staff into the air over his head. “How am I supposed to know where it goes?!” he bellowed. “I’m drunk as Hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!” Without warning, the wizard’s magic cut out. The three REDs fell screaming into the pit, into the black hole…

…and right out the other end.

Author's Note

If I had to pick a favorite joke from this chapter, it'd probably be me underlining every instance of The Bombinomicon that appears. The Bombinomicon is a character, after all, but he's also a book. The subtle touches are the best ones, if you ask me. Anyway, thanks for reading this collection of words I've been slapping together for however long it's been now. Those of you who read the old edition of this story, where the Engineer's place was filled by the Soldier, welcome back! As for the rest of you, welcome to The RED Cataclysm! Stay a while, why don't you? If you enjoyed this, why not leave a comment telling me why? If you hated this, that's okay! You can leave a comment telling me why? If you just thought this was okay, you can leave a comment anyway! Comments! They have so many uses!

2: Well, Here We Are Again

Chapter Two: Well, Here We Are Again

Of course, at the time, I didn’t know any of that. How could I? I didn’t know there were other universes. Nopony in Equestria did. Hay, nopony on Equus-HOA1-Prime did. But then, I don’t exactly get out much. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been imprisoned in stone? Knowing this universe, I wouldn’t put it past you. And yes, I know the Engineer has a magic wrench that turns people into gold, but that doesn’t count. That kills you right away.

But anyway, on the early morning of June 26th, I was just sitting in the Canterlot Royal Statue Garden, like I always did. Everypony has a hobby. As for me, I’ve been trying to invent and perfect my own personal style of martial arts. I started thinking it up about 250 years ago. I call it “Subversion of Order.” At the time, I was trying to work out the kinks in this complex sword form I’d been working on, but my heart wasn’t really in it that night. I remember thinking to myself, “I’m so bored. I wish something unexpected and exciting would happen.”

And all of a sudden, I felt a hurricane blowing in from the south. That’s weird, you might be saying, since I didn’t have a nervous system with which to feel a breeze at the time. Well, what really happened is I felt a huge surge of chaos energy coming in. It’s a metaphor. Work with me. Anyway, I took a big, deep, metaphorical breath, and using that power, I was able to figure out where the disturbance was coming from. It turned out to be this charming little town called Ponyville where, as it just so happens, six out of… nine? No, ten of my arch-nemeses live. So, using the chaos from Ponyville, I shifted my gaze—I think in this universe, the technical term is clairvoyance—over there to see what was going on.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw a ball of black light about as big as me hovering in midair behind that giant tree that one of my nemeses lives in, giving off some seriously gale-force winds. You can also imagine how surprised I was when I saw three crazy humans standing in front of it, yelling at each other! And yes, I did know they were crazy. I can always tell. I’ve always had a special connection to the insane. Making crazy ponies hear voices in their heads is much easier than making sane ones hear them. Plus, they’re ten times more likely to listen! And crazy ponies are tons of fun to talk to, as well. I know this one mare in Ponyville General Hospital who thinks she’s a dog. She tells the funniest jokes.

But where was I? Oh, right, the humans. Well, I’d never seen anything like them before. Not in person, anyway. I didn’t know anything about them, like who they were, what they were saying or why they were dressed so oddly. But later, I was able to project myself into their minds and figure all that out, so I know their conversation went something like this.

“He’s a damn ghost, in case ya forgot!” shouted the Engineer. “An’ that was his home at that point! Takin’ ‘im on ‘is own turf was suicide!”

“Vell, whose bright idea vas zat, again?” the Medic shot back angrily. “Oh, zat’s right—it vas yours!”

“Rrr, grrysh?” the Pyro said, looking around nervously and rubbing its rubber-clad hands together.

“Look, I panicked, okay? I already said I’m sorry!” the Engineer snapped. “I’m just sayin’, I might not a’ panicked if we hadn’t used Scare Tactic 14! Ya know how much I hate that damn song!”

“Vell, ven ze hell else are ve goink to get ze chance to hear music zat isn’t sanctioned?” the Medic scoffed. “I’m just sayink, I get a little tired of La Caballa Gitana after ze first million times I’ve—”

Suddenly, the Pyro shoved its way in between the two bickering mercenaries and clapped its rubber-clad hands over their mouths, silencing them. “Grrysh,” it said. “Plrrsh shtrrp rrgrrwrrng. Wrrr rrn thrr rrtshkrrtsh rrff rr ffrrlrrj. Yrr crrd wrrk shrrmwrrn rrp.”

The Engineer and the Medic took that opportunity to look around. It was the middle of the night, just like it had been in VC8-Prime when they left, but that couldn’t hide the fact that the Pyro was right. They were indeed on the outskirts of a village, with thatched-roof cottages and everything. The difference was, all the buildings seemed to be a smidge smaller than they would’ve been on Earth. That, and the portal was hovering just off the ground right behind a giant tree, but that’s not completely unheard of.

The Medic slowly removed the Pyro’s rubber-clad hand from over his mouth. “Ve’re stuck in ze middle of a town of midgets again?” he observed. “I hate it vhen zis happens.”

The Engineer took a deep breath. “All right, Pyro, fair enough,” he sighed. “Y’all know the drill. Run the inventory.” He reached into the small pouch around his waist. “I have a Frontier Justice with ten shells, countin’ the three I have loaded, a Wrangler, a Jag and…” He retrieved a small PDA from his pouch and pressed a few buttons on it. “…oh, thank God. A hundred an’ twenty-one metal. Phew. I was afraid I wasn’t gonna have enough left t’ build a dispenser,” he added, tucking the PDA away again.

“Ja, zat vould be a minor inconvenience,” the Medic scoffed. “I haff a Blutsauger vis… seventy-von syringes, a standard-issue Medigun, and a Solemn Vow. Pyro, your turn.”

The Pyro, under the cover of its mask, winced. “Rrr hrrff… rr shtrrndrrd rrshrrw f-flrrmthrrwrrr wrrth trrw hrrndrrd yrrnrrtsh rrf fyrrl, rr flrr grrn wrrth frrftrrn flrrsh, rrnd rr… Shrrprrnd Ffrrlkrrnrrw Frrrgmrrnt.”

“We’re in business, then,” the Engineer quipped. He quickly reached a pouch around his waist and retrieved a small, rectangular PDA he’d brought with him in case Merasmus was drunk, crazy or stupid. “Okay, lesse what we got ‘ere…” he mumbled, pulling out its retractable antenna and pressing a few buttons. The PDA quickly began beeping and blooping. “Ya did bring our medications, right, Doc?” the Engineer added.

The Pyro crossed its fingers behind its back.

“Of course I did,” the Medic answered, patting a small cloth satchel he wore on his belt.

The Pyro snapped its fingers and stomped its foot. “Drrm rrrt,” it spat.

“It’s for your own good, Pyro,” the Engineer said gently, placing his hand on the Pyro’s shoulder. “I know ya don’t like your meds, but trust me, it beats the alternative.”

The Engineer’s PDA suddenly let out a series of melodic bleeps. “The analysis’s done,” he said, fiddling with his goggles.

“Give it to me,” the Medic said suddenly, holding out his hand. The Engineer arched an eyebrow and looked up at the Medic. “I vant to interpret ze data zis time,” he said. “You alvays get to do it. Let me try for vonce.”

The Engineer considered this for a moment. Eventually, he sighed. “All righty then,” he agreed, handing over the PDA and trying very hard not to smile. “Good luck.”

The Medic noticed the Engineer trying not to smile. He snatched the PDA away, scoffed and rolled his eyes. He looked over the data on the screen, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Vell, like Merasmus said,” he began, “ve’ve been sent to a universe wizzin anozzer dimension.”

“Aw, dammit,” the Engineer groaned, snapping his fingers. “I was hopin’ he’d accidentally send us to some parallel universe again.”

“I hate it vhen he does zat,” the Medic said, rolling his eyes. “You remember Earth-VC8-63, don’t you?”

“The one where the robots gained sentience an’ ‘ad taken over the world by the year 2000?” the Engineer asked, scratching his head.

“No, zat vas Earth-VC8-61,” the Medic answered. “63 vas ze von vere all ze men vere vomen and vice versa.”

“Oh yeah, that one,” the Engineer said, chuckling nervously. The Pyro shuddered.

“Anyvay,” the Medic continued, “zis dimension is designated HOA1. It’s virgin ground, makink zis universe HOA1-Prime.”

“Rrch-rrw-rry-wrrn-Prrrrm,” the Pyro repeated, trying out the “feel” of the new universe’s name. “Rrr lrrk thrrrt. Rrllsh rrff thrr trrng.”

The PDA beeped again. “Laws-of-Nature diagnostics complete,” the Medic said, smiling and adjusting his glasses. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, and his smile slowly faded. “…Uh… accordink to zis data… um… zis universe’s… laws of nature are…”

The Engineer smirked and extended his hand, palm up.

Eventually, the Medic rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Fine, you vin,” he grumbled, slapping the PDA into the Engineer’s hand. “Tell us vhat ve’re up against, Herr Expert.”

“Much obliged, Doc,” the Engineer chuckled, quickly running his eyes over the data. “Okay, it looks like just about ev’rythin’s the same, in terms a’ the laws a’ reality. Gravity is still gravity, physics is still physics. Thermodynamics are still thermodynamics, buoyancy is still buoyancy, the laws a’ conservation a’ matter an’ energy are still—”

The Pyro cleared its throat. “Crrd yrr grrt trr thrr prrnt, plrrsh?” it asked politely.

“Right, sorry,” the Engineer said quickly. “Based on the initial scans, all the laws a’ nature are identical t’ those a’ VC8-Prime…” His eyebrow suddenly shot upward. “…‘cept for one.”

“Wrrtsh thrrt?” the Pyro asked.

“Magic,” the Engineer replied. “Accordin’ t’ this, magic’s twice as strong in this universe as it is in ours. Or at least, on this planet, it is. In fact, if I’m readin’ this correctly, magic has some kinda influence over this planet’s day-night cycle. In fact, I’d be willin’ t’ bet that portal’s gonna turn white when the sun comes up.”

“How do you do zat?” the Medic asked, his arms hanging limply from his shoulders and his jaw hanging open loosely.

The Engineer chuckled. “I could teach ya, if ya’d like,” he offered.

“No,” the Medic responded quickly, snapping out of his dumbfounded state. “I vant to figure it out on my own. And von of zese days, I vill.”

“Just not t’night,” the Engineer chuckled. The Medic scoffed.

“Rrkrry, shrr hrrw lrrng drr wrr hrrff trr shtrry hrrr?” the Pyro interjected, crossing its arms. “Wrrr nrrt grrnrr mrrsh thrr Frrrth rrff Jrrlrry rrgrrn, rrr wrr? Yrr nrrw hrrw mrrch thrr Shrrldjrr hrrtsh thrrt.”

“It should take about five days for our bodies t’ get used t’ this dimension’s rules,” the Engineer answered. “So, we should get t’ go home on the evenin’ a’ the thirtieth. Thursday. So no, we won’t miss the Fourth a’ July.”

That’s one of the laws of inter-dimensional travel, of course. I think how it works is that portals only work on material they recognize as native. Don’t ask me how they can tell the difference. I spent five days in the Engineer’s brain and I still don’t know. But anyway, when you visit a new dimension, there’s a brief period where, if you try to go back home, you’ll bounce off the portal and break your neck slamming into whatever wall happens to be behind you. How long it takes for that not to happen depends on a lot of things I can’t be bothered to remember.

The Engineer sighed and uncrossed his arms. “We’re gonna miss almost a whole week a’ work,” he grumbled, tapping his foot. “It’s not gonna be fun ‘splainin’ this one t’ the boss.”

The Pyro shuddered again. In a single fluid motion, it tapped its forehead, its stomach, and each of its shoulders with one hand. You know, I still can’t figure out why people do that. I mean, eugenics are in an upswing, alien invasions happen every other week, and I don’t think there’s ever not been a war going on here since the Renaissance. I don’t know why you people bother with faith at all, let alone something as obsolete as Catholicism. But hey, that’s just me.

The Medic shuddered, too, but didn’t cross himself. “Ve’ll deal vis zat later,” he said, failing to hide a tiny little quiver in his voice. “For now, ve need a place to camp zat’s a good distance avay from zis village.”

“Hrry, thrrsh rr brrg sprrky frrrrrsht rrvrrr thrrr!” the Pyro said, pointing to a big spooky forest across a river behind them.

“Works for me,” the Engineer said simply. And without another word, he and the Medic took off for the forest.

“Wrrt, Rrr drrdnt mrrn wrr shrrd crrmp thrr!” the Pyro shouted frantically, waving its arms and charging after them. “Grrysh? Grrysh! Crrm brrk!”

The walk there was generally uneventful, once they managed to convince the Pyro it was a good idea. After a few minutes of the Aperture Science Leg-Based Locomotion and Stamina Deprivation Technique—you like that? I came up with it myself—they came across a quaint little pile of dirt with a path leading up to it and a mailbox out front, located right at the mouth of the forest.

“Aw, look at that,” the Engineer observed. “Ain’t that cute? It’s like a giant rabbit’s burrow.”

“For all you know, it is,” the Medic grumbled, rolling his eyes.

The Pyro said nothing, enraptured by the sounds of thousands upon thousands of small critters who inhabited the area. It kept on moving with its team, but it clearly wanted nothing more than to charge over to the field and frolic with the woodland creatures that were still awake. And really, who can blame it? There’s some fun to be had in a good old-fashioned frolic.

But I digress. The team kept moving, and quickly entered the forest. They noticed a path and went out of their way to avoid it, burying themselves in the dense, dark vegetation. The sounds of woodland creatures quickly gave way to decidedly spookier noises, like branches snapping and mysterious growls. The Pyro glanced nervously around as it walked and strayed as far as it could from every particularly dark shadow. The Engineer and Medic weren’t afflicted by the Pyro’s crippling nyctophobia, though.

That’s a fairly big word for you.

Hey, I’m immortal. Why wouldn’t my vocabulary be big? Anyway, after a long and boring walk, they happened upon a small-looking cave in which they could easily rest.

“This looks like as good a spot as any,” the Engineer remarked. The Pyro, obviously nervous, began to pace around the general area, keeping its eyes on its surroundings.

“So, let’s get all zis straight now,” the Medic said as he and the Engineer entered the cave. “Vat do ve know for sure about zis universe?”

“Its laws of nature are almost identical to ours,” the Engineer answered. “It prob’ly ‘as some kinda intelligent life. Magic’s stronger.”

“It’s in anozzer dimension,” the Medic continued. “It’s virgin ground. It’s a Prime.”

“And we hafta stay here for five days, at least,” the Engineer finished.

“So,” the Medic concluded, counting on his fingers, “zat’s von for laws of nature, two for magic, zree for intelligent life, four for anozzer dimension, six for a Prime, eight for virgin ground, and von for every day ve haff to stay here, vhich puts us at zhirteen.”

“Great,” the Engineer said. “Didja bring the whiskey?”

The Medic’s smile faded. “No, I zought you did,” he answered.

The Engineer slapped himself in the face. “Dammit…” he groaned. “Well, here’s hopin’ the natives have alcohol.”

“Ve live in hope,” the Medic chuckled, removing his backpack full of healing juice and laying down. He sighed exhaustedly and rested his head on his backpack. “Vell, good night.”

The Engineer quickly exited the cave and looked back at the Pyro. “Pyro, bedtime,” he said.

The Pyro hadn’t been moving for a while, instead looking around the clearing nervously. It looked to be shivering. “Shrrmthrrngsh nrrt rrrt hrr,” it said.

“Don’t be scared, Pyro,” the Medic said from inside the cave, as coolly and calmly as he could. “Zere’s nozzink to be afraid of here. Zat ve know of, anyvay.”

“Rrrm shkrrd,” the Pyro said. “Shrrmthrrng frrlsh… rrng rrbrrt thrrsh rrnrrvrrsh. Lrrk thrrsh srrmthrrng thrrt drrshrrnt mrrk shrrnsh, brrt Rrr crrnt prrt mrr frrngrr rrn wrrt rrt rrsh.”

“There’s nothin’ t’ be scared of, Pyro,” the Engineer said warmly, going back inside the cave and plopping down on the ground. “C’mon, it’ll be fine.”

“…Rrrm nrrt shrrr rrbrrt thrrsh yrrnrrffrrsh, grrysh…” the Pyro said nervously. “Rrr hrrff rr rryllrry brrd frrlrrng rrbrrt thrrsh.”

“It’ll be fine, Pyro,” the Medic sighed. “Vhat’s zhe vorst zing zat could happen?”

I love it when ponies say that.

So they went to sleep. As far as the mercenaries knew, the night was pretty uneventful. Nothing attacked the camp, that is. But I was busy getting a good look around their minds that night. Accessing their memories, establishing psychic links, all that jazz. Now you have to keep in mind, normally, that would be like blowing on a windmill hard enough to turn it. From three miles away. Through a straw. But the portal’s basically like a hurricane, remember? By sucking up all the wind from that, I could turn that windmill no problem! It was like winning the chaos lottery! …Uh, wind lottery. Chaotic wind… lottery… Hang on, where the hay am I going with this? Ugh. Metaphors are hard. Anyway, I spent most of the night poking around in the Pyro’s psyche, but I’ll get into that later.

As usual, the Medic was the first on his team to wake up the next morning. His biological clock was finely tuned to wake him up at exactly 8:30 in the morning every day. Given his dreams, he hadn’t had a particularly good night’s sleep, but that wouldn’t keep him from his duties. You see, being a doctor, the Medic’s normally in charge of making sure his teammates took their medications on time. So naturally, the first thing he did when he woke up that morning was put his backpack on and open up the satchel he wore around his waist. Normally, that satchel was filled with ammo for his syringe gun. It still was, of course, but today it was also filled with two prescription pill bottles and fourteen small, glowing green syringes.

He quickly took out one of the two pill bottles, opened it, poured a red-and-yellow capsule into his hand and dry-swallowed it. After a few seconds, his body began to slowly go numb, as it usually did. He sighed, screwed the bottle shut and put it away. Then he picked up a glowing green syringe, uncapped it and flicked it a couple of times.

He glanced over to the other side of the cave and saw the Pyro snuggled against the Engineer like a big, Texan teddy bear. Moving slowly and gingerly, taking extreme care not to wake either of his sleeping teammates, he stalked across the cave to the Pyro’s sleeping body. As usual, the Pyro was sleeping on its side, which made what the Medic was about to do incredibly easy.

The Medic took a deep breath and knelt down. He gently planted his hand on the Pyro’s back, then stabbed it in the back of the neck with the syringe. The Pyro, naturally, woke up, crying out in pain and alarm. The Engineer’s eyes snapped open and he shot upright, sending the Pyro’s arm flying at the Medic. The Medic expertly dodged the flying limb and pushed down on the stopper, injecting the glowing green liquid into the Pyro’s body. After a few seconds, it let out a soft sigh and slowly passed into unconsciousness.

The Engineer put his gloved hand on his chest, panting heavily, and slowly got to his feet. “Well, that’s a fine how-do-ya-do,” he muttered. He looked down at the Pyro as he picked up his goggles and hard hat. “Why does ‘e always do that?” he sighed, slowly standing up.

“Guten Morgen, Engineer,” the Medic said, not as cheerfully as he would’ve liked. “Did you sleep vell?”

The Engineer yawned loudly as he snapped his goggles back on. “Not really,” he replied. “I had… weird dreams.”

The Medic raised an eyebrow and stood up. “Veirder zan usual?” he asked.

The Engineer put his hard hat on, glancing quickly around the cave as he did so. “A little bit, yeah,” he answered. “A monster was chasin’ me through an endless, foggy void… I heard whispers in an alien tongue… I saw scenes from the… well, Incident Oh-Six.” The Medic said nothing, but nodded in understanding. Cringing, the Engineer glanced behind him again. “In fact, I-I still kinda feel like I’m bein’ watched… There’s nothin’ in here with us, is there?”

“Did you take your medication?” the Medic asked.

“A’ course not,” the Engineer replied, not making eye contact with the Medic. “I just woke up.”

“Here you are, zen,” the Medic replied, removing the second pill-bottle from his satchel and tossing it to the Engineer.

The Engineer caught the bottle with remarkable skill, unscrewed the top, poured a small, brown, circular pill into his hand and popped it into his mouth. “‘Preciate it, Doc,” he said, screwing the cap shut and tossing the bottle back to the Medic.

The Medic snatched the bottle out of thin air and shoved it back into his pocket.

“Nice catch,” the Engineer remarked.

“Danke,” the Medic replied, removing his universal PDA from his breast pocket and setting it down on the cave floor. “Now, you stay here and keep an eye on ze Pyro ven he vakes up. I’m goink to scout out ze area and see if I can find us some breakfast. Don’t lose ze PDA. Ve might need it later.”

“Shouldn’cha leave the meds here, too?” the Engineer asked, tapping his foot. “Y’know, just in case ya hafta respawn. We wouldn’t wanna lose those…” He glanced behind him again.

“Ah, yes, of course,” the Medic quickly, opening his satchel and dumping the medications onto the floor of the cave. “Vhy didn’t I zink of zat?” he said to himself, scooping the medications up and handing them to the Engineer. “Here, you hold onto zem until I get back.”

The Engineer took the medications and tucked them into a pouch strapped to his belt. “All righty then. Come back in an hour,” he ordered.

“Jawohl,” the Medic replied, giving the Engineer a thumbs-up. With that, he stepped outside the cave. Not even two seconds later, he spotted a bizarre-looking creature staring at him. It was about the size of a chicken, and it basically resembled one. Except for the green scales, leathery, reptilian wings and glowing red eyes, of course.

“Ah! Hello zere! You’re not edible, are you?” the Medic said, kneeling down to get a closer look at the creature.

In response, the creature craned its neck upward and stared right into the Medic’s eyes. If the numbness associated with his daily dose had worn off, he would have felt like he was being dunked in the Arctic Ocean. Then he would’ve felt normal again, and then he would’ve felt an immense heat sliding up his body, starting at his feet and working its way up. But his medication made him numb, so he didn’t feel any of those things. He should consider himself lucky. No, I’m not bitter or anything.

The Medic chuckled. “Aren’t you cute?” he said, rather condescendingly. “Look at you, tryink to intimidate me into leavink your territory. Aren’t you just adorable? Who’s a cute little chicken-lizard? Yes you are, yes you—”

Suddenly, the Engineer charged out of the cave, screaming inarticulately, and fired his shotgun into the air. The chicken-lizard started and darted away into the woods, clucking like a startled chicken.

“Hey, vhat vas zat for? You scared off our breakfast!” the Medic said indignantly.

“Doc, I don’t wanna panic ya, but look down,” the Engineer replied.

The Medic looked down. I was kind of expecting him to be terrified and/or shocked to discover that half of his body (the lower half) had been turned to stone. Concrete, specifically. He wasn’t. “Oh,” he said simply. “Zat vas a cockatrice. Vell, don’t I feel stupid?”

“Ya ain’t lookin’ too good, Doc,” the Engineer observed, wincing.

“And I’m sure I’m not going to feel too good vonce my Empathol-induced numbness vears off,” the Medic replied, rubbing his chin. “Did you bring ze anti-petrification serum?”

“They don’t give us anti-petrification serum anymore, Doc,” the Engineer replied sternly. “Not since last Smissmas.”

“I said I vas sorry!” the Medic blurted out indignantly.

“The United Nations tends t’ hold a grudge,” the Engineer deadpanned, shrugging.

The Medic let out an annoyed sigh. “Vell, I guess zere’s only one zing for it, zen,” he said.

“Hold on, this is a separate dimension, remember?” the Engineer interjected quickly, planting his hand on the Medic’s shoulder. “No one cast the RLO spell on ya. Ya’d spawn back at the portal, and the portal’s right outside a village!”

“Do you haff a better idea?” the Medic asked.

The Engineer hesitated. Eventually, he cringed and stood up. “No,” he replied, scratching at the ground with his foot and wringing his hands together.

“Exactly,” the Medic said, smirking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m goink to go make first contact. Vhich puts us at fifteen, by ze vay. Cyanide capsule, bitte.”

The Engineer patted his pouch and his pockets. After a few moments, he cringed. “I… musta left the cyanide capsules in my other pants,” he muttered.

The Medic sighed heavily, burying his face in his gloved hands. “Zat’s sixteen,” he mumbled.

“Sorry, Doc,” the Engineer muttered, pulling his Frontier Justice out from behind his back and extending it to the Medic. “Here, lemme make it up to ya. Ya can borrow my shotgun.”

The Medic took the shotgun and let out a soft sigh of relief. “Danke,” he said.

“Take all the time ya need,” the Engineer said, crossing his arms and looking back into the cave.

Nodding once, the Medic opened his mouth and inserted the muzzle of the shotgun. He squeezed his eyes shut… and hesitated. He held that position for a few good seconds, unable to pull the trigger.

“No hurry,” the Engineer said, glancing back into the cave.

The Medic took the shotgun out of his mouth before replying. “I don’t like shootink myself, Engineer,” he scoffed. Which was fair, if you ask me. “Give me a minute, vould you?”

“Hey, I didn’t say anythin’,” the Engineer replied, raising his hands. “Look, it’s just the head, right? If ya angle it high up enough, ya might not even feel the pain ‘fore your brain gets blasted out.”

The Medic’s eye twitched, and he let out a fierce growl. “You’re not helpink, Engineer!” he spat.

“All right, sorry,” the Engineer said, stepping back into the cave and wringing his hands. “See ya on the other side, Doc.”

The Medic stuck the shotgun back in his mouth and shut his eyes again. His finger was on the trigger, and all he had to do was pull it. But, as always, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do that. The instinct of self-preservation was something he just couldn’t get past, despite sixteen years of employment as a mercenary, suicidal charges and general death.

So it was a good thing I’d established a psychic link with him last night. “BOO!” I shouted.

The Medic, being the only one who heard me, gasped in shock and leapt three feet into the air. Or he would have, anyway, if his legs hadn’t been turned to stone. But his arms did jerk around in his shock, and in his panic, he accidentally pulled the trigger. There was a surprisingly loud bang, and the back of his head suddenly realized it had somewhere really important it needed to be.

The Engineer let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, stepped back over to the Medic’s half-petrified corpse, and pried his shotgun from his hands. Then he stepped back into the cave and pulled a PDA out of his pocket. His hands were quivering slightly as he pressed a few buttons on it. But eventually, a bright red toolbox materialized in his hands, courtesy of… uh…

I pause and stroke my beard. “Now that I think about it,” I say, “where does he keep those toolboxes? I thought Pinkie and I were the only ones who could just pull things out of nowhere like that. How does that work?”

“Magic.”

One of my eyebrows flies up of its own accord. I turn to Helen, who’s staring at me with a decidedly bored expression. “Magic?” I repeat.

Helen scoffs. “Yes, magic,” she says. “Specifically, a complex type of magic invented in the year 1938 called Pocketmancy.”

Both my eyebrows shoot up, and I snap my fingers. “Oh, THAT kind of magic! Why didn’t you say so?” I say. I turn back to my monitors and absentmindedly flick a switch labeled “LOST DRACULA.” “So yeah, the Engineer Pocketmanced up a toolbox and set it down on the ground. ‘Dispenser goin’ up,’ he said, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. The toolbox opened automatically, and it began automatically assembling itself into a red, metal machine.” I turn back to Helen. “Is that magic, too, or is it science? I always get those two mixed up. Eh, guess it isn’t important.”

Anyway, fifteen seconds after the Medic’s head got blown off, he materialized out of thin air a few feet in front of the portal with a mechanical, alien click, holding his syringe gun in his hands.

“Whew,” he said, tucking the gun back into its holster. “Vat ze hell… vas… Oh. …Didn’t see zat von comink.”

The Medic had considered the possibility that he’d be surrounded by natives when he respawned. After all, a portal into another universe isn’t something that just showed up every day. Unless maybe you were a mercenary employed by RED or BLU, but I digress. The Medic hadn’t considered, however, that the curious natives would be brightly colored horse-like creatures the size of a large dog (ponies, actually, not that he knew that), nor that they would completely surround the portal and, by extension, him. It was jarring. That, combined with his strange dream and the shock of hearing someone else’s voice screaming in his head, put him so on edge that he completely forgot what he was supposed to do in this situation.

“…Uh… hello!” he said awkwardly, rubbing his gloved hands together. He glanced nervously behind him, only to see the portal hovering there, exactly as white as the Engineer had predicted it would be last night. He barely noticed that at the time, though; there was still the issue of making first contact. “I, ah… I come in peace!” he continued, turning back to his audience. “…Ah… vell, zis is awkvard.”

None of the ponies moved. The Medic noticed that they were looking at him like he was some kind of horrible science experiment gone horribly wrong. It was not a look he was unfamiliar with. After a few tense moments, one of the ponies stepped forward, looking incredibly nervous. She was a nice shade of lavender, with a purple mane and a horn protruding from her forehead. The Medic didn’t know this, of course, but her possession of a horn made her a unicorn pony. Walking close behind her was a small, bipedal reptile with scales a slightly darker shade of lavender who looked just as nervous as she did.

The unicorn also just so happened to be one of my arch-nemeses. Just so you know.

“Hello zere,” the Medic said, kneeling down for the second time that day and smiling nervously. “You can understand vat I’m sayink, right?”

The unicorn just stared at the Medic for a while, allowing him to get a good, long look at her. Her eyes were a lovely shade of purple, he thought. He also noticed a strange marking on her hind flank resembling a six-pointed star. He briefly wondered if it was some kind of tattoo. After a few moments, though, the pony spoke. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she spoke in Equestrian, which sounds suspiciously like a series of snorts and whinnies, and not in English as the Medic expected.

“Ah,” the Medic said, snapping his fingers. “You don’t speak English? Vell, zat’s two shots I don’t haff to take. Hm. I guess ve’re going to haff to try some nonverbal communication, zen. Let me see, vat’s a good signal for peace…”

Before the Medic could figure out how to communicate with the ponies, though, the unicorn closed her eyes, and her horn began to glow with a dark reddish-purple aura. The aura was unmistakable, as was the ever-familiar sound it gave off. That was the sound of magic. It was a few octaves higher than what he was used to, but it was still magic.

Before the Medic could go any farther on that particular train of thought, everything started getting brighter. Much brighter, in fact, to the point where he had to squeeze his eyes shut and shield them. The sound of the pony’s magic grew steadily louder, as well, and before long, it was loud enough that he had to stop shielding his eyes and use both his hands to cover his ears.

And then, within a few seconds, it was over. The Medic opened his eyes again to see everything back to normal. He quickly shook his head and stood up. “Vat ze hell vas zat?” he wondered aloud.

The unicorn in front of him blinked in obvious surprise. “That was easier than I thought,” she remarked in a female, decidedly intellectual voice. In English, mind you, with no accent to speak of.

The Medic’s eyes shot open. “Ah! Linguimancy!” he said excitedly, clapping his gloved hands. “Vonderful! Ze von sure sign of civilization. And an extra shot.”

The unicorn blinked. “Linguimancy?” she repeated. “Is… that some technical term I’m unaware of?”

“Jawohl,” the Medic replied. “Ze suffix -mancy means magic. You know, like Pyromancy, Intentionmancy or Haberdashomancy?”

“…No,” the unicorn replied honestly.

“Vell, basically,” the Medic explained, “a Linguimancer manipulates language.” He grinned and gave the unicorn a confiden thumbs-up. “Take it from me, kid. As long as you’ve got Linguimancy and runnink water, your civilization’s all right in my book.”

“…Um… well, okay,” the unicorn replied slowly. “That’s… good to know, I guess. Um… So, with… that out of the way, allow me to introduce myself.” She placed her hoof on her chest and softly cleared her throat. “I’m Twilight Sparkle. Who are—”

Suddenly, the Medic realized something. “Vait vait vait, hold zat zought,” he interrupted, raising one hand. “Did… Did you just channel magic zrough your horn?”

“…Yes, I did,” Twilight replied hesitantly.

“Hmmm…” the Medic murmured, stroking his chin and kneeling down. “Zat’s very interestink…” He slowly reached out toward Twilight’s horn, but stopped his hand halfway. “May I?”

Twilight leaned back slightly. “Uh… I guess?”

The Medic gently placed the tip of his finger on Twilight’s horn. After a few moments, he began sliding his finger slowly and gently up and down its length. “Hmmm…” he remarked. “It feels like… bone…?”

“Um, if you don’t mind, I appreciate you wearing gloves,” Twilight cringed.

Suddenly, the Medic’s eyebrows shot up. “No!” he blurted out. “Not bone… alicorn! Alicorn vis a zin layer of skin over it! You haff a magic vand growink right out of your forehead!”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something, but the Medic leapt to his feet before she could get the chance. “Zis is incredible!” he said excitedly, clapping his hands. “Your entire skull must be composed of alicorn, maybe even your whole skeleton! I vonder…”

Oblivious to the way the ponies around him were beginning to slowly back away, the Medic suddenly gasped and clasped his gloved hands together. “EUREKA!” he pretty much shrieked. “All I haff to do is replace a human skeleton vis an alicorn replica, and I’d haff ze ultimate mage! Ze Unicorn Man! Nozzing can possibly go wrong!”

He placed his hand on his chin and began to briskly pace back and forth. “Of course,” he muttered, just loud enough that the ponies could hear him, “I’d haff to figure out if zere’s any ozzer physical attributes of zese creatures zat aids in ze process of channelink magic. I’m going to need to dissect von of zem, probably. Or two. Vell, at least a male and a female… vhy don’t ve call it five each, so I can get a decent sample size? No, zat might be a little optimistic… Vell, ve’ll start vis von and see vhat happens from zere.” He grinned like the madman he was as he reached down to his hip and retrieved his melee weapon from its holster. Only once he got a good look at it did he remember that it was actually a marble bust of Hippocrates.

“Oh, vait, I didn’t bring my bonesaw,” he said, his expression falling. “Can’t do an autopsy vis a Solemn Vow. Damn it. Oh vell, guess I’ll just haff to improvise!” He put the bust back away, clapped his hands again and grinned excitedly at the crowd. “Okay! I’m goink to need von-to-ten volunteers and somezink really sharp. Now who vants to do some science vis me?”

Author's Note

The plot thickens, as they say. Again, thank you for reading this impromptu collection of words I've been coming up with. And again also, if you hated, loved or tolerated this story, I encourage you to leave a comment telling me why. This is the kind of thing I live for.

3: Medic vs. Ponyville

Chapter Three: Medic vs. Ponyville

The ponies stared up at the Medic with terror in their eyes, shifting around nervously as though they were looking for escape routes. Which, to be fair, they were. The Medic stared at the crowd of ponies eagerly, eyes darting willy-nilly between the unicorns, as though he was sizing them up. Which, to be fair, he was.

“Come on, no takers?” he said, his smile fading as he holstered his Solemn Vow. “Really? No von? Come on… You’d be advancink ze cause of science by several veeks, maybe even months! As a vise man vonce said, I’m not just bangink rocks against each ozzer over here. I know how to put a man back togezzer. Admittedly, I’m not… qvite sure how to put von of you back togezzer, but it can’t be zat different, right? I’ll learn as I go. Zat’s ze point.”

Most of the ponies shook their heads frantically. A few of them took a few steps backwards. The Medic sighed exasperatedly. “All right. In zat case, you leave me vis no choice,” he said. Suddenly, he yanked his Solemn Vow out again. “Ve can do zis ze easy vay or the hard vay!”

That caused several things to happen at once. Most of the ponies in the crowd turned tail and fled, screaming in terror. To the Medic’s surprise, some of them leapt into the air and took off on previously-unseen pairs of wings. How he managed to miss the fact that some of the ponies were pegasus ponies escaped him.

Ha, ha, ha. You’re hilarious, Discord.

Gee, thanks, Helen! That means a lot to me. Anyway, the Medic charged forward at Twilight. Twilight gasped and scrambled backward. “Get away from me!” she frantically blurted out.

The dragon, moving quickly, as though relying on instinct, stepped in front of his mistress and belched a green plume of flame up at the Medic’s face. The fire spread across his entire body in a matter of milliseconds. You know, like you do. The Medic screamed and skidded to a stop as his body was engulfed in green, sparkly fire.

“I AM MELTING!” he shrieked.

“O-Oh my gosh, what did I do?!” Spike blurted out, clapping his claws over his mouth. There was a hilarious look of terror on his face.

The Medic looked down and smirked a devilish but pained smirk. “Oh, calm down. Zis is— ngh!— just anozzer Monday for me,” he sneered.

Before the Medic was even done speaking, Twilight stepped forward again. Her horn glowed with the purplish aura of her magic, and there was a sudden, surprisingly powerful gust of wind. With a loud, sickening (if you’re not used to it) sizzle, the fire went out, revealing a series of painful-looking welts. “There! A-Are you all right?” she said frantically.

“Oh, I’m fine,” the Medic said, smiling warmly. “Danke schön. Zat was very kind of you.”

Twilight blinked and donned a confused expression. “Huh, I’ll need to look into that,” she muttered to herself.

“Wh-What about your—” Spike started.

“I’ll be okay,” the Medic replied, tapping one of the welts on his cheek. “I haff a natural healing factor. Look.” Twilight and Spike looked up at the Medic’s face. To their incredible surprise, the welts on his face and, indeed, the rest of his body looked to be shrinking before their eyes.

“Th-That’s fantastic!” Twilight blurted out.

“It is, isn’t it?” the Medic chuckled. “Sometimes I forget how lucky I am.” And then he punted Spike right over Twilight’s head.

“SPIKE!” Twilight screamed, whipping around and catching Spike in midair with her magic. The Medic took the opportunity to raise his Solemn Vow over his head and dart for Twilight. He was right about to bring the bust down on her neck when something slammed into his side, sending him flying and knocking the wind clean out of him.

“Twilight, RUN!” a certain throaty, tomboyish mare shouted. “Get out of here! I’ll keep him busy!” Twilight didn’t need any more encouragement. She set the woozy Spike down on her back and charged around her library tree, practically diving through the front door.

The Medic, oblivious to this, scrambled to his feet as quick as he could, gasping for breath. Once he was on his feet again, he got his first good look at his attacker. His attacker, as it turned out, was a light blue pegasus mare with a vibrant ed mane with all the colors of the rainbow in it. And she was another one of my nemeses, if you must know. She hovered at about his eye level, and she glared into his eyes with all the ferocity of someone who knew the world would be conquered and/or destroyed if they lost their battle. “C’mon, tough guy! You and me!” the mare shouted, raising her hooves and throwing a few jabs.

“You can fly!” the Medic observed, raising his eyebrows and grinning excitedly.

“Well, duh!” countered the rainbow pegasus (whose name happens to be Rainbow).

“Zat’s very interestink,” the Medic continued, rubbing his chin. “Horses are far too heavy to achieve flight vere I come from. I vonder if you haff hollow bones…”

“Quit talking about bones already!” Rainbow shouted.

“Very vell zen,” the Medic sneered. He twirled his bust over in his hand like a dueler’s pistol and swung it wildly in front of him once before pointing it right at Rainbow’s face. “Come over here! I promise I vill heal you!”

Rainbow shot forward, leaving nothing a faint rainbow-colored blur in her wake. The Medic only had a fraction of a second to react, but he had sixteen years of combat experience under his belt, not counting Incident Oh-Seven, and by God, he was gonna use it. He swung his bust for the fences and clocked Rainbow right in the head. She was knocked out of her trajectory and sent tumbling through the air toward the big spooky forest in the distance. She tumbled across the field for a few yards and eventually skidded to a stop.

“You’re lucky ze Unicorn Man is my top priority right now!” the Medic shouted after her. “Ozzervise, your pegasus guts vould be strewn all over an autopsy table!”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Rainbow slurred, her eyes rotating in opposite directions.

“It’s probably a concussion!” the Medic shouted over his shoulder, charging around the tree with a manic grin on his face. And then he proceeded to shout what is quickly becoming my favorite battle cry: “Onvard! FOR SCIENCE!”

Meanwhile, in the cave where the Engineer and the Pyro were taking shelter, meanwhile, the Engineer had been busy. His Dispenser, which as you know is basically a big ammo vending machine that heals you if you stand next to it, was fully built and upgraded to Level 3, the highest level there was. There was also a machine in front of the Dispenser that was taller than the man who’d built it: a Level 3 Sentry. That five-legged metal monstrosity swiveled from side to side, beeping every so often, aiming its dual minigun barrels and rocket launcher into the depths of the cave, ready to take out anything that tried moving too fast in front of it. Or, naturally, anything that had the misfortune of being blue.

The Engineer, meanwhile, was sitting atop his dispenser, strumming an acoustic guitar he’d Pocketmanced up and singing a sanctioned song from Earth-TTG1-03. How’d it go again? “War! What is it good for? It’s good for you, it’s good for me! War! What is it good for? It strengthens the economy!” Or maybe that’s just how I remember it.

Behind him, there was a muffled sound that could’ve been a moan or a sigh.

The Engineer quickly glanced behind him to see the Pyro lying on the floor of the cave, resting its chin in its hands. It started when it saw him turn around.

“How long’ve ya been up, Pyro?” the Engineer asked, tossing the guitar away heedlessly and paying no mind whatsoever to the fact that it split cleanly in two when it slammed against the wall of the cave.

“Rrr, nrrt lrrng…” the Pyro giggled. It picked it hat up off the ground, stood up and put it back on. “Rrr jrrsht lrrk lrrshrrnrrng trr yrr shrrng, Rrnjrrnrrr.” It tilted its head to the side innocently.

“Yeah, I know ya do,” the Engineer sighed, swivelling around and hopping off his Dispenser, “but I was just playin’ while I waited for ya to get up.”

“Wrrd yrr brrld thrrsh?” the Pyro asked, gesturing to the two red machines.

“Oh, I just… thought there was sum’n in here with us,” the Engineer answered, pulling out a second PDA with a big red button on it. He tapped the screen with his gloved finger a couple of times, then pressed the big red button. Just like that, the Dispenser and Sentry both exploded into worthless piles of scrap metal. “But that ain’t important right now! The Medic got attacked by a cockatrice earlier, an’ ‘e ‘ad t’ respawn t’ get out of it!”

The Pyro gasped. “Rrshprrn?” it repeated. “Brrt thrr prrtrrlsh rrwt rrn thrr mrrdrrl rrf rr vrrlrrj!”

“Exactly!” the Engineer said, wiping his hairless forehead. “We gotta get t’ that village quick, an’ make sure ‘e doesn’t go on some kinda science-fueled rampage!”

“Brrt thrrt hrrprrnsh rrffrry trrm!” the Pyro pointed out.

“Then I guess we’ll just hafta do damage control,” the Engineer countered, “but either way, we gotta skedaddle! On my six, double time!” And with that, he charged into the forest, headed in the general direction of the village. “C’mon, hustle!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Rrr rrm hrrshlrrng!” the Pyro pointed out, running right behind him with a noticeable spring in its step.

The Engineer was so surprised, he almost broke stride. “Well, you’re certainly cheery this mornin’,” he observed.

“Mm-hmm!” the Pyro replied, nodding vigorously. It leapt into the air as it walked and clicked its heels. No, really.

“Wow,” the Engineer remarked, arching his eyebrows and turning away to look where he was running. “What’s gotcha in such a good mood?”

“Rrr mrrd rr frrrnd!” the Pyro answered.

The Engineer took three more steps before coming to a stop, allowing the Pyro just enough time to avoid slamming into him. “Ya… made a… friend?” he repeated.

“Mm-hmm!” the Pyro replied happily, nodding.

The Engineer turned around, his mouth hanging open loosely. “Pyro…” he mumbled, “…y-you know there are regulations against that…”

“Nrr, shrrllrry!” the Pyro giggled. “Rrr mrrt hrrm rrn Prrrrlrrnd lrrsht nrrt!”

“Oh!” the Engineer blurted out, letting out a deep breath. He took off his hard hat, which would’ve made his head glisten in the morning sun if said sun hadn’t been blocked by the forest canopy, and mopped his brow. “An imaginary friend! Phew… Ya had me worried there for a second.”

“Hrr crrlsh hrrmshrrlf Drrshrrdrrn!” the Pyro said happily, clapping its hands. “Hrrsh frrnrry rrnd shmrrt rrnd hrrsh grrt shrrch rr grrt vrrsh! Wrr plrryd trrgrrthrr frr rrwrrsh! Wrr hrrd shrr mrrch frrn!”

A shiver went down the Engineer’s spine. “W-Well, I’m glad ya had fun, at least,” he murmured, cringing as he put his hard hat back on.

“Lrrsht wrrn trr thrr vrrlrrjrrsh rr rrrtrrn rrg!” the Pyro suddenly shouted, charging ahead. The Engineer hesitated only for a moment before whipping around and running after it.

“Pyro, if this Desorden fella can make ya this happy this early in the morning,” he said, “he might not have your best interests at heart.”

“Wrr drr yrr hrrt rrt wrrn Rrrm hrrprry, Rrnjrrnrr?” the Pyro asked, sounding disheartened.

The Engineer sighed. “Pyro, y’know that ain’t it,” he said. “I’m just sayin’, I find it kinda hard t’ trust a guy who introduces ‘imself in Pyroland. I don’t wanna spoil your fun, but… maybe ya shouldn’t be talkin’ to ‘im. An’ let’s be honest, ‘is name’s a little sinister.”

“Hrrsh nrrt hrr rrrt nrrw, rrnrrywrry!” the Pyro pointed out.

“Well, I kinda figured that,” the Engineer sighed. “Where is ‘e, if ‘e ain’t ‘ere?”

“Hrr shrrd hrr crrdnt trrk trr mrr rrn thrr drrytrrm!” the Pyro answered. “Brrt hrr trrld mrr rrff Rrr wrrnt trr shrry hrrm rrgrrn, rrll Rrr hrrff trr drr rrsh lrrk rrnshrrd mrryshrrlf! Rrnd rrff thrrt drrshrrnt wrrk, Rrrll shrr hrrm rrn Prrrrlrrnd rrgrrn trrnrrt!”

The Engineer blinked, not that you could tell that with his goggles. “Look inside yourself?” he repeated. “So if ya wanna see your imaginary friend again, ya gotta use some philosophical mumbo-jumbo or sleep? That’s a weird business model for an imaginary friend. Y’sure ‘e ain’t some native psychic tryin’ a’ mess with ya? Or, for that matter, just a voice in your head?”

“Yrrr jrrsht brryrrng prrrhrrnrryd,” the Pyro countered.

“I—” the Engineer started. However, he eventually sighed. “You’re right, I am bein’ paranoid,” he said, vaulting over a fallen log just a fraction of a second after the Pyro did. “He’s just an imaginary friend, after all. How much harm could ‘e do?”

I love when ponies say that, too.

Meanwhile, the Medic was staring at the tree that Twilight had vanished into— or more specifically, the purple, translucent force field that had been suddenly erected around it.

“Come on… Tvilight Sparkle, you said your name vas?” he said, grinning up at the unicorn on the balcony. “I zink you’re overreactink a little, Fräu Sparkle.”

“Overreacting?!” Twilight shouted back. “You threatened to cut me open, and you attacked one of my friends!”

“Vell, now zat ve’re in a position to negotiate consent,” the Medic countered, smiling a charming smile, “vat are ze odds you’d let me poke around your body a bit?”

“No!” Twilight answered, flinching as though she was keeping herself from stepping back.

“Come on!” the Medic said, grinning at her in a manner intended to be charming. “You’d stay avake for ze whole procedure, if zat helps!”

“What?!” Twilight blurted out, her irises shrinking to the size of pinpricks. “You want to operate on me sans anesthesia?!”

“Is zere any ozzer vay?” the Medic countered, chuckling at his own joke. Twilight took a few nervous steps backwards and squeezed her eyes shut. A beam of purple energy shot out of her horn, reinforcing the force field. “Oh, come on!” the Medic said, throwing his arms out to his sides. “It’s a very low-risk procedure!”

“Go away!” Twilight shouted. That’s a perfectly fair reaction to all this.

“Look,” the Medic spat, crossing his arms, “if I can replace my own heart, I’m pretty sure I can vivisect an alien I’ve never seen before!”

Twilight’s irises grew somewhat, and she raised one eyebrow. “What do you mean, you replaced your own heart?” she asked, stepping forward and leaning over the balcony.

“Vell, it’s not like I had a choice,” the Medic explained, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, no von else on my team can perform open-heart surgery. Vhat was I going to do, talk ze Engineer zhrough it? I don’t zink so. He’s a smart man, some vould say a genius, but he’s not zat smart.”

“What do you mean, your—” Twilight started. However, she stopped abruptly mid-sentence. She blinked a few times, then looked back down at the Medic. “Wait, no. What do you mean, ‘alien?’ Are you from another planet?”

The Medic stared up at her and grinned. He extended his hand to Twilight, and his eyes suddenly began glowing with yellow light. “Vhy don’t you let me in, and I’ll explain it?” he proposed, beckoning to her.

Twilight legitimately considered the proposal for a few moments. After a while, however, her self-preservation instinct won out, and she trotted quickly back into the library and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Hm. Zat usually vorks,” the Medic remarked. The light in his eyes faded away, and he shrugged dismissively. “Oh, vell. Your loss, Fräu Sparkle!” he shouted up at the closed door. He turned around and set off into Ponyville proper without another word.

After only a few moments, the Medic set out to decide which of the many thatched-roof cottages in Ponyville to break into and extract a test subject from. He quickly decided on a two-story building that was fairly close to the tree he’d started from. It was easy to make the decision. After all, a unicorn was looking out a window on the second floor, staring at him with a combination of terror and fascination. And when the Medic noticed her, she didn’t look away.

The Medic smirked and charged up to the house. Common sense told him the door would be locked, possibly barricaded, so he didn’t bother trying to open it. Instead, he hurled his Solemn Vow at the first-floor window. It shattered into a thousand pieces, allowing a piercing shriek to make its way into the town proper. The Medic easily vaulted through the window and picked his bust up from where it had fallen. The house he found himself in looked pretty basic: entry hall, family room off to the left, a small dining room dead ahead, and a staircase just off the foyer. The only thing really out of the ordinary about the house was the cream-white earth pony standing in the foyer, holding a frying pan in her mouth.

“Sh-Shtrry brrck!” she said around the pan. “Rrff grrt rr prrn, rrnd Rrrm nrrt rrfrrrd trr rrsh rrt!”

“Zat’s nice,” the Medic sneered, smirking a devilish smirk as he holstered his Solemn Vow. “You know vat I’ve got zat I’m not afraid to use?” He suddenly reached to his hip and pulled out his syringe gun. “A Blutsauger!” He loosed six syringes out of the forty that were in his clip. His target screamed, dropping the pan, and galloped away from him. But she didn’t move in time to dodge all the needles. One of them struck her in the side, two struck her in the right hind leg, and the other three missed. She darted into the dining room, screaming in pain and leaving the Medic to his business. He cackled, ignoring her agony, and charged up the stairs.

As soon as he was at the top of the stairs, he saw a door to his immediate left that was half-open. Inside he saw a fairly messy-looking room. The bed was unmade, parchment and quills were scattered across the floor, and a desk was pushed up against the wall, positively covered in parchment. The Medic also noticed what looked like a golden lyre sitting on the bed.

Staring at the Medic from across the room was a mint-green unicorn with a green-and-white mane, the same one that’d been staring at him before he’d entered the building. The Medic guessed that she was female, and he guessed correctly. Her expression was just as terrified as he’d expected it to be, but there was also a certain element of awe to it. He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with his foot, and pointed his syringe gun right at the unicorn’s face. “Guten Tag, Fräulein,” he sneered, slowly stepping toward her. “I am ze RED Medic, and I vill be your doctor zis morning.”

After a few attempts, the unicorn finally managed to speak. “You’re… a human, aren’t you?” she asked.

The Medic blinked and stopped in his tracks. “Actually, yes, I am,” he answered, shaping his lips into a straight line and nodding. “Vell spotted.”

“Are you… real?” the unicorn asked, slowly crossing the room. “Am I… dreaming this?”

“I don't zink you’re dreaming, but I don’t haff any surefire vay of findink out,” the Medic replied. “As for vhezzer I’m real, zat depends on your definition of ze vord. Unicorns aren’t technically real, but ve’re havink zis conversation, aren’t ve?”

“Yes… we are…” the unicorn breathed. Slowly, as if she was afraid she’d wake up if she moved too fast, she lifted her hoof and gently placed it against the Medic’s leg. When he didn’t dissipate into dust at her touch, the reality of the situation seemed to sink in for her. “Oh… oh, my gosh! I don’t believe it!” she cried out, staring up into the Medic’s eyes in absolute awe. “A real, live human!”

“I take it humans are uncommon here,” the Medic quipped.

“Ohmigoshohmigoshohmigosh…” the unicorn blurted out, beaming like a child on Smissmass morning. “I-I don’t believe it! I never thought this day would come!” She began to leap into the air out of pure excitement. “I mean I thought you looked like a human when I saw you appear at that giant ball of light behind the library this morning but… but… b-b-b-b-but you’re here! Y-You’re actually here, talking to me! This is a dream come true! I-I’m Lyra! Lyra Heartstrings!”

“Hello, Lyra,” the Medic replied, smiling and crossing his arms. “Vould you like to take part in a little experiment?”

Lyra suddenly stopped jumping, and her smile slowly faded. “But… when you first showed up, you said…” she pointed out. She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t really need to.

“Yes, I’m talkink about ze same experiment,” the Medic confirmed, nodding. “But I never got around to explaining somezink earlier.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a long black tube that was definitely not just a repurposed fire hose.

“What’s that?” Lyra asked, tilting her head to the side.

“It’s called a Medigun,” the Medic explained. “I von’t bore you vis ze details, but basically, I’ve got some… classified materials and some human blood in my backpack here. Ven ze two liqvids meet, zey produce a gas byproduct. Specifically, gas vis remarkable healing properties—more powerful zan anyzink most high-level Vitamancers can produce. At ze ‘low’ setting, the gas vill keep you alive vhile sustaining an ozzervise mortal vound, up to and including ze loss of at least zhree vital organs. At ze high setting, it’ll heal any and all injuries you receive and get your body vorking at higher-zan-peak capacity.”

“Really?” Lyra asked, looking back up at the Medic in awe.

“Absolutely,” the Medic continued, nodding. “Ze gas even filters out most of ze pain, even at ze low setting. So really, being vivisected is a very low-risk procedure.” He smirked, and his eyes began glowing yellow again. “I don’t suppose you’d be villink to participate?”

Lyra hesitated for a moment before answering, looking down at her hooves and shuffling from side to side gently. It was clear from looking at her that she was considering her options. Eventually, she looked the Medic right in the glowing yellow eyes. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, Red. I trust you.”

The Medic’s smirk grew wider, and his eyes stopped glowing. “Excellent,” he said, stroking his chin. “Unfortunately, I don’t haff any good-qvality surgical implements on me. If you’ve got a knife or somezink around here…”

Lyra’s horn activated, glowing a faint greenish-yellow. A smooth-edged bread knife suddenly emerged from under the piles of paper on the desk, surrounded by an aura of the same color, and began to levitate toward the Medic.

“Vere’d zat come from?” the Medic asked.

“Bon Bon gave it to me to defend myself with,” Lyra replied.

“Vell,” the Medic chuckled, plucking the knife out of the air, “zat didn’t go very vell, did it?”

Lyra and the Medic shared a few moments of awkward laughter. Suddenly, Lyra reared up on her hind legs and placed her hooves on his shoulders. The Medic almost lost his balance at this, but he didn’t. He was surprised to see that this made her slightly taller than him, forcing him to look up slightly into her eyes.

“Take me, Red,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

You might think the Medic was creeped out by how that was worded… if you didn’t know him. “Jawohl, Fräu Heartstrings,” he replied, letting out a sinister chuckle.

Lyra returned the Medic’s smirk in earnest. Her horn glowed again, and her bedroom door securely locked itself.

Meaner-while, back in the forest…

The Engineer and the Pyro had hoped to encounter a native as they traveled through the forest, but that hadn’t happened. Even when they found and stepped onto the path they’d been so careful to avoid last night, nothing had come of it. However, the marked and well-traveled trail gave the Engineer a bit of an advantage, and subsequently, he burst out of the forest right before the Pyro did.

“Hah!” he gasped, skidding to a stop and thrusting his fist into the air. “Suck it, Pyro!”

The Pyro giggled happily and put its hand on the Engineer’s shoulder. “Grrd grrm, Rrnjrrnrrr!” it said cheerfully.

The Engineer winced. “Might wanna sing somethin’, Pyro,” he suggested.

The Pyro nodded and dutifully began singing Sanctioned Song #3 under its breath. “Cwrrndrr rrshtrrsh trr drrffrrshtrrtrr, trrn rrshtrr rrn trr mrrntrr clrrrrw…”

The Engineer quickly started looking around. He and the Pyro just so happened to exit the forest near the large mound of dirt that looked like someone was living in it. Now that he had the advantage of sunlight, he was able to get a better look at it. The mound was surrounded on all sides by a meadow, and there was a small wooden fence behind it. In the light, the Engineer only now noticed that there was a small chicken coop in the meadow, surrounded by a wire fence. The chickens who had been milling about in the fenced-off area squawked in terror and darted back into the coop when they noticed the two approaching humans. The Engineer quickly pieced together that the chickens wouldn’t be able to help him, and decided to appeal to whatever lived in the mound.

“There’s gotta be a native in there, Pyro!” the Engineer said frantically, pointing to the mound and charging toward it. “Stay close, and let me do the talkin’!”

“…rrnrr brrlrr drry krrrsh— Hrry, wrrt rrp!” the Pyro said, charging after him.

The two of them charged around the house, and the Engineer pounded on the front door the instant his fist came within range. “Hey, anybody in there?” he said loudly. “This is important!”

The sounds of various animals being startled rang out through the house. Of particular interest was what sounded like a frantic, nervous conversation a horse and itself. The Engineer and the Pyro exchanged a mildly confused look.

“Hrry, Rrnjrry,” the Pyro said, crossing his arms and tilting its head to the side. “Brrt yrr frrff brrksh—” It raised one hand here, displaying all five fingers contained therein. “—hrrrshrrsh rrr thrr drrmrrnrrnt sprrshrrsh.”

The Engineer smiled. “You’re on,” he said, extending his own hand to the Pyro. The Pyro swept its extended hand down, grabbed the Engineer’s hand and enthusiastically shook it. And thus the die was cast.

Not even five seconds later, the door opened a tiny crack. A butter-yellow pony peeked timidly out from behind the door, attempting to hide behind her pink mane. She was a pegasus, not that the humans could tell that from where they were standing. Her blue eyes were the size of pinpricks, maybe even smaller. She also just so happens to be another nemesis of mine. Small world, am I right? She let out a nervous, stuttering, almost whimpering neigh.

“Rrrrrrrr…” the Pyro said. It kneeled down, tilted its head to the side and clasped its hands together. “Lrrk rrt yrr! Rrrnt yrr thrr mrrsht rrdrrrrbrrl thrrng Rrrff rrffrr shrrn! Yrrsh yrr rrr, yrrsh yrr rrr!”

“Pyro,” the Engineer said in a singsong voice, crossing his arms, “we’re on the clock here.”

“Rrr, yrr,” the Pyro said, climbing to its feet again and clearing its throat. “Yrr rrr mrr frrff brrksh,” it added proudly, pointing at the Engineer.

“I’ll pay ya when we get back home,” the Engineer replied. “Remind me.”

The pony let out another nervous neigh.

“I don’t think ‘e speaks English,” the Engineer observed.

“Rrr drrnt thrrnk thrrtsh rr hrr,” the Pyro corrected, tilting its head to the side.

“He, she, I can’t really tell,” the Engineer replied, scratching his head. Snrrk. “But the point is he or she doesn’t speak English, and that means we’re gonna hafta use semaphore. Stand back.” The Pyro dutifully took two small steps back. The Engineer cracked his knuckles, causing the pony to flinch away from him.

The Engineer pointed to himself with one hand and raised one finger on the other. He then pointed to the Pyro and raised another finger. Finally, he raised a third finger on his counting hand, put his pointing hand above his eyes and looked from side to side. After a few moments of this, he shrugged, pointed to the pony and tapped the side of his head.

The pony hesitated for a moment, then nervously reached one leg out the door and pointed in the general direction of Ponyville (not that they knew it was called that). The Engineer responded by giving her a cheery smile and a thumbs-up.

Then the sound of someone heaving and vomiting burst out of the door. The Engineer winced, and the Pyro clapped its hands over its mouth. The pony gasped, darted back inside and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Okay, Pyro, follow me!” the Engineer said quickly, whirling around and charging toward the distant town.

“Whrrt hrrprrnd trr thrr trry?” the Pyro asked, pointing to the tree in question.

The Engineer looked at the distant tree. “Looks like a force field got put up around it,” he observed. “There’s definitely intelligent life there. Maybe they speak English. Let’s try it again.”

When the two humans finally arrived in town, the Engineer skidded to a stop as he approached the force field. The Pyro kept going, however, and slammed into it face first.

The Engineer winced. “Y’all right, Pyro?” he asked.

The Pyro peeled itself off the force field like a cartoon character. “Rrrm rrkrry!” it said cheerfully, giving the Engineer a thumbs-up.

Just then, the door leading onto a second-floor balcony burst open, and a certain purple pony charged out.

“Rr yrrnrrcrrn?!” the Pyro blurted out. “Rrr trrk brrk wrrt Rrr shrrd rrbrrt thrrsh yrrnrrffrrsh!”

“Hey, up there!” the Engineer shouted, waving his arms over his head. Twilight started and looked over at where the voices had come from. She looked panicked before, but when she saw two more humans staring up at her, one of which appeared to lack a face, she reared back and whinnied in shock. To her credit, though, she soon got control of her emotions and did the sensible thing.

“Dammit, this one doesn’t speak English either!” the Engineer spat, stomping his foot. “Okay, Pyro, watch an’—” Before he could finish his sentence, Twilight’s horn started glowing. The Engineer stopped mid-sentence. One eyebrow shot into the air, and his head tilted almost of its own accord. “Is that what I think it is?” he wondered aloud. The Pyro didn’t say anything, still staring at the unicorn, but also tilted its head to the side. Both of their visions were obscured by light, the sound of Twilight’s magic got louder, blah blah blah. You know the drill.

Once the spell was successfully cast, Twilight looked nervously down at the two humans. “C-Can you two understand me?” she asked.

The Engineer’s eyes shot open, and his brows shot up. “We sure can!” he shouted up at her. “Wow, ya channel magic through your horn? How does that work?”

Twilight cried out in shock and terror and darted back over the balcony, sending another blast of magical energy into the force field.

“I ain’t gonna do anythin’ profane to ya to find out, ma’am!” the Engineer said frantically, raising his hands.

“What are you… you things?” Twilight asked, slowly peeking back over the balcony. “Are you aliens?”

“Ya could say that,” the Engineer replied, crossing his arms. “Technically, though, we’re human bein’s.”

“H-Humans?” Twilight repeated incredulously, leaning forward to get a better look at them. “Humans?! …W-Well, there is a pretty strong resemblance, I’ll admit, but humans aren’t real! True, they’ve appeared in the mythology of almost every culture known to ponykind, but they’re not real! They’re just myths!”

“Lemme give ya some advice, ma’am,” the Engineer said, smiling warmly. “In my personal experience, if ya assume that all myths, legends an’ prophecies are true, everythin’ gets a little easier.”

“So… wait, are you aliens or humans?” Twilight asked, starting to get confused.

The Engineer chuckled. “Technically, we’re both,” he replied.

“Wait, what?” Twilight asked.

“Rrnjrrnrrr,” the Pyro interjected in a sing-song voice, putting its hand on the Engineer’s shoulder, “wrr nrrd trr frrnd thrr Mrrdrrk.”

“Oh, yeah,” the Engineer said quickly, snapping his fingers. “Ma’am, we’re—”

“Wait a minute!” Twilight interjected. “How come I can understand you—” She pointed to the Engineer. “—but not you?” She pointed to the Pyro.

“He’s wearin’ a gas mask,” the Engineer replied.

“Oh! Oh, of course!” Twilight said, rolling her eyes. “Duh! Why didn’t I think of that? I thought that was just what female humans looked like at first. I need to update my cryptozoological texts, now that I think about it…”

“‘Scuse me!” the Engineer interjected, raising his hand. “Can it wait? My friend an’ I are lookin’ for someone. He’s a human, like us. Tall, thin, black hair, glasses, lab coat—” He continued in a poor impression of a German accent. “—probably talks like zis?”

“H-Him?” Twilight blurted out, taking a few steps back. “The one who kept going on about dissecting us?”

The Engineer and the Pyro exchanged a look. “That’s him, all right!” the Engineer shouted up at Twilight. “Which way’d ‘e go?”

“I-I don’t know!” Twilight answered. “He ran off into Ponyville! I don’t know which way he went, but I heard glass breaking in that direction a while ago!” She quickly pointed in the direction of Lyra’s house.

“Much obliged, ma’am!” the Engineer said, giving Twilight a warm smile and tipping his hard hat. “Keep that force field up! When the good doctor’s under control, we’ll come back an’ letcha know!”

“Doctor?!” Twilight repeated, incredulously. But the Engineer and Pyro were already running headfirst into Ponyville, leaving Twilight in the dust behind them.

“Thanks for your help, ma’am!” the Engineer shouted over his shoulder.

“Grrdbrry, yrrnrrcrrn!” the Pyro said, waving to Twilight as it ran backwards after the Engineer. And then the two of them turned a corner and were gone.

Twilight was left just standing there, dazed and confused. It was only a few moments for most of the world, but I’m sure it felt like a lifetime to her. “…What… just happened?” she wondered aloud. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

The Engineer and the Pyro found a house with a broken window easily. Without wasting any time, the Engineer vaulted through the window and opened the door for the Pyro. “Thrrnk yrr,” it said, stepping into the foyer.

The Engineer heard a faint moan behind him and whipped around to see a white earth pony lying on the floor of the foyer. She wasn’t moving a whole lot, aside from the odd shiver and shallow breathing, but she did look really scared.

The Pyro gasped and put its hand to its air filter. “Rrr nrrw…” it murmured. “R-Rrnjrry, rrsh shrry rrkrry?”

“I’ll find out,” the Engineer said, stepping forward and kneeling down in front of her. “Can ya hear me, ma’am?” he asked.

The pony groaned. “Y… Yes…”

“Oh, good,” the Engineer said, putting his hand on his chest. He took the opportunity to examine the pony, and noticed a dark red stain on her side and leg. More to the point, he saw syringes sticking out of those areas. “Another human’s been through ‘ere, right?” he asked.

“Uh… huh,” the pony moaned.

“Where’d ‘e go?” the Engineer asked, gently placing his gloved hand on the pony’s side.

“Up… stairs…” the pony replied, not making any indication that she felt his touch.

“…Anybody up there with him?” the Engineer asked, cringing.

“My… sister…” the pony answered, her eyes beginning to glaze over.

“All right, we’ll take care a’ this,” the Engineer asked, standing up. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll get’cha some help. Just hold on for a few more minutes. Pyro, on my six.”

The two of them climbed the stairs as quickly and quietly as they could. When they reached the top of the stairs, the Engineer immediately saw a closed door to his left. He raised his hand, signalling the Pyro to stop, and pressed his ear against the door. He heard what was going on in the room and winced. “Oh God, please don’t let that be what I think it is…” he said under his breath. He stood up and tried the knob, and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. So he did what any mercenary would do.

He pulled out his shotgun, pointed it at the lock, making sure to angle it toward the ground, and took a deep breath. “One… two…” And then he shot out the lock and kicked the door open.

Now, see if you can guess where I’m going with this.

“NOBODY MO— Oh, GOD! MEDIC, YOU PROMISED!” he shouted, rearing backwards and covering his eyes.

The Pyro reared back, clapped its hands over its eyeholes, and shrieked.

“Zis isn’t vat it looks like!” the Medic blurted out. “It started as a vivisection, but zen it vent horribly wrong!”

Author's Note

If you only learn one thing from this chapter, make it this: war is only tragic when you want it to be. At any rate, thank you all for continuing to put up with this garbage. Loved it? Hated it? Were indifferent towards it? Tell me why in the comments! Otherwise, how can I conform my story to the expectations and whims of every single person who reads it, thus making it perfect by everyone's standards?

4: Got a Light?

Chapter Four: Got a Light?

As you’ve probably figured out by now, the Engineer’s a pretty nice guy. In fact, he’s a really nice guy. He was raised on Southern hospitality, the teachings of his grandfather, and the kind of love and tolerance you really wouldn’t expect to find in early twentieth-century Texas. There are even some guys who say he’s the nicest mercenary on the RED Team. And he’s second-in-command, too—whenever the Soldier can’t take the helm and lead his team, the Engineer does it. Not that those two facts are in any way related, of course. But the point is, the Engineer’s usually really nice, both to civilians and to members of his own team.

Usually. But put yourself in his situation here. I think you’d be a little upset, too. I’m sure you can work out what happened in that room on your own, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. The Medic cut Lyra open, the Medic put Lyra back together, the Medic… heh, did a thing. So the Engineer ended up dragging the Medic out of the room by his ear, the Pyro trailing behind them, leaving a very confused, disheartened, and ashamed Lyra in the bedroom they’d found her in. At least, I think she was ashamed. I didn’t have a psychic link with her, so I don’t know for sure. But really, can you blame me for thinking that?

“Mrr rrysh…” the Pyro murmured, not taking its rubber-clad hands off the eye-holes in its mask. “Thrr mrrshk drrsh nrrthrrng…”

“Whadda ya hafta say for yourself, Doc?!” the Engineer demanded, dragging the Medic off the staircase and yanking him into the foyer. The Medic stumbled forward, almost tripping over the white pony from earlier. Her leg twitched and she groaned softly as the human stumbled over her, but she didn’t move beyond that.

“I said I vas sorry!” the Medic said defensively.

“That’s what’cha said last time!” the Engineer snapped. “An’ the time before that, an’ the time before that, an’ the time before that! Now, first things first, check her vitals!” He jabbed a finger down at the almost-unconscious Bon Bon. Because that’s who that was. You picked up on that, right? Okay.

The Medic rolled his eyes, scoffed and knelt down. “Can you hear me?” he asked, placing two fingers on his victim’s neck.

“…Can’t… move…” Bon Bon managed to moan.

The Pyro took its hands off its face and looked down at the pony. “…Rrr, nrrw…” it mumbled, numbly stepping forward and kneeling down to look her in the eyes.

“Eh, ve’ve got a pulse,” the Medic said. “…Sort of…”

“What’dja put in those syringes, Doc?” the Engineer demanded, tapping his foot and glaring angrily at the Medic.

“Nozzink out of ze ordinary,” the Medic replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Anticoagulant, VLT fluid, zose random chemicals I just put in for laughs… you know, ze usual. It vould seem zis combination causes a delayed paralytic effect on ponies. Zat’s interestink.”

“Save it, Doc,” the Engineer growled.

“H-Hrry, shprrkrrng rrff drrgsh…” the Pyro said shakily, gently placing its gloved hand on the shivering pony’s side. “Thrr Mrrdrrk… nrrdsh trr trrk hrrsh… hrrsh mrrdsh. Shrrw… thrrsh drrshrrnt hrrprrn rrgrrn.”

“Oh, yeah,” the Engineer said, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, ya do need to take your meds, Doc. But first, save it.”

“Save her,” the Medic corrected.

The Engineer’s eye twitched. “Well, you would know, wouldn’cha!” he snapped.

“So… cold…” Bon Bon moaned slowly.

The Pyro whimpered softly.

“Heal, goddammit!” the Engineer barked, pointing at the injured earth pony.

The Medic scoffed. “I vill, I vill!” he spat, rolling his eyes. “Just…” He smirked and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “…hold your horses.” He then pulled out his Medigun and aimed it at the injured pony, chuckling at his own joke. He flicked a switch, switching the device up to the high setting, and pushed the lever forward. A red gas flowed out of the end of the Medigun and engulfed the pony, bathing her in its essence. Ethereal red crosses faded in and out of existence along the beam of energy. As the gas washed over the pony, she began to slowly move faster and less… in the way a paralyzed pony would move. That makes sense, right?

Not particularly.

Heheh, bite me. Anyway, as the gas flowed over the pony’s body, the syringes popped out of her and fell to the floor like so much garbage. The bloodstains on her coat slowly diminished until they vanished altogether, as though the blood was being sucked back into her. Eventually, she found that she was able to stand up. By this time, her injuries were completely healed. The gas began to pool around her body, and several red crosses began to fade in and out of existence around her body.

And then the Medic released the lever. The beam of red energy stopped flowing from the Medigun. The pony took a long, deep, shuddering breath.

“Hrrw drr yrr frrl?” the Pyro asked nervously.

The pony gave the Pyro a strange look. “…What did you say?” she asked.

“He said, how do ya feel?” the Engineer repeated impatiently.

Bon Bon started. She looked at the Engineer, then the Pyro, then the Engineer again, then the Medic. “…I feel… pretty good, actually,” she answered, sounding more than a little surprised. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The Pyro took a deep, shuddering breath, and put its hand on its chest. “Thrrnk Grrd…”

“Good,” the Medic replied, putting the Medigun away. “Zat’s vat vas supposed to happen. Not zat I vas expectink anyzing different, mind you, but zere vas alvays ze possibility ze Medigun vould react differently to unicorns zan it did to…” The Medic furrowed his brow and crossed his arms. “…Zan it did to… hm.”

Lucky for him, I still had a psychic link with his mind. “Earth ponies,” I said helpfully. Of course, I said it in an impression of the Medic’s voice. It was such a good impression, the Medic didn’t even realize he didn’t think that.

“Earth ponies!” the Medic said, snapping his fingers and smiling in satisfaction. “Earth ponies, right. Anyvay, you’re good to go. Get rid of zose syringes, try not to move too fast for a vile, don’t eat anyzink for an hour, and try to forget zis ever happened. Oh, and talk to Lyra. I’m not entirely sure, but she might need a shoulder to cry on.”

Now, normally, the Engineer isn’t one for bitter sarcasm. Because, you know, he’s just such a nice guy. A mass murderer, sure, but a polite one. But I’m not very normal, am I? “Oh. Lyra, huh? Ya got ‘er name this time?” he snapped. “Congratulations, Doc, you’re improvin’.”

“Hey!” the Medic said defensively, throwing out his hands. “Ven I vent into zis, all I vanted to do vas a vivisection!”

“That’s ‘ow ‘e explained Earth-UBSM2-Prime,” I pointed out in a flawless impression of the Engineer’s voice.

“That’s whatcha said back in the Archipelago a’ the Breath!” the Engineer snapped, more due to his reflexes than to an intent to insult the Medic.

The Medic’s eye twitched anyway. “How do you know?! You veren’t even zere!” he spat.

“I read the report, just like everyone else!” the Engineer snapped. “And all a’ that coulda been avoided if ya’d just kept it in your goddamn pants for once! At the very least, ya shoulda’ gotten ‘is name first!”

“I said I vas sorry!” the Medic shouted.

“Y’know what? I don’t really believe ya, Red Medic the Unfadin’!” the Engineer spat back.

“Grrysh, thrrt wrrsh rrlmrrsht twrrlff yrrsh rrgrrw,” the Pyro pointed out, raising a finger hesitantly.

“I don’t care how long ago it was, Pyro! He’s basically the Devil!” the Engineer countered. “Y’know, I don’t like havin’ to explain why the team doctor’s the chief representation a’ evil t’ some nomads in an alternate universe! It’s embarrassin’ an’ it’s bad PR!”

“Uh…” the pony interjected, staring at the humans confusedly.

Suddenly, the Medic balled his hands into fists. “Vell, zat hardly seems fair,” he snarled, jabbing a finger right back at the Engineer, “comink from you, Herr Horzine Consultant!”

A cold silence fell over the room. No one moved. No one spoke. No one even wanted to breathe. After what felt like a small lifetime, the Engineer slowly looked down and met the gaze of the pony who had almost died a few minutes ago.

“Leave,” he snarled, his voice quivering with rage. “Now.”

The pony gulped, recognizing that the Engineer was completely pissed, and slunk up the stairs to lock herself in her sister’s bedroom. Of course, that didn’t work, since the lock was shot out, but she didn’t know that at the time.

The instant the Engineer heard the door close, he lost it. “Don’t you DARE mention Horzine in front a’ me!” he bellowed, throwing an enraged finger at the Medic.

“Yrr, Hrrshrrn wrrshrrnt hrrsh frrlt!” the Pyro blurted out, curling its hands into fists. “Hrr rrffrrn hrrlpd crryntrrn thrr rrtbrrrk!”

“It doesn’t matter zat he helped contain ze outbreak!” the Medic snapped. “The outbreak vouldn’t haff even happened if he hadn’t decided to tamper vis God’s domain!”

“I didn’t tamper with God’s domain! I just upgraded some machinery!” the Engineer shouted. “I had no idea it’d get that outta hand! It wasn’t my fault!”

“It vas completely your fault!” the Medic shot back. “I might be a figure analogous to ze Devil, but you destroyed London! Sooner or later, you’re goink to have to accept zat!”

“SHUT UP!” the Engineer screamed.

“No, YOU shut up!” the Medic countered.

…Okay, that last part may not have actually happened. But the point is, the Engineer and the Medic descended into a long and impassioned bickering spree. Fingers were pointed, accusations were thrown, exploits in alternate universes were brought up. And as usual, the Pyro wanted to break things up, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I have to say, it’s fun to watch two grown humans screaming at each other like that. And it was even more fun to go through their memories and figure out whose fault it really was in all the cases they brought up.

But anyway, after a few solid minutes of shouting—about ten, actually—I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I planted an idea in the Engineer’s head. Now, in these kinds of arguments, there isn’t normally a lot of room between the brain and the mouth, so he seized on the idea without bothering to think about where it came from.

“Oh yeah? Then how d’ya explain Draaksice?!” he bellowed. By this point, his hard hat was practically pressed against the Medic’s forehead.

“Oh, don’t you start about Draaksice again!” the Medic screeched.

“I mean, I understand your scientific curiosity. Fine! I get it!” the Engineer spat. “But this ‘as gotten us in so much trouble before! How many times’ve we come across gods from ancient, lost civilizations in our multiversal travels? Too many times, Doc!”

“Now vait just a minute!” the Medic shouted, raising a finger.

“Grrysh…” the Pyro moaned, its hand still planted firmly on its face.

“An’ then,” the Engineer continued, planting his hand on the Medic’s shoulder, “one finally shows up in our neck a’ the woods, an’ it goes on a rampage! Fine! I get it! That’s just whatcha do—” He shoved the Medic away. “—in that situation!”

“Now, hold on! Draaksice vasn’t a lost god!” the Medic interjected, stomping back up to the Engineer. “He vas an alien who came to Earth impersonatink a lost god so zat he could conquer ze planet! Zen ze rest of his race vould come down and ‘save’ humanity, thus earnink anozzer species to enslave, genetically modify, and eventually absorb into zeir empire!”

“Grrysh…” the Pyro sighed, shaking its head.

“Close enough!” the Engineer shouted. “The point is, for all intents an’ purposes, there was basically a lost god from within our universe—from the same damn planet as us—attackin’ Earth!”

“Vell, it vas entertainink, at least!” the Medic spat.

“Yeah, Doc! Halloween ‘82 was a helluva lotta fun!” the Engineer shouted. “An’ apparently, you thought so, too! Remind me, what’d we do t’ celebrate Australian Christmas that year?”

“You—” the Medic started.

“As I recall,” the Engineer bellowed, “we hung our stockin’s, sang some songs, went to the Shifturians’ forward base in New Atlantis an’ beat ‘em back to Alpha Centauri… but I don’t remember you bein’ there!” He jabbed yet another indignant finger at the Medic, actually making contact with his chest this time. “Where were ya on the night a’ December 17th, 1982, Doc?”

“Grrrsh, plrrysh shtrrp rrt,” the Pyro groaned, taking its hand off its face.

“I vas—” the Medic started.

“Oh, that’s right!” the Engineer screamed. “Ya spent Australian Christmas breakin’ into a top-secret, high-security vault under Washington, D.C. and freein’ Draaksicefrom the statue we trapped him in! Ya musta really had fun on Halloween, huh?!”

“I still zink zat vas a good idea!” the Medic screeched.

“Why?!” the Engineer bellowed. “Why was it a good idea to resurrect an alien impersonatin’ the Atlantean god of chaos, with advanced alien technology that let ‘im perfectly imitate that god’s reality warpin’ powers? Please, explain it to me because I do not understand!”

“Grrysh, plrrsh! Rrt drrshrrnt mrrtrrr!” the Pyro snapped.

“Zink of ze potential!” the Medic replied. “Imagine vat ve could do if ve could figure out how to subvert natural law! Perpetual-motion machines, free energy, alchemy zat actually vorks! If ve didn’t haff zose pesky laws of reality to vorry about, ve could do all zat and more! All I had to do vas reverse-engineer his arsenal!”

“An’ how’d that turn out for ya?!” the Engineer screamed. “All ya ended up doin’ was freein’ ‘im! He didn’t cooperate with ya! He rampaged across Earth again! We fought off an alien invasion, an’ we were set to fight off another two months later! Did ya really wanna start third?! It wasn’t even original! It was just an encore a’ the first one!”

The Medic scoffed. “Every experiment involves some amount of risk, Engineer! If you really zought zat vas goink to stop me, zen—”

All of a sudden, there was a faint tinkling and the sound a deflating trombone makes. The two mercenaries jumped at the unexpected and unfamiliar sound. But they jumped even more at the next one.

The Pyro screamed, and two white-hot jets of flame shot up out of thin air in front of its eyeholes. It darted forward, grabbed the back of the two bickering mercenaries’ heads in each of its hands, yanked them backwards, and slammed them into each other as hard as it could.

“UNF!” the Medic shouted.

Of course, the Engineer was wearing a hard hat, so the Pyro’s attack had a much lesser effect on him. “Pyro, what’n the—” he started.

Before he could finish his sentence, the Pyro grabbed the Engineer’s helmet, hurled it across the room, yanked its teammates’ heads back and slammed them together again. “SHRRT RRRRRRRRP!” it screamed.

There was a long, awkward silence after this. The Engineer and the Medic didn’t say anything, just staring at the Pyro in shock. I’m just gonna come out and say it. About half the color had drained out of its body. I was proud of myself that evening, let me tell you.

The Pyro panted heavily, not letting go of its teammates’ heads, as the plumes of fire in front of its face slowly dwindled down to dull embers and died out. And even after the fire died, there was an awkward silence for a few solid seconds. I really wish the smoke detector had gone off. That would’ve been hilarious.

“Mein Gott,” the Medic murmured. In a single fluid motion, he tapped his forehead, his stomach, and each of his shoulders with one hand. Funny, he’s not a very religious man. Earth-UBSM2-Prime is proof enough of that.

“Wh-Who are you?! What’d ya do to our Pyro?” the Engineer snapped. His voice wavered and cracked in quite an amusing manner.

Instead of responding, the Pyro did something that it really was not supposed to do. It lifted its hand to its gas mask and flipped down the filter. It took a long, deep breath, during which time it grabbed the Medic’s head again, and then it broke what was literally the first rule set before it in its contact with RED. …Well… maybe. I mean, if you want to get technical, it didn’t really break the rule. I’m pretty sure what it did was supposed to be against the rules, but it must’ve slipped through the cracks somehow. Anyway, the point is…

“Good God, I can’ breathe in this thing,” it rasped. Its voice was lower and more gravelly than anything its teammates had ever heard it say before. You could only get that voice two ways. Either damage your lungs through years and years of constant smoke inhalation and exposure to asbestos… or disguise your voice. And since the Pyro’s constantly respawning with new sets of lungs, it was pretty clearly the latter. The Engineer and the Medic instantly realized the Pyro’s voice wasn’t genuine. As for its Irish accent… well, they weren’t so sure about that.

And then it sunk in that holy shit, the Pyro just said something without its filter on. The two mercenaries gasped in horror and tried to rear backwards in shock, but couldn’t because the Pyro still had their heads. As they struggled, its iron grip only got tighter. It twisted its teammates’ heads around so that they were forced to look into those empty, soulless portholes that it called its eyes. And then it kept speaking.

“Shu’ up. Both o’ ye, jus’ shu’ up. None o’ tha’ bullshi’ ye were jus’ spewin’ even mat’ers. The only people ‘oo care abou’ any o’ those incidents are ‘istorians, na’ives, an’ apparently you two! The only time they mat’er is when we get back ‘ome and get the ‘ats commemoratin’ first contact, bu’ ‘onestly, ‘oo—” The Pyro ripped its Handyman’s Handle off its head. “—the ‘ell—” It threw the hat down on the floor. “—CARES ABOU’ ‘ATS?!” It stomped on the toilet plunger with every word, and on the third stomp, the handle snapped in half. The Engineer and the Medic winced.

“There’re only two universes tha’ mat’er righ’ now,” the Pyro continued, grabbing the Medic’s head again, “an’ those universes are HOA1-Prime an’ VC8-Prime! An’ speakin’ o’ things tha’ mat’er, ‘ere’s sum’n tha’ mat’ers one ‘elluva lo’ more’n anythin’ ye’ve said in the past few minutes!” Suddenly, the Pyro let go of its teammates’ heads and shoved them in the chest, sending them both stumbling backwards. It then reached behind its back and pulled out a black stone battle axe with molten lava where the blade should’ve been. “If the two o’ ye don’ shu’ up in the nex’ five seconds, I swear t’ God, by the time I’m done wiff ye, there’ll be nuttin’ left but two charred black skele’ons!”

And then the color flowed back into the Pyro’s body. There was no tinkling, no re-inflating trumpet, no noise of any kind. The color just flowed back up from its feet to the top of its suddenly bare head. It didn’t move for a while. It just stared at its two teammates. Eventually, it tilted its head to the side. “Hwat?” it asked. That time, it definitely violated its contract. Its voice was now much higher-pitched, and it had a completely different accent, familiar but unplaceable. The Engineer and the Medic weren’t the only ones who realized that. Gasping in horror, the Pyro dropped its axe, flipped the filter back up, and clapped its hands over it.

“Wrrt thrr flrryrrng frrk jrrsht hrrprrnd?” it asked. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

The Engineer and the Medic slowly turned to look at each other, then back at the Pyro. “Pyro,” the Medic murmured, “I don’t vant to panic you, but I zink ve might haff invoked Dra—”

The Engineer clapped his hand over the Medic’s mouth without taking a step toward him. “—the alien impersonatin’ the Atlantean god of chaos,” he finished. “I think we accidentally invoked ‘im, an’ ‘e possessed ya somehow.”

“…Brrt, thrry prrt hrrm brrk rrn thrr rrshrrn…” the Pyro pointed out, lifting its finger. “Rrnd wrrr rrn rrnrrthrr yrrnrrvrrsh. Hrrw crrd Drrrkshrrsh…”

“I don’t know, but those’re the facts,” the Engineer countered. I’m not the biggest fan of people who just accept things when they’re impossible, to be honest. People like the RED Team are really hard to surprise.

“Wrrt… Wrrt drrd hrr drr trr mrr?” the Pyro asked.

The Medic forced the Engineer’s hand off his face. “You turned grey,” he answered, “you attacked us, you put ze filter down and zen…”

“Then ya started talkin’ like ex-President Roosevelt, ‘cept with an Irish accent,” the Engineer finished.

“Wrrt?” the Pyro asked, tilting its head to the side. “Wrrch Rrrshrrffrrlt?”

“Theodore,” the Engineer replied. “Y’know, number twenty-six? Assumed power after McKinley was defeated? Chose t’ accept no Presidential Endowments, instead relyin’ on ‘is quick wit, skill in hand-t’-hand combat and vast arsenal a’ gadgets to enforce truth, justice, an’ the American way?”

“Thrr ‘Shprrk shrrftlrry rrnd crrrry rr brrg shtrrk’ grry?” the Pyro asked.

“Yep, that’s the one,” the Engineer replied. Lemme tell you, when the Engineer and the Soldier start discussing who the best President is, turn and run as fast as you can.

“…Rrw, yrr…” the Pyro said softly. It looked down and sighed. Then it gasped in horror. It fell to its knees frantically and snatched up the two broken pieces of its hat. “Wrr-Wrrt hrrprrnd?!” it blurted out.

“You stomped it in two,” the Medic said, concern briefly gracing his voice. “Do you remember any of zis?”

“Rrr… Rrr drrnt…” the Pyro answered softly, sounding genuinely scared. It let out a soft, almost imperceptible noise that the Engineer and Medic recognized as a faint sob.

The Engineer and the Medic exchanged a nervous look. “Engineer, damage control,” the Medic hissed.

“On it,” the Engineer hissed back. He stepped forward, knelt down and lifted the Pyro’s chin, forcing it to look into his eyes. “Okay, look,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Please calm down, Pyro. I-It’s gonna be okay.”

“…B-Brrt yrr brrrt thrrsh hrrt frr mrry…” the Pyro whimpered.

“I know I did,” the Engineer replied. “We’ll… We’ll get it fixed somewhere! This looks like an intelligent universe. There must be a tailor ‘round ‘ere somewhere. Or a woodworker, or at the very least, some duct tape.”

“Brrt… w-wrrt rrbrrt mrr ffrrsh?” the Pyro asked.

“Oh, that!” the Engineer replied, chuckling nervously. “Heh. Shoulda dealt with that first, huh?”

“Yrr hrrd mrry ffrrsh wrrthrrt thrr frrltrr,” the Pyro whimpered. “Rrr… ffrryrrlrrtrrd mrr crrntrrct…”

The Engineer paused. “Well, uh… uhhh… w-well, you… uh… ah, shucks…” He cringed and broke eye contact with the Pyro. The Pyro was right, and he knew that. And he didn’t have any response to the situation. No, really, he didn’t have any way to get out of this. I honestly cannot believe that I had to throw him a bone, but… there you go.

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

A few seconds of stunned silence followed.

“H-Haff you gone mad?!” the Medic blurted out. Oh, the irony.

“I… I-I think I must have,” the Engineer replied, removing his hard hat.

But, the idea wouldn’t go back once it had been spoken. It hung there like a corpse from the gallows, swinging back and forth as the audience’s polite applause faded into nothing, waiting for somepony to acknowledge it and… wait, this metaphor doesn’t work. Um… Well, whatever. It just hung there.

And no one said anything about it for… what, two minutes? What have you done to these mercenaries to instill such obedience, Helen? Don’t answer that. I already know. And I know you’re expecting me to say I’m very disappointed in you, but actually, I think it’s kind of funny for reasons that it’d take too long to explain. Something to do with an urban legend. But anyway, after about two minutes, I just got fed up and started looking for the switches labeled “reluctantly agree.” I didn’t find them until a minute later.

The Pyro eventually took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. “Rrkrry, Rrnjrrnrrr,” it said. “Rrr… Rrr trrrsht yrr.”

“Engineer, zis is emphatically not a good idea,” the Medic pointed out, rubbing his chin and tapping his foot over and over again. “If she ever finds out about zis, ve’re dead hundreds of times over! Zousands, millions! I-I don’t vant to commit autocannibalism again!”

The Engineer gave his teammate a reassuring nod. “Then she won’t find out,” he said simply. He extended his hand to the Pyro. It took his hand, and they stood up. “Let’s go,” he said simply.

The three of them walked out of the house without another word. None of them said anything. They all had to go away for a while and think about what they’d done. But they had something else on their minds, too, and it was keeping them from effectively doing that: the Pyro’s sudden and inexplicable possession. Let me put this in perspective for you. It took the Soldier a week to try and attack his teammates. It took the Medic a month. It took the Heavy, the minigun guy, six months. Even the Engineer, nice as he was, only took ten months to snap. There are nine RED mercenaries, and by the first year of their employment, eight of them had tried to assault, brutalize, or flat-out kill one of their teammates… with varying levels of success.

The only one who didn’t was the Pyro. The Pyro never lost its cool. It—pffft! Ha! I didn’t even mean to say that! Anyway, it never attacked anyone off the battlefield, least of all its own teammates. It was always the calm, collected one. Even when it was in a bad mood after taking its medication, it just sulked. Now don’t get me wrong, it got mad sometimes, but it never ever ever got mad enough to attempt murder. It was normally happy when it attempted murder. Threatening to kill someone out of rage… well, that was just crazy.

In fact, that was just about the opposite of what the Pyro would do.

Ha ha ha… Ha ha ha ha… Ha ha ha ha ha ha…! Hahahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!

…Hahhh… Ohhh, Lord. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

You’re either lying, an idiot, or both.

I sigh. “I told you not to interrupt me,” I say, casually fiddling with three switches on the dashboard in front of me and watching the monitors turn on and off.

“Discord,” Helen says calmly, “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

I snort. “No, you really weren’t!” I cry out. I reach up and yank my horns off my head with two surprisingly loud pops, and hit the switchboard with them three times. It sounds like a rimshot. “Thank you and goodnight!”

To my left, Helen rolls her eyes. “You were maintaining at least three psychic links at the time you claim to have cast this spell,” she points out. “I assume that while you were imprisoned, you could only cast spells to affect the minds of those you had psychic connections with?”

“Sharp as always, aren’t we, Helen?” I say smugly, screwing my horns back on one at a time.

“I can accept planting an idea in the Engineer’s head,” Helen says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her wriggling around in her bonds. “I can even accept you doing so twice. As unlikely as it is, it’s possible. But a full-fledged personality reversal?”

“That’s kinda my thing,” I reply casually.

“The spell you’ve described is not even remotely possible, according to the consensus of the world’s most skilled Neuromancers,” Helen says flatly.

“Impossi—” I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. The thought occurs to me as I’m laughing that it might be kind of rude to laugh at her. I manage to reign it in slightly. “Helen, Helen! Dear, sweet, innocent Helen!” I snap my talons. There’s a bright flash of light, and soon enough, the office-style chair I used to be sitting on has transformed into a vaguely demonic-looking obsidian throne.

“Do you really think I’m not going to be able to do something just because it’s impossible?” I ask. “I’m the god of chaos and disharmony! Doing the impossible is my job!” I snap my talons again, and a bright red rose appears in my paw. “Which reminds me,” I say, stretching my arm out and tucking the flower into Helen’s gray-streaked mane, “have I mentioned I love you?” I grin what I hope is a charming grin at her.

“All right, fine,” Helen scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you can cast the spell.”

“Well, fine. I like a mare who plays hard to get,” I croon. I shoot Helen a coy grin and click my tongue.

“You did have access to the Pyro’s mind,” Helen says flatly, “so it’s feasible that you could have cast it on—” Uh oh. I reflexively snap my fingers. A loud, tonal beep suddenly cuts through the room, drowning out Helen’s next word.

“Ah ah ah, Helen,” I say, waggling a finger at her. “You’re not supposed to know what the Pyro is yet. I’m saving that for the big dramatic reveal at the end.”

“I already know that the Pyro is a—” I snap my fingers again, and Helen’s next few words are drowned out again.

“Zip your lip with a padlock, woman,” I chuckle. I snap my fingers. A jukebox appears to my right, and a bottle of whiskey materializes in my hand.

Helen rolls her eyes. “Very well,” she says. “However, based on what you said earlier, I got the impression that it would take a lot of this ‘chaos energy’ of yours to use your powers while imprisoned.”

“Yes,” I say, reclining in my throne. I throw the bottle back, shutting my eyes as I chug its contents. “Normally,” I say while drinking, “it’d take a month for me to establish a psychic link with somepony, talk to them for an hour, give them a mood swing, or hide somepony’s carriage keys. What’s your point?” I open my eyes again. The bottle is gone, but the whiskey is still there. I groan in frustration and hurl the whiskey over my shoulder. “Every time!” I growl as the whiskey explodes against the wall.

“A full-fledged personality reversal is not minor,” Helen says, completely ignoring what I’ve just done. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glaring at me. “It must have cost an incredible amount of energy to do that, even for the relatively short time you did it. If you could just do that whenever you wanted, after all, what would be the point of imprisoning you?”

Now that’s logic for you. “Uh huh,” I say, pretending to be distracted by the screens in front of me.

“So if you had that much energy to spare,” Helen concludes, her glare shifting to a satisfied smirk, “why didn’t you simply use it to break the seal and escape from your stone prison?”

“Oh, Helen,” I sigh, turning back to her and grinning again. “I can see how you came to that conclusion, but that’s not how the seal that imprisoned me works. If I could have just amassed the proper amount of energy to escape, even I would’ve learned to be patient eons ago.”

“Well, how does the seal work, then?” Helen asks.

I swivel my throne around to face her. “Well, you see, it—”

Suddenly, the sound of knocking cut through the room, interrupting me. “Administrator? Are you all right?” asks a hesitant female voice. I raise my eyebrows in mild concern. “Um, I heard maniacal laughter, and it didn’t sound like you. Is everything okay in there?”

“Miss Pauling, initiate protocol 7R32-G,” Helen says calmly and matter-of-factly. “This is not a drill.”

My eyebrows go up again. “Oh, you’re Miss Pauling!” I say. “Lovely to meet you! Say, while you’re activating the protocol, do you think you could get me some coffee? I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in centuries.”

“Wh— I-I’m asking the questions here!” Miss Pauling replies, sounding uncharacteristically panicked. “Who are you?!”

“Discord’s the name!” I answer cheerfully, beaming with pride. “God of chaos and disharmony, hailing from HOA1-Prime! And I guess I’m the new Administrator now, too!”

“What have you done to the Administrator?!” Miss Pauling asks, unable to hide her panic.

“Oh, nothing yet,” I reply, examining my talons.

“Yet?” Miss Pauling repeated.

“I might turn her into a pony at some point,” I sneer. “I haven’t decided.”

“Would that be an Earth pony, or one of the ponies from your dimension?” Helen interjects, rolling her eyes again.

I blink. “Earth ponies are from my dimension,” I point out, tilting my head to the side and stroking my beard.

“An Earth-VC8-Prime pony,” Helen scoffs.

Oh! Well, now I feel dumb. “Oh! No, I’m gonna turn you into an Equus-HOA1-Prime pony,” I clarify, nodding in understanding. “In fact, I’m gonna do that right now!” I point my claw at the Administrator in the classic finger gun position. “Kiss your opposable thumbs goodbye, sweetheart!” I cackled.

I imagine that Miss Pauling must be shouting from behind the door for the Administrator not to panic, that help would be arriving shortly. But over the sounds of electricity sparking the tip of my claw, magic shifting the shape of Helen’s elderly body, her agonized screams, and my own maniacal laughter, Miss Pauling’s assumed words of encouragement fall on deaf ears. Blinding white light streams through the room and under the crack in the door ten feet away. I’m forced to pull a pair of red-rimmed sunglasses out from behind my back and put them on so that I can still look at the spell I’m casting.

Two minutes of agonizing transformation later, the blinding white light and the sound of magic cuts out as abruptly as if someone flipped a switch.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I say smugly.

After all the effort she’d spent trying to escape her bonds, Helen simply stands up to find them lying on the ground at her feet.

Or her hooves, rather. Her long, thin, almost spindly legs wobble like those of a newborn deer. She blinks her bloodshot grey eyes, adjusting to the semi-darkness of the room. She has dark purple fur all over her body, much like that suit she used to wear, that glistens softly in the cold, pale light of the monitors. On each of her shapely flanks is a yellow circle with the purple silhouette of a microphone on it. Her long, dark grey mane has a single bone-white streak running through it, and her long, flowing tail is the same colors. They both blow endlessly in a non-existent breeze. She spreads her large, powerful wings in an attempt to keep her balance. I don’t think she’s noticed the long, sharp horn sprouting from her forehead yet.

I’ve outdone myself. She’s beautiful. For a few moments, I can’t think of anything to say.

“What have you done to me?” Helen-the-pony asks. Despite her new form, her voice is exactly the same as it ever was.

“Here you go,” I say. I snap my fingers, and a mirror as tall as me appears out of thin air in front of Helen. I immediately start kicking myself. Here you go? I can do better than that. I know I can do better than that. I try to play it off with a charming grin. “Now let’s be honest. You look better than you’ve looked in years!”

Helen examines her new form not with horror as I’d expected, but with awe, curiosity, and intrigue. Her eyes take in every detail. She raises her head slightly and gives her wings a test flap. “Well, this is… interesting,” she remarks. Interesting? That’s it? Come on, I’m way better than just interesting. Work with me, here.

“Interesting would be one word for it, sure,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “I especially liked your cutie mark. That was a nice touch.”

Helen turns to the side, taking small, unsteady steps. She gives me a slightly annoyed, but mostly intrigued look. “Cutie mark?” she repeats.

“That mark on your flanks! You know, the one that tells you what your special talent is!” I say eagerly, pointing to Helen’s hindquarters. Without turning away from me, Helen looks back at the mirror. Now she sees it. She forms her mouth into a line and, almost imperceptibly, nods.

Yes! Approval!

“Very well,” she says, turning back to me. “But why this form? First of all, I appear to be about the same height that I was, but you said earlier ponies were the heights of small dogs. Secondly, I was under the impression that ponies could have either wings, horns, or neither, while I have both.” Is she complaining about that? “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” Oh, good.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re an alicorn, my dear!” I say, clapping his hands. “The rarest and most powerful kind of pony there is! Their special talents are things that bind the world together, and they’re immortal unless you somehow kill them! In fact, back on Equus, Equestria is ruled over by two alicorns who control the sun and moon, and the royal line recently produced an alicorn who can spread love at her whimsy!”

“You haven’t mentioned the existence of physical gods in your story yet,” Helen pointed out. “Besides yourself, that is.”

“Oh, yeah, I haven’t, have I?” I chuckle, turning back to my monitors and switchboard. “Guess I should get back to that now!”

I can’t take my eyes off Helen, so I see her smirk. “If you insist,” she says. “If only because I’m mildly curious now.”

Author's Note

I didn't learn until after I published this chapter that the inclusion of adult humor in your story is grounds for giving it the Mature tag. I am, of course, a stickler for the rules. I'd like to thank my audience retroactively for not reporting this story until that was corrected. And in completely unrelated information, "Adminiscord" is my current Steam handle. At any rate, thank you for reading this thing I'm improbably calling a story. If you have feedback of any kind to give me, feel free to drop it off in the comments below.

5: First Contact

Chapter Five: First Contact

Okay then, where was I…

Oh, right, the mercenaries were just leaving. Well, by the time they went back into the streets of Ponyville, some particularly brave ponies had decided to try and risk going outside. When the humans stepped out of Lyra’s house, though, there was a loud clamor, and the ponies darted back inside their homes.

“Vell, zat could’ve gone vorse,” the Medic said under his breath, clearing his throat.

The Engineer shot his teammate a nervous look. “H-How?” he asked. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

“Lyra could’ve died,” the Medic answered, counting on his fingers. “Zat Bon Bon pony could’ve died. Zere could’ve been more zan two ponies and a dragon injured, not countink Lyra. I could’ve destroyed a building. I could’ve drawn attention from local law enforcement. I could’ve become a prominent religious antagonist again… L-Look, if you zink you can do a better job at being optimistic, you try it!”

“Doc,” the Engineer snapped, “the multiverse doesn’t revolve around you!” There was a brief pause here. The Engineer kept panting frantically, looking around Ponyville like there was an Overseer in every shadow, waiting to drag him back to the Disciplinary Room.

“Say, vant to double up?” the Medic suggested.

The Engineer shoved his hand in his pocket without any hesitation. “Don’t mind if I do,” he blurted out, coming out with a pill bottle. He tried to unscrew it, but his hands were shaking too much.

“Oh, look, ve’re at zat tree again,” the Medic said simply. The three mercenaries stopped in their tracks and looked back up at the tree with the force-field around it.

“A-All clear!” the Engineer shouted up at the balcony. At once, the force field shattered like glass, sending purple-red shards of energy shooting through the air in all directions like ghostly shrapnel that didn’t actually hurt anything by hitting it.

“Vat are ve doink back here?” the Medic asked, completely indifferent to the force field being taken down.

By this time, the Engineer finally managed to get his pill bottle open. He dumped two pills into his hand and tossed them into his mouth as quick as he could. He took a long, deep breath after swallowing them. When he spoke again, his hands had almost stopped shaking. Almost. Enough to let him cap and pocket the bottle, at least. “I promised the p-purple unicorn who lives in this tree that I’d let ‘er know once we’d gotten ya under control, an’ that’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” the Engineer replied.

The Pyro giggled. “Lrrf rrsh mrrnrr thrrngsh rrn Rrrth-Vrr-Rryt-Prrrm, brrt nrrffrr drrl,” it remarked.

“You just love qvoting Mark Twain, don’t you?” the Medic observed.

Just then, the door of the balcony opened, and Twilight charged out, levitating two open books beside her. The look on her face was actually kind of like the Medic’s when he first came up with the Unicorn Man. Without missing a step, she charged up to the railing, planted her front hooves on it and pointed down at the mercenaries. “You’re from an a—” she started. All of a sudden, she reared backwards and cried out, her irises shrinking involuntarily to the size of pinpricks. “Wh-What’s he doing here?!” she shouted, pointing at the Medic.

The Engineer took a deep breath. “It’s fine,” he said, grinning nervously. “‘E’s under control now. I’d say ‘e doesn’t bite, but that ain’t true, is it, Doc?” There was an awkward silence here, broken only by an awkward chuckle from the Engineer.

“Lrrt rrt grr, Rrnjrry,” the Pyro politely requested, placing its hand on the Engineer’s shoulder.

The Engineer flinched at its touch. “Y-Yeah, a’ course,” he said quickly. “Anyway, what were ya sayin’?”

Twilight stepped forward again and cleared her throat nervously. “Y-You’re from an alternate reality, aren’t you?” she asked.

The mercenaries all reared back at once. “What?! How’d you know?!” they blurted out.

A fantastic “eureka!” grin swept onto Twilight’s face. “I knew it!” she blurted out, regaining her intellectual enthusiasm in an instant and pumping her hoof triumphantly. “I knew it! I just knew it! Mythological creatures popping up out of nowhere, ranting and raving with completely skewed, alien moralities, the giant ball of light—it all makes se… it all makes slightly more sense now!”

“Vait, vait, vait,” the Medic interjected, raising his hand. “How’d you come to zat conclusion, Fräu Sparkle? Zat’s kind of a big leap to make.”

“Fräu Sparkle?” the Engineer repeated, shooting the Medic an odd look.

“Zat’s her name,” the Medic explained. “Engineer, zis is Tvilight Sparkle. Fräu Sparkle, ze RED Engineer.”

“Okay. I didn’t know that,” the Engineer said, giving Twilight a warm grin. “Nice meetin’ ya, Miss Twilight. So, how’d ya figure it out?”

“Well,” Twilight explained, grinning like a madmare, “at first I thought you were creatures from Equus with some obscure magical talents, or possibly some kind of experiment in transfiguration or eugenics gone horribly wrong! But then your friend, Medic, called me an alien!”

“I see,” the Engineer said, nodding. He glanced around him briefly before looking back up at Twilight.

“So the possibility of extra-equestrial life was there,” Twilight was saying, not noticing, “but I didn’t really give much weight to it at the time because, really, why would I? That’s just ludicrous and outlandish.”

“Rrnd rrsh brryrrng frrrm rrnrrthrr drrmrrnshrrn rrshrrnt?” the Pyro pointed out, giggling.

“Good to see ya’ve cheered up, Pyro,” the Engineer remarked.

The Medic winced. “No it isn’t,” he whispered.

“Relax, Doc,” the Engineer ordered.

“Look who’s talkink,” the Medic hissed back.

Twilight, meanwhile, looked down at the humans, observing this odd exchange with an appropriately confused look on her face. “…Um…” she said hesitantly. “A-Anyway! I went back inside and did a little more looking around, but then you two showed up looking for the Medic! You said you were humans, which surprised me because I was just looking through factual taxonomies and not cryptozoological texts! And then I asked, ‘Are you aliens or humans?’ And you answered, ‘Technically, both!’”

“All right, and?” the Engineer prompted, crossing his arms and smiling.

“So then I got to thinking,” Twilight continued, “how could you be both humans and aliens? I suppose it’s possible that humans were some kind of extraterrestrial race that came to Equus in ancient times, but since humans are never depicted holding any advanced technology like the kind a spacefaring race would undoubtedly have access to, that seemed unlikely to me. Then I was kind of stumped for a while, so I came back out here and I saw that big ball of light behind the library and I had this crazy idea! I ran back in here and got my copy of The Life and Times of Star Swirl the Bearded, and guess what he was researching in the final days of his life?”

The mercenaries exchanged a look. “Corporomancy,” the Engineer deadpanned, chuckling with only a little nervousness to his voice.

“Nuclear veaponry,” the Medic guessed with no intended irony in his voice.

“Rrntrr-yrrnrrffrrshrrl trrrffrrl?” the Pyro guessed.

“The theory of alternate realities!” Twilight answered excitedly, her grin somehow managing to get wider.

“Thrrtsh wrrt Rrr shrrd,” the Pyro pointed out, crossing its arms.

“He postulated that there were more realities than just ours in existence!” Twilight continued, talking over the Pyro. “He started working out a theoretical way to observe them and even travel between them! And according to his research, that ball of light behind my house is almost exactly what a portal to an alternate reality would look like! I mean, it’s the wrong color, but besides that, it’s a dead ringer!”

The mercenaries exchanged another look, this one decidedly more impressed. “Vell, technically, ze term is alternate universe,” the Medic said, uncrossing his arms. “But still, good vork figuring zis much out, Fräu Sparkle. You’re smarter zan a whole lot of ozzer natives ve’ve encountered before.”

“Rrw! Shrrmwrrn frrgrrrd rrt rrt! Thrrtsh thrrr shrrtsh!” the Pyro pointed out, raising a single finger excitedly.

The Engineer cringed. “No liquor for you, Pyro,” he hissed. “Even if we had any, ya were just possessed, remember?”

“Rrrrrrrw…” the Pyro groaned, slumping over disappointedly.

“Oh, by ze vay,” the Medic said, raising his finger. “Just so ve’re clear, it’s seventeen, finish ze bottle, zree, right?”

The Engineer began counting on his fingers for a few moments. “…Sure, let’s go with that,” he eventually said. “Anyway, Miss Twilight,” he continued, looking back up. “The short version is yes. We are, in fact, from an alternate universe. Specifically, we represent Earth-VC8-Prime. I am the RED Engineer, and these are my teammates, the RED Medic an’ the RED Pyro. We come in peace.”

The Medic snorted. “I vas just about to…” he added under his breath.

“Doc!” the Engineer hissed, appalled and disgusted. You’d think the Engineer would be more respecting of interspecies relationships. I mean, honestly, it’s 1983 over here.

“Actually, zat reminds me,” the Medic interjected, “you have the PDA, still, right?”

The Engineer’s eyebrows shot up, and his reassuring smile vanished. “Uh…” he said softly.

The Medic slapped himself in the face. “You left it in the cave, didn’t you?” he groaned.

“Uh… four…” the Engineer mumbled, putting his hands over his goggles.

The Medic groaned. “Vell, please tell me you at least haff our medications vis you.”

“N-No, a’ course I’ve got those,” the Engineer said quickly, reaching into his pouch. “Which reminds me, ya haven’t taken yours yet.” He glanced back up at Twilight and shot her a mildly nervous grin. “Excuse us for a moment, wouldja?”

He quickly pulled out the two pill bottles and thirteen syringes and handed them to the Medic. The Medic only took one of the pill bottles at first, though. He opened it, poured a red-and-yellow pill into his hand, tossed it into the air and caught it in his mouth. That unnecessary bit of flair done, he screwed the bottle shut and pocketed it. He then scooped the rest of the meds up and put them away. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands and looking back up, “vere vere ve?”

“Uh… What was all that about?” Twilight asked, cringing and refusing to meet any one mercenary’s gaze.

“Well, the Medic’s a doctor, like I said,” the Engineer replied. “So ‘e keeps our meds for us an’ makes sure we take ‘em on time. Pretty simple.”

“Um… o-okay…” Twilight replied nervously. “Um, no offense, but… W-Well, if you have a mental condition, I’m glad you’re on medication for it, but… o-one would think that the representatives your reality—”

“Universe,” the Medic corrected.

“Whatever,” Twilight replied. “One would think the representatives your universe sent to Equestria to make first contact wouldn’t… need medication.”

“Oh, ve veren’t sent here by anyvon,” the Medic replied, chuckling at the idea. “Us? Diplomats? Zere’s not a single vorld in ze multiverse vhere zat’ll ever happen. Zis isn’t an official first contact. Ve’re not even supposed to be in your universe. Ve’re just here because ve pissed off a vizard. Ve’re not supposed to be here, and ve don’t vant to be here any more zan you vant us to be here.”

“Uh… then what’s keeping you from… not being here?” Twilight suggested, unable to hide a nervous and relieved grin.

“Jonason’s Law,” the Engineer replied. He cleared his throat and adjusted his hard hat. “Y’see, how it works is—”

The Pyro cleared its throat. “Mrrbrry yrr shrrdrrnt,” it suggested gently, putting its hand on the Engineer’s shoulder. “Yrr trrnd trr rrrmbrrl.”

The Engineer looked back at the Pyro for a few moments, then sighed. “Yeah, fair enough,” he said. “Exactly why we can’t leave is sum’n it’d take several hours to explain, an’ an advanced degree in inter-universal theory to really unn’rstand. But the short version is, we’re stuck in your universe for five days.”

“F-Five days?” Twilight repeated.

“Yes indeedy,” the Engineer replied. “Well, actually, we showed up last night, so it’d be four an’ a half now. But don’t worry. This ‘appens to us a lot, an’ we really try t’ be good houseguests. We just need some info from ya. First of all, we know the Medic injured two ponies and a dragon in ‘is little rampage earlier. Do ya know where they went?”

“Well, Spike’s inside,” Twilight answered.

“Spike is ze dragon, by ze vay,” the Medic said helpfully.

“Thanks, Doc,” the Engineer replied, nodding. “Is Spike okay?”

“He’s shaken up a little, but he’s fine,” Twilight answered. “He is a dragon, after all. He’s pretty tough.”

“Good t’ hear,” the Engineer replied. “Now, what happened t’ that other pony the Medic attacked?”

“Rainbow Dash?” Twilight answered. “I think she crawled off towards Fluttershy’s cottage. I-It’s—” She cleared her throat, then continued. “It’s on the outskirts of town, by the Everfree Forest.”

“Good,” the Engineer said again. “An’ where can we find a tailor ‘round these parts?”

Twilight blinked, obviously surprised by the request. “A tailor?” she repeated. “Um… Rarity’s a tailor. She lives in Carousel Boutique.”

“How do we get to Carousel Boutique?” the Engineer asked. Twilight told him.

“All righty, then,” the Engineer said again, smiling warmly. “Thanks for your help, Miss Twilight. We’ll try our best t’ stay outta your way from here on out.”

Twilight didn’t say anything.

“So, vat happens now?” the Medic asked.

“Now? Business as usual,” the Engineer replied simply, turning around to face his teammates. “Im’ma track down this Rarity an’ see if I can get the Pyro’s hat fixed.”

“Grrd lrrk,” the Pyro said cheerfully, handing the broken handle to the Engineer. It removed the broken “hat” part of the hat and handed that to him as well. He shoved the two hat pieces into the pouch he kept his shotgun shells in, where they effectively vanished thanks to his Pocketmancy. “Wrrt shrrd Rrr drr rrn thrr mrrntrrm?” the Pyro asked.

“Y’have free reign,” the Engineer replied simply.

“Yrry! Thrrnk yrr, Rrnjrrnrrr!” the Pyro said cheerily, clapping its hands.

“But be careful, like always,” the Engineer added.

“Rrr wrrl, drrnt wrrry!” the Pyro shot back excitedly.

“Vat are my orders, zen?” the Medic asked.

“Well, Spike’s okay, Lyra’s okay an’ Bon Bon’s okay,” the Engineer answered. “So you’re going to track down the other pony ya attacked, Rainbow Dash, an’ heal ‘er. Once ya’ve done that, ya have free reign, but not a moment before, got it?”

“Jawohl,” the Medic said with a bit of acid in his voice, saluting the Engineer.

Suddenly, the Pyro placed its hands on its teammates’ shoulders. “Grrsh?” it said. “Rrr thrrnk yrr shrrd rrprrlrrjrrsh trr rrch rrthrrr brrfrrr yrr lrrff.”

There was a brief pause, at the end of which the Engineer sighed. “He’s right, I do owe ya an apology,” he said. “I’m sorry ‘bout earlier. I shouldna’ brought that up. None a’… this woulda happened if I hadn’t opened my big mouth.”

The Medic cringed. “No, it vas my fault,” he replied, placing his hand on his chest. “I promised I vouldn’t… ahem, pocket anozzer alien next time ve vere banished. I know. Zat was the only reason you let me try to reanimate your corpse last Tuesday.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow and winced. “Wait, what?” she asked.

“I just… lost myself in ze moment,” the Medic continued. “I broke my promise, and I’m sorry.” The Medic extended his gloved hand to the Engineer. “Forgiven?”

The Engineer took his teammate’s hand without even a moment of hesitation. “A’ course I forgive ya, Doc,” he said, smiling.

“Danke schön,” the Medic said with a faint smirk. “Na na, danke schön…”

The Pyro took its hands off its teammates’ shoulders and giggled softly to itself.

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” The mercenaries jumped at the mysterious fourth voice. Well, fifth if you count Twilight.

“Who said that?” the Engineer blurted out, putting his hand on his shotgun instinctively. “Show yourself!”

All of a sudden, the mercenaries all realized at once that there was a bright pink earth pony wearing a basket on her head perched atop the Pyro’s head, like in that one comic strip where the dog pretends he’s a vulture. Her mane was dark pink and as poofy as cotton candy. She had a goofy grin on her face that was matched by the sparkle in her baby-blue eyes. And she just so happens to be another one of my nemeses. “I’m right here, silly filly!” she said cheerfully, giggling obnoxiously and leaping off the Pyro’s head.

The mercenaries all gasped and took a few steps away from the pony. “Wrrr drrd yrr crrm frrrm?” the Pyro asked, pointing at her accusatorially. …Accusatorially? Is that a word? Oh, whatever.

“And I really mean that!” the pink pony continued, bouncing up and down and paying no mind to the Pyro. “It’s nice to see that you can all forgive each other when you do something wrong, even if one of you is a mad scientist!”

The Pyro gasped and clapped its hands over its mouth.

The Medic’s eye twitched. “Vhy, you— I oughta jam burning spikes into your hooves and hook you up to a car battery!” he spat, pointing at the bouncing pony. Her smile vanished quickly, and she stopped bouncing.

“Wh-Whoa! Whoa! Doc, calm down!” the Engineer blurted out, grabbing his teammate’s shoulders and hauling him away from the pony. “It’s okay, she didn’t know! She didn’t mean it!”

“…W-Well, gee, that was… not nice at all!” the pony remarked, slowly reassembling the fragments of her old cheery smile and laughing a nervous laugh. “It was really specific, though, I’ll give you that! Did I say something wrong?”

“In fact, ya did,” the Engineer answered, releasing the Medic. “Back ‘ome, ‘mad scientist’ is a derogatory term against folks with the Medic’s mental condition. It’s like callin’ a black man a nigger, an Asian a Chinaman, or a Martian a spaceman.”

“Oh! You mean, it’s like calling earth ponies ‘flatbacks’?” the pony asked cheerfully, starting to bounce up and down again.

“Pinkie!” Twilight blurted out, horrified.

“Somethin’ like that,” the Engineer confirmed, nodding.

“Boy, did we ever get off on the wrong hoof!” the dirt pony giggled. “Let’s start over! Hi! My name’s Pinkie Pie, and these are for you!” She gestured excitedly toward the basket she was wearing, and the mercenaries only now noticed that there were several pink envelopes inside it. They exchanged a few confused glances. Eventually, the Engineer stepped forward, bent down slightly, picked up an envelope and opened it. He pulled out the letter and, unsurprisingly, saw a message written on it in a strange symbol-based language. What was surprising, however, was that he found he could read this language as easily as if it were English.

“You’re Invited to an ‘Equus Just Made First Contact With An Alternate Reality’ Party,” he read aloud. “Tomorrow, at noon sharp, in Ponyville Town Hall.”

“Universe,” the Medic corrected, rolling his eyes as he plucked an envelope out of the basket.

“Well, I know that now,” Pinkie giggled, “but it’s a little too late to reprint the invitations! You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nrr, rrff crrrsh nrrt,” the Pyro replied, taking an invitation out of the basket.

Pinkie giggled again. “Well, mmmph mmmph mmmph to you too!” she said cheerfully. The Pyro sighed, but didn’t say anything.

“Let me get zis straight,” the Medic said, staring at Pinkie Pie and narrowing his eyes. “An sociopazzic alien just shows up out of novere von morning, starts ranting and raving about cuttink ponies open, attacks two ponies and a dragon, and is only stopped by ze sudden arrival of two more aliens who are, respectively—” He pointed to the Engineer. “—slightly less crazy, alzough prone to nervous breakdowns at very inopportune times—” He pointed to the Pyro. “—and completely unable to function in normal society visout ze aid of medication.”

“Wait, what?” Twilight said again.

The Engineer moaned and clapped his hand over his goggles. “Thank you, Doctor Exposition,” he groaned. “Y’know, they don’t hafta know any a’ this…”

“And you zink,” the Medic finished, “zat the correct response to zis situation is to zhrow ze aliens a party?”

“Of course!” Pinkie replied cheerfully.

“Vhy?” the Medic asked, crossing his arms. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Pinkie answered. “I’ve never thrown a First Contact party before, and I might not ever get the chance to throw one again!” She began to jump up and down in the air excitedly. “I’m really going all out with this one! I’m sparing no expense! There’s gonna be games and dancing and cake and ice cream and punch and I’m gonna invite everypony in Ponyville! This is gonna be the best party I’ve ever thrown! It’s gonna be so good, I’ll need a whole day to get everything set up!”

“I don’t zink ve—” the Medic started.

“Rrnjrrnrrr, crrn wrr grr?” the Pyro asked, interweaving its fingers and tilting its head to the side. “Plrrrrrsh? Rrr prrrmrrsh Rrrl brr grrd!”

“I don’t see why not,” the Engineer replied.

“Yrry!” the Pyro said, jumping up and down and clapping its hands excitedly.

The Medic rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Vell, if ze Pyro’s going, zen I haff to go, too,” he grumbled.

“Yay!” Pinkie said at the same time, jumping up and down with similar enthusiasm. “You won’t regret this, I promise! Well, I’ve gotta pass out the rest of these invitations now! Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you! If I tell everypony it’s all right to trust you guys, they’ll all warm up to you like that!” She punctuated this declaration with a confident stomp of her hoof. “Just don’t threaten anypony, take anypony hostage or pull any guns of those guns of yours, and everything’ll be okie-dokie-lokie!”

Twilight blinked. “Guns?” she interjected. “What guns?”

“What, didn’t you notice?” Pinkie said, waving up to her friend on the balcony. “These guys are armed to the teeth! I think you know about Medic already, but Engineer here’s got a huge freakin’ shotgun! It’s almost as big as me!” The Engineer winced.

“Wh-What?” Twilight blurted out, her irises contracting again.

“And don’t even get me started on Pyro here!” Pinkie continued, leaning against the Pyro casually. “I mean, you should see the size of this flamethrower!” The Pyro shrunk down, trying to make itself seem small.

Twilight’s eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks, and she involuntarily took a couple of steps back. “F-Flamethrower?!” she repeated, her voice wavering. “Why would you need a flamethrower?! What circumstances could there possibly be in your native reality that would require the possession and use of a flamethrower?!”

The Engineer lifted one finger. “Uh… did I mention we’re mercenaries?” he asked, cringing.

“Merce— No!” Twilight practically shouted.

“Mercenaries?!” Pinkie gasped. “You mean like the Wonderbolts? That’s so cool! Wingless human Wonderbolts from another universe! Dashie’s gonna be so excited! Ooh, what government does your squad take orders from?”

“None of zem,” the Medic answered without hesitation. “Zey ask too many qvestions.”

“Y-You don’t?” Twilight asked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the point of mercenaries if they don’t fall under the employ of a governmental body?”

“Ve’re under ze employ of a corporation,” the Medic explained. “Reliable Excavation and Demolition, or RED for short.”

“Why would a corporation need a team of mercenaries?” Twilight asked.

“It’s a long story,” the Medic replied. “Ze short version is… actually, no, zere is no short version.”

“Oh!” Pinkie gasped. “So Red Engineer, Red Medic and Red Pyro are your titles! I get it! That makes more sense than you all being named Red! So what’re your real names?”

The mercenaries exchanged a look, and all of a sudden, the misdeed I’d tricked them into doing came flooding back. “I’m afraid we can’t tell ya that, Miss Pie,” the Engineer answered, crossing his arms. “Our legal names, along with everythin’ that happened to us before we signed on with RED, is a buncha highly classified information collectively called ‘Incident Zero.’ An’ none of us wanna violate our contracts any more’n we already have.”

“You can’t tell us your real names? That’s silly!” Pinkie observed. “But hey, it’s no sillier than mercenaries who work for a corporation! If you just want to be called by your code names, I can work with that! Just Pinkie Promise me you won’t use your weapons while you’re here, okay?”

“I Pinkie Promise,” the Engineer quickly swore, raising his hand.

“Engineer, vat are you—” the Medic asked.

“Trust me,” the Engineer interrupted him.

Pinkie took that as her cue to start going through a series of complex motions. “Cross your heart—” She raised her hoof and swept it in the shape of an X across her heart. “—hope to fly—” She sunk onto her hind legs, lifted her forelegs and began flapping them wildly like a pair of ill-conceived wings. “—stick a cupcake in your eye?” She closed her left eye and pantomimed cramming the pastry against it.

“Engineer,” the Medic said calmly, “I’d just like to zrow my hat into ze ring here. It is a bad idea to eschew our veaponry, even if it is just some arbitrary promise to von native. You’re ze von who keeps goink on about not making promises you can’t keep. Vat if somezink attacks ze village vile ve’re here and ve’re drawn into a struggle to defend it?”

“When ‘as that ever happened?” the Engineer countered.

“Every damn time!” “Rrffrry drrm trrm!”

The Engineer hesitated and winced. “Well, I can’t fault your logic there,” he said. “But… I can’t help but feel that, after the spectacle ya just made, we owe it t’ the locals t’ keep a low profile.” Then he grinned nervously. “And need I remind ya,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands together, “that if we keep the casualties under fifteen, there’s a bonus in it for us?”

“Ze bonus for casualties over fifteen hundred is better,” the Medic countered.

“An’ if we fulfill enough bonus condition, we can earn amnesty for lyin’ to the Administrator,” the Engineer continued.

The Medic’s eyebrows shot up, and he snapped his fingers. “Brilliant!” he said. “…Actually, no, it’s stupid and it’s flawed on a fundamental level, but I may as vell humor you!”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” the Engineer grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Grrd thrrnkrrng, Rrnjrrnrrr!” the Pyro agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “Lrrtsh trrk rrn rrth rrf prrshrrfrrshrrm!”

The Medic gave the Engineer a quick salute. “Jawohl, I guess,” he said.

The mercenaries looked down and met Pinkie’s eyes. “We Pinkie Promise,” the Engineer said solemnly, “that we will not use our weapons while we’re in your universe.”

“Unless ve haff to,” the Medic added.

“Unless we have to,” the Engineer agreed.

In unison, all three mercenaries repeated the motions she’d performed for them. “Cross our hearts—” They drew an invisible X across their chests. “—hope to fly—” They began waving their arms around in an unsophisticated fashion. “—stick a cupcake in our eye.” Instead of pretending to jam a cupcake in their eye sockets, they opted to use one finger and poke the objects covering their respective eyes.

“Great!” Pinkie said cheerfully, bouncing up one last time for good measure. “Now remember, don’t even bother trying to break those promises! You’d be more likely to break a vow sworn on the waters of the River Twygz! See you at the party, you mysterious mercenaries, you!”

And with that, Pinkie Pie darted away faster than the Scout on cocaine. You remember that, right? Back in ‘75? Heh, “I CAN SEE T’ROUGH MY HANDS!” That was funny. Anyway, the mercenaries were left standing in the cloud of dust in Pinkie’s wake. Only once she was gone did they realize that they weren’t really sure what had just happened. They exchanged a bewildered look.

“Odd girl,” the Medic observed.

“I agree,” the Engineer agreed, nodding.

“Mrry trrw,” the Pyro put in, also nodding.

A shaken, exhausted voice forced its way into the conversation from the balcony. “Oh, don’t worry about her,” Twilight moaned. “That’s just… Pinkie Pie being Pinkie Pie.”

The mercenaries looked back up to see Twilight leaning over the railing, looking like she was struggling to keep her eyes open. “Noted,” the Engineer said, smiling warmly and nodding courteously. “Miss Twilight, you look like ya’ve had more’n enough excitement for one mornin’. You should go inside an’ get some rest.”

“I… I will…” Twilight murmured, slowly turning around and heading toward the door. “I’m… done with research for the day…” The mercenaries didn’t move until they heard it close behind her.

“All right, everybody,” the Engineer said, clapping his hands. “Ya have your orders. Move out.”

With that, the three wayward members of the RED Team set off in two different directions. The Engineer proceeded into Ponyville, while the Medic and the Pyro both proceeded toward the forest. And that’s how three alien, human mercenaries from another universe were set loose on a mildly suspecting Ponyville. They all did some interesting, fun, amusing, and sometimes even sadistic things while they were there. Let’s see, who should I tell you about fi—

HANDS UP, FREAK!

I swivel my throne around to see nine humans in trenchcoats and fedoras surrounding me. Each of them points a different weapon at my face, including a magic wand, a shotgun, and a handheld ray gun that looks like it was built in the future of the 70s. Standing on their far right was a bespectacled, purple-shirted, very cross-looking middle-aged woman, wielding a revolver. And hovering above the humans’ heads is a purple alicorn, holding a cigarette in her mouth and smirking like the mastermind she is.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Don’t you humans know how to knock?” I ask. Then a better question occurs to me. “Actually, how’d you get in here? I would’ve heard you trying to break the door down.”

Helen lets out a sinister chuckle. “I teleported them in, Discord,” she answers around her cigarette. “For future reference, it is generally not a good idea to give your captive access to nearly limitless magical energy.”

I look down at the men’s feet. Sure enough, there’s a ring of purple energy pooling around them. I gasp in mock horror. “What?! Helen, how could you? I thought we had something special!”

“It’s over for you, Discord,” the woman in purple snarls through gritted teeth, “if that is your real name. If you honestly thought you could run a hostile takeover of our facility that easily, you—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” I say, standing up and sighing. “You’re Miss Pauling, I assume? Fine. I’ve had my fun.” I snap my talons and vanish in a white flash of light.

There’s an instant where I don’t exist, then I reappear standing against the wall opposite the monitors. I dramatically hold my arm to my forehead as the trenchcoat-clad men whip around. Once everypony’s looking at me, I let out a cry of anguish. “Oh, woe is me,” I moan. “The superior military technology of Earth-VC8-Prime has put an end to my reign of terror. Curse the ingenuity and cunning of humanity!” That’s it, Discord, sell it. “But nay, I shall not shrink from my grisly fate.” I sweep his hand across his midsection, replacing part of my torso with a wooden, red-and-white bulls-eye. It tickles, not that I show it. “I am prepared to meet it, immeasurably far from my home… a stranger in a truly, truly strange land.”

“At your command, Administrator,” Miss Pauling growls.

Helen smirks. “Fire at will,” she sneers.

I smirk, too. I don’t say anything. There’s no time for that. I just snap my talons, and a bright red flag with the word “BANG!” written on it shoots out of the barrel of every weapon in the room. Including the ones that don’t have barrels. The agents look at their weapons. Their hats have wide enough brims that shadow covers their faces, but I can tell they’re shocked. Miss Pauling doesn’t have the advantage of a hat, and she has a fantastic “oh, crap” look on her face. Even Helen loses her confident smirk, and her cigarette falls out of her mouth.

“Oh! Phew! You guys really had me going there!” I laugh, putting my hand on my chest and pretending to be relieved.

“What the hell kind of—” Helen blurts out. Her eye twitches.

“I told you before, didn’t I?” I interrupt, smirking. “I am the god of chaos and disharmony. The tricks you used on Draaksice won’t work on me.”

“You mean you’re not Draaksice?” Miss Pauling asks.

I wipe the smirk off my face and lean forward. “Excuse me?” I scoff. “I’ve seen Draaksice, and I look nothing like him, thank you very much. Draaksice, for one, looked exactly like a human except for those bumps on his forehead.”

I snap his fingers. Chains spring up from the floor and wrap themselves around the agents’ ankles. They look down and cry out in shock. “He did use a disguise that kind of looked like me,” I admit, “but he didn’t have fur or scales or anything. He was more into metallic power armor. And I’m not as fat as him.”

I snap my fingers. Miss Pauling and Helen are teleported to several feet to the right, well away from the agents. Chains spring up and keep Miss Pauling in place. They spring up and wrap around Helen’s hooves at the same time. The chains then retract, yanking her back to the ground. She hits the floor and her knees buckle beneath her. She cries out in pain. I wince slightly. “Not to mention,” I continue, “those things on his helmet that kind of look like my horns were there as conductors of some kind, so they always had electricity sparking between them.”

I snap my fingers. The target in my chest vanishes. I can’t hide a little giggle as it goes away. “Have you ever seen electricity sparking between my horns? No, I didn’t think so. But if Draaksice were here, I bet I know what he’d say…”

I snap my fingers. Over-muscled, human arms of a variety of ethnicities sprout from my back, each one holding a revolver. They each randomly pick an agent to aim at. It’s not quite even, but there’s at least one gun pointing at each agent’s face.

“YOU SHALL PAY FOR YOUR INSOLENCE WITH YOUR LIVES, PUNY MORTALS!” I scream. The agents rear back. I smirk, letting them wallow in fear for a few moments. Eventually, I chuckle and snap my fingers. The arms vanish in puffs of smoke, and the revolvers they were holding tumble to the ground, where they shatter like glass. “Or something like that,” I say. “Well, nice knowing you! Send me a postcard from Hell when you get there!”

I snap my fingers, and time slows to a crawl.

This is gonna get messy.

I reach behind my back and pull out a gigantic broadsword. I hurl it at the chest of the fourth agent from the left. The instant it makes contact with his chest, both the sword and the agent explode in a ball of fire. The agent is reduced to ashes, and the agents to his immediate left and right are set ablaze. I wave my hand, and the flames jump from the fifth agent to the third. The third agent collapses, dead from the burns and the blast before he has time to scream. I reach into my chest, pull out a grenade and lob it at the second agent without bothering to pull the pin.

A frying pan smashes over the eighth agent’s head with sufficient force to turn everything above his neck into a fine red mist. The ninth agent finds his throat slit by a folding knife that flaps through the air like a noisy, deadly butterfly. The grenade slams into the second agent’s chest and explodes, leaving the first agent completely unharmed and sending bits of the second one flying everywhere. A shotgun goes off, fired by the sixth agent. The flags shoot out of both barrels and pull quick one-eighties in midair. The left flag goes through his right eye and vice versa. They keep going, fly out the back of his head and slam into two separate monitors, shattering them.

I snap my fingers four times in quick succession. The seventh agent’s skin disappears first, then his muscles, then his bones, then his nervous system. All that’s left is a human-shaped pile of blood. I reach behind my back again, pull out a dead fish wrapped in newspaper, and swing it at the first agent. Despite him being across the room, the fish slams into him with enough force to send him flying backwards into the monitors, shattering exactly six of them and electrocuting him on the wiring. Finally, I just point at the fifth and final agent. His head explodes in a combination of confetti, balloons, and horrific, gruesome gore.

I snap my fingers one last time. Time begins passing normally again, and the corpses start hitting the ground.

Once all the corpses have landed— except the one that got stuck— I raise my finger to my lips and blow away the puff of smoke issuing from it. “You two get to live,” I say. I snap my fingers, and the chains retract back into the ground. “After all, the trenchcoat men were faceless goons. Everypony knows you can’t kill women.”

Miss Pauling drops her revolver and her jaw. “Oh my God,” she says under her breath.

“Exactly!” I chuckle, jumping back into my throne and spinning around in it like the office chair it used to be. “You can just call me Discord, though. Now go away and tell the rest of the Overseers what I’m capable of! Oh, and cancel protocol 7R32-G, would you? Thanks so much!” I snap my fingers, and Miss Pauling vanishes in a white flash of light. She reappears outside the room a few milliseconds later.

“Hmph. You certainly made short work of them, didn’t you?” Helen sneers, trotting toward me.

“And that’s just what I can do with nine guys!” I say cheerfully. The smell of electrical smoke and fried human. Ew. I wrinkle my nose. I turn around and see the corpses of the agents behind me. Or the pieces of them, where applicable. “Oh, what a mess I’ve made. You humans have a lot of blood, don’t you?” I snap my fingers, and the corpses vanish. The monitors don’t repair themselves, though. I’ll get around to fixing that later.

“Okay… I’ll admit it,” Helen says. “I’m mildly impressed.”

I grin a grin that’s wider than my face. Coming from her, that’s one hell of a compliment. “I didn’t spend my entire foalhood training to become the leader of the Tartaric Legion for nothing!” I say, not even bothering to hide how proud I am. “And that’s not even a fraction of my godly powers! You should see what I’m gonna do to New York. I’m gonna call her Lady Chaos when I’m done. She’ll be lovely. Befitting of a true god.”

Helen stops next to me and scoffs. “Delusions of grandeur, hm?”

I let out a burst of laughter. I reach behind her ear and pull out a cigarette. “It’s not a delusion of grandeur if it’s true!” I stick the cigarette in her mouth and point at it. A tiny flame appears at my fingertip and lights it.

Helen tries and fails to suppress a chuckle. “I like the way you think, Discord,” she says.

“Thanks! I like the way I think, too!” I reply, unable to wipe a beaming smile off my face. I clap my hands and swivel around so I’m facing the monitors again. “Well, the moment has passed. Back to work!”

Author's Note

I have a confession to make. I find my headcanon for Team Fortress 2 much more interesting than my headcanon for My Little Pony. But given what I've revealed about it so far, can you blame me? And in completely unrelated information, "flatback" is a term I borrowed from a guy who calls himself Figments. Thanks for that, man. As always, my audience, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my story-type substance. If you have any feedback for me, I'd love to hear it. Leave a comment for me at your leisure.

6: Fiery Passion

Chapter Six: Fiery Passion

I lean back and stroke my beard a bit. “Let’s see…” I say to myself. “There are three ways the story could go from here, but I’m not sure which one to take first. Hmm, what do do…?” Suddenly, an idea occurs to me. A grin spreading across my face, I snap my fingers and turn to Helen. “I know! Why don’t you decide!”

Helen tilts her head to the side. The look on her face is one of bewilderment. Bewilderment doesn’t become her quite as well as annoyance or smugness. Not that I’m complaining… “You’re giving me control over the story?” she says. “You must not have noticed the negative consequences to trusting me.”

I burst out laughing for what feels like a very long time. Eventually, I put my hand on my chest and take a deep breath. “I’m willing to take that risk,” I chuckle. “So, what do you want to hear about first?” I reach behind my ear, pull out three playing cards with red backs and hold them out to her. “Pick a card, any card.”

She screws her face up in concentration for a few moments, and the cards are covered by a dark purple aura. For the briefest of moments, her magic flows over my talon-tips. It feels like a cool breeze is blowing over them… and they’re being set on fire. I yank my hand away instinctively and cry out in pain as she plucks the cards out of my hand. “Be careful with your magic!” I blurt out, sounding a little angrier than I’d meant to. Helen doesn’t apologize for singing my fingers. I don’t think she even noticed me.

Luna’s mane, she’s beautiful.

Helen sighs and begins looking over the cards one at a time, hiding two of them behind the first. She reads what’s on the first card. “Allegations of Trazism…” She puts that card behind the first one. “Willful provocation of a crippling phobia…” She flips to the last card. Suddenly, her eyebrow goes up and she cocks her head to the side. “Refusal to admit to one’s sexuality? What is the link between these, exactly?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s there if you look hard enough,” I reply, smiling in satisfaction. “Seriously, though, they’re all connected to where we left off. So go on, pick one.”

Helen’s eyes shift between the cards for a few moments. She can’t seem to decide which of the cards to pick, and she looks over each of them in silence for a very long time. Seconds pass in silence. Entire minutes go by as she considers her decision. Watching her concentrate, I feel the pain of my singed fingertips lessen ever so slightly. I hear a faint, wistful sigh from a long way away. Luna’s mane, she’s beautiful.

I’m so enraptured by her that I don’t notice that the cards are smoking until it’s too late. Before I know what’s happening, the three cards burst into flame. Helen’s eyes go wide with surprise. So do mine.

I snap my fingers, and the cards teleport out of her magic aura, back into my hands. I shake them vigorously, and the fire goes out. I take a deep breath and turn back to Helen. “You need to work on that,” I chuckle.

“I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?” Helen sighs, rolling her eyes at me.”

“I guess your new body’s not be quite used to using magic yet,” I say. “You might want to take it easy with that for now. Keep it up, and your horn’ll catch fire.

Helen sighs again. “Very well, then,” she snarls. “Out of the three options you’ve given me, I am the most curious as to how you’re going to work your sexuality into this.”

My eyebrow goes up, and I let out an undignified snort. “Oh, are you?” I sneer.

I could swear I see Helen’s mouth twitch. She makes a big production out of rolling her eyes. “Academically,” she scoffs.

“You keep telling myself, my darling,” I sneer. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the one on trial here. I came to terms with my omnisexuality millennia ago. No, I’m talking about the sexuality of one of my nemeses.”

“Oh,” Helen says, sitting down. “Very well, then.”

“Disappointed?” I ask. I point to her, smirk, and click my tongue a couple of times.

“Just tell your story,” Helen commands, lowering her head slightly. Is that a smirk? I can’t tell.

I give her a quick salute. “Ma’am, yes ma’am!”

The Pyro ended up tagging along beside the Medic like an obedient little puppy. They didn’t say anything. It was a pretty long, awkward walk. The Medic went to the outskirts of Ponyville, and the Pyro tagged along beside him. It would’ve been better if the Medic hadn’t made everypony afraid of him when he first showed up, but sadly, this was not the case.

So, anyway, they ended up at that little cottage on the outskirts of Ponyville. There were lots of furry animals scampering around in the field next to the cottage, but some of them seemed to scamper away when they noticed the two humans approaching. Some of them stayed in one place, though. The Pyro was taken in by the majesty and whimsy of the situation, and scampered off toward the field, giggling like the little child it was. It skipped all the way over there, leaping over the river instead of taking the perfectly good bridge.

By the time it reached the field, most of the animals had gone into hiding. The only one that was left was a very brave-looking white rabbit, crossing his little bunny arms and giving the Pyro a thousand-mile stare.

“Hrrlrrw, Mrrshtrrr Rrrbrrt!” the Pyro said, falling to its knees and extending its hand to the rabbit. “Rrrm thrr—”

The instant the Pyro’s hand came within range, the bunny jumped onto its hind legs kicked it. It didn’t hurt, of course—I mean, what’s a bunny going to do against an experienced mercenary in a rubber-and-asbestos suit of armor?—but the Pyro did withdraw its hand in surprise. “Hrry, wrrt wrrsh thrrt frr?” it asked.

The bunny just flattened its long ears against his head and bared his teeth at the Pyro. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he growled at it.

“Rrrw, drrnt brry lrrk thrrt!” the Pyro said, tilting its head to the side and weaving its fingers together. “Rrr drrnt wrrnt trr hrrt yrr! Rrr rrnrrywrrn rrlsh, frr thrrt mrrtrr!”

The bunny jumped into a boxing stance and began waggling its little bunny fists at her. He even threw a few punches at the air.

“Rrtsh rrll rrrt! Yrr crrn trrrsht mrr!” the Pyro insisted.

The bunny jumped up to the Pyro, delivered a swift one-two punch to its knee, and jumped back.

“Rrrm rr grrd grry, rrrllrry!” the Pyro said again. “Hrr, lrrt mrr shrrng rr shrrng frr yrr!” It unweaved its hands, put a fist up to its filter, and cleared its throat. Then it leaned down to look the bunny in the eyes and began to sing Sanctioned Song #3. You know the one…

“Cwrrndrrw rrshtrrsh trrw drrffrrshtrrtrrw, trrn rrshtrrw rrn trr mrrntrry clrrrrw.” It put its hand on its chest and tilted its head up slightly. “Rrrrsh crrshrrn drry hrrgrrtrrrrw rrn rrnrr brrlrr drr crrrshtrrl!”

The rabbit stopped waving its fists around and tilted its head to the side. His ears popped back up, and he stared at the Pyro quizzically. “Nrr rrmprrtrrn shrrsh mrrffrrmyrrntrrsh, shrrgrrrrmrrsh rrrshrrsh—”

Stop right there, Discord.

Obediently, I stop and turn back to Helen. “Yes, my sweet?” I say, batting my eyelashes at her innocently.

“Don’t play games with me,” Helen snaps. “Are you actually going to do this?”

I blink again. “Do what?” I ask.

“This,” Helen insists. “Are you actually going to sing the song for me, interrupting it every five seconds with a play-by-play of what the Pyro was doing while—” I snap my fingers, and a loud, tonal beep cuts through the room. “—was singing it?”

“That was the idea,” I reply.

“Stop that at once,” Helen commands. She stands up and lowers her head so that her horn is pointing right at my face. She glares at me with fire in her eyes. “It is dull and unproductive. I have heard Sanctioned Song #3 before, you know.”

“You have?” I ask, suppressing a chuckle. “I thought you didn’t like music. Why else would you sanction songs to begin with?”

“I am intimately familiar with each of the Sanctioned Songs,” Helen continues, ignoring me. “I know how each of them go, when they were written and by whom, and in what universe and dimension. So telling me how the song goes is pointless.”

“What, you mean you don’t like the Pyro’s singing voice?” I ask innocently. Smirking, I clap my hands back over my mouth as tightly as I can. “Nrr rrmprrrtrrn shrrsh mrrffrrmyrrntrrsh, shrrgrrrrymrrsh rrrshrrshtyrrndrr. Nwrrshtrrsh rrlmrrsh grrnrrn fwrrrshrr rrntrrnrrndrrw rrshtrr crrnshyrrn!”

“Silence,” Helen snaps. “I do not need to hear your markedly poor impression of the Pyro singing, nor do I need to know what—” I snap my fingers again, and she’s drowned out by the beep. “—was doing while—” Another snap, another beep. “sang the song. In the future, I would appreciate it if you stuck to details that were actually relevant.”

I roll my eyes this time and cross my arms. “You’re no fun,” I grumble, unable to wipe the disapproving glare off my face.

Helen rolls her eyes again and lets out a dry chuckle. “Perhaps I’m just a bit on edge,” she sneers. “After all, I have been temporarily overthrown and forcibly transformed into some hideous monster from another universe.”

“Hideous?” I repeat to myself. But then a better thought occurs to me. “Temporarily?”

Helen looks me square in the eyes, smirks a devious smirk, and lets out a low, sinister chuckle. “Dear, sweet, innocent Discord,” she sneers. “You didn’t think I’d just go down without a fight, did you?”

Luna’s mane, she’s beautiful. I sigh wistfully, and don’t realize until too late that I have a dopey grin on my face. “Okay, fine,” I say to her, swiveling back around to face the monitors. “You win. We’ll just skip the song this time. And thanks for the warning, by the way. I’ll be watching my back from now on.” I glance back over at her and smirk. “Instead of just watching yours,” I add.

Helen scoffs and rolls her eyes again. Luna’s mane, she’s beautiful. I clear my throat and continue.

Its song done, the Pyro collapsed into a fit of happy giggles. It fell onto its back, where the small crowd of woodland creatures that had gathered around it during the song began to nervously approach it. The bunny hesitated for a few moments, then hopped bravely onto the Pyro’s chest.

The Pyro lifted its head and looked the bunny in the eyes. “Yrr shrry?” it said. “Rrrm hrrmlrrsh! Rrr prrrmrrsh!”

The bunny stared into the Pyro’s eyes. His disapproving glare did not lessen in the slightest, and after a long, long time, he shook his head no.

“Rrr, crrm rrn!” the Pyro blurted out, sitting up quickly and throwing its hands out to the side. Unfortunately, it sat up so quick that the bunny ended up being catapulted off its chest. He skidded back for a few feet, then stood up, glared right into the Pyro’s eyeholes, and shook his fist at it.

Before the Pyro could react to this, a confused but accepting voice made its way to the Pyro’s ears. “Oh, yeah,” the voice said. “I almost forgot we were being invaded by aliens today.”

The Pyro looked over to its right and saw a butter-yellow pony with a pink mane. She was standing about halfway between the cottage and where the Pyro was stationed, staring nervously at it from a good distance away. More importantly, though, it saw a blue pony with wings and a rainbow-colored mane hovering a few feet above the ground next to her. The Pyro didn’t know this at the time, but that one’s Rainbow Dash. You remember that much, right?

Of course.

Good. Anyway, the Pyro quickly got to its feet and waved enthusiastically at the two ponies. “Hrrlrrw thrrr, lrrtrrl prrnrrsh!” it said excitedly. “Rrrm thrr RRRD Prryrrrw! Rrtsh rrrlrry grrrt trr mrrt yrr!”

The blue pony settled to the ground and tilted her head to the side. “What did you—” she started.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” the yellow pony said at the same time, speaking so softly the Pyro almost couldn’t hear her. “I’m… um, I’m Fluttershy.”

The Pyro gasped in shock and reared backwards. “Y-Yrr crrn rrndrrrshtrrnd mrr?!” it blurted out.

“Well, of course I can,” Fluttershy replied.

The Pyro jumped up and down excitedly, squealed like a schoolgirl and began clapping its hands so fast they almost snapped off. “Rrr mrr grrsh, rr nrrtrrff hrr crrn rrckshrrwrrlrry rrndrrrshtrrnd mrr! Thrrsh rrsh rr drrrm crrm trrrw!”

Rainbow Dash, meanwhile, turned and gave her friend a confused look. “Wait, how could you understand that…” She stopped mid-sentence and got a good, long look at the Pyro. “…uh, that… human? He… she… uh, it didn’t say anything. All it said was ‘mmmph mmmph mmmph.’”

“Well… I guess that’s what it sounded like,” Fluttershy conceded, taking a few steps forward. Rainbow shuddered visibly, and did not follow her. “But then again, when a bird sings, all you hear is ‘chirp chirp chirp,’ right?” Rainbow just tilted her head to the side, presumably trying to wrap her head around Fluttershy’s logic.

Fluttershy came to a stop in front of the Pyro and looked nervously up at it. The Pyro fell to one knee and extended its hand to her. “Hrrlrrw, Flrrtrrrshrry,” it said. “Rrtsh shrr nrrsh trr brr rrbrrl trr trrk trr shrrmwrrn. Thrrnk yrr.”

“Oh, not at all,” Fluttershy replied promptly, smiling a warm smile at the Pyro and extending her hoof. The Pyro grabbed her leg without any hesitation, and they shook… appendages. “You have a lovely accent, by the way,” Fluttershy remarked, retracting her leg. “You remind me of the villain from this movie Rainbow Dash made me watch once.”

The Pyro’s enthusiasm suddenly vanished.

“Made you watch?” Rainbow Dash repeated, taking a few nervous steps forward. “What do you mean, made you? Everypony has to see Daring Do and the Raiders of the Lost Trough at some point! It’s, like, the law or something!”

Fluttershy’s smile faded, and she turned around to face her friend. “Oh… um, w-well, I’m sorry, Rainbow Dash,” she said, “but I’m just not the biggest fan of Amareican cinema.”

“Hrrw crrn yrr trrl wrrt mrry rrckshrrnt rrsh?” the Pyro interjected. Grateful for a way out of the conversation, Fluttershy suppressed a sigh of relief and turned back around to look at the Pyro. “Thrr mrrshk rrsh rrnchrrntrrd shrr yrr crrnt drr thrrt. Mrr trrmsh brrn frrtrrng rrlrrngshrrd mrr frr shrrckshtrrn yrrrsh, rrnd thrry drrnt nrrw wrrt rrckshrrnt Rrr hrrff. Hrrw crrd yrr frrgyrrr rrt rrwt rrrt rrfftrrr yrr mrrt mrr?”

Fluttershy blinked. “Oh… um, I’m not sure, really,” she replied. “You just sound very clear to me, Miss Pyro.”

If the Pyro’s heart had dropped any further, it would’ve fallen out its ass. Without even thinking, relying on pure, primal instinct, it leapt to its feet. Its hand shot down to its hip, and it returned with a bright reddish-orange flare gun. It grabbed the weapon with both hands, pointed it right between Fluttershy’s eyes and bellowed at the top of its lungs: “YRR CRRNT PRRRFF RRNRRYTHRRNG!” The woodland creatures all scampered away, with the exception of a certain belligerent white rabbit, who darted in front of Fluttershy and leapt into a kung-fu pose. Fluttershy reared back, pressed her ears against her head and flared her wings up. She let out an inarticulate cry of terror as she took a few frantic, scrambling steps away from the human. She tried to blurt out an apology, but the Pyro continued before she could get the chance. “R-Rrr drrnt wrrnt trrw,” it said, its hands trembling, “brrt rrff Rrr hrrf trrw, Rrrll—”

Before it could get any further, a rainbow-colored missile slammed right into the Pyro’s chest, knocking its flare gun out of its hands and sending it careening backwards. “You leave her alone!” Rainbow Dash shouted, throwing a few jabs at the Pyro from midair. “Nopony threatens my friends and… gets a…” Suddenly, the look of rage on Rainbow’s face faded completely. She didn’t say anything, but simply settled down to the ground. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. After a few moments, she tried again, this time with more success. “I… I can’t believe this is the second time today I’ve had to missile-kick a human from another universe!”

The Pyro moaned and slowly sat up, clutching its chest. Its breathing was heavy and labored—more heavy and labored than usual, that is. It barely even felt the pain of being kicked in the chest by a pegasus.

Rainbow shook her head after a few moments, then turned around. “Fluttershy, you all right?” she asked.

“Wh-What did I do? D-D-Did I say something wrong? I-If I did, I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad at me!” Fluttershy screamed frantically, covering her eyes and cowering in terror behind the bunny. The bunny just rolled its eyes.

The Pyro slowly stood up, still moaning in pain. Rainbow turned around to see it, and leapt back into the air. “Hey! No sudden moves, buddy!” she spat, throwing a few jabs at the air.

The Pyro took a long, deep breath, looked straight at the cowering Fluttershy, and spoke. “Drrnt crrl mrr Mrrsh,” it said, as calmly as it could.

Fluttershy blinked, and her wings slowly returned to her sides. “…Don’t… call you Miss?” she repeated. “A-Are you… Are you not a mare, then?”

“Rrr crrn nrrthrrr crrnfrrrm nrrr drrnrry thrrt,” the Pyro replied, taking a few slow steps forward. Rainbow squinted at it as it passed her. “Rrrm nrrt rrllrrwd trr shrr drrtrrlsh rrf mrry rrdrrntrrtrry trr rrnrrywrrn, rrnclrrdrrng wrrt mrry vrrsh shrrndsh lrrk, wrrt Rrr lrrk lrrk rrndrrr thrrsh shrrt, rrnd mrry grrndrrr. Rrr crrm krrnd rrf clrrsh trr brrrkrrng thrrt rrrl rrlrryrrr trrdrry. Rrr grrsh rrt… prrt mrry rrn rrdj.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Fluttershy said. “I-I didn’t know that. I hope you don’t get in trouble…”

The Pyro came to a stop, sat down in front of Fluttershy, and let out a long, deep sigh. “Mrry trr…” it said.

There was a brief silence. “…Um, if you don’t mind my asking,” Fluttershy asked, “why are those the rules? Why aren’t you allowed to let anypony know who you are?”

The Pyro came to a stop and slowly sat down in front of Fluttershy. “Rrtsh rrn mrry crrntrrrct,” it explained. “Rrrd rrrthrrr nrrt trrk rrbrrt rrt.”

“O-Okay, fair enough,” Fluttershy replied, glancing around the field. “Would you rather I just call you Pyro?”

“Yrrsh, thrrt wrrd brry prrrfrrct,” the Pyro answered. “Yrr wrrnt trrl rrnrrywrrn rrbrrt thrrsh, wrrl yrr? Rrr drrnt wrrnt trr trrk trr mrrnrry rrrshks wrrth mrr crrntrrrct…”

“Of course I won’t,” Fluttershy sighed, putting her hoof on her chest.

“Rrkrry, grrd,” the Pyro replied, letting out a sigh of relief. There was a brief silence here.

“…Uh, what was that all about?” Rainbow Dash asked after a moment, trotting up next to the Pyro and flopping down to the ground.

“Um, j-just a misunderstanding,” Fluttershy answered, a little too quickly. “It’s all okay now. Everything’s fine. Isn’t that right, Mi— I-I mean, Pyro?”

“Mm-hmm,” the Pyro replied, nodding once.

“…Okay…” Rainbow said hesitantly.

The Pyro quickly stood up. “Shrr,” it said, clapping its hands, “rrf thrrsh nrrthrrng rrlsh, Rrrll brr grrwrrng nrrw. Hrrffrrng shrrmwrrn trr trrk trr rrshrrnt rrll rrtsh crrrkd rrp trr brr.”

“Okay…” Fluttershy replied, nodding. “Have a good day, M— Pyro.”

“Mm-hmm,” the Pyro replied, turning around to leave. It set off for Ponyville, and that could’ve been the end of it. The Pyro could’ve just waltzed back into Ponyville and been none the wiser. But Rainbow Dash just couldn’t wait long enough to let that happen. Once she thought the Pyro was out of earshot, she said something that instantly drew the Pyro’s attention back to the meadow:

“Okay… glad that’s over. Now, what about that crush of yours?” There, you thought I’d forgotten about that, didn’t you?

No, I thought you’d stopped caring.

Ha ha, that’s fair. Anyway, the Pyro stopped in its tracks almost on instinct. “Shhh!” Fluttershy hissed. “I think M—the Pyro can still hear you…”

“Don’t try to weasel out of this now,” Rainbow Dash insisted. “You asked for my advice yesterday, and I’m gonna give it to you.”

The Pyro squealed again, whirled around and leapt back over the river. “Crrn Rrr hrrlp? Crrn Rrr hrrlp? Plrrsh plrrsh plrrsh lrrt mrr hrrlp!”

The two ponies reared back as they saw the human charge at them. “Oh, dear…” Fluttershy mumbled.

“Oh… uh, you could hear me?” Rainbow asked, cringing and looking away from the rapidly approaching Pyro. “Um… well, crud.”

“Rrr crrn hrrlp yrr!” the Pyro blurted out, skidding to a stop and falling to its knees so it could look both ponies in the eye at once. “Rrr lrrff mrrkrrng prrprrl hrrprry! Rrr crrn hrrlp! Trrl mrr wrrtsh rrrng!”

Fluttershy glanced around the meadow as though she expected somepony to leap out at her with a knife. “U-Um… if it’s all the same to you, I’d really rather not,” she murmured.

“No, wait,” Rainbow Dash remarked. “This is a good thing. I mean, I’m no shrink, but maybe telling somepony else about all this would help you accept it.”

Fluttershy’s eyes went wide, and she turned to her friend with terror in her eyes. “Wh-What’s to accept? I’m not having trouble accepting anything!”

Apparently, the Pyro has a lot of experience with this kind of thing. Who knew? “Rrr, Rrrnbrrw?” it said hesitantly, wringing its hands. “Rrr drrnt thrrnk thrrsh rrsh rr—”

“Fluttershy’s trapped in the closet.” That day was just chock full of surprises, let me tell you. The Pyro winced like a bitch. Through the filter, it sounded like a snake hissing. It then instantly realized that Fluttershy would probably completely misinterpret its reason for wincing.

Fluttershy’s irises were basically just specks in a sea of white by this point, but they somehow managed to get even smaller. Her ears pressed against her head, and her wings shot up again. “Ah! Wh! R-Rainbow Dash!” she blurted out. “I-I thought I! We! You!”

“It’s okay, Fluttershy,” Rainbow said calmly, placing her hoof on her friend’s shoulder. “This is who you are. The sooner you admit that to yourself, the sooner—”

And then she just lost it. Fluttershy channeled all her rage, all her frustration and all her anguish, plus all the miscellaneous emotions she had lying around, into a single, sky-piercing scream of “BUT IT’S NOT!” The Pyro and Rainbow both reared back in shock at her outburst. Even the animals of the field looked up from their scampering around. Some of them even darted back into their burrows. Day full of firsts and revelations, lemme tell ya.

“Whoa, Fluttershy, I-I didn’t—” Rainbow started.

“Rainbow, for the last time, this is NOT who I am!” Fluttershy screeched, stomping her hoof for emphasis. “I know that! I know I know it! I’m not… I-I’m NOT that way! B-But my mind won’t let me not be! I’ve fought with everything I have to kill this thing!” Something I never thought I’d hear Fluttershy say, by the way… “I pray and I pray and it just keeps coming back every time! It’s not fair! It’s not FAIR!” By this point, her legs had started quivering like bands of elastic stretched to their breaking point. They finally gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground. She covered her eyes with her hooves and finally broke down into sobs. “…I… I don’t even know who I am any more…”

Why do I get the feeling you’ve omitted a few critical pieces of information?

That’s funny, that’s… more or less what I thought when all this happened.

So you don’t have the whole story.

I’m just telling you what the Pyro saw, Helen. I don’t have a psychic connection with Fluttershy any more. I severed that one after I turned her against her Element. That was a bad decision in hindsight, but…

Element? Are these nemeses of yours Chosen Ones? Because if they are, you really have no right to complain about being defeated. Statistically, deities perceived as evil by the societies over which they rule have a seventy eight-point-seven percent chance of being defeated by a hero or band thereof whose coming is foretold in a prophecy.

Hush, you. I’ll get to that later. Where were we? Oh, right, I don’t know who I am any more. So there’s Fluttershy, lying in her own backyard sobbing her eyes out. Rainbow was trying desperately to comfort her friend, babbling much too fast to be effective at it, with this look on her face that said “oh shit, what have I done?” which is fair for reasons we’ll see in a second. The Pyro, though, had one hand on its filter. One hand. The other hand was on its elbow.

“Rrrnbrrw, kwrrk, hrrw lrrng hrrsh thrrsh brrn grrwrrng rrn?” it asked, stroking its chin with one finger.

Rainbow looked up at the Pyro, still as frantic as ever. “Wh— I’m kinda busy here!” she blurted out.

“Drrnt plrry grrmsh wrrth mrr! Thrrsh rrsh trr rrmprrrtrrnt! Hrr shrrnrrtrry crrd brr rrn thrr lrrn, frr Grrdsh shrrk! Hrrw lrrng?!” the Pyro shouted, jabbing a finger at Rainbow.

Rainbow scoffed and put her hoof to her face for a moment, then pointed right back. “I-I can’t understand a word you’re saying with that mask on!” Rainbow Dash was hyperventilating by this point. “Look, th-this is all my fault, okay?! Either take that thing off so I can understand you or leave me alone so I can help my friend!”

As Rainbow went back to trying to frantically console Fluttershy, the Pyro clenched its fist and let out a wordless grunt of rage. “Crrrshrrsh! Nrrw wrrt drr Rrr drr?” it said to no one in particular.

And then, a much-too-familiar scene popped back into its head: “Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The Pyro froze in its tracks. The idea it had just had was crazy, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have even considered it. On the other hand, a pony was on the ground crying all the tears she had and more. As they say, and by they I mean you, shit had gotten real. Besides, it had already broken that particular rule once today, so the day was far from normal. As calmly as it could—which is to say, not calmly at all—it considered its options. It removed its hand from its filter. It slowly looked behind it, back at Ponyville. It looked around the field.

And when it didn’t see anyone that would hold it accountable for its actions later, it lowered the filter on its gas mask.

“I said,” it snarled in its ridiculously fake voice, “‘ow long ‘as this been goin’ on?”

Rainbow almost leapt out of her hide and looked back up at the Pyro. “Wha— Why didn’t you do that before?!” she blurted out.

“‘Cause i’s agains’ the rules!” the Pyro snapped, jabbing its finger at Rainbow. Rainbow reared back in shock at its sudden outburst. “Look, my arse ‘as been on the line enough t’day! I ‘ave t’ ge’ this done quick! I’m riskin’ me LIFE fer this one now! Permanen’ly! So coopera’e wit’ me or so ‘elp me God I’ll jus’ walk away! ‘OW! LONG?!”

Rainbow cried out in shock. “A-All right, calm down!” she blurted out. “I-I think it’s been a couple months? A-At least, that’s when she told me! I-I don’t know if it’s been going on longer than that!”

“Okey, le’s see…” the Pyro growled, putting its hand on its chin. “Exis’estential crisis, bot’led emoshions, confusion o’ self-ide’ity… I’ve ‘ad worse. I can do this. I can do this…”

“Wh-What are you even talking about?!” Rainbow asked. It was a perfectly legitimate question.

The Pyro raised its hand to signal her to stop. “Okey, Rainbow,” it said. Heh. Rrrrainbow. Hrrrrr. I love that thing it does with its R’s. Anyway… “Okey, Rrrrainbow. I need ye t’ ste’ back fer a moment. Give Firebird ‘er space.”

“Wh-What?!” Rainbow blurted out. “B-But she’s my friend! Why should I—”

“Kid, ye jus’ said this is yer fault!” the Pyro snapped. “I know ye wanna make yer friend ‘appy again. I get it! I’m sorry, but she doesn’t wanna lis’en to ye righ’ now! Yer makin’ i’ worse!” It jabbed its thumb at its head. “So stand down an’ leave this t’ the professional ‘appy-maker, okay?!”

Rainbow leaned back, eyes wide. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, closed it, then slowly took a few steps back. The Pyro nodded, then scooted forward a little and scooted its hand under the Pyro’s chin.

“Flut’ershy…” it said. Its earlier rage was completely gone, replaced with calm, passive gentleness. “Flut’ershy, please look a’ me…” It tried to lift its hand, but nothing happened. The Pyro sighed, hesitated for a few moments, then spoke again. This time, however, the eye-holes in its mask glowed a faint yellow. Its voice sounded like three voices, each with a slightly different pitch, speaking at the same time. It was remarkably soothing, actually, even to me. “Flut’ershy, I promise i’s gonna be okay. I wanna help make i’ bet’er. Please jus’ look a’ me?” The light faded as soon as the words were out of its mouth.

Fluttershy’s sobs lessened. They didn’t completely go away, of course, but they lessened from soul-wracking sobs to scattered gasps. After a few moments of this, Fluttershy did find the energy to lift her head again. She slowly removed her hooves from her face and looked the Pyro in the eyes.

The Pyro tilted its head to the side. “‘Ey there,” it said. Even with the filter down, its mouth was invisible in the blackness of its mask, but there was clearly a smile in its voice. “Ye feel bet’er now?” Fluttershy only whimpered in reply. The Pyro nodded. “I’s okay, I unn’rstand. Now, Fluttershy… lis’en t’ me, okay? I don’ know who y’are. I don’ know who y’were ‘fore I showed up. An’ yer in no position t’ tell me. I know. I unn’rstand. Ye don’ ‘ave to. Jus’ lis’en, okay?”

“…O… okay…” Fluttershy whimpered.

“Good,” the Pyro said softly, gently stroking the side of Fluttershy’s head. “Now… I know ye don’ think this is… right. For wha’ever reason, ye can’ accept who y’are. Bu’… yer iden’ity, Flut’ershy… i’s like explorin’ the deepest, darkest dungeon in the world. Sometimes, ye find treasure. Otha’ times, ye find monsters. But no mat’er wha’ ye find… thass the way the dungeon was built. If ye leave an’ come back, the monster’s still gonna be there til’ ye kill it. Bu’ this, Flut’ershy… i’ isn’t a monster. I’s part a’ who y’are. I’s a treasure.”

The Pyro began gently petting Fluttershy’s head. “I know i’ seems like yer cursed when ye pick i’ up. Bu’ sooner or la’er, ye’ll discover the benefits. The advantage t’ fightin’ with it. An’ then… well, then ye’ll wonder ‘ow ye ever managed without it. ‘Til then, amigo…” It gently patted her head, then stood up. “…all ye can do is keep on crawlin’.”

There was a long silence. Eventually, at the end of it, Fluttershy stood up. “Th… That makes sense… in a way…” she murmured.

The Pyro let out a deep, heavy sigh, got to its feet and flipped the filter back up. Once it was upright again, the light in its eyes quickly faded away. “Jrrsht drrwrrng mrr jrrb,” it said.

Fluttershy cocked her head to the side. “Your… accent sounded different…” she observed.

The Pyro nodded. “Mm-hmm,” it said simply.

“…Uh… are you okay, Fluttershy?” Rainbow nervously asked, stepping forward again.

Underneath its mask, the Pyro’s eye twitched. It fell to one knee again, twisted around, and yanked the filter back down. “Rainbow, lass,” it snapped, “are ye really this pony’s friend?”

“What?!” Rainbow blurted out defensively. “O-Of course I am!”

“Really now?” the Pyro snarled, crossing its arms. “Ye pushed yer friend int’ this situation. She wasn’t ready fer this. She told ye as much. Bu’ ye pushed ‘er out anyway.”

“I-I—” Rainbow started.

The Pyro raised its hand quickly. “No. Lemme finish,” it said. “Look, I know ye wan’ed wha’ was bes’ fer yer friend. I can unn’rstand tha’. I’s a good sentimen’, yeah? I’s kind. Loyal, even. Bu’ ye didn’ consider wha’ yer friend though’ was best fer yer friend. A good friend woulda’ respected Flut’ershy’s feelin’s, an’ a good friend wouldna’ screamed ‘er deepest secret to a comple’ stranger.” The Pyro slowly stood up. “Ye go’ tha’, blabbermouth?”

Rainbow Dash swallowed, hard, and tried to make herself as small as possible. “Y… Yes, sir…” she murmured.

“Good,” the Pyro finished. “Now…” It flipped the filter of its mask back up and walked back into the meadow. “Rrr hrrf shrrmwrrr Rrr nrrd trr brr.” It stopped in roughly the center of the meadow, picked its flare gun back off the ground and tucked it back into its holster. “Rrrll nrrw wrrr thrrt rrsh wrrn Rrr grrt thrrr. Ffrryrr crrn Dyrrwsh, mrrysh crrbrryrrsh prrkrrnyrrsh.”

And with that, the Pyro turned around and walked back into Ponyville without another word.

Author's Note

I believe that in the actual "game" part of Team Fortress 2, the Pyro's mask is its face. The ambiguity of the Pyro's identity, including its gender and nationality, is a central aspect of its character. Each class has a distinct voice and silhouette. The Pyro's silhouette includes the shadow of its mask, and its voice is muffled by it. I believe that the Pyro's gender and nationality must remain ambiguous in the official continuity of the game. If the Pyro were ever to remove its mask, it would be a betrayal of the character. Will my views stop fanfic writers from guessing, though? Absolutely not. What do you think? Leave a comment below discussing your ideas about the Pyro. And also tell me what you thought of the story. That's important, too.

8: Magic : Music :: Music : Me

Chapter Eight: Magic : Music :: Music : Me

I sigh and lean back in my throne a little. “And he kept running around Ponyville for a while,” I continue. “He got more than a few strange looks, I can tell you that much. But really, aside from that, nothing much actually—”

Suddenly, all the monitors give off a blinding white light, and the sound of an explosion bursts through the room. I throw my arm over my eyes and rear back instinctively, crying out in shock and mild pain. My throne topples over backwards and slams into the ground with a tremendous thud. I roll backwards once before skidding to a slow stop.

Over the echo of my throne slamming into the ground, I could swear I hear Helen saying “Oh, what have you done this time?”

“Good evening, Mr. Discord. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” asks an unfamiliar voice.

My eyes open on their own. There’s a human standing above me. How did that happen? And why is there a light floating above his head?

I get to my feet again, rolling my eyes. “Doesn’t anypony on this planet know how to knock?” I grumble.

The human chuckles and nods. “I apologize for the intrusion, sir. I assure you, this will only take a moment.”

I look the human over quickly. He’s obviously a he. That’s so much easier to tell with humans, for some reason. Is that weird? He’s tall and thin, his skin is pale, his gloved hands are pressed together. His brown, bushy hair hangs behind his back, and his face is decidedly thin-looking. He’s clad in a fancy-looking white dinner suit, a pair of suspiciously large white wings sprout from his back, and what I’d originally thought was just a really bright light above his head is actually a glowing ring. There’s also a pin on his lapel in the shape of a gleaming golden cross. Weird… I feel like I should know this guy from somewhere…

The man reaches into his breast pocket and plucks out a tiny, laminated paper rectangle. “Greetings,” he says. “My name is Michael. Here’s my card.”

I take the card from him and read it. Huh… weird. All that’s on it is a picture of a fish. Oh well. I toss the card behind me randomly. “What do you want?” I ask him.

“I represent the progenitors and divine overseers of the human race,” he tells me.

My eyebrow goes up. “Oh, really?” I reply, trying to sound disinterested. “How’s that been going?”

“Not well,” Michael replies. “Which brings me to why I’ve come to you, Mr. Discord.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a basic-looking manila file folder. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in accepting a position with Creation, Inc.” My eyebrow shoots up. “I have some information for you here. Please, give it a read. We think you could be a wonderful asset to our corporation.”

“…O…kay…” I reply. I can only imagine what the look on my face must be right now. Oh, well. I snap my fingers, and suddenly I’m wearing a suit of my own. It looks like Michael’s, except mine’s purple. And it’s got a pin with Helen’s cutie mark on it instead of a cross. I quickly snatch the folder out of Michael’s hand and tuck it into my coat. “I’ll give it some thought,” I tell him.

“Very well,” Michael replies, pressing his hands together and bowing respectfully. I like this guy. “I shall return shortly for your decision. Peace be with you.” There’s a blinding white flash of light, and Michael vanishes in a puff of gunsmoke.

“Hm. What was that all about?” I remark, waving my arm and righting my throne. I jump into the air once and flap my wings, landing in my throne.

“What are you up to now?” Helen groans.

“Who, me?” I ask, glancing over to her. Her hoof is on her face, and she looks pretty fed up. “I didn’t ask that guy to come in. I don’t even know who he is.”

“Oh, Lord,” Helen groans. “Fine, then, keep your secrets. Get back to your ludicrous story.”

“Okay, if you say so,” I say, clicking my tongue. I shake my head, trying to cast Michael out of my mind. “So, where were we? I think I’m done with the Medic, so… let’s skip to the Engineer now.”

I’m gonna be honest. It’s just as well that we saved the Engineer for last… because what happened to him is the least interesting out of the three. He was actually being responsible with his time. Imagine that, right? By following Twilight’s instructions, he was eventually able to find his way to Carousel Boutique. He was fairly surprised that the building was shaped like a big, giant merry-go-round, but he probably shouldn’t have been. I mean, it’s right there in the name, after all.

He took a deep relaxed breath, pushed the door open and entered. He almost immediately saw a room that just screamed dressmaker’s shop. There was a basic-looking wooden stage with some mirrors around it off to one side, mannequins were scattered around the room in various stages of undress, there was what looked like a dressing room by the stage, there was a big red curtain off on the other side of the room… all the staples. Even more telling, a small bell signalled his entrance into the building. I’m pretty sure all small, privately owned businesses have to have bells. It’s some kind of law.

“…then you could have simply said so,” said a sophisticated-sounding voice from outside the room.

“Oh, come on, Rarity!” said the distant voice of Pinkie Pie. “You’ve gotta come! It’s gonna be amazing! I’m calling in tons of favors for this one! I even got Vinyl in on it!”

At this point, a white unicorn with a wavy purple mane that screamed “I’m more into high society than you are” sashayed into the room, closely followed by a bouncing baby Pinkie, still wearing the basket on her head. It didn’t look like anypony had taken an invitation out. “No, I’m sure the party will be excellent,” the unicorn assured her friend. “and I have every intention of attending. All I’m saying is it wasn’t necessary to throw the party under false pretenses.”

Smirking, the Engineer cleared his throat. “I’m not interruptin’ anything, am I?”

Rarity looked up at the door and did a hilarious double take. You know that look that says “How in Tartarus did I get here?” That was basically the look on her face.

The Engineer chuckled. Now that he was alone, he could have some fun with this. and gave the two ponies a hand signal. You know, the one where he makes a V with his fingers and holds his thumb parallel to the ground? I’m sure that’s significant somehow. “Hello, alien life-forms,” he said calmly. “I am from Earth-VC8-Prime. I come in peace.”

The ensuing silence lasted for precisely thirty three-point-seven two seconds. I know. I counted. Eventually, she took a deep breath and turned back to Pinkie. “Well, then. It seems I owe you an apology.”

Pinkie Pie, of course, burst out laughing. “Wow, you’re pretty good at that, Engineer!” she giggled.

The Engineer sighed and shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “I oughta be,” he chuckled. “I’ve made first contact more times’n the Shifturian Empire.”

“I bet you have!” Pinkie giggled, bouncing toward the door. “Well, you two crazy kids play nice! I’ve got lots more invitations to deliver!”

“Live long an’ prosper!” the Engineer said as she hopped past him. It’s the little things like that that make first contact fun.

Anyway, after she left the room, Rarity shook her head and cleared her throat. “…W-Welcome to Carousel Boutique,” she said, “where everything is chic, unique and magnifique. …And, may I say… er, welcome to our… humble plane of existence.”

“Oh no, not plane of existence,” the Engineer replied. “I don’t do interplanar travel. Not since Earth-ATG2-Prime.” He let out a tiny shudder. “Lemme tell ya, that was a Class-5 pain in the ass. An’ all I got from it was a damn pin… But the point is, I’m from an alternate universe, not an alternate plane.”

Rarity blinked. “I… wasn’t aware there was a difference.”

“Well, it’s all semantics,” the Engineer conceded, shrugging. “I mean, even Doc Quad called planes ‘dimensions.’ That got confusin’ pretty quick. But I digress. I heard you were a tailor. I was hopin’ ya could do me a favor…”

Rarity blinked again. “…I… yes, I am,” she said, shaking her head. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Well,” the Engineer said, stepping forward, “I have this friend, the Pyro. Pinkie mighta told ya ‘bout ‘im? Well, ‘e wears a hat…” The Engineer reached into his satchel and retrieved the two halves of the broken Handyman’s Handle. “…an’ it got broken earlier t’day. I was hopin’ ya could do somethin’ t’ fix it?”

Rarity looked down at the hat and stared at it for a few long moments. “…That is a toilet plunger,” she observed.

“Oh, y’mean ya have toilets ‘ere?” the Engineer replied, taking a knee so he could look Rarity in the eye. He put his hand on his chest and let out a deep breath. “That’s a relief. Ya wouldn’t believe how many universes out there don’t have modern plumbin’.”

“That,” Rarity said again, “is a toilet plunger.”

“Yeah, it is,” the Engineer confirmed.

“And your colleague wears this… on his head?” Rarity asked.

“Heck yes,” the Engineer answered. “So can ya fix it? I bought it for ‘im as a gift in ‘71, an’ he’s real attached to it.” He chuckled softly. “Pun intended.”

Rarity looked at the toilet plunger for a few moments, then eventually took a long, deep breath. “Only in an alternate reality,” she said under her breath.

“Universe,” the Engineer corrected.

Rarity flinched. “Ahem. I-If you say so,” she replied. “This is not exactly my area of expertise, me being a seamstress… but I could certainly repair it.”

“Much obliged, Miss Rarity,” the Engineer replied, tipping his hard hat.

Rarity’s horn activated, glowing a rich blue. The Engineer let go of the two halves of the hat as they slowly floated away from him. Rarity swiveled them around in midair so that they were facing each other. A white ball of light appeared between them, and she fitted them together with a surprisingly loud snap. When the light faded away, the shaft of the hat was fitted together again, with only a few missing chips of wood to indicate where it had snapped.

“There you are, then,” Rarity said softly, levitating the hat back over to the Engineer. “That should be… good to go.”

“Much obliged,” the Engineer said through a cheery smile, tucking the hat back away into a pocket that was too small to hold it. “How much do I…” Suddenly, his smile faded, and he cringed awkwardly. “…oh… Uh… I don’t actually… have any money. In fact, I… don’t even know what the system a’ currency in this world is. …Assumin’ ya have one… Uh… is there anythin’ I could do for ya t’ pay this off? I’m real good with machines…”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about payment,” Rarity replied, donning a surprisingly cheery smile. “It’s just a simple patch job. It would be the least I can do for you. Though if you don’t mind me saying, it is… downright odd. What kind of fashion statement does that even send?”

“‘I ain’t right in the head,’” the Engineer answered.

Rarity blinked. “I… appreciate your honesty.”

The Engineer snorted. “No, I mean the Pyro’s not right in the head,” he clarified. “At least, when ‘e’s off ‘is meds, ‘e is. But you don’t hafta—” Suddenly, the Engineer was interrupted by a long, protracted series of hacking coughs.

“A-Are you all right?” Rarity asked, leaning back slightly. The Engineer couldn’t respond at first, because he was still coughing. After a few minutes, though, he finally managed to regulate his breathing again.

“Ahem… I’m fine,” he sighed. “Why’n the hell’d I take three pills? Short-term gain, long-term loss,” he added under his breath.

Rarity leaned back a little. “You’re on medication?” she repeated.

“Anti-anxiety,” the Engineer clarified. “I’ve had a pretty rough life, an’ I’m contractually obligated t’ leave it at that.”

“Uh— Very well then,” Rarity responded. “I didn’t intend to press the issue.”

“Y’know, I hafta say,” the Engineer remarked, tilting his head to the side, “all things considered, you’re takin’ this pretty well.”

Rarity chuckled softly. “I’m fairly certain it just hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Fair enough,” the Engineer replied. “Incidentally, since I’m here, I don’t s’pose ya know a place my team an’ I could sleep tonight?”

“Oh… well, I would offer,” Rarity responded, tilting her head slightly, “but my parents return from vacation tomorrow, and the guest room is no longer available. You might go find Applejack at Sweet Apple Acres, though.”

“Well, that sounds nice,” the Engineer observed. “How do I get there?” Rarity told him. “All righty then. Well, if there’s nothin’ else, I’ll take my leave. Nice meetin’ ya, Miss Rarity.”

“Likewise,” Rarity replied. And then the Engineer left without another word. Rarity just stared after him for a few moments, blinked, and only then realized she’d forgotten to ask what the hay was going on.

And so the Engineer walked over to Sweet Apple Acres. You get three guesses what Sweet Apple Acres is.

An apple orchard.

You’re not going to make a hilariously incorrect guess? That’s no fun!

Oh, just get on with your story.

You’re the boss, boss! So, Sweet Apple Acres. It’s actually a farm, with a white picket fence and a big red barn and everything. But yes, there is an apple orchard on the property, so you weren’t wrong. Anyway, the Engineer walked up to the farmhouse, because there’s a farmhouse too, and… uh… oh, shoot, what happened next?

You don’t remember?

Not really, no. I was paying attention to the Medic’s research here. I need to keep up with history. I’ve been in stone for over a millenium. One thousand and twenty seven years, specifically. The point is, I… missed a few parts of the Engineer’s story. I think he wandered around the apple orchard for a while. It made sense to him; it was a farm, so the workers would be out working the fields first thing in the morning. I don’t have most of the details there…

Then you’ve failed as a storyteller. You’ve failed, Discord. You may as well leave now.

But if I left now, I wouldn’t be able to tell you that the Engineer was incapacitated by three little girls with a stolen flash gun!

…What?

That’s what I thought you were going to say! But yeah, it’s what happened. Eventually, he thought to check the farmhouse, and he must’ve tried to enter or something, because the next thing I know, he’d ripped off his goggles and was writhing around on the ground and covering his eyes screaming “MY EYES! MY EYES!”

“Oh my gosh, a-are you okay?” somepony blurted out.

“Ow ow ow, it stings, it stings!” the Engineer replied.

The door burst open at that point. “What’ve ya done?!” somepony else, decidedly older-sounding, blurted out.

“W-We didn’t mean t’ do it!” replied a third, much younger voice.

By this point, the Engineer’s eyesight had fully returned. “Okay, I’m better!” he said, removing his hands from his face and snapping his goggles back on. “It’s okay, everyone. I’m all right now!”

Now that the Engineer got a good look at his surroundings, he saw some pretty odd things. First of all, there was an orange mare standing on the porch with a blonde mane and a brown cowboy hat—the last of my six Ponyville nemeses. That wasn’t that strange, though. What was strange were the fillies that the orange pony was glaring at. There were three of them: a yellow earth filly, a white unicorn, and an orange pegasus. All three of them wore dark sunglasses that were several sizes too big for them, and the yellow filly had a familiar-looking silver cylinder in her mouth.

The orange pony looked over to the Engineer. “Are ya okay?” she asked through a heavy and unsurprising Southern drawl.

“I’m fine,” the Engineer replied, tipping his hard hat. “It just took me by surprise, is all.”

“Well, good,” the orange pony replied, turning back to the fillies. “You three should be ashamed a’ yourselves, sneakin’ up on somepony like that!” She then pointed to the silver cylinder in the yellow filly’s mouth. “An’ stealin’, too? I’m ashamed a’ you!”

“We were gonna give it right back t’ Dr. Turner once we were done!” the earth filly said defensively in a similar drawl, dropping the cylinder as she spoke.

“But ya shouldn’ta taken it from ‘im!” the orange pony snapped. “An’ ya shouldn’ta used it on him! Didn’cha hear Pinkie? He’s an ambassador from another universe! Yer not makin’ a good first impression ‘ere!”

The three fillies lowered their heads in shame. “W-We’re sorry… We jus’ wanted t’ try an’ get our mares in black cutie marks…” the yellow filly whined.

The Engineer chuckled softly. “Oh, don’t be so hard on ‘em, ma’am,” he said. “They’re just kids. Let ‘em have their fun.”

And… well, blah blah blah, a long discussion about why the Engineer didn’t hold it against them. Names were revealed during that discussion, but apart from that, nothing really interesting happened. Who cares?

Well… if you don’t deem it relevant, then I suppose—

Okay, skipping over that, then. The unicorn was sent back to Carousel Boutique, and the pegasus was just sent home. I don’t actually know where she lives… Anyway, the earth filly—whose name, the Engineer learned, was Applebloom—was sent to her room. And what did that leave? Well, the Engineer and Applejack was what it left. Because that’s what the orange mare’s name is. It’s Applejack.

What an original name for an apple farmer.

Hush, you. Anyway… “I’m rightly sorry ‘bout all that, Engineer,” Applejack told the Engineer, tucking Dr. Turner’s flash gun behind her ear. “My sisters’re real fixed on gettin’ their cutie marks…”

The Engineer blinked. “What’s a cutie mark, ma’am?” he asked. And then Applejack explained it to him. I’ll spare you the explanation, since you already know what a cutie mark is. What you may not know is that ponies are born without their cutie marks; they have to earn them by discovering their special talents. Hence, the three blank-flanked fillies banded together to discover their purpose in life, forming a group called the Cutie Mark Crusaders. That’s the short version.

How disgustingly saccharine.

I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. “I see,” the Engineer replied. “Well, I’m sorry for causin’ ya so much trouble this early in the mornin’, Miss Applejack,” he said.

Applejack blinked. “Ya don’t hafta call me Miss Applejack,” she told him. “Jus’ Applejack is fine.”

“Noted, Applejack,” the Engineer replied, nodding politely. “I hate t’ get straight t’ the point, but I was wonderin’ if ya’d be willin’ t’ do me a favor. Can we…” The Engineer coughed loudly. “Can we discuss it inside?”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Applejack replied, blinking. “C’mon in.”

“Much obliged,” the Engineer replied. And with that, the two of them stepped into the farmhouse.

The farmhouse itself was a simple affair; orange walls, wooden floors, some furniture scattered about the place… you know, nothing unusual, nothing too fancy. The thing that was unusual, though, was a green mare who was elderly even to the casual observer, reclining in a blue chair on the edge of the room, sleeping softly. Next to her, an old-timey gramophone had been set up, and it was playing a very familiar-sounding song.

Which Sanctioned Song would that be?

Who said it was sanctioned? I think it went a little something like this… “If you believe in magic, come along with me. / We’ll dance until morning, just you and me…”

“Well, this ‘ere’s the farmhouse,” Applejack said, sounding only a little nervous. “That’s Granny Smith over there, an’… uh, you okay?”

The Engineer wasn’t okay. He’d frozen up the moment he’d heard the song. His teeth were gritted, his legs were tensed, his breathing was slowly becoming heavier. “…Uh… wouldja mind turnin’ that music off?” he asked.

“Sure thing,” Applejack replied, trotting briskly across the room.

“And maybe, if the music is right / I’ll meet you tomorrow, sorta late at night,” sang the gramophone. “And we’ll go dancing, filly, then you’ll see—” The needle was lifted off the record and put aside quickly. “There ya go, Engineer,” Applejack said, turning back around. “Now, what can I do for ya?”

Well, of course, I wasn’t about to let a golden opportunity like that slip by, so I kept singing the song—but this time, in an imitation of the Engineer’s voice. “How the magic’s in the music an’ the music’s in me, yeaaah… / Do you believe in magic? Yeaaah…”

The Engineer started hyperventilating, a look of absolute terror on his face, as he fell to his knees and clapped his hands over his ears. Applejack tried to match his look of panic, and trotted briskly back over to him. “A-Are you okay?” she asked.

“Believe in the magic of a young mare’s soul…” The Engineer’s spine bent forward, twisting him into a ball. “Believe in the magic of rock and roll…” The Engineer bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming. “Believe in the magic, it can set you free… / Ohhh, talkin’ ‘bout the magic…”

And just like that, with the echoes of “Do you believe like I believe?” bounding freely through his mind, the Engineer slipped into the world of his own subconscious—the traumatic, tragic world of Incident Zero-Six. It was one hell of a thing to see, lemme tell you. I’m not gonna lie to you, it wasn’t easy to keep him going with that, medicated as he was. If my reflexes weren’t as good as they were, he might not’ve gotten as far as he did.

Okay, I know you already know everything that happened in Incident 06. But this was the most I’d heard of most of it, so it was a brand new world for me. I know it’s just redundant for you, but I want to go through some of the highlights anyway. I’ll make it quick, I promise.

“Final sequence, ladies an’ gents. Let’s get this puppy booted up.”

“Do you believe in magic in a young girl’s heart? / How the music can free her whenever it starts…”

“…Arcane levels increasin’ within acceptable limits…”

“Well, this is it, Nick. Ya think it’s gonna work?”

“A’ course. Why wouldn’t it?”

“I’m still worried about the inherent contradiction in its design. I mean, it’s the logical extension of our theory, but… well, it’s a damn superweapon. Honestly? I don’t have a damn clue if it’s gonna work.”

“Well, if it works, it works. If it doesn’t, the worst that happens is we lose power for a few hours, an’ then the government lets us go, right?”

“…Ya always were the sensible one, Nick.”

“And we’ll go dancing, baby, then you’ll s—” BANG! DEATH SCREAM!

“Zhe magic’s in zhe music, and zhe music’s in me, gentlemen!”

“Oh, my GOD! SECURITY! Alan, stop the test! Stop the test!”

“…It’s not— It’s not shuttin’ down! It’s not—” And I think you know the rest.

Ooh, here’s one of my favorite parts…“Hahahahaha… Hahahahahahahaha… Kill me…”

“How long…?”

“You were unconscious for three weeks. Your brother is… alive, but in a similar condition to yourself.”

“…Can’t… feel… arm…”

“Have you tried looking at it?”

“…Cyborg…?”

“It was the only way to save your life.”

“Bearers…?”

“I’m afraid none of them survived, Doctor.”

“No…”

“However, we found evidence to suggest that… you were involved with one of their deaths.”

“…Mercy kill…”

“We beg to differ, Doctor. We found evidence to suggest that Honesty likely could have survived.”

“No… had to… He asked…”

“I’m not here to argue that point, Doctor Conagher. I will be honest with you, however. This whole operation has been a complete mess. I’m afraid the only option left at this point is to wipe our hands of it… and, unfortunately, of you.”

“Hear me, you obsolete pile of flesh and metal! You love me… You adore me… You vant to name all your children after me…”

“I love ya… I adore ya… I wanna name all my children after ya…”

“Have no fear, citizen. You’re safe now.”

“…What’n the…?”

“There’s no time to explain now. Do you know where the doctor is?”

“Doctor…? Who…? What…?”

“Hm hm hm hm hm… Vell, vell. I vas vonderink ven my little dog and pony show vould attract… executive attention.”

“Ah-HA! Your days of villainy are over, Doctor! You’re under arrest!”

“You’ll never take me alive, Herr President!”

“Bailiff! Remove him from my courtroom!”

“YOOOU! IF YOU’RE STILL ALIVE BY THE TIME I GET OUTTA JAIL, I SWEAR T’ GOD, I’LL RIP YOUR HEART OUT AN’ CRAM IT DOWN YER THROAT! THIS AIN’T OVER, YA SON OF A BITCH! YOU HEAR ME, SPEKTRA?!”

“IT AIN’T OVER ‘TIL ONE OF US IS DEAD!”

The Engineer was still trapped in the world of I06 when he screamed those words. He didn’t realize he’d shouted them, nor did he realize he’d pulled out his shotgun. So naturally, leaping out in front of him was not the best idea. But that didn’t stop Pinkie, who jumped out of nowhere and shouted “NO GUNS!”

The Engineer pulled the trigger reflexively. A bang rang out through the farmhouse, followed by two terrified screams. The next thing the Engineer knew, his shotgun was yanked out of his hands and a wrecking ball hit him square in the crotch. Fortunately, the kick brought the Engineer back to his senses. Unfortunately… well, I think you can guess. Clutching at his groin, he stumbled blindly backwards and slammed into the door. Let me see, how did his response go… I think it was something along the lines of “UOOOOOOAAAAAAAH!” …Yeah, that sounds about right.

A few moments later, he hit the ground, hard. “AAAAAGH! MEEEH-DIC!” he screamed, his voice a few octaves higher than normal.

“Oh, sweet mother Celestia, are you okay?!” Applejack blurted out, charging up to the injured human. “I didn’t mean t’ do that, I swear!”

The Engineer continued writhing around on the ground, only managing to get out some inarticulate screams in response.

“Engineer, are you OK?” asked the disembodied voice of Pinkie Pie. A few moments later, she darted up to him, carrying a green bottle of pills. “Don’t worry, I keep painkillers stashed all over Ponyville, in case of painkiller emergencies!”

Applejack glanced up at Pinkie, obviously surprised. “Uh… ya do?” she asked. “Are ya sure that’s legal?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Pinkie replied.

The Engineer groaned and removed his hand from his crotch in order to take the bottle. Once he removed his hand, however, he revealed a dark stain slowly spreading across it.

Applejack and Pinkie both reared back and gasped in horror. “Apple Bloom, go back inside!” Applejack shouted.

“Okay, this goes beyond a painkiller emergency!” Pinkie blurted out as the Engineer grabbed the bottle. “We’ve gotta get him to the hospital, stat!”

“No! No!” the Engineer blurted out, dropping the bottle and going back down to his crotch. “Leave me here! It’ll be quicker! I… nnnnghaaaahh! DOC! I NEED SOME DOGGONE HELP!”

“Whaddaya mean, quicker?” Applejack asked. “Yer in pain! Yer… yer bleedin’! Ya— Ah, Celestia, I’m so sorry!”

“My God…” the Engineer moaned, dropping. “Aaaaaagh, pain pain pain…”

“Okay, ‘ere’s the plan,” Applejack said, looking up. “Pinkie, there’s an old hay cart in the barn we use for Nightmare Night. Go get it an’ come back. Then we’ll—”

“Hello, Fräuleins!”

Applejack and Pinkie both looked up, more surprised than anything. “Oh, hi there, Medic!” Pinkie said, waving to the approaching human.

“Oh, now what?” Applejack wondered aloud.

The Medic practically skipped up to the barn, doing up the last button on his lab coat as he did so. “Yes, yes, hello Pinkie. I—” Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. “Vait a minute, Pinkie?” he said, staring at the mare. “How ze hell did you get here before me? I don’t remember you leavink ze library.”

“We’ve got bigger problems than that right now!” Pinkie replied, pointing to the writhing Engineer.

The Medic looked back down at his fallen teammate and snorted. “Did ze Fräuleins haff zeir Mittelschmerz?” he asked, grinning and tipping his head to the side.

“Would you just help me already?!” the Engineer shouted through tears.

“All right, all right,” the Medic replied, rolling his eyes and pulling out his Medigun. “If you’d just hold still…” he added, aiming the Medigun at the Engineer and pushing the lever forward. Blah blah blah, healing gas covered the Engineer, the pain faded, the bloodstains faded with it. You know the drill. Eventually, the Engineer groaned one last time and slowly got to his feet. “‘Preciate it, Doc,” he sighed.

“You’re good to go,” the Medic said simply, stopping the flow of gas and putting the nozzle away. “Dare I ask vat happened here?”

“Applejack kicked me in the… eh… genetic dispenser,” the Engineer mumbled.

Applejack’s eyes widened. “Oh! O-Oh, that’s why… That makes a bit a’ sense… Oh, Celestia, I’m sorry,” she said. “I-I wasn’t tryin’ t’… Are you okay?”

“He’s fine now,” the Medic explained. And then he gave her the explanation about the Medigun and what it does. It took Applejack a little more time to buy it than Lyra did, but eventually she accepted it.

“…I… okay, I guess we’ll go with that, then,” she said, still pretty confused.

Pinkie giggled. “Good for you, admitting when you don’t understand it!” she said, patting her friend on the back. “I’d expect nothing less from the Element of Honesty!”

The Engineer’s admittedly nervous grin vanished in an instant.

Applejack cringed. “Pinkie, don’t bring that up,” she said. “I don’t like havin’ t’ explain it t’ ponies.”

The Medic arched an eyebrow. “Ze Element of Honesty?” he repeated. “You’re von of ze Elements of Harmony? Vell, vell. Vat a surprise. Hey, Engineer. Did you know Applejack’s von of ze vielders of an ancient superveapon? No kidding! She’s a bona fide Chosen Von! Zat’s seventeen, bottle, six, by ze vay. I’m not ze only von keepink track, am I?”

“Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, Loyalty, an’ the keystone, Magic,” the Engineer recited flatly.

Applejack leaned back slightly. “How’d you know that?” she asked.

The Medic arched his eyebrow and gave his teammate a skeptical look. “Zat’s a good qvestion,” he asked. “I mean, I’ve been doink research about ze history of Eqvestria. How’d you figure it out?”

Suddenly, the Engineer darted forward. Applejack reared backwards, but before she could dart out of the Engineer’s way, he had his hands on her neck. Gently, mind you. They were just there to keep her from running away, not to choke her.

“Honesty, listen t’ me,” he said. “The Elements a’ Harmony… I don’t care how ya use ‘em. But if ya don’t have every wielder there… if the circuit ain’t complete… DO. NOT. TRY.”

Ah. I see where you’re going with this.

“Oh, good. That means I don’t have to explain it,” I say, swiveling around to face Helen. “Well, after that, things proceeded about as well as you’d expect. The Engineer calmed down, explained his condition, explained that he’d suffered from a flashback, and then proceeded to secure some housing for the night. Specifically, Applejack’s barn.”

Helen cocks her head to the side. “The barn?” she repeats. “That seems a bit odd. Was that the only room they could spare?”

“Well, the Engineer…” I make some fingerquotes around these words. “‘didn’t wanna impose.’ He probably could’ve scored the apple cellar if he’d wanted to, but he chose the barn. Anyway, nothing else really—”

Suddenly, the monitors start giving off bright red light or static, and spewing words in languages I don’t understand. I groan and put my hand over my eyes. “Oh, now what?” I groan.

A few moments later, there’s a massive burst of flame at the back of the room. “Hey dere. Discord, right?” asks a surprisingly imposing-sounding voice, through a heavy-accent that I can’t quite place.

I look up, and sure enough, there’s a third person in the room with us. He’s also wearing a well-pressed suit, but his is red. It matches his skin, which is a nice touch. Unlike Michael, he doesn’t have a halo, but he does have wings. They’re red and leathery, like a bat’s. He’s also got a black fedora to match the horns sprouting from his forehead. A lit cigar is clenched between his crooked, razor-sharp teeth. And he’s also wearing a big bronze ring with three sixes on it. Already, I like this guy’s style more than Michael’s. Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s interrupting me.

“Whatever you want,” I grumble, “make it quick. I’m trying to tell a story here.”

The red man grins and plucks his cigar out of his mouth. It smells like brimstone. “Da name’s Mephistopheles, kid,” he says.

I shoot him a look and, after a few moments, begrudgingly stand up. “Can I just call you Mephisto?” I ask.

“I’d rather ya didn’t,” Mephisto replies. “Look, Discord… I represent a… well, tink of us as a big, happy family, yeah? And I’ll be frank wit’ ya. Our family’s always lookin’ for new membahs. Know what I mean?”

I don’t say anything for a long time. Eventually, though, I smile. “You know,” I say, extending my hand, “I kinda like you, Mephisto. You remind me of my father.” Mephisto chuckles and shakes my hand. “So let’s say I wanted to join this… family of yours. What would I be doing?”

“We consida’ ourselves legitimate businessmen,” Mephisto tells me.

“Eh… that’s never really been my style,” I reply.

Mephisto smirks. “But our ‘business,’” he tells me, “just so happens t’ be in punishin’ the souls a’ da damned. We need guys widda’ good sense a’ irony, and you fit da bill pretty well.”

“Oh,” I reply. “Well, I… guess I could do that… I don’t know, though. I’ve got kind of a cushy position up here. Are there any benefits, or…?”

“Ya’d hafta talk t’ Don Lucifer,” Mephisto replies. “But, y’know, I could put in a good word for ya, if yer interested.”

“Yeah, that’s… fine,” I say. “I guess I’ll give it some thought… but I have to say, you’re way more convincing than Michael.”

Mephisto chuckles. “Listen, kid… ‘tween you an’ me? I wouldn’t listen t’ da man upstairs. Da family… tends t’ ‘ave more fun, if ya catch my drift.” In a burst of flame, Mephisto vanishes.

“You know, I like that guy,” I say, flopping down again.

Helen scoffs. “Assuming this isn’t just some extended trick you’re playing on me,” she says, “I wouldn’t trust him.”

“Why not? He’s a legitimate businessman. He said so himself,” I chuckle.

Author's Note

Incident Zero means something different for every member of the RED Team, but it's classified for all of them. But then, you already knew that, right? And in completely unrelated information, I'm going to share a little secret with you. The gag I've unofficially labeled "Heaven, Inc. and the Demon Mafia," though I am very proud of it, is something I decided to throw in at the last minute. I can assure you, however, that it does have a payoff coming. As always, feel free to leave a comment below telling me what you think about what I've written so far. Thank you for reading my story, gentlemen. I may put this thing on hiatus for long periods of time occasionally, but I promise you I won't cancel it.

9: Bludgeoning The Hay

Chapter Nine: Bludgeoning the Hay

“Well, that was fun. Where was I?” I spin around once before turning back to the monitors. I’m actually kind of bored now. Maybe I should look over the switchboard again. “I could tell you about what happened after that, with all the mercenaries wandering randomly around Ponyville and scaring random ponies by simply being there, being humans, and being mercenaries, but I know how you get about superfluous details. Why don’t we skip ahead to when the mercenaries went to bed?”

“I can’t help but think you’ve contradicted yourself,” Helen tells me.

I glance over at Helen. She’s just lying there, staring at the monitors like a big, loyal watchdog. It’s actually kind of cute. I crack a smile despite myself. “No no no, it’s important, I swear,” I tell her.

Helen rolls her eyes, not bothering to look at me. “You have no idea where you’re going with this, do you?” she accuses.

“I know exactly where I’m going with this!” I reply defensively. “I have the soul of a dramatist, I’ll have you know.”

“You have a soul?” Helen scoffs. “I’m not convinced you’ll be able to handle my position, then.”

“Meh, I’ll get used to it,” I tell her, shrugging. “So, let’s not waste any more time. Bedtime blitzkrieg in five, four, three, two, one…”

Applejack threw open the doors to the barn. “Well, here ya go, fellas,” she said cheerily, pointing to the back of the barn. “We set up some spare mattresses for ya in the back there.”

The Engineer cheerfully tipped his hat to the orange apple farmer. “Much obliged, ma’am,” he said. The Pyro, standing behind him, put its hand up to its mouth and yawned mightily. It sounded kind of like a door with rusty hinges swinging closed. Or maybe that’s just me.

The Medic groaned inarticulately, struggling to keep his eyes open, and slowly trudged across the barn. “Sleeeeeep…” he moaned.

“Whoo, nelly. What’ve you been doin’ all day, Doc?” the Engineer asked, scratching his head.

Of course, the Medic was so uncharacteristically tired because of his caffeine crash, but lucky for him, he was too tired to say that. “Sleeeeeep,” he groaned again. And then I got an idea, but I’ll get into that later. The Teutonic man of medicine… heh. Teutonic. That’s a fun word. Anyway, he flopped down onto a nearby haystack without another word, and he didn’t move an inch. He started snoring softly almost the instant he stopped moving.

“…Well, he’s tired, ain’t ‘e?” Applejack remarked.

“Yeah…” the Engineer said to himself, stroking his chin. “Ya might even say, suspiciously tired…”

“Rrtrll brry frrn,” the Pyro yawned, stretching its arms and trudging into the barn.

“…I hope so…” the Engineer added, cringing and trudging after it. After a few moments, he stopped in his tracks. “Uh, thanks again for lettin’ us stay here, Applejack. If there’s anythin’ we could do t’ repay ya…”

Applejack chuckled nervously and looked away from the Engineer. “Just try not t’ shoot anythin’ while yer in ‘ere, okay? We milk cows in ‘ere on Sundays, an’ I’d rather not hafta explain bullet holes in the walls t’ our payin’ customers.”

The Engineer blinked, and the Pyro stopped in its tracks. “Customers?” he repeated. “Cows pay ya t’ milk ‘em?”

“Well, yeah,” Applejack replied. “I mean, somepony has to do it, an’ it’s kinda awkward, so the least we can do is pay ‘em for their trouble.”

The Pyro and the Engineer exchanged an odd glance. Or the Engineer’s was odd, anyway. The Pyro’s was hidden. “…Crrwsh rrr shrrnshyrrnt hrrr?” the Pyro eventually asked.

Applejack looked up at the Pyro and tilted her head to the side. “…What’d ‘e say?” she asked.

“He said, ‘Cows’re sentient here?’” the Engineer translated.

Applejack blinked, obviously taken aback by the question. “Uh, yeah,” she said. “Why? Are they… not in your universe?”

The Engineer cringed. “No, not so much,” he replied. He realized that with that statement, he had an opportunity to reveal the fact that humans are omnivores, and subsequently, the fact that steak is delicious. But experience had long ago taught him that revealing your omnivorism to a society of implied herbivores was never a good idea. At least, not until you knew for sure how they’d react.

“…Huh. Go figure,” Applejack said to herself, tapping her chin with her hoof. “…Well, anyway, I hope y’all sleep well. We set up some extra pillows an’ mattresses for ya in the back.”

“Oh, well, that was nice a’ ya,” the Engineer remarked.

“Actually, ya can thank Rarity for that one,” Applejack replied.

The Engineer blinked. “Rarity? The tailor?” he asked.

“Yeah, her,” Applejack confirmed, nodding. “She went out an’ bought these for ya, dropped ‘em by the barn right after ya left. She said it was the least she could do.” She chuckled soflty to herself. “Y’know, I don’t know why I always forget she’s the Element a’ Generosity…”

The Pyro cocked its head to the side. “Rrr yrr, yrr mrrnrshrrnd thrrt,” it remarked.

The Engineer flinched at the mention of the name. “I… see,” he said. “Say, out a’ curiosity, who are the rest a’ the Elements?”

Applejack seemed to be reminded of something by this question, and looked the Engineer square in the eyes. “Y’know what?” she said. “Before I answer that, why don’cha tell me how ya knew what all the Elements were. Ya’re from an alternate universe, apparently, so how couldja know that?”

The Engineer flinched, his mind briefly returning to the tragic and horrifying events of Incident Oh-Six. “Oh… just a hunch, ma’am,” he replied. “I don’t really wanna talk about it. It’s classified. An’ personal, besides.”

Applejack squinted at him suspiciously for a few moments, and his only response was an awkward grin. Eventually, after a very, very long silence, Applejack sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well, all righty then. I don’t mean t’ pry,” she said. “Well, there’s me, the Element a’ Honesty. Then there’s Rarity, she’s Generosity. There’s Pinkie Pie, she’s got Laughter…”

“Really?” the Engineer asked, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “Huh. Shoulda seen that one comin’, I guess.”

“Then there’s Fluttershy, the Element a’ Kindness,” Applejack continued. “Ya might not a’ met her.”

“Rrw! Rrw! Rrr hrrff!” the Pyro interjected, raising its hand.

“…Ya’ve met ‘er?” Applejack guessed.

The Pyro nodded enthusiastically. “Mm-hmm!” it replied.

“Huh,” Applejack said, smiling faintly. “Somethin’ tells me ya’d get along great.”

The Pyro’s enthusiasm suddenly faded. “Rrr, yrr… shrrr,” it said.

“Anyway,” Applejack continued, “there’s also Rainbow Dash, the Element a’ Loyalty, an’ Twilight has the Element a’ Magic.”

“Twilight… Y’mean Twilight Sparkle?” the Engineer asked, rubbing his chin.

“That’s her,” Applejack replied.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” the Engineer replied. “Okay then. Honest Applejack, generous Rarity, funny Pinkie Pie, kind Fluttershy, loyal Rainbow Dash an’ friendly Twilight Sparkle. I can remember all that. Thanks, Applejack.”

“Not at all,” Applejack replied, grinning a grin that rang a little false to the Engineer. “So, I guess I’ll see y’all at the party tomorrow!”

“See ya then!” the Engineer said cheerfully, tipping his hard hat to her. “An’ thanks again for all this!”

“No problem!” Applejack said, tipping her Stetson in return. She turned around to leave without another word.

“You an’ your friends look out for each other, now!” the Engineer said to her back. The barn door closed before Applejack could respond. “Heh. What a nice mare,” the Engineer remarked, making for the back of the barn.

“Rrr nrrw, rrrt?” the Pyro agreed, following after him. True to Applejack’s word, three notably small pillows, blankets and mattresses had been set up in the back of the barn, with a pillow on each of them. Of course they were too small. They were mattresses designed for ponies, after all.

The Engineer sighed. “You want the mattresses, Pyro?” he asked.

“Shrrr,” the Pyro replied, stepping up to the mattresses and removing its weapons from its back. “Wrrr rrr yrr grrnrr shlrrp?”

The Engineer, meanwhile, stepped up to an old wooden cart in the corner of the barn—you remember—and took off his hard hat and goggles. “I’ll use this,” he replied, setting them down next to said cart.

“Wrr crrn shrrr thrr mrrtrrrshrrsh,” the Pyro suggested, setting down its Sharpened Volcano Fragment next to its flare gun.

“Nah, that’s okay,” the Engineer replied simply, leaning his wrench against the cart’s wheel right next to his shotgun and Wrangler. “I wouldn’t want you t’ be uncomfortable, now.”

“Rrrrr… Rrkrry…” the Pyro sighed, gingerly setting down its hat a good distance away from its weapons and laying down face-up on the mattresses.

The Engineer removed his glove, revealing a perfectly normal human’s right hand underneath, and laid down on the cart. “I wouldn’t mind if ya spared a blanket an’ a pillow, though,” he added.

“Rrw, shrrr!” the Pyro replied cheerfully, sitting up. It grabbed a spare pillow, wrapped a blanket around it, and quickly tossed him the bundle.

The Engineer caught the bundle in midair and quickly unfolded it. “Much obliged,” he said cheerfully, setting up the pillow behind him and tossing the blanket over him. He then raised his hands above his head, forming a square with his fingers, smirked softly, and began reciting a bizarre, alien incantation: “Ready. Ten, let value hat equal unspec thirty-nine. Twenty, let value Misc1 equal unspec thirty-eight. Run.” Man, this universe is weird.

“Wrrt rrr yrr drrwrrng?” the Pyro asked, pushing the mattresses closer together.

“Well, we’re goin’ to a party tomorrow,” the Engineer replied, grinning. “I figgered I might as well dress the part.”

“Rrw, grrd rrydrryrr,” the Pyro said, raising its own hands like the Engineer did. “Rrrdrry. Trrn, lrrt ffrrlyrrw hrrt rrkwrrl shprrk shrrffrrn. Twrrntrry, lrrt ffrrlyrrw MrrshkWrrn rrkwrrl shprrk frrr. Thrrtrry, lrrt ffrrlyrrw MrrshkTrrw rrkwrrl rrnshprrk twrrntrry-frrr, crrsh trrw. Rrrn.”

“All righty then,” the Engineer sighed. “We’ll swap our loadouts in the mornin’. I’ll tell the Medic about it once ‘e wakes up.”

“Rrkrry. Shrry yrr rrn thrr mrrnrrng,” the Pyro replied.

“G’night,” the Engineer said simply. Silence fell over the barn for a few moments. But it only took a few moments for that silence to be broken.

“…Hrry, Rrnjrry?” the Pyro asked softly. “Yrr rrshlrryp yrrt?”

The Engineer sighed. “Not at all,” he said simply, sitting up. “What’s eatin’ ya?”

The Pyro sat up as well, sighing heavily. “…Rrrm wrrrryd rrbrrt wrrt hrrprrnd thrrsh mrrnrrng,” it said.

The Engineer cringed. “Y’mean… you takin’ down the filter?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” the Pyro replied, burying its head in its hands. “Rrr… wrrt rrff shrr frrndsh rrwt? Rrsh shrr grrnrr frryrrr mrr?”

It was at about that point that the Engineer realized that yes, that was actually very possible. I mean, the Pyro’s anonymity is the first things addressed in its contract, after all. If it was learned that said anonymity had been compromised, then yes, it was entirely possible it could get fired for it. A few moments after he realized this, the Engineer’s expression suddenly became determined. “It’s gonna be okay, Pyro,” he swore. “She won’t find out about it. It’s our secret, an’ I’ll take it to the grave if I have to.”

“Brrt yrr drry rrll thrr trrm,” the Pyro pointed out, looking back up at the Engineer.

“I mean the real grave,” the Engineer corrected. “She’ll never find out about this from me, even if she tortures me for a thousand years.”

The Pyro didn’t say anything at first. After a few moments, it finally slumped over a little and let out a sigh that, even through its filter, was obviously wistful. “Thrrnksh, Rrnjrry…” it said. “Yrrr rr grrd frrrnd…”

The Engineer’s heart melted, and his face twisted itself into a goofy smile. “Thanks, Pyro,” he said, looking down slightly and putting his hand on his chin. “Ya want me t’ sing ya a lullaby?”

The Pyro’s spine straightened, and it nodded enthusiastically. “Rrw! Yrrsh, Rrr drrw!” it blurted out, clapping its hands a few times. “Shrrng Lrr Crrbrryrr Grrtrrnrr!”

“All righty then,” the Engineer said. He scooted up to the edge of the cart, casting his blanket aside for a moment, and pulled an acoustic guitar out of midair. Holding it by its neck, he strummed it once. Satisfied that it was in-tune, he set it down on his lap and began to strum it.

That’s just about enough of that.

I sigh and turn back to Helen. “I know, I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I don’t need to tell you what happened while the Engineer sang the song. It’s dull and unproductive. I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do that.”

Helen smirks at me smugly. “Good,” is all she says.

Good, she fell for it! I grin and start mischievously rubbing my hands together. “Instead, I’m gonna sing it myself!”

Helen’s smirk vanishes. She groans in exasperation and slams her hoof into her face. “Agh!” she cries out, rearing back instinctively. Looks like she forgot she has hooves now.

I can’t help it. I snort. “Okay then, if there are no objections!” I say cheerfully. I swivel around so I’m facing away from the monitors and snap my fingers. In a bright white flash of light, a copy of me appears in front of me, holding an acoustic guitar and grinning. “Ready, Discord?” I ask him.

“Ready, Discord!” he shoots back, clicking his tongue and winking at me.

“Okay, let’s go!” I say, leaping up. I glance over at Helen before we begin. She doesn’t look surprised, not that I was expecting that. She’s simply staring at me, exasperated. I was expecting that. After all, she doesn’t know how well I can sing. “A-one, a-two, a-one, two three, four!”

The other Discord begins strumming his guitar in an upbeat fashion, a gigantic grin on his face. It starts off as the introduction to La Caballa Gitana, exactly as the Engineer played it. But by the sixth measure, other-Discord feels comfortable enough to throw in some improv. Good for him. I grin, take a deep breath, stretch out my vocal cords, and on my cue—not a moment before, not a moment later—I begin to sing in a rich baritone.

“Cuando estas tu devastado,

Ten esto en tu mente claro:

Eres creación de un juguetero

En una bola de cristal.”

Helen looks more surprised by all this than anything, I notice.

“No importan sus movimientos,

Seguerimos resistiendo.

¡Nuestras almas ganan fuerza

Entonando esta canción!”

Helen continues to stare at me, perplexed, as I launch into the next verse. Luna’s mane, she’s beautiful.

“Cuando era una potrilla,

un gran incendio azotó mi villa.

Me enviaron al orfanato.

Mis raices me quisieron hacer olvidar.”

Other-Discord should be playing this next part solemn, but he doesn’t feel like it. He goes nuts with the improv, putting in sixteen notes where there should only be one. I like it.

“Pero aún puedo recordar

Los huerfanos y su danzar.

Sus nombres yo no sé, y sus caras olvidé,

¡Pero aún recuerdo esta canción!”

Other-Discord and I lock eyes for a brief moment. We grin two identical grins at the exact same time. I give him a quick thumbs-up, then launch into the final verse.

“Cuando todo haya acabado,

Y pierdas los que tu has amado,

Escucha el dulce tintineo

De mi pandero feliz.”

For the briefest of instants, I could swear a flicker of a smile crosses Helen’s face.

“Los acordes te hipnotizan.

Todo el mundo se armoniza.

Así que niños, ¡ya no lloren!

¡Solo canten junto a mí!”

The song ends, just like that, and it seems like all the magic leaves the room. For the briefest of moments, I miss it.

Other-Discord’s voice pulls me out of my trance. “Good job, Discord!” he says. “You’re better at this whole singing thing than I remembered!”

I shake my head, turn to Other-Discord, and grin. “Gee, thanks, Discord!” I tell him, falling back into my throne. I then turn to Helen. “I hope you enjoyed that brief little musical interlude,” I tell her.

“…I grudgingly admit,” she says, still glaring at me, “I have certainly heard worse performances of La Caballa Gitana. Like when the Scout sings it, for example.”

“Which Scout?” I ask her, crossing my arms and smirking. “The RED Scout, or the BLU Scout?”

“Either one,” she replies matter-of-factly. “The RED Scout simply cannot comprehend that Spanish words are pronounced differently than English ones, but the BLU Scout is a worse singer in general. Those two disadvantages cancel each other out, I think.”

“Good to know!” I reply, grinning and spinning back around to the switchboard. “Now, back to our regularly scheduled story! As you can imagine, the Pyro fell asleep pretty quick after it got its, lullaby, and—”

“Oh, sweet mother Celestia, you’re not going to tell her about the Pyroland Incident, are you?” Other-Discord interjects. What? Why wouldn’t I— ohhh… Other-Discord’s words hit me like a knife to the chest, and I realize exactly what part of the story I’m getting to. I cringe and turn around to look at my counterpart, rubbing my hands together awkwardly.

“Well… yeah,” I mutter, not meeting his gaze. “It’s what comes next in the story…” I glance over at Helen, who’s observing the two of us with obvious intrigue. Great.

“Do you have to?” Other-Discord asks, clearing his throat. “I mean, couldn’t you just say you forgot, or it’s irrelevant to the story or something?”

“It’s not irrelevant to the story, though,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “I kind of have to tell her what happened…”

“But it’s so… creepy and… weird…” Other-Discord says, sounding a little bit like he’s whining.

“Weird?” Helen repeats. I glance over to her, only to see her smirking smugly and leaning forward. “Well, if whatever you’re about to tell me about is considered weird by your lofty standards, I’d be a fool not to be curious. Go on, Discord. I insist.”

I look back to Other-Discord, silently pleading with him for backup. He just sighs and shakes his head. “You’re on your own, pal,” he tells me. He snaps his fingers and vanishes in a puff of smoke. I sigh heavily and look back at Helen.

Luna’s mane, she’s beautiful.

“…okay, fine…” I begin in a very small voice. “The Pyro fell asleep pretty quick after it got its lullaby… and it started dreaming even quicker.”

In the depths of the Pyro’s psyche, the skies were blue, the fields were green, the clouds were white and fluffy. The flowers were gigantic and brightly colored, gigantic, bulbous kittens and puppies floated aimlessly through the air, and giant lollipops stuck out out of the ground in large patches. You know what’s funny? Pyroland looks almost exactly like Tartarus when I got kicked out. Man, was I drunk that day…

Ponies drink alcohol?

Well, ponies don’t, no. You see, ponies’ metabolisms are actually miracles of biology. They’re really super-efficient for their size, especially earth ponies. Alcohol barely even affects them. To even get a buzz, they’d have to drink enough to send a human into a coma. It’s actually really interesting when you stop and think abo—

You’re going on a tangent, aren’t you?

…Well, yeah.

Stop that at once. I want to hear about the Pyro’s dream, which you seem so adamant to keep from me. Continue… if you please.

…Okay, fine. The Pyro skipped gleefully across the land of its imagination, approaching the idyllic and perfect village of Teufort, where a shallow lemonade river separated the homes of the gentle Red Elves and the hardworking Blue Cherubs. It easily hopped the fence, plucked a lollipop from the ground next to it, and twirled it over its head. “Hrrlrrw, rrffrrywrrn!” it said joyfully. “Rrm hrrr!”

Suddenly, there was a bright white flash of light in front of it, and when it could see again, a shockingly attractive… creature, let’s call him… materialized in front of it, reclining on a throne made of purple gumdrops. He casually twirled his thin white mustache, adjusted his sombrero, and plucked a gumdrop from the arm of his throne. “¡Buenas noches, mi mejor amigo-slash-amiga! Won’t you be my neighbor?” he said through a cheerful and thick but outrageously fake Spanish accent.

The Pyro gasped and charged up to the throne, jabbing its lollipop back into the ground as it ran. “Drrshrrdrrn! Drrshrrdrrn! Rrr mrrshd yrrw!” it said, leaping into its imaginary friend’s lap like a kid going to see Santa Paws at the mall.

“Desorden” chuckled and twanged the handle on the Pyro’s head. “I meessed you too, sport,” he told it. “Eet gets lonely around ‘ere when you go back to el mundo dispierto.”

“Shrrw wrrt rrr wrry grrwrrng trr drrw trrdrry?” the Pyro asked, clapping its hands in anticipation. “Rrr wrr grrnrr grr shwrrmrrng? Rrr crrnrrwrrng? Rrw! Rrr crrn wrr grrw brrk trrw Prrhrrlrrnd Crrtrry? Rrr thrrnk Mrrshtrr Brrlrrnrrcrrn rrrlrry nrrdsh shrrm chrrrrng rrp trrdrry!”

“Oh, don’t worry about Señor Balloonicorn. He always needs cheerin’ up!” Desorden replied, casually tapping the Pyro’s chin and laughing heartily. The Pyro giggled right along with it, of course. “An’ sí, all dose teengs sound like fun. But today we’re gonna do someteen’ different. Someteen’ new an’ exciteen’. Someteen’ you’ve neeever done before.”

“Rrrw, Rrr crrnt wrryt!” the Pyro said eagerly, clapping its hands. “Wrrt rrsh rrt?”

Desorden smirked. “I’m gonna geev you a lesson, Pyro,” he said. When he spoke again, his voice was jam-packed with whimsy. “I’m gonna teach you about… de five senses!”

Oh, no.

The Pyro tilted its head to the side. “Wrrt?” it asked. “Rrrm frrtrry-thrrry yrrsh rrld, Drrshrrdrrn. Rrr nrrw wrrt thrr frrff shrrnshrrsh.”

Desorden chuckled. “Well, play along for your ol’ pal Desorden, okay?”

“…Rrkrry?” the Pyro eventually agreed.

“Good! ¡Vamanos!” Desorden laughed, snapping his fingers. The next thing the Pyro knew, it was standing in front of Desorden, who cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Now, everypo— ahem. Esscuse me, everyone has five senses. Dey are sight…” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly everything the Pyro could see became brighter, as though it had taken off a pair of sunglasses. “…hearing…” He snapped his fingers again, and the Pyro’s hearing became heightened. “…taste…” He snapped his fingers again, but nothing appeared to happen this time. “…smell…” He snapped his fingers again, and suddenly the Pyro felt a breeze on the bridge of its nose.

It was quick to realize that it effectively didn’t have a nose, and snapped upright. “Wait, what are you—” It didn’t need its heightened hearing to realize that its voice was unmuffled.

“…and most eemportant of all, touch!” Desorden finished, snapping his fingers one last time. This time, the Pyro could feel a breeze all over its body. It looked down in horror, only to discover that its rubber suit was missing, replaced by a swimsuit. It leapt into the air and screamed like a little girl, throwing its hands over itself in an attempt to preserve its modesty. …I want to tell you the best part about that now, but no… no… that would spoil it. Just trust me, there’s a payoff for this. “Well, I guess dat answers dat question!” Desorden remarked.

No. You didn’t.

“Wh-What deed you do dat for?!” the Pyro blurted out, horrified.

“An’ now,” Desorden finished, “you haff all five senses back! See? Before, you couldn’t feel anyteeng! You couldn’t use your sense of touch! But now you can! Eesn’t dat great?”

“N-No!” the Pyro blurted out, curling into a ball. “Geev me my suit back! I—” Suddenly, it stopped mid-sentence. It only realized just then that it could, in fact, feel its skin rubbing against itself. It felt… warm. Comforting. “…I… oh. Actually… dees ees kind of… nice…”

Desorden sighed and stood up. “Pyro,” he said gently, “I deedn’t mean to scare you. I jus’ feel like you’ve been… deprived. I mean, de suit is great… s’fireproof, an’ all… but teenk about it. How long has eet been seence you’ve been able to feel anyteeng esscept asbestos scrapeen’ ‘gainst yer skeen? Taste anyteeng you couldn’t feet t’rough de feelter of your mask? Hear anyteeng dat deedn’t come t’rough a layer of rubber first? An’ don’ even get me started on your nose…”

The Pyro didn’t answer. It couldn’t. It was too busy relishing the new sensation of touch. It ran its fingers over its body, through its hair, across its face. It rubbed its bare feet against the ground. It reached out and touched the wooden wall of the Red Elves’ home. A splinter broke off in its finger, but it didn’t care.

A few moments later, the Pyro realized its other senses were still working, too. It took deep breaths of the hot air, basked in the scent of sugar that seemed to come from everywhere at once, listened to the songs of birds and the distant laughter of children. It was glorious. Every sensation, forgotten so long ago, was rediscovered good as new. I don’t think it ever occurred to it to smile. It simply cast its eyes, ears, and other sense-organs all over Teufort, greedily soaking in everything.

“Just remember, Pyro,” Desorden said, crossing his arms. “Ees all a dream. And your boss? She cannot puneesh you for what happens een a dream, yeah?”

“…No…” the Pyro agreed. Suddenly, it was struck by an idea. It looked to its left, and sure enough, the lollipop was right there where it had replanted it. Slowly, hesitantly, it reached out, grabbed the stick and plucked up the lollipop. The stick felt smooth and slick in its hand, but the Pyro didn’t care at this point. It raised the lollipop to its mouth and licked it. It tasted like pure sugar and strawberries. The instant that taste hit its tongue, its knees buckled beneath it and it fell to the ground, overcome with ecstasy. Panting heavily, it began to rapidly lick at the circle of sugar product, practically rubbing the damn thing against its face.

“Eh… wow, you’re really goeen’ to town dere, aren’t ya?” Desorden observed, nervously rubbing his hands together. The Pyro didn’t answer. “…You know, I never realized unteel now how steenkin’ long your tongue ees.” Again, no answer. Desorden glanced from side to side nervously, clearing his throat. “…So whenever you’re feeneeshed… Dere are lots of udder teengs we could be doin’ today.”

Suddenly, the Pyro was struck by an idea. I actually had nothing at all to do with this one. It just happened. The Pyro was still for a few moments. Then, it dropped the lollipop and ran over to Desorden, planting its sticky red hands on his furry chest. “Desorden,” it said, looking up at its friend with pleading eyes. “Dees ees a dream, yes?”

“Sí, señor-slash-señorita,” Desorden replied.

“An’ because eet ees,” the Pyro continued, “we can do… just about anyteeng, right?”

“…Sí…” Desorden replied, nodding. “De only leemeet to what we can do ees your eemaginashon. Where are you goeen’ with dees?”

That would’ve been an ideal time for the Pyro to smile, but that didn’t occur to it at the time. “Een dat case…” it said, “I know what I want to do today.”

“We can do jus’ about anyteeng we want een here,” Desorden said, grinning and kneeling down to look his friend in the eyes. “What do you want to do today, amigo-slash-amiga?”

Panting heavily, its whole body trembling, the Pyro planted its hands on its friend’s shoulders, leaned forward, and whispered its reply into his ear. Desorden’s expression shifted over the course of the reveal from intrigued to perplexed to shocked.

“…Crísto Redentor, dass… not what I was esspecteen’,” he observed once the Pyro was done.

“Can you do eet?” the Pyro asked, leaning forward. “Please… I don’t want to waste dees chance…”

“W-Well, I can, but… a-are you sure?” Desorden asked, glancing around nervously. “I mean, dere are lots of udder teengs you could do. We could go sweemeeng… or canoeeng… or anyteeng else, really, eenstead of—”

“No!” the Pyro interjected. “I know what I want, Desorden. Please… Please… You’re my friend… You haff to do dees for me… Please…”

Desorden stared into the Pyro’s eyes, and he could tell it meant it. There was something primal in those eyes. Raw, unfiltered desire. The Pyro would not be swayed in its decision. And really, who would… Desorden… be to deny his friend? “…Well, eef dass really what you want…” he said nervously, looking away from the Pyro.

“Oh, eet ees,” the Pyro panted.

“…den I guess you can,” Desorden finished. After a few moments, he snapped his fingers again. He and the Pyro were transported to the basement of the Red Elves’ home—specifically, the Root Room. The room overlooked a massive underground cavern, and roots of the Life Tree hung from the ceiling. Dangling from those roots, somehow, there hung a glowing red fruit shaped suspiciously like a briefcase.

But, of course, the Pyro didn’t notice that at first. The first thing it noticed… was the addition to the room: a large double bed with a red satin comforter. Naturally, the second thing it noticed was the man lying on the bed, giving the Pyro a powerful come-hither stare. Specifically, that man was… um… well, guess.

Oh, not again…

He didn’t say anything. He just raised his hand and beckoned to the Pyro. For the first time, it actually smiled. Its body went limp and started quivering, it began to pant rhythmically, its jaw hung open loosely, and its tongue began to loll out of its mouth. Like a dog’s. Eugh.

“…So I’m gonna leeve you two alone, den,” Desorden chuckled, turning to leave. Before he was even out of the room, he heard the Pyro’s bare feet charging toward the bed… and…

I awkwardly clear my throat. “And… uh… yeah, I think you get the idea.” Helen doesn’t say anything in response. I glance over to her, and I see that her face is buried in her arms. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea this time!” is all I can think to say in my own defense.

“…Why… in the names… of all the gods at once… was that necessary?” Helen asks, slowly looking back up at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this angry, and I do a poor job of hiding it.

I nervously swivel around to face the monitors. “W-Well, there was a point to it.” She simply stares daggers at me. “It was all a part of my plan to… um…” I nervously scrape the ground with my hoof. “…help show the mercenaries that…” Wait. If she’s this angry at what happened to the Pyro, revealing my plan at this point would NOT end well. “…Okay, fine, I was just doing what the Pyro wanted me to do.”

Helen scoffs and rolls her eyes. “And that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t removed the Pyro’s suit,” she points out.

“That part was important, though…” I reply distractedly. The only sound in the room is the beeping of the computers behind me. I feel like I have to say something in my defense. “W-Well, for the record, it’s not the… act itself that creeps me out,” I say. “It’s just… how it was done. I mean, it started off simple enough, but later, they kept making… Desorden get things… After a while, things started getting weird. Like, really weird.” A stray thought pops into my head. “Although actually, now that I think about it, it reminds me of a guy I used to know. Asmoheus, I think his name was. Dad never let me go to his parties…”

“You had an odd childhood, didn’t you?” Helen growls.

“Very odd, yes,” I reply.

“You know,” Helen remarks, “I’m almost inclined to not believe you. I mean, I’m fully aware that most of the RED Team harbors some kind of sexual fantasy involving the Spy, but to have the Pyro be involved with it is simply—”

“Wait, the Spy?” I interrupt. “…No. No, I— what? That doesn’t make any sense. The Spy wasn’t involved in this.”

Helen lets out a long, deep breath. “Thank… God… for that,” she says. “I swear, in the old days, interrelations between the mercenaries were so commonplace you could sell footage of their day-to-day lives as some kind of pornographic, action-oriented soap opera. And the worst part is, I know it’s still going on behind my back… but somehow, I can’t prove anything.”

I cringe, not wanting to meet her gaze. “It, um… it wasn’t the Spy. It was the Engineer.”

All of a sudden, something snaps in Helen’s mind. Her wings flare up, and she stomps on the ground with sufficient force to crack the tile. Her horn starts glowing, and suddenly I feel my throat being squeezed. Hard. “SON OF A BITCH! AGAIN?!” she screams.

Now that’s not the reaction I was expecting. My hands instinctively shoot up to my neck. But as they overlap with the aura of Helen’s magic, they’re simply pressed against my throat and immobilized. Oh, that was such bad idea. “Wh-Whoa! Calm down there!” I choke out. My eyes are bugging out of my head, and I can barely breathe, but I somehow still manage to talk. “I-I’m just the messenger here! Don’t shoot the— Don’t choke the messenger! That won’t solve anything!”

“It’ll make me feel better!” Helen snaps, tightening her magical grip on me. She’s not kidding, is she? I’d better not risk it. I somehow manage to lift one of my hands and snap my fingers. I teleport behind her before she realizes I’m gone. I reflexively gasp for breath, and she whirls around. But I pluck her horn right off her head before she can do anything else with it.

“Calm. Down,” I command her, glaring with a ferocity to match her own. “I have a story to tell here, and I can’t tell it if you’re choking me. Can I get back to work now, please?”

Helen glares at me with a fiery rage in her eyes to rival the sun itself. She goes on, wordlessly panting and snarling, for a few minutes that seem to last a lifetime. “…Fine,” she eventually growls. “…Continue.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I teleport back over to my throne and set Helen’s horn down on the switchboard. “You know, you’re not as cute when you’re angry.”

“Silence,” Helen growls.

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I can’t be silent if I’m telling the story,” I say. “Think, woman. So, where were we? Oh, yeah…”

At about one-thirty that evening, the Engineer awoke to an unfamiliar noise. A persistent, repeated grunting noise is how I’d describe it. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, like you do, only for the noise to get louder. The Engineer sighed and pulled his pillow over his head. Then, all of a sudden, the noise changed to a strangely intense “Mm-mmmhmmm…” and that was when he got worried. He sat up to see what the source of the noise was, and… well, guess.

I reallyfail to see the necessity of this part of your plan.

It’ll make sense eventually, I promise. I swear on all the legions of Tartarus.

You… baffle me, Discord.

Aw, I love you too. Anyway, the Pyro was… well, really going at it. I don’t think it moves that much on the battlefield. Hips thrusting, clutching at its pillows, gasping and moaning like some kind of feral animal on heat, the whole nine yards. It just bounced up and down in a one… one-Pyro display of mobility and lust that would’ve put the Medic to shame.

The Engineer stared at the thrusting Pyro for a few long moments. At the end of the silence, all he could think to say was “…Huh. Go figure.” With that, he quickly began to go over his options. The obvious solution would be to wake the Pyro up and get it to stop making noise so he could sleep. But as you know, if it woke up, that would mean its you-know-what would kick in, and fire would happen. Naturally, the Engineer, having notably more respect for sentient life than the Medic, couldn’t let that happen. But being a nice guy, he didn’t want to wake up the Medic to execute his plan safely. So he decided on the simpler option and laid down again, never more thankful that he’d chosen not to share the mattresses.

And the instant he thought that, the Pyro made itself impossible to ignore. In its sleep, it suddenly cried out “Rrr, Grrd, Rrnjrry…”

Rrrrrrgh…

The Engineer shot upright and stuffed his fist in his mouth, muffling his horrified cry of “What?!” just in the nick of time. The Pyro, oblivious, kept right on truckin’. The Engineer stared for a few moments, then buried his head in his hands and started muttering to himself. If you’ll permit me, he actually had a really good conversation with himself here. Let’s see, how did it go…

“Oh God, not again…” he started. “An’ with the damn Pyro, too… How is it that I’m the only hundred-percent straight man on my team, an’ I’m always the one gettin’ lusted after by other men?”

“Well, not a hundred percent,” his brain shot back. Or rather, I shot back in an impression of his brain.

I thought you were busy with the Pyro when this happened.

You lost your interrupting-me privileges when you tried to choke me, young lady. Now shush. “No, dammit, I am!” the Engineer snapped back, curling his hands into fists and hitting himself in the legs. I said nothing in response, simply summoning up the appropriate memory. “…Oh, God, this now… Spektra, git outta my he—” He stopped midsentence. “Wait… I took three pills this mornin’. How’n the hell did I have a flashback while I was ridin’ high on a hundred an’ eight milligrams a’ Supressanx?”

“Does it matter right now?” I countered. “I mean, I just got all eight of ‘em. The complete set. An’ it only took me fourteen years t’ get the last one… Wonder what took the Pyro so long?

“Dammit, brain, you’re not helpin’!” the Engineer muttered, hitting himself twice on the forehead. He sighed heavily, again burying his head in his hands. “What’n the hell am I gonna do…”

“The same thing ya did the other seven times?” I suggest.

The Engineer considered this for a few moments, then finally sighed. “As always, brain… you’re right,” he sighed, leaning back down. “I’ll just talk to ‘im in the mornin’. Like ev’ry other time.”

Considering everything else that had happened, I felt I owed him a decent night’s sleep, so I granted him one. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep again was “Rrr, yrrsh, thrrr!”

The second-to-last thing he thought before he fell asleep was “A bubble blower? Why do you need— Never mind, I don’ wanna know.”

And the last thing he thought before he fell asleep was “What’s that smell?”

Author's Note

As of this chapter, ladies and gentlemen, you may consider my story's Mature listing justified. Thank you all, again, for taking the time to read this story of mine, and let me be the first to say I'm so very, very sorry. As always, feel free to drop any compliments, criticism or other miscellany you have in the comments. More of the same coming soon... except it'll be less sexy. ...Hopefully.

7: The Savant's Scheme

Chapter Seven: The Savant’s Scheme

I sigh and lean back. “Well, that’s one plot thread over with.”

“What, that’s it?” Helen asks. She sounds surprised, but not disappointed.

I turn to look at her. One eyebrow is arched, and her head is cocked to the side. Is it me, or is she getting more expressive? “Yes, it is,” I reply, cracking my knuckles. “The Pyro ended up just wandering around Ponyville for several hours after it left Fluttershy’s cottage.”

“You are aware,” Helen sighs, “that the Pyro is actually a M—” Snap, beep. “—H—” Snap, beep. “—w—” Snap, beep. “—you stop doing that?!”

I snort, rather loudly. “No,” I giggle. “This is my story, dammit, and I intend to tell it the way I want to.” I sigh. “But not right now. I need to rest my throat a little. I’m gonna just try to figure out how to work this switchboard for a few minutes…”

I look over that for a few moments. Wow, there are a lot of switches on here… I put my hand over my eyes and randomly swipe my hands over the switchboard. I open my eyes again and turn to the monitors.

“Intruder alert!” shouts Helen’s pre-recorded voice from the monitors. “A RED Demoman is in the base!”

My eyes are drawn to a monitor where a man dressed as a caricature of a soldier sits in front of a series of signs, three of which are lit. I recognize the man as the BLU Soldier, the BLU Team’s honorary field commander and just as batapples insane as his RED counterpart. His head snaps upward in shock. “A RED Demoman is in the base?!” he shouts, just as shocked as he must’ve been the first time.

An idea flickers into my head. I rub my hands together and giggle to myself. I snap my fingers, then flick three more switches at the same time.

“BLU Soldier! Look out behind you!”

The Soldier whirls around, whipping his rocket launcher out from behind his back at the same time, and fires. He doesn’t count on targeting a solid brick wall, though. The rocket explodes before it leaves the muzzle of the launcher. The rocket launcher explodes, and so does the Soldier.

I double over in maniacal laughter. Clutching at my stomach, I wave my hands over the switchboard just before tumbling out of my throne. The switches reset, and a few more of the switches flick themselves.

“The BLU Soldier has exploded!” Helen’s voice shouts to the BLU Team. “Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!”

“Oh… Oh, glorious mischief, I missed you so!” I cackle, stomping my hoof against the floor. “Oh, I can see them now! ‘He’s a Demoman! How hard can he be to find?!’”

“You are abusing your position,” Helen points out. “And you’re being immature about it to boot.”

I take a long, deep breath and climb back into my throne. “Ah… Ahhh ha ha ha… But Helen, my dear… what’s the point of power… hee hee… if you don’t abuse it?”

There’s a brief silence while I catch my breath. Eventually, Helen sighs. “I suppose you have a point there,” she says.

“Ahhhh… Oh, it’s the little things.” I sigh and look back to Helen. I think she’s trying to hide a smile. “In fact, it reminds me of this time I dressed up as Conquest and paraded around medieval Ishayel…”

Helen’s false disapproving scowl turns into a real one. “I’m sorry, Ishayel?” she says. “I highly doubt that that’s a real place.”

I snap my fingers and grin. “Oh hey, thanks for giving me a segue!” I remark.

Helen groans and flops down onto the ground again. “Why do I encourage you?” she sighs.

“I love you too, darling,” I reply, winking. “Now, what’s our old pal the Medic been up to?”

Well, first things first, I guess. He headed straight for Fluttershy’s cottage along with the Pyro. He didn’t waste any time. He just walked up to the door, shoved it open and entered. Fluttershy’s cottage is an interesting place. It’s got some basic wooden floors, a fireplace, a green couch—nothing too fancy. Except the 107 bird houses hanging from the ceiling, that is. I know. I counted.

Anyway, Rainbow Dash—you remember, the blue pegasus the Medic clobbered— was draped across it, wings up. A wooden pail was sitting on the floor in front of her, half-filled with her vomit. Her eyes were blurry and unfocused, and her tongue hung loosely out of her mouth. Fluttershy, meanwhile, was standing in front of the couch flipping frantically through a textbook. “Okay… Okay, how are you feeling now?” she said frantically.

“WHAT?” Rainbow Dash shouted. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“Ze doktor is in, gentleponies,” the Medic announced. Fluttershy just about jumped out of her skin. She whipped around to face the door in midair. When she saw the Medic, she shrieked. Wouldn't you?

Would I scream if I saw an alien charging toward me, you mean? No. Possibly the first time, but if one were to charge at me this instant, I most certainly would not.

It happens more often than I think, hm?

You have no idea.

Doesn’t surprise me at all. Anyway… “Calm yourself, Fräulein,” the Medic said, stepping across the room calmly and pulling out his Medigun.

“FLUTTERSHY, IS EVERYTHING OKAY?” Rainbow asked.

“S-Stay away from Rainbow Dash!” Fluttershy blurted out, flaring her wings in panic. “I-If you don’t, I swear I’ll—”

The Medic aimed his Medigun at Fluttershy and pushed the lever forward. Red healing gas flowed out of the nozzle like a… big… red… snake-thing—I’m bad at metaphors—and enveloped Fluttershy. Fluttershy stood still for a few moments, but eventually lowered her wings. “…Oh…” she said softly. “Oh, that… That feels very nice…”

“Out of curiosity, how vould you describe how you feel right now?” the Medic asked. “Like you’re being given a relaxing massage, perhaps?”

“That… That sounds about right…” Fluttershy moaned, closing her eyes.

“WHAT? DID YOU SAY MY NAME? IS THERE SOMEPONY ELSE IN HERE? I CAN’T SEE A THING,” Rainbow shouted.

“Good,” the Medic said, releasing the lever. “Zat’s vat your friend here is going to feel vhen I heal her concussion. It von’t be ze slightest bit traumatic or—”

All of a sudden, a white dove fluttered out of its bird house, perched on the Medic’s shoulder and cooed in his ear. The Medic stopped mid-sentence, and his face went blank. He slowly turned his head to the side and looked the dove right in the eyes. There was a silence that felt like it lasted a very long time as the two of them stared at each other. Eventually, the Medic began to speak slowly in German. Fluttershy doesn’t speak German—something we have in common—so she didn’t know what he was saying. Luckily, I understand German, so I happen to know roughly what he was saying. As I recall, it was something along the lines of “Hello, little one. Do I know you?”

The dove cooed and nipped at the Medic’s nose.

Fluttershy, meanwhile, stared at the Medic and tilted her head to the side. “Um, excuse me… Mr. Human?” she asked. “You should be careful around that dove… He… um, he has an—”

The Medic’s head snapped around to face Fluttershy. “Is he hemophilic?” he asked. Not in ze can’t-stop-bleeding sense of ze vord, but in ze can’t-stop-zinking-about-blood sense?” he blurted out.

Fluttershy reared backwards in shock. “Wh-What? No!” she blurted out. “I-I was going to say, he’s sick!”

“Oh,” the Medic replied. “Zat’s… I’m sorry, I just… zought I recognized him.” There was a brief silence after this.

“…Um… you mentioned something about healing my friend?” Fluttershy murmured.

The Medic cleared his throat and shook his head. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he said quickly. He slowly stepped forward and pointed his Medigun at Rainbow Dash. Taking a long, deep breath, he pulled the lever… or at least, he tried to. Confused, he looked down at the Medigun and yanked on the lever again a couple of times. It barely moved half an inch back. “Vhat ze…?” he asked, more to himself than anything.

“I-Is everything all right?” Fluttershy asked.

“Vhy isn’t it—” the Medic started. Suddenly, he cut himself off mid-sentence. He just stood there for a moment, then groaned and slapped himself in the face. “Freakin’ really?!” he blurted out. “How do I keep forgettink about zat?”

Fluttershy blinked. “Forgetting about what?” she asked.

“Oh, never mind zat,” the Medic scoffed dismissively, rolling his eyes. “I svear, I hate interactink vis civilians. Zis Friendly Fire zing is so damn picky. Luckily…” He adjusted his Medigun, taking care to aim it at the red segment of Rainbow Dash’s mane. Which is on her head, so we’re clear. He pushed the lever forward again, and this time it worked. The red gas flowed out of the Medigun and washed over Rainbow Dash. Her eyes quickly began to refocus, and she donned a confused expression. “What the…?” she wondered aloud. “What just happened?”

The Medic released the lever and turned around. “My vork here is done,” he said, stepping toward the door. He slipped his Medigun back into its slot left without another word, completely ignoring Rainbow Dash shouting at his back.

How disgustingly sentimental of him.

I thought it was kind of touching moment, myself. Grief does strange things to a man. A man who still hasn’t given up on finding his friend after he was lost in a tragic dimensional fluctuation… Beautiful. I think Shakespearicles wrote a poem about it once. Shakespearicles was a time traveller at one point, right?

Only if you listen to the raving conspiracy theorists indigenous to this world’s street corners.

Oh, sure. But how can you trust them? I hear some of them believe in this secret society of warmongerers called the Overseers. Crazy, right?

Touché.

I knew you’d warm up to me eventually. Well, that’s the only other noteworthy thing that happened at Fluttershy’s cottage that day. The Medic left the cottage at around “Shrrsh nrrmbrrrsh yrr nrr shrry, rr shrrsh crrrrsh rrlffrrdrry…”

Did the Pyro notice the Medic leaving in the middle of its song?

Well, no. Why do you ask?

Well, if it had, then you giving a play-by-play of the musical number would have been warranted.

That’s fair, but it’s not what happened. Would I lie to you?

Without incontrovertible evidence against that assertion, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.

You crack me up, little buddy. Anyway, after he left Fluttershy’s cottage, the Medic ended up walking back to Ponyville. He didn’t have anywhere in particular to go. He didn’t run into very many ponies, but those he did come across gave him the widest berths they could. Because he didn’t know where else to go, he ended up walking back to Twilight’s house. Of course, that’s where the portal was, glowing white and hovering in midair. The Medic slowed to a stop before the glowing orb. He stared at it for a moment, then looked down at his feet and sighed heavily. As a single tear slid down his cheek, he muttered a solemn vow—heh heh—in tearful German. “Eines Tages, Archimedes… Eines Tages.”

Hmph.

Psh, stoneheart. Anyway, after that, the Medic walked around the tree, hoping he’d randomly find something to entertain himself with. As he stepped around the tree, however, he spotted a previously unnoticed sign in front of it. The sign had an open book written on it, and the words “Golden Oaks Library” were written across its pages. “Ah, a library,” the Medic mumbled to himself. “Perfect…” He stepped up to the door and knocked on it three times.

A few moments later, the door opened. Standing in the doorway was Spike, looking no worse for wear after being punted earlier that morning. “Can I—” He didn’t get any farther than that. When he saw the Medic, he stopped in mid-sentence.

“Ah, you again,” the Medic said, kneeling down. “Your name vas… Spike, right?”

“I…” After a few moments, Spike’s face hardened into a stern expression. “Yeah,” he said simply, crossing his arms. “And you’re… Red Medic, right?

“Ze RED Medic, zank you very much,” the Medic corrected sternly. “Lovely to see you again. So… no hard feelinks about zis morning, right?”

“You threatened to cut unicorns up while they were still alive,” Spike pointed out. “I mean… you’re not even trying. It’s like you stepped out of an Amareican comic book or something.” The Medic’s eyebrow went up. Before he had the chance to ask the obvious question—you know, ‘Did you say American?’—Spike spoke up again. “No offense, but… you haven’t been making yourself seem very sane so far, and I’ve been told not to let you in.”

“It’s only fair zat I seem insane,” the Medic admitted. “I am, after all, a SADist.”

Spike snorted. “You don’t say,” he remarked.

“It’s a pun, Spike,” the Medic scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Ve’re speakink different languages. You vouldn’t get it. Look, I zink ve may haff gotten off on ze wrong foot.”

“You don’t say again,” Spike said again, baring his fangs.

“I don’t mean you or your mistress any harm,” the Medic said calmly. “I just vant to come in and—”

“Twilight’s not my mistress,” Spike interrupted. “And no, you can’t come in.”

“…And read,” the Medic finished. “Zis is a library. All I vant to do is read. Books. Zere vere some qvestions I didn’t get ze chance to answer in my experiment earlier, and—”

Spike’s eyes went wide, and he reflexively took a step away from the Medic. “What experiment?” he blurted out.

“Oh, she’s fine!” the Medic blurted out instinctively, raising his hands defensively. “Don’t vorry, she’s fine. Granted, I did leave her at kind of a bad time, but—vait, zis isn’t comink out right.”

“I-I think you should leave now!” Spike stammered through his fangs, trying to make himself look tough.

“I von’t touch anyzink but ze books,” the Medic said calmly, leaning forward a little. “I’ll be very qviet. Tvilight von’t even haff to know I’m here.”

“Go away,” Spike growled, trying to scowl as menacingly as he could. “I’m not letting you in here, you Trazi scum.” A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Heh, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Trazi scum?

See? Remember those cards from earlier? They’re relevant, still.

No, just a moment. …That cannot possibly be where you’re going with this.

Heh heh heh… just you wait, Helen. Anyway, the Medic could’ve left it at that, but then Archimedes cooed in his ear. Or that’s what he thought, anyway. He snapped his fingers, a gesture that drew a nervous flinch from Spike. “Good idea, Archimedes,” he said. He looked Spike right in the eye before speaking again. Also before speaking again, his eyes began to glow yellow. “Allow me to enter,” he commanded in a low, sinister growl.

Spike’s eyes went wide for a brief moment, but then they returned to normal, and Spike kept on scowling at the Medic. “No,” he insisted.

The Medic balled his hands into fists, and the light in his eyes grew brighter. “I mean you no harm,” he snarled. “Allow me to enter.”

“I said no,” Spike snarled back.

The Medic hesitated for a moment, then sighed deeply. “All right,” he growled, slowly removing his glasses and stuck them in his breast pocket. “I didn’t vant to haff to do zis, Spike, but you leave me vis no choice.”

All of a sudden, quick as a flash, the Medic’s hand shot out and grabbed the green spines on top of Spike’s head. Spike had no time to swat the hand away, breathe a plume of flame, or even try to maneuver out of his grasp. All he had time to do was jerk his head upward and look the Medic in the face. That was his mistake. In an instant, the yellow light in the Medic’s eyes vanished, as if someone had flipped a switch. His eyes transformed into tiny green balls with lighter-green spirals in their centers, spinning wildly out of control. Two rays of green light shot out of the Medic’s eyes and right into Spike’s. “Listen to me, you impotent, smoke-spewing juvenile!” the Medic snapped, with utter rage in his voice. When he spoke again, though, the rage was wiped away, and he began speaking in a calm, entrancing voice. “You love me… You adore me… You vant to name all your children after me…”

As Spike stared into the face of the Medic, his own went blank. His eyes, once possessing green irises and the slitlike pupils of a cat, suddenly transformed. His eye sockets were filled with green. Out of where his pupils had once been, there flowed a pair of spirals. “I love you…” he repeated in a low, expressionless voice. “I adore you… I want to name all my children after you…”

The Medic let go of Spike’s spines. Spike’s eyes, along with his own, returned to normal. “Zat’s better,” he said casually, retrieving his glasses and slipping them back on as he stood up. “Now, allow me to enter.”

Spike craned his neck upwards and smiled at the Medic. “Of course, Red Medic,” he said cheerfully, stepping out of his way.

“Danke, Spike,” the Medic said cheerfully, stepping into the tree. It looked pretty much exactly what you’d expect a library inside a tree to look. Bookshelves were carved into the walls, and a wooden ladder leaned against one of them. The place felt a lot more lived-in than a standard library, judging by the few books that lay discarded on the floor. The Medic’s eyes were drawn to the center of the room. A large, round wooden table fashioned to look like a tree stump sat there, and atop it there sat a large wooden bust of a horse’s head.

“Vell, zis is homey,” the Medic observed. He shut the door behind him, stepped up to the table and flopped down cross-legged in front of it. As he removed his backpack, he turned to face Spike again. “Retrieve an anatomy book,” he commanded. Spike dashed off into the library without another word.

The Medic sighed and set his backpack down next to him. Following a brief and uneventful silence, Spike came back into the room, carrying a thick book with both hands. The Medic noticed him before he got there. “Ah, excellent,” he said, reaching out to take the book. “Zank you, Spike.”

“You’re welcome, Red Medic,” Spike sighed, still wearing a dopey grin. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not yet,” the Medic replied, setting the book down in front of him. The title, of course, was written in the Equestrian symbol language, but the Medic could still read it as clearly as if it were English. “Dressed Vound’s Anatomy of ze Eqvine Body, Eqvestrian Publication,” he read aloud. “Vonderful…” He shifted his weight slightly, sighed contentedly, cracked open his anatomy text, and began whistling a song from his childhood. I’m sure you know the one. By sheer coincidence, he opened to an anatomical diagram of the unicorn’s skeletal system, viewed from the front. The other page was almost all text.

“Ze unicorn’s skeletal structure,” he mumbled under his breath, “is remarkably similar to zat of ze earth pony, vis ze obvious difference being zat ze unicorn possesses a horn. Compositionally, however, ze skeleton is qvite different. A unicorn’s skeleton, unlike zat of an earth pony or pegasus pony, is composed of a bone-like substance called alicorn, not to be confused vis ze fourth pony race of ze same name.”

I know this already. Is there a point to this?

…Okay, fine, we’ll skip ahead to the interesting part. “In an interesting, zough macabre, side note,” the Medic read, “because alicorn is a natural magical conduit, it is possible to construct a…” The Medic arched an eyebrow and leaned in closer to the text. “Synzetic horn?” he remarked in disbelief. “How ze hell do zey know zat? …construct a synzetic horn out of a deceased unicorn’s horn or bone. Ze former is markedly more effective, zough never as effective as a livink unicorn’s magic, for reasons detailed earlier.” The Medic reflected to himself that this made sense, but he didn’t know what that sentence was doing in an anatomy textbook. Equestria had seemed a little too… bright and colorful to know something like that. Intrigued, he kept reading.

“Ze process vas believed to be zeoretical until Vorld Var II, ven vait vat?!”

Oh, you must be kidding me.

Ha ha ha ha ha… That was about the Medic’s reaction, too,” I tell her, grinning. “The Medic just read over that line over and over again for a very long time. Eventually, he turned to Spike and said “Spike. Retrieve a book about ze history of Vorld Var II and an atlas. Qvickly.” Spike hadn’t moved since he returned from getting Wound’s Anatomy, but he took off without another word. Adjusting his glasses, the Medic leaned closer toward the textbook.”

“…until Vorld Var II, vhen it vas used to grant ze power of magic to Germane troops. Needless to say, horn-reaping, as it came to be known, has since been outlawed by ze… Geneighva… you haff got to be kiddink me.”

Germane troops… the Geneighva Convention… Ishayel… Allegations of Trazism… Please don’t try to tell me…

A few moments later, Spike returned carrying three books. The Medic quickly took them and cracked open the one on top, which he identified as a moderately thick atlas. He opened to a two-page spread depicting the topography of the planet Equus as shown from space, and… waaait for it… and as he’d suspected, it was almost identical to the topography of Earth.

No! NO! This is completely implausible! I do not accept this! You must be lying to me!

The Medic and I were just as surprised as you. Equus was—still is, in fact—almost completely identical to Earth. All the usual suspects were there— North and South Amareica, Eucroupe, Zebrica, Haysia, Austalia and Antlertica. The only difference between the two worlds, in fact, was that Equus had an extra continent. Guess where it is?

…It is as an island in the Atlantic Ocean, approximately five hundred miles off the coast of… your world’s equivalent of Portugal. It is the smallest of all the continents, including Austra… Austalia… and it is called Atlantis.

That’s almost exactly right, Helen! It’s actually as an island in the Atlointic Ocean, and it’s not called Atlantis. It’s not called Atlointis, either. It’s called Equestria!

…You mean to tell me… that your world… is parallel to mine.

Well, not exactly, but it sure looks that way if the light is just right and you squint a little. Of course, the Medic sure thought that, but he needed more proof. So he cracked open the second book Spike had brought him, A Brief History of World War II and the Hornlocaust.

All he had to do was open the book to the table of contents. Rudolf Antler: From Hoofsoldier to Fürher, read the title of one chapter.

Aaaargh… Are terrible puns really the connection between your world and ours?

Pretty much. The Medic dutifully flipped to that chapter. Right off the bat, he saw this. “Rudolf Antler is remembered today as one of the world’s most loathed villains. As history remembers him, he is the reindeer who ruled over Germaney with an iron hoof, enforced by his blindly loyal Trazi followers, who launched a mad campaign to conquer the world, and who was single-hoofedly responsible for the state-sanctioned murder of hundreds of thousands of unicorns during the Hornlocaust. This popular conception of the Fürher, though accurate to an extent, leaves out much of the…”

The Medic stopped didn’t read anything else. He didn’t think he needed to. He was convinced by that point that Equus and Earth were, in fact, parallel worlds. After all, if a world as saccharine as Equus had an equivalent of the Holocaust, then the rest of history must have also been preserved, warts and all… right?

Wait a minute… if the rest of history was the same, then…

“Spike, retrieve an Equestrian history book.”

“Yes, Red Medic.” Spike took off and returned a few moments later with a brand new copy of A Brief History of Equestria. The Medic eagerly snatched the book away and pried it open. Again, he didn’t have to go any further than the table of contents. A series of chapters were labeled as referring to “The Age of Chaos.” That was promising, he thought, so he flipped to them. And again, right off the bat, he found what he was looking for.

“The Age of Chaos refers to the era when Discord ruled Equestria. To this day, next to nothing is known about where Discord came from. However, the founders of Equestria believed him to be the spirit of chaos incarnate, and he ruled over the newborn nation as a fickle but harsh dictator who would not tolerate dissent. The Age of Chaos was ended when Discord was encased in stone by the Elements of Harmony, wielded by the Royal Pony Sisters (see Chapter 8). In the year 2011, however, the seal keeping Discord imprisoned was broken (see Chapter 21), allowing him to escape and run free for approximately two days. Due to this incident, much of the mythology surrounding Discord— particularly, that he possessed the ability to bend the fabric of reality to his whims— was verified as fact.”

How self-indulgent of you to reveal all that.

Oh, there’s a point to it, I promise. The Medic put his hand on his chin. “Spike, answer my qvestions,” he commanded.

“Of course, Red Medic,” Spike responded eagerly.

“Vat year is it?” the Medic asked.

“2012, Red Medic,” Spike answered.

The Medic began stroking his chin. “So, vhat ze book is referrink to here,” he continued. “Discord’s recent escape. Zis happened… last year?”

“Yes, Red Medic,” Spike answered.

And then the Medic got an idea. An awful idea. The Medic got a wonderful, awful idea. As this idea slowly dawned on him, a devious smirk spread across his face. He placed his elbows on the table in front of him and began slowly tapping his fingertips together.

“Spike,” he commanded, “retrieve a writing implement and lots of paper.” He let out the low, sinister chuckle of a scheming mastermind. “I haff a lot of calculations to make…”

“Yes, Red Medic,” Spike said, darting away.

“And fetch me some coffee!” the Medic shouted after him. “Milk, no sugar. I can’t concentrate vis zis Empathol in my system…”

And so, for the next few hours, the Medic was consumed by complex mathematical equations, research of Equus’s history, and sending Spike on errands to fetch different books, new quills, or more ink. Books that had outlived their usefulness were deposited in a huge pile next to him. He’d long ago removed his gloves, backpack and lab coat, revealing a sensible long-sleeved shirt and beige sweater-vest beneath them. His hands were stained with ink, as were his face and his lab coat. He was very frustrated trying to reconcile what, in the brief time he’d been researching, he’d dubbed “The Hornlocaust Discrepancy.” After realizing that he was trapped in yet another infinite loop of calculations, he growled in anger and stabbed the inkwell with the quill. He buried his face in his hands and let the frustration wash over him. “Ba bada ba, wird Sturmalarm geblasen…” he sang at a remarkably brisk tempo. “Ba bada ba, wir alle schon bereit…”

“Here’s your coffee, Red Medic,” Spike said, coming back into the room yet again with a steaming-hot mug of coffee. The Medic snatched it out of his claws, causing a few drops of coffee to splash onto his notes, and knocked it back in one. Like a pro. Like the Demoman with his scrumpy.

“Okayokayokayokayokay,” he said, slamming the empty mug onto the table. “Ze Empathol’s almost out of my system. I just need to concentrate. Concentrate concentrate concentrate concenaaaagh, I can’t do zis!”

“You have been working for a long time,” Spike interjected. “You should relax. It’s not a good idea to wear yourself out. Do you need me to get you anything?” The Medic had been so engrossed in his studies that he’d forgotten Spike was even there.

“No, Spike!” the Medic replied, randomly waving his trembling hand. “Vat I need is a dramatic flash of inspiration prompted by somezink completely unrelated to my research. Talk to me.”

“Okay. What do you wanna talk about, Red Medic?” Spike asked, just as awestruck by the Medic’s mere presence as ever.

“I don’t care. Your… dreams. Talk about your dreams,” the Medic snapped.

“Sure thing, Red Medic,” Spike answered. “First of all, I have a crush on Rarity.”

The Medic blinked. “Rarity?” he repeated. “Zat tailor Tvilight mentioned?”

“Yes, Red Medic,” Spike answered.

“Is she a dragon too?” the Medic asked.

“Nah, she’s a unicorn, Red Medic,” Spike answered. “The most beautiful unicorn in all of Ponyville…” He let out a wistful sigh. “Maybe in all of Equestria…”

“Hm. Interestink…” the Medic grumbled disinterestedly. “Is zat c-common here? Interspecies relationships, zat is?”

“Well, not really common, Red Medic,” Spike answered. “But they can happen.”

“And you’re hopink it vill,” the Medic grumbled.

“Yep, Red Medic,” Spike replied.

The Medic groaned and buried his head in his hands again. “Zis isn’t vorkink,” he groaned. “Tryink to relate to ozzer people? Vat vas I zinkink. I need somezink else. Retrieve… a… fiction book.”

“Sure thing, Red Medic,” Spike replied, taking off into the library. Grumbling, the Medic looked back down to the writhing mass of notes in front of him, running his fingers through his mane as though he was one step away from ripping it out. Suddenly… “Oh, hi Twilight!”

Perplexed, the Medic looked up. Sure enough, Twilight Sparkle was standing at the top of a staircase he hadn’t noticed until now, staring at him with a look of abject horror. “Ah, guten Tag, Fräu Sparkle,” he mumbled dismissively before looking back down at his papers. A few good seconds passed, and then he just about jumped out of his skin. “Ack! F-Fräu Sparkle!” he blurted out, scrambling to his feet and overturning the half-empty inkwell. “Hello! I… ah, z-zis is your house, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing in my house?” Twilight blurted out.

Spike waddled back into the room with a book under his arms. “I let him in, Twilight,” he answered.

“Wh-Why?!” Twilight shouted. “I thought I told you not to do that!”

“He asked!” Spike answered, walking up to the Medic and handing him the book.

The Medic chuckled. “Ja, zat seems like it should haff been obvious,” he added, righting the inkewell and putting the quill back in it. “Uh, Spike, return ze book. I don’t need it.”

“Sure, Red Medic,” Spike replied, jogging back off to where he’d gotten the book from.

Keeping one eye on Twilight, the Medic bent down slightly and began to gather his notes into a pile. “So… Did you sleep vell? I’m not goink to be sleepink at any time in ze forseeable future.”

Spike charged back into the room, and Twilight’s eyes were drawn to him. “Spike, I was very clear on the fact that you weren’t to let the humans in here!” she said frantically. “Especially not the—that one!”

“Well, Red Medic was very convincing,” Spike replied. “He’s not as bad as you think he is, Twilight. He’s really smart, and diligent… I don’t think a hurricane could tear him away from his notes!”

“Notes? What notes?” Twilight asked.

The Medic quickly realized that he couldn’t tell anyone about his wonderful, awful idea before he was done with it, and quickly decided to draw attention away from his notes. “J-Ja, I’m just goink to come clean here,” he said, neatening his stack of papers and picking up his backpack. “I vasn’t all zat convincink, but I did use Intentionmancy.”

“Red Medic’s great at magic, too, Twilight,” Spike pointed out. “He might even be better than you!”

Twilight blinked. “Intentionmancy?” she repeated. “I-Is that… a fancy term for mind control?”

“Hypnotic domination, actually,” the Medic clarified, slinging his lab coat back on. His fingers trembled mightily as he tried without success to do the buttons back up. “But you know, semantics. Actually, he vas a lot harder to hypnotize zan I zought he’d be. Vas he exposed to a powerful magical conflagration of some kind as a hatchling? Or is he a powerful vizard himself?” He gave up on the buttons and slung his backpack back on at this point.

Twilight didn’t answer. She started stammering random syllables that didn’t add up to any word the Medic recognized. After a long time, she finally managed to get out a full sentence. “S-Stop hypnotizing Spike!”

“Vell, I do basically haff vat I need,” the Medic replied, pulling on his gloves and snapping them, “barrink ze rest of my calculations, so… ja, I don’t need him any more.” Once he was fully back in-uniform, barring the buttons on his lab coat, he reached down to his hip and pulled out his Solemn Vow. “I’ll release him at vonce, FräulAAAGH!”

Before the Medic realized what was happening, the pile of books next to him suddenly exploded. The Medic cried out in shock and stumbled backwards, blindly swinging his bust at the air next to him. But then he was stopped in his tracks by the sheer force of nature that is confusion.

The book pile had exploded because Pinkie Pie had popped out of it. She glared at the Medic for a few moments, shook her head, and slowly ducked back into what was left of the pile. The Medic hesitated for a few moments, then put his weapon away, stepped forward and began sweeping the books aside. “Vat in ze hell?” he wondered aloud. That was a perfectly fair reaction to Pinkie Pie not being there any more.

“What are these, Medic?”

“GAH!” the Medic blurted out, whirling around. Pinkie Pie was standing on the table, looking at his handwritten notes. “H-How did you get behind me?”

“Yes, what are those, Medic?” Twilight asked, trotting up to the table. The Medic hadn’t noticed her moving toward the table until now. Her horn activated, and several pages floated off the table. “What is so important to you that you had to break into my house to do it?”

The Medic winced. “Ah! I-I vouldn’t look at zose if I vere you!” Twilight and Pinkie began to look over the papers silently. The Medic cringed and began to rub his hand together nervously. “Ah… C-Can I at least explain my violation of ze veapons ban?” he asked. “I vas planning to bring Spike out of ze hypnotic state, but in order to do zat, he has to be unconscious. Zat’s all I was planning to do. Knock him out. So if you could just…”

Suddenly, Twilight's horn let out a bright flash of light. Spike stood still for a moment, then shook his head. “What the… what just happened?” he asked. He then looked up at the Medic, reared back and screamed like a little girl. “Wh-What's he doing here?!”

“I think I can handle it, Medic,” Twilight said sternly.

“…Vell played, Tvilight,” the Medic mumbled, wringing his hands and not looking at anyone present. “Very clever. Very… very cool. Now can I haff my notes back, please?”

“What happened?” Spike asked again.

“I hypnotized you,” the Medic replied dismissively.

“What?!” Spike blurted out, backpedaling and darting behind Twilight. “Wh-What did you make me do?”

“I just made you assist me. Nozzink serious,” the Medic replied.

“Assist you with what?” Spike asked.

“It vasn’t permanent,” the Medic grumbled. “Now. Tvilight. Notes.”

“Tell me what they are first,” Twilight replied. “Are you writing in Egglish?”

“Ja, in fact, I am,” the Medic replied. “You see, I vas doing research about ze history of your vorld and how it relates to ours. As it turns out, it’s more zan you might zink. Our histories are very similar, very nearly even—”

“Are you using a swastika as a variable?” Pinkie interrupted. The Medic, Spike and Twilight all winced at once. “Wow, I hate to use stereotypes, but that reallly explains a lot, Mr. Mad Scientist!”

“I’m not a mad scientist!” the Medic snapped.

“No,” Twilight replied, setting the papers back onto the pile. “But it’s beginning to look increasingly likely that you’re some kind of dimension-hopping Trazi.”

“I’m not a Trazi!” the Medic shouted.

Spike suddenly began scratching the back of his head. “H-Hang on…” he interjected, lifting his head. “I… I think I remember something. While he was working, he… he was whistling a song…”

Twilight and Pinkie looked down at Spike. “What song, Spike?” Pinkie asked. “How’d it go?”

Spike scratched his head for a few moments, then began whistling the song. “…Something like that,” he said when he was done.

Twilight stared at Spike for a few moments, then looked back up to the Medic with a surprisingly blank expression. “You were whistling Horse-Wessel-Lied while you took these notes?” she asked.

The Medic threw out his arms. “Can I help it if I grew up in Nazi Germany?” he spat.

“Nazi?” Pinkie repeated, cocking her head to the side. “Oh, that explains everything!” She giggled and elbowed Twilight in the side. “See, Twilight? He’s not a Trazi! He’s a Nazi! There’s a difference!”

“Vell, technically, zere is, but—” The Medic suddenly did a flawless double take. “Now vait a minute! Don’t call me a Nazi, eizzer! I get enough of zat at home!”

Twilight took a deep breath and bravely stepped toward the Medic. “Medic,” she said, “I’m going to be frank here. Through the filter of my universal translation spell, you sound like you have a Germane accent, and you occasionally slipped into speaking Germane.”

“Coincidence!” the Medic countered. “Nozzink but coincidence!”

“You hypnotized Spike,” Twilight pointed out.

“Antler never got anyvhere vis his experiments in hypnotism, and neizzer did Hitler!” the Medic replied. “I mean, neizzer did my universe’s equivalent of Antler!”

“You whistled Horse-Wessel-Lied while working,” Twilight said.

“I heard it all ze time growing up!” the Medic explained.

“Not to mention,” Pinkie interjected, “you threatened to cut up unicorns when you showed up!”

“I didn’t know zey vere beink targeted! I didn’t even know vat ze Hornlocaust vas!” the Medic countered.

“You used a swastika as a variable in the complex calculations in your notes,” Twilight pointed out.

“Zat’s ze universally recognized symbol for—” The Medic stopped mid-sentence. The thought had occurred to him, you see, that revealing that wonderful, awful idea he’d had too early wouldn’t be a good idea. “…Um… ze symbol for… uh… beink… good. A good… person. Or, uh… eternity! It means eternity in… er… Japanese… symbolism…”

“Do you have any idea how dumb that sounds?” Spike asked.

“Medic,” Twilight sighed, “I don’t actually know if you’re a Trazi… or a Nazi, whatever you want to call them. All I’m saying is, with every action you take, you start looking like one. Everything you do makes you look incrementally more like a member of the Third Reinch.”

The Medic blinked. “Incrementally?” he repeated.

“So if you want to avoid any more… misunderstandings like this,” Twilight continued, “then you should probably… well, at the risk of sounding crude… stop living up to the stereotype. If you lived in… Nazi Germany, as you say, you should know what that is, so…” Twilight petered out here, clearing her throat awkwardly.

The Medic stood still for a few moments, then slowly picked up his notes. “Incrementally…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Are you okay, Medic?” Twilight asked.

On the top page of the Medic’s notes, there were three stains in a vertical line. The first was a small drop of coffee. The second was the contents of a spilled, half-empty inkwell. And the third was a ring of coffee born by leaving a hastily chugged mug on the notes.

The Medic’s eyes went wide and he let out a whoop of joy. “INCREMENTALLY!” he cried. “Of course! It doesn’t vork zat vay!”

Twilight and Spike took a few steps away from the Medic. “What doesn’t work that way?” Spike asked, sounding slightly less happy than normal.

“Don’t you see? It’s incremental! Of course it’s—” Luckily, at that precise moment, the Medic received a psychic distress signal. I’ll get to that later. Stopping mid-sentence, he whirled around in the direction the signal was coming from. At that moment, he realized that the only people in the room, or ponies, rather, were ponies he couldn’t reveal his wonderful, awful idea to. “…I mean, um, never mind,” he said, turning around again. “You’ve given me some good advice here, Fräu Sparkle. I vill be sure to consider it. I’d love to stay and chat, but I haff urgent business to attend to elsevere right now. I go.” With that, the Medic whirled around and charged out of the library, crashing through the door like a linebacker. He charged away, waving his notes over his head and cackling like the madman he was.

Author's Note

As I've addressed in the comments below, I realize that the existence of Trazism, as I call it, is something that may not resonate well with everyone. But it's my headcanon, and I'm not sure I'd be able to remove it if I tried. And besides, the existence of Trazism is actually significant to the overall plot of my story. I don't plan on featuring Trazism prominently in future portions of this story, but but regardless, if I've offended you, I apologize. If you no longer have an interest in my story after this, I understand completely and wish you well. For members of my audience that remain, thank you, and don't forget to tell me what you think of all this in the comments.